#exactly how he said it in the impromptu poem

[giolovesyousm]

I'm so sorry

[poetrusicperry]

the poets and their first summer jobs

i’ve seen some discourse about how rich all the boys/their families are, and of course there would be like very little reason for them to work, but i couldn’t help wondering who would do what for their first jobs (summer jobs bc they couldn’t work while they’re at school). andddd that led me to writing this lol

neil: so neil would have like absolutely zero time for a job between all his normal coursework/extracurriculars and his summer classes (”you know me, always taking on too much”), but i guarantee you he would still take the time to get a job and have his own money to do with whatever he chose. mr. perry wouldn’t care much because it showed neil “taking initiative” or whatever. neil would likely work at a diner as either a bus boy or a waiter. he’s super personable, so he’d always strike up conversations with people sitting at the counter, and he’d get loads of tips bc he’s cute (: he’d bring his summer school work with him to do during lulls in business, which his boss didn’t mind because it’s neil and everyone knows how responsible he is. the poets would come visit him pretty much every day (to eat, see neil, and escape the heat in the air conditioning), likely taking up a whole booth, and making an absolute mess of the area. charlie would be making spitballs, aiming at cameron and knox every time (earning a “charlie, knock it off, i told you three times already! so mature of you, really.” from cameron) and meeks/pitts would try to see how many straws they could connect to make “ultra straw.” todd would come hang out at the counter when neil was closing, admiring his pretty bf as he worked (’: neil would always make todd a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and rainbow jimmies on the house, claiming, “we have to empty out the ice cream machine anyway” (but really he’d take the cost out of his paycheck, just wanting to make todd happy). his boss would hire him back every summer, loving how much business neil drove in (even if the poets made a mess every time they hung out and ate) and absolutely adoring how much effort neil put into what anyone else would seemingly call a “meaningless” job.

todd: you can’t tell me that todd wouldn’t look forward to working. especially during the summers, it would get him out of the house and away from his parents judging his every move. being the shy introvert he is, he’d likely do things like mowing lawns or gardening for people around his neighborhood. minimal interactions, but still decent pay (as all the people in his neighborhood were likely super rich and could afford to pay him well). the poets’ parents would hire him, after much convincing from their sons (”todd’s just trying to make some money, dad. please?”) and todd would appreciate this more than they ever knew. he’d become super familiar with flower types and he’d become a lot more nurturing after taking care of plants and grass for multiple summers. he’d keep a little journal or notebook with drawings or sketches of the flowers he’d taken care of, complete with descriptions and magazine/newspaper clippings from his mom’s better homes and garden subscription (a lot of his poetry would become nature-related as well). it would be his late night project, or something he’d do if he couldn't sleep (which was pretty common for todd). he’d call neil on the phone some nights and just gush about all kinds of flowers or tell neil how he accidentally got stung by a bee and cried about it because he knew the bee would die (all the while, neil would be listening so intently, taking note about which flowers were todd’s favorites for future use (’: the calls would have to be pretty planned, bc if neil wasn’t working, he was doing school work, or his parents were keeping an annoyingly close watch on him. but sometimes neil would call him impromptu and that made todd just the happiest little camper ever). todd’s nails would be really short (he’d cut them really often because he doesn’t like the feeling of dirt under his nails), which means he couldn’t bite his nails anymore, causing him to pick up a new anxious habit of biting the inside of his bottom lip ): overall, though, todd would like his job, and even find pleasure in being surrounded by little flowers all day. also if/when neil ever got the chance, he’d absolutely tag along to see his sweaty boyfriend in action (come on, neil would go absolutely nuts for todd in a cutoff shirt, 5″ inseam shorts, and converse mowing a lawn looking all manly and tough). 

charlie: obviously, charlie wouldn’t need to work because of his financial situation, but his mom would 110% make him get a job just so he wouldn’t be around the house causing trouble/bothering his siblings for fun (”i’m hosting a lot of book club meetings for the country club this summer, i can’t have you putting spiders in the ladies’ hats again, charles”). similar to neil, mr. charlie dalton would work his summers at an ice cream/custard stand. he’d have to wear a white, short sleeve button up, a red and white striped apron, and one of those white, rectangular hats (his least favorite part HAHA, stating, “my hair is one of my best features and this just takes it all away. it’s unfair.”). the poets would visit often, both for ice cream, but primarily to give him a hard time about his uniform (”i’ll give you twenty bucks to wear this on our first day of classes” meeks would tease, completely gobsmacked when charlie showed up to their first chemistry class in his uniform, earning lots of demerits, but also twenty dollars). charlie would hate it at first, but obviously he’d adjust, being the extroverted/personable person, not taking himself too seriously and being one of the best ice cream slingers anyone had ever seen. he’d give the cute girls (and boys) extra scoops of ice cream for free, winking as he handed them their orders. like neil’s boss, charlie’s boss was even more thankful for charlie’s presence because they’d likely be raking in at least triple the income they would in a summer without him. he’d become a sundae expert, spending many dead poets meeting making them for his friends while they read poems and stories. that being said, he’d come to hate eating ice cream, publishing an article in welton’s honor demanding that they remove ice cream from their dessert menu (yes, almost exactly like the “girls at welton” prank, but he’d make the call collect this time. mr. nolan would be fed up to the point where he wouldn’t even punish charlie physically, just suspend him from rowing [which charlie wouldn’t mind at all HAHA]).

meeks & pitts: after their hi-fi success and the fact that they are seemingly inseparable, they both sought out jobs at the local radio station where they were hired as interns/assistants, running errands and picking up coffee or lunch for the station. but sometimes, when they worked pretty late, the night shift dj would let them pick the records and show them how everything worked (: after nights like that, meeks and pitts would go to one of their houses and add modifications to their hi-fi radio, staying up all night modifying and researching (by the end of the summer, they had made another hi-fi (portable) and their og hi-fi would have been morphed into a huge nationally reaching radio that they keep in the cave (since it would be disallowed in their room at welton). another job that the two of them would have would be answering calls for the station about song requests. with this knowledge, charlie and the other poets would hang out at someone’s house, calling and requesting the same songs over and over and over again. their biggest task for the summer would be organizing the shelves with all the records into alphabetical order (”duh, we should go by first name, meeks. which other way would it be” pitts would argue, only to find out that after they had spent about three weeks alphabetizing by first name, they were supposed to go by last name. “now who’s the idiot?” meeks would jeer, beginning to pull the records off the shelves). they’d also learn a lot about music from their night shift coworker, which would help in their quest to woo some ladies the following school year.

cameron: cameron liked spending his summers doing research projects for fun and just reading a whole lot, so you can imagine his displeasure at when his parents asked him to get a job (presumably to help with paying for his schooling). while upset about it, he wouldn’t complain, and took it on the chin, understanding the reasoning. he’d apply to a couple places, but ultimately end up as a grocery store cashier/stock boy. much like charlie, he’d have the same kind of uniform, but with a green apron instead. he’d spend most of his shift ringing people up at the register, being friendly and personable (something no one ever really realized about him !!). the poets’ moms would always see him and choose his register on purpose, using it as a chance to catch up or tell him to tell his parents that “the overstreets say hello!” or “mrs. anderson says hi!” pitts, meeks, and charlie would utilize cameron’s position at the supermarket to buy nudie magazines unembarrassed/slightly illegally HAHA (”come on, cameron! it’s not like you won’t be included in seeing them next year, too. we bring them to the meetings, you know that!” charlie would say, leaving cameron at a loss, reluctantly scanning the magazines and bagging them as pitts and meeks sniggered). charlie would wave, blow him a kiss, and wink as they left, “love you, richardddd.” sure enough, the magazines would make an appearance during the following school year and cameron was glad he had decided to let them buy the magazines lol. 

knox: out of all the poets, i feel like our knoxious would be the least inclined to work (yes, even less inclined than charlie). his parents wouldn’t even make him get a job because he simply didn’t need to, but to everyone’s surprise, he would volunteer at the animal shelter. the poets would later find out that it was a great way to meet girls (which is why he did it lmfao so they endlessly goaded him about it). charlie would visit often, and even took a rescue puppy home, much to charlie’s younger sister’s delight. charlie even wanted to start volunteering at the shelter to also meet girls, but he was too busy at the ice cream stand (plus, he had really grown to like it there so he didn’t want to leave). another effect of volunteering made knox super interested in zoology and animals, which brought out a newer, more nurturing/caring side to him, and who knows, maybe he’d go vegetarian somehow. he’d want to pursue a career in animal science or becoming a veterinarian, but mr. overstreet was hellbent on knox taking over the firm, so it seemed like a pipe dream. knox would continue to volunteer at the animal shelter, well into his career as a lawyer, and would even go to veterinary school in his 30s (when he was a nationally famous, established lawyer) to get certification to work with animals in a broader way (: 

hope you guys liked these. it was pretty fun to write, and i'd pay such good money to see neil, charlie, and cameron in their uniforms (and todd, but that’s neither here nor there). happy thursday !! let me know what you guys think of these <3(:

[beardrabbles]

composed together. [ ♡ ]

characters: venti, reader

warnings: alcohol mention

word count: 3,029

notes: been trying out venti as a muse on a roleplay blog i have, but I wanted to have a crack at writing a reader with him. i'm not a poet in any sense of the word, so i'm sorry if isn't up to venti's standards lmao. if you tolerated all the rhyming, you deserve a gold star and a high-five.

You had tried so hard to make it back in time, but were disappointed when you returned to find Mondstadt barren of the usual Windblume decorations. There were no wreaths or elaborately decorated banners, no potted plants sporting twirling pinwheels. The scent of fresh flowers and baking goods persisted, but it didn’t carry with it the festive spirit. People were, once again, content to ask for help rather than tend to their own needs.

‘ And that’s why I missed out.  .  . ’ You brooded. It was because you offered yourself as a member of the Adventurer's Guild that you had found yourself pulled away from your home. You had been promised that the job in question wouldn’t take you longer than three days, give or take a day depending on how well you did. But, as it turned out, you had been gone for an entire week. And in that week, the festival had come and gone.

Windblume had never been about the romance for you. Every year, you looked forward to the food and atmosphere, letting the spirit carry you away. This year, however, you had held onto the fleeting hope that someone might show interest. Or that you might gather the courage to approach the one you so adored. You knew it was a lame excuse to depend on one holiday to steel your nerves, but the time and your chance had dashed past in the blink of an eye.

“Shouldn’t have taken the damn commission.” You slumped at an outdoor table near The Angel’s Share, a half-empty tankard of cider resting in your hands. You drummed your fingers along the side of the tankard, willing yourself not to be bummed. The holiday would come around again next year, you reminded yourself as you downed another gulp. “But I’ll probably get sent out then too.”

You stooped forward even further, cheek nearly pressed flat to the table when the familiar sound of plucked  lyre strings thrummed in your ear. You sat straight so abruptly that you made yourself dizzy, your need to look around rapidly for the source not helping the fuzzy feeling in your head.

“Venti?” You called his name with such unbridled hope that he couldn’t keep himself hidden for long. A giggle sounded above you, and you felt your diminishing mood soar when you spotted the colorful bard sitting along the eaves of the tavern, beloved lyre in hand.

“The one and only!” He cooed, soaking in your glee. “Looks like you started without me.”

You frowned and peered down at your table, noting the two other empty tankards. Cheeks flushed from embarrassment, you pushed them aside, as if that would make them ( and your shame ) disappear. “Look, I just got back and I find out I missed out on Windbl——!”

Eyes up, you realized too late that Venti had vanished from the roof. You blinked once, then twice, your cider-addled mind slow to catch up. Where did he go?

“I was wondering where you’d gone off too.” His voice bobbed along the air, light and playful, and it tugged your attention like a hook pulling along a caught fish. He sat across from you, his chin resting in his palm and bright eyes twinkling with eternal mischief. “Missed Windblume, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You grunted and polished off the rest of your drink, mood dropping again. “I was looking forward to it too. Did I miss anything important?”

Venti hummed and leaned back in his seat. Absentmindedly, he toyed with the strings of his lyre. “Let me think. Margaret thought of a new, non-alcoholic drink and it went over pretty well with the kids and those looking to keep themselves a little more dignified during the festivities. Our own Honorary Knight was named this years Windblume Star! Oh! That’s right, I taught a class on the art of expressing ones love though poetry.”

You snorted.

“You taught people to write poems?” Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “At what cost?”

“Come noq, Y/N, do you really think I could put a price on the ability to write out what a person’s heart yearns for most?” He paused, saw your deadpan stare, then let out a nervous chuckle. “A few bottles of holiday-exclusive wine is all I asked for.”

“Begged is more like it.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “How many bottles exactly?”

“Enough to tide me over.” Answered the bard vaguely.

“Is there any left?”

His silence was all the answer you needed. You groaned, let your head hit the table, then left it there as your forehead throbbed. Venti, sporting the rare flicker of guilt across a normally jovial face, leaned forward to pat at the back of your head.

“Hey, don’t be down. I have an idea!”

You lifted your head, but your eyes were downcast and dulled. “Is it a bad idea? I don’t think I want to mess with anyone right now, Venti.”

“I thought of the idea, so of course it’s a good one! And we’re not going to mess with anyone.” Venti grinned from ear-to-ear and stood, offering you a single, delicate hand. You gave it a hard stare, wondering what sort of troublesome plans he had brewing in his head. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to come up with a believable excuse as to why you couldn’t indulge him.

Leaving your empty tankards behind, you stood and took Venti’s hand. You stumbled the slightest bit before finding your footing. “What’s your idea, O Great and Fantastical Bard?”

“Since you’re being so kind as to lavish me in well-deserved compliments, I’ll tell you.” He winked at your withering glare. “You’re going to help me compose a song!”

“How is that going to cheer me up? I’m not poetic.” You grumbled. Venti clicked his tongue as he guided you away from the tavern and towards the cathedral.

“That is wildly untrue, Y/N! Everyone is capable of expressing themselves through poetry.” He argued.

“But I’m not good at rhyming or thinking of pretty words.” You countered. Venti sighed and gave your fingers an encouraging squeeze.

“That’s not what it’s about. No one said that poetry was meant to impress people. If it does, that’s a bonus, but the point is to shape your feelings. You write how you feel, not how you want to sound. If you don’t rhyme, that’s fine. If you want to use big words, then by all means! Short words are still words, and they can still carry your thoughts with them. There are no rules with it comes to poetry, no matter what some stuffy scholar might say.” He tugged your hand and pulled your arm up high, leading you into an impromptu twirl. Unable to help yourself, you fell into a fit of laughter that instantly lifted your mood.

