#My apologies for massively over sharing but this poetry gets to me

[ivyinforests]

I got myself used to sleeping an appropriate amount. Fatal mistake. Now I can barely make myself stay up late doing objectively fun things and it feels ridiculous. I used to stay up till three with chem and algebra and now I’m struggling to work past 11 analyzing Enheduanna and making lesbian cake. These are my favorite things to do!!! If I told myself this a year ago I would think it was a joke.

[ex-textura]

Hi hello! Any fun facts you would like to share about your characters? (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Eli~!

[i'm sorry this has taken me so long i've been picking away at this since you sent it 😶 apologies for the verbosity, but you got me started and i couldn't stop lmao]

I have SO MANY facts I want to share about my characters 👀 are they fun? ehhhhh. They sure are facts.

The big scar on Auric's face is from his sister's ex. He was jealous and abusive and the one time he flew into a rage in Auric's presence, he stepped in and took the hits so she could run. He almost died then. When he woke up his head was in her lap, he was surrounded by blood, and the abusive ex was dead.

He and Gale settled down after the events of the game, got married, and opened a tavern outside of Waterdeep with his sister and her love, Halsin. They have a teleportation circle in the basement connected to Gale's tower and they basically treat it like a guest house. They've also set up a place for Astarion in the basement so he can stay there whenever he's handy. He still doesn't really like Astarion, but his sister pleaded and he couldn't say no.

Ciaran collected every poetry book, love letter, and diary he could find once he started to get feelings for Gale. He also bothered everyone in the party constantly(Gale included) about what love is, how do you know that's what you're feeling, what do you do about it? He had no frame of reference for love so the whole thing was completely foreign to him. He was like an alien trying to learn human customs. He thought he was being sneaky.

Now that he's no longer trying to die all the time, he's taken up painting and gotten pretty damn good at it, too.

Jinx is 43 years old. Technically.

His skin used to be more red, but a wild magic surge turned him blue and the colour never totally faded.

He's demisexual

Fully incapable of picking up when he's being flirted with. He doesn't think he's handsome, or ugly. He's just Jinx.

He'll try literally anything once, so he let Astarion bite him, and then let him drain him because he'd never been bitten by a vampire before, and never died before. He turned him down for sex though because "I've already had gay sex before :) thanks though!" Astarion is still reeling from that one.

Amaris is one half of a splintered soul. They grew up with their other half as their best friend and had no idea.

The illithid abduction went funky and rather than just scooping them up into the nautiloid, it shunted them into an entirely different, mirrored reality. It wasn't until before the push on moonrise that they learned the truth.

Their best friend and other half had a massive crush on the infamous Gale of Waterdeep that they used to give her hell about all the time. Until they met him, and fell for him too.

Luckily, due to alternate universe fuckery, they each got a Gale and everyone is happy.

Naught is something of an urban legend to people who travel the roads outside Baldur's Gate. He hunted highwaymen with the help of his birds Quothe and Madge. Known only as The Raven on account of the only warning of their presence being a ruffle of feathers and the cry of ravens before the arrows would start flying.

He took payment for his heroism in money, food, or sex. Whatever was on offer.

Before they hit Baldur's Gate and rented out the Elfsong they hadn't slept in a bed in over 10 years.

Their boyfriend was teaching him to read before the fire that killed him and sent Naught on the run. As such, the lad still can't fucking read.

Apparently their type is nerds who are older than him.

Jack married his ex-wife when he was 18.

Has two kids - a son and a daughter - and a grandchild on the way.

His job in the city was general labour. Lifting, fixing, building, cleaning. Anything that paid.

His ex-wife, and therefore his kids, are dwarves. He's 6'5. There's a bit of a height difference there.

He plays the drums.

Ilztaufein is a name he gave himself after escaping the fall of Ched Nasad.

He'd only been training as a wizard for about 10 years when he left. Still though, he thinks he's hot shit and won't hear otherwise.

The only wizard he thinks is better than himself is Gale. Elminster is a nobody in his eyes.

He's 5'4!

For all his big talk he's kind of terrified of women and will automatically obey any order given to him by any of the women in the party. Except for Shadowheart..who he killed......And Mystra... who he's got plans for.

He's been researching the gods after hearing Mystra's order for Gale's sacrifice. He wants to usurp her.

Most of his work on the surface has been in and around Waterdeep, and he's been to Blackstaff Academy a number of times in that time, in disguise, trading information.

He doesn't understand how humans age.

He's never seen a cat in person until they entered Last Light. He's obsessed with them (they're regal, vicious, fancy little bitches. Just like him). The first time he sees one with fur he's going to lose his damn mind.

He's never been with a human before. It's only been drow and the occasional surface elf. Gale's body hair is magical to him and he's not at all subtle about it.

He's 6'2.

Muse more or less adopted Flair - his partner in crime - when they were still teenagers. He saw this homeless kid trying to flirt with him after one of his shows and, like one might with a pet, decided this one was his and took her in. He taught her everything he knew about flirting, manipulation, and getting away with it.

Astarion clocked them both as thieves right away when they met Gale and immediately started trying to use thieves cant to communicate to each other that he was the perfect mark, and whose turn it was to do the flirting.

They caught on that Astarion was on to them later, so Muse was tasked with distracting him, lest Astarion rat them out or, worse, take their mark out from under their noses.

Absolutely devastated when Astarion started using the same tactics on him that he'd used on his targets and that shit actually worked.

He's really bad at the whole...feeling your real genuine emotions...thing. He's been writing songs about Astarion trying to sort out his feelings, rather than..yknow. talking to anyone. at all. ever.

He got really mad at Flair when she started giving Gale expensive items so he wouldn't explode. He voted to send the wizard to the underdark cause he wasn't worth the trouble.

He smells like patchouli and vanilla.

[dycefic]

Ocean Burial: A History!

Howdy! My name is Olivine! I’ve been a big fan for a hot minute now, but I just wanted to let you know how much I loved your newest story about Bone Beach. Now, I am an aspiring ethnomusicologist, and imagine my surprise when I first saw one of my favorite songs in the story! I just wanted to share some information about its deep and storied history. 

Our story tonight begins many, many years ago, with a young man from New York. Edwin Hubbell Chapin was a teenager when he wrote his poem Ocean Burial, also known as Bury Me Not, while training to become a priest. Shortly after its publication (by Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry journal!), a popular sheet music writer named George N. Allen set it to music, and thusly, one of the most tragic songs of the age was born.

But its growth did not halt there. But first, I have to take a step back and give y'all a tad bit of context. I am a Southern gal, born and raised (Southern US, that is),  and I never did know any “Ocean Burial”. However, when I was just a young child, I fell in love with the mysterious, haunting ballad that my father sung to us all as a lullaby. It told the tale of a young cowpoke who laid in the prairie brush at sunset, breathing his final prayer to his companions.

“Bury me not, on the lone prairie." 

You see, Chapin’s song had grown wings and took flight far over the lands, took the leather and the iron of the cowpokes. Through the oral tradition and the ancient magic of stories among travelers, this sailing song had become a tragedy of the American cowboy. 

First published by John Lomax, sources at the time claimed that it came from the Uvalde region. Some believe that it was originally the Lohn Prairie, the name for the vast grasslands around the region. It was first recorded in the most popular version (most similar to the original, too) by Charles Sprauge, a boy hailing from Manvel, Texas, not too far from Houston. He grew up as a ranch-hand on his family’s farm, learning songs from his uncles, as well as the transient cowboys and ranch-hands who made their way on through. 

After his service in the first World War, he came home and recorded ”The Dyin’ Cowboy“ in 1925, and would go on to produce a few albums with Victor records. Tragically, his career was cut short but the Great Depression. But ultimately, he shaped American music, especially country, into what we see today. He was the original "Singin’ Cowboy”, giving rise to most every country star from Willie Nelson to Johnny Cash himself. He also had a massive influence on the rise of rock, being one of those oft-touted folk singers who “paved the road for rock n’ roll”.

Now-a-days, it still lives on. Covered by popular artists such as Colter Wall, it still lies in the heart of American folk music. However, it lives on in the spiritual sense. You see, it holds a poignance and timelessness that forever holds the grief of a life cut short. Truth be told, I do believe that Chapin, Lomax, and Sprauge would be glad that their songs have lived on in the minds of so many others, that their dying youth may forever be remembered.

Thanks for your time! I know I have a tendency to ramble, so I apologize if I went on for too long, or ended up getting too philosophical. But my words have been spoken and my tongue’s all sore, so this is it for me tonight. Have a good day, and thank you for your patience!

Check out this amazing little glimpse into the history of ‘The Ocean Burial’! I am delighted to know that I accidentally chose a song for my story with such a rich history!

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[misterewrites]

Secret Agent Bard (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here with a new chapter of the underground! Woo! I hope you are all doing good and staying safe.

So I actually have more to say today! That's a trip. I’ll have an author’s note under the line. 

So that's it for now. Stay safe, take care of you and your loved ones, stay out of trouble, wash your hands, wear your mask, get vaccinated if you can and push to release the vaccine world wide cuz we're all in this together. Have a great week and thanks for reading. I appreciate it and feel free to tell your friends, reblog, drop likes and feedback i love it all. Bye for now and enjoy!

If you want an easier place to read the story cuz tumblr sucks sometimes here’s a link to the chapter https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79541746

The First Chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967

and since you made it this far here’s a link to all my stories!

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Byeeeeee!

Author’s note:  Today’s work will be a little different as there will be singing. The chapter with the bard is gonna have singing? Go figure haha So if you see a sentence in Italics, that means someone is singing. Bold and italics represents various people singing as a group. The song in question is called twiddles. There's different versions of it but the one I chose is from the misbehavin maidens. Great group but all their work ranges from innuendos to straight up not safe for work so listen at your peril. I have now completed my responsible adult duties haha. here’s a link to the chosen song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iS1-_fKF5ug

Summary: Oliver has quite the task ahead of him as the group splits to achieve their goals. Leading Sel and Flora, the young bard will have to think quick on his feet to ensure this mission is a success. Luckily he's an old hand at this. Ironically the one person who could distract him may make a surprise appearance tonight.

-----

Oliver stood quietly, arms crossed and his mind thoughtful as the group prepared to go their separate ways. While ideally nothing would go wrong, that was a childish belief: Every person and robotic being here knew safety was not guaranteed in their line of work.

Even the old man knew the risks.

Oliver hated doing nothing. He thrived when he was busy, focused on whatever task required his attention whether it be being a better bard or upholding the Choir’s values. Too many ghosts and regrets lingered on the edges of his mind and he found the best solution was to simply keep occupied.

But that was his coping mechanism, not everyone else. He knew better than to rush his team: The party would last at least another few hours and beside the goal of getting Sel to the third floor, there was nothing else to do. No information to gather, nothing to review. Let them have their moment, it was good for morale.

Terri and Flora were sickeningly adorable: Hands clasped tightly with Terri tearfully asking her girlfriend to not poison everyone. Flora gave a halfhearted promise while as they shared a tender kiss. Terri noticed her less than enthused tone but refused to press the matter further.

Tyrell stood awkwardly to the side, his face twisted in a strange mixture of sick and excited. He fidgeted with something in his pocket, seeking comfort from whatever lay within. Given the shape of the bulge and size, Oliver guessed it was a knife.

Sel stood nearby, motionless in the shadows of the alley. They hadn’t moved in some time though he suspected the automaton was simply waiting for the next phase of the plan.

“Alright” Oliver spoke up, his voice firm yet gentle “Times up. You have your assignments?”

Uneven murmuring responded.

“Let’s go.”

Oliver, Sel and Flora went down one end of the alley, Terri and Tyrell disappearing in the opposite direction.

-----

It didn’t take long for the trio to find the main streets of the Merchant Ward and make their way towards the Brambleoak banking office. The crowds weren’t as thick as they had been during the day but Oliver knew everyone out and about did so with a purpose.

“Bard.” Flora asked without warning, breaking the awkward silence “Question.”

“Answer.” Oliver cheekily replied.

Flora glared.

Oliver coughed “Yes?”

“You are a First Chair Soprano correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yet you are so young. How did you manage that? I thought First Chair ranks were only reserved for experienced or particularly skilled members. You don’t seem to be very magically powerful.”

Oliver paused for a moment, trying to best answer the question.

In a way Flora was correct in her assessment: He wasn’t particularly powerful as a spellcasting bard. Unlike Flora who clearly committed herself fully to nature and thus druidic magic, Oliver had only recently thrown himself into the magical arts.

Unless you were a wizard who studied the secrets of the universe with a very intimate and well versed knowledge of magic, most spellcasters drew their power from sources of existence: Clerics from their gods, Druids from nature, Warlocks from something beyond mortal existence yet not quite a deity, sorcerers because a family member fucked around with pure incomprehensible concepts. Magic was the fabric of the universe and the more you threw yourself into a source of power, the more the source threw itself into you, guiding your hand and your spells.

Of course each, wizards exempt, were limited in their spellcasting options. Clerics were powerful holy/unholy practitioners but couldn’t command plant life to save their lives. Druids were in tune with nature and the weather and all the lovely flora and fauna but ask them to superimpose an image onto something and they’d give you a dumbfounded look. Warlocks kinda just do whatever their sugar patrons felt like lending.

Magic bards drew their power from the arts: Drawing, singing, poetry, even witty and funny satire. Bards were in tune with life, with existence. Art could heal, could hurt, could make you feel happy and sad. It could make you feel like a whole new person or perhaps take you to a time and place you’d forgotten. Bards sung the song of life and Oliver was no exception.

However, Oliver still wasn’t sure what he could do exactly. His magical muscle was average on a good day and he could only cast a few spells before needing a good night’s rest. The basic healing spells and comprehension language he cast earlier today had taken a good chunk of his energy but he relied more on his wit than raw magical strength. He discovered creative and useful ways to cast his spells like amplifying dissonance noises to distract and disorient foes or temporarily place another person’s image over himself. Magic was as much about creativity as it was skill, pushing the limits of what you can do with your particular brand of spells.

“I’m clever.” Oliver answered honestly “The whole magic of the arts is new to me but I’ve been in the Choir for a long time now. I used to be Tenor like Sel here but more fast talking than breaking and entering. I guess they carried over my old position into my new one.”

Flora nodded, satisfied “That answers much. How long have you been a bard?”

“Few years now.” Oliver checked the street sign to ensure they were on the right path “The magic part is going on 3 years.”

“I see.” Flora scratched her chin “I’ve been a druid my whole life so it is a strange concept to be so new to the spellcasting arts yet hold such a high rank.”

Oliver gave a casual shrug “Not sure what you want me to say. We’re here by the way.”

The bank looked as unkempt as Oliver had remembered: Faded, peeling green paint with gaudy gray stone pillars. Two guards in green uniforms stood in front of the massive reddish brown doors that led into the bank.

“Lea’s mercenaries.” Sel pointed out “They are not letting anyone in.”

“Correction.” Oliver brushed off nonexistent dirt from his washed-out outfit “They’re not letting nobodies in. Luckily tonight we’re somebodies. Follow my lead.”

Oliver let out a tense breathe before strolling forward, his mannerism cocky yet unsteady. He reached the top of the steps when two sharp looking blades reached out to stop him.

“Halt” The elvish woman spoke with a hint of irritation “You lost?”

“Not at all!” Oliver beamed with a smile that was too wide to be natural “I’m here for the party. There is a party inside no?”

“No” The human man spat out.

Oliver gave a forgetful grin “Oh? I could’ve sworn Brambleoak was having some sort of charity event tonight. I’d show you my invite but I think I misplaced it.”

The elvish woman sneered “Right. How convenient for you having lost your special one of a kind invite.”

“Pfft.” Oliver scoffed “Special one of a kind invite? Reiner hands them out like candy. Probably find one in a gutter nearby.”

The guards shared an unspoken understanding with one another.

“Well.” The human began “Let’s pretend that is true.”

“It is but go on.”

The human’s eyes narrowed “Why should we let you in? You dress rather poorly for someone claiming to be in Reiner’s usual circles.”

Oliver let out an exaggerated gasp as he puffed out his chest “Do you know who I am?”

“Umm no.”

Oliver growled unhappily, his fist clenched tightly within his pocket “I am rich! I AM POWERFUL! AND I DEMAND ACCESS!”

As quick as lightning, Oliver flung a handful of gold coins towards the pair. The two reeled back in surprised as the money clanked onto the smooth marble floor. A moment hardly passed before the guards were shoving the loose coins into their tunic pockets like hungry dogs. They straightened up, eyes alive with greed.

“Of course sir” The elvish woman bowed her head in apologize “Deeply sorry for that.”

“Please go ahead.”

Oliver gave a self satisfied nod before moving past the pair only to stop as he heard the sounds of swords scraping each other. He turned backwards to see the guards barring access to Flora and Sel.

Flora looked back and forth between the guards, her eyes calculating and cold. Sel stood still but clearly at the ready for any sort of trouble.

“They’re with me.”

The Elvish woman shook her head “We said we’d let you in. These two? Definitely not Reiner’s usual prey.”

“They aren’t” Oliver admitted “But I need them.”

The human turned to him, suspicion in his eyes “Why?”

“She…” Oliver pointed lazily towards Flora “Is my street doctor.”

“Street doctor? As in….?”

Oliver gave a cheery wink “The fun kind.” And for give measure, he added a weak shiver to his act “Ugggggh I feel cold, are you cold? It’s cold.”

Before anyone could say anything, Oliver began shaking. He rubbed his hands for ‘warmth’ while swaying back and forth.

“Uh oh.” Flora spoke dully, pushing past the guards and holding Oliver steady “He’s crashing. I need to give him his umm medicine.”

“Medicine?” Oliver repeated, his voice soft yet manic “Yes medicine. I need it. I NEED IT!”

Folks began to turn their way, the guards shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention they were receiving.

“And this one?” The Elvish woman gestured to Sel.

Oliver began to rock back and forth, his voice a harsh whisper. “Guard. Guard. Guard guard guard guard.”

The human threw up his hands in defeat “Bah! Get him in there and fixed! Any trouble and I’ll personally come over to beat your asses.”

“Thank you sir.” Flora murmured through gritted teeth. She guided Oliver and Sel through the doors and into the party within.

Flora sighed as Sel cracked the tension out of their fingers. Oliver straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow.

True to his expectations, the bank had been altered to be suitable for a charity event: Torches lined the walls, casting the building into a bright light. The desks normally found on the floor were gone as to allow a more spacious setting. Oliver counted a handful of guards scattered about, wandering about for any sign of trouble. All except for the lone guard beyond the empty elevated platform who stood in front of the stairway to the upper floors.

“What now?” Flora asked

“Split up. Sel stay close to the door, Flora and I will figure out a distraction.”

“Sounds good.”

And without another word, Oliver was swallowed whole into the crowd.

-----

It had taken an hour for Oliver to figure out what kind of distraction he would need.

The patrols themselves hadn’t been very difficult to plan for: They would move randomly about, keeping an eye on the party and each other. He counted about 6 of them total and each one of them was easily starstruck. At the sign of any disagreement, they would swarm in groups of three and quickly threaten any troublemakers into compliance. However, upon meeting anyone with even the smallest bit of fame, they would subtly motion to each other and make their way as one to the person in question, hoping for a glance or the chance for an autograph.

So the floor guards were no problem but the one standing watch over the door was much more difficult. Evidently Lea was smart enough to give the most important job to the most responsible of his idiots. The stairway guard or Stairy as Oliver labeled him, would not budge at the sign of any trouble. Loud arguments, agitated party goers, a waiter being tripped (sorry it was for science buddy). None of these would pull him from his post. Celebrities wouldn’t either. Any time his buddies motioned to a famous person, he would shrug his shoulders and stay put.

Oliver was beginning to wonder if Flora needed to poison Stairy until he noticed something about half way into his observations: Stairy was a music lover. Specifically a cute girl music lover.

His gaze would wander every time he caught sight of a pretty girl who happened to be too close to him. Oliver wasn’t sure at first so he decided to test his theory. With his pocket change lessened, Oliver noticed how often a girl would catch Stairy’s eye. His attention didn’t shift when they fell in front of him, obviously in distress, or walked slower allowing him to enjoy the view longer but Oliver caught him smiling and tapping his foot when the odd girl would sing. He even staggered away from his door a few steps at a time before catching himself and returning to his post.

So the best distraction would be a girl who could sing and have some level of fame attached to her name.

