RUNNING UP THAT HILL;

sergeant ezra gates. sniper. "where no gods are, spectres rule."

[spectergates]

sparrowlucas:

Lucas wondered if even his version of not crossing the line had in fact, been crossing the line for Ezra, but relief flooded through him when the sniper’s loud, easygoing laugh escaped his mouth. “Oh, you are a man after my own heart. Should you find Gibbon’s fuckin’ sinker of a book lying around, we can rip in it half and drag it around that way. Teamwork.” Lucas smirked, gratefully accepting the offer of a smoke. Between being put to work in the sky at every available moment, and spending the rest of his time holed up in Costin’s tent, Lucas admittedly, had not spent a lot of time around camp, as such. “Yeah, I’ve been busy - shooting krauts out of the air, annoying the radio operators with my razor sharp wit, y’know, the usual.” Slipping the cigarette between his lips, he retrieved his own matches from his pocket and lit his own. “How about you? How’s the war been treatin’ you, Gatesy?”

Ezra nearly allowed the cigarette dangling between his lips to tumble out of his mouth as he fought yet another laugh at Lucas’s comment, “I’ll holler for ya if I come by it. Reckon it’d make good kindling though so there’s no telling what people have done with it.” He smirked around the cigarette as he listened to the pilot, nodding absently to assure the younger man he was paying attention. He’d started to become quite used to Lucas’s presence whenever he happened to see him; in much the same way his fellow snipers and the few friends he’d made outside of their little company made him feel abundantly comfortable. It was always a relief in some way to see the familiar head of blonde hair poking out of a plane whenever their squadron returned from their missions, not that he’d readily admit that to Lucas under anything but pain of death. “Ah, y’know, Jerry hasn’t gotten me yet so I reckon it’s not goin’ too bad at all. Keeping Cos outta trouble oughta be a full time job, and between that and doin’ the same for the rest of the snipers, I’m a busy man. Wouldn’t have it any other way, mind.”

[spectergates]

lunetist-victorios:

“Well with you blown to bits and Costin shitting a brick, I would be left to do all the work as usual,” she grinned, teasingly.

“I was coming to see the fool recruit lazing about in plain view on a tank where any officer could be seeing him and putting him to work–or where the tank operator might see him and be getting protective. But I am seeing it is just you.” She smiled again, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You should not do any ‘bouncing’, you might be hurting yourself.”

“And I’m sure you’d do it swimmingly.” He laughed brightly, swinging his feet cheerfully as his legs dangled over the edge of the tank—as though he were a child on holiday and not a soldier in the midst of a brief reprieve. “I reckon most of the tank drivers are far too scared of me to try and get me offa this thing. Probably too worried I’d pop ‘em through the eye or something.” His laughter grew that much louder, “I promise to be safe, Dalca. I’m not planning on knocking myself out of the war on the back of this thing.”

[spectergates]

ringercafiero:

She couldn’t relate, but she expected nothing different. “Do you not write her?” Ringer queried. She pondered the repercussions of answering his own inquiry– a true Spy knew nothing but steel armor. Would it be baring her soul to tell him something as simple as a favored novel? “Anything that keeps my mind wandering. I rather like Tolstoy, if you must know.” There was more to her than volatile interrogations and bone-snapping missions; it was simply effortless to raise and bear a shield.

His cheerful expression darkened for only a fraction of a second; a brief flutter of discontentment across his features as he turned his face away from the spy for a short moment. He cleared his throat, frowning lightly, “Not as much as I should, no. It’ll be easier for her this way, if something...” He trailed off, making a brief, vague gesture with one hand. If something happened to him. He shook his head to quell the thoughts and quirked an eyebrow at her final comment, brow furrowing only seconds later, “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

[spectergates]

sparrowlucas:

“’Course not.” Lucas said, smirk barely faltering. “I respect each and every member of the esteemed Gates clan. Especially your mother.” He added, resisting the urge to make further jokes about Ezra’s mother which would probably earn him as many black eyes as he wanted to give Hemingway. “I am merely questioning her taste in literature, is all.” Lucas tipped his head to the side and tried not to express how slightly terrified Ezra’s expression made him despite the fact that he was pretty sure the sniper was just messing with him. “Well, Professor Sparrow’s favourite is the Iliad, followed very closely by anything by Oscar Wilde, or F. Scott Fitzgerald.” He informed, nose in the air as usual. “Actually, scrap that - anything that doesn’t have ‘by Ernest Hemingway’ on the front is good by me.”