“I guess you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.” You followed along, a new spring in your step. Venti shrugged.

“Practice means progress!” He clearly wouldn’t allow you to wallow in your negativity, and you were quietly grateful for it. If there was anyone that could lift you out of a funk, no matter how deep and depressing it may be, it would be him. 

Venti lead you past the statue of Barbados and around the side of the cathedral, where he perched on the side of a stone railing. Beyond you sat the lake, it’s surface a constantly shifting sheet of vivid oranges, cheerful yellows, warm reds and sleepy blues. The sun was setting, and soon night would fall, but Venti didn’t seem concerned. If it didn’t worry him, then it didn’t worry you, so you found a seat beside him and made yourself comfortable.

“The breeze is nice.  .  .” You let your eyes fall closed, skin kissed by a gentle twirl of the air against your heated cheeks. You couldn’t see then how Venti’s lips quirked up subtly, an adoration in his eyes that not many earned. He watched you for all of one, still moment before your eyes opened and he was forced to look elsewhere.

“Yeah, it is. So!” Quick to discard the hammering in his chest, Venti pulled forward his lyre and cleared his throat. “About that song——”

“What is it about?”

“Unspoken love, the kind that lives in your chest and makes every moment spent with the person you adore both exciting and painful.” His fingers strummed one string, then another. You frowned, the first few notes squeezing at your heart.

“Why is it unspoken?” You wondered, keeping your voice low.

“Because, sometimes, confessing is more selfish and cruel than never saying anything at all. Because opening up one’s heart may lead to more pain than you first expect.” The melancholy notes only proved to add more hurt to your chest, but still the bard smiled.

“Do you really want to write a song that sad?” You weren’t sure that your flimsy mood could handle thinking about such a morose subject.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand, dear friend~ The reason for love’s silence is upsetting, but the love itself is anything but!” Venti began to swing his legs, and you felt the breeze pick up. Green eyes turned up towards the sky, while a subtle tinge of pink touched his cheeks. “I’ll think of the first few lines, then you chime in with whatever your lovely little mind and heart think of first. Alright?”

“If you say so.”

“Great!” Skilled fingers began to play, the heart of the music beating in time with your own. “I want it to start like this: I want always to treasure your warm soul and kind eyes.  .  .”

You waited for more, but were met with a calm quiet. A single glance from the bard, and you suddenly felt as is everyone in town could hear and see you. Face burning hot with embarrassment, you looked out towards water rather than at your companion.

“I want always to treasure your warm soul and kind eyes. Hmm.” You breathed in deep and muttered the first thing that came into your head. “Every smile and glance like a hard-earned prize.”

“Good! And you said you weren’t skilled at this.” Venti beamed, the sheer glee behind his praise lifting your mood higher still. “Let’s keep going. Next line: Your voice it rings like the sweetest prayer.  .  .”

You thought hard again, arms crossed tight and lips pursed. This was as difficult as you thought it might be, but Venti’s enthusiasm was infectious. So, again you offered the only words that rose to the top of your mind. “.  .  . a blessing from lips so fair.”

Venti hummed, the sound soft and low in his chest. “Indeed they are.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Moving on!” He slipped from the stone railing and came to stand in front of you, posture loose and playful even as he came dangerously close. “I adore you, I do. My heart is yours, it’s true. Little skips and steady pounding, my dear, you are astounding.”

Feeling him so near, his eyes mirthful and intent on you, you couldn’t help but to shrink into yourself a little. You grasped the railing you sat on and hunched your shoulders, eyes glued to your feet. If only those words were meant for you. Oh, but then what would you do?

“Is this meant to inspire other people to think of their love, or are you thinking of someone in particular?” You couldn’t and wouldn’t dare to hope, but you had to ask.

The strumming stopped, but you didn’t turn your gaze up.

“Perhaps I am,” Venti purred coyly, “why? Is there someone you’re thinking about?”

“Don’t be such an imp.” You kicked a foot out, but he was quick to step aside. Your aggression, though harmless, pulled a laugh from the bard. “I might be thinking of someone.”

“Who is it?” Venti pestered. “Do I know them?”

“Maybe.” You sported a cheeky smile of your own. Venti moved in an inch or two more to your side, leaving only a breadth of space between the two of you.

“Do they inspire you?” He asked. You sighed, completely unable to contain the need.

“He does.”

“Oh, so they’re a he, are they? That narrows it down.” He tittered and let himself play a soft, ambient tune. “Does he know how you feel?”

“No way!” You let out a bark of laughter. “Been trying to keep it a secret.”

“Why?” Venti blinked, appearing thoroughly baffled. “He should know!”

“What was it you said? Confessing is selfish sometimes.  .  .”

“Using my words against me. Cruel.” Venti sighed. “You really won’t tell him?”

“Not until it’s right, and not until I’m strong enough to accept the possibility that he might not feel the same.” Your smile was feeble and didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Chances come and go, away with the wind they blow, so I hold these lovelorn words inside my chest, never to be confessed.”

Venti frowned, watching as your fingers pressed and rubbed at the sudden ache right where your heart sat. His own reacted in kind, the horribly familiar grasp of doubt squeezing at his chest. He knew those thoughts and feelings all to well.

“In your heart the feelings run deep, but darling, don’t put them to sleep.” He reached out again when you dismissed his lyrics with a scoff, only this time you didn’t hesitate to place your hand in his. He didn’t drag you away from where you sat, but let his fingers slip between yours. Your heart stuttered a moment, the gentleness of the gesture filling you with gratitude and trace amounts of confusion.

The breeze picked up again, and you thought you could still hear the gentle song of the lyre despite him being preoccupied.

“Look at me.” He voice dropped to a whisper, so soft and airy that you almost didn’t catch it. But when you did, you bashfully locked your gaze with his. The sweetest smile pulled at his lips, the glimmer in his eyes so sincere that it made your own eyes prickle at the very corners.

Why did you have to fall for someone like him? Why couldn’t you have fallen for someone forgettable, or someone that wasn’t almost always within reach?

“Listen to my words, find them true, only a moron would reject you. You are wanted, loved and adored, you are more precious than any treasure hoard.” Venti arched himself forward, his forehead meeting with yours. Music continued to play in your ears, making the air around his words sweet. Could you believe them when they came from someone as flighty as him? You wanted desperately to, but you had to argue, to contest his open fondness for you.

“By the time the day is done, you’ll have said that to everyone.” You countered. Venti couldn’t hold back a laugh, his head moving away from yours. Already, you regretted sassing him. Come back, stay close.

“You’re getting better at that. While it’s true that I love to sing peoples praises, what I give you aren’t throwaway phrases. You’ve caught me, dear heart, and I want to surrender, allow me to bask in your unending splendor.”

You snorted and gave him a harmless shove. Venti grinned and gave in to your push, but he was near again in an instant.

“It can’t be that hard to believe that someone would love you. Don’t you believe me?” His question hung heavy in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth opened and closed, and each time your words failed you. Only after a long moment of listening to you stammer did Venti cautiously lean in. “Should I be selfish?”

“What does it mean for a bard to be selfish?” After a moment of mental screaming, you felt a smirk tease at your lips, but it was short lived. “Aside from drink all his wine before sharing it with someone?”

“Selfish bards do many, many things.” He spoke slowly, making sure each word dragged and lured you in. “I’ll admit it was silly to drink all the wine without you, but I can make up for it.”

You hummed contemplatively, each passing second tugging you closer and closer.

“How?”

“More wine?” He offered. You pulled a face.

“Mmmn, maybe. And?” Your mind was numb at this point, the idea that you two were so close making every inch of your body squirm. You had only daydreamed of sappy little scenarios like this, so living one out felt too good to be true. You were waiting to wake up, in fact, because this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be tempting the idea of confessing to you when the entire world of Teyvat could offer him better.

“Songs written just for you?” Venti’s grin broadened, but there was a hitch in his breath when you nudged the tip of your nose against his.

“Anything else?” You egged him on, catching a flare of darker green in his eyes. He said nothing, but the way he moved his hand to touch your cheek spoke volumes. “How about a share of the apples you pick every day, or some mora, or——?”

“You’re talking too much.” He muttered, lips only a fraction away from yours.

“That’s rich coming from you.  .  .”

His breath was warm and welcome and mingled with yours for all of one second before you felt the notion of a kiss. It was then that the bell above the cathedral chimed, it’s proximity and the intensity of the clap jarring you and the bard from your shared trance. You jerked away, flushed and wide-eyed, while Venti clicked his tongue. Vexed, he glared up towards the cathedral.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I need to go.” You scrambled from your spot, heart hammering so hard in your ears that it almost drowned out the sounds of the bell. “I forgot to see Katheryne about the commission!”

Venti arched a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” You vaulted over the railing and contemplated running off without another word, but it didn’t feel right. Rather than succumb to cowardice and embarrassment, you turned to face the bard. “Tomorrow. We’ll do this again, I promise, and.  .  .”

“And?”

“We’ll finish where we left off.”

“I was hoping you’d say that!”

[buckyownsmylife]

🤩 congratulations love!! i was wondering if you could do loki with the title “of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride” im a sucker for edgar allen poe

Thank you so much, honey! And honestly? ME TOO! I have a collector’s edition of all of his works, and I particularly love his poems 🤩 Loki is such a great character to pair with Poe!

Twas the night before your wedding, and you could not be happier. Even with everything you were leaving behind, you couldn’t exactly mourn losing what you knew when you were so excited for the new life you would live alongside your beloved.

You leaned over the rail of the balcony in your room, admiring the beauty of Asgard and wondering how Loki was doing when a mist of green announced his arrival. “You know, even if it isn’t the same here, to me it is bad luck for the groom to see the bride the night before the wedding.”

But you were over the moon to be near him again, so even as you said the words, you threw your body against his, relishing in his embrace. You knew Loki had something sassy to say to your comment, but he refrained himself. He too was ecstatic about feeling your warm body against his again.

For a few minutes, you two swayed to a silent melody only lovers could hear - the beating of your hearts, now and forevermore working in unison. Once the impromptu waltz came to an end, you pulled away to check Loki’s expression, curious to see if he was feeling nearly the same amount of joy as you were, but despite the intensity of his stare, you couldn’t tell.

“So, how are you feeling?” You decided to ask, an amused smile on your face as you waited for his response. “Cold feet starting to give you doubts?” But a gentle smile took over Loki’s expression, as his hands came up to cradle your face and rub his nose against yours.

“How could I have any doubts? I have my darling and my life in this beautiful bride I am to marry. This is all I could ever need.”

[etlunainmorte]

The Sick Rose ( V X Reader )

~ A request by a lovely friend from Twitter about a Modern College AU V helping a dear underclassman reader with her assignment. I hope you like it.

***

There. He saw her sitting on her own again on that old bench next to that tree.

And this time, she's reading something. Seemed like an old book.

She never noticed or suspected anything. Or maybe he was just too careful not to be noticed. But, whatever the case was, V would always see her sitting there, alone, and minding her own business. And she would never notice anything else while she's preoccupied in that tiny, private bubble of hers.

Normally, V would be minding his own business, as well. Either going to his next class alone while streaming Paganini or Debussy on his phone for his ears only, or listening to his best friends, Nero and Nico, talk about their favorite games and movies on their way back to their dorms. V has always been preoccupied with something else to notice anything.

Until this freshman, that is.

It began just a little over a week ago. And it was during one of those rare occasions where some seniors would get the opportunity to observe the junior literary classes. Or sometimes, take over as "assistant professors" for these underclassmen for a while.

During that time, the poor professor had to go to the clinic due to a very unsavory reason he opted not to disclose, and kindly asked V to take over for the meantime. He was teaching the comedic works of William Shakespeare.

While most of the students were clearly bored out of their own wits ( some were extremely interested for reasons V chose not to overthink about ), he noticed one person who looked genuinely interested in the topic.

That girl from the last row.

V noticed how she listened to every explanation and every word he said. Every so often, he would see her nod as she took some notes. And one time even, she tried to raise a hand to ask him something but, she somehow withdrew at the last moment. V honestly wondered why, because he would've gladly answered any questions she would ask.

The next day, V noticed her sitting on that bench with her headphones on while doodling something on her tablet. He tried to get her attention but, he chose not to since he didn't want to bother her, or anything. And the day after that, on that very same spot he saw her writing something on a journal, still with her headphones on. Either way, ever since that impromptu Shakespeare lecture, V found himself somehow a bit drawn to her and her sunny, and yet curious vibes. He would be lying if he told himself that was not the case.

It all began just a little over a week ago, and she didn't even notice him looking at her, not even once.

However this time, V noticed there was something off about her. Like something changed in that light - hearted disposition of hers that always drew him in. He tried to pinpoint what exactly, and after a short while, he noticed her intense facial expression as she poured all of her focus on that old book she most probably borrowed from the library. There was something a bit tense in the way she flipped those pages, the little trembling of those fingers as they moved, and the way she curled her lips as they slightly opened and closed when she read.

And most importantly, it looked like she needed some help. An urgent one.

Excusing himself from his two best friends, he composed himself and went towards her. Brushing an almost invisible crumb off his crisp white shirt, he cleared his throat and thanked the Gods above that he somehow remembered her name.

"Miss (L/N)?" He awkwardly began. Then, seeing that she didn't hear him, he spoke once more. "Miss (L/N)?"

Oh, the way her eyes widened when she finally noticed! The way that mouth of hers dropped and the way she almost lost her composure the moment their eyes met.

It's as if the girl didn't really expect that he would casually approach her like this.

And honestly? It kind of made V's heart jump. But only a little bit. He really wanted to help her, so he tried his very best not to get swept off by his own emotions and focused on the problem ahead.

"Mr. Sparda!" She stuttered, scrambling on her feet. "I d - didn't expect you to - "

"Please, no need to worry." V reassured her as calmly as he could. The girl remembered his name as well, and his traitorous heart did more than just jump this time around.

Relax, V. Relax. He thought. You're here to help an underclassman.

"You seem to be,... ahh,... having a little difficulty on that,... book of yours." V went on, in a voice he hoped was calm enough. "Would you indulge this fool and let him help you with whatever you need?"

There. He said it. Did he sound too strange? Was he too forward? Did he sound creepy? She did look like a meteor has just crash landed in front of her.

