#silent coexistence is a beautiful thing to me actually

[ghostfawkers]

Can you draw Millie and Blitz platonically cuddling?

how could i say no to these two

[demonic0angel]

Celestial Bodies AU (maybe part 1/?)

(Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7.)

Superman flew through space, eying the new galaxy that he and Batman had discovered the night before.

“So? What does it look like?” Batman asked him through the communications.

“Well…” Superman looked around. “It’s definitely weird. It has an enormous cluster of stars, but I’m not feeling stronger…”

“What? Are you saying that the radiation isn't working?"

"The stars here are all white stars or above, but they don't make me feel stronger. Actually... I think I'm feeling weaker too. Something is definitely wrong here."

Batman was quiet for only a moment before he asked, "Are you in any current danger? Can you defend yourself?"

"No, I'm fine. I don't sense any living beings around me. I can defend myself." Superman understood what Batman was trying to say. "Are you asking me to stay and continue observing?"

"If you can."

"Of course. I'll stay and continue investigating."

"Thank you," Batman said softly and Superman smiled at that.

"Don't sweat it! Let me get the receiver."

Superman pulled out the device that allowed him to connect to radio signals from space, and began turning it on. However, the moment it turned to life, the radio began to malfunction, short circuiting and turning into static as it shook itself. Superman nearly tossed it away before suddenly, it was normal again.

And then, the signal began to pick up.

And it began to sing.

Superman stared wide eyed as a symphony of music and singing came through the radio. It was a little choir of humming and barely audible voices, sounding as though they were underwater. Still, it was undeniably beautiful, like something heard from heaven.

"Batman," Superman said, hushed, "are you hearing this?"

"... yes."

"It's amazing! Are these stars making these sounds?" Superman continued flying, observing the blue and yellow stars, each radiating a heat that could not power him. He continued flying, listening to the ethereal song that called for listeners.

He hadn't been paying attention when he felt an ever sensed blistering heat and a force beginning to drag him forward. He turned his head and his eyes widened again before he cursed and flew a little distance away.

"Superman? What is it?"

"Batman, turn on your visuals," he said as he turned on the camera.

There was silence before Superman heard the barely audible click and then a buzz of a camera. The camera was attached to Superman and it would send the views back to Batman, allowing him to see just what Superman was freaking out over. When it turned on, Batman was silent for a moment, clearly as confused as Superman was feeling.

"... tell me what I'm seeing."

"A quasar, a protostar that is possibly becoming a blue star, a neutron star, and a black hole all coexisting right next to each other. As well as several planets all circling them like stars."

Superman watched the scene with a sense of both interest, awe, and horrified confusion.

The scene in front of him just wasn't possible. Not only would a black hole consume everything around it, there was already a quasar nearby doing the same thing with an even stronger force. However, the protostar and neutron star were fine even though they were so close, along with the few planets. The planetary nebula around the neutron star circled around each celestial object in an assembly line, flowing from the neutron star to the black hole to the quasar and then to the protostar. If the nebula wasn't taken by one celestial object, it was passed onto another.

Most of the nebula seemed to be absorbed by the quasar and protostar, but the two of them seemed to coexist in peace. The neutron star continued to spin and the black hole surrendered most of the nebula to its neighbors. The planets also spun peacefully, a few even had rings that were not taken by the quasar or black hole.

It was like only foreign objects, like Superman himself, would be absorbed.

It was fascinating. Like they were alive and knew how to live with one another.

Superman explained it to Batman in detail. Batman was silent before he said, "This shouldn't be possible. How could this occur? Unless there was some sort of external force that is keeping each astronomical object to themselves and prevents them from destroying each other, there's no way this could be a natural occurrence."

"Are you suggesting that this is man-made?"

"How could it be anything but? Aren't you listening to singing right now?"

Superman raised the receiver and the singing on the other side continued without pause, a constant symphony of voices.

"... you could be right. Do you want to try and make contact?"

"Yes. Send back a signal."

Superman pressed a few buttons on the receiver to send a radio message back and in an instant, the singing died down, leaving only a faint crackling and a water-like noise.

Biting the bullet, Superman then spoke into the receiver.

"Hello. My name is Superman, and I come from the Milky Way galaxy. I am a kryptonian from the planet Earth. I wish to peacefully connect with you, whoever you are."

More crackling.

Batman cursed softly in his ear and Superman winced, already feeling that he was too impulsive. However, just as he was about to backtrack and escape from this particular galaxy, there was a whispered, shuddery, "Hello."

Superman blinked and then called out, "H-Hello!"

There was silence again, only that underwater staticky noise coming through.

"Can I take this as you accepting my peace offering?"

"... yes."

The sound that came from the receiver seemed to come from many, all joining together into one.

There was a hitched gasp and then Batman hissed, "Keep talking! Ask them questions! Ask them if they want to make contact with us or if we can form an alliance!"

Superman nodded to himself and spoke into the receiver, "Can you see me?"

"We see you."

Superman paused and then continued in stride, "I'm sorry, but I can't see you. Can you show yourself?"

"In front of you."

There was nothing but the strange collection of celestial objects. Unless there was someone inside? It could be possible, but Superman hadn't detected anyone living around him for awhile now.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but—"

"In front of you."

Batman then said through the communicator, "Superman, the neutron star!"

The neutron star in front of him then began to spin faster and faster, before lighting up into a pulsar in the very next second.

Superman was stunned at the sight, as the radiation emitting from the neutron star passed over him over and over and over, radiating with a cold burn that resonated through his bones and made his limbs weak. The impossibly quick change from a regular neutron star into a pulsar only made him even more frightened as the radio signals made the receiver scream.

"We are here." The crackling voices said again, all as one.

Superman flew backwards, his breath caught in his throat.

"Superman?! Why did you go backwards?" Batman demanded.

Superman flinched and then he said softly, "Sorry. Instinct."

It was true. The fear that had entered his body had made him instinctively retreat. It was even worse than looking death in the eye. It was like the feeling of knowing the End of All, of knowing that your existence would be wiped out, of knowing that resistance would be futile and that your death wouldn't even be enough to save the ones you loved.

His heart pounded as he flew a little closer, enough to feel the heat from the quasar again and almost reluctantly said into the receiver, "Are you the neutron star?"

"We are all what you see in front of you."

"'We'? Are all of you speaking to me?"

The neutron star pulsed again, spinning just a little faster like before.

"I am the King. And these are my family."

The voice than switched out, a barely noticeable change in the difference because it was all the same voices speaking as one. However, now a different voice was leading.

"Ask your questions, Son of Jor-El. What do you seek?"

Superman's eyes widened. Then after a moment of silence, he said, "I am here to explore the universe and find protection for the planet I live on. Could you help us?"

"We are but objects in the sky. We will only answer questions."

Batman interrupted. "Ask them if they can see the future and if anything will happen to Earth."

Superman explained to the collection of celestial bodies, "This is my colleague and partner, Batman. We work together for Earth's safety."

"We know. He is the best of you."

There was silence from both Superman and Batman. Superman was stunned, but he also couldn't help but smile. "Yes, that is true. Can you see the future? Can you tell us if any dangers will be coming to earth."

Another voice came to life, taking the lead in speaking. "We can. Whatever comes, you and your Justice League can handle it."

Superman could hear Batman breathe a sigh of relief. Superman felt the same and he placed a hand on his heart as he gave a sigh of relief as well. "Thank goodness." Before Batman said anything, Superman asked, "Could you tell us more about yourself? How do you have a consciousness?"

The radio crackled and popped for a little while before the first voice, the one who called themself 'King' spoke up.

"We were like you once. But then I became a legend."

"Like me?" Superman asked.

Batman then said, "Ask them if they were human."

"Were you human?"

More silence.

And then—

"Yes."

Superman's eyes widened and he couldn't help but gasp in shock, a hand flying to his mouth as he stared at the celestial bodies in front of him, all of which used to be human. These enormous objects that used to be human, now forced to succumb to emptiness and spin in space without pause.

"Are... are you okay? We have magic users in our team, maybe we can offer you help?" Superman asked.

Batman hissed in the comms, "Superman! We don't even know them!"

The receiver crackled some more and the voice changed again. The sound of them being underwater seemed louder than ever.

"We are fine, Son of Jor-El. We are happy."

The person speaking switched to someone new.

"Ask your questions and then leave." The receiver quieted again. And then they spoke, "My little sister needs her rest for her rebirth."

Superman's eyes flicked over to the protostar, which was still absorbing most of the nebula. The only thing that could have possibly been 'reborn' was the protostar, as it needed to heat itself to start the transition to become a main sequence star. Was that one the little sister?

"Just two more questions, if that's alright." He could hear Batman's deep, frustrated sigh. He probably had more questions but was frustrated by Superman's curtesy and his lack of scientific curiosity. Superman knew he was annoyed but he felt an odd camaraderie with the celestial objects. He didn't want to anger them if necessary.

"Speak."

"How old are you? And will you help us again in the future?"

The receiver crackled.

The voice changed once more. "We are all far, far, far older than you imagine. Time does not work for us like other stars."

The speaker switched again. "But in human years, we have not reached our adult ages yet."

The honest confession made Superman's eyes widen, especially as he realized what they meant.

A bunch of children had turned into stars and black holes before they were even adults?

Superman was suddenly starkly reminded of Robin, Batman's sidekick, one of the very few children that he knew in their line of business. By Batman's silence, he was probably thinking along the same lines.

"Speak your last question and leave."

"Can the Justice League depend on you for further help and assistance in the future? I would like to come back if I can."

"Our King was once a hero too. Come if you need it."

That was when the quasar sent out a flare, the gases and planetary nebula around it rubbing against each other hard enough to send sparks Superman's way. It was clearly a warning, especially as the neutron star began spinning rapidly again, radiation beginning to light the air around him in a devastating chill.

"Leave," They all chorused.

Superman immediately turned away without hesitation. "Thank you very much! I will come again!"

The receiver did not speak again. Instead, the songs restarted and the voices continued to sing a song that he could not recognize. It was ethereal, if not haunting.

Superman was smiling as he left. Batman was silent in his ear and Superman finally asked, "So? What do you think?"

"... I think we need more information."

"You're just feeling soft because they said they were heroes and were also children," Superman teased.

"How do you know they weren't lying?" Batman sounded angry.

However, Superman wasn't concerned and only laughed. "Lying? For what? They could definitely rip me apart if they wanted. They even had a baby star with them."

"Hnn." The old softie definitely suddenly had a moment of heartache from remembering the baby star.

Superman glanced behind himself, where the fascinating cluster of stars, planets, and black holes all existed in harmony together. The quasar and neutron star lit the way alongside the other stars and the tiny galaxy grew smaller and smaller as Superman flew away.

Whatever this galaxy actually was, Superman would be glad if they could find the help they needed and helped the Justice League in turn.

".... let's come back in a month," Batman said, sounding like it was pulled out from his teeth.

It was good that Batman felt the same way.

Perhaps the next time Superman came, he could chat some more with this little galaxy?

|||||||||||||||||||||||

I did so much research for this, it's crazy 😭

Dan is the black hole and Danny is the neutron star. The reason is that both of them are technically star corpses (a large or high-mass collapsed or dead star can either result in nothing, a black hole, or a neutron star) and while Dan consumes everything around him, Danny is a remnant of a star before him. The planetary nebula that came from Danny going supernova is consumed by his siblings, mostly Jazz or Dani. Dan and Danny don't fight over it bc they love their sisters.

Dani is a protostar, which is also a baby star. I hc that she used to be a star before, but she's just restarting her rebirth until she becomes a black hole or a neutron star like her siblings :3

Jazz is a quasar, which is a different type of black hole, (inspired by this post I made). She and Danny light the way for their little galaxy.

Tucker and Sam are also there, as planets! They used to be stars but they're reborn as planets this time. Tucker is a desert planet with several Saturn-like rings of metals and sand. Sam is a terrestrial planet and is capable of life. All that's on her is plants and animals tho (they haven't gotten enough time to evolve yet). The rest of the crew (Valerie, Wes, etc) are also there and are planets. They never really reach the level of stars tho.

[vampfire1]

southwestern ontario is fake and here's my thesis

i regret to inform you all that southwestern ontario is not a real place. it’s a weird mishmash of endless four-lane highways, way too many tim hortons, and people desperately trying to convince themselves they’re not just toronto’s ugly stepchild. the accents here change every 20 minutes and nobody agrees on what to call a soft drink. i grew up in sarnia and now live in london, so trust me — i’ve seen this glitchy cultural simulation from both sides and yeah, we suck balls.

every 30 minutes down the 401 is basically a new country

london: the city that desperately wants to be toronto’s cooler, less annoying cousin but just ends up looking like a suburban mall food court with a university. half the people are either in a sociology degree spiral or in the middle of their third breakup. everyone’s too tired to care about anything but tim hortons coffee and complaining about how “the city is changing.”

then you hit sarnia. sarnia is what happens when a petrochemical plant and a beach town have a messy breakup and are forced to live together in toxic co-dependence. if you haven’t been stuck behind a train for an hour, you’re lying. lakeshore road is the unofficial crash site for every teenager’s first (and last) driving lesson. canatara beach is the only good thing about sarnia but everyone treats it like it’s a magical escape hatch from the general sadness.

oh, and the tim hortons in sarnia? it’s basically the intersection of every high school clique, some sketchy cops, and at least three grandmas who won’t stop gossiping since 1987.

the accents: denial is a luxury we can’t afford

everyone here claims they don’t have an accent. they do. londoners try so hard to sound “neutral” but somehow end up sounding like they watched one too many episodes of murdoch mysteries and now pronounce “scone” like it’s a british royal invitation. sarnia accents are a whole vibe — half refinery grit, half midwestern road trip, all awkward vowel fights. the way people say “garage” here could start a diplomatic incident. “pop” vs “soda” isn’t just a preference, it’s a battle royale. and if you say “zink” instead of “sink,” congratulations, you’re officially from sarnia and no one’s surprised.

school is just a petri dish for cursed slang and social chaos

in my school, “teacher’s pets” got renamed “haters” because honestly, they usually deserve it. it’s the most logical upgrade to the insult system. also, wilfrid jury in london is the town’s beloved/unbeloved mystery. everyone either went there and hated it or never went there and hated it even harder. no one is safe.

meanwhile, landsdowne public school in sarnia had a graduating class of 50 but acted like it was 200. the school had like 300 kids total, which means everyone knew everyone else’s business and school drama lasted roughly 17 years after graduation. if you didn’t have a weird rivalry from kindergarten or some embarrassing story that everyone still brings up, did you even go to landsdowne?

tim hortons: emotional support center and cultural purgatory

the tim hortons near my school is basically a cry zone where high schoolers clutch their coffees like lifelines. it’s both tragic and peak relatable. london tim’s is where western students go to silently weep before midterms and complain about “how it used to be.” sarnia tim’s is where you find your entire high school loitering at 2 am like it’s a sacred ritual nobody wants to explain.

there’s a single cursed tim hortons in sarnia where cops, stoners, and old ladies coexist in a chaotic, beautiful mess. they have the most amazing iced capps ever.

city pride is a hilarious lie we all pretend to believe

saying “i’m from london” means you have to immediately add “ontario” and then watch the person’s brain try to figure out if you’re actually a british aristocrat or just confused. saying “i’m from sarnia” means one of two things: either you’re from the petrochemical paradise or you grew up terrified of the refinery sirens but too bored to leave.

brantford? home of wayne gretzky and literally nothing else. st. thomas? 50% trains, 50% catholic guilt, 100% awkward. woodstock is just… there. nobody’s quite sure why. toronto? everyone hates it and secretly wishes they lived there.

conclusion: southwestern ontario is a cultural fever dream and i’m both cursed and blessed to call it home

southwestern ontario isn’t a real place — it’s a fragmented patchwork of mid-sized towns that pretend they matter, tied together by passive-aggressive tim hortons employees, slang that might as well be a secret code, and regional accents that could be weapons. london tries to be a city but ends up a confused suburb with university hangover syndrome. sarnia is a strange, sad, and beautiful hellscape powered by refineries and nostalgia. we are united by confusion, caffeine, hatred for americans, and a deep love/hate relationship with toronto.

if you get this, i’m sorry. but also, welcome to the club.

