#i only ever think about two rhymes / poems and the other one is the counting magpies / crows one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aquagustd · 2 years

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dust of snow - JHS

↣ having dealt with a hand of cheated fate, you lost all hope of finding your soulmate along with tasting true love ever again, however, a weekend away for a friend’s wedding leads you into the arms of all the hope you needed, in the form of a silver-haired, silver-tongued man who wasn’t searching for his soulmate either.

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pairing — hoseok x reader (ft. yoongi x reader)

genre/rating — R | angst, fluff, smut, slight crack, soulmate au, fake dating au

word count — 14.8K

warnings/tags — christmas themed, destination wedding, dom!hobi, strong language, platinum blond hobi, lots of heartfelt convos, y/n is stubborn, snowboarding, hobi signing santa claus is comin’ to town, northern lights, mentions of alcohol, scent kink, explicit smut — dirty talk, thigh riding, biting/scratching, hickeys, pet name, slight exhibitionism, body worship, hair pulling, oral (f & m), fingering, edging, breath play, restraints (in the form of a tie?), protected sex, aftercare

a/n — this gift was created for @hoebii & is very, very late. I apologize once again & will bear the consequences!! ♡ this is my own twist on the soulmate au so I hope you like it!

∞

Bitter and cloudy climes an intrusion of snowflakes whispering chimes delicate, careful not to break

with hearts aimed your way a minute bow oak surrounding a pathway and a dust of snow

Years.

You’ve spent years interpreting each line. Attempting to make sense of each rhyme, each word.

When you were sixteen, you were gifted your poem. The poem that’d determine who would be the person you’d spend the rest of your life with. If you were thinking optimistically. You considered yourself lucky, after everyone at school had become envious of you receiving the prophecy on your sixteenth birthday. While they had to wait till their eighteenth. But now that you’ve grown older, you realize that it has become more of a curse than a blessing.

The night you received your poem in the form of a very vivid, and unrealistic, dream, you had rushed to your mother, confused yet excited about the string of words that sounded so pretty in your head upon your first read. Like every other mother, she had warned that you were to tell no one. It should be kept a secret.

Obviously, a secret that could be shared with your best friend only. The only one you trust.

And when she got hers on her eighteenth birthday, she moped. After receiving one sentence with only two lines while yours had two stanzas with the abab rhyme scheme.

It was different for everyone.

Yes. You were a bit proud that someone up there favored you over the others. However, you soon began to realize that the longer the poem, the more difficult it became.

The first winter after you received your poem was thrilling. One element that was obvious in the poem. You’d find them during winter. Snowflakes. Snow. You were impatient, but when the ice began to melt and the first winter passed, you were disappointed.

Your mother had scolded you, how easily you had lost hope when it was just the first year. You still have your whole life to find them. But that was just the problem, you didn’t want to spend your whole life yearning for someone with nothing but a poem to hold on to.

And especially when everyone found theirs sooner than you.

Your best friend, Rina, met her soulmate only a few months after. With a green heart, you had congratulated them and spent the next few years as a third wheel.

Curiously, you had asked her how it felt when she saw him. It was nothing short of magical, she had said her heart filled with an unknown emotion. Her fingertips buzzing, stomach twisting, until finally, everything slotted into place. And they both knew at the same time. It just clicked.

But how would you know?

You kept asking. Which was a useless question because the only answer you would receive was a plain: you’ll just know.

Years passed and you were the third wheel to many. They all had looked at you with pitiful eyes, telling you to not to worry. You weren’t worried, but annoyed. Annoyed that you were leaping for joy when you received your poem two years before everyone else in your age group, but you’re the one alone.

Until one night, in a drunken stupor, you had bumped into someone and spilled your drink all over his leather jacket. You still remember the look he had given you and through your haze, you felt a fearful tremble course through you. But he sighed and walked away. You followed him into the kitchen, spewing your apologies and even helping to clean up. Somehow, you found yourself hanging off his back by the end of the night. This marked the beginning of something foreign.

You knew that you wouldn’t be ridiculed if you were to date someone other than your soulmate. However, you were still hesitant. Eventually, all your doubts were washed away when he confessed, and you realized just how much you liked him. And it didn’t take long for that fondness to grow into something more.

The rules of a soulmate were blurry to you. The people around you weren’t much help either. So, you decided to push everything to the back of your mind. But with the poem constantly ringing in your head, it wasn’t an easy task.

Then, you had found out that one of your neighbors connected with their soulmate who turned out to be their childhood friend all along. Perplexed, you had visited her despite never interacting with any of your neighbors prior to this whole incident. She had said that they were hanging out near a lake they would pass on their way home from work when suddenly, a storm broke through the clouds and they were forced to camp under one of the awnings nearby.

She didn’t think of the dreams, as she’d called it, in that moment but when he swung his coat over her shoulders, eyes catching on hers, she felt it. She called it a lightning bolt, surging through her while he seemed stunned.

You listened with a terse smile, the green in your heart spreading.

After that night, Yoongi noticed your sullen mood and you spilled everything to him, even going so far as to tell him your poem. Give him each line word for word.

You didn’t think of the consequences.

He loved you and you loved him. And he became an important piece of your life that you soon decided to dismiss everything concerning your soulmate. Ignoring the dreams and your own voice inside your head chanting the words.

Now, you’re suffering from the heartbreak of cheated fate. How naïve you were to believe him, to confuse love for another unfamiliar feeling you’re yet to experience.

Weaving through the crowd, you manage to push through the doors of the antique store you’ve been trying to find for the past two hours. Two hours because you were caught up in your own thoughts. The same four Christmas jingles serving as background noise. The shelves are tiny, rows and rows of glittering snow globes, dreamcatchers, jewellery boxes. All handcrafted. Your eyes bug out of your head when you flip over the price tag.

You’re to blame. If you had gotten a decent amount of sleep, you would’ve remembered to take the gift, you’ve spent half your pay check on, with you on your way to the airport. Now you must drain your pockets to repurchase a wedding gift. Only Soomi would choose to have her wedding in Finland.

Soomi is Rina’s younger sister. That’s the only reason why you’ve left the comfort of your home to travel across the globe for a wedding. Because you know her since she was a little kid. You bonded over your lack of soulmate. But unlike you, she moved past it and proposed to a man who isn’t written for her.

The tiny voice in your head reminds you that it’s possible, that perhaps, it could’ve been you and Yoongi who would be getting married high up in the snow-capped mountains. But neither of you are this extravagant. Your laughter dies down to leave a sour taste on your tongue. Everyone who knew both you and Yoongi had said that you overreacted. But you know you didn’t, your anger was justified by his lies.

It’s been a year, but your heart still sinks with the weight of his deceit.

Back to the whole gift dilemma, you spent weeks crafting the perfect clock for the couple’s living room only to leave it back home.

As you’re carefully skimming through the aisles, careful not to break the ornaments, the sound of your phone ringing cuts through the muted air, a few heads turning your way when you take your time answering the call.

“Hi mom,” you whisper, cupping a hand over your face as you speak.

“Hello dear, how is it there? Are you warm?”

“Yeah, how—”

“I can’t hear you.”

Sighing, you push past a man wearing a bright green sweater on your way out the door, stuffing your free hand into your jacket pocket.

“Can you hear me now?”

“Yes. I can hear you. How are you? Have you met Rina and Soomi yet?”

“Not yet. I just got settled in at the hotel then I decided to take a walk through town. Find my way around.”

You hear her hum, “what are the plans for tonight?”

Shoulders raising slightly, you tilt away from the wind, “Rina said we might go skiing or snowboarding, something like that.”

“Please be careful, remember what happened the last time you went skiing?”

You groan, “don’t remind me. But it wasn’t even my fault—” you cut yourself off when you recall your last trip with Yoongi, spent in a cosy cottage far away from civilization.

“So, have you met any of the guests?”

With an eyeroll, you try to ignore her hidden implication. “Just one of Rina’s cousins at the airport.”

“And you know who’s going to be at the wedding?”

“Doubt he’d come,” you mumble with disinterest, drawing circles on the snow with the tip of your boot.

“Why not?! He’s close friends with the groom!”

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you talk to him. Make amends.”

“Mother. I came here to enjoy my time, not to revive a dead relationship.”

“But it’s not a dead relationship. Rina said that he still has feelings for you, am I right?”

“This is all we talk about!”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” you counter, lips trembling with the cold.

After a beat of silence, she speaks with a gentler voice. “With the one you love.”

“That love wasn’t real.”

She exhales deeply, and you can envision the exhausted look on her face. “Please don’t waste your holiday looking for someone you aren’t sure you’ll find. And focus on the people around you.”

The hand holding your phone up to your face feels numb. You bite the corner of your cheek, keeping the tears at bay.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay,” she chirps, “keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

What a lovely start to the weekend.

Distracted by the magnificent scenery only a breath away, you fail to realize that someone’s standing in your doorway, watching you with concerned eyes. You continue to rummage through your suitcase when you detect movement from the corner of your eye, spirits lifted as soon as you meet her gaze.

“Rina,” you sigh, flouncing into her arms, “it’s been a while.”

She taps your back, feigning annoyance, “it’s been less than twenty-four hours.”

You pull apart and drag her to the window, pointing at the mountains glistening under the fading sunlight, “isn’t it beautiful?”

She scoffs, paying no mind to your clothing sprawled across the sheets as she flops down on the bed, chin propped on her fist, “that’s nothing. Wait till we get to the top.”

“I’m equally excited and terrified,” you chuckle through your grimace, “I suck at snowboarding.”

She reaches over to rub your knee, red hair falling over her shoulder, “relax. You can just go up once. Or stay at the top until everything is over.”

You’re about to inquire about the plans for the rest of the weekend when she cuts you off with a nonchalant shrug.

“I saw Yoongi on my way up.”

Ignoring the way your stomach sinks a bit at the name, you turn away from her, poking through your knitted sweater, “oh yeah? He’s staying at this hotel too?”

She hums, shuffling behind you on the bed, “and he brought this girl with him. Introduced her as his friend.”

“Oh.”

Right. You helped with the wedding invitations. You could’ve brought a plus one along too, but you chose not to…for reasons. You can’t imagine Yoongi with someone else.

“So,” you blurt, spinning around to change the subject, “what’s the plans? Soomi said that there was an issue with accommodation, so everything had to be reorganized?”

She sits up, buzzing with excitement, “right. Tonight, we’re going snowboarding, not too far from here. Tomorrow afternoon we’re having a small lunch thing for all the guests and in the evening, Christmas Eve, we’re going to spend the night under the aurora borealis in Kemi. Romantic, right?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, “romantic.”

“And then the wedding ceremony like we planned and everything else goes as normal. Are you staying till New Years?”

You know everyone would be busy, especially Rina. She’d want to enjoy the rest of her stay with her family, and you don’t want to spend the rest of your holiday pretending as if you don’t care. Plus, you’d have to confirm with your bank account before anything else.

“I don’t think I will.”

She smacks your thigh, eyes wide, “come on! It’ll be fun. Look around you! This should be heaven for you. I know how much you love the snow.”

You shoot her a bitter look, “you know why I used to love winter so much?”

She clears her throat, lips in a pout, “right. I’m sorry. But hey! Don’t rush to make a decision, I have a surprise for you.”

With a pinch to your cheek, she bounces off the bed and grabs your hands, pulling you to your feet to inspect your outfit.

“Are you dressed?”

“I just…need to grab my hat. Why?”

“Go on then,” she grins, winding her pink scarf around her neck, “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Eager to find out what surprise she’s talking about, you fit your white beanie over your head and grab your purse, boots stomping across the carpets as you make your way to the door. She squeals when she sees you step out, giving you her signature smile, which comforts you in a way you’ve always known.

“What’s the surprise?” You ask with mild confusion, fingers skimming the wall art as you make your way to the elevator.

“You’ll see in a bit. He’s waiting downstairs.”

Immediately, you pull out of her hold, mouth hanging open, “HE?! Rina what did I tell you about—”

“Shush!” She holds a finger over your lips, one hand tugging you toward the elevator, “calm down. I thought it might be fun.”

“Fun?!”

On your way down, you’re forced to glare at the back of her head, instead of giving her a mouthful for setting you up with some random guy, because of the elderly couple standing next to you. She winks at you, silently scolding you to fix your scowl as you walk through the lobby.

The vanilla and pumpkin scent is comforting, however the sight of the unfamiliar man standing a few feet away has your ears ringing.

“What did I tell you?” You seethe, speaking into her ear as you try to recognize the man with white hair, “I told you that I didn’t want a date for the wedding when you asked.”

“I know,” she grits, speaking around a forced smile, “I hate to say this, but I know how things are going to be with Yoongi around so please, just trust me.”

It’s too late for you to grab her by the hair and yell because you’re just a foot away from the man decked out in Louis Vuitton.

“Hobi,” Rina calls, poking his shoulder. You’re staring at the stars on the rug, knowing how awkward this is going to be.

“Hi,” you hear him say, “Rina. How are you?”

She lets go off your hand and accepts his hug. Speaking animatedly to the man with white hair.

“So good to see you! This is my best friend,” she provides your name, a warning tap on your lower back.

Ears still ringing, you lift your head to find a pair of dark eyes boring into your own, lips stretched into a heart-shaped smile. Suddenly, under all that white hair, you recognize the man.

“Hoseok?”

He looks just as stunned, surging forward to trap you in a hug which you have no choice but to return.

“Wow! I haven’t seen you in ages,” he grins, leaning back on the reception desk behind him, “how are you?”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. A barrage of memories flooding your mind with that same smile. Except it was a lot cockier.

“Good,” you respond, folding your arms, “the last time I saw you was tenth grade—” he interrupts with a snort, crossing one ankle over the other.

“I remember. Party girl.”

Heat creeps onto your cheeks. A memory you wished to erase from everyone who was present to witness your embarrassing performance. But you should’ve expected it, a guy like Hoseok wouldn’t want to forget a scene like that. Just to taunt, to tease, thinking he has the upper hand.

Shaking your head lightly, you shrug, sensing the same energy from all those years ago once that cocky smile returns and he eyes you down, gaze raking over your figure.

“You left town after that,” you continue, ignoring Rina’s wide-eyed expression, “things got a lot better.”

He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by your remark, eyes flashing with mirth as his tongue flicks out.

“You’re still the same,” he shakes his head, still sizing you up before fitting his hands into his pants pockets as he turns to Rina, “where’s the girl you were talking about? You said I shouldn’t bring anyone along.”

Rina holds her fist up to her mouth as if struggling with her own internal debate as she looks between the two of you.

“She’s your date,” she says finally, “although I’m not sure if that’s still a good idea.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past her with one final nod to Hoseok, “it’s not. Let’s go.”

She chases after you, hugging herself once you’re out of the hotel.

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You were mean,” she complains with the voice of a six-year-old.

“He’ll be fine,” you counter, stomping toward the parking lot.

“He was supposed to be your date.”

“I don’t need a date. Maybe if he was someone else, I would consider it.”

She grabs your arm, spinning you around harshly, “why? What did he do?”

“He and his friends were a bunch of bullies in high school. I guess that impression of him kind of stuck with me.”

She whips her head around to stare at the entrance of the hotel, as if she’ll find him standing there. “Hobi? A bully? I don’t believe that.”

“Well,” you shrug off her hold, walking backwards, “believe it. Perhaps he’s a different man now but, I don’t want a date.”

She cocks an eyebrow, eyes shifting somewhere behind you. Before you can turn around to follow her gaze, two hands stop you by gripping your shoulders. And the voice mumbling out your name catches you off guard.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, gaze falling over his face as you back away from him.

“Hey,” he blinks. Lips in a straight line.

His hair is not the burnt orange like what you recall from last year, but its natural shade. Swept over to reveal his forehead. After staring at him for a little too long, anger rises in your throat. Which is all you have left for him.

He catches your forearm when you try to pull away, boots sinking into the snow.

“Please. Can we talk?”

“No,” You say with all the firmness you can manage, “let go of me.”

“Never.”

With shaking hands, you lift your gaze to find sorrow in his, a pained expression contorting the features you spent years admiring.

“What do you want?”

“To talk,” he says plainly, fingers tightening around your wrist.

You stare at the point of contact, shaking your head resolutely, “we’ve done enough talking. Now let me go.”

“Fine,” he grits, chest heaving as he drops your hand, “but I’m here all weekend and you can’t avoid me forever.”

Huffing, he spins around and marches toward the hotel. While you’re left to deal with the burn in your heart from the flood of memories.

She’s pretty. The girl Yoongi brought along. And you’re happy for him. Even if Rina said that he called her his friend, you can tell that there’s something more between them with the way she looks at him. Also, Yoongi was never known to be just friends with a female.

But, you’ve spent too much time tying up your boots, you need to join the crowd up the slopes or you’d get left behind in the darkness. Opting to drag the tail of your snowboard as you resume your trek up the slope, greeting the chattering guests on your way up, you call for Rina who’s too far up for your voice to reach.

Halfway up, the slope becoming steeper, it seems like someone noticed that you had lost your friends, falling behind with laboured breaths. You curse when you notice Yoongi’s eyes set on your struggling figure as he stalks in your direction. Panicking, you root yourself to the ground and attempt to go back down when you collide with something. Someone rather. Heads bumping into each other as you lose your footing and take them down with you, face buried in their neck.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You lift your head, a confused Hoseok squinting down at you. Still gasping for air, you glance to the side and find Yoongi on his way closer.

“Shit.”

The only thing you can think of is to keep your face in Hoseok’s neck, wrapping your arms around him tighter.

He pats your back, stuttering under his breath, while you’re checking to see if Yoongi is still watching. He is, only this time, confusion paints his features as he looks on from afar.

“Err…this is nice but if we stay like this—”

“Just wait!”

His hot breath hits your forehead, “what? Why?”

Scrunching your eyes shut, knowing that this must look so dumb from an outside perspective, you hold a finger up to Hoseok’s mouth, a warning on your lips. “Can you just…hold me for a second? I’ll explain later.”

He blinks, speaking around your finger, “how hard did you hit your head?”

Ignoring his comment, you watch Yoongi spin around and continue with his walk, springing off the ground once he disappears into the crowd.

You’re busy dusting yourself off when you sense the looming presence only a foot away, lips parted in bewilderment.

“What?”

“What was that?”

You sigh, wondering if you should really tell him why you decided to cuddle him in the middle of the slope. You shiver at that, he does deserve an explanation.

“My ex,” you breathe out, lifting your snowboard off the ground to tuck under your arm, “I was trying to avoid him.”

“And the first plan you thought of was to tackle me to the ground and pretend to be invisible?”

“I wasn’t pretending to be invisible,” you dismiss, “and it wasn’t my plan to bump into you, you just happened to be there.”

He tails you up the rest of the slope, skilled legs dragging him ahead of you. However, he keeps turning around, checking if you’re following close, concerned eyes on your feet.

“Your boots are not done up properly,” he says once you reach the top, taking you by surprise when he crouches down in front of you and begins to readjust the buckles.

From a distance, once again, you catch Yoongi watching you intently, his piercing eyes fixed on Hoseok before he returns to his partners side, irritation clear on his face. That gives you an idea.

“Hey, thank you for that,” you smile, plucking at his sleeve, “I’m not really skilled in all this.”

He rises to his full height, fluffing a hand through his spiky white hair that resembles little icicles, “I can tell.”

You grunt, spinning around only to topple over once again, a pained sound leaving your lips when your ass meets the ground. He extends a hand to help you up, sucking his lips amusedly while you swat his hands away, manoeuvring yourself back onto your feet.

“Maybe I should stay close,” he offers, sighing out white clouds, “just in case.”

“I can manage,” you respond with a sneer, more careful with your steps as you trudge your way up. Despite your refusal, he keeps a few feet away, constantly turning your way if you were to lose your balance and hold up a hand.

After side-eyeing you for a little too long, he finally comes up to your side, obviously unable to keep his comments to himself any longer.

“We haven’t even started snowboarding yet, not sure how you’re going to manage then.”

You sniffle, lifting your scarf over your chin, “it’s better going downhill.”

He nods, waving his snowboard around childishly, “can I ask, which one is your ex?”

Without lifting your head, you point in the general direction of where you last saw Yoongi and his friend, “the one with the grey beanie.”

“Ah, the one who has been sending me death threats with his eyes for the past twenty minutes. Should’ve known.”

You click your tongue, kicking a pile of snow which turns out to be a bad idea when you tip backwards, luckily, Hoseok is kind enough to catch you this time, hands fitting under your arms with a small ‘oof.’

Peering up at him, you roll your eyes when he laughs again, “you don’t want to go to the wedding with bruises now do you?”

Sheepishly, you get back onto your feet and glance up at the top, grateful that you’re almost there.

“Man, this guy,” he mutters, “I’m guessing you broke up with him with the way he’s watching us right now.”

You concentrate on your steps, not risking a glance up at Yoongi.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah,” he states, growing serious, “I’m afraid for my life right now.”

Pausing to catch your breath, you wave Hoseok to the side, falling back on a small tuft of leaves that haven’t been drowned by the snow yet. He settles in next to you, complaining about the cold.

“Do you meet your soulmate yet?” Is what you start with, like always.

His bottom lip juts out, “haven’t. Don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”

Your voice raises defensively, “what do you mean? ‘Those people.’”

He props his forearms on his knees, leaning forward slightly, “you know, the ones who take it seriously.”

You avert your gaze to your boots, hitting the front together. He must take your silence as an answer because he starts to laugh, the judging, condescending laugh that you’ve heard before.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he snickers, “anyway, continue.”

“I don’t want to,” you hiss, leaping off the snow only for him to grip your wrist. He lets it go immediately when you turn around, looking up at you apologetically.

“I’m sorry, sit here. I won’t laugh.”

You’d rather sit here and buy yourself some time before Rina comes looking for you and forces you onto your snowboard. Risking embarrassment in front of all the guests.

With a sigh, you plop down next to him, crossing your legs comfortably, “I haven’t met my soulmate yet either.”

“I guess we both have two different perspectives on what that could mean,” he snickers, muttering a ‘sorry’ when you groan.

“As I was saying, I haven’t met my soulmate yet but literally every single person I know did. And it was annoying because the people around me, especially my parents, instilled it in me,” you glance at Hoseok who listens with his fist under his cheek, suddenly aware that he might not want the depressing details.

“Long story short, Yoongi and I were together for two years then he pretended to be my soulmate and I believed him because I was so desperate for it. Now, suddenly, because of everything that happened between us, they say I should forget about my soulmate and be with him? That’s not how it works.”

He blinks, “I’m confused. That still doesn’t explain why you’re trying to avoid him. If you’re waiting for your real soulmate then he should respect that.”

“Exactly!”

“And if, at first, your parents wanted you to wait for your soulmate then they can’t just change your perspective on that because I know what it’s like to grow up with that mentality.”

“Yes!”

“Also, people choose to remain friends with their soulmate, for example, look at Soomi. Just like that, people can also choose to wait for their soulmate to allow themselves to love fully.”

“Yeah!”

It grows quiet between you after that, and you realize no one else shared your opinions on the concept of a soulmate. You feel terrible for being mean to him earlier.

“Hey, I—”

“But, to believe that he was your soulmate, when he actually wasn’t, you must’ve felt a lot for him,” he says softly, tilting his head to look at you.

You toy with the straps on your jacket, “yeah. It was confusing at first, but then when his real soulmate came around, I just…”

“Lost hope?”

You hum, all the emotions from that night resurface, especially fury.

“And now, it seems like he’s trying to prove a point, by choosing not to be with his soulmate.”

No one understood you like this before, all they did was take Yoongi’s side on the matter. You feel a knot loosen in your heart, a weight lifted off your shoulders.

“Anyway,” he pats his knees, jutting his thumb ahead of you, “race you to the top.”

“That is cruel!”

With a cheeky grin, he grabs his snowboard and leaves you in a cloud of snow, dashing to the top while you wobble behind, yelling at him when your lungs begin to fill with cool air, throat going dry. You stumble and trip over, but you make it to the top, hands gripping your knees to catch your breath.

His white hair blends in with the backdrop, the magnificent image of the snow village, golden lights lit up under a blanket of white. It looks like something out of a magazine.

“Wow, it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees, gaping at the picturesque scene below you.

You’re broken out of your thoughts when Rina shrieks out your name, grabbing you by the arm then stopping to look at Hoseok who loiters behind you, a question on her lips.

“He helped me up the slope,” you answer before she can ask and make things weird.

“Uh-huh, anyway, we decided to go down in groups, to make things less crowded, so you guys can join our group.”

“Okay.”

It wouldn’t be so bad to have Hoseok around, he’s entertaining. From what you remember.

“Come on.”

“Oh?”

You cock an eyebrow, “what?”

“Nothing,” he shuts his eyes briefly, looking down at you smugly, “just thought you didn’t need a date.”

“You’re not my date,” you deadpan, “I need you, just in case.”

He dips his head to look at you, “just admit that I’m fun company.”

Through the gust of wind, a citrussy scent with a hint of spice hits your nostrils.

“What perfume are you wearing?”

His eyebrow jumps, a smirk creeping onto his lips, “why?”

You realize that his face is inches away from yours. You jerk away, spinning around to join Soomi and gang.

“Never mind.”

It seems like your attempts at avoiding Yoongi were all for nothing when you find him standing in what is supposed to be Rina’s group. A permanent scowl on his face.

Hoseok seems to notice him too, guiding you around to the other side, away from your ex and his friend. But Yoongi has only one mission on his mind, and that is to spoil your mood.

“Hey,” he greets, although it is directed at you, he keeps his wary eyes on Hoseok, “Eunji.” He tilts his chin in your direction, introducing you to her while you stand to the side awkwardly, wanting to roll down the slope and make things easier for you.

“Hoseok—” he thrusts his hand in Yoongi’s direction, eyes crinkling as he smiles “—nice to meet you.”

Eunji smiles, breaking the awkward silence between the four of you, “I heard a lot about you.”

Of course.

Yoongi’s gaze sweeps between you and Hoseok, “are you a friend of—”

“Yes—” you gasp when Hoseok’s hand snakes around your waist, pulling you into his embrace “—I’m her boyfriend, actually.”

You’re too shocked yourself to notice that both you and Yoongi share the same expression, but Hoseok’s eyes widen in your direction for a millisecond, and you suddenly clamp your mouth shut.

“Oh,” Yoongi stammers, “that’s nice.” Although his face says the opposite.

“Ah, you guys look so cute together! Is he the one?!”

You feel the blood drain from your face at Eunji’s question, freezing under Yoongi’s pensive stare. But Hoseok answers for you, and you have mixed feelings about his response.

“Yes, she’s the one. Just not the way you’re thinking,” he chuckles, tucking you further into his side. You’re trying not to pull away at his foreign touch.

“You mean,” Yoongi adds, fingers twitching at his sides, “you’re not her soulmate.”

Hoseok shakes his head, “nope. But we go beyond that, isn’t that right, darling?”

You can’t wait to get this man alone, so you can smack him across the face. What is he doing?

“Hmm, y-yeah.”

“Anyway,” Hoseok chirps, dragging you back around the gaggle of guests, “we’ll see you guys at the bottom.”

Once Yoongi is out of sight, you brush Hoseok’s hand from around you, teeth chattering with the cold, “what the fuck was that?!”

He presses a hand over your mouth, “be quiet. They’ll hear you!”

You glance around the crowd, “no they won’t. What are you doing? Why did you say I was your boyfriend?”

He seems unfazed, a little proud even, “you said you wanted to avoid him, now watch him avoid you.”

“But did you have to lie?! And then you made it worse by saying we’re not soulmates!”

“Huh?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, hands tracking your words as you speak, “why did you say we’re dating and then say we’re not soulmates? It defeats the purpose of whatever it is you’re trying to achieve.”

“Okay firstly,” he begins, tone authoritative, “I don’t play with fate and secondly, it doesn’t defeat the purpose. He lied to you about being your soulmate, found his soulmate but still wants you to take him back, knowing how you feel about it, correct?”

“Yeah…what are you—” he holds a finger up, taking a step closer.

“But he knows that you take it seriously, that one of the reasons why you won’t agree to it is because he isn’t your soulmate, right?”

You go over his words in your head, licking your lips that have grown chapped with the cold, “yes.”

“Then, won’t it hurt him a little more, if he thinks you and I dating but we aren’t soulmates?”

“Oh,” you scan every inch of his face, “you’re evil.”

He gives you a one-shoulder shrug, “also, I panicked. He’s scary!”

You laugh, “he can be. But I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I think it’s his ego that’d be hurt more.”

“Hobi!”

Soomi cups her hands over her mouth to yell, pointing toward the snowboard instructor.

“Better get going.”

If you weren’t being huddled into the crowd, Soomi’s inquisitive eyes on you and Hoseok, you would’ve asked Hoseok what’s in it for him. Why would he want to fuel this lie. Perhaps, having him as your date for the weekend wouldn’t be so bad. He’s attractive, really attractive, smells appealing and intelligent, from what you remember.

The moonlight glints in his eyes when he throws you a furtive look over his shoulder, a lopsided smile contrasting his neat hair.

Little do you know, he’s been in a similar situation himself.

The sharp pain in your hip only worsens when you try to roll over onto your side, the loud banging coming from the other side of your door disturbing your dreamless sleep. You flex your jaw, trying to shake off the ringing in your ear as you yank the door open, complains ready for Rina, only to squeal when you find Hoseok waiting on the other side.

“Hi!”

He tries to push past you, but you throw the door forward, peeking around the corner.

“I’m not wearing pants! What do you want this early in the morning?!”

Chuckling behind his hand, he raises a brow, gaze flitting below your waist. You shoot him an accusing look, despite him not being able to see your bare legs behind the door.

“I thought we could visit the Snow Castle before we go out for lunch, I heard Yoongi and friends are going too.”

Your yawn tapers off into a noise of frustration, “why would I want to go if he’s going? Besides, I think I’m gonna spend the rest of the morning in bed, my body hurts.”

“Need a massage?”

“Hmm?”

He waves a hand, “just kidding. Unless? Maybe I could get you in tip top shape before lunch.” He emphasizes his words by cracking his knuckles, jutting his foot into the doorway.

You’re at a loss for words.

“No!”

“Well, we need to discuss a few things, if we’re going to play boyfriend-girlfriend.”

“There’s nothing to discuss!”

He sighs, “can I come in?”

Groaning defeatedly, knowing you won’t get any sleep before lunch anyway because you’re already wide awake, you acquiesce.

“Let me put on some pants.”

After a ten-minute wait, he steps into your room and makes his way to the couch near the window, setting down his corduroy hat on the coffee table nearby. Your attention is drawn to the straw bag hanging around his waist, a red flower in the center. He seems to notice why you’re distracted, a soft chuckle breaking the silence.

“This? Namjoon bought it for me when we visited Malta,” he smiles, thumbing over the petals.

You plop down on the couch next to him, tucking your feet under your thighs, “you’re friends with Namjoon?”

His cheeks form two apples, voice raising in pitch, “we’re good friends!”

“That’s nice,” your eyebrows furrow, “then how come you haven’t met Yoongi before? Since they’re close friends too?”

“I spent a few years in Italy, guess I missed a few chapters back home.”

You’re about to ask what he did there in Italy, when he cuts you off, fidgeting with the notepad on the coffee table.

“Let’s start, shall we?”

You cover your eyes with your hands, “why do we need to do this?”

All you hear is the clicking of a pen and his shuffling, ignoring your complaints.

“Because,” he begins, “we need to set some boundaries.”

You peek at him through your fingers, “boundaries?”

“Yes,” he grins, “unless you don’t have any?”

The wink he sends you has a pillow flying his way, which he dodges with a laugh.

“Listen,” he speaks around a snigger, “it’s too late to back out now. Your ex already thinks we’re dating.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “why do you seem so excited? Can’t we just go back to normal?”

“Normal?” He scoffs, scribbling something down on the notepad, “where’s the fun in that? Also, you were supposed to be my date for the weekend. I had to come up with an excuse for the girl I left back home because Rina said so.”

“How sad,” you quip, “you shouldn’t have listened to Rina.”

“Well, I had to. She said it was urgent.”

You’re going to kill her.

Collapsing onto the armrest, you rub the heels of your palms into your eyes, suppressing a scream.

“Come on, I’m sure you expected this weekend to be a drag, but I can assure you, with me around, it’ll be a holiday you’d never forget,” he boasts, chest puffing out as he leans back on the armchair, still clutching the pen in hand.

You seem to be having a mini staring contest, one you lose after the tip of the pen reflects the sunlight beaming in through the window, hitting you in the eye. You already made your decision last night, you’re just mad at him for disturbing your precious slumber. One you looked forward to after a night of slipping and sliding onto your ass.

“Rule number one,” you breathe, rolling your eyes when he clicks the pen twice and begins to scribble on the page, “no kissing.”

His head snaps up, lips in a pout, “not even a little peck?”

“No!”

“Then how would we make it believable?”

You refuse to look at his beady eyes, “no kisses on the mouth then. You can kiss my cheek…or whatever.”

It’s still shocking to you that you’ve opted to fake dating a man you knew in high school just to avoid an ex you wish to forget. Fifteen-year-old you is disappointed, but eighteen-year-old you finds it amusing and thrilling.

“What else?”

“Hmm,” you ponder with a finger on your chin. You can’t really think of anything else if kissing is where it stops. But it seems like with him, you’d have to go into detail. With a small cough, you meet his gaze, “no inappropriate touching.”

He scribbles it down, incredibly professional, “anything else?”

“I can’t think of anything else right now, I’ll tell you as we go along. It’s only for two more days anyway!”

His eyebrows pinch together, “you’re not staying till New Years?”

“Nope. What about you, any rules?”

He shakes his head, clicking the pen, “none really.”

You can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of your lips.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay,” he closes the notebook and sets it down on the table, sliding it in your direction, “maybe there is one rule.”

You fit your feet into your slippers, sitting at the edge of the couch, “what’s that?”

“Loosen up,” he chides, “it’s my duty as your date to ensure that you’re having a good time, but I can’t do that if you’re going to be so uptight all the time.”

You gasp, holding a hand to your chest, “uptight?! I am far from uptight!”

He rises from the seat, clearly dismissing your protests, “okay, darling.”

Nettled, you feel your ears begin to ring, poking at his chest as you mirror his stance, “another rule, don’t call me that.”

“What?” He grabs his hat from the table, gluing it onto your head, “darling?”

You peek at him from under the rim of his hat, jaw clenching, “yes, that.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because…you like it a little too much, darling?”

His lips stretch over his teeth, one eyebrow raised. You shove his hands off your shoulders, disregarding the slight flutter in your tummy.

“No. I don’t. Just don’t call me that, okay? It’s a rule!”

He spins around, abandoning his hat as he heads for the door, sliding a hand through his spiky hair.

“Fine. See you later, party girl.”

“Or that!”

Perhaps you are grateful for the warm presence at your side, parading you through the icy walls while the rest of the guests listen to Soomi as she acts as tour guide. The frigid air seems to have caught your nose, you can’t wipe away the string of sneezes that snatches the attention of a few people around you, including Yoongi and Eunji.

Hoseok hands you his handkerchief, a tight hand around your shoulders.

“Are you sure you don’t want to head outside? We could get something warm to drink,” he offers, keeping you still near the twinkling sculptures.

“I’m fine,” you sniffle, voice nasally as you wipe the tears from your eyes, “let’s go. We’re gonna miss the Ice Bar.”

He laughs, “it only gets colder from here onwards, are you sure?”

You shoot him an exasperated look, “you’re the one who said I should loosen up.”

His lips purse, “yeah, but your health comes first. Let me tell Rina that we’ll meet them at the restaurant.”

“Wai—” his coat slips from your hands as you watch him go with a defeated sigh.

He’s sweet, you muse. No one ever paid this much attention to you before. You must remind yourself that this is fake. He’s just your date for the weekend and then everything would return to the way it was once this white dream is over. You realize that he was right, normal is boring.

Thoughts turning morose, you fail to notice the presence behind you as if listening to the voice inside your head, which replays the words:

Bitter and cloudy climes an intrusion of snowflakes whispering chimes delicate, careful not to break

with hearts aimed your way a minute bow oak surrounding—

“I’m happy for you,” Yoongi whispers, startling you once you become aware of his presence.

You rub the side of your arm, staring at the pale wall, a hint of blue simmering through, “thanks.”

“But, once again, you chose to be with someone who isn’t your soulmate, despite how hellbent you are on finding them. Which I know you are, even if you say you don’t care.”

You sigh, rubbing your nose with the handkerchief, “I don’t have time for this Yoongi.”

He chuckles condescendingly, leaning in closer, “you confuse me.”

Galled by his audacity, throat itching slightly, you find your voice, lifting your head to find his blank, stolid stare.

“How do I confuse you? You lied to me, Yoongi.”

“I didn’t lie to you,” he breathes, nostrils flaring as he takes a step closer.

“Yes,” you laugh despite yourself, “you did. But I’m done talking about this.”

Relief washes over you when you see Hoseok approaching, padding across the ice hastily with his coat billowing out behind him. You brush past Yoongi but he catches your hand, similar to your first interaction after all the time that passed, breath kissing your ear.

“I don’t care about any of that bullshit, and you can believe what you want. All I know is that you were my soulmate.”

He releases his hold on your hand and walks straight ahead, missing Hoseok who looks at you with worried eyes. A tear slips down your cheek which you wipe away quickly, forcing a smile onto your face through your thunderous heartbeat.

“Let’s go?”

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, it’s quiet between you. The village is much warmer than the Snow Castle earlier and you decide to spend some time in a quaint café before lunch. You’re afraid that you might show up to the wedding with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose.

“How’s the cocoa?”

For a second, you forgot that you had company, blinking at you over the rim of his mug.

You lick your lips, savouring the thick taste of chocolate, “it’s good.”

The incessant taps of his spoon against the side of his cup indicates that he has something to say, knee bobbing with his face scrunched up in thought.

With a deep exhale, you set down your now empty mug, dabbing at the corners of your mouth.

“What is it?”

He raises his head, lips forming an ‘o,’ “hmm?”

“You look like you want to say something.”

“Oh,” he snorts, rubbing the back of his neck, “I do.”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

You shrug, “it’s already been ruined.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He twiddles his thumbs, mouth quirking to the side, “I know what it’s like, to feel as though your every wish has come true with the arrival of one person.”

“Except, I don’t really know how it feels,” you chuckle mirthlessly, “it was all a lie.”

He shakes his head, folding his arms on the table, “but you do know. You believed it for a while, didn’t you?”

Your gaze drifts to the side, sadness bleeding into your heart, “I guess so.”

“I know too,” he says suddenly, eyes a little distant, “I know what that’s like, to finally have the one thing you’ve been waiting for all your life, but—” He looks up at you, a smile overtaking his features “—I’m sorry.”

You reach across the table for his hand, wiggling it around, “no, I’m listening. Continue.”

His gaze snaps to your hand, still held over his. With warm cheeks, you pull your hand away but he grabs it again and lifts you up from your seat.

“Hoseok,” you question, bending over to grab your purse, “where are we going? Slow down!”

He doesn’t respond, just drags you out of the café with his hand slotted into your own. The sounds of people cheering, a saxophone pumping glee into the atmosphere, gets louder and louder before you notice the group of people surrounding the band you saw earlier, a man wearing an elf costume offering the microphone to someone in the crowd who turns it down with a coy smile.

Hoseok passes you one look before he pulls you closer to the makeshift stage, relinquishing his hold on your hand to grab the mic.

Your eyes widen, hands lifting up to applaud with the crowd when Hoseok starts singing.

“You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout I’m telling you why! Santa Claus is coming to town!”

The sound of your heartbeat thumps in your ears, as if you’re the one on stage. And your cheeks ache with how hard you’re smiling.

He continues to sing, the crowd seems to be enjoying his voice which is a pleasant surprise. He’s enjoying the attention just as much, if it weren’t for the costumes, you would think he’s apart of the band. Pressing his back into the musician’s as he belts out the lyrics, shocking you with his vocals.

You spot Soomi and Namjoon in the crowd, beaming at Hoseok while she holds up her phone, recording the whole performance.

