#missing riptide hours again

[nautls11]

late night riptide doods

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read:  Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 14- 'Golden Opportunity' | 'Aperture'

word count - 15k 🥴

LA seeped into your skin like gold-dusted warmth, soft and all-encompassing, wrapping around you the way Trent just did. He was just like the city—radiant, effortless, a thing of beauty you could look at forever and still not fully understand. He was light, and you were struggling to open the aperture, to let him in without overexposing yourself, without burning under the heat of him. You sighed, boneless, and let yourself sink into the bed that’d be yours for the next week, your body still humming from the imprint of him—his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing into you and pulling you under like a riptide you had no desire to fight. The room still smelled like your Soleil Blanc but also the slick remnants of what you'd just done, of a line you didn’t even have time to draw and yet one you’d manage to completely ignore. Your skin glistened with the afterglow, your lips swollen from his kisses. You reached for your phone, fingers trembling slightly as you hit Campbell’s contact. The moment she picked up, you didn’t waste a breath.

"We just fucked." A confession. A statement of fact. A prayer and a problem all at once. On the other end, Campbell let out a giggle, equal parts unsurprised and entertained. 

"Yeah, no shit, hun.” You barely heard her, too lost in the electric aftershocks still dancing across your skin. “Record timing though." She teased. You had barely been in California for a few hours. But you and Trent were magnetized, orbiting each other with no regard for logic, no hesitation, just instinct. And it shouldn’t have been a bad thing—it was incredible. Your body was still thrumming, your face glowing, a smile tugging at your lips no matter how hard you tried to fight it because he had put it there. But your mind wasn’t as easy to tame. It ran in circles, fast and frantic, trying to keep up with the questions flooding in. Was this just sex? Did he bring you here for this? For exactly what just happened? What if he hooked up with someone else while on this trip with you here? Would he sneak into your room again tomorrow? And the next night? Until the holiday was over and then—what? Was it all fleeting? But the thing was, that wasn’t what it felt like at all. The way he touched you, the way he whispered your name, the way he pulled you against him afterward and just held you—it didn’t feel like an ephemeral thing, like a body to pass time with. No, the sex didn’t feel like just sex at all. It hadn’t for a long time. It felt like making love. And that was what scared you most of all.

—

[Golden - Harry Styles]

The afternoon air was thick with summer, heavy with the scent of chlorine and suntan oil, mingling with the salt-tinged breeze that drifted lazily in from the Pacific. The sun beat down in golden ribbons, wrapping the back garden in warmth, igniting the crystal-blue water of the pool until it shimmered like a jewel set in ivory stone. The laughter of boys—pretty English boys, tanned and adorned in Van Cleefs round their wrist and Louis Vuitton swim trunks sitting too low on their hips, bronzed and gilded in the way only the wealthy and well-loved could be—echoed through the space, bouncing off the sleek, modern lines of the villa. They were beautiful. Effortless. Like golden idols sculpted under a Mediterranean sun, the kind of men who moved through life with the careless ease of those who never had to chase anything—because everything was already laid at their feet. They splashed in the water, tackled each other onto sun loungers, lobbed a football across the lawn with competitive grins. Boys. No matter how much money dripped from them or how perfectly their hair curled under the sun, they were still just that. And then there was you.

You stepped onto the smooth stone patio, the soft slap of your turquoise Oran sandals  [ref index]  against the earth a quiet contrast to the raucous sounds of their play. A woman among boys, a blade slicing through their perfect world. Your skin glowed beneath a veil of shimmering oil, golden and slick, kissed by the California sun and still bearing the heat of the man who had claimed you behind closed doors upstairs. Your bikini was a whisper against your body, smocked yellow velvet clinging to curves he had worshipped, the tiny crochet mini skirt a mere suggestion of modesty, more of a tease than a covering. Heads turned. It was subtle at first, the way movements stilled, the way conversations faltered for the briefest of moments. Some looked out of curiosity, others out of hunger. But one pair of eyes—the only pair that mattered—watched you like they had already claimed you, dark with the kind of satisfaction that sent a slow, knowing heat curling low in your stomach. Trent was already moving toward you before you even reached the poolside, his easy stride giving nothing away except to you, because you knew him—knew the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed just once before he reached you, as if fighting some primal instinct.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice smooth, low, just for you. And then his hand found the small of your back, warm and possessive, spreading wide against your spine as he guided you forward into a waiting circle of introductions. A simple touch, one that might’ve seemed casual to anyone else—but you knew better. You could still feel him on your skin, in the marrow of your bones, and the memory of his hands in the dim-lit room burned brighter with every second they rested on you now.

Names were exchanged—some familiar, some only half-recognized from whispered mentions, others entirely new. They were gracious, charming, all smiles and easy conversation, but your thoughts tangled in the quiet knowledge that if they knew, if they had even an inkling of how his hands had touched you, how his mouth had traced your body in ways that made you tremble—would they still be looking at you like this? Would they speak the same, laugh the same, knowing you had already been ruined by their friend? Still, you smiled, demure and polite, let them welcome you into their world. A world where money meant nothing, where dinners were paid for without glancing at the bill, where the night would stretch long and languid over designer fabrics and flickering candlelight. A world you lived in just the same. Because it wasn’t judgmental at all, no, it just felt like suddenly you were on the inside of somewhere you were never meant to see. Inside the walls of a lads only holiday; a private plane ride away from everyone they knew, home, and yet he’d placed you here.

The photos would start tonight—the beginning of the work that had brought you here in the first place, the reason you were supposed to be here, beyond him. They didn’t have any fits planned until then. So for now, you settled into the sun, stretching yourself onto a lounger, the heat seeping into your skin, the scent of summer, chlorine, and Xerjoff Erba Pura, swirling around you. And though you kept to yourself, you felt their eyes—lingering, wandering, assessing. Some were puzzled trying to work out what was going on. How this –you– photographer they were told would be staying at the house ended up being an attractive girl their age. Some didn’t care why– they were greedy, feeling as if someone had just placed a present in their lap. And then there was Trent—his gaze heavy, dark, filled with something else entirely. Possession. Smug satisfaction. The knowledge that in some unspoken, undeniable way, you were already his. That he knew the way you felt, the way you sounded, the way you looked when you were needy, desperate, begging and only he did, in all the ways they never could. 

—

You felt like your brain was shutting off, you were fading fast. The weight of the sun pressed down on you, thick and golden, wrapping you in a slow, dreamlike haze. Jet lag clung to your bones, making your limbs heavy, your thoughts sluggish, drifting in and out of focus like a radio signal just beyond reach. The warmth of the patio, the distant splash of water, the overlapping voices of too many boys playing too many different games—it was all blending into a gentle, lulling blur. Your eyelids fluttered, the world shifting between sharp clarity and soft-edged nothingness. You had met all five or maybe it was six of the boys, their introductions lost in the sleepy tangle of heat and exhaustion. Some names stuck—Trent’s brother, you’d met before a few times, but up close the resemblance felt oddly uncanny under the influence of a new time zone and the Californian sun, although everything about him was distinctly his own and completely different and yet confusingly similar all at the same time. Jude was Jude, a name and a face etched into the country’s consciousness, familiar in a way that needed no explanation. Kiernan, you knew in your own right, an acquaintance already marked in your memory. Some names stuck best they could, you were trying, honest. The others? Their faces blurred, names slipping through your fingers like sand. They were friendly, easy, the kind of boys who made you feel like you’d always been here, part of this strange, gilded world where the days stretched long and the nights were always waiting with something new. But right now, you had nothing to do, no fits to shoot until later, no demands, no expectations. And that’s what the ‘job’ promised: the pitch was a holiday with a little bit of work on the side. So if only for now, it was just the sun, the heat, and the hum of voices melting into the edges of your consciousness. And Trent. Somewhere close, always close. His presence wasn’t something you needed to look for—you just felt it, a pull in the atmosphere, a weight that settled in your chest like gravity. You could feel his gaze even now, burning low and lazy, sincere, like he was watching because he knew you wouldn’t last much longer before sleep took you under. A soft pout in the distance you didn’t need to see to sense it was there as you baked in the sun, the whole villa slipping into something closer to a mirage than material. 

—

The heat of Los Angeles was a slow, creeping thing, sinking into your skin, settling in your body. It had been pressing down on you since you landed, weighing your limbs, making your thoughts thick and syrupy. Jet lag was tugging at the edges of your mind, and the golden hour light hit the villa like it was something holy, but you— you were fading. 

The back garden was sprawling, its excess so ridiculous it almost became abstract. Bigger than a football pitch, maybe, the infinity pool that bled into the hills, a shimmering mirage against the haze of the city below, swallowing the skyline whole. Half of the yard was covered in an expanse of smooth stone stretching, too big to be anything but an empire of leisure. Sun-bleached boys were scattered across it, all golden skin, bare shoulders, flashing teeth. There were beers sweating onto tabletops, card games played without real focus, bursts of laughter that rang loud but never lasted. Their names half-remembered, tangled in accents you’d heard in football stadiums and on television interviews, boys you had history with, some only faces in the periphery of your life. But even that small grasp on reality began to falter.

You stood up from the lounger unable to bear the direct heat anymore. But all you did was draw more onto yourself, this time not from the sun’s rays. You were walking in your tiny bikini across the concrete stone to go sit in the shade, maybe get some water, some mercy, but it felt like you were under a microscope the second you moved. Like you’d crossed into enemy territory. A girl on the inside. You felt drunk and you hadn’t had a sip of liquor. You entered the reprieve of the shaded area of the back garden with no real direction, the sun slanting through the pergola, cutting sharp lines of light against the cool shade, the contrast stark—like the line between you and Trent, between what was professional and what was inevitable. The heat still clung to your skin, the stone under your bare feet warm despite the retreat into shadow. And yet, even as vast as it was, the space felt tight, cluttered with boys draped over lounge chairs, drinks in hand, voices rising and falling over each other in a lazy, languid symphony of youth and money. 

You weren’t looking for him, but you always knew where he was. It was muscle memory at this point, the way your body tuned to his presence, the way your pulse tripped when you passed him. You feigned nonchalance, the same way he had when you walked out, ignoring his body somehow still managing to glisten even out from under the sun. You moved through the space like a slow orbit, your tiny bikini catching the light, body glistening from earlier, a soft sheen over sun-warmed skin. The crochet mini skirt still barely a barrier, your sandals slapping lightly against the stone, adding a rhythm to your steps. The boys watched you, some in passing, some lingering a second too long, some covetous and appreciative, and one in particular— remaining possessive and smug. You weren’t here for them, and they knew it. You weren’t even sure if you were here for Trent. But you weren’t not here for him either. You wove through the maze of outdoor seating, past sun-dazed boys slouched, past conversations about football, girls, and nights out—things they’d rarely had to struggle with. But as you moved, mid-stride, mid-thought, mid-breath—Trent reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist, catching you. Firm, but gentle. A tether.

"You alright?" His voice was low, quiet enough in a way it didn’t need to be, because he’d just interrupted his own conversation with Marcel and Jude to ask you. But the moment he touched you, his entire world had already paused.

"Mmhmm. Just knackered. It's really warm.” Your lips curled into something soft, too tired to pretend, too aware to ignore the way his fingertips lingered against your pulse point, like he could feel the way he set it off-beat. Jude and Marcel clocked it immediately. The shift, the leak, the way something unspoken passed between all of you. The secret they hadn’t been privy to, bleeding slow but steady into the villa air.  Marcel flicked his eyes to Jude, a knowing side eye exchanged—so this was her. The one Trent wasn’t talking about but also never shutting up about, the one tangled between the sheets and months of back-and-forth that had been too quiet, too private, too charged to be platonic. Unreadable to most, obvious to you. A silent acknowledgment that you were the one. The girl threaded through Trent’s late-night texts, the one who had been slipping through the cracks of his playboy reputation, the one he couldn’t even try to hide anymore. The one who was now locked into being with them for a week. Jude clicked his tongue, smug, and stood. The cat was out of the bag, the unraveling had begun.

"Sit in the shade for a bit, sweetheart. Be careful, hot out here." Jude smirked moving past you. The word hung in the air, harmless in theory, meaningless in Jude’s mouth—except that it wasn’t. Not to Trent at least. You knew it meant nothing. Jude had a hundred girls he actually cared to flirt with, and you weren’t one of them. It was a friendly nudge to his friend more than it was words spoken to you. You felt the shift before you saw it—the sharp edge in Trent’s gaze, something sharp and territorial flashing behind his eyes, the way his fingers twitched against your wrist, the muscle that flexed in his jaw. Possession looked good on him, though he didn’t mean to wear it. Jude dove into the pool a second later, followed by Marcel. The moment could have dissipated, washed away in the ripple of water, in the stretch of this endless summer, in the pretense that this was still professional. But it hadn’t, it wouldn’t.

"Come sit with me." Trent’s voice was gentler, scratching at something beneath your skin. The words were softer now, a pull instead of a demand.  You hesitated for a second, then nodded, too exhausted to fight that pull. You perched yourself on the edge of his lounge chair, barely there. Attempting to keep space between you that felt ridiculous, considering the way you had no interest in any space between you earlier up in your room.  "C’mere." He chuckled, boyish, easy, amused by your restraint as if you both hadn’t already broken every invisible rule within an hour of you landing. His hand reached for you, lazy, instinctual. It wasn’t a question. And just like that, you let yourself fold into him, into the space that was always meant to belong to you, into the gravity of him, warm and golden and inescapable. Was it professional? No. But neither was having sex when you arrived but here you were. 

—

The sun had begun its slow descent into the hills, bleeding soft hues of amber and rose across the sky. The heat of the afternoon still lingered in the villa, though the intensity had dulled, making way for that dreamy in-between of day and night, when everything felt just a little hazy, a little surreal. The pool shimmered under the fading sunlight, its surface disturbed only by the occasional ripple of lazy movement. Laughter still carried from across the garden, boys still draped over loungers, half-heartedly kicking a football between them, trading jabs and jokes with the easy camaraderie of old friends. The air was thick with the lingering scent of chlorine, sun-warmed skin, and faint traces of cologne, but none of it cut through the heady, grounding presence of you. Because you hadn’t moved in hours. Neither had Trent.

At first, you had just leaned into him, your weight pressing softly into his shoulder, your breath evening out as jet lag finally pulled you under. It had been subtle, something careless, something that could have been brushed off. But now—now you were draped over him like a claim, like gravity itself had dictated that this was where you belonged. Your cheek pressed against his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing lulling you deeper into sleep. One of your hands rested across his abs, fingers barely curled, your thigh hooked over his waist in a way that was almost too intimate, too familiar, too similar to how you slept in his bed. Your body, slick from the heat, was a contrast to the cool press of the silver chain around his neck, catching on the dewy sheen of your skin. And Trent… he didn’t care. Didn’t care that anyone looking would see it, see the way his hand smoothed over your thigh. Didn’t care that Jude had been watching him from the water for the last ten minutes, chin propped up on his forearms resting on the ledge of the pool, eyes a little too sharp, a little too knowing. Didn’t care that with each second, the easy facade he had tried to maintain—the one that kept this whole thing —casual, unspoken, deniable— was slipping.

–

It began as a game last summer. Cat and mouse. A well-rehearsed chase, one Trent had played before, one he had mastered. He had set the traps he didn’t even know existed effortlessly in Ibiza—woven from smooth words, teasing smirks, touches that lingered just a second too long. And you, despite knowing better, had stepped right into them. He wanted to have you. To catch you. To claim you. At first, it had been simple. Something close to wanting just sex. No promises, no illusions, no tangled emotions to trip over. Just heat and hands, lips and longing, the sharp thrill of getting too close to something dangerous. But almost out the gate, the lines had blurred. The rules had shifted. Because now, here you were a year later. Not just another night, not just another stolen moment, not just a fleeting indulgence. No, you were here—invited. Welcomed into an all-boys summer holiday under the thin, wavering guise of ‘work.’ But everyone knew better. Trent wasn’t offering opportunity. He was offering proximity. He had pulled you into his world, wrapped you in it, hidden the truth behind excuses that no one close to him truly believed. Because there was no ‘just fucking around’ anymore. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t a trap. This was a loaded gun. And there was only one outcome.

Now, you were here—laid over him like you’d always been meant to be, like he wanted you to be, like you had lived in this space for years, like his body had been carved to fit the exact shape of yours. His hands traced you absentmindedly, but there was nothing careless about them. No, there was possession in the way he held you, in the way he breathed you in, in the way he pressed his lips to your hair as if he were trying to keep you inside him. And Jude? Jude saw through it immediately. He could smell the bullshit from a mile away. Because he knew Trent. Knew him in ways that stretched beyond the pitches and stadiums and cameras. Knew when he was pretending not to care. Knew when he was lying, especially to himself. And this? This was one big fucking lie. And now things were finally adding up. Abnormal moodiness and sneaky behavior making perfect sense. Jude had been the one to bring you up, a photographer he’d heard and wanted to nab for clout, a coincidence but nevertheless the one to offer the idea. But the second your name left his lips, Trent had tensed. His jaw had twitched. He had agreed too quickly, too easily, as if saying no had never been an option at all. And then, when you arrived—he ran. Bolted from the house like the weight of it was too much, like the reality of you being here, of you stepping into his world outside of those late nights and stolen moments, was too overwhelming to process. But it wasn’t avoidance. Because when he introduced you to the others, his hands were on you. Firm. Unyielding. Holding you to him like a prized possession, like a toy he didn’t want to share, like he could silence every knowing glance, every smirk, every unspoken word with the sheer force of his touch. But it was obvious. So fucking obvious.

"So she is…" Jude’s voice cut through the lazy hum of the evening, heavy with amusement, tinged with something dangerously close to smug satisfaction. Trent’s shoulders stiffened beneath you, already irritated, already knowing exactly where this was going.

"Nah, steady, bro." His tone was dismissive, his hand peeling off you gesturing for Jude to keep it quiet, low, but even as he said it, you made a small, sleepy noise, a little sigh against his skin, fingers flexing as if searching for him even in your unconscious state. Trent didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—his hand returned back to you, tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer, anchoring you against him. The way he always did. They way he had for months.  And that was the mistake. Because his lips brushed your hair—a quiet thing, an absent thing, a thing he had done a thousand times before without even realizing. And Jude caught it immediately. His brows lifted, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.

"Mate…" Jude smirked, holding in a laugh. Trent exhaled through his nose, sharp and irritated. "You know her… like well." It wasn’t a question. It was a fact, vague and yet potent. Trent’s jaw clenched. He didn’t flinch, didn’t let go, didn’t even fucking react— not beyond the tension in his spine, not beyond the way his thumb traced absentminded circles against the bare skin of your hip.

"She’s here to do her job, yeah?" His voice was flat, unwavering. Not a lie. Not the truth either. Jude just smiled wider. He wasn’t an idiot.

"Alright, lad. You tell yourself that. I just don’t think what you’re getting right now and clearly have gotten before this holiday is exactly what you're paying for.” Jude smirked before he corrected himself.  “...what we’re paying for." Trent rolled his head back, exhaling through gritted teeth, already tired of this conversation, mostly because Jude was right.

"Me knowing her doesn’t make her less qualified for being here, bro." Trent pushed back.

