#i think the poems he dropped today are part of the new poetry book he’s releasing later this year??

[aboutmercy]

driveway by richard siken.

[90gemini]

Falling Up 🌇 Steve Rogers x Reader AU

Summary: A meet cute on a morning train between pediatric intern Steve and reader.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: big crowds, just too much fluff ngl

A/N: hope this makes you smile, i really love this AU, might be a part 1 of a whole series:)

Every single morning, as if on cue, approximately two minutes before my train leaves the station near my apartment, I come to the realization that if I do not get into full sprint mode right that second, I will miss my train and then be late to my first class and then have to walk in embarrassed while everyone is already inside and then proceed to feel embarrassed over it the entire day. So, considering the fact that I never seem to make myself leave the house just a few minutes early, for the past three years that I have been going to college, almost every morning I run into the train the last moment before the doors close completely out of breath, and have to subtly work on composing myself much longer than I am comfortable to admit.

Yet today, without even realizing, I got out of my apartment solid seven minutes earlier than usual. My roommate and I were so engaged in our conversation about the events of last nights party so we walked out together still invested in the drama which left me pleasantly surprised with the time I was left to spend before my train leaves after we went our separate ways. The extra time opened a whole lot of opportunities for me, almost made me believe I should wake up earlier every morning and not leave for class at the last possible moment. So, with the 420 extra seconds I got today, I managed to actually dig my earphones out my bag, plug them in and wait for the train with the sounds of my morning playlist filling my mind.

Inside the train, when I wasn’t preoccupied by catching my breath but also, even more importantly, focusing on not making it too obvious I was out of my breath, I became very much aware of my surroundings, noticing everything and everyone around me.

There was a girl sitting down right across from where I was standing, she looked about my age and she held a little baby in her arms, slowly rocking it and I noticed the way she was looking totally spent but the moment her baby made this cute laughing sound, a smile spread on her face completely overshadowing the exhaustion in her eyes. Next to the door was an older woman not so subtly judging everyone who was sitting down and has not offered her to sit and right next to the door was a man sitting down and sleeping like a log. I had the urge to wake him up and ask him when he has to get down or if he has already missed his stop, but in all honesty, it was too early in the morning for me to be considerate like that. While continuing to carelessly look around, my eyes landed on something that opened drawers in my memory I did not even know existed.

It was a book cover. A simple white background featuring a boy with frizzy hair who was flying over a drawn-on city with the words ‘Falling Up’ in the middle. So many moments of my dad reading poems from that book to me before bed when I was a kid came up and instantly forced a smile on my face.

In my head, I started reciting the words to my favorite poem from that book, remembering my dad teaching me how to read with those poems when my eyes fell on the arm holding the book and the man attached to it.

And God, was I thankful for the boosted-up heating in the train this morning because that made him take off his leather jacket and throw it over his arm, leaving only a thin, too tight white shirt to cover his upper body and it worked amazing for me that the shirt wasn’t doing its job well.

I heard the sound of the door opening and saw way too many people try to make their way into the train making it way more crowded which pushed the mystery man to move closer to me. Not as close as I wanted though.

My mind was focused solely on him that at one point I wasn’t even aware what station we were at and have I maybe missed mine, but I found myself not caring at all. The point my eyes landed on his face I was basically addicted. His hair was a gorgeous mess, a bit outgrown but looking so good. And, oh my God, his eyes. I was so upset I am only seeing them under the fluorescent light of the subway because I am positive that it would be an out of body experience seeing them under the sunlight.

At that moment I was sure he was the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on and was already cursing myself because I knew I was too nervous to talk to him and will regret that forever.

His lips would occasionally move into a small, barely noticeable grin while he was reading and every once in a while, his tongue would go over his lips leaving them all full and glistening which led to a whole new set of unholy thoughts entering my brain. And his fingers, the way he flipped over the pages was just so-

‘’May I help you somehow?’’ I was snapped out of my trance by his voice and met his eyes that were looking into mine with the coldest, most unimpressed expression as if he was in front of the most annoying person to ever grace the Earth.

‘’Shit, sorry,’’ I apologized quietly and pulled out one earphone to hear him better because no matter how rude it looks he is going to be right now, his voice was just heavenly. ‘’I zoned out when I saw that book.’’ I pointed to the book in his hand and his eyes followed the direction my finger was showing as if he was surprised I wasn’t staring at him but at the book. I was most definitely staring at him though, but I don’t plan on revealing that. ‘’My dad used to read it to me when I was a kid so just seeing the cover brought back too many memories. Sorry.’’ I said in a soft voice and gave him a forced smile hoping he was not going to talk to me again because I really don’t want to be yelled at by the most attractive man alive at 7.23am on a Tuesday in the subway.

‘’You know this book?’’ his voice broke the short-lived silence between us, making my head snap up to look at him again and I was met with a much softer face adorning an adorable smile. ‘’You must think I’m so weird for reading poetry for children.’’ He let out a small laugh which was, without exaggeration, the greatest sound I have ever heard in my life.

‘’No, I think it’s cute.’’ A sly smirk found its way on my face as I felt my usual confidence come back now that I knew he wasn’t planning on yelling at me.

‘’So, you think I’m cute?’’ The smirk on his lips, on the other hand, was not as subtle as mine was as he turned more towards me, quickly closing the book and focusing his eyes on my face.

‘’I didn’t say one thing about you being cute, I was talking about the book.’’ I lied to keep my cool even though cute truly wasn’t the first word that came to my mind when looking at him. It would be something more in the neighborhood of I-would-drop-on-my-knees-for-you-right-this-momentor whatever.

‘’Okay, so you don’t think I am cute?’’ he leaned closer and licked his lips instantly sending shivers down my spine. This man is too much for me to handle right now.‘’Because I think you are really cute.’’ He whispered loudly enough only for me to hear and moved away a bit to fully appreciate my flustered expression because he obviously was aware of the exact effect he had on me.

‘’Well, I guess you aren’t that bad yourself.’’ The fact that I was not literally falling apart in front of this god cosplaying as a man is still not something I can understand. ‘’And thank you.’’ Saying that my voice got super quiet, and I could see him grin proudly at my reaction.

‘’You are welcome,’’ he didn’t finish that sentence and looked at me asking for my name.

‘’Y/n.’’

‘’Y/n.’’ he repeated and stepped closer to me with an excuse of letting someone else pass and giving them space. ‘’That is a real pretty name.’’ I smiled to say thank you and looked at my feet for a second to get myself together.

I didn’t even run to catch this train yet I’m still out of breath.

‘’I am Steve by the way.’’ He stretched out his free hand in my direction but not for one second broke the eye contact between us. ‘’It’s so nice to meet you, Y/n.’’ God, just to hear him say my name was killing me.

‘’Nice to meet you too, Steve.’’ I connected my hand with his much larger one and was painfully aware of the fact he must have heard the soft sound I made the second my skin first touched his.

‘’So,’’ he continued while slowly pulling his hand from mine. ‘’do you like poetry in general, ‘’he lifted the arm with the book and nodded towards it. ‘’or is it just this one book you like?’’ he asked with so much interest in his voice making me absolutely thrilled he was keeping the conversation going.

‘’I love poetry.’’ I kept my answer short because forming decent sentences was a though job while looking at this man and seeing the way he was looking at me.

‘’What kind?’’ he adjusted in his spot somehow that he was even closer to me, leaving basically no space between us, yet to everyone else it seemed normal because the morning rush in the New York City subway never was famous for the spaciousness.

‘’About love.’’ I said softly and witnessed his expression changing from the cocky, overconfident one he had on, to a completely soft one.

‘’Same here.’’ He replied and as if he can do it on cue, looked even more deeply into my eyes. ‘’I like reading about how people feel things I have never felt, it lets me to feel the emotion without risking being hurt.’’ He confessed to me and I couldn’t believe a guy that has such a hard exterior is ready to share that much emotion after talking to a stranger in a train for only a few minutes. But I was thanking all the gods he was.

‘’That’s much deeper than my reason for loving it.’’ A small smile appeared on his face as he looked at me to continue. ‘’I just like reading about love and watching movies about love and basically everything about love. Makes me feel all warm around the heart.’’ He let out a small laugh reminding me why it’s my new favorite sound. ‘’That must sound so cheesy.’’

‘’I don’t think it’s cheesy. I think like it is really nice to love love.’’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘’It’s cute.’’

‘’So you are calling me cute?’’ I looked at him with a raised eyebrow as he let out a huff once again leaning all into my personal space.

‘’I am. I have once before too.’’ He whispered near my ear and I know he knew just what he was doing to me.

‘’What poets do you like the most?’’ he moved away leaving me upset over not feeling his breath on my neck anymore.

‘’I don’t read a lot in English.’’ I fumbled with the edge of my jacket and lowered my eyes to focus on my boots because his face was way too distracting. ‘’My dad is not from here and I got the gene for loving poetry from him so most of the things I read are in his mother tongue because it’s really the only way to keep myself from forgetting it.‘’ Making a mental note to call my dad tonight because it’s been too long, I suddenly became extremely aware that I am sharing so many personal information about me with a random man I met on the subway. ‘’So yeah, most of the poets I read, never got international fame so you unfortunately didn’t have a chance to hear of them.’’ I felt a dash of electricity go through my body when he put his hand under my chin tilting it up so we can once again face each other.

‘’Don’t hide that gorgeous face doll.’’ Dear Lord, I can’t believe I might actually die on a train because of a hot, poetry reading guy. ‘’I’d love to read some of that poetry you like if it is translated.’’

‘’I don’t know if any of it is translated but you can check, I can write down some of the names for you.’’ I said quickly really happy that he wants to read something I will recommend, still recovering from that ‘gorgeous’ comment.

‘’I don’t have anything you can write it on, we can just-‘’

‘’Oh, I have a piece of paper to write it on to, it’s no problem.’’ I interrupted him while flashing him another smile and started digging through my bag for pen and a paper only to have his hand stop mine making me look at him with confusion written all over my face.

‘’I was thinking something more in the lines of you writing your number in my phone,’’ he took his phone out his pocket and directed it at me. ‘’then I can text you and we can meet up so you can tell me more about those poets and maybe translate some for me on the spot if you want to.’’ The smile was evident on his face when I took the phone out his hand and started writing my number into it.

‘’I would really like that, Steve.’’ I gave him his phone back with a smile a bit too big for the cool persona I was trying to present myself as.

‘’Well, I am really looking forward to it, Y/n.’’ he returned the big smile and focused his eyes on my face once again.

‘’Can I ask you something?’’ I looked at him curiously.

‘’Anything, doll.’’

That nickname is going to kill me.

‘’How come you are reading poetry for children?’’ he left out a chuckle and gazed over the book in his hand.

‘’There are two reasons, actually.’’ He shifted from one leg to another and started talking kind of nervously. ‘’Firstly, this book is something I always come back to for some reason. My grandma bought it for me when I was just a kid and I reread it for too many times, so I always go back to it because it’s safe. Something like playing Friends in the background because there is nothing else to watch but it always makes you feel good, you know?’’ I nodded and he continued. ‘’Second is that currently I am interning at the pediatric wing at the hospital downtown and kids love me reading these poems to them so I always find a few I think they would like the most when I am getting to work in the morning.’’

‘’That is really amazing, Steve.’’ I put my hand on his forearm and looked at him with so much affection in my eyes. ‘’Those kids must feel really special having you read to them, it’s really heartwarming you do that even though you don’t have to.’’

‘’They are going through too much shit, if I can make it any better for them, I will.’’ How pathetic is it that talking about kids with this guy I met literally minutes ago, makes me think about having his kids?

‘’That is really too sweet.’’ I had plans on saying so much more to him, but I heard the automatic voice announce how my station is next. ‘’Shit I have to go; this is my stop.’’

‘’Oh.’’ He said and I swear I could hear some disappointment in his voice. ‘’I guess I will see you again?’’ he asked as if he is not sure if that is going to happen.

‘’You most definitely will see me again.’’ I looked at him fondly again and I don’t even know what force gave me the confidence to do so, but before making my way to the door I got on my tip toes and kissed his cheek.

‘’Bye, Steve. See you soon.’’ I said while walking away from him but still keeping my eyes on his as I saw him put his hand on the place I kissed him with a small smile on his face.

‘’See you soon, Y/n.’’ Was the last thing I heard before exiting the train, completely sure that I won’t be able to focus today in class.

But I don’t mind.

really hope you enjoyed this, any comment on it would truly mean a lot!<3

[sixteenthshen]

Episode 1 Notes/Meta

Contains minor spoilers up to Youtube's schedule and references to the novel

Since I don’t have any new episodes to watch until Friday, I decided to watch the drama all over again, very closely, to see if there’s anything new to discover.

Zhou Zishu's character: 

Drama immediately sets the backdrop/tells us why his character is kinder, more compassionate than in the novel. We don't know that drama!ZZS is kinder yet at this time, but we can see that he's schemey and sneaky

He wears a mask of indifference as the Window of Heaven's leader (sorry ZZH, I was wrong. I thought your acting was stiff during one scene, but now I know better). It's one of the many subtle faces of ZZS.

Wen Kexing's character:

He must be a highly-skilled martial artist based on how easily he kills two ghosts and that he can spot another skilled martial artist from a distance (beggar Zhou)

He's quite schemey. First, when he orders all his subordinates out to hunt for a man he just killed. Next, when he lets Gu Xiang go to check on the beggar, he's also subtly using her to test that unknown person's martial arts skills.

Why they're soulmates:

WKX understood immediately what "beggar" Zhou was doing (suntanning)

They're both well-matched schemey bastards

Behind the cut, geographical details and some details about the supporting characters. This is a very text-heavy post FYI

In chronological order:

20 years ago, Rong Xuan was killed by the Five Lakes Alliance and the gathered heroes.

Prince Jin is based far away in the North (Hedong 河东), where he holds power. It implies most of the story later takes place closer to the south of China.

Prince Jin ordered the Window of Heaven (TC in short, for Tian Chuang) to assassinate the Military Governor of Zhenwu (Officer Li). The Zhenwu Army is located somewhere around Inner Mongolia today.

Prince Jin falsely claims the Military Governor is a traitor to the country and has him assassinated. Prince Jin harbours treasonous thoughts, and in turn, makes ZZS and TC traitors.

Officer Li recognized Zhou Zishu by sight (calls him Officer Zhou), which means that they must have met previously somehow. He is shocked to know that ZZS is the leader of TC, so TC must be a secret assassin/spy organization (like an ancient CIA)

Zhou Zishu gets a drop of blood on his sword and flicks it off – he does not like blood.

Princess Jing An knows ZZS and first calls him Zhou shixiong (her first instinct is to use a familiar address). She later changes it to Officer Zhou when she realizes what he did.

Princess Jing An quotes, "The flowers blossom in all four seasons, knowing everything in the world", which makes ZZS turn to look at her - he sees the hairpin that his shidi Qin Jiuxiao made for the one he loves. ZZS gets super sad.

This line of poetry refers to the Four Seasons Manor (ZZS's martial arts sect)

ZZS, during his time as a court official, intentionally has a blank mask, so his emo is seen only in his slightly teary eyes.  Removing this mask is also part of the freedom he seeks. Possibly symbolic that he feels freer living behind a physical mask than he does with his face.

Prince Jin ordered ZZS to personally nail the seven nails into Bi Chang Feng (Uncle Bi). It seems somewhat cruel of the Prince. ZZS walks with 2 of his commanders – Duan Pengju and Han Ying.

Uncle Bi calls ZZS Manor Lord (庄主)*. He says he cannot help but suspect the motives of Prince Jin. ZZS shows a slight reaction to this. He knows the motivations of Prince Jin by now. Not only is he a traitor himself, but he dragged all his 81 men down with him.

This is the root cause of ZZS's different personality traits in the drama and novel. I think his character in both the book and drama adaption is similar, but his additional compassion stems from being placed in different circumstances.

Novel!ZZS did terrible things for the right reasons. As a result, he won't feel as guilty and has less reason to be so compassionate.

Drama!ZZS followed the wrong master, and the awful things he did were for treasonous reasons. There's no justification for the lives he took. Because he did worse things, he's better able to "see the light" and understand things in life better. Therefore, kinder.

The motto of the Window of Heaven (as requested by Prince Jin):

The members are to carry out their missions without leaving a trace (shadow without traces)

Once a person enters TC, they're never to leave (entry without exit.)

To know everything and to be everywhere.

When the camera cuts to ZZS's two senior officers, Han Ying shuts his eyes sadly while Duan Pengju has a slight smile on his face 🤨🤨.

Nails of Seven Torments (七窍三秋钉) – seven nails, each to be driven into the seven primary acupoints (for martial arts) in a person's body. After that, a person won't get to see more than three autumns. They would lose their martial arts ability entirely, and their five senses deteriorate over time, preventing the secrets of TC from being leaked. (see #2 of their motto)

ZZS does not like anyone who's not from his sect to call him Manor Lord, as it's a reminder of his failings. He doesn't think he has the right to be called that any longer since he ruined his sect.

Prince Jin calls ZZS by his name directly (Zishu); it implies a certain level of familiarity. However, ZZS hasn't been presented himself in front of Prince Jin in some time, suggesting he has already distanced himself from Prince Jin (and a certain level of disrespect)

From Duan Pengju, we learn that ZZS hadn't taken up his sword much in the past year due to a lingering injury; this time at the Military Governor's residence was the first time he wielded his sword in a while.

DPJ also uses this word again (又) in Chinese to describe ZZS aggravating his injuries again (that isn't in the YT subs), which implies that he has suffered other internal injuries before, not solely from QJX's death. DPJ is subtly suggesting to Prince Jin that ZZS is no longer very fit and not suitable for his role (shows us his ambition).

ZZS's current injury (that Uncle Bi refers to and why he coughed up blood in the snow) came about after Qin Jiuxiao's (shidi) death. He coughed up blood then and fainted.**

ZZS's residence is called Chongming Garden (重明苑), where he has a mural of 82 white flowers and the line of poetry about the Four Seasons Manor. He paints each flower red when one of his original sect members pass away. There's only one white flower left --- himself.  See this link for a more detailed translation.

ZZS scolds a vision of his shidi not to cry. ZZS's assertion that men shouldn't cry comes up several times later. His eyes only get teary after this scene, and not a single tear falls again (still canon for now).

ZZS has an official court position. He's an Imperial Guard with some seniority, and it's likely why the Military Governor calls him Officer Li. (A governor would not call a low ranked Imperial Guard “Officer” 大人 daren)

ZZS has several battle wounds from a blade, but the ones on his back (shoulder blades) look messy. Not sure what they are yet, but I think it could become relevant later.

Prince Jin appears unstable when he talks about everyone leaving him. Yunxing and Beiyuan are both characters from Lord Seventh. Beiyuan is the titular character of that novel. When Prince Jin said, "Beiyuan is gone too", ZZS displays a minute reaction because he knows Beiyuan isn't actually dead.

Prince Jin says ZZS is ruthless, but he's even more so to himself (recurring description).

Here, we see that ZZS knows of DPJ's ambition to take over his job when he says they both get their wishes today. DPJ becomes the new TC leader.

Prince Jin lets ZZS go. As he watches ZZS leave, he recites two lines from a poem, which title roughly translates to "on one's deathbed/imminent death".***

“涓涓江汉流，天窗通冥室。谗邪害公正，浮云翳白日。” Small streams can become large rivers; even a window as small as a skylight can brighten a dark room. Rumours and evil can harm the public good; clouds can block the bright light of the sun.

There's some foreshadowing here. Prince Jin sees ZZS leaving as a threat. It could be that one person leaving TC "standing" may lead to an exodus or that ZZS knows too much to be left alive outside for long. Prince Jin sees himself as the righteous and the sun here. He follows the recital by saying he's only letting ZZS go for now.

ZZS's beggar styling is supposed to juxtapose his strict and neat dress as the leader of TC, including his hair and overall CBAssed-ness of how his clothes hang.

Hanged ghost died super quick. We see an arm covered in a red sleeve strangle him to death. Red sleeve dude seems to be the head of the Ghost Valley (yaaaaa we know who you are)

WKX lies to the masses about the Hanged Ghost and tells them to set forth out of the Ghost Valley. We can see that all of them are scared of him. He has a scheme -- but we don’t know what it is yet.

WKX and ZZS meet (yay!!!) in Yue (modern-day Zhejiang, in the south), far away from Prince Jin. We should note that this is very far away from the North, where Prince Jin and TC hold power.

