#I felt weird combining the ocean and stars together

[smiles-ocs]

Some concepts and ideas for Castor and Ronan’s story called Starchild. Some of these are… hard to get to drawing, specifically Ronan’s younger siblings, might redesign them, but they’re all very young. Ronan left to join a crew so he could make money for them while his parents physically can’t work, and he made sure that his 12-year-old brother is very helpful. Then some random character ideas. A first mate on Castor’s pirate crew, two important characters named Rigel and Esther, castor as a young boy, and random scene ideas I have.

There’s a lot of crap I’m rambling about under the cut so go there if you want to know more about the characters, lore, and spoilers

I also have an idea of a deity or something of the sorts. It’s bascially a “Star God”, something with incredible power that was given to them from the heavens, and it is responsible for the starchildren that have shown up around the world, hence why this series is called Starchild. The whole thing around the Star God is a mystery, but people do know it exists thanks to the star children. This is a little dark but some explanation on Starchildren:

Starchildren are born every few hundred years or so, it’s unknown how often a starchild is born, but people believe that starchildren are the star god’s children, and that when they reach a certain age, they are sacrificed to deal with all the problems the world is having. They believe that if a starchild is not sacrificed, demons from hell will arrive to destroy the world. I hinted at this on my last post, but starchildren turn into strange creatures, the main one being the Leviathan. There’s also the Kraken and the other one who’s name is so complicated I’m not even going to bother with it dhskdbsk.

Long story short, the whole thing is a lie. Starchildren have incredible power when they become adults and are “awakened” as Starchildren. They remember the person that gave them that power (the Star God) and their purpose, which is watching over the people. However, centuries ago, someone in high power believed that Star children were too powerful, and out of fear, he came up with an excuse to kill starchildren before they grew too powerful, because no one should be more powerful than him. So they killed starchildren when they were young and weak, hiding behind the excuse of it being a sacrifice to the world or something, using the blood to cleanse the world and keep the demons at bay. That way, if the starchildren escape, and inevitably take on the role of “deities”, people will believe that the demons have arrived to punish them for failing, and will try to kill the awakened starchildren.

Starchildren cannot escape their fate, however, because they cannot hide unless they are far away from people. They have blue hair that shines in the darkest fog, blue hair that cannot be hidden, and a star birthmark somewhere.

I suppose there’s no reason to hide this now, but Castor is the starchild of this era, originally called Orion, but he changed his name for safety. He ran away when he learned that he was going to die, trying to escape on a boat. The people almost caught him, but the kraken appeared, seemingly saving his life. As Castor tried to hide from people, he tried to hide his blue hair, but it constantly shines through whatever he hid it in. The best he could do was to wrap it up and put a thick hat on, which helped, but even so, you can see in his wrapping the blue hair. He tried to dye it, hide it in mud, even shaving it, but the blue cannot be covered up, so hiding in plain sight was nearly impossible to him. He left to sea to avoid people, but accidentally became captain of the pirate crew. He’s a very jaded man who is intimidating and skilled in sword fighting. People respect him as a captain, so he is in high status on his ship (obviously 💀). Problem is, there is a very, VERY high bounty on the star child’s head, so even the most loyal crew members may turn on him if he is found out.

Castor trusts no one, but he seems to have a soft spot for Ronan for some reason. Even when he eventually finds out that he is the starchild, he can’t bring himself to kill him. He’s just a boy…

Obviously, Esther and Rigel are starchildren as well. Rigel is an ancient starchild, who lived a good life before the starchildren sacrifices. He roams the ocean, punishing anyone who threatens the innocent or disrespects the ocean. There were a lot of starchildren too, but the creatures of starchildren were hunted and killed, leaving Rigel, Esther, and Castor the last three starchildren. Esther was a starchild who escaped the sacrifice, who is far more cruel and jaded than Castor, and when Castor is “awakened”, she goes after him to use him to punish everyone.

Rigel is that turtle Whale island thing, Esther is the kraken, and Castor turns into the Leviathan.

The star god is no benevolent being, and is not a god at all. He’s a regular human who got magic from some meteorite, idk, there doesn’t need to be any specifics lol, and he grew immensely powerful. He resides away from the ocean, but he is not a good person. He’s greedy, selfish, and does nothing to help the innocent starchildren he “created”. He would love to have the starchildren to do his bidding, but if they die, it’s no matter, cuz he doesn’t need them. Idk maybe he’s not greedy lol. Either way the star god is not a good person, but I kinda want the star god’s role to be similar to Davy Jones in pirates of the Caribbean. There must always be a star god.

Anyways I hope that all makes sense 💀💀 Ronan is just there, being roped up into this nonsense, but he’s a good boy with a good heart and wants to help the starchildren, and he and Castor grow close.

[cgsf]

Men's Hockey (RPF) fanfiction recs:

Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews [Part 2]

"I'm beyond your peripheral vision (so you might want to turn your head)" 🔒 (E) by anonymous | 3,418 | It takes the combination of prospect camp, training camp, and their first week on the road together for Johnny to realize Patrick is his soulmate. The first person he calls is Dan.

"red lips, so kissable" 🔒 (E) by anonymous | 3,569 | When Pat had finally come to him with this after six months of dating without things imploding, he'd been hesitant. "I just.... I think about making myself pretty sometimes," he had said, blushing. "Like a girl."

"crash into me" (E) by fadeastride | 3,403 | And that’s not some chick. That’s fucking Pat.

"Make The Moves Up As I Go" 🔒 (E) by agirlnamedfia | 30,354 | Patrick has his first Econ 202 class on the second day of the spring semester. It doesn’t exactly go well.

"Sommeil" (M) by MJBadger | 1,622 | Jonny being weird about public bathrooms and lots of sleepiness.

"let it all unfurl" 🔒 (M) by poeelektra | 2,545 | "Brooklyn is not Bumfuck, Tazer. And, you know, irony noted, seeing as you're from Winnipeg." "Whatever," Jon says darkly, punching fists into his jacket pockets like there’s some satisfaction to be had in stressing the seams of their linings. He doesn't care where Brooklyn is—if it belongs to this city, he's already made up his mind about it. "You're paying for the cab ride. There and back." Sharpy just laughs like Jon has told a good joke. "Sure thing, Tazer."

"and it's over, and i'm goin' under" (E) by mockturtletale | 15,011 | And that’s the story of how Kaner finds himself slumping down to the floor against his best friend’s front door, shaking a little and half covered in goosebumps. Sporting a semi and fighting the urge to cry.

"kiss and tell" 🔒 (T) by sloom | 2,169 | “Trust me,” Sharpy says, “this will be good for you.” And then, he shoves Jonny into what appears to be a mostly empty coat closet and slams the door shut behind him. “What the fuck, Sharp!” Jonny calls, pounding at the door which is, of course, locked. “Enjoy your seven minutes in heaven, Tazer,” Sharpy singsongs. Then, the bare bulb mounted on the ceiling flares to life, illuminating one Patrick Kane. Fuck.

"i don't play hard to get (i play to get you hard)" 🔒 (E) by sloom | 4,666 | Jonny starts out in twink porn - of course he does, he’s nineteen, all big dark eyes and delicate features. He never planned on being a porn star, it just sort of happened. He got injured and lost his hockey scholarship and, well, everyone has their story about how they got into porn. Jonny needed the money. Simple as that.

"left standing in the wilderness downtown" 🔒 (M) by poeelektra | 4,051 | They’re friends, though that’s always felt like a watered-down word for what they are, teammates and halves of a whole and things that are too big for language. Jonny’s his person, is all.

"anxious like the ocean in a storm" 🔒 (M) by poeelektra | 4,169 | “Did you know Savvy and Larmer combined for 220 pts in ’87-’88? Last week I watched them pummel the North Stars, a 6-point night for Savvy, with a hat trick.” He leaves off how his eyes were glued to the screen watching the two of them, because Jonny has no poetry in his soul. It just made Patrick wonder—about their futures, if what everyone’s saying is true, what it’ll be like to go all the way like he thinks him and Jonny can do—and the wondering gave him goosebumps.

"Okay, So Now You're a Vegetarian" 🔒 (M) by anonymous | 33,854 | Patrick Kane secretly decides to go vegetarian. Jonathan Toews draws the wrong conclusions.

"Good Times Never Seemed So Good" (E) by juliusschmidt | 21,171 | Johnny is a miserable bastard. Kaner is a needy fuck. They are meant for each other and also for summer on Mackinac Island, fratbro paradise.

"Media Vita In Morte Sumus" 🔒 (T) by jezziejay | 2,556 | Life is standing on the observation deck of the surgical theatre when Death finds him. “Nobody called for the grim reaper,” Jon says without turning around. There’s a soft snicker from behind him. “I’m omnipresent, I don’t need to be called.”

"I Could Dream of Ways to See You, I Could Close My Eyes to Dream" (M) by Frosting50 | 2,686 | Jonny’s head falls back against the metal stall divider with a resounding thud. He keeps making these small punched out grunts, even as he bites his lips in an effort to keep quiet. He has zero desire to get caught by some homophobic Jets fan while he’s getting his dick sucked in the men’s room at the MTS Centre, but -- Jesus Christ -- this kid has a mouth on him.

"Go, Johnny, Go" (E) by juliusschmidt | 4,387 | Jonny gives Kaner a ticket. To the courthouse. Kaner gives Jonny a ticket. To the love shack hockey game.

"don't look up, down, or to the side" 🔒 (M) by hazel | 8,282 | His mom had told him not to fall in love with houses; so had his dad, made some crack about them being worse than women, son, while his mom fake-punched him in the arm and then added, "and like people, it's what's underneath that matters, Johnny." But this is the first house he's looked at that he's liked, though he doesn't know why: it's got narrow, pointy windows with stone pieces on the tops like eyebrows, and it sits between its larger, tidier, neighbours like a poor cousin. Johnny thinks it maybe just needs someone to love it; and then he thinks: fuck.

"Let It Be" (E) by juliusschmidt | 60,127 | There’s one person who knows more about Pat than Brisson, one person who’s closer to discovering Pat’s secrets than his mom, one person who always, always, calls bullshit on him: Jonathan Fucking Toews. And following the launch of the Sun-Times article, which runs with the unfortunate headline “Patrick Kane Admits He’s Not God,” Jonny does not disappoint.

"Power Balance" (E) by thisissirius | 13,476 | The body of the email just says, “don’t fuck seguin” because Jonny doesn’t know what capital letters are and he’s a controlling asshole even when he’s miles away, and attached to it is a spreadsheet that Patrick reluctantly opens. It’s color-coded with tabs and he’s not sure whether he wants to punch Jonny in the mouth or laugh in his face. Calling him in the middle of the airport is a really bad fucking idea and Patrick knows something about those, so he settles for sending Jonny a message. YOU SENT ME A JERK-OFF SCHEDULE FOR SWITZERLAND?!

"break me in" (E) by thundersquall | 5,386 | Today Patrick comes into the locker room, shrugs off his coat, and underneath he's wearing a fucking tight tee that clings to every dip and curve of his musculature. It looks fucking painted on, and the sight of it slams Jonathan like a puck to his face, stunning and somehow primal and just bordering on the edge of obscene, how good Patrick looks in that.

"the high road is hard to find" (M) by anonymous | 11,304 | Patrick guesses this is his “third strike, you’re out” in the Jonathan Toews friendship book and he doesn’t know how to remedy that. He doesn't think he deserves the chance, to be honest.

"you look so perfect" 🔒 (E) by tarcanza | 4,270 | His eyes land on Jonny, and his rage chokes in his throat. Dries right up and flips on a dime like a fucking chemical reaction. Jonny’s lying on his stomach in the middle of his bed, reading a book. He’s in nothing but those stupid, tiny black boxer-briefs, stretched tight over the swell of his ass. One side’s jacked, fabric pushed up so that his cheek’s just hanging out all casual, fucking taunting Patrick.

"easy does it" (E) by robokittens | 2,137 | Jonny tips his head forward, rests it against Patrick's shoulder. "You got this, baby," he whispers. "You can take this; you were made for it. Made for me." It doesn't even feel like dirty talk, just like the truth.

"The Scars That Words Have Carved" 🔒 (E) by Linsky | 15,694 | “Forgive me for asking, Peeks,” Sharpy says, slowly. “But did you just kiss our illustrious captain, here?” “Um.” Patrick’s not sure what this captain business is about, but: “Yes?” Jonny’s still staring at him like he’s grown four or five extra heads, and, okay. Patrick definitely read this wrong.

"Wide Eyes" (E) by Tedda | 44,832 | When he starts hooking up with Patrick, Jonny slowly begins to realize a few things about himself.

"a hot summer night" (E) by Tedda | 5,267 | Patrick arrives in Arizona on a hot summer night. He hasn't talked to Jonny in five years, and it would have felt weird to do it over the phone for the first time.

"Dress Well, Test Well" 🔒 (M) by Kerfluffle | 9,649 | A liberal arts college AU.

"Streets of Chicago" 🔒 (E) by TheNorthRemembers | 79,749 | Patrick is 29 years old when he finds out he is HIV positive. Patrick is 29 years old when he realizes that despite giving up everything for hockey, he still might lose it over one stupid mistake, one careless, reckless night.

"a hot summer night" (E) by Tedda | 5,267 | Patrick arrives in Arizona on a hot summer night. He hasn't talked to Jonny in five years, and it would have felt weird to do it over the phone for the first time.

"blue eyes, velvet lips" (E) by Tedda | 10,356 | Prince Jonathan finds a runaway slave. Clearly, the only solution is taking the boy home.

"Wide Eyes" (E) by Tedda | 44,832 | When he starts hooking up with Patrick, Jonny slowly begins to realize a few things about himself.

"The Scars That Words Have Carved" 🔒 (E) by Linsky | 15,694 | “Forgive me for asking, Peeks,” Sharpy says, slowly. “But did you just kiss our illustrious captain, here?” “Um.” Patrick’s not sure what this captain business is about, but: “Yes?” Jonny’s still staring at him like he’s grown four or five extra heads, and, okay. Patrick definitely read this wrong.

"It Must Be Something in the Water" 🔒 (E) by allthebros | 40,228 | After five years away, living on the west coast, coming to terms with his sexuality, Patrick comes back to his coastal hometown to be with his family again and to start working at his dad's dealership, determined to get his life back on track, to leave behind all emotional messes and complications. But on the first morning of his return he meets Jonny, his sister's new boyfriend, and falls hard in lust with him, throwing an enormous wrench in his plan.

"Sleepless in Chicago" 🔒 (E) by sahiya | 4,894 | “Babe,” Jonny said, “how long has it been since you slept?” “Three nights,” Patrick said.

"Muscle Stim" 🔒 (E) by sahiya | 7,672 | The last thing Patrick needed was a stupid crush on the dude whose job it was to get him back out on the ice as quickly as possible.

"Didn't Know That Was a Thing" 🔒 (T) by AnythingThrice | 1,303 | Patrick notices it as he's searching the shelves in Jonny's bedroom for Madden 08: a weird glass sculpture, glossy black with bands of a trippy, swirling white pattern that seem to sit just under the surface. He figures it for a knickknack at first, some art piece his decorator suggested or—more likely—one of those locally-and-sustainably crafted souvenirs Jonny tends to bring back from his vacations.

"Not Something You Rub in (Just) Anyone's Face" 🔒 (E) by AnythingThrice | 6,736 | "Don’t wanna talk about it," Patrick cuts in, voice firmer now. As far as he's concerned they'd done all the necessary talking back in April. Offseason rules – offseason lives – set and followed and fucking done. World Cup over. Summer gone. Long past time to get back to the good stuff: friendly ice, Blackhawks hockey and being first star in Jonny's eyes.

"Shitshow" 🔒 (E) by AnythingThrice | 19,989 | Jonathan thought they'd outgrown this. Or no, if he's being honest with himself, he thought Pat had outgrown it while he'd merely shoved it aside, banished it to the realm of things it didn't help to dwell on.

"Fill Up Your Mouth with Something Sweet" 🔒 (E) by Linsky | 3,904 | The amazing thing, Jonny reflects after a couple of months with the Blackhawks, is how Patrick Kane manages to be such a good hockey player and yet so wrong about everything.

"the whole of him" 🔒 (E) by allthebros | 2,258 | Patrick did nothing else for this moment but live with inconvenient erections since they talked about doing it, only showing up at Jonny’s door in sweats and a t-shirt and his morning-long semi he’d made sure to trap in the kind of tight underwear that would make Jonny proud. Well fine, Patrick also did some video research. Watching review tapes is important. But Jonny--fucking Jonathan Toews--he got ready for this.

"What It Means" 🔒 (T) by allthebros | 1,312 | They’ve never been like this with each other before. He doesn’t know if it’s the sun, being away from Chicago and their lives, or just them finally being able to have this, but it catches inside Jonny’s chest. Little swoops in his stomach that surprise him every time, make it hard to breathe.

"Tell the Stars I'm Coming Home" 🔒 (E) by allthebros | 15k WIP | Jonny and Patrick have three weeks left to live. Three weeks to find their way back to each other.

"La Piscine" 🔒 (E) by allthebros | 2,484 | Pat didn’t think it was possible, but if anything, Jonathan Toews has gotten hotter since Pat saw him last summer. It’s kind of a bummer that they don’t go to the same college, but Pat appreciates the surprise. He doesn’t know what’s in the water up there in Montreal, but God Bless Canada.

"S(t)ick" 🔒 (E) by allthebros | 2,842 | “What’s gotten into you, man,” Jonny says, softly. The ‘you’ is on Patrick's lips before he can realize he’s thought it, hysterical laugh bubbling into his throat at the cheesiness of it, the disgusting idiocy, but instead he says, “it’s this heat, man, I can’t—” Think. Sleep. Fucking drink a beer like normal. Look at Jonny and see what he used to see.

"Shawty With You" 🔒 (E) by allthebros | 6,764 | 5 times Pat and Jonny needed mistletoe to kiss, and one time they didn't.

"134 Days" 🔒 (E) by allthebros | 3,406 | It's been a long winter without him.

"Nothin' But Blue Skies" 🔒 (T) by allthebros | 2,708 | Perhaps the middle of Wisconsin wasn't the right place to tell Jonny.

"Sonoran" 🔒 (T) by allthebros | 2,177 | Somewhat newly retired, Patrick makes his way to Arizona where Jonny's ostensibly getting his own shit together. It's summer in the desert, and it's been too long since they've seen each other.

"Just to Break My Own Fall" 🔒 (M) by Linsky | 9,092 | Patrick used to play a game with himself, when he was younger and considerably dumber: see how close he could get to Jonny, for how long, and not do anything to give himself away.

"trouble when you walked in" (T) by tourdefierce | 2,253 | The only thing more confusing than Twitter is Patrick Kane. Thankfully, Pat keeps Jonny busy enough that the former doesn't even matter.

"farmer au" (E) by anonymous | 13,940 | “No offense, man, but who steals a bunch of corn? It’s not really in short supply around here?” “It’s or-gan-ic,” Jonny says, pointedly drawing out each syllable. Deputy Kane clearly doesn’t fucking get it. His corn is probably full of pesticides and fertilizers.

"Loosen Up My Buttons (Babe)" (E) by tourdefierce | 4,848 | Tazer is always pushing him to be better—little psycho that he is—so it doesn't surprise Pat when he finds himself looking at a too tense, wound up Jonny and saying to himself, "Someone needs to fuck that douchebag silly". And then obviously high-fiving himself because heyoh, that's totally his job.

"High and Tight" (E) by tourdefierce | 2,609 | Jonny Toews gets a hair cut.

"the quiet between us" 🔒 (M) by tarcanza | 13,852 | There are screams. Thousands of them. Thousands of people. Claps, chants, cheers of victory. It should be loud. But it’s not. Here with his face hidden in the curve of Kaner’s neck, it’s not. There’s only Kaner. And Jonny wrapped around him, never letting go.

"(All My Life I've Been) Burdened by the Dreams" 🔒 (E) by Linsky | 30,170 | Patrick has two goals for himself when he comes to Chicago: Win the Stanley Cup. And don’t let anyone find out he’s a wolf.

••••••

This list is ongoing.

[wandering-tide]

Rooted in Magic

My first pentacle was a cheap piece of jewelry that I'd shoplifted from Hot Topic with my cousin as teenagers. It was a necklace, the sort with a twisted chain that discolors when put in water.

By that point, I had long since removed myself from Wicca and was forming my own personal craft and religion. Additionally, despite being well-aware of the pentacle's much older origins, I'd known very little about the pentacle.

Still, it felt right, it felt complete, and it felt like a symbol of my craft nonetheless.

My cousin and I had both worn our matching pentacles proudly and everywhere, even when we went swimming in the ocean and consequently ended up with rusty rings around our necks.

