#See he knows he’s not subtle when he isn’t around Athene

[nova-squad]

*a 501st trooper shuffles into Leo's office* Sir, I wonder if it would be okay for us to talk? I heard a rumor you're in a relationship with someone planetside. You've been great at hiding it, but brothers talk you know. Point is, I got a girl on Coruscant and I love her more than anything. How do you make it work?

Leo blinked up at the trooper from his chair, then after a moment he sat his datapad down and crossed his gauntleted hands over his armored chest. “Take a seat….” Leo paused, examining the man’s armor for identifying markings- ah. “Romeo.”

He twisted his wrist slightly to press a button on his vambrace that automatically closed the door behind Romeo. “First off, don’t believe everything you hear. Second, no I haven’t, people in this galaxy are just oblivious. And I’m aware of that.”

He sighed quietly, then sat up and rested his forearms on the edge of his desk and interlaced his gloved fingers. “Hypothetically speaking of course, it’s extenuating circumstances that save me too much trouble, I’ll say that much. My advice? Keep something. Something you look at before every battle. Remind you of what you’re fighting to get back too. A flimsi-pic. Holo-pic. Hell, call her every chance you get.”

“Or…” He paused, weighing his actions before pulling off his left glove and gauntlet and holding up his hand with fingers spread to reveal his ring. “That.”

[ktheist]

take my whole life too | m

muses. jeongguk x heir!reader

genre. chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au.

words. 5k

warnings. dad!jeongguk, house husband!jeongguk, simp!jeongguk, implied smut verging on actual smut, mentions of break up and arguments

x

you never gave much thought for jeon jeongguk - not for how he looks, not for how much he makes, not for how compatible you are together. nothing. so much for promising to stay together through health and sickness till death do you apart.

but that’s just the thing, you were willing to let go of your heart in exchange for the wealth of your family. which is inherently yours until the findings of your grandfather’s will appointing his administrators the task of safeguarding the billions of dollar estate against his unmarried granddaughter who to be fair, has always had her eyes on that bejeweled ring of his. it’s less about the diamond and more about what possessing - legally, of course - the ring could do. for one, nobody could challenge your legitimacy as the chairman of luxean. and boy, do your overbearing aunties like to nitpick every little thing you do at the board meeting just to put their sons and daughters in a better light.

so yeah, you would say sacrificing your non-existent possibility of falling in love would suffice. plus, jeongguk can go shopping for convertibles with a swipe of a card, fly from london to italy to greece and back to london within one night. heck, he can even have a steamy hot night with the locals and bring back a greek goddess of a mistress if he wanted to.

except for one problem: he wants to do all those things with you.

well, considering how he stripped down to just pants with the buckle undone and protrusion of well defined abs that leads to a tantalizing v-line beneath the contrasting black band of his calvin klein halfway to the bedroom of your suite after the ceremony, completely disregarding the fact you never spoke to him unless you were in the presence of other people - watching eyes - and the limited time you have to change into your second outfits, you figured he’d want more than just hot and steamy nights in paris and peaceful quiet mornings in athens in your sundress and off white spring hats.

he either hasn’t figured out that he’s just a tool for you to gain public opinion or he doesn’t particularly care as long as he’s getting some.

“you’re leaving?” the voice that asked the very obvious question bears a sort of despondency to it.

when you turn to face the man lying naked - and looking like a well sculpted greek god at that - in the bed, you curse yourself for forgetting the one simple thing that you promise yourself not to do: look at him in the eye. by god, you’ve never seen anyone -  any man - who could be so good at weakening your resolution and making you want to climb into bed and cuddle him like a puppy.

“didn’t soyeon tell you i have a meeting?” you manage to sound casual about it for the most part as you put on the earrings that lie abandoned on the vanity when jeongguk came in just before you were almost done with your make up and bent you over the vanity to fuck you once before carrying you to the bed and fuck you in your sensitive state.

“i know,” he mumbles.

and when only silence follows suit, you can’t help but let your hands rest on your hip as you raise your eyebrows, “but?”

it takes a moment of the man trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and leaving it with a sort of pinkish shine when he releases it, “can we have another go?”

“you’re hard?” this time, the surprise in your voice is unconcealable, “again?”

“i know - i’m sorry - it’s just... that dress looks really good on you,” he doesn’t even bother to hide his ogling.

so to answer the question of whether you fucked him that time at your suite when you were supposed to change, yes you did.

“sounds like a you kind of problem,” you wave with the hand that picked up your purse - all your essentials already there, “go out and have a look at athens before we fly for london tomorrow - oh and maybe grab some dinner for yourself.”

“when will you be back?” as much as you like to think you’re indifferent to your husband, you can’t help but think he looks endearing for shying away from your gaze and rubbing the back of his head hesitantly, “i thought maybe we could have dinner together.”

there’s a strain in his voice but you brush it off, shrugging, “what do you think meetings like this are held over? i am going for dinner,” you want to take that back as soon as it escaped your lips but instead, you turn around, “anyways, don’t wait up.”

that’s one habit that he seems to have - waiting for you until you climb into bed with him after long hours of frying your eyes in front of the laptop in the common area.

either way, you strut out of your suite, leaving your husband with a semi-hard cock, you didn’t miss the way it twitched at your blatant rejection just before you turned your back on him.

and so you go about your day, the meeting coming to a close flawlessly as with a signed contract and a meal worthy of the restaurant’s reputation. by the time you thought the approaching figure from the corner of your eyes is the waiter bringing your desserts, kim taehyung was in the middle of thanking you “for meeting me on such a short notice, on your honeymoon at that.”

“i should thank you for reaching out to my secretary when you heard i’d be here too,” you chuckle, hand pushing a stray hair to the back of your ear before your gaze travels up to meet the man’s, “my grandfather always says, there’s no security on this earth, only opportunity,” raising the wine glass mid air, you offer him a smile, “and god does not help anyone seize it unless they do so themselves.”

“the late chairman was a wise man,” he raises his own glass, only to freeze at an awkward angle when the waiter finally approaches you.

except it isn’t the waiter. 

it’s-

“___,” a voice fills your ears like velvet on skin, you already know who it belongs to before you even look up at the man whose out-of-character furrowed brows and pressed lips all but makes you want to shoot up from your seat and spout out explanations you don’t even owe him, “i thought i’d pick you up since it’s,” he checks his rolex - it was the first thing you bought him after assessing his lack of accessory after you’d both signed the contract, “half an hour till midnight and the polignotou isn’t going to wait for us.”

taehyung is the one to break the silence, “it seems i’ve taken up too much of your time.”

before you can even refute it, he’s already standing up and fixing his blazer before stepping to the side to properly face your husband. 

“congratulations of your marriage, mr. jeon,” then he turns to you, his smile just as excellent at yours when it comes to hiding your emotions and that could only mean that tonight is drawing to an end on a bad note thanks to your husband’s interruption, “mrs. jeon.”

and with a final words of ‘i’ll have my secretary send you the papers soon’, he’s gone like the wind.

“what are you doing here? i told you i had a meeting! not gallivanting with some greek men!” the words come out in a low hiss when he takes the abandoned seat across from you as you gaze around the vicinity in case there are other business acquaintances that happen to know you.

“i’m sorry -” he mumbles out, “i was walking down the streets and i saw you at the balcony of the restaurant and-” he stops short of his words, tongue darting out over his lower lip for the briefest moment.

“and?” you echo, brows arched.

“i got jealous of seeing you with another guy,” his voice is barely above whisper but you hear it loud and clear.

you’re almost sure that you’ve slipped but and let your eyes narrow at him like a puzzle that you can’t figure out but it’s gone in a heartbeat as you pick up your purse and clear your throat. possibly in search for the right words to say but perhaps also an admittance of your caught-off-guard situation.

either way you stand up, “let’s go, the street starts getting scarcer by 2 and i’d rather stay safe and walk with more people than less.”

x

you did end up walking.

it was a halfway walk but it’s still a walk, that was, until you saw jeongguk pulling on the material of his pants every two minutes. the lack of lights did well to hide it but even then, your eyes automatically pans towards the noticeable protrusion in between his legs. as if your body has completely adapted to his scent - that subtle but evident scent of masculinity, his gaze - the pure, unadulterated desire within the shadows in his eyes and his touch - the way his hand seems to inch lower down your ass before he traces back up to settle on the dip of your spine before it left you cold and unattended when he started to tug on his pants.

“jeongguk -ah, fuck,” you bite back the moan that spills over your lips, “you’re making too much noise.”

“yeah?” his voice bears a lull to it as he thrusts in and out of you in the way that makes your legs come together and your heart leap all the way to your throat as your hands grip onto the dampened cart jeongguk pushed you against in the closest alleyway you were walking towards before he bent you over, lifted up your dress and pulled your panties down.

not even a minute passed before you felt him inside you. and by god, did you feel filled to the brim. the sheen of sweat coating your skin is cold against the chilly night air, the sinful sounds echoing off the walls makes you pray for the first time in a long time that no one is nearby and the way jeongguk is hitting all your sweet spots has you gritting your teeth in hopes that it’d be one less sound to get you arrested for public indecency.

in a country that you’re not a citizen of, at that.

you’re not sure how you got back to your suite and how the hell did you switch into your night dress but you have an inkling that it has something to do with the man whose arm traps you against a hard, muscled body when you started shifting to wake.

his breath fans the back of your neck as he slurs his words but you can make out a ‘five more minutes’ after a grumble and a faint ‘chaeyoung’ at the end.

“no,” you’re not sure what or who you’re saying the words of rejection to, but you slam a fist into arm that’s holding you, “let me go! jeongguk! let me go!”

he finally does at the bloodcurdling scream that could wake up the whole city. but somehow security hasn’t come bursting through the door and the streets in front of your room hasn’t halted its hustling and bustling.

“wh-what happened?” jeongguk’s wide eyes scan the room for the one, solid minute before they rest on you but instead of settling with the deduction that your scream was caused by his own entrapment - possibly the unfamiliar name he blurted out - he crawls over to you, “are you okay?” hand on your cheek as he checks for something.

they return to your eyes when you slap it away though.

you’re not even sure why you’re seeing red but you attribute it to the fact that- “how did i get in this?”

he takes one look and blinks, “i changed you because you fell asleep in the cab and i carried-”

“why?” arms crossed over your chest, you speak over him.

“i... i thought you might be uncomfortable sleeping in that dress,” you can almost hear the screws in his brain turning in search for answers.

“stop, okay? don’t act like you’re some award-winning husband - you’re not, you were broke and was about to lose your only source of income when i came to you and asked if you wanted to not have to work a day in your life,” he must’ve not known that his eyebrows twitch at the words, “it’s always been about the money - i get it, so you can stop now. we don’t have to play house when no one’s around because this isn’t an actual marriage and we don’t even love each other.”

you expected the stars in his eyes to dim out, expected him to avert his gaze somewhere to the most random thing like the ugly vase next to the door or the phone on the nightstand or the window where the sound of kids laughing and vendors across the street obnoxiously greeting his neighboring competition.

but instead, he looks straight at you, “what is it then?” he asks, “what are we if those good night kisses, cuddling into each other in the middle of the night when we woke up briefly before falling back to sleep, holding hands while walking and making love every night-”

“i don’t know where you got that because i never kissed you, i never asked you to wait for me to go to sleep together and i never touched you first - they were all you,” your head dips to the side just the slightest bit, “and we had sex every night. that’s it - it’s just sex.”

the last thing you see before you climb off the bed and lock yourself in the bathroom, dialing up your secretary’s number to book a plane ticket for yourself, is what you’ve initially expected to see.

stars that don’t shine as bright as the morning they twinkle and greet for the first time of the day. brows that knit together but not because he’s anxious or nervous about telling you something.

when you stepped out, he’s gone and you don’t leave any notes. not even a text after you packed up your belongings, hailed a cab and went straight to the airport in your darkest shades and brightest dress.

and so it goes, not a single rumor about your early arrival in seoul and your lack of spouse with you. mainly because jeongguk and you have put up quite a show for those watching eyes. a love story worth spectating and an ending keenly awaited. but you’ve made it clear, during your about-to-hit one month honeymoon that you’re truly, deeply, madly in love with your chosen husband, so much so, that you’re willing to leave the chairman seat unguarded. 

it’s a gamble but it worked like magic. the board members welcome you back into the company without any inquiry even though you’re one week too early. mr. yoo even seems relieved to see you when you’re on your way to your office on your first day back.

“it’s nice to see you again, miss ____ -” he stops himself, “i mean, mrs. jeon.”

you shake your head, laughing, “miss ___ is fine for me, everyone’s known me as that for so long.”

when you reach the end of the hallway where you have to part to go to your office, and him to his, you tap him on the arm once with a hand that lacks a wedding ring but he doesn’t seem to care as he dips into a bow and bids you a good day.

and so it goes, you start burying yourself in your pending works while also juggling surprise visits from two of your aunts, to which each does not fail to not-so-discreetly give your left hand a once over. but you’re faster, having kept your ring in the drawer and pulling it out and slipping it on under the desk before standing up to greet the elder women both times without fail.

on the day jeongguk and you were supposed to return, you’ve debated on booking a hotel just because you don’t want to face him - soyeon briefed him about your sudden departure back to korea and that there was no reason for him to come back with you. and so he stayed. travelled to london and then to glasgow with a black card and unlimited possibilities - just liked you promised him on the day you signed the contract.

things might have gotten off track but coming back to the familiar scent of ocean from your candlewicks and the bonzai that belonged to your deceased grandfather in the corner of the room, you’ve found your purpose again - the reason you would go so far as to sacrifice your heart for this position.

you’re never going to lose sight of it ever again.

but when the door beeps once after you punched in the code, the smell of something delicious waft in the air after you stepped into your apartment and jeongguk greeting you with a pink apron with printed with hearts all over it, you feel yourself freezing in your spot.

“oh, you’re back?” his back is on you as he redirects his attention to the sizzling goodness in the hot pan, “i’m making fried noodles, it’ll be done it 10 minutes - why don’t you go and change first?”

it takes a moment of you staring at the black tresses of his head and the broad shoulders with a pink string hanging over the back of his neck before you actually take a step towards the stairs. once you’ve showered and dressed in your pajamas - you prefer those than the lingerie jeongguk has only ever seen you in - it takes another moment for you to stare at the golden strings layered with button mushrooms, beef slices and prawns and a fried egg over them.

