#that was TROP's GoT moment I guess

[rey-jake-therapist]

Anyway

[raphexim]

Melian reference!!! AND Morgoth!

Tropey fake kiss to hide the escape tool! (Phew!)

The dwarves showing they aren't mindless followers but a people of shrewd wisdom!

Adar grieving lost uruk! Uruk asking questions and treated as a people and not mindless slaves.

I was sad af about the horse; they really could have just glossed past it and not focused so much on making it so visual. But one thing I do really appreciate about this show is that it does the animals honor. (It even does the orcs honor. No one is simple fodder for death.) Elrond grieved his mount and took time to bid it farewell. In the first season, Adar's horse fell -- and they made a point of showing it getting back up.

Arondir's story came too far to wind up where it wound, so I hope there is something yet to be said for him.

And Sauron's showing that he's just as slimy in a 'fair form' as he was with no form at all.

I wish the archer had had some character development. That was an epic scene, but we had no emotional attachment to her.

[asegunda]

Special Invention

PJO

Pairing: Platonic! Leo Valdez x Deaf! GN! Reader

Summary: Leo meets someone special, in lots of ways. Warnings: Too much fluff, remember I warned you.

Notes: I did one of those trop generators HAHAHA and it got 'disableid' so I thought of this! Hope you like it. ❤️

Another shiny day at Camp Half-Blood, not that Leo knew that it was shiny since he was working on some 'awesome' new machine, not even barely eating. But this wasn't unusual, Piper already passed in the cabin 9 cabin and bunker some 10 times today.

The only time he takes his eyes out of the work is when one of the Athena kids calls him and tells that Chiron wants to talk with him.He wonders what could it be...he and the rest of his cabin didn't bomb or put fire this week in anything...still, but they still didn't!

As he enters the room, Chiron is in his 'wheel chair mode', Leo always loved how tat machine was, his mimd starts to wander around until he hears a cough sound, he looks at Chiron again.

"You can sit Leo." Chiron smiles at him and points at the chair, he sits and messes with his fingers."So...I'm guessing you want to know why you're here." Chiron starts. Duh, Leo thinks but doesn't say anything just says a yes."So I don't know if you heard about the last mission here at camp."

He continues and Leo tries to remember but it just comes in a blank.

"Well, by that reaction I guess you don't..." Chiron nods to himself and sighs. "Well, it was a mission to rescue a new demigod and...it didn't go very well, the demigod was on a school trip to an airplane museum..."

"Wow, that sounds cool!" Leo smiles."Well, yeah it is cool, but remember when I said that the mission didn't fo very well?" He tells.Leo didn't even remember but he nods."Well, a monster apeared and...the demigod-" Chiron says and is interrupted."Is dead?" Leo asks but feels dumb the moment he says seeing the look on Chiron face."No. Thank the Gods for that." He says. "But...the fight with the monster damaged a lot of plains and well with the gasoline and the coal-" He is interrupted again."It exploded right?" Leo says, more an affirmation than a question. "Yes, unfortunately yes." Chiron sighs. "And the demigod we rescued, Y/N, became...deaf by the explosion." Chiron says looking at the papers at his table."Yeah, you were right it's not cool anymore." Leo sighs. "And why am I here?" "I would like for you and the Hephestus cabin to try to build a machine to make atleast the situation better. And while it isn't ready, try to think of a way to help Y/N communicate that isn't an notebook, we don't want no one uncomfortable, even more when something so unfortunate occurred."Leo nods. "I see. We are going to try our best!" He smiles and Chiron smiles too. "Thank you Leo, really."

Leo nods again and gets out of the place."Well, more work to do..." He sighs and goes to tell the news to the rest of the cabin.

1.

The first time he meets Y/N it's in the infirmary, almost all of the beds are full because it was Saturday, wich means that yesterday it was the Capture the Flag.

Leo sighs trying to find the known blonde, as he sees he goes to him."Hey Will!" He smiles to the Apollo child.

He looks at Leo, and the first thing Leo notices it's that he is pale, really pale, but he still smiles at Leo.

"Leo! What brings you here?" He asks.

"Hmm, a kind of mission if you get me." He winks, but Will just looks at him with a confused face and Leo explains it that he talked to Chiron about the new kid.

"Oh Y/N! Poor kid..really, so suddenly...well we can't do nothing can we? Just give our best support.." He sighs.

"Well actually that is why I am here, Chiron wants my cabin to build a machine to help." He smiles."That is great, come I'm gonna show you where Y/N is." He starts walking towards a more quiet corner where you can see a figure looking at the window watching other campers play volleyball.

"Hope it works." Will gives him a thumbs up and goes help an Hermes kid at another bed.

He walks to the bed and sits in a chair across the bed.

You jump in suprise as you see him."What do you want?" You say and point at a 'Big Hero 6' notebook at the drawer.

Leo takes it and the pen. 'Chiron sent me'. He gives it to you and you read it, as you finish you look at him.

"And?" You ask. You give him the notebook again. Now he writes all the talk he had with Chiron, as you read it you look at him again.

"Would you do that for me?" You ask again.Leo nods and you smile at him.

"Well...what are you going to teach me while that machine isn't ready?" You tell him and Leo smile fades, he didn't thought about it and didn't even learn nothing to help you. He tries to think of something fast, he doesn't want you to think he is a loser. He then remembers his mother but he puts that idea aside.

You start looking at him confused and he gives up.

He takes the 'Big Hero 6' and writes something, he sighs.

"Morse code? You know it?" You sound really excited, not that you could hear your own entusiasm.

Leo nods and you smile.

He writes again: 'How about we start now?' He smiles at you and you do too.

2.

The machine still isn't ready...months later, but Leo knows it will be awesome and you will love it, he gets up of his work chair and gets out of bunker 9.

He goes to the strawberry field when he sees you. He sits by your side and you smile at him.'Prepared for our class?' He says and you nod.

You go with him to the infirmary, because it looks like it's the only quiet place outside the empty cabins.

Will smiles as he sees you both.

This was already your 15th class, not that you were counting of course.You two continue like this and at the end of the day Leo gives you a candy.

'It's from Will's cup for the patients but I don't think he needs it.' He says in morse code and he winks at you.

"Thanks." You say both loudly and in morse code and you eat the sweet.

3.

The machine is finaly ready! Leo thinks, you are going to love it.He goes to you and says that he wants you to see something.

You think if it is the machine and you are starting to get excited. As you enter cabin 9 with him you just can think of two things: the machine and the dirty mess that the cabin is. You ignore the second and look at Leo, as he makes a drum sound, you can't hear it but he tells you later that it was supposed to be drums.He takes out of his back a machine kind of looking like headphones you look at it and Leo makes morse code: 'Try it!'You smile and put it in your head. At first nothing happens but after you can hear Leo say: 1, 2 and 3 does it work?"It works!" You hug him and he smiles at you."Pffft. I knew it would work." He says smirking, didnt you know that he tried to give up 3 times, all of them he didn't because it was you who needed them.You smirk at him too."Leo." You start.

"Yes?" He asks.

"You sound weird." You say and Leo remembers that you never heard his voice before, it looks like he knew you for his whole life but it was just some months.

"You're not getting a swett today." He says nodding in disaproval.

"Leo!" You pout and he smiles.

Later you get the candy after some more pounting and Leo tells you that the machine has a secret sticker, you wonder what it is and he shows you.

It is a 'Big Hero 6' sticker, like the image from your notebook, you chuckle and he does too.

[whumperhive]

Companion De Trop

Package

Content: Morally dubious caretaker, Mentions of stalking, Chronically ill caretaker, Pet whump, BBU universe, it/its used to dehumanise.

Word Count: 1.9k

Oh, what the fuck.

No, no, like — what the actual fuck.

Avery was shell-shocked, standing in the rain, clothes becoming soaking as he stared wide-eyed at the wooden box in front of him. His breath fogged as he approached, hand grazing over the smoothed surface and feeling the dips and crevices of the burnt-on symbol. It wasn’t uncommon for WRU boxes to be on campus, though usually they were cardboard boxes; things for peoples’ pets that they already had before attending the college. Items and commodities that were given as some sort of monthly subscription or a bonus for giving the company good rep or something.

Not a wooden box settled right on his doorstep, though not alien to him, it was… unheard of people getting a pet during college. Responsibility and all that.

Especially since he hadn’t even ordered a pet, much less thought of getting one while he’s still taking classes for his Biomedical Engineering major. He was already staying up late some nights studying, he certainly didn’t have enough time to pay attention to a pet.

…Still, it’s cold out here. And his joints are starting to scream at him.

Heaving a sigh, the college student stepped around the box, taking out his keys with a jingling tune. Pushing the door open, he turned to the box, finally taking notice of the plastic-covered set of papers on top. At least they thought about the weather beforehand.

Man, he’s gonna hurt after dragging this in. Lamenting about his later pain, he clutched the two corners and began pulling, grinding down on his teeth in his strain to at least get it past the doorway. He was never the strongest person, and with his chronic illness, it made it all the more tough on him. His hands slipped, and he landed with a heavy thud on his back, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment of contemplating his life, he sat back up, carding his hand through hair swirling with several shades of reds and browns. Alright, he’s gotten it inside.

Using the box as a brace, he stood, growling under his breath at the sharp shooting of pain from his left leg up into his lower back. He closed the door against the increasing winds, locking it behind him as he turned to the box and hovered over the paperwork.

…Well, it wasn’t a mistake; this box was clearly addressed to him. Full name and all. He hummed confusedly, tearing the package from the top and scanning it over before he took it out of the plastic. It seemed to be all up-to-date, the box was shipped out three days ago, express shipping and all paid for, not a penny taken from him. He let out a sigh, shoulders sagging and dropping the plastic bag and paperwork on the floor beside the box.

“Alright, guess I gotta go get my box…” He mumbled to himself, turning on his heel to walk to his room. It took a moment of rifling through his desk before he uncovered the suitcase-like toolset. And in a second-moment thought, he turned towards his kitchen, opening the fridge. He’s heard of boxies being dehydrated, and he didn’t want to neglect the poor thing.

The box remained the same as he left it when he returned, setting down the water and toolset as he slowly got onto folded knees. As his knee braces pressed into the carpet, he winced at the aching in his knees as he crouched over the box in order to look over the screws — looks like they were Phillip's-head. It took a few minutes of attempting to get the correctly-sized attachment before he could unscrew the top. Once again he winced as he stood, placing the screwdriver to the side and sliding the top off with a thud.

Within the box was a pet curled up, wearing a thin pair of shorts and a white tank top. Its black hair looked to be unwashed and a bit matted, its pale skin having a few scars; likely from its time during training. Avery hummed worriedly, he had always worried about how pets were treated when they were training or being refurbished. He knew that pain was one of the ways they learned but, well, still. It made him feel bad.

It took him for a moment before he realized the pet hadn’t moved, blinking rapidly.

“Oh, uh, shoot. You can sit up, do it slowly though, I don’t want you to get dizzy.” He ordered, watching as the pet slowly sat up, its hazel-green eyes meeting his own making his blood turn to ice.

“...No.” He recoiled, slowly standing up. “No, no, no this has — this can’t be real.” He muttered. The pet’s — no, Kaine’s eyes widened both in fear and confusion. He hadn’t seen this asshole in, what, months? But, well, it made sense. He’d suddenly disappeared quite a few months back, and it usually took a long time to train pets, but…

“God, this has to be some kind of sick joke.” Avery practically spit, continuing to back up. This guy had stalked him for, what, almost a year? He thought he had gotten rid of him when he disappeared, but, well, here was the reason he was gone. He was given to WRU and then given to him as a pet. Who would do such a thing? Why?

Avery suddenly felt hot, unbalanced and dizzy, leaning against the wall as his vision fuzzed. He wasn’t unused to his stress-induced syncopes, but usually he would be sitting down if he felt his heart speeding up. He struggled to find his grip for a moment before leaning on the wall and gently sliding down to the floor. Good, okay, he wouldn’t hurt himself this way. He allowed his head to drop onto his knees as his consciousness gave out, the world draining to black.

Black and numb, nothing to bother him. No pain, no staring eyes, no judgement… Just… darkness.

…When he came-to, something cool was on his head, and he was laying on the floor. Staring at the ceiling, he gathered himself, clearing his throat. How did he get here? Hadn’t he fainted against the wall? Reaching up, the coolness on his forehead revealed to be a wet washrag. He sat up slowly, looking around.

The pet — god, he’s a pet now — was kneeling next to him now, head touching the ground. There wasn’t anyone else around… had he — it? — done this? Why did he position him on the floor? Was this some sort of punishment for him or Kaine? God, there were so many questions he had, and too little answers. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he resisted a shiver as he watched the pet stay stock still. He glanced behind it and noticed the water bottle had gone untouched, and took in a breath.

“Um, you can… you can sit up.” He said, watching as the other followed as he ordered. He looked fairly different since Avery last saw him, but he’d recognize the eyes that stared at him from afar for months on end anywhere, not to mention the scar under his eye matched the one he had gotten when Lych had socked him.

Sure, he was so much thinner than he was before, and there were several new scars across his skin, his eyes slightly sunken in and cheeks hollow from dehydration and likely starvation. His eyes showed no recognition, just obedience, reverence and… the slightest look of fear. Even despite this, Avery couldn’t help the sickly feeling in his stomach that settled there as he looked at the other. Taking in a breath, he sighed. This… wasn’t ideal, but Kaine wasn’t, well, Kaine now. Sure, he still felt uncomfortable around him, but he likely didn’t remember what he did. He’d heard of the “Drip”, a drug cocktail they made to have the pets forget their pasts as humans, and, well, the other’s eyes didn’t hold a drop of recognition.

“Stay here.” Slowly, Avery stood, making sure he didn’t swim with dizziness again. Thankfully, he didn’t, walking past the pet and grabbing the water bottle he had gotten. It was still cold, so he likely wasn’t out for long. That was good.

He returned to the pet, opening the bottle and looking up at it.

“Do you think you could drink this by yourself?” He asked, to which it gave a timid nod. Passing the water to the pet, he watched as it carefully drank. Once the plastic bottle was empty, he held his hand out for the bottle and then capped it, sitting in front of the pet cross-legged.