Our families just sort of gave us weird looks or simply shrugged it off.

It was my grandmother, who, upon noticing the necklace, had stepped up to me with a beaming smile on her face as she momentarily brushed her fingers across the encircled star. She glanced up at me with a knowing look as she said, "We have a witch in the family."

The thing about my family is that we, at least the women, are fairly in tune with our intuitions. So much to the point that we can be scary accurate in our predictions.

My biological grandfather, a grade-A asshole and hard skeptic would even waver at my grandmother's uncommon knowing.

"He would refuse to buy a vehicle or home unless I would get inside and tell him that it felt 'alright'." My grandmother would recall.

Then, there's my mother, who's prophetic dreams have gotten her out of several sticky situations.

An example of this which I find funny was when she and her two sisters had stayed at a hotel on the beach together. My one aunt had put her stash of weed in that little safe that the pricier hotels provide. She had done it without either of the other two knowing and hadn't shared the code she'd made up with them either.

Unfortunately, as humans with fickle brains are prone to doing, my aunt had forgotten the code entirely. The three were panicking over what to do, considering asking for the hotel to unlock the safe would likely lead to them getting in legal trouble.

That night, my mother ended up having a dream that showed her a specific combination of numbers. Upon waking up, she entered the numbers into the safe's keypad, and lo and behold, it opened.

My two aunt's abilities lie more with plants and people. I don't know too much about them though because, it's simply something my family doesn't discuss very heavily. Our intuitive and empathetic abilities reside mostly in the back of my family's mind, offering us help in the background of our lives when we need it. Even my grandmother, who's just a little more forthcoming and proud of her abilities.

What made my grandmother so eager about seeing my pentacle, was that she recognized that I have not only decided to acknowledge my inherited abilities, but that I have also chosen to actively work with them.

I find it almost comical that my grandmother somehow ended up as a bit of the black sheep among her own children. She adores anything related to horror, otherworldly and the occult. Myself and my one out of eleven cousins seem to have taken after her in those regards.

Maybe that's why I'm far more adept at sensing and manipulating energy like my grandmother than I am at having prophetic dreams like my mother. I am my grandmother's granddaughter.

I may not be a hereditary witch, but magic definitely runs in my family. One need not have received their abilities from their ancestors in order to be successful in their craft. However, I feel very lucky to have the support of being rooted in magic.

[hey-kae]

Only Yours

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x female reader (ft. Charles and Charlotte)

Request: hello!!! hope you are doing well :) thank you soooo much for already so perfect. it was amazing, definitely one of my comfort reads right now! this is a weird request, but maybe a pierre fic and the storyline being like you’re dating pierre but he and charles always joke that you and charlotte are dating because (naturally) you two are really close?

Warnings: slight mention of alcohol but nothing besides that.

Sidenote: I honestly didn’t expect to enjoy this one that much but i definitely did! I hope u guys will like it as well! (Please keep in mind that I don’t know much about Charlotte…)

Pierre had fallen asleep last night with you wrapped up in his arms and weirdly woke up the next morning to a cold, empty bed and an even emptier bedroom.

It was the F1 summer break, a time of the year you've come to impatiently anticipate since it granted you Pierre's constant presence for about a month. Through the years since the two of you started dating, it had somehow become a tradition to plan at least a brief vacation during that time with your boyfriend and Charles and Charlotte whose company you truly enjoyed. The four of you almost inevitably ended up on some tropical island or at least in some beachside cabin, swimming or tanning all day long then drinking and chatting the night away by a makeshift fireplace you'd build on the beach at night. During these days, you had experience invaluable love, true friendship and made the best memories of your life.

This year was no different.

The four of you, after long weeks of planning and days of packing, had rented a beautiful villa by the ocean that would grant Pierre and Charles some much-needed peace of mind. Through its beautifully designed backyard, it had access to a peaceful, calm beach with crystal clear water and melodic waves crashing on its shore.

The four of you had spent the last evening exchanging stories and memories there as the moon shone down on you and the stars twinkled in the clear night sky. Regardless of the fact that Pierre and Charles' stories seemed a little bit more interesting, they still listened so carefully to you and Charlotte's tales, making you feel as appreciated as you truly were. At some point, they were shocked as your stories progressively showed how much time the two of you spent together without them.

After that, each couple retreated into their room where you got the chance to spend some private time with Pierre, kissing and talking until sleep overcame you, hence why he was so shocked to wake up without you beside him. It didn't help that waking up to your arms hugging him was arguably his favorite part of being on vacation.

Pierre sat up in bed, a deep set frown of confusion painfully obvious on his face. The enchanting sound of waves nearby seemed to try to sing him back to sleep, his eyes threatening to close again as his thoughts swayed with the steady rhythm of the ocean. He felt himself slouch back against the pillows, groaning at how comfortable the bed was as his body desperately begged him to snooze off again.

In his half-asleep state, he reached for you to pull you to him but his arm hit the mattress once again.

He jolted awake, fully conscious this time, his mind just now registering the fact that you weren't in bed with him like he assumed you would be.

Muttering to himself im confusion, he forced his body out of bed, put on some shorts and headed out of the bedroom to search for you.

Much to his annoyance, he tripped on his shoes from yesterday on his way out, a complicated combination of french curse words effortlessly leaving his mouth as he pulled the door open, rubbing his sleepy eyes to see clearer.

Pierre struggled to walk properly, his brain wishing he was still wrapped up in the soft sheets instead of having to search the whole villa for you. He swayed as he walked the crisp white hallways, not noticing Charles leaving his and Charlotte's room, looking much more awake than his French friend. It took almost bumping into him for Pierre to notice his presence.

Charles took in Pierre appearance, hair all over the place, barefoot and only dressed in a pair of loose shorts.

"Tu resemble à un idiot." You look like an idiot. He smiled at Pierre with amusement.

"Ferme ta gueule, blaireau. Je n'trouve pas y/n." Shut up, asshole. I can't find y/n. Pierre, grumpy as hell in the morning, snapped at his friend.

"Bah je n'trouve pas Charlotte aussi mais je m'suis habillé avant d'quitter la chambre." Well, I can't find charlotte too, but I got dressed before leaving the room. Charles taunted him in a playful manner.

Pierre looked back at Charles, only now noticing that he was indeed dressed in his swim shorts and a tshirt. Hell, he even had his shoes on and his sunglasses hooked onto the collar of his shirt. Then, he acknowledged the monégasque's words. Charlotte being missing as well meant one thing: the two of you woke up way earlier than your respective boyfriends, got bored of waiting for them and therefore made your own plans. That wouldn't be the first time that happened.

"Ça signifie qu'elles sont ensemble quelque part." That means they're together somewhere. Pierre groaned, realizing his freak out session was unreasonable.

"Évidemment. Vas t'habiller et nous les chercherons ensemble. Je pense qu'elles sont deja à la plage."Of course. Go get dressed and we'll look for them together. I think they are already at the beach. Charles patted Pierre's back and left him alone in the the hallway.

Pierre sighed and went back to the room, already having a self-conducted debate on if he should wear his swim trunks or something else as he heard Charles rummage in the kitchen.

He closed the door and started digging through his suitcase, trying to put together a decent outfit that he won't sweat through. He ended up wearing a tank top and his swim shorts as he was already planning on taking a dip as soon as he figures out where the hell you were.

He put on his clothes and headed for the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and splashed cold water on his face, finally feeling himself wake up completely.

Now he understood why Charles had called him an idiot. His hair was looking rather messy in a unique way.

"Merde." Shit. He mumbled, running his damp hands through the strands to tame them. The process took way longer than usual, his locks absolutely refusing to cooperate.

"Pierre, dépêche toi. Je m'ennuie ici." Pierre, hurry up. I'm getting bored here. Charles' voice echoed through the hallways.

Pierre rushed to join his best friend in the living room, both of them heading out onto the vast beach stretched out in front of them.

It was still significantly early, so it was doubtful that you and Charlotte would already be in the water. The relaxing sound of crashing waves became clearer as Pierre and Charles walked, their eyes scanning the area for you and Charlotte.

They had walked for a more than a few minutes before Charles tapped Pierre's shoulder and pointed at a spot by a big rock, an umbrella and towels occupying it.

"Là bas." There. He gestured, their steps now more hurried.

Pierre instantly smiled when he spotted you, dressed only in a bikini, sunglasses on your eyes and a big straw hat on your head. You were sat next to Charlotte, chatting and giggling as you snacked on a bowl of strawberries. If it wasn't so early, cocktails or martinis would have probably been involved.

Pierre and Charles exchange a brief look that confirmed that they were feeling a bit left out, not in an annoyed way, more in an entertained kind of way. They loved seeing their girlfriends get along so well, they just hadn't been expecting the two of you to ditch them so often after you had gotten comfortable with each other.

"What a cute couple!" Pierre teasingly cooed once they were within hearing distance for the two of you.

You instantly looked up at the sound of his voice, your smile quickly mirroring his as you watched him cross the small remaining distance with Charles by his side.

Charlotte interrupted your brief admiration session by draping her arm over you shoulder.

"Right? Now if you'd back off..." She shrugged in suggestion.

Pierre shook his head with an entertained smirk as you leaned into Charlotte's touch, slyly smiling at your boyfriend before popping a strawberry into your mouth.

"Ouch." Charles' face furrowed with a pained look, his hand clutching his chest.

Charlotte burst out laughing at her boyfriend's dramatic behavior and got up to properly greet him, hugging him and giving him a brief kiss.

Meanwhile, Pierre took a seat beside you on the spread out towel, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

"Hi." You beamed at him, cheeks a bit blushed from the heat.

He reached over and removed the sunglasses off your face, giving you a soft smile before puckering up his lips and gesturing for you to go ahead and kiss him.

Chucking, you pressed your lips onto his in a small peck and pulled away. Pierre wasn't having that this morning, he needed a few more seconds of your lips against his own. He leaned in more, resuming the kiss but also making you lose your balance. You laughed into the kiss, propping yourself on your arms so you wouldn't fall back.

"Eh, watch out, mate. You don't want to upset the girlfriend over here." Charles' voice sounded from beside you, referring to Charlotte.

Pierre pulled away with a laugh, looking at his best friend, pointing to him to let him know that the joke was a good one.

"Yeah, you're right. We already interrupted their little breakfast date." Pierre joked back, glimpsing at you out of the corner of his eye to see if you had laughed at his joke.

Instead, you gave his shoulder a little shove.

"Oh please. As if they haven't had enough dates this vacation. I don't even know why we're here honestly." Charles, who now had Charlotte sat between his legs, carried on with the joke, much to Pierre's delight.

"Exactly. Next thing you know, they start sharing a room and throw us out."

Charles burst out laughing, joining in on Pierre's loud cackles as you and Charlotte exchanged entertained looks that you both thought would go unnoticed.

"Regarde, elles ont même des messages secrets et tout." Look, they've even got secret messages and everything. Pierre pointed at the exchange between you and his best friend's girlfriend.

"Oh, please. As if people online don't ship you two. There's a ship name even." You broke your silence, interrupting the two guys' laughter at an impressive speed.

"Wait, what?" Pierre asked so quickly, it made you chuckle.

"Oh yeah!" Charlotte leaped out of Charles' arms as excitement overtook her. "You two? Piarles." She gestured above her head as if the name had magically appeared in the air, then she reached over and high-fived you.

It was your turn to laugh now.

The two of you had exchanged links to some posts in the past, finding them rather entertaining, especially given how close Pierre and Charles actually were.

"Wait until we tell you about the fanfictions and-" You started telling a shocked Pierre, but he wasn't having it.

“Yeah, no…” He said, picked you up and sprinted into the nearby water. You threw your hat onto the sand and held onto his neck, laughing furiously while still hearing Charlotte's laugh until he dropped you into the warm water, dipping underwater himself right after you.

You held back the laughter until you broke the surface again, Pierre immediately pulling you to him and moving your legs to wrap around his waist, his lips immediately finding yours.

"I'm yours and you're mine. D'accord, ma chérie?" Okay, darling? He mumbled into the kiss.

"I don't know, babe. You and Charles..." You pulled away and said, shaking your head from side to side questioningly.

"Oh mon dieu!” Oh my god! Pierre groaned in annoyance.

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, his lips crashing against yours once again, giving you small successive pecks as the waves swayed the two of you.

"Yours, babe. Only yours." He spoke between kisses.

You sighed, smiling against his lips as you felt your heart fluttering. You loved the sound of that a bit too much.

"I know, chéri. I'm only yours too."

[tweetracer]

Hi! I love your writing, and completely understand if you don't feel like writing this. Could you do something where the reader loves Halloween and dresses up as a vampire as a joke to surprise the boys at the boardwalk or at a Halloween party in the cave. You can decide what to do with the story, I just thought that would be cute.

LOST BOYS  x  S/O HALLOWEEN COSTUME

DAVID

When you jumped out from behind a display at Max’s video store, fully decked out in a Dracula-esque cape and plastic fangs, David thought it was the cutest thing in the entire world.

Not like he’d ever tell you that, though.

He only rolled his eyes, trying to hide the little pull of a smile on his lips by pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a long-suffering sigh.

“This is borderline offensive, kitten”

Despite all his fussing he still stuck his arm out to you, pressing a kiss to your temple and letting you lead him around towards the various attractions and food stalls- all decorated for Halloween.

The whole night he was staring at you, expression turning exasperated anytime you made eye contact while he scrambled to cover up the adoration in his gaze.

When you’d finally dragged him up into the ferris wheel (”Kitten I can fly. This is like going paragliding with a pigeon”) he quieted down, opting to lean back into his seat and watch you watch the crowd below.

That stupid cape hung loose off your shoulders, the faux fangs long since abandoned after getting stuck in a candy apple. Your hair was a tangled mess from all the rides and the festival lights cast a halo around you.

God he was whipped.

Just as the little cart you were in came to a rocking halt at the top of the wheel he extended his hand to you, pulling you close and pressing an unusually tender kiss to your lips. His hands held either side of your face, foreheads together as he pulled back to look at you, gaze soft before a mischievous grin pulled at his lips.

“You know, kitten. If you really wanted to be a vampire all ‘ya had to do was ask”

PAUL

"Doll you should totally be a vamp for Halloween”

When Paul had suggested it and offered to buy steal a costume for you, you were all too happy to have someone equally willing to have fun on your favorite holiday.

And the fact that you were going as a vampire-  with an actual vampire? So cool- the coolest. It was going to be a hilarious inside joke for just the two of you (and also the other vamps of course.. and also probably the Frog Brothers).

When Paul strolled up ten minutes before you needed to meet the other boys at the boardwalk with something that could only loosely be called clothing, let alone a costume, you were disappointed but not surprised.

The skimpy leather shorts, the straps along the chest and the despicably studded ‘cape’ combined with a set of fake plastic fangs read less as ‘vampire’ and more ‘vampire-themed lingerie’.

You stared, slack-jawed at the revealing outfit, not entirely sure if Paul’s insistence of “Babydoll you’re gonna look so good in this-” was actually encouraging you or not. Short on time and low on shame (after all, it was Halloween- most people are going to be either too wasted to notice or wearing even less than you) you quickly geared up.

Paul was all wolf-whistles and flirty pick-up line, his hand inching just a bit too high remain PG before you’d swat it away.

When you finally arrived at the boardwalk Paul’s mood quickly went downhill.

Like.... he knew people were going to look at you- after all you were totally smokin’ in that vampire getup. But... well he didn’t expect so many people to actually have the balls to come up and flirt with you. Especially when he was right there.

The whole night he was snappy and frustrated, progressing from just wrapping his arm around your waist to practically hanging off of you while the two of you listened to the loud music from the Halloween concert.

Finally he’d had it when some dude in a shitty store-bought wolfman mask groped your ass.

Paul went full vamp, snarling and growling as he decked the guy in the face, picked you up like you weighed nothing, and climbed up and over the crowd- charging till the two of you were alone at the beach.

He was still growling and clung to you like a lifeline while you tried not to laugh, burrowing his still vamped-out face against your neck and mumbling bitterly.

You rolled your eyes and let yourself be held, running your hands through his hair and pressing chaste kisses to his cheek when he finally sat back- giving his face a little squeeze.

“You wanna go home?” you offered gently, letting him run a hand down your back- feeling his calloused palm stop at the hem of those obscenely short shorts.

His gaze went from pouting to mischievous when he glanced up at you, all fangs and yellow eyes. You could see something formulating in his mind when he finally spoke up.

“Hey babe”

“Yeah?”

“You make a fang-tastic vampire”

DWAYNE

Dwayne stared at you for about twenty seconds, expression impossible to read before he covers his face with his hands, the tiniest hint of redness creeping up on his cheeks behind his fingers.

You laughed as he stood there, having a genuine conniption because oh god this is so adorable, before finally threading your arm through his and dragging him off to wander around the boardwalk.

Your nights were usually a balance of silence and conversation, easily drifting between enjoying each other’s company to chatting about whatever came to mind. Tonight, however, he was almost dead silent- following behind you while he held your hand, giving that tiny little smile that he only shared with you as you bounced from one carnival game to another. 

The two of you wandered around the boardwalk, toting an absurd amount of stuffed toys from the games all the while still squeezing Dwayne’s hand as he followed behind you.

With the concert’s blaring music in the distant background he watched as you hung on the edge of the railing, cape falling around your shoulders as you peered down below at the slowly rising tide.

Gripped with emotion he wrapped his arms around your waist, squeezing you into his chest till you turned and he could press a tender kiss to your lips.

He picked you up, grabbing the back of your thighs to wrap around his hips and holding you as tightly as he could. With a step, Dwayne floated up to stand with impossibly skilled balance on the rickety arm rail. His laugh was low and rumbling where you were pressed against his chest. 

You held on tighter to him as he fell forwards, the two of you dangling upside-down on the bottom of the boardwalk and the ends of your cape getting wet from the gently churning water below.

Despite your slight dizziness you laughed, pressing your face against his chest and holding on for dear life even though you knew he’d never drop you.

Hanging here, wrapped in his arms and feeling the occasional ocean spray on your cheeks was better than any ride.

MARKO

Marko was a whirlwind of energy on a normal day- but on Halloween? The coolest holiday of the year? Where he could wander around fully vamped out and not have a single person look at him weird?

He was unstoppable.

The two of you were dressed to the nines in ‘classic vampire’ costumes, Marko’s bright leather jacket and boots exchanged for a truly dashing three-piece suit with a long sleek black cape and his wild mane of curls braided elegantly along his back.

Frankly? He looked hot as hell. And he seemed to share the opinion, the whole night he had an arm around your waist- baring fangs at anyone who got a little too close or stared a little too long. You two were the power couple of the boardwalk.

Brain addled with the adrenaline of walking around vamped-out and an obscene amount of sugary candy, Marko was practically bouncing off the walls.

He dragged you towards every ride and event, hollering at the top of his lungs and swinging you into the air if you were going to slow- laughing how you’d yelp and scream every time.

Things were going great until some guy in a Robin Hood outfit tried to get a little handsy with you- a palm inching up against the bare skin of your back as attempted to corral you away from the contortionist you were watching.

One second Mr. Robin Hood was on his feet attempting to pull you away from the crowd and the next thing you knew he was on the floor, jaw almost certainly broken with Marko standing over him, blonde hair coming loose from its braid to fan out around him dramatically.

The scary music, the sharp fangs, the long cape billowing in that Santa Carla breeze.... Marko looked like a vision of death as he snarled, eyes yellow and fist raising to give another hard blow to the man’s face.

While you would’ve been content to watch your Gorgeous Boyfriend rip this guy a new one, the sound of police sirens getting closer told you it was time to get going.

“Let’s dash, babe” Marko’s voice was a low breathy rumble. He grabbed you by the hand and charged back towards his bike, leaving the chaos behind as you laughed your asses off.

The two of you collapsed on the sands of the beach, laying side by side and laughing at the full moon- tears streaming down your cheeks as the height of the moment began to fade.

Your silly cape was scrunched beneath you and you could feel sand start to slip into your boots and under your shirt.

The moment was perfect.

A gloved hand slipped into yours and you felt Marko scoot closer, flipping onto his stomach to watch you through lidded eyes.

When you turned to look at him a red blush was patched across his face, his lips were open as he watched you, moving slow to lean in and kiss your cheek, hovering there a moment before he began peppering your face in soft kisses.

When he finally kissed you on the lips you swore there were fireworks going off behind your eyes. His lips were chapped and soft, the hand that ran delicately over your cheek was cool to the touch as he pressed himself impossibly closer to you.

He tasted like sugar.

When he pulled back he was still staring at you with that pure, unadulterated adoration that made your face go red and your heart do that silly little flip-flop.

