#bless the cast and hall H for being so sweet

[ansonmountdaily]

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Strange New Worlds panel and Hall H sing Happy Birthday to Paul Wesley → San Diego Comic-Con, July 23 2022

Paul Wesley, who plays James T. Kirk on the show, celebrated his birthday on the day of the panel. His co-stars Anson Mount, Ethan Peck, Celia Rose Gooding, Christina Chong, alongside executive producers Henry Alonso Myers, Alex Kurtzman and Rod Roddenberry, and the Hall H audience, sang him Happy Birthday, before a big Captain Kirk themed cake was revealed.

In another extended clip showing the same moment, Anson Mount says, "This is the second year in a row we've done this to Paul. Last year was on set!" And Paul laughs and says, "It's true!"

Source: hollywoodtv Twitter

[princessofravenclaw]

Time Changes

Paring: Draco Malfoy x Reader && Harry Potter x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: This is my first EVER imagine/fanfic so pls be nice!! I’ve had this idea for a while but haven’t ever actually done anything about it. I’ve got more ideas to continue but we’ll start with this. If there’s spelling/grammar problems, don’t come for me!! Ya girl is not an English major. This is based off the “19 years later” but doesn’t follow that story line!

Italics is a flashback!!

September 1st. Walking into King’s Cross Station brought back a flood of fond memories. You remembered the first time you ever entered those doors. You had grown up hearing all of the beautiful things Hogwarts offered from both of your magical parents. The day you received your Hogwarts letter was the best day of your life. Now, here you were, hand in hand with your husband and three children, sending off your oldest and middle child to start their journey at the magical school. How lucky were you? You had married one of your childhood best friends, Harry Potter. Though you two never looked at each other as romantic partners until after Hogwarts, you loved being his wife. The two of you had been blessed with two boys and a girl. Today, the family of five would be downgrading to three, as James and Albus would be boarding the Hogwarts Express. You would still have your sweet Lily with the two of you at home. You stood back with your daughter as Harry helped calm Albus’s nerves. James had already said his goodbyes and boarded the train with his friends. Hermione and Ron would be sending off their daughter, Rose, this year. They engulfed her in hugs, saying their goodbyes. You watched fondly as you ran your fingers through Lily’s strawberry hair. “Why can’t I go with them, mummy? It’s not fair!” Lily exclaimed, breaking your gaze from your husband and son. You chuckled and leaned down to kiss her head. “You will have your chance, my love. You’ll have your letter soon.” She looked up at you, bearing her father’s bright eyes, and smiled. “I hope to be in the same house as you, mummy.” You smiled and nodded, hoping the same. You loved being a (Y/H). Albus and Rose boarded the train together, waving more goodbyes through the train window. Harry had joined you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Can you believe it, love? We only have one more to send-off.” He said before kissing your temple. You smiled and leaned into his kiss. “I just hope they don’t have to go through everything we did as kids.” Ron pipped up. “They will do great, Ron. I know it.” Hermione said, wiping a tear as she continued to wave as the train pulled away from the station.

Once the train was out of sight, you all began heading back to the exit when a pair of cold, grey eyes met yours. A pair that you had not seen or wanted to see in many years. The pair that belonged to Draco Malfoy. What was he doing here?! Your husband felt you tense up, stopping to look down at you. He followed your eyes and saw exactly what was causing the problem. He knew of your history with the Slytherin blonde boy. You loathed him from the minute you saw him your first year. He constantly bullied Harry and your friends, jealous of Harry’s fame. Things began to change, however, during your fourth year. Draco had been dared to ask you to the Yule Ball by his fellow housemates. He accepted, wanting to make the night terrible for you. You accepted his terrible invitation, as you couldn’t find a date and you had a slight feeling there was something more to the invite.

“Are you mental (Y/N)?! You’re seriously going to take Draco’s invite to the ball?!” Hermione shouted. You silenced her immediately, not wanting Harry or Ron to find out, at least not yet. “Well, I don’t exactly have a date, Hermione. I wasn’t lucky enough to get someone like Viktor.” You didn’t mean it to sound hurtful, part of it was jealousy, as every girl wished the Tri-Wizard Champion had asked them. You looked at your long, black ballgown in the mirror, running your hands down the front out of nerves. You picked black for two reasons, one, you always loved the color on you, and two, you felt the color matched Draco’s cold heart. “Ready, then?” Hermione asked, breaking you from your trance. Nodding, you spun around and headed for the Great Hall. As the two of you approached the Great Hall, you could hear Draco and his idiotic friends laughing. You rolled your eyes, asking yourself why you decided to do this. Harry and Ron stood at the bottom of the stairs, Ron catching a glimpse of Hermione first, leaving him speechless. Harry followed his gaze and also became silent. The two of you smiled and began the descent down the stairwell. You looked over to the opposite side as your two best friends to where Draco stood. ‘He does clean up nice', you thought. Making eye contact, he stops mid-sentence with Crabbe and Goyle. You notice his Adam's apple bob up and down, indicating a hard swallow. Hesitantly, you separated from Hermione and approached the Slytherin boys. “What in the bloody hell is she doing?” you heard Ron ask the two other friends. Hermione just patted his shoulder before locking arms with Viktor, also surprising Harry and Ron. Draco let his eyes run up and down your figure, taking you in. “(Y/N) ... you look…wow…” Draco said, stumbling over his words. Did Draco Malfoy just compliment you? Chuckling, you looked down at you dress. “Thanks, you don’t look so bad yourself.” He stepped closer, putting an arm out for you to grab, “Shall we?” As you picked up you dress with one hand, you looped the other through Draco’s as he led you into the beautifully lit Great Hall. Crabbe and Goyle stood amazed, glancing between each other and the two of you confused. Yes, they were part of the dare, but they didn’t think it would play out like this.

While Draco isn’t a dancer, you two did manage to slow dance to a few songs. Draco was a true gentleman when placing his hand on your side and holding your hand with the other. This surprised you, knowing the reputation his family has for being so cold. “I really did mean what I said, (Y/N). You look amazing.” He whispered in your ear. Feeling the coolness of his minty breath sent chills down your spine. You could not understand why; did you feel something for Draco deep down? “Thank you, Draco. So, was this truly a dare, or did you want to go with me?” He flashed a smile. “Even if it was a dare, I think it’s worked out pretty well, don’t you?” he teased.

After that day, you began to share lingering stares during classes and in passing in the halls. Soon, those lingering glances became notes passed during class, which lead to sneaking out of the common rooms late at night. The two of you had kept what you had under wraps, knowing how much would be coming your way if the school found out. All anyone knew, except Hermione, was that you two attended the Ball together, and even that was a ‘dare’. Your relationship began to fall apart during the sixth year, however. His family had pressured him to become a Death Eater, now baring the dark mark on his inner forearm. You despised it. Watching it move on his arm made you physically ill. You knew he had been put up for a ‘special mission’ from Voldemort, but he could never tell you what it was. You found out, though, after seeing Professor Dumbledore fall from the Astronomy Tower that night. Draco had ran off with his parents and other Death Eaters, not returning to finish the school term. Once the term had been completed, you joined together with your three best friends to find the remaining Horcruxes. Your parents weren’t thrilled you would not be returning for your final and seventh year, but there was a war that needed to be fought.

Draco stood near the exit of King’s Cross, wearing one of his famous all-black suits. His hair is still as striking blonde as you remembered. Facial features the same, just a little more aged. A woman stood slightly behind them. You recognized her as Astoria Greengrass, a fellow Slytherin. You remembered her from school, and she always stayed a little too close to Draco for your liking. Did they have a child the same age as one of your boys? “C’mon, love, let’s get Lily home,” Harry said, placing his hand in the small of your back and kissing your temple again. You loved it when he did that. Harry was always so caring and affectionate towards you, even after all these years. Draco watched the interaction, making you wonder if he even knew you ended up with Harry. Surely, he knew.

Ginny had tried to run towards Harry during that final battle in the courtyard as he dangled from Hagrid’s arms. Voldemort cast a spell her way, knocking her back and causing her head to hit a rock. She was carried inside the castle so Madam Pomfrey could help. She tried everything, but Ginny was gone. It took a long time for Harry to mourn and return to normal. He truly loved her. You suffered as well, not in the same extreme as Harry, but still in a poor mental state. You ignored Draco’s letters. Draco and his mother had managed to avoid Azkaban; however, his father wasn’t so lucky and was sentenced again. Eventually, Draco’s owls became more and more spaced out until they stopped coming altogether. Your father offered to burn his letters, as you refused even to open them. You decided not to, instead shoving them in a bin hidden from sight. Hermione and Ron became tired of seeing their two other best friends so depressed and decided to invite yourself and Harry to dinner one night. Once all together, it was as if nothing had changed and no time had elapsed. Ron and Hermione were very happy and very much in love, leaving yourself and Harry out. The two of you vowed to keep in touch better, as you both worked at the Ministry together, different departments, but still. You two shared your hardships and struggles, finding comfort in one another. One thing leads to another, and now you sit holding his hand with three beautiful children.

