#i tried to translate it more aptly

[sonego]

Charles Leclerc trying hard (and failing) to guess the Monte Carlo track in The F2 Emoji Challenge

[starlightval]

his f-18, his bronco, his favorite sports teams and you || bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x mitchell!reader

synopsis: you claim there are a select set of things rooster pays attention to and remembers information about. those being his f-18, bronco, and favorite sports teams. however rooster is quick to correct you seeing as you left off one very important thing on that list, you.

warnings: n/a, just some short and sweet fluff

note: not edited! rooster has me in an absolute chokehold, enjoy lovlies.

ps. i may or may not have a rooster x mitchell!reader multific story in the works 👀 let me know if thats something you'd be interested in!

masterlist

*I do not give consent to my work being posted, translated, copied or published to any third-party site. If you see my work reposted anywhere, please reach out and let me know.*

“Roo, baby, you know I love you from the absolute bottom of my heart but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.” You order sweetly, pointing toward the living room with the spatula in your hand.

Rooster had come waltzing in a few moments ago, his baseball game having cut to a commercial break, and with one look at you buzzing around the kitchen with your hair messily pulled back against your head as you multitasked getting things prepped for tonight's dinner, had announced that he wanted to help.

To which you said absolutely not and he immediatley wanted to know why leading to the converstation you were currently having.

He grabbed at his chest, face twisting in offense, “Excuse you, for your information I am a fantastic cook. Carole Bradshaw insured that.” 

“And I have nothing but the utmost absolute faith in Aunt Carole’s abilities. What I don’t have faith in is your ability to pay attention and retain the knowledge of anything that doesn’t have to do with your F-18, Bronco or favorite sports teams.” 

“Are you calling me dumb Y/n Mitchell?” He accused.

“I never said that Bradley Bradshaw, I only meant that your talents and intelligence are more aptly applied in places that aren’t my kitchen.” You countered, putting emphasis on his name the way he did yours.

He stared at you for a moment, eyes playfully narrowed, trying to come up with good enough response to defend himself against your argument. He repeats your list mentally to himself; His F-18, his bronco, his favorite sports teams and...wait a minute-

Rooster's head cocked to the side and a smirk spread across his face as a thought suddenly dawned on him. You rose an eyebrow as he placed his beer down on the kitchen island and took a step forward crossing the distance towards you, “What are you doing?”

“You left something off that list,” he said softly, taking another step forward and pinning you to the counter with his hips. His hands went forward to rest on the edge of the marble on either side of your waist, leaving you with no where to go.

You furrowed your eyebrows and smiled in confusion up at him, “What?” 

His closeness was disarming and you never could think straight in his presence. Especially not with those dark brown eyes locked so intensely on yours, so your earlier argument had already slipped from your mind. 

“The list of things that you said I pay attention to and remember stuff about, you forgot something.” He repeated, breath fanning lightly across your face, “It's my F-18, my bronco, my favorite sports teams and you. I always pay attention to and remember anything to do with you baby.” 

Your breath hitched and you instantly became putty in his arms, heart melting right along with the rest of you. 

Your suddenly hit with the rush of an overwhelming amount of love for the man in front of you. Surging forward, you closed the small gap between you and brought your lips together in a passionate kiss. Your arms circled themselves tightly around his neck, spatula dropping forgotten to the floor, as you tried with every fiber in your being to express through your kiss just how much you freaking loved and adored him. 

The pair of you don’t separate until you both desperately need to breathe, gasping lightly as you do for air. Your arms remained in their locked postion around his neck, preventing him from putting any space between you, so he simply lowered his forehead to rest against yours, eyes falling shut. 

It’s silent between you for a few more moments as you basked in one another’s touch, breathing the same breath, before you break it by whispering, “I still don’t trust you in my kitchen.” 

Rooster doesn’t react at first but then suddenly he bursts into loud boisterous laughter. His head dropping down to your shoulder, body shaking against yours with the force of it.

He manages to recover a few seconds later and still slightly chuckling, squeezes your waist before lifting his head up and pressing one more soft kiss to your lips.

Rooster then proceeds to back away, freeing you from your postion pinned against the counter, and grabbed his beer off the island to return to his game. 

“Whatever you say honey.” 

[autumnalwalker]

Find the word tag

Thank you for the tag @druidx.

I've got a bunch of these word find tags in my queue, and I'm finally getting back around to them. Will be posting several over the next few days.

My words to find were effort, entry, ear, error, & expression.

Passing the (optional) tag to @authoralexharvey, @alainastrauss, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @theprissythumbelina, @squarebracket-trick, and the usual open tag to anyone else who wants it.

Your words to find shall be please, space, surprise, melancholy, & unassuming.

Effort: Empty Names - 10 - Cleanup

“Please, let me help you.  You’re safe here,” she says as she takes his hand.  Or at least, she thinks that’s what she says.  She never actually got to practice speaking the language with anyone else before now.

There’s a moment of horrendous silence as Dis!ma*s’s feet touch the ground.  He makes one slow blink with horizontally closing eyelids and then doubles over.  Laughing.  He says something but it's fast enough and interrupted by gasps of laughter that Lacuna can’t follow.

“I’m sorry?” she says on reflex before remembering the language barrier. “I mean, I apologize.”  The latter sentence sends Dis!ma*s into a renewed fit of what Lacuna really hopes is amusement as the rainwater shakes off of him.

“Your pronunciation is so garbage it was half gibberish and half propositioning him,” Bridgewood says from the other side of the carriage.  He’s not literally laughing at her, but he may as well be with the face he’s making.  “And then you -”

“Okay, okay, I think I get it!” Lacuna’s voice cracks as her face grows hot with embarrassment and frustration.  She tries to remember gestures that she’d read up on for some culturally appropriate sign of contrition but draws a blank.

Recovering, Dis!ma*s stands up straight and speaks again, slow and loud this time.  “I apologize,” he starts and Lacuna immediately sees where she went wrong with the pronunciation but has no idea how to make her mouth form the right phoneme.  “You surprised me.  It has been a difficult day.  Thank you for trying.”

Or at least, the parts Lacuna can parse are something along those lines.

“He says getting hit on at the end of the worst couple days of his life was too absurd to deal with, but A for effort on the welcoming attempt,” Bridgewood offers by way of translation.

Entry: Empty Names - 3 - Dance Partners

The girl was surprised at how steady her hands were as she punched in the keyless entry code for the pickup.  She was the most scared she’d ever been in her life and yet there was something else.  Relief at having gotten away?  Excitement?  Thrill?  A feeling of power after having stared death in the eye then punched it in the face?  She smirked as she opened the door and climbed inside.  That last one had a nice ring to it.

Fish out the keys, start the engine, buckle her seatbelt, change the radio to something less sad, and she was off.  Or so she thought until she felt a bump backing out of the parking spot.  The girl looked in the rearview mirror and saw her pursuer once more, now holding onto the back of the truck.  She changed gears and pressed the gas, speeding forward and bouncing over the parking blocks between the spaces.  

Ear: Empty Names - 20 - Changeling Child

It surprises Ashan just how light Lacuna is when she falls forward into his arms.  He is barely even eye level with her shoulder on the rare occasions she stands up straight, but he realizes now just how much she is skin and bones beneath the loose-fitting clothing she always seems to favor.

“Don’t tell Eris,” Lacuna breathes into his ear before passing out.

Error: Empty Names - 16 - Mall Rats

Echo Plaza, a place that becomes more aptly named with each passing year.  

A mere three decades ago this place would have been teaming wall to wall with shoppers from Backstage and beyond.  Wide-eyed newbies who mistakenly thought it would be a good place to ease themselves into things.  Paratech hobbyists looking for the newest offworld imports to reverse engineer.  Teenage witch covens staking out corners of spellbookstores and food courts.  Offworld travelers taking advantage of their multi-day anchor world hub layover to go sightseeing.  Fairies playing tricks from the cover of palm fronds and aerial shrubbery.  Naiads presiding over the grand fountains and granting small blessings in exchange for the coins thrown in. The list went on.

Back then, when the ideal of the shopping mall as cultural centers of commerce and socialization occupying a prominent place in the collective consciousness brought Echo Plaza into being and sustained it and its occupants with an effervescent zest for life, vendors would kill for a storefront on the young pocket dimension’s main concourse.  Quite literally, as Sullivan knows from personal experience and paychecks.  In those days just being here would make everything feel exciting and wondrous.  In these window displays the kitsch became cool and the mildly uncommon became alluringly exotic.

Now there are more marble statues than people.  The grand fountains are all long dry.  Food court menu screens proclaim cryptic messages over blue error backgrounds.  Shadowy suggestions of mannequins linger in gutted boutiques at the edge of a flickering neon haze.

The golden age of the shopping mall has passed, and even the subcultural revival of the concept is inextricably intertwined with emptiness and signal decay.  None but the most stubborn of holdouts are willing to invest property in a pocket dimension on its last legs before dissolution.  Only the most dedicated seekers of aesthetic and pursuers of the niche bother to put up with the permeating air of nostalgia and melancholy.

Expression: Empty Names - 19 - Shire

It’s actually two someones walking up the sidewalk toward the unassuming safehouse, and they’re not any of the local residents that Sullivan now knows by sight after the length of his unsleeping stakeout.  The woman in front is of a middling height, similar to Sullivan’s own.  Auburn hair loose down to the shoulders, purple-framed glasses, beige knit sweater, red scarf, blue jeans.  Checking an old model flip phone as if verifying the address.  Some niggling familiarity about her appearance that Sullivan can’t quite place.  

The second woman, walking stiff-backed one pace behind and a shoulder-width to the left, towers head-and-shoulders over her companion - no, her superior, unless Sullivan misses his mark.  Silver hair pinned back in an elaborate bun, expressionless face, amber brooch pinned to a white cravat, dress of maroon so dark it’s almost black with so much frills and lace that it leaps out of the realm of antique and into the territory of gothic.

Sullivan blinks through his filters and the taller woman’s face takes on a porcelain sheen and the ball-jointed segmentation of her hands becomes apparent.  Another blink and the next filter reveals the leash of metaphysical strands linking the two women heart-to-heart.  A witch and her arcane doll?  Sullivan didn’t think they had those in this world cluster.  No, far more likely to be a superficial similarity born of convergent evolution.  More likely an unorthodox familiar bond with a construct.  Either way, he suspects that once the mage is dealt with (witch, wizard, or otherwise is hard to say without seeing her in action) then that should cut the puppet strings on the doll and make for easy pickings.

[count-lero]

Even though Metternich’s birthday has passed, I would still love to make some remarks on the piece of artwork I dedicated to him this year.

The first one being that yes, all the people featured there are real historical characters who meant something to him at the most spectacular point of his life. There are field-marshal Schwarzenberg, Wilhelmine von Sagan, his two unfortunate daughters - Maria and Clementine, Friedrich von Gentz and, of course, Monsieur de Talleyrand-Périgord - le Diable boiteux himself. 🥀

And the second one is a close-up of a jewellery that Wilhelmine of Sagan is holding in her hand, since I put a lot of effort into that bracelet despite its insignificance on a scale of the entire work. The design was created without any visual references, though based on a spectacular description from that one book - “Vienna, 1814” - aptly mentioned by @joachimnapoleon in her reblog. :) 💠

I will allow myself to quote the whole passage here, since it’s fascinating in many ways. (However, it’s a translation from English to Russian and then back to English, so I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies in the transmission of original text by David King)

It is probable that on New Year's Eve Metternich was especially lonely and dreary. He tried for the third time to beg the Duchess for a date. "I would hate to spend the first day of the new year, 1815, without seeing you," wrote the prince.

Before the champagne glasses rang, a package from a Viennese jeweler's store was delivered to the Palma Palace. Opening a small satin box, the Duchess found in it a gold bracelet of amazingly fine workmanship, decorated with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and amethysts. In the days of Romanticism each stone had its own symbolism. A diamond and a ruby spoke of love and fidelity; the other two marked birthdays: an amethyst for the Duchess of Sagan, an emerald for Prince Metternich. The messenger brought the package, as ordered by the Prince, "by the stroke of midnight."

Metternich attached a letter to the gift explaining the symbolic meaning of the letter G engraved on each stone: "I would be happy to put this bracelet on your lovely hand myself and say: "Gottgebe Gnade, Gluck, Gedeihen" ("May the Lord send you his blessing, give you prosperity and happiness")."

What Metternich himself did on New Year's Eve is unknown. The poet-songwriter La Garde-Chambona claims that he saw him at the New Year's ball at Count Zichy's, and this is quite possible, although one cannot ignore the young lyricist's tendency to somewhat free handling of dates. It is more likely that the prince, having put down the goose quill and sent the parcel around eleven in the evening, spent the night alone in the office of the state chancellery.

[bazhowletts]

Full Name: Baz Howlett.

Nicknames: Baz.

Pronouns and Gender: He/Him, Cis Male.

Birth place: Aurora Bay.

How long have they been in town?: His whole life / various leaves of absence but he always ends up back one way or another.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Housing: Fisher's Cove.

Occupation:  Front Desk @ Titanium Gym.

tw crime, drugs, death // @aurorabayaesthetic

QUICK OVERVIEW:

tearaway teen yup yup yup

only child to perpetual disappointment pipeline

fell into a bad crowd with very little prompting in high school and got involved in some dodgy dealings

shit stirrer since birth

not a violent guy (unless pushed) but he got a little too big for his boots when money started rolling in and pissed off the wrong people in increasingly more creative ways

was with his best friend when he was ended up being killed over a drug dispute that got out of hand and escalated from an argument to a shooting

took off when he heard sirens

still wonders if he could have done something more that night to actually save him - kind of shut down for a long time over that and has done absolutely fuck all to process it really

hasn't told many people about that incident or his actions in the aftermath despite both being there when it occurred and being one of the coffin bearers at andrew's funeral

joyriding since before he could even drive properly (or legally), was the fastest fucker around when it came to stripping cars for parts which is why when he ended up going straight becoming a mechanic was about the only thing he could think to do that didn’t make him want to die of boredom 

broke his mothers heart tbh his dad always likes to remind him that that's what killed her (more aptly it was illness, but it do be getting in on him) 

very much uncomfortable with everything about himself and his life and i don’t think he’s felt genuine joy in years 

suffers from a terminal case of seeming out of place and disinterested 

after working as a mechanic ran its course for him he tried his hand at being a mailman

that lasted all of a year and a half before he was let go after suspicion of mail tampering and not delivering to people he has petty vendetta's against

absolutely justly let go but he'll never acknowledge that

currently working the front desk at titanium and finds amusement in telling gym bros they're looking tiny and questioning the nutritional value of protein aloud

if he cares then he cares but he’s just not the best at making that translate 

a ghoul!

