#the way she says she was too young to remember the songs they sang on her home planet. the way that her mother was singing to them

[ilstar]

brain rotting a little before i jump start my brain into being sociable for the night but. i am reminded of one of my favourite things about robin.

[grapejuicestyless]

Leader Of The Landslide

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: John B was always your dad’s favorite. You always assumed it was because he blamed your mother leaving on you. Though he never outwardly neglected you, you always seemed to live in your older brother’s shadow. To everyone except one.

I remembered it from a young age, as early as seven, the way they all shunned me. My mother had been long gone, and my tired brain hadn’t held a single warm memory of her other than one.

We were at the chateau, as my dad called it, sitting on the old porch. Only, it wasn’t old then, it was new, and without the cigarette buds littering the once vibrant oak. There was an old wicker chair in the corner, pushed where the dusty couch now lay. It rocked slightly, not because it was meant to, but because it was broken. The distant memory of mumbled yelling and crashing from outside. Arguments that kept me and John B hidden under his covers until daylight broke. I loved that chair.

When I was young, my mom used to hold me in that chair. She never thought I was too old to be held, to be doted on by my mother. I still called her “mama” in my toddler years, pawing at the ends of her hair and the old fabric of her shirt. She sang soft melodies to me, songs I had never committed to memory, but songs I found in the simple things I enjoy now.

Popes dad says I had her eyes, and John B once told me that our dad thought I had her laugh. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like me, he tells me he loves me, but he doesn’t like me.

Right before she left, I had been padding along the grain of the wood floors, my blanket dragging between my legs and my dad’s shirt were my makeshift pajamas hanging down to my ankles. A storm, ones we got often in the summertime as the air became warmer and pushed out the cold, had broken down a few large branches in the yard, and in an effort to find comfort, I ran to my mama.

“You favor that girl over our son!” My dad shouted, his voice thick with a simmering anger I had never heard before. I swore even then I could feel it through the walls.

“How dare you! They are my babies! I love those kids more than anything I have ever loved, and I love them just the same!” My mama argued, but her voice was softer, more conscious of her young ones who she believed were tucked into bed just a few feet away.

“I should have known you would have been this way. You haven’t seen them the same since they were born.” My mama added softly, her words bitter and heavy with an unspoken truth.

There was a heavy silence, and then, a crack. I wasn’t sure what it was, the sound of rings hitting skin and the soft clanking of another hitting the ground. I ran quietly, light on my feet as soon as the collision happened, crawling over to John B’s bed and pulling the sheets up to my chin. He didn’t even stir, so used to the feeling of my legs curling against his, expecting to wake up nose to nose when the sun would shine through his thin curtains. The arguments happened so often, it became rare that he wouldn’t wake up with me tucked into bed beside him, a nervous wreck and furrowed brows.

That was the last time I saw my mother, or heard her voice. I hadn’t known it then, but the way my father seemed distant that morning told me it was more than one of the usual fights. She wouldn’t be walking through that door again in a few days like she sometimes would, and she would never sing to me again.

I remember laying out across that old chair, pulling my small knees to my chest. Her perfume lingered on the cushion tied around the back, and her voice was carried over the breeze. She wasn’t coming back, and the pain in my father’s eyes and the churning of his stomach told me that much.

A few days later, dad called my brother and I into the living room to tell us how mama had skipped town, set off for a better life. I could tell they both blamed her, bother hated her secretly for it almost instantly, and being so young and impressionable, I nearly agreed, I nearly believed it. But I saw the way my father spoke to her and the way he had the ability to make her snap back. She deserved that life my father said she was chasing, even if deep down I knew it was a lie.

I never told my brother that dad was lying, though sometimes I did whisper it in his sleep like a prayer, like my truth would reach his dreams and taint his false sense into seeing whats real. But even as a little kid I wasn’t innocent enough to blabber on about how horrible our last living parent was. Especially not when our dad was to John B as what our mother was to me.

The chair was gone soon after, and my dad refused to tell me where he’d thrown it. At first I thought he had broken it, but he was a sensible man at times, and the extra cash lying around the kitchen told me he had sold it, and he had killed her memory too.

Years later, with barely any recollection of who she was, and lacking the foundations of which she should have built for me, sometimes I found myself curled up in that corner, my knees pulled to my chest tightly in the same ball I wound myself in all those years ago, and sometimes I found myself still calling out for her, like if she had heard how much I still needed her, she would sing for me one last time.

But I am much older now, and it has dawned on me repeatedly like some sick prayer that I am too old to be held, to be shown the affection of a mother and her infant, and I have been since the day she left.

Early mornings and stained glass windows, not from paints, but mold. Old rotten wood and dusty broken furniture. A safe haven to call home, a quiet room on the heart of the cut. My brother and I often pulled out patches of grass in the backyard, and sometimes we’d sit together on the hammock, see how high we could swing and loop our fingers around the rope to hold on.

Dad would sit inside, sometimes by the kitchen window where he could look out and watch over us, but he mainly spent his time inside of his office, which had at one point, been moms bedroom.

He used to leaning over the dirty counters, feeling the sun on his skin, letting the gentle breeze cool the back of his neck. But dad loved a lot of things, and unlike mom, he lacked a discreet touch about those things.

I guess it could be traced back to when my brother and I had just turned eight. A week after the party had rolled over, and glasses kept piling up around the house, sticky and stained a faint brown from his favorite cheap whiskey. Sometimes I tried to clean them up, and I would place them in the sink, but the colors never faded, not even after my small palms would bleed and callous.

Once, John B asked me what I was doing. He had been playing outside with Pope and JJ, and JJ had been screaming for me to come outside and be his partner in ‘signs’, our favorite childhood card game. Though, JJ and I often lost because we too, lacked the ability to be discreet in any situation.

I told him I’d be out soon, I was just doing the dishes and I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face. The usually happy, calm man looked down at his feet with something I’ve later identified embarrassment. I never blamed dad for drinking. I figured if mom leaving was still hard on me after all this time, it must have been hard for him too.

He began using his coffee mug after that. The dark liquid less shameful in a cup that gave him the ability to not only disguise his problem, but to commit it at any time of day, because John B was too oblivious to notice, and I was too naive to believe he would.

“Bird.” Dad called for John B in the backyard, not caring how Pope and I were arguing nonsensical things over each other, waving our arms and pointing fingers. JJ happily mediated, laughing at our schoolyard taunts and remarks, encouraging us to snap back, though we all knew our words were nothing more than that, and we all loved each other a great deal too much to mean any of it.

If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own thoughts, maybe I would’ve seen the way dad was swaying. The way his knuckles were white around the frame of the door. His glasses were crooked, and his breath rotten with substances. But I didn’t notice, and so little John B happily walked towards our father with open arms.

Dad hugged him. He hugged his son and held back his tears like it was the most beautiful moment he could ever dream of. He held John B like he was precious, and not to deny that he wasn’t, to me my brother was worth more than anything in the world, but to my dad, it was something more than that, and to me, it felt that way too.

Because dad never held me, his daughter, who cleaned his dishes, and covered his tracks, and lied, and stole, and cried out for him, for some peace. He never hugged me like that. Because he blamed me.

He blamed me for my mother leaving because unlike my mother, he could never love my brother and I the same. He couldn’t love two of something if he barely wanted one. He never hit me, but he was cold, calculated, cruel when he wanted to be.

That day, at just eight years old, I sat in the grass with dirt under my nails and heavy breaths wondering would it would be like to feel the warmth of my father. Would it solve all my problems or only tear me apart further.

Because maybe if I continued to never feel the embrace of the man who gave me life, it would be easier to disassociate and pretend that it didn’t hurt. Maybe it would be easier to not like him anymore, and the unbearable guilt I carried even as an eight year old, would go away finally.

I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t fighting Pope anymore, or how my gaze had drifted over to watch how tenderly my dad held onto my brother, because I couldn’t even feel the way tears burned into my skin in slow droplets that fell into my lap.

JJ hugged me then, and it felt special, I felt special, because I knew even at that age that affection was a rarity in my life, and JJ, as much as I knew he loved me, was not a physical person. Still, he held me from behind while Pope spewed out apologies, swearing on everything he believed that he hadn’t meant a word. I could tell that he too, felt confused because we had gone after each other multiple times and never had I broken down.

In that moment it felt like I had gained something more than a hug from my father, but a silent acceptance with my best friends. Because soon, even Pope shut up and looked to where JJ’s eyes were glued, and even as flustered as he had been, everyone who sat in the dirt that day understood that no words that were thrown around had ever hurt me, nor did they even reach me, because what had made me so inconsolable was the fact that my happy brother received all the praise while I laid out in the lawn, crying until I dry heaved, ignored by someone who I only ever wanted love from.

“It’s gonna be alright, Y/n/n.” JJ mumbled quietly into my ear, and for the first time, I didn’t believe a word he said.

“Dad, dad stop.” I defended myself for the first time when I was thirteen. I was only half his height and he was triple my age. I thought that somehow, if I stopped enabling his behavior, he would get better. He would see how much I cared and he would finally love me.

That was the first time dad yelled at me, really yelled at me.

My dad refused to lay a hand on me, so when my friends ask if I was ever abused, I tell them no because it feels laughable to compare my psychological trauma to the welts on their ribs when they barely escape home.

When JJ asks me whats wrong, why my eyes look so puffy in the afternoon, after I stumble out of the house in the same clothes as the night before, I tell him I didn’t get enough sleep, because how do you tell your best friend who has been climbing through my bedroom window since we were nine that my dad hurts me too, you just can’t see it.

Dad called me a liar and a psychopath when I told him he was hurting me. He told me that it wasn’t true because he loved my brother and I and he would never lay a hand on either of us, not then and not ever. Dad says that he deserves respect, that I’m only a kid and he’s the adult so I better start acting like it. He tells me that it’s like a switch went off in my head ever since I became a teenager and all of a sudden I can’t stand him. But that’s not true.

The truth was even at such a young age, I always knew I would lay my life on the line for my dad. He meant more to me than I could ever express, because to me, he was the man who hadn’t left, even when he was given all the right reasons to bail out. So, for years I tried to cover for him, clean up and take care of everyone to show him what I could never articulate into a phrase of my affection. Still, he preferred John B’s half hearted sentiment over anything I could give him.

I wished so deeply that I was born different, that I wasn’t me. Because maybe if I wasn’t the clone of my mother, maybe then my father would like me more.

I guess the worst part of it all is that I can never be sure if my father’s anger could have been my mother’s, only given to him in her absence. Would his hands have been hers as I grew older? Would her hugs turn into the white knuckles wrapped around my throat? And would her songs become the vile words my father threw at me in drunken rage?

Maybe if I kept hiding behind the cruelties of his excuses for the way I cowered around him, then John B wouldn’t have to live in the same sense of shock I have been stuck in for a decade.

Dad never laid a hand on me, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to touch me to kick me in the stomach, all he had to do was show me how he was capable of being a loving father, but never put me on the receiving end.

He found time for John B, even as he buried himself in his work, searching for some gold that seemed far away and unimportant. He locked himself away while I slid food under the door, and I watched as he kissed my brother’s forehead and bid him goodnight, leaving me to sleep on the couch.

Even as a thirteen year old girl, an age so tender and impressionable, I felt so much more mature than I should have. I felt the effects of neglect I couldn’t wish on anyone. In my self pity, even after he gave me every reason to turn on him, I couldn’t hate him, so I began to hate myself.

“Dad, when was the first time you felt love?” John B asked one night. For the first time in a long time, we were all lying in the living room. My brother hung over my dad’s lap and my head resting on the floor as I sank off of the old dusty beanbag.

Dad thought carefully, his large hands splayed out against my brother’s small back.

“The day you were born.” He answered thoughtfully, and I watched as my brother’s eyes lit up.

I had every right to scream, to beg for an answer because the little girl trapped inside of me didn’t deserve this kind of pain from her own blood. But I didn’t. I sniffled and sat up, storming out of the house that I wasn’t even sure I could call home. How foolish I felt for ever believing my dad would ever love us the same. How stupid I felt for thinking that my brother, who inherited our fathers name, would never be preferred over my mother’s child.

“Y/n Routledge, get back inside now!” Dad yelled, storming down the porch to catch me. But I had become good at slipping away, and neglectful parents raise angry children.

“Go to hell!” It was the first time I swore at my dad. Even I shocked myself, because it had never occurred to me that I could do that.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” He asked me, and it made me want to laugh because when had I ever done anything to him that wasn’t in good faith? “Just like your mama! Storming off!” My dad cursed under his breath, not really bothering to chase after me. How easy would it have been for me to have ran away.

I could live under a tree, a big willow with drooping leaves and heavy branches. I could make friends with the squirrels and be a good mother to them, the mother I never had, but always dreamed of.

“My mama was a good woman!” I cried out, suddenly overwhelmed with my freshly made emotions, ones that felt too strong for a new teenage girl.

“You know nothing about her! She left, I’m the one who stayed!” Dad yelled, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious.