The following morning was bizarre. Not hearing the bickering of the boys was strange. The house felt empty and quiet, which is something that you had not had in ages. You would now have to practice only making breakfast for three instead of five. After Lily was dropped off at your parents for the day, the two of you headed to the Ministry to start your workday. Harry could tell you were still thrown off by the events from the previous day. “I’m fine, really.” You said, squeezing his hand. “I have a hard time believing you, (Y/N). He can’t hurt you now. It’s been ages.” He said, trying to reassure you. “I know, just seeing him brought back so much.” “It’ll be alright, love. All of that is in the past. You’ve got me now, know it?” Harry leaned in and pecked your lips. “Come get me if you need me today, okay?” Harry said, walking in a different direction than you were. Harry worked as an Auror, and you worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures along with Hermione.

Walking into your office, you said hello to your receptionist. “Mrs. Potter, your first appointment is already in your office.” She stated bubbly. You looked at her puzzled. “I thought my first meeting was much later?” you questioned. She looked as confused as you. Taking a deep sign, you walked into your office and was in disbelief at what stood by the window. Draco. How did he find me? He turned to face me as soon as he heard my bag hit the floor. “Draco, you need to leave.” You said as firmly as you could. All you wanted to do was scream for Harry, but his department was on the complete opposite side of the Ministry from you. “Don’t.” Draco spat. “I needed to speak with you.” He continued. “And I need you to leave before I call someone.” He laughed. “Oh, is your Potter going to come to save you? He’s already taken you away from me once, and I won’t let him do it again.” He said before reaching into his suit pocket. You stood there, not knowing what he was planning to do. Draco pulls out what looks to be like a Time-Turner. Hermione used one during our third year to ensure she was able to take all of her classes. It was said all of those devices in existence were destroyed. How did Draco get his slimy hands on one? “How-how did you...” you trailed off, your mind racing as to what his plan was. “A gift from my father. The only one left. You know how this works, right (Y/N)?” he said, stepping closer to you. “Draco…” you started, but before you could push him away, the extended chain was draped around your neck along with Draco’s. His fingers moved the locket quickly before you could think or do anything.

--------

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Six

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN:  Welcome, welcome! This whole chapter is like. Fluff, with a sprinkle of healing. Prime indulgence hours. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Ezra displayed your battered helmet alongside his own on the mantelpiece above the faux fireplace, the two domes leaned into one another as if engaged in private conversation. 

Most evenings found both of you in the main room of his modest apartment, him pacing back and forth as he recounted various portions of his 'semi-fictitious' memoir that were giving him trouble, while you drew and offered input where you hoped it might be beneficial. 

"My editor, Kevva bless him, dares to insinuate that I am too ponderously wordy for the average book market." Ezra bemoaned one evening, dramatically collapsing into a sprawl of limbs on the couch alongside you. "'Get to the point, Ezra!' As if it is that simple, to just trim the fat off the prize cut of loin without regard for the flavor it provides!" He spat indignantly. 

"You are very…" you searched through all the fanciful words you had picked up from him, finally settling on, "verbose. Almost to a fault. Sometimes I wonder if you're deliberately taking three times as long to say something."

"If I am to be prolific with my speech, I would rather be saying somethin' that people are interested in listenin' to." Ezra retorted, sounding somewhat betrayed over you taking his editor's side. "I've endured countless lectures from individuals with some form of power over me and none of them possessed a modicum of eloquence. Their words were weapons of the bluntest sort: hackneyed and ramshackle and detestable." His voice dipped lower, gravelly and reverent. "I would rather a singular articulate quote to a thousand plain, lifeless, uninventive platitudes. Words are all I've ever had for most of my existence, gentle soul. They are a precious commodity gleaned not from the treacherous climes of some deadly moon, but from the stolen tomes and salvaged papers of civilization long past." 

He rubbed his temples, obviously exasperated. You, on the other hand, were a bit flushed. His rants were always a joy to witness, whether you wanted to admit it or not. There was something about Ezra getting riled up that you found mesmerizing.

"I apologize, gentle soul. You are not here to be my sounding board, and I shall not treat you as such." He said finally, dragging his hands down his face. "I will not subject you to my bouts of tempestuous querulousness."

"Hey, you can talk to me all you want! I just wish I could contribute usefully to your musing, that's all. I'm not nearly as well-spoken, I'd hate to use a word wrong." You replied, grimacing. "Like querulous...querulousness." 

"It means I am peeved. Cantankerous."

"You?" You gasped in mock-surprise. 

He groaned, "I did not realize how astute you were." You spotted the corner of his mouth twitching upwards and you knew you had him, nudging your elbow into his side until he surrendered and gave you a lazy grin. 

"Ezra, what does 'mercado' mean?"

He jerked upright out of his slump at that, looking confused. "Where did you hear that word?" 

"From...you?" You replied uncertainly. "It was while we were still...um, in the tent, I had just finished with your arm and you were looking through my sketchbook." His blank stare prompted you to continue, "you saw a picture I drew of the west dock and you-"

"Oh!" Ezra gasped, his eyes brightening with comprehension. He bounded off the couch, vanishing into his room. You sat there, wholly bewildered, until he reemerged struggling into his coat. He seized your hands, tugging you upright and then kissing your forehead. "You precious, beautiful woman!" He praised. "I am so glad you reminded me of our blood pact, sworn over the battered salvage of my arm on that accursed moon."

"Uh." Precious. Beautiful. "Blood...pact?"

"Hurry up, hurry up, put on your coat!" Ezra demanded. You imagined you could see his blond streak fairly bristling with excitement. "We must go."

"Go?"

"To the mercado!" Again with that gratuitous, flamboyant roll of the 'r'. You were beginning to suspect that he was enjoying himself. 

"What, now?" You asked, allowing yourself to be essentially spun into your long coat. "But it's dark out-"

"All the more reason to rush! If we aren't expedient, they may be closed when we get there!" He grabbed your hand once again. "Kevva waits for no man, gentle soul!"

...

You had never run the length of the Pug's west dock without some incredibly valid, logical reason. So the fact that you were currently running because you were being giddily dragged along by a large man who was far too invested in deep fried food spoke volumes toward the sheer amount of the things that had changed in your life.

"Wait, wait-" You finally had to stop him, your side aching from your haphazard sprint. Ezra halted, appearing confused as you wheezed for air. You clung to his hand a bit tighter than you meant to.

"What's wrong?" He asked worriedly. 

"C-Can't-" you gasped. "Hurts. Gimme' a second."

"I--oh. Oh! Gentle soul, why didn't you voice your discomfort earlier?!" He erupted in a panic. "Sit down, sit, I'll-"

"No no, I'm okay. It's just a stitch." You tried to calm him, but he was having none of it.

"I must insist that you sit down, immediately." He implored, sounding distraught. "If I have caused you harm, if your wound-"

"Hey, I'm okay." You interrupted him firmly. "I'm just a little less...in-shape, you know? Tender still." 

"I feel like a tyrant, I offer my most sincere reparations." 

"Ezra, oh my gods. You're so dramatic." You half-laughed, your breath catching when he kissed your knuckles in contrition. "We can keep going, I just can't run across the entire dock."

"If you are certain, gentle soul?" Ezra asked, gesturing back the way you came and arching his brows. "We can always jettison this fanciful excursion, should you require a reprieve."

You shook your head, tugging on his hand. "Nope, we're already down here. Keep one foot moving. If we get there and they're closed, then I'll need a reprieve. To mourn my loss." 

"Too true!" He agreed, mindfully shortening his strides. "It's not far now. Once we arrive, promise me you'll rest?"

"If you feed me, absolutely." You joked.

"I would love nothin' more than the opportunity to dote upon you, gentle soul."

You laughed for real this time, assuming he was playing along with your jibe. When he didn't join in, you tucked your chin down into the collar of your jacket in embarrassment. "Ezra, you...you take care of me all the time." You pointed out, feeling shy of all things.

"You are my partner." He answered simply. 

Partner. "I...Damon, h-he-" You began to speak, but then choked off at the last second. 

Ezra stopped dead and you closed your eyes, scolding yourself for starting something you knew you wouldn't finish. "Martyr's malfeasance." The brown-haired man cursed softly.

"I'm...I'm sorry," you hurried to apologize. "I don't know why I...just forget I said anything, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the fun." 

"Every time I hear about him, he strikes me more and more as a man that I should have taken my sweet time disposin' of." Ezra snarled in that furiously cheery tone, his words stoking the tiny fire that you sheltered in your stomach. 

Your grip on his hand tightened after a moment. "He didn't deserve the effort."

"Do not apologize for the shortcomings of others, gentle soul. I reiterate that I am here to listen if you need me. Though I warn you, I may not be able to keep from interruptin'." Ezra's eyes had gone dark with thought, his expression distressingly grim. "I am, at the end of the day, a loquacious fool." He perked up after a moment, pausing in front of a brightly-lit open air market. "Ah, and here we are! It appears that luck is with us, gentle soul, they do not close for another hour. Shall we fulfill our pact?"

