#* but like. Reason in Portuguese sounds like ''blanket'' so I think this is just a pun that I cannot translate

[royalarchivist]

Roier: I'm cold, I'm cold, I'm cold, ayyy....

Cellbit: Come here, it's alright, it's alright, I'll warm you up, everything's fine now...

[cifer-ulqui]

Ulquiorra Drabbles 2

(Ulquiorra, Reader, Grimmjow)(Second one is Angst and less overtly romantic)(I wrote these in Portuguese originally to practice learning the language. They're completely self-indulgent and ooc)(part one)

Tea

“I need a place to stay.” Ulquiorra clicks his tongue. His eyelashes are so long. They touch his cheek when he closes his eyes. “It's getting late. Kurosaki said I should come here.”

Ichigo must think he’s hilarious.

“Yeah?” I sigh. I can’t say no to him. “Come in.” He follows after me and I shake my head at the situation.

“Do you want tea?” I gesture for him to sit at the table. He complies, sitting stiffly.

“I don't need--”

“Do you want tea?” I ask more firmly. Why is he so difficult? Maybe that’s part of his charm. I look over my shoulder. He’s as attractive as he is stubborn.

“... Yes.” His brow is furrowed, like I asked for something annoying.

I suppress a comment about him being a brat and return to put the kettle on the stove. “Do you have a preference for the flavor?” I know he’ll say it’s unimportant. It’s useless, There’s no reason.

“Is there a difference? Tea is tea.” There it is.

“There’s hundreds of different flavors. How do I know which you’ve tried before?” I turn away from the stove to look at him.

“Just normal tea.”

“Black tea? Green tea?

His eyes are the only sign of bewilderment on his face, but his voice sounds confused. “Tea…?”

I look at him for a moment. “I’ll make tea, and if you don’t like it, I’ll make something else.” I shrug my shoulders.

Ulquiorra shakes his head. “That’s unnecessary. I’ll drink whatever you make.”

I repress a laugh, wondering if I could make him regret those words. Hot sauce, salt, extra tea bags… the kettle begins to whistle. I take the kettle off the stove and open the cabinet that holds my tea. I take down a citrus blend, with orange, lemon, and apple. I pour the water into a teapot.

The steam fills the air and soon the smell of citrus fruits lingers in the room. We remain in silence until the tea finishes steeping. I walk over, carrying the hot teacups. I place them on the table and sit down and he picks up his cup. He looks for a moment before taking a sip.

I drink my tea, watching his face. He shows nothing, but takes a few sips in the silence.

“I should thank you for allowing me into your home. Your hospitality suits you.”

We drink tea in silence and I allow the irritation to seep from me. “You can sleep on the couch, I'll grab a blanket for you.”

“This is all unnecessary, I'll just remain sitting here.”

I sigh, a long-suffering sigh, wondering why I'm stuck with this impassive idiot. “I'll grab a blanket, just in case you change your mind.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue.

He's so impossible.

“Do you like the tea?”

“It's tea.” Ulquiorra takes another sip. I think about calling Kurosaki, maybe he can meet me somewhere quiet. Just to talk. With my hands. Ulquiorra’s head tilts as he looks at his teacup and then the teapot.

Cute.

Kurosaki is lucky I like this bat.

--- ---

The Rain Falls

The sky is gray. The rain falls.

Mist rises from the ground. I sigh, looking at the dismal rain. The air is filled with petrichor, cloying and dense. It clings to my skin.

It’s not fair.

My heart hurts, and I step out into the rain. Water drips down my face, soaking into my clothes. He’s gone. I’ll never see him again. If I am lucky, the rain will drown me.

I cared for him. The fourth espada, Ulquiorra Cifer. The one who I argued with, who taunted me and told me my life was meaningless. The man I sat atop Las Noches with in the freezing wind and vast desert stretched before us. We watched the moon together.

The only rain in Hueco Mundo is unnatural, from the spirit energy of other hollows. The black rain of Murcielago elicited a far different feeling, one of awe and foreboding. This is just….

He’s dead. Nothing but dust and the lingering emptiness. Maybe this is his heart that I feel.

I suppress a shiver. This rain seeps the warmth from my bones.

“Do you have an umbrella?” A rough voice breaks me from the reminiscence. I turn my head, seeing Grimmjow. His hair is quickly drenched by the rain, stickling to his face. He doesn't wear his usual grin, as if the melancholy of a storm is contagious.

I turn back to look at the sky.

He and a few other arrancar survived. He seems content to allow Haribel to rule, and I suddenly feel lost, without direction. What will happen to us now? What is our purpose?

Maybe there really is no purpose. Maybe Ulquiorra was right.

“Tch,” Grimmjow huffs. “Idiot. Let’s go.” He grabs the shopping bags from my hand. His hand is firm, but gentle around my shoulders as he guides me through the streets. He squeezes.

“Gonna catch a cold,” he grumbles, as if it would be something for him to suffer. His eyes catch mine as we near Urahara’s shop. They’re a cold blue.

His worry soothes something in my chest. Maybe we’re closer to humans than I thought, if even Grimmjow is capable of something like caring. I wonder if this somber hope ever permeated into Ulquiorra’s thoughts. I wonder if anything grew meaning to him in his last moments.

Grimmjow opens the door, ushering me through and grabbing a towel that he begins drying me off with. “Idiot.”

The rain falls.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: nothing to mourn or miss Ship: Poker pair Summary:  The only thing connecting little Cornelia Walker to Tyki Mikk was the mop of dark hair. A year after his Master's letter had been sent to the Black Order, Allen Walker arrived at their Headquarters, carrying a newborn on his back. AN: I just want trans Allen fanfics. Let’s see where this fanfic will go!

Lavi’s greatest gift had always been his observation skills. Growing up on the streets (in a different city, under another name), he’d had to be clever and aware to ensure he wouldn’t starve to death or be killed. Bookman, of course, had taken the ability to a whole new level, ensuring that Lavi wouldn’t miss even a single detail. Lavi was pretty sure that if there was a way to keep from blinking for the rest of his life, Bookman would force him to learn that as well.

Regardless, his skill was why he knew Krory had to be in the next train wagon. It was the last possible option, given that the vampiric Exorcist hadn’t been in any of the others. The situation, once they found him, was pretty easy to break down. He’d gotten cheated out of his clothes and money by three traveling vagabonds and a sickly-looking child; tuberculosis if Lavi were to guess. They looked rough as if the gentleness was seldom shown to them. From their hands and posture, Lavi deduced they worked in the mines or a similar taxing job.

That was as far as Lavi got with his observation before another one took him by surprise.

“Allen!” the boy shouted and promptly threw himself at said young man.

Here was the thing about Allen Walker: He was lithe in build, small, but he knew how to present himself. Lavi looked at him and knew what he kept hidden, yet it was not a lie because everything about Allen Walker screamed that he was a young man. He’d never said a word about whether he’d learned from his deceased father or his Master, but Allen knew how to navigate society, which social cues to react to or ignore.

Allen often kept people at a distance to keep up appearances and live his life as he wanted. Lavi, personally, was a massive fan of invading people’s personal space. He’d learned to do so early for various reasons, and with time passing, Allen started to allow Lavi in his bubble. But always, he was careful, hesitating, bracing himself for interaction.

And yet, somehow, this protection was disregarded without a second thought. Allen wasn’t taken aback by the boy jumping him but reacted on instinct and caught the boy. Were the child smaller, Lavi would think it was because of Cornelia, but no, the boy was much older than Allen’s daughter.

And here it was, the second clue:

“Eeez!” Allen said. “What are you doing here?”

“Traveling to a new job!” Eeez replied in rapid-fire Portuguese that, had Lavi not spent a year in the country, he wouldn’t have been able to understand a word. “You’re pretty far from your usual roads,” Allen replied only and set the boy down again. “But I see, your cheating habits haven’t changed at all.”

“You’ve always been the worst cheat,” the man towards the right replied, causing the one on the outmost left to laugh in agreement.

The two seemed good-natured if a little tired. They were comfortable around Allen, studied him briefly as if to check he was doing well, eating enough or so. Anyone who knew Allen well enough to greet him so heartedly had to be aware of his metabolism and with this group struggling for money, it was no surprise they worried about food.

But it wasn’t quite the two men or the boy that drew Lavi’s attention.

No, it was the man in the middle.

Thick glasses obscured his eyes, but his hair was curly and dark, the kind that Lavi knew from experience was fun to run your hand through.

How well exactly did Allen Walker know this man and how much did he care to keep such large secrets?

“Are you going to join us, menino?” the man asked. “Your friend has lost a few things, I believe.”

Allen grinned triumphantly, but his hand twitched all the same, betraying his lie. He was nervous, shaken by this confrontation, and were he anyone else, words about little princesses in high towers, bright gray eyes looking up from the Branch Chief’s lap, and bets on milestones would soon spill out of his mouth.

“Allen,” Krory finally spoke up, still sniffling. “Do you know these men?”

“Yes,” Allen replied, shaking himself from stupor. “We traveled together for a while after Master Cross had dumped me. They’re friends.”

Just friends? Lavi wondered. From the looks of it, he was not the only one. The boy, Eeze, narrowed his eyes, glancing between Tyki and Allen. Whatever they had, it hadn’t been that casual. The result was currently crawling around HQ, after all.

“This is Momo, Crack, and Glasses in the middle­—”

“You wound me.”

“Is Tyki Mikk.”

Tyki was not a name whose origin Lavi could place easily. He’d assumed that Cornelia had been picked because it was a fairly common British name and sounded well with the small family’s last name.

Cornelia Walker wasn’t even a year old yet, and thus Lavi quietly found himself doing the math. Cross’s letter had announced only Allen’s arrival and been dated about a year before Allen had actually managed to arrive at the Order. He knew that Lenalee thought Allen had been sent to the Order because of Cornelia, so she’d be safe while Allen killed Akuma.

Never mind that nobody expected Cross to be a capable guardian for a newborn. People had been fascinated enough with the fact he’d managed to raise a teenager.

The only thing connecting little Cornelia to Tyki Mikk was the mop of dark hair. Otherwise, she was entirely Allen’s baby, from the pale complexion to the eyes and… Before meeting this Tyki, Lavi had assumed that she had Allen’s nose, but it actually resembled Tyki’s more closely. Still following through with his conclusions, Lavi pretended to be shocked at Allen’s gambling skills, the way he won back Krory’s clothes and dignity before stripping his old friends of theirs.

“Royal Straight Flush,” Allen announced once more with a smile as the others tossed their cards, not at all angry, more amused.

“They’re used to this,” Eeez said, this time in English. It was accentuated but still pretty good. Lavi could hear the same kind of pitter-patter pronunciation Allen sometimes fell back on when he was careless or exhausted. He must have taught the boy how to speak the language. How curious, it spoke for longer exposure to Allen. This definitely added to Lavi’s growing suspicion that Allen hadn’t just taken the long way round to the Order.

As did the fond glances Allen couldn’t keep off his face.

He could have stayed with this group. They were obviously aware of Allen’s status, but they seemed to have no trouble with it. Without needing to pay off his Master’s debt, Allen could earn enough to settle down somewhere. If they stayed near a mining town, the group wouldn’t even have to break up or work in a different branch.

There’d be no little niece for Komui to fuss over or dress up in her father’s absence. The Order would have remained entirely unaware of Allen Walker’s presence until someday along the way, somebody would dig out the one letter Cross had hurriedly written. And by then, they’d have assumed that Allen Walker had died on his way to the Order. Despite the tension of Allen’s shoulder, he was obviously at ease with this group, was at home, whereas he still hadn’t settled completely at the Order.

He could have abandoned the Akuma for them, this odd broken little family, but he hadn’t. The Destroyer of Time had marched on, wrapped his new gift up in cuddly blankets and climbed up a mountain.

Perhaps Lavi should tell him of the Order’s gruesome history, its horrible present. Would the boy have chosen to take his daughter there if he knew what lingered behind the black walls? Lavi had no doubt that if someone else sat in Komui’s office, little Cornelia would be tested weekly for resonance with an Innocence piece given that her father was an Accommodator. Then again, that doll that acted as her babysitter had taken a liking to her and Lavi doubted it was just because of the sentience it possessed.