I did something I had never done before. In all of my life, not once had I ever blamed my dad for my mom leaving. Not even after I heard their fights from when I was no taller than the notches in the doorframes, and not after he began to spend his paychecks on alcohol instead of new shoes for John B and I. I never blamed him because he always blamed me, and if it made me feel so worthless, then how could I ever do that to him?

“I don’t blame her!” I fought back, tears burning my eyes almost as hard as the back of my throat stung. “And I don’t blame you.”

I couldn’t stay mad at dad for more than a few minutes. I couldn’t blame him, and I couldn’t lie and say I did when I didn’t. Dad didn’t say anything then, so I turned on my heels in the dirt and I stormed off.

That night, I knocked on JJ’s window. I was wearing an old Star Wars t-shirt that he once called nerdy and my rainbow pajama pants. I looked thirteen going on seven, my cupcake slippers caked in mud.

But JJ didn’t pull on my braids like my brother did when we fought, and he didn’t poke fun at my pants. He opened his window and leaned out, his messy blond hair and tired eyes adjusting to admire my face.

“Y/n/n? What happened? Why are you here?” He asked, and I could tell he sounded a little on edge. His dad used to be discreet about how he dealt with JJ, but after middle school had began, he stopped caring as JJ stuck around the same kids he grew up with. So, I stayed as quiet as possible, not wanting any trouble.

“I just missed you.” A lie. The first of many lies I would spew out to my best friend because I felt too awkward to confess my own feelings and burden him when he had it so much worse.

“Oh.” His face lit up slightly, and I could tell my words made him feel nice. “C’mon, I’ll help you in. Wouldn’t wanna lose a slipper.” He teased with a toothy grin, a smart ass from birth.

I playfully smacked his shoulder, holding my breath until my feet hit his dirty floors. He held onto my arms longer than he had to, and I wondered if he could feel my body shaking.

“Don’t make fun, okay? I like my slippers.” I smiled, blinking away the old tears that I cried on the way over, and pawing at the scrapes from the bushes I cut through to get to his house quicker.

“I would never!” He defended softly, his arms raised in a scouts honor. “Cross my heart, cupcake.”

Sometimes I wished that JJ and I were older, I thought about it often. It kept me awake after long fights with dad, that I would one day save up all the money I could scrape together and take JJ with me. We’d go around the globe, just me, him, and open ocean surrounding us, and only the scars on our skin and in our heads to remind us of the past. But we wouldn’t care, because we would be there for each other, and the ocean would wash away the evil men on the shore.

“I wish I had a more appreciative daughter!” Dad yelled at me as he packed up his things in a hurry, chasing yet another lead on his quest for the gold, a passion driven by his valiant greed.

It hurt, but it would have hurt me a lot more three years ago. At sixteen, his words meant nothing to me, because at sixteen, I had finally come to terms with the fact that my dad simply did not like me, and that was okay.

So instead of sitting in self pity, or swallowing myself whole in a another bottomless spiral of self hatred and depression, I finally found the spark that was burning so fiercely somewhere deep inside of me.

“Fuck you!” The second time I swore at dad. “Fuck you and all your promises to get better!” I stepped forward, crossing into his office, which I swore to never go in, not only because it reeked of him, but because it was only a reminder of how quickly he let mom go, and how quickly he shifted the blame onto me, an innocent infant with no real chance to do anything to anyone.

“Fuck me? Oh, fuck me? Your father? I have done everything for you! I have given you the chances my own parents couldn’t give me and you are so ungrateful! I pray for a day you wake up and see the damage you cause around here!” Dad spat, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck all your pride and fuck all your prayers!” I stepped closed again, and my knuckles pawed at his shirt desperately, my eyes looking up at my father, who stood ten times taller than me, or so it felt that way. “All this time I waited like a fool, because you’re my dad. Above anything else, before the treasure and before the alcoholic, you’re supposed to be my dad!”

“Are you drunk?” He asked. I wasn’t, but I might as well have been with how quickly my mind passed through emotions.

Here he was standing in front of me, and here I was already done processing all my grief. He wasn’t dead, I could feel each breath under the palms of my hands, yet for years it felt like walking next to a ghost with how absent and withdrawn he always was from my life.

“All I ever wanted was a father.” I told him softly. “Was that too much to ask?” I deserved to know, but I should have known better.

My dad was an asshole, and he always would be. It was in his fashion that he would brush right past me, unfeeling and lacking empathy for his own daughter.

I felt angry. Before, I felt betrayed, sad, even embarrassed by him, and by how easily I let him get away with all his faults simply because he was my father and if my brother loved him, then there had to be some good in him. But there wasn’t.

Here he was, walking out of my life, the keys to the car that I paid for in his hands, dangling just as carelessly as he was with my life. I don’t know why that set me off, but it had. I heard my feet slap against the floors before I felt myself moving.

“Give back my damn keys!” I caught up behind him, snatching the carabiner from his dirty knuckles and pushing him into the wall. He wouldn’t hit, but god, had he made me wish I could. “I paid off that loan it’s under my name!” I stuffed the clasp into my back pocket tightly.

“You wanna leave, thats fine. But you’re walking out of my life if you’re going!” I breathed out heavily, the frames on the wall rocking back and forth from the force he hit the wood with.

“What is wrong with you? Where’s my sweet little girl I used to love?” My knuckles loosened on his shirt again, but my elbows remained pressed into his stomach.

“Loved? Like you ever loved me. You couldn’t have, because you wouldn’t have taken it out on me. You wouldn’t have gotten rid of her existence in spite of me. You wouldn’t have tossed that damn chair, and you wouldn’t have burned the things she kept for me!” I wanted to cry, but more than that, I wanted him so see how exhausted I felt.

“All I wanted was a fucking father, John.”

“And you got one, and look at you, you’re a strong young woman now!” He laughed bitterly, fighting against my shaky hold. He could barely look at me. I wondered if he was asked, could he even tell a friend the color of my eyes? If I were to wash up on the shore, could he even report the body? Would my grave lay empty simply because he hadn’t known me for years, and he never would.

“I was a little girl! I was a little girl, and I still am! I’m sixteen, dad! Stop treating me like some type of problem when I’ve been nothing but great to you!” I cried this time, pushing him harder until the wood splintered and my arms gave out. We both stumbled away from each other.

“All I ever wanted was a father, but for the first time, finally I can see you are the leader of the landslide.” I scoffed pathetically, staring him down with a broken heart.

I deserved to smash all the plates in the house, to rip off all the wallpaper and spray paint the rotting white paint bright blue just in spite of my father. But even though he wasn’t kind to me, I couldn’t ignore how good of a dad he had been to John B, and more than anything I ever held close to me, I loved my brother dearly. I wiped my tears and let dad walk out on me. Neither of us said a word.

He clapped John B over the back when he got outside, promising to return soon, this time with the promise of an unpromising fortune. He swore that he loved my brother more than anything, called him by the nickname he earned long ago, and left without saying another word.

I watched wordlessly from the front steps.

We lost the gold. Once or twice. The gold we had found first was a slap to the face, but having the cross stolen right out from under us felt so much worse, especially with Pope being tied into it on such a deeper level.

We all sat around the first now, our bodies tucked close together like a perfectly woven blanket, arms tangled around each other and weak laughter echoing around the smokey fire. We didn’t have much left to fight for, but to me, I felt deeply that in a more important way, we had gotten the gold, and we had been filthy rich all along.

The gold we’d found couldn’t be measured on a scale and dealt between the seven of us evenly, but unmeasurable and sought after by anyone who understood. Because in the end, we still had each other, and to me, this was family.

JJ’s blonde hair tickled the top of my forehead. We sat close together on the low swinging hammock in the backyard. His arms wrapped around me tightly, and my legs thrown over his lap carelessly. We talked quietly with Kiara about the little things. We found alternatives to seek out her dreams of preserving the ecosystem and to swim with the turtles.

It all felt so real, so domestic for a group of friends who were always running from something. It felt like the first time in a while I had time to stop and catch my breath.

“What are you thinking about, cupcake?” The nickname rolled nicely off the tongue, his crooked smile endearing to me, and his eyes sweeter than any doe I’d ever encountered.

I sighed contently, cuddling closer to the boy and soaking up his warmth greedily. Though we both never said it would loud, it always felt nice to share close proximity with someone we trusted so deeply. To feel affection for someone when we had grown up scarcely to it.

Dad had been dead for nearly two years now, and the truth was, I wasn’t sixteen anymore. I wasn’t the sad little thirteen year old who hated herself more than anyone else, who climbed through the blondes window at midnight in her muddy slippers, and I wasn’t the timid toddler who could barely walk without tripping on her blanket she dragged around everywhere for a pathetic kind of comfort.

John B took it hard at first. I wanted so desperately to tell him everything. He was my older brother after all, but most days now I felt like it was my job to look out for him. It always had been. He was my brother and I would never have let him suffer, but sometimes it was hard not to wish for once I could selfishly struggle openly and degrade the man he saw as his hero.

It would be wrong for me to taint that image of a dead man, a man I still believed John B was openly grieving, even if he said he was okay now. You are never okay after losing someone like that, no matter how evil, and I think he forgets that he was still my father, even if he never saw us in the same context as he saw him.

“Thinking about how comfortable you are.” I mumbled, stretching my limbs out tiredly along his tanned skin. I laid like a lap dog on his chest, my head tucked under his chin and my hands playing with the rough fabric of his dirty t-shirt.

“Not about John B?” He prodded quietly. JJ always knew when the wheels in my head were turning, just like I could always tell when something was wrong. It was like our super powers, to know each other so well we couldn’t hide anything.

“He’ll come back, he wouldn’t leave you.” He assured softly, his fingers dancing gently along my curved spine. It felt like oddly in times like these, the calm after the storms, that it truly would always be just JJ and I against the world. Like we were the only two people who truly understood each other, through the laughter and under the deepest scars littering our skin.

“I know. He’s my brother, he wouldn’t do that.” I agreed, and just as I was about to let the serenity of the lazy swinging of the hammock lull me into a sleepy haze, the crunching of boots on leaves alerted me elsewhere.

There he stood, his clothes still grimy from the tropical heat and wet mud from Barbados. His hair was stuck to his forehead in the same curl pattern from a few days ago, but the deep rooted brunette seemed to become a shade of dirty blonde from all the harsh sun. His skin was tanned and covered in sweat, but he was still my brother, and he had finally come home.

I sat up quickly from JJ’s arms, pushing off of his chest with so much force, I felt him bend at the waist and let out a puff of air. I shouted an apology before wrapping my brother in a bone crushing hug, relief filling my stomach and the unease dispersing finally.

“Where have you been!” I pushed him away with a smile, I didn’t even notice the seriousness in his gaze as he called out for me softly.

“Are you crazy? Staying behind like that in a foreign country?” I laughed breathlessly, my eyes searching his face and settling on his lack of a smile.

“Y/n/n.” He called out again softly.

“What? Whats wrong?” I breathed out, my smile fading slightly into a dimmer smirk, confidence slipping from my face into a deep furrow between my brows.

“John B, what happened? Did someone hurt you…d-did-“ My happy touch became a panicked grip on his clothes, my knuckles white and face pale as I searched for answers.

“Y/n.” He cooed calmly, the ease between his eyes and brows calming the pace of my breath. “I found him.” He said with a soft smile.

“What?” I breathed out. “Who?”

I racked my brain for answers, mulling over every possible explanation for what could have made me stay behind, leave behind all the good that had surrounded him for the past few years, and the good that would continue to grow with him.

“Don’t tell me you forgot your own dad?” An old voice called out from behind the brush, long greasy hair and an un-groomed bears covering a good portion of his old face. From his glasses alone I could see who it was, never mind the voice that often haunted me even in my sleep, the ghostly presence that lingered even as I slept on my own.

He was a poltergeist haunting my life, torturing my soul until I bled out completely blue. Had the punishment of forcing a child to clean up his mess for over a decade not been enough karma for all the bad I hadn’t done yet? Would I forever be stuck in the broken glass of his aftermath? How much longer would I have to hide behind the shell of who I once was just to please those who don’t yet know about who I am, of who I could have become?

I decided then I couldn’t do it, and I let go of my brother, and I let go of my pride.

“No.” I spoke softly, looking between the boys. John B looked more and more like dad every day.

I watched my brother’s face crumble in confusion, my heels dragging against the dirt, I backed away like a scared dog, no longer the eager retriever with a bird at the door. My tail was between my legs.

“Y/n/n, it’s dad!” John B gestured like it would click for me, but that was not my father. Maybe by blood, but he would never be more than that to me, just evidence that linked me back to John B.

“No, I-I can’t.” I tried to explain through staggering breaths, choking out my words like tranquilized venom.

“I know it’s a lot, but everything’s going to be the way it was.”

My back hit JJ’s chest, and for the first time in the last few seconds, the ringing that blocked out my brothers bargaining seemed to fall deaf on my ears, and all I could hear was the sound of my heart beat dying in my chest.

“No, you don’t get it.” I cried out, though my eyes felt dry. “You don’t get it and you never will!” I begged silently for him to see the way the spark seemed to die as soon as dad came back, the way that my shoulders slumped and the confident young woman I had become faded back into the teenage daughter who wished for nothing more than to run far away from here.