The rest of your evening out was spent (intentionally or not, though you had your suspicions) effectively chasing off the shadow that recalling Damon had cast over you. Despite your protests, Ezra did end up feeding you half an order's worth of the delectable little sopaipillas, one by one.

...

When the rainy season hit, storms whipped through Puggart Bench and its wards with all the delicacy of a green prospector getting their hands on their first pull. It wasn't so much of an issue during the day; the sound of Ezra diligently expounding to himself usually muffled the howling winds or pouring rain. Late at night however, you couldn't help but imagine that the rumble of thunder was the pod striking the atmosphere, or that the rattling of the rain on the windowpanes was thrower fire. Your dreams turned frantic and riddled with nightmares. You even tried keeping your bedroom light on at one point to combat it, but it just amplified the shadows and gave your mind more fuel for its inventive fire.

You struggled in solitude for a good few nights, until one evening when you finally couldn't endure any longer. Surely he wouldn't mind, you would be quiet.

You slipped from your bed, bringing your pillow along as you padded down the hall to his room. Just as you reached for the keypad, the door slid open.

Ezra stood in front of you, a thin blanket and one of his pillows underneath his arm. He stared down at you. You stared up at him, your own pillow clutched tightly to your chest. "I..." he coughed awkwardly. "Er, the howling gale outside has...my nerves a bit...frayed. I merely-"

"Oh thank gods, I'm so glad it wasn't just me." You felt like you would burst with relief. "I was coming to ask if I could sleep in your room."

"What a novel coincidence! I was about to throw myself upon your mercies as well." Ezra winced at the thunder that boomed overhead after he spoke. "An expedient compromise is in order, gentle soul. We will adjourn to my quarters for this particular endeavor."

He stepped aside with a little bow and you entered the room, going to curl up on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Gentle soul, I think you've done enough proverbial listenin' at the teacher's feet to last a lifetime. Make yourself comfortable." He urged, spreading his blanket back out on the bed. "If we must weather this storm in conjunction, I would prefer you were nearer rather than farther."

You opened your mouth to protest and the wind whipped the rain against the windows with a hollow rattle, sounding for all the world like a thrower shot at range. Your fists clenched on your thighs. 

Damon isn't here. It's just Ezra. It's only Ezra.

Ezra turned to face you after meticulously smoothing out the wrinkles in his blanket, his forced smile and hollow eyes reminding you that you weren't the only one haunted by ghosts of your past. He extended a hand and you grabbed hold, letting him pull you up off the floor.

You fell into him, burying your face in his chest for a selfish moment. "Thank you." You whispered, uncertain if he even heard you over the rumble of thunder.

Ezra pressed his lips to your hairline and then ushered you underneath the blankets. He was achingly chaste, as though he thought you might bolt if he showed any sort of blatant affection. Truly, you might have if it had been any other person. His tentative touch rested on your wrist for a moment before he laced his fingers together with yours.

"Your proximity is a balm to my troubled thoughts, gentle soul." He murmured. "You turn my mind to poetic wanderings; dalliances in sun-dappled clearings, rain that does not make me fear for my life." Ezra sighed, the noise barely audible. "All too often I am back there in my dreams; suffering mutiny, I am left to decompose until a gentle soul comes and pulls me up out of the weeds."

"I have nightmares about Damon." You confessed softly. 

The grip he had on your fingers tightened ever so slightly. "I said I would not ask, and I will not tarnish that promise. I am here, gentle soul." His eyes searched your own, forehead furrowed with concern. "I have never trusted someone as I trust you. I have never...you fought alongside me, you placed your life in my hands, despite-" He paused, swallowing thickly. "You have earned all the time you might ever need. If it is mine to give, it is already yours."

His words, unwavering and slow, were what pushed you over the edge. In a voice that trembled and eventually broke, you finally told him everything. You held nothing in reserve, the terrible stories of all those nights in the pod tumbling out of you one after the other. You were so tired of carrying everything in silence, and talking about it...it was as though it made it all real. Tangible. Something that you could finally release.

Ezra was surprisingly still through the whole endeavor, the normally-animated man obviously reining himself in. The only indication of his own mental state was the way he occasionally rubbed his thumb over your knuckles as you spoke about particularly trying instances. 

"So this is the explanation." He said hoarsely once you lapsed into silence once more. "This is the trauma that you bear upon your precious, gentle soul. I...You've held it so tightly for so long, even though it wounds you. What has changed?"

"I found you." You replied bluntly. It was nonsensically simple to say, but it was true. He inhaled sharply. "You could have killed me, but instead-"

"I couldn't have." Ezra denied, shaking his head. "I saw you and while I knew I could play the part of the villain, I couldn't have...I wouldn't do anythin' to you. If not simply because you didn't slaughter me where I stood, then when you told me you had that kit and you almost broke my jaw after I startled you." He worked his jaw for a moment, like he still felt the echo of your head slamming into it. "And that man, the Sader, tryin' to tempt me into tradin' you in like livestock…"

"Because of everything that happened to me before, I...I panicked. I shouldn't have. I should have trusted you."

Ezra shook his head. "You had every right. I apologize for makin' you feel as though I would have accepted that pittance. I should have discussed everythin' with you beforehand." Lightning flashed nearby and thunder boomed, making you flinch sharply. Ezra urged you closer, his ragged shirt pressing to your cheek as you hid your face in his chest. "Martyr's malfeasance, your tenderness carves the heart out of me." He whispered. "You make me wish I was a reputable individual."

You started to apologize and he waved it off, stroking the back of your head and lulling you to sleep.

Despite the comfort his proximity brought you, the nightmares still came. You woke up panicking, as you often did, struggling away from the grip of the man beside you. He grunted and reached out to switch on the bedside table lamp. Ezra. It was just Ezra. You scolded yourself for your reaction, beginning to apologize again. But he simply rolled over and pressed his forehead to yours, humming in his throat sleepily. 

Your fingers tangled in his shirt as you slowly relaxed against him and he mumbled, "In my dreams you come to me, as timid and inexorable as the dawn," brown eyes already half-lidded again. He sounded like he was reciting something, the words slurred with exhaustion, "In my sleepless hours you find me, tremulous and waning like the starlight." 

You closed your eyes, just listening to his voice and letting it soothe you back into a doze.

"For I am a lost man who wanders bright and dark, all for the fleeting glimpse of you…"

…

His right hand had some minor nerve damage, which was to be expected. The infection had crept deep. You noticed a distinct lack of buttons on a majority of his new clothing, zipper pulls apparently easier to operate left-handed. 

As the storms grew worse though, so too did his hand. It would occasionally seize up in bad weather, which unfortunately was all the time during the rainy season. Ezra was thoroughly miserable, though he attempted to hide it. The rapid progress on editing his memoir slowed to a grinding crawl as he pecked away one-handed, keeping his right secured in a brace for most of the time.

"Kevva damn it." He swore one grey morning, struggling fiercely with the tie around his neck. He was supposed to meet with his publisher and he always tried to dress the part.

"Hey," You yawned from the kitchen doorway, "you okay?" 

"Gentle soul I must beg your assistance, I will be late!" Ezra pleaded from the bathroom, his tone distressed. 

You left your mug on the counter, stifling another yawn as you slipped into the bathroom and batted his hands away from his neck. "Hold still." You mumbled, barely awake. His fingers dug into the sink on either side of you as you worked. When you glanced up you saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears, his gaze fixed determinedly on his own reflection in the mirror. "It's okay to be upset, you know."

His jaw worked and he swallowed hard, obviously disagreeing but unable to vocalize it.

"I got it. All done." You soothed, patting the knot flat. "You won't be late. Be sure to check your fly." His eyes widened in panic and his hands flew to his zipper, making you burst out laughing. "Not now, Ezra! When you get there!" You grinned, playfully bumping your knuckles into his stomach just above his belt. 

Ezra's chuckle was a little watery, but you chose to ignore it to let him think he was saving face. "What would I do without you, gentle soul? Wander the streets half-dressed with my placket splayed, I imagine." He mused, pressing a fond kiss to your forehead. "Now, Kevva waits. I will return presently. I believe it would be prudent for you to begin amassin' your sketches. We seem to be in the final stages of pre-production."

"Isn't it exciting?" You asked brightly.

"I am nervous enough to void my stomach." Ezra admitted. He squeezed your hand tightly. "I wish you could come with me, gentle soul. You make me feel at ease."

"You should have woken me up earlier, then!" 

"You would have come with me?" He sounded surprised, running his hands through his unruly hair in an effort to smooth it down. "These meetings are so toilsome. At least if you were there, my publisher might spare me his tedious lectures." His blond streak sprang back up once his hands had passed, continuing its perennial goal of sticking out at a rakish angle.

You reached up to gently tug on the unruly little tuft of hair, smiling at him. "Suffering is no fun if you're doing it alone."