His expression remained decidedly stoic for several moments as he considered the pilot, cracking in fits and starts before a bright smile broke across his face and a cheery, full bodied laugh escaped him. He leaned forward to clap Lucas on the shoulder, grinning all the while. “Fair enough, mate, fair enough. I’m a fan of the modernists but history related books are usually the ones I heft around with me.” He shrugged lazily, “There’s no way The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire would’a fit in my rucksack, so here we are.” His smile widened as he fished a cigarette out of the pocket of his field jacket and pressed one between his lips, tilting the nearly full pack towards Lucas with one hand as he struck a match with the other. “How ya goin’ anyway, Winstead? Been a while since I’ve seen you on the ground.”

[sodrippy]

they say war is hell, so peace should be holy but darling, the only thing i ever held sacred was your name in my mouth they say do not take the lord’s name in vain, so i muffle the sounds against your neck, and hope the heavens are not listening

but if they could hear me, they would not begrudge me this (via scottsunmers)

[spectergates]

bullseyeolivia:

It was unusual to encounter Olivia wandering around, but all the goals for the day were fulfilled and she’d grown bored of shooting targets and getting challenged by others, only to beat them every time. She smirked as she spotted Ezra, and decided to saunter over and tease him a little, her hands in the back pockets of her pants. Liv shrugged her shoulders at his words, “Not really, no… just decided that you needed company,” she admitted, hopping onto the tank and snatching the book out of his hands “Hemingway, huh?”

“That right?” His brow quirked in what he assumed was a sort of pleasant, clear surprise. He’d welcomed Bullseye’s company as long as they’d served together— something about her boisterous nature matched his and he felt secure in himself whenever she happened to be around. He made a vague noise of protest as she snatched the book away, though it morphed into a sheepish laugh just as quickly, “Yeah, yeah. Luke already rode my ass for it, so if that’s what you’re aimin’ to do, I’m gonna have to send ya packin’, Sarge. It’s my mum’s favorite, by the by. Figured I’d give it another good look.”

[spectergates]

lunetist-victorios:

“You are trying out a new vantage point?” Crina asked with a slight smirk on her face. She was lucky enough that the outfit Costin brought her into had turned out to have good officers, and good fellow snipers–and, yes, other good people too.

“I am, for the moment.” There was the brief hum of a chuckle in the back of his throat as he considered his fellow sniper, “Reckon I’d get blown to bits trying to ride this beast into battle, though. Cos would shit a brick and then where would we be?” A playful, boyish grin brightened his features as he considered the younger woman, “What’s got you bouncin’ around here?”

[spectergates]

sparrowlucas:

“Yeah, Gatesy, I’m gonna need you to somehow get a better taste in literature.” Lucas said, shaking his head in disapproval, though there was a good-natured, humorous glint in his eye. The pilot had very strong opinions on Hemingway after having been made to study The Sun Also Rises at school two years in a row, and found it atrocious that people could want to read his works for fun. “I’m actually surprised they facilitate reading in the penal colonies, but evidently they don’t go so far as teaching you good books from bad.”

His brow arched primly towards his hairline as he sized up the pilot, biting back the smirk that threatened to crack his stoic expression, “It’s my mum’s favorite, Winstead, I reckon you’re not insulting her, yeah?” His expression darkened in a manner he hoped fully conveyed the sheer amount of pain the pilot could expect to be in if he continued in such a manner. Of course, he was almost entirely kidding. But he was also the sort of man who’s idea of a good bit of fun was absolutely fucking with people to the best of his ability. “Do you have any suggestions for me then, Professor?”