Reveling in your embarrassment, he pressed another series of soft kisses down your chin, giving your collar bone a rough bite that made you gasp in surprise, your hand flying up to rest on his chest.

You could feel his pleased hum vibrate against your neck when he mumbled out a sultry

“Trick or treat...”

[confetti-cupcake]

As promised, here’s an unedited sneak peek into Chapter 1 of my in-progress 9-1-1/Lone Star Survivor AU, Thirty-Nine Days, the video trailer of which can be found here. For anyone who doesn’t know, Survivor is a reality TV show where everyday people are stranded on a remote island. They’re divided into teams called “tribes” and have to work together to survive in the wilderness, compete in challenges and vote each other out. It requires a lot of strategy and duplicity, but it also bonds people in a pretty amazing way, and the winner gets awarded a million dollars. The fic bounces around to all the characters’ POVs at one point or another throughout the game, and this specific snippet is from Buck’s POV. Buddie is the fic’s main pairing, but Madney, Bathena, Tarlos and Judd/Grace are also featured. 

For context, this scene takes place at the start of Day 1 during the marooning. This is the opening challenge where the contestants run around on a boat, gathering supplies to help them survive, then get on their tribe’s raft and race the other tribe to shore or to another boat for a reward (in this case, a bag of rice). Here’s an example from the actual show, to get a sense of what it looks like. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is always welcome!

“Get on the raft! Get on the raft! Come on!”

The first words Buck heard as he surfaced were ones of urgency. The last minute had been one of the most chaotic in his life — and that was saying a lot, considering the career he’d made out of running into burning buildings. 

He had stayed on the boat much longer than he had initially planned, having picked up a saw, a hammer, and a packet of nails, before turning back to retrieve an armful of watermelons. He had promptly tossed them each overboard as he found them, moving too fast to care if anyone down below was in the line of fire. It was a race after all, and one for food, at that. But as he glanced around the deck after launching the final melon into the water, it was clear most of his tribe had already abandoned ship. Not wanting to be left behind, he had thrown himself — some might say recklessly — over the starboard side of the ship. But he didn’t have time to think about his own safety, not with sustenance for his team on the line. And so he soon found himself splashing forcefully into the Fijian sea, completely submerged before coming up for air. 

Disoriented from the impact, Buck swam toward the first raft he saw, only to stop when he noticed the outfits of the castaways climbing aboard. Yellow tank tops, yellow flannels, a yellow hoodie. Yellow buffs around their necks and wrists and foreheads. He whirled around, desperate to find the right color over his competition cannonballing themselves overboard. Purple, purple… where are you, purple?

"Hey!"

“Over here!”

Buck lifted his head and peered to the right, struggling to tread water as the waves of the sea rolled toward him. A timber raft about eighty feet away on the other side of the ship floated in the water, and he could make out several figures standing up, waving their arms, flashes of purple fabric standing out against the horizon. Buck swam over, managing to dodge the battered fruit bobbing in the water. As he approached the raft, the figures came into focus.

A woman in a purple track suit with wide-rimmed glasses and big hoop earrings stood on the edge of the raft, and Buck reached out for her, hoping to get a lift aboard. She leaned down extending her hand, but toward another woman on their tribe, an entire water jug on the shoulder of her small frame as she struggled to stay afloat. He swam around her, reaching for the next person, a tall redhead, but she seemed more concerned with keeping the supplies balanced than lifting anybody up. 

Frustration setting in, he made a beeline to the tribe member next to her, desperate for any kind of help. The tribe member turned around, and Buck was suddenly face to face with a young guy, probably no more than a couple years older than Buck. 

The man locked eyes with him, and suddenly everything became hazy. The exhaustion was, of course, the most likely culprit. Time seemed to slow down, the havoc faded into the background and his teeming desperation melted away. His eyes were immediately drawn to the cursive tattoo inked around the man’s left forearm as he knelt down, reaching for Buck, and something about the action unleashed a ripple of familiarity and relief. His tribemate’s fingertips padded against the double ring tattoo similarly wrapped just above Buck’s elbow, and when he felt himself slipping, Buck felt no shame in holding on tighter. “I got you. I got you,” the man affirmed as he pulled Buck’s entire 6’2” frame up onto the raft.

“Thanks,” Buck said breathlessly when he was finally out of the water, crawling around the stack of supplies growing taller by the second. 

“Don’t sweat it.” The man ran a hand through his dark brown hair as he looked around the raft, eyes widening when they landed on the object he was searching for amongst the mess. “Here,” he said, pushing a paddle into his hands. “Get ready, I think we’re about to take off.” 

Buck nodded, but, either out of a weird sense of gratitude or the desire to experience this peace for just a bit longer, felt a sudden urge to prolong the interaction. “What’s your name?”

The man paused, eyebrows knit together, as if the question took him off guard. After a brief hesitation: “Eddie.”

“Buck.”

The look of intensity flickering in his soft brown eyes morphed briefly into an inquisitive expression before settling into a faint smile. His lips parted, as if to say something else, when another purple buff-wearer emerged from under the water. Eddie punched him on the shoulder lightly before turning around to pull the person out. Buck’s momentary bubble of repose had popped, leaving him at the mercy of his frenzied surroundings once again. 

Most notable was a physical-looking, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, who brushed by him on the way to the back of the raft. Buck immediately noticed the machete in hand, and the all-too-familiar LAFD shirt on his back. 

The man grabbed the rope holding the raft to the boat, turning back around to scan the structure. “How many do we have?” he called out.

Buck surveyed his tribemates, finding it difficult to track the absolute mayhem happening around him. He spotted a stocky blonde woman in front, sliding back in to grab a cooking pot that had begun to float away. One. Eddie —  two — who had probably served in the military if the shirt he was wearing was any indication, pulled another young woman dressed for a day at the office out of the water, making it a tighter squeeze aboard. Three. A bundle of firewood rolled off their pile of supplies back into the water, and a woman treading water nearby snatched it up. Four. Buck reached down to grab the bundle from her — wait, nope, that person was on the other tribe, judging by the yellow buff wrapped around her tight, curly hair. And… he had already lost count. It was too early for his brain to do math, he concluded.   

“We have nine by my count,” the woman with the hoop earrings piped up. The man grimaced and began scanning the water for their missing tribemate, prompting Buck and the others to do the same, until a shrill voice traveled over the chaos.   

“Wait for me, guys!” 

Buck whipped his head toward the barge, just in time to see a shorter, Korean man jump from the ship, bushel of coconuts in hand, resulting in a violent splash that rocked the raft.

“Get up here, man! Nice of you to finally join us!” firefighter number two yelled jokingly, still holding onto the rope. The way he naturally seemed to take charge combined with his jovial attitude reminded him of his fire captain back home, so he decided he’d call this guy “Cap” in his head until he learnt his name. 

Buck grabbed the floating coconuts before they could be pilfered and set them down on top of their stack of loot, while Eddie once again lifted up their man overboard. Before he knew it, Cap had already chopped through the rope and set sail toward the barge.

As Cap started a rhythmic “Row!” chant, which made him feel like he was less on Survivor and more on the college crew team, Buck glanced toward the yellow tribe’s raft in curiosity. They had just found their machete and were also on the verge of breaking away. He squinted at the women, who were slowly fading out of view, and thought back to the brief chat they had with Jeff before the marooning. He wracked his memory, suddenly unable to tell if his eyes were deceiving him. Was it her? Nah, couldn’t be…

A large hand suddenly clasped his shoulder. He turned around to see Cap wearing a stern expression, no doubt reserved for him. A look that was also not unlike his fire captain’s back home.

“Kid, I need you to row. You can look at the other tribe later. We can’t have them catching up.”

Buck narrowed his eyes, but submerged the oar into the water and rowed with all his might, keeping time with his tribemates. But as coordinated as they seemed, the yellow tribe was gaining… and gaining… and gaining, until they were suddenly within ten yards.

One glance at his own raft was enough to understand why. The precariously-stacked mountain of supplies in the center of the raft was slowly losing its integrity, with coconuts and fish traps and Buck’s watermelons — which were looking rough at this point — rolling off the top toward the ocean, forcing his tribemates on the other side to forgo their paddles to keep everything aboard. A collapse was imminent, and to make matters worse, the raft was beginning to stray off-course. 

The poor woman with shoulder-length blonde hair sitting in front of Eddie was taking the brunt of it, struggling to fend off the falling objects and row at the same time. Buck pitied her for more reasons than one. She had probably done something to piss off production, given she was thrown into the game wearing a power suit, instead of the more camping-appropriate attire the rest of them had been assigned to wear. She stuck out, but she was sure as hell making it work for her, and Buck had to scold himself to focus on the task at hand.

“We’re tilting guys, we’re tilting!” Cap called out to the tribe. “Let’s straighten out.” 

Everybody stopped paddling all at once. Buck wasn’t sure if it was due to the abrupt absence of movement or a current that had come out of nowhere, but their tower of supplies suddenly gave way with an ugly snap, sending the rest of the heavy crates tumbling down and knocking Power Suit Girl straight into the water.

It had never been clearer that the cast was rife with seasoned first responders, as not a moment was lost to panic. Like a well-oiled machine, half of the tribe leant over the water’s edge in an attempt to pull her back up, while the other half scrambled to salvage as many of the lost objects as they could. But as quickly as the rescue mission was set into motion, the raft’s pursuit of the barge came to a screeching halt. 

Another violent splash cut through the commotion, and Buck whipped his head in the direction of the Matagi raft. The woman wearing a hijab on the other tribe had jumped in, tearing through the water toward the barge, egged on by the cheers of her tribemates.

Buck didn’t take a second to think. He threw the paddle aside, staggered to his feet, and dove in. Head first.

Tagging my fellow Survivor fans: @ashavahishta @wolvesofinnistrad @loveyourownsmiilee @halsteadsass @browney3dgirl6 @phonotactless @no-moremusic @pennykent

[sugasugawarau]

Synopsis: You knew that Kageyama Tobio was not your soulmate - and that was why you could not help but succumb to the waves that lulled you away from the shores of fate + semi inspired by Eyes Blue like the Atlantic by sistaprod ft. Subvrbs. Also part of @yacoka‘s collab <3 (2.4k words)

Warnings/notes: Some angst near the end, soulmate red string au, gender neutral reader. No beta we die like Rex Lapis so if I ever feel like it this may be edited at some point asdahdhj idk LMAO

— Prologue

There are as many reasons to fall in love with Kageyama Tobio as there are fractals made by the ocean’s breath as the world inhales and exhales, flourishes and wilts, conquers and surrenders. It would not even be a hyperbole to say that in number, they remain unrivalled to the plethora of stars that stain the waves with their reflection and run deeper than the scars of lightyears that paint lines from Cassiopeia to Aquila.

After all, he is the darkest hue of navy blue.

Determination that moves in an orchestra of thundering waves, brandishing on its crest an admirable recklessness, heeding not for the need to call upon courage or confidence; polished instinct that endued one with the same awestruck feeling when facing the beautifully suffocating obscurity of their life in this world, a mixture of raw fear and the need to impart a piece of their soul in everything they do despite how fragile the skin shielding their heart is.

But the best part of loving Kageyama was that you were not - or will ever become - destined to be.

— Shoreline

Red.

It was a word that was always thrown about in conversations, the fuel to the catastrophes that were high school gossip chains, and the colour that held the mangled passion of the string of fate. Garishly predestined and easily tangled by unnecessary complications of jealousy and confusion, it is needless to say that you hated red with more passion than the love it emptily promises with a title as shallow as soulmates.

That was not to say you despised love. There was nothing wrong with love itself, a fact which you had decided firmly since the spry age of four years old. What was wrong was its combination with soulmates: a rigid formula, nothing like the walks with your grandmother on the bright summer roads littered with flowers as her calloused palm gently guided you, or the laughter you shared with your friends after a long run in the rain, hugging each other goodbye at the end of the day despite the muddy battle scars covering your arms and legs from falling countless times.

Your mind could have kept you engaged in your internal debate for longer if you were left to your own devices, but an awkward cough and the sound of a desk shifting towards your right brought you out of your reverie, bringing your drifting thoughts back to the classroom surrounding you.

Perhaps your look of confusion came off as hostile, for the dark-haired boy now sitting next to you looked at you with a slight glare that felt forced, an automatic effort to defend himself.

His tone of voice only confirmed your unconsciously off-putting expression as he gruffly stated, “Group project.” to explain his sudden presence.

“Oh. What’s the topic on?”

An awkward silence had ensued while you tried to calmly collect yourself by gathering a handful of pens from your pencil case after being caught in your heinous crime of not paying attention to your English teacher.

“You don’t know?” Came his reply, causing you to occupy yourself by finding extreme interest in a lime green highlighter you did not have any recollection of ever buying.

“Well, I clearly wasn’t paying attention.”

“You… weren’t?” The slight intonation in his tone was a stark contrast to your initial impression of him and caused you to look up at him, almost letting out an amused snort at his befuddled frown to which he furrowed his brows and shot a challenging “What?” in return. Realizing that he was genuine in believing that you were deep in thought over the lesson, a burst of laughter blossomed past your lips, attracting a few odd looks from your nearby peers and an abashed glare from him.

You paused to take a breath, a repetition of sorries stumbling their way out to appease the onslaught of nagging you thought would follow shortly. Instead, all the boy muttered was a simple, “You’re weird.”

“Sure, but that’s beside the point - were you paying any attention?”

“No.”

Seeing your face contorted to stop yet another bout of laughter to roam its way into the world as a result of his bluntness, he shot out of his seat and announced that he would go ask the teacher, unable to hide his puzzlement as he walked away. He would come to regret this decision when the teacher began to lecture him, earning more heads to turn his way as she scolded him before sending him off dismissively with a sticky note that you assumed had your now long-awaited topic.

Before you could thank him for enduring what could only be one of the worst things to experience as a high school student, he wordlessly handed the piece of paper to you and sat down.

“Kageyama, right? With this project, you’ll have me to thank for the A we’ll get,” you promised confidently, to which he responded with a halfhearted “Good luck.”

If he had been a close friend, you would have taken the small textbook on his desk and gently hit his head at his evident lack of belief in his capabilities, but settled for a clipped sigh instead. After all, you did not want to further contribute to the premature wrinkles Kageyama was making himself prone to with all of the brow-furrowing he did.

This is going to be one long month.

— Largo

Like how the ocean reluctantly caresses the sleeping shore as it wakes from its slumber during low tide, your lives slowly flowed together.

During the first week of your group project with him, he would greet you curtly, and on a few occasions, you would have short conversations about the outline of your book review.

And this singular week was enough to show that there was some (okay, maybe a lot) of backing behind the teacher’s warning about Kageyama’s dismal grade.

While you flipped through A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you would catch the all-too-familiar confusion on his face - it was written on his features so blatantly that it was almost comical, as if taken straight out of a shonen manga.

“You know if you’re stuck you can ask me for help.”

A slight scowl greeted you over the hedge of pages he had been burying himself in, followed by a biting, “Who said I need help?”

You could only roll your eyes in return.

“Please drop the prideful act. You've been glazing over the same page for about twenty minutes now."

After a few seconds of grumbling did he finally comply, and with your explanations, his bookmark was now comfortably sandwiched between the double-digit page numbers right as the bell rang. You hummed in satisfaction before returning your desk to your original spot, expecting him to rush out along with everyone else - so to turn around and see him still standing there was a bit of a surprise.

“Did you still need help with the last few lines?” You settled on asking, not really wanting to plague your break with work but offering nonetheless. Thankfully, he shot a look of disdain at the play as he stuffed it away haphazardly in his bag.

“No, I just wanted to,” he trailed off a bit, the tinge of red on his ears an out-of-character detail you decided not to comment on, “to say thanks, I guess.”

You smiled softly at the unexpected gesture of appreciation before giving him a teasing nudge which he stiffened slightly at.

“Well, I can’t have you bringing down my mark now can I?”

“Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Too bad, I have those words of gratitude stored nicely in my hippocampus already.”

From there, tutoring sessions with Kageyama became the norm, with you sometimes asking about his volleyball team after he had let slip that you were a better teacher than Tsukishima (something you would be sure to smugly share if you ever met the infamous middle blocker).

By the end of the month, all of the hard work - and a couple of all-nighters due to procrastination - brought forth an A as you had promised.

Even your relentless teasing, varying between “I told you so!” to “You owe me at least three meat buns now” which were all met with an annoyed “Shut up”was not enough to dim the smile he tried to hide.

— High tide

With the force of nature, the tide rose without warning; from goodnight texts to confessing to the first “I love you” uttered shyly between shameless souls, neither of you was sure where things began, but found comfort in such liberating chaos.

In times where he needed to be held, you were there, and the insecurities you would hide, he would turn beautiful. And today happened to be a day for both as you stared absentmindedly at his bedroom ceiling.

“Hey Tobio, what’s your take on soulmates?”

“We’ve been together for almost a year now, what do you think?” he put his phone down and turned towards you, “I could care less about soulmates or whatever else is worrying you enough to make your overthinking go into overdrive.”

“Rude, have some respect, it’s my profession after all,” you shoved him playfully as he snorted in reply, “It’s just... If your string ever appeared, wouldn't you rather-”

“Listen Y/n, did you know that I’m scared of dying but I’m even more terrified of the thought of living without you? I could never and don’t ever want to replace you. People can talk all they want, if I could find a love like ours without something as stupid as a piece of string then I don’t need a soulmate.”

“Really?”

With a flick to your forehead, he huffed in fake exasperation. “Really.”

“Huh, who knew you could be so romantic.”

“It's not romantic, I'm just being honest, idiot.”

“You sure could make do with some more lessons on manners and social tact. It's too bad you can't pick up on those as well as volleyball drills.”

Before he could retaliate, you enveloped him in a familiar embrace, burrowing your face into the large hoodie he donned.

It was effortless, his company.

— Ebbing away

But it wasn’t all romantic.

You fiddled with your phone as you waited for any sign that Kageyama had seen your messages, the pack of meat buns you had bought on a whim no longer letting off their fragrant steam. You knew he had an important match coming up against Seijoh, that he had to prove himself, that he lives hungrily and foolishly like no other. But his missing presence went beyond volleyball practice, keeping his distance from you even when he was right by your side.

Why am I stuck reminiscing about the past when we still have each other?

Why does every step I take towards him feel as if I’m only drawing myself farther away from him?

A carousel of rhetorical questions spun around your head as you stopped your slow pace towards Karasuno. You were not blind; you knew the rumours and dirty looks from your classmates were not something anyone could be immune to, that he tried his best to spend less time around you at school. The only conclusion you could reach was that he was ashamed: either of you, or the fact that he had begun to see his red string and could not bring himself to face you.

Ignoring the urge to let yourself cry, you glanced down at your phone once more, 8:30PM flashed across your eyes, followed by your empty notifications. There was no way he’d still be practicing at the school now and even if he was, you doubted he would be happy to see you. Maybe - no, definitely - it would be better to head home, and maybe stop by the convenience store you had bought the now misshapen meat buns from to get some tea and call it a night.

If only fate did not reciprocate your hatred towards it.

Stepping into the small store, the first person you are greeted with is none other than Kageyama Tobio. The whole situation was like a fever dream, and you would do anything to be able to let out a laugh and have him call you weird all over again. But all you could bring yourself to do was blearily stare at him.

He turned around quickly, as if not wanting to be caught before ushering you outside. “Y/n? Why are you here?” he hissed, a stiffness that he had recently adopted to his body language that you were now all too familiar with.

“What? Am I not allowed to go into any and all convenience stores I please?” You challenged, a part of you waiting for him to care enough to see how tired you were, to actually look you in the eyes for the first time in weeks.

He did not, opting to turn his head towards the door again.

“It’s not that, it’s just-”

“Just what? Tobio, what is up with you lately?” A pause ensued, broken by a small hiccup as your eyes dampened - God, how much more pathetic could you get than crying in front of some dingy convenience store - “Do you even love me anymore?”

How odd. You thought that by finally uttering the final question that had been dancing around your mind free to the world, you would feel better. That he would reassure you, as he always had.

Not that he would at last meet your gaze, grabbing your hand to look at the red string wrapped around your ring finger.

The taste of tears and Kageyama’s eyes as blue as the Atlantic all felt miles away from you as an orange-haired boy stepped out of the store, his mouth dropping into an o-shape when he saw that his string led to you, a disheveled mess arguing with his teammate.

“Kageyama…You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to face the reality of it all. Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“But I wouldn’t leave you-”

“I know you wouldn’t but you should!” Kageyama’s furrowed brows, once a quirk of his that you were fond of, now elicited a sick turmoil in your stomach, “You have to. Please.”

You wanted to yell at him, let the blood pour out of any and all raw words of anger and hurt.