"Misery does indeed love its company." He sighed, his hand shifting up to cup your own on his temple. "These hands of yours, I..." he paused, grimacing in pain and flexing his own fingers. "Dammit, I…"

"I'll be here when you get back." You said simply. "Just like any other day."

Ezra's eyes were dark with thought as he stared down at you, the silence stretching almost uncomfortably long. "I...of course. Yes." He replied, his voice quiet. 

You weren't expecting the call from him several hours later. You were just tucking into your lunch when your headset began to chime and you scrambled across the kitchen to grab it. "Yes, oh esteemed roommate?" You greeted him in the usual manner, smiling even though he couldn't see you.

"Gentle soul, are you busy?" 

You stared longingly at your lunch. "I was about to eat. What's up?"

"He wants to see your sketches."

Your heart dropped. You weren't sure why, it wasn't as if you hadn't anticipated needing to have your own work checked over. Deep down you had hoped they would have more important things to consider, but it couldn't be helped. "What, now?"

Ezra's words were strangely clipped, so different from his usual flowery speech. "I'll be returnin' shortly, if you're amenable?"

"Absolutely, absolutely. I'll get...I'll gather everything up." You hurriedly put your plate back into the cooler. "Are you okay?" 

"He has been more abrasive than usual, but I anticipated as much." He sighed raggedly and you heard the sound of the starter. "I've been out of sorts since this mornin'." He confessed. "I am uncertain as to why. Perhaps it's simply the weight of my own mortality catchin' up to me."

Your hands stilled in the process of shoving all your hard copies together. "Ezra, did something happen?"

"Nothin' aside from my immaculate personage being stained with impotence in the most mundane task imaginable." Ezra griped.

"Don't scare me like that." You scolded him. "I understand you're upset, but please don't use words like mortality. Gets me nervous."

"Fear not, gentle soul. I'll plague you for a good few years yet." He teased. "I am simply mourning the loss of a certain autonomy. The rain will not last forever, but while it lingers I imagine my moods shall be as grim as a graveyard."

"You'll have to try harder than that, you...poetically dour thing, you." You retorted dryly, shoving your hard copies into your unused portfolio. His laughter was loud in your ear. You loved when he laughed like that, all bright and startled like you had surprised it out of him.

You loved a lot of things about him, if you were being honest.

…

His publisher was a man named Thomas Anglio. He was in his late fifties, purportedly had no sense of humor and wore suits that were immaculately tailored.

The man's lack of humor was probably due to the stress of his job, you reasoned charitably. Managing so many aspiring authors couldn't be an easy feat, especially when he also had to juggle a certain querulous someone. At least you knew Ezra was paying him generously.

The secretary waved Ezra on tiredly, already reaching for the next Serv tablet before he was even done signing the both of you in. 

You trailed along behind him as he strode into Mr. Anglio's office, the dark-haired man the picture of easy confidence. "I present my illustrious, illustrative companion." Ezra introduced you grandly as Mr. Anglio rose from behind his desk. "Gentle soul, this is Mister Thomas Anglio, a stalwart friend and a fiercely fashionable silver fox."

"You flatter me, Ezra." Thomas sighed, shaking your hand. "Please, take a seat and show me what you have prepared."

You obliged nervously, your hands trembling slightly as you undid your first bundle of sketches. "I believe what Ezra wanted was to have them sort of...scattered through the book at key points. Headers for each chapter, as well." You spread the pages out on the desk and Thomas leaned forward to examine them. 

"Ezra, you are not writing a children's book." He pointed out practically. "The subject matter of this...strangely-realistic fiction of yours is decidedly adult."

"I am wholly convinced that my tale will not be half as impactful without their sketches, Mr. Anglio." Ezra insisted firmly. 

Thomas groaned, rubbing his temples. "At least I know you're not doing this just to pad the final page count." He settled back in his chair, leafing through the piles of sketches. You had tried to separate them out by chapter, though due to Ezra's constant revisions you were certain some of them were out of place. "You understand we will not be using all of these, correct?" Anglio seemed relieved when you nodded hurriedly.

"I thought it would be better to have too many than too few." You explained quietly. 

"You have quite the knack for drawing." He mused, lingering on one stack in particular. "Your portraits of Ezra are remarkable."

You heard Ezra swallow loudly beside you.  "Portraits…?" The former prospector echoed tentatively.

Your brain ran back to you scrambling to collect all your sketches, shutting your eyes in silent panic as you realized you must have shuffled in the extra ones you hadn't meant to bring along.

"Yes, these appear to be for the portion of the story where our brave hero barters with a mercenary gang for safe passage off the moon. If I'm recalling correctly, of course." Mr. Anglio slid the pile of sketches to Ezra, who snatched them up immediately. 

You saw his brown eyes go wide and you quickly ducked your head, busying yourself with pretending to sort through the groups of sketches. This was what you got for being disorganized! There were only supposed to be one or two from that scene!

The rest of the meeting was spent whittling down the groups of sketches to two per chapter, or three if they were small enough. Thomas also politely requested that you retool a few things, "this woman's helmet looks dangerously close to that inquisitor's from the Second Illumination. The last thing any of us want is to be sued by a failed monarchy."

You would say that the meeting went well, but you were so busy dreading being alone with Ezra again that it was all a blur. You just knew that your copious amounts of sketches focused on him would be subject to thorough questioning. And well they should be, it was borderline obsessive.

The jut of his jaw, the strong profile of his aquiline nose, the streak of blond above his right temple...all lovingly captured time and again. With and without the helmet. 

You were certain you would be lucky to escape unscathed, waiting in fear for the proverbial pot to boil over. 

...

"All you needed to do was ask, gentle soul." Ezra finally drawled after watching you anxiously wring your hands for the majority of the ride back to Ward Twenty-Seven. "Had I known that you wished so fervently to render me artistically, I would have happily sat for hours that you might properly capture my magnanimous visage."

"Please, please don't be upset." You begged, your fists tight in your lap. "I'll move out, okay? I'll leave and...and you'll never have to see me again. I'll send you the revised story sketches over the Serv, I'll-" His hand reached for your leg over the center console and you almost jumped out of your skin. "Wait, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't-"

"Gentle soul, I am not aggrieved in the slightest." Ezra assured you quietly. "Breathe. You seem ready to go to pieces." He rubbed your thigh soothingly, back and forth. "Breathe."

"You...you're not angry with me?" You asked tentatively. And really, you ought to have established that from your time in the Green! 

Angered Ezra was a looming thundercloud, he was magma barely contained by fragile crust. His fury, though an absolute force of nature, dissipated as soon as it arrived, like the outbursts wearied him too much to perpetuate and maintain. Damon had seethed and resurrected his anger whenever the mood struck him, so it was odd to engage with someone who seemed to deem the emotion more trouble than it was worth. You knew that the man currently in the driver's seat was a hundred times more likely to launch into a woebegone soliloquy about how tenuous material possessions were if he spilled tea on his shirt. But old habits died hard; you couldn't seem to keep yourself from getting wound up.

"Far from it! You capture my countenance in a way that is decidedly more flatterin' than any mirror." Ezra tilted his head. "I am...envious of the man you have drawn." He admitted softly. "I wish that he and I were one and the same."

You weren't quite sure what to say. At least he wasn't angry. Or he said he wasn't. If anything, he sounded...sad. "What do you mean?" You asked, your brow furrowed as you recalled what he had said the night you shared his bed.

You make me wish I was a reputable individual.

Ezra shrugged, sighing, "Nothin' at all, gentle soul. The rain is just makin' me morose, I'm afraid. I'll be glad to be home again."

Home.

"Want me to make some tea when we get home?"

The soft smile he directed your way had no business settling in your stomach the way that it did. "Of course! You are somehow better at makin' it than I, a true conundrum considering how long I toiled away to achieve my technique." 

You almost didn't notice when his hand cautiously returned to your thigh. 

Almost.

Part Seven

[roguesnezblog]

(Sooooo totally inspired by your art and that’s reflected here with the use—- also I’m pretty sure Kalo is older then this but for this tale she’s prolly 7/8 — Hope you like it!!❤️)

Weedle’s nose scrunched as his sniffed the air.

“Honey?”

Weedle blinked as he looked to Amadi.

“What’s the matter?” Amadi asked with raised brows.

Weedle sniffed the air a few more times. His nose taking on an irritated pinkish tinge. His face twisted as his nostrils flared. But just as the tickle had come out of nowhere it disappeared just as quickly.

“Nothing... Just thought I was going to sneeze.”

Amadi knew as much already. He’d fallen asleep on Weedle’s chest, and the sudden rise and fall jarred him from sleep and into consciousness. The sound of cracking thunder drawled his attention as did the beating of rain on the window. The temperature hadn’t fluctuated to drastically so Amadi didn’t think Weedle was coming down with anything. But, Weedle had been pushing himself, and if he had been in close contact with a sick council member... Amadi dismissed that, he’d been at Weedle’s side for the majority of those and no one had so much as sniffled. And it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Weedle to ‘just’ sneeze.

“Huh!”

Like now.