Oddly specific and Oliver hadn’t the slightest idea how he was going to mange that. He was attempting to solve this puzzle when something caught his ear.

“Get off me you mulched dirt licker!”

That rather unique set of cursing could only mean one thing: Flora.

Oliver turned to where he last spotted her and found the young druid being hassled by a tall man in an elegant uniform.

Oliver noticed the guards were looking about, not yet spotting the commutation but aware something was going on. He needed to act first if he wanted to stop Flora deciding to kill everyone in the room.

The bard quickly slipped into the crowd, darting and weaving between any and everyone he could. He saw Flora slip a small vial into her hand as the man towered over her.

“I jus wanna dance.” the man’s words slurred out of his mouth “A pretty thing like yo shou wanna dance”

Flora’s eyes narrowed angrily “For the last time you dried poop stain, LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Flora pulled back her hand, prepared to throw the mysterious vial at the drunk’s face.

“Whoa!” Oliver cried out, tightly grasping onto Flora’s wrist “What seems to be the problem?”

“Nothing I can’t solve on my own.” Flora coldly glanced towards the drunken man.

“One sec.”

Oliver eyed the man carefully, absorbing every little detail he could.

He could see the muscles strain against the fabric of his light green tunic so this man worked in something physically laborious. The sheathed sword on his belt weight seemed to throw him off balance with every step. His gaze was unsteady and Oliver could see his pupils dilating wildly.

So this man was physically fit, armed with a sword in a charity event for the rich people and wearing light green tunic while currently drunk.

“You should leave her alone” Oliver said, sarcasm dipping from each word “You are so not her type.”

“So?” The man hiccupped “What’s the big deal?”

“So she’s got a girlfriend you idiot.” Oliver gestured with his hand “Besides you should go before your boss Lea gets here. I’m betting he won’t be happy one of his undercover mercs is currently drunk on the job. Of course I could always tell your captain what’s going on. That’s him over there right?”

Oliver gestured to the closest guard making his way towards the trio. He didn’t look any different than any guards but Oliver noticed his green was a shade darker than the rest. Lea probably used different hues to signify rank in his mercenaries.

The drunk’s face paled as he fidgeted nervously. He rose his hands in surrender, eyes darting between the two “Sorry.”

“Any trouble?” The captain approached, his hand tightly held around the hilt of his blade.

Oliver beaned cheerfully, trying his best to pull attention away from the fuming Flora “Not at all my good sir. This man simply mistook us for someone else, correct?”

The drunk nodded slowly “My bad. Forgive my intrusion.”

The captain gave a cold smirk “Apologizes. Mikey?”

The drunk flinched “Yes sir?”

“A word in private. Now.”

Oliver let out a sigh of relief as the captain dragged Mikey away..

“You should’ve let me poison them.” Flora muttered darkly.

Oliver scratched the back of his neck tiredly “Night’s still young. Still might get your chance if I can’t figure a way past Stairy.”

Flora tilted her head quizzically “Stairy?”

“The asshole at the base of the stairs.” Oliver answered absentmindedly as he spotted a familiar streak of platinum blonde hair among the crowd of strangers “And I just figured it out. Can I trust you not to poison everyone here?”

“You have an hour. I get bored easily” Flora swirled the sickly purple liquid in the vial threateningly.

“You and me both.” Oliver patted her shoulder before chasing down his perfect distraction.

-----

Oliver’s heart began to thunder loudly in his ears, a nervous and uncontrollable energy overtaking his resolve. The mission was important but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see Maria today.

Maria Thoreau was the daughter of a powerful, influential family. The Thoreau’s were more concerned with their standing in high society than any virtuous endeavors and thus each one of their children was trained from birth to excel in their chosen field. Maria’s older brothers were an aspiring politician and merchant respectively.

Maria’s path was to be a well famous singer and patron of the arts. She wanted nothing more than to sing for the people. Unfortunately, her father only saw a chance to further the family’s good name and tied his desire for power with her passion and dream. It was bittersweet really but nothing much could be done about it.

Yet.

Maria knew Oliver as a musical rival who thwarted her group’s attempts at winning local competitions which in turned derailed her father’s plans. So needless to say she was less than thrilled when she caught him making his way over.

“Ollie” she forced a smile while her hazel eyes narrowed, peeved “I’m surprised to see they let you into this exclusive event.”

Oliver gave a cocky shrug “Well your beauty caught my attention and I couldn’t resist trying to figure out a way in.”

Maria’s cheeks burned a pinkish hue.

Maria was the same age as Oliver with short, tastefully cut dark brown hair. A single streak of platinum blonde hair hung off the side of her face, giving her such a cute look. Her clothes were practical tonight since she wasn’t performing: A simple white blouse with a long flowing dark blue skirt that went all the way down to her feet. Her shoes were sensible dark blue flats designed for comfort over style.

Maria coughed into her hand, willing her blush away.

“So.” She cleared her throat “Is this your sad attempt to throw me off my game? You won’t win the next competition. We’ll be dealing with professional judges this time.”

Oliver’s eyes widen in false surprise “There’s a competition here? Fancy that. I hadn’t been made aware of that but since we’re both in town, why not have a round two?”

“Oliver….”

“I mean” Oliver went on, pretending not have heard “You are a much better singer solo than with those harpies you’re forced to keep around.”

Maria glanced to the side timidly “Don’t be absurd, the Melodic Maidens are a perfect, well oiled machine.”

Oliver scoffed dismissively “I suppose they’re nearby, listening in. Hardly leave you alone, don’t they?”

Maria opened her mouth to respond when a shrilly voice cut in.

“What do you know you two bit hack? How much did you bribe the judges last time?!”

Oliver gave a strained smile as the rest of the ladies forced their way into view.

“Lilly, Filly, Sally. You suck.”

The triplets snarled in unison, openly glaring at the bard.

Lilly, Filly and Sally were Maria’s chains: They were as much there to further her career as they were to report back to daddy to ensure the errant daughter stayed on course.

As triplets, they all shared the same features: Three pairs of dull green eyes and long messy black hair. Even their clothing were the same with each wearing a strapless dress that showed way too much skin and skirts that were way too short. The only reason Oliver could tell them apart was due to their preferred colors: Lilly in a shade of pink that was bright for her skin tone, Filly with a pale ugly yellow and Sally in seas of dark red.

The trio surrounded Maria, their arms embracing her in an uncomfortable hug. Maria bit her lip, trying to hide her uneasy.

“Still wearing that tacky outfit huh Ollie?” Lilly eyed his faded clothing distastefully.

Sally let out an unfriendly laugh “Ollie always looks like trash. Not even prize money could buy an ounce of class.”

“Actually” Oliver brushed his shoulder dismissively “Class is cheap. No amount of money could buy an ounce of character. You can blow hot air at me all you want but nothing in this world could ever change the fact that the three of you are bitches.”

The trio clicked their tongues disappointingly, their normally plain faces twisted into unflattering visages of rage while they screamed as one.

“HOW DARE YOU INSULT US?!”

“YOU ARE SUCH A POOR TACTLESS MAN!”

“YOU FUCKER!”

Oliver casually waved his hand “All bark and no bite. I’m supposed believe you’ve gotten any better in two months? Last time I checked I won the last competition.”

“OH YEAH?!” The triplets yelled, furious.

Maria threw a suspicious glance Oliver’s way “Girls, I don’t think…”

“Come on Maria, we don’t want to have to tell daddy you backed down from a challenge.”

A shiver ran down her spine, the fight draining out of her face. Oliver felt a tinge of guilt but said nothing as the girls took their positions.

Maria paused for a moment, her breathing slow and calm. The murmur of the crowds grew louder and louder upon the recognition that the ladies nearby were the Melodic Maidens.

Maria pivoted on her heels, a bright warm smile gracing her lips. Oliver could feel his heart skip a beat at the sound of her soft, airy voice beginning to sing

“Oh you hear a lot of stories about the sailors and their sport” Maria gave a playful wink his way. His cheeks burned brightly at her playful banter.

“About how every sailor has a girl in every port”

Maria twirled, her steps mischievous and alluring as her dark blue dress chased after her. She gracefully held two fingers aloft for everything to see, her smirk cocky and assured.

“but if you added two and two you’d figure out right quick”

Maria backed up as the triplets step forward to join her, the group made whole and ready for the chorus.

“It’s just because the girls all have a lad on every ship”

Maria turned to throw a sultry look towards her rival bard but instead of finding a dumbstruck Oliver, she found a smiling one. His gaze was gentle and loving as if he was seeing utterly beautiful. A small smile was tugging at his cheeks. Maria could feel her heart thunder in her ears as, without warning, Oliver gave a thumbs up and mouthed an appreciative “Thanks” before ducking into the growing crowd.

“And it’s twiddley idle idle idle, twiddley idle aye.”

What was once a spattering of folks formed into a massive gathering. Most of the party goers and guards had come over to catch the free show the girls inadvertently given and thus all focus shifted onto them. What was an attempt to show up Oliver ended up being a very unnecessary showcase.

“It’s often times a man will leave you broken with dismay”

Boy was Maria feeling that dismay right now.

-----

Oliver’s plan worked: Stairy hadn’t been to resist the siren call of a beautiful woman and her singing. Luckily the harpies hadn’t ruined it with their imperfect pitches. Stairy hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Sel slipped in behind and began working at the door. It took a moment but one blink later and the automaton vanished out of sight.

Oliver let out a sigh when a hand gripped his shoulder tightly.

“Hello sir.” A guff, low voice in a less than friendly voice “Might I have a word? You’ve been acting rather strange all party long.”

Well fuck.

[tsukikoayanosuke]

7, 8, 9, 10, 13, 14, 16, 27, 35 & 39

[It’s a lot again 😅 hope you don’t mind :D]

I might be going way too far with these answers, so please bear with me ^^’

Sorry for the long rambles but these are my answers!

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Oof. This is hard. There’s actually a lot of paragraphs that I like throughout the writing process. I can re-read and just pick which is my favorite, it’ll be different every time.

But, I think the thing currently going on with TW:OPT can be summed up in this Once Upon a Time… (I was being dumb and I thought prose is just poetry without rhyme)

So, this drabble is written on the run. There’s not really deep thought and I can’t even remember why I wrote it in the first place. From the date I posted it on Tumblr it was in the middle of Octavinelle Arc.

But, in this small crappy prose-poetry, it has one of the themes in TW:OPT: happy vs sad ending. This is something that I want to build since in the early stage. The theme of TW:OPT is second chances for the reincarnated villains, giving them a happy ending, something way better than the original ones.

So, if you look for example the two lines about the Queen of Heart:  

The Queen of Heart was forgotten by Alice like it was just a bad dream

The Queen of Heart will always be remembered by Alice as his dear friend and the greatest queen

The first line is what happens to the original Disney Alice’s Queen of Hearts, while the second line is what happens to Riddle, the current reincarnation of the Queen of Hearts. It’s a good change for Riddle’s life.

However, like everything, there has to be something to balance it. 

After all, good endings cannot exist without bad endings.

Can the good guys really live with the bad guys in harmony? After all, all Disney movie always has “good wins, evil lose” theme. If the “evil side” wins, wouldn’t that mean the “good side” loses? Is that even a good thing or even possible?

After all, the One-Eyed Captain found his happy ending to sail away once again. What will happen to him in his next life?

This line becomes the question. What will happen to the already-set happy endings? Would they just disappear to change into bad endings to keep the balance?

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8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I’m debating between many dialogues, but I think the one piece I’m most proud of is in Chapter 97. I'm cutting a lot of the narration and just focus on the dialogues because it becomes too long.

Riddle: What happens that day? The day when everything went downhill. Azul: Didn't anyone tell you already? Riddle: I want to hear it from your or Jonah's mouth. What happened that you must curse him? Azul: Pretty simple, really. I told him not to come here that day, and he did To make it worse, that boy was stupid enough to go back against our agreement. Riddle: Just that? Azul: Oh, please, dear Crimson Ruler. I don't want to hear that from you. Have you forgotten about your reign before? Riddle: I know what I did was tyrannical, but I want to be better. Azul: Because of the captain told you too? Riddle: No. This is my choice to change. Just like it was your choice to curse him. He trusts you, you know? He knows that you wouldn't go back against your own words, which was why he was willing to sign another contract with you. Azul: If he trusts me that much, why is he against me? If he trusts me, why did he choose to save his stupid friends than agreeing with me? Tell me, Riddle Rosehearts...Why does he choose you instead of me?

We all know what happened during Octavinelle Arc and I don't deny that this sounds cheesy or slightly ooc. And let me just say this, there's no intention of this become a love triangle or whatsoever.

There are two things I want to highlight in this exchange: Riddle's growth and Azul's decline.

Riddle, after everything happened in Heartslabyul and Savanclaw arc, finally putting his foot down on where he wants to stand. He wants to be a better person, more than just the feared Crimson Tyrant. That's why he's helping them. Not because the boys are breaking the rules, not because someone tells him to, but Riddle is willing to risk it all, even his unique magic (as we see at the end of this chapter and the next) to save his friends. Again, this might sound ooc and I apologize, but from my perspective, this is a logical step of development for Riddle.

Meanwhile, Azul is showing more and more decline from this until the end of Octavinelle Arc even Scarabia Arc. For Azul who knows how easy people can leave and mock when you have nothing, seeing Jonah leave him and siding with the anemones is basically a betrayal. He can't think rationally when it comes to the betrayal and we see how brash he can be with anything related to Jonah throughout the arc where all of their interaction nearly kills Jonah.

If Riddle-Jonah is a coming-of-age story, Azul-Jonah is a broken friendship story.

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9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

This is a hard one to write. You might think I’ll just answer with TW:OPT, but honestly, all multi chapters fanfic has their own difficulties, so I can’t choose which is the hardest.

For Twisted-Wonderland: Our Precious Treasure, where I do treat this as a novel-writing practice, keeping the consistency with the theme, plot points, and characterization.

For Private Tutor, Angel of Death, Philza Minecraft, actually coming up with new ideas is hard because I don’t based this on anything, and just write anything once a week. In addition that I’m still new in Dream SMP fandom so characterization won’t be the strongest thing.

For both TWST MC Hybrid AU and Magical Girl AU, giving the massive cast equal spotlight and actually not getting lost is quite a challenge. Both AU has seven main characters and I need to give them the same amount to screen time.

And don’t get me started with those smut. I won’t be talking about it because I’m keeping it family friendly. Those has their own problems XD

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10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

As I said, every fic has their own problems, even one shot. So, I’m looking through my works and trying to figure out which fic I wrote the fastest but had the most fun.

I think I’ll go with A Wish for a Proposal because the comfort in this fic with Ace going heads over heels for Deuce and being doki-doki all the time. And the kiss under a shooting star, AH! Poetic cinema~

I do enjoy when I wrote how Ace thought keeping a toy ring as childish but he ended up using it to confess to Deuce and thinking that it’s not as childish as he thought.

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13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

There are good writing advice that I had head, one of them came from On Writing: Great Character Descriptions! by Hello Future Me. He has so many good advices in writing and I highly recommend him.

He said that “when describing characters it’s good to focus on their movements that can tell the readers of who the characters are”. As someone who has many troubles in writing physical description, this is actually a great alternative, especially when you want to go thought the “show don’t tell”.

After watching the video I tried to write something. I ended up writing Jonah’s father, Benjamin, in Chapter 137

The owner of the inn was an old man who, coincidentally, also shared the 'Argentum' surname. Benjamin Argentum was a man with slouched back from the burden of the world, white strands on his reddish-brown hair and tired, but kind, black eyes. He walked slowly with his walking stick, claiming that his knees were never that strong since a cart accident during his younger days. The way he speaks was gentle like everyone's favorite uncle/grandfather, along with the delicious appetizer that he had prepared a few minutes ago on the reception table. The spices he used reminiscent of the spices Jonah used in his Ramshackle Kitchen. There was no way all of these were coincidences. Crowley wouldn't doubt if Jonah Argentum ever grew old, he would be looking exactly like the warm innkeeper.

I want to highlight how Benjamin is a kind old man ("He walked slowly with his walking stick, claiming that his knees were never that strong since a cart accident during his younger days”, ”The way he speaks was gentle like everyone's favorite uncle/grandfather”) but has his own problems (”a man with slouched back from the burden of the world”), and very similar to Jonah (”The owner of the inn was an old man who, coincidentally, also shared the 'Argentum' surname”, ”The spices he used reminiscent of the spices Jonah used in his Ramshackle Kitchen”, “Crowley wouldn't doubt if Jonah Argentum ever grew old, he would be looking exactly like the warm innkeeper.”)

It’s not the best descriptions, because most of the example used highlight only one most recognizable feature while my description highlight nearly everything. I still need some practice.

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14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

“Write what’s mainstream”.

Here’s my problem with it: sometimes anything that’s mainstream is not my thing. I like to challenge what we are given and give it a spin. 

I mentioned before that growing up with Indonesian TV Series that only centers around love, riches, and cheating, I grew tired of it. That was why I once tried to make a script for a group of friends creating a classical music band and mental problems. 

I’m not the first one to make an adaptation of TWST, but I think I’m one of the first, at least in AO3, that make an adaptation with Male MC. Among the Female MC or Female Readers story with a hint (or too much) of Romance, I want to give something for the small group who wants Male MC or something more platonic to read.

I always want to push slightly further, trying something that I haven’t seen at first glance, giving varieties. I will admit that would always doubt whether me writing something different is even worth it or not. But when I saw that yes, this is worth it, I gain more confidence and become bolder in my twist.

Going against the mainstream is risky, but we'll see whether it's worth it or not.

.. 

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Oh no... Does it have to be a romantic pairing?

Okay. I don't really have an OTP. I mean, I like ROnah and JonAzul, but I don't think I can't live with writing only about them.

So, romantically, I don’t know. But, this doesn’t help with platonically either because I find enjoyment in writing all relationship. Just pushing the limit of my writing, you know?

So, I don’t think I can answer this because I’m a coward XD

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27. How do you feel about collaborations?

A mixed bag.

So currently I'm in at least 2 collab projects: TWST MC Hybrid AU and Arisu in Alternate Wonderland. In the former, I'm the group leader, while in the latter, I'm just a writer.

Both sidea are different experiences. With AiAW, it's definitely lighter because this is basically retelling TWST but with seven Yuus. However because of this freedom and the possibilities of anything, I cannot predict whether my oc action will affects in the future or how they would interact with other ocs in the project.

With Hybrid AU, since this is a fantasy au, anything can happen. Plus as the main writer, I can see and plan clearly which event will be important and setting the characters' arc. It's definitely harder to organize because of the various idea that we want to write.

So, yeah. Collaboration can be two things for me: a scripted roleplay or a freestyle roleplay

.

35. Would you ever kill off a canon character?

*looking at draft for TW:OPT Book 2*

Maybe...?

.

39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I remember when I was a kid, I wrote a fanfiction where it only features OCs, and someone gave a review, ranting about the lack of canon characters. I, of course, sulked a bit but then just keep writing.

However, what I usually do when it comes to comments is take them into considerations. During Scarabia Arc I got a comment that the Jonah-Azul therapy moment is kinda weak, and rereading it, I can see that. Which was why the next part of the therapy Arc I tried to connect them further. So compare the JonAzul scene in the last part of Chapter 124 with the first part of Chapter 126. At least for me, I prefer the latter because there's more intimacy.

[poetrusicperry]

Hello, there <3 Just came across your blog and I adore your writing so much.

I saw your previous post with platonic pairing headcanon with one of the poets, it was so cute and adorable and I would love to get one as well, if you don’t mind?🥺

Here’s how I’d describe myself: I go by she/her pronouns. I’m an INTP and type 9. Also a Slytherin. My style is probably light academia but my general aesthetic is probably dark academia.

Since I’m not that good with socializing, I’m ~really~ struggling with making new friends, but the good thing is that I managed to have a small circle of friends and being the one who is too chill about everything (but can be the silliest one too at some point) in the group. I love to be seen as the extrovert in the room, but sometimes I tend to crave my alone time desperately. I don’t like being straightforward to people or being too honest with them about something and I rarely yell when I get mad. I just can’t hurt people’s feelings and I feel like I have this strong desire to be liked by everyone. I’m definitely not an independent person, but I’m trying to be! Most people I know would often tell me their secrets for some reason, thus I keep literally everyone’s secrets and I remember every single one of them very vividly LOL. My friends would tell me that I’m a bit sneaky :/ They would also often assume that I don’t have any life problems because I'm (indeed) super relaxed and never really showing my emotional side. I absolutely adore quiet meadows, small bakeries and old buildings. I change my hobbies over time, but I always love to read some good books and do some rock painting :D A huge fan of turtlenecks, classical music, scented candles and desserts!!! I wish to study criminology (or perhaps classical studies) once I go to the uni.

