#ty ty so much dear and i apologize for the delay !

[thedeadthree]

🎵 for Karolina!

HI HI ALYSSA I HOPE YOU ARE WELLL !!!! ty ty so much!! i have had her on the brain lately i miss her SOO much :')) <3

send me a ♫ + a character’s name and i will respond with a song that reminds me of them. send a ♫ + a ship and i will do the same.

✧ ― 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐈 -`. dua lipa.

if you're good enough you'll find a way / maybe you could cause a girl to change (her ways) / do you think about it night and day? / maybe you could be the one to make me stay

[nifaswriting]

hello hello!! i just found your blog recently but i already adore your writing! the "love is" series is definitely one of my faves <33 could i ask for a scenario or headcanons for law with a m!s/o who's just as touch starved as he is? (law definitely tries to hide that about himself though-) ty and have a nice day!! ;w;/

Hello dearest ! I apologize for the delay, I got extremely busy && life is being so stressful recently, I just didn't have the time && motivation to write before now, but your little ask made me so happy && I always love writing for Law, he's one of my favorites ! ♡ Thank you so much for your kind words !

I made you some headcanons && a little thing at the end, I hope you'll like it ! Please, enjoy && have a wonderful day yourself ! ♡

Law with a touch starved m!s/o :

These two are unbelievable, really, and Law almost completely denying that he is touch starved just leaves everyone like

"Captain, are you serious ?"

The crew can't with them anymore : the longing silent stares they exchange all the time && the way their fingers brush sometimes are getting too much to handle to the point they all rather leave them alone

Law has a hard time being overly affectionate in front of others anyway, even though he'd love to

He just can't ! mostly because, be real, he has a reputation to keep and a very long broom up his ass

But once they're alone, oh my lord

He is unable to detach himself from his boyfriend, even for a short minute, he wants all the affection he has to give

Of course, he's finding all the right excuses to avoid any suspicion

"I'm just tired && you're comfortable." when he lies on him or "I'm cold && you're oddly warm." when he keeps the other man close at night

He's horrible with expressing how he feels, but good thing he's easier to read than it seems

Oh, I'm talking about Law, but his dear lover is no better !

I was talking about fingers brushing, well he's more than likely the one initiating them

Sometimes, they're sitting next to each other && their hands are close && his lover hesitates for a mere second before just

Going for it because he really really wants to hold Law's hand && he can’t stop himself

Law usually flinches slightly when their skins touch before relaxing && sometimes he even is the one intertwining their fingers ♡

"FOR ROGER'S SAKE, JUST KISS ALREADY" -> Me, Penguin, Shachi, && all the Heart Pirates

Speaking about kisses... They last forever with these two, really

One of them just starts kissing the other && it’s over for the next forty minutes, even longer sometimes

Just... very long kissing && make out sessions...

They just both want it so bad, they can’t stop ♡

Late night. the time when all secrets unveiled along with the deepest, strongest && most burning desires. And love... There in the darkness, chest to chest, heart to heart, mouths running against one another, soft, gentle. It’s only a mere touch, then suddenly it deepens, gets passionate before becoming a delicate brush again. That’s just how it has been for the past twenty minutes, and none of them seem to get bored of it. They could go for hours, days, spend entire evenings in each other’s arms, kissing, cuddling. So simple yet it means so much to them. The clearest solution to all that missed affection. “Law...” it’s only a whisper of the surgeon’s name between two breaths taken, enough to send shivers down his spine. “(Name).” is replied with the same intensity, the same loving voice. “Are you alright ?” There’s a smile brightening the other male’s face. Whoever said Trafalgar Law wasn’t a good guy probably never tried to know him all that well. Because, as subtle as it is, the so called Surgeon of Death appears to be the most caring person (Name) has ever known in his entire life. Who would have known ? “I’m good.” he responds, humming as his lips linger against Law’s cheek. “I love you.” Said cheek gets tinted with the softest pink hue at that. Hopefully, the darkness is shielding Law’s embarrasment, though it wouldn’t be too much of a problem if it was to be revealed. Not when he’s with him. “I love you too.” Everything just feels right.

[yourpsicodelicbitch]

hello dear, how are you? may always be happy💗💞🌷 I have request your opinion about aspect :

- venus in 11° square ascendant

- asteroid aphrodite 20° square ascendant and conjunct mc

Thankyou so much for taking the time to answer and sorry bother you🥺💖

Ty bb!!💖 you don’t have to apologize, I’m making this bc I want to okay? Sending love 🫶🏼🫶🏼💌

NOW Let’s call out placements 😈 I’m jking🧍🤪🤭

Venus in Aquarius degree (11° or 23°) Square Ascendant

I’m going to start explaining how the “square” aspect functions: “conflict and tension between two planets”, it also indicates action. This aspect is towards the Ascendant, so is going to be related to the “type of energy you came in this world and the one you grow into”, “how we respond towards our environment, how we presente ourselves to the world, physical appearance and mannerisms”. Babe you are conflicted when it comes of what Venus represents, with self-image, how you manage relationships, what you’re attracted to, money and much more; this is directed towards the energy in your life.

This aspect is going to make quite the opposite of what Venus represents -or well your relationship with Venus-. You’re going to struggle in how others see you, how you approach to them. In some point, you could have supported yourself in superficial stuff or thinking that you don’t need anyone because of your beautiful nature. The 11° (aquarius degree) makes even more sense: aquarius, they could drown themselves into thinking that they’re way too special for “normal” people 😨, that not everyone have the pleasure of being in their lives, interact with them -I’m being too exaggerated-. Aquarius is a misunderstood sign, you could haven’t wanted to give that impression or didn’t felt that way but with this aspect it seemed like it. I’m sure that you’re liked by everyone or have a good fame towards others because of your authentic charm. You could seem cold and distant but happy and quirky. How you express yourself could be constantly misinterpreted by others, mostly with this aquarius degree that NEEDS to express themselves, bring their ideas to the table, change the world. This could be seen as annoying or people could not copy what you’re trying to communicate. Your popularity grows as the rumors about you. They’re just jealous, you have that power 👀🤭😚. You’re controversial. It makes you LAZY, make an interaction towards your crush. SHOW INITIATIVE. Make yourself know. I’m referring in all the types of relationships: make an effort for your loved ones, make them feel loved, show affection. You want to be seen as cool, as if nothing affects you, as if you don’t have a big spot for someone special and that you’re willing to do everything for them. They’re gonna get tired if you don’t do something (but it’s another case if you have a huge aspect/placement that changes this). Not everyone reacts like you or how you want them to. And if you’re so conflicted showing love, let them know how you feel about it; you’re the sign (Aquarius) that constantly affirms revolutionary ideas that would lead to change, start with yourself and communicate towards it or even do something.

Stop, you’re beautiful the way you’re, I’m referring to the inside -don’t start laughing I didn’t said you’re ugly in a physical way, let me explain-. Around all your life you kept and keep questioning yourself and basing your self-worth by your self-image. The beauty starts with your inner self, your soul, not the physical appearance -that’s what I think-. You could have grow thinking that beauty is only connected to appearance or someone/your environment sent you to that conclusion. You could have struggle or keep struggling with yourself image, A LOT. I want to give you a hug 🫂🫂 and It’s a fucking NO for me. Think of this: beauty (physically) is superficial, how you are physically doesn’t define your worth and if people can’t understand, they’re all fucking DELAYED -unfortunately, that’s mostly people- (I want to say more but 😤). People are not prepared. Question yourself. Who the fuck is that people that decided what makes you pretty and what not? Are you gonna give them the power? It’s so boring, don’t you think? Don’t let others decide for you, don’t let yourself being carried away by what others affirm, by the standards of society. Basing yourself only on your appearance. There’s no depth in that -I know your struggle is much more depth than what I’m saying, my purpose is not minimize or misinterpreted what you experience. Everyone passes distinct experiences and even If I experience the same situation I’m not going to live it like you, have the same perspective as you, bc I’m not you!!❤️-. How you express yourself, your emotions, everything, your body show it but it doesn’t origines there (only in your physical appearance). There’s a light waiting to shine, to take all over yourself, to make yourself free, to embrace you. I think the important question is: Are you pretty? But don’t think about your self-image. If you said no, there’s something to work, let’s start there :) I think starting with yourself, doing some introspection -I’m not saying it’s going to be easy and quick-, takes time, A LOT of time, even a whole life to pause and take a look of how you were/are, deciding to change, taking action and blablabla, to finally love yourself. To transform yourself to the inside to the outside…When I question someone How are they? They always end up responding abut their physical appearance, I didn’t question that -yes, I fucking did, it was a general question but that’s not the point 🙄-, I asked how the other is? how they treated you? How they expressed? How’s their personality? What you leave behind is how you are -in other’s perspective-, no how you seem. At least there you have my improvised mini philosophical point of view/tesis🤪. Be kind with yourself. Who is going to treat you well if you don’t treat yourself well? MORE THAN WELL. BABE YOU DESERVE MORE AND MORE AND FUCKING MORE. I believe in you. You can do this.🧍

Aphrodite at scorpio degree (8° or 20°)

YOU’RE POWERFUL, YOU’RE THE DEFINITION OF MAGNETISM. Your beauty drown others to know you more. You’re such a mystery in other’s eyes. You are empowered and your sexual energy is HIGH. You could be really horny but you don’t want to admit it bc it doesn’t work like that: you’re a mystery. You don’t revel more than what you need to say about yourself or about things that could distort the self-image others have of you. You are empowered by loving yourself; being turned on by your image in the mirror or the reaction of others when they see you -those eyes, looking at you..they’re drooling-. They know that what they suppose you’re thinking it’s not what you think and they love it, that you’re undecipherable, that they can’t control you, catch you and lock you in a cage unless you want it, unless you give them permission; and I don’t think you’re gonna let them that easy👀 You’re one in a million, you have to know your worth, bc you’re that special. You have power over them, want it or not. They want to be submitted by you, they like it when you give orders or obligate them. Or if they see you as a challenge they want you to be submitted by them. Rather way they’re drown to it. -I’m not referring only in a sexual way-. You make others crazy. You have some problems with control but you can hide it somehow -unless someone analytical enters-.

Square Ascendant

You could feel awkward about your sexuality or beauty. Let yourself be carried by what you feel/suppose others think about it or what others tell you or gossip. You make them jealous, for sure. Or maybe you drown yourself into your insecurities and crave the beauty of others, being jealous of them. One of the two options. Because of this you don’t like your appearance or what makes you beautiful.

Conjunct MC

This has a complete different effect in comparison as the “square” aspect. Aphrodite conjunct Midheaven makes others, specifically coworkers or from a career perspective/profile appreciate or be delighted by you. They love how you look and present yourself in work/career/in what you put effort and dedication. It could be that you seem so effortlessly hot, mysterious. The vibe you give off. When they think of you. You could be admired by that, so powerful and know it all without looking for it, reserved, having everything in control. How you are devoted in your work. Your work/career -or literally in what project you work- could be associated with what Aphrodite represents (beauty, pleasure, art, love, etc). So you could work in fashion, as a model…but it’s not necessarily like that: you could be an engineer and work in a empress that promotes fashion or that to be your frustrated dream 🤪 I’m kidding🧜‍♀️ But yeah is not that obvious…

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

•This is based on my personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

•English is not my first language.

•I’m not a profesional astrologer, I just love astrology and I’m willing to learn.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[elytrafemme]

Dear mare,

i feel like its appropriate for me to write in letter format considering. yk. the whole prince thing. but anyway i think its fun! also the reason i have not replied is because im on vacation, forgive pls :p

life is eh, as usual, but at least the gender issues have died down a bit.

i missed you a lot actually, it was really wierd cause i would tell my irl friends abt ppl i met on tumblr, and u were jut a very significant part of that list!

i did want to ask how has ur life been? its been a very tough past few weeks with all the stuff on twtter, so i hope ur taking care!!!

with lots of love,

prince anon

ps : im going to re-read cough syrup just cause i miss being 2 years younger :')

HI PRINCE ANON!! sorry im delayed :3 and no need to apologize as we all can tell i am clearly very bad at responding to things promptly if at all

im glad the gender issues r dying down!!!! i missed u too :( i always talk about my online life with people espec since my college friends are pretty receptive to it but that is super sweet :]

ty for asking i'm doing pretty good! i'm on a good streak of days right now, it's obviously pretty torrential just in my life generally but i've got a bunch of good people in my life and some fun events happening so like. things are good and hopeful

love u lots!!! <333 (thank u so much :') )

[a-slut-for-smut]

Realized I haven't done 1 of these before. So as you are aware I like to dabble about the power struggle Rivamika has in slutty situations. And lately I was inspired by one of my aesthetic posts, I just can't shake the image of Levi using a black neck tie around Mikasa's ankles and essentially 'trap' himself between her legs and the objective is don't break the tie because you know Ackermans!

HELLO MY DEAR SISTA IN SL*UTTY SMUTTINESS!!!

i sincerely apologize for the delay, had a family emergency and was away for a bit (life's been comin at me hard lately). But to your ask:

ngl hun, im gettin dom!Levi vibes here and while its hot as hell im going through this nasty femdom kink at the moment so as hard as i tried to expand on this idea my sl*utty brainrot just kept reverting to dom!Mikasa scenarios lmaoooo

How bout an exchange of ideas, hmm? Same goal re: not breaking the tie, but something like, Levi buck-naked on the bed except his tie while Mikasa fully dressed in a long calf-length dress. She uses his necktie to tie his wrists to the bedposts but loops it once around his neck before tying both ends to opposite ends of the bedframe. She climbs ontop of him, but not before sliding off her panties as he watches, exposing no skin whatsoever to tease the hell out of him.

Something something something she starts riding him viciously full clothed and gripping the necktie so its tightening so much over his throat to the point where hes starts begging her -for what, he doesnt even know because hes lost his freakin mind at this point (i mean...wouldnt you??? XD) and Mikasa finds it so hot she climaxes simultaneously as she accidently snaps the necktie with her strength. As shes recovering he flips them, ties her wrists to the bedposts with the broken pieces of tie, rips off her dress and just goes to TOWN on her from behind as payback.

Afterwards, throw in some finisher dialogue (i.e. Levi: "I win. Also, you owe me a new tie, brat.") and baby, you got a stew delightfully smutty fic goin!

[mxgicthot]

Why not make another nsfw alphabet in maybe a little more trashy but similar to it of course ( for ratonhnhaké:ton 🔞👀)

My apologies for the delay dear anon

This alphabet is more bdsm-ish. So some answers are going to include Modern Connor (for the modern stuff) and my corruption AU Ratohnhaketon for the more extreme kink stuff.

nsfw below 🔞

The Kinky Alphabet

(x)

A - Anal

Connor would love to try it with you. He will be so gentle, making sure to prepare you so that it is as less painful as possible. He will love how tight you are and all the new ways he can pleasure you and himself. But either way he will still make sure to play with your clit or finger you.

B - Breeding

Connor definitely has a breeding kink. So when you tell him to “fill you full of come” or even “breed me”. Something snaps inside of him and he just goes full on feral.

Let's just say one time you begged for him to breed you and he may have fucked you to within an inch of your life that night,

C - Creampie

This comes with his small possessive kink. Seeing his cum dripping out of you will make him want another round. It's definitely one his favorite thing to do. He just loves how you look, all messy and blushing because of him.

D - Daddy

Not really something he'll be into. Modern AU Connor might consider it, if it's your kink. But canonly no

E - Electricity (Shockplay)

No not something he'll be into.

F - Face sitting / fucking

He loves when u sit on his face and he loves making it impossible for you to sit still and will make certain that you come your brains out.

When giving he first likes to start slow and get as much of his cock in your face as possible, then he gradually picks up the pace.