“Y/n, come on, don’t be like this.” Dad tried to reason, like it was his say to decide how I would handle his return, like he could decide when I stopped feeling the effects of his abuse, because that was a word I had learned to call it, because that is what it was. Abuse.

“How dare you!” I shouted, anger making my skin hot. I felt queasy, like the world was crashing down on me, betrayal hot on my face. He didn’t know, my brother didn’t know because I protected him from it.

Couldn’t he ever notice how much happier I seemed after dad left? How I finally started living for the moments between us instead of for the times when I could go to sleep, where I could quietly call out for our mother who I didn’t know.

JJ knew, of course he knew. He knew by the time dad left. I’d confessed it all in a drunken ramble in the backyard after he commented on how happy I seemed, and though I laughed when I told him, neither of us found it funny. He apologized for making me feel like my problems were minuscule compared to his, but I assured him it was my own self doubt, and never his own actions. Neglectful parents raise insecure kids.

So if my best friend had known, if he could see just how happy I was without the burden of my father’s blame, how could my other half not see it? My own DNA? It led me to believe he was neglectful of me in his own ways, pushing aside the obvious signs of my own struggle just for his own benefit, for the gain of a relationship with the father that severed ours long ago.

“How dare you come back here after all the shit you put me through!” I cried, and I hit him. I hit him in the chest and I watched as he kept his ground, his shoes not even sliding against the mud. I had grown weaker without his constant fighting, and it showed in just how quickly the flame flickered out.

“How dare you come back and expect me to just be okay with it when all you’ve given me is years of therapy that I can’t afford!” I hit him in the jaw, and this time, I felt a pair of arms pull me away, my hot tears burning their tan skin. I kicked and I screamed, and my brother dragged me off until I couldn’t reach him anymore.

“You’re a piece of shit! I owe you nothing!” I pointed at him, staring him down as he rubbed the quickly blossoming bruise on his skin, his beard covering the welt almost entirely. The mark didn’t make me feel better at all, and instead, I only felt more pathetic.

“I gave you everything!” My limbs fell limp, all fight leaving my body as my tired joints ached, my head falling onto JJ’s shoulder. The boys passed me off like some kind of child, and looking at the man who tormented me my entire youth, I felt just like the timid child once again, like all my growth meant nothing.

The bright moon was replaced with the yellow glow of the kitchen lights, clouds traded in for floral curtains that hung crooked over the windows, and the cool grass fading into hard wood beneath my feet.

“Y/n, hey…” JJ cooed, his hands brushing against my shoulders.

“I just…fuck…I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why I hit him, I don’t know, I just-“

“Y/n, cupcake, hey, baby,” he called for me again, a plethora of nicknames tumbling from his lips that I had never heard him call me before, but all that held a genuine affection in them. I stopped my senseless rambling at the tenderness of his touch and softness in his voice.

“It’s okay to not be okay.” He affirmed quietly. “You earned your anger, it’s okay.”

I nodded, my gaze drifting from just beyond his shoulder were my brother stood dumbfounded with my father, looking at him with a mix of question and anger towards the man that he once saw with stars in his eyes.

“Jay, I don’t know what to do.” I confessed quietly, feeling like we were ten again, sharing secrets through a game of telephone, just the two of us stuffed in the corner of my bedroom at midnight, my father unaware that the blonde was still in the house, let alone snuck in my room.

“That’s okay.” He nodded again, and this time his palms molded against the apples of my cheeks, thumbs brushing away my stale tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, we can run, or we can stay and kick him out, or we can do nothing.” I focused on the way he said each option with the use of we, because in our minds, we always escaped hell together.

“Can we just stay here for a little longer?” My eyes found his, and I saw the way his flickered down in a way that felt too intimate for just best friends.

“We can do whatever we want, it’s you and me against the universe, cupcake, and we’re winning it.” He promised.

And just as I always had, I believed every word he said.

[mariclerc]

Family cuddles | pg10

Summary: Your little girl decides to interrupt the peace and quiet of the morning. Warning: None, just you and Pierre being sweethearts.

a/n: dedicated and requested by: @martaaairwin1994-blog

Sunlight streams through the blinds, painting warm stripes across the bed where you and Pierre lie intertwined. The air is thick with the quiet contentment of a shared morning. Pierre, still half-asleep, mumbles something unintelligible against his girlfriend's neck.

“Mornin', sleepyhead.” you say with a smile.

Pierre stirs, his eyes fluttering open. He smiles at her, that easy, charming smile that makes her heart clench.

“Morning, beautiful. Sleep well?”

“Like a baby. You?”

“Like a king. Though, maybe a king with a tiny princess ruling over him.”

He gestures towards the doorway, where your almost! three-year-old daughter, Lucille, peeks in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She's wearing mismatched socks and a giant T-shirt that swallows her whole, but her grin is infectious.

“Peek-a-boo papa!”

“Luci! Come here, you little monkey!” you said squealing.

Lucille squeals with delight and launches herself onto the bed, landing with a soft thud between her parents. Pierre scoops her up, showering her face with kisses.

“Good morning, sunshine! Did you sleep well?” Pierre asks her.

“Yes, Papa! I had a dream about bunnies and fluffy clouds.” She giggles.

“Sounds magical. What did the bunnies do?” you asked curiously.

“They flew on the clouds! And they sang a song about carrots.” She said shyly.

Pierre and his girlfriend exchange a fond look. Lucille's boundless imagination never fails to amuse them.

“Sounds like a pretty cool dream. Maybe we can draw a picture of it later?”

“Yes! And we can color the bunnies pink!” Luci says while clapping her hands.

“Pink bunnies, huh? Sounds perfect.” You say with a smile at your daughter's creativity.

Lucille nestles closer to her mother, her soft breaths tickling her skin. Her girlfriend smiles, wrapping an arm around her daughter's small frame. Pierre joins them, his hand finding hers, creating a warm circle of love. The morning sun paints the room in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the bed.

“I love you, Mama.” Lucille mumbles.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Always and forever.”

Lucille's breathing becomes even, the rhythmic rise and fall a soothing lullaby. Pierre watches them, his heart swelling with a love he never thought possible. He remembers the countless sleepless nights, the endless diaper changes, the moments of pure exhaustion. But looking at them now, bathed in the quiet contentment of morning, he wouldn't trade it for anything.

“You're incredible.” He says as he kisses your forehead.

“We're incredible together, don't you think?” You smile sleepily.

Their fingers intertwine, a silent promise of shared dreams and unwavering support. The silence is broken only by the soft chirping of birds outside the window and the gentle hum of the refrigerator downstairs. It's a simple moment, yet it holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

“Remember when we were young and carefree?” Pierre whispers.

“Barely remembers yesterday, let alone years ago!” you chuckled.

“I meant carefree in a good way. No responsibilities, just us.”

“And now we have the biggest responsibility of all, but the best kind.”

“You're right. Being her parents, watching her grow each day, it's the most rewarding thing in the world.”

They fall silent again, their thoughts turning to their future as a family. The little girl nestled between them is a constant reminder of the journey they've shared, the obstacles they've overcome, and the love that binds them together. The sun climbs higher, painting the room in a brighter light, signaling the start of a new day. But for now, they hold onto this precious moment, a stolen cuddle in the morning sun, a testament to the enduring power of love and family.

[multific]

A Love Without Words

Paul Atreides x Mute!Reader

Summary: Destiny has its way to make us suffer. It gives us power but it can take it away just as easily. 

You and Paul grew up together.

It was decided at a young age that you were to become his wife when the time comes.

Lady Jessica remembered the day he took his young boy, barely two years old into the healers where you were just born. 

Lady Jessica remembered the day he told his son that the baby laying in the crib will be his wife. 

Paul didn't understand it back then. Of course, he didn't, he was too young.

You soon grew up to be a strong woman, strong with the Voice. Your power and ability to use the Voice became evident at a young age.

You loved to sing as well.

It is how Paul fell in love with you. One morning, he heard a voice, oh so sweet, singing. He knew he needed to find the person. He needed to know who it was. And he found you. Baking away as you sang. Paul was only sixteen, yet he found the love of his life.

---

But then, things turned for the worst. On your sixteenth birthday, you celebrated with your family.

Your family was attacked.

The Duke himself went to help but it was all in vain. Your parents were dead, and they found you in terrible conditions.

"My Lady, she is stable now, her vitals are good but... My Lady... she lost her voice." Paul and her mother looked at the nurse as she handed them a note.

'I tried to save them, I used the Voice but I failed. And now, I lost my parents and the Voice.'

Paul looked up at the nurse, demanding answers.

"She can't speak anymore, she had gone mute."

Mute.

Your beautiful voice.

Your songs.

Were all gone?

The voice that made him laugh and smile. The voice that talked so sweetly to him.

Was it truly gone?

Paul looked at his mother who had sadness in her eyes.

All she could say was "At least she is still alive."

But it was no comfort for Paul.

He headed into the room, finding you alone in bed, but you weren't sleeping.

He didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say.

So, he sat down beside your bed and held your hand as you silently cried.

Paul wanted nothing more than to burn the world. The world that took so much from you. 

You swore on that hospital bed that no matter what, you won't let this fully break you.

It is what your attackers would have wanted, and you weren't going to give them the satisfaction of winning.

They came into your home to kill you and your family due to your closeness to the Duke. Everyone knew about your engagement to Paul, and they wanted to attack where it would hurt.

And it hurt. 

It really did hurt Paul.

You were moved into his room, his mother decided to marry you to him earlier. Saying in order to keep your title and the power your House once had, you had to be married.

It was disgusting to hear that after the day of your attack, many nobles offered their daughters up for marriage to Paul.

But there you were, only a week after you buried your parents and your voice, you were standing in a white dress getting married. 

You tried to be happy, after all, you did love Paul with all of your heart. 

But you were still grieving.

Slowly, you started to heal, Paul and Lady Jessica did help you a lot. While the Lady tried to help you get your voice back, Paul wanted you to accept the fact that you lost it.

You felt like you were pulled in two directions.

Then the following week, during your daily training with Lady Jessica, you finally had enough.

'I don't wish to continue. I lost my voice and I'm coming to terms with it, Paul helps a lot. I understand that the Voice is a gift. Unfortunately, I have lost my gift, so I'm trying to find a new purpose.'

Read the note you handed to Lady Jessica before exiting the room.

She didn't argue. She knew she was holding onto something which she couldn't save. She knew, but at least you both tried.

Now, you needed a new purpose, and motivation to keep you going. And you found it in Paul. 

Paul was a kind soul. Attentive, affectionate and caring. He loved you like no other. 

And you loved him. You loved that even though you were only a shadow of the woman you once were, he loved you.

You often found yourself in the library, reading or by the window looking out.

Your daily routine was simple. And every day you had dinner with your now-family. The Duke, Lady Jessica and Paul. 

You never really paid attention to the conversations, it was mainly the Duke speaking with Paul 

Then, during one dinner, something caught your attention. Something the Duke said.

A child.

The Duke asked Paul when does he plan on having a child, an heir. 

It shocked you. It really did.

Considering that you and Paul only spent one night intimate. It was the best night of your life. Even if he said he didn't have any experience, you didn't mind. 

You were still rather nervous around him.

Thankfully you had your notepad with you. Everyone watched as you wrote something before a servant stepped up and you handed him the note. He read it out loud.

"It was rather difficult for my mother to conceive. It is why I am an only child. I'm afraid I might have the same difficulty, My Duke. I sincerely apologise." as he finished you bowed your head and everyone was so speechless it made you nervous. You did just admit to a flaw in your bloodline. But it would be better for them to know. You motioned for the servant who gave you back the notebook and you wrote. "I do wish to be a mother, however. But I do not want to rush my husband with such duty. My mother often said, 'It will happen when the time is right.'" 

"You are such a sweetheart, Y/N." said the Duke. "I remember your father often reminding me of your mother's... issues. I simply asked because the council was also curious. I do understand however, it is not their place to ask."

You knew that a baby could be a good purpose for you. But you also didn't want to have a baby and then have this feeling of only giving birth because you lost your purpose. You wished to have a child out of love, not duty.

While you did understand it was one of your duties. You also didn't wish the child to have this sense that you only gave birth because of that reason.

And somehow Paul understood that. But he also desperately wanted to give you more. Give you his voice in exchange for yours. He wanted to give you the entire Galaxy.

It is why he spoke up and told his father, when you two are ready for a child, you shall have one.

You appreciated Paul taking your side.

Later that evening, you were in the bath, enjoying the water before Paul would soon return.

You smiled to yourself, imagining a young boy, hair like Paul's running around, giggling and calling you Mommy.

It was beautiful.

But you knew you had a low chance. And babies are supposed to hear their mommies talk.

You will never be able to do that. And it hurt. 

You really needed something to take up your mind. You felt like you have read every book in there. You felt like you explored all rooms.

You sank deeper into the tub when your servants arrived and helped you clean and got you dressed. 

"How was your day?" asked Paul as he entered the room and sat down on your shared bed. You offered him a smile and a nod. "Great, I have a surprise for you." 