ZZS would rather be a beggar than the Emperor. The freedom to live and do whatever he chooses is more important to him than riches or power.

WKX understood what ZZS was doing right away (while GX thinks he's a beggar). This is why they're soulmates!

Gu Xiang's cuteness comes off as a little forced here, but upon re-watching, I believe it's because she hasn't been out in the "human world" before. Her mannerisms are all learned from her life in the Ghost Valley. She's also about ten years younger than WKX, so she's supposed to be more energetic.

WKX allows GX to go down partly because he is curious about the beggar, who seems to be very skilled at martial arts. GX is quite a straightforward and innocent person. She's unaware that she's helping to test the beggar's skills for her master.

WKX notices the ZZS's martial arts and stands up right away. This scene is also more important than it seems to be at first. Later in episode 2, it's revealed that he recognized the beggar's particular martial arts as unique to the Four Seasons Manor sect. I think it's the first hint that beggar Zhou may be "Zhou Zishu". (We find out that WKX knows ZZS's real name in episode 6.)

ZZS intentionally hits himself to make himself seem like a poor injured beggar and GX a bully. It shows that ZZS is sneaky – and again, ruthless, even to himself.

* ZZS is not a real lord. He's the sect leader (Manor Lord comes about because his sect's name ends in Manor, and the address "my lord" comes from Manor Lord). ** This is a fictional type of injury, where people in Chinese historical dramas cough up blood when they suffer severe emotional shocks that cause some unexplained internal injury. *** 《临终诗》

[cynic-spirit]

The Poem Series (9) Portrait of a Figure Near Water– John Wick

All the previous Parts here!

Two updates in one day !!!! Parts 8 and 9... tell me what you think!!!!

Diana had an emotional roller coaster of a week. At the start of the week she was filled with positivity, which changed into hope when she met John, that changed to love when she felt attracted to John, and then it changed into fury when John had forgot about her as if she did not exist. Her new week had started with a presentation on Jane Kenyon. Diana had always admired female authors and poets. She adored Jane Austen and Sylvia Plath. In fact her thesis was on a similar area. She saw a bit of herself in Kenyon who too admired nature. Her language for quieter, less self-dramatizing, much like Diana herself. After discussing most of her work and writing style to the class, she gave an assignment on one of her poems.

Diana had no other class today and her week had really exhausted her, emotionally. So she picked up her violin that she often carried with her in her car, and walked towards the small garden a little away from college to take a break. While walking she thought of Kenyon’s lines herself,

“Rebuked, she turned and ran

uphill to the barn. Anger, the inner  

arsonist, held a match to her brain.  

She observed her life: against her will  

it survived the unwavering flame.”

The poet was talking about how after being rebuked she ran away to hide her anger, her embarrassment. There was a fire within her, whether it was anger or not, she does not know but now after the humiliation, the fire inside her had turned arsonist with a n intention to burn her. She had to embrace life ahead and not succumb to its flames. It often made Diana wonder how these poets were able to write such deep lines that expressed how she felt. It was magical. Literature was magical. For every mood, for every emotion, one could always find a line, a quote, a passage, that would just unveil the emotion she felt. Why didn’t people study literature, why didn’t they read poetry. The world has become so selfish, materialistic – both emotionally and physically. One befriends another person for competitive advantage, and one loves another for sex. For few moments John made her believe otherwise. John was intense, passionate, and the way he talked had made Diana feel that in this world full of greed, selfishness, loathing, death, and destruction, there is at least one man who is different, but then she was proven wrong. She let her guards down and John hurt her. He swayed her with his honeyed words and vanished like she never existed. He had made her doubt her sanity for she wondered if she was becoming so lonely that she had personified all her desires in the form of John; much like the woman in The Yellow Wallpaper.

Diana found a small park bench at a secluded corner in the park. It was away from the pebble path that people walked on and yet offered a view of the gigantic fountain at the middle of the park. It was evening time and there were fewer people than before. Diana started playing, a piece From Shubert, Ave Maria. It was a delicate tune and playing her brought some healing. The harmony induced serenity. The composition itself was created as a subtle message of sadness and regret. It conveys the message of “letting go” and making a promise to continue with life. Diana played the tune on her violin for a whole five minutes. When the tune ended she left out a sigh. She felt better. She felt calmer than before. She looked at her watch, it was nearly 7 pm and the park is about to close. She must go home. She packs up her violin in the case and as she is about to get up she sees a small black pitbull sitting in front of her holding a neatly wrapped bouquet in his jaw. Wait, she remembers this dog. This is John’s dog, Dog. She scratches, his ear and takes the bouquet from his mouth. The pitbull barks and runs away in a direction before she could grab him. Diana looks around but there is no one there.

She looks at the bouquet. There are different set of flowers this time. They are fastened by a green garland. Unlike the last time, there is only one of each flower. There is a Columbia, a Rue, an anemone, a rosemary, and a Forget me not. What is this bouquet trying to say, What are you trying to say John, lets see, she thought. The Columbine indicates foolishness, and rue defines regret. Rosemary is for remembrance, and anemone is for forsaken love. Finally, the forget me not says that one would not forget again. SO John is trying to say that he was foolish, and he wouldn’t do it again? He is asking for a chance for his love? Diana scoffs, and wonders, does John think I would be so gullible the second time? Diana wanted to throw away the bouquet but her love for flowers is more than the anger for John at the moment. She picks up the bouquet, her violin, and her bag and starts to walk towards the gate.

When John came back from Vladivostok the first thing that he wanted to do was to go running to Diana, hug her and tell her how sorry he was. How ashamed and sorry he felt of leaving her hanging. He had made promises to her. In his heart, he had failed her. This was a woman who had given him a chance without a drop of mistrust or dishonesty but he had let her down. This woman had gone beyond her comfort zone to meet and be with John. He wanted to make her feel like a goddess to be worshipped but he made her feel low, small, insignificant instead. He had made her doubt her sanity. She spoke only one line in the voice mail, but that line had so many meanings. She had found John, loving and even had strong feelings for him. John’s absence made her doubt that he was not real. No! he cannot have that. He must go and meet her, get to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Tell her that he faltered. He looks at the time. He realized that after being missing for one week he cannot just show up at 1 in the night at her doorstep. What would she think of him. No, he will meet her tomorrow at her college. She loved flowers, he will get her some flowers, beautiful ones. The flowers that would tell how sorry he is. On his bed, John pats Dog on his head, and murmurs, “She is angry with me boy. She is so angry with me”

John goes to his bed, but sleep eludes him. He spends the night tossing and turning, until he finally decides to go down to his basement and do some book binding to calm himself down. In Vladivostok, when John was searching for his target, he had found an antique shop. Unable to resist, he had gone in. He had talked to the owner and upon receiving the answer, John had smiled. From that place, he had brought a tattered, yellowish book whose pages were coming out. The print, however was exceptional. With little hard work, this book could be bound and made as good as new, well, as good as the oldest new he had thought. It would take him a couple of weeks to do it, and when he would finish the binding, he would gift it to Diana. Now, in his basement, on his desk, John stared at the first edition. The first edition of the book that had brought Diana to the small antique shop in his block and given him a chance to ask her out. John had the first edition of “The Little Prince” in his hand and he had started binding it, restoring it for his beloved.

The morning arrived and John got ready. He dressed up casually, in a white shirt, a brown leather jacket and blue jeans. John would meet Diana after her class, when she is leaving her college. Before that, he would get her some flowers, that would say how sorry he is for vanishing without contact the way he did. Taking Dog with him, John drives his Mustang to the flower shop.

The door opens with a “ding” as John enters. It grabs the attention of “Tiffany” as the badge says. Of course, she remembered John. She remembered John, and she secretly envied the woman John was with. His presence is enough to make Tiffany aroused. She opened the first two buttons of her uniform and walked towards him.

“Good Morning, May I help you sir?”

“Yes. I want a bouquet”

“Do you know what you want this time too sir?” Tiffany could not help but flirt with John who was less than impressed.

“Yes. Columbine, Rue, Anemone, Rosemary, and Forget me not. One of each flower wrapped by one single green garland”

“Aah, the apology bouquet, I wonder what woman would be so stupid to be upset with you, quite a fragile woman I must say” She said leaning a little bit, and touching his arm.

John had seen enough of the women trying to seduce him to bed and honestly, he didn’t care anymore. When this girl touched him, he felt a little violated. He felt that he was cheating on Diana. What does this girl think he is? That he is just some man who would be enticed by just about any girl when his love is angry with him? John straightened his posture more. Diana had ruined women for him. He was already on the edge and the incessant flirting of the flower shop girl and her obscene show of unladylike gesture was enough to make him mad. He was on the verge of losing the only woman he loved in his life and this girl here was not only causing him delay, but also judging his beloved as a stupid woman. John would not take this. If it were a man, he would be lying on the floor dead, but John does not hit women. He replies with his death stare

“She is someone who is not like you. She isn’t fragile like a flower, she is fragile like a grenade”

Tiffany was shocked and scared. She felt she would die on the spot. If looks were fire, John’s stare would have turned her into ashes and then some.

“I am sorry sir. I didn’t mean to … .Here is your requested bouquet”

“How much?”

“That will be 123 dollars sir”

After paying, John leaves the shop leaving a very scared and ashamed Tiffany behind.

John reached Diana’s college. It was big and crowded. It would be difficult to locate her here and he was not enjoying the attention he was getting from some of the female students. So he went to the help desk where a man probably in his late fifties sat.  

“Can you tell me where I can find Diana Swan?”

“Who?”

“Diana Swan”

“Oh, You mean professor Swan?”

John nods.

“Her class finished early today. I think she left for home. But you can check at the garden outside the college. She often goes there to sit”

“thank you”

John now walks towards the garden, with Dog following closely. The garden was large and secluded. It was beautiful and peaceful, much like her taste, John thought. Of course, she would come here, this place speaks of her. Now where to find her in this large garden. John thinks. Diana would not sit in a place where she would be disturbed. She like peace, she likes quiet, but she also likes nature. So she would sit in a place where there is less disturbance but also offers a view of this large fountain. He must start looking from THAT corner, John thought. As he starts to walk towards a particular direction, a faint sound attracts his attention. It was the sound of music. Someone was playing the violin. Could it be…HER? Like a hypnotized man, John’s feet took him in the direction of the music. At a distance, he sees a woman, HIS woman, sitting on a bench, back towards him, playing a tune that he doesn’t know, but it makes him feel sad. The tune is so melancholic. His beloved, like the goddess Thalia had descended down on the earth and was playing the music.

John became nervous. Should he approach her now? Would she get angry on him? He does not have the courage to see the disappointment in her eyes. He cannot see her face full of hurt that he caused. He will test the waters first. So he leans down and makes Dog grab the bouquet. He pats him and says softly, “she wont get mad at you, you did not disappoint her. GO boy!!“

The pitbull, understanding his master’s commands takes the bouquet and goes towards his beloved while John watches from behind. He watches Diana take the bouquet from Dog after she finishes playing. She looks at each flower of the bouquet, carefully scrutinizing it, while John gulps in nervousness. Then she looks around to find no one. She gets up and starts to walk towards the gate where she is unaware that she would find John waiting for him.

As soon as Diana reached the gates of the park, she sees a face, a familiar face, the face that had nearly made her doubt her sanity. John Wick was standing on the gates of the park, looking at her with an expression, she did not understand. Was it guilt? Was it pity? Was it shame? Dog stood beside him wagging his tail looking at her. Diana loved dogs, and honestly, she had melted a little already with the innocent pitbull giving her the flowers, but she won’t let it show. She stared at John back, showing her displeasure, lets out a long steady breath, then turns around and starts walking towards the opposite gate of the park.

TWO UPDATES IN ONE DAY!!!!! ALSO ISN’T DOG ADORABLE !!!!!! LOOK AT THAT FACE!!!

@ficsnroses​ @meetmeinthematinee​ @overheardatthecontinental​

[starlight-starwrites]

EZRA as a gold miner in the 1870s

okay honey. you asked for it. (ps i love red dead so much that is all) ((can i just say how much i love this au?? at first i was like ‘what’ and now i am YEARNING and i love the wild west, so yeah i went a bit feral with these))

also fair warning: unedited 4.3k. and there is public kissing omg.

-your family moved from the state of georgia to the state of california just before the war had started. you were too young to remember what it was like at the time, or the reason why. but you remember the hushed conversations of your parents, the way your older siblings shooed you away when you asked.

-you remember your mother packing up your many things, loading them into too many wagons, herding your four older brothers and two sisters before you. your father had smiled at you, handing over your doll and saying “it’ll be an adventure darling. we’ll go so many places, and we’ll get to see mountains. you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

-you had beamed back, showing off your teeth that had yet to fully grow in, and promised your father that you would be the best of his seven children and would follow him anywhere.

-you held true to your word, even as the youngest. you had weathered the trip with a positive attitude, and when a trunk of your things, including your favorite doll, had been lost, you still smiled and said you’d find better things in california. “all i need is the mountains and our family, papa”

-california had been every bit of the dream to your young eyes. as you traveled through open fields, watched the sun set to paint the country in a summer orange, even as it autumn ended, and the mountains stood tall on the horizon, you loved it. and as you grew, you loved it no less.

-when the war had ended, and your oldest brother returned, victorious and with his bride from chicago, your family was complete again. but as happy as you were, your heart still yearned for more.

-your father, a clever investor and a friend of the banks (or scheming businessman to your sour neighbors), had always been wealthy. your family lived well, you always had your pick of dresses, each of your siblings married to well-to-do connections, even with the move. except you.

-you enjoyed the benefits of wealth, but even at 21, you ran barefoot through the dirt of your father’s land, rode your proud stallion through town with a wide brimmed hat, and managed to wheedle your way into the hearts of every gentleman, gambler, and cowboy in new hanover.

-you were greeted with a ‘good day, miss’ and a tip of a hat everywhere you passed. the town’s people knew you by name, called you ‘young man holder’s daughter’ (your father had bought the land you lived on now from old man holder. now slowly advancing toward 60, your father was very pleased to ever be considered ‘young man’ anything, even if his name was not holder). in return, you knew the town’s people by name, greeted each as you rode in for another pack of gum, the shiny riding boots just come in from the factories, or for a drink you wouldn’t tell your father about.

-so when one day you pass by a man, maybe a few years your senior, and you don’t recognize him, a part of you feels obligated to introduce yourself. he wears faded overalls, a dirtied tan union suit underneath, and large brown boots that looked as though he had walked the entire transcontinental railroad in them. his cap covered his eyes as he leaned against the general store, but you could follow the curve of his nose to the pout of his lips as he held up a book.

-the cover was worn but you made out the word ‘poems’ along the binding. he certainly doesn’t look like the type to read poetry, perhaps not even the type to read at all, but he seems so invested that after you hitch Friday to the post, you walk past without greeting him, and enter the store

-when you leave, a parcel of things on your arm, he’s still there, reading the book, now much further along. you may have glanced at him already, but thinking it impolite to stare, you search through your bag to pull out a stick of gum, walking to where Friday waits patiently for you. when you reach him, placing your things in the saddle bag and popping the gum in your mouth, you accidentally glance over at the man again, only to find him staring right at you

-you notice first the warm brown of his eyes, and just the very fact that that he’s looking at you starts a flutter in your stomach. his mouth is quick to curve into a smile as he lowers the book, nodding to you

-“well good day, ma’am. don’t you look like right sunshine on a cool evenin’. a warmth i couldn’t turn away even in death valley itself”

-he says it so assuredly that you think that he practiced it, maybe he’s quoting directly from his book of poems. sure, you were wearing your plain yellow dress--it came above your ankles, showing off your new riding boots, already muddy, and the hem had been darkened with dirt--and you thought your light brown hat complimented it nicely, but no one had truly ever said something like that while you were dressed like this.

-you really didn’t know how to respond. so you laughed.

-he smiled back, smirk pulling back his lips to reveal straight teeth. he pulled off his cap and pushed back his hair with it, revealing a patch of blonde among the dark brown of his hair. he didn’t seem put off by your response in the slightest.

-“ain’t you something?” you finally said. wishing the heat on your cheeks was only due to the high noon sun. “i don’t believe i’ve ever seen you before, mister.”

-you were happy you were able to come up with that at all.

-“of that, i am sure, my lady. for i would never forget a face as enchanting as yours, and i could never go on living without speaking to you even if only once”

-christ alive, he’s cheesy.

-he’s pushed off from where he leaned against the building, stepping down to stand opposite you, the hitching post the only thing separating the two of you. Friday stands steadfastly at your side, huffing as he comes closer. you fight the urge to tell him to hush.

-“what? you reading all that from your little book?” surely he doesn’t speak like this normally. you try and fight the way it makes your insides flutter.

-“this?” he hold it up, showing you the worn pages. “no, ma’am. i’m afraid this reading is of darker matters and the mortality of the human heart. and it sure ain’t what i’d like to discuss with you.” he grins at you, leaning forward a little more.

-there are so many things you could say back. and what would you like to discuss with me? is at the tip of your mind. and where did you learn to speak like that?

-“really? poetry?” is all you ask instead. you ask it while wrinkling your nose, and he sees you don’t believe poetry is worth all that. you wish you were better at this.

-“you don’t like poetry?” his eyebrow raises and his mouth pouts again.

-you shrug. “i don’t think i’ve ever really read it, is all.” you don’t want to disappoint him for some reason.

-at your words he smiles again, holding out the book to you. “then you should. take it, i’ve found hours of enjoyment in this little tome on its own. surely, you will too.”

-your eyes widen and you try to refuse, you couldn’t take what little this man had in the first place, but he insists, i’ve read it many times over sunshine, besides, i want to know what your opinion on my silly little pastime. read it over, i’ll be in town. tell me what you think.

-and now suddenly as your hand curls around the book, pulling it to your chest, you realize you’re going to see him again. it doesn’t seem like an unfair deal at all. you’re only borrowing the little book.

-he offers to help you mount and you refuse, deftly hoisting yourself up and hoping he’s impressed. he nods his approval, coming to your side as you turn Friday toward the road. come find me here again, sunshine. i’d hate to have too many dark days while i wait.

-you return home with a smile too big for your face, it falling only when you realize you never even got his name. you sit through dinner with a bouncing leg, decide that you’re going to read that book just so you can find him again to learn it. and that night you sit up, burning the oil lantern by your bedside to read the little book cover to cover. you find it’s not just poems, but his own little writings too, scrawled in the margins and gaps. and suddenly its not just his name you want to learn.

-you decide you love poetry, and you tell him so when you see him two days later. he walks with you, until you reach the end of town, and then you both turn around and walk back.

-his name is ezra you find, and when you give your name in return, you shiver at the way it sounds in his mouth. you talk about nothing and everything. to what you had for breakfast to the fleetingness of life and you like it. you like him.

-too soon you’re parting, you have to get home, he has to get to work...and as you ride away you realize you don’t know why he’s in town. i’ll still be in town little birdie, come see me again, he said when you mounted Friday.

-“birdie? what happened to sunshine?” you laugh at him.

-“well just look at your dress today. looks like you could fly away into the clouds, my birdie.”

-and you can’t believe that the only thing you can think about is the way he said “my”

-two meetings turn into three, and next thing you know, instead of riding to town two, three times a week, you ride in every day. you learn he’s a prospector, brought here by an ambitious man hunting gold that was never found. you want to laugh, but the way he believes in the possibility makes you pause.

-you have a drink in the saloon when you’re up for it, take lunch with him in the parlor (he feels like he shouldn't be in here but you looped your arm around his and dragged him through the door, and the hostess nearly dropped everything to serve you two. he knows you must be important, but he sees how everyone loves you the same as he does)

-and you go on rides--ezra wasn’t sure about this one, he doesn’t have experience just hopping on a horse to go wherever he wants--but Friday is big enough for the both of you, and you don’t take no for an answer. he laughs as he clings to your waist, feeling like he should be the one leading you, yet never happier to see you in your element, and have the privilege to touch you at all.

-days have bled into weeks, and your family takes notice. you never were one to stick to a schedule yet here you are. the excuse ‘picking up things from the store’ only runs so far. your father is on to you, you know, but it has never turned from lighthearted teasing.

-the next day he insists you take the wagon with him to town, picking up groceries for the cook for the rest of the week. you can’t say no.

-ezra’s waiting where he usually is, looking for the dark chestnut stallion to come trotting up, you in a new dress sitting proudly atop him. Friday has gotten rather fond of him, he’s proud to say, and he was hoping you’d take him on a ride again so he could steal you away.