“Can you speak?”

The pet worked its mouth slowly, clearing its throat before speaking.

“Y-Yes, Master… this pet can speak.” Avery ignored the way his skin crawled at the label, gripping the legs of his pants for a moment before relaxing. It’s just what they have the pets call humans, it’s no big deal, it’s no big deal…

“Cool.” Taking a deep breath, he sighed, looking the pet over. “What’s your number?”

The pet’s spine straightened, holding out its wrist for Avery to see.

“637826, Designated Combination Domestic and Companion.” Avery nodded as it responded, glancing over the barcode tattooed on his wrist. Subconsciously, his shoulders slumped, thank fucking god it wasn’t a Romantic. He wouldn’t be sure what to do with it if it was.

“Okay, well, for now, until we find you a name that suits you, we’ll call you ‘826’ for now. That okay?” Avery asked, to which 826 nodded. Good, maybe this would go better than he thought. In another thought, he spoke again. “And — uh, don't call me Master,” It was weird to him to be called that by someone who used to practically obsess over him. Made his skin crawl. “call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Sir Avery’. Got that?”

There was a flicker of confusion, 826 slightly tilted its head before straightening back up. Avery watched its throat work as it swallowed nervously, likely thinking that the questioning movement would be seen as disobedience. The pet nodded, taking in a slow, shuddering breath.

“Yes, M —” A flinch. “S-Sir.”

“You're fine.” He reassured it, shifting about on his place on the floor before looking at the pet; he's a pet now, not a person. It'd take a while for that to sink in, honestly… “Think you could help me up?”

“Yes, Sir.” It responded, following the outstretched arm with a breath of hesitancy before the action seemed to click in the pet's mind. Crouching down, it let his arm rest on its shoulders as he moved to rest on his knees. Slowly, surely, he brought his feet beneath him, and came to a stand. His joints still ached, so he nudged his head towards the well-worn couch in the center of the living space.

“Set me down over there.” His voice was dredged in tiredness, the kind he felt down in his bones. What he wouldn’t do for this day to start over, so he could avoid this happening. How would he have avoided this? …He isn’t exactly sure, but, well. Here he was.

He sighed heavily as he settled into the couch, shifting about to get into an awkward position that helped ease the pain off his knees. He leaned against the arm of the couch, legs bent and just barely stretched all the way out. He flicked his hand at the bag of papers he cast aside.

“Grab those for me.”

—

@whumpinthepot wanted to be tagged! Here you are! I actually plan on turning this into another series so <:3c

[90shaladriel]

ROP Season 2 Finale Predictions: Sauron

trop predictions for season 2 episode 8

again just my own head canon and wild speculation with spoilers of season 2 up through ep 7 and some of the released marketing of the finale.

Sauron (and Haladriel)

Sauron survives. We know he will fight Galadriel from the teasers. He’s at least holding Morgoth’s crown.

he is clearly hunting for the nine rings. In the book canon he tortures Celebrimbor for it. I think that happens and since Galadriel has the rings it seems obvious that will drive the confrontation.

how he gets there I’m not sure, does he defeat Adar? Does Adar have a change of heart and some opportunity to give Galadriel the crown and Nenya?

the safest bet is to me is Sauron takes the Uruk army from Adar, and gets the crown and the ring. Likely killing Adar unless Adar can run away and maybe become an Elf again.

is Galadriel fighting to survive and protect the rings or is she the one chasing Sauron, as she swore to do in season 1?

my best guess. Sauron and Galadriel are evenly matched to a degree they stop fighting and talk. I think they will try to make him more villain coded this season and he’ll lie about what he did to Eregion or try to woo her to the darkness, maybe he will offer to trade Nenya for the Nine (if he got it from Adar?). Somehow she does get Nenya and either they break canon by making her the one to distribute his rings to the mortal men doomed to die or more likely he is getting away with the nine.

I think he then discards the Annatar form and takes on a Halbrand version to work on giving out the rings to men. This is the image of Halbrand Galadriel sees in her vision. It comes when he has the Nine after they’ve fought.

as for Haladriel, I would love to be surprised by something more, I just think what we might get would be some interesting words in the fight, from either of them admitting their feelings were real but still wanting to fight the other regardless, that could go both ways, Galadriel for her oath and revenge for her people, Sauron to get what he wants back. At the end of the day neither can kill the other, would it be by their own choice or will a deus ex machina save one of them? I hope we get one more Sauron choosing good moment to obsess over for the next two years.

it would be hilarious if Sauron does physically give Galadriel Nenya. Imagine the image of the Dark Lord putting on an engagement ring on her? (Platonically) 💍😍

[sschmendrick]

I started writing you an ask @saecookie but it sucks too much that I can't put links in them so I'm writing it here so you can listen to the songs easily.

To give a little context (not exactly needed) : I was listening to some Calexico songs earlier. I reaaally recommend giving them a listen, they incorporate a lot of spanish influences and sing in spanish sometimes and they have really cool songs (I can give a few titles if needed but honestly all their albums are great and can be listened to the whole way through with great enjoyment). In my youtube recommended on the side I see a song in spanish, cool same vibe I guess, so I click on it and it was NOT WORLD MUSIC but some good ol' spanish metal. Then I switch to another suggestion (Aeon Enigma - Order of the Crystal Rose) but the last song got me thinking. Most power metal songs are in english, even when the bands are from all over in Europe. However, some songs have lyrics in the mother tongue of the band or sometimes full songs (I am reminded of bands like Powerwolf (german) or Moonspell (portuguese, not power metal though)), and recently I went to the metal exhibition in Paris (Diabolus in Musica) which was awesome but especially had a room dedicated to french metal. It was awesome and seeing all the pictures and posters for concerts was amazing. So I wondered if there was any french power metal bands (there MUST be, even not super popular ones) and the first thing I found was a reddit page with people's suggestion (the best way to find new stuff, through word of mouth). The op of the post was asking for french power metal because they had listened to Bête du Gévaudan by Powerwolf (again, a german band but they sing the whole song in french and their pronounciation is GREAT!!)(yes the original is in english but that's still so freaking cool).

So before we get into french bands, let's first listen to this german one singing in french :

The thing is with this genre they usually sing in english, but there are a few french speaking ones ! (and more ;) )

I really liked L'épée des Dieux by Herzel. This one is not too far from the beginnings of metal, big hard rock vibes. C'est pas trop dépaysant. I love the change in rhythms between the verses and choruses.

There were a few that were good but didn't make my head explode (which is fair I'm no metric for how good a song is). Le bal des ombres by Manigance was pretty nice and Darktribe has a song called Voici l'Homme that has choruses in french (they usually sing in english) that's cool too.

But then, I found that really got me listening to the whole album in one sitting. They are called boisson divine and they don't sing in french but in gascon !! All their albums are on bandcamp and they provide lyrics in gascon, in french and in english ! I sat down for an hour and listened to La Halha. I truly recommend it. They have really cool sounding songs (I think they have an accordion ? could be a synth), they have a good mix of powerful songs, a nice balance between instrumental and singing moments, and they even have a few ballads :D

I'm going to look at more french power metal bands now ! If I can come knocking at your door with more music recommendations tell me :D

[justtelling-shinobuisthebest]

Well, just a little rant of this precious little baby♡

Manga spolers

Her difference

I'm not making rules here, but she is one of the most well-written characters of the show. Literally.

Yeah, I know, I don't need argue in the comments. She doesn't have the most tragic backstory in kny. It's a fact, buut. But, her backstory is great because of how good Gotouge plays with it. In series we have a trop:

Happy family - All dead - Demon slayer Corps.

Wihtin hashiras we have 3 of them, which got through this and now have to be all alone(no family, I mean) Giyu, Muichiro and Shinobu. (There is only they 'cause, Tengen, Obanai never had a loving family, Sanemi by a start of main plot has Genya, Gyomei, Rengoku and Mitsuri have a completely different types of stories) And among this 3, Shinobu is the only one who choosed revenge.

Yup, she didn't completely forget or burry this trauma. No, on the contrary, she developed this trauma into something more. Suicidal thoughts and actions.

That's one the reasons why she's my favorite. Because, they don't say it out loud , but you can guess, her death was a suicide. I know, she didn't do it by her own, but still she prepared and led to it.

Her writing

A little girl, lost in this world, developed into the greatest hashira,boiling of rage and grief.

I adore character with facade. Honestly. So, from the very start her smile had something off to me. And when I got to the climax of her story, I knew she isn't just favorite kny character, she is my everything. The way how step by by step we get into the world of demons-hatered and self-insecurity.

While with demon-hatered everuthing clear. I want to turn your attention to the main problem of her character. Insecurity.

It's crazy how in her first fight with spider-sister she asserts that her shortness is her advantage, but deep down she always wonders why she is like that, what would happened if she might grow taller. I love the fact that this is her last moments. I mean, there already was noone to help her in this situation, and it could end here but...

Do you even relise that the reason why Shinobu stood up was not her own will, but a belief that Kanae believes in her. It's crazy, that earlier moment

Led to the most beautiful and meaningful come back.

Do we still have time? Can I continue?

Her rage. Yup, it's continuation of her writing.

It 's kinda pisses me off that mostly we completely forget this even exists

Like, there's the second reason why I even started this rant. Do I need to say more? Her anger leeding us to a fight with Douma, where she manages to turn the tables, and victory over Muzan, her helping Tamayo.

I adore the way how author from one trop gets completely different emotions. But we have to get to the last point.

Her smile

I know, it may look strange that I need whole paragraph just to say that I love it, but can you blame me?

JUST LOOK AT HER

Being so cute, loveable and gorgeous need to be a crime. Because, I would be able to kill for her.

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

And, just thoughts that didn't knew where to put...

1. The fact, that in Kanae's chiring up monologe, Shinobu thinks of Kanao, making her the last person she ever thought of.

2. I don't know from where people gor that Shinobu still hates Tamayo, because it literally was written in manga, that she respects her.

3. Just want you to recall her last words "Burn in Hell" , that personifies her inner world and anger towards Douma

4. Love how Shinobu and Kanao's relationships changes through chapter. Like, in the last moment Kanao shouts "Master!", and at the end she talks of her using "Sister"

5. I can't even go a day without concluding that her fanbase, at least at Tumblr is one the reason why I still see hope and joyment in this world. Want to thank every Shinobu-lover in the internet, you may be a the reason why I still breath.

Loving Shinobu. Day 3

Don't stay up late. Good night.❤️

[conkers-thecosy]

Soooooo.... I got into a bit of a pickle last week and received quite a lot of nasty targeted harassment. Kind of my own fault, I got involved in a bit of a scuffle on twitter about TRoP (because some people were being quite mean to a friend of mine for enjoying it and brought the fact that she's Jewish into it as some kind of?? gotcha??? ...and that just can't stand, I'm afraid) and sadly they found my fanfiction and it got reeeeeeeal unpleasant.

Anyway, I ended up deleting "Soldier" from AO3 because it just seemed the easiest way to stop all the horrible stuff. I'm kind of annoyed about it in retrospect, I wish I hadn't now, but it's too late and I guess I just reacted and did what I felt best in the moment.

Not really sure what I'm going to do about my fanfiction now. I could probably post it here for the time being, but I am sad I lost all that lovely feedback and excitement... It was a real morale boost for someone who generally feels a bit crap about their writing most of the time, haha

Anyway. The long and short of this is: Hi, I'm still here. Sorry I deleted my fic. I'll probably re-post when things settle down, but for now I'm probably going to post a few one-shots here as this account isn't linked anywhere else on my social media.

[timehastobecruel]

Truly: some regrets stay

Hi tumblr I’m back. Did anyone miss me? No, anyway

Summary: Charlie wants to know why you never talk about your life before you died. She regrets it soon after.

Trigger warning: su*c*de, not that much of graphic descriptions. If you struggle with mental health issues don’t do it like me and seek help and actually talk to your therapist.

Song lyrics: “Little Life”, by Cordelia

How would you have me described

“My relationship with my family?”, you asked panicked laughing painfully obvious.

“I think someone called me, gotta go!”, running away the first chance you got, leaving a confused Charly behind, mumbling:

“I just wanted to hear about her relationship with her family, so she maybe could have helped me with mine. She normally is always giving good advices.”

And a knowing Veggy, watching you scramble away. Only sadly smiling, patting her girlfriend’s shoulder. “I don’t think she is ready to talk about her life when she was still alive”, she said.

“Yeah sugar”, Angel meant shrugging. “Some of us have some baggage still from our old little life but hey, who hasn’t?”, setting down his Glas of booze.

“Best thing is not to dig any deeper. Some things are none of our beeswax”, Husk jumped in.

Charly nodded slowly. But deep down she was fixed upon helping her friend even if you insisted that you didn’t want to be redeemed.

With light

The next time the subject arose a new she positively jumped on the good mood her friend seemed to possess. Ready to speak a little bit more about her private life of was where before she came to hell. It happened on day when she was a little bit more wistful than usual sighting smiling at Charly’s interaction with her father.

With words you think I’d like?

“Did you have a good relationship with your father?”, the princess of hell asked. (Name) smiled wistfully. “A good relationship”, she made a gesture like waiving this thought away. “I was practically a daddies girl”, her lips stretching a little bit sweeter. “That was at least what my mother used to say”, she laughed. “Never knew I was actually imprinted on her.” Charly nodded eagerly, trying to subtly letting the conversation flow. “how come so?”, she asked. “Who knows”, the girl shrugged. “‘Guess just to ruffle my feathers”, she paused for a moment. Sighting deeply. “In the end she was right. We grew more together after her death, I guess it’s just naturally.” She couldn’t suppress her gasp.

If I found out that I could fight

She searched every opportunity to get the smaller girl talk. Masking it as hotel games that should make the guests and the staff getting each other to know.

“Why don’t we all talk a little bit about ourself?”; she proposed with sparkling eyes.

Would I take you out tonight?