PERSONALITY.

+ funny, confident, indepedent.

- abrasive, disinterested, petty.

FUN ADJACENT FACTS.

ocean crest apartment anti even though he doesn't even live there anymore, can’t stand the ruckus that’s always being caused and has several lifelong enemies in the form of long-term residents who he's beefed with

drives a shitty car, especially for someone so formerly into cars, but he's spent too much time under the hood of other people's cars to care much about that

pathological liar. no real reason for it, it just gives him a giggle

thinks grace and frankie is the greatest show ever made 

known harasser of local politicians

thinks taxes are optional

voted most likely to tell you to get off his lawn

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

ex-husband of @kaylatullz

employee of @ecchs

friend of @clint-bennet

friend of @peterbasara

cousin of @tabithaxking

sometimes mechanic to / goblin co-kings with @marsmoran

friend of @calinxsava

went on a vday blind date with @the-nelson-quinn

SPECIFIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

ocean crest residents -- any of the folks he's got absurd beefs with. can range from nonsense to legit, let's goooo!

ex-gf from high school -- someone who knew him before andrew's death and saw that massive shift in him after it that's carried through to this day. pre-plotting required.

people who's cars he's worked on/will take a look at cheap -- from back in the day when he was a mechanic. hasn't much of an interest these days but will do nixers if it's into the hand

ride or dies / friends -- u know u know.

past exes/flings/fwb -- lets get messy.

neighbours @ fisher's cove -- can be positive or negative vibes

just all of it 

GENERIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

connections wise he’s pretty much an open book right now, but some baseline ideas that can be springboarded off are:

friendly.

a best friend / ride or dies / close friends / childhood friends / pseudo-siblings / friends / drunk friends / new friends / former roommate / people he met on his travels (hasn't been outside of america but anywhere within can be plotted).

romantic

flirtationship / friends with benefits / one time hook ups / tinder matches / unrequited crush (can be either way) / exes from high school / exes on good terms.

antagonistic.

enemies / former (best) friends / exes on bad terms / frenemies / rivals / negative influence / tbh he's an acquired taste so most antagonistic connects would work for him.

[smokefalls]

Title: Welcome to the Hyunam-dong Bookshop Author: Hwang Bo-reum Translator: Shanna Tan Publication Year of Translation: 2023 Publisher: Bloomsbury Genre: fiction

On the surface, this novel is heartwarming and charming, following the (relatively romanticized) calm and gentle rhythms of the day-to-day happenings at an independent bookshop in a fictional neighborhood of Seoul. However, what I found particularly striking about this novel was its anti-capitalist undertones. It especially comes as a surprise, given the hellish work–life balance and capitalism’s relentless presence in South Korea. As Hwang aptly points out a few times in the novel, life really is a bit of a rat race.

Hwang’s novel is one that pushes back against this culture. She asks the readers to slow down, to take a moment to breathe, to question where we’re placing our values and why so much of it is career- and success-oriented. The protagonist, Yeongju, does a lot of meandering through life as she tries to figure out the purpose of her bookshop and the end goal. Along the way, we see these answers slowly appear in her interactions with other characters in the novel, all of whom are also trying to find their purpose and end goals, especially in a fast-paced society driven by capitalist ideologies.

For me, what I found particularly comforting about this novel wasn’t so much the bookshop vibes, but, rather, the quiet call to take a moment to rest and not get caught up racing to the top. (In a way, an analogy was made with selling and reading bestsellers.) I think of Tricia Hersey’s Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto, in which she wrote: “Rest is radical because it disrupts the lie that we are not doing enough. It shouts: ‘No, that is a lie. I am enough. I am worthy now and always because I am here.’” While the characters aren’t necessarily in a state of complete rest, the slower, wandering pace gives the reader a moment to pause and reflect.

If you’re looking for a plot-driven novel, you won’t find it here. If you’re looking for strong character development, it’s… kind of there. More than anything, I found that this novel was something of an intervention to propose an escape—even if temporary—from the rat race, which Hwang manifests through her characters’ interactions and musings. I didn’t find the novel particularly revolutionary in its message and, admittedly, even found the directionlessness a bit maddening at times, but I think I picked it up at the right time to be reminded to revisit my values. I also have one really nitpicky thing that might not bother everyone, but I was terribly annoyed by the inconsistencies in romanizing Korean words/names. It was hard to tell how to accurately pronounce them without hearing or seeing the original.

Content Warning: some grief

[gunsli-01]

Okay now that I've slept more. Let's talk about the English captions on "It's Not My Fault". It seems these are the lyrics that the translators struggled with the most so far. They're riddled with errors that make it difficult to understand or just flow weird. However, it's not completely impossible to grasp the underlying intent.

I can't speak for direct translations of the lyrics, but I can discuss the creative liberties they attempted to take with the song through the English lyrics provided. That and how I feel those lyrics are best interpreted.

So, here's the translation in the captions and description.

Lines that could make it difficult for some English speakers to wrap their heads around, they would do a double take at, or just lessen the impact of the song have been highlighted. However, since English relies a lot on context when everything is considered together it's not that daunting of a task to discern the meaning.

Here's my interpretation of what was provided superficial or nitpicky changes are highlighted in blue.

I feel the most important thing in the translation even if it's a bit rough is this part

"Sorry for hurting you, but I didn’t mean it. I am doing this is just because of being bored. We are just the same." which I interpreted to mean this, "Sorry for hurting you, but I didn’t mean it. I was just doing it because I was bored. We’re just the same."

This could be interpreted to mean that Mu finds her and Es/us the viewers to be the same just bullying others because we're bored. Just for entertainment and she's not entirely wrong. A lot of people have found Milgram entertaining.

However, this comes off as her admitting there's no deeper meaning behind her behavior, she just felt like it. Which tracks with the emphasis she continues to put on Es doing what they want to do. How they never chose to be the prison guard. So, there's really no point in taking it this seriously. She views them as the same because to an extent they're both just having fun judging others and their actions have led to many getting hurt. So, why not just have fun being the bullies together.

If Es tries to rebel out of jealousy well, we've already seen what'll happen right?

The choice to interpret pitiful into Drama Queen really works in English especially with Mu's character. She spent most of her first interrogation crying even though she was comfortable enough within Milgram to order personalized sweets.

Having it be translated to Drama Queen completely changes the feel of the song. To English speakers she's basically stating over and over that she was worried for nothing, she blew things out of proportion, and that this is something she's always done.

The English connotation around the term Drama Queen is someone who turns even the most mundane situations into a dramatic spectacle. Though I feel like after the part where she says we're just the same it'd be better to say, "Don't you think it's wonderful to control them with your gentle sting?" Further driving the comparison between herself and Es.

It would also aptly compare our guilty verdicts to her bullying. Showing that to an extent she's conflating what she did as her very own form of punishment on the same level as the judgements Es makes for their 'job'.

Honestly, they really chose to translate these lyrics in a way that would cause most Americans at least to snipe this woman from the rafters- Like it's very taunting in nature. Though that's just how I interpreted it when I saw it, and this is just the way it makes the most sense to me.

Other English speakers could have interpreted it a lot differently. Though I hope this gives some insight into why some people in English speaking countries may have changed their opinion on Mu. Maybe a more direct translation would've helped her with that, but I don't believe it would have from what I heard. Plus, the song itself is such a mean girl ballad that any hiccups in translation were easy to overlook.

It really does create an entirely different feel.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #21

The friends who will help me to build the Dance Dance Revolution pad will not arrive until tomorrow, but that is okay, because I spent my time doing something much more important. And this important thing that I am speaking vaguely on - I would do it again and again and again, without hesitation.

Given my neurobiology and life experiences, often I feel like I don't belong here - in this time, in this place, or on this planet, even. By and large, people like me are not accepted by broader society, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to whatever happens once my "meat mech" runs out of juice. For a variety of reasons, sometimes I am overcome with the desire to leave prematurely; I have a very strong feeling of wanting to go "home" (wherever that is; I have no idea, but I do know that it isn't this particular mossy wet space rock), and my brain is very good at trying to convince me that no one would miss me if I left.

But then I remember that I have superpowers.

I have the capacity to make someone laugh. To make someone feel seen. To be the reason someone smiles. To be the reason why someone out there can feel understood and cared about, even if it's only for a little while. To reach for those who need a little help. To be patient and to wait. All humans have these superpowers, and more. And all humans forget, from time to time, that they have these superpowers. That's okay too. Usually something comes along to remind them. I certainly need a reminder from time to time.

That being said, one superpower that I definitely do not have is the ability to ZOOP off to some far-off place to prepare tea for someone. As one of my friends so aptly put it, according to TV and movies, we were supposed to have some person named Scotty to beam us up and down to places whenever we want by now (this is a joke; it's okay if you don't get the reference. all the same, if your position at the Edge of Creation allows you to check out Star Trek, you totally should - it's good stuff!), but that is definitely not the case, and that is sad. Oh well.

I am small and my voice doesn't count for much in this place. But all the same, the world needs more of whatever good things I (and anyone else) can do, so even though I'm very tired, in pain, and very sad almost all the time, I'll stay here until my body decides on its own that I'm all done here. Why not? After all, the good things that we do end up multiplying in ways that we cannot see, expect, or fully understand.

Besides, the longer I chill out here, the more stories I'll be able to bring back to wherever feels like home once I'm all done, right? And maybe whoever is waiting for me will be proud of everything I've loved, all the weird ideas I unlearned, all the things I've created, all the stuff I tried to fix, and all the people I tried to help along the way.

I wonder if you're aware of all the people you've helped just by existing, whether you intended it or not. You're not the monster that they said you were. You're not the monster that you think you are.

I've got another little song for you today. Maybe you'll like it. I'll include the way I translated it afterwards:

-------------- Remember that everyone is putting on a brave face and trying to stifle their overflowing tears.

So don't be tempted to use the kind of power that comes from being cruel. No one seems to understand this, but heroes don't need power. Just trust in your authentic self. And, even if your hands seem so small, behold:

All of the love you've ever given and received and all of the curses that have befallen you, too These are what give you the strength to protect everything you hold dear.

On some days, your sorrows might attack you from every direction, and overwhelm you to the point of falling to your knees, barely even able to draw breath. But remember: so many things in this world come in opposing pairs: Joy and tears, despair and strength… Even when you are overflowing with doubt and worry, Remember that love and gratitude shatter all barriers. Look at all of the things that your strong hands have carried up until now, and understand:

All of the love you've ever given and received and all of the curses that have befallen you, too These are what give you the strength to protect everything you hold dear.

Stories tell of a coveted sword But all those who find it discover with disappointment that it is riddled with rust. Not wanting to expend the effort to restore it, they leave it behind as though it is worthless. Little do they know that it still has the power to tear the darkness apart.

All of the love you've ever given and received and all of the curses that have befallen you, too These are what give you the strength to protect everything you hold dear.

So don't be tempted to use the kind of power that comes from being cruel. No one seems to understand this, but heroes don't need power. Just trust in your authentic self So that the shadows, recoiling from your gentle brightness, ask in terror: "What even ARE you?!" --------------

I know that this letter is short, but I think I'll end it here; I'm short on sleep and very tired, and I don't wanna ramble on ya.

Remember that you also have superpowers, okay? And not just the ones that let you bend timelines and allow you incredible feats of physical and magical prowess.

Please remember you are loved. Please stay safe out there as you do your things.

Your friend, Lumine

[verdanabdit]

was looking at your masterpost that you have pinned and i have no idea what the abbreviations stand for. what do they mean?

Do you mean "FSJ" and "AFSJ"? I tried to explain it at the top of the pinned post, but maybe I didn't do it well enough.

Because of the Great Tumblr P☆rn Purge of '18, certain words and terms will get a post or account flagged as inappropriate, and it will either become unviewable or unsearchable. I either censor words with stars ☆ or use their ROT13 equivalents. For SFJ and AFSJ, those are ROT13 for S[]F[]W (s☆fe f☆r w☆rk) and N[]S[]F[]W (n☆t s☆fe f☆r w☆rk).

(ROT13 is a cipher where you rotate every letter in the alphabet forward 13 times. A becomes N, B becomes O... There's translators for it online, including the very aptly named rot13(dot)com. (external links will also get posts flagged, so I obscure those, too.))

I realize most people have adopted the N[]S[]F[]T tag (or the old lemon and lime tags we used to use in Ye Olden Days of fandom) as the more common alternative, but I worry tumblr would eventually "catch on" (they likely already know) and start flagging posts with that term when pressured by the same masters who got the stuff banned in the first place.

Anyway. I put these on each pairing tag rather than as separate tags because I like being able to filter them per-pairing easily. Sometimes I'm in the mood for fluffy fells, or randy swaps.

(Edit: And I just now learned that reblogging a post that has been self-flagged as mat☆re will get your blog soft-flagged as mat☆re, too. Posts still searchable, but it nags you every time you view the blog. So I guess I won't be reblogging art, just in case :/ Time to figure out how to make my likes easily visible or something.)

[weshipyourride]

Meet BikeFlights Ambassador Enzo Moscarella

BikeFlights Ambassador Enzo Moscarella is committed to racing in some of cycling’s premier events, and has written and illustrated a children’s book dedicated to the simple desire of riding a bike, aptly titled “I Want to Ride My Bicycle”.

But just a few years ago bikes were barely in his periphery.

Growing up in New York City, bikes would occasionally come in and out of his life, via hand-me-downs and apartment basement finds, but they rarely played a significant role in his life.

