#but wherever he goes people are bound to Respect him and maybe even admire

[darlingofdots]

once again three cheers for Will Laurence parenting superior-officering Emily Roland under truly the wildest of circumstances for like 7 years and doing such a fantastic job of it. He was basically her primary caregiver from age 9 to 16 and no matter how she might gripe, he took his job so seriously and you can tell she appreciates it! She runs away from her official posting during the Invasion to come serve under him again because he treated her with respect and gave her responsibilities suited to her skills, and also he has modelled a set of principles that she clearly understands and agrees with even when she thinks he's going about it wrong. And she is so fully On His Side anyway, she's so righteously outraged on his behalf when people disrespect him, and like. that man is not her father but he is her dad. That night when she was 9 years old and afraid for her mother and Excidium and he was so gentle with her is so emblematic of his attitude to his "young gentlemen" in my opinion; he is firm and professional at all times but he pays attention, he knows his people's backgrounds and families and he is so invested in giving them the best possible chance at success, and it's clear to me that people respond to that! including the terrible teenagers he accidentally got roped into raising

[aenaxes-moved]

soirée

[cody x gn!reader] sometimes, commander cody, diplomatic duties can be set aside. otherwise known as living, if only for a brief moment, with the golden boy.

warnings: none

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: i just think dancing with cody on a lakefront at sunset would be infinitely nice. and y/n is gender neutral! they could be read as more feminine coded because of their gown and heels but there are no explicit pronouns/gendered references.

"Have you ever danced for a gala, Cody?"

"I can't say I have, senator," Cody responds as the Theelin representatives pass by. Some tenuous balance of concern and mild amusement playing over the arch in his brow, he watches you lift the long hem of your gown to rub at your ankles.

"I would recommend you avoid it if possible," you say, grimacing when your fingers brush over a sure blister come dawn. "Nasty business, dancing."

Were he but a newly made acquaintance, as he had been when he had known you by name and Fox's fond regard alone, he would most certainly be on his highest guard. But after Obi-wan had very inconspicuously assigned him to your escort detail, placing you through a grand total of one assassination attempt and two stolen frigates, he allows himself a sort of relaxed regard that only comes by a bond forged in the belly of a ship under heavy fire.

Camaraderie, he had called it breathlessly as you wiped engine grease from your robes, collapsing against him after you had finally toggled the hyperdrive online.

Friendship, you had countered with the firm clack of your wrench on the helm. You recall with brilliant clarity that his hand had been warm when you had gripped it tight, illuminated the ghostly blue of the streaks of light flooding the viewport.

Comrades were bound to duty; friends, something much more. So he allows himself to stand back at pause to admire how the setting sun gleams over your skin, how your nose scrunches just slightly as you fuss at the sheer inconvenience of your heels, as if you are not as radiant in his eyes as the fading light sparkling and rippling over the water.

"Truly, an unfortunate part of the democratic process, y/n," Cody chuckles.

Without the presence of other senators to demand the formalities of titles and decorum, you watch his shoulders slacken from sharp attention as he calls you by your name. The cool neutrality of his gaze as a soldier softens into a warm amusement meant for a dear friend, and you are happy to bask in its glow despite the groaning ache in your feet.

"If I knew there would be this much dancing in politics, I would have listened to my mother and taken her speeder shop," you groan.

"And deprive the Senate of your voice?" Cody asks, and his smile, as discreet and small as it may be, is irresistible.

"You have to actually convince me, Cody."

"Fair enough. Then, deprive the 212nd of your acquaintance?"

You hum, your fingers suddenly still over your heels as he watches you genuinely contemplate his words.

"Just a bit closer," you prod, a playful gleam in your eye.

"I thought you said you didn't like 'fawning sycophancy,'" Cody snorts. "You and your politician language."

"I don't like groveling politicians. I won't turn down flattery if it is from you, my dear commander," you respond, unable to hide the bright smile high on your lips.

"Then, say you'd taken the speeder shop. Would you deprive me of your acquaintance?" Cody relents with a huff. It's nothing but a puff of breath exhaled soft, but it's a welcome sound close to the rich warmth of his laughter, the sound of the poorly concealed joy glimmering in his deep brown eyes.

"If you help me to a quiet place where I can simply sit for the rest of the evening, I might just tell you if that was enough," you tease, offering your hand to him with a haughty flourish as if you were the queen of Naboo herself and not a common voice of the people of Coruscant. Cody rolls his eyes, breaking into a brief grin that flashes over his expression as brilliant as the sun.

You're already in a bit of a secluded spot a few paces away from the swelling quartet music and bureaucratic chatter, giving you the space to break your level-headed courtesies and poke fun. But more than anything, you simply want time alone with the commander in all the impeccable neatness of his uniform dress. Besides, while you think you make quite a pair—the clean press of his formal whites and the shimmer silk of your ivory gown shimmering in the sunset—the old senatorial farts have little regard for the handsome soldier in your company (and it's, really, their loss).

"Are you suggesting I help you escape from your very important diplomatic duties?" Cody asks, a low gasp light on his lips. How many times have you played this game, knowing damn well that the both of you would much rather die in a firefight than sit through a foggy senator raising toasts? It's become close to second nature, now.

"I absolutely am, commander," you nod firmly. "As I always say, sometimes, commander Cody, diplomatic duties may be set aside. This is one of those dreadful times."

He rolls his eyes again, but this time, he takes your outstretched hand, complete with a low bow as he plays along with your theatrics. You rise, only to wobble on your heels, but Cody is there to gently grasp your arms, ever steady. The consternation that flashes over his eyes for a brief moment is deep, more than simple concern, and while you cannot exactly label what his expression betrays, it sets your heart fluttering in your throat all the same.

What Separatist arguments and militaristic rebukes could not rile in your unflappable calm on the Senate floor, Cody effortlessly awakes. It's his power, you think as you regain your footing. The man spun from gold.

"There's a place over the water by the back of the villa," you say, falling into step beside him as the din of the party recedes behind you. "I think we should find some peace and quiet there."

"So you already had an escape route planned out?" Cody laughs. "I guess you never needed a security detail in the first place."

"Well, 'needed' isn't exactly accurate. Maybe 'strongly preferred?'" you offer, and Cody laughs a bit brighter. It's funny, how you barely feel the ache in your feet as contentment blooms triumphant in your chest.

By the time you sneak past the serving droids, stifling soft laughter when you hide from a few stray representatives, the sun is a slim arc curved over the silvery waters of the lake. In the moments of approaching dusk, you stand far from the treaty talks and ulterior motives before an old gazebo, its curved arches heavy with flowering vines like verdant curtains awaiting your arrival.

You look to Cody with bright eyes and squeeze his hand.

"We only have a few minutes of light left," you say in a hushed, excited whisper as the the purpling darkness of night begins to chase the sunset light. With little but the soft lakefront winds breezing through the blooming pavilion arches, there is no need to whisper. But your time with the commander is a precious, fragile thing, so easily burst by the sudden arrival of your colleagues or his men. A whisper is only a savoring tribute to this rare moment. "Dance with me."

"I thought you said dancing was 'nasty business,'" Cody chuckles.

"With you, a dance is a pleasure," you say, the whispers of laughter on the tip of your tongue.

"All due respect, but this is the first time we've shared a dance y/n," Cody teases as you tug him to duck under the creeping trellis vines and onto the sun-kissed stone of the little pavilion. "What makes you so certain you'll enjoy this one?"

"Dancing at these," you wave your hand with a sigh, "little parties are nasty, only if by virtue of the other senators with whom I am obligated to dance. They see me as a rival or a signatory to be won over or fought, and dance is little but a means to an end. But with you..."

