“You need to have more confidence in yourself, Patroclus. I love you; for you.” He pulls away then, his eyes protective in a way that sets my heart aflame. “Was it my mother again? Do not listen to her. She does not know my heart, only my destiny.”
There were few things Patroclus would say no to when it came to Achilles. When Achilles asked him not to take a summer class, he agreed because Achilles made a convincing point by merely breathing. When Achilles asked him to go on a road trip with him to Phthia so they could spend a week at the beach, how was Patroclus supposed to say no? The answer to that was that there was no way for him to say no because the whole idea had more upsides than downsides.
“Now imagine that you, the strongest man you have ever heard legend of, sent Patroclus – who did not fight or quarrel or rage – into a battle. Imagine that you, who can kill a dozen of Troy’s strongest in a single battle, had one person to protect of any value, and you sent them to die. Over nothing real. Can you imagine?”
Automedon shakes his head. “I am sorry, Achilles. He was so brave-”
“If this was you, who would you be most angry at?”
(maybe apollo caught sight of the boy,
sun-streaked skin glowing gilded,
feathers fluttering like slain daydreams,
moth-bitten promises half-remembered
& something lovely in his fallibility.)
what if icarus fell in love with the ocean?
(maybe he dreamt of her salt-soaked kisses,
softness dotting his body like constellations.
fingers laced in his hair like a crown
for a broken king. a gentle swan song,
a chilly numbness of unremembrance.)
what if icarus turned away from the sun?
(maybe apollo blazed infernos with the bitter sting
of humiliation. singed off feathers one by one,
thrust him into the frigid embrace of an ocean
that would sooner kill than love back:
a lesson to mortals who dare defy the gods.)
It says request are open but its ok if your busy. So, i just realized like there is zero mysmess fics/imagines dealing with their military service. Like in korea military service is mandatory but like no one ever mentions it in the fandom. Do you know by any chance any fics that do,or even better can you do a small write with zen about it. I would die, but its ok if youre busy its just i really love your work and this has been bugging me a bit. Sorry for bothering you and have a beautiful day💜
I have no idea if I imagined it or not, but I’m pretty sure I saw
something (I don’t know if it was an imagine or fanart or something)
that actually had this subject, but I can’t remember for the life of me
where I saw it, I’m sorry. ;_; I don’t know much about conscription in Korea, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies. This was fun to write. Thank you for requesting!
was only for 21 months. It really didn’t sound too long of a time, but
somehow, the idea of being away from Zen for that amount of time made you uneasy,
especially since you never know what could happen during the actor’s
conscription. Zen had avoided his conscription for a while now, wanting
to put as much of his time and effort into acting, but Zen’s fame was
starting to rise. If the public found out about his negligence of duty,
it would reflect poorly on his image and the backlash would be severe. In the end, Zen decided to just
get it over and done with, but even so, the thought of leaving you all
alone while he served in the army terrified the both of you.
be fine,” Zen spoke softly, but you couldn’t tell if it was a
reassurance for himself or for you. His hand reached out to stroke your
cheek, and it pained your heart when you felt the slightest of trembles
against your skin. You lifted your own hand and placed it atop the actor’s,
trying to steady it with your own shaky one.
“You’ll be fine…”
you repeated, and again, it was difficult to tell just who exactly you
were trying to convince. After a pause, you added, “I’ll be fine.”
nodded, his free hand moving to wrap around your waist. It would be a
while since you would feel this warmth again, and when that realization
hit you, you flung yourself towards the actor’s chest. You both stumbled
back a bit, but as soon as the pair of you were able to regain your
footing, you buried your face into Zen’s chest while he pushed your body
flush against his.
“Promise me you’ll come back.” Your voice was muffled, but Zen was still able to pick up on the strain in your voice.
“I promise,” Zen answered firmly, running his fingers through your hair. “I promise I’ll come back to you.”
Slowly, you pulled back from the actor to properly look at him, a sad and uncertain smile etched on your features. “…I’ll be waiting.”
Zen took your face into his hands and suddenly pulled you in for an
intense kiss. It took you a moment to process what was happening, but as
soon as you did, you started to kiss him back with just as much vigour.
