#i will never understand how folk wake up in the morning and choose to just be so rude to other people LIKE HOW

[perfectly-clear-from-here]

...WHY ARE FOLK SO MEAN WTF 😭😭

[free-for-all-fics]

ehehe! my brain is happily cooking and i’m glad to dish out! i’ve got a craving for some hurt/comfort⛈😈

(i’ve never had pets either, so i live vicariously for this fat chunky tubby little emperor of music.)

could be shelter au or he’s always been your kitty cat timeline - let me know!

they say the rain cleanses the world. makes it pause and reconsider, ushering everyone inside to the comforts of their spaces and forcing them to slow down and take a pause. perhaps it forces them to deal with the train station of their own brains(the coming and going of anxiety and depression[their timetables are impeccable, you’ve noticed in the past few weeks]). you’ve felt the constant pressure to rush through the rain, leaving the consequence of sickness and wet boots to the later version of you, the you who’d have everything figured out by then.

breakfast is late.

he isn’t stupid, far from it. his stomach often takes control of his brain during times like these. if he were a spry young buck, he’d jump right on your countertop to lick the crumbs from last night’s dinner off the plates(if he didn’t already screech at you to bring them down to his level when the drippings of meat were still warm. he had a routine to keep, mind you!) needing to be washed. or, when he was younger still, he’d have used his kittenish wiles to muster up a few sugary purrs in front of your neighbors next door for a little something to eat (he’s just a little thing and his mistress doesn’t feed him. they ought to help the poor, common folk. and to apologize for the obscene cries of their baby - who do think they are to bring such a small, pampered thing near his palace that wasn’t him?). but, he’s got a little arthritis(he will bite you for mentioning that. you had to change vets quite a few times.) and he’s not in his prime anymore (what do you mean he’s giving you a dirty look? he’s just a cat, he doesn’t understand, he’s got innocent eyes!). so, like the deity he is, he must wait for a sacrifice - some poor mortal to do his bidding.

he often for forgets how lucky he is.

in your own corner of the universe, you’d been dealing with something a little more catastrophic than late breakfast (he’d beg to differ). you weren’t as bright and bubbly in the past weeks. something was brewing in your mind, a storm that was circling over and over but never seemed to choose a path of destruction. perhaps it was a minor issue, a small drop of water in the biggest pond. to you, you weren’t feeling quite alright.

the apartment was quiet. to save himself from the monotony, he’d batted at the metronome and his tail twitched with impatience at every tick. his stomach growled and one of his own escaped his throat as he got up, his joints popping and crackling at a frequency he didn’t particularly enjoy but he’d gotten used to it as he waddled his way to the kitchen once more. he sniffed the floor (crumbs were beneath him, of course. he isn’t an animal.) with a bit of impatient desire. thirty seconds passed and he was done waiting. the rotund rampage was on its way.

you’d barely slept at all - going to bed in the early morning and waking up every hour on the dot until you couldn’t stand it and finally got up. your own space heater had made himself quite comfortable with you and his weight was a common presence that dipped your mattress. he napped so easy, such a practiced art. he had a variety of poses to match his mood - the ball of comfort, the lazy stretch across the blankets, the perfect loaf. you found yourself twitching and flipping every two minutes. when you’d first started doing it, he’d whine at you for disturbing him and give you a vain flick of his tail before settling back in in a manner of seconds. he didn’t understand it - if you were the more “complex” being (he laughed at this), why were you having so much trouble?

your bedroom door was open (he’d have a fit if it were shut. the whole house is his, so why couldn’t he access it at all times?) but all was dark inside. he sat impatient in the entryway, starting to yowl with hunger. the pitch of his scream increased with frustration when he couldn’t hear any movement. he hissed as a warning, back arching slightly. fine.

the rain was beating as heavily outside as it was in.

you were curled up in the fetal position, wrapped up in the covers of the bed and were motionless. he’d have thought you were dead but he may be old, not stupid. he knew laziness, could smell it in the crevices of humanity. people reeked of incompetence to his upturned nose.

he slowly plodded to the foot of your bed, still mewling for your attention, precious little prince he was. his eyes narrowed once more at your behavior. his stomach roared with impatience as he huffed, crouching low and starting to wiggle. your bed was perfect to jump onto (unlike those infernal kitchen counters!) and he leaped onto the softness with an unceremonious ‘thump’.

a minuscule part of him was glad you didn’t see him like this - as a battered and palsy-riddled pet. to him, he would always remain the sleek beast who demanded and deserved the best. he stood silent for a bit, watching your motionless form (no, he wasn’t catching his breath! he just finished a bit of exercise, that’s all…).

a sharp clap of thunder boomed across the sky and there was a growl of lightning brewing in his throat. what was wrong with you? when the emperor made demands, his people should follow them, not cower in fear! his paws sunk into the squishy texture of your bed as he made his way closer, fur standing on end. then, you moved.

to be perfectly honest, he’d been expecting a harsh downpour that hammered the roofs from outside but he’d been surprised with a trickle of wetness coming down your pretty face. a soft but steady stream of tears were glistening in the low light of the room.

he thought at first you were begging his forgiveness and pleading for his mercy for forgetting his breakfast but he couldn’t help noticing that none of the words you were murmuring had anything to do with food. they were…scary. things like ‘image’ (you were a goddess among humanity! how dare you think such terrible things about yourself!) and ‘relationship’ (he bit back a hiss. the most important relationship is of course between master and subject!) tumbled off your tongue as you pressed your face into your sheets. these words made him bristle, sure. but, it was the question you were asking yourself that gave him pause.

was everything going to be alright again?

he felt himself stiffen at your words and it wasn’t because his old bones were acting up. then, it all made sense in his mind. the nervous little looks you’d have on your face, the increased insecurity that plagued your mind, and the longing sighs hidden deep in your words when you’d spoke. while he gorged himself, you’d hardly eaten anything. he’d growl for attention and reveled in the scratches you’d given him, totally unaware of your often spacey mood and automated ministrations on his fur.

good relationships happens when the two involved gave equal parts. to him, that meant you gave him everything and he’d reward you, if you were lucky, with perhaps a cute expression or a little meow and a warm bed. but…had he actually become a parasite to your relationship. in short, whether he liked it or not, he had.

you were suffering and he’d been too blind to see it.

he found himself at a stalemate. he knew he couldn’t scratch or bite your problems - that would seem like he actually cared about you. but, he couldn’t just ignore them either. after all, he couldn’t just have you nope about and not feed him. he’s clearly the one suffering here!

his thoughts were interrupted when you rolled over in your bed and he cringed automatically at the state of your appearance. you looked unwell and worn down. he couldn’t have his beloved worshipper looking like that!

his stomach overcomes his brain and he strides over to sit squarely on your chest, pawing at your face irritably. this was no time to sleep!

you wake with a start and the look you give him is pitiful as your voice, scratchy and hoarse (perhaps from crying or just from waking up. he wanted to believe it was the latter but even he couldn’t lie to himself sometimes.), apologies to him sincerely for being late to one of the most important meals of the day. you look so anxious, so sad, that he can feel his cold heart warm slightly with each stutter you make. he surprises both him and yourself when he stops you from getting up, curling and snuggling on your belly and pinning you down. he isn’t afraid to throw his weight around, it seems.

your first thought is how soft and how warm he is and you instinctively reach to lay a hand on his back. a soft trilling sound escapes his throat and you’d have thought you were stroking a downy little kitten, not an old ball of blubber. gorgeous eyes bore into yours and you get the feeling he’s looking right through you. however, there isn’t a hint of malice in his irises.

your stress and worry, who’d normally yap like excited dogs when you’d get up, were held at bay by a cat who’d probably seen more of the world than you did. those little barking puppies were no match for the elegant priss who was gentle and still, resting on top of you.

a throaty and velvety purr echoes from him as the rain outside seems to let up into a gentle mist. you could swear he was actually speaking…uttering kind little morsels of praise under his breath. you felt a sense of safe and comfort that you’d thought had long abandoned you. he commanded it back, like a king demanding the very best for his queen, and what a queen you were - not everyone got to witness this side of him.

deep, deep inside the chambers of his heart, he’d come to his own conclusion. he loved you, truly. while he was downright mean sometimes, you were the person he relied on. you were his rock, a constant reminder that someone did care for him. he often got caught up in his own mind but you were a splash of reality. perhaps he just needed a chance to be the one to get others wet.

your hands were gentle as always as you brought him closer into your cocoon of blankets. for once, his aches didn’t seem so awful and your anxiety didn’t seem so pressing. who knew a cuddle was so curing? (he knew, smug little thing he was. but, do you listen to him? noooo…)

all that remained of the storm was the distant rumbles of the clouds rolling by…and the quiet little grump who wanted to be fed. breakfast was late, after all.

hope you liked what my brain whipped up 🫶

Omg Nonnie sorry it took me so long to answer this! Much like Cat! Hollenius I have also been very sleepy these past few days lol. Always love to hear from you! 💛🐱

- Arthritis?? How dare you! He is the picture of perfect health! And even if such a nasty rumor has any grain of truth, he wouldn’t let it slow him down or stop him from doing whatever he wants on a daily basis!

- You have to literally bribe or trick him into getting into the dang cat carrier to go to the vet with treats or something because man is STUBBORN. It is a PROCESS. “There’s no way you’re getting me in there. Oh look, a treat. Oh, another treat. Oh, another treat. Betrayal.”

- This is a cat who has THREE caution stickers on his medical file. You ALWAYS tell the nurse that he’ll need to be sedated, and if they don’t believe you, they always come back within ten minutes later, clutching their hands from an obvious scratch or bite he inflicted. Every. Time. The one time he WASN’T sedated he screamed so loudly with such unbridled fury that he caused small children in the waiting room to burst into tears.

- He’s so heavy that when he lays on your chest, you jolt awake, thinking you’re being suffocated in your sleep. Nope. Just him. You want to get up? Too bad. It’s illegal. You’ve taken such great care of him in the time since you adopted him (he hisses and grunts when you tease him and call him your spoiled baby or little man but that doesn’t mean he denies it), that it’s his turn to take care of you for once.

- Like other cats, he believes the power of purring or licking you will magically heal your invisible wounds or sickness and make you feel better. His purrs are the most intensified you’ve ever heard them, you’d almost wonder if you left your car running or something. He’s your heated blanket now. He also does that cat thing where he will knead and make biscuits on your stomach or arms or chest. He’s Doctor Kitty.

- Humans need to eat! So even though it’s beneath him, he’ll bring you food. (This means grabbing whatever stands out the most to him on the counter. Whatever looks the most colorful is what you’re getting. A bag of bagels? Hotdog or hamburger buns? A banana? This chocolate peanut butter granola thing? He doesn’t know, he can’t read but it just looks bright and cheerful so you’ll like it, right? It’ll make you feel better, right?

- He brought you your breakfast, now can you bring him his? Pleeeeeeeease? He’ll eat literally anything you place in his bowl at this point. For one rare instance, he won’t complain about what you feed him. His stomach got the rumblies big time.

- After you both have breakfast, you go back to bed and just have a lazy day. If it’s a weekend, all the better. If it was a work day, you called in. It’s just you and him and the comfy bed alllll day, listening to the thunderstorm.

- if you’re scared of thunderstorms, he will absolutely do everything he can to comfort you and make you smile or laugh. He’s the best emotional support animal you could ask for.

[uncloseted]

when did the word ‘queer’ become a replacement for gay/lesbian/bisexual/trans? i know that it was used in a non homophobic way in the 80s-90s, but it was mostly by actual homosexual communities. i get uncomfortable when referred to as queer (especially by straight people) and i don't understand how or why it's so widespread now. (NOT an attack on you or anyone who chooses to use it for themselves, i just don't personally like it)

Thank you for asking this! I just went on a deep dive and it's actually pretty interesting. Like you said, "queer" started to be reclaimed in the late 1980s. It was considered to be an intentionally provocative term that more radical groups used when trying to distance themselves from organizations that were focused on more "traditional" or "assimilationist" issues like marriage and adoption (as opposed to issues like the HIV/AIDS crisis). Queer Nation seems like it was one of the first groups to use the term "queer" in this way. Their reasoning for using it was as follows:

"Ah, do we really have to use that word? It's trouble. Every gay person has his or her own take on it. For some it means strange and eccentric and kind of mysterious […] And for others "queer" conjures up those awful memories of adolescent suffering […] Well, yes, "gay" is great. It has its place. But when a lot of lesbians and gay men wake up in the morning we feel angry and disgusted, not gay. So we've chosen to call ourselves queer. Using "queer" is a way of reminding us how we are perceived by the rest of the world."

After that, you had "Queer as Folk" premiering in the UK in 1999, and "Queer Eye" in the US in 2003 (and then Queer Eye again in 2015), which I think started to solidify this idea within the general public that "queer" is the umbrella term you use to refer to the LGBT+ community at large.

Then I think as LGBT+ people started to be born and grow up in a time where "queer" was used as a way to refer to the community instead of as a slur, it just felt natural to use that word to refer to the community. For me personally, I've never heard the word queer used as a slur, and I frequently hear it used as a way to refer to the community, so that's why I use it that way. I also like it in reference to myself because it's less specific than other options. I generally think of myself as "a person who likes people", and for me, queer feels like it reflects that better than bisexual or pansexual or lesbian does. I think a lot of people are drawn to the expansiveness that "queer" provides as a term.

But that position comes from a place of privilege on my part. I've always lived in places that are LGBT+ friendly, I've always known LGBT+ people, and for the most part, the people I grew up around were accepting. For people who grew up in or live in places that aren't LGBT+ friendly, I think it makes a lot of sense that there can be a discomfort with that word being used to refer to our community at large.

[thesilliestofgals]

The Rosabella Beast and Blondie Lockes Sequel Arc: Part 3

The readers find themselves back in the dorm room, moments after Cedar left. Everyone is shocked- nobody had ever seen Rosabella's Beast form before, not even Briar, RB's cousin. So to see the Beast form in its full monstrous glory, years after RB built her persona to be the complete opposite... talk about whiplash.

Blondie stares at the floor for a moment. She doesn't know what to say. She tries and fails to gauge how the other girls are feeling. It's strange, but she doesn't feel so scared for herself anymore... she feels more scared for Rosabella.

Conveniently, Duchess chooses to speak up. Wow, the swan princess sneers, Who knew someone acted like a beauty could be such a beast? The churning fear in Blondie's stomach turns to a burning fury. She loses that last piece of self control, and the old Blondie, who'd been thought to have been put to bed, wakes up screaming.

Blondie stands, fists at her sides, her furious snarl putting Mr. Badwolf's to shame. How hypocritical of Duchess, Blondie points out, because she was always putting on a façade, just like Rosabella. With her feathers ruffled, Duchess is quick to snap back. What in ever after was Blondie talking about?

The rookie reporter pounces. She throws Duchess into the hot seat, grilling her over the past dirty secrets she'd uncovered for the blog. Duchess had tried to steal Ashlynn's story, just in order to prevent living out her own. For someone who was a Royal, she sure had acted like a Rebel- and a villainous one at that. Now that's a pretty good definition of a façade, is it not? Duchess bites her tongue and doesn't answer.

I know everyone has the same hope for their futures- to have a Happily Ever After, even you, Duchess. So does Rosabella, but now that her secret has been revealed, her ending could be in jeopardy.

So Blondie circles back to her main point. Everyone in this room has a façade, Blondie declares, and because of that, have no right to judge RB. But of course, Blondie snarks as she turns on the others, that's all you royal folk do.

You look down their noses at commoners, like me! Blondie accuses. You royal folk think you're so perfect, everyone who is different or has less power than you don't deserve a happy ending, but really, your just as dirty and broken as everyone else.

(During her tangent, the rookie reporter does not see Cerise turn away, clutch the hood of her cloak, slightly curling into herself.)

By the end of her tangent, Blondie's in tears. She turns away, crosses her arms, and lowers her head. My words to you won't matter in the end, though. They never have. Blondie laughs bitterly. You royals will just see me like how you see everyone else. I'll just go.

Blondie turns, and begins to make her exit. She's halfway to the door when someone grabs her arm. She turns, the snarl creeping back onto her face, only to stop. It's Ashlynn, gently holding her hand. She gives it a surprisingly strong squeeze. Please, don't go. Blondie looks at the others. Apple, Briar, even Duchess look at her with a new sense of understanding... and guilt. Cerise gazes at her with wide, wet, yet thankful eyes.

So... she doesn't. Blondie steps away from the door, and collapses into Ashlynn's arms. Soon enough, everyone in the room is right there in Ashlynn's embrace with her.

Blondie's sobs continue as the door opens. Rosabella and Cedar stand in the doorway. Rosabella blinks once, twice. What in ever after did we miss?

The two other girls don't even get a verbal response- they're just pulled into the embrace. For once, Rosabella doesn't fight. With a free arm, she reaches out, grasping Blondie's free hand. The rookie reporter gives her a sidelong glance, and the beauty-beast gives it a squeeze. Rosabella sees a watery smile, and she just can't help but smile back.

The next morning, Daring walks into the Castleteria, looking around. He stops when he sees a sight that makes him smile so hard he almost chips a tooth- Blondie and Rosabella, sitting at the large table with the girls from the party. Rosabella spots him, offers a small smile, and waves him other. With a boisterous laugh, he accepts her invitation.

End of Part 3.

(Hopefully this was satisfying? This last part was a challenge for me to write out.)

Alright so I FINALLY got the motivation to post this: now sit back and buckle in, because

The Rosabella Beast and Blondie Lockes Sequel Arc: Part 1

This sequel arc takes place either immediately after or awhile after the Blog Takedown Arc. Daring notices that RB and Blondie don't seem to really... have any friends- in fact, they don't even seem to friends with each other. So, he talks to RB about it. RB is quick to remind him of her trust issues, and the fact that the students don't even seem to like her- why should she step out of her comfort zone if she's just going to be back in it? She's happy just being with Daring... and Blondie- she struggles to admit that, but with some prodding from Daring, she does.

Daring is left.. perturbed and worried. Yes, he's already a fantastic friend, and he'd be more than happy to be her's and Blondie's only one, but... he knows that isn't healthy. Thankfully, he gets a solution to his dilemma: his dear sister Darling is having a get together with some of her own friends- a hexcellent opportunity for the two to open up! With some help from Dexter, he convinces Darling to invite the two.

Through grumbles of "hex this", and "major fairy-fall", they reluctantly attend. They quickly find out that perhaps Daring is wrong about this being a "hexcellent opportunity", because when they walk into the room, Duchess, along with Raven, Apple, Duchess, Ashlynn, Cerise, and Briar (number of people subject to change) are there. The same girls who'd been trying to figure out who the blog runners were. Hex it all.

Because of RB's already established "Beauty" persona, she has an easy chatting the others up, much better than Blondie does... for awhile. Then Cedar comes by to visit, and then the air... changes. RB's smile seems... forced. Her eyes, usually wide and bright, are now narrowed, the light sharper, more dangerous, like a predator's. It's... off-putting, even for Blondie. She's seem RB angry before- like when she discovered a particularly disgusting secret, or like when they found out about the blog being investigated, but this anger... it was different- it wasn't anger- it's hatred. A visceral loathing. And that scares the rookie reporter.

Eventually, the conversation circles towards in on the blog. Everyone voices how relieved they are that it's no longer up. Cedar mentions that she's glad, too- sometimes, secrets are secrets for a reason- for better or worse.

RB snorts, and that metaphorical mask is ripped right off her face. That's rich, she blurts out, sneering, coming from you. Everyone's shocked. They've never seen RB with such unnatural features- an angry snarl, eyes dark, her voice sharp like broken glass. Cedar wonders aloud if RB is referring to her truth curse. RB barks out a bitter laugh. She really doesn't remember? Of course she doesn't.

The air is becoming thick with tension. Blondie looks like she's about to make an emergency exit via the window. RB can feel an all too familiar feeling under her skin. Just like whenever she was writing a new callout post, the beast wants out.

She asks Cedar if she really doesn't remember- or if she's playing dumb to save face. Everyone is too stunned to come to Cedar's defense. In a quick movement, Rosabella's Beast form is on full display. She gets right Cedar's face.

Does this ring any bells?

The room goes dead quiet. The air is suffocating. RB looms over the wooden girl. Her mouth is wide in a saccharine, hysterical smile, filled with sharp fangs and teeth. Her claws tearing right through the fabric of Cedar's dress and digging into the wood of her shoulders, leaving indents.

Look at me, Cedar. Look at me, and try to tell me you don't remember.

The silence is disturbed as Cedar lifts her head, just a fraction to meet RB's eyes.

Finally, the puppet girl speaks. Please, stop, she pleads, her voice just above a whisper, you're scaring me.

RB stops. She stares for a moment. Something flickers behind that veil of loathing and rage in her eyes. She releases Cedar, takes a few steps back, and darts out of the room.

End of Part 1.

[nightwishesworld]

Life of Death

You’re gonna need tissues for this one folks! A huge thank you to @addictedtodinosaurs for allowing me to write this wonderful headcannon! Hope you guys enjoy!

Warning: Angst. Whole lot of angst 

It hasn’t even been a day since Alcina’s world collapsed. Ethan Winters managed to flee Castle Dimitrescu with his life and topple the hierarchy Mother Miranda worked so hard to achieve. Everyone is gone; Angie, Moreau's house, Mother Miranda, even her baby brother Karl. They never stood a chance after the fall of the great Mother Miranda. Without her protection, they were left helpless. Of course, Ethan only saw them all as monsters; filthy bloodthirsty creatures that needed to be slain. That’s all anyone ever saw them as. They’re different so that must mean they’re wrong. They’re abnormally different from anything I’d ever seen so that automatically means they’re evil.

But they’re still a family. Lucky for Alcina, she never let herself depend on anyone other than herself. Well, except for her daughters.

She was wandering around the ruins of the castle in search of them. They were nowhere to be found since Ethan escaped. It was a grueling task but obviously, one that needed to be done. They need their mother’s tender love and care to nurse them back to health.

Cassandra was the first to be found. Naturally, she was found within the comfort of her basement. Where else would that silly girl be hiding? Just like Daniela, her bleeding seemed to have majorly stopped on its own. So all that was left for Alcina to do was bathe her and bandage her wounds. Alcina carried her upstairs to her bedroom slowly and carefully to not make her feel any sicker to her stomach. From there she bathed her and wrapped whatever wounds she had in delicate cloth before putting her to rest in her bed. Alcina tousled her wet hair before leaving in search of the rest of her brood.

Daniela was the easiest to find. She was left lying face down in the parlor soaked in a pool of her own blood. Her body was riddled with bullet holes to the point where her abdomen resembled Swiss Cheese. Alcina was quick to scoop her up and bring her upstairs to tend to her wounds. Until she got Daniela in the bath she used the ends of her dress to put pressure on her abdomen. Just like Cassandra, her bleeding seemed to have majorly stopped on its own. So all that was left for Alcina to do was bathe her and bandage her wounds.

