#feroxanfei

[fell-heart]

we should have carpooled. morgan-inigo.

Seriously. Just imagine how much money they could have saved if they’d just carpooled from home to their new school. 

Robin insisted on driving Morgan up; Basilio didn’t argue with his wife. Neither party wanted to just let their baby boy go and both were just a little bit too involved when it came to the initial tour of the school after Morgan had moved in. The entire time, they stayed with Inigo and his parents—it was like nothing had changed at all from their childhood days.

But that time was over. Their parents left, and the two were on their own, now standing side-by-side at orientation. Amber eyes glance down at the paper in his hand: a get-to-know-you event, it looked. Talk to others and find out a few likes and dislikes. Without looking up, Morgan jots down Inigo’s name. 

“Alright, so, likes and dislikes. Let’s see—you don’t like cats, just like me, and you like women... and... lemon cake with chocolate frosting.” A small grin tossed to the side; he and Inigo knew one another inside and out. 

“For my dislike, you can put cats, and for my likes... put books and solitude. Accurate, right?”

The paper is folded neatly and tucked into his back pocket. He’ll deal with the rest later. Three people from his house, and five from outside of his house? Jeez, they really want him to talk to the entire freshman class, don’t they?

“Might as well get started on this scavenger hunt, eh, Ichenka? What say you and I,” a glance down at the scavenger hunt list, before folding that and tucking it away as well, “find the nearest flower patch and make two little bouquets? Sound good?” 

@feroxanfei

[pridekept]

cafe latte.

@feroxanfei!

customer service is not his strong suit. it's not something he's good at in the morning, but as mercy would have it—people don't try to talk to him when it's the morning. they just want their coffee. it happens at a predicted rhythm. sometimes, he'd see his regulars. sometimes, he'd see someone with eyebags so pronounced they might rival his own. but for the most part, no one asks anything more than bare minimum politeness. it's the afternoon shift that is the difficult part. loathe he is to admit that he'd rather wake up early, he hates sleeping in more if it means he has to deal with. with, well—this.

half-lidded onyx stares back at the pink one of the feroxi twins, the ink of his sharpie drying on the clear plastic cup in his hands.

the gears in his head turn, the life in his eyes dying as the order repeats itself as an echo in the grand theater for the joke of a life he leads. "let me get this straight," deere replies, slowly, his words in almost a half-drawl. as if the words are too weighty for him to speak into existence. "you want, and i repeat, a medium white chocolate frappé. finely blended, extra whipped cream and a chocolate drizzle. and," he continues, as a sigh escapes.

"a slice of lemon cake with," he tips the cap of his sharpie towards him again. "chocolate frosting." the question comes as less of a question as much as it is just a statement of fact, though surprise is as absent from his features as anything beyond exhaustion is. lemon, with chocolate frosting. lemon, with chocolate frosting. nevermind the fact he appeared to think that they could just happen to have frosting in the kitchen to customize a cake with, but le-mon with choc-o-late frosting. the worst part is it almost makes sense.

citrus paired well with chocolate.

BUT A SLICE OF LEMON CAKE WITH CHOCOLATE FROSTING—

deere breathes in deeply, exhaling as sharply as he sets the cup back down and caps his sharpie. "no." no other explanation is needed. "leave."

[fell-heart]

out of the element. morgan-inigo.

“What do you mean you don’t know how to bless an object?” 

Before them sat two beautiful, fresh apples, picked just earlier that day. Their campus was in a perfect location where fruit stands were a-plenty; getting the apples was the easy part. Making them golden was the hard part. 

“You’re an elf, aren’t you? Can’t you just, y’know,” he wiggles his fingers towards the apples, a clear mockery of blessing them, “make ‘em golden?”

A soft huff escapes his lips. “The only other way to get a golden apple is to have it blessed by the goddess herself, and we can’t exactly just ring her up for a favor. Come on, Ini, just try!” 

@feroxanfei

[fell-heart]

reminiscence in tears. morgan-inigo.

Morgan wasn’t a hasty driver. 

Sometimes he turned a little too fast around corners. Sometimes he went five, ten, even fifteen over the speed limit. Sometimes he passed others without a care in the world. But he wasn’t hasty, wasn’t uncareful. Morgan was meticulous, worrisome, always at the ready should something happen that could put him in danger. He accounted for everything.

But he couldn’t account for drunk drivers.

It didn’t register at first. One moment he was cruising, fingers tapping along to the beat of the music from his stereo, and the next, he was flipped upside down with half of his car crashing into his body. 