[ringercafiero]

Angel on Fire || Specter & Ringer

[spectergates]

ringercafiero:

@spectergates

tw: death, tw: blood

A slice against her cheek split open like a fractured petal. Blood blossomed. She was swift where her strength lacked; the fluidity in her movements were laced with fatal precision. The skill-sets of Spies were nearly always matched, but this man was comprised of molasses. It was much easier to flay an artery when the target was bound to a chair, tucked away into an interrogation nook.

The enemy caught her waist. She drew back an elbow and was rewarded with a crunch. The sharp jab connected with brittle bone. A stream of crimson rapidly escaped a dislocated nose. Her uniform had reached a new pitch of black; darkened by the deep-stained shadows of blood. The man stumbled back, and Ringer embedded her knife to the hilt within her victim’s abdomen. Withdrawing it, she raked its silver teeth across his jugular, and watched the roll of the whites of their eyes.

She collided with an individual sporting the build of a German tank. The butt of his M1 Garand slammed into her midsection. She rolled in order to grasp her recovery, attempting to reclaim the air that had been lost by the blow. As she rose, she was met with yet the beginning of another knife fight.

Where was a sniper when you needed one?

Her flesh became stained by pink mist as a shot cracked the air. A tinge of iron singed her tongue. The weight of her opponent collapsed upon her. The force of the bullet made for an abrupt impact, and sent her careening off the scraggly ledge that was lined with loose stone and unforgiving snow. It was a downside of the Commandos’ sheltered ruins. She scrabbled for purchase. Nails bit into jagged rock, jagged rock pierced fingertips and harshly scraped palms. The landscape’s entirety was slicked with ice. The body was claimed by the ravine below. The soles of her boots refused to support her against frosted crag.

Five digits, four, three…the first hand lost its abysmal gripping. The second arm followed suit.

And she fell, through the fog, swallowed by the frozen abyss below.

Major combat operations weren’t forthcoming every day in the Commandos, and it was the case, more often than not, that Specter exerted his considerable skills as a sniper simply protecting their camp. He had his cheek pressed to the stock of his rifle, cold sharp and stinging against his skin as he forced himself to breathe deeply, watching the ensuing fight through the lens of his scope. Near misses, blood blossoming across Ringer’s pale skin made his fingers itch— his stomach clenched in fits and starts as his finger curled gently across the trigger, enough to be prepared but never enough to act. Not yet. 

Timing was everything. Even as his pulse skyrocketed, his heart slamming a steady tattoo through his veins against the hard packed dirt of his perch, against the stock of his rifle, violent and unceasing. 

As the second brawl unfolded before him, he gritted his teeth sharply; jaw twinging under the pressure— he felt as though he’d grind his teeth down to nubs of his own accord if it kept on much longer and he saw the moment to act looming before him like writing across the sky. A twitch. A crack that reverberated through his entirety. 

He watched Ringer tumble over the edge as he lurched to his feet, everything in him screaming to follow, to protect her, to save her. Sour and violent, bile rushed into the back of his throat and he drove his fist angrily into the trunk of the tree he’d been using as cover, the ensuing cracks alerting him to the injuries he’d now be forced to deal with. 

Rifle slung over his shoulder he careened down the path towards the ruins knowing full well he’d have no way of helping Ringer if she was genuinely hurt, or, God forbid, dead at the bottom of the ravine. A split second found him shifting his weight in the opposite direction, all but sprinting in the direction of their most recent camp— breath half caught in his lungs and frantic cries teasing at the edges of his lips as he bit them back. 

He would not be weak now.  

He wouldn’t lose her. Not for anything. 

[spectergates]

+ BASICS +

FULL NAME: Ezra Simon Gates. MEANING: “Help, helper”; “God has heard”; “topographic name for someone who lives near a wall in a medieval town”. NICKNAME: Specter. MEANING: A source of terror or dread; a visible apparition of terrifying nature. AGE APPEARANCE: 27. BIRTHDAY: 24 April, 1917. ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Taurus.  GENDER: Male ALLERGIES: General hayfever— he has a very mild allergy to pollen.  SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Heteroflexible, not that he knows that particularly well. THEME SONG: "Fight”, Icon For Hire. 