“HiTTCHEE!!”

Just as Amadi braced himself Weedle had stifled his sneeze.

“Excuse me,” Weedle said as he rubbed his nose.

Fully awake now Amadi got up and stretched.

Weedle’s lips puffed out in a pout as he waited for Amadi to ‘bless’ him.

“I’m going to go get a drink of water. Would you like one?”

“No,” Weedle sighed.

He wasn’t sure why Weedle sounded frustrated but if he wanted to talk about it, he would. So until that time Amadi headed out of their room and to the kitchen. Sounds of the storm raging outside encased him as he made his way down the hallway. Amadi strode with confidence. He knew the layout of his home. He’d only tripped once when someone had dropped a book in their haste.

But he couldn’t shake a feeling that he wasn’t alone. Pausing he turned around to focus listening in that direction.

But there was nothing. Nothing but the noises from the weather.

Grabbing the handle, Amadi went back to getting himself something to drink. Reaching into the fridge for water he accidentally knocked something over.

His hearing aid picked up the low sounds of liquid gushing out.

“Fuck.”

Bending lower Amadi picked up the container. By touch he knew that it was the milk. Putting what was left of the milk away he went over to get a towel to clean up the mess. He hadn’t let the carton lay long so there shouldn’t be very much to clean. As he wiped up the floor, he could hear a low sound of lapping and another sound much like... bees.

A brush of fur against his arm mildly startled him. But in the next instant he smiled slightly.

Reaching his hand out, “Hello there,” he said as his hand met the wet fur. “Getting out of the storm?” He asked, not expecting an answer. As messed up as he was, he would always have a soft spot for cats.

But the warm feeling didn’t last long as his brows raised.

Weedle was allergic to cats.

“We have to get you out of here,” Amadi said as he scooped up to hold the little ball of fur in his arms as he made his way to the door, scratching the kitty under the chin as he carried it.

Turning the knob a wet and cold wind busted it’s way into the fortress. But it’d take far more then a little breeze to unsettle his footing. But it did give him pause to reconsider. And think about putting the purring squatter in a closed room until the storm passed.

The cat could sense that she was about to be tossed outside, back into the weather she’d escaped. The hesitation was all she needed to quickly squirm out of the man’s arms.

“Shit!”

The cat dashed down the hallway.

It was late. Everyone would be asleep. Sighing in frustration Amadi swatted at his arms and chest, removing any fur that could be on him.

Weedle set down the book he’d been reading in bed just as Amadi closed the door behind him. His face twisted in confusion at this. “Hon Bun? You know we keep the door open... Kalo might need me...” His daughter’s room was just a few doors down. Storms gave his little girl nightmares. He needed to be able to hear if she cried or screamed so he could be there to make her feel safe. So their bedroom door stayed open during bad weather.

Amadi leaned against the door.

“I just checked on her and she’s fast asleep,” he assured Weedle.

That set him a bit at ease, but still if Kalo woke up in a fright, he wanted to be able to hear her.

“There’s a cat in the castle.”

“...”

“...”

Silence passed between them.

Amadi knew he was allergic to cats. Everyone did. He was severely allergic to the furry, dander shedding ones. Weedle was rubbing his nose at just the thought of how itchy his nose became when a cat was around.

“How did this happen?”

Amadi had been wondering that himself as he’d heading back to their room.

“I was out a bit ago for a smoke when there was a break in the rain. The cat was wet... must’ve gotten in... sometime when I went out or when I came back inside.” It was hard for him to admit to being the likely cause, but it wouldn’t do any good keeping the truth from Weedle.

Climbing back into bed, “I’ll get some help in the morning and get it out of here... and have everything cleaned.”

Weedle didn’t like the idea of a cat running amuck. Getting it’s fur on everything. Those thoughts had him itching his nose even more so. But Amadi had a point, everyone would be asleep at this hour.

Well maybe not everyone. Jenkins was always burning the midnight oil. But Jenkins and Amadi were hardly a search team. Snuggling down next to Amadi Weedle accepted that this was just how it was going to be. He sniffed the air around Amadi, his nostrils flaring with the action. He definitely felt something stirring in the back of his nose, but it wasn’t enough to make him sneeze. Turning off the bedside lamp, casting the room in shadows. A flash of lightening lit up the room and Weedle could see that Amadi was laying with his eyes open.

“It was an accident.”

Amadi grunted, frustrated with this ordeal and that it was his fault. He loathed being the one to cause drama of any sort.

“I’ll hear Kalo if she calls for you,” he said as he turned up the volume on his device.

Leaning a bit Weedle placed a kiss against Amadi’s head. Hoping to ease some of the blame he knew Amadi was piling on himself.

“Sweet dreams Honey.”

Weedle blinked awake. The room was dark. What had woken him up—

“Daddy there’s a monster under my bed.”

Kalo’s quiet voice had Weedle turning to find his daughter at the side of the bed. The bedroom door was cracked, hall light spilling in for him to see that Amadi was passed out.

“Okay,” he said just as softly, not wanting to disturb Amadi.

Moving slowly he got out of bed, placing his hand at Kalo’s back to soothe her fears as he followed her to her room.

Kalo stopped at her doorway and pointed at her bed. “It’s under there.”

“I can promise you Sweetheart that there is no monster under your bed,” Weedle assured as he knelt down to look under his daughter’s bed, acting the part of a looking for the monster. “Just like there wasn’t a monster in your closet last week, th-the—re’s uUHhh— no-huuH—nothing un—“

Two reflecting circles came into view just as Weedle’s eyes closed.

“HAHH!!! HTCHOO!!”

Kalo screamed as something darted out from under her bed and ran passed her.

“H—-huH—- HUUH!! HAATCHOOOO!!”

“There’s a monster!” Kalo wailed as she hurried over to her father for protection.

Weedle sniffled as his nose ran. Shaking his head. “N-No Kalo it’s not a monster. It was just a ca—“

“Are you okay?” Amadi said as he hurried into the room. His fists clinched tight and ready for a fight at hearing Kalo scream that there was a monster.

Knowing there was no way she was going to feel safe alone Weedle scooped up Kalo to hold close to his chest.

“We’re okay. Kalo’s just going to sleep with us tonight.”

Kalo rubbed away the tears in her eyes with her arm before hugging her dad with all her strength.

Amadi gave a slight nod, following Weedle and Kalo down the hall and back to bed.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out for, but Amadi found himself awake, again.

“H—hH—hiH—!!”

Kalo squirmed in her blanket cocoon. Roused by the shaking going on beneath her. She saw sunlight pouring into the room through the windows. The next thing she saw was a black and orange fur ball licking her cheek.

“Kitty,” she smiled.

“HuU-H!!”

But her smile didn’t last as she looked up to see a bright red, angrily twitching nose with it’s flaring nostrils.

“Uh-oh.”

Capturing the cat in her blanket Kalo slipped out of bed and waddled out of the room.

“HUH!!! HEITCHIOOO!!! HiH—hiH!! HT—CHHOOO!!”

The bed shook with Weedle’s sneezes, disorienting Amadi just a bit. But once Weedle’s fit had calmed down to just sniffling Amadi grabbed a handkerchief out from the bedside table and and offered it.

“Than’gk you,” Weedle said, tone muddled with congestion as he brought the cloth up to clean his nose.

Kalo yawned as she climbed back into bed. “Cat’s outside,” she said. Pointing at the window where a cat sat looking in.

Although Weedle saw that the cat was on the other side of the glass his nose grew wider as his nostrils flared. He could just barely make out orange and black fur on his chest that disappeared as he sniffed it up. The cat had been on him! His mouth slackened, eyes closing as he prepared to sneeze.

[mvrcutios]

— INTRODUCING:

➺ Alexandre Preston as  M𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔬

Hi everyone! I’m Olivia, 24 from the pst timezone !! I love romantic foreign films and every incarnation of Skam ever created. Also, tik tok. Way way too much tik tok. This is my interpretation of Mercutio (loml tbh), Alexandre! A pretty boy with charm and brains and you bet your ass he knows it. Portrayed by the beaut that is Maxence Fauvel,  i’m genuinely filled to the brim with muse for this boy so, without further ado, time for the main event! (as he prefers to be lbr )

name: alexandre henri preston

age: 21

birthday: July 28th, 1998

gender: male

pronouns: he/him

degree: double major of business & music composition (father currently aware of the 1st)

zodiac: leo.

languages: fluent in french & italian, attempting to swear in russian and japanese.

hobbies: piano, cello, running, sex, parties, reading

vices: whiskey, gin, socialites, card games, fast cars, midnight symphonies, menthol cigarettes

pinterest is here !!

the aesthetic: Dom Pérignon, lipstick stained shirt collars, blue eyes with darkened circles, menthol cigarettes, 2am melodies on a piano down the hall, bruised knuckles, hotel balconies, strobe lights and heavy bass, macarons flaked in gold, lips pressed to cheeks, 3am club invitations, lingering eyes, too bright smiles, bitten bruises soothed with a tongue,shattered mirrors, ripped fingernails, screaming into the silent night, laughter whispered into skin, pills pressed to tongues,  platinum amex cards, chewed on pens, eyes growing distant, texts left on read, ink over his heart for his maman, naps under campus oak trees, flasks sipped in a lecture hall, hands on hips, backs, and his own throat.

