7/30/2022 [10,930]
Hope you enjoy!
:)
You're a peach.
You're an apricot.
You're some fucking fruit
wtf is this?
Why am I illiterate?
What the fuck
Never in a million years did she believe, for a second, that her pining would go this far.
It started as a fleeting, curious thought—honest. Just a swift, What do her eyes look like actually? From behind those thick lenses. Without the glasses, really.
But then it leapt into How many freckles can I count? Can I trace constellations across them? Or, How fluffy is her hair? What's it look like without the headband?
Does she get mad? Like, real mad?
What songs does she sing? What's her voice like?
Innocent wonderings, truth be told. Things that she'd never admit aloud—because, damn, if anybody knew how much of a dork she actually was, she'd never hear the end of it. Or the beginning of it, if the talk started behind her back. Not like gossip, though. More like…, uh, quiet…observations. Which her friends were keen to make.
But not her. No.
Because she never gossiped. Seldom ever fretted her opinion on others.
…though she wanted to hear her voice. In and outside of song. Didn't matter. Everything about her was a melody. Every time she laid eyes on her, there they were, notes she couldn't sing—for those eyes behind the glasses; for the freckles she never would have the math to count; for the anger she wanted to ignite, just to see how perfect a wildfire she'd be.
Then.
After a rough evening, and all she wanted to do was slough the day off her shoulders, her curiosity festered.
What would she sound like in my bunk? Loud? Quiet? Probably quiet…
Would her glasses fog? Or would she lend them to the desk and follow my lead? Only for a little while.
Is there a universe to those freckles? Or is the rest of her body earthbound?
The rough evening dumped and left her in an aroused slog. Nothing to do about it—not with her teammates there, one above, and one to the left, in their respective bunks. Alleviating it that night wouldn't have done much anyway. Not really. Because her curiosity, those questions—all of it—followed her through each class, mugged her heart at gunpoint every time she so much as looked her way. Smile and all. With freckles to count, and a voice to swoon, and lips to capture…
Oh fuck the Nine. Amanda O'Neill had it bad for Lotte Jansson, didn't she
First it had been the slick, boyish, "What d'you got there?" as she, unasked, teased the book from her hands.
"That is Nightfall, you know."
Honestly, she was nervous about it. She even had to adjust her glasses back straight. Her books in the hands of peering eyes—especially back home—never ended well.
"Huh. Dunno half of these big words." Her fingers had rapt down the book's spine—over the chrysanthemum splayed across the volume's title. The grin hilted was a casual one, but…nice as well. "Guess actually hitting the books doesn't help."
"N-No, I don't think it would."
The book—Volume 146—was handed back, also unasked. "Eh. Guess I'll just have to leave the book-smarts to you," was paired by a devilish wink. Her grin was flecked by dirt, the mark of falling off her broom (a surprise) the moment glasses were dropped, then hastily cleaned.
And after that, she was off on that broom of hers, to the sky. Both of them, a dime a dozen. A hundred. A thousand.
That broom, with its faded wood where she held onto the thing.
Her, with eyes of wicked charisma and hair that flamed passion.
Free birds.
For longer than she meant, because of those slick, boyish words, her eyes lingered to the sky. Then, it was back to reading. Until the next time she swooped by, as it were (upside-down, hair as wild as brushfire; that was the second time she caught her eye).
Third, it was the week after, and because it was illegal to have a Saturday of clear weather, the witch with boyish words and a wicked charisma was jailed indoors. And she watched her yearn for the sky, what with her wind-swept hair, and deep, electric eyes which sought nothing short of adventure.
Alas, that should've been the end of her curiosity. Because what would a witch without a bone for anything of the sort offer to the likes of her? A quiet nest, perhaps. Nothing more.
Yet, because life was never yielding—especially for a witch—, her curiosity was left unbound.
Ergo, the fourth?
A glance down the hall. Where a grin struck a chord, and a hearty laugh played itself as a lasting, charmed melody…
Lotte Jansson didn't wonder anymore—about how anybody could feasibly find Amanda O'Neill someone to yearn after. Not anymore. She started to get it.
At a penny at a time, she did.
You're a page I'd never dog-tag ear.
I'll keep you from getting wet.
Wait no.
Imma stop skipping class jfc
It was a quiet lecture—one of the regular study-halls Professor Ursula granted the students.
Meaning.
Amanda did her homework the night before, just to laze at her seat, head on her desk, to…covertly look around the room. Towards the Red team. At Lotte. Specifically all to covertly look around towards at Lotte. Yeah. Towards at Lotte. And, get this, to formulate some smooth plan to just sweep the witch right off her feet. Not to just stare like a creep. Because being a creep was Sucy's job, on top of the potions, and fucking-over Akko (and everyone else, really).
If only it was as simple as the year before, and the year before that. Where Amanda could do her thing, and tease Lotte with all the persistent annoyances, charm, and winks in the world.
Cuz if Amanda did that nowadays, her eye would just pop out.
Like an idiot… She raked her nails against the desk surface absentmindedly, then set her eyes across the lecture hall. Again.
Lotte sat by the window that day. As Sucy and Akko argued about only the Olde Nine knew what, she busied herself with schoolwork, writing in that sophisticated and cute handwriting of hers. Sometimes her glasses would catch the light; whenever that happened, Lotte shifted them back upright. Oh, but, sometimes, she would take them off (yes, fuckin' off) to clean them all nice.
Which.
Fuck.
It was happening now.
Right now. Like, now now. In the middle of class. And Amanda was practically melting. So far away, yet she could see the ocean blue in her eyes. She wanted to drown. She wanted to plunge. Simmer too, if she was melting anyway.
Without them, her glasses, Amanda saw her fine brows, thought of the freckles evenly spread across her cheeks, then—naturally—that ocean…
The moment Lotte slipped them back on to scrawl away, Amanda's chest flipped tenfold. Removed of glasses was a sight to behold, but with them was Lotte Jansson.
And she really, really could ask Lotte out right now. Like, now now. Right now. Yes.
Amanda swallowed, almost choked, and swallowed again. Her legs felt backwards, and her head much too heavy, but, dammit, Lotte pretty. Very pretty. And nice. And probably soft.
Okay. Just go up there. No problem. Easy. She nodded to herself. Picked up her head. Yeah. Easy. She won't bite my head off.
Amanda breathed through her mouth (sharply), and as her legs jolted to stand, she found Jasminka's arched brow and concern. "W-What?!"
"Are you running a fever, Amanda? You look quite red."
…she sat back down.
"Yeah, I guess," Amanda mumbled into her arms, having already collapsed into the desk.
Well shit.
.
Libraries sucked. They did.
But if Amanda had any feasible chance with this girl—who, frankly, was well out of her league with all her studious knowledge…
Uh. Yeah.
If this was going to work, libraries would have to un-suck. So, for the meantime, that really just meant 1) do her fucking schoolwork, and 2) run into Lotte (but not literally). And as it turned out, doing schoolwork really opened the doors for Amanda to run into Lotte (but, again, not literally) at a regular time. Which was great. Real great. Awesome even.
Or, not awesome. Erm… Prodigious! Right? Right. Yeah.
Wait—!
There she is.
Amanda damn well nearly passed her while thinking about her. Which was confusing, but whatever since, hey, Lotte was there, reaching for the highest shelf on her toes. "Ah…drat," she whispered (Lotte rarely ever cussed), and Amanda took her chance.