+ APPEARANCE +

HAIR COLOR: Black, ( or deep brown, depending on lighting ). HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: Frankly, it depends. When he’s out in the field for extended periods of time he allows it to grow out, and it becomes quite shaggy and unkempt. Otherwise, it’s short to medium length and generally within military guidelines.  EYES COLOR: Brown.  EYESIGHT: 20/20. HEIGHT: 6’1". WEIGHT: 173 lbs. DISTINGUISHING MARKS: He has a puckered, almost star shaped scar below his left ear— from a childhood accident involving some unruly animals and barbed wire. Several scars on his hands from general wear and tear, a burn scar on his right middle finger from a too-hot gun barrel. He also has a long scar from his left hip to his navel from a knife fight in the midst of a combat operation.  SELF CARE: He constantly washes his hands and makes sure they’re impeccably clean; it’s a childhood habit and a bit of an odd one all things considered, but he can’t let it go. He also shaves every second week no matter where he is.  FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: He’s blunt and more than a bit grating regardless of whether or not he knows people. He makes few qualms about not making friends and although he’s perfectly capable of turning on the charm when it’s needed, he respects rank and his own means that he’s often operating under something of a tough-love doctrine. Certain people ( like Costin and Oriana and a handful of others ) impress him enough that he gets very warm and very open, generally very witty and sarcastically teasing but he cares about them immensely.  SKIN COLOR: Olive.  BODY TYPE/BUILD: He’s clearly very strong and well built; he takes it very seriously, keeping himself in decent physical shape. He’s a bit lanky in comparison to some of the other Commandos, owing to the fact that he tends to need to slip into spaces that others can’t get to but he’s very sturdily built.  DEFAULT EXPRESSION: Something like this gif ( here ).  POSTURE: Usually fairly relaxed, though sort of in the way cats can be— relaxed but clearly ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Relaxed but somehow constantly alert regardless.  DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: He’s got a fairly noticeable/typical Australian accent ( after some research I’m calling it a ‘general Australian accent’, his voice is relatively deep— though it tends to get that much deeper when he’s angry, or tired. It’s rough and usually fairly warm, all told. 

+ RELATIONSHIPS +

MOTHER: He adores his mother, point blank period. He loves her more than almost anyone in the world, and he’d do anything for her. However, that didn’t stop him from causing an insane amount of trouble on their family farm as a child to get his mother’s attention. When he left home his mother was fairly devastated but he does his best to write to her when he can remember.  FATHER: His father served in the military during the Great War, so Ezra didn’t meet him properly until he was a toddler ( not that that had much bearing on their relationship ). Ezra was, strictly speaking, a pain in his father’s ass at any given moment of his life. His father’s expectations for him were often much higher than any Ezra wanted to meet and they butted heads constantly before he moved out to live on his own. At the end of the day, he loves and respects his father a great deal, but they get along best when they’re fishing or working on the farm together - in other words, when they’re not talking.  SIBLINGS: He has three older brothers, all of whom he’s butted heads with at various points in his life— Alexander, Peter, and Jacob, all of whom serve with the ANZAC’s in the War write Ezra as much as they can considering they never quite know where he’s stationed at any given moment. He misses them, but he also understands that some of the people he’s met in the Commandos are sometimes more family to him than his own but he treasures his brothers regardless.  PAST LOVER(S): He’s had countless flings over the years, usually women though there have been occasions when he’s been fairly drunk where men have been involved. Otherwise, no one serious.  CURRENT LOVER: No one at present.  ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: Considering he’s the acting second-in-command of the Commandos he needs to be able to work well or at least exude an aura of command in relation to the other Commandos. He’s a straightforward, and fair officer and he takes his job incredibly seriously. As long as those under his command or in the Commandos in general do their jobs and do their jobs well, he has absolutely no problems with any of them. However, if they don’t— he can be cruel and downright malicious.  HOW SOCIABLE (LONER, ETC): He can be perfectly charming and infallibly sociable when he has the desire to be but largely, he keeps to himself or to the other snipers. He gets along best with them and is witty, charming and brightly intelligent where they’re concerned. Otherwise, he’s a tad standoff-ish but still as friendly as he can be.  FRIENDS: As mentioned above, he does consider his fellow snipers friends— especially Costin ( he considers him his closet friend in the Commandos and he would absolutely drop anything and everything for their Commander at any time ).  PETS: None that he has with him, though he did have a Sheppard for a while before he enlisted.  LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: Cowards, those who can’t do their work properly, disloyal people, almost everyone in the world ( honestly ). 