But, whatever the case was, there's no turning back now.

"Umm," She began as she handed V the old book.

And by Jove! V almost flipped when he realized what it was! It was none other than Blake, himself! His favorite poet!

"I quite don't understand William Blake." The girl went on. "His words are simple and yet, when I try to explain them, or make sense of them, ahh,... I don't know! The words just avoid me." She collapsed on the bench and sighed as she massaged her temples. The works of Blake seemed to give her such headaches.

Sitting right next to her, he asked, "What do you find difficult about Blake's work?"

"You see, about this rose thing." She said, leaning slightly closer to him as she pointed at some words on the book on his hands.

Her hair smelled nice,...

No, V! Focus!

"I don't know if it's talking about an actual plant, or something that is actually sick,... "

"Love."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh! I mean,... " And for a moment there, V felt his sweat run cold the moment he uttered that word.

And the girl? She seemed to tense when she heard the very word.

Like he somehow hit a deep chord within her.

"The Sick Rose is about love."

"Love?" She repeated. "You mean, a sick kind of love?"

"Well, yes." V said with a knowing smile on his face. "You know the saying love is blind? Most of the times, love prevents you from seeing the whole truth. Thus, the invisible worm."

"And the crimson joy?" There. Those glistening eyes of hers as she hang onto his every word,...

"The crimson joy means deep, dark love. The kind of love that destroys the purity and innocence of the rose."

"I,... see,... " The girl uttered, more to herself than to V.

Seeing that she's still not somehow convinced, he explained further. "You know when you love someone too much to the point of blindness, it destroys not only the person but yourself, as well. The true meaning of your feelings would be replaced with that of obsession, of selfishness. Of destruction and corruption. Of wanting this person only to yourself and no one else's. You keep this person enclosed deeply inside your own affections until the purity and innocence of their own feelings towards you die. And sometimes, this sickness grows too large, it affects other people as well. And that is the death of true love, as we know it."

The girl pondered for a while, thinking about everything V has just told her. Then, after a while, she shook her head as she grinned and chuckled to herself. And V found this quite amusing.

"Yeah, like," She said in a low voice, like a penitent confessing her sins before a priest. "You're loving someone too much, you fail to notice how destructive it has become to them and to yourself. The invisible worm. I get it now." She faced V once more, and with a bright smile, she said, "I guess I don't want to write an analysis on The Sick Rose, after all!"

This made V's eyes wide with both shock and surprise. "Oh, that's,... I see! Well, you - "

"But, thank you so much for your help, Mr. Sparda. It truly feels like you've taken a peek inside my deepest and darkest secrets."

"Pardon - ?"

"Can you help me choose a different Blake poem, instead? Something that feels lighter and brighter?" And just like that, after having a small glimpse of her own precious thoughts, V felt that she closed her doors on his face once more. Of course, there was something more about this girl, something that made him see a different color about her. Something,... intense for a change, that clashed with that sunny vibe she often showed to most people. And to him.

And it made her even more interesting to V.

This mysterious girl,...

... he has to know more about her.

"What about The Cradle Song?" V offered as he gestured towards her headphones that he saw peeking from her school bag. "We can listen to the actual song instead of me explaining it."

The girl smiled and she nodded, accepting the offer. "Sounds good to me."

It was safe to say that V and the girl has established some sort of solid connection between the two of them after listening to that song. Afterwards, she even recommended him one of her favorites, a song called Honesty by someone who wears pink and sweats a lot. At least in V's understanding of that particular band's name. Nevertheless, V enjoyed that one, and more other songs she recommended whenever they get the chance to see each other, whether to study, read books, or to just hang out.

As friends? Maybe yes. Maybe not. Who could say?

All V knew was that he was glad he approached her that day when she needed help with that Blake poem analysis. And those conflicting feelings she chose not to reveal at first.

***

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

A Poetry Lesson

Maedhros/Ingwion because why not? This is just silly fun except for the last part, which isn’t fun at all, I have to warn.

On Ao3

At first, Ingwion paid no mind to the air of excitement in the library. It was enough to know that it wasn’t about him; he was a frequent guest here. He also knew that it wasn’t unusual for impromptu poetry discussions to take place here or for scholars to meet for debates. So the prince stayed in his corner, reading the newest poems that had been written down at his request. He wasn’t always able to visit the poetry gatherings, but he didn’t want to miss anything. When he was done, he chose several poems to show his mother and stood. 

On his way out, he glanced at the small group gathered around a desk. He knew two of the loremasters; the other three were young, possibly only apprentices. The younger ones were whispering among themselves, while the loremasters were silently watching the elf who was hunched over a scroll, writing or rather drawing something, judging by the careful movements of the quill. One of the apprentices asked a question, and when the elf raised his head to answer, Ingwion, to his surprise, recognized Nelyafinwë, King Finwë’s eldest grandson. 

The Noldo was dressed plainly, in dark green and grey; he had no adornment on his head and wore his hair in a simple style—three narrow braids going from each temple to join together on the back of his head, the rest of his hair tumbling freely down his back. Ingwion wondered if he should approach, but Nelyafinwë seemed busy. Ingwion didn’t have much time either; the hour of the mingling was nearing, and he had to be with his family to sing for the waxing of Telperion.

He came back to return the poetry collection he had taken when Laurelin was in full bloom and found Nelyafinwë there again. He was alone this time, but for reasons he didn’t understand, Ingwion still hesitated for a moment before approaching. Nelyafinwë didn’t look surprised as he greeted Ingwion formally but warmly. 

“I have seen you here before a few times,” he said when Ingwion took a seat in front of him.

“A few times? How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to have seen you a few times,” Nelyafinwë said with a slight smile.

Ingwion was thrown off for a moment by the familiarity in the Noldo’s teasing words but found out that he didn’t dislike it.  

“Why didn't you let us know?” he asked. “You could stay with us as long as you wish. Our doors are always open before Finwë’s kin.”

“Thank you, but I have to decline,” Nelyafinwë said. “As tempting as it sounds, I have found a very cozy place to stay in the city. Besides, I am not here as a prince. I have come to help your scholars draw maps of the northern lands.”

“I didn’t know you were an expert in mapmaking.”

“Oh no, I am no expert. I am sure these will get redrawn later. I have traveled quite a lot, though, so I can offer my experience.”

Ingwion looked at the scroll on the desk. “You are being modest, Nelyafinwë. These are very well-drawn.” Nelyafinwë’s smile grew a little brighter, and Ingwion felt strangely proud for causing it. ��What region is this?” he asked, pointing at the map.

“This is a cave system in the northern part of the Pelóri,” Nelyafinwë said. “It is so huge that we haven’t reached the end yet. Every time that I go there, I explore a little more and come back to expand the map. It is fascinating. The entrance is hidden from view. We would not have discovered it if not for Aulë. He told my father about it, and we went to explore it. I often go there now. Imagine any cave you have seen. Now imagine it a hundred times more vast and beautiful. Wait, I will sketch it for you.” He drew an uneven line on a free corner of the scroll. “This is going to be redrawn anyway,” he said smiling. “And maybe they will appreciate my drawing.”

Ingwion watched as Nelyafinwë’s hand moved gracefully, and under his quill, various misshapen towers took form, swords hanging from the ceiling, miniature mountain chains, monster teeth, and rock icicles. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Nelyafinwë asked. “I have tried to do it justice.”

“It is,” Ingwion agreed. “Though I cannot imagine spending so much time in a cave, no matter how wondrous the rocks there are.”

“I don’t spend that much time there,” Nelyafinwë said. “That is why this map is still incomplete. There are so many places to go and so many wonders to see. If you go far enough into the north, the stars shine so much brighter. The light of the Trees is just a faint shimmer, and at times the sky itself is painted with many different colors. Words aren’t enough to describe its beauty. Maybe you should give traveling a try? I am sure you would enjoy it.” 

“Listening about it is much more enjoyable,” Ingwion said.

“Is it?” 

Nelyafinwë’s smile was almost smug, though still kind, and Ingwion sputtered, hurrying to save the situation. 

“I only mean that I prefer plains and woods over caves,” he said, though it wasn’t the only thing that he meant. The way Nelyafinwë’s eyes glowed radiantly when he was talking was also very enjoyable. “I would rather stay here and listen to stories about different places, than travel myself. There is no place better than Valmar, no mountain fairer than the Taniquetil.” 

“How could you know that if you have not seen the other places?” 

“There are a lot of marvelous places to see here.”

“Really?”

Ingwion decided not to take offense because he liked the smile on Nelyafinwë’s lips.

“Obviously,” he said with a smile of his own. “Have you spent all your time here drawing maps?”

“Of course not. There is time for work and time for fun.”

Ingwion didn't know why the way Nelyafinwë said the last word made him shiver.

“Speaking of work,” the Noldo said. “I am done for now.” He seemed to be thinking for a moment. “But I will be here later.”

Ingwion expected him to continue, but Nelyafinwë said nothing else. He only covered Ingwion’s hand with his and squeezed it. Ingwion barely stopped himself from looking down because he knew it would make this situation even odder. Instead, he held his breath and focused his gaze on Nelyafinwë’s face. It seemed too long before the Noldo got to his feet and said his farewells. Ingwion was surprised to find himself still smiling after Nelyafinwë left.

He waited until Telperion waxed and waned twice before he returned to the library. Nelyafinwë was there, as he had promised. 

“It looks like you have finished your work,” Ingwion said, noticing the absence of maps on the desk. 

Nelyafinwë looked up. “I will be honest. Drawing maps is not the only reason I am here,” he said. “The Library of Valmar has the largest collection of poetry. I enjoy reading it.”

“I am quite sure that you are reading Elemmírë,” Ingwion said, laughing a little. 

“Guilty,” Nelyafinwë smiled, raising a book.

“You know she is not the only great poet we have. Every second Vanya tries their hand at it, and many succeed.”

“Is that so? Do you write poetry too?”

“I...” Ingwion didn't know why he was so flustered. Maybe it was because of the intensity in Nelyafinwë's gaze or because of the barest hint of a teasing smile on his lips. “I have written several hymns to Manwë, which my mother put to music.”

“Oh, I would love to read them! Do they have them here?”

“No, no, they aren't good enough to be kept in the library.”

“I truly doubt that. If you want to prove it, you will have to sing them for me.”

Ingwion couldn't tell if the Noldo was serious or not. “Just not in the library, Nelyafinwë,” he joked. “Or the real poets will beat me up with the books.”

Nelyafinwë laughed. A clear, ringing laugh like the bells on the bay tree which grew in front of Ingwion’s window. He had put up the silver and golden bells himself, had added, removed, and replaced them until he had perfected the sound.

“I am too an avid lover of poetry,” Ingwion said before he could regret it. “I can show you works by other poets if you wish.”

He read the surprise in Nelyafinwë's eyes. The Noldo stood. “Lead the way,” he said.

In the back of his head, Ingwion knew that his offer entailed more than poetry books, but he wasn't sure what exactly, was reluctant to think of it. Maybe Nelyafinwë truly only wanted to read poetry, maybe the Noldor were just overly friendly. Yet the other day Nelyafinwë's touch on his wrist lingered for a moment too long.

He walked to a remote corner of the library, away from everyone’s eyes, preferring to ignore the perfectly good poems on closer shelves, acutely aware that Nelyafinwë was just behind him. His heart was fluttering with excitement. When they reached the shelf, he stopped in front of it, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“Some of my favorites are here,” he said, turning to Nelyafinwë.

He drew a sharp breath. He knew the Noldo had been following him, but he hadn’t expected to find him so close. Nelyafinwë was tall for a Noldo, nearly at height with Ingwion himself, and he was beautiful in a stern, intimidating Noldorin way: high cheekbones, piercing eyes, proud nose. Ingwion felt his heart in his throat. He raised his hand slowly, without fully realizing what he was doing until his fingers were almost touching a long, dark red curl that fell over Nelyafinwë's ear. He stopped himself, feeling suddenly that he couldn’t bear it, that he would be struck by lightning if they touched. The air was as thin as on the peaks of the Taniquetil. He struggled to breathe.

“Nelyafinwë,” was all he managed to gasp.

“You may call me by my mother name,” Nelyafinwë said in a hoarse whisper. “Maitimo.”

“Maitimo,” Ingwion repeated slowly, rolling the name in his mouth, delighted by the way his lips came together and parted, his tongue touched gently the back of his teeth to form the sounds. It made him feel bolder. “Aptly named,” he said.

“Am I,” Maitimo said with the confident smile of someone who knows the answer very well.

“Yes,” Ingwion said anyway. “Thank you for allowing me to use it. Every time I said your father name, it felt like a slight against my cousin.”

Maitimo laughed, and all the tension was suddenly gone. Ingwion was once again reminded of the sound of bells as the bay tree swayed in a warm breeze. He had no idea why he had thought Maitimo's beauty intimidating just a moment ago. It wasn’t. It was gentle like the light of Laurelin after the mingling when there was still just a hint of silver in the gold. The corners of Maitimo’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. Ingwion took Maitimo's curl between his forefinger and thumb. It was soft. He felt lightheaded. He was unafraid in the relative privacy of this little corner, ready to do anything.

“You are not like how I remember you from our last visit to Tirion,” he whispered.

Maitimo tilted his head. “I am different in Tirion. There I am Nelyafinwë, son of Fëanáro, grandson of Finwë. Among the Vanyar, I am not as noticeable. I rather enjoy the anonymity. Here I can be Maitimo, an ordinary Noldo, who has come to draw maps, read poetry and kiss the crown prince.”

Ingwion looked into Maitimo's eyes, barely daring to breathe. “You are falling behind on the last part, aren't you?” 

“Then it is time to rectify the mistake, wouldn't you say?”

“I would.”

Ingwion leaned forward and did what he had wanted to do since the first moment he laid eyes on Maitimo. He felt the Noldo’s smile against his lips, his fingers in his hair, his warm breath. He pulled Maitimo closer, shivering when they were chest to chest, sighing when the other elf deepened the kiss. Ingwion forgot for a moment where they were, forgot himself. His spirit was floating, his body was non-existent except where Maitimo’s burning touch connected him to the physical world.

Maitimo broke the kiss but didn’t move away, just turned his head a little, so his lips were now brushing over the shell of Ingwion’s ear. His arms tightened around Maitimo’s back. His awareness was slowly returning, and he was already looking out for every little noise that could disrupt their moment.

“The library isn’t the best place for this,” he said regretfully.