The train ride passed in relative peace despite the gambling with the miners talking of their travels and Allen returning with stories of his own, carefully modified to leave out any signs of Akuma or his daughter.

He had no intention of telling them.

Lavi’s job was to record history, not to teach it.

He didn’t have to tell them either. Most likely, this encounter would remain a footnote in Allen Walker’s biography.

The odd group had to leave the train before them, and their goodbyes were sweet and kind, warmer and lingering, a farewell that nobody wanted. Eeez hugged Allen once more and Momo and Crack both gave Allen a nudge and tousled his hair fondly.

When it came to Tyki, Lavi paid attention. Accommodator yet or not, someday Cornelia’s history might become relevant, and they’d need all the details.

“Take good care of yourself, menino,” Tyki said, making no move to embrace Allen, touch him in any way. How curious that he’d chosen distance when he so obviously wanted to reach for the opposite. Lavi had seen a hundred stories like this already, how bitter love like this must be.

At moments like this, Lavi was glad that he was forever exempt from such heartbreak.

“I’m not the one always on the road, running off doing odd jobs,” Allen countered with a soft smile, a joke that failed to hide any of the pain. “Take care of yourself as well.”

The group left the train, and it was only as the machine was already departing that Tyki tossed something at Allen, the same playing cards they’d used earlier. Lavi watched quietly as Allen looked through the cards until melancholy turned his lips upwards.

“Hearts this time,” Allen muttered under his breath, likely not meant to be picked up by Lavi’s ears.

He packed the cards into the pocket of his coat and wrapped it tightly around his body as if to keep out the imaginary cold. When Allen looked up, his eyes fixed on Lavi, he seemed torn between determination and desperation.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Allen said, or perhaps ordered. “Please.”

So it hadn’t gone unnoticed that Lavi had uncovered his little secret.

Checking that Krory was still out of earshot, busy carrying their luggage to this empty compartment, Lavi chose to engage. “Why not tell him?”

Allen shrugged, then smiled just a bit pained. “His world is different from ours. They don’t have much cash, so I wouldn’t dump a child on them, and it would be careless to ask Tyki, and the others by extension, to step into the nightmare that is our reality. It’s better this way.”

Lavi hummed in agreement, thinking on the report he’d make to Bookman. Allen Walker, despite his cheerful optimism, could be quite realistic, almost painfully so.

They didn’t tell the families of their Finders about the deceased either.

Ignorance, wounding as it might be, left you with nothing to mourn or miss.

(Later, bound to a chair, the Fourth Apostle screaming at him, Lavi would remember his past assessment and laugh at his naivete.)

[djarinbarnes]

Mine

Author: Dina.

Word Count: 1862

Pairings: Frank (Endings, Beginnings) x female reader

Warnings: angst, feelings, fluff, slight smut, mentions of domestic violence

a/n 1: helloooooo lovelies! here’s a repost of a one-shot I wrote just after Endings Beginnings came out in April.

a/n 2: this story has been translated into Portuguese by @vanteguccir​. read it on wattpad here!

You’re sat at a small two-person table, sipping your bottled water, when he slips into the seat opposite of you. You raise your head, not surprised that he’s known where to find you, single look at your deathly pale face tells him all he needs to know.

His fingers skim over the sapphire that adorns your left finger as he takes your hand in his and leads you out to his Dodge, opens the passenger door and watches in silence as you smoothly slide into the seat. You drive in silence, the air thick with thoughts and feelings that neither will ever voice.

So close yet so separate. Fallen leaves litter the drive and crunch underfoot as you walk to the front door.

It seems like only yesterday that you had last walked through the door into the home you had once shared, but in truth it has been over a year since your feet have last trod the well-known floor. You follow him into the living room and sinks into one end of the sofa.

The room hasn’t changed in the time that has passed, still warmly painted in shades of pale orange and yellow, he’d laughed at the colors you had chosen but had appreciated the effect as much as you had.

The lighting is dim adding to the air of warm sanctuary, in all your life you’ve never found anywhere you’ve found safer than wrapped in his strong embrace watching the fire dance in the fireplace.

He crosses to the drinks cabinet and without asking fixes your drink the same way he had many times before. He takes his vodka neat without ice; you take yours with lemonade with a dash of lime cordial.

You take the glass he offers and sips as he sits beside you, close enough that you could reach out and touch him, but still far enough away to be separate.

The heat from the fire is creeping around the room, seeping into your bones and easing the chill that surrounds your heart.

The gas flames licking over the simulated coals are reflected in your eyes. You place the glass on the floor and raises your head, feeling his eyes burning intensely into your neck. Your eyes met his and are caught and held by kyanite orbs, sapphire and every shade in-between.

"Do you want to tell me?"

It’s the first thing either of you has said. His voice is low and gravely with the same strong masculine edge that had entranced you from the first time you’d heard it, it seems so long ago now.

Your gaze drops and focuses on your hands, he slides close and raises your chin with an index finger the pad of his thumb running over the bruise that is already starting to form on your cheek, stroking the angry red mark.

A tremor runs through you as pain sears your flesh, but you can't bring yourself to turn away from his caress. Your eyes raise to his, the warmth swimming with unshed tears that are less to do with the pain in your body and more strongly related to the storm raging within your tormented psyche.

You think you must’ve wanted to tell him, for you find the words falling from your mouth.

You tell him of the demands your manager is making on you, the pressure you’re being put under to produce your fourth album, and fatigue of the constant touring and live performing.

Finely you tell him of the augments you have to go home to when you end up working late at the studio, arguments that would degenerate from verbal to physical and leave your body burning and bruised.

Tells him of the man you no longer stand to have touch you but cannot leave for fear of what he might do. When at last you wind down your feet are curled beneath you and you’re clutching a throw pillow to your chest.

His eyes, when you dare look at him, are dark seeming to have turned almost black by the mixture of fury, pain and desire that swirls in their kyanite depths.

He reaches out and after taking the pillow from your grasp, he pulls you close, he holds you gently as if you were a fragile porcelain doll, chipped and broken with a hairline crack running across your face.

You sit in silence for a long time, until your tears have dried to silky softness on your cheeks, the only sound the ticking of the clock calving eternity in to passing seconds.

"Thank you, Frank."

You whisper, unwinding your legs and making to stand. He takes your hand, his deep blue eyes still steady on your face, you offer him a won smile and kisses him lightly on the cheek.

Without hesitation he draws you in, before you can pull back, he’s returning your cheek kiss, then another, then his lips are sliding to your neck, your ear and finally your mouth.

You smell the familiar scent of sandalwood and forest, a scent you know as well as your own flesh and a million images burst in your brain. You feel the arms and chest you have known for years and that had once held only you.

You love making love with him, you always have.

From that first earthquake magic in an air-conditioned hotel room to the later years when it became slower, deeper, a melody you knew as well as that of your own soul.

Making love with Frank is all encompassing, pure sensation and total detachment. You need that now.

You need the familiar and comforting. The shattering of your consciousness and the stopping of time.

You think of trapped birds singing in cages, back hands stinging your skin, of loneliness and distance.

Then his hand slides to your breast and you think of nothing else.

In the flash of waking for a terrifying instant you don’t remember him, caught the limbo where dreams still cling to you, savior and tormentor are mixed and entwined.

But a moment later you recognize who he is, when he pulls you back towards him, strokes your hair, licks the shell of your ear and neck, then kisses your breasts and belly.

Finally, feeling him deep inside of you, you know he has made love to you many times before and dreads the thought of never feeling again in your entire life the way you feel with him.

All the while he is drinking you in, you feel yourself streaming down a corridor into a familiar place that is strange only because you’ve not visited there in so long a time.

Fear and euphoria crash and whirl together in a maelstrom that drives all reason from you as you become lost the force that is being loved by him.

No face reminiscent of any other, but the scents, the textures, the music were all carrying you across.

The room is a kingdom, the inside of a cup, the night pouring in tasting of mint. A flashback of a flashback: a swing and a child's foot, the space existed, in the same instant, in his fingers, in the air, in your toes, pressing like pebbles into his thighs. In the dark, you sense light.

When you wake next, you still lay entangled together, the blanket from the back of the couch has been pulled down to cover your bare bodies.

You lie atop him and looking down is mesmerized by the swallowing orbs the are intently watching you. For a moment you can’t place the sound that has awoken you until it comes again, the mechanical cheeping of your phone.

Your bag still sits propped against the side of the couch where you had placed it many hours before. Reaching for it you pull out the source of the disturbance, your eyes filling with distress as the name displayed on the screen registers with your still sleep addled brain.

Answering, you murmur a greeting and perhaps in some childish attempt to distance the voice on the other end of the line with the man lying beneath you, you sit up, the blanket rising with you. Your eyes fly wide and you bite down hard on your lip to keep a moan from escaping your throat, in rising so suddenly the angle of his penetration was abruptly changed sending a jot of pleasure through your body.

You turn your head and presses the phone close to your ear, yet still every word is carried to him in the still warm air. The tone is one of annoyance and is edged with steel; the words are barked questions that make his jaw clench in anger as he grinds his teeth together.

Your replies are stilted, and uncertainty fills your eyes making the dark pools seem deep enough to drown in. You turn your head further, unable to look at him while you lie to the disembodied voice, that demands of you in harsh and uncaring tones that split the air.

He feels his rage getting the better of him as he listens to the words that are dropping from your lips, you mumble down the phone that you’re fine and once again you have to bite hard on your lip to keep from crying out.

You look down at him, a single crystalline tear rolling down your cheek as your body shakes in the aftermath of the sudden pain. His eyes are not upon your face but upon his hand that is now stroking the vivid bruise that spreads across your ribs.

A bruise on which his fingers pressed a moment before, causing your stifled cry and confirming his suspicion of cracked ribs. Your free hand takes his, halting its movement, as your eyes silently beg him for something you too are unsure of.

"When are you coming home?"

The words are cold, the tone cruel and harsh, they carry clearly to him as you bite your already bleeding lip, the tears filling your eyes making them seem double their normal size.

He takes a deep breath and makes a split-second decision that he knows, no matter the outcome will change his life forever. Your hand is shaking as he gently takes the phone from you, eyes that could have read words painted on your soul never leaving your face.

"She is home."

Ending the call, he drops it to the floor, ignoring it when it almost instantly begins to ring again. Reaching out, he brushes the fallen tears from your face, watches as your expression changes from fear, to bewilderment, and then confusion is staring back at him from your face.

Wide eyes beg an unvoiced question, as you try to comprehend what is happening. He dips his head slightly in confirmation of what he knows you’re thinking and soft smile tugs at the edge of his mouth.

He caresses your face once more before pulling you down to him and gently kisses your lips tasting the salt of your tears in the corners of your mouth as he deftly guides your body into a better position.

A single, possessive thought runs through his mind.

Mine.

Permanent taglist: @what-is-your-wish​

add yourself to my taglist here

[motherlifesucher-archives]

The Connor Situation l Shawn Mendes Imagine.

(a/n): this is super different from what I've written before and it’s kinda long (3k+ words!)

summary: Shawn is Camila’s boyfriend, (y/n) is Connor’s girlfriend, but they’re drawn to each other.

warning: mentions of drugs, sex and cheating.

A faint smell of weed lingered on the luxury Malibu house Shawn rented to celebrate the end of the tour. 

Shawn wanted to spend time with the closer part of his team without the urge of moving from city to city and putting on a concert every night. Of course, no one from Shawn’s inner circle wanted to spend more time apart from their loved ones, so the house was big enough to host at least fifteen people. 

You had met Connor back in high school, where he easily was one of the most popular kids because of his work with famous people and undeniable talent, so it was a surprise when he asked you out and everything went on from there. Of course, after he was admitted into UCLA it wasn’t expected that he’d take a break to tour the world with none other than Shawn Mendes.

You couldn’t deny it had been hard, especially after Shawn hired him for the entire tour and not just a part of it. You made it work, somehow.

Shawn, on the other hand, had been in love with Camila for ages before he mustered the courage to put a name on their relationship and go public, driving people around the world crazy, for better or for worse. 