           ➺ but what is in a name?

➺ { Alexandre } : The french translation of Alexander. Defender of Man. The irony of a name is not lost on him, nor the man who’d held it. He was named for his maternal grandfather, a man who had sold his soul (and his eldest daughter)  for money, power, name, all under the guise of the importance of family. A name meaning man of honor. Certainly a strong name for a boy who’d been born to rule a soiled throne, but content to find ways to sneak sweets from the kitchen, trick a smile from his mother as she stared out the window yet again. But defenders are not born, no.They are made, and from the moment blue eyes opened for the first time he was destined to be just that. Made. Into his father’s visions, his mother’s dreams. And Xandre is no fool. All he wants — no, rather. All he desires from life is simple. Everything.

➺ { Henri } Ruler of households. Once again nothing but irony for a boy who grew up wanting for nothing in life, but knowing the expectations were to be just that. A leader. Who would be the one to tell him that the throne he was set to rest upon was built on the blood and bones of the lesser fortunate? More importantly, who would teach him to care?

➺ { Preston } Meaning priest, settlement, enclosures of God. Carried to England from Normandy after the great conquest. A name befitting to the family who in some circles considered themselves holier than most. Gods among men. Who turned whiskey to gold, words to bank notes, and blood into power. If you were a Preston, people knew it. And what could be better than that?

   ➺ for he  is the devil in every detail                

➺ ( + ) He was a boy of pressed shirts and dark windswept waves. Blue eyes that sparkled of mischief and peels of laughter that echoed down marbled halls. He was Alexandre Preston, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the world at his feet. Who when he smiled, his entire face lit from within and led to that hint of the  devil sparkling just so from that gaze of his. Who smelled of citrus and whiskey and a bite of mint. Who adored beauty, in life and what it had to offer him. A man who’d grown into his looks and was taught by a wise mother just how to use them, a well placed kiss to a cheek or brush of skin, eyes meeting across a room enough to give them what they desired and more than ever, what he craved. He was tall, dark and oh so handsome, and knew how to get just what he wanted. Born with his father’s intellect and drive for more, padded by his mother’s beauty and ability to wield it for the weapon it could be. It made him anything but a bore, a useless first son too afraid to grasp what was before him. No, Xandre knew his fate. But in the meantime, he lived his life how he chose. If dearest dad was none the wiser, well. What’s the harm?

➺ ( + ) But let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? Born on a warm evening in late july, Alexandre Henri was destined to be the only child of Simon Preston and Violette Dupont. A product of two passionate individuals and a loveless marriage, Xandre’s mother was the eldest daughter to a man of debt. The Dupont family had in name what they lacked in capital and with a marriage between Violette and Simon, had everything to gain. Xandre’s birth was a bright burst of fleeting color for a mother who felt caged into the world she’d sold herself to, doting on the little boy and doing what she could to leave him with a part of her, a piece of her own waning soul. Where Simon was boastful, she was wicked, demure. Where he was aggression, she was soft sighs and whispered curses. Two sides of  what lead to be a machiavellian son. Destined to rule with a gilded fist and fleeting, passionate heart.

➺ ( + ) He was put into lessons as a boy to dwindle that energy that thrummed with his every step, sports and arts and languages but they were fleeting moments of time, hobbies cast aside once the obsessive grip of his mind released them. But his mother’s love of piano rang true to his blood, picking up the instrument even with some difficulty. It bothered him so, to have something he couldn’t master with minimal effort. It required a honed drive, a passion and ethic to create something magnificent through nothing more than hard work. It fueled him, the boy almost manic with the late hours he spent alone in the sun room, fingers dancing along keys and cursing with every missed note. As he grew, so did the realization that it was not something you could master. The great composers themselves went mad with trying. It was a never ending race, and one he still holds steadfast this very day. It is as much a part of him as anything could be. Alexandre is meant to be a leader, Alexandre blows thousands on parties and card games, Alexandre needs music like air to rattling lungs. His current double major at Ashcroft is a direct result. If he’s to live out this new version of day to day, he’ll do as he pleases. As long as his father remains where he belongs, ignorant as the rest are.

➺ ( + ) if music was a stronghold, most everything else in his world was a passing fancy, aimless ways to spend time and money and have fun in this life he was so destined to lead. High school meant parties and fun, learning the intricacies of the body and passion as girls and boys alike came and went from white rumbled sheets. For his mother had taught him to wield beauty for what it was; a weapon. And oh, did he learn with the best. A university career begun at Oxford (if only to spite his father), where the real fun began, nights spent in club after club until the sun rose again, liquor fueled nights of passion and fun, barred from certain clubs and embraced at others, heavyweight card games and street races with a bottle of dom in hand. Started a gambling ring in his dorm hall until the RA caught wind a year later. (But he eventually joined, so no harm no foul) He was at an all time high, never fearing the inevitable crash to follow. He welcomed it like an old friend, navigated the highs and lows with a long learned finesse. Now in Edinburgh, he chases the residual high with his normal vigor, finding drinking buddies to waste an evening with, occasional bodies to slip into his too high thread count sheets.

➺ ( + )  The very definition of love ‘em and leave ‘em. Xandre doesn’t do true relationships, has never truly given his heart to someone in any form. He doesn’t believe in it, the type of love that makes people do such foolish things. He does foolish things just fine on his own, heart be damned. He can be passionate, charming, attentive lover at the best of times, possessive fool at the worst of times. He loves to feel desired, wanted, needed even. But never aims to be someone’s entire world. That type of need, that type of love does nothing but wound. And every wound he will ever have will be of his own creation. Has had more than a few flings, even reoccurring instances of women or men a few times in a row. But the connections are shallow, surface deep. You don’t need to witness his soul to get into his bed, afterall.

➺ ( + )  It was all a beautiful distraction from the blood that stained every letter of his name. His cousin was allowed to live in blessed ignorance of the family means, but Xandre, he was thrown headfirst into the lion’s den and came out grinning, the truth of it never leaving past blood stained lips. He isn’t resentful of that fact. A part of him feels it was always meant to be this way. If his cousins were the sun, he was the endless night, the whispers of shadows and secrets meant to withstand. For he could take it, surely. Right?

➺ ( + ) while his fate may be anything but up for debate, he is anything but a too willing participant. Being at Oxford meant enough distance to gain a bit of the freedom he craved. The night his father was arrested, Alexandre was doing what was normal, even on a tuesday evening. Partying at a local hotspot four bottles deep in champagne and whiskey, pills pressed to lips in between fevered kisses of a woman who’s name escaped him the next morning. Sweetened black coffee in hand as he watched his phone buzz over and over, the news blaring the headline of what he’d always known would come to fruition. But his father was still kicking, and so the heavy head who bears the crown was not yet his own. So he went about his day, his week, his months. Until, octavia.

➺ ( + ) his cousins were the siblings he’d never had, and for a man who doesn’t truly believe in intricacies of love he loves them with all he has in him. Wolfie the brother he’d craved, the two stirring trouble with every laugh as they raced down the cavernous halls of their homes. Days spent listening to his whispered dreams, his own a hollow echo in response to the passion that thrummed from his cousin’s. The lectures of his poor influence never bothered him, his role had always been rather set after all. The shadow to the sun. Was he ever to be a leader? Possibly. But he was never born of the responsibility and dreams that lingered over his cousin, never expected to amount to anything rather spectacular beyond the built business reputation and blood that soaked the name Preston. He was too impulsive, too passionate to have it beaten from his bones, just always a little too much.

➺ ( + ) And Octavia – she held a special place in his heart. Daddy’s little girl, it was easy to see how she could bat her lashes and smile her smile and let the world fall at her feet. He admired it, respected it even. Game always has to appreciate the game. She and her brother leaving for Ashcroft was a blow he hadn’t anticipated, for they’d always had one another, the two musketeers and the girl who fought to be anything but a shadow. It was an unfamiliar ache, missing them. And with Octavia now gone, that ache has grown tenfold. Morphed into anger for what he knew she was up to, for somehow somewhere, she’d pissed off the wrong people to where even the Preston name couldn’t quite save her soul. But her essence is everywhere, haunting the halls and whispering in ears. It’s all so very dramatic, so very her. He’d pour one out for her if he didn’t think she’d simper about his distaste for wasted wine. Her spirit was a mild comfort, a balm over a roughened wound. a bigger amusement than anything, a middle finger to those who’d ended her bright existence. A Preston knew how to fuck you over, that was made all the more clear with each report of her sightings. And god, did he love her for it.