“Not very adventurous, are you?” Maitimo laughed and made no attempt to move.

“I don’t have the luxury of anonymity, Maitimo.”

“Do you have the luxury of privacy? You promised me a song, remember?”

Ingwion didn’t remember promising him, but he still nodded. “Maybe somewhere else,” he said.

“Maybe,” Maitimo whispered. “Maybe you can pay me a visit while I am in Valmar.”

“What did I say about anonymity?” Ingwion laughed. He shifted a little and finally let go of Maitimo, sighing. “You should come to me.”

Maitimo frowned. “I am not enjoying the idea of making small talk with the entire Vanyarin court.”

“I will choose not to be insulted,” Ingwion said. “But that wasn’t what I meant. There is a hidden way to my chamber. You should come straight there.”

“You are adventurous after all,” Maitimo grinned. “I will come. I suppose your chamber is more... comfortable than my lodgings.” He took Ingwion’s hand. “Tell me how to find you,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the inside of his wrist. 

It took Ingwion a while to find his voice to answer. 

---

His wild look slid over the surrounding warriors as he slowly walked back. Ingwion expected it to linger on himself for a few moments longer, but it didn’t. There was no recognition in those eyes, no hesitation, no fear, nothing except stifling, overwhelming despair. Ingwion found it hard to believe that this was Maitimo. 

Maedhros, that was how they called him here. A harsh name in a harsh land. Gone was Maitimo, the silvery sound of the word, gone was the ringing of the bells, gone was the softness around the mouth. He was all sharp angles now, hard lines, bared teeth for a smile, smoldering embers for eyes. His only hand holding the sword wasn’t shaking, and Ingwion knew that he would fight to the death, knew that it was what he wanted. 

An image came unbidden to his mind. Maitimo opening an eye, as Ingwion turns on his side and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear; Maitimo raising a brow in amusement, as Ingwion's slightly trembling fingers outline his face, slide along his brow, his cheekbone, leave feathery touches on his soft lips; Maitimo lifting himself up on his elbows, gently pushing Ingwion down by the shoulder and leaning over him, Maitimo's hair a curtain hiding them from the world, as they kiss.

During the long, terrible war, Ingwion had seen the hardness of the people of this land. There was no other way of living under Morgoth’s shadow except turning to stone. Ingwion had gotten used to it to the point that the sweet bells of Valmar seemed a distant dream. Or so he had believed. Now everything inside of him rebelled against the thought, refused to recognize the dazzling prince he had once kissed in the library of Valmar in this ferocious, rugged creature, tempered by loss and defeat.

He wondered if he should go after them, if he should kill Maedhros; wondered if it would be more merciful than what Eonwë had done, but before he could make a decision, the brothers had disappeared, and he knew he would not see them again.

He turned back and walked to his tent. The war was over. He would soon return to gentle Valinor, to majestic Taniquetil, to golden Valmar, where people smiled, and Maiar sang, and when the zephyr blew, the silver bells on the tree in front of his window rang as in laughter. 

[ughgclden]

good morning bee! or, afternoon, i suppose,

i think i must have reread your last reply four times at least before starting this, thank you once again for spending any amount of time on my silly little prose for you

its odd, i think, that acting drew me, because i’m fairly anxious in my own right, and sometimes i’ll get up to present even a poetry piece, and every bit of me is shaking, even as words i know backwards and forwards are tumbling out of my mouth. acting isnt always quite like that, it always feels much more like i have a purpose. probably the neil in me. i think, in the event i were to see you present something, anything, the neil in me would do exactly what he did in the impromptu poem sweaty-toothed madman scene, maybe combined with trying to draw your attention so instead of talking to a group of people, it could seem like you’re just talking to me.

while it might not feel like words come naturally to you, i will say that i don’t think they’re not your friends at all, you’re a very skilled writer, and thoughts are the hardest strings to untangle, there’s always something about words, they aren’t quite win all/lose all, they’re still part of your magic, you’re just /so/ magic that they couldn’t be all of it, and that’s incredible.

thank you for saying kind things to me, love, i really appreciate it, and i’m sorry again for making my letter darker than normal and than necessary. there are just some old recurring monsters that keep popping up under my bed, and its difficult to ignore them sometimes, then they all come out at once to prey on something tiny that shouldnt have bothered me at all. but i wont continue to bore you with that.

i hope, love, that today doesnt come with challenges that feel too overwhelming, or any challenges at all, really, but i know much too much about the nature of life to really hope that that is possible. i hope you remember today that you’re good, that you’re loved, that i’m here always, and i’m immensely proud of you, no matter what

i hope, love, that you have a lovely day, one where something genuinely makes you smile, and, although i think a day late

”studium immane loquendi,” -ovid (an insatiable desire for talking.

it seemed fitting i think.

all my love,

your star✨

p.s. i’m borrowing words here, but it seemed a sentiment to share, “even when we’re miles apart i have your voice but feel no touch,” it resonated in me this morning as a bee line. <3

good afternoon/evening love!!

i should be the one thanking you, oh my god. your letters are far more beautiful and poetic than mine, so the fact you think that is extremely validating. these 'silly little letters' have become a huge source of happiness for me

the neil kinnie in you astounds me - i envy you, honestly. i totally get the whole nerves thing - it's as if your mind just shrivels up and refuses to work no matter how well you've prepared it. id like nothing more than that. i actually had to do something similar to that once- i was giving a presentation (on the romanticisation of serial killers in mainstream media, if you were curious) and had to look one of my friends dead in the eyes the entire time as she mouthed encouragements to me. my hands were trembling and someone shouted to speak louder, but i still did it.

thank you star, honestly, that's such a fucking sweet way to put it? i often drive myself mad trying to find the write word or metaphor, but i suppose not everything in life has to be so poetic. sometimes it's fine for things to be plain, or else poetry would be practically worthless.

please don't apologise!! we all have bad days love, and sometimes we have to wallow in them before they get better. as i said, never feel bad for telling me about them, i'd love to try to cheer you up in any way i can, you could never bore me. as you said before, sometimes it is the small things that trip us up most, probably because we don't expect them.

it's been a funny day today; i feel like indulging you in it, but feel free to skip over this part. it's been a weirdly calm day, but maybe it was cause i've been up so early. ive started trying to learn phoebe bridgers' moon song on guitar and it's certainly. going. i also did some baking and drank a shit ton of coffee whilst watching fantastic mr fox. lets hope tomorrow is more productive. if you're willing, i'd love to hear about your day love

all my love star <3

ps; star i absolutely love this. it's definitely so so fitting <33

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest 2020 - Day 20: Fond

1,479 Words - Nie Brothers, POV Nie Mingjue, pre-canon 

When you kill a beast, you do it all at once or not at all. Anything else is just cruelty. Nie Mingjue just hopes his brother can avoid such beasts entirely.

The Red Blade Master rarely had nightmares. But when he did, they always featured Nie Huaisang.

Huaisang caught up in the fury of a battlefield. Huaisang hit by a stray arrow at an archery competition. Huaisang burned in flames, drowned in water, falling from snowy peaks. He dreamt of wild boars, of qi deviations. He had helplessly watched his little brother die in so many painful, awful ways. Then he would wake up, and quietly creep through the Unclean Realm to find the boy still dozing, splayed out on his bed and snoring without a care in the world.

So Nie Mingjue wanted his brother to learn to fight - to defend himself, to tread cautiously but surely through whatever situation life through at him, to be the kind of man who could face any danger, and win. But more so he realized, as he watched his gentle brother tend to birds or excitedly read out a poem he had found particularly striking, he wanted his brother to be the kind of man who would never have to face any danger at all.

When Huaisang had expressed a total disinterest in the blade, for the sabres, and a preference for curling up with a book or wandering the marketplaces, looking for treasures, Mingjue couldn’t say he was too disappointed. He was almost relieved, when Huaisang had asked if he might spend less time training his cultivation, and more time learning about the various beauties and joys of life that were so absent the mountain fortress they called home. But Mingjue hadn’t been able to grant his request. He made sure Huaisang had some spaces in the Unclean Realm to himself, but he knew he couldn’t let his brother retreat from training entirely. The other disciples would question the decision to lessen the troops even by one. It would make Huaisang a target. Still, he worried that Huaisang’s life in the Unclean Realm would force him to sideline the things that would truly make his life feel worthwhile.

And this risk to his brother’s wellbeing could not be tolerated.

“What is that?” the young clan leader asked as he approached his brother in the garden. His brother quickly hid the book he was reading behind his back.

“Uh… nothing…” he avoided his brother’s stare.

Mingjue rolled his eyes and quickly grabbed for the book, glanced at the cover, and sighed, “So you are reading these kinds of things too now?” he tossed the book to the side, and it landed gently in the gravel lining the path.

“I… I like the art?” Nie Huaisang tried.

Mingjue shook his head, “I have never understood the appeal of these things,” he shrugged, picking the book up only moments after he had thrown it there and dusting off the cover before returning it to his brother, “But I suppose there’s no real harm to them.”

Huaisang grabbed the book back, blushing fiercely, and tucked it away in his sleeve, still avoiding eye contact.

“Listen. Huaisang. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

His little brother looked up to him, confused, “To me?” Usually it was the younger looking to ask his brother for something - permission to walk through the mountain paths, money to purchase more fans, more paintings, more of… those books, as Mingjue now knew.

But the Red Blade Master was firm, “Yes.” He swept his sleeves back as he sat down on the bench, next to his brother, “As you know, the Lan Clan hosts an annual lecture, open to the disciples of the main clans.”

Huaisang nodded slowly, starting to realize where this might be going.

“I would like you to attend this year.”

“But… Dage…” Huaisang looked up, pouting, “No one my age will be going for another few years!”

“The other disciples your age take part in all their own sects cultivation training. I am willing to accept that our clan’s methods don’t suit your… temperament,” it was the kindest way Mingjue could think to express it, “But I cannot have you lie idly around all day either. Besides,” his tone became kinder at Huaisang’s woeful expression, “There are plenty of disciples your age in the Cloud Recesses. I have been talking to Xichen about the possibility of you attending at your age, and he thought you might be a good companion for his brother. He is also around your age and will be attending the lectures.”

Nie Huaisang’s face brightened, “Really? A companion?”

If Mingjue expressed his emotions even half as readily as Huaisang, he would have smiled at this. Mingjue had talked about more with Xichen than just Lan Wangji, but their mutual concern for their brothers’ loneliness had come up more than once. Mingjue thought the gentle pastimes of the Lan clan might suit his delicate brother’s preferences more than the frequent impromptu spars and spot check drills favoured in the Unclean Realm. Huaisang had few if any friends in the residence, seeming to prefer the chatter of merchants or the company of fiction.

Huaisang leaned back, “But… but Dage…” he bit his lip, “The Cloud Recesses it’s… well, they’re very strict there, right?”

Mingjue nodded, “Yes. And I expect you to make our sect proud.”

Huaisang picked up the fan that was lying closed by his side, and tapped his hands nervously with it, “I just…” he whispered, “I don’t want to let you down.”

“Then don’t!” Nie Mingjue replied, hoping that if he said it so confidently it would be easy, “It’s time for you to live the experiences you spend so much time reading about!” he had a sudden recollection of what book exactly Huaisang had been reading when he’d found him, “…Some of the experiences at least. Grab life by the hands!” he gestured as if to strangle some unseen person standing before him.

Though Nie Huaisang smiled at his brother’s vigour, his eyebrows pinched with apprehension, “Um… I’d really rather not…” he sighed.

Nie Mingjue, who they both knew had never really needed Huaisang to agree to his plan, said “Nonsense! You will love Cloud Recesses. You can read books all day, and there’s no fighting allowed inside.”

This made Huaisang smile, before his eyes snapped wide and he looked in shock to his older brother, “Wait, no fighting? I thought you wanted me to live up to the Nie values? How am I supposed to do that without…?”

“When you kill a beast, you do it all at once or not at all. Anything else is just cruelty.” Mingjue advised, “We both know you are not a warrior. But that is not the only thing that makes us Nie men. We train ourselves in what we are best at. If a quieter method suits you, we should make sure you have the chance to develop that skill. Explore the world, find things that please you, but also,” Nie Mingjue gripped his brother by the shoulders, pressing on urgently, “Make friends. Learn new ways of doing things. Understand this world and how it works. If your strengths are in beauty and stories, make that the strength you use in the world.”

Nie Huaisang nodded hurriedly at his brother’s intense stare, still fidgeting with the fan. The Red Blade Master’s gaze drifted towards the movement. He grasped the wrist of the arm holding the fan, lifting it forcefully up to Nie Huaisang’s eye level.

“This fan. If you can find a way to make this pretty fan you like so much as powerful as my Baxia? Then you will be truly carrying on the Nie legacy, able to use the strengths at our disposal, whatever they may be, to confront our enemies.”

“Ah.” Nie Huaisang nodded, but his one raised eyebrow revealed his skepticism.

When Mingjue had mentioned Huaisang’s penchant for fiction and interest in the intricacies of the world around him to Xichen, the Lan clan leader had suggested that perhaps he would make a better politician or strategist than fighter. Mingjue agreed that his brother had this potential. He often seemed to notice and interpreted subtleties in disciples’ or servants’ actions that would prove to be prophetic, noticing the first red nose of a cold that had swept through Qinghe, a dazed look of a returning disciple that had proved to be a concussion, and once, memorably, a sly exchange of glances that had turned out to be the earliest sign of a hidden romance between one of their top disciples and a servant.

But Nie Huaisang had no desires for such greatness, no desires to wield his talents for more than frivolous gossip. And weeks later, as the Red Blade Master fondly watched his brother say goodbye to each of the birds in his garden in turn, before grabbing the bag that Mingjue knew contained hidden books throughout the lining, only hoped his brother never changed.

[taetaespeaches]

“They’re always happy birthdays with you.”

Taehyung x Reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 1.5K

a/n: It’s our sweet Tae’s birthday, so here is a soft lil fic that is highly self-indulgent. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading :)) 

Happy birthday to the dearest boy who was born to be loved. 

AFTER your outing for Taehyung’s birthday, including a late lunch, a visit to the museum, and a walk at a nearby park, you had decided to go back to your shared apartment and relax for the rest of the night. 

Trading out your fashionable date outfits for lounge shorts and t-shirts, you both had your own bottles of strawberry soju. While yours sat on the coffee table, his was propped up against his inner thigh. 