-instead he looks up from the new poetry book you ‘lent’ him--the pages are pristine, and he is sure that he is the first to read it--and he meets the eye of an older gentleman, dressed in a fine suit and driving a painted wagon. he nods to him, before his eyes dart to the woman next to him.

-he can’t hide his surprise as he meets your eye, wearing the finest dress he’s ever seen you in, and his jaw drops. each one he thought was nicer than the last, and each time he sees he is wrong. your eyes are wide and you mouth something to him, but he isn’t paying enough attention to make it out.

-he turns in place, eyes following you as who must be your father turns into the path beside the grocer, and pulls the wagon to a stop. he helps you down, and ezra can do nothing but watch. your father is talking to you, stepping to the door, but you’re staring at ezra, motioning behind your father’s back as though you want him to do something.

-he inches forward, hoping to catch you and not the ire of your old man. he knew your relationship with your family was good, that despite petty squabbles you loved all six of your siblings, and your parents too. but you had never talked about what they would think of him.

-ezra is a confident man, never concerned with being judged, never afraid to speak his mind. he knows he’s a charming man. somehow, you make all this different. he’s standing now beside the wall of the store, looking at the two horses of your wagon, disappointed neither are Friday.

-his heart beats faster when the side door opens, turning quickly, and only relaxes when he sees its you. you spot him quickly, lifting your skirts to rush down the stairs to meet him. he pushes off to grasp your hands when you reach for him.

-“ez, i am so, so sorry. i know i’m late but my father--”

-its not what he thought you’d say. he squeezes your hands to stop you, and then he’s teasing you. first that you’re embarrassed, then for how you’re dressed. “pretty as a sugar cream pie. you look like madam trelawny’s curtains suddenly breathed life and walked off on two legs”

-you hit him, but you’re laughing. of course he knows the best way to ease your panic. trelawny’s parlor was rather frilly. but you return to the matter at hand, worrying about your father and any ruined plans with the man in front of you.

-“it’s quite alright, flower. i suppose i was bound to meet your father at some point.” you look at him, nervous. “i gather from your contrite expression you have yet to mention me to him?”

-you fear how he would react, but he seems to accept it easily, as if he would be equally surprised if you did mention him. he’s disappointed you can tell, and you wish things were more different than they felt.

-your father emerges much sooner than you expect, and ezra tenses despite his brave words. he wishes he appeared different, had a suit of his own to wear. your father looks stately, crisp whites and pressed blacks, and ezra immediately pulls his hands from yours.

-or he tries to. one hand slips away, but you grip his other tighter, refusing to let go. it sets his heart going, that even if you had failed to tell your father about him before, you wouldn’t hide him.

-your father looks at the two of you with a smirk, and you know that means his only thought is i knew it. he comes to join you, saying “and you must be the reason my daughter has suddenly found such an interest in town.”

-he makes no remark otherwise, but gives his hand and a polite smile as he introduces himself properly. ezra relaxes slightly, releasing your hand for your father’s and giving his name. he’s back to his charming self, all yes, sir and intelligent humor. you can see how even your father is surprised by him, and you grin at the two of them as they talk, relieved at the turn of events. until your father asks what it is he does. at the word prospector, all your father can say is “ah.”

-the grocer has loaded the wagon while they talk, conversation pointedly ignoring the matters involving you. eventually your father insists you must be leaving, but you clear your throat, eyes darting between the two of them. “dad...ten minutes?” you hiss to him.

-ezra pretends to be distracted by something in the distance while you and your dad silently communicate.

-“five minutes, i don’t want the food to spoil sitting in the sun.” he relents easily, says his goodbye to ezra, and turns to walk to the wagon.

-you immediately take ezra’s arm and pull him in the opposite direction, walking quickly. ezra’s already prattling on about how that seemed to go well, and that your father was a good man, you’re lucky to have him, and he hopes that maybe--

-you finally get him behind the shop, out of sight from the road. you don’t hesitate to pull his face toward yours, planting a kiss on his lips. he’d only kissed you once before, it was sweet and gentle, an until-next-time-kiss you had dreamed about everyday since.

-never before had you kissed a man. but here, hiding in the shadow, with his lips on yours, nose against your cheek, hands coming to grip your waist, you knew you would be doing it again. it did seem the best way to shut him up, after all.

-too soon you’re back in the wagon, sitting in silence with your father. you want to know what he thinks, but with the feeling of ezra’s lips on yours still seared into your memory, you don’t trust yourself to start a conversation.

-your father does it for you. “so...he seems a decent fellow.”

-“yes.” what were you supposed to say? “he’s a good man.”

-“i’ll be honest, i would have expected him to ask to call on you.”

-you grit your teeth, trying not to die from embarrassment. “i suppose i’ve been more of the one to do the calling.”

-your father is amused at your discomfort, decides he’ll have this conversation now. and suddenly its how did you meet him, and where have you been going, and should i be worried?

-you sigh.

-but a couple days later you’re with ezra again, its been nice, he’s been to the house, your father does not seem to either approve nor disapprove, and you expect he’ll share his opinion soon. but you had expected it before ezra shares news of his own.

-the man he works for is ready for another job, undeterred by his lack of success, ready for bigger horizons. ezra intends to follow him. its a period of days of stiff conversation, sad goodbyes and even sadder hellos. you count the days until he leaves, unsure of what to do. he gives you promises, dreams of the future, and you’re not sure of what to make of it.

-your father seems to know whats going on before you tell him. and he sits quietly and listens as you wail to him. only when you finish, he says to let ezra go, to send him away with affection. he was kind while you knew him, but don’t expect him to return. you’re too empty to argue with him.

-you go to bed, still read ezra’s little book, and wonder if he sits awake with yours. he leaves the next day and you give him a small kiss farewell. he’s all smiles and hope and promises. you’re quiet and acquiescent and kind. he doesn’t seem to notice, talking about his next adventure.

-you watch him leave with his group, wearing the same hat when you met him, but new boots, sturdy and factory built. you hope he remembers you, still torn between his words and your father’s.

-you wait for him. thinking you may receive a letter, like he said he would send you. you do. the first letter arrives after he’s arrived in a new town, Poker Flat, up in the mountains. a few more come each week. and then they slow. its not even been three months when they stop. you don’t know what to make of it.

-you still ride into town, pick flowers in the fields, play with your nieces and nephews in the dirt. it feels more hollow now, this life you live. his little book sits untouched in the drawer of your bedside table.

-you’re not sure if it’s anger or sadness, but you pull away, searching around you, inside yourself for something with meaning. you still smile, you greet people, as though a sliver of hope still waits inside you. you think it was a line from one of his poems.

-it’s been over two years when you see him again. you’ve taken to driving trelawny’s wagons, transporting supplies between her parlor and the next town over. you’ve got pants under a single skirt, a cropped jacket over your shoulders, and a shot gun propped on the seat next to you. Friday took a long time to get used to the harness, and he still refuses to behave sometimes, but you believe you make quite the team.

-you’ve hopped down from the driver’s perch, adjusting the back of the wagon, when you hear a voice greet your horse. “well, look at you old boy. never thought i’d see you like this.” and you can’t catch the rest of the words. you only focus on the voice, once so familiar to you.

-you walk forward, in disbelief. ezra stands there, petting Friday’s long nose. he seems happy to see ezra. you can’t say the same.

-it was anger you felt, you realize. he’s standing here like he never left, only now he wears a full black suit, a ribbon tie around his neck, a short top hat on his head, and the scruff on his face you so used to love is now neatly trimmed along his jaw.

-he looks ridiculous.

-when he sees you he stops, then smiles. he nearly skipping around to grasp you by your arms already chattering. “i did it, sunshine! you should have seen what we’ve found. Poker Flat was a bust, of course, but the sheer magnificence, and oh the adventure, flower, if only you knew the precariousness of...” and so he goes on to tell you where he’s been. you hear excuses. to his credit, he stops himself sooner than he might have, noticing your silence.

-“what is it, my birdie?” his smile drops, his hands now merely hover over you. “did i take too long? have i--have you...” for once he’s speechless.

-you can’t say anything, the lump in your throat growing. he can see you fighting back tears, and pulls his hands away but steps closer, hovering over you as if he wants to comfort you but unsure how, unsure if he had that right.

-you take a deep breath to steady yourself. and then you slap him.

-it knocks the silly hat from his head, revealing that blonde patch of hair you used to love running your fingers through. he’s stunned, head still to the side, mouth hanging open, hands raised between you. you wish you knew what to do with your anger.

-but he did keep his promise. maybe he didn’t write, maybe he made you think he abandoned you, but there’s a reason you’ve been missing him for almost three years, still haven’t gotten rid of that little book in your drawer.

-you take him by the lapels of his coat--you have to admit, it fits him well, and the leverage it gives you is incredibly handy--and you pull him back to you into a heated kiss. your hands move up from his chest to his face to his hair, and he responds quickly. separation has made you needy for each other, missing the days when stolen kisses were taken for granted. his tongue dives into your mouth and you moan, your hands take in the way his suit fits, appreciative of the snugness of his trousers compared to the baggy overalls.

-your back hits the wagon, his hand pulls up your leg, the other gripping the back of your neck as though he needs you close and can never lose you again. its needy and commanding and you love it. he had never kissed you like this before.

-the shouting and the whistles pull you from your bliss, reminding you of the fact you are in the middle of the street, and you are being incredibly inappropriate.

-he drops your leg quickly, pulling his mouth from yours but still touching his forehead to yours as he looks around, ready to cuss out anyone who dared say anything more. you realize you’ve wrinkled his vest and shirt in your fists.

-you both glance back at each other, still surprised by the turn of events. and then you both laugh, breathlessly, just relieved that maybe things will be okay. his arm is tight around your waist, and he kisses apologies to the side of your face.

-you both know you’re not done talking, but you’ll be damned if you don’t finally have him at your side. then he’s tugging you away from the wagon, keeping you close, staring at you with a dark look in his eyes. your stomach flips at what he says next.

-“come with me, my sunshine. there’s a conversation i need to have with your father.”

[pixieposts]

Dice Prompt 33: Ew that is so sappy I just might vomit

Want some self-indulgent fluff with a side of my secret addiction to poetry?  Cause that’s what you’re getting.  

AO3  

“You know you could just talk to him”

“I have no idea what you mean, I am reading”  

“No Cay, you’re holding a book up and occasionally glancing at it” Beauregard flicked his cheek, her voice rising as she continued to speak “in between staring at Fj—”  

“Shh!” Caleb glared, cutting her off “okay okay I was looking, I was not staring, please keep it down”  

She sighed, but the smirk on her face told him that it was sarcastic.  

“Some sister you are”  

“This is literally exactly what sisters are supposed to do, who even reads at a party?  Do you want me to talk to him for you?”  

“Absolutely not”

She bumped her shoulder into his suddenly, throwing him off balance and sending his book sliding across the old hardwood floors.  He cursed, shoving her back and standing up as she laughed, eyes locked on his errant book.  

As he caught up to it and stooped down, it was swiped from the floor by a large green hand.  Caleb swallowed and stood slowly, feeling his cheeks heat as he looked up into Fjords smiling face.  

“Beau messin’ with your books again?”  

“You could say that, ja”  

Fjord flipped the book open, and the heat in Caleb’s cheeks turned fierce, spreading to his ears and neck.  Fjord read with a curious look on his face, amber eyes trailing across the page.

“I never saw you as the poetry type” Darrows voice teased from as he walked up “Pablo Neruda?”  

Fjord smiled and shrugged “it’s not mine, but I like it” he turned back to Caleb “you highlighted this one, a favourite?”  

“I--well in a way, yes... I only read it this morn--”  

“Bitter love, a violet with its crown of thorns in a thicket of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?”

Caleb tried not to shiver as Fjord read, his low, smooth voice doing the words a service that Caleb felt his own never could.  He made the almost-anger that Caleb had associated with the sonnet soften into something so much more vulnerable, almost sweet.  Fjord smiled and held out the book, still open to the page he had been reading from.  Caleb took it slowly, a jolt like lighting going through him as their fingers brushed, and he could almost convince himself he saw a similar expression flash over Fjord's face.  He held the book to his chest, taking a steadying breath and mentally cursing Beauregard.  

“Th-thank y--” “Do you have any other favourites?”  

They blinked at each other for a moment, then Fjord chuckled and shrugged.

“Sorry, I just figured if you’ve been reading it, you might have some favourites?”  

“I... do not usually read them out loud, I likely would not do it justice”  

“Well” Fjord’s smiled softened “I won’t force you, of course...”  

Caleb felt the familiar flutter in his chest when Fjord’s eyes found his again, and he opened the book instinctively, flipping through the pages.  

“I loved you without knowing I did; I searched to remember you I broke into houses to steal your likeness, Though I already knew what you were like.  And, Suddenly, When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped.”  

He stopped reading, realizing with a sudden jolt that the room had gone quiet and the weight of many eyes was on him.  He looked around in horror, seeing that yes, in fact, this was his worse nightmare.  Everyone was staring, Beauregard’s expression dropped from good-natured teasing to guilty horror as she caught his eye.  He looked up and met Fjord’s amber eyes, a look of shock on his face.  

He dropped the book and ran.  

He ran all the way out the door of the old duplex, down the three blocks to the nearly identical one he shared with Beauregard and Jester, and up the stairs.  He fumbled with the key, collapsing against the inside of the door the second it was closed.  He panted, chest heaving and lungs on fire as he tried to calm himself enough to get up without falling.  His legs ached, his head ached, his chest ached.  He absolutely could not ever go back there, in fact, he should probably just start packing now.  He couldn’t face them again, not Beauregard or Jester, and definitely not Fjord.  

Eventually, he dragged himself up and into the shower, pulled on his most comfortable pajamas, locked his bedroom door and burrowed down into his bed.  

Maybe he could just hide out in here forever.  

---

He did hide, for a good three days in fact.  He managed to sneak food into his mini-fridge while the others were sleeping off the hangovers from the night before and knew his housemates well enough to know when he was safe to use the bathroom without running into them.  Beauregard knocked at one point, speaking in the tone closest to kindness, telling him that everyone got so drunk they wouldn’t even remember (“and it wasn’t even so bad anyway man, you’re good at reading out loud and stuff!”).  He elected to ignore her.  

Jester slid pictures under his door, a couple from her instant camera that showed the three of them at the beginning of the Cursed Evening, and one that she had drawn for him.  It was pretty, and abstract piece with almost floral patterns hidden in the colours.  He hung it up... but still did not speak.  

He checked his socials almost obsessively, looking for any mention of his social faux pas.    

Being one of the awkward quiet kids paid off sometimes, it looked like Beauregard was right about everyone forgetting.

By the end of the fourth day, he felt nearly ready to face the world again.  In an effort to test the waters he crept out of his cave that evening and threw together an easy dinner of pasta with meat sauce.  Half because he was sick of cold food, and half because it was something that both women would be distracted enough by to only tease him for a little while.  Just as he was setting the table he heard the tell-tale sound of keys in the lock.  He turned and pinned on a sheepish smile as the door opened.  

Jester walked in laughing, but her eyes went huge when she caught sight of him standing there.  

“Uhhmmm...”  

Before she could explain, Beauregard walked through the door... followed by Fjord.  

They all paused, staring at him as he stared back, feeling the colour drain from his face.  He cleared his throat, setting down the last plate.

“Hallo.”

“Hey Cay” “Hi Caleeeb”  

He looked at Fjord, whose cheeks had gone a ruddier shade of green, as he coughed.  

“I um... I have extra, if you want to stay”

“No, I—well actually that would be—that is...” Fjord stumbled over his words before setting down his bag and pulling out Caleb's book “I came to give you this, and maybe talk to you?  If you want I mean”  

“Oh” his instinct to be polite kicked in as he nodded towards the living room “ja sure, do you want to-?”  

“Yeah, yeah that works”  

He heard the shuffle of the girls tossing their jackets and shoes and making their way to the table, and his nerves ramped up.  They would definitely be eavesdropped, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go in the house at the moment.  He stopped in the middle of the living room, wishing absently that he had tidied up more today.   There was a moment of mildly uncomfortable silence, before Fjord stepped closer to him, a sheepish look on his face.  

“So... I wanted to return your book” he reached and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, the nervous tick was endearing and Caleb felt his expression soften “I also... well, I wanted to—want to apologize, for what happened”  

“Apologize?”  

“Yeah, I kinda pushed you into reading, and I shouldn’t have, it was shitty of me when I knew you’d probably be uncomfortable” he looked down, face dark again “You just have a great voice, I wanted to—well, it doesn’t matter, it was shitty”  

“Oh” Caleb blinked in confusion “Well, thank you?  You did not need to apologize; I do not blame you for it.” he paused, the rest of Fjord’s statement settling in his brain “you... like my voice?”  

“Yeah” Fjord looked up, a tentative smile on his face “it’s nice, I like your accent.  Why do you think I started going to those books and wine things Jester set up?”  

“Oh” Caleb repeated, feeling like more of an idiot every time he said it “I-I never thought about it, well, no, I did think about it but I thought you were into Jest--” he bit his tongue, trying to stop the waterfall of stupidity that seemed intent on flowing from his mouth.  

“You thought I liked...Jester?”  

“Yes?”  

“No”

“Oh”  

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, Fjord's expression softening to a fond smile.  He stepped farther into Caleb’s space, holding up the book slightly.  

“You’re smart Cay, really smart, but I think you maybe missed a few points here”  

“Explain them to me?”  

“I started going to the wine nights because I liked listening to you talk, I asked you about your books, and your cat, and I wanted to hear you read the poem at the party because I like your voice.  I like you darlin’, not Jes”  

“You like... oh”  

“There you go” Fjord flipped the book open, revealing a scrap of paper being used as a bookmark “you missed part of the poem you know”  

Joy soared in Caleb's chest as the understanding that not only did Fjord like his voice, but he also liked him settled there.  It filled him with a new kind of warmth, and sent a bright smile across his face.  

“I know, tell me anyway?”  

“When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped: You stood before me, ruling me.  And you reign:   Like a wildfire in the forest, and the flame is your dominion”

He reached out as he spoke, capturing a lock of Caleb's hair between his fingers.  The red of his hair only looked more vibrate against the rich green of Fjords skin.  A wildfire among the trees.  

Caleb blushed, pulling his eyes from where Fjord held him to catch his gaze instead, and found him staring back.  As they stared, Beauregard's voice rang out from the adjoining kitchen:  

“Ew, that is so sappy I just might vomit.”

Caleb caught the mischievous glint in Fjord's eye only a moment too late.  

“If you didn’t like that, you’ll hate this”  

And then Fjord was kissing him, soft, almost chaste really, but with one hand in Caleb’s hair and one still trapped between them holding the book... it was perfect.  

[allycryz]

WOL Challenge #3: You

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompt List Here]

Haurchefant x Nerys, set immediately after Ardent [Ao3 Link]

Heavensward, right after Inquisition trial and before “Keeping the Flame Alive”

Rating: T for off-screen sex, sex talk

~*This is 2K words, most of it is fluff and I revel in it*~

The Fortemps library is a grand one. Haurchefant is not certain how it compares–he has only been in Haillenarte's with Francel–but imagines it is the finest in Ishgard. His father is a man of letters, a true believer in the power of words. And one who expected his sons to follow suit.

His education differed greatly from his brothers’ the day he became a knight’s page. Even still, his lord father sent him monthly parcels of books. He was expected to read them all and send detailed reports on the contents. Had he ever kept up his thaumaturgy studies, he would have been hard-pressed to find the time.

As it was, he’d stayed up often to fit in the poetry and novels not on the list. Count Edmont was a modern man and his syllabus reflected this–vetted popular authors and poets made it into the parcels. Never in the quantity Haurchefant would have liked. And never some of the one-gil books he bought in The Pillars.

When he was a boy, there were songs for sale about body functions and noises; exaggerated tales of heroes fighting all manner of beasts and foes. As a youth, these became long, violent epics of battles and bravery. As a young man: lurid poems and explicit romance novels. Some as grand and sweeping as the classical romances his Father promoted. Some were not.

He has managed to introduce some contemporary poets into the collection. Not all. Edmont’s tastes in poetry run more traditional. Some of the rising stars of the field are roundly rejected.

Haurchefant is working on that.

Today, he feels romantic in both classic and literal senses. And as his Father has ordered him to stay for a day and night, indulging in a novel sounds just the thing.  It seems that getting trapped in a blizzard–even if things had gone fine, more than fine–means your noble father turns to such decrees.