"Oh—" that was supposed to be surprise but…oh fuck it— "uh, Lotte. I can get that for you!" Being a head taller, and then some, had its perks. Amanda grabbed the book with ease, and, with a light grin she couldn't wipe away, the…Chronicles of 1500s Botany was handed over.
Lotte's freckles peppered her gentle blush as it plumed to life. "Oh, thank-you, Amanda," she murmured, slipping her wand back into her sash's knot. "You know, I am a witch."
Ah shit. Right. Duh. Amanda shrugged. Height hardly matters… In any case, she supplied, "But I am a gentleman."
Her smile could've sent Amanda to an early grave—what, with rapid-fire for a heartbeat. Lotte tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then—
"LOTTE!" Said witch jolted straight into Amanda. "BARBARA CALLED ME A MUSHROOM-FUCKER!"
…leave it to Akko to both make this whole thing better and worse for Amanda simultaneously. Better, because Lotte rushed to her aid through a spook. Worse, because what the fuck was that?!
"Oh my god!" Barbara hissed through the bookcases. "We are in a fucking library, Akko!"
"What?! And you didn't call me a mushroom-fucker?!"
"Akko! She is talking to Amanda!"
Her jaw rocked. Correction: was. Lotte was talking to her.
And before Amanda had the chance to snap a witty line, Sucy took care of it without remorse: "…and regardless, you are one."
"Sucy!" A pause. Lotte stepped away to readjust her glass— "LOTTE! BOTH BARBARA AND SUCY CALLED ME A MUSHROOM-FUCKER!"
By this point, both Lotte and Amanda were too bewildered to even care. The former detached herself from Amanda, fixed her glasses, then fumbled, "O-Oh, well, I…better not keep Akko waiting." Lotte's eyes captured to accelerate the rapid-fire of her heart. "I'll see you later."
Like a fool:
"Yup."
Then Lotte was gone, undoubtedly on her way to smack Akko fora dumbassery charge.
Leaving Amanda to linger, realize Lotte had actually (not really) hugged her—twice!
She reigned a fist to her hip and whispered, "Yes! Let's go!"
.
Ugh.
Why did Amanda have such shit writing? It'd be better if it was just chicken-scratch.
With the dorm empty of teammates, she glared at the small pile, on her desk, of scrap parchment, each with little stupid poems that both looked and sounded like they were written by a toddler (who could cuss!). She slumped in her seat. Ruminated for a spell. Amanda didn't even know if Lotte liked poems. Poems were just the shortest thing she could write by herself, without being told to. If she could write a short-story, she fuckin' would! But what kind of student was she again?!
Yeah.
And it was her dumb luck that this girl was the one Amanda had her eye on. Lotte. Who was a good student, and good with books, and was found in the library on a regular basis…
She glared at the small pile again. "…oh just jack-off," Amanda grumbled, stashing the poems away. "It's about as proactive with your fuckin' writing skills."
Pitifully, Amanda did just that.
Her eyes could only seek mind before body.
At home, she never could figure out what went wrong, for even her books never acknowledged such a thing.
Body then mind, body then mind, body then mind…
Always.
.
Bodies were rock before she ever saw flesh. Clothes were the person—so she never cared to see them off.
And intimacy was just that. A human desire. Forced to combust without.
At home, it was a broken gear amongst her mechanics, her fundamentals.
Yet…? Was she worse or better for keeping her human desires behind a lock and key?
.
Here, she knew what it was:
Never a broken gear; always an attribute (-Akko, amid a drunk rambling).
Or, a dragon, there to hide her treasures until a righteous knight came along (-also Akko, in the same breath).
Lock and key, dragon hide and gold, only to open for the righteous, the hearts worn on sleeves.
She was a helpless romantic like that.
.
Lotte might've found someone that had a key.
Might've…
.
It was a stereotypical thing, sure, though blame Lotte for wanting to snatch every opportune moment with the sun in such dreary, persistent weather. Go on. Do it.
And it was hardly Lotte's fault for drifting off in thought from time-to-time—usually when the sun was out, and the lecture was particularly dry (even for her). Akko, be it her maturity, had her eyes trained to Professor Finnelan (who also looked bored of the lesson herself), and then the board with every confusing mass of history jumbled together; Sucy toyed with her hands, far too removed from the lecture to care, and far too close to Akko to experiment during class. If it had been linguistics, Lotte supposed the professor would've been at least a bit more lively. Though, given Professor Badcock was bit by a mandrake (right on the hind), everybody had to slog through history on finances and witchcraft.
Which left Lotte to watch the clouds that streaked across the sky, and the sun as it painted the ground.
At once, the lecture hall snaked the sound of an old door across the benches, and though nobody really paid any mind (this was a common thing), there were eyes which followed. Amanda O'Neill. Slipping into class, quite late, yet not the latest. She held up a pink slip to Professor Finnelan who merely waved her off. Because the lecture was dry, it wasn't linguistics, and this was a common thing. So, it left Amanda to plop down into her seat, and Lotte to stare after her. Then, to look out the window.
Amanda was pretty, and beautiful, but neither quite captured her. Good-looking felt better, though Lotte thought it underrated her.
Handsome.
That's what it was. Amanda had a handsome face. She kept herself together, not despite the unbuttoned collar, nor the scrapes down her legs, nor her sneakers which frayed at some edges, her windswept hair, hilted grin… She wasn't—Lotte swore. Unkempt meant dirty to her mind. Not disgusting, but dirty. Amanda was scruffy as an organized mess. She took care of herself. Her hair presented her gift for flight, but catch her fresh from the shower, and it'd be made clear that Amanda's fire was looked after. Her clothes, same story. She couldn't help it if dirt found its place throughout the day, but she was always on top of her laundry—even took her clothes in to wash twice a week rather than the once. Those scrapes? Sure they stuck around, though they never festered. Were always clean.
She was always clean. A clean, organized mess.
And Lotte had to be honest with herself: Amanda smelled nice. Whatever she wore, a cologne, it was never too much. Always just right, aimed directly at the sweet spot of Lotte's nose…
Lotte rattled herself and watched the lecture. Then realized some time had passed—more than she anticipated—, but not enough to extinguish the hour.
Her thoughts strayed to Amanda for a while.
.
They never strayed beyond that. She admired Amanda. Kept tabs on the little things, here-and-there.
But…
Lotte didn't like Amanda. Not— Not really. Not like that.
Because she didn't know if Amanda had a key or not. Lotte hoped so. She did.
Though how was the intimate-blind supposed to know?
.
Sometimes Lotte forgot how many of those scenes were in Nightfall. There wasn't an egregious amount, but after knowing that there were several authors behind them—not just one—, it became apparent that some authors swerved around the topic entirely, and others, well… Others seemed to fancy the series as erotic fiction.
Unfortunately, Lotte and Barbara managed to hit the second wave of…that the week before, and were now trudging through the second book of the bunch. In the library. Because everywhere else was fair-game for chaos.
"…I forgot about this one."
Lotte flicked her eyes down the page. "The raunchy stuff's in the next chapter."
"Well yeah," Barbara mumbled. "And we're not reading that, right?"
"U-Uh, I'd prefer not to."
"Anyway," she said, fiddling with her bookmark, "I mean this chapter has some of the stuff but it also has the background lore for Edgar."