[itsyourearthtoo]

The pop-culture urge to resurrect dinosaurs.

First of all, let me clear this, DINOSAURS ARENT EXTINCT. They are right there, maybe pooping around in your lawn or the non-veg meal you recently had. You just aren't aware of it. My previous blog was all about this and you can go check that out :)

So, if dinosaurs aren't extinct, then what's the point of bringing them back to life? More so... why make movies, write stories, draw comics and blah blah blah to actually resurrect them?! And this is what this blog is all about.

Birds, which are dinosaurs don't look like the dinosaurs you actually imagine it to be. Just wonder, what's the first thing that popped up in your mind, when you read the word 'dinosaur' in the very title itself. A giant beast, ferocious eyes, long necks maybe (those sauropods) and so on. No one did think about the chickens we eat, pigeons we shoo away or those beautiful kingfishers and parrots we admire. If you did, then... I think you are already smarter than me.

This is nothing, but the result of a constant impression about dinosaurs that pop-culture has fed to you, that your mind can't imagine anything else. More apt, you just can't think other than the Jurassic Park franchise if you are a 21st century kid like me!

Now hold on, this doesn't mean I am a Jurassic Park hater or this blog got grudges against it. I love that universe as much as you but the thing is, fact is fact. And, science in the end shouldn't be to please people, but to make people aware of the things they aren't aware of.

So... with a bit of reading and literature research, I actually dug into this matter deep enough to find a reason; that actually answers my question - Why pop-culture wants to resurrect dinosaurs?

Richard Owen coined the term dinosaur in the year 1841. Note, the Theory of Evolution and The Origin of Species was published by Darwin in the year of 1859, meaning the world dug out dinosaurs technically unaware of evolution and natural selection (pretty funny to me).

This makes sense as to why it got related to reptiles in the first place. Until 1860s there was pretty much no consensus to the fact that birds are related to dinosaurs. When Archeopteryx was initially discovered somewhen around 1860 it pretty much changed the course of Dinosaur paleobiology. Trust me, society didn't believe this in the first place. It took decades for the Dinosaur Renaissance to actually begin and thanks to Robert Baker's famous book Dinosaur Heresis in the 1970s, that gave dinosaurs the justice it had long due. So its pretty much okay to say that birds are dinosaurs came into the scientific consensus much much later than it was actually discovered (unfortunately this happens with most of the discoveries in Earth Sciences as a whole). Also, I would point to the discovery of more and more feathers in fossil specimens as the point where the relation between birds and dinosaurs were eventually confirmed.

Now dinosaurs came into the pop-culture scene in the 1850s with Charles Dicken's Bleak House. Yeah, a decade before Archeopteryx was dug out and Origin of Species was published. Movies first depicted dinosaurs as pretty lovable creatures. Classic example being the animated, Gertie - The Dinosaur (by Winsor McCay) which released as a silent film in 1914.

Soon after, it didn't take long for the lovable dinosaurs to turn into horrifying beasts. DW Griffith in his 1914's Brute Force silent film depicted Dinosaurs as ferocious monsters who haunted cavemen. Also establishing the early fiction, that early humans and dinosaurs coexisted together. This, a devastating scientific hoax (sugar coated as fiction), remained for quiet some time. You might have seen the famous cartoon series - The Flintstones, yup! if you were a fan of it like me, then you relate to what I am saying.

Steven Spielberg made Jurassic Park much later. Already a lot had been done about dinosaurs in the television and big screens. He legit hired paleontologists as scientific advisors for his films, which is why many things were even scientifically correct in the Jurassic Park film series, but at the end he was a film director to appease people and deliver box-office hits. He already knew what people wanted from dinosaurs. Hardly few will remember that the film actually says that birds came from dinosaurs in the very beginning. Instead, what you remember is just them chasing humans and destroying things. Unfortunate, but that's the reality.

Even today, its hard to imagine any film, story or comic that portrays dinosaurs as birds. They are the modern day dinosaurs! You have it all around. But you aren't satisfied with it and so you need movies that bring the typical dinosaur to life with the help of special effects to satisfy your soul. So yeah, if we as common people accept the fact that birds are dinosaurs then may be resurrection of dinosaurs will reduce to a lot extent in your screens and scientifically accurate stuffs will be fed to you :)

So, this is it for this blog. To be honest, while writing this I realized that I started loving these creatures because of pop-culture only :) no matter how scientifically inaccurate it was. I mean, this does become an irony. At one side of the spectrum it is to be blamed, but on the other it did make these creatures popular isn't it? Maybe I should cover this in my next blog hehe, so stay tuned!

For the love of Earth Science :D Byeee

Oh yes!!! Do check out my previous blog

thank you.

Used Image Souce - Youtube video titled 'The Flintstones | I Dare Ya!'

[gauri-vishalakshi]

Ratnavalli: a Magadheera meets Baahubali AU (Bhairava x OC)

In which Bhairava was promised to another since birth. In which he and Mithravinda never stood a chance because it just wasn't meant to be. In which everyone but him knew that he was always betrothed to a woman who wasn't the one he loved.

Ratnavalli has known two things were inevitable in her life. The first thing she knew was that since the moment she was born, she was thought of not as a daughter but as a burden. Ministers, soldiers, diplomats, hell, her own aunt and foster mother calculated how to tie her off into a marriage that bring at least some convenience to their kingdom. Ratna remembered nothing of her mother, the ill-fated dowager queen that had lost her life giving life to the burden of Mahishmati.

The only mother she had known seemed to consider the man who had been borne from the same womb as she greater and more brilliant than Ratna. But who was she tricking, her gem of a brother outshadowed even the most lustrous diamonds with his radiance. Not that she complained. Her brothers, Baahu and Bhalla, vowed as children to safeguard her, come what may, and never once had they backed down from that promise.

Another thing Ratna had known for what seemed like forever was that on her twentieth birthday, she would be married to a renowned warrior from the neighboring kingdom of Udaigarh. Bhairava, they said his name was. She heard the hubbub around her fiancé. Strong, brave, brilliant Bhairava. She also wasn't deaf to the murmurs. So why is he marrying the burden? Anyone who knew Ratna would know that she was true to her name. A pure, selfless gem of a person who was more talented than she let on. She had also, however, spent her life living a lie. That her fiancé knew he was marrying her.

---

Radhika doesn't know where she went wrong. One minute, she was getting on marvelously with her arranged fiancé, the next, someone named Indu is suddenly in the picture as her future husband animatedly describes some sort of "tingle" as his fingers brushed hers. Maybe Harsha doesn't realize Radhika grits her teeth at every mention of this supremely elusive Indu, or maybe he doesn't recognize that the "tingle" was the very reason she had initially agreed to the marriage.

She didn't know why or how, but the second she had first set eyes on the picture her mother had shoved in her face, she knew him. She knew the soulful eyes, the clever smile. Somehow she also acknowledged the invisibly silent grief and the guarded feelings, a wisp of an existence a lifetime ago. Every now and then, she would catch glimpses of a world that was not hers, tears in the fabric of time and reality as she saw herself and Harsha, though surely that could not be them. Occasionally, she even caught a sideways glance at the suspiciously chirpy woman who claimed to be Indu's friend, clad in the garb of erstwhile royalty, beautiful face marred by a furious expression of loss and longing. And in her nightmares, she saw herself, falling off the same cliff over and over again yet never hitting the bottom. But the more Radhika learned about the coexistence of their timelines, the less she wanted to know.

In which Ratnavalli and Radhika are the same person from two wildly different worlds, and the only anchor between their stories is the man they both love.

(a/n: This is actually such an ambitious thing to write omg should I do it?? I feel like I could have some fun with this *cackles* let me know!!)

[sparklecryptid]

/pfft/ Sorry, just - the mental image of Ace and Luche Regisdaughter coexisting *in the same 'verse*. It would be a *glorious* train wreck - and Ardyn would coo over his new niece (so adorably vicious and spiteful!). (Ace: Uncle, do not kill Shiva. Uncle, Uncle NO -) (Luche: Actually, it'd be great if he killed Shiva. Ace: You're not helping!)

@hamelin-born

(rubs hands together like an evil gremlin)

have a thing?

-

Luche knows of her brother. No, not the prince locked away in Insomnia, not the King of Light and Life.

The other one.

The one weighed down by the loss of his home, the one who is loved regardless of who his uncle is or personal failings. The one whose magic reeks of ozone and petrichor. The one who does not want to be found.

The one who Luche could lose track of easily. She could let him go, she could make her way to Insomnia without ever meeting him.

She doesn't. Luche takes a Hunt that would be risky for anyone else - anyone without magic in their blood - and she makes sure to appear distressed when she leaves.

Her brother will find her, he just needs to be pointed in the right direction.

-

Her brother is dangerous. There's a thread of darkness in him that Luche knows Ardyn could stoke, could turn into a raging fire.

Luche wonders why Ardyn hasn't, Ace is possessive, overprotective and quick tempered. He would be easy to sway. Take his friends, take his lover and he would fall so easily.

Luche thinks it would be something beautiful. Ace burns bright enough that it makes her wonder - even with her Sight - what it would take to douse the flame

(She cannot see him when he is with their uncle. She cannot see how Ace dies.

She merely knows Ardyn has a hand in it.)

Ace is odd. His silver eyes know too much, they reflect light in way that Luche has seen too often in her own family. He knows something.

She can't see what he knows, but he knows something.

"Do you know the play?" Luche asks while on their way back.

Ace tenses. His sharp silver eyes zeroing in on Luche.

"You're a Lazarus?" Ace knows their reputation as well as anyone on Galahd. "What do you know?" How have I changed things is what he means.

"You should have died," Luche tells him, "You have died many times before leaving the islands. But there are times you don't. There are times where you don't even exist at all."

Ace's lips quirk upward in a bitter smile.

"Yet I'm here."

"You are," Luche says and she wouldn't be so casual about this, she wouldn't trust anyone else so easily but she knows she is young and she knows her heart is her weakness, "Your soul is too old for your body. Twice-born. Lightning Marked. Prince of Ruin. King of Shades. You have too many titles."

"I don't have half of the ones you just said."

"You will. Your uncle loves you too much not to give you his Kingdom."

"Ardyn hates me."

"Then why did he save you?"

Ace is silent.

He doesn't have an answer for that.

-

"Stay with us," Ace tells her later, "You're family."

"I'm a Lazarus," Luche says, "And a traitor." She knows that Ace knows what she is. She knows this. Ace can't want a traitor by him.

He can't be that foolish.

But he is.

He brings her into his little family and she is accepted, quirks and all.

It can't last.

It can't last.

But oh how she wants it to.

(Is this what it's like to feel loved?)

[omiscurls]

Heyhey! I couldn’t find your rules, so idk if this is allowed or not, and if it isn’t feel free to ignore this, but may I request Childe with a reader who has depression? Thank you

tough

a/n: hi!! sorry for that, the rules are added by now, i chose not to describe depression itself, because it looks different on everyone, and you may not relate to what applies to me, but i'm hoping you'll find this enjoyable instead!!

plot: character helping the reader out of a breakdown, or a bad headspace

contains: tartaglia, kaeya

warnings: bad copying mechanisms, low mental place, nothing too serious mentioned

tartaglia

now, he's a man of action less than words, even though he's good with those, too

and to add to that, he's also a very perceptive person - if some negative vibe lingers on you for too long, he'll notice right away

however, relying on his experience, he opts to give you space to figure it out on your own, first, he wouldn't like to be making a huge deal of something that was just a worse couple of days

it's when you don't show up at your usual dinner spot, that he gets a little tingle in his brain, telling him to not dismiss it this time.

and so, he makes his way over to your place.

"ya there?" you hear on the other side of the door, followed by urgent knocking, sort of breaking you out of a trance, but you can't find it in you to go and answer it. he'll go away, you think, even better. your apartment is messy, you're messy, too, and it's not the right time to be receiving visitors. so you stay quiet.

"you do know i know you're in there, right?" he speaks up again "the blinds would be down if you weren't"

come in, you want to shout, and although no voice leaves your throat, soon the door opens anyway.

"hey, what's up, you weren't on the- oh." he stops in his tracks in the middle of the corridor, and you're already mentally prepared to a snarky remark about your sorroundings, but the only thing he says is a lighthearted "why're you sitting on the floor?"

the first thing he thinks about is to level with you, so he plops himself down right beside you, and you bet it looks funny - you in yesterday's clothes, in a big, probably smelly, mess, and then a harbinger in full military outfit right beside you.

"i-" you try to say, but your throat seems too dry and worn out, so you opt for a whisper "look at his place"

he indeed does, hinting the small note of desperation in your voice.

"what about it?"

"it's a mess!" you sigh, covering your face with your hands, out of both embarrassment, and fatigue. you take a big breath before continuing "so i wanted to clean it up, i even brought all the... all the things, but it's so much stuff to do, and i'm tired, and- and i don't know!" you choose to stop as not to snap right then and there. "i can't even do my shitty chores right like an adult" you mumble, massaging your temples.

"and is sitting on the floor helping?" he simply asks, and for a second, you're almost mad at him for not being more... cooey and fuss over you a bit more. he sounds cold.

"what are you-"

"really, is it helping?" he repeats "because from how i see it, every little thing would seem bigger if you looked at it from this angle. come on" he nudges you before standing up, and offering a hand to lift you up. you, however, shake your head.

"i really can't deal with it today, childe, i'm sorry"

"just stand up" he pleas, and the second you take his hand, he helps you up in less than a second. when you're on his level again, he sneaks both his arms on the sides of your waist, and sort of sways around a little, before speaking again. "what if, what if we do it little by little? look, we'll start over there" he puts his hand on top of yours, and lifts your arm to point to the full sink along with his. "and that'd be it for today! and then tomorrow... actually, let's not make plans. we'll just pick something tomorrow, and do it then. does the sink sound like a lot to do?" he asks.

"do you want me to be honest, or do you want me to say no" you mutter, earning the heartiest and brightest laughter you've heard in days from him.

"always honest. but come on, i'll help." he rolls you out of his embrace, causing you to feel a sudden wave of cold, it was comfortable back there, you think.

however, as he works through the dishes with you, the pile does seem to lessen, and doesn't rule over your kitchen anymore. every time he hands you a plate to dry, he smiles as wide as he can, and it doesn't seem to bother him at all when you don't smile back.

