#* i also left it slightly vague so we can work on filling in the details either in the thread or with plotting! :3c

[phantasmaw]

♢* —  @saintsdawn /  𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫

〈 ✥ *〉┊   Sweat and disquiet prickle down the nape of the wayward knight’s neck as his chest heaves with great gasps of breath. Aching arms hold his greatsword aloft, the sharp end of its heavy-weighted blade pointing down towards the ground. Right now, it is not a sword so much as a shield. As he fights to catch his breath, he stares, unblinking, over the ornately carved hilt. When his gaze catches Florence’s, his heart drops somewhere down into his stomach. It’s almost enough to have slightly trembling fingers uncurl from around the handle. Almost. 

    It’s not the first time the other knight has been on the opposite end of his blade. They both have needs to meet, separate paths to follow; sometimes, those paths cross on rocky terrain. Those instances have always been few and far between, and any harm done dissipated in the frothing foam of shared drinks and, if called for, needlework on battle-worn skin. The tension that existed before lives now only in memory. He would have even argued no tension existed at all. A bit of healthy rivalry, certainly. But never any true ill-will, nor any personal grievance. 

     Until now. 

     “Flo,” he drawls the other’s nickname as casually as he typically would when greeting them, albeit with far more rasp. He even grins as he usually would. Or he tries to. He’s entirely certain his good eye does not light up with warm comradery as it normally would when they join him inside a dingy tavern or take his side in a petty squabble among the other wayfarers. But it’s the least he can do to show he won’t turn the deadly slant of the blade upon them. Not yet. It’s a precaution, to have a weapon as strong as this to buffer the tides of crackling uncertainty between the two of them. He swallows, the tendons of his neck straining to work past the lump of dread forming in the middle of his throat. He hates that, in the moment, their name feels foreign in his mouth. Like he’s not quite sure how it should sound when shaped by his voice. 

      Feris takes an experimental step to the side, boxing himself further out of reach. He lowers his greatsword out of an actively readied position, but doesn’t yet murmur the spell that would store it away. He can’t. He can’t. It would make him an incredible ally to cast aside his means of protection and shout their praises for such a definitive end of that grueling battle against such a harrowing foe. They’ve saved the two of them countless wounds and fatigue. He should be slinging an arm over their shoulders and laughing between wheezing breaths about how they should have pulled those stops a long time ago. But doing so would also make him a gargantuan fool. 

      “....I’m not going to ask you to explain,” he says between heavy breaths, and he can’t hide the slight quaver of his voice. He shouldn’t be saying this to them. While they haven’t exactly bared their souls to each other, they also aren’t strangers keeping poison-coated secrets in the dark. Now is the time to offer an open hand. To assure them that he understands the burden of cryptic and coveted power. To say that, while he cannot begin to fathom where that surge of destruction came from, he does not fear it. Not when it’s their hands wielding it. Yet he does not. Self-preservation demands nothing less than the possible burning of this bridge he’s only halfway crossed in finding who he believes could be a true friend. And so self-resentment for it stains the inside of his mouth with a bitter taste as, instead, he intones, “But I do need to ask you to tell me just how long you’ve been capable of doing… that.”

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

Since I'm a very "the curtains are blue for a reason" kinda person, I want to talk about potential symbolism in the couches of Ai Nan Desu Yo and I Love You! Does that sound weird? Maybe it is, but I think it's kinda fun!

CW Suicide, unhealthy relationships

What first caught my eye is that the couch is (mostly) symmetrical, split right down the middle. Well, the pillows are symmetrical, not the... blanket? Yeah, blanket. Because it's symmetrical, it could be seen as a representation of Mahiru's relationship, with each side representing one of the lovers. Notice how it's yellow-orange, which can represent happiness and warmth, which fits.

[Ai Nan Desu Yo] Do you really think you know what love is? If you do, then let's just overheat together

What I then noticed is that the blanket thing is mostly on the left side (I'm using camera view for this post), which could be interpreted as meaning the partner on the left puts more effort into the relationship, 'gives more warmth'. Meaning the partner on the left would be Mahiru, who is implied to be showing way more affection than the boyfriend to the point of being overwhelming. For example, just looking at the size of the pieces of cake they give each other in I Love You.

(Mahiru left, boyfriend right)

And this idea of 'Mahiru to the left, boyfriend to the right' is corroborated because that's how they're shown sitting in I Love You.

... Well, the couch is slightly different. It's more detailed, possibly because I Love You gives a more realistic look at the complexities of their relationship (?), but it does seem like it's a reference, especially since the green pillows are still there.

Although the green pillows are tattered when we see them in the Purple Background Dimension (<- why is this series so hard to talk about). Could this imply they're actually a representation of the lovers? It feels like this makes sense. Pillows are often filled with feathers, which are an important aspect of these two's symbolism (they're both in the bird cage -> they're both birbs). And it also fits with the "calling" scene, sort of.

[Ai Nan Desu Yo] Ring ring, I'm calling you in the middle of the night Forcing you to wake up, and I say "Good Morning!" But I fall asleep before you, I really feel bad you know? We can both feel lonely sometimes, but wonder if you'll get angry soon I'm going to start relying on you if you're kind to me, so please forgive me, thanks!

We see her call her boyfriend while somewhat-tightly hugging the pillow which apparently represents him, and the lyrics imply she's calling at an inconvenient time. Mahiru has a lot of imagery of smothering and suffocating, as her love is too overwhelming for her boyfriend, which vaguely fits the first two images. In this case, she wants to talk to him at all times, which he likely doesn't appreciate, he gets angry with her being overbearing, they do what seems to be one of the "breakup rituals" mentioned in a later line. Still, she longingly holds onto the pillow, before breaking down when it's no longer in her hands. They always come back to each other, because they've probably become dangerously codependent (I think? <- My aromantic ass does not understand romantic relationships)

Does that sorta work? Maybe.

Then there's the scene where Mahiru jumps into the right side of the couch, possibly a representation of invading boundaries (again, overwhelming affection), and sends a bunch of feathers flying. The feathers are in the middle, because again, both the lovers are birds. And this makes sense, since Mahiru's love in a way was also hurting her by making her love someone who could not meet her emotional needs.

[I Love You] My love, it scored an own goal, destroyed my love and me with its weight

(Also, I swear I remember Mahiru hugging a pillow here, but no, she grabs air. Mandela effect, ig)

The final thing to note is that Mahiru is sleeping on the right side of the couch before her boyfriend's suicide in Ai Nan Desu Yo, but she goes to sleep on the left after the suicide in I Love You.

The former again possibly implying Mahiru's unwillingness to separate from her boyfriend, and her tendency to invade his boundaries, is part of what caused him to commit suicide. Meanwhile, the latter makes sense, as Mahiru is alone and thus has to stick to her side of the couch.

(I'm frankly not sure how this would work with the shinju theory, but to be fair Ai Nan Desu Yo's ending as a whole doesn't work perfectly with that theory anyways)

Uh... so it sorta works? If that's the case, we can look at the stuff around the couch to establish some further potential symbolism.

For one, the diamond pattern in the carpet. Diamonds in general represent love and all the aspects of healthy relationships, which doesn't seem like it should make sense until you realize most of Ai Nan shows an idealized version of the relationship, and the carpet isn't present in the more realistic I Love You. Though I have to disclaim I'm talking about diamond the gemstone, because the shape itself (lozenge) represents "a sown field and female fertility" which I don't think is exactly applicable. Mahiru and her boyfriend aren't farmers.

(As far as we know)

The phone could have really been on either side since it just represents communication, so it's probably on the right for the sake of the "calling" scene.

The potted plant on the left is something which needs taking care of to survive, which may represents Mahiru's unfulfilled desire for attention and matching love from her partner.

[Ai Nan Desu Yo] This is a claim of responsibility From the two of us with matching love

The lamp is odd because I can't tell where it's meant to be pointing, but thankfully it makes sense with all three possibilities. Since it's on the right, it may represent how much attention Mahiru is giving her boyfriend. But it seems pointed to the left, so it could represent Mahiru's desire for her boyfriend to pay attention to her. Or maybe it's pointing at the middle, because the video is focusing on the relationship. The beauty of symbolism is that, if something looks a bit odd, you can just make shit up as long as it doesn't contradict any of your other claims!

Anyways, am I onto something or am I going completely insane? Good question! But I wanted to share this so. Take care!

[writinandcrying]

Hellou!Im the persone who asked about requests a while back(Mainly because I didnt wanna overwhelm you if theyre closed) and Im really glad they are.Anyway,could I request Donnie(TMNT),Tamaki(BNHA) and/or FatGum(BNHA)(Also,I hope I havent gone over the character limit) with a slightly chubby s/o?(Insecure or not,you chose!).You dont have to do this if you dont want to tho!Have a nice week❤

Hellou! Thank you so much for being so thoughtful, I’ll have to apologize tho, I no longer write for bnha, I had a huge burnout fand I do not feel comfortable writing about it anymore, I hope a veeeery detailed Donnie reaction to a chubby reader will make up for the absence of those characters! ♥️

Tmnt - Donnie x Chubby reader (Gender Neutral!)

I’ll have to start that all of the boys wouldn’t judge or reject you based on your appearance, being either chubby, slim, tall, short, there are a few attributes that I think each turtle would find it e seeing or interesting, but it’s more… humanly related(?) maybe one day I’ll make a post about it if you guys wanna hear my opinion on it hehe :)

Donnie(generalized) x Chubby Reader:

just like there are certain stuff about the turtles that they like and dislike about themselves, there are stuff about humans who think the same about themselves! and even though Donnie knows there are beauty standards that control many areas in humans society, he still doesn’t understand why people outcast those who are different

I think some of us (readers / shippers) get a bit :C when thinking about Donnie bc in almost every version, he had a crush on April (who is a babe in every. Version. Specially rise, I love rise-April so much, and that’s the only apriltello I’ll let it slide lmao) and that can give a “perception” that he wouldn’t even glance at some of us ( “us” = being a huge group, trans, guys, chubby girls, chubby guys, skinny girls and guys, everyone who doesn’t fit the normie mold I guess- I unfortunately think about that often. Which sucks cuz I gotta remind myself that isn’t true!!! At all!!)

I personally Headcanon Donnie being… I don’t know if interested would be the correct word, but more intrigued with how humans relate to each other, on their first missions, he knew they could… scare some of them off, “frightened by their own prejudice” as master splinter would say, but it’s far more different to hear about it than to actually live it, and it hurts to hear someone scream their heart out just by seeing you

While growing up, he started to notice not only in television, on and off midia, how people would mess around with others on the street just because of their appearance, he knew society worked though this beauty standards, but he didn’t understand it. It didn’t made sense! value someone based on what they look like? There are so many things, so many attributes to make someone interesting, and you gonna pick the most…. Boring? Plain? Vague? Shallow reason to create privilege over others? Really? (And thst enters on the topic of how almost all beauty standards are rooted in white privileged and racism but I’ll go on a tangent about it once I start it and I’ve already said a lot lols)

He could literally go on for hours about this topic (which he has. At least tried with each one of his brothers, but they never really responded well to so said topic “if humans have it bad, then what do we have left?” Raphael barked back once, an attempt to shut him up, which it worked, btw- he didn’t like to go through that direction when thinking about that topic, but yeah, what does he have left?)

He started searching about different aesthetics, ethnicities, he has folders on Pinterest dedicated different body types, cultures, he swears it’s for research reasons, which kinda is, but Donnie’s guilty pleasure is checking “different” people online, those who would deem strange and weird outside the internet, he liked seeing their content and specially their comment sections being filled with wonderful compliments, people relating to different styles and tastes, that gave him hope that there are someone out there with different views of how everyone should be “shaped”, and that maybe he will find someone who thinks he’s handsome and desirable (Donnie, just like Raph, is also insecure about his body, but he’s more… melancholic about it, if you confessed to Raphael, there would be a high change of him pushing you away, trying not to break his heart from actually believing you, while DonDon here, if you both started dating- on some days Donnie would need more reassurance that yes, his partner does think he’s handsome/hot/attractive. Otherwise he might internalize his insecurities and it will be HARD to get a confession “why he’s so upset out of the sudden” from this turtle)

With that being said!!!! (My god I do know how to ramble) without even realizing, Donnie open his “preferences”? Let’s say, Became more open minded than most, While seeking comfort for himself, and when he says he doesn’t have a type, he really doesn’t. There are so many aesthetics that could be attractive! punks, goths, cottagecore, y2k, dark academia, light academia, grunge, fairycore, alt, the list is endless! And don’t get him started on physical attributes cuz there are so many different combinations that some how, people manage to connect the most random ones and make it look great

Donnie wouldnt fall for someone specially bc of their appearance, or that would be the first reason he would fall head over heels, when you think about it, what happened to April it was that she was extremely passionate and dedicated to *insert which cause she was fighting for* and took Donnie seriously, that light up a lightbulb in his head that has never been on before, people showing how ardently they can be into something, how much they care and such, that’s attractive to him, and after that, everything that person does, or is, suddenly becomes beautiful and amazing for Donnie

Withthatbeingsaidpart2- if Donnie did fall for someone more on the chubbier side, their “plumpy-ness” would def be something to call his attention out after he developed feelings, he longed for your hugs, specially after he found out how soft and warm they were, he actually started having more naps after you caught his heart, imaging how it would be to cuddle someone as soft as you while hugging his pillow late at night on his bed (which eventually he would doze off from day dreaming so much)

Talking about day dreaming, Donnie can totally lose himself in his mind, just like with his projects, he can imerse himself in a fantasy about you two easily, which makes him totally freeze when you show up and he actually have to say or do something he has been constantly dreaming about

So please confess first, cuz when I say he can lose himself in his daydreams, that can last for months until he actually gathers courage to do something about it

While in a relationship, Donnie is totally a hopeless romantic, but not the typical “roses and candlelight’s dinner” kind, as your boyfriend, he wants to help you out no matter what, he will make aaaaas many inventions as he can that might increase the quality of your life, becomes easier to do… whatever, literally. And he always longs for your adorable reactions to his gifts

He adores your chubby cheeks, he will! Get lost! in your face! Your eyes! Eveything! He will oh so slowly caress his knuckles softly across it, sliding to your neck, traveling through your arms, he likes to squish your face a bit as well while cupping it when he goes for a kiss, he just thinks everything about you is adorable (and hot at the same time)

He really like the contraste his skin has with yours, it’s so foreign for him and he can’t help but to love how smooth your skin can be, (which leads his mind to ahem. Certain kind of thoughts. If you know what I mean)

Just like he needs reassurance about his appearance, he knows you probably had to deal with more than one unpleasant comment about your physique, so you don’t even have to ask, Donnie is so whipped with you, compliments about you just drip of his tongue, and it’s always so sweet, followed by a pair of soft eyes, always admiring you, plus, Donnie is a science / fact man, he would gather information about other cultures that value more curvy, chubby, bigger people, he would go as far as making a slide presentation how wonderful and more inclusive people are being (even if it doesn’t seams like it, and there’s still a long way to go) he would include real opinions online other than his on the matter that your body is indeed, a snack, (aaaaaand he is once again right, aaaaand just like everyone else you just have to live with it and accept it 😌 end of story)

He would definitely “put up to test” his theory of how amazing it is to cuddle someone who’s more on the chubbier side (and his theory is ✅ correct)

Cuddling becomes a weekly thing for you guys, that being you sitting on his lap, having naps, watching movies together, he loves to create or update his projects with you on his lap, holding you grounds him. Plus it’s easier to speak some kisses on your cheeks that way

He finds out some people on the heavier side stops themselves to live some experiences the hard way, he never wants to make you uncomfortable, ever. But it takes a while for him to understand why wouldn’t you like to, as an example, wear a bathing suit/ swimwear around other people, wearing lighter clothes when it’s absurdly hot during winter time, that you don’t like when he picks you up? things that don’t connect right away. he promises himself to never force you to do anything you don’t want to, but he slowly will try to support you to do whatever you have always wanted to but stopped yourself from doing so bc of your weight

He would take extra time while making out with you, he wants you to know how much he loves your body, every inch of it. Lowkey likes to drag his nails on your tights and mark you

Overall? Donnie is extremely thoughtful, independently of how his partner look like, if they were “part” of some sort of outcast from society, he would take his sweet time to show how important and special his partner is, he is extremely thankful to be able to experience love, something that not only him, but all of the boys, thought it was out of their reach for a really long time, so you bet he’s going to show how appreciative he is oof your love, of all of you 💜

I really tired to innovate a bit here, didn’t want to add the same stuff as other Headcanons that already exists (I mean, Its cute to read how we as writing blogs / authors “agree” on how the boys would react in certain situations, which it is a FactTM that Donnie is a sweetheart. but it’s also good to read new stuff, oooor you know, a new perspective of it, even if it is a “common” / “already done” scenario, you know? )

even if I mostly rambled about Donnie’s personality analysis than to actual stuff he would do or act around an chubby reader lmao, I truly hope you like this! I didn’t proof read this so I’m sorry if there are any grammar mistakes hehe

[celestialarchon]

The Celestial Archon

Chapter Two: The Moonlight Phenomenon

Genshin Impact x F! Reader

Warnings: major Genshin Impact Spoilers! Possible grammar errors.

Tag list: To Be Added. (sorry it needed to be published!)

With the return of a mysterious archon, celebrations began! The night was filled with laughter, food, and memories being made. One person was amiss during the celebration, Mona still found herself unsettled and unable to be as excited as the others. An eerie feeling of unrest and anxiety has settled over our esteemed astrologist as our beloved heroes celebrate.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I’ve finally found you,” Mona’s intense astrology session was interrupted by a cheery high pitched voice.

“Hello, Seraphim.” Mona turned to greet the beautiful woman.

She nearly gasped as the woman walked in, her hair now styled and her eyes shining brighter than before, the mysterious tattoos seemed to have faded and though she was still striking she looked far more human than before. The Celestial Archon merely smiled at the woman’s surprise and stepped towards her, hand out.

“We should talk, my child. Fate had brought us together, an astrologist with a water vision instead of a celestial vision is strange enough.” The woman was calm but not cold as Mona took her hand.

Mona was warm as the gentle archon interlocked their fingers and led her to the corner of the room, sinking down into a comfy chair and pointing at the one next to her. Disappointment creeped up in the astrologist as her idol released her hand. It was quickly replaced with embarrassment and a soft flush across her cheeks. Mona was wholeheartedly captured by the mystery goddess.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” The bright eyes goddess sighed, “That my arrival in Teyvat has stirred up some trouble.”

Mona frowned slightly, “There was already trouble, your sudden appearance is not the cause of it.”

“That’s good, but I still feel that my presence is going to stir the pot a bit. I am connected to all the stars and spaces of this world, I can feel and see things so deeply and I am well aware that there are challenges coming. It’s annoying in some ways.” Her eyes were distant again.

Words were lost on Mona for a moment. She couldn’t begin to imagine how stressful it was to feel so deeply, to constantly be overwhelmed by information and one’s connection to the world. Every piece of text written about the Celestial Archon was very vague. Information on the god of stars was hard to find and many details had been lost, yet one thing seemed to stay the same in ever piece of information Mona had consumed.

Even when the world was teeming with elemental energy and gods were far more common, the goddess of the sky, Seraphim, was an oddity. Before the Archon war, Seraphim was a lone wolf being without many ties. The last god of stars kept to herself and had no desire to interfere with the other’s problems, despite knowing so much of them. It was incredibly lonely and sad.

“You said it’s strange that I have a water vision,” Mona finally spoke.

“Yes,” The archon clicked her tongue, “Had I been around, somebody like you would’ve received a vision from me. However, you did not receive one of my visions and ultimately that should’ve impacted your abilities over astrology but it did not. You are quite the gifted character, aren’t you Miss Mona?”

Mona’s face was tomato red at the words of the beloved celestial archon, “I am honored to be complimented by the goddess of stars.”

“You’re very formal,” The starry eyed goddess laughed.

“Excuse me,” the two were interrupted by none other than the acting grandmaster, “I would like a word with the Lady of the Stars.”

Mona was hesitant, not wanting her idol to slip away but nodded and escorted the woman to the door. She was a bit dissatisfied with the conversation they’d had, wanting to know more and more of her long awaited god. The woman turned back to Mona, eyes twinkling, and embraced her. The normally level headed and somewhat haughty astrologist stiffened in shock but returned the warm hug. A sigh escaped Mona’s mouth, but she didn’t mind. The goddess was warm and something about her affection put Mona at peace.

“I am so lucky that somebody as beautiful and gifted as you awaited my return, Mona Megistus. Until we meet again, my darling.” The woman’s grasp around Mona tightened as she whispered in her ear.

The water mage watched as the strange goddess gracefully glided away with Jean. She was ethereal with the moonlight filtering in from tall windows, her skin illuminated as she hung on to every word Jean said. Even the confident and ever busy acting grandmaster found butterflies swarming her abdomen at the sight of the goddess. Jean felt as if she could be swept away by the young woman.

A part of Jean felt guilty for several reasons. As acting grand master, it was her duty to know about the citizens of Mond, it was her duty to work without personal emotions interfering, and her duty to oversee the safety of all the wind borne citizens. The Celestial Archon was challenging all of these duties. It was only natural for an astrologist to be obsessed with a god of stars, and Jean had interrupted the conversation. The Dandelion Knight couldn’t help but feel an innocent sort of crush on the goddess, she was kind and beautiful and she really seemed to want to get to know everyone. Ultimately, Jean was also aware of the danger a new archon posed.

Even so, the beautiful knight couldn’t help but want to push all those thoughts aside and capture the attention of the goddess for hours. She shook off that thought, attempting to focus on her duty as Mondstat’s respected Grand Master. Jean explained the general politics of the city of freedom and the individual jobs of the knights of favonious. She even went as far as to explain the adventurer’s guild and the recent trouble with Storm Terror. The Celestial Archon hung on to every word, nodding and asking occasional questions.

Jean took the time to explain the place they were in, a place between Mondstat and Liyue, and the teleport points that marked both countries. She was diligent and had already prepared some documents for the 8th Archon, maps and other things needed in the world. Jean had even communicated with others to ensure each safe place for the archon was marked. The allied domain was the middle ground, but Mondstat welcomed the new Archon with a living place and much to do. Liyue had also prepared a small home in the city for her.

The archon stared in wonder at the map. The knights of Favonious had prepared a room for her in their own head quarters, even the esteemed Tycoon had set aside a room. Wangshuu Inn welcomed her and Liyue Harbor gave her quarters close to Rex Lapis. Small notes were written for her, both Xiao and Diluc noted the stars were best seen from where they were while the traveler and Paimon had starred their favorite places to eat.

“Ah, Master Jean.” The Goddess spoke slowly, bowing.

“Please, Seraphim, there’s no reason to be so formal!” Jean’s voice rose nervously, “You are an archon after all.”

“Yes, that’s true. You do not serve me though, please refer to me as my chosen name. Formalities aren’t my taste much.” The Archon remarked bashfully.

Jean nodded, rose dusting her cheeks.

“I,” The Archon sighed, “Really need an open space so I can, uh, deal with my weapon situation.”

“Oh, oh!” Realization hit Jean.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Jean babbled nervously, “Here let us go out to the cliffs, it should be okay, right?”

“Mhm,” The goddess followed the knight to the exit.

Aether and Paimon were also by the exit, turning at the sound of approaching foot steps. Aether grinned and waved at the Celestial Archon, she waved back and beamed. Paimon immediately took off, throwing herself into the Archons arms as the woman giggled. Jean’s face was priceless, attempting to process how this small otherworldly creature could just tackle and archon without shame.

Aether and his companion followed the two women, curious about the weapon another archon would wield. The group made their way to the edge of the cliff, the stars seeming extra bright and the moon full. The goddess lowered herself, feet on the lush grass and put her hand forth, palm out. Swiftly, she struck the air in front of her with her pointer finger, an unfamiliar constellation connecting at each point.

“Return to your master, Destroyer of Divinity.” Her words were clear and calm.

The constellation burst into a ray of white light, Aether covered his eyes as Paimon whined. Darkness fell again and he opened his eyes, gasping at the sight in front of him. The goddess held a long weapon close to her body, above her shoulder was a large opalescent curved blade, below the hip on the opposite side, another shimmering curved blade could be seen. No weapon in Teyvat was even similar.

“I-Is is that a scythe?!” Jean sputtered.

“Aha, well yes,” The goddess blushed at their reactions, “Destroyer of Divinity is an unusual weapon, meant to slice through dimensional and spatial barriers. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Aether stood, mouth agape, “Even its name is terrifying! What the hell?”

“Ahahaha,” the archon continued to laugh nervously, “Well, its existence is basically to bring judgement from the heavens upon those deserving so yeah it’s a bit intimidating.”

Aether nearly screamed. How could she say something so casually?

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The traveler was feeling a bit nervous, as anybody would if an Archon decided to tag along for their daily commissions. Paimon and the Celestial Archon chattered away as Aether spoke to the Katheryne in Liyue. It did not help that the three had left before the others awoke and the Celestial Archon had left a note declaring it as a “friendly date.”

The last thing Aether wanted was to piss off literally any of the adepti, the Geo Archon himself, and even Jean who had taken a very noticeable interest in the goddess. A cloud seemed to look over the blonde but Paimon didn’t notice. The eighth Archon gave the teenager a sympathetic smile and put her hand on his shoulder, attempting to ease his nerves. Only one thing could make the situation worse, and unfortunately that particular thing was heading straight towards Aether.

“Let’s run,” Aether grabbed the startled archon’s wrist and dragged her to the teleport point nearby, ignoring the calls of a certain troublesome individual.

The archon chuckled, “I didn’t know daily commissions would be so exciting!”

Aether smiled sheepishly and let go of her wrist, trying to focus on which commission to start with. He was distracted by a sudden commotion, people yelled out as a hooded figure darted past the trio. Liyue Harbor’s guards thundered after the thief, knocking the poor panicked goddess off her feet.

The eight archon shut her eyes and prepared for the impact of the fall, but was yanked back by a pair of strong arms.

“Hey, girlie. Hold still.” A charming voice said.