“Everyone says their name, something that they like, dislike and their favourite color”, she said enthusiastically. “I’ll start”, wiping on the balls of her feet. “I’m Charly and I like rainbows, pink and my girlfriend Vaggy. Oh”, she giggled. “I already spoiled my favourite color. Anyway I don’t like ice confect, it’s too cold on my teeth”, making a funny grimace. Rapidly shrieking: “(Name) your turn!” The sinner shifted uncomfortably, scratching her neck. “My name is (name), I dislike people, human are disgusting little creatures and I don’t like much. My favourite color is lilac”, she said. Making the princess of hell trop her tail a little bit.

But she wouldn’t give up.

A little bit more, a little bit less

But her other questions would be blocked instantly. “(Name) what do you think about outing with us, wouldn’t that be fun?”

You were busy not wanting coming along and allow her to ask more questions. Mentioning that partying was gross, people smelly, loud and drunk.

A little bit harder than I thought they said

Sometimes you would drop something sad. Or laugh a little bit too much about a dark joke of someone. Worrying the princess of hell.

A little bit more, a little bit stressed

Some days more some days less but all in all your development seemed positive to her. You opened up a little bit more. Listening to Angel rumbling about his favourite show, even if she knew for sure that you disliked it. Sharing sarcastic comments with Husker and Veggy, smiling when she told you some stories of heaven.

But I, I think I like this little live

Once you nonchalantly said that you had gotten older than you thought you would when they discussed their age, knowing that sinners couldn’t get older than they were the day they died. It made Husk splutter and curse you out. “You cant say that so casually, kid!”, scolding you like a father would have. It made her uneasy that you smiled through all the contact with him, a melancholic glimmer of yearning in your eyes.

This little live

You worried her more often than she wanted to admit. One of the sinners she couldn’t help but notice to carry some heavy burden.

I think I like this little life

But you weren’t stupid you of course noticed her always watching you attentively with her big apple shaped eyes. Not wanting to worry her any longer you wanted to try to make her stop, wasting her time on you or so you thought.

This silly little life

So you mumbled sadly: “Charly”, eyes glimmering subtly almost spilling your secrets you tried to hide so desperately. “I cannot be redeem even if I wanted to.” Your friend instantly tried to interrupt you but you didn’t let the bubbly girl even get a word out, swiping your tail over her cherry red lips. “No Charles”, you said. “I am not like the other sinners in this hotel. I didn’t kill for noble causes, loved who I wanted to love or question heavens ways, I did way worse things. I committed the one sin that can never be forgiven and the worst part”, you smiled, cheeks suddenly salty. “I liked this little life but I would do it again without hesitation” Charly eyes widened watery as she regained her footing understanding suddenly the reverence. “Oh (Name)”, she whispered. But you only shook your head still a bitter smile stretching your face.

Eyes smiling over candles

Swallowing painful. “I hurt my father. I ruined his life the day I decided to no longer want my own and”, the syllables weren’t easy to bring over your lips. “I knew that”, swallowing again. “I knew it when I stepped into the bathtub fully clothed”, you never wanted to hurt her but you continued with the cure some details. As many as you could bear to share, heart cracking a little bit more behind your rips. “Holding the razor blade”, blinking away tears, that suddenly flooded your eyelids. “Glimmering in the mirror above. I knew what I was doing. I planed it months ahead. Charly”, humming her name like a lullaby.

Mismatched chairs

“It wasn’t an accident when I took my father’s razor, the one he had before that firstly used to cut his beard”, tears now flowing freely over your cheeks. “When I misused them for that what I should have never done. I knew there would be no going back and truth to be told”, a wet laugh bubbled up your throat. “It made it so more assuring. I never wanted to have to look into his eyes and explain to him why I would have done it.”

Arms crossing where those hands go

“I am positive that he made it to heaven while I was rightfully thrown into hell.”

It's loud, but that volume makes my heart glow

“I honestly never knew how I could endure this life for as long as I did.”

And time isn't real as the sun goes

“But why?”, Charly whispered, sympathetic eyes wet with the same substance coating your eyes. “If you liked this life?”, she asked broken. You just shrugged. “I guess I couldn’t love it enough or like I should have.”

Oh, oh, oh

“If you believe it or not. To this time I used to pray to god every night”, you told her, words already spilling from your lips like luxurious wine. Why not revealing more when you were already on it? What harm could it do?

A little bit more, a little bit less

“I seemed to be a little bit sadder than I thought and disgustingly more selfish. Only praying to him when I wanted something from him. Like other sinners”

A little bit harder than I thought, they said

“I wished for his help, to send me a saviour or be my savouring light himself. He just never answered me. What god should that be anyway when he leaves the ones alone that needed him most? Spitting on them as sinners when they already lay on the ground, pleading for help?” Charly cried a little bit more.

A little bit fine, a little bit stressed

She never would have guessed that behind your self made composure would lay so much pain.

A little bit older than I thought I'd get

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, she apologised. “I didn’t knew you were this hurt. I am truly sorry”

But, I, I think I like this little life

You only laughed. “It’s alright Charly, it’s alright. It’s just sobering that you cant disagree with my view of god himself” The hell’s princess sobbed even more. “I am not the right one to talk to”, she told you. “You need to see a professional to speak about this, (Name), please let someone help you.” You smiled sadly. “That never helped.” Charly still continued: “Please (Name), please.”

Coming up short

“Don’t worry”, you tried to smooth her. “After all”, whipping away all your tears. “I like this little life.”

Never quite knowing what for

“I truly like this little life.”

Being a lost cause all the same

Assuring her: “You don’t have to worry- I like this little life.”

Hey, hey, hey

“I like this little life.”

But you and I are both (you and I are both)

“Even if I still wear my scars. I slowly but surely heal”, showing the pink stripes on your wrists, angry standing out from the skin.

I look in those eyes and I know

“After all I can walk around in the hotel with short sleeves now”, not knowing who you tried to assure. Her or yourself.

That nothing is sure

“I made process, I swear, Charly, I swear.”

But I don't know if that hurts me anymore

“You don’t have to worry anymore”, you promised.

A little bit more, a little bit less

“I won’t hurt you the way I hurt my family”, hesitating. “The way I ruined the life of others. Passing on my pain on them. I am sorry”, you sobbed.

A little bit harder than I thought they said

“I was wrong, I regret it. Having ended my life.”

A little bit fine, a little bit stressed

“But not because of the reasons you may believe”, whipping away your already dried tears, salty marks on your cheeks.

A little bit older than I thought I'd get

“I don’t regret it because of me. Never because of me. But because of hurting the people surrounding me. Even if they were strangers”; breathing in. “Even if I only allowed them to be strangers.”

But I

Yeah, I

Yeah, I

I think I like this little life

This little life

I think I like this little life

This silly little life

After all, you truly had a few regrets. But not for your sake.

[inappropriatemetalfilth]

Thank you so much for the tag(s) @evmorfiad​ ! This list kinda makes me want to put on some random True Blood, this show is oddly fun in a pleasantly messy kind of way :D  1. Gotham 2. Supernatural  3. Star Trek  (is this cheating, this is cheating but I´m not gonna pick just one) 4. Farscape 5. Babylon 5  6. M*A*S*H 7. The A-Team  8. Buffy

I´m realizing there´s really a bunch of shows I´m just watching for one or a couple of characters :D and a lot of shows I haven´t thought about in a long while like “The Tribe” “Darkwing Duck” , also I haven´t caught up with “One Piece” in ages.  I´ve also got that one open (x)

three ships: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, Malcolm Reed/Major J. Hayes, Hux/Tarkin, last song:  Молчат Дома (Molchat Doma) - Клетка (Kletka) (x) last film: Island of Terror (x) aka. Night of the Silicates (1966) with Peter Cushing  currently reading: more about Black Speech and Neo Black Speech approaches, which is so fascinating, but I´m too lazy to really wrap my head around it in a productive way currently watching: I guess TRoP (with all the partial rewatches for fic and gif purposes) currently consuming: I thought I did not like marzipan but I did taste some this week that was really nice, guess the thought of a whole new snack area having opened up is consuming me now (also annoying me a bit cause so far I never had the feeling of missing out not eating any of those calorie bombs)      currently craving: quick, easy, effortless and persistent change for the better 

I´m having a too anxious moment to tag ppl, but if you see this and want to do these (or just one of them) consider yourself tagged! 

rules: list eight shows for your followers to get to know you better [ty @trantors]

the simpsons

seinfeld

are you being served?

star trek: deep space nine

the terror (s1)

lotr: the rings of power

(uhhh i can't think of anymore to list. there are LOTS more shows that i love, but those are the ones that have re-wired my brain the most)

i tag @hagfishslime @blue-bismuth @do-you-have-a-flag @niennawept @evmorfiad @thenookienostradamus @isoldadelioncourt @dwarveslikeshinythings

also--if you're reading this, consider yourself tagged

[ezlebe]

hello :) have you ever done a spontaneous first kiss…? Like maybe they’re drunk or they’re angry and having an argument and it happens at an unexpected time and they’re both like ‘oh :)’. (Love every single thing you do)

“Hey, buddy?” Tom says, rolling his eyes down at the lump in the bed. “You got to get up.”

“Non,” Greg mumbles, barely peeking open his eyes, certainly not moving out of his curled up position. “Trop tôt.”

Tom narrows his eyes, crouching down closer and poking Greg in the forehead. “Get up, Greg.”

“Tom…” Greg reaches out with a murmur, clumsily tapping Tom’s jaw with a weak hand, then abruptly he leans up to close the spare inches between them and presses his sour-breathed mouth to Tom’s lips. He hums while his eyes flutter back closed. “Je me rendors.”

Tom briefly thinks his heart must have seized, staring at Greg’s lax face, then stands back up straight with a hard swallow. He nearly touches his mouth, then jerks his hand back, glancing around the room, as if the boldly wallpapered walls might have some explanation. He takes a deep breath, then exhales it hard, as he takes a few hasty steps toward the windows. He throws the curtains open, glances down at Greg already curling up against the sun, and moves for the exit.

He only barely manages not to slam the door, and covers his face with a loud, badly muted groan. He takes another deep breath and drags his hands down his face, peeking over his fingertips, and stares down the long hall.

The complimentary breakfast is not the best size for a hotel of this exorbitant cost, but it is well-made, and Tom finds it’s more than enough to rewrite the morning. He balances a couple coffees, one of them that’s probably more sugar than coffee, and grabs a couple pastries, then slips back upstairs. He has his hands full, which is perfect, because now he can kick and elbow the door and pretend he could never open it.

Greg opens the door after a minute or so of harassment, blinking down at Tom. He hums a low grumble, visibly bemused, then halfway lurches while he reaches out through the doorway. 

“Uh-uh,” Tom says, turning, escaping Greg’s limp attempt to take a pain au whatever from him, “Let me in, for fucks sake. Where’re your fucking clothes?”

“Um,” Greg mumbles, taking a step back into the room. “Dunno?”

Tom dumps most of the contents of his arms onto the shelf-table opposite the end of the bed. “We got to go, so I picked this up in case you can’t get your ass out fast enough for the rest of the spread.” He shifts his coffee in his hand, sliding into a small armchair while taking a sip. “Join the hoard of zombies down there crowding for a taste of a 4-star buffet.”

Greg stares for a pair of moments, then slumps down across from the food on the foot of the bed, blinking back, before he all of a sudden leans down over his knees and shoves his face into his arms. He stays there still for seconds, then loudly exhales and seems to deflate further into his own lap.

Tom swallows hard, as he sets his coffee back down on the table; fuck, does Greg remember he was here? “…The hangover that bad?”

Greg doesn’t make any attempt to respond, not for what feels like forever, then sits back up with a hard rub across his forehead. “I-I guess, yeah.”

Tom picks up the chocolate croissant and offers it with a wag. 

“No,” Greg amends, as he reaches out and rips a corner off the pastry and scatters crumbs onto the floor, prompting his shoulders to curl further into his ears. “I didn’t drink that much on the plane.”

“Wrong side of the bed, then.”

Greg shrugs and mumbles something around the croissant. 

Tom picks his coffee back up with a small sigh. He pulls out his phone, glancing through emails, then the calendar, and grimaces at a green pop up under his thumb. They have an assessment meeting with Marcia’s son disguised as a brunch – that should be just bundles of fun.

“I had this…” Greg sighs hard. “A dream. In French.”

“Oh?” Tom says, looking up, feeling a smirk curl weakly at the corner of his mouth. “We haven’t been here that long, have we?”

Greg shrugs with a vague turn of his shoulder and looks down at his hands. “And I was like, maybe, on a nice walk with… or, um – a date with… someone, I think?” He rubs under his nose with the back of his hand, “And I woke up, or I thought I woke up… and it was like real? Then I woke up for real and it hadn’t happened.”

Tom stares for an open beat before he manages to quirk a brow. “You fantasized a French beau so reality just isn’t living it up for you this morning?” 

Greg reaches for another piece of the croissant. “I think we were in like Montreal? There was, uh – was this place I used to get affogato.”

Tom watches Greg sulk for a few more beats, then rolls his eyes toward the window and Paris sprawling beyond it. He wets his lips, “I’m sure we can find that here, bud, but your imaginary fling will have to stay imaginary.”

“Yeah,” Greg mutters, then reaches out and snags the other cup off the table. He takes a slug off it like a hit, then exhales the expected grumble, “The coffee is… good.”

“I couldn’t find any shitty artificial vanilla creamer,” Tom says, dryly, watching Greg’s sulk become a little less existential and more simply immature. “I’m not sure it’s the French thing.”

“It’s like… French vanilla,” Greg insists, half-heartedly, setting it back down while he begins to stand, looking toward the bathroom with a turn of his head. He looks back down to Tom, scratching at one hand with the other, as he gestures with his chin. “I’m like going to take a shower.”

“Alright.”

Greg flattens his mouth 

“Oh, fine,” Tom says, throwing his hands up while he stands from the chair. He reaches out and grabs the last bit of the chocolate croissant, leaving the muffin Greg hadn’t touched behind. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t turn it into a spa day.”

Greg mumbles something to himself, drifting into the bathroom with a scratch against his temple.

Tom waits until the door closes after him, then leans against the back of the chair with a heaving breath. He stares down at the carpet for a few beats, finishing off the croissant, and waits until he hears the water start up to turn for the door. 