Once the song comes to a close, he hops down from the stage and trots in your direction, finessing his way to you before lifting your hand up to his lips and placing a kiss to your knuckles. You look down at him shyly, glancing at the jubilant smiles around you before drawing your hand back.

“Thank you everyone!”

Your cheers are drowned out by the whoops around you, watching him greet Namjoon before he returns to your side and throws his hand around your shoulders, steering you away from the clamor.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” you marvel, falling into stride with him.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He punctuates that sentence with a wink, one that sets a stir in your tummy. Has he always had such a perfect side profile? “Wait.”

You look up at him perplexed, “what?”

His arm slides down to your waist, knocking the air from your lungs when you crash into his chest. You feel his lips graze your neck before he kisses your cheek, eyes fluttering shut. His scent clouds your senses, ears ringing only to stop when he pulls away, grinning at you before resuming your walk to the restaurant.

“Wha—”

“Yoongi,” he mumbles, turning his head a bit which prompts you to do the same, “don’t look.”

“Oh.” It’s only when you reach the restaurant do you realize that your heart is still working overtime, threatening to soar out of your chest.

Lunch passes smoothly, if you don’t consider the few times you caught Yoongi shooting Hoseok daggers, forking through his plate half-heartedly. But you pay no mind to him, what you’re focused on is how Hoseok seemed to always be the center of attention, directing the conversations while still checking in with you. He’s friendly and kind, nothing like the guy you remember from high school. You tried to play it cool when he wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, however your veneer might’ve cracked a bit when he proceeded to like that very same thumb. An innocent yet devious smile playing on his lips.

It isn’t that difficult to get away with your little act, since everyone assumes that he’s your date for the wedding. Although, with Soomi and Rina’s questioning glares, you realize that you have some explaining to do. Especially with your overt display affection towards each other.

Sunset is much earlier than you’re accustomed to in Finland, so you’re shocked when you step out of the restaurant to find darkness shrouding the streets, Christmas decorations being the only source of light.

“It’s a short ride from here to the villas,” you hear Rina say, hands clasped in front of her, “you’re welcome to join us on the bus, or we could meet you there.”

At the mention of the villas, you slap a hand over your forehead, cursing to yourself.

“Shit.”

The hand that rested on your lower back slides up to your shoulder, patting twice before you look up at him.

“I forgot the bag I packed for the villa back at the hotel,” you whine, annoyed that you won’t be able to ride with your friends if you’re going to make an extra trip.

He shakes his head, “that’s fine. I needed to fetch something from my room anyway. I could get your bag too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, palm out, “just give me your room key.”

You rummage through your purse for the card, “thank you so much. It’s a white bag with a bird on the front. You won’t miss it.”

Rina waves as she makes her way closer, suspicious eyes squinting at you, “you guys riding with us?”

“Hobi’s heading back to the hotel to fetch a few things,” you inform, hooking an arm into hers, “I’m riding with you though.”

Hoseok waves around the key, “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Wait,” Rina says, pointing somewhere behind her, “Yoongi also needed to go back to the hotel. Maybe you could ride with him. Yoong—”

“That’s fine!” You interject, sending Hoseok a panicked look, “he can go by himself.”

Yoongi, who was probably listening in on the conversation, materializes next to Hoseok, looking at the taller guy from head to toe.

“He can ride with me.”

“Cool,” Hoseok assents cheerily, already following Yoongi to the white car a few meters away.

Before you can get a word in with Hoseok, Rina is dragging you to the idling bus, an equally berating look on Soomi’s face once you step in, sitting you down in between them.

“We have a bone to pick with you.”

“Don’t you think it’s childish?”

You’re sulking, having swapped seats with Soomi so you could watch the scenery out the window, you pretend you can’t hear them. If they were in your position, they would’ve done the same thing, or worse.

“He was supposed to be my date for the wedding anyway!” You exasperate, voice muffled by the sound of the engine, “I don’t see why it’s such an issue!”

They share a tired look before Rina grabs your hand, as if trying to reason with a petulant child which only irks you further.

“We’re just worried that you might—”

You scoff, “that I might what?”

Soomi, always so brazen with her opinions, interposes with a sigh, “that history might repeat itself. You don’t just date people and even if it’s fake dating, who knows what could happen. We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “I won’t get hurt if there’s no feelings involved.”

“Hoseok can be charming,” Rina reasons.

“And persuasive.”

“Then why did you want him to be my date for the wedding anyway?!”

Rina shushes you with a hand over your mouth, concerned that you’re being too loud. But her hand slips away when Soomi smacks the back of her head. You giggle when she tries to hit Soomi back but misses.

“It was her dumb idea.”

Rina pouts, “I just didn’t want you to be lonely here.”

Your arms encircle her frame, resting your cheek on her shoulder while she sets hers on your head. Soomi springs forward and engulfs the two of you in a bear hug, bouncing off the seat with the vibrations from the bus.

“Thank you, Rina.”

“And you said it’s gonna be boring here, so I didn’t want you to be bored.”

You smile, pulling away slightly to look at her face, “actually, he is good company.”

Once again, they share a look, more distressed this time.

“Oh no,” they say in unison.

“What? I’m serious, he’s so fun and energetic. I feel like he’s the perfect balance of broody yet playful and— WHAT?”

Soomi pinches the bridge of her nose, “it’s too late.”

“What are you guys—”

“We’re here!”

The white expanse dotted with dainty villas is the first thing you notice, obstructing your view of the sea which is only a few metres away. You rub your hands together, a breeze of crisp air filling your nostrils as you step down from the bus. Tonight, you’re going to sleep like a log.

As you’re taking in the view starry-eyed, you feel an elbow being lodged into your ribcage.

“Ow!”

You follow Rina’s gaze to find Hoseok and Yoongi heading your way, Hoseok carting your small overnight bag and a large suitcase. He chuckles, slapping Yoongi on his shoulder who joins in too, pointing a finger at his new friend.

“Hi,” Hoseok grins, handing you your bag which you take with a half-hearted smile.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, pulling him away from the rest of the group who seem to be distracted by the scenery.

He shrugs, “he’s chill.”

“Chill?”

“I mean, he was interrogating me at first, but I changed the subject.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “interrogating you?”

He nods, white hair skimming his eyebrow, “I’ll tell you later. Let’s go.”

You slap a hand to his chest, “why did you bring your suitcase? We’re only staying here for one night.”

“Well, I couldn’t make up mind on what to bring to wear here.”

With a giggle, you intertwine your fingers with his and guide him to the main building where the rest of the guests have already gathered.

It turns out that you and Hoseok would have to share a villa. Initially, he was going to spend the night in the villa loft and you in the seafront villa, but after he had said that it’d be suspicious if you two slept in different villas, you acquiesced to sharing with him which isn’t too bad. Since he keeps the place tidy. And there’s two single beds, so you could get away with it. Except you have no such luck.

It’s a glass villa, two walls plus the roof made of glass so you could observe the night comfortably. Hoseok insisted you have the curtains open until it’s time to go to bed, so when Eunji passes the villa and notices that you aren’t sleeping together, she must come forward with her suggestions.

“It’s totally fine! You guys can push the beds together instead of sleeping separately, I can help!”

Hoseok shoots you a sorrowful look as they’re pushing his bed next to yours, while Eunji seems a little too proud of herself.

“Enjoy, you guys!”

He huffs down on the bed, one arm fitted under his head. You’re twiddling your thumbs, absolute silence surrounding the two of you.

“It doesn’t seem real,” he says after a while, laying down in a similar position as you, looking up through the roof.

You sigh blissfully, the stars above winking at you, “it looks like a painting.”

He laughs, low and husky, “yeah.”

A moment from earlier, in the café, where he was talking about his past before he cut himself off replays in your head, and you turn to ask him about it when you find him looking at you already, laying on his side with his hand tucked under his cheek.

Slowly, you turn to face him too, “what?”

“What color are you wearing for the wedding?”

You smile, “that’s random. Emerald green.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s a nice color. I can’t wait to see you…I mean, the dress. You-in-the-dress,” he corrects, clearing his throat lightly.

Blood rushes to your face, “okay…What about you?”

“Just a black suit, but I might buy something tomorrow afternoon to match your dress.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He laughs, nudging your calf with his socked foot, “because that’d make us more believable.”

Your gaze drifts behind him, and you wonder if that really matters now. Does it matter anymore?

“I don’t know if I really care about that now.”

“What?”

You shake your head, readjusting the pillow underneath, “what did Yoongi ask?”

He rubs his chin, looking up to the side, “not much. Just the usual, how you and I met, how long we’ve been together, blah blah blah. Don’t worry, I made it all very believable and romantic.”

At this point, the whole room smells of his perfume and you want to ask him about it again, but you’re distracted by a beam of green filtering into the room. You roll onto your back, heart racing in your chest.

“Oh my God, look.”

Colors dance above you, like flames licking at the inky sky. You feel a wave of emotions wash over you, just as it pours light everywhere. You want to reach up and grab it, but at the same time, you’re rendered motionless, speechless.

Hoseok leaping off the bed breaks you out of the spell. You sit up when you find him putting on his jacket and sneakers.

“Come on,” he pants, tossing your parka to you, “let’s go take some pictures outside. We don’t know how long it’ll last.”

You fit your hands into the sleeves, hopping on one foot as you tie up your boots, “it could last hours.”

The rest of the guests are already outside, some snapping photos while the others stand and watch, absorbing the surreal sight before them. The snow is painted in hues of green, puffs of air like jade smoke leaving your lips.

Hoseok clicks a few pictures before he gestures for you to stand at the edge of the bank.

“Let me take some of you.”

Wrapping your arms around your frame, you hike your scarf higher up on your neck before you stand awkwardly, hands at your sides as you wait for him to take a picture. He frowns before lowering the camera.

“What?”

“Smile a bit.”

The corners of your lips tilt up, hands propped on your hips before you attempt to strike a pose, fist extended to the sky.

He sniggers and your hands return to your sides in irritation, “what?!”

“You look like the Statue of Liberty.”

“Just take the picture!”

He waves you over, “I’m done.”

Eunji, who was skulking nearby, trots toward you and offers to take a picture of the two of you. Yoongi following close by.

Before you can reply, Hoseok hands her his camera and slots his palm into yours.

“Let’s give them a show, hmm?”

Yoongi watches with folded arms as Hoseok cradles you in his, fingers resting on the small of your back while you opt to place your hands on his shoulders, chin tilted up to look at the sky behind him. His warm, hot breath fans across your face when he tips your head up and you’re met with his sparkling eyes.

Your ears begin to ring, heart climbing up your throat when he leans in closer. You don’t know what possesses you to close the distance and place a featherlight kiss on his soft lips. You jolt away in shock, embarrassed after he drops his hands and looks at you with a befuddled expression.

“Aw! That was cute!” Eunji squeals.

Your previously zippy mood dims after you return to the villa and he’s silent for the rest of the night. He lets you shower first and the only time he speaks to you is to ask if you want a snack before you go to bed. Due to your loss of appetite, you refuse.

That night, you find yourself thinking about his long eyelashes, how they fluttered when you kissed. If you’re brave enough to turn around, you’d be able to see them again, dusting across his cheeks as he falls asleep. But you’re not. It was your rule. No kissing. And you broke it.

Maybe he’s mad because you crossed the line. He did say he wanted to give them a show. Perhaps you misunderstood.

With a silent groan, you cover your head with your pillow, fatigue bringing down your eyelids. Subconsciously, your fingers inch up to your face, a curious finger swiping across your bottom lip before you drift off to sleep.

The curtains are still drawn, darkness shrouding the room and you want to wake up and shower because you need to check out before 11AM. But you can’t move, not because you don’t want to, but because you physically cannot move.

It seems like he’s a cuddler.

You manage to squirm around in his hold to find his face a little too close, throat going dry when you realize that he’s not wearing a shirt. It’s freezing cold! The glass walls are probably frosted over. But it is warmer in the villa, you feel a light sweat on your brow. But that’s probably for other reasons…

He’s clinging onto your back, bare chest pressed into you with his head in your neck, curled up in the fetal position. It would’ve been cute, if it was under different circumstances. Your gaze meanders to his lips. And you’re reminded of the kiss last night along with everything after that.

You spring away which causes him to jump up in bed, hand reaching up to scratch his head as he takes stock of his surroundings. He smacks his lips twice before looking down at you.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” you mumble, trying extremely hard not to look at his abs as he stretches.

He scoots down on the bed as he rubs his chest, eyes two thin lines, “I’m going to shower.”

“Ok.”

Not a care in the world, he prances around the room half-naked, grabbing his toiletries and spending almost half an hour picking an outfit while you’re peeking at him over the edge of the blanket. Maybe he’s doing this on purpose.

No. Why would he?

Once he disappears into the bathroom, you gather your things and neaten up the room. Not sparing him a single look when you go in to shower after him.

You hear him talk to someone on the other side, which you assume is room service. You’re working up the courage to ask him if everything is good between you but by the time you’re out, he’s already left the villa.

The wedding is tonight. Also, your last night of pretend. The nagging voice in the back of your mind tells you that yesterday was the last. That you overstepped. Because you haven’t seen him all day. He wasn’t there at lunch, nor did you see the car he hired near the hotel. The only thing you hear from him is a message he sent via Rina. Stating that he’d meet you at the hall.

You don’t even have his number saved on your phone. You wanted to ask if you’d be arriving together, but you got your answer.

It’s your last night in Finland, these past few days had you rethinking your decision, but you’ve made your mind up now.

Through all the merriment while you get dressed for the wedding with the rest of the bridesmaids, you find yourself in another place, in the villa. The sky fizzing above you as you lay on your side and stare at Hoseok’s perfect face. Your throat burns with the realization that you feel something for him. You hate yourself for it. How and when did it happen?

Was it his alluring smile, his silly words, his tenderness, his effervescent personality? Or was it you? Your fragile heart, walls made of glass, newly built.

There’s no time for you to ponder, you’re lining up behind the other girls, all wearing different shades and textures of green. You haven’t seen him yet, mostly because you were forced to stay in the dressing room. But when you do, heart-shaped smile catching your attention as you walk down the aisle, you find your heart stuttering in your chest.

You can’t unlatch your gaze from his, growing emotional when Namjoon and Soomi say their vows and seal it with a kiss.

“Congratulations!”

There’s a certain gaiety in the air, one that belongs to the happiness of a newly married couple. Glowing in fresh marital bliss. And the night passes on a lot faster than you expected. The girl you consider your little sister is all grown up and married to the man she loves.

When it’s time for the real fun, the length of Soomi’s dress much shorter, you search the crowd for Hoseok, stopping to ask Rina who says she hasn’t seen him since this afternoon.

You’re standing at the desserts table, filling up a glass as you head to the door to find him. Halfway there, to your chagrin, you’re stopped by Yoongi who’s holding a similar glass with a darker liquid swirling around the cup. You down your drink and set the cup down on the counter behind him, raising a brow when he calls your name.

“If you’re looking for Hoseok, he’s outside,” he speaks over the noise, voice monotone.

“Thanks.”

He calls your name again, more urgent this time. You exhale deeply, annoyance evident in your voice.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I know.”

His eyes don’t meet yours as he continues, “I wanted to be the one for you. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen a fraction, “what?”

He pokes his tongue in his cheek, “you’re gonna make me say it again?”

You challenge him by raising both your brows, arms folded over your chest.

“I said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“It’s okay, Yoongi. I’m over it.”

Leaning down to poke a finger through the back of your heel, you twist around your foot into the shoe, tugging at the strap. “Ugh.”

He laughs, “still can’t wear heels?”

“I can, it’s just,” you grit, plucking at the strap again, “these ones are uncomfortable.”

“Well,” he places a hand on your shoulder, “you might wanna take them off if you’re gonna go outside.”

You were the only one who insisted on wearing long sleeves for the wedding, the rest of them said that the wedding would be held inside the hall so there’s no need for that. You’re glad that you thought ahead, now you’re fighting your way through the cold, rubbing your shoulders before you spot Hoseok standing on the bridge overlooking the hall and surrounding areas. The obstreperous guests behind you fizzles into a quiet murmur the more you walk.

Psyching yourself up, you lift up your dress as you glide over to him, stopping at the foot of the bridge.

His spiky hair now lays flat against his head, forehead visible as he stares off into the distance. You weren’t prepared to see him in a suit, he looks…so handsome. The emerald green tie he’s wearing makes you smile a bit. It’s not snowing, but there are a few speckles of white dusting the wooden railings.

Once he notices you standing there, you think of last night, cheeks heating once again with jitters. But the smile he sends your way eases those nerves, dipping in a bow dramatically when he sees you.

“Good evening.”

You take a step forward and steady yourself by gripping onto your knees, yelping when your heel digs into the snow.

“Be careful,” he cautions, hand held out for you, “don’t walk too fast or you’ll slip.”

Taking a tentative step forward, you reach out for his hand and he pulls you into his chest. He chuckles, hand wrapped around your waist as you look up at him before you sniffle, feeling a sneeze approach.

His pupils are blown, pink lips parted while you feel like every inch of your skin is set on fire. Burning with the ice that you can’t escape. Your lungs feel like they’re about to burst, blood surging through your veins to collate in your head that becomes light-headed. Enmeshed by his eyes, melting into his embrace before it all fits like the final puzzle piece. The constant ringing in your head whenever he’s near vanishes.

He seems equally as entranced, gasping into your mouth before you do the one thing that comes to mind and wrap your arms around his neck, surging forward to capture his lips in a magnetic kiss.

You’re shocked that you’re still able to hold yourself up with how fast your heart is beating, brain filled with thoughts of him only. His hands running up and down your back, his lips pressed against yours, his tongue flicking into your mouth. He’s groaning and so are you, pulling apart with a loud smack as your lips remain connected with a string of spit.

Refusing to let go, he buries his face in your neck, heat mingling with yours while your eyes leak with happiness.

“I knew it,” he yells, speaking against your skin, “I knew you were the one.”

You gasp, “the one? What? How?”

Hands resting on your shoulders, he draws back, disbelief written across his features.

“You’re so clueless sometimes.”

You blink, “you mean…”

“YES!”

He grips the back of your neck, thumbs swiping across your cheeks, “you’re the one.”

You reach up to hold his hand, biting your cheek to steady your voice, “but how did you know? Why do I feel like I’m about to faint? Is this what it’s like – I’m sorry – I just…don’t know how to take this all in. I like you a lot. Wow, you’re so fucking amazing, and I can’t believe it and and—”

His lips meet your forehead before he dips down to peer into your eyes, lips quivering a bit, “let’s get you somewhere warm, okay?”

Somewhere warm was his hotel room, and you’re grateful that it wasn’t too far from the hall where the wedding was held.

His lips are on your neck once you’re in the privacy of his room, pinned up against the door while you push his blazer off his shoulders, fingers running through his soft hair when he lifts the hem of your dress. Hands sliding up your thigh before he hooks your leg around his waist, speaking against your lips.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you pant, hanging onto his shoulders as he steers you further into the room, setting you down on his lap once he’s seated. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, hair disheveled, tie hanging loosely around his neck. Heat pools between your legs when he beckons you closer with a curl of his fingers, tilting his head to deepen the kiss once your lips return to his.

He helps you straddle his lap, tongue hitting the roof of your mouth which sends a pleasurable shiver down the length of your spine. The sound of glass shattering to the floor causes you to pull away abruptly. A vase, similar to the one you have in your suite, now lies in bits and pieces.

“Shit.”

He doesn’t seem to care, mouth continuing to work on your neck, drawing a quiet gasp from you when his teeth catch on the soft skin below your ear, making his way up to the column of your throat, hands on your back holding you in place.

The sound of your zipper being dragged down reaches your ears, his cool fingers dancing across your skin. The hair on your nape stands with the feeling, head thrown back as he leaves bright red blooms on your neck and chest.

“Hoseok.”

Involuntarily, your hips rock forward and his erection nudges against your clothed core. Your pussy clenches around nothing when you hear your new favorite sound, his low growl when you do it again and again. His hands fly to your hips, halting your movement with a sound of disapproval.

“What?”

Your dress falls off your shoulders when he grabs a handful of your hair and presses his forehead against your own, fiery gaze locking with yours.

“What do you think you’re doing, darling?”

“I thought I said you shouldn’t call me that,” you jest, squeezing his shoulders. That turns out to be a bad idea when his fingers twist in your hair, scalp burning deliciously.

“I can call you whatever I want,” he growls, nudging you over his lap so his right thigh slots between your legs, “yes?”

He flexes his thigh, muscles pressing into your pulsating clit. Your eyes slip shut, a whisper of his name leaving your lips when he guides you back and forth against his leg, soaked panties sticking to your folds.

“Hmm fuck, so sensitive,” he grits out, both hands rocking you on his thigh.

You core clenches, moaning as more of your slicks leaks out when he begins to bounce his leg, pressing into your swollen bud. Mind a jumbled mess, you fall forward, taking things into your own hands as you search for more friction, rutting against his leg. You’re unprepared when his hands return to your hand and he wrenches you back, an unfamiliar look blazing in his dark orbs.

“Get down,” he orders, hands gripping both the armrests as he leans back and spreads his legs, jutting his chin toward the floor.

You step off the chair and let your dress fall to the floor, seeing his tongue poke out of his lips as he eyes you down. He leans forward once you’re sitting between his legs, hands on your thighs.

His thumb drags across your bottom lip, “good girl.”

A shiver runs down the length of your spine at his sudden change in demeanor. He hooks a finger under your chin, silently checking in with you. You watch his smirk falter when you take his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit only for him to drag his spit-slick fingers down your neck, leaning back once again.

Your attention is drawn to his crotch when his cock twitches in its confines, peering up at him through your lashes as your fingers slowly crawl up his thighs.

He raises his hips slightly when you trace the outline of his cock through his pants, feeling him up as you close your palm around the tip, seeing the corner of his mouth twitch slightly.

“Take it out, darling,” he sneers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You unbutton his pants, hooking your fingers into the band before he lifts his ass and you pull it down to the floor, his boxer briefs coming with it. Heat pools in your core at the sight of his sorrel brown cock, the tip leaking with precum. Licking your lips, you lean forward and press your tongue into the underside of his cock, gripping the base tightly to direct it to your mouth.

With a hand over your own, he adjusts your hold then nods, jaw clenching as you suction around the tip, a mixture of your spit and his precum dripping down his length.

“Fuck.”

Eager to hear more his breathy moans, your tongue rolls out as you take him in deeper, gagging when his leaking tip brushes the back of your throat. He rests a hand on your head, groaning when you continue to drag your hand up and down his twitching length.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as you continue to twist around the base, moving in tandem with your lips that move up and down his length.

You feel him shudder in your hold when you split the tip with your tongue, moving your hair over your shoulder as you tilt your head to the side, gaze fixated on his handsome face, sweat dotting his forehead.

“So pretty with my cock in your mouth, fuck.”

You moan around his length, feeling his balls clench against your chin when you sink down and hold him at the back of your throat. He grunts when you swallow twice, lifting you off the floor with a hand under your arm.

One hand grips the back of your head while the other kneads your ass, the cool air hits your flesh when he drags your stockings down. Growing frustrated with the tedious material, he rips it halfway down, smiling against your lips when you yelp.

“I’ll replace it.”

Deft fingers reach behind you to unclasp your bra, lips pulsing when he bites down hard on your bottom lip, ensuing a string of wanton moans from you.

“Tell me what you want, darling.”

You place both hands on his face, chasing his lips, “I want you.”

He spins you around, throwing you onto your back as he climbs the length of your body, kissing every inch of skin available. Your body is buzzing with heat, heart thumping erratically as you lock eyes with him. The remaining shreds of your stockings get tossed over his shoulder only for you to hear another crash.

Alarmed, you lean up on your elbows, seeing another ornament lying useless on the floor. He looks at you sheepishly.

“We’ll get banned from this hotel if you keep breaking things.”

He swoops over you, undoing his tie before pulling away your bra, exposing your chest to him.

“I’ll destroy every room in this hotel if I get to have you like this.”

Your stomach twists at his statement, sighing out softly when he sets his full weight on your body.

He reaches down for both your hands and holds it above your head. You shoot him a quizzical look when he waves his tie in front of your face. Only when he hooks it to the headboard do you realize where he’s going with this. Your pussy throbs, legs spreading wider once your hands are trapped above you, biting down a moan when he twists one of your nipples.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” He drags a hand down your sides, sincerity in his tone. “I can’t believe you’re my soulmate. I found you.”

You feel tears prickle your eyes once again, “took you long enough.”

He pinches your inner thigh and you mewl, spreading your legs wider. A wet spot growing on your panties.

Ever so slowly, he drags it down your legs, gaze flickering between your face and the article of clothing before it lands the same fate as the rest of your clothes. He looks predatory, lust dripping from his lips as he throws your leg over his shoulder and flattens out his tongue against your clit.

“Ah, fuck—Hoseok—” you thrash beneath him, knuckles knocking against the wall when his nose nudges your clit, lips suctioning around your hole.

He purses his lips around your clit, circling your hole with his middle and ring finger as he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, a knot building in your core as your hips lift off the bed. Pressing your pussy into his face. He moans into your cunt, the vibrations reverberating through you to have you barreling closer to the edge, eyes glazing over when he pushes to fingers into your sopping pussy.

You’re levitating off the bed, forgetting that you’re in a hotel with other guests as you scream out his name, grinding against his tongue while his fingers find your sweet spot, hooking them into you on each stroke.

“So good, gonna cum—”

He splays his fingers across your abdomen, tongue continuing its assaulted on your engorged clit as he scissors his fingers into you, alternating between that motion and rubbing against the spot that has your thighs trembling.

“Shit, I’m close.” Your wrists rub against each other, body twisting to the side when you hear him slurping up your juices, moaning into your cunt unabashedly.

A pained moan breaks out of your chest when he snaps away from you, gliding his fingers through your puffy folds before reaching up to unbutton his shirt and kick away the rest of his clothing.

Tears slip down your cheeks, “why?”

He hushes you with a finger to your lips, settling between your legs as you feel his thick, heavy cock pressing into your thigh.

“You want me, hmm? Gonna fuck you nice and good. Everyone in this hotel’s gonna know who’s making you feel so good.”

“Hobi—”

Taking the condom packaging between his teeth, you watch through blurry eyes as he tears it open and flicks away the foil, rolling the latex down his length before he grabs a pillow from your side. Placing it under your ass.

“Comfy?”

You nod, “yes, please, just fuck m—ahh”

You feel the tip push into you, sparks running up your spine as he sinks in inch by inch. If you weren’t so fucked out, you would notice how he’s trying not to cum as soon as your walls take in his full length. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration before he draws his hips back and snaps back into you, meeting your hips in wet, slow thrusts.

He’s slipping in and out of you, the angle he set is perfect as he hits the spot on each thrust, greedy hands massaging your boobs and thighs. Your moans are louder than the sound of your bodies meeting, nails digging into your palms as his cock splits you open.

“You feel amazing,” he moans, gripping your chin harshly, “look at me, darling.”

You whine, trying to meet his every thrust by lifting your hips with the last bit of energy you have, body still thrumming from being so close to the edge.

He covers your mouth with his, kissing you like it’s the last time he’d ever get the chance as he picks up the pace, cock dragging along your ridged walls. You’re boneless under him, walls convulsing uncontrollably as your lungs burn for air. His thrusts become shallow, moaning into your mouth before he pulls away and fills your lungs with his breath, spilling into the condom with short snaps against you.

You think he might’ve forgotten about your hands that strain above you as you come down from your high, watching him disappear into the bathroom. Despite the exhaustion that seeps into your bones, you’re unable to close your eyes.

He’s your soulmate.

You just had sex with your soulmate.

Holy—

“Ack!” Your hands snap down as he unties your wrists, rolling it a few times before he snatches them away from you, sitting at the foot of the bed as he rubs circles into your skin.

You watch with heart eyes, stomach fluttering when he rubs some hand cream on your skin, bringing if up to his lips thereafter. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and black shorts, you’re suddenly cold, teeth chattering slightly.

“Oh.” He helps you under the blanket after wiping you down, tucking it under your chin, “I’ll get you something to wear.”

He turns around but you grab his wrist. You decide not to ask now when he looks at you.

“Never mind, thank you.”

Toasty under the blanket, he settles in behind you with a hand around your waist, chin propped on your shoulder.

“What’s on your mind?”

“You.” You say without hesitation, turning around to look at him. “You’re on my mind. You’ve always been on my mind, and I didn’t know it.”

He smiles shyly, a stark contrast to the man from earlier. You trace a finger down his jaw, stopping on his chin.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

You swallow, “what was your poem?”

“My poem?”

“Mhm.”

He cups your hand, bringing it up to his lips, “I don’t want to tell you.”

You pout, nudging his leg with your knee, “why not?”

“It was short and made no sense.”

“Just tell me.”

He wraps his arms around your frame, pulling you into his chest, “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Okay.” You hum contentedly, breathing in his thick scent before another question comes to mind. “I asked you before, but you didn’t tell me.”

“Hmm?”

“What perfume do you wear?” Your chin presses into his chest as you look up at him, returning his goofy grin.

“Dior Sauvage.”

“Oh.”

“Do you like it?”

It feels enriching to get it off your chest: “I love it.”

“Go to bed now.”

“Fine.”

Sleep comes a lot easier than usual with him by your side and the voice inside your head is replaced with that of a smooth, husky voice, lulling you to sleep.

“A dust of snow.”

a/n — if you liked this, please consider dropping a comment/like/reblog or an ask if you’re shy <3

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Note

For the writing prompts #14. Can’t make move because other person is a rival/enemy (please!)

Thank you so much for the prompt! So...I'm not 100% sure if this still fits the prompt but oh well, I tried

pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

word count: 5k

from this prompt list

summary: Jaskier finds anoynmous poetry that talks about how witchers are unwanted posted on notice boards. Of course he makes it his goal to find the mysterious poet and make them stop. It's too bad that as time goes on and the poet's verses change, it becomes really hard to hate them (new fic with Eskel‘s POV to this)

content warning: self-deprication, angst

Jaskier was known for many a thing. Some people knew him as a talented bard. Others thought of him only as the idiot they had seen jump out of a window to escape a scorned lover’s wrath. The list could go on forever, Jaskier had made sure of that.

But the one thing, everyone without fail would know him for, is that he was fiercely loyal to witchers.

For years he had sung about the White Wolf and his heroics, but lately, ever since that fateful day that he had finally met Geralt’s brother, Jaskier also sang about a different witcher. One who had promised to show him his collection of old poetry that scholars everywhere would kill for. The witcher that was kind and sweet despite what his appearance might suggest. The witcher whom Jaskier couldn’t stop thinking about ever since they had parted.

Briefly, Jaskier had been worried that Geralt might disapprove of Jaskier writing songs about one of his brothers. After all it had just been the two of them for so long. But Geralt didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he smiled a little wider whenever Jaskier crafted verses for Eskel. In fact, he looked at Jaskier as if there was more to it than just professional interest. Which was absolute nonsense, of course. Singing about another witcher was only profitable. It expended Jaskier’s repertoire and what better way to help all witcher-kind than to spread tales about more than just the most famous one of them?

So yes, Jaskier was first and foremost known as a friend to witchers.

Another, lesser known fact about Jaskier was that once he developed a grudge, he would hold onto it for the rest of his life.

Which is why Jaskier was seething with fury when he caught wind of some unnamed poet who apparently made it their life’s work to destroy witchers’ reputations.

What made it even worse that on the day Jaskier found out, he was in high spirits. He had been travelling alone for the past month and had just heard of Eskel – who Jaskier had been looking forward to meeting again since forever – being somewhere in the area. Of course, Jaskier had dropped everything and gone to search every notice board he could find for any clue as to any contracts close by that could have attracted the witcher.

What Jaskier found instead was enough to make his fists tremble with barely suppressed rage. Right there, in the middle of the notice board hung a piece of poetry on some cheap paper.

That in itself wasn’t too bad. Jaskier remembered well the days when he himself had been too shy to openly present his poetry and had resorted to anonymously posting it onto boards, but this – this was the worst thing Jaskier had ever read. The verses spoke of what it meant to be a witcher, of how life one the Path could look like. Some of the words and metaphors used were clear references – or even plagiarism – to Jaskier’s songs about his witchers. But where Jaskier praised and celebrated, this poet snarled and spat at witchers.

At the very least, the handwriting wasn’t too easy to decipher, as if the poet – if one could call them that – hadn’t had much time to write this. It was a poor consolation.

Jaskier read through the poem again and again, his mind catching on the words unwanted and mutant. And those were the most harmless insults.

The entire poem read as a collection of all the horrible things that were spat at witchers. Not only was it a clear rip-off of Jaskier’s work – describing the life of a witcher – but it dared to twist it into something ugly and loathed.

To make the insult worse, underneath the poem, in the place where normally the poet’s signature would be, was a clumsy sketch of a goat – clearly meant as another insult to Jaskier. Dread pooled in Jaskier’s stomach, as his eyes raked over the lines one more time and an even more horrible conclusion dawned on him.

The poet didn’t just made references to Jaskier’s works in general. It used imagery Jaskier specifically used in his songs about Eskel. The kindest soul Jaskier knew. A man so selfless that he had even saved a baby goat and had against all odds managed to take care of her while on the Path.

And now this poet spoke about Eskel’s bad experiences and posted them openly on the board for all the world to see.

Without thinking, Jaskier tore the paper with the offending poem from the board. It nearly crumbled in his fingers, but he forced himself to keep his hand steady. He would need the poem to ask people if they knew who had written it, even though the thought of showing it to more people churned Jaskier’s guts.

His search ended abruptly, when instead of finding out who the poet was, Jaskier heard about Eskel being driven out of the town.

He gritted his teeth and left the town to resume his search of Eskel. But even as he left the town behind, he swore to himself that whatever he did, some day he would find the poet and he would make sure they would never write another harmful word about witchers again.

Not a week later, a couple of towns over, Jaskier found another poem. The same handwriting, the same sentiment of witchers being resented outcasts.

After that, Jaskier doubled his efforts to sing the witchers’ praises.

Apparently, the unknown poet took that as a challenge. Wherever Jaskier went, it was only a matter of time before the next piece of offending poetry appeared.

The poet should have been easy to find. Poets of all kinds had the convenient habit of making themselves known – Jaskier could attest to that. And yet, this one alluded him time and time again. They were impossible to find. For a brief moment, Jaskier considered the possibility of Valdo Marx being the one writing these horrible things just to spite Jaskier, but even he wouldn’t stoop low enough for such a thing. Valdo had his place in Cidaris and he would never become a travelling bard for such a petty thing. Because that was clearly what this mysterious and hated poet was; travelling, just like Jaskier and yet always one step ahead, always out of reach.

There was no hint as to where the poet would go next. The only pattern Jaskier could find was that they always showed up in towns that remembered a witcher with scars running down his face.

For whatever reason, the poet was targeting Eskel specifically.

So Jaskier did the only thing he could do. If he wasn’t able to tell the poet off face to face, he might answer in the best way he knew how: With his own verses.

Every single poem he came across, Jaskier would reply to with poems of his own – pinned to the boards in the place where the stranger’s poem had hung before Jaskier had torn it off. For good measure, Jaskier would also sing his verses in taverns and market squares, just in case the poet would be able to hear him.

When the stranger that had quickly become Jaskier’s worst enemy, spoke of ugly scars in his lines that twisted every smile into a snarl, Jaskier answered with tales of a witcher’s laughter that was more beautiful and joyful than any coy giggles one would hear at court.

When his enemy talked about witchers being alone and scorned wherever they went, Jaskier sang about how wonderful it felt to call a witcher his friend, how loyal and protective witchers were of those they loved – this of course was underlined with a barely hidden message that Jaskier in turn was very protective of his witchers and would bring anyone down who dared insult them.

This warning evidently wasn’t received, for the next poem Jaskier found spoke of lonely nights and averted eyes.

And the thing was…the more Jaskier read those poems, the more he found that they were true. What could he say to disprove those words that he hated so much? He had seen first-hand how people scuttled away in fear as soon as they sat eyes on a witcher. He knew that right now, without his company, Geralt and Eskel would spend their nights alone, possibly hurt and feeling like they didn’t belong.

As much as Jaskier despised the poet for perpetuating the public’s opinion of witchers, Jaskier had to admit that somehow they had a deep understanding of what a witcher’s life was like, even if they used their insight to do harm.

Jaskier didn’t know how to feel about that revelation. Whoever that poet was, he knew. He understood. Maybe even felt the same way.

But that didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

This person was hurting Jaskier’s friends and there was no excuse for that. If he ever met the poet, no word about this irrational fascination would come past his lips. He would make sure that they stopped writing such terrible things and nothing more. They didn’t deserve anything more.

There was just one problem…the poetry was good. Brilliant, even. If it weren’t for the horrible subjects, Jaskier might even admire the craftsmanship of the verses.

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out where the poet had learned to write like this. Certainly not at Oxenfurt. Some of these rhyme schemes were similar to ones only found in old elven poetry that had been nearly erased entirely and there were references to some of the poems to literature that had been almost completely lost for ages.

Jaskier almost wanted to sit down with this poet and talk about their craft. Their verses were more expressive than anything Jaskier had ever read and as loath as he was to admit it, some of them brought tears to Jaskier’s eyes with how beautifully worded they were.

It was such a sharp and painful contrast reading those wonderful metaphors and rhymes describing the Path as something gruesome, ugly and hated.

It made Jaskier long for his friends. He wanted to make sure they weren’t alone anymore, that they didn’t have to see only the ugly parts of the Path.

But it also made him want to know more about the poet. Wanted to find out why they sounded so hurt in the way they wrote. He wanted to console and comfort them.

It was an ugly thought and one that Jaskier was ashamed to admit to even himself. So he pushed it into the far back of his mind. This person, whoever they were, wasn’t the one Jaskier should comfort. They were the very reason why Jaskier’s friends felt lonely.

Jaskier would never betray Geralt’s trust by befriending someone like that. Even more, he wouldn’t betray Eskel like that. Beautiful Eskel who was afraid to smile for fear of people flinching back in disgust. Who had been shy and yet excited about talking to Jaskier about poetry.

Jaskier froze and ice spread through his chest. Eskel.

All this time Jaskier had been so fixated on finding the poet that he had completely forgotten that he couldn’t have been the only one who had found their poems. If Jaskier had seen any of them, he would be crushed. Poetry was one of the few things Eskel found enjoyment in while on the Path and this could ruin that for him forever.

That thought was enough for Jaskier to regain his earlier determination. Not a hint of affection for the poet was left in his heart.

Except that, as the months dragged on and Jaskier kept replying to the poet’s words, the hint of affection or rather fascination flickered back to life. At some point, the poet had started to respond to Jaskier’s responses. Not openly, of course, but it was obvious in the way they wrote that they were referring to some of the things Jaskier spoke of in his newest songs.

What had started out as a passive-aggressive way for Jaskier to tell the other poet that he despised them, slowly turned into something much different. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he liked it.

Ever so slowly, the subjects of the poet’s verses shifted. True enough, overall they were still about the Path in one way or another, but now the poems about hatred and scorn were interspersed with ones about flowers and occasional appreciation and strangely enough, the joy of knitting. The last one elicited a startled laugh out of Jaskier when he read it and he quickly stopped himself. He couldn’t however keep the smile off his face as he read through that poem again.

Hadn’t this been what Jaskier had wanted all along? It would appear that the poet had finally started to see reason and change the way they thought about witchers.

And now that Jaskier found those other, happier poems, he couldn’t help but see the beauty in their verses. He still kept all of their poems, but now he no longer did so to vanish all traces of them off the earth, but so that he could read them when he felt his own loneliness creep up on him.

Time and time again he let his eyes wander over a poem that talked about the happiness that came with unexpectedly meeting family again that had been longed for. It made Jaskier think about his witchers, about Geralt who had been his best friend for years and about Eskel who Jaskier wished more than anything to meet again someday. And strangely enough, he also thought about the poet, about meeting them and talking about the beautiful things they wrote about.