+ PERSONALITY +

FAVORITE COLOR: Sage.  FAVORITE FOOD: Cassava cake.  FAVORITE ANIMAL: Timber wolf.  HOBBIES: Reading ( occasionally ), maintaining his rifle, playing cards ( poker, blackjack, anything that he can learn in five or ten minutes ), drinking, sex, smoking, napping, lounging around with his fellow soldiers, listening to music ( either when the radio plays something other than news, or when someone finds a record player somewhere. it’s few and far between ), taking walks.  DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: He drinks and smokes semi-regularly, but most of them do and it’s not really an issue in his mind. He does not, however, do any drugs.  CLASS IN AN RPG: Assassin.  BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: No.  OPINION ON SWEARING: Considering how often he swears, he’s perfectly fine with it.  DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: A mix of both.  MUSIC TYPE: Sinatra, swing, big band and jazz.  BOOK TYPE: He reads Hemingway and the Modernists pretty frequently.  COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: He’s not a huge fan of the cold considering the climate in Queensland was relatively warm year round— he deals with it because of where he’s served but he’s an absolute grump in the cold.  SLEEPING PATTERN: He sleeps a couple hours a night, on average. When he’s on watch or during missions it’s a wonder if he sleeps at all. He tries his best to rest but it’s never the easiest thing; he does what he can.  CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: In terms of personal hygiene he’s very neat, and he tries to keep his personal things the same way but they tend to be in disarray more often than not. He’s a little messier than he’d like to be.  HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Doing any one of his hobbies, or sleeping or thinking up new things to do to entertain himself around the camp.  BIGGEST SECRET: That he’s more terrified of being in war zones than he’ll ever let on; that he’s terrified of leading the soldiers in his charge to their deaths.  HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Costin.  WHAT ANIMAL WOULD THEY BE: Probably a wolf.  FEARS: Losing his friends and family to the war, snakes, flying, losing a limb.   COMFORTS: Tea, his rifle, his mother’s favorite Hemingway novel, a notebook he has with stories about interesting people he’s met through the Commandos, learning new languages from his fellow Commandos. 

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE...

SAD: He’s withdrawn and much more aggressive than usual when he’s sad. He’s reluctant to talk to anyone and when he does, it’s not usually kind.  HAPPY: Usually smiling, teasing everyone in a five mile radius and doing it happily. He cracks jokes and plays cards with the other men and he’s just generally very bright and very social.  ANGRY: He can get very physical when he’s angry but largely he’s not the sort of person to get explosively angry, he’s more the type of person who’s extremely quiet when they’re angry and he gets very intense, very quickly.  AFRAID: He gets visibly jittery but otherwise tries his best not to make it clear when he’s afraid.  LOVE SOMEONE: He tends towards affection but it’s usually not overtly public unless he’s really strongly feeling for someone. He’s a little bit less of an ass but he still has a tendency to tease, but he also has a tendency to not be able to be around them without smiling, so he can’t exactly hide his feelings well most times ( which he hates ).  HATE SOMEONE: He’s malicious and outwardly cold to them without question, he doesn’t pretend to like them and he doesn’t care if they’re uncomfortable with it.  WANT SOMETHING: He’s very clear about things when he wants them, he doesn’t think he needs to be shy about it.  CONFUSED: His nose gets all scrunched up and he generally just looks frustrated and half ready to go beat at the problem until it’s less confusing. Otherwise he pretends everything is totally fine. 

