#but i think i would not have been able to find titles for every letter

[i4oba]

nct dream as… / fanfiction aus 𓈒✳︎🏡

[take the quiz here to see which one you get!]

✰ MARK — childhood friends to lovers!au

ever since you've basically known your name, mark has been the boy next door. there was the cheeky, red letters of "lee" painted on the mailbox, the windows were adorned with the same coloured curtains, and the same doormat has been sitting in front of their door for ages. you have loved mark ever since you two have met. there wasn't a day where you wouldn't think of him, and there hasn't been a day when you haven't loved him. it was like a vicious circle which you couldn't get out of, because those stupid feelings would destroy the oh so precious friendship of yours, and you cannot let that happen, right? i mean, that's what you've thought for far too long, since this friendship meant more to you, than the fragile feeling of love - you didn't want it to get to the point where you would rather spit on each other, than talk it out. maybe that's why you pushed him away from yourself? maybe you just did that because you weren't too sure of your own peace of mind? no matter what, you knew the decision itself was wrong, only to realize it way too late. damaging the friendship and crying yourself to sleep was all your fault, after all, being way too proud and scared, stupid even; when you came back to the town where you two grew up, the least thing you wanted was to meet mark lee, mainly because you wouldn't have been able to look him in the eyes after all these happened. but you had to, so soon you even got a little surprised. it's been a while since the last time you have been home, your bedroom seemed way too unfamiliar at that point, just like the vhs tape placed directly in the middle of your bed. one which you haven't seen yet. it didn't have a title, the white label completely empty as you picked it up. you were a little bit cautious when placing it in the system, waiting for it to play whatever is on it, not having such large imagination to expect anything. it was a home video montage, full of videos of you and mark: playing together, getting ready for the first day of school, going to the movies, the way you two got engaged in middle school as a joke, and the omnious day of prom... you got teary eyed, with one thing on your mind - you have to go and save whatever's left now. maybe you're not too late.

✰ RENJUN — soulmate!au

life had been pretty much grey and dreary until you found The One. the other half everyone had been so obsessed to find. you were never big on all this stuff, because you were convinced you'd be able to live as a single half for you whole life, and don't need anyone else to feel complete. deep inside you knew that all of this is bullshit, truly, and all that was coming out of you was true bitterness and constantly ongoing unsuccessful confessions, making you believe in your delusions. with every passing second, you had to see people find their other half, while you were left to deal with the grey world you were left in, not as a choice but as fate instead. you felt like a loser, a big zero, who doesn't even deserve a soulmate. you thought you were destined to die alone, maybe compensate with something of brilliance: be a composer or a singer, write or paint something extraordinary, lord knows what, just something of importance! you were looking for yourself in every corner of the world, not for a lover or a fling, not for an other half, fully ignoring the law of attraction. it might have been some reverse psychological trick, effecting it all. and this may have been the reason behind why you had to leave that horribly boring theatre play, sneaking out and bumping into The One, who handed back your accidentally dropped bag, slowly looking into your eyes. he might have worked at the theater as he was wearing a name tag on his elegant shirt - huang renjun, it said. but it doesn't even matter, because his eyes were brown! brown! not grey, brown! everything cleared up. you did find the half - with brown eyes and a smile so bright.

✰ JENO — coffee shop!au

it was pretty much bittersweet to step foot in your favourite café: it was getting dark out there, and although the rain has stopped pouring, you got absolutley soaked to the core along the way there, rain replacing the tears on your face by then. your hair was sticking to your forehead uncomfortably, your body trembling without stopping, as you entered. the bell placed above the entrance was ringing lightly, gathering everyone's attention to you, although there wasn't too much people there except for the baristas, maybe two wandering souls, working on their laptops or reading in a cozy corner. well, maybe if it wasn't for getting dumped literal minutes ago, you wouldn't be here either, but it was still the most reasonable choice compared to going to a club or a ruin bar, gettig incredibly drunk, Plus! a good espresso might be able to clear the fog in your head, which you were in need of during this stupidly stressing period of life. you expected hyuck to greet you by the coffee machine, grinning ear to ear, as he always does when you visit between two lectures, but there was a completely new face behind the counter. it's been a long time since you've last seen a new employee here. his smile was sweet and rather warm, eyes conveying a sense of concern as you took one step closer, rubbing your eyes while getting your purse out of your pocket - you discreetly looked at his name tag, right on his black apron: lee jeno. whatta name... by then, you were way to hopeless to try and guess how the day would go, but life had to surprise you, fate deciding funnily against all odds: next to your cup of coffee, there was a napkin, hiding a telephone number on it, messily written down with a short message as well: "would you go out on a date with me, darling? :)"

✰ HAECHAN — rivals to lovers!au

lee donghyuck's name rushed through the hallways of your music academy just as quietly as a whisper, and you never knew why was it all like that ever since you've stepped foot into the school. you couldn't even hide the way too obvious rolls of your eyes every time you heard it. lee donghyuck was one of the biggest prodigies at the academy, no one could even be considered as a rival for him, this is mainly why he was such a big living legend amongst the students - you couldn't even hide how annoyed this made you, especially because he made sure you knew this ever since you two were little. music played a huge part in both of your lives, and somehow, you two always seemed to be at each other's throat, the first place at being the best always changing between the two of you. you could never get rid of each other either; your dad, always being so positive, once said, on your way to the academy sometime between sophomore and junior year, that the only reason behind this is that you two are equally good at what you're doing. you were pretty much skeptic for the longest of time, and felt as if you were destined to be the forever second next to him. you've had enough of always bumping into walls, since hyuck was the one who could stand at the first place ever so proudly. in kindergarten, in middle school, and even in high school, every. god damn. time. and that infuriating smile was plastered all upon his face even when you two were asked to not perform alone on the annual charity gala of your academy - you two had to perform something phenomenal, putting the childish jarring aside, growing out of the silly phase of hating each other, which was all made up by you, and you only, pushing the poor boy away from you. the boy who had always been so obsessed with you, utterly and completely. he won this time again, isn't it right?

✰ JAEMIN — photographer!au

when jaemin brought up the idea of making the last parts of his portfolio with you (which basically means about you), you were a little bit skeptic at first. you loved jaemin dearly, since he was a really understanding friend, but... you were simply terrified of cameras. you didn't really like the idea of being captured at all, you hated looking back at yourself on pictures taken of you, and you couldn't even think about how high quality his pictures would be with that hyper super machine, focused on all the little flawed details of your face that you absolutely despised. no, you couldn't even bear the idea of this whole project, and you stood by this decision of yours, jaemin waiting patiently the whole time, not pushing it too hard. since he wanted to work with you no matter what, giving up on his plan wouldn't be too typical of him - the fight didn't last long but it was pretty heated, him highlighting so many known things that needed to be said finally: it's childish how you reflect on yourself, and your delusions stop you from way too many things. the way he said straight into your face how beautiful he thinks you are, inside and outside, and that he wants the whole world to know how ethereal you are, made you tear up a little - especially when he said his heart breaks every time you speak so lowly of yourself. he truly thinks you're the modern manifestation of aphrodite, that you are his own venus, the muse of him, someone he can adore... that he's way too in love with you to let go of this, and-; the kiss you gave him was short, yet gave him exact answers. answers to hundreds and thousand of unsaid questions he kept hidden in himself for years and years on end.

✰ CHENLE — blind date!au

you clearly didn’t brace yourself for this whole fiasco proposed by donghyuck himself, foolishly believing his reasonings behind how perfect of a matchmaker he is. of course you knew that what he way saying was partly stupid, plus you were like a seventy percent sure he wasn't even sober when he set up a blind date during that omnious frat party he wasn't invited to. you didn't have to worry or anything, that's just how you were - overly anxious of such things, even if you weren't meeting a psychopath. you were only a bit vary of the awkwardness this whole new experience would bring, both of you rushing home way too soon from the date, trying to forget about it as soon as possible. these misconceptions about how the night would go stayed straight until you stopped in front of the restaurant to wait for your - then late already - date. you were a little nervous he stood you up, and you got yourself into the most beautiful piece of clothing from you wardrobe for nothing, but it was worth it, looking back at it, as zhong chenle arrived and you two simply just... clicked? automatically? not to mention you two decided to leave the place after the hors d'oeuvre, since you both found the place a little too fancy at that moment, going to a simple ice cream parlor instead, taking a walk in the park after, talking about anything and everything that came to mind: family, politics, movies and the most embarrassing memories from your childhood came up too, as you couldn't help but laugh at how chenle dropped his ice cream cone on the ground, while he simultaneously promised you that he wouldn't drop the cone on the next date - and you smiled, so happily.

✰ JISUNG — secret admirer!au

you were head over heels for jisung and his undying love for dancing. but, thinking a bit deeper about it, while writing that foolish, teenager like love letter for him, forced into the role of his secret admirer, there were much more of those things that made you feel head over heels for the boy: he showed you what persistence was, he spent the whole of his youth with you, and he wasn't afraid to spend the rest of his life with you, helping you out anytime you're in need of it, since he couldn't not do that as you "best friend". he couldn't be evil with you, he was never able to leave you and he couldn't even envision a future in which you weren't by his side. but the border he made up between the two of you, was never crossed - you two were friends, not more, not less. you were so torn deep inside, as you were helpless, being in the never ending limbo you would rather push forward, but he kept on tugging it backwards; the idea of writing letters was originally from your mother, who had enough of your obvious agony. she was positive you would write every feeling of yours out, making it easier as time goes by. their number kept growing, however, one letter becoming a dozen soon enough, maybe even more in the meantime, while not writing a name on any of them, referring to yourself only as a mere secret admirer. they suddenly disappeared from the bottom of your drawer one day, though, realizing way too late that the ringing phone in your pocket was in fact park jisung, the picture of him taking up the screen of your mobile - did he know?

[lure-of-writing]

Left in regret

Authors note: Thank you all so much on the love for this story it truly means a lot to me that you all like it so much. I didn't plan for this to have a part two but I really hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Summary: After telling Azriel and the inner circle how you truly felt about Elain and about your feelings so Azriel the inner circles world comes to a very abrupt halt.

Word count: 2.5k, Part two to never been good enough

Part one Here: Never been good Enough

Part three: Why can't we?

To say that everyone was shocked by your outburst would be an understatement but in all honesty how could they blame you when everything that you said was correct. Looking back on all the time that has passed since the inner circle welcomed the new family members, they could see just how much you were being excluded and it broke their hearts that they were the reason that you were feeling this way but it was no one's fault to blame but their own. Azriel took it the hardest. He knew that he was spending a lot of time with Elain but she made him happy and even though he knew she had a mate he honestly couldn't find it within himself to care about that. If Elain didn’t want to be with her mate then who is he to stop her. 

For the first time in a long time Azriel felt happy and it was all thanks to the person you hated most. The guilt he felt was immense but how could he not pursue what made him happy? For all of his life he never thought that he would be good enough for a mate so he accepted that it would never be one of the things he has in life but a stable relationship with Elain could be one of the rare gifts the mother blesses him with. But to break your heart with such revelations broke his own and up until the point of you practically laying your heart out to bare he never knew about your feeling for him and he has never felt like he deserved the title of spy master less then he did in that moment because how could he have never noticed how you felt about him? 

Azriel hasn’t seen you since that fateful day on top of the house of wind a week ago no one has been able to reach you not even Rhysand and it was starting to concern him. You simply took off running towards the ledge of the house before throwing yourself off and winnowed away while falling through the air. A stunt has never scared Azriel more, that was until seven whole days have passed with no one being able to find you. Between the three brothers they searched high and low for you but came up empty handed every time. It was becoming very clear that you didn’t want to be found but Azriel needed you to come home, he needed to talk to you about everything. His mind hasn’t been able to quiet down since your confession “I have been in love with Azriel since the day I met him” your words plagued his mind at all hours of the day and he knew unless he was able to speak to you it would remain that way until it practically drove him insane for he knew he would spend however long until he was able to see you again replaying every interaction he's ever had with you from top to bottom wondering how he missed the signs. But he knew better than that, you were a trained spy, a very well one at that and if you didn’t want him to know what you were thinking then he simply wouldn't. 

More days have dragged on then Azriel was comfortable with you being gone, he wanted you home more than he wanted to be around Elain and that was saying a lot for him.  

Most of the inner circle was sitting around the table at the river house when Rhysand walked in looking less than pleased, it immediately caught his attention. That's when he noticed the piece of paper pinched between Rhys fingers “What is that?” His words were the first to break the uncomfortable silence that had been suffocating the group. “Y/n sent a letter.” this was not his brother speaking this was his high lord and something about that set Azriel on edge, whatever he was about to say next was going to break his soul he just knew it. “She addressed it to the inner circle and has asked that it only be read to the inner circle.” Rhysand shied away from Feyre's eyes but he knew that she understood because without any hesitation she stood up from her seat and urged her sisters to do the same but Elain refused. “I’m not leaving. I want to hear what she has to say.” something about hearing Elains demand to know what you said when she is the reason you left set Azriels blood on fire “Leave Elain or I will do it for you.”  

Nesta was quick to anger with that statement “Threaten my sister again and I will kill you.” she statement was nothing short of a promise but Feyre was quick to grab her sisters but not quick enough for Azriels sharp words to cut deep into the middle sister's heart “If you had never come here, I wouldn’t have lost my dearest friend because of you. Now I see that y/n was right, you are a wolf in a sheep's clothing and I was too blind to see it right before my very eyes. I want nothing to do with you Elain.”  Azriel knew his words cut deep but something inside him couldn’t find it in him to care. Everyone waited until the three sisters closed the door before doing anything else and they waited once more for the sounds of retreating footsteps before Rhysand cleared his throat and began reading your letter. 