That was true because, to give credit where it was due, this particular author knew how to weave it all with, well, the actual story. "Yeah…, I guess so. You can read it if you want," Lotte said, shrugged.
Barbara mirrored the shrug. "Alright. Uh…" She clicked her tongue off the roof of her mouth. A page turned, then turned back again. "'Edgar turned to his lover luminescent as she raised the clock's arm from its face…'"
Lotte listened, and after pages were flipped, her eyes followed Barbara's voice as her guide.
"'He studied Belle as she studied the arm, then his natural-vulturine eyes sketched along the clock-face…'"
It wasn't long, however, when Lotte's keen hearing caught whispers through the library shelves. At first, she thought it was a spirit wandering around, searching for Lotte—which happened infrequently, usually whenever there was a complaint for Akko to handle in another strike (there was a third one a semester back), or just wanted to talk.
But no.
When she lifted her eyes, Lotte found Mary and Avery through a sliver between bookcases. A-Ah… Blair's probably in their dorm studying. And if that was true, it left the two-thirds of the Violet team to, well, find a space secluded enough to whisper in bated breaths, and meld lips together. Amongst other things. They honestly looked like they wanted to meld everything together, judging from the concentration laced across Avery's furrowed brows—and presumably Mary's, though her back was turned.
"'…and after his manhood—' blech, I forgot about that— 'struck twelve, they both…'"
Lotte felt her face redden from behind the pages, yet she couldn't help but stare. A curious thing, really. For the umpteenth times prior, the sight alone was enough to startle her away to leave that to the couple—and what others there were, including Barbara with Hannah.
Not this time, of course. There was a bewildered curiosity. Mary and Avery still might have well been made of rock, and though Lotte wore a concentrated brow of her own, and her blush, neither sent alarm.
Honestly, it was most likely exhaustion. Like there wasn't a bone in her body that could bring itself to care.
"Uh…'We can't do this now, Bell said with her eyes batted; The clock needs to be fixed before we can leave…'"
Because it wasn't like there were ever many students in the library, and Blair was (probably) in their dorm room, and Lotte remembered Avery saying that doing it in the bathroom was tacky. Logically speaking, it was reasonable.
So she didn't care. Not really.
It was just a confusing thing, how Amanda managed to weasel through her train-of-thought.
"'…then he…' something, something…'"
Before Lotte realized the reading had drifted to silence, Barbara shut her book close and sighed. Her eyes, too, had drifted towards the couple. "Okay, guess not. God, and I thought I was bad…"
With that, they decided to leave, and maybe get a bite to eat downtown.
.
"Honestly, Lotte, it's really unfair."
"What?"
"You can sit there and giggle while reading these scenes, while I just think of Hannah. Who doesn't even like this shit!"
"What a curse to have." (It did sound like one.)
"I know! Whoever giveth horny to people needs to taketh away."
.
"What?"
"Barbara, I can't decide if you read too much or not enough."
"I can't either…"
.
Amanda was a dumbass, right alongside Akko.
They, for whatever reason, managed to bounce each other violently (via spells) into the walls of a busy corridor. In the middle of transition period.
Diana managed to whack both across their heads by the end of her scroll. Not that either cared. The bouncing stopped, though their snide, playful comments continued.
Lotte watched it all with a light smile. Watched Amanda in particular. Kept track of her organized mess.
Felt her chest jump a few times.
You could be my broom.
I would never lose my way.
Because I'll be here to stay
what fucking corny sense does that make
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck.
Amanda ducked away from her…fan club, was it? Jeez, she didn't need a whole-ass club of girls to fawn after her. For one, she was hardly someone to fawn over, and two, the only kinds of clubs she liked were, well, clubbing clubs. And no, not ooga-booga cavemen clubs. The epitome of Las Vegas clubs. …or were those casinos? Whatever. Didn't matter. It was a stupid thing to ponder while literally darting down a corner of the library—yes, again, the library—to evade the girls suddenly so spry and loud. And…not her type. At all.
Because her type was here somewhere, hopefully alone, for Amanda to fumble her way through another conversation with her.
Fumble, because who could do anything but fumble whenever Lotte watched them, talked to them? With those eyes, her hormonic voice? Moreover, how could it ever be a possibility?! There was a swamp in each of her palms, and a desert in her mouth!
Amanda O'Neill. With a damn…fan club. Or something.
If Lotte could do that to someone with a stupid fan club, who could just not have swamps and deserts?!
She swallowed painfully and leaned against the bookcase. Look. Go over and fuckin' talk to her. Like damn! Her jaw rocked. You've talked to so many girls before, no problem! And we've been in the same friend-group for years now! Amanda bounced her head off the shelf, just to rattle some confidence out. If brain-injury was the way to go, anyway. "…why can't I just spit out a few words—?!"
Her eyes flew open.
Ah. A hardcover.
There were butterflies now, dwelling in her stomach. Breaking from their cocoons. One or two of them. Maybe a few.
More to come (Lotte hoped).
By the window, she'd think at times. About them. Like how maybe it was that most people were born with the butterflies already grown.
So when the time came. Those butterflies just…flew.
.
Once Lotte cared about it. How she wasn't like most.
But then Amanda had her remind herself how those butterflies were golden, her treasure.
She wasn't the first, but Lotte felt that the witch stirred more butterflies awake than anybody else had, years ago.
.
If this…thing for Amanda was meant to be just that, a reminder, then…
Well, at least Lotte had her books.
.
"Quick trips" to the library never concluded as such. Unless an hour was a quick trip, then yes, this was one of those.
Lotte slipped the last textbook to return onto the histories bookshelf, where, thankfully, the next volume was in-stock and just beside it. The correct edition too. With it added to her pile (of both school-related material and reads for leisure), she readjusted the small pile in her arms. Books (of course). Papers. A scroll maybe— Oh no, that was already returned.
She trailed her fingers down the line, hopeful that—finally—the one blasted book she'd been meaning to read was here somewhere. Maybe right here…? Aha—!
PLAT!
"—eugh…?!"
The bookshelves quaked. Lotte froze. With her hand on the few books which threatened to fall, she frowned. …that feeble groan sounded like Amanda. How Lotte thought it sounded like Amanda was beyond her, but it did. Books were pushed back further, and as she stepped over copies of whatever assigned reading (from first year) that had fallen, Lotte swerved around the corner.
Wait.
It was Amanda.
How she knew that was…further beyond her now, but that hardly mattered, because Amanda looked dead with not a book but a tome smashed across her face. Lotte jolted, felt a few papers slip from her hands that she'd never get back, and lunged to the poor witch's side. Because… Oh drat.
No. Drat wasn't enough. Not as she lifted what could've been a brick off of her face.
Holy (sorry, mami) fuck, The Codex of Every Wand in History just decked Amanda!
Lotte set down her folders and books (all of which Sucy would end up fetching later, with Akko in tow), and, carefully, whispered, "…Amanda?" Oh no. Is she dead?! Her anxiety whimpered out. Desperate, Lotte pressed her fingers to her neck; one second, two seconds, and oh thank the Nines she's alive. "A-Amanda, it's Lo—"
Immediately.
Wickedly charismatic eyes flashed open, and a dopey grin broke across Amanda's face. "Hiya Lotte!" she chirped from her death-sentence position, on the floor. "I hit a book!"