[spectergates]

ringercafiero:

“But at what level do they teach you?” she continued, a familial smirk etched into her features. Ringer slipped a cigarette from her pocket and offered it to the stationary sniper. “Sì, I do.” All the time. But only one other knows this. Her shoulders raised– a slight movement– as if it could shield her from spilling personal intel she kept at hidden depths. “I am sure I have read everything in this camp, like your Hemingway.”

“Oh, you know— primary school is probably where it’s topped off,” He drawled, full of sarcasm and amusement. He enjoyed their banter; enjoyed the reprieve that having teasing conversations with Ringer allowed against the backdrop of constant heated discussions about tactics and ammunition stores. He felt much less like a solider in their shared moments, though what that meant and how he felt about it remained entirely to be seen. “I got this one from my mum,” He smiled lightly, clearing his throat. “’S her favorite, or... was. Not sure if it still is.” He shrugged lazily, “Have a favorite?”

[spectergates]

ringercafiero:

“I didn’t know you could read,” Ringer confessed teasingly, “or is it a picture book?” Her sarcastic tone drew to a close as she turned her back to the tank and leant against its bloodstained metal. “I doubt they’d have the pictures we’d like to see. At least, ‘we the morbid’.” If the Spy was occupying a place within the camp it was to interrogate. It was rare, now, that she could see the sniper she had come not to mind.

“Oh, ha bloody ha,” He snorted, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the tank with brief, fluid movements. “I’m not a caveman— we do learn to read in the bush, funny enough.” He had an incredibly difficult time schooling the smirk threatening to cross his lips into a half-irritated expression. He flicked through the pages dramatically, “No pictures, it’s a sad day for me.” He tilted the book towards her, eyebrow arched curiously, “Do you read much?”

[spectergates]

Inexplicably, the newest lull in camp activity found Ezra lounging across the body of one of the tanks ( the perks of turning on his charm whenever the urge struck him ), reading a tattered copy of a Hemingway novel. It wasn’t often he did anything other than lounge around camp cleaning his gun or brainstorming new assignments for the various recruits he was occasionally charged with breaking in. The crunch of footsteps near him made him pause, and he leveled dark eyes at the approaching figure with a lazy, nonchalant grin, “Help you with something?”

[spectergates]

Ezra exhaled slowly through his nose— blowing cigarette smoke in the immediate vicinity of the tank he’d been lounging on for the last fifteen minutes. Hardly anyone dared chide him for the decision but he wasn’t particularly keen on allowing that to change and a steady restlessness had been building in him for the last several days. He was prone to taking long walks when the urge struck him, or finding a quiet place to sit and shoot or sit and square his rifle away or do almost anything that was even remotely pleasant for more than two minutes at a time. Another slow drag and he tossed the cigarette on the ground, stamping it out with the toe of his boots before he slipped away into the forest behind camp. Ten minutes into his walk and gentle footsteps behind him found a vague smirk on his lips and he turned to glance over his shoulder in passing, “Y’know, if you wanted to keep me company— you could’a just said so.”

[sparrowlucas]

Lucas had taken Ezra’s Australian history class before he’d decided on his major, and had thoroughly enjoyed it despite the natural feeling of rivalry that came obligatorily with his nationality. It was the experience of his classes, and the impression he got from Gates, that had given him a pretty positive image in Lucas’ mind - despite all the Australian-ness. Which was actually something he found he rather liked now that he was this far from home and even the vaguely familiar accents provided small amounts of comfort.

“Um, yeah actually, have you see Cos- Professor Vasile around anywhere?” Lucas asked, tucking his phone back into his pocket when he came across the history professor he hadn’t been looking for, and quickly correcting himself on how familiar he had been without thinking. “I’ve got… an assignment I need to give to him.” A lie. There were other reasons he was milling around the history department, and none of them involved an assignment.