He takes his coffee for a walk, taking idle sips while his mind buzzes with Greg’s glum story of a dream. He feels like he stepped onto a few too many toes, which isn’t an unusual feeling toward Greg, but it’s worse in this case, between his evidently successful gaslighting and the nature of it.

It’s also worse in a plain selfish sense, because he would’ve… also liked it to have been real, though he’s doubtful Greg would appreciate the recast of his dear sweetheart. He probably would be more thankful to wake up from any sort of date with Tom than eager to wake to it, and Tom can’t speak any fucking French. It is the entire reason Greg is even in this country; at least, aside for any other reason Tom would have found to bring him. 

Tom finds himself out in front of the opera house, cup empty under his hand, head down on a bench, while scrolling down a list of eateries between the hotel and the Waystar headquarters that sell affogato, because he really is some kind of sap. He wonders if it would be too tacky just to go to Häagen-Dazs, but Greg did once try to get him patronize a California fucking Pizza Kitchen, though that was before he got miffed about rosé vintages and first class legroom.

His phone starts to buzz in his hand, lighting up with Greg’s name, and he blinks while tapping to answer. “You rang, Gregory?”

“Tom? You –” Greg is quiet for a beat. “You didn’t come back?”

Tom furrows his brow and glances at his watch, but realizes in the same moment that he isn’t sure what time he left. “Got a little side tracked.”

“Oh,” Greg intones, then falls quiet for a few beats, finally exhaling a low hum. “Is it work?”

Tom thinks about lying, then sighs hard through his nose. “No. It’s just a nice day, Greg, I’m having a bit of a contemplation.”

“…Can I join you?”

“Of course, you can,” Tom says, scratching between his brows with a quiet huff, shifting his back against the light post. “I’m just across the street.”

He realizes, as he hangs up, that he might have sounded a bit too earnest.

“Hey,” Greg says, trotting the few steps across the street into the courtyard. He pauses in front of Tom, looking around behind him, as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pleated slacks. “Oh, it’s like a – What is that?”

Tom grunts lowly, closing the page of cafes and gelaterias with a swipe. “An opera house, I think.”

“Oh, cool,” Greg says, wandering closer to the foot of the steps to peer up at the gilding and the statues. “Wow.”

Tom stands up to approach the same position, looking dutifully when Greg points up at the ladies so delicately carved above them, as if holding the roof from the pillars. “It definitely has charm.”

“What were you doing on your phone?”

“Your is incorrigible,” Tom says, rolling his eyes, as he pulls it back out of his pocket with a wag. “I was seeing what places someone might get affogato for a pitiful mood.”

Greg looks briefly struck, then hastily ducks his head with a shake, as a grimace curves the edge of his mouth. “Tom, like – come on. It’s kind of stupid.”

“Oh, I heartily agree, but you’ve made me want ice cream,” Tom says, lifting his nose some with a tut and a narrow peer, first for the statues, then toward Greg, who’s still embarrassed and even gaining a rare flush. “You can stand outside, if it’ll ruin your little fantasy.”

“No, hah… It, uh – it sounds good,” Greg says, leaning up and then back flat on his feet, as he perks up, running a hand across his damp, moussed hair. “If you do really want. Yeah.”

“I do,” Tom says, still eyeing Greg sideways, as he starts to smile sort of silly down at their feet. It doesn’t exactly fit the bill of forgetting the morning entirely, but maybe it’s somewhere close enough. “You ready to go undercover, then – should I call the car, Monsieur Closeau?” 

“I think he solved mysteries,” Greg says, scratching across the bridge of his nose.

Tom throws one of his hands up, as he texts the driver with the other, gesturing above them toward the sky. “So I can’t think of a French spy. Sue me.”

The entertainment branch sits with the Brightstar EuroVenture at a far curve of the Seine. It’s a long, hour drive through winding Parisian traffic, streets narrowed and widening, until they’re pulling up to a shiny glass building sporting some dubious greeters in the form of cartoon-inspired statues.

Tom is a little surprised that Amir comes out to meet them, since they’d agreed to meet with no pressure in a hotel restaurant between the park and the offices. He is Marcia’s son, though, so there’s probably some meaning behind it. He reaches out and shakes his hand, accepting the wealth of put-upon friendly air kisses as they go down the line of executives, then steps to the side, as Greg reaches past him to do the same.

Greg leans over, sticking his mouth practically in Tom’s ear, while Amir talks at his associates in quick fire French that honestly sounds just like noise. “He’s kind of panicking.”

Tom hums with a jerk of his chin. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Greg says, quiet, but his expression is fixed in one of idle curiosity, like he might be asking Tom something, and the group seems to buy it with various glances backward. “The park president has been leaning on him? About our like relation. Also, it sounds, like… a deadline issue? On the hotel renovation.”

Tom hums loudly, but keeps his voice low. “It was supposed to be done last November.”

“Weather…” Greg pauses, looking down to concentrate at straightening the hem of his silk button-up. “I think, he’s… Yeah. Like all the penthouses are…” The group in front of them bursts into uncomfortable laughter. “He really hopes you don’t want a tour.”

“Interesting,” Tom says, lifting his eyes to look across the carved lintel, as they pass beneath it, then peering sideways with a low tut “I didn’t even know I had that to look forward to.”

Greg snorts quietly, looking the other way while shaking his head. His hair has dried and broken some out of the mousse, bangs threatening to fall over his forehead, and Tom is having a real hard time forgetting Greg’s little dream-induced gaff. It’s gearing up to about eat him alive.

Amir turns with a gesture toward a shiny wooden table, offering his own spin on Marcia’s most welcoming smile. “Please, sit. I have had us prepared a wonderful meal.”

Tom steps forward and pulls out the chair next to his own at the same time he sits, gesturing for Greg to push past the little French delegation. It would be prudent to sit next to Amir, probably, but he couldn’t care and even less so when Greg grabs around Tom’s chair and leans in close to his ear, as everyone settles, to duck his head in close with a laugh. “I don’t think he’s talked to Marcia in a while. Adrienne asked. Blond.”

“Ah,” Tom smiles back, reaching toward a small cup of coffee, after it’s poured at his right. He gestures with it, across the table, as Amir welcomes more food to put across them. “This is great.”

“I hope so,” Amir says, offering another smile, as the food is set out onto the table. “It has been so long since we saw one another.”

“Too true,” Tom says, reaching out and picking up a piece of crusty bread. He makes a show of looking around, clicking his tongue. “Hey, you got any escargot on the menu? Greg loves himself some funky seafood.”

“That’s not true,” Greg interjects, hastily and a bit loud, which makes Amir blink, though probably less in offense than at the fact Greg is about ten percent as diffident as he was at that very shitty Thanksgiving. He leans earnest over the table, just slightly, gesturing cyclical with his hands. “I - I do respect the local cuisine, of course, but no thank you.”

Amir offers a polite smile, peeking to one of the executives to make some show of sharing it. “No worries. I do not think many eat it at this type of meal?”

The brunch continues with similar cool politeness, as Tom fully appreciates, not for the first time, being surrounded by people he knows are talking about him between sentences but can’t understand them. He fills in some empty spaces of the French wing of the firm, though, between his oversize translator and what they do tell him, but not a lot. It seems Amir is in a bit of a rut, stuck in his little bubble of nepotism, which Tom can empathize with, though he wonders why he doesn’t just quit. He’s not going to be able to get any higher unless he makes a lateral move within the company, which he seems reluctant to do.

The most exciting thing to happen is at the end, when one of the executives says something with a turn, as they’re getting up, and Amir laughs, adding something with a sly look sideways, then lowers his voice. It’s happened a lot, but in this instance it makes Greg fumble folding his box of leftover pastries nearly into his lap.

The executives don’t really catch the misstep, likely Greg’s superpower to seem like an idiot, so the cover of ignorant monoglot is intact. They file out of the hotel the same way they came in, waved off across the lot from the entertainment headquarters.

Tom hums a trilling upward note, as he clicks his belt into place. “So, what juicy tidbit nearly lost tomorrow’s breakfast on your snazzy new trousers?”

Greg immediately begins to hem and haw, avoiding looking at Tom to make faces down at the box, as he rests it at his feet. “Do you actually want to know, because like I’m - I am giving you the option not to? Like, it… you might not like it?”

Tom rolls his eyes, as the car pulls out into the street with a tiny beep of some nearby Renault. “As tempting as it is to live in ignorance – no, thank you, tell me what he said to his little buddy.”

“Collette said that… we seemed close, so he said at Thanksgiving, he…” Greg rolls his head against one of his shoulders with a pinched, avoidant moue. “He thought… you and I were close, and that, uh – he isn’t surprised you got divorced.”

Tom lifts his chin, as he narrows his eyes, then flicks his hand back over his shoulder in the direction of the park. “Are you giving me the Kindergarten version of something here using close, Greg?”

“Um,” Greg winces, eyes cutting across the car, as he anxiously rubs hard under his nose. “Yeah.”

Tom forces a scoff, as he attempts to bury some attempt to deflect, even mock the idea, feeling the impulse push against his judgment, especially since he’s in the very middle of a snit about Greg, accidentally, kissing him, but… He has slipped the driver an instruction that should lead to that affogato, and a stronger, spiteful part of him wants to make it better than a fucking dream, of all things, so he somehow manages to gloss straight over it. “But nothing similarly rude about how the firm might be run in the future?” 

“Not really?” Greg says, slowly, peeking back over with a small, almost careful shrug. “They were more worried about them… I guess, the way their departments are kind of shitty?”

“Anything not on paper?” Tom asks, then grimaces, a bit, at himself; it’s not as if Greg is any kind of fucking psychic. “That it sounded like, anyway.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” Greg says, mouth twisting in thought, as his brows furrow slightly above his eyes. “Like, it was a lot of… if you’d bring it up, I guess, I think they thought you were here for them. Almost like… a little disappointed it was mostly nothing – I guess there was prep.”

“The cartoons and shitty foreign movies?” Tom says, breaking into an actual laugh, gesturing over the cup holders between them. “That’s so low on my radar, I’m not sure it even makes a blip.”

Greg huffs in some evident assent and looks out the window with a shrug, seeming to catch something by the way his head swings to watch.

“That issue with the hotel, though,” Tom says, slumping into the seat with a click of his tongue, grudgingly thinking of his tasks for the trip. He doesn’t know that Lukas would even give a shit, but Tom kind of does, especially if he might extend his life in this role, and make cruises and ATN look like short-lived experiments. “That’s more our problem. Tragically. What’s the resort president’s name – Emilie?”

“Emile,” Greg says, looking back over, as he leans into the console. “Emile Alarie.”

“Yeah, let’s make him give us that tour,” Tom says, turning his hand over with a tut, spinning his finger in a gesture between them. “We’re not fucking Disney, but that doesn’t mean we’re supposed to be the company that opens a half-finished hotel.”

Greg drops his head in a few nods, then looks hastily up, as the car slows to park. He looks rapidly from the window to Tom, startled, “Are we going to the – the Louvre?”

Tom exhales a snort, “If you reallywant, sure, but I was thinking we’d walk around a bit working off croissants and looking for your dessert.”

“Oh,” Greg says, blinking and hastily unlatching his belt, then reaching for the door, only to look down at the box at his feet. “Crap, but –”

“It’ll be here when we get back, don’t worry,” Tom says, feeling his lips twist with the effort to bite back a fond sort of smirk; it’s a little funny Greg took a to-go box at all. “Our buddy here promises not to eat them.”

“Yes, sirs,” the driver says, looking over their shoulder with a nod. “I could also take it to your accommodation?”

“Oh, could you?” Greg says, leaning forward to better look their understandably startled driver in the face. “I – I am concerned it needs a fridge, you know? There’s cheese.”

“It would be no issue,” the driver says, mouth flattening into a polite smile. “I’m here to help.”

“Thank you,” Greg says, picking up the box and handing it forward to the front of the car. “Like – like, a really big gratuity coming your way.”

“That’s not required,” the driver insists, taking the box, and he peeks with some bemusement toward it, only looking up as Greg exits the other side of the car. “…Happy to help, sir.”

Tom sidles onto the expansive sidewalk next to Greg, peering at the big pyramid. He smacks his lips, slightly, “Do you want to go?”

“I mean,” Greg trails off, making a flat face that’s plainly reluctant, and maybe a little conflicted. “Yeah? But like all day. It’s almost half over, now.”

“True,” Tom says, taking a step forward and hearing Greg follow behind him. He comes to a stop at the barrier outside the pyramid and tilts his head to look up at it, and thinks about Greg’s immediate, open curiosity at the statues on the opera house. “I’ve never been. We could extend a day – Lukas couldn’t give a shit.”

“Really?” Greg says, voice pitching, reaching down and wrapping his hands around the barrier, then lifting them up. “That would be like cool.”

“It’s a must see, so told,” Tom says, turning to look at Greg straight on with a click of his tongue. “Though I’ve heard the lady of the quiet smile is actually pretty damned small.”

“Yeah, but we’re like tall, so,” Greg says, as he mimes peering over various heads for a view. “You know.”

Tom throws his hands out, as he takes a step away from the barrier, back toward the big ring of a street. “See, now there’s going to be a basketball conference touring it the same day. I don’t even see some wood for you to knock on.”

Greg looks around, as he falls in step, leaning forward at the middle and distracting in his exaggerated peer. “There’s trees across the street? With the – uh, arc?”

“Too late,” Tom says, pretending disappointment, as he clasps a hand against his chest around the buttons. “I can only hope you don’t take the option to blend into a herd and abscond.”

Greg laughs with a drop of his chin, “I’m like so bad at basketball, man. I wouldn’t risk it.”

Tom snorts and reaches out to poke Greg it the soft flesh of his side, watching as he flinches, but all but fucking giggles, too, at the attention. He feels a smirk flit helplessly across his face. “You’re not being recruited, bud; you’re using them as cover.”

“Sure, I guess,” Greg says, rolling his shoulders forward in an easy shrug. “But I wouldn’t.”

The sidewalk takes them through a short tunnel and to a busy street on the other side, bustling with traffic of all sorts. The Louvre is at their backs and art galleries to their front, and Tom picks a random direction to keep walking in, more aware of Greg carefully putting on a pair of sunglasses with a flip of his bangs than any real destination. He thinks about Greg’s thorough existential disappointment this morning, suffering so bad he was bewildered by it; he must have caught a taste of it, though it’s not so unusual a feeling for him.