“They were just another toy,” Enzo says, “we never went out on bike rides.”

College was similar; the occasional borrowed bike might transport him to a class or work, but he never gave bikes much thought beyond that.

Then came 2019, and as the world shut down, the streets opened up. Enzo started noticing bikes a lot more and a new perspective emerged.

“I was living in Brooklyn at the time, and I saw more people [on bikes] in the park and messengers zoom[ing] in and out. I just got this itch and thought, I think I want to buy a bike.”

In 2020, he scratched the itch and purchased an entry level steel single speed. That’s when a new world appeared on the horizon.

“I did one lap around Prospect Park and was winded and got a little buzz. It snowballed from there.”

Enzo felt compelled to keep challenging himself to do more laps around the park and to explore further throughout the city. His world expanded both literally and figuratively.

He set his sights on a more ambitious ride and began researching the prospect of riding his bike from New York City to Chicago. Somewhere in his research he came across the call for applications to From the Ground Up, a program – run by BikeFlights Ambassador Alexey Vermeulen and fellow professional cyclist Ryan Petry– which provides resources and guidance to “inspire cyclists of all ability levels to step outside of their comfort zones” and compete in an event like the Leadville Trail 100 MTB.

“I actually sent it to a couple friends, who I thought were serious cyclists at the time, and said, ‘Hey, you guys should do this,’” Enzo says.

His “serious cyclist” friends found the idea “insane.” So Enzo decided to give it a go himself, thinking it was a long shot.

Enzo was chosen for the inaugural season of the program and began training for the Leadville Trail 100 MTB, a 104-mile mountain bike race with more than 11,000 feet of climbing in the oxygen thin Leadville, Colorado. He was quickly struck by the physical and mental benefits of using the bike to work toward a lofty goal, and those benefits translating to his off-the-bike life.

“I found the phrase ‘send it’ happening more and more in my life,” Enzo says, relating it to situations in his life in which, “the worst that could happen is I fall and have to get back up.”

When a training ride crash and injury forced him off the bike for an extended period of time, Enzo took advantage of the situation to “send it” on an ambition that had been lurking in the back of his mind for a while.

“I always wanted to write a children’s book, but never had a subject or solid idea.” With his arm in a cast and a long recovery ahead of him, Enzo took inspiration from a persistent nagging feeling: “All I wanted to do was ride my bike.”

Enzo began to reflect on his cycling journey through photos and memories, noting the diversity of people he’s met and their chosen path within the world of cycling. He began sketching.

“I tried to represent the diversity of people and bikes that I’d interacted with over the past couple years. I drew my friends on mountain bikes, adaptive bikes and fixed gear bikes.”

In addition to his background in fine arts and graffiti art (he has a Master’s degree in sculpture), Enzo drew on his experience as an early childhood educator to arrange the book in a way that would be engaging to young children.

The result is 38 colorful pages, simple text in both English and Spanish, introducing children to the diverse world of bikes and the people who ride them. A second volume is in the works as well as two other non-bike books. If you’re interested in purchasing “I Want to Ride My Bicycle” you can do so here. 

Although Enzo’s initial participation in the From the Ground Up program was cut short by injury, he was invited back for the second season. You can watch both seasons on the From the Ground Up website.

As for Enzo’s endeavors in 2023, we’re excited to have him as a BikeFlights Ambassador as he continues to explore the world of cycling. He’s also been chosen to be a Ride for Racial Justice rider at SBT GRVL in Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

In addition to SBT GRVL Enzo hopes to continue to challenge himself physically, mentally and creatively. Although he may not have a schedule etched in stone quite yet, he has a basic plan.

“I don’t know exactly what to expect over the next year, but I know I’ll be making stuff and riding bikes.”

[tigermike]

During this week in 1754, a young Colonel George Washington surrenders his “Fort Necessity” to the French. It was the only time he ever surrendered.

At this point in time, ownership and control of the Ohio Country were hotly contested. Washington had been dispatched to the area with orders to “make Prisoners of or kıll & destroy” anyone who disputed British control of the region. He had roughly 160 men.

Washington established a small camp near the French-controlled Fort Duquesne. He had intended to stay and wait for reinforcements, but he received a message that the French were approaching. Washington decided to go on the offensive. Early on May 28, he advanced toward the French position with 40 men. He was joined by about 12 Indian warriors. Together, the two encircled the French detachment of slightly over 30 men.

What happened next is disputed. Who shot first? Did the French try to surrender? Were they on a diplomatic mission? The Indian Half King spoke fluent French, but Washington did not. Thus, the Half King may have been left to interpret the French commander’s statements at a critical moment. Either way, the conflict was over quickly. When the dust settled, about a dozen Frenchmen were dеad or wοunded and 21 were captured. One of the dеad was the French commander, Ensign Joseph Coulon de Villiers, sieur de Jumonville. In the French view, Jumonville was not a casualty of war. Not only was he on a diplomatic mission, but he had been trying to surrender. Thus, kılling him was murdеr.

Washington decided to stay and defend the area. He began building a small fort, aptly named “Fort Necessity.” He wrote to the Virginia governor: “We have just finish’d a small palisadod Fort in which with my small Number’s I shall not fear the attack of 500 Men.” The Governor approved the decision and more reinforcements soon arrived, including a company of British regulars.

Washington tried to gain the support of Indian tribes in the area, but they refused. Perhaps they knew what Washington did not then know: A large force of French and Indians was advancing toward Fort Necessity. They were led by Jumonville’s brother. He hoped to “avenge ourselves and chastise [the British] for having violated the most sacred laws of civilized nations.”

When Washington received news that the French were coming, he decided to retreat into Fort Necessity and to prepare “for our Defence in the best Manner we could, by throwing up a small Intrenchment, which we had not Time to perfect . . . .”

The French attacked on the morning of July 3, immediately benefitting from one of Washington’s mistakes. The inexperienced colonel had built his fort too close to the trees. Thus, the French and Indians could sit on the edge of this perimeter, out of sight, but still be within fıring range of the Virginians in the fort.

Needless to say, the battle went brutally for Washington. The French allowed him to retreat with the honors of war, but he also had to sign a document of surrender. By one of the provisions in that document, Washington allegedly confessed to “the Aѕѕaѕѕination of M. de Jumonville.”

Washington later said that he did not realize what he was signing. The document was in French, and it was soaked by a heavy rain that had begun to fall. He was told that the word translated to “dеath,” “loss,” or “kılling,” not “assaѕѕination.”

Colonel Washington led his men out of the fort the next day, with his reputation in tatters. It would be a full year before he had a chance to redeem himself.

Naturally, that is a story for another day! ;)

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

If you enjoy these history posts, please see my note below. :)

Gentle reminder: History posts are copyright © 2013-2022 by Tara Ross. I appreciate it when you use the shar e feature instead of cutting/pasting.

#TDIH #OTD #History #USHistory #liberty #freedom #ShareTheHistory

[uwmspeccoll]

Fashion Friday: The Mannerism of Michelangelo

The Renaissance period is often synonymous with the greats of Michelangelo, Da Vinci, and young Raphael. These master painters poised "imitation" as preeminent beauty, art as poetry—ut pictura poesis—with Michelangelo arguably harnessing the peculiarities of the human spirit most adeptly in his abstract sprawl of figures, elongating their unseen beauty.

A Renaissance essay on Michelangelo by the nineteenth century art critic Walter Horatio Pater investigates the imagination of the master, calling attention to the artist's wayward loves-at-first-sight and their contradictions with the sculptor's mantra of la dove io t'amai prima, or, where I loved you before.  Pater argues that it is precisely this paradox that comprises harmony: the delight between the sweet and the strange.  

Pater repudiated his own time of the Victorian era, acclaiming the decadence of the Renaissance period as the seizing of life, or more aptly in his own words on living:

           ...to grasp at any exquisite passion... or any stirring of the senses, strange dyes, strange colours, and curious odours, or the work of the artist's hands, or the face one's friend.

It is in his words that we can embrace the unnatural grace of the late Renaissance, the period adorned with the Mannerist style of bold outlines, objects at-play with nature, and form with fantastical animal-humans. This unique style of the Renaissance is attributed to Michelangelo's successors who desperately tried to imitate his alien elegance.

Hidden in the figures of Michelangelo are these languid features, satyrs in repose, where solemnity and "faces charged with dreams" dictate, as described by Pater. Darting poetic thoughts give us a glimpse of the bittersweet temperament of Michelangelo's genius. He wrote of his torments in the pagan frivolities of endless quarrelling and his anger at the Gods for loving him so that he reached an age of eighty-eight years.

In all of his years, Michelangelo claimed his figures to be common, austere persons, yet his hand rendered an inherent surprise and energy that future imitators would exploit in quirky forest gods and lovely monsters.

Ergo, my first fashion plate is titled "DRAGON EWER Dress," odd, but not as eccentric as the last two designs; perhaps you can trace the growth of the outlandish creature in each iteration.

Here is a listing of sources from the UWM Special Collections which I have augmented with digital color and outline to emphasize particular details of my inspiration:

1) A watercolor drawing by (or after) Wenzel Jamnitzer, circa 1575 in the Virtuoso Goldsmiths and the Triumph of Mannerism, published by Rizzoli International in 1976.

2-4) My interpretation and contemporary design of the DRAGON EWER Dress, SNAIL CUP Dress and DAVID TANKARD Dress based on Renaissance period vessels between 1540 to 1590 as published in the Virtuoso Goldsmiths and the Triumph of Mannerism, published by Rizzoli International, in 1976.

5, 6) French Renaissance plates of frieze borders in Rouen prayer books from 1508; and painted enamel work of Limoges under Italian faience between 1520 and 1540 as published in the Das polychrome Ornament: Hundert Tafeln, by P. Neff in 1880.

7) Walter Pater included an image of Michelangelo's The Holy Family, or, Doni Madonna, at the Uffizi in Florence, Italy in his aethesticism manifesto, The Renaissance: Studies in Art and Poetry, published by the Limited Editions Club, Stamperia Valdonega in 1976.

8) Costume of the early sixteenth century often in velvets (red is common) and embellished with fewels, gold, lace, fur and feathers as illustrated by Belle Northrup in A Short Description of Historic Fashion published by the Teachers College at  in 1925.

9) An 1592 engraving by Joseph Boillot titled Et Levrs Antipatie (possible translation Antipathy Lips) as published The Renaissance in France: Illustrated Books from the Department of Printing and Graphic Arts, by the Houghton Library, Harvard University in 1995.

10) A drawing or possible woodcut of indentured lions as published in Thomas Wood Stevens' Book of Words: A Pageant of the Italian Renaissance, published by the Alderbrink Press at the Art Institute Chicago in 1909 for the Antiquarian Society.

View my other posts on historical fashion research in Special Collections.

View more Fashion posts.

—Christine Westrich, MFA Graduate Student in Intermedia Arts

[kittydemon9000]

The Beginning of Heatstroke, aka Red's Villain Origin

* crashes down from the ceiling * I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED ONE OF MY 5+ CURRENT WRITING PROJECTS! BEHOLD, A WRITTEN VERSION OF THE 'Red's Villain Origin AU', also known as RVO / Heatstroke AU

To summarize the AU for SPBNR for those that don't now it: 

“Who'd be the biggest conspiracy theorist out of the M!Ninja? The one who drinks 5 hour energy at 3am and spits off the craziest theories and then actually gets it right but nobody gives the theory any merit because the rest of the theories are too crazy?”

The answer: Red / M!Kai

Red: Okay hear me out: Smith is actually an alternative version of one of us sent here from another dimension.

The other M!Ninja: You’re just saying that because Smith’s cool and you want him to be your counterpart

Based on the M!ninja making red cork boards trying to figure out ‘What Is Up With Smith’: Red gets increasingly accurate and nobody will believe him (all pre shogun reveal) and he eventually snaps and takes up a secret villain persona to fight Shogun like 'if they won't believe me I'll do it myself' and it gets awkward when he accidentally does too much damage and catches not only Shogun's attention like planned, but also the rest of the Ninjaforce, and now he has to keep his own identity a secret

So, without further ado, I present... Heatstroke

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

Red blamed the 5-hour energy coffee blend at 3:00am for this.

It was no surprise that between ‘Operation: What’s Going on with Smith’ & the sudden appearance of Shogun that the resident Bounty red-stringed ‘joke’ cork-board doubled in size and seriousness. It also was no surprise that Red had a corner all to himself and that his theories were… in the words of the others, ‘wildly inaccurate and implausible’.

But this time, he was sure he’d gotten it right.

Smith is Shogun sent here from another continent/planet/dimension with the goal of protecting Ninjago City.

The latest string of laughs and scoffs at his theory was the last straw. He’d show them. He’d prove it!

Which was why he was currently standing on the roof of a noodle house, awkwardly adjusting the spare motorcycle helmet he’d ‘borrowed’ from Nya and painted black and orangey-yellow (red had seemed too obvious). He’d exchanged his Ninjaforce outfit for a soot-burned cross between a bomber jacket and a leather jacket. Down his back jutted a row of flames like the spines of a monster, courtesy of one of Nya & Jay’s unfinished inventions Red had modified- surely nothing bad would come of that!

For tonight, the Red Ninja was off-duty. For tonight, it was Heatstroke’s turn.

He fiddled with one of the weapons he’d ‘lent out’ from Master Wu. It resembled a small arm canon, like a smaller version of the Ultimate Weapon. The plaque under its post had read ‘Elemental Focuser’, which, in cryptic Wu speak, probably translated to ‘you can use an elemental power like something out of Avatar: The Last Airbender’. So far he’d only figured out how to activate a focused jet of fire. Well, at least it was on brand. He hoped it would help him catch Shogun’s attention so he could unmask him.

He’d tried confronting Smith at school, of course. But there were only so many ways of saying ‘are you the new vigilante helping the ninjas’, and Smith has a genuine talent for dancing around the topic. Red could confront him with the name Shogun to get a proper reaction, but that would mean explaining how he knew the name and outing himself as the Red Ninja.

So fake villainy really was the only way.