"Nah, I didn’t say that!" Jude finally laughed, hands up in surrender. He wasn’t calling you out. He wasn’t questioning your work. This wasn’t about you at all. This was about calling Trent out on his bullshit. "I’m just saying… you knowww her." That smirk again. That push, that nudge toward something Trent wasn’t ready to admit, maybe not even to himself. Trent’s nostrils flared. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

"Okay? I know her." He shrugged, as if that could be the end of it, as if it explained anything at all. But Jude was watching. Watching the way Trent was still holding you, the way his hand didn’t leave your skin, the way he looked at you—even now, even as you slept, even as he tried to dismiss it. Jude didn’t even need to prod any more for Trent to step on his own toes, attempting to unnecessarily explain things further. "She’s also jet lagged and just got to a house with a bunch of lads she doesn’t know, like you, so I’m just being nice innit? If she’s tired, I’ll be here." His voice was steady, too steady. Jude hummed, tilting his head.

"Mm-hmm. Well, aren’t you just the nicest lad in all of LA." He mocked him. The smirk deepened, too amused, too entertained by whatever the fuck this was. He pushed himself out of the water, flicking droplets onto the stone patio as he stood, giving Trent one last look. One last look at you—bikini barely there and tangled up in his best mate, looking far too much like something real.

"Mate, just—" Trent sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was too fucking tired for this. Jude just laughed.

"Yeah, alright, bro. Leave you to it." He shook his head knowing better. Trent knowing exactly the same.

—

The air was different now. Crisp from your shower, your body still dewy with the remnants of warm steam and the ghost of Trent on your skin, you should have felt reset—cleansed. But you didn’t. Your mind was a fucking battlefield. Your job. Your professionalism. Your reputation. Your pride. And Trent. His hands. His mouth. His pull. You knew what you should be doing. You should be charging your camera, reviewing the shot lists, making sure everything was perfect for tonight, a first impression. That was why you were here. That was why you had been flown across the world, why you had been welcomed into this lavish villa of tanned, spoiled boys who trusted you to capture them in their most effortless, enviable moments. But instead, you were walking to Trent’s room. Your bare feet padded softly across the polished floors, the hush of the villa’s evening preparations humming around you. Music spilled faintly from someone’s speaker, showers ran behind closed doors, voices bounced from room to room. The anticipation of a night out, of flashing lights and expensive liquor, was settling into the bones of the house. And you were standing outside Trent’s door, feeling fucking stupid. You exhaled, pressing your knuckles against the wood in a quiet, hesitant knock, already shaking your head at yourself. What were you even doing? The door opened  slow, and there he was. Cheeky as ever. Trent leaned against the frame, shirtless, still in just the towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water clinging to his chest like they, too, refused to let go of him.

"Wish you showed up before I took the shower." His voice was warm, amused. Teasing. Expectant.  No. You weren’t here for that. Though it pinged in your head the second your eyes dropped to the v shape dipping into his towel. Your arms crossed over your chest as you straightened your spine. As if doing so could stop your heart from leaping out of your chest. 

"I just—" You sighed, closing your eyes briefly before meeting his gaze again. "I just need you to have some professional discretion, Trent.”  You looked at him pleadingly. Full name. Serious.  

"Course." He nodded, returning the seriousness, understanding.

“I’m here for work. I care about my job. I have to be professional, baby."  But the pet name fell out. Like something slippery you’d never be able to hold onto. He smirked, his hand already on your hip, pulling you into his room, his other reaching past your head, the vein in his bicep too close to you, pushing the door behind you shut. Sexy. Your breath hitched. God, you were so weak for him. Now you were alone in his room, both of his hands on your body, caressing the resilience right out of your body. The slow drag of his palms over the silk of your dress, thumbs pressing into your skin through the thin fabric. Familiar. Possessive. "T," you warned, but you didn’t move. Your body stayed rooted, betraying you. The reprimand should have been sharp, but instead, it was a sultry purr, a breathy exhale that had no real bite.

"Relax." He hummed, tilting his head slightly. As if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t.

"You have to take this seriously."  You swallowed hard, steeling yourself. 

"I do." A slow smirk tugged at his lips. But his fingers only tightened, and his eyes—fuck, his eyes. Dark, teasing, pulling you under. You inhaled sharply, finally stepping back, breaking contact before you could melt completely. But not before you saw the flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. 

–

You had made it out of Trent’s bedroom unscathed. Not without some cheeky comments, and a kiss to your forehead– it was serious after all but more so because you both knew anything more would spiral into something else but he couldn’t let you leave with nothing either. Downstairs, the house was buzzing with energy, a growing anticipation thrumming in the air as the boys gathered, half-dressed, debating outfits, splashing aftershave onto tanned skin, passing around bottles of pregame liquor. It was easy. So easy. The effortless camaraderie, the way they bantered, how they made room for you like you belonged—like you had always belonged. But you weren’t just settling into the background. No. You knew exactly what you were doing. Perched on the kitchen stool, you looked like something out of a dream—an effortless composition of silk, diamonds, and delicately draped elegance. You adjusted your posture, shoulders back, spine elongated, tits perfectly on display in the delicate slip dress [ref index] that clung to your curves like a second skin. You had swiped a subtle highlighter across your collarbones, the glow catching the light with every movement, an invitation, a whisper of something untouchable yet utterly captivating. Your legs crossed, shimmering like they were still basking in the sun, dangled. Your heels dangled precariously from your feet, the barely-there strap slipping just enough to tease. Like they weren’t holding you, but rather, you were holding them—wearing them with a grace that made it seem as though they were crafted solely for you. The soft glow of the kitchen lights cast shadows along the arch of your foot, highlighting the pristine white of your pedicure, each toe a quiet luxury peeking through. Your necklace draped down your chest, diamonds catching the low light as they skimmed over silk, dipping into the valley between your boobs where the cowl neck of your dress pooled just enough to hint, but never fully reveal. The faint imprint of your nipples pressed against the fabric, a whisper of something sinful beneath all that satin restraint. On your wrist, your braclets clinked softly, a delicate chime that barely broke through the quiet hum of the night. The thin diamond bands stacked along your fingers glinted whenever you shifted, tiny flickers of light that felt almost sentient, winking at him—at Trent—as if they, too, knew exactly what they were doing. And maybe they did. Maybe everything about you in that moment, poised yet unbothered, draped in clothes like a little doll dressed up just for him, was a silent provocation. A challenge. A promise. The scent of your Cashmere and Vanilla Byredo perfume drifted toward him, curling around him like something sentient—warm, decadent, laced with the kind of softness that made his teeth clench. It was intoxicating, the way it clung to the air between you, as if it was only for him, no one else in the room, wrapping around his senses like silk and sin. He watched you, unmoving, caught somewhere between reverence and ruin. Like you were an angel—too perfect, too delicate, something he should worship. And yet, all he wanted was to wreck you, to crease the silk, to leave fingerprints on diamonds, to make you unravel beneath his hands. Trent saw the taunt. He loved it actually. Even though you had told him not to. Even though you had attempted to lay down some rules. Even though you had demanded professionalism. His gaze was a slow drag over your body, a reverent study, a silent defiance of your request. And he didn’t look at you like you were here for work. No. He looked at you like he had bent you over, arched and begging for him mere hours ago. Like he had pressed you into his mattress a million times before, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers digging into your thighs, his name leaving your lips in a quiet, desperate plea. And you—God, you loved it. Because no matter how much you told yourself that this was about the job, about the work, about a moment in your career— You wanted to be looked at like that. By him. Only by him.

–

The night had taken on a feverish edge. Malibu stretched before you like a dream—moonlit waves crashing against the wooden beams of the pier, the air thick with salt and the echo of bass from the party raging at the other end. Music spilled into the night, tethering you to the present while the buzz of alcohol, of something electric and untamed, made your grip on reality feel loose. Your camera felt different in your hands. Heavy, slippery, like a tether to something you weren’t entirely sure you could hold onto. You had tried so hard to be careful. To be professional. And yet, here you were. Jude stood in front of you, golden under the glow of string lights swaying above, his hair meticulously done, as per, his smile lopsided, lazy with liquor and the ease of someone who never had to try too hard. Not even to look gorgeous. 

“How’d you meet Trentski, sweetheart?” he asked, squinting slightly as if trying to focus. That damn beautiful smile of his, both charming and dangerous. “You two seem close.” The words rolled out smoothly, but there was something behind them, something prodding. He wasn’t just making conversation. Your lips curved, but the stretch of them felt practiced. 

“Erm, I mean we know each other. Friends of friends.” You lifted the camera, clicking a few shots. Focusing, grounding. “Head this way a little,” you instructed softly, and Jude did as he was told—but his gaze lingered, sharper now.

“Pretty good friends for you to come and stay with us.” The shutter clicked. You kept your face even, your head tilting slightly. 

“Well… you all invited me, no?” You mused. Jude smirked, and you didn’t like the way it felt. He knew what you were saying, and you knew exactly what he was implying. 

“We did. Just, you know, you agreed to come—that’s all.” He rocked back on his heels slightly, blinking like he was just now realizing maybe he had stepped on something far more delicate than anticipated. Your fingers flexed around your camera. “You shoot for big brands," he continued, running a hand over his hair. "So for you to come to LA with us…Don’t know, might be a little bit of a downgrade for ya.” It wasn’t meant to be rude. You knew that. And it really wasn’t. Jude wasn’t someone who bit with malice—he just asked the things that others thought but never said aloud. But still, the wind coming off the water felt sharper now, colder, the moonlight against your skin no longer felt soft, it felt like a spotlight. You lowered your camera, the weight of his words sitting heavy in the space between you.

“Not a downgrade,” you murmured, adjusting your stance, as if physically realigning yourself could help steady your mind. You smiled softly back at him. 

“Oh yeah?” Jude hummed, watching you closely. 

“It’s about opportunity, not always about something like pay,” you added, the words slipping out smoother than they felt. Polished. Neat. Tidy.  “You’re a big deal if you haven’t heard.” You teased him, a little jab at an ego. He laughed, surprised you’d had a go at him. You giggled in response because you just were trying to keep things from unraveling.

“Opportunity,” he repeated, drawing out the syllables like he was tasting them. “Well, we’re lucky you see us as an opportunity,” he said, speech slightly slurred by tequila but his voice was lower now. Slower. Then, a flicker of realization passed through his features. The teasing edge was still there, but something about it felt different. His lips parted slightly before he exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk, and a chuckle, dragging a hand down his face like he wished he could take back what he had just stumbled into. He walked towards you and you felt the shift in the air, felt the obviousness of why you were here thick in it.

“Don’t say it like that,” you chided with a small smile and giggle as you turned the camera for him to view the photos you just took. He shifted closer, draping his arm over the wood railing behind you, his gaze dipping to your camera as if seeking distraction along with genuine interest. You laughed lightly, shaking your head as you scrolled for him. Diverting. Redirecting. Trying to soften whatever the hell just passed between you.

“Nah, you know what I meant,” he countered, glancing at the photos, his smirk returning. "You’re very talented, and you’re here with us, so that’s good. Lucky us, lucky you.” He smirked. It was harmless but you both knew exactly what it meant. Because this wasn’t just work. It never was. Jude saw it now. And whether or not Trent had tried to keep it quiet, his friends were finding out.

–

[Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat - Del Water Gap]

The night was a blur of golden light and glows, of music pulsing beneath your skin like a second heartbeat. You tried to lose yourself in the night, in the people, in the effortless ease of Los Angeles. You spoke with Kieren, the conversation easy, flowing like liquor into an empty glass. Too many glasses. You got to know Marcel more, learning the cadence of his voice, the way he laughed with his whole chest. His accent slightly different from his brothers. You sipped your drink, let the warmth of tequila bloom in your veins, let yourself be swept into the rhythm of the night like the waves on the shore in the distance. But you could feel him. Even as Trent stood across the room, deep in conversation with Jude, you felt his eyes. The weight of them. The heat of them. It was a thread between you, invisible but unbreakable. A pull neither of you could escape. No matter where you turned, he was there. A shadow stitched into your night, a whisper curled into your thoughts. Maybe you should have maintained the careful space between you, upheld the barrier you had tried to draw earlier. But how could you? Not when he looked like that. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when his gaze flickered over your skin with the memory of his hands, the way he had touched you earlier like he had the right, like he had always had the right. Not when his mouth twitched in that barely-there smirk, knowing, confident, taunting. Not when, despite the sea of people around you, the only place you wanted to be was with him. Neither of you interested in anyone but the other and yet offering the space for temptation to creep in. Still, it never came.  And maybe you should have been professional. But the night unraveled, hour by hour, drink by drink. The boys scattered, collecting new company like souvenirs—California girls with effortless charm, drawn in by their sharp wit or maybe deeper pockets. But none of that mattered. Because it was you and Trent, always you and Trent.  And as you stumbled into the house, the moonlight stretching long shadows over the marble floors, it was like you had been wound too tight all night and now—now you were finally free to unravel. Trent’s hands drunkenly too forward in the car ride home, a fit of laughter spilling from your lips after he’d helped you out of your heels, your resolves that had been slipping all night had come undone. 

-

"No!” You whined pulling Trent back by the fabric of his shirt at the bottom of the stairs. “You have to start at the same time or it’s not fair!” You giggled, your voice high with exhilaration, your movements light as air. Trent scoffed, shaking his head, his grin wide and wicked.

“Nah, I don’t need to cheat! Baby, c’mon, I’m not messing about.” He smiled at you, pupils blown with infatuation and the desire to win. “You tell me when I can go.” He said softer, sweeter, a tone saved just for you, one that never existed until he met you. How you ended up about to embark on a race up the staircase of the house, you weren’t sure, only Don Julio knew truly, but you didn’t care. You liked the way his focus was only on you. Greedy too. Slowly you reached out and cupped his cheek, your thumb caressing the skin like you might lean in for a kiss, and Trent’s whole world blurred but it was all a ruse. A distraction. Because a half second later you took off with a cheeky childish giggle. He let his head roll to the side with a scoff and a smile he couldn’t fight. “Ah see! Now that’s cheating.” He complained first, as always, but then he was after you. The game was playful at first—a race, a challenge, a chase. But the closer he got, the more it turned into something else. Something breathless. Something dizzying.

His hands brushed your waist as he caught up to you, planning to move you to the side for him to pass to get to the finish line at the top. You yelped, spinning in place to face him, stop him, grabbing at him in an attempt to slow him down. But he was faster, stronger, his grip sure as he caught you by the hips at, fingers digging into the silk of your dress. He didn’t want to get to the top of the stairs anymore, no, you were the finish line, you always had been.  A startled laugh broke from you, your balance tilting, your body pressing into his in a desperate attempt to win—but there was no winning, not against him. Not when he moved so easily, so effortlessly, and hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You squealed, your hands pressing against his back muscles, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest, through you.

“T,” you gasped between laughter, “No! This is cheating!” You whined as he strode down the corridor with you slung over him, his grip firm, possessive, his one hand unapologetically underneath the fabric of your dress, like it belonged there, like you belonged there. Like you had always had. And then—then you were falling. Not for long, not in a way that hurt. Just a breath of weightlessness before your back hit his bed, his scent lingering on the duvet sinking into your skin, his presence towering, all-consuming, overwhelming. You looked up at him, breathless, pulse hammering beneath the surface. And Trent—he only grinned, slow and knowing, his eyes dark with something heavy, something hungry. The barrier had already broken. There was no pretending now. You’d done a poor job thus far anyway.

—

There was something about the stillness of the early hours of morning. The kind that were so early they were a part of your night—the way the villa hummed with the remnants of the evening, the scent of tequila and summer heat still lingering in the air. Conversations had dulled to murmurs, some of the boys scattered in dimly lit rooms, wrapped up in fleeting company, their laughter dipping in and out like waves crashing on the Malibu shore you’d left behind in exchange to be hidden in the hills. In the kitchen, Marcel leaned lazily against the counter, a girl tucked into his side, her giggles soft against his shoulder. His voice was drowsy, but amused as he spoke, words slurring slightly at the edges.

“Anyone see where Trentski went? Have his wallet.” Jude, who was nursing the last of a drink he definitely didn’t need, smirked, a knowing glint in his eye. He didn’t need to look for Trent. He already knew.

“Said he went up.” No he didn't. Jude's voice carried a lilt, smug in its certainty. Trent hadn’t needed to say a word. The truth was in the air, thick and unspoken. It was in the way he had looked at you all night, in the way you had moved around each other, orbiting too close to be anything but inevitable. And upstairs, where the noise of the villa faded into a distant hum, where the only thing that existed was you and him, Trent’s body hovered over yours, his warmth pressing you further into the California king, his voice a low, lazy drawl that seeped into your skin like the heat of the night.

“Baby, you’re not gonna need your own room here in LA, alright?” His words were slow, thick with satisfaction as his fingers traced over your bare thigh, pushing up the soft fabric of your dress. You hummed, breathless, looping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you, pulling him home.

“Mmm, okay,” you whispered, your voice melting into the darkness, into him. “Stay with you.” A pleased hum vibrated from his chest, his weight pressing deliciously over you, grounding you, anchoring you. You were already drunk off him—off the way he smelled, the way his skin felt against yours, the way his lips ghosted over your collarbone, his breath warm and claiming.

“Yeah, you’re staying with me.” His voice was a promise, rasped against your lips as he rested his forehead against yours, his hands learning you again, like he had wanted them to all night, like he would never get enough. You inhaled sharply as his hands skimmed higher, every nerve in your body alight under his touch.

“Every night?” you mused, the words a tease, but laced with something real—something vulnerable, something that asked for more than this holiday,more than just this summer. Trent didn’t hesitate.

“Every night you’re with me.” And when he kissed you, it wasn’t just hunger, wasn’t just want—it was worship. It was love. Your hands were greedy, desperate, pushing at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it over his head as you arched into him.

“Just for you?” you whispered against his lips. A low growl rumbled from his chest as his mouth traced down the column of your throat, his lips mapping every inch of you he had missed.

“Just for me,” he vowed, his voice dark, his touch a brand, a claim, a promise.

—

The house hummed with the remnants of the night—low laughter drifting up from downstairs, the occasional thud of a closing door, the muffled voices of boys tangled with their fleeting summer flings. But none of it mattered. Not when you were in here, pressed against Trent, his breath warm against your lips, the taste of tequila and temptation lingering between you. His hands, rough and sure, mapped over your hips as if committing the curves to memory, pulling you into him like he couldn’t stand the space that separated you.

"Can you be quiet for me, baby?" he murmured, voice thick with liquor and lust, a teasing lilt lacing the command. You’d asked for professional discretion after all. His lips ghosted over your jaw, down the column of your neck again, kissing, biting, worshipping. You nodded—you tried. But when he peeled your dress from your body, when his fingers traced over your bare skin with something that felt reverent, when he guided you further back onto the mattress with a whispered "Good girl"—you already knew you were doomed. Because Trent didn’t rush. No, he took his time, lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, teeth grazing over your hip bones, his breath teasing the place you ached for him most. He was patient, methodical, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you, and God, he did. And then his mouth was on you—hot and sinful, all-consuming. Tongue curling, lips sucking, fingers stretching, pushing, pulling you apart in ways that made the air thick and your body tremble. You tried—you tried so hard—to be quiet, to bite down on your lip, to bury your face in a pillow, the way he was buried between your legs. Tried to muffle the whimpers that spilled from your mouth, but Trent knew you better than that. He knew how to pull the most sinful of sounds from you. He knew the way your thighs quivered, the way your fingers fisted the sheets, the way your body arched into him like a plea, like a confession that words could never touch. And when you came—shuddering, crying out, muffled against the pillow—Trent only chuckled, slow and victorious, kissing back up your body. Still catching your breath, still lost in the haze of him, you barely noticed as he pulled the pillow away, his dark eyes flickering over your flushed skin, the way you trembled in the wake of him.