“Hey, so,” Greg says, nudging Tom in the arm between one step and the next with a lean and a slight shock of his elbow. “Where were you thinking?”

“I saw a bunch of little places around here,” Tom says, flitting a hand out in front of them, back and forth across but otherwise vague. “It’s your choice, bud.”

“Oh… oh, sure,” Greg says, pulling out his phone with a short turn of it in his hand, then shoving it back into his pocket. “We can just walk for a minute…”

Tom watches the movement with a short tic of his jaw. He takes a breath, holding it for a beat, and lets it out at a crosswalk. “We don’t have to, if it’ll ruin your imaginary fucking little liaison –”

“No, no – ” Greg interrupts, turning his head with a quick shake. “It’s not - it wouldn’t ruin like whatever, it wasn’t…” He scratches hard at his jaw. “We just found it, you know? It’s like more the opposite; I’m trying to keep it the same.”

Tom lifts his brows shortly and exhales hard, shoving his hands in his pockets. “If you say so.”

Greg hums a pointed affirmative. “Mets-en.”

“If you start doing that…” Tom glances upward, making brief, dubious eye contact with an evident gargoyle. “I’m going to talk to you in another language, too.”

“Which one?” Greg asks, eagerly, immediately dropping the French.

Tom wags his head back and forth, turning over the options in his head. “I’m usually best in Mandarin.”

“Huh,” Greg intones, falling silent for a beat, then sucks at his teeth with a tip of his head. “You should learn French. We could actually both speak it then.”

“Or you should learn Mandarin,” Tom says, lifting a hand to add a few fingers to physically support the argument. “Or Shanghainese, or Cantonese. Or Malay.”

Greg raises his brows with a sideways glance. “You know all those?”

“I had to,” Tom says, then snorts, as he recalls a number of instances where someone significant got by through pure self-importance. “Or I didn’t. Kendall didn’t seem to fucking try. Our stays in Shanghai overlapped a year, and I don’t think he knew more than how to ask for the bathroom or a beer.”

”So it… it should be easy to learn French,” Greg says, peering at Tom with an imploring blink and a marked emphasizing of his lower lip. “I want to speak it with you.”

Tom rolls his eyes away with a blink, heat flashing up his neck. He cannot fathom why that sounded like an invitation to dive straight into his chest.

“Oh, hey?” Greg says, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of a crosswalk, then continuing more eagerly along the stripes. He points wide along the street that they’re crossing to, “I think – yeah. It says gelato? It’s like a little place.”

It is quaint with its little awning across the top, indecipherable name in curly letters across the windows with bread and coffees, and a trail of filled tables all across the front and leading around a corner. The inside is similarly cozy, and it’s only a short walk to wind through a few tables to get to the registers and display cases.

“Chocolate,” Tom says, peering down into the rippled rows of gelato. “Feeling devilish.”

“I think I’m… going to, uh - to stick with fior di latte,” Greg says, flipping his sunglasses up, as he pokes at the labeled box at the end closest to the register.

“Do you need a special pill?” Tom says, rounding his voice with a patronizing murmur, “I know you must’ve had a couple, already – can you OD on those things?”

“Shut up,” Greg mutters, ducking his head, as they near the front of the line. “It’s like fine.”

Tom listens to Greg order with one ear, mostly looking at the rest of the food in the display case, but he thinks he hears Greg call him a chum, or at least a swishy French version, which is sort of fun. He thinks it makes sense – the UK is practically within spitting distance – but it’s a kind of goofy word to exchange. 

Tom wags his brows. “Vanilla?”

Greg regards Tom for a beat, then flattens his mouth. “You said chocolate.”

“I don’t remember,” Tom says, lofty, feeling a laugh at the edge of his voice. “You’ll just have to march back there and change it.”

“What – ? No,” Greg hisses, shaking his head, reaching out and pushing at Tom until they’re standing at the other end of the bar. 

The coffee grinder starts up just beside them, then the hissing steam wand, and Tom lets the impulse to make more trouble lie. He leans into the counter at the elbow, drumming his hands onto it, and pretends he’s not just watching Greg go about the awkward, but perfectly innocent business, of taking pictures of the neighboring buildings through plants in the picture window.

He turns when the cups with their coffee land on the counter. He grabs a pair of spoons and takes both of them, wandering over to offer Greg the most boring one. “You want to eat outside?”

“Sure,” Greg says, eyes lighting a bit inexplicably bright, exhaling a breathy hum while taking the cup with both hands.

Tom takes a spoonful from his cup and looks around the narrow side street they’ve settled into, raising a brow at the little details tacked from corner to corner on the buildings. He rolls his head against his shoulder, staring at Greg for a pair of beats, then clears his throat. “Is it good enough, you silly little dreamer?”

Greg looks over with a sweep of his lashes, mid-sipping coffee from his spoon. He rocks forward, apropos of nothing, and presses his sticky, bitter mouth to Tom’s right there in the glorified alley.

Tom feels nailed to the cobblestone for a few beats, gawking up at Greg, as the coffee settles bitter-sweet across his lips. He swipes it off with his tongue with a start and a swallow, feeling a flush prickling across his face. “You knew it was real.”

“Not like really, but –” Greg shrugs, almost unconcerned, as if them kissing is everyday ordinary. The facade falls apart some when he almost misses licking ice cream from the back of the spoon, though with a marked lack of urgency. “Or you were… super jealous? But both meant like good things. For me.”

Tom lifts his free hand and digs the knuckle of his thumb between his brows. He slowly sets his own affogato down onto the table beside them, watching Greg follow the movement, and pauses, as Greg’s eyes flick back up his face. He takes a beat to question himself, the situation, the fucking city, then throws that all out, leaning up to press his mouth to Greg’s with a bit more energy than some humdrum taunt.

Greg makes a startled noise, fumbling like a big cartoon character, but Tom manages to grab his hand between them to keep him from dropping the cup. It nearly gets squished when Greg shifts closer, threatens to spill down one or both of them, except they hastily, clumsily work together to blindly set it down onto the table.

Tom hums when Greg’s huge hands come up to cup his jaw, cradling his entire head, while he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. He huffs between them when his thighs gently hit the table, his fingers sweeping up into Greg’s hair and hooking into the arm of his sunglasses, as he takes a firmer grip around Greg’s waist with the other hand and urges him closer in a tug.

A car honks, echoing from the other side of the building, and they pull away from each other with a start. Greg looks wildly over his shoulder, at the same time he hunches inward, then completes the gesture by trying to bury his face totally in the top of Tom’s shoulder. 

“All I have to say…” Tom turns the sunglasses in his fingers and slides them onto his own nose, surprised at the evenness of his voice, “Is you started that knowing I’d finish it.”

“I didn’t know know, Tom,” Greg argues, ineffectively, where his face is still hidden away like someone might jump in it.

It’s not a hugely baseless fear; Tom is very much eager to do it, again, but for now he picks up the affogato around Greg with a hum.

[son-fuori-di-me]

"I had no idea I could change someone's life."

One Shot. Word Count | Around 3300. Description | <French female pov> you're visiting Rome for the first time, and you casually meet Damiano David the day before the Circo Massimo concert. The conversation takes a unexpected path.

Content | Real talk. No romantic development. * Expect French idioms and italian approximations from automatic translators

---

"Bordel, c'est immense !" ("Holy cow, that's big !") I said, looking at the Circo Massimo.

It was my first time in Rome. Knowing Italy a bit, I expected a hell lot of sun, a delicious bunch of ice cream for each meal, and tons of pretty things to snap with my phone. Well, that was the plan for my first two days there. Cause Saturday would be a very different day. Saturday would be Måneskin day.

I've been waiting for so long to do this trip. And what a blast it has been for now. Took only a bag, my external battery, some makeup and my favourite clothes to finally discover this astonishing city. This was my first solo trip. I've always travelled with my family or my ex, but never on my own. For once, I could decide what I wanted to see, what I wanted to eat, when to take a break. And as there are plenty of things to see in Rome, i wanted to enjoy every second of my trip. I could focus my last day there solely to the Måneskin concert happening that Saturday night. But as I didn't want to leave anything to chance, I decided to precisely organize my last day, so I could visit a bit more - a get a last fantastic meal before the concert.

I got myself a gold pit ticket. I guessed that would mean I had a special queue. So on Friday night, as I was back from a late tour in town, I decided to watch more closely the Circo, to check for the entrances, and see how I could sharpen my organization and schedule for the next day.

"J'espère que je vais pas avoir à poireauter toute la journée, avec la chaleur qu'il va faire." ("I hope won't have to hang around here all day tomorrow, the weather's gonna be hot as hell")

It was almost 10 pm. I was getting closer to the Circo, trying to read the boards, but all was written in italian and didn't seem to concern the concert. And a year fangirling over Måneskin clearly wasn't enough to become fluent. I saw no sign mentioning "gold pit". So I decided I would ask around, with Google translate ready in my phone in case I couldn't find anyone speaking English.

I saw a guy sit on a bench, smoking. He was dressed in an ugly dark sweater, with the hood over a cap. He was either a drug dealer or a hobbo. My instinct as a girl living in Paris got the uphand and I decided to ignore the guy and try to find a woman instead, or maybe a group of locals, to get me the information I wanted. Unfortunately, after a good 20 minutes walking around and asking people, no one could tell me how to make sure I find the right queue for the concert. I was about to give up and head back to my airbnb and I saw a silhouette still sitting on a bench, near the Circo. It was the same guy from earlier. "Bon, je tente, s'il est trop chelou, je me barre." ("Well, might as well take the risk, if he's too much a weirdo, I clear off quickly.")

"Scusi, do you speak English ?" i said, getting closer to the guy, but still from a good distance in case it turned wrong.

"Pretty good. You need something ?" He was searching something in his pockets and reached his pack of cigarettes. His voice was deep, but gentle. He did look funny but didn't sound dangerous - i still didn't get too close as I hate the smell of smoke.

"Do you know well il Circo Massimo ? I'm going to a concert here tomorrow and I want to make sure I find the right queue, but they haven't installed any sign yet". I asked, showing the structure of the stage behind me.

"Cute accent, where are you from ?" he answered, completely ignoring my question.

"Well, I'm French. So, do you know il Circo ?" I preferred to quickly repeat my question to let him know I wasn't interested in whatever he was trying to.

"Ah, Bonjour ! I speak a little French !" He said, now reaching for his lighter.

"Yeeaaaah cool, but how about the Circo ? I'd like to be here early enough, but I don't know wh-" I froze as he lighted up his cigarette. It was brief, but with the spark, I saw his face for a second.

"Hm ? You don't know what ?" He asked, with a smirky voice.

"Mais naaaan ?" ("Dont tell me -") I let out that typical French astonished sound without thinking. "You gotta be kidding me !"

He laughed as I was getting a little closer, staring at him. With one hand, he was putting his lighter back in his pocket, with the other, he lifted a bit his cap. It was him. It was Damiano.

I felt my spine shiver with that uncomfortable sensation of being around someone famous. As a journalist, I had my lot of interviews, so I knew there's no point in changing behavior around such people. But I still was flabbergasted to see him.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Well, gotta say you're not dressed in your best outfit !" I chose the strategy of sass, to hide how impressed I actually was.

"That's my favourite sweater you're seeing me in, and I'm smoking hot in it" He said with a smirk, getting into the sassy game.

"Time off before the big day ?" I asked, completely forgotting about my initial request and switching to my interview mindset when I'm super focused about the conversation. "Shouldn't you be having a great night of sleep, to recharge your batteries ?"

"I don't feel like going to bed" He said, having no idea how the conversation would soon turn. Fortunately for him, I wasn't working in the music media industry. "That's quite a stage we're gonna play on."

I didn't know why he was talking to me about all of this. I didn't dare to ask him either. I just enjoyed the moment.

"Well, the Eurovision song contest was bigger, wasn't it ?"

"Hm, don't tell me about it, I still don't know how I managed that."

He suddenly had a strange tone in his voice. It didn't sound like the radiant and confident Damiano you see on Instagram stories or on TV interviews. I remembered where I heard him like that. In the 2019 documentary "This is Måneskin", the making of Il Ballo Della Vita album, in the sequence he's arguing with Vic on a train, as he tells her how anxious he can be get sometimes.

"Well, you did, didn't you ?" I put on a more serious voice. "And you had a ton more of pressure, representing your whole country ? So how a concert here in your home town could be worst than performing in front of all of Europe - not to say the whole world ?"

He was still smoking, listening in silence.

"Or maybe it isn't about how big the performance is but about performing in itself ? Why are you performing ? Why are you putting on a show ? All those fancy clothes and that makeup, who is it for ? For people to love you ? Or for you to love yourself ?"

Mais qu'est-ce que je branle ? Il va se barrer dans deux secondes, là c'est sûr (What the fuck am I doing ? He's leaving any second now.) I got a bit too excited about being able to share a few words with him. What's gotten onto me ? Well, let's go then.

"What is it you're running after ? Or running from maybe ? Some complex to compensate ? With all that smudge and confidence, that wouldn't surprise me."

He sat back on the bench. As he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, I saw a smile on his face. But I also saw his hand holding the cigarette shaking.

"Are you a psychiatrist or something ?" He simply said, as if he was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

I hesitated to tell him the truth. I was sure he would walk away the second he would know my actual job. Et puis merde, autant tout dire. (Well, fuck, might as well be honest.)

"Nope, I'm a journalist." I admited, as he looked right back at me with a surprised look. "Pretty much the same. We get appoitments with random people, listen to their life, observe their body language, and tell them our whole opinion about all of it, which might very well shape how they perceive themselves from now on."

"Only difference is that you don't have to keep anything secret. Right the contrary."

There. This was it. He was gonna leave now, for sure.

"Before you go, did I hit any truth ? Don't worry, I'm not in the music media industry, I won't write anything from our conversation." I hoped this information would save me a few more seconds with him.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't leave either. He kept looking at me, still smoking his second cigarette in a row now.

"Whatever it is you write about, I guess you must be good at it" he finally replied. "Cause you did score a few points."