You carefully removed the covers from the bed, wanting to get something to eat since it was 9 AM already, but an arm draped over your waist prevented you from moving. 

“Where are you going?” Asked the sleepy voice of your blue eyed boyfriend. 

“To grab something to eat, do you want me to bring you something?” You whispered, not wanting to disturb his post sleep haze.

“Mm’no, I just want you on my bed.” He tried something that resembled an adorable pout, making you laugh. 

“I’ll be back, don’t miss me too much.” You left a kiss on his messy hair before grabbing your silk robe that was thrown on the floor. 

“You’re leaving under protest.” You heard Connor mutter before he went back to sleep, his soft snores flooding the room. 

You carefully made your way to the kitchen, not wanting to wake anyone up. Everything was quiet until a tall figure leaning on the kitchen counter almost gave you a heart attack.

The person chuckled. “Good morning, I wish I had known I have that effect on you.” Shawn joked while sipping on his green tea. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here, everybody else is asleep and I think I just died of a heart attack.” You dramatized, making Shawn’s eyes crinkle. 

He was going to add something when a faint moan and the sound of a bed crashing softly against the wall, as if they had put a pillow on the corner to muffle the sound, flooded the house. You noticed a shudder run through Shawn’s body, but you didn’t know if it was because he was disgusted or turned on. “Well, at least someone’s having fun.” Shawn said with his eyebrows raised. 

“My oh my, should we put a ‘no sex in the house’ warning?” A female voice entered the kitchen before you could respond. Camila had her hair tied on a messy ponytail and her outfit matched yours. “Hey baby, figured you’d be here.” She kissed Shawn’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, I got hungry. I think there must be leftover jet lag on my body.” 

Camila just then noticed your presence, and you didn’t blame her; you wouldn’t pay attention to anyone if Shawn was your man. “(y/n)! I’m so sorry I didn’t see you, guess I'm still sleeping,” She chuckled. “Is Connor still asleep?” 

You nodded while taking a sip of water. “Yeah, he was snoring when I left the room.” 

Just then, Connor’s voice could be heard from your room screaming “SHUT UP!”. Immediately after, the soft moaning and bed crashing stopped. 

The three of you stared at each other before exploding in a fit of laughter. You couldn’t breathe, especially when Shawn placed a hand on your naked leg as he couldn’t contain his laughter. 

Shawn was an attractive man, there was no denying that fact. He was desired by millions around the world, but what made him the most endearing was his personality; his timid yet extremely cheeky and mischievous demeanor was what made him a good catch and almost irresistible. 

That didn’t make him better than Connor, though. 

But it still didn’t make sense why his warm hand left a tingling feeling on your leg after he removed it, only to continue laughing along his girlfriend. 

“I think I should go check on Connor, I’m not sure he took this morning sex thing very well.” You joked. 

“I don’t think he’s unfamiliar with morning sexual activities, he loved calling you early to start the day.” Shawn said with a suggestive tone, looking for your eyes. 

“I think I'm just gonna walk away now.” You narrowed your eyes playfully before walking away with your glass of water. 

The image you found in front of you was equally funny and adorable. 

A shirtless Connor was pouting with a pillow covering his ears, but you could still make up strands of his messy blond hair. 

“You love making a scene, don’t you?” You put the glass of water on the night table before sitting on Connor’s legs. 

Your boyfriend placed the pillow under his head to have a better position to admire you. He placed his hands on your waist while still pouting. “I swear to God it’s Brian and that Portuguese girl he sexted during the entire tour.” 

You giggled. “You should be happy your friend is getting laid!” 

“He can get laid quietly if he’s sharing a room. I swear during tour everyone got laid and I could hear them all, I didn’t think I'll have to relive my nightmares during our relax time.” He slowly moved his hands from your waist to your hips. 

You carefully climbed from his legs to his lap so that his hands could reach your body more easily. “Are you mad because you didn’t get any during tour?” You leaned in to peck his lips. Connor nodded, still pouting. “You’re just a big baby, I did visit you during tour and, if I recall correctly, had sex.”

“It was not the same!” He protested. “And we had sex yesterday, but were careful to be quiet because Shawn stayed on his room while everyone went to the beach.

It was impossible to keep a straight face when your boyfriend was basically a big baby, so you opted for the easy way out; you carefully reached for his hair before kissing him. A low moan erupted from his throat before quickly and eagerly responding your action, transforming a sweet kiss to a passionate one as his hands wandered lower on your body.

Just as you noticed Connor’s hands trying to untie your robe, the door opened abruptly, making the both of you jump. 

Brian didn’t notice your position at first. “Dude, you fucked my... Fuck! How dare you call me out when you’re fucking with (y/n) as well!” 

Brian’s loud voice gathered some unwanted attention, especially Shawn’s that couldn’t help it but walk towards your room. 

“Fuck, man. Don’t you knock?” Connor let out a deep breath while running his hands on his har, as you hid yourself under the blankets deciding whether this was funny or mortifying. 

Brian left the room while quietly cursing your and Connor’s name, but Shawn stayed there, quietly eyeing the situation. 

When you resurfaced from under the covers, you noticed his hazel orbs on your opened robe. 

No, your mind was just playing games with you.

-

The incident had taken place two days ago and there wasn’t a person in the house that hadn’t made fun of you, but especially Brian, since he had actually been heard by everyone. 

The weather was warm, perfect for a day on the fancy lagoon pool on the backyard.

Everyone tried to make a dish for lunch, but it ended up being a disaster since no one really thought there would be no space in the kitchen, but it was part of the fun. 

Connor couldn’t help but bring his camera to never forget a moment of the incredible time you were having. You were lying on your stomach with your your swimsuit, not caring about anything until you noticed a pair of prying eyes on your figure. Shawn was sipping on a cold beer while talking to Josiah and Andrew, but his playful gaze couldn’t help himself. 

You quickly turned around, knowing his girlfriend had just dived into the pool while joking with Dave and his wife. Meanwhile, your boyfriend was teasing Zubin as he zoomed on his mouth while he ate. 

Suddenly, your body felt warm, too warm. You made eye contact with Connor, who looked at you worriedly as you made your way inside the house, but you made a kissing face at him to make him laugh. 

The kitchen had become your favorite place on the house, especially because the sound of the waves crashing was calming and made the mess on your mind seem less important. 

Shawn had always been flirtatious, it was part of your nature, so the whole freaking out act from your part was pure nonsense, but that wasn’t the reason why your mind was spinning.

No, it was because the love of your life was right outside looking out for you. The man of your dreams, Connor Brashier knew you like the palm of his hand and so did you. This whole infatuation with Shawn was because he was a world famous singer, not because you actually wanted something with him, because you knew he could never amount to the man who owned your heart. 

Still, you jumped when his hand made contact with your naked skin, again. 

“Hi Shawn, did you need anything?” You asked him in a fake, high pitched voice to mask your nervousness.

“You know I have a girlfriend, right?” He asked out of nowhere, making you almost choke.

“Yes, you know I have a boyfriend, right?” You retaliated, making Shawn chuckle. 

“Oh, trust me, you don’t let me forget that.” He shook his head. You couldn’t bare to look him in the eye so opted to focus on the swallow tattoo on his hand. 

A surge of courage ran through your veins as you mustered the courage to face Shawn. “Is it all in my head or have you been checking me out since we arrived?” 

Shawn chuckled nonchalantly, which you couldn’t decide if it was annoying or incredibly charming. “Oh, it’s been way longer than these couple of days,” His confession took you off guard, you were about to ask him what was going on in his mind but he continued. “This is not a confession about loving you, I wish I never laid my eyes on you. But I can’t help this fire that you ignite inside me.” 

You were taken aback as your body trembled with desire at his low voice and confession. “What about Camila? What about Connor?!”

“I love them both, that doesn’t mean I can’t want you.”

“Am I supposed to jump your bones now because I want to sleep with you? Have a one night stand and betray Connor?” 

Your tone threw Shawn off since it was tainted with hostility. “I’m not expecting you to sleep with me, I was answering your question.”

You turned around, not being able to look at Shawn anymore. Your breathing was picking up and you knew he had taken a step closer to you. “Stop with the touches, with the glances, respect your girlfriend and your friend.”

“Likewise.” Shawn hit back. 

“I’m not the one making suggestive comments or ogling you like a piece of meat!”

“Don’t play victim! You can cut the tension with a fucking knife so get off your high horse.” 

Both of your breathings had picked up, your eyes closed and didn’t realize you had taken two steps forward. 

You were standing so close to Shawn you could feel his breathing, but if you paid enough attention the voice of everyone in the backyard could be heard as well.

His head moved around, taunting your lips that were close enough to touch, but neither of you made the move. Your hands carefully found their home on his damp curls as his warm skin met yours. 

You knew you were too wet to resist him, but in that right moment you heard footsteps, indicating someone was on their way to the kitchen. Swiftly, you pushed Shawn and turned on the tap to throw some cold water on your face, trying to calm your breathing and hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. 

The person you least wanted to see appeared on the kitchen. Connor was standing with a worried look on his face, especially when he noticed the distressed state you were in. 

“Babe, are you okay? You have me worried.” Connor walked towards you and tenderly placed his palm on your cheek.

You faked a smile before answering. “Yes, honey. I woke up a bit dizzy, but everything’s okay now.” 

Shawn cleared his throat. “Yeah, she was a little pale when I found her, but she seems fine now.” His eyes were fixated on yours. 

“You wanna go lay down?” Connor asked fixing your hair, placing it behind your ears. 

You wanted deny his suggestion, but you didn’t have it in you to see facing Shawn and see Camila. “Yeah, I think it’d be best.”

Connor lovingly kissed your forehead. “Let’s go, we can catch up with Modern Family.”

“You don’t have to, you should be having fun with your friends.”

“I’ve seen them for months, I just want to be with you.”

You didn’t notice when Shawn left the kitchen. 

-

It was the last day on the Malibu house and the end of the trip couldn’t come soon enough. It was the last night before going home, since Shawn and Camila would be headed to Toronto while you and Connor stayed in California since both of you wanted to spend time with your families and had to get back to school.

Connor couldn’t help but notice something was off with you and it was easy to tell he wasn’t buying the whole “I'm not feeling good” bullshit. But it didn’t matter anymore, because chances were you would never see Shawn again, you wouldn’t cross paths with him or Camila, and you’d be able to focus on Connor, love him, cherish him and get rid of the guilt pooling your gut every time you saw him smiling at you. 

Everyone headed to the bonfire on the private beach of the house, but it was the last place where you wanted to be. 

Excusing yourself saying you were cold, you left a kiss on Connor’s hair before heading back inside. 

It took Shawn ten minutes to excuse himself saying the big lunch had taken a toll on him. 

It took him seconds to find you on the kitchen, quietly admiring the dark night. 

And you didn’t process when his arms were around your waist, turning you around to face him. 

This time you didn’t jump when his cold hand made contact with the inside of your thigh.

He didn’t hesitate to make you jump and walk you to the room he shared with his girlfriend. 

There wasn’t time or intention for soft touches or sweet kisses to build the atmosphere. No, the atmosphere had been building for days and you didn’t want to give your mind any second to doubt your actions when you knew your boyfriend was right outside laughing with his friends, not knowing he was being betrayed by two of the most important people on his life. 

A moan ripped trough Shawn’s throat as his tip made contact with your warmth. You didn’t waste anytime in start moving on top of him, placing your hands on his firm torso as he aided your movements. 

Shawn tried his best to not make any sounds, all the noises wanting to escape his mouth were muffled by your hand and yours were being trapped by your own teeth biting on your lower lip so hard you could taste the blood. 

The bliss was ethereal and both you and Shawn were sure you were able to touch the galaxy with your fingertips as an unremarkable high took over your sweaty bodies. Your body collapsed on top of his, both of your breathings were rapid and uneven. It took a minute for your mind to start spinning and realizing what had happened, but it wasn't enough to keep relishing the spasms still washing over your bodies. 