Thank you so much and have an amazing day! <3

hello my dear anon (: thank you for your kind words. apologies that it took me a while to get to this, but i hope you like it !! <3 i also hope your mental health continues to get better and you continue to be comfortable with the person you are (:

ship:

(platonically) shipping you with everyone’s fav timid poet, todd anderson (: i just think your personalities juxtapose really well and align in certain places, too

hcs:

todd would find such a calming presence in you, that he couldn't help but be platonically drawn to you. he’d see how kind you were to people (even people you didn’t even know), making him have the hugest friend crush on you

your extrovertedness would encourage todd to open up, leading to countless nights staying up and exchanging silly stories that would leave you both with sore abs from laughing too much

he’d ask about your collection of classical music vinyls and you’d tell him all about it (the next time you saw his and neil’s room, you’d find a couple classical vinyls that todd had bought for himself (‘: )

you guys would totally hang out during the summer when his family was away on vacation (he never liked to go so he stayed home) and you guys would explore every night, finding new places to sneak to in the daytime to read or listen to him recite his poetry

he’d get a little bit closed off for awhile, but when you asked him about it (you thought he was mad at you or you did something wrong, so you just had to ask him), he confessed to you his feelings for neil and that he didn’t know what he was doing/he was scared. naturally, you kept that secret, even after neila and todd started dating (:

as evidenced by the former, todd had a level of trust in you that he seldom had with other people and he would come to you about everything

you guy would have this appreciation for really good desserts, and would often seek out a new place to try pastries or cakes, keeping a record of them all in a shared journal (:

rock painting would confuse todd at first, but once you introduced him, he was endlessly fascinated and always on the hunt for rocks to give you. you’d come back to your dorm room to a bag full of rocks with a note that said “for your creations - t.a.” so you’d definitely paint some to give to the poets (that they absolutely adored)

he would just really like how comfortable he was around you; you never yelled, never made him feel stupid, and you were one of the people in his life that he never felt wronged by (:

you’d drag him along to a haunted building, where he’d be super anxious, but he’d up getting some really good writing inspiration, creating a poem that was beautifully haunting (mr. keating would adore it)

you two would definitely spend multiple evenings melting the leftover wax in your candles into one massive candle that smelled so weird, but interesting nonetheless

he’d buy you a book titled “the top 20 american murder mysteries” after hearing about your plans for college, claiming, “the book will give you a headstart into your studies !”

overall, you and todd would have very good give and take, your calm and level-headed nature would be a huge comfort to him, and he loved that he could trust you about anything and everything. he’d be just as much of a comfort for you, taking an interest in your interests and loving anything/everything you would talk about (he’d just really like to listen to you talk). you’d both need alone time, which somehow aligned, making your friendship that much easier and comfortable (:

[dorkylittleweirdo]

crazy shit that happened during high school

freshman year:

my favorite teacher (pe coach) ended up being a pedophile. it’s kinda scary to think about bc like,, that was my favorite teacher and i trusted him and if he tried anything with me i don’t think i would’ve stopped him and just yikes. but yeah, it was a whole thing. once the school found out they got the police involved and he fled the state. they got him in the end but i mean,, i spent a lot of time in the secretary’s office crying about it bc i really trusted that dude and i was distraught over it. that might’ve been where my trust issues started??? fun stuff

my school shut down. like i mean,, bc it was a charter school and we had to get the charter renewed. but the board at my school wasn’t using their money the way they were supposed to. it was a whole thing, like the principal left that school year bc he knew what was happening, couldn’t stop them from doing it, and didn’t want to be part of it. so they had a lot of meetings that us kids were allowed to go to so we could see what was happening and all that. i only went to one and it was A Time bc the lady who was recording everything passed tf out and of course nobody was a doctor and my pipsqueak thirteen year old ass went “i know what to do” bc i Did so i had to help her which was a trip in and of itself. but anyways, the school’s charter got denied, and everyone had to transfer, but the district promised that we could go to any school we wanted, not just the one we would have to go to by zip code

sophomore year:

i ended up going to a private christian school. big fucking mistake. absolute disaster. nothing really happened that was crazy by their standards, but it was for me

so they have a house system. think of harry potter, it’s EXACTLY like that. we have points, we have competitions, we have all that extra stuff. it was such a time, like i don’t,, i don’t even know how to explain how fucking weird that shit was

i came out in the middle of class. the principal’s daughter was our sub and she goes “okay so everyone is gonna tell us something that nobody knows about them” so when it was my turn i go “so it’s not a secret and y’all should know this but clearly y’all don’t: i’m not straight”. silence. dead silence. we could hear the class next to us it was so quiet. some girl whispers “i knew it”. another girl leans over and whispers to my friend “i’m so sorry”. principal’s daughter gives me the most threatening, condescending smile i’ve ever seen and goes “thanks for sharing”. i had to come out to my mom that same day bc i told me friends and they panicked on my behalf bc when people found out that they were gay, the principal told their parents. and i was Not about to be outed by the principal. my mom has since told me that the principal never contacted her about it so i came out for nothing but i mean i really like being out so we’re good

so instead of prom, cult school has this thing called “the ball”. sophomores, juniors, and seniors are allowed to go bc there’s less than fifty people per grade so if sophomores don’t come, there’s not enough people. so i went bc my friends were all going and i was like “yeah why not might as well”. three dance lessons. three fucking dance lessons for this stupid ball that i didn’t dance once at. i literally had three panic attacks in the span of an hour at the second one, and then i had swim practice right after. fucking exhausted. felt like i ran five marathons by the time i got home. the last lesson i didn’t do any dancing, just vibed with my friend in the corner. so at the actual ball, same friend and i vibed at the tables the whole time. we went to the bathroom for like an hour and took mirror selfies and tried to make our asses look bigger bc we’re Like That

SO AFTER THE BALL, there was apparently a massive party and there was alcohol and stuff. so my friends and i were blissfully unaware bc nobody liked us bc who tf likes the school sinners. so we walked to get ice cream after in our fucking ballgowns and suits looking like All That. so the principal thought that it was one of us who hosted the party and we were like “??? what party?”. literally almost got in trouble bc the principal thought we were LYING. i told my mom and she takes No Shit, so when the principal called her demanding to know if i went to/hosted the party, she marched her ass down to the school and was like “i know y’all have something against mexicans and people who are different from y’all, but that’s no reason to blame my daughter for something that your so called “perfect” students did”. my mom got Heated, roasted the fuck out of the principal, then LEFT. principal never fucked with my mom after that

so there was a fire like across the street from the school. the fd told us to evacuate, but noooooo the school was like “god will protect us” i’m like “okay but i’m gay and apparently your god hates that so i think we’re gonna Perish”. the fucking POWER went out and they STILL wouldn’t let us go. my mom called to sign me out so i could go wherever the fuck i wanted in the school until my friend’s dad came to pick us up bc she couldn’t get there bc of the fire. so i vibed next door to my friends’ class and i was like “heeeeey god’s trying to kill the gays” and we laughed about that until my gay ass got saved lmaoooo

okay so this is the funniest memory i have. in chemistry once, our teacher took us outside and started digging a lil hole next to the school. and keep in mind, my chem teacher used to be a hardcore atheist druggie, like fucking meth and coke and shit. took a theology course and converted. so he’s really sweet and nice but he’s also Slightly mad scientist vibes. so anyways, he puts something in this little hole, lights it on fire. i forgot why he did it, but i was standing back with him and one of the exchange students and the three of us watch in Horror as the rest of the class makes a circle around the fire and start doing some weird dance and saying something. it wasn’t like a chant, idk what to call it, but they were like counting like “and one, and two, and three, and four” and then the dance would get more intense and they’d get louder. so eventually they were screaming and going apeshit and i looked at my teacher and he’s just,, watching them do this. i’m like “and i’m satan, huh?”. like these kids really trying to summon the devil but i’m the bad one bc i like girls

junior year:

so technically this was during the summer but i’m putting it here. they have like a house party after the school year ends. i made cookies. apparently they “looked weird” so nobody ate them, two of my soon to be teachers kept insulting them. i called my mom to pick me up, took my cookies with me, got back in the car in tears. had to have a whole conversation with the principal and those two teachers so they could apologize bc i wanted to leave the school after that. dw tho, i took my cookies to the guards at my summer camp and they appreciated the hell out of them bc they were Very Good Cookies

so my ap bio teacher was an enabler. i was his favorite bc i wasn’t a religious nut and it was very obvious that i believed in science and not whatever the hell this cult was doing with their creationist bs. also he was a parasitologist and i’m super into parasitology so he had fun talking about it to someone who both understood and was extremely interested in the topic. i rolled up to class one day like “hey so i’m gonna buy hissing cockroaches from amazon, if my parents find out and don’t let me keep them do you want them??” and he’s like “yeah”. i brought them to class a few times and everyone Hated it but my teacher was like ayyyyy. and everyone thought he was either and atheist or agnostic, so when some girl asked how he thought mary conceived jesus to see what he said, he looked at me like “y’all hear somethin/hel p” and i go “parthenogenesis” and he Went With It, talking about how it was theoretically possible in humans but we ignored the fact that the baby would’ve been a girl bc the class is dumb none of them have ever heard of parthenogenesis before jesus is the true trans icon we all need

my art teacher was my favorite and she knows that i’m gay. she’s the only teacher from my school that i’m still in contact with. so every big project we did, i made it gay. and i knew, and my friends knew, and she knew, but the rest of the class had no idea. i’m like presenting my project and the class would get sus and they’re like “so are those two really good friends” and i’m like “so she has a rainbow heart on her choker and she has a lesbian symbol on her shirt”. the class was still confused and my friend yells “they’re LESBIANS”. it was iconic

my brit lit teacher was bi. she never said it, but i know she was. always talked about how much she hated men, then was like “women are very very good”. no way this woman was straight. so we read dracula and it’s got that Subtext, so one time i leaned over to my friend bc he sat next to me and i go “the Homoerotic Subtext”. and i didn’t realize that the teacher was right in front of me until she tapped my desk and goes “it gets better”, told me a page number that i flipped to, and it was Even More Gay and i was like 😏. also she assigned me a gay poet for my poetry project and i talked about that for my whole presentation in front of the class and it was the biggest paragraph in my essay and i got 100% on it even tho i choked at the beginning. also i mentioned in passing that i liked sappho and she goes “ooh i love sappho” i’m like “ma’am please leave this cult and get you a gf”

senior year:

i left the cult finally. went to the one school i actually liked. i made friends who actually like me and they were patient and they were amazing and i love them all very much even if i’ll never tell them. my classmates were great, v friendly, i had a great time. however,

so many fires. school got cancelled like five times bc of how bad the fires were

the school shooting. i don’t think i need to go further into that, it’s pretty self explanatory

covid. again, don’t need to go further into that, v self explanatory

[opheliaoblonskya]

hello hello hello everyone! i’m coco, this is my baby ophelia, and we’re both extremely happy to be part of the group!!! this is ophelia’s official intro post so feel free to check under the cut for more info on them! @westmerestarters​

MAJOR TW FOR DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE

agender, goes by they/them pronouns, first discovered non binary identities a few years ago and went from “huh, that’s neat” to “it me” within a few months lmao

their father was originally from the soviet union, grew up poor, immigrated to the states, and made it big as a writer. poetry, essays, plays, short stories, and even full on novels, anton oblonsky was a literary darling, and married cleo harris, a celebrity stylist, rather young. after barely two years of marriage, ophelia was born. they were to be anton’s only child.

while both of ophelia’s parents doted on them, they were the apple of their father’s eye in particular. he spoiled ophelia rotten, showering them with things he could’ve never dreamed of having as a child, but now with his lucrative writing career at his side, he was able to fully provide for his family, so much so that cleo was able to quit her job.

naturally, ophelia adored their father for how much he spoiled and openly adored them, and never feared hearing the word ‘no’ from anton. cleo often had to step in to be the disciplinarian in the family, which created some tension between her and her overly indulged child, but for the most part, the oblonsky family home was a happy one.

this would fall apart when ophelia was only five.

understandably, cleo was growing tired of having to be the ‘bad guy parent’, and had grown to resent how easy going and frivolous anton was. this of course caused arguments, and whenever ophelia stepped in and it was clear that they had heard it, anton would try to remedy the situation by showering them with more gifts, which in turn lead to more arguments. it was like a cycle, and cleo was determined to put an end to it. she filed for divorce.

during the proceedings, the two agreed on shared custody of ophelia. they would spend one week with anton, and the other with cleo. of course, ophelia much preferred being with their father, who’s spoiling had gone into maximum overdrive as a way to make up for the divorce. cleo was nowhere near as indulgent, and the young ophelia grew to resent their mother, blaming her for the falling apart of the family and their father’s misery.

just months after ophelia’s sixth birthday, which had of course been a truly lavish affair, the divorce was finalized. by then ophelia was getting therapy, to help cope with the change, and despite the therapist’s best efforts, ophelia still laid the blame squarely at their mother’s feet. but the worst was still yet to come.

when ophelia was seven, during the week they were with anton, he woke them up, told them they had the day off school because he had called in, and that they were going to do whatever ophelia wanted. of course, they were utterly ecstatic, and the day was spent devouring ice cream and candy of all kinds, watching cartoons, and playing games. it truly was the best day of ophelia’s life.

but it would quickly become the worst.

anton told ophelia to play outside for a bit, while he cleaned up. still bouncing off the walls from the massive amount of sugar consumption, ophelia happily ran around in the yard, playing on the brand new play set that anton had bought just for that day. they were so preoccupied, that they almost didn’t hear the loud bang that came from inside.

they tried to get inside, but all of the doors were locked, and no matter how loudly they yelled, they were getting no response from anton. confused, and getting a little scared, ophelia went to the neighbor’s, and asked them for help. the neighbor’s called, but when they got response they called the police instead.

the rest of the day is a blur, perhaps an attempt of ophelia’s mind to shield them from it all. but one thing they remember clear as day is the body of their father, lying in a pool of his own blood, in the middle of the living room. they had managed to sneak past the police, wanting to see what was happening. and of course, they got their wish.

the death was ruled a suicide, thanks to the presence of a long letter that anton had left behind in his study. cleo was contacted immediately and rushed to her child’s side, weeping profusely. the last year of her marriage to anton had been tense, but she never doubted for a second that he was a good man who loved her and ophelia. and now he was gone.

ophelia was different after that. now in their mother’s care, they had become quiet, withdrawn, and despite how tense and strained their relationship with their mother had been before, they were now terrified of being separated from cleo. they got another therapist, one that specialized in helping grieving children, but it was very slow going. at the reading of the will, it had been revealed that anton had left everything, his wealth, his properties, even the rights to his numerous literary works, which at the time of his death was just shy of a hundred, to ophelia. it turned out that he had made the change the day before his death, and that half of his fortune, which included ongoing royalties, would be used for ophelia’s education and other parts of their care, a type of posthumous child support, while the rest would be put in a trust fund.

of the things that had been left to ophelia, what caught their attention the most, was their father’s journals. he would spend hours scribbling away in them, and no one, not even his precious ophelia, had been permitted to read them. they desperately wanted to do so now, but cleo got to them first, and had them placed in a safety deposit box, away from ophelia. this resulted in a screaming match, a tearful ophelia demanding to have what remained of their father’s essence, and cleo insisting that they were too young to see what was in those books, and that when they were older they could read them, but not now.

as time wore on, ophelia remained ever devoted to their father and his memory, lashing out at anyone who would dare besmirch his name and/or work. when cleo remarried, to anton’s lawyer no less, ophelia reacted very negatively, threatening to sabotage the wedding if they were made to go. they were made to go, but were under heavy surveillance by the bridesmaids (ophelia had been made the maid of honor, which made their stomach roil), and aside from having a generally negative attitude, did no harm to the event.

when ophelia’s first half sibling was born, they were determined to remain indifferent, if not totally icy and aloof, towards the child. it wasnt until after they had laid eyes on the newborn, that they felt their heart soften. in a hospital bathroom, ophelia cried for the first time since their father’s funeral. they were 12 years old.

with extensive therapy and family counselling, ophelia found themself able to let go of their previous animosity towards their mother. they began to see and understand why cleo was so frustrated with anton, and wrote an immense letter of apology to their mother. they were also fiercely protective of their half siblings, and thoroughly adored them.

but of course, there was still a hole that had been left behind by anton’s death. and part of the way they chose to cope was by consuming all of their father’s work. they would pour over his writing, studying it all endlessly. if there was an english assignment of some sort, then you can be sure that ophelia would write about something their father wrote. it wasn’t long before they too started to dream of becoming a writer.

after ophelia graduated, they were finally permitted to read the journals that their father wrote in and kept. after talking extensively with ophelia’s therapists, cleo finally opened that old safety deposit box, and gave ophelia everything they had dreamed of. they devoted every waking moment to reading those journals, desperate to further understand their father. and one of the first steps they took was going to russia.

they had of course heard many stories from their father about russia, and most of anton’s work was either set in russia, featured russian characters, or at least had russia in the background in some way. but of course the russia he had been most familiar with was the one of the soviet era, and even after a number of trips back, the shadow of the soviet union still clung to him and his work, and ophelia was determined to see modern day russia for themself.

they followed their father’s steps, hunting down every place mentioned or alluded to in his writings, trying to understand and feel what their father understood and felt about the place. it also inspired them to start journaling, chronicling their time in russia and the steps they were taking to understand the man their father was.

while in russia, they came up to the part in the journals where anton started to talk about his divorce and depression. he waxed lyrical about the intense, deep, gut wrenching misery that plagued him, and how the only way he could keep it at bay was by caring for ophelia. but as they started to grow up, he started to panic and worry more and more. his own father took his life when he was very young, and his mother never remarried. how was he supposed to know how to be a father from that point on? he had tried to give ophelia everything she could ever want, materially and emotionally, but there was still a part of him that felt that it would never be enough, because he had never seen what he was supposed to do next. the anxiety strangled him to the point where sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

his last entry was on the day before he died. “if nothing else, ophelia will know how much i love her.”

ophelia spent a week indoors, grieving their father all over again, and finally seeing why their mother had been so adamant in keeping these journals away from them. no child would be equipped to deal with everything that had been written in those notebooks, least of all one that had been as vulnerable as ophelia had been at the time.

when they returned home, they hugged their mother and cried.

another thing they did after they returned was go to college. despite his literary success, ophelia’s father never went to college, with his formal education stopping when he was 14 so that he could work and support his ailing mother. he would go on to teach himself, but the world of academia always gripped his imagination, and ophelia was determined to do what their father couldnt.

double majoring in english lit and russian lit, minoring in journalism, and applying with their mother’s new married name to avoid any awkwardness, ophelia dedicated themself to studying and writing, wanting to create the ‘perfect debut novel’. during this time they remained secretive about their father’s identity, particularly after they started to study his work in class. they would go on to get a masters in all of their subjects, and get a job at the new york times.

while in new york, ophelia was contacted by an established, and well-respected broadway producer and director, who wanted to adapt one of their father’s plays for broadway, but needed ophelia’s permission to do so. intrigued, ophelia agreed, provided that they be involved every step of the way. they were going to make sure that their father’s work was going to be well represented.

after countless long days going from the office to broadway then home, ophelia saw their father’s first ever play, which also happened to be the one that was the least adapted and staged for whatever reason, on broadway. it was set in a town called westmere, a place that ophelia’s father had mentioned in his journals, but that they had never gotten around to visiting. but after opening night, they knew that would change. once the play had it’s full run, ophelia resigned from their job, packed up, and went to westmere, to see what it was about the town that had so entranced their father.

and there you have it! didnt expect to write that much but oh well dfjignfdifjnfdij feel free to dm if you want to plot something!!!

[poptod]

Baby, My Love is Yours (Kenny x Reader)

Description: His words make your heart ache, and you put the entirety of your trust in him.

Notes: Male coded/MLM. I’m a huge fan of gender neutral fics (as shown by my AO3) but, when it comes to gay characters, I don’t like taking that away from them. 