The goddess watched as the lanky ginger haired man moved forward and shot an arrow, narrowly missing all the guard and hitting the suspicious character in the back. Aether’s eyes were filled with shock and panic at the sight of the man. Immediately, the goddess side stepped away from her hero, on high alert.

“Now,” He turned to her beaming, “What exactly is such a beautiful young lady doing with this kiddo?”

Her starry eyes met his azure eyes, “I’m just a new adventurer from Mondstat, learning the ropes from the best.”

“Hmm?” His gaze was questioning, “Well then, I’m Childe. Number 11 of the Fatui Harbingers. We should definitely get to know each other.”

The goddess moved to Aether in a quick swift movement. Suddenly, she wanted very much to escape Liyue Harbor. The Fatui were trouble, the goddess was new to the era but even she knew that they were dangerous. It was one of the first matters addressed at her arrival. She no longer knew the Cryo Archon, and this Tsarita sounded troubling.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” an annoyed voice chimed in, averting the red head’s attention.

A shorter man with a large hat and ominous aura stood behind the tall harbinger. Aether tensed up and the goddess wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Slowly, the trio made their escape at the expense of Childe. The older harbinger was chewing the younger man out for flirting and wasting time, both harbingers bickered as the traveler and his companions fled.

“You shouldn’t be wasting time on trying to get laid you, fool.” Scaramouche scowled, still ripping into his subordinate. “Especially not that woman, even from a mile away I can tell she’s trouble. You’re a harbinger not a host, get your shit together, Tartaglia.”

Childe smirked, looking down on his superior, “So you noticed her, too. I wonder what someone like that is doing with my favorite traveler.”

“We should alert the Tsarita of that girl,” Scaramouche mumbled, avoiding the earlier comment.

“I actually agree,” Childe’s eyes narrowed, “I was hoping to see for myself what she is, but that kid stopped me of course. There’s something strange about her but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I can charm it out of her?”

Scaramouche slapped his comrades back, “Let’s go you useless fucking playboy.”

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Wangshuu Inn looked beautiful and the aroma of food was far too enticing. Aether sighed as he watched his small, chubby companion chase after the eighth archon. The woman was supposed to be divine, yet in some ways he reminded her of a puppy or a kitten. She was somewhat moody with her affections and spacey like a kitten may be, and still somehow clingy and energetic like a puppy.

Luckily for the two, Aether had a commission from Verr Goldet. The blonde tried to maintain composure as he saw a familiar dark haired yaksha speaking with the Inn Keeper, not wanting to admit he’d accidentally led the Fatui straight to the Archon. The traveler watched in fascination and amusement as Verr’s face twisted from composed to horrified when Xiao was knocked over by the goddess. The conqueror of demons merely grunted and stood back up, clutching the ethereal woman to his chest.

Xiao’s eyes were cold as they met Aether’s, clearly annoyed with the boy, but his expression softened at the yawning goddess in his arms. Once again, the traveler was overcome with curiosity at her behavior. Only moments ago the woman was bubbly and hyper, now her eyes were fluttering and she was snuggling up to one of the most dangerous beings in Teyvat. Without a word, the tattooed man spun around and carried the goddess upstairs.

“I’m here for your com-“ Aether began.

“Who was that?!” Verr Goldet burst out, “I’ve never seen Adeptus Xiao so damn agreeable. What just happened? Is this a dream?”

Paimon giggled, “He loooooves her! That person is the one we told you about before! Even Xiao can’t be in a bad mood around her, it’s amazing!”

“Oh,” Verr blushed at Paimon’s words, “She’s that person? No wonder he’s been so restless.”

“Wait, restless?” Aether questioned.

Verr Sighed and beckoned the two to a guest free area. The two followed her into a small back room, exchanging glances. The boss lady pulled out an old book and brushed the dust away. Aether and Paimon peered down at the book, puzzled by its appearance. It was a dark leather with carvings of the moon and clouds on the front.

Carefully, Verr flipped the book open and turned it to the two. Paimon shot up, shrieking. The book looked like a book you’d find in a library but was strange. Instead of ongoing text, the pages had scraps and pieces stuck on the pages with various notes scribbled around. Verr turned to the first page, placing her middle finger at the beginning text and giving Aether and expectant look. The traveler leaned down and began to read the text.

“The moonlight phenomenon: Legend of Liyue.

It is said that there was once a ruler of the stars, one who ruled over the sky as the Gods rule over our land. When tides of war overcame Liyue, Rex Lapis sought out the monarch of the sky to form a contract.

Seraphim granted Rex Lapis the moonlight phenomenon. Liyue’s skies were never to dim even on the darkest of nights, the moon and stars would remain as guides for Liyue always. It is said that this contract assisted in bringing the evil gods to their doom, the sky illuminating the way to victory for Liyue and all of Teyvat.”

Verr flipped the page as Aether exhaled trying to wrap his mind around the strange passage.

“The Contract: Seraphim and Rex Lapis.

The circumstances of the moonlight phenomenon still remain unknown. It is an ancient mystery that many still attempt to solve, what exactly did the Geo Archon barter for his people?

Nobody knows, still. However, the most common theories are that the contract has not been fulfilled or that there was no contract to begin with. Many believe that Rex Lapis and Seraphim were secret lovers, and this was Seraphim’s gift to her beloved. Others hypothesize that Seraphim’s wish was never fulfilled, as her death sealed the victory for The Seven Archons.”

Aether shuddered. People in Liyue believe that The Celestial Archon died in the Archon war? Verr flipped to a page in the middle of the book.

“Liyue’s Priestess Seraphim

It is said that a woman with eyes vast like the galaxy beyond and mysterious astrological powers once enchanted all of Liyue.

Seraphim, the last Celestial wielder was Liyue’s last hope. Though she is not honored as an archon, she is known vaguely as a priestess. The woman who captured the attention of the archon’s themselves and was adored by the Adepti. Few remain, but Liyue’s legends claim that the priestess of the stars was the lover of Rex Lapis, the lover of the Vigilant Yaksha, or the lover another adepti.

Even fewer discuss the devastation that occurred when she fell from grace. Her death was the catalyst of the only known battle between Liyue’s very own Archon, The Anemo Archon and his people, and the Adepti. A lesser known battle that almost forced both Mondstat and Liyue into Civil Wars.

When the dust settled, all that stood was the full moon. Many Adepti still honor the priestess under the moonlight by fighting evil spirits and demons.”

Aether’s eyes widened at Verr. She solemnly shook her head as the traveler’s face fell. Xiao, Ganyu, Zhongli, Venti, all of them suffered so terribly. It was confusing to the boy that every text described the Celestial Archon as deceased. His head began to hurt from the information. Verr sighed and led him back out.

“Once you finish commissions, why don’t you two stay here? I’ll prepare a room for you,” The boss was sympathetic.

Aether grimaced but nodded, leading Paimon out to finish their duties.

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Somewhere in the shadows of Wangshuu Inn crept a Fatui agent, slipping away as the traveler set out. The shadowy figure grinned at the piece of paper in their hand.

“Protected by the traveler and the Adepti. Master Childe will be interested in this,” His eyes were dark as he approached his fellow Fatui agents, “She could be very useful to us, this (Y/N).”

The suspicious shadows began to slink away, overcome with desire to inform their boss of the new information. Only a few feet away, a strange creature ducked down to avoid being seen by the agents, fidgeting.

“The angel is here!” The creature shrieked as the cult like group left it’s sight, “(Y/N) will be ours.”

[favoniuscodex]

the art of modernity [ chapter two ]

chapter two - instant oatmeal pairing: xiao x gn!reader warnings: canon-typical violence mention, nothing that hasn't already been done in this series. words: ~2.6k words fic masterlist [ prev ] - [ next (tba) ] chapter summary: under yanfei's watchful eye, you sign a contract with xiao for him to stay with you. he's not very pleasant, but you realize you know exactly how to change that. a/n: which means next chapter kicks off the fluff. let's gooo this is our last hard exposition chapter. thank u to everyone's interest so far!

you wake with a jolt.

empty bed? check. still alive? check. no adeptus hovering over you like edward from twilight? check. aches and bruises from yesterday? ... unfortunately, check.

as you sit up, your muscles scream at you to lay back down, yet your mind tells you to go, go, go and find the adeptus before he can kill you. it takes a moment of regulated breathing to actually remember what happened yesterday after the group of five-turned-six of you left jueyun karst.

one: xiao accompanied you back. with only five seats in the car, yanfei ended up sitting smushed between kaeya and xiao. she hadn't complained and the uncomfortable trip back for her served as a minor revenge for her not revealing her (partial) adepti ancestry. you had been slotted in the front passenger seat, next to keqing, who gripped the steering wheel so hard that you feared she would rip it off. the drive back was in silence. childe made a joke at one point. kaeya had laughed, then remembered where the two of them were. nobody laughed after that.

two: yanfei and xiao had dragged you to your apartment. keqing, kaeya, and childe were far too enthusiastic to let the three of you go, yet you couldn't blame them. yanfei had a bounce in her step, while xiao looked as if he was being walked to a morgue, all while looking vaguely nauseous. you had wondered if that was his first time ever in a car.

three: yanfei drafted a contract. thousands of years of experience practicing law (a fact you had learned unwillingly and uncomfortably as yanfei rambled on to fill the awkward silence between the three of you) led to yanfei taking less than an hour to draft an entire forty page document on an agreement of a "truce" between you and xiao, along with adding details of how she would pay you for xiao to stay with you in your apartment and how xiao would be forced to cooperate with any potential mythological studies you might enact.

four: you deeply offended the adepti... or something. you weren't really quite sure what you said wrong, but apparently "yanfei, this contract means nothing if i wake up with a blade in my throat because xiao decides he doesn't like the 'vibes' i quite literally cannot control." was not an appropriate thing to say. yanfei had giggled, yet xiao had looked as if you had slapped him across the face. he muttered something under his breath about how mortals could never truly comprehend the importance of the work of the god of contracts (who had died over a thousand years ago, might you add). yet, he signed his portion of the contract nonetheless and you followed suit.

five: yanfei had left you alone in the apartment with xiao. xiao introduced himself, as if you hadn't been the one to accidentally summon him in the first place and as if he hadn't been the one to threaten to kill you. his words were forced, awkward, and gruff, as if he wasn't quite sure how to address you. in order to spare the two of you from the ugly bonds of small talk, xiao had retired to the cramped small bedroom you had been trying to rent out to someone for months.

six: you went into your bedroom. you went to sleep.

which, inconveniently, leads to now. the yaksha upheld his end of the bargain. he slept..? do adepti sleep? you aren't quite sure and old scholars aren't exactly the type to describe sleeping patterns of the supposed-mythological adepti in detail, yet you figure that you'll find out soon enough one of these days, now that one is living with you.

archons. that fact had yet to fully sink in too. maybe one day, you would finally feel ecstatic over proving a myth to be real and having it choose to dwell in your apartment for some reason. maybe you would also be overjoyed that you were a descendant of a god, even if many generations separated your bloodline that has long since been diluted by humanity. but for today, you could not worry about such things. the adventurer in you had been humbled yesterday. now, you just have to face the music.

if only yanfei had revealed she was half-adeptus sooner, maybe you wouldn't have to worry about xiao deciding he's had enough of the weird energies you inadvertently give off and attacking you. but for now, you check your phone for the time and any notifications, then stumble out of bed and into the kitchen.

in the kitchen, a broad open concept with the living room, you spot xiao sitting at the counter of the island. his brow is furrowed and he noticeably perks up at your entrance, as if he was almost excited to see you. before you can get your hopes up, your stomach growls and you figure xiao is likely in the same boat.

"your home is filled with... strange contraptions," xiao says. "it appears you mortals have progressed at an unexpected rate."

this adeptus is far too chatty for what the microwave says is 8:32 a.m. on a saturday morning. yet, it does not appear to come easily from him. his words are slow and you have no doubt that he is weary of you and your intentions.

"yeah, it's called technology. we can heat up food without lighting a fire, store food in portable cold temperatures, and blow wind around using automated fans. yet, it's all powered by electricity," you explain sleepily, not sure if your words make sense. the small huff of acknowledgement that the adeptus lets out is more than enough to know that your words at least make some sense. either that or he's trying to appease you, but based off what little you know of xiao, he doesn't quite seem like the type.

"you mortals appear to focus on convenience rather than necessity," xiao grumbles after some thought. was he always going to be this... haughty? sure, adepti are immortals in comparison to humanity, but that doesn't make them superior. their time of rule has long since passed, so why does xiao still hold a guarded sense of righteousness over you? whatever. if you are part-god like yanfei says, it's not like he has any reason to be gloating over you anyways... right? despite your research into liyuean mythology, there's not quite much to go off of on partial-adeptus and partial-god relations in comparison to full deities.

but either way, this was the modern day and the adepti sat in their abodes rather than helping humanity, so out of spite, you grab a packet of oatmeal from the cabinet before sliding it his way.

"make the oatmeal yourself, then," you say evenly, trying to leave snippiness out of your tone. it doesn't work well, judging on the way xiao's brow furrows in irritation. nonetheless, xiao pinches the paper packet between two fingers as he reads the label.

"i am not a fan of oatmeal," he decides after a few seconds, dropping the packet back onto the island countertop. even in your tired state, you can still call his bluff. oatmeal didn't just come around yesterday. it's not like you're throwing a processed big mac at his face and expecting him to come to terms with it.

"what food do you like, then?" you ask, curiosity genuinely piqued. even if you thought he was bluffing, this was a way to learn about the appetites of the adepti and how they differed from humans. this was information that had yet to be recorded and it was information from a primary source. dietary information could be used to better understand offerings placed upon adepti alters by ancient liyueans and-

"almond tofu," xiao states plainly. "and mint jelly."

you stare at him. you blink. you blink once more. despite your silence as you mull over his confession, you cannot bring yourself to actually think about your words before you say them. therefore, you ask xiao a question.

"wait, do adepti prefer soft foods due to their teeth or digestive system or something? does taking on a human-esque form not provide you with the same eating capabilities as humanity? because-" you trail off on seeing his slightly irritated expression. oh.

"you truly consider adepti not being able to able to consume mortal foods a possibility? do you have no respect for the adepti?" xiao seethes, amber eyes narrowing as he glares at you.

oh. right. respect. hm. xiao being born in a time where respect towards members of a higher social hierarchy has altered how he views the two of your interactions, yet increasing interconnectedness amongst humans through technology and the collapse of social divisions has led to current-day humans viewing all as equals and addressing them as such, besides the given familial hierarchies. but xiao is not family to you. he is no greater than a stranger in your eyes, yet there is a stark contrast in how he views himself compared to you.

in this moment, you realize you have made an error. you view xiao as a potential friend, while xiao views you as no more than a subject of the long-since-dead rex lapis. he is one of rex lapis' closest comrades, while you likely never would have set eyes on the god apart from the rite of descension if you had lived in the same time period as him.

yet, you're not really sure how to address xiao with the level of respect he desires. after all, you're rather... unrefined. sure, you could use what little formalities the language provides such as sir or o holy adeptus xiao, of which thine hast protected liyue for many millennia, yet neither seem too appealing. he's your roommate, it's not like you're approaching the altar to worship him. you're approaching your kitchen. your name is on the lease after all.

so, you take a step back, fold your arms over your chest, and lean your back against the cool metal of your refrigerator. you were in no mood to pick a fight, but if asking the adeptus basic questions would get him this riled up, you would seek to terminate your living situation as soon as possible. he at least had to attempt to be pleasant, even if you had a tendency to overstep the supposed boundaries of him that absolutely perplexed you.

"adeptus xiao," you begin. your tone is even and xiao looks almost curious at your sudden, cool tone. "do you view yourself as above me?"

"the adepti are far stronger than mortals, thus it is a part of our duties under our contracts signed with rex lapis to help protect humanity," xiao says. his tone is slightly harsh and yet his evasive words are enough to give you your answer.

"as an adeptus once under rex lapis, you are thus beholden to any contract you sign? as like a... duty thing of sorts," you ask and xiao nods in agreement. you let out a slight sigh as you collect your thoughts.

it is time to channel your inner yanfei. you blink and plaster a polite, small smile on your face. that's what yanfei does in the court room, right? in her delivery of information, she must seem firm but pleasant enough to want to listen to, in order to convince the jury. but you are no yanfei and you have no jury. instead, you just have a several-thousand-year-old partial deity sitting in your kitchen with a packet of instant oatmeal in front of him. yet, for your own sanity, you must try.

"i am... unsure as to why you wanted to live with me. you do not seem like the city type nor the type to want to associate with humans, but we all have our secrets, i guess. nonetheless, you agreed to sign the contract, which means you are thereby subject to its terms, right?" you ask and xiao gives a rough nod in return.

"the contract does not say that i cannot admonish your... impudent questions," xiao states and you feel like a snezhnayan ice fisher who has just gotten a bite on their line. you bite back a giddy smile at luring xiao directly into your trap.

"correct, but you are subject to participating in my studies of the adepti, provided that they do not bring you psychological or bodily harm," you say and xiao suddenly looks wary at whatever this conversation might be leading to.

"i suppose," xiao says, revealing his uncertainty. "that the contract does enlist those terms."

"well then, adeptus xiao. i have decided upon our newest study," you say and, despite how hard you try to hold it back, a grin spreads across your face. the adeptus sits up a bit straighter at your words, yet remains silent as he waits for you to continue.

"our first study of the adepti will consist of only you. i do not need for you to request of the assistance of anyone else, unless if you need it. but, i'll be trying to figure out one thing!" you say and xiao looks annoyed as to how you keep dragging this out, so you decide to cut it short before he can snap at you once more. "for our first study, we'll be focusing on what it will be like for an adepti to live amongst mortality and live a typical mortal life."

xiao stares at you. if he's furious, he hides it behind his expressionless face. for once, his typical scowl isn't there, yet you feel almost reassured at his seething reaction. sure, he might be angry, but he respects his previous master too much to defy the bounds of the contract this early, right? your suspicions are confirmed as he exhales sharply, followed by a tight nod.

"you wish for me to live as a human?" xiao questions and you nod enthusiastically, taking a step forward and resting your hands on the opposite side of the kitchen island from him. you careen forward and stare directly into the amber eyes belonging to the adeptus that nearly killed you yesterday. adrenaline rushes through your blood as you realize exactly what xiao signed himself up for.

xiao has inadvertently wrapped himself around your finger and you're determined to make his stay an enjoyable one, even if he loathes the idea at the moment.

"exactly! you don't have to take a mortal form or anything, i'm just interested in seeing as to how you would adjust through going through the typical mortal routine. as for me, i'll be your tour guide through all of this, so don't worry!" you say. your words provide him little relief and xiao stares at you cooly.

"fine. i will participate in your... research," xiao confirms reluctantly after a few moments of silence and you have to bite back an excited squeal. getting to show an adeptus everything humanity has to offer? the excitement nearly overwhelms you, but you have to squash your excitement to focus on the situation at hand.

"alright then. for our first task, i'll show you how to make instant oatmeal! but, there's more than just that flavor," you state, gliding over to the cabinets and pulling out the box. you hastily slap it on the table and push it gently over to him. "take your pick!"

xiao eyes the box uneasily.

yeah, this is good enough revenge for nearly killing me, right?

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[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 10)

Previously on LBitR...

“Calm down,” Lena whispers, even though she’s having trouble doing exactly that at the sight of the empty bench where she had left Kara waiting not even an hour ago.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Alex hisses; the muzzle of her gun dis rather painfully on her back, and Lena would really like to step away from it, but the agent has her arm locked in a vice grip. “Where the hell is she, Lena? She was here when I followed you in!”

“Walk with me,” Lena says, quickly scanning the area--they’re standing in a stiff, unnatural way, and the last thing she wants is to draw any attention, especially when they’re both wearing stolen LuthorCorp lab coats right outside the building. She takes one tentative step away, hooking her arm around Alex’s as if they were just friends walking down the street arm-in-arm.

Thankfully, Alex understands Lena’s not-so-subtle hint faster than Kara ever could; her image-induced expression relaxes into a smile that barely looks forced, and her grip of Lena’s arm, though still tight and borderline painful, shifts so that it appears more casual.

“Is there any way you could have been followed?” Lena asks, subtly looking around them, noting that Alex is doing the same.

“That’s always a possibility,” Alex admits, sounding both panicked and defeated at once. “But I was very careful.”

“OK, let’s not panic yet,” Lena tells both Alex and herself. “Kara and I made plans to rendezvous back at the motel if I was gone too long or if anything happened.”

Alex gives her a look--it’s weird to have a patented Alex-Danvers-look-of-disapproval coming from a stranger’s face. “You weren’t gone for long, though.” She doesn’t voice the alternative.

Unthinkably, Lena reaches out and gently pats the hand on her arm. She means for it to be reassuring--it’s the kind of thing she would do for Kara--the kind of thing she has been doing for Kara over the last couple of weeks, but Alex looks just as puzzled by the action as Lena is.

She removes her hand and clears her throat. “Still, our best bet is the motel. Did you drive here?”

Alex nods. “Great,” Lena continues, mind already working a mile a minute. “Kara probably took the bus back--we didn’t want the car to be seen downtown,” she explains, and Alex lets out an undignified snort.

“That’s remarkably sensible of you,” she quips sarcastically. Lena ignores her.

“What I’m saying is, if you drove here and we take your vehicle, we may beat Kara to the motel, or get there shortly after her. It’s one hour from LuthorCorp to the motel by bus--she’ll switch routes at least twice on the way.”

Alex looks impressed despite herself. “And if she doesn’t show, what then, genius?” she challenges, lips pursed.

Lena breathes out steadily, calmly. “She will,” she says with as much conviction as she can possibly muster in her tone, because the alternative is simply unthinkable.

Alex smacks her lips, slowing her walk as she considers their limited options. “Fine,” she finally concedes, dragging Lena down an alleyway.

They dispose of their lab coats in a trashcan in that same alley, and Alex practically hauls Lena towards a secluded spot behind down another alley a few blocks away.

“You better hold on,” she says, removing a few strategically placed cardboard boxes to reveal a sleek black motorcycle, discreetly parked behind a dumpster. “I did not bring an extra helmet.”

Lena does hold on, mainly because Alex weaves and cuts through traffic like an absolute manic as she follows the directions Lena has to practically shout in her ear as they go. She knows Alex is desperate to find Kara and make sure she’s OK, but Lena also wishes she would ease off the gas a little; she’s got enough to be afraid of at the moment.

She feels like her heart is about to burst out of her chest when they finally reach the hotel; they’re nowhere close to the room she and Kara had checked into, but she’s already fumbling in her purse for her key card. with Alex hot on her heels.

They stumble into the room together, and Lena has to stop, has to take a second to try to stop the cold dread she immediately feels at finding it empty, exactly as they had left it this morning.

Alex begins pacing like a caged tiger immediately. “She’s not here,” she gasps, tapping at the image inducer at her temple, and then it’s Alex, really Alex, looking worried and panicked and slightly disheveled in this empty room, and now Lena is belatedly realizing it’s up to her, Supergirl’s would-be killer, to try and comfort the hero’s sister while they wait.

As if she is not on the verge of a panic attack herself.

“We knew she wouldn’t be,” she tries to reason, keeping her voice as even as she can, though she can’t stop tugging at her fingers out of sheer nervousness.

She’s doing the math in her head, thinking of the bus schedules, of which one Kara probably had gotten on and when; she’s mapping out the routes in her mind, considering the usual trip times, factoring in the average Metropolis traffic at two in the afternoon on a Thursday.

Alex takes one look at Lena’s fidgeting hands and immediately sighs, sinking into one of the beds. “Take that stupid wig off,” she barks. “Blonde you is freaking me out.”

That lets out a little chuckle, but it feels like some kind of hysteria. She takes a seat on the opposite bed, and Alex regards her quizzically.

“Kara said something similar yesterday,” she explains, carefully removing the wig and setting it on the nightstand. “That’s too bad; I really thought I was pulling it off.”

The attempt at humour falls completely flat--Lena can see it plainly in Alex’s wooden expression. “You definitely weren’t,” she deadpans. Her knee is bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down, boot tapping dully on the carpet.

It’s driving Lena insane.

“Kara will be here soon,” Lena says, still tugging at her fingers. Alex doesn’t look convinced. 

“And if she doesn’t?”

Lena has no answers to that, refuses to consider the possibility.

“She will,” she says again, in an almost silent whisper, for her own comfort. “She will, she will, she will.”

Alex says nothing, only continues with her bouncing knee, keeps her gaze locked onto Lena. And Lena, Lena tries not to squirm under the agent’s scrutiny; she fidgets, she stares at the blinking red numbers of the alarm clock, steals glances at the door--she looks at anything and anywhere to avoid Alex’s gaze.

When Alex does speak again, her voice is low, but it still startles Lena enough for her to jump a little in surprise.

“What do you remember about that day, Lena?”

When Lena turns to face her, Alex’s eyes are as hard as stone. Her scowl has returned, and the way her brows are furrowed is far more telling than the cold tone of her voice. It says, plain and simple, I don’t trust you.

It takes Lena a long time to come up with an answer Alex may find even remotely satisfactory--she knows that ‘I don’t know’ that is on the tip of her tongue simply won’t cut it, even if it is the honest answer. Her memories, the few that she does have from that day, are murky and sparse, and don’t feel altogether hers.

She struggles to recall any details, searches the blurred images interred somewhere in her subconscious and tries to make sense of the tangled mess she has been left with. “Flashes,” she tries, settling for as much truth as she can muster at the moment. She swallows. “I remember... I remember Kara falling--I remember seeing her from the top floor at LuthorCorp.”

Alex raises a brow like she doesn’t fully believe her. “The top floor?” she asks, voice oddly neutral. “Not from the basement labs? You didn’t watch it from the screens?”

Lena furrows her brows, tries to poke at whatever remnants of memory she has latched on to. “No, I don’t...” she closes her eyes, sees Kara falling, riddled with green, her body limp falling past her windows as fast as a bullet. “I-I don’t think so, I was... I think I was at the top floor.”