Taehyung was immersed in a pastel sketch, his legs crossed as he used the arm of the couch as a backrest. He occasionally took a break, inspecting is work as he’d take a gulp from the bottle. 

You were on your stomach on the living room floor in front of the Christmas tree as you taped Polaroids you and your boyfriend took throughout the day in a notebook. As you were writing a shitty little poem about the golden hue of Taehyung’s eyes beneath a close up shot of his beautiful features, you looked towards the man only to meet his own gaze. 

Poking your tongue out at him, he chuckled as you returned your attention back towards your notebook. However, you felt his eyes remain on you. You pointed your orbs at him once again and squinted, scrutinizing him. He took his time staring at you, unphased, before eventually looking back to his drawing pad. You continued watching him, noticing how his eyes flickered to you and back to the pad, to you, and then the pad. 

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you faced your boyfriend. 

“Are you drawing me, sir?” You asked him with a hint of a smile on your lips. 

You observed how his lips curved up just the slightest bit as he continued his work. “Of course I am, Peaches,” he told you simply. 

Watching him silently for a moment, you hummed. “And why would you be doing that?” 

His eyes lifted from the pad to look at you, his fringe loosely hanging just above his gaze. “You’re beautiful,” he informed you sincerely. “And I like the way you’re illuminated in the Christmas tree light.” 

Rolling onto your back, you arched your back against the floor to look at the Christmas tree, upside down in your vision. “We need to take that down.” 

“It can wait until January,” he told you. Looking at him, you admired the way his eyes sparkled in the lights. Something to add into this less than mediocre poem, you thought. 

You watched him as he slowly transferred his gaze from the tree back to his drawing pad. As he examined his drawing, he brought the bottle of soju to his lips, taking a large swig. His pastel covered fingers wrapped around the neck of the glass bottle and you couldn’t help but appreciate the prettiness of his hands. How can someone’s hands be so pretty? So sexy?

His Adam’s apple bobbed beautifully as he swallowed the alcohol. Setting the bottle back down, his tongue swiped across his lips as picked up his pastel again.

Watching him drink made you crave the taste as you reached for your own bottle, taking a sip. It was good, but somehow you knew it would taste even better on his lips. 

Once his hand was at work again, making light strokes across the page, his eyes flickered toward you again. His subject. Smirking at him, he stalled at your expression only for you to turn your back on him, pretending to continue your writing preventing him from seeing your features for his piece.  

Taehyung groaned at you, letting out a noise of complaint. “Peaches,” he called out. You hummed in response making him curse under his breath. “Stop being stubborn,” he told you followed by a light laugh. 

Your ears were next met with the sound of glass meeting a hard surface, soon followed by a thud on the floor, sounding much like a body meeting the hardwood. When the sounds of knees and hands padded across the flooring, you knew Tae was approaching you. 

His hand reached around your abdomen, he pulled you onto your back as he crawled over your frame, straddling your hips. 

“You brat,” he smiled down at you, your own expression matching his. 

“What?” You questioned, making your boyfriend roll his eyes. “What did I do?” You persisted. 

Suddenly, Tae’s hands were on your sides, tickling your flesh lightly. You squealed in response, your hands grabbing his wrists trying to pull his hands from your body.

“Tae!” you yelled out through laughter. He allowed you to pull his hands away though he pretended to lose his balance, his body collapsing on top of yours as he let out a big huff, squishing you between his slender frame and the floor. 

Your face was nuzzled against his neck and on instinct, you placed a few kisses to his skin. Shoving against him, he rolled off of you so you were side by side, face to face. One of his arms was underneath his body, his fingers reaching out to toy with the material of your shirt covering your stomach. 

His other hand was holding onto your hip. One of your hands was supporting your head against the hard floor while the other one held onto his forearm, your thumb gently moving back and forth soothingly. 

Staring at him, you took notice of the way he closed his eyes for a moment, opening them intentionally wide. 

“Oh, no fair,” you whined with a pout as you opened your own orbs wider, you both easily falling into an impromptu staring contest. He let out a childlike laugh, your smiles growing larger and larger, giggling at each other as you struggled to keep your eyes open.  

Leaning forward, you blew into Taehyung’s face, forcing his eyelids closed, him instantly complaining. 

“You cheater,” he whined with a chuckle, blinking a few times to replenish his eyes. 

Smiling at him, you scooted closer to him, crawling on top of him, Taehyung easily rolling over so you could straddle him. His hands instantly found your hips as he gave them a light squeeze. You tucked your hair behind your ears as you stared down at him, admiring his features. 

Obviously, Taehyung was gorgeous, but sometimes looking at him you realized just how beautiful he was. His beauty marks, especially the one on the tip of his nose, the rectangular shape of his smile, his honey-kissed skin, and those kind eyes. 

He had one monolid and one double lid, which you always though gave him an inquisitive and playful look—much like his personality. It was quirky and unique, and oh so beautiful. Looking into his eyes, you could see his soul and that only made him even more stunning. It was overwhelming sometimes. 

As you were wrapped up in appreciating the man below you, he suddenly reached for your polaroid camera that was sitting on the floor next to you and snapped a photo of you. 

“What?” You said in surprise, your lips slowly curving into a smile. “What was that for?” Your hair fell from behind your ears into your face, prompting him to take another photo. 

“You’re sparkling,” he told you. The adjective sent butterflies fluttering throughout your frame, your heart swelling in affection for this man. You would never understand exactly what he saw when he looked at you, but you knew it was much like how you saw him. The way you saw of each other was raw, real, and exquisite. You saw it all and loved each other unconditionally for it. 

Leaning down, you kissed him softly, the touch light at first. Tae threaded his fingers into your hair, holding you there as he deepened the kiss, not wanting to lose the feeling of your lips against his. 

Your hands found is face, cradling it gently as your lips worked together in a beautiful dance you would never tire of. 

“You taste like strawberry soju,” you pointed out, making Tae chuckle into the kiss, breaking it up for a moment. You were right. The drink did taste better on his lips. 

“So do you,” he grinned brightly. 

You giggled, pressing your lips to nose and then to his mouth once again. “Happy birthday, my dearest,” you muttered against his lips. Tae beamed, licking his lips as you pulled away a bit. 

“They’re always happy birthdays with you,” he told you sincerely, almost as if he was disguising a thank you in his confession.  

You were sure Tae could see how much his words meant to you, despite your effort to conceal it. 

“You’re cheesy,” you told him, swiping your thumb lovingly along his cheek. 

His smile only broadened even more, allowing you to admire your favorite rectangular grin. Shaking your head at him, his hands found the sides of your thighs, soothing overtop your skin slowly, appreciatively feeling at the flesh. 

“I know I am,” he said simply, his eyes scanning your features as if he was appreciating them all for the first time. 

“You’re perfect,” you told him, a blush tinting his cheeks at your comment. He really was. Stunning, cheesy, and utterly perfect.

[giyuwu-san]

All of the hashiras know that Obanai has a crush on Mitsuri. Tired of him not doing anything, they confront him and tell him to confess."No""Why not?! It's not as if she's dating anyone""...I'm not worthy of her"And so the hashiras team up to make him confess to the one and only love pillar!

I’m sosososososo sorry this took so long. please forgive me, I was trying to come up with creative ideas for this one since it’s my first kny fic so I really wanted to do it justice I hope you understand. and then chapter 200 hit me and I was done for. but!!!! it’s here now after all this time and it’s finally at a point where I’m happy with it, so hopefully the wait was worth it >.

the sound of fireworks.

   pairing : iguro obanai x kanroji mitsuri

   warnings : a little angst, fluff, one curse word (I’m pretty sure)

   summary : the pillars are trying everything to get iguro obanai to confess to kanroji mitsuri in the name of love as a life-changing decision is made under fireworks and starlight.

   word count : 2.2K

tags : @lordexplosionsextra @jojosmilktea

✎

Iguro Obanai had always been in love with Kanroji Mitsuri. This was a fact, a statement known by both him and all his fellow Pillars, except perhaps, Mitsuri herself. 

It wasn’t fear of rejection that kept him from confessing, nor was it the complications that would plague their relationship once he did. The fear that tormented his mind wasn’t caused by the thought of rejection, rather by acceptance. 

He didn’t want her to see him, even if he craved it. He didn’t want her to smile at him, even if he yearned for it. He didn’t want her to love him, even though he pleaded for it.

The smile he loved so much isn’t meant for him. That smile of hers that filled his conscience. That smile of hers that he could never mimic. That smile of hers that he could never have. 

And no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts were the same. The love he held for her would always stay a secret. That’s what she deserved. 

She didn’t deserve someone like him, whose blood was filthy. Someone like him, whose shine could never match hers.

When she could give him such a vibrant smile, what could he give her in return? How could a scarred mouth like his hold the same glow?

He would always give her what she deserved, even if it meant hurting himself. 

It would always be like this, no matter what anyone said. This is how it’s supposed to be.

       - - -  *ﾟ‘ﾟ ☽  ☼  ☾ *.:｡ - - -

         "Now this is just getting ridiculous.“ was what the Insect Pillar, Kocho Shinobu said. Her smile leaving her face with the facade she carried slowly slipping, annoyance seeping in, taking its place.

         "Indeed, indeed!” was the chime of the Flame Pillar standing beside her, “Iguro-san must confess his true love! Let his most profound passions reach her from the deepest depths of his⁠—”

         "Yeah, yeah, we get it. Iguro’s in love with Kanroji, and it’s annoying, we get it.“ Shinazugawa interrupted Rengoku before he could ramble on further. 

Each of the Pillars, minus Kanroji and Iguro, were all bundled together in an empty room located at the Butterfly Estate, with the common goal of finally getting their fellow Snake Pillar to confess his feelings. (Except for perhaps Muichiro, who had already forgotten how he ended up in this room, to begin with.)

All of the Hashiras knew about Iguro’s feelings toward the Love Pillar, but whenever they would approach him about it, he would always reply with the same words. 

‘I don’t deserve her.’

However, things were about to change in the next week, for all of them had made plans to attend an upcoming summer festival in a nearby village. It was the perfect opportunity. 

          “Alright!” said the Sound Pillar, who had been surprisingly quiet until this moment. “Let us execute this plan flamboyantly!“ 

And so, each Pillar walked out of the room. Most of them hopeful that the plan would go smoothly.

       - - -  *ﾟ‘ﾟ ☽  ☼  ☾ *.:｡ - - -

Iguro was sitting next to Mitsuri, watching as she stuffed her face with more sakura mochi. Her cheeks puffing up cutely much to Iguro’s hidden delight, his eyes brightening slightly with his masked smile. 

Although Iguro had no plans of confessing, he had to admit that these simple moments with her made his heart soar. Watching her eat to her heart’s content made him feel like a boy again. Young and in love with the girl next to him. 

Kanroji enjoyed his presence equally as much. The warmth and affection flowing from his eyes that only looked at her made her feel giddy inside. Every meal with him always felt comfortable, and every meal without him always felt empty and incomplete. 

And as she kept chewing, only her happy hums and remarks were heard in the otherwise relaxing silence. 

Meals with him were always the best. 

Mitsuri smiled to herself, her cheeks still full.

       - - -  *ﾟ‘ﾟ ☽  ☼  ☾ *.:｡ - - -

The festival had come sooner than expected, and all the Pillars had gathered at one spot. Eyes already scanning the festivities around them. 

Iguro and Mitsuri (but mostly Mitsuri), were both excited to explore the festival together with all their fellow Pillars. Or so they thought, because when they looked around, the Pillars had already dispersed into their own groups. 

Mitsuri however, had no time to be surprised as her eyes caught a glimpse of a food stall further ahead of them. Turning her head to the baffled Iguro, she quickly pointed forward excitedly.

         "Iguro-san!” she said, her excitement barely containable. Her finger pointing in all directions at the food stalls around them. Her eyes glinting crazily to the point Iguro thought she was crying, and maybe she was.

          “FOOD!” was all Obanai heard until he was forcefully dragged by a hunger-crazed Mitsuri.

       - - -  *ﾟ‘ﾟ ☽  ☼  ☾ *.:｡ - - -

It had been a good hour since they arrived at the festival, yet there had been no progress made in the field of love as Iguro merely followed Mitsuri around in her pursuit of culinary enlightenment. 

The plan, however, was not in vain just yet, for the Pillars had more tricks up their sleeves.

The pair made their way about the various stalls until they catch sight of Shinazugawa, who seemed to be waiting for them in front of a game stall. The Wind Pillar points at Iguro, much to his confusion.

          “Whoever scoops the most goldfish wins." 

Iguro was not expecting the sudden challenge. To be fair, this was his first time playing kingyo-sukui, but after looking towards Mitsuri whose face held nothing but excitement, he was in no position to back down.

Iguro had surprisingly won against the competitive Sanemi. Who of which completely forgot that he was supposed to let Iguro win and played for real. Much to his dismay. Face scowling (and pride damaged), Sanemi turned on his heels and walked away. 

The person manning the stall then gave Iguro more snacks as a prize, only for them to quickly disappear inside Mitsuri’s mouth.

The series of strange events and interferences kept occurring throughout the summer festival, such as Kocho running into them and momentarily stealing Mitsuri for ’girl talk’, allowing Muichiro to sneakily shove some flowers he found wandering in the field into Iguro’s hands, Rengoku coming over to the pair to give them an impromptu love poem recital, and Giyuu even tried his best by directing them towards a more intimate food stall that didn’t have many people.

As the night progressed Iguro felt himself becoming more and more flustered by the events that have taken place thus far. With Mitsuri holding the flowers Muichiro picked, they walked silently alongside each other, all the food that Mitsuri ate had finally caught up to her. 

Noticing this from their respective hiding spots, the Pillars finally threw into action their last and final hope: advice from the man with three wives.

Gyomei approached the two, seemingly coming from the shadows as he asked to steal Mitsuri away for a moment to talk about cats. Mitsuri happily complied, but with less enthusiasm than usual as she could feel her impending food coma creeping closer.

Iguro then stood alone, even more confused than he already was.

That was until he saw the Sound Pillar jump out from the bushes, Obanai wasn’t even surprised anymore. 

          "You’re really taking your sweet time aren’t you?” was what he said as he crept closer towards the Snake Pillar, who only blinked at him. It wasn’t that Obanai hated the Sound Pillar, it was just he never really spent the time getting to know the man, or the other Pillars for that matter, minus Kanroji.

So he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of the two of them being alone when he could have been basking in Mitsuri’s warm presence, but that was beside the point.