G - Golden shower (piss kink)

No. He respects you too much to do that and it's a turn off for him.

Now Corruption Ratohnhaketon would definitely be into this. He's a kinky bastard that gets off humiliating you. And no he doesn't care if you enjoy it or not.

H - Hair pulling

Connor loves it when u pull his hair it gives him the warm fuzzies and a gets him crazy hard.

He would grab you by the hair and press your face into the pillow or matress, squeezing slightly but will rarely pull on it unless you tell him to. He can get rough but nothing that will cause you pain. Sometimes, depending on the length of your hair, he will bunch it up in a ponytail in his hand and wrap it around his hand. Loves doing this when he's fucking you doggy style

I - Intimidating (Size kink)

Okay so I hc he like women who are significantly shorter than him. Connor loves how easily he can lift you up. He thinks you are so cute and small but at the same time he wants to toss you around bed and just fucking rail you.

J - Jackoff (mutual masturbation )

Connor would be open to try it if you are interested.

K - Knifeplay

This is for corruption Ratohnhaketon. He enjoys tying you up and running the tip of the blade over your skin, he loves watching you squirm and the power he has over you.

L - Lingerie

He doesn't really care about it. You are beautiful in anything you wear. But if you feel like dressing up for him he would appreciate it, also you can expect lots of compliments.

M - Masochism (BDSM)

Connor's more of a lowkey Masochist. He loves the rush and excitement of it, but wouldn't get off hurting you.

N - Nudes (Phone sex)

Modern AU: Connor definitely wouldn't mind receiving nudes from you. He finds it extremely hot, especially it features any of his clothes you took from him or anything he bought you, he can’t hide how absolutely, sexy he finds those specific pics.

At first Connor might be a bit awkward to send nudes to you but he'll come around. He is always open to any requests or suggestions. He always aims to please his lover

O - Outdoors (Public or semi-public sex)

Yes yes and yes. He loves fucking outdoors, he feels the most connected to himself and to you. He finds it fun and adventurous and exciting.

He's definitely down for some semi-public sex. But it's gonna take some convincing especially if there's people around. If you grope him or tease him under the table, he gets really flustered and desperately tries to flee, but then he's gonna start retaliating.

P - Primal sex

Connor would be very into primal play. It's his thing, he would have the most fun with it. He loves chasing you around and capturing you. It always starts of as a fun hunting (predator/prey) game but then quickly turns intense and always ends with him taking you hard wherever he found you.

Q - Quote (Dirty talk)

When he gets too excited, connor will start speaking all sorts of filth in his native language and he doesn't care if you understand him. He might go for a bit of degradation and make you say just how you feel in detail. He will also praise you when you do a good job and would appreciate it if you praise him as well

R - Roleplay

He's open to trying it with you, but he prefers sex to be an 'in the moment' thing. It'll take a while to convince him and he might be a little awkward at first

S - Spanking

Does he do it? You bet. Does he enjoy it? Of course. He would wait for you with that all-knowing smirk and pat his lap and you will know instantly what he wants. If you take it, he will praise you, saying how good you are and how he will reward you but only after making sure a bright red mark is clearly seen on both your cheeks.

T - Ties (Bondage)

He'll use light restraints on you or sometimes he likes to pin your hands above your head while fucking you. If his feeling kinky he'll bring out the rope dart ;-)

U - Utility (Toys)

Conon Connor is not a big fan of toys, he prefers to use his hands and mouth.

Modern AU : He would be more open to using toys and owns a few to use on himself and on you.

Corruption AU : He owns literally every toy you can think of.

V - Vibrators

Modern AU : He has one of those vibrating cock ring for when he’s crazy horny and a little vibrator that he uses on you.

W - Whips

No, he finds them a bit too extreme to use on you. The only thing he'll spank you with is his hands and maybe his belt, if you ask nicely.

Corruption AU : yes he loves whips. Especially if you were being extar bratty and he needed to teach you a lesson.

X - or are they vanilla?

When he plays it vanilla, he is the most passionate and sensual lover, top or bottom. Sometimes he just wants to spend the day pleasuring you or sometimes he wants to lay back and just let you take care of him

Y - Yes or no (Safeword)

Yes definitely. A safeword is the first thing he suggests before having any kind of Kinky or particularly rough sex. Connor always makes sure you are comfortable. He always reminds you of your safeword, especially if he's being too rough with you.

Z - Zzz (Somnophilia)

He'll love to wake you up with oral and wouldn't mind waking up to you sucking him. But full on Somnophilia No.

[outofsstyles]

WHEN IN ROME - part 1

a/n: Ciao ragazzi!! So this is the part 1 of my friends to lovers featuring italy!Harry. Also a special thanks to my dear friend Giorgia for helping me with this, love her very much!! Hope everyone enjoys it!! Pease feel more than welcome to leave feedback (or just chat if you’d like) :)

Word count: 7k                                  Rated: M,mature

You visit your best friend in Rome and some old feeling may start to resurface.

You struggle with your luggage after one of the wheels got caught on a loose tile, making it jerk across the airport floor. 

The other passengers from your flight stroll along the illuminated hallway, towards the arrival gate exit. Looking around, you notice their tired faces; half-open eyelids and pouted lips, often opening in small yawns. You probably didn’t look much different, considering flying always tends to make you sleepy, which is why you preferred the night ones. 

This one, in particular, was supposed to have landed around sunset, giving you enough time to enjoy your Harry’s company before settling in the hotel room. What no one was expecting, however, was to hear a muffled voice announce through the speakers that your flight was expected to be delayed for about 3 hours. The news was annoying, sure, but you knew there was not much to be done about it. So you simply snuggled further on the uncomfortable metal seat as you rolled your eyes at some angry man who was trying to argue with the poor attendant.

The warm Italian weather was a refreshing change of settings when you finally got to step out of the aircraft, making you take off your cardigan and tie it firmly around your waist. It sent a sparkle of energy down your spine, knowing you arrived after what felt like such a dragged-out flight. But despite your tired state, you feel a warm feeling settling itself in your tummy. One that makes you fight back a smile and jump on your heels in excitement as you walk maybe a bit faster than you should. 

Going through the exit doors, it almost feels as if your heart wants to escape from your ribcage. The nervous anticipation filling every inch of your mind. 

You walk past the group of people gathered around the gate, politely declining the ones who approached you offering taxi rides in a strong accent. Peering around the busy area, it doesn’t take long until you spot the curly mop you were looking for, as he calls out your name.

You don’t hold back the smile that breaks into your face as you watch him approach you with open arms, his dimples marking his cheeks. Not giving a second thought, you let go of the handle of your suitcase, rushing to his direction. You find your place between his arms as he pulled you into a tight hug, arching his back a bit to make your feet leave the ground just barely. 

The scent of his cologne makes your eyes water just slightly, not realizing how much you had missed his presence until that moment. You nuzzle your face deeper into his neck, his arms tightening around you once more.

“Missed you so much, love,” he blurts, his voice muffled as his face squishes into your shoulder blades. 

Placing a quick kiss to the side of your face he pulls away, allowing you to take in his appearance up close for the first time in months. His hair was still short, but longer than it was the last time you’d seen him in person, some locks falling charmingly along with his face. 

You place your hands on his smooth face, rubbing it lightly, “you shaved!” You exclaim, referencing the last picture he had sent you, which showed a scruff growing along his upper lip and jawline. At the time, you were quick to text him to playfully let him know you were not the biggest fan of it. 

He rolls his eyes at you, shaking his head slightly as he pushes your hands away from his face. “‘m very happy to see you too, knobhead,” he mumbles, moving to retrieve your forgotten bag lying on the floor behind you.

“I’m just teasing, silly,” you pinch his chin jokingly as he comes back by your side, guiding you through the airport, “You know I support all your decisions, even the bad ones.”

“Okay, I get it, it’s a no for the beard,” he chuckles, “mum hated it too.”

“I’ve always trusted Anne’s good taste,” you provoke, making him poke you playfully before reaching to put his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug as you two walk. 

“‘S too bad your flight got delayed,” he says, “was planning on grabbing a bite and show you around fo’ a bit.”

Your heart grows a bit at his words, you reach your arm around his waist as to hug him back. “Yeah, it’s too bad,” you gaze up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment before he looked up again, “sorry for making you wait so long.”

“Stop that, don’t have to apologize,” he assures, “‘s not your fault.” He squeezes you against him gently, “‘sides we have the entire week to make it up fo’ it.”

When Harry broke in the news that he would be moving to Rome to pursue a photography degree you obviously felt heartbroken. You two were inseparable at the time and knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him every day anymore made your heartache. It couldn’t have come at a worse time either, you had just broken up with your boyfriend, and suddenly it felt like you were losing everyone you loved the most at the same time.

But still you swallowed back your selfish feelings to show him your support, promising to visit as soon as possible. 

In your ideal world, you would drop everything and pack your bags with him to start a fresh life somewhere else. But realistically speaking, you had too much tying you up to your home, and not nearly enough money to pay for tickets to Italy every weekend so you could visit your best friend as regularly as you wish.

So you hugged him goodbye with tearful eyes and shaky hands, watching him walk towards the departure gate as he waved back one last time.

That had been eight months ago. 

You never expected to take this long to finally be able to see him again, but life sometimes just doesn’t line up the way you want it to. Harry never let you lose contact, though, and for that, you were eternally grateful. He always made sure to call you at least once a week to catch up on each other’s lives. 

It was the highlight of your weeks if you were honest. Getting the comfort of seeing his face even if it was just to talk about trivial things like his recipe of vegan brownies or a new boutique shop that opened on the corner of your street.

But now you don’t have a screen separating the two of you anymore. You can see his smile without it being a pixelated image. You can hear his voice clear next to you. You can hug him back and feel his arms squeezing your waist. You can smell the faint lavender scent on his shirt, mixing with his cologne.

You definitely missed him much more than you’d realized.

**

The sound of your alarm clock rang softly through the compact hotel room. You sigh contentedly, reaching to turn it off before rolling on your back and blinking your eyes open with little internal fight. 

It wasn’t often you could feel this well-rested, especially after sleeping on a strange bed. But thinking about how tired you were the previous night, it didn’t take long for you to fall into a deep slumber as soon as you finally got to lie down. 

The sunlight invaded your small room through the cracks of the nearly closed curtains, making you realize you might’ve been too sleepy to bother on closing them all the way the previous night. Usually, in regular days, you’d lay back in bed and steal a few more minutes of sleep, which would eventually lead to maybe another hour or two of snoozing your alarm clock. But this wasn’t just a regular day, you were in Italy, and Harry would probably be waiting for you down in the lobby in just a few minutes. 

He had revealed none of the plans he made for the day, wanting to keep most of the trip a surprise for you. This habit of his of trying to keep a mysterious front usually makes you tease him with a roll of your eyes, but on this occasion you accepted it. You didn’t really care about what activities you’d do on your stay, as long as you can do it with him.

You check your bag to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything as you wait for the elevator to go down. Running your hands over your summer dress as the doors opened.

Walking into the lobby, you expected Harry to be late, considering he would always be the last one to arrive on any kind of social gathering you’d go before he moved. But to your surprise, you find him leaning against the reception counter, speaking excitedly to the sweet old lady that had welcomed you when you checked in. 

As you get closer to them, you can identify that they’re speaking Italian, making you smile softly at how easily the words flew through Harry’s lips as he speaks.

The lady notices you first, smiling at you as you approach the counter, making Harry check over his shoulder to find you standing behind him. His smile grows, his eyes traveling down your body so subtly it almost felt like your mind was making it up. He greets you with a small hug, looking back at the woman behind the counter one last time and saying something you don’t understand.

“She looks beautiful!” she speaks, her word flowing with a strong accent, “bellissima!” 

You feel a blush creeping to your cheeks as you thank her, wishing her a nice day before Harry and you make your way to leave through the front door. The hotel you’re staying in isn’t the fanciest, but it makes up with the cozy feel and charm you could only find in a small, old building. You chose it specifically for being located just a block away from Harry’s apartment, allowing you two to be closer to him.

“She seems nice,” you say once you turn into the street.

“She’s lovely,” he agrees, shooting you a quick look with a smirk on his face, “was telling me about her husband.”

“Oh,” you say, “What did she tell you?”

“Told me about how they met and all that, they’ve been married fo’ forty years!”

“You love those stories, don’t you?” You chuckle.

He rolls his eyes, “they’re sweet, okay?” he argues. “Not my fault you have a cold heart.”

You gasp, poking him playfully. “I don’t!” you exclaim, earning a knowingly look from him.

You walk a few more blocks along on the small sidewalk; the closeness making your hands brush slightly every so often. The day was nice, ideal for staying outside and enjoying the clear sky. A morning breeze messes up your hair a bit and the sounds of birds singing take over the empty street, along with Harry’s low hums to a tune you’re not familiar with.

He guides you to a small bakery, barely noticeable amongst the surrounding buildings. As you approach the entrance he explains how it’s one of his favorite places to go for what he says is “the best Italian breakfast in Rome!”

Walking inside you are met with the delicious smell of fresh-baked bread. The place is filled with quiet chatter as a few people sit on a long couch located by the back. An older man wearing an apron with various spots of flour on it greets Harry happily as you come in, pulling him into a small conversation you, once again, can’t really pick much of. 

Soon, you two are sitting at a small table by one of the large windows that overlook the street you came from. You bite into the sandwich as a pair of green irises watches you carefully, trying to catch a glimpse of your reaction. 

“So, what are we doing today?” You ask as you pick a few crumbles of bread left on your plate.

“You’re very impatient, haven’t changed a bit,” Harry replies, taking one last sip of his coffee. 

You roll your eyes at him, “you say that as if we haven’t talked in eight months.” 

He chuckles lightly as he leans back on his chair, his arms reaching over his head in a stretch. You try not to notice how his shirt rides up just barely, but enough for your eyes to wander a bit lower than you should’ve. When you meet his gaze again, he has a smirk adorning his face, knowing he just caught you not-so-subtly checking him out.

You clear your throat, praying the warmth you feel creeping on your cheeks isn’t noticeable as you try to think of how to cover up.

“Nice fit, by the way,” you motion towards his blue shirt with an imprint of Mickey Mouse on it, to which he matched with floral shorts. 

This was the kind of clothing combination that would most definitely look silly on anyone else, but Harry was the kind of person who could pull off wearing a potato sack. He just looked good in anything, it was almost aggravating if it wasn’t also endearing in a way. But you’d never say that out loud.

“D’you like it?” He asks as he moved his hands to pull at the hem, looking down at it before meeting your eyes with a smug look on his face. “‘S my tourist outfit.”

“Is it now?” You chuckled, “does that mean we’re being tourists today?”

“I mean, you are a tourist, but yes,” he said, “we’re sightseeing, baby.”

**

Walking around the historical neighborhood in Rome was an overwhelming feeling in every sense of the word. You knew choosing to visit the city at the peak of summer would come with tourist-filled streets so it didn’t surprise you to be met with congested crowds as you got closer to the historical sites. 

But as much as you were not the biggest fan of crowds, you couldn’t even feel bothered in the slightest by the masses of people surrounding you. The feeling of the city itself was ethereal, something that seemed right out of a movie screen. Timeless buildings stood tall above you, with the perfect combination of old-fashioned and modern. 

Harry is having fun with his camera, teasing you at the amazed expressions you made at every corner you turned. But you couldn’t help but feel like that. 

The day only helped to enhance the enchanting feeling of the place. With the sun shining proudly in the clear blue sky, but still catching a light breeze that relieved the heat that formed a light coat of sweat on your body, making you take big gulps out of your water bottle every so often. 

