#they would barely speak to each other and hold each other in the highest regards

[iguessitsjustme]

I think these two should meet actually.

[lacunasbalustrade]

a day with you (updated from my ao3 fic)

A day with you.

Just being able to watch the ebb and fall of your lungs, the way you draw your steady breaths (like you're sketching a picture with your mouth and the quirk of your lips), the pace of your footsteps with their signature assured print, as familiar to the ear as the register of your voice cadence.

Just lazily realising, as you scrawl those characters over the rough texture of paper, how very familiar your habits are. How you click your pen after every third word, how your nib hesitates when you hit the comma and start to move towards the full stop, the bite of your lip that's barely noticeable but leaves such an impression on me.

Just folding my hand into yours like oragami, translucent skin to tan, and reconstructing a pattern over and over again, as we try to move in tandem so our linked arms don't sway awkwardly or end up brushing each other's butts, so our elbows can touch but not bump painfully into each other, so we can feel every inch of our fingers.

Look, we are one entity already.

Just feeding you, hand to mouth, when you're too busy to pick up food yourself, or your hands are dirty. That slight, plump, push of my fingertips against your lips, or yours against mine when you return the favour, tracing a little line from across my void to your heart. Reaching out over an endless space to hold your breath tenderly, pushing in a delicious nugget of my thoughts and my feelings that you swallow, your Adam's apple going up and down in your throat, mine bobbing along.

We are in the same barrel, us apples, red cheeked and rosy.

So simple, and so is everything between us. Mutual trust, unwavering faith, supplemented by the daily words we speak. Watered, fertilised, by the littlest rituals, and to some people outside our circle it could be boring.

But I love learning you.

I love how you blink twice after saying someone's name.

I love how you slam your fist down with your thumb curled up under the rest of your fingers, a martial artist's habit, a souvenir from the days that were darker than you can shake. Those days that are now washed away like stains on linen disappear as we hang them up to dry, shake them out to fold.

Small domesticies, and what I would not give to keep your jaw as it works into your characteristic ' figuring something out ' scowl, that scowl you only pull out when you have to hang something without it blowing into your face or off the line on a windy day.

You splutter as the clothes disobey, and I confess I take too much pleasure in watching your agonized expression as you two wrestle, as you tussle.

I love knowing you better than you know yourself, knowing you in a way only I am permitted to, only I am permitted to witness, only I can bear knowledge of.

And I love watching you change, the same way seasons fade and the day wanes to night, standing by your side as the glow of the rising sun in your eyes silhouettes and returns to the halo of the setting sun on your brows. The ability to have your presence affect the way the light falls, the same love in a different context, the same emotions in a completely unrelated experience. These days with you are made of that love, overlapping fingerprints that blur and smudge where they touch each other in a whirlpool of memories.

Some days with you, I believe I will never run out of things to learn, and some days, I believe I have learned everything there is to learn.

Whether or not I have, it does not matter.

Learning you was a choice before, but now it is as much a habit as breathing, a habit I can only break at the expense of my life and sanity.

A day with you. How the wind holds you in the highest regard, stroking your soft skin and curling your hair into the soft foaming waves of the sea. How the cool water leaves your eyelashes dipping under their weight mischievously, lending you a look of pensive amusement that is so unlike you, I laugh. Silence that hangs between us like a scarf because there is no need to reply to each other, the warm way you watch me in return says everything, and silence wrapping around our shoulders connects us like a shelter overhead, the ceiling of a bus stop where rain is splashing outside and around us but we are pleasantly dry despite the goosebumps rising and blooming on the surface of our skin.

The world is so very white in the rain, but your colour alone is enough to make my heartbeat slow down.

A day with you, utilising separate earbuds but listening to the same song, and as we cross the road I softly hum in tandem with you, forming a soft watercolour of sound that bleeds and fades away in a mixture of harmony and contented breaths. We don't need the music to follow each other's rhythm; this is a duet that could continue in the chaos of honking cars.

A day with you, under the clouds without a star to be seen and the waning moon popping through the world's blanket to watch us walk home under this cool blue, exchanging anecdotes from our school bags. A pencil I lent from you, a preserved four leaf clover you asked to see, a tie you have to put on tomorrow but don't know how to, a lollipop I knew you would like but I do not, I have never liked hard candies that crunch beneath my teeth. Shorthand conversations about cards and video games, plenty of terms like that no stranger could decipher if they walked up behind us, that fit as perfectly as if we are plants with tangled roots that wind around each other, cannot live without each other, cannot withstand the slightest breeze without toppling into the grass. We don't have anything like boundaries, all we have is communication and bursts of emotion that more than make up for any accidental transgressions between us, transgressions that I would unequivocally forgive you for and that you would, I am sure, hold to your heart as proof that we still have so much more to memorise and smoothen over with each other, that we still have a road you refuse to abandon.

More reasons for you to keep saying 'Mornin.' and for me to say 'G'night'.

And that is so much more than anything the rest of the world can offer us, warped up with assumptions and expectations that we could never bear by ourselves.

Days with you.

A day with you that I can put my heart into.

[delu-jean]

Hey! For your event can I have giyuu or rengoku for 45? That’s one of my favorite songs 💕. (female reader)

𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰

Giyuu x (fem!/reader) -> Fluff -> 1.2k 

Lyrical Prompt: -> “I want to love me, the way that you love me. Oh, from all of my pretty, and all of my ugly too, I love it when I see me from your point of view,” POV (Ariana Grande)

(Regarding Lyrics): If bolded and slanted (eg: you), they’re lyrics being said. If not (eg: you), then they’re just lyrics/text! 

Notes: 

-> I wanted to do Rengoku originally, but Giyuu was running though my minddd~

-> Thank you for requesting for the event! If you would like to request, please press the hyper link for the “100 Followers Event,” and read the rules! Thanks, and enjoy!! ^^ 

You stared at Giyuu as he glanced out the window. Such a calm, and reserved young man. One of which you adored. He was just so perfect in every aspect. From his stance, the way he spoke, the way his eyes lit, to the way his hands were placed. He truly was a piece of art, one of the more rarer pieces that was showcased to you (luckily). And not only was his presence a gift, but his affection also. 

Giyuu has always handled you with care. Treating you the utmost best he could, even with his duties, and own life in the way. For him, how could he not? You were an extraordinary person. One of which he never dreamed of meeting until you appeared...right in front of him. Speaking of your meeting, it was one he would never forget. 

It's like you got superpowers

Turn my minutes into hours 

At that moment, everything seemed to have stood still. It truly felt like a spell was cast as the word “hello” had escaped from your lips. He was awe stricken. From the way your hand had waved, to the way your hair had swayed. All of you had captivated him, and for once, did time stop. Making that small amount of time feel like an eternity. One of which he hoped would extend, and hopefully, become something more. 

Fortunately for him, that’s exactly what happened. As the more time passed, the more he had fallen for you. Not only did the beauty in your appearance hook him, but so did the compassion in your heart. 

The kindness, selflessness, and passion it held for others, was something astonishing. Something he hadn’t seen in a while, especially in the field of demon slaying. Even when you took the lives of demons, just like Tanjirou, you also felt sympathetic for those beings. Yet instead of wallowing about their tragedy, you instead showed them the better of it. Some listened, and others couldn’t because the pain was too much to bear. Regardless, you did your best to show your intention through your actions. 

Executing each and everyone of them, with grace at the slash of your blade. Not only did you do your best to understand them, but you also did your best to understand others. Though it was a challenge for some people, it felt natural for you to explore more about Giyuu. Not only that, but he felt at ease when you opened closed doors which he had shut. Finding the knob to each individually, ready to repair the damage done. 

 Made of glass the way you see through me

He felt so transparent when the both of you talked. As if he was an opened book especially reserved for you. Though you thought your talent was nothing special, he found it to be an impressive accomplishment. He hadn’t opened up to anyone after the late passing of Sabitou, and his sister. Even so, there he was...with you. Telling you the littlest details which he hadn’t known he knew, and yet, it seemed that you knew more about him then he knew himself. 

So much that you could have elaborated his thoughts, memories, stories, and over all, read him to the bare of his soul. Understanding his feelings, along with his own mindset. Seeing as to why he acted a certain way, and the hurt that also tagged with the path of his choices. Though you hadn’t known him much, it seemed like you already knew him in and out. Which made him think: 

‘You know me better than I do’ and that he couldn’t seem to keep nothing from you.

In truth, Giyuu was scared. Scared that after revealing who he was, that something was bound to happen. Not to him, but to you. It seemed to be a cycle which he was stuck in. After letting someone in, they would make their way out...but in the utmost cruel, and gruesome of ways. Even so, when he attempted to let you go, you’d always come back. Re-entering his life as you wanted to know him more, and so did he want to know you. 

It made your interactions special, heartwarming, and even heart wrenching at times. All of those small, big, and silly moments which the both of you shared, brought him one step closer to you, and the gracious person you were. 

Over the years you had spent with Giyuu, you took note of who he was as a person. Not only that, but who he saw you were as an individual. You saw his efforts that came to play. Ones which were ever so considerate. Though he was timid and quiet at first, the more time you spent with him, not only did he open his mind, but his heart as well. 

I wanna love me (ooh) 

The way that you love me (ooh) 

Opening his arms to envelope you in the warmest of hugs, showing you how much he appreciated your talks, and showering you in the utmost affection. He truly did love you, and held you to the highest of his priority. Although there were times where you had doubted yourself, had disliked parts of you, or just weren’t having the best time with who you were, his actions would remind you of the self-worth you had. Not only that, but the love he also had. Love that was handmade, and tailored just for you. 

Ooh, for all of my pretty

And all of my ugly too

He adored you no matter what. From the days where your confidence had reached the roof, to the moments where it hadn’t so much, he made sure to show his appreciation. Cheering you up, or cheering you on, though not in the most loudest way, it was done the way he sought best. Knowing that it would lighten you up no matter what. He loved seeing a smile painted on your face. A structure with the softest, and pinkest lips, along with a majestic grin. One of which he had oozed over, and would smile with himself. 

Regarding arguments with you, no matter who came first after a fight, you both would make it up to each other. For him, personally, he would hold you in the moment. Letting you know that he was both sorry, and there for you. No matter what would had happened, and no matter what was yet to come. For all he knew, losing you was an option left in your hands, and knowing that, he did all he could to cling onto you. Knowing that you would do the same since that’s just who you were. 

A beautiful lady who would stand beside him, no matter thick or thin. You were there for him, ready to love him just as much as he adored you. Just one of the few things he admired about you. 

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do

It was true, nobody had ever loved you the way Giyuu had. Though your love wasn’t the most vocal, it was definitely the most precious. His perspective of you was one he held very dear to himself. He made it clear, and would continuously do so. 

All of that was seen from his actions alone. If his actions were that expressive, just imagine what his thoughts had held. Yes you were able to read him, but only Giyuu truly knew the way he thought...along with his affection for you. Knowing that sometimes made you think: 

‘I'd love to see me from your point of view.’

[tonesplash]

painkiller (leah clearwater x reader)

@super66legends87​ asked:

Hi! Can you do a Leah Clearwater x fem!reader where reader used to be good friends with Leah. When Leah shifts they stop talking and reader goes into the forest to take pictures to relieve stress, but catches Leah shifting. Thanks!

pairing: leah clearwater x reader

warnings: cursing, imprinting,kissing

a/n: whew i never thought i’d get this done. I have never written for leah before and think i need a refresher but i hope you like it! i dont think i used any gendered terms for the reader but this feels p sapphic to me lol. named after the beach bunny song of the same name.

Y'know, with how temperamental Leah had been the past few weeks before she completely ditched you, you'd think you wouldn't miss her as badly as you do now. You'd heard from her brother that their dad had passed away, but you hadn't been invited to any kind of funeral, and from then on, any calls to the Clearwaters went unanswered. 

Recently, it'd seemed that all of your friends on the reservation were too busy for you. Always ignoring calls or coincidentally busy on the days you'd wanted to hang out, going so far as dropping out of school so you couldn't even confront them then. You'd thought what you'd had with Leah was different, that despite the changes you'd both been going through that you'd miraculously stick it out and finally get to tell her how you feel. Evidently, it was too late for that.

So you threw yourself into your art. Photography had always been a nice outlet for you. Whenever you became stressed or upset, driving out into the mossy woods of Forks, Washington, and capturing the sights was as good as a long talk with someone you trust. And since she was apparently too busy, this was your next best bet.

You pull off of your favorite backroad outside of city limits and climb out with your camera bag in tow, fully prepared to spend the afternoon losing yourself in what the great state of Washington had to offer.

You had just gotten comfortable amongst the roots and rocks when a grey blur came barreling out of the woods. When it staggers to stop, you can see that it's a massive wolf. With gargantuan paws and lengthy but muscled legs that lead to an absolute barrel of a chest. Your camera slips between your fingers in your shock.

Its hindquarters are to you, and it looks to be in pain, stumbling to the side and violently throwing its head back and forth before its form shrinks and flinches down to the forest floor, leaving in its place the bare crumpled form of your best friend. You sit up in surprise to get a closer look.

"Leah?"

The choppy hair of her head whips with it as she faces you, blushed red with exertion, and stained in angry tears, as she glares at you over your shoulder before her eyes soften with something you’d never seen directed from her at you before.

All at once, you are tackled to the forest floor. She seems to have grown a foot in your time apart, body corded in lithe muscle, so unlike the slender girl you knew before. Leah's stern expression doesn't match the tone of her voice as she keeps you pinned beneath her.

"You can't tell anyone, and I mean ANYONE, what you just saw." Your shock keeps you still and silent, like a deer in headlights, and when your brain continues to short circuit, she leans closer to speak quietly, her hair tickling your cheeks. Her scent and overwhelming heat immediately encompass you, leaving something warm and fuzzy to grow inside you.

"Promise me you will keep this a secret." Her voice is uneven and creaky like she'd been crying. You’d never found her more beautiful, cheeks suddenly on fire.

"Yo-” you stutter and pause to swallow. ”Your tits are out." Leah’s resounding laugh washes over you and makes you all fuzzy inside. You feel as if you could pass out. The heat rushing off of her is comforting and suffocating all at once.

"Yes, and they were out last summer when that wave got lucky, (Y/n); I need you to focus."

"I promise not to tell anyone that my best friend turned into a gigantic wolf if she would just put a shirt on." You rush out in one breath, eyes tightly shut. Amidst your disorientation, you still try your best to be respectful.

Later, after Leah had procured a pair of Soffe shorts and a tank top from rifling around in a bush and dressed with your burning face turned away, you both settled in your backseat for a serious talk.

You both start at the same time. 

“Wh-”

“(Y/-)

That’s never happened before. You’ve never felt so out of sync. The emotional overload of the situation is making you jumpy, and you honestly can’t tell what Leah is thinking behind her dark eyes.

“No- you go ahead.” her firm tone leaves no room for argument and after that, the words just fall out. 

“What the hell Leah?” You didn’t mean to yell, and she flinches at your intensity at first, but you press on, incensed by your anxiety. “Do you know how worried I was about you? All I wanted to do was be there for my best friend and you- you shut me out! I thought you’d done something after what happened with your dad! With Sam?” 

 Leah remains silent during your outburst, respectfully listening, but looks like she’s holding herself back with the way her eyes anxiously flit over you. She begins to bounce her leg, shaking the carriage with the corded muscle and you notice for the first time how close your knees are, and it feels like a current is running between the joints, something inside you urging to close the gap, but your ire keeps you from being tender.

“A-and then you show up and you’re a goddamned wolf? Am I fucking dreaming?” Your hand’s card through your hair and nervously run your thighs as your anger turns to sadness.

“Lee… I was in love with you.” Your voice cracks at the admission and suddenly you are looking at your hands, playing with the hem of your shirt. “And you just left. I thought I meant more to you than that,” you admit, quieter.

Suddenly, the backseat feels a whole lot warmer, your tears are welling with emotion before she scoots closer, eyes warm, and you startle, now crowded against the window.

Leah pulls you in gently, first cupping your cheeks and regarding you quietly for a negative reaction before pressing her lips to yours. Your worry dissipates, and you’re just alone with Leah. In that moment there is nothing else but her and you are warm, and safe, and overwhelmingly loved. When she pulls away from the kiss, you can’t help but unconsciously follow before it breaks off. She lingers, propping one arm on the seat to support her head as she entwines your fingers. 

“After my dad I just…” She wavers at first but her voice firms up quickly, leveling her gaze with you and gripping your hand tighter in her sweltering hands as she speaks with conviction. “Shut down. And I'm sorry, that wasn't fair to you, and you didn't deserve that.”

“I wanted it to be you, but I couldn’t risk putting myself through that again (Y/n), you have to understand.” You shift uncomfortably, bracing for rejection, but she takes up your other hand in her own and squeezes reassuringly.

“But now I know, you were right here in front of me the whole time!” She says a bit too loudly at first. “It’s you. You’re it for me.” Leah excitedly scoots closer, more animated than you’d seen her in years. She drops one hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, eyes shining with adoration and you’re frozen on the spot.

“I love you.”

She kisses you again, harder this time, and you pull away before you can lose your train of thought again.

 “Leah- what do you mean I’m-” You reluctantly interrupt before she cuts you off with a final peck ,moving to give you room, intense concentration crossing her face.

“Do you remember? What Dad told us about the Spirit Warriors?”

You had spent many a night on the res, sleeping over with Leah to watch Seth or just sit by the fire and listen to the elder’s tales and legends. The night he’d relayed the story you’d both spent chasing each other around the house pretending to be wolves.

“Are you saying you’re….” You trail off, already knowing the answer when she nods, still watching you for a reaction. You guess that’d make the most sense. When you stay silent, she continues.

“And I know this is sudden and confusing, but (Y/n) I swear it will all make sense later.” Leah tangles your fingers again, bringing them to her face to kiss your knuckles nervously before continuing.

“You’re my-” she pauses, hesitating. “my imprint.”

You try your best to take this seriously but the words come out before you can stop them.

“Oh, so we are really in Warrior Cats territory now.” You really need to get some help.

“(Y/n) you are my soulmate and I love you. But if you bring up Warrior Cats to me like that again I will find the highest cliff just to throw you off it.” Her deadpan expression is marred by a smile she can’t fight, so you know you’re safe for now.

“Noted.” You giggle and pull her closer. “Kiss me.”

[lettrespromises]

PLAN À TROIS.— TODOROKI, BAKUGOU.

A.N:

❝ dear reader,

why hello it is i, nikki, back at it again. this post was specifically written thanks to @sasukelore’s big brain, meaning that this one is for the boys with the booming system, top down, AC with the cooler system😔✊🏻. it’s my first attempt at writing smut (which means it’s a direct ticket to hell) so please bare with me, i hope you’ll like it! if you have any feedback, please feel free to send it to me! also, my requests are open for business hehe.

sincerely yours,

nikki.

P.S: “plan à trois” has a double meaning— it means “threesome” in french but it also literally means “a plan involving three people” which is the core of the story, both literally and figuratively. ❞

Genre: Smut. (All three of the characters have been aged up.)

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drugs (but no actual use of drugs), unprotected sex (please use a condom), nudity, spanking, choking, cunnilingus, blow-job, temperature play, threesome, dirty things.

Word count: 6.5k (she’s a big girl, don’t be shy.)

Letter object: One hotel. One gala. One mission. One person to take down. Three heroes. You and Shoto have to play the perfect fake couple to gain your enemy’s trust, the only thing is, Shoto has no clue how to behave as a couple. The unexpected help comes from Ground Zero who seems a bit too impatient and eager to show Shoto how to really treat a lady.

Metaphorically speaking, the heroes are seen as the predators and the villains as the preys, it’s always been that way— an eternal game of hide and seek, which only ends in binary results, either victory or loss. The latest news concerning the hero world had put this little game to a halt: the hushed rise of the anti-quirks drugs were concerning. The enemy was everywhere and nowhere, it was all whispers, a thread of ‘who said what’, mere illusions replaced authentic clues. The rules of the game had been changed into a paradox where the villains became the predators and the heroes were deemed as the preys.

The rule of silence, which could have easily been personified as the ringleader of this dystopic scenario, was cruel— anyone could be suspected of being a link of the drug chain. But fret not, if you were suspected and voices started to echo around louder and louder, a little bit of hush money was the price to pay to reinstate the rule of silence. Anyone could be a culprit, even (or mostly) into the highest spheres of society. Those who are worshipped in an agnostic way, they were on top of the social food chain and, perhaps even, on top of the drug chain. These elites have been very vocal about their will to suppress the almighty authority pro-heroes possess— feeling threatened for their own sake and their own inferiority complex, they were willing to play dirty to be able to rule the country with an iron fist.

The corrupted elites still remained as elites and enjoyed their mondane occupations— galas being one of them. It was a dream opportunity for you as a pro-hero, a room crowded with highly potential culprits served on a silver plate with a cup of champagne to serve as the cherry on the cake.

Stealth missions were highly dangerous if you didn’t have a cover good enough, and treading on the playground of influential people could possibly cost you your career as a pro-hero, but if you managed to succeed, you were bound to bask in glory. Keeping a realistic cover is the number one check on the list entitled “how not to blow up your whole mission and be hated by the rest of the country.” Luckily enough, your agence had already done all the dirty work for you and sent you everything you needed— a flawlessly cut evening attire, a shockingly well-done fake ID and a full file regarding the background of your character, all down to the tiniest details. And I cannot emphasize enough “all” the details...

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Amongst the myriad of details (and some of them were completely unnecessary, I mean, was your favorite fruit really important?), one of them was impossible to ignore. “Shoto Todoroki, really?” His name rolled off your tongue for a reason, you were supposed to play his pseudo fiancée for the night. Your thumb brushed the surface inked with his name, unconsciously wishing that if you were brushing hard enough, his name would disappear and so would your almost wilted high school crush on him.