It took a few minutes for your legs to regain its function and that was the moment you stood up and without sparing a second glance to the person lying on the bed with a fucked look, both mentally and physically. Your body hastily removed itself from the comfort of the bed, completely ignoring the female clothing scattered on the floor and the open suitcase. 

You grabbed the first thing you saw in order to cover your naked body, but you didn’t realize it was a black Champion hoodie, impregnated with Gucci’s easily recognizable Made to Measure fragrance, otherwise known as Shawn’s smell that was known by everybody who had contact with him. 

He didn’t ask any questions, he just watched you leave the room and close the door. 

You knew the tears were coming because your vision became blurry, only reaching your room out of habit. But you didn’t expect the sight in front of you. 

Connor was sitting on the edge of the bed, somber look decorating his soft features and the puzzle he had been trying to deny and convince himself was on his head, made sense. All the weird behavior and awkward encounters clicked. 

And he didn’t need to look at the black hoodie to know it didn’t belong to him. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

16 for indruck or 33 for sternclay? Please and thank you love

I did 16 first, SFW. I’ll be doing 33 soon!

#16: we’re on the longest flight ever and I’m a bad flier to begin with but you’ve fallen asleep on my shoulder and are snoring SO LOUD

Indrid grips his armrest tighter, tries to focus on the game on his phone.  Maybe if he arranges his yard just right, he can get that rare, rainbow bird to come. 

The plane jolts again and he hisses, wishes the flight would be over, that his feet were on the ground, that if nothing else they would stop hitting so much turbulence so he could forget he’s stuck in a metal tube hurtling through the sky in the dark above the unfeeling earth. 

If only he could relax, maybe even sleep, something his seatmate is having no trouble with. The man greeted him politely when he slipped in next to him (at least they’re only two to a row, in case he has to get up), drawl pronounced and smile genuine. He fell asleep shortly after take off, and has stayed so for the last three hours of this fifteen hour journey. Indrid would be less inclined to hold this against him were he not snoring loudly every five seconds. It jars Indrid from whatever he’s concentrating on and then he’s right back to the whole sky->metal tube->surely going to die mindset.

More turbulence and he gasps, his nerves not helped by his seatmate tipping to the side and resting his head on his shoulder. While he’s certainly daydreamed about a cute bear falling asleep on him (is there a name for a short bear? Teddy bear? Oh god why is the plane making that noise?)

The next bump is bad and he jumps with a squeak. The man wakes up, jostled by his sudden movement. 

“Guhwha? Or, sorry man, didn’t mean to zonk out on you.” Up close and soft, the drawl is painfully charming. Indrid wishes he was calm enough to enjoy it. 

“It’s, it’s alright, I, I didn’t mean to Nahnnn!” Another bump and he grips his arm rests.

“Not a fan of flyin?’”

“Obviously” he manages through grit teeth.

The man shakes his head, blinking fully awake, “I, uh, got some more of those little melatonin things in my bag. You want one?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? Flight might be a lot more bearable if you were asleep for most of it.”

“I, I can’t. You will think I’m a lunatic if I tell you why.”

“Hey, I fell asleep on a random dude’s shoulder, everyone gets a little weird on planes.”

“I worry that if I fall asleep, I will not be ready to respond if something disastrous happens.”

The man stares at him a moment and he wishes he could hide under his meager blanket. 

“Yeah, I get that. Whoah, easy now.” He rests his hand on Indrid’s shoulder as a series of large bumps makes him shudder and curl in on himself, breathing rapidly. 

“I hate flaying. Hate it, hate it hate it.”

The man is rubbing his arm soothingly, “my sister ain’t a fan of it either. Somethin’ that helped her is thinkin about a plane in the air like a boat on the sea. Turbulence is just like goin’ over a wave; going’ over a wave don’t sink a boat.”

“But a wave going over a boat can. What if there are tidal waves in the sky? Or, not wave waves, but, but you know what I mean.”

“Strike me as about as likely as a great white shark in the sky.”

Indrid laughs, a tad hysterical, “goodness, imagine looking out that window and seeing a shark.”

“Feel like it’d be more confused than us. Ain’t no seals in the sky. That’d be kind cute though, seein’ ‘em sittin in trees like birds.”

Indrid’s knuckles are no longer white, and he can finally move his hands with enough control to pull his fidget cube from his pocket. 

“Is Brazil your last stop?” The man is no longer touching him, but he stays turned towards him, green eyes filled with polite curiosity. 

“Yes. I, ah, I am a photographer, I’m going down to document the reforestation efforts.”

“No shit! I’m goin’ down to help with them.” A crooked, excited grin, “I’m with the forest service, and we’re doin’ a kind of good neighbor program where some of our folks go down to do what we can to help with the recovery from the fires.”

“That is very impressive.” The cube combined with the conversation is soothing him. 

“Thanks. Know it’s silly, thinkin one fella can make a difference, but I wanna do what I can.”

“I do not think it’s silly. Do you specialize in anything?”

“Trees, mainly, other plants too. Spent the last three months crammin’ from books like this” he taps the botany book in his seatback pocket, “to make sure I don’t make too much of a fool of myself in a new ecosystem. You do much nature photography?”

“Yes. I specialize in nature and fashion, hence my being sent on this assignment. I, ah, do you follow National Geographic at all?”

“‘Course.”

“I won their photography award last year.”

“Shit, was that the hawk one?”

“Yes.” 

“Damn man, that photo was heavy stuff. I heard it helped convince a few places to introduce more protections for raptors.”

“I heard so as well. That made hiding in the blind and nearly getting shot by a disgruntled hunter worthwhile. That is why I love photography; I suppose it’s cliche, but a picture can indeed be worth a thousand words.”

“Guess that’s true….wait, fuck, did you say someone almost shot you?” 

Indrid summarizes his encounter with the hunter who insisted it was right to hunt, and how he had not argued that point, and that he was merely documenting what was happening in the forest that morning.

“Yeah, had a few run ins with hunters. Poachers too.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“I had better days, that’s for damn sure. You ever come up against a bear when you’re out?”

“I was on assignment in Denali once and documented a mother Grizzly and her cubs. From the river, in a little boat. That let me keep my distance. You?”

“Few times, not super close. They get into campsites sometimes, usually when folks ain’t followin directions on storin food. Once had a family come back to find all their food had been eaten by a bear. Except the jar of honey.”

Indrid laughs, “clearly he wished to avoid playing to stereotype.”

A massive bump and Indrid whimpers in surprise. 

“C’mon, you got this, pretend you’re facin’ down the hunter.”

“I can reason with a hunter, I cannot reason with a plane.”

“Here” the man rifles through his bag, “I got some good BBC nature stuff downloaded. You wanna watch with me ? Might distract you.”

“Alright. Ah, thank you…?”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

They make it through two episodes before a bad bit of turbulence has his hand shooting out to grab onto something. That something happens to be Duck’s hand. He’s about to pull away, apologize, when Duck simply twines their fingers together, occasionally brushing his thumb along Indrid’s hand whenever he squeezes down in fear.  

By the time the rest of the plane is waking for breakfast, Duck’s head is once again on Indrid’s shoulder as he shows him some photos from previous assignments that have yet to be published. They talk over their breakfast and well into lunch about their homes, about what they’re each looking forward to and dreading about being out in the field, and learn they’ll actually be working from the same base camp. When they practice their Portuguese on each other, Duck mispronounces something so egregious they both end up doubled over in their cramped seats with laughter. 

Sometime past hour twelve, Duck asks, “You got anyone back home who’s missin you?”

“No. I travel often for work, so do not have much time to devote to swimming about the dating pool. Yourself?”

“Got outta a relationship a few months ago, not really sure when I’ll get into another one.” 

By hour thirteen, Indrid’s eyelids are heavy, his head continually listing to one side as he nearly falls asleep. Duck lifts up the armrest between them, and Indrid nestles against his shoulder, too tired to marvel at how safe he feels in the arms of such a new acquaintance. 

When his eyes open again, he’s in Brazil. 

Duck deplanes with him, and they stumble through the airport, land legs not quite back online. Indrid waits for their bags while Duck retrieves coffee, teasingly calling Indrid “hummingbird” when he explains just how much sweetener needs to be in his.  They stay side by side near the baggage carousel for as long as they can, planning out their respective routes. The magazine has given him the choice to stay in Sao Paulo for a night before moving on to the rain forest, and for a moment he contemplates it. Duck, meanwhile, has returned from the bathroom where he changed into his outdoor wear. 

“I got a half hour before my ride gets here, then some more travelin until we hit camp. You stayin here tonight?”

It would be restful, a break from travel, a last evening in an urban area before leaving for the wild. And it’s not like he won’t see Duck again, they’ll have plenty of chances to talk while he’s on his assignment. 

“If it’s quite alright, I’d like to come with you.”

Duck gives him that smile again and Indrid feels like he could travel for another two days solid. And when their transport arrives, they step onto it hand in hand. 

[kimkymury]

Blue Rose Tears - Chapter 8

Hey everyone, another chapter of Pascal x Carl fanfic is here, I hope you like it!

I’d like to thanks @depressedoverdrawings​ for  for reviewing the history and help fixing grammatical errors.

Warning:  Just a little warning, some characters have distorted views about sexuality, and those views do not represent what I think in real life. This was written on purpose to suit the environment and the time that the story takes place, since at that time people were more closed minded.

The Portuguese Version of this story is avaliable on Wattpad:  https://www.wattpad.com/955909044-as-l%C3%A1grimas-da-rosa-azul-cap%C3%ADtulo-8

Under the cut!

Chapter 8

P.O.V Narrator

The moon was shining in the sky during a dark night at the Lacombrade Academy. It was the only source of light that illuminated the rooms with open curtains. It was past midnight, the silence was deafening. All the students were already in their rooms resting after another day. The nights of the school used to be very different than its mornings, which were always busy and noisy. The corridors that were full of students running during the day now were empty and dark. There were few boys who dared to go out at night in the middle of that darkness.

In the midst of all that peace and silence, someone was having trouble resting peacefully. Carl's expression was no longer tired or relaxed as in the early evening, it was more like discomfort. His blankets had become messy and tangled because of his unending tossing, it was as if the boy was being disturbed in his sleep. His expression was frowning and agonized, his breathing was more intense.

Inside his head, he dreamed that he was alone in a blank space that had no beginning and no end. The place was empty and quiet, and of a shade of white so bright that it made his eyes hurt. The silence was agonizing, he always walked in a straight line but it was as if he did not move. Despite being an empty place, it gave him a feeling of sadness, or even of being trapped. But it was at that moment that the tranquility of the blank space disappeared. 

Carl kept walking, but as he stepped ahead, cracks appeared on the floor. The seemingly infinite white floor began to crack and break, causing pieces to fall into an endless dark limbo. The boy was scared and started running in the opposite direction from which he came, only to see that more and more pieces of the floor were breaking and falling. What would happen if he fell into that chasm? The answer was uncertain, and it scared him. There was nowhere else to run, the only blank space was gradually being destroyed, the sadness and emptiness he felt before had turned to fear.

Now only a small piece of the ground remained, where he could barely balance himself to keep from falling. It was inevitable, the last piece broke, taking him to what he believed to be an endless fall. But Carl didn't feel the impact of the floor or the sensation of falling, the only thing he felt was something holding him by the forearm. The boy had his eyes closed preparing to face the abyss, and after feeling himself being held by the arm, he raised his head to face what prevented him from falling. It was someone's arm, probably a fellow student, as the jacket's sleeve was easily recognizable. However, he had no idea who could have saved him and even how that was possible, his first impulse was to ask.

"Serge?" - The dark haired boy asked without thinking, to him it seemed a little obvious that the pianist would be the one with the attitude of so readily helping him.

He received no answer, and that's when he looked more closely at the hand that held him. It didn't look like Serge's hands, its skin color was lighter, and it wasn't thin and delicate as the Gypsy's hands. Carl had no idea who it might be, he tried to recognize the mysterious figure, but the more he looked up, the blurrier his vision became.