Picking each individual bullet out of her body was an uphill battle, but Alcina was the eventual victor. Even better, she managed to not disturb her youngest’s slumber as she patched her up. Daniela was now free to rest as much as she needed in the sanctuary of her mother’s bed.

“What a mess we’re left with, hm? Don’t you worry about a thing my little Tasmanian Devil, Mother’s here now. I’ll protect you.”

The girls remained motionless as Alcina tucked Daniela in next to her sister.

Alcina watched as her little bundles of joy rested comfortably under the warm blankets and plush pillows. They look so sweet and at peace. It was rare for the matriarch to see them like this, but it always brought a smile to her face.

“You just rest now, my lovelies. I’m going to go find your sister so she can rest easy as well.” Alcina bends down and kisses each daughter on the forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

It took a few hours of searching to find her eldest daughter. Doing countless laps around the castle finally brought Alcina to explore the labyrinth of hidden passageways. There were a few times when said passageways brought her right back up to her bedroom. She wasn’t complaining too much though. Every time it happened she simply checked on her girls and reminded them how much she loves them.

Bela was by far the hardest to find. The sounds of scurrying behind a row of bookcases alerted Alcina to her presence. Following a single passageway eventually led Alcina to find the blonde buried from the chest down in rubble. The tunnel had collapsed from then on.

Alcina made quick work of removing the rock and rubble from her daughter's body. Rats fled back into their holes as she did so. The eldest Dimitrescu never moved even an inch. It took a while, but Alcina did manage to get her out in one piece. She whispered promises of a warm bath and offered to deep clean the dirt and dust out of her hair.

Bela couldn’t respond but Alcina knew she heard her. She could still sense her. She could sense all of them. They’re just weak, that’s all. They need as much rest as they can get.

It’s late evening by the time all three girls are bathed and tucked into bed. They were dressed in clean clothes and had their bandages changed again before Alcina crawled carefully into bed with them. She made sure to be extra careful when nudging them out of the way so she was in the middle; Bela on one side and Cassandra and Daniela on the other. Her arms wrapped around them all snugly.

It reminds Alcina of all the times the girls would burst into her room when they were little during a thunderstorm. All four of them would cuddle up just like this under the covers and either sing to them or read them a story.

“Tomorrow is a new day, my loves. We will start anew and we’ll be stronger than ever. I hope you sleep peacefully.”

The next morning comes slowly for Alcina. It’s quiet for once as the girls aren’t awake to cause mischief. Aching in her back and arms keeps her from stretching out. She smiled when she feels the girls are still snuggled up close to her.

“Good morning my darlings,” she says with a yawn. “How are we feeling today?”

Alcina kisses each daughter on the cheek and chooses not to notice how much more pale they were this morning. And certainly doesn’t recognize how stiff they were. She simply chalks it up to sleeping uncomfortably. After all, even she woke up with an aching back. Her arms wrapped around them must have really bothered them.

“It’s alright, girls. Take all the time you need to recover. You’ve been through quite the ordeal and need as much rest as you can get. I understand that. Mommy will be waiting for you right here to wake up. I’ll be the first thing you see when you open your bleary little eyes.”

The family lounged for the better half of the morning. Alcina takes her time stroking the hair of each of her girls’ hair and whispers words of comfort to them. “You’re so brave, my loves. And so strong; stronger than Mommy could ever hope to be.”

She notices a rather putrid smell coming from Daniela. One not caused by uncleanliness or a rotten meal, but something else entirely. Her immediate response is to change her bandages again, but can’t help but notice how pale Daniela had become overnight. Her lips were turning a shade of blue and the rest of her skin looked sickly. So did Cassandra and Daniela. Perhaps this is worse than simply recovering from injuries? Maybe....maybe they really were-

Alcina shook her head. They’ll wake up. Of course, they’ll wake up! They just need to rest extra long before they can really start to recover. So what if they get worse before they get better? At the end of the day, all that matters is that they do wake up. Then it’s smooth sailing from there.

The silence is suffocating. She feels the chill in her blood, coldness bringing the synapses of her brain to a standstill. Part of it is a pain, but one Alcina can endure. One she has to endure; for the sake of her daughters.

While she waited, Alcina called for a maid, the only one left, to fetch some documents from her private study that needed her attention.

They didn’t actually need her attention, of course. With the demise of Mother Miranda, the document's importance was nullified. But Alcina Dimitrescu is not the type of person to just sit around and do nothing. Especially when there are so many important things to do.

As soon as the maid steps into the room she understands what’s happening. She went through something strikingly similar when she had her miscarriage some years ago. Reality is a cruel plane of existence. Especially when you lose someone you loved suffering it with. It’s plain to see that her mistress is grieving her losses and she doesn’t have the heart to break whatever fantasies Lady Dimitrescu has built-in her head.

Instead, she chooses to play along. Delusional or not this was still Lady Dimitrescu, the woman will kill her if she tells her anything other than what she wants to hear. She gives a kind smile and curtsy to her Mistress and simply dies as she’s asked.

“Shall I fetch you some wine, My Lady?”

Alcina thought about it for a moment. It has been over 24 hours since she last fed and she was certainly craving sustenance. But ultimately decides against it in favor of her daughters.

“No. Keep what we have left safe for when my daughters wake. They’ll need their strength more than I’ll need mine.”

The maid waits a minute before trying again. She looks over at the girls still laying in bed. It’s obvious they are no longer there. She could smell the evidence of that from across the room.

“Very well, Lady Dimitrescu. I could send up a platter of-“

“Enough,” Alcina shouts but quickly catches herself from continuing. The girls don’t need to be disturbed by such a trivial matter. “Go make yourself useful and clean my daughters’ rooms. They’ll want them spotless when they wake up.”

The maid simply bows her head. “Of course, my Lady. Please forgive me.”

The next two weeks went on like this before the maid had enough. She wanted to help her mistress, she truly did, but there was nothing left for her here anymore. The last scraps of human food were officially gone and there was no reason to trek down to the village and come all the way back when she could just as easily take up residence down there. It was a gut-wrenching decision but it had to be done. She tried her best for Lady Dimitrescu and that’s all that mattered.

She slipped away in the dead of night. Normally the Lady would have any escapees hunted down and dragged back up to the castle only to be thrown in the basement. But there was no one to do that anymore. Heisenberg and his pack of lycans had perished long ago, even before the Lady’s daughters, and the Lady was too drained of emotions to care. Too weak to chase after her.

Alcina’s daughters are her everything. Every day she lived for them. She lived because of them.

Alcina took great pride in her tall stature. She is the image of beauty and elegance. The only real flaw in her design is its role in hunting down prey. You’d have to be blind or stupid to not see her coming after you. Even with her much larger strides, she wouldn’t be able to keep up. And Alcina Dimitrescu does not run. Prey is not worth running for.

So she depends on her daughters to hunt for her. They’re much more suited for the job; so young, and clever, and agile. They are her cubs and her, their lioness, too old to keep up with the hunting party.

Alcina looks at her girls and sees them as they truly are; dead. Lifeless corpses. Their bodies are decaying and cold. She has been changing the bed sheets every morning to keep away the maggots but failed to stop all of them. The smell of death is noxious even with all the windows open because Bela said she wanted to feel the crisp winter breeze.

“My girls,” Alcina sobs. “What have I done to you?”

She collapses at their bedside and finally allows herself to break down.

But looking up at them she still feels them. She can still feel their arms wrap around her shoulders as she cries. The smell of paint is still on Cassandra’s cloak and Daniela was sitting on the floor right next to her. The short ends of red hair tickled Alcina’s cheek. If they were truly gone, how is it she can still feel Bela kiss the top of her head and wrap her arms around her neck in an embrace?

“I never should have done this. How can I be so selfish? I never should have turned you to suffer as I have.” A new wave of tears blurred her vision. “What kind of mother am I?”

She knows she doesn’t have long now. How can she bring herself to care? Everyone she ever cared about was already gone. What’s the point of trying to survive without her dearest family, especially when she’s so close to being reunited. Alcina wiggles her way back under the covers and pulls her daughters close once more. She’s crying in earnest now, happy that her pain is almost over. Even now she can see her daughters playing together, maybe even with Uncle Karl somewhere in the far off distance.

A smile spreads to Alcina’s lips as she closes her eyes and simply waits for her turn to join in on the fun.

[malfoys-demigod]

Tutor, Tea, and Truth

draco malfoy x reader 

summary: Reader spends her Saturday mornings tutoring lower classmen by the library. Draco was intrigued with your enthusiasm and love for tutoring that he began watching you. When you finally noticed, he tried lying, saying that he never had the guts to ask you for help in the subjects he was having trouble with. Knowing that he was the second smartest wizard of your year, you didn’t buy his lie, catching him off guard. Being defeated, Draco begins a conversation with you and eventually asks you on a date.

a/n: i was really planning to continue this, and finally i have! 

word count: 6.1k

tag list: @the--queen-of-hell​ @bbeauttyybbx​

If there was one thing you could do effortlessly, it was giving a hand to help others. It could be through any way and it would still be considered helping someone out. 

Whether it be the simple things such as lending an extra quill, picking up the things that a person has dropped in the corridor, to much more complex things that required more will power such as being a third-wheeler at a date at Hogsmeade, walking someone back to the common room at night, and your favorite favorite thing which was tutoring. 

The act of tutoring either your batchmates or lowerclassmen was the most favorite thing of all the things you could do as help. There were so many advantages of being a tutor to students. It could help gain you more friendships with people around year-levels and houses, train your brain to remember new and old information, and strengthen your reputation as a helpful person. 

With these many advantages, your favorite reason was the idea of being able to see the smiles of people at the end of the session or seeing them come back to you, thanking you that they raised their scores, giving you all the credit when you tell them that it was them, that did it all. 

Helping other people made you the happiest person in Hogwarts. You were a smart wizard of your year, certainly not levelling Hermione Granger, but enough to help other people out. It didn’t bother you that there was the possibility of getting drowned with your own work because you could use this advantage and call on other students from your year to form a study group with you, doing the work together and helping each other. 

If they declined the offer due to many reasonable excuses, you still used this advantage to finish the work as quick as possible, with quality of course, so that when your classmates finally have the time to do their work, they can come to you and you could teach them what you learned, helping your brain remember more of what you had recently taught yourself. 

It was a way of boosting your knowledge and grades, making you one successful student. 

Tutoring was something you had gotten from former upperclassmen when you were still in your first year. As a newcomer to Hogwarts, you were very much nervous of failing classes at such a prestigious school. 

So one day at the end of your first week of classes as a first year, you decided to head to the library, hoping to seek a quiet time to celebrate that classes of your first week had ended. But what you arrived at was a study group led by seventh years. 

Not being intimidated by large and older students, you walked towards them, asking them if they could help you with school work. They surprisingly agreed to help you, also giving you the idea of becoming a tutor just like them. They showed you the ropes and shaped you into the person you were today. You were very thankful for them.

Years later, you became a respectful tutor, just like the seventh years in your first year. 

From starting a group only for students in your year, you built your reputation over the years as word passed by, telling other students of lower years that you were a tutor that could be of service for all lowerclassmen. 

Having word passed by from some students of their year, lowerclassmen were more encouraged to find the famous you, and grab seats in the library to circle around you. With more students now coming to see you on a daily basis, you started to treat them like friends rather than pretend clients who you were offering your services to. 

Today was the first week back from the winter holidays. 

Everyone was still acting as if they'd forgotten to switch off their mindsets from “Vacation Mode”, as all they could think and talk about was the holidays. This year’s holidays were somehow excellent for almost everyone where they were spending it in Hogwarts or outside of the castle. Wherever you went, people were smiling, daydreaming about possibly what gifts they received, which meals they enjoyed, and everything you could name. 

The fact that people were still thinking of the holidays meant that it was hard to return focusing on academics. People were so used to waking up late and doing anything they pleased during the holidays that it was quite difficult for them to continue keeping up their grades in school. Worse, if they were taught by the teachers who planned on giving them tests and quizzes a week or two after their first week back, to jog up their memories on the things they have learned from the month before the break.  

You yourself may have had a slight relatable feeling with most of the students at Hogwarts, but you were more lucky than them as you still managed to read a book or two about lessons you were had recently learned and lessons you will be learning when the holiday ended. This action wasn’t done frequently during the break but it was enough to feel more confident when it came to returning to school after the holidays ended. Your little tutoring business would also be booming as others would beg for your time, asking if you could help teach them the things they’ve forgotten and need to remember. 

Usually, people spent their Friday’s after classes anywhere but the library. It was their way of removing their mindset of school and into their weekend freedom. For you on the other hand, your next place right after your last class was the library, the place you happily held your tutoring sessions. You didn’t need to be asked if you could spare time for people as they assumed that you would already be there in the library, waiting for people to come and be helped. 

Their assumptions today were right. You had finished setting up your things by one of the long tables at the library, opening your notebook and bringing out your quill when all of a sudden, a massive group of second years were quietly rushing around your table, huffing and puffing tiredness. 

“Hello, Y/N!”

“Good afternoon, Y/N!”

“Good to see you, Y/N!” 

Were some of the small greetings that your second year students greeted you as they were relieved to see you. You waved at them, giving them a warm smile as you greeted them back. You fixed your posture, straightening your back as you made yourself ready to teach them. 

“Now, my dear little friends,” you spoke, “What are we learning today?” 

“History of Magic,” they all groaned, looking so distressed. 

You giggled, trying to show a sympathetic pout at them, “Ah, yes, let me guess,” you placed a finger on your chin, “Binns expected you to study over the break, which you all didn’t, and announced a test next week?”

“Exactly!” One complained, “The mad ghost is holding it on Monday, Monday! Can you believe him?” 

You nodded, smiling at the memories when you were required to take History of Magic, “I do, that’s how Binns handles his classes,” you sighed, “But not to worry, when you’re older, his class wouldn’t be required any longer, you could choose something else if you’d like.”

“What did you choose, Y/N?” They all asked, giving curious eyes. 

“I chose to have a free period,” you admitted, watching them gasp with big eyes, “I know, a ‘smart’ cookie like me should be taking up the extra classes for the sake of landing that dream job or simply showing that you're an excellent student, right? But the classes I’m taking already have me set with the many choices I have with whatever dream jobs I have in mind to be honest. Besides, there are many things I could do during my free time, such as studying and doing my schoolwork so I could use this time to help you desperate kids in need. Now come on, let’s head onto the most vile lessons in your class,” you said, encouraging them to open their books. 

—

“The last breach you should remember was in 1790 when an American witch named Dorcus Twelvetrees made a serious breach when she confided secret information to a muggle, or what Americans call it, a ‘No-Maj’ named Bartholomew Barebone. She told him not only about the existence of MACUSA and the International Confederation of Wizards, but also the location of their wizarding school named Ilvermorny School. Barebone stole her wand and showed it off to the press and called for No-Maj persecution of magical folks like us. Due to this, President Emily Rappaport of MACUSA instated “Rappaport's Law” which completely segregated witches and wizards from the No-Majs, and remained the law of the land until repealed in 1965.” 

All your second year students were slightly dazed, looking as if their brains had stopped processing the information you had been teaching them. Understanding what they’re going through, you closed their books with the use of your wand, closing yours and using the magic to pack up. “Alright, you kiddos,” you said, “It’s time for you to rethink about the things I’ve taught you today, I wish you luck in your test next week, and advise you to possibly not pick this subject as an elective when you’re older,” you joked. 

“She’s right,” said a new voice, “I completely welcome you to pick Astronomy or Potions. As a successful student from those classes, think of it as a recommendation from another top student like me.”

You looked to your left, seeing that Draco Malfoy was nonchalantly leaning by the bookshelves, crossing his arms with a smirk on his face. 

“Was it just a coincidence that you overheard the conversation and used the opportunity to lure my second years into your favorite subjects? Or were you here the whole time I tutored them and waited for the right timing to give us a grand entrance, because you look like you’ve been here for quite some time,” you asked, imitating your batchmate by crossing your arms out of curiosity. 

Catching Draco off guard, he tried recovering by placing a hand on his chest, appearing so offended by your words, “Heavens, Y/L/N, big with questions aren’t you?” he slightly chuckled, walking towards your table, “On you go kiddos, time to relax from all this young lady has been bombarding you with!” he joked, earning a laugh from the second years who were not aware of you, rolling your eyes at Draco. 

Draco shrugged, playing innocent as he dropped his sling bag as he pulled a seat, sitting down casually. He interlocked both his hands, placing them on the table as he gave you a small wink, “Y/L/N,” he formally greeted, nodding at you, “You come here often?” 

“Of course I do, Malfoy, everyone should know by now that I tutor people here,” you said, standing up from your table, “Shouldn’t you be elsewhere spending your Friday afternoon?” 

Draco may or may have not been lurking around the library, waiting for you to end your tutoring session for the day. He had been waiting ever since classes ended for him and had been wandering around the library in order to be caught stalking you endlessly for the entire hour as you taught your second years. 

 During the last twenty minutes of your session, he positioned himself by the nearest bookshelf on the other side in order not to be seen, as he was pulling out some books, peeping and watching you happily teach second years. 

When people passed by, Draco pretended to open the book he pulled, seeming ‘curious’ with the contents he was reading and if some gave him suspicious looks, he would quietly snap the book in front of them, eyeing them coldly and twitching his nose in a scary manner, causing them to walk away, looking anywhere but at Draco. 

“Is there something wrong with me being here, Y/N?” Draco asked, sounding so innocent, “It’s not like you own the place, dear.” he taunted, tilting his head for approval.

“You’re right, I don’t but it’s just highly unlikely for me to see you here, that’s all.”

“Would it be highly unlikely of me to ask if you could perhaps tutor me?” 

You shook your head slightly in amusement, looking at Draco who seemed so casual with the question he had just asked you. “You?” you pointed at him,  “You need a tutor?” 

“Is there something wrong with that?” he wondered.

“Well, yes,” you replied, “You’re a top student of our year, for Merlin’s sake, I doubt I’m even smarter than you!” you exclaimed, raising your hands in amusement. “You really have to be kidding me if you wanted a tutor.”

“What if I’m not kidding?”

“Okay, then, what do you need help with, Malfoy?”

Draco paused for a slight second, surprised he got far with this, a lightbulb went up quickly, so did his eyes when he looked at you and quickly said, “History of Magic!”

“Uh-huh, just like my second years?”, you asked, as he nodded in response. 

“I don’t remember you taking Binn’s class this year?” 

Draco clenched his hands as his heart started beating quickly, “And who are you to say that? I don’t suppose you’re in his class as well? Correct me if I’m wrong but I remember hearing you advise your second years not to take his class.”

“Right,” you said, with a raised eyebrow. He was correct, and you couldn’t say he wasn’t in Binn’s class, you wouldn’t know since you weren’t in his class. So you sat back down, placing your bag on the table as you removed your old History of Magic book and opened it. “So, what do you need help with?”

“Erm, Giant wars?” he asked, hoping to himself that was something people were learning this year. 

“Oh, okay, well you’re in luck because I happened to be reading that out of curiosity during the break. And well, my friends who were doing advance reading for his class were telling me all about it this week.” you said, looking for the page that had giant wars. 

When you found the page, you pointed at the chapter, “Ah, there we are, let’s start, shall we?”

“We shall,” he replied. 

--

“And remember, the conflicts between the giants and the wizards that had historical significance took place around the nineteenth century, alright?”

Draco calmly nodded, using his quill to write down the last thing he needed to remember for his class. Finished, he placed his parchment back in his bag and extended his hand, “Lovely,” he said, as you extended your hand, shaking his, “You truly are the best and by the way-

“Y/N!” said a new voice. 

Both you and Draco turned to the side of the open hall of the library to see Neville and Luna waving at you with beaming smiles. As Draco groaned to himself, Neville and Luna walked towards you, seeing that Draco was there as well. 

“Tutoring him?” Neville asked, looking at Draco who wanted to be elsewhere. 

“Surprisingly, yes,” you nodded, “Apparently he needs help with History of Magic and that’s understandable. It would have been more beneficial if you two were here with me, you could have taught him too considering that you three are in the same class.”

Neville looked at Luna with a puzzled look, then to Draco with a highly raised eyebrow. “That would have been beneficial indeed,” Neville said, as Draco gulped with a hint of fear, “If he actually took the class.”

“W-what do you mean?” you confusingly chuckled, looking now at Draco for reassurance, “Are you not taking History of Magic, Malfoy?”

“Nonsense,” he quickly replied, tightening his tie, “You’re confused, I’m probably in another period of Binn’s class, Longbottom.”

“There is no other class,” Luna innocently added, “Since there were only a few left interested in his class, we could only manage to create one class.”

You crossed your arms, giving Draco an open mouth, “Right,” you said, “Excuse us Neville and Luna, I think I can handle the interrogation from here.”

“Alright, see ya Y/N!” Neville said as Luna warmly waved goodbye, walking away from the scene to leave you, looking at Draco who was nervously chuckling to himself as he started packing up his things. 

Before he could stand up, you stopped him with a raise of your hand, commanding him to sit, “Don’t think you can just leave so quickly, Malfoy.”

He turned back to you, giving a small quick smile, “Right, I suppose you’re expecting a couple of galleons for your service.” He began getting coins from his bag, only for you to zip it shut with the wave of your wand. 

“Was there a reason for you to lie and waste, let’s see,” you looked at your pocket watch, “Hm, an hour of my time?”

He shrugged, smiling guiltily, “I don’t suppose it’s a waste of time, especially when you’re with me,” he said, trying to display a smirk in his mouth, which ended up looking as if he was giving his all for it. 

“Nice try, Malfoy, but really, why would you go all out and pretend you took Binn’s class?”

Draco exhaled, giving up the act of lying as he let out a small laugh, feeling ever so humiliated with himself as he looked at you and said, “Maybe I had something planned and things went too far that I wasn’t able to go back to the right track.” he shrugged, waiting for your response. 

Clueless yet interested, you leaned forward and asked, “Care to explain what your plans were?”

Malfoy smiled at himself, nervous yet ready to tell you the truth. 

“My initial plan was to wait till you were finished tutoring those little gits and ask you on a date, after all, I have been wanting to for awhile, figured it was time to make a move. I might have gone off script and used the opportunity of your tutoring sessions to… spend time with me.” 

You were vastly staggered as it was news to hear that Draco Lucius Malfoy was first, waiting for you in the library for Merlin knows how long, second, planning to ask you on a date, and third, has been wanting to ask you on a date! It wasn’t like you were head over heels for with such passion, but it filled your heart, discovering that one of the most outstanding students of your year was highly interested in you. Why you of all people? 