Zen’s lips tasted salty, but you weren’t sure if it was from your tears
or his, trying to lessen as much space between the two of you as
possible. After all, there would be nothing but lots of space between
the pair of you as soon as Zen leaves.
The kiss became less like a
kiss and more like a desperate attempt to mold your mouths together.
Tongues swirled against one other while hands roamed across everywhere
and wherever they can reach. Both you and Zen tried to memorize each
other once more in this small moment, not knowing just how much things
might change in the span of his conscription. You wanted to commit every
detail to memory. The feel of his trembling figure. The taste of his
mouth. The sound of his soft sighs against you. The smell of his
shampoo. The sight of his glossy eyes staring back at you.
“I love you,” the actor whispered to you, afraid of speaking any louder as his voice might betray him and waver and crack.
“I love you too.”
the entirety of Zen’s time serving his country, you both tried to
keep in contact each other as much as possible, especially with video chats
since those helped alleviate the ache in your heart the most. It was
terrifying and painful to think about what Zen might be doing now, if he
was taking care of himself, but you would remember his promise of coming back
to you, and it helped get you through the days.
The first few
weeks were extremely difficult, a heavy sense of anxiety anchoring down
your heart to your stomach. It was lonely in the apartment, and you
often found yourself going over to somebody else’s place for company.
Everybody, the RFA and Zen’s fans, were very supportive and encouraging
towards both you and Zen the entire time, and you felt grateful towards
Counting the days only seemed to stress you out, so you
eventually stopped, merely holding onto the hope that Zen would come
home soon. …And he eventually did.
When you open the door, about
to leave for a quick stroll around Zen’s usual morning run route, you
stop in your tracks just before you can crash into someone. You heart hammers against your chest as you slowly bring your gaze
upwards, and familiar red eyes lovingly greet you.
you’re not too sure how to react, your mind still trying to catch up with what you were seeing. You merely stand there, frozen in spot
as your mouth opens and close, trying to find your voice. Your widened
eyes start to gloss over, and your vision becomes blurred. Before you
know it, you’re screaming and crying, throwing yourself onto the actor
who catches you with ease.
You bury your face in the crook of his
neck, ugly sobs leaving your lips, but you don’t care about that. All
you care about is the familiar feeling of fingers threading through your
hair. The familiar light and airy chuckle against your ears. The
familiar flash of silvery white hair caught in the sun. The familiar
sweet scent that you had grown to love and miss this entire time.
only when the situation dawns on you more that you finally become aware
of the wet droplets that fall onto your neck, Zen’s shoulders shaking
underneath your arms. The actor tightens his hold against you, wanting
to make up for all the lost time before pulling back so that he can kiss
you on the lips, and you almost melt against him.
Thursday nights were reserved solely for Jean and Laila. Neither of them had Friday classes, so they typically went out and got bitch ass shit faced, before stumbling home to pass out in various states of disarray around their living room in the campus co-ed apartments that they shared with Jeremy and Sara. Friday mornings, you could find them asleep in the living room, while Jeremy and Sara ate breakfast together and talked about the antics of their roommates. On this particular morning, Laila was sprawled out on the ugly flower patterned couch and Jean was asleep on his stomach, lying across the coffee table.
Before Sara left for class, Laila, still mostly drunk, would wake up and go try to kiss her girlfriend before she left for class. Sara always made her go brush her teeth, even if Laila promised to keep her mouth closed because what the fuck Lay that’s nasty you have stank breath! The play argument would typically wake up Jean, who would shuffle off to the kitchen where he was greeted by Jeremy and a large mug of coffee.
After both Sara and Jeremy left for class, Jean and Laila would typically flop back on the couch and Laila would tell Jean about some of her best memories. He didn’t have a lot of his own best memories to share, he was fairly young when he joined the Nest, but he loved to listen to Laila’s memories. Sometimes, he would even share a super special one of his own form his time in Marseilles. When that happened, his voice would take on a soft, reverent quality.