Words: 3.5k, sorry it’s so short

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086324

Based off this song (I wrote and sung it)

In all honesty you haven’t known him for very long - at most, a few months, though your grasp on how time works is rather weak. If only you could pinpoint the exact date when you met. Of course, when you first met him, there wasn’t exactly a spark, or a flame, between the two of you; not even within you alone. He spoke anxious but excited, every topic lighting an excitement in his eyes, but you didn’t notice. Not until your fifth meeting.

You’d moved back to your hometown after a long trip of moving around the world, and found yourself not fitting in at all like you had before. At the age of seven, close to every kid had the same interests - having fun, playing, simply burning away the energy till that joy couldn’t come so easily. Nearly ten years later you find yourself in a place you know so well but would never again understand. You were probably the only family in town that had left the state, and that difference cut a deep separation between you and your classmates. You saw the world, and every person in it as entirely different and wonderfully unique from yourself, while many others only knew the people they’d known all their life.

Luckily, there was one person who welcomed you back rather warmly - your old friend, one of your best friends: Larry Gold. An enthusiastic boy too deep in fiction to see that the world didn’t revolve around the stories he knew, but the best shot you had at having any sort of friendships in your old, unfamiliar town. Second day back at the school he came up to you, frowning somewhat.

“You look sorta… familiar. Did we - did - were you here a few years ago?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with his hands at the mostly empty classroom, the students having long gone with the ring of the bell. “Sorry, if not,” he adds. “I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“No, uh, yeah. I was here, like ten years ago? I dunno. I’m (Y/N), you’re…” you blank for a second, before remembering his name. “Larry, right?”

“Yeah! Wow, I… wow. It’s been a while. Where’d you go?”

You catch him up on the way to the lunchroom - Montana, then to Switzerland, then to Korea, to Scotland, before moving to Italy - then Germany, and finally back to the States.

“Holy shit,” he laughs, filling his tray up with the horrid looking lunch ‘meat’.

“It was a bit tough, to be honest. How do you fare?”

“Could be better, could be worse,” he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “I got a best friend at least, he’s probably sitting over…” he looks over the crowd, before settling on a boy sitting alone in a  corner, “there. That’s Kenny.”

You nod, not really seeing who exactly he’s looking at till he’s leading you over, and you sit across from him and Kenny.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you start out with - simple enough. “I used to live here.”

Kenny doesn’t seem much for words, sitting straight up and stock still, before Larry nudges him with his elbow and whispers something indistinguishable above the raucous crowd. Stuttering he offers his hand, which you shake with a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

“I’m - Kenny.”

Lunch runs smoothly, and when it finishes Larry pulls you to the side of the rushing students.

“He’s usually not like that. But he is a weird guy, just a heads up.”

Chuckling you nod, not taking his advice. Weird never bothered you, as long as it didn’t harm anybody. In fact, it’d probably do you good - befriending someone unlike the other teenagers around you. Even if you weren’t ‘new,’ you still stick out like a plant amongst rubble, or a snowstorm in summer. Abnormally tall, with clothes too expensive for the school you attend and a very clear ‘Pridefully Gay’ patch on your jacket. Doesn’t bother Larry, that or he can’t see past the end of his nose; you went with the latter.

Kenny ended up being a joy to have around once he actually gained the nerve to start talking. The two of you bonded, rather unsurprisingly for you. A ‘gaydar’ wasn’t something you put much stock in, but there were obvious signs when someone was gay, and Kenny emitted near every sign of a boy so deep in the closet he’d find shoes from 1987. You didn’t bring it up, though, ever one for chivalry. If he wanted to come out, he could do it on his own time, and you certainly didn’t feel the need to talk to Larry about it - he’d asked about your patch, and expressed a decent amount of discomfort about homosexuality.

“I get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore, but that’s a dick move,” you told him, to which he quickly agreed.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be friends, it’s just… you aren’t gonna get, like, a crush on me or anything… right?”

“No. I only like attractive men,” you told him, sparking a snort from Kenny, whom you hadn’t realized was listening.

It wasn’t until the fifth time the three of you had decided to hang out outside of school that you suddenly fell under a charm you’d previously believed didn’t exist. Sitting in the middle of Larry’s living room (your house was too far away, and Kenny’s house was apparently too strict), you were simply doing homework, you working on English, Kenny on math, and Larry on history. Fiddling with his pencil, Kenny sits next to you, and across from the both of you sits Larry.

“Why do we have to write a poem for English? Isn’t it enough that we have to do presentations on friggin’ Jane Eyre?” You grumble, running your hands through your hair.

“Having trouble?” Kenny asks, leaning to look over your shoulder.

“Everything I write sounds stupid,” you mumble, your head falling from the grip of your hands and landing with a dull thud on the table.

“Then just write something stupid,” Larry adds, helpfully, but still engrossed in his own homework.

“Here, I, uh,” he looks at you, blushing (as usual; you’d gotten used to it) before digging into his backpack and pulling out a journal. “You can use one of mine.”

“What? No. That’s cheating,” you insist, turning back to your empty paper. Kenny and Larry share a glance, but his attention comes quickly back to you.

“At least take one of my ideas? They’re on the back page,” he says softly, pushing the notebook into your line of sight, giggling slightly as it comes to cover up the entirety of your own blank journal. With a sigh and a chuckle, you relent.

“Fine, but I owe you,” you mutter, looking over the ideas. Kenny just shrugs, and turns back to his math. You’re horrid at math, and the equations he’s completing in his head send you for a whirl. If you ever start failing that class, you know exactly who’d be the best tutor.

Notes made mostly of scribbles and vague definitions litter the back page - “Made of glass,” one corner says, but it’s missing the last s. ‘Mold and melt ‘neath such wretched hands,’ ‘searching for endless trivialities,’ ‘raised on masochism.’ It’s all rather dark, and when you’re sure Kenny is fully absorbed in his work, you flip through the pages to his poems. Not to steal them, that goes against your moral code; just to read. The poems are in an even messier fashion than the jotted notes - they’re put into blocks, numbered and unnamed. Arrows point to which part connects to which, and some have notes to the side, brackets combining them, and pencil scratches blurring out the wrong words. On a few pages he clearly attempted to write about women. There are scribbles about their beauty, but it’s so vague it could be about anything. Some of the fragments are simply fragments - unconnected lines of poetry.

‘I was love, helpless love,’ you read in your head. ‘And though I do care for you, I cannot put my shame on you, and I’ve lost all that matters.’ Helplessly you search for a clean poem, something you don’t need to piece together like a million letter puzzle. Continuing your search for an idea, an inspiration, or perhaps a glimpse into the elusive personality of your new friend, you find a poem that’s definitely about boys, and it’s more loving than any other that you’d read so far. In the first part of it, he describes the boy he pines for, but it’s not incredibly specific - it mentions hair color, eye color, some skin imperfections, but not enough to pinpoint who it’s about. Then, it gets dark.

‘How bold of me to dream, to wonder. I beg you to let me waste your time, and let me burn away in your light -‘ there’s a scribbled out part - ‘I thought by know’ (it’s misspelled) ‘I might hold you, like endless apologies of existence - feel my heat as your own. But as the sky descends in heaps of empty meanings, I found I said nothing to you at all.’ The last bit is hard to read - it either says ‘empty meanings’ and ‘I found,’ or ‘endless apologies,’ and ‘I fear.’ Either way, you’d seen enough - enough to make your heart race when he looks back up at you with a smile softer than anything you’d ever known, even in the entirety of all you’d travelled through. Your mind stutters, continuing to blank even as Kenny turns away. Had you just wandered through his soul? It felt a very private notebook. Turning back to the last page, you chose a random idea, ending up with, ‘I pray to thee, sweet love’s a parasite.’

From that moment on, your life continues on as normal, with one massive disruption - you’ve got a hideously thumping crush on one of your best friends.  That brings us to the present; he’s sitting far too close to you, emotionally ripe from getting kicked out of his house that afternoon, and he’s practically begging you for solace. Not with his words, thank God, but every movement he makes is needy and his chest weighs heavily against your own as he breathes softly. He’s barely touching you, but his heat manages to reach you, crowding your space without allowing himself the comfort of your touch. Larry’s mom had called you, rather late that evening, and explained the situation to you.

“I think he’s crying. I don’t want Larry helping him, I don’t think he’d help that much. Can I trust you?” She asked, and you agreed, taking your father’s pickup truck and driving it down from the mountains and into town. Once you made it to the basement, you saw the extent of his ruin.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, his eyes red and blotchy, matching his flushed cheeks. He’s still leaning over you on the basement couch.

“Just keep breathing,” you tell him, though you really don’t know what to do either. Your parents weren’t thrilled when you came out, but they certainly didn’t kick you out of the house. “Live day by day, hour by hour… minute by minute, if you have to.”

“They’re gonna take me back, right?” He says, practically pleading with you, as though you have any pull on what happens.

“I think they will,” you murmur, your eyes flickering down to his lips before meeting his eyes again. Truth wouldn’t help either of you in this situation, so you decide your soft lie would work best.

“Maybe I was wrong,” his head hangs low between his shoulders, “maybe I’m straight. I don’t wanna be gay. I - it’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Kenny…” did you really have to come out to him? You had made no effort to hide it. Maybe he’d forgotten? “I’m gay, remember?”

“You’re not wrong, though, like I am,” his words start to come out choked, and he strains to keep talking through the tears burning his thoughts away. “Your parents still love you. Mine - I don’t want to… I don’t…” He doesn’t blink, hoping desperately that the gathering tears will recede but they fall nonetheless, one from each eye till he’s sniffing, cheeks burning as he tries to stop crying in front of you.

“Your parents still love you. Give them time,” you settle on. It’s a precarious situation, and you can’t tell what’s the right thing to say, or if saying anything at all will help.

At last he collapses, the strength of his arms giving out as he falls into you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck he hides away from the world, from his self-hating thoughts, from everything besides you. In a moment you’re all that exists to him, your arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him up so he doesn’t slide away. His warmth burns you, electrifying every nerve you have but you ignore it. There’s more important things to tend to. His breathing is uneven, so you slow your own breathing, instructing him to follow you. Half shivering he attempts to follow your lead, slowly calming from sobbing to napping away the mental exhaustion of the evening.

As he sleeps on top of you, you kiss his temple, running your hands through his hair in a fashion you hope is comforting. When your freezing fingers touch the back of his neck he shivers, so you try to keep away from his bare skin, till you fall asleep. the weight of his body lulling you into a doze.

He wakes up around 4AM, which you only know because when he wakes he jostles you, stuttering and mumbling to himself as he crawls off of you. With a deep breath you open your eyes, looking up at him, still sitting in your lap, but clearly embarrassed.

“Oh jeez. I’m, uh, really sorry for, um.. sleeping on top of you. Oh god,” he grumbles, switching between covering the lower and upper halves of his face.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, still drowsy with sleep. Unsure of what exactly you’re doing you reach for him, grasping his wrist and pulling him close as you sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright, I guess,” he says, just as soft as you, his expression falling. “I’m… glad you’re here. Less lonely.”

“’S what I’m here for. Did I tell you Valerius called me? She thought you liked me more than Larry,” you chuckled, the words escaping your mind before you gave them any thought.

“Who’s Valerius?”

“Larry’s mom.”

“You mean Victoria?”

“Mm… yeah.”

“I like both of you plenty,” he says, indignantly, a slight frown on his face that you can’t help but find adorable. It shows on your face, too, a smile too wide cracking open. He notices, and it only furthers his confusion. “What? I’m telling the truth.”

“I know. You’re just so adorable,” you admit, and when his eyes widen and he pales, you come back into yourself, and realize what you’d just said. “Oh, uh, you know what I, uh, mean. You know?” You stutter a lame excuse.

“I’m not adorable,” he whispers, staring straight into your eyes.

“No, handsome,” you correct yourself, making the situation infinitely worse.

“Handsome?” He practically wheezes out, losing his words and coherent thought.

You keep a firm hold on his wrist, making sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Instead he wraps his fingers round yours, and, staring at where you meet, he holds your hand. As enthralling as it is for you it soothes him, breath instantly slowing as the pressure of his fingers trills against the back of your hand. For the moment, you put away your anxieties, and let him relish in a comfort unknown. It wasn’t illogical to assume he’d never held hands, never kissed anyone, and certainly not a boy. You had experience with this - Europe was pretty gay, and Italy awarded you your first kiss. Yet somehow, your roles had reversed; the experienced a blushing mess, as the virgin held the others’ hand in a warm composure.

His eyes close slowly as he leans in, heading for a kiss you knew would be heart wrenchingly beautiful, but you pull away.

“You’re - no. I adore you but… I can’t complicate your life. Not now,” you murmur, pressing your hand against his chest and pushing him from you. In an instant, he thinks he’s entirely at fault, and he unwinds himself till the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch, neither of you touching the other in any way.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and you can tell he’s about to cry again.

“It’s not your fault,” you rush out, scooting closer to him, but he curls into himself, and you relent. “Kenny…”

He hides his face in his hands, and he’s definitely crying now. You wait a moment before you continue, waiting for the worst of it to be over, but seeing him in any kind of pain twists your gut.

“Kenny…” you slowly move his hands away from his face, and with a soft touch, you direct him to look at you. “I just don’t want to hurt you. You understand that… right?” He nods, and looks away. “There’s so much going on in your life. I don’t want to add to that.”

“But you make everything better,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his knees raised to his chest, hiding his face again.

“I’m flattered you think that,” you reply quietly, at a loss for words. “I… how about.. I sit here, and you can do what you want, or make me do anything you want. For tonight.”

“What?” He sniffs, and looks back up at you.

“I’ll do anything you want. Anytime you ask. Starting tonight, my love is yours in any way you want it,” you tell him, eyes darting nervously around his face for any sign of agreement or disgust.

“Anything?”

“Yeah. Anytime.”

You’re trusting him with a lot, you both know that - but truly you do trust him, more than you trust yourself. He graces your cheek with his fingers, trailing across your imperfections as you close your eyes, melting into his touch. Shifting, he moves closer, till he’s once more sat in your lap, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin, electrifying you in the same way you keep ignoring. It’s about him, don’t ruin this with your anxiety, you tell yourself, but it gets harder to listen to that voice in your head when he begins to kiss at your bare neck. Your hands shoot up, grasping at his waist as he does this, dotting your skin, up to your jawline until he lands a peck at the side of your lips, so loving, as though you give him the only reason to breathe. At this time, he pulls away, and you open your eyes.

He’s examining you - just as you had done to him, waiting for any sign of renunciation of your promise. But you just sit there, gazing into his eyes like they hold the universe, every answer to be asked for swirling in the gold round his pupil. So he leans in, and at first it’s just a touch; you’re pressing your lips together, still and quiet. The time passes so slowly it might’ve not been passing at all, till he leans in, and you feel the pressure so intensely that a fire could be raging around you and you wouldn’t’ve noticed. You copy the feel of his adoration with just as much tenderness, and a tiny whimper escapes him. He pulls away blushing, leaving you with a dumbstruck smile on your face.

He does a lot more to you that night, and in every second of it you swear you’re in heaven. The memory of it trails you, constantly at the forefront of your thoughts at any given moment. When you meet in school again, he holds your hand like a comfort in a world of pain, and to him it is. You exist, and that’s enough to soothe the ache of rejection, but it doesn’t fully heal, not until his parents finally take him back.

On that day, he asks, “Are… is… are you.. still mine?” He worries, needlessly, if your trust was only to comfort him in a hard time.

“I’ll be yours as long as you want me,” you tell him, and it ends up being a lot longer than you ever would have anticipated. You’re not that stupid, you know the statistics for high school relationships, but your love persists so long there’s no other word for your relationship other than soulmates. Life deals softer blows by his side, and love adores each of your imperfections till the days die away.

Baby, my love is yours

longer than words we adore -

So trust the tremor in my touch

Cause baby, my love is yours.

[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Damned Never Die: Revelation, Part 1

[To those of you who continue to follow us, share our work and help spread the writings of myself and the fine people who work with me; I thank you!  More than you know.  “In Depths Below” has officially ended and I’m happy to start sharing the next book in our series of writings which is titled “The Damned Never Die”.  Please help by linking and sharing this with people who might be interested; we really appreciate it!  And if you’re here to read! Thank you as well, and without an further delay on my part; Please enjoy the first part of this tale! ]

Two Weeks since Lazarius’ return to the Nine. . . .

“ Kun-Lai, I will never forget Kun-Lai.  It was the beginning and the end of everything for me.  It caused me the life of a dear friend, and gave me the death of a hated enemy.  It brought closure, it brought grief, but most importantly it brought questions.

Everything that happened from then until now; and here I sit, stirring within my own mind, poised to take quill to parchment once again.  To fill another ledger with my thoughts and words to add it to my collection.  To give insight to the future generations of the accounts that took place here.  The dozen or so volumes that will be added for the events here will certainly give a sufficient record of what we faced.  I am just pleased to have returned.

Kun-Lai to Zandalar to the Marshes, through Arathi and Hillsbrad. . . to Alterac.  And finally home again. . . I have never wanted to be home more now than I was in that entire ordeal. . . Home. . .I never wanted any of this to happen. . .“

He peered down at the empty page, and slowly the quill began to quiver and shake as his finger motioned toward it.

I never wanted any of this.  Well I write that but is it really the truth? I suppose I should have been a bit more forthcoming in the weeks leading up to everything that had happened.  I was a fool, a careless fool to say the least.  And put stock in myself thinking I could do something without any help as usual.

Marseille warned me. “Don’t you think this is a matter for the council?” but rather than go right to them, I decided to do what I wanted.  Again.

I had every bit of knowledge I needed when I found out that the Magisters led by Dawnseeker were planning their coup.  I didn’t have any idea that he was going to spring into action with the End Game being first.  I was a fool.  He bested me in my own battle.

Here I had hoped to get the upper hand by striking first.  Marseille was going to eliminate them one after another.  We had everything in order and then Kun-Lai happened.

How was I supposed to expect them?  Zoei and I hadn’t seen one another since she went on assignment behind enemy lines.  And here I am writing about her now. 

I never really get a chance any more to just sit and theorize.  I am always filling this ridiculous book with all sorts of nonsense.  Why cant I just have a bit of time to write poetry or draw little sketches.

“You’re doing it again. . .”  he said softly to himself as he began to scribble out the last line in his journal.

Zoei is gone.  Not one week after being back from all of the kodo shit and she is gone.  She had told me, this wasn’t the life she had expected.  That everything we’d gone through was enough to leave her wondering if she actually wanted it anymore.  I think the massacre at the Masquerade was partially responsible.  Perhaps part of me always knew that she was not cut out for this life; any yet in my naivety I pushed her, and forced her into it. I pushed her in deeper into the darkness, and inevitably slipped right out of my hands.

It is a pity.  Despite all that has happened over the years, the last remaining of my apprentices is still Sennaris.  I suppose she will always be my crowning achievement of success.  At least there is that.  A poor girl, lost and alone; trained to become a powerful empath and Compellor of The Nine.  I couldn’t be more proud.

So, yes.  I had to wipe Zoei’s mind.  Took the knowledge of the void, the memories we shared, everything we’d been through.  She’ll never even recognize me if she saw me today.  Just another face in the crowd as she walks past.  And here I am, me. . .forced to endure and remember.  I am always left remembering....

“Always fucking remembering. . .” he hissed as his hand raised the chalice to his right which was filled with a crimson liquid.

His Cindervine Red, his favorite.  His one true comfort in troubling times.  The wrapped fingers that were coiled around the stem of the chalice were a mixture of void energy and a woven nylon material the parasite managed to synthesize. 

His hands were completely obliterated when he and Jursol had to destroy the metallic shackles Dawnseekers hunters encased them in.  His flesh and bone were missing on most of his fingers, and the parts of him that did survive the ordeal was blackened and charred and would be forever damaged.

If it hadn’t been for the entity within his genetics; there would have been no happy ending for his upper appendages.  Amputation would have been the only plausible answer.  The only saving grace was that it had stopped the infection immediately, and worked to preserve whatever tissue it could. 

Because the host was damaged, it would allow him the use of a wire like framework of nerve endings that it had created in replacement for his missing fingers.  The spiderweb of nerves were purple and string like; almost like a wire frame from a sculpture.  After creating the illusion of fingers and parts of his missing hand, the bindings of void energy and nylon would be wrapped around the frame like a mummified corpse; thus appearing to be whole.

CLACK - CLACK

It was the only way he could retain the use of digits and feeling.  But sadly; he would have to live like this for the rest of his existence.  A deformed and hideous version of his former self.

“Back to the point. . .”  his voice softly murmured as he tried to refocus himself on the open ledger.  The strange sound heard as he was pausing, that odd sound which was bugging him lately.  Where was it coming from?