Still staring into the unknown, Draco’s spirits slightly started falling down as he had not received an answer yet from you. He wanted to make sure you had an answer, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make himself feel bad if he pressured you with time into giving him one. 

“You’re going to have to answer me verbally dear, contrary to popular belief, I can’t read minds.” he joked. 

You snapped back from all your lingering thoughts, chuckling to yourself out of embarrassment, as you saw that Draco gave you a faint smile. “Right,” you spoke, “I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” he said, probing. 

“Yes, uhm, first of all, my second years are not gits,” you said, pointing at him, then you looked back down, placing a hand on your chest, “Second, I’m flattered, and third-”

“You’re going to reject me?” he suggested, feeling defeat in his voice. 

You shot him a worried look, shaking your head, “Goodness no,” you opposed as you waved your hands in front of him, “I’m extremely flattered because I never thought you’d be interested in me, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, walking around the table to come closer to you. 

“I always thought you were too good for me.” you laughed at yourself, looking down at the ground. 

Draco placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing you sympathetically as he gave a small, exalted smile, “You have no right to say that, Y/L/N for I should be the one saying that.” he removed his hands from you, straightening his robe and announced, “This time, I offer you my time as I’d like you to spend tomorrow with me at Hogsmeade. We will have the most excellent first date, should you choose to accept.” he confidently said. 

You slung your back onto your shoulder, smiling at the invitation you were given. “Alright, Malfoy, you got yourself a date tomorrow. Should I feel free to dress to impress?” 

He shrugged, appearing as if it didn’t matter, “To me, you’d look ravishing with or without the need to do that. But if you wish,” he said, smirking. 

You rolled your eyes, “See you, Malfoy,” waving him goodbye as you left the scene. 

--

You were waiting outside by the gates of the castle, sitting down on the stairs, patiently and calmly waiting for Draco, who happened to be your surprising date as you were still processing the fact you were about to go on a date with him. 

You hadn’t really thought about the possibility of dating Draco. You were just a simple girl in Hogwarts, being always on the sidelines of everyone’s story. To you, you were always someone not worthy of a demanding person such as Draco. 

Why would someone important like him want to go out with you? That was something you would have to find out sooner or later in your life, and maybe this date would be the perfect opportunity to ask Draco about this, hopefully he would answer truthfully. 

All of a sudden, the doors behind you opened slowly, causing you to turn around and stand up as you saw your date, eyeing you with a smile. “Y/N, for a minute there, I thought you were going to bail. Looks like I was wrong,” he said, still smiling. 

You let out a small laugh, “Now why would I do that?”

“I was waiting for you by your dorm room, like the gentleman I am, until when the doors opened, I was greeted by your roommate, who seemed very flustered by my gesture.”

“What gesture?” 

Draco confidently pulled up a bouquet of flowers from his back, presenting it to you with such pride in his face, “Then I asked where you were, and she said you weren’t there, leaving me to think, ‘Did she either bail, or was she already outside?’ so here I am.”

Still presenting the bouquet, you received it, smelling the freshness of the flowers with a smile on your face, “Gosh, you’re one kind of gentleman. Thank you for the flowers.” 

“A pretty girl should always have a pretty bouquet.”

You grinned, hoping your blush wasn’t evident. Draco placed his arm up, “Now, shall we?”

“We shall,” you agreed, taking his arm as you started walking away from Hogwarts. 

--

To your surprise, Draco brought you to Madam Pudifoot’s Tea Shop. It was the place people brought their dates to, for a more intimate time with them. This was your first time inside the place, and you now understood why it was a place for intimate dates. 

The teashop was a very quiet and tranquil place that had walls and floors of pink shades, screaming ‘Love,’ in the air as the different scents of teas gave a relaxing aura around the shop. Aside from a serene and silent touch to the shop, there were barely people inside, making things more private and affectionate for dates. 

Draco again to your surprise, held your hand as he made his way to an exact table, which Madam Pudifoot reserved for the two of you. It seemed as if Draco already made reservations beforehand, and it was weird because you haven’t really recalled establishments in Hogsmeade accepting reservations.  

When the two of you sat down, Draco surprisingly gave a warm smile to Madam Pudifoot, who handed the two of you her menus. “Take all the time you need, lovebirds.” she chuckled, then turned around, leaving Draco with a flustered you. 

“Um, Draco?” you brought down your menu to give your attention to Draco, who had his menu up, as he was still scanning for the right tea. 

“Ready to order already, Y/N?” he asked in a nervous yet playful tone which made him chuckle after, “I thought this was your first time here!” 

“No, actually I haven’t even looked at the menu,” you admitted embarrassingly, “I was just curious.”

“About?” His face was still covered by the menu, but fortunately, he seemed interested in what you had to bring up. 

“Why do I have the feeling that you secretly went all out with this date and got the chance to persuade Madam Pudifoot a table for us?” you blurted everything out awkwardly, which made you feel like jumping off a cliff. 

Draco pulled the menu down from his face, flashing a smirk, chuckling, “Because it’s true?”

You laughed in relief for not feeling like the craziest person in the entire town of Hogsmeade, “Oh, brilliant,” you replied. Then you shook your head, but still smiling cheekily, “But why?”

Draco tilted his head with a raised eyebrow, “Why what?”

“Why would you go all out for me?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and mouth, trying to contain his laughter, “Darling, have you not heard of Draco Lucius Malfoy? I’d go all out for you.”

You scoffed, playing with the fabric of the table’s smooth cloth. “I think we barely know each other though. This is clearly our first time actually interacting with each other properly.” 

After clasping his hands, he pulled his hands away, tilting his palms to face each other, “Alright, why don’t we get to know each other then?” he suggested. You nodded, which made him speak again, “Okay, let me start.”

“What do you want to know, Draco?”

“What do you want to do after Hogwarts?” he prompted. 

Your eyes drifted away from the boy in front of you as you pondered on the many occupational choices when Hogwarts ended. 

“Either a Hit-Witch or an Auror,” you shrugged, “I haven’t given much thought about it but the last time I did, I was looking into those two.”

“Intriguing,” he acknowledged, sounding highly surprised and in awe, “I never imagined you as either of those, but I know you’d be one of the best that I can feel safe at night.”

“Oh, please,” you waved off the flattery in embarrassment, “Neither did I see myself as one of those jobs. But, their job descriptions really do call me. What about you, Draco?”

Draco shrugged as well, “Possibly an Auror as well. Father thinks I can make my way to the top easily and become the Minister of Magic later on.” 

“Right, and then I can TOTALLY feel safe at night with you as Minister.” you teased, earning a grin from his face. 

“Oh, shut it, Y/N, you better take that back or else when I become Minister, I’d gladly remove you from your job.” 

“Has your mother ever taught you how to threaten a lady?” 

“Now, now, Y/N, we mustn’t go there,” he playfully warned you. 

“You’re right, we actually should order something before Madam Pudifoot thinks we’re using her place just to have a thrilling conversation.” 

Draco scoffed, smiling cheekily at himself as he enjoyed being with you. After taking a quick look from the menu, he raised his hand, signaling Madam Pudifoot to come by your table. Once she saw Draco’s hand, she quickly hurried by. 

“I was suspecting to think you two lovelies were having a good time and forgot about the tea,” she teased the two of you. 

Draco smirked, looking at her confidently, “What can I say?” he shrugged, “Once you enjoy the company of someone as enthralling as her, you just forget that time passes by. I could spend the whole day talking to her, and I wouldn’t take notice of time going by. What do you think, Y/N?” he now looked at you, grinning. 

Madam Pudifoot, interested by the action going on between you two, looked rapidly to you now, wanting to know what you’d say. 

“I think we should order,” you pointed out the obvious sarcastically, to hold yourself from melting over Draco’s words. 

“Hiding how you feel now, are we?” he checked on you, still grinning with pleasure. 

You playfully rolled your eyes, finally in defeat, “Okay, so I agree with what you say,” you replied and shrugged, “And I possibly have a mindfulness of you as a wholebeing. Now, can we order?” 

Draco opened his mouth in agreement, his mouth was open, but it was with a big smile, “Ah,” he said, pointing at you, “Careful darling, you’re starting to sound as if you care. It would be... unwise, of you to lead on, something such as I.” 

“Alright,” you sarcastically shrugged. You now looked up to Madam Pudifoot, who seemed to be gushing over what she was witnessing. You ended her gushing by deciding to order, “Okay, Madam, I’ll have a warm chamomile tea. And you, Draco?” you asked, now looking back at Draco. 

“I think I’ll have the same,” he nodded at her. 

“Excellent!” Madam Pudifoot said, closing her notepad, which had her magical quill inside it, “Right away, you two!” then she turned around, briskly walking away. 

This left you and Draco once again, together alone. He leaned onto the table, placing his folded hands on the edge of the table as he let his body lean over to you slightly. “So,” he whispered, “So you do like me?”

“I think I said I possibly have a mindfulness of you.” you smirked.

“It’s another way of saying that you care for me, and thus, that leads to liking me.” he reasoned out. 

“Pansy and Daphne care for you, but do they like you?” you pointed that fact out. He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “That’s different. They’re not here with me on a date, are they?”

“True,” you said, eyeing and receiving the tea that Madam Pudifoot had given the two of you just now. “I guess I’m the lucky girl who's about to take sudden interest in me,” you half-jokingly said. 

Draco beamed, silently sipping from his warm cup of tea. After a good sip, he shook his head, patting a cloth of napkin on his lips softly, as his eyes were back onto you. “I’m afraid you’re far too late my dear, you already have me thoroughly captivated.” 

Your eyes smiled affectedly, highlighting the sudden blush you had on your face. It felt as if you skipped a heartbeat, surprised with his words as you gulped the sip you were about to swallow. After swallowing carefully, you slowly placed the cup back on the table, leaving the warmth from your fingers. 

Chuckling lightly at yourself, you said, “That fast?” 

“Don’t think you had me captivated just today, dear Y/N,” he pointed out, “I may or may not have had eyes for you for quite some time.” 

“You couldn’t have possibly, Draco,” you narrowed your eyebrows, light-heartedly denying his statement. 

“Oh, but I have!” he admitted confidently. He fixed his sitting position, causing him to enthusiastically lean towards you, “You my darling, are one unique girl.”

“Is that so?” 

“I’ve never met another girl who could be so patient and loving to tutor anyone. I would be vastly impatient and non-committal to such things. I couldn’t possibly handle dealing with those… children. And of course the low-brains of our year.” 

You were extremely flattered by what Draco had said, causing you to simply flash a warm smile at him, bringing back the tea in your hands as you started sipping your chamomile tea once again. 

--

The date you had at Madam Puddifoot had unfortunately come to an end. Once the teacups were empty and your stomachs were full, Draco had paid for the expenses of the teas like the gentleman he was and pulled you up from your seat, waving goodbye to a happy Madam Pudifoot. 

Now, you and Draco were walking together around Hogsmeade. While you were looking around the shops passing by you, Draco’s eyes were taking a few glances at his hand and yours, wishing he had the courage to hold your hand. 

Somewhere under his nervous thoughts, his confident aura had started picking up again, reminding him of the smooth person he had in himself. There was a small smirk in his face as he perfectly knew what to do. 

“Y/N?” he asked, sounding curious. 

“Yes, Draco?” you asked, looking at him now. 

“It came to my attention that it seems your hand looks heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Yes, in fact, would you like me to hold it for you?” he nonchalantly asked, giving himself an innocent tone to such a smooth question. This leads you to widen your eyes with such flattery in your face. Aside from blushing madly, you chuckled in embarrassment, feeling so unprepared with words to reply to him. 

“Oh,” was all you could say at first, “I’d love that, they do awfully look heavy don’t they?” 

“Indeed, I’m surprised myself. Lucky for you I’m here to address the issue.”

“What if you weren’t, though?”

“From now on, expect me to always be around. I doubt there would be another soul at school who could point out that issue. They’re too blind to see the little things such as that.”

You smiled at yourself, taking in the compliment that Draco had bestowed upon you, waving your hand with his, back and forth merrily. 

“Draco?”

“Yes, Y/N?” he asked, imitating your voice from earlier, causing you to roll your eyes playfully. 

“Did you really mean it back at the tea shop?”

“Mean what?” He asked, stopping you and him from walking any further. 

“How you were captivated by me? Have you really been fancying me for some time?” 

“I know it sounds bizarre, you know, for me to come out suddenly to tell you how I feel but I do, I do have fancied you for some time. I-I like you.”

“That’s good then,” you truthfully told him, “Because I like you too.” you courageously admitted to him. 

Draco flashed the biggest smile he had ever shown in his facial expression. This smile may have had a smirk in his mouth, but it was also filled with genuine happiness, something he rarely felt and gave out.

Without hesitating, he grabbed you by the face, cupping your soft, smooth face with his hands as he shot a kiss on your lips. It was a short but whole-hearted kiss, which he had been dreaming about ever since he took interest in you. You were a little surprised that it was a short one, this was because he felt that he might have been overstepping his ‘first date boundaries’, so he was making his way on ending the kiss by slowly pulling himself from you. 

It was like you instantly read his mind, knowing that he was scared of overstepping his boundaries, but you answered his issue by pulling him back in, finishing the kiss with a much longer time given. Once you were done, the two of you synchronously pulled away from each other, looking at each other with such care in your eyes. 

Your eyes widened with realization, “Merlin’s beard!” you exclaimed, causing Draco to feel terror in his body. 

“W-what? Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! I did!”

Draco frowned, assuming you felt the kiss was a mistake. “Oh, I see,” he said, only for you to wave your hands in front of him.

“Heavens no! I mean, I should have kissed you first!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, deeply confused, “You? Why? That’s not the right way to go, it should be the gentleman first.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter if I could have got you back with a pick up line!” 

Draco laughed, exhaling a wave of relief to hear your explanation, “Bloody hell, Y/N, all for a pick up line?”

“Yes! I thought of a good one which came well with the situation right now!”

“Alright,” Draco chuckled, “Let’s have a go with it, then.”

You composed yourself, breathing in to say, “Draco, do these smiles come with kisses?”

Draco nodding in agreement that your pick up line was a good one said, “Of course they do. Would you like them now?”

“Without a doubt,” you replied, knowing that Draco was about to lean in and kiss you. 

[queenmuzz]

A Seed of Truth

A Fluffy Vergil x Reader One Shot

Life went on as usual in the peaceful island city of Fortuna.  Lord Sparda ruled with a benevolent hand over the people with his wife, Lady Eva, nurturing the arts and culture of the populace.  They were the perfect couple, each combining their strengths and abilities, to lead the island into a golden age.

And then there were their sons, the twins Vergil and Dante.  While the Lord and Lady were quite too busy to make regular appearances to the common folk, the Princes were not that restrained.  Prince Dante was regularly seen chatting at the market, buying up lots of strawberries, while slipping the kids little chocolates and candies when he thought their parents weren’t looking, before racing off on his custom built bike.

Prince Vergil, on the other hand, was a bit more reserved.  You’d seen him at your place of work, the library, deep in a book, or in the Fortuna Gardens, admiring the flowers, giving off an aura  that he didn’t want to be disturbed.  But when someone mustered up the courage to talk to him, he was kind and courteous, especially when the subject turned to his interests, such as literature, or gardening.  He was a man of few words, unlike his brother, but he never minced words, always preferring to speak the truth over flattering speech.

What both men had in common though, was they were both devilishly handsome.  With their father’s bone white hair, and their mother’s elegant facial features, the two men could look good in anything, whether it was formal outfits, as well their casual clothes (Usually a red leather motorcycle jacket for Dante, and a dark blue turtleneck for Vergil).  And with both of them single and available, there was a large part of the city gossiping on who they might choose to settle down with.

So it happened you were in the market with your friend, Sarah, one beautiful spring day when you heard the sound of trumpets, and the clanging of the City Herald’s bell, signaling an announcement.  The crowds began to converge to the centre of the piazzo.  Ripples of excitement fluttered rapidly as everyone realized that the herald was not alone.  There, standing behind the man were the twin Princes, both in their formal royal attire. Dante beamed like the cat that caught the canary, while Vergil...looked more like the canary that had been caught.  You almost felt bad at how uncomfortable he looked, surrounded by so many people, but if he was here despite how much he disliked crowds, this meant whatever was about to be announced was very important.

“HEAR YE! HEAR YE!” the herald announced, clanging his bell one last time, and the crowd was silenced.  Satisfied that he would not be interrupted, the herald continued.

“A ROYAL ANNOUNCEMENT!  PRINCE VERGIL HAS DECIDED IT IS TIME FOR HIM TO MARRY!” A gasp came from the crowd, then cheers, which Vergil did his best to ignore.  The herald rang his bell again.

“HE HAS DECIDED TO CHOOSE A LADY FROM AMONG THE YOUNG WOMEN OF THIS FAIR CITY!”  Another sharp gasp, but everyone was so flabbergasted, the herald didn’t have to settle them down.  “IN ORDER TO HELP HIM DECIDE, ANY YOUNG LADY WISHING TO PROVE HERSELF IS TO TAKE A TEST!”  Two servants carried a sheet covered wicker basket, placing it in front of the herald, and then they carefully removed the linen  “IN THIS BASKET, ARE SEEDS OF THE WHITE  CHRYTHANSEUM  FLOWER!  ALL…” the herald attempted to form a word that didn’t sound so awkward, but failed, “APPLICANTS ARE INSTRUCTED TO TAKE AND PLANT ONE PINCH OF SEEDS.  WHEN THE FALL MARKET FAIR ARRIVES, ALL LADIES ARE TO BRING THEIR PLANTS TO BE JUDGED, AND PRINCE VERGIL WILL PICK THE ONE WHO HAS GROWN THE MOST BEAUTIFUL ONE!  A WOMAN WHO CAN GROW SOMETHING EXTRAORDINARY, WILL PROVE THAT SHE HAS THE QUALITIES THE PRINCE LOOKS FOR!”

“That seems rather...shallow,” Sarah muttered as already, every young eligible woman pushed aside the crowds to make a beeline to the basket, “but who am I to judge?  Besides…” she grinned, “he’s pretty good looking.” “Yes, Prince Vergil is rather handsome,” you admitted.  

Sarah did a double-take, “Nah, I meant prince Dante, I wouldn’t mind if he bent me over his motorcycle and-”

“They’re twins! They’re virtually identical!”

“In looks, yeah...but personality, they’re night and day… and I prefer the day.” She looked at you expectedly, “Well, what are you waiting for?  Go get in line!” “I couldn’t…” you protested.

“Oh come on...it’ll be fiiine, you’re a pretty good gardener, I’ve seen the plants you keep in your rooftop garden, you’ll grow the best fricken’ chryth-  chrythan…”

“Chrysthanthemums,” you clarified…”You can call them ‘mums’, that’s what a lot of people do. And…” you stared at the ever growing line of women.  “Well, I suppose, worst case scenario, I’ll have a pretty flower for the autumn season”, and so, you went to the end of the line, ready to get your chance to spend your life with the handsome, aloof, but intelligent prince.  As you took your place, you heard Sarah murmur, “I hope Prince Dante has a motorcycle race as a contest….”

Eventually, you got to the front of the line, and were given a pinch of seeds.  You tried to keep your eyes averted from the two princes, as you wrapped them in a handkerchief, but you couldn’t help but glance up, to see the younger prince, still beaming, while his older brother stood stiffly, his brows furrowed, his arms crossed.

“This is a terrible idea, brother.”  You heard Vergil mutter.

“Nah, this,” Dante spread his arm out, “this is the perfect way to find the lady of your dreams.” “None of these women seem to possess the qualities I desire…” “Well, leave your pessimism until the fall...you can beat my ass if you don’t find what you’re looking for.”

*******

You got home, and quickly brought out a shallow glazed blue pot out from your shed. It would be the perfect starter pot for it to sprout, before you could transplant into a flower pot proper.  And then, you carefully poured a layer of sandy soil, before gently unwrapping the handkerchief and sprinkling the seeds onto the moist dirt.  There was something...off about the seeds...like they were too clean, but you paid it no mind.  These were most likely from the Fortuna Castle Gardens, so they were top quality, so even if you didn’t pay attention to the plant, you would most likely grow better than the average flower.  But you weren’t just going to neglect this chance of a lifetime.  

Measuring out precise amounts of fertilizer, and a bit of water, not too much, not too little, you were going to put your life and soul into this plant.  So much so, that the Prince would feel your love and care radiating out of each and every petal.

******* Ten days passed, with you constantly making sure that the soil wasn’t too moist, to discourage mildew, and keeping it under a fluorescent light, and yet no bright green sprouts poked out.  That was alright, the flower had a variable growing period, you had a nearly two week span for it to begin to sprout.  Every Morning, you had a routine.  You’d wake up, and while your breakfast toast browned, you’d check on the pot, giving it a sprinkle of water, and when needed, a dusting of fertilizer, before setting it back up to face the light.  And each night, you’d give it a final check, occasionally singing it a lullaby.  Yes, it was silly, but you couldn’t help but do everything to help it grow

But nearly a month later, still nothing.  You bit your knuckle as you paced your rooftop garden, the pot now being placed in the sunshine during the day, some netting to protect it from birds and rodents, trying to figure out why there hadn’t been any sprouts.  Perhaps the breed was a slow growing one, saving up energy for a robust bloom in the fall.  Yes, that would be the reason.  But, to ease your mind, you decided to check out with some of your acquaintances that had participated in the competition.  Nothing too intrusive, not spying, just to see how everything was going for them.

Your downstairs neighbor, a young woman who worked at the corner cafe, smiled when you asked how progress was going.  “It’s going wonderful!” she exclaimed, and quickly showed off her pot.  To your dismay, the healthy shoots spiked out two inches out of the soil, a good week and half of growth. “Yours must be twice this size!” your neighbor gushed, “you’re such a good person with all types of plants!  Do you mind showing me?” “I uh..” you scrambled to find an excuse, “I don’t want to disturb the growing plants more than necessary at this stage,” which was true, if your plant had a chance of growing healthy at this point, it couldn’t be put under any stress.

“Ah, understandable...well,” she looked back at her plant like a loving mother looking proudly at her baby, “May the best gardener win!” 

The door shut in your face, as you glumly went up the stairs to your apartment…

Yes, may the best gardener win…

*********

Summer came with a flash of heat, and even though your flowers hadn’t even so much peeked out of the soil, you continually did your routine of watering, fertilizing, and caring for the apparently lifeless pot.  You still had hope...you HAD to keep up hope.  One of those seeds had to be viable, just waiting to burst out like one of those prank snakes in a can….but nothing.

It didn’t help that everywhere you went, from your work at the library, to the market, all you could hear was women bragging about how healthy, how large, and how vibrant their budding plants were.  In fact, some of the ladies would go in public, either carrying their plants to show them off, with glossy green leaves, or if they were upper class, have a servant follow behind them, lugging the pot around, like a governess watching over their child.