Even the air around you feels different. Something you couldn’t really explain, it was lighter. Harry said it was Italy’s perfect mixture of great food and great people - to which you can’t deny - but you know having him with you is also a big factor.

“Harry, please, I’m scared I’ll bump into someone,” you say,  moving your hands blindly in front of you.

“You won’t,” he replied, keeping his hand firmly above your eyes as he guides you. 

“What if I run over a child?”

“I find your lack of trust incredibly hurtful,” he says from behind, pulling you closer to him. “We’re almost there.”

“Do we really have to do this?” You chuckle.

“Yes, now shush.”

You walk a bit more before he stops. His chest meets your back as he leans in, the ends of his hair tickling your ear slightly. You mindlessly hold your breath, grabbing his wrists anxiously as you wait for him to remove his hands.

“Ready?” He asks. His low voice causing goosebumps to form on the back of your neck.

You nod quickly into his hands, bouncing on your feet slightly as you wait for him to pull out his hands from your eyes. 

It takes a second until your vision can get used to the sunlight after being in the dark, but as soon as you focus on the sight in front of you, it’s like all the air escapes from your lungs. The colosseum stands in all its glory, centered in the open area. A place you have only seen in pages of history books or through a screen. You bring your hand to cover your mouth mindlessly as you gasp at the gigantic monument. 

“How does it feel?” Harry bites his lip, grinning as he gazes quickly at the construction before looking back at you. “Seeing it fo’ the first time?”

“It’s incredible,” you gasp, your eyes still wandering around the sight in front of you. 

“It’s two thousand years old, you know,” he explains. “‘S why it kinda looks like a swiss cheese f’you look at it closely.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle, shaking your head at him. “Did you just compare one of humanity’s most historical monuments to cheese?”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, “‘s a metaphor, darling, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Of course, I’m sorry for being so illiterate.” You joke, bumping your hip against his.

“‘S fine I’m used to it,” he provokes back. “So, are you just gonna stand there with your mouth open or are we going in?”

Your eyes widen at his question. “Wait.” you grab his arm as he looks at you with the most amused expression.”So we actually get to go inside?”

“Course we get to go inside, love.” He throws an arm above your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “What kind of tour guide d’you think I am?”

It warms your heart how much thought he clearly put into planning this trip for you. Not just planning it, but also making sure you’re enjoying all the aspects that Italy has to offer in your limited time here. Truthfully, the biggest reason that brought you here was him. Getting to visit one of the grandest cities in the world is just a bonus. A wonderful bonus. And you are glad to do it with him.

**

Okay, maybe you finally realize what people meant when they described Rome as “enchanting, yet congested” on the many traveling websites you had researched before packing your bags.

Harry warned you about it before you entered the small square - that isn’t even that small but the packed crowd makes it seem much enclosed. He keeps his hand holding securely onto your waist, pulling you close as you walk towards the fountain.

The fountain, yes, the whole reason you are here. Fontana di Trevi. One of Rome’s most prized monuments, and just taking one look at it you could see why. It’s gorgeous, not like any other fountain you’ve ever seen in your life. 

That seems to be a repeating theme in this place, finding the beauty in the most minimal details, like the flowers blooming on a building’s wall, but also on the obvious ones, like the carefully crafted statues posing forever on top of the marble stones.

As you get closer, your eyes never leave the artwork standing in front of you. You’re thankful for Harry’s grip on your waist, otherwise, you’d probably trip down the steps as you make your way through the crowd. 

You find a spot by the edge of the fountain surprisingly easily. Harry lets go of your waist to reach into his back pocket, retrieving a few coins and offering to you.

“Here.” 

“Do I make a wish?” you asked, picking a couple from his palm.

“No, there’s this whole thing,” he began, “f’you throw one means you’ll return to Rome,”  he held up a coin as he explained, “two, means you’ll get married, and three, s’to get a divorce.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “that’s a nice way to break the news, I guess.”

You looked down at your palm, quickly picking up a cent and throwing it at the fountain, watching it descend slowly into the clear water.

“There.”

“Just one, love?” Harry asked, making you look up at him to meet his gaze.

“Don’t really have anyone to get married to, do I?” you joked, “What about you?”

“Already made my wish when I first got here,” he replied, “not gonna risk throwing more.”

“How many did you throw?”

He simply grins down at you, letting your question linger in the air for a moment. You can feel his hand making its way on your waist again, pulling you closer to him.

.

**

You’re received at the bar table with excited cheers from the small group already gathered there. 

There’s an already annoying knot settling at the pit of your stomach. It’s something that has been bothering you throughout the day from the moment Harry mentioned you’d be meeting his friends for dinner. Even with his assurance that you’d be fine, telling you how excited they are to meet you, it still makes you a bit anxious. Of course you want to make a good impression, they are his friends after all. His new friends. 

What helps with your nerves a bit, is the fact that it’s not a massive amount of people, in fact, you are a bit surprised to see there’s only four of them. 

They all seem like they’ve just walked right out of a Vogue issue photoshoot, which makes you fidget with the fabric of your dress nervously. Harry keeps his hand placed on your lower back soothingly as he introduces you to everyone.

The two girls don’t even bat an eye in his direction, getting up to make their way directly to you. The first one pulls you into a tight hug immediately, the unexpected gesture causes you to take a second before hugging her back. She’s shorter than you, but she gives you a big smile as she introduces herself as Giorgia with an excited voice. Her look is very classy which stands out from the more laid-back outfits of the rest of the group.

You barely have time to separate from her before you’re being pulled into another hug. 

“I’m Francesca!” She says before pulling back, her blonde hair a bit messy on top of her head. “It’s very nice to finally meet you!”

You laugh softly at the warm welcome, “It’s lovely to meet you too.”

“We were all so excited to meet you,” Giorgia says, as you sit on the chair across from her. “Harry talks about you all the time.”

You glance at Harry who’s pulling the chair next to yours, arching your eyebrows at him. “Oh, does he now?”

“Alright, alright.” He scratches the tip of his nose, letting out a light chuckle. “Knew she’d do that as soon as you got here.”

“It’s my personal job to tease you at any given opportunity, H.” She reaches for the wine bottle, pouring it into a glass and handing it to you.

You give her a slight smile. “Think we’ll get along then.” You chuckle, moving the wine glass to your lips.

“Wait!” Giorgia stops you, “there’s a saying here in Italy that if you drink without toasting, you have seven years of bad sex, so.” 

“Oh,” you move the glass away from your mouth, raising it. “We don’t want that.”

“No, we don’t.” You hear Harry say from his spot next to you, moving his own glass to meet yours in a light click.

The night progresses bringing a warm feeling in all the pleasant ways. 

A light chatter fills the table, mixing with the sound of the other loud conversations from other young groups surrounding you. You risk learning a bit of Italian from the girls, as they tell excitedly stories about Harry’s first months not knowing the language.  It makes you feel silly for ever thinking they wouldn’t welcome you, seeing how they are treating you as if you are friends for years. 

But what makes your heart swell is seeing Harry so comfortable and laid-back amongst them. 

It may be the effect of the alcohol settling itself on your bloodstream, but as time passes, you find it harder to keep your eyes off of him. 

The crinkle in his eyes as he throws his head back with laughter brings an inevitable smile to your face. His hand squeezing your knee reassuringly, every so often, makes your breath catch in your throat. His eyes never leaving yours as you ramble about something you don’t even pay much attention to.

He’s listening closely to the words coming out of your mouth, his own lips forming a soft grin. You can feel your words start to get confusing as you become much aware of the distance between the two of you. It was close enough so you can notice the cloudy look in his eyes, but till not as close as you wish. 

Your mind seems to erase everything around you as you can see his eyes moving down, so quickly it almost seems like it’s part of your imagination. 

“You two look so cute together.” You hear Francesca’s sudden voice from the other side of the table, reminding that you’re not alone. “You’d make such a cute couple”

It catches you off guard, making you glance over to Harry before shaking your head. “Oh, I mean, I- Well- We’re not- We’ve never-”

“Francie!” Giorgia - thankfully - interrupts your nervous stutter, poking her friend gently in the arm. “You don’t just say stuff like that.”

“What? But it’s true!” Francesca says defensively, “they must get this all the time.” She turns back to you.”Right?”

You quickly bring your glass to your lips, taking a long sip as you decide to let Harry deal with the situation. You feel grateful for the dim lighting of the place, knowing it will cover the undeniable blush that you can tell is already covering your cheeks.

“I mean, yeah, we used to,” he begins, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. “But that’s just cause we slept together.”

You choke on your wine at his words, making him laugh at your clear affected state. “Harry!” You exclaim, hitting his chest lightly before gazing at the amused expressions watching the two of you. “We just slept together, literally. As in just sleep. And that was years ago!”

“I feel like I should take offense at your horror,” he teases.

“Wait- No! I- I didn’t mean it like that-” you try to explain.

“I enjoyed sleeping with you. Thought it was special.” He throws his head back dramatically.

You shake your head at him. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

He looks back at you with a smug look on his face, “maybe I’m just flattered.”

You look away from him, taking a sip of your wine as you hear laughter taking over the table.

“Told you, you are cute!” Francesca says once again.

**

The walk back to the hotel was filled with giggles and rushed whispers as to not disturb anyone, considering Harry’s warning about the loud acoustic of the narrow streets. Your minds were hazy and your chests warm as you stumbled along the way.

“Madame, you’re home.” He says, motioning dramatically towards the entrance door.

“Well, sir thank you for your company on this dark night,” you giggle, bowing slightly. “Seems like you’re a proper gentleman now, aren’t you?”

“Now?” he questions, an offended look taking over his face, making you giggle again. “Was I not before?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Of course you were!” you bring a hand over your mouth as an attempt to quiet your laughter.

“Well on that note, I’ll leave.” He turns on his heels.

You reach for his arms pulling him back to you. “No! Stop! I’m sorry, come back.”

He glances over his shoulder, allowing you to drag him towards you. His grin was visible on his face, dimples deep on his cheeks, as he wraps his arms around your waist, drawing you in. Your laugh stops on your throat when you gaze up to meet his eyes, realizing how close you were. 

Even in the poor lighting, you can still see the green of his irises as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek. The alcohol dancing in your mind making it seem like you were watching it from the outside, as you hold your breath, too afraid to make any kind of movement.

Your heart was loud on your chest. You wish you could read his mind, know his next move. His eyes looked at you almost as if they wanted to tell you something, but your head was too blurry to understand it.

You swallow dryly, “thank you for today, H.” You break the silence. “Was really nice.”

“‘F course, love.” He whispers, caressing his thumb gently over your cheekbone. “Should get some rest,” he says, “got another early day tomorrow.”

“Sure,” you breathe. “Good night, Harry.”

He leans in, your breath catching on your throat as he places a soft kiss on your forehead before pulling away completely.

“Buonanotte.”

**

“Gelatto!” You hold up the two ice cream cups before handing one to Harry and moving down to sit next to him on the steps, carefully avoiding the handlebar of your bike laying on the ground.

“Look at you!” He giggles, “by the end of the week you’ll be a proper Italian.”

You chuckle, “I mean, it’s not like this word is not written all over the store or anything.” you lick the ice cream off your spoon. “But I do have the best tour guide in Rome, so that helps a lot.”

“Is that so?”

You hum with your spoon between your lips, nodding at him.

“Should get his number then, heard he’s a pretty cool bloke.” He smirks, “heard he’s quite handsome as well.”

You roll your eyes at him, “he’s got a big head too.”

He scoffs, nuzzling you as you giggle. “You’re a pest.”

“I am?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Yes, you are.” He shakes his head, playing with the spoon on his ice cream before scooping a bit. 

You fall into a comfortable silence enjoying each other’s company with the soft sound of nature surrounding you. 

The day was thankfully cooler than the ones before, allowing you to sit underneath the sun without feeling like your skin was boiling. The light breeze helped to chill your hot skin, caused by all the cycling you did to get to the island.  

“Y’know,” Harry’s voice breaks into the silence. “I’m very happy that you’re here.”

You gaze up at him, smiling softly. “I’m very happy that I’m here too.”

“No, like really I-” he begins, meeting your eyes. “Thank you fo’ coming.”

“Of course I’d come, silly.” You say, “promised I would.”

“Yeah, I know but-” he looks down at his shoes, a frown forming between his eyebrows. “‘S just,” he sighs, almost in frustration, as if he doesn’t know how to say it. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, H.” Your eyebrows knit together - you can tell there’s something on his mind. “Where’s this coming from?”

“‘S nothing,” he brushes off, still not meeting your eyes.

“Almost fooled me there,” you say, bumping your shoulder on his softly. “You can talk to me, you know?”

“I know.” He looks at you, “was just thinking back to right before I moved. When I told you about it.” He shakes his head, gazing up to the river in front of you. “Felt like the worst friend in the world.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, “‘s just-” he begins, his eyebrow still in a frown - as if he’s searching for the right word to say.  “You just were in a bad place back then, felt so bad fo’ just leaving you like that.” He admits, glancing at you. “I’m sorry.”

You can feel your heart sink as the words come out of his mouth, knowing what he’s referencing to. Your breakup. 

It’s something you don’t really enjoy thinking about but still seems to come back to your mind occasionally, as if to haunt you. 

The entire relationship was a mess, to begin with, and it’s something you can only look back now and realize. From the start, you only accepted going out with him as a form of distraction from your genuine feelings - to which you assume now it’s incredibly unfair not only to him but to yourself. Truth to be told, you never loved him the way you were supposed to.

But as the months went by you learned to get used to it, telling yourself that maybe with time you would forget about who your heart yearned for. So you swallowed back that ache.

When it finally happened, it didn’t come as a surprise to you. You felt like it was inevitable that you wouldn’t last. What did surprise you were how harder the aftermath would be when you learned your biggest support was leaving.

So you look at Harry apologizing for it, not knowing how to express in words that the primary reason you were a mess back then, wasn’t because of the breakup at all.

“I’m sorry, shouldn’t have brought it up.” He apologizes after your lack of response.

“No, it’s fine.” You reassure, “just haven’t thought about it for a while.”

You can feel him watching you from the side of your vision.

“It killed me to see you with him.”

The sentence makes you freeze a bit. You’ve always known Harry wasn’t a big fan of ex. It wasn’t something explicit, considering he never spoke about his dislike of him. But you know Harry. You could tell from his dry words and uninterested eyes every time your boyfriend came up, that he disapproved. So hearing him admit it straightforwardly shocked you a bit, to say the least. 

“I-” You begin, but stop, not knowing how to end the sentence.

“‘m sorry, shouldn't’ve said that.”

“No. Harry-” you pause for a moment, his eyes never leaving you as you think how to say it. “He was a dick.”

“Yeah.” He agrees. “He really was, love.” His gaze moves forward, breaking the eye contact. “You deserve much better than that.”

Like who? You want to ask. Even if you already know the answer. Well, you think you know the answer.

The words get caught in your throat, screaming so loud inside your mind you physically shake your head, trying to stop thinking them. It’s that unsaid confession. The one you’ve been meaning to say long before you even dated your ex..

There’s an awkward pause in the air. One you created without even realizing, because of your lack of response. Harry clears his throat, getting up before offering one hand to help you do the same which you take it.

“We should go,” he says, his eyes still not meeting yours. “Still got to return the bikes.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” 

**

You let out a content hum as the orangy taste hits your tongue, scrunching your nose slightly at the bitter aftertaste, due to the alcohol in it.

“You don’t like it? Harry chuckles at your expression, pulling his glass back to his side of the table.

“It’s good,” you say, “Just looks like orange soda.”

Harry wraps his lips around the straw, taking a sip. “Suppose it does.”

