#okay the line i was supposed to build this poem around didn’t end up in there but i like this version much better

[ace-and-ink]

do birds cry?

i can’t imagine that animals can’t.

do you think that stray drop of something

that raindrop we swear we felt

despite the cloudless blue sky

could’ve been a bird overhead

crying as it soared?

you’d find it ironic

the animal symbolized by its freedom

by the endless open skies it can explore

they could be crying and we’d never know.

the morning birdsong could be sorrowful sonnets.

birds, so free and with the whole world at their fingertips

(or their feathertips, i guess)

wailing at the morning sun

mourning who knows what

in their nests outside the kitchen window.

it’s a sad thing to consider, isn’t it?

— mourning song

[nickydestati]

duolingo tog prompts #13

prompt: Now he is just a normal citizen (Adesso è solo un cittadino normale)

i am aware this is a superhero au for what technically is a superhero movie already but oh well, i hope you enjoy it anyway!

*

In general, Yusuf likes being Joe. On some days, though, he feels like screaming. Only yesterday night he was chasing down some stalker scum to teach them a lesson and make sure they would never even think of harassing anyone ever again, and now he is just a normal citizen. Just a face in the endless, dreary morning commute. 

He wants to grab someone by the shoulders and yell his secret in their faces. Just so someone knows he’s doing it all for them.

But he buries his hands in his pockets and walks on.

A bell rings when he enters the antique shop. The Old Guard, it is called. And of course, it’s just a facade, but to his surprise, Joe genuinely likes working there. He likes being surrounded by ancient and not so ancient objects, he loves walking around in the chaotic assortment of precious art pieces and absolute junk. He often wonders how Andy has gotten hold of all these things, but however sneakily he tries to coax it out of her, she always sees right through his schemes and just shrugs.

He puts everything ready and turns the sign of the door around so the ‘open’ side is facing the street. He glances at the numerous grandfather clocks lining one of the walls. Booker is late. Maybe on a job Joe forgot about, so he guesses he’s on his own for today.

He’s staring at some lists with a lot of numbers he doesn’t understand much about because 1) this is usually Booker’s job and 2) he’s running on three hours of sleep and caffeine, when the phone rings. He picks up immediately, grateful for something else to do.

“The Old Guard Antiques, with Joe, how can I help you?”

“I’ve got a job for you.” Andy.

“Hello to you, too,” Joe says, glancing about for customers, though the bell hasn’t made a sound yet all morning. He lowers his voice just to be sure. “And a job? So soon? I just finished the last one this night.”

He can barely hide his excitement, he quickly checks his free hand, making sure he doesn’t start glowing by accident.

“It’s urgent. We’ve got word that someone is after Lykon’s bracers.”

“Lykon’s bracers?” Joe’s happy mood sobers. Lykon was one of their team once. But the life of a superhero is never without danger. Things went terribly wrong on a mission a long time ago, and Lykon had sacrificed himself so the rest could get out with the people they were saving. They went back later, but despite his healing powers, he hadn’t been able to use them on himself in time. 

His bracers still hold fragments of his powers, though, just like Joe’s rings will when he dies. Every hero has such a token, and there are rumors it might grant the powers to someone else if used right. But so far, no one has tried yet. All superheroes agree that it’s simply too morbid and intruding.

“Yes.” Andy sighs. “I knew I shouldn’t have given it to the museum. It would’ve been safer with us after all.”

“Hey, boss, don’t beat yourself up. It was the best option back then. So, who’s after it?”

“Some rich megalomaniac called Merrick. You know, the usual. The theft is planned for this Friday. Booker is at the museum now to find a way to get you inside and get a layout from the building. He’ll be on it for the rest of the week so you’re on shop duty alone for a while.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll send you some more details you can look through. How did it go last night?

“It went well,” Joe answers, but it’s a tad too late and of course Andy notices.

“But?”

Joe sighs. “But the Shadow showed up and I had just gotten them right where I wanted them, but when I rounded the corner, he’d taken care of them already.”

“The guy’s good,” Andy says and the appraisel in her voice makes a spike of jealousy flash through his chest.

“Maybe you should ask him to join us, then,” he says and he hates how annoyed he sounds.

Andy chuckles on the other end. “Have to figure out who he is first.”

Just some pretentious bastard thinking he’s too good to talk with other superheroes. But Joe is tired talking about him.

“So how are you and Nile? Have you found her yet?”

“No, no sign yet.” All mirth has left Andy’s voice and Joe’s heart clenches.

“It’s only a matter of time. We’ll find her. Or she’ll find us again, she wouldn’t leave us like that.” She wouldn’t leave you.

“Let’s hope so,” Andy says with a heavy sigh. “Gotta go, I’ll send you the information. Keep me updated, okay?”

“Sure thing, boss. Say hi to Nile from me.”

He’s breaking his head over the lists again when the bell makes him startle. 

His throat runs dry when he looks up because the most beautiful man in all the universe has just entered the shop. Joe really shouldn’t be so dumbfounded by the man, because objectively speaking he is rather plain-looking with that simple hair cut and those pants that are really doing nothing for him, but still. Even like that, he has something incredibly mesmerising to Joe.

He pretends to look back at the lists for a while, but glances at the customer every now and again from the corner of his eye.

When the man has been wandering around for a while and has been staring at those small angel statuettes for five minutes already, Joe slips from behind the counter and goes to him. 

“Good morning, sir, can I be of some assistance?”

The man turns around and a small smile appears around his mouth when he sees Joe, melting Joe’s heart into a puddle.

“Maybe. I’m looking for a birthday gift for my nonna, but I don’t know which archangel she would like more.”

And to Joe’s surprise, the man goes on to explain the different meanings behind them which is incredibly fascinating - and not only because his hand gestures are so elegant and his eyes are alight with a passionate glow that Joe would describe as moonlight in one of his poems. And Joe is all too happy to chip in with his own knowledge of art and iconology. 

They get so caught up in their conversation that Joe jumps when the grandfather clocks start their various announcements of the fact that it is twelve o’clock. The man startles too by the cacophony and glances at his watch. 

“Oh, I should get going. I’ll take this one.” And he picks out Joe’s favorite. 

He follows Joe to the cash register and pays. 

“I am Joe, by the way,” Joe says when he’s wrapping the statue in bubble plastic to protect it.

“Nicky, nice to meet you,” Nicky says and Joe can’t keep the wide smile from his face.

“We should do that again some time,” he says, gathering all his courage. “Talk, I mean, not necessarily buying or selling angel statuettes.”

Nicky laughs, and the little snort makes Joe’s heart jump to his throat. “Let’s grab some dinner then, when are you available?”

“Only Friday wouldn’t work for me,” Joe says.

“I can’t make it on Friday either, so let’s say Saturday? Here, let me get your number,” Nicky says and picks his phone from his pocket.

They exchange numbers and say their goodbyes, Nicky flashing a last smile at him from the door before leaving Joe helplessly lost behind his cash register. 

*

Focus, Yusuf! Yusuf chastizes himself when his mind has wandered off to what he’s going to wear for his date tomorrow for what must be the millionth time. You’re supposed to be watching out for a thief, focus!

Yusuf takes a deep breath and scans the room again. He’s hidden in a very uncomfortable position against the ceiling, holding on to a pillar that grants him a view of the entire exhibition room. If he didn’t have his powers, there was no way he could have endured this position for so long, and while it would have been even easier if the sun was out, he manages. 

The minutes are ticking by, no sign of a thief yet. The bracers are still safely in their display case beneath him.

Then there’s a movement, ever so slightly, by the windows. Yusuf’s eyes latch onto it, but it’s gone so soon that he almost thinks it’s a trick of his mind. 

Always trust your instincts, Andy told them over and over again. Our minds don’t play tricks on us.

Sure enough, there’s another flutter in the shadows. No, not in the shadows. Of the shadows.

One of them is moving.

Joe curses inwardly, of course Merrick has hired the Shadow.

He waits for the Shadow to reach the display case. Then, when he reaches over the glass, Yusuf slides down right behind him. He reaches for him, letting out a sound of victory when his hands guess correctly and circle around the Shadow’s neck. He lets his hands glow, unleashing the heat he’s always containing. 

Surprised by the sudden attack, the Shadow turns visible and Yusuf stumbles back out of pure shock.

He’s all clad in black, with a balck version of a mask not unlike Yusuf’s own, but Yusuf would recognise the eyes peeking through it anywhere. Those eyes that are unmistakably glowing with moonlight now.

“Nicky?” Yusuf exclaims.

“Joe?” 

Nicky seems just as confused as Yusuf who’s still looking him up and down as if he might change into someone else after all - and oh man, these tight pants are definitely doing things for him. Nicky recovers faster from the shock, though. 

“Sorry, but I really gotta take these,” he says and before Yusuf can make his muscles move again, Nicky already has the bracers in his hands and is dashing for the windows.

“Wait no!” Yusuf sprints after him, but Nicky whisps away into shadow-form again and slips through a slightly opened window. 

“Nicky!” Yusuf screams after him. He opens the window wider - not alarming the guards be damned - and looks out over the city. But there’s no trace of Nicky.

His heart is pounding. Nicky, the beautiful man he is already head over heels with, is the Shadow. Not only is he the Shadow, but he has also stolen Lykon’s bracers for some capitalist asshole.

Shit.

“Is our date still on tomorrow?” Yusuf calls weakly into the night.

[orionxcastillo]

full name: orion castillo nicknames: ori, conejito (”little bunny” in spanish) gender and pronouns: cis man, he / him. age: thirty-eight. date of birth: april 9, 1983. hometown: chelmsford, england. nationality: british born, cuban and american heritage. religion: catholic. sexual and romantic orientation: bisexual biromantic. occupation: antique store assistant. living arrangements: lives on his own. languages spoken: english, spanish. (accent is a mess of english, american, cuban) strange history: edith alby

TW: mental institution, domestic violence, attempted murder, mental instability

Orion’s mother left America to study mythology at a British university. It was there she met his father, also studying. The pair hit it off and eventually married, Orion wasn’t far behind.

The night Orion’s mother told his father they were having a baby she took him outside to star gaze, telling him the stories of the ancient Greeks above. He struggled to see what stars she was talking about, except for Orion’s belt - three stars perfectly lined up together. Just as they would be as a family. 

When he was born Orion cried like nothing would ever be okay in the world. The nurses and doctors worried, but found nothing medically wrong. It wasn’t until Orion’s father nursed him by the window, pointing out Orion’s belt to the newborn did he seem to finally calm. The new parents felt the name Orion was fitting, as if he picked it out himself.

Life growing up in the UK had its ups and downs. He didn’t look or sound like the rest of the kids around him - his father was first generation Cuban-British, his mother was American. Sometimes there were fights in the school grounds, or out, some days he just skipped class entirely. Sometimes that was to flirt with the local girls school as they walked by his returning from sports at the nearby oval. If anything he would have thought of his childhood relatively normal, expected even. He did well in class despite his absences, he participated in sports and made friends who would invite him over to watch the latest movie on VCR. It was normal, at least in that aspect of life.

Home life was getting more and more destructive as Orion moved into his teen years. His father was becoming known for outbursts, whether anger or from distress. His mother would pretend all was okay; he was just having a ‘tantrum’ or a ‘funny day’. It was normal! Everyone had trouble sometimes. But sometimes when he was alone with his father he could hear him talking to someone, when the room was empty. He would say something to his father and the man would seem to be in another world entirely, not hearing a word that left his mouth. 

Things got the worst when Orion was 15. His grandparents, his fathers parents, moved in. They used the excuse they were struggling with money, but they always seemed to have a wallet full of cash ready to go. He was starting to get pushed out of rooms, told to go study or sleep when he heard his father scream. They didn’t want him to see what was happening to the man. He was sick. Doctors were in and out of the house, sometimes they would help - for a few days the house would grow quiet. Then things would get bad again, and every time it seemed to be getting worse.

Orion spent a lot of time out of home, he would sleep at friends houses or wander the streets. It felt for a while there no one cared what happened to him, he was pushed out and forgotten. Most mothers would worry about their son being out all night, his mother didn’t even notice. She had a lot on her hands, he knows this now, but as a teenager sometimes you need that support.

Everything came to a breaking point when one night that he did happen to be home he was awoken by his mothers screams for help. He scrambled out of bed, launched through the house in nothing but his boxers, to find his father welding a knife trying to prove to everyone they were all dead. He doesn’t remember everything that follows, his mind protecting him from as much trauma as they can. All he knows is he put himself between his mother and the knife, tackling the man he had looked up to as a child.

Orion, his mother, and his father all ended up in hospital that night. His grandparents came home after a later dinner party in time before trauma turned to tragedy. Doctors submitted his father into the psych ward as his grip on reality slipped away completely. His mother would come to divorce his father, his grandparents taking care of the man moving him to a care facility where he remains today. His mother would take Orion across the sea to America where her family would welcome him.

Orion would struggle after what he went through, it wasn’t allowed to be talked about - his mother wanting to forget it ever happened. A fresh start, why would they dirty it up with what has been? She would go on to work at Pleasance library whilst Orion finished his education through home schooling. He was of age to get a job so filled his free time working small jobs around town, planning to build enough funds that at age 18 he would return home to England. 

Except he never did. Ask him today and Orion will probably shrug as to why not, honestly he doesn’t quite know. There was something about this town, he didn’t really feel like leaving. Ever. Strange, no? In his time in Pleasance Orion has made friends, had good and bad relationships, lived a typical life. He moved into his own flat, even bought himself a cat to keep him company. His mother eventually retired and calls in on him far too often but he humours her, knowing she never meant him harm. 

Over the years Orion has received letters from his family in England looking to update him on the state of his father but they go unanswered. Truthfully, he wishes they would stop, but part of him would appreciate that the line of contact always stayed open. It was just more annoying than welcoming when a letter showed up in his mailbox.

The last few years Orion has been working at For Keeps, the antique store. He likes working there because there is always something new in store, something he had never seen before or a story locked away inside. Orion liked to research the history behind them, filling his time with books at the library or fingers tapping away at the keyboard as he looks online for further information. It feeds his curiosity, making it always annoying when he hits a dead end.

Life was normal, well as normal as you can get in this town (it’s always been a bit strange). Except, well, there was the fact he was seeing dead people. Well, Orion isn’t completely sure they’re ghosts. It’s not everywhere nor is it all the time. He first noticed it around five years ago, or maybe it was longer than that. They would just be there, doing their thing, when a figure that didn’t belong would join him. The ‘ghost’s don’t talk to him, not really. Sometimes they utter a word or shake their head but it’s never enough to know what they want from him. Occasionally they move his things, or things around the store, or follow him around as if they were breathing down his neck. 

Orion would be more distressed over the idea of ghosts if it wasn’t a more comforting idea than what happened to his father. Ghosts meant he wasn’t insane, just haunted. That he could handle, they didn’t bother him enough for it to disrupt his life and sometimes the company was nice on a slow day. Of course he told literally no one of the things he was seeing, they would call him crazy and break his mothers heart. If she ever found out she would have him hospitalised and possibly end up there herself. 

Telling himself it was ghosts felt easier than the fact he was of the same age his father was when he lost touch with reality, that the things his father saw could be appearing in front of his own eyes. To turn into the man he left behind so long ago was his worst nightmare - he may not have an exciting life but he had one he longed to hold on to. So ghosts were easy to handle, for now at least. Trauma from his father? He’ll pass on that one, even if it meant his own health was a risk. 

Orion to his friends is just like his cat, he likes to find somewhere warm and settle. If he’s at the bar he’s in the corner booth with his drink, maybe a book in hand until company joins him. He likes to check out sometimes, go out to the lake with some camping gear and forget the worst exists. You’re lucky if he invites you along, he clearly doesn’t want to forget you.

Orion almost always is carrying a packet of cigarettes, a notebook or novel, a packet of gum and spare change. He walks most places so his car is collecting dust in its garage. He likes to cook for people, as long as you’re not a picky eater. He is often scribbling in his notebook, whether reminders or notes on something he’s researching, or poems no one is supposed to ever hear.

To most Orion is known as Ori, his parents are the only one who would call him conejito, which means ‘little bunny’.

OOC: 

My name is Jen but for less confusion you can call me J. I’m 27, live in Australia, and have been on Tumblr for like... over 10 years. Love me. 

He is open to all kinds of connections, I do not have a specific list so just hit me up to plots.

@phqextras

[lieblingspulli]

The Final Lily

w.c: 3.8k

Jungkook x OC

Summary: Jungkook is a musical, artistic and Nighttime sky deity that falls in love with a mortal author. To keep her safe, he stays away and gives her gifts in order to make her dreams come true, even far after she has become a legendary playwright and has passed.

Masterlist!

-

The theater began to feel stuffy as people piled into their seats. All Jungkook could hear was the elite of Paris chatting away and the usual theater conversations. Jungkook wiped away some sweat from the back of his neck. It was hot in here.

Being packed in a theater like rats with the sweatiest people Jungkook had ever seen was not on his itinerary for today. He had seen marvels that no one had ever seen before and yet he was here sitting next to a Vicomte and his wife who sweat like pigs. Jungkook was disgusted. He tried to hide it. Jungkook wasn’t here to converse with sweaty nobility, he was here for a play. Or more so a retelling of a poem. A really long one.

The French nobility around him seemed to ignore him entirely, which meant his disguise was working. He had begged for Jin to cloak him so that he was not noticeable tonight. Tonight was deeply important to him and Jin knew why.

Jungkook recalled his conversation with Jin earlier. He was unsure about how Jin would react.

“Are you sure you want to go down there in your state Jungkook? They can see you and immediately recognize you from a mile away.” Jin looked at him, uneasy about this whole thing.

“Jin, you know I have to. Today is too special for me not to.” Jungkook pleaded and gave Jin his doe eyes. “I haven’t missed this day for almost four thousand years. I can’t do this without your help.”

“Yoongi would get mad at me for letting you sneak down there, looking so obvious. You can’t just pop up in the middle of Paris and expect not to be seen in a dark theater when you’re literally glowing Jungkook.”

Jungkook felt the frustration building in his throat and huffed.

“I won’t get caught, I promise. Really!” He waited a second and stared at Jin pleadingly who was looking a great deal uncomfortable with the prospect of letting the younger god just waltz into a human packed space when he was at the peak of his power. Jungkook knew this. He knew the dangers of going out like this, and he knew Jin knew it too. He grimaced and pleaded with his eyes to Jin as he could see the wheels turning in Jin’s head.

“I swear to myself, if you get caught, you never asked me, okay? This is so dangerous, you don’t even know how much trouble I would get in if Yoongi found out.” Jin nervously bit his fingers and gestured to nowhere in particular. Jungkook just grinned and ran out.

As the theater filled and people in unnecessary frilly dresses took their seats, Jungkook gripped the theater ticket in his hands. He felt empty, even with this ticket in his hand. He should have been happy, but he wasn’t. Jungkook stared at the title of the play for a good ten minutes before the lights started to dim and it took his vision of the ticket away from him. Jungkook heard the presenter say something in French, but he didn’t bother to learn the language so it just sounded like curly language to him. He wished he did learn it though, he wanted to hear all the praises that his Asteria would have cried over. He wanted to commit every single one to memory so that maybe one day, he could tell her how many people loved her work. Jungkook frowned and tried to keep his tears in. His heart ached but it was too early for that. Taking a deep breath, he looked up and focused on the curtain opening as two people (clearly actors) were positioned by a fake pond and started their scene.

The next two hours were like a blur for Jungkook. He knew every single word of this poem, every single breath, every single tear and every single kiss. He knew the words by heart and he knew what each cue meant. He could even give Namjoon a run for his money if he told him that he knew the exact pace at which each sentence should be spoken. Jungkook may have been a patron of writing and inspired many great writers, but none moved him as much as this piece did. This piece felt like it was for his eyes only, and Jungkook was angry that it outlived the person who should be right next to him, watching the actors say their lines with joy. The stillness of the theater felt strange, it was hot and stuffy, but each person focused intently on the actors who were fake crying and fake admiring the water. He studied everyone’s face when the main lead met her love and asked about her gifts. He smiled when everyone else did at the scene where the lead, whose name was Isidora, finally got to kiss the man who led her to happiness. Jungkook loved every part of this play.

Isadora’s eyes glinted in the theater spotlight and suddenly she was gleaming with joy. Jungkook’s unintentional aura had made her gleam like moonlight and the play was phenomenal because of it. Every careful line was read by her actor with vigor and drama, eager to show the audience the power of love. Agapinor, Isadora’s lover read his lines with fervor. Jungkook studied their faces for a while before their scene was over, not listening to their words anymore.

He knew why the lead’s name was Isidora, and it made him smile with joy but also cry tears of grief. Isidora was Greek for ‘the gift of the moon’. This poem was supposed to be a gift of the moon but really, it was a gift for him. It was a gift for the moon. Jungkook clutched his ticket tighter as he watched Isidora be ripped away from her love and never see him again. The ending always made him emotional. He could hear the sweaty nobles gasp and he almost regretted coming here. It was always like this and had been for centuries. Jungkook quickly left before the lights even turned on in the theater, away from those smelly people and snobby politicians. Away from his gift and away from the words of his love.

Jungkook briskly walked out, careful not to bump into anybody and attract attention to himself. It was enough that the full moon made him practically glow, but his presence at the theater had calmed everybody and made them emotional. He needed to leave before he was spotted. His heart burned and his eyes stung, but he made it to the edge of the brick ledge, overlooking the canal. In the water’s reflection he could see the point of the Eiffel tower, a metal marvel that amazed him every time he saw it. Jungkook thought Yoongi would have liked to see it, but Yoongi wasn’t the type to roam the streets of Paris, or any other city for that matter. He was firmly against human contact and had stayed away for centuries from them. The last time Yoongi graced Earth was when he had to come down and fix Taehyung’s last great flood near Sparta. That was also the last time he had seen Yoongi so mad. Jungkook shuddered at the thought.

He kept staring at the Eiffel tower and eventually he could see little specks in the sky, reflected from the water. It always happened like this. The play and then the meteors. Jungkook wanted to catch every meteor and cradle them in his arms. He wanted to see her again. A silver droplet landed in the water and made the canal water clear up a little. Jungkook continued to observe the blurry specks until he looked up and saw them clearly, despite his tears. The moon seemed to shine a little brighter and the meteors sparkled beautifully in the clear night sky. Jungkook decided it was time to go and see them for real now. He walked away from the ledge and pulled his trench coat a little tighter in.

-

Jungkook materialized behind a big oak tree that had been there for millenia. It was a very old oak tree, it should have withered long ago. But it was also a gift for him. Namjoon had perfectly preserved this grove in its entirety. The flowers here bloomed at the same time every year for hundreds of years. The grass never withered and the trees stayed green. The Mediterranean climate helped preserve the flora and fauna and Namjoon had even kept the pond the same for many years. It held the same beauty as it did when Jungkook was first led here. Even in the middle of the 17th century, this sacred place had remained untouched. Jungkook felt the cool breeze of the night and saw the same meteors he had seen earlier streak the sky with glittering white specks. Asteria would have loved to see the natural beauty of her special spot.

Tears welled up in Jungkook’s eyes as he carefully sat on the grass next to her pond. Little silver fish swam away from him as he touched a finger to the surface of the cool water. He tucked his sandaled feet under his thighs and crossed his legs over each other, careful not to pull the fabric of his chiton and so that the object he held in his hands could rest in his lap.

“I’m back for you my love.” Jungkook said to nobody. “Can I read to you? Just as you would to me, do you remember?” He managed to choke out, suddenly short of breath. The trees rustled with the slight breeze, but no answer. Jungkook was here alone, he knew that. But he still felt like he wasn’t. So he talked freely here, the only time he could talk to her with his real voice. Jungkook looked at the dartfish and nodded, ready to read.

He carefully opened the leather cover of his book and saw the charcoal markings inside the rough cover. This was the original book he had made her sign. In the bright moonlight, the leather and worn paper seemed gray rather than a faded brown. This relic was older than many buildings here, even older than the pantheon on the hill of Athens. It was made of real goat leather and rough scroll paper, made by artisans in her time. Jungkook ran his fingers along the paper and felt all the rough bumps. He didn’t touch the writing, afraid the charcoal would smudge as if it were fresh. He flipped the page and read the first lines of the book in his mind. He started to read out loud after he cleared his throat and wasn’t afraid anymore. His Asteria’s writing always made him less afraid. He read the first page and remembered her voice reading it. He breathed life into her words as she once did when she was creating them. Jungkook’s voice hitched at the end of the page when he read the same words Asteria had written as she began to voice her ambitions out loud. He could close his eyes and remember it like it was yesterday.

“I hope these words reach people outside of this small little village. I want them to be as famous as the classics.” Asteria whispered to herself as she scribbled some words in her newly bound book. Jungkook wanted to shout to her, “You will! I’ll make it so!” But he couldn’t. He couldn’t speak, so he only looked at her longingly from behind a thick tree, as if his words in his mind could reach her. But they didn’t. He watched Asteria continue to scribble on her first page of the book he had left for her.

“I also wonder if I’ll ever meet the man who left me these gifts. I hope it’s not Pheobos. His manners are worse than a pig’s. I want this man to be handsome and kind and loving. I hope I’ll get to see him someday.” She sighed out and shamelessly looked at the fish in the pond with longing. Jungkook was left with little restraint and wide eyes. She was so unabashed about what she wanted, he loved it. He wanted to give her everything she wanted and more. He wanted to love her better than any man could. Better than that Pheobos could anyway. Her tiny voice continued on with her proclamations.