Unfortunately, a new law had to be passed, after a half dozen women got into a full out brawl in the piazza, each fighting for the right to having the ‘best’ chrysanthemum, to ban the carrying of plants in the marketplace, except for the purposes of sale.  Thankfully, the only casualties of the savage fight was several pots and their unfortunate occupants….and the hopes and dreams of their owners.

And yet, seeing all these plants, hearing the boasts about how well they grew, just depressed you.  You had worked so, so hard… and nothing.  How could you show up with a pot of dirt, while surrounded by such wonderful specimens?  You might as well drop out of the contest, and save yourself the humiliation.

Two weeks before the Fall market fair was set to begin, Sarah came over to your house.  You hadn’t let anyone in, ashamed at your failure, terrified you’d be laughed out of town for not being able to raise a plant as hardy and simple to grow as a Chrysanthemum.  But...Sarah was different, she didn’t have a stake in the whole contest.

“How’s the Chryth- I mean the Mum growing business?” She innocently asked, unaware of your summer of troubles “it’s gotta be, like six feet tall, with your skills.  Prince Vergil’s gonna be knocked out of his royal pants when he sees yours, eh?”

It was time to break the truth, both to your friend… and yourself.  “I’m… I’m not going to the fair.”

It took Sarah a moment, while she blinked, once, twice...three times.  

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT GOING?!”

You led her up to the rooftop, the sun of a late afternoon warming the nape of your neck, to show her the shallow blue pot, without a hint of green. “Nothing grew...I did everything I was supposed to, I watered, I fertilized, I made sure it wasn’t too cold or too hot...and still...nothing”  Even now, you tried to make sure the tears that dribbled down your cheeks didn’t splash into the soil, salt water would be bad for the seeds.  “I can’t go...can’t show everyone what a failure I was.  Everyone else will have beautiful flowers, and all I’ll have...is this.”

Sarah rubbed your shoulder in support, but her voice was firm.  “You should still bring it.  I know you, I know you put a heart and soul into raising those seeds, I can feel it.  Bring it to the fair, and if Prince Vergil can’t sense about how much love you shoved into every seed, then fuck him, he ain’t worth your time.”  She wiped your tears with a tissue, helping you calm down.  Perhaps she had a point. You had done everything you could, you couldn’t be blamed for neglect.  “Honestly, your mum is personally my favourite all this year.”

Perplexed, you looked at your friend.

“Everyone is growing these damn things. I think I’m gonna puke if I get another whiff of a mum.   Yours smells the nicest.”

At least, Sarah’s sense of humour lightened your spirits, if only a little.

*******

Sarah wasn’t wrong.  The overpowering smell of hundreds of white blooms blotted over the traditional scents of the autumn fair, such as apple pie or roast pork.  And instead of the the mooing and baaing of prizewinning cows and sheep, all you could hear were the titterings and gossip of the young women of the city, each bragging about how hard they worked to grow their flowers, how much love and care they’d placed into each glossy leaf, on how it was a certainty that they’d catch the Prince’s eye.

You tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible, and mostly you succeeded, as everyone was more focused on their own plant, or giving out disapproving looks at their nearby rival’s.  But every so often, a lady would look down confused at your pot, before giving a small pitying smile.  You could even tell your otherwise perfectly nice downstairs neighbor was secretly relieved that she didn’t have any competition from you.

The only one who paid attention to you, without judgement, was Sarah, who gave you an encouraging smile.

“After this, let’s go to the bar and get so plastered you forget this entire summer, my treat!” she chirped, and you couldn’t help but smile.  In truth, you really wanted to wipe this whole debacle out of your memory for the rest of your life.  Just a few more minutes to go….

The sound of the herald’s bell silenced the crowd, and all the contestants stood up a bit straighter, some checking both their dresses and plants one last time, ready to present their best.  Even you couldn’t help doing the same.

“HEAR YE! HEAR YE!”  The stiff man called out, ringing his bell one last time.  “THE JUDGMENT WILL NOW BEGIN,”  a group of finely dressed people, apparently the judges, stood up, but the Herald continued, “WITH BOTH PRINCE DANTE AND PRINCE VERGIL AS THE FINAL ARBITRATORS.”  Everyone, including yourself, did a collective gulp as the familiar colours of Crimson and Azure appeared on the platform.  Both men were dressed to perfection, their gold tasseled lapels shining in the fall sunlight, their black pants perfectly pressed.  But their looks on their faces seemed cold...almost upset.  Even the usually jovial smile on the younger twin was gone, replaced by a worried frown.  But that was nothing in comparison with Vergil’s face.  He looked...disgusted.  Surrounded by some of the most gorgeous flowers you had ever seen, and he yet, seemed to be repulsed by them all as his eyes scanned the crowd.  If these plants weren’t up to his high standards, your pot didn’t have a chance.

“I told you this was a terrible idea…” you heard him mutter, presumably to his brother, “Not a single woman has what I am looking for...the dishonesty of it all. When we get home, I don’t care how much mother protests, you will regret ever suggestin-” he stopped.  His eyes were fixed at one point, and everyone followed his line of sight…

that led to you and your little barren pot. 

Without warning, Prince Vergil quickly stepped down the wooden stairs, his footsteps steady but his frantic pace betraying something more.  Even now, as he approached, you thought that maybe he was looking at the lady beside you, a smaller than average plant, but one with many, many healthy white blooms.  That MUST be who he was interested in.  His face wasn’t as upset as before, but you couldn’t tell what his exact feelings were.  But as he got closer, now a few paces away, his eyes never left you, and you couldn’t help it, you averted your eyes, partially out of deference, partially out of fear.  Was he offended that you had dared bring this failure to be judged?  Your heart pounded so loud, you could barely make out the sound of his footsteps stopping before you, the only reason you could tell he was there, was his shiny black leather shoes halting in front of you.

“Your name?” he demanded, but not as harshly as you had feared.  You gave it out, your voice trembling.

“And this…” his long, elegant fingers grazed against the edge of the blue glaze, “is your attempt at growing a White Chrysanthemum?”  Strange, you’d expected him to be dismissive, but there was a sense of earnestness in the questition. You nodded, trying to get the words out.  “Y-yes, My Lord.  I did...I did everything I could...I watered, I fertilized, I gave the seeds all the sunlight it could ever need, but…” You couldn’t keep back the sob that burst from your throat, and tears dribbled down your cheeks.  You were so ashamed at your failure.

Unexpectedly, you felt warm fingers on your chin, gently lifting your face up, to finally look up at him.  You’d never been so close to the Prince before, and he was even more handsome up close.  And that hard expression that once there, was gone, replaced by something that confused you.  It looked like...admiration?  But for what?

“You were the only one, out of everyone here,” he spoke softly, for your ears alone, “who didn’t hide behind lies...you did all you could, and didn’t hide your supposed ‘failure.’” The way he emphasised that last word puzzled you and you gave him a quizzical look.  He smiled softly and pulled out a silk blue handkerchief to wipe your tears away.  

“Ladies and Gentleman!”  Dante strode up to front of the platform, temporarily ripping everyone’s attention from you and the Prince.  He had a grin that looked like he had been keeping it in for weeks, or even months. “I’d like to make a VERY IMPORTANT announcement.”  He took a breath, obviously savouring the moment.  “You see, when we gave out those seeds...well, before we brought them out...we boiled them, the entire batch.  Therefore…” he trailed off allowing the quicker members assembled to place the pieces together. “None of the seeds should be growing anything, you might as well used them for bug spray”  

Panicked gasps came from the women, each rapidly looking at each other, and then down at the pots they held.  A sound of shattering clay as several pots smashed from being dropped by some of the shocked ladies, who quickly ran for the exit of the fair, the crowds parting away for them.

Dante yanked the bell out of the Herald’s hand, and rang it, signalling everyone to settle down.  “See, what my dear brother wanted in a woman wasn’t a good gardener, although there’s nothing wrong with that.  Verg’s pretty handy at growing stuff…” his grin softened to genuine pride, “No, what he wanted was a woman who could be truthful to him, not try to flatter him with lies to soothe his pride and ego… And trust me, his ego is as big as it is....”

Vergil swung his head over to his younger brother, scowling momentarily, cutting the speech off.  But, slowly, he turned back to you, his fingers stroking the rapidly dry tear tracks on your cheeks.  “I..know this… whole turn of events is rather sudden and unexpected...but...will,” he struggled with the words, the first time you had ever seen him this nervous, “will you take me?”

Your eyes watered up with tears, but not out of grief, but of happiness.  You smiled, and nodded, not trusting your voice to say anything.  He almost seemed surprised at your assent, standing stock still  momentarily, before his smile blossomed fully as he took your hand and led you through the quickly parting crowds, as a large amount of cheers erupted in congratulations, celebrating Fortuna’s newest Princess.  

You felt a brush against your shoulder, and heard the voice of Sarah’s at your ear.  “I knew you could do it!” She was barely audible above the crowd, “Now...would Your Royal Highness mind putting a good word for me with Prince Dante?...”

Tagging    mandyvc  (won’t let me tag you for some reason)

[serendipitystation]

Holding Hands - a Kanej fanfic

Read it here, too: AO3

Summary: Several times that Inej and Kaz hold hands and what follows. Slow-burn, oneshot.

Length: Short

A/N:  Writing for these two is difficult, but that's a testament to Leigh Bardugo's wonderfully complex writing more than anything. Cheers, friends :)

i.

The first time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, they stand together looking down at the ship that will take them far apart from one another. To Inej, it is a miracle, a blessing; to Kaz, it is a gift, a tool for good in hands cleaner than his own. They both understand how their paths are destined to diverge, but there is no peace needing to be made with this. Divergence calls to reunion as light calls to dark. Their souls have been in close quarters long enough that a few thousand miles won't shatter their bond. As they watch a boat unload its newcomers to the city, they feel a joy that only the knowledge of better days can create. The darkness will return, but not today. Today is for joy and reunions and the most shockingly pleasant smile that Inej has ever seen on the face of the lord of the crows. Her happiness knows no end. Any prick of pain in Kaz's soul is easily ignored.

ii.

The second time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, Jesper and Wylan are singing the absolute worst song either of them have ever heard. While Specht helps Inej hire a crew for her ship, she and her parents are staying at the Van Eck home at Wylan's insistence. In the moments during which she leaves her parents' sides, Inej watches Wylan graviate towards the warmth of her father's countenance and Jesper flirt in shameless jest with her mother (he backs off slightly when Inej threatens to revoke his skillet bread priviledges). Kaz is the lone statue in the waving grass- he is cordial and as friendly as he's ever been, which doesn't say much, but he keeps a slight distance. One night, after dinner has been devoured, Wylan picks out a folk tune and sings lightly, while Jesper accompanies him with the most off-key harmonies to be heard any side of Ketterdam. As Inej feels Kaz's discomfort like a fog seeping across the floor, she melts into the shadows of a hallway just slow enough for Kaz to catch on. Under the nearly-dark sky of the back garden, they sit on a bench and watch the stars wink to life. Inej gently eases the glove off Kaz's right hand, feeling him tense up and relax with a slow shudder as the glove comes free. As the discordant sounds of their friends float in the cool air, Inej traces the creases of Kaz's hands and Kaz wills himself to not react, to keep his head above water, to let desire overrule history. Each time they touch, he gets better at floating.

iii.

The third time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, Kaz watches Inej giving orders aboard her ship as they prepare for their maiden voyage. She takes to the role of captain like a fish in water, the surety in her actions a strength she will need as she meets the unyielding sea. If she seems green at all for a captain, her crew know better than to question her due to her reputation as the Wraith, if not for her knives. Kaz can see her in his mind's eye, acting as justice's henchwoman among the waves, a puzzle piece that fits perfectly into its surroundings and completes them. He respects her abilities as much as he loves her. Loves. Kaz's mind has used the word before, yet using it now feels like a revelation. If any god were to call out from the heavens and announce him a Grisha, it would be less discordant to Kaz's nature than love in any form. Still, Kaz knows better than to deny the truth. He loves Inej and, in a few days, he will watch her sail away. When Inej comes to stand beside him, a look of satisfaction on her face, Kaz shakily slips his hand into hers. As he does so, Kaz swears she begins to smile.

iv.

The fourth time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, they are saying goodbye. Kaz doesn't do goodbyes- sentimentality shows weakness and he's long vowed to never look weak again. For Inej, however, he makes an exception, at least in private. In the mist of the morning of the launch, he slips onboard the Wraith and down the bustling deck to the quarters below. When he walks into the captains' quarters, Inej doesn't turn her head- she knows he's there; she could hear his lopsided gait all the way down the hall outside. They trade pleasantries about the ship, the voyage, everything but the inevitable goodbye to be faced. It is Inej who breaks gracefully; as Kaz prepares to leave, she walks up to him until they are but inches apart, takes both his hands, and reassures him that she will return. She can see the ice of his eyes melt and lets him thaw. Inej has known that she loves him for some time- unlike Kaz, her trauma isn't rooted in betrayal and she never feared the vulnerability of caring. Her love is a candle that she chooses to let burn, even as she acknowledges that love and destiny are not one and the same. As Kaz bends towards Inej, his forehead touching hers as light as a feather, the candle's flame grows stronger.

vi.

The sixth time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, Kaz's fingers trace a scar on Inej's arm. They sit in Kaz's office in the Slat, where prying eyes can make no assumptions about anything. Inej spent five months at sea before returning to Ketterdam, a length of time that ticked by at a glacial pace on Kaz's end. After regaling Jesper and Wylan with tales of her exploits upon her return, Inej had stolen away to the quiet safety of the Slat where the company was quieter. As Inej answers Kaz's questions with the patience, she adjusts the buttons at her wrists, revealing a flash of ropy skin on one arm. With a frown that stretches into shadows, Kaz reaches out to gently slide up Inej's sleeve, bringing into light the full fresh scar that zigzags up her arm. Kaz's face settles into its familiar scheming expression as the red of rage clouds his vision. Only Inej's voice, the featherlight sweep of her finger across his creased brow, and the shiver that travels his limbs like lightning bring him back to reality. As he wills the anger to subside, he reviews what he knows to be true; Inej is capable, strong, and not needing to be saved. She's no longer his investment- she's here because she chose him. Why his ego is so unperturbed by it all, he doesn't really know. Until Inej speaks up, Kaz doesn't realize that he's smiling.

viii.

The eighth time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, the ghosts that frequent Kaz's room watch them. Night has long fallen over Ketterdam and the prospect of Inej embarking on her next voyage looms over Inej. Her desire for life has not changed, nor has her mission, though it hurts to leave. Tonight, Inej has lingered far past the setting of the sun in Kaz's company. Getting back to her ship would be no problem- captain or Wraith, she walks the streets free of fear- but she doesn't particularly want to leave. As Kaz removes his waistcoat in his bathroom, Inej lays back on his bed and watches him. Out of the corner of his eye, Kaz catches her gaze and sarcastically offers to share the bed. What he doesn't expect is for her to strip down to her vest and pants tuck herself in. When Kaz puts out the lights and slides into the bed that barely fits them both, there's a strange weight that settles in their chests. They stay apart, both unsure. Then Kaz slips his hands into Inej's and the weight lifts and it feels like the world has fallen into place. They watch the dim light of the city carve through the shadows on the ceiling and, as they fall asleep to each other's breathing, the ghosts take the night off.

xii.

The twelfth time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, their faces are grim in the coal-streaked dawn. The hour for casting off from the harbour approaches the Wraith too fast for anyone's liking, but especially for Kaz. Caring is a weary task and a luxury that shadows can't afford, even as his soul becomes more intertwined with the captain whose knives protect a heart he longs to hear beat next to his. In the light of day and surrounded by the waking city, Kaz looks the part of Dirtyhands, all sharp lines and sharper glances. Inej knows that the persona is just that- a front crafted with years of practice, however jaded and survivalist he has become. She can see his mortality in the tells only she knows- the set of his mouth, the crag of his brow, the care with which he watches the crew. She doesn't need to hide anything, not like he does, but no smile graces her lips all the same. When it comes time to cast off, Inej holds Kaz's palms in hers and takes a piece of his heart. Kaz wasn't sure he had one to give away. As he watches the Wraith disappear on the endless gray horizon, he feels the painful pull of it moving farther away. He'll never get used to the sensation.

xiii.

The thirteen time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, it's a bright afternoon. The sea air wends its way through the streets of Ketterdam close to the harbour, stray gulls slicing through the air of the nearby alleyways. Kaz doesn't pass the docks on his way across the city; he rarely needs to these days. With his shares in Fifth Harbour long gone and the sea busy only with the usual flurry of trading ships, there's no reason to visit. If he wishes he had cause to do so, he tells no one. Only Inej would know otherwise, were she present- secrets can't hide from her.

When Kaz makes it to the Slat, it's quiet, as most afternoons find it. The crew are out and about on their assignments, as they should be, even though a few stray folk keep the din of the house to a reasonable level. Kaz walks into his office, fully prepared for a day of reviewing the week's profits, but he knows that the day will prove eternally better the moment he walks in. He can feel Inej's presence before he sees her sitting behind his desk. Inej won't tell him that she bribed Anika to keep the news of her arrival away, nor does she need to mention that she took the rooftops to reach the Slat- he'll already have figured it out. He doesn't need to say he missed her- she can tell from his face and the way he comes around the desk and intertwines his fingers with hers, all while telling her to take her boots off his desk. Neither of them need to say anything. They both know they're where they belong- together.

[angrylizardjacket]

guardian as a title {Machine Gun Kelly}

Summary: Casie's not technically your kid, but as you think about your future with Colson, maybe that won't always be the case.

A/N: 2512 words. I keep seeing fics about having a kid with MGK, but there's a lot of folks who can't have kids or don't want to have kids, but they shouldn't be excluded from having fluffy family fics!! And hes already got a kick ass daughter, so here. Written on my phone so potentially buggy. I just kind of love writing MGK who's so loving and protective of his daughter okay??

----

It took a long time to meet Casie. Colson had been hesitant; if you met his daughter, that meant whatever was going on between the two of you was real, was serious, and he'd been burned too many times to make that step so easily. Of course she knows about you, but she understands her father's hesitation, and the two of you unknowingly share patience, waiting for Colson to feel ready.

So you and he had been dating for almost a full year before you finally meet her. He picks a fancy restaurant for the three of you, and as you're making your way there, you realise you're actually nervous. By now you know where you fit in Colson's life; his friends like you, even his management team likes you, but Casie? You have absolutely no idea how she feels about you, but you know without a shadow of a doubt, that if she ends up not liking you, you can kiss any sort of future with Colson goodbye. To him, Casie hangs the stars in the sky, and he'd choose her every single time, not that you'd ever expect anything different. 

You get to the restaurant first, and the reservation is under his name, so you head on in and nervously start on the ice water they bring to your table. About five minutes later, you hear Colson call your name, and you look up from your phone, eyes wide, and stand abruptly. Casie looks nervous too, all of seven years old in a pair of dark blue jeans and a pretty blouse, and you smile at her as they approach.

"Hi," she's quiet, looking you over and evaluating you, and after a moment you offer your hand. She shakes it, grip surprisingly strong for a seven year old, and she tells you its nice to meet you.

"Its nice to meet you too, I've heard so much about you," you tell her, and she gives a little smile at that. Colson pulls out her chair for her and she thanks him. She's so proper, making a show of putting her napkin in her lap as you pour her a glass of water.

Its awkward at first, of course it is, but then Casie asks what you think of the album Colson's about to release, and the tension breaks. Your enthusiasm for his music goes a long way to reassuring her it seems, and its suddenly much easier to relax into the conversation. 

After dinner, you suggest swinging by McDonalds for milkshakes, and Casie practically cheers. You graciously slide into the back seat before any confusion arises, and when Casie's putting on her seatbelt, Colson looks over his shoulder to you and gives a warm, grateful look. Its going better than he'd hoped.

Its still a little strange; you practically live with Colson, though previously you've been crashing on a friend's sofa whenever Casie's come to visit, so its strange to wake up in his house on a Saturday morning, and find the two of them eating waffles and watching cartoons. It's… endearing. 

Casie's staying for two weeks this time, and on the third day of her stay, Colson's called away for a meeting about his album that was releasing in a few months. He says it'll only be a few hours, but you need to watch Casie. Its easy enough to keep her entertained; after lunch she pulls out her DS, and sits next to you, not really paying attention to the Spongebob rerun on TV.

"What are you playing?" You can't help but be intrigued at the strangely familiar music coming from the device. She turns the screen towards you and you see a little dog panting happily. Nintendogs. A wave of nostalgia hits you. "That game's so old," you say with a gentle smile, but Casie just looks confused. Its turns out to be Nintendogs + Cats, but the premise is still the same. She's surprised that you take such an interest in the game, and is more than excited to show you the tricks her dogs can do, and tells you very matter-of-factly that you can walk the dog to the dog park, so long as she supervises. By the end of the day, the two of you are acting like old friends, and Colson comes home to the pair of you curled up on the sofa trying to decide which dog she should get next in the game. 

She names it after you. Its far more touching than you realised it would be.

For the next few months, whenever she visits, she makes sure to tell you how Y/N The Dog is doing, right up until she gets Animal Crossing: New Leaf and lets Nintendogs fall to the wayside. 

You love her dad, and you take a genuine interest in her, and after several months and a few meetings over coffee, her mom trusts you to look after her when Colson's away doing press for his album and his new tour. Thats all that matters to Casie. 

You start to think the world of her; she's an incredible kid, bright and fun, but strangely sensible at times, and effortlessly cool. You find yourself thinking that if you were ever to have a kid, you'd want them to be like her, though you know children of your own aren't on the cards for your future. You'd known that for a while now, and so did Colson, though neither of you try to dwell on it much. 

Whatever chance Colson takes to support his daughter, you're there too. Recitals, public speaking contests, science fairs; if you're able to be there, you'll be there, making a conscious effort to befriend her mother along the way. Its clear you intend to stick around; you're good for Colson and you're good for Casie, and that's the mpst important thing.

As your year with Colson turns to two, to three, to four, the two of you start to consider what your future together would look like. 

He proposes quietly over dinner at the same restaurant he took you and Casie all those years ago. Of course you say yes. Of course you both FaceTime Casie the next day and she cheers so loudly her mother's dog starts barking in the background. 

"Can I help plan your wedding? Please, please, please?" She begs, and it hits that oh, that's right, a proposal leads to a wedding. You had been so caught up in the moment that the reality hadn't quite hit you. You were going to marry Colson Baker. Your smile widens at the very thought. 

"We'll talk about it when you're next here," Colson tells her with a grin, his hand in yours, fiddling with the engagement ring. Casie is over the moon, and her mother peers into the video chat wearing a warm smile, congratulating you both. 