"remember" he starts again, after a while of comfortable silence. he looks ridiculous, doing the kitchen duties in an outfit designed mostly to look presentable and slay enemies in it, but the look on his face is dead set. "the first lesson you've gotta learn before going off to battle something, is that the best defense is always, always to fight back. and if you don't think you can manage that, well, that's why nobody ever battles alone. it's common sense to have someone watching your back. and as for you, not only are you a great warrior yourself, but you've also got the best second-in-command willing to help you out. don't forget that."

kaeya

as for him, he's also perceptive and empathic, but the difference between him and tartaglia is that he does believe people have the right to figure some things out on their own, he's a firm believer in the magic of secrets

that's probably because he himself doesn't like to share too much about his deeply personal feelings

so he'd obviously see some wave of difficult emotions coming your way, but would he immediately start worrying? probably not

the guy doesn't have healthy copying mechanisms himself, don't think he expects those of others

every other night the two of you meet up at the tavern, kaeya always ordering wine, you asking the bartender for whatever was in store today, but it's never anything alcoholic.

and just like nearly always, you're seated at angel's share, him noticing you're not particularly in the mood for talking, and choosing to entertain you with as many stories of the day that went by as he can remember.

the waiter interrupts him, asking if your minds are already made up regarding the drink. now, kaeya always has you picking first, but since he sees you're still analyzing the card (as if you expected to find anything new), he goes first with a drink he knows charles makes really strong.

to his surprise, when it comes to you, you just mumble "i'll have the same he had"

before the waiter has a chance of writing that down, kaeya tells him that actually, you're gonna need a minute or two more, and to erase the order you've both put in.

as he walks away, the calvary captain's eyes pierce through yours.

"that's a pretty nasty drink you wanted there" he starts, feeling he can't let you handle your mess this time, preparing to dig a little deeper into what's on your mind.

you shrug your shoulders.

"hey" he speaks up a little firmer, hand moving to cover yours, and even though they twitch as to retreat from his grip, you let it be. "tell me what's up."

"nothing's <up>" you accentuate. "can't i even have a drink now?"

"obviously you can" he nods "as long as i know you're trying it just for the taste, and not for the strong kick it's gonna offer, cause that's a dangerous path that only leads to nasty places." concern shines through his gaze, and an encouraging smile is wandering somewhere in his expression, however his lips are still pressed into a tight line, the same he forms when he's either fighting or arguing.

you stay silent for a good long while, before sighing.

"maybe i want the kick. good, or bad, maybe i want to feel... something."

the sentence sounds all too familiar, as he shakes his head and takes your hand, leading you towards the exit.

"what're you-"

"you're obviously not in the right state to be in a bar, of all places" he states almost coldly "so i'm getting you somewhere safer."

the two of you leave the bar, and walk out into the cold of mondstadt's street, covered in the darkness of the night. you walk past him, not leveling up to him, just tagging along to whatever he's going.

it comes as a surprise, that you're neither headed for your apartment, nor his, nor the knights' headquarters. he's guiding you in an unknown direction, until you reach a dead end.

he clims up a small building, offering you a hand and shaking off your confused expressions and questions. "you'll see" he says. the two of you walk from roof to roof, and countless times you tell him it's ridiculous, but then, he jumps onto the city's wall, helping you out with two hands this time, sitting you down right next to him on the stone surface of the wall. it's a little wet from the night's humidity, and cold, and probably dirty too, but the moon shines right at you, and from this perspective, you see thousands of lights in houses, taverns and shops, from the bottom up to the cathedral.

going up from that, a calm and peaceful lake paints the landscape blue on the left, and even from up here, you see a sea of lampgrasses shining through the leaves of wolvendom forest. if you squint, lights are still on in dawn winery, and the path to liyue and all the other lands swirls around near diluc's house. there's so much you can see, even if the night limits your vision.

"i like to come here when i need to gain some perspective over what is happening in my life right now" kaeya speaks really softly and quietly, bordering on a whisper. "it's a beautiful view, even someone as insensitive to art as i am can see that, but other than that... it's huge. and even though it is, it's also alive. every single one of those beings whose lights are dying out as they slowly go to sleep one by one, they're alive. they're not a scenery, they're their own, individual worlds. and they all coexist with each other in such a clever manner, don't you think? they have their differences, they might even hate each other, or wish the worst upon the other's name, but from up here? they fit together like puzzles of one, big picture."

"that's a nice way to put it, for sure" you whisper, looking down onto your knees. his finger pushes your chin slightly to make you face him, and he smiles at you gently, thumb brushing against the skin of your cheek.

"you know, we each have our own worlds, built from scratch from such fragile materials. we have our worlds rise, shine, and crumble before our sights. we look over the ruins of them and think, this is the end of the world. there's nothing more, it's all dust now. but from up here, you see how many other worlds there are - everyone has their own. not everything that is happening in your world is true. you see it from first person's perspective, and therefore the view might be disturbed by many different aspects. you might not see the picture, you just see the broken puzzle fragment that can't fit with the rest, and you're ready to throw away the entire picture, without finishing it. but being here, it reminds me... the world doesn't end on the ruins you see. you can always ask someone to help you build them up again, and of course, you can expect it to fall into pieces once more, but this time, you'll keep in mind, there're-" he stopped, pointing to the city's lights. "so many people to help you raise it up to the clouds."

"your metaphor is really complex" you chuckle, but his face stays still.

"it's not the end of the world if your puzzle piece is broken. and the ruins are not unfixable if you feel too tired to build them up all by yourself. if anything, that's a start." his hand travels up to keep the hair from getting on your face, since the wind blows pretty hard on this height. "what do you say we start your puzzle once more, toghether?"

-

your friendly reminder that you can request things [here]

[pockydays]

unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that. 

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual. 

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense. 

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right? 

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences. 

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly. 

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product. 

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply. 

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving. 

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings. 

“Thanks,” he responded curtly. 

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand. 

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded. 

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand. 

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior. 

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to. 

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right? 

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper. 

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his. 

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.” 

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips. 

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?” 

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought. 

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did. 

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts. 

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered. 

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air. 

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed. 

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?” 

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?” 

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him. 

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier). 

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course). 

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence. 

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said. 

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice? 

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue. 

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again. 

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken. 

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was. 

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

[davidpastrsnack]

girls need love - mikko rantanen

a/n: here it finally is! mikko is absolutely adorable but also so hot and i think it’s time he gets some more love on here. this is filthy, but you probably already knew that lol. the title is from girls need love by summer walker ft drake, a bop that gave me so much inspo. also major shoutout to @hookingminor​ for always screaming about mikko with me. i hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think!

word count: 5k

You were completely zoned out, the sounds of the bar overcoming your senses as you stirred your nearly empty, watered-down drink. Nate and Tyson were howling about some locker room argument they had earlier that day while Tyson bumped into your shoulders, falling over in laughter at their foolery. The bodysuit you had on was driving you crazy, you wished so badly that you could be laying across in your sweats at home instead. 

You needed more alcohol if you were going to get through this night. Your gaze trailed to the bar, only to catch a glimpse of the one person you had been avoiding all night, a beautiful girl hanging off his arm drinking up whatever story he was telling. You subconsciously rolled your eyes at the way they were drooling over each other, pushing off the table with a scoff to go get another drink. 

It had been a rough week for you, but Tyson would not take no for an answer when he called you that morning asking you to go out with everyone. Just five days ago you had broken up with your boyfriend of a year and a half after finding half a lingerie set that did not belong to you under the bed in your shared apartment. Sure, you were beyond hurt that Alex would betray you like that, but it was almost alarming to you how quickly your anger turned to relief. 

It wasn’t that Alex hadn’t treated you well, until he didn’t, of course, but as the months passed in your relationship so did the excitement and passion. The two of you coexisted in that apartment, always saying hello and goodbye but there was barely anything in between. Not to mention the sex had plummeted downhill. He was never amazing in bed, but in the beginning, you still enjoyed it because you were having so much fun with him. Now you couldn’t even remember the last time you had an orgasm at the hands of someone other than yourself. 

You stomped up to the bar, your heeled booties clicking against the hardwood floor before they rested on the base of the stool you sat on. You easily grabbed the bartender’s attention, giving her your order before your head fell into your hands, running them through your hair while you waited. 

But of course, you couldn’t just get your drink in peace. Only minutes later you felt a body slide in next to you, shame crashing over you as you immediately recognized the scent of his cologne. You slowly lifted your head, your gaze locking with his as you confirmed that it was, in fact, Mikko. 

“What do you want?” you groaned, eyes squinting as you looked up at him.

It was taking everything within you not to drag your eyes down his body. He looked incredible, per usual. He was wearing all black, except for his crisp white designer sneakers. His bright blonde hair was longer than usual, the soft waves hanging over his forehead. His baby blue eyes were sparking down at you, slightly glazed over making it clear that he had his fair share of drinks tonight. His dark pink lips curved in a smirk as he heard your words, a comeback already falling off the tip of his tongue. 

“Why so grumpy, Y/N?” he teased, leaning his arms against the bartop encroaching on your personal space even more than his big body already was. 

“Not in the mood, Mikko,” you warned, smiling at the bartender as she slid you your drink. “What happened to your little friend, hmm?” 

The smirk on his face grew bigger, your jealousy not going over his head. 

“So you were watching me?” he grinned, patiently waiting for your response as you sip your drink. 

“It’s pretty hard to miss you when you’re eight feet tall,” you threw back, swinging your legs off the stool before heading back to the table. You meant it as an insult, but Mikko saw your bluff, just laughing as he watched you saunter away, his eyes lingering across your frame. His height was one of the things you found so disgustingly attractive about him and he knew it. 

You and Mikko had a complicated relationship, to say the least. 

You befriended Tyson over two years ago, one of your roommates briefly dated him and you hit it off when she introduced him to the group. You stayed in touch even after they broke up and you now considered him one of your closet friends in Denver. You were immediately welcomed into the crew of his teammates and Mikko caught your eye right away, the feeling mutual. He was in awe of you: the way you laughed at Gabe’s dad jokes, the way you blushed when EJ forced you two to talk, the way you cared so deeply for everyone in your life. You were perfect, but Mikko was as shy as they come. He stayed in his comfort zone, admiring you from a far distance despite the constant encouragement from the guys. He never garnered the courage to get to know you more personally, and before long you were with Alex. 

From that point on, your relationship turned from polite acquaintances to the two members of the group that were constantly going at each other. Mikko had been beating himself up for letting you go and it was easier for him to deflect his feelings through meaningless chirps. You felt the same way. You loved spending time with Alex but part of you always wondered what it would have been like if you had just made a move with Mikko. 

Now that you were single again, you couldn’t help but think about if things could change. So much had happened since you first met, but the physical attraction was still heavy between you two, if not more now that you didn’t have any reason to feel guilty for it. 

You slid back into the booth, resting your head against Tyson’s shoulder as you observed the conversation. He was in for one tonight, his cheeks already flushed bright red and his eyes glazed over. Great, you thought to yourself, already imagining the struggle you were going to have when you tried to get him home later. 

Your moment of peace was short-lived, however, your stomach dropping when Mikko sat down directly across from you, his legs brushing up against yours under the table. You picked your head up and rolled your eyes in disgust, bringing your drink up to your lips for a long sip. He left you alone for the time being, but it didn’t take him long for him to turn his attention back to you. 

“So, Y/N, where’s our favorite Alex?” he questioned, eyebrows raised as he looked at you, his sarcasm almost as thick as his accent. 

Your heart sank and you just stared back at him dumbfounded. Did he not know? There was no way none of the guys told him, right? Was he just playing a sick joke on you? You decided that it couldn’t be the latter, Mikko was a lot of things but he wasn’t cruel. 

The table was silent, everyone’s eyes on you waiting for your response. 

“Well, Mikko,” you hissed, emphasizing his name, “We broke up so I have no idea where Alex is.” 

His face fell as he heard your words, he had no idea. The guilt washed over him instantly, eyes trailing down to where your hands were anxiously twirling the straw of your drink. The awkwardness at the table was like nothing you had ever felt before, and you wished you could disappear at that moment. You were doing fine without Alex, more than fine actually, but you didn’t need to be reminded of your failed relationship in such a cold way, by Mikko of all people. 

The tension was finally broken by Tyson, his drunk rambling in full swing as he raised his glass. 

“We love you, Y/N,” he slurred, throwing his arm around your shoulders, “Plus, when’s the last time that asshole got you off?”

Your eyes went wide at his words, your head snapping to glare at him. You and Tyson were very close, and for better or worse you shared nearly everything with him. You trusted him with anything, but you couldn’t count on him keeping his mouth shut when alcohol was in the picture. 

Your cheeks heated up with embarrassment, only getting worse when you caught Mikko’s eye. He had a soft expression on his face as he stared at you, but there was a glint behind the blue of his irises that you had never seen before. 

That was the last straw and you quickly left the booth, heading straight to the bathroom in hopes of gathering yourself. Ever since you and Mikko had started going at each other, you always kept up the facade that Alex was the perfect man. It was now very much so obvious that he wasn’t with Tyson exposing the fact that he barely managed to satisfy you for over a year. You didn’t know what was worse: your embarrassment or your anger. 

After almost ten minutes of wallowing in the filthy bathroom, you pulled yourself together enough that you were ready to go back out. Hopefully, by now they had moved on, Tyson’s slip up just a faint memory. You opened the door, only to run into a broad chest as soon as you stepped outside. 

Goddammit, Mikko. 

You didn’t need to look to know who it was, pulling back right away to put some distance between the two of you. 

“Mikko, please,” you begged, “Can you please just leave me alone tonight?”

You finally raised your gaze to meet his, the emotion making your voice shaky as you pleaded with him. 

“No,” he spoke, his voice deep as he inched closer to you. 

You shook your head, a small laugh slipping out of your lips in disbelief of his audacity. You backed away from him even further until your body bumped against the brick wall. You were stuck, his scent intoxicating you as he inched closer. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he continued, his fingertips dragging up the skin of your exposed forearm. 

Your breath hitched as he touched you, the close proximity clouding your senses and leaving a trail of goosebumps up your arm. 

“I want to take care of you, Y/N.”

Your eyes slipped shut as he spoke, his body nearly completely encroaching on yours now in the dingy corner of the bar. 

“Mikko,” you whispered, your head falling to look at your feet. There was no way he was saying what you thought he was, what you secretly hoped he was. 

He placed his thick pointer finger underneath your chin, urging you to look at him. 

“I’m sorry about Alex, I really am, but I don’t think you are. I was a complete idiot when I met you and I’m not doing that again.”

Your eyes were wide as you stared up at him, waiting for him to continue. Your heart was racing beneath your chest, your cheeks flushed as his eyes burned into your own. 

“Come home with me, Y/N. Let me take care of you like I should have been doing all along,” Mikko finished, his voice trailing off as he stood before you. 

One of his hands snaked around your waist, just lingering there, barely touching you as your head fell to rest against the hard brick. His other hand was pressed to the wall right next to your head, his bulging bicep clouding your peripheral vision. 

Two years. You had spent two years admiring Mikko from afar. And now here he was, offering himself up to you on a silver platter. There was no doubt in your mind that he would absolutely worship your body if you let him, and you wanted to let him. You were ashamed to admit how many times you had thought about him while getting yourself off over the years. He was just so big, so strong, and you couldn’t stop your mind from imagining what it would feel like to have him wrapped around you. 

“Take me home, Mikko,” you whispered, the slightest smile creeping onto your face as he smirked down at you. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, wanting to check that you were sure. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “But hurry up before I change my mind,” you smiled, your hand brushing against his chest as you teased him. 

He rolled his eyes, a deep laugh coming from his throat. But the tension was back right away, your heart stopping as his gaze flickered down to your lips and he leaned in. You closed your eyes in anticipation, so ready to finally have him touch you, but just as your mouths were about to connect he swerved, instead pecking your cheek. You pouted as he pulled back, a cheeky grin across his lips as he started to back away from you. 

“I think you can wait a little bit longer, prinsessa,” he spoke, urging you to follow him back to the table. 