His plan was to use the Elemental Focuser to cause some minor petty damage, just enough to attract the new vigilante. Perhaps set a trash can on fire, block an alleyway with rocks (if he figured out how to change the setting from fire to earth), small things that could easily be repaired.

Of course, plans were never actually stuck to. One way or another, something was always improvised.

Red’s improvisation just happened to involve him accidentally setting the entire alleyway on fire.

He’d only been aiming for one dumpster, honest! And maybe he’d spotted a couple fliers for a SoG meeting on the ground and happened to burn those too. And a newspaper article blaming Lloyd for the recent Garmadon attack, again. And an article about those ‘Damn Ninja Menaces’ by a S. Sonah Sameson. And-

Okay, so maybe Red had aimed the fire at a few small targets. But just a few! And with good reason and good care, but…

Well, fire liked to burn. Give it enough kindle and it’ll continue to grow, stretching like reaching branches towards each other to join in a massive bonfire. 

So now the entire alleyway was on fire, and Red was panicking. 

He’d luckily chosen an abandoned part of town near the beaches where Shogun sightings seemed most frequent, but with the stupid Elemental Focuser not switching from fire mode to water mode or ice mode or something that didn’t have the potential to burn Ninjago City to the ground, Red had no way of stopping the flames.

And more flames meant more destruction which meant a bigger audience.

Which was why his previously muted comm suddenly flared to life, the only warning Red had before Nya’s water strider mech slid around the corner.

Red scrambled onto a roof as the mech drove past, spraying water at the bonfire to dose it. His sigh of relief was just as quickly dosed as Lloyd’s voice came over the comms; “Status, Grey?”

“Flames are out,” Nya replied. “Pursing the joker that set it ablaze.”

Uh oh. Red took off across the roof, leaping from building to building. Tiles creaked, pebbled and dust scattering underfoot. The sounds of the mech’s engine roaring behind him echoed through alleyways below to create the illusion the mech was everywhere at once. 

As the chase grew on, more mechs started to join in. Red ducked into a narrow avenue to avoid Zane’s tank, then under a cafe overhang to throw off Jay and Lloyd. His heart hammered in his chest and he groaned, filling the inside of the motorcycle helmet with steam. Saying this was going ‘bad’ would be the understatement of the century. 

What had he been thinking? Oh wait: he hadn’t. Seriously? ‘Oh I’ll just pretend to be a villain real quick, that should get Shogun’s attention and not the attention of literally my entire team of fellow ninjas!’ Stupid, impulsive, this was why everyone was always calling the red ninja the ‘hothead’ when he really tried not to be- Lloyd’s voice over the comms snapped him from his thoughts. “I can’t catch them! It’s like they know our every move!”

Red winced as he climbed up a banister and leapt from balcony to balcony. Sorry, Lloyd. 

He didn’t miss how the others asked Nya where Red was. And how she made up excuses the others bought so easily- granted, he’d told those excuses to his sister before setting his plan into motion, but still, ouch. They acted like he was simply being at best too busy and at worst lazy and selfish.

He just wanted them to know the truth! Why couldn’t they at least try to believe him when-

Of course, that was when Shogun dropped out of the sky and tackled him.

Red shouted with surprise as he tumbled down from the second floor, slamming into a few softer bags of garbage to break his fall before rolling and slamming into the unforgiving concrete. A crack formed in his vision as the visor of his motorbike helmet smacked into the concrete ground. One of the fire jets on his back sputtered and sparked, sending a thin wisp of smoke into the air.

Shogun pinned his wrists to the ground and growled. “Who are you?”

Red tried to break free, agony turning his muscles and bones to fire with the movement after his fall, but the vigilante was too strong. Damn, how often did this guy train?

“Who am I?” Red said, a nervous tinge to his voice. He quickly smoothed it over with faked confidence. “Who are you? Who are all of us, really?”

Shogun narrowed his eyes behind his hood. “Did Garmadon send you? Or someone else?”

Red sputtered. Really, the nerve! Garmadon? The thought turned his insides to disgusting mud. “Nobody sent me!”

“Then why are you here?” Shogun spat.

“Why am I here?” Why was he here again? Oh right, the bright idea on how to reveal that Shogun was Smith. “It’s, uh… a valid reason! That I don’t have to tell you!” He tried for a villainous laugh. Stay in character, don’t blow your cover, you got this!

Shogun was unimpressed. “Nearly burning down my home was a valid reason?”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to set everything on- wait, WHAT?” Uh oh. “You LIVE here?”

Now it was Shogun’s turn to look uncomfortable, though the expression was quickly wiped from his face. “Nothing wrong with this district.” 

Red nodded. “‘Course not. Uh, sorry about that… wasn’t my intention, I swear.”

Shoot, he could hear Jay’s jet getting closer. He had to get out of here, but Shogun, annoyingly, didn’t seem to be in the mood to simply let him go. “Then what is your intention?”

“Well, for starters, it’s getting out of here. This really isn’t going to plan and I’d rather just be home right now, or even inventing a time machine like in that book ‘Hands of Time’ to slap my past self in the face for even thinking about this stupid idea in the first place-“

Jay wasn’t the only one that could ramble under pressure, it seemed.

Shogun leaned closer. “What idea?”

Red shrugged as best he could with how he was pinned to the ground. “Well, for starters, I just wanted to prove to my friends that you’re Smith, and things just kinda escalated from-”

The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he said. 

Shogun lurched back, letting go of him. His eyes betrayed a kaleidoscope of emotions; surprise, worry, suspicious, hurt, fear, realization. 

“…Kai?”

Well, f!ck.

“I-“

Red was about to badly attempt to bullsh!t his way out of his identity reveal before it suddenly dawned on him that Shogun had not denied his theory. 

Which meant Shogun was Smith.

And it also meant Smith instantly recognized him as Kai, which, considering his disguise, was aptly concerning. Sure, he was the first one in his group of friends people would think to do something this extreme but give him some credit! Zane was a regular detective, he’d do the same if it meant answers! Or, well, at least something similar. And Nya could be an adrenaline seeker. And Lloyd- well, maybe not Lloyd. Or Jay, either. Cole had his head just enough on his shoulders that he probably wouldn’t do this either.

But come on, instantly guessing it?

Well, at least Smith/Shogun didn’t know Kai was the Red Ninja. That would be a catastrophe.

Right. Back to the current catastrophe at hand.

Shogun- Smith- still had a look as if he’d been slapped, and Red hated it. He hadn’t meant to hurt his friend. Shogun… Shogun hadn’t wanted them to find out his identity. And then Red had gone and done it, just to prove that he could be the smart one, or a leader, or the protector so they didn’t get hurt, or literally anything but just the ‘hotheaded one’. 

…And he’d done it in the most hotheaded, impulsive way possible.

He really was an idiot.

The cracked helmet hid the look on his face, a twisted mess of distraught and shame. But it didn’t help hide how he took stumbled to his feet and away from Smith, nervous that any second he’d spill another mistake and mess up again, like how he always freaking messed up on everything. Don’t pick this fight, interject there instead, no, not there, idiot, there, FMS why are you so useless-

Focus, focus.

Lloyd’s voice, sharp in the intercom and full of static from his tumble, snapped him from his thoughts. “Anyone got eyes on the arsonist?”

Red caught Smith’s eye as he raised his hand to his own communicator. He was so screwed, so busted, so doomed… Smith would report it, and the others would know, and they’d think he was just messing around in an alleyway with some stolen devices and weapons out of curiosity or rage, - and-

“None yet, still looking.”

…What?

Smith stared at him, gaze searching. He looked shaken, more so than Red- who’d just taken a fall from a second story, mind you, it was a miracle he wasn’t more injured than a couple small scrapes and some future bruises-, yet everything from the set of his jaw to the softening of his furrowed brows suggested a change in emotions. Well, not quite change; more like repress and replace.

“You wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you.”

Red flushed, hand instinctually clamping into a tight fist at his side. The still-working fire jets on his back ignited without him pressing any buttons; faulty activation from the fall or something. 

Palms up and hands raised, Smith silently asked to defuse the situation. “Didn’t mean it as an insult. This wasn’t about venting some anger, was it.”

Red’s lack of response only confirmed it. Smith continued. “I won’t say anything about this if you don’t tell anyone my identity. Deal? I know finding it out was important to you, but-“

“Deal,” Red interrupted. Guilt ate away at his core, like a wave of water dousing a candle. “Smith, I-“ He swallowed hard and stared at the alley floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to…”

Smith’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder and he flinched before relaxing as Smith didn’t move further, nor did the grip tighten. “I’m a little hurt, you’re right. But I’m not mad. And I won’t tell the others, so you can relax. But you better get out of here and get yourself an alibi. We can talk at school or something.”

Wow, he was handling this rather calmly. Red was struck by the sudden memory of- what did Jay call the word? Right. Compartmentalizing. That… wasn’t healthy. But at the roar of Lloyd’s mech somewhere nearby, he didn’t comment further. Instead, he shot Smith a grateful nod and ran down the alley, sticking to the shadows and blind spots of the flying mechs and the tight alleyways where the land mechs couldn’t reach him. 

When he got home, miraculously without further incident (though Shogun leading the others on a wild goose chase over the comms certainly helped there), he ditched the outfit in a bag hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the shed. He’d return the weapon to Master Wu’s ship later, and… well, hope Nya never searched for the missing supplies. There wasn’t a way of fixing it without involving her or Jay, and neither was an option.

Heatstroke was back off duty, and so was the Red Ninja.

For now, he could just be Kai Smith. And there wasn’t any issue with that.

…

Right?

—————

yooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THIS IS AMAZING REHJJGFHDESFXJVZ

and ah yes, good ol trauma and compartmentalizing, we love to see it

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Waking Comfort (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence (in a flashback), implied/referenced trauma (unspecified) Warnings: N/A Summary: Unable to sleep on a cold day, Bela Dimitrescu tries to find comfort in her favorite servant... only to end up being the one doing the comforting. Notes: This is super self indulgent, because my dreams have been murdering me recently. Reader is a selective mute/partially nonverbal, implied neurodivergent (unspecified), gender neutral but written with a non-binary person in mind, with non-specific past trauma. Basically this is somewhat of a self-insert fic but I've smudged some lines to make it more relatable for other people.

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

In the early hours of the day, when the sun had yet to reach its peak, a cold quiet fell over Castle Dimitrescu. Most inhabitants were of a nocturnal persuasion, and lay sleeping soundly at this hour. Those few that thrived in the sun moved softly, with caution, daring not to awaken their masters. Oh, if only they knew that one Lady of the house was awake, prowling the corridors with marked intent. What a chill it would send down their spines- what lovely fear would permeate the household.

Ah, but that was not what Bela Dimitrescu desired, at least not for now. No, what she needed was something she would never admit out loud. It was a “base” need, one that all humans felt, and so she feared that it was beneath her. There was only one person that she could trust for this: A servant, experienced in all matters needed of them, level-headed, compassionate… and, most importantly, selectively mute.

Over the past year, Bela had found herself growing closer to you, much to her own surprise. The two of you had started to bond through reading, after you had helped her reorganize a mess in the library (left by none other than Lady Daniela). Since then, you had proven to be a valuable ally, always finding creative solutions to the family’s problems. From jury-rigging a set of climbing gear for repairs, to proof-reading all formal letters, there was hardly any part of Bela’s life that you hadn’t assisted with. All while only ever saying two or three sentences- short ones, at that.

Neither of you would ever forget the first (and only) time you spoke out loud. A would-be hunter had infiltrated the estate, through a damaged skylight (which you later repaired), intending to prove his worth by killing the nobility inside. By the time Bela arrived, after being notified by a terrified maiden, she found the situation had already been aptly handled. There you had stood, clutching an ornate, bloodied cane like a club. In front of you had been the unconscious hunter.

“You could have been hurt!” Bela had snapped, unable to stop herself, glad that her sisters hadn’t arrived yet. Then you had glanced at the man, then her, then back to the man. Something uncharacteristically dark had danced in your eyes.

“He said he was going to save me… from you. Called me defenseless,” you had snarled, poking the man with your cane as you did. “Rude.” Before Bela even had a chance to react, her sisters had appeared, disappointed to find the fight already over. They had fought over who would get to kill the hunter, and somewhere in that chaos you had slipped away without another word.

That day had replayed itself in Bela’s mind hundreds of times in her mind. Though she would not readily admit it, that had been the day that her casual affection for you had started to turn into something more serious. These days she didn’t even know how to describe your relationship- after all, you had never told her how you felt. But you had held her, closely, fingers running through her hair while she fought off memories from someone else’s life. Held her in your arms, as she held you, staving off the cold like it was all you had ever known.

This was what she wanted. Your touch, your comfort. All that stood in her way was a familiar question: Where were you? Master of your environment, schedule constantly in flux, you were rarely where anyone expected you to be, especially when you were prone to taking on whatever tasks others hadn’t had time to finish. So Bela searches, quickly, around places the day-shift tends to gather. She’s careful not to be seen, even though she knows the maidens aren’t likely to gossip where her family might hear. In the end she catches a hint of your scent near the servants’ quarters, and curses herself for not checking there sooner.

Your room is one of the only single-occupancy rooms in this wing. Only senior staff were allowed within these places, most of them rotating out as they “lost their usefulness”. The fact that you had slept in the same bed every night for six months was a testament to your skill. It’s the kind of thought that brings Bela some semblance of warmth in her chest. Still, the thought alone is not enough, so she slowly eases your door open.

Her ears strain against the silence, listening for the pattern of your breathing, or the telltale murmurs that would announce your awakening. Instead, the first things she hears are little gasps, then the shifting of fabric. Dreams of some sort have you turning and tossing, lungs getting hungry in their pursuit of air. It’s not immediately clear whether or not you are enjoying the dream. Were these good gasps, like those that Daniela often cooed about when she praised her maiden? Or were these the same kind that sometimes haunted Bela herself?...