“You were apprehended in the basement, Lena,” Alex says brusquely.

“N-no, that can’t be right,” Lena chokes out, but all she sees behind her lids is Kara’s body falling, and her mind provides the most horrifying sound effect as it hits the pavement. “That can’t be, I watched her fall, I w-watched from my window.”

Alex shakes her head. “What do you remember before the rockets?”

Lena rattles her brain with difficulty; her lungs can’t quite return to their normal rhythm with the images her mind is supplying. “Before?” she gasps, keeping her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to see, doesn’t have to wither under Alex’s unyielding disappointment and doubt.

“M-myriad, the, um, the Fortress, ah... I was there with K-kara, and--”

She’s close to hyperventilating; she can’t get the image of Kara’s body--her bloody, broken body falling, falling--out of her mind.

“The Fortress? Lena that was two weeks befo--Lena? Lena, are you OK?”

Lena can’t respond--she can’t speak, she can’t even breathe. her brain is giving her the most terrifying flashes of memories, memories that don’t feel like her own, and she’s scrambling to fill that gaps at the same time as the images come, unbidden, to her mind. Her mental boxes are teetering, swaying in their little organized, compartmentalized stacks, unbalanced, and she can’t, she can’t breathe.

“Shit,” she vaguely hears Alex say, marginally registers the agent rushing to her side, but then someone is touching her and there is another flash--it is white hot and painful in her brain, like an electric shock, and she feels someone grabbing at her shoulders, pushing her down hard, pulling, and dragging, and, and--

Lena yelps and recoils, bats away at the hands reaching for her shoulders in uncontrollable, all-consuming panic.

“HEY!”

It’s another voice, worried, coming from someone bursting through the door with force, nearly slamming it off its hinges. Lena’s only somewhat aware of Alex yelling--she sounds happy, surprised, worried, and a whole gamut of other things Lena cannot focus on, because suddenly, there’s just warmth all around her.

She’s being held, tight, tight, tight, but it isn’t restrictive--it’s the opposite, warm and comforting and it envelops her almost entirely, like a heavy blanket, muting the sounds of her own frantic heartbeat.

“Sh, Lena, it’s just me. You’re OK. I’m here, I’m here.”

It’s Kara’s voice--low in a soothing murmur, rumbling in her chest as she whispers right at Lena’s ear, and the vibrations are soft, reassuring, and tranquil, almost enough to ease Lena’s trembling.

She’s wrapped tight in Kara’s arms as her awareness returns, slowly and fuzzy. Kara’s hand rubs circles on her back, and Lena instinctively tucks her head under Kara’s chin, seeking more of her warmth. Kara is taking deep, deliberate breaths, and Lena finds herself subconsciously trying to match them at every inhale and exhale, using the pressure of the rise and fall of Kara’s chest against hers as guidance.

When the flashes cease, she dares open her eyes again. Over Kara’s shoulder, her gaze locks with Alex, who’s awkwardly standing to the side, watching them closely.

“OK,” the agent says, gaping a little. “What the fuck?”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

<< Previous || Next >>

[lambourngb]

Day 2: AU get me out of here - places to go when canon is complicated

It’s Day 2 for @roswellnewmexicocreate, time to celebrate those stories that I turn to when I can’t deal with canon, or when I don’t have the emotional energy to untangle all the emotions I have for what’s going on in canon. Alternative universes, the safe harbor for us. Below are a mix of rewrites of canon, remixes of canon, or out right not even set in Roswell- to fill every type distance you want from canon- from near to far.

and the howl of the desert carries me home by @christchex​/ @michaels-blackhat​ (4,334) Alex runs into the desert to escape from his father with his guitar clutched to his chest. He plans to spend one last night playing before his father destroys it. Instead, he meets a cute boy with flowers in his curly hair and a lizard on his shoulder. He exchanges a song for a smile.

why i like it: I love everything about this story. Michael is totally a disney princess, and what a lovely way to save him from foster homes, but have him run away to the desert and use his alien powers to build his own little protective world. Looping in Nora’s plant powers like that, giving Michael a little animal friend, I love it all, but the show stealer is Alex Manes, playing music to coax the mystery boy out. It’s just incredibly soft.

***

Heartbeat series by @adiwriting ​ (133,000 - in progress) During the lost decade, Alex gets Michael pregnant and Michael doesn't see or hear from him again for the next four and a half years. When Alex comes back to town, he discovers he has a daughter with Michael and they all have to figure out how to be a family.

why i like it: it has it all, installments with angst, installments with fluff, I can find whatever mood I am in by just pouring over this incredible series. I really don’t even like mpreg, but in RNM, with aliens it seems a little more probable to me and bless Britt, she goes light on the details but heavy on the kid aspect of it. I absolutely love Alex in this story, he’s richly characterized as a man who is trying hard while wandering unfamiliar territory like aliens, like being a dad, like being Michael’s boyfriend, and he doesn’t always get it right, but he’s loved regardless.

***

tonight we are young @skinsharpenedteeth (8,137) Alex and Michael ditch the Evans' New Years Eve party to find their own fun and Alex gets his New Years kiss...(the underage tag is because they're both 17 in this.)

why i like it: I’m a sucker for teen!Malex, especially stories that take place before the shed. I love this little AU where Alex is thinking about making a move, but hasn’t yet. They are both adorable nervous babies, this feels very much how a softer teen!Malex first time would go. Perfectly characterized here, you can just feel the hopeful vibes they have at 17. I like to believe nothing bad ever happens to them again.

***

you shift on a gear (it’s been a long year) by @backinmybodymp3 (28, 362) “Good morning,” Michael says. “What the hell did you do?” Alex asks, exasperated. (or: There were times, in some of the lower moments of the past however-many-days it’s been, where Michael had thought about what it might’ve been like to share this time loop with someone. He never imagined— well, he never imagined it’d be Alex.)

why i like it: I love time-loop stories! And this is just superb. The friendship dynamics of everyone involved, the Liz/Max wedding, Michael being a good brother, Michael trying so hard to keep this bullshit from dragging Alex in and then Alex being his usual reckless self when it comes to Michael, I absolutely dig this canon-divergent au. you can feel how much the author cares about everyone on the show in this story, and they really nail the Malex dynamic. This story came along just as season 3 did and it’s a true antidote to the malex drought on screen.

***

the library by @arielana (9,657)  Alex had stopped too far away to hear exactly what they were saying, but their voices did carry over to where he was standing. The guy’s drawl had a melody to it that was vaguely familiar, but much deeper than the voice it reminded Alex of. God, that and the hair really brought some memories back.  Just as Alex told himself to stop secretly staring like a creep and walk over there, he turned slightly so that Alex got a glimpse of the side of his face.  Fuck!  Fuck, fuck, fuck! Twelve years ago Alex left Roswell to join the Air Force, nursing a broken heart and promising to never return. When work brings him back to New Mexico he runs into someone he’d been sure he’d never see again.

why i like it: the first kiss in the UFO emporium was groundbreaking, but I have to admit, I love stories that explore the almost-happened, where Malex reconnect as adults without the shadow of Jesse’s attack. I love how sharp Alex is in this story, he has all these walls as an adult built from that first rejection, but then he’s so completely unprepared to reconnect with Michael again. The clownery in this story by both of them is perfect! I also totally love Forrest as a gay best friend for Alex, trying to wingman Alex, that cracked me up.

***

stellar light based life by @jocarthage (30,651) It’s not a memory if it’s something you see every day. It’s a trigger and it’s not one Alex wants to ever let go of.Alex saw Michael disappear into a blinding blue light, soft 17-year-old body pulled back into some kind of impossible vortex -- one hand, outstretched.

why i like it: another submission from 2020 RNM Big Bang, this story just wrecked me. I can’t even really put into words about how it hooked me and basically lives in my head now to the point I often mumble the first line to myself. Anyway, this AU takes a right turn at the shed attack, and goes full force scifi and tragic separation, I love it. In so many ways it reshapes Alex’s life but the core of who he is never changes, there’s so many great science geekery details about Michael’s planet and the astronaut journey that Alex takes, plus SANDERS... anyway, this is a fandom classic for me.

***

Crossed Wires by @beautifulcheat, @ladynox (15,351) Michael's been kicked off more than one Starfleet posting. So when he learned he was reassigned to the USS Roswell, he decided that he would keep his head down and behave. This decision is immediately thwarted when he meets her hot Vulcan captain.This might be the first time Michael got kicked off a posting for flirting with a captain.

why i like it: Star Trek AU? I’m pretty easy. Seeing elements of Kirk and Spock’s tragic backstory blended into genius mechanic Michael Guerin and ice prince Alex Manes was amazing. I love how it’s serving with his family that brings Michael to the Enterprise, his bond with Max and Isobel was chef’s kiss good. The blend of Michael’s powers and Alex’s biology - I loved the balance even if it came with its own misunderstandings, but hey, this time it was cultural! lol

***

I’m still here by @vague-shadows @pippsmcgee  (35,928) Treasure Planet AU in which Michael is the gifted young delinquent who found a treasure map, and Alex is a space pirate pawn in his Father's obsession with riches and legacy.

why i like it: I’ve never seen Treasure Planet, but I didn’t need to thoroughly enjoy this AU. This was the perfect mix of angst and sci-fi adventure, where the authors managed to make the shed even more horrifying. Jesse Manes is the absolute worst in this story, the levels of obsession he goes to find a treasure, and then Michael on his own collision course - the ability to write tense action is a gift, and it’s on display in this story. Cyborg!Alex took up a place in my heart and still lives there, where he only gets the nicest things.

If you like any of these recs, please leave a comment on the story or a kudo- a  ‘this was awesome’ is enough to propel an author into the stratosphere with happiness, so don’t worry about coming up with a unique, never before shared insight- sometimes a keyboard smash and emoji makes all  the difference!

[fbfh]

here’s to always finding each other

pairing: percy x gn child of calliope reader

wc: 1.6k

warnings: percy kisses reader following a prior agreement that they don’t remember but it’s 100% consentual, you work retail, a hell yeah, memory loss, I think that’s it

summary: You didn’t really expect to have to spend your entire eight hour shift organizing shoe wax any more than you expected your fictional crush from middle school to be real and your boyfriend. Only one of those happened (and the shoe wax was still very disorganized when you left).

song rec: this lofi mix, boba manifesto - chris flemming (mostly as a joke but it slaps)

a/n: i am wOrKiNg oN tHiNgS!!!!!! It’s going well!!! expect some fun surprises soon!!!!!!!!!

Crouched down on the ground, rearranging an end cap of shoe wax in the men’s department wasn’t really what you thought being a grownup would be like as a kid. You can’t complain too much, the pay is pretty good and working conditions are decent - as much as they can be in retail. You stand up to check your progress (and stretch your legs) and notice that guy is still there. He’s been hovering around the athletic shirts and pants for a while, and he keeps checking his phone and looking around. You’re sure he’s probably just waiting for someone, but you’re considering asking if you can help him find anything. 

He has a vaguely familiar energy, and your stomach drops for a moment, hoping you don’t know him from school or something. God, that would be a nightmare. That’s happened to you once or twice, bumping into someone you went to school with, and it’s always as bad as you expect. 

‘You know what,’ you think, trying to see if you can fit the last few containers of wax on the shelf without making them topple over, ‘he’s probably fine. If he needs help he’ll ask for it.’ 

You go back to scanning and adjusting the prices of the clearance shoe polish - the company had changed their packaging recently, so it’s out with the old and in with the identical - but you still can’t shake the feeling of familiarity. 

He turns around, holding up an orange shirt that says ‘go for it’ in a ridiculous font, and you get a glimpse of his face. 

You crouch back down so he won’t catch you staring, and the realization dawns on you. He looks a lot like Percy Jackson from the books you read in middle school. Or was it high school? Everything between 6th grade and high school graduation is kind of blurry and confusing in your memory. Man, you should really re-read those, you heard there was a TV series in the works and you want to remember all the details for when it comes out. You’re a little surprised at how nervous that revelation makes you, like the feeling when you’re a kid going to a theme park and you can see the roller coasters as you pull into the parking lot. Weird. Anyway, it’s not the first time you’ve seen a customer who looks like a character from something. One time you saw someone who you swore looked just like Pidge from the Voltron reboot that came out a few years ago, and a coworker saw a girl who looked like an anime character she loves… Raka something? Her name sounded like gravity, but that wasn’t it. You shrug, making a mental note to ask her about it later. 

You stand up once again to take one final look before you move onto the next end cap, and see that the guy is standing next to you. You look up at him, and all those weird feelings of excitement and something close to anticipation amplify, as you get a closer look at him. He really, really looks like Percy Jackson. Like if the Viria art was a real person. 

“Uh… hi, can I help you find anything today?” You ask, snapping out of your daze and into your customer service voice. He takes a second before answering, and you’re a little unnerved by the way he’s looking at you; warm and intimately, like he’s known you for years. 

“No,” he replies, a dreamy tone to his voice, “I’ve got everything I need.” You’re pleasantly surprised and a little freaked out that he even has the accent. Seriously, if he’s not already, this guy should really get into cosplay. Also, is he flirting with you? He seems to realize what he just said, and backtracks slightly. 

“Actually, um, I was wondering if you could help me out with something over here,” he says, and you agree, in your signature chipper tone. He guides you to a table covered in various sweatpants behind a mirror. 

He glances around again, and you have to ask. 

“You know, if you’re having trouble finding someone we can-”

“Walkie customer service to have my group meet me at the front desk.” He finishes seamlessly. 

“It’s not my first time at the rodeo,” he chuckles, and you get the feeling there’s more meaning behind what he’s saying, like an inside joke you’re not a part of. 

“Oh… yeah.” you say, and he can sense your surprise, “How did you…” you trail off, and he can sense the silent question in your voice. He lets out a breathy chuckle, cheeks flushed pink.

“Like this.” 

He catches your face in his hands, and presses his lips to yours. Your eyes widen in shock, mostly at the fact that you don’t feel threatened by his presence at all. You’re shocked at how comfortable you feel around him, how you feel in your bones that you’ve known him for years when the logical side of your brain is telling you that you first saw him ten minutes ago. He pulls away, searching your eyes for… something. 

“Uh…” you glance away, brow slightly furrowed, then back up at him, “what the fuck?” 

His expression softens, and he says gently, “Give it a minute.” 

You’re about to ask him to give what a minute, when a barrage of memories, feelings, people you don’t think you’ve ever met but seemed to be best friends with knocks you off your feet. You try to take in a breath, but the air in the room seems to have taken a temporary vacation from your lungs. 

You look up at him, eyes flared in understanding and shock. He mutters something in confirmation. Someone yells nearby, and you both look over to an adolescent boy asking his mom why he can’t wear neon basketball shorts to school. Percy looks back over at you.

“Is there somewhere a little more-” the mom starts arguing back and forth with her son at a louder volume, and he continues, “private… where we could talk?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll… I’ll get somewhere.”

A few minutes later, you’re sitting across from each other on two step stools in one of the stock rooms. You’re still surprised at how easily you had lied to your boss that your long distance boyfriend showed up a few weeks early after over a year of not being able to see each other, and you needed a moment to catch up. She had agreed readily, asking that you tell her when you’re ready to get back to your tasks. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he starts, snapping you out of your train of thought, and you look up at him, “I never would have kissed you without asking, but you made me promise last time that the next time you lose your memories I would get them back to you as fast as I can.” 

“Uh, it’s okay, I feel like I remember talking about that.” Your memories are still fuzzy, but coming back sporadically.

“It can take a few days for them to come back fully.” He adds. 

The most surreal part of this is you remember vividly what happened in the books - because you lived through it. You hold back a giddy laugh bubbling up.

“So…” you begin, and he looks at you, his gaze warm, “it’s all real?” you breathe the words, almost afraid of an answer. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, looking away briefly, overwhelmed that you’re with him once again.

“The short version is, since your godly parent is Calliope, you sometimes get sent to other worlds. You kind of have to hop scotch from one place to another, like getting a goldfish used to a new bowl of water. The mist - or sometimes,” he glances up, pointedly and irritable, “other factors - usually take away a lot of your memories. They say it’s to make the transition easier, but who knows. Anyway, there are these waypoints, kind of like a time loop that you hang out in until you’re either ready to leave or one of us finds you first.”

“So this…” you motion around to the rows of cardboard boxes filled with plastic cups and paper towels. He nods and you let out a laugh of relief that you really won’t have to work here long term. 

“As soon as you’re ready we should probably head out to camp. It’s gonna be a bit of a drive.” 

“Wait, it’s all like… here? Like in this world?”

“Yeah,” he smiles again, once more sending butterflies through your chest. 

You let out a disbelieving, excited laugh.

“Alright. Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.” 

Before you can get up, he takes your hand in his. He watches his fingers skim back and forth for a minute before looking up at you. 

“You know that I’ll always find you, right?” there’s an overwhelming torrent of emotions he’s somehow managing to convey through his eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter where you go, or how long you’re gone, or if we even remember each other. I will always find you.” His hand comes up to your cheek for the second time today, and your head tilts into his embrace automatically. You somehow trust him more than anyone or anything else right now. You nod gently.

“I do.”

He glances away again, cheeks flushing red, and he sighs, kissing your forehead. 

You get up and head towards the exit together, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“How about we get some bubble tea once we’re in the city?”

“Oh hell yeah!” 

You don’t remember the last time you had bubble tea, but it sounds really, really good right now. 

[azazelsconfessional]

((so i was gonna open up my askbox again but I got distracted doing this and watching streams i think idr what i did the past few hours, buuut there's something I need to cover first, especially since there are so many new people around! Hello! Especially since so many of you are playing OCs/MCs.

Don't worry, it's a tip to hopefully help you along! It may get a little long, especially as I try and provide examples. . .but hopefully it'll help.

I'm gonna talk a lot about OCs but this applies to canon characters too a bit. It certainly helps.

Tl;dr, you should have a character profile page.

(also remember that tumblr mobile doesn't really have direct access to Pages made with the Pages function on desktop, so you'll have to link them manually in your pinned or description or host them on another site(I used Google Docs in the apst) or in a regular post(this makes it very easy to lose as a forewarning) for maximum accessibility!)

(rules pages are also really really handy if you have alot of resteictions.)

So, in general, OCs have a bit of a lower reception rate in rp. Idk if that'll be the case here with MCs because they're, well, the main character. Housamo is also a series that lends itself well to OCs pretty well, especially non-human ones, but I figured I'd warn for that.

BUT. That doesn't mean you shouldn't play an OC! It just means there are things you need to keep in mind!

Think of all of the OCs you've seen--you all seem to be fun and wonderful people, and your characters are surely interesting. But. . .if you don't tell anybody about them, nobody will know what's going on or where to start, which makes asking questions a little hard, right? That's easier to work around with MC characters--we've played the game, we know the story, we know the characters, so we can figure out questions fairly easily based on that alone and go from there.

But with other OCs, especially those that don't represent charactera from mythology or fiction like many other characters in housamo do, there's like. Nowhere to start. We may see a face or some dialogue, but otherwise we don't have a frame of reference.

That's where a profile comes in!

Azazel-mun, I don't want to share all of the info about my character at once!

What if I don't know everything about my OC yet and want to figure it out along thw way?

The profile doesn't have to be super detailed! At most it shoule include things like the character's name and age and probably things like their location, profession, grade in school or place of work, etc., and anything you'd notice on the surface like their apperance. It's never a bad thing to include a description of their personality too, or a small section about their history/background. Little things that even you should probably know, too.

You can also section your profile off a bit into things like "surface info," "meta info," "things you could easily figure out about them," etc. That way, no one can spoil themself. Making lists like this can help you think these things through if you haven't already as well.

Let's use Azazel, a character that you probably know already, as an example here. I don't have a profile set

Name: Azazel

Species: Fallen Angel; Capra Therian - an anthropomorphic Goat (?)

Gender(pronouns): Male(he/him)

Age: difficult to calculate; several thousand years old?

Apperance age: hard to say, he's not human. Adult.

Origins: banished from his home world of Eden, has been in the human world for several thousand years

Profession: Priest of dubious denomination, most likely Catholic or Protestant; teacher at Daikanyama Academy; de facto head of the Missionaries Non-Profit charity Organization; supervisor of the Aoyama Missionaries

Role & Rule: Watcher; Revelation - allows him to see anything within the territory of the Aoyama Missionaries and anywhere the pages of his Artifact see

Apperance: Azazel is a 5'10"(180cm) tall, anthropomorphic goat of ambiguous breed, with fawn fur all over his body and lighter fur on his head and around his neck. He has brown, riged horns which curve out and back. Though his eyes are often closed, when opened they're red. He always carried around a leather bound bible with an eye on the cover, and is never seen without several chains on his person, although only the one(s) around his neck can be seen unless he's undressed.

He wears a black priest's cassock with a maroon sash and a capelet of the same color, with the same eye as on his bible on the shoulders of the cape, and brown dress shoes. The front of the robe is always open to expose his bare chest and the chains beneath.

Personality: Azazel is kind and doting, very fitting of both a teacher and priest, although his openly flirtatious, lustful, and secretive nature causes others to distrust him. He doesn't mind this at all. He has a strong adoration for humans, and values love in all of its forms more than anything. He's a bit of a passive person, often being unmotivated but working hard regardless, and seems to prefer to watch others and the world go by, although he won't decline most invitations to take part in it. He is always aware of anything that happens within the extensive territory of the Missionaries, and seems to know and see just about everything about anyone he meets, from their surface to their soul. . . .

If you know Azazel, or take note of some of the wording or question marks, you'll note I didn't explain everything(although I may have shared more than you want to.) This is just a bare bones exampe of how I do my profiles--but it can get even more bare!

I'll do two this time, a more vague version of Azazel's, and another that obscures information all together, using the same or a similar format to the above.

Name: Azazel

Species: anthropomorphic goat

Gender(pronouns): male (he/him)

Age: unquestionably an adult

Origins: Eden

Profession: Priest; teacher; head of a charity NPO; member of the Missionaries

Apperance: Horned goatman of slightly above average human height. Light brown fur, blond fur-hair, red eyes. Wears priest robes and a gold chain around his neck and chest. Carries around a bible with an eye on it?

Personality: Kind of eerie, but friendly and affectionate. A little flirtatious, especially towards humans. Seems to know everything about people for some reason?

Compare it to the one before--see how I've left even more things off or left things ambiguous while still sharing what's necessary or surface level? However, it's also not as engaging or as informative as the other one where I gave more information.

As someone who plays him, profiles like this aren't as helpful for me lol since he knows so much about everyone and everything, having a lot of details helps me play my character!

Now, as helpful as this is, this is also a character you probably know. So how about I do this with an OC? Normally I'm extremely detailed in my profiles and such, especially for OCs, sharing headcanons and ideas for relationships between characters. But, again, I'll try and show how you can show some info while leaving some up to people to ask about to later be filled in.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [this is where you would put where you get the art for any icons you use--if you draw it yourself, say so; if you use official art from a series, credit the name of the character and the series; if you use picrews, link the specific picrews. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN PERMITTED TO USE. DO NOT STEAL ART. IF YOU CAN'T FIND THE CREDIT, ASK SOMEONE TO HELP YOU, DO NOT JUST SAY THAT IT ISN'T YOURS. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO USE OR THAT ISN'T FROM A SERIES OF SOME SORT.]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: older than she looks?

Origins: Tokyo?

Profession: Professor; Witch

Apperance: A fidgety woman who looks older than she is. She looks anxious and confused as often as she looks curious and confident. Wavy light brown hair. Often carries around schoolbooks and is never alone, always with a Rattus Therian and often with a Nyarlathotep.

Personality: seemingly anxious, but curious and exploratative nonetheless. On the awkward side, but can still keep up with the Nyarls that accompany her. Gets into trouble when she gets ahead of herself in exploring and learning about the arcane, but her Rule allows her to disappear easily.

History: Has always been curious about magic and attempted to run through a Gate when they began to open up. Performed a summon and brought a certain transients to Tokyo and recieved her familiar and the magic to use her Rule as a result. Currently teaches at a college. She stumbled into a certain someone while attempting to explore time, and became a fan ever since.

That tells you a fair amount, doesn't it? Even for someone you don't know? It may even raise some questions that you could ask. At the same time, it doesn't tell you that much, and that can be as much of a hindrance for coming up with questions as saying too much can. It's really up to you what's too much and too little. Here's a more detailed version! Some things have been left vague or confusing in such a way that they could be filled in after being revealed through asks and play. That way, people are encouraged to/given ideas of what to ask--and you can still share things in the long run.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [N/A]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: somewhere in her 30's, maybe even a little older

Origins: Tokyo, with some sort of connection to at least one other world

Profession: Professor of [?] at [?] Academy; Witch

Role & Rule: [?] & [?]

Artifact, Summon, Familiar?: Always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and some sort of man-rat? She also carries around a book that's labeled as a Grimoire, but it's rare for someone to be both a summon-user and an Artifact-user. . . .

Apperance: A fidgety older woman wearing a labcoat and a witch's hat. She looks quite stressed and has trouble sitting still. Her ashy brown hair is thin and a little wavy, with some strands of gray. Although she often squints, she doesn't wear glasses. She carries around a lot of books relating to maths and sciences and one labeled 'Grimoire' decorated with arcane symbols from Gehenna and Old Ones. She's always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and a very short, bearded man who can best be described as a brown rat therian with a human-like face. Sometimes there's a normal rat on her person or in her pockets.

Personality: Kezia is a fidgety and anxious magic practitioner. She's very curious about other worlds and has been since the Gates appeared in this Tokyo since she was a child, however she has been pursuing magic before then. She often appears somewhat confused about or fascenated by even her usual surroundings, but, at other times moves through the world with confidence even in unfamiliar territory. She also likes rats and other rodents, and as such will often avoid felines and birds of prey. She has a tendency to disappear, seeming to walk through walls despite assuredly being alive.

She's a little bit awkward with people, but somehow keeps up with Nyarlathoteps nonetheless. She's a good teacher, once she figures out how to explain things in ways others can understand easily, but can be a bit difficult to follow and flighty up until then. Aware of this, she's rather patient, if a little down on herself at times. However, she most often simply has her mind elsewhere. Despite this and the company she keeps, she's relatively sane. . .most of the time.