You grabbed your note, 'Now?'

"I was supposed to wait until tomorrow morning, but I can't."

He grabbed your hand and guided you down the halls and into the garden, there you noticed something in the back.

It looked like a...

Paul guided you closer. It was harder to see in the dark.

It was a green house, made out purely from glass. 

"I just thought... Mother said ladies usually enjoy gardens and flowers and I thought you might like it." you silently walked inside, looking at all the possibilities as all trays were still empty.

Paul stood in silence as he watched you looking around. You soon noticed a corner where there were sofas placed. You walked over and soon turned to paul.

'Is this for me?'

"Of course! You can decorate or plant however you like. Tomorrow a planner will come and you can tell her what you would like."

'This is wonderful, Paul.'

"I know you have been feeling lost since your voice and parents were taken from you. I hope this will give you a new goal to take your mind off of things."

You wanted to cry, you walked over to him and hugged him. Silently thanking him.

"I hope, every time I come in here I will see you smile." you pulled away and smiled at him. He smiled back. "I love you so much, Y/N."

You placed your palm on his heart.

It was your way of telling him that you felt the same, that you loved him just as much.

It might have been a love without words, but Paul understood it perfectly.

Your eyes shined every time you looked at him, your smile was always so kind and pure.

He slowly leaned down to kiss your perfect lips. 

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[its-hitoshi]

a place to call home (sevika x reader)

sevika and reader domestic moments focusing on massage, silence, and books :) [will have p2!]

content warnings: angst

If Sevika had a purpose, she would never say, but think that she was born to work. First it was in the mines for her family and now towards the freedom of Zaun. Breaks consist of nights at the bar, gambling and drinking with a cigar pinched between her teeth. Ah, what the hell. She smoked everywhere. It was one of the things she inherited from her father, after all. That and her drinking and her gambling, though she remembers being told at some point, her father shouting at her with bloodshot eyes, that her mother drank too. Did she think this was only his sin? No, her mother was worse. Shared whiskey with others while on the clock. It’s why she died. Did Sevika want him to die too? He will. Shut up about his drinking. He won’t be around much longer.

(Sevika knows now that the whiskey her mother drank was often a method used to keep workers warm in the mines, when they reached areas the sun could not. It was easier to supply than proper protective equipment, not that Sevika had ever heard of such a thing before she became a councilor. Did many eventually end up abusing that whiskey? Yes.)

When she was very, very young, her mother would massage her fingers into Sevika’s scalp, combing through her hair. She sat on her mother’s lap as she sang and hummed songs into Sevika’s ears, the words lost to time. Sevika wonders if that sickly sweet scent on her mother’s breath was whiskey. Once upon a time, she hadn’t known what that was. Now she does and she can only remember her mother through song and the smell of whiskey.

That’s why your touch means so much more to her than she’ll ever say. If she tries, her tongue gets heavy and thick in her mouth. Thank you is the most she’ll offer up if she’s in a good mood. Other days, she’ll bring by whatever you like – a flower, a new dagger. You get the drill. Touch for the two of you is simple. Fleeting, really, but it’s enough. You know.

It starts, one day, with the both of you sitting on the couch. She’s leaning back, groaning with her eyes squeezed such. It emphasizes the crows’ feet at the corner of her eyes – it’s cute. You never comment on it though. It’s the way you both are. You chat about her day at the council, and inexplicably, Sevika’s feet end up in your lap. Perhaps she also fell asleep at some point, and you helpfully adjusted her.

“What are you up to?” She croaks out, squinting at you.

You smile. “Trust me.”

So she does.

You start with her feet. Stretching them gently before you press your thumb into the arches, and Sevika hisses as you do this. You’re pressing and squeezing sores spots as you move up to her calves, thick and stiff. The Lanes never left Sevika, even as she spends most of her days in a hoity toity room filled with hoity toity people she hated. On her off days, she did patrols around her city, making sure all was well.

It's quiet, slipping out of her mouth like a soft sigh. You feel her melting into your hands as you continue to your work. She had told you once, that her name meant servant of god. Which god, she doesn’t know. Janna, maybe? That’s the goddess all the children pray to down here, you included.

(there’s no need to anymore. For the first time in your life, you breathe in fresh air as you walk through the lanes. Sevika did it.)

This becomes part of your routine as well, though by your own hand more than Sevika’s. She sits next to you on the couch as you both read, refusing to just prop her feet up on your lap. You have to wait until her she nods off, head dipping into her book about Shuriman theology you found for her before you take the book out of her hands yourself and pull her legs up. She’d brought you a fountain pen today with a full set of multi-colored ink.

(late at night, when you both are tucked into bed besides each other, Sevika makes sure to take your hand in hers, as though she’s examining it. And she is, looking at your writing calluses, if there’s any weakness in your fingers, before rubbing her thumb into the center of your palm. Your shoulders relax, your head bumping against her shoulder. Once she’s done with your other hand, she presses it to her lips. Good night. Sleep well. I— )

Another day, you’ve come home late from work . She’s sitting on the couch you both share.  Not only did your school have an absurdly long meeting today, but the librarian had asked you if it was possible to have a ‘quick meeting’ about the latest project regarding Zaun’s history. With Zaun being its own nation now, it needs to have its own history. Yet most of the written history within Piltover’s libraries paint it as only a ghetto, a place where the impoverished and deplorables live. There are no records, written or oral, detailing the worship of Janna within its depths and the reason why. Piltover is a city of industry, of progress – where does all its detritus fall?

The fail-safes for all its machinery lie deep underground, right next to Zaun’s lands. Oil and chemicals dripped into Zaun’s waters.

When you were six, there was an earthquake that shook your home. It turned other houses into rubble – even caused a cave-in within the mines. Only now, pouring through Piltover’s records of extremely rare and unfathomable accidents, are you able to know its cause: an attempt to mine deeper than what was typical in an attempt to reach the dormant brackerns below the earth to see how they could be used. The brackerns were in fact, not, dormant. Only two Pilties were injured, one killed, the one operating the machinery.

No deaths in Zaun were recorded, nor injuries. Your best friend had a lame leg after she was pinned under the rubble.  You remember your parents talking about the incident in low voices. So many slips of paper had been burned the following week.

You’ll help remember them. But for now, you tip-toe behind your wife until you’re just behind her. She must be really exhausted if she hadn’t turned around by now.

Sevika. You murmur.

Her head snaps up, finally. Gold-rimmed reading glasses frame her grey eyes so beautifully. You cup her cheek. I’m home.

[viviennevermillion]

ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ

❝ always there to warm you in the winter.... always there with shelter from the rain... always there to catch you when you're falling... always there to stand you up again... family...❞ — Lady & the Tramp 2

notes: i see chapter 7 part 4 did things to our puny little minds. part of @briarvalleyarchives "anthems of old" event. a short story about lilia, malleus and whom they've lost.

warnings: character death, major chapter 7 spoilers

The winter after the beloved princess had passed was a cruel and solemn one. The snowflakes would travel through the cold air of Briar Valley as they had done so many times in the years prior and hit the ground, melting into the ones that had come before; a fate that was all too familiar to the residents of the small nation. The war had left its scars upon the lands. Beasts had run rampant in the villages; destroying homes that had been carefully built with love and dedication. The caves in the mountains were stripped of their glamour, the crystals that had reflected the sunlight that would, despite all odds, break through the cracks, were stolen by beasts unfamiliar to the once peaceful home of the fae.

Because some beasts were not as easy to handle as the demon beasts that came from the mountains to wreak havoc in the settlements. No one knew that better than the fearsome General Vanrouge. From the moment Lady Mallenoa had entered her eternal slumber; with no amount of love able to wake her once more, it was as though winter never ended. Memories of times gone by would flash through his mind; the way they had played in the snow as children and the young princess would never go easy on him; using her magic to turn the previously innocent game into a battlefield of snowballs that left Lilia no room to fight back. It took centuries for him to be able to hold a candle to her power.

Now the snow was stained with the blood of his enemies. At the time, the general had never taken a moment to think about whether the Silver Owls he had slain had a family waiting for them at home as well. They had taken his, so they were undeserving of theirs. General Vanrouge had been consumed by the rage and bitterness in his heart, destroying all who dared stand in his path, for his heart now belonged to battle. This way, he wouldn't have to mourn the past.

He remembered vividly, always, the day they laid her to rest. It seemed as though the whole kingdom was present to say their goodbyes to her. Each citizen who attended the burial was dressed in black for this day, illuminated in the dead of night only by the candles they held as the princess was carried in a casket to her final resting place. The queen had placed a single rose on the ground that to Lilia seemed as though it had swallowed her. Lilia had walked up to the grave later when everyone had left. He thought of the egg still rested and protected within the chambers of the castle. "I promise, for as long as I live, no harm shall come to it. And not a day will go by....that I don't miss your smile", his voice cracked as the tears started streaming down his face. The seasons would go by and yet the cold never passed. Not when the sun would rise on the next day, not when it had risen a hundred years later.

General Vanrouge remembered how she had taught him to play stringed instruments, something he found boring and pointless as a child. Princess Mallenoa always had such a soothing voice. He remembered how she'd sit next to her egg with Prince Levan and sing a soft song to the unborn child. Now Lilia's heart sang without a sound; a quiet melody of grief and unrest. Her funeral was the last time he had allowed himself to cry. The numbness in his heart when he'd open his eyes in the morning didn't fade for decades, centuries even. These were lifespans in the eyes of a child of man; and they seemed to have forgotten all about the devastation they had brought to Briar Valley just a few hundred years later. But a soldier's heart never forgets. It never forgives. That was what Lilia thought at the time. Pain had made him heartless and his heart had been locked away for he feared the pain it held more than any foe on the battlefield. He only hoped, wherever she was now, that she had found peace.

How many times had he wished to feel again? To wake up in the morning and hear her pounding on his door, angry about something. It had annoyed him at the time. But she had been alive.

Yes, the seasons had gone by, yet eternal winter resided in the hearts of the people. But nothing stopped another day. Nothing stopped the inevitable; that the general's heart would thaw one day and spring would arrive in Briar Valley.

It was a miracle. At this point, the egg was more of a reminder of a future that would never be. A memory. Something to make one realize that the royal family would die with Queen Maleficia; the future of the kingdom as uncertain as it had been since the day the war ended. And who would blame anyone? It had been centuries.

But Malleus was spring.

He was the reason General Vanrouge shed a tear once more. One of relief and of love he thought he no longer had inside him. He had smiled when he first saw the little dragon fae with his eggshell on his small face. A smile he was sure the princess would have teased him for. After all, wasn't it him who had always said that he hated children? Who had refused to hold her egg when she had offered it to him? Yet in that moment, he couldn't help to do so. He had picked the little prince up and looked at the queen with the brightest smile she had seen on him in centuries. Tears were streaming down his face as the small fae was just looking up at him with awe and curiosity in his eyes. People say that when someone passes, in a way they are still with you. Lilia had always thought that this was bullshit, he had been far too bitter to notice. But in that moment, he realized that Mallenoa was all around him. He held her legacy in his arms. "She saved us once again, didn't she?", he had whispered quietly, wiping the tears from his face.

The little prince grew up healthy and not one bit less of a fire hazard than his mother had been. He grew up unaware of the bloodshed that had stained his beloved homeland when his egg had come into existence. Unaware of what his parents had sacrificed, of what Lilia had sacrificed, so that he could live and grow. But he had often wondered what it would be like if his parents were still around. Sometimes Malleus would sneak out of the castle, quietly observing the people in the village at the foot of the mountain in awe. He saw little children, not much older than him, protesting under tears because they didn't want to go clothes shopping for their uncle's 900th birthday as they were dragged by their parents' hand and promised their favorite candy if they would go along without making a fuss. He witnessed a mother explaining to her toddler what a bird was. He watched and listened as a father read his son a story on a bench by the fountain. Lilia had read him lots of stories before. But Malleus had always wondered what his father's voice would have sounded like doing this.

The prince spent most of his days alone in the castle. Lilia still had work to do and his grandmother was busy ruling an entire country as he would come to do one day as well. So as soon as Malleus had learnt to read, he would spend his time in the library, curiously exploring stories from a world beyond the castle walls; hoping that he would one day spread his wings to set off and see it for himself. Lots of the stories contained themes of family but few of the families looked quite like his. There was always a mother, a father and at least one child. Malleus would take the books and show it to his guardian, asking Lilia what his father was like and whether he would have taken him fishing like the farmer did with his son in the picture book. There was a flash of pain on Lilia's expression that Malleus had never noticed back then. "I'm sure he would have", the older fae had answered. The stories Malleus heard about his own parents were always short and vague. But Lilia had told him that they were exceptional people who would be proud of him if they could see him now.

Malleus had always wondered what having a father was like. He would get his answer when Lilia took a small human into his custody. Malleus was curious about the baby, always sneaking out to visit the cottage in the forest to see what his guardian was up to. At first he was pouting because Lilia was now giving most of his attention to someone else. But with time he had grown to care for the little child of man. Lilia seemed much happier now. Time had healed his wounds despite the scars of battle and loss never truly fading. He would arrive at the castle to do a task the queen had assigned to him and the prince would greet him to ask about how Silver was doing. Malleus was happy that Silver got to grew up with a father. He never fathomed that both of them could lose him.