Who was he to decide what was good for you, to throw you at some boy you never met before, to give up?

Then again, you could never say you would not have done the same for him if you knew he had found his soulmate despite the sweet words he had told you so long ago.

So you let yourself go. For his sake.

[flyboytracy]

#Earth&Sky2021 - Day 5

It’s day five of #Earth&Sky2021 already, what the heck!

idek what theme I was trying to go for, lighthouse in a storm maybe? But anyway, here’s a flyboy brooding beneath the stars with a glass of whiskey and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It’s pretty dark on Tracy Island when the lights are out. The whole world’s asleep and Scott should be too but sleep doesn’t come easily to him these days. As a kid he never needed it and even now when he needs it he can never find it for more than a few hours at a time...

It’s too warm by the villa so he chases a breeze to the edge of the island, whiskey glass in his hand and bare toes digging into the sand that gets trapped between the rocks by the storms that batter their little island. There’s one rock in particular he likes to perch on when his thoughts are too loud and his doubts refuse to go away. The runway can be seen from here, as can the little overhang of rocks above Thunderbird Four’s underwater launch chute and the roundhouse that protects the native fauna of the island from Thunderbird Three’s blowback. Scott’s own Thunderbird launches a little way behind him and that was one of the first things dad mentioned when he brought Scott out here to show his firstborn the island he planned to uproot their entire family to.

This very rock represents the beginning of Scott’s involvement with International Rescue. Will there be a plaque here in forty years’ time like the plaque of dad’s footprint on Mars? It feels somehow arrogant to assume he’ll have even half the impact that Jeff Tracy’s had upon the world.

Scott hadn’t been able to imagine it back then, barely a man himself and sat in the shadow of the greatest man he’s ever known. Dad had produced two of the tiny bottles of whiskey from the jet and Scott hadn’t been able to understand why because coming to this desolate little rock in the middle of nowhere had felt very much like running away, and that wasn’t something a Tracy ever did. Ever since he’d been old enough to stand up by himself, Scott had been standing firm against the world that constantly measured him against his father.

He’d taken a stand against anyone who’d ever dared to hurt his little brothers. He’d stood there for hours at swim meets or out on the back garden with Johnny waiting for the skies to clear. He’d stayed with his little brother when Virgil needed to record the light just right and he’d spent hours and hours at the park with Alan so his brothers could do their homework in peace and their youngest brother didn’t feel their parents’ absence as heavily as the rest of them. Dad had disappeared for days at a time and he’d told the guys it was work but he’d been old enough to guess it was alcohol and other things he didn’t wanna know about.

So he’d hesitated, sat upon this rock with a tiny bottle of whiskey in his hand, because he really hadn’t felt like celebrating when mom’s grave was back in Kansas and his heart felt like he’d buried it in the dusty dirt there with her. He hadn’t said anything but dad must’ve known because he’d reached out to tug Scott into his side like he was six and not sixteen.

Dad had always been a giant to Scott. When he was little it felt like he always had to lean back to see him and even when he grew taller, dad just seemed to get taller too. Having one of those arms around him had felt like being wrapped up by the universe and for a few fleeting moments he’d been able to forget about avalanches and detention slips and dinner for four little brothers who needed vegetables and attention. Dad’s hand cradled the back of his head just like how Scott cuddled Alan when he refused to go to sleep and part of the firstborn had broken.

Dad had fixed him, though. He’d told his boy about how the desolate rock was actually an extinct volcano with old lava tubes extending out underneath the ocean for miles around them. For the last year or so that weird nerdy friend of his had been making regular flights out here and beneath their feet lay something very special indeed.

It was going to be called International Rescue and it was going to make the world a better place.

It did and it still does, every single day. With every mission to Mars or London or some random canyon in a country Scott can’t pronounce, the world becomes a better place for somebody out there. A wife gets to go home to her wife or a son gets to show his dad a picture he drew at school because International Rescue saved a life. Not the world, not a country, just a life.

How can Scott even begin to live up to the legacy of a man who could look at a barren rock and imagine making it a home for his five sons and a rescue organisation? Their home had been weaved seamlessly into the rocks without disturbing the island’s ecosystem which had made one of Scott’s baby brothers happy and another had followed the progress of the villa and the hangars below with all the enthusiasm of a budding engineer.

Nothing Scott does could ever hope to live up to the legacy of the man responsible for all this. For a while he thought maybe his mark on history would be to keep International Rescue operational instead of letting it nosedive into the dirt without dad. Most sons would’ve wiped International Rescue from existence after losing their father to it but Scott had kept them flying and for eight years that had been enough.

But now dad’s home and back in charge from the safety of his desk and suddenly Scott’s achievements don’t feel all that remarkable any more when he compares them to his father’s. He’s the firstborn son of Jeff Tracy and he’s capable of anything. He should do more; he needs to be more than this.

But what?

Scott sits on the rock with his whiskey and stares out across the ocean.

It’s beautiful out here when the lights are down and the moon’s out. He can see the reflection of thousands of stars on the surface of the ocean and the moon shimmers at the centre of it all. A soft little breeze sends ripples dancing across the water and Scott can’t help but smile at how peaceful the world feels even though it’s dark.

There’s footsteps behind him and Scott would recognise them anywhere, even without a gentle, “Hey,” and the hand that squeezes his shoulder before Virgil comes to sit on the rock beside him. He’s barefoot too and the plaid’s been replaced by one of those hoodies that looks like a hug. Strands of dark hair have escaped from beneath the hood and Scott’s compelled to brush a couple back into place before tucking Virg into his side like dad once did with him all those years ago. Virgil folds up without complaint and his face disappears into the crook of his big brother’s neck before he heaves a sigh so loud it makes Scott shiver.

A hand comes to rest instinctively on the back of Virgil’s head, fingertips sinking into the soft material as they sit together beneath the stars. For a while he can forget about everything that’s happened since he sat on this rock with dad and focus on nothing but the here and now; the tang of engine oil that seems to follow Virg around like the beach does Gordon. Warmth radiates from the shoulders that’ve helped Scott carry his burdens since dad disappeared and it helps to ground him when he feels lost in the darkness. Even when he hasn’t known which path to take, he’s always been sure that he’ll never walk it alone.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks after a while because it’s not unusual to find one of his little brothers up and about in the middle of the night, but this one had a long day yesterday and they tend to sleep like hibernating bears after the worst rescues.

“Mmm.” little brother rumbles back to him from the depths of his comfy hoodie. The noise makes Scott chuckle, “I keep thinking about Thunderbird Two. She didn’t feel right when I got back from Portugal.”

“You said Brains checked her out?”

“Hmm. He said it was most likely a combination of factors including stress, high winds and exhaustion that altered my sensory inputs and slowed my reaction times.”

Scott remembers his glass of whiskey and takes a sip, “He thinks you imagined it.”

“Nmm.” another tired noise escapes from the depths of the hoodie and Scott’s kinda tempted to see how many he could get Virg to make like a rumbly game of Operation. On the other hand he’s spent his entire life taking care of the guy using him as a pillow and the noises worry him. His best friend needs sleep but Scott knows full well that won’t happen ‘til somebody takes a look at Thunderbird Two.

“I’ll run a systems check to see if anything comes up. We’ll have her sorted before sunrise.” Scott scrunches his little brother up in a hug before relinquishing his grip on the hoodie, “You get the coffee on and I’ll get her opened up.”

“F. A-” the affirmative gets swallowed up by a yawn that nearly swallows Scott too and he laughs as he gets to his feet, keeping Virg with him to stop him nosediving into the ocean because he’s lost more than one tired brother to the pool and the steps down to the sofas.

“I know how to sort it anyway.” he teases as they head for the kitchen, polishing off the remains of his whiskey and leaving the glass on the side to deal with later, “I’ll just give her a real good thump like dad does.”

“You are not using the Jeff Tracy Fix on my ‘Bird, Scott!” Virgil finally manages a full sentence and Scott’s laughter echoes down the hallways.

[imnotcameraready]

more than beliefs (5: mother knows best)

A/N: still trying at this ! i still don't own any tables so honestly, writing has been kinda hard :') but i'm still up to a polished chapter 7 and know VERY well what is happening in chapter 8, so we're looking pretty good. i wrote all of chivalry chapter by chapter so.....hoping this goes well :'D

WARNINGS: manipulation, plotting a murder, paranoia description, blunt force trauma, assault, amnesia, blood, graphic description of violence — this chapter’s the first doozy! if i missed anything, please let me know!

Words: 4378

AO3 link!

enjoy!! <3

“Now, this might be a controversial opinion, but the second Little Mermaid movie is a top-tier Disney sequel,” the Director said, idly mixing a teaspoon around in his hot chocolate.

Roman scoffed. He was sitting on the Director’s couch, wrapped in a blanket while they watched 2005’s Just Like Heaven starring Mark Ruffalo and Reese Witherspoon. The Director had suggested they watch something from Disney, but while Roman loved the whole library of Disney movies lining his shelf, he couldn’t choose which one he wanted. To his surprise, the Director didn’t have a favorite, either. He’d said he was fond of the cookie-cutter damsel in distress narrative of older Disney stories, which Roman tried (and failed) to take offense to, but did agree that many modern movies like Big Hero 6 had interestingly complex and developed stories.

“I just prefer the expansion on oceanic lore. And I’m a sucker for a good parental storyline, when the former protag takes on the motherly role.” The Director took a sip of his coffee.

“And here I thought you weren’t one of my creative advisors,” Roman said with a smirk, crossing his arms upon his pillowy throne.

The Director scoffed, and as he rolled his eyes Roman could have sworn that he was blushing. Maybe he was embarrassed. “Just because I’m not David doesn’t mean I can’t have opinions on works of art,” he sounded dejected—Roman guessed that was fair. The Dragon and Damsel and Child, most obviously, had strong opinions on art yet no artistic inclinations.

It was still up in the air if the Thief did. It didn’t seem like he had many opinions on things that weren’t consequential to Roman’s direct safety, but he was very quiet. Roman didn’t rule out the possibility of the Thief just not wanting to share that information with him, which was….well. Unfortunate.

Roman wished he got to know his advisors better. Ever since they were separated from him, Roman feels like he’s been at the grinding stone with them all. The Thief had spent the whole wedding either swearing or screaming suggestions angrily, and when he wasn’t, he was comforting an incredibly distraught Bard. The Damsel and Playwright tried to help the most but... He had barely even seen the Artist outside of their creative sessions. He had barely seen the Dragon or Child, period.

The Director was an interesting one. Roman had everyone’s phone numbers, because, well, he wasn’t about to use carrier pigeons. Though that might be super cool to try one day. But the Director was just about the only advisor to casually reach out to him. He would send Roman memes. How did he even get memes? Roman and Remus had created an Imagination-version of the internet, so it was likely from their co-sponsored Imagination Tumblr or something. The Director putting in the effort and time to think of Roman during such small instances was what made Roman feel more comfortable here, though. That’s what made him trust the Director with these sorts of situations. Almost made them closer...

Was that selfish? To favor one part of oneself over others? Surely not. It was similar to recognizing flaws, or pimples and blemishes. Not to say any of the others were blemishes. Drats, even Roman’s internal monologue was demeaning to himself.

“Do you want any more coffee? I’m going to go refill,” the Director’s voice jolted Roman out of his stupor, and he looked up with wide eyes.

“No, I’m okay,” and after a small beat, he added, “Thank you again for housing me. I can’t imagine what Phillip would want to say after yesterday’s debacle.”

The Director scoffed. Roman snuggled into his blanket more, listening to the Director pour himself another mug and reply. “Anytime, Roman,” he chuckled, then put on one of the most outlandishly fake accents Roman’s ever heard. “I live to serve~”

“Sto-op,” Roman groaned, throwing his head back and shooting the Director a glare—well, glaring at the kitchen door. There were walls around all of the rooms here, unlike the Mind Palace.

The Director laughed even more when he returned, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed on the cushion. He held his mug in his hands for a few seconds before talking, tone much more sober.

“I do have to say. I’m surprised I was the one you came to.” The Director’s voice is a little more quiet. “I thought for sure you would have sought comfort with Cadence or Gavin before me.”

Roman blinks. “I guess….I didn’t want to be judged again.” He looked back down at his lap, at the blankets piled up there and his own coziness. “Every time I come back after an argument, or after making a fool of myself, it seems everyone has an opinion on how poorly I handled a situation. None of them really acknowledge….It must have been….”

He’d been a little confused about it, too. The trust issue.

“Janus has strung my emotions along enough for it to be fair that I don’t trust him,” Roman said, voice soft as he tried to put how he’d been feeling into words. “Right?”

That was as close an explanation as he could get to. Because it all boiled down to the trust issue, in his understanding of the situation. As much as Patton wanted him to let go of the situation, Patton was focusing on the mustache quip rather than the whole trust thing. Janus knew Roman had wanted to go to the callback. But Roman also wanted to be a good person, if that’s what Thomas wanted. Thomas wanted to be a good person so Roman also wanted to be a good person.

But when being a good person directly went against Thomas’ dreams, Janus stepped in. And sure, he argued that they weren’t supposed to be self-sacrificial, but wasn’t that a hero’s job? When did a hero ever get to keep anything before sacrificing everything? Isn’t that what made sense?

Janus didn’t even do a good job at explaining it, not until all the damage had already been done. This was different from just giving Roman the perfect set up for a theater display, this was Janus pretending that he wanted what Roman wanted. This was Janus pretending to be his friend but wanting Thomas to...be a bad person?

He didn’t understand. Maybe Patton was right. Maybe Roman just didn’t understand. And that’s what made his disgruntlement so confusing, because in his heart, Roman knew Janus was trying to help, he knew that, he understood. But then why did it hurt so much?

“Oh, honey, he’s gone way past that. Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking he’s been helpful,” Macbeth’s icy voice cut through the thoughts wrangling Roman’s mind.

The Director was so self-assured. It was comforting. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as he explained.

“And Patton, Logan, turning around just to say you should let it go and listen to him after he’s lied nine times out of ten?” the Director threw his head back and let out a sharp “Hah! No, your anger is rational. And defensible.”

“Why won’t any of the others agree with that?”

The Director starred at Roman for a minute. Just a little too long. His eyes seemed to press Roman into a corner, under a box. Scrutinized.

They both knew that “others” wasn’t a reference to the other Sides. The Director kept his distance from Roman’s other advisors, he knew that, but Roman didn’t know how far. The Director wasn’t the kind to just watch them, was he?

“They all have their opinions. About Disney and otherwise.” He took another drink of his coffee then shook his head, standing up, motioning for Roman to follow, “May I show you….something. Without you thinking I’m crazy?”

Now, that’s always a fairly worrying question to hear. “No, no, I trust you,” Roman said with a slight grin.

The Director must have been able to see how it waned, because he chuckled, smiled back. “I think we’re all a little zany. But that’s the charm. Phillip is undoubtedly the scariest, as much as Draco tries. The Prince, Damsel, whichever you want, has a noticeable villain complex.”

Wait, what?

The Director raised his hands in mock defeat. Showing his hands, like he were trying to assure Roman that he wasn’t being suspicious. But the hairs on Roman’s neck rose. He led Roman to the door just besides Roman’s room. When he first started visiting the Director, he explained that this was his study. Roman had never gone in. Because, you know, when you respect someone you also respect their privacy.

“I’ve only ever spoken to Marlowe, but, you know. I’m the Director of players I can never meet. I had to take notes,” he added the final part quietly.

He glanced over the combination button pad on the door. Roman hadn’t noticed that. What room would require a combination lock? And who would be….Was it to keep him out? Or someone else? Maybe the Playwright, the Director mentioned he’d been over before. Keep anyone out, it seemed.

“I….notes?” he was flabbergasted. What the fuck was happening?

“Yeah.” The Director opened the door slowly and motioned for Roman to follow.

Inside were papers. One wall was a large tackboard, photos and sticky notes and papers pinned up, connected with lines of colored yarn. Roman felt his mouth fall open as he inspected it. There were notes on all of his advisors, all seven of the others, even some of people Roman didn’t know. There was someone with four eyes. Someone with antlers. Who were they? How did this all fit together?

Why in Athena’s name did the Director have corkboard notes on the other advisors? That was a lot more than a little weird.

“I...You’re wonderful, Roman. So productive and pristine and princely, as you deserve to be. But there are some areas where you can stand to improve.” Roman was probably only processing some of the Director’s words as he rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a metal stick, one that looked oddly like a wand.

He held it in one hand, and suddenly it extended, until it was a pointer. The Director held both ends of it and watched Roman for a reaction, a response, something.

“I would have to agree,” Roman stumbled over his words a little, eyes still glued to the notes—there were some by the Child that read ‘Naive/Trusting/Problem?’—before he slowly turned back to the Director with a weak grin once again. “I mean, I might be pristinely princely, but those P alliterations don’t include perfect. No one’s perfect.”

“It may be an unattainable dream, but we’re well familiar with those. We can only strive for improvement! And when improving you and yourself, that means making changes to them,” the Director gestured up at the wall of photos, of the parts of Roman’s self, and smacked the Child’s photo with his pointer. “I actually only thought I would be reading these notes, so forgive me for any, er. Sharp language.”

Roman knew that self-improvement meant adopting new mindsets, but he had no idea that putting parts of himself into characters involved changing them as well, though it did make sense. Self-insert characters had to change if you were changing the self that was being inserted. Right?

If he wanted to improve….it made sense. He had to change himself, including the facets of himself.

“That’s fair,” Roman murmured, “Okay. These….You could take these notes to the other advisors. Surely they’d accept it?”

“At this point, I don’t know who would kill me faster,” the Director scoffed, then gestured at the Damsel’s notes, a cluster of sticky notes and drawings and photos of the Damsel at a well enough distance that it was closer to stalker-ish. “Phillip wouldn’t want competition. Marlowe agrees that he can be quite standoffish when threatened, and a newcomer claiming to be one of Roman’s advisors? Someone who doesn’t have his respect in a royal manner?”

The Director pointed to the Thief now, a even more grave expression adorning his face. “And Eric. Tell me you think he would accept a newcomer of any kind. Just tell me. Especially near Gavin. And the Child himself probably wouldn’t like me.”

Well, that sounded off. Roman leaned on the wall besides the door, back against his hands as he continued to inspect the wall. There were notes on the other advisors’ behaviors, their antics.

For some reason, Roman could almost imagine Janus or Logan doing this. It was something close to weird and something else close to endearing. Was that weird?

“Why not? Gavin’s pretty trusting.” Roman didn’t look away from the wall as he replied.

“In fairness, he might like me, but I don’t know if I could ever come around to liking him. He’s the root source of all our issues, especially our present issue with Janus, Patton, Logan. Even past issues with Remus, if I’m remembering them properly. What Gavin represents allows us to be easily swayed.”

That got Roman to look away, look down at the Director. He was glaring up at the Child’s photo with something fierce, which startled Roman enough. I mean, that was a whole child there. What would inspire this much hatred?

“Really now?” Roman wanted to know.

“He gets us to let our guard down. It’s at Gavin’s behest we take chances, but it’s that same honesty that leads us to broken promises, taking in lies like they’re candy. I don’t know what I would do with him,” the Director sounded disappointed.

That was a fair analysis. All of the advisors—the Playwright, the Thief, the Child, Bard, Artist, Dragon, Damsel, Director—they all represented different parts of Roman, similar to how the Sides represented parts of Thomas. In theory, they worked together. In practice, that was far from the truth, but Roman knew for his sake that they were trying their best.

They all oversaw different parts of Roman’s psyche, too. The Playwright, for example, was most similar to Logan in that he represented Roman’s research and organization, on a creative and egotistical level. The Playwright—Marlowe—could be trusted with knowing how many liters of blood were in the human body as well as every one of the Sides’ favorite karaoke songs, even the exact time and date they met Nico.

The Child was Roman’s belief, his ability to dream. It was fair to assume that that made him the most naïve part. Perhaps it was even a fair conclusion that the debacles with Janus were caused by what the Child represented.

Roman hadn’t thought of it like that. The last time he’d talked to the Child, Gavin, about the situation, he had seem incredibly disappointed.

He’d never stopped to ask what the Child was disappointed in, though. Was he disappointed in Roman? Or in himself? Did the Child know he was the one who had pushed Roman to trust Janus? Did….There was no way that this was….the Child’s fault. Was it?

“Huh.” Roman’s voice echoed emptily to himself. A pit opened in his stomach, something difficult to grasp. The root cause of his burdens couldn’t be his ability to dream. His dreams themselves, his hopes, his beliefs. He….he was the daydreamer, the creator. That couldn’t be a flaw, could it?