The words fall back on your tongue as Cody emerges from under the low-hanging leaves, immediately awash in the glimmering gold light of the sun. He is a kind of breathtaking awe in the cresting cold of dawn, chin held high and proud. But in the resplendence of the waning sun, as he tugs his gloves from his hands, he is the warm and steadfast comfort of home.

In his relaxed posture and soft, dark eyes lies the kind of beauty that you ascribe to an ancient sun rising from behind a waking planet. A star brimming with ageless wisdom and forgiving light, as the sunlight dances over the commander's even, tawny skin, he is nothing short of life breathed into pure gold.

"With you, even a dance can be something I hold dear," you finish as he catches your wide-eyed wonder with a wry smile.

"Very well, senator," he says, a smooth, diplomatic cadence that's sickly enough for you to laugh. He extends a hand to you with a flourish, and you relish in the pure joy. "May I have this honor?"

"With pleasure," you grin.

Although he claimed to never have danced, Cody fluidly assumes a regal sort of poise, moving your hand to his shoulder and settling his free hand light on the small of your back. You have seen him heft his brothers over his shoulder; you have seen him cast aside his blaster for raw strength; you have seen the firm hand he carries wherever he goes. And yet, he is gentler than ever as you step close and meet his eyes to share a smile.

With a soft inhale, you begin a simple waltz over the warm stone.

For the first few steps, there is form. You quietly nudge him to take your lead, step by step, and he is a diligent student as he follows. But where political waltzes have always kept rigid time, space between your chests and guarded caution to the orchestral suites, you quickly fall into something sweet, unhurried and soft as your steps become slow sways in the fading light.

Wordless, brimming with joy, you are free. Cody lifts your hand above your head, laughing with you as you tiptoe through a spin that gently flares your dress, and a few dizzying turns and careful dips later, you can't help but wonder if Cody's heart is racing as fast as your own.

Too enraptured by his steadfast composure (even with the warmth in his eyes), you do little to mask your surprise when Cody shifts his hand higher up your back and tugs you close, pressing you flush to his chest under the emerging starscape above.

Shock, then saccharine goodness, sweet on your tongue, floods you as you slip your hand from his. After a beat of hesitation, testing, careful, you slowly reach up and rest your arms over Cody's shoulders, waiting for the bashful regret to overtake you when he might gently let you down. (It's unbecoming of you, you think shamefully, no matter how closely you may regard him as a friend.)

But the rejection never comes.

Instead, as the sun slips below the lake horizon, Cody simply fixes you with a soft smile and clasps his hands behind your waist, pulling and keeping you close while he continues to sway with the lake breeze. He does not need to speak for you to know his presence bared to you, not as a soldier or as your guard, but as a humble man to bear witness to the starlight in your eyes.

Heart beating wildly in your throat, you press a bit farther, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder. You have all but stopped your lazy waltz, simply swaying in place with the cool night winds fast approaching. In the stillness, you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against your ear, a steady, reassuring rhythm that quells the giddy excitement from your chest. Yet you still start when he lifts one hand from your waist to the nape of your neck, raising delightful shivers as he strokes his thumb over your skin.

"Cody," you murmur.

You are certain it is no mistake that when Cody turns towards your voice that he presses close, his lips ghosting over your brow. You are no stranger to his closeness in harrowing blaster battles and narrow escapes from certain death. But this is new, the tenuous gossamer of intimacy not yet shared, as you reach for him and he reaches back.

"Yes, cyar'ika?"

(Cyar'ika? You do not recognize the sound, but it floods heat over your cheeks all the same.)

"My answer. About whether it was enough to choose the Senate over the speeder shop," you begin, reveling in how close Cody stands, cradling you so close that you feel his soft breaths over your skin. "Sometimes I wonder if I would have been happier outside of the politics."

"I hear a 'but,'" Cody muses. But instead of any teasing bite to his words, there is only patience, fond and warm.

"But if I had stayed in the lower levels; if I had never come to the Senate, I would have never left the surface. I would have never come to call a jedi general a friend, nor would I have known your men. I would have never met you. And to meet someone like you..."

You pause, sighing deep as your heart begins to pound anew.

"It is beyond enough."

Upon your last word, you hold your breath close.

You had only intended this to be a part of your teasing game of lighthearted chase with the commander. What was meant to be a quick and breezy escape from the politics of gowns and frivolities (even if you could not deny your affections for the commander) has brought you here, wondering if your words might be a push too far. Truths they may be, but they open you to uncharted waters. And you tremble in the falling night at the vague possibilities and consequence.

"Cyar'ika." Cody's voice, still as the lake stretched behind you, rumbles above your ear. "Do you know what that means, y/n?"

You shake your head slowly against him, only to meet him with eyes wide in surprise when he gently takes your jaw in his hand and tugs you upright.

"It means," he says quietly, sliding his palm from your chin to your cheek. "Sweetheart."

You're too stunned to do anything but blink when you feel his lips on your forehead.

"Darling."

Another touch, this time, pressed to your cheek as your eyes slide shut. You wait, anticipating with blooming wonder the promise of more lingering on his tongue. But when he does not return, you open your eyes, and Cody is waiting for you, dark eyes and soft smile radiant even without the glow of the setting sun.

"Beloved," he says at last, and tips your chin to press one final, dizzyingly gentle kiss to your lips. He may not meet you in vivacious energy, but Cody holds you close, pressing unhurried, luxuriant touches over your skin as you hold tight. His touch is chaste, stolid restraint holding him to only slow, deliberate motions, but you savor every fleeting moment in the evening calm.

When you part, you open your eyes to dusk in its clear, cold darkness, bejeweling the lakefront with scatter of stars high above. Yet all you can see is Cody before you, his soft smile and beating heart glowing brighter than any constellation in the inky black of night, his own radiant sun, spun gold.

Enchanted, you reach one hand up from its place on his shoulder and slowly, trembling, touch one finger to the scar carved around his brow. And he knows that you mean nothing but adoration as you trace the dark ridge of his scar beneath his eye, then lower, over the proud line of his cheek to cradle his jaw in your palm.

"I am only a soldier," Cody murmurs, nuzzling close into your touch. "Cyar'ika," he calls, leaning close to kiss your cheek. "Will you have me all the same?"

The cooling wind rises across the water, brushing stray petals from the trellis vines as your gown flutters around your feet. You wonder if this is what it feels to fly through the aftermath of a supernova, the silence of what was and yet the promise of what might yet be, glittering dust and neon gas diffusing into the ever expanding possibility of the universe. You wonder if this is right where you were always meant to be, aching feet and politics and shared breaths with a simple man with eyes full of light and heart like the sun.

"Only if you will have me," you reply, and the smile that breaks over Cody's lips is brighter than any sunset light you have seen, golden and alive. "Cyar'ika."

[thenovelartist]

Second Chances, Chapter 14

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Marinette looked weak. Weaker than he’d ever seen her. It brought to his attention just how strong of a woman she was because he never noticed just how small she was until that moment. It twisted his heart painfully. And considering the way Nino and Alya approached her in pity, it must have twisted their hearts, too.

Adrien turned his attention to the two people Marinette had showed up with. Her parents, from the looks of it. Or at least his best guess. She looked a lot like her mother.

“Thanks for coming,” Marinette said, giving hugs out to Alya and Nino.

“We got your back,” Nino assured, rubbing her shoulder.

She gave him a slight smile before looking over to Adrien. “Thanks for being here.”

He sided up next to her, arm extended with the intent of a side hug, but she twisted, wrapping her arms around his torso and squeezing him tight. Only then could he feel the true turmoil going on inside her: she was one step away from breaking.