The sound of a small boat passing by the river next you call your attention, making you gaze at it as it moved lazily across the water. You take a moment to appreciate the view from your table, feeling grateful for finding one right by the edge of the sidewalk, allowing you to look at it without lots of people serving as obstacles.

A pinkish and golden tone paints the sky, as the sun goes down to give space for the nighttime. The sound of someone playing the piano took over as background noise. The lights are already turned on though, reflecting beautifully by the water. You can see the masses of people strolling on the other edge where the expo was set up.

You were there earlier in the day, going through the small businesses and gazing at the artworks exposed on the tents. 

There was a particular rose necklace that caught your eye, making you run your finger through the delicate piece for a moment before deciding it was best to leave it be. To your surprise, a few minutes later, as you stopped to watch someone plays a ukulele version of Riptide, you feel a cold chain being wrapped around your neck. 

You looked back to find Harry smiling at you, muttering a shy “Surprise,” as you reach to your neck, only to find the same necklace you had been eyeing before.

The recent thought brings a smile to your face, causing you to play with the pendant.

“D’you remember,” Harry’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. “When we went to that friend of yours birthday party.”

“Alice?” 

“I think so,” he says. “That party was shit.”

You laugh, “God, it really was.” You shake your head slightly at the memory. “We left after, like, ten minutes.”

“We did, yeah,” he says fondly. “Went to that petrol station at midnight to get those awful chips you like and ate them at that empty parking lot.”

“The one with the broken sign.”

“The one with the broken sign,” he smiles. “‘S one of my favorite memories.”

“Really?” You incline.

“Really.” He says, “can still picture you laughing at my terrible attempt at making jokes.” He looks down, poking his finger at the tablecloth. “Almost kissed you that day.”

You blink at him. Feeling your heart skip a beat at his confession. His eyes moving up to meet yours with a gleam to them.

Maybe it was the ethereal feeling that had settled into your mind from the first moment you got here. The one that made it seem like you were in one of those cheesy romcoms Harry loves so much. One where you found yourself in a breathtaking place along with your best friend, where you two slowly would come to the realization that maybe you felt like being more than just friends.

You tried your best to keep those thoughts away. Locking them down in the back of your mind and trying to forget they even exist. But like an annoying ich you can’t quite seem to reach, they would come back to you, almost in a provoking way, to remind you you couldn’t get rid of old feelings. No matter how hard you tried.

It was in the small moments when those thoughts came back to life. When he holds onto your waist in a crowded space so you wouldn’t get lost. Or how he always found a way to compliment you. 

Or even when he’s not even doing anything, but the string of lights above you just hit his face perfectly as he looks at you with the most affectionate eyes. His thumb finding your hand over the table, caressing it so gently that brought the most beautiful butterflies on your stomach.

Maybe the wine has gotten to your head but those unspoken words weigh so heavily on your tongue you can almost taste them.

But it was a little voice inside your head that makes you swallow them back. One that screams that this has become something too important to be thrown away in a failed attempt at a relationship. Whatever window that was of becoming more than friends had already been closed years ago. 

And with one look at his glistening eyes, you take a sip of your wine, deciding that those past feelings should stay in the past.

~*~

{PART 2}

[jay-and-dean]

Firefly Chapter 7 : Eighteen and twenty-eight years old

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary :  40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 4330

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it.

Firefly Chapter 1

Firefly Chapter 2

Firefly Chapter 3

Firefly Chapter 4

Firefly Chapter 5

Firefly Chapter 6

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

——————————————————————————

She wasn’t moving at all. Sitting on the bench in the middle of this ocean of life, she watched people walk by. The sun had gone down now, after moving from building to building, making giant shadows change the whole city constantly.

She was overwhelmed, unable to move at all. Her eyes were drinking the world like new born baby’s ones. None of her muscles moved for hours, her fists clinging at her dress, her heart bleeding in silence for Dean.

A few people stopped to ask her if she was okay, but she couldn’t answer, her voice locked in her lungs…

But she finally got up.

After days of hiding in alleys, and walking on boulevards, escaping weird men yelling at her in the dark of night… It started to rain. A heavy, pouring storm rain that made her dress heavy and washed the dust out of her. And that warm loud summer rain somehow woke her from her torpor.

She had to live, and learn everything about life because that’s what Dean wanted for her… But Dean wasn’t here, and he will never be. So she came back to that bench, soaked and shaking, and started to cry for him. She had to be happy for the man she loved, and couldn’t without him… 

Her tears only calmed with the rain that day. And even when her eyes stopped crying, her heart never stopped weeping for Dean a single second.

Not when she got up from that bench to find a map of the city on the subway station, not when she found clothes, and ripped that stupid dress of her body… It was still weeping when she first found people in the street and asked her where to find food. It was screaming inside her during her first night in a foster home for homeless people… When she fought for the first time to escape men again. 

Her heart was weeping for Dean the first time she laughed, seeing cartoons in a TV store front, when she found out about drugs and abuse, cheating, wealth... when she started to be hungry, when she fell of exhaustion in an alley…

And even if her eyes stayed dry, her soul kept crying when the demons attacked.

Lilith had sent them after her as soon as the Queen noticed Y/n was no longer in Hell. She was hiding in an abandoned building when dozens of demons attacked her, she fought with teeth and nails to get them off and she won, but that wasn’t the end… Lilith kept sending more minions and, exhausted but determined to live, Y/n had only one option left.

She faked her own death. With the help of her powers and some research in the nearby library and in the maze of knowledge she had memorized over the years, she tricked the demons into believing she was dead, and used a certain pattern of sigils to hide herself, cloaked from every supernatural being.

Finally she was free.

So things went easier. After a little while, she met her own little angel : Sue. An older lady who offered Y/n shelter when she caught her dumpster diving her diner. Sue found Y/n a little odd at first, everyone thought that of her, but just as with every person Y/n had met on her way, Sue liked the happy girl she always seemed to be, enthusiastic about the very simpler things ; so she offered Y/n a job as a waitress in her diner.

_____________

 Y/n’s window was rolled down as the loud music blasted through the speakers of her raven black 1967 Ford Mustang as she drove to work, still the same job at Sue’s diner. And she was smiling wide on her way, because she loved every single thing about this job. 

She parked her car in the lot and made her way inside to take her light blue apron.

“Morning Y/n! How are you doing today sweetie ?” Sue asked.

“You know, same old same old.” Y/N shrugged.

Tying her apron on her, Y/n smiled kindly. She looked so different from what Dean had known, and hopefully different enough so no demon passing by ever recognized her. Her hair was tied together and no longer falling on a waterfall in her back. No more fancy dresses but only jeans and all the t-shirts she liked, with rock bands on it, or her favorite movies posters... 

Sue sighed and put her hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

“Are you still working on freeing Prince Charming ?” she asked Y/n with an apologetic smile. 

“Yes, I promised I would get him out and I won’t stop until he is” she said determinedly. 

When Sue had just found Y/n she kindly offered her to stay at her house until she could get on her own feet. Y/n dreamed a lot about Dean, some dreams worse than the others, so after the third night of her guest screaming Dean’s name, Sue had asked her who he was. Y/n couldn’t tell her everything so she said he was the love of her life and was wrongly imprisoned, and that she had promised to get him out.

“He’s a very lucky guy to have you, Y/n” Sue told her.

“Yeah, I just… I miss him so much…” Y/n said as she made the last knot on her apron.

“I know sweetie, but if you truly love him, he’ll come back, just wait and see” she smiled with that protective expression she always had when it came to her protégée, even if she seemed sometimes perplexed about all those stories she told.

She gave her her note book to write down the orders.

“Yeah I hope so” Y/n clicked on her pen and made her way into the diner to take up the orders of all the customers. 

It was a quiet day, she loved this little diner, the food was amazing and it even had a little jukebox she often used. It had given her a shelter, money to live, but also an identity and friends. A life.

Her smile faded like it did sometimes, Dean would have loved this diner too… She thought back to all the things she discovered on Earth.

She did everything Dean had told her about : She went to the movie theater, she learned how to drive (thanks to Sue), she had a date or four, went to a party, she got drunk a few times. She danced alone and with others, kissed a girl and travelled a little. Her appetite for life was never ending, so she had driven to the ocean and dived, she had smoked weird things once and ran in the forest, she had woke in the middle of the night to go buy ice-cream, she had sang in the shower and stayed home for an entire weekend crying while watching bad tv shows… And she even lost her virginity to a sweet boy. But nothing could get her mind off Dean, calm her weeping heart or divert her from her goal.

Every night she looked up at the stars and imagined him by her side, she could use her power to create an image of him that existed out of a million little stars, well more like a million little fireflies.

A lot of time had passed since she last saw him, her heart broke at the thought of him down there for so long. He must have forgotten her by now, if his soul even survived those many years.

A throat being cleared pulled her from her daydreaming. She turned to find a man smiling at her.

“Oh my apologies, what can I get you, sir ?” she asked the man, there was something unpleasant about him, he had dirty blonde hair and she didn’t like the way his blue eyes were traveling her up and down.

“Are you on the menu ?” he asked her with a sly smile.

Y/n sighed deep, why were a lot of men on Earth such… pigs ?

“No sorry, I was just joking” the man began. “I’ll take a coffee with some pancakes.” 

Y/n wrote his order down and left with a forced smile. 

He was the only customer today so Y/n handed the paper to Sue so she could make it and sat down at the little bar. She was watching the man in the mirror that hung on the other side of the counter. She couldn’t shake the eerie feeling she got from the man, he looked normal, but she could feel something… something powerful radiating off him.

The bell pulled Y/n out of her haze as she took the coffee and pancake to the man.

“Here you go sir, enjoy your meal” Y/n said as she dropped the food at his table.

“Thank you.” 

She was starting to leave when his voice stopped her.

“Can I ask you a question, miss ?” he asked as he took a bite from the pancake.

“Yeah, of course” Y/n shrugged.

“You haven’t been here for long have you ?” he said as he looked at her.

“Uhm no, not very long. Are you from around here ?” Y/n asked, he was just a normal guy, it was impossible for anyone to find her anyway. 

“Oh no not at all. But i didn’t mean this diner...” he kept on eating nonchalantly, he swallowed. “I meant Earth.” 

Y/n’s eyes went wide, she turned and ran towards the exit only to bump into the man who was just sitting at the table behind her half a second ago. 

“Who are you” Y/n asked as she stepped back from him

A deep sigh left his mouth.

“It hurts me that you even have to ask that, Y/n” he blinked and his irises turned to a fiery red.

Y/n ran towards the kitchen to get Sue. She pulled open the door and shrieked as her dear friend fell on her with her eyes burned out.

Dead.

“No ! Sue !” Y/n started shaking, cupping her friend’s face. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER ?” Y/n screamed to the man walking in casually.

“She put too much milk in my coffee, so I ended her” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Y/n stood up, her eyes a flare as she widened her arms to unleash her powers. Two fiery tentacles wrapped around the man’s legs.

“You’ll regret this” she said, her voice sounding like a thousand people at once.

The man gave her a sly smirk and snapped his fingers, her powers stopped immediately. She thrusted her hands forward to him, but nothing happened. Fear shone in her eyes as she looked at him in disbelief.

“It’s time we should head home, Y/n” he stepped closer to her, his fingers tilting up her chin.

“We have a family to start” he whispered against her lips with a dark chuckle.

“L-Lucifer” she gasped. 

 His arms wrapped tight around her and before she could blink she was back in Hell.

The suffocating smell of sulfur and blood made her cough, her whole body started to shake as she started to desperately gasp for air, her lungs crushed by the most powerful anxiety she ever felt. Her arms reached to her enemy in a pleading scratch, like he was strangling her…

“Home sweet home, baby” he cruelly cooed in her ear, his breath heavy on her skin. 

She pried her arms between them to push out of his embrace. He chuckled as he let her go and she fell backwards, scrambling away from him.

“Stay away from me!” she finally managed to yell at him, her eyes flaring back to life as she was losing control over her powers.

He tilted his head at her as he watched her, his steps following her every move.

“You are such a pretty thing, I see some potential too. But I was told you were,” he hummed in thought “a pain in the ass. And I’m starting to see why.”

Her eyes were scanning everything, the bloody walls, the frozen air all around her, the never ending screams, the smell of fear and fire. 

No she couldn’t be back in Hell…

With a turn of his wrist she was lifted up in the air, she tried to fight his power, but he was too strong… She couldn’t take on the Lord of Hell…

“Y/n, I’m only going to tell you that only once : You will obey and be helpful” he said with every step until he stood nose to nose with her, his eyes drinking her in.

She gave him a sweet smile before she spat in his face.

“Never” she told him.

His hand came up to wipe her spit away, he licked his hand clean, humming at her taste. 

“As you wish, Y/n. Then my little slave needs chains...” he sneered.

Iron ropes wrapped around her as soon as the word left his lips, they burned into her flesh making her scream in pain. She fell heavy to the ground at his feet.

“For eternity” he finished as he sat down on his throne.

“No p-please, no chains… everything but chains” she begged him.

“Oh no baby, I know what you used to do when you’re set loose, but forget about that, he isn’t here anyway, no reason to go wandering. Jeal told me all about you and your little lover.” he said as he crossed his legs over each other.

“H-he isn’t ? H-How” she asked, suddenly able to ignore the pain of the iron digging in her flesh. 

How was that possible ?

“He got out, Heaven’s plans. Now stop asking or I’ll gag you too” he sighed, looking at her. “I’ll make you your own little cage, like they did for me. No way you’ll get away from this one. And don’t think your daddy will help, he still thinks you’re dead. Everyone does.”

She whimpered in silence, only one thought on her mind. He was free… 

Dean Winchester was alive.

________________________

Dean’s Pov 

  Dean woke up in a little painful whine, he opened his eyes and wiped the sweat off his face and neck, watching the ceiling, trying to focus on the contour of his body, the sheets and the pillow. He took a deep breath to calm his heaving chest. 

Another nightmare.

And this one wasn’t the violent surviving of Purgatory, it wasn’t the burning guilt of old fights with John, the crushing pain of seeing Sam die ; it wasn’t the despair of losing Mary again, the disturbing memories of being a demon… It was the worst : Hell.

And among the worst, the tortures and the screams, tonight’s nightmare had to be about the cruellest idea demons ever came up with : fake hope.

In his dream, he was laying on the floor of his cell, barely able to breath because of the blood drowning his lungs, and he felt her hand, her tiny soft fingers wrapped around his wrist to ease his panic. She whispered sweet things to him but when he lifted his eyes to see her face, only Alastair was there, laughing loud and sharpening knives. 

Dean stretched and shook his head, like he could get rid of those memories like that. He couldn’t let nightmares get to him, and he couldn’t let his past crush him. 

With his guts still aching from the dream, he forced himself to get up. Staying in bed only made the memories clearer, and the trauma cut deeper. He knew only another hunt could ease the pain. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he saved enough people, he would finally expiate.

The bunker was silent, even Sam was still sleeping so early in the morning. Walking to the kitchen, he frowned : His knee was still hurting and the bruises on his face and collarbones too. 

Damn demon.

He turned to enter the kitchen and jumped a little.

“Hi Dean, sorry I scared you” Jack said, looking up from his bowl of cereal, his big eyes going to the hunter’s wounds quickly. “How are you ?” 

“I’m fine. What are you doing up so early ?” Dean grunted, going straight to the coffee in his long grey robe. 

“I have trouble sleeping lately” the boy answered, frowning in confusion like he often did. 

“Try whiskey” Dean muttered low in a sleepy grunt.

“Alcohol is really not a solution to my problem I think” Jack turned to him, even more confused.

“I was kidding” he sighed, sitting in front of the young boy.

Sometimes Jack really was Castiel’s son…

The hunter scratched his scruff and took the cereal to plunge his hand in the box, eating some while reading the joke behind it.