“I probably shouldn’t be saying this but please, if anyone is out there and listening, Aphrodite, maybe? Let me see this man at least once in my life.” Asteria stopped writing and relaxed her shoulders as she watched the clear sky. “I want to see the man I’ve fallen in love with.” Her golden brown hair flew in the wind and it shined like golden thread. The breeze quickly died and she patiently stared at the glittering blue ocean, visible from her pond.

These words made Jungkook’s breath hitch and his heart flutter. His face felt warm and his ears, he knew, were red. He wanted so badly to just run out and say, “Here I am!” Jungkook listened in painful silence as Asteria waited for a sign, but Hobi had made the day too good, and nothing made a noise, not even with the wind. Jungkook wanted to throw a pebble or something to convince her that he was there and he would always be there. Asteria sighed and continued to write.

Jungkook clutched the book tightly but quickly let go in fear that it would crumble into ashes. He could feel his face still warm from his memory and he could remember how warm her presence had made him. Her entire being had comforted him, he wistfully wished for that again. He was afraid that his memories would turn to ashes along with his book, so he held it as if he were to hold her, never to let go. Jungkook squeezed his eyes as he let his tears run down his face and onto his hands. The silver droplets quickly disappeared and if anything, they made more meteors fall. He could feel the cool breeze caress his warm cheeks as if to comfort him, saying no more tears. He choked on his tears that quickly turned to sobs.

Everything in Jungkook told him that Asteria was his love and his only. Out of the millennia of him being alive, he only truly felt alive with her in his presence. Her warm smile and golden skin made him fall in love with her every time he pictured her in his mind. Her soft, delicate hands were made to write and he loved to see them work their magic. He fell in love with every part of her, from her fingers to her peach colored lips, to her eyes that held the stars. Jungkook could hear her laugh every time she smiled and he could hear it echo in his mind as he imagined her receiving the first copy of her book. He could remember her jumping excitedly as the publisher congratulated her for it. Her excited giggles were fresh in his mind as he sat here, centuries later without her.

Jungkook vividly remembered the touch of her fingers on his as they both reached for the pen she had dropped. When she looked at him, in his disguise of course, he had memorized the map of her face, the glint in her eyes and the beauty marks on her cheeks. He could paint a perfect picture of her just with his memories alone. Her insistent laugh as she apologized for being so unlady-like had been seared into his brain. Her tears had been solidified in his memories. Jungkook sobbed as he watched the meteors fall in grace. The moon mocked him with it’s glow. The meteors fell so beautifully against the midnight sky and the constellations his brothers had created that he wanted to snatch them and throw them into the ocean. Jungkook wanted to make her his. He wanted to bring her back and he wanted to show her the wonders of this new world. He wanted her to love him and he wanted to love her. He wanted to love her sunkissed fingers and her high cheekbones and her curly baby hairs and her smooth neck. He wanted to melt into her touch instead of his puddle of misery. He wanted to beg Taehyung and Jin to bring a soul back to life, even though none of them had the power to do so. He would traverse the planes of his own existence to bring her back. He would do anything for her gaze again.

Jungkook took a shaky breath and let the book float in his hands as it dematerialized into the space he called home. It would show up in his room later. Hands now empty of her writing, he felt uneasy again. Some tears made his vision blurry and he had cried enough times to know not to touch them or else it would make his eyes burn. His tears were supposed to heal him, as moonlight droplets usually would, but he found that his tears for her never did. They seemed to make his eyes burn and his heart hurt even more. Jungkook continued to observe this space, it’s natural beauty and the meteors that fell for her. He continued to wonder if he would ever see her again, in vain. Jungkook never got to hold her or kiss her or even tell her he loved her, but he just wished that she didn’t die feeling unloved. He loved her passionately and deeply, he stored her memories in his heart and locked them away for days like these. He seemed to find her face in every painting that Namjoon showed him. He found her words in every book he read.

Looking back down at the pond and the reflection of the stars in her pond, he finally spoke to her.

“I wish you were here to see how much you’ve come to be known.” The fish were startled by his voice. “I just wish I could have shown my true face to you, and loved you how you were. I wish I could have kept you with me forever.” Jungkook’s words died in the still air and he felt a tear slide down his chin once again. The meteors had slowed down and the moon was beginning to shift with the time he spent here. He never wanted to leave. He was so attached to this silly little pond, he felt like sleeping here if he could.

“Please say something.” Jungkook whispered. Nothing answered back.

The oak tree branches rustled with the slight breeze and he suddenly felt the chill. Asteria’s warmth was no longer here. Jungkook took this as a sign to leave.

As Jungkook leaned to push himself up off the ground, he spotted something glowing white in the moonlight. It caught his eye instantly, the object seemed to sparkle in the little moonlight that was left. He only realized what it was when he crawled over to it, careful not to block the moonlight.

Blossoming in front of his own two eyes was a delicate flower. It’s petals were soft, just like Asteria’s lips. The glowing white color brought Jungkook to the verge of tears. He trembled, afraid to kill it if he touched it. But he gently touched it anyway.

Right in the same spot that Jungkook watched his Asteria write her books for years was a delicate and fully blossomed white Lily. It’s leaves were strong and healthy, it’s petals soft and delicate. The strong floral scent of the lily hit Jungkook so hard, it brought him to full sobs again. The flower blossomed in the direction of the pond, but Jungkook felt like it was facing him, telling him it was okay. The healthy petals and yellow pollen spoke to him. They told him that this was it, without any words. Jungkook knew this was a sign and he sobbed into his hands, hating that he knew what it meant.

He knew that Asteria lived a long and good life. He wanted her to, so he protected her like a flower blossoming in his garden. Even after she was married and had kids, he left a white lily for her every day on this spot. Even when she stopped coming to their spot, he left her a blossom. Even after she was gone, he came here and left her a lily every day. Soon enough, he stopped coming too, too cowardly to face his grief of losing her. He could no longer see her or feel her warmth, so he no longer left her flowers. But this blossom, growing from this unchanging dirt that had stayed the same for centuries, it was for him. He could feel it. He somehow sensed that she knew he left her those things. This flower was proof. Jungkook softly caressed the petals and a silver teardrop fell on the ground beside it, making the soil become dark with fertility.

Jungkook sighed and furrowed his brows hard. Namjoon had taught him to manifest flowers eons ago, even if he did not have the power to do so. He felt like he had to, for Asteria. He needed to leave a sign for her spirit, so she could rest in peace. He needed to say something to her finally for the first time. So he tried.

Carefully Jungkook shifted himself to the space next to her flower and held his shaky hands just above the soil. Using the still fertile soil, he concentrated long and hard, imagining the scent and exact color of his new blossom. As he held his breath, he lifted his hands in a slow upward motion and felt a soft stem poke his palm. Jungkook opened one eye and saw a flower growing right before his eyes. In a matter of seconds his flower had opened and bloomed a bright orange lily with black specks on it’s petals.

The fertile soil and his heightened abilities had made the stem thick and strong, the petals seemed hearty. They gleamed with the bright moonlight. Jungkook admired his work and noticed that a vine off the stem had grown over to the white lily and curled around it’s stem. Jungkook’s burning eyes welled with more tears and he shifted his weight back onto his feet while sitting on his knees. This would be his final goodbye for her. A final gift to his other half. A final testament of his love, these blossoms would live eternally in this Eden of theirs. Jungkook slowly got up and willed the rest of his energy into one last star that shined bright in the sky. The closest one to the moon, he willed it to shine brighter than any other star in his night sky. Jungkook’s tears flowed freely as he walked away from his memory of her forever.

[kanicro]

every drop of rain singing

I’ve been full of yearning for weeks now so I wrote a safehouse fic in which Jon talks about Martin’s feelings (!!) with him (!!!)

you can read it on ao3 or below:

There’s something unmistakably pleasant about putting things in their place. About knowing where things are and how to find them. It was an impossible task in the Archives, but here, every sheet of paper is equally mundane and unimportant. So Jon has taken over the small coffee table and covered it with the small pile of receipts that have accumulated in the past week. 

He labels and dates them, cataloguing fruits and onions from the stand on the side of the road, pasta and rice and tinned beans from the small grocery store, the box of tea Martin had bought from a small shop beside the second-hand bookstore. The rain moves in rivlets down the windows, the scent of something fresh and alive coming in from the gap under the door, and Martin is humming softly in the kitchen as he monitors the state of the pasta. It’s almost finished.

There’s nowhere else Jon would rather be, nothing else he’d rather be doing, no one else he would rather be with. He feels himself smile as he reaches for-

There’s something already written on the receipt. Of course there is, it’s a receipt, but something else aside from the Pineapple, £2 handwritten in blue ink in the centre. It’s cramped and messy, a few lines scrawled in a corner, and Jon squints to read it.

It’s a poem. Or part of one, at least. 

and even as I dragged myself, empty

from the clutches of its unyielding finity,

I wonder if it clung to me as this,

dispassionate heap of cloying devouring

unmoving creation for nobody

It ends there, as though Martin had gotten that far and then lost whatever had struck him in the first place. Because it can only be Martin who wrote it, even if his handwriting isn’t usually so messy. Jon remembers buying the pineapple, surprised to see them in a place he didn’t particularly associate with pineapples, though he now Knows that pineapples were first grown in Scotland in 1731 and that there is a building in the shape of one in Stirlingshire. He remembers that Martin had grown distant in the afternoon, pleading tiredness and nothing else.

Jon startles when Martin leans on him, resting his chin on his head. His arms wrap around his shoulders to link hands in front of his sternum, and Jon hastens to fold the receipt in half and write the date on it. He puts it on the pile of food purchases. 

“Get distracted, did we?” Martin comments, amused, and Jon lifts his now-free hands to warm them on Martin’s.

“Just a bit. Did you know that there’s a summerhouse in the shape of a pineapple near Airth in Stirlingshire?” Jon says as Martin traps his hands under his own, rubbing circles over the edges of his scars.

“No, but something tells me that, a few minutes ago, you didn’t either,” Martin says, and Jon can tell he’s teasing, has learnt to pick up the delighted undercurrent in his voice. He rolls his eyes, not that Martin can see, and tugs his hands free to wriggle out of Martin’s grasp and stand up. When he does, he offers Martin his hand again.

Pasta isn’t the easiest thing to eat one-handed, so instead they twine their ankles together under the table, and Jon feels something euphoric in his chest as he cheekily taps his foot against Martin’s until, with a long-suffering sigh, Martin presses his feet against the floor and keeps them there.

The poem doesn’t leave his mind. It rings through his head as they have dinner, as he washes the dishes, as he goes to sit beside Martin on the couch, book in hand. Jon has asked after Martin’s poetry before, while they’ve been in the safehouse, and Martin had told him that he hadn’t been writing since- well. It’s difficult to write about how you feel when you’re actively trying to avoid feeling anything at all. A part of Jon is pleased, hopes that this is a sign that Martin has recovered, but.

But Martin is quiet, now, his hand limp in Jon’s, and Jon presses a receipt between the pages of the book and sets it down on the table. He watches Martin look out the window, the rain having abandoned them for a short while, and when Martin realises that Jon is looking at him he looks back.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, and Jon pulls a face and shakes his head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to- no, you’re fine.” Except he isn’t, and Jon can’t bear not knowing, and he can’t help but ask, "How are you, Martin?"

"I'm... good?" Martin answers, seeming confused. He smiles at Jon, but it fades quickly, not enough substance behind it to sustain it. "You've been with me the whole day, Jon, you would have noticed if I were upset."

Jon is nothing if not persistent. "I don't mean- I mean, how do you feel? Not just today, but… in general," he finishes lamely, and Martin seems to withdraw slightly.

"I feel alright, you know? I mean, things are a bit weird, but I'm fine. No problems on my end," Martin says, and Jon knows he's lying. He Knows he's lying.

And he has evidence, even. "I- uh," and he now wonders if it's an invasion of privacy to read a scrap piece of paper, "I found a poem. That you wrote. And it just seemed sort of- it didn't seem very happy."

"You found-?” He glances at the receipts in realisation and sighs. “You- you don’t need to worry about that, Jon.”

Except Jon is worried. Even more so now that Martin is avoiding it, despite it just being them. Despite it just being Jon, and nobody and nothing else.

"Don't lie to me, Martin,” Jon says, something desperate and impatient starting to curl in his stomach. “Why is it so difficult to tell me how you feel?"

He feels a cold hand grip his heart when static accompanies the question, but the compulsion doesn’t taste like regret, or betrayal, or like rotting books decomposing in his stomach. And Jon Knows Martin’s trying to hold back but the room suddenly feels too loud and too close and too Much and it-

“Because I’m afraid you’ll hate me if I talk about it,” Martin says. 

The knowledge settles on his tongue like honey. No, it does not taste like something festered within, but Jon wants to hate it all the same.

Martin’s posture closes in on itself and he looks down, his face suddenly becoming very blank. Jon’s stomach opens up into a pit in his abdomen and he swallows into an aching void as he presses closer to Martin on the couch, moving his other hand to hold Martin’s between his own.

“Martin, I, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- to,” he stutters, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Martin squeezes his hand slightly and takes a steadying breath. “No, I know you didn’t mean to. I forgive you.”

It’s not enough to ease whatever has replaced Jon’s stomach, but he sits quietly with it and lets Martin think. When he feels brave enough, he looks up at Martin’s face, but he would sooner succeed at figuring out time travel than understanding the expression there. Instead, he catalogues the constellation of freckles on Martin’s cheeks, traces the curve of his ear, ponders the space between his eyebrows. A few centimetres behind the bridge of Martin’s nose is a gland the size of a pea and Martin’s is functioning just fine. Another breath, and he looks at the pale wisps of hair on Martin’s hairline, new and delicate. His gaze travels down to Martin’s lips, just for a moment, and then back up to his eyes. Jon wonders whether Martin has ever looked at him like this. Just for the sake of looking. 

After what feels like forever (6 minutes, 37 seconds), Martin sighs, but it’s the brisk sigh of someone who is frustrated, or, or angry, and Jon feels his heart flutter against his ribcage with panic. Martin looks away from where their hands are entwined between them and turns his gaze to the window again, his eyes travelling over nothing. He tugs his hand out of Jon’s to twist it around the fingers of his other hand and Jon leaves his there, the skin cold where the air touches. He looks down at it, quietly focused on what Martin has to say.

“Do you actually want to know how I feel?” Martin’s voice is tinny, either from nerves or anger, and just this side of loud, the volume one needs to overcome the tightness in the back of their throat when they’re upset.

Jon aches. “Of course I do.”

“Okay,” Martin says, and Jon can hear something frantic in it. Nerves, then. Martin takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here's how I feel. I feel- I feel fine. I feel great. I feel wonderful, really, so much of the time, and it’s-” Martin laughs, just slightly, “It’s amazing, you know, how loving someone can fill you until even everything insignificant seems impossibly beautiful. And every moment is just so good because you never thought you’d even have them.

“And then, it’s like- like someone’s blown out a candle, and all that turns into smoke. And I feel like nothing. I feel like someone's taken the parts of a person that should be left behind and made me out of them. I feel like I’m losing days, like I’m stuck in a Sunday afternoon that lasts a week. I feel- I feel empty, and hollow, and I’m trying to find something to fill it but there’s just- nothing. And I, I, I feel so stupid for telling you any of this, because things are supposed to be okay!” A hiccuping breath. “I'm supposed to be okay. This- I just want to be happy." 

Martin's inhale is more of a gasp, heaving and desperate, and Jon looks up to watch him brush away tears to no avail. He lifts a hand to Martin’s cheek, pressing it against the line of his face and smearing his thumb over the wet skin. Jon knows his hand is cold, can feel Martin’s warmth burning against it. But Martin tilts his head into Jon’s hand. His eyes flutter closed and he takes a moment to breathe. His skin is reddened and blotchy, his eyelashes clumped with tears. The ache grows, something unbearable forming in his chest. He does his best to ignore it and just watches. 

After a moment of stillness, Martin’s eyes drift open and lock onto where Jon’s other hand still rests on the couch. He covers it with his own and Jon threads their fingers together. He admires the way they look together before looking back up at Martin’s face.

Martin sniffs wetly and swallows. "I- I want to be happy, here, with you, Jon. It feels like that's all I've ever wanted."

And Jon is helpless to say anything in response except, “I love you.” 

As if that can begin to encompass this terrific thing living in his body, settling in his skin, every breath and every heartbeat and every space in his head containing nothing but Martin’s name. It sounds the same as one would say love. Because he loves Martin in this moment, in every moment, sleepy confusion in the early morning and delighted smiles in the daytime and now, face streaked with tears, brave and open because Jon has asked and for no other reason.

He is also helpless against the warmth that rises in his cheeks and burns his ears immediately after saying it, the stammering sentence that follows, “Sorry- I, I, I know that’s- that’s not really, uh, it’s-” 

Stupid, to blurt out the only thing ringing through his head instead of taking the time to form something useful. He doesn’t want to know what sort of face he’s making at the moment. And his hand is still on Martin’s face, and he feels like he should feel awkward about it, but he’s not going to move it now.

Martin smiles, the corners of his mouth turning upwards even as his lips purse slightly in what Jon recognises as a poor attempt at suppressing it. He exhales through his nose, and it’s not a laugh but Jon will take it, he’ll take anything Martin has to offer, he’ll take all of it.

“Let me try again?” Jon offers, and he’s suddenly too aware of how soft and plaintive his voice sounds.

“Sure,” Martin says, and he sniffs again, “Sure, I’m- I mean, go ahead. This is- this is already way further than I planned out in my head, so.”

“So,” Jon copies, and he smooths his thumb over Martin’s cheek again before he puts his hand back over Martin’s. He tries to think of how to put his thoughts to words, watching as Martin’s eyes dart between his. “Well, I obviously don’t hate you. Quite the opposite, really.” He quirks the corner of his mouth up in a half-smile, deliberate, before letting it fall. “And- and obviously this isn’t the sort of thing that can be fixed in a few sentences, but I- I need you to know that I’m here for you.” Suddenly, looking at Martin’s face, eyes wide as he looks back, is too much and he glances down. “Not just when things are easy. I’ll love you even if you’re stuck in a Sunday afternoon every day for the rest of your life. You don’t need to worry about that.”

He sees, with some alarm, new tears falling onto the couch in front of Martin and looks up to see that Martin has placed his other hand over his mouth. His eyes are even wetter than before.

“I mean,” Jon hastens to clarify, “Obviously I don’t want you to- to feel like that all the time, I just- I’ll love you even if you do.”

Martin shakes his head, making a small hiccoughing sound as he breathes in. “It’s not- it’s not that. I just- I love you, too. I love you, Jon.”

"Oh," Jon says, soft. "Alright then."

Martin's breathing is shaky for a few moments more, then he takes a deep breath, resolute, and it steadies. He wipes his nose on his hand and then wrinkles it in distaste, and Jon's heart beats love through his body, inane and unnecessary and ever-present. Martin looks at him, his forehead free of its worried furrow and his lips curling into a smile. His face is still red, his lips vibrant from the blood that has rushed to the surface to fill them, and Jon realises that he has never actually met anyone who retains any semblance of beauty when they cry. That isn’t stopping the overwhelming adoration in his chest.

"Thank you. That's- that's exactly what I needed to hear," Martin confesses, and Jon feels a rush of relief. He presses Martin’s hand between his own and Martin squeezes back, sighs, and continues, "I'm the one who got myself into this mess, and I'll be the one to get myself out of it. But," and he pulls Jon’s hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it, "But. Even with all that, I- You make me glad I exist."

Jon doesn't so much hug Martin after that as he does fall into him, but Martin returns it with a desperation that seems to mimic his own. He moves closer toward him on the couch to tuck his head into the gap between Martin's neck and shoulder, and the press of his body against him is warm and soft and precious. All he can see from here is the curve of Martin’s back, the hair that creeps down his neck. Even everything insignificant, Martin had said, and it keeps ringing through Jon’s head on loop, but this is the most important thing Jon has ever known. His lips press against Martin's skin.

And then he draws back slightly to say, voice quiet, “I know it’s not exactly the same, but I know what it’s like to- to want to be happy and not always feel like that’s within reach. You know I’m not one for optimism, but I like to think that one day we’ll forget what that feels like.”

Jon feels Martin press himself closer. He tucks his head back in and closes his eyes. He can hear the rain under the soft sounds of Martin breathing.

"I think we will."

[maddiethebull]

Lucifer (Obey Me!) - Prompt #9 - “I could quote a thousand poems, but none can describe what I feel.”

Lucifer was stressed. He had been looking over Mammon’s grades, which was bad enough, then he got to Levi’s grades and practically lost his shit. He sat in his room alone leaning back into his chair with his hands covering his eyes. If he saw the letter F again that day he felt like he would just start screaming. As he sat there being a) stressed about his brother’s grades and b) worrying about his brothers a knock on the door retrieved him from thought. He opened it and there you were, standing in your most comfortable oversized sweater and your favorite leggings. You looked like calm embodied as you offered Lucifer one of the cookies you had freshly baked. He looked like distress embodied as he loomed over you and just took the entire plate. 

“Woah, is something the matter?” you asked. He silently nodded and pointed to the papers on his desk. 

“Oh, that explains why you need all of those cookies, though Beel might have a different opinion,” you joked, trying to make him feel better. The hint of a smile graced his lips. He sighed, trying mentally to release some of the weight on his shoulders. 

“I thank you for the cookies, MC, and Beel is to know nothing of this.”

“Do you want to take a break? I was supposed to go to this new cafe with Ma-”

“UGH.”

“With mYSELF yes, all… alone. By myself. And I was wondering if you wanna join us- me I mean me, you want, yes?” you added a giggle on to your trainwreck of a proposal. You were so adorable to him, he couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Indeed,” he chuckled, “I want yes.” 

You two left for the cafe (as you rapidly texted Mammon to not come along if he wanted to live). Once you got there, it was pretty full, but seeing as you were with the second most powerful demon in Devildom, you guys were allowed to skip the line that ran around the quaint brick building. 

One very scared teenage demon spoke from behind the counter like a deer in the headlights,

“Good a- afternoon Mister- Sir- Prince Lucifer, what would you like to order?” 

In a baritone voice he replied, “black coffee,” and handed the kid money for the order. Even though you knew he wasn’t trying to, he exuded the most intimidating aura. The cashier’s voice cracked,

“And you, Ma’am?”

You gave the poor kid a sweet smile and a twenty grimm tip, “Hi, I’ll have a hot chocolate, please.”

Lucifer noticed the kid relaxing a little as he was taking your order. He tried dumbing down his intimidating nature, thinking, ‘I’m not that scary. Surely, not everyone can exude kindness like you, MC. I’m not scary, hmph.’ Though he was making fun of your caring and soft nature, it was the thing he admired about you the most. He thought you could bring all of Devildom to their knees with that precious smile alone. He felt so different from you, if he smiled it would most definitely scare whomever received it; he didn’t not like that, but around you, he hated it. Every once in a while, he wanted to make people feel the way you make them feel, the way you make him feel -- all… mushy. Ugh, you even ordered a hot chocolate, which was arguably the cutest of drinks! He frowned as the two of you went to the other end of the counter to wait for your orders. He looked at you tenderly, you were smiling and bobbing up and down in anticipation. He stood stagnant with his eyes focused on only you, as far as he was concerned, you two were the only ones in that crowded cafe. You whisper-cheered as your hot chocolate was handed to you and he grabbed his from where it was set on the counter. 

You sat at a small two-person table by the window. 

“We already know I’ve had a less than fortunate day, so, how was yours?” he asked.

You replied, “Oh, it was here and there. I’ve been feeling sort of down lately, so I didn't do much other than bake those cookies. Overall, it was okay.” You looked down at your drink. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, what’s been bothering you?” He was slightly shocked, you looked perfectly cheery the entire day. In fact, you always looked so happy. 

“Mmm, It’s nothing much, really, so don’t worry about it,” You added a smile to make it believable. But, what was bothering wasn’t just nothing. It was him, Lucifer. Lately, he’s been so stressed and irritable, you couldn’t talk to him much as a result of that. On top of that, you didn’t know that it was his brothers he was frustrated with and you began wondering if it was you he was irked at. Your mind was set at ease knowing that you weren’t the cause of his unpleasant feelings so right now, you just wanted to make him feel better. You wanted to spend more time with this Lucifer, not cranky Lucifer. 

He didn’t believe you, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by asking more about it so he nodded and politely sipped his coffee. 

In the awkward silence, you looked around the cafe and your gaze settled upon a set of bookshelves. One book in particular caught your eye. It was a collection of poems by Lord Byron. ‘This is a good way to change the topic of conversation,’ you thought. You pointed to the bookcase, 

“Hey, my favorite poem is by him,” you say excitedly before getting up to grab it. Lucifer’s eyes followed you, just seeing you made him feel better, you weren’t scared of him. At least, he presumed you weren’t intimidated by him. Luckily he was right. You came back with the book and eagerly searched through it’s pages to find your favorite poem.

“Here it is!” you turned to Lucifer who possessed a guileful smirk as he studied your features.

“Read it to me,” he said while maintaining his smirk. 