She shares a name with a witch from the world of Old Ones who made a pact with Nyarlathotep, believing him to be the Devil. . .and the ratman always at her side uses the same name as that witch's familiar as well. It's. . .probably just a coincidence. . .who would rightfully make a pact with Nyarlathotep?

History: Kezia is an adult human from this Tokyo before the apperance of the Gates and construction of the Walls. She's explored various witchcraft pursuits since she was a child, with what was originally a mere imaginative curiosity and fascination. After the arrival of the Gates when she was still young, she snuck over the fences built around one and attempted to go inside the massive pillar of light, which she attributes to the reason she often seems to struggle with her vision. Several years later, she performed a successful summon and she recieved her familiar, Brown Jenkin, transformed into a somewhat therian form from one of her pet rats, and was given some powers from Nyarlathotep. She has no discernable control over any of the chaotic creatures, however they seem to spend time around her regardless.

At present she's a professor of a subject that interests her at a certain college. She's had other dangerous run-ins due to her excitement over the arcane and "darker" arts, but doesn't seem to show any signs of stopping. However, after an incident in an attempt to explore time itself, she encountered a certain guardian of time and feels reluctant for once to explore it further. . .although she's become quite a big fan of his.

. . .i ran out of steam amd kinda lost track of where i was going. idk if that helped at all really. But maybe it did! I hope it did. You don't need to use any of those things exactly by any means, but that's the kind of thing you usually see in profile pages. Basics like someone's name and birthday and age and apperance and a little about their personality, maybe some history. Oftentimes things like powers and weapons and the like. Interests, hobbies, ways they could be intereacted with, etc. Just stuff that'd help you know the character.

I write everything in paragraph form, but everyone is more than welcome to use a more script format. I love making profiles, myself--it really helps to think about the character and details about them. Normally I make really, really detailed profiles, but maybe I'll try and be more simple about it this time around. depends on how i'm feeling.

I know this seems weirdly hypocritical given I don't have one but when I first made this blog there were like four of us including myself. I didn't see the need for a rules or profile page because I didn't anticipate that there'd be so many of us or, like, people from other fandoms or who aren't familiar with certain characters. I'll rectify that soon hopefully. But I figured I'd pass along this idea/knowledge to others.

. . .I'm gonna go reopen my askbox now. Feel free to send asks again, ask about this, etc! You can send me an IM too if you want. I'll properly close up the guest event tomorrow. I'm real tired rn lol so idk how much i'll get done, but i usually do things super late at night my time, so i have some time to pull my shit together haha))

[blu-archer]

Sharing is Caring?

Just some more AU sickness because why not?

snz based

Sickie: Tae - mild Jimin

Caretaker: Jimin [kind of?]

m/m [squinting at Yoonmin] and mentions of what I’m poorly portraying as ace. I’ve never tried to write about it before so forgive any misrepresentation please..

anyway...

Apart of this little universe; Flower shop and Bakery au 

This piece mostly felt like me rambling, but it was kind of fun so I’m posting it.. sorry for any errors

-

-

Taehyung sniffled as discretely as possible as he wondered through the isles of the large supermarket, doing his best to avoid people even though he had made sure to grab a face mask before leaving the apartment to avoid spreading his germs. Technically they could be considered Jimin’s germs… but he wasn’t one to blame his platonic soulmate.

After all, they lived together. This outcome was inevitable.

 So he hovered awkwardly through the store trying to move as quickly as possible by grabbing immediate necessities rather than the usual browsing of the shelves. And after the desperate sneezes that had surprised him by the canned foods and had kicked his headache into 5th gear, he wanted nothing more than to already be at home and back in bed.  

The photographer paused a bit away from the freezer holding the ready-made meals – something that had become a must-have for the pair if they wanted to survive living together – waiting for the few people there to finish before he made his own snatch. He blinked lazily at the rows of boxes that he could just barely make out. He would have to grab a few, they hadn’t done ‘grocery’ shopping for the month and it had come back to bite them. The few supplies he’d gotten days before had dwindled to nothing in a blink of an eye. He’d woken up that morning looking for food so he could take his next dose of medication and had been met with a small portion of days old take out from the noodle place down the street and what was left of the soup Jimin’s boss had dropped off for him after he’d called in sick.

And Tae was getting really tired of soup, despite only being on his second day of feeling like warm death.

So he had taken the courageous, probably mildly stupid, step to go shopping. They needed more tissues anyway, and he didn’t really know anyone in the area that well yet despite having moved a few months ago so it’s not like he could make a plea for help.

Jimin had been thoroughly knocked out in his bed with a mound of extra blankets that hadn’t moved from their place since Yoongi had put them there after bringing the smaller man home from work the day before. So Taehyung had just scribbled a brief note and pinned it onto his door so that Jimin would know where he was if the slim chance of the elder waking up did actually happen.

A gap formed as a couple broke away from the freezer and Tae swiftly slipped in front of it, muffling a cough into his arm before he made a move to slide open the glass top. Taehyung was jolted from his actions as something – a body, definitely a small body – crashed into his legs, immediately reaching out with one hand to steady the child that wobbled upon impact even though his own balance wavered drastically. Thank god for fast reflexes, if he hadn’t dropped his basket and rested his hand on the freezer then he probably would’ve fallen straight on his ass. That would have been almost as embarrassing as the canned food isle incident just minutes before. This day just wasn’t getting better.

He had just barely looked down at the small boy who had almost caused his next disaster when his foggy attention was dragged away to the next rapidly approaching figure.

 “Sehjoon!” An exasperated voice snapped before the small boy was pulled from Tae’s weak grasp. “I’m so sorry, he’s wild. Did he-“The man’s eye widened a bit and then he smiled, losing some of the tension in his body. “Its Taehyung, right? Jimin’s new roommate?”

 Tae blinked, nodding slowly although he couldn’t really be considered ‘new’ since a few months had already passed, and it wasn’t the first time that he’d shared a space with Jimin. The man looked familiar, and he clearly knew who he was, which meant he was probably one of Jimin’s friends from work. Taehyung tried not to feel too bad about not remembering whose name went with which face, he was often busy with his own work when Jimin would tell him about what happened during his working hours, so he couldn’t be expected to remember too many details. It was a similar situation when he tried to explain to Jimin the different editing terms while trying to perfect whatever photos he had done. He couldn’t count the numbers of times he’d just watched his best friends eyes glaze over with some familiar vague nodding.

 “I’m Hoseok, we met a while back when you first moved here.”

The man seemed to ooze happiness as he picked the boy up to rest him on his hip. Taehyung shuffled on his feet. He was a little unsure of what to say next. Usually he didn’t struggle with making conversation, but his head felt like it was filled with cotton, he couldn’t be faulted for this flaw of character right now.

 “Sorry,” Hoseok chuckled, rubbing at his neck with his free hand. “Jimin speaks about you all the time and even Jungkook and Jin mention you every once it in a while, it kind of feels like I know you.”

 “Uh…oh. Yeah. Jimin speaks about you a lot too.” Tae replied, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. His voice coming out deeper and with the beginnings of the congestion he’d hoped wouldn’t come so soon in the day. He cleared his throat in hopes that it would help. “The florist, right? With Yoongi?”

 It clearly didn’t help.

Hoseok’s smile faltered, turning more sympathetic. As if he had quickly pieced the obvious together.

 “Yeah, that’s me.” He shifted the boy on his hip when small hands grappled to be let down. Hoseok dropped his smile for a moment to give a stern look of disapproval that seemed to work like a spell over the boy as he went silent and placid in the mans hold. “I’m sorry about Sehjoon here. My sister asked me to look after him for the day and I think she both underestimates my babysitting capabilities and overestimates her sons behaviour. I was actually sent out of work for a bit because Yoongi needed a break from this level of chaos… Hey, he didn’t hurt you or anything right?”

 “Oh, no. No.” Tae gave a croaky laugh that irritated his throat. It already felt rough from the amount of coughing he’d done during the night and it appeared that he was nowhere close to being done with that. Turning away, he coughed deeply into his arm, twisting away despite wearing a mask, and winced at the spark of pain that had shot into him. God, he was so over this cold. “Sorry. He barrelled into me, but he would probably be at more risk of hurting himself than me. Has a hard head though. Definitely able to knock some people out with that.”

 That brought a bubble of sudden laughter from the other man that left Tae slightly bemused and yet, it was an odd feeling watching Hoseok laugh. A warmth of sorts spread over Taehyung when the man tossed his head back and seemed to glow as his shoulders shook. It was more contagious than Jimin’s illness and Taehyung couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the man as he began to tease his nephew shamelessly about being a new weapon of destruction. The boy simply whined and curled his head into Hoseok’s neck, apparently not seeing the same humour as his uncle.

  “I should get him a leash to be honest.” Hoseok joked, but Tae had a feeling the glint in the mans eyes meant he was deeply considering it.

 Taehyung didn’t really know how to reply so he just nodded slowly and turned his attention back to the freezer, recollecting his basket before just grabbing a few different meals at random and tossing them in with the juice and tissues he’d already gotten. Whatever it was he and Jimin would eat it whether they liked it or not. He had been out longer than he wanted to be by now and he wasn’t wasting more time on things that they probably wouldn’t taste much of anyway considering how this cold was progressing.

 “Not much of a cook?”

 Tae glanced to Hoseok who seemed to be shifting his weight as he looked towards the meals casually.

Sniffing lightly, Taehyung tried to suppress the desire to rub at his nose through the mask. He shrugged, his hand moving up to brush some hair from his eyes. “Never really learned. Jimin can’t either, but this is better than living off of take out.”

 “I can see Jin rolling in his figurative grave.” Hoseok chuckled. “If you want I can mention to Jungkook how I ran into you,  despite you clearly not feeling well. I can guarantee that you and Jimin will get visited by Yoongi and Jin with at least a months-worth of premade meals to be frozen because they heard from Jungkook that you were both malnourished and possibly dying.”

 He blushed at the call out on being sick, but to be fair, he hadn’t thought he’d run into anyone that would actually talk to him or that this store would be so busy during work hours. He also didn’t doubt Jungkook’s ability to exaggerate, Jimin had told him about some previous examples that had at the time probably caused Jin a lot of stress. It mostly seemed innocent but very few could look into Jungkook’s eyes and not believe everything he tells them. Tae had only just started speaking to him more and he already knew that.

“Please don’t. I can’t even bear to look at soup after these past few days and I have a feeling that would be a strong contender of what one would give a sick person.” Against his original will, he rubbed a finger to his nose as it twitched with an itchy irritation. “I need to get home actually; we had no food left so I should try to get back before Jimin wakes up. And I am about ready to sleep for the next week.”

 “Oh wow. So you really are in need of pre-made meals filled with some love and care.” Hoseok’s voice dipped into one similar to how he had teased his nephew. “Well, I won’t keep you then. You should get home and rest, but if you want to take me up on sending the s.o.s. message for food delivery, Jimin has my number.”

 Taehyung thanked the elder man shakily, and even managed to get a small wave bye from the boy, barely having time to hear the small apology for bumping into him before he abruptly turned away and buried his face into his elbow.

 H’EESH..hH’HEGXSHhh..

 There was a startled ‘oh’ and then deep chuckles. Taehyung winced as he gave a liquid sniff with a low groan, feeling even more congested than before.

 “ ‘cuse ‘be.”

 “Bless you,” Hoseok laughed with a hand instinctively holding his nephew closer. He dipped his head in a small bow. “Sorry, it’s not funny. That sounded awful, but I got a fright and now I feel dumb for jumping.”

 If he had blushed before, then this was him setting himself alight. That had never happened before, he’d never scared someone with his sneeze. Jimin was never going to let him live that down.

 “I’ll leave you be now,” the man grinned. “Go home and get some rest. But when you feel better we should hang out some time. Jimin speaks about you all the time and I just think it would be great to see more of you… like with everyone. Welcome you to the city properly.”

 “I…yeah. Okay.” Taehyung brushed his hands through his hair and took a starting step back, trying to hold back any more sniffling. “I’ll see you around then.”

 “Feel better soon, Taehyung, and get home safely.”

 ******************* 

HEESHHU..H’HIESHH…snfff.. … Heh..h..hhh..HHeGXTCHh…hnnxgGTSCHew!... nghHEHHSHH!!!

 Taehyung panted out hot hitchy breaths as the tissue box was set in front of him as an offering. He laid a hand on the box to take it, his other hand hovered desperately over his face as he geared up for the next sneeze. His teary eyes had barely blinked open before they were forced shut once more, his throat and head pulsed with each sneeze that ripped out of him.

 “Ble-e’hh-hh-ss yo-uishhhiew.. H’ingxtshh… hih’itishhew!”

 Taehyung grabbed a few tissues and let Jimin keep the box as the elder coughed and crumpled into the seat beside him, before following Tae’s example of blowing his nose tiredly.  

 After shopping, Taehyung had managed a slow drive back to the apartment with multiple stops to tear open one of the tissue boxes he’d bought. It hadn’t helped much, and he had felt progressively worse as the minutes ticked by until he’d made it into the house, where he had promptly collapsed onto the couch with his tissues – only having to get up again to dump the food he’d bought in the fridge and freezer before sluggishly dragging himself to the couch once more..

When he’d been coaxed awake by Jimin gently shaking his shoulder, he had been met with a dim early afternoon sun and a plate a steamy food that had definitely been nuked in the microwave for longer than necessary. And from there they hadn’t really moved much, other than Jimin having forced some medicine into them and making tea before joining Tae on the couch.

There was some drama playing softly on their tv, but neither of them really had the energy to focus on it properly and Tae could barely hear the dialogue anyway once the congestion in his sinuses began to interfere with his ears. Jimin had dragged in a blanket from his room and draped it over both of them as Tae added to the pile of used tissues that had begun to form on the floor in front of them. Nothing seemed to stop the constant tickle that plagued him, nor his noses inability to do what he wanted. Tae was considering just stuffing his nose with tissues at this point. Since the trip to the supermarket his nose had turned into a mess that was seemingly draining the life out of him. Jimin had assured him that despite what he thought, it would get better, but he was sure that his friend was just trying to be his usual hopeful self. Always ready to reassure and look out for him.

At least they were suffering together. That was an upside. Jimin claimed to be feeling a lot better than the day before and it seemed to be mostly true, he was definitely being more active than Tae wanted to be. Although that could also have just a factor of the smaller man sleeping like the dead for almost 20 hours and Taehyung thinking it was wise to leave the apartment earlier. He was just deeply glad that he wasn’t alone again.

 Tae hated being alone. Even when he was well, he’d tried living by himself before and it had eaten at him mentally. It’s a big reason why he had convinced Jimin to find a new apartment that they could share when he switched towns, instead of just finding a cheap single flat somewhere. Thankfully his Soulmate had been searching for something already, so he didn’t feel like too much of an inconvenience. Jimin had always teased him relentlessly for needing people but never wanting relationships, always just content with a friend to cuddle up to or hang out with. Yet watching Jimin and others grow into bonds and commitments always made him doubt. Jimin meant well with his chirps and edgy teasing, but it always made Taehyung worry about his future.

What would he do when Jimin finally moved on in life? It’s not like anyone would want to invest in a person that would never give themselves entirely to a partner... He would never fall into the trap of letting someone take what he didn’t want to give again, yet that was all everyone seemed to want from him. … Maybe he’d start up a cuddle site, or a hug program, he’ll think of a way to get the skin ship he needed without being a bother or a hazard to himself.

 “You’re thinking too loud again…” Jimin whined hoarsely and sunk into Tae’s side, rubbing his cheek into the other shoulder as he curled into him. “Your brainwaves are hurting mine.”

 “You’d need a brain to have brainwaves, you’ll be fine.” Tae mumbled as he ran a tissue under his nose with a sniff and yelped out a weary laugh when Jimin pinched at his ribs.  

 “Asshole.” The elder snipped, but the smile in his voice was evident.

  It took no prompt for Jimin to snuggle even deeper into Taehyung’s embrace, relishing in the warmth despite the dampness that had begun to seep through Tae’s shirt. It would probably be wise for them both to get in the shower – at the very least to rinse off their sweat and germs – but they were far too comfortable to move. Tae felt as if his body had become moulded into the seat and the heat that was created between himself, Jimin and their blanket; paired with the medication he’d taken, only made him dozier. Even as his mind raced through various what-ifs of the future, his eyes gradually drifted shut up before jerking open with any sound or movement. Soft hands brushed soothingly up his side, edging him closer to sleep with low humming, and just as his eyes closed again there was a sharp knock at the door that caused both of them to groan.

 “If we ignore it, they might think we’re not here.” Jimin whispered.

 Ah…H’ERSHH! ..

 “Never-“

 HE’ETCHSHH!!

 “… Never mind. Thank you Taetae.”

.

.

“Sorry..”

Another softer, more hesitant knock sounded through the apartment as Jimin pushed himself to his feet and handed control of the tissue box to Tae solemnly. He accepted it more desperately than he would have liked, but Jimin wasn’t going to judge him considering he’d been in the same situation just the day before.

 With a reluctant sigh, Jimin tried not to shiver against the loss of heat. “I’ll go see who it is then.”

  The photographer pushed himself up to sit cross legged instead off slouched down in the seat while Jimin left the room, so he could blow his nose as productively as he possible. Although his nose ached after so much blowing and he had immediately tumbled into a bout of coughing that had left him gasping and spitting into a tissue with a grimace, so he couldn’t really call it all that productive when it ultimately made him feel worse. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a yawn before considering just going to sleep anyway. From the front door he could vaguely make out Jimin’s voice – deeper and scratchier than usual – as he spoke with familiarity.

 Hopefully it wasn’t their neighbour. She had been hounding them about tidying up their balcony that, quite frankly, wasn’t that bad. Sure, it had way too many dead and dying plants and the chair out there had definitely seen better days, but if she didn’t like seeing it, she didn’t have to go out of her way to look. It wasn’t like they shared it.  

He leaned his head back to rest on the back of the couch and shut his eyes once more, trying to force himself to sink into sleep, yet it was now low grumbling and airy giggles kept him from rest. Irritated, he shifted so that he lay curled up on his side, tossing his heavy limbs around until he’d managed to get the soft, fluffy blanket over his body completely and tucked under his chin. Now if Jimin could get back so that he could at least have someone to cling onto, then he’d be ecstatic.

 Muffled coughing grew closer until Taehyung heard Jimin call out to him just loud enough to not disturb his penetrating, consistent headache.

 “Look,” Jimin practically collapsed on top of the photographer holding a small bouquet. He slid off quickly when the force of the landing set off Taehyung’s own thicker and hoarser coughs. “Sorry but look what Yoongi brought.”

 Ah… so there was a definite hold on the ‘cuddle’ part planned in their day. Once he didn’t think his throat was going to rip to pieces, Taehyung blinked heavily at the various bright flowers that had probably been put together with more thought and precision than he could possibly imagine in that moment. Clearly Yoongi had decided to call in a delivery, he wasn’t really surprised. Jimin’s eyes shone as if he truly hadn’t expected the florist to stop by, and Taehyung didn’t think the elder really cared what he thought about it, he had merely fallen into an instinctive habit. Although, Tae would have preferred not to be assaulted with things that would possibly trigger his sinuses.

He scrunched his nose and pushed away the hand that held the glorified weapons. There were quiet steps and a gentle murmur from behind them that he would have brushed off as him hearing things, if only Jimin didn’t glance up with such a warm, wide smile.

“Beau’iful Chim.” Tae sniffed and rolled so that the blankets rolled higher to hide his face.

 His cheeks were heated and Jimin turned his smile to him knowingly – albeit apologetic for letting Yoongi inside when Tae clearly just wanted Soulmate time. Jimin pressed a quick kiss to the small visible section of Tae’s damp forehead before getting to his feet with a stifled cough.

 “I’ll put these in water... You really didn’t have to come and check on me, you know.” Jimin said softly as he walked towards their kitchen. “Probably safer to just call.”

 “I’m not scared of getting sick, Jimin.” A low voice that could only be Yoongi, reassured as he followed the other. – So more than a delivery then.-  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after yesterday. Hobi said he ran into Taehyung earlier… Although from the looks of things he should have probably stayed home, poor guy sounds worse than you did – than you do.”    

 Jimin hummed, and Taehyung shifted to cover his head entirely beneath the blanket, trying not to listen to the couples conversation. Maybe he should just move somewhere else and let them have some space without having to hide in the kitchen. Of course Yoongi would have to accept the fact that he was entering an area of disease, but he seemed more than willing considering he was already in their home.

Tae gave a sigh and then a deep sniffle. He plucked a fresh tissue to wipe at the tender skin under his nose. It took a moment to work up the energy but eventually he was able to twist so that he practically rolled off of the couch. His knees and hand connecting a lot harder than he’d predicted to the floor, while trying to keep the blanket as steady as possible on his hunched frame. With sluggish motions, he tried to sweep most of the used tissues up with his hands and dumped them into the wastepaper bin kicked under the table, then after achingly persistent hitch started up that had left him feeling frustrated at the lack of relief – he considered the area clean enough before standing unsteadily. Making sure the blanket was wrapped tightly over his shoulders, he grabbed the tissue box to take with him – Jimin could find something else, he felt he needed them more. Then he had almost tripped on the way to his room and had muttered half-hearted curses at the blanket for betraying him and getting caught up in his steps, until finally he was able to collapse onto his bed.

Sure it was cold and probably smelt of sweat but it was at least more comfortable than where he had been lying and it had pillows that he could hug in replacement of Jimin. He buried his face into his arm almost immediately, sneezing harshly twice before he was able to bring a tissue to his nose and smother three more, breaking off into an exhausted, thick cough that left him feeling miserable and wanting nothing more to recollect the bottle of medicine he’d taken earlier and take the rest of it.

God, he really was so over this stupid cold.

[flying-guinea-pig]

Not What He Seems (ch.1)

(Prefer to read this on AO3?)

(It’s happening folks. The big reveal, four years in the making.)

NotWhat He Seems: Chapter 1

Thomas' heart always beat a little faster when he summoned something, even after several years in this job. It was the thrill of calling a powerful being into this reality with only your wits and some chalk lines as protection.

Beëlzebob was an intermediate-level demon. He took the appearance of every cliché devil ever - hairy black goat legs, a ridiculously buff and gleaming red upper body, large curled horns. The works.

He was also not cooperating at all.

"You are... di̵s̢tra͢c̢te͜d," the demon whispered, his voice echoing back strangely from the corners of the summoning lab. The shadows seemed to thicken.

Thomas kept his face impassive. These were just some special effects, after all. His binding circle was perfect, he didn't need to worry.

"I have outlined our offer in this document. These are the terms you have previously discussed at length with my colleague," he said, reaching out slightly to hand Beëlzebob the carefully rolled up contract. "All should be in order."

The demon unrolled it and took his sweet time reading it through. He would make a good addition to the safe summons list, despite being a bit higher level than their usual choices. This old-fashioned approach, with the written contract and all - it would teach the students to be patient and give them time to focus on the details before shaking on anything.

"Yes," the demon said, dragging a black claw over the parchment. "These terms are acceptable. However, there is one issue."

"Is there?"

A horrible, fanged grin. "The contract must be written in your o̦̰͚w̮̮n̬͇̹̕ blood, mortal."

Maybe it was his experience with grandstanding demons, or Tyrone had been rubbing off on him, but Thomas was not impressed. "That wasn't in the agreement."

"You will rewrite it. Ḩè̲̙͙̩̤r̦e̹̦ ͏͕̥a̝̱̺͟n̘͔d ̛̦̱̲̖n̩͈̪o̰̻͓͓͢w̺͍͎̦.̪̣͇̩́"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, mildly. Seriously? All that work was just wasted? Typical. He was not going to use his own blood to write it, sheesh. With all those clauses and addendums the thing was way too long. Not to mention willingly given human blood had power - power that wasn't a part of this offer.

The shadows twisted - the candles flared. "You will, little mortal, or I will step over this boundary and write it myself, straight from your veins."

"This attitude is not convincing me you're a good fit for our list."

"You have summoned me and I will not leave without my deal!" Red-tinged smoke filled the circle, edging over the chalk lines and spreading into the room. It stank of sulphur and decay.

Thomas coughed. Dramatics aside, maybe it was time to get rid of Beëlzebob. Too bad, Hicks would be disappointed to cross off another name on the safe summons list… It had shrunk a lot in the past years. If this kept up their students would soon only get to summon the Organ Duck. If they couldn’t offer a proper practical education they might eventually run out of interested students as well, which was bad news for the survival of the demonology department.

"Whoa, did someone drop a rotten egg in here?"

Tyrone usually didn't barge in during summonings, especially when they were trying to get more demons for the safe summons list, but this time Thomas didn't mind. The open door let in some fresh air and that was very welcome at the moment.

Tyrone entered the room, waving away some of the smoke. "Hey, Hicks mentioned you wanted to have a talk?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Thomas said, distracted. The smoke was dissipating with record speed and Beëlzebob was visible again, staring at Tyrone in abject terror. "I'm a bit busy right now though."

"Do you need any help?" Tyrone offered. His smile was perfectly friendly.

Thomas glanced at Beëlzebob. "As a matter of fact, he was just leaving."

"Yes! Yes indeed," the demon hurried to say. "Just leaving. Right now. I’m going. Big misunderstanding, you know how it is, have to be somewhere else, goodbye now!"

“Thanks buddy," Tyrone said. "Very accommodating of you, leaving without a deal like that. I will remember this. Here, have a snack."

With a snap of his fingers a familiar deep-fried ball appeared, partly wrapped in a festive paper towel.

Beëlzebob caught it with a flinch and popped away without another sound.

“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“Just a second, let me clean up first.” He frowned at Tyrone. “Speaking of cleaning up, what happened to your shirt?”

“What?” Tyrone glanced down at the brown stains on his usually so crisp white shirt, and made a face. “Aw man, seriously?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I bumped into Banerjee on my way here. He was carrying samples. And he didn’t even apologize, can you believe it?”