More than once, Jaskier reached for his quill to put a hidden message about a possible future meeting in his next poem, but every time he stopped himself. He couldn’t do this. Not for as long as he wasn’t sure whether this person had destroyed Eskel’s happiness and the last bit of his already fragile self-esteem.

But then, there was another change, one Jaskier hadn’t expected and that made his heart beat painfully fast in his chest. No longer did the poems speak about vague occurrences of joy and beauty, but of the joy Jaskiergave the poet. About how his voice and his words could make the poet feel like maybe life wasn’t as bleak as they had been told. About how Jaskier’s responses gave them hope. About how they made them feel less alone.

The sincerity and almost admiration in these words startled Jaskier. This wasn’t what he had wanted to do when he had started to respond to the poet. And yet…he couldn’t deny that he too felt a strange sense of companionship whenever he found another one of the poems. As strange as it sounded, but the poet had become the closest Jaskier had to someone he could talk to. Jaskier had no idea where his friends were, but no matter where he went, sooner or later, the poet’s words would reach him again. And damn him, it was nice having someone think of him and craft beautiful verses just for him.

Guilt gnawed at Jaskier’s insides and he wished it would be different, but he found himself looking forward to finding the next poem, always praying with all his might that it wouldn’t be about witchers.

It was nearly autumn when Jaskier found the poem that made his chest tighten with a strange emotion he couldn’t place.

The poem was so full of longing that it became hard for Jaskier to breathe. It was about yearning to meet Jaskier, of seeing his smile and feeling the gentleness of his hands. It was about the soul-crushing knowledge that they would only disappoint Jaskier if they ever met.

Jaskier’s hands trembled as he took that poem off the notice board. He caressed the small picture of the goat that had gone from being a hated mockery to something that made Jaskier smile whenever he saw it.

That night he got so close to telling the poet where to meet them.

The song with the directions was already written and he was already gathering his nerves to prepare himself to sing it the next day, when a sudden gust of wind made the stack of the stranger’s poems Jaskier had kept flutter through the air. Pages upon pages about how witchers were despised, about how they were fated to be alone and how no one would ever be able to see past their hideous scars landed all around Jaskier, accusing him of the betrayal he had almost committed.

His heart dropped like a stone and he forced himself to read through all of the poems again. Every verse, every line, every word that reminded him why he had sworn to himself to never forgive this poet.

When he was done, he stuffed the papers into the bottom of his back, telling himself he didn’t care about them crumbling and tearing.

When he left town, there he left no reply to the poet’s last poem. He only continued reading the notice boards to make sure the poet was still writing about things other than witchers, but Jaskier never responded anymore.

After a while, the poet too stopped writing.

His last poem was but a line, asking whether Jaskier was alright. It was so simple, so obviously worried that it took all of Jaskier’s will power not to respond and let the poet know that he was still there.

By the time it had become clear that no more poems would be written, Jaskier had almost convinced himself that he was happy about never having to hear from them again.

Though the thought of the poet didn’t leave Jaskier’s mind, no matter how hard he tried, Jaskier found someone far better.

Not a week after he had severed his connection to the poet for good and was back to performing his old songs about witchers, the door to the tavern Jaskier was playing at opened and a familiar figure entered.

Jaskier’s heart gave a jump and his fingers nearly fumbled when he recognised Eskel. The smile that spread across Jaskier’s face at the sight of the man he had longed to see again faltered, when he took him in more closely. Eskel was guarded most of the time, but now there was something more than that in his expression. He looked almost dejected and he had heavy bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Jaskier’s chest clenched and he had to fight to keep up his happy performance persona. The Path must have been especially unkind to Eskel. Dread clawed at Jaskier’s heart and his voice trembled.

Was this the poet’s doing? Had their words reached Eskel after all and taken away any peace he might have had?

Jaskier’s eyes followed Eskel as he scanned the crowd before his eyes landed on Jaskier. For a heartbeat, something akin to fear flickered across Eskel’s expression, but then his eyes lit up and his shoulders slumped in relief.

As quickly as he could, Jaskier brought his performance to an end, claiming that he needed a break to give his voice some rest. He hurried over to Eskel and practically fell into his arms.

For a moment, Eskel stiffened at the touch, but then he returned the embrace almost desperately and pressed his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’re alright,” Eskel breathed, barely loud enough for Jaskier to hear.

“Of course I am,” Jaskier said as brightly as he could to ease Eskel’s worry and pulled back so he could properly look at Eskel. “Contrary to popular believe, I can go some time without getting into trouble.” He made no effort to try to be subtle about checking Eskel over for injuries. “Out of the two of us, I’m not the one who risks his life every day. What happened to you?”

Eskel stiffened slightly and his eyes shifted to the side, evading Jaskier’s gaze. “Nothing. I was just worried I had lost … a friend.”

Something in Jaskier’s chest softened and as they sat down at a table, Jaskier made a point of sliding in right next to Eskel instead of sitting down opposite of him.

For some inexplicable reason, Eskel still seemed hesitant to touch Jaskier as if he was worried Jaskier might withdraw if Eskel got to close, but his eyes raked over Jaskier as if he wanted to commit every inch of him to memory.

Jaskier scooted closer to Eskel until their thighs touched. He reached for Eskel’s hand and brushed a strand of hair behind his ears while talking about the thing Jaskier had seen since they had last met.

Ever so slowly, Eskel relaxed and leaned into the touch.

What had started as hesitant replies to Jaskier’s numerous questions about the Path quickly became a comfortable conversation, just like they had had when they had last seen each other.

The easiness with which words flowed almost reminded Jaskier of the easy exchange of words he had had with the poet.

He banished the thought as quickly as it had appeared.

He put his attention back to Eskel where it belonged and listened intently as Eskel told him about the monsters he had fought, about the places he had been and about the fact that for some reason, Eskel had been paid in knitting lessons from the very same old lady that had paid Eskel by giving him Lil Bleater a year ago.

As Jaskier laughed at that story and warmth spread through his chest, Eskel too smiled at him. It was a timid, gentle thing, barely enough to lift the edges of his lips properly, but it was big enough to twist the scars. And for once Eskel didn’t seem to mind.

The sight did something strange to Jaskier and suddenly he was filled with the urge to trace these beautiful lips with his thumb.

Eskel must have seen something shift in Jaskier’s expression, for he suddenly stopped talking and his eyes drifted down to Jaskier’s lips.

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier whispered. “I love the way you talk. It sounds almost like poetry.”

The hint of a blush crept into Eskel’s cheeks. “I…I could never write something as beautiful as your songs, but…” His lips twitched upwards and he lowered his head slightly. “You are very inspiring Jaskier. The way you talked about poetry…it made me pick up a pen too, after we parted last time.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “You write poetry?”

“Not very well.”

Jaskier knew that his eyes were full of fondness for this wonderful, beautiful witcher, but he didn’t care if he saw. He was too relieved to hear that the poet hadn’t been able to take Eskel’s love for poetry away from him after all.

So fixated on that last piece of bitterness that Jaskier had carefully kept alive to remind himself not to contact the poet again, he couldn’t help the next words from slipping past his lips.

“Whatever you’re writing, I am sure it is better than those horrible poems I have had to read lately.”

Eskel froze and his eyes darted between Jaskier’s.

“What…what poems did you have to read?” His voice sounded strangely thick.

Jaskier’s brows knitted together and he waved his hand through the air dismissively, even as his chest clenched painfully. “Just someone who thought they should post their poetry on notice boards. It’s a good thing no one will ever have to read a word of theirs again.”

Eskel’s face fell and he drew back just enough that he wasn’t touching Jaskier anymore. “You really hated it that much?”

Jaskier huffed out a bitter laugh. “You would have too, if you had seen the things they wrote.”

Even while he said it, Jaskier knew that something was wrong. Eskel’s expression shuttered completely and he turned away from Jaskier.

Jaskier’s insides grew cold. For an uncomfortable moment that seemed to stretch on forever, he sat silently next to Eskel, wrecking his brain trying to figure out where he had messed up. Whatever it had been, it was clear that his presence made Eskel uncomfortable.

A half-hearted excuse left Jaskier, something about having to continue his performance.

Eskel only replied with a silent nod as Jaskier left the table to resume his playing. And when Jaskier risked a glance at their table during a song, he found that Eskel had already left.

Uncaring of the disappointed shouts of his audience, Jaskier’s voice broke off and he hastened back to their now empty table to gather his things.

Whatever he had done, to chase Eskel away, he needed to fix this.

He grabbed his cloak and dropped a couple of coins on the table to pay for the meal he had had earlier, when his eyes fell on something lying on the table. A slip of paper with some flimsy excuse for why Eskel had to leave on it.

For a heartbeat Jaskier only stared at it, uncomprehending what he was seeing.

But there was no two ways about it. The writing that now stared back at Jaskier was the same handwriting he had been reading for the past months. It was the poet’s handwriting.

Without a second thought, Jaskier bolted out of the tavern and after Eskel.

“Wait!” he called out to him when he caught sight of him disappearing into an alleyway.

His breath came heavy and his lungs burned from the sudden sprint, but Jaskier didn’t stop until he caught up with Eskel who stood with his back to Jaskier, obviously unwilling to face him.

“Eskel,” Jaskier said helplessly. “I-“

“I’m sorry,” Eskel interrupted and his shoulders tensed. “I didn’t know – If I had known how much you hated the poems I would have stopped.”

For the first time since Jaskier could remember, he found no words. His mind was racing, connecting memories to his knew knowledge and making connections where before there had been nothing but false conclusions.

Jaskier’s uncharacteristic silence must have been reply enough for Eskel, for he half-turned to him, just enough for Jaskier to see his scars.

“I didn’t mean to make you hate me,” Eskel said quietly and his voice was tight. “I am sorry I made you miserable with my poems all these months. I’ll stop. I promise, you won’t have to read anything like that again. You won’t even have to see me. I just…after I didn’t hear from you again, I needed to make sure you were still alive.”

“You didn’t,” Jaskier said, voice breaking. “You didn’t make my life miserable. But they sounded….Eskel, why did your poems sound like yourlife was miserable? Why would you say such horrible things about yourself?”

Eskel flinched and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I didn’t know what else to write about. There wasn’t much else. Until…” Eskel’s voice trailed off.

“Until you wrote about flowers and knitting and family,” Jaskier ended softly for him.

Eskel nodded and Jaskier felt tears pricking at his eyes. “I loved them. And knowing that they came from you, that you are the one who found happiness out there, you have no idea how much that means to me.”

Without meaning to, Jaskier reached out for Eskel’s hand and before he knew it, Eskel had threaded their fingers together and turned to face Jaskier fully. They were so close. Jaskier could see every speck of gold in Eskel’s eyes as they flickered down to his lips.

“Jaskier.” His voice was hoarse and he looked like it took all his strength to say the one word. Slowly, Eskel leaned forward, and Jaskier could feel his heart skip a beat and his breath hitch. Eskel’s eyes widened and he drew back abruptly.

“I am sorry,” Eskel blurted out.

Jaskier’s brows drew together and he tried to follow Eskel’s movement and close the gap between them again.

“Why? Eskel, what could you possibly have to be sorry about?”

An unreadyable expression flashed across Eskel’s face. “About this.” He gestured vaguely between them. “And about my last poems. I didn’t think you’d ever find out they were from me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It took Jaskier a second to understand what he meant, but when he did, his heart broke for the poet who had longed to feel Jaskier’s touch; for Eskel who had been scared that he would only disappoint.

Carefully, Jaskier lifted his hand, giving Eskel time to refuse the touch. When his hand settled on Eskel’s skin and gently caressed Eskel’s scars, Jaskier could feel Eskel’s shuddering breath ghost across Jaskier’s skin and Eskel closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“You could never disappoint,” Jaskier whispered. “Never you.”

“Does that mean you didn’t mind those poems?” Eskel’s voice was filled with barely restrained hope.

Jaskier let out a huffed laugh. “Oh, I did very much mind them. For so long I had wanted to punch my poet in the face for what they wrote. And those letters…they made me want to kiss them.”

Eskel’s eyes snapped open. “You-“ he broke off, a bittersweet smile on his face. His next words were so quiet that Jaskier couldn’t be sure he was even meant to hear them. “At least I could make you want me as someone else.”

Jaskier tilted his head to the side. His fingers slid down Eskel’s face, before they came to rest at the corner of Eskel’s lips.

“Oh Eskel,” Jaskier breathed, stepping impossibly closer. “The one thing holding me back was the thought that it wasn’t you.”

“Jaskier…” Eskel came no further. Before any more words of fear or self-doubt could leave him, Jaskier pressed his lips against Eskel’s.

Eskel let out a soft gasp, before returning the kiss, only interrupting it for long enough to whisper words to Jaskier that were simpler and yet more beautiful than any poem could be.

For the first time in what felt like too long, Jaskier responded to his poet’s words, with the same simple words that made Eskel’s face light up in a way that made Jaskier doubt that he would ever write about loneliness and feeling unlovable ever again.

#I started writing this during a zoom meeting in which i had my own enemies-to-friends-thing going on #so this prompt was really fitting lmao #jaskel #prompt #jaskier x eskel #eskel x jaskier #eskel #jaskier #my writing #fic #witcher fic #fanfic #this once again got longer than i intended #and it's the middle of the night so I had no time to edit #oops

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impala1967dwinchester · 3 years

Text

Sam Winchester: Poetry, my love

*credit to the gif owner*

Pairing: Sam x Y/n/ Reader

Pov: Sam

Warnings: Sweet moments, Sam writing, Sam falling in love with the reader, Mention of Sams past relationship (With Jessica), Internal monologue, (Quick mention of Dean), Love confession.

Summary: Sam tries to write poems. All of which end up being about or for Y/n, and all of them are about just how much Sam truly loves her.

A/N- All of these poems are from Pinterest!

Word Count: 1.9k

Masterlist

Taglist: @sweetdetectivequeen

I remember when I was in middle and high school, how much I thrived in English class. I love to read, but because I’ve read so much in my life. I’ve found out recently that I absolutely love to write.

I love to write little blurb of what a hunt was like, and I’ve taken up journaling. Some people might say that writing things out can make them come alive, but I I personally think that once it out on paper, then it kind of cleans the mind. Declutter my head if you will.

Going through my phone my eyes landed on Pinterest. It wasn’t an app I used very often, but I clicked on it anyway. Going through the process of making an account it asked me what I liked and my interest. I assumed based off what I choose the app would give me different things to look at in my feed.

That is exactly what happened. A few motivational words popped up, and I scrolled through, then a few quotes popped up. But what really caught my attention was the search bar. I wanted to see what other people thought about writing so that’s what I put in the search bar.

I scrolled for a few minutes, and then the word ‘Poems’ popped up. After the years that I’d been writing not once had I tired doing poetry, so I clicked on it. The first poem that was in the stream said the following;

The most

beautiful part is,

I wasn’t even looking

when I found you.

Man, that was so calming and peaceful. A true statement. It made me think of Y/n. The way she just was placed into our life, I hadn’t been looking. I stopped looking when after Jessica died.

I stopped thinking that i deserved to find love. I stopped believing I was worth it. But that was all before Y/n came into my life. She was sweetest person you’ll ever met. She always wears a smile regardless of how bad a situation could get.

She is nerdy like me, she loved to read through the lore books, making it an effort to help me when I couldn’t quite figure something out on my own. The thing about Y/n is she wasn’t just like me, she disappears for hours, in the kitchen cooking with Dean, or making pie for him. She is the best thing to come into our lives since forever.

Again, I started to read through posts on Pinterest. I wondered how many of these posts were meant to be about the girl of someone dreams. I scrolled through seeing a ton of different poems. Some were sad, about how breakable a women’s heart really is. Some on the other hand were about falling in love with the girl of your dreams.

Another poem said;

If you look carefully,

She’s slowly falling in love with you,

But she doesn’t want you to find out,

Well, not yet.”

This makes me think even more about Y/n. Does she love me? Is she falling in love with me and doesn’t want me to find out? Is she falling in love with me, like I am with her? I have so many questions that I couldn’t possibly ask her.

I wonder if she sits in bed like I do and fantasize over her. I sound creepy, but I honestly want to know. I pay attention to her, and her actions. When she’s with Dean she isn’t touchy. When we’re on a hunt, she chooses to sleep in bed with me. She talks about everything with me. Let’s me in, let’s me comfort her.

Is this her way of saying I want to be with you Sam? I once again start to scroll through the feed, looking and reading through all the poems. Coming across another one, this one though made me stop and think. Made me realize a few things more about Y/n.

“Find Someone who makes you realize three things: One, that home is not a place, but a feeling. Two, that time is not measured by a clock, but by moments. And three, that heartbeats are not heard, but felt and shared.”

I realized all of those things when I thought of Y/n. When I was with Y/n no matter where we were I felt at home with her. We could be hundreds of miles away from the bunker, deep in a hunt. As long as she was there, I was happy, content, and at peace.

Number two took me a few times to really figure out. The first time I noticed it was our first Christmas with Y/n. She’d been with us for a whole year, and I couldn’t help but go out and get her something. I went to our local book store, and picked up 3 historical novels, based on what she’d read and what she had with her when she arrived at the bunker. When she opened her gifts, I couldn’t start to describe her smile. And then she dropped her books and run up to me, and crushed in her slender frame. This hug was different than others, the other hugs were ones that were in fear of losing each other, ones that were meant as apologies.

The second time I noticed it was Dean’s birthday. Y/n and I had gone out shopping for Dean first separate and then together. We wanted to get him a gift that suited him. We walked around the mall, both searching for the best store to choose from. “Oh Sammy... oops sorry I meant Sam. Look over there.” She spoke.

Moments like this where she was afraid to be like this way with me. “You can call me Sammy, Y/n. It doesn’t bother me when you do it.” I said involuntarily. I little blush rose to her cheeks, “Okay Sammy. There’s a store looks like a cowboy themed place.” She said walking towards the store.

Rarely would I do something out of my comfort zone, and not ask the other person. But before Y/n could get too far away from me, I grabbed her wrist and slipped our hands together. I made a quick excuse when she turned around and looked down at our hands and then me. “I just don’t want to get lost from you; this place does seem pretty huge.” I had said.

In moments when we were hurt in hunts. Moments where it seemed like we might say goodbye forever. I had Y/n in my arms in the back seat of the impala, she had a huge gash through her back, thankfully nothing had hit any vital organs or hit her spinal cord.

She sat in my lap her hands wrapped around my neck, our hearts pressed tightly together, I was grasping tightly to her. Trying to keep myself tethered to her. I focused on her breathing. Focused on the scent of the peach shampoo that still lingered in her hair.

I would see Dean looking in the back through the mirror. I didn’t have time to deal with his comments so i dropped my gaze, I was trying so hard to not break down, in front of my big brother or Y/n. Y/n needs a strong man, so that’s what I’ll be right now, just for her.

As i thought about past moments. I realized that I couldn’t keep the charade up anymore, about I felt towards Y/n. Making myself close out of the very calming app, I clicked on to the massaging app.

Sliding the small list of contacts, I did I have. I sent Dean an “goodnight” message before slipping out of our conversation and into Y/n and I conversation. I started to type and then deleted it.

I fell into this rhyme for a what seemed like an hour, of me saying how I felt and then deleting it. I received a “Good night bitch 😴” Message from Dean. I slide it off my screen refocusing on my message to Y/n.

Then all the sudden it clicked in my head. And I started typing my message out. Careful to phrase words the particular way.

“In you, I have finally found all I never dared dream I could deserve or have- the kind of love that is rare. Being known in a way that touches the deepest parts of me. Accepted in a way that blows my mind.”

I sent this part to her. I waited till she has read the massage. Then only a few moments later I saw a message from her pop up.

“Sammy what are you saying?” Y/n asked. So, I started to write the second part of my message.

“In you, Y/n the love I have always desired to give now has a place to call home, I hope? I have been skeptic, but you are my undeniable miracle. The questions don’t matter anymore.” I sent once again waiting for another message back from Y/n.

What I got surprised me. “Come to my room, Sammy.” She sent. I quickly uncovered myself from the thin blanket, and slipped on a Henley, along with my slippers.

I opened my door, and pretty much ran down the hall way, my phone still tightly placed in my hand. I slowed down as I made my way in front of Y/n’s door. I knocked and was granted access.

“Come in Sammy.” She said in her cute voice. I walked in, and shut the door softly. Before turning on my heels and standing still. “You can come over here and sit down with me Sammy.” So, I did as she said.

I walked over and sat down next to her. “So, Sammy, what did you mean by your message?” She asked grabbing my much larger hand with her much smaller hand.

I hadn’t ever noticed that, but instead of answering Y/n question I found our hands more interesting. “Sammy?” She said once again, but her voice was softer and quiet.

“I hope to god I’m not stepping over a boundary, but what I was trying to say was that I think... Wait No I know that I’ve fallen for you more deeply than I think I can understand. And I hope that you feel the same way?” I said rubbing my calloused thumb over the knuckles on her left hands.

“Sammy, I think I’ve fallen in love with you too.” Y/n said. Smiling showing off her bright eyes, and dimples on her cheeks.

“We have finally found each other, and that is enough. Right?” I said still a little worried I might say something wrong and ruin that whole moment.

“Yeah Sammy, I hop... I know that it’s enough, because when I’m with you I fell at peace and I wouldn’t want anything else then that.” She spoke. I brought my hand up to her cheek cupping it in my hand, and brought her close to my chest.

I kissed her lips, and god if it wasn’t the most intoxicating thing, I’ve ever tasted. I would be lying, she tasted like dark chocolate, and honey. Our lips didn’t fight for dominance, it was just a sweet kiss. Something that made this moment just so much more real.

“God, I love you so much Winchester.” Y/n said against my lips. I only smiled and whispered into her lips “I love you too, Y/L/N” “And don’t worry I’ll keep Dean from teasing the both of us.” I spoke.

Completed on : 03/14/2021

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pollosky-in-blue · 2 years

Note

4. 9. 26. 35. 36. 64. 70. 89.

Hello anon! I see you're back again! You have that way of punctuating each ask number with periods, and the familiarity is nice to see ♥︎

4. What do you think about most?

Moving out, JS, school, my brother growing up, books I never get to write and the weather.

9. Ever had a poem or song written about you?

Surprisingly, yes! I've had two poem books (very short) written for me by my grandmother's brother (so a grandfather) when I used to be a toddler. Grandpa and I drew together when we lived with him in Dhaka. Ah I miss those days! They're in Bangla, and I'm very bad at translating poems, otherwise I'd have put up some here. But here are a few anyways

চারুর জন্য ছড়া // Rhymes for Charu and চারুর জন্য আরো ছড়া // More Rhymes for Charu

26. Are you happy with the person you've become?

Well, in some ways yes, but in others, not quite. I guess although I've grown out of plenty of things and fit into some good more, there's more becoming for me to do :')

35. To you, what is the meaning of life?

To make it to the end as finely, humanely as possible. Live with enough substance to have left an honourable mark on something. Make a few hours count for someone you love. To have given as much as your blood lets into what you love to do most. But you know, these are all meanings of living, not life. I realise that now that I've written these down. Perhaps the meaning of life is to live? I don’t know for sure. Whatever it is, it must be pretty compelling for us to have all made it so long.

36. Define Art.

I shall be incoherent here, and very unreasonably and possibly silly but bear with it and sorry in advance. To me, there is no such thing as art, truly, because to put any piece of work in a stricture that defines it as 'art', and another thing as not doesn't feel right. How do people generally define art? As something pleasing to look at, something that has meaning enough to ground it to earth or elevate it in space. Both these are dependent on perspective. To you, perhaps a small, crooked and ugly doodle of a snake on the corner of a page may hold meaning and rapture enough to be kept in a box forever. But to me it would be just a scrap of paper, scribbled on. Although that doesn't quite touch the point, you see how art is so much debatable and malleable according to point of view? No little sketch deserves to be not called art, just because it doesn't follow the rules of humanoid, anatomical ratio and it still doesn't look trippy enough to be a surreal piece. No portrait, however pristine can be denied as art even if it didn't have any inherent meaning to it. Sounds contradictory but yes. I hope this ramble didn't cauterize any brain cells, amen.

64. Where is your best friend?

One is in Canada, she moved this month.

One is a district away for holiday, in Chittagong.

One is just a few blocks from here,

Probably curled up in sleep since long.

70. Are you the kind of friend you'd want to have as a friend?

Honestly, I'm at loss. I know too much of how I am inside, and too little of my exterior appearance to like me as a friend. I guess I'd rather enjoy being listened to (well I can listen to close people for hours on end if they want to) and understood, but I'm not sure if I could stand me lol! But for the understanding only, yeah perhaps. It's a selfish motive, and it's the only one, so in the end, things probably might not work out. I'm overthinking this yikes.

89. What would be a question you'd be afraid to tell the truth on?

"What do you love the people around you for?" and "Did you really steal a big fat 30 dollar roll of golden ribbon from Arts class in third grade?" Y-yes I did-

#punctuated anon ♥︎#ask games aaa

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writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

A Tale of Two Poe’s

Poe Dameron x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: AU where Poe Dameron and Edgar Allan Poe both exist in the Star Wars universe. Reader finds a book containing the writings of Edgar Allan Poe and just can’t wait to show her Poe.

A/N: This is a purely self indulgent fic lmao 😂 this AU idea where Poe Dameron and Edgar Allan Poe exist in the same universe came into my head a while back and I just had to write it. Idk if it’s weird or not but I enjoyed writing it lmao- also obviously credit goes to Edgar Allan Poe for all his stories and poem excerpts I use. @writefightandflightclub and @sergeantkane are definitely my go to for Poe fics if you’re curious and they always inspire me to write more for Poe but- there are so many other amazing writers for Poe too. I’ll have to make a fic rec list for him soon. This also is my second fic for my 1000 follower celebration!!! I want to thank you all so much again, this is so surreal!! Thanks for reading and requests are open!!

Warnings: Uhh- a sexual innuendo & talk of death in the war I think that’s it...

Main Masterlist Word count: 2.2k

The amount of bookstores that were left in the galaxy was such a small and minuscule number, most people just used their data pads to read, that is if they read anything at all. It was such a shame, in your opinion. No data pad could truly recreate the magic of a physical book.There was nothing better than opening a book, new or old, the parchment smell wafting around under your nose as you fully enveloped yourself in the words on the page.

You had stopped in at the old library after you had completed a routine information pick up for the resistance. The planet you were on was the beautiful Naboo and you had a couple hours to kill before your partner, Poe came with his x-wing to pick you up. The little vintage book store stood out in the ethereal metropolis of the big city, and you were instantly drawn to it.

When you entered the little shop it was filled wall to wall with books, you had never seen so many books in your life before. Personally, you only had three that you kept on top of your small dresser that you put the small amount of clothes in. They weren’t interesting books to say the least, mostly consisting of military procedurals from your early days in the academy, besides one novel written on a planet far away called Earth named “A tale of two cities”. The book shop made you want to take all of them back to base and read every leisure novel you could ever want to read. However, there was no real time and you didn’t have the money to take all the books home with you, so you settled on picking one that really grabbed your attention.

The book that caught your eye was a black hard cover, so thick because of how many pages it held that you could barely hold it in one hand. The spine said “The complete collection of stories and poems by Edgar Allan Poe” and just by flipping through it a little you gathered that it must have also been written on the planet Earth, just like your one other novel. You loved the other novel and you knew that you were definitely going to bring this book home, even if you didn’t enjoy it at least you could tease Poe about the shared name. But, you had a feeling you were going to enjoy it.

You opened the book to another random page written by the person who held a similar name to your man and landed on a page that had a poem by the name of Annabel Lee. Poems were not something that were often seen in the galaxy anymore, even on the data pads that everyone used. They had fallen into obscurity as a form of literature that was obsolete and pointless.

The poem instantly had you hooked just in the first few lines, it was definitely a sad poem, as you suspected the rest were as well. But, the beautiful well written rhymes seduced you like the sirens you had heard about from Ahch-To. Though, Rey had told you the Thala-sirens were not nearly as beautiful as the myths would have you believe. Realizing that you were getting tight on time you rushed to check out the book, you didn’t want to worry Poe. Once you had paid the kind older lady who ran the shop you ran quickly out to your rendezvous point where Poe was already anxiously waiting.

“Kriff- there you are, I was worried something had happened to you.” His eyes were a bit frantic looking and hair disheveled. he had undoubtedly been looking around for you in worry while running his hands through his hair and had been pacing. Poe needed to learn to relax every once and awhile, he was often an overworrier and was often overworked.

“I’m only a few minutes late, relax. I just had to pick up a little surprise for you.”

“A surprise? What is it?” He reached to grab the parcel that the book had been wrapped in by the owner of the shop. You swiftly pulled the package away from him, you wanted it to be a surprise for later, when you both could relax.

“Hands off- I’ll show you later, be patient.” His indignant sigh only caused you to roll your eyes while you both climbed into the x-wing, with you sitting on Poe’s lap. He was so dramatic sometimes. Maybe, someday you’d get to come back to the bookshop on Naboo to get some more books, with hopefully Poe in tow next time.

—-

When we got back to base you were vibrating with excitement in anticipation of showing Poe the book that had an author with the same name as him. Throughout the entire briefing with Leia she could probably tell that my mind was in a far off place, almost like you still had my head stuck in the book. When she’d finally dismissed you after you had gone through the mission debriefing I bolted to our shared quarters. Once you had gone in the fresher for a quick wash and got dressed for the night you hopped in your small bed that you shared with Poe, but not before grabbing the new book you had added to your collection.

“Come to bed, I’ve got something for you.” You said as soon as Poe got through the door. He always had to check in with the main mechanic that worked on his x-wing right after he came home on a mission, it was the only way he would ever let anyone touch black one.

“Oh? Is it that surprise you were talking about earlier?” His signature cheeky smile that he flashed you while he stripped off his flight suit let you know immediately what he assumed the surprise was.

You threw his pillow he used at him, then accosted him playfully,“It’s not what you think it is you horndog, I’ve got a book for you.”

“A book? You know I don't know how to read.” You wished that you had a third pillow to throw at him in that moment, but you didn’t want to lose your own pillow. There had been many times in your relationship where Poe had stolen your pillow to mess with you and you weren’t about to give him the upper hand.

“Shut it, I’ll read it to you, you big baby.” He was now dressed in your favorite ensemble besides his flight suit, a white tank top, boxers, and nothing else.Patting the bed right next to you, you finally got him to come over to you. He sank down next to you on the bed, making sure to immediately cuddle up into you, you then spoke again,“But, before I do I want you to see what the Author’s name was.”

Handing him over the hardcover he looked at the name on the spine with furrowed brows, then letting out a breath of laughter once he read the Author’s last name. He didn’t read often like he had joked earlier, but he definitely could read the big gold leaf cursive letters that said, Edgar Allan Poe. “Woah, that’s cool. He would’ve been cooler if he had Poe for his first name though.” In response to another cheeky comment from him I bonked him on the head with the book before I started to read, “It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.” As you lilted your voice through the poem you could feel Poe sinking down further into relaxation, which was good since he hardly ever relaxed. He was always on the move all the time because of his vast responsibilities as a commander in the resistance. To be honest, you could do with some more relaxation like this in your life, just you, Poe, and a charging BB-8. You must have paused for a second with your reading because Poe looked up at your with his deep caf colored eyes in question, prompting you to continue, “The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea. — why are you crying?”

A few small tears had welled up in the corners of Poe’s eyes with one spilling over to run down his scruff covered cheeks. He sniffled a bit, wiping away the tears before speaking, “Just reminded me of you and how much I love you. I don’t like thinking about you dying, I don’t think I could survive.”

Your heart broke a little, but also felt filled with the feeling of love. You knew there were even more dark times ahead in the war, you had both even had a conversation of what would happen if one of you passed. You even had letters that were to be read by the other if something were to happen. Even though you had discussed this before, you agreed with Poe, you never wanted to think about what the galaxy would be like without him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You ran your fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth him a bit. You felt a little bad that you had not realized how much it might affect Poe, so you decided to shift the subject to something that hit less close to home, “I’ll read something a bit different. They’re all dark, but I’ll pick one that you’ll enjoy more.”

You then began to read the Cask of Amontillado, which was a story that you both could relate to personally less which meant you could both fully enjoy the story.

“You were right, I liked that one.” He took the book from your hands to inspect the black book further, “How old is this book?”

“I don’t know, probably pretty old. I’ll have to take extra good care of it.”

“Yeah, just as long as that doesn’t become your favorite Poe in your life.” Poe’s signature cheeky grin was back on his face, then tilting his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours.

“Ok, Edgar.” A wide cheeky smile was now on your face, proud of your ‘clever’ new nickname for Poe.

“No no no that nickname better not stick.”

“But- your hair looks so similar to his! Look at all those dark messy curls! I’m keeping the nickname.” You flipped to one of the earlier pages of the book that had a short biography at the front about the author with a print of a portrait of the author. His expression soured once he looked at the portrait, realizing that his curls did in fact, look like the Author’s. He let out a fake disgruntled sigh that did a horrible job of hiding his underlying happiness and flopped down back on the bed to cuddle up with you for the night.

The entire resistance was confused why you had started calling Poe, Edgar whenever you wanted to tease him. But, you guys kept the secret of the tale of two Poe’s, the only people who knew the origins of the nickname were you and your Poe. The nickname definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

—-

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Poe Dameron/SW:

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #star wars #oscar isaac #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #oscar isaac x reader #1000 followers #1000 follower celebration

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yaimlight · 3 years

Text

Part 3 - No

Rating: older teen (swearing and mild sex references)

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x female reader / Todoroki Shoto x female reader / Bakugou Katsuki x female reader x Todoroki Shoto

A/N: part of the Twos Company series but can be read on own. Rest of series can be found on AO3 here.

Part 1

Part 2

———————————————————————

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” you exclaimed loudly as you flung the door open, arms thrown wide and beaming. Shinso looked up from his book, his tired eyes narrowed and a bored look on his face. He rolled his eyes, huffing at you and then turned his attention back to what he was reading. Laughing you closed the door behind you, kicking your shoes off before making your way over to the bed.

He didn’t even look up at you as you climbed onto his bed, eyes fixed on the book in his hands. “Shinso,” you said teasingly, slowly crawling up towards him. His eyes briefly darted up to you before going back to his book. Smirking you crawled over him, settling over his lap and plucked the book from his hands. Huffing he finally looked up at you, folding his arms over his chest. “I was reading that,” he said flatly but you could see his lips curling up into a small smile.

“Well that’s just boring” you said dismissively, not even looking at the book as you closed it and dropped it onto the floor. His small smile fell back into a frown and you knew he was about to have a scold you so you got there first, shuffling back onto his thighs. “I have something much better,” you shoved your hand into your jacket pocket, letting out a triumphant cry as you pulled the lollipop out. You held the heart shaped sweet out to him, ‘be mine’ printed on the front of the glossy red lolly. He looked at it in utter disgust, arms remaining folded and refusing to move. “It’s a thank you, for getting rid of all those letters for me before Katsuki and Shoto got to class this morning,” you stated, wiggling the lolly at him in an attempt to get him to take it.

He had been a reluctant coconspirator this morning, getting rid of all the confession letters and cheap nasty chocolates before your class had arrived, leaving your boxes behind instead. He had bitched and moaned about the whole thing, trying to get you to do it yourself but you had wanted to spend the morning with the two other boys. Plus you had wanted to see the looks on their faces when they realised they didn’t have all the gaudy crap cluttering their desks like they normally would. You hadn’t been counting on there being more idiots trying to confess throughout the day and there had been a slight wobble, well more a cataclysm at how you had handled that situation but thankfully it was all smoothed out, all parties happy again.

You sat on his thighs, spinning the lolly between your fingers and smiling brightly, waiting for him to take it and finally he gave in. Huffing he snatched the sweet off you, unwrapping it quickly and shoving it into his mouth. Beaming you darted forward, placing a quick kiss on his bulging cheek before rolling off of him and flopping down onto the bed. He huffed at you, sucking noisily on the lollipop as you made yourself comfortable on you back, arms folded behind your head. “Honestly Shinso, thank you,” you spoke earnestly, tilting your head so you could look up at him.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled around the sweet though he still managed to sound just as grumpy. Smiling you let your eyes close, letting the gentle quiet and calm wash over you. Today had been annoyingly exhausting and you were happy for the reprieve, letting everything fade apart from the gentle hum of Shinso’s quirk. It was familiar and calming and didn’t inspire the same sort of hunger as Shoto and Katsuki’s did.

“I can’t believe how much shit those two idiots got though,” Shinso grumbled around the lollipop. Suddenly alert you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, eyes snapping open as you turned to look up at him in excitement and hope. “Did you keep them?” He frowned down at you, lips pursed but you just grinned back at him, barely keeping your excitement contained. Sighting he pulled the lolly from his lips and used it to gesture toward his desk. “Over there,” he sighed but you were moving before he had even finished talking. He let out a pained groan as you clambered over him, your knee digging into his stomach and nails catching on his chest but you didn’t stop to apologise.

How you had missed the stack of vibrant envelopes was beyond you but now that you had it in your sights you couldn’t see anything else. You practically flung yourself into his desk chair, snatching a hot pink envelope off the top. You were vaguely aware of Shinso grumbling as he pushed himself round to sit on the edge of the bed but he was not your priority right now. You quickly ripped the envelope open, glancing at the front only long enough to see Shoto’s name before you cast it aside and fumbled open the letter. The sickly sweet smell of roses filled the air, the cheap perfume filling your senses.

Ever since Ashido had brought up how bad last year’s Valentine’s Day had been you had been obsessing over these, desperate to see if they really were as bad as the others had lead you to believe. As your eyes darted across the page you were not disappointed. “Oh my god” you gasped, your voice shaking as you tried not to laugh. Clearing your throat, you sat up a little straighter and proceeded to read the poem out in a clear and melodic voice. “I think I was searching for treasures or stones in the clearest of pools when your face…when your face, like the moon in a well where I might wish…might well wish for the iced fire of your kiss; only on water my lips, where your face…where your face was reflected, lovely, not really there when I turned to look behind at the emptying air…the emptying air*”.

Letting the last word trailed off you finally looked up at Shinso, raising an eyebrow at him as you smirked. His face was scrunched up in a look of disgust. “Was that for Todoroki?” he asked, the judgment clear in his tone. Scoffing you held you hand over his small bin and set the thing up in flames, letting the ashes fall into the bin. “What gave it away?” you said sarcastically. It was well written and you got the sense that whoever had sent it wanted to convey a sense of longing but you also thought that the only reason they had picked it was because it mentioned both fire and ice. “Well at least it made some sort of sense,” Shinso mumbled before sticking the lolly back in his mouth and leaned back on his hands, legs splayed wide.

Snorting you went back to the pile, taking the next one off the top. This one was a soft pink, Katsuki’s name across the front. The letter you pulled out was heart shaped, the same shade of pink as the envelope and the writing in a glittering silver. It looked like something Katsuki would hate, blowing it up before he even looked at it and complaining the whole time. You were expecting it to be just as cringe as the last one but as your eyes flicked over one line to the next you found yourself smiling.

“What?” Shinso mumbled but you didn’t answer him, just looking up at him with a grin and holding out the letter towards him. Huffing he reluctantly pushed up off the bed and trudged over to you, hand held out for the letter. He slumped against the desk and snatched it from your hand. “Whose it for?” he mumbled around the lolly. “Katsuki,” you couldn’t keep the amusement out of you voice, eagerly waiting for his reaction and to your delight he actually read it out loud, his tired and deep voice muffled around the lolly still in his mouth. “Roses are red, and they are thorny. How ‘bout some head, cause you make me horny”.

The look of absolute horror on Shinso’s face had you laughing, your sides aching from it. “That’s disgusting,” he grumbled, going to throw it in the bin but you quickly moved forward, snatching it out of his hands. “No it’s amazing. Do you think they want to suck Katsuki’s dick or want him to suck theirs?” You asked as you reread through the short but amusing poem. “Oh god I do not need that image,” Shinso looked sick, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other rubbing at his temples as he glared at you, as if this was all your fault. Well you suppose in a way it was but regardless of if he had taken the Valentine’s cards or not he still would have heard about them. Especially this one.