Even when she was at he weakest, she was strong.

He admired her so much more than he thought possible.

He settled into the hug, holding her close. “This is really good,” he whispered to her. “I know how hard it was to dig through my mom’s things, and I waited two years to do so. I’m really proud of you.”

She sniffed and squeezed him tighter.

He waited until he was certain she wasn’t going to cry before pulling back. “Now, no more delays. Go open the lock.”

She frowned, her stalling tactics having been caught. She fished her keyring out of her bag, the little ladybug charm hanging from her fingers as she flipped through the keys. Her father gently guided her over to the unit, ready to hoist the overhead door open for her once she removed the padlock.

“You’ve done so much for her.”

Adrien looked down to see Marinette’s mother standing at his side, a smile on her face. “She’s never found so much support as she has in you. I’ve watched her make leaps and bounds in her healing because of it. So thank you. I like having my daughter back.”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain yet flattered. “I’m not sure how much I could have helped.”

“Having you walk with her how you healed, it’s helped her so much. There was no way we would be out here today if it wasn’t for you. It seems like she’s finally found a support, and that girl,” she looked to the unit where Marinette was twisting a key in the lock. “When she finds a steady launching point, she soars.”

Adrien turned his attention to Marinette, where she was standing with an open lock in her hands while her father pushed open the door.

The woman patted his arm then walked forward to the now open unit, ready to help her daughter tackle the project.

It was a small unit, but there were a lot of boxes and bins and a handful of furniture. Adrien helped Nino and her father—Tom, he learned, and Sabine was Marinette’s mother—load up the furniture into the back of the van. By the logo on the side, Adrien guessed it was the store delivery van, but it did the job well.

Then to the boxes. Art supplies, Adrien quickly realized. Art supplies and fabric and finished pieces and sketchbooks galore. A few of those were squeezed into the van, but most of it was packed in Nino’s SUV.

And when there was barely any room left, they still had canvases.

“Nathaniel’s work,” Alya whispered in Adrien’s ear.

“All one hundred and sixty-eight pieces,” Nino mentioned, watching as Marinette reached for the first crate of them.

“Hunny,” Sabine said, approaching Marinette. “There isn’t any room left in the vans.”

“I can’t leave them here.”

“We’re not. We just have to come back for them.”

“I can’t leave them here.”

Adrien’s heart broke. He put a hand on Nino’s shoulder. “Go take all that to… wherever it goes. I’ll stay here with her.”

“I can stay,” Alya spoke up.

“No, I’ll stay, Adrien said. “Let me help her through this.”

Alya stared at him wide-eyed for a second before her gaze softened. “Okay.”

Sabine and Marinette were now on the ground, Sabine’s hand on her daughter’s knee while she spoke soothingly.

Adrien walked up to Marinette’s side. “May I?” he asked, pointing to the ground beside her.

Marinette nodded, wiping tears away with the palm of her hand while she choked out a couple sobs.

Adrien sat down beside her. “Alya and Nino are going to go unload all the furniture and boxes, and then they’ll come back to get the canvases.”

“But—”

“We’re going to stay right here,” he interrupted, placing a hand on her knee and giving a comforting squeeze. “Until they come back with empty vans, okay?”

She looked at him a long moment. “Okay.”

He gave her a smile. “Okay.”

Sabine flashed him a grin of her own. “I guess it would go faster if I went to help. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Okay.”

Sabine stood then bent over to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “We’ll be back.” With that, Sabine walked to the van, and once she was inside, they soon disappeared from sight.

Adrien was content to sit in silence for a little while, but Marinette stared at the ground, eyes hazy and distant.

“May I?”

It took a moment for Marinette to come back to reality, to lift her absent gaze from the cement ground to him. “What?”

“Would you mind if I looked at his work?”

Marinette stared at him blankly, eyes wide and blinking quickly.

“I mean, we’re going to be here a while,” Adrien continued. “And I’m curious about his artwork.”

“I…” Marinette struggled. “I mean… I guess.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

She paused, gaping like a fish out of water. “I… okay.”

Adrien gave her a reassuring smile, then stood and opened up the closest crate. From there, he saw all the canvases that had been carefully covered in plastic. He opened one to reveal…

Wow.

He had to take a moment to stare at it, to truly appreciate the piece before dragging Marinette into this. He didn’t just ask for no reason. He knew full well that facing these memories was healthy. Maybe it hurt like hell at points, but it was ultimately healing.

“Did he have reasons behind his paintings? Or did he just choose a subject he wanted to draw?”

“It depended,” Marinette answered. She stood from the ground so as to face the painting Adrien held in his hands. Her expression fell. “He loved his superheroes,” she sighed wistfully. “He loved creating characters and coming up with stories for them. But he also loved the old masters. We spent so much time at the Louvre, Nathaniel sketching the paintings and learning from them. His paintings were his way of combining his loves. He called that one Dark Cupid. It was supposed to emulate a cherub, but grown and villainized.”

“It’s incredibly well done,” Adrien commented. He marveled at it a little more before replacing the canvas back in the crate. He picked the next one and was greeted by a stone man holding a strange creature in the same way one would cradle a cat.

Marinette grinned fondly. “Ivan and Mylene. Friends of ours who got married soon after Nathaniel and I did. Nath did another painting of them after they had a baby, only to add another one a year later when he found out they were expecting again.”

“Why the stone monster and… alien?”

“Ivan was large, stoic, and imposing. Nathaniel used to sit behind him because Ivan always hid the fact Nath had his nose in a sketchbook instead of writing notes. But Ivan always had a soft spot for Mylene who played an alien hunter in a short film our class made for a film festival.”

Adrien put the canvas away, only to take out yet another. As the pattern continued, Adrien was realizing that Nathaniel had transformed all of his classmates in one way or another, placing them in some sort of a masterfully painted yet emotive scene.

“Alright,” Adrien said, smile on his face as he put away one depicting a steampunk girl in a clock tower. “Last one.”

By now, Marinette was grinning. Supposedly, that was because she had designed the outfit for the pink-haired girl, but Adrien knew it was more than that. “Okay. I don’t know how he organized them so it will be in—”

Adrien hadn’t even fully taken the canvas from the plastic when she abruptly stopped, her smile quickly fading as her eyes widened and pink quickly flooded her cheeks.

“What is—”

Adrien didn’t finish that sentence. It took only a second to realize why she’d had that reaction.

They stood, each frozen and unmoving as they stared at the canvas.

“Wow,” Adrien eventually said.

“I never saw it finished,” she said.

“It's beautifully done.”

“…Yeah,” Marinette agreed, her voice near breathless.

Adrien couldn’t help but stare. On the tip of his tongue was the question he’d asked for every picture, but at the forefront of his mind, he realized that maybe he should respect Marinette by replacing the picture in its sleeve and place it back in the crate. But he couldn’t. The red in the picture was too bright. Too striking. Flowing every which way around her as though she was weightless. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, not when midnight hair tied with red ribbons floated around a heart-shaped face and blue, blue eyes that were brightened by a sweet, inviting smile were staring up at him.

“It was Valentine’s day,” she whispered, unable to get her voice to come out any stronger. “I was never an early bird, but Nathaniel loved morning lighting. So I set my alarm early so I would wake and have time to put on that dress and do my hair before sunrise. When he asked what I was doing, I told him that I was going to be his model for the day. It was his surprise. He posed me in a handful of ways and went back and forth between a camera he set up and mixing paint colors. He rarely used a camera—he always preferred painting from life when he could—but he said he wanted to capture that moment, the lighting, my pose. Which was nice because I realized just how hard it was standing still for such a long period of time.”