After the call ends, you're quick to start peppering him with kisses.

"Do I take your last name?" You ask, breathless, straddling him.

"If you want," he shrugs, easy smile on his lips.

"Y/N Baker." There's a kind of awe in your voice as you say it, and Colson reaches out to cup your cheek in his hand, and you turn and press a kiss to his palm.

"Y/N Y/L/N-Baker," he suggests softly, and your expression lights up as you lean into to kiss him again, a giggle escaping you.

"I hadn't even considered hyphenating!" You say with delight. 

Casie helped pick the wedding colors, and was quick to start a pinterest board for inspiration, and seemed more excited than ever, bursting with ideas and always eager to help, always asking questions.

"So you're gonna be my step-mom?" She asks, and you make a thoughtful noise in the back of your throat. You're on your phone looking through wedding dresses, and she's playing Breath of the Wild on Colson's Switch, and she pauses the game to look at you. "Do I have to call you that?" She sounds dubious, and you laugh lightly.

"No way," you assure her, "only call me your Step-Mom if I start acting like a Disney villain, okay?"

Casie snorts a laugh and agrees, going back to her game, but something about the interaction sits with you. You keep thinking about it, keeping coming back to it, and you're not quite sure why until the day she breaks her arm trying to skateboard in the driveway. 

Thankfully its Summer and you're home, but Colson's on set filming The Dirt when you hear her start to cry. You get her to the hospital quickly and call Colson, and he says he's on his way. The nurse approaches you, looking at the paperwork you've filled out.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," and that's never a good sign, "we really need a parent or legal guardian here to fill out this paperwork for her."

"I'm going to be her step mother in less than a month-" you tried desperately, giving a crestfallen look to where Casie was being administered pain medication. The nurse gave a deep sigh, and you already know that almost step mother isn't enough, "her dad's going to be here in fifteen minutes." You tell the nurse, and she gives a patient smile, somewhat reassured.

Colson comes in his full Tommy Lee getup, and rushes to wrap Casie up in as much of a hug as he can without hurting her. Its a heartwarming sight, and just having him there eases the rest of Casie's anxieties.

"They wouldn't let a doctor see me because Y/N's not my legal guardian," she whined, a little out of it from the pain medication, "she takes such good care of me; everyone here's a dick," she grumbles, and Colson laughs gently, sitting beside her in the hospital bed, casting you a grateful look. He won't admonish her on her cursing, not here, not now. There's a warm fondness blooming in your chest at her words, a protectiveness that you hadn't realised you'd been harbouring until today.

Casie stays in the emergency department overnight, with you and Colson by her bedside the entire time. You call to inform her mom, who's just glad that you got her to the hospital quickly. The next day, she's released with a cast and pain medication, and is entirely too grumpy for her usually sunny disposition, though she cheers up quickly when you tell her she can have whatever she wants for lunch and dinner.

"I'm gonna have a cast for your wedding!" She bemoans the next day, reading over the instructions the doctor had given you.

"And you're gonna look fantastic regardless," you tell her, but she just throws herself onto the sofa with a huff. Eventually she rolls onto her side and switches on the TV, occupying herself while Colson calls you into the bedroom.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, fidgeting, looking surprisingly serious. When you enter, he looks up, expression pensive.

"Everything okay?"

"I just hate to see her in pain," he admits with a sigh, but you can tell that's not all that's on his mind. You won't push him, will let him work up to whatever he has to say, and so you just sit on the bed beside him and wrap an arm around him.

"So I've been thinking," he starts, "and Casie's been thinking it too, and we ran it past her mom, because we wanted everyone sort of on board before we brought it to you," and you're not quite sure where he's going, but your heart is in your throat, "and yesterday just made me think we should have talked to you about it sooner -"

"About what?" You ask, voice quiet.

"What do you think about becoming one of Casie's legal guardians?" A bright warmth floods through you at his question, and your at a loss for words, so he continues, "you do take care of her, and you know, you're family, and she adores you, and it means there won't be anymore shit like what happened yesterday at the hospital -"

"She'd sort of be my kid too?" You ask, quietly hopeful, and Colson goes quiet, takes in your smile and realises what he's implying. Slowly, he nods.

"She'd be your kid too."

"And she- you're all okay with this?" 

"Casie and her mom both love you, babe, you've made it clear that you put her safety first; her mom wouldn't have agreed otherwise."

"And Casie… wants this?" 

Colson nods sincerely, pulling you in close to him.

"What do you think? I know its a lot of responsibility -" he starts, but you cut him off, grinning.

"I'd kill for her; honestly I couldn't ask for a better kid," you tell him, and he's trying and failing to suppress and enormous grin.

"She's is gonna roast the shit out of me for taking so long to ask you," he admitted, and you snort a laugh, "I had to talk her down from a proposal of her own, though I will say, she designed a pretty sick banner. Ask her about it, I'm sure she'd love to show you." He chuckles fondly, before growing quiet and contemplative, "I'm so happy about this, babe."

"You should be," you huff out a laugh, but there's a disarming sincerity in his eyes when he looks at you.

"No, I mean it, before I met you, I was always so fucking worried that the girls I met would be put off by me having a kid, or they'd get jealous of the attention I give her, but she's my fucking daughter, man, and I knew if I met someone who loved her even half as much as I love her, I'd have hit the jackpot," he paused, giving you a warm, appreciative look, "and here you are."

"Oh," and you feel tears pricking your eyes, unable to stop smiling at the sentiment, "you're a good fucking dad, you know that?"

"I hope so," he says softly, before his expression brightens, "you wanna go tell her the good news?"

You head down to the living room while Colson collects himself, and you find Cassie drawing on her cast with sharpie. 

"Hey, you mind if I float you an idea?" You ask, sitting beside her. She hands over the sharpie and offers her cast for you to sign.

"Is it about the wedding?"

"Not really," you say airily, avoiding her intrigued gaze, "what would you say to me becoming your legal guardian?"

Casie cheers before you can even finish the question, and before you can finish signing your name, she's wrapping her good arm around you. 

"You're gonna sort of be my kid, is that okay?" You hear yourself asking, and she rolls her eyes, grinning.

"No, I'm cheering and hugging you because I hate the idea," she snickers, sarcasm dripping from her words, but she gives you a sincere smile, "dude, I love you, I'm pumped to be your kid, can you not tell?" 

My kid, you think to yourself with a smile, the best kid I could ever ask for. 

[faejilly]

nightmares turn to dreams

for @flaine1996​ as part of the @masseffectholidaycheer​

Part 2 of 2: after (fic) [part 2: before (music)]

aka Thane & Kaidan during ME3, and how they’ve dealt with their lives after they met Shepard (background F!Shenko) because how you do a thing matters.

*

Hospitals are too damned bright.

This one's at least got big picture windows, so it's not all that fake white sterility.

If Kaidan thinks about it too much it makes him feel worse, though, because he's inside a space station. It's not real sunlight, it's not real fresh air, and yet it fools him for a moment every morning when he first looks "outside", and wants to crack the window to let some of that in.

But the outside's not much different than the inside, even with all the cultivated plants and water out there. (There are plants and water in here, after all. They'd wheeled him to the atrium as soon as he could manage sitting up, and they let him walk himself there now that he's a bit more mobile.)

He misses the wind off the seashore, the tang of real pine as the air starts turning cold, the way frost makes the inside of his nose tickle. (It'd be a terrible idea, of course, sitting outside in a Canadian autumn in the shape he's in, but he wants it, beyond rhyme or reason or logic.)

Or maybe he wants it to be summer, sitting on a porch drinking a cold beer.

Nothing quite like a cold beer on a hot day, his grandmother had told him once, back when he'd been granted his first spare sip of his father's drink, and almost spat it out again at how dank and bitter it had tasted. She'd had a quirk of a smile on her face, and the rest of the adults had barely smothered their laughter at his expression. Though you might not agree with me on that one just yet.

Or ever, his mother had answered, shaking her head over her sparkling water. She never did drink beer, and seldom used wine for anything other than cooking, either. Some of us still don't.

"You still with me?"

Kaidan blinks, makes himself focus on Tiana, his physical therapist. "Sorry," he answers, his voice rough in his too dry throat. He reaches out a hand, and she slips a water bottle in it before he can even ask. He drinks, tries not to think too much about how different the tepid liquid is from the beer in his memory.

Tiana shakes her head when he passed the bottle back, a smile clear in the flare of her mandibles. "No apologies necessary. We're almost done."

Kaidan sighs out a breath in relief, ignores the ache in his thighs and back, and makes himself do one more rep, than another.

"There we go," Tiana sighs with him as he finishes. "Time to cool down."

Kaidan nods, and doesn't bother trying to speak again as they go through the familiar routine. Sweat is slick on his skin, and he hates how exhausted he is, hates the dull throb from the neutral amp they'd put in to make sure his biotics didn't flare during his recovery.

SOP for head wounds; he knows that, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

He never thought he'd miss that sharp-sweet pressure from his L2 implants, that constant background he'd forced himself to accept over the years, but now that it's temporarily suppressed he doesn't quite feel like himself, almost as off-kilter from the change in the static between his ears as from relearning the shape and stretch of his body.

He wonders, a little, how much worse it must have been for Shepard, to wake up with everything different around her, body and mind and galaxy...

He shakes his head, and makes himself focus on the here and now.

He's got it so much better than she did, he doesn't have anything to complain about, not really.

He's not isolated, he's got messages from his folks waiting for his reply, even a quick note from Anderson in his inbox. He's got a tech analysis to go over from Tali, who asked for a second opinion, and a rant from Garrus about their current REV that ends with a truly bewildered how the fuck does this damn thing make me miss the Mako?

Nothing from Shepard, but he understands that, he does. They need more than blank words on a screen. She'd come to visit him, he knew that, but he'd been too far gone, not yet awake, and he wishes...

He just has to wait.

He's getting better, even if it's at a frustratingly slow pace...

Unlike his standing dinner engagement. Krios is never going to get better.

He and Thane eat together most days.

They don't ever talk about Shepard, the one thing that they have in common, the one thing that brought them together...

It's nice, actually, to talk to someone who didn't know him before, who has no expectations, no preconceptions. Who goes still whenever Kaidan does, whenever one of them thinks of something from their past that's too heavy to let slip away quickly.

Only tonight, Thane doesn't go silent, as if he can tell that Kaidan's worries are closer to the surface than usual.

"She keeps a picture of you."

Kaidan blinks, his fork hovering somewhere between his plate and his mouth.

"In her quarters, on her desk." Thane blinks, more slowly than usual, the movement of his eyelids easy to follow. He exhales, heavy and rasping. "A reminder, I think, not just of why she fights, but how she chooses to do so."

Kaidan closes his eyes, puts his fork down with a soft tunk. It aches, twisting and bitter, somewhere in his chest where his heart's supposed to be.

He'd failed to be there for her, and yet she acted like he had been, and he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself...

Thane scoffs in the back of his throat, the noise softer and deeper than one Kaidan would make, caught in the dregs of his illness, in the shape of his mouth and tongue. "I do not say that to make you feel worse, Alenko."

Kaidan manages half a smile, opens his eyes. "But I'm good at feeling guilty, Krios, what else should I do?"

Thane rolls his eyes, his expression soft. "Not that."

"You any good at taking your own advice?"

"I have made my peace—"

Kaidan scoffs that time, louder and sharper. "No, you haven't. Settling into dying isn't the same thing as accepting how you lived."

Thane is truly still this time, his hands pressing down on the table hard enough that Kaidan can see the shape of the seam through the thick joint in his middle finger.

"There are things I've done..." Thane trails off.

"I killed my first man when I was a teenager." Kaidan shrugs as Thane tilts his head, clearly listening, even as he doesn't quite lift his head enough to meet Kaidan's gaze. "And sure, it was provoked out of me, was mostly a protective instinct, and I'm not sure there was a way to have stopped it, not with everything else that was happening..." He trails off this time, swallows. He knows Thane is waiting for him to finish, recognizes that he's not trying to stop, that he just has to line up the words properly. "But for just a moment I was glad I'd stopped him, proud of what I was capable of doing to another person, and no matter how horrified I was a moment later, I will never again not know that about myself."

Thane nods, slow and steady and understanding. Kaidan had thought he'd understand. Not a lot of people would. "And then what did you do, once you learned yourself?"

Kaidan huffs out something that's not a laugh. "I got lost for awhile."

"Perhaps I should let myself get lost." Thane's voice is thick, and a little damp, and Kaidan can't quite tease out the emotion from his illness.

I don't think you have the time. But Kaidan knows not to say that. Doesn’t even want to, really. Thane doesn’t need the time, after all, not like Kaidan had, all those years ago.

"I don't know, I think that's hard to do when you've found yourself again, already." Kaidan lets himself smile; it's not entirely happy, but it's there, and he sees the tension in Thane's shoulders ease at the sight of it. "You've got Kolyat, and your memories. And the Normandy."

"We both have Shepard."

Kaidan nods. He knows he does, knows he will, when he can stand on his own, when she comes back. It might not be what it was, nothing's ever exactly what it was, but they'll still have... something. They'll make it enough, he's sure of it. "We'll always have Shepard. And she'll always have us."

"Always?" Thane doesn't have an eyebrow to raise, but the expression's familiar nonetheless, sardonic but not as heavy as he was a moment ago. Thane doesn't have much time left.

“How she chooses to fight, remember?” How you live matters, even when you're not around to see the consequences. Kaidan knows he'll never forget Thane Krios, and the company he had during this odd oasis in his life. Knows Shepard never forgets any of her friends. Kaidan's smile is a bit easier this time, and it widens even further when he sees Thane smile back, small but sincere. Thane understands. "So yeah. Always."

[stanzoeywade]

Poppy x MC Tinder AU

Summary: based off that one tumblr post about a girl who never experienced an orgasm and their friend hooks them up with their lesbian friend. aka, the au that no one asked for.

in which Veronica and Chloe find out that Poppy's never experienced an orgasm and they decide to help her out by creating a tinder account for her, cue MC finding her account and shenanigans happen.

Warnings: swear words maybe some smut but nothing too graphic. (OWO)

If anyone wants to be added to taglist please reply. As always these are only my headcanons so enjoy my take on that tinder au anon asked @somewillwin about. Your brain anon omg.

Taglist: @somewillwin @belvoiresqueenbee @origmansello @clownery-is-a-new-personality @kamilahtrash @poppysminion @poppysimp @captain-hanadeleine @poppysmc @iiizdumb @uselesslesbianfr @scattered-to-the-winds @idiot-justidiot @toyhenoctus

First of all this discussion happens one night where Poppy, Chloe and Veronica get their asses drunk at a frat party. Believe or not the top 3 girls of Belvoire actually care about each other, they just have a really weird way of showing it.

A heart to heart talk starts and the three of them start to confess things that they would never talk about when sober. Cue Poppy saying "I've never experienced an orgasm in my whole life."

Chloe and Veronica just look at Poppy shocked and their jaws drop. Veronica just looks at Poppy with a weird look of pity, whilst Chloe just stares.

After realising what she said Poppy quickly sobers up and clams her mouth shut. "What do you mean you've never had an orgasm before?!" Veronica all but yells. "Gee V, couldn't you have said that any louder, I don't think the whole school heard you." Poppy replies sarcastically.

Veronica just rolls her eyes and says "Girl, you're not getting out of this convo that easily. Now spill the tea sis." Chloe and Veronica look at Poppy expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate. Poppy just sighs and looks away cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed.

The two don't stop pestering her, so Poppy has no choice but to raise her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, I'll tell you" she says as her eyes narrow dangerously. "But if you tell anyone about this, I will actually erase the both of you from planet earth."

Poppy begins to explain that none of her exes made her feel good, and that whenever she had sex with any of them she always had to fake it, so much so that she's started to find sex boring.

Veronica and Chloe share a look and nod at each other. The both of them say "We're gonna set up a tinder account for you to find a good lay (basically the british version of saying good fuck), because that's just pretty fucking sad. Why didn't you tell us sooner, like bruhhh??."

Poppy just looks away and says "Its not like I can just go up to you guys and say 'I've never orgasmed before'". The two just nod their head in understanding before taking Poppy's phone and installing tinder.

They spend some time taking and choosing the best photos for Poppy to use on her tinder profile. (If anyone has seen Euphoria, you know that scene where Rue helps Jules take nudes, it's like that but PG-13) Considering that the three of them were pretty drunk, it was surprising to see how well it turned out.

Feeling sleepy, both Veronica and Chloe retreat back to their room, and Poppy just feels so tired that she falls asleep as soon as the other girls leave.

Waking up the next morning Poppy wakes up to the sound of her phone beeping numerous times and annoyed by the constant ping, she picks it up to see that almost all the notifications were from tinder.

Poppy is confused because wtf? When did she download tinder??? And then it hits her like a truck, 'Oh shit, we were all drunk as fuck last night, I thought that was some bizarre lucid dream but I actually have a tinder account. Fuck.' - she thinks to herself, embarrassed that Veronica and Chloe know her secret.

She sees a few messages from the group chat. Veronica sent her a message. "Poppy, istg if you delete tinder after all the time we spent making your profile look cute, I will post the ugliest picture I have of you on my insta." it reads. What surprised her is that Chloe actually backs Veronica up by saying "Yeah Poppy, it took our three collective brain cells to curate that account so you better use it."

Poppy giggles a little amused by her friends' reaction and she messages them back by saying "Fine, but if it doesn't work out you guys have to pay for my next shopping spree." Chloe and Veronica just agrees albeit unwillingly, but they know not to argue back.

Poppy decides to check the messages and matches that she got on tinder, disappointed but not surprised, most messages say "Send nudes" or a nude pic is attached to their messages. Poppy just rolls her eyes as she immediately unmatches them.

You were looking on tinder for your latest hook-up with no strings attached because ewww commitment and no one really caught your eye, except Poppy. Imagine your surprise when you find Poppy's profile on tinder, deciding that it was a troll account you decide to message them saying "Wow, of all the people you could choose to pretend to be, you choose the HBIC of Belvoire. Stop trying to catfish people, that's just shitty."

Poppy shocked at the sudden message that she gets from you scoffs and replies back "I'm not pretending to be anyone, Farmsville, in case you didn't know even I'm allowed to use tinder."

You just roll your eyes and text back "If you really are Poppy Min-Sinclair, prove it. I might hate Poppy's guts but trying to ruin her reputation by doing shit like this isn't funny."

This catches Poppy's attention, and suddenly she's curious. 'Why would she even stand up for me?' she can't help but wonder.

Poppy screenshots your conversation and sends it to Chloe and Veronica who have vastly different reactions. Veronica's response compiles of this emoji 👀, and the words "Farmsville likes girls, we been knew." and Chloe's response is more of a "WTF, I thought she was dating that Zoey girl."

The girls tell her that it would be fun to mess with you, and they tell her that she should prove that the profile is hers. Veronica also messages her privately saying "girl, her bio legit says 'not looking for commitment' this is like your chance to sleep with her and if you don't, I will." Poppy just grunts in annoyance and decides that fine, she supposed that you were attractive enough for a hook-up.

When you don't get a reply within the next ten minutes you scoff and roll your eyes. 'Damn, people really stoop so low huh.' - you think to yourself. There's a slight disappointment that crosses your mind once the account stopped replying to your messages. You were kind of hoping that it was the real Poppy after all.

Against her better judgement (gay denial right here folks, you're the first to see it), she decides to take a selfie and sends it to you.

Right as you're about to unmatch to what most likely seems to be a fake account, you're surprised to see a message from Poppy's supposed account. It was a selfie of Poppy, where instead of her usual pink fur coat, she's wearing something casual, and to be fair it's a really nice mirror selfie. (This is what I imagine) (I still stand by my headcanon of Poppy looking like Chungha but I couldn't find a good photo lolol)

Doubting that it's really Poppy, you decide to check your socials to see if she's uploaded any new images, and so far you haven't found anything. However you're nothing if not stubborn. You ask if she could prove that she's real and not some weirdo.

Poppy just rolls her eyes annoyed that she's being questioned, as a last ditch effort to gain your trust she sends another selfie, which is a bit more revealing than the last and once you see it your brain stops functioning.

Regaining your composure, you message her saying "I thought you had a boyfriend? What the fuck?" The only response you get is a reaction gif of some girl rolling their eyes. Being the little shit you are you decide to annoy her by sending selfies back, each photo more provocative than the last.

Poppy amused by the photos decides to get you back and it becomes a game of one-upping each other to see who takes better thirst traps. This continues on for an entire week (It's such a stupid competion and both of you know but you're both competitive af so yeah.) until Poppy snaps and contacts you using her actual phone number instead of the app.

Poppy's already frustrated and she's annoyed because she can't stop thinking about you and your stupidly hot, gorgeous body - oh my god I'm going insane she thinks to herself. She decides enough is enough and messages you. "FUCK YOU FARMSVILLE! BACK DOWN ALREADY!"

You wouldn't be yourself if you didn't have a sassy comeback ready so you reply with "FUCK ME YOURSELF YOU COWARD!" sending her yet another thirst trap, this one more revealing than the others.

Poppy snaps when she sees the message and she's quick to make a reservation to her favourite hotel in NYC, because as if she'd be seen taking you to her room. She gets the biggest room because she's extra like that and she knows she deserves the best.

The only response you get is a pinned location on the map, aptly captioned, "Meet me here Farmsville and I'll make you eat your words."

Still feeling feisty you reply with "Is that a threat or is that a promise? 😘😜" and Poppy just tells you to hurry up.

This is a really stupid idea - you think to yourself. You can't help but be suspicious of Poppy wanting to meet up, after all she can use this information against you. However none of that matters to your lust riddled brain, considering the last hook-up you've had was with Professor Kingsley and that was quite some time ago and you're really horny for some action.

You quickly dress in your best underwear, and choose something fashionable yet casual to wear because let's face it even if you hate Poppy, you don't want to look like a loser if you're gonna hook up.

Once you get there, you quickly make your way to the designated room that Poppy told you to go to. Knocking on the door, you're lowkey expecting Belvoire students to berate you, but once the door opens all you can see is Poppy.

Poppy is dressed in nothing but her underwear as she pulls you into the room. Feeling a bit awkward, you decide to break the ice by saying "I lowkey expected this to be some weird plan where you embarass me in front of your clique."

Poppy just looks at you and she scoffs as she says "As much as I hate you Farmsville, even I wouldn't stoop that low. Plus it's a crime to share nudes without a person's permission." You just look at her in disbelief jaw dropping as you take all of her in. I mean if you thought she looked good in the photos, then damn seeing it in real life was a different experience entirely

She notices that you're staring and she just flashes you a smirk and says "See something you like?" and all you want to do is wipe the smirk off her perfect face.