Shrugging you folded the letter back up, put it back in its envelope and tucking it into your jacket pocket. “Why are you keeping that?” he hissed in disbelief, looking down at you like you had gone crazy and in all honesty he wasn’t far off. “I’m going to tape it to Katsuki’s door,” you grinned up at him, eyes alight with mischief. Katsuki was bound to be flustered and angry and if anyone other than Shoto found it first he would have to spend all day with his friends teasing him. He would be angry, frustrated and defensive. It would be a perfect opportunity for you to be crude and teasing just to see that perfectly delectable blush on his cheeks. You could already feel how much amusement you were going to get out of it. “I thought you were supposed to like him”. You ignored his snarky comment, instead grabbing another letter and shoving it at him. He huffed as he took it off you but he still opened it.

The two of you spent the next twenty minutes reading through the letters, you taking great pleasure in setting them alight. Some of them were truly awful, not even rhyming and sickly sweet. You and Shinso would share the occasional one that you knew would make the other laugh or feel sick. Most of them were harmless, just girls and a surprising amount of guys gushing generic words of love but there were the odd few that were just a little worrying. One of them went into great detail about Katsuki’s chest and how his muscles glistened with sweat whilst another described how pretty Shoto looked whilst training. You didn’t like it one bit and you made a mental note to pay more attention to the people who hung around the two up and coming heroes whilst they were training.

“Listen to this” Shinso called, snapping your attention back to him and away from your plots of how to get rid of the other boy’s stalkers. At some point he had gone back to his bed, lounging across it with a stack of letters next to him, read ones discarded on the floor. He was sat up now though, a small smirk on his lips and instantly you were suspicious of what would have him looking so happy. He cleared his throat, his voice low and clear and his smile getting bigger with every word he spoke. “I watch from afar, your burning light calling to me like a flame calls a moth to its demise, but you do not see me for your heart beats for another. You can’t see how she hurts you so, her cruel intentions hidden behind her charming smile. You follow her blindly even though she so openly flaunts another’s affection before you. If you were mine I would cherish you like the shinning diamond you are. My devotion to you would know no bounds, my love a constant amongst the chaos but you do not see me, my love cast in shadows as she breaks your heart once more. So I watch from afar, craving your light as you follow blindly, the girl who would see you fall”.

The room feel into silence.

Shinso was grinning madly now and all you could do was stare at him dumbly with your mouth hanging open, the letter you had been holding falling to the floor forgotten. “The actual fuck,” you mumbled in disbelief. “Seems someone thinks you’re a bit of a bitch,” he teased, clearly amused at your dumbfounded expression. “I mean they’re not wrong”. Narrowing your eyes you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and slumping back into the chair. “That’s rich coming from you,” you grumbled. Where the hell did these people get off? Making assumptions like that, treating you like trash to make themselves seem better. Suddenly all the humour you had found in reading the love confessions was gone, leaving a bitter and sour taste in your mouth and all you wanted was to set the whole lot on fire.

Shinso laughed at you once more, his smirk easing into a teasing smile and he chucked the letter onto the pile of discarded letters on his floor. “You can’t really blame people for thinking your stringing them both along though. Considering how you are with them,” he said offhandedly but his words made something twist in your chest. Was that really what it seemed like? Did people think you were leading them on for what, fun? Because you could? Did Katsuki and Shoto feel the same way?

It wasn’t your intention to make it seem like that, it’s just that you liked them both and it had all just kind of happened. It had never occurred to you before now that what you were doing could be considered cruel and the thought left you feeling sick, guilt twisting in your gut and making you second guess everything you had done today. Shoto knew it was you that had sent the chocolates but would he think they were just another meaningless flirtation? “I’m not stringing them along,” you mumbled, frowning sadly down at your socked feet. Your purposely mismatched socks that Momo had gifted you for Christmas, one to look like Katsuki’s hero costume and the other to look like Shoto’s. You had thought your feeling had been obvious, your genuine affection for the two would be heroes clear for everyone to see but apparently not.

Shinso sighed, the bed creaking as he shifted. The atmosphere had changed, the light and teasing air of things becoming serious and honestly a little bleak. And you had been having such a good day. “You know all this could be avoided if you just asked one of them out”. Your eyes went wide, head snapping up at Shinso’s exasperated words. He was frowning at you, tired eyes filled with a mix of emotions that you didn’t really care for. “No,” you growled out angrily, narrowing your own eyes as you glared at him. “Why?” he snapped, arms crossed over his chest.

This wasn’t the first time the two of you had had this conversation. Not even the first time this week. Things would be so much easier if you were the one to do the asking, to put aside the flirting and teasing and take the initiative. You could just pull one of them aside and say ‘go on a date with me’ and they would say yes. Hell you could probably get away with just telling them you were dating now but there was one important thing you would have to do before that and that was an impossible thing to do. Because for you to ask one of them out you would have to choose witch one you wanted to go out with the most and you couldn’t do that because you simply didn’t want one of them more than the other one.

It had been bad enough having to suffer through that broken look on Katsuki’s face when you had had to turn down spending New Years with him. You didn’t think you could stomach how he would look if you chose Shoto over him. Nor the look on Shoto’s face if you bushed him aside for the angry blonde. It wasn’t lost on you how lucky you were that the normally distant and oblivious teens had taken an interest in you, Ashido having told you that most people had given up trying to date them as they were so oblivious or against it. So you knew that for them to act the way do with you was nothing more than a small miracle but it also left you spoiled. You had spent so long without people touching you that now you had two people who seemed to crave it as much as you did it left you desperate, so enamoured with both of them that you couldn’t bring yourself to choose between the two.

Oh god this was hopeless.

Deciding to try and deflect Shinso’s questions you sighed dramatically, looking down your nose at him and levelling him with an unimpressed look. “That’s not how these things work Shinso. The guy asks the girl out not the other way round,” you said condescendingly, waving your hand between the two of you as you spoke. He arched an eyebrow at you, arms still crossed over his chest and making his arm muscles seem even bigger as they strained against the short sleeves of his t-shirt.

He really was good looking and not for the first time you thought about how much easier things would have been if you had fallen for him instead of Katsuki and Shoto. He knew everything there was to know about you and accepted it, despite all the horrors you had been wrapped up in over the years. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that if one of them actually grows a pair of balls and asks you out then you don’t have to make the decision of witch one to hurt”. You physically flinched at his words, his knowing and chiding tone making you feel guilty for trying to hide the truth.

Perhaps he knew you to well at this point, able to call you out on all your bullshit. Sighing you slumped back into the chair, arm flung over the back rest and legs dangling over the arm. “Exactly” you mumbled as you tipped your head back, flinging your other arm over your eyes in a childish attempt to block everything else out.

There had to be an easier way to do this that didn’t involve you having to choose between the two of them. You were running out of time. Finals were literally days away and you barely had a month before everyone graduated and you were shipped off to the next safe house. You scoffed at that. Safe house was putting it lightly. Where you were going was a newly built high security underground prison designed to be completely impenetrable and for the worst of the worst. This thing hidden so far out in the wilds of Alaska that no matter how hard people looked they would never find you.

You had a handful of weeks before your time ran out and you lost your chance forever.

Shinso huffed, the muffled sounds of him moving around and muttering to himself bringing a small smile to your lips. You would miss this when you were gone and it was a shame that you hadn’t gotten to spend as much time with him as you had hoped to, what with Katsuki practically frothing at the mouth every time he was so much as brought up in conversation let alone you brought him with you when you spent time with the blonde. You got that he was jealous but you couldn’t really see the problem he had with Shinso. Sure he could be rude and loved nothing more than to get under Katsuki’s skin but couldn’t he see that you were just friends?

Like a lightbulb going off you found your answer and you jolted up, startling Shinso with you sudden action. You smiled widely at him, eyes alight as you leaned forward. “What?” he asked hesitantly, eyeing you suspiciously. “Katsuki absolutely hates you and Shoto can only just about stand you,” you exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. His hesitance vanished, eyes narrowing and lips twisted into a frown. “Is this going somewhere?”

You pushed up and out of the chair, almost tripping over your own feet in your deprecation to get to him. You threw yourself at him, his tired eyes widening in panic as his arms shot out to grab hold of you. The two of you went tumbling back, Shinso ending up sprawled across his bed and you practically laying on top of him. You pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees, hovering over him and still grinning a little manically. “If they thought that you and I were going on a date it might encourage them to actually do something”.

You shifted your weight onto one hand, quickly tapping him on the end of the nose. It was a brilliant idea and you couldn’t believe you hadn’t thought of it before. It was probably wrong to deceive them like that but desperate times call for desperate measures and you were truly desperate at this point.

“No. Absolutely not,” he snapped, hands gripping at you tightly as he shoved you off of him and onto the bed before he stood, shoving a hand through his already messy hair and going to walk away from you. Groaning you sat up, hands darting out to grab at his arm and keeping him in place. “Shinso please. I haven’t got long left before I get shipped off to fucking Alaska. Please for me?” you begged him, eyes wide and pleading even though he wasn’t looking at you. It was a low blow, reminding him of your impending return to prison but you knew he wanted you to have memories to take back with you and though he was against it he would give in to you. Just like every time before.

Groaning he lifted a hand to his face, rubbing it over his eyes. The room fell into silence as you waited for his answer. You could feel the hum of his quick under your hand, almost pulsing like another heartbeat. It was slow and steady and strong, tempting and familiar though not in the way Katsuki’s and Shoto’s were. Your hunger for their power would probably never leave you but after having them at your disposal almost every day since you had arrived it had become less all consuming. Shinso’s was still some sort of comfort though and you would miss his gentle purple glow and the open ease in which he let you touch him.

“Fine but you owe me” he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as his hand fell and he turned to look at you with a sad almost smile. “Anything,” you promised and you were not surprised to realise you meant it. Shinso could ask you to move mountains and topple empires and you would, just so he knew how much you appreciate him and everything he had done for you in the last year.

Huffing out in laughter Shinso returned to the bed, slipping his arm from your as he went. He sat back against the headboard, arm slung over it and looking at you expectantly. Smiling softly you crawled up the bed, slotting against his side and wrapping an arm around his middle. His own arm draped across your shoulders, pulling you closer and you went willingly, soaking in as much of the physical contact you could get before you went god knows how long without it.

You fell into silence again, Shinso absentmindedly playing with your hair. At some point he had retrieved his book from the floor, holding it in one hand and using his fingers to awkwardly flip the pages. It was nice, relaxing even and you were content to stay there for a while. “So is there a plan for this or you just want me to go taunt your little guard dogs into action,” Shinso’s casual tone threw you, having thought you were done talking for now.

Tipping your head back you were surprised to find him already looking down at you. Nervously your eyes darted off to the side and to the now rather small stack of envelopes on his desk. As much as the idea of Shinso just storming up to you whilst you were with the other two teens seemed funny it was also a sure fire way for him to end up with a broken nose and either frost bite or third degree burns. Plus you didn’t want him to actually ask you out, you just wanted the hint of it. Wanted Katsuki and Shoto jealous and panicked enough to act quickly and without giving it to much thought.

Sighing you turned back to him, patting him gently on the chest and giving him your best look of fond exasperation. “I think we can be a little more subtle then that”. He huffed out a little laugh, lips curling up into a rare soft smile. Not as rare as either Katsuki’s or Shoto’s but still infrequent enough that you would cherish it for years to come. “No pink unicorns and picnics on the moon then,” he teased, his words startling your own huff of laughter out of you. “Unfortunately no,” you smiled, turning your gaze away from him and looking down at the book that now lay open and forgotten on his lap. Your eyes darted across the page, taking in the small snippet of story and you recognise it for what it is, a bloody and gruesome tale designed to leave the reader not only horrified and scared but haunted by the possibilities of what lurked in the dark.

If it was nightmares he was after you could give him that, no fiction needed just the story of how you had come to be here at U.A. It wouldn’t be much of a tale, no happy ending to speak of. Just a small glimmer of hope before bleak despair took over. Max would scream until he was red in face if you told Shinso everything, he was already angry enough when he found out how much the perpetually tired teen knew but there had been no point lying after he had forced the first truth from your lips and the subsequent beat down he had received afterwards.

Sighing you glanced at the clock that sat on his bedside table, the neon red numbers glowing brightly. “I should go,” you mumbled, reluctantly pushing away from Shinso’s warmth and shuffling off the bed. You had been due in Evans’ office almost an hour ago now and he would only give you so much time before he went looking for you. Normally you wouldn’t care but you had told Shoto where you were going and he and Katsuki would be the first people Evans went to, not even bothering to turn your tracker on and just assuming you would be with them like always.

Shinso didn’t say anything but you could feel his eyes on you as you headed towards the door, shoving your shoes back on with a pout. He seemed to sense the shift in your mood, something that was getting more frequent the closer the end of the school year got and thankfully he allowed you the time to gather your wits before heading off to the mandatory meeting with Evans’. Things had been rather tense between you and the detective since Christmas and you were not looking forward to another hour or so of the awkward and stilted small talk that would proceed him telling you what you really wanted to know.

Your father hand been spotted in South Korea not even a week ago, rather brazenly actually, even smiling at the security camera before leaving the bank he had just robbed. He wanted you to know he was coming for you, was dragging it out as probably some kind of punishment, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind just so you could see as he got closer and closer. It was worrying everyone, even the teachers were tense and on edge. Plans had been brought forward in reaction to his ever tightening grasp, your departure for Alaska now set to happen whilst the graduation ceremony took place instead of afterwards like it had been planned originally.

You, the detective and a select few heroes would slip out amongst the commotion and fan fair, using the whole thing as a diversion. It would be a shame you wouldn’t get to say goodbye, wouldn’t get to see your friends happy faces as they transition from heroes in training to actual licensed and fully qualified heroes but it was probably for the best. If you actually had to say goodbye to Katsuki and Shoto you didn’t think you would make it, braking down before the words even made it past your lips.

Shinso opened the door for you, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and watching you intently as if he was looking for some sign that you were about to break and he would have to catch the pieces. Turning you offered him a smile, trying to make it as wide and playful as you could muster. “Lunch tomorrow?” you wiggled an eyebrow at him, tongue pocking out from between your lips. He huffed in amusement rolling his eyes at you but he was smiling softly again so you counted it as a win.

His smile turned into something wicked and you groaned at his next words, “sure you can help me cram for finals”. That was the last thing on your mind right now. Even if you did have to take the stupid tests, they didn’t change anything for you and at this point it all seemed like a gigantic waist of everyone’s time but not for Shinso, so if he wanted help you would give it to him but you wouldn’t be happy about it. “Fine but I will do it reluctantly with a lot of complaining and a fair amount of inappropriate comments” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and giving him a pointed look. “So no different to normal then”.

You stuck your tongue out at him, his laughter low and rumbling. The whole exchanged had lifted your spirits slightly and with a mumbled “night” you blew him a kiss and headed on your way, the gentle click of his door closing sounding before you had even made it to the end of the corridor.

The common room was full as you made your way through, people turning and calling out greetings as you passed and you made sure to smile back brightly, wishing them all good night as you went. Class B had gotten used to you coming and going months ago and they hardly payed you any attention now when you came breezing in like you lived there. You were lucky Vlad King didn’t kick you out on your ass every time he caught you despite how often he told you off for disappearing into Shinso’s room for hours at a time. The only reason you could think you got away with it was because they all knew that you and Shinso weren’t doing anything other than studying or sleeping. Well not sleeping in Shinso’s case.

The night was cool as you stepped outside, the sun already on its way to setting. Sighing you contemplated just saying fuck it and head back to the dorms and barge your way in to whatever Katsuki or Shoto were up to but Evans would just come looking and ruin all your fun. As if on queue your phone dinged loudly, signalling at text and you quickly retrieved it, already knowing who it was from and sure enough the detectives name was showing in a little text bubble. You huffed at his words, the threat of having only five minutes to show yourself before he went looking for you a real one that you had ignored many times before and had ended up almost being dragged to his office. You sent him a quick text, telling him you were coming before shoving the phone back into your pocket.

You shot your dorm a longing look as you hurried past, eyes darting up to where you knew Shoto’s room to be and finding the light on. You wondered if he had told Katsuki yet that you had been the one to gift them the chocolates or if he had kept that little bit of information to himself? Either way it didn’t really matter, you didn’t think it would make either of them suddenly want to ask you out. You could only hope that whatever you and Shinso ended up doing worked.

You had never been on a date before and rather liked the idea of your first one being with either Katsuki or Shoto. It would be a good memory to take with you when you left. You could only hope that it would end up being a good memory for them as well.

*Echo by Carol Ann Duffy

#bnha fanfiction #mha #my hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugou x todoroki #todoroki x reader #ao3 fanfic #bakugou x reader x todoroki #bakugou katsuki #todobaku #valentines #dorks in love #TCTC #twos company threes a crowd

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the-master-maid · 3 years

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I make an attempt at…Poetry Analysis (Tolkien; In Western Lands) and end up referencing Scotland’s worst poet

In western lands beneath the Sun

the flowers may rise in Spring,

the trees may bud, the waters run,

the merry finches sing.

Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night

and swaying beeches bear

the Elven-stars as jewels white

amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey's end I lie

in darkness buried deep,

beyond all towers strong and high,

beyond all mountains steep,

above all shadows rides the Sun

and Stars for ever dwell:

I will not say the Day is done,

nor bid the Stars farewell.

- Tolkien, Lord of the Rings

I am no man! sorry, I mean, I am no poetry major! So, if the following analysis makes you weep (and the tears shed are not the happy tears of one who believes they’ve just encountered the next great literary critic) send me an ask, let me know or just think to yourself, “well, this is shite but nae mind. The Mastermaid can go hang for all I care. I’d rather read William Topaz McGonagall anyway.” and fyi, WTM is known as the worst poet in Scotland. People used to throw cabbages at him in the 1800s, poor sod!

What poetic meter is this poem written in? Tolkien always uses traditional poetic meter. long after it went out of fashion, I might add. Hip with the kids in the age of jazz and razzmatazz he was not! Nor were he and Lewis jumping into a motorcar together to get stoned and take to the open road while riffing on Kerouac. No, they were cozying up in a pub and probably trying not to make moony eyes at each other while they argued about God. But, I digress…

Meter, what meter!?

Iambic Tetrameter alternating with iambic trimeter maybe? It’s the same meter as Lewis Carrol's the Walrus and the Carpenter.

Iambic Heptameter (Fourteener) featuring rhyming couplets.? AABBCCDD rhyme structure. Each couplet rhymes in two places, at the end of the first part of the line and at the very end. I suppose that’s why each half-line is actually written on a separate line? (and if you are counting each separate line then you get the rhyming structure: ABABCDCD, EFEFBGBG. Perhaps someone with more knowledge of poetic structure can let me know if any of this is correct and how best to show the structure of this poem...)

There’s a rising and falling throughout the poem as the poet speaks of the things in the sky: sun, stars, birds, cloudless night, tree branches, high towers, steep mountains, and the things down low down; deep buried darkness, the flowers rising in spring, waters running. The very images that are touched upon bring one up and down, up to the sun, down to the earth, up to the stars, down to deeply buried darkness. Up to towers and mountains and stars. Inside this up and down movement of the images is further movement located in nature; water running, trees budding, birds singing. The images of home are very much alive. Moving, singing, growing. But the images near the beginning (the sun) and at the end (the stars) are things from the heavens.

At the beginning of the poem though, the poet has to take us out of the dark and empty tower where we sit with Sam in despair and so the first thought is the western lands. The lands that pull us out. Once we are out of the tower and in the western lands, we are free to see up to the heavens and down to the little things on the earth.

The “may” is interesting. It illustrates the poet's hope that these natural cycles are happening or perhaps that these things are allowed to happen: the flower may rise, trees may bud ...the poet then imagines that perhaps it is night there, but the night he imagines far away in the west is not evil but full of elven starlight and beech trees: things of beauty and not of fear and evil. It brings to mind that thought that Tolkien may have given to Gandalf (can’t look it up at the moment as I’m rather horizontally prone) that even darkness was not evil in the beginning. Or of Bombadil when he says that he walked in darkness before the shadow… a theme, a motif, if you will; the idea of a pure darkness before the Fall.

I am told that when studying poetic meter you have to scan it with specially marks that make you look either like you are Someone Really Smart or like an actor auditioning for A Beautiful Mind. You need a way to write the rhythm; da-dum da-dum da-dum da-dum (short/unstressed followed by long/stressed syllable) Or dum-da da-dum dum dum …well, you get the picture. So I’ve used x for my da snd / for my dum. Definitely makes you feel like a S.R.S. until you get it wrong and end up metaphorically knocking your head on the piano like that composer muppet in the 1980s Sesame Street, and yelling “I’ll never get it, never, never.” Sorry, digressing again…

Here goes my attempt at scansion and noting the rhyming pattern.

x / x / x / x / x / x / x / II

A) In western lands beneath the Sun the flowers may rise in Spring,

x / x / x / x / x / x / x / II

A) the trees may bud, the waters run, the merry finches sing.

B) Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night and swaying beeches bear

B) the Elven-stars as jewels white amid their branching hair.

C) Though here at journey's end I lie in darkness buried deep,

C) beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep,

D) above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell:

D) I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell.

The poet only gives one line to his present predicament (though here at journey’s end…) and he chooses to focus on the things that are beyond the reach of the darkness. From the beginning of the second stanza he also starts with himself being at ‘journey’s end’ a reference to death and hopelessness of ever getting out. But by the fourth line, he says ‘I will not say the day is done, nor bid the stars farewell’: he resists and refuses to say the day is done, he refuses to say goodbye. He is resisting hopelessness and evil, darkness and death. His hopelessness, in other words, is short lived. It very much is a Sam poem. And of course, the only thing that can make Sam feel any hopelessness whatsoever is the loss of frodo.

#poetry #poetry analysis #tolkien #tolkien poetry #sam and frodo #humour post #funny poetry analysis #funny #random William topaz mcgonagall reference

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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tales of a perfect rhyme

title: tales of a perfect rhyme pairing: son hyunwoo/reader genre: poet!au/painter!au/forbidden love!au/friends!au summary: Sometimes, you’re bad at exactly what you desire to become the most. That’s her case and it also is Hyunwoo’s when they realize that they are not exactly good at the arts they desire. Yet, their youthful personalities and their blossoming love seems enough to stay happy throughout their toughest times, until it is not enough. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor word count: 12,540 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

Without the chirping tone of birds outside her window, what would be of her? Without the sunshine that gleams through it, the smell of fruits lingering in the air—too dulcet, yet too necessary, what would her life be like?

The question does not go through her head often, for her mind remains too busied by the beauty of the winery around her. Her house, on its own, is surrounded by fields and fields of fruits, green and blooming, the peak of existence. The oxygen in her lungs has always been easier to breathe, more lightweight, the reason as to why mischief is the first thing she thinks about when the ashes of sleep are dusted away from her face.

This room has seen her grow up into the woman she is today. With old paintings from her youthful days, running up to her uncle with paint-stained fingertips creating images of the rainbows she’d get to see after every ounce of rain. Some of them are newer—a portrait that said uncle, the owner of the winery, had gifted her for her seventeenth birthday, and clearly…some of her newest pieces of art. Nothing too excellent, mixes of colors a la Pollock, not quite looking for a shape or an imagery, but a feeling instead. One that she always dares to call normality—it may be happiness, just like it may be a routine, but in her thoughts, she knows that whichever way she decides to go, the winery will always be her home.

The paint on her walls is a contrast to her colorful sundress, yellow with daisies on top of it, but the length is not exactly what she is looking for. To anyone that has seen her walk through the streets, or simply riding on her bicycle, they’ve captured a glimpse of her style. The painted sneakers, the fixed dresses, the shirts that end up bleached or died or cut. The itch starts from her soul and ends up on the tips of her fingers, desiring to make a change in her life that can translate through her. She thinks that happiness shall be shown as long as it’s had, and it shall be prided on.

Perhaps, the reason of her happiness may be having breakfast right now and her gloss-coated lips press together while she looks at her reflection in the mirror. A pair of scissors is already going through the edge of the sundress—making it a tad bit shorter, a lesson that she learned when she had her second boyfriend and she felt more confident on her choices of clothing. The thing is…there are days in which she wants to exude the mentality that art is in herself, in a way, that as long as she can create something, her mind may never be dulled.

The fabric is shorter by the time she steps out of her room, not perfect, but sufficiently flowy for her to walk down the set of stairs and approach the cream-colored kitchen. The microwave is buzzing, her uncle’s shaggy head of hair covering the majority of the surface while he leans down to look at the coffee cup that is being heated inside the machine. The old man has done nothing but support her dream, that one memory of her youth that told her to be an artist…even when everyone else had told her that she’s not good at it.

Art is not about being good, she tries to tell herself. It’s about enjoying life in a different way. About feeling and letting others feel.

It will never pay the bills for her, but that’s why the winery exists.

Her attention is caught on someone else, sipping on a colder drink of coffee, then slurping from the spoon hovering over his rice bowl, so heated that a cloud forms on top of the breakfast. One of the winery workers, with golden skin and matted black hair, more often than not faintly moved away from his eyes, to show those small senses of gravity in their chocolate hues. His lips are plumped up, as if he’s always blowing on his meals to eat them—and that may be the case, for one of the few times in which she gets to see Hyunwoo open his mouth is when he is relishing on the taste of her Uncle’s infamous cooking.

Or that’s what the other workers at the winery say; that Hyunwoo is sweet, but too quiet. So eerily quiet that he seems to blend into any wall, any floor, any seat…though, she cannot see it that way. The moment Hyunwoo stepped into that winery, she was very well out of a relationship and promising to the world that love does not exist. She’d said she would never take any other man seriously, and he came in like a gentle breeze. Not a tornado. Not a tsunami, like the soft reminder of his laughter early in the morning, or the looks spared throughout a few months until a friendship started in between the two of them.

Her weight leans forward, staring at Hyunwoo’s eyes when he captures her gaze before jotting her chin forward. “Give me some of that,” She says, making sure that she crosses her arms under her chest, legs extending as a way of capturing his attention. And she has it, shredded glimpses of his interest in his eyes, in the way those lips quirk up and give her a foretaste of that soul that hides underneath his quiet nature. To some, he ruins the mood. For her, he creates it.

“Your uncle made you a plate.” He tells her, though his spoon is already balancing itself on the expanse of his hand, nearing her lips until they part and take a bite of the meal, paired with eggs. When the spoon is once again nearing his plate to scrape some contents off, her eyes trail to the notebook by his side, some words scribbled, others hidden under the blurred lines of a word he may not have liked…and still, Hyunwoo opts to use a pen.

“You got some writing done during the weekend?” And perhaps, a poet-to-be like Hyunwoo should really go for a laptop, and a Word Document at that, but his style is to keep it simple. Hyunwoo may not be the most profound, romantic of men—heck, he may not be one of those rooted poets that grow up to be stars every few years, creating a new wave to be remembered by textbooks, but the relaxed expressions on his features when finally having somewhere in which he can voice out his thoughts and concerns is more than she could ever ask for.

Hyunwoo nods, ready to spurt some knowledge of his endeavors back at home when her Uncle clears his throat, resting the expanse of her plate on the counter, the seat that she would be taking place in right beside her Uncle’s favorite worker. His strength has helped her Uncle endlessly, with carrying the wines, organizing them, making sure that his poor, old bones don’t struggle at the mere weight of his bent knees. “Pull your skirt down and stop fluttering your eyelashes like that.” Her Uncle says, giving her a pointed look when she simply shrugs her shoulders.

“Can’t pull it down, I already cut it.”

“One would think that once you became an adult, you wouldn’t be so…stubborn, but the older…the worse it becomes.” Though, the tiredness in his voice doesn’t dismiss the nostalgia on his tone. Days that were difficult, yet part of her growing-up process. The leather of the seat digs on the back of her thighs when she takes her spoon in between her fingers, her other hand already sneaking to reach for Hyunwoo’s notebook and read over his poems.

Something about him will always be tranquil. Just like wine, he makes her feel—sleepy, a bit heated, ready to embark in her biggest adventure but take it slow while in the process. He swirls on her tongue, intoxicates her, leaves a flutter on the pit of her stomach, a heartbeat against the other to race and see who wins, it brings her to the sky and puts her down on her feet in such a gentle, caring way. “Ah…I’ve heard that before. I’ll settle down eventually.”

Though, while munching on her meal and hearing the utensils on both men’s hands moving with precision to eat as fast as possible before getting to work, her fingers hook on the small, yellow, somewhat bitten pencil that rests in between the pages, scribbling down a note that only Hyunwoo could read.

“When will you write me a poem?” She writes first, on the last line of the one poem she read before drawing an arrow towards the piece of art itself. “Also, you’re improving.”

The pencil glides from her fingertips for him to take, and she swears she sees his expression lighten up, cheeks filled with food when he writes some words of his own. “What do you want me to write about?”

The action repeats itself, sparing one glance at her Uncle, too lost in the news displayed on the television to pay attention to her. “Whatever I make you feel.”

His response reads: “I can’t.”

She voices her thoughts out, speaking in a hushed voice while looking at him. Hyunwoo’s trembling expression turns towards her Uncle, but she knows that the old man is not what is stopping him—if anything, her Uncle would be over the moon if she got to date Hyunwoo, more seriously past this flirty relationship they hold. Instead, she basks on his presence, his manly scent, the way his white t-shirt hugs his body, jeans cladding his thick legs. “Why? Do I make you that speechless?” She counterparts, quirking an eyebrow when Hyunwoo chuckles and shakes his head.

“I just need time to think about it.” He whispers. “I’m not that good of a poet, yet.”

“You write about the winery, though. The trees, the fruits, the people here. Why not me?”

Why not her? Why not the woman that has promised herself that she’d capture his gaze and practically make it impossible to tear it away from her? To have Hyunwoo has always seemed holy, in a way, almost like getting an angel sent directly to her…all memories of the past few years merging into one single thought: that it has never happened. Without a lot of trying, and with a lot of work to do on the winery and on their preferred choices of art…it never happened. “It will happen someday.”

Though, she can only pucker her lips up, taking another bite of her meal before leaning back on her seat, arms crossed over her chest as a way to release the stress that is pent-up inside of her. Maybe, Hyunwoo would not see her a muse—that one person that takes every single breath away from his lungs, even in a place filled with trees. Or that one person who clouds his mind, even in his dreams, creating images of what-could-have-been’s that he can only fantasize about. “I won’t get younger at the pace you’re going.” The only sound she receives is his chuckle, shaking his head at her antics. This counts another day of a failed try of getting to be his muse, or simply to see more of a glimpse of interest from him. Not surprising, though somehow digging on her chest, she stands up from her seat after a few quick bites of her meal, doing her best to finish the rice before she continues on with her day.

Not without wrapping her fingers around his shoulder to speak into his ear:

“You’re lucky wine gets better with the passage of time.”

###

The trees wave against each other, dancing with the wind, singing their lonesome blues with every movement of their leaves. Instead, she finds the happiness in them—in the hope that the Sun glares down onto their existences, in the way animals seem to be happy around the winery and in the workers, too, not only Hyunwoo but everyone else, as well. Though, if she’s honest with herself, she wishes she could be a good artist, for painting Hyunwoo should be the best benefit for a person of artistic desire.

He’s far away, like he always is. So close, yet so far away when the day is welcomed into their lives. Another day in which she has to smile to hide the absolute adoration behind her eyes and another shrug of her shoulders when her uncle asks anything about Hyunwoo and herself. There’s nothing, she says, and it may be like that—if it was not for the way he smiles at her when he looks up from his position at picking up the sweetened violet grapes, because those eyes scream for her to finally settle down.

For him.

With him.

To have him.

The concept had always been foreign to her—settling down. There are too many beautiful people in this world; too many lips to taste; too many nights to remember. Plenty of times had she heard the words whore or slut used to describe her around the city, small in comparison to the ones in other countries…and she’d say that the concept is so…antique. Perhaps, she could image the word escaping the lips of a sexist man trying to sound remotely attractive while also demolishing the amount of things a woman can do…or, something easier, it’s the word that people use when they can’t understand the complexity of dating. Or maybe, she just sees it from the other end of the spectrum.

But Hyunwoo did not see her like some cheap woman who would much rather have her legs opened than her mind, because that’s not the case…and it will never be for him. The beige hat to shelter him from the sun moves a bit with the wind when his fingers stretch to wave at her, a gentle smile on his features—one that reads have a nice day, instead of the usual this is just a pleasantry before we have sex and have to pretend we don’t know each other after. And surely, with any other man she would have gotten tired…she would have simply said that not a lot of people are made for kissing and telling.

But this is Hyunwoo, the one man that saw her as an artist, as the glide of her brush against a canvas that reads…nonsensical matters. No one sees her art as worthy. No one but Hyunwoo.

When she stares back at the canvas, right after sending a wave back, she realizes that what she does is not art. If she had to conceptualize it, she’d go past Van Gogh or Pollock, past whatever The Louvre could show—that’s the history of art, but it happened way before all those people that crafted the popular side of art. Why is it that people had forgotten that they are art themselves? Art that when described, when coming to life, could be beautiful just like how it could be utterly disgusting. In her eyes, there will never be enough museums and art history books that would ever be able to help her become the artist that would showcase something to the world that matches what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

Her fingers hook around her sketchbook, moving away from the living room of the house while the flapping of wings dulls after two seconds of its initiation, her parrot resting on her shoulder. It may be a bit movie-esque, and Hyunwoo has compared her to a pirate countless times, but nature exists within her…and Hyunwoo is the tranquility that matches her softened heart. A heart that has prickled edges, too much intelligence for its own good, but that can become warm at the mere sight of him.

Art goes past colors—past the damned lines that she does in the name of showing what it is that goes through her head, past what she could ever comprehend, perhaps more understood by an expert…but she can give a name to what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

The caress of fingertips over someone’s back. Traced over lines, bumps, love handles, marks, reddened spots, moles—softly, gently, chilling, relaxing, yet so intimate. It can be done wrongly, when asking for a massage after a long day to someone who is not interested, for example; just like it can be the most miniscule of gestures that breathe out an ‘I love you’. Hyunwoo, with his voice alone, makes her feel like a teenager that has gotten her waist grabbed for the first time—not with a pull to make her feel uncomfortable, but with gentleness, the steps in between them taken far too slowly, too meticulously.

But…she’s not the type to get scared about what her uncle may think if Hyunwoo ends up dating her.

So, what is it that stops her?

Hyunwoo is kneeling down, the fabric of his pants dirtied by mud, his white tank top showing his glowing sweaty skin in the faintest golden color. With a raise of his eyebrow and a stare from the corner of his eye, he says: “Isn’t that my favorite pirate?”

Her fingers move at their own accord with her little pencil, too worn out that it creates the faintest of lines. She starts with the shape of his face—oval, with small eyes that glisten immensely, one more closed than the other as if deep in thought; his lips, plump, asking for a kiss, making her beg mentally to have him speak more. He doesn’t speak enough for how delicious his voice is to hear. “Depends. Jack Sparrow is not on your list?”

“Not when you exist.”

“Smooth.” She replies, looking at her sketch and furrowing her eyebrows. Realism is not her forte—but what is, really? Deep in this whole nonsensical heartbreaker stance that she has created for her, lost in a never-ending summer, she has tried to cover that insecure part of herself. The one woman that never grew up as a talented individual—that loved art, but was never good at it. Hyunwoo is the same with poetry, though he’s far more talented at other stuff around the winery, and an exquisite wine preparator. “I tried to draw you, but it looks like the lovechild of…a goblin and yourself, actually.”

“I wanna see.” He says, knees creaking when he stands up, nearing her body and making her pet parrot fly away. Sunny, an odd name for a parrot…but it just happened to stick around in between the staff at the winery.

Pressing the sketchbook to her chest, she looks into his eyes. “No. I’m shy.”

“You read my poems all the time—” Hyunwoo starts before squinting his eyes, smiling at her when tilting his head to the side to inspect her features. “Wait, did you just say that you are shy?”

For a woman who claims to love sex, casual dating and never getting too attached to anyone—for people are just that, equals, individuals supposed to coexist with each other to get to the end-line, she has definitely gotten attached to Hyunwoo. She’d say, even, he’s the cause of her abrupt stop in dating around. “I mean, I can be shy about things.” She starts, a shrug given by her shoulders. “Much more when those things look like shit.”

“Is it the first time that you’ve tried drawing me?” He asks, and she finds herself speechless.

“Depends.”

“Stop saying depends—”

“Would you think it’s silly of me if I had tried drawing you before?”

Twirling around after his response, a smile crept up on her features when she hears him say: “I’d think it’s sweet.” He tells her, the creaking of grass under his boots sounding behind her, holding her sketchbook to her chest, her dress moving with every movement she gives.

“I never do you justice, though.” She answers, trying to get away from him simply to tease—to have him chasing, following, at the edge of his seat for every word she says. Hyunwoo is a man that has, at least, a vast majority of the people in the city head over heels for him, and to see his quiet persona crumble into a bashful beam at her presence boosts her ego, truthfully—and gives her hope, if anything. For what? Only God would know.

“Don’t look down on your art.”

“We both know it’s not art.”

At that moment, he takes her by the wrist, turning her around until the expanse of his wide and toned chest connects with hers. Eyes to eyes, lips to lips, and when he breathes out an answer, she swears the air has sent her a kiss from him her way. “I’ll give you something and you give me your sketchbook to see how you drew me.”

Her eyes roam his features before scoffing. “Money?”

“I don’t have money, you know that.”

“Ah, a kiss?” Trying her luck, Hyunwoo raises an eyebrow, chuckling at her words.

“Not when all the workers are looking at us.”

“I’ve done worse—”

“I know,” Hyunwoo indicates. “But I’m not one of your worse moments.”

“Right, you’re the best.” She mumbles, knowing that losing him would probably hurt her as much as a blade digging into her sternum, towards her heart, dissipating to the rest of her body—electrifying her with one last breath. His fingers slip into the pocket of his baggy jeans, getting a small notepad out before putting it on her hold, snatching her sketchbook away from her hands just in time to open it.

Her eyes flicker towards the opened notepad, reading pages and pages of a supposed ‘her’. The poems are short, far too small for them to be thought-out pieces, but…they exude the kind of love that is simplistic, softened, all around a bit immature. “You know?” Hyunwoo answers, ripping the page away from her sketchbook before giving it back to her. “I’m going to keep this.”

“I’ll only keep this if the ‘her’ in the poems is me.”

Hyunwoo gives a few steps away from her, walking backwards as he speaks. “…Wouldn’t you want to know.”

The world shines brighter for a second, in the way it falls over his body and clads him in the shape of her daydreams. Where they stand will always be the reason of her reminiscing, something that shall never be taken away from her. “I do,” She adds, arms crossed, rushing towards where he is. “Because I’m the perfect rhyme for anything you think about.” She teases, knowing fully well that Hyunwoo’s mind will always be a mystery to her—but she knows there is attraction, this magnetism in between them that keeps them close, much more when he halters his steps, hands ending up on top of her uncovered arms.

A rhyme is more than tunes that sound the same. A rhyme needs profoundness, meaning, history after history behind syllables that match. “…You’re not wrong.” Hyunwoo breathes out, the wind blowing a bit on his hat, his hand reaching up to keep it in place. “Just, read the poems, don’t overthink it.”

“I won’t.”

And he leaves, blocking the noise of the birds with his steps, with the hum on his voice as he relishes on the sound of his favorite song of the week. For some reason, she feels like dancing when seeing his back depart from her and when her fingers feel the glide of the sheets of paper against her fingertips.

Her.

She’s ‘her’.

Unnamed, she shall remain—like a song that he heard on the radio, learned from one listen, and will never be able to find. But she’s there. Oh God, she’s there, settled, waiting for a smile from him, a rhyme to fit her, a moment that is not fleeting. For a chance to make Son Hyunwoo fall in love with her, and have a future with him.

But she’s not a woman to call a ‘forever’.

###

“Is this the apple wine you guys prepared this week?”