          “What do you mean?” he tries feigning innocence, even if he knew exactly what Tengen was entailing. He noticed all the things that had been happening since the start of the festival. He may have been slightly dense, but he wasn’t completely oblivious either.

The two men started walking side by side, as their conversation continues.

          “Don’t play dumb with me Iguro-san.” Iguro could only sigh and raise his eyebrow at the man.

          “Your point?” he said, not wanting to have to repeat the same words he’s said to all the other Pillars again.

Tengen knew that the chances of him somehow convincing the Snake Pillar to change his mind were slim. Yes, he had three wives. He has experienced love and continues to experience it throughout his life, but he did admit that helping a man overcome his self-loathing was going to be challenging for anybody. Nonetheless, he put away his eccentric side, for now, focusing purely on the assignment he was tasked with.

          “My point is that you should just tell her.” he said bluntly, he knew flowery words were no use with Obanai, instead opting to give it to him straight. “She deserves to know.”

          “No, she does not.” was the Snake Pillar’s retort.

          “And why is that?” Tengen was barely fighting off his sigh.

          “She doesn’t deserve someone like me.” At this, the sigh that Tengen was holding back finally made itself known. He couldn’t tolerate this any longer.

          “You can’t decide that for her.” he said, sighing once more. “She’s the one who decides that. That’s her choice to make, not your’s Iguro-san." 

Tengen wanted to help him, and that’s a lot from someone who typically didn’t care much about the well-being of other people, only having a few people he genuinely treasures. But even with Tengen’s way with words, he knew that Obanai himself had to be the one to change. Tengen knew that his words alone couldn’t solve this, and frankly, he had nothing left to say.

Sighing, he walks away to leave Obanai to his own thoughts, as the man stopped walking along with him anyway. 

Besides, the fireworks show was about to start.

       - - -  *ﾟ‘ﾟ ☽  ☼  ☾ *.:｡ - - -

Obanai sat idly next to Mitsuri, the two of them being left alone by the other Pillars, an act that, Obanai assumed was another one of their stunts. He sighed, lost in his thoughts as Tengen’s words started to settle in. It wasn’t as if he had never played with the idea before: that Mitsuri at least deserved to know. But he was still conflicted, even if he did say it, who would want someone with a scarred mouth? Someone with a bloodline so wicked and cruel. 

He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

His mind was made, and no one could change that.

          "Iguro-san…”

Iguro turned his head around to the drowsy Mitsuri, her head starting to tilt forward as sleep was slowly sinking into her. He hummed lightly in reply, listening to her words carefully.

          “You know, I’m really glad I got to spend the festival with you.” she smiled at him, much to his frustration as his cheeks fought off a blush. “I didn’t regret a single moment.” her smile grew wider.

          “And that’s exactly how I want to live my life!” she suddenly pointed her finger upwards towards the sky in sudden triumph, her sudden burst of energy quickly subsiding, however, as her head started to tilt over again, but this time towards Obanai’s shoulder.

          “I want to live my life with no regrets…” she yawned midsentence, still trying her best to not succumb to slumber. Her hands holding onto the flowers tightly.

Iguro however, pondered over her words, a sudden heat rushing towards his cheeks, feeling the adrenaline rush in.

He wanted to live his life with no regrets too.

And with the sudden adrenaline and correlation, his brain felt like it was taking a crash course. He adjusted slightly on the blanket, attention not leaving the girl beside him as his heart started ruling over his brain.

         "Kanroji-san.“ he said.

Kanroji hummed slightly, her droopy eyes looking over at him. And for a moment, Iguro wondered what the hell he was doing, but he couldn’t stop now, he didn't want to.

          "I want to spend all my meals with you." 

Obanai wasn’t expecting the large smile to take over her features, nor was he expecting her to understand what he meant in the state she was currently in. Nevertheless, as he looked at her underneath the starlight, its ethereal glow highlighting her face in ways that knocked all the air out of his lungs, he couldn’t help but smile, his heart feeling lighter. He wanted to laugh at himself. He was so adamant about not confessing, but here he was, with her by his side.

He said he wouldn’t do it, but he did. 

His mind was made, but only she could change that.

And as she finally let her head fall against his shoulder, Kaburamaru slithering from his neck to nestle on top of her head, and the fireworks finally dancing around in the sky above them in loud explosions and tremors, he couldn’t help but smile, his eyes glowing. The light from the fireworks only illuminated her serene features, painting it in all its colors, and at that moment, Obanai was at peace.

He couldn’t feel anything else, he didn't need anything else. As he sat on the blanket, he closed his eyes and sighed happily. He felt perfectly content. 

Just the three of them, and the sound of fireworks.

✐

[pri-the-writer]

Fairies and Fowls

Here’s a peak at my piece for the Fowl Mood zine, which you can find at @artemis-fowl-zine​

“I’m sorry, you want us to do what exactly?” Holly asked, much to Foaly’s apparent dismay. On the hard light screen he was projected onto, the centaur rolled his eyes and sighed before he spoke again.

“For the last time, play Dungeons and Dragons with me! It’s not that hard to understand, Holly,” Foaly explained again. Holly smirked a tad, sitting back in her special chair- Artemis had customized it to her proportions and height, so that she matched their eye level when seated, or a “toddler’s chair mixed with a salon chair” as Artemis liked to call it- then said, “No, I know, it’s just a little funny to me, is all.”

“Yes, I didn’t take you of all people to be a fan of role-playing games.” Artemis chimed in, smirking as well. On his screen, Foaly rolled his eyes before saying, “I didn’t, at first. But then my nephew got into them and then he got me into them and- look, do you want to play or not?”

The two humans and fairy, all seated around a table in one of the Fowl Manor’s parlor rooms, exchanged a look at each other to consider it. Eventually, they shrugged in unison and Holly said, “Sure, I guess it can’t hurt.”

“Excellent! Now let me explain the rules,” Foaly said, before going off on a tangent about the rules and guidelines for the game that even puzzled Artemis somewhat, before asking, “Got it?”

They all nodded, two lying and another stretching the truth. Nevertheless, Foaly continued on, unfazed. For this impromptu game, Foaly had Holly bring in several items, including a hard light table, television screen, and tablets for the three of them that would hold the info for their characters. “Now, I have here several options for characters, but I’m going to start with the ones I think you’ll like best. Artemis, I was thinking you could be a rogue, for obvious reasons, but they require a certain amount of dexterity you lack. So then I thought, what about a bard?” Foaly suggested, prompting a smirk from Butler and a snicker from Holly.

“A bard? As in someone who sings and performs? Why exactly does that fit me?” Artemis asked, confused. Foaly huffed, then explained, “Bards sometimes sing, yes, but they also can read poetry or play instruments alone. They also have a spell called Vicious Mockery where you can do damage with words alone.”

“... That does appeal to me.” Artemis admitted.

“Now, Holly, I thought you might be a good fit for a ranger or druid. A ranger is a rogue who works on the edges of nature, protecting people from harm while using the forces of nature to their benefit. A druid is someone who communes with nature and casts spells with the will of the forest.” Foaly explained. Holly considered for a moment, then said, “I think the ranger one sounds interesting. Kinda similar to what I do with LEP and all.”

“Right! And Butler, you seemed a good fit for a paladin, a Holy warrior dedicated to a sacred oath.” Foaly explained. Butler raised an eyebrow and asked simply, “A Holy warrior?”

“Focus on the dedicated to an oath part. That seems like you, doesn’t it? Plus, there’s a sort of romantic air to paladins.” Foaly added quickly. Butler hummed quietly, then nodded. On his screen, Foaly clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Excellent! Now, I’ve already made your character sheets for you, so that will be all set.”

He sent the character sheets to the trio’s tablets, revealing Artemis was a human bard, Holly was an elven ranger, and Butler was a goliath paladin. After typing some commands into his computer, the hard light table came to life, creating a miniature landscape for the adventurers to roam in. It seemed Foaly had already made little versions of their characters for the board as well, evident from the three individuals on the board who looked like them.

One was a human male, dressed in a fine shirt and pants, along with a black velvet vest adorned with silver buttons. He carried nothing else save a book, which was- according to Artemis’s character sheet- a book of poems. Another was a female elf, dressed in hunting clothes and a long cloak draped around her shoulders. She carried a bow and quiver of arrows with her, along with twin daggers. The final character was a gargantuan Goliath male, dressed in fine armor and wielding a sword and a shield bearing the symbol of the Fowl family.

“Foaly, I love you but you are such a nerd,” Holly said with a chuckle as she looked over everything. Foaly snorted and said, “If being passionate and prepared makes me a nerd, then d’arvit I’m a nerd.”

“Alright, alright. So how do we start?” Holly asked with a grin. 

Foaly nodded, satisfied, and said, “Easy. I give you a quest. You three are adventurers and for whatever reason you choose, are out searching for a noble quest. Soon enough in your journey you find a small village and seek out the local tavern to try and find some news of a possible job. As you enter the tavern, which is called Haven’s Rest, you notice that it is surprisingly empty. Normally taverns at least have one or two patrons milling about, so to see it completely empty like this is a bit odd.

“Nevertheless, you head in and see there is a notice board pinned to the right wall of the tavern. At the counter, there is the sole person inside besides you three, a pretty blonde half-elf wiping down the bar. What do you do?” Foaly asked the three of them, looking up from his tablet expectantly. Artemis thought it over for a moment, then said, “I suppose I’ll check the notice board.”

“I’ll join him.” Butler added. Holly shrugged a bit and said, “I guess while they’re looking at that I’ll get us some drinks? Or at least ask the barmaid what’s going on in town.”

“Alright, Artemis, Butler, you two head over to the notice board. You see some normal things like an advertisement to help thatch a roof, a sheepherding job out in the meadows, and a job offer to work at the general store, but the sign that catches your eyes first reads Help! Mayor kidnapped by a dragon! 10,000 gold to anyone who can rescue him. Holly, you walk up to the bar and startle the woman standing behind it, who quickly composes herself and says-” Foaly cleared his voice, then said in a bad impression of a feminine voice, “Oh, hello! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Wasn’t really expecting customers today- what can I get you?”

After struggling not to die laughing at Foaly’s voice for the woman, Holly replied, “I- I was hoping to get a few mugs of whatever’s good for my friends and I.”

“The woman smiles sadly at you before saying, I’m so sorry, we don’t really have anything except this awful old ale. That terrible dragon smashed the rest of our supplies last week.” Foaly narrated to Holly.

“A dragon? Like the one that stole your mayor?” Holly asked, earning a glare from Foaly.

“Holly, you don’t know about that yet. Only Artemis and Butler have read the poster.” Foaly corrected her. Artemis smirked a bit, and then said, “Oh barmaid, this dragon you speak of- is it  the same one that kidnapped your mayor?”

Foaly huffed and rolled his eyes, then said in his female impression, “Yes, it is. The fearsome beast flew into town last week, wreaked havoc and ate the cattle. Our brave mayor tried to make her leave, but she just snatched him up and flew off to his cave. We haven’t anyone strong or brave enough to go after them, so we put up notices and sent word to the capital. Oh, I fear the dear man is already dead!”

“Where is the dragon’s cave?” Butler inquired simply.

“Why, it’s at the peak of the mountains just north of here. You folk wouldn’t happen to want to go there, would you? I’d advise you to take an army if you do. The beast is quite terrible and monstrous.”

“I tell her we can handle it, then leave.” Butler told Foaly, who laughed at the human and replied, “Alright then. Do you two follow him?”

“I think I would like to get some information on the dragon. How large is she? Does she breathe fire? Do they know of any weaknesses she may have?” Artemis listed off. Holly shrugged and said, “I think I’ll head out with Butler.” 

“Alright then, Holly and Butler head outside of the bar and Artemis, you join them after getting some information from the barkeep. What do you all do now?” Foaly asked with a grin, obviously pleased with this turn of events.

“I suppose the best thing to do would be to purchase any supplies we might need for the trip. Is there a store in town?” Butler asked Foaly, ever focused on the mission at hand. Foaly nodded in response and answered, “Yes, there is. Across from the tavern is the general store, inside you find all manners of goods and supplies to aid you. Two elves run the store, a younger one who seems a tad nervous and an older one who seems very serious. He looks up at you from his place behind the counter and says, Welcome to Kelp’s General Store, how may I help you?” Foaly said this in an impression of Trouble- no matter how bad it was, Holly could recognize it- and Holly bust out laughing at the silly voice. Oh, Trouble would kill Foaly if he heard this. Butler merely rolled his eyes with a smirk before he said, “We need supplies for a trip up the mountain.” “We’re going to kill the dragon and save the mayor.” Holly added after her laughter died down. Foaly replied with his Trouble impression, “Really? Well then, you can have a discount. We need that damn thing dead.” Foaly pinched his nose, switching to a nasal voice, “Yeah! It ate Mommy’s cow!” Then he barked in Trouble’s voice, “Oh shut it, Grub.” “Holy Frond, this is hilarious.” Holly chuckled, grinning at the centaur.

[trashcanmarvelfan]

Second Chances - A Benverly Post- IT: Chapter Two Fanfic

Summary: After everything is over, Ben finally asks Beverly about the bruises he noticed on her arm the night they arrived back in town.

Warnings: 2 uses of the F-bomb (if you've seen the movie you guys know Richie has a mouth like a sailor so that's not too bad, all things considering) and non-graphic allusions to spousal abuse. Bonus Reddie feels, although Eddie is still dead, guys.

Word Count: 2100-ish.

Author’s Note: I wish we would've gotten more sweet Benverly togetherness in Chapter Two, but that's what fanfic is for, right? Whipped this up, gave it a read-thru, and here you guys are. Enjoy.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3 (Coming soon).

Ben Hanscom stood in a small circle with his childhood friends inside the underground clubhouse he had built during the summer they had all met, the summer that had been both of one of the best & one of the worst summers of Ben's life-- although he hadn't known it at the time. He had met Bev, Bill, Richie, Mike, Stan, and Eddie, who along with Ben collectively formed the Losers Club. During that summer Ben had also battled an evil demonic clown, wrote the first-- and last-- love poem he had ever anonymously sent someone, and had his first kiss (well, sorta). Unfortunately for Ben the person with whom he shared his first kiss was, at the time, incapacitated due to said evil demonic clown, and the poem was incorrectly attributed to someone else.

The Losers had scattered after that summer. Bev had gone to live with relatives out of state, Eddie had been dragged off to a new town by his mom, and eventually the rest of the Losers moved off as well, forgetting about Derry, that summer… and each other.