Another short silence broke. As a fan, I was obsessed with his music, lyrics, and attitude. But catching a glimpse of what lied behind the glamour definitly caught my interest. I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here ?" I slightly deepened my voice, getting back to my interview tone, and kept on going with this as if that was usual business for me. "It's half past 10. You play on Rome's largest stage tomorrow. You surely better should be in bed, or be about to, before the big day."

In that moment, I had the upper-hand in the conversation. He was sat on the bench, I was on my feet in front of him, and therefore above him. Not the best approach to get someone's trust for an interview, but with a personnality like Damiano's, you gotta put your own show.

"I actually don't sleep much before big events like these" He finally answered, accepting his condition as an interviewee. "I don't sleep much at all."

"You're tend to insomnia ?"

"Not really, I just got used to 4-5 hours of sleep, that's it."

"Even during tours ? Cause this all sold-out European tour for Teatro d'Ira must have been exhausting".

"You have no idea, bellezza."

"So tell me." From there, I decided to change my strategy and sat on the ground, still in front of him, but giving him the upper-hand, to put on a more trustful atmosphere. "How are you doing ? And I don't mean, like casual 'yay, fine', I mean : how are you doing ?"

I still have no idea of my tactical move of giving him more space to express himself worked, or if he understood right away where I was leading him, but in the end, he still didn't seem bothered by this conversation we were having. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

"I'm... content, I'd say." He paused, and I didn't interrupt him with another question this time. "I know I'm going through the life I wanted. The music, the tours, the praise. It's all I could have ever asked for."

D'accord, très bien, mais ? (Okey, very good, but ?) I stayed silent, but I couldn't help anticipating what he was saying.

"But surprisingly, sometimes it's still... unfulfilling. Like I can never be satisfied".

Repressing some Hamilton's lyrics from my mind, I innocently pretend I didn't fully understand what he meant - another journalistic technique, to get someone to repeat themselves with other words in order to get them deeper into their reflexion.

"What do you mean, "never be satisfied" ? You're on top of Spotify chart list, your albums are now platinum successes, you're winning awards. How is this not satisfying ?"

"It's just... What are all those things for ? Money ? Fame ? Yeah, I like those but..."

"Typical Capricorn" I muttered, to slide in the conversation that I actually knew pretty well my subject - my subject being him. He chuckled.

"Damn really ? Let me guess ? Aries ?"

"Pisces+Taurus, actually. So what, you don't like being famous ?" Getting back quickly into more questions - another technique to keep control over the rhythm of an interview.

"It's not that I dislike it. It's just... not always as fun as I thought it would be."

"What part of the job ? The writing and composing ?"

"No, that's the best part." He reached for a third cigarette. It was almost 11 pm now. "Vic, Thomas and Ethan. Måneskin. They're the best thing that ever happened to me".

"Then what, you feel like a fraud ?"

"Hell, no ! I'm exactly where I should be." He claimed, with a light pride tone.

"So, if you're proud of what you create, and if you love the people you create that with, then what is the matter ? If life is about getting the Bare Necessities, it seems like you got it all." Hitting with a universal - and musical - reference. Shoud do the trick.

"Hahaha ! Lo stretto indispensabile, si ! But life isn't that easy." He said laughing, as I felt he started to let go of the tension. "In real life, you get judged all the time, and people try to dismantle you, and spread rumors."

"I didn't think you'd be one to listen to people's comments about you".

"I'm not. I stopped giving credits to those. But it's still here, you know ?"

"From what I see, you're keeping it real, with lots of wisdom. I can't quite grasp what seem to bother you."

He paused, looking at his feet for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid it won't last." He finally confessed. "I'm afraid it all ends as quickly as it all started. I'm afraid people get bored. I'm afraid I become a caricature of myself. I'm afraid I can't write new songs. I'm afraid to be a shooting star, you see ? Very bright, but gone in a flash."

"Like, to be an Icare ? Or may I say "Ykaaar" like on your Instagram ?"

He chuckled again.

"Huh, I'm that obvious ?"

"Yeah, even a bit over-the-top, if I may dare say so."

"Well, I've always related so much with this mythological figure. I mean what's wrong with aiming for the Sun ?" He said, pointing a hand to the dark sky above us. From his attitude, I could tell he was way more relaxed than in the beginning. He even took his cap and hood off, so I could now see his face more clearly. His eyes were glittering. "Burning your wings... What's that morale supposed to teach us ? Be modest ? Be moderate ? Che noia !" (How boring !)

"Well don't be !" I felt almost like scolding him. "There's nothing wrong with seeking big dreams. As there's nothing wrong with this feeling of being outrun by your life. Savour the moment. Every second of it. It's because you can't know how long it may last that it tastes so good, so thrilling ! And you actually already are ten steps ahead ! Writing songs like ´Torna a casa' or ´Coraline' at, what, 19-20 years old ? You're the real deal, dude. And even if later on, you get blank page anxiety or write just good-enough songs, it's okey. You got plenty of time to make mistakes. Take the leap of faith. Failing and being a failure aren't the same. You learn, you grow from it. It's okey to doubt yourself, but please, don't ever doubt all the love and support you get."

I paused, hoping I didn't do too far and missed my point. But in a way, I could also feel I got it right. He was looking at the Circo, his eyes even more sparkling than before.

"I..." He got up, standing on the bench, looking as tall as a statue from my perspective. He came down and took a few steps. I got on my feet, starting to feel concerned about what I just said.

"I didn't know I needed to hear that." He finally confided. "I always wanna reach perfection. I'm aware I can be authoritative, sometimes even harsh, on the band. I can't accept to be a failure. But love and support, that, I can't get enough of."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to add. This instant felt like an hour. The wind was slightly blowing through the length of the Circo in front of us. His hair reflected the gentle light of the moon, only showing her first quarter. He broke the tranquility of the moment, turning and taking a few steps in my direction.

"Grazie mille" he said, his arms opened, calling for a hug.

"But, you're very welcome" I said approaching him, softly putting my arms on his back as he put his over my shoulders. The second before his face disappeared from my vision, i noticed a tear on his cheek.

"You've completed reset my mind. I feel like I can start all over again. I was anguished, trapped by my anxiety. But it's all gone now. You've changed me. Thank you, thank you so much" He affirmed full of hope, his voice shivering.

"Wow, well. I had no idea I could change someone's life." I answered, trying to hide how moved I myself was from the conversation.

------

It was almost midnight now. We kept talking for a while, comparing life in Rome and Paris, exchanging what was our best concert experiences. But he still needed to get back home to rest before the concert, and I didn't want to arrive too late at my airbnb - even if I could have spent the whole night talking with him. Yet, to enjoy our last few minutes together, he offered to walk me back to where I was staying. It was just a 15 minutes walk, along the Tevere river bank.

"So tell me." he asked with a smirk. "How does the Bare Necessities go in French ?" He started to muffle the melody.

"Oh no, you don't expect me to actually sing it ?"

"Hehe, you got me into a therapy session, so I can get a little song from you, no ?"

"Damn, you. This is blackmail !" But drunk on the moment, I took a deep breath.

"Il en faut peeeeeeu pour être heureux, ("Look for the baaaaare necessities,") vraiment très peu pour être heureux, ("the simple bare necessities") il faut se satisfaire du nécessaire !" ("Forget about your worries and your strife")"

I started dancing along, if I had to be ridiculous, might as well utterly be. But he actually followed my lead, clicking his fingers.

"In fondo, baaaasta il minimo, ("I mean the baaaaare necessities") sapessi quanto è facile ("Old Mother Nature's recipes") Trovar quel po' che occorre per campar ! ("That brings the bare necessities of life !")

We kept on singing Disney songs for a few minutes as we walked at a slow pace - I was shocked he never saw Tarzan and immediately made him promise to watch it as i told him Phil Collins recorded all the songs in five languages, including Italian. When we finally reached my destination, we exchanged a last timid hug as farewell.

"Well, I'll see you on stage tomorrow." I told him as I crossed the street.

"And I'll look for you in the crowd !" He shouted with the brightest smile on his perfect face.

** the end **

[wandasleftshoe]

Too Young Too Burn

Mobius x Female Reader

A/N: so my account was deleted lmao and this is a re-upload. this post was originally getting some likes so I decided to repost it, and hopefully this time my stuff doesn’t wack out. But for first time readers, this is my first ever fic lol! I was cracked out on nicotine and red bull when I wrote it, so it might be all over the place. alsooooo if any of u like this, I turned on my asks so feel free to request something! I’ll do any Marvel character, male/female/gender neutral, so feel free to ask lol turns out I enjoy writing

Word Count: 2.5k 

Triggers: bad language, kinda sort angst, a tragedy ending in suicide, death

It started off as a simple school boy crush.

She was a new member to the office, a new analyst that would train alongside Mobius, nothing was supposed to come of it but a friendly coworker relationship. (The only kind of relationship allowed in the office, the Time Lizards have sticks up their asses.) The first day he met her, she was in a standard TVA uniform, beige slacks and a button up shirt of another drab color. Though when she entered the room, an air of confidence came with her, sweeping him off his feet like something out of a Midgard fairytale. She was introduced to him as [y/n] [y/l], newest to the TVA’s section of analysts, preferring to study dangerous variants, much like himself. He was immediately taken by her attention to detail, he felt her eyes studying him the entire time his bosses boss introduced them to each other.

Her attention to detail, as mentioned before, was brought to his attention when she mentioned his hands fiddling with the hem of his blazer. She noted that he didn’t give off a nervous energy, but with the way his hands were going you would have thought that the boss had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. As they continued their conversation, more and more was pointed out that he didn’t even notice himself; she seemed to be a perfect fit for his team.

Their first day consisted of standard paperwork and the general office tour, Mobius introduced her to his boss, Ravonna Renslayer, as well as a strew of other office members they pasted in the hall that Mobius could remember a name for. Let’s be real, he just rambled on so that he could try to forget how kindly she smiled at him and how her eyes twinkled when talking about the job at hand. He thought if he could get past the first day and the excitement of gaining a new coworker, the odd feeling creeping into his heart would go away.

As the day went on and he got to know his new coworker better, he believed the relationship would grow into an unstoppable workforce bond. As the nice coworker he is and to start this unstoppable force off right, he offered to buy her dinner at a restaurant not far from the office (totally not to hang out with her for a little while longer). The time they spent both at the office and eating dinner, Mobius couldn’t quite help but find this new girl fascinating and for lack of a better term, lovely.

But it was just a school boy crush, right?

Time went on, sooner rather than later, Mobius and [y/n] found themselves working together quite often on cases. New cases left and right, most of them being Loki variants, surprise surprise. The more difficult they grew, the more time Mobius spent with the (not so) new girl. Between late nights in the office and many almost death situations, the two found themselves becoming close friends amongst the sea of the neverending bureaucracy. Though still as before, he felt that odd feeling in his heart growing stronger each time she brought him his coffee just the way he liked it or added fuel to his jetski fantasies.

What solidified that feeling in his chest was the night he and [y/n] went on a smaller mission by themselves, July 29th, 1890.

It was a clear night, though somber, both knowing what was supposed to happen. The air was warm and the moon was shining bright over the quiet fields of Auvers-sur-Oise. No, they weren’t looking for a variant of Vincent, he did indeed die tragically in this nexus event. No, no, they were looking for the person who burned all of his paintings in a rage, hence throwing off the timeline. Without the paintings, no memory of Van Gogh would be left for the future, and that’s not how the Time Lizards wanted it to be. So they were there, under the melancholy skies of France.

It was taking longer than planned, they ended up having to spend the night in an old cabin near the edge of the old town. A slow fire burned in the den of the cabin where [y/n] was reading, while Mobius was trying to find some sort of food to keep the two of them from going to bed with their stomachs rumbling. To no avail, there was nothing in the abandoned cabin so he gave in and entered the den of the cabin. There, he was met with the serene and abnormally domestic [y/n] in front of him. Usually the new girl was like a chicken with it’s head cut off; running around the office to put her wild theories to the test or just the general hectic vibe that went along with their job that made her hair stick out on all sides of her head from her running her hands through it in frustration. But this scene sitting quietly in front of him was something he didn’t know he wanted in his life. She was sitting on the ancient furniture with a book in her hands, hair down and surrounding her face in a way that made his heart palpitate. She was relaxed for once, not an ounce of stress weighing on her shoulders as she immersed herself in the world of whatever book she found on the old shelves. He could even see that her work shirt was untucked and her shoes were off, showing off her mix matched socks. He didn’t even know mix matched socks were a thing, but she pulled them off perfectly.

She looked up when he hadn’t said anything for a solid 4 and a half minutes, he was too busy taking in the scene in front of him to notice he was just open mouth staring at her. It didn’t bother her really, though silence with Mobius around was quite unheard of, so she filled it.

“Suis-je trop vieux pour alimenter cette passion et la laisser me consumer - ou suis-je encore trop jeune pour savoir quels dommages cela fera?”

“I’m sorry, w-what?”

“Am I too old to throw fuel onto this passion and let it consume me — or am I still too young to know what damage that will do?” She said again, in english this time. She knew he could understand her, everyone in the TVA could speak and understand a multitude of languages. She just wanted to see what his reaction would be when she said it to him. “It’s a quote from this diary. The person who wrote it was in their mid 20s when they did this entry, they’re writing of their partner. They were in love, but poor and couldn’t afford to be married. The writer got an offer to marry into a wealthy family, but they turned it down, hoping for everything to work out in the end.”

The explanation of the words she spoke before hit Mobius a little harder than they should have, the author of the diary was caught between a rock and hard place. Much like he found himself in right now, even if he refused to believe it before tonight. Seeing the domestic life he could have right in front of him made his head spin, his heart hurt, and his love for his job lessen a bit. He was grateful to the Time Lizards for creating him, for giving him the life he has in the TVA, but seeing what life could be like on Earth startled him. He didn’t know he wanted it until it was right in front of him, taunting him like a cat chasing a laser light. A life on Earth, with the girl sitting right in front of him; that was all he wanted. Jetski be damned (not really, he would love to have a jetski alongside this lifestyle). Even if he couldn’t live a normal life on the Sacred Timeline, he wanted to be with her. After all this time getting to know her and the little details of her soul between official meetings and paperwork piles, he finally realized what that feeling was in this moment.