Hyunwoo has his hands crossed over his body, the light of the storage room of the winery barely powerful enough to cast down on his softened features. He quirks one of his eyebrows, a habit of his, and turns to look at her after humming. He has listened to her, she knows, but maybe he needs some confirmation, smiling at her before turning to the pristine shelves that showcase years and years of wines, all of different tastes. “Ah, yes,” He initiates. “It’s not fermented completely, well, not yet. I had to go over the recipe time and time again with your uncle—been a long time since he last prepared one of those.”

They’re not tipsy, but they’re alone. The sound of music is in the background, soft, steady, some jazz that relaxes them into—probably—sharing a drink or two. The door is locked, everyone is back at home and her uncle is certain that they’re adding the labelled stickers to the bottles to send them off to a store tomorrow. That, however, is only halfway done by the time she started to inspect the shelves. “Do you think it’s good?”

“It may taste a bit like cider, I believe.” But he doesn’t give much of an answer, instead taking another sticker and a bottle, lining it up perfectly before sighing. “Why?”

“Ooh, why must you think there is a reason behind me asking?”

“Because you’re you.”

“I’m the company’s publicist.” She defends herself—even when the title is not paired with a degree, it damn right fits her. She has done everything and anything to take the company to social media, exploiting it to getting more clients, more stores to buy their products—and of course, a few pictures that entice anyone to try their wines. “I need to know if what I’m selling is good.”

Hyunwoo chuckles, dragging a seat until he is seated in front of the spacious, glassed table where the newest bottles were placed, fresh out of fermentation. “So, you want to try the apple wine?”

“I want to try it with you.” She corrects, already looking for a switch to clear the room with more lights, smiling to herself at the sight of the city from the small windows. “It’s Friday night, Hyunwoo. And even on Friday nights, you’re always stuck here.”

Though, he can only give a soft answer. “I know.”

But why?

Why?

Why is someone like him just so given to the winery?

Her hand touches his shoulder, softly, gently, dragging her fingernails over the expanse of his t-shirt to ask: “Why?” Because she’s not one to stay with her curiousness, the questions that overtake her even at the peak of the night.

“Just because.”

“I don’t get it.” She skips the conversation, moving around until she is in front of him on the chair. His legs are extended, parted, fingers wrapped around a bottle of wine and she actually takes it from him and places it on the desk, getting lost in his eyes the more she speaks. He’d never see the poetry of him. “You’re a dancer, Hyunwoo. You’re meant to be in some club, dancing the night away with some girl—”

“I have you,” Hyunwoo replies, though they’re not a serious matter—much less have they voiced out their clear ministrations, what unites them. Their start had been simple, for Hyunwoo is a dancer, took years of classes just like her, artists that found love in some other shape of art…and ended up not being good at it. Their only choice was to get better together. “…And that wine really is calling for me.”

Slipping her fingertips on the bottle that had captured their attention, she uses a utensil to open it, grabbing two glasses with quickened movements. “I knew you’d end up trying it!”

“You always make me try new things.”

“Because you’re a boring grandpa, sometimes.” She answers, passing the glass down to him, surprised when his arm wraps around her waist, bringing her down to settle her weight down on his thigh, her knees pressed to his, his eyes staring directly into her soul after taking a sip of the wine. She follows his actions, sighing in delight. “This is good.”

“It is.” He answers, smiling at her with that glint behind his eyes. “At least, I’m good at something. Wines, you know.”

She blinks at that, letting her hands roam his face, learning every aspect of him—of the lips she has gotten to kiss a handful of times, never too profound, as if afraid of falling. But Hyunwoo is a ticking bomb, he’s waiting to grab her by the hand and drag her into the depths of bliss that is…being around him. “You’re good at everything, Hyunwoo.” She replies, leaning closer until her shoulder is against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. “Just because you weren’t good at poetry from the beginning doesn’t mean you’re bad at it.”

“I just don’t get it,” Hyunwoo mumbles. “Poetry? Someone like me shouldn’t even be rhyming stuff.”

“Oh yeah, sure, let yourself get carried away by the supposed stigma of society that says that buff men can’t be sensitive or have a braincell sometimes.” She huffs out her answer, looking into his eyes and seeing the adoration in them, his silent stance speaking more than his words ever could. “We’re dancers—of course you’d end up liking poetry. You’ve danced to poetry, without knowing,” And her smile expands in a grin when she remembers that one night in which they did go out to dance, the night of their first kiss, the reason as to why Hyunwoo never disappeared from her brain. Hips snug together, arms slotted in fitted ways; two souls conjoining. “It’s music. Hyunwoo, if there’s anyone that does music justice in this world it’s you.” She takes a sip of her drink just at the same time that he does, the dulcet taste sticking to her tongue, begging to be taken away by him. By his kiss. “The difference is that music sticks to our brains—the lyricism of it is meant to be remembered, but poetry sticks to the soul. Let your soul speak, if it’s about the winery or about me, just let it have a voice. It’s getting better, I promise.”

His arm tightens around her waist, leaning forward until his lips press to hers softly, carefully, as if he’s afraid he’ll be caught, and he may. When Hyunwoo pulls away, his legs parting even more in the process. “You’re a doll, you know that?”

“I try to be for gods on legs just like yourself.” She replies, leaning her weight back before closing her eyes at the warmth of him. “Hyunwoo…”

“Yes?”

“We’ll make it someday.” She says, trying to sway into his heart, surprised to feel his breathing stopping for a moment, as if taken off guard. “You, as a poet. Me, as an artist.”

“I don’t think so—”

“That’s what dreams are for, aren’t they?” She replies. “It’s not for thinking, it’s for imagining, dummy.”

And she may imagine that, someday, her fingers may hook around a brush just at the same time that he reads over a book. Just at the same time that they grow away from that winery and turn into the exact persona that no one would have ever imagined them to be. And more than that, together, to be exact.

But that’s what dreams are for.

###

“Do you like Hyunwoo?”

Taking care of children may probably be one of the things she likes the least—but someone at the winery had brought their daughter to work today, and having children close to alcoholic drinks may not be the best of ideas. Hence, while seated in front of her canvas, in front of the window that sometimes shows the figure of Son Hyunwoo—just like now—, she wonders why the child that could not even braid her hair a few minutes ago now is intelligent enough to guess that she likes Hyunwoo.

Seojin swings her legs back and forth, seated on a chair right beside her, and she turns to look at her briefly, a smile on her features. “Maybe,” She answers, earning a big beam from the seven-year-old child. Once returning to her painting, a mess of colors and emotions that she cannot explain—too much green and yellow, currently, perhaps inspired by Sunny, hanging around the living room, she voices more of her thoughts out. “Why do you think I like him?”

“Because you look at him like how my mom looks at my dada.” Seojin replies smartly, moving the little baby hairs away from her face to look at the man that is kneeling down in front of the greeneries to pick up some fruits. “Hyunwoo looks like a prince.”

“He does.”

Curiousness overtakes her. “Then, why isn’t he your prince?”

Simple, she believes, the answer slips her tongue just when she stares away from her canvas, twirling her brush in between her fingers when Hyunwoo becomes a clear shadow that passes through the window, embarking a trip towards her heart. She had been touched by too many people, in love plenty of those, she had gotten drunk far more than a princess could ever tell, made mistakes that were horrendous, tainted her soul in distrust. That’s not something a princess does, or a doll, like Hyunwoo calls her sometimes. “Because I’m not a princess.” She answers, shrugging her shoulders just when she creates another line of the canvas, quickened and interrupted by Seojin voicing out her concerns.

“But you like him…if you like the prince, that makes you a princess.” Seojin speaks quickly, standing up from her spot and getting in the way with her canvas, the tips of her messy hair—still in a braid—getting scattered with a bit of paint. She does her best to take the small towel that hangs from her shoulder to clear the brown strands, but Seojin is not paying attention. “Why don’t you make him your boyfriend?”

Because it may be a bit crazy—a bit too out of what she normally does, simply date around and wait until it is over. It may mean love and part of her just fears what that could mean, or if Hyunwoo would even want something like that, for he had not voiced it out either. “I’m afraid he’d say no.”

“You’re pretty, though.”

“It takes more than being pretty to get a man like him.” She tells her, only to widen her eyes when Seojin rushes towards the entrance of the house.

“Of course not, you’re nice and cute, what else does he want?!” Seojin fires back, too overexcited when she opens the door with swinging motions, not helped by the strong wind that almost closes it again. “I’m going to tell him—”

“Seojin, no!” But Seojin moves too fast, already running to the left to go to the field in which Hyunwoo is working at. Without knowing, she stands up quickly, letting her brush fall on the floor just as she feels her heart racing at the mere words that Seojin had brought to life innocently. Someone’s half, a story to tell, a tale to finish—a fairytale, one that she has never lived, never got the chance to have with the people that she liked.

The wind moves her hair, her dress, crazy just as she wonders through the fields, hearing the giggles that escape Seojin’s lips. Just when she picks up her steps, the heels of her boots digging deeper into the grass, she watches Hyunwoo kneel down in front of Seojin, putting his ear closer to her lips just when she mumbles something to him. Slowing down her steps as she nears them, she’s met by Hyunwoo’s stare that trails up her legs and towards her features, giving her a piece of his heart in a smile.

She has never been this nervous—not when seated on his lap, not when kissing him, not when she promises herself that Hyunwoo is the reason behind her solitude these past few months, afraid of getting her heart broken, but also needing more of him. Her fingers slot with each other, trying to look for leverage, just when Seojin lifts her hands in the air, happiness overflowing. “She likes you!”

“Seojin, I asked you not to go out running like that.” She scolds softly, letting out a sigh at her last word, only to watch Hyunwoo nearing her.

“She came here to tell me a secret.” He says.

“We both know it’s not a secret.” She replies, wary of the small eyes that are staring at them as they speak. Hyunwoo is having the time of his life with this, his broad chest shaking with laughter. “You’re not even good with children, stop pretending you are now—”

“I’m not.”

“Hyunwoo—”

His fingers go through his hair, the strands curving to cup his face softly, caressing it with the twirl of his bags. Parted, showcasing his forehead that creases a bit when he speaks. “But, I like you, too.” He tells her, speaking nonchalantly, albeit laughing a bit to himself. Perhaps, the people around—ahem, Seojin—may be the reason behind his nervousness. “What if we settle this with a date? Friday?”

“…As if you were not going to spend your Friday night with me already.” She answers, her voice cut short when a set of plucked, small flowers flies in the air and falls on top of them. The extended hands and the huff that came from Seojin is enough of a reason to showcase that she must have plucked some flowers, thrown it at them as some sort of celebration.

“You’re so cute together!”

“Ah, Seojin, don’t pluck the flowers like that. That hurts them.” Scolding, she starts, only to hear Hyunwoo muffling his laughter when she kneels down and picks Seojin up on her hands, the weight making her puff her cheeks out. “I’ll take her inside before she starts telling people that I like you.”

“No one knows?!” Seojin voices out, only to have her hand pressing down on her small mouth.

“And no one will know, Seojin.”

Turning around, she feels Hyunwoo’s eyes on her form and she swears she hears his laughter, the promise of an endless love and a date that may be the start of her doom.

###

Living in the moment, that had always been her mantra. And what a way to live in the moment, it is, to be held in Hyunwoo’s arms.

Never had anyone taken her breath away, in a way that her chest constricts and still, she can’t have enough oxygen inside of her. But he does. Of course, it is the man that is dancing the night away with her that is doing so—the only person in this entire town that could have her thinking of a house in a hill, with not so immaculate decorations but homely ones instead, of walking barefoot on the tiles to reach him, wrap her arms around him as he downs his first cup of coffee of the day. But he does. Son Hyunwoo does, absentmindedly perhaps, simply by smiling at her, by holding her closer and dipping her into the dance floor, as if she’s a feather and he’s a bird—meant to coexist together.

Because, once every few moons, someone like her falls in love…and it is so slow and calculated in its process that she is surprised by her patience, by her abstinence in having him, but Hyunwoo is worth it. He’s worth waiting a million years, the slow music around them in the romance themed Friday night, paired with lighted up hearts in pink shapes is everything she could have never imagined happening. But here’s Hyunwoo, a predicament, the one stone in her road that had her falling and she’d go back and do it again if she had to.

…She had never been one to learn from her mistakes, after all, and if Hyunwoo is one…

This is the greatest fucking mistake of her life.

Her fingers wrap around the edge of his collar, opened buttons welcoming his taut chest that she traces with the tip of her index finger. “Showing some cleavage here, I see.” She says, sending a toothy grin that she can’t imagine herself giving to anyone but him—one of those that show her gums, make her seem a bit childish, and yet speak of nothing but excitement. “We’re twinning, then.”

Hyunwoo’s smile falters, his eyes flickering down to the neckline of her dress before laughing at his own antics. His cheeks are tainted pink, or maybe the lights are deceiving her, but it’s a nice color to match his beige button down and that rosiness of his lips that she will probably dare test later on the night. Probably meaning…certainly, as long as he’s into it. “You talk a lot.”

“And you talk too little.”

“I’m not a man of words.”

“You’re an action man?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to show you.” And with that, he presses her body closer to his, her hands stopping her ministrations to expand on top of his chest, catching her footing quickly, learned from years of dancing. Her feet move with expertise, along with his, the lingering smell in between them of fruity drinks and dinner. His hand moves on her waist, rest along her hips and sighs heavily, as if nearing their bodies will end of suffocating them but also filling them up with attraction. Past attraction, even, whatever it is that flutters on her chest and has her thinking about the beauty of being held by him instead of simply voicing it out is some magic that she can’t quite explain.

“Ooh, Hyunwoo is talking big.” She wiggles her eyebrows, trying to regain some power and speaking because—damn, it’s what he does. He gets her tongue going, her mind railing, her heart aching simply to have a piece of him. Hyunwoo seems like her future, and she’d be disappointed if this is not some sign from life that the only man that she feels like falling in love for is anything but trouble. “Let me tell you something. I’ll recite a poem to you, Shownu.” The way she spits out the poet name he had come up with has him smiling, nodding along to her words. “Roses are red, violets are blue—”

“Aren’t violets supposed to be, well, violet?”

“Don’t go smart on me now.” She replies, resting her head against his shoulder and looking towards the other couples dancing; some older, some younger, some definitely together for a long time, some learning to fall in love. Where do they fall? Where do an artist and a poet fall more than together? “You know what? I forgot. Thank you. Now, I can’t tell you anything.”

Hyunwoo closes his eyes when he laughs, rubbing his thumbs against her hips before he lowers his head slightly, bending his body in a way in which he can capture her lips in a kiss, though fleeting and soft. “My pleasure to make you speechless, doll.”

She squints at him, taking him by the face with both hands to stare into his eyes. Well, he’s not wrong, for the tip of her tongue is trying to look for words to tell him, for flirtations to whisper in his ears, for more than simple actions to clarify her interest in him, one that is already as clear as water, as the sky, as a glassed window itself. Because…she has talked enough, to other people, to people who did not want her to speak but still pretended to listen, and who would think that someone like her could find love in something as silent as art, and Hyunwoo, himself?

“You’re something else.”

“Good thing?”

“Very good thing.” She complies, leaning forward to press her lips to his, relishing on the taste of him before humming, eyes still closed. “I wish I could tell everyone just how head over heels you have me.”

But she can’t. She can’t turn this relationship serious, because it would not benefit them in the work place—Hyunwoo has more to lose than she ever could, but also because the timing of them will never seem to be right. She has to hold back, not because Hyunwoo is slow in his movements to her heart, but because he’s so skilled in his way there that she’s afraid something else could happen. What if it doesn’t work out? What if he’s indeed a prince, and she ends up running away in fear of the constricting seriousness of the situation?

“I have you head over heels?” He asks, as if he likes to hear her saying such things…and damn, he probably does.

She gasps, contrary to what one would believe. “Of course. Hyunwoo, I’ve been practically into you for the past few months and you still think I’m not head over heels?”

“Why?”

“What?” She asks, watching the way he lowers his lips and kisses her softly, delicately running his tongue on top of her upper lip, her hands trailing down to his neck, grasping softly to feel the pulse in there, Hyunwoo’s arms wrapped around her body entirely by the time he speaks again.

Rare. Of course, it had to be something important if Hyunwoo dares voice it out. “Why don’t you just show me how head over heels you are?”

This is exactly how she finds herself in Hyunwoo’s apartment, how suddenly being friends flashes in the back of her eyelids and reminds her that it has not been months, but years since Hyunwoo has taken up the vast majority of her heart. In the couch that he lays her on to take off his shirt, lips latching to her pulse points, sucking the soul away from her with each flutter of the plumpness of his skin, she had told him about the eleven years she spent in ballet classes and in between chuckles, she had admitted to being kicked out for flirting with the instructor’s son too much. The shirt that is thrown on the floor by the time he leads her to his room, hands expanded on her thighs, reminds her of the night three years ago—New Years’ Eve, when Hyunwoo couldn’t go back home to his parents and his frown was evident. At the time, she had done her best to prepare a meal for everyone at the winery to enjoy, and it was called a coincidence when Hyunwoo’s favorite meals were served on the table.

Or that bed, the background noise of the sheets the one she listens to whenever he calls her, saying how much he misses her—listening to her and sometimes, telling stories of his own. The timing with him will always be off, because she’ll forever be scared of waiting for too long, even when his legs are parting her own, strong muscles resting on each side of her head, his heart pressed to hers, skin to skin. Everyone says that waiting…fuck, waiting is the key to love.

Like waiting for someone to wake up.

Or waiting for someone to come home.

Or waiting for the day in which she believes she’ll have earned his love.

Because Hyunwoo cannot be a love affair—she wouldn’t forgive herself if she gets to taste him once or fifty times, but never forever. It’d be tragic, just like the sighs that leave her lips, the way her nails cling to him, the smile on his face that reads adoration—that sees her as more than a line in his body count, more than a friend: he sees her as art, and that’s all she has ever wanted to be.

Art is complicated, and she finds herself being egotistic, like she has always been. Selfish, in a way. Her hands cling to him, her lips press to his skin, to his neck, wants him to be more of her own, wants for every crevice of his soul to belong to her. When her eyes connect to his, his hair is done a mess, ruffled and ruined just by her, the skin of his neck bathed in sin, Hyunwoo can only reciprocate the kiss that lands on his lips, fervent, needing to have the moment last for an eternity, the one eternity that she has never wished for.

In one kiss, she expects to have her confession be read. She expects Hyunwoo to listen to the silence, like she does with him, but maybe, he doesn’t understand…that one simplistic kiss is screaming at him that she’s falling in love—

No, that she is in love. And it feels like she is floating on the shore of a beach, the tingling sensation matching with the rays of sunshine making her forget that there is a world around her, that there will be repercussions like a broken heart or worse…a fired man.

With one last breath of his name, she hopes the confession fell into his ears, one that reads a single sentence:

I love you.

###

“Where is my book of poems?!”

“What?”

Pulling her gaze away from the break-up app showcased on her phone in between her fingertips, she looks at Hyunwoo practically turning the house upside down in his repertoire to find his notebook. When entering the kitchen, well overdue the time in which he goes back home, the trails of the night seek after him when he lifts whatever surface he can to find that notebook, that damned notebook that she knows means the world to him.

“My notebook. Did you take it?” Hyunwoo asks, eyes shaking, for she knows better than anyone else that, just like her sketchbook, his notebook includes motions of his being that no one should read, or have gotten to read other than herself. His hands are already resting on her arms, as if keeping her in place will resolve the predicament, they’re in, but she simply shakes her head. “Fuck, I swear I left it on this counter earlier—”

Scratching the back of her head, she watches as Hyunwoo moves with anxiousness, for the first time showing a sign on his face that screams…hopelessness. Perhaps, he’s afraid of losing what he had worked so hard for, or he’s afraid that tomorrow morning he’ll wake up to the sound of his poems being read to the daylight, to be showcased as a comedy, when all he has done is try to find a sense to that inner voice of his. “Let me help you.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking around the couches in the living room, under the mat, whichever bump in it inspected by her.

“This is it. I’ve lost it.” The hopelessness in his voice comes soon enough, throwing himself over one of the seats, slumping immediately with his hands softly bounded in front of him.

“You have not, Hyunwoo. I’m here to help you out—”

“It’s not here, and it’s definitely not in my car.” He answers, not even sparing her a glance when she nears him, arms outstretched to hold him in her arms. “Goodbye poetry, goodbye that stupid dream of mine—”

“Your poetry is not hidden in that notebook, it’s in you, Hyunwoo. Stop it.” She replies, taking his face in between her hands before letting her faded lipstick create a shadow on his lips with a gentle kiss. “Don’t say those things.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll shatter this earth if that means getting that notebook back.” After months of this relationship, unknown to the world, three months of absolute joy, she’d do everything to give him the world if she could. “Make that a promise. I won’t ever give up when it comes to you.”

And what’s with this…feeling that tells her that letting go of Hyunwoo will be impossible to her? That she has found it, that thing that her friends had always talked about. That love that goes past summer nights and the heat that comes with forgetfulness, or with winter and its need for warmth—a love that stands even when a train is nearing it, when saying goodbye could be easier than staying. But, she decided to stay—to stay for a long while, as long as he lets her, and so far…it has not been so bad.

If hiding in the storage room every Friday night as a date is excellence, then so be it. If hiding their romance to the eyes of everyone at the winery is what it takes to have Son Hyunwoo, so be it.

“Don’t be scared,” She tells him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nearing his face to her face, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders. “I’ll find it, I promise. I’ll find it.”

“No—”

“I said I’ll find it, and I will.”

Because she’d drop a star from the sky itself if it meant seeing him at peace, like he always is.

Which is why she almost turns the entire house upside down the next day, as if looking under the sofa will get her the precious notebook that her boyfriend is looking for. Sunny is somewhere, flapping its wings and resting on her shoulder as if to help her, and she even skips breakfast to favor finding a part of Hyunwoo’s soul. It’s only when she opens the door to her uncle’s office that she finally gets to see a glimpse of a notebook, seated on top of the mahogany desk her uncle is by, and it’s opened, shown to the world to bare Hyunwoo’s soul.

The weight of the flooring creaks under her, though it is not as loud as the thumping inside her chest when her eyebrows crease, moving with precision to reach for the notebook and plater her hand on top of the pages to cover the peeping eyes of her uncle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She says in between a whisper, hearing how her uncle stops his typing away on the keyboard before continuing, fingertips ushering her hand away so he can look at one of the poetic pieces written by Hyunwoo.

“I’m doing Hyunwoo a favor.”

“He’s been seeking for this notebook since yesterday, Uncle. That’s not helping him—” She tries to grab the fabric away, only to be stopped by a hand that wraps itself around her wrist. The glisten of happiness behind her Uncle’s eyes is clear, the document in front of him bleeding the words of Hyunwoo’s soul—sweet, caring, silent. “Explain.”

Her uncle lowers his glasses, plopping some of the blueberries on a white plate inside his mouth, munching slowly, with precision, patiently like he lives his life when he speaks: “I happened to come across it yesterday afternoon and took the time to read it. My boy has talent.” Her uncle replies, but her mind can only worry about the poems there—the little notes that they had shared in their written conversations when her uncle is in the room, perhaps dusted over with some lines on top of it caused by Hyunwoo’s precaution or if they are easily shown for the world to read. “So, I looked for some poetry contests online and I am mass sending my favorite poems—or a variety of such. The only way I can pay Hyunwoo for the support he has given me the past few years is by letting him go to something bigger than what he has right now.”

Letting him go, why is it that he is the only man that she has never thought of letting go of? His fingers always spread when around them, trapping her hand as if meant to be together forever. Sometimes, she likes to believe she’ll reach older years by his side—that one day she’ll get to see Hyunwoo with gray hairs, and he’d let his fingertips trace her wrinkly cheeks, pinching them with his usual smile on his face. Letting him go to another place, a place in which he’d become a true poet, could mean that he is simply leaving the winery, just like it could mean that he’d have to go anywhere else. Around the world, probably. Somewhere where opportunities for writers are far more fruitful.

She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, speechless, watching as her uncle continues to type and he asks a question, one that she can’t give an answer to because she can’t listen to him. Her ears beep intensely at the mere reminder that Hyunwoo is not a forever, because the title doesn’t exist or perhaps, because it has never been meant for her. His arms will not always wrap around her waist, his sighs won’t always end up on her nape, leaving her with a trail of goosebumps that can only be intensified by a kiss.

Another muse could exist in the far future for him.

And her canvas may consist of darker colors once he is gone.

“I see,” She breathes softly, only to earn a pointed side-eye from her uncle.

“You alright?”

“Kind of.”

“I’m doing this for him. He’s always said how he wants to go somewhere else, travel the world, you know? It would be nice if he got accepted.”

That’s a promise that she has heard in their late-night conversations, a reminder that the tapping of water on the vase will sometime overflow and leave them with the taste of memories. Her fingers try to wrap around the notebook again, but she ponders on the options of badness and wellness, of destroying his future or keeping him to herself. Instead biting down on her tongue, she nods at whatever her uncle said.

“Don’t tell Hyunwoo.”

About what? About the opportunities that will surely start to appear like clouds on his days?

“I won’t.”

And with that, she slips away from the room with a saddened sigh leaving her lips. Positivism lingers with nostalgia, it seems as though there is a goodbye—a piece of her mind that reads with certainty the words:

One day, you will have to let go of him.

Because, if you love him, you let him go, huh?

###

“It’d be cute.”

“What would be?”

“If one day, when we live together, we could hold one of your paintings up as decoration.”

His arm is extended on top of his bed, knees digging onto the mattress, his hand interlocked with hers on top of her abdomen. His body is resting by her side, black sweater riding up his tanned skin, looking at her with a messy hairstyle right after the small nap he had taken the moment they had arrived to his apartment. Hyunwoo is staring at her, she realizes, cheek pressed to his taut muscles, eyes inspecting her reaction when she finally pulls her gaze away from that one movie they had been wanting to watch—the initiation of a good actor, that had both written the script with his best friend, just as he had starred in it. She can remember the name of the actor right now, but it’s not like she cares.

Weeks after Hyunwoo’s stolen notebook issue, she had been the one to deliver it back to him after her uncle had stopped signing up the poems for every contest that he could find online. The life had been returned to Hyunwoo’s gaze, and he seemed to be more tranquil, breathing normally after days of silence that meant no one had read his poetry book. Instead, she’d take up on more working around the winery, trying to distract herself from her muse and on the long run, stopping herself from thinking of the end of something she feels like has just started, even after years of mutual attraction.

She rubs her free hand against her face, a few bumpy stops that she had not tried to conceal with makeup the first thing she touches, and still Hyunwoo looks at her as if she’s the world itself. Her worries may be spurts of non-knowledgeable insecurities, maybe Hyunwoo is the one person that won’t leave her.

“You would want to live with me?” Her voice doesn’t drop flirtatiously, instead she brings their joined hands up to her lips, kissing his knuckles in hopes of one day seeing his finger glisten with a band that calls him her husband. It’s stupid to think in a long run, to imagine Hyunwoo as the man to settle down with her, but he’s the one talking about it.

“Of course.” He says, eyes twinkling when he smiles, his fingers expanding to caress her bottom lip.

“I don’t think my art would be beautiful enough to be in our future home, though.” She replies, voice going through the depths of what their home would like. Tranquil, homely, perhaps with woodened decorations and too many memories—pictures of the people they love, of themselves, perhaps with a pet going around, or some old wines decorating the shelves.

Still playing with her lips, he answers. “Stop it.”

“I mean it.”

“Your art is fine.”

“Ah, I’m not good at it. We both know.” She says, shaking her head before straightening her back, sitting up on the bed and letting her asleep legs crack at her extension. “But what is it that you see in me that has you wanting to live together? That’s a big step.”

Her boyfriend turns around until he is facing the ceiling, their hands pulled away when he crosses his own over his chest. He breathes in softly, a smile plastered on his features, almost dumbly, too many thoughts that he can only voice out in a few words. “Because I love you.”

Oh, that would make sense. For time has taken its sweet years for her to feel as though he’s the only man that will ever love her for who she truly is, past the summery dresses and the faux smiles. “What do you love about me?” She asks, in a mere whisper that has her coming closer to him, as if nearing him will make her remember every part of Hyunwoo, in case she ever dares to forget about him in any day of her life.

“Can I say everything?”

“Yes,” She laughs, trailing her fingers up and down his arm, pecking his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt before resting her nose against the material. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Hyunwoo answers, sparing a glance at the movie before she captures his attention again.

“Your phone has gotten a few notifications. Aren’t you going to check them out?”

With his phone in vibration, he may have not noticed. “Oh yes, I hadn’t noticed.”

Hyunwoo stands up, his physique in clear view for her when he moves towards the bedside table, picking up his phone and squinting at the screen. For a moment, she inspects his room—the one piece of art that is hers and he had hung up there, in belief for her passion, and the little bits of him that rest in memories on every spot, even on the pillows that are now too uncomfortable in comparison to his body. She studies his expression, how a white light washes over his face and he reads, reads until his smile is permanently plastered on his face, until he checks his messages and whatever notification he had gotten before he wraps her up in the biggest of hugs.

Those that take her breath away, that has her chuckling at his strength, pressed down by the weight of his body, feeling every movement of his lips while they press down incessantly on different spots of her face. Her cheeks. Her neck. Up until when he decides that speaking is a necessity, that whatever has overjoyed his chest shall be shared with her.

She’ll never forget that smile—that smile that had warmed her, just like how it had turned her blood cold. Hyunwoo shows her the screen, but it is too close to her eyes for her to inspect more than the big letters. Not necessary to read more, because Hyunwoo speaks with excitement. “You didn’t tell me your uncle had sent my poetry out. I just got an offer of representation and a call to sell my book and get a contract!”

She wishes she could keep him, that she could trap him in her arms and simply tell him to stay there, to let the silence in between them fall into normality, into a sweetened lake that will take them to endless romantic bliss. Instead, she clasps her hands together, because his happiness is hers—and love is about that, giving more than receiving. “Fuck yes, I’m so proud of you! Is it for real?”

“Yes, your uncle just confirmed it!” And his lips slot with hers, in a way that tells her that he really does love her and maybe…he will stay. She will be the culprit of his poems, he will be the outline of the shadows in her paintings and their love shall remain like that. Two rhyming words, they are, joined together by a verse—and not another word could ever compare to the magic the two of them work.

“Let’s celebrate!” She cheers, wrapping her arms around his neck and squealing when he lifts her up from the bed, moving towards the kitchen to what is clearly a night filled with take-out and cheerful conversation.

Waiting for this, for Son Hyunwoo, is the best decision she has ever taken in her life. There is no regretting that.

###

That one hat that she had seen on Hyunwoo’s head plentiful of times is now on top of her hair, caging the memories to her brain the more she paints. Realism is not her forte, she will always say it, but a sigh leaves her lips when she finds herself painting the outline of him—past the muscles, the lips she dares to kiss, the eyes that look for her everywhere and anywhere, but in his soul. Hyunwoo will always be a soul in green—like the greeneries around the winery, where she met him, and the calmness of him is a representation of nature.

Love affairs are supposed to be red, passionate, they are supposed to feel like sex and carnality, they are supposed to be plenty of things…but Hyunwoo is not a love affair. If anything, he is the only man she has ever loved. The brush dimly moves against the canvas, her hair framing her face uncomfortably, but she doesn’t dare move the strands, because there is this vacant voice in the back of her head that is telling her something will happen. The twist of her gut, the taste on the back of her tongue, everything reads fear, like in any occasion she will be moved by her feet, dragged through the ground, given a piece of reality for falling in love.

Hyunwoo is somewhere around the winery, God knows where, speaking to the representative on the phone to state the conditions of the contract he will be signing with the company for the publication of his poems. This makes her nervous, but more so angry at herself.

What a fucking egotistic bitch, she can only tell herself, not because she is envious of what Hyunwoo will surely approach with his talent, but because she is afraid of losing him. Scared that one day Hyunwoo will look at his success and think of her as a loss more than a win. At some point, she lets the brush rest against the canvas for a second longer. A dot. A dot on the figure that is supposed to be her boyfriend…an ending, because dots can mean the finalization of an idea, just like how it can mean the end of a story.

She doesn’t hear footsteps, not even Sunny dares make a noise, tranquil on the windowsill when Hyunwoo lets out a sigh that speaks wonders. It has all the meaning of her world in one single breath that falls deafly, as if he knows there is something deep in her mind bothering her. His lips press to her temple, his eyes dare close to flutter his eyelashes against her skin and when he finally gives her an answer, there are undertones of happiness in his voice:

“They want me to move to New York for the publishing of three poetry books.”

And this is excellent—it’s the best of the best. It’s the opportunity Hyunwoo always wanted and the one that he deserves, but long distance is something that she doesn’t know if she could bear. She could always leave with him, live alongside him like they had always planned—but she’s tied to her uncle’s waist. The poor man, only getting older, needs to be thought about from time to time and the winery cannot be kept together without someone helping him.

So, this means that her dreams are crushed.

This means that leaving is not a choice.

“That’s good, Hyunwoo. Congratulations.” She tells him, putting the brush down and twirling around on her chair, not as excitedly as she used to whenever she wore a flowery dress. Instead, he inspects her features, a small smile grazing his features. The whiteness of the room contrasts his beam, the twinkle in his dark irises when he says:

“We could always leave together. You’d have huge opportunities as an artist there—”

“No, love. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?” His fingers stop playing with hers, trying to look for the certainty of a possibility that has been broken. That, once again, leaves her with the lack of a bound that will never be broken.

“My uncle is not getting older, and you know his health is not the best nowadays. I can’t—I’ve been selfish my own life, I can’t leave him like that.” The affection in her voice must have softened something within him, and Hyunwoo is about to drop the subject, leave the talk for later like he always does, but instead, she continues. “D—Do you think we should break up?”

“What?” Hyunwoo asks, his voice rushed, waiting for her to correct herself.

“You will go live to New York. I will stay here. I don’t know if—” She cuts herself off, looking up to the ceiling and biting down her bottom lip. She has always been the one to break relationships up, but with this one, she can’t do it. Her eyes flicker, her tongue twists and she has to grab his hands stronger for her to gain some power. “I don’t know if it will work, truthfully.”

“Is that what you think?” His eyes flutter with endless blinking, trying to process exactly what she is saying and she feels her heart being ripped when she realizes what is happening—

She is finally speechless.

And in the worst of ways.

“Tell me why.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave, you can’t stay.” She tells him, shaking her head. “And I will never forgive myself if I stop you from being the poet that you always wanted to be.”

And even then, when anger overtakes his features along with disappointment, Hyunwoo is the most beautiful man she has ever met—inside and out. Her fingers trail through his hair, her lips leaning forward to seek a kiss out of him but when they join in the sweet gesture, his lips capture her strongly, as if needing more of her, as if letting go hurts him as much as it hurts her. His soul is trying to engulf hers, to down her in the most gorgeous of memories that started with poems about her, spoken insecurities, healed hearts, too much time to waste and of course, an ending.

His arms wrap around her tightly, her lips unwrapping from his to breathe out against his shoulder, her eyes closing tightly when she repeats: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Love isn’t enough in most situations. This is one of them.

###

Her uncle would have probably loved to see the scenery in front of her.

The bustling city, the flickering lights, the people that join and walk alongside each other, the cars passing by and the extreme comparison to the winery. Perhaps, he would have not liked it as much—but who is she to know. Instead, she tries to make her way towards the café near her hotel room, desperate for her caffeine intake before her visits to the endless museums that she had looked up online. It’s difficult to move, much more when people press to her side, but she manages.

What catches her attention is the old looking library that passes her by as she walks on the sidewalk. The windows are huge, perhaps more than one floor in the place, showcasing the newest of releases or the most classic of pieces. Her feet retract the slightest, smiling at the sign that reads poetry and looking for a certain pen-name that she knows better than her own. The simplistic cover is enough to have her eyes widening, looking around as if caught by destiny—because Hyunwoo is there, by his penname, of course, but he’s there.

With persistence, she moves inside the library, grabbing one of the copies of the book that had caught her attention—the first one, one that she had been too fearful to ever look for, but now blinks at her almost mockingly. Or proudly, really, this would not have happened if only she had been selfish and snatched the notebook away from her uncle’s hands.

Some decisions are good on the long run.

Her fingers flick through the pages, recognizing some of the poems, even tutting at the fact that some of them are edited but his being still is exuded in his art. A little bit after, however, she is surprised to see an outline that she recognizes immensely—that one drawing that she done of Hyunwoo, more of a sketch, that he had kept with him, now plastered on the edge of the first book he released. Years later, and she had never noticed this.

The poem surprises her, the words ‘her’ its title, reminiscent of how she had always wondered if it was her that he was referencing. The more she reads, the more her smile widens…because nothing has been edited, not even a single syllable, and that is enough to press the book to her chest, closing her eyes to match the tightness of her chest.

He will always be the best rhyme for her poems, but it’s time for her to start a new one.

It’s time to let go.

That doesn’t mean she lets go of the memories, buying the book and pressing it to the depths of her purse, pushing the door open to go have her caffeine intake.