"Hate when you're quiet with me, y’know," he taunted, the wicked smirk on his lips betraying the softness in his gaze. And then, with an infuriating ease, he tossed the pillow off the bed, like your silence had offended him, like the pillow’s ability to even hush the sounds had. Your chest rose and fell in shaky breaths, your lips parted, the words teetering on the edge of them. The words. The ones neither of you had said, the ones that lived in the way you touched, in the way you pulled each other closer when you should’ve let go. But Trent had spoken first. “Love when you're a good girl f’me though.” He whispered, soft, playful. He heard the word too. And he knew. They weren’t the words you ached to hear, but they were something close enough, something that still made your heart stutter in your chest as he hovered over you. And then, without hesitation, he took you again. And again. And again. Until the night melted into morning, until exhaustion took over, until you collapsed against him, tangled in his sheets, wrapped in nothing but his warmth. Until there was nothing left but you and him.

–

The morning had long since bled into the afternoon, but time inside this room had stopped moving altogether. You were still tangled in Trent, your limbs woven into his as if they had never known any other place to be. The world outside existed—surely, it did. The sun had risen, the house had stirred, the boys had woken up with groggy complaints and dry throats, seeking greasy breakfasts and lukewarm coffee to soothe the remnants of last night’s recklessness. But none of it mattered. Not in here. Trent’s fingers traced absentminded circles over your bare back, slow and tender, as if memorizing you all over again. His breath was warm against your temple, his lips brushing over your skin every few seconds like he couldn’t help himself. You’d been talking about nothing all morning. The kind of nothings that felt like everything. He’d said something silly that made you feel like a schoolgirl. Blushing and bashful. Something completely weightless and yet it was potent, something that’d sink deep into your heart. You giggled, burying your face in the crook of his neck, the sound soft, sleepy, full of a kind of happiness that made his chest tighten.

"Mm, you laughing at me?" His voice was husky, thick with sleep and satisfaction. You shook your head, biting your lip, but the smile pulling at your lips anyways betrayed you. Trent hummed, tilting your chin up with two fingers, his eyes searching yours before his mouth found its way back to yours, capturing your giggles in a slow, lingering kiss until you melted into him all over again. He didn’t care about the time. Didn’t care about the world still turning just beyond his bedroom door. Didn’t care that the house was awake, that the boys had surely noticed neither of you hadn’t emerged from this room all morning. Because the only thing he wanted in the entire world was lying here in his arms, smiling against his lips, tangled in his sheets, wanting him back. 

-

But downstairs, the world was awake as expected. Marcel stood at the kitchen island, stretching his arms above his head with a tired groan, his bones still heavy with exhaustion, his mind still foggy from the night before. Around him, the others sat slumped in various stages of hangover recovery—some staring blankly at their phones, some picking lazily at their plates, some sipping Gatorades with tired, pensive expressions deciding if they liked it more than a Lucozade.

"Nah, I noticed last night too—my balcony looks out onto hers." Marcel yawned, rubbing at his face before smirking, his voice hushed with intrigue. "Room hadn’t been touched. And this morning… bed wasn’t slept in. They slept together." His tone wasn’t scandalous. It wasn’t even remotely surprised. It was just fact, casual and knowing. A shared observation between friends who had all seen this coming long before either of you should have.

"Slept together again." Kieren corrected, leaning back in his chair with an amused tilt to his lips, arched a brow. Because this wasn’t new. It wasn’t even close to new. This had been going on for months. It had started long before LA, long before this trip, long before the excuses of work and opportunity could mask the truth of it. This thing between you and Trent—it had spiraled. Since Ibiza, since that first night in Paris, since the first time neither of you could resist each other. Jude, freshly intrigued, leaned forward over his plate, his voice lower now. 

"So… are they dating, then? I’m a bit lost because he’s said nothing and she said something to me about this trip just being an opportunity." His brow furrowed trying to follow, trying to catch up about something he almost couldn’t believe Trent kept so hushed now seeing how blatant it really was. 

"Nah. They’re not, mate. Trust me, they’re not." Marcel scoffed, shaking his head. “He wishes but no.” He added for good measure and accuracy. 

"Ah, so she’s got the reins?" Jude’s brows lifted, loving every second of this gossip session.  Marcel let out a knowing chuckle, glancing toward Kieren, who had his mug halfway to his lips.

"I wouldn’t say that," Kieren mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he took a sip of his coffee. Then, with a quiet smirk, he echoed the word that had been tossed around too many times this trip. “Like you said… the opportunity is there.” Kieren raised his brow as if silently inferring that you wanted to be with Trent as much as he wanted to be with you and yet… you weren’t. The weight of it lingered in the air, heavier than the hangover pressing against their temples. Because, sure, this was a job. This could be used as a good opportunity. Just Jude alone sharing your photos would make waves. This was a chance to do something new, to expand your portfolio, to work with people who would bring more exposure. But it was also Trent. And you wanted Trent. And Trent wanted you. And yet, —you weren’t together. This holiday was the opportunity for more, shimmering and golden, lurking on the west coast of America.

"There are no reins," Marcel laughed, shaking his head as he reached over to squeeze Kieren’s shoulder in shared disbelief at how ludicrous it’d been from the jump. 

"It’s completely out of control." Kieren huffed a quiet chuckle, tipping his head back against the chair.  Trent would barely talk about it but he didn’t need to for all his friends to know it was quiet chaos.

"What a fucking idiot." Jude smirked, shaking his head as he leaned back in his own seat. Maybe it was the hangover, maybe it was the sheer ridiculousness of it all, maybe it was just the clarity that always came after a long night and a slow morning. But this situation? It was so painfully obvious. And so painfully inevitable.

—

The restaurant neatly nestled into West Hollywood pulsed like a club, the bass weaving through your bloodstream, the heat of the room thick with movement and liquor and the kind of reckless abandon only a second night on holiday could bring. Everything felt softened, blurred at the edges—maybe it was the shots you kept taking with Jude, maybe it was the way Marcel had you laughing, the way Kieren was more charming than you ever gave him credit for when he let his guard down, the way Michael—Michael?—had seamlessly blended into the group, as if he had been there all along. You didn’t remember meeting him yesterday. He was an afterthought at best, another face in the sea of them, another voice in the chorus of accents that stretched from Portsmouth to Leeds you were getting accustomed to flittering between. And yet, here he was, leaning in a little too close, speaking into your ear over the music, laughing a little too easily at your jokes. You didn’t have an end goal, not really. But you did have an incentive—to make it clear you weren’t some girl Trent had flown out for the sole purpose of warming his bed. You weren’t some secret, hidden away in the shadows, waiting for him to decide what you were. Like Trent had paid you to fuck in LA, not photograph it. Like you were something close to pathetic for following him around wishing. So, you invested in everyone else. You threw your head back laughing with Jude, you clinked glasses with Toby, you let Marcel tease you, you let Kieren’s banter chip away at any old reservations. But Michael—Michael was different. He was flirting. And you were letting him. Across the room, Trent saw all of it. At first, he let it slide. He could firm you getting along with Marcel, he’d hope you would. He knew you were friends with Kieren. He trusted Jude. Toby was harmless. But Michael. Michael was pissing him off.  At dinner, he’d already felt the slow crawl of irritation when Michael had earned one too many of your smiles, but he hadn’t said anything. He’d clenched his jaw, exhaled through his nose, and let it go. Because what was he meant to do? He didn’t own you. You wanted to be friends, right? But now? Now, he was watching Michael touch you. A hand ghosting your bare arm in your tank top [ref index,] a whisper into your ear that had your lips parting in a smirk, a lingering glance down at the hem of your little skirt riding up. The clothes that Trent had planned on peeling off you the same way he did just last night. It was too much. Marcel had noticed the shift in him first, the way his body had stiffened, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides, the way his eyes darkened, locked onto you like you’d become the only thing in the room.

"Bro," Marcel warned, voice low, but it was already too late. Because Michael had crossed a line. A line he didn’t even know existed. But Trent did.

–

This was a moment you weren’t prepared for. One you probably should’ve anticipated but hadn't. A night that had spiraled so out of your control, that had shifted into something far more real than the blurred edges of a drunken holiday should have allowed. Trent’s breath was hot against the shell of your ear, his grip unforgiving as he yanked you back against him. Possessive. Unrelenting. Not hurtful but his fingers dug into your waist, firm and unyielding, as if he was trying to anchor you to him—as if he was afraid you’d slip away.

“Nah, not having this.” His voice was low, a rough whisper meant only for you. You stumbled in your heels, head spinning, the world tilting just slightly—or maybe that was just him.

“What?” you slurred, brows furrowing in confusion, but Trent’s grip didn’t falter. His eyes burned into yours, a frustration simmering just beneath the surface. What you didn’t get was that Trent felt like you were taunting him, forcing his hand and while he didn’t like it, he also felt like you didn’t have to do that. Not here, not somewhere in front of everyone, a place so public, so foreign that he was merely a name people might recognize. Because claiming you, what he felt like you were mocking him for, wasn’t that simple and this felt unfair– to him.  

“Stop. You’ve made your point.” You hadn’t meant to make a point. But his tone, his hands on you, the fire in his gaze—they all told you that you had. You just were trying to not look desperate for him, to blend in, to not be more than a friend to him around the boys, but in doing so, you’d set him off. 

“What point?!” you yelled, voice a little too loud, only in an effort for him to hear above the music, but it also was a little too raw. Confusion laced with hurt. The emotions behind your words creeping in uninvited, wrapping around you like a vice. Kieren had caught the shift, his attention snapping toward you both. And Michael? Michael was long gone. Too drunk to notice, too drunk to care, already lost in the arms of another.

“Yo, you two good?” Kieren stepped between you two, his presence meant to diffuse but only adding to the heat pressing down on your chest.

“I don’t know...” Your voice wavered, eyes stinging. You were too drunk for this. For facing feelings. For the way Trent was looking at you, for the way his words crawled under your skin like they had been waiting there all along.  But Trent? He wasn’t backing down. He was just drunk enough for this. 

“Nah, you know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, his voice a shade darker, something dangerous laced between his words. You shook your head, emotion climbing your throat like it wanted to break you. You were innocent in some respects but you weren’t free of blame.  This was bigger than tonight. 

“I’m not doing anything. I’m just being with the group. What am I doing wrong?” You asked, your words slurred by tequila. You felt attacked and there was only one excuse on your mind… You loved him and it was killing you. You were merely treading water. Trent could see that word, that feeling, that unspoken truth and yet aching pain flare in your eyes. He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, his chest rose with the sharp inhale of someone barely keeping it together. And then—

“You know what you’re doing. You’re acting like we’re friends.” The air in your lungs vanished. Kieren’s mouth parted in shock, his eyes flicking between you and Trent, reading between the lines of everything unsaid and everything Trent managed to say in two sentences. Kieren didn’t really anticipate being there for this moment. The moment it all cracked open. The sea of bodies moved around, but the three of you were completely still.  But inside, you were breaking down, your heart a wrecking ball against your ribs. 

“You’re doing the same thing!” you whined, voice cracking, frustration bubbling over because— he never asked for more! Yes, you’d asked to be friends but only because he’d never wanted anything else and he’d shown you that. He hurt you before this non-relationship even got off the ground. Things had changed massively since the Burberry event. But only because you were friends. It worked because of the “friends” arrangement, right? He invited you here. Hadn’t he wanted it to be just like this? But no, he didn’t. Not like this at all. He’d only agreed to be your friend because that was the only way he could stomach how much he loved you— The only way he got to keep you, when you wanted to pull away so badly. 

“Trentski, we’re on holiday. Everyone’s just chilling. No big deal. We can all just do what we want,” Kieren tried, but it only added fuel to the fire.Trent’s expression twisted, his head shaking. You felt like tears were gonna tip over. Like things finally were coming to ahead so you looked away for a moment, searching for courage. 

“I’m not just doing what I want.”  You looked back at Trent, broken. Your eyes met his, searching, pleading, burning. “I’m doing what you want.” You confessed. He blinked, stunned, chest tightening. “I’m acting the way you want. I bend to what you want, to your schedule, to what you need…” It was a half-truth. But half-truths still cut. It wasn’t the most fair statement but it wasn’t exactly false either. You felt like being friends was ‘best’ for him. As long as you got some of him– maybe you could bear the pain. That way he didn’t have the expectations and he didn’t have to try not to hurt you but it’d become one big tangled mess. But your words had pierced through Trent’s heart. He almost physically flinched at them. His mouth parted, his fingers twitched at his sides. What he wanted!? What he wanted was you. What he wanted was to pull you into him and never let go, to love you freely, openly, recklessly—not just behind closed doors, not just in the spaces between what you both pretended to be. What he wanted was to love you, to have you and tonight for the first time in a long while you were acting like you weren’t his to have. And then—the words that ruined everything...

“You’re not famous. It’s different.” It slipped from his lips, raw and unfiltered, a thought spoken aloud before he could stop himself. Kieren stiffened. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide because—fuck. It was the worst thing he could have said. He didn’t mean it. Not in the way it came out. Your entire body went rigid.

“Excuse me!?” Your voice was sharp, slicing through the space between you, and Trent knew—he knew he’d just fucked up. You didn’t wait for an answer. You turned, wobbling slightly, the dizziness of the night crashing into the weight of his words. Kieren caught you before you could stumble too far, steady hands on your arms, his touch firm in a way Trent wished was his. Trent exhaled sharply. Dragged a hand over his face, frustration thick in the air, self-loathing curling in his gut. How did it get to this? His voice cracked when he reached for you. 

“Baby, please.” It was soft. Raw. Desperate. And it broke you. You sniffled, shaking your head, fighting back tears and Kieren didn’t let Trent try again. He waved him off, leading you toward the exit. Not now. Not like this.

“Baby, huh?” Jude, ever the opportunist, swooped in with a grin, missing the actuality of the moment, slinging an arm around Trent’s shoulders. Trent shoved him off, barely sparing him a glare, eyes still fixed on the door you just walked through. Still hoping you’d turn back. But you didn’t.

–

Trent wanted to be mad. That would’ve been easier. It would’ve been easier to let the frustration consume him, to pretend it was just jealousy, just ego, just some territorial instinct that would pass once he fucked you out of his system. But it wasn’t. It never had been that simple. And the sick feeling pooling in his stomach wasn’t anger. It was worry. Worry that you’d left almost in tears. Worry that he’d been the one to put them there. Worry he’d ruined any possibility of finally getting more. Finally telling you he loved you. And then– worry that you were drunk and on your way home to a too-big house, and Kieren was with you, and maybe he should trust that, trust him, trust you, but he was too far gone on tequila to think straight. He stayed put, though. He knew he said the wrong thing. And under the neon glow, beneath the weight of his friends’ gazes, he didn’t move. Didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t let himself chase after you the way every cell in his body was demanding. Instead, he threw back another shot, let the burn chase away the fear, let the alcohol blur the sharp edges of the night. But it didn’t work. Because all he could picture was the way you looked naked, the way your body fit against his, the way your skin had learned the language of his hands. And usually, that thought would have his pulse kicking up, his stomach tightening with anticipation. But now? Now it made him fucking sick. Because the image had twisted, darkened, turned into something unbearable. It had turned into Kieren. Turned into another body over yours, another pair of hands mapping your skin, another mouth claiming you in ways that were his. And it was irrational. It was unfair. But it was clawing at his throat, making it impossible to breathe. He must’ve been too tense, too caught up, because Marcel didn’t even have to ask. He just leaned in, fingers pitching into the muscle at Trent’s shoulder, a quiet suggestion to relax. To pull himself back before he gave too much away.

“Wouldn’t happen,” Marcel murmured, low and careful, no names, no unnecessary explanations. Trent turned to him, jaw tight, eyes unreadable, but Marcel knew. Of course, he fucking knew. “Want me to text him?” Marcel asked, voice still quiet, still controlled. Trent just shook his head. Because admitting he wanted to? That was something he wasn’t ready for.

–

It wasn’t really about the words. The pit in both your stomachs had nothing to do with his drunken, misplaced jab about fame. Frankly, in a different state you would’ve firmed it, not cried and left. Frankly, in a different universe you would’ve told him to shut up, you loved him. Trent hadn’t meant it that way. He hadn’t meant to separate himself from you, to make you feel smaller, to make you feel like there was a gap between you that couldn’t be bridged. When liquor hadn’t swirled his words, he knew you were ‘famous’ just in another way, in another light. You chose to be behind the lens when he knew you merited to be in front of it. He wasn’t trying to remind you that his life was different, only that it was complicated. That his schedule belonged to a machine larger than himself, that his movements were rarely his own, that even the simplest relationships came with scrutiny. None of it mattered. And yet all of it did. You understood—maybe too well. And that’s why you had drawn the line in the first place. You had kept him as a friend, kept your hands to yourself when they ached to reach for him, kept your lips sealed when love threatened to spill from your mouth. You knew it’d hurt but it was for the ‘best.’ You had given him space, given him an out, pretending it was nothing more than a fleeting thing, something physical, something non committal. But Trent didn’t want you to understand. He didn’t want your patience, your quiet acceptance, your selfless ability to pretend like this wasn’t eating both of you alive. He wanted you to be selfish. He wanted you to ask for him, to need him, to demand something more even if he wasn’t sure he could give it. Because the truth was, he wanted to give you everything. And he hated that you weren’t asking for it.

—

You’d gone back to the house with Kieren. The music still throbbed in your veins, the tequila a warm weight in your bloodstream, but everything else had cooled. The fight– was it a fight? –the tension, the way Trent had looked at you like you’d done something unspeakable—like you’d hurt him lingered. You’d apologized too much on the ride back to Kieren, words tumbling out slurred and unnecessary. You felt stupid. Like dead weight. Like the girl amongst a group of boys who barely even registered the altercation, who would wake up tomorrow with nothing but hazy memories of a night well spent. But Kieren hadn’t just noticed, he felt it as he witnessed you and Trent’s house of cards begin to crumble.  He didn’t say much, didn’t try to fix it, didn’t press you for answers you weren’t ready to give. He just kept his distance in the way only someone who truly knew you, knew your friends, knew the situation could. Close enough to be there if you needed, far enough to let you hold your own grief. Still, before you parted ways in the house, innocently, he squeezed your arm—a quiet reassurance. 

"It'll be alright," he murmured. But nothing more. And you were grateful. Because there was nothing else to say. No confessions. No analysis. No attempts to rewrite what had already happened. Just silence, just space, just the cool night air swallowing you both whole. And somewhere across the city, Trent sat with his friends, drowning in tequila and jealousy, convinced something that never would happen was.

—

It was supposed to be easier this way. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what you told him. You’d drawn the line in the sand, convinced that keeping the emotional distance would stop you from getting hurt, from forcing his hand, from making him one day look at you and feel the weight of obligation instead of want. If he never had to choose you, he’d never have to let you down. You thought you were saving yourself, saving him. You thought you were doing the right thing. But nothing about this was easy.

Because you weren’t his friend. You never had been. And he wasn’t yours. Not in the way you claimed. Not in the way you tried to be. There was nothing friendly about the way his fingers mapped out the places on your body he already knew by heart, the way his lips whispered prayers into your skin, like he was seeking salvation in the taste of you. There was nothing platonic in the way you curled into him when no one was looking, and even when they were,  in the way he held you like a man who wasn’t willing to let go. And still, you stayed silent.