“okay,” you shake your head, as if to shake away the trance that seems to come over you - jeongguk’s already looking at you with a curve on his lips, “what is this?”

“friend noodles,” he says simply.

“no,” another round of head-shaking passes, “i mean, what are you doing? i literally insulted you and called you a bum and a gold digger.”

he takes a minute to mull over the matter, bottom lip jutting out as if to say, “yeah, i kinda am.”

“you must also not realize that i only talk to you when we’re in public or when we’re having sex,” you point out, fork gripped tightly in your hand to which he gives a glance at before reaching to pull it out of your grasp and setting it on the napkin next to your plate.

“love making,” he reiterates but before you can even get a word out, he holds up a hand and tilts his head in a ‘wait’ kind of manner, “and a relationship is 50-50, you work and i cook and clean.”

your eyes narrow at him for the longest moment before you pick up the fork again, this time dipping it into the strands of gold and twirling it before directing it to yout mouth. an appreciative moan leaves you as the spice and sweetness spread over you like a whole new experience.

“good right?” jeongguk mimics your action, digging in and smiling proudly with the first bite.

it’s only when you’re done and loaded the dirty dishes into the washer, as you watch him take off the apron with his back on you whilst you lean against the edge of the counter, do you finally ask, “who’s chaeyoung?”

the way he freezes up with hands middair, in the middle of hanging the strap over the hook - isn’t the least bit surprising.

“wh-who?” the hesitant way he looks at you and then to his feet and then to the sink with a hand rubbing the back of his neck - is familiar. welcomed even but you don’t show.

“you tell me,” you shrug, “must’ve been someone important - someone who you’re used to having wake you up.” you let the silence hang in the air for several heartbeats, watching as his adam’s apple bob whilst his wide-eyed gaze shifts from the sink to the block of knives to the stool before they rest on you.

“maybe a girlfriend you left behind in exchange for money - the money i offered you,” and with that, you watch as his gaze shakes and his pink move but no words come out.

it’s only a long moment later, that he finally manages to find them, “i... i haven’t seen chaeyoung ever since we got married.”

“well, congratulations!” you bring your hands together in a crisp applause, lips curving into one of your schooled smiles, “soyeon contacted her and guess what she said? she said you told her you were going to the city to find a job and didn’t want her to wait on you which was why you broke up but poor little chaeyoung is still waiting for you on the country side - you can go see her and your parents.”

and with that, you turn your back on him for the first time since you left him to an empty suite and a cold bed. 

“why are you so...” but just as thought you could walk out of this like a winner, jeon jeongguk somehow manages to pull you several steps back with just words and eyes that bears more emotions than you can handle, “mean?”

“you’re always smiling and laughing with your secretary like you’re best friends, you always look sad when you talk about your grandfather and you always kiss your parents on the cheek every time you meet them... why-” he stops short when he meets your gaze - you’re not sure what he sees that makes him look like he’s been punched in the face with a wild ball. 

“i’ve always been mean,” you feel your eyebrows rising before you blink once, “you just had your head in the clouds, dreaming about how you can make a girl with a rotten attitude change and maybe fall in love with you along the way - well guess what? i’m not her,” and just like that night in athens, something in the way he stands, stiff like a rock and eyes darkened with a sort of desire, your eyes travel down to his pants where a painfully obvious erection protrudes against the fabric of his pants, “...and you like it.”

“no, i - this - it’s...” he fumbles on his words as he clasps his hands over his crotch, but the way his eyes seem to find solace at the sight of your cleavage screams desperation and agony.

“___... you don’t have- fuck,” the first moan falls out of his mouth when yours wrap around him. 

“only because i can’t have a proper conversation when all you’re concerned about is how to take my blouse off from all the way across the room,” you say after a delicious ‘pop!’ when your cheeks hollow out just before you pull away.

it takes only a few more pumps before he’s begging you to “wait- please - i want you.”

it’s the ‘please’ that gets you.

“fine but don’t come inside,” you relent, hands fiddling with the zipper of your skirt before jeongguk’s polite ‘let me’ as he bends you over the counter, chilly air kissing your skin as a tear echo against the wall and you wonder if you’re free in the weekend to go shopping for-

“oh my god,” the moan slips out of your mouth in a pleasured surprise - you didn’t expect him to get your pantyhose, panties and skirt out of the way that fast.

thought with the barely noticeable discomfort of your panties digging into your hips, you figure he opted for keeping them pushed to the side instead of getting rid of them completely.

they do come off anyway, left in the trail of clothes strewn along the way to the stairs where jeongguk decides to have you bend over because “it’s a perfect place for a doggy,” and you concur as you moan and whine while he fucks you like he owns you. hand keeping your hair in a lock whilst he holds your upper body up whenever you’re about to lose yourself and bury your face in the steps. 

but you do manage to get to the bedroom, just not the bed. you made a mess on the carpet - it’s going to stain an ugly shade of sex and lust but soyeon will probably not even bat an eye once you ask her to schedule an appointment with an interior designer. might as well give your room a make over.

so it goes, jeongguk likes to call your eye rolls and offers to lend him a driver to drive him to his hometown to meet the love of his life - cute. alternatively, jealousy. which you simply roll your eyes at, again.

at times, he comes over to your office - mainly to take you out for lunch but ends up fucking you over your mahogany table. and later in the car on the side of the road where an officer came knocking on the fully tinted window - you had at least 60 seconds to button up your shirts and pull down your skirt while jeongguk zips up his pants with a whine before you roll your window down.

how the rest goes, you rather not say.

but you’ve sworn against car sex - at least in daylight and in an open space.

so when you end up walking past a mirror in your room, just as you’ve donned an off white blouse and a grey pencil skirt, you find yourself freezing in shock. hands coming to cup your stomach, you squint at the woman who’s squiting back at your belly.

“honey, breakfast is ready,” jeongguk pokes his head into the room, the infamous pink apron tied around his front and a pair of light orang oven mitts on his hands.

“do you think I gained weight?” you quiz, knowing full well that he’ll spout a heartwarming but blatant lie about-

“no, i think you’re a healthy weight,” a man that looks like him comes to hug the woman in the mirror, kissing her head before glancing at his reflection once and turning back to it, squinting his eyes at the part where your hands are.

“uh,” he hesitantly starts, “how much chipotle did you have last night?”

“not enough that’s for sure,” you turn to him with an incredulous look, “i went to bed hungry,” a light smack lands on his chest - to which he doesn’t even bat an eye, “cause you keep stealing my food!”

“maybe we should book an appointment,” he suggests, voice smooth but the glint in his eyes and the suppressed smile on his face gives away his exitement.

“no, i can’t be pregnant,” you shake your head, walking over to the vanity to pick up your purse and keys, “it’s not the right time.”

“but what if you are?” you hear the hurt in jeongguk’s voice but your interest overrides your emotiones.

“i just can’t be,” and with that, you place a kiss on his lips, “i’m sorry, baby.”

and with that, you left for the kitchen when jeongguk still tried to reason with you. he tried again for the next few days until you set your food down and told him a baby is never going to be in the picture.

but two months down, you barely fit your clothes and jeongguk has been kissing you good morning before bending down and pressing his ear to your belly, “and good morning to you, my little blueberry.”

and he’s been kissing you good night before pecking your stomach and wishing the life form growing inside you a ‘come out fast so mommy and daddy can meet you, okay?’

“good news and bad news,” soyeon said exactly one month ago after you’d fainted in a middle of a meeting and woke up in a hospital room, “you can’t be pregnant but you are and you’re gonna need an heir soon anyway so...”

“it’s bigger than a blueberry now,” you point out  - jeongguk’s been calling your child a blueberry ever since he rushed to the hospital after getting a call that his wife fainted and once he was there, got flashed with a sonogram the size of- “the doctor said it’s as big as a blueberry, not chipotle,” you’d been indifferent, mainly because a child wasn’t in your plan and you’d been taking birth control since way before you got married.

but jeongguk had been overjoyed. taking care of you everywhere you go, he didn’t even let you drive and instead searched up for drivers with a long list of the lowest rates of accidents in their records. he gets into the shower with you because he “can’t wait to have a family shower together” and packages of baby clothes have been pouring in with matching shirts and ‘mom’, ‘dad’ and ‘baby’ printed on each one and he shows them to you after you got back from work.

his love for your child had made you fall in love with being a mother. with having a family of your own - the two notions you never thought you could wrap your head around as you made your vows to each other two years ago. 

and it’s somewhere down the line, as you watch jeongguk rock your baby in his arm as she sleeps soundly amidst the beeping of the heart monitor, jeongguk’s voice like a lullaby as he murmurs ‘you’re so beautiful, you have mommy nose, and my lips, thank you for being born,’ and when he twirls around, probably feeling the heat of someone’s stare from all the way on the bed, he looks at you with that lost, wide-eyed wonder before his lips curl into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents.

-it’s then, do you realize that jeongguk has become the person you smile and laugh with, the person you greet with a kiss and the person your heart beats for.

he’s your husband, lover, soulmate.

x

note. i have another preview with the same title and characters but from a historical era which i haven’t managed to finish but if you see a marquis!jk and x heir!reader then yk hehe. also if you like arranged marriage au’s do check my masterlist! i have a lot of them apparently (i just realized while writing this fic lol)

i’ve been super stressed and feel like i haven’t actually been doing anything i really like in the weekend so i sat down and decided to finish this draft idea once and for all! 

first off, oc is a douche bag who cares about herself a lot but it’s written in her pov which i hope portrays a justification (which isn’t necessarily okay) to the things she do. but in other people’s story, she’s that woman who stole a person’s man, or she’s that hard ass boss that nobody really likes but pays good, or that graunddaughter that seems to think about her grandfather’s money only. but no one is easily good or bad, it’s more than that just like oc. and i hope to send at least that message through this story. not one can be just ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

in my opinion, there’s no development in her character bc of the word count and the fact that i didn’t plan for it to be long enough to include a development. i just wanted to write about an asshole who has feelings and can be nice to certain people. she’s probably still an asshole but her feelings for jeongguk changed and so is her treatment towards him (as per foreshadowed) and he became one of the people she loves - and i say probably because we’ll probably never know for sure and it’s also not up to my interpretation alone. you, the readers, may think she has or may think she hasn’t - either way, this is just a story about someone who you might know, maybe someone who you’d dupe as selfish. either way, i hope yall enjoyed it!

[captainseaweedbrains]

The Dance of the Color Guard, Op.64 Chapter 1

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x

Ao3: x x

April—Six Months Earlier

“Don’t be so obvious,” her music stand partner Leevy whispered in amusement, “but Peeta Mellark is staring at you again.”

“What?” Katniss looked straight up, not even pretending to be subtle, and locked eyes with the first chair trumpet player sitting directly across the room from her. His eyes widened for a moment, probably assuming she wouldn’t catch his stare with the clarinet section in front of him, but instead of looking away like a normal person would after being caught, Peeta Mellark smiled at her, his right eyebrow raising suggestively in question. Katniss gripped her flute and pointedly turned back to her music, knowing her section would be criticized next on their sloppy runs.

He liked to do that every so often during rehearsal, look at her like she was some kind of joke that amused him. Get her all flustered with those stupid eyebrows and smiles. Leevy enjoyed pointing it out all the time, drawing kissy faces with their initials in hearts on their shared music that Katniss would then furiously erase because what if someone saw that? People in band were gossipy enough with who was dating whom and who broke up with whom.

She didn’t want anyone thinking she had a crush on Peeta Mellark.

Mr. Abernathy, their band director, stepped between them on his podium, breaking any eye contact Peeta could make on her, and tapped his baton on his stand to grab everyone’s attention. “Okay, listen up, ya mangy teens! A few announcements before you all age me once more with your apparent lack of practicing. First being, next season’s field show—”

“Oh, can I say it?” Miss Trinket, their assistant director, asked, already pushing Mr. Abernathy off the podium. Miss Trinket was a small wispy woman, her height mainly due to the massive heels she sported no matter the season, but despite her title and small stature, it was clear to anyone with eyes who was in charge of any decision making for the band program.

Miss Trinket cleared her throat, smiling brightly as the room waited with anticipation. 

Marching season was one of the biggest things they did in the school year. Everyone looked forward to it and a strong field show could finally mean getting Athens Ridge High’s Marching Gladiators to finals and beating the crap out of their arch rivals: the rich snooty Capitol Heights Academy’s Imperial Marching Crusaders.

Every year they always came so close to beating them, but Capitol Heights had the money for large expensive props and Athens Ridge did not. They were lucky enough to have been able to afford new marching uniforms a few years back, replacing the threadbare grey ones with sleek black and gold. Mr. Abernathy always reminded everyone that he didn’t care about winning, nor did he give a rat’s ass about Capitol Heights and all their achievements. All he cared about was that they performed to the best of their ability and marched off the field with pride, but Katniss wanted their band to be the best. Everyone in the Athens Ridge band did.

“Can I get a drumroll, please?” Miss Trinket asked, looking pointedly to Gale in the back.

Gale rolled his eyes, but started the roll on his snare drum.

“This year’s marching show is…” Another dramatic pause.

“Will you just tell them, woman? This ain’t the Oscars,” Mr. Abernathy snapped, sick of all her flairs and dramatics. “We’re doing Romeo & Juliet. There. Now get off my podium.”

Miss Trinket held her ground, her pale features brightening under her anger, making her purple-streaked hair stand out more than usual. “Haymitch—!”

Everyone watched, entertained by yet another round of the two directors going at it once more. Katniss turned to look back at Gale, the head keeper of the betting pool, and he signed another two months before their directors would go at it like rabbits. She shook her head, laughing quietly to herself, and turned back to watch as the directors duked it out.  

“I’ve heard the music to this field show,” Leevy said after practice, cleaning out her flute. “It’s really pretty. I can see why Miss Trinket picked it.”

Katniss carefully tucked her flute back in its case, giving it one final shine before locking it shut. “You think Miss Trinket picked it?”

Leevy laughed and threw a pointed look over to where Mr. Abernathy sat slunk in his chair, stained coffee mug in hand as he scowled at some piece of paper. “I highly doubt Mr. Abernathy would choose a show like Romeo & Juliet without some heavy outside persuasion.”

She had a point there.