Banerjee was the Cryptozoology department’s newest hire, working on his doctorate involving – honestly, Thomas had no idea, he just knew it involved a lot of mud. He wasn’t aware of Tyrone’s true identity. The university staff tried to keep that one under wraps. Parents might object to their children coming to a university where Alcor the Dreambender was frequently hanging around.

“He owes me a new shirt.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can literally make it brand new with a thought.”

“He doesn’t know that. It’s about the principle of the thing.”

Shaking his head, Thomas set to work. To his students it often came as a surprise that practical demonology involved a lot of cleaning up. The preparations were extensive, of course, but afterwards someone had to put away the candles and mop up the chalk, blood, and other assorted fluids the demons occasionally left behind. Beëlzebob in particular had left footprints of some kind of sulphurous ooze that he probably shouldn’t handle without gloves…

Safely removing summoning circles was an art, really. It’s not like you could just start scrubbing away with these things – the outer part was usually the binding circle, and you never knew if the demon was still hanging around, invisible, waiting for you to make a mistake. Not that he expected something to happen while Alcor the Dreambender was literally waiting at the door, but proper caution was a good habit to have.

“You know, I could clean this up for you with a snap of my fingers,” Tyrone mused, lounging against the wall while he waited. His shirt held no trace of the brown stains.

“Are you offering?”

“For free?”

Thomas snickered at the almost scandalous look on Tyrone’s face. Put down his cleaning supplies. He had planned to do this differently, but you know what? Now might be as good a time as ever. And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to put Tyrone off-balance for a moment? “How about a deal then?”

Tyrone perked up.

“You get this room back to its cleaned-up, usable state,” said Thomas, and felt the smile break through on his face. “In return, you get to be my best man.”

To his credit, it didn’t take Tyrone long to realise. “Thomas! You finally popped the question then?”

“Yep. I said I was going to do it soon, this can’t be a surprise –“

“And she said yes?”

“We did talk about it beforehand, you know –“

“Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Thomas grinned. “So, what do you say? Fair warning though, being my best man comes with certain responsibilities. Making sure I’m on time at the wedding and such.”

Organising the stag night as well, technically. Though Thomas suspected Brad already had some thoughts in that direction.

“I’ve been someone’s best man before, I know how it goes,” Tyrone said. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Thomas.”

The room around them shifted, the magical arrays fading away and taking the trailing odour of brimstone with them.

Tyrone’s expression shifted too, as he let go of Thomas’ hand.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem upset?”

“I am happy for you,” Tyrone said. “It’s just… you’re getting old.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean – look at you! Getting married. Maybe kids and a house, soon.”

“I’m not buying a house on a teacher’s salary,” Thomas said. “The rest… who knows? We’ll see how it goes. Is that what’s upsetting you? That I’m growing up?”

Tyrone shrugged awkwardly. He seemed smaller somehow. “You’re going to be very busy with all that – that life stuff. It’s happening already. Everyone is so busy. Your dates with Elisha, Eddy’s got his new job, Brad’s mucking around in his dad’s company - when was the last time we all hung out, just for fun? Not because it was someone’s birthday or anything? It’s been ages since we had a game night.”

That… had been a while, true. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. There are more demands on your time, you get to juggle more responsibilities.”

“I’m not getting older.”

“Right.” Thomas took a deep breath.  “Listen, so… we’re busy more often. And it’s not like in college, where we all could just hang out all the time. But you’re basically part of the family, Tyrone. Alcor. You’ll always have a place here. And I’m sure the rest of the gang would say the same.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Thomas said. And smiled, to lighten the mood. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You’d just miss all the amazing deals I make with you.”

“Of course” Thomas said, glad Tyrone was now teasing instead of moping. “I’m clearly only using you for your clout as Alcor. You’ve made my life so much easier.”

Tyrone mimed a gasp. “Sarcasm, Thomas? Ouch.”

“Not entirely sarcasm,” Thomas admitted. “You do make my life easier, sometimes. When you feel like it. For instance, vanishing that sulphurous stuff Beëlzebob left behind, I was not looking forward to handling that. The smell lingered.”

Tyrone suddenly looked way too innocent. “Oh, I didn’t exactly vanish it.”

Oh Stars. “What did you do?”

“Might have put it somewhere. Like, oh, I dunno… Banerjee’s car.”

Thomas facepalmed. Serves him right for making a vague deal like that. “Is it at least safe?”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Tyrone!”

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I promised not to deliberately harm the university’s students and faculty, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“All this for an accidental stain on your shirt, really?”

Tyrone folded his arms in front of him. “He didn’t apologize.”

Thomas shook his head, exasperated.

Demons. They really knew how to hold grudges.

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

The Mindscape was a vast, endless realm where the strong hunted the weak and territories were defined, invaded, and redefined. This was the place where demons lived, and they didn’t like each other any better than they liked humans. The collective noun for a group of demons, as they say, is ‘a carnage’. Teaming up was rare, and more often than not ended in the stronger one destroying the other as soon as their goal was met. That was just the natural order of things.

Even so, sometimes even they needed a neutral place to go. Somewhere deals could be made without worrying about being devoured. This place was the Midway Bar, run by a demon known only as the Bartender, and for the past six years it had attracted a group of regulars.

They took over the table in the corner. Sometimes the group lost a member, occasionally it gained one. They weren’t here to make deals. They were here to drown their misery and sneak away before a stronger demon took advantage of their intoxication to ambush them outside these walls.

Beëlzebob entered the Midway Bar. He went straight to the Bartender, who after a short conversation pointed in the direction of the gloomy table in the corner.

“Get lost,” Flaga the Eagle-winged said, at his approach.

The demon next to her, who mostly looked like a giant fungus with teeth, curled a green tendril around their glass. “Yeah. This is a private party.”

Beëlzebob paused. He was stronger than each of them, he knew. But this was no place for threats. “Apologies for the interruption. May I sit?”

That wasn’t how demons talked to each other, especially not to a bunch of low-levels like them. They shared a suspicious glance. The one across from Flaga, some kind of feathered crocodile hybrid, raised his empty glass meaningfully.

Of course. “Listening can parch the throat so,” Beëlzebob said. “Let me get those refilled for you, and then we̙̮'̥͉̘ll̟̮ ț̳̮a̪̩̗̥l̯̹̹k̰.”

[t-o-m-hollands]

And so finally here it is, the fourth and final part of this series.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut. One scene contains memories back to an emotionally abusive relationship (not between main characters). This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up). Also features a PROFOUND misunderstanding of Nietzsche’s work.

Summary: Can you and Timothée make a life together?

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

READ THE PREVIOUS THREE CHAPTERS HERE,

this is the final part of this series.

August, 1953

The days are spent like this, one much like the other, settling into life without either one of you ever really noticing. The future is never mentioned more than a few days ahead and all plans are made for the day only.

But without really meaning to, you both make a home out of villa Marguerite.

Timmy buys a vespa from a man in town. It’s rusty and old but steers easily. His sore feet thanks him for no longer having to walk up and down the long hill each time you’ve forgotten to buy something in the village, instead he now just swings his leg over the saddle and swiftly sets out to buy it for you (“unpitted black olives, please”).

Each night you insist on doing the cooking, telling him you find pleasure in it; and well, who is he to deny you anything that brings you joy? So each night you cook and after the food and the wine shared on the terrace he goes back inside to do the dirty dishes. With shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows he sets to work, going over each utensil with great care. Louise snickers at him most nights, tells him there’s no need, that it is her job; looks at him with a knowing smirk he can’t quite translate to meaning. Still, he does the washing up. Wants to do it. Loves the domesticity of it, you cooking; feeding the both of you, and him cleaning after; helping out.

*

One afternoon as the sky above shifts in shades of pink and lilac Timothée and Marco sit by the square, playing chess. Marco is winning, a habit he has when they are playing together. Timothée in turn is trying not to sulk, something he spectacularly fails at, which is entertaining Marco to no end.

It is not the losing that has got him in such a terrible mood.

You have had to go back to London for a few days, (“there are papers that need to be looked over and signed”).

“Honestly” Marco says, as he takes Timothée's queen. “Why don’t you just tell her you are crazy about her?”

“Afraid that ship’s sailed, mate” Timothée mutters, taking one of Marco’s pawns, a small victory indeed when one has just lost his queen. With his head resting on his folded arms on the table he observes the chess board in front of him with vague interest, trying to figure out Marco’s plan of action.

“Why’s that? She has clearly not kicked you out of the house so she must be somewhat fond of your sulking ass?”

Timothée snorts. “Fond? How nice, the word we save for people we can’t force ourselves to love”.

“Then why do you stay there? Leave. Find another woman, let yourself heal.”

Timothée’s head snaps up, and for a second he’s stunned silent. “No” he says eventually, but not after having first considered the idea. “ No, I can’t do that” he says. It is not as if Marco had suggested something impossible, like walking on water or turning water into wine. Timothée could leave. He could go back to your home, pack his bags and take the first train back to Paris. It would not be an equal action to that of the resurrection. Marco moves his queen across the board but Timothée isn’t looking, has his mind somewhere else; far away. For the first time he truly ponders about the option to leave. To start anew; to forget he ever met you.

But he doesn’t want to.

It’s as easy as that. Living with you, sharing space with you; why would he ever leave that? Even if he’ll never get to kiss your soft lips again he’d still stay. As long as he sees you in the morning, unguarded with tousled hair; drinking coffee he’s made you; as long as his days end with a meal shared with you, drinking wine and talking.

Marco waves a hand before him, a sly smile on his face, “your turn, Romeo”.

Timothée rolls his eyes and moves his king out of Marco’s queen’s way.

“And shack mate” Marco says, a broad smile on his face as he knocks Timothée’s king over with his knight. “Next time maybe keep your focus on the game” he adds, winking at him.

“Oh you fucker” Timothée grumbles, taking a swing from his wine glas.

*

Later that night as he walks home, having drunk much too much to drive, he hears a small, injured whimper. He stands very still for a moment, trying to ignore all other noise, before he hears the sound again. Following the injured mewling he soon discovers the source. It’s a kitten. Looking not older than a few weeks old and tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand, with fur completely black from head to paw and eyes shining yellow in the night. It looks strangely like a very small panther. It looks slightly worse for wear as well. Skinny and small and with uneven fur. The kitten looks up at him, opens its mouth and lets out the same whimpering sound once again.

Timothée stands up, presses the small animal against his chest to keep it warm, and takes him home. He lets it sleep in his bed and it curls up beside him and the next day he takes it to the vet; who informs him that the creature, all though underfed, is in perfectly good health.

When you come back from London the next day, face more strained than before but seemingly happy to be back, Timothée tells you the story.

“What have you named him?” you ask, scratching the purring kitten behind his ear.

“Well, I thought that maybe you should be with me on the decision” he says, watching you pet his newfound friend.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well,” Timothée begins, suddenly shy. “I was thinking maybe Chopin?”

You smile at him, with genuine fondness in your eyes, and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Chopin it is. It was very good of you to save him, Timothée”.

And something like hope blooms in his chest.

That night as he lays in bed, Chopin sleeping on his chest, he reflects on his conversation with Marco and the words ‘let yourself heal’ comes back to him. The words had startled him, confused him, and maybe even shocked a little. He ponders over the words, the meaning and the implications, and decides that no. He cannot heal.

Because he is not wounded. He had been, after you left Paris that spring, he had been a wounded thing; a child who flew too close to what he wanted, only to find his wings melting and his body falling down into the sea.

But he wasn’t wounded anymore.

Through the other side of the wall he can hear how you walk around your room, going through the nightly routine. He hears the squeaking sound as you lay down on the big iron bed. Chopin purrs on his chest and Timothée closes his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

There’s no use in thinking ahead, he decides. What will be, will be.

*

September

Late one night Timothée is playing cards with some new-found friends.

Marco had finally given in and arranged a jazz night to Nathaniel’s and Timothée’s great joy. The Milanese jazz band consists of five free-spirited and unbound vagabonds. When they play the whole village square dances. After their performance Timothée, Nathaniel, Marco and the musicians sit down to play cards. The night passes and the rum flows as easy as the conversation. The room is quickly filled up with cigarette smoke and wild anecdotes of past victories. The musicians, although a cheerful lot, have not got much to bet with, so the stakes are kept low and the spirits high.

So how exactly it came about that Marco lost the old piano in the bistro to Timothée no one can remember the following day, for the details are blurry and stained by drink. Nevertheless, as they wave the five musicians off the following morning, it is clear to them both that Marco owes him a piano.

“Ridiculous” Marco grumbles, his Italian accent clearer when aggravated, as he and Timothée push the piano up to the truck. “You can’t even play the damn thing!”

Timothée snorts, “I can learn!”

“Oh really?” Marco bursts out, sarcasm heavy in his words “like how you’ve ‘learned’ Italian you mean?”

Sweat runs down his back, the afternoon sun is bearing down on them and the heat feels like a physical pressure against his skin. “I speak perfect Italian, thank you very much” he defends himself.

It is Marco’s time to snort, which he does with great satisfaction before announcing “speaking French while putting on an Italian accent is in fact not speaking Italian at all”.

His head is pounding; but he is in a good mood and so he laughs. With much effort and even more grumbling from Marco they manage to load the heavy thing inside the rented truck and after having driven it up the hill they carry it into the villa. Deciding to place the instrument in the drawing room they lean on each other’s shoulder for a bit, trying to catch their breath; laughing.

He offers the older man a beer, but Marco declines; has a business to get back to.

So Timothée steps out into the burning sun on his own, the stone floor of the terrace scorching his bare feet. The world feels peaceful in all its golden glory. He can hear the rhythmic waves of the ocean far below, the radio playing in the kitchen; the seagull’s calling in the sky. He takes a deep breath and tastes the salt of sea water on his tongue.

His oil paints and canvas are still where he left them yesterday, a half-finished attempt of a sunrise pictured on it. On the table stand a vase with bright blue hyacinth and blood red poppies that you must have picked.

For a few minutes he just stands there, soaking in the sun. With unhurried fingers he starts to unbutton his white linen shirt. Removing it he lays it on the sunchair beside him and his trousers soon follow suit. Turning away from the sun he walks down the hot stony steps by the terrace and down to the private beach. It’s a long walk down, but he feels a great need to wash himself clean of the sweat, the dirt, the booze from last night.

With his eyes glued on the steps in front of him he makes his way down, and only as he jumps the last hot stone does he rise his head; and he sees you. You are already out in the water, swimming on the spot, your face turned towards the horizon. He clears his throat, not wanting to pry on you, nor does he want to scare you. He fails, as you turn around, startles, and lets out a sharp gasp.

“Hi,” he says, feeling awkward, shifting from foot to foot, aware that he is only in his underwear. “Didn’t know you were here”.

“’s alright” you say, sinking down into the water slightly.

Knowing not where else to look he looks down at the ground, spotting with surprise a white towel thrown on the sand, next to your dress. It is only then he realizes that you are completely naked.

“Mind if I take a swim as well?” he asks. He’s almost certain that you will ask him yes; tell him to wait until you are done but you just shake your head.

“Hop in” you say “the water’s nice and cool”. And so he asks you to turn around, so that he too can rid himself of his last remaining piece of clothing before walking out on the jetty and jumping down into the deep water.

Swimming out to you he keeps a few meters distance out of respect. The water is still somewhat clear, and he doesn’t want to peep, even by mistake.

And so there, wading in the water, avoiding the others eyes, you both watch as the sea and sky in front of you slowly turn from vibrant blue to lilac as the sun begins its journey down the horizon.

“I, eh, I won a piano” he says eventually, wanting to break the somewhat awkward silence. You turn to him, wading the water, surprise written on your face. “A piano?”

“Yeah, put it in the drawing room, hope that was okay?”

You laugh, the sound clear and bright and something flutters in Timothée’s stomach like the wings of a butterfly. He tells you the story of how he came by it and you laugh some more and he can’t help but smile at the sound, can’t help but stare himself blind at your beautiful face.

You swim on the spot and you talk; about everyday life, how you both think Louise has fallen in love with a baker in the village, about Chopin scratching on the furniture, about the pasta you had for lunch. About life in all its domestic simplicity.

You’re looking at the sun. It is the golden hour and it has painted you golden as well. You seem to shine in the light, laughing at something he’s said as you wade the water in front of you, the water golden as way; a reflection of the sky above. It hits him almost with brutal force, how beautiful you are. He looks at you thinks; Aphrodite, who entered the world fully formed, born out of sea foam, the goddess of love and beauty. You blink up at him, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly and his chest feels too tight, as if something inside where his heart should be is taking up too much space

Without either one having realized it you’ve swam closer to each other. You are so close that he could easily reach out and touch you; could easily lean in and taste the saltwater on your lips. You are looking at his mouth and he is wondering if that is what you want him to do but he is not sure and because he is afraid to ruin the tender friendship you have built by blundering in - he doesn’t. And you don’t either.

‘But, we used to be lovers’ he thinks. His body used to know your body like it was a continuation of his own. And perhaps that is why it hurts so bad to be parted from you.

“I should get back” you say in the end, avoiding his eyes. “We haven’t even had dinner yet”.

“Alright” he says “I’ll come join you in a minute”. He turns away from the beach, leaves you to get out of the water and get dressed in privacy.

*

Later that night there is dinner, and drinks, and your bare feet as you dance in the dining room to a jazzy tune, a glass of sangria in hand as Chopin runs circles around the hem of your dress. Later there is laughter as Timothée tries to teach you poker, something you turn out to be disastrously bad at.

And later somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

One day is much like another. You wake up in the morning and Timothée makes you coffee and you share it on the terrace. Then he paints and you move through the house; going through the things that need to be gone through, doing the tasks of the day. You read your correspondents and write your letters back.

You set out to the market, chat with the vendors. You learn their names and their stories and in turn they share their family recipes for the perfect pasta vongole or ratatouille. You buy your vegetables and bread, your fish and meat, your wine and cheese, excited for the dinner ahead.

Sometimes you go to the tailor and you share a cappuccino in the sun with Claudette, the old woman running it. You chat about clothes, of fashion in the past versus the fashion of now, about the passing of time. She tells you about the war and the occupation. Of the rationing of fabrics and how she has learned how to make each cut of cloth work - wasting nothing.

In her store you pick out a light floral pattern chiffon and Claudette turns it into a beautiful summer dress, so light and different from the heavier material you wore in London.

You buy handmade pottery from the woman in the square. Big pots and jars and urns that she’s crafted with her own hands and with handpainted flowers and patterns on them; made by her sister. You keep olive oil and flour and flowers in them, and place them around the house in their rightful place.

You go to the beach and you collect seashells. Bringing them with you home you tie them up on strings and you hang them by the terrace door and with each dust of wind the gentle noise of the seashells rattling against each other can be heard.

You don’t talk about the future and never plan ahead. You are not together; just two people living in the same house after all.

*

You watch him, laying on some faded old sheets on the terrace floor, soaking up sun. Timothée approaches sunbathing the way he does everything else in life; with reckless abandon. Despite Louise’s warning words that he’ll burn his pale skin he lays under the scorching sun for hours, wearing nothing on his skin but white bathing shorts. His nose has already turned an angry pinkish colour that will surely change to red soon. Beside him lay an open book, Robert Graves - The Greek Myths. His half-finished landscape painting of today lay abandoned on the table.

In the kitchen you hear the clattering of dishes as Louise does the washing up after lunch. She’s singing along to a tune on the radio and without looking you know that she is dancing.

Walking back into the house, up the steps and into your bedroom, you lay down on the bed. The bedchamber had been your aunt’s at one point and her style still lingers over the room like her old perfume, a bottle of which still lay on the antique vanity. A comforting presence.

Staring up at the white ceiling you’re trying to put a name to the feelings you’ve been having lately.

It feels, you decide, like you’re playing a game with the past and you’re not sure you’re winning. Going back to London had been a mistake. You had walked the same old streets, dined in the same old restaurants and met the same old people as you had when you lived there with Freddie. It had been a mistake to go back, and hear all the tittle-tattle gossip of the divorce, of your absence from the London scene. You had sat there, in the great white dining room of The Luxembourg, you’re back straight and poise perfected, and the gossiping tongues around you had played in your head like an orchestra. You had seen your dinner companions mouths moving, but the words all seemed distorted and slow, coming to you as in a haze. Your face feeling strangely taut, as if you were wearing a mask over your own skin, unable to move the mask's features.

The only success of the journey had been that it made you all the more certain of your decision; to sell the Mayfair flat and rid yourself of the London scene once and for all.

You had visited your parents as well. Had sat through a luncheon with them and calmly listened to their grief and despair over your split from Freddie. Had heard their praises and glorification of your former husband and you had kept quiet all the way through it, poking at your food and feeling rather sick.

In London baron Freddie Fairfax was a constant presence even in his absence.

Your marriage had consisted of days filled with silence. Days spent apart, seeing different people; living different lives. Thought not at all really, since it was all in the same small social circle. Any secret relieved between friends between crystal glasses of wine at lunch would not stay secret for long. By cocktail hour it’d be known by one and all of the tight-knitted, blue-blooded social circle you called friends. Any secret shared to a confidant would reach Freddie’s ears before the sun set, no matter how much time you spent apart; dining and drinking in different restaurants.

The evenings, if shared just the two of you, would either be spent in total silence; during which you would turn on the radio just to fill the space between you. In the night he would touch you, move in and out of you with sharp thrusts as you pretended to be somewhere else, his grunts filling the only sound in the night.

Or, if he was in one of his moods, the evenings would consist of him leaning over your shoulder, wherever you turned. Breathing down your neck. Always ready with a comment, a sly remark on your clothes, your face, your figure; you’re thoughts and opinions. On the things you said, or on your defeated silence. He never asked you any questions about yourself, had no curiosity about who you were or what you thought. The only exception was when he interrogated you about the men you conversed with, or at times about your female friends; how long you’d known them, if they were dating anyone. How attractive he found them.

Your feelings were his to toy with, because in his eyes you were his plaything to do with as he pleased. Because to Freddie love would always go hand in hand with possession and to you love would always mean hunger.

Hunger for something gentler, warmer, and altogether different. Hunger for someone else.

Pictures of dark curls play in your mind. Timothée, his eyes furrowed and a pencil in his mouth, looking at the canvas in front of him with great concentration. Timothée, with blue paint splattered on his pale cheek, the sun shining in through the dirty windows of his artist flat, illuminating him.

Timothée who had slowly helped you put yourself together again when you fled to Paris; thought he’d never asked for glory for his role in the mending of your heart.

Nevertheless, he had. With great care and gentle hands.

Once in Switzerland you had gone with your father to the horologist. Your father was to have his watch repaired. You had watched the horologist with great interest as he sat down by his desk, thick glasses resting on his nose as he opened the back of the clock. The old man had furrowed his grey brows and with great focus and piety set to work with repairing the complicated machinery of the timepiece. Putting it together with the expertise of a mechanic who not only knows how each fragile piece works but why.

That’s how you imagine Timothée loving you; with great precision, knowing just how every piece of you fit.

And so maybe in the end that is what love means to you; not hunger, but being understood.

The windows are all wide opened, but no breeze makes its way inside and the room remains boiling hot under the late summer sun. The warmth feels like a heavy blanket covering you as you lay there in bed, just taking in the sounds of the house. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the seagulls screeching in the sky, the far-away sound of Louise singing in the kitchen and further away still; the ocean.

The bedchamber remains stuffy and hot.

Sitting up you reach for the cigarette package on your bedside table, discovering that they are Lucky Strikes; instead of your usual Gauloises. Timothée’s cigarettes then. You must have taken them by mistake. Grabbing the package you walk down stairs and out on the terrace again, where Timothée lay where you left him, sprawled out on the floor, the tip of his nose now bright red.

“You’re burning yourself” you tell him, throwing the cigarette package down on the ground beside him. Timothée lifts a hand to shade his eyes, otherwise blinded by the light. He looks at you with a lazy grin, before moving on the sheets to make room for you. Keeping his eyes on you he pats the spot next to him on the floor and so you lay down beside him.

“Think you have my Gauloises” you say, the entire world orange as the sun shines through your closed eyelids. “Must have taken your Lucky Strikes by mistake”.

Timothée hums, before rising and moving into the house. A minute later he is back with your package of cigarettes and an ashtray. Handing you the cigarettes he then helps you light up with his precious silver gift, his dark curly hair falling down his face as he does so. He smells of seawater and turpentine and as you lay down on the ground beside him on the ruffled sheets you feel like you can breath again.

Laying there under the sun you smoke and observe him. His hand with their specks of blue paint left from his work this morning, his legs slightly spread, his chest slowly moving up and down with each breath. His eyes are closed, and the ghost of a smile still plays on his lips. He seems at peace.

You wonder how long this fine line you both have been walking is going to last before one of you tumbles. The fine line between lover and ex lover. You wonder what will happen next.

Or perhaps this is the way things will always be. Each day lived out ad infinitum, one much like the other. A foolish thought; a childish one. For sooner or later he will take another lover, find someone new to cherish. Someone in no need of healing. And you think of Lucy, and her laugh as light as the bubbles in champagne, her easy charm and carefree personality.

You’ll wonder if he’ll take someone home with him one day, make her love to her in the room next to yours. Where he’ll learn her body like he once knew yours .

You wonder if you’ll do the same.

***

October

The days are cooler now, still pleasantly warm but not intensely so, and most of the tourists have left the stony shores; leaving the whole village less crowded and easier to move through.

For two weeks Timothée goes back to Paris. He sits in the street and paints the people he sees in their everyday life; reading newspapers on the park benches, friends sipping cappuccinos on rotting chairs outside the café, old women choosing their bread with great care at the boulangerie. He adds no drama or sensationalism to the scenes, but settles for painting the people in all their simplicity and its realism.

He visits his art dealer, who with great astonishment accepts nine landscape paintings and a handful of sketches. “No portraits then, monsieur?”

And Timothée tells him no. He is waiting for the perfect model for the job.