Your silent complains were cut short, the sound of someone knocking on your door stirred you from the invasion of your thoughts. Then the knocking sound echoed once more. “Just a second!” Has anyone heard of the concept of patience? Waiting a few seconds for someone to open the door isn’t a inhuman task. Eventually (although it could’ve have been funny to let this mysterious person fume because you purposefully took too long), you opened the door to your hotel room and it just felt like you had welcomed a storm in. Much to your surprise, there were two surprise guests, two U.A alumnis just like you— Shoto and Ground Zero.

“Well, shit, were you planning on letting us fucking die in the hallways, woman?! What the fuck took you so goddamn long, ha?” When I mentioned a storm earlier on today, I meant Bakugou Katuski— his annoyance was transcripted upon his face through the frowning of his eyebrows and the wrinkle sitting between them. “It’s good to see you too Bakugou, glad to see you missed me after all this time.” His hands were shoved in his pockets, clearly not keen on listening to your sarcastic remarks nor wearing a tuxedo for the night. “Tch. Keep your smart ass talk to yourself, dumbass.”

You had indeed let a storm invade your hotel room. But unbeknownst to you, you had also welcomed a hypotizing breeze, the polar opposite of Bakugou, and apparently future fiancé for the night: Shoto Todoroki. His facial expression reflected nothing but pure serinity, a signature stoic face which radically clashed with Bakugo’s scowl. Todoroki was so discreet, almost blending his presence with the newfound silence. He was wearing an evening suit of his own, aquamarine was his color after all, it was a known fact since your high school years.

“Y/N, as you may be aware, I am here for the stealth mission. Bakugou is going to accompany us just in case something goes wrong. It was a last minute change, but considering the household names who are going to attend this gala, too much precaution is better than not enough.” Ohh, so that was the reason why the angry gremlin was here. Although, you wondered how Shoto felt about the two of you acting as a fake engaged couple, was he still serene about that? “Yeah, while you two fake lovebirds will be busy eating each other’s faces off, I’m gonna be around to check if there is any intell on these anti-quirk selling bastards.” Each of his word was accompanied by a hand gesture pivoting between you and Shoto and, of course, the same old look of annoyance plastered upon his face. You and Shoto, on the other one hand, appeared a bit surprised at the use of “fake lovebirds”, it just hasn’t sunk in yet... Denial, perhaps?

“Speaking of kissing and shit— you, half and half bastard, do you still have a fucking stick up your ass or do you know how to act in a relationship?!” His interrogation was accompanied with a daring glance thrown in Todoroki’s direction and an eyebrow lifted just to emphasize the characteristic of his question a bit more. A bold question which immediately found its answer from the mouth of Todoroki, needless to say, you felt this remark coming. “Bakugou, you’re the last person here who could pretend having the knowledge necessary to provide relationship advices.” You couldn’t help but let a laugh escape at Todoroki’s remark highlighted by its bluntness, although you quickly changed your mind once you felt Bakugou’s stare landing on you with such rage causing you to hush your laugh by biting your thumb.

“Ha?! What the fuck did you just say, half and half bastard? Use that fucking mouth for yours for good measure and let’s see if you can kiss Y/N correctly. I won’t let this mission be blown up by your stupid ass.” This time, there was a hint of amusement in Bakugou’s voice, it was hard to distinct if he asked that because he truly cared about the mission or if he just wanted to push Todoroki out of his comfort zone. But the ghost of a smirk drawn upon his face seemed to support the second hypothesis.

“Guys, just a second here. I understand why we have to take care of our cover but it’s not like Todoroki and I are going to kiss all night long.” Your gaze alterned between Todoroki and Bakugou, it became impossible to hold your gaze on a fix structure due to how flustered you felt, and soon enough, your cheeks were quick to adopt a rosy tone. “Y/N, are you scared of kissing me by any chance?” You secretly hated the obvious tone of concern in Todoroki’s voice, he was willing to do anything to make this mission a success but also make sure you were comfortable around him. “N-No! It’s just… I don’t mind it.” What a miracle, you finally managed to look at him in the eyes but the blush on your cheeks was as lively as ever. “Then damn, if you don’t mind it just fucking kiss already we don’t have all night, dumbass.” You could tell by Bakugou’s body language that he was growing more and more impatient by the second, his arms were crossed over his chest— he was getting pissed.

Todoroki captured your attention once more when his index brushed the surface of your skin right below your chin while his thumb was carefully set upon your jawline. His orbs shone by their gleam of reassureance, his eyes met yours, as a silent way to ask your for permission and you fluttered your lids shut as an answer. As if it was some kind of second nature to him, his other arm compassed your waist in order to bring you close to him. His lips finally touched yours. Each one of his actions was so soft, you could barely feel them yet, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. His lips were melting ever so perfectly with yours, as if your lips were the sole one which could fit is, you couldn’t help but to hum as the carefulness of his lips overwhelmed you. The kiss was shy, experimental, and yet so agonizing. He was temptingly and agonizingly slow, which only made you crave for more. However, given the lack of oxygen, you had no choice but to (relanctutly) break the kiss. You opened your eyes and basked in Todoroki’s beauty, still in awe at what just happ—… “Oi! Have you ever kissed anyone before, Icyhot? Fucking hell, what was that?!”

Of course this was bound to be expected— the angry gremlin in his natural behavior. You and Todoroki exchanged a look which held a thousand questions before you felt your wrist being caught by a much warmer palm, and eventually, you were yanked straight into Bakugou’s chest (not that you were complaining.) “Open your damn eyes and look, this how you fucking kiss a woman, dipshit.” The sound of his voice roaring against your eardrum made you flinch in the nicest way possible. Bakugou naturally made himself at ease all while maintaining his gaze upon Todoroki who was looking at him in return with a noticeable disdain in his eyes.

Bakugou was challenging him in a way, he perfectly knew that Todoroki was observing his every move, hence why he took the liberty to let his palm roam over the curve of your derrière as a way to taunt him. However, the taunt didn’t last too long not to make you feel uncomfortable. He quickly settled one of his hand on the small of your back (to maintain you as close to him as humanly possible) whilst his other hand was set upon your neck. He didn’t waste any more time and went straight to business.

Bakugou’s kiss was, as expected, a vivid contrast compared to Todoroki’s kiss. While Todoroki’s felt hesitant, caring, sweet… Bakugou’s kiss was rough around the edges and his sole purpose was to make your knees weak. Once he crashed his lips upon yours, he immediately swiped his tongue over the surface of your bottom lip, demanding immediate access to your mouth. You knew better than to upset Bakugou so you pleased and allowed his tongue to explore your mouth— your tongue was at his mercy for a few instants before finding a steady rhythm for you two. His presence was overwhelming— his smell, how close you were to him with nowhere to escape, his mouth, his tongue, everything caused you to rightfully let a moan escape into the kiss. At the sound of it, Todoroki’s eyes widened while Bakugou smirked into the kiss, he knew he made a point. You, in return, started to tug at his blonde hair— the rough atmosphere of the kiss affected your actions as well. Just prior to breaking the kiss, Bakugou’s teeth dug into your bottom lip and applied a few pressures while you were looking at him with pleading eyes to continue. Once he got what we wanted, he ended the kiss with a surprisingly soft peck upon your lips.

With his hand still settled on the small of your back, Bakugou turned to Todoroki’s direction and offered him his biggest smirk to show his secret victory. You were left breathless by the kiss, a series of uneven hot breaths crashed down onto Bakugou’s skin. 

If anyone were to walk in your hotel room, they would be able to feel and even touch the graduating tension in the air which almost felt agonizing. The tension was mostly radiating off of the two men, a silent battle for dominance had been declared through glances, holders of pure will to outbest the other. 

Todoroki observed the scene on his chair, and unbeknownst to him, Bakugou had indirectly offered him the best seat in the room to watch the manifestation of his talents. An almost inaudible sigh left Todoroki’s lips which translated into a sign of discontentment. “Y/N, come here.” The tone was strict, cold even, and you felt obligated to do as told. 

Detaching yourself from Bakugou’s embrace (you could tell he didn’t want to let you go judging from how his palm lingered on your back), you stepped away and made your way to Todoroki, a quizzical look noticeable in the reflect of your eyes. “What now?” You asked. Todoroki gestured to his lap and you knew what it meant, it was a speech without any word necessary. 

Paradoxically enough, Bakugou stared at the scenery in front of him in pure silence, and although it was very unlike him, he was mimicking Todoroki’s actions earlier on- he wanted to witness how Shoto was going to respond to his own deeds. 

You placed your hands over Todoroki’s shoulders to gain stability before sitting on his lap, it was a foreign feeling, but goodness, it was already addicting as hell and you were not interested in finding a cure. Both of Shoto’s hands crawled on the same spot where Bakugou’s hands used to linger just a few moments ago, you understood rather quickly that he was using his own methods against him. You were the center of Todoroki’s attention, his gaze graced your frame and he was loving the sound of your uneven breath, he wondered if he could make your respiration even more irregular.

He paid no mind to mind to the silent Bakugou who was already fuming in his corner as Shoto delivered a succession of pecks on the delicate flesh of your neck, and you tilted your head just enough to let him play on a wider surface. He traded the pecks for a few daring bites on certain areas, he needed to find your weak spot. “A-Ah... Shoto!” the sound of his name rolling off your tongue coated in such bliss was enough for him to curve his lips into a smirk. 

It was a brief moment of peace before he dug his teeth on the same spot and you failed to prevent any whimpers from coming out by biting your lower lip. He knew you were restricting yourself, prisoning these beautiful sounds of ecstasy, and he didn’t like any of it. He focused on your lower lip and rubbed the oh so soft surface with the pad of his thumb to prevent your from biting it, and thus, keeping your sounds of pleasure to yourself. 

“Don’t be shy, love. I’m pretty sure both Bakugou and I can agree on the fact that the little sounds you’re making are too divine to be hushed. Will you be a good girl and let us hear the sounds you’re making?” It was as if his voice was coated with honey, just his voice alone was enough to make you feel weak, and if you paid enough attention, you were pretty sure he purposefully blew a fit of cold air onto the skin of your neck. “Yes, please... I’ll be good, so good.” From that moment you knew you were at his mercy and he enjoyed every second of it. “You’re such a good girl for us.”

And so he continued, but it was rougher this time, a harsh contrast compared to his hesitant kiss from just a few moments ago. His teeth dug into the flesh of your skin harder this time, the sole purpose of leaving a mark on your crimson colored flesh was haunting his mind. To accomplish said purpose, Todoroki alternated between biting motions and a few swipes of his tongue on the newly bruised skin. The whimpers coming out of your mouth shamelessly only added fuel to his fire. He knew what he was doing, and you knew just how sensitive this particular area could get. 

Once he judged it was enough, he delivered a few pecks on the love bites, a way to kiss his art into your skin. “You’re so perfect, love, so perfect with my name written over your skin.” He whispered between kisses. Your head was thrown back, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair, your mouth agape- your whole body language testified of the addictive effect he had on you.

Such bliss couldn’t last for long, and quickly enough, another voice was being heard, a roar even. “Oi, oi, oi! Don’t even think for a single fucking second that you can have her all to yourself, half and half bastard.” It was almost a miracle that Bakugou had observed you in silence, but as expected, patience was nowhere near his forte. He had already crossed his limit long before you sat on Todoroki’s laps. Bakugou’s eyes were strictly focused on your frame, he was completely under your spell after observing how your chest would rise and fall unevenly to grasp any ounce of oxygen. 

Your knees felt weak already, you could only stare at Bakugou and silently ask him to continue, to make you feel even weaker, to make you experience pure bliss. You wanted to say his name, it was right on the tip of your tongue, but as you observed his figure reducing more and more the space between the two of you, you just admired him in silence. 

“Hah? What’re you looking at, brat? You want more? Is that it? You want fucking more? Say no more.” You should’ve known that the wicked smirk plastered upon his face was a pre-indicator of what was bound to happen. He lifted you off of Todoroki’s lap, the latter frowned a bit at the lack of your presence on him, and carried you to the bed before dropping you on the mattress. Todoroki was quick to follow from behind and stood right next to Bakugou, his hands already busy taking off his jacket and unbuttoning the first button of his evening shirt. “I’m sure that Bakugou and I can find a little agreement. After all, we can share, correct?” Todoroki’s rhetorical question found its answer once Bakugou let a discreet chuckle escape from his mouth after throwing his jacket God knows where and messily undoing his tie. “We’re gonna take real fucking good take care of you, baby girl.”

You were refraining yourself from already touching you, it took all the strength in the world not to give in to the most passionate temptations. But deep down, you already knew you were bound to be overwhelmed by pure bliss judging by how they were looking at you. You could only hum in response, unsure of how your voice would have sounded under the heavy influence of desire. 

Bakugou made the first move, after all, his poor soul felt left alone when Todoroki overwhelmed you with pecks and bites. He crawled over you, his knees were on each side of your waist, his hands however, assured total domination- his right hand clutched your wrists now pinned above your hand while his left palm settled by force on your throat, needless to say, the pressure was already applied on your windpipe. “You wanna’ play that game with me, hah?! Let Icyhot have all of you to himself and I got fucking nothing in return? Babygirl, I don’t watch, I fucking play.” It was too ferocious to be qualified as a whisper, and yet, when Bakugou pronounced the last bits of his sentence right in the shell of your ear, you felt like you were floating in pure bliss. “Answer me.” His grip on your throat felt a bit tighter. “P-Please... Ju-Just do whatever you want... With my body.” The lack of oxygen felt agonizing, you were deprived of fresh air and you were laying on the bed while Bakugou exuded pure confidence and domination, an aura so thick, you wished you could’ve touched it. “That’s my babygirl.” 

As Bakugou’s lips crashed onto yours, forcing its tongue into your mouth while maintaining the right amount of pressure on your throat to offer you a panorama of new sensations, Todoroki had already gotten rid of his shirt. If you paid close attention, you could see shy flames on his shoulders, he was absolutely adoring the scenery unfolding before him. Everything about you filled his senses, the sight of you giving in to Bakugou was nothing short of divine, the whimpers leaving your mouth in cascade whether the reason was the lack of air or the fierceness of Bakugou’s intentions was the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Everything was perfect. 

You felt the oxygen become one with your body again once Bakugou broke the kiss and allowed his hand to travel from your neck down to your chest, but his eyes were never leaving yours. He wanted to watch you come undone under his touch, he swore it to himself.

“I’ll take the bottom half. Icyhot, I don’t give a damn about what you do, just don’t fucking interrupt me.” His eyes were already set on the prize, your heat in all its glory. Shoto said nothing in response, you were the holder of all his undivided attention. As Bakugou took a firm grasp of your thighs, opening the way to his newfound purpose, Todoroki took over the top half of your body- he started by planting a succession of pecks from your lips down to your collarbone, passing by your neck, and each kiss was amplified by the cold air he was blowing on the surface of your skin. The contrast in temperature cause you to allow a few whimpers to escape, you already knew you craved for more, it was a way of manifesting it.

 “You won’t need that, will you, love?”  He said while pointing at your shirt, as his index was already hooking the fabric. It was a rhetorical question of course, you simply answered by humming. Your silent response was the only thing necessary for Shoto to send your shirt flying somewhere in the room. He continued his trail of kisses down to the valley of your breasts, the same cold air following him as he went.

Bakugou, on the other one hand, had already gotten rid off your skirt, but not before letting his palms explore the generous cheeks hidden underneath it, and eventually, leaving a slap right on this area which caused you to yelp in surprise. The pad of his thumb was already brushing against the surface of the fabric, oh what a pleasure it was when he felt the sensation of humidity coming through your underwear. A sensation so good, so addicting, so divine that it brought a sly grin to his face. “Already so wet for us, babygirl? You’re not wasting your damn time, hah?” Your skin was burning under his touch, you could already feel the chills running down your spine and he hadn’t even taken off your underwear yet. 

Todoroki took the strap of your bra between his thumb and index, and much to your suprise, he used the right amount of his quirk to burn the fabric and applied the same treatment to the other strap. Before you could even protest about the poor outcome of your bra, he planted his lips on your own to keep you quiet. Now, he focused his attention to your breasts and the bits of clothing left which prevented the upper half of your body from being fully exposed. He took the opportunity given by Bakugou who had gotten rid of your underwear which made you arch your back to unclip your bra. There was nothing stopping him now. He let his gaze fell on you, so full of adoration, while he leaned down and caught the last piece of fabric remaining of your bra between his teeth. His eyes held so much envy, so much desires which reciprocated in the reflect of your own orbs. 

Shoto threw your bra out of his mouth, and there you were- your body bare in all its glory. “Fuck, you’re so perfect...” He whispered right against your chest, causing you to let out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding. He used his mother’s inherited side to trace the contour of your breasts, he knew he was going to earn a moan in return and he was so please to hear such a sinful melody at the clash of his cold fingers against your burning skin. His thumb and his index worked in harmony to twist the bud of your nipple and overwhelm it by Shoto’s cold touch while his tongue delivering hot saliva on your skin was already doing wonders on your other breast, a perfect balance between cold and hot which made your arousal erupt even more and someone was quick to notice...

“Oi, doll face, focus on me, not on this goddamn fucker. Don’t you feel so fucking good when I touch you like that, hah?” His burning jealousy amplified the voracity of his deeds. Every single one of his touch served the purpose of pleasuring you, but also outdo Todoroki’s touches. He needed to be the best at everything, including making you melt under his touch. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the desire to close your eyes and let your body attract all the attention while basking in pure bliss was too strong and yet, Bakugou’s voice roared into your mind, you couldn’t help but lay your eyes on him through half-closed lids. 

Once he knew he was the bearer of all your attention, he put his body and mind to work. Both of his hands planted your thighs on each side of his body, you felt too weak to move under his touch and did not dare resist the pressure. You whined in advance because you knew what was coming- and boy, did he look good with his face buried between your thighs. 

One long, sharp, vertical lick was all it took to let yet another moan escape your lips once more, and to Bakugou, it was the best reward. The heat of his tongue responded to the heat of your core, it was pure harmony. He licked the your core over and over again, tasting you, loving you, worshipping you even. One time he left lingering kisses to the side of your core, another time he was left licking motions all over your folds because your taste was the best thing he had ever felt. His motions echoed to your whines and moans, he was sure of hearing a sinful melody each time his tongue entered in contact with your skin.

“Keep making these noises for me, don’t be fucking shy.” His hot breath on the center of your heat embraced perfectly the succession of his actions, “Y-Yes... P-Please, I want... I need more.” Bakugou couldn’t help but let a low chuckle leave his lips, in response to your needy attitude, he left a harsh slap on the surface of your butt, to which you whined loudly in response. “Such a fucking filthy mouth you have there, hah?” He smiled to himself, knowing perfectly that what he was about to do was bound to leave you as a whimpering mess. Without any warning, he slid two of his fingers inside your core, and fuck, you were tight. His thumb was brushing against your sweet bundle of nerves which had already been cherished by Bakugou’s tongue earlier. 

You clutched the sheets of the bed to release some of the buildup pressure inside, it was as if a tornado, a volcano and a firework were exploding at the same time in your stomach, each of them resulting in a series of whimpers and moans at the overstimulation. Your lids were shut close already, yet, they kept fluttering over the invisible crimson touches left by both Todoroki and Bakugou.

Speaking over Todoroki, he was tasting you in such a different way as he started to get the grip of Bakugou’s mechanic. His mind kept roaming and roaming, he knew that just one mark on your neck was not quite enough and he needed to beat Bakugou at his own game- he positioned himself right over your right breast and blew a fit of fresh air, causing him to smile at himself for being the reason of such a reaction, and dug his teeth into your flesh. Motivated by the the way you kept tugging at his hair, he kept biting the same area over and over again until sucking your flesh just enough to create yet another love bite over your breast, such an intimate area, isn’t it? And now his whole name was written on it. 

“B-Bakugou... I can’t take it... Ahh! Anymore, please, please...” His fingers weren’t enough anymore, you were pleading his name, begging him to become one with you because you were unsure as to how you were going to keep the unleashed pressure within you ruin you. “So eager for my fucking cock, aren’t you?! You’re gonna count with me each inch entering your fucking cunt, got it?” You were willing to do anything at this point- Todoroki’s bites and his cold touch, Bakugou’s fingers and tongue, it made you fill dizzy but you knew, deep down, you were slowly approaching a pure state of bliss. “Yes... Yes I will.”

For his own purpose, Bakugou took his fingers off your core and flipped you on your stomach so you could be on all fours. You were giving him the view of worthy of a masterpiece: the crimson colored marks on your butt cheeks, the vivid rosy tone of your dripping core, oh he wanted all of you. “Love, don’t you forget that I’m here too, right? Open your pretty mouth for me.” You did as Todoroki preached, opening your mouth for him to stick his index in there. “Suck.” he commanded, to which you obliged by creating hollows in your cheeks and embrace his finger around your tongue, this feeling was beyond perfect, beyond the wildest fantasies his imagination had to offer. He could only let his subconsciousness roam about how his cock would feel around your perfectly pouted lips.

Bakugou’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers turning white in the process while your flesh adopted a reddish tone in response. With the use of the pad of his thumb, he spread the pre-cum leaking all over his length, and so it began: the first inch. “One.”, it sounded more like an order than a statement, “...One.” you echoed, your response didn’t come quick enough to Bakugou’s liking, making you earn a harsh slap on your cheeks in return. Then another inch “Two.” , another faint sound coming from your lips “T-Two...”, yet another slap on your abused flesh. And so it went on, the process remained the same- another inch, another whisper escaping your mouth between sobs, another spank. 

On the other side of the bed, Todoroki was stroking his own length at the sight before him. You were on the brim of tears, and Bakugou didn’t show any mercy regarding your current state. “I’m sorry, her mouth is going to be full soon, she won’t have room to count out for you.” Bakugou grunted in response to Todoroki’s taunt. His strokes became gradually faster, like a crescendo if you will. His other hand, however, was placed right underneath your jaw to give you some support and your mouth was already open in anticipation for what was bound to happen. 

With his hand to keep your jaw steady, you welcomed Todoroki’s lenght into your mouth and he automatically let a groan as the tip of your tongue caressed his sensitive tip. You imagined how rewarding it must have felt for them to hear your own moans and whimpers because hearing Todoroki’s moan felt like a blessing to your eardrums.