Stepping closer to Poppy, you make the first move and kiss her roughly, each kiss longer than the last and you can feel your heart pound as your nervousness dissipates and all you can focus on is the smell of Poppy's perfume and how it drives you wild. As well as how soft her skin feels against your hands and it's enough to drive you over the edge.

Poppy pulls away and you follow after her, annoyed by the fact that the kisses stopped. You can hear her pant as she struggles to breathe.

As soon as Poppy catches her breath, she says "I'm starting to feel under dressed so let's fix that shall we?" She pulls you towards the bed and she strips your clothing off, and you can't help but stare because holy shit this is actually happening. You start to wonder if you're dreaming until you feel Poppy kiss you again, this time slower and softer and you can't help the wistful sigh that escapes your lips.

You decide to take the lead until you hear Poppy say something. "Wait a minute Farmsville." You stop and listen because no matter how sexually frustrated you might be at the moment, consent is always important.

You wait patiently for her to start talking and she says "Don't make fun of me, but I've never known what an orgasm feels like." You can tell that she's flustered by the way she looks away and refuses to make eye contact.

Your eyes soften up and you kiss her gently on the neck and whisper "I guess that's something we can improve after tonight, but if you feel uncomfortable at any moment in time just tell me to stop." Surprised that you even cared about how she felt Poppy just nods her head softly at you.

"I'm gonna start touching you, okay Poppy?" you say your voice gentle, as you hope that it soothes her nerves. "Just relax and let me do the work, alright, I promise I won't hurt you." Poppy just shoots you a shy smile and your heart pounds because fuck that's the cutest fucking thing you've ever seen.

Kissing your way to her inner thighs, you can hear and feel her squirm against your touch. In order to keep her still, you place her hands on your hair and assure her that it's okay if she tugs on it. You place your hands on her hips to keep her steady as you tease and suck on her clit.

Poppy's small moans of contentment makes you want to do more, so you try extra hard because you want to hear more. You can feel Poppy's body begin to shudder and you can tell that she's close and spurred on by that you insert your fingers into her core and thrust until you can hear scream in pleasure.

You can't help but stare as her body starts to spasm and you let her grind so that she can climax again and it's the most erotic moment of your life.

Poppy feels her whole vision turn white for a moment and she feels euphoric once she realises that she came.

As soon as she regains her bearings, she turns to you, who looks very satisfied, and omg did she just see you lick her juices off your finger. That sends a wave of arousal straight to her core and she looks away embarrassed from being turned on again just a few seconds after coming.

You put your hand on her chin and turn her face towards you forcing her to make eye contact. "It's not over yet, Princess. I'm pretty sure that we can wriggle more of those out of you and the night is young." you say your voice dropping an octave.

By the time that you've finished, Poppy's mind has gone blank and she feels so tired that she doesn't think she can move. She's got to give you props though, because goddamn that was the first time she actually enjoyed sex and she actually got to cum too.

Noticing that Poppy's too tired to move, you decide to lift her up in a princess carry and surprised by your sudden action Poppy's about to protest until you just tell her to be quiet.

Placing Poppy in the bath tub, you turn on the faucet and makes sure that the water isn't too hot or cold as it fills up. After the bath has been filled you slip into the bathtub behind Poppy as you help her clean up.

'Okay now she's just being unfair, why is she being so nice.' Poppy thinks to herself. Trying to make conversation Poppy says "Why are you taking care of me, I half expected you to leave after we fucked." You rest you chin on her shoulder and say "I didn't want you to catch a cold, and besides what kind of a person would I be if I just left you on your own? I like to think of myself as a gentlewoman." You start to place soft kisses on her shoulders and Poppy just sighs wistfully, feeling at peace as she leans back against you. "Don't tell anyone but this was actually the most fun I've had. Hell I don't think any of my exes would have compared against you." Poppy says shyly.

You can't help the smile that creeps it's way to your face. "You can't say shit like that Poppy, I'm pretty sure you're gonna give me a heart attack if you act this soft." you say teasing lilt in your voice and you can hear Poppy giggle. It sounds so soft and you realise that it's a sound that you want to hear.

Your relationship as enemies with benefits start and the both of you can't really keep your hands off each other, God forbid if you're in the same room.

Intense stares from across the room that everyone assumes to be glares, but little do they know that it's your own way of communicating.

One day Poppy calls you up and tells you that you're going shopping, but in reality it was just an excuse to spend more time with you. On the way to the mall, you guys get frisky in the car and before you can stop yourself you say "Babe" and you can't help but think that you've fucked up.

Poppy doesn't say anything but she likes the new pet name and can't wait to hear you say it again.

You guys go to a high end designer store and one of the staff approaches you and says "You guys look good together." While you're quick to deny it, Poppy just thanks them, but as she hears you deny it her eyes widen and you can see her heart break in front of your eyes. Poppy runs off and you're confused.

The employee looks at you and says "I probably shouldn't say anything else today but you should go after her. It's obvious that you both like each other."

Searching the mall, you're relieved once you see Poppy sitting down on a bench, and you approach her carefully. You see that her eyes are red and you feel shitty because you're the reason why she's crying.

Poppy notices you and she's about to run off again until you catch her wrist in your hand. "Poppy please look at me." you plead and she doesn't budge as she tries to get away from your grip.

Seeing that she can't outrun you considering you're holding onto her she just sighs and looks at you. Her face is covered in tears and you use your other hand to wipe them away.

"You know after you called me babe in the car, I was so happy because I thought that it meant that we were dating, but I guess I was just another girl for you to fuck." Poppy says and your heart breaks.

"I thought that you didn't like me that way, so I quickly denied that we were dating. I do like you Poppy, but you never made it clear that we were in a relationship. Though to be fair I should have tried to clear things up too. I guess we're both idiots huh?" You say as you hold her face between your hands.

Leaning in you capture Poppy's lips and she eagerly kisses you back, happy to resolve the misunderstanding.

Unbeknownst to the both of you a Belvoire student caught everything on camera and by the next day everyone on campus knows that you guys are dating.

No one dares to say anything because uhhh POWER COUPLE and they're highly scared of Poppy killing them lol.

Long story short Poppy sees your tinder account and you compete for better thirst traps and well you start fucking and it ends up with you two dating.

Well that was long, hope you guys enjoy, don't forget to like or reblog if you like it.

[pochiperpe90]

Trust your instinct. Interview with Luca Marinelli

“Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes” wrote Brecht. Let alone superheroes. The vices and problems of the characters, however, are extraordinarily human.

There are people enthusiastic about the film and others who have seen it and have told me: "You know, it's not my genre, actually I wouldn't have gone to see it, but I would have been wrong because it's special, it thrilled me". Because it's about something real. There is the suburban boy who lives for his own sake, who only thinks about how to turn the day, then the superpowers arrive and he wonders what to do, and it’s like if the question was addressed to the public. After will comes the love, that will change him, will makes him go further. Love is the greatest superpower. I don't know, maybe I’m too romantic but the superpower of love is a very strong one, that we all own and that changes the movie as well.

Is Lo Zingaro one of the many young people "sick" of social networks?

He uses the modern roads to arrive at what for him can be the success, to be seen by anyone, so he uses the channels of social networks. As a kid he had tried to become someone and they closed the door in his face, so now that the world is moving in this direction he wants respect, he wants his greatness recognized. In my opinion he has never really been seen, maybe this is the problem.

Is this why he loves to perform?

The character has always been like that and that's the thing that drove me crazy: his histrionic side. It was also for this reason that when I went to the auditions I greatly exalted this theatrical part of lo Zingaro, but Gabriele planted my feet on the ground saying to always remember his paranoia, his strong pain, his great and real need. Then we gradually looked for these things, to enhance his desire to be recognized by everyone on the street.

Cesare from Don’t Be Bad and Lo Zingaro: two outcasts, two fragile characters who harbor anger.

I loved them both but I find it hard to put them side by side, but the fact that there is this suburbs background is certainly the common starting point of the two. And I like how Gabriele wanted to respect this place and its inhabitants, without ever labeling, without representing Tor Bella Monaca as the den of pirates, the place of bad guys.

Ostia for Cesare represented a prison from which to escape, does Lo Zingaro want to escape from Tor Bella Monaca as well?

There is this desire to go out, it’s true, to succeed in something, to escape, to at least try to escape. The watershed of the suburbs is different, if one never grow up there, they will never understand it. It’s a question of sensitivity. Cesare chooses one thing or the other, he sees his friend taking a path but doesn’t believe it completely, perhaps because he finds the other much more concrete. There is a basic desperation there, there is the world that crumbles under his feet little by little, here instead there is something different: it’s the nature of lo Zingaro, the nature of wanting to be, he is there. It must be. Lo Zingaro wants to escape from there, but even if he had been born in the Parioli it would have been the same.

For his androgynous look, Lo Zingaro resemble David Bowie. When building a character, do you start from an external characterization?

As for me, when I approach the character I try to mimesis with the text, with the director's ideas, with my visions. This changes everything, from the physical to the attitude. The character becomes a robe. When you put on the character's clothes, you are him, then you take them off and really slowly you separate yourself from him, then he comes back the next day when you get dressed, and maybe you just keep him as a memory in your head in the evening, at home, when you want to do something with it.

How important is instinct instead?

Fundamental. Many times things have happened, that I don't know how to explain. You have to trust your instincts, always. It’s a bit of a form of self-respect. Many times when preparing a character you don't have to think about it too much. You need to think about it first, then you have to make a blank page, because what you need is permeated inside.

“Una parola detta piano basta già ed io non vedo più la realtà” (A word said slowly is already enough and I no longer see reality), reads the lyrics of “Un’emozione da poco”, the song you sing in the movie.

We were looking for a song that could catch the eye of lo Zingaro during his adolescence. And if you go to re-watch Anna Oxa's performance at Sanremo, her first festival at the age of sixteen, here, putting myself in the role of the character, but also in mine, I thought: "Wow! Look at that woman. Look at that force." From this comes the fact that this is his song, which it’s also his cell phone’s ringtone. What I also like is that all his explosive strength comes from our wonderful singers of those years: Loredana Bertè, Nada, Gianna Nannini and Anna Oxa. And it's nice that it comes from there: it‘s the strength of women.

I remember your featuring in a song by the hip-hop’s crew “Jagermasterz”. Do you also have a passion for music?

A friend, Dj Demis, asked me about it many years ago, and I enjoyed it a lot. I've always had a passion for rock music, when we were kids we had a band, we played funky: we covered Red Hot Chili Peppers, but mostly our songs, good times.

Did you imitate Anthony Kiedis?

I was a little more in tune (laughs). No, I actually played the guitar. I was the second guitar of the group. I still keep playing for me, though. Every now and then I tell some friends to get together and make a small group, but it's just moments where we get together and play some covers. An artist with a folk guitar is something that drives me crazy, I really like everything acoustic.

I know you used to watch a lot of movies with your grandmother as a kid.

With my grandmother I saw all the great classics of our past, but as a kid one of the first films I saw alone was “The Silence of the Lambs”: I found this videotape and I watched it, my parents thought I was playing and instead … But I wasn't scared, I saw the fun of those people and I liked that. That's what I find in my work right now. I feel like I could make a movie for a year, because waking up in the morning and knowing I can go to the set is a great luck, it’s never a burden to me.

Now that the journey of Don’t be Bad is over, how do you remember the journey with the Caligari’s band?

For me it's not finished, tomorrow I will have to meet some guys in Rebibbia because there will be a screening of the film. I still feel it intensely. We are still a strong group, I still like what Don't be Bad means. The Caligari’s band is always there, it's in the heart.

Don't you have the impression that with his death, Caligari was "canonized"?

It’s sad. A person who was only allowed to make three films and now people cry it a miracle, when he could have made many more. This is the greatest sin. But I say “always and in any case, cheers to Claudio!”. I have never lived an experience like this: a person who is dying and wants to give something to others. Seeing a person who isn’t afraid in this way, who wants to give but without knowing what he will receive back. Indeed, knowing how many doors in the face he had received. A crazy life lesson. In the end, it’s an attitude that does not surprise me, it gives me a little stomach ache but that's okay. The film remains, this is the important thing, what a whole crew carries in their hearts remains, Claudio and the Caligari’s band remain.

For sentimental reasons you have lived in Berlin for years. How is our cinema perceived from abroad?

We are always a great cinema. All our movies that were in Cannes last year are now in theaters in Germany, in short, we are there, we are always there. I am really convinced that last year some great Italian films were released, not many, not distributed at their best, but all films that make me proud. The thing I like least about our cinema is the lack of courage of the producers, if I think that Don’t be Bad risked not being realized, I get goosebumps: a film that took us to Los Angeles risked not being made. And the same story goes for They Call Me Jeeg. The truth is that only comfortable things are done.

Money, glory, passion, desire to recover from shyness: Luca Marinelli for what reason is acting?

It seems a simple question, but it’s not. Passion in the end means nothing. I would tell you out of necessity, but maybe that doesn't mean anything either. So I'd tell you why I like it so much. Just like the Roman say: me piace (I like it). I think I'm lucky to have chosen what I love to do in life, and to be able to do it. Because I can't imagine being able to do anything else. Of course, if in five years I can't do it anymore, I will have to invent something.

What?

I don’t know. Before this I thought I was an archaeologist, unfortunately with little success. I was making a mess, I even got the lesson times wrong.

minima&moralia

Just wanted to translate this old interview for the non-italian’s fans ^^ (sorry for my English)

[lu-undy]

Valentine’s Week Day 1

Hello Ladies and Folks,

I am participating in the Valentine’s week event held by @dontneedadispenser !

This is Day 1 and amongst the suggested themes Beginning/Ending/Family, I did not choose Family. Here is the link for it on AO3 or I copy-pasted it here under the cut, enjoy!

There was a knock at the door with the knife symbol. 

Dinner was done with and Sniper had taken his time washing the dishes. Oddly enough, Spy didn't stay with him in the kitchen to help. Mundy knew that the Frenchman was sometimes just a bit tired of everyone's chattering at the dinner table. 

"Huh?" Sniper frowned. His knocks received no answer. He knocked again. 

"Come in." 

Mundy pushed the door and entered. 

"Hey, darl'! Sorry for the wait, loads of dishes tonight and I kept daydreamin' away." Mundy removed his sleeveless jacket and put it on the coat hanger without thinking about it. He looked over to the sofa. Lucien was standing up, pacing the room in front of the fireplace. Mundy went on. "Well, to be honest, I was uh… I was thinkin' of you. Couldn’t wait to see you."

Mundy took a seat on the sofa but Lucien kept on walking left, right, left, right. 

"Love?"

The Frenchman stopped pacing the room and sighed. That's when Mundy noticed the overfilled ashtray on the coffee table and the bottle of wine of a non French château. That, in Lucien's language, was bad news. Mundy's eyes shot back up to his lover. He was maskless, the first few buttons of his shirt were open and he had rolled his sleeves up. He was smoking what looked like his billionth cigarette. 

"Somethin's wrong?" Mundy stood up and went to his lover. "Hey, Lu'?" He went to wrap his arms around the man who looked so handsome, even if his hair was ruffled and his brow furrowed. But Lucien pushed him back and took a step away from him. "Lucien?" 

Mundy's heart sank to his feet. He was used to Lucien having his moments of distress, of doubt, of frustration, especially when he thought back about his past days, or as he called it, his past life. But never before had he rejected Mundy's affection. On the contrary, Lucien always welcomed it warmly as he knew that it was in fact all he needed.

"Lu'...?" Mundy stayed there, his arms open for a hug that he never received. Lucien was giving him his back. "What is it? Did I do somethin'?"

"Non." Was the first word that the Frenchman finally uttered.

"What is it, then? Tell me." 

Lucien sighed and walking past Mundy, he crushed his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the coffee table.

"Take a seat, Sniper." 

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. Lucien never called him "Sniper" in private… He would at least use his name, if not a "mon amour" or another pet name. Mundy nonetheless obeyed while his eyes never left his lover. Lucien carded his hair back, still standing in front of the dancing flames of the fireplace. He took a deep breath and sighed.

"I… Think that the arrangement we have been having for months now should come to an end." 

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. 

"W-what? The arrangement?" The Aussie was not only distraught but almost disturbed by how cold-blooded the word was. Arrangement. They hadn’t signed a contract or anything, it just.... It just happened! 

Lucien turned and his ice blue eyes met with Sniper. Mundy's heart had stopped.

"I am sorry as this must come as a surprise to you. But I have thought it through, again and again. You see," Lucien started pacing the room again in front of a devastated Mundy. "At first it was only once here, once there. Physical needs, nothing personal. But it has grown into something that has now invaded my life." 

Lucien paused to take a deep breath. 

"I…" Mundy was speechless and utterly bewildered. "What…?" He was holding his tears back while Lucien walked back and forth in front of him, with his gloved hands in his pockets and his eyes glued to the ground. 

"Now, you have crossed a dangerous line, Sniper, the line of sentimentality. You hold feelings in your heart for me. Non, do not try to argue, I can see it in your eyes and in your body language. Long gone are the days in which you would wait for me to open the door for you, long gone are the days where I had to put your vest on the coat hanger for you. You now walk in this suite with baffling familiarity." 

"I'm sorry… Spook, please…?" 

"Non." Lucien stopped sharp and looked Mundy in the eye. "No more 'Spook'. And pray let me finish." 

Mundy put a hand on his mouth. His heart had either stopped completely or was about to burst out of his chest. His legs were unresponsive and his fingers trembled on their own. 

"You see, this arrangement could only last so long, here, in the middle of this base, both of us working to test weapons for a hat making company. None of this makes sense, but of course, neither do you or I. You, the solitary hunter, an exceptional sharpshooter; and me, the man of a million secrets whose very face remains one for most."

Lucien paused and went to take a seat on the armchair. Mundy's eyes stayed riveted on where he was standing. His heart was broken to smithereens. After all that time, after those battles, after all those evenings of silly drinking, all those getaways in the van, on the weekends, all those outings to town, the meals, the movies…?

"W-why? I… I understand you want more space, it's ok, I can give you that, I won't come here unless you ask if that's better, Spook, but please don’t destroy everything." He pleaded.

"Non. You do not understand." 

Lucien stood up again and walked around the sofa. 

"You do not understand." He headed to his bedroom and emerged again. Mundy was now standing up. He had removed his glasses and his hat. 

"You do not understand that I am tired of your knocks on my door."

"I do understand! And now what? You're leavin' me! After all we did and all! You're just… You just spent ages here telling me that I'm just invading your space, well, if that's the problem then I can see you less often, I'm sorry! I didn't know you didn't like it as much as I do!" Mundy answered. His heartbreak had turned to anger and frustration. 

"On that you are right, I do not enjoy your visits as much as you do." 

Mundy's jaw dropped but he quickly clenched it and frowned furiously. 

"Well then I won't come here again! Just… Just come to the van whenever you fancy!"

"Non. That will not be necessary." Lucien answered, still as cold-blooded as ever. 

"Doesn't it do anythin' to you?!" Mundy exclaimed. "Any bloody thing?"

"What?" 

"For fuck's sakes, we've been together for months now and out of the blue you snap at me and break up, and you expect me to just say ok and walk away?! I thought we were honest enough to understand each other! I thought…! Bloody hell!" Mundy punched the wall and clenched his jaw harder. The pain felt good, it poured cold water on his boiling nerves. "Why didn't you say anythin earlier? How the hell did you just turn like that? I mean… I don't get it…! I thought we were doin' very well and…ugh." Mundy covered his eyes with his sleeve to wipe the tears and hide his face. He turned his back to Lucien. 

"Sniper?"

He didn't answer. 

“I apologise for the suddenness of this. I understand that it does come as a surprise. I do admit it is rather impulsive of me.”

“Rather impulsive?! Rather imp - Mate!” Mundy snapped. “You’re telling me you just woke up this morning and thought ‘Oh yeah, let’s dump him!’ Is that what happened? Bloody hell! I was so wrong about you! I thought…!”

“What?”

“Well if Scout had reacted that way, yeah, right, I guess he’s young and he is how he is, but you? You? You’re… You’re much more mature, you’re more calm, you think before you do stuff, right? You don’t just wake up with an impulse and act on it!” Mundy’s shoulders sank as he sighed. “Guess I was wrong about that… Guess I was wrong about everything… Fuck me…”

“Sniper?”

“No! Stop! It’s… It’s horrible. It’s just horrible.” Mundy looked up at Lucien. “And you smile? You bloody smile at me? Was that the plan all along? Get me in your bed a few nights, toy with me and throw me out? Oh you bloody…” Mundy clenched his fist and threw it at Lucien’s face. The Frenchman dodged it with ease.

"Mundy?" Lucien asked with a high-pitched voice and a smug grin on his lips.

Mundy's eyes snapped open and he turned to Lucien.

"Shut up!” He threw another fist but it met with Lucien’s shadow on the wall.

“Mundy, you don’t understand!”

“Of course I bloody do! You used me!” The Aussie leapt to Lucien and this time he managed to catch his collar. 

“Mundy, wait-!”

“No!” He pushed Lucien on the floor and headbutted him, straddling his body. “You have no idea how much I love you! And you went around makin’ me believe you felt the same but you were just playin’, you bastard! You heartless piece of shit!” He yelled, his hoarse voice trying to strangle down the cries and sobs through the punches he dealt.

“Mundy! Stop!”

Lucien’s shout made the Aussie's fist freeze mid-way to his jaw. His breath broke out of sync and his tears streamed down his face silently. There he was, on his knees, straddling a body that he used to be straddled by, at night, when no other eyes would see its beauty. Yeah, Lucien was gorgeous. The bastard was gorgeous, a lean body with shy muscles that Mundy used to touch, sometimes even scratch. Lucien liked his feral Bushman. He used to love him, or maybe he didn’t, eh?

Regardless, Mundy was now silently crying. He wasn’t one to usually let it show. Now that he recalled, everytime that he had been dumped, he’d go back to his van, drive far away and let his rage out on cacti, boulders, and game. Maybe he should do that, hop away and leave for his van?

No, he couldn’t. He looked down and saw the collar he was grasping firmly, his knuckles were bruised from the punches. Oh, Lucien’s nose was bleeding too and his eyes. Gosh his eyes… Even injured, the man had the bloody arrogance to look irresistible.

“Mundy?” Lucien asked and put his hands on Mundy’s.

“Shut up, please.”

“Non, you don’t… You don’t understand.”

“Repeat that one last time and I’ll make you eat your bloody teeth, ok?” Mundy’s voice was trembling. He closed his eyes and more tears were pushed to roll down his slender and rough cheeks. “You’re right.” Mundy sniffed. “I did fall in love with you. Fuck me, I did.”

Lucien smiled.

“But you’re wrong. I didn’t just fall for you recently.” The Aussie went on. “I’ve been in love with you since day one. Bah, doesn’t matter now I s’ppose.” Mundy wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Attends.”