There wasn’t the long game Trent tried to claim either. No, this was a painful stalemate. His heart was hurting and so was yours. Every time he fucked you, every time he did something so innocently in juxtaposition, your heart broke. Wanting for him. Wishing for him. And yet waning it all away. You told yourself this was what he wanted, even as he kissed you like a man starved, even as he murmured your name like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And he told himself the same, even as you broke for him, again and again, in the dead of night. A miscommunication so tragic it almost felt intentional. So easy to fix that it felt impossible. And so you loved him the only way you knew how. In whispers. In tangled sheets. In stolen moments where your bodies spoke the words you refused to say. And Trent? Trent loved you just the same. But he thought he wasn’t allowed to. Thought he had to be patient, to let you dictate the terms. Thought he had to love you from a distance, even as you melted against him, even as your hands clutched at his back like he was the only thing keeping you whole. And it hurt. The loaded gun was waiting to go off. A crash inevitable and starting to begin. And in the end, you weren’t sure who would walk away unscathed. Maybe no one. Maybe you’d both lose. Maybe you already had because tonight was the beginning of it all.

—

[Her - The American Dawn]

The house was heavy with sleep, the air thick with the remnants of the night—laughter soaked into the walls, new perfumes still lingering in the corridors, the muffled echoes of bodies pressed too close behind closed doors. And yet, even with exhaustion pulling at your limbs, you couldn’t will yourself to close your eyes. Your bed was too big, too cold, too lonely. You weren’t waiting for him. You told yourself that. Again and again. But when you heard them all stumble in around two, maybe three in the morning, something took over you. Something stupid. Something reckless. Something that had you slipping out from under the sheets, padding barefoot down the hall, past doors you wished you hadn’t listened too closely to.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for. Maybe clarity, maybe closure, maybe just a reason to not feel so utterly alone. The house was eerily quiet, save for the distant murmurs of hushed laughs and the unmistakable creak of bedsprings behind closed doors. You shouldn’t have kept walking. Each step felt heavier than the last, your feet softly moving against the cool hardwood floors almost against your own will. You should have stayed in bed. Should have let sleep take you, should have curled into the cold sheets and pretended they were warm, pretended they felt like him. But you couldn’t. Not when the house hummed with the aftermath of a reckless night, with laughter fading into slurred murmurs and footsteps. Not when the weight of his words still pressed against your chest, heavy and unshakable. 

The alcohol was wearing off, leaving behind the sharp sting of reality. The night played over and over in your head like a cruel rerun, every word, every glance, every mistake twisting into something unbearable. So you walked. Barefoot and silent, slipping through the halls with the kind of hesitation that made you feel even more foolish. The muffled echoes of the night drifted through the closed doors, moans that made your stomach twist. You shouldn’t be here; maybe tonight, maybe in the house at all, or just the trip in general.  You were moving through the dimly lit hall anyway though, your hands brushing against the walls as if grounding yourself, as if stopping yourself from turning back. And you almost did. Almost retreated to your empty bed, almost swallowed down the lump in your throat, almost convinced yourself that you didn’t need to see him. And when you got there, you hesitated outside his room, your fingers brushing over the wood, your breath uneven. Your pulse thundered in your ears but you knocked anyway. You didn’t even know what you would say but the sound came out unplanned, weak.

“T…” you whispered, barely knocking, as if you weren’t sure if you wanted to be let in or turned away. And then, just for a moment, your stomach twisted violently—because what if he wasn’t alone? What if you had been fooling yourself this whole time? A drawn-out moan from a room down the hall made your heart sink. You weren’t sure if it was relief or fresh agony that flooded you when Trent groaned from the other side of the door. The mere reminder that he even existed on the other side of the door made your throat tighten, your fingers hovered over the handle and then—you pushed the door open. Just enough for the silver glow of a moon leaking in through the windows of his room to spill into the hallway.

“Mmm, that you baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. The sound of his sheets rustling. “You alright?” He shifted, propping himself up to get a better look at you standing hesitantly in the doorway, your small pajama set suddenly feeling too exposed, too little for how fragile you felt. His eyes softened, his hand reaching lazily toward you. He shifted in bed, his silhouette barely visible in the low light. And for a second, you paused. Maybe you shouldn’t do this to him. For only a second, you thought about lying, thought about saying you didn’t mean to knock at all, thought about pretending this wasn’t exactly what it was. But then—

“Can I have a cuddle?” The words tumbled out, small and soft and far too revealing. A pout you couldn’t control. You didn’t need an explanation as to why. He knew why and so did you. Trent let out a breath, something between relief and surrender. 

“’Course.” He murmured. Your hesitation felt like a tangible thing, pressing at your ribs, curling around your throat. You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t be doing this. You almost wished he’d met someone else tonight. That he wasn’t on his summer holiday in LA coming home to you after crying over him, begging for a cuddle. But before you could talk yourself out of it, your feet moved of their own accord, bringing you forward, onto his bed  like it was the only place that had ever made sense. You barely made it under the sheets before his hands found you, pulling you against him like gravity itself had conspired to keep you there. “C’mere…” His warmth enveloped you instantly, the scent of him intoxicating, his lips pressing into the crown of your head making your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to name. His arms tightened around you, his eyes shutting, not sure if he was allowed to just do that. Shit. “Sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath against your hair, but weighted down by something deeper. Something that felt like an apology for far more than tonight, for more than just kissing you when he maybe wasn’t supposed to. You exhaled against his chest, fingers grazing over the warm skin of his ribs, tracing thoughtless shapes, losing yourself in the simple act of touching him. 

“You can always kiss me.” You admitted and it was the honest truth. His breath hitched. Just slightly.

“Yeah?” He murmured, voice still thick with sleep, but now laced with something else entirely. You nodded, pressing a feather-light kiss to his chest without thinking. Without questioning, your fingers splaying across his skin like you needed to ground yourself in the reality of him. Trent exhaled, a slow, shaky breath. His hands skated lower, over the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the place where your body fit into his like you were carved from the same breath of the universe.

“Sorry,” you whispered your own apology, but you didn’t know what for.  Maybe for the kiss. Maybe for being here. Maybe for wanting him this much. Maybe for pretending like you didn’t. 

“You can always kiss me,” he echoed, voice quieter this time. Like the words meant something more. Your eyes gently shut. Your bodies were too close, hands moving too much but it was subtle, it was soft. And then, silence. Just the two of you tangled in the dark, breathing in the same air, hands moving without thought, like they had always known each other. “Still for me?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically small. Vulnerable in a way you rarely heard him but in a way he seemed to find himself feeling with you too often. The question was hushed, like he was scared of the answer. You hesitated, not because you weren’t sure, but because the answer felt too big. Because the weight of it pressed into your chest. But when you lifted your head, your lips found the column of his throat, and the sound that left him was enough. His head lolled to the side, giving you more room, and his hands—God, his hands—possessive now, grounding you against him. You didn’t need to respond. Not with words. Not yet. You let your mouth answer for you, let your lips trace a path over his skin, let your body press into his like it had been aching for him all night because it had, it always would. His grip tightened. His resolve cracked. He pulled you into him more with possession, with a need that pulsed between you like something alive.

“Maybe,” you finally whispered an answer against his skin, though your voice lacked its usual sharp edges. The brush of his fingers over your hip, dipping lower in anticipation. “I’m not famous. That okay?” You murmured, voice teasing, but the ache beneath it was real. He exhaled sharply, like your words had knocked the wind out of him. His hold on you tightened more. His lips found your temple, your jaw, your shoulder.

“You should be. As long as it's you,” he breathed. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.” He babbled, completely enraptured in you as he began to knead your ass in his big hands unable to stop the unrequited pull of each other. You swallowed thickly, unsure if your voice would betray you. 

“Hmm?” You hummed looking for clarity not in protest, letting your body melt into him. But still not totally sure what he meant. 

“Nothing. I’m a fucking idiot, that’s all, baby. Just need you,” he admitted, voice so quiet, so raw, you barely caught it. And there it was vulnerable out in the open, maybe coaxed by the early hours or the liquor but it didn’t matter once it passed his lips, you heard it. Felt it in the way he clung to you, in the way his lips found your skin like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. He inhaled you in, saying I love you silently. “Can I need you?” He asked and he felt pathetic but he didn’t care anymore, you came back to him. You had to need him, even if it was just for tonight. Your fingers curled into the back of his neck, pulling him into you, your body pressing impossibly closer.

“Yeah. Missed you tonight.” You admitted, the words barely a whisper.

“C’mere, beautiful,” he whispered. “Supposed to stay with me on nights out. None of this running off.” He murmured, pulling you greedily entirely over top of him, his lips meeting yours like a secret you couldn’t keep. A kiss that screamed those three words never uttered. You whimpered against his lips, your fingers clawing at his shoulder, your bodies moving in a rhythm that was entirely your own.

“Were you with anyone else?” Your lips ghosted over his hesitantly. The question slipped out before you could stop it, raw and insecure.

“What?” Trent pulled back slightly, his brows furrowing. How did you still not get it?

“Tonight,” you whispered, searching his eyes, honest and scared. “Did you want to be with someone else? I— ” His expression softened, and he shook his head immediately. 

“Nah, baby. Came home to you.” He purred. Relief flooded through you, though you didn’t have time to dwell on it before his lips were on yours again, before his hands were moving lower, before you were falling apart under his touch, gasping into his mouth like a prayer. Trent groaned, rolling you onto your back, his mouth crashing into yours like he was starving for the taste of you. His hands mapped familiar territory, tracing over curves and dips he knew too well, his body slotting against yours like it had been built for it. His body reacted instantly, pressing you further into the mattress, his hands gripping tighter, his mouth trailing across your skin like fire. And then it unraveled. You unraveled and Trent already had. You let yourselves love each other in the only way you knew how—messy and desperate, without words, without promises, only the quiet ache of needing and never saying. Until exhaustion pulled you both under, limbs tangled, bodies pressed too close, your name a breath on his lips even in sleep. And that night, you did what you always did. You broke each other’s hearts by loving in silence, by saying everything in the way your bodies fit together, by letting your hands speak where your mouths never dared. Still for him.

•

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 15 - Don't

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[theoceansluvr]

Connor Stoll x Amphitrite!Reader

warning; absolutely nothing ! author's notes; oh how i've missed my #1 pjo boyfriend !!! connor stoll the og who still has my heart to this day🫶🏾 also i miss summer so this is an ode to that T^T

by default, percy considers you his sibling

which is both a blessing and a curse !

to connor stoll however, it's just a curse.

the SECOND he found out y'all were dating he chased him around with Riptide and screamed at him for a good hour..

but moving on !

he actually finds it super cool if your into surfing

and since his dad is also the god of sports, he TOTALLY joins in !

what else could i say about my boy and the sea..

oh ! he gets sunburnt so easy it's actually horrifying😨 so ! beach trips for the two of you usually consist of him putting on MULTIPLE layers of sunscreen

and sometimes he still ends up red as a tomato so that's fun

anywho ! back to surfing (oh to live in southern hemisphere rn😿)

HE LISTENS TO YOU SO CAREFULLY WHEN YOU'RE EXPLAINING WHAT TO DO although he kinda gets distracted by how excited you seem to teach it

"so you just put your hands here, then pop up ! it has to be one fluid motion, but take your time." "sooo... what did you say again ?"

but he really does love you and your pretty pink surfboard !

honestly, he probably learned how to wax boards just for you, and sometimes he'll wax your board for you when you're busy getting ready

now, i usually don't wear a wetsuit bc im stubborn and hate how they feel.

BUT if you do wear one, he definitely helps you zip it up ! no questions asked it's his first instinct

or if you wing it and just wear a swimsuit and a rash guard, then he also BEGS to pick your swimsuit for noooo

ANYWAYS ENOUGH ABOUT THE SURFING-

definitely asked the Aphrodite cabin to help him make a seashell necklace for you when he decided to ask you out

he also did it in front of the lake because he didn't know if asking you out in the beach was "bad luck" or not ??

but it went smoothly anyways sooo

the son of thevies and the daughter of the tides are definitely not the most common of pairs-

but opposites always attract i suppose !🩵

AH YEAHHHH POSTING AGAIN BC I MISSED WRITING AND UHHHH YEP ! anyways, ermmm i decided to NOT close my reqs soooooo you guys should definitely request some stuff tehe :3

[inoutoftherain]

We did it!

No 24 hours, but fucking crushed HBGs record axolotl-less which was sub 30 and still got WR after 3 hours of 3 people doing nothing but breeding the blue bastards. Total breeds over 5000, median is like 700 or 800.

I had a great experience. The early game plan was so good, the gunpowder farm with Molly and Shoe went so smooth and finished ahead of schedule. Wither skeleton farm had a couple hiccups due to me forgetting to bring two items but we built it right and we built it on time and that's all that matters, thanks to Pocky and to Shoe again for helping to knock that out.

Mobs after that mostly with TJ, hardest part of the run and definitely the longest. I meant to take a break and sleep here and didn't. There were some mistakes made with mob death and lack of organization but mostly I just think all that stuff is a lot. I know TJ got really down that it wasn't fast enough and so am I. I have a lot of thoughts about it, my performance, mistakes and experience, organization and plans and who does what. I don't know. Bottom line is it's a lot.

Server held up great and I could fly the early mobs to the sh from the surrounding area, unfortunately couldn't fly them later on the nether roof due to lag breaking the leads but it was still so much better than last time. Bobby mod was great and TalkingMime loaning the server ahead of HBGs own attempt later this month was really nice, appreciate it.

Everybody got kind of down late in the run after it was obvious 24 hours wasn't happening there was a lot left and not a lot of people to do it. People needed to sleep. It ended up with me, Wonderfulegg and somebody else I think Molly was there at one point? trying to figure out if HDWGH was going to happen or if we had to give up. I was so tired. I was the only person there who ever did HDWGH in their life and I did it in this version once a year ago. I couldn't find the tutorial I used. The setup that somebody started by spawn wasn't going to work for the only version of it that I know. The beacon was in the end, I didn't know where the ingredients for everything were, I thought I did my 1.21 bac run on a different PC and that I wouldn't be able to find the recording. Plus the idea that I can do it correctly with how tired I am is so incredibly dubious. But no like my brain finally unfogs enough to remember it was the same PC and I find the world download and look at that, and I have the setup geometry, it's now possible. So I have to do it. Wonderfulegg gets Zesskyo on who was supposed to have joined the run but had something come up at the last minute. So Zesskyo unlike the rest of us is wide awake and full of energy. And zesskyo does know HDWGH though not in this version. I have the beacon set up by this point. Somebody finds a conduit. I drag over a villager from base. We move the shulker and the dolphin. I spend probably 30 fucking minutes during all of this explaining the whole HDWGH sequence to Zesskyo, who has done it before but not in this version. This 30 minutes has nothing to do with Zesskyo and everything to do with me and my sleep deprived brain, I have no fucking idea what I'm saying or what I've said and I repeat everythign about 40 times because I think I got it out of order or missed something the previous time and I probably did.

I show Zesskyo the raid and trial chamber locations, Wonderfulegg flies around with a riptide trident to locate a monument where the elder guardians aren't dead. Wonderfulegg finds all the potion ingredients and consumables and makes the potions. Zesskyo goes off to do the thing. Zesskyo hits the fucking advancement on the first try.

We're so back! At this point not counting blue axolotl there's like 10 random advancements left. I pick the two that are the most brainless and spend like 20 minutes doing five minutes of tasks because I'm that fucking tired. Its like whatever. Who cares at this point. Jilian's back and I think somebody else is too and they all knock off the rest. So it's just the axolotl now. I try to join them on the breeding but I give up and go to sleep when I realize I'm just staring at the axolotls and not doing anything. So the other three people there who I think are Jillian, Wondefulegg and Zesskyo breed axolotls for three more hours and they get it.

Thank you to TJ and Jillian for letting me be part of this again. Thank you to Molly, Shoe, Pocky, TJ, Wonderfulegg and Zesskyo for being so great to work with. Thank you to Jillian for providing the push to not give up. Thank you to everybody else who took part and got stuff done. You're all fantastic.

We did it!

[jvledrn]

Hi. I happen to stumble upon your blog through a poem you posted without a title. (well i'm not sure if the first line is The Title- He replied and by the end it was signed -J) ?.(And also not sure it was your poem)? And i tried looking for it here but can't seen to find it. What I'm trying to say is if it is possible for you to post it again so i can give it a like and to reblogg it.

The poem gave me a pinch that made me say "aw" but spoke to my heart and said "thank you". Pls i hope to see it posted again. Thank you.

Here you go and yes, it was my original poem. 💖🥹

He replied.

Scrolling through the hush of Tumblr and the dreamy corners of Pinterest,

I stumbled across a memory, and there he was—

a ghost I had once whispered to.

He replied.

After a month of silence, he said:

“I’m sorry. I suck at this.”

I haven’t opened it,

but the words—like wind through a cracked window—found me anyway.

And gods, how I want to reply.

My fingers burn with the ache of it.

But then I remember—

it took him thirty suns and moons

to gather that apology.

And me? I would’ve replied in two hours,

two minutes, two heartbeats.

No. Not again.

Am I desperate to speak to him?

Not quite.

Do I long to?

Yes—utterly.

Should I ask what happened?

No. That’s a door I won’t knock on.

Do I still like him?

With every cursed star in my sky.

But does he like me back?

Does he ache the way I do?

Does he feel the silence like a bruise?

I don’t know.

Because his absence is loud.

And that’s what wounds me the most—

how easily he disappears into the noise.

He says, not everything is about me—

and damn it, I know.

That’s why I stopped.

Stopped sending sunlight in the form of "good morning."

Stopped cradling the night with "take care."

Stopped laying down the story of my day like petals.

Stopped checking in, checking up, checking myself.

Stopped gazing at pixels shaped like his face.

Stopped replaying the echo of his voice.

I stopped—

because he made it clear

that my care was too much weight,

too loud, too constant,

too... me.

He doesn’t care.

Not about my texts, my laughter, my quiet longing.

Not about my stories folded in my chest like paper cranes.

He doesn’t care if I miss him.

He doesn’t see me.

Am I mad? No.

But gods, how I want to be.

I want to scream oceans.

But what’s the point of drowning alone?

So I let it go.

I like him still

his shadows,

his shifting tides,

his ocean eyes that pull like riptides

and never let me go.

-J

[moondollx]

Master List -Bob Floyd (Top Gun)

This masterlist contains some (+18) content so minors do not interact. The fics are NOT MINE i´m just recommending them bc i loved reading them all <3 CREDITS TO ALL THIS AMAZING WRITERS!