Occasionally, he would slip into French, talking to family members that couldn’t hear him. Laila always listening and never shouted at him about his accidental French. He was starting to get better about not flinching when he realized he was no longer speaking English. Always waiting for a blow that would never come. Laila would just smile at him and gesture for him to continue. It was always a relief to be around her.
Today, Laila was curled up in the armchair with her knees pulled up to her chest. She had a plate of chicken nuggets balanced on her knees. Jean had barely been able to suppress the ribbing she deserved, but she looked so happy when Sara had handed them to her before kissing her head and leaving, that he couldn’t bring himself to tease her. She looked at Jean over her knees and began her story.
“The moon is a hunter.”
“What? No once upon a time?” Jean joked.
“Nope!” she said, popping the p, “The sun hunts the moon. Oh yeah, the sun is a hunter too.” She stopped to eat a chicken nugget she had swiped through mayonnaise.
Jean wrinkled his nose in disgust. “The sun and the moon are celestial bodies. They don’t even have weapons.”
Laila rolled her eyes. “Do you want to listen to the story or not?” Jean nodded. “Then I need your silence, capiche?”
“That is a horrible butchering of the Italian language, but yes continue.”
“Oh my god—well anyway, the sun isn’t that kind of hunter, you absolute dork. Mm, think of it this way: the sun is in love with the moon, and the sun wishes that the moon would love him, too. Every day he cascades across the sky bright and warm and beaming, helping everything on the earth to thrive, so he might be able to tempt the moon to come to him, so that he might hold him in his golden arms.”
Jean got up from the couch to get more coffee and an English muffin. When he got back he leveled Laila with a serious look. “The sun is not a very good hunter, is he?”
Laila huffed out a laugh. “Okay, so probably from most standards of a hunter he is a poor one. Maybe he’s more of trappist? A trapper? You know the saying; ‘You catch more kisses with a sweet smile than with a funky frown’?”
Jean squinted at her. “It’s trapper and never in my goddamn life have I heard that before. That’s not a saying. Did you just make up a saying because you forgot the proverb? You can’t just do that.”
“Vinegar and honey! Bugs! God, okay anyway, the sun is big and loud and bright, and he moon is just this tiny little river stone in the sky. And,” she whispered this part, “the moon watches the sun.”
“He does not,” Jean insisted, caught up in the story. No moon would watch the sun. The moon was noble and nimble. There were far too many things that a moon could busy itself with. Watching the sun? How ridiculous! He back tracked, “Well, I mean, the moon isn’t sentient, it can’t watch anything.”
“Yes he does!” Laila shouted over her chicken nuggets. “You know!! You can see him during the day. Haven’t you ever seen the moon out during the day?”
Jean rolled his eyes, but was willing to play along. “Okay, and what happens on cloudy days then?”
“I am so glad you asked,” Laila cooed, moving her plate to the table in front of them and began to talk with her hands. “The sun can’t see the moon; the fog and stuff gets in the way! And he’s sad because he misses him. That’s why the sun isn’t out on cloudy days. Sometimes, the sun even cries. That’s what the rain is. The sun is crying because the moon is nowhere to be found.”
Jean wasn’t sure that he bought into the theory of sentient celestial bodies. What, would she next tell him that the planets were also in love with one another? Regardless of the validity of the story, Jean was hooked. He would never admit it now, but sometimes when he was very little he would talk to the sun and tell it about his day. The sun had always been there for Jean as a child, and that was one of the worst parts of being in the Nest, never seeing the sun. Jean never particularly liked going to classes at Edgar Allan but it did mean going out in the daylight, even if it was just small snatches of time.
Laila was sitting on the edge of her seat, smiling at Jean, waiting for his distracted mind to wander back to her story. He gave her a slight nod to indicate that he was listening again so she could continue with the story.
“And the sunset is his love song to him.”
“A song is something you can hear,” Jean said.
“Ever the skeptic, Jean Moreau. Don’t worry, I expected no less from you and your beautiful brain and yes, I have an explanation for you! He paints it. The sun drenches the sky in beautiful, blazing colors. All telling the moon just how much he loves him and can’t bear to leave him. But he’s finally exhausted and he goes to bed, alone and sad. And then here comes the moon, creeping out, all silver and lovely—“
“—Laila are you telling me a sad story?” Jean interrupted, incredulous.