“I hear a voice in my head” Jack sighed. 

Dean looked up, ready to make a mocking joke but he noticed a genuine worry on the boy’s face.

“A voice ?”

“Yes” Jack searched Dean’s face. “At first I thought maybe I overheard something on the angel radio, but… It seems different.”

“What does it say ?” 

“I don’t really understand it” Jack shrugged.

“Understand what ?” Sam asked, scratching his head while entering the room with his hair in every direction and the left side of his face still swollen and bruised. “Wow, everyone is up early this morning ! What am I missing ?” 

“Jack says he hears a voice” Dean repeated, getting up to get coffee now it was ready. “But he doesn’t know where it comes from or what it says” he groaned slightly. 

Please don’t let that be bad news again…

Dean sat heavily, rubbing his tired eyes while his brother interrogated Jack. How long had he been hearing the voices, were there several, was it constant… The boy only had a very few answers.

“We need to find where it comes from, Dean” Sam states, making his brother grunt again in his coffee mug. 

That didn’t sound like a good old fight and kill hunt, it sounded like trouble.

_____________________

  Dean pushed the heavy metal door and went down the stairs, overhearing his brother, Jack and Castiel talking in the library. 

Reaching them, he almost threw the bag on the wooden table, not daring to ask any question seeing the three too serious faces looking at him.

“I guess no good news” he mumbled deep in his throat looking down to grab a beer from the bag.

“Dean” Castiel started with his worried voice, making the hunter look instantly slightly annoyed. “The voice comes from Hell.”

“Hell” Dean repeated casually, taking a sip of beer to wash the word from his mouth. “There are a lot of voices in Hell, it’s pretty loud down there.”

When his eyes fell on Sam, a shiver roamed his back. He had the face, Dean hated that face, the “you’re not going to like it” face. So he put his beer down on the table and sighed.

“What is it ?” he finally asked.

“The voice, Dean” Jack said. “It’s calling you.”

“Me” Dean’s eyes widened. “There can be another dude named Dean in Hell !”

“Dean…” Sam sighed. “Who could be calling you ?”

Dean’s first thought went to Bobby. They had freed him from Hell a few years ago, he was supposed to be in Heaven, and Crowley had decided differently… Maybe someone they lost ? An innocent locked in Hell by mistake ? But Rowena was on the throne now… Would she do that ? 

“How can you hear a voice coming from Hell ?” he shook his head. “Do you hear them all ?”

“No” Jack said. “Only this one.”

Dean sat and took a deep breath, realizing this would mean that he would have to visit Hell... again. After those break in, the nightmares were always worse, and last time he had to deal with a panic attack in the shower. 

“Okay” he stated. “What is the plan ? And how do we know it’s not a trap ?”

_____________________ 

 “So your plan…” Rowena frowned from her throne, her long dress nonchalantly falling on the floor. “Is letting the boy follow a voice like a dog on a leash ?” 

Dean’s face was stern, his arms tense, his heart a little compressed in his chest.

Each time he smelled that horrible sulfur mixed with blood smell, it was like he could feel the chains and the needles and hear Alastair’s voice all over again. Then he had two choices in his mind : Either he accepted it, and stayed with the demon’s croaky voice in his head for days, or focused on what had made him hold on for years back then : the secret girl’s soft touches ; but then the fear was replaced by the crushing feeling of despair and sadness, at knowing he had been fooled that bad, into believing innocence exited.

“More or less” his brother answered. “Rowena, you have to admit it’s something new… And if there are leaks in Hell…”

“Yeah yeah…” the witch sighed. “But don’t come crying when your little baby angel comes back traumatized. This is not a place for kids.”

Oh the irony.

“It’s not there” Jack cut them with a frown, looking around.

“What do you mean it’s not there ?” Dean grunted. “You were sure it came from Hell !”

“It does…” the boy stated. “Just deeper.”

“Deeper ?” Sam shook his head, but turned to Rowena, immediately trusting Jack as always. “Is there a basement in Hell ?”

“A basement ? Hell is a multi-dimensional…”

“Answer him” Dean cut her, losing patience.

Rowena got up and demons entered the room. She gave orders about getting the records, about the cage, and all. After a few very long minutes, a demon in an old man vessel came closer to the Queen, whispering something in her ear.

“Oh really ?” Rowena said. “Why am I not aware of all this ?”

“Because they’re all empty, your Majesty” the demon shrugged. 

“What is ?” Sam insisted with a flustered move of his hands.

Rowena sat again.

“There are cages, like the one that held Lucifer once. Smaller ones, but for all we know, they are all empty.”

“For all you know ?” Dean raised his voice a little. 

“No one uses them” Rowena shrugged. 

“They held an angel during the war between Heaven and Hell” the demon spoke, his voice shaking a little, obviously uneasy in front of the Winchesters. “I-in the dawn of time, but the angel was killed by Lucifer before Michael locked him in the cage… We kinda forgot where they were.”

“Take us to them” Jack ordered Rowena with this frown of his.

Rowena looked to the demon that didn’t move, his eyes on Dean, like the hunter could suddenly decide to kill all of them.

“Merihem, take us to those cages” Rowena called him. “Chop chop.” 

____________________

The light of Hell’s fire didn’t reach that deep in the pit, like the sun in the deepest ocean.

Dean was holding the torch like it was his lifeline in this vertiginous nightmare of deafening silence. Everything was threateningly pitch black, a perfect representation of the fear of dark, a big cold lonely nothingness… With stairs in the middle. 

“I didn’t know there was anything deeper than Lucifer’s cage” the Queen’s voice echoed weirdly in the void.

Suddenly, the stairs stopped and Dean banged into metal bars. He lifted his torch to see what was behind it, but the cage was empty.

“It’s here” Jack whispered. “I can feel it.”

Sam opened the empty cage, his arm hair ruffling at the touch of the same metal that held his soul for so long.

“Nothing” he said, holding back his own trauma probably as hard as Dean did.

“Dean…” a weak voice made them all jump, coming from the dark.

“Who is this ?” the hunter grunted, taking a few unsure steps to the next cage, firmly holding his torch in front of him with an almost trembling arm.

“Dean…” the voice now whined.

Sam put his hand on his brother’s shoulder to make him wait for him. They looked at each other, using silent words and joining their flames to fight the pitch black ahead of them. 

Even used to all kinds of nightmares, Dean wasn’t so reassured in the deepest of Hell, called by a weak and plaintive voice coming from the darkest of darks.

Something moved in the cage in a deafening metal noise, a shadow fleeing the light. The brothers both let out a shaky breath, moving closer with the demon and Rowena way behind them.

Dean swallowed, finally distinguishing a body, hunched in the opposite corner of the cage, shaking. Extremely long hair was falling around the pitiful form, chained heavily even inside the cage. 

“Who are you ?” he asked again. “You’re calling me, why ?”

No answer.

“Who is this ?” Sam turned to the demon that had guided them.

“I-I have no idea” it answered. “No one came here in years !”

“Dean ?” the voice seemed to struggle thinking straight.

“Jeez” Sam muttered. “For how long has she been there ?”

She ? Dean thought, realizing now it was indeed a woman, her thin delicate hands were clinging to the floor.

His heart was racing in his chest, from being in Hell, from the fear of what he would find, and from something else, something confusing, like an emotion flying in the air around him.

The girl finally lifted her face to them, teary eyes frowned at the light of the flame, her shaking hand open in front of her to soften the burning of the torch.

Dean felt hit violently in the chest, his breathing stopped in a strangled gasp as everything he certainly knew started to crumble in the back of his mind. He opened his mouth but nothing came out… After swallowing twice, he finally managed to speak.

“Firefly ?”

Next Chapter on @roonyxx​‘s blog

________________________

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[bumblebeug]

Felinette. Nothing Bad Ever Happens to Me Pt. 4

Hello Everyone! I wrote a really long chapter, I hope you enjoy it. @7701deathlyhalfbloodprincess, @captainmac6, @iwantswifttoblessmysoul, @lady-flora-of-slytherin -Thank you so much for your support! And @dargeon-lissa, thank you for replying to my question all the way back at part two! 

So without further adieu:

Nothing Bad Ever Happens to Me Pt. 4 

“Oh, mother,” Lila whispered hoarsely, “I’m sure I’ll feel much better by lunch.”

Her mother’s brows drew together in concern, “Darling, don’t push yourself too hard. You don’t want to make what you have any worse.”

Lila sat up lightly from her position in bed, “Of course Mother.” She blew her nose delicately, “I promise that if I don’t feel up to it, I won’t go. I’d hate for anyone to get sick because of me.”

Mrs. Rossi bent forward and smoothed her daughter’s bangs to the side and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I know dear, that’s what makes you my special girl.”

Eyes closed, Lila leaned into her mother’s kiss and breathed in deeply. Instead of wearing the perfume that Lila spent weeks picking out, her mother was wearing the one her boyfriend had chosen. She wrinkled her nose. She had forgotten that he was back in Italy. Waiting to take her mother’s precious time away from her again. If Lila got her way – which she was sure she would, he would soon be a forgotten memory for her mother too.

Too soon for Lila’s liking, her mother pulled away softly exclaiming, “Oh my. Is that the time?” as she checked her watch. Mrs. Rossi planted another kiss atop Lila’s head, “Dear, remember to keep your liquids up – I have another late night again, but there’s soup in the fridge.”

Mrs. Rossi paused at her daughter’s doorframe, “I love you. Please feel better.”

“I love you too Mother – don’t worry about me; I’ll be just fine.” Lila called to her retreating back and listened to the click of the front door. Lila meant it too; she always turned up on top. She got what she wanted. And right now, she wanted Felix wrapped around her finger like all the others at school. Yesterday’s research had been a failure, Lila thought as she opened her laptop, but today she would discover what the mysterious new boy liked.

----------

Marinette woke up with her first alarm feeling energized and practically sprang from the confines of her sheets. All thanks to Adrien, yesterday had been amazing, she thought dreamily. Well. It had been overall amazing. At first, everything had been a little stiff and awkward but as the day wore on, she gradually stopped worrying that everything would fall apart. It had felt good to be with everyone again. With luck, she thought as she brushed her hair, today would be a repeat. She caught her eye in the mirror as she was tying her hair into her customary pigtails. Hmm. Maybe she could shake it up a bit.

~

Marinette held a fresh box of croissants and waved goodbye to her parents as she left the bakery. She was proud of herself – she had finished up the notes that Felix requested, got to braid her hair, and, best of all, there was a chance she would be able to sit with her friends again today. After all, maybe Lila really was sick. The chill morning air hit her face pleasantly as she walked.

With a giggle, Tikki flew up to Marinette’s shoulder, “You look like you’re going to start dancing in the streets, Marinette.”

Grinning, Marinette gave a little twirl, “I can’t help it! Look how well today is already going. I finished Felix’s notes, sketched out a phenomenal jacket for Jagged, and I even woke up with the first alarm!”

“Not to mention enough time to make your hair so pretty.” Tikki stroked a lock of her French plait. “I told you that everything would work out.”

Marinette giggled at Tikki’s smug expression, “Yeah, yeah. You’re right.” She stroked Tikki’s forehead with her finger, “Patience and sacrifice pay off in the end. Don’t let it inflate your big head.”

Tikki swatted Marinette’s finger in mock outrage, “My head is not big! It’s perfectly kwami sized!”

Marinette rolled her eyes and held her hands up in surrender, “Of course.”

Tikki nestled against Marinette’s neck, not willing to go back in the purse, but wanting to ward off the morning air all the same.

“Hey Tikki?” Marinette’s carefree attitude slipped a little.

“Mmm?”

“Do you think that Hawk Moth is planning something again? Something big?” Marinette gripped a strap of her backpack and dropped her voice, “Like Hero’s Day?”

Just because the class had become more balanced of late, didn’t mean that the rest of Paris was. Every day it was full of frustrated, upset people. The fact that Hawk Moth had scaled back so drastically made her feel antsy. The lack of akumas made Marinette feel uncomfortable like there was an itch that she couldn’t reach. Tikki plucked at the tense fingers to loosen their grip,

“If he is planning something, we’ll be ready for him. You have grown so much since we’ve been together – I know that we’ll be able to handle whatever he throws at us.”

“Yeah… you’re right,” Marinette straightened her shoulders, “We can do anything as long as we’re together.”

They neared the gates of the school.

“You better hid now though. School awaits.”

Tikki gave Marinette one last pat before diving into the opened purse.

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

Gabriel Agreste silenced his alarm before dragging his hand down his face. He hadn’t slept last night. Or the night before last for that matter. As of late, his days were a consistent sludge. The upcoming fashion show was eating him alive. He had spent so much time as Hawk Moth, he hadn’t been designing – brushing it off as a future concern. But now the fashion show was practically on top of him and he had very little to show for it.

Groaning, he rang Nathalie and requested she bring him the strongest caffeinated beverage she could find. Cursing himself, he looked over his sketchbook and cursed himself for ignoring the schedule Nathalie had set up for him so many months back. He couldn’t reschedule the show – it would be too suspicious. Enjoy your free time while you can Ladybug, Gabriel thought bitterly. Right now, there was no time for villainy – not when his reputation was on the line.

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

Felix tapped his pen against his desk, thinking. The student representative had certainly been affected by the change in seating yesterday – her shoulder’s, which had been stiffly pulled back in the morning, had relaxed into a more confident pose as the day wore on. Still. There had been something off – just a flicker of unease that held her back. He wondered what it was. A small part of him hoped that it was some kind of epic intrigue. A secret side to her that she was hiding, keeping her from being her true self. But he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came. Just because he had moved to a place inhabited by superheroes and villains, didn’t mean that everyone’s life was just as fantastical as the city they lived in.

Today his interaction with her had been brief. She apologized for the delay in notes and offered him a croissant. He declined the croissant, he had the model-standard strict diet, but accepted the notes. Then, nonplussed, she left for the seat she sat in yesterday and that was that. Looks like today is another one of observation he thought as he brought his thermos to his lips.

-----------

Alya gave Marinette a sly smile as she took a croissant, “Trying to doll it up for our resident sunshine boy?”

Marinette blushed, she hadn’t had Adrien in mind when she changed up her hair – but now her mind started to race with possibilities. Adrien might compliment her hair and if she could manage to keep her cool, then they might start dating. And years from now today would be remembered as their anniversary of first getting together. And –

Alya snapped her fingers in Marinette’s face, “Whoa girl, careful – don’t get lost in la-la land so early in the morning, we might never get you back.”

~

“Girl, don’t look now but Mr. Icicle is burning a hole in the back of your head again. You say something to piss him off or something?”

“Pft. No way, Marinette is sweet as sugar – what could she have done to piss him off in the three days he’s been here?” Nino laughed.

Marinette started to turn around only to be stopped by Alya’s firm hand on her shoulder, “What did I just say?”

Alya continued, “Let’s review the facts: first, he’s barely said five words to anyone here! Second, he completely rebuffs any attempt at conversation. Third, he rejected a croissant.” Alya bit into her own for emphasis, “How on earth could anyone with a soul resist one of these? Even Mr. Top Model’s willpower isn’t that strong.” She gestured towards him, “Look – he’s trying to sneak one as I speak.”

Adrien abruptly snatched his hand out of the box, looking abashed, “Well… you said it yourself – Felix didn’t want one, so that means that there’s extra.”

Marinette rested her hands on her cheeks, Adrien was so cute it should be illegal. She knew she wouldn’t be able to speak so she just nodded when he turned a pleading gaze on her.

“Thanks, Marinette!” Adrien said as he helped himself.

Nino glanced up towards the back, feeling uneasy. Felix really was just staring at the group with an unreadable expression. He didn’t like the way that Felix’s gaze lingered on Marinette in particular. “Hey,” he stated cautiously, “Marinette.”