But he knew it could never happen. Not here, not in the TVA. It simply wasn’t allowed. So he swallowed his feelings, but he never forgot that sweet, peaceful night. They talked, laughed, and even cried together that night, both of them tucking that memory in their hearts and reliving it in times when they most missed the feeling they didn’t know they could miss.

Again, time passed from that night in France, they did eventually catch the variant and reset the timeline. After, they only grew closer as the late nighter grew later and newer, tougher missions appeared on their radar. Their biggest being the Loki variant killing more and more Minute Men, and the case was beginning to take a turn. They brought in a new Loki variant, one front 2012 just after the attack on New York. He was cunning and a very good liar, but he grew on both Mobius and [y/n]. It wasn’t long before they actually found the dangerous Loki variant with 2012 Loki on their side, but he betrayed them and followed the other Loki into the portal, losing both a friend and a lead.

This devastated Mobius, it was his last chance to prove to the Time Lizards that their Loki could be trusted, that he was changing and doing good for the TVA. But he’s a Loki, and they all should have guessed something was going to happen. But they guessed what would happen next.

They found the two variants, out of sheer luck in the Lamentis apocalypse. When both were brought in, it wasn't long before all hell let loose. Mobius found out the TVA was actually just made up of variants, they were all variants, and none of this was what it had been told to them. It was all lies. At first it gutted him, he didn’t believe Loki, but after some snooping, he found out they weren’t lying. Then, hope sparked in his chest. Life without the TVA meant, eventually, he could live out his domestic dream. With the girl of his dreams, [y/n].

With the (fragile) trust in Loki and hope in his heart for a new life with [y/n], he flew into action. He busted Loki out of the loop he had originally put him in, and swapping his Tempad with Renslayer, he now had the proof that Loki was telling the truth. With this renewed faith in his friend, he was going to expose the truth to everyone. They had a right to know, they had a right to their former memories. They had a right to free will.

Only, he didn’t get that far. Suddenly, he and Loki were being escorted to Renslayers office. If there’s one thing about Mobius, he had good intuition, and the feeling he had in his gut was telling him something was very wrong. Of course Renslayer knew he switched their Tempads, he knew he wouldn’t have much time, but it felt like only a matter of minutes before he was caught. He didn’t even have time to go find [y/n] and explain to her what was going on, he didn’t have time to tell her his feelings, and he knew he was going to get pruned if Renslayer found out before he could spread the truth.

But once he stepped into Renslayer’s office, the feeling in his gut froze, sending goosebumps all over his body.

Not only were he and Loki standing in the middle of her office, but so was [y/n]. She was thrashing against G-17, who had her in a chokehold. The scene made his blood boil, [y/n] had no idea what was going on, she was innocent. The thought of anything happening to her gutted him, he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I uh, I think I grabbed yours by mistake,” he starts out, trying to get out of this smoothly, but he knew Renslayer was going to take that obvious lie, he was no god of mischief. She gave him a cold look that only the devil himself could forge, and ordered D-90 to take the Tempad from him, shaking her head at Mobius in disappointment.

“Mobius, what’s going on?” [y/n] asked, her voice wasn’t faltering, but her usually confident demeanor was gone. She was worried, she knew something bad was going to happen, she knew something was going on with the two variants, it just hadn’t been disclosed how fucked the situation was. All Mobius wanted to do was take her away from this place and tell her what she meant to him. Before anything could happen to him.

“Tell her, Mobius. Tell her how you’ve betrayed the TVA and joined forces with the two Loki Variants. Tell her how you betrayed her trust,” Renslayer says with a silver tongue, looking coldly at not only Loki (the usual) but also Mobius, a look he’s never received from her before on any other occasion than a joke. He could feel his time ticking away, he could only stall so much and there was nothing left to stall. All he had was the truth.

“Look, [y/n], they’re all lying to us. We’re all variants, all of us, they took us from the Timeline. This place- this place isn’t what we think it is.” He says, begging her with his voice to believe him. In all the time they’ve known each other, this is the first time he’s begged her. Though he didn’t need to, [y/n] trusted Mobius with her whole being. Time and time again, she’s saved his ass and he hers. They were bonded in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible, she knew he wouldn’t lie to her. She felt it in her soul he was telling the truth.

“I believe you.” Her voice was soft, even in this terrifying moment, she still found a way to calm him with a gentle smile even as she was being held by the throat.

But that was all taken away when he saw the pointed end of the pruning stick going through her. A guttural roar that escaped him was animalistic, loud enough that surely the entirety of the TVA heard it. Her body was thrown to the ground by D-90, and it took every Minute Men in the room to hold Mobius back from Renslayer. That was it, his whole future ripped away from him right before his eyes, and he didn’t even get to tell her every secret feeling he held for her. No promises of the future they could have together without the TVA. There was nothing left.

He didn’t even hear Renslayer telling one of the Minute Men to prune him through his weeping, and before he knew it, a searing pain took over him.

[k347]

Modern Stucky- 'MEETCUTE'

(you could read it as Evanstan as well since I used all the non-mcu gifs🤷)

It's probably the worst day of Bucky's life.

So bad.

This just got so bad.

***

Bucky can't believe he has just said that out loud. Well, it wasn't 'really' his fault to be honest. The full beard, long and carefully tended,styled hair, the square jaw, long legs, wide thighs, probably the broadest shoulders Bucky has ever seen. That man's whole appearance screamed 'Daddy' from a mile away! But it doesn't mean Bucky should have said that to his face! Oh God, this is embarrassing. Bucky knows he doesn't always say the right thing at the right time. But this has got to be the worst possible display of his lack of filter and word-vomit. Nat, Becca and Sam will die of laughter if they ever find out about this.

Bucky's eyes are fixed to the ground. He can't even look up at the handsome stranger, Steve (is that what his name is? Bucky can't actually remember because 60% of his mind is flustered +ashamed and the remaining 40% is still processing how unbelievably attractive the man is).

This is awkward. Bucky has made it awkward. For both of them.

Couldn't he just be subtle, say something nice? maybe a sweet compliment about Steve's jacket or shoes or hair? Talk about sports or politics or the catering service in the resort, the fucking weather...Just ANYTHING except for asking Steve whether people call him 'Daddy', within five minutes of meeting the guy!

This is why Bucky Barnes is gonna die a single man. He'll never find someone. Bucky is gonna be alone and miserable. Forever and always. He does not know how to talk to people he likes, has a crush on, without putting his foot in the mouth.

Bucky wants the earth to swallow him whole at this point. If he could just go back in time, two minutes ago... He'd slap himself on the back of the head. Remember to be casual yet welcoming. And NOT ASK stupid questions about personal things. for example- the Daddy kink.

Why do you get all the good ideas after everything has happened? when they cannot be executed and are of no use! Why is Bucky's mind his worst possible enemy?

Speaking of Bucky's mind, it is running 300 mile/hr right now, producing ramblings over ramblings whereas his stupid-ass, involuntary mouth is acting like it's on the longest vacation of all times. Say Something damnit! Just apologize. Say sorry and turn around and walk away as fast as you can. The least Bucky can do at this point is, try to do some damage control.

He's about to start his apology, still not brave enough to look Steve in the eye, when his ears perk up at a sound.

"Uhhum..", Steve clears his throat.

"Hey, you're still here, right? thought I lost you for a minute there"

Oh. Oh. He is speaking to him. The handsome stranger...no, Steve, his name is Steve. And Steve is speaking to Bucky.

Of course he's speaking to you. You guys were having a nice introductory conversation before your thirsty ass ruined it, Bucky scolds himself.

Bucky's ought to look at Steve now. He doesn't want to be rude after his already embarrassing behaviour.

He slowly brings his eyes up to rest again on the face of this actual-greek-god in a human body. He expects... Bucky doesn't know exactly what he expects to see there. Probably a judgemental look, a little bit of pity, maybe even concern for Bucky's state of mind.

But wait. No. Steve doesn't have any of those expressions on his face.

Instead, his cheeks are adorning a light tinge of blush, pink. But he doesn't appear to be as hardly flustered as Bucky feels and for sure looks at the moment. In fact, Steve looks even more confident now. Standing tall in all of his six-feet-glory. Taking over a little more space than normal humans would. Steve's lips are curved in a silent, teasing one-sided-smirk. His eyes are a shade darker than they were a few moments ago. One of his thick eyebrows is raised a bit (suggestively?)!

The piercing blue of Steve's eyes is seeing right through Bukcy.

Bucky has no idea what he was about to say. All of the words have died in his throat. Oh, and He's shamelessly ogling Steve, again.

"No." Steve speaks. This time gazing tentatively in his eyes.

Bucky is surprised at the sudden monosyllable.

"Wh..What?", Bucky is still struggling with words. ( Can't blame himself this time. Anybody try 'not being toungue tied' when the human-Adonis stares intensely at you!)

"The answer to your question. No, people don't 'usually' call me that." Steve's Smirk is wide and impossibly attractive while saying that.

Bucky doesn't know how to respond to that. What is he supposed to say? Is he supposed to say something? He has gotta say something, right? So Bucky goes,

"Oh. Okay. No, I mean... not ok..wait, that's not what I... listen I am so sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomf..."

Steve's rich, deep and yet low-raspy voice cuts him off before he could ramble further.

"But I don't think I would mind it, to be honest. I might actually, dare I say 'like it'. Would you? Like to find that out with me, I mean?"

Bucky's mouth dropped open. So wide and so sudden. Seriously, his jaw might've touched the ground. Bucky can't believe this isn't a dream. This is real. The handsome stranger Steve is flirting with him. Steve actually just suggested what he just suggested! Some angel up there decided to smile at Bucky's fate today. This angel right here decided to smile at Bucky today. Even after Bucky had made a 'not-so-good' of a first impression.

"Wow. Uhhh..yeah, I guess. I just..." Bucky can't seem to complete his sentences no matter how hard he tries. There are a thousand emotions and sensations running through his body at this moment. He's pretty sure Steve can see him turning into a burning, melted puddle of blushing-tomato.

Steve probably decides to help him out of that. What a gentleman.

"So, what do you say? Wanna get out of here for a few drinks, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. Bucky's heart actually skips a beat at that. Steve just called him sweetheart.

Bucky's as widen at the term of endearment. Steve notices. Because of course, he does. Maybe Steve thinks Bucky didn't approve of that, he has no idea how wrong he is!

"Sorry. I didn't mean to assume... It's just that at the start, you didn't...uhh...you never told me your name."

For the first time during their whole conversation since the beginning, Steve appears to be flustered.

Confident and sexy while discussing kinks but adorable and a shy-softie when using daily-life-petnames. Oh. Bucky can tell, this man is going to be trouble. And despite of being famous as a mischief-maker his whole life, Bucky Barnes has never wanted to jump into trouble so fast and so eagerly ever before!

"It's okay, really. Only fair that you call me a name just after I called you one. That's the standard protocol as far as I know."

Bucky sometimes does speak right words at right times. His flirting game is not that bad!

The cheeky comment earns him a smile from Steve. A full smile. Bucky's insides do a little happy-dance at that. He already knows he wants to see so many more of those smiles. Wants to be responsible for them.

Steve looks at Bucky again, tilting his own head.

"So, Yes to the drinks-offer?"

"Absolutely! Yes to the drinks-offer."

***

This just got so good.

So good.

It's probably the best day of Bucky's life.

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

Inspired by an ask of @musette22 's anon!

(someone could write the same trop for Chris/Seb too)

[casualmaraudering]

i’ve been very soft for dad sirius lately so have a very fluffy drabble! (edit: French provided by @yesanotherpotterhead, thank you so much! <3)

translations from French to English under the cut! 

*

Le vent qui hurle en moi ne pense plus à demain

Il est bien trop fort

J'ai lutté en vain

Cache tes pouvoirs, n'en parle pas

Sirius hastily writes down another rune sequence on the parchment, then scribbles a few numbers on a spare sheet.

Fais attention, le secret survivra

Pas d'états d'âme, pas de tourments

De sentiments

Calculating the proper harmony and proportion of wand movement-to-incantation-to-rune placement and sequence has always been his least favourite part of spell modification. Altering the balance has to be done with extreme caution, unless he wants to burn his own eyebrows off (again).

And yet, at the same time, it’s the part of his work he looks the most forward to. Every failed attempt, every careful calculation, every slight tweak leads him closer and closer to success - the thrill of having done something and done it well, that’s what Sirius strives for. There’s nothing better than knowing he had an idea and executed it to its fullest.

Though, for the particular spell he’s working on, that still might take a bit of time. Especially with the fitting soundtrack playing through his living room.

Libérée, délivrée

Je ne mentirai plus jamais

Libérée, délivrée

C'est décidé, je m'en vais

Every couple seconds or so, he’ll glance away from his papers and down onto the floor of the lounge, towards the makeshift fort of blankets and pillows that’s been there ever since Remus started work a couple weeks ago. Sirius found it easier to just leave it there as it is instead of cleaning it up and then inevitably putting it back together every afternoon.

Any time he looks towards there - towards his little baby boy, propped up by a few pillows to sit comfortably - he smiles without even noticing that he does. It’s been a natural reaction ever since Leo came to Sirius’s life. His heart fills with warmth every single time without a fail.

It’s just what that kind of unconditional love does to you.

Being a dad himself makes him more and more spiteful towards his own parents every day. He doesn’t ever remember his mother or father being even nice towards him, yet alone attentive or loving. He never got lullabies, or hugs, he was never held. He could never imagine looking at his baby and not wanting to hold him, kiss him, sing and play and spend all of the time he has with him.

He can’t change his own childhood, but at least he can make sure his baby’s childhood is done right. Even if he’ll end up the clingy parent.

J'ai laissé mon enfance en été

Perdue dans l'hiver

Le froid est pour moi le prix de la liberté

Sirius finishes the last of his equation and puts his quill down, flicking his hand ever so slightly, making all of his notes and books carefully sort and place itself into a secured box (one that responds to only his magical handprint - he’s learned the hard way that he can no longer leave his work on the table and expect it to still be there when he turns around next - not with a fussy baby with uncontrolled magic). When he’s sure everything is sealed and secure, he gets up from the chair, and makes his way towards the blanket fort.