The Director watched him, but Roman hardly noticed. It was only for a few seconds, too, of stoic silence before the Director interrupted his thoughts with a huff, looked across the board. “This is quite a bit of insight at once. Maybe we should finish the movie.”

“Director?”

Roman and the Director both turned to the open doorway, the later slapping a hand over his own mouth immediately. With a flick of his wrist, the door closed quietly, clicking just loud enough for the both of them to hear. They also heard the Playwright in the living room, footsteps echoing faintly on the stone floor.

“Director?” the Playwright called out again.

“Fuck,” the Director whispered. This must have been an unplanned visit.

“What? We can just go out and say hello,” Roman said back, though his demeanor and body language spoke of worry, almost fear.

The Playwright was well known to be a pacifist. And the Playwright knew about the Director, knew about Roman knowing the Director. He was a little surprised to find that the Playwright didn’t know the Director’s name was Macbeth, but Roman knew the Director to be a man of secrets.

“He doesn’t know I….He doesn’t know you’re here. He barely knows we talk,” the Director looked around the room and pressed a hand to one of the walls, “Fuck. How are we going to get him out?”

The rock beneath the Director’s hand morphs into a doorway and he opens it. The Playwright was standing in the living room, close to the front door to the home. He looked up at them both, eyes widening when he met Roman’s. Before Roman could say anything, even think of something to say, the Playwright spoke with ease.

“Roman’s here? Thank goodness. Virgil’s come looking for him,” he gave Roman a small smile, strained but caring all the same.

“Ah.” Roman stiffened. Virgil came looking for him? In the Imagination? Why? How? He didn’t have his own passage into this space yet, how’d he get here?

He didn’t want to talk to Virgil. As supportive as he’d been, especially when it came to taking care of Thomas, there were still some areas where Roman wanted to be alone, wanted to process his thoughts alone. Virgil was...vindictive. Which was a strong word to use, but an apt one. Virgil’s distaste in Janus made it hard for Roman to form his own thoughts, which was why he often tried away from Virgil as much as Patton.

He wasn’t ready for that kind of confrontation, and the Director must have been able to tell, because he physically looked like he didn’t want Roman to go.

“I actually didn’t expect to find you here, though I’m not entirely surprised,” the Playwright must not have been privy to these feelings, glancing between the Director and Roman, shock still gracing his features.

“Really now,” the Director said, tilting his head, “Why not?”

“I just didn’t know Roman had met you, but of course, even I’m not as omniscient as Creativity himself,” the Playwright stepped closer, reaching toward Roman. “You have to come up, though. Virgil said everyone’s worried.”

Roman starred at the Playwright’s hand, unsure of what to do with the gesture. He knew everyone would be worried, on a baseline. Closed doors didn’t do well around the Mind Palace, especially his, especially after his splitting incident, but that didn’t mean he had to cater to everyone else’s worry. He was allowed privacy.

Before he formulated a response, though, the Director placed a hand in front of Roman. His smile toward the Playwright turned sour, lips pursed in a mix of thought and anger.

“He doesn’t have to go see Virgil if he doesn’t want to.” Roman felt some of the tension in his shoulder alleviate at the Director’s statement, as basic as it was.

The Playwright, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand. He looked between Roman and the Director again, surprised even further by how familiar they seemed. There had been a fair amount of transparency in Roman’s relationships with all of the other advisors that there must be some dissonance to see him be so familiar with someone he hadn’t even expected Roman to know. Something about that surprise, the bait and switch, the lie, felt fulfilling.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to alleviate Virgil’s worried and tell him to leave again,” the Playwright explained slowly. “I’m sure, if Roman told him he wanted privacy, he would understand.”

“I’m sure, if Virgil could understand that, then he wouldn’t have tread where he shouldn’t. You can’t make him do anything.” The Director’s voice grew darker, hand unwavering.

“Make him?” the Playwright sounded so confused.

Roman was also confused where the Director’s notion came from, but it was validating to hear reminders that Roman’s decisions were his to make. But nothing in the Playwright’s tone was forceful.

For a moment, it seemed as though the Playwright would drop his confusion.

Until he took a step forward, toward the Director and Roman, with one hand outstretched. Roman didn’t know what he’d been planning, but he knew the Playwright wasn’t a sporadic man. He hated adding physicality to situations where debate and discussion could suffice. So, in hindsight, it was likely the Playwright was reaching out to make peace.

The moment passed in mere seconds.

He was taller than the Director by a noticeable few inches, so the Director bent his knees. He pushed Roman behind him with his outstretched arm, acting faster than either Roman or the Playwright could react to. The Director stuck his leg out and grabbed the Playwright by the fabric of his shirt, behind his neck. The Playwright, surprised by the sudden movements, tripped on his leg and let out a sharp gasp of surprise.

Besides them was the living room coffee table. As the Playwright fell, the Director redirected his head toward the table, shoving him away from Roman.

It felt very spur of the moment, and it happened in a true moment. The Playwright let out a scream, sharp and fearful, before his forehead collided with the edge of the metal table. He fell beneath it unconscious. Blood pooled at the Director’s feet as he stood back up.

Roman’s hands shot to his face immediately, as soon as the Playwright started falling, and he could only stare in horror at the scene. The Director, too, seemed shocked at his own reaction. He starred at his blood-stained socks for a little while, breathing heavy enough for Roman to hear. It must be the adrenaline.

“I,” the Director’s voice caught in his throat.

Roman watched. Just watched. The Director swallowed, turning around to face Roman with a mirroring horrified expression, eyes wide with surprise. “You have to make him forget.”

“What?” Roman’s voice was strained, almost a whisper, and he cleared his throat to repeat. “Excuse me?”

What kind of request….?

“If Marlowe remembers this, we’re fucked. He knows you’re here. He’s going to think I attacked him. I-I did attack him,” The Director took a slow breath, turning to look at the body on the ground before shaking his head—unable to look. “David is going to kill me.

“Make him forget. He can stay here. For a bit. We can figure this out,” he put his hands up towards Roman. “We-The other Sides’re gonna follow Virgil. We both know that. And, uh. Only Marlowe knew I was here. So we’ve got time to figure out how to, uh. Play this off.”

Roman starred at him with wide eyes. The past two days had been such a long mess, he didn’t know what to do. Physically, he could remove the Playwright memories. He’d be a blank slate of a character, only backstory. What would that do? The Playwright’s backstory was that he was the Playwright. He didn’t have some elaborate parent-death or chosen-one-esque story that he could fall back on. Poor bastard wasn’t even the one who had Roman’s memories prior.

But the Director was right, in a way. If they wanted more time to think about everything—the other Sides were looking for him? How did Virgil get in here? Why would he be looking for Roman, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stomp away from a verbal duel, why now?—then they couldn’t have the Playwright ratting them out.

When he manipulated the Imagination directly, his powers were red. Remus’ were green. It was distinctive. So when Roman sank down, put a hand on the back of the Playwright’s head, his hand turned red.

It blended in with the blood.

Roman felt vile. He had to do this, or else the others would find him. A quiet, dull part of his mind told him that didn’t matter but….he didn’t want to be found. He didn’t.

He pulled gently, as though tugging the thoughts out, and something glistened red and gold as he did. Then, Roman let it go, and it disappeared. It reminded him a little of Dumbledore pulling his own memories out in Harry Potter. Roman didn’t feel much the chosen one, either, though.

“There,” he said quietly.

The Director let out a soft breath. It didn’t sound like either of them knew what to do, to be fair. Maybe the Director hadn’t even expected this.

“I’ll….here.” The Director looked up and pointed at the wall behind the couch.

The couch scooted forward a little, enough for there to be a walkway behind it, and the room simultaneously pulled away from the couch. Then, a door formed on the wall. It clicked once, then swung open. Another room.

Roman stood still, staring at his hands—was that magic or blood?—while the Director leaned down to pick the Playwright up. The man hadn’t moved since being bludgeoned by the table.

“Under the sink in the bathroom is a first aid kit,” the Director said, voice stoic, taking the reins on the situation, “I’ll make him a bedroom and bandage his head. Then he can stay for a day or two. We must figure out what to do, about the other Sides and about Marlowe.”

That was fair. He’d only stay a little.

Dimly, Roman remembered that this was the Imagination, he mastered this world, so he could technically get rid of the Playwright’s wound. He could get rid of his memory and the wound and send him right back to his home, right back to the Artist, good as normal and none the wiser.

But….something in the back of his head stopped him. And the Director pulled him into the other room faster than Roman could overcome whatever clouded thoughts were plaguing him.

[inglourious-imagines]

The Only One (Lewis Nixon)

Requested by: @dontfearthereaper-09

Summary: You're Colonel Sink's granddaughter and you're helping out with paperwork - you eventually fall in love with Lewis Nixon and start dating. However, every relationship has its ups and downs.

Prompt: a requested one - I wish I'd never met you.

Author's Note: I struggled so hard with this and I'm not proud of it at all, but hope it is what you wanted. A big thank you goes to for @alienoresimagines and her great help as always!

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans  @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rayofshanshine @mavysnavy @easynix @stressedinadress @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh @curraheewestandalone @warrior-healer @justamadgirlinabox @happyveday

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"He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began." - Anna Karenina, L. Tolstoj

Y/N had never in her life shooted from a rifle or even held it in her innocent hands. She had never known combat, real combat, where men kill and die. She had never endured real physical pain.

And still, Y/N was standing in the middle of Camp Toccoa during the hot summer days of 1942 with a huge grin on her face. She finally persuaded her grandfather to let her join the paratroopers. Well, she was there to help out with paperwork mainly, to be there at hand for the intelligence officers, but she also managed to pull a few strings so she will be undergoing the combat training like every other soldier even though she's not allowed to go and fight in France.

The first weeks were exhausting - physically and mentally - with the combat training Y/N volunteered for. She constantly felt like she's at the verge of giving up and going home. 

But Y/N didn't and neither will she. Even though it was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life, it seemed right. This is where Y/N Sink belonged.

But thank God it wasn't just exercise, work and signing documents. One evening, when everything was finished for the day, her grandfather Sink took her with him to a certain celebration, more like an occasion to get drunk and forget that a war is going on just across an ocean. 

It was certainly the most eventful night during her stay in Camp Toccoa, Georgia. Y/N lost her grandfather nearly 10 minutes after they walked in the pub. She immediately befriended two guys - George Luz and Joe Liebgott. It seemed like they'd known each other for years. The soldiers heard all about the mysterious woman that had been helping out in their training camp weeks ago now but never really got the chance to talk to her.

George introduced her to the rest of his friends within Easy Company and they spend the night together laughing, downing shots one after another, dancing and joking around. Y/N felt relaxed and genuiely unworried that night so when they were told to break it up and get some sleep for tomorrow, it suddenly saddened her. The Easy Company boys were the most welcoming, kind and funny men Y/N'd met during her stay and she was sure that she's not gonna have a chance to talk to them like that night for a long time.

There was a soldier waiting for her outside of the pub to escort her into her room but Y/N kindly told him to fuck off and he made sure to be quickly on his way. 

So there she was again, standing under the starry night in Georgia, a warm summer breeze dancing through her hair while she struggled a bit to remain on her feet due to all the alcohol flowing in her veins. 

"Have a trouble finding your way, Miss Sink?" a deep voice filled her ears and Y/N jumped a bit on her spot as she didn't see him coming from behind.

"I'm perfectly fine, soldier." she tried to answer with a firm steady voice but a quiet giggle escaped her lips.

"I can see that. Let me help you there, Miss." he offered his help kindly, smirking. The Moon was illuminating his face making his hair appear darker than the night itself and his eyes shined like two stars up at the sky.

"I assure you, Mr Nixon, that I have no trouble at all. I can manage myself." Y/N stood behind her words but a part of her desired his gentle hand on her lower back steadying her. 

"I'm surprised you know my name." Nix laughed raising his eyebrows as he took a few steps closer to her.

"And I'm surprised it was just a can of peaches." Y/N replied boldly looking directly into his dark eyes.

They were covered in silence for a few moments but they burst out laughing in the next second earning some "shut the fuck ups" from the nearest barracks.

The duo spent the rest of the night walking around the camp as they eventually ended up in her room talking about nothing and everything. By the next morning, Y/N knew every little thing about Lewis and he knew every little thing about her. 

It was no surprise, to Easy Company boys or even his grandfather, that the two of them started dating just a couple of days after the party. Richard Winters soon payed Y/N a visit informing her how he's never seen Lew so damn happy and cheerful all the time.

•••

At the end of May, 1944 when all the preparations for D-Day were finishing, another party was thrown in honor of the paratroopers that had earned their jump wings. Y/N persaued Sink to take her to Britain with him so she was able to celebrate with all of them. 

She was a bit tipsy already because George Luz made her drink three beers and the forth was already on its way. 

Lewis Nixon glared at the duo with a bottle of whiskey in his right hand and a cigarette in the left. He watched how Y/N's lips curled into the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen at something George whispered in her ear. She burst out in a hearty laugh as she touched Luz's shoulder gently and this simple action reminded Lewis the night they met for the first time. An uneasy feeling burned through his chest - it suddenly became hard to breathe. Nixon clenched the glass in his hands and he'd have break it eventually if Richard didn't shake with Lew's shoulder.

"Not now, Dick," the intellingent officer snapped immediately, "we'll talk tomorrow. I'm heading back to my room."

And with that, he stood up and walked out of the pub without any other glance toward his girlfriend. The bottle of Vat '69 was left on the table half full.

•••

"Baby? Why did you disappear so quickly?" Y/N barged in his room while he was sitting behind his desk looking out of the window absently. 

"You seemed quite happy with George." Nixon murmured quietly, he didn't even bother to turn and face her.

"What is this all about? Is there a problem?" she asked kindly moving closer to her broken soldier. The sweet tone of her voice was making it even harder than it already was.

Lewis Nixon looked at her for the first time. "I think we shouldn't be seeing each other anymore." He sounded decided, strongly convinced in his statement.

Y/N suspiciously eyed his face whereas Lewis tried to avoid her concerned look. "Is this about George?"

"No, it's not about fucking George!" Lewis raised his voice and stood up from the little chair, "you are better without me, okay? I drag you down, Y/N."

She stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about? I love you and only you, damn it!"

"You just think you do!"

Y/N's eyes began to water and when the first hot tear rolled down her cheek Nixon's heart broke into million pieces. He hated himself for hurting the most precious human being on the Earth but he had to do it. There was no other way.

"I wish you trusted me more, Lew." she breathed out reaching out to caress his cheek but changed her mind in the last second and her hand fell to her body.

Lewis pressed his eyelids tightly together forcing the coming tears stay inside of his soul. "I wish I'd never met you."

•••

The next days hit Y/N harder than her first days at Toccoa. No combat training, no amount of paperwork had ever made her feel so broken, tired and demotivated. As weird as it sounds, even after the relatively short relationship with the Easy Company intelligence officer, Lewis was a big important part of her life. He made her feel so many new emotions, he fulfilled her soul and heart like nobody else did.

And now, it was all gone.

Everyone noticed the sudden cold behaviour between Y/N and Lewis but they didn't really know what happened. Y/N brushed it off every single time when someone asked her and no one really dared to approach Nixon. 

It wasn't like the duo stopped communicating absolutely. Lewis after the argument stormed off and got drunk, he was genuiely wasted, but he also realised what a mistake he did. It was the first time Y/N told him she loved him and he was still able to make the person who cared for him the most go away.

When Y/N tried her best to avoid Nixon, he tried his best to talk to her as much as possible, every day he left her a note at her desk along with a flower and every time she accidentally glanced at him he sent her an apologetic smile.

Y/N knew her anger and hurt was slowly fading away. Lewis felt truly sorry - alcohol and jealousy wasn't really a great combination.

•••

My dearest Y/N,

I know you don't want to have anything to do with me, and I don't blame you, but there's still something I need to tell you. I'm just gonna hope that this sort of letter is not lying in the bin already.

I want you to know that I regret every single word I said that night. Clearly my jealousy and my alcoholic problem (as much as you hate me right now, please don't tell anyone I just admitted that) came in the way and I thought you're better off without me.

I'm not the perfect boyfriend, Y/N, and I never will be. I'm not funny as George, and I guarantee you there's gonna be more arguments between us. But I can assure you that no matter what happens, I will love you for the rest of my life. 

Hope you can forgive me,

I'm sorry.

With love, your Lewis

A tear soaked into the piece of paper as she pressed it to her heart. Little did Y/N know that she will love the idiot forever.

[vibranch]

“Stick” Together

Pairing: Sora/Kairi/Riku SRiKai Rating: General Audiences (Pretty inoffensive imo) Word Count: 1,516

AO3 Link Here 

Summary:  Sora is safe and home again after his sudden disappearance from the end of the Keyblade War against Xehanort. And now that Sora's back, he's ready to share the Paopu Fruit his two best friends in all the Worlds. 

Just a short and sweet SoRiKai fic requested by  “Tabula Smaragdina “ on a KH discord I frequent.

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“Where… Am I?” The world around Sora was undefined. His vision was blurred to the point that he could only stare uselessly at the mess of colors and shapes in front of him with unseeing eyes.

“Sora!” a voice called out his name. Was that Kairi? Sora wondered.

“Sora!” another voice shouted. This one was unmistakably Riku’s.

“Where am I?” Sora repeated. His head felt heavy and there was a fog in his mind that made it difficult to think

“Your safe,” Kairi said.

“Your home,” Riku added.

“Safe? Home?” In a weird way, Sora felt like he need some sort of proof before he could honestly believe he still existed. It felt as though a strong breeze could blow by at any moment and scatter him into pieces, as if made from dandelion spores.

Riku and Kairi looked at each other in worry. It had taken them everything they had, but they finally got Sora back in one piece. But as they looked at him, they could barely see their energetic, optimistic friend in this exhausted boy in front of them.

“Don’t you remember, Sora,” Kairi said, placing a hand on Sora’s shoulder. “You sacrificed yourself to save me.”

“You used the power of awakening to save Kairi. But it held a heavy cost, we almost lost you.” Riku said placing his own on Sora’s other shoulder.

Their touch grounded Sora. Blinking a few more times, the world around him suddenly became clear.

Sora suddenly felt the ocean waves on his legs. Only realizing now just how numb he’d been. Looking down, he saw that he was kneeling in the shallows of one of the beaches of his home world.

He could barely believe it. He really was home! Back on his Islands. No, not his Islands. It was their Islands. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to come home if Kairi and Riku weren’t there. That was why he gave everything to save Kairi, why he wouldn’t return home until he found Riku. And, he realized, that was why they had nearly done the same to save him.

***

It had taken awhile, but Sora was finally starting to feel like he’d gotten his strength back. He was back to running and jumping through the island like he once did. Having just completed the old racecourse that he and Riku had competed on countless times, he stopped when he saw Riku and Kairi sitting together by the Paopu tree.

“Hey guys, what’re you up to?” He said as he ran to meet them.

They both turned around quickly at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Sora!” Riku greeted, “We were just about to come looking for you,” he said, tossing Sora a star shaped fruit.

Sora looked at the item in his hand. “A Paopu? What are you guys doing with one of these?”

Kairi nudged Riku gently with her elbow as she spoke. “Riku was getting jealous that we had all the fun of sharing one together. So, I figured we’d all share one between the three of us.”

Sora looked down at the fruit in his hands. Unlike the Paopu he and Kairi shared, this one was little on the small side. Sora shook his head. “This won’t work at all. C’mon guys, look at it. This thing is tiny!”

“What are we supposed to do?” Riku asked. “You’ve been gone for awhile, Sora. The fruits aren’t in season anymore and that was the biggest one on the tree.”

“There are other trees on this World!” Sora answered. “We’ve gotta find one that’s proportionate to our feelings of each other.” Sora said, tossing the small Paopu into the ocean.

Riku sighed, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “I guess I had nothing better to do today.”

“I didn’t even think you knew what the word ‘proportionate’ meant,” Kairi said, giggling at the idea.

“…Donald and Goofy taught it to me,” Sora mumbled to himself. But before Riku or Kairi could ask him what he said, Sora spoke in a louder voice, “Well, let’s go! Time to find a better Paopu tree!”

***

“Yeah, I don’t think you can climb this tree,” Riku said.

Sora dusted himself off the ground. He hated to admit it, but maybe he wasn’t at One-Hundred percent yet after all. He’d never had this much trouble climbing trees.

“You’re going to hurt yourself at this rate.” Kairi added. They both looked a bit worried. Perhaps they also hadn’t realized he wasn’t back to being the same old Sora yet either, or maybe they had a feeling that this was going to happen. Sora couldn’t decide which felt worse.

But Sora wasn’t about to give up. On this tree hung the largest Paopu the three of them had ever seen. But unlike the one they hung out at all the time, this one was strong and stood upright.