At least, that is what it means now they are growing close, as they never had been. Another miracle Nerys has wrought with her coming. And as Haurchefant has full faith in Corentiaux and the rest...he allows himself to be thus ordered. 

Someone else is in the library. He can sense it soon as he enters. A soldier learns to tell when others are near, even in safe environs such as this. Haurchefant softens his footfalls, peering about the shelves. There, in the alcove reserved for study, he finds the source of today’s romantic mood.

Nerys looks up, eyes turning soft. His heart swells in his chest, his mouth cannot help but smile. It’s unstoppable and he does not ever want it to cease. Was it really only yesterday? That she told me my love was returned?

It seems a dream now, albeit the sweetest one he has ever had.

Her hands sweep at the papers she has laid out, pulling them into a stack. Flips over the one on top. “Hello.”

“Hello, my dear.” How nice to call her that. “I thought you were on a shopping expedition with Emmanellain?”

“I was.” She touches her neckline. So caught up in her eyes, he hadn’t noticed the gown she wore.

Scarlet as the unicorn on his shield, set off with dangling garnets in her ears. The heart-shaped neckline shows off her elegant neck and collar bones. The sleeves are slashed to reveal white fabric beneath and the cuffs have delicate pearls. “I found this. For when I’m here at the manor and not about to fight Inquisitors or dragons.”

“You are breathtaking in it.” He circles the table to take her hand. Bows over it before pressing his mouth to her knuckles. Etiquette demands he should kiss the air above it but surely exceptions are made for lovers. 

She is my lover now, he thinks in wonder. Her cheeks stain with a fetching indigo shade. “My lord is kind.”

Haurchefant drops to one knee before his lady and turns her hand. Her palm is just as lovely to kiss. “Your lord means everything he says. But if you require further proof of my ardor…”

Nerys darts a glance about before tilting up his chin. Her kiss is sweet and soft and not a little heated. Would that he might lay her upon the table in this temple of learning and know her better.

Alas, Nerys has asked for discretion. Time to better acquaint themselves as lovers before declaring themselves. They are still friends–always will be, if he has anything to do with it–but this dynamic is new and strange. Haurchefant can understand why the most public figure in Eorzea might want some measure of privacy. 

Though, he reflects as he parts from her. Half the fun would be keeping quiet and avoiding discovery.

“I know that look,” she says. “You’re thinking of something lascivious.”

“When I had this look before I confessed, what did you think it meant?”

“The same,” she admits. “But that your love of innuendo was good-natured teasing.”

He heaves a sigh. Either he is not as obvious as Estinien always accuses him or she’d been in deep, deep denial. “Dearest love, how-”

The library doors bang open and the culprit whistles as he walks inside. Haurchefant rises, knowing exactly who it is before he comes into view.

“Old Girl! Old Man!” Emmanellain grins. “You didn’t tell me we were having a party in the library.”

“Impetuous Youth,” Haurchefant shoots back. “What if one of us was deep in study?”

“Oh I don’t deal in ‘what-ifs’. You two are having a conversation, not studying; ergo all is well.” 

“He has a point. I think,” says Nerys. “By the by, if Haurchefant is ‘Old Man’, what do you call your eldest brother?”

The two men exchange looks. Smile. Say in unison, “Artoirel.”

Nerys groans and flaps both hands at them in dismissal. “Go fetch whatever you two were looking for. I am actually working on something.”

“Am I to be banished for my baby brother’s crimes?” Haurchefant presses a hand to his heart. “Mistress Eluned, you wound me.”

“If I must be quiet and meek like a mouse, so must you. After all, I am the true leader of our brotherly trio.”

“You are right of course. I could never compare to you.” Haurchefant shakes his head. “Very well, Impetuous Youth. As mice scurry to cheese, let us go to the books we seek.”

“Ordered to seek,” Emmanellian mutters. “I’m to review Ymbelet’s Theorem of Command and deliver a report. As if we hadn’t put our schooling well behind us.”

Haurchefant does his best to soothe his brother. They quiet down at last: the younger man taking his volume off to his chambers, the elder settling into an armchair within eyesight of Nerys. (Far enough away that she may stop hiding her work.)

His novel is a work of popular fiction he’d garnered approval to stock here. No erotic scenes, but romantic enough. Should he ever get his eyes to stay on the page.

Alas, the white-haired sorcerer-king and his beloved princess and his soul-eating sword are no match for the Warrior of Light. The curve of her cheek. The braided coronet of purple and white hair, crowning her while the rest of her curls are a lovely raiment over her shoulders. The quirk to her dark, sweet lips.

She lifts those golden eyes, meeting him. If he were not already lovestruck and bedazzled, that gaze would ensnare him. He smiles and lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Haurchefant isn’t sorry for lingering before a sunset; and that natural wonder is naught in comparison.

“My lord,” says Nerys, her voice carrying. “May I help you?”

“Nay, Mistress.” He shakes his head. “Simply exist as you are and I am satisfied.”

That is when Alphinaud bursts in, looking drawn and pale. If Haurchefant is annoyed at another interruption, that vanishes at the sight. He jumps to his feet. “My lad! Are you alright?”

The youth shakes his head. “Nerys. Tataru has grave news about General Aldynn. We must be off at once.”

She rises, hurrying over in a rush of white and red silk. In an instant she has changed from playfulness to resolute determination. Always ready to become The Warrior, his Nerys. 

“Do you require anything?” He asks them. “You know my sword is yours, as is any resource at our disposal.”

Alphnaud shakes his head. “No one must see us enter Thanalan or leave. As soon as we cross back into Coerthas, we’ll send word.”

“I thank you. If you needs must bring the General somewhere safe, Camp Dragonhead’s doors are open to you.” If he must return to his command rather than fight at her side, at least he might be of some use to her. He loves–truly loves–his role but lately, his dearest wish is to be a shield at her back and a sword in her arsenal.

Ah, well, even Sorcerer-Kings do not get all they want. Why should he?

He dips into a sweeping bow to them both. Alphinaud returns it before rushing out, every emotion writ upon his usually perfect diplomat’s mask. Should the General die, the youth will carry it as he does everything else that occurred with the Braves. Haurchefant sends a prayer to Halone, asking for mercy on him.

Nerys takes his hand. Squeezes it. He squeezes it back. She smiles before picking up her skirts and rushing afterward.

It proves impossible to focus after that, even more than before. For a moment he entertains armoring up and following. This isn’t Dragonhead and so none of the knights with orders to keep him safe are here. (That time with Iceheart, Corentiaux had actually sat upon him.)

But they have asked he stay behind. So he will.

Haurchefant can take care of Nerys’ papers for her. He means to pointedly not look at the contents. He truly does. But he sees a piece of paper with his name on top, another with his last name, and his resolve crumbles.

The first piece of paper is titled “Minako” in large, neat letters. Beneath are names like Mamoru, Umino, Motoki. Her Yellow Chocobo is named Minako. Therefore, this is for…

The next sheet of paper confirms his suspicions. Under the heading “Black Chocobo” are the names Endymion, Starlight, Twilight, Onyx. Below that, a subheading “Elegance” with virtue monikers: Noble, Dignity, Charming.

And so, when he arrives to the last three papers (titled “Haurchefant”, “Greystone”, and “Fortemps”), he cannot contain his joy. The little note scribbled atop “Haurchefant” tickles him further. He gave you the Chocobo and you adore him. Will he be offended? He might be offended. 

Haurchefant is certainly not offended. 

He delights in the candidates, even some of the ones she crossed out. Sadly, there is no option for “Haurchefant” or “Haurchefant II.” I suppose that might get confusing.

Grinning, he picks up her leather folio and tucks her work inside. Hopefully, she will forgive his snooping because he has some ideas about this.

--

The Lord Commander’s bed at Camp Dragonhead may be the most comfortable place in Eorzea.

Nerys should get up to clean, brush her teeth, all the little nighttime rituals. But she is so pleasantly exhausted and the blankets are so soft and warm. She stretches, luxuriating in the feel of them against her skin. It has been a harrowing few days since her abrupt departure from Ishgard. But all is well and now, she feels nothing but comfort.

The bed could be warmer with her companion. But then she wouldn’t get to see his bare bottom as he slips into the bathroom. Halone must adore him to bless him with such a lovely rear.

“My love,” he calls after a while. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh? Should I be worried?”

“I hope not.” He returns with a washcloth, his black silk robe barely closed against the cold. The fireplace sends flickers of light across his sculpted chest.  “I may be overstepping but...I must say that I truly adore the name Grey. Though Tempsy is charming. Also, may I suggest Haurchon?”

What does he...oh. Oh! Nerys groans and buries her face in a pillow. She had been in such haste to rescue Raubahn–rightfully so!–that she had left all her papers there. All face up, all in the open.

The mattress dips as Haurchefant sits beside her. One hand strokes her hair, gentle and sweet. “I should not have pried but Nerys–my dearest one–I am utterly and truly touched by the idea. Though of course, if you pick a different name I will not be offended.”

“I only...well, I wouldn’t have him if not for you,” she mutters into the pillow, heat filling her face. “And if not for him, we wouldn’t have been in Coerthas that day.”

“So we owe him a great honor, for bringing us together at last.” His lips press against her bare shoulder. “Of course, the truest honor would be to name him after yourself-”

She turns then, mortification at last leaving her. Cups his face in her hands. “I am not playing this game where we go on for hours about who is better.  Let’s agree it’s you and end it there.”

“Oh my love,” he sighs, bending down to her. “Though you are wrong, I must obey if it proves to you the depth of my regard.”

“I know another way you could prove it,” she says, pulling him atop her.

--

Grey likes his name.

[kanicro]

every drop of rain singing

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

you can read it on ao3 or below:

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

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

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

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

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

and even as I dragged myself, empty

from the clutches of its unyielding finity,

I wonder if it clung to me as this,

dispassionate heap of cloying devouring

unmoving creation for nobody

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon aches. “Of course I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think we will."

[wherewindysurgeswend]

keeping time

ok so here’s keeping time! as you can see, it’s quite short, but i hope you enjoy my spooky little story :)

taglist: @veiliza

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“The school year will be starting soon,” Opal remarked, apropos of nothing. Virginia nodded. 

“I suppose you’ll have a whole new batch of students. Must be exciting.” Opal smiled, tenderness in her green eyes. “Yes. but I’ll miss seeing you so often.” Virginia laughed. 

“You’ll miss hanging around the library and asking pointless questions while I’m working, I trust.”  Opal elbowed her in the ribs. “I know you don’t really mind. You’re only putting on your stern librarian act.” Virginia didn’t say anything. She was too busy admiring the effect of Opal’s flaming red hair against the pearl-grey sky, the emerald green silk scarf tied around it flying in the sea breeze. God, she loved this woman. Every last freckle on Opal’s face was a masterpiece to Virginia. “What are you thinking about?” Opal asked. 

“You.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll never know.” Opal laughed and tossed some sand at Virginia, then took off running down the beach. “Don’t be so dreamy, next time,” she called. Virginia ran after her “Why, you –” Virginia shouted, laughing. 

Virginia caught up with Opal and they both fell to the ground, laughing. Virginia let herself fall backward until she was lying flat on her back in the sand, still laughing. Opal bent to kiss her. “Wait,” Virginia protested, “someone might see us.” Opal glanced around. 

“No they won’t. Nobody around.” Virginia didn’t argue, and Opal kissed her. 

“What’s that?” Opal asked, when they were lying in each other’s arms in the sand.

“What’s what?”

“That. by your elbow. The shiny thing in the sand.” 

“Looks like part of a chain.”

“Well, dig it up and let’s see what it is!” 

“All right. Just give me a second to put my glasses back on.”

With her glasses safely on her nose, Virginia went about extracting the shiny thing. “It’s a pocket watch,” she said triumphantly, dangling it by its gold chain in front of Opal’s face. Opal grabbed it and popped it open to examine it. “How romantic!” she exclaimed, “It looks very old. I wonder who it belongs to.”

“Probably just someone in town. Must have dropped it.” Opal shook her head.

“We found it below the high-tide mark. Might have washed up on shore. I wonder if it came from a shipwreck or something.” 

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, you doubt everything. You librarians are too practical. I say it belonged to a drowned sailor – what if it's haunted?” Virginia laughed.

“You don’t really believe that, do you? No, that watch’s owner is alive and well, I just know it.”

“Well, I say the watch is haunted,” said Opal stubbornly. 

“Fine. You want to make a bet? Let’s make a bet. If we find the watch’s owner and they’re alive, you have to come with me when I visit my mother in America next spring – it’s such a dull trip and I desperately need company.”

“All right. And if the watch is haunted you have to take more time off from that job of yours. I barely ever get to see you during the school year. Deal?” 

“Deal.” They shook hands solemnly and started heading back towards the seaside cottage they shared. 

“I’m absolutely covered in sand,” Virginia remarked as she unlocked the door, “as much as I love it when you kiss me, I could do without this part.” Opal laughed.

“You go clean up. I’ll make us a cup of tea.” 

In front of a steaming mug of tea, Virginia examined the pocket watch. “Looks pretty old,” she remarked, “I bet it’s a family heirloom. Whoever lost it must be pretty upset.”

“Or they would be… if they were alive.”

“Oh, stop it. You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”

“Of course. Don’t you?” Virginia scoffed.

“Of course not. No such thing as a ghost.”

“That’s because you’re an American. If you were Welsh like me you’d understand. Americans are too logical. You don’t allow for any magic in your lives.”

“An hour ago you said it was because I’m a librarian. Which is it?”

“It’s both. You’re an American and a librarian, so you don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I see. And you’re Welsh and a primary school teacher, so you do? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe not. I think that’s your problem – you need everything to make sense. Sometimes things just don’t.” Virginia laughed.

“Well, that can’t be true. I’m in love with you, after all, and nothing you say makes any sense.”

At three o’clock that night, Opal was jolted out of a deep sleep by a loud thump coming from the kitchen. She glanced over at Virginia, who was still sound asleep, and decided not to wake her. She would come to regret that decision when she saw what was making the noise: the pocket watch, seemingly suddenly possessed of a mind of its own, was on the ground, shrouded in a sort of dreamy mist, and it seemed to be scuttling towards the door. Opal grabbed it, and it seemed to struggle to break free from her grasp. It was as if a magnetic field was pulling it toward the door. Not knowing what else to do, she stuffed it into a half empty coffee can and slammed the lid shut. 

Opal went back to bed, resolving not to mention the incident to Virginia. It wasn’t like Virginia would ever believe her, anyway. She would think Opal was just trying to get her to believe in ghosts. 

The next morning when she was slicing bread for breakfast, Opal heard Virginia let out a small gasp when she opened the coffee can. “Opal?” she asked, “why is the pocket watch in the coffee can?” Opal hesitated. “You’re not going to believe me…” she began.

“Try me,” Virginia insisted, giving Opal her best stern librarian look over the rims of her glasses.

“I woke up in the middle of the night because I heard a thump, so I came into the kitchen. Virginia, the pocket watch was scuttling around on the floor like a crab! It was moving towards the door and I didn’t want it to get lost, so I put it in the coffee can.” Virginia looked thoroughly unconvinced, but she didn’t say anything. And she still kissed Opal’s forehead as tenderly as ever when she left for work. 

Although Virginia insisted on taking it out of the coffee can, the pocket watch didn’t give them any trouble that night – or so they thought. Before long, Virginia discovered a note on the kitchen table. “Take me back,” Virginia read aloud, “I belong by the sea. Let me cross the bar – don’t hold me back.” Opal was silent for a while.

“Well,” she said slowly, “you must know what I’m going to say.”

“There’s no ghost, Opal.” 

“But do you have a better explanation for this? Wouldn’t you rather think we’ve got a ghost than that someone broke in last night to write us ominous letters?”

“I suppose I would, but I don’t have to believe either. You wrote the note, didn’t you?” Opal sighed. “I wish I had, but I didn’t. I promise.” Virginia still didn’t seem convinced, but she dropped the subject.

During the following week, the watch seemed to become more and more troublesome. A few times, Virginia could have sworn she had seen someone – or something – out of the corner of her eye. It looked like a young man in a military uniform. The best look she got at him revealed him to be tall and lanky, with messy hair and a forlorn expression. If Virginia had believed in ghosts… but then, she reminded herself, a war had just ended. Aberystwyth was full of ghosts, after a fashion: not the souls of the undead, like Opal thought, just the unfinished business of all the young men who hadn’t come home. 

Come to think of it, the young man Virginia had seen looked something like young Peter Lloyd, the druggist’s son who had died at Dunkirk. Virginia had known him fairly well. A shy, sensitive sort of boy, he had spent much of his time at the library, poring over poetry collections. They had been friends of a sort, taking walks along the beach and talking about books for hours. Peter had loved the sea. He had told Virginia that he could never be happy when he wasn’t near it. The news of his death had affected Virginia more than she cared to admit. Even now, six years later, Virginia couldn’t even look at a volume of Tennyson’s poems without feeling a little wistful – Crossing the Bar had been Peter’s favourite poem. 

After eight days of this, Virginia came to a decision. She still didn’t believe in ghosts, but all the same, she wasn’t overly fond of seeing her dead friend in her peripheral vision. “I want that pocket watch out of the house,” she told Opal, “it’s not that I really think it’s haunted, mind you, because I don’t, but I don’t altogether feel safe. The school year starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?” Opal nodded. “Good. I don’t work tomorrow, so I’ll drop in around noon and show the students the watch. It might belong to one of their parents.” Opal agreed.

When Virginia walked into her girlfriend’s classroom, she recognized most of the students. It was no surprise, really: Aberystwyth was a small town, and many of its residents frequented the library. Some of the children seemed to recognize her, too. “Good afternoon, children,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. Opal gestured for the children to answer. “Good afternoon, Miss Goldberg,” they all said in unison. Virginia took the pocket watch out of her coat pocket and showed it to the children. “I trust Miss St. Clair has told you why I’m here?” she asked. Most of the children nodded. “Do any of you recognize this watch? We found it on the beach.” There was a long silence, and, finally, a small boy in the middle row raised his hand. Virginia recognized him immediately as Thomas Lloyd – Peter Lloyd’s younger brother. “That’s my father’s watch,” he said quietly. Virginia let out a sigh of relief. “Excellent,” she said, much more cheerfully, “I’ll be over to your father’s store to drop it off later today.”

True to her promise, Virginia walked into the drugstore at three o’clock sharp that afternoon. Mr. Lloyd was sitting behind the counter, but he stood up when he saw Virginia. “Afternoon, Miss Goldberg,” he said, in his usual cheerful fashion, “what can I do for you?” Virginia showed him the watch. “Miss St. Clair and I found this on the beach. Your son says it’s yours.” Mr. Lloyd’s usually flushed face turned dead white. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but couldn’t seem to say anything. “What’s wrong?” Virginia asked.

“Nothing. That’s my watch, all right, only… you weren’t supposed to find it.”

“Why not?”

“I hid it on purpose. Buried it in the sand. I didn’t want it in the house anymore because… damn it, Miss Goldberg, the watch is haunted!” Virginia’s eyes widened. She forced herself to laugh.

“Nonsense! How can a watch be haunted?” Mr. Lloyd sighed. “That watch is a family heirloom – belonged to my grandfather. When my son Peter joined the army, I gave it to him. When he died, the watch was all they sent back to me. Whenever it was in the house, I would see Peter out of the corner of my eye. He started leaving notes, saying he needed to be by the sea. So I buried the watch. I thought he would be happy that way. Would stop haunting me. My son is dead, Miss Goldberg, and I want him to stay that way.”

On the walk home, Virginia tried not to think about how she, too, had seen Peter out of the corner of her eye, and how, now that she thought of it, the note she had found alluded to his favourite poem. She hoped she could just quietly take the watch back to the beach and bury it again – maybe toss it into the sea. She would let Opal think she had returned it to Mr. Lloyd. She would simply call off the bet – it was silly anyway. But no such luck. 

Opal greeted her at the door. Before Virginia could say anything, Opal blurted out, “I’ve just gotten off the phone with Mr. Lloyd.” 

“He’s told you about the watch, then?” Opal nodded.

“Yes. I told you it was haunted.”

“And I told you its owner was alive and well. We were both right, I suppose.” Opal acquiesced. 

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ll throw the watch into the sea,” Virginia began, “then you’ll buy some new luggage for the trip to America, and I’ll hire another part-time librarian so I can take more time off. We’ve both won the bet, and fair is fair.” They shook hands, and Opal rested her head on Virginia’s shoulder. 