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BOB FLOYD (TOP GUN)

☆ “You’re really gonna make me beg?” -Link ☆ “You cannot be serious.” -Link ☆ “Say it again, slower.” -Link ☆ An unsuspecting jake hits on you at the hard deck while the gang waits for bobs new girlfriend to arrive (spoiler alert: that’s you)-Link ☆ Reader is at the base to write an article, everyone's betting if Bob would get a kiss. The squad doesn't know they're already married.-Link ☆ "As someone who just had to deal with everyone and their mother this July 4th, please a lifeguard!reader x bob floyd where hangman tells him the best way to get readers attention is to pretend to need to be saved in the water, but he gets caught in a riptide and actually needs to be saved." -Link ☆ Sunkissed -Link ☆ You show up to the squad beach day in a bikini that has no business looking that good. Bob's mid-throw when he sees you and straight-up forgets how physics works. The football hits Hangman. Bob's glasses are askew. He spends the afternoon avoiding eye contact—until you ask him to help tie the strings on your top. He nearly combusts. -Link ☆ Phoenix invites the boys to her salsa class, big mistake.-Link ☆ Dating Bob Floyd had been nothing short of perfect. The sweet, ever-attentive WSO felt like he’d walked straight out of a rom-com. That’s why, when your scheduled date night arrives and he doesn’t show, your mind immediately begins to spiral. It’s so unlike him, so out of character, that you can’t stop replaying every possible reason in your head. As the hours stretch on, worry takes hold, deep down, you can feel something’s wrong.-Link ☆ Laundry day at the barracks is a disaster waiting to happen. But accidentally ending up in Bob Floyd’s shirt? That’s a whole new level of chaos. What starts as detergent-soaked embarrassment quickly spirals into squad-wide teasing, a not-so-subtle claim, and a quiet late-night moment that feels a lot like something more. Turns out, one shirt can say a lot. -Link ☆ After the mission with mav, you find bob drunk at the resulting party at the hard deck. as a designated driver, you take it upon yourself to get him home and into bed safely but staying composed proves harder than expected -Link

☆ When Phoenix sets Bob up on a blind date with one of her closest friends, he’s already nervous. So when he finds her to be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, he’s convinced he’s out of his league. But as the night unfolds, he starts to realize they may work together better than he ever expected. -Link ☆ Rooster and Hangman spot a mysterious woman… who turns out to be already taken. -Link ☆ Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn't try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet's console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you're there to make everything better. -Link ☆ Switch up | Bob and reader switches glasses -Link ☆ Split Second | Where reader lost her twin sister and Bob is there for her -Link ☆ Backseat driver | Where Bob dies in the reader arms (This actually broke my heart)-Link ☆ Bob Floyd has a crush on the air traffic controller with the pretty voice. The air traffic controller has a crush on the quiet WSO. Nat is determined to get them to meet.-Link

☆ It'd been an agonizingly long day and while you adored the Hard Deck and your squadron most nights, your social battery was on the verge of going out. Luckily, your boyfriend can read you better than you can read yourself, and he knows when you need him.-Link ☆ What happens innVegas stays in Vegas | robert 'bob' floyd and you have always harboured feelings for each other, hidden in hotel rooms, stolen glances and secret kisses shared across the base. except one night in vegas celebrating the end of a gruelling mission finds you and bob waking up the next day unsure of how you made it to his room, the remenants of tequila pounding in your head and a rock the size of san diego on your ring finger. and what scares him the most is just how is he going to explain this to your brother. -Link

☆ All the dreams of you pt. 1 | From the moment you and Bob met, the connection was undeniable, but also inappropriate. As his on-base doctor, every professional idealism called for you to stay away. Only problem? You didn't want to -Link ☆ All the dreams of you pt. 2| Bob takes you on your first date, but things doesn't end the way he originally planned, wink wink! -Link

☆ One day he is all over you, next day he pulls away and ur tired of it so u confronted him -Link ☆ Bob has a hard day and when you try to cheer him up he snaps and he is… distraught to say the least -Link ☆ Your car gives out six miles past nowhere -Link ☆ Bob Floyd with age gap reader canons -Link

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[v-i-r-i-d-i-a-n]

After watching the Crystmas one shot I’ve been sucked back into riptide by my throat, so I did watch episode 92 without doing any quotes because it was early and I was tired BUT

Episode 93 “Legend Lore” quotes and moments!!

Also if Alphonse dies I’m gonna (remembers suicide jokes only harm myself and those around me) sob into my pillow

THE CONDI INTRO IS KILLING MEEEE

“But with gun you can BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. And all your problems are solved!! :DD”

Magical sword;”you can’t be serious.”

Gillion;”OH SO NOW YOUVE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY?”

Brb gonna go sob in my pillow

Earl being fucking FROZEN is so funny

Ollie; “what if- what if instead of making Alphonse the canon, we made Alphonse the ship!”

Jay;”that is an INSANE idea IM IN.”

Jay;”Damn I need to try weed sometime”

Gillion;”THATS YOUR TAKE AWAY FROM TODAY?? Weed kills people 😭😭”

Jay;”I just need to rework the blueprints a bit but…they’re made for this ship so-“

Gillion;”If it doesn’t work…can I be the ship?”

Jay;”Gillion…yeah, yeah you can. You are the ship.”

Gillion;”You’re right you’re right I am the ship I am the ship- I’ve been awake for 48 hours.”

Jay;”Thank you for the kind words that means a lot.”

Griffin;”Like I said, soft and cuddly on the inside.”

Chip;”would it still be the Millennium Chipper…or would it be the Millennium Alphonse?”

Gillion;”Hear me out…the Alphatross”

Gillion;”And then I can be the ship!”

Chip;”Gillion- do you understand what “being the ship” would be?”

Gillion;”Oh yeah,”

Chip;”No arms- no legs? Just-“

Gillion;”Speed. Power. Buoyancy.”

Chip;”BUT YOU WOULDNT HAVE ARMS??”

Ollie;”I have no idea what’s going on :((“

Gillion;”You’d be a good boat”

Ollie;”what. 😟”

Gillion;”I am the boat, the boat is me, I am the boat, the boat is me, to be the boat is to be free”



Chip getting splashed by Queen twirling a mop

Chip;”You widdle or… think about bein’ a boat- goddamnit.”

Chip;”I think Gillion just thought up a new color.”

Gillion;”Gurple. 😇”

Jay;”I mean, it makes sense he’s your grandpa”

Gillion *looks down at Finn’s essentially porn novel*;”I know….thats what I’m worried about 😟”

Chip;”I mean he’s taking a bath with his grandpa I don’t wanna be here for this-“

OMG FINN FINNNNN FINN HES FINALLY HERE

“PEEPAW BE GETTING DOWN” IM SOBBING HELP ME LMAO

Gillion;”I’m sorry I’m not very good with my words, and I don’t know where we are- I just need you to be out there again!” The way I’m gonna start sobbing

NVM APPARENTLY GILLION IS SUPLEXING FINNS SUBCONSCIOUS NO LONGER ON THE VERGE OF TEARS

Drey and Finn Drey and Finn Drey and Finn I love them they’re getting reunited

Gillion;”Does- does that say garble bodarble?”

Gillion;”Sometimes I forget that I can read.”

Gillion;”I call upon the spell that is boss to give us that hot goss”

GODDD THE LORE IS SO LORING ITS SO LORE AGHHHHH

Gillion;”well…that is the most threatening thing I have ever read”

I love how Goobleck just…exists. And Grizzly just lets it happen ITS SO FUNNY

Gillion;”So not…good stuff”

Goobleck;”No very bad!”

Gillion;”…what.”

Gillion;”they all sound fucking COOL AS SHIT but I don’t know who they are :((“

Drey;”I honestly never believed in em’”

Gillion;”That’s my mom you’re talking about. Be nice.”

Gillion and Chip, fish n chips my absolute beloved <33

Ughh I missed these stupid pirates

[sitkowski]

remember us just like this forever ( jolly karlsson x nick folio )

pairing: jolly karlsson x nick folio cw: unless you’re against fluff, no warnings here. word count: 504 author's note: this is the lead in to the next longer riptide verse, a decidedly soft bit of something to hold over until i get a chance to get that one out (there are two shorter ones coming soon-ish!). i cannot get enough of writing these two. the title comes from "fake out" by fall out boy. divider by @saradika-graphics ✨

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || riptide verse masterpost

Jolly wakes Nick up at an ungodly hour. It’s still dark outside, and cold enough that he could see his breath if he could see anything at all. Still, he folds himself up in the passenger seat, lets Jolly press a Red Bull in his hands. He only drinks half of it before he’s nodding back off, head leaning against Jolly’s shoulder. He doesn’t sleep deeply, aware of the music on the radio, the sky brightening around them as Jolly drives. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, the other curled over Nick’s knee.

The sun has fully risen by the time that Jolly parks Nick’s truck and cuts the engine. Nick sits up, pushing down the hood of the hoodie that he’d comandeered from Jolly’s side of the closet before they left. It’s warmer now too, and he grabs his Red Bull from the cup holder and chugs the rest of it. The drive couldn’t have taken more than two hours. He opens his door, stepping out onto the familiar driveway.

The Hideaway looks different in the middle stages of fall than it did in the summertime. Leaves crunched beneath his shoes as he made his way down the path that led to the pier instead of going straight for the cabin. Jolly’s not far behind him, and when he reaches the edge of the water, he just stands there for a moment and takes it all in. When he leans back a little, Jolly’s right there, and he draps an arm around his chest, pulling him closer.

“I missed this place,” he says in his ear, and Nick smiles. “You think Rosa will just let us live here forever?”

It’s a tempting idea, but they have too much back home. Like the fact that they have friends and band obligations. “Maybe not forever, but we just played our last show for the rest of the year.”

“So you’re saying you’ll stay here with me until we have no choice but to go back?”

Nick knows it’s not that simple. The holidays will have them traveling again, but he counts the days between now and Thanksgiving, and he thinks that they can swing that. Apparently, Jolly had sweet talked Rosa into allowing them to have a standing reservation on the place. He likes the idea of being here, back where it started for the two of them only six months ago.

“What are you thinking about, pretty?” Jolly asks after it takes Nick too long to give him an answer.

Nick turns around, tipping his head back so he can meet Jolly’s gaze. He knows that he could deflect, say something cheesy or cliche. But all he thinks about is how much he loves him. “You do know that it’s going to take us another two hours to drive home and pack, right?”

“So you want to stay?”

“Yeah,” he nods and watches the way Jolly’s smile widens. Yeah, he’s stupidly in love. “I want to stay. As long as we can.”

⇉ taglist

@ladyveronikawrites @circle-with-me @deathblacksmoke @dominuslunae

@rumoured-whispers @cookiesupplier @kinseysucks @collapsedglasshouses

@thatchickwiththecamera @th4t-em0-k1d @blackveilomens @illmakeyousaywow

@malice-ov-mercy @itsjustforce @darksigns-exe @baddestomens

@collidewiththesavannah @sorrowsofsilence @fadingangelwisp

[bullet-prooflove]

Every Inch of You: Stuart Scola x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989@trublu2u@burningpeachpuppy@district447@stelacole

Little Changes - Stuart notices when you start to make little changes.

The Last Time - You and Stuart face a problem regarding your wish to start a family.

Fresh - You decide you need to start fresh.

Seduction (NSFW) - You decide to seduce Stuart.

Jack - Stuart discovers that he fathered a child with Nina.

This Ain't Goodbye - Stuart and you make the decision to divorce due to the revelation about his son.

Stuart hasn’t been with a woman since you. When you invite him up to your hotel room for a nightcap, he knows where this was leading and he was absolutely powerless to resist. Despite the fact you’re divorced, that you haven’t laid eyes on each other in two years, you’re the woman he’s so passionately in love with.

“I’ve missed every single inch of you.” He whispers against your skin as his fingers fumble with the buttons of your blouse. He feels like a teenager again, his hands trembling as he undresses you.

You’re still as beautiful as he remembers. Your skin glowing in the illumination from the bedside lamp, your hair spilling over your shoulders as you straddle his hips. The moment he enters you, the world stops and there is no other feeling than being with you right here, right now.

It’s the kiss that undoes him, it’s nothing more than a tender brush of the lips but it unleashes something inside of him, something wild, something unruly. His arm loops around your waist, gathering you close and you laugh as he flips you onto your back.

“This is what I’ve missed.” You tell him, your fingertips running over the line of his jaw. “The fact you get a little crazy when the two of us get naked.”

He guides your leg over his shoulder and the noise that emits from your throat, it ruins him.

“Christ, the things you do to me.” You whisper as he fucks you with long, hard thrusts that send you hurtling through the stratosphere. Your skin starts to flush, your moans turning into hitched cries as the ecstasy crashes through you like a wave, the riptide dragging you under.

You’re loud in the moment, completely uninhibited and this is what Stuart loves, the fact you are so unapologetically yourself. His mouth covers yours, drinking down your pleasure as you tighten around him. You grip him so impossibly tight that he hurtles over the edge with you, his release spilling deep.

The two of you stay tangled up in the aftermath, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek as he gazes into your eyes. There’s so much he wants to say but the words they won’t leave his mouth so he kisses you instead.

It’s when his sitter calls that the reality of his life comes crashing back in, shattering the bubble you’re in. It’s ten past ten he realises, he’s almost an hour late home.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay.” He tells you as he dresses hurriedly. “I only had the sitter until nine and I completely lost track of time.”

“I understand.” You say tiredly as you slip out from the sheets and head towards the bathroom. “Just make sure you lock the door on the way out.”

He hears the water running and that ache, it returns because he knows what this looks like, that he’s up to his old tricks, fucking and running, using his kid as an excuse not to stick around.

His phone chimes again, another text from his sitter, this time more urgent and he sighs as he runs his hand though his hair and raises to his feet. He lingers for a moment by the bathroom door, listening to the sound of the shower. He wants to tell you this is more than just a one night stand, that being with you has meant more than you can imagine.

But he doesn’t because he knows the proof is in his actions and right now Stuart has to leave.

Stuart? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[losingallchill]

here it’s always raining

pairing: chip/gillion genre: slight canon divergence warnings: riptide 98 spoilers , minor depiction of wounds wc: 2k

he didn’t really know when the situation got real for him. 

when it finally clicked in his brain that gillion was dying. 

his skin was flushed red, something that chip thought he’d never see, as the boy usually blushed a dark teal, and his veins ran with blue-toned blood. but as he lay back in the little sailboat that the three captains were sailing on, his breath rattling out of his chest, chip glanced at him with worry, his eyebrows set. 

gillion’s shirt had been open since they’d left zero, an easy way for chip or jay to check on his wounds, and make sure the cursed wounds scraped across gillion’s chest didn’t get any worse than they were right now. 

and every time chip looked at gillion, his breath threatened to catch in his throat, and guilt poured into his stomach, swimming around like unsettled nausea. knowing that whatever gillion was going through, it wouldn’t ever be enough for him to properly complain the way that he had the right to. 

the boy’s head was tipped back, his green and pink hair barely skimming the edge of the water. every breath he took, chip was worried it would be his last. his chest heaved up and down, and chip watched, his eyes trained on gillion, and gillion alone. 

at some point, maybe it was a couple hours, gillion’s head turned over to face chip, an exhausted, pained smile on his face. 

it made chip’s heart hurt. 

“i can feel your stare,” he stated, his bright eyes amused, if not still haunted. “you’ve been staring ever since we left. is it because i turned into a bird after you convinced me you were a bird and now you’re making sure i don’t do it again? ‘cause i really want to be a bird again.”

despite being pained out of his mind, gillion was still somewhat himself. chip felt his stomach settle as he grinned back, trying to mask his absurd amount of concern. “staring? me? at you? you’re flattering yourself here man. yeah, you may be dying-” and his voice caught slightly, and he really hoped gillion was too exhausted to care, “but i’ve got better things to do than to stare at you, totally.”

a lie. 

but gillion, if he did notice, didn’t comment on the way chip’s voice stumbled and broke, or the way that he so obviously lied directly to his face, only gave him a smile, that damn smile, the one that was supposed to reassure both him and jay, the one that told them that he was all right, but in reality he was dying and he was keeping it all to himself. 

“i just,” chip blew out a breath. “we’re just worried about you. i know it’s hard to believe, but we really need you. and we don’t really want you to die just yet. i’m sure jay would agree with me.”

she was close enough that she could hear them, and although jay was currently rowing like her life depended on it, her red-orange hair flowing in the wind, she managed to nod in agreement, even if gillion’s head was turned the other way.

“i’ll miss you both,” gillion said, and it was so quiet, chip almost missed it. 

“what dy’mean?” chip asked, rummaging in his bag for a fresh set of bandages. “mind if i–” he gestured towards gillion’s bloodied wounds, and gillion only nodded faintly, before continuing to speak. 

“when i die, i’ll miss you both,” he sighed, staring up at the sky. he’d become too exhausted to move this morning, and it sent a chill down chip’s spine.

they didn’t have a lot of time. 

but he needed to keep gillion’s spirits up. “when you die, what happens to that deal we made about your sister?” he asked, a grin lifting the edge of his mouth, as he carefully peeled away the wet bandages away from the still-bleeding wound. 

his fingers brushed against gillion’s skin and he winced as gillion gave a hiss of pain, almost flinching away from chip. 

whatever mood gillion was in seemed to shift suddenly, after processing chip’s joke, and he squinted at chip, attempting to sit up as best he could. “i changed my mind!” he said, stubbornly, his eyebrows furrowing. “i’m going to live.”

reaching around his back, chip carefully retied the bandages, tracing it lightly with the tip of his finger, so lightly that it barely ghosted the claw marks that were prevalent, even through the cloth. 

jay sat ahead of where the two were, rubbing her arms now, no longer rowing the boat. she must’ve gotten tired. and chip nodded to her. “is it my turn?”

“please, god-” she muttered in response, and switched spots with him. 

but gillion wasn’t finished yet. he kept going. “really i think this is the most - most special… thing that's ever happened to me. if it wasn’t for you two, i don’t know what i’d be doing right now. probably a lot more killing people.”

chip barked out a laugh as he grabbed the oars. “for what it’s worth, gil, you guys know that you're .. not just the best thing that happened to me, but maybe like .. sometimes it feels like the only good thing to happen to me. you know? the only thing that didn't get ripped away, tragically . for now.”

gillion fell silent for a second, and jay continued to look absentmindedly away into the distance, checking her navigation spyglass periodically, to ensure they were on the right track. 

“well you got- you got a lot going on for you, chip. i just think you're scared to see it sometimes.”

slowing his rowing, chip looked at gillion. “we’re not gonna let you die man.”

night fell quickly. and gillion refused to sleep, exhausted beyond belief, but still terrified of what lay before him. chip didn’t blame him. how could he? 

“you sleep first, jay.” chip said, casting a worried glance at gillion, who was staring up at the night sky. “i think you need it the second-most, seeing as it’s your home that we’re headed to right now.”

jay gave chip a tired grin, and punched his shoulder lightly. “i am.. i’m kind of scared,” she whispered, looking out onto the inky sea. “not scared, actually, just more.. anxious. i think the island will have changed, and i don’t know what to expect, other than my mother.”

“you've got us now.” chip rested his arm on her shoulder and stared out at the water with her. “and if things go south, we’ll run like hell and never look back.”

she was silent for a second before she leaned her head on the arm chip was resting on her shoulder. “is it bad if i want to look back? they're my family, still. even through all this.”

chip chewed on his bottom lip, watching the moon reflect over the sea. “no.. i mean, you’re askin’ me this? i’ve been looking for my family for years. i think i’d be a pretty big hypocrite if i told you not to feel connected to them.”

jay didn’t say anything else, but the two of them stood there for a moment longer, her head on his arm, and her hair brushed back. then she sighed, and lifted her head, giving him a little nod. “i’m sleeping then. wake me up in a couple hours, please. don’t stay up all night. we need you. now more than ever.”

“yeah. ‘course.”

she’d made a little makeshift bed, with her overcoat and stared at it for a second, before lying down, her head tucked onto her arms. 

chip patted her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “sleep well. for gillion’s sake.”

“i’ll try my best.”

the boy in question hadn’t moved from where he sat, his gaze focused on the moon. 

chip had suggested earlier for him to pray to lunadeyis, the only goddess that gillion had devoted his life to. and with his face illuminated by her glow, he definitely seemed to be taking him up on that offer. 

his eyes were closed, but chip knew he wasn’t asleep, and so he moved to sit next to him, careful in the way he touched the other boy, his shoulder gently brushing the other’s skin. 

carelessly, thoughtlessly intimate. 

but chip ignored the burning on his skin, and laid back with gillion. gillion’s eyes cracked open, and he turned his head, ever so slightly. 