“In all my years of having the honor of being a member of the inner circle this is not how I envisioned my end. I always thought if anything I would die on the battle field or on a mission and that would be where my story ended amongst the circle but for it to end like this is something I could've never imagined. Rhysand I am so happy that you finally found your mate and honestly Feyre couldn’t be more perfect for you, but I cannot say the same for her sisters. To be frank I could have done without them but no such choice is mine to make. There are a lot of things I want to say but I’m not sure if I will ever be able to say them so for now I will settle with this. First I want to thank you all for being the most loving group of people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Though you may have shown it in your own ways I will forever cherish the memories we made together and for that I am thankful. There is no easy way to put this but I see now that my time amongst the inner circle was limited and it is something I will always hold dear to my heart even with this painful ending. It never bothered me that I was becoming less needed within the group but to be forgotten about while dying in a battlefield changed something in me. For as long as I can remember if one of us was unaccounted for the others would stop at nothing to find whoever was lost but the same urgency was not placed upon me until Tamlin walked in with my dying body. Azriel I heard you ask how as a group you had forgotten about me and it broke me. It became glaringly obvious that I was no longer needed as a member of the inner circle but I didn’t want to believe it so I didn’t. But watching you fall in love with Elain was something I could not do when I knew that I had been in love with you since the moment I met you. I silently loved you from afar while hoping that one day you would realize I was here right in front of you willing to give you my love but all you could see was Elain from the moment you learned about her existence. I will never blame you for loving who you love but to say it doesn’t hurt would be a lie. This letter is getting to be just a giant jumble of my thoughts so let me end with a few things. In three days I will gather my belongings from the house of wind and move from the night court, please do not ask for any other information as I will not tell you any. Now it's time for me to say my goodbyes for I know I will not be able to do so in person. Amren, thank you for being a fountain of knowledge and someone I could go to, to sit in silence and not feel alone while doing so. Mor, your friendship is like no other that I’ve ever known and I cannot thank you enough for showing me such loyalty and encouragement. I'm sure that I will never find another friendship like yours. Cassian, your ability to be strong for not only your family but for yourself is something I hope to learn one day. I have definitely learned to be strong because of you. Please know you are worth so much more than all of the hateful words thrown at you. Rhysand to serve in not only your court but inner circle has been the honor of a lifetime. You have already proven yourself to be an amazing high lord and I have no doubt that you will continue to do so in the future. But most of all thank you for showing me that being myself is ok and allowing me to grow into the person I am. I could not have done it without you. Lastly, Azriel, thank you for showing me what true love is.”

The weight of your words lay heavy on each member's heart. Everything you had said had hit them differently. “She's leaving?” Amren was the first to speak after the never ending silence. While Amren may simply tolerate most people she had a place in her heart just for you. She saw parts of herself in you and wanted to help you in any way she could, albeit was a little unconventional so to hear that you were leaving broke her heart but deep down she understood why. She saw the moment you realized that Azriel was your mate while you watched as he shielded Elain from your wrath, saw the look of heartbreak flash and disappear within your eyes, saw the mourning that replaced it instead. She knew why you were leaving, you would never make him be with you just because of the bond so instead you would act like it never existed if it meant he would be happy without you. “Y/n can’t just leave, she's family.” Morrigan was the next to speak with tears pooling along her eyes “We are a family y/n must know how much we all love and care about her?”  but nobody said anything until Cassian spoke up “No y/n is right we acted as if we no longer needed her. Rhysand has Feyre, I have Nesta, Azriel with Elain, Mor you are closer friends with Feyre then y/n and Amren has varian so who does that leave y/n with?” Cassian's question hung in the air unanswered “Exactly. It leaves her alone with no one but herself.” as much as people thought cassian was a brute he was equally if not more observant, he could see that you had been unintentionally outed from the group and to deal with his part of your leaving he got up and left without another word to work out his emotions on the top of the house of wind with a brutal workout. Cassian left everyone else to deal with their emotions on their own. 

In the three days leading up to your arrival it seemed as if everything within the inner circle had changed. Azriel avoided Elain, Mor distanced herself from Feyre, Cassian barely trained with Nesta and Rhysand tried to send letter after letter to you asking to sit and speak with him. No response came. It was as if the world had stopped on a dime for the inner circle. The silence was deafening as they waited in the common area of the house of wind while waiting for your arrival. But the silence was even louder when you were set gently on the floor after being released from the arms of an unknown man with wings. No one made a move or even said anything; they simply stared at the stranger in front of them. In that frozen moment Azriel felt something he never thought he would get to experience: the mating bond snapping into place. He felt the string that connected him to you and he could hear nothing else but the sound of his heart beating loudly in his ears. He knew Rhysand said something to you but he couldn’t hear it, maybe he was in shock. Azriel watched you with extreme precision as you moved without saying anything to Rhysand to start down the hallway with the random man in tow. Azriel wanted to ask you who he was, why you thought you had to leave, where you going to go but he found himself unable to speak. It wasn’t until you reappeared in the common room that he was able to say anything. 

“We’re mates?” He hadn’t meant it as a question but it definitely came out as one. He watched as a sigh fell from your lips before you spoke “Yes” Azriel had never heard you sound so exhausted, so beatdown while this was supposed to be one of the most exciting times of your life. This is what people begged the mother for, what he had begged the mother for with no hope that he would ever get to experience it. “You’re not excited?” tired eyes bore into his “If the bond had not just snapped would you want me? If you never found out we were mates would you have picked me? Or Elain? I have never been a person of romantic interest to you before today so does a bond even matter?” Azriel knew you had made valid points but hearing you say all the times he hadn’t picked you broke his heart. “The Answer is no Azriel you wouldn’t have so please don’t start choosing me now. I don’t want a relationship out of force from the bond, I want you to choose me because I’m the person you want. So please do not start acting like you want me now when you didn’t want me four days ago.”  And with that he watched as you placed yourself in the arms of another man and took off towards the sea. Azriel watched as you left this place behind without another word, left without letting Azriel fight for your mating bond and he has never regretted getting involved with Elain more than he did in that moment. 

Taglist: @j-pendragonx , @piceous21 , @harrystylesfan2686 , @kemillyfreitas

[anthaeum]

mona lisa.

love is when you try to make it out alive.

🏹 — wherein leo valdez realizes the absolutes in his life.

leo valdez x roman apollo!reader. enemies to lovers to exes to lovers (implied), set in the future, non canon-compliant. gn!singer!reader.

(not proofread.)

wc. 906

💭 : it's 3:22 AM and i have school tmr but this legit wouldn't stop bugging me until i posted it. the title is from mona lisa by dominic fike, listen to it here! please let me know your thoughts, comments, and any reactions through my askbox! enjoy reading 🤍

Leo Valdez knows there are absolutes in his life. 

One of them is metalwork. Smelting, forging, blacksmithing — the flames and heat of the furnace were never a nuisance to Leo when his nimble fingers and tools pulled and twisted at any piece of metal, whether it be the finest bar of gold or the lowest piece of scrap. The son of Hephaestus takes pride in his craft, displaying the tiniest coin he created or the biggest metal dragon he’s fixed on a glass shelf in the confines of his heart. 

His friends are one of them. He thinks of Piper, his sister, who he still cooks tofu for because she says "it's the best she’s ever had". There’s Reyna — and he doesn't tell anyone, but he’s glad he found a friendship in Reyna, someone he doesn't have to mind the language barriers around. There’s Frank, who trusted Leo with his life, literally and figuratively. He thinks of Jason, his best friend, and Leo counts him as two absolutes. 

There’s also the little things, too. He always runs maintenance checks every week, he ties the right shoe before the left, he keeps his loose change in his pant pockets, he wasn’t good at freehand engraving. 

Another, he thinks, is you. 

You, the sweet child of the sun. 

The radio echoes across the room, filling the quiet workshop with life. 

Leo Valdez, sweat-drenched and exhausted, stares down at the sheet of gold on his anvil. Engraved on its surface is a set of symbols he knew by heart — a harp, six lines, and the letters S, P, Q, and R. 

You, you, you, you. 

He remembers the first time he laid his eyes on you. He doesn't remember the way you knocked an arrow and aimed down at him; his mind’s eye just sees gold — in the shine of your eyes, your armor, the tips of your arrows, your aura, you.

He remembers the war's aftermath — his war specifically. He remembers searching through seas of orange, purple, bronze, and gold; none of them were his golden archer. 

He doesn’t know if he’s still dreaming when he hears your voice echoing through the radio. He stays still, eyes wide and unmoving, and it’s only until the radio croons a, “that was Yn Ln’s latest single, ladies and gentlemen!” does he snap out of his reverie. 

He remembers the taste of golden victory. Nights under starlight, conversations of the future, you (finally) in his arms. The stars shone faux spotlights on you as your singing lulled Leo into peace he hadn't known for a long while. 

You told him your dreams, your love for singing, and how you wished to be able to share your voice to the world. Suddenly, the taste in his mouth is bitter. 

Because here he was, in his workshop, listening to you, when he could have been celebrating you and your dream (now, your reality) instead. 

He puts his head in his hands as if struck with agony, the unfamiliar beginning melody of “another hit from the rising popstar!” playing on the radio and echoing through his mind. 

(Yet, Leo can't find it in himself to turn the radio down.) 

A walk would clear his mind, he thinks. 

Any attempt to clear his mind is futile. You’re all he sees. 

In the billboards, posters, street signs. 

You, you, you, you.

Leo stares. He stands and stares, unmoving, at the features he fell so in love with. He's transfixed at the way your eyes shine and crinkle at the corners, the curve of your lips as you bare your teeth into a grin. You look ethereal in this light, it would make Parisian paintings look over at you in envy. 

The same tattooed lyre he memorized peeks from above your gold-etched name. He wishes he could feel them under his fingertips once more. 

Anguish akin to the heat of hot iron crushes his chest. He feels the fingerprints of yearning litter his heart, indelible and engraved. This was your doing, Leo thinks; because, no matter how many times he tries to deny it, the same aching muscle has never once left the confines of your hand. 

(And Leo can't find it in himself to turn away. he can’t think of anyone else.)

Leo knows it’s only a matter of time. Passersby’s comments fall on his eager ears, and Leo’s heart only beats faster when he hears a, “they’ll be performing tonight!”

He tries not to think of the feeling in his chest, of the painful yearning and the jittery nervousness, as he pushes the door to the jazz bar open. 

When he hears your voice, oh so melodic and beautiful, he freezes. 

You’re under real spotlights now, shining and so golden under their light. 

You look at him, and Leo swears his heart stops.

Your eyes still shine the same. 

Leo Valdez realizes another absolute — you, in all your golden glory, would forever be his weakness. His heel tingles at the sound of the arrows you draw with your song, as if they’d home in on the one vulnerable spot on his flesh and leave him for dead.  

(And yet, he thinks you’ve done it. You, the one Leo Valdez sees in Parisian paintings. You, whose voice Leo Baldez hears in TV stations. You, the sweet child of the sun, who had pierced his heart with the same arrows that stared him down all those years ago.)

aaaa my first post ever ever .... hope u all enjoy !!!! reblogs are so appreciated, please tell me how u liked my fic 😞😞

© ANTHAEUM (2024). do not republish, edit, translate, or plagiarize my works.

[d8nielaa]

sodapop asking you to read to him while pony is in windrixville :( he misses his brother and he can't read that well, but you have always been able to comfort him

Authors Note: yess anon omg!! Soda would actually be in a slump..thats so saddddd

Read to me?

Sodapop Curtis x fem!reader

Ponyboy had ran away. That was all that you knew. Well, thats all you could get out of Soda. It was bad, Soda had been thrown into this slump, that none of you really knew how to get him out of. He was working himself to the bone, coming back home exhausted every night. Which worried you, because Soda wasn't like that.

He was always so happy, and charming and just very golden retriever energy. So it made you wonder what happened that night, but you didn't bother to ask because you knew that making him rethink it would just make the situation worse.

He had been quiet, really only talking to Darrel, you, Ace, and Two-Bit. Yet nobody could comfort him like you. Nobody could save him, like you.

It was Monday night, about 2 days since Ponyboy had ran away. And Soda, well he wasn't doing so great. You laid in Soda and Ponyboy's bed, which was empty on the nights that you didn't stay over. You were laying in the bed, having heard the door open and slam shut.

You sat up, knowing it was Sodapop. He walked through the door, looking more tired than the night before. You smiled at him sympathetically, patting the empty space next to you. He immediately climbed onto the bed, laying on top of you with a sigh. You gently laced your hand through his greased up hair, his arms wrapping around your waist.

His head was pressed against your chest, which hurt just a little, but you didn't have the heart to tell him.

It was quiet for a moment, the two of you finding peace in the storm. Then, Sodapop glanced on the floor, something catching his interest. It was one of Ponyboy's books, specifically, "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens. You had read the book once, and fairly enjoyed it. But, you didn't think Soda would care much for it.

He moved one of his arms off your waist, grabbing the book from the floor and bringing it closer to him to read the title. He was thinking about the conversation him and Ponyboy had the night before he ran away. Tears slowly began to brim his eyes, but he held them in as he shakily brought the book closer to you, his voice soft yet so emotional.

"Can you-will you read it..for me?" He asked, bringing th book even closer to you, his eyes pleading. You immediately nodded your head, pressing a soft and comforting kiss on his forehead before taking the book from his hands, and opening to the first chapter in the book. Your arms were around him, his head still pressed against your chest as you began to read.

"My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister,—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. " (Dickens, 6)

As you continued reading, Soda slowly let the sleepiness get to him. Those two days of barley sleeping out of fear that his brother would return and he would be asleep when he got there. His eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough they fluttered shut.

He laid on top of you, his soft breathing and occasional subconscious squeezes to your hip, letting him know that he was okay. Letting him know that you both, were gonna be okay.

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Authors Note: Hiii everyone!!! So glad to be back! I got my nails done and they're so cutsie, but its hard to type on my laptop with them on 😭. PLEASE KEEP THE REQUEST COMING!!!

much love, dani 🩷

[thunderroseses]

I have a new headcannon, this is a add on about this post (warning very long texts)

Here’s the body version (she’s not wearing clothes but everything is covers and appropriate I think?)

The words say

Left: was formed with these, every planet and moon had them

Right: Earth symbols but fancy ✨

On Luna’s leg it has Earth name in a cold lettering thing I found

(I did this on my phone sorry)

These marks represent who they are as a celestial being and who they belong to, moons to their planets but also planets to the Sun, (In the past, these marks where seen more as ownership over the moons by the planets and The planets by the Sun) this marks can’t be changed no matter how much one may try, these mark can be seen as a status symbol as if saying your better then another moon because of your planet, not everyone thinks this way, but moons like Ganymade uses how Jupiter being a terrifying force in the solar system as a way to say his more powerful then the other moons and to put himself about the others, he is one of the most powerful moons in the solar system because of him being Jupiter’s moon, even if he wasn’t originally made by Jupiter.

Other moons like Saturn’s tend to hind theirs, as they don’t want to be lumped into Saturn’s representation, which is not good among the moons, his seen as a cry baby, forgetful and mean (this is just the moons opinion, as we’ve seen in the moon revolution they don’t have high opinion of the most planets) it doesn’t help that in the past Saturn used to force them into or show off his mark, and covered them in gold, they were called trophies, taking away any humanity they had (even if their not humans) only being seen as a statue symbol for their planet, that created a big disconnect and hatred for their marks, other planets and moons don’t care much, and it varies if they hind them or not.

These Marks also show the wearer past, as some planets such as Venus, Earth and Mars still have things from their proto days, such as Venus and Mars still having life and Earth having lava, Earth still can’t remember the past and just assumes it’s from his volcanos, since it starts to look like moving lava when ever a volcano erupts, him and IO being the only ones with active volcanoes in the solar system shears this, even if it looks wildly different from each other. Earth volcanos can also hind his other marks that aren’t apart of his surface, mostly on his hands and feet.