#shownu scenarios #shownu #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #kpop scenarios #writing #monsta x au #monsta x angst #monsta x fluff #shownu au #shownu angst #shownu fluff #the anti-love club #heeeey one more to go #thoughts on this one?#poet!shownu

53 notes · View notes

disaster-bay-leaf · 3 years

Note

Ok so these were the cutest~ (ㆁωㆁ)

4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 19, 22, 23, 28, 33, 34, 46, 47, 52, 59, 60, 63, 66, 83, 87, 88, 93, 99

I kno I listed like....all of them lmao but feel free to answer whichever you want and ofc you can ask me in return Baybe ( ◜‿◝ )♡

uHUHUHUHU much content for me to answer, im happy bebe 💜💜💜✨

4 - how do you take your coffee/tea?

hm coffee either Very Black No Sugar (for the sleep deprived me) or iced latte three sugars and theres no in between

and as for tea its All Black Teas That Exist, cinnamon-flavoured especially (but basically all teas that come to mind when u think “autumn”), and rooibos!!! okay basically the only oke i dont like is any type of green tea (which is sad because they look cool but my tastebuds said ✨no✨)

6 - do you keep plants?

honestly id l o v e too because i love plants but,,, im kinda horrible at taking care of them though still way better than the majority of my family (research helps) so the only plant i own is kinda a small-palm-tree-looking thing in a bigass glass jar that i saved from my mother’s plant-destructing hands and its mostly doing well (the ends of its leaves are starting to be yellow tho and im worried:((( )

7 - do you name your plants?

yes!!! though the current one was named by my sister and its called “pickett” after fantastic beasts shsjjsj

9 - do you like singing/humming to yourself?

oh god oh dude you have n o idea

i have absolutely n o singing voice but its something i do constantly to give my brain the right amount of stimuli so basically i listen to music 24/7 and hum to myself 99% of that time

12 - whats your favourite planet?

oh i actually didnt think about this for so long but either pluto (hes a planet screw nasa) or saturn (RINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) or venus (girls,,,and libra,,,)

19 - do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw in it?

okay im gonna be completely honest with yall and say that my every single try at keeping a journal failed spectacularly and i lost motivation after like a few months so my only journals rn are my fancy fake-leather-bound calendar to note tests and assessments into, a kinda roughed up notebook that i uses for noting down poems or scribbling or passing notes in class, and a kinda fancy bullet journal notebook that i used as a book of shadows for a while but since my fountain pen died i didnt touch it

22 - are you a morning person?

n o

i am so not a morning person but i wish i could be because honestly dawns are beautiful

but as it is rn im either sleep deprived all the time and loathe every second of being in an awake state or (if i have a few days of schoolbreak) my biological clock moves forward a few hours and i sleep 2am-10am

23 - whats your favourite thing to do on lazy days with zero obligations?

except for the fact that i dont remember the last time it happened, i would probably spend it drawing outside, watching anime with my sister and riding a bike around the forest

28 - sunrise or sunset?

i love sunrises because its so peaceful and everyone is asleep but also i subconsciously immediately correlate them with waiting for a train to take me to school (because thats basically the only time i see them) so its a bittersweet love especially with my fucked up biological clock

but sunsets are really really pretty too and i see them more often so i cant choose

33 - whats your fave pastry?

and isnt that a millior-dollar question dhsjjsjsj

either cinnamon rolls (i absolutely adore them) or that one specific type of cupcake-shaped-thing made out of shortcrust/bread/whatever its called and filled with vanilla pudding

34 - tell us about a stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

awwww this is cute

okay so basically my two favourite stuffed animals (i still have them, they sit in my wardrobe) were two teddy bears (like maybe 20cm high each of them) and one was pure brown and the other was silver-brown and they had stereotypical polish male names “Waldek” (read. Valdek) and Stefan (i think tho im not sure if i remember correctly, my memory is a feeble thing sometimes

46 - tell us the worst pun you can think of

what dog would never bite you? a hot dog *badumtss*

47 - what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

huh a year ago id say pineapple pizza but i guess i dont hate pineapples that much anymore (tho putting them on pizza is still an abomination) but i think that if id ever want to get rid of anything it would be parsley, i hate that freakin herb (does it count as food tho)

52 - what are your favourite memes of the year so far?

the ever given for sure shsjshjsjsjsjjsj

but bullying tramp stamps is gold and pure tumblr energy too

as for fandom memes: im in love with all keeping-up-with-the-todorokis variations and the fact that the entire bsd fandom looked at fukuchi and said “biTCH” and thats one of the only things we’re unanimous about

59 - whats your favourite myth?

i always liked the kora/persephone myth (though demeter is an overbearing parent to the nth power), loki and thor crossdressing at a party to get mjolnir back, atalanta because shes a queen and id politely ask her to kick my ass, and cassandra because she deserved better, and theres a l o t more because alas i was a mythology nerd but this post is long enough for me not to make this section 20 times longer sjjsjsjsjsjks

but there are a lot of slavic myths that are very cool too, though we dont know that much about them as about the greeks for example

60 - do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

o o o o h yeah i do like poetry because to create such a beautifully sounding thing with only words someone has to be a genius

some of my favs are: some works of nakahara chuuya (thank u bsd for introducing me to this man’s beautiful imagery in his works i swear to god the descriptions do it for me) (also his poem about having hangovers is a mood like i feel you buddy), the raven by ea poe (i know everyone likes it but hOLY DAMN THE INTER/INTRAVERSE RHYMES ARE LIKE,,, BREATHTAKING) (and aso im a slut for gothic horror), and many more but also That One Poem From Welcome To Nightvale about reaching the island in the west,,, only perfect vibes from it

63 - are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organised or kinda leave them be?

okay heres the thing. for anyone else both my playlist library and my bookshelf would be considered pure chaos of a mad man b u t they actually have a highly focused system which means that i sort them based on their vibes, lovability and (in case of books) their age and whether or not theyre a part of a series so i would say my bookshelf is rather organised (when a quarter of it isnt occupying my desk that is) and my music is more organised than not but sometimes it gets out of control and i have to sort it entirely again

66 - what would your ideal flower crown look like?

either entirely constructed of simple white daisies, entirely constructed of only white roses, or something that probably would win a “how many different coloured flowers can one fit in a flower crown” competition

or something purple (maybe not belladonna)

83 - whats some of your favourite album art?

god i dont know if it counts but hozier’s wasteland baby is probably one of my absolute favourites and no one shall beat that

“thrifted youth” (dalynn) and “standard deviation” (danny schmidt) have very aesthetic covers too

also the iconic p!atd too weird to live, too rare to die! album cover,,, its just iconic what can i say

and last but not least matt meason’s pink-and-black album covers (though bank on the funeral is really pretty too but like,,, “who killed matt meason” d o e s it for me and so does the 2017 tribulation single)

87 - what are some movies that you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

this is such a hard question because im not a really cinematography-oriented gal but i suppose that (at the risk of not going deep enough into the cinema world):

- the princess bride

- inception

- night at the museum

- SPIRITED AWAY

- forrest gump

- truman show

- E.T. (i cried okay)

- the lord of the rings (because damn me if this isnt one impressive adaptation)

- parasite

and one more personal recommendation: “ready or not” with samara weaving because goddamn i dont usually watch this genre but holy s h i t is it good

93 - whats the hairstyle you wear the most?

honestly just plain hair down (because having curly hair is a menace), split in the middle when i have longer hair and split on one side when its short

also low ponytails or half-up-half-down when im exercising, or double french braids when my hair doesnt cooperate enough to look presentable in any other form

99 - list some songs that resonate with your soul whenever you hear them

this is difficult because my music taste is a goddamn rollercoaster on a good day, but heres some:

- me and the sky from “come from away” musical (this is sort of a test song for my mental stability, if i cry i aint stable)

- dancing after death by matt meason (okay most songs by matt meason except for like,,, hallucinogenics maybe)

- tears and rain by james blunt

- i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie

- almost home by mxmtoon

- anything by hozier really but shrike especially

- payphone, the cover by alex g (i cried to this song so many times)

- burning pile by mother mother (can i roast all my problems please)

- long way from home and cleopatra by the lumineers

- autoclave by the mountain goats

oooh that was c o o o o o o o l as fuck thank you sm so much bebe (and sorry for the long post @everyone else)

#smadhuman being pure af #bay answers #long post #very long post #ask #asks

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

Text

Okay, I need to depart from my usual topics for a moment to talk about Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese. Because these are the single most romantic thing I have ever read. I’m not into love poetry as a general rule, but these aren’t some guy showing off his stylistic ability, they’re not Byron’s love poems that could have been written to a couple dozen different people or to no one in particular - these are intensely personal and intimate and beautiful. They weren’t meant to be seen by anyone else when she first wrote them, during her and Robert Browning’s courtship (she was the more famous poet of the two at the time, but she was six years older than him, an invalid, and - if the poems are anything to go by - struggling with depression); she only showed them to him years later, well after they were married, and he encouraged her to publish them.

And it is a travesty for poetry anthologies just take a few of these and publish them alone, and that people only know about the famous “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...” (which is the second-last of the poems and functions as a conclusion to the set - it’s like reading the conclusion to a story but none of the rest of it!), because they’re not just individual poems, they’re a story of a person struggling with love and hope, the waverings, the doubt, the backward and forward motion, that is completely lost when you split them up. They can be read as a conversation of Elizabeth Barrett with herself, with Robert (though his part is unheard except in her responses to him), or as a kind of love triangle between Robert, Emily, and Death - almost all the sonnets, even the happier ones later on, retain some mention of death. It is made clearest in the ending of Sonnet 23 (near the halfway mark, as there are 44 in total): As brighter ladies do not count it strange, for love, to give up acres and degree, I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange my near sweet view of heaven for earth with thee!

And writing the line that way hopefully makes clear one major aspect of the genius of these sonnets - sonnets are an extremely structured form of verse in terms of cadence and rhyme and length, and when you read most of them (Shakespeare’s, for example), that is very clear and the distinction between poetry and prose is very great. But many of Emily’s, without losing anything of the sonnet structure, flow completely naturally as sentences that you could read without even registering that they follow rhyme and cadence and syllabic restrictions; and, on top of this, are real outpourings of the soul rather than mere exercises of craft. It’s this combination of skill, authenticity, flow, and real passion and conflict and feeling that place them among the greatest poems I’ve ever read.

In several parts, they fit together into natural groupings showing different stages of Emily and Robert’s relationship. The first six are Emily in love with Robert, but refusing him, unable to imagine their love as something possible. Unlike are we, unlike, O princely heart! ...The chrism is on thy head - on mine, the dew - and Death must dig the level where these agree.

I lift my heavy heart up solemnly, as once Electra her sepulchral urn, and overturn the ashes at thy feet....If thy foot in scorn could tread them out to darkness utterly, it might be well perhaps. But if instead thou wait beside me for the wind to blow the grey dust up...those laurels on thine head, O my Belovèd, will not shield thee so that none of all the fires shall scorch and shred the hair beneath. Stand further off then! go.

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand henceforward in thy shadow.

Sonnet 7 forms a break with the others and a brighter note, as the outright rejection of love ends and there is a sense that the relationship has begun. The face of all the world is changed, I think, since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul move still, oh, still beside me, as they stole betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, was caught up in love and taught the whole of life in a new rhythm.

Poems 8 to 12, possibly my favourite sequence, are Elizabeth debating with herself whether she can accept Robert’s love when she has, to her mind, nothing to give in return for it, from

am I cold, ungrateful, that for these most manifold high gifts I rend back nothing at all? Not so; not cold - but very poor indeed. Ask God who knows.

Can it be right to give what I can give? To let thee sit beneath the flood of tears as salt as mine...?

Yet love, mere love, is beautiful indeed, and worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, let temple burn, or flax. An equal light leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed.

and

And therefore if to love can be desert, I am not all unworthy.

concluding with

I should not live withal, unless that thou hadst set me an example, shown me how....And thus, I cannot speak of love, even, as a good thing of my own....And that I love is by thee only, whom I love alone.

Jumping forward a little, Sonnets 15 and 16 are very clearly in conversation with each other and with Robert, the first doubting that his love can last, the second accepting his love and committing to set aside her own low opinion of her merits: I at last record, here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth, I rise above abasement at the word.

From here, the relationship progresses more clearly and confidently. Sonnets 18 and 19 are the couple exchanging locks of hair. The poems after this are less doubtful, more exultant, though usually still with notes of melancholy, and several reflecting on the unimaginable contrast between life before and after love. Sonnets 30 and 31 are another doubt-reassurance pairing, as are Sonnets 36 and 37. Sonnets 33 and 34 compare the past joys of her young childhood with the present joys of love.

Sonnet 43, the famous How do I love thee... is the conclusion to all these (and, I think, less emotionally powerful than many of the others, though that may be only the effect of overuse). Sonnet 44 is a kind of epilogue or dedication, I think probably written not during their courtship and earliest love but later, just before she showed the poems to Robert: Take back these thoughts, which here unfolded too, and which on warm and cold days I withdrew from my heart’s ground.

I love these poems, not as individual poems but as a complex, challenging, beautiful love story, and I think Elizabeth’s ability to write such beautiful, skilled poems while at the same time passionately pouring out her heart shows true genuis.

#elizabeth barrett browning #sonnets from the portuguese #depression cw

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luluwquidprocrow · 3 years

Text

love was made for me and you (and you)

originally posted: february 15th, 2019

word count: 22,821 words

rated: teen

beatrice baudelaire/bertrand baudelaire/lemony snicket, beatrice baudelaire/lemony snicket, beatrice baudelaire/bertrand baudelaire

violet baudelaire, klaus baudelaire, beatrice baudelaire, lemony snicket, bertrand baudelaire, kit snicket, the duchess of winnipeg, dewey denouement, olivia caliban, beatrice snicket

alternate universe – modern setting, alternate universe – everybody lives/nobody dies, alternate universe – parent trap fusion, family, romantic comedy, humor, with occasional required sad undertones, screenplay/script format, less of a fic and more of an outline but one hell of an outline, with enthusiastic swearing by yours truly, referenced but very background kit/dewey and duchess/olivia

Summary:

[so beatrice is nicholas, lemony is elizabeth, violet is annie, klaus is hallie, bertrand is the absolute worst at being meredith because he is a Genuinely Nice Person so honestly he’s really not meredith at all, and those parallels are all a little loose anyway because i moved places and conversations and character roles and basically everything around, everyone is just a mess. where is vfd????? i sure don't know.]

Notes:

back in march 2018, the good the iconic the legendary the CLASSIC ace attorney parent trap au came back on my dash and I decided to rewatch the parent trap a few days later, and as I was watching it, I thought, ‘i wonder how that would work with asoue, and lemony and beatrice, and of course with them getting together with bertrand,’ because I will of course ship the three of them together in any fic I can, but I told myself ‘girl, you cannot write this fic. you have too many other fics to write, you canNOT write this fic.’

I then told myself, ‘well, yeah, okay, but that doesn’t mean I can’t outline it.’

and then the outline spun wildly out of control, to the point where i was never going to write it as a full actual fic because it wasn't going to work like that anymore, but also to the point where it had a life of its own and was in my opinion somehow still worth reading like an actual fic. this is over 20k of a lemonberry ice parent trap au half-fic/half-outline/half-weird-script/wonderful mess of conversations and headcanons, and I genuinely hope my weirdly detailed ramblings (and unapologetic swearing) bring people as much unbridled joy as they bring me. I wrote this with the intention to have fun, and I hope!! you have fun too!!!

I think you can get through this with a working knowledge of the parent trap movie (1998 version) but a thorough knowledge is also very good

title obviously corrupted from love by nat king cole

lemony and beatrice, young and definitely foolish and definitely in love but totally not thinking this through, marry (fairly soon after college) and beatrice has twins, violet and klaus (violet is two minutes older, their birthday in this splits the difference between (what I personally image to be) their canon birthdays, so that’s, what, january 8th or something???? first I had it as the 3rd but nick and liz marry in the movie on january 8th and I was like ‘well that’s not too big a change to make in the name of a good reference’).

not long after, their marriage dissolves (for, well, pretty much canon reasons???? I mean like with less accusations of arson and criminal activity. lemony has Radical Commitment Issues and beatrice is Impulsive and Angry and Not Taking Anyone’s Shit and honestly how they made it through marriage and having kids with all those problems completely in tact and never doing anything about them is anyone’s guess, love is Occasionally Not Cool), they divorce, and lemony takes violet and beatrice takes klaus.

they both leave The City which I have always imagined as new york even though i’ve never spent a second there in my life, but anyway, beatrice does go to california (she likes the weather, but she does not end up in sanfran (danhan’s hometown) – the part of me simultaneously obsessed with a different fandom is screaming santa barbara!!!! but no i’m going to stick with the movie and say although she’s not in a vineyard she is in napa), the idea of lemony just being in england as like, a concept, and especially with a broken heart, is hilarious to me

kit: do I have to confiscate your copy of keats?

kit: do I?

kit: do I, lemony??????

beatrice raises klaus with the help of the duchess of winnipeg (and ramona’s delightfully sentimental and frankly adorable wife, olivia caliban, I will sail this ship single-handedly I guess) (what is ramona doing in california????? OH MAN DO I FINALLY GET TO BUST OUT THIS LINE I TOOK OUT OF THE BAYBEA FIC

ramona: have you seen winnipeg lately???

ramona: there’s not much for me to duchess over.

actually it’s probably that ramona’s mother is still alive in this (otherwise what would be the POINT of everybody lives/nobody dies modern au???? fucking fight me) and she takes care of winnipeg and ramona was like ‘…...canada’s not doing it for me’ and her mother was like ‘canada doesn’t do it much for anyone, dear.’ and ramona skedaddled to california with olivia, which worked out because they have banging careers as artists out in california.) (ramona paints (she likes watercolors and pastels), olivia actually writes historical fiction lesbian romance novels (where everyone also lives!!! she writes an on point jazz age novel only everyone lives and it’s great) (why historical fiction??? olivia is a sucker for romance and loves big sweeping romance epics….and ramona) (are her books just. period piece self-inserts with her and ramona??? well why the FUCK not), they are both………..really too good for this world.) (anyway bea has zero (0) family with which to raise klaus so ramona and olivia offer to help her out. out of the goodness of their hearts and long-standing friendship, not because they have any experience raising a child. they do not. have any experience.)

and lemony raises violet with the help of his sister. kit and dewey get together earlier, and have their daughter earlier (violet’s….five or six when she’s born?), and name her (obvs not beatrice) bernadette (I have Specific Reasons for naming her bernadette, however that is in my giant list of bernadette headcanons, which is a whole other Thing). beatrice is an actress (klaus can’t act for shit, sorry), lemony is a writer (violet doesn’t have a poetic bone in her body, sorry). (but violet can act and klaus is pretty good at putting words together.)

ELEVEN YEARS AGO BY, or, well, eleven and a half, I guess, eleven and a half delightful years filled with the following –

-lemony and beatrice fervently denying they ever married each other and trying to forget the other even exists, what do you mean you have photographic evidence, we were definitely not married

-ramona’s mother briefly going to california to tell three grown women how to change a diaper

-klaus, age one and a half, crawling up the staircase in their house all by himself to get to the library, beatrice promptly dies out of sheer terror

(true event. I did that.)

-violet getting ahold of a wrench at the same age and fixing one of the loose bars in her crib

(not a true event. I did not do that.)

-dewey and jacques, trying to fix the curtains in violet’s room, immediately and silently agreeing to never tell lemony they were The Worst Uncles In Existence for five seconds for accidentally dropping the wrench in violet’s crib

-beatrice training herself not to do a double-take every time she sees klaus with a book because he looks fleetingly like lemony, just for that second

-lemony lulling violet to sleep with a variety of accordion songs, violet’s favorite is his rendition of what he says is ‘a song about spending a day on the beach’ but is actually why I cry by the magnetic fields (particularly danhan’s rendition of it with ben gibbard.)

-hey I never said they were successful at forgetting each other, especially when the kids were kids

-a truly harrowing number of children’s birthday parties

-kit snicket, who firmly kept her maiden name, going through what she called ‘The Chillest Pregnancy In Existence, Look At Me, I’m Completely Fucking Calm’ in the middle of labor

-klaus going through a period where he only read poetry, which caused bea and ramona and olivia to speak in rhyme for a week

-violet insisting she could fix the toaster and promptly not fixing the toaster because nothing was wrong with the toaster (it just wasn’t plugged in.)

-beatrice appearing in a number of plays, klaus being enchanted when she’s in les mis and reading the book but, in fact, only finding the outrageously long sewer chapter interesting

-violet trying to write a poem for lemony for father’s day and rhyming ‘orange’ with ‘mortgage’

that summer, they both wind up sending violet and klaus to the same summer camp excursion, because what sort of comedy would this be without the wildest coincidence ever, honestly

kit drops violet off at the camp a la martin – will lemony get on a plane?? that is a resounding No (also he would have just cried the whole time. the whole time. the. whole. time.)

however lemony is the one who does the ‘fruits, vegetables’ thing, only before violet leaves, and he gives her a million hugs and honestly doesn’t want her to go to camp oh my god, it’s only because violet tells him he’s sort of squishing her that he stops hugging her, lemony is???? like the most concerned parent of all time

kit, meanwhile….

kit: I was going to give you a new dart set but I was informed that they would not let you through customs.

violet: uncle dewey told you, didn’t he.

kit: I married a real killjoy, violet.

I honestly cannot think of a scene for klaus to parallel hallie meeting glasses and tie dye girl while getting her duffel bag. I thought of putting the quagmires in this but I think that’s…...pushing the identical envelope a little here (would’ve been worth it though for the brief note I used to have here that was just isadora shouting ‘HOW DID THEY TAKE SO LONG TO REALIZE THEY WERE RELATED THEY LOOK EXACTLY ALIKE’)

i’m sure they hang out with like-minded people before running into each other, it’s a good camp and they literally never talk to those other characters again anyway, which is, a real shame

we can all at least rest assured that klaus gets to camp in once piece regardless and doesn’t have a conversation about darts and airport customs, anyway beatrice, ramona, and olivia each smuggle a deck of cards into his suitcase as a surprise and he has three card decks and impresses all the other kids in his cabin with a giant architecturally sound house of cards made to resemble thoreau’s cabin at walden pond

hey annie and hallie are both allergic to strawberries and KLAUS AND VIOLET ARE ALLERGIC TO PEPPERMINTS

before they meet there’s probably a moment like with marva sr and the strawberries (I just had a horrifying thought that JEROME is the camp counselor (esme is nowhere in this. olaf is nowhere in this.) and that’s…………..awful, but, as I was writing the following scene, you know who I wrote him more like?????? arthur fucking poe, what did I just fucking do, honestly poe is a WORSE choice but…...well

mr. poe: we have peppermint brownies today!

[I just saw someone on the food network make peppermint cheesecake brownies and I want them so bad]

klaus: oh, i’m allergic

mr. poe: oh, well, please live

mr. poe: I cannot perform cpr

klaus: …………………………………………………………….shouldn’t you maybe –

mr. poe: for your own personal safety and especially my own i’m going to have to ask you to step away from the brownies

[violet shows up on mr poe’s other side]

violet: oh! peppermint, i’m allergic

mr. poe: another – didn’t I just see you? how did your hair get longer that fast? that’s not an allergic reaction, is it?

violet: ……………………………………………………………...i don’t think that’s –

mr. poe: i’m going to eat this entire brownie pan to save lives, but also because I want these brownies

he came out more like show!poe instead of book!poe but, I do not care, no one cares about mr. poe.

SO, violet and klaus eventually do meet and have practically zero immediate animosity, also through fencing!!! lemony and bea are both canonically badass fencers but I stand by what I said in fight me, that lemony is the better fencer, and violet wins. klaus concedes his loss to a talented fencer. they take off their masks and are like WHOA WE LOOK REASONABLY SIMILAR

violet: I don’t know, I think your eyes might be little farther apart than mine.

klaus: oh, don’t worry, i’ll probably grow into them. it can take some time before people really grow into their faces.

however this does get them talking and they find out they have so much in common! they’re like, ‘you like books and only have one super weird parent??? what a coincidence!’

then they find out they both play cards. (this stays, cause poker games are gold and I am reasonably sure watching the parent trap so much as a kid was what instilled this love of ‘hilarious poker games’ in me because I used to jam them into my fanfics all the time.) (also explains why I only know two poker hands….)

they hold an (amicable!) poker game that night with all the campers, and they do like a round robin tournament sort of thing and swap tips all night until it’s just the two of them facing each other, and klaus wins. (lemony is Pretty Good at cards and definitely taught violet BUT you’re damn right bea taught her kid how to count cards. not that klaus wins through cheating, he also has a natural talent and bea’s impeccable poker face. klaus also hangs out with ramona, who has repeatedly kicked lemony’s ass at cards as well.)

since they still have to wind up in the isolation cabin (because how else are they going to secretly plan swapping identities with NO GODDAMN COUNSELOR noticing???), CARMELITA is at camp and busts them for the poker game. she got eliminated pretty early in the game and camped out outside the cabin the rest of the kids were in waiting until someone won and then got mr. poe.

mr poe: gambling is not for children! unless of course you have a verified accountant or, perhaps, an established banker who wanted to embark on a personal journey and decided to run a camp for small children but has always wanted to go back and manage money again because, you know, even after the two scandals, I was good at – but we don’t have time for this, violet, klaus, it’s very irresponsible to try and get adults going on a tangent to avoid your responsibilities.

violet and klaus: but we didn’t –

mr poe: i’m afraid that I have no other choice but to send you to the isolation cabin.

carmelita: cakesniffers in the isolation cabin!!! CAKESNIFFERS IN THE ISOLATION CABIN!!!!

oh……..that was painful.

AT LEAST THE CABIN IS LIKE A NICE GOOD CABIN AND NOT the orphan shack, also like how far into the woods is the isolation cabin???? do the marvas really just leave kids out there?????? come on, marvas…..

and so our heroes get stuck in a windy lil cabin out in the woods.

what do they do when they hang out there, since they have Zero Animosity???? talk about books. read books. klaus does sketches of various local leaves. violet rewires the lamps so they don’t flicker and rigs up the windows so they don’t bang open in the middle of the night. the only thing they argue about is how to make toast, which isn’t even IN the cabin (unless violet makes something into a toaster), whatever

does klaus have a stuffed animal like cuppy???? damn straight he does. because why the hell not. (some boys play with dolls? SOME BOYS HAVE STUFFED ANIMALS)

i’m being really basic here but it’s a teddy bear BUT bea made lil wire glasses for it because klaus got glasses when he was real little so she thought he’d feel better if his favorite stuffed animal also had glasses (bea wears glasses but she HATES wearing them although I think after klaus gets glasses she tries to wear them more because bea is supportive as hell) (she needs new glasses though like they’re still these big thick black frames from her goth phase and she hates them but she hates the idea of an eye doctor appointment more) (bold of me to assume bea has ever honestly stopped having a goth phase, though…)

oh gosh what is the bear’s name

what’s something like super nerdy but cute for a small book-loving child to have named a bear

oh no, he names it kenneth. bea reads baby klaus the wind in the willows and he names his bear kenneth and this is so cute. I can’t fucking handle this, oh my god

honestly I am one of those people who thinks oreos w/ peanut butter would be pretty disgusting. (I mean, without the cream in the middle, sure, that probably tastes good, but like, with the cream and the peanut butter???? no) their snack of choice is………….hey isn’t there a snack in penultimate peril at the picnic it’s mentioned they like

or is just because I have that particular book within three feet of me, i’m gonna check

okay, it does mention that klaus likes custard eclairs, violet makes a smoked fish sandwich and wants to try the chocolate spread. maybe they just like oreos, sans peanut butter. I like oreos. (also, you can’t stash eclairs in a suitcase.

olivia, staring at a series of freshly-baked custard eclairs and a collection of tupperware containers: ….do you think I made too much??

ramona: olivia, he’s – he’s just going to summer camp.)

ANYWAY, how do they realize they’re siblings???? like???? how do

do they have half pictures in this??????? I think that’s honestly going to be the easiest way

like, of course lemony and beatrice would have a wedding picture, and they are both absolutely extra and dramatic enough to have each other’s half

it probably is still a ‘sitting at a table, staring lovingly at each other’ sort of thing, lemony in a white suit and beatrice in a suitably extravagant but actually still somehow very low-key for her wedding dress (there’s a lot of tulle though, like………..layers of tulle………………………..), their color scheme flower-wise was red and white roses because like, what fucking else would they pick at that time (they are only JUST convinced by like, jacques, probably, to do red/white instead of red/black, beatrice personally wanted purple/black)

kit gave violet the picture of beatrice, because while she hasn’t spoken to beatrice since her brother’s divorce, she does think lemony and bea could stand to talk to each other

(although I headcanon kit as the kind of person to firmly forget about past romances and put them behind her THROUGH ANY MEANS NECESSARY this is not strict asoue canon, and she always liked beatrice, anyway. lemony and bea breaking up isn’t like kit and olaf breaking up, which, i’m not even gonna try and touch in this)

klaus found the picture of lemony when he was reading through anna karenina (beatrice forgot she put it in there when she let klaus read it) and figured immediately that it had to be his father, and he kept it (maybe he showed it to ramona, who was like, ‘yep, that was your father. goodness, I forgot how awful his hair looked back then.’)

they’re probably reading some book about geography (klaus is into geography at the time)

klaus: my mother says that for my birthday next year, she’ll take me on a trip to see the famous hinterlands sunset.

violet: my father’s shown me pictures, but he agrees that it’s a lot prettier in person, but he’s also not one for planes.

klaus: well, I don’t believe hinterlands are technically confined to one geographical area, i’m sure there’s more than just in california – here, i’m sure there must be more information in the index.

violet: when’s your birthday, klaus?

klaus: january 8th.

violet: !!!! that’s my birthday!

klaus: !!! that is an extraordinary coincidence.

I never said these kids were smart.

klaus: violet, what’s your father like?

violet: he’s kind of quiet, but he’s very kind. oh, I have a picture of him – well, sort of –

she pulls out from one of her own books a picture of lemony, from behind, sitting at his desk at his typewriter, absolutely no recognizable features present whatsoever

violet: he didn’t know aunt kit was taking the picture, otherwise he would’ve turned around.

violet: actually, even then he probably wouldn’t have? he insists he’s not very photogenic.

violet: what about your father?

klaus: i’ve never met him. he’s – my mother doesn’t talk about him much, but I got the impression that they divorced shortly after I was born.

violet: oh, gosh. i’m sorry, klaus.

violet: ….sometimes I think I get that impression too, about my parents.

klaus: i’m sorry too, violet.

and if this were a snicket novel, insert soft, gentle explanation about divorce and commiseration and finding kindred spirits in your friends and how sometimes love does not work out and the affects we don’t realize it has on the children who watch it happen or see the aftermath and are left with the gnawing wonder of what went wrong and how violet and klaus each wonder, a little, what the cause was, and it can be very lonely, at the end of the day, to know that even if you have one parent who loves you very much, there is someone out there who may not love you at all, and never got the chance to know you to love you, and an even deeper part of you that wonders – no matter how young you were – were you the cause of it?

violet: oh, but I – I have a picture of my mother, my aunt kit gave it to me – I have it in my suitcase

violet: /gets up to get the picture

klaus: I, I have a picture of my father, too, in fact I think it’s stuck in this book somewhere in the back, I didn’t want to forget it

and

as violet goes to sit back down with the picture of her mother, the half-picture of beatrice from her wedding day, klaus pulls out from the index the half-picture of lemony from his wedding day

and they are

STUNNED

to realize

this is, of course, the exact same picture.

there’s a lot of hugging and crying.

so they realize they’re siblings!!! and then decide try to figure out what the hell even happened with their parents, because now that they know they’re fucking related and still somehow wound up meeting each other they realize that there has to be some incredibly detailed story behind the reasoning for their parents splitting up and now they have not just proof but an actual opportunity to find out and maybe, just maybe, get their parents back together in the process!!! it worked once!!! it could work again, why not!!!!!

AND SO THEY DECIDE TO SWAP PLACES. (contrary to hallie having the idea, it occurs to them at the same time.)

meanwhile

for the past, say, YEAR, or so, bea has been seeing bertrand, a friend from her childhood (just narrowly managing to keep it from klaus BECAUSE it will involve A Conversation About Lemony and Commitment and Marriage and Things Not Working Out and Falling In Love With Someone Else and look bea is good at a lot of things but it’s a really heavy subject for her that even after eleven years she hasn’t quite figured out how to parse, so she’s really been putting off trying to explain all of that to klaus, in a case of her vastly underestimating her son [bea you see all the books he reads…….talk to your son]), and things are going well between them and they love each other a lot and!!! they decide to get married.

how do they meet up again??? bertrand winds up going to one of her plays completely on accident. he’s been on the other side of the country for years and years and he happens to go to napa and hears about this play happening and he’s like ‘well that sounds really neat!’ because bertrand had a short-lived theater career in high school and doesn’t act all that much anymore but appreciates a good play! who doesn’t appreciate a good play??

(bertrand played lieutenant frank cioffi in his senior year production of curtains to rave local newspaper reviews. bea, meanwhile, gave a stunning performance as carmen bernstein [esme wanted to be carmen so fucking bad and she’s never forgotten that bea got the role instead, and that would not even factor into this au even if esme WAS in this au] [esme was, instead, jessica cranshaw (if it was a small school she maybe doubled as bambi), ramona was niki harris, olivia played johnny harmon, olaf was…...daryl grady……..which pains me to write cause the guy I had a crush on in high school played daryl, josephine and ike played georgia hendricks and aaron fox, jacquelyn and gustav were head of stage crew, lemony supported them all from the audience – unless lemony was sasha????!!!!!!!! okay lemony was totally sasha.]) (wow I got unnecessarily invested in their high school drama club.) (IS THEODORA THE DRAMA ADVISOR?????? oh my god. oh my god she’d be so bad at it but so good. i’m dying.

theodora: snicket you need to FLOURISH your baton with MUCH MORE GUSTO

lemony: I am going to flourish this baton right up your –

bertrand: HE’S DECIDED AGAINST IT THANK YOU MISS MARKSON)

(hey you ever write a parallel that’s so good you hate it????? olivia is johnny. olaf is daryl.)

(I usually headcanon bertrand as two years older than bea and lemony but for the purposes of this au they’re all the same age – however bertrand joined drama club first, and I picture lemony as more of a band kid than a drama kid, they probably just pull him in for curtains.

was lemony drum major???? I want to say ‘hell no’ but I also want to say ‘most cryptic drum major ever, lead the most bizarre championship performance in the school’s history, somehow still won’) (I wonder what song it was to???? that right there is where my secondhand band knowledge conks out.) (but if I HAD to supply ‘bizarre, cryptic song for championships’ I would probably pick like, david lynch’s dark night of the soul or something, idk.) (but like, listen to it and just imagine it with marching band instruments……….i kind of like it. i’m kind of digging it.)

ANYWAY BERTRAND LOVES SEEING PLAYS and he goes to see it and he has NO IDEA bea is even in it and he’s like SUPER THROWN to see her but also???? really excited! it’s been eleven years!!! he can talk to her!!!! he finds her after the play and bea immediately drops whatever she was holding and is just like???? absolutely breathless to see him again (it’s been ELEVEN YEARS, cats. oh god no it’s been more like FIFTEEN YEARS since bertrand has seen bea cause they haven’t spoken since high school oh no that hurts even MORE). a giantass hug is involved. bea spins bertrand around. they make plans to see each other later. then they start hanging out, and they like, reconcile from their weird high school fallout and have a really neat relationship)

(so

the high school fallout

lemony and bea and bertrand were all delightful friends since they were kids (well, lemony and bea were, bertrand moved to town and joined their class when they were freshman in high school). they all had stupid crushes on each other, uggg. there was. an incident. at the end of their school escapades that resulted in a falling out with bertrand (maybe they had an idea of how they all felt and just couldn’t or weren’t ready to figure it out and it sort of. drove a wedge between them. not on purpose, it was just the way it happened to work out, with teenage emotions and refusing to talk about things and uncertainty. lemony+bea and bertrand went their separate ways after graduation, lemony and bea married right out of college, bertrand does his own thing, life goes on.) (maybe there was like some prom drama about who was gonna take who and who asked who first or something (at my junior prom, I was ready to kill the guy I asked who turned me down for that very reason). I mean that’s legit???? prom drama is incredibly legit. why is there so much drama at prom??????)

(honestly after going back and writing the production of curtains and remembering the (specifically romance-related) drama I witnessed happening among the drama club at my high school (I wasn’t in drama but I had a startling number of friends who were) i’m surprised they had the drama at prom and not in the middle of drama club, but i’m still going to stand by ‘prom drama.’)

(and I feel like it was prom drama of the type that’s like, low-key there and A Thing people think about but no one talks about or addresses so the whole night is real awkward and you worry something is gonna break out at any second but nothing does but you’re still obsessively on your toes about it. like, that simultaneously high-strung just-there high school romance drama angst that’s just this ever-present layer coloring everything that people say and do, hyped up specifically because it’s PROM. they probably all danced with each other and the dances were all cut short because of Feelings and Awkwardness and no one knew what to do, the whole damn night.)

and like, bertrand, going off to college and a little heartbroken but unwilling to try and do anything about it, is upset, but bertrand is also bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire, and honestly he wants them to be happy (bertrand is……..very non-confrontational……….and it is honestly his downfall, he likes to have fun and be nice and kind, and to acknowledge scary things is to actually deal with them and that scares bertrand so much, he buries a lot of things – so do bea and lemony, and in fact all of vfd, but in very different ways. bertrand has achieved a sort of Chill™ that bea and lemony just do not have) so he just goes on with his life, he does date other people but nothing ends in marriage, he becomes a librarian in maine and is actually only in california originally for a few months to help manage some of the collections at local libraries. then he runs into bea and he doesn’t like INTEND for a romance to happen (and neither does bea, which I also firmly stand behind for their canon romance too), he still planned to leave at the end of the few months, but it happens and bertrand feels a lot more secure in himself and his feelings about people than he did in high school and they really do love each other, a lot

oh he went to college for library science!!!! obviously lemony majored in lit and bea majored in theater and music)

(OH NO WAS BERTRAND AT THE WEDDING?????? oh no bertrand was not at the wedding. I mean he’s certainly invited but bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire is also bertrand ‘vaguely heartbroken, does not want to interfere, can actually honestly only take so much’ baudelaire and he says that he��ll be unable to make it. sigh. I want to say he sends a sweet wedding gift or even just flowers but man that makes me so sad to think about lemony and bea getting that on/around their wedding day and THEM being sad and i’m too sad now, bertrand does not send a gift. (he’s torn up about not sending a gift for some time. years later, walking through an antique shop, he is struck with the ‘Years Later But Still Feels Like It Just Happened And Oh Shit Why Did I Do That’ brand of Lingering Awful Anxiety™ about all that.)

HE DOES NOT KNOW ABOUT THE DIVORCE until he meets up with bea and she tells him.

bertrand: so how’s lemony????

beatrice: ahahhahahhahahhahhahahhahhahhahhahhahahaaaa!!!!!!

beatrice: ahahaha

beatrice: ahaha.

beatrice: …….oh you genuinely do not know oh shit i’m sorry

(I wanted so badly to put in my ‘bertrand and olivia were good cute friends and actually are penpals and like lemony and ramona’s ongoing card game they have an ongoing checkers game’ headcanon but it just. won’t. fit. in. here. cause why wouldn’t olivia have told him about the divorce???? I mean it’s bea’s thing to tell, NOT olivia’s, but to occasionally write to bertrand for YEARS and never mention she and ramona live with bea?????? I think that’s a little much.)

(does bertrand ever try and convince bea to reconcile with lemony???? I feel like at this point in his life he WOULD but bea would have very early on and very firmly vetoed that. and bertrand wouldn’t necessarily be happy about it but respects her wishes. not because he wants bea all to himself. but because bertrand is also quite frankly still. a little nervous re: navigating relationships. like he’s for sure A LOT BETTER at it now but like!!!! especially with lemony like bertrand is TERRIFIED of seeing lemony again. he really is. I think he thinks lemony blames him for stuff even though lemony does not. and I don’t want it to seem like bertrand’s……….just sort of swooping in and taking bea and not letting her talk to lemony????? cause it’s not that, it’s not that at all

they do really love each other

and just because bertrand’s grown as a person doesn’t mean he’s PERFECT

and bea certainly Does Not want to talk to lemony

it’s just, nick never mentions to meredith that hallie’s a twin and meredith HATES hallie and annie anyway, but bertrand does not hate kids and I just wonder, has bea told him about violet???????? like why wouldn’t she????????

so I mean yeah they probably have talked about it, and probably still came to the same conclusion, bea Does Not want to talk to lemony either, just, not right now, and yeah bertrand isn’t delighted about it but he’s like ‘alright, okay.’ because he still understands her reasoning and for all his talk he really doesn’t want to talk to lemony either

but it’s, I think it’s a thing, in the back of their minds, a worry that hits them sometimes, have they done something wrong, trying to forget)

(and this is why planning takes so much time because I always have so many stupid questions about characters)

(when bea and lemony were young and in college and extraordinarily drunk they would come up with new titles for bertrand, because they forgot they were trying not to talk about him

beatrice: bertrand ‘best hair this side of the mississippi’ baudelaire

lemony: bertrand ‘smooth hands’ baudelaire

beatrice: bertrand –

beatrice: wait do you mean like, his legit hands or like what he DOES with his hands

lemony, trying very hard not to think about Doing Things with Hands: ……..both

lemony: I definitely mean both

beatrice: good, I agree

beatrice: bertrand ‘i WILL dance the charleston and no one will stop me and I do not care’ baudelaire

lemony: bertrand ‘softest reading voice’ baudelaire

lemony: no no, wait, bertrand ‘BEST reading voice’ baudelaire, remember when he read ee cummings

beatrice: bertrand ‘i read lord of the flies and cried at the end’ baudelaire

lemony: oh bea are you complimenting him or being mean

beatrice: lemony I read lord of the flies and threw it out the fucking window when that kid killed piggy

beatrice: that was a compliment)

(ee cummings is because I have a scene in another fic where bertrand reads ‘maggie and milly and molly and may’ to beatrice and lemony and gosh…..i hope I get to use it at some point, it was a beautiful scene)

(they probably stop talking about bertrand like, sophomore year of college, idk, it just gets too hard and they become really miserable drunk nineteen-year-olds about it, and that’s not cool) (AT LEAST THEY HAVE THE WHEREWITHAL TO DO THAT)

ANYWAY, back to violet and klaus, who are still at camp and have decided to switch places!

ultimately, violet (like hallie) is supposed to find out how bea and lemony got together, and klaus (like annie) is supposed to find out why they broke up

violet cuts her hair (she’s a little bummed because she likes her hair but at least it won’t get in her way when inventing) and pierces klaus’s ears (klaus is so UP FOR THIS he’s very excited, also he keeps himself calm during it by telling violet the history of ear piercing) (these kids are either canonically very good at rationalizing or it’s just me radically projecting again…..or both), klaus practices wandering around without glasses (he bumps into EVERYTHING), violet practices how to fucking wear glasses and not die (she falls over EVERYTHING), of course violet already has an appreciation for books but she has to get the definition thing down (and growing up with lemony ‘a phrase which here means’ snicket left her with a pretty unorthodox idea of word meanings sometimes

klaus: so an optimist is someone who sees a positive side in any situation, like –

violet: say, if their arm was bit off by an alligator, a pessimist would say, “ahh! my arm!” and an optimist would say, “well, this isn’t too bad, no one will wonder if i’m right or left handed now.”

klaus: ……….what sort of person is our father

violet: he’s very specific about words.)

klaus has to figure out?????? how to invent on the fly????? (he’s seen beatrice macgyver a million things together but he’s still not sure how she does it) and the two of them teach each other about their lives, beatrice and lemony, ramona and olivia and kit and dewey and bernadette

violet: bernadette is really delightful, but you need to watch out for her

klaus: well, she is six years old –

violet: no, I mean, she can appear at a moment’s notice, and I don’t know who taught her how to pick locks, because I certainly didn’t and father can’t pick locks, but she can do it in under seven seconds.