My time away from the order gave me a period in which to think about what exactly was going on.  What we were really striving for.  How we were structured.  And ultimately what the future was going to hold for all of us. 

It is a careful thought.  Curious even, now nearly ten years passing since everything had been completely changed and restructured.  The loss of not only Raelyinda, but Mo’rynth.  Then Zalinath returning and destroying us.  The rebirth and and rebuild; everything since those early days.  Days when it was just myself, my sister and Poeta. 

Now, we’re a city.  A populace of like mined individuals striving to survive and flourish in a future that seems almost inevitable.  N’Zoth is rising from the sea, and with it will usher in the return of the Black Empire.  The turning point for Azeroth will be if the planet lives.  Because even then, the true masters of the void will surely be invited to set their eyes on this little ball of earth and water.

While on Zandalar, getting to know Jursol, and trying to figure out where this leaves us as a collective; something dawned on me.  We have survived.  Not because of our blind faith in depths below, or because of our masters will.  It was because we as a collective are strong.  We are our own strength and we give ourselves the power to change our future.  And change we have.  We’ve broken away from the ties that bind us, choosing to keep what we want, and banish the chains that hold us back.

And that is my revelation.  That is my discovery.  We are the Nine and we control our future.  The entire council and collective order we have formed here, our home, our prosperity.  We’ve achieved a great and many things, and will continue to push forward.

It was galvanized in my mind the very moment I returned.  When I had seen what the people here are capable of even without my wisdom and guidance.  The loss of one; stirs the wrath of many.  Like shaking a hornets nest.  And it would be no different for any other who may have been lost to our cause.  They achieved something that was neigh impossible; by combining their prowess and working toward the future that they controlled.  And in the end, they have only fueled my vitality toward achieving more to its maximum.

There came a soft, yet stern knocking on the massive stained door of the Inquisitors chamber.  He knew exactly who it belonged to before he even spoke.

“Ser...” came the grizzled voice of the withered old Gilnean.

Lazarius peered up from his inscribing quill and glanced toward the veteran with his venomous black pools.

“Kross. . .”  he responded, resting his elbow against the surface of the large writing desk.

“My apologies for disturbing your diligent work...”  replied the specter.

“Never a reason to apologize, old friend.  I always welcome your presence you know that. . .what is it?”  there was not a hint of doubt coming from his voice at this point.  Kross was always welcome.

“You requested a progress update earlier this morning.  Doctor Whistletorque had asked to speak to you about the forge.  Also a missive arrived earlier this week from the Baron; Krazzlowe,  something Koltun and Pyravari have already begun tending to.  Madam Jursol has also asked about where the limitations are for her raptors to roam, and if it will be disturbing to the students to allow them to wander freely.  There was also a. . .”

Lazarius raised his hand toward the white eyed steward.  He smiled and nodded slowly as if he already knew all that he was trying to tell him.

“Kross. . . you are suddenly acting as though this place would fall apart without me.” 

“Yet you are aware of the redundancy of that statement, considering it is the literal result if you were lost.”  the old bearded man would say as he moved in closer to the table.

Lazarius chuckled softly and continued to nod as his body leaned back and pressed against the spine of the chair.

“Well aware. . . “ 

Kross stood beside the fairly clean table top, noticing nothing was out of place; there were no scattered piles of books and ledgers.  The drafting table was completely empty.  It roused his suspicions but he remained silent.  Usually his charge was avidly scheming.  Always toiling a project or plot; a result of the parasite again no doubt causing his brain to toil and turn with every waking moment.

“Kross. . .have you given thought to what our life would be like if we were not bound to this place?”  the disturbing question from the Inquisitor bellowed as his eyes closed and he listened to the silence of the room.

“You are wondering if I’ve given thought to my eternal slumber, or...?” he paused.   The steward reached his gloved fingers outward and curled them around the length of the bottle neck containing Lazarius’ wine.

“No no, I mean... this life.  I don’t know perhaps it is foolish. . .” he responded calmly sighing.

“I have known you for nearly three centuries Ser, hardly anything you suggest is either faulty or foolish.”  Kross responded without hesitation as he bent at the elbow and began to refresh the chalice with the burgundy liquor.

“Hardly?”  he mused softly as he heard the choice of word.

Kross only smiled lightly, enough to track back again as his master continued on.

“The old ones give; and they take away.  But we are not meant to be the true servants are we?” he asked listening to that familiar gulping of the wine as it poured from the bottle.

“You are beginning to wonder your place in the world?”

“No I understand our place, I am questioning our position in it.  I know our place will always be here.  Doing as we always have.  Defending our freedom from persecution for practicing what we do.  Protecting our sacred ways our sacred brothers and sisters. . .  I will never forsake that which has shaped me, but I. . .”  Lazarius stuttered again in his words as his head shook and he peered up with the contrasting black eyes to meet the white of his friend.

“You are beginning to see then. . .”  Kross said peering back as he finished refilling the glass.

“See?”  the elf asked curiously, his brow lofting in natural response.

“There is more to what we have here than simply chaos, and wanton lusts for madness.  True we are creatures of the nefarious.  Primed to always be thrust against the natural order of what is righteous and what is good.  But that does not define us.  We do as we must to ensure ours do not die off, whatever it takes. . ..” 

Lazarius continued to listen to the sagely council of his old friend.  Choosing to remain silent after he paused and placed the bottle down, allowing the Steward to continue.

“When the servant is no longer needed, the Master will cast him aside.  The years of dedicated service and dutiful care taking will never be forgotten, but rarely do those who serve the source of a greater power reach the pinnacle of their Masters success.  It is not often the servant stand atop the mountain beside the glory. . .”

The black eyes of the Inquisitor tore suddenly away.  He was not certain but he wondered if that was how he was seen.  A ruling tyrant, a man who had placed himself above the values of the greater collective.

“And yet here you stand, continuing to serve.”  he murmured softly into the room.

“And here I stand, continuing to serve, because you are not that, Ser.”  Kross placed his hand upon the robed shoulder of his own Master. “You are nothing like that.”

“...no something. . .far, far worse.. ”  he snorted into a chortle as he shook his head.  The wrapped fingers of his left hand raising upward and placing upon the gloved edges of the old mans.

“Ser, the day you become a wretched tyrant who places the ones he cares for in danger; choosing to protect yourself over they, is the day you find my resignation letter impaled in the phylactery holding my remains.”  Kross stated softly.

Lazarius peered back up at the older man and smiled.  He was a father figure, and always had been.  But more importantly he was an honest friend, a governing influence and a moral compass to the sometimes verbose and outlandish mind of his own making.

“Still. . . To some I already am. . .you know that yes?”  Lazarius said softly.

“Those who have wandered away have lost their nerve.  Either by their own lack of dedication or fears that have left them unsure.  Some have given up, and others have simply lost their desire.  But you have never once put their lives in any danger without putting your own in first.”  The old Gilnean said in a gruff voice that allowed for some compassion to linger.

Lazarius only nodded.  There were few who came and wandered off, and some who had just all together abandoned them.  Some who had sought to manipulate and take; but never give.

“In fact some may say you are the reason for their success.  You’ve given away more than you have taken.  Especially when it comes to their well being, and safety.” 

Kross add softly as his own hand pulled away once Lazarius had released him.  He continued.

“A home like The Bastille after losing the estate and all we had built there.  Not many would have been so fortunate in the case of having the foresight to move, but also successfully avoid the unnecessary deaths of hundreds.  Save for those sixty seven.”

Lazarius indeed knew that the old man was trying to lessen the weight of his mind, but something still burned in the very back.

“While I was away from you all, it had given me time to think.  Time to consider.  With everything that has happened between now and the beginning of this war; we have been stuck in a position I would say is. . .fair at best.” 

Kross listened as he began to tidy the small scraps of paper and items around the massive desk.

“I thought of possibly reaching out to a few connections we still had. . .aid us in getting back on our feet until we could financially support ourselves again.”  he continued as his head shook back and forth.

“With so much lost from Quel’thalas, until you finally decide to reinstate Miss Kash’ebahl as the benefactor and head of the families affairs it makes things difficult there.”  Kross added as he made his way toward the small waste basket.

“And doing so now would not be advantageous.  I can’t exactly march back in and begin asking for hand outs.  Though the thought has crossed my mind.”  Lazarius concluded as he flattened his palm on the surface of the table.

“There has been no change in the escalating war either.  Currently it seems the Horde is balanced on its inevitable collapse as we face another catastrophic dictators iron Horde. . . though the Banshee seems determined to retain her throne of hide and bone.”

Kross would slowly pace back toward his Master.  His white eyes studying the stress that built as he thought.  Lazarius continued on.

“The bakery is enough to launder money, we are floating well above our means at the moment; all things considered.  But if we cannot continue to filter the money from the Io-Cerebellum into Stormwind and Quel’thalas respectively, we could hit a financial brick wall.”

The black eyed Inquisitor curled his wrapped ethereal fingers around the stem of the chalice and sipped from it.

“Of course.” replied the steward.

“There are supplies to keep moving, food and stores to replenish.  People here expect a certain amount of sustainability.  A certain respective comfort.  It would be unfit for me to simply strip that away because we’re strapped in our pockets.”  the truth of the matter is he would begin selling off his own personal items before letting those around him suffer.

Kross was simply an observer at this point; a means of bouncing ideas from his lord to a bent ear.  A way to perhaps move the ball forward, the wheels turning, suggestive thought just by working it out through his mind and into the air.

“I should have withdrawn that funding the moment this war began to fester.  The moment they burned that tree, I . . .”

“You can not blame yourself for not having the hindsight to predict the retaliation.  Nobody could have predicted the Alliance storming the beaches of Tirisfal.  But you had enough sense to get our greatest asset safely away.”

Kross stood before him and firmly placed a hand on the table, he didn’t stop there.

“You spared hundreds by having the knowledge to act rather than wait.  You could have continued your dealings and practicing what you wished.  Continued to manipulate the courts and magistrate.  But you did not.  You abandoned your own selfish requirements and put the people who depend on your first.  That is what a true leader does, Ser.”

Lazarius peered toward the Steward and suddenly blurted out.

“W-what did you say. . .”

Kross looked stunned.  Lazarius never took his words into account as if they were meant to sting or wound.

“Ser, I did not mean to offend. . .I was j-”

“No no, Kross about the courts. . . The Horde. . . We don’t need to generate money...”  he said trailing off and getting a distant look in his eyes.

Kross looked confused as Lazarius began ripping through his entire desk trying to find the correct ledger.  Somewhere in there he would be hunting.  And the old Gilnean would watch with a great interest as he attacked the drawers like a madman. 

“Here we have been looking for a way to produce capital to continue moving forward.  We are constantly moving forward, and yet all we need to do is look back at the past. . .where in reality we have been sitting on top of a goldmine this entire time.”

He suddenly ripped a large enchanted ledger from the lower drawer.  His hand placed flat against the surface and it opened in a bright flash of purple light.  Moments later, page after page, he would flip to somewhere in the middle and point directly at the amount.  It was unfathomable to say the least.

“Ser?”

Lazarius grinned and tapped the page again before peering up at Kross.

To be Continued in. . . “The Damned Never Die: Revelation, Part 2″

[cherryyharryy]

Chapter 6:   Sternal Angel-fibrocartilage

 We're reeling through the midnight streets

“Adeline, you have a visitor!”

A visitor?

Adeline’s notebook was tossed aside, along with the endless pile of assignments with upcoming due dates, to the other side of her bed. She swapped her pajamas for a university hoodie and jeans, and swiped her thumb under her eyes to rid of that morning’s makeup and did a once over in the mirror. Before she left her room she snatched the sociology book she’d borrowed from Morgan off her dresser, planning out her apology for not returning it three weeks ago like she’d promised.

“I was beginning to wonder if Adeline really had a boyfriend…”

Adeline sped up at hearing Nicole’s motherly tone from down the hall. She didn’t have to see her to know the wheels in her head were working overtime; concocting some plan to pawn her off on Morgan. She can sense her cushy lifestyle slipping away each time she calls Nicole because she forgot her key or complained about the vegetable stir fry they had for dinner every week. Nicole’s lips were growing tighter and the pulse in her neck was visible by the late afternoons. And the hints she’d been dropping for Adeline to look for her own place were no longer subtle.

“Morgan I—” Adeline froze, all her senses shorting out then sparking back to life. He was there, in the flesh, all five foot eleven inches of lanky limbs and regretful teenage tattoos, perched on Nicole’s white linen couch.

“Addy,” Harry smiled, jumping up to engulf her in a bear hug.

“We’re never goin’ three months again, you hear me,” she mumbled into his chest. Tears were sprouting behind her eyes, slipping down her cheeks as he spoke against her hair,

“Loud and clear, babe.”

Nicole’s not so subtle cough broke their moment. One last squeeze and Adeline grabbed his hand, hauling him towards her room at the end of the hall.

“Was worried yeh wouldn’t want me here.” He plopped down on the foot of her bed, patting the space next to him and sliding her school work towards the pillows.

“Of course I want you here. I always want you here. Think I mention it at least three times a phone call.”

His smile was all the proof she needed to know her words put him at ease. The last thing she wanted to do was worry him, especially when they’re so far away from each other.

“Come ‘ere.”

She didn’t have to be told twice, kicking her door shut and flying over to land on his lap.

The hug turned into a kiss, which turned into harry testing to see how long she could go without breathing properly. Dopey smiles and hazy eyes stared back at each other as they inched their way up her bed, and what wasn’t a long enough half-hour passed before rhythmic knocking doused the fire they had started.

“If I don’t answer she’ll just keep knocking.” Adelien pried herself away from Harry’s warmth.

“She’s been a joy so far.” His eyes rolled back while his hands smoothed out the mess that’d been made of his hair.

When the door opened, Nicole had disgust etched over every corner and feature of her face. “I didn’t think I would have to say this, but please control yourselves in my apartment. If you want to behave like animals then you should find your own place.”

Nicole’s arms were crossed over her chest with her shirt gripped in each fist. Her head looked as if would burst if they pushed just the right buttons, but a voice in the back of Adeline’s head reminded her of the rent she didn’t have to pay and the dorm she didn’t have to share.

“We didn’t do anything, Nicole. Don’t call us animals, we deserve more respect than that.” Adeline pulled her best innocent face and sickenly sweet voice. “You know me better than that anyway.”

A flash of guilt crossed Nicole’s face, vanishing as quick as it came to uphold her dignity. “I’m sorry. You two have just been in there a while.”

“Not long enough.”

“Harry!” Adeline slapped his arm before he got away, sliding past the two women with a quirked grin.

“Well if you two could spare a minute,” Nicole straightened her posture and tucked her hair behind her ears, clasping her hands together and raising her chin, needing to recapture the position of authority between the three of them, “I made lunch.”

***

Sandwiches were piled high on a platter in the middle of the kitchen table. Adeline’s mouth watered and Harry’s pace sped up at the sight of the food.

“Nicole you didn’t have to make this much. Is someone coming over, there’s gotta be over ten sandwiches here?”

“Fifteen.” The three of them slid into the cushioned chairs, Nicole across from Adeline and Harry. “Well I didn’t know how many your boyfriend would want, or what kind. I didn’t even know he would be dropping by.” She adjusted the placemat in front of her, avoiding eye contact with either of them. She unfolded her napkin and smoothed it across her lap before she delicately placed a sandwich on her plate.

Adeline bit her tongue and smiled the best she could manage. “Well, I guess we won’t have to make lunch tomorrow. Or the day after.”

“They won’t last. I’ll have to throw them away. Shame.” Nicole shook her head and pulled her eyebrows up, eyes boring into her cousin’s.

Harry cleared his throat. “I apologize for coming over without a warning...I wanted to surprise Addy.”

“Well next time please call Adeline first. I’m very busy and don’t have much time as it is to entertain a guest.”

The topic was dropped after that. They ate in silence and cleaned up in silence, all until Harry’s voice rang through the air, asking Nicole to wrap up the leftover sandwiches, insisting he’d eat them on his drive back to school so they wouldn’t be a waste.

***

Hours later, once the sun had disappeared, Adeline had all of her school work caught up on. The project her and Morgan had been tirelessly working on had consumed most of her time, leaving little to work on her other classes.

Harry was sprawled out on the wooden rocking chair by the bay window. He’d fallen asleep not five minutes after they had settled in her room, keeping his promise to not bother her so she could get her assignments finished.

She laid back on her bed, stretching her stiff legs out and reaching her arms up against the headboard, head lolling back, eyes squeezing shut as her muscles tightened and relaxed.

And if she’d been paying attention she would’ve seen her binder laying at the corner of her bed. And then she wouldn’t have knocked it off the edge, its papers fluttering about as the notebook clambered against the hardwood.

But then Harry wouldn’t have jumped up from the noise, and he wouldn’t have looked at her with lazy eyes before giving her a lopsided grin, crawling onto the bed to nuzzle his face in the crook of her neck.

“You all mine now?” he whispered.

She breathed out a soft yeah, pulling him closer.

He relaxed against her, but only for a minute before his head popped up from her neck. “M’bored,” he whined. His hot breath sent chills down her spine, but he quickly warmed her up, rubbing his massive hands over her arms and down her sides. “Are yeh allowed to go out?”

“Very funny. I can do whatever I want, Harry.”

“Right,” he snickered, “s’long as you’re back by curfew.”

“Shut up.” His laugh sent vibrations deep in her chest and the little bites and kisses to her shoulder weren’t helping the for loomed situation either. “Harry, stop.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes, if Nicole even thinks there’s something going on in here I’ll be out on the street.”

Harry rose up to rest his weight on his elbow, looking down at her with sparkling eyes. “She’s not the boss of you. She has more rules and regulations than your own parents did. Why don’t you just leave?”

“She just...loves me. She’s always been this way. Being overprotective isn’t the worst quality, and living free while in college would be stupid to give up.”

He groaned into her shoulder, popping back up with a red face. “Let’s go do something.”

“Like what?”

"I don't know." He turned to face her, the green eyes she’d longed to see were as beautiful as ever, bright and clear from his rest. Light stubble decorated his perfect complexion. It wasn't fair, he looked like he'd stepped off a runway, wearing the usual patterned button down and tight black denim, hair a rightful disaster. "It’s your town, show me around."

"There's not much t'show."

"Come on, let's go." He came around to her side and pulled her up by the arm. She felt like a rag doll; exhausted and her brain was fried from staring at her laptop for hours. She huffed out a groan but complied anyway, getting up to choose something to wear. “Let’s go paint this town red.”

***

“That was...interesting,” Harry mused.

“Told you there’s not much to do!”

After a midnight snack at a run-down burger joint, getting kicked out of Target for an impromptu speed race on skateboards around the store, they ended up at a two am poetry reading at a café near campus where they concluded they were the only ones still awake without a buzz of something fueling their night.

Adeline slung her purse over her shoulder, freeing up her hand to link with Harry’s. “Interesting is an understatement. And a lie.”

“Was tryin’ to be nice.”

There was a bite to the air that had them picking up speed as they hurried down the sidewalk. The next move for their evening plans was a little less glamorous—piling up on junk food for a movie they’ve seen a hundred times.

The bell chimed as they stepped through the door of a 7-11, Adeline making a beeline for the freezer with the taste of Oreo ice cream already on her tongue.

“Adeline?”

She jumped against the glass door and spun around to see Morgan with an armful of chips and a smile on his face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled.

“H—hey, what are you up to?”

“Ah, beer run. Johnny’s makin’ sure we don’t run out again.” Morgan nodded towards the other side of the store where a head of familiar blond hair passed over the aisle.

“Sounds like you’ve got quite a night ahead.”

“You can join us if you’d like. It’s just the two of us, plus cameron. We’ll behave for—”

“Addy I got the biggest bag of skittles I’ve ever seen.” Harry came around the corner, waving a giant red bag in the air.

Adeline reached for his free hand once he was beside her and cleared her throat. “Harry, this is Morgan, from my sociology class.” She avoided his gaze, swallowing thickly as she turned to Morgan. “Harry’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Ads was seeing anyone. Do you go to Peru too?” Morgan stuck his arm out the best he could while holding the chips to offer a handshake.

Harry ignored the gesture, his focus aimed at the girl beside him, a white hot glare boring into her with an inferno flickering behind his blown eyes. “I don’t,” he hissed. He dropped her hand and shoved the skittles into her arms, storming off with the chime of the bell ringing seconds later.