Your tongue circled around his cock, your hand was pumping his length, and Todoroki wondered if this is what heaven looked and felt like. Your whimpers were hushed by the presence of his member in your mouth, but somehow, even these half silenced sounds of pleasure sounded even better to his ears. He felt his lids shut close under the miracle work of your tongue while his hand lingered in your hair to motivate you to keep going.

Bakugou, frustrated by this change of plans due to Todoroki’s own personal pleasure, slid the entirety of his phallus into you abruptly. The shock caused you to remove Shoto’s member from your mouth momentarily to catch your breath and release yet another whine before pleasuring Todoroki again. That came as a surprise to no one, not even Shoto himself, but Bakugou’s pace was rough and almost animalistic. 

The sound of his testicles clapping against your flesh testified of the pace and yet, it felt so enticing. Bakugou was not so vocal, but he did leave his fair share of grunts as he buried himself into you more and more until reaching your cervix. It was too much, your core was burning, hell your whole body was on fire. The tears that threatened to fall had put their threat to execution, you knew you were close, the overstimulation was getting the best of you leaving you in a whimpering, trembling mess. 

You continued to stroke Shoto’s length with your tongue, but his need to take control took over him. The same hand that rested in your hair suddenly took a firm grasp of your hair and he thrusted himself into your mouth and from there, his grunts became more repetitive. Truthfully, it was the only push he needed to bring him over the edge, the previous work of your tongue had put him under a spell. A spell he never wanted to wake up from. He knew what was coming, you felt it too but how the tip of his phallus was tickling your throat deeper and deeper. 

Shoto didn’t even notice the small flames making their apparition on the blades of his collarbone, meaning that it was finally time for him to cum. He set your mouth free and hinted his length towards your chest, letting the drips of cum color your skin, and allowed the most magical moan to leave his already parted lips in satisfaction. “Love, look what you fucking did to me. You’re so beautiful, so beautiful with my cum all over you.” Your first instinct was to fill your lungs with oxygen, something so common yet it was cruelly needed. You looked through your lashes at Shoto with pleading eyes while he looked at you with a glimpse of adoration in his. His digit was carefully wiping the excess of cum leaking down your chin to place it right into your mouth. He could only stare in awe at the sight of you tasting him. He felt so full, and fulfilled. He was finally at peace, soaking in pure bliss.  

The grasp Bakugou was holding over your hips became even harsher, which you though was impossible just a few seconds before. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grunted, trying to keep his volume at bay by digging his teeth into his lower lip but it was all too much to be contained. He knew his climax was close, so close that he could picture it if he closed his eyes just for a second. Bakugou’s name fell on your lips like a forbidden prayer, his name had turned into the only thing you were able to say. “I-...Ah! Inside, inside, fuck, please...”, you felt a wave of pleasure taking over your body, a pleasure so intense, no word could have done it justice. Oh well, that was the sole indication he needed to hear before digging his nails into your sides, causing you to arch your back and bite the sheets, already preventing the cascade of whimpers from echoing in the room. “Fucking hell... Cum with me, now.”

 With one last thrust, Bakugou came within you, his face was facing the ceiling as he came undone with you. His cum slid within you and in return, your body thanked him by letting your own juice flow all over his length. 

Silence invaded the room. No more grunts, no more moans, no more cries. Pure silence inhabited by the uneven breaths of three protagonists who had just touched heaven by the tip of their fingers. Three victims of passion.

Bakugou pulled out of you, earning a whimper in return at the sudden feeling of vacuity. Your legs were shaking, and you secretly thanked every God for allowing you to stay relatively steady on all fours for this long and be able to endure the bestial-like pace of Bakugou. Needless to say, you were panting, you mouth was agape and you were crying for air. Your body immediately crashed onto the mattress, the soft feeling of the sheets enveloping your skin after reaching heaven made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud.

Bakugou and Todoroki shared a look, a small grin even, before crashing down onto the mattress next to you. You were unable to move, your mind was comparable to a wild blur as a result of your orgasm. A rush of words flew through your air but absolutely none of them was powerful and meaningful enough to qualify how you were feeling. At peace? No, not strong enough. Full? Nope, did not carry enough meaning. It was a unique feeling, worthy of all the praises in the world. 

Todoroki draped an arm over your waist and left a trail of kisses upon the flesh of your shoulder, a silent way to thank you for allowing him to experience heaven in a rush. Bakugou, on the other one hand, was facing your back and allowed his index to draw invisible patterns on the skin of your back. Paradoxically enough, the silence carried more words and emotions than an actual speech. Until...

“So... Um, about the mission?”

[ginger-danica-snapps]

WIP Wednesday. A snip from my back in time, fix it Jonsa story and my Ned marries Cersei instead of Catelyn AU.

"Here,” the child said and while Sansa was kneeling another person slipped from between the trees. This time a woman in a long flowing, tan dress, but her hair looked like the bark of the weirwood. She held something in her hands.

Jon watched as Sansa realized what it was and began to stand and protest, but Jon placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her kneeling.

“þú eru dawninn bringer, protector ór fólk,inn móðir ór allr hverr eru eigi dauðr. Vargr dróttning fran Norðririnn,” the child intoned as the woman came to stand before and raised a crown of weirdwood branches somehow petrified into a glistening, smooth crown with wild branches reaching to the moonlight.

Old tongue again, Jon realized and began to work through the translation, suddenly more grateful to his time among the freefolk.

“You are the dawnbringer, Protector of the People, Mother of All who are not dead. Wolf Queen from the North,” he murmured quietly, but kept his hand on her shoulder when she immediately began to protest.

The crown was nestled onto her head and Jon was moving to the front, pulling Dark Sister from sheath again and laying her tip down onto the ground with his head bowed.

“I swear to be the sword that guards you till there is no breath left in my body. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no other to wife, hold no lands that are not yours as well, and father no children that do not call you mother. You are the queen I choose. You are my queen, now and always.”

It was a cold morning when Cersei Lannister pulled her cloak around her shoulders and slipped out of her room. Melara and Jeyne already waited for her patiently and she slipped past them without a word of greeting. They followed silently as Cersei expertly navigated her way outside of Casterly Rock without running into nary a servant or soldier who would scamper off to tattle.

They reached the woods without speaking and Cersei turned with a sharp grin. She held her hands out to the two girls and they smiled back and reached out to clasp hands. Turning they ran into the forest, laughing, as Cersei led them to the small creek.

“Where did you say she was?” Cersei asked as they cautiously stepped onto slick rocks, never letting go of each other.

“A good walk down the creek and even longer into the dark of the woods. Cersei, are you sure we should do this?” Melara whispered.

“Of course,” Cersei answered automatically and turned to go deeper into the woods while tugging at their hands.

“Your father, Cersei, we would be in so much trouble,” Jeyne added as she slightly resisted.

Cersei sighed. What use was having companions if they weren’t willing to take chances? As always Cersei struggled with the idea that these were her childhood friends, but that they were first put in place by her Aunt Genna and likely reported much of her adventures. She was still pretty convinced that it was Jeyne who had reported Cersei and Jaime switching places every other day in his training.

She missed the physical exertion of swords play and the way she was able to hit the mark every time she released her bow string.

Still, it was her responsibility to soothe her companions when fearful.

“You will almost always be the highest ranking woman in the room, Cersei. One day, you will marry a Prince of Dorne if all goes as planned and only the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her daughters, and the wife of the Prince will outrank you. You need to always be the calming presence for your ladies. They must never see your fear, because then they will remain calm and know all is well,” Joanna Lannister brushed Cersei’s hair back from her face in soft, strong strokes.

Her mother was always soft and strong. Cersei wanted to be just like her when she married and took over her own household.

“I heard father say he wished me to marry Prince Rhaegar, Mother,” Cersei answered quietly.

Her mother’s hands froze for a second, but then she began her strokes anew.

“Your father thinks he can sway Aerys, yes, but I fear, little light, that Aerys will only seek to enrage your father. Lions were not meant to marry Dragons, my daughter. Remember that, if you remember nothing else. We may work in service, even be close in friendship as I was once to Queen Rhaella, but we must never join with the dragon,” Joanna whispered, “I would not have my little light burned by a dragon’s fire.”

Cersei spun around again and squeezed her companion’s hands.

“You need not fear my father, Jeyne,” Cersei assured her, though she also felt her very heart tremble at the idea of being caught.

They continued into the forest, following the stream till it ended in a pretty little waterfall, before tipping deeper into the forest than Cersei had ever traveled. They found Maggy the Frog’s house tucked into a dark clearing, behind a small pond. Moss grew over the old stone and the roof was thatched.

Badly, Cersei noted to herself. There were holes and water gathering in a way that her father would never have allowed Lannisport to weather.

Her mother would have cared about the witch in the wood, but her father would likely burn her out if he realized she was here.

“I…,” Jeyne stuttered and Melara and Cersei turned.

Jeyne wrenched her hand from them and looked around with wide, frightened eyes.

Cersei nodded and gave a slight shoulder shrug, “Walk back to the water, Jeyne. Melara, go with her. I will speak to this Maggy the Frog and come meet you.”

Jeyne barely dipped a slight curtsy to her liege’s daughter, before lifting her skirts and running back the way they came. Melara gave Cersei a concerned look and Cersei thought she could see real concern. She motioned her away.

She waited till both girls were gone and turned back and set her shoulders with determination and marched up and knocked on the door. If her companion’s had stayed, Cersei would perhaps have marched in with no regard to the owner just to show her seniority on her father’s land.

“A humble lady will always garner more loyalty among her compatriots than a prideful one,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear.

“The lion does not lay down and sleep with the sheep,” her father followed.

“Come in, little lion child,” a voice called out and Cersei opened the door and softly stepped in, her boots already ruined from the walk.

“Are you Maggy the Frog?” she asked, forcing strength into her tone.

The woman cocked her head and Cersei was at least glad to find the woman did not resemble anything like a scary monster. In fact, she was quite boring.

“We wanted to see the monster,” Oberyn Martell said and Cersei rolled her eyes.

Everyone wanted to see her little imp of a brother.

“He’s just a baby. An ugly baby, but a baby,” Elia added and Cersei resisted the urge to snap back with a cutting remark.

He might be the curse upon her life, but he was her little brother and no one else was allowed to speak ill of a Lannister.

No one understood that Tyrion was a monster because he killed her mother, not because he was a misshapen little thing.

“Often go into your thoughts, girlie? I’m the one you call Maggy the Frog and I assume you’ve come to hear your future?” the woman said.

Cersei’s eyes widened. That, however, was not boring.

“Yes. I have. My father and aunt say I am to marry Prince Rhaeger, but my mother wished me to marry Prince Oberyn, though my father refused the Princess of Dorne. I want to know if I am to marry the prince and one day be Queen? How many children will I have?” Cersei eagerly stepped forward.

She would love her children and they would love her. They would never fear to whisper their secrets, hopes, and fears.

Maggy the Frog tilted her head and stared at her before reaching down and pulling a small dagger from beside her. Cersei took a step back, fear dogging at her step, before forcing herself to stand tall again.

“This is my father’s land and if you harm a hair on my head then he will gouge your eyes out and you will not see any future again, certainly not your own,” Cersei said coldly and startled when Maggy tilted her head back and laughed uproariously.

“Oh, little lion girlie, you are quite the opposite of what I saw for today as it is. Let us see what else has changed. A little taste of your blood girl to be able to see what is going to happen. To see if gold crowns and cold shrouds no longer lay across the lion spawn,” the woman explained and held the knife hilt out.

Cersei took a deep breath and stepped forward to take it. She laid it down easily onto her thumb and gave a slight whimper when it cut into her skin and blood welled to the top. She went to hold the knife back out, but found herself being yanked forward and her finger in the witches mouth.

Cersei had barely had time to react before she was released and she cupped her hand to her chest.

“Three questions, girlie, but most do not like my answ…” the woman made a sudden sharp noise and gripped at her head, gasping for breath, and Cersei started to move forward to help her.

The woman suddenly sat up and completely still, eyes shut, and back ramrod straight.

“Maggy?” Cersei whispered, fear starting to creep into her.

Maggy’s eyes flew open and Cersei gasped at the milky white expanse that existed where muddy, dark brown eyes had.

“The song of fire and ice comes, and nothing will stop the stag from killing the dragon. The wolf brother of the stag will help without knowing, without seeing. The wolf’s sister will die so their son may live. The gods give another choice not given before, eyes were open, but could not see. Winter comes, winter comes, and the wolves must live. A Queen she shall not make, but a mother of a King she shall be. Remember, learn, live, and roar. The Lioness will triumph if the last dragon son thrives,” Maggy gasped and then she collapsed.

[kimnjss]

make it up to you | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader ⇢ genre: smut + a tiny bit of fluff. ⇢ word count: 3.3K ⇢ theme: idol!boyfriend, established relationship, slice of life. ⇢ rating: explicit. ⇢ warnings: dom/sub themes, switch!jimin, switch!reader, cursing, dirty talk, unprotected sex (be safe), oral sex (f. receiving), hair pulling, nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), slight cumplay, spit, finger sucking... i think that might be it idk man i got carried away...  ⇢ summary: after missing your birthday because of work, jimin is determined to make it up to you... in the best way he knows how.

If there was one thing you knew you could count one when it came to your boyfriend, it was that he did not break his promises. Held them at the highest regard and always stuck to his word. So when he promised that he'd be around to spend every hour of your birthday with you, your mind instantly began to map up all the things that the two of you could do that day. Not even taking a second to wonder if his busy schedule would allow it.

 Now, sat on your couch, dressed prettily in a form-fitting cocktail dress with nowhere to go, you were starting to wish you had taken the time to check if he'd actually be able to make it.

 Jimin was a busy guy, if he wasn't on tour than there was an interview, or maybe a photoshoot, dance practice always a reoccurring interruption, as was the shooting of his variety show. It was safe to say that you weren't surprised that he didn't have a lot of time to hang out with you, you were used to it.

 Prepared for it when he had asked you to be his. You hardly even minded it because for the most part, you were able to tag along and although his attention was really fully on you, you liked being around him.

 You had just thought it would be different this time. For no other reason than that he promised. There was no way you could even bring yourself to being upset with him. He had been texting you all day, making his attempts to get away known with each message. He just wasn't able to.

 With a huff, you were standing up on your feet; fingers grasping at the elastic holding your hair up and letting it down. You kicked the heels off your feet before, grudgingly making your way up the stairs.

 Next came off the dress that he had bought for you, especially for this day. Underneath, you wore a pretty lingerie set that you had planned to surprise him with when the night finally made its way back to your house.

 You slid your robe onto your body, taking a seat on your vanity to remove your makeup. Sharing your boyfriend with the entire world had never felt this crappy before. You want to scream, kick something, cry... but you couldn't even find it in you to be upset because it wasn't his fault.

 It wasn't like he could just ditch for a day just to be around you, no matter how much you wished he could. And you understood that, but that didn't mean you weren't more than bummed that your relationship seemed to take a hit each time he missed out on something.

 You loved him, though. Loved that huge smile he got whenever he was able to spend time with you, loved how the same smile spread over his features when he was on stage. He was happy, in both parts of his life. Who were you to whine about it? You wanted him to be happy.

 Just as you finished removing your eye makeup, you heard the sound of your front door slamming closed. Jimin's quick heavy steps climbed up the stairs as he called out your name. Just like that, your heart was fluttering.

 The door to your bedroom pushed up, revealing your very exhausted, very sad boyfriend. The shirt that he had neatly ironed this morning was wrinkled, drying with sweat. He had changed out of his jeans into a pair of sweats and his hair was sticking up as if he had been running his fingers through it all day.

 The look on his face was what gave you a real pang in the heart. Lips fixed in a pout and sleepy eyes frowning. “Baby,” He sighed, making his way in your direction. “I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I couldn't get away.” He was by your side now, crouched down so he could look at you.

 A gentle hand found your bare thigh, thumb brushing against your skin in a calming motion. “The photographer was late, something about a lost lens or whatever... so we didn't start too late, which made us late getting to the studio. My vocals were shit so we had to keep going over it and the more time we went, the more frustrated I got... because I knew you were waiting for me, but that only made me fuck up more.”

 You weren't looking at him, because you didn't want to give way to how sad you were that he had missed today. He must've been beating himself up all day, you didn't want to add to it. “Then we had a radio interview, through the phone and none of us knew about it, so we weren't ready. Joon really saved our asses with that one, seriously. By the time we got to practice, there was no way I'd make it.” He sighed, chin resting on your knee as he looked up at you. “I know how much you were looking forward to our special day together,” 

 “I know how much you were looking forward to our special day together,” He pouted and you shook your head, pushing a smile onto your lips, hoping to calm the worry between his brows. “It's alright, Jimin. Really.”

 The tips of his fingers toyed with the ends of your silk robe, “It's not.” The feeling of his lips trailing wet kisses up your thigh quickly caught your attention, wide eyes finding him. “Let me make it up to you.” His words were muffled considering his mouth was more concentrated on marking your skin.

 Jimin looked so good like this, on his knees in front of you ready to make you feel good however you wanted. His thick lips sucking hickeys into your warming skin as his hands palmed at your ass, pulling you closer.

 You could feel the lace of your panties becoming damp, sticking to your pussy. No longer sad that he had missed out, but excited for him to make it up to you. Big puppy dog eyes were finding yours, waiting. His lips stopping their assault.

 Your fingers laced through his hair, using your grip to pull his head back so you could look at his face fully. A smirk found its way onto your lips, from the look of his red swollen lips and needy expression. “What do you want, baby?” The coddling, coo of your voice came naturally.

 His lower lip poked out, hands moving forward to find your thighs. Jimin squeezed, loving the way you mindlessly spread your legs for him. “I want to make you feel good. Feel you come on my tongue,”

 “You sure you deserve that? You made me wait all day, that doesn't sound like a good boy.” His face contorted and you watch his cock twitch beneath his sweatpants. A single hand of his moved down to adjust himself.

 “I'm sorry. I'll be good now, I promise.” The look in his eye was nearly enough to push you over the edge. It wasn't often Jimin waved his dominance, allowing you to take the lead. Out of the few times that he had, you were soon realizing that you liked being on the other end of it a bit too much.

 “Fine,” You breathed, releasing his hair and dropping the act. There was no denying how much you loved the feeling of his tongue on you, almost as much as he loved having it there. With the grip he held on your thighs, he tugged your body further so you were only halfway sitting on the chair.

 Your robe pushed up and bunched around your waist. Jimin leaned forward, tongue finding the apex of your thigh, making you jump. He chuckled, continuing to tongue and kiss at the area as the tips of his fingers pushed your panties to the side.

 Jimin could smell the sweet smell of your arousal. The scent clouding his senses and intoxicating his mind. Fuck, he missed you. Just as much as you liked seeing him below you, he liked being able to look at you from this angle. Your pretty pussy, wet and glistening and all he had to do was tilt his head a bit and he could see the fucked out look on your face.

 You shifted above him, the anticipation of feeling his tongue against your core getting the best of you. A small sexy grin slid onto his lips, sensing your impatience. He was getting ready to tease you, you could just tell. Knitting your fingers in his hair, you tugged him toward where you wanted him.

 “Don't even think about it,” You tried to speak sternly, ignoring the desperate whine that coated your words. “You're so fucking wet already,” He noted, with a breathy sigh against your clit. You shuddered, the tips of his fingers running along your slit. Jimin pulled his fingers away, pushing the digits into his mouth.

 His sultry gaze on you as he flicked his tongue around his fingers, sucking your wetness from his fingers. Thick lips putting on a big show as he cleaned them off, leaving them slippery with his saliva.

 A surprised gasp left your lips when he pushed those very fingers into your heat, your pussy instantly clenching around them. Your head fell back, eyes falling closed as you felt his warm tongue flick against your clit. His fingers moving in and out of you slowly, pulling breathy moans from your lips.

 “F-fuck! Jimin-” You pant out when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking; his fingers curling inside of you at the same time. “R-right... fuck-, don't stop!”

 Your fingers in his hair wake, pushing him closer to your dripping pussy. A leg lifting until you were able to rest your foot against his shoulder, opening up more room to his relentless tongue. You could feel his smirk against your core, loving how needy you were becoming.

 Jimin's tongue laps from your clit to your folds quickly, while keeping up with the drilling pace of his fingers. The tip of his fingers brushing against the soft spot deep inside of you. You let out a yelp as he pushes against it, allowing him to lift your other leg over his shoulder.

 “Jimin,” You pant, walls clenching around his fingers. You can feel your body tightening, becoming tenser and tenser as you reach your climax. Jimin grins at that, pulling his mouth from your clit. “You're so fucking close, baby. I can feel it.” He groans, eyes never lifting to find yours.

 He's quick with leaning back down, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking- hard. You let out a scream, back arching and pussy being pushed firmly against his lips. He takes it, continuing with the relentless licks of his tongue as your hips began to rock against him.

 His name falls from your lips at the end of a broken cry, your orgasm building. Stomach tightening. Legs shaking as the feeling overwhelms you, the warmth that started in your belly quickly spreading all over your body.

 Blunt nails dig into his scalp as you pin him to you, holding him in place as you began to ride out your orgasm. Jimin has no intention of stopping, his tongue nor his fingers slowing down as he fucks into you. He doesn't let up until the sensitivity starts to get to you. Sunk back into your chair, your hands bat his hand away and he removes the slowly.

 Your pussy clenches at the emptiness, whines when his lips are removed. Jimin leans up until he's face to face with you, taking out your fucked out expression. “Fuck, I wish you could see how sexy you look,” He breathes.

 His lips are against yours before you have the chance to answer. Tongue tasting heavily of your arousal running over your lower lip, before pushing its way through. Jimin's hand gripped your throat, holding your head in place. He's licking into your mouth as if he were a man starved and you were his last meal.

 Your head's spinning, barely noticing the grip he held on your hips. Not until he was lifting your body off of your chair, coaxing you to wrap your legs around his waist. His lips break from yours once he's standing straight, you're clinging to him like a koala.