Adrien smirked. “You get used to it.”

He watched her eyes focus back on him, a small gleam sparking in them when she smiled. “Really?”

“No.”

He inwardly cheered when she huffed a laugh, her smile splitting for just a moment before fading back to a small grin.

Adrien returned the painting to its sleeve. That’s when he caught a red scribble on the stretcher bar. Lady in Red. Nathaniel Kurtzburg. Dated two years ago, three days after Valentine’s.

Adrien glanced back up at Marinette. She was still every bit as beautiful as she was in the picture, whether dressed in an oversized sweater and jeans or a form-fitting red dress and ribbons.

“Would you like to see Chloe’s?”

Adrien froze, his mouth suddenly growing dry while his heart slowed. “He painted one of Chloe?”

Marinette nodded. “He did. Chloe may not have been our favorite person, but he did paint her. Let’s try to find it.”

His heart drummed an unsteady rhythm. “Are you sure you’re okay digging through the boxes?”

She looked up at him, her eyes open and vulnerable. “It’s easier than I thought it would be.”

Suddenly, there was a new reason as to why his heart was sputtering and tripping inside his chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For being here.”

Before he could figure out how to respond, the rumble of an approaching van called their attention.

“Oh,” Marinette said, her shoulders falling. Adrien suddenly realized just how much of an energy burst she’d gotten. “I… I guess they’re back.”

“It’s okay,” Adrien assured. “You can show me later.”

Marinette fidgeted. “Um… would… would you, instead of game night, maybe… like to come over? I’ll show you the rest of the pieces?”

Adrien’s heart sputtered to a stop, but before he could remotely formulate an answer, Nino appeared at Marinette’s side. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” she said. “Just… going though old memories.”

Nino stared at the open crate, his eyes slowly widening. “You’re looking through them?”

“Adrien was curious,” she said as an excuse.

Nino continued to look at her, and she gave him a smile. It was dull and tired, but it was a smile. “It’s okay.”

He grinned down at her, looping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in for a hug.

“Nathaniel was a great artist,” Adrien spoke up.

“For sure!” Nino agreed.

“I told him he needed to show his work,” Alya said, appearing at Marinette’s other side, “but he always turned me down.”

“He should have,” Adrien agreed. “His paintings are fantastic. The style and the subject matter makes for a really interesting mix.”

Nino nodded. “Yeah, but they always looked really cool.”

That’s when the second van showed up, signaling the arrival of Marinette’s parents.

“I think we agreed that these were going to go in their van,” Alya said. “That way Marinette could just head home with them.”

Marinette nodded. “That sounds good.”

They made short work of loading the crates as well as a few other boxes of paperwork. Before long, all that was left to do was for Marinette to go to the office and officially end her lease.

Nino and Alya gave her hugs and bid her well before taking off. Then it was Adrien’s turn.

“Thank you for coming,” she told him. “I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And for the record, I’d love to postpone game night to look through the artwork. I’m really curious to see more.”

“Okay,” she said. “This Wednesday?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, her cheeks taking on a slight rosy hue. “I look forward to it.”

They stood there for a moment, neither moving. Just as Adrien realized he should just head to his car, Marinette stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his torso. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you being here.”

He felt his face flame and his body stiffen under her touch, yet, he slowly found himself easing into her embrace until he was returning it tightly. “Anytime, Marinette. Anytime.”

She may not be on a date, but Marinette was still thankful that her parents decided to go out tonight. The last thing she needed was them spying on her like they did whenever Nathaniel came over in her teenaged years.

The doorbell rang, and Marinette bounded down the stairs to answer it. She quickly fluffed her hair and smoothed out her skirt before answering the door. “Hey.”

“Dinner,” he said raising up a plastic bag. “And wine.”

“Oh, fancy,” Marinette joked. “Come in.”

“Nino suggested a pasta place, so that’s what I got for dinner tonight.”

“And wine?”

“Actually, this is from my pre-Emma private stash that I haven’t broken into since… well, pre-Emma.”

Marinette chuckled. “Then it’s certain to be good.” She began digging through the kitchen to find utensils. “What did you get food-wise?”

“Chicken parmesan and a penne with sundried-tomato dish.”

“I’ll take that one.”

“Good. I kinda wanted the parmesan anyway.”

With a giggle, she pulled out two wine glasses to set on the table before going back to look for the corkscrew.

Only to not be able to find it.

“She never put it back,” she realized.

“Pardon?”

Marinette tapped the counter. “The corkscrew. My maman hid it away and never put it back.”

“Why would she hide it?”

Marinette felt her cheeks warm as she grinned wide in embarrassment. “There may or may not have been an incident with wine a while back.”

His grin was incredibly smug. “May or may not?”

“May or may not.”

He nodded slowly. “Was Marinette a fun drunk? You seem like the kind that’s gets all giggly—”

“And we’re dropping it!”

Adrien laughed hard.

Eventually, after he calmed down, Adrien resorted to other measures to open the bottle, leaving Marinette impressed albeit curious.

“I taught myself ways to open a wine bottle as party tricks. My father was not impressed.”

“Really? I thought he would be.”

“Not after an incident with champagne and a sabre at a very classy event.”

Marinette snorted.

Dinner was delicious and entertaining to say the least. Halfway through, Adrien was curious about Marinette’s dish and reached across the table to take a stab. He got away with it, smiling with a mix of pride and smugness while Marinette looked over at him with her jaw on the table. She tried to retaliate, only to have him stop her with his fork. This turned into a silverware war that ended when Marinette’s fork was thrown across the kitchen.

The giggle fit they dissolved into may or may not have been influenced by a glass and a half of wine.

By the time they were finished, Marinette did get a bite of Adrien’s dish, calling it spectacular and commenting that she wanted it the next time they ate there.

After they cleaned up, Marinette lead him into the living room where the crates of canvases were.

“Nino bought all the furniture,” she told him. “I just don’t have room for it. Besides, Alya liked it, so he’s storing it in his own unit until he and Alya find a place to move in to.”

“That’s kind of you. I know Alya will appreciate it since she’s told me time and time again how… run down his furniture is.”

Marinette scoffed. “That’s a nice way of putting it. Pretty certain he never replaced the hand-me-downs his family gave him when he moved out on his own.”

They picked a crate at random and began going through the paintings. One by one, Marinette told Adrien the brief backstories of them until they got to a woman with a flute who resembled a fox.

“Alya,” he realized.

Marinette nodded. “Nathaniel thought it fit. Both wild and sly.”

“It certainly fits,” he said, putting it back in the plastic. “Is there one of Nino?”

“Two, actually. One where he makes an appearance as a musician, and one as a turtle hero. After Alya and Nino became a couple, Nathaniel thought it was a perfect match because Nino was slow and steady to balance Alya’s wild.”

“No arguments from me.”

They continued through the crate until Marinette opened the last sleeve and saw the canvas painted in yellow. “I think this is it.”

“Which one?”

Marinette pulled out the painting of Chloe, painted as a queen decked in gold and black stripes. “Nathaniel called this one ‘Queen Bee’.”

She couldn’t read the expression on Adrien’s face as he studied the picture. His hand rested under his chin, and his green eyes were guarded. “He captured her perfectly,” he eventually spoke, his voice quiet. “She very much was a queen.”

Marinette nodded. “Yeah. She was a bit of a diva. But her painting was pretty.”

Adrien nodded, staring at it a while longer before tearing his eyes away. “Thanks for showing me.”

Slowly, she replaced the painting back in its sleeve. “You okay?”

Adrien nodded. “Yeah. It… it’s just still odd. To see pictures of her, that is.”

“Oh.”