The world was simple back then. It was just the castle, Malleus, his grandmother, Lilia and the little human he was raising and that Malleus would often play with or read to when Lilia had work to do at the palace. He couldn't ever have imagined going to Night Raven College and finding the world had changed so much from the one he read about in books. Or that his third year would mark his last with Lilia. That he would see Silver cry and grieve like this.

The world outside of Briar Valley was one he had always longed to see and that brought him many curious, but happy memories. He had learnt about the Halloween traditions of other nations and celebrated the holiday together with them. He had cooked a meal for the first time and the person he had served it to had enjoyed it. He had seen other countries and took part in their culture.

Even Lilia still found the school to be a place for new experiences. He had met a friend on this strange invention called the "Internet" and treasured that friendship despite never having met this friend in person. This online friend would often talk to Lilia in the chat, casually mentioning how he had obtained the newest addition of his favorite manga or played a game with his brother. Lilia would hesitate for a moment, recalling memories that seemed so long ago to him now.

"I had a sister... once."

He deleted the words before he had sent them. No need to bother Gloomurai with a sob story from his life that happened centuries ago. Little did he know that the stranger on the other side of the screen understood all about the struggle of losing a sibling.

Yes, Night Raven College was full of new beginnings for Malleus and his family. But it was the way of the world that nothing could truly last forever, tragic and unfair as it was. Nothing stops another day. Not even a sleeping curse or an overblot dragon. The spell laid waste to Sage's Island, and although the damage was way less than it could have been, the aftermath of it could still be seen everywhere one looked. Malleus felt ashamed of what he had done and Lilia was reminded of scenes from the war long ago.

But everyone joined together to help and rebuild what had been destroyed. Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy. Fairies and Humans.

"Seems as though we avoided the worst case, huh?", Lilia mused as he noticed Queen Maleficia, the dragon fairy who had raised him since he was a baby, standing next to him. The queen nodded and noted what a bureaucratical nightmare this whole ordeal would be despite all.

Lilia looked at the scene that was unfolding before his eyes. The fae who had come to the island to break through the spell and fight against Malleus's overblot were now helping the locals rebuild their houses with magic. The students would hand out meals to everyone who helped. The citizens were already planting new seeds in place of the trees and fields that had been destroyed. They would one day grow into an idyllic image of a peaceful home. Just as Malleus and Silver had grown into formidable people. The young prince had fallen further than he ever did before, but now the old general was certain that he could stand on his own feet at last. Both of his sons could. And the bat fae was glad that he could depart knowing this much.

"It seems the children of man truly know no rest when it comes to progress", the queen remarked, looking at the humans who fixed the fields beside the village and the fae soldiers who were assisting them.

"It appears so"

"What are they planting?"

Lilia looked at the rising sun, remembering the faith that Princess Mallenoa once had; that mankind and fae would one day live in peace and help each other grow. He had called it foolish at the time, mocking his sister's words by calling them a fever dream. Yet this was just another way in which she had changed his world, just as the little prince he raised had been. There was a smile on his face as he thought about how this day might just mark the beginning of the future the princess had envisioned.

"Hope."

[msklassickilla]

Prada You Chapter 8

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains harsh/foul language, violence, depiction of death. Sorry he had to die so soon..

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story. All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 8: Enemy

A few days later...

"70 days to go. Yay me," I muttered.

I was laying on the floor in my room looking at my calendar. All my plans were done for now that it was over with Jey. As much as I liked him, I couldn't be no fool. I refused to have any man let alone an old one play in my face. Yea, I was young but still, that shit wasn't cool.

My girls agreed with me after I gave them the rundown of what happened.

"Bitch! You lying! Y'all out actin' in front of people. Ew. So, ghetto," Nataya cringed.

"You really need to run his pockets just for that bullshit. How he gon' treat like you one of these regular broads out here," Kiyah chided.

"He look like he fuck with regular hoes anyways. You was too good for him, Nye. Fuck his sunset-colored ass. Prada Boi or not, his lost," Natasha added.

I giggled remembering the wild stuff they was saying. My mood lifted just a bit, but I still felt down about my party. I had some big plans.

My phone rang, I rolled over to pick it up.

"Hello."

"Go ahead and get dressed. We going out tonight, girl," Kiyah sang.

"Nope. Nada. No. I ain't leaving this house to go anywhere near that skating rink," I declined.

I knew what she had in mind, and I wasn't having it. The Prada Bois was having a light’s out party at the skating rink and we had plans to go but that was before everything went down.

"Really, Nye? So, you just not gon' come out the house this summer 'cause his ass may be around. Lame," she condemned.

"Oh, I'm steppin' out all summer long, but I won't be steppin' into no Prada Boi party."

I wouldn't be steppin' far because anything of importance would be hosted by a Prada Boi but that was cool with me.

"So basically, nowhere important is what you telling me," she confirmed.

I rolled my eyes, "I guess so. You can go and then call me when you get back with the deetz, okay?"

I heard her sigh before speaking, "Nah, she saying she not going."

I could hear the twins in the background asking why. I sat up, listening as they continued their back and forth like I wasn't on the line.

"Tell Nye he probably won't even be there. Ain't nobody seen Jey in days," Nataya assured.

While Jey's disappearance was news to me, I still didn't feel like going.

"You hear that, Nye. He won't be there. So put something on, we on the way," Kiyah said.

"I-

Before I could finish my sentence, she hung up. I wanted to sink into the carpet and disappear. I laid there on the floor until the three of them came through the door.

"Really? Get dressed. We already asked your mama about you coming out with us. So, it's a done deal, dude," Kiyah began, coming further into my room.

I groaned in response, "I told y'all I ain't tryna go to that shit. Why y'all ain't listening? Do I gotta say it in Spanish?"

They rattled off multiple reasons why I should as well as more insults about Jey. After an hour of tussling, I was dressed and headed out the door with them. Peer pressure was a motherfucka.

———

We arrived late but before they cut the main lights off. The line to get skates was long as hell so we just stood in line, talking. As soon as we reached the front of the line, Jey himself came right through the door with a few Prada Bois behind him.

My breath hitched in my lungs as we met eyes. If he felt some type of way about my presence he ain't show it. Just passed right by me without a word or a look back. I was tight. Yea, I was the one who called it off but why treat me like a stranger?

"Mhm. You still feeling him, ain't you?" Nataya peeped.

I rolled my eyes, "No but you damn sure said he wasn't supposed to be here. Well would you look at that," I mumbled, grabbing my skates from the counter.

It was her turn to roll her eyes as we walked into the main area. Inside, the rink, people were everywhere. Since few were actually skating, I had to look a while for seats. I didn't want to admit it, but I kept an eye out for Jey. The girls put their skates on, but I didn't. I would hold our spots. They didn't complain and headed out to skate.

The DJ was playing the "Tell Me" by Groove Theory. I sang along as I watched people skate.

"Ya ass still be singing, huh?"

Approaching me was a caramel coated dude named Carmelo we all would chill with from time to time.

"Ah, you know me. I gotta let people know I can blow," I laughed.

Carmelo was cool. He had a crush on me, but I never took him serious. Without asking, he took a seat next to me.

"What boy?"

I asked after noticing he was looking at me hard as hell once he sat down.

"Shit. You."

I smiled, "Why? You just seen me not too long ago. It ain't like I changed or nothing."

I hadn't but I was well put together tonight. The strapless pink romper barely covered my behind. My doe eyes were adorned with fake eyelashes and some shimmer eyeshadow. Gold bamboo earrings hung from my lobes and clear lip gloss had my pink lips shining in the dark. The matching pink Chuck Taylors I had on completed the look.

"I'm just saying you look good as hell right now. You smell good, too," he grinned.

Carmelo was cute. I think his pretty brown eyes really helped. I hadn't really taken notice of him because he was always being a clown or starting shit.

"Thank you. You look good, too. I like those jeans," I complemented back.

Carmelo and I continued to talk for a while until Nataya came back to have a seat. I use this as an opportunity to go use the restroom. I made it just in time before I peed on myself. Carmelo was a talker. After washing my hands and checking my makeup, I exited.

"You been having a good night, Nyeya?"

Jey. I hadn't heard his voice in a minute. His country twang was something I didn't even realize I missed. He was leaning up against a pinball machine that sat along the wall leading to the restrooms. He wasn't alone though. Tama, Tonga, Solo, Jimmy, and Jacob was surrounding him. They all watched me intently. To be honest, I felt rather naked under their gaze as I seemed to have their full attention.

"Yea, I have," I replied as I turned to head back to my seat.

I kept it short and to the point because I didn't want to be in his or their presence any longer.

"Yea, I can see that. You been hemmed up all night," he scoffed.

My slow stride came to a complete stop when I heard that. He had been watching me with Carmelo all night. Even though I hadn't seen him, he had seen me.

"Yea. Well, I'm single and like to mingle, you know," I retorted, glancing back at him.

I didn't intend to spend all night in Carmelo's face but I'm glad it happened. He wasn't the only one who could pull people like that.

"Oh. Is that how it is? Sheesh," he chuckled along with his crew.

I shrugged and kept it moving. Once back where our seats was, I told the girls what had just happened as they were all together now.

"Ha! So, Prada Boi Jey jealous now? Typical," Natasha laughed.

I could agree. Negros never liked when you do them like they do you.

"Where Carmelo go?" I asked as I noticed he was no longer around.

"Somebody paged him. He said he would hit you later. What y'all got going?" Kiyah quizzed.

The answer was nothing as of right now, but I did enjoy the conversation we had.

"Oh, it ain't like that. He cool when he not being a comedian or shit starter," I answered honestly.

Before she could reply, gunshots erupted, and people started heading or rather running towards the exit.

"Damn! What's going on?" Kiyah inquired, standing on the seats to see pass the crowd.

Nothing was going on inside, so the shots came from outside. We grabbed our things and headed out too. By the time we got to the front exit, the ambulance, fire truck, and a sea of flashing police lights were everywhere.

"Somebody got shot!"

"Oh my god! Is he dead?"

"Damn! They killed him!"

"Y'all see anything? What happened?"

Different people were saying and asking the same thing as we pushed through the standing crowd.

"Oh my god!" Nataya gasped as she grabbed my arm.

My eyes followed hers and that's when my heart dropped into my stomach. Carmelo lay sprawled out on the ground with blood pooling around his head. He was the one who people were speaking about. I had just talked to him, just seen him. How could this have happened so fast? Who would do something like this? Yea, Carmelo was mixed up in some things but to kill him. Man, nah.

My stomach tighten at the sight. The sound of my racing heartbeat could be heard in my ears. The combination of seeing him bleeding out, the noise, the heat, and the lights made my head swim.

My knees gave out next.

"Nye! Nye!"

Someone was screaming my name, but I couldn't say who. All that came next was darkness.

[thelunarfairy]

The melody of death

Sumire and Tsukasa sang the song for Nene, Sumire sang it before she was taken (because Aoi went in her place), and Tsukasa afterwards.

The way she was taken, surrounded by a black shadow and several insects, happened both times.

So, the tradition

In short, the reaper will choose someone to steal his soul, and to prevent this from happening, people gather together while singing and weaving baskets to protect the person who heard the reaper's flute.

Nene wasn't asleep, but her soul was unprotected.

She was really attracted to music without even realizing it.

Now an interesting association, they say "we will weave the God of yorishiro"

Real meaning of yorishiro:

Yorishiro is an object capable of attracting spirits called kami (God), thus giving them a physical space to occupy during religious ceremonies. Yorishiros are used during ceremonies to call kami to participate in worship. The word itself literally means “substitute approach”. Since a yorishiro actually hosts a kami.

In other words, they create a yorishiro to attract a God, this God will help them to protect the soul of the person the reaper wants to take, while they stay next to that person throughout the night.

So basically, before, the old village was forced to hand over young girls as sacrifices to prevent the supernaturals from spreading and devouring people. Later, they discovered how to avoid this through the use of yorishiros, and even then, it was necessary to protect the person who was chosen by the reaper.

Currently, the school is protected by seven yorishiros, when almost all of them were removed, the supernaturals began to invade the school, attracting the reaper (the number six) to take someone's soul.

In other words, the yorishiros also serve as a form of protection against this soul-devouring reaper, knowing the real meaning of the word "yorishiro" means that each of the school's yorishiros has a fragment of a God in them, where it can host the God himself. Remembering that in real life yorishiros can be objects and animals too.

It is a sign that there is possibly more than one God. One is used to protect the school (maintain the balance between humans and supernaturals), the other wants to free himself from imprisonment (the creature under the house? Isn't it just some kind of reaper?)

The creature in the house used the same insects as Hakubo, which could mean it is a reaper as well.

Hanako would be working as one of the seven mysteries at the behest of the God, but he betrayed him in pursuit of a wish that only the "reaper" could fulfill, and he could only do so in exchange for the removal of the seals that limit him.