“Mhm?” Marinette replied, still recovering her speaking faculties.

“Alya’s right. He really is focusing some major lasers on you right now.” He pushed his glasses up, “You’ll tell us if he does anything weird…right?”

Marinette’s eyes widened, where was all of this coming from? Did he unsettle everyone that much?  Alya flicked the rim of Nino’s hat down, “What this goofball is trying to say is that Adrien told us that he has a bit of a reputation in the modeling world as being a jerk and that you should watch out.”

“The worst thing I’ve done is give him some notes late.” Marinette tried to turn around again only to be thwarted again by Alya.

“Uh-huh, no way – ” Alya was cut off as Adrien interrupted, “Actually, that might be enough to get on Felix’s bad side. He is… a little temperamental.”

Nino drew her attention again, “Look all I’m saying is that he gives off a weird vibe. Alright?”

Marinette felt a warmth blossom in her chest, Nino really was the right choice for the turtle miraculous. All he wanted to do was protect his friends. Marinette solemnly drew her hand up to her heart, “Nino, I promise that if he does anything I don’t like – I will tell you straight away.”

---------

Sometimes, Felix forgot that books weren’t loud. That no one but he could hear the klaxons blaring as the two intrepid heroes made their desperate escape from the deadly, evil Overlord. For him, once properly engaged, the noise of the action would drown out the meaningless chatter around him until he was running down the hallway with the heroes – listening to them as they planned and worried for their safety.

His total engagement with the text meant that any outside distraction was, to say the least, upsetting as he was jarred back into the real world. The sound would abruptly cut out for a disorienting moment and the characters would fade back into the typeface. It was always incredibly aggravating to be ripped away from a story like that.

“Sorry.” A voice said. Only it didn’t sound sorry at all. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to say how much I loved that novel.”

Felix placed his thumb on the page and looked up.

“I’m Lila Rossi, by the way.” She smiled wide, “I was the last new kid to transfer here, so I hope that we will become best friends!” She thrust her hand out to shake.

Felix flicked his eyes to her hand briefly before returning to his book. Hopefully, if he made an example out of Rossi then no one else would try to interrupt him while he read. Obviously, his hope was in vain; he made it a paragraph before she started speaking again.

“Oh! I can understand why you would want to get back to it – it’s just such a good book!” She simpered, “If you want, I could get you a signed autograph from the author the next time I see him…I was recently selected as the voice for the audiobook.”

That got his attention.

Felix trained his eyes on her, “Do go on.”

Lila grinned like the cat that got the canary, “Oh yes. I was a volunteer reader at a hospital one weekend and wouldn’t you know it? The author also happened to be visiting at the same hospital! He heard me reading his book and loved how I read it so much that I was offered on the spot to read for the audiobook!” She finished brightly.

“Well,” Felix cocked and eyebrow and pulled his lips into a half smile, “Isn’t this just a happy occurrence?”

The five minute warning bell went off and students began to file in from lunch.

“You better go to your seat Miss Rossi.” Felix said sotto voce, “Wouldn’t want to be late.”

Rossi giggled and sauntered away.

----------

Marinette fought off a groan of disappointment; Lila was back. She turned her eyes heavenward as if to ask why the gods hated her. Guess it was too much to hope for a day as perfect as yesterday. But maybe, she thought as she eyed Lila striking up a conversation with Felix, this was a hidden opportunity?

“Do you think it would be alright if I stayed here? Just for today?” Marinette timidly asked her friends.

Alya sighed, “C’mon girl, you know that Lila needs this seat.”

Marinette felt her shoulders sag slightly, knowing it was a lost battle as Adrien averted his gaze and Nino nodded along with Alya. She didn’t understand why he let them believe her lies.

The warning bell rang.

“Oh Marinette,” Lila greeted with false enthusiasm as she approached, “Do you want to finish today with your friends? I could always sit in the back with Felix.”

“Oh, but Lila,” Marinette answered in the same tone, “Don’t you have terrible hearing difficulty?”

She had her! Lila was contradicting herself!

Lila’s smile was shark-like, “It turns out that my hearing issue was a longstanding symptom of what I was sick with yesterday. But I’m much better now and would be happy to move for today! He and I already have so much in common.” Lila continued slyly, “Plus, I would love to get to know Felix more and share some of the things I wish I had known when I first got here.”

Marinette grit her teeth through her smile. She should have seen that coming.

“That sounds like it was serious.” Marinette pulled her phone out, “Would you mind telling me the name of the disease, so I can look at the symptoms? I wouldn’t want to be caught off guard.”

“I – It’s rare.” Lila hand waved, “I must have gotten it from my extensive travels.”

“I just want to know the name of what you had.” Marinette pressed, “Unless you made it up?”

“Marinette!” Alya spoke up, “That’s enough. If it’s rare then the name is probably long and hard to remember, right Lila?”

“I’m sorry I don’t remember Marinette,” Lila’s eyes started to well up, “I’ve just been suffering for so long with it, the relief of having it gone is so strong that I don’t even want to think about it anymore.”

Alya stood between Marinette and Lila to place a comforting hand on the latter’s shoulder. “Hey,” She said softly, “It’s ok. We understand.” And sent a sharp look at Marinette. “She made a nice offer. What do you say? Swap for a day?”

Marinette’s eyes darted from the empty seat to empty seat, feeling her pulse start to ebb. She bit her lip as she thought about it. It was tempting. It was what Marinette wanted. And that’s what so obviously made it a trap. She turned over what Lila said before Marinette challenged her sickness and the big picture clicked into place. Marinette felt her resolve harden – she had to warn Felix that Lila was a lying snake.

She picked up her bag. “Actually Lila, thank you but no thank you – I should sit in my assigned seat.”

Lila’s face crumpled, “I can’t believe you don’t want me to make new friends.”

Marinette placed her foot on the first step.

“I cannot believe that you would be this petty Marinette.” Alya hissed.

Marinette’s shoulders hunched but she continued upwards.

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

“She’s a liar, you know,” hissed a voice in his left ear, “Whatever she told you – it’s a lie.”

Startled, Felix realized that Marinette was sitting beside him once more. When he frowned at her, she tensed like she was preparing for a fight. His frown deepened further in response, “I’m not an idiot, thank you very much. I know a liar when I hear one.”

“How?” she demanded.

“How?” Felix questioned back sarcastically and rolled his eyes. “Pretty easy to tell it’s a lie when the author of my book has been dead for the last 20 years.”

Her laughter caught him off guard.

She couldn’t help it; the relief of having someone know that Lila was a liar paired with his deadpan delivery was too much for her. The laugh that followed came straight up from her stomach and through her mouth.

“Personally,” Felix leaned closer and murmured, “I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she realizes her mistake.”

Tears of mirth formed in Marinette’s eyes as she laughed helplessly. This was too perfect.

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

This was more what he pictured Dupain-Cheng to be like. Mirthful.

He knew that no one who wore as much pink as she did could be as serious a person as she first presented as. Felix found that he liked it better when Dupain-Cheng looked like she fully enjoying herself. He hadn’t actually meant to be funny, but once she started laughing, an impish desire had him leaning forward deliberately to see how hard he could make her laugh.

“Do you think she’ll be able to look me in the eyes once she learns?”

He grinned as the tears started to escape down her cheeks.

“How long do you think it’ll be before she can?” He practically purred.

“Twenty –”   Marinette gasped, “Twenty years!” and promptly collapsed back into giggles.

His smile was toothy and full. This was too fun, he thought and raised his voice so Dupain-Cheng could hear him over her own noise, “Now quiet, you are going to disrupt class.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

“It’s nice to actually meet you.” Felix said more quietly now that she had herself mostly under control.

“Nice to meet you too.” Marinette sniffled back. She hadn’t laughed, truly laughed, like that in ages. It had felt good to sit with her friends but it felt better to be believed. Tikki was right again, Marinette thought ruefully, she wasn’t alone.

“Let’s be friends,” Marinette said a little impulsively.

“For twenty years,” Felix said warmly by way of agreement and watched with amusement how red Marinette turned as she tried to reign in her composure once more.

-----------

Part One 

Part Two 

Part Three 

Part Five 

Whew! Glad you guys got through it. Gotta admit, there are some parts that I’m not completely happy with, but if I don’t post it now, I never will. 

And fun fact! The scene where Felix is making fun of Lila is one of the scenes that initially inspired me to buck up and finally start writing. 

Comments, questions, and critiques are welcome. Also, if you want to be tagged for the next part - don’t hesitate to let me know!

[moodboardinthecloud]

Out There, Nobody Can Hear You Scream

Out There, Nobody Can Hear You Scream Sep 21, 2020

https://www.outsideonline.com/2416929/out-there-nobody-can-hear-you-scream

Two years ago, Latria Graham wrote an essay about the challenges of being Black in the outdoors. Countless readers reached out to her, asking for advice on how to stay safe in places where nonwhite people aren’t always welcome. She didn't write back, because she had no idea what to say. In the aftermath of a revolutionary spring and summer, she responds.

In the spring of 2019, right before I leave for my writing residency in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, my mama tries to give me a gun. A Ruger P89DC that used to belong to my daddy, it’s one of the few things she kept after his death. Even though she doesn't know how to use it, she knows that I do. She’s just had back surgery, and she’s in no shape to come and get me if something goes wrong up in those mountains, so she tries to give me this. I turn the gun over in my hand. It’s a little dusty and sorely out of use. The metal sends a chill up my arm.

Even though it is legal for me to have a gun, I cannot tell if, as a Black woman, I’d be safer with or without it. Back in 2016, I watched the aftermath of Philando Castile’s killing as it was streamed on Facebook Live by his girlfriend, Diamond Reynolds. Castile was shot five times at close range by a police officer during a routine traffic stop, when he went to reach for his license, registration, and permit to carry a gun. His four-year-old daughter watched him die from the back seat. In his case, having the proper paperwork didn’t matter.

I’ll be in the Smokies for six weeks in early spring, the park’s quiet season, staying in a cabin on my own. My local contact list will be short: the other writer who had been awarded the residency, our mentor, maybe a couple of park employees. If something happens to me, there will likely be no witnesses, no one to stream my last moments. When my mother isn’t looking, I make sure the safety is on, and then I put the gun back where she got it. I leave my fate to the universe.

Before I back out of our driveway, my mama insists on saying a protective blessing over me. She has probably said some version of this prayer over my body as long as I’ve been able to explore on my own.

In 2018, I wrote an article for this magazine titled “We’re Here. You Just Don’t See Us,” about my family’s relationship to nature and the stereotypes and obstacles to access that Black people face in the outdoors. As a journalist, that piece opened doors for me, like the residency in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

It also inspired people to write me.

Two years later, the messages still find me on almost every social media platform: Twitter, Instagram, even LinkedIn. They come through my Gmail. Most of them sound the same—they thank me for writing the article and tell me how much it meant to them to see a facet of the Black experience represented in a major outdoor magazine. They express apprehension about venturing into new places and ask for my advice on recreating outside of their perceived safety zone. They ask what they can do to protect themselves in case they wind up in a hostile environment.

Folks have their desires and dreams tied up in the sentences they send me. They want to make room for the hope that I cautiously decided to write about in 2018.

Back then, as a realist, I didn’t want my essay’s ending to sound too optimistic. But I still strayed from talking about individual discrimination in the parks, often perpetrated by white visitors, like the woman who recently told an Asian American family that they “can’t be in this country” as they finished their hike near Mount Tamalpais in Marin County, California, this past Fourth of July. Or the now famous “BBQ Becky” who called the police on two Black men at Lake Merritt in Oakland, California, in 2018, for using a charcoal grill in a non-charcoal-grill-designated area. Nor did I mention that when I venture into new spaces, I am always doing the math: noting the lengths of dirt roads so I know how far I have to run if I need help, taking stock of my gas gauge to ensure I have enough to get away.

I have been the target of death threats since 2015, when I started writing about race. I wasn’t sure if magazine readers were ready for that level of candid conversation, so in 2018 I left that tidbit out.

There are risks to being Black in the outdoors; I am simply willing to assume them. And that’s why I struggle to answer the senders of these messages, because I don’t have any tips to protect them. Instead I invoke magical thinking, pretending that if I don’t hit the reply button, the communication didn’t happen. Sometimes technology helps: when I let the message requests sit unaccepted in Instagram, the app deletes them after four weeks.

I deem myself a coward. I know I am a coward.

There are two messages that still haunt me.

The first is an e-mail from a woman who wanted to know what she and her brown-skinned husband should do if they encounter another campground with a Confederate flag hanging in the check-in office. She described to me a night of unease, of worrying if they and their daughter would be safe. I filed her e-mail so deep in my folders that I don’t even think I can find it anymore. I was dying to forget that I had no salve for her suffering.

The second was even more personal. It came via Facebook Messenger, from a woman named Tish. In it she says: “I came across a read of yours when I was searching African Americans and camping. I want to rent an RV and go with my family. I live in Anderson S.C. Had a daughter that also attended SCGSAH. Is there a campground you recommend that is not too far and yes where I would feel comfortable? Thank you.”

The signaling in it, of tying me to her daughter, examining my background enough to offhandedly reference the South Carolina arts high school I attended and saying, Please, my daughter is similar to you.

I leave her message in the unread folder.

These women have families, and they too are trying to pray a blessing over the ones they love while leaving room for them to play, grow, and learn—the same things their white peers want for their offspring. In their letters, they hang some of their hopes for a better America on me, on any advice I might be able to share.

I haven’t written back because I haven’t had any good advice to offer, and that is what troubles me. These letters have been a sore spot, festering, unwilling to heal.

Now, in the summer of 2020, there are bodies hanging from trees again, and that has motivated me to pick up my pen. Our country is trying to figure out what to do about racial injustice and systemic brutality against Black people. It’s time to tell those who wrote to me what I know.

These women have families, and they too are trying to pray a blessing over the ones they love while leaving room for them to play, grow, and learn—the same things their white peers want for their offspring.

Dear Tish, Alex, Susan, and everyone else:

I want to apologize for the delayed reply. It took a long time to gather my thoughts. When I wrote that article back in 2018, I was light on the risks and violence and heavy-handed on hope. I come to you now as a woman who insists we must be heavy-handed on both if we are to survive.

I write to you in the middle of the night, with the only light on the entire street emanating from my headlamp. Here in upstate South Carolina, we are in the midst of a regional blackout. My time outdoors has taught me how to sit with the darkness—how to be equipped for it. Over the years, I have found ways to work within it, or perhaps in spite of it. If there’s anything I can do, maybe it’s help you become more comfortable with the darkness, too.

But before I tell you any more, I want you to understand that you and I are more than our pain. We are more than the human-rights moment we are fighting for.

It isn’t an exaggeration to say that the Outside article changed my life. People paid me for speaking gigs and writing workshops. They put me on planes and flew me across the country to talk about equity, inclusion, and accountability. I know the statistics, the history, the arguments that organizations give about why they have no need to change. I call them on it.

I have to apologize for not being prepared for the heaviness of this mantle at the time. I have to admit my hesitation back then to call white supremacy and racism by their names. The unraveling of this country in the summer of 2020 has forced me to reckon with my actions, my place in the natural world, and the fact that as a Black woman writer in America, I am tasked with telling you a terrible truth: I am so sorry. I have nothing of merit to offer you as protection.

I am reluctant to inform you that while I can challenge white people to make the outdoors a nonhostile, equitable space where you can be your authentic selves, when the violence of white supremacy turns its eyes toward you, there’s nothing I can give you to protect yourself from its gaze and dehumanization.