A whimper cuts through the air, and suddenly Bela loses all patience. Practically running, she crosses the room in an instant, concern etched into her brow. One hand cautiously reaches for your blanket, pulling it back enough for her to slide in next to you. It’s a risk, one that could make you wake up with a panic, but it’s one she’s willing to take. After all, she had asked you about this sort of thing before. Though you couldn’t form full sentences, you had experience “miming” things, and Bela was quite clever with her “yes or no” questions.

When she carefully wraps an arm around your waist, she does so with confidence. Beneath her touch you stiffen, back going as tense as possible, but you stop shaking. A few more gasps leave you, and Bela wonders whether or not she should wake you up. Less than a minute later the decision is made for her. All the sudden your gasping turns to a sharp exclamation, body jerking hard, eyes snapping open. Tension coils through your muscles, driving your already overstimulated brain overboard.

Before Bela can even try to comfort you, you sit up, quickly turning so your legs dangle off the edge of the bed. Muffled sobs pass your lips as you hold your face in your hands. Memories struggle against each other behind your eyes, blocking out every other sensation. Your jaw is clenched, hard, and you struggle to breathe between shakes. A hand touches your back, but quickly moves when you flinch in response. It takes a minute for you to even process who else is with you. Once you do, some of the tension bleeds from your body.

“If you’d rather be alone right now, I understand,” Bela says, quietly, as soon as she thinks you’ll be able to understand her. For a moment you can’t bring yourself to respond, and you can feel her side of the mattress shifting, like she’s getting ready to leave. Panic springs up in your chest again, so you quickly reach a hand out in her direction. Thankfully she knows what to expect at this point, easily finding your hand in the dark, gently taking it within her own. “One squeeze for yes, two for no?”

You squeeze, once.

“Do you want me to hold you?” Bela asks, trying to hide the hopefulness in her voice. It makes you pause, considering, even though you’re still overwhelmed by your sensory inputs. In the end you squeeze her hand twice. “No worries, my dear. Don’t be tempted to push yourself just for my sake.” Somehow she always knew how to read you like an open book. Even with the… difficulty of communicating with you. Not that she had ever complained, or even thought about it. Knowing you, and caring for you, made any effort feel as easy as breathing.

A few minutes pass without another word being said. Sometimes Bela gives your hand a little squeeze, just to check in, and you always return it. Soon enough your brain starts to relax, loosening its vice-like grip on your motor controls. Once again you can ease the tension in your muscles. Then you find yourself rubbing your thumb against Bela’s hand, moving in soft circular motions, head turning so you can smile at her. Even if it’s too dark for you to see much, you know that her eyes see you just fine.

“Feeling any better?” She asks, donning a smile of her own. One squeeze. “Is there anything more I can do to help?” A pause, then one squeeze. Now that your limbs don’t feel as staticky, there’s only one thing on your mind: Cuddling. You’re moving before you know it, briefly letting go of Bela’s hand so you can get closer to her, pressing your face into her neck and giving her a soft kiss. Then you’re falling against the bed, on your side, looking up at your partner with a grin. It doesn’t take her long to get the message, shifting back onto her side so she can hold you for real this time. One of your hands goes to rest on her back, to serve as your translator for the rest of the night. “I love you,” Bela says, without even thinking.

She freezes up afterwards, realizing that this is the first time she’s ever said the words out loud to you. For a moment she’s scared, a feeling alien to her, but she refuses to back down. It pays off a few seconds later, incredibly so, when you return the words the best way you can: One squeeze.

[residentfangirl2104]

Sunrise

So I couldn't stop thinking about the Sunrise Logince idea and wrote this instead of studying like I should be

Link on AO3

Pairing: Logan/Roman, Romantic

Summary: Logan has always been fascinated by learning new things, so it's natural he would want to learn Spanish when he hears Roman speaking it.

And if that allows him to spend some extra time with a certain creative side, that's merely a bonus, isn't it?

Logan wasn't sure how they'd gotten here.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He wasn't so obtuse as to not know the systematic sequence of actions that led to this moment. The inciting incident occurred during movie night with all of the sides.

(Logan had tried his level best to get out of it, since it really was a detriment to his schedule, but Patton's puppy eyes left no room for a 'no'.)

The movie they had settled on was Coco, although it would be more aptly described as Coco featuring Roman Sanders and his Unnecessarily Overdramatic Vocals. Roman was doing them all the (very unasked for) courtesy of translating every dialogue in Spanish. Logan could swear it was mostly just so he could rub in their faces that he knew something they didn't, but he was too invested in trying to catch onto and learn the words to call him out for it.

"So when she sings 'Me subí al pino más alto, Llorona', it means 'I climbed the highest pine for you, Llorona'", he proudly proclaimed.

"Still missing the part where we asked, Princey." Virgil's eyebrow was raised in a taunt. Roman huffed offendedly, raising an arm to his forehead dramatically.

"And so the kind and helpful hero is shunned by his peers, put down for all his attempts at helping people he so generously calls his friends."

"I am positively ecstatic at the fact that I just missed Imelda's speech to Miguel because of that. I totally wanted to hear you become Google translate instead of watching the movie we came here for." Janus snarked from across him.

Their words descended into a buzz of squabbling voices, and Logan sighed exasperatedly, tuning them out. Peace was a coveted yet unheard of possession in the mindscape.

"Fine! I won't! I shall not waste my talents for people who refuse to be grateful about it!"

"Thank you." Virgil sounded genuinely grateful, which was probably understandable, but Logan was baffled how no one seemed to be more intrigued in what Roman was saying. He resolved his mind to bring it up with the Prince later, even if it cost him a bit of pride; he was strangely excited at the prospect of learning a new language. Of course, this was purely academic, fueled only by his need to learn; not an excuse to spend time with Roman. It was definitely not because of how every moment he spent with Roman made his oxytocin and dopamine levels soar.

That would, after all, be illogical.

The other sides began retiring to their bedrooms after the movie was over, and Logan took that opportunity to follow him into the kitchen. Roman's back was to Logan, sifting through the cupboards for something, and he clearly had not heard him coming - made evident by the way he pulled out his sword the moment Logan spoke.

"Roman?"

"Wha- Logan, hey!" He realized the sword was still in his hand, and flushed apologetically, putting it back. "You scared me! Not that I'm scared by anything, of course. Fearless as I am."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Naturally. I came here to ask you a question."

Roman tried to inconspicuously put the Crofters jar he was holding back onto the kitchen slab, as though Logan would somehow not notice the giant jar that he had put there if Roman moved quietly enough. He chose not to comment, redirecting his attention to Roman's face.

"Sure, what is it?"

Logan had (perfectly rationally) spent the past hour wondering how to phrase the question in a normal and polite way, but all that came out of his mouth in the moment was, "Teachmespanishplease."

"What? What are you, talking through clenched teeth? I couldn't hear you."

"Uh, I was wondering if you could teach me Spanish? I am ashamed to say I have no fluency in any languages besides English, and I thought it might be prudent to rectify that. If you don't mind, of course."

Roman gaped at him for a while, eyes wide.

"I- uh, sure! I mean, why not? If you want to learn from me, that is-"

"I just said that I do."

Roman gave him a half-hearted glare for interrupting, then continued his nervous ramble. "I wouldn't mind at all! That is to say, I would naturally love to provide my assistance to literally the only person who seems to appreciate it." He gave a mock offended sigh, and Logan stifled a grin.

"Shall we, then?"

"Now? I mean, of course, let us away! To my room, that is."

Logan followed as Roman dramatically sauntered to his room, gingerly perching on the edge of the bed while Roman threw himself across it.

Which led to this moment, with Logan on Roman's red satin sheets, the other man lying on his stomach, face turned up towards Logan's. The maroon Christmas sweater bunched at his neck and his hands burrowed in his sleeves, making him appear smaller than he was. And also making him appear incredibly adorable, which was a prospect Logan was not prepared for.

Eyes soft and encouraging, Roman asked, "You want to keep going?"

"Of course I do. This is hardly rocket science, I can take more information. It's barely been an hour."

"It's been five hours."

Logan squinted at his watch. There was something off-putting about Roman being more time aware than him, but there it was.

"Well, five hours isn't that much. Learning a language requires this kind of effort, and I've never been one to shy away from that. Now, ask me the questions. Quiz me, so to speak."

Roman chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Okay, nerd. First...Esquína."

"Corner."

"Tienda."

"Store."

"Bombilla."

"Lightbulb."

Roman grinned, face lighting up like the aforementioned appliance. "Three out of three! Not bad, Calculator Watch. That was pretty impressive."

Logan glowed at the praise. "Yes, well, what kind of Logic would I be if I couldn't learn some simple words?"

"Take the compliment, will you? I don't just hand them out willy-nilly."

"Should I thank you for your observation about me being intelligent? Because I suppose your observation of anything at all is, indeed, an impressive feat, but I fail to see how knowledge of basic facts warrants gratitude."

Roman furrowed his brow. "Oh, so I donate my valuable time to teach you Spanish and all I get is insults? Nay, I say! I shall not tolerate such preposterous behaviour!"

Logan raised his eyebrows at his usage of the word, but said nothing. "Thank you, Roman, for teaching me, and for telling me what I already knew."

"Well, you're a...stupid...poopie head. So, take that!"

"Truly devastating, what an insult. I shall never recover." Logan startled at his own words. "Since when do I use hyperbole? I've been spending too much time with you, haven't I?"

"Then don't. You can go if you want." Roman said with the air of a wounded animal. Under his dramatic pretenses, though, Logan could see the slightest bit of genuine uncertainty behind it.

"I will most certainly not do that. Unless you are tired, since it is incredibly late-"

"Hey, no, I'm not if you aren't!

"Then teach me more." Logan said eagerly.

Roman seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded. "Give it your best guess from what you already know - calor."

"Heat."

"Anoche."

"Night?"

"Close! It's last night."

Logan nodded impatiently, gesturing for him to keep going. A shadow passed over Roman's face, although Logan got the impression it had been there for some time, and Roman had only just stopped hiding it.

".... Principe."

That took Logan by surprise. He hoped he was just imagining the undercurrent of sadness in Roman's voice.

"Prince."

"... Dolor."

Logan shifted slightly at the more evident change in the mood. "Pain."

Roman nodded wordlessly, looking down at his hands. Logan frowned.

"I am aware that I am not always adept at following social cues, but unless I am mistaken….you seem upset."

Roman shrugged. "When you first suggested that you wanted to learn Spanish, I thought it was just a cruel joke, you know."

"What? Why would it be?"

"I don't know, maybe because the only time you've ever shown any interest whatsoever in learning a language before was to insult me!"

Silence echoed through the room. A pang of guilt resounded in Logan's chest.

"Wait, that's what this is about?"

"Forget it, it's not a big deal, that's why I was trying to avoid mentioning it. Forget I said anything-"

"No, it is most certainly a big deal if it upset you this much."

Roman faltered a bit, opening then closing his mouth. "It just….it seemed strange you would ask me to teach you, when you've made it clear what you think of my intellect. El Príncipe es estupido, right?"

"I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did. You meant it, Logan." Roman's voice held a bitterness that filled Logan with unease. "If you didn't mean it, you wouldn't have gone to the effort of learning the same phrase in over 50 languages, would you? It was good to know where I stood in your eyes, I suppose."

The unease rose. This was not supposed to happen, this was not how Logan had intended any of it to play out. All of this was so wrong, and the worst of it was that in any other situation, Logan would have admired Roman's reasoning that led him here. In fact, in his place, he probably would have come to the same conclusion, considering the limited information Roman had. Of course it was all because of Logan's abysmal communication skills (or lack thereof), it wasn't like Logan hadn't hurt people for the same reasons before.

"Roman, that's not- that's not what I think of you. Although I can see how you would come to that conclusion, I never even realized what it looked like from your perspective."

Roman furrowed his brows. "What other reason could you possibly have for it?"

Logan found himself silent for several moments, searching and failing to find the right words. Speech didn't usually elude him that way, but his brain was all jumbled at the moment, which didn't make sense given that he didn't have a brain. Things, however, had a way of defying sense when he was around Roman, so he couldn't say he was surprised.

"I…. I just wanted to be listened to. I only ever seem to be listened to when in a direct argument, so it stood to reason that the harder I worked in that direction, the higher chances I had of anyone listening to what I had to say."

Roman's eyes were wide, his expression dumbfounded. When he spoke, his tone was confused.

"What? What does any of that mean?"

Logan forced himself to be patient, no matter how tempting it was to give up trying to communicate anything. The futility of emotions never failed to surprise him, really.

"Surely it cannot surprise you to know that I am not exactly used to being heard when I voice my opinion. None of you seem to care about what I have to say, despite my entire function literally being logic, the part that should be followed the most. But at the very least, you seemed to actually listen to me. Even if it was only in this sort of pseudo-rivalry we have going, only when we're directly opposing each other. At least you cared about the concerns and criticisms I shared, cared enough about the arguments to invest your time and energy into it. That is….more than I can say for most of the sides."

Roman's mouth hung open, his features painted with surprise. Logan was struck by how, even when he thought it impossible for any person to look more exaggeratedly cartoon-like, Roman disproved that.

"Are you trying to tell me that all this time you've been arguing with and opposing me because...you wanted my attention?"

Logan scoffed almost involuntarily. "It is not nearly as juvenile and immature as you just made it sound."

"But why would you insult me just so I would take you seriously?"

"I assumed you enjoyed the banter. You and Virgil do often argue and insult each other and yet you seem to be closer than ever, so I would think you find debating an intellectually stimulating practice as part of friendship."

"So...you don't actually think I'm stupid and worthless?"

Logan blinked as the words sank in. "Oh, Roman. You thought that's what I think of you?"

Roman looked slightly embarrassed, refusing to meet Logan's eyes.

"Of course you aren't stupid or worthless! I mean, perhaps intelligence isn't your strongest feature, but that would discount everything you are capable of. It takes cleverness to come up with the ideas you do, a level of originality and creativity that I could only ever aspire to have." Logan had been very careful not to ever let slip how much he admired and cared about Roman, or how he felt about him. It wouldn't do for him to show that he had such feelings, after all.

But once the floodgates had been opened, everything came rushing out.