“It all just happened so quickly, you know?” Adrien confided. “I’ve come to terms that she’s gone, so much so that I talk about her like a distant memory instead of a woman who was still a very big part of my life five years ago.”

Her heart twisted. It was very easy to forget that Chloe was Adrien’s wife. That he had obviously loved her a lot. That she was the mother of Emma. It was an odd disconnect because while Marinette recognized the similarities between Chloe and Emma, Emma was sweet as her father. And Adrien had been single for as long as Marinette had known him. There wasn’t any connection Marinette made between her school bully and her new favorite people in the world. It was easy to forget that Adrien… Adrien likely felt the loss of Chloe the same way she felt the loss of Nathaniel. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. It never occurred to me it would be hard for you to see it.”

“It’s fine,” Adrien dismissed. “I wanted to see it. Really. It’s just… one of those things that hits you from nowhere, you know.”

Marinette nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

The somber aura stuck around for a while. Even when they got back to smiling, it wasn’t as bright as before.

“Thank you for this evening,” Adrien said when the time came for him to leave. “It was really enjoyable.”

“It was,” Marinette agreed. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” After flashing her a smile, he reached for the door handle.

“Wait.” Marinette reached out to grab his hand, turning him back around to face her. “I’m sorry I never realized how hard it must have been for you to lose Chloe,” she started. “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

His wide-eyed surprise melted into something soft and sweet. “Thank you, Marinette. That’s really kind of you.”

“You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for it.”

He hesitated, then opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Instead, he closed his mouth and turned his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Anything for a friend.”

She knew that wasn’t really what he meant. She could read it on his face. But she wouldn’t push. “Okay.”

He gave her a smile and squeezed her hand.

And before she could think the better of it, she stepped forwards and engulfed him in a hug. “Just know I’m here if you ever need anything.”

His posture relaxed, and he soon wrapped her up in his arms. He was a good hugger. Steady, supportive, comforting. “Same goes for you, Marinette. I’m always here.”

“I know,” she said against his shoulder. “And I’m thankful for it.”

They stayed just like that a while longer before they eased out of the hug and they repeated their good-byes. With that, Adrien walked out into the cold, November night, Marinette watching him from the doorway.

When he turned to open the driver’s side door, he paused and caught her gaze once again. He flashed her a smile.

“Just returning the favor,” she called out.

His smile grew wide enough to light up the night. “You’re a gem, Mrs. Kurtzburg.”

“So are you, Mr. Agreste. So are you.”

[shadowphoenixrider]

Okay, I doubt I will ever get to BFA in Draggka/Khadgar’s story at the speed I’m writing, so I decided just to write the overview here. Because I want to get it down and also because I can. This is going to get loooong!

Before they head to Argus, Khadgar uses his magic to bind both him and Draggka to objects on their persons, so they can keep an eye on one another, and sense if they need help. Draggka is bound to the Draenor ring, which she has been wearing on her neck, unable to part from it even when she found a stronger ring of power. Khadgar, however, binds himself to his collar, since he wears it most of the time. He still won’t tell her why he wore it before this binding, however.

Luckily they don’t really need it, and when they’re busy tussling through Antorus with everyone else, they’re mostly together so it doesn’t really matter. Still, it reassures each other, and occasionally they send their love through it.

(I don’t care what the game shows; everyone shows up to fight Argus at the end. Which means everyone gets one-shot, and Eonar drags us all kicking and screaming back to life. This is relevant, not just for me actually making canon characters pull their weight for once.)

They’re very dismayed to see Sargeras stab Azeroth before he’s put in the Naughty Chair for Badly-Behaved Titans. Khadgar almost slumps on the floor, whilst Draggka bitches loudly that they’re never going to get any peace.

They take some comfort in that whilst the giant sword needs to be dealt with, it’s not got the immediacy of ‘the Legion invading and going to kill us all’, so everyone can afford to take a bit of break. They all very tired, so they do take the opportunity for said break. And a low-key party too; enough people remember that the archmage owes them a banquet, much to his annoyance.

During this break, Khadgar goes hunting for a ring. You see, during Argus, he has a chat with several people and figures that if they manage to survive all this nonsense, he really has no excuse not to marry Draggka. I mean the world nearly ended, and might still end. Not the time to have regrets.

He manages to keep it secret enough that not even Draggka suspects he’s up to something; although rumours that he’s taken a lover (and a troll one at that) are now starting to filter around Dalaran and other places. Mainly because he went ‘I don’t give a flying fuck any more’ on the Vindacaar, and started to show Draggka more affection openly (he didn’t go yelling it from the rooftops though, and has only told Turlaoyn and Alleria straight at this time - anything else is inference).

He manages to find the perfect one (or he finds a good base and makes it better, I’m not 100% with that yet, nor what the ring actually looks like), and asks Draggka if she could maybe find some time to show him one of the wild places she’s always wanted to show him. Draggka takes him to Sholazar Basin when they manage to squeeze some time for themselves.

(Side note: Medivh already knows about Draggka/Khadgar, even before Khadgar told him in Karazhan 2: Demonic Boogaloo. He’s amused and pleased at their relationship, and has cultivated a warming friendship with Draggka.)

After a day spent exploring and admiring the Titan bits, they’re sat under a tree as the sun goes down when he asks her in his clumsy, sweetly shy way to marry him. She says yes, of course. Medivh throws confetti over them

Their wedding is a secret, low-key affair, attended only by close friends and family, and it is an inelegant merge of a human and Darkspear’s wedding rituals. Either way, their bond is sealed under the Light and the Loa to become life-mates, and that’s really all that matters. (There after, Khadgar wears his wedding ring under his gloves, whilst Draggka pierces hers into her nose, as per the Darkspear way.)

They take a honeymoon to Pandaria to fall off the radar for a week, and it is during this trip that Zal’ria is conceived. The pregnancy doesn’t become noticeable until a while after they get back (read: I still need to plot this out properly), when Draggka gets grumpier than usual and starts having bouts of nausea.

Tinkerspring is called, and she reveals the pregnancy to them, and unfortunately, this does not start off as a happy time. There is much talking and hand-wringing, due to the suddenness of the announcement, and the fact the world has a whacking great sword in it and is maybe dying. As well as the factions starting to look at each other with malevolent eyes. It is not the best time to bring a child into the world, but here they are.

They finally agree to keep the child, as they partly don’t know if this might be the only biological one they’ll ever have (what with them being different races and that Khadgar’s fertility at 50 really isn’t great), and that their little one is extra resolve to get this bloody sword done away with, so they can grow up happy and safe. So after this big long talk, they start telling close family/friends, organising where they’re going to raise the young’n, what the room’s gonna look like, etc, etc.

Then of course the war starts.

Draggka immediately alerts Khadgar that shit’s going down, though she can’t give him detailed information in case she’s seen to be engaging in treason (at this point Draggka’s Blood Oath to the Horde is starting to become questionable at best, and tenuous at worst). She manages to avoid direct conflict where possible, incapacitating night elves if she can, whilst keeping her people out of danger. Even so, she finds it very strange that her brother Dranka and her shaman friend Harnaka have been ordered down to Silithus, especially when the rest of her group is in Darkshore.

The Burning of Teldrassil is the straw that breaks the kodo’s back. Draggka is furious at Sylvanas, and also herself at being suckered into another Warchief for whom war crimes seem to be their bread and butter. She immediately flees to Karazhan and Khadgar and bursts into tears in the retelling.

(Dranka is told at this point, and Medivh relays the information to Camdyn/Varian, along with the caveat that Draggka and co. did not want this and will not stand in the way of anyone trying to kill the Banshee Queen - I’ve not yet decided what happens here, but Draggka may swear a Blood oath to Khadgar instead).