They both slept soundly that night, and never again did they pick up a strange pocket watch on the beach. Virginia still believed there was no such thing as a ghost, but then again, it was better not to take risks. Peter Lloyd was dead. He had crossed the bar, and regardless of what Tennyson said, there had been plenty of “sadness of farewell.” Aberystwyth might be full of ghosts, but that didn’t mean Virginia wanted or needed one in her home. Peter Lloyd was dead; let him stay that way.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 9- Burnt Parchment

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

A brief respite for the hermits, they all take the time to rest, train, and learn more. While Xisuma digs through the libraries for information on dark magic, Stress discovers an unnerving note far from home.

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Xisuma hums to himself, fingers running along the books. Old leather soft and emblazoned with gilded letters, sharp parchment of scrolls cutting into his skin with new vigor. All kinds of books and tomes and tablets, collected among Joe’s library. It’s a well cared for collection, and Joe prides himself on all the knowledge stowed in his home. 

The only problem is how he sorts his books. Most librarians would use one of many systems developed by scholars, perhaps by genre or author’s last name. But no, Joe used his own strange system, a madness to his method. No matter what the other hermits do to fix his insanity among the stacks, he only shuffles it back. And Xisuma is stuck reading through the strange collection their resident poet has amassed. He blinks away as he reads something he’d rather not, and pulls free an aged scroll, adding it to the collection in his hands. 

Xisuma steps back, turning. His eyes fall across the large black lacquered cabinet settled in the corner of the poet’s home. Distant from everything else, even the azure blue bed that’s covered in half-written poems and spells. Cold metal brushes against X’s fingers as he unconsciously touches the wrought iron key. “Dark magic has to be somewhere in there.” 

He reluctantly opens the banned book cabinet. Joe isn’t a person to ban books just for being controversial. In fact, the poet loves to bring books other libraries wouldn’t dare hold. Knowledge that should be spoken, kept safe. Illegal works against the Council, exposes on guilds, lost history no longer taught in schools. If their island in the Ashioll sea was a sanctuary to the illegal guild, this library was a sanctuary to illegal words. 

But even some knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands. And if there’s anything X could call dark magic, it’s dangerous in any hand. Only one book among the darkened oak shelves gives him any hint to it’s contents including dark magic. A book about ancient magic. Why is this with the taboo tomes? Xisuma stands, tucking his armful of books close to his chest and donning his mask back on to face the sunlight.

Xisuma is a void wizard. He spends his days staring into the darkness of space, learning from the motions of dark matter and the void between stars. When others look to the light to discover truth, he can see everything beyond space and time, warped by the light others seek. X’s fingers run across a fractured part of his helmet. Where an insignia of a sun surrounded by spiraling void was dented out of existence. He can just barely feel the sharp triangular points of his brother’s symbol nowadays. 

He pulls the mask over his head, and braves the sunshine of his island home. In the distance, he can hear yelling, followed by the sharp clang of metal. The ground rumbles, and out of the corner of X’s vision he sees pillars of stone spire free from the grass. False and Scar are dueling, and Xisuma notices silver coins being passed between TFC and Cub. An easy smile appears beneath X’s mask. TFC was never one to stay holed up in the infirmary long. He’s still pale and weak from the crystal attack, but nothing would stop the guildmaster from being with his family. So long as he’s not using his magic, Xisuma won’t stop him. 

The fading black veins up TFC’s arm reminds Xisuma why he’s researching dark magic. After what happened to their guildmaster, their leader and father figure, Xisuma needs to know why it happened. And how to stop it from hurting any of his family. Ever again. Dirt crunches under his boots as Xisuma walks to the stone tower he calls home. The oldest structure, the first part of the island built up. When him and his brother fled into the mysterious sea, setting up the Order of Hermits. Fitting name, seeing as they’re the only ones brave enough- or stupid enough- to call the odd archapelago home. 

“Sheshwammy!” Keralis’s voice runs across the air like honey, but the magnitude of his voice causes Xisuma to jolt in his boots. A scroll drops, falling open and rolling across the dirt. Xisuma groans, tucking his chin to chase after the runaway parchment. Keralis aids him, scooping up the scroll and tightening the paper around the wooden rod. “Whatcha got there? A little bit of light reading?” 

“I wouldn’t call dark magic ‘light reading’.” Xisuma chuckles, plucking the scroll handed across from him. Keralis’s expression is quite alarmed. 

“Dark magic? Like spooky scary attacking crystal dark magic?” Keralis peers at the books in Xisuma’s hand. “Why are you trying to learn dark magic?”

“I’m not trying to learn it- I’m trying to learn about it. So...so things that happened in Gildara don’t ever happen here. Don’t ever happen to our island.” Keralis nods, nudging Xisuma’s shoulder to show it was all in jest. And the void mage feels like he can breathe. 

“Are you going to hole up in that tower of yours then?” Keralis watches X’s eyes through his visor, the crossed scars over his left eye. “Sheshwammy, come, let’s have some tea in my house! Soak in the sun, it’s good for you!” 

Keralis waves Xisuma to the glass hemisphere, tall grass and undergrowth flourishing in the massive terrarium. A single tree props up the glass from within, and a beehive thick with honey sits like fruit hung low from the tree. Black flecks buzz around among the terrarium, denizens of bugs flying in their habitat. To and from their food and wherever they make home within Keralis’s terrarium. When Keralis first showcased his magic to Xisuma, he admits he was freaked out. To gain magic by consuming bugs seemed...strange. But over time, it was no different than Joe’s poetry magic or Tango’s hellbound spells.

“Hello Suzy. How’s the hive today?” Keralis giggles, giving the fuzzy bee a pat. X stops at the door, watching Keralis file away some of his magical treats for later. “I was just coming to grab some more beetles before fighting Cleo, but this gives me an excuse to not face her now.” 

Xisuma sits down among the grass, the tall blades bending outward like a nest. Green and grey robes spread out, and Xisuma sets his pile of books on Keralis’s green bed. Keralis places a cup of tea in his hand, his friend remembering exactly how much sugar, honey, and milk he likes in his tea. Xisuma’s shoulders untense, remembering why he wanted a guild in the first place.

They weren’t just a team. They were family. They have each other. He’s not the only one worrying about TFC, others are taking good care of him. And they take good care of each other, including X. Xisuma swirls the spoon in his tea, blowing on the steaming drink and raising his head to feel the sun filter through the glass dome. His brother always wanted a family like this, but sometimes the sun shines too bright even for those who rely on it’s light. Every time Xisuma feels the warm rays on his brown hair, he thinks of his brother. 

But he always chases the thoughts out. That wimp left, ran away when things finally started to become real. Xisuma pulls the book on the top of the stack and forces it open. He flips to the page about magic law and illegal magic. 

Keralis peeks over Xisuma’s shoulder, trying to follow the insane speed the void wizard reads at. He doesn’t catch everything he sees, or understands most of what he reads, but the pages do reference the words he fears to be true. “Do you really think someone is practicing dark magic?” 

“I’m sure it’s dark magic. You saw how those husk people acted.” Xisuma picks up a book discarded to the side, pointing to a single paragraph. Hardly more than a line references the process of magic. “Dark magic is illegal for a reason- it steals power, killing the person who it’s stolen from. But none of these books talk about how it happens. There’s no mention of crystals, or the entire land devoid of life. A grey wasteland.” 

“What about this book?” Keralis sits in the grass, pulling up a massive, ancient leather book. “Plirus Mageia.” The bug mage opens the book, dust spouting free of the yellow, torn pages and causing Keralis to cough. 

“Well, it says it’s complete, but does that really mean…” Keralis grins as he discovers dark magic listed in the index, flipping to the page. It’s Xisuma’s turn to peer over Keralis’s shoulder, watching the ancient pages flipping forward, deft fingers searching for the page number listed.  Until they go past it. Keralis frowns, and flips back. And misses again. One by one, they look through the book. All that remains of the chapter on dark magic is ash, pouring into Keralis’s lap when he tips the book forward. “Someone doesn’t want dark magic to get out.” 

“Or someone doesn’t want anyone to know their secret.” Keralis whispers. 

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

Stress packs the snow tight, pressing rosy pink lips onto the forehead of the snowman. One hand has her icy magic circle pressing against the torso. A little kiss like that sends magic surging through the white snow, each crystal and snowflake imbued with her power. The stone eyes blink and bluster against it’s cold body, and stick arms wiggle to life. “There you go lovely! Go explore! Watch out fer the edge!” 

Stress giggles as the snowman wanders across her icy island home. Just offshore of Eremita, she built her igloo under the cooling respite of an eternal snowcloud. She sits back, closing her eyes and feeling the chill touch of snowflakes falling on her pale cheeks. The cold water tickles her skin, clinging to the warm, fluffy grey fuzz that keeps her comfortable. She loves the cold, because it means she can cozy up in her warm robes, fluffy boots, and thick pants. She doesn’t have to worry about her hair being too long at her neck, or if she has too many blankets- which is never enough in her opinion. She’s known as a blanket thief, and it takes bribery to get them back. 

Snow crunches, the fresh layer depressing onto the white powder beneath it. Stress peeks open her eyes, and notices her new snow friend is waving for her attention, rock mouth mute to call for her. Rigid sticks flap back and forth, until the snowman knows it has her attention. It points a wooden finger down to the icy waters around her island. 

“What is that doin’ here?” Stress questions, standing up. She brushes the snow from her rear, watching the tiny boat rock against the ice chunks. She can only imagine if these enchanted sailboats had little itty bitty sailors, they’d look like massive icebergs, just before a frozen continent at the bow. “I thought these didn’t leave the cities.” 

Stress scoops up the wooden boat, fingers running along the smoldering fabric sail. The edges turn to ash upon her touch, embers eating further into the sail and smoking the wooden ship. It’s in bad shape, and Stress can’t figure out how such a little ship meant for messaging within a city made its way out here. Why is it burned?

She remembers the contents of the boat, pulling off a glove to squeeze her finger into the thin deck. Sure enough, a scroll was being carried by the scorched ship. The snowman at her side reaches for the boat, like a child desiring a toy. It’s wish is granted, Stress ignoring the boat in lieu of opening the parchment. 

It’s burned as well, and whatever edges aren’t black and charred are torn and tattered. On the backside, Stress can see printed letters torn through. It reminds her of when she went to school in Milliara, among the other noble children learning how to be good heirs, passing notes on torn sheets of their notebooks. The twine falls apart in her hand, allowing the burnt parchment to open. 

Stress gasps, letting the letter fall to the snow. She runs to the icy edge of her snowstorm, but the ice rises to meet her feet. Walking across frozen water beneath her shoes, until she’s on solid ground again. She doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate. She needs to tell the others what was on the paper. 

The parchment, burnt and soaked with snow, flutters in the warm Ashioll sea air. Blood for ink scrawls out two words. 

HELP DANES

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Welcome to the back (Part 3)

First Chapter  Previous Chapter  Next Chapter

Thanks for your sweet comments! I’m in a storm of motivation, so here’s your third part today!

- - -

Lunchtime came, and with it the time to execute her plan.

Lila walked towards Felix, confident that this time, he wouldn’t be able to brush her off.

He was alone, so no Marinette to spoil her fun either.

“Excuse me?”, she asked and gave him her sweetest smile when he turned around. “I think you dropped this.”

She held out the expensive looking pen she’d snatched from his briefcase. Shocked he checked his bag, only to find that it was indeed missing.

“I... I didn’t notice.” He took it from her with the outmost care, then added “Thank you.”

She waved it off.

“Don’t mention it. I have quite the collection myself, for calligraphy, and I know how important these can become to you.”

Surprise washed over his face, softening his features.

“You do calligraphy?”

He’d taken the bait.

“Oh, just a little.”, she said humbly. “A librarian in Saudi Arabia taught me. Their alphabet is so fluent and pretty, it just kind of rubbed off on my handwriting.”

He looked a little suspicious, but also intrigued.

“Interesting. I should try learning arabic, then.”

“I can only recommend it. Sadly, I can’t do much calligraphy anymore. Ever since I sprained my wrist, my writing has never been the same again.”

She took two full seconds to look suffering, before cheering up a little.

“But that’s no problem. I can still write poems on my phone.”

“You’re writing as well?”

“Yes! I just finished one, do you want to see?”

She pulled him to the bench next to them and showed him her phone, careful to show off the picture of a violin she’d selected for her background. Then she opened her notes app and presented him her poem. Of course, she hadn’t written it herself. No, she’d simply taken one of his and changed it here and there until it was unrecognizable, but the general rhythm and atmosphere was the same.

“That’s... really good!”, Felix admitted slowly, rereading it. “It feels... familiar.”

“Oh, you write poetry too?”, she asked innocently and he nodded.

“It means a lot to me. As Da Vinci said: Poetry is a painting that is felt rather than seen. My poems are... very important for me.”

Lila beamed. She had him hooked, now she only needed to pull him in.

“You should totally accompany me to the Eiffel Tower this Friday! It’s the perfect place for gathering inspiration and ideas.”

“Uhm, excuse me?”, an all too familiar voice interrupted them. Lila sighed deeply.

“What is it, Marinette?”

The pigtailed girl looked as if she was about to scream, but Adrien behind her nudged her on. Around them, students started to gather, curious about what might happen. With two of the new students present, combined with the girl from the dramatic discussion earlier, it was bound to get interesting.

Lila smiled.

Felix watched Agreste push her forward with a frown. That boy sure seemed intent to test Marinette’s boundaries today.

“I wanted... I am here to apologize.”, the black haired student pressed out. Felix didn’t miss her choice of words. He had no doubt Agreste had pressured her into this.

“I didn’t mean to sound rude when I suggested asking Felix, this morning. You know, about your seating idea.”

Lila sighed and gave her a look of understanding.

“It’s alright. I know you’re not the most... eloquent with words. I’m sure you only wanted to help.”

Felix frowned. This was what they expected apologies for?! Not cutting him off or failing to ask him in the first place?

“I’m happy you’ve gotten this out of the way!”, Agreste commented and beamed as Ladybloggers boyfriend, whatever his name was, patted him on the back as if he’d just singlehandedly created world peace. What an odd class.

“That’s not everything.”, Marinette said to everyone’s surprise, as it seemed. Agreste’s face fell and he tapped her on the shoulder, but she didn’t react. Instead, she pulled out a very familiar notebook out of her purse. She swallowed, before holding it out to him. Felix froze.

“It was in my bag, and your name is written on the inside.”, she said monotonously. Resigned almost. “I swear I don’t know how it got there.”

The students around them gasped and whispered. Marinette pressed her eyes shut, but didn’t lower her hand until he’d taken his notebook back. Only then she looked at him, as if bracing herself for what was to come. He didn’t know what to think.

“You don’t know how it got there?”, Lila said accusingly. “Marinette, I’m glad you decided to give Felix his book back, but at least admit how you’ve obtained it in the first place!”

Marinette took a step forward, opening her mouth to defend herself, but Agreste grabbed her arm and pulled her back. He gave her a stern look, and Marinette shrank. Giving in to whatever Agreste had silently demanded from her, she turned back to Felix.

“I didn’t steal it.”, she whispered, more pleading with him than defending herself. Ladyblogger’s boyfriend laughed nervously.

“Marinette? Stealing? No, no, no, Lila, I’m sure there’s an explanation for all this.”

“Well, she did steal my phone before! And “borrowed” some other things if I remember right.” Ladyblogger herself answered, her eyes jumping from Nino to Lila to Marinette.

“Alya, I...” Marinette began, but Lila interrupted her. It seemed to be her speciality.

“No more excuses, Marinette! You have to apologize for what you did to Felix. His poetry means so much to him!”

The fight continued, with new accusations being thrown around until Marinette looked at the verge of breaking down. Yet she stayed planted into the ground, watching him, waiting for him to say something.

He looked down to his notebook. Nothing was missing, no dog-ears disfiguring his pages. He flipped through the pages, until something caught his eyes. On one page, directly next to the poem Lila’s writing has reminded him of, was a smudge of ink. Black ink, the expensive one he only used for rare occasions. He was familiar enough with his pens to tell them apart by the different shades of black they wrote in, and this particular ink was currently only in the pen Lila had returned to him just now.

He frowned. The smudge definitely looked like it was caused by a thumb, but Marinette’s fingers were clean.

“Marinette”, he asked, silencing everyone. All attention was on him and the girl in front of him. When he held out his hand, she was all but trembling.

“Can I see your hands?”

Surprised she looked up to him, then to his outstretched hand. It was silent enough to hear a fly buzz around on the upper floor. Hesitantly, Marinette placed her hands in his. They felt... warm. Soft. A bit hard at her fingertips, covered with tiny red spots where she seemed to have been injured by a needle. Was she sewing? She twitched a little when he brushed his thumb over her fingertips, and he realized he was letting himself be distracted. He blinked and focused on her thumbs. She had a small cut on her left one, almost healed, and her right thumb was adorned by the swirling lines of an almost circular fingerprint. The lines on the ink in his book were blurred, but definitely straighter than that. He let go of her hands, a bit disappointed at the loss of her warmth.

“She didn’t steal my book.”, he announced and Lila chuckled nervously.

“Really? H-How do you know that?”

He threw her a look that made clear he was more than aware of her role in this.

“There’s an ink stain in my book that wasn’t there this morning. But her hands are clean and her fingerprints don’t match with what little you can see in the smudge. Whoever took my book took one of my ink pens along, and the only one that was missing is the one you gave to me just now, Rossi.”

Another wave of whispers went through the students surrounding them, but he didn’t care. This girl had stolen his most priced possession and framed the only person for it that had ever respected his personal space in this whole goddamn school.

“Now, I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but that does sound like you’re accusing Lila.”, Agreste tried to play peacemaker, dense as always. He scoffed.

“So?”

“W-Well, there’s no proof!”

Felix stilled and Lila spoke up.

“I don’t think he meant it that way, Adrien.” she appeased the crowd. “He’s just faced a lot of stress for his first day. We can still figure out who really stole his poems tomorrow, right, Felix?”

He looked at her, slowly.

“That won’t be necessary.”, he assured, not believing that Rossi made such a fatal, silly mistake. “How did you know this book contains poetry?”

To to be continued

- - -

I’ll be tagging whoever asks for it in the notes, thank you for all that positive feedback! Part 4 is underway!

@a-6-yearold-inside @crazycookie13o @kuroko26 @sinfulfoxbeast

[thicctransboi]

Sam+ Grizz If new ham had never happened_ Full Fic

Friday

Sam watched the interpreter in front of the class explain today’s English assignment;

‘You’ll be working in pairs to annotate any poem or play of your choice. You have two weeks to turn your projects in, and I expect you all to work outside of school as well. Go ahead and pair up.’

Sam let out a sigh, dreading the idea of partnering up with someone in this class. He wouldn’t have minded, had Becca been in his class. Sadly, however, she wasn’t. She had AP English 6th period, the period after him. He watched as people immediately began choosing their partners and felt a sense of dread wash over him: he was going to be forced with whoever was left, no one ever picked him to do projects with. Who would want to be paired with the deaf kid?

To his surprise, he felt a tap on his shoulder, light and gentle. Turning, Sam saw Grizz standing next to him looking rather nervous.

“Hey, would you want to be my partner for the project?” Grizz spoke slowly.

Sam had grown rather comfortable with reading lips, but he couldn’t help but notice that Grizz’s were rather difficult to read, he must not use much diction in his words. He understood him though, and Grizz’s words confused Sam, and not because of his lack of diction.

“If you want, sure. But I don’t speak very well, it may make this more difficult for you.”

Sam had always felt insecure about his speaking, Campbell, his brother, having always had made fun of him for the way he talked.

“Oh no,” Grizz began, giving Sam a smile, “You speak fine. I’m pretty savvy with poetry and plays, and I noticed you always have good grades in this class. I thought we’d work well together.”

“Oh.” was all Sam could muster in that moment.

His interpreter was soon at his side, asking if he needed to be interpreted for. “No,” Sam said, “As long as you speak slowly and annunciate, I’ll be fine.” He gave Grizz a smile, and Grizz returned it.

***

They had exchanged numbers at the end of class, and Grizz felt nervous as hell at the idea of spending time alone with Sam. It had taken him a ball and a half of his own pride to ask Sam to be his partner in the first place, let alone to speak to him outside of class. Grizz had been pinning after Sam ever since he had met him and had been too shy and too anxious of what his friends would think to say a word to him.