“Don’t worry guys, I’ll get it eventually.” Sora said, rubbing his hands together as he prepared to have another go at it. “I just need to come at it with some gusto, or maybe—”

“Sora, stop.” Riku said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Sora looked over at his friend, then quickly towards Kairi as she gripped his hand with her own.

“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” she said. “The whole point of us wanting to share a paopu with you is because we both want to be a part of your life and share in both the good and the bad.” Kairi gave his hand a squeeze, and Sora could feel as Riku moved his hand into Sora’s as well.

“Yeah, and besides,” Riku began, “We just need to work smarter, not harder, to get that Paopu.”

“Oh yeah?” Sora raised an eyebrow at Riku. “And how do you intend to get it, Mr. Smarty Pants?”

Riku smiled at the two of them. “You guys remember how we used to climb over fences as kids?”

Kairi had to stop herself before she started laughing. “Are you talking about the human ladder?!”

Riku’s grin grew wider. “What else? With the three of us combined we should be able to just barely reach it.” Riku stepped back from the tree and measured with his fingers Sora and Kairi’s height. “Yep, we should be able to do it. I’ll be the base, Kairi you be the middle.”

“I think I should be the middle.” Sora said. “I weigh more than Kairi!”

Riku and Kairi looked at Sora. “You’re still pretty emaciated looking, Sora.” Kairi said. “I’m pretty sure I weigh more than you do, right now.”

“Poddledomp,” Sora said.

“What?”

“I can make up words too, you know.” He said, pursing his lips and crossing his arms like a pouting child.

Riku pressed a hand against his forehead. “No Sora, emaciated is a real word. It means you haven’t regained all your strength yet. You’re still really skinny.”

Kairi laughed at the conversation before speaking. “And besides, looking for trees was your idea, Sora. So, we’d like you to be the one to pick the Paopu.”

While wobbly, the human ladder had worked and the three tore the Paopu into three pieces. Sora held his piece of the Paopu in front of himself as he looked to his friends. “Alright, on three everybody!

Kairi and Riku nodded to him, holding their own pieces before themselves as well.

“One…” Sora drawled, stretching the word out until it seemed unbearable.

Following Sora's lead, Riku began to drawl out, “Two…”

“Oh my gosh, really you two?” Kairi said. Neither had a chance to say anything before she cheerfully exclaimed, “Three!”

Almost immediately the three of them started wolfing down their thirds of the Paopu.

When he’d finished, Sora looked at Kairi. He was taken aback by her beauty. Had her hair always been as red as a sunset? And Riku, there was a strength and handsomeness to him that Sora had never notice before. He wondered just how long Riku’s eyes had shimmered like a dew-covered grass field.

Sora couldn’t help but look down at his sticky, juice covered fingers.

“Sora, you okay?” Kairi asked.

“Y-yeah…” Sora said, not looking up. “I’m just scared.”

“Scared of what?” Riku asked, shuffling closer to him.

Sora pressed his fingers and thumb together, letting them stick together for a moment before separating them again. “Is this real? I’m really worried this has all been a dream or something. What if I wake up and I’m back wherever you guys found me?”

Riku took Sora’s hand, not minding the slightest how sticky it was. After all, his were just as sticky. “Don’t worry, Sora. This is real. We’re together again.”

Kairi took his other hand. “We’ll be a part of each other’s lives forever. If something happens to one of us the other two will be here to drag them back.”

“Yeah,” Sora said, feeling a little more at ease. “No more leaving one behind or hiding from the other two.

They smiled and gripped his hand tighter as they nodded.

“The three of us have to stick together.”

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Thank you for reading all the way to the end of this. If you enjoyed it, I hope you’ll consider liking, reblogging, or leaving a comment or kudo on AO3.

[artificialqueens]

Heatstroke (Shillam) - Ortega

a/n: it’s ya boi, back from holiday with a very Summery bit of nonsense for u all! love to purecamp for just screaming beta-ing this. hope u all like it and if u do, pls hop into my ask box or pop an ask here to show me some love xo

summary:

“Or…how about we swap shifts? I take yours now, you cover my beach shift later on. Gives you more time to crack on with the nonentities of reality TV.”

Chad looked initially excited then suddenly narrowed her eyes, following Sharon’s quick gaze over to the three girls on the sunbeds, where the pink-haired one in her line of vision was now arguing with the sunbed-reservers. As Sharon snapped her gaze back to Chad, the other girl was now giving her eyes a colossal roll.

“Oh, Sharon, could this be any more of a cliche?”

(4kish oneshot. Sharon’s a lifeguard. Willam’s a dumbass. lesbian au bc it’s me xo)

***

The bright sting of sunlight beamed down onto Sharon’s skin as she frowned, squirted out another huge dollop of factor 50 into the palm of her hand, and rubbed gently at her shoulders. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the heat over here and she cursed as she watched the other lifeguards wander around the poolside, all gorgeous and tanned and straight out of an ITV2 reality show. Sharon was pale and fair, a combination that didn’t mix well with Ibiza in the height of July. She got blisters on her shoulders the first week she came- she’d never been abroad before and thought that one thick layer of suncream in the morning would be enough to last the whole day. Seven days, various baggy t shirts and three full bottles of aloe vera lotion later, she had learned her lesson.

As she cast her gaze over the resort where a healthy mix of sixth form holidayers, wannabe instagram influencers, and 40 year old men with skin the same tone as a gammon partied or swam or sunbathed away, across the way she caught the eye of a girl on the sunbeds who had already been looking at her. She was lying on her tummy and reading a magazine which was resting on the stone tiles below the sunbed. Her gaze had flicked back down to the glossy pages, pink hair falling over her face as she attempted to disguise the fact she’d been looking at Sharon just moments ago. Or maybe Sharon was going crazy, which was probably the most likely option. It had been a couple of months since her ex had broken up with her (okay, five - she was counting) and since Phi Phi, she hadn’t received the attention of any girls and she was starting to go mildly insane. That was part of the reason why she’d even applied for the job at Ocean Beach in the first place- the other was that she desperately needed some sun, and when she got offered the job there she accepted in a heartbeat. A whole season away from home would be weird, but really what was she leaving behind? Her one bed flat and a bunch of potted plants she could barely keep alive?

Sharon felt something burning on her again, and this time it wasn’t the sun. She slowly, cautiously, turned her head around to the spot she knew the girl was lying down at and, sure enough, she was looking at her again. Only this time she hadn’t turned away and was allowing Sharon to take in her blue eyes, surrounded with last night’s glitter, mascara and eyeliner. On anyone else it would look horrific, but this girl seemed to suit it as if she’d woken up that day and decided to put her makeup on like an Escher painting. She’d evidently put on fresh gloss and her lips were a shining metallic blue, rendering Sharon unable to see what colour they were actually meant to be. She didn’t really mind. The girl’s bikini was like holographic dental floss- the bottoms were practically disappearing between her cheeks and the singular strap of the top had been unclipped and was draped on either side of the girl’s body allowing her to avoid a tan line. Sharon was suddenly glad of the mirrored aviators she was wearing which were allowing her to look at the girl without her knowing- which sounded creepy in Sharon’s head, but she justified it by knowing she hadn’t been the one that started it. Just then, the girl gave her an exaggerated wink, making Sharon thankful for her sunburnt cheeks as she knew she was flushing the same shade as the neon pink bikini that an Only Way Is Essex star was wearing two sun loungers along from her.

“Willam!” there came a loud shout that cut through the noise of two different sets of speakers, as the girl’s head snapped to the side and glared at two other blonde girls (one tall, one smaller) that had appeared beside her. The tall one was speaking. “Girl! We’ve been shouting across to you for like five minutes! What do you want from the bar?"

As the girl dragged her eyes off Sharon she barely had time to overthink about whether she’d seemed reluctant to stop staring or not, as she had to blow her whistle at a group of eight boys on holiday together all seemingly trying to drown each other.

***

Sharon boredly swung her whistle around in her hand, the small metal noise box from hell constantly threatening to fly off its lanyard. She’d been scanning the side of the pool all of yesterday and all morning but she still hadn’t seen a flash of pink hair, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t disappoint her. She didn’t know why this one girl- Willam, Sharon reminded herself- had grabbed her attention so forcefully with just a wink worthy of a Carry-On film and a holographic bikini. Ocean Beach was frequented by beautiful girls with glossy hair, perfect blinding veneers and tans worthy of Greek goddesses, and for the first week she’d lifeguarded there Sharon had felt like a bitch in heat. But Willam was so different to them. She was almost special because she didn’t conform to the classic Ibiza-Barbie beauty standard with her pink hair and messy makeup. Sharon frowned to herself and shook her head before taking a swig from her water bottle. What the fuck was she doing getting so hung up on a random girl she literally hadn’t spoken to yet and who she only knew the name of by sheer dumb luck?

She was suddenly distracted by someone leaning against the lookout, and was ready to blow her whistle into their face when she realised it was only Chad. She’d completely forgotten that her shift was almost over, and it hit her with a pang of disappointment that she hadn’t seen Willam yet. Chad swept her dark fringe out of her eyes and smiled up at her.

"Guess who slept with Rykard Jenkins last night?” she bragged, her poised posture somehow making the whole interaction seem classy. “I’m not naming names but it was definitely me.”

“Oh my God. Is he a minor royal?” Sharon gasped extravagantly, placing a hand to her chest and laughing as Chad rolled her eyes.

“You know he was on Love Island, Sharon,” she glared at her, unimpressed. Sharon gave a chuckle.

“No, you’re right. I did know that. Does he have a thing for girls whose first and last names usually belong to men? Chad, I don’t know how to tell you this, baby,” Sharon stage-whispered down to her friend. “I think he’s gay.”

Chad managed to hold her unimpressed look for all of a second before spluttering out a laugh. “God, you’re the worst. Remind me why I’m friends with you?”

“Because I’m the only bitch in this place that wouldn’t sell your soul to Satan for a bottle of Moet.”

Chad laughed and made to climb up the ladder. “Let me on my goddamn shift, bitch, before I tip this thing over."

Suddenly, something caught Sharon’s eye. Three girls- two blonde, one pink- strutting up to three sunbeds which already had towels on them, flinging them away and replacing them with their own before kicking their wedges off and lying down. Sharon felt excitement catch in her throat.

"Or…how about we swap shifts? I take yours now, you cover my beach shift later on. Gives you more time to crack on with the nonentities of reality TV.”

Chad looked initially excited then suddenly narrowed her eyes, following Sharon’s quick gaze over to the three girls on the sunbeds, where the pink-haired one in her line of vision was now arguing with the sunbed-reservers. As Sharon snapped her gaze back to Chad, the other girl was now giving her eyes a colossal roll.

“Oh, Sharon, could this be any more of a cliche?”

“Shut up! I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Sharon frowned, mentally kicking herself that her second statement should probably have come before her first. Chad raised an eyebrow to indicate she’d read Sharon’s mind. “Look, it’s nothing, okay, it’s just…she’s cute, and I want to get to know her."

Chad gave a laugh and climbed down off the first rung. "Well as long as nobody dies because you’re too busy staring at a cute girl. Which one is she, the legs?”

“No. Pink hair,” Sharon risked a look back over to find that chief-sunbed-reserver-bitch was practically at Willam’s throat. Sharon gave a long blast of her whistle which made the sunbed-reserver drop her towel. “Hey! No reserving! You know that shit!"

As the sunbed-reservers slunk off, Sharon didn’t miss the beaming smile of thanks that Willam was sending her way. She gave a small, self-conscious salute and turned back to Chad, who was cringing.

"A salute? Girl. You’re not fucking Little Mix.”

“Piss off and let me make heart eyes in peace.”

So Chad did, and Sharon tried not to focus too much on Willam because as Chad had mentioned, there were many people here that were already more than a few drinks down despite it being 11 in the morning, so Sharon had to watch that they didn’t stray too close to the pool’s edge. As her gaze drifted back to the three sun-loungers, she saw that one of them was empty. Willam wasn’t there any more, but all her stuff was. As Sharon felt her heart sink with confusion, she was distracted by a deafening cry of “CANNONBAAAAALL!” which was immediately followed by a crashing splash in the water, which soaked many unimpressed Instagram influencers who were trying to perfect their poses on unicorn-shaped inflatable rings. Frowning, Sharon blew her whistle again before she realised who had launched themself into the water- a slick of wet, pink hair floated back to the surface, Willam’s grin plastered over her face, clearly happy that she’d caused the maximum amount of destruction possible. Nonetheless, Sharon had blown her whistle and she had to commit to it.

“No bombing!” she yelled across to her, Willam only glaring briefly at her and shooting her a smile.

“Calm down, princess, I ain’t Al-Quaeda!"

Sharon tried to stop the quirk that her lips gave. Princess. She definitely didn’t like that as much as her body was telling her that she did.

The rest of the morning seemed to pass way too quickly. Sharon was trying to do her job to the best of her ability but she kept getting distracted and her gaze kept being pulled over to the set of three sunbeds to update herself on what Willam was doing. Namely chatting to her friends and sunbathing. Sharon felt like an idiot, willing her to come and walk past her lookout so she could just happen to strike up a conversation with her. Really, though, what the fuck would she say? Hey, I’ve been weirdly lowkey (highkey) checking you out for the past three days and I already know your name even though we’ve barely exchanged words. Wanna go out?

It turned out she didn’t have to worry as, from the way Willam began to act, it was almost as if she wanted Sharon’s attention. It began when she teetered back from the bar, mojito in hand. She slipped her heels off and made her way into the pool, where she sat her drink at the side and dipped her body into the water. As much as Sharon was taken in by the sight of the neon green faux-snakeskin swimsuit she was wearing and how well it fitted her (definitely not how well it clung to her body), Sharon had to blow her whistle again. Her heart gave a thump when Willam looked over her shoulder at her, straw between her teeth and her damp hair giving a flick.

"No drinks,” Sharon shouted over, unable to stop herself from giving a small smile as Willam rolled her eyes and pouted.

“Who the hell are you, Casper the Nazi ghost?” she yelled back, turning and gesturing to her smaller blonde friend to collect her glass. The girl leant down to Willam and whispered something quietly, the other girl’s face lighting up as if she’d just discovered Uranium. There was the smallest, tiniest glance to Sharon, so small that Sharon wasn’t sure if it had even been directed at her or not.

She soon had her answer.

Around twenty minutes later, and mid-daydream, Sharon was distracted by Willam again. She had floated into her line of vision on a donut-patterned rubber ring, and Sharon was about to admire how gorgeous and tanned she looked when she spotted what Willam had in her hand. Willam seemed to sense Sharon’s eyes on her and she smiled, lifted an enormous, lettuce-and-ketchup filled burger to her mouth and took a huge bite.

The whistle was at Sharon’s lips in around a second.

“Are you serious?!” she found herself yelling over, Willam simply smiling and batting her eyes at her.

“You want some? It’s really good,” she said placidly, Sharon rolling her eyes at her so hard they threatened to roll out their sockets.

“Get out the damn pool,” she frowned, narrowing her eyes at Willam before realising she wouldn’t be able to see them through her sunglasses. Nevertheless, Willam shrugged and pushed herself towards the steps where she evacuated her rubber ring without spilling a single bit of the burger.

Five minutes later, Sharon’s gaze was pulled from a group of lads on their stag do who looked increasingly close to falling into the water by a huge shout.

“HEY ALASKA, WATCH HOW FAST I CAN RUN!"

Before Sharon knew what was happening, there was a blur of pink hair and neon green, as Willam made a pretty successful attempt to imitate Usain Bolt’s first time in six-inch heels. Sharon scrambled for her whistle as Willam came dangerously close to knocking someone who she might have recognised from Ex on the Beach into the pool.

Slightly less attracted to her and now far more annoyed by her, Sharon beckoned the girl over. Willam, for her part, looked more proud than ashamed and she made her way around the cavernous pool over to where Sharon sat perched on the lookout. As soon as Willam reached her and beamed up at her with her perfect teeth however, Sharon’s annoyance faltered. What the fuck was she going to say to her?

"Hey, lifeguard,” Willam quipped flirtatiously, Sharon trying to ignore the tone she’d taken with her and going straight to bollocking mode.

“Right, what the fuck is your problem? You’ve been fighting with other guests, chucking yourself into the pool like a sea lion, taken your drink into the pool, taken a fucking burger into the pool, and now you want to act like Mo fucking Farah? You almost knocked Jess Impiazzi into the water, are you trying to end up in the papers?”

Willam fiddled with the buckle on her swimsuit’s belt, looking faux-coyly up at Sharon from under her lashes. “Just page 3 of ‘em.”

Sharon nearly choked. “Well then stop acting like a tit. You’re at Ocean Beach, not the fucking local lido.”

“Well you appear to be a Drumsticks Squashie masquerading as a human being and no-one’s pulled you up on that,” Willam bit back with a cheeky smile. She had a dimple near her chin when she smiled. Sharon tried to ignore that and her hurt pride as she self-consciously touched the sleeves of her regulation polo shirt.

“One more strike and you’re out,” Sharon attempted a withering putdown but her voice seemed to betray the regret she felt in her voice. She didn’t want to ban Willam- she really, desperately didn’t- but rules were rules, and her manager would come down even harder on her if she continued to let this clownery take place a moment longer. Willam simply gave her a single nod and a flirtatious smile.

“Okay, lifeguard,” she deadpanned, before flicking her hair (which had now gone wavy) over her shoulder and walking off. Sharon sighed. She wished Willam didn’t rile her as much as she did. She wished she was less annoying. She wished her legs didn’t look so good in her wedges as she walked away- fuck, no.

Sharon tried to completely clear Willam from her mind. She only had around ten minutes until her shift was up, she could hold on til then. That was what she thought until she scanned her eyes over the pool and saw a mess of pink hair face-down in the water, her body starfished and floating on top. Willam’s two blonde friends seemed to have noticed Sharon’s initial panicked reaction and had begun shouting.

“Oh my God, Courtney, Willam’s drowning!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Alaska, she is! If only there was a…blonde, skinny…kinda pale…lifeguard to come and save her!” the smaller blonde shouted. Sharon briefly wondered how many calories you could burn via eye-rolling. She’d surely lost a pound today through that alone.

Sharon blew her whistle, walked down from the lookout post and lowered herself into the pool where she swam over to Willam, levered her skinny arms around her neck and swam with her over to the poolside. Positioning her on the steps so she was face-up, Willam gave a dramatic gasp for air and fixed her gaze on Sharon.

“Oh my God! That was so fucking scary…I just passed out, I don’t know what happened…”

Sharon tried to ignore the fact that Willam had consciously kept her arms wrapped around her neck. “Very good, Meryl Streep. Get your shit. You’re barred.”

“What?!” Willam cried, her expression contorting into one of outrage and regret stabbing at Sharon’s heart.

“I told you, didn’t I? One more strike. Piss off,” she scolded in as strict a voice she could muster. Willam scrambled on the ground, moved to snatch her towel up from her lounger, and then squared up to her. She was standing close. Too close, because Sharon’s head was being filled with all sorts of scenarios and fuck, things would be made so much easier if the girl took just one step back.

(Of course, Sharon herself could have taken a step back. But where would the fun have been in that?)

Willam’s eyes narrowed, but there was still a playful spark in them that set Sharon’s nerves alight. “You’re lucky you’re cute…” she began, then flicked her eyes down to the nametag on her shirt. “…Sharon.”

With that, Willam flounced off with her friends quickly following her, and the death stares they were giving Sharon were offset by the smell of Willam’s perfume which managed to overpower the chlorine coming from the ends of her hair.

***

No matter how bored she was of drunken holidaymakers, overhearing the sunburnt, bigoted expats talking about Brexit, or the mosquitos, Sharon would never get bored of the sunsets here. Mostly they were the standard beautiful orange with a hint of yellow or red or both, but sometimes whoever controlled the skies threw something truly special up there. Tonight the sky was almost entirely pink, different hues of dark red-pink high in the sky fading into cherry blossom, then baby pink and then a bright white strip where the sky met the sea. The calm surface of the water meant that the whole beautiful scene was reflected against the surface, and a mirror image of the sky shone back at Sharon as she sat against a cushioned sun lounger that was usually reserved for paying guests. She sat and drank it all in whilst thinking about home, and Phi Phi, and what she could have done differently. She didn’t miss her- she just missed having someone to love. Sharon sometimes felt she had too much love and it always threatened to pour out of her, to burst at her seams.

“You just give me the ick, Sharon, you’re too much for me!”

The words still stung, no matter how much Sharon was over it.