“I’m sorry, I better go.”

“Yeah, he didn’t seem too thrilled to see me.” A nervous laugh echoed Morgan’s words. “I’ll see you Monday.”

She waved to Morgan as she took long strides towards the door, pushing back the lump in her throat as a wave of anxiety took over.

She’s had her fair share of arguments with Harry, a few heated ones even, but the look on his face and he popping veins in his neck made those disagreements seem like child’s play.

Harry was pacing the sidewalk when she stepped out, hands running through his flattened curls every few seconds. She took a deep breath and inched her way towards him.

“Harry?”

He swiveled on his heel, face settling into a frown. “Why did you not bother mentioning that Morgan was a guy over the hundreds of phone calls we’ve had?”

“I—I did. I’ve been complaining about our project from the start of school.”

“No, Ads. You didn’t.” His jaw was clenched and his eyes looked as if they’d aged just within the past ten minutes. “Believe me, I would have remembered that the Morgan who’s dorm you’ve stayed the night, who drives you home, who buys you take out every Wednesday was another man.”

“So you’re saying you don’t trust me?”

“I thought I did until you felt the need to keep secrets from me.”

“It wasn’t a secret!”

“The hell it was!” he barked. “Then why didn’t you mention him?”

“Okay, well maybe I left that part out. But this is why,” she begged, motioning between them. “I knew you’d overreact.”

“Fucking,” he shook his head, a dry laugh contrasting the red in his eyes. “This...this isn’t overreacting, babe. I couldn’t give a shit as to who you spend your time with at this fucking school.” His words came out slow, bitten and sharp, making sure she didn’t miss a one. “You lied to me, Adeline.”

“I just didn’t want you upset, Harry! It’s hard enough as it is to see each other, and then throw in the fact that each time I would’ve mentioned working with Morgan you’d get jealous.”

“Yeah I would’ve been jealous! I fucking miss you every day and some moron gets all your attention! I’d have every right to be jealous!” he was practically foaming at the mouth, and she was desperately trying to hold back the tears that were just pleading to fall. “But y’know what else I would’ve been? D’you know what else, Adeline?”

A beat of silence passed before she realized he wanted her to answer. “No,” she squeaked.

"I would’ve trusted you. Yeh never gave me a reason not to, and I wouldn't of stopped. But for whatever reason you felt that you couldn't tell me, and I'm supposed to be the one person who you can tell. You have no fuckin' idea how much that hurts me."

The tears were spilling out now, her throat felt as if it was closing up, making it difficult to swallow. He was right; she’d been worried about Harry trusting her, and she was the one who ended up spoiling that bond.

"If it'd been the other way around, and you found out that I had deliberately kept another girl in my life a secret from you, how would yeh feel?"

"Horrible," she choked out between sobs. "I'm sorry, Harry, it wasn't my intention at all, you have to know that. Was just trying to keep things easy for us. I didn't want to lose you over a misunderstanding."

"And deception was the answer to that I see," he spit out, rolling his eyes. "Also glad to hear I was kept a secret from all your friends too."

"It just never came up!"

"Shit, Adeline! What did I do to deserve this? This isn't you! The Addy I left back in July would've never done this!"

"I'm sorry, Harry.” Her voice was soft and slow. He stood there fidgeting, not even making eye contact with her. "So what now?"

"I don't know. Let's just go back." He shook his head and began walking back the way they came. She shuffled behind, making sure to stay a couple feet away. The drive back to Nicole's apartment was done in silence, Harry still too angry, and her too upset to say a word.

They took the stairs up to the third floor, which she was thankful for to avoid any more awkwardness that would've ensued in a silent elevator. The lights were off and there was no sign of Nicole, who probably went to bed hours ago.

For once, Adeline wished she was here. She would freak at the sight of her swollen, tear stained face for sure, but she would sit them down and make them talk it out like the mother that she was. Instead, they trudged down the hall and into her room, where Harry immediately began packing the overnight bag he'd brought.

"You're not staying?" her voice cracked and she felt the waterworks stirring back up again.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Do I need to recap for you?"

"I know you're mad, and you have every right to be, but that doesn't mean I don't want you here."

His eyes left hers, dropping to the shirt in his hands. Timidly, he added it to the bag and ran his hand over his neck.

Then it hit her—he didn't want to be here. It was late and her mind was running on empty, making it harder to comprehend how out of hand this had all gotten. A white lie, a little white, harmless lie to keep their relationship peaceful, and everything she loved was unraveling before her eyes.

"Harry, please, let's just talk about this. I'm sorry. So, so sorry. This will never happen again."

"I know yeh are. I just need to think 'bout everything. About us. We both need to. We're going to spend the most part of the next four years away from each other. I think things aren't as simple as we'd expected. I didn't even matter enough to you to mention my name to anyone."

Her heart split at his words. Was this his way of breaking up? Are they done? All because of her stupid mistake?

"Harry, at least stay the night. I don't want you driving this late, especially when you're mad."

"M'not mad anymore. Just need time to think." He slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way to where she was still standing by the door. He gave a weak smile and then a light kiss on her head before walking out of the room.

She followed him to the front door, waiting for him to turn around and change his mind, but when he opened the door after whispering a goodbye, she was left with the gut-wrenching truth that he might not ever come back.

[edelgoth]

Hi, I'm 2w1 for ennea and (I think) ENFP for MBTI. I am a big nerd (obviously :D) and for hobbies I do MMA, photography, play the Mandolin, love folk music and acting. I like meeting new people even though it tires me out. My humor can be snarky, and I apologize way too much. I am not assertive at all, but do not shy away from difficult heart-to-heart moments. I do try to be there for people and normally see the best in other by default. DA2 or DA:I? & any gender, if you don't mind. Thank You!!

(Hi. It’s that 2w1) I think I for got to mention that I’m female, and I enjoy writing. But, yeah, thank you so much for if you see this!! ( If you’d like, I’d be happy to do a Dragon Age match up for you as well!!) Thank you again.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you have no idea how excited i was to see a dragon age request in my inbox i’m,,, thank you so much! also, it’d be lovely if you did a matchup for me!! just message me! 

okay, so i tossed this one up a lot, but in dragon age ii, i match you with… 

fenris!!

i think you two have a nice amount of contrast! youhave the sort of personality that’ll help bring him some levity, while he has amore assertive edge

he strikes me of the certain of person to encourageyou to stop apologizing too much; not only have you not done anything wrong, but he has such a clear view of your valuethat the idea that you’re apologizing for nothing doesn’t make sense to him

you’d definitely be the “social point” of therelationship, if that makes sense; fenris is more than happy to let you dealwith other people, but he’s always there when you’re tired at the end ofthe day. he gets it,

he’d like to see your creative outlets, fromwriting to acting, and he’d be very supportive of them; he’s intrigued by howyou express yourself, and would value any extra understanding of you he couldgather from your work. i think he’d also really enjoy it when you played themandolin (i had to look up what that was for this and oh my goodness they’re so cute), and i think he’d be especiallyfond of the folk songs that had a story to them?

just imagine him resting his head on your legs withhis eyes closed as he listens to you pluck away at a laid-back tune,,, bless

i feel like he’d enjoy getting involved in mma withyou (or the thedas equivalent, depending on how you’d like to think of thismatchup), and it could be a good way for him to get more comfortable with beingtouched by others? that’s something he has to work through in a relationship,and while mma certainly isn’t intimate,it could be good practice? i have No Idea where this tangent is going, B U T itgives him a) an opportunity to get competitive for fun, and b) an opportunityto be close to you

fenris had a pretty good sense of humour, and ithink you’d bounce off each other quite well here. his humour is moreunderstated, so he’d like your snarky side 

but at the same time, i think being with someonewho has your outlook would be a good thing for him; he struggles with pessimism(with good reason), and he’s naturally distrustful (again, for very good reason). having someone whosaw the best in others would help remind him that things are okay, and that oneday, maybe things will get better

also, since you like meeting others, i feel likeyou’d help him get out of the house more? he has a habit of cooping himself up,but with the joint efforts of you and varric, he might see the light of day (orthe streetlights) just a little bit more

i think something else that’d be invaluable wouldbe your ability to have those difficult heart-to-heart conversations. fenrishas a lot to work through, and knowing he had someone with who he could behonest and vulnerable with would be precious. it would take him a while to getcomfortable with that, the dialogue you two would be able to have would helpyou both grow as people

and when all’s said and done, he’d try to be thatperson to you, too. i think a lot of people forget that fenris is a deeplycompassionate person at his core, and he wantsto connect with people; it’s just hard for him to really express thosesides of himself. but, knowing he was with someone who treated him with thekindness and patience he needed would inspire him to return that with attentivenessand care.

i love him so much thinking about him has made meemotional hhhhh 

alternative matchups

merrill: she was actually the first person i thought of, but i just felt more passionate about fenris tbh. that being said, i think your relationship with merrill would be quite different to that described above; you share the propensity to see the best in others, and you’re both very kind people. i can see merrill missing a lot of your snarky humour (to varying degrees of endearing), but she’d be as equally invested and supportive as you are. you’d have a very open, honest relationship, and it’d be the kind where you never went without affirmation and affection! 

varric tethras: honestly i can’t can’t quite put my finger on why i think you two would work well together, but this is a great match in my mind? varric is very different from the other two, but you guys would have a great rapport. you have similar senses of humour, artistic inclinations, and you both care a great deal about people. i think that while he definitely seems a tad more cynical than you, i think you’d understand each other very well. also, i think you’re the perfect mum for the kirkwall crew? and honestly, what else would varric look for in a partner? 

your inquisition matchup is under the cut because Big Yike guess i got carried away and this post is getting ridiculously long

in dragon age inquisition, i match you with… 

josephine montilyet!! 

i… love her so much i cannot put itinto words… and i think she would really love you!

first of all, kindest couple? you bothwant (and do) to see the best in people, and I’m guessing that extends to theworld in general, as well? josephine wants to make the world a better place,and you seem like the sort of person who can help her do that

also, beloved socialite couple! part ofher job is literally meeting new people, and she’d love taking her with you todo that. You’d flit through all those parties hand-in-hand, and she’d know exactlywhen to take over when you got tired

okay but josephine would want to takeyou everywhere with her, tbh. expectto travel the world with her, and whenever you meet anyone she knows, she’sdefinitely the sort to say “hello nice to see you have my met my partner? no? well, let me tell you—” before going ona long ramble about all your best qualities

your biggest fan, without a doubt. whileshe may not understand the wrestling (and certainly isn’t going to take partherself), she’ll be there cheering you on!

also loves seeing your creative work! she’senraptured whenever you’re on stage, she gets emotional when she reads yourprose (or poetry!), and she marvels at your ability to capture the beauty of theworld around you. It almost gets overwhelming tbh

she’d love your mandolin so much!! as anex-bard, she’d obviously have a bit of musical knowledge hidden in those puffedsleeves of hers, and she’d delight in hearing you play 

she’s not obviously nerdy, but I feellike josephine is a naturally curious person? Because of that, she’d lovehearing all about your interests and your hobbies, and would always have a cleverquestion to ask

she has a very stressful job, and she’dgreatly appreciate having a partner with whom she could be very honest and openwith. knowing she could be frank about her feelings with you would take amassive weight off her shoulders

you’d have a very good dialogue withone another, and it means that you don’t let things get bottled up or left tofester; your relationship is a very safe, comforting place for both of you, andit’s something you’re both thankful of!

and she’d be your biggest support too! josephineis a very emotional, loving person, and you’d never have to doubt how she feltabout you; she’d always be telling you how much she loves you and how much sheappreciates you

josephine is too good for the world andwe don’t deserve her,,, please duel for her hand in marriage and give her lotsof love

alternative matchups

blackwall: while he’s less bright than josephine, ifeel like the things he’d value in you would be the same. he’d appreciate theway you saw the best in other people, and i honestly think your lifephilosophies would be quite similar? i’m assuming here, but it just reads thatway to me. i feel like blackwall’s also very affirming, once you work out howhe shows love. he’s not as affectionate or overt as josephine, but he’d be justas supportive, once he felt secure in your relationship. he’s just a Good Man, youknow? it’s just going to take a while for him to relax and open up.

iron bull: okay so things would be very, very different withbull. your personalities would bounce off each other quite well, and ithink you’d be that couple that’s always laughing about something. bull would be the toughest nut to crack when it came toemotional openness, but i think he’d get there eventually. like fenris, he’dtell you that you don’t need to apologize so much. he’d teach you how to bemore assertive, and you’d teach him how to see the best in others. your ways ofseeing the world are more different than all the people listed above, but ithink that’d make for a really interesting relationship?

side note: i knowyou didn’t ask for a matchup for origins but,,, you sound perfect fororigins!leliana? softest couple 

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter 7

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 7,150 (being succinct is for wimps)

Warnings: Language, SMUT - this is your warning, no under 18s please.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

What the artist owes the world is his work, not a model for living.

Harry Crews

Chapter 7

Waking up comes to you slowly and languidly,as if the day was kind enough to filter softly into your eyes through a vaseline focussed lens, not unlike the ones shone onto Ingrid Bergman’s face and projected through Marcus’ iPad last night. Unlike your usual routine of falling out of bed and drifting with eyes still shut tight, in the direction of the kettle to make that all important cup of tea as your alarm sounds, you have instead woken as the first light of day paints the room in soft Degas pastels. Your sleep is normally quite fitful and filled with dreams that you wish didn’t cycle through your head for the rest of the day - but today feels different. Maybe it’s because your pillow is breathing.

Hang on, your pillow is breathing.

Shit, you fell asleep on Marcus.

How fucking professional, you absolute numpty!

Somehow during the night it was no longer just a case of you leaning into his shoulder but rather that your limbs had become confusingly entangled. From what you can work out, you must have both slid down the length of the sofa as whilst your head is still nestled on his shoulder, your forehead has now edged closer to the constellation of freckles on his neck. The steady percussion of his heart cradled within the gentle rise and fall of his chest is directly pressed against yours. Not crowding you despite the precariously narrow ledge you’re both huddled on, just fitting together like the most exquisitely cut puzzle.

For fuck’s sake, woman, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

You have one of the brightest minds in art history and are renowned for solving criminal activity but right now, you have zero idea as to how you will disentangle your limbs without both you and your boss showing willing.

But do you really want to?

There’s also a part of you that just wishes you could stay here- warm, safe and snuggled deeply in his chest. Jasper had always been so bony- all sharp edges and lean whereas Marcus offers a softer and more solid warmth as his body curls languidly around yours. His sleepy strokes and unconscious squeezes send little tingles throughout your body and whilst you’re utterly certain that nothing has happened other than the sheer exhaustion of two adults completely wiping out, you don’t feel ready to shatter the illusion of there being something more.

With the freest limb that’s slung over Marcus’ back, you try to wriggle some feeling into your fingers- psyching your body up to move. In an exchange of roles from the previous day, you stroke his cheek, tucking a curl of hair behind his ear before murmuring gently in his ear,

“Hey.”

Thick eyelashes start twitching before you notice an eye opening, darting around the room before coming in to focus upon your face, “Hey,” a shy grin slowly grows on his face, “I guess I didn’t get to put the comforter on you last night.”

“What?” In utter confusion, you push the back of your head into the cushion of the sofa so that you can angle your head to look more into Marcus’ face.

“I heard your breathing getting heavier last night n’ I thought of how you covered me the night before. Kept thinking I’d manage to do the same for you but you were so soft and warm, that I must’ve drifted off soon after,” his chuckling morning voice still painted with a sleepy rasp.

Giggling and grinning broadly at Marcus’ almost sweet gesture, you gently tease, “Well look, the quilt you nearly put on me, stayed on all night! Didn’t kick it off once.”

“Listen, thanks for not making this as awkward as it should be. No, no, no, I mean it,” Marcus emphasizes emphatically, his forehead wrinkling as his eyes implore you to believe him, “Not sure there are many people, who can wake up next to their new boss after less than 48 hours together and still crack jokes at their expense.”

Finally, working out a way to partially wriggle yourself free, you manage to push yourself into an almost seated position. A small groan and a flush runs through Marcus’ cheeks. And just before he flings his arm across his face to try to obscure his expression, you catch a look of embarrassment in his eyes.

In a low, gentle voice, you try to comfort him, “Come on, you have nothing to be embarrassed about- it’s a normal reaction. I’m going to shuffle across you, if that’s ok? I think it’s the only way we can get out of this tangle without both of us ending up on our arses on the floor.”

You take the small nod from Marcus as confirmation for the manoeuvre and start to crawl over him. Aiming to lift your hips up and away from the source of his embarrassment as possible, you end up overbalancing and tumbling to the floor in a heap of awkward limbs and laughter.

“Hey, you ok?” Marcus’ sleep creased face peers over the edge of the sofa down at you.

It’s now your turn for embarrassment to flush through your very being as you lie there staring at the ceiling rose and cornicing, “Ah I can’t ever pass up an opportunity to demonstrate just how clumsy I am,” you admit thickly through your eyelashes. Perhaps your limbs hadn’t been quite as ready as you’d hoped to carry your weight as you slowly shuffle yourself into a seated position on the deliciously deep pile rug that had cushioned your fall to the floor.

“Although, I may need to ensure that these rugs are kept around me at all times as at least there are no bruises this time. I swear my body is a map of mystery bruises,” you admit as you inspect the skin under your pyjama legs, pointing out inexplicable yellowing bruises.

“Well, Andy can look into that for you around the office,” Marcus says playing along with a wink, surreptitiously enjoying the little flashes you were revealing of your body, “Shame we’ve gotta leave today. I’m beat - but it’s been fun.”

“I’m not sure I’d have ever returned if it wasn’t for your insistence,” you admit, surprised at how the pain in your throat has already lessened to a mild dull ache.

“Guess we’d better get packed up and head off to the airport then.”

You observe Marcus’ bottom lip drop into a small pout, that delicious crease in the middle jutting out as if he was a petulant child rather than a man in his mid forties.

Oh how you’d love to suck...STOP IT! HE IS YOUR FUCKING BOSS, ANUSHKA MEERA LEAH PIERCE!

With an awkward wave and a quick turn of pace to hide the heat coursing through your face, you hightail it out of his room, stubbing your toe as you yank the door open far too viciously,

“SHIT ON IT!” You loudly curse, hearing the sofa creak as Marcus’ weight lifts from it. Not wanting to stick around for his latest sweet gesture when you don’t bloody deserve it, you painfully hop into the cool anonymity of the corridor to nurse your swollen toe.

Fucking smooth, Nush. REALLY fucking smooth.

✪✪✪✪✪

SLAM!

Marcus stands there, still slightly bleary eyed and dazed after experiencing some of the worst emotional whiplash he’s ever felt. How do you go from being genuinely sweet over feeling the morning glory of someone you barely know poking you in the belly to virtually running from the room and hurting yourself in the process to supposedly go pack your suitcase? Your words and actions seem so divergent- in total opposition to one another. Almost as if your brain and being are constantly at war with each other.

In one breath, you’ll tease him mercilessly, amaze him with the depth of your knowledge and the next you’ll shut off completely as if sharing even the time of day, would destroy you. You jump away from him as if it wasn’t the coffee that burns you but his touch and then, you lean into him, snoring sweetly with your face buried into his chest. He wants to shake you and scream WHAT DO YOU WANT in the same way that Ryan Gosling does in The Notebook, but life isn’t a romantic film. Something he’s never truly accepted.

Scrunching his eyes and scratching his head, rubbing the deep crevices that littered his brow, Marcus wonders what his next move will be. Should he run after you to check your foot? Wrap you in his arms and tell you that it will all be ok? Risk you running further from him? Unsure of whether your door would even open to him, Marcus sighs deeply before taking a few steps away from the sofa and tumbling face forward towards his as yet unslept upon bed.

Get it together, Pike.

How much of your constant pestering pushed Teresa away? It’s not a cute quirk, it’s fucking needy - and you need to stop before everyone runs from you.

Burying his face into the comforter, Marcus releases a deeply frustrated growl into its thick squishy noise-absorbing softness before using the springs of the bed to flip himself onto his back. Feeling his pulse throbbing a nervous beat in his neck, he shuts his eyes. All he can see is you. He can smell the tiniest imprints of your perfume and shampoo upon his t-shirt.

You’re fucking feral, Pike.