You blushed then smiled, “okay, I-I’ll read it. I’ll read it really good! Yeah! I mean, I’ll read it very well!” You shuffled in your seat, cleared your throat, and began,

“So, we’ll go no more a-roving

So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,

And the moon be still be as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,

And love itself have rest. 

Though the night was made for loving, 

And the day returns too soon, 

Yet we’ll go no more a-roving, 

By the light of the moon.”

(‘So We’ll Go No More A-Roving’ by Lord Byron)

“It sounds rather sad to me, I’m surprised that you would call it your favorite, MC.”

“No, it's not sad, it's endearing. It's about growing old with your love. The subjects of the poem are older; though their bodies aren’t as strong as when they were still young, their love persists in its strength. That’s why it’s my favorite.”

He gave it thought. He smiled gently, 

“I took it in a way that the subjects of the poem wish they were as energetic as when they were young. The way you described it, it’s quite beautiful isn’t it, hm?” ‘As bright and beautiful as you.’ He took a sip of coffee, “I also know my fare share of poetry.”

“Oooh, what’s your favorite?”

“I can’t say that I have a favorite, really, I just enjoy many different pieces.”

“Hmmmm, well, what about the first poem you like that you think of? You know, like one that describes how you’re feeling now or whatever.”

He paused for a moment to think. His deep red eyes that held such intensity were softened by the warm yellow light that shone onto them. He felt so soft looking at you. ‘I can be gentle too, I’ll just say what I’m thinking and I will have no regrets. Yes, Lucifer, you can do this. 

“MC, I could quote a thousand poems, but none can describe what I feel when I’m with you.” He said it so calmly, as if it were common knowledge, how could he be so poker-faced right now? You felt a hot blush rise to your cheeks. 

“Lucifer! Don’t make fun of me,” you said, burying your face in the ends of your too-long sweater sleeves, trying to hide how hard you were blushing.

‘It worked! Yes!’ He spoke with a joyful bump in his voice, “I don’t understand, I would say that’s a compliment.”

“A- and that wasn’t even an answer okay,” you said still too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. 

He pondered for a moment, wondering which one he should say.

“Okay, how about this one, 

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

    For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

    That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

(‘Sonnet 29’ by Shakespeare)

You blushed even harder, which you didn’t know was possible. “You can quote Shakespeare?? Just like that? From memory?!”

He laughed, “of course, can’t you?”

“Oh, I see how it is,” you chuckled out. He laughed even more, a deep, bellowing laugh that struck you to your core. He looked so wonderful like this, so very wonderful. 

The rest of the afternoon and most of the evening was spent going over various poets and writers and even classical musicians, and at one odd point, different types of frogs. While he knew more about it all than you, you held your ground against him in knowledge and that filled him to the brim with joy. Maybe you two weren’t so different after all. 

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BONUS: The original layout of the story:

The Damnit, Mammon,  Grade schoolwork, hes stressed, you come in, you start chatting, you make him feel better, he doesnt want you to leave his side he plays some music, this sounds like cafe music, you wnat to go to a cafe, he decides to go with, you make fun of his coffee choice (black coffee), you get up and search the you read a poem aloud to him (so well go no more a rvoing by lord byron) He saiys the Line, you roll your eyes but your heart is full, he takes you to the desert, youre in an rv, he starts cooking meth, you are jesse pinkman, he his walter white, this is breaking bad. 

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Thanks for reading!!! 💙💙💙

[coeurdastronaute]

Single 8

previously on Single

The city was dingy, dull with the weight of the winter, crispy and sullen, swollen with the long nights of rain and the overcast skies that refused to let anything melt. Buildings were obscured by the low clouds and the world was weary, so very weary from the chill and the perpetual mist that made everything slick. 

The day was heavy for many reasons, the weather included but not the worst of it, by far. Too much distracted the hero as she sat atop the Landmark building. Too many thoughts caught up with her, dousing her in the rain and the fear that she had no more control over her life. And when she found herself feeling this way, Kara did her best not to act without thinking. 

Often, her sister accused her of being rash, but she had a problem and she had to fix it. There were only so many options. But she needed time to think. It was all too much and her entire world was about to change, whether she wanted it or not. 

Kara placed her hand on her stomach and thought about her entire being, both of her sides-- the reporter, just getting the world figured out, getting her writing published, getting everything she wanted under Cat’s guidance because she worked constantly. She put in long days and ran all over town, with no one to answer to or for. 

The hero. Kara felt like she was finally figuring out how to be effective, how to save, how to balance it all. She was tired and she was growing and now, the city would go to hell because there was no way she could do all three. Two lives was barely manageable. 

And now this.

All at once the plan formed in her head. It came with an alarming clarity the moment someone punched her in the stomach and sent her flying. Her hand pressed against the slight bump there as she freed herself from the wreckage and she knew. There was a flutter there, almost constant now. 

Slowly, Kara made her way to her apartment, taking a leisurely fly, despite the weather, enjoying the freedom of her city. She needed the feeling of being unrestrained, sometimes, to keep her centered, to help her remember. More and more, Kara felt herself becoming solitary despite the wealth of people around her. She needed a little bit of self-reliance to do what was coming. 

She took a warm shower and had a large dinner, all while working over the words in her head. It was late by the time she sent the text and asked Mon-el to come over, met with winking emojis and hearts. 

“I just got back from the ship,” he greeted her, happy and kissing her cheek then neck then jaw as he entered the apartment. 

He wasn’t terrible. That was the best part. He was easy, thoughtless, a friend and a comfort, understanding her in ways that many others couldn’t. The customs of his planet were close, but never quite right. His unease on earth never quite going away. But he wasn’t the fulfillment of the prophecy. He wasn’t the love of her life, but now he was in it forever. As childish as she felt, craving bedtime stories and believing in things her mother told her, sometimes she was certain of the veracity of fairytales.

“I can make this quick--”

“I don’t have to be back until tomorrow night. We can take our time.” 

Hands moved to her hips and lips moved to her neck and for a moment, Kara let her eyes drift back as she melted into the feeling before ripping her back to reality as his hand ghosted on her stomach. 

“No, no. I have-- I have to talk to you,” Kara insisted, creating some room. 

“That sounds… not good,” Mon-el furrowed, cocking his head enough that his smile faltered slightly. 

“It depends on how you take it.” 

“Well that makes me nervous.” 

“I don’t want you to be nervous,” Kara offered, moving toward the kitchen. She poured him a stiff drink and handed it to him. “Take a seat.” 

“This is a kind way to break up with me,” he offered with a weak laugh. “At least there’s booze.” 

Kara stood there, wringing her hands and staring at the man she loved-- but wasn’t in love with-- the kind man, the human man who tried to live up to the ideal that Kara and her cousin put on for the world, the man who wasn’t human but was so human and flawed. He was one of her favorite people-- prone to fits of anger, prone to bouts of righteousness, prone to trying his best. 

“I’m just going to say it.” 

“Yes, please.” 

“But I want you to not react. Just sit with the news. I don’t need an answer or anything-- in fact I have a plan. I just can’t tell anyone else until I tell you.” 

“Kara, please. I just need to know. You’re kind of scaring me.” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The quiet of the room was so loud that Kara couldn’t hear anything else. Her boyfriend stared at her with disbelief, his face blank and processing. His eyes moved to her stomach where her hand protectively rubbed. He furrowed and saw the bump when he knew what he was looking for. 

His drink was downed in an instant and he hissed against the pain before getting up to refill his glass and down it again. 

“You have to say something,” Kara finally managed. 

“You said I didn’t have to say anything.” 

“Well yes, initially, but I need--”

“I’m going to be a father?” he asked, the joy settling on his face finally. It was slow to form and it was through much effort, but it was there. 

“Yeah. In about six months. I just found out--”

Mon-el scooped up Kara and hugged her tightly, excited and growing to understand the news more and more. It took a beat to sink into his mind that it was about him, that he was going to do it and it was him that made this possible. 

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered, hugging her tightly. “A prince to continue the line.” 

Kara froze at the words. 

She hadn’t thought of him at all when she came up with her plan. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Increasingly pregnant and hormonal, Supergirl sat on her couch, furiously tucking into a rather large tub of her favorite ice cream while a movie hummed to itself on the television. The old black-and-white movie tried to keep her entertained, but failed as so many other things distracted her. 

Everything stopped though as her phone started to ring with multiple alerts, followed by the inevitable buzzing of her watch. It didn’t matter about the fight she’d had with Mon-el, and it didn’t matter that no one was listening to her when it came to the plans she was making. The only thing that mattered was helping. 

But by the time Kara made it, it was too late. 

The world would never be the same. 

Before anyone could comfort her about her cousin’s death, Kara left. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“You are perfect,” Kara whispered. 

Tiny toes wiggled. Tiny fingers grabbed at nothing and everything while perfect pink cheeks cried slightly. Eyes staring blankly and seeing the entire world for the first time, the infant didn’t know what to do, and so allowed herself to be coddled and swaddled and sniffed. 

“You are absolutely perfect,” Kara smiled, tears streaming down her face as she ran her nose along the small tuft of hair. 

The perfect baby smelled warm and sweet. In the hospital bed, the new mother cried as she held her new daughter, alone in the fifth floor room at the end of the hall. The baby girl made tiny noises, yawning and fighting the feeling of being born. 

“You are going to be very happy here.” 

“Are you ready to call your family?” the nurse interrupted the quiet moment. 

“I suppose I should.” 

“You can take a few more minutes.” 

Kara wanted to argue, but she really couldn’t come up with any reasons why she should delay except that she selfishly wanted to freeze this moment in time, where everything was okay and her heart didn’t hurt. 

Instead, she just nodded and kissed her daughters cheeks before letting her squeeze her finger. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“On the day you were born, the skies opened up,” Kara’s mother explained as she hugged her daughter, kissing the top of her head. “The entire city was a party.”

“Because it was Confluence Day!”

“Yes, darling,” she smiled and held her daughter tighter. 

They sat on her bed in the twilight, remembering and preparing to sleep. It was a favorite story of Kara’s to hear because it was her story-- only her’s and no one else's. In a world that shared everything, she was grateful to be her own thing entirely. 

“On the day you were born, the lanterns joined the stars with our greatest hopes and wishes, and music played so loud--”

“Even the moons were dancing.” 

“And they danced for days to celebrate.” 

“That’s a lot of dancing,” Kara realized.

“It is. And on the day you were born, the world wrote a poem--”

“Tell me the poem, Mama.”

Alura squeezed her daughter and closed her eyes, remembering the feeling of receiving her newborn, the joy she felt when she first looked into her eyes, the warmth of the tiny body and how amazed she’d been each day since as she grew into a person with her own thoughts and ideas. 

“On the day you were born, the clouds sang a song, and they told of your life, and how wonderful you would be.” 

“And the fairytale,” Kara giggled, as her mother moved, tugging up the blankets to tuck her in for the night. 

“You, my darling, are meant to unite worlds. The stars wrote it out and I read the story myself. You are going to--”

“Be full of love.” 

“Even when it is hard, even after your loses. You will love someone who can take it all from you, but you have enough faith and love to save them.” 

Kara stared at her mother, wide-eyed despite knowing the story by heart. It blew her away everytime, despite it not making much sense to her. The child didn’t know anything about love and sacrifice, but she felt the weight of her mother’s words and it motivated her. 

“Love can do that?” 

“Love is the most powerful thing in the entire universe.”

“Stronger than an atom?” 

“Stronger,” Alura promised, kissing her forehead. “Sleep well. Sweet dreams.” 

“Goodnight, Mama.” 

Despite the lights being turned out and her mother’s story, Kara didn’t sleep. The child sat on her windowsill in the dark and stared out at her sky, at the view of the planets and rings and moons and stars and the sleeping city beneath. She pressed her forehead against the window and she sighed, trying to figure out how to love so hard. 

XXXXXXXXX

“Don’t be stupid, Kara!” 

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” 

Calmly, Kara finished washing the bottles and setting them to dry on the counter. The baby slept in her room, unaware of the heated words exchanged outside, unaware of her place in the universe as the heir to the throne of Daxam. 

“My daughter is meant for more than this place, and you know that.” 

“She isn’t yours. She’s her own person who will make her own choices.” 

“My daughter will be more than just this. She is greatness and destined to lead my people as I was destined. I fought it, Kara, and look at what happened. There must always be--”

“You will not drag her into your politics.” 

“I won’t let you keep her from--”

“You will not take her,” Kara said, her teeth gnashing together as she gripped the counter tightly. “You will not make her into what you want.” 

“Kara, she is destined--”

“She will make her own decisions, and I will not have you around if you’re going--”

“You can’t keep me from her!” Mon-el yelled in his own frustration. 

“I will to protect her, and if that means keeping you away, then I will.” 

He clenched his jaw, his eyes on fire. 

“We’ll pick this up another day, when you’ve thought about it.” 

“There’s nothing to think about.” 

“There are many things we will have to figure out, but I won’t ignore what my daughter is meant for, and neither will you.” 

“You are choosing to leave and go back to Daxam,” Kara reminded him as he snatched his coat and stormed toward the door. “You are leaving her behind.” 

“To hell I am.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

“On the day you were born,” Kara began as she kissed her daughter’s forehead and snuggled up with her in her bed. 

“I was born during storms,” Katie offered as she adjusted in her bed. 

“On the day you were born, the skies were celebrating, and lightning danced and thunder played songs for everyone to sing along with.” 

“What a party,” she whispered, earning a smile from her mother. 

“On the day you were born, the entire universe celebrated, because you were born to be happy. You are a shining star built from the best parts of the sun.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means you are the best part of the entire world to me, and the universe knew that I needed you. You are my gift.” 

“Wow.” 

“On the day you were born,” Kara continued, tucking in her daughter, careful to wrap up the sheets nice and tight. “The trees danced, and the animals sang, and the moon as bright because you were here, finally.” 

“All of that, for me?” Katie grinned as her mother kissed her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, darling. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Goodnight, Mama.” 

Kara paused as she watched Katie hug the stuff whale Lena got her, careful to make sure her nightlight was still on. She closed the door quietly and made her way back into the living room where her girlfriend sat with a glass of wine, flipping through the specs from some of her most resent research results. 

There were not many better sights in the world than her daughter nearly asleep and a beautiful girl on her couch. 

“She’ll be out in a few minutes,” Kara promised as she poured herself a glass and took her seat beside Lena, kissing her cheek and neck as she did, earning a giggle. 

“Good. Now you can finish telling me about the prophecy.” 

“I’m sick of bedtime stories,” Kara shook her head and reached o toss aside the folder Lena was looking at. “I’d rather just spend the evening with you.” 

“My, my, Kara Danvers,” Lena smiled and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s neck. “You are very persuasive.”

[and-it-freezes-me]

Schemes Of Mice - Part 1

Schemes Of Mice is the first part of the What Happened In Lichmai series.

Title is from the poem To A Mouse by Robert Burns.

{Part 2} {Part 3}

Summary: Virgil Insmyre’s carefully planned road trip takes an unexpected turn for the worse, and he falls back on getting help from a strange pair of travellers.

Content: car trouble, hitchhiking, very loud music

Word count: 7,007

It was dark.

It was always dark. The light of the moon never made it down here, the stars never shone across his face.

It was dark, and it had been dark for longer than he wished to know.

-

Just because he didn’t like it when plans went wrong didn’t mean that it was the end of the world.

Those were the words that Virgil repeated to himself as the needle on the fuel gauge dipped ever so slowly below the red line, and still no petrol station came into sight.

He had thought he had planned this whole trip out down to the last detail. It was supposed to be easy: leave his hometown with his camera and the other essential things he couldn’t be without in his car, and have everything else sent by post to meet him when he arrived on the other side of the country to start his new life. He had spent hours upon hours planning the route he would take, carefully avoiding any cities with higher-than-average crime rates, selecting a few choice parks and monuments that he had always wanted to visit and photograph and sketching his route around that. He had checked the laws for every state he needed to drive through and made sure his old, navy blue car had been checked over at the garage no less than three times before he had left. Virgil had packed enough bottles of water to survive getting caught in a snowstorm and having to stay put for up to a week; he had packed enough dried food to sustain him just as long in an emergency; he had packed not only his weighted blanket but also a fluffy one he had impulse bought a few months back, a patchwork one his grandmother had made him when he was seven, and his sleeping bag, just in case he had to spend the night in the car. None of these things should be necessary, though, because he had made sure to check the weather forecasts for every town along his route, made sure that there were diners and motels and hotels and restaurants everywhere he planned to stop for the night.

He had made sure that he had his route entered not only into the GPS he had bought for the sole purpose of not getting lost when he had to go slightly outside of his comfort zone to get specific photos, but also into his phone, and drawn it out across several maps with a full notebook of times and directions. He had scheduled in an hour’s break for every four he spent driving to stretch his legs.

And he had definitely scheduled in petrol stations.

They were pencilled in at regular, carefully calculated intervals: he should never have gotten below three-quarters full.

And now he was coasting to a stop at the side of a dark road, the screen of his GPS filled with static.

“Stupid, overpriced, worthless junk,” he snarled, engaging the handbrake and tossing the useless system on top of the bag on the passenger seat. His phone was in the drinks holder, next to a very large, very empty coffee cup, but when he grabbed it to call… Anyone, really, he found that he had no signal. 

Virgil very nearly punched his steering wheel in frustration, then reminded himself that he still had another two days of driving to do and that the first aid kit in his glovebox, whilst expansive, would not magically fix his fingers when he inevitably broke them. Instead, he shook his phone roughly, hoping that by some miracle that would help it pick up a network.

It didn’t.

Instead, it completely.

“Fuck,” he commented eloquently. That was okay, though. Virgil made certain never to travel without a portable charger, and he made sure it was fully charged before he left whichever motel he stayed at in the mornings. Pulling it out of the top of the bag beside him, he plugged his phone into it and closed his eyes slowly.

He would count to five, open his eyes, wait for his phone to charge a little, and then call the nearest breakdown service he could.

One. Two. Deep breath in. Three, four, deep breath out. Five.

“Fuck!” The portable charger was out of juice - and Virgil had been certain he had charged it that morning. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

Okay, okay. This wasn’t the end of the world. The world wasn’t ending, he was just going to have to…

Okay, maybe it was the end of the world.

Virgil took another deep breath, and then another, and then a fourth just to make sure he still could. Reaching into his bag, he rooted around until he found his notebook and a pen, and flipped through to an empty page.

“Okay, okay… What’s happening, what’ve I got…” He muttered.

The problem, Virgil wrote.

Out of petrol on side of unfamiliar road at night 8pm

Should have passed petrol station > 1 hour ago - didn’t

Should be an hour from next motel

GPS broken + phone w/out battery or signal

Can’t figure out position on map

Individually, any of these seemed bad. Put together, Virgil was pretty sure he was going to get murdered by a roving serial killer. He jerked his hand through his purple bangs, then lowered his pen back to the paper.

Inventory

My camera set

Useless phone, map, GPS, laptop

Enough water + dried food for the week

Six clean changes of clothes

Two dirty changes of clothes

Three blankets + sleeping bag

Misc. house items including coffee machine + cactus

Okay, so he wouldn’t starve to death. Or freeze, especially given that the weather was supposed to be clement at the very least.

Solutions

Backtrack until civilisation found + get help

Haven’t seen a building in nearly 2hrs, would take all night

Walk along road until civilisation found + get help

Don’t know how long that’ll take

Don’t know what the road does / could get lost

Night - dangerous, unfamiliar place

He definitely didn’t want to be wandering around at night.

Wait until morning + follow road + get help

Means staying in car overnight

Less likely to get lost/murdered inside car than outside

It looked as though he was going to be sleeping in the car tonight. Chewing thoughtfully at the end of his pen, Virgil added one more bullet to his list.

Somebody might drive past + could help

Hitchhiking, of course, was a spectacularly horrible idea, and there was no way Virgil was going to attempt anything remotely like that - not with his phone out of action, and no friends to know where he was or report him missing, and in a strange place.

Virgil would really rather he didn’t get murdered today. Or any day, really. Getting brutally murdered was not how he would choose to go.

Hopefully, if somebody passed, they would be more inclined to help him than kill him. If he were really lucky, they might be the kind of person to carry extra petrol (why didn’t he do that? He should start doing that), or at least be willing to give him some of theirs if he paid them back. Maybe they could tell him where he was - or maybe they’d have a spare portable charger that he could buy off of them.

Virgil tried to ignore the fact that in the time that he had been driving down this long, seemingly unending road, he hadn’t seen a single other vehicle. There was no point in working himself up to a panic attack, not when he had a clear course of action now.

The fact that that course of action was to do nothing was beside the point.

Groaning, Virgil stretched his arms above his head and heard a series of pops as his back flexed (driving non-stop for almost a week wasn’t exactly doing him many favours, even with the breaks he had scheduled in). As he reached for the bag on the seat behind him, where he had stored a few of the water bottles and rations along with his blankets and sleeping bag, a wide yawn stretched his jaw. If there was a silver lining to this whole mess of a situation, it was the fact that he was being forced to get some rest now.

Well, what passed for rest. Virgil doubted he would sleep particularly soundly, even with his weighted blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his seat reclined back as far as it would go. Aside from the discomfort and the nagging worry that he was going to wake up to find a knife in his guts and somebody making off with his camera (both of which were good reasons to sleep fitfully), he needed to stay at least awake enough to be aware of any cars passing.

He could get out, could stand by the side of the road or sit on the bonnet. He’d be more awake that way, more aware, more responsive if anybody did drive past - but he’d also be more vulnerable to passing murderers and (he was reminded by a faint howl in the distance) whatever predators roamed the area.

Turning off the lights (he didn’t want to waste any more of the car’s battery than he already had), Virgil shifted briefly before turning on his side so that he was facing out of the car’s window, watching the road for headlights.

The clouds covering the sky shifted, and stars twinkled down at the quiet stretch of countryside. The moon rose.

It was peaceful. It could almost be considered pretty, if he weren’t one-hundred-percent aware that he was going to have to spend hours hiking tomorrow to find help.

The glow-in-the-dark hands of Virgil’s watch moved slowly around its face, and seconds dripped into minutes dripped into hours.

At least he was warm. At least he wasn’t hungry, at least he was free and safe and alone.

This would push his schedule back by at least a day, of course - but he should still arrive at his new flat sixteen days before his first day at his new job. That would give him plenty of time to get used to his surroundings, to make the walk between apartment and office several times over to make sure he wouldn’t get lost on the way, and to find a good place to get coffee when he didn’t want to be completely isolated.

Virgil still couldn’t quite believe that he had landed an entry-level position at Mary-Lee, Lee, and Co.. They were a fashion agency, one of the big ones, and there was no way they should have been looking at a twenty-year-old, only a year out of highschool (he had been held back a year before anyone had realised that his reluctance to participate in English classes had been dyslexia rather than laziness), with only a year’s crash-course in semi-professional photography to his name.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t get more training on the job - a lot more training - and he would probably be staying on the lowest rung on the company ladder for a very long time.

Virgil was thrilled.

It was the chance to be the one in charge of his own life, a chance to do what he loved rather than serving popcorn in a tacky movie theatre to pay for his photography course and his stupidly high rent, a chance to be free, a chance to disappear.

-

Virgil was jerked out of a light doze by what could only be described as the sound one would get if they gave a cat a chainsaw and told it to sing while it cut down a lamppost.

It was faint at first, faint enough that he wasn’t sure what had woken him. Then the small plastic spider he had taped to his dashboard started bobbing, and Virgil realised that the horrific noise must be something approaching. A car? Maybe? A car with the most horrible taste in music imaginable, and willing to play it at a stupid volume in the middle of - what time was it? He glanced at his watch - at two in the morning.

Well, if whoever it was was happy to announce their presence for miles around, they were probably going to be easy to track. He scribbled trying to attract attention of loud music people in his notebook (he was tired, it was the best he could come up with in a rush) and scrambled out of the car, turning on the headlights as he did. Anything to be seen, right? If he could just borrow somebody’s phone…

By the time the minivan was close enough to see, Virgil wanted to put his fingers in his ears: he had to ask how whoever was driving it wasn’t deaf already, or how they hadn’t been arrested yet. Instead, he took another long breath before sticking out an arm and waving it frantically, hoping that would be enough to get the driver’s attention.

It was.

There was a horrific screech that felt akin to a metal spike being driven into his brain, and Virgil almost crawled back into his car when the man driving leaned out of the open window to grin at him. His smile was so wide it seemed to split his face open like something out of a horror movie. There was a streak of white in his otherwise brown curls, he was waving at Virgil with both hands (one of which had a bandage wrapped around the palm, both of which looked smudgy with… ink?), and his wide eyes made him look ever so slightly unhinged. He had to be wearing contact lenses, because his irises were the kind of bright, acidic green that typically comes in bottles marked with skulls and crossbones. In cartoons.

“HEY!”

He had to shout to be heard over the ‘music’ that was still pulsing from the car and flattening all of the plants for miles around, and even then Virgil probably wouldn’t have figured out what he had said if he hadn’t been looking directly at him.

This was a bad idea. He was going to get murdered by a guy that probably had pure caffeine running through his veins and bats in his belfry. Lifting one hand in a weak surrendering motion, Virgil groped around behind him for the handle to let himself back into the car.

“HEY! ARE YOU IN TROUBLE? CAN WE HELP AT-” The ‘music’ cut off suddenly, and the guy glanced briefly at whoever was in the car with him before turning back to Virgil. “All?”