 “I need to fuck you.” Jimin carries you effortlessly to the bed. The roles had definitely been reverse, whatever dominance you had, had been handed off to him long ago. He lowers you on the bed, attention falling to undoing the drawstring of his sweats.

 Your fingers do the same on the bow of your robe, shrugging the garment off of your shoulders just in time for him to look up. Jimin sucked in a thick breath, eyes taking you in. “This is new,” He grinned, lowering himself on the bed; his body hovering over yours.

 “You've always looked good in white, baby.” He complimented, the tips of his fingers finding the lace of your bra and tracing the pattern. Jimin's lips press a wet trail of kisses from your collarbone to your ear. “You're so beautiful,” He mumbled for only you to hear, his teeth nipping at your lobe.

 You felt the blush spread from your cheeks to your chest, never able to mask how much his praise affected you. Good thing he couldn't see you, no doubt he'd pin you with a teasing smirk if he noticed your flushed face.

 His skilled fingers tug the cup of the left side of your bra down until your breast was spilling out, he moved to do the same to the other side. Your nipples instantly growing harder than they already were from the cold air.

 His thumb gently brushes against the curve of your breast, until he's able to cup it. The moan slips from your lips when you feel his fingers pinching at your nipple. He chuckles, head lifting from the crook of your neck. He's quick to wrap his lips around your nipple, loving the way your back arches as his teeth graze over it.

 You squirm underneath him, shamelessly grinding your wet pussy against his hipbone as he begins to suck, fingers rolling and tugging on the other side. “Jimin, please.” You manage to choke out.

 Jimin doesn't say a word, only shifts until his cock between your folds. He thrusts forward, the ridges of his length brushing your clit. A gasp falls from your lips. “I need you, please...” You all but beg.

 That stupid smirk stays pinned on his face as he acts as if he hasn't heard you, continuing to slide his cock against you. Your hips are moving, half matching his pace, half trying to get him inside of you.

 Jimin would've kept up with his teasing, but he could quickly feel himself falling apart. A strong hand dipped between you, grasping his cock in his hand. His eyes stay on yours as he aligns the head with your entrance. Jaw-dropping as he pushes it past.

 “I love how easily you open up for me...” The sentence was quiet enough to be for himself, but you heard him. Taking pride in his words as you spread your legs wider. Slowly, he slides into you. Watching the way your face twists with every added inch. He grunts once he's finally buried inside of you, a shaky breath falling from your lips.

 Your moaning at the slow drag of him pulling back, his tip is the only thing left until he's quickly snapping his hips forward again, filling you up once more and pulling a gargled scream from your lips.

 “Fuck, you feel so good,” He whines. He's set an almost brutal pace, your body sliding up and down on the mattress. His head dips down, lips clasping around a hardened nipple as he cups the free breast. Nails dig into his back, legs wrapped around him, keeping him from going too far back each time he moved back.

 Your mouth had taken the permanent 'O' shape, eyes rolling back into your head. His unoccupied hand is making its way between your legs, finding your neglected clit. He rolls it around between his fingers, quickly pushing you toward the edge.

 “I...I'm c-close!” You cry, walls tightening around his cock. Jimin lets out a groan at the feeling. His teeth sink into your nipple, successfully pushing you over the edge. Cries of his name fall from your lips as your orgasm washes over you. “So...f-fucking tight,” His hands moved, wrapping securely around your waist to hold you to him.

 “You're gonna make me cum,” He sounds breathless, trying to keep up with his pace even with the way your pussy clenches around him. His body tightens underneath your hands, incoherent sentences leaving his lips as he spills deep inside of you.

 “Jimin, fuck.” You moan, reveling in the feeling of him filling you up with his arousal. He mouths at your neck, trying to calm himself as he empties his dick inside of you. 

 He's pulling out once your breathing returned to its normal pace, the mixture of your release pouring out of you and slipping between your ass, wetting the mattress. Jimin smirks, fingers collecting as much as he can before he's bringing them toward your lips.

 “Suck,” He instructs and your lips are wrapping around his digits without a second thought. Sloppily, you clean his fingers off, hands holding on to his wrists as you lap at your mixed juices. Jimin slowly pulls his fingers back, a thick layer of saliva connecting your lips to his fingers.

 He's leaning forward, tongue collecting the spit left on your chin before capturing your mouth with his. You moan against his tongue, fingers burying themselves in his hair. The kiss slowly shifts to hungry and desperate to loving and a little bit sleepy.

 Jimin's pulling back slowly, pressing a gentle peck to your mouth before rolling onto his back. You were quick to cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest. The two of you laid there for a while, neither of you ready to get up to get cleaned.

 “I'm sorry I missed your birthday,” He sighed, tips of his fingers tracing against your naked butt. You shook your head, placing a soothing kiss to his chest. “It's really fine, baby. I love the moments I get to spend with you. I know you're busy.”

 He nods deftly, the look on his face making it obvious the matter was still bothering him. You were sure of it when he was opening his mouth to speak again. “You know, with time zones and everything... your birthday could be tomorrow.”

 You let out a laugh, nodding your head. “That's true.”

 “I'm off tomorrow,” He was grinning really big, turned so he can look at you fully. Your heart warmed at the sight. Fuck, you loved this man. “Should we pretend tomorrow is your birthday and do everything right?” You knew he wasn't going to let this go until he was able to properly make it up to you.

 Plus a redo did sound nice. You were nodding your head and his smile was growing, his lips finding yours again. With some type of newfound energy, he was hopping out of bed. “Alright then, let's start this right... I'm gonna draw you a bath,” Jimin was quick to scoop you up in his arms, the string of laughs that left your lips warming his heart.

 He carried you all the way into the bathroom, stopping to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.” 

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.14}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.8k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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On the other side of the door, inside the classroom, Robin closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Obviously she hadn't added anything to the antidote, hadn't even had the time to, but she might as well make use of his fear for her in that regard. He undoubtedly believed that she had given him a sleeping draught, and she was glad for her bad reputation for once. Even more, she was glad that it had just been a work of magic. There was still nobody who sincerely cared about her, and she found herself almost relieved at that, even if for a reason she did not quite understand. Perhaps because she wouldn't have to deal with Julius anymore, nor any other idiot, if she just was incapable of being loved. Or perhaps because it was what she thought she deserved after all.

"How did you know it was a love potion?" Snape's deep voice ghosted through the room, quiet and haunting.

Robin's blood froze over with a start, and she stood perfectly still in her spot. "What?" She asked in a whisper while her heart exploded into a frantic drumming. There was nobody here but them… There was nobody he could be speaking to but her.

"He didn't show the usual signs of forced infatuation, so how did you know his affection wasn't real?" He asked in quiet sincerity, uncharacteristically quiet even, and Robin's eyes flew open in time to observe how he moved from the edge of his desk to a stool behind it.

"Oh, come on... As if anyone would actually care about me like that." She scoffed quietly, and her legs started carrying her through the room on their own account until she stood next to her own desk again.

"Whyever not?"

"Because nobody even likes me at all these days! I'm hardly tolerated wherever I go, and even that is only because people are too scared to send me away. There's nobody who actually wants to be part of my life."

"I sincerely doubt that." He said quietly, and something within Robin finally and irredeemably snapped.

"How would you know, huh? You haven't talked to me in three bloody months!!!" Robin yelled at him without a single care in the world if it was in the middle of the goddamn night or not. "Cas is always gone since she and Simon started dating, Jorien is blaming me for her best friend's absence, and don't even get me started on my bloody parents! So yes, there is literally nobody who cares about me at this point!"

She was tired of the anger, of the pain, and of her own crumbling walls that lay in ashes at last. She didn't even notice herself moving in closer to him until he turned in his seat to face her. She didn't notice until it was too late to go back.

"I care about you." Snape replied instinctively upon her words, a blurt of truth that had evaded his facades, and he seemed surprised himself that such a thing had escaped his lips so freely after so long. His torn neutrality started crumbling slowly, when finally he added, "A lot."

"Do you, really? Because as far as I'm aware, people don't just ignore someone they care about without any bloody reason! From one day to the next you just cut me off entirely, from our work and from talking, and from yourself! Do you have any idea how much that hurt me?!" Robin's voice grew thicker, laced with tears that started falling from her eyes with all the anger and hurt she didn't care to hide anymore.

"I was wrong, and that is painfully obvious to me now." Snape said, and while still spoken in honest certainty, his voice grew more quiet with every word. "I made a mistake."

"You damn well did!"

"I know." He held her gaze for a moment longer, eyes like a mirror of her own emotions, until at last he had to look away. But his voice equalled his eyes in sadness either way. "I am truly sorry."

"Sorry doesn't nearly cover it this time! You used to ask for my honesty, so here you have it now: I cried myself to sleep more often than I care to admit ever since new year's. I was lonely to the point of shattering, and I kept asking myself just what I have done wrong. What could I possibly have done to deserve to be treated like that, by someone I care about so deeply." Robin started out loud and ended in a whisper, honest words spoken for him to hear and yet as her own catharsis all over again. A better one, this time. A crescendo of emotion. "But then I realized that I hadn't done anything wrong at all. I didn't deserve to be treated like that, and I didn't deserve the pain. I still don't."

"I never thought that you would blame yourself for any of this. I never meant to hurt you." His gaze still lingered on the ground, but what Robin saw of his face was painted in sorrow. The last walls crumbling, facades but burning ashes. "I was wrong in all I believed, and I made the most terrible mistake by doing what I did. You didn't deserve any of it, which makes it all the more reasonable that you must hate me now."

"Sometimes it's easier to hate something you know you can't have anyway." She replied in an almost quiet calm, allowing the pain that lingered to wash over her while the anger faded into shallow dust and smoke.

"I know." He breathed gravely. "All too well."

"And you know that I'm not one to take the easy way out of anything of importance." Robin took a deep breath, then moved again closer to him in certainty. One step, then another, while her voice stayed steady as herself. She had made up her mind, she had long ago. "I could never hate you. I promised you that I wouldn't give up on you, and I won't. You really screwed this up, you hurt me, and I'm going to be mad at you for a while... But I still forgive you."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness, Robin. Not this time." He finally looked up at her in that rawest kind of honesty, his voice both hoarse and laced with equal sadness as still consumed his eyes. His soul was bleeding, seeping emotions pouring into the open in a way Robin had never seen before. Not like this. It broke her heart to see him like that, and she wanted to make sure she never had to again.

"Forgiveness isn't something that's deserved. It's given to those who need it." Her words were gentle, her voice soft in ways she had never risen up to until now. Without a speckle of doubt on her mind she took the one final step to stand directly in front of him. "Mistakes are the foundation of change, and also of improvement if only they are forgiven first. I'm not going to stand in the way of us being better than this, both of us, and I need you not to either." She held his gaze of drowning sadness with a deep intensity in return, and every bit of desperate hope she felt was out in the open now. Forgiveness really is the highest art of loving. "Be better with me. Please."

Snape merely stared up at her for a few seconds, in that overwhelming unveiled honesty, until at last he nodded, slowly, but in growing certainty no less. Robin released a breath she had held without her knowing, fighting the tears that lingered in her eyes, but it was a fight she was doomed to lose when he dropped his head once more.

Slowly as if afraid to break her, he rested his forehead against her torso in a tender touch, without a word, without a breath. Robin's heart skipped a beat, and another and another, and it now was her who seemed to be frozen by a single touch. She understood him now, understood what such a simple gesture could do to you. Her chest filled with the unceasing warmth of pure adoration, and she slowly placed her hands on his shoulders first, careful in the unusual touch, before she allowed herself to gently wrap her arms around him entirely.

A few seconds passed while Robin drew soothing circles on his back, and she kept reminding herself to breathe. A terrible idea, really, for her breathing hitched the very second she felt his arms encircling her in return, large hands resting on her back while pulling her ineffably closer until she had no choice but to stand flush against him. His hold on her waist tightened, more and more while yet his forehead remained pressed against her upper stomach, keeping his gaze directed to the stones beneath them. Robin closed her eyes against the waves of roaring tears, and gladly let herself tighten her hold on him in return.

"I missed you." Snape finally said, barely above a whisper, but he managed to hold her closer still, clinging onto her almost as if she would vanish any moment now.

"I missed you too." Robin breathed back, and her voice cracked when her tears finally won the fight, spilling down her cheeks only to catch on her lips and drip down her chin into rivers of black. Finally, she couldn't help the small smile that took over her lips no less.

They both were too overwhelmed to say any more after that, for seconds, minutes, eternities… and the silence had mercy on them for the longest time while they simply held onto each other. They needed this, both of them.

"Will you stay with me if I let go of you?" Snape eventually asked, quietly but also calmer than before, less shattered but still uncertain of what the answer might be.

"Obviously." Robin smiled in return, as she couldn't help teasing him even if just to bring a little light into the moment. A few seconds of silence passed, she almost feared that she had actually done wrong this time, but then he started chuckling softly. At first Robin felt it more than she heard it, but after a moment when it became audible indeed, she had no choice but to laugh as well. For no reason, and yet for all of them at once.

They did let go of each other then, reluctantly, but in the knowledge that it had to be. Robin took a step backwards to give him some room which he used to rise to his feet, finally lifting his gaze as well to meet hers once again. The openness had prevailed, but the deep sorrow was retreating, and taking the hurt with it. Good. A sight to behold.

"I better go clean up my desk, huh?" Robin stated more than asked, giving him a half smile while she walked backwards to keep her gaze locked with his. Somehow the idea of letting him out of her sight right now seemed entirely impossible.

"Don't bother, I will have the third years take care of it in detention tomorrow." He replied as his eyes followed her every movement as well. "I believe I still owe you a coffee. How would you like that instead?"

"You owe me far more than one coffee. More like… three months of coffee." Her smile widened a little as she only grabbed her backpack before moving back towards him. "But we've got to start somewhere after all."

He looked relieved upon her words, more so than she had expected, and Robin once more had to realize just how afraid he actually was that she would change her mind, would choose to hate and abandon him after all. But she would never, couldn't for anything in the world, and she would do her best to make him understand that from here on. She wouldn't make the same mistake he had, only to send them both into a devil's circle of common misery. No, she would be better than that. They would be.

As they ought to, they moved over into the office for coffee, to sit at the small table in their usual spots, and in a way, it felt like it had been just yesterday that they had been sitting here last. Snape made coffee while Robin let her gaze wander around the room, taking in its deterioration in comparison to her last visit. It was almost amusing to her in a way, that whoever else came in here surely must deem the space tidy at the least, if not even pedantically organized and neat. To Robin however, who had spent more time here than she should probably admit, the difference was undeniable. Usually the only space that would be a small mess was the lab, and she was sure he only allowed it to be because nobody but him and her ever came in there, but now the office had become more of a mess than the lab had ever been. She found herself curious to see how it would develop from here on.

Finally a mug was placed in front of her, and she was drawn out of her head when Snape took his seat across from her. Taking a deep breath, Robin looked down at the steaming black liquid and smiled, then frowned a little.

"This doesn't smell like I remember it to… Is it the same instant coffee we've always had?" She looked up with a smile and slightly raised eyebrows, inhaling the unusually rich scent of the coffee once again.

"No… this is real coffee, for once. It should taste better than what we used to have."

Robin's curiosity got the better of her, and she took a careful sip even though it was still way too hot. And indeed, it did taste better, a million times even, and that made burning her tongue worth it as she took another sip. They both stayed quiet for a while after that, in the simple enjoyment of the situation that used to be such an essential part of both their days. Somehow, Robin knew that it would be again after today.

"Will you tell me why you put us through all this?" She asked after a while, a calm and careful inquiry only. "As much as I can't quite grasp anything that happened in the last three months... I am starting to understand that this hurt you just as much as it hurt me."

"It did." Snape replied quietly, while his expression turned into seriousness instead of sorrow at least. "There were multiple thoughts involved, but none of them are reason nor excuse for what happened. I simply was wrong, and I did wrong in return."

"I would still like to know." Robin insisted with a half smile. "Please?"

"The easiest one happens to also be the gravest." He sighed, peering down at his coffee, his hands, the table… anywhere but at Robin. "I was afraid. And fear makes people do terrible things."

"Afraid of what?"

"A variety of matters, really, but ultimately only of myself. Of how attached I have gotten to you without even being aware of it."

Robin frowned while yet her heart skipped a beat upon his reply, but she tried to understand instead of basking in it. "Why is that something to be afraid of? Isn't attachment an essential part of every close… friendship?"

"Certainly, yet that is the other issue... I believed that it might make your life easier if you didn't have to endure me as a friend."

"Well, we both saw how not having you in my life turned out." Robin rolled her eyes before she could help it, but when he looked up at her once more, her expression softened immediately. "You see now how stupid that thought was, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Good." She gave him a half smile, in an attempt to cheer him up. "Who else would have coffee with me in the middle of the night, huh? You're my best friend; that's in your job description."

His lips tugged upwards into a small smile, which yet grew tainted all too soon. "Unfortunately, I am also your professor as for now. For a class you don't need, in a subject you know just as well as I do. Perhaps even better, in some regards. It really is a ridiculous predicament we are in... It has been for a while now."

"It won't be for much longer." Robin shrugged, looking down at her almost empty mug while swirling the remainder of the coffee around the bottom.

"What do you mean by that?" Snape asked almost reluctantly, and his tone took on that barest hint of fear again that made Robin look up at him in an instant.

"I mean that Professor Dumbledore approached me a while ago and suggested that I take the N.E.W.T.s for potions and herbology this year already. He brought forth pretty much the same argument, actually, saying that it simply wouldn't make sense for me to attend those classes for another year, and he believes that the extra time I'll thereby gain would be better spent with my own studies. I agreed with him, and he had it approved by the ministry a few weeks ago."

"I had no idea..." Snape mused quietly, surprised and even a little hurt perhaps, then however his brows furrowed into a deep frown. "Have you been preparing for those exams all by yourself this entire time?"

"Obviously. N.E.W.T.s are a real challenge even for me, and if I'm skipping a year of classes, I have to work even harder." Robin shrugged yet again, but tried to keep her face positive nonetheless. "I might be good in the subjects themselves, but there is still a lot of work to do before the exams. Either way, the excessive studying has been quite a good distraction over the past few weeks."

"I should have been there to help you from the start." Snape avoided her gaze yet again, and instead frowned at the bookshelf on the opposite wall. "But I had to be a pathetic fool and turn a blind eye to everything that involved you."

"Perhaps it's a minor form of punishment then that I've been doing pretty well without you, actually. Academically, I mean... Everything else not so much. Or… not at all."

"Why would that be a punishment? I couldn't see your success as anything other than delightful even if I tried." His eyes were back on hers in an instant, questioning, frowning.

"Well, I know how much you enjoy knowing better, or elaborately telling me all the ways in which I'm wrong." Robin said with a small smirk, teasing him yet again even if it probably was the last thing any sane person would do. "It must be a setback for your pride to see that I don't need your knowledge to be good at potions."

"I believe 'good' is an understatement." Snape replied in pointed factuality, with the worst feigned innocence ever, which in return contradicted the fact that he was being entirely honest. "And quite frankly, I could not be more relieved to know that you do not need me at all to be beyond outstanding in any subject."

"It's not fair if you're being all honest with me now..." Robin protested with a groan and laugh, and an equally feigned pout. "How am I supposed to tease you without feeling like an idiot?"

At that, Snape actually did smile. "You will find a way."

"You can be certain of that."

… … …

They stayed sitting in the office for hours, slowly catching up on all the things that had happened in the past months, while Snape kept on making them coffee without a single word of complaint or tease. Robin appreciated it, both the gesture and the coffee itself, but she also kept on telling him that he didn't have to, that there were no conditions for her to stay. (Nor for her to love him, which her eyes kept saying but her lips wouldn't dare to.) He kept on making her coffee nonetheless.

It was dawning when they noticed how much time had passed, and it was three seconds later when they decided that they didn't care. They kept on chatting about Robin's situation with Cas and Jorien, about the impending detention for whoever had given that love potion to Julius, and lastly also about Morgan's eclectic behavior ever since the ball.

It took Robin a while to convince Snape that while it certainly had been horrible to deal with Morgan and his crude shenanigans alone, she yet had come out alright after every instance of confrontation. Nonetheless, neither of them had to mention that things would hopefully be better again from now on. Morgan didn't stand a chance against either of them, but together they were better nonetheless.

When it was about time for breakfast at last, they wordlessly agreed that it probably would be better to get cleaned up and changed first, for they both had a long night painted on their faces, and the smell of fire and coffee clinging to their robes. But at least Robin did get him to agree to actually attend the meal for once, which in her opinion was about as good a start into the day as she's had in a long while.

When they parted in the crossing of hallways at last and Robin henceforth made her way towards her room, she couldn't help wondering where exactly Snape's quarters were located in the castle. Probably in the dungeons somewhere, sure, but where exactly? There were too many hallways, too many locked doors and ineffable possibilities for secret rooms behind uncountable pictures and stones. Perhaps, one of these days she would actually muster up the courage to ask him. Just out of curiosity. As reference for a future that would never come to be.

When Robin entered her room, Cas was painting her face with that horrible brown paste while Jorien was just getting dressed. A normal morning, then.

"Hey guys." She greeted them with an almost happy little sigh, but her mind soon came back to reality and she had to realize that the conflict with her roommates hadn't just disappeared overnight. And it definitely hadn't solved itself just by talking about it with someone at last.

"Oh look, she's happy." Jorien grumbled to herself, then turned to walk away. "Who cares."

"Hey Robin! You won't believe what happened last night!" Cas started in excitement, but kept her eyes trained on the small mirror in her lap.

Robin ignored Jorien's comment for now and dropped her bag onto her bed, then went on to change into something less wrinkled. Meanwhile, she only partially listened to Cas rambling on about whatever it was that Simon or one of his friends had done this time.

"Isn't that just the cutest thing ever?!" Cas finished at last, while Robin was about to make an unnoticed excit.