Feeling the blood rush to his groin as images of your face, bra strap and legs dance through his head, Marcus slides a hand under the waistband of his joggers to give himself a soothing stroke. He enjoys playing with himself as much as the next man- rubbing, stroking, cupping- but right now, all he can imagine is your hand being wrapped around it. Your hand gripping his cock - your skin so fucking soft - building up a rhythmic pleasure as you stare deep into his eyes.

Oh, fuck it.

With a quick arch of his hips, Marcus pulls down his pants in one smooth motion to allow himself full access to his dick. The immense pressure building and tightening as he works the shaft developing a pleasing rhythm whilst he is thinking of you. Filling in the gaps of the parts he hasn’t yet seen of you. How when you’d drifted off last night, he’d patted your hip and realised after feeling no ridge from where the elastic should have been that you had no panties on under your pyjama bottoms. The thought of your pillowy soft, warm, wet flesh so close to his fingers had made him grimace and groan last night when he couldn’t act upon it.

Now by himself, he gives into his basest wishes. Imagining licking, biting and stroking down your body, sucking on your nipples before lifting your hips to lower you onto his dick, sinking deeper and deeper inside you, feeling your warmth and wetness encase around him. Scraping his nails lightly across his balls, up the shaft and across the tip, he throws his head back as he thrusts harder into his fist. The first wave crashes over him pumping jet after jet of cum over his belly as his back arches up away from the soft mattress, his mouth crying out your name.

Dazed. Spent. Marcus lies there for a while, his hands and belly sticky from his release. Allowing the tiredness to wash back through him, his eyes close again- torturing his brain with images of you lying back with him. Being able to stroke your hair and press kisses into your sweetly almond scented skin. Hugging you tightly to him.

Never letting go.

Oh, you are utterly fucked, Pike.

✪✪✪✪✪

Lying upon your tummy, head resting on your arms, you rest upon your bed thinking over the events of the past two days. Burning yourself, burning others, coming back to France, panic attacks, confessions and oh, finding a piece of well faked art- nothing too taxing. The exhaustion is so exquisite as it courses through your veins. There is one thing you’ve tried to exclude from your list- the Voldemort of kindness- he who shall not be named.

Marcus Fucking Pike

When you’d seen his bank card, you’d noticed the F sitting between the M for Marcus and his surname of Pike. It had momentarily tickled you to think of what the F could stand for. You totally know that with his track record for openness, he’d have told you in a heartbeat but it was more fun to wonder. For now, it will stand for Fucking as from what he’d demonstrated of himself he can be really Fucking nice, a Fucking tease about your totally non-existent snoring and Fucking hot.

Stop it, Nush.

You’ve been there, seen that, done it and got the fucking t-shirt. You do not want to go down that road again.

Rolling yourself off the bed, landing with a little more grace than you had off the sofa previously, you set to grabbing everything- throwing it all into your rucksack haphazardly. You’d underpacked, not wanting to cart a wheelie suitcase with you, leaving you with fewer clothes than you actually needed for this trip. You don’t have a clean outfit for the office today. Shit. The dress, although pretty smart for work, wouldn’t be terribly comfy on the flight back and there are some small splatters decorating it from where your coffee shot out of your mouth from laughing hard. You’ll have to head home before travelling into the office today, meaning a later night to catch up with the work you’d not complete earlier. Cursing your inability to pack well and organise your life, you throw on your dress and hope that your cardigan covers the worst of the stains.

Dragging the Tangle Teezer through the motions of pretending to tame your mop before securing it in a high ponytail, you head towards the bathroom that is situated on the adjoining wall between Marcus’ and your bedroom. The old fashioned tap handle with its smooth enamel touches spins easily between your fingers with none of the guttering, spluttering and sudden gushes of cloudy water that yours does at home as you wet your toothbrush, ready to brush your morning breath away. Buzzing fills your bathroom as you set about starting your day, your eyes dancing around the room looking at the cool tiles, the elaborate cistern on the toilet- all very fitting of a Victorian era bathroom. Not your style in the slightest, but it suited the styling of the hotel well. You hated when buildings were stripped and gutted of their original features, fitted with cookie cutter IKEA furniture. Chairs should be a little creaky, floors uneven and tables a little rickety- no perfect lines. A bit like that gorgeous missing bit of beard from Marcus’ face- perfection in imperfection.

Stop it, woman.

Spitting the foamy bubbles into the porcelain of the sink, you turn on the tap to rinse it away. Spinning the handle to the off position, you grab the cleanser that Claire, your eldest brother’s wife, had convinced you to start using and to be honest, it certainly helped the hormonal breakouts when it was that time of the month.

Tearing the cotton pad packet open, you grab two of them, squeezing a blob between them, then squishing them together so that it makes a cleanser pad sandwich. It reminds you of those potions you used to make as a child out in the garden mixing any berries, leaves and soil, or in the bath where you used all your dad’s shaving foam and your mum’s stupidly expensive creams, oils and lotions, mixing wild concoctions that would stop your brothers from coming into your bedroom or your mum rolling her eyes at your grades.

Rubbing the cool ointment in soothing circles over your skin, a strange sound seems to come through the wall. From Marcus’ side. It’s muffled but did it sound like your name, or were you imagining it? Confusion creases your forehead- why wouldn’t he just call or text if he needed you, unless he’s hurt? Deciding that the only way to put your mind at rest is to ring and make sure that he’s ok, you scroll through the names on your phone until you hit Sir Agent Marcus Pike. Hitting facetime, you gaze around the room as you wait for him to pick up. A lopsided smile on a slightly flushed face arrives on your phone, “Hey! You ok?”

“Yeah, I was just ringing to check if you were- I thought I heard you say my name when I was in the bathroom,” you gently question, noticing Marcus’ face twitch awkwardly as his eyes widen, “I was just worried that you might be bleeding out in there. Can’t really have that happen twice or people will start to think it was me that did it!”

Covering his mouth, scratching his scruff with his fingers, Marcus tries to think quickly, “Urm, I was… just trying to um get packed up and I stubbed my toe. You probably heard a pained grunt- sorry,” Marcus shakes his head, flaming cheeks giving away his lie.

“Oh we’re a matching pair, now!” you giggle watching Marcus’ uncomfortable twitching and the way he keeps running his hand through his hair, not entirely convinced by his story but glad it isn’t anything more serious.

“Anyway,” you announce wanting to move the conversation along, “I’ve booked us a taxi to the airport- you’ve got about twenty minutes until it arrives.”

A genuine smile creeps across his face- his eyes creasing into half crescents, “Thanks Nush. Hadn’t actually considered how we’d get there. I promise I am capable of running this team.”

“No worries, Marcus. See you down in reception?” that delicious smile and a slight nod greets your question before a quick goodbye on both sides.

He bloody hadn’t stubbed his toe but what the fuck had he been doing? Eyes widening as a realisation crosses your mind.

He hadn’t, had he?

Giggling away to yourself at the very thought, you finish grabbing your things before flicking the switch on the kettle and opening those beautiful French doors so their gauzy curtains float like ribbons in the slight breeze. One more coffee on that glorious balcony before you head back to London. So that’s two major developments you have gained in regards to work- one faked picture and that Marcus Pike is a shit liar.

✪✪✪✪✪

The journey back to the UK had been pretty uneventful other than Marcus trying to take your bag from you whenever possible. A sweet gesture but entirely unnecessary when it is literally a rucksack with five light items inside and you are more than capable of carrying it unless he was secretly worried that you’d injure someone else by swinging around too quickly or something. In the end, it was just easier for him to hold it rather than bickering like an old married couple in the middle of Stansted airport.

“Just gimme it, Nush. You can concentrate on working out where on Earth I’ve parked my car- this is the info I’ve got from the email ticket,” Marcus pointedly says, passing you his phone screen.

“You don’t have to give me a lift. I have to go home first as I didn’t pack enough clothes to cover me for today too,” you own up, “You get yourself to work and I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours. I promise I’ll work late tonight to make up for it.”

Marcus shakes his head, “You hardly strike me as someone who does half a job. You’re in Blackheath too, aren’t you? To be honest, I could do with grabbing a few bits from home before going back into town, so it won’t be going out of my way.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take any more of your time than necessary- I know that I’m not the easiest person to be around and you’ve had to pretty much live with me for the past twenty-four hours,” you check noticing Marcus’ wince when you mention your difficult personality, “Ooof that bad huh?”

“You should stop talking about yourself in that way, Nush,” he gently soothes, lifting your chin with his thumb so that he can pick your eyes up from where they have fallen to the floor, “From what I’ve learnt about you in the past couple of days, you are an incredibly intelligent, occasionally clumsy but warm human. It has been a pleasure to have this opportunity to get to know you better and get to see the level of your skills so early on.”

Shifting uncomfortably in your coffee stained clothes, a smile crossing his face as he adds, “Can’t take a compliment can you? Ah well, that’ll have to be in your performance management plan- something for you to work on.”

“Ah hah! I’ve worked it out- your car is in the third bay, second row in Green Zone,” you triumphantly cackle.

“Lead the way, Nush. Let’s head home.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Roughly forty-five minutes later, you are kicking the base plate of your door to get the damp to release its powerful grip. Realistically, you had no need for a lock as the fluid retention of the wood would stop the most committed burglar in their tracks and unless you angled the kick just right, ah that’s it- home. You lean over the edge of the walkway to wave at Marcus, who is waiting below for a signal that you were in. He flashes his lights in acknowledgement of your gesture before smoothly reversing from where he has pulled in, watching his car disappearing from your estate, there is a tiny ache but you try to push it away as realistically, it is utterly ridiculous. You’re going to be seeing him in an hour for a lift into work.

After a scorching shower, a squirt of perfume and donning a pretty wrap dress with brightly coloured tights and your trusty cherry red Docs, you’re ready. Lying upon the sofa with your head upon a cushion, your knees bent and feet up on the arm rest, you flick through the various emails and messages that have slowly trickled in over the course of the morning. A sharp rap at the door, shakes you out of work mode.

“Hang on,” you yell through the door giving it the special shake and wiggle before muttering a prayer to the door gods to open first time, “Sorry, it’s the damn damp!”

A very smart, besuited, booted and bespectacled Marcus has a look of total alarm, “I’d say to get that checked but I’m guessing you already have?”

“Oh multiple times of pestering my landlord- apparently it’s on a list. Has been for at least three years,” you answer irritatedly, “Anyway, it’s my best security feature- no one can get in or out.”

“I didn’t realise you wore glasses. They look good on you,” you admire the black frames enjoying the flush being brought to Marcus’ cheeks before teasingly adding, “Ohhh, now who can’t take a compliment!”

“Get down your ass down those stairs, Ms Pierce, I’m pulling rank,” Marcus winks, lopsidedly grinning at you, “We have to at least pretend to do some work today.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus opens the door to the office for you- ever grateful to his wonderful manners, you slide into the office first and inwardly groan at the pile of files that have seemingly made themselves at home on your desk.

“Oh there’s my girl!” Andy’s arms wrap themselves around your shoulders, encasing you in a bone crushing hug, “Missed your face yesterday but I’m guessing you’ve had no time to think of us poor souls slaving away here whilst you’ve been gallivanting across the French countryside? How was the hotel room? Enjoy the view?”

Feeling a little ambushed by your friend’s questioning, you blink hard to steady your thoughts of the glorious view you awoke to this morning, “Yeah, it was lovely!”

And warm. And soft. Snored quite sweetly too.

“I know what a mardy bum you can be if you don’t have something nice to look at when you wake up,” Andy adds with a gentle shrug. He then turns his attention to Marcus, who’s shifting uncomfortably behind you, “Welcome back, Sir. Good to have you back here.”

“Thanks Andy. Um, I’m going to get set up,” Marcus says as he steps out around from behind you, placing a hand on the small of your back. The warmth exists there for a moment before he’s already passed your desk and opened the glass door to his office.

“Coffee’s already waiting for you on your desk,” Marcus swings back to look utterly amazed at his PA, so Andy qualifies this, “I get reception to let me know when all of you arrive so that you can focus on the important things.”

“By the way, Nush and Marcus, before you get swallowed by case files,” Andy addresses you both as you lower yourself onto your chair, “we’re all heading to the Model Market on Friday to find some food and drink before drunkenly throwing some moves to my cousin who’ll be behind the decks. It’s only Wednesday and it already feels like a week!”

Dian sneaks over to your desk with a pastel de nata, “I heard these are your favourites so here’s something sweet to start off your day right.”

Your lip trembles and tears start to form as she passes you this sweet treat, “Thank you. They are my favourites. You are a truly lovely human, Dian.” You reach across the table and squeeze her hand.

“Oh I’m alright, I guess,” she winks one of her anthracite eyes at you, beaming widely, “I am just looking forward to finally spending some time with you in a context that doesn’t involve work. It’s so hard leaving a place that you’ve got your people who you vibe with and then you upend yourself to live somewhere new, where you’re totally on your own and have a job where you work odd hours!”

A sudden hit of guilt pumps through your veins, “I am so sorry, Dian, I hadn’t thought of that. I am so lucky to be from the same city that I now work in- I should have taken you to Borough. I will, and I promise I will show you all the little nooks you won’t have seen around there.”

“I was very jealous of Marcus stealing you away. Ridiculous when it was just for a day but I’d really like to get to know you. I feel like we could be friends,” Dian squeezes back, “Harper has family and friends here already, and I swear I overheard Kiri talking about a rugby team he has joined and meeting up with some mates from uni.”

“Yup- that’s probably true- plenty of Aussies and Kiwis in London but sadly not so many Canadians! Right, we’ll do this old school- come over to mine at seven on Friday, I’ll put some wine in the fridge and we can pretend we’re teenagers getting ready for a night on the town,” you quickly scrawl your address on a piece of paper, pushing it across the table towards Dian.

The smile on Dian’s face is the prettiest thing you've seen for a while. It seems to extend from her eyes to the very depths of her soul. Her reaching out to you makes you think of Marcus. Perhaps he could do with a friend here too- maybe another pizza and classic film night? Even though it had only been two nights, you feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him not being there with you this evening. Ridiculous. Get a grip before you risk curling up on a sofa with him again.

As Dian returns to her desk, you are faced with the mountain of paperwork from yesterday’s adventure. Shutting your eyes to try and focus your brain, you try to figure out where to start- the report? Logging the video feed? Filing the pictures? Writing up the notes from the meeting?

“Already napping on the job?”

You open one eye to be met with Marcus’ amused face.

With a slight shake of your head, you dismiss his teasing inquiry, “Trying to figure out where to start. I’m not sure quite how we managed to achieve so much in a day but it allllll nowwwww neeeeeeds to be loggggggged, bleurgh!”

“Let’s start at the very beginning,” Marcus says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“A very good place to start,” you sing along, channeling your best Julie Andrews, highly amused by Marcus’ reference, “Actually- as my brain’s not quite in work mode yet, I should ask you before I forget. I was thinking- do you fancy making the pizzas and classic film night a thing? While London is always full of people, it’s easy to feel quite lonely until you find your group of friends.”

A genuine smile slowly crawls across Marcus’ face as he drinks in your offer, “I mean, it's just a thought. Of course you don’t have to and I’m not sure that my old sofa is anywhere near as comfy as the one in Lyon…”

“I’d love to,” Marcus grins at the fluster in your voice, was he happy to spend more time with you? “Let’s get something in place…”

“Nush- sorry to interrupt, Marcus- I have a highly animated woman called Élodie on the phone asking for you. Can I put her through?” Andy asks, “Seems like she has the lab results back for the possible Soutine.”

Lifting the receiver for your phone whilst whispering to Marcus that you’d catch him later, you lean into the backrest and spin yourself comfortingly from side to side, « Coucou chérie, ça va? Vérifie si mon numéro de téléphone fonctionne? » Hi my love! How are you? Already checking if my telephone number works?

«Coucou mon chouchou! Bien sûr- tu ne peux pas me quitter encore! Il a été complètement falsifié. Sur la toile, sous la peinture, se trouve une autre image qui me rappelle quelque chose qui a été peint par un ado troublé! » Hey my love! Of course- you can’t leave me again! It was completely faked. On the canvas under the paint, another image was found that reminds me of something a troubled teenager would paint! The words tumbling hurriedly from Élodie’s mouth into her phone.

You giggle remembering the angst-ridden art and poetry you’d created as a mopey teenager and are filled with amusement that someone might improve them by putting faked masterpieces on top.

« D’accord! Donc la radiologie l’a prouvé - mais qu’en est il des échantillons de peinture? Une joie avec ceux-ci? » Ok! So the X-ray proved it but what about the paint samples? Any joy there? Now spinning on your chair as far the cord would allow you, your mind wonders how on Earth it could ever have ever been thought to be real.

« Tous les échantillons montrent des peintures modernes telles que la phtalocyanine bleue et verte. Les résultats de la datation au carbone sont attendus plus tard dans la soirée, mais j'avais hâte de t’appeler! Je t’enverrai les résultats par e-mail dès qu'ils apparaissent» All of the samples show modern paints such as phthalocyanine blue and green. The carbon dating results are due later this evening but I couldn't wait to ring you. I’ll email you the results as soon as they appear. Élodie continues, « Comment s'est passé votre dernière nuit et le voyage de retour avec votre magnifique patron? » How did the last night and journey home go with that lovely boss of yours?

« Je raccroche le téléphone maintenant, femme ridicule, » I am hanging up the phone now, you ridiculous woman. You reproach your friend playfully.

Hanging up, after sending hugs and kisses to Jacques too, you see that your computer has now decided that no more updates need to be made. Perhaps it’s time to get started on that report…

When you read you begin with ay bee cee…

✪✪✪✪✪

The flurry of activity continues to hover around your desk and slowly your colleagues peter out in search of lives lived outside of the office space. In fact, you don’t notice the ageing of the day until Marcus goes to leave the office, “Hey, are you planning to sleep here tonight?”

“Had more sleep last night than I usually do so I am riding this high until I drop,” you snort without removing your eyes from your screen as you furiously type away, “You off home?”

“Gym first- gotta burn off the pancakes I’m going to have for breakfast tomorrow,” Marcus says as he fiddles with the strap on his laptop bag.

“That’s not the way that food intake and exercise should work. Food is for nourishing your body and exercise is for making it strong. Don’t get sucked in by that bullshit, Marcus,” you wag your finger at your boss, still hammering the keyboard with your other hand, “You have nothing to worry about, the way you look.”

You finally look up to see Marcus shyly smile, rocking from heel to toe in his highly polished brogues, his eyes on the toe of his shoes. Drawing a deep breath, he looks back up at you, nodding towards the report on your screen, “D’ya think you’ll be able to present that to the team tomorrow?”

“Yeah, just had the results from the carbon dating come through so I should be ready to speak to everyone tomorrow morning at the briefing, if that works for you?” You answer just as tiredness starts to take a grip on your body.

“Perfect. Can I offer you a lift home or are you staying a bit longer?”

“Staying,” you confirm, glueing your eyes back to the screen.

“Well, goodnight Nush,” Marcus wishes you warmly, as he makes to walk away from your desk.

“G’night Marcus. Try to sleep in a bed tonight.”

A throaty chuckle fills the cool office air before disappearing as the door shuts behind him. Bathed in the blue light of your screen, you try to jog your memory of which point you were about to make in your report but sit there utterly stumped due to the distraction.

Marcus Fucking Pike.

✪✪✪✪✪

“So what’s the big deal about this colour exactly?” Harper cuts directly to the chase, “Explain it like I’m five because as you are well aware, this is not my area of expertise.”

You always wonder how far back people need to know of a colour’s history to explain it well enough. Do you take it back to cave paintings or perhaps start in the Renaissance? Perhaps somewhere between the two?

“There was a blue that was known as the colour of the heavens. It’s called ultramarine and is created by crushing lapis lazuli. Now, lapis is only found in one country- Afghanistan, but it’s been used since antiquity to create this beautifully, insanely intense blue. The blue that you see in Tutankhamen’s mask, that’s lapis. Having been used by the Ancient Egyptian and Babylonian empires, lapis then fell out of favour as the Romans associated it with the woad used by Barbarian hordes.”

Tapping his pen on the table, Kiritopa nods in agreement,”Like Braveheart?”

“That’s a wee bit later in European history but a similar idea. Think more Boudicca- the Iceni tribes uprising against the marauding Romans,” Dian points out kindly before nodding encouragingly at you to continue.

“The use of ultramarine then slowly diffused through Europe thanks to the Crusades in the 13th and 14th century but even then, it was still an incredibly precious commodity and solely available to the richest of the rich. That’s why you only ever see it in pictures of the Virgin Mary, emperors, popes and other dignitaries. When a patron requested Ultramarine to be used, the contract would have to be super tight specifying exactly where it would be used and how much.”