-----

Less than fifteen minutes later you were in the back of an Uber, Mikko’s hand sitting dangerously high on your thigh as he stared out the window. After your encounter outside the bathroom, you told the guys that you weren’t doing well and you were going to head out. He took his chance to slip out with you, claiming that he wanted to make sure you got home okay considering his comment was why you were leaving. Or so they thought. 

The ride to his place was quick, and you were grateful because you didn’t think you could go much longer without him touching you. The tension in the car was palpable and you were convinced even the driver could feel it in the air. Mikko got out first, offering you his hand to help you slide out. You gulped as you felt his hand completely engulfed yours, your mind wandering to what else was that big. 

The painful anticipation didn’t last much longer, Mikko pinning you against the door as soon as you both were inside. His lips found yours immediately and you sighed into the kiss, two years of tension finally being released. You worked perfectly against each other, the first moan of the night coming from you as he bit your bottom lip between his teeth, letting it snap back so he could re-tangle your tongues. His hands were wrapped around your waist, fingertips sneaking under the hem of the black top you had on. He pulled away from your mouth, trailing wet, hot kisses down your jaw and neck. 

“Fuck, Mikko,” you whimpered, your hips rutting up as he found your sweet spot below your ear. He smirked against your skin and knowing exactly what you needed he moved one hand down to your ass so he could hike your leg up across his hip. His hardening length was now pressed against your core and you couldn’t control the moan you let out, desperately needing more from him. 

“Mikko, please,” you begged, your hands tugging the base of his blonde curls. 

“Okay, baby,” he whispered, lifting you up with ease and carrying you to his room, his lips still attached to your neck. 

He dropped you down on the bed, pulling back from you only to take his shirt off before he was hovering over you. You ran your hands across his pale skin, the ripples of his muscles in contrast with your soft fingertips. He stared down at you, his baby blue eyes burning into yours, and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shut at his tender action, your hands wrapping across the expanse of his back. 

He continued his assault on your neck, this time soothing the many marks he made in the entryway. The tops of your breasts were now spilling over your blouse, his plump lips biting into the flesh. You pushed him away just enough so you could yank the shirt off, Mikko swearing under his breath as he saw the black lace bra you had on. His hands slipped around your back, unclasping it before attaching his mouth to your nipples. Your body arched up into his at the contact, Mikko smiling as he trailed down your stomach before pausing at the waistband of your jeans. 

“How do you wanna cum first, baby, hmm?” he cooed as you squirmed beneath him, “Tongue? Fingers? Both?”

“Anything, Mikko,” you pleaded, “Please just touch me.”

“Whatever you want, prinsessa.”

Mikko finally unzipped your jeans, sliding the denim off your legs painfully slowly. He groaned as he saw your matching panties, a dark chuckle leaving his mouth at the wet spot seeping through the lace. 

“You really need this, huh?” he smirked, his middle finger delicately tracing the outline of the material. 

“So badly, Mikko,” you whined, lifting your hips in search of more friction. 

Mikko didn’t waste any more time teasing you, instead hastily ripping the panties off and hooking your legs over his shoulders, attaching his mouth to your dripping core. You cried out at the contact, his tongue licking a long stripe up your slit before reaching your clit. He moaned into you at his first taste, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. Your head was thrown back against the pillows, your hands tangled in his blonde hair as he flicked his tongue against you. He moved one of his arms to rest against your stomach, keeping you in place as he pulled moan after moan from you. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you cried out. Alex hadn’t gone down on you for at least the last six months of your relationship, but even when he had it didn’t feel anything like this. Mikko seemingly already knew your body inside and out and he was getting just as much pleasure out of it as you were. 

“So good, prinsessa,” he groaned, “So good for me.”

His dark pink pout wrapped around your clit, the pressure overwhelming your senses. He switched between flicking and sucking, your back arched off the mattress as you felt your climax approaching. 

“Fuck, I- I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Mikko didn’t stop, rather he went faster, your high crashing over you as your mouth hung open in a silent scream. Your hands pulled his hair so tight, your body tensing as his tongue coaxed you through your high, only stopping when you pushed him away, the sensitivity getting to be too much. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to your swollen clit before pulling away, trailing kisses down the inside of your inner thighs while you came down. 

“Feel good, baby?” 

You laughed at his question, you had never felt better. 

“So good, Mikko.”

Your body felt numb, still not recovered from one of the best orgasms you’ve had in years. Your hand pushed Mikko’s hair out of his face, his eyes meeting yours as he smiled up at you. You played with the curls for a few minutes, the smell of sex thick in the air, before he got antsy again. 

“Ready for another?” he asked, a cheeky smirk on his face as you looked down at him.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and gave him a slow nod, having an idea what he had in mind. 

You were right, as soon as you gave him the all good Mikko’s middle finger was back on your core, spreading your cum around before slowly slipping inside. Your head fell back at the stretch, it only took one of his thick fingers to make you ache. He stared up at you as he moved it in and out, gaging your reaction before adding a second. 

“Yes, Mikko,” you whined, your breath hitching each time he brushed your g-spot. 

He picked up his pace, the filthy sounds of your wetness filling the air as he pumped in and out. The contrast between the roughness of his fingers and the smoothness of your walls was making your eyes roll back, your high already approaching. 

“You want another one, baby?” he hummed, his accent growing thicker. 

You couldn’t find the words to respond, just nodding as you looked down at him. He looked so pretty, his face hovering above you as his blue eyes stared up at you, smiling as you lost control of your body. His arm was flexing with each movement, hitting your g-spot perfectly over and over again. 

“Mikko- Mikko,” you screamed, your climax overtaking you as he added his thumb to the equation, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

Your legs started shaking, your heels digging into his back while Mikko fucked you through your high, words of encouragement falling from his lips as you cried out his name. 

“So pretty, prinsessa,” he cooed, “Such a good girl.”

He finally pulled back, slipping his fingers out of you and licking your cum off of them one by one. You were in a state of complete bliss, your body tingling from the two orgasms and his pants hadn’t even come off yet. He kissed up your body, smiling into you when he reached your lips. You sighed into him, the taste of yourself lingering on his tongue. It didn’t take long for you to get desperate for him again and you could feel him resting heavy against your leg.

You separated from him, whispering, “I need you, Mikko.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, sitting up so he could shake his pants and boxers off. 

You audibly whimpered as you saw him completely bare in front of you, he was large. Without even realizing you were doing it, you reached out for him begging him to come back to you. Mikko let out a chuckle at your eagerness, grabbing a condom from his nightstand before leaning over you again. 

“I got you, Y/N,” he murmured, throwing the foil to the side. 

 “How do you want me?” you purred, giving him your most innocent eyes as you gently stroked him. 

Mikko nearly gave out at your touch, mumbling a fuck before he responded. 

“Turn around,” he ordered, his hands spreading over your ass when you did what he said. 

A soft smile crept onto your lips, you had a feeling that’s what he would want. You arched your back, your ass resting against his lower stomach as he gripped your waist. A whimper escaped your lips as he teased your entrance with his tip before finally sinking in. Your mouth fell open as he stretched you out, he was without a doubt the biggest you had ever had. 

“Shit, so fucking tight, prinsessa,” he murmured. 

He made sure to go slow, pausing once he was all the way in to let you adjust. 

“Mikko, please,” you moaned out once you were ready. 

He took the hint right away, swiftly pulling out before slamming back into you. Your mind went blank as he moved, he was hitting so deep within you with every thrust. He slid one of his hands from its post on your waist to the back of your neck, holding you there for more leverage. 

“Fu- Fuck,” you cried, surely loud enough for his poor neighbors to hear. 

“Feel good, baby?” he questioned, continuing his relentless pace. 

He leaned down to rest his body against yours and you whined at the feeling of having him completely envelop you. Your head was pressed into the pillows when you felt his hot breath on your neck. 

“Were you jealous when you thought about me fucking that girl like this, hmm?”

His accent was so heavy at this point that his words were barely understandable, but you knew what exactly he said. You couldn't muster up a response, rather a deep groan came from your throat as you nodded. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I only fuck you like this, like that piece of shit should have been this whole time.”

Your body almost collapsed at his words, the contrast between the cute, funny Mikko everyone loved and the filthy one that was fucking you into next week clouding your senses. 

“I- I’m so close,” you whined 

Mikko snapped his hips even faster and snaking one hand down to your clit. 

“Come on, baby, cum for me.”

The pressure on your sensitive nub was too much, his small circles sending you over the edge right away as he continued to brush your g-spot. 

“Mikko, Mikko, Mikko,” you screamed, your mind completely blank as he fucked you through your climax, prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible. You had never had an orgasm so intense, stars filling your vision as the pure pleasure overtook your body. 

The way you cried and clenched around him had him giving in as well, his loud moans as he came the hottest sound you had ever heard. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned as he finally slowed his hips, leaning over you once again to press a trail of kisses across your spine while you tried to regain your breath. 

He stayed like that for a few minutes, moving your hair to the side to continue kissing around your neck before he finally slipped out. You winced at the sudden loss of contact. 

 “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” Mikko cooed as he went to throw out the condom and get a damp towel to clean you up with. 

You laid on your stomach as you waited for him, your body too weak to even think about moving. Before long you heard his footsteps coming towards you, a soft smile on his face as you turned your head to look at him. 

“Come here, honey,” he spoke, a quiet laugh leaving his lips as he saw you completely fucked out on the bed. 

Mikko grabbed your waist, gently flipping you over so you were now resting on your back. You winced again as he brushed the washcloth against your still so sensitive core, but he tried to relax you with a kiss to your forehead. You opened your eyes to watch him walk around the room, his arms flexing as he pulled on a fresh pair of boxers. Your eyes slipped shut once again, the physical and emotional exhaustion hitting you. 

“Here, prinsessa,” you heard from just above you, looking up to see Mikko sitting right next to you. You were surprised that he was still using pet names now that the activities of the night were over, but you were even more surprised to see a shirt in his hands. 

“Oh, I-,” you stumbled, “I don’t have to stay, Mikko,” you whispered, realizing that now you would have to figure out what your relationship was going to look like moving forward. 

“I want you to stay,” he rebutted, “I mean- if you want to.”

“I want to,” you reassured, sensing that he was feeling vulnerable after his confession. 

“Good,” Mikko smiled, moving his hand to push a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

You took the shirt from him, slipping the soft fabric over your head. It was huge on you and you didn’t miss how his eyes lingered on the Rantanen 96 that was written across the sleeve. Mikko lifted the sheets so you could slide beneath them, pulling you flush against his body as soon as he was under them as well. 

Mikko’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, his fingertips resting under the hem of the shirt on your bare skin. His legs tangled with yours while he tucked his head in the crook of your neck. You were completely enveloped by his large frame, your body relaxing as he gave you a gentle squeeze. 

After just a few minutes of comfortable silence, you heard his quiet voice tickle your ear. 

“Y/N?” he whispered. 

“Yeah?” you responded, your voice barely loud enough to hear. 

“I really mean what I said before. You deserve so much better. Someone who can treat you right. And not just with sex, but obviously that too,” he nervously laughed, his tired rambling continuing, “I don’t know if I’m totally out of line here, but I really want to be that for you.”

You couldn’t contain your emotions as Mikko spoke, the tears burning the back of your eyes as you took in his tender words. You had settled for mediocre for so long, and he was right, you deserved better. You turned in his grasp, your hand gripping his forearm as you looked up at him. 

“Oh no, don’t cry, prinsessa,” he cooed, his thumb catching the single tear that was rolling down your cheek. 

“I’m fine,” you chuckled, blinking until you could see clearly again. “I just- yes, Mikko. I really want that too.”

The grin that spread across his face was one of pure joy, his arms tightening around you as he pulled you even closer to him. Your head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck, smiling into his skin when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed that you went so long pretending to hate me,” Mikko chirped, the playfulness of your relationship coming right back. 

You pulled back with an exaggeration gasp, your eyes wide as you stared up at him. His dark pink lips were spread open as he laughed, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light. 

“Keep that up and I won’t be pretending anymore,” you challenged, nuzzling back into his bare chest. 

“No this is way more fun,” he giggled. 

You rolled your eyes at him, sliding your arm around his toned middle as you felt your eyelids grow heavy. 

“Good night, prinsessa.”

“Good night, Mikko.”

This was the last place you expected to find yourself tonight, but you knew it was exactly where you were supposed to be. 

[o-anon-o]

Home

Diaval x Reader (Maleficent’s daughter)

Summary: Inspired by what Aurora has done, reader volunteers to venture to a nearby kingdom to make peace between more humans and the Moors. Though she is welcomed as a guest, she’s been gone for quite some time and has begun to miss the comforts of home. That is, until a certain raven shows up missing her just as much. 

A/N: Yo. Might do some more of these “shorts” Idk. I rewatched both Maleficent movies and realized there isn't enough Diaval out there. I wanna write these little fics for funnzies on the side. I might be into it. If you’re into it  *shrugs* lmk. Don’t forget to smash that like button and ring that bell to turn notifications on. 

Words: 3,191

It had been hours since curfew had passed. The entire castle had fallen silent under the dark blanket of night. Everyone was undoubtedly asleep, everyone but you. You found this to be your regular nightly routine. You found it incredibly hard to fall asleep in a castle this large, how the nobles did it each night baffled you. 

Two moons had surely passed since you last saw the rivers of the Moors. Though you missed it, you knew that what you were doing was right. If others were willing to sacrifice their comfort for peace, you must do the same. You had always seen the world a different way than your mother. Where she saw greed and weakness, you saw beauty, wonder and hope. Hope that one day there might be peace between humans and the magical creatures of the Moors. So that one day they would be able to travel passed their boarders and venture beyond what little they knew. When you closed your eyes you imagined the pixies and other creatures laughing and singing among human folk, in peace. 

Aurora was the one who pushed you to do this. Though she was ten years younger than you, she still shared the same dream you did. After marrying Prince Philip she had created that peace you dreamed of for so long. The Moors and humans were united by their marriage. It was peace, but only a small sliver of what could be. That’s why you decided to venture West to meet with other Kings and Queens to create peace treaties. People were scared of the unknown. That’s why you thought presenting yourself, a fairy, was a good idea. Once they met you and learned about your home, they would be more open to coexisting.

Your mother was against it. 

Aurora was on your side. 

Diaval... He offered to accompany you. You denied it, however. He was needed in the Moors to help protect the creatures and to keep an eye on your mother. 

At the thought of him, your hand mindlessly traveled down to your wrist where a small woven bracelet laid. He had given it to you the night before you left. You were sure it was intended as a simple parting gift, to remind you of home whenever you looked at it. You couldn’t help but feel a small tug at your heart at the thought of home. You closed your eyes at the memory of the way that the air smelt in the early morning. The lily petals blowing in the autumn breeze. 

Home. 

Your eyes opened, you were standing in front of the vanity in the dim, candlelit room. There was no smile on your face, you could see that as you examined yourself in the mirror. Reaching for the brush on the table, you absentmindedly combed through your hair. Surely you would be able to return home soon. The King had welcomed you as a guest. As far as you could tell, there was no ill intent. In fact, these humans reminded you a lot of Prince Philip’s father. Open-minded and willing to listen. You knew you may not get that lucky with other kingdoms. 

You saw your hair blow from the breeze that was trickling in from the open window across the room. Feeling the hairs on the back of your neck start to rise, you walked towards the window, reaching for the shutters, but something in the corner of your eye caught your attention. To your left, perched on one of the carved out statues next to the window was a familiar black raven you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. 