He couldn't see the bone that pierced through his skin. He barely felt the blood that dripped down his forehead into his eyes. 

Hand reaches for his phone. He only manages to open up to a certain contact, and then his world flares red-hot with excruciating pain. It only lasts a moment. And then there’s nothing. 

( The word Брат decorates the phone screen until the body is pulled from the wreck, finger hovering over dial. ) 

—

There’s a voice.

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

It becomes familiar, as time passes.

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.”

The sound of paper passing over paper, page over page. 

“One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.”

The story turns from stranger to friend.

“Conscience doth make cowards of us all.”

Over and over again.

“My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”

It’s as though this has happened before.

“This above all: to thine own self be true.” 

Words move like a dance.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”

Words over paper, paper over love.

“Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”

Brother.

—

Amber eyes flutter. It’s bright. Everything hurts.

A gasp from off to the side. Head turns, he locks gazes with a woman, her white hair flowing down her shoulders like clouds. Beside her sits a strong-looking man, his dark skin and robust features a stark contrast to the pale bird beside him. 

"Сын?"

The man speaks. He trembles, unable to hold back his grin. Tears drip from the woman’s eyes. She smiles, she grins; she is like light itself. 

He opens his mouth. 

“Who are you?”

And the smiles fall. 

—

"Могу ли я увидеть его? Он в порядке? Он не спит?"

Another stranger enters, and yet... not. Amber hues blink. He is afraid; chest is already tight, wrought with pain at the sound of the pale bird’s cries.

“I know you.”

Never doubt I love, a voice whispers.

“Can you... tell me something?”

Never doubt I love.

“Who are they?”

Never doubt I love.

“Who are you?” 

@feroxanfei

[fell-heart]

🍪 "Happy pocky day, Morgan." Ilyana says around a mouthful of the dessert. The cream-covered end is held gently between her teeth. "Want to try a bite?"

It’s Pocky Day! Send a 🍪 for my muse to react to yours offering to play the Pocky Game!

It was something of a tradition between them. Not only every year, on the eleventh of November, would they play the little pocky-kiss game, but every time either of them had pocky, they play it. After all, that was how they got together. As a joke, all that time ago, they played a round that ended in a kiss, and the rest was history. Now, it’s something quite special for the both of them. 

“‘Course I’d like to try a bite,” mage replies with a grin. “You really think I’d ever pass up an opportunity to kiss you, thunder girl?” 

By now, both parties know it takes exactly how many bites on both ends before their lips brush together. Like clockwork, Morgan takes the biscuit into his mouth and bites in one, two, three, four times before meeting his love in a sweet kiss. They’d learned to get over the slight awkwardness of kissing with pieces of pocky being held in their mouths; now, the important part was the taste of each other. 

With a soft hum, hex boy pulls away and chews slowly before swallowing. A grin paints his lips, “thank you for the treat, my love. May I have another?”

[fell-heart]

[🥧 Our muses baking pie] Cooking has never been her strong suit. Odd, for a woman who can eat the entire contents of a restaurant and not bat an eye. Ilyana simply knows her boundaries. Over half the ingredients will end up ingested before she can finish cooking a meal. But she could watch Morgan move around the kitchen for hours. Ilyana sneaks another apple slice, moving to stand next to him. Wraps a hand around his arm and leans in close. "Can I help?"

Autumn Asks || 🥧 Our muses baking pie

Morgan was no masterchef, but if losing all of his memories in some car accident made him realize one thing, it was that he wanted to learn as much as he could in any and all subjects before his time on this earth expires. Except for geometry. He hates geometry (and triangles). 

Cooking was mostly trial and error, anyways. One thing that he could no longer mess up (unlike his first few attempts) was a simple apple pie. These days, he was even getting into complicated latticework for the pie crust, rather than a simple flat top with some decorative holes cut into it. 

“Hey, babe,” he hums, leaning down to steal a kiss to her lips. “First thing you can do to help is stop eating my apples, else you’re going to have to go buy me more.” 

It’s not like granny smith are hard to come by, but Ilyana would have to drive all the way to the store to purchase some, and why would she want to leave Morgan’s side? 

“Here, can you lay these apple slices in a circular pattern? Start at the inside going inwards. Layer them up, like this.” He demonstrates for her with a certain finesse that only someone as meticulous as Morgan could have. “Once you’re done, I can start with the lattice thingy for the crust—hey, hey, thunder girl, drop the apple. No. No eating.”