The sudden silence made Virgil’s ears ring, and the hand that had been waving awkwardly moved to rub the back of his head, where a dull throbbing had started up. “Uh… No. You know what? It’s cool, I’m all fine here, I’m just gonna…”

“Did your car break down?” The guy was still shouting. It was amazing that he could hear anything, really - or maybe he couldn’t, given how he had just ignored Virgil’s questions. “I know about cars! Anything I can help with!”

Then Virgil blinked, and the guy was standing right next to him, offering him his bandaged hand to shake. He seemed to be constantly in motion, shifting from foot to foot, picking at a scab on his neck with his other hand, tapping his fingers against his hip. If it hadn’t been for the constant motion and the overly wide cartoon eyes, he would have looked almost normal in a slightly tatty band t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans - oh, maybe not. He was wearing slippers. Not just any slippers, either: they were fluffy, and when Virgil squinted at them he realised that they had long ears.

Wild-Eyes-Guy must have noticed him looking. “Vampire bunny slippers! Do you like them? I made them myself!”

“... What?” Maybe he was dreaming right now. That was the only sensible explanation for this. Virgil’s hand had found the car door, but for some reason he hadn’t scrambled back inside just yet - and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

“Vampire bunny slippers! Made them! What do you think?!” The guy repeated, and Virgil blinked again.

“Uh…”

“Roman, what are you doing to this poor kid?” A second guy had gotten out of the van, an eye-mask pushed into his hair like an alice-band. He was wearing slacks, a sweater, and (thankfully) regular trainers on his feet. He seemed a little less… Manic, than Wild-Eyes-Guy (Roman?) - although maybe that was because he had only just woken up, if the sleep mask and the way he was rubbing his eyes was any indication.

They both looked to be no more than a few years older than Virgil, but being called a kid seemed to be the least of his issues right now.

“He was asking about my slippers! I told you they’d be popular!” Virgil had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. His absolute bewilderment must have shown on his face, because the calmer guy moved closer and rested a hand on Wild-Eyes-Guy/Roman’s shoulder. Roman seemed to calm down a little. He stopped bouncing, at least.

“Are you sure about that one? He looks terrified.” There was a dry note in Calm-Guy’s voice - and Virgil suddenly noticed that his eyes were yellow as butter. Acidic butter. Was there some kind of convention for people with a thing for weird contact lenses?

Had he been sleeping in contact lenses? Virgil’s foster brother had worn contact lenses sometimes, and Virgil was pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to sleep in them.

“He flagged us down! Why would he be terrified?”

There was silence for a second, Virgil still trying to figure out whether he was about to be murdered by a guy in vampire rabbit slippers and his sleepy accomplice. Calm-Guy seemed to be waiting for Roman to answer that question himself; after a second, Roman’s shoulders slumped and his smile dropped back to regular proportions, becoming almost sheepish.

“It’s super late and you’re alone on an empty road, of course you’re terrified!” At least he had stopped shouting, but Virgil wished he didn’t sound so excited about that fact. Calm-Guy rolled his eyes, then held out a neatly manicured hand. Virgil shook it. It wasn’t as though there was much else he could do now, right?

“I apologise for my boyfriend, he gets… Energetic, when he drinks coffee. I’m-”

“Hey! I haven’t had any coffee since ereyesterday!”

“Energy drinks, then?”

“Yep.” Roman popped the ‘p’, looking immensely satisfied with himself, then moved over to the hood of Virgil’s car and lifted the bonnet. Without asking. What the hell?

“Uh… What are you…”

“Engine looks fine! Flat tire? No, the tires look fine, the suspension looks fine -” He was under the car now, jabbering away at the greasy machine above him.

Calm-Guy groaned and ran both hands through his hair, but not so roughly that he dislodged the eye mask or ended up looking even remotely ruffled. “As I was saying, I am known as Ethan Anguis -” He pronounced it ‘on-guie’. “- and the delight currently trying to figure out why you’re sitting on the side of the road without asking you is my boyfriend, known as Roman Pulpos. I assume you flagged us down as opposed to us gatecrashing your private camp-out?”

“Uh…” Virgil blinked, then nodded. “I, uh… Ran out of petrol. Was hoping I could… Borrow your phone, or… Something.”

Ethan nodded slowly - and Virgil realised that he didn’t seem to have blinked in the whole time he had been standing before him. No, that couldn’t be right. It was just a trick of the light.

“I’ve got it! You’re out of petrol!” Roman had stood - and if his hands had been grubby before, that was nothing to the grease and grime that now stretched from fingertip to elbow. There was even dirt on his face. Ethan groaned beside him.

“Did it occur to you, dearest, that you could simply have asked him? It would have been far more polite than simply poking around his car…”

“He didn’t seem very talkative.”

A snort left Virgil, and he clapped his hand over his mouth as they both turned to look at him. Then Roman’s face split back into that wide grin, and he came back to stand beside Ethan, who took a pointed step away. “You’re not getting back in the car until you’ve washed some of that off, you know.”

“But it’s my turn to choose the vehicle!”

“Yes! You chose it! But we’re still keeping it clean! Water bottle, cloth, go!” Ethan flapped his hands a few times in a ‘shoo’-ing motion, and Roman rolled his eyes - and his head with them - before stalking around to the passenger side and opening the door. The yellow-eyed man turned his attention back to Virgil, a fond smile on his sharp features. “So, you said you were hoping to…”

“Borrow your phone, yes,” Virgil nodded, eyes snapping back to the man before him rather than the now-shirtless Roman, who seemed to have decided that his t-shirt would work better than a cloth for getting rid of the grease.

Ethan clucked his tongue sympathetically. “You won’t get any signal out here. The nearest town is an hour’s drive away - I’d assume that walking was going to be your next plan if you couldn’t flag us down?”

“Uh… Yeah.” Virgil shifted awkwardly. “Do you… Know the area well?”

“Used to live here!” Called Roman, and Virgil forced himself not to stare at the muscles rippling under the dark skin of his back.

“A long time ago, yes. We return every few years,” Ethan added. “I wouldn’t try walking at night. The landscape gets a little… Treacherous. We can give you a lift if you want - there’s a repair shop in town, you can get someone to drive out and pick up your car tomorrow.”

“I… I really couldn’t.” Virgil shifted from foot to foot. “I’m perfectly fine waiting until morning and walking in. Got plenty of blankets ‘n’ food. I’ll be fine. Thank you for offering, though.”

Ethan blinked - but still not as though he needed to. More as though he was processing the words Virgil had just said, and wanted to show that he was paying attention. Maybe Virgil’s mind was playing tricks on him. It was very late, and he was very tired. “Understandable. I wouldn’t want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with, so-”

“We’re not gonna kill you, y’know,” Roman added helpfully, and Virgil almost jumped out of his skin because he was suddenly right next to him. Virgil had been so caught up in not staring at him and talking to Ethan instead that he had completely missed his returning to their side - still shirtless, because the world was actively working to make his life difficult. “That would just be rude.”

“Roman! We’re trying not to push the kid into-”

“I’m not that much younger than you, you know.” Yes, because that was the important point to argue just then. Really, it was a miracle Virgil wasn’t already dead in a ditch somewhere, what with his brain constantly seeming to do the opposite of what he wanted it to.

Ethan looked mildly amused. “Really? How old are you, kid?”

“Twenty. And it’s Virgil, not kid.” If they were going to murder him, they probably would have done it by now. Telling them his name wasn’t going to make any difference at this point.

Roman snorted and ran his hand across the top of Virgil’s car, inspecting a large scratch in the paintwork below the rear door. “Virgil? Like virgin?” Virgil winced.

“No, you dick -” Ethan punched his boyfriend lightly on the shoulder, and Roman rubbed a hand over the spot with exaggerated remorse. “- like the poet. And if Virgil doesn’t want a lift from us, we should get going.”

“We could keep him company! It’s gonna be a long night out here on his own - unless you plan on walking, which is a really stupid idea!” There was the soft popping noise of the petrol flap being opened, and then the click of it closing. Then Roman opened it again. And closed it again.

Virgil lasted until the third pop-click before turning and batting Roman’s grubby hands away from the side of his car. “Stop that.”

“Feisty,” Roman commented, but clasped his hands obediently in front of him, the picture of angelic innocence. Not. Virgil had a feeling that Ethan was scowling at him from over his shoulder. “You sure you wanna be left alone? I heard there are monsters prowling out here…”

He practically sang the words, as though nothing could delight him more than the idea of terrifying creatures ranging the countryside. Virgil made himself chuckle in spite of the shiver that ran down his spine, and nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the tip about town, Ethan. Thanks for… Whatever you did, Roman. I guess.”

“Nothing,” Ethan said, at the same time as Roman said, “Introduced you to the idea of vampire bunny slippers and made sure your car wasn’t broken.”

“Yeah. That.” Shrugging, Virgil tugged open his car door and slipped inside, then waved a hand at the pair of them. They were still staring at him with their bizarre, bright eyes.

He closed the door behind him, and the sound seemed to snap action into the pair of them. Ethan rolled his shoulders back and jerked a thumb at their minivan - the side of which Virgil now realised was covered in what looked like a mural of a pirate ship being crushed by a very large sea monster - before walking back toward it.

“See ya around, Virgil-Not-Virgin!” Roman yelled (why was he yelling again?) and followed, climbing back into the driver’s side of the van. The ‘music’ clicked back on, sound obliterating all rational thought (how was Ethan still sane, driving around with that cacophony all the time?), and after a second the van’s engine started up.

That was when Virgil filled up his stupid quota for the rest of the year.

It had suddenly occurred to him that he really, really didn’t want to be left alone in the dark and the quiet now - maybe Roman’s talk of monsters had gotten to him, maybe it was the contrast between the stillness of his cold car and the aliveness of the two people that had just stopped to try to help him, weird though they might be.

They probably weren’t serial killers. If they were, there was nothing to stop them from killing him as soon as he had flagged them down, or being a lot more pushy about giving him a lift. He had already told them his phone wasn’t working (why had he told them that? What had he been thinking?) and they knew he was alone.

Making the decision in a split second, he threw his door open again and started waving his arms, running after the van as it gradually picked up speed, as though that would make him more noticable.

Virgil only had to move a couple of steps before it screeched to a halt again. For somebody so clearly enthusiastic about cars, Roman should probably get his own brakes checked out sometime. The ‘music’ cut off once more, which was a relief, and after a moment the minivan reversed until Roman was level with him again. “Hey again! Change your mind?”

“I - yeah,” Virgil nodded. “Realised I’d rather not be alone. Promise not to murder me if I catch a lift?”

“Oh, don’t give me ideas!” Virgil raised an eyebrow at the toothy smile, and Roman had the decency to look a little less thrilled at the idea of murder. Why had he said anything? “Already said we wouldn’t - a gentleman’s word is his bond, ‘n’ all that!”

“Nobody’s going to believe you’re a gentleman, R.” Virgil had been planning on saying something similar, but Ethan seemed to have beaten him to the punch. “I, on the other hand, actually behave like a member of the gentry - in any case, you’ll be fine.” Ethan had gotten out of the van again, walking around the front to open the side door. Roman flipped him off lazily. “Is there anything you’ll need overnight? I doubt anyone will come across your car, but if you’ve got anything you’d rather not leave unattended, we have space for a bag or two in this… Contraption.”

There was a note of distaste in his voice - clearly, Ethan regretted whatever turn of events had led to him agreeing to allow his boyfriend to choose their transportation.

Virgil nodded, already turning back to his car. There was no way he was leaving his camera alone overnight - and he should probably grab a water bottle, maybe some food, a change of clothes - he would only need one change of clothes, right? Ethan followed him quietly, and after a second Virgil heard the slamming of a door and realised that Roman had come to join them.

The pair of them stayed quiet as Virgil pulled his bag from the passenger seat - his camera, laptop, and phone were already in there - and tossed in a water bottle and his weighted blanket, but when he opened the small boot to retrieve a clean change of clothes, Roman let out a low whistle.

“Fuck me, that’s a lot of stuff. You moving somewhere? Ow, watch your elbows, j-eez!”

“I’d have thought you’d have gotten better at respecting other people’s boundaries over the last few years, Roman.”

“I’ll respect your boundaries in a minute,” Roman grumbled, and Ethan snorted at the nonsensical threat. Virgil put his bag down by his feet and used both hands to close the boot (it had been a second-hand car even before he had purchased it, and the boot was stiff), then turned back to find the two of them nose to nose, locked in some sort of staring contest.

He cleared his throat. “Um. Are we…”

“Going? Yes, just dump your shit on one of the seats.” Roman waved a hand at the van without breaking eye contact with Ethan. Weird, Virgil thought, but whatever. They had been nice enough so far.

It looked as though the minivan had once held eleven seats, arranged in four sets of two down one side and three individual ones down the other. Now, though? The three individual seats had been ripped out, and the second pair back from the driver’s seat had gone the same way. Of the remaining seats, the two pairs at the back looked as though they had been converted into a makeshift bed: the backs of the seats had been bent down until they were almost horizontal, forming one large, mostly flat expanse. It was partially covered in rumpled blankets. A row of beanbags ran down the van’s wall, and blankets had been pinned over the windows like curtains; what looked like an icebox was strapped to the back of the vehicle.

It looked as though Ethan and Roman were used to travelling together.

Placing his bag carefully on one of the two remaining seats (the one with the brown stain that was probably barbecue sauce and not blood, because these people probably weren’t serial killers) and strapping the seatbelt down over it, Virgil sat down. One hand rose automatically for him to gnaw at the cuticle of his thumb; turning to look out of the still-open door, he watched Roman and Ethan finally break off their staring contest. Roman looked frustrated - he had probably lost, then. The taller of the two dropped a kiss on his forehead, and the green-eyed man stalked back around to the driver’s seat. Virgil couldn’t hear the words, but he was grumbling under his breath as he passed the still open door.

“All good in here?” Ethan was leaning against the open door, smiling at him.

Virgil nodded slowly. “I… Yeah, I guess so. I’ll be able to find my car again tomorrow, right?”

An answering nod. “The repair shop in town will do just fine. Tell ‘em it’s on the main road, about an hour out - no trouble finding it.”

“Thanks.”

Ethan nodded again, closing the door, and then climbed back into the passenger seat. Roman flicked the music on. Somehow, it wasn’t quite so deafening on the inside of the car. Frowning, Virgil leaned forward - he hadn’t seen Roman fiddle with the volume dial, although he hadn’t been watching… It still looked to be pointing at the maximum, though.

“Rigged it,” Roman said. Looking up, Virgil found his unsettling eyes watching him in the rearview mirror. “Plays super loud outside, isn’t so bad in here. Spent hours getting the soundproofing right. Ended up deaf for nearly a week!”

He started the engine as Ethan twisted around in his seat to look at Virgil again. “Roman,” he commented dryly, “enjoys being a deliberate nuisance. There was practically a mob chasing us out of Milan.”

“It was a literal mob, Eth. And you know you love me really.” For a vehicle that looked dirty and slightly battered on the outside and sounded as though there were monsters living in the braking system, the minivan drove smoothly - more smoothly than Virgil’s third-hand car, anyway.

“Milan, Illinois? Or Ohio?” If he was in this van, Virgil might as well make conversation.

“Milan, Italy. Nice place. Nice language. Good food. Sunny.” Roman waved a hand around his head, then turned to look at him as well - something that was not reassuring, given that Virgil could just about see that the needle on the speedometer had ticked past sixty. “Ever been, Virgil-Not-Virgin?”

“The road!” He should not have gotten into this van. Virgil was going to die because this idiot had decided not to watch the road and Ethan didn’t seem to have noticed. “Watch the road!”

“The road?” Roman glanced back at the windscreen and shrugged. The van swerved, and Virgil grabbed his bag to stop it from sliding forward off of the seat despite being strapped in. “Oh, the road! Yeah, okay… Wrecking the van would be a pain now I’ve got it almost perfect. Ever been to Milan?”

He didn’t sound at all concerned about the possibility of fiery death. Brilliant. Virgil was in a car with a lunatic. Well done, me, he thought sarcastically, don’t want to be alone in the middle of the road at night. Now I’ll be sharing a grave with these guys. Just brilliant.

“No,” he said, because why not keep the conversation going? It might help to keep his mind away from the apparently high chance of death. “Never left Washington before. Are you guys Italian now, then?” They didn’t have a trace of an accent, but that didn’t mean much.

“Nope! We’re from here - just going home for a few days!” Unconcerned with the fact that he had already told Virgil this, Roman yanked on the wheel, and the van skidded around a corner. Virgil grabbed for the side of his seat with one hand and his bag with the other.

“Ma viaggiamo molto, bambino,” Ethan added - because of course he would speak flawless Italian. Why not?

Roman jerked the wheel the other way, and Virgil winced as his shoulder hit against the wall of the van. “Non è un bambino, occhi di serpente, è Virgil.” Ethan blew a kiss at his boyfriend.

Great. Now they were talking about him in a foreign language. Maybe this was all just a really, really stupid dream, Virgil decided. He was probably sat back in his car, still dozing and waiting for the sun to rise so that he could make the walk into town. Assuming that there was a town, and that wasn’t just something else his subconscious had come up with.

At least he had the presence of mind to remember his camera and laptop even in a dream. They were his most precious possessions, both in terms of monetary value and in what they meant for him. Losing these would be like… Losing a limb, maybe. Or his head.

“-long way from Washington for somebody that’s never left it before, Virgil. Going anywhere nice?” Ethan had twisted around once more, and Virgil realised he had missed the point at which the conversation had switched back into English again.

Shaking himself, he patted his camera once. “Got a job on the other side of the country, took it as a chance to move somewhere new. Thought I might as well make a road trip out of it - still cheaper than flying, which is absolutely criminal.”

Ethan made a sympathetic… Hissing noise (?) as their driver bobbed his head, although whether that was agreement or simply in time with the ‘music’ that they were only just able to talk over without shouting, Virgil didn’t know. “Tell me about it! The faster humans learn how to travel, the more they try to suck every penny from you! Like money leeches!” Roman laughed, the idea apparently delightful to him.

“There’s definitely a strong correlation,” Ethan mused, turning to gaze thoughtfully out of the window. His sleep mask was still propped up in his wavy hair, though he had shown no inclination to use it again - maybe it was obvious how much Roman’s loud energy unsettled Virgil, and he was trying to make sure he wasn’t alone. Or maybe he had decided that they were close enough to town that there wasn’t much point in trying to sleep again. “Speed makes humans greedy… Sounds like the kind of claim - oh, Virgil, you might want to close your eyes for a couple of minutes. We’re almost at the Edge. Sounds like the kind of claim somebody could spend years trying to back up.”

“We should do that. Might kill some time, you know?”

“Are you telling me you’re already bored of-”

“Woah, wait.” Virgil held up both hands, remembered neither of his companions were looking at him, and let them drop again. “Why do I need to close my - holy shit! Sweet Frank Iero, fuck!"

Virgil squeezed his eyes tight shut a second too late. Light exploded around them, seemingly out of nowhere and leaving bright streaks across the insides of his eyelids. He could hear Roman cackling in front of him, the music still playing, an exasperated “I did try to warn you…” - whatever had happened, neither of his companions seemed at all surprised.

Maybe they had just driven past a football stadium, and Virgil hadn’t noticed the floodlights until just then? No, that didn’t make sense: he would have seen the lights when they had first appeared on the horizon. Unless they had been dark until somebody had just turned them on - at two in the morning? And Ethan had known that it was going to happen?

Automatic lights, then. Or - Or police vehicles, apprehending the two of them for whatever reason. But wouldn’t they have stopped, or sped up, or something? And if Ethan had known that there were police waiting for them, why would they have travelled this route anyway? It had to be automatic lights.

Then Virgil opened his eyes again, and realised that he couldn’t pinpoint its source.They were still driving through open countryside, on a road with no street lamps or buildings, grass stretching out on either side of them. To their left and stretching out in front, Virgil could make out a forest. The only difference between now and a few minutes ago was the fact that it seemed to be the middle of the day.

He looked out of his window, then out of the front of the van, neck craned toward the sky. It was a blank, pale colour somewhere between orange and yellow. He couldn’t see the sun at all.

Twisting in his seat, Virgil tried to see some line where the night ended and the day began. There was nothing. Just… Grass, and trees, and road, and light. Obviously. Night magically turning to day at three in the morning was slightly more likely than a magic line separating the two.

Of course, given that this was all obviously a dream, there was nothing to say that there couldn’t be a magic line like that. It wouldn’t be any more out of place than people with acid eyes and a soundproofed car who spoke flawless Italian, after all. Maybe Virgil should stop eating directly before going to sleep.

Both Ethan and Roman had turned to look at him, Ethan appearing to be somewhere between smug and sympathetic and Roman wearing a shit-eating grin that stretched from ear to ear. Virgil just stared at the pair of them for a moment. “... Road?” He asked finally, and Roman nodded before turning away again. Virgil cleared his throat briefly. “What the fuck was that?”

“That’s what I said the first time I saw it!” Roman crowed, and Ethan slapped his arm gently. Virgil grabbed the side of his seat as the van swerved before straightening again.

“One of the quirks of home.” Ethan gestured out of the front windscreen, and Virgil leaned forward to see houses racing toward them (how fast was Roman driving? Was this legal?) (Who cared? It was all a dream). “Never gets dark.”

“Ever?” How would a place function if it never got dark? “How does that… Doesn’t it… Drive people mad?” Of course, Virgil would understand if it didn’t. This was all in his head, after all, and his head didn’t always make sense.

“Of course!” Virgil wished Roman didn’t sound quite so cheerful about it.

Ethan sighed and shook his head. “Most people just learn to live with it. You’ll forget about it in the next day or so, don’t worry. That’s Lichmai for you.”

“Leesh May?” If he was going to be inventing names, they could at least be names that sounded real.

“Lichmai. Welcome to our hometown, Virgil.” Ethan didn’t sound particularly pleased to be back.

[legolaslovely]

Summer Rain

A/N: Happy Fili Friday! Today, Iolaus is also getting some love! BECAUSE HE DESERVES IT OKAY. Sorry, I’m a little emotional. Hope you guys enjoy this one! I certainly loved writing it. Get ready for some ROMANTIC FLUFF.

Pairing: Iolaus x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,186

Warnings: fluff, makeout sesh

Summary: BF&GF Playing hooky< all you need to know. But also (lemme geek out for a sec) I like to think (Y/N) is the top cadet academically and she HATES Iolaus for his cocky and lazy demeanor UNTIL Fiducious asks her to tutor him. Then she falls head over sandals in love with this golden boy’s true heart because wouldn’t we all

A Note About the Poetry/References: The poem (please just read it for me and my romantic little heart, okay?) is called A Lover’s Sigh, written by Anacreon who lived in Ancient Greece (in Teos AKA across the Aegean Sea from Corinth) around 500 BC. ISN’T THAT COOL. Also, some of The Odyssey (translated to English, of course) is quoted here. 

LOOK AT HIM LOVE OF MY LIFE 

(Y/N) loved falling asleep to the symphony that came with the falling rain. Whether it be a downpour slapping against the soft grass or a sprinkling of misty drops landing on a roof of thatch, the lullaby was always welcomed. However, it was especially cherished after a day of endless drills and exams that left her with an exhausted mind and aching muscles to match. When she climbed into bed, her woes were forgotten and replaced with nature’s soft tune raining down and the scent of fresh earth sneaking through the cracked windows in the academy. (Y/N) loved every part of the rain.

Except training in it.

She woke the next morning with a start at the rumbling thunder that snapped to a crack right above the academy. Some of her classmates were already awake, watching the storm from the doorway and planning their route across the wide grounds to the dining hall’s entrance. She had rebraided her hair for the day by the time those cadets had mustered up the courage to skitter out from under the doorway and across the fields. She snorted as she pulled on her boots.

“Don’t laugh, (Y/N),” Hercules said from his bed above. “That’ll be us next.”

“Can’t you ask your dad to chill out with the thunder already? He’s been at it all night.”

Hercules noisily mocked her. “Yeah, sure, I’ll send a request right up. Anything for your convenience, (Y/N).”

“I appreciate the diligence,” she said. She chased Hercules to the door and pushed him outside into the drip. Cold droplets fell down the back of his neck and he shivered and cringed, dancing back into the shelter. He grabbed her shoulders but she slipped out of his grasp, giggling. “Not fast enough, Herc,” she said.

Jason stepped between them, acting as (Y/N)’s shield as Hercules shook his dripping hair. “Listen, the quicker we run to the dining hall, the quicker we can eat, okay? By the time we go to morning drills, we’ll be dry.”

“Just in time to get soaked again,” Iolaus said. As usual, he’d been the last to wake up. He ran a hand through his messy curls and placed the other discreetly on (Y/N)’s back for no one to notice but her. “You know they’ll make us train in the storm today.”

“It builds character,” he and Hercules said at the same time, both mocking Chieron perfectly. 

“I’m not intending on training anywhere on an empty stomach so are you all coming to breakfast with me or not?” Jason said.

“You’re grumpy,” Hercules mumbled.

(Y/N) laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “All right, all right. Herc, take the starving king to breakfast, I’ll meet you guys there,” she said, having to gather her scrolls and bag for classes. Probably a few towels as well.

She turned and dug her things out from under her bed, sighing to herself. 

“I thought you liked the rain?”