With a small smile, you raised your finger out, inviting it to lay on your hand. The raven didn’t hesitate, in fact it had all ready jumped onto your finger when you had just held it out. Leaving the window open, you leaned against its frame facing the inside of your room. The raven jumped up into the air, while you had waved your other hand out lightly, emitting gold magic from your hand as you saw him transform into the man you had missed most of all. 

“Thank you for that.” Diaval shook his head, straightening out his attire. The feathers on his jacket shook slightly, a few falling to the ground as you nodded, staring at the man. 

He took a moment to look around the room. The castle’s stone walls had elegant carvings on the trim of the walls. The bed was immaculate, gold lining the posts on each end. There was even gold on the windowsill. It was nice, a warm beautifully decorated guest room, the only thing that didn’t seem to belong in the room was them. 

“well this is nice...” He looked back at her finally. 

“I’ve slept in worse places that’s for sure.” You felt a smile creep onto your face upon hearing his familiar voice. 

“Indeed.” He mimicked your smile, walking towards the large wardrobe on the other end of the room and running his hands over the gold lining.

“Were you spying on me?” You asked, a mischievous glint in your eye. 

“I beg your pardon?” He asked. His attention landed back on you. 

“Just then, outside. Why didn’t you make yourself known?” You nodded towards the window. “Are you here to report back to my mother?” You asked, pushing yourself off of the wall and standing up straight, crossing your arms. It had been so long since you had seen anyone. You were sure Maleficent would have sent Diaval sooner, or even sent you a letter asking you to report back. Nevertheless, he was welcomed here, and always would be. 

Diaval shook his head. “No she has no idea I’m here.” You were taken aback when he said that. It wasn’t like him to keep things from her. He was loyal to her, that much was clear. 

“Then why are you here?” You asked, stepping closer. You could see Diaval swallow nervously. His smile had dissipated, once you had stepped closer. After a moment of silence you let out a shaky breath. “Has something happened?” You asked. 

“Nothing’s happened. Mistress misses you, she hasn’t said it but she grows impatient for you to come home.” Diaval spoke clearly. “I thought I would come by to see how they were treating you to give her some semblance of peace.” 

“Right.” After his comment about Maleficent not knowing he was here, you had hoped he came for a more personal reason. “I'm quite fine. They’ve treated me very well.” You said matter-of-factly, hand on your hip. Diaval scanned your face, and then his eyebrows rose when he saw what you were wearing. 

“I can see that now. They have you fitted like a proper lady. Fitting, I think. You’ve always been royalty. It’s about time you started dressing like it, m’lady.” He teased. A small blush crept onto your cheeks once you had locked eyes with him after he had looked you up and down. It had been too long since you’ve bantered with this man. You had to admit you were caught off guard by that comment. 

Rightfully, the Moors should have been given to you instead of Aurora. It was Maleficent’s intention to have you rule as her successor, however you had thought it was a good idea to have Aurora rule. At the time there was no better way to unite the humans and the magical creatures than to have a human step in and care for them. With a bit of convincing, Maleficent agreed. Uniting both kingdoms proved to be a more substantial change though.

Ruling was never something that interested you. You’d much rather spend your time with matters of peace keeping and be left as a free spirit. Your attire... that was a whole different story. As your mother wore gowns that drifted past her wings, you preferred to wear things you could actually fly around in. That meant no long dresses, no laces or bows that would drag behind you in the wind. 

“If this is how a lady should be properly dressed, then I don’t think I can consider myself a lady.” You rose a brow, making him chuckle. 

Diaval’s gaze trailed down to your side, finally resting on your wrist. He delicately reached down and held your hand out.

“At least you haven’t forgotten where you come from...”

Your eyes followed his. They had wandered down to your wrist where the bracelet he had given you was laying. 

Before he could land a kiss on the back of your hand, you cleared your throat, redacted your hand and walked past him back to the vanity. You faced the mirror and began to remove the earrings that you had on. Tonight you were dressed more proper than you could ever remember being dressed before. You had a meeting with the king to discuss the future of your kingdoms, you were required to look your best to represent the entirety of the Moors. It was an uncomfortable evening, probably for you alone. Everyone else you faced tonight seemed to be in their element, besides you. The memory hit you like a train as you detangled the earring from your hair and placed it on the jewelry tray in front of you. You felt ridiculous. 

“This ridiculous thing is impossible to breathe in.” You mumbled to yourself. You caught Diaval’s eye staring at you from the mirror. “What?” You asked coarsely. 

“You look beautiful nonetheless.” He said upmost sincerely. You remained frozen for what felt like hours, but was for just a few seconds before you had the courage to look away from him. 

Beautiful. You couldn’t recall a time when he had called you that. He was a dear friend. While you grew up spying on Aurora, you and he had become close without a doubt. He was your best friend, your confidant and it took every power within you to deny his presence with you when he had asked to accompany you. Truthfully, you wanted to allow him to come. But that would be selfish. You knew he was needed there. No matter how badly you wanted him to stay, you knew that he couldn’t stay. 

You glanced at him with a brow raised through the mirror. You didn’t realize that your eyes had become glassy until you saw them through the mirror. “Is that the only reason you came here?” 

Diaval walked towards you with an uncertain look in his eyes. He seemed distracted, or perhaps deep in thought. You asked because you initially knew something was going on with him since he flew into your room. You watched him intently as you dropped the second earring into the tray. 

Another soft silence fell between the two of you. This one felt long and slightly uncomfortable. Like there were a million words lingering in the air that needed saying, yet neither of you had spoken them. Not until he was behind you, warmly emitting a familiar heat you had missed so dearly. 

Your breath hitched when you felt his hand delicately trail up the sides of your arms, over your shoulders and finally stop behind your neck where you could feel him work at the necklace clasped behind your neck, assisting you with removing the shiny piece of jewelry you detested having to wear all evening. 

Truth be told, Diaval didn’t even realize he was flying in the direction of the castle until he had all but reached the destination. 

Two moons. 

He had counted. 

He wondered how many more would have to pass until you were able to come home. He had missed how things used to be. The witty banter the two of you shared on a daily basis, the way both of you would worry over Aurora, the times shared convincing Maleficent that Philip was right for her. But the moments he missed most was when you would fly over the headwinds and race each other to the forest’s edge. At the thought of how peaceful you once looked back then, he couldn’t help but softly smile at you through the mirror. 

He remembered one particular moment you two shared while Philip was courting Aurora. The forest creatures had come together to make a beautiful song for the two as they had danced under the moonlight. The sparkling pixies glittered around them as they shared the moment together. He was watching it from afar next to you. That’s when things had changed for him. He knew that same love that Philip felt for Aurora was the love he felt for you. Though he had no inclination on how to act on it, he knew it was there.

With that thought lingering in his mind for almost a year, he had to admit he had felt a sting when you had so quickly declined his offer to accompany you on your journey. At first he hadn’t understood why, but it soon grew increasingly clear when his duties in the Moors picked up with your departure. He was thankful, really. It had kept his mind occupied throughout the day. Instead of worrying about you, he had helped his mistress keep things running smoothly. 

“I miss you as well.” He said it so softly you almost missed it. It dawned on you that in all the time you had known him, you hadn’t been separated for this long. Part of you felt ashamed for not seeing how this separation may be affecting him. The other part of you was excited that he had missed you just as much as you had missed him. 

You turned around, looking him uncertainly in the eye. His eyes were black, the blackest black one could imagine. Yet they always held deep emotion. There he was standing directly in front of you. The man you had missed most from home. You hadn’t realized when it happened, but your feelings towards him had changed exponentially. It was further increasing the longer you were away from home. His eyes never left yours, you could feel his breath on your face as you both stood frozen in the moment.   

“Do you?” You muster up the courage to say, seemingly trying to continue the banter. It was weak. Your voice was coarse from the way your heart was almost beating out of your chest. By the look on his face, he could tell you were at a loss for words. The rose hue on your cheeks was visible even in the dimly lit room. 

“The Moors aren’t the same without you flying overtop them each morning. The sun isn’t as warm. The water isn’t as serene and the stars aren't as bright. I miss you like a desert misses rain.” He spoke just as softly as he did a moment ago. His hands gripped the vanity on either side of you, fighting the urge to hold you in his arms and finally reach out and hold you. He had waited too long to see you. He thought he could make it until your return, but he had never been more wrong. Worried he may lose his chance, he needed to see you. 

“I know that I’m just a raven, not even really a man but--” 

You couldn’t take it any longer. He had drawn you in a long time ago. You placed your hands on either side of his face delicately, moving your soft lips against his. The instant you did, it felt like a dam had broken inside of him and he had finally wrapped his hands around your delicate body, pulling you in as close as he could. Kissing you as if he was about to wake up from a dream, he wasted no time. The time you had spent apart was far too much anyway. You had to make it up somehow. 

You pulled back for a moment, searching his dark eyes for any sense of hesitation or regret. There was none there that you could see. 

“I missed you too.” You spoke without another second to waste. 

With a new-found boost of courage, he plunged forward and captured your lips in another kiss. This one he was more prepared for. You felt your arms trail down to his lapels, pulling him closer to you, not allowing him to stop. It’s not as if you would need to tell him that. Unbeknownst to you, he had no intention to stop. Your mouths moved together in harmony as he held you tightly in his arms. The pace had quickened from your timid peck you had given him just a moment ago. The unfamiliar feeling of his lips against yours didn't frighten you. Instead, you were surprised with how natural tasting him felt. If anyone had seen the two of you together they would, without a doubt, imagine you had done this many times before. 

You had realized in this moment, he was your home. So long as he was nearby you felt at ease and safe, Moors or not. As he held you, you grew increasingly more electrified. Every finger graze that trailed passed a part of your skin was magnetic. It had your mind go foggy and your stomach do flips as he deepened the kiss, eliciting a soft moan from your mouth into his. 

“Diaval...” you had whispered his name once you had reluctantly pulled back, leaning your forehead against his. The sound of his name slipping past your lips that way was a sound he wanted to hear a million times over. Eagerly, he had placed soft chaste kiss on your lips once more before opening his eyes to look into yours. 

“What is it? Anything.” He spoke out of breath. 

With a soft smile you trailed your hands back up to his soft face, feeling him calm even more at your touch. “It’s late.” 

He blinked a couple of times before realizing that you were right. With a short nod he began to untangle himself from you. “Of course.” he cleared his throat.  

You had become confused. Without a second of hesitation you wound your hands around his neck to keep him in place. 

“I meant that as an invitation to stay here tonight. You flew all this way.” You assured him that you very much enjoyed his presence. Pulling him back into you, your lips hovered above his for a few moments, seemingly acting like a magnet as he followed them with his own. “Fly back tomorrow, stay tonight. Please.” 

With a request like that, how could he say no? For tonight, you wanted to act selfish. You wanted to think of yourself over what was expected of the two you. You wanted to revel in this happiness forever, but tonight would have to do for now. Tomorrow came with more diplomacy, more treaty talk and more of that without him by your side. You didn’t want to marvel in that at the moment. Right now you wanted nothing but him, tonight, right now. 

You hadn’t felt this at home in a long time. 

[donnerpartyofone]

I got a music question for you all!

How many songs can you think of that are about how it's a woman's lot in life to silently endure the slings and arrows of coexisting with men, and actually that's a beautiful thing we should be proud of?

Off the top of my head I came up with Tom Jones' "She's a Lady", and "Classic Girl" by Jane's Addiction. Both of them cop to the idea that women are expected to read men's minds and fulfill all their needs and just suffer without complaint, but the description of this condition is so sentimental that you'd never guess it could actually suck! It's like, as long as we keep lionizing the idea that being a martyr is the heroic destiny of women, maybe women will keep thinking they should just love it and own it...?

I'm sure there are a lot more of these songs that I'm not thinking of, and I bet a lot of them are by visionary bards of rock whose poetic insights usually go unquestioned. Just wondering what anybody else might think of!

PS I actually enjoy "She's a Lady" on account of it is so hilarious, I don't necessarily feel threatened by this stuff. But I gotta say I'm always irked by that part in "Classic Girl" where Perry Farrell describes stealing your girlfriend's ideas and pawning them off as your own so your friends think you're a genius, and while still thinking your girlfriend is just some anonymous handmaid. When I think about my worst ex-boyfriend, I never worry that he's out there doing better than me because I already know he's just incapable of making good choices or maintaining relationships...but it DOES bother me that that unfunny motherfucker is almost certainly still stealing my jokes!!!

[karliahs]

please leave a light on when you go

oneshot - jontim - 2k words

written for @jontim-week day 2, prompts: night out / touch / secret

 “I...might go out for a smoke,” Jon murmurs eventually.

 And here’s where Tim could say sure, wave him off and go back to moping, buy everyone an obligatory round, flex his meaningless chat muscles and be home by half 9. “Mind if I join you?” he asks instead, and to his surprise Jon nods immediately, as if he’d been hoping Tim would say that.

read on ao3! or below the cut:

There’s no reason for Tim to be here. The Institute has some weird policies, including a truly esoteric dress code, but it doesn’t have mandatory team-building night-outs. Tim has no reason to get to know his coworkers, no need to ingratiate himself to them beyond what he can get by smiling, making bland comments about his weekend plans and never microwaving fish in the breakroom. 

The pub they’re in, somehow identical to every workplace-night-out pub he’s ever been to, seems to be having some sort of throwback night. Early-nineties hits play just loud enough to grate, and Tim eyes his new coworkers, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for striking up a conversation. He imagines what they might say if he told the truth. <i>Hi, I’m Timothy. I left behind a career in publishing to be a junior researcher so that I can hunt monsters like fucking Scooby Doo. If you need me, I’ll be chasing answers I’ll never find, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about them even if I did! Another round?</i>

Maybe that’s why he came tonight. To have these thoughts somewhere other than his flat. His little studio can only hold so much brooding. 

He’s interrupted from his current round of brooding, first by an unsteady grab at his shoulder, then by a cascade of beer, then by a glass clattering onto the floor followed by a hush in the surrounding buzz of conversation. A quiet, posh voice swears, and Tim recognises one of his coworkers bending down to try and clean up the mess, though it takes him a moment to place the name.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, glancing up at Tim before sheepishly looking back at the mess on the floor. Off to the side, a few tables give a sarcastic cheer and a round of applause. Tim worked food service long enough to instinctively dislike anyone who does this. He grabs some napkins and bends down to help Jon.

“Hey, no harm done,” Tim says, trying to remember how to sound friendly. He scoops up the somehow still-intact glass. “They’re wise enough to make them sturdy around here.”

Jon huffs, somewhat ineffectually blotting at the spreading puddle on the ground. “Did - your clothes, I didn’t, ah-”

“Only a glancing blow,” Tim answers, brushing at the damp spots by his hip. “And after I went to all this trouble to dress up for the occasion.”

Jon looks up in alarm, before registering that Tim hadn’t even bothered to change out of his work clothes. He gives a small, reluctant smile; one of the first expressions Tim’s seen from him that wasn’t some variant of thoughtful frown. 

He’s seen Jon around a bit, in his few weeks at the Institute - about Tim’s age, relatively nondescript, tonight clad in a surprisingly lush leather jacket. Tim had made the mistake of asking him a couple of questions on his first day, when the person actually training him was on lunch. Jon had blustered and prevaricated for a few minutes before admitting it was only his second week in the job, so he didn’t actually know.

That was about the only time they’d interacted, though Tim had noticed a few other things. There were a few loose groups of friendships in Research, and Jon didn’t seem to be a part of any of them. He never seemed that steady on his feet, and he tended to avoid eating in public. He rarely asked for help, unless he needed something that would require him to use one of the library ladders, which he seemed determined to avoid. Tim had wondered idly about vertigo, or mobility issues, before reminding himself these weren’t the questions he was here to answer. 