As they waited by the door, ready to book it the second the bell rang, Katniss and Leevy rolled their eyes at the chaos in front of them. Thresh Armstrong, a tuba player known for sneaking in toys from home, had brought out a foam football and had tossed it over to Johanna Mason, one of the smart ass percussionists, who almost crashed into the chimes trying to catch it. She held the ball up in victory and the guys around her hooted and hollered in applause. With a dramatic bow, she tossed it to Gale behind her, who caught it and called out for his girlfriend Madge to catch. Madge squealed in shock when the ball hit her in the back of the head, throwing the ball back at him in protest. 

“You’d think Abernathy would put a stop to that,” Leevy commented, laughing despite herself when the ball nailed Marvel Baxter in the face. “People can get hurt.” 

“Maybe he wants to see assholes like Marvel get hit in the face, too,” Katniss snorted, glad she got to witness it. “Do you think we’ll get to see Cato get hit in the face?” she asked, eyeing the bulky blond in the far corner with interest. 

“Doubt it.” Cato Martin was that stereotypical asshole who thought he walked on water and expected everyone to treat him as thus. And the sickening part was that people did. The school’s star quarterback was praised constantly in their school paper for his dedication to both the school’s athletic department and music department, despite being last chair in Symphonic Band and always being hounded for how bad he played by Mr. Abernathy. Despite his assholery, though, he always had a gaggle of followers around him, probably praising him for breathing. 

Katniss hated him so much, and it wasn’t just because they were locker neighbors and she was constantly having to shove him and whatever girl he was making out with off her own locker to squeeze in. Or that, since the 7th grade, he’s only referred to her as “Katnips Everslip” after a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction at the community pool. Or even that time he taped rubber baby bottle nipples all over her locker sophomore year and only received a slap on the wrist by their dean, Mr. Flickerman, because he didn’t realize how offensive it was and he was so so sorry. Yeah, Cato sucked and she hated him for all those things and more, but she hated him most because Cato Martin was that entitled ass who just expected things to be given to him. He never faced any consequences and those were the worst kind of people.

Laughing at Marvel and his botched up nose, her eyes briefly caught Peeta’s and the amusement she felt seeing Marvel get nailed in the face vanished instantly. Every bully had that one lackey who wasn’t really an asshole, but was kind of one by association because he just went along with anything the bully did. Yeah, that lackey was Peeta Mellark. Which somehow made it even worse. She knew Peeta. Used to be friends with him in elementary school, back when your neighborhood friends were your whole world and nothing could come between you. Now he was just one of Cato’s goons who blindly followed whatever Golden Ass commanded. 

“Are you auditioning for color guard again?” Leevy asked, snapping Katniss’s attention back to her friend.

“Huh?”

Leevy’s eyes followed where hers had been and Katniss pretended not to notice the knowing smirk on her friend’s face, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead. “Are you trying out for color guard this year?” she asked again.  

“Of course.” Katniss flushed at her sure answer, but she always did color guard. It was kind of her thing, especially since Miss Trinket had singled her out freshman year, snatching 14-year-old Katniss off the practice field where she had been marching with her fellow flute players. “You’ve got the perfect arms,” Miss Trinket had told her and she’d been part of color guard ever since. 

“I’m hoping for captain, actually,” Katniss admitted, looking down at her beat-up sneakers. She hadn’t told anyone but Prim that, afraid she’d jinx it by putting it out in the universe too much, but going into senior year next season, she’d be the most experienced one auditioning. The odds were definitely in her favor, but the universe also had a tendency of fucking things up when she least expected it and she didn’t want to chance it.

Leevy sighed. “I wish you’d stay with the flutes. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to deal with that”—she pointed at the giggly flute players who were now fawning over Cato like lovesick puppies—"all by myself.”

Katniss gave her friend a sympathetic pat on the arm. “I’d rather shoot myself in the eye than have to deal with Golden Ass’ fan club. Why don’t you try out? You’re small, like me. I bet Miss Trinket would love that.” Their assistant director would be beside herself with joy at having another petite person in guard she could have tossed around. Miss Trinket was always complaining how there were too many tall girls nowadays and that it limited her “vision.” 

Leevy shook her head. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think I could ever do what you all do. Who would trust me to throw something in the air and expect me to catch it? And the way you did those handsprings for last year’s show?” She shook her head again in amazement. “I can’t even balance on one foot without falling. I’m nowhere near as talented as you.” 

Katniss’ cheeks darkened again at Leevy’s appraisal. Those handsprings were a bitch to grasp, she remembered, and the only reason she was the one doing them wasn’t because Trinket saw her as some talented goddess. No, it was just because everyone else was too afraid of doing them without any type of mat underneath them and Katniss wasn’t. She was about to tell her friend this—that yeah, she was pretty good with a flag and rifle, but all that can be taught and Leevy’s lack of gymnastic talent shouldn’t stop her from auditioning—when the foam football smacked her hard on the side of her head.

“What the hell?” She scanned the chaotic room for the culprit, rubbing at the spot where the ball hit. “Who threw that?” 

The culprit in question raised his hand apologetically and jogged over to pick the blue ball off the ground. Her hands balled into fists.

Peeta Mellark.

Of course.

“My bad!” he apologized, smiling down at her in that totally non-assery way that just pissed her off more. “I was trying to throw the ball to Glimmer and—” he started to explain, casually pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Your aim sucks that much?” she fumed, interrupting him. Glimmer was clear across the room by the other French horn players, far from where she and Leevy stood. “That could have hit my eye!”

There was a time, long ago, when she was once taller than him. She used to jokingly lean on Peeta while they waited in lines at school or the grocery store, calling him squirt and messing up his curly blond hair like his dad did, laughing when he’d scowl and pull away, hating that nickname. He always vowed he’d reach his growth spurt someday soon, just like his brothers, and she’d be sorry she ever called him squirt. Peeta stood almost a foot taller than her now, but she stood her ground. Glaring up at him, she considered using the old nickname, just to see if it rattled him

There was no way his aim was that bad. They’d had the same gym class for almost six years now and she knew he wasn’t terrible. Peeta was one of those guys things just came naturally to, especially sports. For years she has watched as he made the winning pass in basketball, smacked a volleyball down to score like nobody’s business, swiped the puck in during hockey. She smelled bullshit. 

This was probably some stupid dare Cato or Marvel put him up to. She eyed Marvel off to the side, still rubbing his nose. He was probably pissed at her for laughing at him and thought it’d be funny watching her get nailed in the face, too. Let’s see how hard the ball can bounce off Katnips Everslip’s tiny head! she could hear the idiots snickering. Marvel always did have a small ego. And of course, like always, Peeta just went along with it because that’s what Peeta did. Just go along with anything his friends suggested, even if meant injuring an innocent bystander.

“So why’d you throw it at me?” she point-blank asked, crossing her arms. “Did Marvel put you up to it? Cato?” 

His face quickly went from apologetic smiles to annoyance, rolling his eyes at her sneer. “You know, Katniss, believe it or not, accidents do happen.”

“Accident? Please,” she scoffed. “I know you, Peeta. You don’t do accidents. Everything you do is strategically planned and executed with exact precision. So who dared you? It was Marvel, wasn’t it?”

He looked back at his buddies and laughed, shaking his head incredulously. “I’m touched that you think I’m so robotic, Katniss, truly, but believe whatever the fuck you want. I said it was an accident because it was an accident.” 

“Just answer the question.”

“I already did.” He leaned toward her, his dark blue eyes mocking, and tapped the football on her nose with a smug smile, walking back over to his friends. Some of the guys made kissy faces at his return, laughing when Peeta shoved them to quit it, but he was laughing along with them. 

Katniss’ nails dug into her palms as she watched them, briefly wondering if someone could be glared to death. God, they were the worst.

“Wow,” Leevy breathed, watching the trumpet players, too. “The sexual tension is strong today. Felt like I was in a movie just now.” 

She turned to her friend, incredulous. “Sexual tension? With Peeta Mellark?” She gagged at the thought. “Did you not just see him be a complete ass to me? He hit me with a football!”

“Yeah and apologized for it.” Katniss rolled her eyes at the low standard bar Leevy had for apologies. Peeta’s apology was obviously fake and what about that annoying ball tap to the nose? Did she not see how condescending that was? “You two are so going to bone by the end of this year.”

The bell rang before Katniss could choke out a rebuttal.

[author-morgan]

Deimos!Alexios SFW Alphabet

Deimos!Alexios x Fem!Reader

click here for a not so safe for work alphabet ;)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

By nature, Deimos is not a demonstrative person —he was raised without warmth and doesn’t know how to show affection. He does try though, especially once you become more acquainted with one another. Among the first things he does to show affection is buying you gifts —fine dresses, jewels, rare perfumes, and sweet wines. Then he begins to notice you crave more than to be showered in luxuries, so he starts with gentle touches —running his hand through your hair, tracing patterns on your skin, and given time, soft kisses.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Your family needed sway in Elis and the Cult could give your father what he desired. There was a cost for such a reward though —you. If you are a man you will make a son one of the masked men had said while binding your wrists. You were to be a slave for the Cult —doing their bidding and assisting the Pythia with false prophecies, but it all changed when Maron tried to force himself on you one night in the Cave of Gaia. One minute you were pushed against the stone wall. The next Maron was coughing up blood with a sword emerging from his chest. Deimos. It was the first time you’d seen the Cult’s weapon. He offered you his hand and led you deep into the cave to a private pool of water so you could wash the blood away. Soon after that initial encounter, you were offered the opportunity to become Deimos’ companion. Foolishly, you accepted.

Deimos is somehow simultaneously the best and worst kind of friend. He will smite anyone who dares try to hurt you in deed or words, but then he has no idea how to act when you wish to confide in him or even show him kindness.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Deimos isn’t a fan of cuddling, at least knowingly. Once asleep, he’ll seek you out —wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. If he wakes and he’s done this, Deimos is quick to distance himself —even if it felt good to hold you.

On the contrary, if you’re the one doing the cuddling —he doesn’t care (as long as he isn’t in an extremely foul mood). Deimos enjoys it when your head rests on his chest, one leg draped across his waist, fingers pressing into his shoulder or side. Having you willingly be this close to him is enough to make him believe that maybe he isn’t just a monster or weapon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Once free from the Cult, he might consider settling down (though starting a family is still something he’s unsure of —he just knows he’d be a terrible father). Otherwise, he wants to be on the move, and that’s why he’s content following in his sister’s steps and becoming a misthios.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise, but Deimos is terrible at domestic activities. Sometimes he tries, but he gets in the way most of the time and you end up having to go behind him. Eventually, he takes the hint that he’s in the way, causing more trouble, and leaves most things to you. He still lingers around should you need anything, though.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

A break-up with Deimos would be something he doesn’t want to happen, but it comes as a result of the Cult’s actions. Unless they can physically restrain him, he’s not going to listen. He’ll find you —it’s not like there’s anyone stupid enough to get in his way or strong enough to stop him.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Marriage likely isn’t in the equation, but that’s just because of the nature of marriage in Classical Greece. Commitment is something that frightens him though he won’t admit it. Before he knows it, he’s already given himself to you —it’s in subtle things like ensuring your safety, asking about your day, offering to comb your hair. After quite a bit of time, he finally acknowledges it and makes sure everyone knows that you are his, and he is yours.  

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Deimos is not gentle. The Cult took his humanity, but through you, he finds it again —little-by-little. You learn he can be tender and kind when he cleans and binds a wound you accidentally inflicted on yourself slicing fresh apricots. From then on, he’s always mindful of his strength and becomes gentler toward you over time.

If we’re being honest, Deimos is a bit (very) emotionally constipated. He keeps just about all his emotions buried deep within him and puts on a hard exterior —one that you’re able to start chipping away.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Hugs are a no for Deimos and are probably the quickest way to get a knife in the stomach. He makes rare exceptions, though. If he’s been away for a long time —he enjoys seeing you run toward him and leap into his arms. Those embraces are always quick, though —not even long enough to count as a hug since you’re eager to check him over for injuries.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Chrysis has instilled in him from a young age that love is weakness and weakness is punishable by pain. Deimos does not even begin to consider the possibility that he might love you until the Cult’s demise at the hands’ of his sister. Even then it takes time.

Finally, after years of standing by his side, he would accept that he does love you (Kassandra may have helped him see it as such). He’d utter a soft I love you and kiss your forehead —thinking you’re asleep and wouldn’t be able to hurt him by rebuffing the quiet admission. It surprises him when you shift. Eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the darkness. The back of your hand would graze his jaw and cheek, an ethereal smile upon your lips. I love you, too you’d whisper, moving closer to him.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He is exceptionally jealous and has been known to gut men who even look in your direction for too long or with the wrong type of expression. It’s a trait that carries over even after he leaves the Cult. You and Kassandra have both had to pull him away from Stentor a few times. Occasionally, Stentor slips and goes overboard on the Adrestia.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Deimos’ kisses are rough, even when he intends for them to be soft. He likes to hold your face in his hands or have one hand tangled in your hair —something to give him some semblance of control. His favorite place to kiss you is your lips and neck (bonus points if he leaves little love bites). Deimos likes it when you kiss his fingertips. It makes him feel some type of way knowing you trust the hands of a killer. He also enjoys when you kiss his neck and clavicles.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He will say he’s terrible with children (mostly because he’s rarely been around anyone younger than him since becoming a man), but you’ve seen him show mercy to girls and boys. He’d even been somewhat distraught when the Cult guards killed the girl, Phoibe, in Athens —she wasn’t meant to die. She had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You firmly believe given the chance, he’d be good around children, especially after leaving the Cult in the past. That theory is proven true when Kassandra has Elpidios. He spoils his baby nephew at every opportunity once overcoming the fear of dropping him or holding him wrong. Seeing him and Elpidios plants a seed in your mind that starting a family could be nice.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

On most mornings he is gone before you wake —either training or on an assignment. It’s more of a shock to wake and find him still lying next to you. If that’s the case, you seem to be the one to wake first. It’s a rare sight to see him at rest —the tension released from his body, the furrow between his brows and the creases on his forehead gone. You take those moments to commit his features to memory.

One of your favorite things to do is trace the scars on his torso. The feel of your fingertips dancing across his skin is usually enough to wake him, but if that’s how he’s woken it puts him in a significantly better mood. Sometimes when you’re feeling brave you’ll trace his scars with your lips and tongue (if you do that it’s pretty much assured you won’t be leaving the bed anytime soon).