"U-Um…" Lotte grimaced, though she managed a light smile. There wasn't the heart within her that could ever tell such a face that, well…, the book hit her. "I-I can see that. Are you okay?!"
Amanda sat upright. "Never better," she beamed.
…the welt on her forehead said otherwise. As well as what looked to be a chipped tooth in her wide smile. And—
And the eruption of blood from her nose said enough, to the point it startled Lotte's glasses askew.
Amanda frowned, dabbed a finger along her lip, and stared at the fountain's current. All down her uniform, from her button-up to her skirt. "Okay, I might need the nurse."
.
"Now, these potions numb the senses. She'll be a tad out-of-sorts for a little bit."
"O-Okay."
"She won't need to stay here. There's no concussion. I'm more worried about that tooth, to be frank."
"M-My…toofy?"
"Y-Yes, Amanda. Your tooth. That book really did a, um, number."
"…mmm, but it's made of words, Lotte."
"Ah, well, yes… It is…"
.
Lotte and Miss Meedicanyl could only stare.
.
"…as I said, she'll be a tad out-of-sorts for a little bit."
"Weee…!"
"O'Neill, stop spinning in the chair."
"M'alright."
"Y-Yes, okay. I'll take her to her dorm, then."
"Thank-you, Lotte. And…keep an eye on her, would you?"
"I will."
.
There were a lot of girls who glared at Lotte in that hour. She knew why: Amanda's little flock that followed and pined after her at every given turn, upset that, well, Lotte of all witches was the one guiding the poor witch around, to the nurse, then the dorm. Lotte tried to pay them no mind, but the glaring started to be…disconcerting, if she had to be honest.
At least Amanda's eyes on her, all along the way, was enough to alleviate the trouble. (Up until she tripped over Lotte's feet. Thrice.)
Once Lotte didn't feel the glares any longer, and the two were half-way to the Green team's dorm, she said, "…at least you can still walk. Maybe you can eat dinner in your dorm."
No answer. Just the staring and a befuddled, drunken (potion-ed?) ramble that evidently didn't hear anything about a meal. It did, however, prompt Amanda to mumble, "Anyone ever tell you you're pretty, Lotte…?"
Oh goodness. Lotte kept Amanda's weight from drifting them both into a wall. "Um… I-I don't think so…?" she flustered out.
"Well they would've been wrong," Amanda grunted. "Like fuckin' dead wrong."
She hadn't realized the warmth in her chest grow, but Lotte certainly felt the cold spire sink deep. "O-Oh…"
Amanda didn't seem to notice: "Cuz you're fuckin' smokin'." Lotte squeaked and evaded the few curious eyes from other students (Peach and two of Orange). Amanda didn't notice that either: "Like pretty," she rambled, "hardly cuts it. You don't call, um, Mount Everest tall." Her hand swept outward, then up. Clumsily. "You call it ginormous!"
Lotte felt her heart leap, and her face smoldered a rapid blush—enough for her to tease her collar from her neck. And boy, did Lotte swear that her glasses could just fog in not a minute's time at this rate. "You—" She giggled and asked, "You do?"
"Ginormous," Amanda whispered, quite serious. "Or gigantic."
.
Then, she murmured a mere four words which had Lotte almost ghost through the floor…
"You are but the moon, my dear. I care not what phase you're in, your beauty calls to me," Arthur proclaimed.
(Volume 47, Chapter 19.)
For the capture of Belle's hand, he opened his palm and presented her the world; Arthur's breath was hot as he confessed, "You shall be my universe and my ocean, my dear. Your beauty shall never to be swayed by age."
(Volume 176, Chapter 43.)
"You are the apple in my eye. Let me grow you an orchard from my devotion."
(Volume 12, Chapter 25.)
His eyes spoke his heart, bled him dry across the kiss he bestowed upon her hand. William thought of her as everything beautiful; from honeysuckle to waterfall.
(Volume 234, Chapter 3.)
All of them. Lines that embarked what Lotte desired, thought she desired, would never again desire from a lover who stayed long enough for her nature to decide yes, that's the one.
For Lotte was proclaimed, confessed, sung something far, far better:
"You're gigantically ginormously pretty…"
(Year 3, Semester 1.)
Over and over again, it played itself as a broken record. With Amanda's split grin, despite the traces of blood and the tooth that…definitely was chipped.
And from the look in those electric, green eyes—which simmered Lotte to the bone, reached for the crevasse of rare desire…
Well?
How could Lotte not believe her?
.
Amanda didn't talk to Lotte for next few days.
Something which Lotte was more amused by than wounded, because it wasn't for lack of effort. On day one, she assumed that Amanda's mouth ached, and that the bruise on her head still remained to be a pain. Day two, the bruise had faded some, and Lotte realized that, no, Amanda didn't have trouble talking; in fact, she had been capable enough to tell Akko to buzz-off after mischief went a little too far.
Lotte wondered if she did anything wrong.
It was day three when it clicked:
Oh, Amanda was smitten. By her of all people.
The morning was spent panicking because, more or less, there was the assumption that Sucy spiked the air and Lotte was going to be driven senile. Until said witch stared at her, utterly bewildered, and noted that she was working on an…explicit potion that Lotte outright regretted to learn about. (Akko hid her face for the rest of lunch as Sucy smiled widely.) Afterwards, lectures were spent within a haze of confusion bred with glee. Which conceived giddy, apparently…
But, no wonder why her face regularly matched her hair around Lotte; she just thought Amanda ran at a sweltering temperature, hence the unbuttoned collar (in part). And no wonder why Amanda had grown softer with her; as Lotte thought on it after lunch, she realized that memory served her a far more crass and laid-back Amanda on a platter, not a charming, fumbling (organized) mess.
So absolutely. Lotte was quite amused by it, and anxiously flattered. Because she was hardly a looker. Not an adventurer either—certainly not the type to indulge time in clubs, or parties, or anything in between. She knew she was lower-grade than most of the girls who tailed Amanda, gossiping along the way.
Yet…
Given that Lotte read these kinds of things—from Nightfall, of course—, and knew how to read enigmas like Sucy and Constanze (and Akko, for the matter), it was frankly as plain as day. Amanda was smitten by her, for whatever ungodly reason.
And it was odd. Nice. A lovely thing. But odd.
.
Lotte didn't know if she'd ever reach Amanda's expectations. Didn't know if it would be worth the hassle.
Because she was known as the heartthrob who could bed girls well, wasn't she?
If this was an incline, Lotte didn't want to learn whether or not everything would drop off at a cliffside by the time Amanda figured her out…
.
"…hey."
At the bookcase shelf (for astronomy), Lotte picked up her head, then stood from her crouch and pushed her glasses back. "O-Oh, hi Amanda," she eased. "How is your—" what, her bruise, nose, or mouth?— "um, head?"
Amanda blinked, glanced at Lotte, then dropped her eyes again to answer, "Oh, um. Alright, y'know. Wasn't a big deal. Water off a duck's back, or…something."
She's so much taller… "It was quite the book, you know. It looked like it hurt." She swoop me up by that broom of hers.
"Ah…yeah," Amanda mumbled, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Kinda did. But, um, I had some distraction to help."
Lotte giggled. "Distraction?"
"Err—" There was the red again… It reached the tip of her ears this time around. "Well, um, yeah. Like with the drug-potion, or whatever it was. Why— Why'd they have that? We're witches! It's supposed to be better than non-magic shit."