Tim had always noticed people, collected little details about them in his head whether he intended to or not, but he thinks his observations used to be about happier things, though it’s hard to remember exactly how he was, how he felt, before - it wasn’t the kind of thing he ever tried to memorise, the kind of thing he ever thought he could lose. Now he finds himself taking note of the coworker who comes back from their lunch break with faint puffy red marks around their eyes, or the older guy who checks his phone with something like dread in his eyes. Danny would have called it his older brother instincts (but what good did those instincts do him?).

Tim blinks back to the present, realising he’s been pushing a napkin over the same spot of floor for a while now. Jon offers him a hand up, though he braces himself on the bar with his other hand before he does. Tim takes care not to let Jon take too much of his weight as he’s hauled back up. 

“Ah, thank you. And apologies, again,” Jon murmurs, gesturing awkwardly at Tim’s lightly-beered clothes. 

“Happens to everyone,” Tim says easily. Jon still looks lightly anguished, and Tim silently wishes this could have happened to someone else, someone with the confidence to laugh it off. “I’m always convinced I’m going to drop something when I go in the silent study bit of the library,” Tim offers. 

“Ah...that worry hadn’t actually occurred to me,” Jon replies, solemn enough that Tim can’t really tell if he’s joking. 

Tim finger-guns. “Any other anxieties I can stir up while you’re over here?”

“I’m quite capable of stoking my own neuroses, thank you.”

Jon glances over his shoulder at the tables the rest of the department are occupying, perhaps doing the same thing as Tim and trying to psyche himself up for some more hollow smalltalk. Tim notes that his jacket seems slightly large on him, but in a way that kind of works. The collar of his shirt is slightly out of place beneath it. There’s a lump forming in Tim’s throat, even though nothing is happening - nothing but standing close to someone, noticing the little signs that they’re real and alive entirely independent from him. He’s aware, as he always is, of the hollow pit in his stomach, pain ebbing and flowing but never gone, new flares thrown off from a familiar wound, now pulsing with a kind of loneliness. All this, just from standing close to someone and trying to make them feel better about a mistake that didn’t matter.  

“I...might go out for a smoke,” Jon murmurs eventually.

And here’s where Tim could say sure, wave him off and go back to moping, buy everyone an obligatory round, flex his meaningless chat muscles and be home by half 9. “Mind if I join you?” he asks instead, and to his surprise Jon nods immediately, as if he’d been hoping Tim would say that. 

They duck outside to find dark clouds have given way to an anticlimactic drizzle. They stay close to the pub, shielded from the rain by the slight overhang of the roof. Jon fumbles with a lighter and Tim finds his gaze drifting over the rain-slick streets. It’s been a while since he’s been...anywhere, really, other than work and his flat. Longer than he can remember since he was outside in the never-quite-dark of the city. 

Despite himself, Tim finds himself admiring the buildings across the way, modern painted shop-fronts on the ground floor giving way to weathered brick and occasional stone carvings above. It was the first thing he’d loved about London, how you only had to look up to catch a glimpse of its history, and it almost wounds him all over again, that that love isn’t gone too. It would be easier if he was just one thing, all the way lost. It would be easier if he didn’t still love the world that killed Danny.

Jon lights his cigarette, and silently holds the lighter out to Tim. Tim shakes his head, and Jon doesn’t question him about why he’s come out here if he doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t press about the way Tim must be looking; he knows he’s never had much of a poker face. Danny tried to teach him poker, on a visit home from uni; Tim left for six weeks and came back to playing cards and strategy guides everywhere - his brother, who never sit still even in his own head -

“Where were you, before this?” Jon asks. Tim wouldn’t have pegged him for a smoker, but he looks immediately more relaxed with a cigarette in his hands. Nice hands, too. It would be easier, if he didn’t-

“Publishing,” Tim answers, before he can drift again. He wants to say more, to make sure this undemanding presence isn’t going to leave his side, but his throat is still tight. “You?” 

Jon frowns, as if debating something to himself, then gives a tiny rueful smile. “Tesco.”

Tim grins. “Was it a haunted Tesco?”

“Only by customers,” Jon replies, dry as bone. 

The rain is picking up slightly, and both of them silently tuck further into their little alcove, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. The air tastes of smoke. Tim is watching moths in the streetlights above, partly out of fear that if he looks directly at Jon, he’ll realise how close they are and pull back. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Jon asks, voice hushed. He gestures and Tim follows the point of light with his eyes. “The smell, I mean?”

“Always kind of liked it,” Tim answers, matching Jon’s tone. Jon scoffs in disbelief. “What? You’re the one who inhales the things.”

“Exactly,” Jon says. “I have a biochemical justification for finding the smell tolerable. What’s your excuse?”

Tim spreads his hands, little spots of rain landing on his sleeve. “I never claimed to make sense.”

In the corner of his eye, Tim catches Jon hiding a smile with his next drag. It’s a good smile, one he wants to get a proper look at sometime. It’s as if now that he’s noticed one beautiful thing, he can’t stop seeing them: the buildings; the rain; the passing pair of drunk students across the way, walking arm in arm, holding each other up. There’s a curl of anger in his chest, that these things still get to exist, but for the moment it coexists with a kind of quiet warmth.

“You want to know a secret?” Tim asks, finally turning to look directly at Jon. Jon doesn’t speak, doesn’t nod, but he stares and waits, lights reflecting in his dark eyes, and for a moment Tim feels as though he must already know what Tim is going to say, that he can look into Tim’s eyes and learn everything he’s ever tried to hide. He can’t decide if it’s peaceful or terrifying. 

Then Jon blinks and the feeling is gone, as quickly as it had come. “I like this party better,” Tim finishes, gesturing to the two of them. The things he could have said hang in the air between them.

Jon doesn’t quite manage to hide his smile this time, and yeah, that’s something Tim needs to see more of, all slow and crooked. 

“Well,” Jon says, still in the same hushed voice, as if they’re sharing secrets. “If you ever need to borrow my smoking habit, get you out of an unpleasant social situation…”

“Knew that was why people smoked,” Tim says, nudging Jon’s shoulder with his own. “I’m not normally…” He trails off, unsure how to explain himself. Normally I’d care at least a bit, about all those people in there. Normally I’d at least have the energy to pretend.

Jon considers this half-finished thought for a long moment. “Abnormality is...rather the Institute’s specialty,” he offers eventually. Tim feels a kind of gratitude he can’t name or voice, so he doesn’t, just stands there listening to the rain while Jon finishes his cigarette, and for a long time after.

Not a bad night out, after all. 

[millllenniawrites]

fun in the meantime (FO! Poe Dameron x f!OC)

part two of when the stars miss the sun

written with @vampirewithbedsidemanners

words: 2.4k

warnings: dark!ooc!Poe Dameron (if you want specifics, dm me); smut (rough sex, slight dubcon moment, praise, 'good girl' used); prostitution; established relationship (sort of); slow burn (yes the two can coexist leave me alone); redemption arc; Pixar ending; murder; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: i love this story and im so excited to share it with you guys. this one is as cute and soft as it gets before everything gets very very dark (though please do heed the warnings cause it isn't just happy times)

__

Red woke up alone in sheets that still felt warm and soft like his satin skin. Her Admiral… not that she could let him know how ingrained in her mind he had become over the last three years. Just like every time before, he left her with the taste of him lingering on the edges of her senses, keeping her from the biting, harsh reality of the universe they lived in.

The house was beautiful and grand without being over the top, just as out of place as he was in everything. He’d told her the night before that the house was the only thing he had to his name outside of the Order. She believed it. There was something to him that made her believe that there really wasn't anything else out there for her beautiful, lost man.

She left the safety of his bed, padding across the warm floors and out into the hallway that fed a large central spiral staircase. It extended down all five stories to the basement, where they’d dragged out boxes of files the night before prior to shutting themselves in his office to work.

She hadn’t had the chance to see enough of the beautiful house. Later, when she had a moment, she would explore the place that seemed to be an extension of her Admiral. She would let her hands roam over the banisters, the same way they had caressed across the banded muscles in his thighs as she rode him, giving over her body and heart and soul before she realized that she was.

Red crept silently down his stairs. She followed the sound of fingers on a screen to his office, where they'd spent much of the night before. His uniform jacket was still in a ball on the ground where she'd tossed it after ripping it off him. The papers he'd swept off his desk to make room to lay her on it were still scattered all over the room.

Poe was sat at his desk, hair mussed from sleep. The collar of his threadbare shirt was stretched out, and he played with the edge of it as he studied whatever was on the screen in front of him.

Nothing about him appeared like he was a feared Admiral of the First Order.

When he finally noticed her standing in the doorway, he smiled softly. "Did you sleep okay?"

She padded over to him, easing down into his lap. Something about him put her at ease, when everything about him should have sent her running. Quietly, she threaded her fingers through his hair, tilting his head back so she could gaze into his eyes. “I missed you.” Her admission was quiet, timid, sweet... with no hint of the deadly resistance intel Captain that was actually sitting in his lap.

“Just thought I’d get a head start this morning ‘nd let you sleep.” He’d snuck out of bed before the sun had risen, intending to finish up the packaging of intel that he’d neglected the night before before returning to her. If he had the restraint to resist her, he may have finished the work, but he couldn’t deny himself the little temptations that made him feel alive.

Time had gotten away from him in the early morning hours, as it tended to do.

There was so much more to the war now, and he was no longer the young, energetic try-hard Captain, campaigning for what he believed in no matter the cost.

Things were complicated.

“Come back to bed?” She asked, brushing her lips against his in a soft kiss.

He melted into her touch, softer than he should have been. She could ask him for anything when he was like this, his vulnerable soul left barren for her. “Shouldn’t we finish up?” He murmured, a half-hearted attempt to retain control over himself that he no longer had.

“We should.” She sighed, shifting so she could straddle him. “But I only get you like this for a little longer. That uniform has to go back on eventually.”

“It’s just a uniform.”

“A uniform that keeps me from you.” She kissed his neck as her hands slid under his shirt. Every word fell from her lips like a quiet admission she wasn’t sure she could say, or mean. Not without wrecking everything between them.

“We’ll blow it all to hell. Just need a little more time...”

“I need you.” Her whimpers called him home, her deft fingers tracing his abs under his shirt and bringing the forbidden temptation of her skin flush to his. Her lips on his neck and jaw stole his breath, chasing all thoughts from his mind. “Just a little bit. I’m not ready to give you back.”

“You’re coming with me. You don’t have to. You don’t have to give me back.” His voice was breathy, betraying how touch-starved he truly was.

She kissed him to silence the whimper on his lips, tangling around him. “You don’t belong in the Order.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” She tugged him close. “I do, baby.”

Something changed in his eyes as the words left her lips, his vulnerability swallowed in something darker, clamouring for control. He gripped her hair, tilting her head back and kissing down her neck, rough and forceful. He needed it the way he needed air in his lungs. The wall he erected around his delicate heart shattered in her presence, and he couldn’t afford it. Not now.

He carried her up the stairs, distracting her with kisses and tearing through the thin clothing on her body. There was nothing gentle about it. Gentle sex gave her the space to break down his walls. Gripping her thighs, he flipped her over and pinned her down, lips at her ears.

“I need you loud for me, honey.” He growled, pulling her hips up into his lap and spreading her pulsing center open to make space for him.

“Poe!” She cried out, forgetting what they were for a moment. All that mattered were his callous-rough hands on her skin and the musk of his breath on her neck. He slid in all the way, not needing to get her ready for him, fucking her in the brutal but sweet way that made the room spin.

He lost himself in her moans, the way she thrashed in his arms as she neared the edge. He almost couldn’t hear her pleas for a break over the sound of her begging for more.

“That’s a good girl.” He murmured, too soft for what they were now, his praise painting her lips.

“Your... your good girl.” she gasped, “I’m yours.”

*

Red fell back into his arms in the bed, still giggling from the accidental tickles. Twisting so she could see his face, she relaxed, bitting her bottom lip. “Civilian life looks good on you.”

"Y'think so?" He gazed down at her. "This is the first time I've given it a try."

“Lucky me.” She grinned, wrapping her arms around him.

"I think I'd wanna be somewhere warmer. Salient has too much winter." He pulled the blankets up over them both before letting her curl up in his arms.

“Ever been to the old capital?” She hummed, drawing on his chest.

"I haven't been to any of them.” And he wouldn’t have the chance to visit one of them now that the Order had destroyed Hosnian.

“Chandrila is like a never ending summer. If this war leaves it untouched, maybe we can go after it all. Just us.”

"You don't wanna be seen with me." The thought of it was so absurd he snorted. He’d been in enough of the propaganda the Order put out that there would never be peace for him.

“No one has to see us. We can take a boat out to the islands and go swimming and fuck and lay out in the sun.”

She could see it. The warm Chandrilan sun on his tan skin, lighting his eyes. His curls in between her fingers and his lips between her legs. Them, laid out in the open, a far cry from the corners they’d been hiding in for three years.

Poe couldn’t help but indulge her. "We wouldn't even need to bring clothes."

“I think clothes on you should be illegal.” She giggled, scooting over onto his chest and straddling his hips.

"Yeah? I don't think that's part of Pryde's plan. You're welcome to talk to him about it when we transfer, though."

“When I’m done with him, it’ll be his first priority.” She grinned mischievously.

He couldn’t help but melt at how sweet she was. “He would be scared of you, if he saw who you really are."

Her smile softened as she eased down into his arms. She knew he meant it as a compliment, but she couldn’t help but worry. Why she gave a shit what he thought of her, she didn’t know. If it was going to wreck the mission, it would have by now. “Do I scare you?” She asked, her gaze as intense as the pounding of her heart in her chest.

"Yeah," he said softly. "But that's a good thing, right? You're supposed to keep your informants in line?"

“Are you still an informant? I thought we were friends.”

“We are. But you’re here to take down the Order. Same as me.” He poked her forehead. “Agent.” He poked himself in the chest. “Informant.”

She copied him, jabbing him in the chest. “Poe, Red. And right now, we’re just two very hot people in bed together. Naked. Enjoying life.”

“It’d be kinda sexy to call you Agent in bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Anything as long as you don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She punched his shoulder lightly. “Poe!”

“Why don’t you like that one? Bad boyfriend?”

“It makes me feel like my mom.” She made a face like she was grossed out by the thought, warm love for her mother radiating through it.

“Gotcha.” He kissed her lightly. “Your whole ‘young and innocent and beautiful’ look doesn’t exactly give off mom-vibes.”

She pouted. “I think I’d make a beautiful mom.”

He smoothed the wrinkle in her brow with his thumb. “You would. Of course you would. I just meant that you wouldn’t attract clients with Mommy kinks.”

She scrunched her nose. “Not mommy kinks. Breeding kinks though. I don’t mind those.”

He was quiet as he thought about it. “I don’t know if that’s my style. It seems pretty... close. Intimate.” He coughed, like that could make him feel less exposed. “I’m never gonna settle down with anyone so I don’t think I’d be able to handle taunting myself with that, y’know?”

She held his face, bringing herself as close as she could to him. “I’m not either. So maybe we can with each other. Right at the end. That’d be one hell of a way to go out.”

This was her job. Her role, for the Resistance. She had to make him comfortable and keep loyal and Poe understood that. But he had no reason to betray her. There was no risk in buying in. In letting her do what she had to. “It would be.”