"Yeah, perhaps. You must know best, huh?" She replied without actually knowing what she was agreeing to, but Cas didn't pay much attention to her reply anyway, and thus Robin could slip away into the bathroom without being held up by any more questions.

When she returned ten minutes later, both Cas and Jorien were ready to leave for breakfast, but neither of them spoke to the other nor made any attempt to even acknowledge the other's existence. And honestly, Robin was fed up with the childish behavior of all individuals concerned, herself included. She had been able to sort out the far larger problem last night, and she would be able to solve this one as well. Really, she should have done this long ago. Would have, hadn't everything else come in the way.

"I would like to see both of you after breakfast. We haven't done proper tutoring ever since Christmas, and I believe it would be a good idea to start with it again. Foremostly because the three of us seriously need to start talking to each other again." She said into the open room while effectively blocking the door to the hallway. Gods, she hated playing the superior part in this, but quite honestly she didn't see another way. A simple attempt to talk to either of them hadn't worked in the months prior, and it surely wouldn't work now.

"Can't." Cas was quick to reply, shrugging. "Sorry, I'm meeting Simon after breakfast."

"You surely can meet him just a little later for once, can't you?" Robin sighed with a neutral expression and an attempt at a calm smile. "All I'm asking for is one hour."

"Just because you're all happy again for once after being gone all night doesn't mean you can order us around like that!" Jorien snapped an instant later, and Robin honestly felt as startled by the sudden outburst as hurt by the comment itself.

"Have you gone mad or what's your bloody problem?!" Cas yelled back at Jorien before Robin could intervene. "Honestly, what's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into YOU is the real question here!" Jorien returned, ignoring Robin now just as Cas did. "You and your pathetic excuse of a relationship! Do you even realize that there are other people on this planet than bloody Simon?!"

"Stop. It. Now." Robin cut in before either of them could continue, in a tone as sharp as a dagger and likely as dangerous, but she didn't yell. She didn't have to, for both girls turned their attention to her immediately with almost startled faces; Robin never spoke to them like that, and she honestly regretted that she had to now. "If you act like children, I will treat you like children. And since you refuse to settle this like adults, I will be seeing both of you for detention after breakfast."

"You can't give us detention." Jorien scoffed and crossed her arms in defiance. "Don't make yourself more important than you are."

"I most definitely can, so you better find yourselves in the potions classroom after breakfast if you don't want me to drag you there while your friends are watching." Robin said in the cold calm she usually would use on people she wished to intimidate, and it honestly felt weird to use it under these circumstances now instead. But she would rather have both girls be friends again and hate her together for what she was doing to them now, than to watch their friendship crumbling apart over a relationship that probably wouldn't last until the end of the school year. Either way, she saw no version of this that had all three of them being good with each other again, and if that's what it took, she would gladly sacrifice her own connection to them to save their friendship at least.

"Okay." Cas finally replied quietly, staring at her own feet with a small pout.

"Not okay!" Jorien protested however, and Robin had to do her best not to roll her eyes. The girl really was quite as stubborn as Robin herself could be, and Robin honestly understood why Snape had been so annoyed with her at times in the more distant past. But Jorien wasn't giving up on it. "I refuse to have a bloody student on an ego trip give me false detention for nothing!"

"You insulted me twice now, does that make you feel better about yourself? Or is it part of your own justification for the anger you direct at me?" Robin merely asked her in return, entirely calmly (as difficult as that was), and turned on her heels to open the door. "If you don't want to believe me, we can ask someone who most definitely will confirm that for you two, my word is law indeed."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Jorien scoffed and left the bedroom after Robin, following on her heels while Cas closed the door after them and even then stayed a few feet behind.

Robin counted her breaths as she made her way towards breakfast, calming herself down as much as possible, while she felt bad already for what she meant to do. Really, bothering Snape with this had not been on her agenda for today. They had been good again for mere hours, and now… oh well. Perhaps it did have a positive side to it though; at least it would be another piece of proof to him that she definitely didn't withdraw from him at all. Things were going to be alright again from here on; she was going to see to that at last.

______________________________

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[slashyrogue]

It wasn’t easy for a human to attract a shifter. 

Or so Will had heard. 

He’d never had much experience with them, but the rarity of human x shifter couplings were so that there were even classes in order to help those who were desperately attracted to the idea. 

His shifter wasn’t hard to attract at all. 

The minute he’d met Dr. Hannibal Lecter, the cat shifter had formed an odd attachment to him. This phenomena was even more rare, as cats were the most fickle of the shifter types. There were some cats who didn’t mate at all, finding solace in being alone, and others who only stayed amongst their own kind. 

Hannibal seemed the first type, or so the many people who remarked to Will later would tell him, and as the weeks progressed Will found himself with a conundrum. 

He wasn’t interested. 

Will had never been interested in relationships with other humans, let alone becoming a shifter mate for life, and though Hannibal tried his best to woo him he really wasn’t Will’s type. Shifters in general had never paid much attention to Will that way so he’d ignored them when he found someone to spend the night with, and Hannibal’s attractiveness aside there was just nothing about him Will found interesting. 

But how to tell him? 

Jack Crawford had remarked to Will how “sensitive” an issue like rejection was to shifters. A wolf shifter himself, Jack was the only shifter Will knew outside of Hannibal he could talk to. 

“You’re sure about this, Will?” Jack asked, frowning, “I mean...you know what they say about cat shifters.” 

Will blushed. 

“I do."

“So, I mean...”

“I’m not interested, Jack,” he sighed, “And it’s getting to be a problem.”

Cat shifters were said to be amazing in bed, like one night with one and you’d never want to be with anyone else again. 

Will thought that sounded terrifying. 

Hannibal’s attempts at wooing him so far had begun to increase, nightly offerings of food and companionship that Will didn’t want or need but couldn’t turn away. He knew this was supposed to be a compliment, but it was starting to effect his entire life. 

“Well,” Jack sighed, scratching behind the brown ears on top of his head, “Just do it gently. I’ve heard cats can get...prickly. Hannibal doesn’t seem the type but you never know.” 

“I’ll try.” 

“And maybe I’ll start looking for another psychiatrist to...help you through your...problem.” 

Will nodded and left Jack’s office, feeling a bit better, and yet as he waited for the elevator doors to open he knew he’d miss that aspect of all this. 

His weekly visits to Hannibal’s office were nice, friendly, and Will didn’t genuinely hate them. Hannibal treated him like a person, more so than most humans did, and as much as he wasn’t attracted to him he wanted to remain friends. 

Would that even be possible after this? 

The doors opened and Will was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice he wasn’t alone till the doors closed. 

“Hello, Will.” 

Hannibal’s accented purr startled him, making Will jump in surprise. “Hannibal,” he squeaked, coughing, “I...I didn’t notice you. Sorry.” 

“You seem upset. Is there an assignment from Jack that’s troubling you?” 

“No,” he whispered, squeezing his hands at his sides, “Nothing like that.” 

“I see.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I was looking for you,” Hannibal said honestly, “And as you were not home I suspected you to be here.” 

Will blushed. “Oh.” 

“Is there something the matter?” 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “No.” 

“Will...” 

“Not here,” he mumbled, shaking his head, “It’s best if we...” 

The elevator suddenly lurched and he fell back only to have Hannibal catch him. He stared up into Hannibal’s amber eyes, surprised, and pulled himself away a moment later. 

“What was that?” 

Hannibal walked to the elevator buttons and pressed them. 

Nothing happened. 

“It seems we’re stuck. The elevator must have stalled.” 

Will sighed, leaning against the wall. “Perfect.”

Hannibal smiled at him. “Is it?” 

He frowned. “I didn’t mean...” 

“We will have some time alone together until it’s fixed I suspect. If you wanted to talk about your problem now....” 

“No,” Will sighed, “I...” 

“Will, you’ve never had a problem speaking your mind to me before. What is it that makes this different?” 

He blushed, looking down at his shoes. “It’s not--”

“Is this because of my interest?” 

Will looked up at him. “Um...” 

He watched Hannibal’s face fall. “I see.” 

“It’s been a few weeks and really I like talking to you in sessions but---” 

Hannibal moved as far away from him as possible. “No, it’s perfectly fine. I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated to accept my courting if you weren’t attracted.” 

Will’s stomach tightened. “I’m not....into shifters. Okay? I haven’t really ever been that much into men in general. It’s not you, it’s---” 

“Please, don’t,” Hannibal hissed, his eyes suddenly flashing, “I do not need your pity.” 

“Hannibal...” 

“I think it best if you call me, Dr. Lecter from now on. I’d prefer it.” 

The dismissal made Will sadder than it should have. “Ok.” 

Silence followed, and while Will’s phone didn’t work he was able to track fifteen minutes passed before someone’s voice came through the speaker. 

“Hello in there!” 

They both looked up from where they sat on the elevator floor and Will shot up rushing to the speaker. 

“Hey, we’re stuck!” 

“We see that! It’ll be a bit of a wait, fellas! Bobby called off sick and he’s the only one who knows how to handle number three but we’re calling in the repair guys who’ll be here in an hour.” 

Will sighed. “Fine. Just...let us know.” 

“Will do!” 

He saw Hannibal had moved away from him again and seemed to be doing everything he could not to acknowledge Will’s existence. 

“It--” 

“I heard,” Hannibal said, glaring at him, “I have very good hearing.” 

The pale brown ears at the top of his head were down low in his anger. Will had never seen them look like that before. “I know.” 

“And I’m very highly sought after,” Hannibal continued, “Many others want to mate with me. Many, many, others.” 

“I...” 

“Cat shifters are amongst the highest regard to mate with, did you know that?” 

Will blushed. “Yes.” 

“And yet...” 

“It’s me, Han---Dr. Lecter. Not you. You’re...great. Attractive, nice, and just...great.” 

Hannibal frowned, his ears raising. “And yet you do not find yourself attracted to me.” 

“No.” 

“Have you even attempted to see me in that regard?” 

Will cocked his head. “What do you mean?” 

“Have you...let yourself see me in that regard? Thought of me when you were pleasuring yourself? Imagined what mating with me would be like?” 

Will felt his cheeks redden. “No.” 

“Why?” 

“I just...didn’t.” 

Hannibal crawled closer to him, staying on his hands and knees as he looked at Will. He could smell his aftershave, and the light in his eyes was oddly beautiful. 

“Because you don’t think you ever could or because you’re afraid if you did you wouldn’t want to stop?” 

Will licked his lips. “Hann...” 

Hannibal leaned down to run his tongue across Will’s knuckles. He shivered, and a sudden throb of desire seemed to kick in. “I would do my best to pleasure you, Will. As much as you could handle and often.” 

He nuzzled Will’s hand now, and Will couldn’t resist scratching under his chin. 

“Dr. Lecter...” 

“Hannibal,” he purred, looking up again, “Please, Will...call me Hannibal.” 

Will’s cock twitched. “Hannibal, this...” 

“Are you interested now, Will?” 

“Yes,” Will said without hesitation, “What are you doing to me?” 

Hannibal smiled and licked Will’s hand again. “Absolutely nothing.” 

Will sighed. “No, you have to be. I...” 

“You saw me as a sexless figure, Will, and were unable to get past that. This seems to have been what was stopping you.” 

“No, I’m not even into shifters.” 

Hannibal lifted his head and Will watched as his whiskers grew more prominent. 

“Perhaps you’re only into me.” 

He reached up to touch Hannibal’s cheek and swallowed past the dryness in his throat. “Or you’re using some kind of cat sex trick on me.” 

Hannibal climbed up into his lap and Will groaned as he felt him grind against his already hardening cock. “Mmmm...” 

Will found it hard to concentrate on anything else, grabbing hold of his hips and arching up to meet the tease. “Fuck...” 

He licked across Will’s cheek and the loud purr he gave made Will whimper. 

“Shall I stop?” 

“No,” Will sighed, “Fuck, don’t...” 

The sudden lurch of the elevator made them both pause. Will felt them start to move and they looked at each other. Hannibal smiled and teased another lick to Will’s cheek. 

“It seems we’ll have to continue this another time.” 

He got up and Will whimpered at the loss. “Wait!” 

Hannibal stared down at him smugly. “It seems...you’re attracted to shifters after all.” 

Will sighed. “You can’t just leave me like this.” 

The elevator doors opened and Hannibal walked through to the other side. He turned to wink at Will. “If you’re interested in continuing our...discussion...you know where to find me.” 

And with that he was gone. 

Will stood up slowly, blushing as several people stared at him, and rushed out of the elevator. His cock was so hard he could barely walk and yet he got to his car barely able to stop thinking about Hannibal. 

The minute he was alone he had to resist the urge to jerk off. 

“Fuck.” 

It seemed he was interested after all. 

[letterboxd]

Third Language.

With her debut film Farewell Amor out now following a successful journey on the festival circuit, Tanzanian-American writer and director Ekwa Msangi tells Selome Hailu about the third language of music, growing up on knockoffs of the Rambo franchise, and her favorite African filmmakers.

There’s a subtle musicality central to the way Ekwa Msangi carries herself. She finds melodies in her words: “You hum the ‘m’,” she says when asked how to pronounce her last name. “Mmm-sangi.” And perhaps to a more subconscious degree, she speaks with rhythm, too: “I do think, and I know, and I can see…” she trails off, ruminating on how much hope she feels for the future of Black filmmaking. Naturally, this musical quality meanders into her work.

Farewell Amor is a quiet film, except for when it isn’t. Three Angolan immigrants revolve around each other in an awkward orbit, each trying to make sense of their dynamic now that they’ve left their home behind. Kept apart for seventeen years by the bureaucratic intricacies of war and paperwork, Walter (Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine) is finally joined by his wife Esther (Zainab Jah) and daughter Sylvia (Jayme Lawson—soon to be seen as Bella Reál in The Batman) in New York City. But they don’t know each other anymore and spend much of their time in silence, until music and dance burst forward as a chance at common ground.

Msangi’s screenplay never dwells on the technicalities of the family’s struggle against the American immigration system. Instead, it plunges into softer, more personal after-effects of dreams deferred. Walter’s walls bear a faded calendar with Barack Obama’s face on it, even though his empty apartment complicates the “hope” the president promised people like him. When his family arrives at long last, Esther wears a silver cross pendant, having made sense of these years as a married-yet-single mother by drawing closer—almost too close—to religion. Sylvia barely speaks at all, caught between a faith that isn’t hers and a home that isn’t either.

Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine and Nana Mensah in ‘Farewell Amor’. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

The film’s triptych structure emerged after Msangi spent months grappling with how to create a feature-length screenplay out of her original short film. “Having just come off of the short, I was focusing on Walter’s story. But [I] didn’t think that was the most original story I could tell,” she says. “And then, out of indecision between whether I should make it Walter’s or Sylvia’s story, I decided to just do both. Initially it was two perspectives that I was looking at. But I realized that Esther’s story was really the linchpin for both of their stories, and it wouldn’t make sense not to have hers.”

Giving Walter, Esther and Sylvia their own chapters makes Farewell Amor a stronger film than if it had followed a singular, traditional protagonist. Extreme conservatism in one chapter is revealed as a desire to avoid pain in another; one character’s cramped living room is another’s space to dance freely. Writing on Letterboxd, Tabby points out how the three-part narrative structure grants meaningful subjectivity to characters who deserve it: “It’s so easy for Westernized perspectives to steamroll over films that deal in cultural disparities and thematics, but Farewell Amor takes important steps in showing all sides of the story,” she writes. “It was refreshing to see [the characters] each given the space to exist.”

This layering of voices happens in the camerawork, too. Each section of the narrative is marked with a visual language of its own, complete with specific color palettes and cinematographic techniques. Msangi thinks fondly about the work she put in with cinematographer Bruce Francis Cole to make the chapters distinct. “For Walter’s, it’s sort of a slow cinema, where there’s a lot of still framing. It’s almost like he’s stuck, you know? Stuck in the frame between two surfaces, two hard surfaces, a window frame, a door frame. And in Sylvia’s, we wanted to have it reflect her livelihood, her restlessness. All handheld cameras, all movement. And then for Esther, she’s very observant. She’s been taking everything in, almost in an investigative style, but also a little bit romantic. She’s romanticized this setup, so a lot of close shots, a lot of soft lighting.”

Jayme Lawson as Sylvia in ‘Farewell Amor’. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

Music gives Farewell Amor a cohesion across the different storylines. “Music is, for these characters in particular, and for me, kind of a third language,” Msangi says. “It gives you a glimpse under the covers, what’s under the sheets.” The soundtrack underscores strong performances from Mwine, Jah and Lawson, lending depth to their quietude and vibrance to their movement. Msangi also notes how sound became a cornerstone of her collaboration with the actors: “As I was writing from different perspectives, in order to help me get into each character’s skin, I would listen to the music that they would be interested in.” She later shared these playlists with the actors, using the songs to communicate what words couldn’t.

Msangi has a good laugh as she tries to think about the major films that inspired her to become a filmmaker. “You know, I don’t have that. Well, I do have that, but not for the reasons that most of my film peers have,” she says. Growing up in East Africa in the ’80s and ’90s, little to none of the programming on television was local. What did kids watch instead? “We watched Rambo for probably ten years straight, and then Rambo knockoffs for another ten years after that. I decided to become a filmmaker because of horrible Rambo knockoff films.”

“I grew up surrounded by such colorful and delightful and interesting and funny people,” Msangi says. “And none of that was reflected anywhere in the media.” As she grew older, she sought out African films she couldn’t access in her youth. Now, they’re some of her highest recommendations. Ousmane Sembène is the first African director whose filmography she ever got the chance to dive into. Sembène’s 50-year career has garnered him the affectionate title of ‘Father of African film’ among many critics and scholars, who laud him for his dramas, including Black Girl and Camp de Thiaroye. Msangi, however, finds herself taken with his unique sense of humor. She has also been inspired by Safi Faye, another Senegalese director, who became the first sub-Saharan African woman to attain commercial distribution in 1975—and whose film Mossane portrays sexual intimacy with an openness Msangi hadn’t seen elsewhere.

Writer-director Ekwa Msangi. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

In Farewell Amor, Sylvia’s chapter reads like a compacted coming-of-age film. Msangi points to South African director Darrell James Roodt’s Sarafina! as an influence in that regard. “It was showing for two weeks in Nairobi, and I lined up for four hours to watch,” she says about the film, a drama about youth involvement in the 1976 Soweto uprising. “Even though it’s from a different part of the continent, I’d never seen young African teenagers on a screen before.” More recently, she has loved 2011 TIFF breakout and Oscar contender Death for Sale by Moroccan director Faouzi Bensaïdi, and Radha Blank’s The Forty-Year-Old Version is her favorite film of 2020. She’s hopeful about the future of Black American cinema: Ava DuVernay and Ryan Coogler are two of her favorite working directors.

Msangi’s selections are wide in range, but there’s still one thing holding them together: themes of vulnerability, community and celebration of identity, across different decades and genres. In fact, her approach to watching movies isn’t far off from the way she made her own—Farewell Amor maps concurrent experiences of disparate people, and Msangi’s tastes seem driven by the same balance of vastness and specificity.

“I’m a filmmaker who really abhors working on the same kind of story over and over again, the same genre, the same kinds of characters,” she says. “So I’m not going to make my career just telling stories about immigrants or about, you know, their wretched troubles,” she laughs. “I don’t want to do that.”

Msangi’s next project will be an African-American period piece; beyond that, she hopes to make films in several locations: the Caribbean, Europe and all over the African continent. “I really would like to just have a lot of fun with my career. You know? Because it’s a fun and magical industry that we work in! The work that we do in creating these stories and hopes and dreams—we create magic, so it should be fun.”

Related content

Adam Davie’s Black Life on Film list

Shachar’s 20 Films by Black Directors 2021 Challenge

Screenpaige’s list of Black Women in Film

Follow Selome on Letterboxd

‘Farewell Amor’ is out now in select theaters and on demand through IFC.

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

And he said, I hope you know how to swim

A/N: this is for the gift exchange from @itfandomprompts! My giftee is @iheartthoreau who asked for shy skinny dipping lovers and jealous Eddie. I’m sorry it’s out so late, I hope you enjoy it anyway! 

Summary:  The Derry midnight breeze is freezing, Eddie notes, still dressed in a shirt and pants and dreading having to get rid of them. He’s bare foot now, standing on top of the quarry and peering down into the glinting lake. Next to him, also bare foot, Richie looks over his shoulder, and laughs, bright and innocent. 

warnings: skinny dipping, mentioned of nudity (but nothing graphic)

read on a3o

The atmosphere of six best friends who’ve just moved past the worst stages in their life cackles in Eddie’s brain.

He’s buzzed up, energized beyond all logic by the laughter and loving gestures so carelessly tossed around in their group. Pennywise is dead, and with it the looming threat following each of them around and the teasing unhappiness hinting at what they were missing but not giving any clues as to what.

It’s all over now, and a road full of new opportunities lays ahead of them. Everyone is acting loose, ecstatic with the weight that fell off their shoulders. Eddie’s feeling a tad guilty too, for calling Myra and informing her that way about their upcoming divorce that he’s going to set in motion as soon as he’s had a good night sleep, but he felt so brave after surviving a literal killer clown, that he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

A part of him was also frightful that he’d lose his courage, between now and getting home, that he’d look around his house and accept that this was all he was destined for, a mediocre life with a wife he didn’t love and a job that sucked the joy out of all employees. Myra deserved better though, and that’s why Eddie’s guilty eyeing his phone, debating on calling her back. He won’t take back what he said, because he’s relieved to have put it out in the open, but he’s unsure if he should have been more empathetic towards her feelings in all of this. If he should have ended the call after telling her to take care.

Bev notices his wandering eyes from where she seated beside him on the couch, the woman still laughing a stitch, shifting forward and hiding his phone in between seat cushions. Out of sight out of mind so to speak.

‘We’ve got time to worry about it tomorrow Eddie.’ She says, and she’s right. Tomorrow both him and Bev will have to deal with the intricacies of divorce and separating a company and a home. Tonight is reserved for the losers only.