“Shh! No. If sunset is his love song, sunrise is his lullaby. The sun again tells the moon just how radiant he is. He paints the sky for him, soft pinks and yellows, like a downy blanket. He promises that he will be there when the moon wakes up. The moon peeps out at him from his bed in the clouds,” Laila said.
Jean very much liked the concept of this. He was certain that he had never loved anyone like that before, but if he were to love someone that is how he would want to do it. He wondered though, if perhaps he were the moon, unattainable and distant after all of his time at Edgar Allan. Certainly, there would be people who would try to love him, but because of the damage of Riko, he could never allow himself to be caught. Jean became a lot more wistful. It had been a very long time since he had considered the concept of love and whether or not he might deserve it or even one day receive it. He thought, very much, that he would like to receive it.
Laila’s voice was gentle as she continued. “But the sun is patient and crafty. And once every few years, he gets the better of the moon. He sneaks up behind him and catches him in his arms.”
“Laila, you cannot very well sneak up on the moon. Especially not the sun, he is loud and bright. You said it yourself! The moon is a hunter!!” Jean insisted.
“Well, my dad used to say that the moon is an overconfident man,” Laila confided and Jean huffed out a breath through his nose. “No listen! The moon thinks that he is so quick and careful that no one could ever catch him, and he doesn’t watch. He doesn’t expect the sun to surprise him.”
Jean liked the idea that perhaps someone could be watching him, loving him, without him realizing. A part of Jean allowed himself to think of Jeremy as his sun, and he felt a thrill run through him just as Laila said, “But my papa said that the moon loves the sun in return.”
Jean started to clamp down on his thoughts; mildly terrified that Laila was reading his mind. “No! That’s not true!” he shouted before thinking; if you can read my mind, say the word ‘kumquat.’
“Are you done?” Laila only blinked at him, so Jean was convinced that no one knew of Sun-Jeremy but him. Laila continued, “After millions of sunrises and sunsets, of seeing love for you painted across the sky, wouldn’t you begin to feel differently?”
Jean allowed himself to nod.
“So anyways, the moon lets himself be caught. The sun wraps his golden arms around him, burning with love and joy, and for a few heartbeats, the entire sky goes black as they’re united,” Laila trailed off.
Jean was on the edge of his seat. “What happens then?”
“Well the sun lets him go of course,” Laila said as if he was being silly.
“What?” Jean burst out, “After everything the sun did to win the moon? Why?”
“Because he loves him you silly boy! Haven’t you heard the old saying, ‘If you love something, let it go?’”
“Of course I have heard it, but I think that if you love something you should never let it go. Never ever stop loving it. What if one day it was taken from you and you regret the moments that you did not hold on to love?” Jean was certain that if she were not sitting across the room, he would begin shaking her. He was terrified to live in a world where perhaps you loved someone so much you would just push them aside. Wouldn’t it make sense to cling to what you love?
“Jean, the sun knows the moon is a wild creature. He needs shadows and the night air, not the blue-sky home of the sun, where it’s hot and bright. The sun knows this, so he lets him go. The sun will return to his brilliant blue sky, to warm and cheer the whole world once more, and the moon goes back to his star hunt at night. The sun continues to love him from afar with sunsets and lull him to sleep with sunrises, while he watches and drowses in his little cloud bed.”
“Laila, what if the moon doesn’t want the sun to let him go?” Jean asked in a small voice.
“Honey, then the moon needs to let the sun go,” Laila said before getting up, grabbing her dishes, and heading for the kitchen. Jean followed her, slightly jerkily as he panicked.
“Laila, what if the moon is afraid to tell the sun because he’s not sure that the songs are for him and not like…for the Earth? What if the sun loves the Earth??”
Laila smiled up at Jean. “Babe, I think the moon has to know exactly who the sun loves. Sometimes the moon might get scared, but we know that the sun loves the moon. The sun will probably always love the moon from afar. We know that there will be beautiful moments were the sun allows himself to hold the moon, but Jean, don’t you think that it’s only fair that the moon also shows the sun just how much he loves him back?”