Once Deimos is awake, he doesn’t say much —he’s a man of few words to begin with, but he will always kiss either your lips or forehead before rising from bed to dress for the day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Deimos either go one of two ways. Nighttime is his favorite time to fuck you (eventually it gets to a point where can confidently call it making love instead of fucking), it helps tire him so he might actually get some sleep. Deimos makes you feel like a goddess. You enjoy those nights.

Other nights are a mix between sparse conversation and comfortable silence. He’s more apt to talk about his past at night or tell you stories of his conquests and scars on his chest and back. It’s at night that he takes more interest in you too —he wants to know where you’re from, what was your childhood like, what your favorite color is. Nights with Deimos are when you start to see who he is outside of the Cult’s influence.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He wouldn’t like to talk about it, but he can only deflect your questions for so long before he starts telling you. Deimos would talk about his scars first, then Chrysis and the other children she’d raised alongside him, about the lioness protecting her cub, and how he’d been condemned to die as a suckling babe. He won’t tell you everything at once —you don’t expect him to either— but he does open up to you. You understand him better as time passes and it makes your strange relationship better, stronger.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Deimos has no patience for anyone (though perhaps he is a little more patient with you, but not by much). Incompetence is one of the quickest ways to make him angry.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)

It’s a surprise when Deimos recalls a small detail you’d mentioned in passing about your childhood near Olympia. Turns out he remembers everything you tell him —that explains why sometimes you find one of your favorite flowers lying on the table, a dress in your favorite color, or your favorite gem. He’s quick to learn your quirks too —he knows you bite your nails out of boredom or worry and when you’re concentrated on a task the tip of your tongue will poke between your lips. He remembers everything and is terrified that the Cult will find a way to make him forget.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Deimos has two memories that stand out to him. One of them is when you first kissed him. Up until that point, it was only soft caresses and forehead kisses. When he stepped down from the trireme and onto the wharf in Phokis after weeks of being apart, you couldn’t help yourself. You’d taken his face in your hands and planted your lips against his without a second thought.

The second is another first kiss of sorts. It’s the first you kiss you shared after the Cult had been dismantled —his first kiss as Alexios, not Deimos. You and he had sat atop the roof of his home in Sparta after a somewhat awkward dinner with Kassandra, Nikolaos, Myrrine, and Stentor. He’d placed his hand on your cheek, turning your gaze from the moonlit Lakonian countryside and pressed his lips to yours —soft and slow.

They’re good memories that fill his heart with warmth whenever he begins to sink back into his old ways.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

You’re likely one of the most protected persons in all the Greek world. Deimos will cut down anyone who dares harm you. Even the Cult is sure to keep you well protected though some of its members aren’t happy about your relationship with their champion. Despite that, they know if something happens to you it is likely they will never be able to control Deimos again.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Deimos notices the longing in your eyes when you look to the sea. You’d grown up close to the sea in Elis and often went down to the water to swim and relax. Some nights he’ll surprise you by taking you down to the shore. He spoils you (in part due to his own insecurities) with gifts. But the gifts that mean the most are the ones he put thought into. Sure necklaces with emeralds and sapphires are pretty, but a pressed rose, an old scroll of poetry, and a shell full of uneven pearls are what makes your heart flutter.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Sulking. Deimos is a sulky boi. He also has some issues with controlling his temper, but he’s working on it.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

The Cult is more concerned with his appearance than he is, but he puts some effort forth and keeps his beard cropped to dark stubble and his hair clean. One thing you quickly note is the lack of scars on his appendages. The few light ones on his arms and thighs are from battle —his own follies and hubris. It’s his back and chest that are littered with gouges, burns, and raised. He looks untouchable, invincible wearing the gold-and-black armor of the Cult, but beneath it, you know the truth. He bleeds and heals like any other man even if they tell him he is a demigod.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

To a certain degree. It becomes more obvious to him that he wouldn’t be incomplete so much as lost without you. You’re his other half as the poets would say —his better half.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Sometimes he’ll stop outside the door of your chambers or wherever you may be and just listen and watch you. He likes it when you hum lullabies or sea shanties, even singing at times when you’re sure no one else is around. Deimos will watch you move around like a bee and have to fight a smile. Even if he won’t admit it to himself, he adores you and still doesn’t understand why you like him so much.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Weakness. Showing weakness was a punishable offense and Deimos has learned to hate anything he perceives as being weak —even his love for you until he realizes it makes him stronger.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Deimos doesn’t sleep much —that’s evident in the dark circles ringing his eyes. The only time he sleeps well is when he’s well beyond the point of exhaustion or has been injured. Sometimes he sleeps better if he falls asleep in your arms, but most of the time he won’t let himself do that. He has a lot of nightmares, and you learn early on to be careful when trying to wake him. Otherwise, it might result in fingers almost being broken or a dagger at your throat. The best way to get him to wake if he’s having a nightmare is to hold his hand or stroke his hair. When he wakes, his eyes will be damp, his gaze distant and feral and it hurts you to know that all of this is the Cult’s fault.

[neo-existential-crisis]

Thresholds, Online Exhibition Review

@ MIMA, Middlesbrough Institute of Modern Art

At the start of the year we were fresh-faced, coming into a new decade our planners were full and the air was ripe with potential. Then we entered the period of uneasiness, stuck at home not knowing what was going to happen next, our plans stifled; the places we once went for enjoyment and culture were shut and at risk of closing for good. In this period of uncertainty, we connected to the outside world via our screens, seeing family and friends in unfocused zoom calls and trying to figure out the best impromptu office space to work from home in. We spent more time in our domestic spaces, saw into the domestic worlds of our peers, lines were crossed as our domestic spaces became where we entertained friends, where we worked and where we also relaxed on top of everything. Our relationships with our homes we re-written as we adapted to our new way of living through a pandemic.

Throughout lockdown, art spaces jumped to create online exhibitions right away and created a plethora of virtual exhibits some newly made others pre-planned exhibits put into a computer manufactured gallery space or a video tour like Tate Modern’s Andy Warhol exhibit. Comparatively, Thresholds curator Adian Moesby, who is currently working as MIMA’s associate curator during his residency, took time to reflect on the changes made to our relationship with home during lockdown and the easing of restrictions which is where this current virtual exhibition is born out of. Moesbys practice is ‘under pinned through conversation’ (Adian Moesby – About, 2020) which he utilises in the curation of this exhibit through in-depth conversations he had with Sonia Boué, Lindsey Duncanson and Catriona Gallagher, the three artists that make up Thresholds. The exhibit connects these artists together through a mix of photography and film to communicate their personal stories and experiences with lockdown and the impact Covid-19 had on their relationship to home. Made at a time of easing restrictions Thresholds asks us to evaluate our feelings and connections towards our homes and the places we inhabit at a time where restrictions are tightening up once again and we will inevitably be spending more time there.

Clicking through to the exhibit PDF you are confronted with a low-res still from Catriona Gallagher's ‘Video Villanelle (for distance)’ (2020), a twilight sky setting up the transient mood that prevails throughout the exhibit. Scrolling down you are introduced to Sonias Boué’s ‘Safe as Houses’ (2020) 12 photos documenting her move to her new studio space which she moved into during the transitional period of lockdown. Set against a white backdrop each new photo exists on its own page and explores a plethora of objects which Boué takes with her for each new move; from childhood items such as a rocking horse to an exhaust pipe situated on its own rickety looking chair, these hold a personal connection to the artist. ‘Safe as Houses’ shares a close relationship to much of Boué’s practice where she ‘explores home and the domestic as metaphors for exile and displacement’ (Sonia Boue, 2020) with much of her work focusing on post-memory the idea of connection to the past and the generational trauma that continues to affect the lives of future generations seen most clearly in her work responding to the Spanish Civil war. Boué presents this within Thresholds in the specifically tailored striped pyjamas featured in a quarter of the photographs that connect not only to the new casualwear of lockdown but is reminiscent of the clothes her grandparents were forced to wear during their time in concentration camps. In one they sit folded on a wooden chair set to the right of the frame; the room dim with a square of light reflected in from a window in the empty space. Boués photos mark the space of time from childhood to adulthood and the period of moving. The photographs and the diverse objects we see serve as an exploration into what home means to us, the things we carry through with us through childhood into our adult lives and how we make a space a home.

Sonia Boué, 'Safe as Houses', 2020.

Where Sonia Boué travels through memories and explores the past, Lindsey Duncansons piece ‘Brief loss’ (2020) studies the repetitive stagnation of life during lockdown. The three greyscale film vignettes feature next to each through a triptych; filmed within Duncanson's own flat it reveals a very personal side to the artist and invites us into her own domestic space that she shares with her family. The film is notably different from the rest of Duncanson's work which usually feature sublime picturesque outdoor scenes with plenty of colour whereas in this piece she has swapped out the rolling hills of the moors of Stanhope for the cosy interiors of home. This reversal exemplifies the loss, change and confinement that lockdown brought, Duncanson can no longer explore the landscapes around Newcastle upon Tyne and so she has adapted to her new situation and uses her home as a landscape to explore instead. Titled ‘Brief Loss’ the piece carries with the emotional effects of lockdown and displays the monotonous nature of life that occurred when we could no longer go out to experience life outside our homes. Within the scene Duncanson sits crouched in the centre of the triptych, walled in by a row of plants and a bookcase she’s seemingly lost in thought, occasionally picking a book out and flipping through it before resuming her previous position, there is a quiet comforting presence to the piece, on either side of Duncanson her partner, in the left-hand panel, and son, in the right, sit in their own respective rooms, her partner rests comfortably on an armchair occasionally living his mug while her son sits at his desk drawing while a screen flickers out of signal next to him. The whole scene has a dreamlike quality to it with the comfortable atmosphere alongside the ambient sound and the black and white filter and in each doorway behind the subjects exists projections of the outside, with pond skaters skipping over water, the ripples and reflections of clouds, and star-like moving foam. Duncanson combines the domestic with the outside showing our dreams of being free once again and escape this monotony that we’ve fallen into.

The final piece of Thresholds isn’t confined to the comforts of home or one space instead it travels through memories, moments and landscapes. Home isn’t one pace for most of us but for Catriona Gallagher she works and lives between Northumberland and Athens ana through ‘Video Villanelle (for distance)’ (2020) she ‘explores her sense of dislocation’ (MIMA-Thresholds-Exhibition.pdf, 2020) from being stuck in England while trying to navigate the travel restrictions throughout summer to return to Greece. The aptly named 17-minute film follows the a, b rhyme structure -like that of a traditional villanelle poem- comprised of short snippets of footage with repeating motifs not too different from the structure of a stanza. The footage feels as though you are being invited into Gallagher's life, it’s a documentation of scenes with friends, with so warm sparkling candles on a birthday cake and to late-night bicycle rides, to rain pouring outside of a window and Gallagher's reflection in the window of a train the landscape rushing by while you hear mindless chatter in the background. Sound plays an interesting role in this film with most of it coming from the footage though you can hear music from Magic Arm ebbing and flowing through that perfectly ties the clips together. There is a sense of reminiscing over what life used to be with clips featuring a close-knit group of people and scene of the Greece coastline this is starkly contrasted to the reality of uncertainty as to when life will return to normal. The film is set in portrait mode with a somewhat low-quality feel to it due to the footage being taken entirely from existing videos from Gallagher's phone archive. It comprises of videos sent to friends or keepsakes as Jade French puts it ‘this footage was never intended to be art’ (French, 2020) which give it an intensely personal feel as if we are walking through her memories. ‘Video Villanelle’ focuses on the small moments, the subtle experiences in life and though the footage is fragmented it still carries the same focus on overlooked details in our physical spaces and ambient wistful nature that Gallagher's work holds. Gallagher uses this piece to reflect on their experience of lockdown and looks at how our phones connect while improvising with the limited tools she had available as she did with ‘They met under the ceiling of sky’ (2020) which then went on to the official selection in the Laterale Film Festival in 2020.

Catriona Gallagher, Stills from ‘Video Villanelle (for distance)’, 2020

Over the summer we have been overrun with the many virtual exhibits and Thresholds taking place after utilises the online space to its best potential. Having been commissioned to be a virtual exhibition it uses photography and film which are familiar to the online space rather than creating pieces tailored to a physical space. Through working online there’s a variety of different experimental formats to use over a simple pdf format however this way it encourages a non-art audience to take part through being simple, it becomes relatable for a wider range of people which Moseby advocates for having curated public events to specifically engage those audiences.

Thresholds subliminally speaks on the visibility of the disabled community in the art world. Curator Aidan Moseby closely works within the disability and diversity sector having been commissioned by and worked for companies such as Disability Arts Online and DASH which this exhibition is partnered with. The setup and extra care with subtitled and audio described versions for each film make this exhibition more accessible the usual cases. Where other galleries are immediately setting up shop in their physical spaces' as lockdown eased Thresholds doesn’t, it makes a statement that we can’t forget that the move to virtual during lockdown made art spaces more accessible to the disabled community. Art spaces have long been exclusive and inaccessible but with the lockdown when non-disabled people no longer had the means to visit gallery spaces that suddenly changed. It showed that galleries had little excuse for doing this before with the ease and speed in which they transferred their exhibitions online. Even having a virtual floor plan makes it more accessible as they ‘act as a helpful tool to plan trips and relieve anxiety for disabled art audiences’ (Kroese, 2020) referencing 3d art space floor plans.’. Thresholds subliminally makes a statement through being set after many galleries have shut their online exhibits and have opened their doors again through quietly having accessible versions of artworks. There is much change that needs to happen in the art world in making it more accessible to a wider range of people and lockdown has presented these options that we can and should learn from to aid us in the future.

Thresholds invades your domestic space as you visit it through the comforts of your own home through the ambient sound of Gallagher's work and personal memorabilia of Boués photographs. It looks at how the pandemic has changed our relationship to our domestic spaces, how confined we've become and how the virtual space can connect us. As lockdown has pushed and eased our homes have become multi-functional places, we continue to reflect on the change our lives have gone through and think about our connection to the people we surround ourselves with. Though through this we need to see the visibility of disabled people in the arts and how the small start that was ignited during lockdown needs to continue to help keep places accessible to the many rather than the few.

Thresholds can be found here.

Bibliography

Mima.art. 2020. MIMA-Thresholds-Exhibition.Pdf. [online] Available at: <https://mima.art/wp-content/themes/mima-wp/media/MIMA-Thresholds-Exhibition.pdf> [Accessed 21 October 2020].

French, J., 2020. Thresholds. [online] Corridor8. Available at: < https://corridor8.co.uk/article/thresholds/ > [Accessed 22 October 2020].