Shrugged, Lotte remarked, "Cheaper, I guess. You know how Professor Badcock is about finances."
Her blush was extinguished by several layers. "…for someone with cock in her name, she sure is anal about stuff."
"Amanda!" Lotte hissed. "She's still our professor!"
"Eh." Amanda paused, and the blush returned. "Uh, yeah, well… Anyway, um…sorry for being stupid on the drug-potion. And weird."
She felt a smile grace herself, wide and gentle. "No, it's okay," Lotte murmured. "You were fine."
"W-Well, here anyway." And in her hand, a bag of—
"A-Amanda! There's no— I can't have—!" Lotte panicked. She hastily snatched the bag from Amanda's nervous grip, and to the awkward though mischievous grin she wore (despite the blush), Lotte hissed, "No food in the library!"
"But you're in the library all the time!"
"Wh—" Lotte blinked, furrowed her brows. "What?"
Oh.
Amanda wasn't red before. At best, a magenta.
This was red. And as it scorched her face, her eyes were as green as ever. "…nothing," Amanda wheezed.
Together, they stood in silence while Lotte scanned what she was actually offered. Tupla. Lotte's favorite. She smiled. "Thank-you, Amanda…"
"No, um, problem…"
Lotte watched Amanda. Not for long, just for a pondering lapse in time. Then came absurdity: "Amanda?"
Her eyes flecked back to Lotte. "Yeah?"
"U-Um…" So much taller, in the best of ways, but cripes could Lotte not have been this much shorter? Just a hair taller, or Amanda a hair shorter. Or, Lotte could just stand on those sneakers of hers. "I, uh— Just lean down a little bit. I want to, um, tell you something."
Amanda did just as much, without question.
Oh jeez.
Her face fumed, her glasses were a sudden burden, but, Lotte did it. She gave Amanda a sweet peck on her cheek, and with the last ounce of absolute gall she had, Lotte whispered, "I think you're gigantically ginormously handsome, Amanda…"
There was the red again, and now it dawned her ears whole. "Oh, u-um, thanks— Th-Thanks Lotte. I'll. Thanks. Mhmm."
Lotte probably didn't look any better. Her cheeks might have well been a smokestack. However, she managed, "Yep. So…I'll see you later?"
"Yup! Later. Gotta go!"
Giggled, Lotte watched her waddle away with knees that, for some peculiar reason, couldn't bend.
.
Amanda's kind of dorky…
She liked that.
.
There was nothing better. A (quasi-)quiet moment with her book. Outside on one of the benches by the Jennifer Statue. With the Tupla chocolates at her side, then melted in her mouth.
And, of course, the company across the way that negated the peace. Lotte didn't quite know what was going on, but with the chapter almost done, and the chocolates to be put away in favor of study, she just read. And glanced at Amanda. And read some more.
It wasn't until the…hip-gyrating and—what's the word?—stud-like smile (with tongue) on Amanda's part did the reading take a pause. Lotte blinked from overtop Volume 237.
Amanda snagged her staring. Paled in the face. Then promptly dove behind the statue.
Sucy and Akko (of course) eyed Lotte from the statue-side. Their grins read nothing but prank.
…okay, now was the time to get to the dorm early and evade whatever else they had up their sleeves.
Piss shit fuCK
Amanda cowered in the grass.
"Oh…shit, Lotte's gonna think I'm a fuckboy…" And 100% just retract that kiss she gave her (only on the cheek, O'Neill). And regret everything. Oh fuck.
On either side of her, Akko and Sucy. The former patted her shoulder. "Well…maybe don't act like a fuckboy?"
"Eat fucking shit, Akko."
An eye rolled. "She has a point, and you know it," Sucy muttered, with an added, "but, I highly doubt she knows what that is. So to Lotte, you're just a dumbass."
"Yeah," Akko offered, to make swift amends (despite, yes, having a legitimate point). "Lotte still likes you. You do this shit all the time."
"Thanks guys…" Amanda muffled into the gr— "Wait a fucking minute." She wrenched herself from the spot, and, while green on both chin and cheeks, she snapped, "How do— Eaugh!" She spat grass and scraped her tongue before her complexion itself turned the same shade. Once that was done and over with, Amanda stared them down again. "How do you two know?!"
Akko and Sucy eyed each other, blinked, and just about sighed their lungs out. "Compared to how Sucy was with me, you're really obvious about it."
"More than Akko too, for the matter," Sucy said, rather flatly.
Amanda nodded slowly. "Yeah…I guess so. She's just so pretty."
"Uh huh."
"That'll do it."
"Anyway, gonna go get my broom before it rains again. Will probably hit the gym later," Amanda said, brushing off the grass from her knees. "See you two—"
How Sucy was with her… And Akko too…
Her neck snapped whiplash the moment she spun around. Amanda stared at the couple?! "U-Uh?! Wait, are you two together?!"
Yet another sigh, with the added hand to Sucy's face, and eye-roll from Akko.
.
"HOW THE HELL DID YOU TWO KNOW THEY WERE DATING?! I THOUGHT SUCY FUCKED-OVER AKKO, NOT ACTUALLY FUCKED HER!"
Jasminka and Constanze stared at her from their respective bunks. Amanda's stupor had simply strangled their attention—Jasminka from the bag of chips she was eating (still with a chip poised for a bite), and Constanze from whatever project she was tinkering on (still with her goggles over her eyes).
"Um…yeah," Jasminka mumbled. She set the chip down. "Amanda. Akko's been walking around with a scar on her neck from Sucy biting her too hard. For…months."
"Okay?!" Amanda threw her hands up. Has she really been that focused on Lotte?! Fuck! "So what else don't I know?!"
Jasminka thought for a second. "Well, Sucy and Akko… Hannah and Barbara… Erm, Avery and Mary—"
"Well I know that." Horror then speared down Amanda's spine—from where thoughts bred, straight to where the curdled and writhed, in her gut. "U-Um…so what about…Lotte?"
Both of them. Laughed. Not for long. Just little sharp exhales. The hmph! Yeah, that. Hmph! From both. At once.
Amanda stared at them crossly. "Now what?!"
"No, it's nothing," Jasminka chuckled, finally eating the one chip. Constanze went back to her tinkering with, oddly enough, a light smile. "But no. She's all available for you."
"Oh sweet."
Amanda meandered from the door (she had just barged in with the question, after there was some interrogating of Sucy and Akko), along the bunk until she could just— Just…
She stared at her landing-pad—her pillow—, then lifted her eyes to Jasminka's knowing smirk. "How long have you known…?" Amanda grated.
"A while. You're so funny around her, Amanda," she hummed.
A prolonged groan, then Amanda smacked her hand across her face. Her eyes drifted to where the tinkering paused. There her other friend was, watching her smugly through her goggles. Then, Constanze opened her mouth:
"…dumbass."
Oh—?!
WHy was thAT the first thing she spoke in foUR mONths?! Amanda scowled and flopped into her bunk. "I hate…everyone."
"Except Lotte," chimed from above.
Amanda grumbled into her landing-pad.
One perk of being a professor's assistant was that, after a later night of organizing papers, the walk back to her dorm was quiet. No friends (who she loved very much) to bring about anarchy for five minutes. None of the daily routines of other students sharing the same halls—gossiping and the like, or rushing to class.