Both Venus and Mars’ old lakes and rivers have turned into scars that curved their way through his surface over time, much like Earth would have if he lost his water too, since water can slowly take apart of the surface over time if it’s there long enough.

Gas giant’s like Jupiter and Saturn have gas swirling around their arms, it moves and is effect by the weather on their surface, Callisto also has these on her arms with the addition of small stars covering the bottom of her hands but fades out the higher it goes. The ice giant have a lesser and more giant version of this that is hard to see over the frost that covers their surface, Neptune is a bit different then Uranus, his core can warm his body more since it’s hotter then Uranus’ meaning he had a more fishy theme (I’m planing on drawing them +triton next which will explain this better) Other then that their Marks are fairly similar, being made up primarily with diamonds and swirling lines that represent their icy titles.

(Jupiter’s symbol might changed as I’ve found some sources that says he doesn’t orbit the sun, I can find anything on NASA’s website but they don’t update it that often and still have some stuff that where proven false, such as super Saturn which is ringless rogue dwarf planet, that we haven’t been able to find since, but it still says it’s real on the NASA website)

Talking about Neptune, his biggest moon, triton tends to hind his marks to fit in better with the other moons both with rest of Neptune’s and the wider solar system’s, he doesn’t want them to think badly of him from not being from the same solar system (if he even had one to begin with) and he doesn’t want Neptune’s other moons to think he doesn’t care about them, since he wasn’t created by Neptune like they were (no matter how much Neptune tells him they’ll love him nonetheless) instead his mark are made up by his travels throughout the galaxy and who he was before he was captured, he loves his marks and it hurt him or have to hide them, they represent his longing to remember who he once’s was in the past, he had started to show them more as he starts hanging out with the other dwarf planets :)

Titan on the other hand has grown to hate his marks, they represent everything he hates about himself and are a barrier between him and Saturn’s other moons, as he was formed by another planet before Jupiter and Saturn ejected them, he is the last reminder that his planet and siblings even existed, everything else has been scrubbed away and killed and as Saturn’s guilt grew he refused to let Titan show his marks beside his own, since it was a constant reminder to Saturn, making it hard for Titan to heal from his past and the trauma of losing his planet and siblings, much like Saturn hasn’t healed either. His marks are also a constant reminder that he is not one of Saturn moons, that he is an outsider from them because be wasn’t made by Saturn own hands like the others and when he tried to bring up his troubles the other moons would dismiss him saying “at lest Saturn remembers your name.” Even if it took lateral decades to get there. He doesn’t belong with the other moons (as fair as he knew he was the only one) because he wasn’t made by the planet he now orbits.

During the moon revolution Titan finally had a place where the belonged, as a united force against their planets, he wasn’t the outsider for the first time and was able to talk about his past for the first time, a adding factor to this is Ganymade who sheared a similar past as him, he was token from his original planet too (even if their path differed from there) the difference was Ganymade used his new status of being the moon of the biggest planet, and was able to inherit a fraction of Jupiter’s old planet, they bonded over the fact they didn’t belong with the other moons and being the only reminder of their planets before they where either killed or ejected, it made Titan more welling to go through with the revolution even if he was against killing a planet to get the respect of their planets, he didn’t want to give up on the community they had formed and the friends he made by going his own way, even Ganymade and Europa (I think they had good intention with the revolution even if they went about it in the worst way) their relationship was rocky afterwards but got better, his Marks are still a sore subject that he rather not remember, but his growing to except his past, and that even after the long path it took him and all his struggles, his still here and that’s worth something in its own.

Lastly since there no good space for this

Sun’s symbol is very different compared to his planets and their moons, since he orbits the Milky Way, or as other article say the centre of the galaxy, his marks is as if you painted the night sky, full of blue and purple, littered with stars over top, it reachers around his torso and interfere with some of his other marks.

Thank you for coming to a (for once’s) not late night rambling with Rose!

I have had this idea for while now and it’s just been growing since then, I’ve grown a bit obsess with this story idea:headcannon? Why ever you want to call it :D



[bonzos-number-1-fan]

TMAGP 18 Thoughts: Dead Letters

Another really great episode. Feels like the show has hit its stride now and it just keeps getting better and better IMO. I can't say I entirely get the episode's title though. This one feels fairly strained to me and I feel like it must be because I'm missing something obvious.

Spoilers for episode 18, and some lightly implied spoilers for TMA, below the cut.

Teddy and Alice being Teddy and Alice isn't something I have a huge amount to say. I'm never 100% sure how you're meant to read these two. Teddy having his own little story in the background is interesting though because the framing of this implies he's very important to the narrative. His leaving is the instigation for two of our main characters to be able to join the OIAR, his leaving party is the opening scene of the show, and every time he's been in it since something about him has progressed. It could just be a grounding element so that not every character is wrapped up in it but it seems fairly obvious that his story is going somewhere.

Fun Fact: I've mentioned it before but as it was name dropped, Robert Smirke was an architect for the Royal Mint.

Lena continuing to be very Lena about everything really does warm my heart. She could just be entirely disinterested, distancing herself from the employees for their safety, or other reasons beside. Either way "Oh, is that its name?" is wonderful and she should never change.

This statement was really great. Augustus being back is a massive highlight. Tim Fearon has killed both of his episodes and I want more of him than we're getting. A haunted house narrated by him is really a treat to listen to. The literal contents of the experience we hear narrated back to us isn't something I have too much to say on. It's got some strong Hilltop Road vibes but is at Church Street. Church Street itself doesn't have anything too important to mention about it. Milton Court, however, is interesting. Violet was seemingly the victim of the same thing that killed Drowning Victim a few episodes back, likely [Error]. But what's interesting about the Milton Court Open Space is that it's about 20 miles from where Drowning Victim was. These cases happened 3 days apart which is ample time to cover that distance but it's interesting because it's largely along the path you'd drive if you were coming from Manchester, where the Institute's ruins were, back to London and taking the M40. You'd drive passed Ickenham. I would not be surprised if we see a similar case from early further north along that route. Another thing of note here is the extreme malnutrition. I think a lot of people are going to link this back to Darrien from the last episode but I think it's more obviously a physical symptom of reliving said experience. Violet wandered though a house with no exit until she starved, like how Drowning Victim, well, drowned. No notes otherwise, great incident. Well, "Some figure reaching asking questions in an alley?" is curious phrasing but I won't get to into that.

Alice and Sam's chat directly addressing the contents of the case is something I love to see. Alice is trying her best to bury all that, bless her, but Sam is for sure never letting this drop. It's just great to see this stuff not washing over them now and it's all becoming more and more relevant. Although it does bring into question why Augustus read this one out. Chester seems to read things that nudge people to act a certain way but this one seemed almost cruel. Like Augustus was trying to get under Alice's skin. In any case its hard to find a thread between this and Taking Notes, at least as far as "motivation" goes.

Oh Gwen. Poor, poor Gwen. Finally opens up about her truly fucking awful experiences and Sam laughs in her face about it. To be fair to Sam leading with Mr. Bonzo is a perfect wind up and I would've laughed too. We all would've laughed if our co-worker said that. To be fair to Gwen, Mr. Bonzo has traumatised the shit out of her and who else is there to really lead with? And as always Anusia killed it here. What a glorious F-bomb too.

Backing up just a little bit, there is this quote during that interaction:

GWEN In the cases, you know how there are often things or places or people or whatever who… aren’t right? Who seem to be causing all the awful things to happen.

Which is fairly interesting if you've been reading theories. Specially about what CAT# means. The most common theory by far is "Person/Place/Object". Meaning that CAT1 indicates a supernatural person in the incident, CAT2 a place, etc. Now, I have written an essay all about this subject entitled "Putting the CAT# Back in the Bag: The Flaws With Person/Place/Object". So, y'know, I don't buy it. Gwen mentioning it now feels like a red herring too given how early it is. Obviously that feeling is rooted in my current belief about said theory. If I don't think it holds water I won't think this is a clue about that. But it's not just that. I think this is too early from a narrative stand point, CAT# standing for those things pointless from a narrative standpoint, and if Gwen has settled on those three things it's not much of a stretch to link it back the the case numbers and part of the point of them is they're inscrutable to everyone there.

Because all of the above isn't enough for this already stellar episode we meet two new characters. Georgie and Jack. Both at long last as they've both come up before. It's hard to talk about this without getting into TMA stuff. I'll try to be light on TMA spoilers but Celia and Georgie have history. Now, unlike with Celia, this very much seems like TMP's version of Georgie. She's a conspiracy theorist instead of a ghost hunt, she's paranoid instead of fearless, and she seems to know as little about Celia as you'd expect. The conspiracy angle is also really clever. TMA was very much just about supernatural encounters but TMP has the cast working for the government. So Georgie has stayed fairly consistent in this regard it's just the shows themes that changed. Celia finding Georgie makes a lot of sense to me though. Their history makes her a good touchstone here and as she's still podcasting about strange things it's a good cover as any. However whatever is happening with Celia is clearly getting worse and she's not lying about it well.

GEORGIE Celia, I’m saying you don’t need to lie to me. CELIA I’m not! [zzzzzt]

Sure you're not, Celia. Sure you're not.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet and Terminology Sheet

DPHW Theory: 2374 not much to explain on this one I don't think. Spooky house that you can't escape from gets you spooky house you can't escape from numbers.

CAT# Theory: CAT1 is semi-interesting for the theory I think it definitely isn't (see here). Because for that theory to remain consistent corpses end up as objects. Which you'd think would put this in CAT3 if assessors were applying those themselves, and if they aren't all headers of this type being people seems very farfetched when we've seem objects that compel already.

R# Theory: C seems reasonably to me. Having a spooky memory and talking about it seems like the sort of thing no one would care about.

Header talk: Memory (Derelict) -/- Compulsion. Two interesting things here. Firstly, the section being Memory implies that this experience actually happened. Either to Violet or someone else. It could be a ham-fisted section choice if there isn't anything for hallucinatory experiences of this nature but I'd assume there must be. This system is so specific and as that would be a large oversight it seems unlikely that it isn't there. But it's hard to say how much any given assessor knows about what they're picking. Misfiles are always possible. The subsection is the other interesting thing. Derelict is such a specific subsection here that Memory must have 100s of them.

[marauders-81]

Anyway I haven’t posted in a while but I got a sudden burst of motivation SO HERE

TW for F slur used in a smoking context, IMPLIED abuse, internalised homophobia.

Year 1.

Breathe, Sirius. Just breathe.

There’s three boys in his compartment. One has beautiful grey eyes, accompanied by a gaunt face and buzzed hair. Another has a smile that could light up the country, and glasses so big that he has to push them back up his nose every thirty seconds. The third seems to cling on to Smile-Boy like a leech, hosting flat tufts of blond that fall over his eyes onto his rosy cheeks.

Breathe, Sirius.

He thinks Reggie would get along with the quieter one, the one who’s staring very pointedly at his worn down sneakers to avoid conversation. Sirius starts one anyway, beginning to talk about school houses and family background and blood status. After all, he’s never really known anything to talk about.

He finds that Remus, the quiet boy, is the only halfblood of the group; the rest are pure. Good, Sirius says with a laugh, at least I won’t have muggleborns for friends.

And what would be so bad about that? James - the one with the smile - confronts, his smile replaced with a confused frown. Muggleborns have magic too, just like us. Why should they be treated differently?

Sirius doesn’t know the answer to that. In all honesty, he was just repeating what his mother had said to him. He’s been raised to dislike them; though, he supposes, he never found out why. Maybe he’ll ask Reggie in the first letter he sends home.

Year 2.

Sirius doesn’t know why Reggie doesn’t like his friends. Why he’s looking at them with so much hate. As if he despises them.

I don’t want blood traitors and half bloods as friends, the little boy all but sneers. And then he leaves the compartment, off on his own.

Breathe, Sirius.

He doesn’t know why Reggie’s acting so high and mighty, so self righteous. It’s almost like he was their mother, right then. Sirius thinks this is unfair to his friends, especially to Remus.

Wait. What?

Not only to Remus, he reminds himself; although a little confused. Why was he even thinking about only Remus in the first place? Remus isn’t any more special than James, or rosy-cheeked Peter.

He hopes Reggie will be in Gryffindor, like himself. It isn’t fair that he has to be the family disappointment alone, after all. Plus; if Reggie is in Gryffindor too, maybe they’d become closer again.

Sirius misses his little brother. It isn’t fair how distant they’ve gotten, not over a silly colour.

James sees his frown, and cares enough to ask if he’s okay. Of course he is. He’s not meant to be anything else.

Year 3.

Reg doesn’t talk to him anymore. I don’t understand, Sirius thinks as his own brother dismisses him for his stupid bigot friends.

No matter. He’s got James, with his passion for Quidditch and his newfound goal of getting that muggleborn, Lily Evans, to fall in love with him. He’s got Peter, whom he’s never once beaten in chess. (Pete is most definitely cheating, Sirius has to reassure himself. No one is that good at chess.)

He’s got Remus, his uber-cool werewolf friend. Sirius thinks that being able to be a wolf every month is awesome; Remus isn’t as sure of it. Remus, with his stunningly grey eyes that — when you look at them closely enough — have a hint of gold that reminds Sirius of sun kissed clouds after a storm. Remus, who introduces him to muggle chocolate (Mars Bars, unfortunately, are not made on the planet) and muggle vinyls and these things called fags that the taller boy says they’re not supposed to have but they smoke them together anyway and giggle when hiding them from a professor. Remus, who has trouble reading; only Sirius knows about it. It’s their own secret, just for the two of them. Remus, with his messy brown curls and his beautifully scarred face and his gangly, lanky body and—

Breathe, Sirius.

Remus isn’t quite his closest friend; no, that title was reserved for James. What he and Remus had? It was special. Different.

Sirius feels himself caring a great deal for his half-blooded friend.

Year 4.

Sirius has discovered girls, he realises, as he finds himself watching a specifically pretty 5th year board the train with her other equally pretty friends. She had nice blonde hair and pretty grey eyes that reminded him of Remus.

Not that girls reminded him of Remus, of course. He wasn’t…

Regulus didn’t speak to him again, last summer. Not that Sirius cares, he had found a way to send and receive muggle post without anyone else knowing so he could at least keep in contact with James, Remus and Peter. He found himself wondering, though; did Regulus miss talking to him in the way that Sirius missed having his brother around? Maybe not. Regulus was no different than the rest of the family.

Maybe this year, Sirius thinks as James and Remus engage in light conversation, I’ll get a girlfriend. Maybe I’ll find someone pretty, someone I can kiss. A girl with beautiful brown curls, and amber-grey eyes, and a lanky body, like Remus.

No, not like Remus. Sirius shouldn’t be thinking like that, associating romance with a male.

But as he finds himself making eye contact with the tall boy, he can’t help but smile back.

Year 5.