"Your nicknames are witty and I know from first hand experience it is not that easy to come up with them on the spot. You never fail to be passionate about the things you care for. You immerse yourself in constantly learning new things - perhaps the only one I know besides myself who is so interested in enriching themself, taking criticism and admitting gaps in knowledge to try and better themself. Above all, you are a good friend, in a way I never will be, listening to others, caring openly and deeply, putting their needs before your own even when all you want is to get what you desire."

Roman's eyelids fluttered, and Logan hoped fervently he wasn't about to burst into tears. Fortunately for both of them, he didn't.

"You mean that?"

"I would never consider you so lowly, Roman; I have always held you in high regards, and that is perhaps why I am so harsh on you sometimes. But be content in the knowledge that you aren't stupid, not really. Well, sort of a..." He checked his notecards briefly. "Dumbass, sometimes-"

"Hey! Did Virgil teach you that?"

Logan grinned and continued, "but not stupid. And certainly not worthless."

Roman smiled and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed to light up the entire room. Logan had always scoffed at how that phrase was merely a metaphor, but he found himself believing, just for a second, that it may as well be real.

"I am so sorry for making you think I'll only listen to you if we're on opposite sides." Roman said genuinely. "Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the debates we have - I just wish we could spend a little less time shouting at each other and a little more actually talking."

"I suppose it was an error on both sides. But this is progress, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Pocket Protector. This is progress."

They had both shifted infinitesimally closer to each other over the course of conversation, and Logan felt an irrational desire to move even closer. Well, there went rational thinking.

"Could we...keep going?" He said.

Roman nodded, almost involuntarily. His eyes were fixed on Logan's own, full of unreadable emotion.

"Azul."

"Blue."

"Hermoso."

No one spoke for a beat. "Beautiful."

Roman's expression was gentle, his eyes shining with the same exuberance as the smile that lit up his face. His hand moved forward, coming to rest uncertainly on Logan's own. The warmth of his touch seeped into Logan's skin, spreading through him. Warmth bloomed in his chest, too, but a different kind; the soft, fuzzy, feelings kind. Normally, Logan would abhor the emotion - any emotion at all, really.

But for once, he didn't want to. For once, he wanted to feel.

"Amor."

Logan's heart skipped a beat, his eyes refusing to leave Roman's warm brown ones. It felt as though his breath had left him entirely, although he logically knew that was not possible.

"Love."

"Maybe it is." Roman whispered softly, almost to himself. Logan had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't just talking about the accuracy of the translation.

Filled with a sudden jolt of courage, the words were leaving Logan's lips before he had even thought them through.

"How do you say "kiss me"?"

Roman's eyes literally lit up, pure euphoria manifesting itself in a brilliant smile.

"Bésame."

Logan prided himself on always being hyper-aware of his actions and surroundings, something which allowed him to systematically catalogue his day in his mind. For all that organization, though, he would never be able to recall who exactly made the first move in that moment.

What he would recall, was the feeling of Roman's lips on his, of Roman's arms around his shoulders. He pulled back, that blinding smile never leaving his mouth, and wordlessly curled into Logan's side. With a startled chuckle, Logan shifted to make them both a bit more comfortable, leaning back against the headboard. At the sight of Roman, with all his mussed hair and big doe eyes and the sweater sleeves pulled up to his fingers, Logan's heart figuratively melted.

Outside, the first few rays of light began peeking through the window. The two of them, blissfully unaware of the dawn, lay in a tangle of limbs and hearts, silhouetted against the rose tinted golden hues of the sunrise.So

[moldisgoodforyou]

rome (v)

wordcount: 8.2k oops

warnings: smut !! like a lot i'm a tiny bit embarrassed. also angst at the end !!

______

“You didn’t.”

Rafe gave her an apologetic smile as their train pulled out from the station in Florence, outside slowly blurring as the train picked up speed. “I think I might have.”

She let him be completely in charge of the transportation, hotels, everything - which turned out to be a terrible mistake, seeing as he’d never traveled on his own before (and had never planned anything in his life). She’d had to amend most of their plans already , as he just purchased without thinking of any logistics. Instead of buying a train ticket directly to Rome, he’d accidentally bought two tickets. One leg of the ride went an hour and a half to Pisa, then the other leg sent them on a four hour train ride along the western coast of Italy to Rome.

The two had nearly missed their fourth alarm, sleeping through the other three, and had to scramble out of bed with Sophie nearly in tears in order to throw their things into their suitcases and make it to the train on time. Rafe bought tickets in advance, like usual, but Sophie had forgotten to check over them once they printed from the kiosk and they hopped on their train just in time. After shoving their luggage onto the rack and returning to Sophie half-asleep in their seats, he realized his mistake when he re-read their tickets.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes blearily, frowning as she inspected the ticket and confirmed his confession. “How did you even manage that? There’s a direct transport to Rome.”

“I don’t know, the page was all in Italian! I don’t know Italian!” He defended, looking more and more worried by the second.

“Okay, baby, it’s okay. You’re fine.” She sighed. “Not the end of the world.”

“You’re stressed.”

“I’m not stressed.”

“You’re definitely stressed.”

“I’m a little stressed.” She admitted, handing the tickets back to him. “We also got back to the hostel at 3am and nearly missed the train and you got kissed by a random boy last night even though I didn’t listen to you when you said he was flirting and -”

“Hey.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And I’m fine, and we’re both on the train, it’ll just take us a little longer to get there. We’re fine. Okay?”

“We’re fine.” She repeated like she was trying to convince herself, nodding. “We’re fine.”

“Exactly. Now I think you need to sleep, angel, at least until we get to Pisa. I can find us some breakfast.”

She lifted her head to squint at him. “Sorry, say that again?”

“You need to sleep?”

“No. The city we’re going to.”

“...Pisa?” He repeated, pronouncing it like “pie-za.”

Sophie shook her head. “Pisa, baby. Try again.”

He scoffed, pronouncing it his way again. “It’s definitely Pisa, Soph.”

“...Okay. You go around telling people you went to Pie-za, that’s fine with me.” She shook her head, settling back into his side. “Can you scratch my back?”

(It only took her a few minutes to fall asleep but she was pretty sure she heard him using Google Translate to see how Pisa was actually supposed to be pronounced when he thought she was sleeping.)

When they finally made it to Pisa, Rafe nudged Sophie awake and pretended not to notice when she swiped a tiny spot of drool away from her cheek. They were both starving and made the thirty minute walk to the Leaning Tower of Pisa just for kicks in their layover - she made him stop to buy her some overpriced crepes from a market stand along the way.

They were both extra tired when they returned to the train, tucking into each other’s side and using Sophie’s jean jacket as a makeshift blanket. He played with her hair idly, watching her as she was about to fall asleep again. “Soph?”

She shifted, trying to stay awake. “Yeah?”

“Are you tired of traveling?” He asked tentatively. “Like, are you ready to go home?”

“I think those are two different things.” She lifted her head a little to check over his expression. “Why?”

“I don’t know, just.” He started, shrugging, but only continued when she nodded to prompt him further. “You seem so much more confident here, you seem happier to me. If living here is something you’d want to do, I’d want you to consider that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous for her reply. “Even if that means we would be apart for a little bit again.”

Sophie sat up completely so she could look him in the eye. “I love traveling, I really do. But I’ve also been homesick for three months - I miss my family, much more than I thought I would, I missed you like hell, and I miss having a routine.” She bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t frown. “I haven’t been home to the Outer Banks since Christmas, and it’s August. That’s ages.”

He nodded and leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “I can go home with you, if you’d like? For the week before we have to go back to start school?”

“You’d do that? Even if you have to see your dad?”

“Yeah, of course I would.” He smiled, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“I’m glad you think I seem confident, because I have no idea what I’m doing half the time.” She smiled. “I feel much better with you around, I don’t think you realize how many days I cried when I first made it to Spain.”

He frowned, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “I don’t like hearing that. I hate it when you cry.”

“Sweet boy.” She grinned, lifting her head to nudge her lips against his chin. “I’m okay. You need sleep, you’re going soft on me.”

“Remind me how long my mistake is?”

“Four hours. We both need sleep and I can’t sleep if you’re moving around. We get to Rome around two.” She yawned, tucking her knees to her chest to keep herself warm. “Then you need a shower, you still smell a little bit like the club from last night.”

“Rude.” He leaned back anyways so she could be more comfortable. “G’night, angel.”

“Morning.” She corrected, seconds away from sleep.

He laughed, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Good morning.”

The train ride was fairly uneventful - every half hour or so, one of them would wake the other up for entertainment or to point out the window at a pretty view. At one point Rafe suggested they join the mile-high club - but for trains, aptly named by him as the “rail tail club” - she just glared at him and crossed her arms to go back to sleep.

They took advantage of the WiFi to cancel their hostel stay and actually move to a hotel instead - after what happened in Florence, Sophie decided they didn’t need the experience of making new friends. Rafe had to slyly hide the full bill from her when she asked how much it was. (He felt a little guilty seeing the relief on her face when he said it was cheaper than expected, but he swore he’d never put her through financial stress as long as he lived.)

When they finally arrived and walked the ten blocks to the hotel - with suitcases in tow, dodging other tourists and locals in the street - Rafe stripped off his clothes the second they walked into their hotel room. Sophie paused, watching him with amusement as the door clicked shut behind them. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I feel so gross.” He confessed, peeling off his socks and shoving off his shorts. “Why didn’t you make me shower last night?”

“You were drunk, baby, I had to haul you to the metro station.” She followed him into the bathroom and he turned in the shower, shutting the door so steam would fill the room. He raised his eyebrows. “You coming in or are you just gonna watch?”

“I’m too tired for sex.” She told him, hopping up to sit on the counter. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Okay. So let’s just shower.”

“Just shower? You gonna stick to that?” She let him tease the hem of her shirt up, slowly.

“Just shower. Please? I’ll wash your hair.” He encouraged, pressing a kiss to her forehead before turning to get in the shower.

“Hm.”

“I’ll wash your tits.”

He grinned when she gasped and reached out to swat his butt, making him jump before he stepped into the shower. “Or not! Whatever you’d like!”

She rolled her eyes and stripped down, joining him a few moments later. “You have a dirty mouth. I can’t let you keep getting away with that.”

He smirked, stepping close. “What are you gonna do about it? Punish me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She challenged, backing him against the shower wall. He tried his best to hold back a laugh at how cute she looked, trying to seem all intimidating. “Yeah. You know I would.”

She leaned up for a kiss and he leaned down, eyes closing - until she suddenly pinched his nipple, twisting it. “Ow! Sophie!”

She cracked up laughing, getting under the shower spray and handed him the shampoo. “Wash my hair. I’m hungry, let’s go find food.”

“So demanding.” He complained, accepting the shampoo. “Turn around.”

“I said we’re not having sex -”

“I said turn around, not bend over.” He swapped places with her in the shower and started shampooing her hair carefully, adding the perfect amount of pressure and making sure he didn’t tangle her hair. She moaned quietly and he paused abruptly. “Sophie. Do not.”

“Rafe, keep going.” She whined, pressing her head back into his hand.

He grumbled, continuing his shampooing. “Quit making noises.”

“I can’t help it, it feels so good - hey!” She squeaked, whipping around to glare at him when he tugged on her hair at her scalp. “What the fuck!”

“You’re saying everything you say during sex!”

“Are you just constantly horny?” She scowled at him and shoved at his chest.

“Yes, you aren’t?” He argued, stepping aside so she could rinse her hair. She got under the shower spray to rinse and kept glaring at him until she squeezed some shampoo into her palm. “No. Come here.”

He ducked down a little so she could reach, humming contentedly as she ran her fingers through his strands. “Baby.”

“What.” She kept up her faux-anger, but wasn’t really too annoyed with him - he knew it, too.

“I love you.”

She softened, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as she continued to massage his head. “Love you too. Even if you are horny as hell.”

He laughed and accepted her little nudge under the shower so he could rinse her hair. “The showerhead is detachable…”

She looked him over, debating, but her stomach rumbled in protest. “I’m starving. Can’t you get yourself off? You did that just fine without me for three months, I’m sure.”

He laughed, leaning down to kiss her shortly. “I did, but it is criminal that we never had FaceTime sex.”

She raised her eyebrows. “My apartment walls were way too thin, and you definitely would have been caught at Colin’s house.” She reached down to run the tip of her finger under the length of his cock, grinning when it twitched. “Enjoy. I’m gonna get ready.”

“Sophie, baby -” He protested, reaching for her, but she just blew him a kiss and got out of the shower. She’d learned that quickies didn’t exist with Rafe, and if she started something in the shower it would be taken out to the bed, then probably go back to the shower afterward.

(She did her makeup in the bathroom just so she could hear his little groans - ones that he definitely played up for her.)

After going to dinner, and getting lost on their way back, they were both thoroughly exhausted for all their walking and their travels. When they crawled into bed after their showers, Sophie snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest. “Hey, Rafe.”

“Mm?” He hummed, half-asleep already.

“Do you have any special requests for your birthday tomorrow?”

He smirked, sleepy. “Yeah, you wanna wake me up with sex?”

“Like, actually?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’d do that?”

She shrugged. “If you want.”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t complain. But just spending the day with you is more than enough.”

“Alright. What time were you born?”

“Uh…” He furrowed his brow. “7:12 am, I think. My mom used to wake me up for my birthday at that time on the dot, every year.”

“Aw. That’s sweet.” She typed something into her phone, then nodded. “Oh, you’re a Virgo rising. That makes so much sense.”

He frowned, sitting up a little. “I’m not a virgin, we had sex two days ago.”

Sophie giggled, not bothering to explain - she’d attempted to before when she was first getting into astrology, and he had just told her he didn’t believe in witches. “Has it been that long?”

“If that’s long to you, baby, I can’t even imagine how difficult three months was.” He quipped, closing his eyes and lying back down.

She rolled her eyes. “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close.