Draggka is present at the Battle of the Undercity, keeping up appearances, but she avoids combat again, staying to assist the Forsaken civilians in fleeing, and fighting anyone who tries to cut them down. The apparent loss of Saurfang shakes her, and deep down, this is probably when she starts not to associate herself with the Horde any more. She’s still quite tied to it, both through her friends, her tribe, and her honour (she will fight to aid and defend the races of the Horde), but she no longer includes herself as part of the faction. (That said, her feelings on this are very messed up, and may never be fully unravelled.)

She is roped in to sneaking about Stormwind to get Talanji and Zul out of prison, and she is both surprised and relieved to see that Saurfang is alive. She briefly converses with Saurfang, saying that she learnt from Garrosh, and will not allow herself to be used by Sylvanas. Draggka is appalled and upset by the fire Zul starts, but is unable to aid the citizens, so immediately starts to dislike him. This is exacerbated when Rokhan tells her that he was the one who was attempting to reunite the troll tribes (that Vol’jin opposed), and was behind the mogu nonsense on the Isle of Thunder.

Draggka checks in as soon as she can with a very anxious Khadgar (who sensed her danger on the docks facing Jaina, but was unable to teleport in due to magical interference) and explains what’s going on. From there, Draggka steps into helping the Zandalari and exploring Zandalar, in which she finds great amount of joy - with the combination of the wild jungles and the fact the Zandalari are essentially her people, if not just a little removed.

As Speaker of the Horde, Draggka uses this title to duck out of the War Campaign, leaving it to be handled by others like her brother and friends (also becoming disillusioned and highly mistrustful of Sylvanas), though she does aid in respects that don’t hurt the Alliance (such as hunting for food/materials, fighting faceless ones), and closes up Azerite wounds wherever possible. She does her best to avoid conflict with the Alliance (and those who are aware avoid her too, or just do their best to merely injure her, and vice versa), but if she must defend the Zandalari with deadly force, she does.

Despite everything going on, she makes time for Khadgar, either communicating with him through his Wisdomball, or using portal/hearthstones to return to Karazhan or Dalaran. However, after befriending the Nightborne Lasai, Khadgar receives a Zandalari disguise, that he uses to let Draggka show him around Dazar’alor and the jungles. They use it sparingly so the archmage doesn’t accidentally end up revealed.

During this time, Talanji and Draggka become close friends, and eventually Talanji discovers Draggka’s pregnancy and who her mate is. She’s...bemused, but likes the human mage, and is convinced that he bears her and her people no ill will. And she learns that there are many things afoot in Azeroth, not least the blood troll nonsense and the sudden appearance of Azerite. Draggka does not make comment on Sylvanas, but Talanji learns from Khadgar about the unrest in the Horde.

Draggka was to help her friends take down G’huun, but Dranka and the others fear that the Blood God may harm Draggka’s unborn baby, and go to Talanji for support. Draggka argues that her honour demands that she finish what she started, but a long conversation with Talanji and her brother (with Dranka correctly pointing out what happened with Aegwynn and Sargeras, and also it’s a fucking old god with power over blood that is definitely dangerous to a baby), she agrees to sit this one out.

She won’t be sitting out the Siege of Zuldazar, despite Camdyn and Khadgar’s best efforts (which is going to drive her poor mate mad, but he reluctantly admits that her honour is too strong, and she’s as stubborn as he is), although Khadgar will enchant her Draenor ring so as soon as she’s hurt badly, she’ll automatically teleport to safety. As much as he would want to rip apart whoever hurt her, it’s probably best he doesn’t get involved.

That said, I don’t have much down pat for the Zuldazar raid just because it’s on the PTR and we don’t know much aside from what has been datamined. I still need to do some proper plotting of Draggka’s pregnancy, which could shift things around.

[putschki1969]

Welcome to “Book Concierge” Hikaru’s home! Vol. 1 📚

Note: Here’s the third section I translated, it’s time for Hikaru’s part. Sorry, this took longer than expected >_< Manga/anime related stuff is so hard for me to translate T_T Oh well... Without further ado, enjoy! 〈(•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→

Hikaru’s love for reading is well known, she always ends up recommending various mangas according to certain themes. To commemorate the first issue of this magazine she shall introduce us to some works with the theme of “summer” in accordance with the current season. Maybe you will discover something you find really interesting? Something you will come to love?!

Speaking of summer, the following works come to mind: Natsume's Book of Friends by Yuki Midorikawa Colette Decided to Die by Alto Yukimura xxxHOLIC by CLAMP Re-Kan! by Hinako Seta

I tried choosing works with refreshing world views that will hopefully make you forget the humidity and heat in the midst of summer.

1. To start things off, my first recommended work is 「Natsume’s Book of Friends」 by Yuki Midorikawa It is a story about a boy who has the ability to see spirits. I watched the anime adaptation but this is originally a manga series which is still ongoing. My first encounter with this work happened when I watched the sixth season of the anime which aired this spring, 「Natsume's Book of Friends Six」. Originally I was a little worried, I thought the topic of “spirits and ghosts” might be too scary, also, since I would have to start at the very beginning of this super long series I was worried whether I would be able to catch up with everything. But then a staff member from our label told me that the stories in each volume get wrapped up nicely so you can start reading wherever you please. That’s when I first got into it...It was really intriguing! Spirits, ghosts, things that you cannot touch, they can be truly scary but after reading this manga I realised that there were lots of kind and gentle spirits, that there was a reason for them being here. You are just not scared of them anymore. I started watching the anime during its sixth season and I am now in the midst of reading the orginal work, that’s where I am currently at *laughs* As for the characters, aside from the protagonist Takashi Natsume-kun, there are lots of other great characters and spirits, Natsume-kun’s self-proclaimed bodyguard Nyanko-sensei is super cool! Then there’s Tanuma-kun who is also a great character, he is the son of a shrine priest and he is always there to help out Natsume-kun, he is very kind-hearted and sensitive. He cannot see spirits but he has the ability to sense them, that makes him one of the few people who can actually understand Natsume-kun. He is always at Natsume-kun’s side and wants to protect him. Always concerned, a very nice boy indeed! In this work, both humans and spirits have very complex characters and they are each dealing with a multitude of difficult situations. I feel like one of the highlights of this work is that each character that appears is very likable. Certain parts will unexpectedly move you to tears and others will make you feel all warm and fluffy. If you are like me and are slightly intimidated by ghosts, please don’t worry, this work won’t scare you. That’s it for this manga.

2. My second recommendation is 「Colette Decided to Die」 by Alto Yukimura This work is currently being serialised in the monthly magazine 「Hana to Yume」, I guess the genre is fantasy. The heroine Colette is a young docter who unexpectedly ends up in the realm of the dead...there she meets Lord Hades, the king of the Underworld, due to many other encounters she matures and becomes a proper adult. The story feels very fresh as Colette continues to travel back and forth between the world of the living and the dead. Many strange incidents occur in the town she lives in as well as in the Underworld so she is very busy trying to find solutions for them. Colette is the kind of girl who will give her all, no matter what, I really admire that kind of attitude. Many different characters can be found in the Underworld, first of all there’s Lord Hades, then there are many skeletons and various other beings that are completely different from humans but Colette treats them all equally, she doesn’t discriminate against any of them. She has love for both Lord Hades as well as the skeletons, she treasures them all. Just because they are different, she won’t reject them. In his position as the king of the Underworld Lord Hades pretends not to care about anything in heaven or hell but Colette quickly realises tha he is actually very kind. There is some friction between Colette and Lord Hades but this story is ultimately about the two of them respecting each other and making each other a better person, I can really recommend it.