He doesn’t think he can stand it, going back to that house anymore. There’s no care, no love; not even Regulus wants to be around him anymore. Of course he doesn’t, Sirius scoffs to himself. He’s the perfect golden child, with his perfect pure blood friends and his perfect school record.

Surely he won’t have to go back this year. Maybe he can run away, start a life in the muggle world with Remus, Peter and James and leave all of this magic, all the blood status behind. James wouldn’t do it; he wants to fight in the war. He’s said it himself. Peter follows whatever James says, of course, so he’s going to fight too.

Remus wants to fight too, he says during the train ride. He wants everyone to have equal rights to everyone else, because he knows what it’s like to be discriminated against. Of course he does. He spends a whole night every month alone, with his own pain and terror.

Not for long, though. Sirius convinced James and Peter to do something with him, something for his friend. He couldn’t have Remus suffering on his own, not when he had friends like Sirius there for him.

Sirius likes to think he’s a good friend. He likes to think about how much he looks out for the boys; and he likes to think he can be a good boyfriend too, at least to all the girls he’s been with. Sirius doesn’t like to think about how he sometimes imagines being more than friends with Remus. He doesn’t like to think there’s even a possibility that he could be queer; that would be the last straw for his mother.

Not that he cares what his family thinks, of course. They’re hardly his family.

Year 6.

Sirius is sitting alone this year. Well, Peter’s with him; but they both know that he’d rather be with James and Remus. Sirius wouldn’t want to be around himself either, really; not after what had happened.

Breathe, Sirius. Breathe.

Breathe.

It’s not fair, he thinks to himself. One mistake and suddenly he’s lost everyone. Although, he supposes it wasn’t quite just a mistake. Now that slimy got, Snape, knew the one secret that Sirius had been trusted to keep. Sirius wonders whether Remus will ever tell him another secret again.

Probably not, not after this.

He didn’t have his brother, either. Over the summer, he’d run away; and while the Potters took him in without a second thought, James still wasn’t speaking to him. And now neither was Regulus.

He hadn’t meant to abandon the boy. He meant to come back, of course he did; but for the first time, Sirius was scared to go back. Now he wasn’t even a true Gryffindor either, and Regulus was stuck in that house with that kind of people. He couldn’t even save his own brother.

Breathe, Sirius.

Regulus wouldn’t have come with him anyway. Sirius has known this for a long time, now; Regulus wasn’t really his brother, not in the ways that mattered. He was Walburga Black’s son.

Year 7.

Everything’s okay again, finally; perhaps even better. Not only does Sirius have his friends back, but he has Remus. He has Remus how he’s always wanted him.

Sirius still isn’t queer, of course; but he gets to hold Remus, he gets to kiss him. To love him. Sirius doesn’t need to be queer to love someone as loveable as Remus Lupin, the half-blood werewolf.

He didn’t see Regulus earlier, when waiting to board the train. Not that he cares anymore, of course, Regulus is basically a stranger to him now. He can’t help feeling worried, even still.

James is sure that he’ll get the girl, this year. He boasts about it all the way, even makes a few cheeky comments directed to Sirius on how Evans will want him more because he hasn’t gone around to other girls. Sirius doesn’t mind, though.

Sirius doesn’t need to get the girl. He doesn’t need to worry about not being loved as much, not when he’s got his own little secret right next to him. Said secret makes a mere second of eye contact, before shoving a chocolate in his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Everything’s okay, now. And it will be for a long time, even during the war. Sirius won’t let any of his friends get hurt.

[we-are-inevitable]

For the fic title game: shallow graves for shallow hearts

(me? Digging through the lyrics of the song I'm currently listening to for a title? It's more likely than you think!)

ohhhoohoooo shit. canon era, jack leaves.

jack leaves, and that's supposed to be it. right? he got what he wanted- he got the train out west, he got a big life in a small town, and when he gets there everything is golden and sunshine and beautiful- but he doesn't feel complete, not the way he expected to.

i'm thinking that if i were to write this, i'd write it as like,, a letter fic? start with jack sending letters with shaky handwriting and dodgy spelling to the lodging house, because he knows there are some kids there who know how to read and they can relay his stories and his messages. the envelopes are always stuffed to the brim with his initial letter, and he usually includes four to six drawings in it- Santa Fe is gorgeous, just like he knew it'd be, and he wants the boys to see that he was right. maybe even sending them some money, too; he doesn't make much as a ranch hand but it's more than he thought he'd ever see, and he truthfully doesn't need that much. he doesn't know what he'd ever spend it on, so he'd rather send it to the boys who need it.

so he keeps this going, detailing all of the adventures he's been having (even with a gaping whole in his chest) and telling them about a girl he's been going steady with (one that reminds him of a certain blue eyed boy without the same spark), and this continues until one day, one of the men he's living with in the bunkhouse on the ranch brings him a letter.

a letter from David Jacobs, all the way in New York City.

more under the cut!

david's letter is much better than anything jack could ever send. his handwriting is lovely- and a little hard for jack to read- but jack is able to figure it out eventually, and it's nice. david updates jack on the news from the lodging house, and tells jack all of the little things that the boys want him to know about. no one seems very upset at him for leaving- not from david's words, at least- but even so, reading the letter makes jack's chest tight.

and this continues on for a while. jack will send letters to the lodging house and david will respond for the boys, until jack gets a little brave and starts sending david letters directly, too. he sends the boys money and drawings and sends david his deepest, darkest secrets- how he misses new york and his "penthouse," how he loves his current job but misses his boys- how he misses katherine, and crutchie, and davey.

jack never meant to have a shallow heart. he needed to get away, he needed to escape- and he never realized that doing so would just tear his heart in half even more. he wakes every morning feeling physically better than ever- fresh air will do that to you, he assumes- but he feels like he's on his deathbed half the time because of the weight on his chest and the hole in his heart.

but he stays, because he made a commitment, and he can't back out on his dream now.

the letter-writing goes on for years. eventually, jack starts getting individual letters from racetrack and crutchie as well- they made it out of the lodging house- and jack continues to write to them alongside his writings to david. those letters to david, his davey, started so innocently- how is he doing, how is his family, the likes- but now when jack writes them he feels a tug on his heart and when he reads david's letters he finds himself flustered and he doubts he would ever be able to say these feelings out loud, but there's something there- and he knows he isn't imagining it because david feels the same, and has written the same in his letters.

i imagine when it hits the three year mark, when jack has been here for three winters, when jack is no longer the new guy and is instead helping the new ranch hands in the bunkhouse, it all feels too familiar and he aches with it.

he gets drunk on whiskey and writes a candle-lit letter about how much he misses home, because this isn't home, this will never be home. he gets drunk on whiskey and writes about the boy with the blue eyes and a fire that's still present even in his words on paper. he gets drunk on whiskey and sends the letter despite his better judgement.

the next letter he receives from david is simple. all it says is, Come home. We will be ready, and I will be waiting.

so jack goes back home, and jack finds his family again.

and jack finds david, too, and maybe his grand plan for his life never involved living in a "bachelor pad" next to a conveniently single David Jacobs, but he can't say he's complaining, either.

[bluescreen-menchii]

Some interesting things I found in the code of Secrets of Legendaria (for the 3 fans of the actual game and not the TCG that still exist here)

I got a bit curious and started going through the game’s files, partially to see what went wrong and partially because I can’t stop thinking about how much wasted potential this game was (and a lot of Lionel Snill’s other games, for that matter)

Here’s a list of the most interesting stuff I found:

Moji doesn’t have an actual death animation for some reason, even though his death was kind of a defining moment in the plot as a massive change in tone. Either this was an oversight by the devs (unsurprising) or it was a really weird design choice.

Remember that disturbing, random secret you can find where you can buy the key to the smithy’s house only to find him dead? There’s actually some unused dialogue where he upgrades Lazarus’ sword. I have no idea why this could have been removed, since the sword upgrade as it is makes no sense as there’s no dialogue to explain it. This is also apparently where you were meant to get some of the correct answers for the Sphinx bossfight.

On a related note, that upgraded sword is referred to in the files as “Endervale Blade.” Could this be related to the Entervale bug where entering it as Chandrelle’s name freezes the game on a purple mist screen?

On yet another related note, there’s an unused map also titled Endervale, which also freezes the game on the purple mist when loaded.

The talking slime that refuses to fight you as you approach the dragon’s mountain actually does have code for a battle, but it’s not anything more interesting than the other slime fights earlier on.

Remember that theory that Jay from Vicious Galaxy is also the janitor in the temple in SoL because they look the same and he happens to have some silly meta dialogue about it? The janitor is referred to in the files as Jay, meaning that they might actually be the same character. Now, seeing as Lazarus and Moji Jr. also star in VG, it may very well be the case that SoL and VG take place in the same timeline. In this essay I will-

The Missingno enemy is not a bug, but a completely intentional easter egg. The weird game crash with it and the doppelgänger charm item was not intended, however.

Lazarus has a separate inventory, but we can’t access it normally within the game. The only time we get to interact with it is when Chandrelle gives him the locket half. It’s empty, save for the sword, though, so not much else to say about it.

The locket, on the other hand, is interesting. It has a description written in binary, but when translated it’s just nonsense letters. There is no second half of the locket.

The guard for the Sphinx’s boss room is named Jack, and he has an unused battle sprite for some reason. It’s really silly, actually; they just rip his door out and put it on the battlefield.

This one’s really weird: Chandrelle and Rebecha still have leftover code from when they were in Combat Arena X (I still can’t get over how SoL is technically a CA:X spinoff, it haunts me every day). This makes sense, they were probably just copy pasted over—but for some reason, in the buggy, unfinished, fog-hidden Kraken bossfight, Chandrelle’s fighting game functions get activated. This might be why you stop being able to use her moves in the middle of that fight.

Unfortunately, you can’t remove the fog from the Kraken bossfight, because it’s basically just a cutscene with buttons you can press that have no effect on the gameplay, as far as I can tell.

I would have loved to solve the mystery of the tiny hooded character who steers Chandrelle and Lazarus out of the fog, but they don’t actually appear in the files at all for some reason? If I had to guess, it’s probably Captain Barnay, recovered and wrapped in a cloak. He’s short because he’s hunched over and hurt, I would guess.

Finally, the matter of the ending, and perhaps the most annoying discovery of all: There’s an unused good ending in the game’s files, but no way to ever trigger it because it requires the old man to be in the temple before Vallamir. This can never happen in game, meaning there’s no way to actually seal Vallamir away at the end.

Now, that’s all that I, an amateur when it comes to this sort of thing, could find. If I missed anything or got something wrong, please be sure to let me know!

[searchingfortheuniverse]

Side B - I Hate To Hear That You're Feeling Low

Part Two (even though it was written first) of my gift for @terresdebrume! The Harnere you wanted! I hope it brings you joy <3

Rated T for swearing, non-graphic descriptions of past injury and imagined death. Like Side A, the title comes from Listen to the Man by George Ezra and can also be found on AO3 :)

Pairing: Bill Guarnere/Babe Heffron, implied Joe Liebgott/David Webster Summary: When Babe dreams about the Bois Jacques, it's always a relief to wake up next to Bill.

It feels like all his dreams are about Bill, now. He goes to sleep and then he's cold and sick to his stomach as the shelling begins. Usually, it's a retelling of a story he knows all too well, reality made vivid in his mind. Sometimes, though, like tonight, there's a change in trajectory that makes it a direct hit instead, and Babe jolts awake having just confronted the possibility of a world without Bill.

His sudden waking makes the shape next to him in the bed shift. He knows there's no way Bill has slept through it; to a man, every one of them who'd made it through is a light sleeper now, as far as Babe knows. Bill sits up more slowly than Babe had, taking his time to limit sudden movements. There's a shift of moonlight making its way through the curtains to hit his face, and there's a lurch of relief in Babe's stomach at being able to see the handsome features even though they're twisted in concern.

"You dreaming again?"

Babe just shrugs. Bill nods once, then swings his leg out of bed, grabbing his crutch.

"Where–?"

"Come on. Coffee."

"Aw, Jesus, Bill, it's the middle of the night. You won't get any more sleep if you get up and get moving."

"Yeah, well, if I know you – and trust me, Babe, I do – you ain't getting any more sleep either way. So I'm gonna sit with you. Now, get outta the damn bed."

If he were less shaken by the imagined image of Bill lying in the snow, eyes unseeing, Babe would probably put up more than a token argument. Instead, he lets himself be shepherded into their shitty little kitchen and watches as Bill busies himself with making coffee. It's been long enough now that there's no hesitation or extra caution when the mug is carried over and unceremoniously shoved into Babe's hands.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping on the too-hot coffee. After the dream, the warmth of it is a welcome contrast to the snows of the Bois Jacques that Babe sometimes wonders if he ever really left. Eventually, the quiet is broken by Bill speaking again.

"Was it the same one?"

"The worst one. Where it wasn't just your leg."

Bill's mouth twitches downward. He's good at making the best of the situation, but Babe's nightmares are one of the things he can't quite keep an upbeat attitude about. He quickly schools his expression out of unhappiness.

"No point in me telling you it didn't happen, since I'm talking to you right now. So come here and drink your coffee."

Obediently, Babe shuffles his chair around the table and lets himself be tucked under Bill's arm as he takes a sip of his drink. It's not comfortable, but it is comforting, and that's the better option right now. He shifts, then flinches as he recalls curling into Spina's side in Bastogne after losing Julian. Bill freezes, letting Babe find another angle which is a little less emotionally fraught.

"Talk to me?" Babe says, once he's settled into as good a position he can.

"Don't know what you want me to tell you," Bill says, even as the words start coming, "I was going to send Malarkey a letter, tell him when we'll be there. Said he's only got the one spare bed, but it ain't like he doesn't know, so we'll say we'll share, right?"

"Mm," Babe hums in agreement, "We're taking a bottle of something, right?"

"Yeah," Bill says, "Was thinking the, uh, y'know, whatever it is."

He's clearly forgotten the name of the whiskey the two of them had tried and enjoyed the other day. It doesn't matter; Babe knows which one he means.

"Yeah, he'll like that one."

"Thought we could pick it up Saturday," Bill suggests. Babe nods, the movement of his head his only real response, and Bill cards fingers through his hair absently. "Great. And, hey, fuck, I didn't get a chance to say before we went to bed, you know Web was looking for Liebgott? He fucking found him, if you can believe it."

"No," Babe says, surprised, "You're shitting me. Seriously? I thought we'd never hear from him again."

"Yeah, well, turns out Web's a stubborn fucker when he wants to be. Chuck told Tab who told Luz who told me that the guy just showed up on his damn doorstep, if you can believe it, asking how recovery was going and looking for clues like some sort of detective."

"Jesus. Bet Liebgott was fucking thrilled when Web actually found him."

"Yeah, well, even if he was goddamn furious it didn't stop him showing back up, because Luz said that Tab said that Chuck said next thing he knew, Liebgott was knocking on the door right alongside Webster."

"And what did Chuck do?"