Once picked up, Leo starts fussing right away, making Sirius laugh.

“ C’est bon je m’assieds,” he says, French rolling easily from his tongue “je te laisse regarder Elsa tranquille.”

He sits down with his back to the couch, and lets Leo get comfortable on his lap, resting against his stomach and chest. There’s no more fussing after that - only the sounds of the movie.

Sirius talks to Leo while it plays - he’s not sure when that habit started (perhaps when he’s realised he can recite most of the dialogue in the movie without even realising he knows the words), and yet it’s a simple joy to just talk to his baby. He points out characters, repeats lines - usually with very silly voice impressions - says whatever comes to his mind.

So many of his old classmates would likely laugh seeing him right now - a full time stay at home dad, watching the same cartoon movie several times a day, and refusing to put down his own baby at times. It’s not how he imagined himself to be. He planned a Quidditch career, travelling the world, all that. Now, though, he wouldn’t swap this for anything else in the world.

They have a snack break, a nappy change, and a slight incident with peanut butter involved (after which Sirius might have changed into Padfoot and licked it off the floor - and the baby. Not that Remus needs to know), they sit down in front of the TV once again. Sirius doesn’t even have to ask - and it’s not like Leo can answer him just yet - before turning on La Reine des Neiges once again.

They get to the two sisters fighting when there’s a crack of Apparition from the hallway.

“Papa est rentré, tu veux aller lui dire bonjour?” Sirius says to Leo, ticking his stomach - even if focused on the cartoon, he lets out a happy squeal. “ Ou alors tu continues simplement à regarder le film pendant que papa te dis bonjour, hmm?”

“I swear, he’ll speak French before English and I’ll be clueless to anything that’s going on in this house.” Before Sirius can continue the ‘debate’ with Leo, Remus walks into the lounge. He’s shed his coat already, and Sirius can see his bag on the floor of the hallway.

“I’ll translate,” Sirius says with a grin.

“And what if you’re not home?”

“See, that’s my strategy. You can’t divorce me if you can’t understand our baby without me.”

Remus snorts, and walks up towards the heap of blankets - he has to step around quite a few stuffies and pillows, careful not to accidentally squish anything. He sits down next to Sirius and pecks him on the cheek.

Sirius flicks his hand to pause the movie. Usually, that’d earn him a bunch of protests - sometimes a temper tantrum if he didn’t pick Leo up quick enough (the boy is quite clingy - there’s not a minute in the day when he doesn’t want to be held. Sirius doesn’t mind, though - there’s nothing he loves more than simply getting to hold his baby) - but now there’s just a happy squeal and a bunch of baby noises as Leo bounces around with a laugh, waiting to be picked up by Remus.

The display of affection between them never fails to make Sirius so emotional he can’t quite speak. Sirius’s husband and their son. Such a simple, everyday thing, Remus coming home from school - and yet it always manages to be so incredibly special.

After many kisses, and hugs and squeals and baby talk from Remus, they settle down once again - this time with Remus, his head resting on Sirius’s shoulder. And so Sirius lets the movie play again.

“The ice princess again?”

“She has a name, and that’s Elsa. You’d know that if you were me, because it’s all that has been playing ever since September.”

Remus chuckles. “It was your idea to stay home with him.”

“I know. And I don’t regret it. I am, however, slowly questioning my sanity. You can only hear that one song so many times without going insane.”

“‘s not too bad if it’s in French.”

“Yeah, cause you don’t understand the words.”

Remus just shakes his head with a laugh, and then lets his hand go through the small bush of Leo’s tangled black hair.

“Your accent got heavier again,” he mumbles, letting himself inhale the smell of Sirius’s sweater. It’s October now, which means Sirius is slowly going back to the habit of baking far too many gingerbread cookies. His sweater smells like a coffee shop.

“No, it didn’t. It only does that after I’m at Reg’s.”

“You just rolled that r. It got heavier.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“You just don’t want to admit that you’re getting that from Elsa.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the smile creeping on his face.

“This looks like you and Reg when you two fight,” Remus says. “Or sounds like it, I guess. Bunch of French gibberish thrown around angrily.”

Sirius laughs. “You’re not wrong. Which one am I, though?”

Remus watches the scene for a few moments.

“The blonde. She looks very distressed and dramatic. The ginger one is quite calm.”

“I’ll politely ignore the implication.”

Remus chuckles, but then he turns Sirius’s face with his free hand and kisses him sweetly.

“You’re still my favourite, though. Even if a little dramatic. And even if you’re turning our baby against me.”

Sirius smiles, and lets their lips meet again for a short moment.

“I can teach you some words.”

“Nah. It’ll ruin it. You’re hot sounding as long as I’ve no clue what you’re saying.”

Sirius grins. “Je suis sexy quand je parle français, hein?”

“Whatever you just said, leave that for when the baby’s asleep. And tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Sirius lets his head fall down to rest against Remus’s head, and he settles into the pillows a little deeper.

“So the sister just said-”

“C’est bon je m’assieds, je te laisse regarder Elsa tranquille.”  -  “I’m just gonna sit down, I’ll let you watch your Elsa all you’d like.”

“Papa est rentré, tu veux aller lui dire bonjour? Ou alors tu continues simplement à regarder le film pendant que papa te dis bonjour, hmm?” -  “Your dad’s home, Wanna go say hello? Or you’re just gonna have daddy go say hi while you keep watching, hmm?”

Je suis sexy quand je parle français, hein? -  “I sound hot, huh?”

[elsafowl]

Las Chicas del Cable, S05 (part 2) | REVIEW

Okay, so SPOILERS AHEAD for the final episodes of Las Chicas del Cable (or Cable Girls in english or Les Demoiselles du Téléphone in french). You have been warned, if you read this post further than this, it's on you.

Now, let's talk.

I don't really have a logical order for my talking points, actually I kinda finished the last episode 10 minutes ago and I just stopped ugly crying so forgive me for the feels and over punctuation.

THE ENDING: yeah, let's start with the freaking ending. The freaking BAD ending, I must say. Sure, I was so sad and overwhelmed with the pre-death flashbacks that I didn't think about it at first but. wow. what a bad ending. Seriously, what were they thinking in the writers' room? "Oh, we are writing a serie about powerful, clever, independent, badass women who survive and fight against all odds for 5 seasons, how can we finish that..." "BY KILLING THEM ALL" "Yay, great idea Steve!" THE FUCK. It was already enough that Ángeles had to die. It was already enough that most of the original main cast had died by the last episode (Carlos, Elisa, Julio, Ángeles, Carmen, that's already a lot of people), but nooooo, you had to kill the main four. The main four, who, let's be clear, died in the most stupid way ever.

ALTERNATIVE ENDING THAT WOULD'VE BEEN WAY BETTER IN MY OPINION: so, modern TV seems to have a problem with 100% happy endings. Like, endings are usually bittersweet, or sad, or damn tragic (glaring at you, Game of Thrones). Let's roll with that. You want a mildly sad and shocking ending for your chicas, but you also really want that years of fights and character developments don't go to waste, and you also want your depiction of the after Civil War era in Spain to be a little bit realistic. What do you do? Let me tell you: you kill your main character in the final. Lidia dies, saving everyone else, sacrificing herself. She is the main, so it's a shock and it's sad (+ the ship war between Lidia/Carlos and Lidia/Francisco is avoided because 2/3 are dead). It's sad but it makes sense: not everyone can survive the Franco regime, not even the main character (who, honestly, has high morals and always try to help everyone even if it puts her in danger). You have the drama and the tears. But Carlota and Óscar? They deserve a happy ending, being badass reporters with their new son Martín, being in love and maybe becoming cool spies during WWII. They deserve this ending, because I'm tired of the Bury Your Gays Trop (seriously. AGAIN??). They deserve a happy ending because this last season was them not being sure they belonged together, and Óscar not feeling like himself, and them breaking up and finally making up at the end, and all of that for WHAT?? Tell me, for what!? Marga needs a happy ending too: she risked everything to save her husband, she freaking gave birth like a pro in the middle of a riot/prison escape and she had her baby and her family is reunited for what... three minutes before she has to freaking die?? No. Just no. I guess I can imagine how these deaths symbolize the fights of all of those women who were forgotten by History, but you don't have to kill all of them to spread the message damn it.

ESPECIALLY WHEN THE REASON FOR THEIR DEATHS SUCKS: maybe I can accept them all dying, if it made sense. But it didn't!! They spent the entire season, hell, the entire serie fighting against everything and everyone - and they were mostly winning!! Las chicas never gave up on anything or on each other, and that's the strength of the show. But here we are, with the last scene: Lydia has a crazy good plan with the book and the sleeping powder and they freaking manage to escape. But oh look, these dumbasses started the train 30 sec too early and they can't run fast enough to jump in it (even though Franscico managed to do so literally 10 min earlier). But oh look, they aren't running fast enough because they are wearing high heels... honestly, I know this sucks, but during the running scene I couldn't stop thinking that they were going to die because they were wearing high heels. And damn, they actually did die. BECAUSE OF A FASHION CHOICE AND BAD TIMING. are you kidding me? They also died because they decided to give up. Again, las chicas, who fought and won against asshole men, against Doña Carmen, against the freaking Franco regime and they gave up. Just like that, because of a train speeding too fast. What the actual fuck???

But let's talk about the other deaths of this season (because they were a lot). I had tears in my eyes for Elisa and that's it. You see, the major problem with these last episodes and their characters' deaths (except the last ones), is that you could feel that the writers had used this specific character and they didn't need them anymore. Julio is fun, but we don't need him anymore: you kill him. Elisa was useful for a bit, but then we don't need her anymore: you kill her. Doña Carmen lost everything, she's not a villain anymore so we don't need her: you kill her. Even this lady from the prison was a cool character, but you needed to show not everyone could come out of this escape alive so bam! you kill her. Honestly, I was okay with all of these deaths even if they were not subtle at all in their intent, but if we add the last four deaths, IT'S JUST TOO MUCH. Like hell, you can't have mostly everyone surviving impossible situations for 4 seasons and then having a real massacre in the last one.

The rhythm: yeah, the rhythm wasn't that great. Everything happened to fast, from plot development to character development. It's a minor complaint tho, because they did good with the few episodes they had and most characters had been developed in previous seasons anyway. But it still felt a little bumpy at times.

Doña Carmen's redemption (of sort): it was a little too fast to my taste. But then, Elisa's death was heartbreaking and Carmen's flashbacks with her children (now both dead, I can't believe I was such a fan of the Cifuentes in the first seasons) made it even more painful. I liked how she didn't backed down or betrayed Lydia in the end. And I like how her ultimate suicide was presented as a victory: Carmen was in charge of her own life, she never let anyone tell her what to do or not to do. She was a great villain, and yeah she dies but not to save anyone, just because she said so and I like that.

Also, I don't remember his name but don't you think there was a hell of a gay tension between Pablo and this guy who betrayed them and got Julio killed? I mean, maybe it's just me, but I think he wasn't really in love with Marga and maybe more with Pablo!

Too bad Sofía wasn't developed more. She was a tool in this last season: a plot device to spy in the prison, and she had like 2 scenes as the daughter of Lidia/Franscisco and 2 scenes as Felipe's love interest but... I don't know, I guess I wanted more of her, since we didn't really get to know her before.

I loved the prison scenes!! They were short, but each of the chicas had her moment to shine and it was particularly pleasing to see Óscar believing in himself again. Carlota and Óscar's arrival in prison was so violent (with the shower scene and everything), I wish they explored a little bit more of that. And also of Lidia suffering and becoming not a person but a number during her 8 months incarcerated.

Where did the nice lady guard from prison go?

Carmen putting her ex-friend and mostly Carlos and Elisa's killer alive in a coffen was pretty satisfying. Yeah, not sorry about that.

I really liked that Franscisco and Lidia didn't really had couple scenes in those final episodes. I'm not such a fan of the couple (why do we have to keep the first love forebver?) (the love triangle with Carlos sucks too), and I didn't miss those scenes. They didn't make a big deal of Carlos' death so they made the right choice to not rub it in our faces by having cute lovely scenes between Lidia and Francisco.

Actually, Marga and Pablo were the cutest and the birth scene was awesomely done. How Pablo was so encouraging over the phone, how Marga needed him to tell her she could do it, and she finally did it and the little moment of angst when the baby didn't cry and them obviously naming him Julio. I honestly was so happy, this was definitely one of the best scene (plus, they manage to reunite almost everyone in this scene, between the people in prison with Marga and the people in the apartment with Pablo).

Carlota and Óscar organising the riot was awesome too, and them getting back together was certainly welcomed bonus, even if they didn't get much scenes to explore that.

THIS SCENE WAS GOLD: 

AND SEEING ALL OF THEM WITH ÁNGELES AT THE END, AND ÓSCAR BEING HIMSELF AND EVERYONE BACK IN THE CABLE COMPANY LIKE IN THE FIRST SEASON, THE FREAKING TEARS!!!

Anyway, there is a lot to say about this season. Sure, the ending was terrible to me but that doesn't mean the rest of the season (or even the show) was bad. I think you can see me cool off in this post as I write, now I'm pretty calm and not as mad because I still love this show but damn, why would you ruin the ending like that?? Or like, maybe not ruining it totally, but making it so damn hard?

All in all, I really liked this serie even if the final episode (actually, the last scene) was pretty terrible to me. Of course, the first three seasons were way better than the last two, with the intrigue being around the cable company and less slip up in so many different directions because of the war. I truly think the Civil War and Franco era plot could have been better if they had more episodes, more time to develop it, and maybe more complex storytelling. I will always been grateful to have seen such a wonderful cast of actresses/characters on the show. They were powerful, badass, clever, independent, loving women (and Óscar) who were fighting everyday for their lives, for their loves, for their freedom and for their rights and that was beautiful to watch, especially when the main five characters are so different and yet so connected, so relatable, and so... I don’t know, women? 

Thank you Carlota, Óscar, Marga, Lidia and Angeles. Thank you, las Chicas del Cable. You’ll be dearly missed. ♥