The only thing that he could see were unclear shapes, only colors were recognizable. The last thing he saw in the fog was the dark blue of the school uniform and some warm colors just above, they looked like orange or red. That feeling was excruciating, Carl's vision was slowly fading as he heard his name being called several times, the distant sound seemed to be getting closer and closer. He felt something on his shoulder, like a shaking that tried to wake him up.

"Carl, Carl, wake up!" - A voice called him, making the eyes of the boy still in bed shoot open, leaving him with a frightened expression.

The dark haired boy was breathing fast, he felt every quick heartbeat. Standing next to him was Necroix, who was already ready for classes and was carrying some books in his hand. Carl quickly sat up on the bed, while his breathing slowly returned to normal.

"The alarm clock went off and you didn't wake up, what happened?" - The boy standing beside the bed asked, surprised from never having seen his roommate in that state before.

It had been just a nightmare, that relieved the boy who had just woken up, bad dreams were common when he went to bed worried about something. The fact that he had a nightmare didn't bother him, he was more concerned with the possibillity of being late for breakfast.

"I'm fine, I think I was just really sleepy...What time is it?" - Carl replied reassuring his friend, who did not believe much in what he heard, as he'd seen Carl's agonized expression before waking him.

"It's twenty to six, I went down to breakfast, but as I didn't see you I thought I'd better come back and wake you up." - Necroix said as he went towards his desk, setting the alarm clock to the next morning.

"Thanks for waking me up, I'll be going soon." - The dark haired boy thanked his roommate, getting up from the bed to make it up.

Carl couldn't believe he was almost late because of a dream. If he said that the reason for being late to the first class was a dream, he would be punished for presenting such a stupid excuse. The blankets were folded in the correct order, it was as if they were not messed up. But he couldn't waste time thinking about it, probably his friends were already waiting for him and would be worried about his delay. He was the Class Representative, his reputation and credibility could be affected if he was late.

"I'll see you later." - Necroix says before leaving the room, leaving the boy who was still in pajamas alone in the room.

The hands of the clock were moving. He changed his clothes quickly, taking care that he was well groomed and not seen as sloppy. Carl opened the cabinet that had a mirror on the door. He looked at himself at first to comb his hair, but ended up staring at his reflection longer than he should have. He was looking intently at himself, analyzing every little aspect of his appearance after running the comb through his dark hair. He did not consider himself handsome nor ugly, he had a normal appearance, so normal that he found it tedious to look at. He did not have a very striking physique, but he was not considered strange. How could anyone be so normal in every possible way? By what criteria was he considered normal?

He quickly closed the closet door and took the books he needed, he would only waste time by thinking about nonsense. After leaving the dormitory, it was possible to hear the voices and footsteps of several students, Carl went quickly to the Dining Hall and hoped they would not notice his delay. Unfortunately, that's just what happened, in the way to the Hall he could hear comments from other students who realized that he was in a hurry. Ignoring them was the only thing he managed to do, he had neither the time nor the courage to confront them.

The dining hall has less students than usual, probably due to the time, since most had eaten breakfast and now enjoyed the last few minutes before classes started.  After entering the Hall, Carl grabs the meal of the morning on a tray; he would have to eat quickly to get to class in time. He imagined that he would eat alone, since his friends wouldn't have been able to wait for him for so long, but he was mistaken. At a table with few people who all sat some distance away from each other, the red-haired scientist sat alone with a somewhat bored expression. It looked like he was waiting for someone. Seeing this, the dark-haired boy decided to sit with him, wondering if he too woke up late. Carl placed the tray on the table and sat across from Pascal, who was happy to see him.

"I heard you had trouble waking up. Let me guess, you kept thinking about what happened yesterday, right?" - The redhead asked ironically, starting to eat together with his friend.

"How did you know that?" - The religious boy asked a little confused, since he had not discussed it with anyone.

"Necroix told me earlier, everyone was worried that you were late. The class representative is always so punctual.” - The scientist responded, before taking a bite of his slice of bread. As with almost everything he said, he used irony as a way to add humor to any situation.

Carl was a little surprised, he had already imagined that his delay would generate a little concern, but there was still something that he wanted to ask.

"At least I wasn't the only one to arrive late. Did you stay up late studying again?" - The dark-haired boy replied, indicating the fact that his friend was still having breakfast.

"Not this time, I woke up on time and I thought you wouldn't want to eat alone." - Pascal replied, this time without sarcasm, explaining why he was there.

Simple words that meant a lot to Carl. To think that his friend had waited for him so he would not be alone was a gesture of kindness. He knew that the other boys wouldn't do that, in fact he couldn't imagine anyone doing this but Pascal, not even Serge ... That simple and ordinary act was enough to brighten up his day, even if he didn't show it much. The two continued to eat in silence, until Carl asked a question.

"And the others, where are they?" He asked, before taking a sip from the cup of tea, wondering where his friends would be.

"Kurt and Neka went out to play football before class, Serge went back to his room to try to get Gilbert to go to class, and Necroix joined Liliath to do something, I think your brother was with them." - The scientist replied, easily remembering the details.

Carl had expected all that, the boys always did the same things, so their routine was already etched in his mind. He was only bothered that Sebastian was hanging out with Liliath, he knew it was not good to leave his brother with older boys, especially those of questionable reputation. The concern in his eyes was visible, he feared for his brother's safety in a place like Lacombrade, but he had to accept that he would not listen to his sermons.

"Don't worry so much about him, Sebastian is young but very independent, he'll be fine." - Pascal reassures his friend, who felt as if he could guess what he was thinking with just a look.

"I know that, I just wanted him to interact with the boys his age." - The religious boy says, exposing the real reason for his concern, just before taking the last bites of the slice of bread.

The two boys finished eating quickly, soon the bell would ring and they should go to the first class of the day, which would be the same for both. With great effort Carl convinced Pascal to attend the first class, which was the one he liked the least: Latin. He knew that his friend did not care about his grades, as he had the hobby of repeating grades, but Carl worried that he would be punished for excessive absences. The way to class was ordinary, there were no signs of their friends, who were probably in other classrooms of Lacombrade. When they entered the room, there were already some students, most of them having conversations or trying to stay awake.

Although the night before was cold, the sun shone and illuminated the room, the large windows created a friendly, inspiring atmosphere. That room brought a certain nostalgia to Carl, he still remembered his first years studying there. As they went up the steps of the room to get to where they wanted to sit, Carl observed the place and felt happy, in a way.

How can a place as beautiful as this have such a sad atmosphere?

It was true that Lacombrade had excellent teaching methods, but that school gave him such a sad feeling in his heart, he'd felt it since the first time he stepped into the school. Maybe it was due to its cold walls or its secluded location, or it could also stem from the horrible things that happened when no one was around. His thoughts are dispersed when the boys sat down side by side while they wait for the class to start; Pascal looked bored and unwilling to be there, going to class only because of Carl's requests. Some students were surprised to see him in class so early, especially in one whose subject he couldn't stand. Carl knew that Pascal saw no sense in studying Latin, its words and grammatical rules could confuse even someone as brilliant as the redhead. It was precisely in this aspect that they differed.

The dark-haired boy turned to look at the friend who was sitting on his right, he calmly flipped through the pages of a book, as far as Carl could tell, it was something related to Biology or Chemistry. He then noticed a detail so simple that he had not noticed it before: Pascal's red hair had a shade similar to the one he saw in his dream, before waking up. He spent a few more seconds watching his friend, no words were exchanged. Oddly enough, the situation was not awkward. They could stand side by side for hours without talking and would be fine with it, just enjoying each other's company without worry.

That was a quality present in the best friendships, wasn't it?

It was only a few minutes before class started, and Carl found himself thinking again as a form of distraction. His first thought was of Pascal, his best friend, who was right beside him. He analyzed and remembered all the times they were compared with each other for being extremely different. Pascal was certainly nothing like the ideal model boy that people admired, he was just the opposite. He didn't care about grades or a good reputation, his appearance was considered careless, he didn't care about fixing his hair nor was he bothered by his eternally wrinkled clothing. He was constantly late, missing classes to do experiments, and he was kind but did not behave like a gentleman. As much as it was considered a defect, the dark-haired boy admired the fact that his friend could always be so detached from the opinion of other people and be focused on his goal.

He had no more time to think about it, the class had just started and the whole class was silent. Some were concentrated, and others were frightened by the possibility of being punished if they did not know how to answer a question. Carl opened the book he brought with him on the page ordered by the teacher; he followed the explanations carefully, trying to memorize each verbal conjugation. On the other hand, the boy who was sitting next to him did not take his eyes off the scientific book, he did not bother with the possibility of a punishment, and seemed very focused on what he was reading.

A few minutes passed and the scientist calmly closed the book that made him so interested, the truth is that he'd already read it so many times that he'd memorized the whole thing. Pascal, bored and with no interest in continuing to listen to those explanations about Latin, decides to turn his attention to Carl. He seemed focused on what he was learning, although the source of his concentration was the desire to get a good grade, not genuine interest in the subject. But Carl's attention is taken from the book when he sees a small piece of paper folded a few times being left close to his hand by the boy who sat beside him. Pascal gave the paper to him discreetly, without raising any suspicion. While he was curious to know what it was about, he was still afraid of being discovered and punished for not paying attention.

Continued in the next chapter.

Written by KimKymury, thank you for reading!

[notgreengardens]

Tagging Game

Rules: answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people who you want to get to know better.

Tagged by: @whatreallyareyousure (thanks <3)

Nickname: Mare...which definitely sounds better in german. So yeah, I don't use it when i speak english for obvious reasons.

Zodiac: Pisces

Height: 1,69 m (5"7 I think???)

Last movie I saw: Suicide Squad, unfortunately. I wanted to show my boyfriend what a mess the DC Extended Universe is and yeah, it was bad.

Last thing I googled: 1,69 m in feet

Favourite Musician: Twenty One Pilots!!!

Song stuck in my head: I just listened to Remonta by Liniker e os Caramelows. They are a Brazilian band with a black non binary lead singer and they have the most amazing voice EVER. Seriously, they are just SO TALENTED.

Other blogs: @calderapoetry is my poetry blog and @rebelupeast is my twenty one pilots fan blog. And @tu-writers-room is the shared creative writing blog from the english creative writing group at our university

Do I get asks: Not that often but sometimes

Following: I have no idea since I never use the desktop version of tumblr

Amount of sleep: preferably between 7 to 11 hours. You really don't wanna talk to me if I get less.

Lucky number: No idea

What I’m wearing: ski underwear (an isolating pullover, I am not talking about my underpants here lol), black boots, black pants, my favourite sweater cause I bought it in Peru and it's made of alpaca wool, a red coat, a black scarf and a black beanie.

Dream job: getting my phd and then working for a international ngo

Dream trip: I wanna go to Japan one day and I wanna see as much of South America as possible, but tbh I wanna go everywhere

Favourite food: Japanese and Korean, and almost everything @kingjacktorrance makes.

Play any instruments: Nope, I used to play the guitar and keyboard, but poorly.

Languages: I am fluent in German, English, Spanish and Portuguese and I used to be kind of ok in Dutch but I haven't spoken it in like 4 years. I am also learning Japanese but I can barely say something yet.

Favourite songs: That's impossible to answer but I will try. Staring At The Sun by TV On The Radio, Holding On To You by Twenty One Pilots and I Bet My Life by Imagine Dragons.

Random Fact: I can't pronounce my own name because it's brazilian but I didn't grow up speaking Portuguese so I sound like a gringa (which I am tbh).

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: Being wrapped up in a blanket drinking hot chocolate while it rains outside.

I tag: @breakthetime @kingjacktorrance @soulpantheism @awkwardlittlesoul @shyredpanda @thunder-the-wolf @teaselovekill-me @litisadastra @fangs-and-redhoods @existential-celestial @hawkeyescoffee @sexy-crow @verbywerb @pendulumandthepoet @a-simple-rainbow @add1ictwithapen and everyone who wants to!