"Hell if I know, Luz had to hang up so I didn't get the end of the story."

"Any word on if Lieb's going to reach out to anyone else?"

"Well, I would have said no, but I'd also have said there was less chance of Webster finding Liebgott than there was of him finding my fucking leg, so..." He trails off, realising what exactly has them sitting here in the middle of the night.

Babe blinks at him for a few seconds. Then he collapses into helpless laughter.

"Jesus Christ, Bill," he manages to choke out, "Jesus fucking Christ!"

Bill's laughing too now. It takes a minute, but eventually their chuckles subside and Bill drops an absent-minded kiss onto Babe's hair.

"You want to try sleeping again?"

"It's almost time to get up!" Babe points out.

It's true; the room is slowly being bathed in the golden light of sunrise. Bill shrugs.

"It's Saturday. We don't have plans. We've got time."

Yeah, Babe thinks as he lets Bill lead him back to bed by the hand, we've got all the time in the world.

[shivunin]

aaaaand one for Elowen :3 something written by one of the advisors about your OC?

happy writing friend <3

Thank you again for sending all of these in! I've been rather more the tortoise than the hare with them, but we got here in the end c: Thanks, friend!

(Codex Prompts)

A Missive to the Deep Roads

(991 Words | No Warnings)

A letter tucked into a leather belt pouch. The paper was once fine and creamy, but now dirt smudges the surface and there are large splotches of blood on one corner. It is addressed to the Warden-Commander and reads:

My dear Arianwen, 

I do hope that this letter finds you well. This thing you have undertaken is a dangerous task indeed, though I do have my doubts that even an army of ogres could keep you from doing what you’ve set your mind to. 

No doubt you have heard about our troubles here on the surface. Surely you must have heard tales about the sky splitting open, no matter how deep you have delved in the Deep Roads. If matters were any less dire, I might say that it amuses me to think of you being safer below than we are above for once. As matters are very dire indeed, I will instead say only that we need your help. 

I know what you will say, and I know better than most what I am asking of you. The Inquisition is not the sort of organization you might be inclined to trust. For good reason, I suppose. The Chantry has not been the friend to you that it should have been. We both know this to be true.

Our networks, our might, and the faith of those who have pledged themselves to us will not sway you. Let me instead tell you of our Inquisitor and what she has already done. 

Several weeks ago, there was an assassination attempt on your favorite king. Many such attempts have been made before, plenty of them averted by your personal intervention, but this one involved an especially troublesome faction of mages from Tevinter. The Inquisitor sent our people to intervene��and just in time, too, it would seem. To hear him tell it, he was all but frozen solid before our people intervened. I have requested a contingent remain nearby in case there is any more trouble. 

There are many victims of this war between mage and templar, no shortage of bloodshed. Even so,  Lavellan has reached out her hand to the refugees and the downtrodden at every turn. I have watched her haul children from the muck of a ruined street with her own two hands. I have seen her hunt for supplies for the same families even when she was ill or out of sorts.  I have seen her clear the roads for people to move freely again. It is not so light a thing, as you very well know, for people to be able to escape when they are besieged. 

I have known Elowen to sit alone on the hills, the better to watch the pale hares move through the brush. I have watched the wild wolves heed to her call as if listening to a dear friend. I know that she would leave us for the wilderness and the roads if she could. I know that she stays because she feels there is no other choice—rather like somebody else I once knew well, if you will forgive the comparison. 

A teller of tales I may yet be, but I have related only the truth here. You already knew how dire our battles have been. Know, too, that the Inquisition follows one who leads with neither iron fist nor hope of recompense. Know that the woman we follow is worthy of the title in many ways beyond naming. 

Know that Thedas—that Ferelden—still needs you, just as it did all those years ago. If ever there was a time to take up the banner of the Wardens and lead those who remain to a worthy cause, it is now. 

If you will not come, Warden-Commander—and I hold no real expectations that you will—perhaps you will consider committing what resources you can to the fight in the world above. I cannot overstate how much that help is needed. 

Do give my regards to your Antivan beau. I would say that I hope to see the both of you very soon, but I hold no such expectations. Instead, I will say only that I will look for word from you, in whatever form it might come.

Your friend, then and now,

Leliana

A letter, wrapped in several layers of oiled leather and otherwise untouched by the elements: 

Leliana,

You’ve always been good with stories. I’ll give you that. 

I’m too busy to come myself. You know that. However great a mess the surface is right now, I cannot spare a single blade for your fight. I have more pressing things to turn them against at the moment. 

I wish you all the luck I can spare. I’ll throw in a few tokens for good measure, though I am sure you can find better on your own. You always were clever like that. 

You are my friend. It has been many years since I have said so, but it is no less true now than it was then. Be well, Leliana. You are greater than your words, however many of them you insist on tossing in my direction. 

The enclosed is for your Inquisitor. If even half of what you’ve said about her is actually true, I don’t mind her having it. 

Zevran says hello. 

—Wen

P.S. I did not say hello. I said that you will either have a grand tale to tell, Bard, or you will find yourself on the other end of a rather sharp knife. For your sake, I hope that it is the former and not the latter. How dreadfully dull it would be to leave all of this grandeur behind to attend a funeral and seek vengeance. You have no idea how often our adventures are interrupted to do silly things like that. 

Do take care of yourself. There is something here from me as well—have a glass by the fire and think of your good friends, yes? 

—Z

[fangirls-fanfiction]

Love Letters

(AN: Don't be fooled by the title, this one is full of angst and not a happy ending :(

Queen Dice finds some old love letters Luci wrote for her years ago; Luci doesn’t take it very kindly

Enjoy ^^)

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

"Luci? Can you— " Queen Dice walked into her wife's office as she usually did, not bothering to knock like she always did. Immediately taken aback, however, Dice noticed that the demon wasn't in her office.

Assuming she was getting a refill on her tea or simply decided to go grab a snack, Queen Dice waited for her Boss. She normally wouldn't wait around for her, and get back to work; but this was very important to Dice. She noticed not only the patrons staring at her, but her coworkers as well. She checked her face, nothing different about it; she checked her clothes, not a fabric out of place; her hair, perfect.

That was when she realized that she couldn't see the back of her head, her hair could look atrocious and she wouldn't even know it! That goes for her clothing as well. She could've gotten a stain on the back of her blazer and if she found it how would she be able to take care of it?! Her suit is dry clean only! It drove her absolutely batty! Staring didn't usually bother Dice, she actually enjoyed staring as long as there was no touching involved. Unfortunately many of her fans didn't know the meaning of 'look, don't touch'.

But when Ms. Wheezy was constantly staring at her, she knew something was wrong.

Anxiously running through her fingers through her hair, Queen Dice looked around the room in an effort to distract herself from the situation.

That's when her eyes fell on the open drawer, papers hastily placed inside. Some slightly crumpled, some perfectly pristine. Taking a few steps toward the desk, she noticed every one of them had the Devil's all-to-recognizable, curly handwriting.

Curiously, Dice stood behind Luci's desk, about to take out a handful of the papers and read them. Coming to her senses, she frowned and retracted her hand.

"Shame on you, Queen." She muttered to herself. "That's none of your business."

Dice started to walk off, looking back at the the open drawer. Her curiousity was piqued at this point, she'd forgotten all about the whole reason she came in here.

Taking the first piece of paper out of the drawer, she figured Luci would never know if she just read one while she was gone;

'I can't keep her out if my head, she has such a beautiful smile and captivating green eyes. I want to tell her how I feel, but to be honest I don't even know. I dont know if she even feels the same way.'

Queen Dice frowned. Who were these letters exactly for? She certainly hadn't seen them before. Looking at the next letter, she took it out of its place in the drawer and read it as well;

'Sorry I haven't written in a while... Wait, why am I apologizing? Anyway. I don't know why I can't just be normal around her. I'm able to coexist with everyone just fine but around her I just... I just... Can't. It's unfair. These stupid feelings. Stupid Dice.'

Dice let out a long sigh of relief, at least she knew that Luci wasn't seeing anyone else. Even so, these letters were odd... They were obviously from before they'd even started dating, but then why hadn't Dice seen them until now?

Finding another letting in the pile in the drawer, she read it to hopefully clear some air;

'Dice left today. I don't know if she's coming back. I know I said some things I shouldn't have. I was angry and didn't think she was listening, but obviously she was. I want to apologize, I really do, but I just can't. Pride is such a curse I am burdened with... I'd like to say the Casino is lost without her, but that would be a lie. It's not just the Casino. I don't just want her, I need her. Why do I have to be so stupid? So, so stupid.'

Along with the handwriting getting progressively more shaken and scraggly, Dice noticed old drops of tears mixed with eyeliner and mascara scattered all over the paper.

This must've been back a m after the 'good for nothing lackey' incident. Even if the situation was Lucifer's own fault, Dice couldn't help but feel bad for making her feel this way.

Turning back to the drawer, she noticed a rather long letter at the top.

'Dice, she just so— '...

Dice giggled as she read over the demon's several attempts to spell gorgeous. Though they were all scribbled out, they were still legible.

'— pretty. If I could talk to her I would. I'd love for her to be mine. Mine to love and kiss and hug and just hold her close and never let go. Shes so talented, her voice is like butter and milk, I could listen to it all day. I want to tell her how she makes me feel. Those fuzzy, warm feelings I get when I look at her. But I can't. I just can't. Sometimes my pride is most than just the burden that got me sent to hell in the first place. Maybe then I could've told her by now. Then again, I don't know what I would do if she didn't share these weird feelings. They're such weird feelings I've never felt in my existence. I'm so touch deprived for her, but I don't know why. Does that make any sense? No. It doesn't I know. None of this does. Dice doesn't even like me. She's afraid of me. Who would ever love me? God isn't right about a lot of things but he was right about me... No one will ever see me as anything but a monster.'

Queen Dice furrowed her eyebrows. She was aware that Luci was shy about her feelings but she didn't know how in denial she was. Looking at the four letters she'd read and back to the drawer, she hadn't even made a dent in the pile. How long had Luci been writing these letters? Why hadn't she let Dice see them? Why did she still have them?

The doorknob to the Devil's office turned, Queen Dice quickly gathering up the papers. Though a couple fell from her arms, falling to the floor like leaves. Cursing her clumsiness, Dice hurried to pick them up, dropping the other two in the process. Just in time for her to collect them all off the floor, the Devil walked in, making eye contact with Dice.

"What are you doing?" Luci asked.

Dice's heart sank to the floor. She froze in place, just holding the papers in one hand, twirling a patch of curls in the other. Backing away slightly, she realized there was nowhere to go. It was just her and the Devil.

"I— I'm sorry I wasn't trying to snoop around your things— Well I was snooping but I was only curious... I— I didn't mean to... I was..." Queen Dice hastily tried to explain herself, Luci almost immediately realizing what she was holding in her hand.

"Dice...?"

"Just lemme explain— "

"Dice."

"I— I was just— "

"Shut up, Dice." Luci snapped, swiping the papers away from her.

Doing as she was told, Queen Dice stood up straight, but couldn't look her wife in the eye. All she could do was stand in silence and just take whatever Luci had to say.

Lucifer was livid, she didn't need to do or say anything to convince Dice. She didn't yell at Dice often with her big, booming, serious voice. Not anymore at least. It sent a long forgotten, yet familiar strike of fear through Dice's body.

Sometimes Dice forgot she was married to the literal Devil. She was so sweet and gentle towards those she trusted. It was only when she was angry Queen Dice remembered this was Satan herself.

"I don't rightly know what you were doing in here or why you were looking through my drawer." Luci walked past her, stuffing the papers in the drawer and slamming it shut. "But you shouldn't be!"

"To be fair... It was open." Dice let a snide remark slip through.

She jumped and winced as a deep, loud growl erupted from the demon. Still, she couldn't look her in the eye. Afraid of what she might see, Dice kept her eyes to the ground.

"It doesn't matter! It's not your business to be going through my private things! If I ever leave a drawer open or leave something lay that isn't a contract; don't touch it. Understand?"

Queen Dice didn't answer.

"Understand?!"

"Yes— Yes honey— Ma'am— I... I mean yes ma'am... I'm— I'm sorry... I really am... You're right... I shouldn't have been looking through your things..." Queen Dice said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Luci sighed, Dice hearing the distinct sound of her chair squeaking when she sat down. "Now get out."

"Of course, I'm... I'm sorry again... I'll.. I'll go."

Dice turned around on her heel, heading towards the door, stopping once she heard the sound of the drawer opening again. With even more questions than answers, Dice turned around a bit. Watching her wife stare at one of the letters, she noticed a complete change in her demeanor than she expected. The demon sat with an idle smile as she stared down at the letter.

"Luci?" She asked without thinking.

"What?" Lucifer frowned yet didn't take her eyes off the letter.

"I was... I was wondering..."

"Fascinating."

"Well..." Queen Dice chuckled awkwardly. "I was wondering... Why... Why didn't you ever tell me about those letters?"

"You mean the letters I don't want to talk about anymore?" The demon snapped.

"Yes...? Those... Those ones... I was just wondering... Be— Because you know since we're married... I thought we could... Y'know... Share everything..."

"Share everything. Share everything?" Luci asked, placing the letter on her desk, face down. "I... I don't understand you sometimes, Dice. You... You respect my boundaries when it comes to talking about my past and... And... And the horrible things I've had to endure my whole life but... But you can't grasp why I don't want to talk about these letters? Or why I kept them for you in the first place?"

"Those letters are about me, I feel like I should know a little about them." Dice argued.

"You wouldn't have to if you'd have just minded your own business! But I get it, you've got yourself such a swelled ego." Sarcasm tugged at Luci's voice. "You think just because you're the manager of my Casino, and the wife of the Devil herself; you think you can just waltz in here and do whatever the Hell you want. Because you're Queen Dice. The queen of working her way out of situations."

"You're impossible, Lucifer."

"Don't you call me by my full name, Queen Sapphire Dice!"

"Look, I'm sorry, you're right, I shouldn't have looked through your things. I got too curious and— I— I just shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry."

Luci's emotions were at their breaking point, Dice just knew it. The way she had tensed up and was shaking, trying to look angry while the waterworks were barely holding back.

She crossed her arms, turning her back to Dice, obviously not satisfied with that apology.

"I..." Queen Dice sighed. "I really am sorry. I looked through your letters even though it's none of my business. And I'm sorry."

She turned back to the door, beginning to close it as she left. Looking back one more time, her spirit sank when she still saw Luci's back to her. When the door clicked shut behind her, Queen Dice leaned against the it, sighing. She blinked away the tears starting to form in her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself to form some kind of comfort about the situation. Still, the waterworks didn't stop, all she could do was stand there silently, hoping they'd go away eventually. That this feeling would go away eventually.

But as she stood there, they didn't. Nothing she could do would take them away. She didn't want to go back to work. She just wanted to disappear.