She leapt from her place in fright. “Gods, Iolaus, you scared me. I thought you went with the guys.” She set down her scrolls and watched the wet sheets fall through the doorway again. “I do like the rain, but not when I have to go out in it.”

Iolaus hummed, following her gaze. He didn’t notice her sneak behind him until she rested her head on his shoulder. 

“I’d much rather spend a day like today in… the hay loft? The barn is empty until after dinner is served anyway. No one will be up there, especially on a day like today.”

“Are you, (Y/N), stealer of library scrolls, actually suggesting we play hooky?” Iolaus asked.

Her head snapped up. “I do not steal scrolls!”

“Only the ones Fiducious doesn’t let you borrow,” he said with a poking finger. “You aren’t supposed to know about that.”

“Oh, (Y/N), you are forgetting about the life I led before I came to this charming academy. I know a lot of things I’m not supposed to know.”

She scoffed, but grabbed his hand and her bag. “Fine, then, Master Burglar, how do we get to the barn without being seen?”

He led her to the opposite exit of the small building. “Considering the barn is on the other side of the grounds and we will have to pass the window of Chieron’s office and his horses don’t exactly like me-”

“What did you do to the horses, Iolaus?”

“Not important- we just have to RUN!” 

He dragged her out into the rain, shushing her surprised squeal with smiling lips. Their sandals squeaked in the wet and squished in the mud as they ran past the well, jumped over the short wall, and skittered along the side of the main building of the academy. 

“Wait!” he cried out in a harsh whisper. “Wait here. That’s Chieron’s window.” 

Before he could formulate a plan, (Y/N) slipped from his clammy grasp and bent forward, crawling underneath the window. She called him to follow. “We’re almost there!”

With no roofs to slither under, Iolaus tore off his vest and it quickly became their umbrella for the second half of the journey through the wide field. As they neared the barn, (Y/N) was just as relieved as Iolaus to see the horses already inside. That meant they truly would be alone in the hay loft until someone came to feed the animals at night. The barn was all theirs. 

“Do you think anyone saw us?” (Y/N) asked after they’d slithered inside and closed the barn door. Iolaus held the ladder for her as she climbed up to the hay loft.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Everyone is in the dining hall at this hour.” He followed her up, sending nervous glances to the horses below. A shiver ran up his spine. Whether it was from the dark eyes staring up at him or the icy beads of rain still trickling down his bare skin, he wasn’t quite sure. 

He threw his sopping vest over a bale. “Well, I won’t be putting that back on any time soon,” he said with a wide mouthed wink.

(Y/N) shook her head at his never ending antics, but smiled at him all the same. “Good thing I brought something dry and warm for you, then.” Out of her bag came one of his own tunics he didn’t realize had been stolen. 

“You sneaky little cadet,” he said, putting it on. “You planned this.”

“Maybe.” She had pulled her braid apart and was squeezing her hair dry with one of the towels she’d brought. 

“Lucky for you, I too came prepared.” He slid the tunic over his head and it didn’t take long for drenched, golden curls along with a dimpled grin to pop out of the neck. Then he reached for his bag, rummaging around the small rips in the lining until he uncovered two loaves of fresh bread. He gave one to (Y/N) with a flourish and a bow, savoring her laugh. But as she leaned forward to take the treat from him, a stiff, crinkling chattered that was just loud enough to hear over the rain outside. He watched her sit quickly upright and hide her twitching lips behind the crust of bread. “What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“No. You-you didn’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said around the hunk of bread in her mouth.

“You brought a scroll? We are playing hooky and you brought homework! I knew this was too good to be true.”

She stood, pulling the small scroll out from under her shirt. She’d managed to pack everything else for the day when Iolaus wasn’t looking, but this was a last minute addition that didn’t quite make it into her bag. 

“It’s not homework,” she said. “It’s for pleasure.”

“That is no pleasure I’d like to be a part of!”

She laughed out loud at that and Iolaus only half enjoyed it. She skipped to his side, turned his stubborn face to her, and wrung out his curls into her towel. “Come on, Iolaus. With all our exams coming up, I never have time to read anymore. Especially not poetry because we haven’t covered any of it in our modern literature classes yet. Now I have the whole day free to-”

“To read poetry,” he grumbled.

Her soft touch through the towel traveled over his shoulders and down his chest, collecting the raindrops that still gathered in the hollows of his tanned skin. “I know you don’t like poetry much, but what if I promise to read you something I know you’ll enjoy?”

“Then you don’t know me very well.”

She took his chin in her fingers. “You are such a grump! Let me read for one hour and then we can do what you want.” She wriggled out of his grasp that consisted of roaming hands and squeezing fingers. “Within reason!” she said, snapping the towel at him.

A childish, roaring groan filled the barn as she sat on a bale of hay. She patted the spot next to her, beckoning him to sit. “Just trust me.” 

Heavy feet stomped across the loft until Iolaus sat on the floor beneath her, scooting around until he could lean back between her knees. He looked up at her, chin to the sky and blue eyes gleaming. “Tell me about this poem.”

“It comes from across the sea,” she said, unrolling the scroll by its pins. “Listen.”

“The Phyrgian rock that braves the storm Was once a weeping matron’s form; And Procne, hapless, frantic maid,  Is now a swallow in the shade. Oh that a mirror’s form were mine,  To sparkle with that smile divine; And like my heart I then should be, Reflecting thee, and only thee! Or could I be the robe which holds That graceful form within its folds; Or t-”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. This is a dirty poem?” He spun and took the scroll from her, turning so fast, his hair sprayed droplets over her and the parchment. He stared at the words, then turned to her. “You read dirty poetry?”

She laughed. “They’re not all like this.” She swiped his curls over his shoulder, running a fingertip around his ear and down his neck. “Read the rest of it.” Gentle hands turned his shoulders forward and she asked again. “Read to me, Iolaus.”

He coughed, unconsciously leaning toward her breath on his bare skin.

“Or could I be the robe which holds That graceful form with-”

She was kissing his neck. Warm, soft lips over his jaw, under his ear, down his neck to the bit of shoulder his tunic left open to her. The little clicking sound of her mouth against his skin sounded louder than any lightning crack Zues could send down to them. He curved into her hold.

“Keep reading,” she said.

“How am I supposed to concentrate with you… kissing me like that?”

“Does it feel good?” The tip of her nose traced over the sensitive skin that her lips left damp.

He could only hum his appreciation. Her hands rolled forward to the front of his tunic, wanting the deep rumble to sound again so she could feel it in her palms. 

“Keep reading or I will stop.”

He grumbled. “Her gifts were mixed with good and evil both.”

She breathed out a laugh, tightened her grip, and sunk her teeth into his skin. He lifted the scroll.

“...Within its folds; Or, turned into a fountain, lave Thy beauties in my circling wave; Or, better still, the zone that lies Warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs! Or like those envious pearls that show So faintly round the neck of snow! Yes, I would be a happy gem,  Like them to hang, to fade like them. What more would thy Anacreon be? Oh, anything that touches thee, Nay, sandals for those airy feet-- Thus to be pressed by thee were sweet!”

Iolaus rolled up the scroll and set it aside, turning in her arms to kneel between her legs so they were face to face. Her damp hair fell around her as if to frame the portrait of a goddess. He kissed her lips.

“Did I not say you would enjoy the poem?” she asked.

He kissed her cheek and ran his fingers through her hair. The sight of untied tresses was rare, and he took this chance to feel their softness and marvel at the delicate waves. “I would enjoy anything as long as I am with you.”

When he drew away from her cheek, he saw her eyes had closed from his tender touch. Half of him wished she’d open them for they were the brightest light there was on this dreary day. However, the more selfish half of him wanted them to stay closed. She’d never permit his staring if she saw the way he was watching her, taking her in. His finger curled over her forehead down to her chin to hold her face still. Even as her curious eyes opened to him, he gazed on.

“Never have I set my eyes upon such a beauty, in either man or woman. I look at you and I am bedazzled,” he said.

All breath left her. “Where did you learn that?”

“I said I would enjoy anything as long as we were together. Do you really think I’d ignore your passion for poetry and stories? That I’d leave you alone in it?”

She shook her head, left speechless by his words. 

Just as a log split open by a heavy ax, so seemed Iolaus’ armor of deceptive reputation: cracked and gaping, revealing a true, tender heart underneath. From its center radiated unmatched compassion and care that shone brightly enough to play the part of the sun on this murky morning. Her own thoughts cowered from his brilliance.

“No, I-just-”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

She kissed his lips, arm circling his shoulders to pull him close. His dimples caved in under her thumbs as she cradled his face, pouring her appreciation, astonishment, admiration- all of it into her kiss. 

“I love you too,” she whispered against his lips.

He dove into her again- lips, tongues, hands, fingers- and she keened, falling into his lap on the floor. 

“Iolaus.”

Over her own sigh of his name, she barely heard someone else’s voice. She drew away to listen, but Iolaus’ lips only fell down her cheek to her neck, serving as a further distraction.

“Do you hear that?”

He hummed against her skin.

Thunderous footsteps banged outside, squishing and spurting in the puddles of mud while the looping chains of the hitching posts crashed together, sending a harsh, bright clanging sound up to the loft of the barn.

“What is that?” (Y/N) asked.

“You know exactly what that is,” Iolaus said, tugging her hips closer.

The slam against the barn door sent the large handle rattling and yanked Iolaus from his heated stupor. Surely the storm’s angry power couldn’t be the manifestation of a godly punishment for two students playing hooky, they thought. But that fear shifted as the warning voice outside eventually gave them a different, but no safer, solution. 

“I don’t think (Y/N) and Iolaus would be in here, sir, Fiducius, sir. I really don’t. But if you insist, I guess we’ll have to go inside the barn and see!”

The pair in the loft shared a look. Eyebrow waggles and waving hands gave silent orders of “Tuck in your tunic” and “Tie back your hair,” while soggy clothes and bread were thrown into their bags. A wicked bale of hale sent Iolaus hurdling to the floor. Then the barn door below slid open. The drumming of rain and Fiducius’ prattling of Iolaus corrupting his best student were deafening to ears that had grown used to accelerated breaths and soft whispers. 

“(Y/N), are you in here? With that Iolaus?” Fiducius called.

Her eyes blew wide, wordlessly begging Iolaus for advice. “Um, yes! Up in the loft?”

Iolaus holding his head in his hands told her she’d given the wrong answer. She slapped his shoulder. The rungs of the loft’s ladder squeaked and Fiducius’ head popped into view.

“What are you doing up here? You should be in class!” he said.

“Is it that time already?” Iolaus asked. He shut his mouth when (Y/N) pinched him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I lost track of time. We were only trying to get some studying in before breakfast.”

Their teacher’s nose wrinkled. “Studying?”

“Yes. I’ve been helping Iolaus with his classwork in the mornings and this is the best place to go. It’s… quiet.”

“And!” Hercules added from below the loft. “And with all the rain this morning, you had no idea what time it was because-”

“Because there was no sun,” Fiducius finished. “I see.” His eyes narrowed in on Iolaus’ strategically covered lap. “What is that scroll you have there?”

Iolaus shifted on the bale of hay, moving as far from (Y/N) as possible in the small space. He inspected the scroll, wondering if it could give him any answers for this type of exam. “Poetry, sir. (Y/N)’s been teaching me about… Anna-cree-on…”

“Anacreon,” she corrected.

“Yeah. His poetry. From across the sea.”

Fiducius was not impressed. “Odd thing to study since we’ve never covered modern works in class.”

A noise caught in Iolaus’ throat. He looked to (Y/N) for help. 

“Iolaus asked for it,” she said. “He enjoys poetry.”

Another suspicious hum traveled across the loft. “Come down here now, please. I will escort all of you to class this instant.” Then his head fell as he descended the ladder. 

Before (Y/N) could rise from her seat to follow, Iolaus pulled her into one last kiss. Though it was against her nature, she could have defied all orders to steal another, but Iolaus only smiled at her and stood, leading her to the edge of the loft.

He climbed down the ladder first, ignoring (Y/N)’s mumblings of “I don’t need help” and “I’ve fought off gods, I can handle a shaky ladder.” Before her foot could touch the ground, he grabbed her hips and pulled her out of the barn, clear from Fiducius’ view.

“You didn’t get your hour of reading,” he said.

She shrugged. “I think I got something just as good.”

They parted as Fiducius emerged from the barn and led the way to the main building of the academy, thanking the gods for stopping the rain and mumbling about students turning into muddy hogs to be slopped. He was easily ignored by the couple behind him twisting together like vines of ivy.

(Y/N) looked up to the sky as if watching the dark, rumbling clouds move on to the next village. Truthfully, she was leaning into the arm Iolaus was holding around her and looking into the summer sky of her love, all clear blue eyes and curls like golden rays of sun.

@emrfangirl​ @misslongcep​ @raindancer2004​ @ladybugg1235​ @xxbyimm​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @fire-flv​ @nerdbirdsworld​ @dashesofink​ @teagarages​ @dreams-of-wander​ @winchesterandpie​ @bluebellcotton @tumblinglringlring @fxngsfogxarty @specialagentsnark @afeistyfairy12 @queenofmankind @karlthecat15722 @sagabriar @marymegger 

[angsty-nerd]

Thinky Thoughts on Max in 2x06

I’ve been thinking a lot about the various perspectives on Max’s character changes in 2x06, and while I was VERY insistent yesterday on Max being Max and being happy during the calm before the storm, I definitely have forced myself to rethink a little bit overnight. Even in my delirious, sleep deprived state of mind from this episode, I still refuse to believe that Max wasn’t Max during those scenes with Liz (particularly after getting his memories back). But that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t something WRONG. So here are some big thoughts from me.

Not going to lie. It did seem way too easy to “fix” Dark!Max. 10 years of destructive energy and all it took was a little earthquake, some lightning thrown around and that’s it? TEN YEARS. Liz wasn’t even dead for like a minute in the pilot and he blew out all the power in town with that dark energy. And his little earthquake didn’t seem to extend outside of the gym -- nothing was damaged or anything outside or around town. I definitely see an argument for there still being dark energy within him to expel.

It was JARRING how quickly he went from “I don’t like a stranger knowing all of our secrets.” to flirting and “people who don’t know each other go on dates all the time”. I was able to dismiss it easily at first because he was so friggin charming and cute at the market. What was it that Mo said? The full weight of his charm thrown at Liz for the first time? And I know he was grumpy about the sciencing and the talking about him like an experiment in the lab, but he was kinda rude to Liz. And then to be showing off in front of her and flirting? People, he had a jacket on in the market scene, but you can see that he’s wearing the same shirt as he was in the lab scene. It’s CLEARLY the same day and very little time has passed. So did Michael and Isobel just have that good of a talk with him? Or what?

I might need to just explore the Liz erasure in his brain some more at some point. I think the thing that bothered me was the absolutely lovely exchange about the worst things they’d ever done - one of my favorite scenes in the episode, to be honest. It makes sense to me that he doesn’t remember the Rosa incident. It also makes sense to me that he thinks that killing the drifter was the worst thing he’d ever done. Even in 1x06, he made it pretty clear that his first murder was still haunting him, even years later. Even after Rosa. But the continuation of that...the feelings about death and not being willing to hurt someone else. His admission that he wanted to stay dead so that he didn’t kill again. He remembers that. He remembers begging Isobel to let him die. But he doesn’t seem to remember Rosa (because she’s connected to Liz) and he doesn’t seem to remember Rosa being his only connection to the outside world, and he doesn’t seem to remember that what he was begging for was for them to “Stop Liz”. I keep thinking of his mindscape, and the storm and the darkness... is it just this weird patchy cloud over pieces of his memory? Like parts of it are clear to him and other parts are just fuzzy or shrouded?

And speaking of darkness and light, let’s talk about the other side of that. The happy. GOD, Max without the memory of Liz was so happy. He was so light, and confident, and inhibition free. It was so compelling and lets be real, it was friggin sexy as hell. Clearly Liz thought so too, until that “worst thing” conversation when she figured out WHY he was so light and happy. But the thing is...I’m not sure it actually went away after his memories came back. Even after remembering Liz and Rosa and everything, he still seemed to be lighter than before. Mind you, some of that is getting the girl, getting laid, etc, etc. But I wonder if some of it is also just the weight of the guilt lifting off of his shoulders. Like, for right now at least, everything feels like things are right in the world. Until the flash of course...

And I’ll get to the flash eventually, but first this. Isobel pointed it out. “Does he seem different to you?” And yes, it seems like a warning shot. But Liz pointed it out too at the end of the “worst thing” conversation. He IS different. And he SHOULD be different. First, because of the lack of Liz history, but then also because of the lifting of the guilt. I’m not entirely convinced that this was supposed to be anything more than building to that epiphany from Liz (which was probably mostly directed at the audience) that he might be better off without her -- which was also intended to lead to that response from him on the rooftop, “I am not whole without you”. That Max was light and fluffy, but he was missing something. He was *gasp* WRONG. So maybe this was all just building to that moment of acceptance of himself too.

Sort of off topic here, but did anyone else find themselves wondering about how open and public Max was in this episode? Amnesia!Max going to the Mexican market by himself. Meeting Liz publicly for a date. Making out on the street in the middle of town. This is the same Max Evans who was missing for months because supposedly he was so heartbroken. This is the same Max whose boss thinks he murdered Noah and hasn’t stopped investigating him in the months that he’s been missing. Thye’re not going to just DROP that, right? At some point they’ve gotten give us some Max & sheriff interaction? Does he even get his job back after all this!?!

Anyway, back on topic. The time jump. Yes, that was weird. And purposeful. It’s clearly early morning when Max leaves Liz at the Crashdown, and Isobel says it’s, like, 2pm when he got home. Is this simply the fault of a cut scene? Crappy editing? Or is it a purposeful time jump. I will throw out there one naive and happy theory, which is this: it is totally in character for happy lovesick Max to stop everything to write his feelings down. He was going through his journals earlier in the episode. It’s possible he was just sitting somewhere writing poems about Liz. Or love letters. Or whatever. BUT, that does feel too obvious. I think the idea of him losing time, of someone else taking over while he was heading home, is a very interesting, scary, and plausible theory.

Okay, so I still think that’s a memory flash at the end. I think from a plot standpoint, the purpose of the whole amnesia plotline was to feed Max some antidote so that he would start to remember things from before the crash. And maybe it took a little longer because the “natural” amnesia had to resolve itself first before the “unnatural” triggering of memories from the antidote could do its thing. And I do think the hand on the shoulder is clearly mirroring the hand in 1947 that lit the military dudes on fire. And I suspect they’re the same person, but I could be wrong. I could get behind the theory that it’s even Max -- some dark version of him, some Alien!Jesus version of him. Although if it’s the latter then it’s kind of super creepy. Especially given the evil twin imagery that @maxortecho has documented really well over on her blog.

Okay, another thing about this whole evil twin, Jekyll and Hyde thing. I don’t think we’re done with Noah yet. I think IF there’s an evil presence inside of Max it might be Noah, or it might be there because of Noah. I just want to remind y’all about the end of 1x13 right before Max kills Noah. “We are Ophiuchus, Max! The man and the serpent, the serpent and the man. They aren’t killing each other. They are one!” That was a pretty fascinating and direct line, and it brings me back to this: we still don’t know what the deal with Ophiuchus was. Why was Noah so obsessed with it? He identified with Ophiuchus, but he also identified himself and MAX with Ophiuchus. Is Noah the shadowy figure in the cave with Max? Is Noah the darkness inside of Max? Is that Max/Noah struggle that we saw in Rosa’s dream in 2x01 still ongoing? Is Noah going to still try to take over? I think it is very plausible that all of this imagery is still leading back to that incident.

So, to sum it up. Things are both as good as they seem, and as scary as they seem. There are a lot of interesting possibilities out there. And I am fascinated to see what comes next for Max.

Shallow eye candy to close this out:

[cinnaminsvga]

intermission • iv | eclipse

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. sera) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: sfw other than some ugly jealousy c/o a snake → words: 4.9K → a/n: sera didn’t always use to be a shitty person. well, that’s a lie. she was always a shitty person. she just used to be able to hide it well.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission iv | next • —

–– the first day of freshman year ––

The line for the free freshman orientation merchandise is longer than Sera had anticipated, even though she had arrived almost an entire hour early. Though most people would have dismissed the lengthy queue, Sera is Asian as Asian could get, her genes forbidding her from skipping over free shit when free shit can be received. She is sure her ancestors would never forgive her if she allowed this opportunity to slip through her fingers. And so, Sera waits with the rest of the cattle as the line shortens slowly, the heat of the early sun reminiscent of the summer months that should have already passed.

After sweating her body’s weight worth of sweat, she finally finds herself near the front of the line, foot tapping impatiently as the rowdy bunch of newly hatched boylings before her fought amongst themselves for the canvas knapsacks over the pink water bottles. Fragile masculinity at its finest, Sera thinks, as she watches with something akin to pity as the runt of the litter ends up with the “girlier” merchandise in the end.

At this point, all the better free items have mostly run out, though Sera wouldn’t mind getting the university emblem encrusted notepad and pen set. It is only a matter of moral principle when she gets the water bottle after seeing the boy from before shooting her with a desperate look, probably hoping to trade items with her if she had gotten something else. Sadistic pleasure courses through her veins when she sees the light fade from his eyes, the inevitability of his pink water bottle fate permanently sealed.

Puny boy. Drink your nasty energy drinks from your pink tinted bottle for all she cares. She’ll be doing the same, at least.

Free from that slow torture, Sera now has to subject herself to more agonizing torment by waiting for the rest of her orientation group members to arrive, most of whom should have gotten to the intended meeting location by now. She observes as her harried orientation leader tries unsuccessfully to get your small group to interact with one another, his fake cheery smile looking more strained as the apathetic faces of sleep-deprived freshmen fail to respond to his forced banter.

Her orientation leader, whose name she cannot recall for the life of her but will call “Mike” from now on, coughs awkwardly into his spotted handkerchief before dabbing his sweating forehead. Sera grimaces when she notices that a small glob of snot remains stuck to his skin where he had touched, though no one seems obliged to alert him of this fact. He glances at his watch, jumping from one foot to the other, as he does another headcount for the third time in the last ten minutes.

“7… 8… 9…” His finger hovers when it reaches the last person, his brow turned downwards in worry. The glob of snot dangles ever precariously from its perch. “Umm… Does anyone know where the last person is? We’re supposed to be ten, and the first part of our agenda is starting soon.”

Sera wonders why on earth he’s asking that as if they were supposed to be friends with one another. The university had forced everyone to make a group chat with their orientation groupmates a week ago, which was honestly a lost cause considering that everyone was randomly sorted into groups. Sera’s group chat only has two messages so far, with both being from the orientation leader himself. Out of ten people, only two of them have seen the messages, with Sera being one of them.

If that’s an indicator of how today is going to be, then Sera should have poured some shots into her kombucha like a sane person would have.

“Maybe you should try calling her?” One of the girls in her group says, her gaze never leaving her phone as she types rapidly, her dexterity astonishing despite her inch-long acrylic nails. Mike, on the other hand, stares forlornly at the black screen of his phone.

“No can do. My phone died a few minutes ago when I was in the middle of calling my mom. I guess I was too excited when I was telling her about today’s orientation day.” He laughs half-heartedly at that, and Sera might’ve felt a little bad for the guy if his phone didn’t have a keychain of an anime girl with big ol’ dobonhokeros. The only thing missing from his outfit is a big backdrop of his mom’s basement behind him to complete his look.

Mike looks around the group expectantly, obviously trying to catch the eye of one of you. Everyone’s heads bow down immediately, sensing that some effort and participation are about to be required from one of them. Nothing gets tired teens to disappear into the ground quicker than being asked to volunteer for anything that needed 0.01% of their brainpower. Unluckily for Sera, she is a bit too slow in her response, immediately locking gazes with Mike as a grin stretches on his face.

“Sera! You must know Y/N, right? I saw that you and Y/N had opened the group chat the other day. Why don’t you try calling her?” He says brightly, no signs of his depression from earlier. Two boys in Supreme hoodies snicker loudly at Sera’s dismayed face, and she vows to “accidentally” stomp on their pristine white sneakers later with her muddied old trainers.

“Um. Alright,” she agrees through gritted teeth, pulling out her phone with a heavy hand. Sera wonders if you’ll even take the call, possibly wary of answering an unknown number. Her pondering only lasts a second when you answer the call on the first ring, your heavy breaths being the first sound that greets Sera’s ears.

“I’m lost! I can’t find the soccer field! I’m running as fast as I can,” is your jumbled reply, followed by a screech on your end and what sounds like a honking car in the distance. “Sorry!” you call out immediately afterwards, and Sera hazards a guess that you were only two inches away from being roadkill.

“Yeah, this is Sera, one of your orientation groupmates. Mik–I mean, our orientation leader is wondering where you are.”

“I’m–” There is a pause, and Sera thinks for a moment that you might have dropped the call by accident or something. Then, you reply shakily, sniffling slightly. “I… I don’t know??? Help???”

What is it with today? Sera is meeting more people than she would like, and all of them seem to be the human equivalent of a cry for help. Surely, this is a test from above? However, there is something endearingly pitiful about your quiet sobs that makes her want to help you a little bit. She is never one to offer her services so freely to any stranger, but then again… She could become friends with you if you weren’t such a crybaby all the time.