(jacques taught her how to pick locks (he also taught violet). I don’t know where vfd fits into all this or if it even does in this fanfic but like, just try and tell me these guys don’t still act like absurd spies in any universe anyway.) (also I think lockpicking is, in general, a handy life skill, even if you aren’t living the absurd spy life.)

klaus: mother is, um

klaus: a little embarrassing

violet: how so?

klaus: she once scaled a ten foot wall because I forgot my lunch.

(ramona: hey so why did becoming a parent rob you of your top-notch secrecy skills?

[not necessarily, though, I mean, she does a great job scaling the ten-foot wall in complete secrecy. bea just, has a lot of love for her son, and is VERY OBVIOUS ABOUT IT, is the thing]

beatrice: ramona have you SEEN my son

beatrice: I will take a BULLET for him

beatrice: preferably in a non-critical area so we can hang out afterwards.

beatrice: but if I have to embarrass the shit out of him to make sure he eats, I WILL)

violet: father is the same way, a little. he keeps crying on the first day of school and I don’t have the heart to break it to him that I might be too old for that.

klaus: mother calls encouraging phrases from the car, which I think she does to prevent me from walking into school too fast.

violet: you know, they really sound like they were made for each other.

(lemony and bea, like, separately, are such legit disaster parents and I love them, they love their kids so damn much.)

the last day of camp comes, and it is time for them to officially swap places – violet goes to beatrice, klaus goes to lemony!

klaus recites book themes to himself the whole plane ride to england to keep himself calm because he’s trying not to think about how worried and excited he is!!! he’s going to meet his father for the first time!! truth be told, he knows pretty much nothing about lemony, even after talking to violet!!! IT’S A LOT FOR ANY KID TO TAKE IN, to suddenly think ‘yeah this was a good plan – oh fuck’

anyway, he meets kit at the airport, because kit is there to pick up violet. (kit and violet do not have a secret handshake. they have, of course, dart-throwing contests. of course that doesn’t make sense in an airport, but whatever. that’s their thing.)

why does kit pick klaus up at the airport instead of lemony??? I mean kit is in martin’s role but she’s NOT martin, you know, she’s lemony’s sister and definitely does not wait on him, but she does drop violet off at camp anyway, although in the movie that’s to prevent elizabeth (and nick) from showing up until the kids switch for Maximum Emotional Impact, but like lemony is obviously not THAT fucking busy he can’t pick up his own daughter

I had the thought that like kit is maybe his manager (on the side, otherwise she has….god some other job)??? does that work for a writer???? i’m a writer and I don’t even know. whatever. and kit maybe scheduled a reading that day by accident months in advance and couldn’t change it, or it runs long, so she has to get violet (klaus) from the airport

(moxie is still his editor, only she lives way out of town and they send angry emails to each other all the time about his work)

also ties in with hallie’s scene where she looks at elizabeth’s vanity and says she’s super cool about the wedding dresses cause I love that scene a LOT and I want klaus to think his stupid dad’s cool!!!

kit: violet, I am all for the beginning of your teenage rebellion with this new hairstyle but I should inform you that your father may just die.

klaus: you think he won’t like it??

[read: YOU THINK HE WON’T LIKE ME]

kit: he’ll probably come around to it. he’s still at his reading, do you want to surprise him?

klaus: !!!!!!

klaus: yes!

the reading is huge. I have no damn idea what lemony writes in this au, definitely not danhan’s stuff cause it’s not his vibe, but he still writes the picture books (although there are YEARS between them irl he wrote the composer is dead and the dark for bernadette before she became, in her words, Too Old For That Sort of Thing although she still secretly really likes them and reads the dark every night before she goes to bed. bernadette, in contrast to babybea, is fucking terrified of the dark but tries to like rationalize it out by thinking through the science of light or something, and then by just rereading the dark), oh he probably like, okay so he can’t just write asoue but he probably writes some other great children’s book series with the same sort of writing style and moral discussion, and the picture books

and violet told klaus he wrote stuff and bea like…..knows he does and refuses to talk about it but reads ramona’s copies in the middle of the night (and then has to stop doing that cause it bums her out too much), but klaus has no idea about it or how good it is and he’s so impressed, sitting at the back of this giant giant theater, and klaus loves books, he loves them with all his heart, and to sit there and see his father, for the first time in his whole life, doing something that klaus thinks is so incredibly cool

klaus: wow.

okay, so, the damn relief and happiness on lemony’s face when he sees kit and klaus

has he been imagining terrible airplane accidents for the past week? weeks? MONTHS??? yes he has.

he sees them once he gets offstage and immediately runs at this child (or, at least, definitely fastwalks.) and sweeps klaus up into this giant giant hug

klaus is!!! overwhelmed by the amount of sheer unadulterated love in this hug oh no i’m crying

putting aside that he’s pretending to be violet, this is the first time he gets a hug from his father and even if lemony thinks he’s violet klaus is still the one getting the hug and it’s just, a lot, man, it’s a lot, that scene in the movie where elizabeth hugs hallie is exactly the vibe right here god it’s so fucking sweet

lemony: oh, goodness – what happened to your hair?

klaus: I – I cut it. do you –

lemony is in the process of remembering that scissors and haircuts exist, he’s a little blindsided here

lemony: no, no – haircuts are things that happen, at one time or another, to all of us.

lemony: i’m just so happy that you’re back.

he just. hugs klaus again. god I can’t handle how much lemony loves his kids. klaus is really emotional and I’M really emotional I have to move on

on the ride home (kit is still driving)

lemony: so how was it at camp?

klaus: /frantically thinking of how he’s going to pull off something violet would say now that he’s HERE and has to act like her and decides to just be honest and hope it comes out okay

klaus: I had a lot of fun; the outdoors are incredibly pulchritudinous.

lemony: /thoroughly convinced that the outdoors has finally instilled violet with a greater poetic sense

I NEVER SAID THEIR PARENTS WERE SMART EITHER

do you know how wild the plot of this movie really is, when you get down to it, parents not recognizing their kids wtf have I done

violet can act pretty passably as klaus, but klaus, even employing beatrice’s acting techniques, just can’t act. but the one who finds him out is bernadette, like half an hour after he gets home.

[you can tell what scenes originally started this outline because they’re actually written like scenes, this was one of them]

[bernadette stares at klaus with wide, curious eyes over the top of her book. “you’re not violet,” she says.

the bottom of klaus’s stomach drops clear out. “what?”

“violet doesn’t squint when she’s confused,” bernadette says. “she frowns and puts her hair up. and it’s something she’s used to doing, so even if her hair was cut, she’d still reach for a ribbon, out of habit. you’re klaus. shouldn’t you have glasses? mother says aunt beatrice wore glasses.”

“how – how did you know about me?”

bernadette rolls her eyes. “i know everything,” she says loftily, for a six year old. “i can read, after all.”]

bernadette is the best kid. so I love babybea so much but babybea in canon is like…..still very on point but very quiet about it, because she’s grown up with really so little interaction with people????? she’s like a really subdued kid because she’s had to be so independent and do so many things herself. and she’s got her firm, almost unshakable optimism. so bernadette is still very quick and clever but a LOT more precocious about it and pretty boisterous for six years old and just. even more like kit than babybea is. her optimism is a little more…..sharp in this. I don’t think she understands embarrassment, as a thing that people experience, because she sure doesn’t. she’s just like, ‘well why don’t you just try again??????’ and it’s so great to see that inherent commitment to existence in a six year old

(an important sidenote from my bernadette headcanon list, though, is that she really does just read everything. she reads cereal boxes and magazines and reports and all the papers on lemony’s desk and really just absolutely anything she can get her hands on, and she’s easily bored so she goes looking for stuff sometimes and she’s good at putting things together, so that’s how she knows about klaus.)

[“i’m not gonna tell anybody,” she says. “i wanna see what happens. uncle lemony’s kind of lonely, you know? and aunt beatrice – when they talk about her – always sounded really nice.”]

bernadette makes it her MISSION to help klaus act more like violet and cover for him as much as she can

bernadette: you need to walk different

bernadette: and hold yourself a little taller

bernadette: here, keep this wrench in your pocket, violet likes wrenches

bernadette: and this ribbon!!! she didn’t give you any????

bernadette: oh, make sure you stare off into the distance while eating and think about machines or something

klaus: how do you notice all these things???

bernadette: ?????? doesn’t everybody?????? she’s your sister, you two didn’t follow each other around to try and pin down how you act????

klaus: …..do you do that, bernadette

bernadette: regularly. I can impersonate anyone’s footsteps. except my mother’s, because I think she keeps wearing different shoes on purpose. i’ll show you sometime.

so, armed with This Random Wrench and a lot of acting details that he can’t process very well, klaus HANGS OUT WITH LEMONY

so klaus spends a lot of time in the library in lemony’s house (which also doubles as lemony’s office, it’s big enough that he and violet can take separate corners and know each other’s there but not run into each other if they don’t want to (especially good for klaus pretending to be violet because no one has to see him TOTALLY FAIL AT INVENTING)), and it has so many books and klaus is so thrilled

klaus has to try and bring up bea and find out how they met, only, DISCREETLY

[gosh this one is a lot harder without “so doesn’t designing all those wedding dresses make you think about getting married again?”, especially because the truly spectacular “f word” line doesn’t make sense with lemony but what can you do]

he probably goes up to lemony while lemony’s at his desk because klaus figures, the easiest way could be to relate to something on the desk

AS purposeful narrative coincidence LUCK WOULD HAVE IT lemony is looking for something in his desk and you know lemony keeps the most inconsequential things and has accidentally dug out his plaque for ‘one semester of cheerleader participation’

klaus, immediately thrown by this news: you were a cheerleader?

lemony: mm? oh, my, I forgot about that.

he smiles at the plaque and dusts it off and my heart is m e l t i n g

lemony: yes, in high school. I wasn’t the only boy on the team, as a matter of fact. a – a friend of mine did it with me.

klaus: why were you on the cheerleading squad?

lemony, trapped in this conversation now: well – your mother was on the soccer team. I was not what you would call athletically inclined at the time, so I joined to support her.

klaus: !!!!!!!

klaus: my – my mother?

this was a fact he did not know about beatrice, as a matter of fact

lemony, realizing that children are going to be curious about their parents and, well, okay, it’s been eleven years, I probably won’t see beatrice again (ahahahahaha.), and my child deserves to know: yes. she was very good at soccer, among other talents, although she didn’t last very long in her soccer career.

klaus: why not?

[if this man was PAYING ATTENTION he would have noticed for sure that klaus is much more straightforward than violet.]

lemony, remembering that time beatrice launched herself across the soccer field and accidentally tackled the assistant coach and dragged him through the mud: she and the coach disagreed on some of the physical aspects of the game.

klaus, dying to hear what lemony’s going to say: what was she like?

lemony, immediately remembering the details of their divorce but also a series of Shenanigans from their school days that he should never repeat to anyone, then resolving to be kind about it: very charming and resourceful.

lemony: she had a great deal of verve.

lemony: I see a lot of it in you.

klaus is touched, I’M touched, god fucking dammit

klaus resolves to leave it there and decides to dig around lemony’s desk later for other things about bea and lemony when lemony isn’t looking

which he promptly does, that night.

klaus sees his typewriter and pictures of kit and jacques and there’s probably one of ramona (in a drawer) (sorry, ramona.) and in a secret compartment in the desk is a pic of bea (maybe one of bertrand too?) (definitely one of bertrand too) and some letters from bea (klaus recognizes her handwriting)

(watch it be something like, some stupid candygram she sent him for valentine’s day that says dear lemony, [the content of this candygram has been censored by the school administration] love bea!!!!!) (bea gets detention for a week for the content of the candygram.) (the second candygram gets through but it’s only because bea writes it so thoroughly in code that the school administration, at a passing glance, cannot see how raunchy it is. but also very heartfelt. it is genuinely heartfelt.) (so of course he has some from bertrand too. because bertrand sent everyone a candygram. they’re all so friendly but so sweet and so cute and bertrand’s just breaking my heart in this whole fic I love him so much) (they’re stuff like, i’m so happy we’re friends! happy valentine’s day! i made sure this candygram doesn’t have anything that will conflict with your peanut allergy! like some fucking NERD and i’m SOBBING) (because you know bertrand was on student council and helped with the candygrams, bea and lemony were definitely not on student council)

(bea: what gets me is that they still sent it!! they censored my loving sonnet about your ass but they still sent it!!!!!!

bertrand: I guess nothing stops true love?

lemony: or, nothing stops beatrice mariner. [you’d have to kill me before I conceded to ‘beatrice kornbluth.’ anyway one of kornbluth’s pen names was mariner so that’s my compromise.])

klaus thinks the candygrams are so fucking embarrassing and also had no idea his mother was capable of such language but then again, no, she is, but he also thinks they’re charming and evidence that lemony still has feelings for beatrice, if he kept them!!

he’s, intrigued, a little concerned, but not very worried about this mysterious picture of a strange man and his own candygrams, although klaus concedes they too are very sweet.

MEANWHILE, back in california

bea is so so so so so excited to pick up klaus (not knowing it’s violet) from the airport, like she manages to sit still for most of the wait but in the last half hour she just sort of bounces around the airport and buys a series of irritating, tasteless teas (“fuck this tea is so bland yes i’m ordering another one, ramona, don’t judge me”) and reads the same newspaper over and over again and when the flight comes in she’s ECSTATIC, MY GIRL IS BOUNCING ALL OVER THE PLACE

she’s the kind of like……...vaguely silly but a little (a lot) overprotective (?) parent

like beatrice is the one SHOUTING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS WHEN SHE SEES HER KID CAUSE SHE’S SO THRILLED, she’s just very vocal about how much she loves….

[I actually rewrote some of bea in this (or, changed the amount of capitals I had her using) because, like, bea is delightful and charming and very smooth but she’s also got such passion for life, she loves to be delighted and she loves to laugh, and she’s so smooth and sarcastic but like!!!! I love beatrice when she’s having a good time, but I got worried that she was leaning too silly in this which. irritated me.

like, in canon I feel like she is incredibly mischievous but once she gets married and has kids, she’s still very on point and loves her kids very openly but she becomes a lot more straight-laced because she’s so intent to protect them, so much so that I think she loses a little of that mischievousness. but considering the fluctuating capacity of vfd vibes in this au, I think she is a little more…….loose in this. the other thing about bea is that her veneer of perfection is her best acting job of all time, and divorcing lemony and being a single mother and raising klaus puts a big dent in that and makes her even more determined to try and wring as much joy out of life as she can without letting people know how much she has to deal with]

violet, upon getting off the plane and seeing beatrice: oh.

beatrice: look at youuuuuuuuuu LOOK AT YOU!!! you’ve got everything??? all your limbs???? nothing broken????

she says all this while like running straight at violet and patting her down and then giving her the biggest hug of all time. violet is engulfed in this hug and!!! she thought her father gave tight hugs but this is something else

I think lemony puts a lot of warmth in his hugs but beatrice puts this endless amount of joy, along with love, into her hugs, and violet’s life up until this point has been very low-key and surrounded by adults who excel at deadpanning their dialogue so this is!!! very strange but very exciting!!! because violet herself also has this very bright enthusiasm that other people in her family don’t have the same way she does so as much as it’s so different to meet beatrice it’s really cool!!!!!

[for the record, bertrand’s hugs exude safety]

re: pierced ears

beatrice: oh, ramona and olivia are gonna be real upset.

beatrice: they definitely wanted to be involved in your first rebellious teenager act.

beatrice: then again, so did I??

violet: doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a rebellious act?

beatrice, going in for a side-hug: …...i missed that snark so much

does beatrice have a dog???? she’s really not a dog person. neither are ramona and olivia (dogs scare olivia. in fact, most things scare olivia. the toaster scares olivia. she’s so nervous and I love her.) (it’s less of a josephine fear and more of a ‘please leave me alone!!!’ sort of startled fear, is how I see it)

if there is a pet, ramona and olivia have a cat that olivia named annabelle, and she’s a sweet, all-white cat who loves cuddles. she does not even care that violet isn’t klaus. she’s just like, ‘this person has arms!! this person can cuddle.’ annabelle is the best, most chill cat. (although I headcanon that bea is allergic to cats – but that was just cause I was allergic to cats, and now that i’m not allergic to cats????? GUESS IT’S FREE REIN NOW) (anyway the cat is still ramona and olivia’s.)

so bea has to introduce klaus (violet!) to bertrand, and, oh, bea

she really has been putting this conversation off for quite some time, and she decides to just, go for it, as she’s driving violet home

beatrice: klaus, there’s, there’s someone i’d like you to meet

violet: who?

beatrice: an old friend of mine. we’ve been talking recently, and he means a great deal to me, and if you don’t like him, then that’ll be it, but – I really want him to be a part of our lives, klaus. I know it’s a big change, but I’d like you to give him a chance.

violet is REALLY, REALLY THROWN HERE because she and klaus are supposed to get their parents back together!!! this isn’t supposed to happen!!! this is supposed to be a happy ending without this NEW CHALLENGER (UNACCEPTED!!!!), how is she supposed to ask about lemony now???????

violet: oh, um

violet: well, I would like to meet him

she resolves to be HARD AND UNCOMPROMISING when she meets bertrand, but, well, then she meets bertrand fucking baudelaire. bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire. bertrand ‘just desperately wants to make a good impression on his fiance’s son’ baudelaire. god I love him. what a guy.

especially because bertrand really does just want to make a good impression, and he knows klaus is into geography right now so he brings this absolutely impressive atlas as a gift

not as an attempt to bribe klaus into liking him, but to show that he’s supportive of his interests!!!!

bertrand, sweetest man alive, shaking violet’s hand: i’m so excited to finally meet you!!

violet, blindsided by the sweetest man alive: oh, thank – thank you. it’s very nice to meet you too.

bertrand: I heard you were into geography, so I brought this atlas for you! I hope it’s alright.

violet, holding the biggest, heaviest atlas she’s ever seen in her life: oh. that’s very kind of you.

they spend some time looking through it because it has so many cool details

he stays for a while and then bows out gracefully because he cares so much, hello i’m dying, and then beatrice asks violet what she thought

violet: I –

violet: I liked him a lot.

beatrice: are you sure? because I swear, it’s fine, klaus, if you’re uncomfortable, it’s absolutely okay, it’s –

violet: no no! it’s fine!

[read: IT’S NOT FINE]

violet: I have this….atlas, now.

beatrice: you could kill a man with that.

violet: probably! I probably could.

beatrice: ….so it’s okay?

violet: ….it’s okay, mother.

[read: IT’S NOT OKAY BUT WHAT ELSE CAN SHE SAY HERE] [hey you know when you take out how much of an awful person meredith is you are left with a lot less humor in this situation.]

beatrice: I don’t know what I did to deserve a child like you, klaus.

cue good, squishy hug.

[personally I cannot fathom marrying someone else and having twins and raising one of them and not trying to have a relationship with your other child because you didn’t want to work things out with first spouse, but I never said I myself was smart either, in what I chose to write (I NEVER SAID I TOOK THE EASY WAY OUT)

anyway, I do think when bea says that, she thinks about it for a second

that (as far as she knows) this is klaus, she’s known him his whole life, and she had so little time with violet and maybe she would be sweet and clever too and she doesn’t know

she doesn’t know!!!!!!!

and it tears her apart for a split second that she doesn’t have everything and before she can let it eat her alive she shoves it down and forgets about it like she does with everything else and just, moves on] [time is a scary thing – if this much time has passed, what can you do? do they care? is it easier to do nothing or does that hurt more? does it even matter when both parents know their kids don’t know about their sibling or their other parent (or as far as they know at this moment)??? does that possibly make it even a little easier????] [anyway.]

because of bertrand – or, not necessarily bertrand, but more, ‘wedding shenanigans,’ but also, yeah, bertrand – violet also spends comparatively little time with beatrice

she wants to dislike him on principle, but can’t because he’s just???? so nice!!!! he talks seriously to her about her parents and about her (well, klaus) and really wants to get to know her (well, klaus) violet is begrudgingly impressed. violet thinks klaus would be really impressed too. but she’s real worried about what means for lemony and beatrice

especially since they did this not only to get their parents back together but to spend time with the opposite parent, like!!! violet has spent practically zero (0) time with bea to get to know her!!!!

so she holds off for a little bit and just genuinely hopes bertrand will somehow be less nice

this is hard, when bertrand helps bea make dinner ever night (klaus was VERY EXPLICIT that beatrice allows NO ONE in the kitchen when she’s cooking so there’s that) and he talks so damn OPENLY to violet about being a presence in her life

bertrand: klaus, I hope you don’t think i’m intruding in your life.

violet: I understand where you’re coming from when you say that but remarriage is in fact a part of life that occurs with some frequency.

[not only death and taxes, but haircuts and remarriage….]

violet: mother said you were an old friend, though?

bertrand: yes, we went to school together.

violet: if you don’t think it’s too rude of a question

violet: you strike me as the type of person who would have had a high school sweetheart and I am perhaps a little concerned that you didn’t marry my mother earlier.

inside, violet is cringing but it’s a very klaus line.

bertrand: !

bertrand: oh, well, we didn’t date each other in high school.

violet: ! you didn’t?

bertrand: no, there was –

bertrand has been. avoiding these feelings for some time. but he’s so struck by them that he has NO poker face in this situation

bertrand: – it just didn’t work out at the time, that’s all.

but fuck violet is absolutely stunned by that look on his face

she’s never seen someone look so heartbroken before and she is, concerned, but that’s mostly ignored in favor of the sheer stress of the situation

and violet does actually get kind of angry!! about bertrand being such a good person!! she starts to get really frustrated!!! like I picture this happening over, maybe a week

she hates that she can’t tie her hair back and her thoughts are all jumbled and that she has to wear glasses and she misses her dad and she loves beatrice a lot but NOTHING IS WORKING OUT LIKE SHE WANTED IT TO

and she has to wear klaus’s glasses and keeps taking them off when she’s sure no one’s looking to rub her eyes man I want to give this kid a hug

but she also wants to make her mom happy!!! fuck this is a mess

violet: he’s been – a lot kinder than I thought he would be.

beatrice: yeah, he has that effect on people.

beatrice: when we were in high school, we called him “bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire.”

beatrice is viscerally reminded of Being Drunk In College and tries to shrug it off

however, violet, growing up with two detail-oriented snickets, does not miss a single thing

violet: we?

beatrice: oh, you know – nicknames, nicknames stick, klaus, everybody calls everybody things!!

violet: it just sounded as if you were….

violet: /casts around for the correct grammatical term, she’s committed, but comes up with nothing because hell even I don’t know, apologies to my grammar professor from college

violet: ….using ‘we’ to mean just you and someone else and not necessarily lots of people.

beatrice is actually vaguely suspicious to hear Less Technical Grammar but chalks it up to the situation

beatrice: well, I mean, we had friends, of course – ramona and olivia!! that’s!! that’s who i’m talking about!! that’s all!!

violet remembers that ramona gave klaus his half of the wedding picture, and klaus told her what ramona said, that ramona didn’t like lemony’s hair at the time, and violet’s done the math, she knows how old lemony and bea are and that she and klaus were born not long after they left college, and with this sudden but persistent reluctance to talk about An Additional Person from high school from both bea and bertrand, violet is terribly suspicious that there could, in fact, be much more to this than she initially thought

beatrice: don’t forget, we start looking at hotels for wedding reception venues this week, okay?

violet: okay.

so, that night, violet, now alerted to the possibility that there could be a connection between bertrand and her father, and also DESPERATELY HOPING THERE IS ANYWAY BECAUSE THAT WOULD CAUSE HER SO MUCH LESS STRESS, goes digging

she grew up with bernadette for the past six years (and has also seen lemony create giant information webs to map out books), VIOLET KNOWS HOW TO GET INFORMATION AND PUT IT TOGETHER

she starts looking for yearbooks – they all went to the same school, for years, they have to be somewhere, but violet can’t find anything in the library, or ramona’s studio, or olivia’s office, or beatrice’s hiding place (the kitchen), and then looks through their desks for papers or plaques or photographs or anything that could give her a hint (nope)

if there is one thing she’s learned from bernadette, but also her father, it’s that the best place to hide something is usually in plain sight, which leads violet back to the library, pulling out boring-looking books to see if anything is stored behind them or in them (still nope)

this leads to violet CLIMBING THE BOOKCASES to reach the top shelf because adults are taller than her and put things on high shelves

and lo and behold, there it is, the senior year yearbook.

violet has a HEART-STOPPING MOMENT in the downward climb (which she’s doing one-handed anyway) where she almost steps on annabelle who she hadn’t realized was sleeping on a shelf and violet is TERRIFIED but annabelle, chillest cat in the world™, just yawns at her and picks a different shelf

annabelle is no sammy.

so, curled up in a library chair, violet finds not only pictures of beatrice and bertrand and lemony in the yearbook, but also a giant section of papers that fold out from the back cover where apparently lemony had more than the average length of a yearbook comment to say to her

violet, vaguely skimming this hardcore romantic comment, incredibly used to her father’s verbosity: yes that sounds about right.

and she finds a (significantly smaller but still lengthy and painfully heartfelt) signature from bertrand nearby, that definitely reads as a guy in love

but she’s still not sure how they feel about each other now, like a few yearbook signatures are no indication of how a person feels over eleven years later, so she’s still nervous about this and decides to sleep on it

this takes the whole night, violet is exhausted in the morning

now re: chessy unpacking hallie’s (annie’s) suitcase in the movie, it’s not that ramona did the same, but when doing the laundry earlier she did notice this weird amount of ribbons stuck in the lint filter/in pockets/pant legs/sleeves

and she barely even thinks anything of it at first and asks olivia and olivia has no clue and she’s not asking beatrice because beatrice has so much on her mind and ramona’s like ‘….hmmm,’ and goes to talk to klaus (violet)

ramona: hey klaus, I keep finding ribbons everywhere and I just wondered –

violet, in the process of running her hand through her hair cause she’s tired and processing a lot and misses being able to tie it: /JUMPS

violet: oh

violet: bookmarks, i’ve been using them as bookmarks

[actually violet has a million ribbons because lemony never wanted her to be without one, and it was so natural for violet to bring them with her she just legit forgot she wasn’t supposed to have them, like hallie with cuppy]

ramona, vaguely concerned: ….yeah, your mother used to do that

ramona: anything wrong with your hair?

violet: oh, no, not at all!

ramona: everything….going okay?

violet: yes, absolutely!

[the thing about violet acting as klaus though is that she can get like his speech patterns down but her own natural cheeriness still shows through in the places where klaus is in general quieter]

this is gonna get discussed right after this but ramona knows violet ties her hair up to focus because lemony told her in a letter, years ago

so ramona frowns and walks over to her and ties her bangs back with one of the ribbons, and violet just so visibly relaxes

ramona, incredibly emotional: oh

ramona: violet?

violet: ….yes.

ramona: so I can’t necessarily abide by breaking up a marriage but HECK YEAH i’m down for helping you reunite them. beatrice got me in the divorce and it’s very irritating just writing to lemony, which he actually hasn’t done for a while, now that I think about it.

violet: why don’t you just visit him? i’m sure he’d love to see you.

ramona: he makes me send the letters to a post office box. I do not know that man’s address.

violet: ……...that sounds about right.

(bea still does not find out until the hotel shenanigans, though.)

(I love ‘beatrice got me in the divorce’ like that’s fucking hilarious, cause I picture ramona as lemony and bea’s best friend so when they aren’t together it’s like…...well, what happens to ramona???? WHO DOES RAMONA HANG OUT WITH?? WHO GETS CUSTODY OF RAMONA)

(but also like, wtf lemony and ramona write to each other and bea never finds out???? I mean ramona was their best friend so like yes I think they do keep in contact but then does ramona never tell lemony about klaus????? and for them to write to each other and ramona to get these letters and BEA IS IN THE SAME HOUSE??????? I can’t tell if this is just angsty or poor thinking through on my part

but like ramona has to know for the reveal scene here to work out right, otherwise she’d never guess specifically violet

unless I rewrite the scene, but? nope. i’m committed to this ribbon reveal. I like it a lot. fuck it.

THIS WAS WHY I TOOK OUT BERTRAND AND OLIVIA AS CUTE PEN PALS auuuuuggggggg

I don’t know I mean. it is weird and stretching this (already shenanigans-filled) fic a little but. I don’t think it’s the WORST illogical thing I can stick in here. and they are friends, they can write to each other, just, yeah, probably not a lot and they actually probably don’t talk about the kids a lot, cause then lemony would know about both kids and since r wouldn’t tell bea she was writing to lemony bea wouldn’t know anything at all about violet and THAT’S what’s not good (although r telling lemony about klaus is cute i’m gonna have to nix it here. no can do.), so yeah r probs never brings up klaus and lemony rarely brings up violet, he probably only mentions the ribbon thing back when she was really really young because of how much it reminded him of bea and lemony was One Sad Man in his twenties trying to cope with the emotional reality of raising a child that reminded him of his wife and needed to tell someone

that is a lot of weight on ramona though and she doesn’t say anything but lemony apologizes for bringing it up in the next letter anyway and actually after that they probably talk a lot less cause it’s hard on both of them)

(writing is hard! writing is hard.)

ramona: so what’s your plan now?

violet: first, I have to make a phone call.

VIOLET CALLS KLAUS, keeping in mind the concept of time zones a little bit better than hallie and annie

violet: so, it turns out that mother is engaged????

klaus: engaged????? to who?????

violet: this man named bertrand, and, honestly, klaus, he’s such a nice person, he brought me, well he brought you, an atlas –

klaus: oh. that is very nice.

violet: it’s the sort of atlas you could probably use to incapacitate a reasonably-sized adult.

klaus: wow.

violet: and mother said that apparently she knew him when she was younger, and they get along so well, but –

klaus, remembering the picture he found with the extra candygrams: wait

klaus: is he sort of tall, and thin, and blonde

klaus: and sort of, idly optimistic

violet: yes! although I would say more….calmly steadfast

klaus: hmmm

klaus, trying to describe bertrand’s facial expression in this picture: disarmingly kind?

violet: humorously honest?

klaus: I think father has a picture of him in his desk!

violet: !!!!

[myth: confirmed!]

klaus: and some notes from high school from mother and him!

violet: !!! klaus, based on some other things i’ve found, I think all of them might have had feelings for each other.

klaus: !! that makes a considerable amount of sense here. if they all still do, that could make this much easier.

violet: but we won’t know for sure unless –

bernadette: who are you two talking about???

klaus: BERNADETTE

violet: bernadette, are you on the extension again

bernadette: well why wouldn’t I be?

bernadette: it sounds like you guys are talking about bertrand.

violet: how do you know who bertrand is?

bernadette: dad talks about him all the time???

bernadette: well, not when uncle lemony’s around

bernadette: he sent dad that book of poetry that mom immediately burned

bernadette: the elephant guy?

violet: …….oh, now that you mention it! that’s right!

klaus: wait why did your mother burn the book

violet: aunt kit has very little patience for certain poetry.

klaus: she doesn’t like john godfrey saxe??

violet: it’s a big deal, it’s best not to get into it.

violet: look, I think what we need to do is get everyone together and sort this all out.

violet: we’re scouting hotels this week for the reception, you can come here and meet up with us at one of them!

MEANWHILE, kit finds bernadette on the extension, for an honestly longer than usual length of time (bernadette does eavesdrop regularly), and also klaus on the phone in general (and violet rarely uses the phone, like, as a phone. usually she’s taking the phone apart), and really, nothing gets past kit fucking snicket. (you know kit denouement does have a great fucking ring to it, but as I said before, just try and tell me she didn’t insist on keeping her maiden name when she got married.)

so she goes and finds klaus and hears the end of the above conversation and is like ‘oh shit, they totally switched on lemony and bea, what badass kids’

[what if she tries to corner bernadette first

kit: bernadette, I didn’t know you knew anyone to call on the phone.

bernadette, without missing a fucking beat: I called the international operator to ask about time zones, but she caught me up in a conversation about soap operas and whether or not their use of sudden death is considered theatrically cathartic or not.

bernadette: I told her it happens way too often for it to be cathartic.

kit is too impressed to counter her. kit loves her daughter so fucking much.]

so then she sort of shows up in klaus’s doorway when he goes to leave the room after the phone call, arms crossed over her chest

kit: is there something you’d like to talk about?

kit can be outrageously intimidating but kit is also, actually, a pretty good parent

kit, significantly more gently: just between you and me, klaus.

klaus: …..maybe.

kit: come on, let’s go for a walk. you can tell me all about it.

klaus: it’s a long story.

kit: well, good, I like long stories.

klaus: are you going to tell father?

kit: don’t you think you should tell him?

klaus: do you think he’ll be upset?

kit: oh, not at all. more with himself than you, anyway. once, violet was responsible for wiping out the electricity of the whole city, and he gave her two slices of cake for dessert and said he should’ve bought more books on electrical wiring.

lemony is appropriately concerned and horrified and thrilled to see his son, like, oh my god, but the moment is taken over by the urgency of the situation because klaus says he has something to tell all of them that cannot wait

[forgive me for not writing that one out.]

klaus: so it seems like mother is getting married

lemony: oh

lemony: well

lemony: like haircuts, marriage – marriage comes to all of us, at some point –

klaus: to bertrand?

kit, lemony, and dewey: /STUNNED, DEAD SILENCE

kit: oh my.

dewey: what are the odds?

lemony: I think I can die now. I believe i’m ready.

bernadette: why don’t you just go see them and work this all out???

lemony: bernadette, I don’t know if life works like that.

bernadette: uncle lemony, you’re going to ruin all my bright-eyed optimism.

dewey: sometimes I think I didn’t have anything to do with you at all, bernadette. I think you just sprang, fully-formed, from your mother’s head.

kit: don’t be vulgar, dewey. ….thank you, though.

kit: but really I don’t see any other way to sort this out than by going to see beatrice and bertrand.

[this was one of the very first conversations I wrote for this and I am still very attached to it, even though I find dewey so hard to write, I haven’t yet figured out how I think he functions with these guys, especially kit, which I should maybe have done sooner but, what can you do.]

[also I feel like it just makes more sense in this for them to KNOW bea is engaged]

[I’m putting this in here because honestly……….in the movie once elizabeth realizes the switch she does not spend nearly enough time hugging hallie constantly or getting to know her, I get that seeing your ex-husband for the first time in eleven years is A Lot but YOUR DAUGHTER WHO YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IN ELEVEN YEARS AS WELL IS RIGHT FUCKING THERE] [also makes up for not writing klaus revealing himself as klaus, i’m so sorry.]

lemony: klaus?

klaus: ?

lemony: I – please don’t think that I didn’t love you. because I do, and I have thought about you every second of every day, I promise you. and there are many things that I should have done as your father, and many things that I cannot make up to you, but I want you to know that whatever happens with this, I have always loved you. and I am sorry.

so i’ve always pictured that klaus (besides looking reasonably like bea anyway, in any universe) gets angry like she does, and bea gets that sort of like, quiet cool hatred that turns into full-blown shouting really quickly and she will pull no punches and just fucking give it to you!!!!! and klaus has some sort of version of that and like look I put a lot of thought into ‘adult problems fucking over small children as those adults fervently avoid those problems’ when I wrote babybea so like

man, of course klaus can be angry at his parents for like???? never trying to work things out???? this is the first time in almost ten years he’s seen his father and his sister and he has an aunt and an uncle (and another uncle he hasn’t even seen!) and a cousin he never knew about because of lemony and bea being stubborn and stupid and recklessly young!!!!! I think violet is honestly less mad about it (well, she gets a little mad about it later on, but like, being raised by lemony, she has this weird way of trying to rationalize things while feeling really guilty about it, but that’s scenes away from right here – or she just? maybe internalizes it more.) but klaus is like, he’s not totally angry but like, as himself, face to face with lemony, lemony talking to him like a parent and about klaus and not about bea or violet or shenanigans or anything, like, yeah, he’s a little angry that it’s just….taken this long and that lemony and bea are so stupid

klaus is an angry crier. and an angry hugger. so that’s what he does.

like it’s hard to suddenly have a relationship with a family member whose never….been that to you before or made themselves available like that or just generally been there at all, and as much as I want them all having a good time, bea and lemony have some shit to work out with their kids

THEY HAVE A GOOD HUG, IS THE POINT

and I want to say that like they spend some time together after this and…….yeah they probs do it’s just gonna be weird re: the previous paragraph so…….maybe they just sit around and read and occasionally point things out to each other, that sounds chill and legit, doesn’t ask a lot of either of them

SO, that brings us to, later that night, when lemony can Officially Panic

kit: so

kit: you seem a little tense, brother mine.

lemony: I am NOT going to break up a marriage between two loving people who care about each other and happen to have incredibly pleasant facial features and are two people I myself still care about a great deal despite not having seen either of them for a lengthy amount of time

lemony: we’re only going to switch the children back, and I will talk to beatrice, about something, and I don’t have to say anything at all to bertrand, and that’s going to be it. that’s all. nothing beyond that.

kit: that would be a more powerful statement if you weren’t packing every single fancy tie you own.

lemony: really.

lemony: we’re not going to think any more into this.

lemony: that’s all we’re going to do.

lemony: which tie should I wear?

kit: well, definitely don’t pick one of the ones you’re strangling in a death grip.