"Why did I do that...?" She quietly asked herself as she buried her face in her hands.

♣️ ♣️ ♣️

(Anyone want a part two?)

[swlyf-24]

You Don't Care What You Left For Me

✩Summary -> The few days following the accident.

Your story, ours combined

'II' 'III'

(Title by Blue, Jome)

"Are you sure you'll be able to... get through it alone? I can always cancel the trip, I'm just a call away." Carlos had a hand on Lando's biceps, hoping it would give him even a bit of comfort. He hated Oscar, hated his guts. But it didn't mean Carlos would celebrate his death, no. He would still mourn the presence of the lanky boy dressed in orange. Carlos had been through grief, he knew how difficult it was. Despite his want to stay by Lando's side through it all, going to Oscar's funeral and pack his things, Ferrari always managed to ruin it all.

Lando shrugged his shoulders, effectively getting rid of Carlos' hand. "Just go." was all he managed to mutter out before he felt his nose burn, a telltale sign of crying. With a sigh, Carlos left the hotel room leaving Lando standing with a ghost. His knees gave out and he crumpled onto the carpeted floor, shaking his head as tears came falling. Lando hyperventilated, his lungs working overtime. Like a thousand of needles threatening to escape his skin, his chest began to hurt. He never felt so alone before.

He thinks,

he thinks that by this time, there would be another body on the bed. The loud noises from Oscar's phone would come blaring out which Lando would protest at. Soon enough, he managed to tune it out, ignoring it into silence. Perhaps that was what he missed. He missed the annoyingly yet sickeningly Oscar sound of home. Oh, how he wished he could turn back time and watch the shows with him, or even savour the sound just for a while longer just to know that Oscar is an unmoving presence.

But all things move with a push. Maybe the push for Oscar was that the pressure had gotten to him and he wanted to run away from it by-

Lando scurried to the toilet. He gripped the edges of the seat, knuckles turning white, as he dry heaved. He sobbed even more. How could Lando ever live his life if everything reminded him of Oscar? How Oscar would run his hands over Lando's back as he vomited from food poisoning. Funny enough, he swore he could feel the ghost of a warm hand touch his back, drawing nonsensical shapes.

<-⛥->

Lando laid on the bed. The soft mattress cushioning his weight as the blanket served as an oven. His heart thumped; like a lion banging on its cage, howling for it to be let out to find its purpose. But Lando's purpose was gone, dead. His heart might as well be caged in forever, longing for something that has always been out of reach.

The bed now too empty for one but once too small for two. The bed seemed to double in size, the empty space almost ridiculous. Lando feels like a speck of sand amongst a desert. He was nothing special, not anymore. He feels like a child at the mercy of time. He feels like a child begging for his mother to lay down beside him in his bed, to lull him to sleep. He feels like a child unwilling to grow up just to have the presence of a familiar body of home next to him again.

How could Lando even sleep? His nose burned once more as tears began rolling down at a faster speed, realising the loneliness he will forever face now. He doesn't dare to sleep on Oscar's side of bed, wanting to preserve the place where he slept. Not wanting to ruin the last night they spent together. Lando glanced to the bedside table, looking at the phone that was once belonged to. He picked it up, tears collecting in puddles on the screen protector. Lando punched in the number combination, unlocking Oscar's phone. He looked at every app, every message, every nook and cranny of the phone. Until the notes app.

' 18 November 2029 00:12

I'm going to propose to Lan soon. The ring is in the pocket of my jacket, shoved into the back of the closet in every room we share. I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it after the race at Montreal. I just hope he would accept it. I even wrote a letter beforehand in the same pocket, hopefully he isn't sneaking around on my phone.'

And oh. Oscar had been planning to propose to him after yesterday's race. Yesterday's race. Lando rushed towards the closet tucked into the corner of the bedroom, careful to not mess up the right side of the bed. He ripped the door open as he reached in until he felt the familiar fabric of the jacket. Lando dug his hands into the pockets and sure enough, there was a box and a letter. Tears hurled down once more. But this time, Lando was sure it wouldn't end anytime soon.

'Lando, I have loved you even before we became team mates. I've been listening to every stories you say, every joke you tell, every laugh you huff out. You won't believe how endearing it all is. I have loved you with all my heart, and I do not plan on stopping. I would drive every circuit every day if it means you would be by my side forever. Every morning I would wake up to that face of yours, every weekend I would see your determination to win. You do not know how much I love you. Tens, thousands, millions of hearts won't even be enough to cover the amount of love I have for you.

Hearing you say that you loved me too since we became team mates would be one of my favourite memories. It just makes me realize that if I was braver, I would see that true personality of yours earlier. If I could turn back time, I would shoot my shot, I would risk it all just so that I would have a chance with you. No ocean keeps me from you.

We might not be team mates any longer, so I have prepared a copy of my helmet. You know, for the helmet exchange. I have kept it in my luggage all the while. Wait for me at 29? I would want to spend my life with you. I love you Lando. I'll never forget you even in the afterlife.'

Lando turned his head, making sure his tears did not ruin the paper in which was one of the lasts times Oscar said his love for him. It was unreal. He wanted to propose to him after the race, after winning. Oscar wanted to fight Lando for the championship that day. Even then whoever comes victorious, he would still propose. His stomach hurt, his eyes hurt, his nose aches, his heart longs. Lando slipped the ring onto his finger as he carefully folded up the paper once more. With no strength in his legs, he pitifully made his way towards the luggage which holds belongings for the dead.

There it was. Oscar's helmet. Lando gripped it as his finger traced out all the shapes and drawings. He never looked at the helmet for more than he needed to. If he did, maybe he would have noticed the O+L sooner. Somehow, Lando managed to cry even harder, barely breathing this time. His eyes shut as his eyelashes clumped together with tears. His face flushed, sweat coating his forehead, tears never ending, lungs aching, fingers cramping up with the force he held onto the helmet. Lando clutched the helmet to his chest, caging it. Maybe the helmet was just a replacement for a warm body with brown locks.

Lando's heart was caged up like a circus animal longing for freedom, longing to find a new purpose. But Lando couldn't find a new purpose. His heart claws at its confines, scratching, howling, biting.

He couldn't do it.

Not alone.

Damned be Ferrari meetings.

<-⛥->

"He wanted to propose, you know? After one of us wins the championship. I guess it's ironic. It was like he knew he was going to...so he even prepared a copy of his helmet for the end of his papaya contract." Lando muttered out as the line turned silent. Shallow breathing filled the lines as sniffles from Lando could be heard.

'Yeah? You know, ever since you two became team mates, I knew you were inseparable.' Carlos replied. The time of the call seemed to span on for forever. He was in the middle of the meeting when his phone exuded a sharp ringing sound. His phone was on DND, but his notifications were kept on for Lando. He did say he was a call away.

" I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to spend my life with him too, but where had that been? Can I even consider that I still have a life if I'm living without him?"

'He's looking after you right now, you know? In that apartment, it was oddly cold, as if there was a ghostly presence. Do you not feel the ghost of his touches? The ghost of his silent yet loud voice?' Carlos kicked a rock along the pavement as he made his way towards the hotel. His hands freezing as he puffed out the air from his cheeks.

"Oh."

No wonder. It was all the ghostly touches from Oscar. The traces on Lando's arms, the nonsensical shapes on his back, a cold presence behind him as he hugged the helmet. It was all Oscar.

"I miss you Osc. Why did you have to leave?" Lando cried, discarding his phone to the side as he turned his head towards the ghost of a feeling of a sideways hug. Wind ruffled his hair as Lando cried even more. His eyes bloodshot red and so was his nose. The call didn't end. Lando hated ending calls, therefore asking Carlos to not hang up no matter what.

The door creaked loudly, but Lando was too busy crying over a mere theory of afterlife beings. "Oh, Lando." The call finally ended as Carlos filled the cold feeling with his own warmth in Lando's side.

Carlos lied on the floor, Lando slept on the left side of the bed, a helmet lies on the right.

[guinevere-of-smiths]

a stained-glass variation of the truth

Book: The Unexpected Heiress

Words: ~6600

Rating: G

Pairing: John Somerset x f!MC (Celeste Hayes)

Characters: John Somerset, Celeste Hayes, Lady Ashbourne, Francis Somerset, Delia Hayes, Mrs. Watmore and Effie Ainsley

Warnings: I imagine Delia to be mildly emotionally abusive, but that isn't even really alluded to in this. She is just overbearing and unplesant.

Summary: John and Celeste think themselves safe after Lord and Lady Ashbourne agree to call of the engagement. They are wrong. Some in-between scenes for the beginning of Chapter 16.

Featuring, among other things: Lady Ashbourne having a soft spot for John, Delia not having a soft spot for anyone, Celeste being very determined and John being very fatalistic.

Fun Fact: The title is a lyric from Neptune by Sleeping at Last, which in my mind is the "John-romancing MC marries Francis"!AU song.

If John was hoping to find Celeste in the great hall, he was in for a disappointment. Neither she nor his brother were anywhere in sight, although they had been penning letters here only an hour or so ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Truth be told, it wasn’t all that surprising; both were eager to end their engagement officially. Certainly, they would have sent the letters out as soon as his parents had given them their approval. Someone of a more philosophical bent than John would find much to ponder about their unity in trying to disentangle their lives from each other, but as far as he was concerned, the sooner the better. He couldn’t wait for Celeste to be free of the engagement, if only because he would finally be able to court her as she deserved.

But that didn’t tell him where they were now or why Celeste hadn’t appeared for their stroll in the gardens as she had promised. It wasn’t like her to stand someone up without explanation.

He had just hazarded a step towards the family drawing room when a figure rounded the corner. He paused. “Mrs. Watmore. How fortunate to meet you here.”

Mrs. Watmore had never been overly fond of him, and her movements were clipped as she halted and inclined her head. “Mr. John. What can I do for you?”

“Do you happen to know where I can find Miss Hayes?”

“As far as I know, she is talking to Mrs. Hayes upstairs.”

At first, John thought he must have had misheard. Celeste’s stepmother wasn’t scheduled to arrive for a few days yet if his parents’ telegram calling off the engagement hadn’t postponed the journey altogether. “Mrs. Hayes?” he repeated, just to be certain. Mrs. Watmore sniffed and made a show of looking around, as if she wanted to make sure that no member of the Hayes family was within earshot.

“She showed up here a little while ago, without so much as a letter announcing her arrival, and wasn’t here two minutes before she started to make a scene to Miss Hayes about the engagement. Mr. Francis barely managed to welcome her before Her Ladyship arrived to take charge of the situation.”

Her dislike for Americans oozed from every word. Usually, John would have chuckled and gone on his way. Not this time. His blood went cold when he realized the implications of her tale. Francis, Celeste, and he had been so caught up in getting his parents’ approval to end the engagement that they hadn’t even considered that Celeste’s family might think differently.

Calm yourself. If his parents and, most importantly, Francis didn’t agree to the marriage, there was nothing Celeste’s stepmother could do.

And then he realized, to his horror, that that didn’t mean that she couldn’t sabotage her other marriage prospects. Celeste, at nineteen, wasn’t old enough to be married in England without her parents’ consent. He didn’t know where American law stood on that, but if Delia Hayes just carried her off, that didn’t matter either way. Maybe he would have to raise the possibility of his marrying her far sooner than he would have liked. Or maybe his mother, diplomat that she was, had managed to smooth the situation over already.

“Where is my mother now?”

“Her Ladyship is in her boudoir.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Watmore. That will be all.” His pace when he started towards his mother’s boudoir was far more measured than he would have liked, but even now, he couldn’t bring himself to run through the manor like a maniac. His mind was reeling. His mother would usually withdraw to her private sanctum to write letters in peace. Was that what she was doing now? If so, what about? Dread coiled in his stomach at the thought of the plethora of letters replanning the wedding would take. He stopped in front of the closed door to take several deep breaths, only knocking when he was sure that his face wouldn’t betray his inner turmoil.

The world hung in silence for a moment before his mother asked him inside, voice clear. Even if the morning’s events had upset her, she didn’t show it. She was even smiling, sitting at her small writing desk when he entered. That would have comforted John if he didn’t suspect that it was forced.

“Pardon the interruption, Mother, but I was informed that we have surprise visitors.”

“News travels fast, I see.”

Nothing was further from John’s mind than telling on the staff to his parents—even disagreeable staff like Mrs. Watmore—so he decided to keep the tone of her words to herself. “I crossed paths with Mrs. Watmore. If you want a thorough report on what everyone heard, I will certainly keep my ears open.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Sighing, she put down her pen and motioned for him to come inside. John closed the door behind him before taking a seat in the armchair nearest to her desk. “This entire situation is a debacle.”

He watched his mother put the cap back on the pen and waited a few more moments before speaking. He didn’t want to hear the answer to his question. He wanted to close his eyes and leave this room and stay in that blissful bubble he and Celeste had been in for the past few days. He wanted to court her until they were both certain that they were ready for marriage. He wanted her to be part of his life, but not as his sister-in-law, forever out of reach. 

There were so many things he wanted, but he forced himself to speak. “Then she really demanded for the marriage to take place?”

“Most empathetically. I must admit, she is not wrong about it being a waste to cancel the wedding on such short notice.”

“Not such a waste as forcing Francis and Miss Hayes into an unhappy marriage. You’re not implying that your opinion has changed just because an American showed up and made a scene?”

"John," his mother scolded.

“It would have been good manners to at least take off her coat.”

His mother didn’t even acknowledge the quip. “Her demeanour wasn’t the best,” was her single reluctant admission. “And I still have no wish to force your brother into a marriage that would make him miserable, nor Miss Hayes. But that decision at dinner a few days back wasn’t easy.” She sighed. “The upkeep of both estate and servants won’t lessen, John. And if Delia Hayes wishes to, she could make it harder for us to make another lucrative connection.”

“There are plenty of wealthy daughters in England. Delia Hayes has no sway over them.” I’d marry Celeste. The words burnt his tongue, begging to be spoken. Marriage was a step he hadn’t yet wanted to put into words. Celeste and he had known each other for barely two months. Much as he wanted to remain part of her life, it wasn’t enough time to be sure that it wasn’t just infatuation, a reckless reaction on his part to a fascinating, vivacious, beautiful woman he had gotten close to only because of the thrill of a murder investigation. But he refused to let that chance be taken from him. If Delia Hayes insisted on an engagement, she would have it—if it proved necessary. “Did she really threaten you with destroying our reputation?”

“No. But we are in no position to take that risk.”

“Fear usually isn’t a good tool for judgement,” John said, feeling like a hypocrite. Why had he flown abroad, if not for fear? But that hadn’t gained him anything but guilt about wasting more of his family’s resources. “I’m sure that once she has calmed down, we will find a solution that makes everyone happy.”

“I hope so.” His mother gave him a direct look. “But you should know that she will likely insist on a marriage between young Celeste and Francis.”