➺ ( + ) and that at the very crux of it all, is what has brought him to ashcroft. A new scene for parties, new faces, and a remaining cousin who could use a shoulder to lean on. & those all look lovely on paper, but the fine print? Always read it carefully. For the smiles and charm are all Violette without a doubt. But the danger that lingers, the passion and fire that fuel his soul and border on the precipice of mania? Alexandre is Simon Preston’s son, that was never to be denied for long. And someone has wronged them all, taken things they had no right to take. Someone he considered to be a part of his heart. He doesn’t take kindly to such things, and so to Ashcroft he’s come. He is passion, recklessness, a hidden grief fueled by fleeting love wrapped in a shiny veneered package. He’s here to revel, to discover, to maybe even punish. If deemed necessary. Blood will always be blood, and for a man who’s always willing to go a little too far? It is all that remains.

➺ ( + ) as for what has qualified him for such a prestigious society upon his enrollment well, that is a mystery to some and a hard headline to others. His family’s connections? His relation to Wolfie? His letters of transfer from his classical composition professors back in London? As far as Xandre is concerned, it’s nothing more than a certain Oberon Ashcroft seeing he has a role to play, and one he plays rather well. Unassuming at first, a disarming charm soothing the blunt edges of his words. He says what he feels, and what he knows must be said. And due to that, he knows his worth, what he brings to the table. Knows how poorly it would look if he hadn’t been inducted. He brings a good time, a laugh, a chance to rebel against the societal norms and oppressions that leak from every pore of Ashcroft. But he also brings a weighted name, a wicked ability to decipher through the purple prose people can preach, to the truth at the core of it all. And he plays a mean Chopin, what can he say?

➺ ( + ) there is no way to wrap up all that he is, to summarize a man who is nothing short of a dichotomy, a symphony in fractured parts. Perhaps a jekyll and hyde of his own making, two heads of the same beast he wielded within his soul. for there was something to be said of being seen, eyes drawn to your every move, to feel the power of being adored, desired, craved. He is the devil on your shoulder, crooning saccharine words and screaming in triumph in a breadth. A gleam of mania tinging those baby blues when he pushes just so to get his way. He is that very symphony, a concerto who’s pace continues to drive faster and faster, upward and onward until its very PEAK, a cacophony of beauty and agony as notes ring out, clash, COLLIDE. and then, the briefest moment of silence. He has discovered the distractions his body can wield, but also the power to be found in stillness, in silence. At his lowest he craves it, aches to be surrounded by masses just once more to drown out the roaring in his mind, to draw it to ecstasy, to blissful silence. All leading up to the final, ringing note. Before the applause, of course. never deny yourself the applause. That had always been Lesson One.

                          ➺    A LETTER TO OCTAVIA:

Tavia —

Where do I start? You always knew how to make an entrance, tav. should’ve figured your exit would be the same. But…why the fuck wouldn’t you call me? Why wouldn’t you tell me the extent of just how bad shit had gotten so quickly? You knew no matter what I said, or how I complained or warned you off to be careful I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. You didn’t have to do this alone. I should’ve seen that and come the first time you called. Don’t haunt me for that. And that police chief mentioned a baby, Tav. You never– me of all people would have understood. You were the only one I ever told about Clara, how my dad paid her off. You never judged me for him, you understood. Let me get wasted and cry it out in that shitty suite in London. We could have made a club of it, you and me. Poor little Rich kids with secret kids. Poetic, no?  Poetic justice is bullshit in hindsight. And I just really, really miss you.

I’m sure everyone in these letters are telling you the reasons they adored you, how they’ll never forget you, the wild memories they’re sharing with you, that they say they’ll never forget. I don’t need to say all those things. You know I do, and you know I won’t forget. You’re a part of my heart, as battered and shriveled as we liked to joke it is. But apparently death makes us sentimental fools, so here’s this for you, because it’s 4am and the memory won’t leave my mind no matter how many times I close my eyes. That summer we spent, all of us, vacationing in that house on the riviera. Remember? I spent the day running around the grounds with Wolf and we’d laugh and tease like elder brothers do when you’d seek us out, pouting those lips and crocodile tears until we included you in our games. But when the sun set and dinner was long gone, you’d drag me into the tea room with that baby grand in the corner and demanded I play. You always were a determined thing, you brat. But you’d smile that smile and even I couldn’t fight the urge to sit and play your favorites.You sang along and danced and danced and danced until you were breathless with it. Only you could make dancing to britney fuckin’ spears look like an artform you know? You’d call me your co-star, and never let me hate myself for the mistakes, never laughed if I stumbled on a note. You were my biggest supporter that summer, but I was only one of your many adoring fans. That’s how it was supposed to be. That won’t change, I promise.

( A few tears stain the edges of that previous paragraph, angry, bitter droplets that he wipes away and slips the paper further to defend the onslaught of them. He sighs deeply, clears his throat. )

And look at you now, huh? Haunting your friends and your brother with the best of ‘em. Leave it to you to find a way to remain the star of the show even in death. I can see how it’s unravelling them. The ones who look too pale to be innocent, everyone here has a fucking secret. Thanks to you maybe we’ll see them all sooner than later. And what fun that’s gonna be. But do me a favor and haunt some hot freshman for me, will you? Whisper sweet nothings of my beauty in their ears, make it a good one. I’ll owe you one. You know I’m good for it.

I’ll watch over Wolfie. Of course I will.  I’ll get him piss drunk at that club you mentioned last time we talked, bring a few lines and a bottle of dom all just for you, gorgeous. I’m here now for him, for you. I’m here for what I should have done from the beginning. If you had to leave him —had to leave us, it won’t be for nothing.

I miss you, cherie. Visit me tonight in my dreams, alright? You can dance for me, I’ll play you a song.

We’ll make it a happy one, for old times sake.

                                                     -Xandre

[survivorreelsmagicwithin]

Episode 1B - “I'm praying to Yoncé I survive and don't get first boot.”-Jess

no words.

LITERALLY

NO WORDS.

Two points. TWO FUCKING POINTS.

I'm praying to Yoncé I survive and don't get first foot. That ain't a cute look xoxox

i'm already forgetting to search for the idols, i'm already getting paranoid about if i need to start making alliances instead of just enjoying the really cute convos i'm having with ruthie lily and kevin (max is kinda dry and annoying but... we'll try to make it work ig).... and i'm already hating every challenge we do especially this one although i actually really liked the challenge it was so creative and fun, i just hated that i have bad luck and am stupid with the deduction things, HENCE why i havent looked for the idol yet. LOL. so.... tl;dr - things are going perfectly! this hufflepuffle is workin exactly as he should!

I just wanna say we really are the hufflepuffs. 114 moves in like 5 hours, but we did it.  Really proud of Ruthie, Landen, Kevin, Max, and I! Sending positive vibes to slytherin. Hope they are okay in this madness.

Yo my tribe? Kinda dope. I think that everyone worked really well together today! I think Joanna kinda took the lead and some of her ideas were... a choice. But! It got us first place! I think that this tribe has a good shot of getting to swap unscathed.

With Slytherin going to tribal, I really hope that someone I don’t know goes, but at the same time I’d be okay with Jess going? I feel like she’s such a sleeper threat in most games I’m in with her and I really just don’t want to compete with that this time around.

I kind of snapped and got myself an idol good until final 6 teehee.

I knew that the Snape's letter or writing or whatever that freak was up to was SOMETHING. Did I get lucky... hell fucking yeah.

A crackhead like me SHOULD NOT have all this POWER.

I also gave Jacob literally the worst clue ever because we are sharing clues ladies xoxoxo

The clue was:

"Snape is taken aback. “That wouldn’t be any business of yours now would it? I wouldn’t want to find out you are spreading false information. I trust you won’t have any issue with that”. Congrats! You’ve discovered Snape Storyline 2! That’s all for the moment, and will end your search for this round."

BOTH ARE HALF TRUE. Just in case he doesn't put 2 and 2 together and now I went from place to place on purpose. He's gonna think now I gave him something of value and I know he's gonna think "No way someone go an idol on day fucking 3".

CONFESSIONAL 1.1 — Walking into the Great Hall, I saw a few familiar faces... for not good reasons!

First Jacob, who I know from tengaged. He and I were in a similar friend group for a short period before he left it, but we had a rocky relationship. We flirted a bit (blame 16-year-old Nicholas), but that is in the past.

Secondly, Jess... who I just directly sent home in Eve’s The Challenge: Fresh Meat. She did not have great words to say to me (such as I’m condescending), so I was very wary and, honestly, unhappy with her being here.

But, as Kylie Minogue says, it’s better the devil you know.

Flash forward to the Sorting Ceremony, and I’m so happy to be.. Slytherin? I told Mister Vintage (Sammy) and Mister Heinen (Caeleb) that I’m either a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but I suppose I’ve been lying to myself.

Then, I see my tribe: both Jess and Jacob are present. This is a curse wrapped in a blessing wrapped in an enigma. And, I love it.

I hate, hate, hate conflict and bad vibes, so I directly spoke to both. Jacob did not easily recognize me, but remembered me fondly; so, a successful reacquaintance. Jess, on the other hand, was definitely more apprehensive (as was I), but I made one thing clear: the past is the past, and I am declaring my loyalty.