Nothing of the sort.
Just Lotte, and her legs, and Luna Nova…
She turned a corner, and found a door left ajar. A sliver of moonlight cascaded across the corridor. Perhaps it was from the janitorial staff, or—
"Ah—! Good fuckin' grief…" Lotte stopped dead in her tracks as her eyes swiveled her body in full towards the muttering. "What the hell…?" A light smile played her lips, and she crept over to the moonlight. "Damn broom… Almost got me another splinter."
Amanda needs a new broom, Lotte noted. Or gloves. She brushed the matter aside and kept herself to the door with eyes wandering for the witch.
There she was. Brushing her hands off her gym shorts. As Lotte watched on, what she thought was the typical tank-top was far from that. It was the academy's gym wear, though the collar had been stripped to reveal more of her chest, then the sleeves and sides of the shirt—gone. Except for the shoulders at its height, and then a rim of fabric at the waist.
It took Lotte a minute to hear the music.
At the very end of the gymnasium—the older of the two Luna Nova had—sat a non-magic speaker.
Amanda lingered in place. Her broom, by the handle, was tossed between her hands as she bopped quietly to the beat. After a moment, she snatched her wand from the ground and flicked it without a glance at the speaker.
Everything stilled.
Then the song began to roll to life once more, and the witch began to dance.
The precision was a craft. Her body moved to song without fault, only intent. Amanda twisted as the broom climbed air, and though Lotte knew not the language, she felt that every maneuver—every calculated swing to position—had a name.
And she couldn't rummage through memory for any of them. Lotte doubted Amanda ever told anyone.
Like another dragon to another trove…
Through her dance's mantra, her body's hymn, Lotte began to notice.
Her legs were long and toned. Arms, well-built—especially at either bicep. Her hands, sturdy on the broom. And upon one particular flip, Lotte noted the black razor-back Amanda wore underneath, and the red trail that invited company to what remained veiled underneath her shorts. Sweat glistened off of her bisque complexion, had Lotte wonder across Amanda's naval, down her back… Her eyes traced lines along what was exposed—from her chest down to her hip.
All of it.
A mesmerizing display…
This wasn't sensual, not that Lotte would know. Or maybe this was but not erotic. A sensuality embroidered by vulnerability, branded by captivation.
What she did know, however, was that this— This was brushfire. To the rhythm, Amanda surged. Unrestrained. Untethered. Land had no dictation over her, yet, at her wake, Amanda left Lotte utterly earthbound…
Amanda's dance struck her numb. It spoke to her, unbeknownst to any soul than Lotte. Spoke of a daredevil, exhilarated character behind her electric eyes. Spoke for the words Amanda couldn't speak nor write.
But more over.
The whispers of flight and dance spoke in spite of everything else about Amanda:
There was femininity to her. And it was strong. It was bright.
Lotte understood it now, why so many thought of fire as the epitome of feminine nature. It was a fickle thing to those who neglected it. A fickle thing, that, sought to devour whatever it scorched. To consume. To feel secure… Yet, to those who fed it, gave it the room to flourish, nothing but beauty. Unrestrained. Untethered. Without dictation, and at its wake, it could have forests, an ocean, bow to its feet.
Amanda merely had a masculine filter, wore a handsome face, which rooted deep from other aspects of her soul.
As a free bird. As a phoenix.
Flying ever so reckless, ever so graceful.
Before her very eyes, Lotte witnessed the moment where her blurred world focused. She saw only her, felt only the pummel of heart with a closed hand laid overtop. There was no longer curiosity. Instead, Lotte learned a new word in its entirety:
Yearning…
Never to be a mere array of printed letters. Never to be thought of as a mere wish again, not like what she learned years ago.
It was inexplicable. Her thoughts nulled to mist, her gut ached in the most terrifying of ways, and her heart, it threatened to burst.
Yet none of it mattered. For Lotte remained grounded, and her eyes followed the broom's gradual trek towards the ceiling which vaulted for the heavens. To the height of song, the world held its breath, and stole Lotte's along with it.
Amanda let go.
Lotte's heart dropped as she watched the phoenix free-fall.
And as the song dropped into its most devastating melody, she caught the broom not a few yards from the ground. Her body snaked around its pole, Lotte's heart resurrected itself, and Amanda and the broom flew as one.
The song dwindled.
Before Amanda could notice, Lotte slipped away from the ajar door and meandered back onto her path. Her heart still rang. Her thoughts, still left as mist.
.
…was this what it was? The fire in her skin? The trance in her eyes?
What a wonderful thing to miss, day-to-day, year-by-year.
The feeling of dragon-fire as it smoldered for a gentleman, melted away the treasure to leave behind golden rivers.
Perhaps those rivers burned all the more bright with gold kept sacred.
And the knight's armor, with the echo of sun rather than candlelight.
.
The dance didn't leave her. It stuck to Lotte as humid air, like the sweat, and the breaths, and the sheets she began to ponder on at odd times. Fleetingly, before Lotte shrunk away from the idea. But, the idea was there at last. Her nature set its path for those wickedly charismatic eyes, the hair which could scorch Lotte's fingers if she ever managed to run them through… And her suave grin (now beautifully chipped). A neck to wrap her arms around. A lap to sit across, then a chest to lay against.
So many things. It all had Lotte walking in pigeon-circles with how far Amanda spun her head around.
Then there were the girls that flocked after Amanda. For once, they aggravated her. (Then twice, then thrice. By the hour, every hour. Without fail.) Every now and again, Lotte thought of a hex, or a jinx, to flick them out of the way. Granted, she'd never do such a thing. But, well, it would always be the thought that counts…
Especially since they started to hone those glares at her.
To which Lotte strolled down the halls wearing a quiet smile, one that Akko snickered at, after a murmured, "I told you so…"
"Yeah, you did. They really don't like me, huh…?"
"Uh, cuz you got it going on? Hello?"
From her other side, after they'd passed the haggle of witches glaring their daggers, Sucy grinned. "So go and steal her from under their noses already."
Lotte merely hummed.
Wax could drown in your ocean eyes,
quicker than it could melt from your hair.
With every drop, wax would kiss your freckled marks.
And shield you from the dark.
The way my heart shines,
my strides don't miss the air.
(Amanda grinned. Perfect.)
(Reading did wonders for a gentleman.)
Amanda's path just so happened to pass by the Red team's dorm. Her usual swagger slowly pattered into a meandered, innocent stroll, hands shoved away as she played with the newest detention slip in her pocket (for sleeping in class, during an hour of review before an exam; whoops). Through every stride, a debate. Just go and ask her already. Just a date. Or a kiss— No. Date. She swallowed. For…tonight. Nothing much. Her eyes scanned the ground. Just the two of us. Jas and Cons are both out.
Yeah… Yeah! Tonight!
"Hey Lo-Lo—" Ah shit. Not like that. Amanda rubbed her face and filtered her hands through her hair. That sounds weird. "Hiya—" No. Not that shit again, jeez.
Perhaps some pacing around first would—
"Wait— Wait! Ak— No, I—! Mmph!"
Amanda didn't have the time to look, nor the reflex to stop dead in her tracks. She felt what could've been an anvil plow into her, knocking the wind flat out, and the internal debate to smithereens. Together, her and Lotte— Lotte?!