[tywvin-archive]

below the cut are various tags i was tagged in!

rules: repost and answer the 20 questions and tag 20 people you want to get to know better

i was tagged by @rcbbstark​ tysm franzi!! <33

tagging: @lilttlebird​ @gabannas​ @leejordan​ @lesbianathene​ @helenstroy​ @zenik​ @thisbes​ @lokiofasgcrd​ @sirius

NICKNAMES: john, leni, lennister, ele

HEIGHT: 5′3″? 5′4″? i’m short you get the idea

ORIENTATION: bi

FAVOURITE FRUIT: apples or granadines i’m so basic ik

FAVOURITE SEASON: winter!!!!

FAVOURITE FLOWERS: poppies, carnations, sunflowers, and dandelions (are those even flowers?)

FAVOURITE SCENT: rain, lavender, the sea, new books, new stationery

FAVOURITE COLOUR: dark green and navy blue! and pastels

FAVOURITE ANIMALS: it used to be dolphins but i guess it’s cats now. i also really like horses and bulls for some reason? and lions because lannisters, you know

COFFEE, TEA OR HOT CHOCOLATE: all three? i can’t choose tea

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: it ranges from 0 to ~5 to 11, it’s either one of those three, no in between

CAT OR DOG PERSON: cat

FAVOURITE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS: tywin lannister + brienne of tarth + jorah mormont + leia organa + han solo + indiana jones + asha the iskari + torwin + inej ghafa + kaz brekker + jesper fahey + bilbo baggins + sherlock holmes + many more but i’ll make it way too long

NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH: one in summer and 2+ in winter

DREAM TRIP: greek islands, japan, route 66, south america

BLOG CREATED: march/april 2018!

# OF FOLLOWERS: 1.5k

RANDOM FACT: i can’t stand william shakespeare even though i have to admit (painfully so) that he is an absolutely amazing writer

i was tagged by @ladymargeary thanks! <3

tagging: @casterlys @polydeuce @barbara-minerva @okoie @dracoluciusmalfoys @maiaroberts

name - john

star sign -  capricorn

height -  162cm? 163cm? idk anymore

put your library on shuffle; what are the first 4 songs that came up?

hot n cold - the baseballs

no more lonely nights - paul mccartney

jailhouse rock - elvis presley

red balloon - never shout never

grab the book nearest you and turn to pg 23, what’s on Line 17? a moment before, she had seemed to need counselling from me

ever had a poem or song written about you? i wanna say yes because i think so but i can’t remember so nope i guess

when was the last time you played Air Guitar? i don’t usually play air guitar so, months ago

who is your celebrity crush? elvis presley

what are 1) a sound you hate, and 2) a sound you love

forks scratching on a plate

storms

do you believe in ghosts? kinda?

how about aliens? ABSOLUTELY

do you drive? not yet

if so, have you ever crashed? nope

what was the last book you read? i’m currently reading the last namsara by kristen ciccarelli the last one i read was utter crap so i’m not even listing it

do you like the smell of gasoline? hell yes

what was the last movie you watched? get out

what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? i had a serious illness when i was little but i think that doesn’t count as an injury so, i guess that time i bumped my head into concrete floors and almost passed out i fainted so hard i started trying to solve equations in my head to see if something had gone wrong. idk why? i’m horrible at math, there are other times but not really feeling like mentioning them

do you have any obsessions rn? s t a t i o n e r y & organization

do you tend to hold grudges against people who’ve done you wrong? whoops yeah

In a relationship? mentally? yes. physically? hells no, keep them away from me

tagged by @rcbbstark​ & @nancynwheeler! thank you <3

rules: we’re snooping on your playlist. set your entire music library on shuffle and report the first 10 songs that pop up. then choose 10 victims!

save us - paul mccartney

don’t stop me now - queen

black hole (liar liar) - never shout never

say say say - paul mccartney ft michael jackson

talking in your sleep - the romantics

twenty flight rock - eddie cochran

i need a dollar - aloe blacc

mine - bazzi

chasing pavements - adele

dancing in the street - martha reeves & the vandellas

tagging: @leiaaorgana @murmuroftheland @polaroids @sirius @kazrietveld @shcdebarrow @dovageidys @hwppers @aragohn @peterparkarr

my top 5 ships!

tagged by: @daeneryn​ tysm <3

television:

1. jaime & brienne (got)

2. jorah & daenerys (got)

3. cersei & the iron throne (got)

4. jake & amy (b99)

5. emily & sylvia (the handmaid’s tale)

+ sherlock & watson from the bbc series

books:

1. achilles x patroclus (tsoa)

2. ari & dante (aaddtsotu)

3. jesper & wylan (soc)  

4. sherlock & watson (conan-doyle)

5.  asha & torwin (iskari)  

superheroes:

1. steve & tony (marvel)

2. steve & diana (wonder woman)

3. steve & loki (marvel) liza told me about this ship and... wow i love it

4. wade & vanessa

5. wade & colossus

disney:

1. mulan & li shang (mulan)

2. moana & the sea (moana)

3. tiana & naveen (tiana)

4. ariel & moana (i really want gay mermaids okay)

5. mufasa & sarabi (the lion king)

tagging: whoever feels like doing it!

rules: answer 20 questions so your followers can get to know you better, and tag 20 other people you’d like to know better.

I was tagged by @marttell, thanks feli! <3

name: john

nicknames: answered above

zodiac sign: answered above

height: answered above

languages spoken: spanish, english, and a tiny bit of portuguese

nationality: spanish

favorite fruit: answered above

favorite season: answered above

favorite scent: answered above

favorite color: i’ve already answered this 34649846 times so! have some palettes (just like feli did bc i’m an unoriginal bitch)

favorite animal: answered above

favorite fictional character: answered above

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: answered above

number of blankets you sleep with: answered above

when your blog was created: answered above

favorite subject: greek! oh i love greek damn

currently watching: i’ll probably start some new shows! but idk which ones yet

favorite band: the beatles

instruments played: i could play a bit of guitar but i think i’ve forgotten everything i knew

favorite book: The Song Of Achilles - Madeline Miller

I’m tagging: whoever wants to do this!

[shachaai]

[Ficlet] Sea-Longing

Urban fantasy/human(ish) AU Eng/f!Port. Saying much more for this is a spoiler, but it’s pretty much safe-for-work fluff. Gloria is f!Portugal.

    Gloria had had her fortune read once, when she was nineteen, home from university for the summer and burnt by the hot sun and her relatives’ expectations for her future. Tarot.

It’d been Toni’s fault that the teller had read the cards looking for a prediction of Gloria’s love life; he’d been teasing her about their grandmother asking her before when she was going to bring a nice boy home. So Antonio had draped himself out over Gloria’s shoulders like an unwelcome blanket, her in a tank-top, him naked from the waist up, their skin sticking together with summer sweat, and asked the tarot-reader what the cards had to say about Gloria and love.

Tarot cards are not terribly direct things, building upon information already known to grasp at answers. To Gloria, they had just been pictures, but the fortune-teller had told their stories for Gloria and Antonio to hear. Major arcana cards, cups, many cups. Ace of cups. Ten of cups. Knight of cups. The Lovers. Gloria forgets the details, but the reader tells her that her future is full of love, with a heartfelt suitor, and tied to the element of water. Perhaps she’ll love a sailor.

Arthur is not a sailor. Arthur is not a sailor, but eight years on from tarot-readings his lips taste of salt when he comes home to her with the dim light of nautical dawn grey and hazy through her windows. He kisses Gloria awake with his soft mouth and softer, cooler fingertips cradling her cheeks, his fair hair falling in half-damp wisps across her forehead.

Though she hates waking early, Gloria loves those mornings, smiling before she’s awake. Arthur is very easy to wind into her bed, bare skin under borrowed clothes only warming when it rubs against her own body, and his strong hands are always at their most delicate when they trace the shape of her ribs beneath the covers, the muscles of her hips and thighs, before they sweep back up across her belly, across her breasts before cupping her face once more, leaning in again to kiss her sleep-crusted eyelashes. Nose. Mouth.

“Do I pass muster?” Gloria asks him, if only to open her eyes to the low rumble of laughter that presses through Arthur’s chest to her own, a lullaby-song like the sound of the distant ocean.

“Your beauty dazzles me,” Arthur tells her, and proprietarily pushes one of his cold thighs between her much warmer ones. He has a crooked smile, pressing it to Gloria’s palm when she raises a thumb to rub away the rough salt crystals still clinging to his cheeks, feeling the scratch of them under the pad. In the pre-dawn light, even his sea-green eyes gleam silver. “Even when you drool.”

Gloria shoves the heel of her palm into his nose until he apologises, and, when she falls asleep again, it is with Arthur in her arms, his spine curved into her front and her mouth still smiling against his nape.

Naturally, when she wakes up again with the noon sun spilling across her floor, Arthur has already left the bed, but the bathroom is still steamy with condensation and the damp clothes he must’ve worn to get to her house have been left to air before being put in with the rest of the dirty laundry. The rest of the house, when Gloria emerges into it, has been similarly tidied; still sleepy, she has to squint at the bright reflection of the sun on her (offensively) squeaky-clean draining board, and then squint again when she has to actually go into her bread bin to get out the rolls she had been quite happy to leave out on her bench two days before.

When they had told Gloria’s family that Arthur worked as a freelance editor and occasional writer for a magazine in England - something that is actually true, although Gloria’s family had not been told just how little of Arthur’s disappearances from Portugal are for Arthur’s work -, Gloria’s mother had joked that at least Arthur’s job made sure that he had plenty of time to keep the house clean whilst Gloria was away.

Gloria had laughed at the time, accustomed to her mother’s jokes about how her only daughter kept the chicken coop in her garden in better order than her own house - but every time Arthur does come home, he cleans. Gloria is a little untidy - things get put away, generally, but not always in the correct place -, but she hardly lives in a pit of squalor. Arthur deep-cleans her house anyway, starting with general tidying and washing down benches and walls, sorting through and handling the laundry, and vacuuming. The chickens are a bit wary of him so the most he can do for the coop is feed them on those days when Gloria is too busy - or sleeping - to, but the rest of the garden usually ends up looking so immaculate Gloria’s neighbours stop treating her like the repentant Mary Magdalene when she turns up to share some of her chickens’ eggs with them and more like they haven’t had to return her skirt, heels, and a used bra to her the day after her friends have gotten her spectacularly drunk on a summer night out and she stripped off whilst tottering up her own garden path at three am. More than once.

Arthur smells like warm dust and sun and Gloria’s bodywash when he traipses in barefoot from whatever he’s been doing to her neglected garden, earth and green chlorophyll under his nails. Gloria opens her arms happily to him for another hug, but her shoe-hating sweetheart side-steps her with a grin to wash his hands in the sink. Gloria wraps herself around him from behind instead, pressing her forehead to his shoulder and letting her hands slip over the sharp edges of his hipbones under his soft, faded shirt. (She is, most likely, getting breadcrumbs stuck under his clothes, but that is his cross to bear, not hers.) Like this, he is so pointy. All soft, smooth skin, lithe muscle and evident bones beneath.

“Mama thinks I never feed you,” Gloria says, digging her face into Arthur’s shoulder and inhaling the scent of him, his warmth, with shameless indulgence. It’s been a month and a half since she saw him last, and three days longer than that since they were like this - since he was like this. Human. Hers. “You’re so thin.”

Arthur hums, tipping his head so his cheek presses companionably on the top of her head - they both know he’s only this slim some of the time, shedding his weight the moment he puts pale pink toes on Portuguese shores. “Shouldn’t have told her I can’t cook, then.”

Gloria pouts very dramatically at him. “I did not tell her you couldn’t cook; I told her you burnt scrambled eggs and tried to hide the ruined saucepan in the bin.” The only times Arthur is fat are when he cannot eat his own cooking, but none of these are things Gloria can explain to her mother.

��Once,” says Arthur, and turns around in Gloria’s grasp before she can get a good grope in on one of his thighs so he can hold her in return. He wipes his hands off on her shirt because he is terrible.

“Scrambled eggs, querido,” says Gloria, and grins at the beginnings of a pretty pink blush on Arthur’s cheeks, settling for cheerfully groping his butt in their new position instead. Is still grinning as he kisses her, soft approving noises slipping out of her at his thumbs stroking her throat, his nails scratching a shiver through her nerves before he has his fingers in her sleep-tangled hair.