‘Yeah Eds, and here I was assuming that after twenty years we’d have some stuff to catch up on.’

Richie regards him from the floor, legs tossed up upon the couch with his body upside down. His glasses are sliding off, but he’s lazy to fix them, so he looks like even more of a goofball than normal. If Eddie could, if he didn’t feel like his intentions would be even more noticeable if he did, he’d scoot over to Richie, adjusting his glasses and letting his fingers trail his cheek and bask in the skin to skin contact.

‘You never did anything interesting before we went to college, what makes you think you’ve done something interesting after?’ Eddie’s tongue is sharp, a façade he builds to stop speculation about his feelings towards Richie, though the truth is that he is intrigued and he craves to know every small detail about his life outside of Derry.

‘No you guys are not starting this again. I’m sick of your bickering,’ Bill interjects, rolling his eyes at the pair.

‘I reject that big Bill, we’re hilarious, you can’t be sick of us bickering when you haven’t had the pleasure of hearing it for the last twenty years. Michael, back me up here buddy.’

‘Sorry Rich, I’m not getting involved in the slightest.’

‘Yeah guys come on, can’t we have one quiet night in?’

‘What so Eddie can just call me boring and I’m supposed to let it slide? Me? I’m the fireworks on the Fourth of July, the highest roller coaster in the park and the whipped cream on strawberries, but I am not boring.’ Richie changes positions, almost accidentally knocking over his beer bottle. He theatrically waves his arms back and forth, trying to animate his words and add conviction.

‘Okay, okay you’re not boring, but don’t overrate yourself either. The most adventurous thing you ever did in high school was skip a class to read a comic book in the school’s bathroom. Not exactly daredevil behavior.’

Bev sips from her whiskey, winking at Richie whose face turns beet red for a reason Eddie can’t decipher. It’s not until Bev conspicuously blows out a gust of air with her lips puckered that Eddie connects the dots.

‘Didn’t you say you ditched because you were smoking with Beverly? Dude did you fucking lie about that? I was worried you’d die and get cancer ever since that day you piece of shit.’

‘No I definitely did smoke. I swear.’

‘You’re not kidding anyone Rich, I vouched for you all those years ago, but I’m not doing it again. Little Richie was a comic book nerd who just pretended to be really cool. We never ever smoked together.’

The losers all holler, clapping their hands together and cheering on the exposure of their foulmouthed friend, debunking all the story Richie apparently made up where he and Be had to sneak out at night to smoke inconspicuously, with the exception of Eddie and Richie. Eddie, because he’s busy glaring at Richie and Richie because he’s busy tapping Bill’s hand away, teasingly disheveling his hair.

Eddie wishes he was brave enough to give these little affections to his friend, especially after witnessing how soothed Richie got when Eddie hugged him after Neibolt, when he had dropped his face into the nape of Eddie’s neck and stayed there, swaying on his feet of exhaustion. It would only make him a good friend, a best friend, but Eddie is still so damn afraid.

He might have had the power to separate from his wife and kill an abstract form of his deepest fears, but Bowers angry yelled words, such as fairy and faggot, swung to his head any time he and Richie graveted closer while walking, haunt him even now.

Touching is off limits the words tell him, so he shows affection the only way he’s ever known towards Richie, by bickering and pulling pigtails.

‘I should have expected that.’ Eddie nods vehemently, laughing as Richie’s mouth drops open in a shocked manner.

‘Are you kidding me? Eddie Spaghetti is the one telling me I’m a loser?’

Eddie flips him off, ignoring Mike’s whispered; ‘he’s got a point’, in favor of levitating his full attention on Richie. The giggling in the room elevates an octave higher.

‘You all laugh’, Richie addresses the entire group, ‘but was I not the one who came up with the idea for the list?’

Abruptly, all sounds snap off, as everyone is snapped back to the past. Even Richie is, at face value, confused about the word he spoke, until the concept and creation of the list is brought to the forefront of everyone’s mind.

‘Holy shit.’

‘Oh my god Mike please tell me you still have it.’

Mike shakes his head with a far-off look. ‘Sorry guys, I don’t know who had it last but I never found it again.’ He’s saddened by it, like he did them all an injustice by not holding on to a flimsy piece of paper.

The List, capital L, was nothing more but a checklist, composed with all the fun and dangerous things the losers all had hopes of doing after graduating high school. Eddie remembers now, the hushed laughter and uncompromisable joy that came with the simple idea of these things, how everyone pitched in and added dare after dare while him and Stan exchanged glances and hoped to god that some things would never be executed.

‘That’s okay Mike, I’m just happy we can all remember making it.’ Ben smiles reassuringly Mike’s way, who smiles back and takes a deep breath.

‘Wait, I think I can recall some of the things we wrote on there. Hold on’, Bev squeezes her eyes shut and snaps her finger in the hope it will get to her faster. ‘Oh’, she exclaims, startling Bill who chokes on his own saliva, ‘we were going to visit Europe, do a high rope parkour, rock climb and some other things I can’t remember right now.’

‘Didn’t we also agree to volunteer in a hospital and go camping in the national forest?’ Ben asks, awaiting confirmation.

‘Yeah we did, Stan was throwing a fit over going camping because of the environment and the dirt, but we were well on our way to convince him.’

‘Wow,’ Richie breathes, chest puffing up and head dropping back into the couch so his face isn’t visible to the rest. ‘I forgot all about that, but come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I did most of those things with Bryan.’

And who the fuck is Bryan? Certainly not Eddie, sweating in fear from the things that were being listed, searching for the most extreme dares he’d seen happen on tv to suggest, doing anything he could to impress Richie. Eddie was terrified of most of the activities on the list, like Bev’s idea to waterski in the ocean, or Mike’s zip lining idea, but he would have done them if it meant he could bask in Richie’s attention, impress Richie to rid himself of scared baby Eddie was so sure he must have been in Richie’s eyes. So who the hell was this Bryan stealing his thunder like that?

‘Who’s Bryan?’ Bev inquires with a smirk, winking at Richie blush ridden face. Eddie’s jealousy rears its ugly head, flaring up and making his head woozy. He simultaneously both considers choking Bev and thanking her for the question.

With Richie’s secret fresh on his mind, the way he’d so shamefully admitted that he was gay and they were the first people he’d ever found the courage to tell, Eddie wondered if Bryan was perhaps someone Richie had been romantically involved with.

Richie would have deserved it, Eddie argues in his mind, to at least for a short period of time have someone love him back as fiercely as he dons it out, but Eddie’s also furious that he stole Richie out from under his nose.

Which is illogical, because even if he and Richie had managed to stay in touch, and Eddie confessed – not much chance there, as Eddie didn’t even tell anyone he was gay when Richie did - there was no guaranty that Richie would’ve reciprocated.

‘No one snoopy’, Richie argues with a jittery leg, ’just some guy I hung out with for a while.’

Bev appears unconvinced, but she’s also respectful towards Richie's decision to not say anything. ‘So which ones did you complete?’

‘I went to Europa senior year of college, smoked a bunch of weed, went zip lining. The normal kind of stuff.’

Zip-lining, or smoking weed for that matter, causes Eddie skin to crawl, not that he’d ever admit it. He hates that that’s not the case for Bryan.

‘Well thanks Rich, none of us ever did anything on the list without the other losers. I guess you didn’t miss us too much.’ It’s not fair, of course it’s not. He can tell by the eagerness to spend time together that Richie was very lonely, and experienced the same aching emptiness where his friends were supposed to be as the rest of them.

The bitter tone of Eddie's speech, and the way Richie’s eyes turn a little dimmer extinguishes the fire of Eddie’s envy. Richie deserves better than him in every way. An apology lies at the tip of his tongue, ready to jump into the open and hopefully aid the wounds before they’re fully developed.

Sensing the impending hurricane of trouble on the horizon Mike is eager to intervene, playing mediator for two forces that are about to collide. ‘Well I mean, we probably wouldn’t have gone through with most of them anyway.’

‘Speak for yourself’, Eddie waves him off, spiteful that Mike has a good point. He would have found a way to undermine their plans and make it so that he could back out without appearing like a meek lamb, for at least half of the activities. If he had known about Bryan’s existence though, he would have done anything. He feels ready now to do anything, to one up him and establish his spot as Richie’s number one.

‘Prove it,’ Bill dares with a lopsided smirk, certain he’s got Eddie beat. He sustains eye contact, reaching for the bag of chips on the table and gnawing on it with the most smug aura Eddie has ever witnessed him having.

‘I would’, Eddie defends fiercely, ‘but we can’t do any of the things in Derry.’

‘Sounds like a cop out to me.’

‘Yeah, sure Big Bill, because you can easily find a zip line here in Derry. The town that refused to spend money on renewing the library back in the eighties is no doubt going to have that installed by now.’

‘What about skinny dipping?’ Ben proposes innocently, having no idea the kind of strain he’s putting Eddie under.

‘That’s a great idea Ben, I forgot we put that one on the list.’ Beverly acknowledges despite Eddie’s frantic head shaking. The room temperature drops down and rises back up steadily, at least according to Eddie. He’s starting to sweat, something he never does and takes pride in – in the office he’s the level headed one, and that’s saying something – and he pulls at his collar to allow some air to ventilate.  

Everything except that. A swim in a dirty lake that was most likely infected was a whole plate of different bacteria, and being naked in front of the man he’s in love with is not something Eddie is particularly fond of. He almost asks for a different thing to do, but that would truly be a cop out, and he both refuses to back down in front of Richie and give Bill the satisfaction of being right.

‘Good luck with that Eds, question before this all goes down, am I allowed to use this in my next bit?’

‘Actually,’ Bev interrupts, ‘I think you should join him too.’

‘Hey I wasn’t the one that said I’d be willing to do anything.’

‘No, but you were the one who added it on the list in the first place. C’mon Richie, It’ll be fun. For us, not for you guys, but we’ll get a good laugh out of it.’

Richie is hesitant, same as Eddie, readjusting his glasses again. Eddie is sure that if he says the word Richie will tell everyone to back down for him. He wouldn’t even make fun of Eddie for it, should Eddie give any indication that he wouldn’t want him too. He thinks back to Bryan, and how he wouldn’t have backed down for such a thing, and how in awe Richie must have been seeing the man abandon all safety precaution and go for it, Eddie’s mind is made up instantly.

‘Let’s do it.’ He says without leaving room for argument, nodding at Richie as he looks to him. He hopes Richie will go with it, but is also confident that of course he will. As kids they followed each other everywhere, and surely that hasn’t changed.

‘Really? I mean yeah – sure I guess. Bring it on.’

-----

The Derry midnight breeze is freezing, Eddie notes, still dressed in a shirt and pants and dreading having to get rid of them. He’s barefoot now, standing on top of the quarry and peering down into the glinting lake. Eddie’s jumping from one foot to the other, annoyed that dirt is clinging to his skin and branches are piercing his soles, even more aggravated at the idea of cleaning them in infection filled lake water. Bev better keep her end of the promise, and be waiting near the end of the lake with a pair of fresh pressed towels.

Next to him, also bare foot, Richie looks over his shoulder, and laughs, bright and innocent.

‘I forgot how high this was.’

It is high up, but they’ve done this jump at least a hundred times before, so Eddie’s not worried about the plunge. He’d assume Richie isn’t either, but the man keeps glances towards the path they took to get up here, uncharacteristically silent.

‘It’s okay if you're too scared to go through with it Eduardo, I won’t tell the others.’ Richie smirks when he notices Eddie’s glance, crossing his arms over his chest.

The movement makes his shoulders bulk, highlighting just how much bigger Richie is compared to Eddie. Eddie’s mouth waters, and he starts to worry about how he’s going to have to get through seeing Richie’s naked shoulders in the flesh.

‘Just get undressed will you? Hurry up.’

‘Why? Eager to see my bare ass?’

‘Yeah, because who doesn’t think jumping naked into a lake they frequented as kids is the epitome of sexiness? No you self-centered idiot, I want to get it over with so I can go back to the Inn and grab a warm shower.’

With one last peek, Eddie moves backwards, standing away from the ledge and begins to unbutton his shirt, before thinking better off it. Richie picks up on his hesitation, shifting backwards too and motioning his head towards the ridge.

‘Do you want me to show you how it’s done?’

‘No,’ Eddie objects, ‘I’ll go first.’

‘Why? I’m not going to stare at your junk while you're jumping in if that’s what you're worried about Eddie. I’m not that kind of gay.’ Rarely does Richie toss aside an opportunity to grant Eddie another humorous nickname, so the use of his real name spooks Eddie just enough that he opens his mouth to apologize without even realizing what he’s apologizing for.

Richie’s facial expression, set in a grimace and squinting his eyes defensively, are a dead give away that Eddie’s words are being taken the wrong way. If only Richie knew that Eddie wanted him to go in first so he could avoid the same temptation Richie thought he was forcing on him.

‘Richie no, that’s not what I meant I-.’ Heartfelt compliments are not something Eddie has had a lot of practice for these last few years, and he’s not doing a good job catching up on them either. Therefore he sighs and hopes that he can find another way to prove to Richie he’d never accuse him of something like that. ‘Whatever, just go first already.’

‘Fine but turn around okay?’

Eddie listens to him, back towards Richie and the jump off, though he doesn’t really understand the request. With Richie comes a lot of flair, and he was more or less been prepared for a joke about how Eddie got to confirm how big his dick is in reality.

He waits and listens carefully for the sounds of clothes being dropped on the ground, and he can’t stop his mind from secretly imagining how Richie looks like without them once he distinguishes it.  Eddie shakes his head, scolding his own mind.

The next few moments are filled with raspy breaths originating from Richie, footstep sounding further away and then closer again in an erratic pattern. He must be scared of the jump. Under normal circumstances, Eddie would ask to jump in at the same time, but since Richie asked Eddie not to turn around, he won’t.

‘If you don’t jump in the next five minutes,’ Eddie teases, the way Richie used to tease him, ‘I’ll push you in.’ A second later Eddie hears Richie’s loud whooping as he plunges down into the dark water.

Eddie spins, the only thing greeting him the dark with very little light clearing up his path, from the moon. He’s having a hard time to even see where the cliff ends, and he can’t disguise Richie in the water at all.

‘I’m coming in’, he yells to the void, in case Richie can’t discern his body in time and needs to move out of the way. He takes off his clothes, goosebumps erupting on his skin, and folds his pants and t-shirt up neatly, touching the ground with his hands to find a dry spot to lay them on. The air is cold, and so Eddie refuses to linger on top any longer than he has to.

He jogs up to the ledge and darts off before his mind can conjure up the thousands of things that can go wrong from swimming in the dark this late at night. His body flies through the air and connects with the water in one swoop, a pit of glee bursting in Eddie’s stomach. Jumping from the quarry equals freedom, a hot summer day and love for all of his friends, but in particular Richie.

Eddie keeps his head underwater until his lungs burn, eyes closed and allowing himself to just feel all the sensations. Then, something tickles the back of his leg, and the peaceful moment is over. He kicks back the surface, away from the spot where he could swear something touched him, and searches around for Richie.

Richie, with his wet black hair clinging to his forehead, strands of it sticking out in every direction, and his droplet covered glasses, roving more of Eddie’s heart each minute they’re near each other. He’s never looked more beautiful, and Eddie has never had to fight the urge to kiss him as much as he does now.

‘See, I told you I wouldn’t stare Eds, I can’t even see anything with all these splatters on my glasses.’

The moon reflects on the water, so that it’s impenetrable, and neither Rich nor Eddie can look down and see their lower body parts.

What Eddie can see is enough anyway, Richie’s shoulders and part of his chest hold Eddie’s attention, and he forgets to respond to Richie’s comment.

His eyes land on a dark bruise, just on the bottom of Richie’s neck, a remnant of their fight with Pennywise earlier that day. Without thinking, without standing still on the consequences of such an action, Eddie swims closer, stretches his arm out, and lingers his fingertips over the bruise. He carefully positions his body to not touch any other body part of Richie’s except for his fingers on his neck.

He makes an inquisitive noise, thumb stroking over the injury in what he hopes to be a calming matter. He physically can’t pull away, entranced with the way he moves and responds to him, trying but failing to get his fill of Richie clenched.

‘Eddie’, Richie whispers, scared to break the silence and the intimate moment. ‘It’ll be fine. And hey, at least he didn’t do anything to my dick.’

‘Yeah, would have been a shame if it were to become even smaller.’

Richie snorts, retaliating the jest with a wave of dirty water aimed at Eddie.

Eddie gasps, spitting out a bit of water that managed to sneak into his mouth. ‘Oh you’re on.’

The two of them chase each other, and if it weren’t for the fact that they were both naked, Eddie would have thrown his entire body weight in the game to push Richie underwater. As it stands, they just splash back and forth until they’re exhausted and the remnants of their laughter dies out, barely enough energy left to stay afloat side by side.

‘Did you have this much fun with Bryan?’ Eddie asks, a bit envious. He hates how he’s still stuck on the Bryan thing, hates that his mind keeps popping images of them doing the exact same thing only to end it with a kiss.

‘What?’

‘With Bryan, the guy you did all that other stuff with?’

‘Oh no, me and Bryan – we were never together like that.’ Back at the hotel room, Eddie figured that that was a ploy to distract Bev, something Richie just said because he couldn’t comfortably admit the real intent of their relationship. But he’s never lied to Eddie, and his eyes, magnified by his glasses, seem so sincere, Eddie has no other option but to believe him. ‘I-I’m- some other guy already has that place all taken up.’

Eddie stupid, oblivious and dense and everything in between. He knows Richie isn’t talking about him, he knows he could never be the guy Richie would hold all hope out for – he also secretly hopes it’s none of the losers -, but he wants to be so bad. Just one time, just one kiss and he’d be sated enough to let go of his feral behavior towards any potential love interest Richie might have. Just one time.

‘Richie’, Eddie starts, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He’s taking a huge risk, by foreseeing a rejection but hoping that Richie won’t drop him as a friend because of this. If Eddie doesn’t do this, he’ll never stop wondering what it feels for their lips to meet. He’ll never get over Richie because he never got to experience any with him.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He risks releasing his lip.

Richie is visibly shocked. ‘What? What the fuck? Eddie is this a joke?’

The joke is, as usual, all on Eddie who regrets ever opening his mouth in the first place. He could try to laugh it off, say that it was a joke, but that would mean that he pretends to make a jest out of something Richie has struggled with for his entire life. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Left with no other options but to further dig his own grave, Eddie decides to be honest. At least that means he gets to keep part of his integrity.

‘No Richie of course not, I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m sorry. Look I like you but it’s obviously one sided and I just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you but it was a stupid request and I shouldn’t have asked you that. Oh god, I never even asked if you were dating someone –‘

‘Eds?’

‘- Fuck can we please forget I said anything so we can still hang out?’

‘Eddie?’

‘What?’

‘Yes. Please kiss me.’

Eddie gapes with his mouth open, struggling for breath and for words. He’s half convinced he misinterpreted  the words, but his tilted head proves otherwise. Eddie doesn’t question it further, counting his lucky start for once, and leaning in to his emotions and Richie, breaching the water to get to him.

Their kiss is surprisingly gentle for the ungovernable lead up prior to it. Richie’s lips taste like lake water, but deeper underneath lies a tang of something distinctively Richie. Eddie can’t wait to devour him whole once he’s cleaned up. Their lips move together in tandem, a perfect harmony that for once neither are willing to break.

They pull back, Richie’s arms circling Eddie’s waist, and he smiles. His smile mixed with the love stricken gleam in his eyes, mysteriously tells Eddie that Richie feels the exact same way he does. His chest caves with happiness.  

‘I like you too, if it wasn’t obvious. A lot more than Bryan.’

‘For the love of God can we never mention that again? It’s embarrassing. No, Hush’, Eddie says urgently, covering Richie’s mouth with his palm when he opens his mouth to conjure up another joke.

‘Fine,’ Richie says while pulling away from Eddie’s hand. ‘How about we talk about something else then? How the fuck are we supposed to get to our clothes?’

[purplebass]

Alastair Carstairs and Charles Fairchild: Uneven Love

In this essay I will try to be as brief as I can about what it meant to be part of the LGBTQ+ community at the beginning of the XX century and a few points on why Charles and Alastair were an uneven/unbalanced couple. Have a nice read!

Being gay in Victorian/Edwardian London

Legality of Charlastair’s relationship

Uneven relationship

Before I start delving into this topic, I just wanted to tell you a few things about what it meant being part of the LGBTQ+ community at the beginning of the XX century. I will briefly tell you about Great Britain specifically because the story is set in London, but you have to understand each country has its movements of emancipation and its laws, so there are a few things which may differ. I will also just mention about homosexual relationships at this time.

Being a gay man in London at the beginning of XX century wasn’t easy, because if two men were caught together in compromising positions, they could be arrested and detained and accused of buggery or attempted buggery. There was a law passed in 1885 which condemned public indecency between males, and such law won’t be abolished until the 60’s of the XX century. The only places gay men were allowed to be themselves were the Molly Houses. Those places were like modern taverns, pubs, coffeehouses where they could meet and engage in sexual activities with other gay men. Speaking of Charles and Alastair, I do wonder if they met in such a place, although since the former is so obsessed with keeping the appearances, maybe not. Or maybe he went in secret, but let’s not forget that in 1902 Alastair was 17. 

Why is Charles so obsessed with his image?

For one, homosexuality was the opposite of the idea of “manliness” in Victorian/Edwardian age. During this period, what counted the most to British people was their image, how they appeared in public, and being gay was considered as a deviant act, an immortal act which was the evidence of a corrupt morality. A Victorian family had to be presentable, impeccable - the public sphere had to be pristine even if the private sphere was not. Charles Fairchild is a man of the public sphere because he’s sort of a politician’s figure who was born during the highest point Victorian mentality. It’s no wonder he is concerned with how others perceive him, and he sees his sexuality as a threat to his preferred career, which is all about “manliness”. Remember before Charlotte became Consul? Even there we saw the sexism of the Inquisitor and other members solely because Charlotte was not a man, hence, she couldn’t be “manly”. Charles would be regarded the same way, this is why he decided not to be openly gay. But mark my words, sooner or later he will because that is an inner conflict he has which is at war with his outer goal. 