3. The third work is a manga by CLAMP! 「xxxHOLIC」「xxxHOLIC・Rei」 by CLAMP! Of course this list wouldn’t be complete without CLAMP! This story is almost like a character study based on the premise that there exists a shop for people in need where all wishes will be granted for a certain price. Many of the customers visiting that shop have darkness in their hearts. Most chapters are dedicated to purifying that darkness, within these stories you’ll get to dicover emotions that you have never felt before, you will start thinking differently than what you are used to from your every day life. There are many scenes that will make you tremble with emotion. This work has a great educational value, you can learn a lot from it, it makes you question whether it is really necessary to have your wishes granted, it showcases and reveals the innermost thoughts of human beings such as jealousy, love, hate or obsession. For the most part the world in this work can be seen as an occult fantasy but there is also a lot of realism in it. You can get truly absorbed in this manga I love all the characters in 「xxxHOLIC」 but above all, I really like Yūko-san. She is a witch with the strong ability to change destiny, she will do crazy things on a whim, she will joke around and she is very selfish, she will always play around with the main character Watanuki-kun *laughs* However, underneath all of that, she is hiding a caring nature, she is very determined and always gets things done...I admire her. Midway through the story, Watanuki-kun takes over the shop from Yūko-san but by all means, I’d love it if you started reading 「xxxHOLIC」 from the very beginning.

4. And now the final manga, 「Re-Kan!」 by Hinako Seta Lastly, a work about souls and spirits *laughs*. 2-3 years ago I watched the TV anime based on a four panel manga which is still being serialised, I found the anime really interesting so I started reading the manga. It is a story that depicts the interactions between Hibiki Amami-chan, a high school student with the ability to see ghosts, and her family, friends as well as many ghosts. I’d say that more than half of the main characters are ghosts, there really are quite a lot of them. However, since this is a comedy, the ghosts aren’t depicted in a scary manner *laughs* The ghost of a samurai, the ghost of an old man bound to the place where he died, the ghost of a hip teen-age girl, the ghost of a cat, they are all completely different. Hibiki-chan is very kind and polite to everyone, no matter if it’s a human being or a ghost so all the ghosts end up flocking to her. Many interesting incidents occur involving Hibiki-chan’s friends who cannot see ghosts, due to these events they become much closer. For the most part the genre is comedy but once in while there will be stories with heavy content, stories that will move you a lot, those are really great too! One of my favourite stories is in Vol.1, it’s about Hibiki-chan’s friend who goes to the park and gets to play with some ghost kids. That friend doesn’t have the ability to see ghosts but in that very moment she is able to see them and play together with them. That story was great!

That’s it! Four recommended summer lectures by Hikaru! I tried choosing works that have everything, stories that take place in an ordinary setting, ones that take place in a completely different or even slightly occult setting, stories that depict spirits, ghosts, beings of the underworld, the darkness within a human heart, worlds in different dimensions. Each of these works will leave a gentle feeling within your heart once you get immersed in them. It would make me very happy if I managed to make you curious about any of these works, even just a little.

Works that will restore your power (some extra content!) Here are 4 titles overflowing with power to fight off the summer heat fatigue 「Haikyū!!」 by Haruichi Furudate 「Chihayafuru」 by Yuki Suetsugu 「A Perfect Day for Love Letters」 by George Asakura 「Tanaka-kun is Always Listless」 by Nozomi Uda

◆ 「Haikyū!!」 by Haruichi Furudate I first got hooked after watching the anime and then I started reading the manga it was based on. This manga which is bursting with fighting spirit tells the story of members of a high school volleyball team and their growth into adulthood. It can be enjoyed both by students of the same age as the protagonists as well as by grown-ups. In this story, none of the characters are perfect in the beginning, they all have a long way to go. The main character, the team mates, the rival team members, the teachers, the coaches, they all overcome their hurdles, one by one...They all get stronger, both as individuals and as a team. Each character has unique traits and each team has a certain charm that makes you want to root for it. While you are reading through the manga it makes you feel like you also wanna do your very best

◆ 「Chihayafuru」 by Yuki Suetsugu  This story full of fighting spirit takes place in the world of a handful of young competetive “Karuta” players. There are many scenes depicting the joys and sorrows of love, it’s really great! Not only the heroine’s life is shown in detail, the conflicts and love lives of the surrounding characters are shown as well. As a reader you gain strength seeing how everyone is trying their very best to reach their goals.

◆ 「A Perfect Day for Love Letters」 by George Asakura I really love George Asakura-san’s works! The first manga I read by her was 「Piece of Cake」. Her style is very edgy and many of her works deal with quite serious subjects so it’s somewhat hard to easily recommend anything but among all of her works,  「A Perfect Day for Love Letters」 is a comparatively easy read. It’s a collection of short stories so it’s easy to get into it and you can just start reading wherever you want, this also makes it very easy to recommend it to everyone *laughs*. George Asakura-san’s work is so powerful because her art conveys so much energy, it’s amazing! Give 「A Perfect Day for Love Letters」 a try and see if you enjoy her unique literary style and art, if you do I’d be happy if you joined me on my journey into her realm. I can really recommend this work as an introduction to George Askakura-san’s world.

◆ 「Tanaka-kun is Always Listless」 by Nozomi Uda This work really stayed in my mind because I could totally relate to the attitude of the main character, “How long can I get away with being utterly listless?” He doesn’t want anyone to talk to him, he just wants to preserve his lazy lifestyle. It’s not like he is the type that won’t study for a test but he also won’t aim to get the best results, he is the kind of person who will study to get an average result *laughs*. However, in a way he is a real professional. When it comes to things he strongly believes in he will throw himself into it and do anything within his power to achieve it. It’s a manga that conveys such devotion.

[eirabach]

This Be the Verse

Angsty modern AU Lieutenant Duckling for a CS Writers’ Hub prompt. Probably the most pretentious thing I’ve ever written, and that really is saying something.

With apologies to Philip Larkin and dedicated to Sascha, wherever he may be.

1.8k. T for language.

She doesn’t really notice him until he starts bleeding.

She’s used to keeping her head down, always the new kid, always the weird kid with the hand me down clothes and a permanent scowl.

She’s never had time to worry about the other weird kids, not when her own school career has been punctuated by cruelty and laughter, and bruises that bloom like flowers, hidden under too long sleeves.

He’s probably the weirdest of them all. Scrawny and pale, with lank dark hair that hangs in his face and eyes like shards of glass. Nobody seems to know where he’s come from - not from round here and that’s for sure - his accent sharp and bitter and different, just like him.

The kids see difference and they sneer at it. Some half-wild feral boy, unloved and unwanted, his clothes half rags and his cheeks hollow; easy pickings for the gangs of roving jocks with their sly, piggy eyes and their whey protein muscles.

It only takes one of them to hold him, class rings digging into thin shoulders, while three more thump and pound and laugh and holler.

It only takes one punch back to stop them laughing.

So it is that the first time Emma Swan really notices Killian Jones, he’s bleeding from a slash on his cheek and sporting a split lip, his eye purpling as his chest heaves and he spits bile on the floor at his feet.

But more than that, more than gore and bravery and sheer stupidity against the odds, she notices fury.

After all, she knows what it’s like to be angry.

–

“Why’d you do it?” she asks afterwards as she dabs blood from his chin, his tormentors dispatched with the careful placement of her knees and dire warnings about being beaten by a girl. “Did you think it would make them respect you? Cause let me tell you, kid. It doesn’t.”

“Doesn’t it?” he asks, teeth gritted as she reaches the cut on his lip. “They didn’t appear keen to suffer your disapproval.”