Panicked (because ouch and huh?!), Amanda peeled herself from the ground to find—yes—Lotte sprawled across her in a startled heap of her own. There was also a hefty slam of a door down the dormitory hall. "Well," she coughed against Amanda, "that would've been Akko encouraging me to—" The ocean watched Amanda once Lotte picked up her head. What air had managed to fill her lungs rattled out because holy shit… "U-Um, leave them to their thing…" Lotte managed.
"…hey." Lo. Actually, that does sound better…
Lotte smiled quietly. "Hi."
Wait. Shit. Where's her glasses?!
Amanda began to paw the ground, still utterly transfixed. "Uh, okay, hold up…"
"I think they're—"
"Here." Amanda found them (thankfully) unscathed, laid across her green sash. Rather than hand them over, though, she carefully opened their arms, then slipped them back to their perch. Lotte's hands found her own. Helped guide her and the glasses. Amanda didn't know where to search—across the constellation of freckles, or down lips which tempted. Then realization struck, and, together, their hands snapped away. "Um, I can help you up…" she said. Together, they got to their knees, and once Amanda was back on her feet, she offered her hand—like a gentleman.
"Thank-you…"
Amanda scratched the back of her neck. Shit. She never got the chance to actually think of anything.
Fuck.
She was gonna have to wing this.
"S-So, um…, does Akko usually just shove you out like that?"
Lotte chuckled and shook her head no. "Honestly, I've probably done it more times to her. Although I guess this one made up for it."
"Ah…" Amanda hummed.
"Do you usually walk around here this late?" The pink slip was sheepishly presented. "Oh. Right. So you did get in trouble for that…"
A shrug. "I was studying for the exam last night. That's why I was tired," Amanda explained. Truthfully. Because it was what happened, given that she realized the assigned reading was easy reading. And because it had been in an aisle on the way to Lotte. Of course.
"Well that's too bad, then," Lotte sympathized. "Professor Galido will probably make you study it again or write essays."
"Ugh. At least Finnelan makes us do shit for the academy," Amanda groaned. "The most I can write are stupid little poems—" …um.
Lotte arched a brow with an amused, curious smile. "Poems…? Are you a little poet, Amanda?"
Fuck. Shit.
…nice one.
Amanda exhaled and nodded slowly. She played with her hands. Toyed her feet in place. "Uh, a little yeah," she barely voiced. "Just…off to the side."
"Are they for anything?" Dammit, Lotte sounded excited. That didn't help the beast fluttering in Amanda's stomach.
Okay. Just do it. Like a bandaid. Another nod. A swallow. "Yeah, they're for—" Shit, why did the bandaid have to be a full-body one? It felt like it. "Um, for… For…you…?"
And in that moment.
An avalanche struck:
"They're— They're all stupid, okay? Except maybe the one I wrote, um, last night with the studying— Shit, fuck. Uh. Anyway, I just… I dunno. I thought maybe you liked poems? I can burn them all if you don't, it's fine. I just like you and you're not like a clubbing girl and I want to go out with you but like for real not just a fling or hook-up whatever—"
"A-Amanda…"
"—but like a girlfriend-type-deal, for realsies. I'm not a dork I swear I just don't know what to do with myself around you you're just so pretty and nice and cool and pretty and awesome and I don't know if I've ever felt this way about a girl before like this way where I'm all stupid and stuff I'm usually good about not being an idiot like this but I just can't help it because you're you and smart and stuff and I like that but I'm not like that so like—"
"Amanda! You're going to—"
"—I wrote poems and, um, studied and stuff from the library because that's how you get smart and I needed to go to the library to remember how to write because holy shit those first poems are really bad—"
Hands snatched Amanda by either bicep before Lotte wheezed, "Amanda! You need to breathe. You're about to tip over with a blue face!" Her gasp of air collected what carbon dioxide had spewed out her mouth, and then some. As Amanda stood in silence, horrified by all that was just vomited, Lotte fixed her glasses and giggled softly. "I… I'm really flattered, Amanda. And…" Her face grew red, and she wrung her wrist. "I…like you too."
"Oh." Fuck yes.
Lotte blinked.
"That…second part was aloud, huh?"
"Y-Yeah, it was," Lotte breathed with her grin dug into her cheeks.
Oh fuck. Fuck the Nines. Anally this time.
The swamp, and the desert, had come back. At high humidity; with a drought in full-swing.
"You know what?"
"Hmm?"
"I'll…, um, be right back."
"O-Okay."
.
Fuck. It's happening. Oh shit. Fuck. Happening. Right now.
Wuh oh.
.
Jasminka and Constanze were down in Glastonbury. Thankfully. Because if either witnessed how much floundering Amanda was in the midst of, she'd never hear the end of it—see the end of it with Constanze's sign.
Why?
Because Amanda—like an idiot—dropped the box. With all the poems. And— And she couldn't— She couldn't find the fucking good poem.
Shit, I can't make Lotte wait!
"Uh. Uh. Uh. Okay."
She snatched every slip of paper and stuffed them haphazardly in her vest pockets.
Then.
Of course.
Bolted out the door.
"Where'd she go?!"
"Akko! Leave!"
The witch smiled impishly, and was swiftly joined by a roguish, humored grin that had apparently lurked around the corner. Lotte eyed them both with folded arms. "You two are more trouble than you're w—"
There were footsteps (delinquent ones, with a hint of a rush), and Lotte glared at the corner.
"Get—!" she mouthed with a finger thrusted to their dorm.
Sucy was the one to drag away Akko by the shoulder, and from the muttering, Lotte felt herself relax: in regards to her teammates, she was in the clear. Good grief.
"I'm— I'm ba— I'm back…" was panted from behind.
Lotte twisted around as Amanda swallowed the last of her heaving. "Did you run…?"
She weighed her head to either side. "Eh. Kinda sorta." Amanda rummaged through her pockets. "A-Anyway, I, uh, kinda flubbed it… I lost the damn paper so, erm. Yeah. Meant to, uh, get that— The…good poem." Lotte blinked to realize that those pockets were bulging. "Wait… Ah, okay. Maybe…this one?" Amanda plucked a piece, and her enthusiasm's momentum had other pieces left discarded at her feet. "So, uh… Yeah. Here, Lotte."
"Thank-you," Lotte murmured, and she read Amanda's artistry—
Puzzlement was quick to flicker.
Piss shit fuCK
"…gAH—! Shit, not that one! That's just, um—" Amanda scrambled and littered some more— "u-uh, scrap-paper! Here, this one!"
Lotte giggled and took the slip by Amanda's trembled grasp. "Okay." She adjusted her glasses. Then snorted through rosy cheeks. "A-Amanda…"
Electric green burned through the parchment, then darted to Lotte's humored stare. "…yeah?" She swallowed. "That's, uh, that's not it, is it?"
You're a peach.
You're an apricot.
You're some fucking fruit
wtf is this?
Why am I illiterate?
What the fuck
"I-I…don't think so?"
A hearty fuck was breathed, and the excavation for the slip of parchment resumed. "I-I swear I have it. It— Um… It's here. Just… Oh, what the hell?!" The suave, the charm, were abandoned entirely. Amanda's eyes were wide as her pockets vomited. Admittedly, it was a mark of dexterity how she managed to strangle each and every one of them mid-air. "Okay, um… Right. Fuck. U-Uh…"
"I…" Lotte watched with her hands laced together. "I could…read them all?"