(hey, where is jacques in this??????????? wish I knew)

(he’s probably regularly out of town, maybe he happens to call home and bernadette is the one to pick up the phone and she’s like “we’re going to see aunt beatrice, I think we’ll be back in a week or something?” and then immediately hangs up because dewey calls her for something, and jacques is left, miles and miles away, standing in a phone booth and wondering if, perhaps, he should maybe visit his siblings more often so they don’t go tearing off to california

jacques: kit what the hell is going on

kit: what, didn’t bernadette tell you?

lemony: ask him what tie I should wear

kit: we’re embarking on the adventure of a lifetime, jacques, it’s your own fault that you decided to go out of town this weekend, I really don’t know what to tell you

lemony: ask him what tie I should wear

kit: /sighs

kit: what tie should your brother wear

jacques: the one with the single blue stripe, it brings out his eyes, what are you two doing

kit: really, jacques, you need to pay more attention

kit: lemony, he says the one with the blue stripe

lemony: oh, good. tell him he’s a lifesaver.

kit: lemony says you’re a lifesaver, although I have yet to see real proof of this, however I will consider changing my mind if you happen to bring me a souvenir. please remember that I could use a new set of nice, engraved fountain pens. also our plane is leaving soon and we need to pack, so bye, loser

jacques: ………………….

jacques: what did I do to deserve this)

(jacques, in any universe, is eternally pained by his siblings)

this being a rehearsal dinner brings it very close to, you know, an actual wedding date, and the thing is, I have planned a completely different wedding-related fic, weddings are EXPENSIVE AND, YOU KNOW, TIME-CONSUMING, PLANNED IN ADVANCE, ALL THAT SHIT

but the whole reason there’s a wedding in the parent trap in general is because, if meredith and nick are just dating, there’s no commitment, marriage means COMMITMENT and A TIME CONSTRAINT and meredith wants his fucking money

so yeah bea and bertrand ARE engaged and planning to get married and plans have happened but the idea of this being so close to the rehearsal dinner makes me sad about all those ‘yeah i’m gonna have to cancel’ phone calls someone is gonna have to make, which is, well, pretty silly, but still, I Hate feeling uncomfortable esp when reading things like that (or even just, thinking of them in advance)

and that is why they are scouting hotels for the reception. (don’t ask me where the denouement is. I do not know.)

so bea + co get to the hotel first, and the only people who know lemony + co will be there are violet and ramona

ramona, hanging back to talk to violet while bea and bertrand and olivia (she has a good eye for decorating.) go ahead: do you know what you’re going to do?

violet: well, I thought maybe we would just

violet: all bump into each other?

violet: and go from there??

ramona thinks that’s an exceptionally courageous take on this and that, yep that girl sure is bea’s daughter

[yeah bea still has NO IDEA ANY OF THIS IS HAPPENING ramona is A+ at keeping secrets

meanwhile, sometime later-

olivia: you didn’t tell me?????

ramona: olivia, I love you dearly but you can’t keep a secret to save your life

[oh, yikes, re: legit asoue canon]

olivia: ……..okay, you have a point.]

it is at this moment that lemony + co arrive, and bertrand, who had backtracked for a moment because he realized he dropped a pen, immediately runs into dewey, who had stopped near the door to examine the hotel brochures and ambiance in more detail (you can take the boy out of the hotel but you can’t take the hotel out of the boy)

[based on penultimate peril, I always thought bertrand and dewey were very good friends and had bonded over absurd poetry, and, of course, based on kit burning the poetry book, are still in contact – there’s much less of a sense of forced distance between bertrand and dewey, because dewey’s just lemony’s brother-in-law and bertrand was friends with dewey first so they’re still good friends but like most adults they have a hard time committing to keeping in contact regularly especially with the distance and haven’t physically seen each other for some time]

so they bump into each other –

bertrand: dewey!!

bertrand: it’s been ages, what are you doing here, how are you!!!

[dewey denouement, much in the way that olivia caliban can’t keep a fucking secret, cannot fucking lie.]

dewey: oh, um

dewey: you know

dewey: hotel conference!!

dewey: kit wanted to travel!!!!

dewey: we’re traveling FOR a hotel conference!!!

dewey: WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THESE CURTAINS, BERTRAND

bertrand: ……..dewey, you’ve never been very good at lying.

dewey: no, no I really haven’t.

dewey: forgive me for everything, bertrand.

bertrand: you might have to be a little more specific.

beatrice: bertrand, have you – dewey??

dewey: oh no

beatrice, remembering dewey and kit are married, suddenly battling sheer terror the likes of which she has never experienced: how….how are you

dewey: I could be better. I could definitely be better.

beatrice: is kit here?

bertrand: I believe they’re here to look at the curtains.

dewey: we’re definitely here to look at curtains.

beatrice: ….they don’t have curtains in england

dewey, grasping at straws: not….like these….?

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, lemony backtracks outside because he dropped a pen, narrowly missing three adults awkwardly talking about curtains

olivia: beatrice, we’ll be late for the wine tasting if we don’t go soon.

beatrice: oh – well, dewey, it was….nice to see you

dewey: please, go enjoy your wine.

bertrand: /waves good-bye!!!!

klaus and bernadette, hiding behind a nearby ficus, because bernadette thinks fast and has her own specific idea about how this should go and it doesn’t involve her relatives meeting again because of her father talking about curtains: wow.

violet: /narrowly avoids getting swept up into the wine tasting, darts for the elevator to try and locate klaus + co

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, upstairs, in their hotel room

lemony: why did I think I could do this

lemony: how do I approach a couple here to scout locations for a wedding reception?

kit: ….you approach them

dewey: don’t talk about curtains, maybe.

lemony: i’m not – dewey, what do curtains have to do with this?

dewey: trust me, just don’t talk about them.

there is a knock at the door. lemony has seen death. this is it, for him.

anyway, it’s violet.

klaus: violet!

violet: klaus!

awkward sibling hug sincere sibling hug!!

violet: klaus, please take your glasses back.

klaus: oh, thank you. my spare pair just doesn’t feel the same as these.

lemony: violet!

now, seeing the two of them together, he can absolutely tell the difference between them. ain’t that just the way.

lemony hugs his daughter like she’s going to disappear right out of his arms and then hugs klaus for good measure and he has to try and ignore the true roller coaster of emotions that puts him through and then tries to look very stern.

lemony: i’m not disappointed in the two of you but I cannot believe you switched on your mother and me. that was very….

lemony is not good at being angry at his children, he has no real concept of it.

lemony: ….clever. it was very clever.

violet and klaus are very proud but find it in themselves to try and look a little chagrined. they don’t do it very well.

violet: father, you really need to talk to mother.

klaus: and bertrand.

lemony: both of you know about bertrand??

klaus: you and mother are very transparent about him.

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, at the wine tasting

ramona: what do you think?

beatrice and bertrand, equally lost in thought about the presence of dewey, the implied presence of kit, and the possibility of the presence of lemony: hm??

bertrand: oh, yes

beatrice: wine

beatrice: /downs entire glass

beatrice: /sets down glass

beatrice: not that one.

bertrand, who has been holding the same glass for the past twenty minutes and has no idea which wine that even was: definitely not.

MEANWHILE back. at. the. ranch.

lemony’s children have such boundless courage (I have hurt myself so many times while writing this fanfic with the occasional too-on-point line and this in particular wounds me these kids are so strong and so important and won’t take no for an answer compared to their parents and get the chance to get their parents to FIX THINGS and oh no i’m gonna cry) and have dragged him downstairs to the lobby, with the INTENTION of having him run into bea and bertrand

lemony: this is not going to work out –

violet: nonsense!

klaus: it’s going to work perfectly.

meanwhile, bea and bertrand leave the wine tasting

bertrand: ….did we come to a conclusion, about the wine?

beatrice: no, I don’t think so.

bertrand stops by the bathroom to wash his hands for something to do as he’s consumed with thoughts (not about wine), beatrice is in a daze as she goes through the lobby, violet notices her but sees she’s not with bertrand and decides she has to stall

violet, rushing over, purposely trying to block beatrice’s view with varying success: mother, how was the wine tasting?

beatrice: oh, it was –

did you remember violet gave klaus his glasses back?

beatrice: klaus, what happened to your –

and, well.

beatrice looks at her so hard and processes kit and dewey being here and then it fucking hits her like (forgive me. forgive me so hard.) a harpoon to the chest

beatrice: ….violet?

violet: yes.

beatrice: but – how –

klaus, appearing next to her: it’s a truly fascinating chain of events we’d like to tell you, but –

hey! beatrice is stunned and horrified! and grabs her daughter into a hug, knowing now that it’s her daughter and has been this whole time and!!!! she feels so awful with herself for not noticing but is also trying to not make a big deal out of it and startle violet by sobbing uncontrollably on her shoulder but beatrice is simultaneously devastated and filled with so much love and she’s for sure going to break apart now

beatrice: and klaus –

she’s hugging them both now, it’s very good.

beatrice, in tears: you two are lucky you’re so cute

violet: mother, there’s someone we’d very much like you to talk to.

beatrice knows somewhere in the back of her mind that it’s lemony but is also not even thinking of lemony because, her children

klaus: /tries to wave lemony over

lemony: /trying and failing to hide behind a ficus, have you seen a ficus, have you seen lemony

violet: /ALSO WAVING

beatrice can’t miss that for the world.

beatrice, while turning around: what are you two –

imagine, if you will, lemony snicket trying to hide behind a potted ficus that hits about mid-chest.

also imagine, if you will, two people who divorced over eleven years ago, still have too many feelings about each other, split up their children for their stupidity, have been trying to avoid the knowledge that both of them are there for the past hour, and are now confronted with the reality of their lives right in front of them

…….besides the ficus.

lemony, stepping out from behind the ficus: hello, bea.

this is a headcanon i’ve long held, since I first started writing asoue fanfic, but, bertrand and lemony say ‘bea’ differently, especially in canon, like particularly in canon, so it’s like less so here but lemony still says her name with so much love, and bertrand says it with love too but lemony has known beatrice for so so long and here they are after years apart and here he is saying her name again, and he never ever ever expected to say it like that again, he never even DREAMED of saying it to her again, but it’s real

beatrice: lemony snicket.

violet: as nice as this is for us –

klaus: – we’re going to allow you three the time you need to discuss assorted events.

at this moment (of course), bertrand reemerges.

bertrand: bea, I –

he sees violet and klaus rushing off, looking delighted, and bea and lemony standing there still trying to process words, and then there’s bertrand, frantically thinking ‘abort mission, ABORT MISSION’

because. the way they turn and look at him, in tandem, like they did all the time in high school, immediately makes bertrand feel like they’re there, back in high school, back at prom, here’s the two absolute loves of his life standing in front of him and bertrand is filled with delight but also fear because, here it is, they all have to deal with it now

(all of them are thinking that, the three of them, standing there, there is not a single trace of jealously but instead there is so much love and regret and it’s, heart-wrenching)

and here is where he loses all his Chill™.

bertrand: you know what, i’m gonna – go –

bertrand: /trips over a chair

lemony: oh –

beatrice: bertrand!

bertrand: totally fine, still alive, i’m – they have such a nice gift shop, you know, i’m – i’ll be there

bertrand: /high-tails it practically out of existence

beatrice and lemony: ….

lemony: he – he still has a very nice running form.

beatrice: yeah, I think so.

lemony: well, bea

lemony: or does everyone call you beatrice now?

beatrice: no, no, bea – bea is fine. bertrand still calls me bea.

[beatrice starts to laugh. “it’s – man, it’s funny, isn’t it?”

lemony smiles at her. “what is?”

“i’m going to marry your high school crush,” beatrice giggles, “who’s still – still in love with you.” she stops. “you know, that’s actually really not as funny as it sounded in my head,” she says, frowning.]

they have dinner!!! and talk. about. stuff. do violet and klaus recreate the night lemony and bea met or the wedding or something????? idk honestly. like at least they didn’t get married UPON MEETING I MEAN LIKE COME ON (although somehow that is very them, but, come on, this backstory is good and solid and I love characters that grow)

maybe they just pool their allowances and give their parents a banging night out (which is pretty much just. dinner.)

beatrice: I see that cut on your forehead healed up nice

lemony: yes, anna karenina left very little lasting damage –

both: – except to anna karenina.

they pause, and then just, fucking burst out laughing, this is a horrible old joke for them that they made up when they were in school because anna karenina was the biggest book either of them owned (neither of them were particularly interested in war and peace) but was somehow sort of light and if you dropped it it really didn’t do much damage, which they thought was funny re: the size of the book and the subject matter

beatrice throws it at lemony during the fight that ends with their divorce and it’s the first time it actually hurts something

lemony: so, how is bertrand

lemony: I don’t think i’ve seen him since – well, since before the twins were born.

beatrice: oh, he’s – he’s doing really, really well. he’s a librarian, and – we keep joking about how many more books klaus and I will be able to read. lemony, he’s got the magazine editions of hammett –

lemony: w h a t

lemony: does he even have the –

beatrice: yep. he has the unfinished story. i’ve seen it.

lemony: I knew I liked that man for a reason

THERE IS SUCH A WEIGHTY PAUSE.

lemony: that is, hammett, obviously. I mean, the continental op is one of the quintessential fictional detectives, and hammett’s novels –

beatrice: you did like him, didn’t you

beatrice: when we were in school, you looked at him the same way you looked at me.

lemony: oh, no

lemony: I looked at you with a rapt adoration and I looked at bertrand like he was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. I have that on good authority from my sister.

beatrice: oh, right, right.

lemony: ….but I did, didn’t I. I did like him very much.

lemony: I don’t think anyone disliked him.

beatrice: that wasn’t quite what I asked, lemony.

lemony: ….what do you want me to say, bea? that I saw him there, with you, and couldn’t even find it in me to be jealous because the sight of you two together made me so unbelievably happy that I forgot how to breathe? that I – that I wondered, for a moment, if, twelve years later, we could – if I –

lemony: ….i don’t believe this conversation is supposed to be about bertrand.

beatrice: …….no, I – I suppose not.

lemony: that day, when you asked me to leave –

beatrice: you mean when I shouted at you to leave.

lemony: I was trying to be kind.

beatrice: lemony, I for sure shouted at you.

lemony: no, bea, I – I thought things would be better if I left. if you didn’t have to put up with me, because you clearly didn’t want to. and I didn’t make it easy for you, back then. there were many things I overlooked about both of us, things I hid from both of us, things I should have talked about with you. and I didn’t.

beatrice: ….oh.

lemony: I thought that loving the person that I wanted you to be was enough for the person that I wanted to be. obviously, it wasn’t, because you asked me to leave and I left. I never even looked back.

beatrice: ….lemony, I don’t think anything would’ve been enough for either of us. I asked a lot of you, too. I didn’t want you to see anything bad about me, and you didn’t, but the longer we were like that, the more I just – the more I really hated you for it. you just saw what you wanted to. and, well, what I wanted you to. I think I kind of hated me, too.

beatrice: sometimes, I think, what would’ve happened if we’d stayed together and I don’t know if I like that either. not that it was – okay, what we did. because it wasn’t. and we might’ve changed or we might’ve fucked up even worse, I don’t know, and i’ll never know.

beatrice: but lemony, seeing her now, I regret every single second I haven’t spent with her because of it.

lemony: I know.

beatrice, who’s a little angry cause she hates when lemony says that to her and her temper gets away from her: do you?

lemony, who’s just regretting all his life choices and knows he fully deserves beatrice’s ire: ….i’ve missed so much of his life.

beatrice, voice breaking: ….yeah.

man, these are some really miserable parents.

beatrice: we should – I don’t know, you know, what we’re gonna do, with – us – but we should – they, they should see each other. we can’t do that to them again.

lemony: I agree.

beatrice: you know, we have some pretty clever kids. I would never – okay, maybe, but I don’t know – have had the balls to switch places with someone on the other side of the world.

lemony: we do, don’t we?

lemony: I know we didn’t do a great deal right, but, maybe we did, with them.

beatrice: ….yeah, maybe we did.

beatrice: not every day two people have kids like ours.

lemony: …….can I be honest with you, bea?

beatrice: …okay.

lemony: i’m glad they switched places. i’m – i’m glad I got to see you. and bertrand. and you.

beatrice: i’m glad you came, lemony.

[all these conversations starring two people steadfastly trying to avoid that they are still in love with each other but also trying to really acknowledging they have Real Problems, brought to you by one (1) woman struggling to get two characters to talk about their problems but also the idea of introducing a third person into their already rocky relationship, don’t mind me just casually dying over here, this was harder than I thought]

beatrice, feeling the weight of this conversation and knowing they done fucked up in the past but also desperately wishing she and lemony could go back to where they were before only better and just trying to figure out where they’re gonna go from here, girl’s doing her best here, and you know what, so am i: so, um

beatrice: fuck, marry, kill

beatrice: continental op, nick charles, sam spade.

lemony, going through incredibly similar emotions: ….

lemony: do you want me to give my virtue to one man and then marry another

beatrice: why do you always take this game so literally

beatrie: I am banging nick charles, but I am marrying the continental op for job stability, and I am killing sam spade where he stands

lemony: bea, no, you can’t just kill sam spade like that

lemony: how about, I take the continental op to dinner, I have a pleasant night with nick charles –

beatrice: I like that we’d both fuck william powell.

lemony: we’ve both seen william powell. no one wouldn’t.

lemony: but sam spade, though, I don’t think it’s so clear cut as all that –

they’ve really!! grown a lot!! they’re really trying to talk this out!!! a little, at least!!! be adults!!!! talk like they didn’t eleven years ago!!!!!! they’re so stupid and they’re trying so hard!!!! my kids………….

this is definitely not the only conversation they’re gonna have about this, like it’s Good that they’ve said this but there’s. a lot more they need to talk about and will probably talk about, just not right now

anyway, LATER –

the continuing saga of two people Not Talking and then Talking About Certain Things and then Inadvertently Talking About The Things They Didn’t Want To And Not Quite Realizing It

lemony: at the hotel

lemony: you, ah, said something about bertrand

beatrice: !!!!

beatrice: ooo, we are talking about him, hmm?

lemony: bea.

beatrice: fine, fine. yes, that he’s still in love with you.

lemony: is he really?

beatrice: I think he is.

beatrice: you still didn’t really answer me before, when I asked if you still felt the same about him.

lemony: ….does it matter, if you’re going to marry him?

beatrice: of course it matters! i’m not – i’m not marrying bertrand to, prove a point or anything, or – say I like him better than you, I – i’m marrying him because I, I love him, but I don’t – that’s not all there is to this.

beatrice: I mean, we didn’t get divorced because of bertrand, that was all on us, but – seeing both of you, sometimes I feel like – maybe – we – maybe we could’ve made it work. not if we had bertrand, but with him. now.

beatrice: and, and that’s a lot, to ask you – I know – it’s a lot to ask both of us, especially after everything, but – do you?

lemony: ….bea.

beatrice: lemony.

lemony: ….i feel that, in the interest of the past eleven years, we should perhaps talk to him before I make a concrete decision about that personal feeling.

beatrice: well, that’s – that’s a wise choice.

they are, quiet, for a while

it’s a lot to think about, you know?? there’s a lot to this

lemony: …….but I think I do.

beatrice: you think you do?

lemony: I think I do.

beatrice: I think I do, too.

there is a little more silence because they’re like ‘!!!!! well that’s SOMETHING REALLY BIG TO THINK ABOUT’ especially because they haven’t like totally committed back to a relationship with each other and there is!! still!!! so!! much!!!! but, they’re thinking about it now, and they’re, sort of floaty-happy because it’s like, wow, wow, this is a possibility, they can

maybe

push it, a little, and see what happens, maybe maybe

lemony: well, you should, you are marrying him.

beatrice: shhh, you are ruining the rhythm.

lemony: I think –

beatrice: you think?

lemony: it’s been known to happen.

beatrice: mmm, I don’t think so

[it’s hard to tell because there’s generally very little concept of outside action/feelings when getting down scenes this way but these few lines are supposed to be v cute and soft and just the tiniest bit flirty]

lemony: trust me, I have had many a thought.

beatrice: well, I think –

lemony: you think, now, do you

beatrice: I do indeed, lemony snicket.

[god. lemony wants to kiss her so fucking bad. beatrice wants to keep teasing him until he does kiss her. they’re very close. he just. smooths her hair behind her ear and takes a step back.]

lemony: I think we should talk to bertrand.

beatrice: yeah. we should. we should probably do that.

MEANWHILE.

I want bertrand to bond with these kids with all my heart so that’s what fucking happens while bea and lemony are dealing with their problems

they play a rousing game of scrabble. it’s usually a game I give the snicket siblings because of their vicious playing styles (which is just based on me and my brother playing scrabble) BUT I love scrabble a lot and I think it’s super cute if bertrand hangs out with violet and klaus and they play board games, it’s distressingly endearing to me, violet trying to sneak in names of inventors on the board and klaus being insistent on following the rules of the game and bertrand trying to come up with a sufficient compromise

bertrand: okay, so, last names are allowed, but only if you can also include the first initial, initialisms by themselves are not allowed, and foreign words and phrases are on a case-by-case basis, providing I can translate it and you’re not trying to put down something inappropriate.

klaus: what about scientific names?? can I put down binomial nomenclature

violet: hey how do you spell binomial

klaus: b-i-n-o-m-i-a-l

violet: oh, how neat.

violet: /puts it down on the scrabble board

klaus: ….

violet: :)

bertrand: it looks like you can put down binomial nomenclature.

bertrand: but yes, I will allow actual nomenclature, klaus.

klaus is deathly quiet for the next few turns until he manages to put down nomenclature. (which I think is achievable, with enough luck.)

klaus: actual. nomenclature.

violet: so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh

bertrand: okay, references to previous conversations are no longer allowed, let’s try this again

eventually they stop playing the damn game and come up with their own wildly specific set of rules for playing scrabble, and bea and lemony come back to a lot of paper and a lot of scrabble tiles and violet and klaus sitting on either side of bertrand on the couch, helping him write this rule list

and bea and lemony want to comment about how they’re not even playing scrabble, but watching bertrand interact with their kids and be so soft and patient with them is the most distressingly heartwarming thing they’ve seen in a long time

they both have the immediate thought of ‘holy fuck I wanna kiss that man,’ which is followed by ‘holy f u c k maybe a relationship between all of us could work’

lemony: bertrand.

bertrand: ?

lemony: could we talk?

there is no camping trip! instead we got NEARBY HOTEL SHENANIGANS and THREE PEOPLE ON A DATE AT A LOCAL FAIR, TRYING TO FEEL THINGS OUT

imagine your average carnival-fair sort of thing with Rides and Games and Absurd Amounts of Cotton Candy and That Super Salty But Still Real Good Popcorn

bertrand and lemony arrive first and bea specifically gets there late so bertrand and lemony can actually talk, because honestly this is the only time I can see in all this that these two would be able to talk to each other uninterrupted

and they all know they’re there for the weirdest date ever but bertrand still feels the need to clear the air

bertrand: lemony, I don’t want you to think that I was waiting your marriage out or anything, I didn’t even know you two weren’t together until last year, and I didn’t even intend to see bea, it just happened on accident –

lemony: bertrand, it’s fine.

lemony: beatrice and I aren’t married anymore, you don’t have to explain anything.

bertrand: ….sometimes I feel like i’ve wanted to explain everything to you, for the past fifteen years.

[bertrand ‘breaking my fucking heart again’ baudelaire…….]

bertrand: that’s – silly, isn’t it.

lemony: no. I don’t think so.

bertrand: I never got the chance to say it. well, actually I don’t think I ever let myself say it, because I had plenty of chances! especially at prom, I could’ve changed everything! but you and bea were so – I wanted you two more than anything else in the whole entire world, but I didn’t want to hurt you two or what we had. I think I did, though.

bertrand: and, and I really shouldn’t blame myself or anyone for these stupid mistakes that happened when we were just kids, because we were just kids!

bertrand: I mean, we’re right here, right now, and i’m – i’m really looking forward to this, lemony.

[lemony, much like me, is momentarily dazzled by how fucking genuine bertrand is]

lemony: so am I.

lemony: ….i kept those candygrams you sent me when we were all in high school because they were remarkably sweet and I treasure them dearly

bertrand: !!

lemony is so nervous and I love him and you know when you get nervous and you just sort of spill weird secrets to people, especially when it’s the person you like???? that’s that

they look at each other for a moment and then start laughing and it’s the kind that starts kind of soft and then they’re just rampantly giggling and being dorks and I love them both so damn much okay

and because they haven’t regularly seen each other in you know fifteen years they spend some time. talking about their lives. there’s a lot of things they don’t know about each other!

lemony and bertrand like make a vague show of trying to win bea some prize and they suck and they stand to the side and talk while bea wins herself a prize and she runs back over to them and just looks so proud of herself, winning this…….thing (it’s very much “i don’t know if it’s a duck or a panda, but I want one.”)

lemony: is it a…….hmmm

bertrand: ….those are cat ears, right

beatrice: what, no, they’re wolf ears

lemony: it has webbed feet, though

bertrand: it’s a platypus! oh, no, not with all those feathers.

lemony: it could easily be a duck, I suppose

beatrice: BUT THE EARS

bertrand: a penguin!

lemony: a grackle

bertrand: a goose!

beatrice: THE E A R S

lemony and bertrand share an obnoxious amount of cotton candy, and honestly it’s the date they all should’ve had in high school, a date that would’ve changed everything, and man, they’re having so much fun and maybe they could do this, lemony has never been so happy and bertrand is just this ball of delight and, it’s really beautiful, and beatrice is for sure thinking that and she’s having such a good time and she’s so happy

but then

she thinks, what if it DIDN’T change everything, what if they all got together in high school and tried to make it work and really fucked each other over, would they have been able to do it?? what really would’ve happened??? and they’re adults now, they’re better people but they have so much more to think about, there is so much more at stake now and beatrice is fucking terrified about what could happen, all of a sudden

and she’s been terrified for years about all the terrible things that could happen to klaus or her or ramona and olivia and even their stupid cat and she’s still trying to hide it so well and she does, she’s happy and creates such a good life for her son but she is so scared and she can’t keep running from it anymore by being impulsive or silly or shouting all the time, she has to face the reality of the situation that she really has to think this one through, what all three of them are going to do about this

she and lemony still have so many problems, and they both know that, they all know that!!! they aren’t going to solve them right away!!! and with bertrand there, maybe it’ll be harder!! maybe it won’t be easier!!! not that bertrand immediately makes things easier, in any universe!!! but especially here!!! you know!!! what if they don’t talk about anything because he’s there??? what if they avoid talking about everything so much in trying to be happy that they irreparably fuck them all over??? it’s been so long since all three of them were together, what if they can’t do this!! what if their kids don’t like them together, what if none of them can get along??? suddenly there are a lot more variables to this, and seeing it happen, bea is struck by everything they’re going to have to fix and all the ways it could go wrong and it’s not good

beatrice: …..what are we doing?

beatrice: and – and what if it doesn’t work out, this time?? what if we all try this and we can’t do it??

bertrand: do you think that little of yourself?

beatrice: no.

beatrice: i’m thinking about, what if I break my kid’s hearts, even worse than I already have? I can’t do that, not to them.

and, they get it. they love each other so much but this story isn’t about just the three of them anymore.

bertrand and bea decide not to get married. and even though they all know they still love each other, lemony and bea have violet and klaus to think of, so they all decide it would be for the best to go their separate ways.

violet and klaus are not happy, by any means. they are not happy to pack up all their stuff and know that nothing is going to work out, and it hurts, a lot, man

klaus, picking up his books: I really respect our parents and their chosen additional life partner but don’t you think they can be a little…..

violet, jamming her toolkit into a suitcase: stupid?

klaus: I was going to say stubborn

klaus: but stupid works too.

so they all say good-bye :( lemony, violet, kit and dewey and bernadette go home. (bernadette’s real upset no one got back together. she hides it well but she just sort of crams herself into her seat on the plane on the trip home and is just super bummed. I love this lil kid.) (I fondly remember when this outline was nowhere near over 20k and was just a short little thing and bernadette’s scenes just monopolized it….)

the thing I love about bea raising klaus is that, and I also feel this for canon too, klaus gets so so much of bea’s anger and short temper

like violet is a lot more calmer in the take no shit category but klaus will, like his mother, flip a table

klaus: mother, that was the most foolish thing you’ve ever done and you know it

beatrice: !

beatrice: don’t you – don’t you use that tone with me, klaus

beatrice: I am your mother

klaus: and you’re just going to let my father and my sister walk away from us???

beatrice: I – it’s more complicated than that!

klaus: how??

beatrice: klaus, would you want me to risk this, everything we have, on the off chance that your father and I could maybe sort out our differences?

klaus: you didn’t seem to have that many differences!

beatrice: there’s a lot of things you don’t know, klaus!

klaus: then tell me! you’re the one who’s always telling me I can do anything, and I just think it seems pretty rich of you to decide that that doesn’t apply to you, or that I don’t get to know everything about the people who are supposed to be my family!

klaus has a point, here, and beatrice realizes that, so she decides IN THAT INSTANT that, okay. fine. it’s time to do something about this and she can do something about this.

SO SHE GOES TO BERTRAND

bertrand: bea, what –

beatrice: I can’t – look, I can’t do this to my kids either, okay, I can’t keep them apart anymore, what – why did I think that was such a good idea in the first place??? so I wouldn’t see lemony?? so I wouldn’t work things out between us, because we were fucking kids when we were together and, and I sacrificed my relationship with my daughter because I was so petty and selfish, and i’m doing it again, bertrand!! i’m letting myself do it again after everything we all talked about because i’m so fucking scared but I – I can’t do this to myself, you know? I want – I want things to work out this time. with all of us. I want to make it work and i’m going to make it work and i’m going to go get my daughter and lemony, and I want you to come with us, if you want to come with us.

klaus, leaning out of the car window and shouting at beatrice and bertrand, who are standing on the steps of bertrand’s place: if I may interject, the plane we intend to catch does leave in half an hour, so you two should maybe hurry up a little

klaus: not to ruin your moment or anything!

bertrand, desperately: I want things to work out, bea, I do. but what if you were right and we can’t –

beatrice: i’m right about a lot of things, bertrand baudelaire, and i’m right about this.

bertrand, nodding and trying not to smile too much: ….okay. okay.

MEANWHILE

violet: ….are you mad at me?

lemony: what – violet, I could never be mad at you.

violet: but I – I went behind your back, and I tricked both of you, and I wasn’t even thinking about what you wanted, it – it was just what I wanted, and that wasn’t okay, I shouldn’t have interfered with you and mother at all, I feel so awful –

lemony: none of what happened was your fault, violet. not at all. it was mine. i’m sorry that I kept so much from you. it was incredibly unfair to you, and to klaus. I should have told you a long time ago.

violet: I never got to ask before, but why did you and mother get divorced?

lemony: ….we were very young, and very impulsive. and, also, incredibly scared. that’s not a good combination when you’re trying to make a life with someone.

violet: you two seemed to get along a little better, now.

lemony: well, eleven years is a lot of time. you get older, and you realize the mistakes you made in your youth could’ve been dealt with a lot more easily than you previously thought. you realize you were….

violet: stubborn?

lemony: stupid.

violet: what made it not work out, this time?

lemony: you also realize there are more important things to think about than yourself and what you want.

violet: !

violet: father, I didn’t want you to –

lemony: it wasn’t your call to make, violet.

violet: but it was yours about whether or not I get to see my brother? you were only thinking about what you wanted, too!

lemony: ….

violet: ….that was rude of me, i’m sorry.

lemony: no – don’t apologize, violet. please.

violet, still very angry but also just sad and concerned about how lemony has, in the intervening time between these two conversations, said very little: I thought bertrand was nice.

lemony: bertrand – bertrand is very nice.

so they get back home.

lemony: what would you like for dinner?

violet: I don’t think i’m all that hungry, father.

lemony: no, neither am I.

and lemony just sort of, wanders into the library with his hands in his pockets, because he’s somehow more miserable than he’s been in quite some time, and he’s expecting to just sit around and stare at his typewriter and not get anything done for the rest of the night or really for the foreseeable future, and the library is filled with so many books and so much stuff but it feels so empty to him now, and lemony himself feels empty and horrible about everything and he just stares at the floor without really seeing anything at all

AND THEN

klaus, sitting in one of the library chairs: father, did you know that the concorde gets you here in half the time?

[I just kept the line. I thought long and hard and could not for the life of me think of any other jazzy lil line.] [although yes sadly the concorde no longer exists]

[hey, if lemony and violet are here, and kit and dewey and bernadette were with them on the plane, who’s driving the bus who let bea and bertrand in the house???? cause in the movie it’s gotta be the grandfather

jacques, who had stopped at lemony’s house hoping that he could catch them before the flight but obviously not catching them, who stayed to water the plants: /exiting the house

beatrice, careening out of a taxi: JACQUES HOLD THE DOOR

jacques: !!!! beatrice?? what are you –

bertrand: we’ll have to tell you later, there’s no time!

jacques: bertrand????

klaus really only has time to wave.

all three of them: /BOLT PAST JACQUES INTO THE HOUSE AND SLAM THE DOOR SHUT, leaving jacques out there in the street

jacques: ……….]

anyway

lemony, STUNNED: klaus?

violet, dashing into the room because she heard her brother: klaus!

klaus: ideally we would’ve figured this out before you left, but when you did, we were not completely happy about it.

lemony, still trying to collect himself: you –

and there’s bea and bertrand, standing there, real as anything! really there!! in his library!!

and lemony walks towards them, because this isn’t a matter of, chasing anyone, it’s all of them coming together like this

beatrice: this is gonna work. the three of us, this is gonna work.

beatrice: what do you think?

and the thing. about lemony. is that what he wants more than anything else in this whole fucking world. is a family. particularly in canon, being separated from (reasonably dead) parents and growing apart from his siblings and losing those connections to people, he so desperately wants something that’s his and his own and that he can keep stable by himself

and I think he still feels that way even in whatever fucking world of an au this is, and of course he wants to be with bea and bertrand and to have klaus and violet because he loves them but he is also massively craving that stability of having his own family and like really having it this time, not fucking it up because he’s young and stupid and just as impulsive as bea

THE POINT IS THIS IS A LOT FOR HIM, OKAY, THIS MEANS SO MUCH, to get this!! second chance at all the things he totally fucked up before, PLUS the loves of his life!!!!

and like!!! there’s bertrand. there’s bertrand!!! standing there and reaching out to take lemony’s hand and lemony takes bea’s and bea takes bertrand’s other one and. the road they had to take to get here wasn’t. the best. all the time. they all made mistakes. some. worse than others. and this isn’t the end, right here, there’s still gonna be things they have to work out. and it’s gonna be okay because there’s beatrice and bertrand and lemony. they’re in the same room and no one’s scared.

lemony: yes.

beatrice: yes???

bertrand: yes?

lemony: yes.

there’s a lot of good hugging, people are kissed, comments are made about chapstick flavors, lots of laughter, violet and klaus are tearing up and thrilled beyond belief, everything is beautiful!!!!!

klaus: I can’t believe –

violet: – we actually did it!

and, of course, beatrice was right. about everything.

the following amount of time is filled with –

-lots of arguments.

-mostly between bea and lemony.

-although bertrand has his fair share of arguments with both of them.

-violet and klaus don’t speak to each other for two weeks under the pretense of disagreeing about a book’s theme but really because they’re not sure how to act around each other now that they’re both there, they’ve lived their whole lives as only children and this is what they wanted but it’s also something they didn’t think about having to adjust to

-there’s also this immediate reluctance to listen to anything bea and lemony tell them because they have to get used to parents now, too

-parents who aren’t currently super functioning as parents

-there’s a lot of second-guessing people’s intentions

-why did you say that?? the hell does that eyebrow mean???? you picked that song for a REASON and fuck you for that!!!! you don’t trust me to drive, do you???? I KNOW HOW TO MAKE A SANDWICH FOR MY CHILD THANK YOU VERY MUCH

-that sort of thing.

-in varying shades of seriousness.

-i know it sounds mostly like just bea screaming there but trust me the sentiment is shared by all of them in various ways and actions

-they don’t do it in front of violet and klaus though

-NO ONE KNOWS WHERE THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO LIVE NOW, do they stay in england or all go to california??? do they go somewhere else???????? what even (I don’t even know)

-(they probably do stay in england though. that’s what I was picturing while writing this.)

-violet and klaus do adjust to no longer being only children and realizing they have someone their age to rely on now who understands them

-they make blanket forts where violet designs these stands that will hold books up and periodically turn the page so they can lay on their backs and read and not worry about moving

-klaus reads up on inventors so he and violet can talk about them

-they argue with bea and lemony a little about weird things because violet and klaus are trying to figure out where they are with their parents now and how they’re supposed to act and bea and lemony are trying to figure out how to coordinate parenting while wanting to kill each other

-they institute family game night and try to best each other in cards or scrabble because they can handle that

-bertrand, of course, is in a very awkward position at this time

-like he’s around but he can’t take sides because that’s Weird and he’s not that kind of person anyway, and he wants to be there but he doesn’t quite know as what

-like, he was gonna marry bea!! and now he’s not. and he loves lemony!!! but he can’t do anything about it because bea and lemony have problems to work out!!! and bertrand loves both of them!! and they love him!!! they know they do!! he knows they do!!!!! but everything is very uncomfortable!!!

-like, bertrand needs to be on equal footing in this relationship too!

-he hangs out with dewey a lot and they become Poetry Buds again

-he participates in family game night

-bea and lemony are worried that bertrand is only going to see himself as like a peacemaker between them when he isn’t because he never has been and realizing that bertrand is a huge official permanent part of their lives now is a big thing for them

-hi, my name’s lulu and writing the navigation of relationships is hard!!!! it’s so fucking hard

-the three of them watch movies wednesday nights – bertrand picks the movies and he picks these really sweet romantic ones (cause that’s just the kind of movies he likes!!!) and it’s unbearably great

-they mean to watch the thin man movies (the ones with nick charles aka william powell aka the guy lemony and bea would both fuck if they had had the opportunity) over a series of weeks but wind up marathoning all six of them one night (and it takes all night)

-none of them can function the next day

-bertrand: I get it. i’d do it with nick charles, too.

-beatrice sings herself hoarse during a play rehearsal and can’t talk for a week

-she can’t sleep one night and lemony finds her in the kitchen and makes them both tea and they salute each other with the mugs

-bertrand takes up writing limericks and leaves them around the house and lemony finds one in the shower and slips from laughing so hard

-bertrand, in the hospital: I could’ve killed you with poetry

lemony: I mean, all things considered, it’s not the worst way to go. it’s better than next to a pile of books I was meaning to read, which I always thought to be much more likely. slipping in the shower because of a charming limerick about shoes? it’s not all that bad.

bertrand: I don’t know whether to take the compliment or be worried about how you’ve considered how you’re likely to die. please don’t die.

-beatrice shows up at the hospital and throws the stuffed animal from carnival night at lemony

lemony: oh, you didn’t have to give me your….ah….

bertrand: ….moose? have we guessed moose?

beatrice: the ears……….

-things get, better

-they take turns picking up the kids from school

-some kid: gee violet how come your mom lets you have two dads

violet: just lucky, I guess

-lemony helps beatrice rehearse her lines and they straight-up make out for an hour instead

-lemony and bertrand make dessert once a week and routinely end up covered in flour

-there is a household debate on ‘what species is the stuffed animal’ and ‘what are we going to name it,’ moderated by kit

-violet puts on a one-woman play that she and klaus wrote about hedy lamarr for her school’s talent show and receives a standing ovation

-lemony and bea and bertrand are in the front row and beatrice is full-on sobbing during the standing ovation

-they get bertrand a new record player for his birthday and all three of them dance to his records the whole night

-yes they ARE all falling in love with each other all over again it is very important to me that they’re all on the same page when they do that

-violet and klaus make bertrand a ‘best additional parent’ mug because they don’t quite know what to call him (they haven’t figured it out yet), like violet makes him a fucking mug in her glassblowing class (you ever seen someone glassblow a mug??? it’s great.) and klaus does this beautiful calligraphy label for it

-bertrand cries immediately, for the next hour of his life, and just carries it around because he doesn’t know where to put it

-beatrice: aww, that was so sweet of you two, to make – does that say ‘additional parent’

lemony: I believe it says ‘additional parent.’

violet: we did also consider ‘greatest poet’ but that had less of the feeling we wanted.

klaus: we do realize that ‘best’ is truly an unquantifiable concept, because there’s no one out there ranking parents, but we thought it was the most fitting.

it’s after that that they all decide to get married.

later on, sunny is born!! and she’s very upset she missed out on all these shenanigans.

[jacques comes back to find so many people in his brother’s house.

kit: well jacques, you really should be home more

lemony: yes, find a nice person

lemony: …...or two

kit: settle down, stop looking so surprised.

lemony: kit your daughter just leapt off the bookshelf and tackled my husband

kit: and am I surprised? no.]

[also jacques does not buy his sister a nice new set of engraved fountain pens.

kit: so did you get me a souvenir or not, jacques

jacques: souvenir? I thought you said

kit: JACQUES WE ARE ADULTS DON’T YOU DARE BEETHOVEN ME

jacques: edward lear

jacques: here’s this book of delightful nonsense poetry.

kit: how could you]

[while bea is pregnant with sunny –

bertrand: what about sunny?

lemony: bertrand baudelaire.

lemony: you come into my house.

lemony: you marry my wife.

beatrice, across the room: I married both of you???

lemony: and you have the audacity.

lemony: to suggest we name our daughter after our high school drama teacher.

bertrand: okay but your reaction isn’t necessarily a no]

#i actually did NOT fix the double spacing on this -- i thought it actually looked very nice double spaced on the blog page????#especially with how long it is #asoue #a series of unfortunate events

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