He hated the way Sam got bullied, both for being deaf and for being gay. Especially from his own brother, Campbell. It took everything in him not to snap and go and rescue the handsome young ginger; but he couldn’t. His friends, while they were the best he had ever had, weren’t the most accepting group of people. He wasn’t even sure if they knew what the word ‘accepting’ meant, let alone how to spell it even. Grizz vowed on never seeing them again after high school, and he was planning to stick to that vow. They offered him no comfort or intelligent conversation; just a fun group of people to smoke with and blow off steam. He heard them use the word ‘gay’ as an insult to almost everything, even things that made no sense. Henceforth, he wasn’t comfortable exposing his secrets to them: Grizz was gay.

He had sat staring at Sam’s contact for over 20 minutes, debating on sending him a text to discuss when to work on their project. Though, he honestly just wanted to see him. He sighed, typing out a simple, “Hey, it’s Grizz.” and pressing send, feeling his heart rate increasing tenfold at the sight of the ‘delivered’ message. He nearly jumped out of his bones when he got a reply back, “Hey Grizz, I see you didn’t get the wrong number. What’s up?”

‘Oh god, what do I say?’ Grizz thought, he honestly didn’t think he’d get this far.

“Not much man, just was wondering when a good day would be for you to work on the project? And where?”

Grizz’s heart felt like it may burst at the seams from pounding so fast.

His phone dinged.

“How would tomorrow night work? My house? Campbell is supposed to be at some party at Harry’s, so the house will be mine.”

‘Shit, I was supposed to be there at the party with Clarke and Luke’, Grizz thought. But he found himself quickly typing, “That works. 8 sound good?”

Sam replied with a thumbs up.

***

It was now Saturday, 7pm, and Grizz was sure he was having a panic attack. He had changed his outfit at least five times and changed his hair from in his usual partial top bun, to hanging loose around his face. He finally settled on his hair down, his letterman jacket, a plain white t-shirt, and his letterman jacket and Vans. Sam’s house was 5 minutes down the road, but needless to say he arrived over 15 minutes early.

Sam felt nervous, he hadn’t had a guest over ever. Well, besides Becca of course. He had been Face Timing her for the past hour, asking how his hair looked, if his clothes were too tight or not tight enough. He knew he was overanalyzing things, but he couldn’t help it. Grizz had never spoken to him directly before. In class discussions, when Sam would speak up and have his interpreter help, Grizz would often second his opinions on whatever poem or book they had been discussing. But that was as far as speaking had gone. He admired his intelligence; he was far smarter than any of the jock-assholes he hung around with. Sam had caught Grizz staring at him a few times. But he was used to that, everyone loves to stare at the deaf kid.

Finally, at 7:56pm, Sam received a text from Grizz saying he had arrived. Grizz had been to the house only one time before, when Campbell had thrown a party when their parents were out of town. But Sam had stayed locked away in his room until Becca arrived to pick him up. Campbell liked to make a spectacle out of his deaf brother whenever he had parties.

Sam had never run that fast in his life to get to the door, but he quickly stopped to take a moment, he didn’t want to seem too eager.

When he opened the door, he noticed Grizz wasn’t suiting his usual topknot and stonner-esque clothing, but instead he looked much more cleaned up. His neck length black hair framed his face beautifully, his outfit showed that he actually had a shape, and as usual, he towered over Sam quite a bit. Though, Sam had never realized how tall Grizz actually was until now.

Sam welcomed Grizz inside and lead him up to his bedroom, suddenly feeling rather red in the face over the idea of inviting a guy up to his room. Sam’s room was heavily decorated; film and movie posters, art pieces, and picture frames scattered the walls. His large four poster bed sat in the center of the room against the back wall, across from the TV. His textbooks scatted across from it.

Sam turned to Grizz, “Well, did you have any particular poems or plays you had in mind?” He asked, sitting down on the bed.

Grizz shuffled on his feet awkwardly, looking down at the floor before backing up at Sam, his dark brown eyes meeting Sam’s light blue ones. “I was thinking Ginsberg, maybe. Though, most of his work would be considered too risqué for a high school English class.”

Sam couldn’t catch a few words, but he got the gist of what Grizz had said. “You can sit down, if you’d like. Ginsberg would be a good idea, lots of his poems people can’t seem to understand. But we should stay away from ‘howl’, I think the term ‘endless balls’ might make Mrs. Newberry upset.”

Grizz sat down besides Sam, a few feet away, a smile on his face. “You have great one-liners. But I agree. Though, I did have a question.”

Sam raised his eyebrow at Grizz for him to answer.

“Would you mind. I don’t know. Teaching me a few things in sign language?”

Sam chuckled lightly, “Why, are you planning on going deaf?”

“No,” Grizz began, laughing lightly, “I want to speak to you, well, sign to you. I want to be able to talk to you, you know, in your language.”

Sam felt his heart skip a beat, “I wouldn’t mind teaching you a few things. It might make things easier too.”

***

The next few hours were spent between the two boys; hand gestures being thrown, and signs being done the wrong way. Sam had been trying to teach Grizz how to sign ‘coffee’ as Grizz had requested, but he kept signing it wrong.

“Okay, this,” Sam began, showing Grizz the correct sign, “Is coffee. You just asked me to make out with you.”

Grizz’s face turned red before laughing nervously, “Oh god, I’m glad we cleared that one up.”

Sam laughed lightly, “Show me your name again, I want to see if you remember it.”

Grizz lifted his right hand, signing the ‘G’, ‘R’, and ‘I’ correctly before he fumbled. “How do I do ‘Z’ again?”

Sam reached across slowly, placing his hand over Grizz’s to form the right shape. Grizz felt his heart skip a beat, and his skin grow hot at the feeling of Sam touching him.

“Do that twice, and you signed your name.” Sam said quietly, catching Grizz’s gaze.

Grizz’s ears went red and he glanced down, letting his hand drop and pretending to check his phone. “It’s late, I should probably get going. But, thanks for the lessons. I’ll see you Monday?”

Sam nodded, actually looking forward to school.

***

Monday

Sam had been dealing with Campbell the whole of Saturday night and all of Sunday. Campbell had come home trashed, drunk and high off of god knows what. To avoid getting caught, he had gone to Sam. Having Sam pick him up and giving him hell all weekend. Sunday had been the worst part though. Once Campbell had sobered up, he was ruthless as ever. Basically, blackmailing Sam into not telling their parents, threatening him. He had punched him in the jaw, threatening for worse to come if Sam told anyone.

When Monday had rolled around, Sam was grateful. He got to see Grizz today, have lunch with Becca, and avoid Campbell for the first half of the day at least. He loved school for two reasons: learning and getting away from his brother. Now he had something else to look forward to, seeing Grizz in English during 5th period. Becca had tried to cover up his bruise this morning on the bus ride to school, but her foundation was way too dark for his pale skin tone.

*

The weekend and all of Monday morning seemed to drag on for Grizz. He had lied to his friend group to tell them he was sick this weekend. Which meant Monday he had to pretend to be too sick to go to football practice in order to make it believable. He lied, saying the only reason he had come to school today was because he had a test. Which, of course, was so far from the truth. He, however, could not tell them the truth.

By the time 5th period rolled around, Grizz was anxious to get to class; practically running the entire way there. When he arrived, he heard a commotion outside of the classroom, down the hall. He looked and saw Sam and his brother, Campbell, arguing. He noticed the way Sam’s signing was erratic and more dramatic than usual, and how Campbell was hardly signing, more like yelling and occasionally signing a single word. One word in particular made his blood boil.

‘Faggot.’

He watched, fuming, as Campbell stormed off down the hall, leaving Sam to slowly descend towards the classroom where Grizz stood in the doorway. As Sam came closer, he noticed the bruise on his jaw, poorly covered up by press powder that was way too dark.

Grizz stopped Sam, “Hey, you okay?” He spoke slowly.

Sam just nodded, his eyes filled with tears. “Yeah, I’m fine. Please drop it. Let’s go work on this thing.”

Grizz felt his heart break at the sight of Sam so emotional. So, broken looking. But he didn’t prod or poke, he simply followed him inside.

Sam sat in the back as usual, and Grizz sat in his normal seat as they waited for class to start.

Mrs. Newberry came in, looking rather tired, and followed by Sam’s interpreter. “Pair up with the partners you chose yesterday, I expect for you all to have chosen your poem today. I’ll be going around and writing down which one you’ve chosen.”

Grizz fidgeted for a moment before walking over to Sam, giving him a small smile as he sat next to him. He was grateful none of his friends were smart enough to be in this class, they would ask questions.

Grizz’s heart broke further at the distant look in Sam’s eyes. “I was thinking we could annotate ‘An Eastern Ballad’? It’s short, but it’s very up to interpretation.” He suggested, making sure to speak slowly and clearly.

Sam nodded, writing the name down in his notebook. “Ok.” He said quietly.

An idea popped into Grizz’s head. He quickly flagged down the teacher. “Mrs. Newberry? We chose An Eastern Ballad by Allen Ginsberg for our project. But I’m finding it difficult to concentrate in here with all the noise. Could me and Sam work in the library?”

Sam’s interpreter signed away Grizz’s words to Sam, and Sam felt rather confused.

The teacher nodded and smiled, writing down their poem and giving them both halls passes. She trusted them both, them being her star students. Grizz gave Sam a smile as they gathered their things and left the classroom, Sam’s interpreter leaving for his lunch break per Sam’s suggestion.

“What was that for?” Sam asked, stopping Grizz in the hallway once they were out of earshot.

“You needed space, I could tell. And people were being loud.”

“But the library is at the west end of the building and we’re heading towards the courtyard?” Sam questioned.

Grizz smirked. “That’s because we’re not going to the library. Follow me.”

Grizz gulped before taking Sam’s hand, leading him down the hallway. His touch felt warm and comforting, sending electricity up Grizz’s arms as they walked quickly. He relished in the feeling, never wanting to let go. Grizz purposely took the longest way to the back courtyard of the school just so he had an excuse to hold Sam’s hand a little longer.

When they reached the back exit of the school, Grizz lead Sam towards the tree lines, his designated smoking spot since freshman year. It was the only place they never checked for students. Ducking and crouching around and under branches and tree stumps, until they finally found their destination. A small circle was cleared, several stumps had been laid on their side for sitting.

“What do you think?” Grizz asked, turning to Sam.

He watched in adoration as Sam looked panicked, “What if we get caught?”

Grizz chuckled, “We won’t. Trust me. I’ve been coming here for three years now. Come on, sit.” He spoke, signing the word ‘sit’ as he did, remembering it from last night.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the older boys attempt to sign, he was actually trying. He sat on the log beside Grizz, wrapping his arms around himself. It was autumn now, and he felt cold. Having had left his jacket in his locker.

“Are you cold?” Grizz asked, only getting the signs ‘Are you’ out, not knowing the one for ‘cold’

Sam nodded, “I’m skinny, it happens.” His voice was quiet.

Grizz could still see the sadness in Sam’s eyes, and he felt the sudden urge to comfort him. It then occurred to him that he was wearing his hoodie underneath his Letterman jacket.

He took a deep breath and prayed to god that this would go well, taking off his jacket and standing, settling behind Sam and draping the heavy fabric over his shoulders lightly before returning to his own log to sit.

His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t help but notice the small blush spreading across Sam’s cheeks.

“Better?” Grizz asked.

“Much.”

***

Friday

A week had passed, and Grizz was figuring out more and more that his fondness of Sam had tuned into a full-blown infatuation. He had checked out a book at the library on sign language, only to find out that apparently, BSL and ASL were two totally different things. So, he had resulted to the internet to try to impress Sam a second time. This time it had been much more successful. He also had learned so much about Sam, and he adored every bit of it. Except for the more painful parts.

They sat at Sam’s house, Campbell was supposed to be out for the remainder of the evening. They had long since finished their project, but Grizz kept making excuses to see him. Such as: spelling errors, alternate theories of different meanings of the poems, forgetting his jacket there on ‘accident’.

“When I dream, I still dream with sound. But not new sounds.”

They had gotten on the subject of dreams this evening, it was 11pm and they hadn’t touched their project since 8:30.

“What would be a new sound?” Grizz asked, genuinely curious. His signing, while still rusty, had improved massively. Using finger spelling when he didn’t know a word.

“My voice. I remember how it sounded before. But I imagine it’s a little deeper now.”

Grizz chuckled at Sam’s dry humor. It endeared him.

“I wish I could hear yours.”

They were sitting side by side on Sam’s bed, and Grizz felt the air was thick all of a sudden. He had looked up a certain sign two days ago after he had the urge the first time, but he was horrified of asking. Scared of rejection.

He found himself glancing at the bed as he spoke quietly, “Can you. teach me one more phrase in sign language?” He asked hesitantly.

Sam nodded slowly, trying to read Grizz. He had never seen him like this, nervous, fidgety, tears in his eyes.

“How do you say, ‘kiss me’?”

Sam felt his heart skip a beat, pounding relentlessly against his chest.

Grizz hoped he hadn’t said it clearly enough, that fear of rejection quickly swooping in and seeping through him.

But all fear was washed away as Sam leaned in, cupping Grizz’s face in his soft hands gently, his lips hovering over his for a moment before he closed the gap between them. Grizz’s head swam with emotions, yet no coherent thoughts. The feeling of Sam’s lips against his own sent shockwaves through his body as he found himself kissing Sam back. His lips were soft as velvet, his kisses tender and sweet. He tasted of coffee and bubblegum, Grizz tasted of chocolate and marijuana.

The kiss grew deeper, Grizz finding himself getting lost in the feeling as his hand reached up to fold over Sam’s. All of the pint up emotions, the holding back; it had all come to a blissful end.

Sam’s tongue ghosted over Grizz’s bottom lip, causing shivers to run down Grizz’s spine as he allowed his jaw to lax and allow Sam access. He had never imagined letting someone else take control, but he didn’t mind it at all.

Before he knew it, Sam was on top of him, sitting on his lap as he kissed him feverishly. Grizz had to suppress a moan at the friction being created by Sam’s rocking hips; knowing that they weren’t alone in the household. He let his hands travel up Sam’s sides, his fingertips gently grazing over every muscle and curve he could from underneath his shirt. He longed to go further, but he didn’t want to cause Sam to feel pressured. He tried mumbling his name, then he remembered he couldn’t hear him.

Placing a hand on Sam’s chest, he gently pushed him upwards. “Sam, we don’t have to keep going if you’re not ready.” He said, making sure to annunciate.

Sam suddenly looked bashful. “I’ve never. I’m a virgin.” He said suddenly, signing the words with shaky hands. “I know you’ve had others.”

Grizz felt his heart break. He was right, he had had others. But never another man. Only one other girl had he had sex with, a few he had fooled around with.

“I don’t mind. But I don’t want to disappoint you or mess up. And I don’t want this to be some sort of joke or experiment to you when it isn’t for me.”

Sam suddenly looked heartbroken. And Grizz felt like he was.

He sighed, sliding out from underneath Sam and sitting in front of him. “Sam, that’s not what this is to me. I promise.” He began, singing a few words here and there. “I’ve never… I’ve never been with another guy. But I can tell that neither of us are ready for this quite yet.”

Sam’s eyes were filled with tears. “Do you not want me?”

Grizz felt his heart shatter at his words. His voice sounded strained and broken. Grizz places a hand on Sam’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “Of course, I do, Sam. But I don’t want to rush into anything. Okay?”

Sam’s eyes benighted slightly. “Okay.”

“Hey Sam? Would you want to come to the homecoming game tomorrow? See me play?”

***

Saturday

(Warning: some cursing, derogatory words, and a physical altercation is about to occur. Reader discretion is advised)

Grizz felt more anxious at this moment than he had before any football game. Not because the team they were against was hard to beat, far from it actually. No, it was because he knew Sam was watching. Sam had told him that he had never been to a game before, sports weren’t his thing. But, for Grizz, he had made an exception and drug Becca along with him.

‘Wait, so Grizz asked you to kiss him?’ Becca signed to Sam as they took their seats on the bleachers.

Sam nodded, ‘he asked me how to sign ‘kiss me’ and so I kissed him.’

Becca had taken to not speaking along with her signing for this particular conversation, wanting to honor Grizz’s privacy as well as her best friends.

‘I never pegged Grizz to be gay. And then what? He just, left? Or did something happen?’

Sam shuffled slightly in his seat, unsure of what to say.

‘Oh my god! Did you two sleep together?’ Becca was wearing a shit eating grin.

Sam smacked her arm playfully. ‘No! Well, almost. But he stopped it.’

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he continued, ‘he said he didn’t want to rush things between us, said he hadn’t been with a guy before and since I was a virgin, he didn’t want either of us to go too far when we weren’t ready.’

Becca smiled, ‘That’s a good sign!’ Sam gave her a questioning look so she continued, ‘If he had just been curious or wanted an experiment or something, he would have either had sex with you and left or stopped it after a few kisses then left. Not stayed and hung out all weekend! He likes you, Sam. Though, now that I think about it, I saw it coming.’

‘What? What are you talking about? You said you never pegged him as gay?’

Becca laughed, ‘Exactly. Gay. I never said I didn’t see him checking you out or looking at you longingly from across the cafeteria. He could be bi. You never know. Now shush! The game is starting.’

Not much to either of their surprise, West Ham had won, 12-0. The crowd cheered, and Sam and Becca quickly escaped to the parking lot to avoid the heavy crowd. Sam decided he’d send Grizz a text to congratulate him before leaving.

To Grizz: Hey! Great job tonight! Me and Becca are headed home, don’t celebrate too hard!

Sent.

Incoming text from Grizz: Hey, Luke’s hosting a party to celebrate at his house. You two should come!

Sam suddenly felt queasy. He had avoided parties for all of high school, always being made a spectacle and left out. But he wanted to see Grizz and congratulate him in person.

He sighed.

To Grizz: Okay, send me the address and I’ll stop by.

He pleaded with Becca to go with him, in case he had no one to talk to. But she said she couldn’t due to procrastinated homework but agreed to drop him off.

**

Sam could feel the pulsating bass from the loud music all the way out on the front patio of Luke’s house. His house was massive, expensive, and way too crowded by the looks of it. Colored lights flashed from inside as he stood there awkwardly. He had the urge to text Becca to turn around and pick him up but decided against it. Instead texting Grizz

To Grizz: I’m here.

Sent.

Incoming text from Grizz: I’m in the kitchen!

Sam sighed, shoving his pocket into his phone and heading towards the open front door.

Grizz had had two beers since arriving, determined to enjoy the night of their victory. But he was more looking forward to seeing Sam. He wasn’t sure how to react to him though, or how to approach him. It had suddenly occurred to Grizz that only a few people knew about them being partners on this project, let alone anything more than that.

He saw a familiar face in the crowd: Campbell’s. He never understood why Campbell came to the football parties until last year, when he had caught Campbell selling coke to a few freshmen. He had always creeped Grizz out and rubbed him the wrong way. But then again, Campbell rubbed everyone the wrong way.

He stood leant against the kitchen island, a beer in hand, waiting for to see if Sam would show. Finally, his phone buzzed, and he felt the sudden, yet now familiar, feeling of his heart skipping a beat.

He waited patiently now, watching the front door through the open floor plan kitchen for Sam. When he saw him enter, he felt a smile creep onto his face. But his smile soon faded, noting how horrified and uncomfortable Sam looked, not to mention the stares that were being tossed his way as he entered the house and made his way to the kitchen. Grizz gulped, thankful that the rest of the guys were elsewhere around the house as Sam entered the kitchen.

“Congrats!” Sam spoke, singing along.

Grizz gave him a small smirk, “thanks!” He signed, “I didn’t think you’d come!”

Sam shrugged, “I wanted to congratulate you in person. And, I was curious as to what the fuss was on this whole ‘high school party’ thing was about.”

Grizz chuckled lightly at Sam, “Well, have a drink. There are beers in the fridge.”

He grabbed him one and they stood in silence for a while. Well, as far as speaking goes. The house was booming with noise. Grizz’s phone was blowing up, upon answering it, he had at least 20 texts from Clarke telling him that there were people who wanted to congratulate him.

He turned to Sam, “I’ll be right back, a few people want to see me. Just one second okay?” He asked, signing what he could along with his words.

Sam nodded and gave him a smile, sipping on his drink. It tasted like shit, but he pretended to like it as Becca had advised him to do.