“Describe where you are. I’ll try to come get you,” she says, not missing the way you gasp at her generosity. A feeling of pride settles into her chest, not disliking the way you must be so grateful for her benevolence. She should do this more often.

“Will you really? Oh my god, thank you!” you say giddily. You are quick to describe your surroundings, and luckily, Sera knows exactly where you are. The good thing about being a perfectionist is that Sera loves to over-prepare, so she already did her own tour of the campus before orientation day. In hindsight, she wonders why she even bothered to attend when she could handle herself perfectly. Oh right, the free stuff.

“Okay, hold tight. Be there in a bit,” she says before hanging up the phone. Sera turns back to Mike, who looks awfully smug for being as inept as he is. He begins to gather the rest of the group together, addressing all of them loudly.

“Thanks to the lovely Sera, our last member will join us shortly. In the meantime, we’ll head to the auditorium for the first event of the day while Sera finds Y/N!”

Wait– “You’re leaving me?” Sera shouts, jaw agape. Isn’t he supposed to be in charge? Whatever happened to teamwork and all that shit he was spouting literally ten minutes ago? Yet, here he was. All Mike the Mighty Ass does is shrug his shoulders, patting her impetuously on the back.

“We’re not leaving you! The auditorium is just over there,” Mike points to the imposing domed stadium just across the field. “And we’ll be seated right at the front, so just look for us there!”

“That stadium has a 7000 person capacity. How the hell am I supposed to–”

Sera doesn’t get to finish her sentiment as Mike raises his gaudy orange flag high up into the sky, signaling the rest of the group to follow his lead. None of the little shits even bat an eye as they quickly leave Sera in the dust to look for you.

As Sera gawks at the rapidly emptying field, she surmises that no number of free water bottle could ever amount to the trauma that the past few hours have inflicted on her. You better kiss the ground that she walks on when she finds you, or else there will be consequences to pay.

Finding you is easier said than done. Sera is sure she knew where you were from your descriptions, though there is a possibility that she might have overestimated herself. Either that or your explanation had been vague at best.

“‘In front of the weird blue houses,' she said,” Sera mutters to herself, looking up at the only blue-painted buildings in sight. She supposes that “weird” is subjective, as the houses appear quaint as can be, though maybe you had found the little garden gnomes at the front to be a bit disconcerting. Regardless, there seems to be no other person in sight, unless the crotchety old man in the wheelchair might be you.

She is just about to call you again when a person with twigs in their hair comes running down the sidewalk, their backpack thumping harshly against their back with every step they take. They are waving their hands wildly in the air, a large grin on their face as they struggle to slow down their momentum before inevitably tumbling into Sera’s slight body.

She found you.

“Ooph!” Sera groans, barely holding onto her senses as she tries her best to keep both of you upright. “What the fuck? Where were you?”

“Sorry, sorry!” You apologize repeatedly, swatting away bits of leaves from your hair that consequently fall onto Sera’s sweater. “I got a bit distracted by this dude at a hair salon and I had to make a run for it–”

“Whatever,” Sera interrupts, tugging you by the elbow and back to where the orientation is being held. “Let’s just get out of here before we miss out on the stupid orientation.”

You stumble a bit as you follow after her quick strides, having to hobble a little to catch up. You tilt your head curiously at your surroundings, not recognizing any of the landmarks at all. “Uh. You sure we’re going the right way? All these buildings look weird…”

“Says the chick who couldn’t even find the soccer field.” Sera snorts, continuing to walk with determination. “If you’re going to ogle at every ‘weird’ building we pass, then it’ll take us years to get there. Hurry up!”

After taking a few wrong turns and reaching two deadends, it is only then Sera admits that she might have forgotten the way back. It’s not her fault; she’s only been on campus for a few hours before. To your credit, you don’t seem all that disheartened as she had expected, unlike how distressed you had sounded on the phone earlier. In fact, you are skipping happily along beside her, pausing every often to take a few pictures of the dormitories and lecture buildings like a tourist.

“It’s like this is the first time that you’ve ever seen a building,” Sera jokes, taking a seat on a bench as she watches you frolic around a water fountain. You strike a weird post at her, smiling radiantly with your teeth showing.

“It’s because I only just moved here! I was late because I was busy unpacking my stuff in my dorm room,” you explain, straightening up into a more dignified posture before going to sit beside her.

Sera looks at you curiously. “Oh? You’re living on res? Are you from out of town?”

You shake your head. “Nah. My mom and I live pretty far off though, and I’d prefer not to take a commute in the morning. It’s chill though; I’m sharing a room with this dude I used to go to high school with.”

“They have co-gendered dorm rooms here?” Sera’s interest is piqued, and you are quick to notice it. You laugh, shrugging your shoulders.

“Uh, kind of? We’re like childhood friends and his mom is really close with the residence dean, so she asked if we could room together, just for the first year. She doesn’t really trust him with strangers. He’s really shy, so he’s uncomfortable rooming with someone he doesn’t know.”

“So, you guys aren’t, like, dating or..?”

“Me? Dating Jungkook? Oh God, that’s funny!” You laugh, slapping your knee. The more you think about it, the more ridiculous the idea is. “He’s like a bro to me! I would never date him.”

Sera smiles, a seed of an idea being planted in her brain. She stores it for later, but for now, she asks “Oh? So you’d be fine with introducing him to me sometime? I’d love to meet new people.”

“Sure, dude. He’s really introverted, so I doubt you’ll get too much out of him,” you hum. You close your eyes, enjoying the way the breeze gently caresses your face as Sera observes you from the sidelines.

Interesting, she thinks. She’ll definitely hang around you more. You are not as annoying as she had originally thought, and maybe it would be nice to have a friend to hang out with in between classes. Unassuming, overly excitable, naive… You’re just an innocent puppy, who will follow anyone who pets it. Easy enough; Sera can afford to accommodate you.

Sera smirks, allowing herself to enjoy the breeze as well. University might not be so bad after all.

A few months pass, and being friends with you isn’t as tedious as Sera had feared. In fact, you are a pretty chill person, someone whom Sera never needs to pretend to save face around. To you, her little mean streaks are nothing but little “quirks,” and you often wave them off as silly parts of her personality. Most of the time, the things Sera says are just that: jokes. More often than not, however, Sera has just grown comfortable around you to let her filter run a little loose, letting her goofier and bitchier side come out more easily.

Call it naivety or stupidity, but Sera is thankful to have you around.

Nevertheless, there are still some small moments when that thankfulness falls a little short. Take, for example:

“That TA is totally a bitch! She gave me an 80 on that essay only because her ex-boyfriend hit me up on Instagram. It’s not my fault that her boobs sag all the way to her hips!” Sera exclaims a little too loudly, and you have to silence her through stilted giggles as the two of you pass by the aforementioned TA.

“Marina isn’t that petty,” you say, though your defense is a little too lackluster to be effective. In fact, you’ve been a bit spacey all afternoon, not really present in most of your conversations together. You exit the lecture hall, walking to the cafeteria to grab some lunch. Sera has to pull you out of the way of two speeding bicycles before she thinks to ask you what’s up.

“Huh?” You mumble back, still smiling dopily at nothing. You’ve always been the type to get lost in your head, which is hilarious to Sera, given that your current debilitating crush is on none other than the most air-headed boy on campus. She supposes there is a certain appeal for opposite personalities, though it is funny that out of all the men on campus, you had to choose the heart-on for none other than–

“I was asking you what’s up with you,” Sera repeats, tutting as the two of you arrive at the cafeteria with no further casualties. “Seriously, it’s like your head is in your ass. Don’t tell me you finally got dicked down in the janitor’s closet and you’re basking in the afterglow.”

Sera’s crude comment is what finally gets you to snap out of it. “Hell no, you sex fiend!” You hiss, cheeks reddening at the jab. “Are you ever going to let that go? I told you that fantasy in confidence!”

“My lips are as loose as my pussy, my dude. You should know by now.” Sera says plainly, directing the two of you to one of the sushi joints. You don’t even protest Sera’s choice like you ordinarily would, as you have previously gotten intense food poisoning from one of their sashimi platters a week back. You must really be overthinking something then.

“I know. I’m just saying shit right now,” you say, pulling up a chair and plopping down. You fiddle with the soy sauce bottle contemplatively. “I’m spacing out because I’ve been thinking about the essay we just got back.”

“Oh?” Sera says, eyebrows lifting at that. She pulls out the menu, taking charge for the two of you as you have never quite mastered the art of choosing what food to get. Also, you’re scared of flagging down waiters, for whatever reason. “Did you also get saggy tits as your TA? I’m still mad about that B+, by the way.”

“That’s the thing,” you pause, accidentally flipping open the soy sauce bottle’s cap and spraying yourself with drops of the dark liquid. Neither of you even flinch when it happens, so used to catastrophes happening when it comes to you. You’re like a walking disaster magnet, and Sera has no idea why karma hates you so much. It’s a miracle that you’re alive, sometimes.

So it does come as a huge surprise to her when you follow up by saying, “She gave me an A+.”

The menu drops out of Sera’s hand. “What?” she nearly screeches, scaring the waiter who had been idly standing by your table. You point an apologetic glance at him as he scurries as far away from the two of you as possible, but Sera is undeterred. The words that had come out of your mouth makes no sense whatsoever.

“But… Marina literally gives no one higher than an A! I’ve got sources from upper years saying that she’s a beast when she grades – there must have been a mistake!” Sera says, not bothering to be polite.

You shrug, looking just as confused. “I thought so too. I was going to talk to her after class a while ago, but thought better of it and decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth… Better to accept it than question it, right?”

Sera hums, not wanting to admit that it was irking her that you didn’t ask the TA about it. Her annoyance is unwarranted, however, because she would’ve done the same. Why argue over a blessing? Still, it pains her to know that you got a higher grade than she did, even though you are taking the writing course as an elective, while Sera is a writing major herself.

The two of you enjoy your meal as if nothing had happened, and that is the first time in a long while since Sera has needed to put a façade around you.

In the next coming sessions, Sera and you begin to realize that the A+ had not been a fluke as you consistently continue to ace the quizzes and assignments for your creative writing course. Your professor has been badgering you to consider switching courses for a week now, and you’ve politely declined each and every time.

“Music is just more my thing, you see,” you explain to him, bowing quickly as you exit out of the room to escape another ten minutes of his incessant pleading.

It’s really starting to grate Sera’s gears a little bit.

The thing is, Sera knows she is being petty. It’s not even a new occurrence for her, as she has been known to ditch people once they start being better at her in anything.

Gymnastics in 4th grade had been a bust when star athlete Jinyoung Choi discovered her flexibility during PE. Mathematics had gone down the drain once Abegail Sun had won the Mathlete Competition for the third time in a row. Writing should have been Sera’s only crowning achievement, as she had always grown up with people around her praising her ability to weave universes with her words.

She can’t share that spotlight, not when she’s been pushed into the shadows numerous times already. This time, she’s not going down without a fight.

The worst part about the whole situation isn’t even that you were like a baby waiting for their candy to be stolen. With Sera’s connections and sly tendencies, it wouldn’t be hard to crush you where you stood. She’s only done it once back in high school, stripped someone of their confidence so savagely that they were forced to move to another school. She is sure she could do it again, but for whatever reason, it feels like it would be too easy of a win.

The worst part is that you didn’t even want the limelight, the success. Creative writing is just a hobby for you, and you certainly don’t deserve the recognition at all. Effort should be awarded its due, and you have certainly never exerted more than a pinky finger’s worth in your entire writing career.

The final straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, which pushed Sera past the point of reason, comes much later than anyone might have guessed. Sera’s patience is like plastic, sometimes durable and heat resistant, but oftentimes flimsy and tearable. It does not take a genius to figure out that all plastic must melt, one way or another.

Second-year comes, and Sera has all but allowed her simmering hatred to remain as just that: simmering. She is careful never to let it boil over, fearful of letting you see her break in the event that you would retaliate. Her problem is that she had allowed you to grow, forgetting to stomp on your confidence every so often so that you would be forced to depend on her. Now, you have amassed a sizeable following for your writing online, and Sera knows that you could use that power against her if you pleased. Cancel culture can be like the plague, and Sera knows the ins and outs of it better than anyone else.

Sera knows logically that you would never do that to her, as much as you would like to. Your morals restrain you from doing so, which saves Sera from some anxiety of backlash at least. Still, she has to remain careful anyway.

The two of you do not see each other as often as you once did during your first year. As sophomores, your majors require you to take more courses specialized towards your degree, meaning the general education courses that you shared were no longer required. The only time you ever saw Sera is during Creative Writing and the occasional lunch out in between classes.

Despite that, Sera just can’t get away from you, no matter how hard she tries. Your presence is everywhere: on the university newspaper, on the university forums, on club recruitment posters – hell, she thinks she sees some dude wearing a t-shirt with your face and Jungkook’s face printed on the front or something. Worst of all, she hears about you all the time, from her stupid professors who can’t stop waxing poetic about you. Case in point:

“Professor, may I speak to you?” Sera approaches Professor Puth at the front of his podium once class ends, whiffs of musky marijuana hovering around him like a cloud. You give Sera a confused look, about to ask what she wants to ask before she waves you off, urging you to go ahead.

“I’ll see you next Thursday. I got a tutorial right after this,” Sera lies smoothly, poised grin in place. Not really one to question her, you shrug your shoulders, waving both her and your professor goodbye.

“So,” Professor Puth says, peering at Sera. “Sera, right?”

Sera beams at him. “Yes, Professor. Glad you remember me.”

He hums thoughtfully, tongue jutting out as he appraises her with eyes sharper than any stoned person would have. “Yes, of course. What did you want to talk about?”

“You see, I got my assessment draft back this morning, and it says I got a C+ on it, but I’m sure I followed the rubric very carefully. Are you sure there wasn’t a mistake?” Sera says, not a hitch in her voice despite her outrage slowly starting boil over the edge. She’s never felt so humiliated in her life, having to beg like a dog for a regrade like some sort of pitiful loser.

“You might want to ask the TAs about regrading, in that case. I only graded a few of the works. Which one was yours about?”

“The poem about the withering tree, Professor.”

“Oh, yes. I remember that one. I was the one who graded it,” Professor Puth says, rubbing his chin. He tilts his head. “What did you want to ask about it?”

Sera stares at him, disbelief coloring every inch of her face. “Um, I just said… I wanted to ask – I followed the rubric and everything, so how come my grade was…” she trails off, embarrassed.

Professor Puth tuts, swiveling away to approach his desk. Sera follows, unsure for the first time in her life, as he starts rearranging his things to pack up. “Sera, I can e-mail the rubric to you again, if you want. I assure you, there is one essential part of the grading scheme that you forgot, and I’m afraid that is what cost your grade.”

Sera thinks. “Was it… the formatting?”

He barks out a laugh, slamming his papers down as if what she had just said was the funniest thing he’s heard since a Yo Mama joke. “No, of course not. It was the content! The emotion! You cannot just string highfalutin words together and expect the reader to feel moved.”

Sera flinches, offended. “I think those aspects of poetry are very subjective, Professor. Surely, you could ask for a second opinion–”

“I always ask for second opinions when grading assignments,” he says, wagging a finger. “We all agreed that your work was at least a C+, though I had originally graded it a C- at best.”

Once again, for the first time in her life, Sera is at a loss for words. Never has she been so casually humiliated before, especially after all the time she has put in to being nothing but a stellar student for all her professors. This must be some sort of bad dream.

“On the other hand,” he continues, pausing in his packing to stare at Sera. She does not feel like he is truly looking at her; rather, he looks to be lost in thought about something else entirely. “That friend of yours… Miss Y/N, right? I’ve always heard about her from my colleagues.”

The mention of your name causes the hairs on the back of her neck to bristle, and Sera goes defensive immediately. “What about her?” she cautions.

“Oh, just that she’s a wonderful writer. Very moving stories with lots of depth. I was a bit skeptical at first because Professor Whitney has always been a bit of a softie with freshmen… but she was right,” he nods to himself, a small smirk on his face. “That girl… I don’t doubt in the slightest that she could make someone fall in love with her just by writing them a piece.”

The comparison might have hurt less if he had used a different example, anyone else really. Some unknown sap that Sera could tear piece by piece without a shred of remorse, made easier by the fact that she did not have to know and care for them. You, on the other hand…

It has always been you. She rues the day she met you, when she had thought you were nothing but a meek little puppy to play with, not knowing that you had a hidden dagger behind your back. How foolish of her to let her guard down, and it makes her even angrier to think that you had no idea of the pain you have inadvertently caused her. No, she will make you understand her pain, her struggle. It is only right and just.

All she had to do was wait for an opportunity to strike and until then… It should be easy to keep up this charade. She has done it for more than a year, and she can do it for another ten. She has been doing it all her life, in fact.

When that day comes, she’ll be ready, and there’s nothing you can do but watch as she burns your whole world to the ground.

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 9

The world around Ansgar shifted, like someone had switched the channel from a horrifying disaster film to a beach-side romance. It had gone from a whirlwind of sheeting, whooshing flood and filth and barked orders and creaking, heavy iron and screaming pain and the fear of electrocution or worse – to a quiet calm. It became a slow cascade of water - a babbling brook or a seaside cove. It became the delightful pressure of female flesh against his chest, of warm lips on his, of exploring hands in his wet hair, of his own moans burbling up from his chest.

He returned her kiss and opened himself up to her. She whimpered as he drew his tongue over her lips, as he gave it to her, as he tasted her own. He splayed his hands wide over her back, not only to press her closer to him, but to touch her, to learn at least part of the map of her body through the wet, clinging, diaphanous material of her blouse. And the feel of her beneath his hands made him want her all the more.

Damn her.

And yet, there was a sense of gratitude that washed over him, of an implied forgiveness, at least a temporary one, of the gift of the opportunity to hold Joline in this way, to have her in his arms, to know the softness of her mouth. It was something he thought he would never receive again.

“Sgar! Hey, Martinsson! Sgar, are you in here?”

Ansgar groaned in annoyance. He pulled back from her embrace, and quickly gazed down at her – his eyes soft, and his lips curled in a genuine smile. He drew his thumb over her cheek, brushing away a trickle of water that had fallen from her hairline. He gave her a small nod, turned, walked down the small corridor, and bellowed back. “We’re here, Joey! By auxiliary shut off B!”

“We? Who’s with you?”

He held his hand out, and Joline took it. “I’m with Froken Lindberg,” he yelled, not as loudly that time, as they had reached the end of the hallway where it emptied out into the stage. “She shut off the water.” He indicated Joline behind him and then pointed at his employee. “Joe. Get pumps in here, stat, and fans - you should have at least three on your truck. Take initial moisture readings, and keep taking them every hour for the next three days. Start tearing out the wet lath and plaster and get the carpet out of here.”

***

Joline slammed her office door shut. She turned and leaned hard against it, her back and her palms pressed flat. “What the hell just happened?”

Ansgar ran his hands through his hair and peered down at his hand, sneering at the thin layer of rusty sludge he found there. He pulled at the fabric of his shirt, his look of disgust deepening at the tears and stains he found on the once pristine white linen. “Well,” he said, “I believe I warned your boss that that section of the building was not, shall I say, in the best condition.” He shrugged. “But they made it clear to me that they had no desire to update it as part of the renovations we did.”

“Right, but what happened?” She bent over a small slop sink by the window, and squeezed out her ponytail. Muddy brown water trickled from the end. “Oh, that’s gross.”

“Yeah,” Ansgar agreed. “It’s water that’s been sitting there for years. Decades, probably. If that part of the building hasn’t been used, and the water’s been left on, those pipes have been full for a long time with no fresh flow. Scale and minerals in water corrode iron over time, and it causes a buildup of MIC, so I’m sure that’s what happened. It just ate through and gave way.”

“What the hell is MIC?”

“MIC is micro-biologically influenced corrosion. A micro-organism that lives on a nice little cocktail of metal, nutrients, water and oxygen. Basically, it’s a nasty little pipe-eating bacteria,” he replied. Seeing her slightly confused expression, he smiled and added, “Hm, I guess I get my engineering card back, then?”

She tried to laugh but couldn’t, and the sight of her so dejected squeezed even at Ansgar’s black heart. She sighed. “So, mister engineer man, what do we do now?”

Ansgar cocked his head over a shrug of his shoulders. “Gut it, replace all of the pipes and rebuild it.” He chuckled. “Looks like we’ll be doing that job sooner than we thought.”

“We?” She straightened up and peered at him. “Who’s we?”

“Well,” Ansgar said, “I assume you would be using the services of Martinsson Construction to do this work. After all, we have a contract. And besides, we can start on it right away, get that going along with the repairs to the front of house.”

She dropped her head to her chest and scrubbed hard at her eyes. She didn’t cry, but her shoulders sagged, and she let out a low moan of frustration.

“Hey,” Ansgar rushed to her, and took her in his arms. He pressed her to him and rubbed her back, lifting his hand to cup her head against his shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “It will all work out.”

“There’s just… there’s just so much to do, Ansgar.”

He pulled back and brushed his hands over her cheeks, smiling down at her. “I’m thinking we scrap my New Years Eve idea, what do you say?”

Her sigh that time was one in relief. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I think so.” She leaned back in toward him, resting her cheek against his chest, her arms wound around his waist. “Ansgar?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate to tell you this,” she began.

“What is it?”

“You smell horrible.”

He laughed. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“You stink, too. And fuck, but it’s nasty,” he joked. He took her by the shoulders and pulled back. “Listen, I have a change of clothes in my bag.” He stepped away and began unbuttoning the ruined wet shirt. “If I don’t get out of these clothes the stench will stick to me permanently.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” She spoke slowly, her eyes not on Ansgar’s face, but on his chest. He had shrugged, wincing slightly, out of the wet garment and exposed his skin to her, the flesh of his torso –  his body. “Definitely can’t have that.”

“No, don’t suppose we can.” Ansgar bit his lip, noting her involuntarily sharp inhale of breath at the sight of him. Conversely, the sight of her reaction to him made his pain disappear, made his nose flare, made him warm in places that were, unfortunately, still covered by soaked clothing. His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with an overt satisfied wickedness. “Hm. Like what you see?”

“Ha. You’re a cheeky fuck.”

He winked. “That I am.”

“Wait.” Her eyes went wide. “You have…,” She stepped forward and reached out a hand toward the right side of his chest. “You have tattoos.”

He looked down. “Yeah, I’ve a few.” He nodded, indicating the one that covered most of his shoulder and his pectoral muscle, the one she was exploring with gentle fingers, the one where her touch made his skin pebble with gooseflesh. “That’s… that’s m-my self-portrait,” he said.

“But,” she tipped her head, eyebrow cocked. “It’s a lion.”

He snickered. “Exactly.”

“Oh, I see. We’ll add ‘conceited bastard’ to the list of your attributes now.” She chuckled low in her chest, peering up at him with a sardonic yet appreciative glare. She dragged her fingers along his skin to caress his opposite shoulder. “And this?”

“Family crest,” he clipped. “My brother has the same.”

“And this back here? It’s massive.” She’d stepped behind him and pressed her palm, warm against his back. “A dead tree.”

“Yes,” Ansgar peered over his shoulder at her, his breaths coming harder, harsher in his chest. Her touch on his bare skin, the low thrum of her voice sent shockwaves through him, to land deep within his sex once again. “It is.”

“Why? Why a dead tree?”

“It’s a poem,” he said. “A wind has blown the rain away…  and blown the sky away and all the… the leaves away, and the trees stand. I...,” he recited, his voice growing breathy and reedy with desire. His muscles rippled and writhed to her touch as she traced the lines of his tattoo with her fingers, as she scratched her nails atop the bare, stark branches, as she splayed her hand over the broad, black trunk just above his belt. “I think, I too, h-have known autumn too long.”

“That’s e.e. cummings,” said she.

“Yessssss,” said he.

“Turn around,” said she.

“Kiss me. Now,” said he.

“More? Do you think?” said she.

“What, my ink?” said he.

“Yes, like me,” said she.

“Then it’s my turn to see,” said he.

And he stepped closer to her. With expert fingers he flicked open the buttons of her blouse and pushed his hands inside, shucking the damp sticky fabric down, down, down her arms. He left the shirt hanging there, binding her hands as he brought his own back up her torso to hover just beneath the curve of her brassiere.

“May I… feel?” said he.

Say no, say no, say no, say no…

Her head chanted and yet her body wouldn’t obey. The captivating look in his piercing blue eyes, knocked her will on the arse, testing her and how far she was willing to go. Her breath shallowed and that all too familiar aroused trembling set her on the finest edge.

In all her thirty-three years, she’d never felt such an intense and immediate attraction to a man. When Ansgar’s hands closed in on her bare torso, those warm, electric and powerful calloused hands, she suddenly knew why. His was such a seductive presence and there was no question that the man knew all the ways to get a woman off. Fucking him wouldn’t be the standard one and done that Joline’s sex life had been in her twenties. As she got older, so did her partners, but they never really grew wiser, or how a woman’s body worked. Ansgar presented himself with the knowledge and the experience to properly please a woman.

She slow blinked and swallowed, her blood quickened with her pulse that he was beginning to apply that knowledge to her. Play her like the grand piano that she saw in his office. “Ye-ye-yesss,” she stammered when her head spun from the sensation of his hands on her.

“Your other tattoos… are there others? Where are they?” His thumbs teased the band of her bra, just below the swell of her breasts, a slow mesmerizing sweep. “I’ve seen the nightingale and the Scandinavian Viking compass on your right foot.”