I’ve seen people say that one of the first reasons why Alastair and Charles’ relationship was not appropriate is because Alastair was 16 and Charles was 22. Of course I agree. I wanted to check whether it was legal or not in the XX century, and I discovered that after the Criminal Law Amendment Act passed in 1885, the age of consent was 16, which meant that as much as I find it repulsing, Alastair and Charles could have a relationship and they wouldn’t be breaking the law except for the not so little detail that they were homosexual. Like I said above, homosexuals could risk a prison sentence. 

I want to tell you more about this topic but I don’t want to derail from the purpose of this essay.

First and foremost, from the interactions we had of them, you could tell Charles seemed to have promised things to Alastair, because when they speak in Chapter 11 of CoG, the latter is pained and all of his hopes are destroyed. “But you said - I thought” that is what Alastair says. That is the realization that he believed in Charles and what they shared in Paris. Charles says he doesn’t make “false promises”, which means that he may have already thought that their relationship could not be more than what it was - a secret affair. Secret because the act was illegal at the time, and affair because it’s clear Charles might have used Alastair’s affection to fuel his own ego.

I’m convinced that Charles may have an inferiority complex. His mother Charlotte is Consul, the first female Consul. I believe he admires her because despite being a woman, she could get this post because she is also very able with her job. Charlotte is someone Charles looks up to and wants to emulate, but as we see through CoG, Charles’ regent job is laughable. He slanders James, he seems to side with Tatiana whenever he is concerned without having evidence (you see, Tatiana may have manipulated Charles into doing what she wants). This is not what a promising Consul does, and Charles probably knows it. 

Then why Alastair?

Why, you say? For one, Alastair also likes politics. I hope he likes politics because he wasn’t influenced by Charles, but I’m convinced that is what Charles and Alastair bonded on; politics. I could see Alastair also getting into politics, by the way, but this is a chat for another time. 

Alastair, 17 year old Alastair, felt confident of baring his soul to Charles when they started getting acquainted. He was also very young, I think Charles was the first person that he recognized also loved men like he did. He lived in an age were homosexuality was punished, the majority of gay men tried to hide their sexuality not to be deemed immoral and deviant. I think Alastair was ecstatic that he had found someone he could like and who could like him back, and this is why he decided to be with Charles. We don’t know when this relationship started, but probably after 1899 and the Academy. Maybe Paris in 1902 was the first encounter they had because they couldn’t see each other all the time, maybe they had been together longer… I don’t know. I hate that we don’t know the exact timeline, but we may get it in the future.

I was saying. In Chapter 11 of CoG when Charles goes to Alastair’s house, he reveals that he loves him. “I have loved you since Paris,” Alastair says, which, like I said above, makes it impossible to define if they just had Paris and Alastair fell for him from that only moment of connection (because they might have had sexual interactions there, maybe Alastair lost his virginity to Charles - these are just my assumptions, I have no idea if I’m right).

The Paris affair also makes me think about: “We’ll always have Paris”, which is a famous line from Casablanca. What does it mean? The only thing the protagonists of that movie can hold onto is Paris, since WWII broke and they can only have the memory of what happened in Paris because they can’t be together/won’t be reunited. Rings a bell? 

Before I also add how prophetic it was for Alastair to find Thomas in Paris at the same moment he was waiting to spend time with Charles - because it was indeed a coincidence, but also how tricky fate is. Alastair was probably already attracted to Thomas in Paris, but he was loyal to Charles, otherwise… but this is also a chat for another essay.

Then Alastair and Charles kiss. The way Charles treats Alastair is very controlling: he doesn’t just reply “You know I do” when A tells him he loves him, he leads the moment and draws Alastair towards him for a kiss. Then they end up on the sofa, Charles on top and Alastair under him - which isn’t very casual, is also a way for Charles to control everything, because he knows fine well Alastair loves him and he’s indulging into the moment because he doesn’t dislike A, but he also doesn’t love him. Alastair gives Charles the validation he isn’t getting in his political sphere. (See a few paragraphs above).

Sex is also a way to exert power. We don’t know Alastair’s and Charles’s private lives in detail, but from the ways this scene is written, I can tell Alastair is the type who bares himself for the one he loves. Now that his heart was broken I don’t know what to expect. 

Then they stop. Alastair is in pain because he longed for Charles. Of all the things he could ask Charles, what does he ask?

“What is wrong, Charles?” he said, his voice husky and rough. “If this is not what you came for, then why are you here?”

I mean, what? Do you know the heaviness of this sentence? It means that most of Alastair and Charles’ interactions as a couple might have been lead by sex or by making out. Why do I think this? Because otherwise Alastair wouldn’t say that - he’s basically implying that most of the occurrences between them started because of something sexual…

 “IF THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU CAME FOR…” 

It makes me so mad. So mad. Because it is clear to me that after the Academy, Alastair was devastated and also regretful of his actions towards the other guys. He also had to take care of his family. He also points out how he managed his household when his father was “sick”, how Alastair has been a brother and a father and the head of the Carstairs family for longer than we can imagine. I understand why meeting Charles could have changed his life, but Alastair is a giver, he gives a lot to those he cares about, meanwhile Charles is a seeker, he also wants to feel loved but he can’t exchange the affection the same way. 

We can consider Charles and Alastair’s relationship dead and gone, anyway. Not only because Alastair said he was done and understood that Charles just wanted to matter (his words, not mine) and that he only cares about his career. In the scene I mentioned above, we also know that the reason why Charles came to Alastair’s was to inform him that Barbara Lightwood had died. Metaphorically speaking, her death could also signify the death of Charlastair and the moment in which Thomastair’s door was truly open to explore. 

Now to conclude my thoughts - which I hope weren’t too jumbled - I’ll just say that as much as he unnerves me, I do think Charles could have a nice arc if played well. But, my dears, without Alastair. This is for sure.

Footnote: If you want to know more this, especially concerning gender, you can read What is Gender History? By Sonya O. Rose which treats different topics.

[blushing-starker]

Cold mates and black coffees

For @starkerfestivals prompt of mates

There is, he supposes, something beautiful about a world such as this, primitive yet advanced and sophisticated. Children no taller than his knee carry around super computers that fit in the palm of one's hands, talk to friends thousands of miles away whenever they want. It used to take him months to receive his preferred concoction for the early night wake up call, now stores inhabit every corner of every city. They patiently wait to receive their dependents, all sorts of people relying on some version of the simple black coffee to jolt their system. Convenient, sure, no doubt about that. A quick stop at a Starbucks and violá, five hours of productivity guaranteed. But nothing builds character like swimming laps through a freezing lake infested with piranhas to keep away the urge to rest for just another five minutes. Unfortunately, sleepless days were the norm for him and Rhodey whenever they endeavored to race each other underwater.

There are clothes, too. Clothes for each season available year round. Fox fur adorns a lanky mannequin next to a twin showcasing how breezy summer fabrics can be. Riding boots that he would have spent a small fortune on decades ago shine below man made light for the cost of a nice meal over at Pepper's. Jewels fine enough for the family vault enchant any who take so much as two steps in either direction. Everything is for sale; it just means swiping a plastic card, presenting a number off a super computer or giving the cashier the remains of ancient trees. He could buy an ice cream cone (with sprinkles, of course, he's not an idiot) and immediately wander over to a restaurant selling sizzling curry. It's what his father dreamed about, a thousand years ago. How odd then, that his only heir couldn't be more nonchalant to all this.

It's his what, first month back from sleeping for half a century? He got accustomed to this whirlwind of a consumerist world by the first week. The soft purr of self-driving engines, flashing neon street signs, a melting pot of twenty, thirty languages, glittering clothes clashing with garish makeup, an overwhelming scent of smoke, perfume and money is as familiar as the palm of Rhodey's left hand or Pepper's right. Is it fantastic, being alive for the wild ride that is the twenty-first century? Yes, of course it is. But it's his father's dream; not his. His dream is the same as what drove Maria Stark into the world: finding his mate. Which, logically speaking, won’t happen until time has colored his hair with quite a bit more starlight and streaked thin lines around not too shabby cheekbones. (Rhodey’s teasing words.)

Going along with logic, there is a chance his mate will never show up. It was mere luck his father met the only woman besides Peggy that could stand his whole. Well, that could just stand him, period. A mate is found by scent, identified by touch and only bound with words. If his father had gone for one more drink, he’d probably be as real as the tooth fairy. In the back of his head, there lives a voice. And this voice he named Miss Lucky. She told him how lucky he would need to be in order to find a mate not too close to cradle or grave, a person that saw eye to eye in the majority of the basics and was open to his predilection. Someone that wouldn’t fear or expose him, wouldn’t want to strike the killing blow themselves. And Christ, with or without Miss Lucky, it’s a fool’s idea, thinking that in the middle of New York amidst one of the coldest winters to ever grace the city, his mate, his soul’s match, his other heart will chance upon him and actually accept the fact that he barely exudes a scent. Let alone something useful enough to help others recognize his class.

That’s the one downfall to living in this time; so much tension regarding one’s class. It is infinitely better than before when there were only three possibilities and the social restrictions could very rarely be shattered. But now it’s about pulling rank, percentages listed on a piece of paper could be used against you or signify one’s survival. A double-edged sword. To be a nurse, any applicants must be less than thirty percent alpha. Soldiers were forbidden from entering foreign countries if they had more beta characteristics than not. Lovers, in some parts of the world, could marry exclusively when their percentages were compatible. In the old times, if you smelled like an omega, you were treated as such. That could entail being thrown into a whorehouse or perceived as royalty destined to bring life into the world. Once puberty came, a simple prick and a vial of blood determined one’s next decision regarding the future.

He took the test. Just out of curiosity and it’d be rude not to provide a mate with information so readily accessible merely because of an unjustified fear over his identity. He is an alpha. And if the test had said otherwise, it would have been no problem. Of course not, he would have been proud to identify as a beta or omega. His mother was a beta and his nanny, basically his second mother, was an omega. No shame would’ve clouded his mind at receiving such news. The matter was this, though, he had believed to be an alpha the entirety of his life. If the paperwork said that was his lowest percentage, different rules and procedures, updated to today’s society, would need to be learned.

And he’s so tired of it all when only a handful can smell the fact he’s an alpha. What was he supposed to do, carry the results in his pocket in case a bigot searched for a fight? No, that would be, as Pepper had made very clear before, extremely silly.

He carries the test in case his mate considers such matters important. Or their family. Yes, it’s not because he worries that society will somehow doubt his identity. In the end, being an alpha is an integral part of who he is. It shouldn’t be that way and he barely knows what that means, but it’s true. Miss Lucky comes back around swiftly now, what if his mate isn’t interested in him because of his percentage? What then? Learn what the other classes represent to that person and behave in ways they believe suit said classes? Could his match be with a pureblood, intent on “staying true” to their highest percentage? Would he be able to, cinnamon. Wait, cinnamon and honey? Is that rain and sunlight? Since when does Starbucks incorporate those smells? And how the hell does he know what sunlight smells like? He’s insane. There’s no other explanation, oh that must have hurt.

A young man has just barreled into him. Slammed into his arm like a linebacker. A linebacker that weighs a feather and a half. How is he this light, a breeze had more force. What should he, what’s the proper ritual here, oh my god

“Your nose is bleeding- “

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking. I’m just late for class and- “

“Calm down and let me buy you some coffee; you’re half dead- “

“Shit, your coat. I will pay you back, I swear.”

He hums, looks down and apparently he was too involved in his quest to find a mate that he completely bypassed the thought that this man had accidently crashed into him while holding a coffee…

A mate. He doesn’t know what sunlight smells like. How could he? Unless that’s what his mate smelled like. The young man inhales sharply, lets out a little “oh, I think, I know it’s you.” and, on further reflection, he notices this kid has the voice of an angel. Soft and kind while not being so lilting he’d think it weak and demure. Ah, he looks like an ethereal entity too. Of course he does.

It’s the eyes that do it for him, enchant him enough he wants to kneel and propose right there in the hopes of waking up each night to those amber pools as familiar and mysterious as the universe itself. The rosy lips, pink cheeks and sweeping lashes are also quite nice. He has the body of a being from the old tales, a nymph or a muse destined to bring light and joy to the world. And black coffee to coats older than his father and grandfather combined.

“Could I touch you properly? I think spilling sugar over that coat didn’t really give me the chance to feel my mate, Mister?” Rhodey’s gonna annihilate him. This is a child, twenty-one at most. They could exchange numbers; communicate when his best friend wouldn’t be tempted to take one look and accuse him of going for jailbait. He could make a plan, organize a way to gently explain how he’s an undead creature of the night whose low circulation means that somehow his hormone production slowed and therefore he barely smells like wood let alone an actual human being. They could make it work. If he’s lucky, Angel here won’t fall for another. If he’s lucky, lots of things won’t happen. Or they will anyway.

“Stark. Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, all things considered. When I learned one’s mate smells like something unknown, I didn’t quite expect literal sunshine to be what I noticed. And don’t worry about the coat; it’s nothing.”

Marie Antoinette gave him this coat as a gift on his sixteenth birthday a few years before her death. It’s fine.

“Oh. I, I wouldn’t have thought I smelled like that. It’s really nice, actually. You smell, and please don’t take this the wrong way, like alpha. And home. I know it’s weird, but I can’t explain it any other way. I’m sorry if it’s too- “

At least he already knows he dislikes that worried furrow on such a happy face. He surges forward, clasps a soft hand and lets slip a shocked gasp, sees the mirrored reaction because Jesus, it’s as if he licked his finger and then stuck it inside a power outlet. Every hair on his body stands on end and when was the last time his heart beat that fast? Surely it was the night his old flame left or when they, no. No memories of a past lover when his mate is right here, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

“I don’t believe I know your name. Seems a little unfair, don’t you think? Wanna even the odds?” It’s meant to make the young man smile and he does.

It’s only when he grins that Tony notices the sharpened incisors and the slight cold coming from the small figure. The same fog that follows him around even on the hottest of days. The exact shape of teeth Tony cleans in front of his bathroom mirror each night.

“Peter. My name’s Peter. Nice to meet you, Tony.”

[crystxlclear]

hell above

o. prologue ( the spark to light a match ... )

part one of hell above

synopsis: prologue.

word count: ???

warnings: mentions of death

paring: din djarin x original female character

author’s note: official prologue of hell above! din won’t show up for a couple of chapters but he’ll be there soon enough!

It’s the faltering stars overhead that first let Rhia Vytuia know that something is wrong.

She's learnt to trust them and the wisdom they utter; over the years, they've been a constant, a long-standing and persistent reminder of a world beyond her home. The only friend who never leaves her side. The stars recount stories of the universe - they whisper sonnets of far-off worlds, their anguish speaks of pain and their delicacy speaks of innocent. The stars sing to her while she sleeps.

Clear and bright and insistent. They are never-ending. The stars have existed before her. And the stars will exist in the sky long after she is dead, merely a memory lost to the world. They've regarded destruction and creation, birth and death, and all the horrors of the world. They are eternal and everlasting.

And, so, she yearns for them to tell her everything.

All the secrets from beyond.

Tonight, they dim and blink and falter, scattered aimlessly to the wind. Bright arcs and constellations, colours usually so vibrant and vivid they cast the shadow-filled horizon in pastel and gold, fading away into the distant blackness. The darkness creeps in and pulls everything apart, destruction raining down in the form of brutal chaos, in the form of shadows that pull across the skyline. The moment the darkness creeps in, she knows something is wrong.

In all her twenty-five years, they've never lied to her.

And that night is no different.

Rhia is sat overlooking the city. It's a familiar spot, a position she takes up every night when nightfall descends and the shrill, screaming bustle of life lulls itself into a fitful sleep. Her feet have an intimate relationship with the wood of her windowsill; she's committed each curve and groove to memory, that nightly spot she takes up when night steals away the sunshine.

The alarm is raised as the moon rises to its highest point, the tip of the city's crystal towers, standing tall and terrifyingly imposing in the west, pointing straight to it. The mark of midnight.

It's two minutes later when her room is filled with guards. Some familiar - the young man with the blond buzzcut who stands guard outside her door each night, and the woman with the plaited red hair that follows her whenever she wanders her gardens - some she barely recognises as the guards that trail her brother, and faces she's never seen before. They rush for her, where she sits overlooking the city. There are hands gripping her arms, pressing against her back; they yank at her shoulders and her wrists - everywhere, everywhere, everywhere - and they steal her from the solace of her room and out into the hallway. Their bodies shield her from the outside.

They don't speak and they don't answer her questions and, as much as she tries not to be terrified of what the hell is going to happen to her and her family - to her brother and her mother and father - and everyone else she holds dear or to significance, she has to hold her breathing steady, lest she start to sob and gasp and bubble up with pathetic sobs. There's no clarity within her fear as an alarm sounds and the stars aren't there to answer her pleas; it's loud and intrusive and horrifyingly shrill, and she's never heard it in all her years. It spikes terror through her. Her long nails dig deep into her palms.

Rhia is rushed blindly through familiar hallways, rendered unfamiliar when she can no longer see her ancestors' sketches that make the walls so vibrant. Without them, the palace is merely a labyrinth of repeating archways and awnings, a starless night sky of high ceilings above the heads of strangers. It seems to be closing in on her as they descend step-after-step; no noise comes but the rhythmic rush of footsteps and the alarm blaring loud, and Rhia wants to scream out proclamations and demands as fear swells up deep inside her chest.

She could be marching towards her death, for all she knew. An overthrow of the monarchy, the end of her days; the end of her families days; the end of the Vytuias and their reign over Ondorra.

Fear, more fear than she's ever felt in her entire life, crashes over her. It's brutal.

She's not afraid to die. She's only afraid of how death will come.

At risk of sounding like a petulant child, like the spoilt, rich little Princess she's sure most of them think she is, she yells out demands, practically screams at them for answers. But they just glare at her out of the corner of their eyes, like she's merely more than a gnat whipping around their atmosphere. Their lips form lines and there's a cursory regulation to their steps; they're rehearsed and deliberate and they never once falter, though Rhia still senses the weight in each footfall and the urgency that presses into the marble floor.

They rush down staircase after staircase, more than she'd ever thought could possibly be crammed into the palace she's lived in her whole life, stopping only to unlock imposing oak doors and relight torches in the darkness. They must be miles underground, hidden within a twisting labyrinth of identical hallways, each growing darker and darker, white marble walls turned amber with each flickering pass of candlelight. They're most certainly in the darker depths of the palace now; there are doors locked by rusty keys and large ornamental padlocks, and they're the only doors in the palace she has not breached.

They've always intimidated her with their stature - unnatural and heavy and always so steeped in danger that it never seemed worth it. She's always assumed that they hide her father's secrets; his mistress' quarters, old courtiers allegedly exiled for their crimes. The things he didn't want others to see.

She hadn't expected empty, hollow hallways buried deep below the earth and the lilac sky.

The guards halt at the end of the longest hallway; the abruptness of it startles her and she almost tumbles into the back of the guard in front of her. She's been complaining the entire way, long minutes stretching on and on and on as they circled down into oblivion, but the fear is burning her nerves, turning them to liquid fire and it bleeds out in the form of petulant demands for information.

The hallway opens out into a dimly lit room. The roof arches up imposing and deliberate, cut and carved from gleaming firestone. Light fractures in from somewhere high above; it throws patterns across the stone floor and the walls look as if they're painted in blood. She's sure this is the end the moment she sees it looming.

The perfect place for sinister intentions. A room stowed away so far below, hidden and unknown even to those inside. A red room, built of danger, so far from the stars that they cease to exist.

"Rhia," her mother's voice calls. The guards part from before and Rhia rushes to her, into the familiarity of her pinewood perfume.

"Are we going to die?" Rhia questions, into the empty space. Her voice echoes through the void; the room is a cavity, all plain and endless walls of thick, polished marble. There's a lip that stretches the entire expanse, like a bench, made for a hundred people, it seems. But there's no furniture; no beds or ornate dining tables, no armchairs or even carvings like the rest of the palace's rooms. The space is but a barren, never-ending chasm, swallowed whole by the abyss and she's sure that the darkness will drown her, if given half the chance.

There's an echo, here, and it's palpable, and Rhia swears that she can hear her heart thundering brutal against her ribcage.

As she glances around, she notices.

They're the kind of walls that are easy to clean.

"My darling, we are safe here."

"Where's Coren?" She inquires. Everyone is there, everyone but him. Her mother, her father, they're holding her close like they used to do in the dead of winter, when the eastern storms would roll in and douse the city in silt and fog and thunderstorms. The air is electric, just as it was back then. The static pulses through her. Her heart hammers within her chest, heavy and persistent. It rushes through her head, renders her dizzy. The end is near. She can feel it in her bones. "What is happening? Where are we?"

"My great-grandfather intended for this to be a training centre, back when Ondorra had the largest army in the Galaxy. Given the recent tensions, I intended on turning it into a safe room for us. I did not think it would be needed so soon," her father explains, hand gripping her shoulder tighter.

"A safe room?" Rhia scowls at each of her parents. The door she'd been rushed through opens, rusty hinges creaking and protesting. Her cousins and aunt are ushered into the room; they aren't nearly as heavily guarded as Rhia had been, by lineage not as important as the King's daughter. The guards lock and bolt the door after they enter and the light from the candles in the hallway is snuffed out. There are ten bolts, that she can count. They're trapped inside this lightless room, with an echo that bounces from each wall. "Where is Coren?"

She knows her brother is on Ondorra. Or should be, at least. She'd seen him that morning at breakfast, sat opposite her at the table, telling their father about his plans for the day; to visit the library, to visit the woman he's been courting. He'd smiled at her when she'd sat down and smoothed out her heavy skirts, and asked her how she'd slept that night, that kindhearted man always has time for his younger sister. She'd been restless the past couple of weeks. Too warm, too cold, too loud, too quiet, always something stopping her from falling asleep. There aren't many their age within the Court and they're close as a consequence. They look out for each other. She's pretty sure that they're best friends.