“I think that maybe you are right,” Jean sighed before fidgeting with his mug. Laila pulled it out from between his hands.
“I have to go get ready for lunch with Sara now, but think about what I said okay? A little introspection never hurt anybody.” She rocked up on her toes to kiss Jean’s cheek before heading to the room she shared with Sara. Jean went and lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. He was slowly lulled to sleep by the sound of the shower running, with thoughts of hunter suns and hunter moons chasing one another behind his eyes.
Jean didn’t wake up until a warm body squeezed its way onto the couch with him. He probably would have kept sleeping if Jeremy hadn’t shivered and bumped his head on Jean’s chin and complained about how cold Jean always was. Jean scooted back against the back of the couch so Jeremy could further insert himself in his space. Jeremy pillowed his head on Jean’s bicep and stretched an arm across his chest.
“’M sorry I woke you up,” Jeremy mumbled, “I hoped we were napping. Chem II was brutal. I think my brain has been murdered.”
Jean curled his arm around to play with Jeremy’s curls. “We can nap if you want to. Did Laila already leave to meet up with Sara?”
“Mmhmm,” Jeremy murmured in assent as he rubbed his nose along Jean’s collarbone. “You smell like sweat and tequila.”
“I didn’t shower,” Jean said with mirth in his voice.
“It’s okay, I like it,” Jeremy said nodding and tracing his nose up Jean’s neck.
“Hey, Jer?” Jean asked, hesitant.
Jeremy froze and titled his head back slightly, “Yeah?”
Jean breathed in deeply through his nose before saying, “Tu es mon soleil.”
“Hmm?” Jeremy asked, tilting his head back further.
“You are my sun. I am your moon. Jeremy, I love you.”
Jeremy’s grip tightened on Jean’s jacket. His voice wobbled as he asked, “You love me?”
“Oui, je t’aime, Jeremy.”
“Oh!” Jeremy choked out, “Jean. Jean, I love you too.”
“I am glad,” Jean said before leaning down and brushing his nose against Jeremy’s once—twice—three times before leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss.
“A No-good stowaway would have been caught…I’m a great stowaway!”
I seriously love cosplaying as Sun Wukong so much. I feel as if we have very similar personalities, so I don’t feel like I’m trying to be in-character when I’m walking around conventions in this cosplay. It just happens. I’m too emotionally attached to his character and I’m so glad I decided to do a female rendition of him! [I’m looking into getting a shorter wig because this one looks too much like Yang for my liking ^^”]
Plus the latest Vol 4 episode has me loving him even more *0*
So, ah, I got this idea and it didn’t go away soooo here is a dexnursey ficlet with that soulmate trope where when you write something on your skin it appears on the other’s. Here, these two are in an established relationship.
You know I love you, right???
Those 6 words that have suddenly appeared on the inside of his right arm, warm and loving could only mean that his dear boyfriend was up to no good.
It also had to happen when he was in the middle of class. Granted, the teacher tended to talk away but he still liked to take notes. With a sigh, Dex picked up a marker from his desk and on the inside of his left arm, as discreetly as he could, he began to write.
prompt- SMH does Pokemon go + 0%-110% Jack Zimmermann :)
anon, thank you for this adorable prompt omg :)
The only Pokemon Bitty could ever catch in his neighborhood were Weedles and Rattatas. He’d resigned himself to this fate after only a week of playing, and happily curated his pathetic little menagerie. The closest stop was on Main Street, so he found himself offering to do grocery runs almost every day just so he could stock up.
Though his collection was pathetic, it was certainly colorful. He named every Pokemon he caught after one of his friends, and once he ran out of friends he began naming them silly things like Frederick and Ratatouille. Bitty probably would’ve lost interest in the game by now, if it weren’t for a certain boy…
Had a post-wedding shoot with these two on their honeymoon this evening. We caught the very last bits of sun hitting the peaks behind them. Loved getting to photograph and talk with these two and @anjehaisch. https://instagram.com/p/8zgN1hqW2z/ Photo by Benj Haisch