Aidan Moseby. 2020. About. [online] Available at <https://www.aidanmoesby.co.uk/contact-us/ > [Accessed 22 October 2020]

Duncanson, L (2020) ‘Quarry’, Blue Topgraphy, 27 January. Available at: < https://bluetopography.blogspot.com/2020/01/quarry.html> (Accessed 23 October 2020)

Kroese, I., 2020. Emerging Accessibility: Post-viral programming and disabled audiences. [online] Corridor8. Available at: < https://corridor8.co.uk/article/emerging-accessibility-post-viral-programming-and-disabled-audiences/> [Accessed 23 October 2020]video

[eaglebearor]

Perihelion Pt. II | & Aspasia.

When he meets her eyes , he suspects surprise , to see her searching wildly for some sort of excuse. Instead , he finds sorrow , not unlike his own , something stinging at the corner of his vision. And when she speaks , he believes her. Maybe because he wants to. Maybe because he has to. Maybe because it’s the only thing that can fill the void.

❛ I never meant to put her in danger. I thought that if I kept her close , I could keep her safe. But - in the end , it became quite clear how much of a danger you were to them. They thought that - through her , they would break you. But I knew. I knew it would make you stronger. ❜

He grunts , looking away. ❛ But you must have told them , who she was. You must have known ! ❜

Reluctantly , she retracts her hand , nodding slowly. ❛ I did , and I myself put her in danger. I know that , and you will never know how sorry I am for that. I would never hurt a child , not like that. What they did to her , to your sister , it was how I knew that the Cult was no longer what it started as. I just wish I had seen it sooner. ❜

The confession makes him feel no better. ❛ —But even then , what could you have done ? ❜

❛ I - I don’t know , Alexios. ❜

When he raises his head once more , there is a chasm between them , although her scent remains swirling around his head without mercy. He should leave here. More so , he should run his blade through her on the way out , but he will do none of those things. Because doing that will not bring anyone back , and it will only widen the wounds he now walks around with. He wants to stop hating so much. It’s begun to poison him in subtle ways , but he is acutely aware of every invasion. No more of this. He does not know how much longer it can last.

❛ What is the catch then , Aspasia ? ❜ His voice is washed in defeat , shoulders hung and fists unfurled. ❛ Is trusting you not the easiest way to get my throat cut ? Will my love for you not be your best weapon against me ? ❜

She shakes her head. ❛ I will not lie to you now , Alexios. It can be , if I choose it to be. If you offer me your heart , I will have the power to destroy you , and even if I give you the same power , you may not believe it to be real. But such is love. We would have to trust you each other yet again. And we would have to choose to trust each other every morning when we wake and each night when we lay beside one another. ❜

It is that slick tongue and sharp wit that has gotten her this far , and he is not ignorant to that fact. But from the first time he’d seen her , he’d known how devastating she could be in every way someone could be so. And he’d known he would be no match for her hatred , but more so , he would have no defense against her affections. 

❛ Why then ? Why me ? ❜

There is a moment’s pause , the question catching her off guard , before she chuckles softly. ❛ If love came with reason , we would be better prepared to defend against it. ❜

❛ But you said I would be your equal. Why allow such a thing ? ❜

❛ Because you do not have to be my enemy , Alexios , and I do not need to be yours. And you have more to offer than your blade. You wanted a better world , one for Phoibe and your sister and your mother. You still do , right ? ❜ 

He nods. Because of course he does. He wants to know what Sparta looks like when it isn’t painted in the blood of their youth , what Athens is capable of when it isn’t crawling with snakes. He wants BETTER.  

❛ I lost sight of that , but I know that with you beside me , I never will again. You will anchor me , and I will not have to trust myself alone.This vision I have , I know I can make it a reality but not alone. Right now though , the only one who has proven themselves worthy of the task has been you. For what you’ve lost and what you’ve gained . . . There is a big heart beneath all that armor , and that is what I need. Not your blade. Your love. Your compassion. ❜

Alexios raises his brows , nearly dropping the cup he’d forgotten was in his hand. Setting it down on the stone to his left , he clears his throat. ❛ Will I - Am I to still use my blade ? Will I no longer be a misthios ? Or will you simply not need one in this new world of yours ? ❜

She hums. ❛ I think we will always need such things in any world , at least at the beginning. Regardless , if you wish to continue to be so , to work for yourself and not just for me , I will not stop you. All I ask is that no matter where it takes you , no matter how far you must go , that you will always come home to me. ❜

He stares at her , hard and unyielding , reading every possible emotion off of her pristine face. What he finds there is what he’d found in the chamber , and he has no new weapon against it. When had it happened ? When had she first fooled him ? The night at the symposium ? The first day on the ship ? Not that it matters now. He’d already made a decision in coming here. And by bringing him here , she had to. 

❛ That sounds - fair to me. ❜ He softens then , allowing a small smile to grace his lips. ❛ I can think of nowhere else I would rather lay my head. ❜

But it would take time , and it would take patience , and these were things that Alexios would have to learn. But first , he would have to seal Atlantis , and it would be the last lie he ever had to tell her because even now , he would betray this secret to no one. But he vowed , here and now , that if one day , Aspasia had to be stopped , it would be by his blade and his blade ALONE.

❛ Then lay it down now , here. And tomorrow , we will begin anew. ❜

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 614BC - Miletus

Notes: This is the kind of thing that comes into my head when insomnia is chasing me around. And also the fact I’d been mulling on my distinct lack of Grecian encounters between the lads.

614BC – Miletus

Crawly had been watching the kid for a few days.

He was small, skinny, and had a worryingly intense look about him. Crawly always liked a worryingly intense human. They were the kind of people who had thoughts that were big and interesting and did things like take an apple to learn.

He was sitting in the shade of an olive tree, scribbling shapes in the dirt with a stick.

Crawly coiled around the tree and leaned against the trunk. “Good drawing.”

The boy looked up. “It’s the sky,” he said with a haughty glare.

Crawly grinned. Of course it was. “That so?” He crouched down beside the kid, then snatched the stick out of his hands. “You missed a few.” He prodded a few more of the constellations into the dirt, then held the stick out to the lad.

The boy stared at him. He had the dark Phonecian eyes, but his features were more Greek. “You can see all of them?”

Crawly nodded. “You just have to know how to look.”

The boy stared back at his drawing. His curiosity was licking like a flame.

Well, Crawly thought cheerfully, couldn’t say he wasn’t generous. He leaned closer and poured dry kindling straight on to the spark. “You ever wonder what they’re made from?”

“What?” The boy looked back at him and oh, he was burning.

“The stars,” Crawly said. “Or…” He waved around them. “What about this place?”

The boy nodded. “Everything works!” he confided. “There is something that makes everything work! The Gods do it all!”

There was an oil that some nations used as a weapon. Dip a bale of hay in it, add a spark, and all at once, you can unleash Hell. Crawly had seen cities and empires fall to chaos from one little spark and one little drop of oil. He knew how destructive a single drop could be.

He tilted his hand, lowered his voice, and spilled it.

“Do they?” he prompted, and in the boy’s eyes, he saw the light of burning questions take hold, a fire that would turn into an inferno.

He stayed a little longer, sketched a few more marks into the sand, fanning the flame with gentle prompts and subtle hints and nothing too obvious. Plenty of ideas, plenty of fresh, dry kindling to keep him going for a good long time.

When he rose, little Thales was staring wide-eyed at the patterns in the dirt.

Crawly smiled darkly as he walked away.

Humans had free will and that meant the free will to do things no angel ever could.

Ask your questions, boy, he thought. Ask everything.

______________________

 364BC – Grove of Hecademus

There was a rather heated debate going on in the white flag-stoned courtyard.

Aziraphale popped a grape in his mouth, watching with interest. The two young men were citing Pythagoras, though there had clearly been some radical misinterpretation, for one of them was making no sense at all and the other was doing a fine job of tearing his argument to ribbons.

Technically, Aziraphale had no real reason to linger since his blessing was done, but the sun was warm, the grapes were sweet and the conversation was fascinating.

Plato’s academy had developed quite the reputation.

The cream of the intellectual crop made their way there, discussing everything from philosophy to the stars and everything in between. It was refreshing to dip one’s self in an intellectual pool from time to time, although he could imagine that the arguments might get a bit trying after some time.

He was down to the last grape on the stalk when something prickled on the edge of his awareness.

“What’s all this then?”

Aziraphale whipped round, then laughed with relief. “Oh! Crawly! It’s just you.”

“Just me?” Crawly made a face at him as he approached, the shimmering scarlet snake embroidered along the edge of his chiton rippling with each step. “Oh, I like that. No hello, no nice to see you. No, no, no. Just ‘it’s just you’.” He framed the words, bracketing them with his fingers, then glanced around. “Surprised to see you in a place like this.”

“A school?”

The demon raised his eyebrows. “You do know what they do in this school? They question everything! I mean everything! Even…” He jabbed a finger upwards.

Aziraphale stared at him, puzzled. “Yes?”

Crawly blinked slowly as if he didn’t quite understand. “What?”

“Why wouldn’t they question things? Humans do that. This lot have become rather good at it.”

Crawly looked like a wine skin rapidly draining of wine. “But–” He flapped a hand around. “They– it’s–” His breath exploded out of him in a gust. “Well, that’s just… stupid, isn’t it?”

“It is?” Aziraphale said, nonplussed. “They’re very well respected. There’s nothing stupid about it. A few of them have even been blessed with insight.” He leaned closer. “I’m very excited to see what young Aristotle comes up with. I have the feeling he will go far.”

The demon hunched his shoulders, a strange expression on his face. “Well… isn’t that just wonderful for them,” he grumbled.

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh don’t be so petulant,” he said, holding out his last grape. “Acting like a child is very unbecoming.”

Crawly snatched the grape and rolled it between his finger and thumb before sullenly popping it in his mouth. “Fine,” he groused, then bit down with unnecessary force.

Aziraphale shook his head with a small sigh. “What are you doing here anyway?”

The demon grunted and nodded in the direction of the gates. A shabby, filthy man with a matted beard was striding in as if he owned the place. From the dust on his feet and legs, he had marched all the way from Athens, and was carrying a pinkish lump under one arm.

Aziraphale peered at him. “Oh good Lord, Crawly! I should have guessed that Diogenes was one of yours!”

Crawly made a face at him. “Says the angel surrounded by people questioning everything.”

“Why is–”

The small, shabby man came to a halt in the middle of the academy. “Behold!” he bellowed, a surprisingly powerful voice for such a skinny, bony beggar of a man. He thrust his burden high in the air and Crawly gave a snort beside Aziraphale as a plucked chicken was held aloft. “A MAN!”

The scholars stared at him as if he was mad.

Crawly was choking laughs against his fist.

Aziraphale was confounded.

“What on earth was that about?” he inquired, as the students – as a swarm – descended furiously on the grinning Diogenes, who hurled the chicken at them and demanded they refute him.

“S’Plato,” Crawly gasped out between breathless chuckles. “Said a man could be defined as a featherless biped.”

The orderly debate had descended into chaos. The educated young men were shouting in indignation at such disrespect, Diogenes was beaming as if he had just claimed a victory and the forlorn chicken was left lying in the dust. It was indeed a featherless biped.

Aziraphale coughed to try and cover his own laugh. “Did you tell him to do that?”

Crawly shook his head. “Just told him what Plato had been saying,” he said, still grinning. “Doesn’t take much with the philosophers. Give them a big enough hint and they’ll tilt the world with it.” He seemed much happier. “Easy job. Just showed up to see how he’d do it.”

“And you have successfully wreaked havoc with a madman and a chicken.”

Crawly preened, brushing his hand down the front of his chiton. “Why thank you, angel. Nice of you to notice.”

Aziraphale shook his head with another roll of his eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Crawly raised his eyebrows. “Obviously.” He jerked his head towards the building on the far side of the courtyard. “Fancy seeing what they feed their big questioning brains here?”

Aziraphale glanced towards the gate. “I was meant to be–”

A fist fight had broken out, blocking his path.

“C’mon,” Crawly cajoled. “They’ll never notice. And I bet they spoil themselves rotten.” He nudged the angel’s arm. “Didn’t one of these lads say there’s no harm in repeating a good thing? And that grape was pretty good.”

“It was rather, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale said wistfully. They had burst so beautifully, sweet and juicy on his tongue. He twisted his hands together, then nodded. “All right. But only a small snack. Something for the road.”

“Course, angel,” said the tempter of Eden. “And maybe a bit of wine.”

Several hours later, pleasantly full and tottering a little bit, a tipsy angel went on his way.

[matrixaffiliate]

A Twist of Fate

Co-written with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon​

FFN and AO3

Chapter 7

Marlene chuckled at the shocked look on Sirius' face as his father disappeared.

"You think this funny?" He turned to glare at her. His eyes were grey, just like Dionysus, and his hair almost as black as hers.

"Yes, actually," Marlene laughed, "your dad is known for being funny and all…"

Moira smiled sympathetically at Sirius, "Your father means well, good Sirius. You and my daughter are to work together in this endeavor."

"Wait," Marlene turned with wide eyes. "I thought he was just riding to Athens."

"His destiny lies upon the same path as yours, my dear." Moira chuckled at her daughter.

"Looks like my parent isn't the only one with a sense of humor." Sirius chuckled as he climbed into the chariot.

"Marlene," her mother brought her arms around her.

"Please, please tell me this is all going to be ok." Marlene pleaded one last time.

"You will see me again." Moira squeezed her tightly.

"I love you," Marlene felt a tear escape down her cheek.

"I love you," her mother gently wiped the tear from her face, "Now go."

Marlene took one last look at her mother before turning and climbing into Helios' chariot.

Sirius turned to her as Helios gave her and her mother a cautious glance before taking flight.

Marlene beat him to his questions, "Yes we were speaking, no, it wasn't aloud, and I've only known about this task since yesterday." Her tone was bored.

Sirius stared at her, "And you can read minds as well?"

Marlene laughed incredulously at him. "No, don't you know anything?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm Fate's daughter! I can see a few moments into the future on more occasions than not."

Sirius groaned, "Great, not only do I get unceremoniously sent off to kill some man-eating beast, I'm saddled with a woman who's not quite Fate."

"And I'm saddled with a man who's just as insolent as the God of Wine." Marlene shook her head; two could play at this game.