[Wait.]

Lucien slipped his fingers inside Mundy’s palm before his hand flopped to the floor limply.

“What’s that?” Mundy frowned and opened his palm. “What?!” He exclaimed when he saw a silver shining key with a knife symbol carved on it. “What’s that mean? Lu’? Oh bugger...”

Lucien’s eyes were shut. When he opened them again, he was greeted with the view of Mundy’s jaw from underneath. He was lying on the sofa and his head was resting on the Aussie’s lap.

“Mundy?”

“Oh, you up now? Sorry… I hit you hard.”

Lucien smiled and it was sweet.

“Give me your hand, please.” He asked and Mundy obliged. 

“What’s that all about? You‘re breakin’ up with me but giving me a key to your place and now you’re holding my hand. What does that mean?”

“It means that - and please do not punch me more for this - non, you don’t understand.”

“Alright then, explain yourself.”

“Mon amour… When I said that what we have been having should come to an end, I was not breaking up with you. On the contrary… Argh, help me please.” Lucien sat up and Mundy helped him. “I meant that I wanted to take things one step further, if you so wish too.”

“What?” Mundy’s jaw dropped.

“I never thought that you had fallen for me since the first time, because I did and it was simply out of any kind of understanding that you should feel the same for the old man that I am.”

“Wh…?”

"A few decades ago, oui, I would have believed it. Back then, I looked lovable, the sort of man who would make men and women's hearts break at the simple blink of my eyes. But now? Tss…" Lucien shook his head.

"Hey, now… Y-you're gorgeous, ok?"

Lucien looked up at Mundy and grinned, albeit sadly. 

"I would love to believe so." 

"C'mon… But yeah, tell me." 

Lucien sighed.

“Mundy," He looked the Aussie in the eye. "I love you.” 

The Aussie’s jaw dropped. It was the first time he heard it from those thin lips.

“I love the time that we spend together.” Lucien looked at his lover’s lagoon blue eyes.

“But you said my comin’ and goin’ here was annoying?”

“It is annoying that I have to tell you to come in each time. I want you to come here and consider this your home as much as mine, at least for the winter. You can’t stay in your van, you will freeze to death.” Lucien explained. “So please, take this key and… my heart, once and for all.” He tightened the grip on Mundy's hand. "Please?" 

"B-But… Hold on. All the things you said…?"

"You chose to understand them the wrong way." 

"But you said you didn't like it when I come here…?"

Lucien chuckled. 

"Non, I did not say that. I said that I did not appreciate your visits as much as you do." 

"Well, same difference!"

"Not at all." The Frenchman explained and put a hand on his lover's cheek. "Hasn't it occurred to you that I enjoy your visits more than you do, and not less?"

Mundy fell silent.

"Of course, it did not."

"You never told me. You never showed…!" Mundy answered, out of breath under the surprise. 

"And you expect me," Lucien leaned back on the sofa. "The best secret intelligence expert that you ever had the privilege of meeting, and dare I say, the man you have fallen in love with, to simply show you my emotions?" 

"Why not?" 

"I am the Spy." Lucien answered. "I do not show what I feel."

"Why not?" 

"Would you still love me if I did? Would you have taken the risk of falling for me, if you knew what was in my heart; if through that infamous scope of yours you could see the contents of my heart?"

Mundy looked at Lucien with lovestruck eyes. His pupils dilated and his shoulders slowly sank. He relaxed and leaned back on the sofa. Oh how he loved the sound of Lucien's voice…! Mundy laid an arm on the sofa's back and like a reflex, Lucien snuggled up closer to him. 

"One of the reasons you fell for me, Mundy, is because you like the mysteries in me. You like the thrill of that leap of faith you take each time that you doubt my love for you and yet decide to follow your heart anyway. You like this doubt, it makes you vibrate with a curious warmth right here." Lucien gently tapped Mundy's chest, on his heart.

“How d’you do it?”

“How do I do what?”

“How d’you know me that well? Even my mum wouldn’t know what you just told me.” Mundy answered.

“Quite simply, because I am not your mother.” Lucien tapped the tip of Mundy’s nose and the Aussie smiled, making wrinkles appear on his nose and at the corner of his tired eyes. “I apply to be your lover.”

“You apply?” Mundy repeated with a chuckle. “It’s not a job or anythin’, eh?”

“Oh but you are wrong!” Lucien answered. “Look at my face that you disfigured a moment ago. Being your lover is a dangerous job, and a full time one!”

Mundy’s face beamed up with a smile.

“In that case, I’ll look at your application. You can leave it on my desk and I’ll call you back when I’ve looked at the hundreds of others, eh.”

“As if…” Lucien answered with a smirk.

“You think you’re the only one who looks up at me with those eyes of yours?” Mundy took his lover’s chin and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “Well, you’re wrong darl’. You’re not the only one to have some success, eh?”

“I do not doubt that, but you will find my application to be absolutely outstanding.”

“Ooh, is it, now?”

Lucien rolled on his side to straddle his lover’s lap.  

“I can give you a presentation, show you my skills. You may also have heard of my reputation in the field.” Lucien wrapped his arms around Mundy’s neck. 

“You arrogant Frenchie…” Mundy’s hands slid down his lover’s sides.

“And you love it.”

“I kinda do, yeah.”

“So, what do you think? Will you accept my key, and me?” Lucien asked.

“Get off of my lap one second.”

Lucien’s eyebrows jumped in surprise but he obeyed and stood  up off of the sofa. Mundy stood up too and Lucien watched as his lover kicked his boots away and got closer to him again.

“Sorry about your nose. Don’t think I broke it though.”

“Non, you did not, even though it still hurts.”

“Oh, c’mere then, I’ll take care of ya tonight.” Mundy cupped his lover’s face and pulled it to himself. He rested his forehead on Lucien’s and whispered. “Listen, love…”

“Oui…?” Lucien closed his eyes and let himself relax. His eyebrows rose and arched high up on his brow. It felt like his entire body was between the rough and calloused palms of the scruffy hunter.

“Don’t scare me like that ever again, ok?” Mundy asked.

“I cannot promise anything. It was mildly entertaining to see your distress. Besides, I had never heard you declare your love for me.”

“Stop smirkin’, you sexy devil. Look at you, even with your eyes closed, you look smug.”

They both chuckled.

“Does that mean I have got the position?” Lucien asked.

“Hold on, darl’, we gotta see how well you can do on the job, eh?” Mundy’s hands slid down to Lucien’s slim waist. “What d’you say to a first night on the job, as a test, see if you can handle it, hm?”

“I have been handling you for months, mon loup…” Lucien answered and pushed himself to the tip of his toes to kiss his lover.

[my wolf]

“Yeah, but I never knew you loved me back. Now I gotta up my game with ya. C’mere!”

“Mundy!”

The Aussie swept him off the floor and carried him away to their bedroom.

“Hold on, Mundy?”

“Yeah?”

Lucien was in his lover’s arms in a position that had his insides burn with a delicious flame. He had his arms wrapped around Mundy's neck and his feet dangling off of the Aussie's arms.

“Je t’aime.”

“Love you too, gorgeous."

[voidcat]

– Stardust

Characters: Oikawa Tooru/You

Genre: fluff/comfort, heart to heart on reader’s part (questioning your place in the universe and all)

Summary: Sleep does not come some nights when it gets loud inside your head. Pebbles thrown at your window feels something out of movies. Oikawa Tooru being the one to do feels unreal. So you do what everyone does in dreams, is this a dream?, and follow his lead.

Word Count: 4.3k (i poured my heart out pls respond)

A/N: I didn’t write it with a song in mind but Kimochi Warui (When?  When? When? When? When? When? When?) sounded fitting while proofreading. Take it as a suggestion if you want.  – ao3 - PART 2

It’s late. 

Too late to still be up. Too late to be thinking like this. 

Too late to be up, awake, vibrating with all these overwhelming thoughts filling your head, wanting to break free, scratching the inside of your skull like feral animals, dying to get out.

It’s late and you keep lying down just like that. Hands clasped over your stomach, eyes locked onto the ceiling, trying not to think, keeping your mind blank like a newly bought sketchbook.

You lie like that for seconds feeling like hours and hours feeling like seconds.

You lie awake, the dim moon light entering your room lazily. All too familiar thoughts plaguing your mind, telling things you’ve known since childhood over and over and over until you grow numb to the noise.

Tck.

You consider checking the time but you’re afraid it’ll still be too early for the new day to start.

Tck.

Was that an actual sound or the newest trick of your mind?

Tck.

They say third time is the charm. Third time also means it’s too much of a specific occurrence to be a coincidence. The noise seems to be coming from outside, something small hitting your window.

Irritation and curiosity taking over you at last, not to mention boredom, you make way to the window and open it.

You see Oikawa Tooru of all people waving with his phone at you, a little aggressively.

Walking back to your nightstand and picking up your phone, you receive a message.

>[Does your folks wake up early?]

>[Or check up on you first thing in the morning?]

[No. why?] Hitting the send button you wait, walking back there and looking at him again. Face lightened by the glow of his phone, you can make up his eyes and nose.

>[Wear something warm.]

>[And make that spicy tea thingy you like so much if you want.]

>[I’m waiting by the door.]

Weird is seeing Oikawa Tooru under your window at an hour no one else is awake. Him telling you to get dressed and come outside? That’s creepy and worrying.

[Why]

>[I’m doing you a favor out of the goodness of my heart for once.] You want to roll your eyes at that. Since when does he know what being good means? Towards you especially.

>[No shady business, I promise.]

>[Trust me.]

As if knowing what went in your mind, these texts show up on your screen. You come to a halt.

Your relationship with Oikawa was never good. You would ignore one another on the good days and be utterly destructive and spiteful on the bad days. He never gave you a reason or made a gesture to earn your trust, you don’t even recall hearing those words from him much. They are reserved for Iwaizumi and the team only.

So why do you find yourself in a dilemma, as if there’s something to choose, a decision to make? Because the logical thing for you to do, the in-character thing for you to do, is to say no, go back to bed and hope to fall asleep at some point. The usual set of action for you is to refuse whatever he has to offer and go back to your own thing.

But you’re done with the logical and the in-character. So you send a quick [I’ll be down in 5.], make way to prepare something warm first and change your clothes as you wait for it to heat up. A sweatshirt should be enough.

Being too lazy and out-of-it to function once in a while pays, because instead of having to brew the tea and wait for a long while, you just heat up the already brewed and stashed one and pour it to your thermos.

Silently opening the door and getting out, you see Oikawa leaning against the wall.

He walks away when he sees you, you follow without a word. Soon enough you’re met with a car. Since when he has a car?

Wait, no. Don’t ask, don’t wait for an answer. Don’t look at the stupid car, don’t examine it. It is a dream after all, right? What’s the point in observing things when you’ll forget about them first thing in the morning?

Following his lead, you get inside the passenger seat, hear him start the engine, watch his hand reach for the stereo. A low hum arise.

It sounds like he picked a channel on random, the music isn’t bad per se, the volume is down. So it doesn’t exactly bother you either. Getting comfortable in your seat and resting your head against the window, you watch the blur of images go by.

There is no moon tonight, the only source of light is the street lamps coming into view and leaving as fast. Houses, buildings, trees, everything belonging to the day pass by in a fog and smear of colors. Almost like a quick brush of oil paint. It’s calming in a quiet before the thunderstorm kind of way.

As the road goes under the wheels, less and less houses come in to your view.

“Where to?”

Oikawa gives you a quick glance. He almost looks surprised to see you speak. Did he just assume you’d stay quiet all night?

“You’ll see.” His tone doesn’t match his face.

“What’s the meaning of it?”

“Consider it a favor.” This marks the end of your short lived conversation.

You don’t need to recognize the road he takes to understand he’s driving out of town, out of Miyagi. The why of it keeps floating in your head, you can’t apply the ‘it’s a dream’ tactic any more either, you are too awake for that, in both senses.

Turning your attention back on the sidelines, you let your mind wander off to meaningless assumptions.

A light behind the trees, you imagine a lonely night creature, lurking around to find his lost love.

You spot an animal you can’t identify and make up a story about an once-successful maiden, falling fool to a wicked spell.

You look at the trees and imagine nature coming to life in humanoid form, mutating and taking its revenge on human race.

Hearing a ribbit nearby and you recall the time your mother read you the Princess and the Frog years ago.

You turn left to look at Oikawa. Finding your phone inside your pocket and raising it in a show-and-tell manner, you wait for him to take notice and turn off the stereo. You press play.

Satie’s Once Upon A Time In Paris fills the air.

You note the relaxation in his shoulders. You let the melody take over your body as well.

Closing your eyes and holding your hands in the air, you can see the keys in front of you.

Hitting the keys one by one, reaching for the pedal, you can feel it flow through you. Head moving on its own, dancing with the melody, Gymnopedie no.1 as calm and serene as ever. Simple like a short quote on love from a poet.

It ends silently, Gnossienne no.3 enters with much more emotion.

It’s almost comical how many times you’ve played this exact piece but almost never listened to others playing. It sounds like you in some ways, some tints and emphasis different than how you’d play but that’s all you got right now.

You don’t need to break out of the music’s hold or open your eyes to catch Oikawa’s gaze on you once in a while. You went through all this before on so many occasions. Be it on public transportation and a piece you connect with comes on, you can’t stop your fingers from trying to play it on air, making keys out of nitrogen and oxygen in the air. Your body starting to move on its own after a while. Strangers giving you funny looks all the while.

The notes gain meaning and heaviness, hanging in the air and making way for the following ones as fast.

When the B bemols come, you can feel a stinging feeling in your eyes.

Since when does Gnossienne no.3 make you want to cry? Why now of all times?

You don’t care, you don’t want the answers, you don’t want to understand or reach a new level of understanding within yourself. Just shutting yourself out completely and taking in all the music with a deep breathe, you lean back as far as you can into the seat.

Gnossienne no.4 starts and your hands no longer itch to play.

When Oikawa pulls up at last, the music has long ended.

Getting off with your thermos in one hand, you look around.

Not a single building, a sign of life in sight. Where the hell did he bring you?

You can see his figure searching for something in the back seat, some shuffling reaches your ear. You look at the few and far between trees in the distance. It is a dead night. Not even wind, not even some comical tumbleweeds are in sight to add some motion. Time has stopped completely.

You don’t realize Oikawa’s signals for the second time that night, just as you didn’t hear him throwing pebbles at your window.

Noticing the loud thud, as him patting the hood of his car a little too late, only when he starts to get loud, you look back up. He’s sitting there, patting the space next to him, the gesture all too familiar.

Your mind wanders back to the moments you’d do the same, asking your cat to come sit with you, listen to you ramble, maybe purr for you, hear your sobs or meow at your antics. Tilting your hand with her head, bumping your legs with her tail. Those moments painted golden, filtered with a gray film, already gone, leaving nothing but a sharp pain in your chest.

You climb and sit, careful not to have any physical contact with him.

“Why are we here?” you try one last time.

“I didn’t want to be alone.” He says. Nodding your head at that, you’re not exactly surprised. The way he always surrounds himself with people, no matter the proximity and bond he shares with them.

He answered a question, maybe he can answer few more before I drive him to the limit, you think. “Why me?” This nags at your brain more than any other current question you have for him.

“It seemed fitting.”

“Why not Hajime or Makki, or even Mattsun?”

“Iwa-chan has come on little trips such as this with me before. I didn’t want to drag him tonight. Asking anyone else I’m close with didn’t sound like a good idea. And frankly? You seemed like you could use a break like this today.”

Observant prick.

“So, what exactly? We share one cozy moment tonight and return to our daily selves of hating one another in the morning?” His silence is a yes enough. “Sure, sounds good then.”

After the little conversation, you are back examining the surroundings, the comforting stillness in the air, the silence, the emptiness and the blackness of it all.

It gets boring after a while. Not wanting to disturb Oikawa further and at a loss of what else to do in the middle of nowhere, you look up at last.

Oh.

You forget to breathe for a few seconds. And that doesn’t even seem to be a problem in your eyes.

Has he done this before? How long has he been going out at ungodly hours for this?

You knew Oikawa Tooru was obsessed with space and aliens, thanks to Iwaizumi, but you never expected it to be on a more serious, in-depth level. Not like this.

Never like this.

Billions of stars hanging in the night sky, most millions of years old, blinking from a long gone past, probably dead in their current time.

A calm breeze washing over your wholly, reminding you just how small you are, your life is and how it is all okay because in the big picture you’re all nothing but dust. Destined to be forgotten by history in few centuries, if not decades.

Seeing all these stars, colorful lights what you hope are planets, an arm of the Milky Way, flowing like a waterfall and you feel a sense of security you haven’t felt in a while.

There is something comforting about the night sky, the way it can show you your unimportance in the big picture, your place in all this. You feel whole with the universe. You belong.

So you look up, and up and up. Stare at the sky, blink at the stars, smile at the constellations you spot and remember their stories, the gods and the myths, the heroes and the queens…

You look back at Oikawa then. As if remembering only now that he is there by your side.

Facing the sky in a manner just like yours, you can see the stars on his face. Shining on his hair, cheeks and in his eyes. Almost like stardust.

He looks ethereal, unreachable, enchanting. And a little vulnerable. All that tension, layers of masks he puts on each day, all the fake smiles and empty look in his eyes are gone.

Raw and pure.

This is the truest of Oikawa you’ve ever seen.

The admiration can be read from his eyes. His face holding an emotion you’ve seen on him once or twice. Not intense like this, never like this. You’ve seen the same look on him for Iwaizumi but only for a second, when he’s sure no one is watching.

With the same eyes, he watches the starry night sky.

He looks like he belongs up there. Not in a “be an astronaut and go to space” but in a “should be there, amongst the stars, his memory up there, to be remembered by everyone gazing upon the starry night. Like a constellation, become a constellation, a legend and a story, and so much more, just like Orion and Andromeda.”

This is the closest to Oikawa Tooru you’ve ever been. The thought gives you a shiver.

Seeming to notice that, he gives you a puzzled look and raises his right arm. You realize the blanket around his form then. He’s making an offer.

“Don’t worry, three people can fit in easily, it’s wide enough for the both of us.” When his face turned to you, it’s dark, no source of light to reflect on his skin.

You scoot over to him, under the blanket. The two of you refocus back on the scene above you.

Remembering the little mug inside your front pocket, you open the lid of your thermos and start pouring some tea, the steam leaving a little trail behind. You hold out the mug to Oikawa, he just looks at you, the confusion clear on his face.

Why are you offering me the tea you brought for yourself?

What makes you think I’d trust you enough to taste something you made?

“We said tonight was our little secret, right? I can use the cap as a mug, don’t worry.”

Your words and clarification seems to convince him somewhat, holding the mug with both hands, he smells it before taking a sip.

Silence falls over again and it’s much nicer this time.

Not even the coldness can get to you or pull you out of the warm embrace you’re in. The warmth around your shoulders, more provided by the idea of the blanket than the blanket itself. Like a thin veil, separating the real world from your little bubble of escape.

It’s new moon, no reflecting lunar light to block your view of stars. Sitting under the tent of black, blue, white and red; it feels divine. Divine to live in the moment, to truly breathe, to witness something so enthralling and forever.

To stand by yourself, stripped bare of everything; your layers, titles, names and ticks, clothes and paints, to be a newborn again, to reborn again, all alone, in an endless room, empty and cold, filled with stars and gods, stories to tell and dreams to see.

To feel whole again, alone again, hopeless again but reach a self-realization again, to taste nectar and discover the secrets of the universe, converse with the long gone philosophers and waltz with supernovas.

You’re not alone. Not completely.

Maybe left alone with your thoughts in this dead land and you know how one can never have company in their own mind, forever trapped alone. Yet in that moment, you’re not alone. Moving your head to steal a glance at the boy next to you again, you understand it well. It all happens so fast.

“Isn’t it ironic? How as humans we use a word like ‘star’ for untouchable celebrities, important people and such while in reality stars are nothing but these giant balls of plasma-“ gesturing a ball with your hands now, thermos sitting between your legs, “-with their ongoing chemical reactions, sputtering molecules of hydrogen and helium and all, until they come to an end with their current phase of life. If you can call that life.” You say all these with your eyes locked onto the stars, Oikawa’s locked on you. You keep going.

“Speaking of life, what is even life? Aren’t we just a bunch of organic components somehow managing to come together, build a system and gain conscious somehow? Just trying to survive until an outer force comes or our cells come off? Isn’t it technically our cells living, in a way?”

“Aren’t we just piles of protein just walking around and doing things that make no sense but to us?  Until we come to an end with our current phase of life? Doing what we see fit or fun or appropriate until it all ends.” It’s not a question any more. He doesn’t give you an answer.

“Aren’t we all children of the stars in a different point of view? All our molecules and elements coming from them. I mean, look at them. We see them blinking and smirking and smiling at us but for all we know they could’ve ended long ago. They could’ve become part of a new life for all we know. They break down and give birth to us, pieces of us; and in return we go back to them when we are gone. Despite being made of stardust, we live pretty shit lives huh?” You give him a lopsided smile, facing him as you say your last words.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?” he replies.

“For far too long to pinpoint an exact date actually.” You almost say in a singsong voice. He frowns at that slightly.

“But I am right! Right? I mean, you’re a space nerd! You must know what I’m talking about.”

“Understanding and putting it into words in such a depressing way are two different things.”

Pouting at that, you look the opposite direction sharply. “Whatever, I know I am right.”

His gaze is still on you. “Is that what you’re like most of the time? I don’t get how Iwa-chan deals with you.” He must be shaking his head now.

“Iwa-chan can’t read minds last time I checked.” You deadpan.

His laugh fills the air at that. Light and lively, carefree; you doubt you’ve heard him laugh before. It sounds wonderful.

You wonder how things would’ve been between you and Oikawa, if the circumstances were different. If you never met Iwaizumi that day, would your paths still cross? Would you finish your Aoba Johsai years never meeting him?

Would you meet Oikawa on your own? Could you ever be friends, instead of dancing around one another and spitting out insults whenever you can? Would you like him in another world? Value his friendship, the person he is? Would the two of you have met before or become something more?

All these unanswered questions hanging in the air and you find yourself looking at him again.

His smile looks different now, he looks different, changed. Almost breathtaking. Is that what Iwaizumi means by his ‘fake smiles’?

A honest smile looks good on him.

You find yourself smiling back.

“Hey.” He nudges your shoulder with his. “If you still want to complain about the meaningless of life and all that, be my guest. I promise I won’t listen.”

Taken aback by his wording, you give him a confused look.

“Tonight doesn’t exist, remember?”

“…Right.” You decide to lean back and lie under the stars.

Feeling a tug at the blanket after a while, you see him placing the mug down next to the tire. You hand him your thermos as he regains his composure, he complies silently and leans back when he’s done.