“So over the years, scientists have attempted to replicate this paint to create a substance that’s more commercially available but when we try to make paints, we’re dealing with chemistry. When manufacturing paint, you’ve got to make sure that it’s a stable, preferably non-toxic product because well, we all know what happened to the Radium Girls.”

“It took until the first half of the twentieth century for the scientific community to create CuPc. I think it was 1927 when they first created a reaction between copper, cyanide and 0-dibromobenzene, finding that one of the byproducts was an intensely blue powder. This blue powder ended up being first manufactured in 1935 but it still wasn’t readily available until the sixties because Yves Klein tried in the fifties to create the blue used by Giotto and still didn’t manage to produce anything nearly as stable or non-toxic.”

“How does this all link up to this forgery in France?” Harper questions bluntly, clearly desperate for you to get to the point.

Blinking hard, you take a moment to steady yourself as Marcus’ eyes flit between you and the Australian agent.

“Kind of wishing that I’d asked you to explain it like I’m twenty five, might have reached the point by Christmas,” she mutters under her breath.

“Stop packing a sad, Harper. Nush has heaps of skills in this area,” Kiritopa shoots a glare in the Australian’s direction, “Keep going Nush.”

You go to open your mouth but Harper just can’t help herself, “There’s a skill in being succinct.”

“There’s also a skill in not being rude but you’re not managing that are you?” The look on Kiritopa’s face announcing that he is pretty much ready to kill.

“Whoa - guys…” Marcus chooses now to join in?

“Look,” you acquiesce- your heart racing in your throat, raising your hands to try and calm the situation, “Harper’s right, I’m blathering. I should have gotten to the point far sooner. The crux of the situation is that the paint found on the canvas in Grenoble dates from the sixties whereas the artist died in the forties.”

“All of the evidence points to it being a fake- carbon dating, x-rays- the lot. This was an easy find but I think we should be prepared for harder to spot ones,” after throwing paper copies of the lab results in the centre of the table for everyone to grab, you sit back in your chair. Your posture screams for everyone to leave you alone, burying your face in the agenda. Multiple sets of eyes look upon you but you refuse to meet them, feeling furiously obstinate and wholly uncommunicative in the moment.

As the meeting grinds to a close, you finally lift your eyes to find that Marcus’ regard has barely left you- only looking away when you catch him. Urgh, he’s going to be nice about this too. But it isn’t Marcus, who reaches out to you. It’s Kiritopa. Kiritopa, who wordlessly reaches his bear-like arm across the table and squeezes your hand before getting up and leaving the room. The gesture fills you with a grateful warmth and you decide to scarper from the meeting room before Marcus says something and makes you cry.

Time to put on my big girl knickers and get back to work.

✪✪✪✪✪

Friday passes in a blur of calls about a new possible forgery meaning that you can only pull silly faces at Dian from across the room. Kiritopa seems hugely excited by the prospect of a night out, chattering about how he’s invited some of the guys from his rugby team to meet up with him there later. Harper is her usual distant self, head down, beavering away- not really paying much attention to anyone or anything around her.

Where’s Marcus?

You throw a scrunched ball of paper at the PA’s head to get his attention, but entirely miss him, “Andy is Marcus not coming in today?”

Picking up the paper and without even looking up, he throws it back, hitting you square in the forehead, “Car trouble. Any issues, message him.”

Eventually, you hear his confident gait walk into the room. Looking up, you send him a smile which soon fades when you see what a mess he’s in. Hair sticking up all over the place from a stressed hand constantly running through it, a slight gleam of sweat across his skin and an oily mark on one cheek, shirt untucked, jacket draped over one arm, tie askance and lowered due to the top two buttons of his shirt being undone. All of him, in fact, looks undone and defeated.

Without thinking, you jump up from your seat, walk over to him and hug him tightly. With this action the other agents look up and see the state their boss is in. Marcus, whilst initially surprised by your gesture, leans into the hug and lowly whispers, “Thanks. I needed that,” before giving you a tight squeeze, releasing you and slowly trudging towards his office.

“Shit start to a Friday, Sir,” Kiritopa offers, “I’ll get the first round in tonight- you look like you could do with a beer.”

“Fuck, yes, I need a beer but as your boss, that’s my job,” Marcus forcefully asserts, “You can get the second round in.”

You make to slink off back to your desk but Marcus catches your hand, rubbing the skin lightly with his thumb, “You ok?”

“Yeah- just wanted to check on you. You look a fucking state,” you declare through an amused grin.

Marcus chuckles at your observation. “Not the best start to a day,” he grimaces, “I miss anything major this morning?”

“Not apart from the boss arriving at midday looking like he pushed his car all the way here,” you gently tease, “You know we have something called public transport in London- you should try it some time!”

“Yeah, I’ll have Andy look into that for me,” Marcus nods in mock-contemplation, “Hey, um, are you coming out tonight? With everyone, I mean?”

“Uh huh,” you concede reluctantly, “I’m not really a fan of nights out with colleagues but I think we could all do with a glass of something and some good street food in our tummies. What time are you getting there?”

Marcus scrunches up his nose, “Around seven but you know this job- it might be then or some time in September!”

Giving you a wink as he buttons up his collar and straightens his tie, Marcus turns towards his office and you head back to your desk- both with a renewed wish to get finished up and out of the office tonight.

Taglist: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @danniburgh @lunaserenade @leonieb @tardisfangurl @mouthymandalorian @disgruntledspacedad @zukoyonce @pedropascalito @absurdthirst @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @green-socks @lv7867

[slashtakemylife]

Just finished the last episodes and I need to rant about Adam because boi, if they had actually given the importance to Adam they said he had, Voltron would've been very different, in a better way

When S7 aired and I learned of Adam's death I felt upset and shocked but I never raged, I was just disappointed, I nosedived to every interview to see if the general media talked about it, and they did! However in the interviews I read things about Adam like, "since Shiro is gone, Adam is the next best pilot there is" (as to why it was Adam on the first unsuccesful wave), "he didn't hesitate" " he was made of the same cloth as Shiro" "His importance to Voltron is very big", I got massive warning signs of they doing what I personally call "sugarcoating" specially after reading the apology were JDS said they never intended to make Adam a recurring character, but alas, I waited to finish the season and properly make an opinion, well the warning signs were true and now I AM RANTING!!

I'll be going a little off topic but one thing I seriously hate in movies and shows are when female characters, specially love interests, are the best of the best, the most high rank, the smartest, the strongest, the handmade creation of the gods themselves, up to a point that sometimes you go, then why is the male character the leader? Isn't she more qualified? well yeah but she isn't just because, but other than saying how awesome she is, they barely show it, in important, crucial, deciding, defining moments they are not there when by their rank they should be or they are just adorning the background barely making any opninions, or despite being shown to be badass in certain scenes they are just sitting plants in others just for the hero to rescue them

Female characters are awesome and I love many of them but there are obvious parts were they are simply pushed aside despite the amount of importance they give them, Hollywood is afraid of putting female leads but also afraid of being called mysogynist so they create secondary female characters and then they "sugarcoat" them to us with valuable aspects such as a big family conection, a big link to the plot of the movie, a rank, a skill or smth to show she is a "strong woman" but only when convinient

As a female I'm used to this sugarcoating, so when on interviews I read those things about Adam, that is what pissed me off. Listen, in my true honest opinion, the VLD crew really wanted to make this rep for us, Barlee admitted it was greenlit late, it was smashed together (and it shows) but they did their best, I accepted Adam as JDS letter clearly says, Adam was just a character meant to show Shiro's sexuality, nothing less and nothing more, it's not that he is not important, he just wasn't planned for more and I'm not mad about it, I can accept that.

Suddenly declaring Adam as a symbol of loss, regret and war; a major character that has a major impactful role in Voltron..., please, that comes straight out of nowhere, since they saw how meaningful Adam was to ppl, they decided to "sugarcoat" him by giving him more value than he actually has or was meant to have, just let the man die and let me mourn him in peace

If I really give Adam the characteristics and value they said, things would've and could've been different in a so much better way and here is my how: (remember Adam is supposed to be like Shiro, one of if not the best pilot, behind Shiro, the garrison has to offer and a brave man that doesn't hesitate to jump into action, a team leader)

(Take this as a prompt as well please because I would love a fic like this)

So Shiro wants to go to Kerberos but Admiral Sanda won't let him, Sam Holt is pushing for Shiro because he is the best, but you need to replace him so, who is the second if not also the best pilot such as Shiro? You know it, Adam, he was there for every record but he is Shiro's flight parter so there is a high chance some of those records are Adam's as well, also Sam is close to Shiro so he probably would accept Adam as a replacement (or at least that is what Sanda would think)

If Adam is a self sacrificing hero like Shiro, he would want to accept just to keep Shiro safe back on Earth, Shiro could feel betrayed by Adam and the whole drama would've been so much better, but we need Shiro on Kerberos (unless you want BlackPaladdin!Adam) so imagine Adam coming over to Shiro and saying:

"Out of our time together, out of my respect and love for you, I'm doing this last thing, I'm rejecting Admiral Sanda's proposal and promote for you to be there, so go, but don't expect me to be here when you get back"

So Shiro basically has Adam's blessing but they still break up, they still parted on rocky terms but is more bittersweet and you show how mature and deep their relationship is

Back to canon, I believe they introduced Adam in the breakup because we are supposed to like him but not get invested in him so when he does die we won't feel so bad, VLD promoted Adam as Shiro's significant other, then they sugarcoated him by saying they were close to marriage but when we finally discover Adam's fate they go like, "we'll remember he is his ex, not current, so while feelings are still there Shiro already knew it was kind of over, so don't feel sad for Adam or Shiro, just remember Shiro is gay"

Having Adam just, "how important am I to you?" let's just say I'm not surprised ppl disliked Adam because he gave Shiro that ultimatum, his character felt needy and greedy but then again, we are not supposed to get too invested in him. (Boi, that went exactly the wrong direction, the fandom imprinted on Adam like newly born ducks)

I'll be going a little off topic but I'm coming back to Adam after explaining this thing: the cadets, why you use cadets and not fully trained officers? In all shows the main characters share their audiences' age but they always explain why, the adults are evil, fate just happened to put them there, a mystical something chose them (in the paladins cases) but here? They just say they are the best of the best, and that is good but still, just cadets, you can't do test with them, they could die, ppl have died while testing things, some of the crew of the guys that went to the moon died in a test in rl, right?

I thought, ok I'll go with it, but the Why You Don't Do That pretty much slaps them in the face, when the Galra attack, why they don't want to deploy them?

They are just cadets!

THEN WHY TF TRAIN THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!!????

Sam came back knowing a Galra attack is inminent, the garrison is about to make the most advanced ships and weapons and they are giving them to cadets?! WHY?!?!

(Fix it and prompt time!)

Before Sam arrives they couldn't even make the pod move, so they could've explain the cadets as this

"It will takes us Years to create a simple prototype, if we were to train older cadets, they woulb be close to or retiring so better young ones so when we finally fly something they would not only have years of training but would be at their prime"

When Sam arrives

"I know you all expected to use this years from now but the Galra won't wait and neither will we, you are already trained for this so may as well keep it up"

- (the continuation of this prompt is after we talk Adam some more)

Back to the interviews, in one they said Adam's death was inminent given the natural flow of the show, if the Galra attack then we will deploy the best we have but the best we have is Adam so tough luck.

Me after watching the show: I'm calling BS on this! They HAD a defense line, they HAD the knowledge, they just sent them because they were stupid enough to put cadets in the only advanced weapon they had and to show how shitty Sanda was, and our poor gay man was the price, also brave Adam? I don't doubt it but then again, he did what soldiers do, he followed orders, so they didn't show me how brave he was, they showed me him doing his job, he knows what those commands mean, he knows what is his job description so while yeah he is obviously brave, so is everyone, he doesn't stand out, if he had been already buckled in Before the command then yes he is great but no, he just followed orders

You want to show his bravery and leader skills? Hold my juice, (I don't drink beer, sorry) we are about to get to the next part of the prompt

- (The next part :D)

Sam:

"We will keep you cadets but since the making of the ships is about to be done with the info I brought, we need an experienced pilot to be your leader specially in battle since you are new to that"

-Quiz time!-

Who is the best pilot the garrison has to offer known and acknowledged by both Sanda and Sam?

ADAM!!!

MFE pilot and leader!Adam

When the Garla attack, Adam is no longer in his squad, he stayed in base when Sanda deploys his unit and sees them get decimated, before they all die he does this

Adam:

"Cadets, I won't force you into doing anything, but there are good man and women out there getting killed by the very threat we've been training to defeat, so I'm taking my MFE and blast them to the next moon, anyone who wants to come along is welcome"

Sanda: "don't you daaare, court martial BS!"

Adam, while in his MFE:

"Open the particle barrier or I'll see a way to blast throught it!"

Sam does open it and they cover fire enough to save the few remaining earth pilots

(End prompt)

You see?!?! This is how you show me Adam being brave and a team leader, the original paladins are 4 young ones and a space dad, they could've had the earth equivalent with the 4 cadets and their own Shiro with Adam as their leader, can I also mention how he is now VERY much alive? So yeah, Adam is dead because you chose so! Shiro is alive because you chose so too! He was supposed to die to let Keith be the leader but you found his value and made great things with him and we all love him!

WHY COULD'NT YOU DO THIS WITH ADAAAAAAM!!!!!!

And you can't tell me it wouldn't be absolute poetry to have Space Dad as Captain of the Atlas, Space Son as the Voltron leader and Earth Dad as he leader of the Earth forces, being the support to keep safe his two idiots he loves and calls family

Adam should've left Griffin in charge for a moment, go to Shiro and blast Sendak with his MFE while screaming, this is for killing the love of my life! (Ok I got over excited in that last bit but you know it would've been epic)

If you reached this far you probably think I'm just a rabbid Adashi shipper ranting about my ship, and yeah I sorta am, as I said, I'm really just venting but still my true discomfort is the whole sugarcoating thing

I accepted Adam as JDS said, as what the show is showing me he is, a background character that, while he definitely is a major someone to Shiro, it is just for him, he doesn't have so much major importance in Voltron as a whole but he was designed that way, he is still part of Shiro's backstory but he is dead now and we shall move on

Don't try to make him more than he is outside of the show canon, this whole issue is because EVERYTHING is out of canon, the show reflects NOTHING of everything you said of both Shiro's sexuality and Adam as a character, if S8 brings Adam back whether is a flashback or alive, I'll come back to this because I will judge if they will own up to what they said he is or once again leave vague things that reflect nothing and try to cover it up outside of canon, I'm mad but mostly disappointed

I'll be fine in a few days and I will see S8 with the same excitement as I have all the rest of the seasons

[casper-has-a-cat]

i have a lot of thoughts about bts’s new album

and yeah this is not at all related to the purpose of my blog’s existence but i feel the need to share anyways so apologies but here we go:

intro: persona: 

actually i don’t have too many thoughts about this specific song?  i mean it sounds lit and all, but honestly i don’t have enough knowledge of rap to comment on the quality.  

the lyrics are interesting and the music video’s dope, rm is wonderfully raw and brave as hell with his words and he looks beautiful with white hair but that’s about all i’ve got for this one lol

also just the lyrics are genius and kinda speak for themselves?  and i’m sure i’m missing a lot of nuances because i don’t speak korean so gonna just leave it at that

boy with luv: 

not my favorite at the moment (i always say this with bts songs because they tend to grow on me the more i listen to them)

the music video really intrigues me?  

i’m curious about the role time plays in it, what with the ticking clock at the beginning and the time markers w/ the ticket booth and the clocks throughout the song.  also, sometimes it’s night and sometimes it’s daytime, idk, it gives off almost dream-like vibes?  the colors give it a very surreal feeling, too, not to mention the set changes/transitions.  

also, obviously am intrigued by the singing in the rain references, but not really sure what to do with any of it yet!

i love that they put their album titles on the neon signs, very clever

it seems like there’s a lot of references to older choreography but i’m not a dancer so could be wrong!

the lyrics are a cool progression in terms of showing how they’ve matured over time!  could relate to the time references in the mv

there are a lot of roses in the mv?  don’t really know what to do with that tbh but i’m sure it means something lol

suga’s lisp is so prominent in his rap and i love it.  and what is he doing with that piano ???

mikrokosmos: 

okay here we go 

this song murders me.  and i don't know why someone please help???  i normally am not a fan of super upbeat songs and this one is honestly straight up corny but???  i thought answer: love myself was as preppy as it could get for me without being sickening but apparently i was wrong???  anyway, mikrokosmos is the song i can’t stop listening to.  

the beginning is so beautiful, i don’t know why but their voices just seem to blend so well with the instruments... 

j-hope straight up sounds like an angel, and just the transitions from one voice the next are so good

ALSO i noticed that all 7 of them have lines before the first chorus which feels like it has to be intentional

listening to this song, i noticed that all of the vocalists seem to be more versatile now, their voices blend a lot more than they did in the past and they sound more similar to one another (at times) which shows not that they’re losing individuality but that they’re able to modify their vocals more effectively, so that’s dope

i love when suga says “one” don’t ask me why it’s just good (actually i think it’s the timing of it that gets me)

the harmonies in this song wow

particularly v and jimin at the end, i love their voices together???  they’re so different at a fundamental level but they sound so good

ummmm that high note at the end???  oof

anyway i’m really curious what other people think of this song because i thought i’d be sick of it by now but here we are

one more thing: i love that the lyrics define the symbolism of light, that’s poetry my dudes

and even though it’s cheesy i do love the sentiment they express, where being with someone you love can make everything seem more beautiful, in both a literal and metaphorical sense

make it right:

every time j-hope sings i ascend to heaven?

really like the transition from j-hope to rm

and then the transition from rm to jimin’s “baby i know”

i love jin’s low notes

another song with a lot of very nice harmonies

suga shut up

honestly though his verse is so much

the desert and sea lines (jimin and suga) are a fun punch in the stomach

jimin’s vocals are killer, his voice just fits this song perfectly

home:

more references to sea can they stop murdering me plz

“big house, big cars, big rings” big oof honestly this whole album is bts beating me up i guess

this song makes me sad, really

more good harmonies

the sea metaphor is so good because they’re talking about how hard it is to maintain a sea when it keeps turning back into a desert, and maybe it was a mirage all along and fame is so hard to maintain, it’s so much effort, and what they really want here is not an ocean but a home and you can’t have both it’s so???  sad and true ouch

jamais vu:

cool, cool, cool i absolutely love that these three have a song

the “who am i” question is back from rm’s intro?

j-hope’s vocals cleanse my soul

this is totally just the but the chorus kind of grates on me (again, could change the more i listen to the song?)

i don’t really know what to do with the lyrics?  i think maybe the repetitiveness of the song is what bugs me and it maybe is meant to mirror the lyrics which would be pretty neat if that’s the case

mentioning the harmonies at this point seems unnecessary but bts’s harmonies just continue to astound me

dionysus

oh yikes

honestly i don’t have the mental capacity to process this song in one weekend

the j-hope vibes are strong imo, super intense, a lot going on, possibly the most pump-up song i’ve ever heard, catchy as hell

jin’s low notes???  😲

harmonies... again lol

the distortion effects on their voices are cool!

jin just.  straight up screaming at the end?  wild

should like this song more than i do (and i might in the future) but as for now, to be honest, it overwhelms me

i’ll probably like it more after i’ve listened to it for like... 2 years lol

every time i listen through it once i feel like i’ve listened to 5 songs

do they plan to sing this in concert because if so ??? rip jin’s voice i guess???  #concerned (jk i’m sure if it’s dangerous to his voice they just wouldn’t have him sing those parts live but still, his lines in this song are absolutely wild)

some extra thoughts: 

as i mentioned before, i don’t know much about rap, and also i don’t speak korean, sooo i’m saying this with zero authority, but one thought that i had almost immediately is that suga’s rap has a totally different feel?  curious if anyone else feels the same, but it seems like his pronunciation is a lot more clear now than it normally is.  he’s still slaying as always if you ask me, it just has a different feel than i’m used to from him!

there’s a whole lot of desert/sea references in this album and every single one of them is a punch in the stomach

i don’t ship but i’m such a massive sucker for vmin harmonies their voices sound so incredibly good together

ANYWAY this is stupid long, if you read this far i’m sorry for stealing so much of your time but also would love to know your thoughts!!!