The bed was more enticing than the rest of the house — or the rest of the universe — as far as they were concerned. A droid rolled in about an hour later, bringing foods that neither of them would see again once they left their little sliver of civilian life.

He drank caf, with milk in it if that was an option. He liked his eggs cooked through and spice with his dinner. Everything was appetizing to him as long as it wasn’t slimy. The more they rolled around and talked and fucked and snacked, the more human he seemed to her. The war was worlds away, set in another time and another life where her and her Admiral were just simple people living simple lives.

He knew what she was doing. The questions she asked and information she gathered, just set her up to move around him as seamlessly as the air he breathed. When they got where they were going.

If.

Her laughter made him dream of quiet afternoons just like this, with a beautiful girl in his bed. Endless summers in her eyes. With her, he almost didn’t need the Chandrila sun.

“How often do you make it out here?” She asked casually, eating a piece of fruit while sprawled out on his bed, her eyes on his bare ass.

“Not often. Less since my promotion. It’s pretty nice though, hey?” He noticed her gaze and tossed a clean sock at her.

“Great view. I could stay here forever.” She grinned, spinning her finger in the air at himself. “Nope. Turn back around.”

Poe twirled around, showing off like he had a part time job at a strip club. He moved from the hips, putting on a show until he caught her eyes.

It was too vulnerable. All of it.

He pulled a face, sticking his ass out and wiggling his hips.

She tossed the sock, hitting him in the ass. “You’re lucky you’re hot.” She giggled, reaching out for him. “Come back to bed. I won’t get to lay around and fuck you all the time when we get back to your ship.”

“It’s not mine. I’m only an Admiral.” He crawled up the bed to her, slotting himself between her thighs. “But I’ll take advantage of this while I have it.” He gripped her hair in his fist, tilting her head back to expose her throat. His gaze trailed down her as he murmured, “So pretty...”

She growled, flipping him over and devouring him. There was something in the way he held her, kissed her, that told her she could ask anything of him and he would. For her, or the resistance, she didn’t care. As long as he was on the right side of the war.

His words echoed back in her head like a problem she had to solve. The ship wasn’t his.

She could fix that.

[spacebeanss]

The villain was staring at the hero. Not to plot or to find weakness, but in silent admiration, staring at his shoulders, his body, his beautiful face. The villain’s eyes drifted down to where the hero stood, ordering coffee before he started his day. The hero didn’t know the villain was there, drinking tea at the window seat of the shop, or maybe he did, and just decided to ignore him. The villain sipped his tea, watching the graceful movement of the hero's fingers as they wrapped around the cup that was given to his. Before the hero turned, the villain looked down at his book and waited for the hero to walk out, as he always did.

    “Is this seat taken?” The villain looked up, and there stood the hero, asking about the chair next to the villain.

    The villain stared for a moment, shocked that the hero stopped his day to sit beside his foe. “Uh, no, it isn’t actually.”

    The hero sat, not breaking eye contact with the villain, “Why are you here, Villain?”

    The villain took another sip of his tea and smiled, “They have nice tea.”

    “No they don’t.”

    “You’re right, they don’t have nice tea, or coffee for a matter, but that’s the very reason you come, isn’t it, Hero?”

    He looked down at his cup, “What do you want?”

    The villain leaned forward into the hero's crystal blue eyes, his face locked in a perfect composure, and the villain wanted to unravel it. “I want you.”

    The hero looked back up at the villain, “Sorry?”

    “You heard me.”

    “You know more about me than anyone else in the world, enough to know exactly where I am every morning, you already have me, Villain.” The hero sat back, watching the villain’s reaction.

    “Really? Am I, your arch nemesis, the most stable thing in your life?” The villain looked at the hero in disbelief.

    The hero took a sip from his cup, “You, and this cafe’s bad coffee.”

    The villain looked at the hero with curiosity, “I don’t know enough to beat you.”

    “You don’t want to beat me, if you did you would’ve finished me off a long time ago.”

    “I don’t want to beat you.” The villain repeated, confirming its veracity, “But you don’t want to beat me either.”

    “I do not, but if we stop then I will be alone again.”

    The villain stared at the hero, the perfect, perfect hero, for them to be alone was completely out of character, “You’re not supposed to be alone, you’re the hero.”

    The hero laughed, “I am alone, I always have been.”

    The villain squinted for a moment before sighing as if in defeat, “I’m tired, hero, I don’t even have a goal anymore.”

    The hero looked into the villain’s eyes, tormented but striking, “Neither do I.”

    The villain held out his hand to the hero, “Then let’s be done, no more hurling each other off of bridges, slamming each other against walls, we will simply coexist.”

    The hero hesitated before taking the villain’s hand, his perfect fingers wrapping gently against the villain’s, “Deal.”

    The villain smiled and got up, about to leave, the hero caught his shoulder, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

    The villain looked down into the hero's eyes, lined with hope, despite his better judgement the villain yearned to see them again, “I will.”

[lilyhoshikawa]

🎥💕💎

Nyanko didn’t specify so I’m gonna do this abt WKTD and u can’t stop me!!

🎥: Do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

I’m a basic Jupiter kinnie sadly so as expected. My favorite scene has gotta be the Red Ending 3am scene. There’s such a beautiful, horrible tension in the early moments- the anxiety and uncertainty over knowing that the least obvious among the trio is going to become the devil, the sad bargaining in lines like

“We don’t need to know who the devil is. It’s just a phase. …right?”

Which transitions into this pleading, and then

Venus: “I can feel fingers on my face and arm and everywhere.”

Jupiter: “Ahaha. Gross. I’m gross.”

And then the most iconic scene in this entire game, the most powerful and tiny act of the hair tie breaking, a piece of symbolism so small yet so monumentally significant. And then everything that follows, the entire speech.

“Don’t touch me. You shouldn’t touch me. I wasn’t born good.”

Talk abt lines that live in my mind rent free dhdjbdjd. Everyone talks about “I wasn’t born good” bc it’s a killer line and very relatable, but shoutout to some other stars:

“I can try hard, but I think… God knows my heart isn’t really in it.”

“Y’all are sweet. But don’t do that. I won’t be happy if you do.”

“I want to touch. I want to be touched. I want to hurt. I want to be hurt. And if you feel the same way, you’re as bad as me.”

“Won’t you let me feel like a real devil for a moment?”

And that’s all just. Amazing. There’s so much to say abt that from the perspective of religious guilt alone, of ppl who have experienced that unique kind of internal struggle with Christianity, let alone the compounded complications of being gay, trans, neurodivergent. It’s a really impactful scene especially for the game’s themes, bringing them all together in the perspective of your typical idealistic leader character, of the one who wants to be good the most (that’s also why it’s imperative you play this ending last).

💕: Tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them!

I have committed the grave act of hubris in answering that first category in-depth before realizing I already elaborated on my answer for this one. Oops! Oh well.

Obviously it doesn’t take much to figure out my fave of the trio but every character is really important and I don’t wanna get caught up in rambling about Jupiter knowing she seems to be most ppl’s favorite.

All of the trio have different reactions to trauma, in particular the trauma of their world in which Christian morality is the actual law of the land. Many ppl can relate to Jupiter’s need to go along with it and to “fix herself” but I find the other two equally compelling.

Neptune isn’t happy with the way things are, she’s furious, bitter and burned. It’s criminal that the writers don’t elaborate on it more, but she’s existed for this long in a system that has already judged her bad, has already decided her very existence is wrong, and to her, it’s horrific and baffling how many people are okay to sit back and accept the same. The pain she feels watching the other members of her group suffer, trying so hard to appease a system that has already discarded them. Neptune isn’t interested in offering platitudes to a system that has already tossed her to the side, deemed her bad and irredeemable. Frankly, she doesn’t even care. What hurts her, what bothers her, is seeing other people grapple with the guilt that isn’t theirs to own, to try and fix in themselves what was never a problem to begin with. It’s like seeing a friend suffer a tragedy and blame themselves every time.

And Venus, perhaps most interesting of all, also knows that. She’s aware that the system is stacked against her and everyone else, and she’s bitter about it, but she knows nothing else. She goes along with it, and all the bullying and pain and hardship that comes with it. She isn’t deluded into trying to overturn her odds and prove herself to be good like Jupiter is, she’s apathetic, she’s accepted the hand she’s been dealt. She doesn’t fight back against her bullies because she has simply accepted their abuse as a natural part of her existence. She wants more, wants better, and has glimpses of hope that it’s obtainable- perhaps if she does what she’s told, if she doesn’t complain, if she puts up with it, one day she’ll get what she wants, what she needs to survive. But she won’t, she never will. She accepts all the hardship, all the abuse, all the confusion or a world built for and around people who aren’t like her, who can’t understand her- and she does it silently hoping things may get better on their own.

All three worst girls mean so much, have such meaningful and interesting perspectives and tell such compelling stories on personal levels which are only made more powerful by their union, by their coexistence and the vague, awkward but hopeful clashing of their disparate realities, coping mechanisms and outlooks. It’s shaky, it’s difficult, but they provide for each other what they each lack- Jupiter receive permission to be enough as she is, Neptune receives validation and companionship, and Venus receives the accommodations she needs to be her authentic self, no longer hidden. It’s really powerful, for trauma survivors and the mentally ill and for LGBT+ ppl.

💎 Are there any fun facts or trivia you would like to share?

Something most ppl may know but that I almost missed is that the original demo for the game- titled “We Know the Demo”- is actually not just a shortened version of the game or anything, but a unique prequel story that fills in some more gaps in characterization and worldbuilding, which I found very valuable for my fic “The Light God Didn’t Make.”

It includes such scenes as Neptune being secretly unstoppable at dodgeball, Venus infodumping, Neptune pointing out the fact we all know that Jupiter would look cool holding a guitar, and also Venus singing. All of them iconic bits.

The demo is free off the developers’ website and functions basically the same as the game, with picking a duo of characters to interact in each scene, so it’s a great complimentary piece to play before or after, and it’s really helpful in developing a better characterization of the trio if ur looking for that.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXIV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m really anxious about this one -Danny

Words: 4,934

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Two: Sickness.

"You're right," Erick sat on the couch next to her. "Emily and Sirius are undeniably together."

"But they're hiding something," Mel pointed with the rubber wand she was holding. "Every time I hint I want to know more about their relationship, they panic—"

"So that's where you learned it from?" Fred smirked.

Mel slapped the back of his head and he moved away from between her knees, facing his brother from the other side of the rug instead.

Things had gone swiftly after Erick's rescue. Sirius was in a jolly mood on the daily, surrounded by good company and decorating the house with everyone's help. Mel would spend most of her days with the twins and Flint, who surprisingly seemed to have taken a liking to Fred and George, or maybe it was that Ron and Harry kept on treating him like he was Malfoy's long lost cousin.

Erick's attitude towards her did change a bit after the first night. She'd expected him to keep on teasing her and acting as if she were a little girl. However, he would follow her around the house like a very polite shadow, and he was usually eager to be of use for her.

Maybe it was his way of showing how grateful he was about being there, and Mel could tell the twins wanted to tease him, but given the recent misfortune the boy had gone through they were keeping everything to themselves.

Either way, after a few awkward mornings in which Mel had attempted to catch her mother and Sirius off guard only to get really vague answers or watch them walk away from the conversation, she decided to involve the boys. After all, if there was a group of people who were experts at finding out secrets, it was this trio.

"You know," Erick sighed as he picked up a book he'd been reading, "maybe you should tell them you're okay with it and let them do the rest of the talking if they want..."

"They already know I'm okay with it," Mel huffed. "I don't know why are they acting so weird now, it's like they think I'll murder them if I catch them snogging..."

"Maybe you should tell them you and Fred are dating," The Slytherin replied with a smirk. "See if you get a reaction out of them."

"You know what, maybe I will," Mel said resolutely. "I'll do it right now, while everyone's scattered around the house..."

"I was joking," Erick's smile evaporated and he added in a whisper. "Don't do that! You're not even dating for real!"

"Well no, but no one apart from you knows that!" She replied quietly. "It might catch them off guard..."

"I'll never understand why you take his advice right away but when it's me you refuse to listen," Fred grumbled.

"Because your advice is always to 'let things be' or 'maybe a few kisses will make you forget it'," Mel frowned. "Your advice sucks."

"You didn't think I was so terrible the other nigh—"

"I swear on my Grandad's grave," Erick warned him. "If you finish that sentence I'll leave George twinless."

"Sorry," Fred turned back to his game of exploding snap, "forgot we have to watch our mouth now that you're around, grandpa..."

Erick threw a cushion at Fred, but he was looking livelier than ever before. From time to time, he would loosen up and act like an actual teenager, which looked quite nice on him. Mel could feel him healing , and the best part was that she could feel herself healing too.

She knew everyone was keeping Harry at a proper distance from her as well, her friends had listened to their argument, but the funny thing was that if anyone would've tried to ask her about Harry now, she would've answered with no hesitation.

Telling Erick was liberating, especially after her last fight with Harry where she realized that -unfortunate, but expected- her feelings for him had diminished to the point where they were nothing but a memory.

She didn't hate him anymore, didn't resent him either. That helped both of them coexist in the same house without imploding. Harry was treating her like a real person and not a damsel he needed to save, and Mel was finally able to talk to him without being afraid of hurting his feelings. She could be honest because she didn't have anything to lose by doing so.

Mel walked through the house when she heard Sirius arguing with her mother in the kitchen. Curious to know what was the fight about, Mel sneaked in as silently as she could, and she hid behind the railing so the adults couldn't see her in the dim light.

"I'm telling you it's nothing!" Emily was saying. "It's normal, the first few months the nausea is always like that, you're losing your mind over nonsense!"

Mel's stomach dropped. Nausea?

"It's been a hard couple of weeks," Sirius replied, "I shouldn't have let you leave the house after Fred and George said they'd go get Erick, you're in no condition—"

"I will ask you," Emily said impatiently, "to stop talking about me like I'm dying. Don't be ridiculous, I've gone through it before, I know my limits!"

Her mum! It was her mum the one who was sick!

It was enough they'd hidden her uncle's sickness from her all those years ago, it was not going to happen again.

"What's wrong with my mum?"

Sirius and Emily stopped their bickering, both adults turning to see the girl with wide eyes.

"Mel..."  

"Nothing's wrong with your mum, little Em," Sirius was quick to reply. "We were just... we were..."

"Don't lie to me," Mel frowned. "I heard you, you said my mum was sick..."

"No, love, you misunderstood–"

"We were talking about your mother's morning sickness," Sirius said pointedly.

Emily hit the man's arm, but Mel didn't react.

"What's that?"

Sirius looked positively confused.

"What do you... you don't know?" He looked at the woman next to him and whispered something. Emily turned bright red.

"Of course she knows how babies are born, Sirius!"

"Then why is she—"

"Because we never went into those specific details," Emily replied. "Fine! I've avoided this conversation long enough, and you're bound to found out in the end. Sit down, Mel."

Mel obeyed.

"Well..." Her mother started. "I guess by now you're aware that Sirius and I..."

"Yes, much like everyone else in this house," Mel pushed it aside. "What does that have to do with your sickness?"

"Because my sickness," Emily's voice faltered. "My... er..."

"Morning sickness is a symptom, Mel," Sirius continued. "But it doesn't come from a disease."

Mel's frown deepened. "What is it, then?"

"I'm pregnant."

"What?" The girl blinked. "How— Are you sure?"

"Yes," Sirius scratched the back of his head. "For the last two months..."

"TWO MONTHS?" Mel stood up, her hands going up to cover her mouth. The rest of the sentence came out muffled. "You've been pregnant for two months?!"