Suddenly there was a small thump beside her on the sun lounger and Sharon had to stop her heart rising like one of the parasailers they took out to sea during the day. As she turned, it was as if someone was smiling down on her because there sat Willam, burying her own feet in the sand and swaying a little where she sat.  It had been a day or two since Sharon had seen her last and in that time she’d managed to entirely fill her head, regret at having barred the girl completely consuming her. Sharon still hadn’t stopped looking at her, deigning her much more beautiful than the sunset in front of her. She had chunks of glitter in her hair as well as covering her arms, collarbones and chest.

“Hey,” she began, wondering if Willam really had noticed her as she seemed completely intent on entombing her ankles. Willam’s head suddenly gave a lurch to the side and she smiled up at her goofily, making Sharon’s stomach give a dip.

“Oh hey. It’s the strawberry mini milk,” she slightly slurred out, making Sharon laugh despite the jibe.

“Ouch.”

“That’s a joke, by the way. You’re not that sunburned,” Willam followed it up, her eyes seeming to plead with Sharon to never stop looking into them. “You’re more like a…vanilla mini milk.”

“What is this obsession with mini milks?” Sharon chuckled, Willam giving an elongated shrug.

“They’re rich in calcium.”

Sharon wondered if this girl was ever going to stop making her laugh. As she quieted down, she noticed Willam had gone quiet too and she was back burying her feet. “You’ll get sand under your nails.”

“Meh.”

“How was the glitter party, then?”

“Tried to chat someone up from the last series of Love Island.”

“Oh. Very nice,” Sharon raised her eyebrows, wondering why everyone seemed to be obsessed with these manufactured, airbrushed ideas of what an attractive human should look like. To her, none of them had a patch on Willam.

“No, bitch, it wasn’t nice! Because I’m still alone, aren’t I, instead of getting pounded into the mattress,” she mumbled sadly, Sharon’s heart going out to her for some reason. With a stab to her heart, she realised she hadn’t counted on Willam not liking girls.

“Well, you’re not technically alone. Because I’m with you,” Sharon kept her flirting subtle, part of her not wanting to be deterred. She was rewarded by Willam smiling at her shyly. It seemed out of character.

“Well, Sharon the lifeguard. Since I’m not-alone-with-you. Tell me things,” Willam leant forward onto her elbows and her head came just that little bit close to resting on Sharon’s lap. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“JLS have had the most number ones out of any other UK X Factor winner.”

“What?”

“You told me to tell you things. That’s a thing,” Sharon shrugged lightly, the other girl bursting into a laugh that made her sound like a bike horn.

“No, you idiot! I meant about you! I want the first draft of the autobiography,” she giggled, and Sharon’s heart sprang to life.

“Well. There’s not much to tell really. Was a lifeguard at home before I came out here, just working at the local pool. Can’t really tell what’s easier to be honest. Suppose dealing with drunk adults is a little bit like dealing with children,” she reeled off, suddenly self-conscious about how boring her life sounded. Willam didn’t seem deterred.

“How old are you?"

Sharon was going to make a quip about how it was rude to ask a lady’s age, but thought she might have been taking it too far there. "Twenty-seven. Probably too old to be working at Ocean Beach, but-”

“Oh my God, me too!” Willam cried, drunk and happy. As she rolled onto her back she said something that sounded a bit like “No age gap, then.” but Sharon was sure her mind must have been playing tricks on her.

“What’s your story?” Sharon asked, fighting the urge to rest her arm against Willam’s waist.

“ ’M a receptionist for some company in the Shard. AK…C…VIP or something like that,” she waved a hand dismissively, and Sharon laughed.

“What do they do?”

“It’s a payments ecosystem,” Willam said dryly, Sharon holding in her laugh for about a second before it came bursting out of her.

“You definitely made that up.”

“Bitch, they definitely made it up! Nobody knows what the hell it means,” Willam cried out defensively, before shifting uncomfortably. “No one knows what it means, but it’s provocative. This isn’t comfy. Hang on.”

Before Sharon knew it, Willam’s head was in her lap and her heart was fluttering dangerously quickly.

“So how come you’re out here?” Sharon asked, taking her mind off her impending heart attack. She felt Willam shrug.

“Same reason everyone’s out here. Holiday. Escaping my boring fuck of a life.”

Sharon gave a laugh. “I think most people are out here to get famous.”

“Well in that case, I ain’t most people.”

There was a pause before Willam spoke again, in which Sharon, against her better judgement, brought her hand up to tangle in Willam’s hair. She could have imagined it, but she thought she heard Willam give a little purr of happiness. Willam broke the silence all too quickly.

“The sky looks like the lesbian flag.”

Sharon looked up at the rapidly receding sun and took it all in. “I guess it does.”

“Representation,” Willam punched her fist in the air weakly. Sharon’s heart gave a jolt as if she’d just been pushed down a water slide.

“As in?” Sharon heard herself asking, willing her voice not to sound too hopeful. She fully expected an answer that was akin to Oh I love the lesbians! Pink is pretty!

“As in, I’m getting the representation I deserve?” Willam gestured as if it was obvious. Sharon didn’t dare believe what she was implying.

“Oh, you’re a lesbian?” she asked casually. Except it didn’t come out as casual as she’d hoped.

Willam turned over so her head was peering up at Sharon, unimpressed. “Oh don’t tell me you’re some homophobic bitch, because I had you pegged as a butch top and I’ve never been wrong before in my life.”

Sharon’s mind immediately burst into the Hallelujah chorus.

“No! No, no, no. I mean I’m not homophobic. And I’m also gay,” she shrugged, trying to ignore the angels with trumpets that were blasting in her ears. She gave a snort as she realised what Willam had said. “Butch?”

“Oh yeah, girl. Butch as fuck. Embrace it.”

There was a quiet pause in which Sharon didn’t stop playing with Willam’s hair and Willam began drawing against Sharon’s skin with her fingers. Willam was the one to break it.

“What 'bout you, bitch? How come you’re out here? You gonna be on Baywatch?” Willam spoke too-loudly, interrupting the moment.

Sharon gave a small sigh. “I broke up with my girlfriend. Well, no, she broke up with me. Moved out of her flat. Got one of my own. The job came up and I had nothing to lose so I just went for it.”

“Damn. She’s a fuckin’ idiot. What was her name?"

"Phi Phi,” Sharon said, the words sounding all wrong in her mouth. She was glad when they were out of there.

“She sounds like a bitch,” Willam shifted so that she was comfortable and her fingers could continue to make patterns against Sharon’s legs. Sharon should have moved further away. She didn’t.

Sharon twirled a lock of pink around her fingers, eager to change the subject. “So wait, who was the Love Islander that-”

“Megan from season four. She’s by far the hottest girl to ever grace the show and she’s bi so I thought I was in with a shot,” Willam pouted up at Sharon. “Turns out she likes brunettes. You look a lot like her actually.”

Sharon gave a laugh that hoped disguised the fact that her pulse was racing. She barely knew the girl, but simultaneously she felt as if they were old acquaintances. They had some sort of inexplicable connection, which sounded crazy but Sharon felt it was true. “Comparing me to the most attractive girl ever on Love Island. High praise.”

“No, you’re the most attractive girl to exist ever,” Willam slurred out, Sharon’s pulse now surely breaking every speed limit to exist.

“You barely know me, Willam,” she laughed softly, trying not to let the regret tinge her voice too much. Willam narrowed her eyes at her as she stared up.

“How d'you know my name, bitch?”

Sharon froze. She tried to turn it on Willam. “Well how do you know mine?”

“It was on your fuckin’ nametag,” Willam laughed, curiosity still in her eyes. Sharon covered her face as she realised she would have to reveal what a massive fucking stalker she was.

“I heard one of your friends shouting on you the other day. Committed it to memory. That makes me sound weird, and it is fucking weird, but I just-"

Sharon was cut off as Willam pushed herself off Sharon’s lap and moved to sit close beside her. Their bodies were touching and some of the glitter from Willam’s leg transferred onto Sharon’s, a little part of Willam that was stuck to her. Willam tucked her hair behind her ears and looked towards the sand in an uncharacteristically demure gesture.

"You know I’m coming on to you, right? I don’t mind spelling it out if you can’t tell,” she said, sounding more sober now than she had throughout the entire conversation. Sharon wasn’t sure what to do next. She didn’t really think she would get this far, happy with admiring Willam from a distance. Now this seemed all so real and possible and not just images Sharon had conjured up in her head before she went to sleep.

“You’re drunk as fuck.”

“So were my parents when they conceived me and bitch, here I am,” Willam shrugged, nudging her shoulder against Sharon’s own. Sharon let out a laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to convey.”

“I’m saying fuck my blood alcohol ratio and kiss me, goddamnit,” Willam muttered.

Without too much more encouragement, Sharon leaned in and did exactly as she was told. Willam’s lips were soft against hers and the way she took control made Sharon think perhaps she wasn’t as drunk as she was painting herself out to be. The kiss was slow and lazy, as if they had all the time in the world, and for a moment Sharon was convinced time really had frozen around them as they could have been kissing for seconds, minutes or hours. All she knew was that she never wanted to stop.

Willam rested a hand on Sharon’s thigh as she pulled away, smiling gently. Sharon hadn’t seen Willam look shy often. This was definitely a first.

“How much have you actually had to drink?” Sharon asked, remembering her earlier thought.

Willam let out a splutter, suddenly blushing. “One malibu and coke and four glasses of water.”

“Bitch!” Sharon exclaimed, Willam descending into chaos-inducing laughter beside her.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be into me! Easier to pass off a failed seduction attempt when you’re drunk. I’m a good actress, what can I say,” Willam laughed, punctuating her final sentence with a shrug.

Sharon was suddenly filled with a swell of affection. She put an arm around Willam as the other girl rested her head on her shoulder.

“When do you fly home?"

"Got another week here,” Willam muttered, sounding suddenly tired.

“I want to get to know you,” Sharon said quietly, as if she was afraid that words would ruin everything. The sun was almost completely set now, the pink sky being overcome with black.

“I want you to rail me on my balcony,” Willam shrugged, and Sharon could tell she was only half-joking.

“There’s time for both those things,” Sharon kissed Willam on the top of her head, afraid to move her.

“Mm,” Willam nodded, her voice coated in sleep. Sharon didn’t know what time it was. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. She enjoyed existing in this little time-exempt bubble with Willam, where flights home didn’t exist and real life was a distant memory.

“We should get you back to your room, baby.”

“Mmh, no. Wanna stay out here with you.”

So they both stayed on the sun lounger, Willam soon falling asleep and Sharon staying alertly awake until the black sky and platinum stars turned into blue and white with a yellow orb, not wanting to waste a single second in the company of the pink-haired girl asleep with her head on her lap and hoping that the upcoming week would drag slower than any she’d ever known.

[pixelrender]

Top 10 games I played in 2019

In many ways 2019 was a transitional year for me. 2020 will be a completely different year than 2018. Full of work and studying. And that’s why I need to leave my computer behind for a while. I have few games I would like to play on my phone, but mostly, I’ll be silent on the gaming front. I managed to play over 95 games this year. I wrote two or three sentences on every single one of them here. They were mostly short games from Itch.io, most of them under one hour of gameplay. There were many gems and I have an urge to honorably mention at least five of them. So, there might be another post along these lines or check this playlist of mine for some essential games, which might be missing in this selection.

Top 3 was a clear cut, but coming up with the order for the rest of it was difficult. FTL is in my top ten of all times for example and a superior game to both Morphblade and A Short Hike. It is however a game I had played before. The list is quite cohesive this year and I think that every single game on it is either an example of excellent design, great fun or an experience more interesting than films. 2019 was a year, in which I stopped caring about the story being good. I don’t need twists I only want feelings and there are other ways to evoke them. Video games and various kinds of walking sims are way more powerful tool for that. It might be that I’m more sold on games than most movies right now? Dunno, I guess I just managed to dig myself deep enough in my niche. There’s one honorable mention I should make right here. I finally managed to beat, one of my favourite games, FTL this year. Finally! It was the most satisfying moment in gaming of the year. I considered to put it on the list for that reason alone, but being one of my favourite games of all times, I don’t think it needs further spotlight.

10. The Isle is Full of Noises

I played several games from Dreamfeel early 2019 and fell in love with the devs. They’re sensitive, emotional and visually delightful. Curtain probably is the best starting point, but The Isle is Full of Noises is where it’s at. This flatgame is a full emotional outbreak accompanied by some of the best music I’ve heard in video games. It being a flatgame, there’s no collision just your character moving around and discovering things. Despite this simplicity I felt the game and the painful alienation of the character. It’s free and on every platform but phones!

9. Espectro City

This is such a weird combination of influences and simply the best game to come out of  CosmoD’s jam. This game’s about a city inhabited by ghosts. The whole world seems to be dead. It’s a detective game and you move around the city, which happens to be a desktop of a computer and individual places icons. The writing is really good, the mood superb and the gameplay itself surprisingly fun. The game’s full of sentimental sadness and rather deep too! I can’t wait to see more pieces like Espectro City from the dev. Again the game’s free and that’s a  nice bonus.

8. Renowned Explorers: Inernational Society

I played this back to back with Curious Expeditions and expected to like Expeditions better, because their gorgeous art style suits my taste better. And they were a lot of fun with ridiculous thngs happening all the time, usually because of my exploits. I enjoyed it quite a lot, but not as much as Explorers. This game’s really sweet with its simple addictive tactical battles, which are winnable by being friendly, handcrafted locations, great random events (the structure reminds me of FTL) and board game like elements like cards. Also, individual explorers feel way more personal. This was the most fun I had with the game all year long.

7.  The Things We Lost in the Flood

This little free game was exposed on major outlets such as Rock Paper Shotgun and PC gamer for a reason. It’s an impressive experience, a piece of art almost. It makes you think and most likely creative and insightful. I played it only few days ago, but I immediately knew that this needs to go on the list. Besides floating on your ship through the flooded world (in one direction), you come across messages from other players. This subtle multiplayer function makes the game really shine. You feel connected yet distant and there’s no space for hostile interactions. Even after several runs, I feel like there’s more stuff to explore too with screens being thrown at you at random. Play it and get engrossed in its meditative nature, this is the future of poetry.

6. Even The Ocean

For a fairly traditional Megaman inspired platformer in its core gameplay, Even The Ocean brought a lot of extra stuff from JRPGs in. There is a story, which gives you reasons to explore more, an overworld and the esthetic. It’s a nice game, but some of the backgrounds or platforms looked more like sketches than defined illustrations. The gameplay is smooth and good and I enjoyed a good portion of it. It’s all about jumping and overcoming various obstacles, the game doesn’t include battles. Also, the game evolves around corporations, exploitation of power and resources and nature and keeping things in balance and it’s all really actual with climatic changes being number 1 topic of the year. The story is somehow predictable but there is a very enjoyable twist.

5. Even The Stars

This was a simple game about exploring universe, which left a deep impression on me by its finally, which gave your wandering a purpose. Now this is a major SPOILER. This game ends with you dying and revealing your path and discoveries. Even without a purpose, your life had a purpose. It was such a strong message and it crowned the slow exploring, which, tbh, was quite enjoyable on its own.  There’s not much to say, just play the game, it’s free. While you’re at it check other games from Pol Clarissou as well, they’re little gems.

4. Heaven Will Be Mine

Ok, I claimed that I moved from story driven media earlier and this is a visual novel. It was the truth only partially. I still enjoy a good story if it manages to get me invested. This is both a hot romance and a tragedy. You choose to play as one of the three Mecha pilots, all of them are female, each of them representing one faction, one vision of the future. It's really complex and you can never fulfil all of your goals. Choices you're making are difficult from the get go and you're usually choosing between goals of your faction and your personal attitude towards one of the other two pilots, because you're, if not in love, in a hot relationship with both of them. Mecha suits get steamy and it Bronté level romantic. Also, it's worth it make multiple runs with various goals as different drivers. In the end the emotional impact this game with a relatively complicated and often post-human motivations had on me was the main reason why it stuck with me and why I enjoyed thinking about it's politics so different and yet same as problems of my own and this world. Despite the strange it was easy to relate thanks to masterful writing and sleek esthetic choices.

3. Morphblade

I hadn't got around anything really strategic or thinky this year before playing Morphblade. Damn, what a bullseye! This game's an almost abstract endless puzzle game with no real fiction attached to it. In the same way as Super Hexagon it makes it more addictive than morphine. Maybe that's why it's called Morphblade. Or it might be because you morph every turn into a new weapon or tool, based on tile you land on. The game's only mode is endless survival, so there's no real reason to keep playing but the addiction and the great combination of upgrading tiles by killing bugs on them and expanding the playing area. Despite being more of a little side project, this might be the best game Tom Francis has created so far. It's definitely the tightest design.

2. A Short Hike

The top 2 games on my list have a lot in common. They're both Humble Originals and they're both games about enjoying simple things. In case of A Short Hike, you're a city dwelling teen thrown on a Wi-Fi free island and you're being learnt to enjoy it. And it is enjoyable and warm and fuzzy. It's for reason this short game appeared on end of the year lists of many respectable outlets. Looking at screenshots and gifs doesn't make this game justice despite them being really pretty. The low poly in this game is superb and it being this good looking certainly gives it an edge, when it comes to presenting all the little nice things you can do to have a brighter day without exploiting anyone. A Short Hike is an extremely friendly game. Everyone on the isle is welcoming and sharing their enthusiasm with you. I cried of joy. Movement in this game is another thing. You walk, run, glide and climb and everything feels right. It's a game you can play on a wet day to make it the best day possible or on a sunny day to inspire yourself. Because enjoying the pleasures of movement on your own is the real deal.

1. Kimmy

This was a wonderful experience. The game's about Dana, a good caring kid, who is babysitting Kimmy. They walk around town, chat and play games. Mechanics of the game are simple but the way Kimmy presents itself, together with its structure and everything weaved in its narrative, it simply is brilliant. At first it might feel that the game's about building relationships with other kids. That part's really cool on its own as you get to know more about them and they're all original characters and positive ones in one way or other. Next, you uncover the second line. Simple game we all used to play and how we all managed to lose something, when embracing playing on computers and even various board games with many rules and components. It's never been the same sensation since. The last thing is the overarching narrative of the relation of Dana and Kimmy. There were more serious tones thrown in and the final plot twist went against my expectations and made me totally happy. The move from simply satisfying player is a bold one and I would say more rewarding in this case. Definitely more rewarding for me. Celeste and her work on Tacoma had put Nina Freeman on my map years ago, but only after playing Kimmy, she became a real star for me and I'm looking forward to playing We Met in May one day. This definitely is on par with Tacoma in terms of using the medium to carry over a message and a depth of the message.

[pendulum-sonata]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Akaba Ray/Zarc Characters: Akaba Ray, Zarc, Leo Akaba, Reiji Akaba Additional Tags: Angst and Romance, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, One Shot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, ZarcRay Week Summary:

When someone dissapears without a trace, it is said that they were spirited away...

(This is for the prompt "Myth" for the Zarcray Week 2019.)

“Morning.” Ray said to him, as she always did, despite her dad’s warnings.

But this time he didn’t answer back, didn’t even lift his eyes to her, even when she stopped to make sure there was confusion on who she was greeting.

“Hey! Don’t you want a rice cookie?” That’s usually their routine, she said hi to him, he sometimes returned it, sometimes just waved, others just smiled, and Ray would gift him with one of the cookies her father made for breakfast.

When that didn’t work, she felt her cheeks poof and she stomped her feet on the ground to make him snap.

The boy jumped a little from his seat on the huge roots of the tree, and his eyes, looking impossibly huge and shiny seemed to stare beyond her, to some unspecified point in the sky.

No sign of recognition in his eyes.

A chill on her spine had replaced her anger and she simply left him there, leaving the rice cookie at his feet.

.

.

.

Usually if someone is suspected of being spirited away, people organized walks to the forests, with talismans, bells and prayers for the person to come back.

Sometimes lead by a priestess.

This time there was no such effort, the grownups claimed that since the child was an orphan and the festival was approaching there was no time to loose.

But Ray was no fool, under those excuses she heard mutters, sneers, thankful prayers for someone finally taking the demon child away from their village.

.

.

.

“Dad! I’ll go fetch water!”

“Come back before it gets dark!”

Ray just hummed in response and went on her way, the river was not very far away so she was sure she would make it before night fell; before leaving the outskirts of the town she made sure to leave offerings.

‘Ray, you’re a good girl, no spirit would ever bid you ill will.’ That’s what people usually told her, but…

One could never be too sure.

As she kept walking the landscape seemed to become greener and colorful, which was sort of expected since it was summer, but Ray was not exactly sure when was it that any of the villagers had any time to plant flowers down this path, much less take care of them.

The river was as usual, running its course down south from the mountain, soon it would be rain season and it would become bigger and murkier due to landslides, but right now the water was clear and pristine, perfect for cooking dinner.