[spectergates]

Ezra’s eyebrow cocked in question almost immediately and he bit back a laugh as he shook his head slowly, “No, Winstead, I haven’t.” He fought the urge to comment on the familiarity with which Lucas had nearly referred to Costin, though he really didn’t care one way or another how they’d gotten to that point. Where being involved with students (whether they were his or not) was concerned, he felt he had very little room to talk. Not that he could be entirely sure that’s what the situation was at present, and he didn’t care to ask - lest Costin knock him out or something. “... If it’s an assignment, you can always drop it off in his box, surely I don’t need to be the one to tell you that, mate.” He laughed in earnest this time, shaking his head again with apparent amusement.

“I assume he’s not in his office, then? He might’ve gone home for the day, we don’t all spend our waking hours stuffed up in the library.” He finished, hi-lighting a passage of particular interest before he turned his attention back to the boy in front of him. “Did you need anything else, Lucas?”

[ringercafiero]

Oriana emitted a short breath of laughter, “You’d be bored without me.” She remained silent as her perused the letter. Aside from a few professors that had written recommendations and Tristan, Ezra was the only one to have known she’d applied. He’d certainly been the epitome of support during her last year at Bellum. The embrace momentarily caught her off guard– as the two rarely took part in public affection with Ezra’s standing as a Professor. Oriana’s arms wound around his neck as he pulled her in and pressed his mouth to the side of her head. “You’ll have to find someone else who can beat you in chess while I’m gone. Shouldn’t be difficult.” She teased before pressing a quick peck to his lips.

[spectergates]

He smiled against her lips even as he pulled away and rolled his eyes, “Please, you’re the only one who sits through games with me. I’d kick everyone else’s ass by default.” He grumbled, kissing her again just for the sake of being able to do it when no one was around. Away from campus, they had more freedom to be affectionate, though he couldn’t deny the prospect of Oriana no longer attending the University appealed to him if only because they could be a couple in earnest. “When d’you go?” He returned to his seat and ran a hand through his hair, gesturing vaguely for her to join him as the question passed his lips. “And am I allowed to come and see you? Because if you’re going to be on the equivalent of lock down, I might need to give someone a piece of my mind.” His tone, as it often was, was dry and the playful sarcasm evident even as the thought of not being able to see her for a significant amount of time made something stir in his chest.

[ringercafiero]

“Proprio qui a calci nel culo a un'altra partita a scacchi.” Oriana allowed the beginnings of a teasing grin to tug at the corner of her lip. Her hand found the mug within his grasp as she took the seat across from him and sipped from it freely. It was a familiar sight: a utensil between his teeth and coffee dregs in an opposing grip. “I wanted to show you something,” she began, in the works of retrieving a letter from her bag, “came in this morning.” Ezra had been someone she hadn’t expected; Oriana had been content on carrying out her years at Bellum University in the same silence as the previous years of her life. Though they were far from mushy, it would have been a lie if she said Ezra wasn’t a good thing that happened to her. She placed Quantico’s acceptance letter before him, “Figure I would tell you first.”

[spectergates]

His immediate reaction involved snorting and grinning up at the woman across from him as the words sank in, “You’re rude to me, it’s really unfair.” He drawled lazily, the soft cadences of his accent pronounced as the words passed his lips. He quirked an eyebrow, eyes shifting from the letter in front of him to the woman just out of his reach. He felt the excitement settling somewhere in his belly and resisted a rather profound urge to leap to his feet and embrace her; though it was far more difficult than he let on not to. He reached for the letter and scanned it briefly, a slow smile breaking out across his face as the full gravity of what he was looking at finally sank in. “You got in,” He murmured, smile widening, “I knew you would!” This time he couldn’t help but hurry to his feet and he crossed the distance between them in two short steps to pull her into an exuberant hug. He wasn’t overtly affectionate as a person, and they’d both been very alright with that but nothing else felt right in the moment - it was all he wanted to do. “’M proud of you, Ori.” He muttered into her hair, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of her head.