"Don't be vexed," Emily winced. "I tried to send a letter, but it felt like such a cold way to let you know... then you came home but trouble just kept coming..."

"That's the reason you were fighting when we arrived!" Mel said in realization. "You didn't want my mum to hurt herself!"

"Which is stupid, really," Emily huffed, glaring at the man standing behind her. "I'm not that far yet, I can do stuff."

"Oh my god," Mel covered her mouth again. "The baby's yours!" She exclaimed, pointing to Sirius.

The man cackled in that barking laughter of his.

"Yeah, the baby's mine too."

Mel let out a short squeal.

"I'm going to have a sibling!"

"You're not angry?" Emily asked.

"Angry?" Mel frowned, a smile still playing on her lips. "Why would I be angry about having a family?"

"I told you she would understand, Mily," Sirius said proudly.

"I'm so happy!" Mel beamed, pulling in both adults for a hug.

"That's great," Emily chuckled nervously. "You can't tell the others though, we're waiting..."

"Waiting for what?"

"We want to give the news during Christmas," Sirius said, completely elated. "It just seems like the right moment to do it."

On Christmas morning the girl woke up to the usual pile of gifts at the foot of her bed, but for the first time, she ignored them and walked out of her room, already looking for her mother.

Fred and George stopped her at the top of the stairs and shook their heads grimly.

"Don't go in, Lady. Mum's just gotten Percy's jumper. He didn't even try to ask about dad."

"Go back to bed," George shook his head. "Trust us."

"Oh," Mel frowned. "Okay..."

She returned to her bed and grabbed the first present. It was from Lupin, a book on defense against the dark arts and another of magizoology, both with beautiful front covers and illustrations.

The second was from Hermione's, a quill that was magically fixed so its users couldn't make mistakes. Mr and Mrs Weasley gave her a new jumper -a nice cream colour with an 'M' in the middle- the first she was getting with her initial, and as she moved through the pile she realized three people were missing: Her mother, Sirius, and Harry.

The last one was not a surprise, but she wondered why her mother hadn't given her a present that year.

'Maybe the baby is my present,' she thought with excitement.

When she left her room, she ran into Erick.

"Merry Christmas!" She said happily.

"Merry Christmas," He yawned. "Hey... can you believe I got presents?"

"Well, yeah," Mel grinned. "What were you expecting?"

"Joseph and Gran were the only ones to give me things apart from my family," He said, still a bit unused to his situation. "But here I got presents from everyone and they don't even know me..."

"Did you like mine?" She looked down for a moment and gasped. "Is that... is that a Weasley sweater?"

Erick stared down at the emerald green fabric and smiled.

"Yeah, look," He pointed to the snake in the middle. "Slytherin themed and all... it was nice of them."

"That's so sweet," Mel beamed. "What else did you got?"

"A few sweets from Fred and George— don't worry, normal sweets, not their creations... a planner from Hermione, which I think will be very useful, if I'm honest... Lupin gave me a book on muggle history that looks really interesting— Oh, your Mum gave me this er... disk-man?"

"Discman," Mel laughed. "Those are for muggle music, I believe you'll like it a lot..."

"Hang on," Erick eyed her up, finally noticing her outfit. "Is that— wow— is that your sweater?"

"Yeah," She looked down. "Why?"

Erick's smiled widened.

"You'll love this..." He walked to the twins' room and looked inside. "Oi! Fred! Come here..."

He walked back to her with Fred beside him, when Mel noticed his sweater, she gasped.

"No!"

Fred's jumper was cream-coloured as well, with an F in the middle.

"What colour does George have?" Mel asked in worry.

"Blue," Fred made a face. "Oh no..."

"Did you tell your mother?" She asked hurriedly. "Frederick, did you tell your—?"

"Of course not!"

"It may have slipped from my mouth," George walked out of his room looking amused and just a little guilty. "I didn't think she would do something like this, though... I asked her not to tell..."

"Bloody brilliant," Mel groaned, flushed and embarrassed.

"Well, this surely will be a surprise for your mother," Erick said casually, walking towards the stairs. "Let's go have breakfast..."

After lunch, the kids, Moody, Mrs Weasley, Emily, and Lupin got ready to visit Mr Weasley back in St. Mungo's. Erick joined, he was eager to see what kind of things the healers had to deal with on the daily.

As they left Sirius with Tonks, Mel realized it'd been a while since she'd seen Kreacher. Actually, she hadn't seen him since the first day of their break. When she mentioned this to the girls, Ginny's expression darkened.

"We said the same to Sirius. You know how he told Kreacher 'out' when we arrived, and we didn't see him afterwards... well, Sirius doesn't mind, but we think that maybe..."

"Maybe he went out-out?" Mel glared. "I mean... he could if he wanted to..."

"That's what Harry said," Hermione sighed. "But maybe Sirius is right and Kreacher is just hidden somewhere in the house, with all the noise he's probably disoriented..."

Mel pushed away the uneasy feeling as soon as they got to the hospital. There were a few people there looking angry, apparently victims of some nasty family arguments. Erick stared at the poor witch in front of them and drowned a chuckle.

"I would love to stick a walnut up my father's—"

"You're going to love our dad, Erick!" George tackled him and pulled him in for a rough hug. Even though they were roughly the same height, Erick was thinner and easier to move around than the twins. "He's crazy about muggles!"

"I'm not crazy about muggles," Erick protested. "I just find them interesting..."

"Same thing," Fred put an arm around her shoulders. "You'll love what dad's got to say about that Discman you got..."

"Watch your hands, boy," Emily warned him as she walked past. "You better keep them where I can see..."

"Mum!"

"Don't worry,  Em, you know I'm a proper gentleman," Fred grinned, pulling Mel closer. "At least in public I am— Ouch!"

"Don't be a pig, Weasley..." Erick replied walking away so Fred couldn't hit him back.

When they arrived at Mr Weasley's room, he was looking livelier and was finally gaining colour. He was propped up on the pillow and received Erick like he'd known him for years. Mel suspected that Mrs Weasley had told him about Erick's liking for the muggle world since he was incredibly eager to start talking about it.

Once Erick's interrogation was finally over -the poor boy was extremely anxious about all the attention he was getting from the Weasleys- Mr Weasley finally addressed his wife.

"You — er — haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

"No," said Mrs Weasley dubiously, "why?"

"Nothing, nothing... Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry — this is absolutely wonderful —"

Harry had given the man fuse-wire and screwdrivers. When the man leaned over to shake his hand, Mrs Weasley tensed.

"Arthur— you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

"What? No, no — it's nothing — it's — I — Well — now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea... He's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in... um... complementary medicine... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on — on Muggle wounds —"

Mel covered her mouth to hide her smirk.

"Oh, Merlin..."

"What?" Ginny looked at her. "What are stitches?"

In the brief second that passed, Lupin managed to move away towards the werewolf's bed, who clearly wasn't having a good day. Bill got up and mumbled something about tea, the twins quickly followed, both with the same knowing grins.

"Do you mean to tell me," Mrs Weasley spoke before they had the chance to run away, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

"Not messing about, Molly, dear... It was just — just something Pye and I thought we'd try — only, most unfortunately — well, with these particular kinds of wounds — it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped —"

"Meaning?"

"Well... well, I don't know whether you know what — what stitches are?"

"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," Mrs Weasley said tensely, then let out a rough laugh, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid —"

"I fancy a cup of tea too," Harry stood up abruptly.

The remaining group of teenagers all followed him, by the time they reached the door, Mrs Weasley was screaming:

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"

"Typical Dad," said Ginny. "Stitches... I ask you..."

"Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," said Hermione. "I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something... I wonder where the tearoom is?"

"Fifth floor," said Harry.

"You mean to tell me," Erick was horrorstruck. "That muggles sew their skin back together?"

"Sometimes," Mel smiled. "Tough people those muggles, aren't they?"

"That's... that's barbaric," He winced. "Merlin..."

"Don't be so whiny," Ron rolled his eyes. "It's not a big deal, is it, guys?"

"Not really," Harry shrugged. "Muggles get stitches all the time. They don't sew the skin just like that, they give you anesthetics so you don't feel pain while they do it..."

They kept talking about muggles remedies until they reached a hall with several portraits trying to diagnose them with oddly specific diseases. They got distracted by one particular stubborn healer that kept insisting Ron had a bad case of spattergroit.

"And what's that supposed to be?" Ron asked in outrage as the healer ran through the portraits to keep up with them.

" 'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now —"

"Watch who you're calling gruesome!"

"The only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes —"

Mel burst into laughter.

"I have not got spattergroit!"

"But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master —"

"They're freckles! Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!"

Ron turned to look at the others, who were doing a great job keeping straight faces. Mel was failing remarkably though, she kept laughing until they reached the next floor, at this point Ron wasn't even acknowledging her existence.

"What floor's this?"

"I think it's the fifth," said Hermione.

"Nah, it's the fourth," said Harry, "one more —"

He stopped, his eyes fixed on the door ahead of them. Mel looked ahead curiously, the door had a small window and a man was standing there, staring back. Hermione gasped behind her.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed.

"Oh my goodness, Professor Lockhart!" Hermione pointed out.

"Don't think he's much of a Professor now," Mel murmured with amusement.

"Well, hello there!" Lockhart walked out of the room. "I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?"

Harry muttered something to Ginny that caused her to laugh, Mel was divided between annoyance at the sight of the man and slight pity. He wasn't as tall as she remembered him, but she'd grown a bit the last three years, so it was understandable.

"Er — how are you, Professor?" said Ron.

"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" said Lockhart, pulling an old peacock-feather quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"

"Brilliant," Mel said, trying not to giggle.

"Er — we don't want any at the moment, thanks," said Ron.

"Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?" Harry questioned.

"I insist, I don't think we should call him professor," Mel said.

The man looked at Mel intently, his smiled fading a bit, then he stared at Harry.

"Haven't we met?"

"Er... yeah, we have," said Harry. "You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?"

"That was hardly teaching," Mel grumbled, but Erick nudged her side to shut her up.

"Teach?" Lockhart blinked. "Me? Did I?"

His smile came back abruptly.

"Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!"

Mel opened her mouth to argue but Hermione gave her a pleading look as if saying 'give him a break', so she took pity.

"Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?" A Healer walked out of the room and realized Lockhart wasn't alone. "Oh Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas Day too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?"

"We're doing autographs!" The man exclaimed. "They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!"

"Listen to him," said the Healer. "He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be coming back a little bit."

Mel shivered, thinking that fewer things were worse than a fully recovered Lockhart trying to scam more people.

"Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked... not that he's dangerous! But bit of a danger to himself, bless him... Doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back... It is nice of you to have come to see him —"

"Er, actually, we were just — er —" Ron gestured vaguely.

Something about Lockhart washed her over with nostalgia, he reminded her of a time when things were simpler, and she felt terribly sad at the confirmation that not even someone as silly as him had come out clean out of their mess. She felt guilty and looked imploringly at the group.

"Just for a bit?" Mel asked softly, following the healer inside.

"Five seconds ago you wanted to hit him and now you want to stay?" Erick frowned.

"I got... sentimental," She admitted. "Felt bad about him, what am I supposed to do?"

"You could've ignored him," Harry offered coldly. "You're getting quite good at that..."

"Let's not stay long," Ron interrupted before Mel could answer, pulling her into the ward.

"This is our long-term resident ward," The healer explained as the group walked in. "For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement... Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself, and we've seen a real improvement in Mr Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognize yet... Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat..."

Lockhart immediately started to sign pictures as soon as he sat down, continuing his senseless chatter.

"You can put them in envelopes, I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail... Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly... I just wish I knew why..." He paused, his hand dropping a photo on Ginny's lap absently. Then his smile came back again. "I suspect it is simply my good looks..."

"...And look, Broderick, you've been sent a potted plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month, they'll brighten things up, won't they?" said the Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. "And — oh, Mrs Longbottom, are you leaving already?"

[...] A formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed — Neville.

Harry locked eyes with her, both of them froze unable to find a way to distract the others, and it was too late anyway, Ron had noticed.

"Neville! It's us, Neville!" He said excitedly. "Have you seen? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"

"Ron, stop yelling!" Mel scolded him.

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" Neville's grandmother asked calmly.

Neville was always quiet, but now he looked like he wanted to be swallowed by the earth.

"Ah, yes... Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you," She said, holding out a hand and shaking Harry's.

"Er — thanks," Harry replied.

"I'm afraid I don't recognize this boy," The old woman said, staring intently at Erick.

"Erick Flint," He said, tentatively reaching out to shake her hand. "I— er... I'm spending Christmas with the Weasleys."

"Flint, huh?" The woman said, her eyes narrowing a little. "Yes, I see that... I'm sorry about Eliot, he was a fine man."

"He was," Erick nodded, awkwardly glancing at Neville.

Neville was too embarrassed to even notice him.

"And you two are clearly Weasleys," Mrs Longbottom said appreciatively. "Yes, I know your parents — not well, of course — but fine people, fine people... and you must be Hermione Granger? Yes, Neville's told me all about you..."

Her eyes landed on Mel and she smiled.

"Most delighted to meet you, Miss Dumbledore," She shook her hand firmly. "Yes, I would recognize that gaze anywhere... have you been told that before? I'm sure you have... that sharp mind of yours, I'm sure it never misses a thing."

Mel smiled tightly, not knowing how to reply.

"You and Miss Granger have helped my grandson out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy, but he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say..."

"What? Is that your dad down the end, Neville?" Ron asked in shock.

"What's this?" The woman asked sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?"

Neville stared up at the ceiling and shook his head a bit. Mel felt something pressing on her chest, but she still couldn't find the words. She realized that whenever she needed it the most her voice would simply vanish.

"Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" Mrs Longbottom exclaimed. "You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"

"I'm not ashamed," said Neville quietly.

Ron was trying to look closer towards Neville's parents, but Mel pulled him down roughly.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it! My son and his wife," Mrs Longbottom turned to explain, "were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers."

Hermione and Ginny covered their mouths in shock. Ron paled and Erick went terribly stiff next to her. Harry and Mel were doing their best to control the situation.

"They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the Wizarding community," Mrs Longbottom stared at her. "Your father was a good friend of them, dear girl. Matthew was a fine man. Highly gifted, the three of them. And are you ashamed of your father, girl?"

The question took Mel by surprise.

"No, of course I'm not."

"See, Neville?" Mrs Longbottom said harshly, Mel wished she could've asked the woman not to use her against him. "I — yes, Alice dear, what is it?"

Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge, and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions toward Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.

"Again?" said Mrs Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. "Very well, Alice dear, very well — Neville, take it, whatever it is..."

But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper.

"Very nice, dear," said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.

"Thanks Mum," Neville muttered.

Mel looked down, feeling caged in the situation and desperately wanting to help her friend without being able to. When she looked up Neville had a hard stare on them as if ready to fight them in case they wanted to make any fun comments, but Mel knew none of them was thinking of such thing.

"Well, we'd better get back," Mrs Longbottom. "Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now..."

Neville, however, made sure to put the wrapper into his pocket. Once gone, her friends started to speak.

"I never knew," Hermione said with tears in her eyes.

"Nor did I," Ron was looking at the door still, his voice dry.

"Nor me," Ginny said weakly.

Erick said nothing, but he looked as affected as the rest. The group turned in time to Harry and Mel. They shared a grim look, but Mel couldn't speak, so Harry started.

"We did. Dumbledore told us but we promised we wouldn't mention it... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds."

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that? That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?" Hermione asked in shock.

"I think it's time we go back," said Mel, tightly holding onto Ron's arm. "The rest must be looking for us..."

Next Chapter —>

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