She knows. Dear God. The foolish, inappropriate need to apologize seized hold of him. He hadn’t thought the attention he gave Celeste subtle—he hadn’t wanted it to be, especially during the last few days. And still, he wanted to assure his mother that it hadn’t been his intention to fall in love with his brother’s fiancée. That the hope the false engagement had stoked inside of him had burnt too bright, turning all his resolutions to stay away to cinders.

But he was no longer fifteen years old. Carefully indifferent, he raised his brows. “What, is a prospective husband only worthy if he is to inherit a title?”

“She is a very ambitious woman. She didn’t say so openly, but it was certainly obvious that she wants her stepdaughter to become a viscountess. And I can’t fault her for wanting the best for her family.”

“Why stop at viscountess? Why not find a willing duke?” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t say that out loud; that will only give her ideas. But still. Father and you said we’d find another way. I don’t see why we should abandon that stance now. It’s a matter of principle.”

His mother’s smile was sympathetic. “I fear if we don’t assent, Mrs. Hayes will look for another husband for her daughter. Possibly a duke.”

The implication was obvious. Regardless of whether Celeste married his brother or not, he would lose her. And he refused to accept that. “And it is certain that she would only accept Francis?”

“I think it's quite likely. With her family's... resources, she has bargaining power, and she knows it.”

I’d marry Celeste. The words were searing him from inside out. It might solve their problem, but he couldn’t bring the idea up to his mother before speaking to Celeste first. Even if his mother accepted that he had fallen in love with his brother’s intended, she would have expectations regarding Celeste that might prove too difficult to bear. Celeste had just escaped an unwanted engagement. He owed it to her—and himself—that she chose him of her own free will.

But that meant that he might lose her just because he hesitated, and he didn’t know if he could bear that.

His mother had watched him closely, shaking her head with a sigh after a few moments. “You have always been too stubborn for your own good, John.”

“How do you mean?”

His mother had been Viscountess Ashbourne and a member of the English Peerage for far too long to do anything as demonstrative as to lift a brow; considering this, it was a far more impressive feat that it still felt as if she did. “I can suggest to Delia Hayes that there is a far happier marriage to be made between our families, but first I need to know if that is in your and Miss Haye's interest.”

“Mother, certainly you are not suggesting that I fancy my brother’s fiancée.”

It was a last desperate attempt at decorum. His mother only smiled benignly. “I may have gotten old, but I’m not blind. You have never cared about your brother’s marital prospects as much as you do now about arguing against his marriage to Miss Hayes.”

“I…” He realized as he opened his mouth that he was struggling in vain. His parents might have been blind about Amelia’s death, but the revelations at dinner seemed to have opened his mother’s eyes at least. “She’s a charming woman.”

His mother was still smiling. “That she is.”

“Does Father know of your suspicions?”

“Not as far as I know, for now. Until now, I wasn’t certain myself if I wasn’t reading too much into your friendship.”

That at least was a small consolation. As generous as his mother appeared to be towards his indiscretion, he assumed his father would think differently. He had, led by his anxiety over the estate, urged Francis’ engagement with the younger Hayes daughter from the very beginning. But that was a problem for a different point in time. “If Mrs. Hayes could be talked into it, at least our fiscal problems would be solved. And it would spare Francis the guilt of marrying Amelia’s sister.”

“And you’d be prepared to marry her?”

“As I said, she’s a charming woman.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You’re right.” The boudoir’s windows looked out onto the garden, presently bathed in the most beautiful sunshine he had seen in days. Had Delia Hayes not made her abrupt appearance, he and Celeste would be promenading there now, talking about everything and nothing—a book she had read, their travel experiences, absurd anecdotes about social engagements, society, philosophy, whatever brought them joy. The end of her engagement and the murder investigation had given their conversations a freedom that hadn’t seemed possible before. Feelings they couldn’t afford to indulge in had always stood in the way of the friendship they could have had otherwise. Imagining all of that being taken away, hardly won, hurt more than he dared to admit.

But did that mean that he was ready for marriage? He felt he had been once upon a time. But that had been in another life, with another woman. And while he was sure that he could love Celeste, was well on his way to loving her, in fact, he didn’t want to give her less than his entire heart. If it weren’t for the fact that he would lose that possibility if he let fear get the better of him now. As his parents’ younger son, he would never face the same marital expectations from his parents as his brother—he could wait for years if he so pleased. But would he ever find someone like Celeste again?

“John?”

“Forgive me. I hope you understand that that is not an easy question to answer. I greatly enjoy Miss Hayes’s company, and I think we could be happy together. It wouldn’t be my choice to suggest marriage to her under such circumstances, but if there is no other way..."

“Do you think she would agree to such an arrangement?”

I love you too, John. “I couldn’t tell you. I hope so.” He took a deep breath. “I would be grateful to you if you could at least put forward the possibility.”

His mother regarded him for a few endless seconds before nodding. “I will see what I can do.”

“That’s all I ask.” Guilt crept up from his chest to his throat, heavy and dark. He could only pray that he wasn’t wrong about Celeste’s affections for him. If he forced an engagement on her out of egoism, she would never forgive him—and he wouldn’t forgive himself, either. He stood quickly. “I should let you write your letters in peace.”

He was almost at the door when his mother spoke again. “John, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

His mother hadn’t moved; she hadn’t even picked up her pen. She was just looking directly at him. “Should Mrs. Hayes insist on the marriage we originally planned, and should your father and I decide that it is what is best for our family, I’ll expect you and Miss Hayes to comport yourselves accordingly.”

He swallowed. He had expected no less, but the knowledge that his mother would be watching them and know of his desires filled his stomach with lead. “Of course, Mother.”

Then he left, praying to every divinity that might hear him that his mother would be successful.

~*~

Whatever it was that his mother said to Mrs. Hayes, it wasn’t enough.

He shouldn’t have expected any other result. Francis was their father’s rightful heir and would be viscount one—hopefully distant—day, while he himself was only the child his parents had taken in out of pity and sorrow and had never cared much about societal influence. Not only did his brother stand between himself and Windcroft, but his natural father did as well, if he was even still alive. Looked at logically, the decision made sense. Celeste had mentioned again and again how ambitious Delia Hayes was and how desperately she wanted her family to climb the social ladder. An adopted son without legal entitlements to anything of relevance was bound not to be enough for her.

And still, deep in his heart, he had nurtured hopes that died an agonizing death that very afternoon.

It was cruel irony that it was his mother that told him the news. A year ago, it had been her that had taken him aside after his return from India to tell him what had laid his world to waste back then—that bloody ship, Victoria’s father’s business trip, her mourning brother’s note that had ended the faint hope that she, at least, had been able to escape. He felt just as numb as back then when he nodded, excused himself, and left the room.

Celeste was alive. That was the small consolation left to him. He would still be able to see and talk to her. She would remain a part of his life.

Until the thought of everything they would never have drove him mad.

~*~

For the rest of the day, he didn’t get a chance to talk to Celeste. Even when they were in the same room, Mrs. Hayes successfully kept her occupied—on purpose, if John wasn’t imagining the glances she threw his way now and then. Considering the antagonism he felt towards the woman, imagining foul play where there was none was a distinct possibility.

Heaven knew how he had managed to get through dinner—he had blocked out so much of it that he wouldn’t have been able to tell. Still not seeing much of what was around him, he followed his father and Francis to the library, only to nearly collide with Francis’ back when his brother suddenly stopped walking.

It took him a few moments to grasp the reason for the sudden halt: Mr. Barnes was speaking to his father in a low voice. After a moment, Father sighed and nodded. “Then I’ll better have a look at it right away. You two go on into the library.”

He only waited for a nod before walking off with Barnes. A viscount didn’t need permission to leave people out in the cold, after all. Privilege gave them the right to destroy lives or to stand idly by while others did the destroying.

For God’s sake, don’t be so dramatic. It was unfair of him to even think like that, and he knew it. His parents had given him so much, and they were only doing what they felt was best. It was ungrateful of him to jeopardize that. “What happened?”

“There has been a letter from Mr. Giles that father was waiting for.”

“Ah.” Disregarding Francis’ raised brow, John walked past him into the library. “If it is legal business, we could be waiting for a while.”

Luckily, there was already a bottle of port standing ready on a side table. Drowning his sorrow in alcohol was neither healthy nor effective—he knew well his problems would still be there afterwards—but he wasn’t sure he would survive the evening sober. He went to pour himself one and looked over his shoulder at his brother. “Do you want some as well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Francis accepted the glass and sat down in an armchair without taking his eyes off him. “John, you have to know that I am sorry.”

“It is how it is.”

“I’m serious. If there had been any way to convince Father and Mrs. Hayes that—”

“Francis, leave it be. There is nothing we can do about it either way.”

The last thing John wanted were discussions about something that could only hurt him. He didn’t blame his brother for what had happened. At least he was trying not to. Certainly, Francis could refuse to marry Celeste, but then her stepmother would whisk her away to the States and find her another husband. This way, she at least remained in his life. Maybe, someday, when the wound wasn’t as fresh, they could be friends.

Until that day, he refused to spend more time thinking about it than he had to.

“Maybe there is.” His brother put down his glass and rubbed his forehead. “There has to be some way to make her understand that you’d be just as good a husband for her daughter as me.”

“Only that I am not.” John drained his drink. “You’ll inherit the title; I won’t. That’s enough for that woman.”

“But-”

“Francis, leave it be.”

His brother shut his mouth and looked at him with far too much pity for comfort. When he didn’t say anything, John squared his shoulders. “Don’t make the situation bigger than it needs to be. Miss Hayes and I have known each other for, what, two months? We’ll bear it.”

For a moment, he was certain his brother would disagree, but then Francis only nodded and released a slow breath. “You’re probably right. I’m sorry nonetheless.”

After that, neither of them uttered another word. John would have liked to say that this would change nothing between them. All of them were mature adults. They moved in circles in which marrying purely for love was a luxury. He would be expected to master his feelings and be the perfect brother-in-law to Celeste.

He repeated that knowledge to himself again and again. Tried to internalize it. Tried to remind himself that what he took for profound, fervent love could well be nothing but infatuation that would dissipate if he ignored it long enough. That was how feelings were supposed to work once one was no longer an adolescent.

If only reality were as simple as the theory.

~*~

He stayed in the drawing room for as long as he could stomach, but in the end, he couldn’t bear it anymore. Listening as Delia Hayes talked excitedly about wedding preparations with his grandmother, while his mother and father made polite replies, Celeste sat there looking as miserable as he felt, and Francis gave every appearance of wanting to disappear then and there, was a new form of torture.

The proper behaviour on his part would have been to listen with a stiff upper lip, but his patience was at an end. He stood, instantly feeling all eyes on him.

“I’m sorry, but I just recalled that there was an urgent letter from an acquaintance I need to reply to. It slipped my mind, what with everything that happened today. I hope you’ll excuse me.”

His mother nodded immediately. “Of course. Will you rejoin us once you are finished?”

“I don’t think so. I wish everyone a good night. Mrs Hayes. Miss Hayes.”

“Can’t your letter wait awhile longer?”

Of those present, most could not have made him hesitate, but he couldn’t ignore the sound of Celeste’s voice. Everyone’s eyes shifted from him to her. Her gaze was on him, her smile brave, but with a plea in her eyes that made his heart stutter painfully.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I have much input to give on the wedding preparations.”

“That topic will surely soon be exhausted.”

Her stepmother tsked. “Don’t be foolish, Celeste. We’re not nearly done even with the guest list!”

Celeste’s smile was as polite as it was impersonal. “The guest list has been finalized months ago. I can imagine that you’d like to hear what important personages will be in attendance, but everyone here should be able to participate in tonight’s conversation, don’t you think?”

“As yet, nobody has voiced a complaint about this topic, dear.”

Her smile was so patronizing that it made John’s blood boil. As if Celeste was nothing more than a misbehaving child that one needed to explain basic concepts to instead of a mature, intelligent woman that knew her own mind.

His grandmother waved her hand dismissively before he was able to rise to her defence. “I’d like to hear more about the intended guests. So, Blythe, Rebecca has made certain of the accommodation despite this unfortunate matter?”

The beginnings of hope that had crept into Celeste’s face for a few traitorous heartbeats vanished. She was still looking at him, silently pleading with him to stay. And he wavered. He didn’t want to abandon her. But she was his brother’s wife-to-be. The sooner he accepted that there was no future to this kind of closeness, the better.

So, he held her gaze for a moment, trying to silently give her the apology he was unable to speak aloud, and then left the room.

There really was a letter to be answered (the only thing that had been a fib was its urgency), but he halted at the foot of the stairs to breathe in deeply. He might not have been able to bear the drawing room, but the prospect of his empty quarters seemed no more inviting. If he went about it quietly, he would be able to sneak out to spend a few hours at the pub. Its laughter and noise were sure to distract him. Going there wouldn’t solve his problem, but it would help him forget for a time.

But first, he would have to change his clothes. His tailcoat was unlikely to be inconspicuous in a pub. He was so immersed in debating his plan that he nearly collided with Effie once he reached the upper floor. The maid only just managed to jump aside.

“Oh! Master John!”

“My apologies, Effie. I should have watched where I was going.” He made to move past her when she suddenly cleared her throat.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but I have a message for you.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Against his better judgement, he had stopped, which allowed him to watch Effie look around furtively before pressing the sheets she was carrying to her chest with one arm and using the other to pull a sheaf of paper out of her apron’s pocket. “It’s from Miss Hayes. For you. She gave it to me before she went down to dinner. I was supposed to give it to you as soon as I saw you.”

If he were wise, he would dismiss the letter, especially after all his lofty professions of good intentions, but he couldn’t bring himself to. “Thank you, Effie.” He took the note from her and was about to turn away when she cleared her throat again.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Hayes asked me to tell you to read it immediately, so I can give her your answer.” She lowered her gaze, as if she expected an upbraiding for her brazenness. Even investigating a murder together couldn’t change some things.

Celeste’s letter was short. Instead of the unnecessary apologies and vows to never forget him he had expected, there were only two sentences.

John,

I need to speak to you. Tonight, at the top of the tower, once everyone has gone to bed.

All my love,

Celeste

He shouldn’t.

But he couldn’t resist, either. “I’ll be there," he said, pocketed the note, and continued his way towards his room.

~*~

Celeste threw herself into his arms the moment he reached the top of the stairs.

“Careful!” The unexpected force made him teeter backwards; only a quick grab for the railing prevented them both from tumbling down the staircase. Celeste backed up immediately.

“I’m sorry, but I’m so relieved to see you.”

“It’s alright.” He took a few steps away from the stairs, just to be safe. “Are you telling me that seeing you during that farce of a dinner wasn’t enough?”