He goes to his artist studio, and is surprised to find that it feels less like home than before. He doesn’t linger for long, and when two weeks are up he books a new compartment on the Blue Train, treating himself with a first class ticket this time.

On his way to the station, his bag slung over his shoulder and a package of new pots of paints tucked in underneath his arm, he walks by a bookshop. Casting an eye at the shop window he stops dead in his tracks. A placard with William’s face stares back at him through the window, his mouth twisted into a wide smile and his hair styled neatly.

Timothée walks into the store and five minutes later he walks out with a freshly printed copy of ‘A siren calls’ in his hands.

He borders the train, lays down in his train compartment and he begins to read. And through the entire journey home he reads.

*

Villa Marguerite is much the same when he returns from Paris. Chopin greets him as he hears him come in, happily accepting scratches behind his ear as an excuse for his absence. Placing his bag and his paints on the floor, but book still firmly in hand, he walks out on the terrace in search of you, but finds it empty.

Walking upstairs he knocks at your door and upon hearing you call ‘enter’ from the other side he steps inside.

You are laying on your stomach on the bed, wearing your silk canary yellow robe, flipping through a copy of Tatler, the gramophone in the corner playing Chopin. You look up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

He clears his throat, unsure how to approach this any other way but straight on. “Have you seen this?” he says, and raises the book for you to see.

“Oh that” you say and sigh. “Yes, he wrote to me informing me of it weeks ago”.

“You knew?” he says, astonished.

“That William’s great piece of literature was going to be about me” you flip a page in your magazine “of course I did.”

Timothée leans against the doorway feeling like the air has been pushed out of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look up at him again, and again with a surprised expression on your face. “I didn’t know you wanted to know that” and then “is it any good? The Tatler’s reviewer calls him the new Fitzgerald”, you nod down to the magazine in front of you.

Timothée hesitates, unsure how to respond. “It's, well yes I suppose it’s alright. The prose is quite stunning, if not slightly overworked”.

“But?” you say, sensing an objection.

“He’s made a caricature out of you”.

“He’s written me as he saw me, just as you’ve painted me as you saw me. And you’ve both sold your works for money. On this, if perhaps on this only, you are the same”.

Again he is stunned. Then, voice slightly shaking with held back frustration, he says “please tell me I’m closer to the real you then this” and he holds up the book again “this rubbish. He’s made you out as this, this…” he wrecks his head for the right word before finally settles for the obvious one “siren. This woman he can’t help but love but his love for her is standing in the way for the life he wants to live of unbound pleasures. A siren that keeps calling him back from his path on the search for perfect bliss. This siren that drowns him with her love”.

Silence for a heartbeat, then “you were”. He blinks, and you continue “you were closer to, as you refer to it, the real me. But that doesn’t make his interpretation of me any less real. Like I said, I’m sure that is how he sees me”.

“Well he’s dedicated the book to you”

“That’s sweet”

“I’m not sure it’s meant to be. Before it could be up for assumption who the book is abou. Now it’s crystal clear for everyone to see.”

“You don’t think he’s meant that as a compliment?” Standing up you tighten your silk robe around you. “I think so. I think he’ll consider it a great honour to have a book written in your honour, no matter the subject matter”. You walk past him “but never mind, let’s have drinks on the balcony upstairs, I think it’s going to rain tonight”.

*

“You never talk about Freddie” he states. It is late at night, rain dipping against the ceiling above, and they are sharing a bottle of wine.

“There’s not much to talk about” you say, avoiding his eyes, eyes set on the rainy scenery in front of you.

“He was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”

“There are others who’ve had it worse.”

“Doesn’t make it less cruel” he says. Feelings are fighting with each other in his stomach, like a nest of vipers they twist and turn inside him, fighting for dominance. Feelings of anger, empathy, sadness and love.

He walks over to you, and sits down on the bench beside you, his warm hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes, looking ready to weep.

“I’m so sorry, ma chérie, I really am” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, moves his arms so that he holds you to his chest instead. Soon you let yourself cry. He holds you to him, his chin resting on the top of your head and as far beneath you the waves are crashing against the rocks and in the chill evening air he keeps you warm.

He holds you for the longest time and somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

An early morning some days later you walk out on the terrace. It is decidedly cooler outside this morning and the air feels crisp in your lungs and pulling your robe tighter around you you sit down by the laid table.

Timothée sits hunched over a book, a cigarette in hand, a cup of black coffee next to him. Despite the morning chill he’s only wearing his usual paint-stained linen trousers.

“What are you reading?” you ask, pouring yourself coffee into a small, porcelain cup. His eyes are still on the book, brows furrowed, and so you look around, take in the scenery around you; the cerulean blue sky stretching out over a landscape of hills and pastel coloured villas, and further down - the ocean.

“Nietzsche”.

“It’s too early for Nietzsche”

“I never went to sleep” he answers.

You try to keep your eyes on the horizon in front of you, but despite your might they dart back towards the tussle of brown, curly hair on the other side of the table. He’s hunched over his book and it is hard to tell, but you think you can see shadows of blue underneath his eyes. He looks tired.

“And what does Nietzsche have to say?”

“Well” he starts, before going on to read from the page. “Nietzsche claimed that the exemplary human being must craft their own identity through self-realization and do so without relying on anything transcending – such as God or a soul. This way of living should be affirmed even if one were one to adopt, most problematically, a radical vision of eternity, one suggesting the eternal recurrence of all events.”

“What does that mean, the eternal recurrence of all events?”

“That the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space”.

You stay silent, contemplating this momentous new idea.

“You know, scientists say that we are made out of stardust” Timothée says.

You don’t follow his train of thoughts but you go along with it and ask, “how could that be?”

“Well, everything we are and everything in the universe and on earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us still. It directly connects us to the universe, rebuilding our bodies over and again over our lifetimes. When stars get to the end of their lives, they swell up and fall together again, throwing off their outer layers. If a star is heavy enough, it will explode in a supernova. The brighter the star; the faster it burns. So you see, most of the material that we're made of comes out of dying stars, or stars that died in explosions. And those stellar explosions continue. And so, we have stardust in us as old as the universe, and then some that landed here maybe only a hundred years ago. And all of that mixes in our bodies.”

You stay silent for a while, him with his eyes stuck on the page in front of him, obstinately avoiding your eyes and you; eyes fixed on him, sipping your coffee.

“I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, Timothée” you say in the end.

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbones delicate like fine china, now tanned after months spent on the riviera. The sun is shining down on the both of you by now, and through tousles of dark curls you can now clearly see the dark shadows underneath his eyes. The wind whistles through the cypress trees.

“Just that there is nothing new under the sun” he says after a long silence. “And I guess that I’m trying to talk to you about destiny; how we are born, and reborn ad infinitum. Again and again and again our dice are cast, casting out our roles in life. We all have our parts to play. Parts that we are destined to play, and they are decided for us. It is beyond our control.”

“And what do we learn from this?”

“Amor fati”

“To love one’s fate?”

“To love one’s fate”.

***

One afternoon Timothée wakes up from a nap on the terrace. He opens his eyes and for a moment he’s blinded by the light, seeing only silhouettes in front of him. Stretching out his arms and legs, his body stiff from laying on the terrace floor, he groans. His limbs feel heavy and numb and his mind is unusually quiet, as it has a habit of being just after he wakes from slumber. Closing his eyes again he lets the bright sunlight turn the world white behind his eyelids.

Above him the seashells you’ve put up tinkle in the soft breeze. From way down below he can hear the ocean, steady today in this fine autumn weather. But he can hear something else as well. The clinking of a piano being played. Standing up, as in a haze, he follows the sound.

Walking into the house, past the tinkling seashells and white curtains, through the kitchen and hall he follows the sound into the drawing room.

You are sitting by the piano, playing Für Elise with unpractised hands. The sun is coming through the large windows, lighting you up, painting a halo atop your head.

“Can I paint you?” he asks, for the first time in months.

Your fingers fumble with the piano chords for a second before carrying on, showing no other signs of having heard him. You continue playing until the piece comes to an end.

Then, in the silence, your soft voice.

“Alright”

***

Someone has dug out an old Fletcher Henderson record and the music is blaring from the gramophone as people dance to the old jazz music, one woman has gotten up on the table and is stamping her bare feet along to the rhythm, twirling her dress and swinging her hips. Others are standing in groups, laughing and chatting; cocktail glasses in hand. Others still are sitting by the table.

You can’t tear your eyes from Timothée as he sits leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the railing and head thrown back in laughter. The afternoon light has turned the entire world golden, but Timothée seems to have been more blessed by the light than anybody else; as if he had been picked out and touched by Midas himself. He seems to shine as he laughs with his new-found friends, cheering them with a glass of cheap wine. They’re discussing new revolutionary ideas and he laughs as they clink their glasses in celebration of their own drunken brilliance. He’s wearing his nice white dress shirt and suspenders. The first couple of buttons are undone at the top, and sunkissed skin peeks through. His hair a mess of sea-salt curls, falling over his face, and pearls of water falling from his skin like little stars; the party having gotten back from a swim just moments before. They are mostly Timothée’s friends, though some are yours. Locals, whom you’ve befriended during your time here; with the added number of guests being a couple of british and dutch backpackers Timothée met up with on the way back to the villa.

You look at him, carefree and golden in the sun, and you know the image of him like this will stay with you forever – that you never will see anyone or anything this beautiful again. You don’t think of rebirth, or of reincarnation - of lives destined to be lived over and over again until the sun finally implodes and swallows you all; thus setting you all free from your destinies. You don’t think destined, star-crossed or fated.

Or of amor fati.

Instead you look at him and you think of immortality. Of gods and heroes of the ancient past and of all the holy creatures legends say has roamed the earth since there was anything to roam. You watch him in the golden afternoon light and you think of Achilles and of Apollo and of the archangel Gabriel.

(And you understand why the ancient Greek believed in heroes and god amongst men. You believe as well.)

On the first day God created light.

And so, the scientists say we are all made of stardust. You watch the golden boy in front of you, seemingly shining in the sun, and you wonder to yourself if perhaps the stardust he was made of ever really settled into human skin.

You have never felt more blue, like a sea creature dragged up to the surface against its will; but he is half boy, half ethereal creature. Something Holy. You can almost see it; heavy white wings sprouting out between his shoulder blades, casting a great shadow beneath him, wherever he goes; a golden halo atop the mess of curls on his head. There, at the table under the golden mimosa tree, he throws his head back in laughter again and the sound rings clear over the music, over the other’s voices.

His eyes meet yours where you stand in the shadow underneath the roof and the laughter seems to die in his mouth.

On the third day God created the seas.

The sun goes over the horizon; the golden hour has passed, and everything is set in shadow. You keep your eyes on each other while the rest of the party roars on around you. Their laughter, the clinking of their glasses and the loud music falling on deaf ears as he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

The sun has set, and the boy in front of you is no longer golden for you are all in shadow now; you are both human again.

Yet you still swear you can see the faint light of a halo atop his head and you can still feel the heavy weight of saltwater inside your lungs, taste it on your lips.

Eyes still fixed on his, you raise your glass to your lips, and you drown the last of your red wine. You can feel a drop slip from the corner of your mouth and make its way down your chin, your throat, your chest; down on your white silk dress. You put the glass down beside you and turn away from his gaze, walking away from him.

On the fourth day God created the moon and the stars.

The deep steps down to the water are wet from the passing tide and you move your feet carefully forward as you make your way down to the water. The sounds of music and laughter are soon replaced by that of waves. Passing by the old wooden jetty you walk down to the small piece of stony beach by the rocks. And there you stand. In front of you, a landscape of water so dark it appears black, and reflected on it from the sky above, the moon and the stars.

You hear the creaking sounds of someone stepping on the jetty.

And on the sixth day god created mankind in his own image.

Timothée stands in front of you, hands in pockets, his shirt undone and suspenders slightly astray; looking at you with such intent that you swear there’s thunder in the air, though the sky remains cloudless. Slowly, as if giving you plenty of time to retreat, he moves closer. Then, with his hands holding on to you, he kisses you. It is saltwater and sweet wine. It is red hot and wet and slow, until both of your breaths come heavy and your hands are fumbling over the other’s clothes. You tumble back against the flattened cliff wall behind you and you’re pulling him closer to you, tugging at his clothes until he’s pressed against you, chest to chest. Your hearts as close to each other as can be.

Your hands fumble with his zipper until it finally comes undone, and lifts up the skirt of your dress, pushing down your underwear until they fall at your feet. Hooking your leg around him you struggle for a second with finding the right position. Then, with a jagged thrust he’s inside you and you suck in a sharp breath. “Careful now” you moan in his ear, your arms around him holding onto him tightly. “It’s been a while”.

The reminder seems to soothe him, and the thrusts become slower, more dragged out but deeper too. His hands become gentler, less rushed, but still firm as he holds on to you; each hand pressing into the smooth flesh of your thighs. Your arms are clinging onto his shoulders, painted red nails digging into his back, your own back arched from pleasure. Moans and whimpers are falling from your lips and into his ear; his hair, still wet from the earlier swim, feels cold against your cheek.

There, in the dark; the night only lit up by moonlight, with waves crashing against the stones beneath your feet, he moves in and out of you and the air itself tastes of seawater.

You lean down and kiss his exposed tanned collarbones peeking through his half-opened white shirt and as you gently bite down he hisses and fumbles with the pace for a second, before regaining his posure; pressing you harder up against the wall again.

“That’s right” you moan, hands clutching onto his shirt and your head thrown back. “Fuck, harder!”

And he does.

And when you come it is white-hot bliss. Like the invisible strings holding together reality are all pulled out and you tumble through existence; unsure of where anything ends or begins.

Except that maybe the answer to both of those things are Timothée’s ragged breaths as he fucks you with feverish pace. Maybe there is where it all ends and begins. He comes in a whimper, your hands in his hair, his face in the crook of your neck.

And there you both stand, holding each other; fighting for air, as the waves crash around your feet.

***

You’re in the market and nothing feels real to you.

It is like you’re watching it all happen on film in front of you, the vendors shouting out prices and shoppers picking out their vegetables. It is like you are watching it all happen very far away.

The sun is high in the sky, and it is unusually warm for a day in late october. Your skin is clammy and your palms feel sweaty; yet you feel strangely cold. And you are trembling, feeling certain that if someone were to prick you with a needle right now – you wouldn’t feel a thing.

You see the people moving, arguing over prices of leek one moment and laughing the next. People carrying wicker baskets filled to the rim with ripe fruit and vegetables. It is like they all move in slow-motion, the sounds they make muffled and far off.

You step away from the crowd but when you turn around you walk straight into Timothée. He stumbles backward a step, unprepared for the collusion. He says something, swears perhaps, but you can’t hear him. There’s a ringing in your ear and the ground feels unsteady underneath your feet, the sun glaring down at you.

Then his hands are cupping your face, and you see him mouthing your name. He looks at you, eyes full of worry. He takes your hand, leads you away from the market and into the ancient church. His hand warm in yours he leads you down the aisle before turning into one of the box pews. You sit down beside him and he takes your hands in his.

“Your hands are cold” he says, before lifting them his his lips to kiss them.

He had been inside you just hours ago. You had cleaned up as best you could, before walking up the stairs again and re-joining the party. You had retired early, claiming a headache, while Timothée stayed out on the terrace with his friends. In the morning you had risen before him, heading down into the market before breakfast.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” he asks and you want to laugh. Because the question is so precisely what has been on your mind ever since last night.

You think of the ocean; the way it can carry you or drown you depending on its whim. You think of the seawater in your veins, of lungs heaving for air. You think of never ceasing, impossible blue. Of bones engraved with memories from the past. And how all of this is who you are, that it is not a temporary blueness.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” you ask back.

“I don’t know” he says. The church is cool and drafty, despite the warm weather outside and his hands around yours feels warm and safe. It wakes an unholy sort of wanting inside of you.

“Ask me who I am” he says.

“Who are you?”

“Someone that loves you.” His voice is low. You are not the only two people in church, a few rows ahead there is a woman praying and at the front two priests are conversing with one another. He continues in his soft voice, “I can’t promise you perfect happiness forever, no one can, and frankly; I’m not sure that is what you really want either. It’s perhaps what you think you should want, but that’s not the same as actually wanting it. I think part of you loves your melancholia”.

“Well then, what can you promise me?”

“I promise you that on the days you feel like you’re drowning I will keep us afloat and I’ll hold you until it passes. I’ll keep you warm”.

“And you don’t wish I was more yellow?” you ask, voice sightly trembling.

“You know, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’ve never felt the need to change its hue, despite its darkest blue”.

“It’s that easy?”

“It’s that easy” he says, and kisses your hands again.

***

On the balcony floor outside your bedroom you both lay that night, spread out on sheets and plush pillows you’ve carried out. You lay there, your head on his stomach, and stare up at the stars. Neither one of you is wearing a thread of clothing, but you are both tangled up in sheets. There’s an empty bottle of wine beside you and in Timothée’s hand his book on Nietzsche’s philosophies.

“So what do you think?” he asks. “Do we have a free will or is it as Nietzsche believes, that the dice have already been cast far before we’re born, leaving us to live out our stories without the ability to ever change the outcome. Leaving us to simply accept our fate; to love our fate”.

“It sounds terribly defeatist to me” you say

“Or brave” Timothée says, “I’m really not so sure which. Perhaps both.”

“So you agree with him? You agree with Nietzsche? We are not ourselves in charge of our lives?”

“No, no not at all” he objects “I don’t believe he’s right. I’ve made my own choices in life. I’ve created my own mistakes and fortunes. And my fate has never been to love you, I’ve done that intentionally.”

You love me on purpose?

Yes I love you on purpose. I chose it, I chose you”

“I chose you too”

*****

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

[remmushound]

“Class is in session!” Young April O’Neil tapped her ruler against the whiteboard.

The minute April had learned that not one of the brothers, not even Donatello, knew how to write in cursive, she had jumped on the opportunity to teach them. Even if she was physically the same age as Raphael (ten at the time), mentally she scored higher than all but Donatello, but then again nobody could score higher than Donatello. Yet here she was, in the teachers spot with Donatello as her student.

“This is lame.” Leonardo groaned, propping his feet up on his desk and leaning so far back in his chair that it almost toppled over.

“No talking in class!” April warned.

“Why?” Leonardo smirked.

“Because I said so.”

Leonardo was silent a moment, but the minute April turned around to write on the whiteboard, his voice started up again.

“What if I have a question?”

“Then you raise your hand.” April answered promptly. Her marker touched the board, then Leonardo spoke again.

“What if I break my arm?”

“Then use your other arm.”

“What if I break both?”

“Oh I’m gonna break them if you don’t stop talking.”

“Understood.” This time, Leonardo really stopped talking.

April cleared her throat. “First off: The cursive alphabet!” She wrote both big and small letters on the board for each letter, “Same as the normal alphabet, but fancy~”

“What the heck happened with G?” Mikey gawked.

“We don’t talk about G.” April said, “Leo are you paying attention?”

“Yaaaawn!” Leonardo gagged.

April huffed and clutched her ruler almost hard enough to break it.

“Um…” Donnie’s eyes were even more squinted than usual and he raised a hand.

“Yes Donnie?”

“Can you write it bigger?”

April frowned. “Raph, how’s it for you?”

Raphael was at the desk next to Donatello and sat up proudly at being addressed. “I can see it just fine, Apes!”

“Me too!” Mikey piped.

“Yaaaaawn.” Leo sighed.

Donatello looked around at his brothers with a frown as he shrunk slightly into his shell to hide his embarrassment.

“That’s okay Don.” April said with a smile, “I can make it a little bit bigger for you.” She did just that, “How’s that?”

Don gave a shy smile. “Better…”

April didn't quite believe him, but didn't want to bring it up. “Hey Mike, do you mind switching seats with Donnie?”

“Nope!”

Mikey took a place in the back row beside Raph while Don took a closer place beside the indifferent Leo.

~~~

“Names!”

April scribbled each turtle's name in their signifying color and pointed to them. “Honestly, this is the most important cursive you’ll ever earn. So you can sign your name and stuff— and no Leo I’m not excluding you from learning it just because you’re tiny mutant turtles living in the sewer!” She tapped the board, “Copy this down on your papers as many times as you can!”

There was the unanimous sounds of chairs adjusting and pens clicking and touching to the paper— three of them. April smiled as she looked out over the ‘students’ but frowned once more when she got to Donnie. The year-younger turtle was squinting at the board and near tears trying to make it out. He made an attempt to copy something down a few times, only to scribble it out seconds later. Then, finally, he got up and walked over to the board instead.

“Uh… can I…?” His nose was practically pressed to the board so he could make out his name, supporting his paper against the wall to scribble a quick draft before returning to his desk and copying the rest of his attempts off of the first attempt.

~~~

When she announced for them to turn their papers in, Mikey was of course the first one in line, bouncing excitedly as he shoved his way to the front and held out his paper to April. April smiled and accepted it, yet Mikey lingered awaiting praise.

His work was surprisingly neat for someone so hyperactive, though big and riddled with far more loops than necessary. Legible, but far from perfection. She smiled down at Mikey and gave the tiny box turtle a pat on the head.

“Great work Mike! Try writing a little smaller next time so you can fit more on the paper!” She drew a smiley face on Mikey’s paper.

Mikey gave an excited squeal and snatched the paper, hugging it tightly to his plastron and churring softly before running off. Then came Raphael. His writing was also big and bold like Michelangelo’s, but without the foundation of neatness that the youngest brother held.

“Good job, Raph! Same thing as Mikey, try to write a liiiiittle smaller. I know it might be difficult since the paper’s tiny compared to you, but you’re doing great!” She gave Raphael a flaming smiley face, and Raphael was content.

Donatello was nervous— nothing unusual. He held his paper out to April and almost winced as if expecting rebuke. April let her eyes linger on the anxious softshell a moment before going down to his paper. His cursive was just as illegible as his print always was— the shape was there and she could see some familiarities in the loops to indicate where each letter was supposed to be, but the letters blended together even more than typical for cursive.

Still, she smiled at Donnie all the same. “See? You did great, Don! I knew you would.” She gave a purple smiley, but frowned as the ink dripped and made it look like the smiley was crying.

Donnie accepted the paper without talking and sulked off. Leonardo was last in line, unusual for someone always so eager to please, with a smug smile as he held out his paper to April.

“I know, I know Keep your praise to yourself. I didn't wanna do it but I pushed through it and mine is no doubt the best. That’s why I saved it for last.”

April narrowed her eyes and saw straight through Leo’s charade of confidence. The writing was big, though not quite as big as Raphael’s or Michelangelo’s. It was clear he had finished his work fast, the paper filled and whatever space left filled with tiny scribbles. At first she smiled when saw how neat the handwork was, a welcome improvement to the flipped letters that usually riddled his print writing, but then when she looked closer at the letters themselves, she noticed something else. Though the letters weren’t flipped, they were distorted— not the kind of distortion that a lazy hand would result in, but each letter was blurred together, some of them with multiple loops where there was only one or none when there was meant to be one. April looked up at Leonardo who concerned eyes, though his look of confidence never faltered.