Joline couldn’t speak, his hands casting a spell of silence on her. Fascination played a large part, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way he looked at her, the reverence, the favor, an admiration. Like she was beautiful…

“Do you want to tell me?” Ansgar then lowered his head to her ear for a delicious offer, “Or I could search them out myself.”

“I… I have to… turn around.”

Ansgar lowered his hands to her waist to guide her around. He stopped her when her back was to him. He swept her still-damp hair over the opposite shoulder when he spotted a splash of ink on her right shoulder blade. “Comedy and tragedy masks, that makes sense.” His kiss blazed the ink under her skin, outlining the design.

Joline whimpered.

Ansgar tugged her wet cloth cuffs away from her body when he saw the next bit of color along the small of her back, above the waist of her jeans. Continuing with the seduction, he lowered himself to his knees to brush another kiss along the Dogwood branch with multiple blooms that decorated the expanse of the curve of her back. “You’ll have to tell me about this when you’re feeling… more conversational.”

He led her back around, skimmed her thighs along the outside edge, only to land on the waistband of her jeans. He stared intently at her belt buckle. “Shall I continue searching, Joline?” Those expert dexterous fingers went for her buckle. He got as far as releasing the button, sliding the zipper open to get a healthy glimpse of purple knickers.

Joline looked down, her chest deflated when she saw the gleam of gold on his finger. An alarm blared to life in her head, she absolutely could not do this, could not follow the road to temptation. “Sgar,” she found her voice under the mounting desire. She took his massive hands and stepped out of the circle of his arms.

Swiftly, he got to his feet again, ignoring the twinge in his side and put her back in his embrace. His lips descended on hers, crushing her to him. The bruise along his ribs screamed, but her tongue along his silenced the pain. He picked the woman up when her arms stacked around his ears.

Joline wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands cupped her ass, depressing her center into the stiff flesh of his cock. She had no idea how they ended up on the couch in the corner of her office. She’d taken naps on that couch between matinee and evening shows, but in no way did feel the need for sleep in his arms, beneath his pleasing weight. The cushions cradling her as Ansgar settled over her like a blanket.

His hips bucked against hers, making it entirely clear that he wanted her. He had every intention of taking her right then, right there. He trailed kisses and bites along the column of her neck, memorizing the path to travel later.

The friction felt delicious against her core, but she knew that she had to stop this before it went too far. She flirted with the point of no return, the point where she’d be unable to stop. But he felt so good, so intent on her… that part wounded her. “Sgar,” she warned breathlessly. “We… we shouldn’t… we can’t.”

Out of his mind in lust, Ansgar moved back up to her lips, pressing a long kiss there. “We can… I want you. Let me fuck you.” His guff command was colored with a pleading tone. He rocked his erection against her, earning an open mouthed moan from her.

“Oh, Goddddd,” she whimpered, her core clamping in anticipation. Her hands grasped at his ass, fighting with herself to stop or to see it through. Wanting him ever so much, to let him see to her every desire.

“Sgar… please… no…”

As if he was caught in the deluge of cascading water again, Ansgar felt a splash of cold water at her denial. He stopped immediately and yanked himself from between her legs, those long sculpted legs that had still been wrapped around his waist. He grunted in frustration, in pain from the bruise throbbing against his ribs and the spear of denial.

He sat on the couch, threw his head back and concentrated on breathing, tempering the rage of sexual need pounding through his blood.

“Sgar,” she tried, sounding almost timid. Everything Joline wasn’t. She crawled across the couch and put herself back in his lap, straddling him, her knees cradling his waist.

It took everything in him not to lift her off and chuck her aside… but curse her! He still wanted her. Still craved her with every enflamed nerve she had set on fire.

“Sgar… understand me.” She kissed his unresponsive lips, his cheek, his neck. “I want you, I want you inside me more than you know.” She couldn’t be sure that he was listening, and she knew that she walked a fine line. “Sgar, please don’t mistake this.”

He growled. Frustration curdled his gut.

Joline led his hands to her waist, as much as it killed to have his wedding ring so close to her. “I want you to fuck me. You’ve completely occupied my mind.” She pressed her hands into his pectoral muscles, the lion peeking out from between her splayed fingers. “Your kiss, my body hummed from your kiss. My fucking vibrator has never seen so much of me.”

Ansgar lifted his head and opened his eyes, his hands crushing her to him with a flex of fingers. “Tell me. Did you want me that much?”

She combed her fingers through the mop of damp curls on his head. “More. A battery operated toy is a poor substitute to the erotic craving that you infected me with yesterday… with a kiss.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Joline brought his hand from her body to between them, showing him the wedding band. “This. This is the problem.”

“I told you—“

“I know you did. Sgar, I can’t help it. I respect marriage. I respect what this represents and all that it entails. I won’t come between a man and his wife.”

Ansgar lifted his other hand to her face, brushing another caress against her cheek. “She. Left. Me.”

“If it’s over, truly over, why wear it? Are you still in love with her?” That was the crux of it for Joline. Wedding vows meant family, and she couldn’t be the reason for destroying a marriage or a family, because she needed an orgasm. “Is she the reason for your… unhappiness? If I go to bed with you, will this woman show up at my door accusing me of destroying her chance at a family and ultimate happiness?”

[ladywhitetower]

Damien is a monster and I will NOT be convinced otherwise

But I WILL convince you

I KNOW IT SOUNDS LIKE I’M CRAZY BUT I SWEAR I AM NOT

You call all thank @chadarum for indulging my nonsense which I now set upon you

@podcastlimbo this is my main theory, @jakkubrat, @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile, @a-green-bean and @onesmoothassendoplasmicretilum, you all showed interest in this post, so now y’all get tagged. @cryptidie, this is the theory in full!

Long post because this is a hell of a ride.

Alright so basically:

Part 1- Damien has a sensitivity to the Other (divine/monstrous)

Part 2- The saints are all monsters, actually

Part 3- Damien himself is part monster

Part 4- Damien is connected/descended from SD himself

(Could I make several posts instead of the one? Yes. Will I? No. @chadarum, you have given me Too Much power.)

Now, let’s begin:

PART 1:

ABSOLUTELY NO ONE TALKS ABOUT HOW DAMIEN TALKED TO A LITERAL SAINT

AND PERFORMED A GODDAMN MIRACLE

BUT HE DID

AND THIS IS! IMPORTANT

Battle at World’s End Part 4 is The pinnacle of Damien’s conflicted dilemma, but the thing is. He talked to Saint Damien. Actually talked!!! SD was answering him!!!

We hear Rilla admitting to Sir Caroline that he thinks all the saints talk is nonsense, but it’s important to Damien so she doesn’t mind it in The Spiral Sage, Part 2, after being told by the Judge that there’s no rules in his court.

Sir Caroline thinks it’s all stupid bullshit in the same conversation

And no one else seems to really believe in them? The Queen makes a few “saints help us” comments but, for a city built on the principle of three saints building their citadel, why is Damien the only one who really seems to believe in them? He is the only one who actually prays

Battle at World’s End Part 4, from Damien’s monologue: In days when you spoke to me, in days when you didn’t leave me to linger, lonely at your heel.

He says “days”. Plural. P L U R A L. And we KNOW SD spoke to him that day at the river (SD ACTUALLY HELPED HIM) plus we Just heard them talking!!!

Damien also makes a big deal about SD forsaking him, and about losing his tranquility. Why, in Lady of the Lake he thinks SD just might drown him in the poisoned water.

Actually, let’s count the times Damien asks his saint for help and is delivered:

Knight of the Crown, Lord of the Swamp, part 2: In part 1 we hear Damien saying the tranquility bit before striking Arum, but in part 2… while being chased by the rat monster, he asks SD for help, and the rat’s growls shift into the sound of waves!!!!!

Lady of the Lake: While drunk, Damien says he asked SD for guidance once he was about to drown, and the waves around him Stilled, lulling him to sleep

Battle at World’s End, part 4: THE PRAYER! HE PRAYS AND SD, IN HIS FIRST INTERFERENCE IN A WHILE, OPENS A WHOLE PORTAL TO THE KEEP, PRETTY FAR AWAY PLACE, INSIDE FORT TERMINUS. WHICH WAS SUPPOSEDLY IMPOSSIBLE

AND the conversation. SD helping him regain his tranquility at last.

May I bring up, “But isn’t that your way? No true wisdom can be told, only learned.” Damien has had several talks with SD, we all know and agree right? He knows well enough to know he won’t receive an answer. But the fact that he did not show ANY shock at hearing SD‘s voice, rather about hearing it in monster territory, means it has happened before

I am ALSO going to bring up “there’s something Human in his eyes” because while it is a very nice turn of phrase and all, isn’t it curious how he is the only one to say anything of the sort? Damien immediately notices this from bantering with Arum ONCE, and like. Arum hot. But Damien saw this and was Right. He is Perceptive!

So, Damien talks to SD several times and receives help, plus sees things in monsters that no one else does and is strangely sensitive to them (only one to hear the howling in LOTL, anyone? Only one to see it at first?)

PART 2:

THE SAINTS ARE ALL MONSTERS

LET US DISCUSS THIS

Let’s talk about how Damien’s explanation about monsters vs saints is shaky at best

Taken from his exchange with Talfryn in The Spiral Sage, part 2

Talfryn: But don’t monsters have that kind of power?

Damien: Monsters And Saints, my friend! It’s actually quite simple. Monsters break the divine rules that govern all things. Saints ask for permission from the powers above to bend those rules. And with that permission granted, they know their acts are good!

Talfryn: But… how are you supposed to tell the difference?

Damien: Faith, my friend.

But… there’s a few problems with this theory

The monsters have a court. They have their “anyone can do anything they want rule” and apparently things like censorship are taboo. And we Know “Judge Helicoid” was absolute bullshit but we Also know everyone took his word and genuinely thought he Was asking the universe for verdicts, and everyone followed and respected them.

This communication and dealings with the universe lead us to believe that…. actually, the monsters are more connected to the universe than the humans are

In their explanations, Quanyii and Arum BOTH say that magic is unpredictable and depends entirely on the universe. Rilla even calls Arum out on Not Knowing how the universe works exactly, and he disdains her desire to understand things completely.

Exchange from The Moonlit Hermit, part 2, after attempting to use it to heal Arum’s Keep:

Arum: ... that is how magic operates. When you reach for the cosmos, there are no guarantees. What didn’t work then may work now. We will not know unless we try.

Rilla: So magic is inconsistent.

Arum: Exactly.

The Hallowed Halls of Helicoid, part 1, after Quanyii saves Sir Caroline:

Quanyii: And that, sweets, is how you make magic work for you. Magical spells, commands, etceteras and so-ons only feels like answering them.

Therefore, if monsters could Just break the rules of the universe… wouldn’t their magic be more reliable?

By Damien’s explanation, Arum and quite possibly Quanyii could be saints. The only difference is that they don’t care about their acts being good. Arum reaches for the impossible. Quanyii just… likes the power.

Because of this, we can dismiss his explanation being 100% accurate.

His tale of the Three, the one the whole citadel apparently tells, has them display abilities that make them either witches or monsters

But I’m gonna say monsters because of a few things:

The Spiral Sage debacle. Is he human? Is he monster? Is he… both?

Quanyii saying “No. No matter how hard I try” when asked by Rilla whether she is a monster after revealing she can change forma, implying there Could be a way for a human to become a monster, and possibly viceversa. (More on this later)

These two quotes:

Head of the Janus Beast, Talfryn to Marc: “SIR CAROLINE IS A JANUS BEAST?”

Lady of the Lake, Sir Damien to Sir Angelo: “Sir Angelo! She could be a monster herself!”

Those lines, plus the fact that BOTH the nymphs and the fungi monster could take human forms, both So accurate that everyone thought they were real at first (NO ONE realized the nymphs WEREN’T human until THEY said so!), outright make it evident that some monsters, at least, are capable of taking human forms. The Nymphs are the most relevant, obviously, because they didn’t take the forms as illusions or separate entities, they Wore those shapes and were comfortable with them.

Finally, the tapestries Damien sees in The Hallowed Halls of Helicoid, part 2, of monsters and humans “living together… lying together!” (Pix and David, anyone?)

(Actually Pix, David and the tapestries, including Spiral Sage’s, make it clear there was a time before the first citadel being destroyed where monsters and humans not only mingled, but lived peacefully… at least in some places) (On that note… I don’t think Fort Terminus really belonged to these monsters… I think they broke in, too.)

Also, from LOTL, “Knights… slay monsters, don’t they? Seems convenient. And there’s a witch right in front of you.” PLUS Rilla’s backstory, The Moonlit Hermit, part 1, with her parents being exiled and Quanyii’s presence in the court means that witches and monsters often associate or are lumped together.

SD PERFORMED A MIRACLE IN OLD MONSTER TERRITORY. HE IS A POWERFUL MONSTER. MAY HAVE KNOWN THE KEEP, BECAUSE HEY THAT WAS THE KEEP’S DIRT

I know I sound like a crazy person, but the saints are CLEARLY either monsters who took human form or monster/human descendants

But pray tell, Ria, why would they fight for the humans?

WELL MY DEAR, CAPTIVE READER: while we have Heard that the destruction of the first citadel was the only time the monsters unified, it isn’t difficult to believe that some, like Arum, were rather indifferent/on the outskirts of the conflict. I suspect some, also like Arum, may have forged connections with humans. Or perhaps they were horrified by how much destruction and death they caused. If they were monster descendants, the root might have been love.

PART 3:

(We’re almost near the end I promise)

Damien is a monster

Because I say so

Okay actual evidence:

SD’s constant interference

May I direct you to this exchange in The Caves of Discord, when Damien is late to the meeting (thank you, Sir Caroline)

Sir Angelo: Sir Damien? You’ve called Both of your greatest knights for one little monster?

Queen Mira: I never said there was a monster. Now, sit.

Sir Angelo: A monster that is not a monster? Intriguing.

FORESHADOWING, ANYONE?

Knight of the Crown, Lord of the Swamp, part 1, Arum, upon being told by Damien there’s something human in his eyes: You’d never considered they might be something… monstrous in yours?

He isn’t saying it because he Sees anything, he’s saying it bc he’s cornered, but… Damien takes it pretty seriously.

Also from Knight of the Crown, Lord of the Swamp part 2, Damien to Angelo upon giving him his last poem for Rilla: After all, it’s easier, is it not? To mourn a man who was a monster all along.

If Damien is sensitive to the divine, and the divine is monstrous, then Damien is sensitive to the monstrous. I’m gonna say he is a monster, too. His arc is Way too full of that theme for there to be any other choice.

Damien was also the most sensitive to the Monster from the cocoon, and yes, we can attribute that solely to his anxiety and already rippling fear but… after Part 4, he stops being that sensitive. Rilla Screams and nearly dies from its impact, but Damien is…. strangely fine? He is sensitive but overcomes it anyway, and was at never point physically affected. Could just be tranquility… could also be… monster.

PART 4:

But Ria, you ask, How are SD and Damien connected? Well.

Did you notice NO ONE knew about the Spiral Sage?

Absolutely no one.

NO ONE

NOR DID THEY KNOW ABOUT THE WORLDS’ ENDS.

Literally the only reason Rilla knew was Because of Damien.

Everyone else was completely unfamiliar with these myths, br Sir Caroline who mentioned the South World’s End but had never seen the North, including the existence of Fort Terminus, and while we know Damien comes from a scholar family, at least from his father’s side…. couldn’t it be possible that his family is made of scholars Precisely because of that link to SD?

I mean Damien knew the Whole BAWE poem which was… so long.

They could have very well have kept these three thousand year old myths if they were SD descendants. Because it Has been about a long time? At least “centuries passed” (KotC, part 1) between the First Citadel and the Second Citadel as we know it. And in THHOH Part 1, Rilla confirms three thousand years have passed. How do they have access to such well preserved myths??

Even Sage Helicoid could be explained away as the family protecting themselves but still wanting to keep those myths.

Maybe Damien’s mother was a monster? I lean more on far descendants tho.

Plus, Quanyii, in the same episode, says the one time the monster attack was completely unified, it was “so bad it wiped out most of recorded history before that.” So… how does Damien know?

Plus, why Else would SD interfere so many times in Damien’s behalf? There’s no other instance of any character receiving saintly help, but several where Damien does.

Remember Damien’s prayer?

Damien: Saint Damien, we beg that you lend us your spear to pierce the veil that keeps this beast from home. If it be your will, if it be your will… as it is mine.

And that last line? THAT is when the portal stabilizes!!!

They are connected FIGHT ME.

Damien says SD had forsaken him and was looking for a reason, but SD kept interfering for him in minor ways when he was in serious peril, however stops talking to him entirely UNTIL Damien is questioning his purpose after opening the portal.

Damien also says, in LOTL, “It is our sworn duty to kill monsters. To cleanse the monsters’ blight upon this land.”

Could it be that SD, a monster, stopped outright talking to SD once his focus shifter from helping people into just. assuming he had changed enough and mindlessly killing monsters to the point where he saw it as a competition with Angelo? Then, he performed a miracle once Damien not only wanted to help someone else, but wanted to help a monster (that he loved, for his beloved Rilla). And finally, once he saw Damien could still be saved because he was doubting, talked to him and guided him back to tranquility?

AND ONE FINAL PIECE OF WHAT I AM CALLING EVIDENCE, from The Spiral Sage part 2

The Spiral Sage, Part 2, Quanyii introducing herself: [My name] is always Quanyii, no matter how much of my physical form I change, so pease don’t get confused. Oh, I know that sounds boring, sweets, but even when you’re trying to keep things fresh something has to stay the same or you might lose yourself entirely.

Notice how Damien is the only character to have a Saint as a namesake?

I’m not saying Damien is a reincarnation of Saint Damien or anything, but I Am writing fic about it and this tidbit is a Blessing to have.

But as to my is Damien a monster question?

I say Yes. Damien is a monster and connected to Saint Damien.

[lizzybeth1986]

Quick Thoughts on TRH Book 1 Chapter 6

• It's YEEHAW time everyone!

• And also raise a middle finger to logic as we see the MC wear something that she should have probably lent to the Platinum MC for a country performance, rather than for farm work.

• There's also the bit where she randomly takes a pregnancy test coz she feels nauseous (yes I know. It's plot related and is probably done to show a false negative. But you need to time these things, MC! The best time to look for a double line is closer to the time you're supposed to be having your period, if your period is regular).

• Screenshot Credits:

Hana: @pixieferry

Drake: @thefirstcourtesan

Maxwell: The Abhirio YouTube channel.

• These are the tags you can block if you don't want to see these posts: #long post, #trh quick thoughts, #trh qts, #trh qt reblogs.

• Drake has an AUNT? Please don't give me any more family members, I'm done dealing with the ones he already has.

• I'm wondering if Leona exists so that PB can do some serious retconning on Bianca's behalf. After all, when she appeared in the Drake playthroughs of Book 3, there wasn't much of a positive reception for her - with some players even saying that the MC should have a few choice words to say to her - and for good reason.

• Title: Home, Home on the Range

So whatever little knowledge I do have about a place like Texas is from films and pop culture, so this might not be new information to you but it is to me! 😁 So I'm probably going to be a gazillion times more excited about sharing it than you guys might be to read it! Bear with me for a sec.

From what I'm reading, "Home, Home on the Range" seems to a western folk song that's so popular it's considered an unofficial anthem in that region. Its origin was from a poem called "My Western Home" from a Kansas native called Dr Brewster M Highly, in 1872 (it was even made Kansas' state song in 1945?). The lyrics are very...Drake:

Where the air is so pure, and the zephyrs so free,

The breezes so balmy and light,

That I would not exchange my home on the range,

For all of the cities so bright.

Mostly a very idyllic, glorified portrait of country life. You find similar sentiments in Drake's diamond scene this chapter.

• Alternative Title: We Just Needed An Excuse to Use the BSC Soundtrack Twice.

• So we meet Bianca, Drake's mother, this chapter. If you married him this is the second time you're seeing her, and if you married anyone else this is the first time and you have no clue who she is until Drake introduces her to you. She also mentions in the Drake playthrough that this is not the kind of welcome she was hoping to give her son and daughter-in-law.

• We also meet Leona, Bianca's older sister and Drake's aunt. She's extremely unimpressed with this group of nobles and largely seems to blame the nobility in general for whisking away her younger sister, leaving her alone to manage the ranch?

• She pretends not to listen much to Cordonian news while talking to Liam, but seems to have the time to keep up with Cordonian gossip while talking to us - and luckily you can call her out on it too.

• She seems the type that likes a rebellious Duchess/Queen, going by her responses to the more sarcastic options from the MC.

Hmm. This scene does two things: one, it establishes that the ranch is facing financial problems, in terms of money and staffing, and two, it possibly may build up to why Bianca had to return to the States. Both I think might become important points in the coming chapters.

• Bianca seems intent on not letting her children know anything about the fraught situation at her ranch, but Leona is having none of it. You either do your work and do it well, or she will put you through your paces. Which is exactly what is happening with Bertrand now.

• The whole theme of "we need to get pregnant, and fast" returns with the presence of Savannah, who greets us with a very excited, sociable Bartie in tow. You can choose to either pick him up and pay attention to him, ask Savannah to figure out what he wants, or ignore him completely. Whatever you choose, the topic of you becoming a mother will come up (either she comments on how you're a natural, or she will tell you that you'll eventually be able to read your own baby's signals). Savannah now joins a long, long line of people who will talk to us as if we're already pregnant (her fiancé will join this list in a couple minutes too, don't worry).

• Speaking of parents, the sole dad of the (extended) group - Bertrand - is nowhere to be found. Bianca is all praise, Leona is Unimpressed™, and Maxwell is shocked that the guy who swore never to touch fowl again after witnessing a flooded peacock enclosure is now chasing chickens. The group overall can't believe it.

• Bertrand is, in fact, chasing chickens.

• So here's the other issue that will come up. Having eventually convinced Savannah that he is serious about her and Bartie, he now wants to win the approval of the family. Bianca is more than ready to accept him, Leona is...Unimpressed™.

• This sets stage for Problem 3 of the Goings On at The Walker Ranch: Bertrand is desperate for approval and Leona seems pretty set on not giving him that. So I'm pretty sure getting her to realize that Savannah's fiancé means business and there is actually something for her to respect about him - if not love - is pretty much one of the loose ends we will have to tie up in the course of the Texas chapters.

• Savannah's laid out some clothes for everyone, so everyone gets a 'country' look and a cowboy hat.

• Like always, the outfit options come with different reactions based on the LI you're romancing:

Liam's looks nice I think, Hana is pretty (I haven't the foggiest idea of what would on a ranch so I wouldn't know how feasible - or not - these two outfits would be), Maxwell looks like he's dressed for the ranch AND for winter and Drake looks okay (like...there's a theme or something with his outfits, like he needs to have a LOT of a particular colour. Denim on denim, brown shirt brown hat).

• While Liam and Esther collectively swoon over each other, Savannah is all shocked and like "you both know we're still here, right?". Uh huh, you had no problem fangirling over Bertrand's "stern but sexy eyebrows" in public but suddenly me flirting a little with my husband is too much for you 😑

A little too much??? Listen, Esther has worn a hat that looked like it swallowed a hundred smaller hats on the way and cried in JOY at the sight. She has COMFORTED a widowed grieving Queen Mother and STARED DOWN Hana's awful parents, all with that honking big hat obscuring her face. How does a tiny puny cowboy hat with a bracelet thingy around it even compare??

• In the kitchen, Bertrand continues his woeful attempts to make conversation with Leona by revealing just how little he knows about running a ranch. Leona is Unimpressed™ (Betrand: How are the crops? Leona: We have cattle 😑. Bertrand: Who...ate the crops? Leona: 😑😑😑)

• Leona's like the adult version of the Unimpressed Sikh Child in Bollywood Hogwarts:

• We get darkly roasted coffee to help us gear up for the day's work at the ranch, and it's quite...the mouthfull. If you succeed in drinking it, you get high on coffee, and if you react to the strong taste, Leona makes a smart-alec comment about how "her highness must have wanted a chilled latte" (I forget which drink she mentioned but something similar) or something. Wish there was an option to tell her "Bertrand didn't tell me about the stick up your ass" (callback! From which book? Guess!)

• You feel slightly nauseous on the way, which is a bit of a set up to the end of the chapter.

• We split up into teams. Liam and Maxwell help with getting the hay for the horses, Hana and Drake help with sorting the tack.

Liam is a quick learner (and learns stuff just by observing), Maxwell is confused between the interests of horses and dogs, Drake is even more confused at Hana's speed, and PB has forgotten that Hana has actually ridden actual horses and would actually have at least a working idea of what actual tack with an actual horse would look like. Sure she may not have MADE tack for those horses, but you can miss me with that "imaginary horse friends" bullshit.

• See Team TRR, this is what happens when you focus on nothing else but Hana's skills. Even you fail to keep track.

• We feed the chickens (and I can see what I think are shades of Hana's upbringing in the way she says "wait your turn! one at a time!"...with chickens).

• ...there was a "no royal pets" policy in the palace that Liam waived?? No wonder we could get a corgi and Penelope could bring her poodles to court as soon as Liam became King!