"I'd like to think I have some of my father's better qualities. No mortal grows grapes and makes wine as well as I do." He smirked at her, "I can also shapeshift into a dog."

"Dionysus shapeshifts into a dog? This is news to me." Marlene stared Sirius down.

"Well no…" Sirius stammered, "But he could if he wanted to…"

"I was under the impression that he took the form of something rather more," Marlene smirked, "impressive."

"I see," Sirius grunted. "You wanted to do this mission alone, so you're trying to run me off by insulting me. That's fair, I could do the same. You have no idea what I may have inherited from my mother. I will tell you that it's nothing so merry as turning into a dog."

Marlene laughed loudly, "You flatter yourself. I could care less that you're coming along. And I know your mother is a mortal. I heard your father say so."

"A rightly vicious one too," Sirius bit back. "Scarier than Father, though perhaps less likely to send me off to a rather disappointing fate…"

"Are you suggesting that my powers disappoint in comparison to your… sometimes being susceptible to fleas?" Marlene stared at him in disbelief.

He smirked, "I don't think I suggested anything at all."

"Careful, I'm enough of Fate to curse you." She gave him a sly smile. "Would you like to vomit every time you smelled wine? That ought to be a right laugh for one of the sons of Dionysus to not be able to stomach the grapes he so desperately clings to."

Sirius' grey eyes were calculating, but Marlene was taken aback that he showed no sign of fear. He was, annoyed… But he was not afraid of her. There were lesser gods that feared her. But this demigod was simply bothered by her presence. Marlene felt like her world had been flipped upside down.

"As ridiculous as that would make me, I'm going to suggest you not do that. I don't know how far ahead you can see, but if I'm the God of Wine's son, I'm probably going to need to be able to prove that. Drinking mortals under the table is one of my many party tricks." He smirked at her and Marlene stared at how attractive the look was on his tan face.

"My curses only last till the sun goes down." She answered absently.

Sirius smiled then, and Marlene could finally see his heritage shine through, and it gave him a pull he hadn't had before. It made sense; Dionysus even smiled around her mother. Nothing dampened that god's enthusiasm. Sirius wasn't identical, but he'd put any human optimist to shame, she was sure.

He let out a breath as he looked off into the distance. He seemed like his mind was far away for just a moment. "I guess that wouldn't be so bad. Until today, since I found my father, it's been one long party. I could do with a break." He chuckled.

Marlene laughed in spite of herself. "You're as ridiculous as your father."

"Oh, so you're a friend of his?" Sirius lounged idly on the bench and gave her a knowing smirk. "How intimately do you know him?"

Marlene laughed at the absurdity of his suggestion. "Today is the first time I've seen your father, but I live in Zeus' palace and word gets around."

Marlene pushed her cloak back off her shoulders and smiled as she watched Sirius' eyes scan her shoulders twice. It was a strange feeling, to be with someone who did not fear her and was not her father or mother. Though one couldn't exactly say that he was friendly or pleasant company for her, she couldn't help but find him refreshing. He seemed fairly nonplussed by her? He was neither all that impressed nor terrified. That was… Different? Bizarre? Nice? She wasn't entirely sure yet.

"Ah, poor Father, his reputation precedes him." Sirius laughed.

Marlene watched as Sirius looked out over the land below them.

"We're almost there," she answered as he opened his mouth.

"I'm not going to lie, that's annoying." He frowned at her.

"Imagine living with it," Marlene shrugged.

"Can't you control it?" He waved a hand dramatically in the air and Marlene chuckled. The more she watched him, the more she could see the subtle signs of his father.

"So far, no, but I won't have to worry about it much longer. I'm going to find my destiny here and then I'm going to give this all up. My father has promised my hand in marriage to a lovely mortal man, and I plan to be mortal myself by the time we wed. I'm doing this for my mother, one last thing to help with the populous' feelings towards her." She sighed.

Sirius tilted his head at her, "I don't think I could do that. I've only known who my father was for the last few weeks, but I've always known that I had more sway with vines and whatnot. I don't much care to leave that behind."

Marlene was about to reply when Helios brought the chariot into a dive, setting them down just outside of Athens.

"We need to find lodging for tonight." Marlene started towards the city and its docks after they'd thanked Helios.

"When does our ride get here?" Sirius stepped next to her.

"Tomorrow at sunrise. Then it leaves sunrise the next day. It's a two-day journey before we make it to Crete. They send us down to the Minotaur whenever they're ready after that. Sometimes it's a week, sometimes it's that day."

"But you'll know beforehand?" Sirius was playing with the vine around his neck, making it grow and shrink as they walked.

Marlene sighed, "That is undetermined."

"I'm just going to go ahead and hope we get lucky." Sirius chuckled. "I really don't want this to be our doom."

Marlene nodded, "Me either."

It was quiet for a moment when Sirius groaned,

"This is so slow."

"Do you have a faster way?" Marlene rolled her eyes.

"Actually," he smirked at her before shimmering into a dog. The dog barked and then took off at a run.

Marlene shook her head, "Jackass."

She took her time after that to walk to the ocean's edge, stopping to lunch with a blind woman who invited her into her home. It was late in the day when she did arrive and found Sirius laying on the beach napping.

"Your father didn't give you any money did he?" She chuckled as he bolted awake.

Sirius yawned and stretched and looked mildly... adorable? "No, Father doesn't think very far ahead. Are you going to punish me for leaving you in the dust further by making me sleep outside and starve?"

Marlene sighed, "It's tempting, but as we're traveling together I suppose I'll relent and be the adult."

"Does that imply that I'm the child?" Sirius looked on incredulously.

"You're one of Dionysus's offspring, that's all the implication you need." Marlene rolled her eyes.

"Really? Just because I enjoy a good party? Or a good party enjoys me, more accurately. Either way, I'd think you'd be able to see more than that." He kicked sand at her.

"Come on, my charge," she kicked the sand back at him. "Let's get a room and a meal."

"How about a meal, then a room?" Sirius stepped up next to her and Marlene noticed how he towered over her. "I haven't had anything to drink since before the sun came up this morning."

Marlene shook her head, "Don't be a baby, we have Zeus for that."

"Zeus has been the source of numerous babies. Some of them he birthed himself, I hear!"

"You are causing me a headache comparable to the terrible pain that Zeus felt the moment before Athena emerged from his skull, a fully grown goddess in a suit of armor."

Sirius stared at her, "I'm waiting for you to be struck by lightning."

Marlene rolled her eyes, "Zeus knows better than to cross my mother. Now come on, the sooner we find a room the sooner you get that drink."

"Mine tastes better," he set his goblet down on the table. They had found an inn near the wharf and rented a room with two cots. "They didn't let the grapes ripen long enough."

"Riveting," Marlene shook her head and finished her last bite of food. "I'm going to our room. The ship normally arrives at sunrise so don't be late."

"You assume I'm going to find a party?" Sirius chuckled.

Marlene shrugged, "Isn't that what you do?"

"Amazingly enough," Sirius leaned back in his chair, "I do have more substance than all of that."

"Sure," Marlene rolled her eyes.

"You need the party more than I do, Miss Fate." He grinned at his play on words.

"We're both misfits," Marlene sighed, "in case you've forgotten who your father is already."

He laughed, "Alright, go be old and timeless and boring and sit in our room. I'm going to check in on Father's followers and be back later."

Marlene huffed but chose not to respond as she headed towards the stairs.

Sirius returned to the room a few hours later and was up before the sun with her. They stood on the dock as the black ship came into view.

"You didn't mention the ship was all black," Sirius commented as they watched it approach, eyeing the black sails.

"I'm not overly fond of it," she shrugged.

The ship finally docked and when the captain climbed down the gangplank, Marlene stepped in front of him.

"You will only collect 12 Athenians this trip," she stated calmly, bracing herself for his anger and then terror.

"I'll throw you in for fifteen if you're not careful, girl." He pushed past her.

Marlene grabbed his arm and held him in place. Being half divine had its perks. "Fate declares that two of your fourteen will be the Daughter of Moira and the Son if Dionysus. If you choose to disobey Fate, you will not see your home again. If you give me any more insult," she glared at him, "you will not see till the sun sets this day."

The fear in his eyes came quickly and Marlene steeled herself as he looked at her like she was the Minotaur. "Forgive me, Dreadful Daughter of Fate."

Marlene released him, "We will see you tomorrow at sunrise." And before she could lose her calm and stern exterior, she turned and walked away from the dock.

She was vaguely aware of Sirius following her.

"Be honest with me," he stepped next to her. "What would you do if I called you 'Dreadful Daughter'?"

Marlene sighed, "Feed you to the Minotaur?"

"I'm wounded!" Sirius threw his hands over his heart.

"You're ridiculous," she grumbled. She hated having to stand in for Fate that way. She hated having people look at her like she might bite them in two.

"So we have the day then?" He asked.

"Yes, we board the ship tomorrow." Marlene suppressed a shudder. "It's two day's journey to Crete. Then we're at the mercy of King Minos as to when we go to the maze. He might delay in an attempt to stop us."

Sirius groaned, "Then I'm going to enjoy some freedom today. I suggest you do the same. Sounds like this might be our last taste of it." He shimmered into a dog again and went running off, most likely to his father' cult.

As much as she didn't want to admit it, Sirius was probably right. And so Marlene did what she loved doing more than anything else, she went around blessing people. Children were her favorite, and it didn't take long until she was surrounded by little faces as she told stories and bought treats and caused Fortune to smile upon them all throughout the day. She wasn't sure how she was going to cope with losing this. She told herself that having her own children would fill the gap, but part of her knew it wouldn't.

The captain was the soul of courtesy as she and Sirius boarded the next morning, though he insisted on calling her 'Dreadful Daughter' which Sirius found hilarious.

She walked to the side of the boat and looked out at Athens as they sailed away. Her thoughts pulled back to a life without her powers, a life as a mortal when all of this was done. She felt that familiar isolation as Athens faded out of sight.

It was a little thing, but Sirius came to stand by her and for the briefest of moments, Marlene didn't feel completely alone.

[wreckedregent7]

A Long, Dark Night

The door in front of me rattled slightly as the wind blew through the mesh screen. Normally I'd be out on the other side of it, meandering about the patio while the rain caressed my skin and weighed down my jeans, though tonight was different. I didn't come here to this replica of my home to enjoy the rain that blankets my planet as I normally do. I came here to think.

I closed the wooden front door, heaving a sigh as I turned back into my living room. I'd spent a few hours earlier pushing the furniture to places that felt most comfortable to me; the couch set immediately to the right of the doorway, one arm pressed to the wall. A rocking chair two or three feet away, angled to look into the corner, where a large television sat. And right next to the rocking chair was a small table with a lamp and a landline telephone on top.

The latter of the two was completely useless, but it reminded me of life before SBURB, and it didn't take up too much space, so, why not leave it there? Of course, this wasn't picture-perfect, but everything being positioned just so felt familiar enough. It made me remember growing up, confiding all my fears, releasing my anger, aspiring to be something great. Things that kept me grounded.

With little effort, I plant my hand on the back of the couch, vaulting over it and sitting comfortably in the middle cushion. Not comfortable enough, I turned on my hip and laid across it entirely. On my back, I stared up at the ceiling for a brief moment, taking deep breaths and steadying my thoughts.

Where do I even begin at this point? I've done so much over the past few years, it's difficult to think about it all.

My job - my second job, anyway. Studying Titles.

I've made a lot of progress lately. I can be proud of that. Not only did I put together a collection of my studies, but I've found so many new possibilities.

But...Even still, I took two whole years not doing anything.

"Two years..." I murmured, staring down at the palm of my hand as I do when time spent comes to my mind.

It always annoyed me, thinking about time. Not just because of the loose concept applied to the Furthest Ring, but...

Dizmar, Athene, and their group have lived for eons. Thousands of Solar Sweeps, way, way longer than should be comprehensible.

To them, two years is practically two minutes.

But I haven't lived even one fourth as long as they have. I only just turned twenty-three not even a week ago.

I'm still used to my 'mortal' way of thinking; every second matters. Make every action count.

I grit my teeth, and I feel my heart start to beat faster, anger raising its tempo. I should've made those two years count for something. Instead, I squandered them partying, fighting, and doing practically anything but my job.

"For /two years/..." I said again, aggravation gnawing at the back of my throat. I sit myself upright, turning again to face the same direction as the couch. I realized all too late the train of thought I hopped on, and found myself wanting to step outside and pummel imps.

Before I could stand up to act on it, though, I felt soft skin and a lock of hair press against my cheek. Shifting my head back, I felt the rigidity of a short horn set low on the side of a person's head.

"^W^ell, theeeeeere ^y^ou are, 'old One-E^y^e'." Came her voice, a subtle vibration ringing out on every sharp letter. Between her warmth and her voice, it was easy to recognize who had found me.

"Oh, hey Dogana," I said, taking shorter breaths in and longer ones out. I remember somewhere that doing that would help calm me down. "You were looking for me?"

"Of course I ^w^as. I ^w^anted to spend the night ^w^ith ^y^ou, but I couldn't find ^y^ou around the bubble. ^W^hat are ^y^ou doing ^w^a^y^ out here?" I sighed, knowing she'd dig the answer out of me one way or another. I let myself relax against the back of the couch, looking up at her plainly. "Thinking."

"About?"

"Life. I've an eternity ahead of me, and it still feels like time is passing by all too fast."

"Oh," She said, some realization dawning on her. "and the 't^w^o ^y^ears' is part of that, innit?"

I nodded, and she crawled over the couch to sit beside me, making an effort to press herself as close to me as possible. She began purring very quietly, just enough that I could hear and feel it. Instinctively, I brought my arm up to wrap around her, resting my hand on her hip.

"S'^w^hat's ^w^rong? ^W^hat d'^y^ou mean b^y^ 't^w^o ^y^ears'?"

"I mean I wasted them."

Not the right words.

Dogana pouted, but stopped shortly afterwards to look me in the eyes with an expression of concern.

"Ho^w^'d ^y^ou ^w^aste them?" She said, her voice completely devoid of her usual excitement. "I remember a lot of ^w^hat ^y^ou did, and I don't think ^y^ou ^w^asted an^y^ of ^y^our time."

"I-..."

I trailed off before I could even start to find the words.

I can't argue with her. I'm being stupid again - my job isn't the first priority, my life is.

But I'm fucked now, I started in on this with nothing to back me up.