All there is in the air is your faint breathing now. Never matching one another, sometimes loud, sometimes ghostly. There is no rhythm, no adjusting subconsciously. Completely independent.

You take a deep breath and start.

“It feels grey most of the time. Not in a ‘there’s never two sides, everything is grey, blah blah.’ But more like a numbness of grey.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, nothing to show or to indicate that he is listening. You continue talking.

“Like lacking all color and feeling in life, blocking all there is to see and enjoy and I am left with nothing but… grey.

Grey to the point of everything is filtered, there are no boundaries, it all feels the same, plays the same and I am afraid. I am afraid of hurting. Hurting myself, being hurt myself and hurting the ones around me. Not the ones I love, I don’t even know love. What is love?” You turn to look at him.

“I tried thinking about it, reading about it, understanding it on a chemical and hormonal way. Consulted mathematics and never got an answer. It feels made up, a fairy tale to feel better, to attach ourselves to one another.

I fear I came across love and didn’t notice it, I fear I brushed it off for something else and now it’s too late.”

With each pause, it gets easier to speak, harder to talk. Finding the right words, using your vocal chords, moving your tongue, writing your sentences in your mind. You don’t feel the tears gathering around your eyes or going down your cheeks. You wait for the robot title, to be called heartless and how you have a rock in your chest. They never come.

“Do you really fear of hurting him?” There’s no doubt he is talking about Iwaizumi.

“I don’t know.”

“But you care for him.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think before you answer.” He says then, voice stern.

“I think I care for him but I fear I will ruin him.”

The unspoken ‘how so?’ is in the air.

“I feel grey to the point of dust and decay. I fear everything I touch either drives away from me or decays. I don’t want to lose him. I think I care for him. But I don’t want to watch him stay by my side and crumble one by one.

I don’t want to go from grey to blue.”

“Doesn’t he make you happy? I’ve seen genuine smiles on you when you’re with him. You almost light up when he enter a room or sits beside you.”

“What’s the point of happiness if it’s dependent on one person? It is not fair to either parties.”

He starts tsking. “Too many don’ts for that age. You’ll end up with wrinkles before your thirties.”

He stops prying after that.

The air begins to grow colder, a little breeze picks up.

The stars are as cold as ever, blinking diamonds in the sky.

You swear you see the arm of Milky Way coming into motion, flowing like a stream.

For what feels like an hour, it is quiescent. You decide to break it one last time.

“Speaking of stars, you and Iwaizumi are like neutron stars. Can be found alone or orbiting one another, chasing after each other, forever together and merged at last. Both stars on your own but as captivating when together.”

The hour taking its toll on you, your senses grow duller. You can’t hear his breathing without focusing, even the stars are getting blurry.

“Then you’re like a black dwarf.” Oikawa speaks up. “Because you feel unreal most of the time.”

You both fall back into silence. You don’t ask him if he meant it as a compliment and he doesn’t answer.

You don’t need to know which way he meant, in a way, you already know the response to that.

Tonight isn’t real. It’ll cease to exist in a few hours and you let these rare moments sink in. Probably the closest you’ll ever be to Oikawa Tooru, closest see him like this. It almost feels familiar, like you’ve done this before, went on stargazing with him and opened your heart out to him. It feels like a dream, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You chuckle at your attempt of a joke lightly.

It is serene around the two of you and in your mind. A placidity you haven’t had without the help of  a distraction in a long while.

“Thanks Tooru.”

His name falls out of your lips like you use it on the daily. Like the comforting shuffle of a worn out sweater as you put it on, the chirping of this family of birds living by your house for decades, the warm meow of your cat when you’re headed to bed. It sounds natural.

Scooting closer to him until your head rests on his chest. He just wraps his arm around you, pulling you further. Not a single word on your way of addressing him. And not a word from you on his way of holding you.

The moment will cease to exist in the morning, along with your confessions and the blinking lights of the stars. In a few hours it’ll no longer be real. So you decide to give it a shot at being close to him in all senses, share something the two of you will never have. Wrapping your arm around his torso, listening closely to his heart. Your head under his chin, his hand atop yours, you fall asleep until the sun comes.

[kalypsichor]

ménage à trois [ paul mccartney x reader x john lennon ]

summary: There’s only one bed and none of you speak French.

prompt: k hear me out mclennon sandwich BUT ITS ON THE PARIS TRIP SO IS JUST YOU THREE IN THE TINIEST BEDROOM + a request for reader’s wet dreams waking paul up warnings: this is a threesome babey 🥪🥪🥪

masterlist

guess who’s never had a threesome? me. guess who accidentally drank a shit ton of coffee and didn’t go to bed till six am writing this?? also me. i’d appreciate any feedback y’all have bc @spaceyantique​ beta’d this for me like a darling but my illiteracy knows no bounds

There’s only one bed and none of you speak French.

Paul tries, but between his wild hand gestures and the receptionist’s increasingly confused looks, he’s getting nowhere. John more or less just flirts with her. You tolerate about five minutes of it before dragging them away from the front desk.

“Sorry,” you offer to the receptionist, and you’re pretty sure it’s the first word she’s understood in the whole exchange.

The three of you stand at the foot of the bed for a bit and just. Stare at it. The hotel room is long but narrow, with the bed at the very end of it literally touching three walls. Whoever designed it was obviously at the end of his wits. The bed would be roomy for one person, cozy for two, but three? That’s pushing it. Still, there’s not even a couch in the room, so when you all look at each other it’s with a wordless understanding.

“I sleep on the right,” John says. He claims his spot as such and immediately stretches out, not even taking off his shoes. You wrinkle your nose but choose not to say anything. Paul wrinkles his nose and does.

“Don’t be disgusting, John.” Paul toes off his boots and clambers onto the left side. “There’s a lady present.”

John grins and twists around, dangling his feet in Paul’s face. “Talking about yourself in the third person, eh?”

You’ve locked the bathroom door by the time they start fighting but the walls are thin. There’s a thump and a shrill screech. Laughter. More shouting. Your reflection frowns back at you, eyes tired and hair a mess, and you take your time showering. In true European fashion, it’s a tiny, miserable affair. Your elbows keep knocking into the walls. The water runs cold before you even finish shampooing. It’s a mad dash to put on your pajamas before you freeze your tits off—except even that goes awry when you realize you forgot to pack them. The only things you can find are a soft tee shirt and shorts, which are a bit shorter than you’d like to be wearing but will have to do.

To top it all off, when you step out of the bathroom, they’re still lobbing shoes and insults.

“Boys, please! It’s one in the morning!” Two pairs of eyes flicker to the clock on the wall, then back at you. “Can you at least pretend to be adults?”

Paul has the decency to look a little scolded. John, on the other hand, leers at you.

“I think someone cut a few centimeters off your shorts, love. Not that I’m complaining.” He winks and you decidedly push down the fluttering in your stomach.

All in all, it takes another hour for the three of you to get to bed. Paul insists on showering first, which leads to another argument that takes five matches of rock-paper-scissors to be resolved.

(Paul gets the first one. John calls a two out of three and wins that. Paul calls a three out of five and wins that. John accuses him of cheating and gets called a sore loser. You end up shoving Paul into the bathroom while John is looking for another shoe to throw.)

If your mother knew you were squeezing into a bed with two boys, she’d throw a fit. Especially if she knew that you couldn’t stop thinking about how rosy Paul’s cheeks looked when he stepped out of the shower, or the fact that John is bloody shirtless. No, it’s best that none of this gets back to your folks at home.

“Comfortable?” John asks. Both boys are facing outwards and you’re lying on your back, trying to ignore the warm bodies on either side of you.

Paul shifts his arm and nearly elbows you in the boobs. “I feel like a sardine,” he says.

“Try sleeping in the middle,” you retort. “It’s like being in a sandwich.”

That earns a laugh from John, which turns into a contagious yawn.

“We should go to bed,” someone says, but you’re already drifting off.

***

John’s a pretty heavy sleeper, so when he wakes up and it’s still dark out he’s very confused.

He’s also a lot warmer. Sometime in the night, John had turned and pulled you flush against his chest. His nose is pressed into your hair, one leg thrown over your hip. John rather likes the feeling of cuddling so close, but he knows it’s not the most appropriate position. He goes to move when he hears a quiet noise.

“John…”

… oh. So that’s what woke him up.

You’re moaning, soft little sighs and whimpers that go straight to John’s cock. You’re having a wet dream… about him. He wants to pull away, knows that this is wrong, but then you’re grinding against him and all thoughts fly out the window. John’s hips find yours and he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning. God, he’s rutting against you like a teenager but it feels so good he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed.

“John?”

John’s eyes snap open and he freezes. Your voice is different, clearer. You’re awake now. It’s like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over his head and he jolts away from you.

“Sorry, I didn’t—“

His apology cuts off because you’re suddenly moving, pushing back into him. The soft curve of your ass presses right against John’s cock. All the air in his lungs rushes out and he gasps out your name.

“Is—is this okay?” he asks. He wants to make sure, needs to.

“Yes,” you reply. It’s more of a plea, and it’s all John needs to start moving again.

The hand that’s on your stomach trails down and slips under the waistband of your panties. John groans when his fingers find your slick folds.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” John rocks his hips into yours. Your hair is still damp from showering and when he breathes in, the scent—lavender—sends a rush of arousal through him. “Were you dreaming about me?”

You can only whine in response because John is slipping a finger into your cunt. His thumb finds your clit, rubs gentle circles that send flames of pleasure licking up your body. It’s already so much, too much, not enough.

“Didn’t know you were such a filthy girl,” John growls and you arch into his touch. “What was it about, hm? Were you dreaming about this? About getting fingered while Paul is sleeping right there?” His words tear a gasp from your lips. “You’re gonna have to be quiet or you’ll wake him up, birdie. Unless that’s what you want…”

“It’s a little too late for that.”

John can’t see very far, but he doesn’t need to in order to make out Paul’s face on the other side of you. His pupils are blown wide, eyes trained on John’s hand still moving under your clothes. And John… likes it. Being watched. It should be weird, should feel wrong because Paul’s his best mate, but then his eyes find John’s and the hungry look in them tears a hot blaze of arousal through him.

Somehow, his voice is steady when he speaks. “You want a taste?”

Paul’s mouth falls open and he nods. Without a second thought, John pulls his hand from your pussy and lifts it to Paul’s lips.

The sight of Paul licking your juices from John’s fingers is quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Second only to the look on Paul’s face when you hesitantly wrap your hand around his cock and start jerking him off.

“Fuck,” he groans. His eyes flutter closed, head tips back and bares the curve of his neck. John wants nothing more than to bite into it, to mark Paul, but you beat him to it. And John, who’s never liked feeling left out, lets his hand drift back down to you. This time, he curls two fingers into your cunt. You clench around him and your grip involuntarily tightens on Paul, whose hips jerk forward at the feeling.

God, how John wishes he could see your face. You’re sure to be so pretty, cheeks flushed, lips parted around gasps, eyes watching Paul’s cock in your hand. Still, he can hear the noises you’re making, and that’s almost just as good.

It’s not the most comfortable position, really. Your wrist feels awkward at this angle, with Paul being so close to you. And John keeps breathing in some of your hair. But the intimacy, the heat, the rush of adrenaline makes all that fade away. The filthy sound of John thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt, Paul’s high, almost feminine sighs. John’s grunts as he rocks against your body, breathe hot on the nape of your neck.

Paul gasps something unintelligible but you know what he’s trying to say. You start pumping him even faster, letting the sound of his cries spur you on. You want to taste them, you think, and it doesn’t make sense but you lean forward anyway and capture Paul’s lips in yours.

The movement changes your angle. John’s fingers curl against something in you that burns white hot, electric in your veins. His thumb presses into your clit and then you’re cumming, moans falling from your lips to Paul’s as he follows you over the edge.

“Fucking hell,” Paul breathes.

You can only nod. Your mind is still floating somewhere in the stratosphere. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this, both high and irrevocably grounded, pressed tight between two bodies thrumming with warmth.

“I’m gonna… clean up a bit,” you mumble when you’ve caught your breath. While you stumble off towards the bathroom, Paul reaches and finds John’s face in the dark.

Despite the fact that he’s just had a threesome, John suddenly feels shy. It’s intimate in a different way, how Paul’s fingers trace the bridge of his nose, outline the curve of his lips. And when you come back, weight dipping the mattress slightly, the warmth of your body settling behind him is so gentle that John is scared he’s only imagining it.

Paul doesn’t say anything, just pulls John forward and kisses him. It’s a chaste brush of the lips, but combined with the feeling of you nipping at his bare shoulder sets John’s nerves ablaze.

“I—“

You shush him and run a hand down his spine, thumbing the waistband of his joggers. “Just relax, John. It’s okay.”

Whether it’s your words or the soothing touch, John’s body almost melts, curving into yours. At the same time, his lips seek out Paul, who pulls back with a glint in his eyes.

“You haven’t even come yet, have you?” Paul asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Does it fucking look like I have?” John grumbles. Your hand trails across his waist and cups his erection and suddenly John can’t come up with anything witty anymore. He keens and bucks into the touch.

“So this is what it takes to get you to shut up.” You giggle when John’s attempt at protesting is muffled by Paul’s mouth.

“Guess we should do this more often, then.”

[hrtiu]

My contribution to day one of Rexsoka week. It’s a little bit of a bummer given the prompt is ‘hope,’ but I like where it ends up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703133

Ahsoka had been in love with Rex for about a year when she told him to leave her on some desolate Outer-Rim skug hole of a planet. 

A year earlier the epiphany had been like punching a hole in a piece of flimsi—easy and weightless but completely irrevocable. He’d come back to Coruscant to speak at Dogma’s court-martial and to give his report on the Umbara debacle, and she’d been so relieved—so overjoyed—to finally see him healthy and sound that it just clicked.

She didn’t say anything, of course. Even if he reciprocated her feelings, there wasn’t really any way either of them could act on them, and she didn’t want to deal with the heartbreak. She also didn’t feel ready for those kinds of feelings, and doubted Rex was either. Rex was both a grown man and a being who had only experienced twelve years of life—all of them spent as a soldier preparing to sacrifice himself for the Republic. And as many adult situations in which she’d found herself and as much as she liked to think otherwise, curled up in the dark of her room at night Ahsoka was forced to admit to herself that she was still a child in many ways.

Thinking about it as little as possible was Ahsoka’s best defense, and she channeled all her affection for Rex into a fierce loyalty to him and all the clones of the 501st and an unshakable determination to win the war. Maybe after the war… she found herself thinking in her weaker moments. After the war what? She’d become a knight, and his legal status would be uncertain. There was no future.

Things didn’t change much after she left the Order. In theory she was no longer bound by the Code and could seek out personal relationships if she wanted to, but she couldn’t just switch off her entire way of being so easily. She also had no way of knowing if she’d ever see Rex again. She was unlikely to be allowed back into the GAR, and he wouldn’t be able to go looking for her even if he wanted to. She put her head down and tried to move forward with her life, but when her teenage mind decided to take off on flights of romantic fancy, her partner always had brown-golden eyes, stern posture, and light hair that contrasted against his dark skin.

When Ahsoka finally reunited with him for the Siege of Mandalore, she felt the stirrings of hope for the first time. Nothing about Rex was soft, but somehow the modest smile he gave her when introducing her to the 332nd was heart-breakingly tender. She’d worried somewhere in the back of her mind that Rex would have moved on, would not have carried their friendship with him like she had. But she’d returned to find the same disciplined, loyal, brave, true man she’d come to consider her dearest friend.

How quickly things change, Ahsoka thought as she watched the reddish sunlight of the dwarf sun filter through the tiny, rank room she and Rex had rented for the night. The Venator had crashed on some unnamed moon six months earlier, and they’d been on the run ever since. Ahsoka turned her head towards her fellow fugitive, asleep on his own narrow bed across the room from her, and she wondered how he always managed to coax his brain to unconsciousness no matter where he lay his head. Ahsoka hadn’t slept well in months.

In some ways she felt closer to Rex than ever. There was a heavy burden of sadness they shared between the two of them, dragging it from system to system as they tried to erase their tracks, and it tied them together like two prisoners on a chain gang. In other ways she’d never felt more distant from him, not even after she’d left the Order and didn’t know if he was dead or alive.

I did this, the familiar voice of guilt played in Ahsoka’s head. I took everything from him.

She’d replayed her escape from Order 66 over and over again in her mind, trying to understand where she’d gone wrong, what she could have done differently to save all those men. Try as she might, she didn’t see any way out without either giving herself up, which she could not accept, or letting Rex go, which she would not abide. But she must be wrong. There must have been some other way, there must have been something.

Rex stirred in his sleep, and Ahsoka watched the broad planes of his back expand and retract with each breath. It was exactly the same back as his brothers, the ones she’d let die. Did he wish that he’d died with them? Did he wish she’d left him in blissful, brainwashed ignorance? Did he… did he wish she’d just let herself go down?

The sunlight fully peaked through their window and Rex’s restless movements turned to a real awakening. He opened his eyes and greeted the day with a groan, then rolled out of bed and got dressed with typical clone efficiency. 

It was still strange to see Rex in civilian clothes—almost like that time she’d seen a holo of Obi-Wan in Mandalorian armor. The faded trousers and stained tunic never seemed to fit him quite right.

“Well, it’s a new day, Commander,” Rex said, and Ahsoka winced. He still always called her that, and she hated the title more with each passing day.

“Not much different from the last few,” Ahsoka said.

“We’ve been here too long. That patrol yesterday was too close a call—we need to move on.”

Ahsoka had to agree, though it pained her to admit it. She was getting so tired of running. She nodded her head wearily.

“So? Where to?” Rex said.

Ahsoka studied Rex for a long moment, then looked within herself and realized that today she finally had the strength to say what she’d been thinking had to be said for a long while.

“You need to check out the tip we got about Wolffe,” she said evenly.

Rex’s brow furrowed and he rubbed at his eyes, as if Ahsoka’s words could be chalked up to his drowsy state. “He’s supposed to be on Kamino. We can’t go to a planet full of chipped clones.”

“I can’t,” Ahsoka said pointedly.

Rex narrowed his eyes at Ahsoka. “What are you suggesting, Commander.”

Ahsoka sat up in bed and gathered her scratchy blankets around her. “He somehow managed to get a message to us that he wants out—you can’t ignore that.”

“We can’t ignore that, I agree.”

“He’s going to be on Kamino for the foreseeable future, and if I go there I’ll only hold you back.”

“Ahsoka-”

“I’m not going to take you away from your brothers again, Rex.”

Rex’s stern brow twitched and he pursed his lips. A long, weighty moment passed between them, then Rex spoke. “I won’t abandon you.”

“It’s not abandoning if I’m asking you to go,” Ahsoka said.

A look of deep hurt flitted past Rex’s face. “You’re ordering me away?”

“No!” Ahsoka said, getting to her feet. “That’s exactly the pro-” she cut herself off and sighed, taking a moment to collect herself. “Before, on the Venator. I made the decision for you.”

“No you didn’t. I all but asked you to take the chip out.”

“Maybe, but I put you in a position where you had to choose between me and your brothers and… it really wasn’t much of a choice.”

Rex huffed in frustration and threw his hands in the air. “Look, I don’t blame you-”

“Don’t you?”

The question lingered in the air between them, and Rex looked away. “No, I don’t,” he said. His voice was firm, but Ahsoka could see the doubt in his eyes.

And that was the crux of it. This awful tragedy hung between them, and would always be there unless they could find a way past it. If Rex was always stuck with her, always following her orders and watching her back, she knew their connection would remain poisoned by guilt and unbidden resentment. He needed to forge his own path, to find his independence. Then, maybe… Maybe many years in the future…

Ahsoka walked up to Rex and put a hand on his cheek, turning his head gently to face her. “I’m done issuing commands. Stay with me if you want. But I’m going to pay for a few more nights here, and I’m going to sleep here tonight, and I hope that when I wake tomorrow morning you’ll be gone.”

Rex met her eyes for a few seconds, then his gaze fell to the floor. Ahsoka held her breath as she waited for him to come to his conclusions. He swallowed a tense knot in his throat, then nodded, all uncertainty gradually draining away. 

Pain and relief flooded Ahsoka’s heart in equal measure, and she reached for Rex’s hand, daring more physical affection than she’d ever shown before. “Let’s go out to the market,” she said, giving his fingers a squeeze. “It’s a nice day.”

Rex squeezed her hand in return before letting go, and together they left the seedy hotel for the marketplace in the center of town. 

It truly was a nice day—the first pleasant, relaxed, uncomplicated day either of them had experienced in years. They ate a breakfast of hot caf and fried nuna eggs in a tiny cafe and watched the sun gradually bathe the dusty town in reddish light. They went to the open air plaza and dug through piles of the vendors’ wares until they found a newish, non-stained shirt for Rex. Rex picked out several blumfruits from the fruit stand, insisting that Bariss had once taught him a foolproof method for picking the ripest and sweetest, and as Ahsoka ate the red fruit she had to admit it was the tastiest she’d ever had. As night fell the daytime vendors closed up shop and other folks came out, some setting up games and other minor pieces of entertainment for the modest crowd. Ahsoka won Rex a small stuffed convor with a perfect game of ring toss, and though Rex complained that using the Force was cheating, he kept the plush. They ate dinner back at the hotel, whose food was actually somewhat passable despite the rundown building, then went to bed feeling restored.

Ahsoka pulled the covers up to her chin, her bones still steeped in the unfamiliar happiness of the day. She hadn’t felt this close to Rex since the crash, hadn’t enjoyed anything with Rex since then. She knew she’d made the right decision, as much as it would hurt to wake up alone the next day.

“‘Soka?” Rex’s voice carried through the darkness across the small room.

Ahsoka turned towards him, just barely making out the familiar angles of his face through the dim light. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Ahsoka’s lips turned into a smile even as her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed. “You’d do the same for me, Rex. There’s no need for thanks.”

“All the same…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“May the Force be with you, little’un.”

“May the Force be with you, Rex.”

---

The next day Ahsoka woke and looked across the room from her to find an empty bed. The dingy bed had been made to military precision, and Rex had left no other evidence behind. The tears Ahsoka had held back the night before would no longer cooperate, and she buried her face in her hands and cried.

She gave herself permission to cry for a good long while, and after an hour her tears were spent and her heart worn thin. Her sorrow had run out of her along with her tears, and all that was left was a stubborn, insistent sort of hope. Ahsoka closed her eyes and imagined Rex going to Kamino, somehow sneaking into the base and finding Wolffe. She imagined the two of them figuring out how to remove Wolffe’s chip, then going on a crusade to free more of their brothers. She imagined Rex becoming more and more the person he was meant to be, the person his servitude to the Republic held back. And at the end of it all, that foolish, optimistic hope imagined him returning home to her.