“do you really think i’ll die?” he asked, his voice faint. barely above a whisper. 

and chip looked at gillion, feeling his heart burn. “if you do,” he whispered back, his ears burning with the preemptive embarrassment of his next words, “i’ll go to the afterlife and drag you back up myself. and i won’t look back until you’re up with me.” he cleared his throat. “with us.”

“i think you care too much to not look back for me,” gillion replied, quietly. the waves hitting the boat were louder than his voice. “you’d look back.”

“i’d drown the world for you,” chip said, looking up at the moon. “whatever she has to say about it can wait.”

there was an exhale, maybe a laugh, from gillion, as he looked up at the moon too. “she loves me, i’m sure of it.”

“she has a funny way of showing it.”

“like you could show it any better. this is all i’ve known.”

“are you challenging me, tidestrider?”

“so what if i am?”

and gillion looks so indescribable in the moonlight, like lunadeyis herself was shining down on him. and chip exhaled shakily, his eyes moving around gillion’s face, gillion’s face. 

“i don’t want to hurt you,” chip breathed, sitting himself up, finally, to face gillion. “i’m scared i’ll hurt you more.”

“i’ve been through worse,” gillion cracked a grin, a pained smile. “so just quit your talking and come prove yourself already. we’re wasting time here.”

chip would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so damn anxious. “so i can?” he clarified, one last time, taking in every feature of gillion’s face. 

gillion only leaned his head back and looked chip in the eyes, daringly. “don’t stop now, before you’ve even started.”

and fine, chip leaned over, one hand on the railing that gillion leaned up against, the other hand carefully at gillion’s side. and gillion couldn’t move very much, but he felt it, the ghost of gillion’s touch on his fingers, as he finally, finally kissed him. 

and he could feel gillion’s head tilt up to meet him, and chip closed his eyes, incredibly aware of how he was positioned, and thinking mostly about not wanting to make gillion hurt any more than he did. but gillion seemed to melt underneath him, and he tasted like the ocean, salty and sweet, and it reminded chip of home more than anything else. 

of course, now that they’d started, how could he stop?

eventually chip pulled away, examining gillion’s face, their noses almost touching. his eyes half lidded, gillion only stared up at him, looking at chip with an expression that threatened to shine down to his very core. and chip burned, his face glowing red. 

“i’m waiting for the part where the dream goes wrong,” breathed gillion, looking up at him. 

and chip smiled. he smiled and smiled. 

“well thank god you’re awake, aren’t you?”

“i don’t think you proved anything at all. i think i won.”

“what the hell? i definitely won that, i dunno what you’re talking about. there’s no winners in kissing but if there was, it was definitely me.”

“you’re gonna tell the injured and dying man that he just lost? when i’m at the end of my life, and about to- to walk down the tunnel into the light, and you’re gonna tell me that i lost?”

“you’re damn right i am! because i won! you know that bird you saw earlier? that was me!”

“what? wait what? wait say that again? no shot.”

[thekidonherownn]

I hate you for what you did (and I miss you like a little kid)- post tlo percabeth oneshot

The night of August 18th, camp half-blood was quiet. So quiet you could hear a pin drop. So quiet that it was scary, unsettling even: ‘cause camp never was and never had been quiet in the slightest, not until the night of August 18th, at least.

The campers and so the nymphs and dryads, even the birds up in the trees were silent, for one night only they all stood still: the adrenaline and hysteria from the victory of the battle of Manhattan was fading away, leaving behind only destruction, grief and loss.

Endless bunk beds remained empty, out of owners; the Apollo cabin was sad to look at: not a glowing ray of sunshine anymore: just dark and hollow. Nearly empty. Everyone understood that those missing souls deserved a little peace and quiet…even the chirping birds.

After the faint celebrations and laughs, after Clarisse and the others threw them in the lake, calm had settled…and that unescapable air of death had dawned onto the whole hill, brought by the night.

Annabeth was quiet too, laying still in her spot, her hair and clothes wet from the dunk in the lake, her lips salty from the kiss. Awake and mute: much like everyone else.

She’d dreamed of this night since the very first time she held her dagger: the time she was going to win, the one where she would get all the glory she deserved. Annabeth licked her lips again, balancing herself off the fact that they tasted like Percy’s…she got all the glory she wanted; she was a hero, she was a savior. Nothing could’ve prepared her for this moment, no fantasy of her child self could ever give her this emotion: Annabeth didn’t feel like a hero was supposed to, no, Annabeth felt like a murderer. She rubbed her palms on the sides of her shorts, still sensing the warm red blood that had stained them the same morning.

Luke’s blood. Luke’s blood all over Olympus, all over her clothes, all over her hands. She couldn’t seem to let go of the feeling of it, in the faint light of cabin six she could see they were clean and pristine, though it wasn’t enough. Annabeth wondered if she would feel it on her palms forever, if she would have to rip away her skin because of it.

She wondered if Percy felt it too. The blood on his hands. If he could see it splashed on the ground every time he closed his eyes. She ran her hands through her curls, trying to shake off the shivers that were running over her body: probably because she was soaking wet and hadn’t bothered changing into dry clothes, though Annabeth wasn’t sure that was the only reason.

He did it himself, Luke killed himself, she kept thinking, while asking herself if that really was the only possible option, after all. Maybe she could’ve saved him, maybe if she’d agreed to join him he would be well and alive now. No, you couldn’t- her own mind retorted to her thoughts, she tasted Percy’s lips again and shut her eyes close.

If she’d loved Luke like he wanted, maybe everyone would still be here…Annabeth’s brain reeled non-stop, endless scenarios started playing in her head; but the salt on her lips got stronger by the second, invading her own mind, Percy calming her with his memory.

It only had been a few hours since that underwater kiss, still she wanted more, Annabeth longed for the stinging salt on her lips: it almost made her forget about the burning sensation on her palms. As she put on her yankees cap and sprinted down to cabin 3, not a lot went through her head but the fact that she so desperately needed something to remind her that loving was worth it, that it didn’t always end up with blood stained blades.

The cabin’s front door easily opened, startling Percy in the process, who wasn’t asleep, like the rest of the campers. He sprinted to his feet, riptide in hand and eyes wide open, when he spot her standing she could see every piece of his body relax, he started whispering: “you-”

Annabeth, not wanting to break camp’s silence just yet, cupped both sides of his face and kissed him, quickly, a little awkwardly maybe…they still hadn’t discussed what they’re relationship was at, but their lips meeting again seemed right, even if it was shy and short, it was better than anything they’d ever felt before.

When she pulled away, their cheeks were flushed, it took Percy a few seconds to finish what he was saying: “...scared me, you scared me bad” his words were as low as possible, a little smile started growing on his lips.

“I’m sorry” was all she replied with, making herself at home and plopping her cap on the nightstand, "I'm sorry" she muttered again, more to herself this time, while tasting more salt on her lips. "I- " she tried to put it into words, and Percy said it for her:

"I know" he wore deep dark circles because of the insomnia and he kept his voice just a low breath, she knew he was trying to help out, but it somehow managed to make her even more anxious: she didn't want him to know. She'd hoped he wouldn't understand.

Percy put a firm hand on top of her shoulder, Annabeth noticed just now that she was still shivering from the cold and exhaustion, “do you want to um-” Percy sighed, preparing himself for what he was about to say:

“do you want to lay down?”

Those words hung up in the air for a few seconds too much, Annabeth had never been in cabin 3 this late at night, and even though technically they weren’t dating, it felt more than two best friends laying next to each other on a mattress…if you consider that the best friends in question enjoy kissing from time to time.

It was something they’d never done before, but just like the kissing part, it felt okay, it felt right. Annabeth didn’t say anything as she quietly plopped onto the right side of his bunk bed, he followed a moment later and laid next to her, pulled close by the small bed, their faces facing the ceiling.

She quickly discovered that the beds in cabin 3 were more comfortable than the ones in 6, laying on them was like being lulled by the warm waves of the night, whereas in the Athena cabin the bunks were lazily pressed to the walls, with hard and narrow mattresses…her mother’s message was clear: sleeping isn’t important.

His side pressed onto hers to fit on the bed, Percy’s body stiffened in awkwardness, but then quickly noticed that Annabeth wasn’t even noticing the closeness, she seemed to be on the lookout for something he couldn’t see, distracted by visions, she was rubbing her palms on her jeans as if her hands were really, really itchy.

With little thought, Percy grabbed her wrist, “don’t do that” he stated, his voice wasn’t mad, just concerned: her skin had a reddish color and looked irritated by the constant stress she was putting it in. Pushing through the embarrassment, he squeezed the hand in his, just to stop her from hurting it, Annabeth’s brain cleared out from the fog at his touch, she opened her mouth and quickly closed it again, realizing she didn’t have much to say. The silence was nice enough, why ruin it?

Percy might have thought the same, because they stayed quiet, the only sounds being the ones of their breaths itching close, him fidgeting with the covers with his free hand, confused on why she’d burst in at night with no explanation but, on the more honest side, not caring that much about it. She’d kissed him for three times, all in the same day, it was a win even bigger than the one they had in the morning.

That was when Percy’s brain clicked: Morning. War. Win. Luke. Shit.

He felt his heart drop to his stomach. She watched Luke die that morning, of course she was acting weird. Of course she couldn’t sleep like he couldn’t, of course he hadn’t thought about it because he was too busy noticing their arms slightly touching. Before he could even begin to figure out what to say, Annabeth talked for the first time in 30 minutes:

“I didn’t love him” she clarified, out loud, as if to get that out of the way: as if her bursting in and kissing him on the spot wasn’t enough. Annabeth shut her eyes, embarrassed by her own words, by her feelings, “but until he was alive some deep small part of me thought-” her voice quivered, she tightened her eyes shut trying to keep the tears in, Percy finally let go of their barrier and reached out to hug her close, she let him do it and pressed her face in the crook of his neck, silent tears started falling on his shirt, “I thought he could change” she mumbled, he whispered in her ear: “he did change” but Annabeth shook her head “he changed too late” her voice was becoming resentful, angry.

“I hate him so much, Percy” she sightly pulled away from his embrace, meeting his eyes and wiping away some tears, “I really do, but-” a deep sigh, “-but I also miss him” she covered her face with both her palms, trying to wipe away the sadness “I miss him more than I would like to, and there’s nothing I can do about it”

“but I don’t love him” she re-stated, Percy unconsciously took a sigh of relief, not really helping it, “that’s okay” he muttered, picking her hand once again, with their faces itching closer, she looked down at her tangled fingers…this wasn’t like her, going on talking about her issues and troubles: but this night, the night of August 18th, it was too much to bottle inside, she’d felt his death hover her, forbidding her to sleep.

Silence fell over them once again, Percy stared at her, the only light being the blue hue coming from the water fountain, her hair was still damp and she still had that warrior aura that had came over her that morning during battle…come to think of it, Annabeth always had it around her, to him, she was like one of those greek princesses that traveled with a dagger beneath their gown, only she wore it proudly on her belt; Percy’s throat dried up at the sight of her, from the fact that he could actually feel their hearts synchronize because of their closeness, he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to push away the nervousness.

Annabeth kept fidgeting with his hand, in her own way, she was avoiding his eyes, so he knew she must’ve been nervous too, feeling more secure of herself, lighter from the earlier confessions, she asked, out of the blue: “are we dating?” he wasn’t expecting her to ask, but instantly replied, with no hesitation whatsoever: “I hoped so” his tone was more fragile than Percy wanted it to be, he felt her squeeze his hand tighter, “good” she mumbled, a small smile appearing on her lips, the first of the night: “I think-” she got closer to look at him better and he mirrored her, finally meeting her yes, “-I think that’s the only thing I’m sure of right now” Annabeth finished, not letting go of his hand, her palms still red and scratched: only now she’d stopped sensing the blood on them.

Percy stopped in his tracks, thinking that it was a good place to start: being sure of what they were to each other after years of pining, they both stared into each other's eyes for a rough minute, Percy’s gaze casually slipping down to her lips eventually, Annabeth cleaned her throat after a while, “can I…can I spend the night?” she asked, trying to break through the quiet, he answered on the spot: “of course” he said, beginning to get up from his spot, “I can sleep on the other-” “Percy” she cut him off, her hand still grasping his, pulling him to her.

“oh. oh, of course” Percy mumbled under his breath, a deep blush spreading all over his face as he re-adjusted himself next to her, “I think we can sleep together” she went on, showing an amused grin at his reaction, “It’s not like we haven’t done it before” she whispered, draping an arm over him, sinking deeper into the covers, “we’re still best friends, after all”

Percy felt his chest warm at her words, when she finally laid her lips back on his, it was better than he could ever expect it to be: the awkwardness had melted away and the kiss was slow and laid back, when he pulled away he was more red than before, if that was even possible.

“best friends don’t do that” he mumbled under his breath, not breaking eye contact, Annabeth’s smile got wider “we do” she declared, Percy kissed her again, she pulled away almost laughing out of happiness, which to him felt like biggest win of all: considering how upset she’d come in, “thank you” she said, “for being there, you know” Annabeth’s face heated up, he kissed the top of the hand he was holding, “we’re best friends, after all”

She rolled her eyes at the mimicking, secretly flattered by his ability to remember every single one of her words, he went on: “we’ll get through this war” he sighed, “or better, the ending of this war” she hugged him and finished: “hopefully this time they’ll leave us alone”

Something tingled at the back of Percy’s brain, deep down, he knew that wouldn’t have been the case, they both did. But this wasn't the time to worry about it, they needed their time to heal: the new prophecy had to wait. He took a final deep sigh before drifting off to sleep: “hopefully”.

[bu-blegh-ost]

The tragedy of Riptide Pirates is not about them not being loved in the past. It's about them being loved and loving others in return, and having it snatched away.

This vicious cycle Has always been a basis of Chip's life. He was born with nothing and Had nothing, and suddenly he met a pirate and he Had everything. And when the times of hardships came, life couldn't just take away a little bit. It took everything and threw Chip back where he started. And from then on he thought he found a new home, new family and new love, but the love turned sour and Chip Had to learn very quickly that not all people who tell you they love you, mean it. And so his love was betrayed, illusion taken away. And Chip decided that from now on he will never let anyone take advantage of his love. That he will never try again. But he did.

Jay had always felt like the older she gets, the less love she feels towards her family. It was not an abrupt process, like Chip's, but a steady one, one you could almost miss, but the moment you turn back around there is just a little less of it, and you're forced to see it dwindling everyday and you can do nothing about it. At certain point her father feels like a stranger, and the only two people on this planet that she is still not afraid to love are Ava and her mother. And then Ava is gone. The love that Jay thought could never been taken away, vanished in an instant, and from that time on, she understood the difference between helplessly watching something fall Apart for years and having something ripped away suddenly, with a gaping hole left when love used to be. She still doesn't really know which one is worse. But she knows that she cannot lose again. She just can't. She won't be able to take it. And yet, she reached out for it again all the same.

Gillion always thought that love could be won. That if he tries hard enough, works hard enough, if he acts different enough, if he changes enough about himself to be lovable, then he could have it. But no matter how hard he tried, he was always not enough for this love. He would always fail and be forced to think that it's his fault. To be loved, he thought, you have to earn it. Because the moment you are not useful enough, there is no reason to keep you around anymore. So Gillion made sure to always be useful, to always give more than he can give. The only person that loved him regardless of anything was Edyn. But this love was taken away too. It was not really abrupt, but not necessairly steady. It was chaotic in a sense. It was never knowing when will be the next time she visits, always worried, that maybe this time she got tired of him too, only to have her finally, for just one more hour, just a little bit more, before she is forced away, and the world becomes empty again. And the older he got the longer he Had to wait, until one day, he wasn't useful anymore. And whatever love there was left was snatched away as well. Gillion felt like he never really got to learn what love was truly about. Whatever it was, he knew he was chasing it, but now as he lays in the middle of the ocean with nowhere to go, he thinks that maybe he should stop chasing. And even so, when a warm hand reaches out to him, a hand just as bruised and unsure like his own, a hand that offers love, Gillion can't help but try to reach again.

All the Riptide Pirates are afraid to love, because love is loss, and they don't know if they're strong enough to lose again. But they still want it more than they are afraid.

And so Chip finds love. And Jay finds love. And Gillion finds love. They find it in each other. They find it and keep it close, and they know that they may lose it again. But they're still going to try, for each other.

Because they know that it's worth it.

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 3 - Post #6: You can find me in the Club

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 3.5K (of 45K total in Volume 3)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

__________________________________________

VI. Gwellis Bagnoro is waiting for you near the front of the club and waves you over. Neon Dreams. Good name for a nightclub in Daiyu City. 

It’s a clusterfuck inside. This dark, cavernous warehouse that looks like it might have been some kind of industrial factory in a previous life. 

Despite the crush, everyone steps aside to give Mando a path without looking up from their drinks. 

Must be nice. 

You, on the other hand, have to quickstep to follow in his wake before the press of bodies can drag you away like a riptide into this sea of black silhouettes and glitter.

“Gwellis,” is the extent of the Mandalorian’s greeting. He tosses the cloak over his shoulder so his holster remains within reach before sliding into the booth and making sure he had a clear line of sight toward the entrance. 

Once again, there’s only one way in or out of this establishment. Why did no one in this godsforsaken town worry about safe and unobstructed exit routes? 

A server soon arrives with a bottle of cloudy liquor and three glasses. He gives the Mandalorian a sly wink before heading back to the bar. Because no one in this galaxy is immune to a six-foot-three hunk of muscle in shining Beskar armor, ladies and gentlemen.

Gwellis uses a vocoder, so you’ll actually be able to keep up with this conversation. If you don’t go deaf from the throbbing bass coming through the club’s sound system. It’s clear why this place is popular with folks engaged in the...clandestine economy. Unlike the cosmopolitan nightclubs of the Inner Rim, there are no elevated lounges or platforms for elite clientele to preen and exhibit. Visibility is terrible, and you can’t hear a fucking thing. 

“Mandalorian, I am glad we can do business.”

Gwellis helps himself to the liquor and pours you a drink. A thoughtful gesture considering the Onodone immediately pulls his trunk up from his lap and drops it down the neck of the bottle to suck up the remaining liquid inside. You’re kind of a lightweight, so you decide to sip yours. And, of course, Mando’s glass goes untouched.

Having sucked the bottle dry, Gwellis gets down to business. From beneath his robes, he pulls out a data-pad and scrolls over the screen. “I was surprised to receive this commission. Disguise is not the way of a Mandalorian.”

“It’s not for a job,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “My friend, she needs some new identification. ID, chaincode, and an implant.”

Gwellis studies you and taps something into the data-pad. “A war orphan from Saleucami, I think. Gone missing amidst the rubble from the siege.”

Fuck. Tragic but very plausible. You nod.

“Can you pass for human?”

When you nod again, Mando fixes his view plate on you. It was a subtle turn of his head, and someone who didn’t know him well wouldn’t have caught the shift in his attention. But you do.

“Good. Human will be easier.”   

Gwellis regards you for a moment before launching into an incomprehensible stream of noises. The vocoder stays silent, so the high-pitched clicks and whistles are for the Mandalorian’s ears only.

“He says it’ll cost you fifty thousand credits.”

Shit! With Vos’ reward, you can afford it, sure, but that’s a lot of fucking money. And the fact that it’s exactly the same amount you just received from Vos feels like a weird fucking coincidence. 

Dammit, you had planned to save at least ten thousand of that for jewelry. Why must all your victories be so fleeting? 