This, moments like this, whether they are in the bed or the garden or like this, Arthur bracketed up against the sink as they both kiss themselves dizzy, make the times when Arthur is away more bearable. Also remembering all the times when Arthur has been an inconsiderate dick, but Gloria likes to dwell on the happier things when sea-longing drags her down to the beach.

Arthur forever leaves the smell of the ocean on her pillows and sand in her sheets. He leaves dirty laundry and half-full mugs of cold tea about her house when he goes, and when he comes back he brings gifts: pretty rocks and seashells, sea-glass, expensive seafood and two dead ducks only lightly chewed. He brings back stories of what he’s done whilst he’s been gone and where he’s been, and he, most tenderly, brings back a long strip of silvery-brown cloth, lightly spotted, warm from his own body and so infinitely precious that it had taken two years for Arthur to even allow Gloria to glance at it, let alone know where he put it whilst he was with her.

Half of another year, and Arthur had let Gloria touch it, warm, smooth softness under her palm. Sealskin. A harbour seal’s skin, uma foca-comum, to be more precise, so strange to see so far south.

Half of another year again, and Arthur had awkwardly but gratefully accepted the old unused jewellery box Gloria had offered him to place the skin inside when he came to see her, a reasonably sized wooden thing, with a small lock and key that was Arthur’s to hide or keep. Gloria had left the house for a few hours - food shopping - to give Arthur plenty of time to hide the jewellery box somewhere, but when she had returned home and placed her bags down he had taken her hand and showed her where the jewellery box had been tucked away, nestled amongst her winter scarves and gloves like a small animal hibernating for winter.

Around that point they had stopped saying Arthur was visiting her - instead, Arthur had started coming home.

They had met four years ago, then again three and a half years ago - and then, after that, the longest Arthur had been away from her had been three months. This past year, he has never been gone longer than a month and a half, but his average time away from Gloria is only two weeks. Mostly he leaves for a day or two. Once, he had only been gone three hours.

Gloria’s family are starting to look at Gloria’s hand for a ring. Gloria does not know how to ask her family - or the government, or a priest - about the legality of marrying a selkie. She has never even asked Arthur if he has a passport, or where he was born. So you turn into a seal? had mostly put all the other important questions out of her mind.

Also her slight hysteria the first time she had actually seen Arthur don his skin and turn into a seal, followed up by the still slightly-delirious cooing at how cute and chubby her seal boyfriend is as a seal, and her immediate need to shower kisses on her seal boyfriend’s wet nose.

The seal thing really is quite distracting.

Harbour seals are one of the species of pinnipeds that are not monogamous. The fact - too - occasionally crosses Gloria’s mind when she’s driving on her way to work, the ocean glittering in her field of view and her mind still too sleepy to immediately dismiss nonsense. Not counting seal, Arthur speaks English, French, reasonable Spanish and enough Portuguese to charm Gloria’s family and make her blush; he has more than enough words in enough languages to seduce a pretty girl or boy somewhere else Gloria doesn’t know, someone who lives further north by waters that it is not so weird to see a harbour seal swimming in. Arthur always swims north when he leaves her, he’s told her so; the colder streams of the Atlantic must help bring him to his senses.

Then again, Arthur’s awkwardness and snappishness when provoked by people other than Gloria would suggest he’d have better luck attempting to seduce a grumpy walrus than another human.

Gloria is not sure what her feelings would be about losing her selkie boyfriend to a seductive walrus, but even the thought of it makes her need to park her car very suddenly, lean forward over her steering wheel, and laugh. Slightly hysterically - again -, but laugh.

At home, there is Arthur, or there is not. He has made her no promises except that he will always return to Gloria as long as she will have him, and, words stumbling over his tongue as he turned a red brighter than sunburn, that he loves her. He cannot… There is something about the sea, he’d said. He sometimes just needs to go back to the sea, and there is no way to measure the depth of that longing, or any real way to truly, totally, quench it.

Gloria had been fond of swimming, of going out on her family’s boats and long, quiet walks on the beach by herself, long before she had met Arthur. Sitting on the sand and reading until the sun went down, with nothing but the wind and the gulls and the surf in her ears. She understood sea-longing before Arthur, and understands sea-longing a different way now she has him and he leaves and returns to her like an unpredictable tide.

There is not an Arthur-sized hole in Gloria’s house or life when the selkie is not there, but her heart misses him while he is gone. You cannot skype or text a seal. You certainly cannot have phonesex with one. But when Arthur is there -

Oh, he makes her happy. Simply happy, without a complication in her heart despite all the complications loving a selkie brings for her head. Even if he ruins her saucepans (he really cannot cook), tidies things away in places it takes her three days to find, and has a permanently passive-aggressive set of chronic misunderstandings with her brother. They can talk about things, Arthur and her, work things out between them. They will talk about things, because Arthur always come home to her for a reason.

“...Hey,” Arthur says, breaking off their kiss to nudge his nose against hers and draw Gloria out of her thoughts, his green gaze very close and inquiring. He has bumped kisses to her face like this in his seal form too - but the human form, at least, doesn’t suffer so much from fish breath. Imperfect and beautiful. “Where are you?”

Gloria nudges him back, letting her eyes slide shut at the simple pleasure of Arthur’s cheek against her own, nuzzling. The ocean cannot have this from her. “Não te preocupes, querido. Always with you.”

[latte-to-go]

What Happens In Portugal » Sam Drake

Request: I kind of lost it actually?? oops.

Requested By: @shay-makes-my-luck | @waterbird-loves-pasteis [I hope you like it, honey! I’m so sorry that it took months to complete when I should have sat my butt down and wrote it a long time ago.]

Pairing: Sam Drake x Reader

Fandom: Uncharted

Words: 2000+

Summary: Sam and you are in Portugal hunting down some artifacts when the two of you get lost and end up running into a hotel run by the cartel.

A shiver ran down your spine as you followed closely behind Sam Drake, your best friend for two years now. The two of you had been traveling when your plane had crashed and now the two of you were stranded. “Sam? How much further?” You whispered as you glanced down at your aching feet.

Sam glanced back at you and smiled slightly. You could see the small cuts that lined his forehead. His parachute had been acting strange and Sam had crashed into a tree. Luckily, all he had gotten was a few scratches. “I think I see lights, [Name],” He whispered as he began to walk faster and you followed closely behind.

Finally, the two of you made it onto a road and just off the road was an inn. You smiled as you placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, slightly out of breath. “Oh, thank god,” You whispered as you walked towards the inn. Sam checked his wallet and noticed that he still had enough money to hopefully pay for one night.

“Is this enough?” Sam asked as he walked towards the innkeeper who glanced up at Sam. He glanced down at the money before shaking his head no. Sam scoffed as he pulled out another twenty and the innkeeper didn’t even look up at him. “Listen, brother, we’ve been in the woods for almost two years and we are so close--”

“Antony! Let them stay, buddy!” a male’s voice from behind them sounded. Sam and you looked back to see an attractive man who was grinning at the two of you. “My name is Adrian.”

“Sam and this is [Name],” Sam replied as he nodded at the man. Adrian nodded as he walked towards the innkeeper and gave him some money before turning towards the two of you.

“Room 22,” the innkeeper stated as he tossed the keys over to you. You caught them and placed them in your pocket.He grumbled something about ‘foreigners’ but you chose to ignore it

Sam and you followed Adrian to a separate area where there was a bar and a group of people. Then men and a few women were playing poker while a group of women were sitting around drinking and gossiping.

“Come on, Sam. Play a game,” Adrian ushered to which Sam looked at you and you shrugged as you smiled at him.

“Alright, but prepare to get your ass handed to you,” Sam declared as he moved to follow Adrian.

“[Name], why don't you spend some time with my wife, Pamela?” Adrian suggested as he pointed to a group of ladies who sat close by to the poker table. The women - Pamela, you assumed - called you over.

“Hello, [Name], right? I couldn't help but overhear,” She greeted with a dazzling smile. She had straight black hair with olive skin. Her eyes were dark to the point where they looked black. Pamela was a beautiful woman and so were her friends that surrounded her.

“Yes, you must be Pamela,” You said as you took a seat in the spare chair.

“Just call me Pam,” Pamela replied with a smile before she looked at her friends. “This is Fatima, Odette, and Maria.”

“Nice to meet you,” You said with a smile as you tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. A worker came by and placed a drink in front you. You glanced towards Sam who was drinking and cheering merrily with the boys.

“Are you Portuguese?” Odette asked to which you nodded. A smile spread across her lips. “Sabes falar português?” She asked to which you nodded again.

“A minha mãe falava sempre português em casa,” You answered to which the girls nodded and smiled.

“I must ask,” Fatima started as she leaned in and so did you. “Is that man you came in with your husband?”

You glanced towards Sam who was only a few feet away from you. His back was turned towards you and you could see his cards - Royal flush: A, K, Q, J, 10. You smiled as you shook your head. Sam was always good at poker. “I wish,” You said with a shrug. “I've been his companion for so long, but we've never done anything. We kissed one time but we were both drunk. It probably meant nothing to him but it meant everything to me.”

“Why don't you tell him?” Pamela asked softly with saddened eyes. “It took Adrian and I years to confess our love. One day, I almost lost him and I decided that life is too short to waste. Tell him how you feel, [Name].”

“I don't know,” You whispered as you traced the dents in the wooden table with your fingertip. “I don't want to lose him.”

“What if he feels the same way?” Fatima asked, excitement clear in her tone. “You won't lose him if he feels the same way!”

“Aye, Sam! You were right about beating us!” Adrian’s booming voice sounded as Sam collected his winnings.

Sam chuckled as he put the coins into his pocket. He looked back at you with an intense look. It wasn't bad but full of emotion for some reason. “We should head to bed,” Sam suggested and everyone nodded around them.

“Yes, you must be tired,” Pamela said with a smile as she sipped her drink. “We'll talk in the morning. Goodnight, Sam. Goodnight, [Name].”

“Goodnight, Pam,” You said as you waved goodbye and followed Sam to the rooms where you two quickly found Room 22. Sam opened the door to reveal a decent sized bedroom but there was only one bed. You chuckled as you looked towards Sam who closed the door and locked it. “One bed, huh?”

Sam shrugged as he set his dirty backpack down on the floor next to a chair. “It's big enough. But, I can sleep on the floor if you're uncomfortable with sharing a bed.”

You shook your head as you placed your things down as well. “No, like you said, it's big enough to support the two of us.” You watched him with a small smile as he plopped down on the bed. You pulled out some clean clothes from your backpack. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Maybe tomorrow we can get all our clothes cleaned.”

Sam nodded, agreeing with you. It didn’t take you long to shower, but when you came out, Sam was already all clean and dressed in clothes that weren’t covered in dirt. “Your skin is pretty shiny,” Sam pointed out as you walked out of the shower.

You chuckled at his comment as you shoved your dirty clothes into your backpack. You, then, crawled into bed with him and took a seat next to him under the blanket. You were exhausted and your feet ached from all the walking Sam and you had done. “Maybe we should call in Sully?” You suggested as you looked towards Sam.

“We’re so close, [Name],” He whispered as he laid down and looked up at the ceiling.

“It’s been weeks and we have found nothing. We should head back home, regroup, and come up with another plan,” You whispered softly with a small sigh.

“Come on, [Name],” Sam whispered as he met your warm eyes.You sighed softly as you nodded. You could never say no to Sam. It was a weakness, but you didn’t care. Sam mattered a lot to you. He was the one who was always there for you, so you could only do the same for him.

“Okay,” You whispered and the urge to kiss him was there, but you kept away. Sam and you flirted, but it was nothing serious. The two of you were only friends and nothing more.You took in a deep breath, readying to say something about your growing feelings. “Sam, I--”

The two of you jumped when blaring alarms were heard throughout the building. Sam and you quickly grabbed your backpack and guns. You quickly put your shoes on while Sam put his jacket on. There was banging on your door. “The police are here! Get the hell out of the building!” the person shouted before the footsteps of them running away sounded.

You clutched onto your gun as Sam and you followed a single man down a hidden staircase. You looked back at Sam with concern, but he tightly held onto your hand as everyone moved into a dark underground tunnel. “What is this?” Sam asked one of the men.