The next morning, Sophie woke up and managed to slip out from Rafe’s side, ignoring his grumble and half-hearted, still-asleep attempt to keep her at his side. She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth then changed into some new lingerie, feeling a little ridiculous, but hoped it’d be worth it. When she returned to the bed, she crawled on top of him, rocking her hips gently against his hard on. “Baby.” She whispered, trailing a finger down his chest.

He stirred only for a moment but pressed his hips up against hers. “Fuck, Sophie, more,” he said and she nearly laughed at his dream mumblings. She ducked down under the covers and kissed along his length, rubbing him gently over his boxers. He woke up just as she was pulling his boxers down, thoroughly confused. “Soph?”

“Good morning. Happy birthday.” She told him with a grin before taking him into her mouth, pushing on his thighs a little when he jerked in surprise.

“Am I still dreaming?” He muttered, pushing back the covers so he could see her head. She licked directly up the underside of his cock, tracing a vein with her tongue. “Nope. Not dreaming.”

“Holy shit.” He breathed out, watching her with wide eyes. “I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“That’s okay, we can fuck again.” She grinned up at him before taking as much of him as she could into her mouth again, moaning around him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he gathered up her hair carefully. “Fuckin - fuck, angel, faster, please.”

She obeyed, moving her mouth and hand just a little faster. It wasn’t long until he was spilling into her and she swallowed, then kissed back up his body. “Hey.”

“Hey -” He breathed out, jaw hanging open, then stopped. “Wait, what are you wearing?” He took her in with a grin and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand table to get a better view of her, wanting to see her in her full glory. “Is that new?”

She laughed, tugging at her bra strap self-consciously. “Yeah. Thought I could save it as a special birthday surprise for you.”

“Holy fuck, Sophie.” He scrambled for his phone. “I need, like, a picture to remember this or something -”

She was turning red from all his compliments and covered her hand with her face as she whined. “Rafeeee.”

He tugged one hand away, grinning at her. “Please? Just one? Or more than one?”

“Um...okay. Fine. Where do you want me?”

His jaw dropped and he gaped at her, incredulous. “You’re serious? You’ll let me? For real, that’s actually okay with you?”

She bit her lip, smiling. “Yes. As long as you keep it in a locked folder on your phone.”

“Oh my god. I’m in heaven. Is this my birthday present, the lingerie? Or the pictures?” He leaned up to kiss her, needy, and groaned as she rocked against his hips to lean forward.

She pushed him back a little, rolling her eyes. “No, you have a real present.” She stuck her chest out, adjusting the bra so her breasts were nearly spilling out of it, and fluffed up her hair a little. “Snap away, Cameron.”

He paused, waiting for another nod from her, then started taking photos, his eyes blown wide. He reached up and ran his thumb over her lips - she bit down on it gently, smirking at his expression. Rafe groaned just as he looked at her adoringly. “You’re incredible. Beautiful. I need to tell you that more.”

“Shut up.” She blushed more, letting her hair fall in front of her face.

He drank the sight of her in, lingerie and all, then set his phone aside. Abruptly, he grabbed at her thighs to pull her up and she squeaked, caught off guard and fell forward onto him. “Rafe!”

“Come here. Sit on my face.” He commanded, dropping his head back to the pillow.

She pushed herself up to straddle his hips again, wearing an incredulous expression. “You’re insane. I’m not doing that.”

He laughed darkly and curled a possessive hand around her thigh, digging his fingers into her leg just enough. “Yes, you are. Come up here. I need you.”

She could feel her cheeks getting hot from his demanding tone, the way he was taking control. “Rafe, it’s your birthday. Let me just take care of you.”

“You did take care of me, now it’s my turn.” He moved his hand up her leg to rub across her clothed clit, grinning when she gasped and twitched at his touch. “Like you said, it’s my birthday, and what I want you to do is sit on my face. C’mon, baby. I know you’re just dripping for it, absolutely filthy -”

For a moment she nearly considered climbing up on his face right then and there just to get him to shut up, but got too shy and felt her face burning with embarrassment. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“No? You don’t like it?” He continued rubbing slow circles across her clit and grinned when she shifted onto his thigh and moaned. “Hm, that’s what I thought.”

“Rafe.” She protested weakly, her resolve thinning quickly as he flexed his thigh and pushed against her.

“You know what I want my present to be?” He asked.

She started grinding slow against his thigh, trying her best to keep her gaze locked on him. “Hm?”

“I want to make you come. Three times. I know I can, too.”

“I already got you a present.” She mumbled weakly, rocking against him a little faster as her brain began to cloud over. When he shifted a little and flexed his thigh again, she gasped, leaning forward a tiny bit.

He reached up and pushed one cup of her bra down, gripping her breast roughly and pinching her nipple. She bit her lip hard to keep quiet and he shook his head right away. “I want to hear you.”

“Someone’s going to hear.” She protested, whining quietly.

“Let them. I want everyone to know how good I can make you feel.” He shot back.

“We’re gonna get kicked out for a noise complaint.” She argued, rocking her hips a little faster.

“Good. I’ll know I’m doing my job right.”

“Trust me, that’s not an issue,” she muttered darkly, circling her hips on his leg. When she came, whining, she practically collapsed onto him, so sensitive she had to move so his leg wasn’t between hers anymore.

He didn’t care and flipped them over quickly, shoving the sheets down the bed and dragged her panties down and off her legs. “So fucking pretty. Look at you, all wet, you��re so desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“You are on something today, where’s all this coming from?” She shook her head, even though his dirty words had her turned on more than she ever thought they would.

He grinned and kissed up her inner thigh, spreading her legs apart. “You love it.”

“Hm. Do I?”

Rafe moved up to kiss her lips, then down her jaw, then to nip at her throat, although she certainly didn’t need the foreplay. He pulled teasingly on the ends of her hair, a little harder than usual, and stopped abruptly to look up at her when she moaned. “Oh, I forgot, you like it a little rougher, yeah?” He asked in a taunting tone.

She rolled her eyes as she blushed, thoroughly embarrassed by his teasing. “I mean. I wouldn’t mind.”

He paused, thinking. “Do you have anything specific you want to try?”

Sophie didn’t hesitate in responding, knowing she’d chicken out if she didn’t just say it. “Did you pack a tie?”

“...a tie? What for?” He shuffled out of bed, confused, but rifled through his suitcase until he found a nice silk tie, all wrinkled from being forgotten in a spare pocket. He tossed it at her but she held it out. “I can’t tie it myself.”

“Where’s it going?”

She bit her lip as she raised both hands above her head, her wrists pressed together. “Here? But not to the bed, I think that’d be too much.”

He gaped at her for the third time that morning. “You’re sure? You want that?”

“Yeah, is that okay?”

“Yes! Yes. Just unexpected, okay. Okay. We need, like, a safe word or something right, this is some fifty shades shit - is this gonna hurt you? Or fuck, do you want it to hurt?“

She held back a laugh, finding his rambling endearing. “It’s a silk J.Crew tie, baby, not rope. It’s okay. I’ll tell you to stop if I need it.”

“Right. Right. Have you done this before? You seem a little too chill about it.” He put the tie around her wrists hesitantly in a loose knot, making sure she was comfortable before he settled himself back between her legs.

Sophie gave him a little smile, blushing. “No, I just. Thought I might like it and I trust you.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight - you won’t sit on my face but you’ll let me tie you up?”

“It’s different.” She tried closing her legs but he pushed them back open and nipped at her thigh. “Hey. Behave.”

“Yeah? What if I don’t?” She challenged him with a grin, and he just shook his head and teased a finger across her entrance. “Trouble.”

“Rafe.”

“Yeah?” He moved impossibly slow, rubbing two gentle fingers over her clit - she squirmed under him, letting out a little whine. “No teasing.”

“Hm, I think I’m going to tease all I want, with you all tied up. Can’t take control like that.”

She groaned, blinking at him. “I’m already wet, I don’t need to be edged.”

He grinned up at her. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“S’hardly dirty.” She countered, gasping when he caught her off guard with a wide lick up her entrance. “Fuck - I -” She started helplessly as she went to grab his hair, but just had to squirm instead with her hands above her head.

“Do we have plans today?” He questioned, breathing hot air on her clit as he slipped two fingers inside her and curled them toward herself.

“Not til later - oh, there, please -”

Rafe repeated his motions and flicked his tongue across her clit. “What are we doing?”

“Can we not discuss this now?” She argued breathlessly.

“Why, can’t concentrate?” He glanced up, amused. When she went to answer, he just sucked on her clit, making her gasp. “Answer the question, angel.”

“Rafe - fuckin’ - please -” She bit out, unable to think straight. “I’m so close, baby, more -”

He swore there was nothing he loved more than when she’d call him pet names, and the whine certainly added to it. Instead of teasing more, he curled his fingers again and flicked his tongue across her clit, working her through her second orgasm. She’d abandoned all pretense of keeping quiet and gasped out for him, arching her back as she came. When he withdrew his fingers and crawled back up the bed to press them against her lips, she took them easily.

“You are way too fucking good at that.” She breathed out, trying to grab for him again, but cursed when she remembered she was still tied up.

He reached up and untied her with a grin. “You okay? Did it feel alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Though I’m not sure I like not being able to touch you.” She smiled as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of her wrists.

“Dunno, I think I like when you’re not ripping my hair out when you come.” He grinned, nudging his nose against hers.

She rolled her eyes. “You love that.” She took on a mocking tone, making her voice deeper to imitate him. “Pull my hair, baby - oh, fuck, yes -”

“Hey! I don’t sound like that.” He laughed. “Your sex noises are more embarrassing, anyways, all whiny.”

“They are not embarrassing -”

“You want to record them and see?” He raised his eyebrows, challenging her.

She blushed, shaking her head. “No. Absolutely not. You missed your chance for that the second you came here to see me.”

“Shame. Kind of unfair though, because you definitely got a voice memo or two.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you sent one to me every time you jacked off, that was much more than just one or two. Took my invitation and ran with it.”

He laughed, then reached around and unclipped her bra, pulling it off and tossing it aside, then rested his head next to hers on the pillow. “I love you. So fucking much.”

“Happy birthday.” She smiled. “Love you too, sweet boy.”

He grinned, kissing her sweetly, then stroked his thumb over her cheekbone. “We’re not done yet. I promised you three times.”

She laughed. “Alright, just give me a second to catch my breath.”

Rafe raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “I’m that good, huh?”

She shoved at his shoulder, shaking her head. “You are too damn cocky for your own good. Oh! Here, let me get your present.” She hopped out of bed and pulled out a gift bag from her suitcase, all smushed down and wrinkled, and handed it to him. “Sorry it’s a mess, I had to pack it before you came.”

He sat up with an eager grin, pulling the covers over his lap. “S’okay, I’m sure it’s great.”

She pulled her underwear back on and pulled on a big shirt of his before crawling back into bed, watching him with a smile.

He unwrapped the gift and pulled out a leather jacket, whistling. “Wow! This is awesome, Sophie.”

She beamed, practically bouncing with excitement. “It’s custom fit to your measurements - I had Colin measure that jacket you always wear to be sure - and it’s ethically made. Well, as ethical as you can get with leather, but it’s handmade by this family in Barcelona, so there’s practically no carbon footprint. It’s neutral, at least. No sweatshops or anything.”

He wasn’t quite sure what all of that meant, but grinned at her enthusiasm. “It’s perfect, baby, thank you.”

“Happy birthday.”

Rafe held it up, looking at all the details, then he caught a glimpse of the tag and frowned. It was $300 - he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how many hours of work that was for her paycheck. “Sophie.”

“Just pretend you didn’t see!” She tucked it back in the jacket quickly, wincing.

“I swear this is a double standard...” He started, but decided not to finish his argument - the last thing he wanted to do with her on his birthday was fight about money.

“Don’t care. Let me treat you.” She beamed as he ran his fingers over the leather.

“You never let me treat you.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows and held up her hand with the ring as if to make her point, raising her eyebrows. “Never?”

“That was different, that’s a gift.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, so’s this. C’mon, put it on.”

“What? I’m all sweaty.”

“Just for a little bit.” She pleaded, pushing it toward him. “Please? I want a picture.”

“Oh, so you get nudes too? I thought that was a special birthday present.” He raised his eyebrows, challenging her, and she giggled. “The jacket is the present. Rafe, please?”

He made a show out of huffing and rolling his eyes but held out his hand, sitting up. She grinned and handed it to him, grabbing her phone when he shrugged it on. “Okay, lay back?”

“You’re directing me? Okay.” He laid back in bed, completely naked except for the jacket, his hand tucked behind his head. She beamed and climbed up on the bed to stand over him, just wearing his big t-shirt and her underwear, and arranged the sheets so they were just covering his dick, his chest on full display and his hip and thigh peeking out suggestively.

“Okay. Don’t smile.” She held her phone up high to get the right angle, laughing when he smirked up at her. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Yeah? Do I get a picture of you in it too?”

“Nope.” She hopped off the bed and held her hand out expectantly for him to take the jacket off. He sat up and grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it. “Sophie. Shirt off.”

“No.”

He just raised his eyebrows and she gave in with a sigh, tugging it over her head. He nodded, satisfied, and helped her shrug the jacket on. “You’re easy when you’re cock drunk.”

She gasped, shoving at his shoulder. “I do not get cock drunk -”

“You absolutely do!” He laughed, swiping his phone from the bedside table. “C’mon. Pose for me.”

She pretended to blow him a kiss, striking a bunch of poses. He grinned, holding up his phone and taking way too many shots. “There we go, angel. I’m gonna send these in to Victoria’s Secret for you.”

She rolled her eyes and flipped him off for the camera, holding the jacket closed. “Shut up.”

“No. C’mere, pick out which ones I can keep.” He reached over and tugged on her arm and she shrugged off the jacket, carefully setting it on the chair before climbing back into bed, purposely dragging herself across him. He groaned. “Baby.”

“Yes.”

“Can’t do that. I’m almost hard again.”

“Okay. You can fuck me again.” She smirked up at him and he took a deep breath, then handed his phone over. “Choose your photos.”