He suddenly felt exposed and alone as Grizz had left him. Without Becca as well, he felt out of place even further. Sam pulled out his phone to text her, telling her that he was indeed alive. But that might soon change as he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Campbell. He towered over Sam, his head cocked to the side and a dangerous smirk was displayed on his face.

“Funny seeing you here, brother.” Campbell said, not bothering to sign.

Campbell knew how to sign. But he only ever used curse words.

“What do you want, Campbell?” Sam said, signing along. He tried to keep his stance firm and tall, but he knew it wouldn’t last.

Campbell smiled and smacked the solo cup from Sam’s grasp, “Why are you even here, huh fag? Come to check out the football players or something?” He signed the entire sentence.

Sam wiped the splash of beer from his cheek, “fuck off, Campbell. It’s none of your business.”

Campbell chuckled to himself, shoving Sam roughly against the fridge. “I just want a night to myself! Is that too much to ask! There’s a reason I go out, you know. To get away from your disgusting face. Your intolerable presence. Ever since you were born, I’ve been forced to look after your sorry ass. Now you have the nerve to show up on my territory? You’re lucky I don’t- “

His words were cut off by Grizz interjecting, “Campbell! Is there a problem here?”

Sam looked at Grizz, a look that said, ‘leave it’. But Grizz was far from leaving it.

“A problem? No, Grizz. Not at all.” Campbell said, turning back to Sam. “Just stay out of my way, huh fag?” He shoved him roughly again.

He tried turning to walk away, but Grizz had seen enough. Yanking Campbell’s arm roughly, Grizz pulled Campbell towards him, “Watch your mouth! You’re not a football player, and I don’t remember anyone inviting you to a single party we’ve ever had. Piss off, now.”

Sam stood there shocked, he could barely make out Grizz’s words, but felt suddenly honored at the protection he was providing him.

“Lighten up, Grizz. I’m just teaching my Fag brother here a lesson, making sure he doesn’t check any of you guys out- “

Campbell’s words were cut off by a harsh punch being flown into his teeth, by none other than Grizz.

“I said watch your fucking mouth!” Grizz shouted, shoving Campbell further away from Sam and himself.

Campbell lunged at Grizz, Sam trying to intervene as he threw punches towards Grizz. But it was futile, two testosterones filled, 6ft tall men hurtling punches at each other was too much for Sam to stop. So, he did the only thing he could think of to do, he screamed.

A deaf person scream, or so he’d been told, is unlike any sound there is. It’s loud and pitchy, often deafening for others. And Sam knew it.

Heads turned, and Grizz stopped for a moment. But that had been a mistake. Campbell hurtled a punch at Grizz, catching him in the eye. Grizz went to attack again but was stopped when he saw Campbell take out his pocket knife. But Sam’s scream had not only caught Grizz’s attention, it had also caught the whole houses attention. Soon enough, the rest of the guard had got ahold of Campbell, knocking his knife from his hands and holding him back. Luke was holding Grizz back.

“Touch him again and I swear I’ll knock your teeth in!” Grizz screamed, “Don’t you dare ever come into one of my parties and speak to him like that! Ever! Especially not in front of me!”

He thrashed back and forth in Luke’s hold.

“Oh look!” Campbell yelled, “Sam’s got himself a boyfriend! And he has a fucking topknot!”

The guard quickly tossed Campbell to the curb, quite literally. Sam, however, rushed to Grizz’s aid as he sat in a kitchen chair, cradling his eye.

Grizz was breathing heavily as Sam found an ice pack, placing it gently over his swollen eye.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Sam said quietly, crouching down into Grizz’s view.

“For you, yeah I did.”

***

Friday

The rumors about Grizz’s relationship with Sam had spread like wildfire, much to Campbell’s help. He had been telling graphic and untrue stories about what he had supposedly caught the pair doing. And it was all taking a toll on Grizz. His friends had questioned him relentlessly, people stared and whispered as he walked down the hallways. He had avoided Sam, including his messages, all week. He didn’t know what to say to him, or anyone for that matter. But today they were supposed to present their project.

When 5th period rolled around, Grizz was tempted to skip. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to nor abandon Sam. So, he came early.

Sam was waiting for him, sitting in his usual spot near the back of the classroom. His vibrant blue eyes caught Grizz’s, and he felt his heart melt. Grizz May have been sporting a black eye, but Sam looked somehow more broken.

He approached him slowly. “Hey.” He said simply.

“Hi. So, do you want to do the speaking? I made the power point, so it seems fair. I’m not in the speaking mood today.” Sam said quietly, his voice distant. His signing even seemed distant.

Grizz simply nodded and sat beside him, the tension between the two seemed to be toxic as they waited their turn. When the teacher announced their names, Grizz made his way up to the front of the class, Sam following suit as he plugged his USB into the teacher’s computer and loaded up the PowerPoint.

Grizz suddenly felt shy, exposed standing in front of the class. Though he never had issues with it before, everything seemed to have changed.

“So, for our poem we chose ‘An Eastern Ballad’ by Allen Ginsberg. Also known as ‘song’. Ginsberg was one of the Beat poets in the 50’s through the early 90’s. Okay so the poem goes, ‘Winds around the beaches blow:

Things being as they are, although

Half clearly understood, and I

Uncurious is mystery;

Such thoughts as once were my despair,

-The frantic sea, the silent air,

The changing moon and fridge shore-

I find delight me more and more.

I had not dreamed the sea so deep,

The earth so dark; so long my sleep,

I have become another child.

I wake to see the world go wild.’

“Now, there are lots of ways to interpret Ginsberg’s work. He used to often say that he never had any meaning for most of it, and that the reader should interpret it. It’s well known at this point that Ginsberg used psychedelic drugs to jumpstart his writing and to discover his style. So, it’s safe to assume that that is what he means in this poem by becoming another child and his soul being awoken.” Grizz began.

Sam’s interpreter was signing along for Sam to understand, even though Sam knew what Grizz was supposed to be saying. However, he didn’t see the plot twist that was about to happen.

“But, upon reflecting and rereading this poem, I have another interpretation. If you read Ginsberg’s letters up until this poem, he talks about realizing his sexuality… he uhm. He realized he was gay and how that realization opened his eyes. I believe, that this poem isn’t about realizing and noticing the world through the use of drugs. But it is about waking up and seeing the world through new eyes upon realizing who you are, as a person.”

Grizz was shaking, and Sam was speechless.

“That’s a rather interesting interpretation, Grizz. I assume by the two different annotations that the first was Sam’s interpretations and the second was yours?” Mrs. Newberry asked, easing an eyebrow.

Grizz nodded slowly, his eyes filled with tears.

“Mr. Eliot. What do you think of Grizz’s interpretation of this poem?”

Elliot gestured for his interpreter to speak for him as he signed l, “I can see where he is coming from. But I disagree. Evidence shows that this is a spiritual awakening, caused by Ginsberg’s drug use at the time. But, Grizz likes to read into things.”

Grizz felt his heart plunge.

“Well, very well done you two. You may have a seat.”

**

Sunday evening, November 21st

Weeks went by, Sam ignoring Grizz’s texts, Grizz ignoring the questions from the guard and his other friends. It was soon late November, and the pair had not spoken. The winter formal was coming up, and Sam asked Becca to be his date.

“You know I hate those things. Besides, I’m not who you want to go with. Ask him, he’s been texting you nonstop for over a month now. It’s kind of annoying.”

Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes as they sat in Becca’s bedroom. ‘You know he wouldn’t risk his reputation going with me. Besides, you’re my best friend, I want you to go with me.’

Becca sighed, “Sam, talk to him. I hate school dances, you love them. It’s your senior year, go with the guy you want to go with, not your beard.”

Sam felt dejected. And conflicted. He refused to make a spectacle out of himself or Grizz. Grizz was obviously not ready for this yet, and that was partially Sam’s fault that it ended this way. Or, at least, that’s how Sam felt.

**

Sunday evening, November 21st

Grizz had been fidgeting in his room for over an hour now, anxiety coursing through his veins. When his mother called for dinner, he knew it was time.

Making his way downstairs and to the kitchen table, he rubbed the sweat off of his hands as he sat down across from his father. He was nervous, really fucking nervous. But he had to do this, he had been holding it back for too long.

He watched anxiously as his mother laid out their dinner on the table before sitting down.

Now or never, he thought to himself. “Mom, dad. I have to tell you something.”

***

Monday, November 22nd

Sam walked begrudged to his locker, spinning the dial around until the lock came undone. As he opened the metal door, a small slip of neon green paper floated to the ground from inside the door.

It was a note. He unfolded it and read it to himself:

Sam, the winter formal is next Saturday, I hope to see you there. I’ll be wearing green and pink.

-Grizz

Sam felt his heart stop momentarily. This couldn’t be serious, could it?

**

Sam, being himself, had arrived at the dance right as it started. Only to find out his ticket had already been paid for. He wore a white button down with a rose gold vest and a plaid neck tie. His ginger hair styled neatly on top of his head. He felt anxious as he made his way into the gym: lights were hung here and there of all kinds. Fairly lights, that changed color, random lamps and chandeliers. All fashioned in blue, silver, and white. The tables were dressed in silver table cloths with blue placemats and white flowers. Student council had gone all us for this one. He could feel the bass of the music through his shoes and he anxiously made his way through the crowd, finding a lone spot near the back at an unoccupied table. He suddenly longed for Becca. He had a bad feeling about this.

Time rolled on, and soon 45 minutes had passed with no sign of Grizz. He hadn’t shown, and Sam had given up and lost patience. He rose to his feet and began shuffling through the crowded dance floor. He was stopped in his tracks when he felt a firm, but gentle hand grasps his wrist. Turning, he saw Grizz. Towering above him in all of his glory. Wearing a neon green button down and a plaid bow tie in similar fashion to his own. Sam couldn’t hold back his smile.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” Sam said, taking a step closer to Grizz.

Grizz could feel eyes on the pair, but it was too late to turn back now.

“Neither did I.”

Without another word, Grizz pulled Sam into him, pressing his lips against his. Sam happily kissed him back, standing on his tippy toes to reach him.

[hungline]

pairing: vmonkook genre: fluff, smut, travel au, bookstore au, vampire au, rated xxx  warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, anal sex, multiple smut scenes, mild swearing, mentions of blood, referenced nightmare  a/n: as part of the #BSCproject held by @btssmutclub in collaboration with group4some. a HUGE thank you to @lovewyself for the beautiful banner and to group4some as a whole for hyping the hell out of this! please check the replies for the link to our collab masterlist and read my group members’ wonderful stories as well 💕💗 you’ll also be able to find the fic playlist linked in the replies as well! 🎶🎵  words: 5002 

summary: When Namjoon and Jeongguk decide to travel to Transylvania, they end up staying long past the summer for one supernatural being with an obsession for strawberries. 

+ tag list: @dimplemono @kirtikagarg @disrespectfulkookies @honeymoonjin @reeneryu ✨ 

When they step off the bus with their one piece of luggage and backpacks strapped to them, Jeongguk almost stumbles.

He wasn't expecting the wave of sinister heat that was lurking just outside the air-conditioned windows of the bus to strike him against the face so soon. He knows that in the summer, most places are high in regards to heat, but Namjoon had assured him that it would be tolerable here.

Either Namjoon was wrong, which Jeongguk very much doubts, or an unexpected heatwave struck this town.

Probably a heatwave since Namjoon looks confused about the heat as well. Oh, well. At least the town is pretty and their Airbnb has air conditioning.

Namjoon has an interview lined up at a nearby bookstore, so they pull their luggage between them and walk into town. Brașov has an old-time feel to it, from its swooping architecture and cobbled streets to its cheery air and lacking signs of technology around. Jeongguk doesn't understand much of the language spoken around them, but he's used to that by now.

They have spent the entire summer backpacking around the world. They stopped first in Japan and stayed there for two weeks before they moved on to China. Namjoon cut their stay there short, so they ended up in Europe only a week after that. London was pretty if you could get over the pollution and Paris was even better. But now they are on their last leg of their mini-tour around the world. Transylvania.

Namjoon is a Dracula fanatic and pouts whenever Jeongguk doesn't use Dracula's proper name, but Jeongguk isn't bothered enough to remember it, so. Dracula. Everyone knows who that is anyway.

They stop by the bookstore first. Namjoon follows one of the managers into the back of the shop while Jeongguk waits in the poetry section. The shop is filled to the brim with books; old, new, current, and historical. It isn't your typical Barnes & Nobles, but Jeongguk likes it. Namjoon would thrive here anyway.

Namjoon tends to thrive just about anywhere though.

Jeongguk kicks his feet against the plush red rug underneath his armchair and turns his gaze back towards the surrounding shelves. He can't read most of the titles, but a few are in English and he knows enough of that to understand them at least. In the five countries they visited, Jeongguk's limited knowledge of English came quite handy. Especially, in London.

They saved up as much money as they could which was actually quite plenty thanks to Namjoon's books selling off the shelves as soon as they were published, but Jeongguk insisted they take on jobs during their trip anyway. After all, he doesn't want to coast off Namjoon's money forever and he definitely doesn't want someone to mistake him as Namjoon's sugar baby instead of his long-term boyfriend.

He hums as he reaches out and picks up a tiny collection of poems, browsing through it quickly. Most of the pages have very short poems on them, sometimes with illustrations, but generally without. Jeongguk wonders why this kind of book is on the best-selling shelf and puts it back, staring down at his feet and keeping a steady hand on their suitcase.

There are a few customers walking around in the other shelves, but they don't stray towards the section he finds himself in and wonders if it's because they've read these books already or they find them as interesting as Jeongguk does, which is not at all.

Just as he's contemplating picking another random book off the shelf, Namjoon returns. A bright grin that shows off his dimples has Jeongguk smiling in return before his boyfriend has even uttered a word. He already knows it's good news.

Namjoon keeps a hold on their suitcase as they leave the shop, a skip in his step that wasn't there before. He starts humming a song that Jeongguk vaguely recognizes as Hoody's Sunshine and takes his boyfriend's hand as they continue to walk.

Soon enough, Namjoon is leading them into an apartment building where he spends a few moments talking to the owner before he comes back with a set of keys in hand. Namjoon hadn't blinked an eye at the cost of the apartment they would be staying in for the last month and a half of their vacation, but Jeongguk had later calculated the cost and almost had a heart attack. It was less than half a month's worth of the rent they pay back in Seoul and that was with the utilities they had to pay for on top of that as well.

The apartment is bigger than their own back at home with a washing machine in the kitchen that Jeongguk wants to get his hands on immediately. Namjoon pulls him away though and shows him the two bedrooms, repeating the fact that the manager wouldn't let them get a one-bedroom apartment if he revealed they were a couple. Jeongguk only shrugs, not caring too much since they are bound to end up in different rooms a few nights during their stay anyway.

Namjoon presses a kiss to his forehead then hefts their suitcase onto the bed and Jeongguk loses himself into dividing and organizing their clothes.

Bran Castle broods high up over its surrounding peaks and forests. Jeongguk has to tip his head back impossibly far before he's able to see the very top of the castle.

The bus ride to the castle had lasted far longer than it actually was and Jeongguk almost fell asleep plenty of times aboard. Namjoon had nudged and prodded him each time he began to nod off and Jeongguk world startle awake, leaning heavily onto Namjoon’s side so as to not disturb the other passengers. The dense forest they had driven past made Jeongguk itch to draw, but he had left his sketchbook back at their apartment so he left his head on Namjoon’s shoulder and watched the scenery pass by.

Now, they’re here and facing a mob of a crowd. Namjoon is vibrating with excitement beside him, a travel-sized dictionary held in one hand and one of his smaller backpacks clenched tight in the other. Jeongguk can admit that the castle is gorgeous, but that's mostly thanks to the scenery that he already had his fill of.

Either way, it'll be good to listen to his mother tongue for the next few hours. Namjoon signed them up for a Korean tour of the castle, which Jeongguk was surprised they had, but Namjoon's excited so he will behave.

Near the entrance is a booth. A crowd of people mingles about there, a mix of tour guides, janitors, and tourists. The clash of languages is harsh on Jeongguk's ears as they approach, but he heeds it no mind. Namjoon keeps shooting glances at him, a wide smile spread across his face as he tries to figure out if Jeongguk is actually enjoying himself or merely pretending for Namjoon's sake. But nothing much has happened as of yet, so he's pretending for now.

They get in line and once they reach the front, Namjoon pulls their tickets out of his special folder in his backpack and hands them to the woman behind the booth so she can scan them and wave them inside. Namjoon had printed their tickets out back when they were still in Seoul, vibrating with his excitement much the same way he was doing now. Jeongguk had agreed to the tour because it was the least he could do after Namjoon had insisted on paying for all of their plane tickets.

Once they have finished checking-in and sport new colorful bracelets, Jeongguk leans on Namjoon's shoulder and goes on tiptoe to look over the heads of the gathered crowd. He spots a handsome looking man holding up a sign in Korean that reads: BRAN CASTLE TOUR.

"Found it," Jeongguk says into Namjoon's ear as he drops back down to his regular height. "Follow me."

Namjoon grips onto the back of Jeongguk's shirt and trails after him as they push their way through the crowd. Jeongguk occasionally goes back on the tips of his toes to make sure they are going the right way then maneuvers them through the bodies pressed so closely together around them. It's not as hot today as it was yesterday when they arrived, but here in the thick of things, Jeongguk feels almost suffocated by the body heat.

He's relieved once they emerge from the crowd and find their tour guide. Until their tour guide smiles at them and Jeongguk's breath catches in his throat.

Holy shit.

The man's smile is rectangular in shape, but bright enough that Jeongguk's sure it could very well light up this entire castle at night. Namjoon freezes beside him in a similar fashion at the sight that greets them but he recovers much more quickly than Jeongguk.

"Hi! Are you the tour guide?" Namjoon asks while a hesitant smile of his own spreads across his lips.

"Yep! Hello. My name is Kim Taehyung and welcome to the Korean tour of Bran Castle," Taehyung greets them.

Jeongguk blinks, unsurprised by their tour guide's fluency. "Hello, Taehyung-ssi. Are we expecting anyone else?"

Taehyung shakes his head. "Not today! But yesterday, the tour was jam-packed full of people. I almost wish I wasn't the only one who speaks Korean here. It was difficult leading the tours by myself."

"How often does that usually happen?" Namjoon asks, instantly intrigued.

"Very often this summer actually! But it was rare to have a day like that the last couple of summers. Management is thinking of hiring someone else to help me out," Taehyung smiles at them. "But enough about that, let's start the tour!"

Jeongguk takes Namjoon's hand and follows after Taehyung, finding it hard not to stare at the tour guide's ass. It’s plump and round, which is only complimented by his jeans that are practically hugging his legs. Jeongguk laughs under his breath when he catches Namjoon blatantly staring though. The pervert. At least Jeongguk is making an effort not to look.

Namjoon frowns at him but doesn't stop staring at Taehyung's ass. Probably to spite him.

Once they've passed a few other tour groups and made their way into the courtyard, Taehyung stops and turns to face them. His smile is still as bright as ever and Jeongguk feels a strange stirring in his chest as Taehyung reveals a box of strawberries that he hadn't noticed before.

He feels hypnotized as he watches Taehyung raise a strawberry to his mouth and take a bite. A bit of the fruit's juice dribbles down his chin but is quickly wiped away by Taehyung's pink tongue. Namjoon shuffles beside him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in what Jeongguk knows is a nervous tic.

Seems like it isn't just Jeongguk who is very interested after all.

Taehyung finishes his strawberry in record time and smiles at them when he looks up to meet their gazes. Jeongguk can't fight the feeling that their tour guide did that on purpose, but he pushes it down and tries to give his most polite smile in return. Namjoon leans into his side and hides his face in Jeongguk's shoulder instead, the coward.

Jeongguk knows it isn't in his imagination when Taehyung smirks at that.

Namjoon looks up once Taehyung has resumed the tour, speaking of the queen whose artifacts are being showcased in the castle. How the castle is popular amongst Dracula fans, but that it is only ever spooky on Halloween when tourists are allowed to spend the night in the castle. Jeongguk does his best to nod along even though he doesn't actually care.

He lets Namjoon grip onto his arm and pinch him from time to time when something excites him, but Jeongguk can't help but think that they definitely could have been doing something a lot better than this.

Of course, that doesn't mean that watching the excitement and happiness on Namjoon's face (or watching Taehyung’s ass in those jeans) isn't worth his boredom though. Jeongguk would do just about anything for Namjoon and that includes walking through an old as shit castle listening to a hot as fuck tour guide talk about its history and architecture while torturing them with his strawberries and eating habits.