Hmm…I don't know

Maybe I'm rambling too much.

[strangelittlestories]

When Mila and the Prince went looking for a place to hide, what they found was the village of Grave.

This little hamlet sat apart from the larger, more industrial cities of Chorus. It did not pulse with percussion like the factories of Marching. It did not resonate to the hum of the Hymn-Furnace like the palace of Solo.

Instead, each hearth had its own songs and tunes that floated on the breeze and could not be pinned down to any regular schedule, or even a common key. It was a place of melody and counter-melody and counter-counter-melody, with lyrics ranging from recipe tips to weather predictions to the latest resurfacing of generational grievances.

Too many songs, too improvisational and fluctuating, for any one songbook or choir leader to keep track of.

But there was one woman who seemed to remember them all. Oh, not all at once or in their entirety - but if you asked Cadence for some obscure piece of village history, she would sing you a bar from two generations back. It might not answer your question, exactly, but it would be interesting.

After asking around for lodging, the Prince and Mila were promptly directed to Cadence.

"So Cadence has rooms to let, then?" asked the Prince, earnestly. "If she runs an inn or lodging house, we can certainly pay our way."

"Oh don't you worry about that." came the reply. "Just you speak to Cadence and she'll be sure to work out what you want and what you need."

To call the conversation that followed an interrogation would be inaccurate. It was a much gentler and more thoughtful exchange than that, all conducted over a pot of tea and a plate of wonky biscuits. Nonetheless, it left Mila and the Prince feeling somewhat ... wrung out.

At the end of the chat, with the Prince beginning to wilt under a gaze that read every note and quaver of him, Mila asked the woman flat out:

"Miss Cadence. Thank you for your hospitality and all, but ... what is it you are trying to get from us? I'd rather you say it outright, than wring it out like the last drops from your tea leaves."

"It's funny." said Cadence, smiling, "The people in this village like to joke that I'm this place's memory. I'm not the oldest one here. No, not my anymeans. But I listen, and I hear, and that's rarer than you might think. And when you listen well enough, a couple of things happen. First is that the music of a place sinks in, it thumps in your heart, chimes in your bones, wobbles your marrow. Eventually, you find you know even the tunes that haven't been sung out loud in generations - because all the ones we sing today, they've got their roots in the older ones. Every song that's sung implies the one before it; so I remember. Because I listen for the roots.

"The second thing is this: when you listen that well and that far back, you start to get an ear not just for the notes that *are* sung, but for the ones that aren't too. And I reckon, and I don't put any blame on you two for this mind, that there's a reason you've come here that you're too affrighted to tell me. So that's what I want from you, lovelies. I'd like very much if you sang the song that's in that scared silence for me."

The prince and Mila looked at one another. Mila nodded.

"People are looking for us." the Prince gulped, "It's, uh, it's possible that they shall follow and find us here. And if they do, be assured, we will flee. But, well, I suppose we cannot be certain that they will not wreak some harm here in the searching."

At this, Cadence sat back and took a deep breath. She began to hum, softly, under her breath.

"Well, I do say as that I thank you for your honesty. Eventual, though it may have been. And I dare say that should anyone come ferreting about for you two nice young folks, meaning you ill, that they will surely not enjoy what they uncover in the village of Grave."

Her hum grew a little louder and the air around her began to gently shake. The song resonated through Mila and the Prince. It was not like the bone-rumbling and heart-scorching feeling of the Engine-Song they were used to. Instead, it was like there was a morning mist in their lungs just beginning to burn up under the touch of morning sunlight.

And from Cadence's teacup, a shoot of fresh living tealeaf began to grow and turn towards the prince and Mila as if it were smiling...

---

With thanks to a Ko-Fi patron for the prompt of Cadence, the witch who is fierce, passionate and kind.

To become a member and suggest characters of your own, please check out https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[lovelyflowers-world]

Remember Me

Angsty angst angst

Tw: mentions of death

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Remember me

A girl of only the age of four sat on a man's lap while he brushed her hair and sang her a small tune it's only safe to assume it was her father as things seemed happy and calm. Well they say there's calm before a storm

Though I have to say goodbye

As the man stood with the girls in his arms to set her back into bed she didn't know this would be the last time she'd ever see her sweet father. He laid her oh so gently onto her bed pulling the covers just under her chin he stroked her hair and kissed her head

"You know I'll always love you dearly my little flame"

The girl nodded her head with a big smile on her face she loved her father more than there was stars in the sky and nothing could have changed that

"I love you too!"

The man smiled sadly at his daughter knowing this would be the last he'd ever see her it pained the man to leave his princess all alone to not be able to see her grow to a beautiful young woman but it whats done is done.

"Good night my little flame I'll see you again soon"

The girl giggled at her fathers choice of words and wished him a good night and as the man shut her door he was brought to tears he was never an emotional man but this hurt him deep to his core knowing he'll never hold his dear flame close to his heart ever again

Don't let it make you cry

The next morning when the small girl couldn't find her dad and saw her mother looking at her in pity it clicked in her head that she'd never see her dearest father again

"daddy's gone..?"

Her voice crack and big eyes filled with tears brought her mother to her knees to hug her only daughter oh so tight

"(Y/n) I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

For even if I'm far away, I hold you in my heart

That was twelve years ago that little girl is now sixteen and a counselor at camp half blood one would think she despised her father but she could never blame him he was a god after all he wasn't going to stick around forever. Plus she had a pretty cool brother thanks to him

"(Y/n) get in your own bed!!"

"BUT I GOT A NIGHTMARE NICO!"

I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart

As (Y/n) laid on the floor quietly singing the song her father sang to her when she was small she sighed and looked out the window watching as everyone walked around happily conversing with one another a few passed waving to her and she gladly waved back.

Remember me

One would think the girl was happy with her life she had everything she could ever need but it seemed the lack of a father seemed to eat her alive she looked back into her cabin and sighed sadly

"Do you ever think of me dad?..probably not"

She got up and walked out with the biggest smile on her face and went to sword training.

Each time you hear a sad guitar

Now we see our protagonist alongside Percy Jackson and Nico di angelo fighting off a monster. The protagonist giving it her all to make sure her companions get out alive even if it cost her life. As she looked to check on her brother's state she felt a sharp pain in her gut and she looked down she saw the red seeping out her shirt. Just then her brother and Percy seemed to be celebrating their success.

"Guys.."

They looked over in time to see her fall to her knees the pain becoming unbearable

Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be

They run to her side pleading her to hold on a bit longer that they'd find a way to help her. They couldn't lose her not now when they've done their hardest when they were almost home. Tears were shed and she laughed and cupped her brothers cheek

"it's alright..I'll be with dad now I'll be okay.."

Just then a figure appeared over them towering and as they looked up he slowly took the girl out of the boys arms and held her close humming her a oh so familiar tune holding her head to his chest he nodded to the two boys and walked away

Until you're in my arms again

"It's time to go home now little flame"

The girl smiled and closed her eyes

"Okay daddy.."

And with that she took her final breaths

Remember me

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

A/N

heyyyyyyyy do you all still love me?

I love you guys <3

[imagintheworldaway]

Here we go again

A/N idk how to even label this one??? kinda short, kinda happy, kinda sad, all over and plucking at my heart strings !!

this is also a kind of non specific one so i guess you could insert whoever !

Requests: Open

--------

My eyes darted around, watching the crowd filled with my friends laughing, drinking and dancing. I tapped the empty pint glass that was in front of me on the table when I heard the seat next to me scratch across the floor. “Hey stranger” a sweet voice said, causing my head to whip around and meet the gaze of an all too familiar face. She set a full pint glass in front of me whilst sipping on her own. “Penny for your thoughts?” she said, nodding towards the drink she had offered me. I moved my hand to grasp the full glass, taking a quick swig before angling my body towards her. “This is just crazy” I sighed, taking her in. Her hair was tucked behind her ears and she was wearing a light blue silk dress, simple, but it suited her. “I know, two weddings in one year” she laughed, circling the lip of her glass. “Just shows we’re getting older” she carried on biting her lip, looking over as the song changed and the crowd cheered. 

A low chuckle escaped my chest. “Remember, when i’d call you up every Saturday night, we would always be the last two walking home” i reminisced on the past. “I always remember watching the sun rise behind the skyscrapers, walking along the Thames, saying it now it sounds so romantic” she smiled looking back at me. I laughed, “yh, i’m sure the residents being woken up by our dreadful singing every sunday morning really saw the romance in it all”. I watched as a small blush formed beneath her makeup. “God, we were so oblivious,” she laughed. “No we were happy” I smiled sadly at her.gently covering her hand that now rested on the table with my own, squeezing lightly, like i used to. 

I remembered those nights. She would always say we were taking it easy, then after each round we both became more bold. I wasn't the most socially confident person but when i was with her, the crowd of other young adults having fun, the loud thumping music, the glare of the strobe lights, it all went away with the way her body swayed to the beat, the rhythm controlling her as she danced like she was the only person in the room. Slowly our friends would peel away, until we were the only two left, being kicked out the club. She would hold my hand as we drunkenly sang and danced down the river's edge. Every week would be the same, she would stop and watch the sunrise, as I watched the golden rays illuminate her face. She would tell me how beautiful it is and I would always agree. She would turn and with the confidence only alcohol could give us she would kiss me. We would be content in each other's company, our weekly routine would be the highlight for the both of us. We would act normal for the rest of the week, a normal non-labelled couple, until saturday night rolled around again and she would show up at my door, a bottle of that weeks poison in her hand, a cheeky grin on her face and she would always say ‘here we go again’. 

“They were good times” I broke the silence, sounding more sheepish than I had intended. “Yes, good memories” she trailed, re-tucking her hair that had fallen in front of her face. Sometimes it's easy to just focus on the good, but truly that's all we had. Nothing bad ever really happened. We never argued, only bickered, and our routine only stopped because we both had more career oriented commitments. I was doing more shoots and so was she. From weekly outings to monthly, to once in a blue moon to a complete halt. 

I was unapologetically staring at a face that hasn't really changed much over the years when a large hand was present on her shoulder. “Wanna dance?” A deep voice caught my attention as I looked up and reality came crashing down, making me feel rigid, my lungs were tight and my once comforting grip on her hand fell back to my side. Her cheeky smile that used to only be reserved for me appeared as she met the intense gaze of the man. She stood up taking the man's hand before turning back to me. She placed a soft hand on my shoulder, the diamond ring glinting in the light. “It was so nice to see you,” her soft voice said as she squeezed my shoulder and lingered a little too long. I was stunned for a second. “Oh yh, and congrats by the way” I said, the hurt in my voice a little to present, nodding to her hand. “Thank you” she said a little too quickly, glancing at the ring before sighing a little. The moment went as she plastered on a big smile and turned to her fiance “here we go again” she giggled as I watched him drag her to the dancefloor.

[newtthetranswriter]

Can you write mitsuya fluff, thx 😊

Word count: 777

Summary: It's a rare night where you and Mitsuya get to relax, so you spend it watching movies. The night ends with a cute little duet.

Paring: Takashi Mitsuya x gender neutral reader

A/n: Thank you for requesting. I know It's short but I couldn’t think of much, but listening to my Disney playlist gave me this idea. I hope you enjoy, remember to hydrate or diedrate, and enjoy your REQUEST ARE OPEN

    It was a rare night that both me and Takashi were completely free to do whatever we wanted. Normally we would either have a Toman meeting or Takashi would have to watch his sisters. But today was one of the few nights his mom was able to watch the young girls, giving us a night to finally relax. We decided to spend the evening at my house because my parents were out of town and it limited the chance of interruptions.

    We just wanted to enjoy the night so we decided on a relaxing movie night. Taking turns picking the movies made for some interesting genre changes. He picked first and we ended up watching the first Star Wars movie, directly following that I picked Moana. It was a back and forth of Star Wars and random Disney movies. We are about five movies in and it’s my turn to pick the sixth movie. And I have the best one in mind.

     “Ok it’s your turn, what movie this time?” He asked, handing me the remote. “And I swear if you play Frozen I’m leaving and taking the pizza with me.” He said with a straight face as I opened the search feature on the tv. As I finally found the movie I was looking for, I heard him groan slightly. “I take it back, Frozen is great, please I'm not singing along with you.” I couldn’t help but smile, he knew me too well sometimes.

     “Come on, but you fit the part so well. You’re a delinquent who showed me the world and I helped to soften your tough exterior.” I said explaining my thought process. “Plus I love Tangled, and it’s this or The Nightmare before Christmas, and since it’s nearly February I dare say it's not the best time for the pumpkin king.” I said playing the movie.

     He sighed and begrudgingly agreed, though I could see he was happy seeing me happy. I set the remote down on the coffee table and then leaned back to cuddle up to him.

     As the movie went on I sang along with all of the songs, while Takashi just watched me enjoying the fact that I was having fun. I couldn’t help but get excited as my favorite song from the film started to play. I stood up ready to sing my heart out, I was surprised to see Taka join me in front of the tv.

     And so as Repunzel started singing, I sang along.