I have been hurt in previous games by shoving the past aside while the other is still grudgingly aiming for revenge, but I feel Jess is different. She apologized to me about her words, which did hurt, and I apologized to her. What I said was honest, so I’m glad to see a fateful blossoming.

The first reward challenge is revealed, and honestly, I’m really bad at participating in pre-merge competitions, because I do not mind tribal. However, I do want to, since we are such a small tribe, focus on maintaining our numbers in case of a swap. We came in second this reward, and honestly, I’m glad to have eaten cupcakes (although I hate cherry). The fact we all chose a dessert and were privately messaged makes me assume someone received an advantage, but who knows...

What I DO know is that I had two separate relationships, so I wanted to lock a trio down (Me, Jess, Jacob), but I obviously did not want to gamebot this early and make the chat day one. So, naturally, i waited until after immunity.

Speaking of immunity... I took charge, because I like it, but also, I wanted to be able to take blame if we lost. I hate the whole “let’s vote someone out cuz they cost us a virtual challenge” this early in the game, it’s a cheap way to vote. I want to vote on loyalty and activity instead. That’s why I am probably going to target Jessie or Vi, but I‘m unsure as to which will be my vote. On one hand, Vi is much less social, but she also contributed a lot to the challenge. I do not want to judge a book by it’s cover, so I will reach out to her and assess her vibe.

I like going to tribal first, because my philosophy is that it’s better to test loyalties now, rather than guess loyalties later.

Regarding other players, Jules and Juls just played in a mini with me and sheeped the majority alliance to screw me over, so I’m not feeling them right now. Bitterness doesn’t exist in my mind: play well and I respect it; sheep and be stupid, and I will gladly dish out the karma. 

I’m satisfied with the happenings of this game so far, and I hope to make it further!! This is one of my first real orgs so, I’m em definitely excited. x. nick

Yay we won immunity. Raffy do be carrying our tribe though!

WELL WELL WELL!!!!!!! as far as my relationships go which is where i left off last round, really nothing much has changed about how i feel about or view my tribemates, but in exciting news... we won immunity!! i am not going to be first boot that is so nice, and im hoping that we can keep winning immunity until a swap so I can feel more secure. I think I could stand a shot if we lost on this tribe but i think if so the vote would split 3-2 i dont think i can get a unanimous vote on anyone unless its myself which is NOT WHAT WERE TRYNA DO HERE !! if anything i feel like i have the best chance to wiggle myself in with the girls (lily and ruthie) Max would probably be my ideal first vote if we ever lose an immunity because I know landen can be useful in challenges, but he YET AGAIN addressed me with a name that does not sit well with me he called me a "challengewhore" yet another reference to TS 2020, so this is not a good sign. Ideally I could get landen out and still be set but i know he has a relationship with juls who i also have a relationship with and wish to continue to have in this game, and us going against each other could make that more stressful than it needs to be because i know landen avenged beck for voting juls out maybe juls would do the same for him? Much to think about, but thankfully i dont have to think about it all that hard because yet again we ARE SAFE !!! woo, anyways thats pretty much it hopefully we can keep winning :D

Ahhhh safety feels so nice, I’m glad that I’m not in danger of being the first boot. Also I love the fact that ravenclaw won the first challenge with so little moves HAHA!

I want to go far in this thing with lily and with kevin, my goal right now is to get to merge and owen be alive so I can work with him!

I am very happy to have won this immunity challenge. We barely won, but I managed to pull my tribe to a victory. Emphasis on the "I" part. I am very frustrated with my tribe's lack of challenge activeness and ability. If the time did not work for them, then I do not know why they even suggested doing it at 2 PM. This challenge would have gone faster if I had done everything myself. In the end, though, I hope this helps in me staying in the game because I am a necessity if they want to ever win a challenge in first place. I highly doubt that they could do it without me.

So I’m currently writing this with one hand because my cat decided to lie on my other one  anyways Nobody is really talking about the vote which means it’s probably me going but I’ll see what I can do to change that

Here's a breakdown of my first few experiences since I am writing this a few hours before the first tribal council.

FIRST I was cast in this game along with a BUNCH of people that are icons across different formats of Tumblr Survivor - so that's intimidating. Mostly because my play style is kinda vanilla in comparison. I gotta find a way to stand out or I'm going to be thrown out fast.

SECOND There's a twist that will probably have some major effect at some later point in the game where everyone is added to the Great Hall. I think that it's for convenience of posting things like results and challenges so it only has to be sent to one chat... but also so that we can feel THEMATIC which is a lot of fun.

The game started in the Great Hall and we got sorted into our houses and the implication was that it's random but.. I don't think it's entirely true if I can read into what the hosts said to me once I was sorted into Gryffindor (something about running out of room in Hufflepuff) - because I definitely didn't say Gryffindor in my application.

THIRD My tribe has the following people: Joshua, Juls, Raffy, Autumn, and myself. 

I do not know how many of theme said Gryffindor when they applied but also did not want to bring it up to them as I am masquerading as a brave idiot. :D

Anyway, I started conversations with all of them and they all seem very sweet!!

I've played in a game before with Raffy where he was super snakey but also a great ally until he tried to snake me. So there's that... he's also an "over the top" type of person so he takes charge a lot of the time and voices his opinions about everything. I hope we can create some sort of working relationship in the game, but I think that he will tell me the truth if he does align against me.

Autumn is super chill and super strategic-minded. She puts lots of thought into all of her decisions and makes calls that benefit her getting to the end while trying to align with the right people. If I can't get to the FTC of this game... TBH I want to make sure she gets there. I played with her in one game and we both were tossed out one after another when the game turned on our "side". I don't think that relationship will factor into this game as it was forever ago and we both kinda play "new" every time we start a game but I'm hoping she will want to try and play with me just because I've seen how great she is at the game.

Juls is a very fun person who seems to always be having a great time! I found out she lives in Texas too and that she was excited to get to know me because we are from the same state. I was like.. do I know you? Because when she messaged me the way she did implied that she knew who I was and I was thinking OH NO what have people said.

Joshua seems really sweet. He hasn't added incredibly much to conversations so far with him but he has contributed some fun things. I love that he tries to be entertaining, but as I see it so far he's the first person I'd be willing to vote out if it came to our tribe going to council... though of course, having said that I bet they've all declared me their first choice.

FOURTH The reward challenge was the Letter plus Number challenge so as predicted...

I did terribly and earned 0 points for our tribe and was SO happy it was not for immunity.

The immunity challenge was a Choose Your Own Adventure Puzzle.

We got a slow start in that I feel like everyone was afraid to make a move because that would put a target on whoever "failed for the team". Then me and Raffy kind of got things rolling with him taking the main leader role and me taking on a secondary role either agreeing with his suggestions or contributing a suggestion for what we should do.

There was a misunderstanding with the competition and we ended up making a whole bunch of extra moves because it was unclear to us that the letters we found at a later part of the challenge were able to be changed into numbers at a lockbox so we did a bunch of extra stuff... and I was resigned to the fact we were going to the first tribal when we go surprised that Slytherin... DID WORSE!!! O_O

Anyway... I still have no alliances or confirmed "working game" relationships and I really don't feel like starting those conversations at the moment so if I am out of the ones established or on the bottom of one that will add me to "pick me up" for later votes then I blame myself for not trying hard enough in that category.

FIFTH I definitely didn't just now search for the idol and waste two days that I could have searched other times. Nope! Not me!! :)

Anyway I went on a trip to Hagrid's Hut because I love me some Hagrid and I figured he'd let me in since I"m a Gryffindor and he loves us the best (you know, like a reverse Snape)... I dug through all of his junk and found his umbrella. Apparently I liked that it was pink and then left his hut. 

To be honest, I probably should have taken his dragon's egg and turned him in... maybe could have gotten him fired.

Someone finally got me to come out of retirement- can you believe it

It's been cute so far and I have no complaints, probably cause the hosts wisely put me, Owen, and Dan in separate corners lmao. Yooo if we all make it to merge?? Hell hath no fury. But we will cross that bridge when we get there! And for now I enjoy the calm before the storm. I deadass forgot how to be an org so I need all the time I can get to socialize and reacclimate. Me checking Skype more than once a year? Don't remember ever doing that. I love Raffy, it's always good to see Chips, I think I like Juls, and I'm not sure how I feel about Joshua but it's fine. I like Gryffindor cause we have no beef and I hope it stays that way.

ok so my tribe lost :( big sad. but im def ok bc jess is soooo close to me and we made a threesome with nick so. i think jessie is an easy first boot bc shes not around as much as vi. but really its our decision at the end of the day!

here’s the hot goss.. i’m a little upset i didn’t get anyone i Know on my house/tribe but also grateful HSBSNSNN all i know is that so far i’ve been doing pretty solid in securing relationships with those on my team (at least.. i hope so :flushed:) and i’m hoping they all like me hehe. kinda praying to just mist my way to merge where i can be united with people who like me enough to keep me around still.. >:D