“Arrive at my ship on the twenty-seventh hour.”

You finish your drink in one gulp as you watch the Onodone disappear back into the crowd. 

“I told you it wasn’t going to be cheap,” Mando says evenly. 

“You didn’t kick him under the table, so I’m sure it’s a fair price.”

“We’ll use funds for the job to cover it.”

“No, that’s okay. I know Nito needs money to buy some gear, and we should probably save the rest for Ubaa’s crew and payoffs.” You take a deep sigh. “Plus, it’s a good investment for me now anyway.” 

The Mandalorian pauses to take in your expression. Which must be challenging given how little of your face is visible with the hood and visor on.

“Don’t think it’ll withstand a serious background check, but you could probably get a straight job after this.”

After this? Working with Mando, life had been unfolding one day at a time. You hadn’t put much thought into the future. Yet here he was, anticipating the day you’d finally ‘come to your senses’ and choose safe, civilian life. It’s hard to believe that could be a possibility. 

“I already have a job,” you say wryly. 

Whatever he might think, right now, you’re not ready to imagine a life without him.   

“But, thank you. I’m relieved to have this kind of cover. I didn’t know anyone who could do this for me when I went underground. I mean…I knew that I must have ended up in some database…But, kriffing hell, it took months to coordinate our clinic deliveries. And yet the New Republic can just drop whatever they’re doing to run a cross-check?”

“Are you just now realizing how they hold this galaxy together?” He scoffed. “Surveillance and security is what they’ve got to offer.”

“Mando…that’s a shockingly pointed bit of social criticism. I didn’t take you for a revolutionary.”

“I’m not. But I’m also not blind to how this all works.” There’s a subtle switch in mood before he rests an elbow on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

“Um, sure. Yeah. I’d like to resume normal adult conversation.”

He sighs roughly and tosses his head.

“You know you’re not getting the deposit back for that room, Mando.”

You catch him mumbling something about cheap drywall and try not to snicker. While it’s absolutely ridiculous behavior for a grown man to punch holes in the wall…you can understand that Mandalorian warrior culture probably doesn’t impart a lot of wisdom about dealing with complex emotions like guilt and shame. 

And hell, this is coming from a woman whose coping response was to cry and masturbate in the shower, so who are you to judge?

You lean in over the table to hear him better, “What did you want to ask me?”

“How are you planning to pass for human?” 

You try not to blush when he leans closer, too, and you sit huddled together with your knees touching under the table.

“If I remove the reflective tissue from my eyes…that’s really the only visible difference.”

“Remove? How?”

“Do you want me to go into detail? Most people get the heebie-jeebies thinking about cutting—”

“Alright, fine.” He holds up a hand to stop you. “If it’s that simple, why didn’t…sorry, maybe that’s not something you want to talk about.”

“No, no! I’m never going discourage you from taking an interest in me,” you grin. Then, sigh. It’s a deeply personal topic to get into while trying to shout over a bass system. “I’ve probably been holding onto this delusion that someday I’d get to go back home. But there’s…not really anything to go back to…”

“What about your family? Your brother?”

That’s another topic you’re not prepared to get into at Neon Dreams, so you just shake your head no. 

“There’s nobody waiting for me—well, no one who’s waiting to welcome me back.” 

“Could you…reverse it?” Mando asks in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Make the tissue regrow?”

“Maybe,” you smile at him sheepishly.

“I’m sorry you have to do this, Thuli, and that it feels like you’re losing a part of yourself,” he places a gloved hand over yours to stop you from twisting your fingers into knots. “But, it’s the right choice. The smart choice.”  

Is this what Mando told himself when he swore the Creed? He took so much pride in being Mandalorian…had it been an easy decision for him to leave the life and dreams of that little boy behind. Your heart clenches in your chest, overwhelmed with this realization of your shared loss. 

Is that why you don’t want to give up on him? Because you’re hoping that mending his heart will somehow make yours whole again? Wouldn’t that be nice…

“Didn’t think this would be your scene, Mando.” You attempt a coy tone to lighten the mood and change the subject. Not too coy, though. You’re afraid to flirt with him that openly after all your talk about respecting boundaries. “Are we about to embark on a wild night of partying without the kids?”

Even though he hasn’t had anything to drink, Mando does seem more relaxed despite the chaotic surroundings. He extends an arm across the back of the booth and stretches his legs out under the table, crossing them at the ankle. Of course, he’s even sexier in this casual, languid pose.    

“We have three hours to kill. I’m getting comfortable.” He nods behind you towards the back of the club, where the pulsing vibrations emanate. “Knock yourself out.”

You look over at the dance floor, where shimmering neon incandescence rains down on the revelers below. It looks fun, actually. Like the kind of place you’d go to on leave with some of your fellow medics. Get drunk, dance, sing badly, find someone to bring home for the night, and forget the brutality and brushes with death for a night.

“Do you like dancing?” You ask on a whim. “Or, do Mandalorians not dance?”

“After game hunting, there is usually a…ceremony.”

“Ah, so liturgical dance!” Your eyes go wide. “Hmmmm, I don’t think the DJ plays Mandalorian chants. Guess I’m on my own.” 

“You like this kinda of place?” He asks, sounding almost disdainful. Good. It’s easier to maintain the distance between you when you’re reminded that despite some shared trauma, your personalities are still galaxies apart.

“Yeah,” you grin defiantly. “You don’t have to be some club kid to enjoy the distraction of getting drunk and rubbing up against beautiful strangers. It's a good way to wash the taste of war out of your mouth.”   

“I can understand that,” he says earnestly. 

And you begin to wonder what, exactly, does a Mandalorian do to decompress? 

You’ve known some elite soldiers, and their work always burned holes into them—which needed to be filled. Sometimes, they’d filled those holes in their hearts with you. But that wasn’t the case for Mando. Ditto on drinking, drugs, and dancing, apparently.     

“So you don’t go clubbing. What’s something you do do for fun? 

“Fun?”

“Yes. There’s a word for it in Mando’a. Nuhur? Good times? So I know Mandalorians are familiar with the concept.” He sighs as though you’ve asked him to perform long division. “You love throwing knives, isn’t that a Mandalorian game?”

He laughs—an actual, audible laugh. “When did you learn Mando’a?”

“We spend literally days at a time in hyperspace.”

“And this is what you do when you aren’t playing cards with Nito?” 

“Yes. I read. I learn things.” Lately, you’ve become particularly interested in researching Mandalorian mating customs. “Don’t you want the kid to know your culture?” 

“He’s a foundling, and I’m in his debt for saving me from the Mudhorn. My duty, by Creed, is to protect him. But this is no life for a child. Once it’s safe, I’ll find a real home for him.”

“Home is who you make it with, not where.” Whether he admits it or not, Mando loves that kid like a father, and you’re not going to let him just dismiss the depth of that relationship. “You seem pretty real to me.”

“What made you leave?” 

“Huh?”

“What made you leave Hapes?” 

Dammit, he’s too good at catching you off guard with these probing questions. You reach for an easy answer, but when you begin to respond, he cuts you off with a raised hand. “I know you ran away to join the Rebellion. That’s not the whole story. Not with the home you left behind.”

“Everyone expects life inside a royal palace to be so glamorous, but it is, above all else, exceedingly tedious.”

“Getting attacked by lions is tedious?”

Wow. You hadn’t expected him to acknowledge that conversation at all, given what happened afterward.

“Can I ask you about one of your scars?” You look up at him timidly. “Like how you got that one on your calf?”

It was a jagged white thunderbolt running from his heel to the back of his knee. 

“I killed an Altagak. At the time, our Covert was located on Altora. They can consume entire herds—and villages. The locals asked us to rid them of the beast. The scar running along my calf is from its tusk.”

“How old were you?”

“I was fourteen. It was…an important trial for me.” 

“I imagine it's hard?” You grimace, “to kill an Altagak? It’s an apex predator.”

“With tusks,” Mando nods. Which surprises you to a huff of laughter. He’s getting better at making jokes.

“You’re lucky it didn’t cripple you.”

“Lucky I wasn’t gored. Not everyone survived.”

You raise your glass and arch an eyebrow, “Thank the gods for skilled healers.”

“Hmmmm,” his exhalation hums through the modulator. “It’s always impressive how effortlessly you manage to avoid answering my questions.” 

Mando’s tone starts off playful when suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see his body retract sharply. His elbows come to rest on his knees as though he’s poised to launch himself out of the booth. 

You look around to see a tall, stormy blue Twi’lek approaching your table, a gigantic grin spread across his face. The Mandalorian is a formidable warrior, but this guy could give him a run for his money—he’s big and broad, his tattoed arms clearly toned with use.

“Mando,” the Twi’lek places a hand on the Mandalorian’s shoulder. “It is you!” 

“Bril,” Mando sighs in exasperation but extends himself to clasp the man’s outstretched forearm in the most congenial gesture you’ve ever witnessed from the bounty hunter. “It’s been a while.” 

You can’t be sure if they’re friends, but Bril is at least confident he’s not about to be stabbed because he slides amicably into the booth next to Mando. 

“Your new business partner?” He winks at you, and before you can stop yourself, you smile back.

“Something like that,” the Mandalorian mutters. 

“You did always have a thing for the bad girls, Mando.”

Behind Bril is his female Twi’lek companion. She is stunningly beautiful.

Literally, you feel your breath catch in your throat when your eyes meet. Her skin is the color of sea coral, and she had adorned her lekku in gold thread, woven with gemstones, beads, and pearls, all braided through her golden headband. She takes a seat on the stool next to Bril, directly across the table from you, and you try your best not to gawk. 

Bril waves over a droid with another bottle of liquor. You probably shouldn’t look wasted in the photos for your forged identification, so you’re taking it slow. But whatever this beverage is, it’s pretty strong, and you definitely feel its effects.

“Thought you left all this behind, Mando? Working for the Guild. Keeping your hands clean,” the Twi’lek says conversationally, placing a hand on his companion’s thigh. “But, I still hear things.” 

While the Mandalorian doesn’t elaborate, Bril’s good spirit remains undeterred. You get the sense that they might, in fact, be friends. At least this is the first person you’ve met who wasn’t harboring some underlying hostility towards him.

It’s a tantalizing prospect. Maybe you’ll get to learn a little bit more about Mand—

“Like that shit with Ranzar. Handing your ex over to the feds, Mando? That’s cold even for you.”

Wait, what?

That, right there, how you nearly snap your neck from the speed with which you turn to look at Mando, is proof enough that you’ll never be able to play it cool with him. 

“I did what I had to,” the Mandalorian says smoothly without looking at you—or he could be staring you full in the face. How the fuck would you even know?

“Don’t you always,” Bril laughs and shakes his head. “Did you buy the fancy armor with Xi’an’s bounty? Didn’t think she’d fetch that much.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

You down your drink in one gulp and pour another in the hopes that you’ll be less visibly tense over this discovery if you’re drunk. For fucksake you are nearly trembling with shock. Breathe. You gotta slow your breathing. 

Ugh, you might throw up. 

Please, please, dear goddess, have mercy on me and prevent me from dissolving into a panic attack in front of all these people!  Okay, you’re tearing up a little bit, but no one can see behind your visor. 

Every muscle in your body is rigid. You can sense Bril’s companion watching you with concern.  

“I didn’t think Mandalorians coupled,” she purrs in a low voice. 

Yeah, neither did you. 

What is this bizarre weight settling onto your chest? The crush of rejection. And betrayal. 

As though he’s deceived you somehow? Because all this time, you’ve been telling yourself that this barrier between you is because the Mandalorian can’t be intimate—with anyone. That it's forbidden. And now you know that isn’t true. He just doesn’t want to be intimate with you. 

You always did like the bad girls, Mando.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. All your smirks and winks and stupid flirting…and all he wanted was some stone-cold bitch. Like Morrigan. 

That figures. Ironic. Just the completely exact opposite personality traits, contrary to the foundational core of your being. You couldn't even be her if you tried.

Gods, you are such an idiot. Throwing yourself at him. You fucking climbed on top of him! Ugh, the shame is so intense you can taste the bile roiling up your throat.  

Bril guffaws, and you're shocked to see him actually nudge the bounty hunter with his elbow. “Your armor doesn’t include a codpiece, does it, Mando?” 

It’s an objectively funny joke, and you’d love to smile away the devastation that’s probably written all over your face, but you refrain from laughing out of misplaced loyalty. 

“I’m here running Spice, of course.” Bril stops howling long enough to resume polite conversation. “You looking for work? I can always stand to elevate my game with a warrior of your caliber, Mando.”  

He'd said, "It wasn't just you" out of...pity? Did he feel sorry for you pathetically thirsting after him?

Aaaaaaaaah, that means you've been this creeper, sexually harassing him for the past how many months now?!

While you desperately search your brain to determine the exact moment in time when you started brazenly flirting with the Mandalorian, Bril’s companion moves around the table to crouch down next to you.

“Hey,” she looks up at you through her long, dark lashes. “Do you like MARTINE?”

“W-w-what?!” You stutter, surprised out of your shame spiral by the unexpected question. “Um, yeah. Of course. I lost my virginity listening to their second album.”

Fuck...you are such a stupid idiot. You really convinced yourself that Mando was a virgin.

“They're here–in the VIP lounge.”

“Seriously?! Like…performing?” 

“Yeah, I guess it’s their cousin’s birthday party or something.”

You crane your neck to see if you can spot a VIP section. 

“Let’s leave the boys to catch up,” she says, slipping her hand into yours. 

“Okay,” you whisper, and without a single glance at Mando, you slip off your jacket and let her pull you away from the table.  

“This is such a sleazy ploy, but if we cause a stir, I think we can get the bouncer to let us in. Are you up for for it?”

Leading you across the room and past the bar, you're pulled underneath the showering lights of the dance floor. She moves with the artful grace of a trained professional, and from the way she looks in her catsuit, she just might be.

Everybody’s watching her dance, but she only has eyes for you.

It’s suddenly very important that she knows how amazing your hair is, so you release it from your hood and run your fingers through its length to shake it out until it cascades in pearlescent sheets around your hips. 

You still can’t hear a fucking thing, but you read her lips, exclaiming how much she loves it. She catches a strand in her outstretched fingers to trace its length. Her hand comes up again to tuck it behind your ear before tilting her head and leaning in slowly. Fixing you with her aquamarine eyes, she places a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Wait. This isn’t just to get Bril gassed up, right?”

“What? Fuck, Bril. He’s not gonna get us past that bouncer.”

As you both continue dancing, intertwined, her hands trace over your waist and around the edges of your ribcage before grabbing the full swell of your breasts and squeezing. You gasp, but she catches it from your mouth with slow, languorous kisses. Her lips are full and soft. 

You realize that even if this is some elaborate performance for Bril, you don’t care. A deeply lonely place in your heart needs this kind of tenderness and attention. It feels good to be desired after the sting of...whatever it is you’re feeling about Mando. 

You wrap your arms around the small of her back and lean into her kisses. The drumbeat picks up, and your knees and hips begin to bob in time with the music. You jump and swivel, swinging your hips and pumping your arms until you're gasping. It felt so ecstatic to release this toxic energy from your body with each breath and drop of sweat.

Both of you keep moving through this endless cycle of dancing, laughter, and kisses while the crowd around you sways and rocks.

“Do you want to try to sneak in?” She asks with an excited gleam in her eye.

**************************

Continue reading, Volume 3 - Post #7: Counteroffer

Back to Volume 3 - all posts

[trinity-mia]

a story as endless as the ocean

the titan's curse

0.1 a sense of foreboding

warnings : cussing, a mrs. claus outfit, an unending sense of dread... i don't think there was anything else this chapter

word count : 3.4k

0.1 Something Tells Me This Isn't Going to End Well

I hadn’t wanted to leave Camp Half-Blood once I went back after my almost-deadly night out. Luke didn’t want me out of his sight, either. Unfortunately, I’d made some prior commitments and needed to grace the cover of Vogue for the I-don’t-even-know-how-many-ith time. 

That's how I ended up wearing a stereotypical, close-to-slutty Mrs. Claus outfit and in a limo with Luke, Thalia, and Brylie going to a boarding school. It was an eight-hour drive from Manhattan to Bar Harbour and we all hadn't spoken together for about two weeks, considering I'd been very busy, but even still, we hardly talked on the way there. 

Part of that was because we didn't want to have our usual conversations in front of Bry, and the other part was because the task we were about to have to partake in kept us quiet. Plus, the blizzard was giving us another worry, considering if we ran off the road, it wouldn't be too good for us. 

I’d spent most of the drive trying to figure out the lyrics to the song that had driven me to drink two weeks prior, to no avail. Everytime I hit a wall in my mind I scowled at nothing in front of me. 

Finally, Garrett, my personal chauffeur, pulled up to Westover Hall, the boarding school we needed to be at. He stopped the car and while we waited for him to walk around and open the door, Thalia wiped off the fog from one of the windows and peered outside. "Oh, yeah. This is gonna be fun."

"Why do I feel like this is where Bill Belichick lives?" I joked. I saw Luke give me a grin, but Thalia, who was still adjusting to being alive again, hadn't really heard of the Patriot's past football dynasty and the jokes that came with it.

Westover Hall looked like an evil knight's castle. It was all black stone, with towers and slit windows and a big set of wooden double doors. It stood on a snowy cliff overlooking this big frosty forest on one side and the gray churning ocean on the other. Essentially, where a non-patriots fan assumed Bill Belichick lived.

"Thanks for the ride, Gare," I said, as we climbed out. He grabbed our respective bags and handed them to us. 

"Of course, Miss Jackson. Are you sure you don't want me to stay? I'd be happy to wait while you all go in."

"No, thank you. We have another way back." Truthfully, we didn't, but I figured it wouldn't be too difficult to find one. I didn't notice until Luke pushed my hand down, but I'd been fiddling with Riptide in necklace form. 

"Alright. Do call if you need me."

"I will." And with that, he got back in the warm limo and carefully drove off. 

The Mrs. Claus outfit did little to save me from the elements. Despite the long boots covering most of my legs, the piercing wind settled into my veins due to not having long sleeves. 

Without a word, Luke shrugged off his coat and settled it over my shoulders. He hardly even spared me a second glance, making the move as though it was second nature. As though he hadn’t even thought it through before doing it. I opened my mouth to argue, claim he needed the warmth of his own jacket, but before I could, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, securing his jacket in place, and using the leverage to move the two of us quickly toward the large set of doors. 

"I wonder what he found here that made him send the distress call," Brylie said timidly from behind Luke and I. 

I stared up at the dark towers of Westover Hall, a sense of foreboding settling over my bones. 

"Nothing good," Luke guessed from beside me.

Thalia and I shot him exasperated looks as Brylie's face grew fearful. She was fourteen, almost fifteen, but she'd had a very rough childhood, so many things scared her. It was a wonder she asked to go with us, much less be given permission. 

The oak doors groaned open and we walked in with a dramatic flurry of snow following behind us. The place was huge. The walls were lined with battle flags and weapon displays: antique rifles, battle axes, and a bunch of other stuff. I mean, I knew Westover was a military school and all, but the decorations seemed like overkill. Literally.

My hands went immediately to my weapons; my left to Shaker in bracelet form on my right wrist and my right hand to Riptide in necklace form around my neck. I could already sense something wrong in this place. Something dangerous. Thalia was rubbing her silver bracelet, her favorite magic item. I knew we were thinking the same thing. A fight was coming. 

Luke started to say, "I wonder where—" The doors slammed shut behind us. 

"Okay," I mumbled. "Guess we'll stay awhile."