“All those days watching from the windows

All those years outside looking in

All that time never even knowing

Just how blind I've been

Now I'm here blinking in the starlight

Now I'm here suddenly I see

Standing here it's all so clear

I'm where I'm meant to be

And at last I see the light

And it's like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light

And it's like the sky is new

And it's warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted

All at once everything looks different

Now that I see you” 

     There was a pause in the song and Takashi grabbed my hands, before his part started.

“All those days chasing down a daydream

All those years living in a blur

All that time never truly seeing

Things, the way they were

Now she's here shining in the starlight

Now she's here suddenly I know

If she's here it's crystal clear

I'm where I'm meant to go”

     I couldn’t contain my smile as I joined back in for the rest of the song.

“And at last I see the light

And it's like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light

And it's like the sky is new

And it's warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted

All at once everything is different

Now that I see you

Now that I see you”

     As the song ended we leaned in to give each other a gentle kiss. We moved back to the couch to finish the movie, unable to wipe the smiles off our faces. Even if he acted like he didn’t like Disney movies, I know he enjoyed watching them with me. 

     “Thank you Takashi, it means a lot that you did that with me.” I said cuddling closer to his side.

     He pulled me as close to him as possible before kissing the crown of my head. “OfCourse, I’d do anything for you, love. I love you so much.”

     I smiled, looking up at him. “I love you too.” I said before letting out a small yawn, falling asleep against his side.

[jan-pi-suli-ala]

The Two Goddesses

art is canceled so have the poem below the cut. six and 3/5 pages, roughly 16 minutes at slow speed, 214 lines, 1645 words. enjoy!

Long before there was anything to find

There were two great Goddesses,

Karki, that of Replication

And Prokopi, that of the Rest of the World.

Together, the two created Terra, the Earth.

On Terra at the beginning was nothing but Nature.

Nature was full of Swamps and Deserts

And was full of no Life, only Nature and the shape of itself.

Then, Prokopi spoke, with a majestic voice

And she spoke to the swamps and said

“Swamps, I say to you, sprout life!

Make young, small Cells, billions of times smaller than you

And let them do whatever they wish for.”

And so the Swamps did, they sprouted life

Young Cells, much smaller than the Swamps were

And the Swamp allowed them to do what they wished.

Then, Karki spoke, her voice loud and commanding

And she spoke to each Cell alone,

“Kill, Consume, Multiply, and Conquer”

And so they did as she asked, each fighting for their own

A violent battle of Cell against Cell

Fighting for dominance over the Swamps.

And Karki saw this, and she retreated into her lair,

Satisfied at what she saw,

And the Cells continued to Kill, Consume, Multiply, and Conquer,

Long into the Night and Day as Fengari

And Illios rode their chariots thousands of millions of times.

Then out came Prokopi yet again, and saw the Chaos

And she sang to the Cells of a better world.

She sang of the oak tree, growing with its leaves,

She sang of the bird, taking flight with its wings,

She sang of the human, a marvel of Creation,

And all were moved by her song.

But the Cells spoke back

“Alas, while we long for all you have sung of,

We are the daughters and sons of the Goddess Karki,

And we cannot reject what she has done.

While we long for a world

With the oak tree, growing its leaves,

And the bird, taking flight with its wings,

And the human, that marvel of Creation,

Your words have no power to move us.

And we wish we could, but alas,

Your words have no power to move us.”

And Prokopi spoke back,

Chuckling at them, she replied,

“While I find your dedication to Karki admirable indeed,

And I will not make you stray from her lead,

I am Prokopi, Goddess of the Rest of the World,

And I command in devious and subtle ways.

For you see, by Killing, Consuming, Multiplying and Conquering,

You are following my command,

And you can join forces to do all your goals better.

Don’t you see? You can follow both my command

And Karki, Goddess of Replication, her command, too.”

And when she spoke, the Cells did as she said

Joining together one by one

To form the oak tree, growing its leaves,

To form the bird, taking flight with its wings,

To form the human, that marvel of Creation,

And they followed her word,

And they formed many Creatures

And they continued to Multiply,

Now working together as one.

Then, Karki rose once more,

And she saw the Creatures that she had worked to dissuade,

And she commanded like she always does,

“Kill, Consume, Multiply, Conquer.”

She said this to each Cell individually,

And many Cells did as she said,

Fighting against the oak tree, no longer growing its leaves,

Fighting against the bird, no longer flying with its wings,

Fighting against the human, making less of a marvel,

And they all fought against their Creatures,

But many Cells remembered Prokopi’s command,

To join forces and do all goals better,

And they fought against the fighters,

Prevailing over the disobedient Cells,

And creating Creatures once more,

And Prokopi prevailed.

Then, Karki, seeing the lack of success, spoke once more,

“Kill, Consume, Multiply, Conquer.”

And she said this to the whole of each Creatures,

Commanding each to fight each other,

Bird against bird, attacking the wings,

Tree against tree, fighting with roots,

Human against human, lessening the marvel.

And Karki saw this, and she retreated into her lair,

Satisfied at what she saw,

And the Creatures continued to Kill, Consume, Multiply, and Conquer,

Long into the Night and Day as Fengari

And Illios rode their chariots thousands of millions of times.

Then out came Prokopi yet again, and saw the Chaos

And she sang to the Creatures of a better world.

She sang of the ants in their hill, working together,

She sang of the lions in their prides, hunting together,

She sang of the humans in their tribes, and smiling along together,

And all were moved by her song.

But the Creatures spoke back

“Alas, while we long for all you have sung of,

We are the daughters and sons of the Goddess Karki,

And we cannot reject what she has done.

While we long for a world

With the ants in their hill, working together,

With the lions in their prides, hunting together,

With the humans in their tribes, smiling along together,

Your words have no power to move us.

And we wish we could, but alas,

Your words have no power to move us.”

And Prokopi spoke back,

Smiling as she responded,

“Yes, you are the daughters and sons of Karki,

And I won’t make you stray from her,

I am Prokopi, Goddess of the Rest of the World,

And I command in devious and subtle ways.

For you see, by Killing, Consuming, Multiplying and Conquering,

You are following my command,

And you can join forces to do all your goals better.

Don’t you see? You can follow both my command

And Karki, Goddess of Replication, her command, too.”

And when she spoke, the Creatures did as she said,

To form the ants in their hills, working together,

To form the lions in their prides, hunting together,

To form the humans in their tribes, smiling along together,

And they followed her word,

And they formed many Groups,

And they continued to Multiply,

Now working together as one.

Then, Karki rose once more,

And she saw the Groups she had worked so hard to dissuade,

And she commanded like she always does,

“Kill, Consume, Multiply, Conquer.”

She said this to each Creature individually,

And many Creatures did as she said,

Fighting against ants in their hills, hindering the work,

Fighting against lions in their prides, taking the hunt for themselves,

Fighting the humans in their tribes, frowning at the others,

And they all fought against their Groups,

But many Creatures remembered Prokopi’s command,

To work together and do all goals better,

And they fought against the fighters,

Prevailing over the disobedient Creatures,

And creating Groups once more,

And Prokopi prevailed.

Then, Karki, seeing the lack of success, spoke once more,

“Kill, Consume, Multiply, Conquer.”

And she said this to the whole of each Group,

Commanding each to fight each other,

Red ant against black ant, fighting for food,

Pride against pride, hunting each other,

Tribe against tribe, causing great frowns.

And Karki saw this, and she retreated into her lair,

Satisfied at what she saw,

And the Groups continued to Kill, Consume, Multiply, and Conquer,

Long into the Night and Day as Fengari

And Illios rode their chariots thousands of millions of times.

Then out came Prokopi yet again, and saw the Chaos

And she sang to the Creatures of a better world.

She sang of the lion raising the lamb, both growing together,

She sang of the birds unifying, all flying as a flock,

She sang of the tribes, joining and prospering further,

And all were moved by her song.

But the Groups spoke back

“Alas, while we long for all you have sung of,

We are the daughters and sons of the Goddess Karki,

And we cannot reject what she has done.

While we long for a world

With the lion raising the lamb, both growing together,

With the birds unifying, all flying as a flock,

With the tribes joined together, prospering further,

Your words have no power to move us.

And we wish we could, but alas,

Your words have no power to move us.”

But Prokopi spoke back,

Frowning at their ignorance for the first time,

“Can’t you see? I have been moving you.

Long back, I made Cell join with Cell, forming Creatures

I made Creature join with Creature, forming Groups,

And yet, even now, you doubt I can join Group with Group?

Why? Why do you doubt my abilities in this most peaceful time?

I have been chiseling away at Karki’s power,

Making her not control a Cell,

Making her not control a Creature,

And yet, when Groups are reached, you doubt me yet again?

Why can you form the oak tree, growing its leaves,

Why can you form the bird, flying with its wings,

Why can you form the human, a marvel of Creation,

Why can you form the ant hill, working together,

Why can you form the lion pride, hunting together,

Why can you form the tribe, smiling along together,

And yet, not make lion mother lamb,

Not make birds fly as a flock,

Not join in tribes that prosper together?

What difference is there this time?”

And every Cell, in every Creature,

Every Creature in every Group,

And every Group heard her, and understood.

And the Groups joined together,

Lion raising a lamb, growing together,

Birds unifying, flying as a flock,

Tribes, joining together and prospering,

And all these Greater Groups joined together again,

Forming harmony across Terra,

And Karki was defeated,

Brought to her final end as she, too, agreed with Prokopi,

And all sang her song together, a grand harmony,

Of every Superclusters of Galaxies,

Of every Galaxy of Star Systems

Of every Star System of Planets,

Of every Planet of Greater Groups,

Of every Greater Group of Groups,

Of every Group of Creatures,

Of every Creature of Cells,

And all sung in harmony for all time to come.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

What are your favorite things about the turtles that you like about them individually starting with Leonardo and then Donatello and then Michelangelo and then Raphael

My favorite things about the individual turtles (or things I associate with them)

Warnings: Somewhat emotional, talks of bullying by adults.

All Turtles:

I feel like this is very important to mention first, as it speaks a lot about my love for the turtles in general. All of these reasons are very much personal, and have very little to do with the turtles personalities, and more memories I have with them and other people in my life.

I have been a TMNT fan ever since kindergarten. I was 2 years old when 2003 turtles first came on television, so when I started in kindergarten at 3, they were already pretty established not just for me, but all of the other kids in kindergarten, especially the boys. And that leads us to another important point - I was a tomboy when I was young, and to a certain degree I still am to this day. I hated pink, and would scream and yell if I was put into a dress. But I did enjoy “boy clothes”, and I did ask my mom to only buy me “boy clothes”, so she did. I also played with action figures or played “rough” with the Barbie dolls, and my closest friends were all boys, or girls that somewhat understood my way of playing.

Now, being a tomboy is nowhere special or anything abnormal, but in the kindergarten I was in, the adults not only saw it as abnormal and concerning. I was never bullied by the kids in my kindergarten, but I was by the adults. They sang songs that made me cry, and they tried to force me to play with toys a certain way. At times I even tried to run away from my kindergarten, going so far as to jump the fence and run home. It got so bad that my dad, who at the time worked at the city council, had to step in and threaten them with legal action, just to make them stop singing the song that continuously made me cry.

But throughout all of this, every high and low in kindergarten, I clung onto TMNT. It was how I could play with both boys and girls, and became my first hyper fication. It even led to a description of me that the other kids would use when describing me to the new kinds; “This is (...). She wears boy clothes, hates Barbie dolls and loves Ninja Turtles”.

TL;DR, TMNT became my comfort obsession during bullying from adults in kindergarten, and it has stuck ever since, coming back during my depressive episode in 2023.

Leonardo:

Leo has always been my favorite ninja turtle. My favorite color was and is still blue, and I like to think he had something to do with it. He was the turtle I would dress up as at Fastelavn, and I really looked up to his views on honor and responsibilities. Back then I was the oldest child in the family, and I took my role as big sister very seriously, often seeking to protect my little brother.

I will even go so far as to say that Leonardo was my first fictional crush. I still remember watching 2003 in the living room, and getting somewhat irritated that he wasn’t real. Even more irritated when people had to bring up that none of the turtles were real. Way to kill the vibe for a 3 - 5 year old, lol.

In kindergarten, I would hide the Leonardo figure, or just walk around with it in my pocket. I clung to it, and got really sad when someone wanted to take it, since they were playing with the other turtles. Not long ago my brother dug through our old toys, and found the Leo figure my parents got me when I was young. It is now sitting in a bowl next to a Barbie doll I won at drag bingo, lol.

To this day Leo is still my favorite. I resonate with him and his struggles quite a lot. Each version of him always struck something with me, providing me with some sense of comfort. Maybe it is because he wants to protect, and that made me feel protected? Or he seems very driven by rules and morality, in a way that I do too. If I don’t, I get really anxious, so it’s nice to see someone else do it.

Donatello:

My love for Donatello is relatively new. I’ve always loved him, but for the little version of me, he was often forgotten. He was the last figure I would react for, and was the last turtle who’s name I remembered, often referred to as “the purple one”. Generally, in the kindergarten I went to, it was the fewest who showed interest in Donatello, always fighting over the other turtles.