"Wh—?! Uh." Amanda croaked. Not enough to actually kick the bucket right at the spot but, well, she looked like she desperately wanted to.
"I-I mean, if you don't want to."
"Well, um… I guess…none of these could be worse than, uh…" There's a nervous rub to the back of her neck, then she muttered, "The past few minutes…" She scraped the remaining handful off the floor. "You'll, um…know it when you see it."
Lotte nodded. "Okay."
You could be my broom.
I would never lose my way.
Because I'll be here to stay
what fucking corny sense does that make
Cute. Probably not it, but…cute. Lotte tucked it away into her pocket (neatly). As she did, Amanda remained in place, desperately patting herself down. Just in case. In hope.
And Lotte read, amused by each one. Flattered by every word. Humored by the scrawled corrections and Amanda's commentary.
You're a page I'd never dog-tag ear.
I'll keep you from getting wet.
Wait no.
Imma stop skipping class jfc
Her cheeks burned, and through her giggle, Lotte pocketed the poem with the rest. The last of the stack. When she looked up, Amanda stood there, as still as a board, pinching the edge of her sleeve. She looked beyond sheepish with herself.
"U-Uh, heh…" Amanda slowly plucked a slip of parchment from the cuff of her uniform. "Guess I, um, wear it on my sleeve." She looked away as the last poem was thrusted forward, between her fingers. "So, you know," Amanda muffled, "here."
This one felt heavier.
Upon the wait of it, Lotte gnawed her bottom lip, and her eyes traced Amanda's handwriting—a scrawled, perfect organized mess:
Wax could drown in your ocean eyes,
quicker than it could melt from your hair.
With every drop, wax would kiss your freckled marks.
And shield you from the dark.
The way my heart shines,
my strides don't miss the air.
Lotte swallowed. She kept her hand over her chest. Felt her heart flutter itself a free bird. "A-Amanda…"
"You can keep that one… I can just, uh, burn the r—"
"No!" Lotte said, a little too eagerly for her liking. "N-No. I— I like all of them… This one's my favorite."
Amanda paused, and she graced her eyes to Lotte's. "You do?"
She nodded. "I do." Lotte slipped the final poem into her pocket—separate from the pile—and asked, "How long have you been working on them?"
"I dunno…" Amanda's face burned. She knew. "Some time, I guess…"
.
"And you came up with these yourself?"
"Tried to, yeah."
.
Those wickedly charismatic eyes…
The same which remained attentive to every conversation.
.
"Well I love them."
"…you do?"
"Mhm."
.
Hair of brushfire…
If only Lotte could feel it burn between her fingers.
.
"Um. Good. Cool. I figured…poems were like those books kinda."
"Yeah…?"
"And, like, flowers are nice and stuff, but…too easy."
"A rose would've been easier, I suppose."
.
So tall, well-built…
Nice to cower against for all the security the world could offer.
.
"No, not a rose. Well, I mean, roses are nice but like… The— Shit… Chris— Chrisma…"
"Chrysanthemum?"
"Yeah. That one. Cuz…they're on a lot of the, um, book covers of yours. Or, um, s-some of them."
"Mhm. They are…"
.
So many things. To explore, to cherish.
To share her treasured gold…
.
"…still dunno how to spell that one."
"I don't either."
"Really?!"
"Not without checking, no."
.
Eyes darted—for them both. Hooked across lips.
How did Amanda's look so enticing now?
.
"Can I kiss you…?"
A nod.
.
Amanda leaned close. A hand found its place along her cheek, fingertips laced through ginger hair. Lotte held her there. Because…she wanted this. She really, really wanted this.
The bold glint in Amanda's eyes spoke to experience. Lotte didn't have to stand on her toes for this. Not as Amanda swooped in and graced their lips together. Cologne had Lotte bat her eyes closed; brushfire kept her fingers warm, before her hand coiled around Amanda's neck. Every butterfly, freed from their cocoons. Gold, molten to pool deep…
She navigated her without issue. The one hand kept itself where Lotte wanted it to be, and the other, firm on her hip. Glasses, not in the way, even if the kisses were surface-level—not yet to the point of submersion.
It felt wonderful…
Amanda made up for the time lost. Worth the time waited.
.But of course, given the experience, Amanda knew what she wanted. And she was the heartthrob that bed girls well…
The hand at Lotte's hip trailed to the small of her back, then it wandered.
And?
Lotte didn't mind that. She purred into Amanda's mouth, even.
Yet, it was one maneuver away from plunging without a broom at hand, vaulting for balance mid-air.
.
Lotte pushed Amanda's shoulder. Broke the kiss.
.
And Amanda paused. She watched her expectantly.
.
Blushed, Lotte felt a knot worm itself to the base of her throat. "I-I, um…" The knot twisted. "I—" She watched those eyes as their brows furrowed in wait. "I like you, Amanda. I really do. But, uh—"
Amanda winced "…yeah?" she asked.
"I… I don't…move in the, um, fast-lane, I guess," Lotte admitted, near-silent. "So I— I like you, but, I'm not— I-I'm not ready for…that."
Relieved. Amanda was relieved at that, and she thought for a moment. Coyly, she eyed Lotte. "Kissing good?"
"Y-Yeah." Another blush—a nicer blush—took hold. "Obviously…"
"Well—" Amanda bobbed her head. "I mean…like…kissing kissing."
"Oh." Lotte swallowed. "Yeah."
"And cuddling?"
"Mhmm."
"Snuggling?"
Amanda's dopey grin ushered a smile. That tooth… Lotte nodded. "Yeah."
A simple shrug. Water off a duck's back. "Cool with me." Amanda straightened out and puffed her chest. "I can wait. I am still a gentleman, right?"
Lotte smiled warmly. "Yes…" A righteous knight, even.
Then, a bout of silence, and Amanda fidgeted with her hands. "Movie?" she offered, with an additional, "They're both out in the town, so…"
"That would be lovely."
"…you didn't need to literally shove her into Amanda."
"What? I'm assuming it worked."
"Uh huh."
"Sometimes you just need a push."
"Right… Or a dumbass."
The projector thrummed to the room, and from its eye, it plastered the most romantic thing Constanze's collection had to offer in the meantime: a cheesy, 70s space-thriller.
For the best.
Because as Amanda explored constellations, and Lotte inhaled cologne, all those effects, and lasers, and monsters blurred to incomprehension. From the hall, it was nothing more than the Green team savoring a delinquent's privilege; nestled within her bunk, nothing but a voyage, an odyssey, of newfound pleasures.
It wasn't quite sex. Not really. Amanda kept her hands at bay. Managed to reign her passion for the night, the week, however long it took. She didn't mind. Lotte was worth it. And this— This was more than any hook-up she had. The most she dared was nip along Lotte's neck, or hold her by the waist. She felt Lotte navigate her body. Fingertips traced across her back, down her naval. Vests, discarded. Buttons, marginally unfastened.
And the glasses.
Cast aside, only for a little while.
Amanda broke away, to breach the surface and breathe, only to drown within Lotte's eyes for another time. They submerged through a welded kiss, together. And she seized it, the melody of Lotte's breathless moan as it slunk across her tongue, down her throat.
…perhaps Amanda was right with the first poem. Lotte's lips were sweet. Her tongue, like dripped honey.
So she was like a peach, an apricot, after all…
Hope you enjoyed!
:)