I could hear music echoing from the other end of the hall. It sounded like dance music.

We stashed our overnight bags behind a pillar and started down the hall. We hadn't gone very far when I heard footsteps on the stone floor, and a man and woman marched out of the shadows to intercept us. 

They both had short gray hair and black military-style uniforms with red trim. The woman had a wispy mustache, and the guy was clean-shaven, which seemed kind of backward to me. They both walked stiffly, like they had broomsticks taped to their spines. 

"Well?" the woman demanded. "What are you doing here?"

I shot Luke a pointed look, silently demanding him to use his Hermes-acquired lying skills to get us out of this. Thankfully, he understood, if the wink he gave me was any indicator. 

"Ma'am," he began in a soothing way that allowed him to lie so easily, "we were just—"

"Ha!" The man snapped, which made the four of us jump. "Visitors are not allowed at the dance! You shall be eee-jected!"

He had an accent-most likely French. While I was learning French, my teachers had me saying most of the words with the letter 'j' in them like that, at least. His nostrils flared when he spoke and he had two different colored eyes: one brown and one blue— like an alley cat's. 

Finally, knowing we wouldn't be getting out of this without doing it, I stepped forward and snapped my fingers. The sound came out sharp and loud, signaling that I'd done it right, and a gust of wind rippled from my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thalia smirk and Luke giving me a confused look. 

"But, sir," I started, "we aren't visitors. We go to school here. Remember? I'm Allie and that's Thalia, Luke, and Brylie. We're in the eighth grade."

My lie wasn't remotely believable, but unless they were monsters, they'd believe it. 

The man narrowed his two-colored eyes, but he seemed to be hesitating. He looked at his colleague. "Ms. Gottschalk, do you know these students?" 

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. A teacher named Got Chalk? He had to be kidding. The woman blinked, like someone had just woken her up from a trance. 

"I... yes. I believe I do, sir." She frowned at us. "Allie. Thalia. Luke. Brylie. What are you doing away from the gymnasium?" 

Before we could answer, I heard more footsteps, and Grover ran up, breathless. "You made it! You—"

He stopped short when he saw the teachers. "Oh, Mrs. Gottschalk. Dr. Thorn! I, uh—"

"What is it, Mr. Underwood?" said the man. His tone made it clear that he detested Grover. "What do you mean, they made it? These students live here."

Grover swallowed. "Yes, sir. Of course, Dr. Thorn. I just meant, I'm so glad they made... the punch for the dance! The punch is great. And they made it!"

Dr. Thorn glared at us. He looked like he wanted to pitch us off the castle's highest tower, but then Mrs. Gottschalk said dreamily, "Yes, the punch is excellent. Now run along, all of you. You are not to leave the gymnasium again!"

We didn't wait to be told twice. We left with a lot of "Yes, ma'ams" and "Yes, sirs" and a couple of salutes, just because it seemed like the thing to do.

Grover hustled us down the corridor, probably to where the gymnasium was. Thalia moved closer to me.

"I still don't know how you do it," she muttered. "Chiron started teaching me once I came back to life, but I haven't been able to get the hang of it."

"I don't really know. It took me like a year and a half to get it perfect, though. I'm sure you'll get the hang of it. You've only been back for less than five months," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. 

"That's true," she said and threw her arm around me, the two of us leading, even though neither of us knew where we were going. 

I don't think Luke knew how to feel about the two of us being super close. I know he'd told me last summer that if the two of us met, we'd either be best friends or enemies. We didn't really know how to feel about each other at first, especially considering the campers still looked to me as the leader, which Thalia, I knew, wasn't used to. It irritated her, sometimes and it would only worsen whenever people would whisper about her being the backup plan, but after I'd stuck up for her and almost drowned a few guys who were saying that, we became two peas in a pod. 

We would spend a lot of nights in one of our cabins and just talk. We would gang up on Luke, which he acted like he didn't like, but I think he was glad we were getting along. And we'd laugh about his siblings calling him a suicidal idiot for befriending possibly the two most powerful demigods in many years. 

I snapped out of my wandering thoughts when we arrived at a door that had GYM written on the glass. Even with my dyslexia, I could read that much.

"That was close!" Grover exclaimed. "Thank the gods you got here!"

Thalia and I both hugged Grover and Luke gave him one of those bro-fist-bumps.

It was good to see him after so many months. He'd gotten a little taller and had sprouted a few more whiskers, but otherwise, he looked like he always did when he passed for human— a red cap on his curly brown hair to hide his goat horns, baggy jeans and sneakers with fake feet to hide his furry legs and hooves. He was wearing a black T-shirt that took me a few seconds to read. It said WESTOVER HALL: GRUNT. I wasn't sure whether that was, like, Grover's rank or maybe just the school motto.

"So what's the emergency?" I asked, feeling very ready to get out of there and change as soon as possible.

Grover took a deep breath. "I found two."

"Two half-bloods?" Thalia asked, amazed. "Here?"

Grover nodded.

Finding one half-blood was rare enough. This year, Chiron had put the satyrs on emergency overtime and sent them all over the country, scouring schools from fourth grade through high school for possible recruits. These were desperate times. We were losing campers. We needed all the new fighters we could find. The problem was, there just weren't that many demigods out there, and we couldn't exactly recruit three-year-olds to the cause.

"A brother and a sister," Grover told us, shifting nervously. "They're ten and twelve. I don't know their parentage, but they're strong. We're running out of time, though. I need help."

"Monsters?" I asked.

"One." Grover looked nervous. "He suspects. I don't think he's positive yet, but this is the last day of term. I'm sure he won't let them leave campus without finding out. It may be our last chance! Every time I try to get close to them, he's always there, blocking me. I don't know what to do!"

Grover shifted his gaze from Thalia to me multiple times, frantically. 

"Right," Thalia nodded, planting her hands on her hips. "These half-bloods are at the dance?"

Grover nodded.

"Then let's dance," I shrugged.

"Okay, Miss Broadway Star, just because you're a dancer and cheerleader and what-the-hell-ever—" Thalia started. 

"Who's the monster?" Brylie asked, her voice coming out small.  

"Oh," Grover said, and looked around nervously. "You just met him. The vice-principal, Dr. Thorn." 

Weird thing about military schools: the kids go absolutely nuts when there's a special event and they get to be out of uniform. I guess it's because everything's so strict the rest of the time, they feel like they've got to overcompensate or something. At the very least, I knew I wouldn't be super out of place in a bright red leather and latex Santa minidress. Only slightly.

There were black and red balloons all over the gym floor, and guys were kicking them in each other's faces, or trying to strangle each other with the crepe-paper streamers taped to the walls. Girls moved around in football huddles, the way they always do, wearing lots of makeup and spaghetti-strap tops and brightly colored pants and high heels. Every once in a while they'd surround some poor guy like a pack of piranhas, shrieking and giggling, and when they finally moved on, the guy would have ribbons in his hair and a bunch of lipstick graffiti all over his face. 

Some of the older guys looked more like Luke— uncomfortable, hanging out at the edges of the gym and trying to hide, like any minute they might have to fight for their lives. Of course, in our case, it was true... 

"There they are." Grover nodded toward a couple of younger kids arguing in the bleachers. "Bianca and Nico di Angelo." 

The girl wore a floppy green cap, like she was trying to hide her face. The boy was obviously her little brother. They both had dark silky hair and olive skin, and they used their hands a lot as they talked. The boy was shuffling some kind of trading cards. His sister seemed to be scolding him about something. She kept looking around like she sensed something was wrong. 

"They don't... you haven't told them, right?" Luke asked.

"You know how it is; That could put them in more danger. Once they realize who they are, their scent becomes stronger."

He looked at me, and I nodded. I'd never really understood what half-bloods "smell" like to monsters and satyrs, but I knew that your scent could get you killed. And the more powerful a demigod you became, the more you smelled like a monster's lunch.

"So let's grab them and get out of here," I said. I started forward, but Thalia put her hand on my shoulder. The vice-principal, Dr.Thorn, had slipped out of a doorway near the bleachers and was standing near the di Angelo siblings. He nodded coldly in our direction. His blue eye seemed to glow. 

Judging from his expression, I guessed Thorn hadn't been fooled by my trick with the Mist after all. He suspected who we were. He was just waiting to see why we were here. 

"Never mind, don't look at the kids," I ordered. "We have to wait for a chance to get them. We need to pretend we're not interested in them. Throw him off the scent." 

"How?" 

"We're three powerful half-bloods and another less experienced, but still powerful half-blood. Our presence should confuse him. Mingle. Act natural. Do some dancing. But keep an eye on those kids." 

"Dancing?" Luke asked, a hint of reproach in his tone. 

Thalia nodded. She cocked her ear to the music and made a face. "Ugh. Who chose the Jesse McCartney?" 

Grover looked hurt. "I did." 

"Oh my gods, Grover. That is so lame. Can't you play, like, Green Day or something? Literally our best friend over here is a Pop Princess, Superstar and you choose Jesse McCartney?" 

"Green who?" 

"Never mind. Let's dance." 

"But I can't dance!" 

"You can if I'm leading," Thalia said. 

"Come on, goat boy." Grover yelped as Thalia grabbed his hand and led him onto the dance floor. 

Luke smiled and I raised an eyebrow at him. 

"What's got you so happy, Chief?" I asked.

"Nothing. It's just cool to have Thalia back."

I could feel my expression soften, and Luke tried to think of a new topic. Brylie got caught in a group of girls who were heading in Bianca and Nico's direction, so she joined them and, once she got close enough, made her way to them. It only took a few seconds before Brylie was sitting beside them, chatting with Bianca. 

"How's being an A-lister going?" He finally said. 

For the first time in a while, talking about my career actually made me happy. Things had been going so well in my career recently, despite my struggling with the last track on my next album. Without giving any spoilers, I told him about some new Marvel movies I was going to be in, still playing Celeste Stark, I told him about playing Aeverlynne Targaryen on Game of Thrones, Meredith Spades on The Walking Dead, and I told him a movie I'd starred in a little before finding out I was a demigod, Wonder Woman, was getting a sequel. 

He listened as best he could, but I could tell he was getting lost with how many characters I played. 

"Hey!" Thalia called to us just as I was about to start up my complaining about my struggles with figuring out the last song. She was slow dancing with Grover, who was tripping all over himself, kicking Thalia in the shins, and looking like he wanted to die. I didn't blame him. Thalia had a dangerous look in her eyes, one that usually preceded lightning bolts.

"Dance, you guys!" Thalia ordered. "You look stupid just standing there."

"Do you know how to dance?" I asked him, genuinely curious. 

"Silena tried giving me lessons a year or two ago, but they didn't end up very well," he replied, smiling as if remembering Silena most likely losing her shit. 

"Then follow my lead. It's not as hard as it looks," I said gently, grabbing his hand and shoulder. At the very least, he knew the starting moves. 

After a little bit, I came to the conclusion that he was most likely lying, considering he was better than a few of the dance partners I've had in the past. 

"You're a bold faced liar, you know that?" I asked teasingly. 

He gave me a charming smirk. "Kinda part of my heritage there, babe."

I rolled my eyes as I started humming to the song, that one controversial Christmas song, Baby, It's Cold Outside. 

I looked up at Luke. His already unnaturally blue eyes were brighter than usual as he looked at me. He spun me around once and I ended up looking over his shoulder to check on Bianca, Nico, and Brylie. 

He was going to say something, but I completely stopped moving, which made Luke slip and almost faceplant.

"What—"

"They're gone," I said, transfixed on the bleachers where the siblings and Brylie had previously been. 

"And Dr. Thorn's nowhere to be seen," Luke said, following my line of sight and then looking around.

"Go follow them, I'll get the others," I said and I didn't give him time to argue. I pushed through the crowd of people, looking for Thalia and Grover. 

A group of boys walked past me, one of them stopping to take a double-take. His jaw dropped and I had to actually push him out of my way. Because of the heels and my natural above-average height, I was automatically taller than most of the kids there, so looking around should've been much easier than it actually was. I caught a glimpse of Luke running to a back exit of the gym and made a mental note about that being where he went. 

I spent five minutes frantically walking all over the gym before I finally caught sight of Thalia and Grover at the punch stand. 

"You know this punch actually is really goo—" Thalia was about to say, but I cut her off. 

"They're gone."

*    *    *

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[midorishinji]

Old childhood

I like the feeling of getting sick, the milky tiredness that little by little takes over my body. From the heavy eyelids, sandy as if I had spent a whole day at the beach, and the sensation of fluidity and lightness of my hot and feverish body, wavering like the waves of the sea itself. I like this liminal space, which separates different realities like an extremely thin and delicate veil, which allows me to see from the other side how life could (or should?) be.

Original work ｜Part V of the "A girl by the sea"｜Also published in Portuguese and on AO3

a.n: I wrote this during the Plague and I remember it now that I'm down with a cold.

I like the feeling of getting sick, the milky tiredness that little by little takes over my body. From the heavy eyelids, sandy as if I had spent a whole day at the beach, and the sensation of fluidity and lightness of my hot and feverish body, wavering like the waves of the sea itself. I like this liminal space, which separates different realities like an extremely thin and delicate veil, which allows me to see from the other side how life could (or should?) be.

It's the same surreal feeling of a hot summer day, which exists (only) in my memory — in fact, I'm not sure if that memory ever existed, or if I just dreamed it, my subconscious absorbing with absolute thirst an ideal reality. I remember being on the beach, smiling, a memory that seems as distant as the smell of the sea. I think that in another life I was a sea creature, if I believed in reincarnation; there is no explanation for this passion other than a connection that goes beyond this life. I was once told that water calms you down because it is a reflex acquired by amphibians, who, in order to cool their bodies that possess such an irregular temperature, dived into bodies of water for indefinite periods. Maybe it's not that much of a different idea, is it? They are different pathways, but they reach the same result... It leads me to think that maybe magic is just a science that we still don't understand; and I, always eager for the future, want to understand everything at once, here and now.

I like the feeling of getting sick because it's a liminal space: time slips through my fingers and crumbles like grains of sand, infinite and so difficult to grasp; I can't tell how much time has passed, a whole night or just two hours, an eternal Russian roulette: will I wake up before my alarm goes off? Will I sleep until it's too late? I forgot that now I don't have an alarm clock, because I no longer have a routine. Things are strange because of this, each day merges into the next without much distinction... I miss summertime, and gaining that extra hour the day it ends; time is infinite and infinite plus one is still infinite, but still... It's a special hour, which makes me want it to be worth it because it's different and rare. If I had the same enthusiasm for anything else, I would be a millionaire.

That's it, my problem is not having enthusiasm. I've swum too much against the riptide, and it's tiring; sometimes it's nice to just let yourself be carried away by the gentle sway of the ocean waves, and see where life takes us... Again with the oceanic metaphors, I know. I think if I lived in a coastal city, I wouldn't do anything else with my days other than swim and watch the sea, sitting on the shoreline; I dream about this sometimes, before sleep completely takes over me. I dream of a life that is not mine and that will never be, not because living on the coast is impossible, but because there are so many more things to fix and conquer within this very particular fantasy. I wanna rewrite parts of my life, but I know I can't. I can only rewrite the future, but to do that I need to look forward, not back, and that is as difficult as resisting the ancestral urge to lie down in the water, just thinking.

[inoutoftherain]

We did it!

No 24 hours, but fucking crushed HBGs record axolotl-less which was sub 30 and still got WR after 3 hours of 3 people doing nothing but breeding the blue bastards. Total breeds over 5000, median is like 700 or 800.

I had a great experience. The early game plan was so good, the gunpowder farm with Molly and Shoe went so smooth and finished ahead of schedule. Wither skeleton farm had a couple hiccups due to me forgetting to bring two items but we built it right and we built it on time and that's all that matters, thanks to Pocky and to Shoe again for helping to knock that out.

Mobs after that mostly with TJ, hardest part of the run and definitely the longest. I meant to take a break and sleep here and didn't. There were some mistakes made with mob death and lack of organization but mostly I just think all that stuff is a lot. I know TJ got really down that it wasn't fast enough and so am I. I have a lot of thoughts about it, my performance, mistakes and experience, organization and plans and who does what. I don't know. Bottom line is it's a lot.

Server held up great and I could fly the early mobs to the sh from the surrounding area, unfortunately couldn't fly them later on the nether roof due to lag breaking the leads but it was still so much better than last time. Bobby mod was great and TalkingMime loaning the server ahead of HBGs own attempt later this month was really nice, appreciate it.

Everybody got kind of down late in the run after it was obvious 24 hours wasn't happening there was a lot left and not a lot of people to do it. People needed to sleep. It ended up with me, Wonderfulegg and somebody else I think Molly was there at one point? trying to figure out if HDWGH was going to happen or if we had to give up. I was so tired. I was the only person there who ever did HDWGH in their life and I did it in this version once a year ago. I couldn't find the tutorial I used. The setup that somebody started by spawn wasn't going to work for the only version of it that I know. The beacon was in the end, I didn't know where the ingredients for everything were, I thought I did my 1.21 bac run on a different PC and that I wouldn't be able to find the recording. Plus the idea that I can do it correctly with how tired I am is so incredibly dubious. But no like my brain finally unfogs enough to remember it was the same PC and I find the world download and look at that, and I have the setup geometry, it's now possible. So I have to do it. Wonderfulegg gets Zesskyo on who was supposed to have joined the run but had something come up at the last minute. So Zesskyo unlike the rest of us is wide awake and full of energy. And zesskyo does know HDWGH though not in this version. I have the beacon set up by this point. Somebody finds a conduit. I drag over a villager from base. We move the shulker and the dolphin. I spend probably 30 fucking minutes during all of this explaining the whole HDWGH sequence to Zesskyo, who has done it before but not in this version. This 30 minutes has nothing to do with Zesskyo and everything to do with me and my sleep deprived brain, I have no fucking idea what I'm saying or what I've said and I repeat everythign about 40 times because I think I got it out of order or missed something the previous time and I probably did.

I show Zesskyo the raid and trial chamber locations, Wonderfulegg flies around with a riptide trident to locate a monument where the elder guardians aren't dead. Wonderfulegg finds all the potion ingredients and consumables and makes the potions. Zesskyo goes off to do the thing. Zesskyo hits the fucking advancement on the first try.

We're so back! At this point not counting blue axolotl there's like 10 random advancements left. I pick the two that are the most brainless and spend like 20 minutes doing five minutes of tasks because I'm that fucking tired. Its like whatever. Who cares at this point. Jilian's back and I think somebody else is too and they all knock off the rest. So it's just the axolotl now. I try to join them on the breeding but I give up and go to sleep when I realize I'm just staring at the axolotls and not doing anything. So the other three people there who I think are Jillian, Wondefulegg and Zesskyo breed axolotls for three more hours and they get it.

Thank you to TJ and Jillian for letting me be part of this again. Thank you to Molly, Shoe, Pocky, TJ, Wonderfulegg and Zesskyo for being so great to work with. Thank you to Jillian for providing the push to not give up. Thank you to everybody else who took part and got stuff done. You're all fantastic.

We did it!

We're doing it again!

We came pretty close last time and now we're back with a better server thankyouTalkingMime, Bobby mod and more experience. Prayge in chats for wandering traders and many thunders.

I recommend to watch organizers tjthings or assassinjillian for the best stream experience, but most people will also be streaming their POVs I'm pretty sure. Like last time I will be going gunpowder farm into wither farm before moving on to mob advancements and some other things and surely that will go faster without HBG sabotage. (Hi Fulham!)

But seriously give the organizers some support because they're doing a lot of heavy lifting and they deserve it.