All except for Mike. He had stayed, and when It had resurfaced 27 years later, he had gathered the Losers Club to fight It again, this time defeating It for good. However, defeating It had come with a price. This time, Stan hadn't made it back to Derry and Eddie hadn't made it to the end.

Ben glanced around the circle. Each of his fellow remaining Losers were, like him, puffy-eyed and tear-streaked. They had agreed to meet one last time on their way out of town -- Bill was heading back west with the new, 'happier' ending for the film that was being made out of one of his books.  Mike had decided since It was really and truly gone that he was moving on to Florida. Richie was heading back to L.A. Beverly… Actually Ben didn't know exactly what Beverly's plans were. He knew she needed to go back to Chicago to 'wrap up some loose ends' but had no idea what her plans were beyond that.

It had taken 27 years, but Bev had finally figured out that Ben was the one who had written her the poem. Besides that underwater kiss at the Quarry though they hadn't discussed the poem or the fact that Ben had carried around the yearbook page that Beverly had signed in his wallet.

The Losers were currently holding an impromptu memorial service for Stan and Eddie before going their separate ways, and each had shared a memory about Stan and Eddie, respectively.  Ben had gone first, then Mike, then Bill and Beverly, until finally it was Richie's turn as the last Loser to share. Ben listened with a chuckle as Richie reminisced about Stan's bar mitzvah, when Stan had basically told all of the adults in the congregation to go fuck themselves, and now he was about to say something about Eddie. Richie sniffled. "I have to tell you guys something."

The rest of the Losers waited patiently.

Richie took a deep breath. "I'm gay, and when we were kids I was in love with Eddie. I was head-over-heels in love with him, and I never got a chance to tell him before he moved away. Then we came back here and all my old feelings for him came rushing back like I was 13 again."

Ben placed a hand on Richie's shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. He could relate--well, not the being gay part, but being in love with someone and not directly getting to tell them how he felt before it was too late. Fortunately for Ben, however, he had a second chance.

January embers

He quickly glanced over at Beverly, who was watching Richie speak with fresh tears in her eyes.

"He saved us," Richie continued. "Telling us about choking the leper and making it small… if it hadn't been for him then none of us would've made it out. But Eddie deserved to make it out too. He deserved to live..." He broke down into sobs. 

Ben and Beverly both moved to wrap Richie in a hug as he cried, and Mike and Bill placed encouraging hands on his back. 

When Richie seemed to have calmed down somewhat, Ben asked, "You ok, man?"

Richie nodded. "Eddie should've been here celebrating with the rest of us. I never got a chance to tell him how I felt before he died, but I figure if I at least tell our best friends, it'll make not getting to tell him hurt just a little bit less."

He sighed. "Life is short -- I missed my chance with Eddie, but don't you guys pass up the opportunity to tell the ones you love how you feel."

With one final sniffle he wiped his eyes. "I made all those jokes about banging Eddie's mom when we were kids when really all I wanted to do was bang Eddie," he joked.

Ben couldn't help but smile.

Bill's phone went off with an alert. "Shoot, guys. I hate to cut this short but Richie and I have a flight back to L.A. in an hour."

"I should probably get going too," Mike added.

Ben and the rest of the Losers gave them each a brief hug. "We'll stay in touch this time," Bill promised as he gave Beverly a hug, and Ben couldn't help but feel a tiny pang of jealousy before chastising himself. Bill is your friend, you ass. What he and Beverly had ended long ago. Besides, Bill is happily married.  Beverly was married too, but from what Ben had gathered he suspected it wasn't too happily.

He watched as Bill and Mike climbed up the ladder to the surface, followed soon by Richie. As Richie's footsteps faded, Ben could hear Beverly say, "I think he knew."

He turned to her. "What?"

Beverly gestured toward the ladder. "Eddie. I think he knew how Richie felt about him, and I think he felt the same way about Richie." She sighed. "They would've been happy together."

Ben nodded. "Yeah, I could see it too between them. The way they would look at each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking." That hit a little too close to home, he thought.

He cleared his throat before changing the subject. "Hey, can I ask you about something? Something personal. And it's ok if you don't want to talk about it, but…" he trailed off.

Beverly nodded and took a seat on the bench that Ben had made their sophomore year of high school, after Beverly had left and Ben started getting more into architecture in order to keep his mind occupied. She patted the spot next to her.

Ben took a seat and was silent for a few moments while he collected his thoughts. How do I go about this? 

Finally, he decided that the direct approach would probably be best. "When we got here… back to Derry, I mean… I noticed bruises on your arm at dinner. Then when you flinched away from me… Is everything ok, Bev?"

Beverly paled and wouldn't make eye contact with Ben, instead choosing to look at the floor. "Tom… my husband… he wasn't very happy that I was leaving so suddenly," she explained. "We-- we got into a fight, and he-- he--" she broke off.

Ben stiffened. "Was that the first time?"

"No," Beverly whispered, then started crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey," Ben said gently, slowly reaching for Bev and giving her plenty of time to back away. Instead of rejecting his offer of comfort, however, Beverly leaned into Ben's embrace, allowing him to wrap his arms around her as her body wracked with sobs. "There's absolutely no need to apologize for anything. None of anything that you have gone through is your fault, okay? None of it. Not the shit we went through with Pennywise, or anything your dad or your husband put you through. You hear me? None of it was your fault and you have every right to be upset." Ben stroked Bev's hair soothingly as he held her. "You're safe with me, Bev. You're safe. I swear on my life that as long as I am breathing no one will ever harm you again." 

Beverly hiccuped. "Thank you," she whispered, tightening her hold on Ben. "Thank you." She sniffled and leaned back to look at him face-to-face.

When they were kids Ben had thought that Beverly was a beautiful girl; now he thought that she was a beautiful woman. He wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, letting his hands gently rest on her cheeks. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Beverly reached up to wrap her hands around Ben's. "I should have realized all those years ago that you were the one who wrote me the poem."

Ben tilted his head to the side. "How do you figure?"

Beverly smirked. "Bill's a great writer but he's no poet, Eddie and Richie were too busy arguing and making moony eyes at each other to be interested in anyone else, Stan probably either would've been too nervous to leave the note or would've 'fessed up almost immediately, and Mike was just trying to survive the summer-- I don't think he even thought of me as a girl at the time." She paused. "But you… you saw me, didn't you? You've always seen me. Your hair is winter fire," she recited. "January embers."

"My heart burns there too," Ben finished. "Still does. Always has in fact, although I didn't always quite remember why I was carrying around a yearbook page with only one signature on it."

Beverly smiled. "It's ok, New Kid," she said, then the next thing Ben knew Beverly was kissing him.

Their second (okay, technically third) kiss was even better than their first (okay, second). Considering the fact that Beverly was still in the Deadlights' thrall and wasn't even conscious for the first one as kids, Ben figured that shouldn't even count. Their first kiss as adults, shared under the dirty water of the quarry, paled in comparison to the feel of Beverly's lips on his own at that moment.

For a split second Ben thought maybe this was all another Pennywise-induced hallucination, then had the brief notion that maybe he had died in the battle and somehow made it to heaven instead of whatever hellscape Pennywise inhabited.

He realized it was neither when Beverly ran her fingers through his hair and gave it a slight tug, making him moan.

"Jesus, Bev," he muttered, pulling her into his lap and seeking permission to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly they heard a voice:

"It's about fuckin' time!"

They whipped their heads around to see Richie, Bill, and Mike, all watching them with shit-eating grins on their faces.

"What are you guys doing back here?" Ben asked as Bev giggled and buried her face in his neck.

Richie gestured to a now-blushing Bill. "Billy here forgot his wallet, so we came back down to get it. Didn't know we were gonna get a show as well."

"Beep beep, Richie," Bill said.

Richie ignored him. "So this is finally happening, huh? You two gonna ride off into the sunset together?"

Ben shrugged then looked at Bev, who was biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip to keep from laughing. "The man's got a point... What do you say? Come to Nebraska with me?"

Bev seemed to consider it for a few moments."I have a few things to take care of in Chicago first, so would you mind stopping off there on the way?"

"Bev, I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth and beyond if you asked me to," Ben said honestly.

Bev's answering smile made Ben fall just a little bit more in love with her.

"Okay, well, that's our exit," Bill, who had snuck over to the corner and retrieved his wallet from the table, said. "Come on, guys, let's leave them alone."

"Congratulations, you two," Mike said before heading back up the ladder. 

"We'll see you guys again soon," Bill added before following.

"And remember," Richie yelled down as he disappeared out of sight, "practice safe sex!"

Ben shook his head fondly. "Richie is such an asshole."

"Yeah," Beverly agreed with a grin, "but he's our asshole."

"True." Ben bit his lip and slid his hands up Beverly's sides. "Now, were were we?"

Beverly smirked. "I believe about right here," she replied as she sought Ben's lips out once more.

[captainsbabysitter-blog]

Matchmakers We Are Not

Pairing: McKirk (who’s surprised?)

Length: 828 words

Rating: G

Summary: for @yallneedtrek‘s challenge. My prompt? Professors AU with the line “you’re ridiculous.”

Hikaru Sulu and Pavel Chekov have noticed that their favorite literature professor Jim Kirk frequently has lunch with Dr. Leonard McCoy, professor in the medical department, quite a lot. They decide a bit of matchmaking is in order...

I know this is wicked short, but writing for me has been like pulling teeth lately, so I’ll take what I can manage to put to paper.

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

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknow, although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me prov’d,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.”

The silence that rang out at the end of the impassioned recitation was equal parts awe and confusion. Jim grinned at his class of glassy-eyed students and continued on, “For those of you that don’t recognize Shakespeare’s more obscure sonnets, that was Sonnet 116. Today we start our section on poetry- Shakespeare, Lorde, Dickens, Hughes, and many, many more! Now I hear those groans and I’m telling you now that this won’t be your typical literary take on poetry. I won’t have you pouring over the hidden meanings behind Robert Frost or agonizing over the angst and symbolism hidden in Poe. My goal here is to introduce the idea that everyone has a favorite poet whether they realize it at this moment or not.”

Class continued as it always did; Jim lectured on the nuances of the various forms of poetry, giving as many examples as he felt his students needed and answered questions as they came until he caught a glimpse of someone waving through the door about ten minutes before the end of class. He couldn’t help but smile as he said, “Alright I think I’m getting enough glassy eyes for now. Next class, I want each of you to have a poem of your choice picked out. Now don’t get something too short because you’ll be working on that poem for the next three weeks.”

In the mad dash to leave, a few students noticed the man waiting for them to vacate with lunchboxes in hand. Pavel leaned in to whisper, “Who’s that?”

“That’s professor McCoy,” Hikaru murmured back. “He teaches undergrad bio and a bunch of classes in the med department. I had him last semester he’s brutal. Wonder what he’s doing here?”

“Well he’s got lunchboxes?” Pavel points out. “Maybe having lunch with the professor?”

The two of them hung around outside, curious to see what would happen next, but it was just the two of them heading to Jim’s office across the hall to eat lunch and chat. That didn’t stop the roommates from continuing to talk about it long after they returned back to their dorm.

“Now that I think about it, I remember Jim showing up a bunch during bio last semester.”

“Maybe they’re dating,” Pavel suggested as he flipped through a textbook for the right chapter.

“With the way Jim looks at him? Maybe. I don’t think so, though.”

“Maybe they should be.” It was the perfect excuse to let himself be distracted from physics, but he still tried to focus. Instead, he snapped the book shut and turned to Hikaru. “Maybe we should try to get them together?”

“Exactly what I was thinking. But how the hell are we supposed to do that?”

It turned out they were terrible matchmakers. Or maybe matchmaking was just better left to professionals (which they clearly weren’t) because every attempt seemed to backfire.

First it was the fake love note from a secret admirer. That just led to Hikaru being sat down by Professor Kirk who, not unkindly, informed him that not only was his (handwritten) note inappropriate, it could get him into trouble with the ethics board if someone started making accusations.

Then it was Pavel hacking into email accounts and making plans with what he thought were flirtatious overtones, but that must just be how they talk to each other. Spying on their impromptu “date” just generated frustration when the two men ate and talked as amiably as they ever did.

As the semester dragged on, their attempts became more and more overt. The rest of their classmates seemed just as interested in these romance novel-level shenanigans and began helping to come up with new and interesting ways to push their professors together.

By the end of the fall semester, everyone seemed disheartened and were ready to give up.

Jim and Leonard watched it all with an air of bemused interest.

“Think we should tell them?” Len asked with a smile as the same student passed through the courtyard where they say bundled up in scarves and coats against the impending winter chill.

“I told them that if everyone gets at least a B on their final paper, I’d give them a surprise. I’ll tell them then.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Len huffs back.

“And you married me,” Jim counters with a grin.

Tagging: @auduna-druitt @pinkamour1588 @thefanficfaerie @yallneedtrek @bookcaseninja @zaczytanka-fangirl @ravencourt @chook007 @awkward-danii @cheesybadgers @whatif-animagineblog @ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly @missesworldchamp @aishahiwatari @marnieforever @reading-in-moonlight @gracieminabox @thevalesofanduin

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[emritcheson]

Why The New Cats Movie is a Terrible Idea

I was first introduced to Cats in my sixth grade music class.  Which, trust me, is the last thing you want to watch while in the same room as a herd of twelve-year-old-boys.  People in strange wigs and skintight suits gyrating their hips and rubbing their heads against other people’s crotches.  I was horrified and I wanted to go home.

In trying to convince myself how much I hated it, I found the film uploaded in segments to YouTube, and as it turns out, without the outside influence, I fell in love with it.

I fell in love hard.  The music, the costumes, simply how different it was from any other musical I had seen in my life, the characters and the actors’ different interpretations of them, and the energy of the fellow devoted fans - all of it was and continues to be pure magic.

I’m sure most of you have at least heard of the phenomenon that is Cats, but you may not be as familiar with it as you think.  Despite popular belief, it does have a story.

Based on a book of poems by T.S. Eliot, it takes place on the night of the Jellicle Ball, at which the Jellicle leader Old Deuteronomy chooses one cat to “be reborn and come back to a different Jellicle life,” which is considered a great honor.  Meanwhile, Grizabella - an old, fallen-from-grace cat - seeks affection from the others and tries to join in on the fun, but they reject her.  This leads her to singing “Memory,” arguably the most famous song from the entire show.  After she sings her guts out, the other cats finally accept her and Old Deuteronomy selects her to be reborn.