"I...I guess I can't think of any time I wasted. I just got focused on one thing, and..."

"And ignored literall^y^ e^v^er^y^thing else." Her words were blunt, but, thankfully, not painful to hear.

"Yeah."

"^Y^ou kno^w^ I'm obligated to make ^y^ou see, right?"

She stared at me almost intensely, not breaking eye contact. I feigned a smile, and forced up a small semblance of a chuckle. "Get it over with, then," I said, doing my best to warmly accept my due punishment. "Rule of Fives."

"For one, ^y^ou'^v^e gro^w^n a LOT o^v^er the past fe^w^ ^y^ears. I mean, look at ^y^ou, ^y^ou're no longer some self-loathing o^v^erachei^v^er ^w^ho pushes himself too far and starts ^w^hipping himself ^w^hen he ine^v^itabl^y^ breaks do^w^n."

I have been getting better about that...

"^Y^ou'^v^e pro^v^en ^y^ourself to be one of the most courageous people that I'^v^e e^v^er met ^w^hen ^y^ou stood ^v^igil for t^w^o da^y^s to protect ^V^asa^v^i, Aphros, and Charan from P^y^rhis."

I was willing to die twice to keep them safe.

"^Y^ou ha^v^e and still are keeping e^v^er^y^one combat-read^y^ just in case something big comes up b^y^ hosting ^y^our tournaments and frequentl^y^ fighting people."

That's not intentional, but I'll let it slide - I just want to hear the end of this.

"^Y^ou'^v^e made a lot of people happ^y^ ^w^ith ^y^our feasts and e^v^ents."

I can't argue with that.

"And ^y^ou'^v^e come a long ^w^a^y^ ^w^ith ^y^our ^w^ork, ^w^hether or not ^y^ou recognize it."

I take a long breath, trying to ignore how thoroughly I've just been called out. I'm glad it doesn't happen often, but I can't help but feel everything is one-sided whenever I run into a personal problem.

"So, ho^w^ long do ^y^ou expect ^y^ou're going to hole up in here for?"

"The night, at least." I say, carefully standing up to avoid moving her around too much. Immediately, she rises to her feet and wraps both of her arms around mine.

"^W^ell, I'm holing up ^w^ith ^y^ou."

"Bu-" My words are cut off sharply. "No 'but's! Diz is ^w^ith Athene, Astor's ^w^ith Dizrae, Shura's ^w^ith Lil, an' Apolos ^w^anted to spend time ^w^ith Atalas."

"And there's nobody else?" I ask, already well aware that it's a pointless question.

"Not tonight." She says in response as she starts to purr louder.

"Riiiiiight."

I know Dogana has an extremely active social life - no matter what, she's always doing something. But, even with the massive amount of people we know, it's only reasonable that she picks and chooses what she wants to do in a day. And she chose to spend tonight with me.

I walked over the metal lining on the floor separating the carpeted living room from the tiled kitchen, moving slowly to keep Dogana in pace. She broke off two steps after we crossed into the room, and pulled one of the chairs out from the table, sitting down and spinning it to face me.

"I s^w^ear, ^y^ou ha^v^e one of the coziest homes I'^v^e e^v^er seen."

"Thanks, but I'm not sure how much that should mean," I said as I casually sidestepped in front of the refrigerator, giving a genuine smile as I blindly opened the door. "I mean, you /did/ live most of your life on Alternia in a cave. Anything with a table and a bed should look like the picture of comfort to you."

She tilted her head from side to side, mocking drawn out laughter with each tilt. "Oh, haaa, haaah. A s^w^eep or t^w^o of adult life is more than enough for me to kno^w^ comfortable places."

I turned around, taking a few quick glances up and down the refrigerator shelves, and one over to Dogana. "You hungry or thirsty?" I said, returning my view to the chilled foodstuffs and boxes full of canned soda.

"D'^y^ou ha^v^e bottled ^w^ater in there?" she asked, despite having a clear view inside. "I've got tap," I responded, not looking away, but throwing one hand to point over my shoulder with a thumb. "over there. Get a cup if you want some."

"A^w^^w^, ^w^eak. ^W^ell, I think I'm hungr^y^, is there an^y^thing ^y^ou can make real quick?"

"Uh, 'real quick'? Let's see..." I reach down, pulling open the produce drawer and taking a package of bacon from it. No sooner than she sees what I pick, the troll's eyes light up. I push the drawer closed with my foot, and lazily swing the fridge door shut as I make my way to the stove.

I look down at the stove top, breathing a low sigh as I recall the differences from then and now. Before SBURB, the stove had fueled burners on the top, with metal grates with eight prongs in a star shape to hold pots and pans over the flame. Now, though, I've had it replaced with an electric stove, the heating plates hidden beneath a smooth surface whose material I'm unfamiliar with, though white rings mark where each plate is.

I place the packaged meat down on one of the rings, then walk to the counter and cupboards to fetch what I need. From the top cupboards I grab a frying pan and two plates - one creamic, one paper, and from the lower cupboards I take a small tin of black pepper. Not an interesting ingredient, and certainly not unusual, but I still like to imagine that it makes this specifically my recipe.

I place the pan on the front-left plate's mark, the ceramic plate over the back-right's, and pick up the bacon to place the paper plate over the front-right's - with the pepper tin right beside it. I move back to the counter for a moment to take a pair of scissors, using them to cut the bacon down the middle. I lay one half to the side, and pull the meat from the other half.

I separate each slice, laying them down on the paper plate in a row, side-to-side, with some small overlap - and when I reach the end of the plate, I place two down beside the row, and sprinkle them with pepper, and start layering over them. Side-to-side, each slightly overlapping the last - and I repeat with the other half until both form a pile on the plate.

"Do ^y^ou al^w^a^y^s do that?" My roseblooded companion piped up, and as I turned to look her way, I saw her knees pressed against her chest, and her arms crossed over her ankles. "What, spice the bacon?" I asked. I looked back, turning on the heating element underneath the pan, hearing Dogana give an "Mhm." in response.

I placed four strips of bacon onto the pan, moving to the counter once more to grab a spatula. "Well, yeah. It's my thing." I said, in a tone alike to answering something that should be common knowledge. "^W^h^y^?"

"Uh...'Cause I guess it tastes a little better with pepper cooked into it? I dunno." "^Y^ou do this all the time and ^y^ou don't e^v^en kno^w^ ^w^h^y^?" It's hard to tell whether she asked as a joke, or out of genuine curiosity.

"I can't even remember why I do it."

"Oh, come on. First ^y^ou can't remember ^y^our name, and no^w^ ^y^ou can't remember ^w^h^y^ ^y^ou cook like this?"

I flip the bacon over, shrugging at Dogana's remark. "I learned how to cook this stuff one day, and another I got particular about it and sprinkled pepper over each piece." I looked over my shoulder again, seeing the genuine curiosity I'd otherwise find so difficult to guess about in her face.

For once, it was easy to see. Her eyes were open and attentive, her brows raised, and her mouth ever-so-slightly open. For once, her face and her personality failed to betray her interest. "...And that was way back when the only things I knew how to cook were microwavable TV dinners and popcorn." I continued, glancing down at the cooking meat.

"^W^hat does that ha^v^e to do ^w^ith it?" She asked, her voice even lending itself to show her interest in the 'why'. I smiled a tad wider, feeling as though I'd found a conversational vantage point for her. "Well, so many years ago I'd always wanted to become a cook or some sort of fancy restaurateur."

"And I was an idiot back then," I added, "so when I got hungry enough to learn how to cook bacon one day, I felt some pride in just adding pepper to it. Within the next year I'd be learning how to really work with spices."

"Pfff, cute as e^v^er." She started to giggle, though she tried to hold it back somewhat out of what I can assume is respect. She stopped her light laughter rather early though, and as I flipped over the bacon again, she started again. 

"...So, kno^w^ing ^y^ou, ho^w^ far out didja ha^v^e this planned?"

"Huh?" I asked, turning entirely to face her with a dumb expression.

"^W^ell, I mean, ^y^ou're al^w^a^y^s planning things, thinking them out, ha^v^ing all this shit in ^y^our head about an^y^ number of subjects. It'd be unlike ^y^ou to just ^w^anna be a cook and not think about ^w^hat ^y^ou'd do ^w^ith it, right?"

"Yeah, uh...Well, I had a name in mind."

"^W^hat ^w^as it?"

I flipped the pieces over again, keeping my eye on them as they started to turn yellow-orange. I placed the head of the spatula into the ceramic plate, and went back over to the counter, this time sitting up on it, though slumped forward. I avoided eye contact with Dogana as I tried to let the next few words out of my mouth casually.

"...'The Fair Fare'."

There was at least a minute of silence between us; enough time for me to return to the stove and pull some finished pieces of bacon out of the pan, and laying four more down to cook. When I returned to sit on the countertop, my kismesis spoke up first. "Actuall^y^, that sounds exactl^y^ like something ^y^ou'd come up ^w^ith."

"...Oh, yeah?" I shook off the timidity, seeing an opportunity to get back at Dogana for punishing me for my single-minded thinking. I still didn't feel any better for it, but nevertheless, it was good to keep the conversation going.

"It's kinda catch^y^. It's almost one of those fanc^y^ literature things ^w^here ^y^ou sa^y^ three ^w^ords ^w^ith the same letter at the start..."

"An alliteration?"

"^Y^eah, one of those. It's reall^y^ hard to scre^w^ up sa^y^ing it, just sa^y^ 'fair' t^w^ice, and kno^w^ing ^y^ou and all ^y^our fanc^y^ ^w^ord^y^ crap, both ^w^ords ha^v^e different meanings. Right?"

"Mhmm. The first is 'fair' as reasonable, and the second is 'fare' - 'eff, ayh, arh, ee' - as in a meal."

Her laughter is almost immediate. "Nerd!"

"Hey, wordplay has helped me a /lot/ over the years. Not when I actually needed it, but it still helped."

With my mind locked in conversation with Dogana, I had almost failed to notice that my body was now entirely in the momentum of cooking. Almost autonomously I had flipped the strips of bacon twice, and was getting ready to do so again.

"So, ^y^ou didn't keep on the ^w^hole 'be a cook' thing?"

"No. A few years after I started thinking about it, I walked another path. Started into martial arts, dropped the whole restaurant thing entirely."

"^W^h^y^ did ^y^ou choose martial arts o^v^er cooking for people?"

"Some unrealistic expectations about a harsh, unforgiving world and a desire to protect those close to me took the reins away from a want to run some fancy-ass diner."

"Unrealistic? Ho^w^?"

"Well, think of it like...There were some parts of Earth that were a lot like Alternia. People'd want to kill you or rob you, or god knows what."

"Thank god ^y^our ^w^orld ^w^asn't some shitt^y^ id^y^llic utopia."

"I hate to say it, but I agree with you. Earth would be shit if there weren't monsters and murderers out there."

"So, ^y^ou expected sometime in ^y^our life, ^y^ou'd ha^v^e to square off against someone like that?"

"Yeah. Whether alone or with someone I cared about, I wanted to be ready to fight."

"Thank god for that, too. If ^y^ou didn't ha^v^e that mindset, SBURB ^w^ould'^v^e REALL^Y^ fucked ^y^ou o^v^er."

Dogana watched me as I cooked, snickering at the occasional recoil from bacon grease popping from the pan and flying onto my stomach. There was a silence between us again, and it stuck around for the minutes until I finished cooking. I turned the stove off, turned the pan so that the handle would face the back of the stovetop, and brought the platefull of bacon over to the kitchen table, sitting it down in a space between the counter and Dogana's seat.

"Thanks for the food!" She exclaimed, pulling one of the cooler pieces out from the bottom of the pile of meat. "^Y^'kno^w^, I ha^v^e to agree ^w^ith ^y^ou, bacon is just the BEST meat."

I gingerly picked a piece from the top, ignoring the fact that it was still fairly hot and soaked in grease. I walked over to the refrigerator again, dropping the cooked strip into my mouth and chewing quickly - while failing to hide the pain the entire time.

"^Y^ou alright there, Regent?" She asked, looking up at me with a cocky grin. I swallow the food quickly, lightly gripping at my throat as I pull the fridge open. A short cough escapes me as I pick two cans of root beer from the middle shelf, closing the door behind me as I take my seat beside the counter. I place one can in front of myself, and another on the side of the plate closest to the mischievous redblood.

"Yeah, ah. I'm glad you like it so much," I do my best to sidestep the question and play off the taste buds I just killed. I pulled the can's tab down, cracking the top open to take a quick sip from it. My tongue is relieved from both the cold drink and the familiar bitterness of it, and I let an uncontrollable sigh of satisfaction escape before I continue.

"But I'm sure it's not your favorite meal, right?"

"No, I guess not. I think m^y^ fa^v^orite meal ^w^ould probabl^y^ be..." There's a long pause, and as Dogana thinks, she idly pulls some more bacon from the pile and eats them without much thought. When she finally comes up with an idea, she and I have already eaten two thirds of the bacon.

"This ma^y^ sound ^w^eird, but I think m^y^ fa^v^orite meal ^w^ould be those steak and ^v^eggie kabobs ^V^ictor makes sometimes."

She takes another two pieces before she continues talking. "So, get this; I ^w^as ^w^andering about LOCAB one da^y^, tr^y^ing to see if I could bother Isabella or ^V^ictor, and I smelled something reall^y^ good," she paused mid-story to take and eat another piece, finishing it off quickly and following it with a long sip of her root beer. "And I mean, I ate before I got there, but this smell bottomed me out."

"So I look around, and just out in front of his house is ^V^ictor, standing at this grill and table set-up. I rush up and ask him ^w^hat he had cooking, and he said something like 'steak faheatuhs' or something like that. I ask if I could tr^y^ some, and he said 'sure, there's a fe^w^ coming off in a sec, once they cool ^y^ou can tr^y^ them.'"

"Did you wait for them to cool?"

"Fuck no, as soon as he set them do^w^n on the plate, I picked one up and che^w^ed a^w^a^y^. It ^w^as AMAZING. If ^y^ou get the recipe off him, I'll be ^y^ours for life. Other^w^ise, I'm gonna bug the shit out of him to grill more often."

I smiled, pulling the four of the last five pieces aside for myself. "I'll make sure to ask him about it next time I see him."