By the time the tour is over, Jeongguk is half hard in his pants. They thank Taehyung for the tour and Namjoon shoves a scrap of paper that has their numbers on it in Taehyung's hand before he forcibly drags them away to the bus stop.

Namjoon jumps him as soon as they have kicked off their shoes back at the apartment and Jeongguk responds happily. Namjoon is always so gentle with him, always keeping them face-to-face as he fucks into him. Sometimes his hands will frame Jeongguk's face as he murmurs praise into his skin, but this time Namjoon grips his hair and kisses him hard as he rides him. Jeongguk comes in Namjoon unexpectedly and feels utterly boneless after Namjoon has jerked himself off on Jeongguk’s stomach.

Namjoon is cleaning him up when he leans over and kisses Jeongguk tenderly, garnering his attention.

"Again?" Jeongguk asks, already beginning to turn over so Namjoon can have him this time.

"No, maybe later," Namjoon murmurs as he grabs his hips and turns Jeongguk on his back. "But we should talk about something before we get dressed though."

Jeongguk nods, tendrils of his hair sticking to his sweaty face. "Taehyung?"

Namjoon nods in return, an amused smile on his face. "You were hard by the time we got on the bus."

"You were too."

"We should sleep with him."

"Yeah, we should," Jeongguk sighs, closing his eyes as he relaxes into the pillows. "He has our numbers thanks to you."

Namjoon kisses him again, slower this time. "We just have to wait."

Jeongguk doesn't bother with a verbal reply. He's pretty sure that the kiss is enough of an answer for the both of them.

Jeongguk is visiting Namjoon in the bookstore when Taehyung texts them.

 unknown: is this namjoon and jeongguk?

jeongguk: yep! namjoon is working right now so he can't answer messages for another hour this is taehyung, right?

unknown: yes. i thought a group chat would be a better idea than individual texts

jeongguk: well you were right

taehyung: i'm glad (:

 Jeongguk looks up from his phone to shoot a cheeky grin at Namjoon. "Seduce Strawberry Man is a go."

Namjoon rolls his eyes. "I didn't agree to that name."

"Well, it's not like Wine-and-Dine Tae was any better!"

"So you say," Namjoon says with another roll of his eyes.

"Because I'm right!"

"Sure."

Jeongguk grabs the application Namjoon had been trying to convince him to take since he arrived and angrily starts to fill it out. "Just watch. I'm stealing your job to get back at you. This is Seokjin-level of petty right here, Joon."

Namjoon laughs and excuses himself as a customer comes up to him. Jeongguk doesn't understand most of what they're saying since the customer is most definitely a local, but Namjoon has always said that practice helps more than studying when it comes to languages.

And, well, Namjoon is always right.

Jeongguk continues to fill out the application, cringing at his mediocre writing in English. By the time he's done, Namjoon has returned and spares a quick glance at the paper before he goes behind the register and starts to rifle through things. Soon enough, he's holding up a few papers stapled together and hands it to Jeongguk with a triumphant look on his face.

It's his resume. Seems like Namjoon is always one step ahead of him after all. It's even been updated since they both worked in that coffee shop back in Paris. Jeongguk shakes his head fondly and staples his resume to the application. Namjoon takes it and drops it in a small in-and-out stand Jeongguk recognizes from countless office scenes in movies. Next to that is a box of new books Namjoon immediately starts to sort.

"I'll see you for dinner then?" Jeongguk asks.

Namjoon hums in response and Jeongguk smiles at him before he turns and leaves.

He has dinner to cook after all.

A few days after Jeongguk has gotten the job at the bookstore, Taehyung convinces Namjoon to apply for the new tour guide position up at the castle.

Jeongguk isn't surprised in the least when Namjoon does so immediately and hands in his twenty days at the bookshop right after. Once it's confirmed that Namjoon has gotten the tour guide job, Jeongguk and Taehyung take him out to celebrate. Jeongguk gets drunker than he can imagine and almost climbs onto Namjoon’s lap right there in the restaurant before a smirking Taehyung pulls him firmly back into his seat. He has to forcibly stop himself from leaning in and kissing Taehyung just to get rid of that irritating smirk on his face, but all in all, the night turns out to be pretty great.

Taehyung shows them his favorite haunts slowly after their first night out. His Romanian is perfect, much better than Namjoon's and leaves Jeongguk wondering just how long Taehyung has been living here. Namjoon quirks his eyebrows every time Taehyung easily switches between a variety of languages, all with the ease of someone who is fluent in them, but never verbally asks about it.

Well, not to Taehyung anyway. Jeongguk falls victim to his musings instead each time they return home after going out someplace new with the pretty tour guide.

"You know what's really weird though?" Namjoon asks when he comes to visit Jeongguk at the bookshop one morning.

Jeongguk looks up from the books he was registering on their system, a brow raised in silent question before he returns to the ancient computer.

"He never eats anything except those strawberries he carries around," Namjoon hums, fingers tapping against his chin as he leans on the counter. "I've never seen him eat anything else. He'll order food and stuff when we go out, but have you ever seen him actually chewing any of it?"

Jeongguk pauses then, shock overcoming his senses as he realizes that what Namjoon is saying is true. "Holy shit. You're right."

"Of course, I am," Namjoon replies with a frown, fingers moving through his hair now. "It's just really strange. Honestly, if I hadn't seen Taehyung in the sunlight multiple times, I would have thought he was some kind of vampire. You know, since they only feed on fruit and stuff."

"Maybe he's just following a new fad diet or something," Jeongguk theorizes. "You never know."

Namjoon's frown deepens. "I don't think that's it. Taehyung is very comfortable in his outward appearance. I can tell just by observing him at work. It's something else, I just don't know what."

Jeongguk turns back to the computer screen in front of him again. "Well, maybe we should leave it alone. It's not like it's any of our business."

"No," Namjoon agrees, before sighing, "but it could be. He's coming to our place for dinner again tomorrow. We should make our move soon, we only have two weeks before we go back to Seoul."

"Yeah, sure," Jeongguk says.

He ignores the yawning pit in his stomach that declares he doesn't want to leave Brașov just yet and leans in for the kiss Namjoon places on his cheek before leaving. Jeongguk watches him go, not knowing what he's going to do.

Jeongguk wakes up with his heart in shambles, breaths fighting to get past his lungs.

Namjoon lies beside him, curled into himself right on the edge of the bed. Jeongguk watches him, pressing a hand to his chest to calm himself. It works slowly, but Jeongguk is just glad that it works at all. He hopes it isn't one of those nights where it doesn't because those are the worst and they have a guest spending the night too. The relief he feels is tremendous once he has managed to calm himself down.

The clock on their bedside proclaims it as seven past three in the morning. Jeongguk sighs and gets out of bed, leaning down to kiss the back of Namjoon's head before he puts his slippers on and leaves the room.

Jeongguk slows down as he passes by the second bedroom, cocking an ear out in the hopes of hearing deep breaths. When silence is the only thing that greets him, however, Jeongguk frowns and makes his way down the hallway towards the kitchen.

There he finds what he was looking for.

"Oh, you're awake," Taehyung says in greeting.

Jeongguk nods as he gets a glass of water. "Yeah. I had a bad dream, so I decided to get some water and then try to get back to sleep."

Taehyung hums thoughtfully. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Jeongguk murmurs. "Thank you though."

Once the glass is full, Jeongguk turns and leans on the counter. He takes a sip from his glass before he finds himself chugging the whole thing down, surprised by his own thirst.

"Thirsty?" Taehyung asks.

Jeongguk meets his eyes over the glass, setting it down once it is empty. Taehyung's eyes are dark with want and amusement, something Jeongguk has found himself getting used to after spending two weeks in his company. A box of strawberries stands on the island, open and nearly empty, but Jeongguk isn't worried. He knows that Taehyung has another one in his bag, completely filled to the brim with bright, blood-red strawberries.

"Yeah," Jeongguk manages to rasp after a while.

Taehyung smiles, the want in his gaze slowly ebbing away until amusement is the only thing left. "Think you can sleep now?"

Jeongguk shrugs. Taehyung takes it as a yes.

"Come on," Taehyung urges as he stands, flipping the lid on his strawberries closed before he holds his hand out in Jeongguk's direction. "I'll sit in the rocking chair until you fall back asleep."

Jeongguk takes his hand, surprised by the heat he can feel coming off the older man in waves. He remembers Namjoon's words in the bookshop yesterday as they echo in his head, but he follows Taehyung back down the hallway and lays down in bed beside his boyfriend.

The rocking chair creaks quietly as Taehyung settles down in it. Jeongguk can see him over Namjoon’s messy hair, but he closes his eyes anyway and throws an arm over his boyfriend's chest. He can feel Taehyung's gaze on them, branding them as his somehow and Jeongguk swallows.

Of course, they want Taehyung. Jeongguk knows that the what he and Namjoon feel isn't just sexual, but something more too. It's just hard to convince Namjoon of that when he's focusing on how long they have left here instead.

Jeongguk settles himself into his boyfriend's side and falls asleep quickly, the rocking chair's creaking sounding like a lullaby.

Jeongguk wants to get his shirt off already, but Namjoon gives him a look to slow him down. He pouts, but obeys it, and continues to kiss Namjoon languidly.

Taehyung watches from the rocking chair, one hand on his thigh as the other digs around in his box of strawberries. Jeongguk wants to watch him watch them, but Namjoon's mere presence demands most of his attention. Kissing Namjoon requires tact and all of his focus, something he learned easily and quickly after they first started dating.

Namjoon hums in the back of his throat and Jeongguk groans against his mouth, handing over the reins to his boyfriend as he closes his eyes. Hands grip his waist and clamber up underneath his shirt, barely-there fingertips grazing the bumps of his spine. Jeongguk shivers, leaning into Namjoon's embrace as his boyfriend takes his time picking him apart.

"Are you sure you want me to be here?" Taehyung asks quietly, his voice not more than a murmur.

Jeongguk glares at him. "Yes. Get over here."

Taehyung laughs, standing up from the rocking chair and approaching them. Jeongguk shivers in anticipation as he closes in, his eyes fluttering shut when Namjoon grabs the ends of his shirt and swiftly pulls it over his head. A new set of hands take claim to his torso then, pressing down on his stomach before moving upwards and rolling one of his nipples between nimble fingers.

A moan makes its way past his lips and Jeongguk loses himself in the motions. He's the first one to get naked, but then Namjoon and Taehyung follow quickly after. Namjoon ends up being laid out like a feast on the bed and Jeongguk takes him in his mouth as Taehyung works him open.

Namjoon groans underneath them, throwing an arm over his eyes as Jeongguk takes him all the way down to the base at the same time Taehyung manages to get three fingers into him. Watching his boyfriend of many years writhe under their mercy is more intoxicating than Jeongguk ever imagined actually. He almost doesn't know what to do next.

Taehyung taps his shoulder and asks him for a condom, drawing his attention away and forcing him back on planet Earth. Jeongguk grabs one of the condoms they set aside on the bedside and opens it, rolling it down Taehyung's already leaking cock before he moves back to observe what comes next.

He has to stop a moan of his own from mingling with the ones Namjoon and Taehyung let loose when Taehyung buries himself in Namjoon slowly. Namjoon is tense at first then relaxes soon after, focusing on his breathing as Taehyung and Jeongguk watch him. Jeongguk kisses him once Taehyung has started moving, the sounds of skin slapping against skin almost too loud to bear.

Jeongguk looks up when Taehyung taps his cheek though, immediately caught off guard at his closeness. Taehyung grins, gripping Jeongguk's chin as he tilts his face up towards his and kisses him.

His lips are softer than flower petals, but he tastes weirdly of strawberries and blood. Jeongguk feels his insides melt and turns towards Namjoon, starry-eyed after Taehyung has pulled away. "You were right."

"About what?" Namjoon gasps, raising the arm over his eyes so he can chance a glance at Jeongguk.

"He is a vampire," Jeongguk breathes, smiling when Taehyung pauses behind him.

Namjoon only smiles. "I told you."

Taehyung interrupts then, a frown marring his beautiful features. "Wait, you knew?"

"Of course. You're not really subtle," Namjoon tells him, gasping again as Taehyung leans over him while hitching his legs up over his waist. "You only eat strawberries."

Jeongguk watches the two older men stare at one another, not knowing if he should say something or stay quiet. Taehyung makes the decision for him though.

"Ah, so then you also know that I'm Dracula then?"

Namjoon sputters. "What?"

"Nevermind. We can talk about it later."

"You almost came just now, didn't you?" Jeongguk asks with a sly smile on his face.

Namjoon flushes. "Shut up."

Jeongguk smiles over his shoulder at Taehyung. "You don't know how many times I've dressed up as a vampire just to make him squirm during sex."

"Well, no need now. A real vampire is fucking your boyfriend. How does that make you feel?" Taehyung says, his eyes flashing before he starts to build up a rhythm again.

"Turned on," Jeongguk answers honestly.

Taehyung smirks, leaning down so he can press his nose into the hollow of Namjoon's throat, inhaling deeply. "Good. Because after I make our little vampire fucker here come, I'm fucking you, Jeongguk-ah."

Jeongguk shivers, not knowing at all what to do with himself. "Please."

His only answer is another smile before Taehyung lifts himself up and fucks Namjoon with vigor, looking from Jeongguk to Namjoon's cock. Jeongguk understands almost immediately and lays down sideways on the bed, taking Namjoon into his mouth again. Namjoon hisses loudly somewhere above him, but Jeongguk ignores it, focusing instead on getting his boyfriend to come.

It doesn't actually take a lot to get Namjoon to reach his orgasm after that. Namjoon is, of course, fulfilling his biggest fantasy after all.

Fucking Dracula himself.

Namjoon is never allowed to make fun of Jeongguk for his fantasies after this now, the vampire fucker.

It is embarrassing just how quickly Taehyung makes him come afterward. Jeongguk refuses to believe his endurance has really fallen that low to come apart after just a few minutes of getting fucked by the best cock he has ever had in his life.

Nope. Just not believable. At all.

After it is all said and done, Jeongguk lays himself on top of Namjoon and throws an arm over Taehyung beside them.

Namjoon is tapping away at his phone, a look of the most utmost concentration morphing his features. Jeongguk lazily glances at the screen before blinking himself into awareness.

"Are you canceling our plane back to Seoul?"

"Yep," Namjoon says without missing a beat. "You don't sound surprised though."

Jeongguk laughs in delight at the news and kisses Namjoon firmly on the mouth. He turns to Taehyung right after and kisses him hard, relishing in the taste of strawberries on his tongue. There's no trace of the blood he tasted earlier but Jeongguk decides to ask about that another time.

Because now they have time.

“You know as well as I do that we were gonna stay the second we laid eyes on Taehyung,” Jeongguk murmurs into Namjoon’s skin as he leans back into him once he remembers to answer the question Namjoon asked just moments before.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and runs a hand through Taehyung’s mussed hair. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Jeongguk hums happily, leaning down to kiss his kiss lovers again. He lets the warm feeling in his heart tingle in his fingertips as he traces lines down their naked bodies and enjoys the blissfulness of this moment.

He’ll never have anything greater than these two, that Jeongguk is more than sure of.

[cynic-spirit]

The Poem Series (19) How do I love Thee? – John Wick

All the precious Previous parts here!!!

Diana had extra classes today. She had missed her class yesterday which resulted in her taking three extra classes. In addition to her usual work, she had extra papers and assignments to give and take back home. She did not even get time to say hello to Skylar. Just one day of missing classes and everything goes berserk in her academics she wondered. She kept herself busy, but even with the work being piled up she could not help but thinking about John. There is so much to adjust to. How will life be with him in the future. John trusts her, definitely, but where does she fit into all this. Her arm still feels a little sore because the goon had pulled her harshly. She touches her shoulder subconsciously and leaves a breath. Maybe she can take a ten minute break to eat something, but as soon as she gets up to eat, a student comes in her chamber and asks for some of her time. Being a good teacher that she is, she engages with him. The time passes, with classes, students, and other academic activities and soon Diana realizes it is time to go back. She did not get any time to even have a cup of coffee today. She is exhausted. She has fifteen minutes, so she gathers up all her things and moves towards the meeting point where her beau John will come to pick her up.

Just on time, John arrives, flashing her a smile that can only be called as magical. Diana cannot help but grin at him. He might be an assassin but she finds him a big goofball at times. In her heart she knows, she wanted to be with John. She just did not have courage to say it. Maybe it was a good thing that she was attacked. She found out about her true feelings for John and what had John holding himself back from her. John might be an assassin but he had been an absolute gentleman with her. He was getting out wasn’t he? And she was slowly getting to see how terrible his life has been. He was a child when he was pushed into this lifestyle. He did not know, he did not understand. Diana took it upon herself to make John feel that he is a wonderful man. She was also worried about herself. John cannot be there all the time to protect her, she must do something, an idea flashed in her mind. John pulls over, Diana steps in the car and now they drive off to what will be their home soon.

In the morning, John was charged, rejuvenated and happy when he had dropped Diana. The risk on her life was not yet over but they had definitely come closer. The events of last night, John was not over it. He could still feel her lips on him. It was driving him crazy as he drove himself back home. He had become a high school teen that was kissed for the very first time. He wondered why Diana has such an effect on him. Then he remembered. For the first time in his life he had no control over anything. Diana had initiated their intense passionate camaraderie. Leaving control on someone you trust is a feeling that was new and so inexplicable to him. John’s entire system was on fire when she used her tongue and lips on him. Then the way she said Relinquish control, My sweet John…I am here, in her hushed tone that left her warm breaths on his shaft, was enough for him to forget his own name.

When John reached home, he straightway went to the bathroom. He went to the sink and took a large amount of water in his enormous hands. He ducks his heads and splashes the water on his face. When he looked at himself in the mirror he noticed two things. His face was all pink as if he is about to faint and that he is completely unable to control his smile. John thought he must do something for her too. After all, she is the working woman of the house and after yesterday, there is no doubt about who will have the control.

After drying his face, John starts to go into the basement. He feels refreshed. Why is he so refreshed. Probably because for the first time in decades he has had a peaceful sleep, no nightmare, no breathlessness, just a calm long sleep in the arms of the woman he loves and adores so much. At no cost will Borgov’s men will reach her, find her, hurt her. John will protect her with his life, but before that, John feels the urgency to finish her gift. He goes and works in the basement to finish restoring her favorite book, The Little Prince till the time, the alarm chimes in the evening, and reminds him that he has to go pick up Diana at her college. For the first time, John finds his hobby of bookbinding more than just a hobby. His beloved loves to read and he will now restore all the books that she loves. He has already arranged the first editions of few of the poets and writers that he thinks she might like. Slowly, even John is feeling like getting into reading literature himself. He has got a small poetry book for himself, the same anthology book that Diana took from his hand in the antique shop. That book is next in the list of restoration of books. John had read a few poems from it already. He tries to remember one from it. Was it Browning or Burns? He thinks. Nevertheless, he remembers the lines that perfectly caption the state of his love for Diana, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height, My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight, For the ends of being and ideal grace.

Diana and John are on the way back. The Mustang radio is playing a soft instrumental and the sun is about to set. It almost feels like they are in a movie or a music video. There is nothing but peace and love between them. John sees Diana leaning back on the car seat, gently humming the tune on the radio along with it. John smiles looking at her and keeps one hand on her thighs.

“Long day?”

Diana replies with a smile and eyes still closed.

“Yeah, had to cover up yesterday’s work too.”

“Too bad. Are you tired”

“I am exhausted John. Just want to eat and sleep”

“So that’s a no to going out, I suppose”

“We can order in.”

“Or I can cook for us”

“You can cook?”

“I have been living alone for a long time love, what do you think I do for food?” John muses.

“Urrrghh.. I hate being tired.” Diana whines making John chuckle.

“You are adorable you know that?”

“You are just saying that, I am a grandma who just wants to rest, read, and play the violin”

“Then You are the hottest grandma with the sexiest voice and mind I have seen”

“Oh…pssshhh.. quiet John!”

“We are here love”

“You go ahead, Ill come in some time”

John knows that she is tired so without any hesitation, he opens her door and picks her up in his arms.

“John, if I wasn’t too tired, I’d say put me down”

“But you are tired love, aren’t you?”

“Yes, that’s why I am allowing you to carry me, but you should know its under protest”

“duly noted love”

John says as he feels Diana resting her head against his chest while he carries her with an endearing look that only angels can give.