I do not wish to ask you to have to be brave in the face of inequality. This nation’s diminished moral capacity for seeing Black people as human beings is not our fault. Their perception of you isn’t your problem—it’s theirs, the direct result of the manifest-destiny and “anybody can become anything in America” narratives they have bought into. We are made to suffer so they can slake their guilt. I want you to be unapologetically yourselves.

I check with my fellow Black outdoor friends, and they say they’ve gotten your e-mail and messages, too. They also waffle on what to say, telling y’all to carry pepper spray or dress in a nonthreatening way. I am troubled about instructing people who have already been socially policed to death—to literal, functional death—to change the way they walk, talk, dress, or take up space in order to seem less threatening to those who are uncomfortable with seeing our brown skin.

The Great Smoky Mountains (Photo: Kennedi Carter)

I have no talisman that can shield you from the white imagination. The incantation “I’m calling the police” will be less potent coming from your mouth, and will not work in the same way. In the end, your utterance could backfire, causing you more pain.

I want to tell you to make sure you know wilderness first aid, to carry the ten essentials, to practice leave no trace, so no one has any right to bother you as you enjoy your day. I want to tell you to make sure you know what it means not to need, to be so prepared that you never have to ask for a shred, scrap, or ribbon of compassion from anybody.

But that is misanthropic—maybe, at its core, inhumane.

I resist the urge to pass on to you the instinct my Black foremothers ingrained in me to make ourselves small before the denizens of this land. I have watched this scenario play out since I was a child: my father, a tall 50-year-old man with big hands, being called “boy” by some white person and playing along, willing to let them believe that they have more power than he does, even though I have watched him pin down a 400-pound hog on his own. I have seen my mother shrink behind her steering wheel, pulled over for going five miles above the speed limit on her way to her mom’s house. She taught me and my brother the rules early: only speak when spoken to, do not ask questions, do not make eye contact, do not get out of the car, keep your hands on the wheel, comply, comply, comply, even if it costs you your agency. Never, ever show your fear. Cry in the driveway when you get to your destination alive. Those traffic stops could’ve ended very differently. The corpses of Samuel DuBose, Maurice Gordon, Walter Scott, and Rayshard Brooks prove that.

I will not pass on these generational curses; they were ways of compensating for anti-Black thinking. They should never have been your burden.

It would be easy to tell you to always be aware of your surroundings, to never let your guard down, to be prepared to hit record in case you run into an Amy Cooper or if a white man points an AR-15 at you and your friends as you take a break from riding your motorcycles, hoping to make the most of a sunny almost-summer day in Virginia.

These moments—tied to a phone, always tensed in fear—are not what time in nature is supposed to be. Yet the videos seem to be the only way America at large believes us. It took an eight-minute-and-forty-six-second snuff film for the masses to wake up and challenge the unjust system our people have had to navigate for more than 400 years. They are killing us for mundane things—running, like Ahmaud Arbery; playing in the park, like Tamir Rice. They’ve always killed us for unexceptional reasons. But now the entire country gets to watch life leak away from Black bodies in high definition.

I started writing this on the eve of what should have been Breonna Taylor’s 27th birthday. The police broke into her home while she was sleeping and killed her. I write to you during a global pandemic, during a time when COVID-19 has had disproportionate impact on Black and brown communities. I conclude my thoughts during what should have been the summer before Tamir Rice’s senior year of high school. All the old protective mechanisms and safety nets Black people created for ourselves aren’t working anymore. Sometimes compliance is not enough. Sometimes they kill you anyway.

Having grown up in the Deep South, I have long been aware of the threat of racial violence, of its symbolism. In middle school, many of my peers wore the Dixie Outfitters T-shirts that were in vogue in that part of the country during the late nineties. The shirts often featured collages of the Confederate flag, puppies, and shotguns on the front, with slogans like “Stand and Fight for Southern Rights” and “Preserving Southern Heritage Since 1861” printed on the back.

I was 11 years old, and these kids—and their commitment to a symbol from a long-lost war—signaled that they believed I shouldn’t be in the same classroom with them, that I didn’t belong in their world.

But that was nothing compared with the routine brutality perpetrated upon Black people in my home state. In 2010, years before the deaths of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, and Sandra Bland, there was the killing of Anthony Hill. Gregory Collins, a white worker at a local poultry plant not far from my family farm, shot and killed Hill, his Black coworker. He dragged Hill’s body behind his pickup truck for ten miles along the highways near my grandmother’s house, leaving a trail of blood and tendons. Abandoned on the road, the corpse was found with a single gunshot wound to the head and a rope tied around what remained of the body. Collins was sentenced for manslaughter. Five years ago, a radicalized white supremacist murdered nine Black parishioners as they prayed in Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston. South Carolina is one of three states that still does not have a hate-crime law.

All the old protective mechanisms and safety nets Black people created for ourselves aren’t working anymore. Sometimes compliance is not enough. Sometimes they will kill you anyway.

Before my writing residency, I did not own a range map. Traditionally, these are used to depict plant and animal habitats and indicate where certain species thrive. Ranges are often defined by climate, food sources, water availability, the presence of predators, and a species’s ability to adapt.

My friend J. Drew Lanham taught me I could apply this sort of logic to myself. A Black ornithologist and professor of wildlife ecology, he was unfazed by what happened to birdwatcher Christian Cooper in Central Park—he’s had his own encounters with white people who can’t understand why he might be standing in a field with binoculars in his hand. Several years ago he wrote a piece for Orion magazine called “9 Rules for the Black Birdwatcher.”

“Carry your binoculars—and three forms of identification—at all times,” he wrote. “You’ll need the binoculars to pick that tufted duck out of the flock of scaup and ring-necks. You’ll need the photo ID to convince the cops, FBI, Homeland Security, and the flashlight-toting security guard that you’re not a terrorist or escaped convict.” Drew frequently checks the Southern Poverty Law Center’s hate-group map and the Equal Justice Initiative’s “Lynching in America” map and overlays them. The blank spaces are those he might travel to.

I never thought to lay out the data like that until the day I went to Abrams Creek.

Three weeks into my residency, I made an early-afternoon visit to the national-park archives. I needed to know what information they had on Black people. I left with one sheet of paper—a slave schedule that listed the age, sex, and race (“black” or “mulatto”) of bodies held in captivity. There were no names. There were no pictures. I remember chiding myself for believing there might be.

Emotionally wrought and with a couple of hours of sunlight ahead of me, I decided to go for a drive to clear my mind. I came to the Smokies with dreams of writing about the natural world. I wanted to talk about the enigmatic Walker sisters, the park’s brook trout restoration efforts, and the groundbreaking agreement that the National Park Service reached with the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians about their right to sustainably harvest the edible sochan plant on their ancestral lands. My Blackness, and curiosity about the Black people living in this region, was not at the front of my mind. I naively figured I would learn about them in the historical panels of the visitor’s center, along with the former white inhabitants and the Cherokee. I thought there would be a book or a guide about them.

There was nothing.

Vacations are meant to be methods of escapism. Believing this idyllic wilderness to be free of struggle, of complicated emotions, allows visitors to enjoy their day hikes. Many tourists to Great Smoky Mountains National Park see what they believe it has always been: rainbow-emitting waterfalls, cathedrals of green, carpets of yellow trillium in the spring. The majority never venture more than a couple of miles off the main road. They haven’t trained their eyes to look for the overgrown homesites of the park’s former inhabitants through the thick underbrush. Using the park as a side trip from the popular tourist destinations like Dollywood and Ripley’s Believe it or Not, they aren’t hiking the trails that pass by cemeteries where entire communities of white, enslaved, and emancipated people lived, loved, worked, died, and were buried, some, without ever being paid a living wage. Slavery here was arguably more intimate. An owner had four slaves, not 400. But it happened.

There is a revisionist fantasy that Americans cling to about the people in this region of North Carolina and Tennessee: that they were dirt-poor, struggled to survive, and wrestled the mountains into submission with their own brute strength. In reality, many families hired their sharecropping neighbors, along with Black convicts on chain gangs, to do the hard labor for them.

These corrections of history aren’t conversations most people are interested in having.

After a fruitless stop at Fontana Dam, the site of a former African American settlement where I find precious little to see, I try to navigate back to where I’m staying. Cell service is spotty. My phone’s GPS takes me on a new route along the edge of the park, through Happy Valley, which you can assume from the moniker is less than happy.

Early spring in the mountains is not as beautiful as you might believe. The trees are bare, and you can see the Confederate and Gadsden flags, the latter with their coiled rattlesnakes, flapping in the wind, so they do not take you by surprise. At home after home, I see flag after flag. The banners tell me that down in this valley I am on my own, as do the corpses of Jonathan A. Ferrell and Renisha McBride, Black people who knocked on the doors of white homeowners asking for help and were shot in response.

In the middle of this drive back to the part of the park where I belong, I round a corner to see a man burning a big pile of lumber, the flames taller than my car.

I am convinced that pyrophobia is embedded in my genes. The Ku Klux Klan was notorious for cross burnings and a willingness to torch homes. The fire over my shoulder is large enough to burn up any evidence that I ever existed. There is a man standing in his yard wearing a baseball cap and holding a drink, watching me as my white rental car creeps by. I want to ask him how to get out of here. I think of my mama’s frantic phone calls going straight to voice mail. I stay in the car.

Farther down the road, another man is burning a big pile of lumber. I know it’s just coincidence, that these bundles of timber were stacked before I set off down this path, but the symbolism unnerves me.

I round a bend and a familiar sign appears—a national-park placard with the words “Abrams Creek Campground Ranger Station” in white letters. Believing some fresh air might settle my stomach and strengthen my nerves, I decide to enter that section of the park. The road I drive is the border between someone’s property and the park. Uneven, it forces me to go slowly.

The dog is at my car before I recognize what is happening. It materializes as a strawberry blond streak bumping up against my driver-side door. Tall enough to reach my face, it is gnashing at my side mirror, trying to bite my reflection.

I’m not scared of dogs, but this one, with its explicit hostility, gives me pause.

Before emancipation, dogs hunted runaway slaves by scent, often maiming the quarry to keep them in place until their owner could arrive. During the civil rights movement, dogs were weaponized by police. In the modern era, use of K-9 units to intimidate and attack is so common that police have referred to Black people as “dog biscuits.”

I force myself to keep driving.

When I reach the ranger station, the building is dark: closed for the season. I see a trail inviting me to walk between two shortleaf pines, but I decline. There is something in me that is more wound up than it has a right to be. No one knows my whereabouts. Despite making up 13 percent of the population, more than 30 percent of all missing persons in the U.S. in 2019 were Black. A significant portion of these cases are never covered by the news. The chances of me disappearing without a mention are higher than I’d like.

There are three cars in the little gravel parking lot. A pair of men, both bigger than me, are illegally flying drones around the clearing, and there is palpable apprehension around my presence. They don’t acknowledge me, and I can’t think of what I’m supposed to say to convince them I’m not a threat. I have no idea who the third car belongs to—they are somewhere in my periphery, real and not real, an ancillary portion of my calculation.

I take photos of the clearing, including the cars, just in case I don’t make it out. It is the only thing I know to do.

I run my odds. No one in an official capacity to enforce the rules, no cell service to call for help, little knowledge of the area. I leave. Later, my residency mentor gently suggests that maybe I don’t visit that section of the park alone anymore.

A favorite spot in the Smokies (Photo: Kennedi Carter)

Ipromise that there are parts of this park, and by extension the outdoors as a whole, that make visiting worth it. Time in nature is integral to my physical, spiritual, and mental health. I chase the radiant moments, because as a person who struggles with chronic depression, the times I am enthusiastically happy are few and far between. Most of them happen outside.

I relish the moments right before sunrise up at Purchase Knob in the North Carolina section of the Smokies. The world is quiet, my mind is still, and the birds, chattering to one another, do not mind my presence. I believe this is what Eden must have been like. I still live for the nights where I sink into my sleeping pad while I cowboy-camp, with nothing in or above my head except the stars. I believe in the healing power of hiking, the days when I am strong, capable, at home in my body.

The fear, on some level, will always exist. I say this to myself all the time: I know you’re scared. Do it anyway.

Toward the end of my writing residency, the road to Clingmans Dome opens. At 6,643 feet, Clingmans is the highest point in Tennessee and in the park. About two days before I’m scheduled to leave, I go to see what this peak holds for me.

There is a paved trail leading to the observatory at the summit. It isn’t long, just steep. Maybe it’s the elevation; I have to do the hike 20 steps at a time, putting one foot in front of the other until I get to 20, then starting over again. I catch my breath in ragged clips, and there are moments when I can feel my heartbeat throbbing in my fingertips. I’d planned to be at the top for sunset, but I realize the sun might be gone when I get there. I continue anyhow. I’m slow but stubborn.

If there’s anything I appreciate about the crucible we’re living in, it’s the role of social media in creating a place for us when others won’t. We’re no longer waiting for outdoors companies to find the budget for diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives. With the creation of a hashtag, a social media movement, suddenly we are hyper-visible, proud, and unyielding.

As I make my way up the ramp toward its intersection with the Appalachian Trail, I think about Will Robinson (@akunahikes on Instagram), the first documented African American man to complete the triple crown of hiking: the Appalachian, Pacific Crest, and Continental Divide Trails. I understand that I’m following in Robinson’s footsteps, and those of other Black explorers like writer Rahawa Haile (@rahawahaile) and long-haul hiker Daniel White (@theblackalachian)—people who passed this way while completing their AT through-hikes and whom I now call friends, thanks to the internet. I smile and think of them as the trail meets the pavement, and stop for a moment. We have all seen this junction.

Their stories, videos, and photographs tell me what they know of the world I’m still learning to navigate. They are the adventurers I’ve been rooting for since the very beginning, and now I know they’re also rooting for me.

It’s our turn to wish for good things for you.

We’re no longer waiting for outdoors companies to find the budget for diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives. With the creation of a hashtag, a social media movement, suddenly we are hypervisible, proud, and unyielding.

When I get to the summit the world is tinged in blue, and with minimal cloud cover I can see the borders of seven states. There is nothing around me now but heaven. I’m grateful I didn’t quit.

My daddy had a saying that I hated as a child: “The man on top of the mountain didn’t fall there.” It’s a quote by NFL coach Vince Lombardi, who during the fifties and sixties refused to give in to the racial pressures of the time and segregate his Green Bay Packers. It took me decades to understand what those two were trying to tell me, but standing at the top of Clingmans Dome, I get it. The trick is that there is no trick. You learn to eat fire by eating fire.

But none of us has to do it alone.

America is a vast place, and we often feel isolated because of its geography. But there are organizations around the country that have our backs: Black Outside, Inc., Color Outside, WeGotNext, Outdoor Afro, Black Folks Camp Too, Blackpackers, Melanin Base Camp, and others.

The honest discussions must happen now. I acknowledge that I am the descendant of enslaved people—folks who someone else kidnapped from their homeland and held captive in this one.

We were more than bodies then.

We are more than bodies now.

We have survived fierce things.

My ancestors survived genocide, the centuries-long hostage situation they were born into, and the tortures that followed when they called for freedom and equality. They witnessed murder. They endured as their wages and dreams were taken from them by systemic policies and physical force. And yet, because of their drive to survive, I am here.

I stand in the stream of a legacy started by my ancestors and populated by present-day Black trailblazers like outdoors journalist James Edward Mills, environmental-justice activist Teresa Baker, and conservationists Audrey and Frank Peterman. Remembering them—their struggles and triumphs—allows me to center myself in this scenery, as part of this landscape, and claim it as my history. This might be the closest thing to reparations that this country, founded on lofty ideals from morally bankrupt slaveholders, will ever give me.