“Uh. Good work Leo.” She said vaguely, giving him a smiley like she had to everyone else.

~~~~

“Are you sure about this…?” Donnie asked nervously.

“Trust me!” April beamed, taping the handles of the glasses to Donnie’s face

Donnie, eyes still closed, still tried to turn to face April’s voice. “Whenever Leo says that it usually ends up failing. Painfully.”

“Well I’m not Leo, so stop moving!” She snapped Donnie’s head back forward so she could finish her work. Once she was sure that they were on securely, she backed away and grinned. “Okay! Open your eyes!”

Donnie opened his eyes. His first reaction was to squint like he always did, but when his eyes were met with detail denied all his life, they shot wide and starstruck. His mouth dropped open, he sucked in a breath, and backed up against a wall as the world spun in its new light.

“Wha…”

April beamed and gave an excited bounce, clapping her hands together. Her face looked unusually empty without her glasses, but she didn't care. She could always get new ones, but Donnie…

“Whoa…” Donnie’s dichromatic eyes flicked to everything in the room in quick succession.

“Donnie are you okay?” Mikey rocked on his toes with his arms folded behind his shell.

“I… everything’s just… it’s like seeing life in HD!” Once the shock left, a smile spread across his face and he couldn’t stop it from claiming his usually shy or disinterested features.

“Woah! I wanna see life in HD!”

Mikey jumped up and snatched the glasses from off of Donnie’s face, shoving them on his own. His eyes and nose immediately scrunched up as he looked through the lenses.

“Ehh… this doesn’t look like HD…”

April laughed and leaned down to boop Mikey’s nose while he blinked away the irritation of the focused lenses. “That’s because your eyes already work, Mikey.”

“Raph’s turn!” Raph stole the glasses from Mikey’s nose, laughing as he put them on his own face. His reaction was similar to Mikey. “Ehhh…. Not for Raph.”

“What about you Leo?” Mikey asked, appealing to the older brother, “Don’t you wanna try them on?”

“What, and look like a four-eyed nerd? No thank you.” Leo scoffed, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Excuse me?!” April put her hand on her hip and dared Leonardo to repeat himself.

“Ah—“ Leo’s realization seemed to knock him off his confidence, “Not you April—you make them look cool—“

“Just shut up and wear these.”

April shoved the glasses onto Leonardo’s face, and the slider was immediately blinded by how… not blind he was. He let his mouth hang open a moment and sucked in a gasp, looking around with the much the same awe as Donatello had, before shaking his head and taking the glasses off of his face.

“See? Told ya! I don’t need em!”

Despite his words, there was a longing hurt in his eyes as he returned the glasses to Donatello and silently reserved himself so his twin could enjoy the full experience of being able to see a whole new world.

@brightlotusmoon

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Returning from Afar Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 远归之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

[ This date was released in CN on 28 Sep 2020 ]

This is the 29th day of Gavin’s mission, and also the day he said he’d return. 

As agreed, I’m in Gavin’s house to water Little Spiky. Since I’m already here, I also tidy up the place, which hasn’t been habited for a month.

MC: Mm, its rootstocks are healthy, the colour is lush and green, and it’s growing well. Now to put it under the sun.

I carry it to the window carefully, letting it soak in sunlight.

My line of sight lingers on the wind chimes hanging near the window. I reach out to pull at the crystal piece. 

The bright and limpid crystal suddenly sends my consciousness back to the week before Gavin departed for the mission. 

[ flashback ]

The afternoon wind blows the curtains upwards, brushing across the crystal shoes glittering on the floor.

If one were to ignore the slight scratch at the back, this would have been a perfect souvenir.

I squat on the floor, one hand holding the “main culprit” - the broom, and another hand gripping my phone, giving the manufacturer a call while feeling upset. 

MC: Hello? I’m the person in charge of [MC’s Company Name]. We held an activity and ordered crystal shoes from your company. Do you still remember that? 

Person in charge: Miss MC, right? I remember, I remember. Do you want to collaborate with us for another event? 

MC: Ah, actually, one of the crystal shoes has a scratch on its back. I wanted to ask if it’s possible to fix it? 

Person in charge: Hmm... Because of the way it was designed, that batch of crystal shoes were specially handled, so traditional restoration works won’t be effective. But since you’re a regular client of our company, we can send you a pair based on the address you gave us. 

MC: ...no need for the trouble. Since it can't be restored, it’s fine. Thank you.

I hang up, a little disappointed. 

In the midst of cleaning up, I had accidentally scratched the crystal shoes Gavin gave me the other time. 

[Note] MC is referring to Gavin’s 2 Become 1 Date, which is available in EN.

Although the damage is slight, it’s not something I can just ignore.

While sighing, I store the crystal shoes back into the box, and place it in the cabinet. 

At this moment, a low knocking sound resounds from the door.

When I open it, I see that the person standing at the door is Gavin.

Light and shadows are cast on his profile, illuminating his sharp and soft eyes.

Gavin: What are you busy with? 

He walks in while speaking. Without him noticing, I prod the the box containing the crystal shoes further into the shoe cabinet. 

MC: I was doing a cleanup, but it’s almost done. 

Gavin responds with a “Mm”. He seems to hesitate, then walks over and takes my hand in his, his thumb rubbing it gently.

Gavin: I have a mission in a few days. It’s of a high level, so you might not be able to contact me for a while.

I freeze for a moment, subconsciously recalling how Eli had previously detailed the dangers of Gavin’s missions.

MC: ...is the level of danger very high as well?

Gavin: Mm, it’s a little dangerous. Which is why I have to go. 

He pauses, then continues. 

Gavin: You don’t need to worry. Before the 30th of next month, I’ll definitely be back.

He speaks confidently. Suppressing the worry in my heart, I give him a smile.  

MC: All right. I’ll take care of Little Spiky. And will wait for you to come back.

[ end of flashback ]

The wind chime clangs, its melody light-hearted and lively. However, I can’t help but sigh. 

For some reason, the second day after Gavin left, I discovered that the crystal shoes in the cabinet had disappeared.

I searched the house, but couldn’t find a trace of them. In the end, my guess was that a thief had stolen them.

Even after pondering over it a hundred times, I remain puzzled about the thief’s motives, and couldn’t fathom how a thief could have broken in. To be safe, I ended up changing the lock. 

MC: When Gavin returns, should I tell him about this...

All of a sudden, the wind outside grows stronger, causing a magazine on the table to flip open with a rustle. 

MC: What’s this? 

I walk over, holding up the magazine. I flip through it randomly, and wind up on a page which has been folded. 

It features a custom-made jewellery shop.

The vibrant front cover is incompatible with the cold colours of Gavin’s house. On the page, the eye-catching font forms the shop’s name - “Cang Xing”.

[Note] 苍星 (“cang xing”) directly translates to “dark green star”.

MC: Isn’t this the private studio which opened recently?

In a program not too long ago, I got to know about this shop. Although its prices are hefty, and the workmanship takes quite a long time, it has a very good reputation. 

I find myself getting confused.

MC: Is Gavin interested in this shop too...

The phone suddenly rings.

Designer: Hello. Is this Miss MC? I’m a designer from Cang Xing. Previously, a customer ordered a gift for you. May I know if you have time to drop by and have a look today?

MC: A gift? 

My eyes flit to the magazine in my hands, a vague guess surfacing in my heart. 

MC: All right, I’ll head over now. 

-

Pushing open the doors to the studio, it’s as though I’ve stepped into another world. 

Soft white muslin can be seen everywhere. Jewellery of various colours can be seen on the ivory tables, brilliant like stars in the dark night. 

The table near the entrance has visitors’ book. The designer doesn’t seem to be around, so I instinctively pick up a pen and flip it open, planning to write my name down.

After signing my name and preparing to shut the book, I suddenly see familiar handwriting. 

On the upper section of this page, amongst a mix of illegible and serious font, there’s a handsome and light-hearted one. 

It’s Gavin’s.

The date that he filled in was the third day before he left for the mission.

??: May I know if you’re Miss MC? 

A staff dressed in working attire walks towards me.  

MC: Mm, I’m MC. 

??: Nice to meet you, I’m the designer who talked to you over the phone earlier. Please follow me. 

I follow the designer’s directions and walk towards a reception area at the side. 

Several pink jasmines are scattered on the table of the reception area. At the side, there’s a long white silk ribbon, looking as though it’s been tied halfway.

MC: Is there an event happening in the store today? 

Designer: No, there isn’t. These were leftover flowers from an earlier event. I just thought to use them to decorate the shop. I didn’t expect you to reach so quickly, so I was only halfway done with the decorations. 

The designer explains in embarrassment. 

MC: I see. Oh yes, you mentioned a custom-made gift in the call...

The designer casts a glance towards the door, her expression turning apologetic.

Designer: Well... I have to wait for the customer who ordered it to arrive before I can tell you. I’m really sorry about that. 

I nod my head pensively. Looking at the unfinished decorations, I break the silence. 

MC: Since I have to wait, why don’t I help you with the decorations? 

Designer: How could I ask that of you!

MC: It’s fine. Is this meant to be hung on the wall? 

While speaking, I pick up the jasmine flowers on the floor, and hand it to the designer. 

After that, we stand on the stools, hanging the jasmine flowers on the wall. The white muslin sways gently next to us.

At this moment, the door is suddenly pulled open. What follows is the sound of specially made boots. The footsteps are slightly hurried, and they pause not too far off. 

Gavin: Sorry, I arrived slightly later than scheduled. 

I lift my head abruptly, turning around and wanting to hop off the stool. But my coat gets stuck on a hook, which has jasmine flowers hanging on it. 

MC: !

Along with the sound of fabric ripping, a pulling force tugs me backwards, and there’s empty space beneath my feet.

MC: Gavin--

In a moment of desperation, the word slips my mouth.

A gust of wind blows up the white muslin. Accompanied by a calm laugh, a strong pair of arms wrap around my waist. 

Gavin: [laughs] Don't worry, I won’t let you fall. 

Gavin catches me steadily. In the narrow and small world created by the soft, drifting muslin, he carries me and spins in half a circle. 

My torn coat is on the floor. Slightly embarrassed, I clasp a hand over the strap which has fallen off my shoulder.

Gavin sets me down. His gaze falls on my body lightly. Then, he hurriedly averts his line of sight. 

Gavin: [coughs] ...

The temperature in the room suddenly rises. Face flushed, I frantically search for the coat.

MC: ...where’s the coat?

Gavin: Over here.

He picks up the coat and hands it to me, his eyes averted to the side, his ears tinged a slight red. I take the coat, but discover that it’s basically unwearable since the snag is too serious.

In the next second, a warm piece of clothing is draped over me. The texture feels slightly hard, and I can even still feel the cold insignia.

MC: ?

I lift my head to see that Gavin has taken off his uniform, revealing his white shirt underneath.

Gavin: Put mine on first.

He pulls the uniform more snugly around my body. His warm fingertips accidentally brush my collarbone, causing me to shiver.

Face flushed, I lower my head. But I catch sight of a ripped button on Gavin’s shirt. 

MC: What happened? Are you hurt? Are there any other places? Let me see...

Anxious, I’m just about to pry apart his shirt to check if there are any injuries on his body. 

Gavin: ...

Gavin: I’m fine. 

Gavin grips my hand to stop me, his cheeks slightly red. 

The designer had left without us realising it, leaving the private space to us. 

The surroundings are delicate and tranquil. Only the person before me carries with him a windy and frosty aura, his eyes lowered as he watches me quietly. 

[Note] Interestingly, the word used to describe Gavin’s aura, 风霜 (“feng shuang”) also has a figurative meaning to describe someone who has experienced hardships in life :’)

MC: Let me have a look then. Only after I’ve verified it with my own eyes, I’ll believe that you’re not lying to me. 

I act in a fit of pique, angry and not understanding why he would still hide his injuries from me.

Gavin looks resigned. After a moment, his long and slender fingers touch his lapel, slowly removing one button.

His defined muscles come into view, revealing a lean figure. 

My hand gently brushes a wound on his shoulder blade which has already formed a scab, and my nose suddenly feels sour. 

Gavin: It’s just a small wound, and it has already healed.

His gaze follows my hands and rests on the wound, then he pauses. 

After being silent for a while, I lower my head, mildly aggrieved, and speak. 

MC: Did you rush over from afar? Actually, you could have taken your time to come back. You didn’t have to... be afraid that I’d worry, and be so anxious. 

I hold onto Gavin’s hand. He hasn’t removed his gloves, and the touch feels as cold as ice, bringing with it a chill.

Gavin: It wasn’t far. 

He tries removing his gloves before holding me again. But I don’t release him, and I tighten my grip.

Gavin pauses. Then, his fingers curl slightly, encasing my hand in his. 

Gavin: The mission was completed earlier, so I came back. 

A smile dyes Gavin’s eyes. Then, he pinches my palm.

Gavin: Let’s not talk about these things first. The gift I prepared for you - want to know what it is?

Looking at the mildly expectant expression on his face, I can’t help but store away my sour emotions, and snort with laughter.  

MC: I do want to know. So could Officer Gavin tell me what it is?

Gavin: You’ll know soon. 

-

MC: I didn’t think there would be a small showroom at the back of the private studio...

After pushing open the door inside the studio, what enters my vision is a glass showroom. 

The outer side of the showroom is constructed using glass, allowing sunlight to stream in, illuminating bouquets of pink jasmine flowers that have been strung up.

Gavin: This is a small glass showroom originally used by the owner to allow customers to hold mock weddings. 

Gavin guides me to the centre of the showroom, brushing past the flower bouquets.

Gavin: But today, I’ve temporarily borrowed it. 

A gust of wind causes the fine gauze draped over the showcase in the middle to fall, revealing a pair of crystal shoes surrounded by flowers. 

The shoe now has a small gem embedded in the place which was scratched - brilliant, bright and sparkling. 

MC: ...this is? What is it doing here?!

Gavin: When I went to your house the other day, I saw that you placed them on the shoe cabinet. 

I’m a little dumbfounded. 

MC: I thought I hid it in the box...

Gavin can’t help but laugh. 

Gavin: Mm, you did hide it in the box. But your reaction was too obvious. In the span of a meal, you glanced at that area around ten times. So before I left, I took a look. 

This causes me to feel perplexed. 

MC: So you were the one who secretly took the shoes away. I thought I lost them, and was depressed for so long. I also thought a thief stole them, and even changed the lock.

I mumble softly, but my eyes sneakily linger on that pair of fully restored crystal shoes. 

The unease from the scratched souvenir vanishes bit by bit, turning into a sweetened state of mind. 

Gavin: I searched for many places, but only this shop’s owner said he could use precious stones to try restoring the damaged area. 

Gavin: The date of the completed restoration could have been earlier, but I wanted to give them to you personally. 

Gavin: Which is why I asked the shop to give you call today. 

Gavin: [coughs] Even though it looks different from how it was before...

I interrupt him softly. 

MC: But I like it very much. 

Gavin stops, looking at me seriously with lowered eyes. 

Gavin: I did this because I didn’t want you to be unhappy over the damaged crystal shoes. 

Gavin: As long as you like it, that’s all that matters. 

His words land on my heart, rippling across it. 

Slightly flushed, my peripheral vision rests on the gem, which is reflecting specks of light. 

MC: Oh yes, what’s with this gem? 

Gavin: While I was on a mission, I passed by a shop and saw this gem through the window.

Gavin releases an unnatural cough.

Gavin: At that time, I was about to return to help you with the amusement park wedding photoshoot. I thought it would be of use, so I bought it. 

Gavin: But after that, I didn’t have a chance to give it to you.

He seems to think about something, and laughs lightly. 

Gavin: I kept thinking about when would be an appropriate time to give it to you. 

Gavin: It just so happened that the shape of the gem needed by the owner tallied with this. 

Gavin: So it was used. 

He fixes his eyes on me, affectionate and gentle. 

Sunlight parts the layers of clouds, casting a warm shade. It’s as though I can clearly hear the sound of my own heart beating. 

The sound gradually grows louder, becoming more urgent, wanting to burrow its way out of my chest and tell the person in front of me how I feel right now. 

MC: Although what I’m about to say may come across as being overly polite to you, I still have to say it. 

MC: Gavin, thank you.

Thank you for silently watching over my mood. Thank you for always returning to my side no matter where you go.

The white muslin drifts to and fro. My heart stirs, and I gently touch the muslin in front of me. Sunlight streams in.

My fingertips brush the soft white muslin, tracing the word “Gavin” on it. 

I turn my head to the side, blinking at Gavin a little playfully.

MC: This word - apart from it being your name, it also has another meaning.

 MC: It’s “courage”.

Gavin’s eyes pause on my face, as though he’s slightly shocked. But it quickly morphs into a smile which harbours starlight.

His smile leaves me in a daze. I turn back, pretending to be unaffected as I begin speaking softly. 

MC: Gavin, you are my courage. 

MC: You are the courage I have when I face life’s large and small twists and turns. 

MC: Next time, I’ll become a person who is stronger in heart, and won’t be dejected over such a trivial matter. 

MC: I’ll also work hard to become your courage and strength - to protect you from harm each time you go on missions. 

MC: Or... to sustain fewer injuries. 

I wave a fist towards Gavin as a display of my determination. The sunlight sifting in through the muslin is like a gentle filter, descending on Gavin slowly.

Having to part from each other and having gloomy moods are inevitable. But there’s one person who will ultimately make his way over to me, smoothening out all the anguish, leaving only happiness behind.

He will cross the mountains and rivers, walk across the clouds and the moon, to meet me at the brink of dawn. 

Gavin: [laughs] I got it. 

He turns his head, mimicking my earlier actions, lifting his hand to trace something on the white muslin.

MC: This is...

I try to decipher what he wrote, but can’t tell what it is. Confused, I look at Gavin. 

He puts his hand down, lifting his eyes to stare at me quietly. 

Gavin: Protecting each other. 

His voice is loud and clear, reminiscent of a galloping breeze in autumn, crashing into my heart. 

Gavin: You are already my strength. 

Gavin: So I will keep protecting you, and everything you like. 

The numerous times of parting, the numerous mornings and evenings spent alone, now leave a sweet aftertaste.

MC: Gavin, I’m really happy now. 

MC: So happy that I feel as though the entire world is before me at this moment, and within reach. 

Seeing my smile, Gavin lifts the white muslin between us, reaching out to bring me into his arms.

The coat draped over my shoulders slides off. The white muslin is akin to a gentle mist, gracefully drifting mid-air, then falling onto the both of us. 

Gavin holds my hand, encircling me in his arms. 

MC: Gavin...

The close and warm contact causes my face to heat up. I can’t help but call his name. 

But he isn’t in a hurry to respond. Instead, he lifts a hand, taking a strand of my hair into his palm, his gaze lingering on my face. 

Gavin: Now, I’m the only person in your entire world. 

The delicate fragrance of pink jasmine slowly permeates the air. The temperature from our laced fingers is scalding. I tilt my head upwards, giving Gavin’s chin a careful peck.

MC: In that case, could I bribe my entire world to let me have this moment for a while longer?

In the next second, I feel warmth around my waist, and Gavin wraps me in his arms tightly. 

He lowers his head slightly, his fringe brushing my eyelashes. I can feel his steady, composed breaths. 

Gavin: No matter how long it is, you can.

-

Phone call: here

-

🍒 Cheri’s elegant thoughts 🍒

HE PURCHASED A RING OKAY

NO ONE JUST BUYS A RANDOM GEMSTONE

HE HAD A RING ALL THIS TIME

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[noelliza]

The Pursuit of Two Left Feet Ch 1 - Anderperry

Hello! I started a cute anderperry fic that includes dancing and sneaking out to an underground swing dance club. Thank you @poetrusicperry for the idea! This is the first part out of two. You can also read this on ao3 here. Enjoy! :)

Part 2

~

“Charlie, no.”

“Charlie, yes!”

Neil rolls his eyes in exasperation, convinced that his best friend has finally lost his mind. “How the hell do you think we could get away with this? It’s one thing to sneak out to the cave, but another to sneak out into town!”

“Neil, you doubt my abilities, it’ll be fine! Meeks is a genius, and he can help me work the whole thing out,” Charlie says, trying to appease him.

“So you don’t even have a plan?” Neil asks incredulously.

Charlie leans over conspiratorially. “Yet,” he says with a wink.

“Well let me know what you come up with, it’ll be a good laugh.”

“You bet. Later, party pooper.”

Neil huffs and shuts the door, walking over to his closet to grab his night clothes.

“So uh… what was Charlie on about this time?” Todd asks from his bed, closing the book he was reading.

“Something totally ridiculous,” Neil says.

Neil realizes from Todd’s silence that his paranoia is creeping in, assuming that Neil’s vague answer is him not wanting to fill Todd in on their conversation. Hastily, he turns to look at Todd and gives him a reassuring smile.

“He wants us all to sneak out and go dancing at a club in town. But there’s no way we could pull that off,” he explains.

He watches as Todd’s body relaxes at his words, the tension leaving his features to form a shy smile. “I don't know… Charlie somehow always finds a way,” he says, holding Neil’s gaze for a moment before returning to his book.

Neil laughs, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “So far he has, but one day he’s bound to get caught. I’m all for mischief, but I think this is pushing it.”

“Since when does Charlie not push anything?”

“You always make a great point,” Neil says fondly, rushing over to ruffle Todd’s hair before he can stop him.

Neil finishes changing and leaps onto his bed, landing on his back with a relieved sigh, the weight of the day leaving his body. Today Neil was moving nonstop with soccer practice, math club, and chemistry club that he hasn’t had a moment to breathe in the last 13 hours.

Neil turns his head towards Todd to glance at the cover of his book. He instantly recognizes it as Fahrenheit 451, which is a book he’s been wanting to read but never dared to buy in fear of his father finding it. He’s afraid of Neil ever discovering new ideas, diverting from the cut path he’s had him set on since birth. His father would be disappointed to know that Neil has been forming his own beliefs and sentiments for a long time now. He refuses to live a meaningless life, void of passion and love. But, he doesn’t want to create suspicion, so he doesn’t discuss anything that his father could potentially disapprove of.

“So, are you gonna go?” Todd asks.

“As if I have a choice. If I thought for even a second Charlie would let me get out of it, I’d be the dumbest person on the planet.”

Todd lets out a beautiful, warm laugh, his eyes wrinkling into a bright smile. It’s rare Neil gets to see it, and he’s grateful every single time he does.

“Are you?”

Todd falters, his smile falling slightly. Neil’s heart hurts at the sight. “Well... am I… invited?”

“Todd, of course you are,” Neil says gently, knowing that sometimes Todd needs reassurance.

“Then, uh, yeah I’m coming,” Todd says, his voice shaking slightly.

He knows what a big deal it is that Todd is willing to break the rules to be included, and he’s glad that he’s starting to feel like he truly belongs.

Neil has always loved dancing—almost as much as acting. Letting your body move to the beat of the music, allowing the sound to fill you and set your mind free, all the thoughts and obligations draining out of you. He feels light, like no worries or obligations ever existed in the first place. So of course at the sound of Charlie’s idea, his heart sings at the opportunity to go, but he knows if he got caught that would be his father’s last straw. He can’t risk his father pulling him out to send him to military school, away from the few things, or people, who are vital parts of his life.

He loves his poets more than anything, talking to them is his favorite part of any day. Charlie is his best friend, without his crude jokes and lawless energy, school would be utterly dull. Mr. Keating is the reason Neil feels inspired, like he has a chance at living a fulfilling life. The hope that had once been squashed down into nothing by his father was taking root once again, the weed never having been truly destroyed. However, Neil doesn’t know how he’s going to do it—betray his father and live the life he desires—but the thought that he will one day is what keeps him going.

And Todd. Todd is everything. He’s the air he breathes, the light shining through the murky tunnel, and the monologue to his play in an empty crowd. If he never got to see Todd’s furrowed brows while deep in thought, or his bright, infectious smile again, Neil’s world would crumble on top of him, leaving him to suffocate, entrapped in everlasting misery.

Neil envisions stepping onto a crowded dance floor with Todd’s hand in his, his heart swelling with joy. He hears Etta James’ “At Last” filling the room, the sound of the violin strumming the chords of his heart as they sway together. This picture makes Neil yearn for the opportunity to go dancing with the poets, but he knows it's only a mere fantasy, and nothing more.

At the mention of this, however, Charlie wasn’t willing to accept that; he doesn’t understand that it’s just not doable, it’s out of reach. The town is too far, they would never make it back to the school before a teacher discovered their absences. Once he said it, Charlie wouldn’t let it go, and Neil had to grudgingly accept that it had officially been put in motion.

“Good. Let’s just hope Charlie doesn’t fuck it up,” Neil says, settling into bed.

Todd laughs and moves to set his book aside but Neil stops him. “No it’s okay, I’m so tired I could fall asleep through Charlie’s snores right now. Keep reading.” Neil finishes with a mumble, turning toward the wall.

“…Y-you sure?” He asks hesitantly.

“Of course, don’t be silly. Good night Todd,” Neil murmurs, already beginning to doze off.

“Good night, Neil,” Todd says softly, his voice. A few seconds go by and Neil can sense the light of the room behind his eyelids, and he smiles to himself. It’s good to see Todd doing more things for himself, not sacrificing every bit of himself for the sake of others. It makes Neil’s heart full, knowing Todd is finally coming into himself, growing to be the person Neil always saw inside him that was crying to be let out into the world.

Neil quickly falls asleep, the image of swinging Todd around the dance floor, his untamable laughter echoing through the room filling his thoughts.

***

Neil’s studying Chemistry in his room when Charlie barges in, a dangerous grin spread across his face. Neil shudders, knowing that expression all too well.

Charlie settles himself on Neil’s bed, leaning his head back on his hands with one leg crossed over the other. “We’ve got ourselves a full-proof plan.”

Neil scoffs, disbelieving. “Yeah right. It hasn’t even been a full day.”

“Well, it just shows you we’re that good,” Charlie says smugly.

“Or, you’re too sloppy, missing some of the potential obstacles,” Neil says shortly, looking back down at his book.

“Not in this case! All of those have been strategically avoided. We’re all set to go this weekend!” He affirms.

“So, aren’t you going to tell me all about your ingenious plan?”

Charlie laughs. “No, because you’ll obsess over it trying to find a mistake. And there’s no need to, because it’ll work out.”

“Like the time you broke into Nolan’s office and left rotten eggs only for him to have seen you walk right out of the door?” Neil says, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

“That was one time!” Charlie objects. “And I was a complete amateur back then. Right now, you’re speaking to an expert of mischief.”

“Dear Lord, help us all,” Neil groans.

“Hey, Jesus didn’t assist with this plan, so he doesn’t need to be involved.”

Neil just sighs, not deigning to respond.

“So, have you planned your dance with Todd? How are you going to ask him? ‘Todd Anderson, the love of my life, will you do me the honor of dancing the night away with me?’” Charlie teases with a crooked smile.

Neil throws a pencil at him, his cheeks flushing. “Shut up, I wouldn’t ask him like that.”

“Well, you have four more days to think about it.”

“I doubt he’ll even want to,” Neil sighs.

Charlie scoffs, arching his brow. “Yeah, that's as likely as Nolan and Keating becoming lovers.”

“Thank you for that horrible image,” Neil says with a grimace, earning a laugh from Charlie.

“You’re welcome.”

Neil shakes his head, wanting to get straight to the important details. “So who’s coming along?”

“Meeks and Pitts, Todd obviously. As soon as I told Knox he could bring Chris, he was in.”

“And Cameron?” Neil asks resignedly, already knowing what his answer will be.

“As in Richard Cameron? Dick up my ass? And not the good kind,” Charlie snorts.

“Uh, yes, him. The only Cameron we know, did you ask him?” He pushes, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

Charlie huffs a laugh. “Ask him if he was dropped at birth? No, but I’ve been pretty close.”

“You know what I meant,” Neil says, looking at him firmly.

Charlie avoids his gaze, guilt flashing across his face for a moment. “No, I haven’t…”

“Charlie—”

“Nuwanda!”

Neil takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Nuwanda,” he says pointedly, to which Charlie gives an approving nod. “Come on, you gotta invite him or I will. You know I don’t like excluding anyone. It’s not right.”