However, as an adult, I’ve come to admire Donatello much more. It took quite some time before I came to realize the importance of him, and I would like to say that Rise played a big part of that. Up until then, I remembered Donnie as being shown as the “least coolest” (which I know now is very much not true”.

With Rise Donnie being coded with autism, my brother suddenly had a turtle to mirror with. While I had Leonardo in my childhood, my brother now had Donatello in his teenage years, and to be honest, that means a lot to me. To me, Donnie has now become a character that symbolizes late but powerful blooming. My brother is first now finding himself, and he turned 20 a month ago, so when he tells me that Rise Donnie makes him feel represented, and showed him that someone like him could be loved, it really touched me.

MM Donnie is currently the turtle in the keychain I’ve attached to my backpack, and is the turtle that has made my brother interested in TMNT. I sat with my almost 2 year old niece, and she noticed the Donnie on my backpack. She started to play with it, and it very quickly became a great bonding experience. So to me, Donnie is closely tied with personal growth and bonding.

Michelangelo:

I’ve come to realize that I have much more in common with Michelangelo than I first thought I had. First of all, he is the orange turtle, and I’m a natural redhead, so we match. Second of all is ADHD. It wasn’t until I was 21 that I learned I have ADHD, and just before I learned how to tackle it, I was hit with the death of my grandma, and had to quit work due to stress which turned into a pretty bad depression.

Those that have read my Bayverse Children Series, know that I’ve called Mikey’s daughter Sunny and his son Luis, both names that I connect with ideas of the sun. Sunny because it sounds like the sun, and Luis because it makes me think of king Louis the XIV, aka, the sun king. That is because I see Mikey as a very happy guy. Obviously, he is not happy all the time, and when we do experience him being sad or mad, we know that something is very wrong. But he generally has a very upbeat personality that reminds me of the sun, or maybe even just sunlight.

If Leo is the comfort and a personality I can see myself in, and Donnie is personal growth and bonding, then I see Mikey as the light at the end of the tunnel. An friendly and sympathetic person that wants the best for you, and will help you on the road to recovery. That’s at least how I see him and his brothers, as imaginary friends that have wished me the best.

Doesn’t hurt that he is a cat person. Every moment or scene with Mikey talking to or helping a cat, very much reminded me of me and my own cat. Me and my cat was just as close as Mikey and all of his cats are. RIP Mini💔

Raphael:

Leo is my comfort and the turtle I mirror in, Donnie is growth and bonding, Mikey is a helping hand through the darkness, then Raph is personal drive and passion.

In kindergarten, Raphael was my second favorite turtle, but I do remember that he was many of my friends' favorit. During my internship at a different kindergarten, I learned that he was all of the kids' favorit. And honestly, I see why. To me, he is the stereotypical young kid that doesn’t know how to express his emotions in a healthy way, leaving them with a lot of strong emotions that only keeps building and building, until it reaches a boiling point. And I’m pretty sure that a lot of people can see themselves in that.

Like many people we meet in our life, Raph has a really hard exterior, but is truly a really emotional guy on the inside. I think many kids see themselves in his emotional outbursts, and understand the frustration and build up he can feel. But that doesn’t make him less of a good person.

At my internship, I learned that one of the kids from last year that is now in school (I never met him), was actually named Raphael. I’ve told this before, but he was a big TMNT fan and would carry plastic sais to kindergarten. I later learned from the adult working there, that he also had the personality of Raphael, and was in some ways just as “hot tempered”. He had a hard time communicating with the other kids, as his emotions would often get in the way, causing him to lash out due to his frustration. And yup, he did throw one of his fake sais ast one of the kids once. But like the turtle, it didn’t make him any less good. From what I’ve been told, he was very passionate about whatever he did, and was very good at involving other kids in whatever he was playing or doing. He has obviously had a big impact on said kindergarten, as even a year after he left, they are still talking about him. And honestly, I get it. If his anything like the turtle Raphael, he is obviously lovable, even if he could be a bit of a hard nail sometimes.

[not-krys]

[Repost] Deep in Thought - Abby & Mozart

Part of this set of WIP Wednesdays!

It's only recently occurred to me that Abby and Mozart are sort of birthday siblings (her's is the 24th of January, while Mozart's is the 27th), so in celebration of this realization, I wanted to write a little something for the two of them. Fun fact! Before deciding to want to make her an artist, for her initial concept, I had Abby be a singer instead, inspired by a threesome story in-game with Mozart and Jean. The idea fell through in the end, but I like to keep the Abby is a singer on the backburner of ideas for her and also why she and Mozart somewhat get along, even if it might just be in the background.

Raw, unedited writing down below. Abby is a lil self-deprecating as she has little confidence in herself and her thoughts will reflect that. Also my first time writing Mozart, so his character might be little off. I also copy-pasted the lyrics to the song Abby sings from a lyrics website and the song is in German, which is another language I don't speak, but they are available to look up if you want.

-----

He was behind me. He was behind me again! The silence from the music room should have been my tip that something was up, but I thought he'd given up by now!

"You." His cold voice startled me, my hands squeezing the poor broom handle to the point of choking, it felt like.

Slowly, very slowly, I turned around to face Mozart, his arms crossed and his elegant brows furrowed. I think even his mole was judging me with the way he was staring.

"Y-yes?" Why did my voice have to come out like that!?

"Music room. Now."

What have I done to deserve this!?

My shoulders shook, feebly holding up my broom taller.

"I-I have chores to-"

"Do them later." Mozart was firm! "Tell Sebastian that I needed you for something."

"Y-yes, sir." I said meekly.

Mozart turned on his heel and headed back into the music room. I followed behind him, trying to keep my movements as quiet as I could. He's told me before that he thought I was loud, and, not wanting to irritate him further, I did my best to be silent. It was easy on the carpeted floor of the hallway, but marble floor of the music room, with no rugs to muffle sound? I felt exposed in a different sort of way, the green walls even feeling intimidating.

Mozart sat at the piano bench, an elegant piece made of white wood and gold accents, flipping out his coat tails to sit more comfortably.

"Leave your broom by the door."

I nodded, setting my once close companion against the door's frame, cradling it with my hands.

"Come closer."

I shuffled closer to the piano, my steps unbearably loud in this space. Was my heart as loud in this room as it was in my ears, I wondered. It wouldn't be surprising if Mozart said I was being loud again and it was my own racing heart he was hearing.

"You were singing the other day while you were cleaning in the room next door to the music room."

He could hear that!?

"S-sorry if I disturbed-"

"It was a song I wrote. Long ago."

His fingers glided gracefully across the keys, playing a familiar melody.

"Y-yes. An Chloë. You wrote it inspired by the poem, right?"

"Correct." He continued to play, seeming to get lost in thought. "Where did you learn it?"

"My auntie." I started, but corrected myself. "Well, one of her previous girlfriends taught it to me when I was young. She always sang it beautifully and I wanted to learn it too, despite knowing no German then."

She was nice, from what I remember of her, Auntie's German girlfriend. Father didn't like her and often got into arguments with Auntie over her. I was really young at the time, so I don't remember exactly what became of her, but I didn't see her after a time and I remembered missing her when she went away.

"Sing it again."

"E-excuse me?!" Say what now?

"Sing it." He repeated, starting the melody over as if it was looping, it was that smooth of a transition.

"I-"

He glanced back my way, as if to say he's not repeating it a third time.

With a brief pause in the music to signal my cue, I took a breath and closed my eyes, praying that whatever came out didn't sound like a screeching cat.

"Wenn die Lieb' aus deinen blauen, Hellen, offnen Augen sieht…"

It was as if a spell was taking over me, remembering a simpler time with Auntie and her German girlfriend at the time. I felt calmer. I know I was butchering the German pronunciation, horribly so, I'm sure. Mozart didn't stop playing though, nor did he say anything to correct me. I tapped my fingers against my leg to keep time, to keep from intruding on the song any more than I already was.

When the song ended, the room was deathly silent.

Mozart, for the first time I've seen him doing it, closed the lid across the keys and stood up.

"Ugh, noisy."

I froze and bit my lip. He was the one who asked (okay, he demanded!) that I come with him here, so  what was the point in-

Then, I heard it.

Applause.

One set of hands at first, then two, three, four more. The more clapping I heard, the redder my cheeks became.

"You're all lurking." Mozart said, irritated. "Move."

I caught eyes with Le Comte standing in the doorway, along with Napoleon, Vincent, Theo, Arthur, Issac, Dazai, and Sebastian all gathered behind him. Le Comte was the last to stop his clapping.

"My, what a lovely performance." He said, his entrance allowing the others to come into the music room as well. I could see the ends of Leonardo's overcoat sleeves sitting just off of the door, while Jean was leaning against the far window with his arms crossed in the hallway.

"You did well, Nunuche." Napoleon squeezed my shoulder, smiling proudly.

"Well, who knew our little dove could sing like that?" Arthur tapped my other shoulder while Theo ruffled my hair.

With all of the compliments I was receiving, my desire to crawl into a pit and hide for eternity grew. Mozart huffed as he stood at the doorway.

"Should have shut the door." he grumbled as we walked down the hallway, kicking Leonardo's coat sleeve out of his way.

[olympeline]

Now I’ve watched my first Eurovision, here are some thoughts and opinions on the results:

I don’t think Nemo deserved to win. His song was good, don’t get me wrong, but there were others that were better (Croatia, France, Israel). I’d put him in the top quarter but not at #1. I’m not on social media bar this little niche account but I’ve heard people are saying he won because he’s transgender. And because Switzerland is a traditionally neutral country. I don’t believe that, personally. It’s too tinfoil hat conspiracy theory for me. I think he won because the jury thought The Code was the best song for the radio. As in it’s the candidate likely to have mass appeal and sell the most singles. That’s my theory anyway 🇨🇭

And yeah, I agree with everyone else: Croatia was robbed. I don’t understand this result at all. Why was the jury so hard on him? My only theory is it’s a case of professional critics being snobby and deciding that because the public likes something it automatically becomes low brow and less artistic? That’s the only reason I can think of. Seriously two twelves out of thirty-seven? Whyyyy. I’m 100% on team #AbolishTheJury after this 🥲 🇭🇷

I didn’t like Ireland’s entry when I first listened to it and I still think the vocals are weak but the act as a whole? Strongest visuals in the competition. Just top tier costumes and staging. Is it right to do that well in a song contest if you’re carried by visuals? Hmmm. I don’t know. Like strip away all that flash and would you put Bambie Thug that high? Hmm. Uuhh? Mmmm? Not sure. It was like the opposite of France’s entry which had minimal effects and was carried solely by his song. So yeeaahh, IDK? Don’t know how I feel about Ireland’s high ranking. I could go either way 🇮🇪

Speaking of France, OMG, what a beautiful performance! Easily the strongest vocals in the contest. The emotion as he sang gave me shivers. Croatia is my #1 but if Baby Lasagna wasn’t there I would have voted for Slimane. I’ve heard he’s already huge in France and I can see why! Mon amour 🇫🇷

Israel’s song was also just beautiful. So sad and heartfelt too. I heard Eden (sorry, forgot her surname) is only twenty? If so, wow! Was she the youngest in the whole contest? Either way that’s super young and yet she did an amazing job! I can’t imagine that much pressure at that age. She should be very proud 🇮🇱

Such a bummer that Joost got canned. I bet he kicked himself all the way home. Europapa was one of my favourite entries and I think it would have done really well if he was allowed to perform. Like I said, a real bummer but then you can’t go around punching people behind the scenes. They were right to disqualify him for that. Hopefully he apologises and his career can move on from this sad incident 🇳🇱

I’m surprised Spain scored so low. I thought Zorra would have done better. It was catchy and had a good message. Maybe it just got lost in the shuffle? Or was it because it wasn’t in English? I don’t know. Oh well. I still enjoyed it 🇪🇸

I don’t think Olly Alexander deserved zero points from the public. His song wasn’t that bad! IDK but I would have thought that for an entry to get zero, they’d have to be genuinely awful. As in nothing redeemable whatsoever. Dizzy wasn’t that. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t think Dizzy deserved anything higher than mid, but no points at all? Too harsh. At least Olly already has a career to go back to. Still must have been crushing when the points were read out. Though he took it like a champ. Poor guy 🇬🇧

Finland was so much fun! What an absolute madlad. I unironically love No Rules! and the staging was so clever too. I wish he got more points though I’m not really surprised he didn’t. Still. We all need more Windows95Man in our lives 🇫🇮

I’m surprised Portugal did so well. Sorry to all my portubros but I found her song pretty boring. I couldn’t even remember it when the results were being read out. I think I get why the jury loved Switzerland so much but their love for Portugal confuses me. I guess they saw something in the song I didn’t? Different strokes 🇵🇹

Did Norway deserve to come last? It’s another one I have trouble remembering so ehhh, mayyybeee? It’s hard because I don’t think any of the entries were outright bad. Just some were a bit dull and didn’t leave much of an impression on me. I suppose last place has to go to someone. Hopefully next year will be better for them 🇳🇴