“You mean the dinner where I hardly had a moment to speak to you?” Celeste, usually a picture of decorum and grace, laughed bitterly. At least she hadn’t completed the indecency of their situation by having shown up in a nightdress. She was still wearing her evening gown, merely without her gloves and jewellery. “I’m glad Effie caught you before it was too late, at least.”

“I wasn’t sure whether to come.” Every shred of common sense he possessed was screaming at him to leave, that there was no use, that their disappointment would only get bigger the longer he held on, but instead, he wrapped his arms around her when she embraced him again. “But I couldn’t stay away.”

“You better not.” It was her who pulled away, if only far enough to look up into his face. “John, I’m so unbelievably sorry. I tried to change Delia’s mind, but she twisted every word I said.”

“I’m under the impression that your stepmother is quite determined not to let anyone veer her from her course. Even my mother couldn’t do a thing about her.”

Celeste twisted out of his arms completely, her lips pressed tightly together, and walked a few steps away from him, only to turn sharply around. “Delia has always been like that," she announces, her eyes blazing. “Whenever something doesn’t fit into her plans, she just stops listening, no matter how many arguments one brings forward. And with this, it doesn’t help that it’s about our feelings. Who cares that I’ll still marry into English nobility, but will be happy about it, if she could brag about her daughter the future viscountess instead?” She looked on the verge of punching or kicking something.

John understood. He was just as furious at the powerlessness he felt.

“She can’t force Francis and you to marry.”

“But she can force me to go back to the States.” Sighing, Celestes dropped down onto the cushioned bank they had sat on only a few days ago when he had confessed his love to her. The memory turned his stomach. How naïve they had been. “I don’t know whether she’d use force, but I’m financially dependent on my parents. And, well, they're my parents.” She looked away. “I can’t simply break with them.”

“They’d really disown you?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. “But I fear it. In any case, I doubt they’d agree to pay the large dowry that made me attractive as a daughter-in-law for your parents in the first place.”

“Even if I don’t marry for money, Francis could still do so in the future.”

“But will his marriage prospects be improved by a penniless American, disowned by her own parents and without any connections worth mentioning?” Her hands balled into fists. “And all this wouldn’t be such a problem if Delia wasn’t so good at dismissing anything that doesn’t fit into her view of the world!”

He would have liked to reassure her that all her stepmother needed was time to acclimate herself to the idea, but she had told him enough about the woman to know that that was unlikely. Once Delia Hayes had adopted a goal, she held onto it, even if she had to walk across corpses to reach it. “I’m sorry, Celeste.”

Immediately, astonishment softened her angry face. “Why? Nothing about this is your fault, John. If anything, I have to apologize for Delia.” For a moment, she seemed on the cusp of saying more, but then, she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “We have to come up with something, and fast.”

John laughed without joy. He had been wracking his brain since his conversation with his mother, without one decent plan to show for it. Only ludicrous, half-formed ideas. “Sadly, I don’t have any claims to titles I haven’t told you about. Without eloping to Scotland, I don’t see a way out.”

Celeste was silent for some moments. She stared out at the moonlit hills, her brows furrowed. “If this was only about showing Delia that she can’t control everything, I’d be tempted to ask you for precisely that.”

“I beg your pardon?” He was sure that he had misheard.

But Celeste merely met his eyes and shrugged. “That isn’t a new idea, is it? Two lovers throwing duty and opposition into the wind and running away together?” She forced a smile. “Aunt Maude, at least, would be thrilled.”

“Your aunt would probably even help us if we asked her to.”

“Oh, she would.” As if she had suddenly forgotten why they were meeting clandestinely and talking about hypothetical secret marriages in the first place, Celeste’s eyes took on the mischievous gleam he so loved. “If only to see Delia’s face when she finds out. You don’t know how much Aunt Maude would enjoy holding that over her head for the rest of their lives. That all her tyranny and propriety didn’t gain her anything in the end, I mean.”

“There isn’t only your family to consider, however. There’s mine, too.” John had meant to remain serious, but when he looked into Celeste’s sparkling eyes, the same recklessness he always felt with her seized him. “My grandmother might actually have a heart attack when she hears of it.”

“Your grandmother always seemed rather tough to me.”

“That’d be the alternative: her having both of our heads.”

“Obviously, there is only one solution for that.” He had sat down next to her by this time, so instead of continuing her speech, Celeste scooted closer to him, let her fingers wander down his lower arm until she could take his hand in hers, and looked at him so intensely with her warm brown eyes that his chest warmed. Only then did she speak. “We just turn our back on it all and make sure we are never heard from again.”

“Or we rely on your charm winning over my parents to our side and let them deal with Grandmother. Provided you don’t object to marrying a younger son without much to offer.” He held her hand tightly in his. All of this was nothing but idle daydreaming, but he couldn’t make himself let go.

“Only if that younger son doesn’t object to marrying said penniless, disgraced American.”

He swallowed with difficulty. The mischief had vanished from her eyes, although her gaze hadn’t lost any of its intensity, and without her having to say it, he knew what she hoped for from him. “If this was only about myself, I wouldn’t care a whit about anything else, Celeste," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I would go anywhere with you. But my family…”

His parents had done so much for him. He couldn’t repay them by not only foiling a lucrative marriage but making it harder to find another such one, at the very moment they needed the money the most. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he disappointed them like that.

Celeste didn’t seem to have expected another answer; she only nodded and took a slightly shaky breath without loosening her hold on him. “I understand.”

“But I’m grateful for the time we had," he said after a moment. “As short as it might have been.”

“So that’s it?” She looked up at him with those big, dark brown eyes he had found such joy losing himself in during the last few days, and his heart constricted painfully. It was obvious that she felt the same. He saw her swallow before she could speak again. “We just give up?”

It was as if her words pulled his fears and anxieties into reality with gruesome clarity. For a moment, he felt as if forced into icy water; his lungs closed as if every breath was pressed out of them, and his heart first stuttered and then beat thrice as fast as usual, painful and in panic. He had only just found her. No matter what they did now, their lives would alter forever, and both paths were littered with things they would regret.

But how was he supposed to put his own happiness over the financial security of his family?

“It was a beautiful dream, Celeste," he said, shaking his head. “But it was always too good to be true.”

“There has to be something we can do," she insisted, but at this point, she likely spoke out of stubbornness rather than real hope. He wanted to deny it himself, but the truth was that there was no escape. Hoping at all had been naïve, but he couldn’t regret having given into it. He was just about to say something to that effect when Celeste suddenly dropped his hand and stood. “We just have to find some means to delay the wedding; buy ourselves some time. Enough to come up with something to convince our parents to let us decide for ourselves.” She started to pace. “Maybe I can fake an illness. Effie would certainly aid me. How kind or liable to bribery is your family’s physician?”

“Celeste, even if we were able to fool anyone, which I don’t believe we could pull off, what good would it do? There is nothing that could make me look like a better match than Francis.”

“I refuse to just give up. After everything we’ve been through in the last few months, I won’t waste my life by being forced into a marriage that will make every single one of us unhappy.”

“Francis is a good man.” It hurt, saying the words, but someone had to. He had to make both of them realize that it was easier to look their fate in the eye. “He would never mistreat you.”

„He would do his best not to see Amelia every time he looks at me, you mean.” Suddenly, she stilled and looked at him with steel in her gaze. “How am I supposed to marry a man who I know wishes I were my dead sister, while he knows that I wish he were you? Just how do you expect this to work, John?”

“We would hardly be the first to marry other people than those we wish to.” She was right, of course she was, but what would admitting that aloud change? “It will hurt in the beginning, but we will learn to live with it.”

“Even if we could, that isn’t what I want.”

“It isn’t what I want, either.” He stood and walked over to where she was standing. In the dim light, her hair silvered by moonlight, her face gilded by the lantern’s glow, she looked like an ethereal creature out of a dream, hidden from daylight. Just what she had always been to him. And yet, she was so beautiful that he wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and kiss her until they forgot everything that had happened that day. The thought did nothing but feed his misery. “Believe me," he said, “I wish things were different.”

“John…”

“I can’t hang on to pointless hopes again and again, Celeste. Not after everything.”

“They won’t be pointless if we can find a way to convince Delia.” When he didn’t reply to that, because he honestly didn’t know what to say, she reached out a hand to gently stroke his cheek. The tender caress sent a shiver down his spine, and although he should have put distance between them, he leant his hand into her warm, soft hand when she let it rest against his skin. He didn’t want this moment, possibly the last they’d ever have, to end. Her thumb softly stroked his cheek. “Promise me you won’t give up, John, that you’ll at least try to come up with something. Then I’ll promise the same.”

It was pointless; it was foolish, but looking into her eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to say so. At the end of it, she was right: after everything they had seen and lost, sacrificing their happiness to duty was laughable. He could only hope that they would find a way to win this fight before it was too late.

[holystormfire]

Luke 24:13-35

Easter Wednesday - The Supper at Emmaus

Friend of the Humble (Supper at Emmaus),

Painted by Léon-Augustin L'Hermitte (1824-1925),

Painted in 1892,

Oil on canvas

© Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Gospel Reading

Two of the disciples of Jesus were on their way to a village called Emmaus, seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking together about all that had happened. Now as they talked this over, Jesus himself came up and walked by their side; but something prevented them from recognising him. He said to them, ‘What matters are you discussing as you walk along?’ They stopped short, their faces downcast.

Then one of them, called Cleopas, answered him, ‘You must be the only person staying in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have been happening there these last few days.’ ‘What things?’ he asked. ‘All about Jesus of Nazareth’ they answered ‘who proved he was a great prophet by the things he said and did in the sight of God and of the whole people; and how our chief priests and our leaders handed him over to be sentenced to death, and had him crucified. Our own hope had been that he would be the one to set Israel free. And this is not all: two whole days have gone by since it all happened; and some women from our group have astounded us: they went to the tomb in the early morning, and when they did not find the body, they came back to tell us they had seen a vision of angels who declared he was alive. Some of our friends went to the tomb and found everything exactly as the women had reported, but of him they saw nothing.’

Then he said to them, ‘You foolish men! So slow to believe the full message of the prophets! Was it not ordained that the Christ should suffer and so enter into his glory?’ Then, starting with Moses and going through all the prophets, he explained to them the passages throughout the scriptures that were about himself.

When they drew near to the village to which they were going, he made as if to go on; but they pressed him to stay with them. ‘It is nearly evening’ they said ‘and the day is almost over.’ So he went in to stay with them. Now while he was with them at table, he took the bread and said the blessing; then he broke it and handed it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognised him; but he had vanished from their sight. Then they said to each other, ‘Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked to us on the road and explained the scriptures to us?’

They set out that instant and returned to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven assembled together with their companions, who said to them, ‘Yes, it is true. The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon.’ Then they told their story of what had happened on the road and how they had recognised him at the breaking of bread.

Reflection on the painting

Our painting combines today's Gospel story, where Jesus is breaking bread and the onlookers suddenly recognise him, with portraying Jesus as Friend of the Humble, the title of our painting. I do think this is a beautiful, gentle, gripping painting. Three generations of a family are depicted, sharing a meal. Before Léon-Augustin L'Hermitte painted this canvas it would be fair to say that artists always tried to represent Jesus as majestic, full of glory and maybe somewhat distant from normal day-to-day life. Our artist masterfully places Jesus in a contemporary setting of 1892, when this was painted. The painting emphasises that Jesus became human and that he did walk among us.

Vincent van Gogh was one of L'Hermitte's greatest admirers. In one of his letters he wrote: "If every month Le Monde Illustré published one of his compositions... it would be a great pleasure for me to be able to follow it. It is certain that for years I have not seen anything as beautiful as this scene by L'Hermitte... I am too preoccupied by L'Hermitte this evening to be able to talk of other things." Quite the accolade to have Van Gogh write about one's artistry this way.

As the risen Lord approached the two disciples, his first act was to draw them into conversation, asking them to share the nature of their discussion. He sought to hear their tale; a tale filled with sorrow and loss. He wanted to fully engage with them in their moment of grief. He accepted them as they were, demonstrating a profound respect for their current state on their spiritual journey. This is precisely how the Lord presents himself to us: he encounters us in our present circumstances, encouraging us to open our hearts to him, to express our deepest thoughts and feelings. It was only after attentively hearing the disciples' lament that the unrecognized visitor responded. His words cast their despairing narrative in an entirely new light. He made sense of their grief, by placing it in the greater narrative of God's plan - a narrative not concluded by death, but crowned with light and triumph.

by Father Patrick van der Vorst

[sancta-seraphina]

hello! been a bit obsessed with your art, and stories, for a while now (hope it hasn't come across as weird)!

a while ago you mentioned Davidson's Dictionary of Angels as a good source, but that you didn't agree with a few things. As someone who's had that book as reference for a bit now, I'm really curious as to which things?

Aw, thank you so much! <3 I hope to be able to release more things about them soon (I'll be very busy with the ballet this month and next month though).

About the Davidson book—don't get me wrong, I absolutely LOVE this book. It's literally one of my favorites! I use it all the time. But I've also had many moments where I simply was not pleased about the information given. I won't list everything, but here are some issues I've had:

One thing in particular made me question the accuracy of definitions to their sources. @/a-thenais and myself were talking about a particular angel name that barely had a description aside from (roughly) 'an angel belonging to the order of the Cherubim that occurs in the Book of the Angel Raziel' (Sepher Raziel), since she was thinking about using that name in her story.

...well I have translations of the Book of the Angel Raziel in multiple formats (physical book and ebooks) and even its alternate titles, so I decided to go see what it says because I'm an insane person who cross-references like that.

I could NOT find the name, and I spent hours trying to, and made multiple attempts on various days. I literally went through every spelling translation I could come up with regarding the name—because Hebrew & Aramaic letters don't match up well to English. I STILL have not found it.

So I don't really know where that leaves me, aside from asking questions about multiple books. Did my copies leave it out? Did someone translate it incorrectly? Did Davidson credit the wrong book? I checked everything he listed. I started to wonder if maybe I'm just really bad at finding information (I'm usually decent at it). And I'm still determined to find it eventually.

Another thing I remember being irked by was the lack of information regarding the names of Metatron. Davidson only lists the 76 names from the Sepher ha-Heshek, and does not include the 105 from 3 Enoch, which is what I was specifically hoping for when I looked up the names of Metatron in the book. He mentions that they are in 3 Enoch, and I have two translations of 3 Enoch, but I would really like to know more about them and was hoping for at least references to other commentary on them. So he definitely failed me on that.

I also don't really like that he said Lucifer is 'erroneously' equated with Satan, since in my opinion, that's up to what an individual wants to believe about him and which names an individual wants to ascribe to the devil. So I would have removed the word 'erroneously', since many people DO believe them to be the same, which to me is just as valid a belief as thinking they are different. And when it comes to beliefs, I'm a really big fan of letting people believe what they like and not pushing them one way or the other on the basis of 'facts' or 'mistranslation'.

Overall, I still LOVE the book and recommend it, and like any book, it has its flaws.