The King and Queen glance at each other, then back at their daughter. "Where is my brother?" She demands, her foot stamping against the marble floor. Her heel rings out like a bell throughout the room and the stoic silence that consumes it. She means to sound strong when she implores them for an answer, determined, persistent and persuasive, but her voice falters and breaks the moment she thinks of Coren's absence.

As if she's a fragile little bird, her mother brushes a finger over her cheek. "Starlight, he's gone," she whispers, "I'm so sorry." Her eyes sparkle with tears. Rhia is sure that hers do, too. She can feel the sobs burning the back of her throat as she tries to hold them in. "He's gone."

[thegrandkinghimself]

who is oikawa tooru?

i guess that’s a weird way to start off a post, considering just how popular oikawa is in this fandom. i’m absolutely certain that he’s still one of the most popular characters if i can take the #oikawasear trend on twitter a couple of weeks ago seriously. (i will be mourning that iwaoi is no longer the top ship in this fandom. it’s devastating to me on a personal level). and i can’t say that i’m any different, either, otherwise i wouldn’t have made this blog or this post. but i guess the reason i’ve been itching to write this is because i’ve been in this fandom--and more specifically, a fan of oikawa--for about four or five years now. i devour the content available, and i can assure you that i’ve read too many of the fanfictions on ao3 to be healthy, and never before have i seen a character whose characterization is so hotly disputed. 

and i get it. he’s a complex person. he’s kind of awkward in that there is a very clear disconnect between his outward personality and who he is alone. it’s a very hard balance to strike, especially when you consider just how much conjecture goes on in his characterization among fans and in discourse. he’s really easy to project and certain traits, correct or otherwise, are amplified based off how authors perceive him. there’s plenty of presumptions that can be made based on his on-screen actions/thoughts/beliefs that can be taken to some very logical conclusions. 

but i’ve also seen people write him in ways that don’t strike me as particularly truthful. he’s type casted into stereotypes that don’t do him justice, or made into something that is vaguely like oikawa, but not quite. in the following post, i’ll be trying to dispel misunderstandings of his character, if only for my own sanity. 

tl;dr i think that oikawa is chronically one of the most misrepresented characters in fandom and i want to fix that

exclaimer: i am solely an anime-watcher; i have seen snippets of the manga and therefore have a general idea of what is going on.

let’s establish some very very basic stuff. just to keep it simple, i’m not going to talk about anything beyond what has been published via the anime (as of season four). 

Oikawa Tooru | 及川徹 

gender: male

d.o.b.: 1994.7.20. or 20 July, 1994

height: 184.3 cm

weight: 72.2 kg

occupation: high school 3rd year, class 6

position/number: setter, 1 (captain)

here’s something that’s never pointed out: oikawa is in class 6 which, if we go off the trend of every other school in haikyuu!!, means that he is in a college preparatory class aka he’s pretty dang smart. it’s not confirmed or anything, but it a. follows the trend of every other class 6 student and b. is the highest class available among seijoh 3rd years (classes 5, 3, and 1). don’t get the idea that he’s dumb or unintelligent, or even that his strengths only lie in the classroom because that would be a gross understatement of his skills.

anywho. 

generally speaking, i like to start with the building blocks of his personality because there’s so much room for assumptions. here are the things that i think make up his core personality:

intelligence/knowledgeable: not only academically speaking, but he’s also well-versed in people. he knows how to play them--what will make someone more confident, more doubtful, what will help his teammates succeed. clearly, oikawa is very knowledgeable in human thought patterns. or he’s dedicated a lot of time to knowing them. 

loyalty: of all of oikawa’s traits, i think this one gets talked about the least, but we know it to be true. we make jokes about “you should have come to shiratorizawa” but it really shows you exactly how loyal, how much trust, oikawa has in this team that he has spent three years shaping. he never stops believing in the work that he has put in, and especially the hard work that his teammates have put into their volleyball. 

hardworking: one of the most well-known things about oikawa. most fans already know that his white knee pad is actually a knee brace. ‘nuff said. i salute you, good sir. 

insecurity: oikawa’s insecurities are perhaps his most notable trait. in a sense, he’s sort of the underdog--so good, but never quite good enough to accomplish what he’s set out to do. and we know that he’s struggled with his doubts since junior high, literally since he was 12 or 13, and that’s informed all of his character from the moment he ran into ushijima. oikawa is someone who is defined by his insecurities. 

oikawa is a lot of things. he’s introduced as someone who is very flamboyant--he’s built up by kageyama as the best setter, his senpai literally and figuratively, his initial shots are all of smug smiles and easy, unfaltering swagger in the face of this new team. even his theme, all rambunctious brass and jazzy, is meant to be all in your face, here’s the big boss! he’s someone who is petty and silly and seems to favor shallow conversation. but he’s oikawa, so there’s a surprising amount of depth in the little time that we have with him. there’s a reason that, in any other franchise, he’d probably be the protagonist.

he is someone full of contradictions. he’s childish and he spends time with a bunch of girls and is very clearly someone who likes to project a certain image of himself to the public (see: his cute lil’ humming run after his yell in s4e23 to make him seem kind of normal). but he’s also spent a lot of time with himself. in fact, if we take the few scenes we have of him alone and his bedroom (bare, spartan, meticulous) into account, oikawa actually is much more solemn and/or serious than the image he projects. he’s comfortable in the silences between all the white noise. he’s alright just being with iwaizumi. he allows himself to dwell on the past and his shortcomings, while also looking forward to the future. his ambition and passion to improve drive him, but his past failures weigh him down. they haunt him.

personally, i think that he’s naturally a pretty silly guy when given the chance. it’s not just for show. iwaizumi would even corroborate this à la oikawa’s introduction speech in s1. he likes having fun when he can with his friends. if we assume that oikawa is most himself with iwaizumi, then we definitely know that’s the case (see: “are you my mom, iwa-chan?”), and there’s nothing wrong with that. but i think that the most basic traits of his character, combined with his experiences in volleyball, have pushed him to be this person who is mired in doubt. it’s forced him to go down a path where something that he once loved for the fun of it has now become the source of his ire. it’s really just that simple. maybe in another life, things would be different and oikawa wouldn’t have to struggle as much. but that’s really just a part of the human experience, isn’t it? and, in all honesty, would we really love oikawa as much without all his vices?

and maybe this is getting into speculation, but i don’t think it’s a difficult argument to make that oikawa is really mature. he’s introspective. i say introspective because the revelations that he’s had in regards to his own strengths and weaknesses--those are things he’s had to confront and deal with since he was in junior high (starts at 12 years of age). it takes someone with a lot of maturity and self-awareness to realize those kinds of things about himself.

and he’s stronger than he gets credit for. most people depict him as a crybaby, but he’s really not. he doesn’t cry or give up in the face of ushijima or kageyama’s unfettered growth and successes, he doesn’t cry when faced with defeat. oikawa is there to support iwaizumi in his own doubt as ace, and lend support to his teammates. and oikawa doesn’t get stuck on the what-ifs or has-beens. driven by his infamous ambition, he looks forward to the future. 

it’s kind of a double-edged sword. it’s pushed him this far--he’s put in this much effort to be one of the best in the prefecture--because of his competitive spirit, but it’s also something that has caused him serious injury. oikawa’s motto (”if you’re gonna to hit it, hit it until it breaks!”) is the very epitome of this mentality. it’s a message to work hard to finish what you started, but i also think that you could interpret that hard work breaking you, too. he’s steadfast—obsessive, really—to the point that oikawa will let his passions break him before he would ever give up. it’s the point of all the strife in his life, because he would never have the problems he does if he were even a little less enamored by this sport. 

and you really have to wonder where he would be without ushijima and kageyama as his obstacles. his drive will always be there, that is an intrinsic part of him, as are the standards to which he holds himself, but you really have to wonder just how good oikawa would be if he didn’t have such direct competitors. this is an incredibly important question to ask about kageyama and oikawa in particular. yes, oikawa does loathe ushijima: for his disregard for oikawa’s decisions, for his disregard of oikawa’s loyalty, for his flippant attitude of seijoh, who oikawa has poured his blood and sweat into creating. but ushijima is an opposite hitter. oikawa is a setter. those are two very different positions with little crossover. but with kageyama--that is a clear rivalry. they push each other to be better, made all the more potent by their differences as players; one setter’s growth as a player directly impacts how the other performs in each subsequent game. seijoh’s defeat by karasuno in season 2 just feeds into oikawa’s drive for the future. he has not intention of giving up. a light was lit under him, pushing him forward, to do better, to be better. 

this is something that has been pointed out in a different analysis (linked below) but, narratively speaking, oikawa is kageyama’s foil. their interactions inform their characters and are a major cause of tension in their development. their relationship is really the most complex in the story that i have noticed, and is something that has not been appreciated enough. the iwaizumi-oikawa thing has been expounded and studied in every facet possible (i love the alexander the great/hephaestion allusions), but it’s true that kageyama has impacted oikawa the most. they begrudgingly respect each other’s talents, what it is that they bring to the court, while also envying what the other has in spades that they do not. in oikawa’s case, his strength clearly lies in his interpersonal relationships--his ability to intuit exactly what his teammates need to be at their best. kags is just a fount of overwhelming technical skill who has a really hard time getting to know those around him. living up to the standards that oikawa places on himself, in tandem with kageyama threatening his position as setter, leave oikawa floundering, fearing his own incompetence against opponents who are naturally much better than he. so he’s left with the knowledge that maybe his best isn’t good enough, but he still continues on anyway. he pushes himself past a seemingly unreachable threshold just to go toe-to-toe with this monster. it’s the purpose of his character--to tell this story of the ordinary v. the extraordinary--and it is perhaps the most relatable arc that a story like haikyuu!! can tell.

their connection naturally causes oikawa to seek out help, seen in the flashback scenes where he is talking to an unspecified coach/adult. that coach’s words then become the creed upon which oikawa plays, maybe even more than what iwaizumi has taught him, and is the final push that completes oikawa’s character arc in s2ep24. that change in mindset allows oikawa to see kageyama’s unbridled talent not as an obstacle but as a challenge. it’s very nuanced, but it makes all the difference. it’s why, following seijoh’s defeat, oikawa has the audacity to declare to kageyama and ushijima his plans for the future. in a sense, karasuno and kageyama and ushijima have won the battle but not the war. it’s the tipping point in his story and, more than anything, what makes oikawa so compelling. we have seen what has led up to the change, but now we want to know what he’s going to do to meet that challenge. what will he be doing beyond the story when he is no longer relevant to the narrative? we don’t know the details at this point, but we know that oikawa’s love and ambition for volleyball have been reaffirmed in this moment. 

but to bring it back, the kags-oiks connection also makes us question what it is we are watching, makes us as the audience think: what qualifies someone as a genius? are there any limitations to what that genius can do? what can ordinary people do in the face of those geniuses? 

these are questions that exist beyond the reality of sports and transverse into other disciplines. for me, those are very real questions that i have had to ask myself as a musician. i have dedicated nine, almost 10, years to my practice but there are still 10-year-olds who are just better at it than i ever will be. part of it is time and practice to be sure, but some of it is just innate. and i think the more appropriate version of those questions would be this: what qualifies someone as a prodigy? are there limitations for prodigies? what can we do in the face of prodigies? 

oikawa is a genius player--he knows the ins-and-outs of his sport better than anyone, and he can accomplish great feats that others in his same position can’t. but even with all that veritable experience and skill, he is ultimately still overtaken by a prodigy whose talents seem endless. it’s why he can hate ushijima but fear kageyama. one is something he can actively fight against, the other is inevitable. 

and really, i think that’s the beauty of oikawa tooru, why he’s so beloved by the fandom, even years after he has stopped being relevant to the narrative. beyond the fluff and goofiness and hijinks, there’s someone there who is really, truly, human. 

an aside with much less significance/why do people think this??

so here’s one thing: even though oikawa has fangirls, i wonder what he actually thinks of them. for one, it’s only natural for anyone to be super flattered if people think you’re hot stuff. that’s just... i don’t think he’s weird if he pays attention to them. but i think that people are conflating his being kind to them to being genuinely egotistical due to the attention. actually, i think these are opposing ideas and a contradiction of who oikawa is. when you’re an arrogant person, you think that you deserve all the attention you’re getting and you’re not going to bother with the people who worship you.

but that’s not at all what oikawa does. he’s rather kind to his fans. i would never say that he’s self-effacing, but knowing what you’re worth is different from being pompous. and think about it. it’d be a real jerk move for oikawa to not say nice things to them and thank his fangirls when they spend time, energy, and effort to make him food and see his games. he would just be a genuinely awful person if he didn’t at least give them thanks. it’d be more alarming if he didn’t talk to them, at least in my opinion. more than anything, we should consider this: why is it that oikawa has the fan club and not anyone else on the seijoh team? i’m sure a part of it is because he’s attractive and the captain of a team, but i think it’s more than that, too. we see these interactions from other perspectives, but i think that reflects more on those around oikawa than oikawa himself if they don’t understand why he acts the way he does with those girls.

another thing: i don’t think that anyone can question that oikawa is very pretty, or handsome, or whatever descriptor you would like. it’s prevalent in fandom (see: pretty setters squad), but he is also the only person in canon to be acknowledged by other characters as being particularly good-looking. maybe the miyas count at this point? i’m not sure. but i don’t really understand where people get the idea that he is particularly focused on his appearance, though. there is literally no indication of that from the material that i have seen. and maybe he uses that to his advantage with his fangirls, but i highly doubt that, in all honesty. i think that it’s fun to imagine him being into these things as a hobby, but it irks me greatly when i see that people spend time saying that oikawa wakes up extra early just to fix his hair or slather on foundation/concealer just to look presentable. 

he’s a teenaged boy who clearly has other things that worry him, he’s a full-time student, and volunteers to coach at lil tykes volleyball classroom in his free time. he wouldn’t have time to spend on his hair or makeup. and we even seen in the hanger tooru special that he even wakes up looking like that. 

he is au naturale, my friends. and we even know how little he gives thought to his own body, if you take into account his knee brace. for oikawa, his body is merely the medium through which he can accomplish his goals. we even have evidence of this when we see oikawa up all night studying karasuno game play or via his knee brace. he doesn’t know how to stop or understand when enough is enough. he breaks himself if there’s no one to watch him. 

also, just... how would makeup work, logistically speaking? i don’t wear makeup, but i’m thinking that foundation and concealer and hair product would be, um, really bad. like, it’d run down his face and stuff. also, it’d probably get into his eyes, too? seriously. i’m not against oikawa wearing makeup in the slightest cause he’d be even prettier, but we know that oikawa would absolutely not jeopardize his chances in any way. 

thank you for reading this long-winded, probably awful look into my favorite character of all time. and i do mean that. he is my favorite character in all of media. which, like, says a lot when he’s competing against the casts of a:tla, call me by your name, and my actual favorite book, the song of achilles. after all of that, if you would like another (better) analysis of oikawa’s character, i suggest this reddit thread: https://www.reddit.com/r/haikyuu/comments/94irsi/character_analysis_16_oikawa_tooru_discussion/ 

[politicotalk]

Cultural Identity in Canadian Politics

When I talk to foreign people about Canadian politics, they always come to me and ask me what the hell the issues in Canada can be. That place looks like paradise land. Is the biggest issue how to avoid having your car buried in a pile of snow, or how to teach mooses how to play hockey. All countries have their internal issues, including countries such as Canada, Norway or Sweden which seem to be perfect on the outside. I’m going to try to explain what the major issues Canadian Federal politics face, issues specific to Canada.

Indigenous people Indigenous people of Canada, also refered to as the aboriginal people, have been in the shadows, cast aside, for a very long time in Canadian everyday politics. Actually, since the arrival of European colonisers in the 16th century, they have been sort of cast aside. The first Europeans to come and stay were the French, and they had a lot of issues when they came. First off, they had scurvy; the indigenous helped them with that. Secondly, they didn’t know how to survive harsh Canadian winters, the indigenous people helped them with that. French and First Nations traded with each other and created alliances and systems of relations where both parties benefited from each other’s presence. French population grew in the mean time. The British came and settled, and the tables really started to turn after the American Revolution; a lot of people living in the 13 colonies were faithful to the British Crown and fled North to modern day Canada. This brought a complete shift in demography; all of a sudden, the indigenous (and French) populations were outnumbered by the British. First Nations were pushed out of towns slowly but surely. Come the 19th century, bad boy United States was a major threat. They had something called “manifest destiny”, where they saw the West as a baren wasteland in need of colonisation by white people. The Canadian government freaked out, because this meant they could encapsulate Canada and absorb it into the United States. Well, the Canadian government also looked at the west and thought “well fuck, bud, we gotta claim this land”, so they started building a railroad from modern-day Ontario to British Columbia, all the way on the Pacific Coast. There was a big problem though, you see, this area wasn’t a wasteland; there were a lot of First Nations living there, including aboriginal and Métis people. What did the government do? Adopt the Indian Act in 1876. Yeah, no joke, it’s literally called the “Indian Act”. This land these people lived on was full of natural resources, but these people would not cede to the federal government because fuck you. So the government came up with this stupid law. Indigenous people were forbidden from creating their own governments, hold religious ceremonies, hire lawyers or go against the government over land claims. From the 20th century, when education became an important thing for children, with the help of local religious groups, the government started opening what is called “residential schools” and this is brought on a clusterfuck of problems we are faced with today.

The government gave itself the right to take Indigenous children from their families and force them to go to these schools, where they resided. The parents had no say in whether these children were allowed to go or not. These kids had their heads shaved, were forced to keep short hair, banned from wearing any traditional clothing, speak in their native languages – instead they had to speak English or French –, practice their religion – instead, they were brought into the Catholic Church or any Protestant Churches – and they were banned from contacting their families. I mention hair, some people might thing “so what?”; well, long hair is really important in Native Americans’ cultures. It’s as if you were to tell someone from Bavaria that they were no longer allowed to wear lederhosen. The point of this was to strip these kids of their identities, make them white, and so they would cede their lands more easily to the government, so it could profit off of it.

I can’t tell you how badly that backfired. From the 90’s, these poor kids who were, for the majority, adults started to take the government to court for wrongful abuse made towards them, in claims of abuse done towards them. You probably know that the Catholic Church does not have the best record, especially when it comes to violence done towards children, and Ireland was on the forefront of the international stage years ago for allegations of sexual abuse done by members of the clergy towards children. Well, this wasn’t an exception for Canada. To further prove this, the bodies of thousands of dead children were found buried all around these ex-residential schools in 2020. This was orchestrated by the Canadian government AND the Churches.

Thankfully, the Indian Act, though it still technically exists, is kinda stripped. Aboriginal people have the right to assembly, have the right to practice their religion, speak their languages, practice their cultures, etc. All good right? Right?

Well, not quite, this comes to a second point that was brought up again in the recent elections. What would the candidates do in regards to clean drinking water for the aboriginal? To examine this question, we need to rewind, again (sorry). The aboriginal live, for the majority, on what is called “reserves”. They are lands that are under their local governments’ control, where they all live. If you went to Montreal, Toronto, or even Moose Jaw, you could turn on the tap in the kitchen and drink the water there, no problem. Well, the residences on these reserves, not only are in deplorable states, but they also do not have clean, running water. Canada is not the Sahara. We are not lacking water. Canada has actually the world’s highest amount of natural drinking water. Fly over the country and it’s rivers and lakes everywhere. Yet, these people don’t have running water? So this topic has come back several times in the elections over the last 20 years and no one has done anything.

This is barely scratching the surface of issues surrounding aboriginal people in Canada. These two issues were the ones that came up in the last federal leaders’ debate.

French people Canada is a multicultural country. As mentioned before, the French-speaking population has been in Canada for over four centuries now. They have also been marginalised in some ways, and several attempts to assimilate have been made, but to no avail. Today, the French-speaking population is spread over all of Canada’s provinces, but the majority resides in the province of Quebec, where the official language is only French. Several French speakers live in Acadia (in the East of Canada) in Ontario and in Manitoba. Only New Brunswick is officially bilingual. French people – especially the people of Quebec – have seen themselves as different from the English speakers. They see themselves as an entirely different nation (I should point out that I use the term “nation” in the sense of the term synonymous with “population”). Issues flared up in the late 60’s and lead to a lot of tension in the 70’s, where the culture really started to solidify, and lead to a referendum in 1981 and 1995 in regards to whether Quebec wanted to become an independent country. In short, both times, the answer was no. In 1995, the answer was very slim, with the results being 49% to 51%. The situation in Quebec is very similar as the one in Catalonia and Scotland. 1995 might seem like yesterday to some, but I will remind you that this was 26 years ago. Things change in 26 years. New people are made, old people die. The thought of independence is a far away memory in most people’s imagination, and the young people are pretty cool with not wanting an independent country. This doesn’t mean that all of a sudden, Quebeckers are cool with the federal government and kissing the flag; they still see themselves as different, but have come to accept their place in the country, as the government has accommodated more and more for the French language, and given Quebec flexibility over their governance. But you see, Quebec’s aggressive stance over its language gives the other French speakers the ability to continue existing; media, culture and academic content come largely from Quebec. Without Quebec, these other French speaking cultures fear ceasing to exist.

So what about today? Well, firstly, the health sector is governed by the provinces. This means that Quebec was mostly in control of handling Covid, and they want to deal with all issues surrounding this.

Another thing to mention, is that, most likely because of its catholic culture, Quebec is very left leaning. Most votes for the NDP and a portion for the Liberals come from Quebec, and barely any go to the Conservative. They are in favour of public health services, public education with low fees for higher education, help to families and issues talking the environment. Canada currently heavily relies on industries in the primary sector, especially the West. So if Quebec is so in favour of not allowing pipelines to be built, or not excavating for oil, this wouldn’t affect them so much.

In conclusion, this is what Canada has to deal with, long tensions amongst its three main cultural groups. Let me know what your thoughts are and what your country is tackling in terms of internal conflicts.