I promised you at the beginning that I would be candid about the violence and even-keeled about the hope. I still have hope—I consider it essential for navigating these spaces, for being critical of America. I wouldn’t be this way if I didn’t know there was a better day coming for this country.

Even when hope doesn’t reside within me—those days happen, too—I know that it is safely in the hands of fellow Black adventurers to hold until I am ready to reclaim my share of it. I pray almost unceasingly for your ability to understand how powerful you are. If you weren’t, they wouldn’t be trying to keep you out, to make sure they keep the beauty and understanding of this vast world to themselves. If we weren’t rewriting the story about who belongs in these places, they wouldn’t be so focused on silencing us with their physical intimidation and calls for murder.

The more we see, the more we document, the more we share, the better we can empower those who come after us. I’ve learned during all my years of historical research that even when white guilt, complacency, and intentional neglect try to erase our presence, there is always a trace. Now there are hundreds of us, if not thousands, intent on blazing a trail.

It is true: I cannot protect you. But there is one thing I can continue to do: let you know that you are not alone in doing this big, monumental thing. You deserve a life of adventure, of joy, of enlightenment. The outdoors are part of our inheritance. So I will keep writing, posting photos, and doing my own signaling. For every new place I visit, and the old ones I return to, my message to you is that you belong here, too.

Latria Graham is a journalist and fifth-generation farmer living in South Carolina. Her writing has appeared in Oxford American, Bicycling, the Atlanta-Journal Constitution, The New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, Backpacker, The Guardian, Southern Living, and other local and national outlets. You can find more of her work at LatriaGraham.com.

[thedeadthree]

1, 3, 5, 15, A and B for Iovanna & Daemon 🥺

MARII ty ty for the ask of my babies 🔮✨😖 i at LAST finally worked out the essentials for them and their babies so i was like..... i gotta yell about them u know? without further ado here's them <3

SHIP QUESTIONS: PARENTING (x)

1. Who do the kids enjoy playing with the most?

so the nature of iovanna and daemon as parents to baelor and calla was..... interesting ajsnjka. interestingly enough, he had mused for the longest time that he wished he had met her before valerion (her late husband and the supposed father of baelor and calla) had? that he had thought (and maybe its him projecting kasmksj) as they had prior rendezvous in the past, that maybe that they were his? and ur hunch was right daemy bc..... yea jskjank. and with THAT out of the way and without further ado! it wasn’t to say that he didn’t spend time with them bc boy howdy he did <3 (especially following the passing of valerian u know?) baelor didn’t spend much time outside of Starfall with preparations to be sword of the morning and all, but he spent enjoyed playing with his mother iovanna the most growing up but loved to spar with daemy as he got older! calla was a royal daddys girl and enjoyed spending time on dragon back, racing and learning to fly and the like! when she and iovanna would visit him and in pentos she adored hearing his stories and seeing who could fly the circumference of pentos the fastest <3

visenaera has a different take and a less complicated tune! with no what ifs there was no question who was her parentage u know? and as she was born post dance as her and daemon are free to live their happy ending as they've wanted since 104 ac <3 she preferred them both! now living in essos, like what daemy did with calla, iovanna LOVED to race with vizzy on dragonback around places in essos! baelor and calla would join in part when they had down time from being lord of starfall/sword of the morning for bae and lady of winterfell for calla <3! she was all the best qualities of them both (they all are who are we kidding kasmjk) and adored sparring with her father and hearing his stories of his younger years! (and hearing his fairytale romance with vanna ✨😖) he even gifted her dark sister when she grew up to become sword of the morning!

3. Who does the baby follow around more?

baelor followed around his mommas iovanna the most often..! (he kept his distance with his father while at dragonstone as he became uncannily like daemy and he wished not to cause any questions to be raised that would question the honor of his mother u know? calla was not far behind daemy whenever she visited pentos or he visited her in norvos! best girl dad ever daemy taking his daughter out for joyrides with their dragons....... sobbing! actually, BOTH of his daughters bc though he was dragon-less post dance he'd take to horseback, and vizzy would take to her dragon and they would take rides around as he did with calla :'). and speaking of vizzy! she followed them both! iovanna and daemy were inseparable post-dance u know? and so if it was in cities or on her and iovanna and daemy on dragonback and horseback, she enjoyed shadowing them both <3

5. Who’s constantly up checking on the baby in the middle of the night (even when the baby is sound asleep)? 

i would say daemon? when baelor was little, it was usually valerion who handled checking on him! and daemy would give his best friend and the love of his life iovanna time to rest and would handle checking on him when he visited! daemy took the parental role for calla as valerion passed a bit before(?) she was born (i haven't worked that part out yet asknkxj) and would check on her when he visited her in starfall or kingslanding! iovanna was a for sure night owl and while raising vizzy when she was awake at odd hours, she would insist to check on her every once in a while? daemon would insist insist he should :) of course in equal parts both endeared and like "if you insist" jasmkj she would let him check on vizzy <3

15. Who is better at comforting the kids when they’re scared?

THAT DELETED SCENE AFTER L*AENAS PASSINGG DAEMY COMFORTING HIS DAUGHTERS? that SOLD MEEE that he was the one to have a PhD in comforting the loved ones when scared u know? but it isn't to say that iovanna wasn't the best, she was often up to her shoulders in her work as she was a spymaster for two kingdoms (starfall and westeros at one point until post-dance!) so she was not the most available to be right? she would feel guilty about it but relieved that daemy (and rhaenys and corlys! and maekar when he was around! rhaenyra as well! iovannas babies were so loved AHH.)

a. Who do they think their child takes after? In what ways do they remind them of each other?

baelor is like....... there are aspects of his father in mannerisms, personality, tactics in combat and his features (the squared jaw? the athletic built-ish build and TALL, the silvery-blonde and violet eyes but iovanna has violet eyes and valerion had the silvery hair and violet eyes as well so in the period before they realized they assumed he took after valerion jsnakjnxd). Calla and Vizzy are MIRROR IMAGES OF IOVANNA..... the haunting violet eyes and the resting easiness/nonchalance in their demeanor are what was most resemblant of her? though for all three the hair was a dead giveaway resemblance to daemy <3. but vizzy has a near similar almost mirroring smile as her dad! equal parts both smug and at times intimidating if you're at the sharp end of dark sister or dawn! and the easiness and nonchalance of vanna! though all three couldn't hold a candle to calla who had the air about her that eases the hearts and minds of many like iovanna <3

b. What was their first night as new parents like?

iovanna was luuuucky to have so many loved ones and friends that could aid her in caretaking for both baelor and calla...... as she may have a PhD in spymastering, is the mistress of mists, and one of the most read that would rival a maester in how much she knows..... baby girl was like ????? parenting? SHE WAS LIKE HELPPP JSANAJKXS. their first night with vizzy iovanna had advice and knowledge from the best (her parents and her loved ones!) and her own trials and tribulations and thus had a better grasp of things! she also had more time to devote herself then no longer swamped to her ears! she was still the mistress of whispers in starfall but now that she had ample time....! she had a TIME......! and yet it was strangely exciting? she loved every moment <3 daemon has been super-dad from the BEGINNING which she has been eternally grateful for! they get their happy ever after at last with their babies <3

[thedeadthree]

for the couple’s & their kids asks, how about 5, 8 and 11 for una and aegon? <3

NICO DEAR ! hi ty ty so much and i hope ur doing well! theyve been on the brain again &lt;3

COUPLES AND THEIR KIDS QUESTIONNAIRE

5. how did they feel when they met their child for the first time?  

una was caught off guard at first? as she was not aware until VERY VERY late that she was with child? and twins for that matter? i do think it is a moment for her where she realizes that in all she has sacrificed and will that it will all be worthwhile for them. and now the stakes are much higher now for her? she'll tear the world down for them! and her dragon the cannibal is right there with her! i think that surprisingly enough to her she falls in love with them at first sight!

8. are there any interests that they share with their kids? if not, how do they nurture their kids’ interests? 

vaelor and helaenya (named after his best friend baelor iovannas son and his first wife and una's closest friend!) both shared una's love for dragonriding! as the twins had twin dragons of their own! the twins naslaarum and vaslaarum ! the dragons, a gift from vilemyr as una's mother being a scion of house maedhros. though vaelor was a more solitary child and preferred to take to the skies on his own, hela and una would fly together! hela also had a fascination with the arcane much like her grandmother (and totally not her mother hehe) and that was something they shared! vaelor, much like the namesake that inspired his, aspired and became a knight and was actually a member of aegon iii's kingsguard for a brief period, and though una was hesitant given his parentage she would offer wisdom on what knighthood meant and required!

11. how do they celebrate their kids birthdays? who goes overboard with the gift giving?

i would say that i think aeggy would be the most likely to gift the most? like anything they had their eyes on and took interest in that he could recall he would send to be found and gift them to the twins! she wanted to offer them a bit of normalcy in the midst of the dance and after the dance so a soiree or two would be something I could see her having for them! <3

[thedeadthree]

Ayrenn + basics and Verlaine + personality 💓

ALYSSA DEARIEE TY TY SO MUCH FOR THE ASK ABOUT MY BELOVED PHOENIX and! my lovely verlaine! ever since I made them and began reading the exile + golden rose.... they’ve been on the brain living there rent free with luxury room service aakjnsd so! ty again bb!

oc questions

x

1. what’s their full name?

ayrenn marcelette emelina urthemiel of plaithus!

2. what does their name mean? why were they named that?

ayrenn actually shares her name and surname with two characters from elder scrolls and dragon age! ayrenn means mountain of strength (oo she’ll need it if shes gonna survive dealing with her mom and former bestie sjnxak) I couldn’t find a meaning behind her surname but! urthemiel was the archdemon of beauty! her middle names are based on variations of the names of her moms! marcelette being a diminutive of marcelle and is derived from the name of the roman god mars! it’s fitting as she was the commander of that plaithian military and the symbolism of being a phoenix and “fires of war” hehe. and emelina is a diminutive of emmeline meaning “work!” dragon age and elder scrolls are two of my favorite fantasy worlds every (along with the witcher!) and when i was thinking of names for her they ayrenn and urthemiel popped into my head! epiphany! stars aligned etc! I knew they were perfect for her and to pay homage to the worlds I adore so much!

3. do they have any nicknames?

she doesn’t have any nicknames unfortunately but she does have a few aliases! the one she tends to use the most is either lilith or before her exile she just went by her title!

4. how old are they?

she is 24!

5. when’s their birthday?

she was born on the 19th of february!

6. what’s their zodiac sign/element/birthstone/etc.? do they believe that holds any significance?

her zodiac is a pisces with a cusp in aquarius leaning into pisces! ironically enough with her being the painted phoenix her element matches her zodiac in that her’s would be water!

(oo the internal conflict sjdans SORRY AYRENN DEAR) as those bearing the element of water tend to take everything to heart (especially things done to them.... FITTING), have a strong intuition and pick up on the emotions of other easily which is GREAT when she had a politics specialty and being the commander it was useful to read the emotions of her opponents and knew their movements before they acted on them, and..... not the most willing to open up about themselves and remain rather mysterious! and finally that her own desire for security leaves her to resort to risk taking behaviors at any cost to feel whole again! that’s her! her

and her birthstone would be the amethyst as she was born in february! and if she believe that they hold significance, I think if the circumstances of her childhood were different, if she was allowed to have a life of her own that wasn’t tethered by any red strings of fate or destinies, etc that I think there is a high chance she would have! but alas the tides of time proved that if she had hopes of such things, they’re long gone now. so she really doesn’t? what good would it do when shes been told her whole life what her fate is? what use is destiny when she has no choice on how she fulfills it?

7. what’s their species/subspecies? do they have any special/magical abilities?

she’s a mythosi with her blood infused from the procedure with that of a phoenix! and you can BET she does! not necessarily a magical ability per say, but she does have immortality (don’t remind her that saber doesn’t BAD idea), she had wings (also refrain from reminding her of THAT sajndka), resistance to flame and the ability to manipulate and release flames from her hands/body, when transformed her heart and bones would begin to glow, eyes would turn from their red into lava resembling orbs, and! her hair would become flame!

8. what “class” do they belong to (for fantasy characters)? if none, what weapon do they favor?

she doesn’t have a “set” class per say but the closest i would put her down having a class with is a sort of blood hunter/paladin hybrid? or the way solaire was in terms of class in dark souls? WAIT okay the prisoner class in elden ring is definitely a closer fit! the prisoner and ayrenn would be besties for sure kjwednw

the weapon that she prefers is a scythe! (or halberd!) ayrenn on a battlefield with a flame covered scythe.. we love to see it!

1. what’s their alignment?

shes a chaotic good! a good person with good intentions but of course her methods are unconventional (alessa and hadrian would best describe her as a hot mess with good intentions hehe)

2. which one of the 16 personality types do they fit into?

her’s would be the isfp-a “the adventurer!” it’s so interesting to me with that as I played the if and got to know her more as a character throughout reading golden rose I realized how much more fitting she is as an introvert than an extrovert! and the adventurer is a perfect bridge between those two! being charismatic and reserved all the while its so fitting!

3. what are their hobbies and interests? do they have any particular “favorites” (food, books, and so on)?

she loves to collect ornate and ceremonial daggers! and a beloved hobby of hers is to collect, usually roses or peonies, and press them into books! when she has down time picking flowers from local markets or fields she’ll make perfumes with them! best of all verlaine LOVES to give raf a hard time as much as he enjoys to give her a hard time asjnsda she is an avid collector of relics of her patron goddess aphrodite from before things went awry and the gods ceased to be worshipped! yes shes aware that’s heretical what about it? jsanja. ANYWAYS, she does! rosewater lemonade and a sweet bread with lemon icing is a true beloved of hers! romantic compilations of love notes or poetry is a dear peace of literature (GET TO WRITING RAF), and old leather bound books, pressed flowers, perfumes, relics of aphrodite and ornate daggers are her favs!

4. what are they bad at?

will she ever admit to these? that’s silly! what she isnt so great at is why she’s so grateful that hadrian is in her life, as she isn’t the most proficient in melee and swords (save for the rapier shes proficient with those!). she much prefers her daggers! (also not being the queen of pity parties at any small inconvenience is perhaps what some would say is what she isnt great at as well but she couldn’t find a reason why.. must be jealousy!)

5. what kind of things do they dislike/hate?

her ego being bruised is something she LOATHES (leo things sajnsak), that sort of hot weather that ruins a carefully prepared look with the humidity or temperature, THAT A CERTAIN BELOVED OF HERS KEEPS BEING A STEP AHEAD AND TAKES HER THINGS.. take her out for dinner not take her maps babes!

6. do they have any vices/addictions/mental illnesses?

not any that I can think of currently! but maybe vices could be her less than frugalness with money when it comes to markets? she was told to hand over her money to hadrian for the VERY REASON that as there is a market it is known by the group she will spend... all of it sjkna.

7. what are their goals and motivations?

i think what would be verlaines main aspirations would be of course to uncover the identity of this nero sort, to learn all she can about her patron goddess aphrodite and the other forgotten gods..... and to wed raf kasnks.

8. what are their manners like? Any habits?

she came from an noble-ish upper class background! her family fell out of favor with the other families back in syracusae and whatever wasn’t auctioned off was more than likely gambled off in an effort to stay relevant.. so that is why she is traveling with the white company! and because of said background she remains to have the same sort of countenance as she did back then! it makes her a DEAR to the wealthy people they meet (and she cons money from hehe).

9. what are they most afraid of?

that her own desires and ambitions, her hubris, being the downfall of those she cares about is something I would say is a fear that haunts her nightmares! sure, she wants to know all there is, and to uncover the identity of this nero and the forgotten gods is a dream of hers. but that it could come at the cost of people she holds dear is something that haunts her at times.