The version I watched in my music class that served as my introduction to this show was a film released by The Really Useful Group in 1998 and directed by David Mallet.

Talk has been thrown around for a few years now that Tom Hooper (director of the 2012 Les Misérables film) wanted to make a big screen film version of Cats, but in early 2016 the rumors were officially confirmed.  Now it’s 2019, filming has begun, and big names have come down like locusts in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book.  It will be produced by Working Title Films and distributed by Universal Pictures, Steven freaking Spielberg will serve as an executive producer, and then there’s the cast...

This cast hurts me in the way that I love all of them and don’t want to see them affiliated with this inevitable train wreck.

Ohhh, dear Lord, simply looking at this makes me ill.

The fact that Macavity has higher billing than Grizabella or Deuteronomy gives me extreme pause.  While he may be the main antagonist of the show, Macavity is physically present for about a scene and a half max.  He shows up to kidnap Old Deuteronomy, fights Munkustrap and a couple other cats, and then disappears in a puff of smoke (quite literally).

I don’t know how to explain why Judi Dench as Deuteronomy is a bad idea without sounding sexist, but it is.  What’s more, Judi Dench was cast as Grizabella (as well as Jennyanydots) when the show premiered in London in 1981, but due to an injury she had to back out and was replaced by Elaine Paige, who would go on to reprise the role in the 1998 film.  So clearly, bringing Dench on as Grizabella would have been a far more satisfying decision.

Ian McKellen as Gus the Theatre Cat is the only one I can see actually working.  He gave an impromptu sample of his lines on The Graham Norton Show and my heart swelled with tenderness, though he immediately showed he seems to be taking the whole thing with a grain of salt.

Jennifer Hudson is another one that I can almost see, except for the perpetuation of the “young Grizabellas” trend that’s been rolling ever since Nicole Scherzinger (seen above) was cast in the London revival in 2014.  I think half of the appeal and heartbreak of Grizabella’s character is that she is traditionally portrayed by an older actress and you can tell that she’s no longer in “the prime of her life.”  When she’s portrayed younger, it cheapens her.  Like, “Yeah, we know you only came to hear me sing the song, so hold onto the rafters, kiddos.”

Taylor Swift as Bombalurina (the character known for her voluptuous qualities) feels like they just picked two names out of a hat, and Jason Derulo...I’m not even touching that because Rum Tum Tugger is my favorite character out of the whole show and I hold him to very high standards on a regular basis.  I can only pray that they don’t try to bring Street Cat Tugger back from the dead, since they seem to be taking a lot of inspiration from the recent revivals.

(Aaand now that video is in my YouTube history.  It burns.)

There’s also the fact that Cats is an extremely dance-heavy show - jazz, ballet, tap, the works - and most of these celebrities are not exactly know for their dancing.

Now all of that said, let me go on record to say that I am not opposed to the idea of a new Cats film in general.  as much as I love the 1998 version, they did take a sprinkle of liberties and I would like to see something closer to the traditional stage version on film.  However, that is clearly not what Hooper is trying to do here.

The most important element of Cats - moreso than in any other musical, I will argue - is immersion.  This is a landscape that takes place between real life and fantasy, not quite one or the other.  And to make that work, you have to believe that these characters are real even though they look very little like anything you’ve ever seen before.  Star power is only going to distract from that, especially in a film version where the audience is going to be up close and personal with the actors as opposed to the minimum distance a theater provides.  We won’t be thinking, “Wow!  Macavity is so terrifying yet graceful at the same time!”  We’ll be thinking, “Wow!  That’s Idris Elba in cat makeup!”

Fortunately, not everyone on this list is a household name.  We have some proper theater people attached to this project, and while that does give me a little bit of hope, it doesn’t take away the fact that the production team is giving the most attention to the actors that have the most star power.  We’ve heard nothing about the music.  We’ve seen no photos from the set.

This film is already a Frankensteined cash cow with very little soul from the production on which it’s based.  And I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse from here on out.

[dat-town]

ink stains, big dreams

Characters: Jaebum & You

Setting: traveller poet au set in the early 90s

Genre: kind of sentimental but fluff

Summary: Your little hometown wasn’t ready for Jaebum. You were.

Words: 1.6k

The smallest town of Gangwon Province has exactly 3407 residents who know each other like the back of their hands. Nothing special or out of ordinary ever happens there and people prefer the tranquility of predictable.

It's after the first wave of leaves falling when a stranger arrives to the town. His presence is no secret, whispers finely laced with truth and gossips spread like wildfire and soon everybody knows about him. It was just a matter of time for the news to reach you and it happens in the middle of pouring another cup of coffee for Mr. Kim.

“Auntie says he booked the room for undetermined span of time,” he says zealously probably hoping that he could soon welcome a new buyer in his shop to bargain about the price of pottery.

“We have a visitor?” You can't help your curiosity and ask, neatly folding a new figure out of a napkin on the table.

“Oh and what kind of a visitor! A young man or so they say, very well-situated and–” Mrs. Kim chirps in as eager for gossiping as ever but she cannot finish the sentence because the diner's door open with a chime of bells above and your gaze falls to the figure standing under.

He’s tall, long limbs, slim waist. He wears a nice jacket over the casual tee and black jeans. His hair is the fashionable kind of messy which you have only seen in those movies screened once in every second month on the main square. He walks confidently, unaware of the eyes of him or he just doesn’t care. He sits down at an empty table by the door taking out books, papers and pencils out of his bag one by one.

You go to him in awe, almost in trance like he was a star falling from the sky because you’ve never seen anyone like him before. He belongs to the stories those new kind of romance books are about.

“Hello, welcome in The Diner, what can I get for you?” You greet him with the standard line that got rusty over the time because you usually know everybody here and you often ask about their day or their families instead of welcoming them.

“Hm, black coffee and your best side dish,” the stranger says without even looking at the menu. Instead he watches you carefully through his round glasses. Surprisingly, they look good on him and you almost blush under his gaze.

“So the Buffalo Burger. I'll bring it to you right away,” you nod and escape to the kitchen to let the chef know about the order.

It’s been only a few years since the war ended and modernization started, so what was the first thing this town did? Open an American-style diner for milkshakes and burgers. You find the amount of visitors coming here just for this kind of ridiculous though. You wonder if he’s one of them, too.

By the time you serve the visitor’s order, his table is full of papers with ink spots which makes you so curious but under the watching eyes of the other guests you don’t want to ask. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But it seems like he doesn’t even notice the others.

“Can I ask you something?” he looks up at you, dark eyes hopeful, searching for something.

"Sure,” you find yourself nodding while fumbling with the end of your apron.

"What do you like here?”

The question takes you by surprise. You aren’t sure what you expected but not this. Not from him.

"Uhm, the blueberry muffin is very good...”

"I meant the town,” the stranger corrects with an amused smile tinting his thin lips.

“Oh. There's really not much to do if that’s why you ask,” you shallow. Other than those who live here, nobody stays for long and that’s exactly why. “But there’s a carnival coming up. If I were you, I wouldn’t miss that one out.”

“Then I won’t, thank you.”

Even his eyes smile when he says that and he tips well when he leaves.

He comes back the next day and the day after that again and again. He spends hours in the diner always writing and drinking nothing but coffee.

"Are you a writer?” you blurt out the careless question once you refill his mug. He looks up at you with star-like eyes and a mouth that could kiss secrets onto the skin of your neck. You would let him if you want to be honest.

"I'm a poet of kind,” he says and nothing more. When he leaves that day he leaves a piece of note with the money. It’s a poem.

A beautiful one about leaves falling and people leaving.

“You travel because of inspiration?”

You’re more daring to ask now. It’s been weeks, the town’s curiosity died down and you got used to the presence of him, the mysterious IJB monogram scribbled under his impromptu poems left on napkins. Jaebum, the gossips say.

“No, I write because new places always inspire me,” he says always so sure of his answers. You admire him for that and he always leaves you curious.

“Where have you been before?” you ask as you’re drawing flowers on your notepad with wide eyes still trained on him, always on him. His eyes light up like everytime he speaks of something he loves. Like poetry.

“Everywhere and nowhere. I spent the last few years in America.”

It almost make you laugh. Of course, that’s where his style and taste comes from.

“How was it?” you can’t help but ask.

“A never ending adventure.”

Jaebum has so much to tell, he has been at so many places and sometimes when he speaks about them they seem like dreams you would like to dream.

Faint music plays from the radio, it’s a trot song on the only station you could receive on this frequency.

"You said you like it because it's peaceful,” the traveller, the poet, whatever you call him repeats because he remembers. He remembers every small details: even your hair on the first day, the hairpin and your dress on the carnival. He remembers it all because he engraved them with ink onto paper. “Don't you ever want to be a part of an adventure? To see the world?"

“I have seen enough of it, there's the market every Saturday right next town,” you raise your chin up. Come on, it’s not like you never left, but it’s good for you here.

“Why do you believe them when they say you will never leave the town?” he asks because he knows about that too. Of course he knows. It’s a small town, people live off gossips. There’s that time of the year when they look at you with pity in their eyes telling you how much you must miss your parent, how sad what happened to them. An accident on their way out of town.

“I–” You would like to protest or just say something but you can’t find the words.

"You have known this all your life. There's safety in staying, I know but... what if you go? What's the worst thing that could happen? If you don't like it, you can always come back,” he says and you know it’s true.

That day you stare at the world map on the wall of your room and mourn all the places you haven’t been.

It’s one of those night when they play a movie, projecting it to the white wall of the tallest buildings of the town. It’s an old American movie with a pretty actress. You faintly remember it’s called Roman vacation when Jaebum’s hand find yours over the gearbox of his car.

Later you drink milkshake and he plays with the ribbon in your hair. He whispers a few lines of his poetry into your ear.

"Have you written about me?” you ask barely above a whisper when he’s finished. You can feel him smile against your skin.

“Everything I have written since I'm here is about you,” he tells you and when he kisses you, his kiss tastes sweet like the shake he drank and the freedom he has.

I'm leaving tomorrow. If you wanna come by I will be waiting for you at the town hall at 6.

You have known this day would come, you have talked about it but when you receive his note, it still steals your breath, choking you. You don’t feel like you’re ready at all even though you’re torn between wanting to follow and wanting to stay. It’s frightening, the unknown out there being so big and you being so little. But you wouldn’t have to do it all alone...

"I told him he waits for nothing. You have responsibilities, you're not the type to just leave,” your boss says nonchalantly, all-knowingly and everything rushes into place. You smile because it’s Jaebum who apparently only knows you well.

"Mr. Park, I quit,” you throw in your apron and leave the diner just when the last remnant of leaves fall.

The smallest town of Gangwon Province has exactly 3406 residents but none of them knows you like they thought they did.

When you left, you didn’t choose a boy with enchanting smile and playful eyes but you chose not to be afraid anymore. To be free.

[stevethehairington]

Otp prompts for evak?

Ooh ooh okay, first of all thank you for the ask! And second….

Who in your OTP would fret over the littlest injury, like a paper cut?

Ooh hmm, this one’s tough. I think they both kind of would be like that with each other. Because I feel like for both of them when they get super focused on something they don’t really pay attention to the world around them or anything but what they’re completely focused on. So that being said I could totally see Even getting a paper cut from a script he’s working on or something but being so In The Zone that he doesn’t recognize and so Isak has to take care of it, and vice verse, where Isak’s so focused on a biology assignment or flash cards or something that he could get a paper cut and Even would have to be hang on there babe, put the notes down let’s clean this up then you can finish.

Who would dance with their pet to a bunch of songs, and who would sit in the corner just shaking their head like “I’m so in love with this dork”?

I definitely think that Even would be the one to force his pet into dancing with him and Isak would be the one sitting shaking his head and gazing fondly on. (He’d also probably be coerced into joining the dance by Even as well and though he’d complain at first he’d give in and have the time of his life)

Who would aggressively reenact songs, and who would just laugh at their partner’s expressions?

Okay so this one is pretty much canon lmaoo, it’s definitely Even that would aggressively reenact songs and definitely Isak who just laughs. Though the longer Isak and Even are together the more Isak starts joining in, and maybe even initiating the impromptu kitchen jam sessions

Who would stand on a table to argue or debate something, and who would just be like “no, you get off the table, it’s not safe, get off the table now please”?

Isak would totally be the one to get so into an argument that he’d stand on the table and then Even would have to be like hey baby come down from there before you fall over please

Who would quote vines?

I definitely think they both do. At first I was going to say Isak a little more because he’s actually literally a walking meme, but after thinking it over for a second with Even’s set of friends and their youtube channel and all I think he’d be pretty well versed with vines too, so yeah, it’s totally both of them.

Who would want literally every pet they see, and who would have to be the voice of reason, even if they don’t want to be?

Even would so want every pet they see. Maybe this is just my headcanon of Even having a golden retriever named Baz talking lmaoo but I feel like Even is totally the type of guy to stop and pet every single animal he sees when he’s walking through a park or something like that.

Who would dance with their best friend while their respective partners (who both have two left feet and can’t dance at all) look on, pretty much terrified at how well they can dance?

Hm hmm, I feel like depending on the situation it could be either of them in this position. Like, I think they’re both most comfortable dancing together, but I could definitely see Even letting loose with his friends even if he knows he’s not a great dancer, or maybe pulling out a few killer moves that both impress and surprise the heck out of Isak. But I can also see Isak being dragged onto the dance floor by like Eva and Vilde and can see him dancing along with them. And maybe he pulls out some sick moves too.

Who would support J*ck, and print out pictures of him and hang them up around their house?

Okay, ngl, I don’t exactly know what this one is asking…. like who tf is J*ck?? I feel like I’m missing something lol

Who would fill their house with scribbled notes, sketches, blueprints and poems for their partner to find?

Even!! Even totally absolutely 100% leaves little doodles and notes all around for Isak to find! He’ll leave song lyrics on post-its stuck to the mirror, or little reminders held onto the fridge with a magnet, or cute notes tucked away in Isak’s backpack in his lunch or notebook or something. He leaves doodles everywhere too, always the little comic strip type ones Isak loves so much. And Even’s totally the one that started doing it, but I think that maybe Isak does it back as well. Maybe not as often as Even (who probably does it everyday, let’s be real) but he definitely leaves Even little notes of encouragement or just a sticky full of hearts or something like that.