“I know, I know, you’re a better person than the rest of us. I’ll mention it, letting him know that the chances we’ll get caught are very, very high—” Charlie cuts off at Neil’s reproving look. “Fine,” Charlie says with a tired, dramatic sigh. “But if he finks, it’s on you!”

“Alright that’s fine, but I really doubt he will. He has no reason to,” Neil says.

“You always give people the benefit of the doubt,” Charlie says, and Neil shrugs helplessly, unable to deny it. “But, I happen to like that about you,” Charlie finishes, grinning.

Neil rolls his eyes playfully. “Good to know, but if you want me to tell you I like how rash and rebellious you are, I’m not planning to.”

Charlie laughs as the door swings open, revealing Todd who briefly glances at the pair before walking over his desk to drop off his bag. Charlie walks over to him, placing his hands on his shoulders and shaking him lightly.

“Toddie! Ready for Friday?” Charlie asks, his excitement spilling out of him.

Todd chuckles, craning his neck to look back at Charlie. “I— yeah I am.”

Charlie whoops, giving Todd’s shoulders a final pat before bouncing back towards Neil, getting way too far into his personal space. “It’ll be fun!”

“When is anything you’re involved in not fun?” Neil asks dryly.

“That’s the spirit!” He shouts triumphantly before bounding out of the room.

“Make sure you talk to Cameron!” Neil shouts after him despite knowing Charlie most likely won’t hear him. With the amount of energy radiating off him, he’s probably halfway down the hall by now. Todd laughs softly and heads over to his bed, opening up a book as he leans his back against the wall.

Neil looks back down at his book, trying with every cell in his brain to comprehend the material. It’s been much more difficult lately to study as the pressure of finals looms over him and the voice of his father invading his mind, telling him he’s not working hard enough. He’s been trying to overcompensate by spending more of his time focusing on his studies, but so far Neil has felt more exhausted than ever, almost falling asleep on his textbook a few times this past week. Charlie caught him after the third time, insisting that it was enough and Neil needed a break. But Charlie didn’t understand what it was like having a father with outrageous expectations. Neil has to put every bit of his time and energy into his studies in order to meet the bare minimum, or else his father will accuse him of slacking off.

Neil turns the page, barely remembering any of the words he just read. He can feel Todd’s stare from the bed, and he knows Todd is most likely considering saying something. He pretends not to notice, not wanting to open this can of worms with him. With just a few words, Todd can convince him of anything, and if he urges him to take a break, Neil knows he won’t be able to refuse--he’ll fold like a deck of cards. But he can’t afford that right now, so he doesn’t budge.

After a few moments, Todd turns away and grabs his book from the nightstand to continue reading. Neil is conflicted, part of him glad Todd didn’t press the issue while the other aches for him to say something, anything to pull him out of this state of mind.

They stay like that for a while—Neil loses track of the time—and then, Todd breaks the silence.

“So, uh, I think Meeks is having a study group for Latin tonight. Are you coming?” He asks, closing the book he was reading.

“I don’t know… I think I’m gonna skip out on it,” Neil says, ruefully.

Todd pauses. “Why?”

“I gotta do some history,” he lies, keeping his head down to avoid Todd’s eyes.

“B-but we just had a test yesterday, we haven’t learned anything new. And you always go to the study groups.”

“Well, I’m just trying to get ahead.”

Todd makes a noise of disappointment that pains him. “But—”

“Todd,” Neil cuts in, harsher than he intended, “just, drop it. Please.”

Todd doesn't respond, returning to his book silently. Neil feels awful talking to him like that, so dismissive. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it to himself, but he feels out of control. It’s like the words are coming out for him, the flood bypassing the barriers he’s placed in his mind.

After a while, Todd gets up to go meet up with the other Poets, grabbing his books and putting them in his bag. He hears Todd hesitate at the door before leaving, presumably deciding not to bother Neil again.

The second the door shuts, a wave of guild floods over Neil, settling in his chest. He rests his head in his hands, trying to take deep breaths.

It’s fine. He’s too busy for study groups right now, it’s not a big deal. There will always be more. He’s not avoiding his friends because he thinks he doesn’t deserve them. Neil just needs to focus on his own studies right now, to make his father proud. After a few seconds, he lifts his head and gets back to work, ignoring the pounding headache and the heaviness of his eyelids…

“Neil?”

Neil jolts awake, lifting his head to look around and realizing he’s still at his desk, his drool soaking into the corner of his notebook page. He sees Todd standing above him, his expression filled with concern. His brows are furrowed in that way he does when he’s trying to solve something, and he has the impulse to smooth it out with his thumb, just the gentlest touch. But the familiar, demanding voice in his head prevents him from doing that.

“Hey! How’d it go?” Neil asks, false brightness in his tone.

Todd’s face doesn’t change, still searching his features as if the answer is hidden in them. “Uh, good,” he says, breaking his gaze away and walking towards his closet. “I’m still struggling, but Meeks helped me understand it a bit better at least.”

“Oh good, I’m glad!” Neil says, forcing a cheery smile.

Neil doesn’t move from his desk as Todd shuffles around the room, getting changed for bed. As Todd is pulling his shirt off, Neil blinks back to reality, looking away to hastily pack up his things. He feels Todd’s eyes again, and Neil has to fight against the pull to meet his gaze. He puts his books on the shelf, the silence in the room stretching longer with every taken breath.

“Charlie accused me of drugging you and locking you in our room,” Todd says after a few minutes, breaking the tension filling the room.

“It’s probably because he’s more likely to do that to someone,” Neil replies, laughing faintly at the thought.

“I’m sure he’s already done it to Cameron.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Neil says with a sigh.

The silence creeps back in, louder than he’s ever heard it.

“There’s gonna be another one tomorrow night,” Todd says, his voice level with the smallest hint of hope peeking through.

“I don’t think I can go to any this week. Maybe next week,” Neil says weakly, quickly making for the bathroom to escape the awkwardness.

He hates doing this. He knows it hurts Todd and the other poets, as well as himself. But if he lets himself get distracted then he won’t make it through finals. For once, Neil just wants to make his father proud.

When he returns, the lights are out, Todd’s breathing slow and even.

***

That next night when Todd is about to leave for study group, Neil busies himself in his Latin textbook, hoping he won’t hassle him about coming along. If he does, it’ll be even harder to refuse him. He hears Todd walk toward the door when suddenly, Neil’s book is stripped away from him, slammed shut and thrown onto his bed. He looks up and Todd is standing above him, looking nervous but resolute, a fierceness in his eyes. Neil meets his gaze, bewildered.

“Todd, what—”

“We’re going for a walk.”

“But I have—”

“It’s a nice night.”

“Todd.”

“Neil,” Todd says firmly, his tone grabbing Neil’s attention. Neil stares, unable to break away from the set look on Todd’s face. One look into those warm, soft eyes is enough to make Neil forget why he insisted on studying in the first place.

“I kind of like when you tell me what to do. Tell me something else,” he says, his mouth curling upward.

Todd flushes, turning away. “N-not right now. Just put your jacket on.”

“You got it,” Neil winks, grabbing his coat and following Todd out the door.

Together, they walk down the hallway and Todd leads him outside, the rush of crisp, winter air refreshing on his skin. Neil didn’t realize how suffocating his room was until now, his lungs filled by the outdoors. He feels like his mind is being pulled out of the mud, regaining his senses, his rational thoughts. Why was he cooping himself in his room?

“Thank you, I needed this,” Neil beams, feeling grateful Todd managed to drag him out here. Sometimes, Neil wonders how he managed to survive this long without Todd in his life—before this school year, just a few short months ago.

Todd nods, keeping his head towards the ground, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He’s so adorable, Neil can’t handle it. He wishes he had the words, or the drawing skills to capture this sight forever, something he could hold onto and never let go.

“So… are we going anywhere in particular?” Neil asks, unable to help himself. His silences with Todd are always comfortable, but his curiosity is buzzing, eager to know their designation.

“Maybe,” Todd says coyly.

“Come on, Todd, you’re a poet! I know you can be more descriptive than that,” he teases.

“Y-yeah I know I can. I’m… I’m choosing not to.”

Neil’s smile gradually grows wide. “Alright, I can accept that answer. As long as you’re sure.”

“I am,” he says.

Neil laughs softly in response, his heart aching. He looks around, taking in the dark figures of the trees, listening to the whispers of night as it awakens, the faint hum of life, and feeling the gentle movement of wind caressing his skin. It feels like a dance of itself, moving to the beat of its own sound, the music of the forest.

“You know, everytime we sneak out to the cave, none of us ever actually take time to really absorb our surroundings.”

“Yeah, I think because of the chances we’ll get caught if we’re out here,” Todd says, briefly glancing upward to the sky.

Neil chuckles, “True, but we’ve been really missing out.”

“Yeah.”

They continue their trek, the sounds of their footsteps on the ground echoing around them.

“You know, I never used to like the dark, but something about the woods at this hour is so peaceful,” Neil muses, looking up at the moon shining through the trees. Todd hums in response.

“I… I’ve always liked the dark,” Todd adds after a few beats.

Neil turns to him, but can’t catch his eye as Todd is looking resolutely ahead. “Have you?” He says, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Todd nods, “I—it was comforting…” he says reluctantly, as if more words are bubbling inside him, but he’s scared to let them out.

“I was always afraid of it as a kid. When I was in trouble, my father would put me in the coat closet to have me think about what I had done. I felt like it was eventually going to swallow me whole,“ Neil shares softly, hoping it’ll encourage Todd to speak about it.

Todd lets out a harsh breath, as he already knows how horrible Neil’s father is. Neil glances at Todd again, unable to help it, and nudges him lightly. “Why do you find it comforting?” He asks gently.

Todd keeps his eyes glued to his feet, presumably focusing on his footsteps as he considers what to say. Over the last few months, Neil has begun to catch onto Todd’s small mannerisms. When he’s anxious over an upcoming event, he’ll pick at the hems of his clothes. When he doesn’t want to say yes to something, his eyes widen in the slightest bit and he’ll look sideways, as if he’ll find a proper excuse. The one Neil finds most endearing is when he’s given a compliment, Todd bites the inside of his lip and glances downward.

“I was afraid of it too, actually,” he starts, his breath a bit shaky, “I thought there were monsters in the dark. At least, that's what some of the others at school used to say. But then one night, there was a power outage at my house. It—it happened right after my parents lectured me for not making the baseball team,” Todd pauses, taking a deep breath. Neil waits patiently, holding onto his every word dearly.

“I… I was in my room, alone, in the dark… and I realized it… it made me feel less lonely. I couldn't see the emptiness of the room. I could only hear my breath and my heartbeat. It was… calming,” he finishes in a whisper, only heard by Neil and the hush of the delicate wind.

Neil feels the breath in his lungs being snatched away, and he swallows back a sob threatening to escape him, not wanting to make Todd feel guilty for sharing about his past. Everytime Neil hears something new about Todd’s horrible childhood, his heart tears further apart. He wishes he could strip him of that pain and take it for himself, easing him of that burden.

“I can understand that,” Neil says, making an effort to keep his voice even. “Just… I hope you know you’re not alone anymore, right?”

“Y-yeah I know,” Todd says.

“Good,” Neil breathes, hoping Todd meant it.

They approach a clearing, and it’s one Neil has never seen before. It’s wide, the surrounding trees acting as a safe cocoon. The closer they get, the more he sees the flickering lights blinking through the air, dotting the open space. Fireflies.

“Here we are,” Todd says, a shy smile gracing his face.

Neil walks towards the center, spinning as he gazes around. “How did you find this place?” Neil says, feeling dizzy yet unbound, like he could fly straight to the moon without wings.

“I-I go on walks sometimes… when I need to think. One night, I saw the fireflies… and they led me here.”

“Amazing,” he says, his voice soft as a whisper, watching a firefly buzzing past him in awe. He’s never seen one so up close before, but they’re mesmerizing. Neil doesn’t want to look away.

“Y-yeah, it is.”

Neil wanders around the space, letting his body move on its own accord as his eyes follow the various glowing bodies traveling in every direction. He hums absently, the chorus of a song stuck in his head. He feels Todd’s eyes on him as he walks, and his face burns.

“‘The Twelfth of Never’?” Todd asks.

Neil stops and looks at him, the sight of Todd lit up by the scattering bugs making him weak at the knees. “Yeah, you know it?”

Todd nods. “Mhm, it… it was my favorite song a few summers back. I snuck the vinyl from Jeffey’s room and played it w-when no one was around.”

Neil takes a step towards him. “You ask how much I need you, must I explain?” he sings.

Todd’s eyes widen, his face vulnerable and open. Neil smiles warmly. “I know you’re more of a poet, Whitman, but... join me?” He asks, hopeful.

Todd blinks, looking unsure. After Neil quirks an amused smile, he gives in with a harmless eye roll. “I need you, oh my darling,” he mumbles, looking away as Neil approaches him.

“…like roses need rain.”

Once Neil is standing in front of him, he holds out his hand. “May I?”

Todd looks back at him and pauses as he notices his outstretched hand. Slowly, he reaches out his hand and places it gently in Neil’s palm, allowing him to grasp it. He leads them to the center, placing his other hand on Todd’s waist. They stare at each other for a moment before Neil starts to move his feet. He keeps the pace slow in order to give Todd time used to it, and gradually, they make circles around the clearing.

“W-where did you learn to dance?” Todd asks breathlessly, his eyes shining.

“My father made me do cotillion when I was nine. I hated everything about it except for this,” he says, his eyes focused on Todd’s expression.

“You’re really good,” Todd says with a faint laugh, fumbling to keep up. Neil tightens his grip on Todd’s waist the slightest bit, keeping him in place as they glide.

“You ask how long I’ll love you, I’ll tell you true…” Neil spins him around, eliciting a startled laugh out of Todd that makes his heart swoon.

“Until the twelfth of never, I'll still be loving you,” Todd sings back through his giggles.

“Hold me close.” Neil dips Todd suddenly, leaning over to catch a close look at his eyes.

“Never let me go,” Todd adds, looking at Neil as if to say he means it literally.

“Oh, I’d never,” Neil smiles, holding the position for a beat longer before pulling him back up.

They go on, waltzing around the space as if the leaves are harps and the forest is a string orchestra, playing the melodic tune of the music in the expanse and beyond. Neil is so enraptured with the pure joy on Todd’s face that he hardly registers when Todd steps on his feet a few times. He’ll take all the foot pain to have Todd look at him like that.

“I'll love you till the poets run out of rhyme.”

“Until the twelfth of never and that's a long, long time,” Todd sings softly, finishing in a whisper as they slowly come to a stop. Suddenly, all the movement of the woods cease, the air stilling. Neil can feel Todd’s soft breath, feeling his head spin as Todd blinks slowly, the light making his eyes glisten. He’s absolutely, and utterly breathtaking.

Neil’s heart and every muscle of his body know what he aches to do, encouraging him to give in to the desire. The craving in his heart for months, buried under bouts of doubt and self loathing. Do it, he thinks, imploring himself to be brave, seize the day.

Then, the snap of a branch makes them jolt apart, the world returning to its place with a crack. Neil clears his throat. “Thank you for showing me this place, Todd. I really appreciate it.”

“Course,” Todd nods stiffly, averting his gaze as a blush creeps up his neck.

The pair walk back the same way they came, the atmosphere now charged with an energy between them. Neither dare to speak a word, feeling silenced by the gust of the wind.

Neil lays awake that night for hours, the vision of his lips on Todd’s coursing through his mind until he’s eventually pulled into sleep.

Part 2

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Business AU - Working Late, Part 6

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Just two cuties learning more about eachother ooohhh u___u 💜

Help, I’m getting too involved in this fic fsdfhsjfbsd

They had agreed to meet at Vee’s apartment building at around 6:30-7:00pm, exchanging phone numbers for easier communication. They had yet to know where they’d spend the evening on this Saturday, but knowing New York was full of surprises, it wouldn’t be hard to find something to do.

Vee was franctically moving back and forth from her bedroom to the bathroom, trying so hard to find anything good to wear. ... They should’ve decided on an activity, dammit. Now she didn’t know if it would be wiser to wear a dress, or something more casual? As her hands were shovelling through clothes in her closet, she heard her phone beep to life, signaling a notification. Glancing at the time, it was barely over 6pm. It was a text from Donnie, to which she couldn’t help raising a brow:

Her lips were pursed in a thin line, answering anyway:

She put her phone away. He wasn’t supposed to get here in at least thirty minutes to an hour, so there was no rush.

*BZZZZT*

She jumped when the door buzzer rang. Her frown was formed in an instant, running to her intercom and cracking it to life.

“Yes?”

“I was curious ‘cause I wanted to come up and see where you live!” responded Donnie’s voice through the intercom.

“What are you doing here? It’s only 6pm!”

“I figured it’d be a good excuse to come up to your place.”

“Donatello you are one sneaky bastard,” sighed Vee. “... Alright, come on up.”

As soon as she unlocked the main entrance downstair, that’s when she realized that she was still only in her underwear. She panicked for a couple of seconds, allowing some time for him to enter the building, then running to her room and grabbing any pieces of clothing she could find; a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Almost falling in her rush, she then rushed to her entrance, opening the door in a hurry. She met face to face with Donnie, the mutant’s hand in a motion to knock, but promptly stopped. His eyes were wide as he noticed her a panting mess.

“... I guess it wasn’t such a good idea afterall,” he chuckled.

“Let’s just say you took me by surprise. I still have yet to decide what I’m gonna wear.”

She moved, gesturing him to come in. As he passed by, she glanced at his look. He was rather casual for the occasion; a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt, not entirely buttoned at the top, giving a slight sight to his plastron.

“Looking at you, now I finally have a better idea of what to wear,” she pointed out. “At least that’s good.”

As she walked to him, she vaguely gestured the surroundings: “Welcome to my oversized closet. One bedroom, one bathroom, the rest is the living space connected to the kitchen. ... This must look like a tiny shithole to you.”

Donnie tsked: “Don’t be so hard on this place, it has its charms! I think it looks nice. ... It suits you in terms of taste.”

“Most of the furniture is second-hand, which is cheaper most of the time,” added Vee, going towards her bedroom. “I wouldn’t say it’s one hundred percent my taste, but at least it fills the space. ... This place is tiny, but good enough for me.”

As she was about to close her door, she did peak back at Donnie, flashing him a smile: “Make yourself at home, I’ll be ready in no time.”

The terrapin took that as an invitation to look around the place. To be frank, he did arrive earlier in order to do such thing. He always thought that a person’s environment could tell so much about them. Overall the place was tidy, with the exception of a few books here and there and some papers and pencils layed on a coffee table. She had a bookshelf completely filled, books about various subjects neatly placed and organized. An electric piano was resting against a wall, various partitions showing on a music stand close by. There were some art and pictures decorating the space - but none were showing people, even relatives if any... He also noticed a faint smell of coffee in the air, judging that she must have brewed some earlier. There was this sense of coziness, something only a small and well-thought apartment could give, and it definitely did suit her well.

Vee’s bedroom door opened, revealing the woman in much proper clothes. Both smiled, Vee playfully adding:

“I figured I’d bring the curse back.”

She had also opted for jeans, her upper body adorning a black tank top and a black blazer over it.

“At least you have more style than me,” added the turtle.

“Nonsense,” Vee scolded in a fake tone, giving a playful slap on his arm as she passed by, going to the kitchen area. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

She got two glasses out of a cupboard, showing them to Donnie: ‘‘Water? ... I don’t have anything else fancy to drink.”

“Water is good,” he smiled, leaning against the kitchen island.

He really didn’t know why, but looking at her go in her own environment was making him happy. It felt much more intimate to see her at ease and relaxed...

“So, what did you have in mind for this evening?” she asked, setting the glasses down and offering one to him.

He took a sip, looking pensive for a moment.

“We can definitely grab a quick bite somewhere, theeennnn...” He looked around quickly, then pointing the piano. “You like music? What genre?”

Vee shrugged: “Pretty much anything, but I do have a preference for classical and jazz. Why?”

“We could definitely drop at a jazz club then! I know some interesting places in Midtown.”

“I’m down for it then, monsieur,” smirked the woman.

***

They had opted first to go to a small local café, indulging themselves to some coffee and simple food. There was no need to be fancy-pantsy, prefering the intimacy and coziness of this small place. To be frank, it was the perfect setting for some casual conversation, finally taking the time to get to know eachother further more.

To quench Donnie’s curiosity, Vee explained why she moved to New York city. She felt like she had been facing a wall for too long back in Montréal. A lot of things had gone wrong in her personal life, her career seemed to go nowhere. All she wanted at some point was to run away. Start from scratch and be on her own... She had visited New York a couple of times before and had been in love with the city ever since. It only felt natural that she’d want to move there - knowing big cities were at least familiar to her, yet she could experience new things out of it. Her family had been furious about her choices, but she chose to stick to it and moved without any help. She found her apartment and her job all by herself. She handled all sorts of paperwork herself regarding her move. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to prove herself that she could make such a huge leap in her life.

As for Donnie, without going into much details, he explained how the Hamato Enterprise came to be. After his father’s death, he and his brothers joined forces and decided to reveal themselves to the world - with the help of some key figures in the city. Their knowledge of New York and its pulse proved to be a tremendous help for developping tactics and plans to advance the city’s security and good life of its people. It was still not perfect - how could it ever truly be anyway? - but the turtles had New York and its denizens at heart, and they would do anything to safeguard it. They had attracted good and bad attention on them over the years, but that never distracted them from their goals to bring out the best out of this city.

Vee could admire the intentions, although she did raise concerns in regards to judging what could be “best” for the city. There were too many variables that would never allow a perfect “cookie-cutter” plan for peace. Donnie was well aware of that and it was something he had personally raised to his brother Leonardo - who was mostly in charge of security matters. Sacrifices had to be made at times for the people’s sake, but at least the four brothers’ different points of view helped painting various scenarios into shades of grey, rather than in a fully black and white picture.

Done with their meal, the duo proceeded towards Midtown. The evening was warm and the streets colorful. Energy and life were coursing through every corners of the city, truly reminding that New York was indeed the city that never sleeps. They found solace in a jazz club inbetween other venues. There was already a good crowd seated there, so they both found their place towards the back of the room, although they still got a nice view on the stage. A band was already playing, setting a smooth ambiance to the scene. After they ordered some drinks to their table, Vee made herself more comfortable as she removed her blazer, revealing her tank top, as well as the tattoo adorning her upper left chest part.

“Oh nice,” started Donnie as he took a better look at it. “I did notice your tattoo by some occasions, but it’s the first I’m seeing it fully!”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s starting to get hot in here.”

“No need to be sorry for anything, I enjoy the sight,” winked the terrapin. “How many tattoos do you have?”

“Let’s see...,” quickly pondered the woman. She quickly gestured or tapped whichever part she was mentionning afterward: “One at each legs - ankle level. Both wrists, on the insides. Inner left forearm. On the ring finger of my right hand. Behind my right shoulder. Do I need to still go on?”

“I’m guessing you want more of them?”

“Oh absolutely,” smiled Vee. “Hopefully I can get both my arms fully covered at some point.”

“I could probably help with that.”

The woman couldn’t help her small frown, slightly curious.

“How so?”

“I know how to tattoo! I did my brothers’ tattoos.”

She hummed in approval, her eyes wide with interest, as well as lightly tapping his nearby forearm by absolute delight.

“Well, well, well. Have I known, I would have asked for that instead of a date!”

“Oh come on, is this evening going so bad right now?” teased Donnie.

“I’m joking,” reassured Vee, her smile soft. “I’m having a really nice time so far.”

Her hand remained on his arm, lightly stroking his scales. Her eyes drifted back to the scene, watching the musicians play. She rarely had the time to watch any live performances nowadays, so this experience was most definitely welcomed this evening.

“I’ll never get tired of music...,” she started dreamily. “It’s been my first real passion and it might forever be so.”

“I suspect you play the piano, since I’ve seen one back at your place,” inquired Donnie.

“I’ve been learning it by myself for so many years now. My main instrument though is the Alto Saxophone and I’ve been singing as well. I do compose in my spare time too.”

“I’m curious about all of that now. When can I hear one of your masterpieces?”

She squinted her eyes in amusement as she glanced back at the turtle.

“In due time, dear. But for now let’s enjoy the music already available to us.”

In answer, Donnie simply moved his arm so his hand could rightfully hold Vee’s, their fingers interlacing - threes and fives. They spent the whole show like this, forever enjoying eachother’s presence. How could this evening be even better than this?

***

“I still can’t believe that last band that played. I’ve never heard a saxophone squeak so much in one performance. It was so bad!” laughed Vee.

“You should’ve gone up on stage and steal the show. That would’ve been fun,” teased Donnie.

“Oh no, no, no!” quickly replied the woman. “This city is not ready yet to hear my talent.”

Her tipsy state did bring more fun into the conversation, Vee holding onto Donnie’s arm as they were heading toward’s her apartment building. She still had all her mind, but her mood was light and happier than usual, definitely on a cloud. As they stopped to the main entrance’s door, Vee couldn’t help tracing a finger over the visible parts of the mutant’s plastron.

“... Wanna come upstair for another glass of water?” she asked.

Donnie showed half of a smile, slightly shaking his head.

“No, I’m good. ... I don’t think it’d be a good idea to go up with you.”

“How so? I’m bad company?”

“No, you’re an excellent one, in fact....”

A shiver passed through Vee as she felt his hand at the small of her back, keeping her close.

“... J’ai beaucoup aimé ce temps passé avec toi (I really liked that time spent with you),” he said, his other hand lovingly cupping her cheek.

Vee couldn’t help her grin, leaning into his touch.

“Not bad. You’re not that much of a lost cause with French after all.”

“Let’s just say you’re inspiring me, all of a sudden.”

A quiet chuckle left Vee: “Monsieur Donatello, vous m’en laissez bouche bée (mister Donatello, you’re leaving me speechless).”

They couldn’t stop reading one another, ever leaning so close...

“... I could leave you even more speechless,” murmured the mutant.

In a joined, yet tender motion, it didn’t take long for their lips to meet, Vee helping herself by standing at the tip of her toes. It simply felt so natural... An overdued resolution that was only bound to happen. It was both brief and taking forever, the feeling sending fireworks through them both. They kept close as the kiss ended, Vee’s blush way apparent as she couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well, that’s one good way to end the night,” she said lovingly.

“I wanted to do that for quite some time now...”

“I won’t say no to a second serving, good sir.”

That amused Donnie, indulging himself to a second sweet kiss. He didn’t want to rush anything, keeping it quite simple for the moment. Oh but how did it make him crave for so much more... After they parted once more, Donnie knew he had to leave. They had taken some good steps together, but right now they needed to halt that race... as good as it felt.

“Goodnight, Vee...” he cooed, feeling enamored.

“Goodnight, Donnie. I’ll dream of you...,” sweetly added Vee.

“Then I shall meet you in mine as well.”

It’d be quite pleasant, indeed.

((Part 7))