We finished our food and drinks, and Dogana put the ceramic plate into the sink, while I brought the paper plate over to the trash bin. Dogana walked out into the middle of the room, stretching her arms out wide as I made my way to the sink. I poured a small pool of dish soap into my hand, elbowed the sink faucet on somewhere I hoped would be "just warm".

After thoroughly slicking my hands with the soap, I pushed them under the faucet stream, immediately greeted with scalding heat. I bit hard on my lower lip, hissing in pain as I jerked my hands out of the sink and pressed the faucet's lever to the far right side. I wait a few seconds, and quickly wrap up rinsing off my hands in the cold water flow. Even with the sink running, I could hear Dogana stifling her laughter as she watches me fidget in pain.

I groan under my breath, but address her calmly as I wipe my hands off with a paper towel. "So, Dogana, got anything in mind for tonight?"

"I'm actuall^y^ not sure. Lemme think about it for a sec," she paused. A minute passed as she thought, one finger curled over her chin and her eyes cast off into the corner of the room. She shrugged, speaking up once more. "nope, nothing. ^W^anna just go la^y^ do^w^n for a ^w^hile?"

"I don't got anything myself, so, sure." I replied, taking her hand and walking down the hall. The door to the left opened into a spacious room, and immediately to the right inside the room was a large, comfortable bed, if a messy one. Four or five blankets lie lazily crumpled up at the foot of the bed, with three pillows sitting at the head, each with satin pillowcases, which I personally found to be the most comfortable.

Dogana scrambled onto the bed, spreading herself out in the middle, while I sat down on the edge, twisting my body to reach down to my blanket pile. I groped at the mass of cloth, grabbing the fluffiest one in reach and pulling it out. I turned and laid down myself, shuffling back to rest my head against the pillow, as my company rolled onto her side, throwing one leg over me and wrapping both arms around my chest.

I pulled the blanket over the both of us, and moved my arm to wrap around Dogana's back. She was already purring when I slipped two of my fingers under her top, and she started purring louder as I rubbed her uppermost grubscar. She turned her face in towards my collar, and I only barely noticed that she was blushing deep crimson.

"We need to spend more nights like this." I said, wrapping my free arm around her blanketed lower back.

"No kidding......" she murmured in response, drowsiness almost instantly overtaking her.

As she dozed off in my arms, her purring slowly died down, but never stopped. Her purring was one of two sounds I heard for the rest of the night, the other being the soothing patter of rain on the roof and windows of the house.

Despite the calm, I remained awake throughout the rest of the night.

[poppun-chan]

The Year of Keroro Challenge Update 3 (Yes Sir)

This took quite a bit longer than I hoped, this post is a really big one, especially episodes 15 & 17. Actually, today I’ve caught up to watching, once I catch up in writing as well I’ll update weekly, but for now I still have a few posts worth (I’m especially looking forward to the next one).

But for now enjoy a translation of all the writing on the whiteboard from the pool episode:

There’s no shot of everything on the board but here is the meeting related part (Note “enjoy” is written a bit oddly, normally it would be in katakana since they used the English and the “ji” would be from “shi”, not “chi”). However, the best part is the little scribbles on the whiteboard:

It works because Japanese has vertical writing, but one of these is supposed to be both names under the same umbrella (You can see it done full scale with actual people at the end of Only Yesterday). In Japan sharing an umbrella with somebody is considered very romantic, so this is a bit like writing two names in a heart, either way it’s easy to guess who drew it. As for the “Finding Nemo” bit, it basically translates as “Even for searching....” which doesn’t really make any sense, but given the drawing and the fact that the movie came out less than a year before this episode aired, chances are they fiddled around with the writing to make a nod to the movie without name-dropping it (You can find more about that and quite a few other things under the break). And fun fact, flat fish can be either left or right sided and one is considered better tasting (I can’t remember which)

And the plan count:

Serious Plans: K66:14 D66:1 MMK:1

Funding Plans: K66:1

It’s a plan, I Swear!: K66:4

New category: Oh look! Progress (Not actually invading today, just trying to make it look they are so HQ will leave them alone): K66:2 (The ocean invasion plan went here, though it could fit almost anywhere)

Episode 15: This is one I’ve always really enjoyed....fun fact: psychologists seem to be a bit undecided about multiple personalities and over the years have gone back and forth a few times on whether it’s a real psychological condition or created by a person reacting a certain way to unrelated things (for example there was a time when a lot of people were diagnosed and it was traced back to a repressed memory, but when the catalyst events were researched it turned out that most never happened and those people were highly susceptible to suggestion).

On that note there are a lot of fun little touches in this episode like the fact that Momoka’s legs don’t fit in the machine (of course it’s made for somebody much shorter, but still), how when the the two Momokas merge the reversed light and dark pink on their swimsuits also blend to create a peachy pink (subtle), and the nod to frogs hibernating. It’s also worth noting that this episode aired in 2004, in July I believe, which is part of the reason why Keroro mentions the Olympics since this was shortly before the 2004 Summer Olympics in Athens (Also Keroro & Giroro’s expressions while swimming are just strangely delightful, the way their faces look when their expressions break the face’s natural patterning).

Now onto something big that has caused a lot of confusion in regards to the original subtitles: The bleeped out bit was supposed to be Patrasch, not Cleopatra. The name and this entire bit of the scene was supposed to a reference to the Dog of Flanders anime series that was part of the World Masterpiece Theater series, namely the ending scene of the anime where the boy and his dog (Patrasch) both freeze to death in a church. The book is considered a classic children’s story in Japan and the 1975 anime still occasionally reruns on T.V. and received a remake movie in 1997, and the ending scene has been referenced in many other works (One example that’s made it here is the Pokemon episode Holy Matrimony). Basically, it’s the anime counter part to calling out “Rosebud”.

As for the censor bleep, that’s something that sometimes happens when somebody name-drops something that the production company doesn’t have the rights to, I’ve seen it in talk shows too. I believe it’s related to the way Japanese copyright laws work in regards to parody and references; appearently they’re allowed as long as the copyright holder doesn’t object, so by bleeping out name-drops and putting pixelation or censor bars over the faces of famous characters they can help lower the chances of a complaint by just suggesting the other work instead of out right referencing it. When there is a complaint the scene can end up being removed or in some cases, like the first episode of Osomatsu-san, the entire episode can be banned from official release.

Oh by the way, I’m presuming “Oha” is short for ohayou or good morning, I know around this time there was a children’s idol/media show called “Oha-star” which used a similar greeting.

Episode 16: It’s the Masami episode, and I have to admit, I had forgotten how far off the deep end Tamama goes in this one; when he showed up I expected him to be excited, but sweet goodness I didn’t expect him to be that excited. This bit is for the cross-section of Keroro & Pony fans, but I always imagined that if they had the originally human Sunset Shimmer appear in Equestria Girls they would handle it a bit like this

Also this is the second time Mois has come really close to destroying the Earth and I have to wonder how it repairs itself afterward so it isn’t already on the brink when she starts, the best I can think of is that magma flows into the crack and solidifies, linking the ground back together; sort of like when you get a cut

Episode 17: 

Actually, it’s a bit interesting that Tamama & Giroro were the ones who fell in the water tank; dark colours absorb heat better than light ones and red tends to make people feel warmer so they’re actually the best able to warm up afterwards. Also in part two the Aliens could have done better if they switched Mois & Dororo and Momoka dodging Natsumi was a fun detail, but didn’t they already establish the being watched feeling was caused by a weird but harmless alien? Having said that, I can imagine some ghost stories would actually be more frightening for a ghost since there’s a chance you’ll encounter whoever the story is about

The next two paragraphs are just talking about two ghost stories mentioned in the episode that I wasn’t sure how well know they were, if you already know them feel free to skip to episode 18

The T.V. program Keroro & Tamama are watching at the beginning is an adaption of a famous ghost story; there are many variations, the basic premise is a jealous wife thinks her husband is smitten with the maid and destroys one of their best plates so she can frame the maid and fire her. When the maid is accused she tries counting the plates and when she finds there’s one missing she searches for it, in one way or another this leads to the maid dying in a well near the house shortly after and her ghost appearing every night, counting the plates and always being one plate short.

As for Koyuki’s story, I’m not sure if the subtitles are quite right; she says “entrust”, so....Either way it’s the story of the Yuki Onna or Snow Woman. Although she’s known for freezing people to death in the mountains, in this story she spares a young man and warns him never to tell anyone of the encounter or he will suffer “a fate worse than death”. Eventually he marries, has children and forgets all about the incident, then he suddenly remembers it one night and tells his wife only to find out she was the Snow Woman all along and that because he told the story to somebody she must leave and warns him to take good care of their children. The fate worse than death she mentioned was having loved someone so much and had her taken away from him.

Episode 18: Alright, I have an odd question....If they’re doing a manzai or cross talk routine, does Keroro play “The dumb one”? The way a lot of these work is that there’s one person who says ridiculous, outlandish things and a more normal person who reacts; the former role is called “Boke”, the same as in “Bokegaeru”, so it would be a bit funny if actually choose that part.

Also Keroro & Mois’ disguise names translate as “Blue Sky Keroko” (Aozora Keroko) and “Great Sea Mois” (Unabara Mois....Appearently it was supposed to be an N, I was surprised too). They don’t show up until the next beach episode, but Nankyoku Tamae is “Southpole Tamae” and Giroro’s I believe is supposed to be a nod to Cucuruz Doan, a character from Mobile Suit Gundam who only appeared in one episode which never aired overseas.

Episode 19: Actually, Natsumi’s reaction seems a bit much to me; Dororo was making the takoyaki properly and had good intentions, Giroro was actually helping children win at his game (Come to think of it, considering Japan’s laws about gun ownership those games are probably the only time any of these children ever touch a real gun), and they removed Kururu’s rigged booth from the manga, so the only dodgy bit was the masks (and isn’t the scoop supposed to be defective with the normal ones being slightly more secure? so wouldn’t it be okay if she fiddled with the wire or used it upside down? I’m thinking about this more than I should, aren’t I?). I’m fairly sure her reaction to the radio plan would also have been less if it had been during another show

Episode 20: At the beginning Dororo makes a statement about protecting the Earth’s environment after invading and I’m going to hop onto my soapbox and mention that he’d probably do a better job. Did you know there are massive patches of garbage floating in the oceans caused by currents bringing the garbage together? Research has been done into cleaning it but if we could even just remove the plastics that would remove one of the main types of waste in these patches, benefit the (at least) 267 species affected by the photodegradation of plastics in the ocean, and save both petrochemicals and the energy that goes into creating new plastics (To give you an idea of the difference recycling makes, by recycling one aluminium cam instead of making a new one you can save enough energy to recycle that can 20 times or enough to power your house for 4 hours)....The ozone layer is starting to grow back, so let’s keep going (If nothing else do it because it would make Dororo happy)

I’d like to point out as well that they had recycling in the Edo period (one example was shops that repaired broken pottery, which were so popular that for a year no new pottery was made at all)....On a more lighthearted note the Keroro platoon looks adorable in those little sailor outfits

Episode 21: I have to wonder about Kururu’s handling of the video: on the one hand, he did seem to genuinely be upset about it, on the other hand not saving your progress is more of a beginner mistake than you would expect given he does this work all the time (and the laughing when the phone falls in the drink could be taken as either finding it funny or that laugh people do when everything has gone so spectacularly wrong it’s the only way to can cope with it all). In other words part of me suspects that he did have a backup stored away somewhere and just wanted to enjoy everyone else’s emotional highs and lows. It’s also interesting to compare Natsumi’s more transformational approach to coping with the heat (change the air’s temperature so it’s colder) to Koyuki’s more adaptive approach (change one’s body temperature so the air feels colder by comparison)

I also really enjoy the second part (and I’m sure Dororo would have too if he had gone with them), though I admit I used to get vertigo from the bit at the beginning with the other motorists (Appearently it’s a Lupin reference) when they fly off the road. The end is adorable though, when they realise they were helped by Grandmother Akina (though the scenes when she helps them are charming too)

[amongushq]

Welcome (back) to Among Us, LULU! ABEL WANG ( with the faceclaim of HUANG ZITAO ) has found shelter in NEW ATHENS, where we hope HE will fit in nicely. Please make sure to check the “after applying” section of our navigation here!

Lulu, we have to say, your characters are unique and bring something new and refreshing to the rp. First we had Gianna, who was a Fury, and now Abel, the matchmaker extraordinaire. It’s good to see a son of Eros embracing his matchmaking abilities, as we often see demigods resisting their powers. It’s great that you’ve included the effects of being exposed in the final question! We can’t wait to have him around,

AND YOU ARE…?

What is your full name, and when were you born?

“Abel Wang.” He answers. “Like the stylist – No not the Alexander, I mean like Eve.” He shakes his head at the mix-up and having to mention his mother. “This isn’t going to be aired anywhere, right? She wouldn’t like any more people know I’m a demigod—“ He shrugs and moves on with a sigh. “I was born on April 23, 1995.”

Have you been claimed, or do you belong to a legacy? If yes, state your godly parent / heritage.

“Yes I have.” He nods. “As soon as I got to camp, actually. And it seems my father is very… quick at claiming his children. You see, he’s Eros, official matchmaker of Olympus, god of love and some other fun stuff.” His smile is subtle, but it’s there.

Where are you currently based? Are you attending a Camp (Half-Blood / Jupiter), or are you living full-time in New Athens / New Rome? Is it a combination of both?

“I’ve been living in New Athens for a few years. Sage and I have a really nice apartment there, it’s very nice.” He smiles wider as he mentions his girlfriend. New Athens was the safest choice so that both of them could attend university and continue their studies. “Since I graduated, I’m now working with advertisement for demigod businesses.”

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself? ( If you’re applying for a canon character, are you diverging from book-canon? If so, how?)

“As they might have told you, I also have a side job.” He begins. “I’m one of the Erotes.” There is a hint of pride in his voice, but his expression is brought to a confused  frown as he is met with a ‘who?’. “The Erotes. The cooler counterparts of the Cupids. You might have heard of those. But we don’t go around shirtless shooting arrows at people, if you’re wondering, we’re much more subtle than that—Yeah we’re matchmakers.” He nods, with a small pout as the interviewer cuts him off. “All with given consent, of course.”

What were you doing prior to The Recall?

“Well I was looking for jobs outside of camp and New Athens, but since The Recall happened and some website had to leak that the son of a famous stylist was actually a demigod—“ he shakes his head. “Working in New Athens seems like a safer option now. Perhaps I’ll expand my business to New Rome one day?”