She flicked through them and deleted a few, then grinned at the one of her flipping him off. Sophie cropped it in a little so it was much less suggestive, her chest mainly covered, and cut it off where the jacket ended, then set it as his lock screen. “There. Now you’ll always remember this whenever you look at your phone.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, there was no chance of me forgetting.” He smirked, glancing at the screen then gave her a sincere smile. “C’mon. We need to shower.”

“No.” She threw her leg over his hips, catching him with her ankle tucked around his thigh and leaned in to kiss him, hard. He groaned against her lips, pulling her closer on top of him. “Sophie.”

“Rafe.” She mumbled, nipping at his lower lip. He nudged his nose against her cheek. “Baby.”

“Just kissing, c’mon.” She argued, even though she rolled her hips against him, felt him stiffening against her, and knew exactly what she was doing.

“It’s never just kissing with you.”

“It was the very first time.” She grinned.

“When you kissed me drunk at the party and then rejected me?” He raised his eyebrows, clutching at his chest in mock pain. “Broke my heart, Flint.”

“And look, now you have me nearly naked in bed in Rome. I think you’re doing just fine, Cameron.” She quipped and he laughed. “Damn straight.” He gripped her hips when she moved to get off him, holding her in place. “Where are you going?”

“Want you on top.” She protested, grinding down against him. His breath caught in his throat and he flipped her over with ease, hooking his fingers in her underwear and dragged them off her legs, pushing one knee to her chest as he did. He reached to grab a condom off of the nightstand and rolled it down himself with a little groan, watching Sophie bite her lip. “Tell me how I got so lucky?”

“You’re such a romantic.” She teased, reaching out for him again. He leaned down and carefully slid into her, squeezing his eyes shut when she moaned at the feeling. “Can’t help it with you.”

“Cheesy.” She accused, gasping when he thrust a little harder.

“Mean.” He quipped, leaning down to kiss her, hard, and she responded eagerly. As much as he tried to hold back, they only lasted a few minutes before they were both coming again, Sophie biting down on his shoulder to keep quiet.

Rafe flicked her chest with a grin as he pulled out of her, shaking his head. “Did you just bite me?”

“We have two more days, we really can’t get kicked out for a noise complaint.” She giggled, smiling up at him with flushed cheeks.

___

The rest of the day was heaven for Rafe - Sophie was touchier than ever, even in public, and absolutely doted on him like it was her job. They wandered around a few tourist sites and by two pm, they’d already split three gelatos upon Rafe’s insistence they had to try ‘just one more flavor.’ He FaceTimed with Colin and James earlier in the day and was grinning ear to ear afterward, claiming multiple times that it was the best birthday he’d ever had.

Around six, after Sophie reluctantly agreed to their fourth gelato of the day, she waited outside in the sun as he went and got their cup to split. When Rafe returned from the shop with gelato for both of them, she covered her phone with her hand. “Thank you. I have someone on the phone for you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Julia and Allie already texted me earlier today.”

She just smiled and handed him her phone - her dad waved at him with a grin on FaceTime. “Rafe, buddy, happy birthday!”

Rafe’s grin was so instantaneous it nearly hurt. “Jeff! Hi, thank you! That’s so nice of you to call!”

“Of course, had to check in on you. How’s your day, been good so far?”

Rafe blushed and shot her a panicked look as Sophie shot him a glare off-camera. “Yes sir, it’s been great. Sophie and I have been exploring the city and stuff, getting to know the history.”

“That’s great, I’m glad. Have any big plans tonight?”

Sophie scooted over so she was on screen. “We do, but he doesn’t know about them yet.”

“Ahh, a surprise. What else have you done, the Colosseum? Vatican City? Your mom would enjoy that.” Jeff grinned as Sophie rolled her eyes. “Dad, I’m not taking him to the Catholic Church on his birthday -”

“I know, Sophie, I was kidding.” He shook his head and Rafe held back a smile. “You have two weeks before school starts, right Soph?”

“Yeah, just need to do a few TA things and get my studio set up. Why?”

“I was thinking, we’d love to have you home for a weekend if you have time before classes start. Rafe, you’re welcome to come over as well.”

Rafe brightened as Sophie nudged her knee against his, smiling. “I’d like that. If Sophie’s not too busy, I mean.”

“No, I think I can figure that out. I miss you guys.” She smiled. “So Rafe gets to stay in my room, right?”

Her dad froze up for a second. “I was thinking the guest room or his own room at his house, actually -”

Rafe’s eyes went wide and he pinched Sophie’s thigh, shaking his head quickly. “I can stay at my house! That’s perfectly fine. She’s kidding. We’re in separate dorms on this trip, so it shouldn’t be any different -”

“Oh my god, no, you’ll stay in the guest room.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “Okay, dad, we have to go.”

“Right.” Her dad eyed them skeptically, then smiled. “Well, happy birthday, Rafe, hope it’s a good one. I’m excited to see you both soon.”

“I appreciate it, sir, that means a lot. Thank you.” Rafe beamed, but he could feel his neck getting hot, hoping her dad wouldn’t pick up on his terrible lying.

“Alright. Be safe, you two.” Her dad hung up and Sophie’s cheeks burned a little, feeling he was implying a double meaning. She swatted his chest. “Can’t you control your blush for two seconds?”

“No ma’am.” He replied with a grin. “That was so nice of your dad. Did you ask him to do that?”

“No, he just texted me and asked when he could call. He likes you. Even if you’re a shitty liar.” She gave him a pointed look and he just laughed.

“He’s cool.” Rafe nodded, satisfied. “Man, that was so nice. I can’t believe he thought of me.”

She paused, eating a spoonful of her gelato. “Has your dad said anything today?”

“No, he won’t unless Rose reminded him. But that’s unlikely.” He shrugged. “Sarah and Wheezie texted me, that was nice.”

“Your dad’s not going to call on your birthday?” She frowned.

Rafe shook his head. “No. I’m usually up at school by now anyways, so he forgets. He remembered senior year of high school, but that was because I had a party at my house and asked him if we could string up lights by the pool.”

“Oh. I don’t remember that party.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, uh, I didn’t invite you and your friends on purpose. Was trying to keep it lowkey, y’know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wait, was that the one that Cassidy Anderson got so drunk at, she had to get her stomach pumped? And Kyle Green broke his ankle -”

“When he tripped into the pool, yeah, that was the one. Word got around that I was having a party, I’m kinda surprised you didn’t end up there anyways.”

She laughed. “Carter went and texted me not to come, he thought the cops were going to show.”

He wrinkled his nose at the memory. “They did. It was bad, Shoupe told my dad and everything, I was in trouble for a month after that.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, skeptical. “I’m sure you being in trouble meant nothing.”

“No, he canceled my golf lessons. That was actually a big deal, he knew I liked them.” He frowned a little.

She bit her lip as she suddenly remembered - her dad came home and told her mom that the big tips from the Camerons were going away, that they’d have to cancel their flights to go visit her in Sophie's first semester of college because they needed the refund as a safety net. It was a big deal that they had even promised to come at all, usually her dad had to work weekends to fit in more lessons and he’d asked off just to come see her.

When Ward canceled the lessons, a few of Rafe’s buddies followed suit and canceled as well - she and Carter went around to every course in the area that week to put up flyers to get their dad more customers. She felt a momentary pang of guilt putting two and two together and shook her head, trying to redirect the conversation. “Right. Um, so you want to head back to the hotel, get ready for dinner? I made a reservation for us at 7.”

“Yeah. You alright?”

She gave him a slightly forced smile. “I’m alright. Let’s go, birthday boy.”

He narrowed his eyes a little, but didn’t push it.

Dinner that night was on the rooftop of a hotel overlooking Rome, and they both dressed nicer than they had the whole trip, with her in a cream colored silk slip dress to complement her tan and him in a pair of nice slacks and a sleek short-sleeved button down. When their waiter came out to greet them with a drink menu, he glanced at Sophie’s attire and her ring and raised his eyebrows. “You are the honeymooners, yes?”

She blushed, shaking her head. “No, sir, the birthday. Under Sophie Flint.”

“Oh! The white dress, I was confused.” Their waiter gave them an apologetic smile. “Here is your drink menu, I will be back.” He returned later with two glasses of complimentary champagne, as well as the bottle of wine they ordered, and apologized again.

When he left, Rafe lifted his glass with a cheeky grin. “To my blushing bride.”

She scowled and stopped just short of kicking him under the table. “Shut the fuck up. Happy birthday.” She clinked her glass against his, shaking her head as he cracked up, thinking it was hilarious. “You’re not allowed to buy me any more rings, this just causes trouble.”

“Good trouble.” He protested and took off his signet ring with his initials, sliding it onto her thumb. “C’mon, you hardly wear any other jewelry daily. I like buying you things.”

“I know you do.” She rolled her eyes and pushed the menu to him. “Here. It’s our last night so go crazy.”

He paused, scanning over the menu. “Are we splitting this?”

“No, it’s your birthday dinner. My treat.” She frowned when he flipped the menu to just the entrees without any meat or fish. “No worrying about money.”

“I’m not. The carbonara at the other table looked good.” He replied, wishing he’d looked at how much the wine was that she ordered and made a mental note to pay for all their meals in the airport.

“You don’t like carbonara.”

“Maybe I do here.”

“Rafe.” She reached over and flicked the menu back to the more expensive options. “Do not hold back. I’m serious. I got this reservation back in June and I have more money left in my budget for this trip than I thought I would by now. Let me do this for you.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. And if you really want the carbonara, I’m getting it, so you can have some.”

He laughed as she reached over and refilled his wine glass. “Trying to get me drunk so I’ll give in?”

“Yeah, will it work?” She grinned.

He just shook his head and took a sip with a smile. “You’re spoiling me today.”

“Yeah, you deserve it.”

They were both giggly and drunk by the time they made it back to their hotel, after missing their metro stop twice. When they finally showered and collapsed into bed - to actually sleep, that time - Rafe hugged her close and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I love you, Sophie. Thank you. So much.”

“Love you too, baby.” She murmured. “My favorite.”

When Rafe’s watch buzzed at 1am the next morning, he stirred a little, going to turn it off, but paused when he saw he had a call from his dad. He carefully untangled himself from Sophie’s koala grip and slipped out of bed, tugging on some joggers and a shirt before heading out to the hotel lobby to answer the call. “Dad? Is something wrong?”

“Can’t I wish my son a happy birthday?” Ward asked.

Rafe relaxed a little bit, settling back against a couch. “Yeah, um, it’s just early. I figured something was wrong with Wheezie or Sarah.”

“Ohio’s got the same time as the Outer Banks, kid.”

“I’m on that trip with Sophie, remember, I told you about it in June? We’re in Rome. I’m going home soon.”

Ward’s tone turned slightly sour as he was reminded. “Right. Forgot. You went all the way across the world for this girl?”

Rafe dug his fingernails into his palm, keeping his tone even. “For my girlfriend, yes. I love her.”

Ward sighed. “I’m sure you think you do, Rafe.”

“I know I do.”

His dad paused before speaking again. “I just don’t understand. You had a perfectly good thing going with Brooklyn, she has a great family. She’s used to our lifestyle.”

Rafe was exasperated, as well as exhausted, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She cheated on me, Dad. Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Must have done something to fuck it up.” Ward shot back, taking on a defensive tone.

Sophie had realized she was alone in bed by then and crept out of their room, following the muffled sound of his voice to find him in the lobby. She crossed her arms, frowning, and mouthed ‘come back to sleep.’

Rafe motioned her away and gave her a fake smile, shaking his head. She frowned, not convinced, and came up behind him on the couch, slipping her arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I didn’t do anything.” Rafe replied curtly, standing to follow her back to the room. He lowered the volume on his phone so Sophie couldn’t hear a single word.

“Right.” Ward was unconvinced. “I’m sure this girl is just with you to get money out of you, don’t let yourself be fooled. I didn’t work this hard for our family just to let you think you’re in love with someone that can’t provide.”

Rafe was too tired to argue and kept his face impassive, wanting to end the conversation sooner than later with Sophie there. “That’s not it.” She took his hand and led him back to their room, staying quiet but watching his expression carefully.

“I’m just looking out for you.” Ward insisted. “You didn’t - you didn’t knock her up. Did you?” He questioned and Rafe wrinkled his nose a tiny bit at his accusatory tone. “No, Dad, of course not.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, surprised that Ward had called, and let them both back into the room. Rafe gave her a quick smile and shut himself in the bathroom, not wanting her to hear any more.

“Oh. Well. Just, be careful.”

“I am. Uh, thanks for calling, I guess.”

“Right. Happy birthday. 21, right?”

Rafe’s face twisted and he was surprised to feel a few tears running down his cheeks as he leaned back against the wall, head hung low. “Close. 22.”

Ward made a small ‘huh’ noise. “22, I knew that. Night, son.”

When Rafe hung up, he let out a choked laugh, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. Even if it was the first time in a while his dad had called on his birthday, he still couldn’t even remember his age.

Carefully, Sophie opened the door, peering in. “Baby? Are you alright?”

He turned to her with tears in his eyes, trying his best to force a smile, but she realized right away and pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. “Come back to bed, Rafe.”

He followed her out and crawled back into bed with her, burying his face against her chest as she combed through his hair. “I deserve better.” He mumbled brokenly.

She frowned. “Of course you do, baby. I’m sorry. What’d he say?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He muttered, and he was so tired that he let his guard down to cry, shoulders shaking a little as he did. Sophie practically clung to him, letting him bury his face in her neck as she stroked her back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re alright.” She whispered.

He nodded a little, nudging his leg over her waist to draw her closer. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Rafe, so goddamn much.”

“What time’s our flight tomorrow?” He mumbled against her skin.

“Not til six, we can sleep in if you want.” She pulled back just a little to kiss him, peppering kisses over his cheeks. “I love you. No matter what anyone says.”

He frowned and her heart broke just looking at how defeated he seemed. “You didn’t hear, did you?”

“No. It’s okay. You gotta sleep, baby.” Sophie pulled the blankets back over them, nudging him up so his head was properly set on the pillow, even though she knew he’d have his head on her chest by the time she woke up.

“Soph?” He whispered after a few seconds, sounding close to sleep again.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand gently. “Of course. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

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