• Re: Liam talking about having stuffed animals rather than pets and stating that he and Hana were on the same boat. Et tu, Liam? HOW MANY TIMES DOES HANA HAVE TO TELL YOU GUYS SHE NEVER HAD TOYS.

• I'm imagining poor young Maxwell realizing that peacocks don't like hugs and now I'm sad ☹️

• So the set up to the group scene is that none of these characters have truly experienced the joy of cuddling cute pets. It's not much even by way of a group scene, just a cute scene where the MC can direct Tiny the little calf to cuddle all these sad sad people (pushed into embroidery lessons and diplomacy sessions as children!) and cure Bertrand of his cow-suspicion (cowspicion?). The more pets you have with you the cuter it is, coz the two corgis go about acquainting themselves with everyone - the cat, the cows, everybody.

• ROE REFERENCE! We see Jess and Blake spearheading a successful business as caterers and wedding planners (did Jess take coaching from Chaz's sister-in-law Carmen? 😁) and they leave it vague (as expected, since Jess' romantic relationship with Blake is determinant - as is the possibility that Liam and Jess could be related by marriage if the RoE MC chose Leo lol) whether they're romantically involved or not, but at least this way I know they're happy with their jobs!

• Apparently they'd catered at enough disaster weddings that they decided they could do a better job

• I have two questions:

1. Did Leo ever recommend Carmen? I'm guessing not since based on whether the RoE MC married him or not, he'd probably feel more comfortable recommending family/friends than someone who - in a different playthrough - probably never really met him.

2. Why is Liam helping Bertrand and Savannah with contacts for their wedding when we ended up doing most of the searching and finding ourselves?? 🧐

• BertVannah seem to want a mix of local and Cordonian traditions: Savannah wants to recapture her parents' wedding by riding a horse down the aisle, and Bertrand asks Liam to officiate, as a royal. Maxwell and Hana will be in charge of entertainment and decorations...and the MC should not move a muscle because Bertrand has already decreed us pregnant.

• Savannah's ex Chuck is a buff ginger, and an already insecure Bertrand is made even more insecure at the sight of him. Another on the list of things PB expects us to fix in the Walker Ranch. Drake owes me both in cash, fancy hats and a lifetime supply of free smoked BBQ ribs after all this. The kind of shit a pregnant royal is expected to do...

• Time for Drake diamond scene - which is a mostly fluffy scene that takes place close to a river nearby which has a great view of the sunrise and sunset, and a ride atop a kayak.

• Here's the important stuff you can get from this scene:

- Drake knows how to build stuff (we knew this already, but here Drake talks specifically about how he and Savannah would build rafts)

- Drake sucks at taking compliments, but Drake stans who saw their MC's intro to TRH already knew that 🤭

- You get to flex your paddling muscles. Drake is...Impressed™

- Lovely sunshine

- A cute story about how Drake and Savannah had a canonball contest at this river, and happy memories of his Dad being just their dad for once, not dad + King Guard

- Drake gets to talk about the mark his father left on him, and how carefree he used to be before Jackson's death

- You can revive the cannonball contest with Drake before you head back to the estate, and if you're married you share a passionate kiss. The writers went to great lengths to describe how passionate the kiss wasqqq

If you're married to Drake, this spot is described as 'romantic' and 'private', the MC makes a joke about being the "First Mate" of Drake's heart, the usual variations. Drake also mentions that he hopes to emulate his father's way of parenting once he himself becomes a father. I'm also guessing the story of how his father and mother used to visit this lake before they had children would have an implied added importance to a married Drake trying for a child.

Funny how the assassination attempt on Liam always ends up revolving more around what it did to Drake than what it did to Liam. Both in the original Book 2 Italian Restaurant Scene where it was first referenced, and here (Drake's restaurant scene is also the only scene that highlights how that particular attack affected Liam - if you don't buy this scene, the attacks are mentioned in a more offhand way by Constantine when we confront him, and Liam still doesn't have a word to say). Stop. What happened to Liam happened to him. Stop making it all about Drake.

• Also why does Drake keep insisting the MC helped him find Savannah? She didn't. He spotted the envelope. He saw the address. He deduced where in Paris it was and tried to check it out. The only help we could provide was convincing him to stay and listen to her, and even that was optional.

• The MC wakes up wondering if she's going to feel nauseous, which then leads to the realization that it could be morning sickness. That's the most random race to use a pregnancy test I've seen.

• The result is negative, and the LI wakes up to the MC telling them about the result of the pregnancy test. The reactions to the news are identical. They follow roughly this template:

I can headcanon that Hana is actually feeling and understanding the MC's pain when she says "that's not silly at all", but I won't. I refuse to do the heavy work for the writers.

• In any case, there are some guests, and only Hana seems to know who they are.

• My face as it goes from seeing Kiara, Olivia, Penelope and Madeleine (yes, in that order):

• Sooo it looks like this week we're going to have a clash of the country and the courtly. Uh oh. I don't see this ending very well...unless there's a deus ex machina coming our way.

• General Thoughts:

- This chapter is filler, as expected, but it's the kind of filler meant to set up the major problems in that place. And there's plenty hinted at in this chapter alone: solving the financial troubles of the ranch, the clash of cultures that will come with the court ladies being guests, winning over Leona, learning about Drake's and also Bianca's past, Bertrand's insecurities. It's going to take a couple chapters to untangle all that!

- My guess is that the MC is possibly pregnant, but got a false negative (esp if she's nowhere near her expected time for her period), and will probably find out during Bertrand and Savannah's wedding? IDK. Most people I know will wait to see if they get their periods first (I did that too, waited a couple days after the expected day just to be sure), because that's when your hCG levels are high enough to show in your urine sample. That was a waste of a perfectly good pregnancy test, MC!

- The variations are very few, besides the scene where they all get new outfits and references to the MC and her spouse by different people including Blake and Jess. Perhaps there may be an LI scene coming soon.

- I mentioned earlier that Leona may be there as a way for the writing team to retcon Bianca's departure, since in the original series all we are told us was that she "was...struggling" after Jackson's death and left for the States at some point, leaving her children behind. Not a lot of people were very happy about this and though she was portrayed as a positive character in Book 3 (Drake's playthrough), it wasn't convincing enough. Leona is possibly there as a way to soften the audience to Bianca, and perhaps to get us a plausible reason for her leaving without her children. I'm not sure what could justify not taking them along, but okay.

- So Drake in his scene tells us that they came to the ranch as kids, but there is that matter of Savannah having been there long enough at some point to have had a boyfriend. I'm wondering if she spent some time on the ranch while Drake had gone to college.

- Also...if that's what happened, why was France even an option for her to bring up Bartie if she'd been in touch with her mother. Why did France, a place where she had very few contacts or living experience, win out over a place she was familiar with and where she had family?

- Leona's very Drake-like...but with an actual job that she's probably good at.

- Leona's also going to be Unimpressed™ for the most of her time in this book, with her probably becoming a little more impressed towards the end. Told you she'd be The Unimpressed Sikh Child (if you still have trouble with this meme, it's a character from a Bollywood film about a magical school called Aabra Ka Dabra. Here's some additional context from desi comedians and former Pretentious Movie Reviewers Kanan Gill and Biswa Kalyan Rath to illustrate why Unimpressed Sikh Child is so awesome:)

"Stop trying to impress people. Impress people with how unimpressed you are." If that isn't what Leona is doing. One wry expression and that's all it takes for all of Cordonia's royalty and nobility to fall over each other to prove themselves to her.

- Leona is an ass but you've got to respect the way she plays that game.

- I hope the writers don't forget that Kiara and Savannah were...yknow...good friends. Given how badly she was treated in Book 3 (and the narrative treated her really, really badly. Like I'm pretty sure some of you might have no idea just how badly she's been treated), I have serious doubts.

- Will we get a Hana or Maxwell diamond scene next? A good one or mostly just fluff? Let's see.

- Will we get another flashback scene? Maybe. It's possible. Bianca would remember something.

- One thing I do know for sure is that there is going to be more of Perfect Angel Savannah and Bumbling Bertrand. I'm not looking forward to it.

• Next: I'll be doing TRR Book 1's QT for Chapter 6 as well! Hopefully it will be ready by Friday. As for this series...until next week, folks!

[purrincess-chat]

More Than Just a Friend (Final)

At last this story comes to a fluffy close! Hopefully you all enjoyed the ride!

Read on AO3

Chapter 7

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

Marinette paused in the entrance of the school, her gaze flicking between Ivan and Kim. Something about their posture seemed a little too poised, too proper, and both wore cheery smiles that seemed to say, ‘we know something you don’t know,’ which could only mean one thing: Adrien had a surprise for her in the classroom.

“Ah, ah!” Kim stepped in front of her when she tried to take a step, holding up a halting hand. “Princesses don’t walk. They’re carried.”

“Oh my god,” Marinette moaned as they placed a tiara on her head and lifted her onto their shoulders. Much to her embarrassment, being carried wasn’t even the beginning.

Alix roller-bladed ahead of them, scattering flower petals as they walked, and Nino followed behind them playing parade tunes on his phone. The rest of the class formed a tunnel on either side of the hall leading up to the classroom, cheering and tossing her roses as they passed, but the most embarrassing part was the boy standing in the doorway wearing on of those boyish smiles and an exact replica of Prince Charming’s suit. How he even managed to get that overnight was beyond her.

“M’lady,” he bowed, and she shot him a look that read, ‘I’m so gonna kill you later.’

“Can I be put down now?” She requested, glancing around at all of their classmates, but Adrien simply lifted her hand to his lips.

“What kind of prince would I be if I let my princess’s feet touch the floor?” He winked, holding his arms out.

“No, no, no, no,” she shook her head as Ivan and Kim passed her into Adrien’s arms where he carried her bridal-style to her seat.

“You’re insufferable,” she hissed as he set her down gently.

“You wanted to be impressed,” he grinned, straightening his posture and clasping his hands behind his back.

“Tea, for her highness?” Mylene passed her a cup from a thermos.

“I will now read a poem written by Prince Adrien titled ‘My Fairest Marinette,’” Max announced, clearing his throat. “My fairest Marinette, how my heart burns for thee-”

“Did you even sleep last night?” She asked through gritted teeth as Adrien rubbed her shoulders.

“Eight hours,” he said with a nod. “I arranged all this this morning.”

“Insufferable.”

“You love me.”

“I’m so gonna get you back for this,” she shot him a playful glare.

“I was hoping you would,” he chuckled.

“Okay, class, settle down,” Mlle. Bustier entered the room with a clap. “Let’s start the day by paying each other a nice compliment. Marinette and Adrien, since you two are so filled with love this morning, why don’t you start us off?”

48 hours ago, getting paired with Adrien for morning compliments would have made her head explode, but today she held her head high and looked him square in the eye.

“Ladies first,” he said, waving a hand.

“Adrien, you are so thoughtful and caring, and I’m really flattered that you set all this up for me,” she said, taking his hands.

“I set it all up for you because you are so incredible and kind, and I really do think you deserve to be treated like a princess. You’ve changed me for the better since we met, and I’m really glad that we’ve gotten to know each other,” he said, prompting a chorus of ‘aww’ from their classmates.

“If I am a princess then I am glad that you’re my prince. You’re smart, charming, compassionate, gentle, and I always feel like you care about what I have to say,” she shot back.

“I do care what you have to say,” he gave her hands a small squeeze.

“You’re the most wonderful boy on Earth.”

“I dull in comparison to you.”

“Just kiss already!” Alya called, and several classmates echoed the sentiment.

“Alright, that’s enough you two,” Mlle. Bustier intervened, and Adrien and Marinette gazed lovingly at each other before inevitably being forced passed a seething Chloe to their seats.

“I want all the details later,” Alya whispered when Marinette sat back down, nudging her with her elbow, and Marinette bit back a smile, cheeks pink.

Her prince charming had many more plans for her that day, carrying her books, opening doors for her, passing her love letters between classes, but the most embarrassing thing happened during their break before Mme. Mendeleiev’s class.

Adrien took her hand, leading her to the center of the courtyard with a smile.

“What are you doing?” She asked with a laugh as he placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled her in close.

“In every great fairy tale, the prince and the princess must dance,” he said as Nino hit play on his phone, broadcasting Marinette’s favorite slow song over a large set of speakers, and Adrien took the lead. “This was the first song we danced to, do you remember?”

“Every night since it happened,” Marinette said, leaning against his shoulder contently. “You really didn’t have to do all this, ya know.”

“I wanted to,” Adrien murmured in her ear. “I want to treat you like a queen. You mean everything to me.”

“I’d be just as happy with simply spending time together,” she teased, and he leaned his forehead against hers.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asked with a playful grin, but his gaze softened as he glanced down at her lips.

Sensing his intentions, Marinette stretched up on her toes, tilting her head to the side, but just as their lips brushed, a stern voice interrupted.

“This is a school, not a wedding reception, no kissing allowed!” Mme. Mendeleiev growled. “Now get to class.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both separated, eyes trained on the ground as they quickly brushed passed her, biting back smiles on rosy cheeks.

Adrien’s plans didn’t end there though, and when Marinette opened her locker that afternoon, she found a beautiful bouquet awaiting her with a note attached.

Meet me in the park – Your Soulmate

Marinette bit back a smile, touching the card to her lips as she trailed her fingers over the petals before shutting her locker and trotting off.

Kagami watched her go with a smirk before opening her own locker to find a gift bag from Adrien.

Thanks for all your help. I hope this will suffice for what I owe you. – Adrien

Inside were several tubes of red bean paste and other various imported goods, and Kagami nodded approvingly. Part of her was happy that her friend finally grew a pair and confessed, but she could also already taste the taiyaki. And she’d barely had to do anything.

In the park, Adrien laid on his side, cheek resting against his fist on a pink picnic blanket. Rose petals were strewn about and a small string quartet sat nearby playing a soft melody as she approached. He cast her one of his devilish smiles, holding a hand out for her to join him.

“Does this count as our first date?” She giggled, taking a seat beside him as he tore a grape from the bunch and pressed it to her lips.

“Oh, I have bigger plans for our first date, don’t worry,” he said, sitting up. “I have our first 50 dates planned and half of our wedding.”

“Only half?” She cocked a brow as he poured her some tea.

“I figured I would let you have some input too,” he said, flicking his gaze up to hers. “We are equals after all. Partners, you might say.”

“How considerate of you,” she said, leaning against his shoulder. “After we get married we can buy a big beautiful house.”

“On a private island.”

“Have three kids, maybe a dog.”

“And a cat?”

“Most definitely a hamster,” they said in unison before breaking into a fit of laughter, and Adrien pulled her into his arms.

“I love you,” he said in her ear, and the weight of those words out loud made both of their cheeks flush. Marinette shifted to wrap her arms around his neck.

“I love you too,” she murmured.

“Even if I’m you-know-who?” He quirked a brow, and she pushed him backwards, pinning him to the blanket with a triumphant smirk.

“Only if my being you-know-who doesn’t intimidate you,” she said as he stared up at her in awe.

“Not at all,” his gaze softened, and she released her hold on his wrists, leaning down to touch her nose to his.

“So, a hamster, huh?” She brushed his lips tauntingly. “What shall we name it?”

“Hmm,” Adrien hummed, breath hitching a little as she lingered just above him. “I think it should be named-”

Closing their eyes, they leaned in, Adrien’s arms snaking around her waist as her hands cupped his jaw. Her breath swirled against his lips, inviting him to finally close the gap, but just before their lips touched, a loud crash sounded across the city sending a tall office building crashing down. The two sighed, deflating a little.

“I suppose we should go take care of that,” Marinette said, opening her eyes.

“Maybe one day we’ll finally have our first kiss.”

“You mean our second kiss?”

“Our first kiss that I remember,” he shot back, and Marinette searched his gaze a moment before leaning down and touching her lips to his.

The kiss was gentle and short but carried the same passion and love she’d hope to convey. When she pulled away, his eyes lit up with a giddiness she often saw in Chat whenever she laughed at his jokes or let one of his pick-up lines slide. It was the pure adoration of a boy looking for love, and now he finally had it.

“Ready, kitty?”

“With you? Always.”

[aaaalterlove]

La Giraffa (a fic inspired by Martino’s picture on Instagram)

La giraffa ha il cuore lontano dai pensieri. Si e innamorata ieri, e ancora non lo sa

When Martino had first read that text from Nico, none of it had made any sense to him. It had taken him over a half a year to realise the meaning behind those words. He had been going through texts between Nico and him because the longing inside him had grown unbearable. Nico was studying in a university in Milan while he was still in Rome, finishing his last year of high school. They only saw each other on the weekends if neither of them were too busy with school work, which, unfortunately, was too often the case.

         ”Next stop, Milan!” shouted the speaker on the train and Martino was forced to wake up from his thoughts. Well, to be honest, it didn’t bother him one bit. It had been three weeks since he had last seen Nico and he couldn’t wait any longer to see his face and to hear his voice.

         Milan held many memories for Martino and Nico. Even though that night had made Martino more scared than he had ever been before, he didn’t want to forget all the good things of it. As it is said, the good things often top the bad things.

         The university in which Nico was studying was a big and old building. There were still some students going around the campus, even though it was a Friday evening. The sun was shining directly on Martino’s face and his hair, which made his hair shine as if it was made out of gold. Martino got up to the student’s apartments and made his way to the building that Nico was living in. To his surprise, the door to his apartment was wide open and there were noices coming from the inside. He got up to the door and almost bumped into an unkwown person hurrying from the apartment.

” Oh sorry, Marti”, the woman in front of him said and smiled. She had dark, brown hair and the widest smile Martino had ever seen, obviously apart from Nico’s. Nico’s smile was the widest and the most heart warming thing Martino had ever seen. And he would do anything to get to see it as often as possible.

”I’m Natasha, by the way. Nico’s flatmate”. Natasha then offered her hand and Martino shook it, now smiling too.

”I’m Marti, as you already seem to know”.

”Yeah, I have heard a lot about you. I feel like I know you already!” Martino looked at Natasha a bit confused, still smiling. Had Nico talked about him? What had he talked about? Martino’s train of thought got stopped once again when Natasha told her that she needed to catch a train to Bracciano. She was going to visit her parents. They said quick goodbyes and Martino made his way into the apartment.

         Martino had been in the apartment a couple of times before already. It wasn’t that big, but it was still cosy. The lights in the hallway were turned off and the sun shone inside through the windows making shadows on the walls. Martino headed for the kitchen. It was all very clean and the dishes had been washed, to Martino’s surprise. Normally he was the one cleaning. But then again, it could have been Natasha who had washed them, and not Nico. How would he know, he didn’t even know her. He had literally just met her for the first time. Next to the kitchen were two doors: one to Nico’s room, and the other to Natasha’s. The doors were built similarly, but that was the only thing similar about them. Natasha’s door had only her name written on it, whereas Nico’s door was full of drawings and texts. One of the drawings was a giraffe, with two people riding it. On top of it it read ”the last men on earth”.

         Martino opened the door to Nico’s room carefully, not wanting to scare him. He was supposed to be there two hours later, but he had taken the earlier train because he couldn’t handle being without Nico for another two hours.  Nico was on his table with his headphones on, only the table lamp on. Yet it wasn’t dark, because the blinds were open. The rays of the sun shone directly at Nico’s back. It made his whole body look angelic, his black curls to beam brightly. Martino could see that Nico was drawing something judging by the way his hands were moving. They were moving smoothly, as if drawing lines. Martino approached Nico and looked over his shoulder in order to see what he was drawing. He couldn’t take a closer look at the drawing, because the table lamp made a shadow of his face on the paper and Nico noticed that someone was standing behind him. Nico took his headphones off quickly and turned around confused, but only a millisecond later his face turned into a wide, genuine smile. The smile that Martino loved.

”What time is it? Did I lose the track of time? I was supposed to come to get you”, Nico said quickly, looking qenuinely quilty.

”No no no! I took the earlier train because-”, Martino felt his cheeks turn red,  ”because I missed you so much”. Martino lifted his gaze and saw Nico smiling fondly. For a second they stared into each other’s eyes, as if to study the other. It still had been three weeks since they had seen and when they finally saw each other, they wanted to try to memorise every single little detail about the other. It’s amazing, and scary, how much you can forget about the other in that short of time. Where the marks on other person’s face are, how they’re eyebrows go when they concentrate. Nico then put his had around Martino’s neck and pulled their forehead together softly. For a second they breathed each other in, as if to memorise even the scent of each other.

         Nico’s face was the most beautiful thing Marti had ever seen. The way his eyes were shut when he was asleep, to how his face grew into a wide smile. He could never get enough of him. They were now laying in Nico’s bed. It was a lot smaller than Martino’s own, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. This way they could be even more close to each other. And they were. Martino’s body was literally attached to Nico’s, and he could feel Nico’s steady heartbeat against his chest. Nico was still asleep, and Martino couldn’t help but run his hand through his face and move the strands of hair falling onto it. Slowly Nico’s face grew into a smile.

”What do you think you are doing?” asked Nico fondly. Martino didn’t answer, but instead kissed Nico softly on the lips. Martino then broke the kiss and they both layed there for a while, in total silence. Nico then put his hand around Martino and pulled him closer. They were totally tangled up together now, as if too scared to let go of each other. As if the oher could disappear, if they didn’t hold on enough tight.

”Nico…” Martino said, breaking the silence. Nico only hummed for an answer, too comfortable to move or even to speak. To Nico’s disappointment, Martino moved his arm away and climbed up to face him.

”I wanna tell you something.”

Nico then opened his eyes at Martino and looked at him.

”You can tell me anything.”

Martino looked Nico deeply in the eyes.

”Do you remembet that poem that you once sent me?” Martino took a short pause, ”after Milan”. They had talked about what had happened in Milan, but it still was hard to talk about, especially for Nico. That’s why Martino tried not to bring it up too often.

”Yes, of course I do. What about it?” Nico answered, something about his voice changing.

”Ehm...the first time I read it, none of it made any sense to me. Well, to be honest, I read it many times but I still couldn’t understand what it meant”.

Martino took a pause to study Nico’s face. It had turned into a lot more serious than before, as if waiting what was to come.

”But a couple of days ago, when I was going through our old texts, I came across that text again. And I don’t know why, but suddenly it all made sense.  I know you say that I should stop apologizing to you about what happened after Milan but please, let me apologize this one time.”

The seriousness in Nico’s face had lessened a little, and Martino continued.

”I think the reason that I didn’t understand the text at first was that I refused to even try to. And I’m so sorry about that. I wish I had listened to you and…well, things could have gone totally diffe-”

”Marti”, Nico suddenly stopped him, ”It is okay, I mean it. It was a very confusing time to you too. It is no wonder that none of it, or the situation itself made any sense to you. But now we are here, so let’s not worry about what has happened once, and focus on the present, okay?”

”Okay”, Martino just answered. They were both staring at each other. The atmosphere had changed a bit, but it wasn’t as serious as it had been a minute ago. Suddenly Nico started smiling.

”What?” Martino grinned, now sliming too.

”Well, the poem is very simple, if we really start thinking about it. And believe me, the time I sent it to you I really thought about it. I just can’t help but wonder, how on earth did it took you almost a year to understand it”, Nico said sarcastically, ”And you claim to be wise”.

”I am very wise!”, Martino protested, laughing. The atmosphere in the room was now light, as it had been before. Martino looked at Nico, now smiling thoughtfully.

”But in the end, aren’t giraffes kind of like our thing?”

”What do you mean?”, Nico answered, curious.

”I mean, didn’t you talk about how you would ride a giraffe if you were the last man on earth. And then you sent me that drawing about us riding a giraffe. And then the poem.”

Niccolo seemed to consider Martino’s words. Shortly after his face turned into a wide grin.

”Guess where we have to go this summer”

”To someplace warm?”, Martino said hopefully.

”To the zoo” Niccolo stated.

”To see a giraffe?”

”Absolutely”

The both of them started laughing. Nico then moved closer, just so that their noses were touching each other’s and they could feel each other’s breathing.

”I love you”, Nico said, looking Martino straight in the eyes. They had told that each other many times by now, but there was still this feeling in Martino’s stomach everytime Nico said those words to him. Well, nobody else had ever said those word to him, at least not in the meaning that Nico meant them.

”I love you too”, Martino answered, almost whispering. Nico put his hand on Martino’s face and moved the strands of hair that had fallen onto his face.

”I’m going to go and make us something to eat”, Nico said, pressing a quick kiss on Martino’s lips and getting out of the bed, despite Martino trying to hold on to him and telling him he wasn’t hungry and trying to keep him in bed.

”Fine”, Martino said, realising he had lost the fight, ”But not tabasco, okay?”. Nico turned around and grinned at him, leaving the room without saying a word. Marti thew his head back into the pillows, feeling too comfortable to get up. He layed there for a while, until he used his last strength to pull himself out of the bed. He took his phone from the table and saw that it was already almost 8pm. He then started leaving the room, but a drawing on the table caught his attention. He walked to the table to take a closer look at the drawing. It was a giraffe. Martino smiled to himself, taking out his phone. He opened his camera and took a picture of it. He then took one more look at the drawing. Maybe giraffes really were their thing.

You made it this far, congrats! This is my first fic here on Tumblr and I would appreciate it a lot if some of you could give any kind of feedback! Maybe in the future I’ll write more, who knows. And I know this is probably annoying to say, but English is not my first language, so there are some errors for sure. Sorry about that! Hope this made someone out there smile even for a bit, that’s more than enough for me!