“Don’t know how the police found, but it seems that they have,” the man muttered as he glared at the opening of the tunnel before someone closed it behind them. “Don’t you know what this hotel is?”

You shook your head with wide eyes. “No, we just stumbled upon it?”

He scoffed lightly as he shook his head. “Well, Adrian and Pamela run a cartel and this is their base of operations.”

Your eyes widened as you glanced towards Sam before looking back at the man. “What?” You asked, remembering the couple from before. They seemed so sweet and welcoming. They did not look like drug lords at all. “Wow, what are the odds?”

“Are we going to be safe?” Sam asked as everyone continued to travel down the dark tunnel. The only light came from the torch that the man held. The shadows danced across the walls creating a very romantic scene if nobody paid attention to the situation.

“Oh, yeah, as long as the cops don’t find us--”

It was as if the world was against them in that moment. Light flooded the tunnel and they could hear the cops shouting in portuguese. “Oh, fuck!” the man shouted before he ran off, leaving Sam and you alone. You looked at Sam with wide eyes and he grabbed your hand and the two of you rushed off.

“Stop!” the police behind you shouted, but Sam pulled out his gun, held you tight, before sending off a few warning shots.

“We need to go!” Sam whispered sharply as the two of you ran through the tunnels, but they were a maze and it felt like they were going on forever and ever.

After a couple minutes of running for your life, Sam and you had made it out to the open. It was dark and the stars were on full display. You smiled slightly as you panted, slightly out of breath. Sam was behind you with his gun still out. “I think we lost them,” Sam whispered as he took a seat on a nearby rock.

You sighed softly as you shook your head. “Sam,” You whispered and it took one look at you and Sam had you engulfed in his arms.

“I’m here. I won’t let anyone ever hurt you. I promise,” Sam whispered softly as he stroked your hair. Each movement sending shivers down your back and it wasn’t just because of the cold air.

“Amo-te [I love you],” You whispered in Portuguese so Sam wouldn’t understand. You sniffled slightly as you pulled away and looked up at him. He gave you a small grin.

He cleared his throat as he took a step back, much to your confusion. “Sabes que acabaste de te confessar e que entendi tudo o que tu disseste, certo? [You know that you just confessed and that I understood everything that you just said, right?],” Sam whispered in your ear causing your eyes to go find. “Yeah, I learned a little bit of portuguese when I was stuck in prison.”

“Sam, I’m sorry--”

“Também te amo [I love you too],” Sam interrupted you with a confession of his own. You smiled softly and before you knew it, his lips connected with yours. It felt like fireworks had been set off inside you and you knew in that moment, you wanted nothing else but Sam.

You chuckled softly as you pulled away from him. “I love you, Sam. I really do. For the past couple of years, I’ve been by your side. I wanted nothing more than to me with you. Amo-te,” You whispered softly as you slowly ran a hand through his hair.

“Amo-te,” He whispered back before he pulled you in for a tight embrace. Despite it being a strange night, it had a happy ending.

[liveacompletelife]

Life is Like Riding a Horse

I went horseback riding for the first time the other day. At least I think it was my first time. I have one other memory of riding a horse, but it’s from so long ago there’s an 80% chance it was just a vivid dream. So, for simplicity sake, we’ll call this my maiden voyage.

I was in Portugal at this amazing resort for my dear friend’s wedding, glancing through the list of activities offered when I noticed horseback riding. My girlfriend is a champion hunter-jumper and grew up around horses, so I was eager to share in her passion and figured this was my time to begin the learning curve.

Thankfully my teacher/guide did not speak good English. Thankfully? Yes, thankfully. Something beautiful happens when you don’t speak a language well—you’re forced to explain things in the simplest way possible. When you have mastery over words, it can be far too enticing to over complicate and convolute matters since it becomes equally important you sound intelligent and accomplished. If you’re not already re-analyzing my writing style you should be. Now back to the horses.

Pedro, my guide, brings out this sweet horse named Doctor for me to learn on in the ring before we go for a long ride through the countryside. Doctor is 18, which I believe equates to 465 years old in horse years, so he’s very wise—and tired. Perfect for learning. Gathering most of my horse knowledge from my grandfather’s obsession with Gun Smoke, I was expecting a giant Western saddle. A veritable throne atop this horse that would secure me for the ride like a Formula 1 driver. I got a blanket. “You ride no saddle, feel horse and movement,” said Pedro. So, I step into his weathered hands and mount this majestic beast.

Step #1: Posture. “Sit up, shoulders back, kidney out.” That was Pedro’s first rule as he begins leading Doctor around in a circle with me on top. Granted, I’m not exactly sure where my kidneys are located, but I got the gist. I knew better than to ask him when the right time was to hunch. “You keep posture all time.” Okay life, what are you trying to say? What does it mean to maintain proper posture in life?

Like many Americans, I used to physically hunch a lot. I blame laptop computers and yogurt. Recently I’ve noticed those back contraptions that somewhat resemble straight jackets becoming all the rage on Amazon. They force your shoulders back and chest out. Lately I’ve been more aware of this in my life, consciously fixating on my posture more than usual. Two things happened. First, I felt more confident. And second, people kept saying “I didn’t realize how tall you are.” Both good reasons to keep this trend going. But posture means so much more in life than just the physical.

By definition, “posture” means the position in which someone holds their body when standing or sitting. The world of medicine tells us that proper physical posture relieves stress and prevents injury. Posture in life means gratitude, mindfulness, vitality and faith. Heart, mind, body and soul. By focusing on these we position ourselves to avoid the stress and pain that circumstances will inevitably bring. It’s not an occasional focus. In the words of Pedro, “you keep posture all time.” Personally, I do this in the morning. My practice includes Tibetan breathing exercises, gratitude, visualization, and prayer. I call it my Complete Morning. Choose what works for you, but make sure you include your heart, mind, body and soul. When I skip a day, I feel out of alignment—and you can’t ride life that way.

Step #2: Relax. “Relax legs.” This was Pedro’s command as we began trotting and my legs instinctively gripped Doctor’s belly for support. I’m riding bareback on an animal whose power is the measurement of car engines and I’m supposed to relax? Easier said than done. While gripping and trotting I was given a very bumpy ride. But the more I relaxed my legs, the more my body began to move in sync with Doctor.

I’ve had many bumpy rides in life: failed projects, broken relationships, physical illness, etc. The experience was always bumpier when I tensed up and tried to hold onto something for support. You must act counter to your instinct and relax. However, relaxing only works when your posture is aligned. If I were to have relaxed while hunched over on Doctor, I guarantee you bad things would have happened. You can only relax when you’re in the right position.

When I have Complete Mornings, I find myself laughing, not yelling, when someone cuts me off on the freeway. Whatever circumstances come my way that day, posture allows me to relax and let it wash over me rather than throw me off the horse.

Step #3: Unity. “You and horse are one, not separate.” Once my body was in the right position and I had relaxed everything, I no longer felt I was riding Doctor. We were just one unit moving around in circles. There was an energetic connection between us that disposed of physical boundaries. My body moved in sync with his as we progressed to gallop. Pedro didn’t even need to tell me to put my shoulders back as we ran, I did it automatically because I was connected to my partner in this journey.

When we maintain our posture and relax, we move in sync with life. No longer resisting the bumps, accelerations or decelerations. Embracing each as it comes, no longer separate. It’s easy to feel lonely in life. Disconnected. Believing no one understands us. Only when we are aligned and relaxed can we truly connect with life and everyone else in it. Moving in sync as a society.

Step #4: Let go. So here we are, Doctor and I running around in circles together moving as one when Pedro says, “take one hand off ring and put behind back.” Come again? Though my posture was aligned, my legs were relaxed, and we were moving as one, I was still holding onto this ring attached to the blanket as a fail-safe. I mean, I could fall off at any moment, so best to hold on just in case. “Take hand off!” I remove my hand and put it behind my back, still holding on with the other. “Now switch hands.” I switch. “Now both hands behind back.” Doctor and I are trotting around in circles bouncing together like we’re on a trampoline and I’m supposed to completely let go?! So, I do. We gallop around in circles connected by little more than energy and my ass—yet it was seamless.

The best adventures in life don’t come our way like the next vine. If we’re Tarzan swinging through life from vine to vine, relationship to relationship, career to career, we can only get so far grabbing the next closest, safest vine. The greatest experiences in life require us to let go of the vine we’re holding onto and stretch as far as we can for the one that can take us higher and further. For a moment, we’re suspended in air. Held by nothing but the momentum created by our leap. That’s how life works.

The universe rewards trust. Every major decision I’ve made in life from quitting law and starting a tech company to risking humiliation in meeting incredible people, there has been a moment of letting go. When crossing a chasm in life you can only build a bridge so far. The gap that remains requires letting go and making the leap. You must let go before you can take control.

Step #5: Take the reins. Our lesson was complete. I had successfully maintained my posture, relaxed, become one with Doctor and physically let go as we galloped around. I was ready for our ride. Pedro tells me to rest for fifteen minutes while he takes Doctor back to the stables and saddles up Latinas, a younger horse who will have more energy for our 8-kilometer ride.

This time I’m given an English saddle (think a slightly enlarged beach-cruiser bike seat with a small leather strap in front masquerading as a handle) and reins. Pedro delivers a 30-second crash course in accelerating, braking and steering. “Pull back to stop. Open left arm go left. Open right arm go right. Squeeze legs go faster. Let’s go.” I spent thirty minutes going in circles with no control, focused only on posture, relaxation, unity and letting go—now we’re off and running, literally, with hardly any training on speed and control. But again, that’s life.

The hardest part is maintaining your posture, staying relaxed, connecting with life, and letting go. Then once you’re off and running, steering is the easy part. At some points in life you’ll need to move fast. Others you’ll need to slow down. You’ll fail going one direction and shift course. You’ll fail again and shift a little more. Life itself will start going a different direction because it saw a delicious purple flower covered in thorns that it just had to eat and you’re wondering how the hell this thing can eat thorns… and then you’ll need to gently guide it back on course. But if you maintain your posture, stay relaxed, connect with life and keep letting go, you’ll experience the most invigorating ride imaginable.

So that’s what Latinas and I did. Together. Exploring the enormous Portuguese farm on the border of Spain taking in the picturesque beauty that has inspired centuries of artists and writers.

Well… what are you waiting for? Go take a ride.

[simsarchive]

Answer 20 Questions, Then Tag 20 Followers tag

I was tagged by the lovely @butterfly-tattoo

Name: Kassady Nickname: Kass, D, beast Sign: Pisces  Height: 5′ or 4′11 (every time I go to the doctor its something different)  Age: 17 Orientation: Bi Ethnicity: Irish, Portuguese, Italian, *then a mix of like French and English but is literally like 2%* Favorite fruit: Strawberry or bananas  Favorite season: Autumn, or Winter (I'm in California so there’s not really “weather” but it gets colder and the sky is overcast all the time and I love it)  Favorite book: um. Unwind by Neal Shusterman or maybe 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher (idk I'm a child someone give me good suggestions) (and also I hate the Netflix series of 13 reasons why) Favorite flowers: Tulips? Roses? Some exotic flower to make me sound cool?  Favorite scent: Flowers, I guess. and also some obscure scent that I don't know the name of/ doesn't have a name  Average hours of sleep: I honestly dont know, I got to bed at like 2 or 3 am and then wake up at like 10 so like? 7? 8? which is actually a lot more than i thought it was.  Number of blankets I sleep with: 1 Favorite fictional character(s): i have no idea.  Ideal trip: Portugal. Well, the Azores.  When this blog was created: ummmmmmmmmm October 2016, but i gave up in like November then actually came back like last month.  Birthmarks: On the back of my arm, its a little circle. (for a while we just didnt think i had one.)   Number of followers: 128 Something embarrassing: When I was a child I used to think you stopped breathing when you were sleeping. 

I now tag @ohpuppets @ciarasims @plumbobpixel @blusimmer @themweirdsims @simlydarling @linen-sims and @divasims . 

I know thats only 8 but Im not close with a lot of people on here lol