“I’ve been around longer,” she says with a shrug, leaning back to admire her handiwork. “They know I can handle myself.”

“I can handle myself,” he says petulantly.

Emma hands him the bloodied tissue, her mouth twisting into a smile.

“Funny way of showing it,” she says.

He stares at her, his eyes blue as cornflowers now they’re not narrowed in anger, and she thinks she sees his lips twitch as if he’s considering a smile of his own.

When he leaves, he doesn’t say thank you, and she doesn’t say goodbye.

–

She notices him more after that, even though he rarely looks her way. Rarely looks anyone’s way, as far as she can tell, instead wandering the halls like a rain cloud, only stopping to scrawl furiously in some dog eared notebook or start fights he never seems to win.

She’s never sure if he really wants to, but then she’s not in a position to ask. Not when she’s got her head down just as far, her own personal cloud always threatening to burst just over her head.

When he does look her way, he’s bleeding again.

“What are you in for?” he asks as they sit side by side outside the principal’s office, the knuckles of his left hand swollen and bloody. “You look pretty good - should I see the other guy?”

She shrugs, leaning her head back against the wall to examine a water stain on the ceiling.

(Looks like Michigan, she thinks. She’s never been there. Maybe that’s next. Maybe it’s a sign.

Maybe it’s just a burst pipe.

Maybe that’s the sign.)

“Katie MacVee lost her cellphone.”

His eyebrow ticks up.

“And you’re accused of stealing it?”

She smiles, rolling her head to the side to look at him.

“Not yet.”

“Do you get accused of theft a lot?” he asks, sounding almost affronted on her behalf.

“Only sometimes,” she sighs, and then laughs shortly. “Sometimes I just get caught.”

When he smiles, he’s almost beautiful, and when he’s called through, she almost misses him.

–

He writes poetry, the type that doesn’t rhyme, and she pretends to scoff - he hasn’t been to class in a month, he’s not fooling her with his tortured intellectual act - but it speaks to her in a way she can’t express except through the crumpling of the paper when he tries to pull it back, the smudges of ink on her fingertips as she refuses to let go.

They’re like that, the two of them. Drawn together although they’ve only ever known how to be alone. She, quite literally abandoned and unwanted from the off, and he the feckless, useless second son of a yet more feckless father.

They curl up under the bleachers, rain dripping down the backs of their necks, taking damp puffs on clove cigarettes as they hide from a world that doesn’t care to look.

He’s quiet, mainly, so she bitches about her foster father and picks at the scabs on her forearms. He um‘s and ah’s and threatens to kill him in all the right places, until eventually she’s staring up at him, her face slack from shock.

“No one’s ever done that before.”

“Done what?”

“Listened.”

He takes a deep drag, blowing rings that rise above their heads, sooty halos for nobody’s angels.

“Nobody ever does,” he says.

“Except you.”

When she kisses him he tastes like smoke, and she wonders what it feels like to burn.

–

She knows it’s his birthday, finds out when she’s stuck in the principal’s office again, abandoned while her case worker pleads for another chance, another semester, that she already knows she won’t get.

The file isn’t even hidden, lying out on the desk like that so if she peeks - Killian and troubled and alone and just like her - if she peeks no one can blame her.

(They always do, anyway, so why does it matter?)

There’s no time and there’s never money, so the best she can manage is sneaking through the library stacks, keeping half an eye on the librarian as she runs her finger down the spines of books only he’d ever checked out. She finds her prize, tucking it under her jumper with its security tag hanging limply from the underside of the shelf, and wraps it in the bathroom with two sheets of an assignment she’s never going to hand in.

“They fuck you up, your mum and dad,” she tells him when she meets him by the lockers, thrusting the package into his hand with a hasty, half cocked smile. “That’s how it goes isn’t it?”

He catches sight of her caseworker hovering over her shoulder, the cardboard box at her feet and her sour expression, and let’s his fingers linger on hers, pressing them down into the book as though she might yet leave an imprint behind.

(She never does.)

“That’s how it goes,” he says.

It always is. It always, always is.

When she leaves, he doesn’t say thank you, and she doesn’t say goodbye.

–

She doesn’t think of poetry for years.

Not during the next move, nor the one after that. Not even when Ruth Nolan finally makes her her own, giving her a new name and a new brother and an education she actually cares about.

She think about him, though. He’s a hazy memory in damp leather who escorts her through smoky bars. The invisible presence by whom she judges a bad boyfriend whose kisses never taste right. Two bad boyfriends. Six. Ten.

She mentions it one night to her brother’s wife - the teenage crush with the bloody knuckles and a mind like quicksilver.

“Can’t you find him?” Mary Margaret asks, her romantic soul soaring at the thought of a reunion that fills Emma with dread.

“Can’t remember his name,” she answers, shrugging off the lie and sipping her wine.

Killian, she remembers, Killian Jones. Killian Jones who was perfect when no one else was, who thought she was perfect when the world crumbled at her feet. How many could there be? How hard could he be to find?

(How much would it hurt to fail. How much would it hurt to see him turn away.)

She finds people for a living, but she never finds him.

–

The library is an accident.

She’s chasing a skip through slicing rain  when she slips and falls, leaving half the skin of her kneecap on the sidewalk. She hobbles through the nearest open door, spitting invectives as she drips onto the marble floors.

“Are you alright?” somebody whispers, and she looks up to meet the soft brown eyes of a young woman who sits behind the huge mahogany desk, tiny on her upholstered throne.

“I’m alright,” Emma says, still favouring her uninjured leg. “Could I?”

She gestures towards one of the long tables set between the stacks, and the woman smiles, nodding her permission as Emma gingerly settles herself to examine her knee.

“Yeah, but did you see him?”

“Of course I saw him, I thought I was going to faint.”

“That neck!”

“That face!”

“I wanted to bite it!”

She can hear the glare the librarian is sending the gang of high school girls who are gathered at the end of the long table, their faces flushed pink as they squeak over some likely unsuspecting boy, and it’s enough to send her limping away through the stacks looking for a quieter spot to lick her wounds.

Little puffs of dust appear at her feet as she wanders deeper, led by some sense she can’t name to where anthology and collected works rising around her, their leather bound spines warm under her fingertips.

It grows darker, gloomier, the books older and thicker and mustier, until she’s swallowed up by the strange unreality of it all, her heart beating faster and faster until she’s almost ready to run - run back to the gossiping girls and the prim librarian, some nameless, faithless ghost at her heels -

And then the ghost looks up from his sea of words, catches her in the snare of his too blue eyes, and she knows that she’s doomed.

“This seat taken?” she says, but it sounds like I missed you.

He pulls out her chair with ink stained fingers, and it sounds like I know.

–

He still smells like leather and cigarettes and rain, still writes in the same looping cursive, still calls her Swan in that accent that’s only grown rougher with age even though she tells him “It’s Nolan now.”

“No wonder I couldn’t find you,” he says to that, smiling as he presses a tissue gently against her bleeding knee. “He’s a lucky man.”

“There’s no man, lucky or otherwise,” she says, and his smile grows, creasing the corners of his eyes and reminding her just how very many years have passed while they’ve lived their separate lives - marginalia in each others biographies.

He tells her about reform school, the navy, the dishonourable discharge and the hand that’s not quite right. He tells her about how his perfect brother died an ignoble death on foreign soil, how his father bled out in a bar fight - a hundred thousand grazes she wasn’t there to salve.

“There hasn’t been a day go by I haven’t thought of you,” he tells her earnestly, and what can she say in reply but the truth?

“Good.”

(They don’t say goodbye.)