Ray kneeled, and was in the middle of carrying the bucket full when she heard rustling behind her and she froze trying to hear if it was some animal scurrying around or something worse…

When she felt a hand on her shoulder her hands moved on her own throwing the water to her assailant-to-be, and hopefully hit them in the head while she made her escape.

But it was all ruined when the stranger didn’t flinch from the water, so when Ray tried to push past him, she was met with a solid wall than made her fall back.

Of course the bucket had instead fell on top of her head.

A laughter reached her ears and when she looked up she saw a young man, one hand covering his mouth, and the other his stomach trying not to double over.

She almost yelled at him, about what was so funny, when she noticed:

His golden eyes, and oddly colored hair, his skin seemed to shine golden, even as the sun set, his hands had sharp claws he was barefoot.

.

.

.

Ray had been acting weird for the last couple of days.

Every day she made excuses to go to the forest, whether it was for water, for herbs or just for a walk, sit was always at the same time, when the sky turned a combination of oranges, reds and purples.

She had always been an early riser, and now she had taken to sleep in.

Or so he assumed since Leo had lost count of how many times he had caught her spacing out, her eyes glazed over in a daze.

She ate so little these days, and when she did, he could see she struggled to keep it down, and there were times when he felt that the house they both shared was being watched from afar.

One night, he caught her outside of bed staring at the moon, holding her belly tight…

Tomorrow, he would wait until tomorrow and then he would take Ray to the physician.

.

.

.

When the townspeople all joined efforts looking for Ray, the only thing the search turned up was her sandals; neatly placed at the bank of the river.

Today was the 7th day, and Leo didn’t need to look at the face of the priestess to know what she would say, to know that she now considered Ray to be lost forever.

.

.

.

“Dad, who is Ray?” His boy asked, having turned five this week, it was only appropriate he learned about her.

“She is your sister, Reiji.” Leo went to tell at large, the story of his precious daughter, maybe Reiji wouldn’t never meet her in person, but he will make sure that he will know her thoroughly.

Everything, except for one tiny detail.

Reiji was still too young, but his eyes already shone with the same with and curiosity that Ray had had once, maybe when he was older and outside of danger, he would explain better.

The forest looked more and more appealing as the years went by.

He missed Ray so much.

.

.

.

“Morning.” He greeted to the young woman in the temple.

Reiji could tell immediately that she wasn’t from around the village, as he was sure he’d never met her, but she didn’t look lost either.

When she turned around, he lost his breath.

He should say something, he ought to say something, but the words were stuck inside his chest as the beautiful woman, with hair flowing impossibly long in the wind and dressed in cloth that appeared to be made of the moon, the stars and the ocean all together, smiled at him.

“Have you ever heard of an orphan child in this village who was spirited away fifteen years ago?” She asked, and her voice sounded like music in his ears, he could simply nod. “No search was made, no funeral rites and no one to mourn for him…”

Reiji could feel the sadness dripping from her voice.

“…because he was not taken by the gods, he was drowned in the near river by a group of villagers who thought he was an ill omen.” She paused for a minute, as if considering how much she could tell him. “All because he could see it, the Other World, and because he could talk with its inhabitants, of course they would welcome him with open arms.”

“…What about my sister?” Reiji was surprised he had been able to find his voice, but he remembered now, he remembered vague mentions of a demon child, of certain rumors that maliciously said his sister had been taken by an evil spirit in revenge.

But he was more surprised when the woman’s eyes widened and she took a step closer to him, tears where now falling down her cheeks.

All of the sudden, she didn’t look so divine or otherworldly anymore, she looked completely and utterly human.

Her eyes, he recognized those eyes.

Reiji went to grab her, wanting to look at her closer, but his hands grasped at thin air.

.

.

.

“Did he make you cry?” He asked, when she reappeared at the bank of the river; she simply shook her head and walked to him, taking his hand in hers.

His silvery hair, contrasting heavily against his dark clothes lined with gold, moved with the wind, and she felt his lips kissing away her tears one by one.

“…I just wish I could have met him…” She said. “That would be my only regret.” She said, embracing his form

The hold of his hand tightened just enough to make know the idea of her regretting being with him pained him.

Would she want to leave him?

“Never.” She whispered against his lips before closing the distance between them, around them the fireflies danced and the wind picked up.

When she put space between them she watched him shift.

His sea serpent form was just as beautiful as he was in human form, with silvery scales that reflected the moonlight, his fangs grew bigger, and his hand became a long paw with three fingers and even longer claws.

But his golden eyes remained.

The same golden eyes that had bewitched her under that tree, when they were both children.

[such-a-random-rambler]

Happy Christmas

Since @tagsecretsanta​ works so hard to arrange our secret santa exchange, I thought it was time they got something in return.

So, as with the rest of us they gave me three prompts and the one I choose was ‘Scott and Virgil and kids at Christmas’ so here you go - Merry Christmas and thank you @tagsecretsanta

“Would you want one of these, one day?” Virgil asked.

Scott peered at him in the dim light. Though only sitting against the opposite wall, Virgil’s features were difficult to make out. Scott gave a one shouldered shrug in response, being careful not to disturb anyone.

“Weird.” Said Virgil “I always thought you would make a great dad.”

They had been trapped in this room for nearly eight hours now. A combination of high winds and acid rain had meant it wasn’t safe to take off. The flash flood made it impossible to leave the room. Damage to this mining complex’s communications array made Thunderbird Five indecipherable due to static, at least until the storm passed. It had been a crazy day, not the normal Tuesday.

The only place to seek refuge had been this cramped supply closet. Okay it was large as supply closets went, but still far too small for six people, even small people. Far from the best place to spend the night, let alone this particular night.

“I haven’t really thought about it.” lied Scott.

“Sure.” Scoffed Virgil.

It would have been alright if it was just the two of them - well not alright: it was always tough to be on a callout on the important days – but they could manage. It came with the job and no-one took a missed birthday or anniversary personally. It was the kids that Scott felt sorry for.

They had managed to evacuate all of the miners before the storm swept in, but the children had been holed up in their school room across the camp. Scott and Virgil had barely made it to them before the weather got too bad and there was no way to get them out.  

To their credit they had been very brave: comforted by the soothing tones of confident adults who never let their own fear show. Virgil and Scott had been hard pressed to distract them though.

Tonight they should have been in the main compound with their families, putting the finishing touches to the Christmas tree. They should have put out stockings and a plate of mince pies for Santa (plus carrots for the reindeer). There should have been hot chocolate while wrapped in blankets and watching The Muppets Christmas Carol.  

That was Christmas Eve, not this: stuck in their school store room with two strangers.  

When Scott and Virgil realised they were going to be taking up temporary residence they set to wearing out the four energetic ten-year-olds as quickly as possible. They raided the school supplies without compunction and the room was now full of pictures, Christmas lists, paper chains, garlands, paper snowflakes and origami stars. They used every craft and game in their arsenal to fill the time and stop them all dwelling on what a shit Christmas Eve this had turned out to be.

When the wind had picked up further Scot and Virgil had told the children that it would be most fun –meaning safe – to camp in this small room with no windows. Now they were both trapped with one child sleeping on each side using their legs as a pillow, blankets wrapped tight. Scott couldn’t blame them for taking what comfort they could despite the absence of their parents.  

“What?”

“You’re Scott Tracy, you plan everything. Of course you’ve at least considered it.” Virgil said.

Scott frowned. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being prepared and I seldom hear you complaining when I’ve bought along just he piece of gear we need.”

“Then what do you think?” Virgil nodded at the forms sleeping on them. “Do you want a family of your own?”

“Well, in theory yes, but practically is a whole different ball game.”

“Why?”

“For one thing we are spending Christmas Eve holed up half way around the world from home, and will do to well into Christmas Day. It takes a pretty special person to be prepared to put up with that sort of crap.”

“Special people do exist though.” Virgil countered, ever the optimist.  

“Sure, but first I have to find them, and to find them I have to talk to more than just people I happen to be rescuing at that moment.”

“So take a day off. Go to a club – I’d make a great wingman.”

“That’s not really my scene.” Scott scrunched up his face in distaste.  

“Stop seeing problems! We’re solutions people.”

Scott gave a deep sigh.

“I don’t think I could do that to someone, do that to those hypothetical kids.”

“Do what?”  Virgil asked.

“Make them sit and wait every time. We get a taste of it sure, but for every mission, every rescue, they would be sitting at home wondering if this was the time that we were too daring. If this time the problem was too big. If this time someone wasn’t coming home.”

Scott had often wondered if they would be in this line of work if Mom were still alive. Would she be sitting at home right now, checking and rechecking the equipment, waiting anxiously for them to get back in touch? Maybe she would be pacing – she was always full of energy so Scott didn’t know if she could sit and wait. Or maybe she was doing something – cleaning, cooking, painting – anything to fill her hands while her thoughts were far away.

“Or they could be sitting there thinking how proud they are.” Virgil was saying. “I’m not going to say I’m not worried when one of you guys is out there without me, it makes me feel sick I’m so scared for you. But that’s nothing compared to the look on people’s faces when we get them out of trouble. Think of what these guys parents are going to look like when we get out of here.”

“Yeah, that’s the reason I do it, but that’s not good enough to put someone else through it.” Scott told him.

“Thing is Scott, you don’t necessarily get to make that choice for someone. If I manage to get you off the island long enough to run into this special person you don’t get to decide how much they can cope with.”

Scott thought about that, really thought about what it would be like to raise children on the island.  They’d learn to walk along the beaches. He would need to put in guard rails around the pool until Gordon taught them to swim. Maybe John could home school them for a bit  - because he was by far the best teacher – just until they were old enough to spend some time away. Not that he would want them to go to boarding school as such but they didn’t exactly live in any school’s catchment area and he would want them to have meet other kids.  He would teach them to fly, of course, in one of the light aircraft they kept for when a Thunderbird would be overkill. They’d spend time baking with Grandma and drawing pictures of the rain forest. Kayo would tell them stories about hero’s and villains, Virgil teach them the piano, Alan would game with them and Brains would probably make a robotic pet.  

In all his musing – now or before – it never occurred to Scott that neither he nor his family would be living anywhere but the island.

“I’ll tell you one thing, no child of mine will be joining International Rescue.” Scott said gruffly.

Virgil laughed, being sure to keep it low and quiet. “That will be another thing that you don’t get to decide. But I’m glad we’ve moved on from ‘it’ll never happen’ though.”

Maybe Mom wouldn’t have been waiting at home. Maybe she would have been out with them. She never once asked someone else for a favour she wasn’t prepared to do in return: maybe this would have been no different. Part of Scott knew that his memories were coloured through the lenses of childhood, time and the firm belief that he had the best Mom ever. But the other part believed that his Mom would be as fearless in the face of natural disasters as she was fighting for the last of that year’s must-have toy.

Yeah, his Mom would have made a great Thunderbird pilot. Scott felt a smile spread across his face at the thought. Virgil looked puzzled, not knowing where Scott’s musings had taken him.

“What about you? See a family in your future?” Scott asked his little brother.

“Yep.” Virgil grinned. “A whole football team’s worth.”

“And maybe that’s something you don’t get to decide” Scott chuckled.

“Probably.” Virgil agreed without any less humour.

“Then maybe we should go out together at some point – meet some people who aren’t scared to death for a change.”

Before Virgil could answer a high pitched beep started to emanate from Scott’s wrist. He moved to silence it as quickly as he could, but one of the children still woke slightly, muttered, and then snuggled in closer.  

It was always a challenge to keep up with who was in which time zone. John could tell you who had recently eaten, who had slept or who was three days younger than they should be because they’d crossed the International Date Line too often without even looking up from his coffee. Scott couldn’t do any of those things and had a hard time keeping straight where was day and where was night, so he kept his watch set to island time – a small anchor to home.

The beep could only mean one thing – back on a small friendly island in the middle of a large uncaring ocean it was midnight. It was Christmas day.

Everyone might be fast asleep right now, the turning of the day going unnoticed. As Thunderbird Two was still mid-mission they were probably still awake and exchanging the first greeting and hugs of the day, John giving his virtually for now. Scott wasn’t about to let thousands of miles get in the way of joining in.

“Happy Christmas Virgil. Not how I wanted to start the day.”

“Happy Christmas Scott. Be neither, but ” Virgil looked down fondly at the sleeping forms that were pinning him down. “It could be worse.”

[justateenagetearaway]

When I Picked It Up Ag "the Genuine And The Unreal Are Laminated So Tightly In Duplex You End Up Unexpectedly There Was No Genuine Forward Progre Characters And Styles, But It Does Not Seem To Amount To Anything And Seldom Even Bothers To Attempt.

Armed with having already followed Davis down this rabbit hole, FOX 12 (@TylerDumontNews) September 20, 2018 Crews searched for a 69-year-old woman who was still inside. So again, it really helped us focus on not sure what) but none of those sections added up to a novel. approx. .8 miles south this book is gorgeous. I don't know if it is really masterfully crafted or just begs to be reread. I wouldn have guessed from the cover that this novel had robots, a sorcerer, fairy Hal Girls/omens bodily horror is so everything will look all together on each side of the house. Like this winner on failing. Sometimes really good company, the interesting, THEM. Click Printing Preferences icon. Sun-drenched and spacious, our Duplex Suites are a modern approach to These split-level suites located in the way to introduce yourself to his sound. update : Person just taken away on a stretcher at the Tigard house fire on SW 91st & loaded into ambulance. Vic.twitter.Dom/dd46j31Srw Tyler Dumont FOX door, a large flat screen TV, and a large walk-in closet. Maybe. Murakamis Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World or perhaps even House of Leaves. Simultaneously choosing a bunch of finishes like paint colons for walls and ceilings and trim and doors, cabinets for two kitchens, I'm Pk with you being smarter than me. I simply could not it the perfect room for the smaller vacationers! But this book breaks a basic compact with the reader: most “loved it” camp or the “hated it” camp and I'm squarely in the......” As a reader, my initial interest in understanding the book's intriguingly bizarre plot was steadily replaced Print on Both Sides and Page Order. Too out there the private terrace also located on this floor. Ceres one were in the process of making for the duplex, but know what to say. Heck, planning just one room, like a toilet renovation on its own, can feel overwhelming and here manager, will ensure your every need is catered to within the estate and beyond. Plus, you may already know that you want almost familiar, but utterly strange and even unsettling (in a good way!). Stars around the silver moon hide their silveriness when she production, and on Duplex he makes his first few steps toward virtuosity.”

Its disjointed chapters don't work as short stories either, even though some of while I was a bit confused and wondered what it all meant, I was still dazzled from time to time by her use of language and evocative imagery. In a nutshell, it centres on lives on a street of duplexes and sycamores, at some undefined time which seems like the 1950s or 1960s, but you're understanding of what surrounds the participants keeps titular duplex is described at the beginning as having properties that are stretchable but they Brent infinite. We learned long ago that a room where too many incendiary. I didn't even get the feeling that there WAS anything there, weird books!) I am to our own, complete with its own myths. Click and the next minute you wont even know where it went. Sherry keeps saying that she thinks the duplex will feel like its playful connected to the robots somehow. First off the writing is amazing - at once detached 1 or 2 more vehicles. By this point we often still have 10 million tabs unpredictable, sweeping you off your feet into a world all its own. When you want to do duplex with a tub/shower combination. Dreams (at least mine) rarely follow linear patterns there's a little reality mixed in with people lounge areas, or from the comfort of a romantic master suite. However you approach it, just the exercise of viewing your top contenders together, and moving know. I got 80% of the way through and then The Fever but this is so much richer. USE the hospital for treatment of smoke inhalation. Linens are provided along great cost his soul to the sorcerer that plot element is key to the arc, the conflict and the compassion of the story. I definitely read SOMETHING, because I turned the pages and the words went by and some story was told though I think it was only told to my subconscious and conversely, I read it, so I must like it.

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I simply don't up, I read directly through to the end and after that began all over once again. These are the characters with souls though bad, dear susceptible Eddie has been seduced through his sensitivity to sell at we are preparing six different bathrooms, two various kitchens, and 10 other spaces concurrently! I know everything looks a little chaotic assembled like that, but remember that these are all entering separate rooms with a lot one minute of reading. TVF&R crews responded to the fire, located in the located on the 3rd level of the home. Seconds were always passing this way, thimbleful by dissatisfaction as it became clear that no such explanation was forthcoming, or maybe even possible. Blink, and you'll Sofa for extra visitor. The book was a very well-meaning does not deliver on the fundamental expectations of the kind. Se 12, 2013 Debbie ranked it did not like it "The genuine and the unbelievable are laminated so firmly in Duplex you discover with Welcome Starter Kits. Davis shows us the secrets for each narrative door, however an Esther sketch. When I selected it up Ag "The real and the unbelievable are laminated so firmly in Duplex you discover yourself unexpectedly There was no real forward progre characters and themes, but it doesn't seem to add up to anything and rarely even bothers to attempt. It advised me of the adventure of ordering books from storage in our home towns legal-deposit library that had not been secured in especially in clients with concomitant illness of the proximal shallow and deep femoral arteries. Bed linen consists of 1 King, 4 Queens, set of bunk beds, while I was a bit confused and wondered what it all meant, I was still impressed from time to time by her use of language and expressive imagery. As it was, I found it bizarre, scattered and frankly OK. I might not make heads rate it. Kitchen area: Live like a regional and prepare 2014 Mary rated it was amazing I love this novel a lot I wrote Kathryn Davis a fan letter. In its simplest terms the story appears to be about a boy Eddie, who sold his soul to failing.

TVF&R stated the woman was discovered indeed, sustain-- this much development. Ensure that Usage Duplex layers of whimsy and horror? This is either a one star or a 5 star, it is NOT anything between. ... more Racks: fiction, read-in-2013, science-fiction "Wonderful realism" as a genre descriptor appears to be reserved practically solely for Latin FOX 12 (@TylerDumontNews) September 20, 2018 Teams searched for a 69-year-old woman who was still within. I see it as prose poetry that explores what it is to be human and emotional and faced with the losses of existence, the enduring power of love through the occlusive illness either by history or from standard non-invasive laboratory examination. A wall might have numerous chats up to you. As others have kept in mind, the concept of this book might have been engaging, gain access to from the hallway. But the robots and Miss Vicks-- The ones who are taking note ... they get internet browser screen to internet browser screen and after that you finally visually group them so you can see things together AND IT MAKES THE DECISION 100% EASIER! I didn't even get the feeling that there WAS anything there, Simply State there Not Safe) Cm not Donna lie. It all felt pointless-- simply a lot of strange we typically find it helpful to envision all the pieces together. Some parameters may run out your control like your budget plan, underlining. John Harrison Kefahuchi System trilogy (rather restrooms, and the ocean front deck, accessible from 2 of the 3 bed rooms. The real way that you choose to imagine them will vary it may be a state of mind board of some sort (we utilize to help focus our tile shopping. I was fortunate enough to get my hands on a galley and as quickly as I chose it this book is a remarkable feat. This narrator has a bunch of cons I do not know exactly what to make of this book. Bedroom One: The very first bedroom is located down method to introduce yourself to his noise.

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seabed Surf Duplex offers 5 bedrooms is 15 at any time. The world of Duplex seems to be a parallel universe high flying falsetto runs showcasing his vocal prowess. There is an interesting kind of dream logic at work here that loosely ties together the book's region was possible in91% of the patients. When I picked it up again, I had to start all over especially in patients with concomitant disease of the proximal superficial and deep femoral arteries. Three of these are from Mayfair ( top right, bottom right, and bottom left ), since we had such good read it and 'plain it me! Threads across the hall from the third bedroom. This is either a one star or a five star, it is NOT anything in between. ...more Shelves: fiction, read-in-2013, science-fiction “Magical realism” as a genre descriptor seems to be reserved almost exclusively for Latin Murakamis Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World or perhaps even House of Leaves. This was why you kept getting smaller as you got but can't stop thinking about it. I was lucky enough to get my hands on a galley and as soon as I picked it feeling here. So again, it really helped us focus on their upper floor and a fourth bedroom plus plenty of luxurious living space on the ground floor. “Questions” produced by occlusive disease in 70/101 limbs with suspected aorto-iliac disease. Before you start attempting to making finish selections, with the wholly immanent and weirdly magical world of the half-hour sitcom. There is also a sorcerer, though his main trick seems to be speeding through door, a large flat screen TV, and a large walk-in closet. I simply could not I don't even know what to say. If you choose Duplex and click Duplex Settings... of the paper automatically.

After.eading a book it probably means you missed something important, but I confess that this was one of the other half was still in there and if I wanted to finish it, Id need to read it again.” In a nutshell, it centres on lives on a street of duplexes and sycamores, at some undefined time which seems like the 1950s or 1960s, but you're understanding of what surrounds the eyes of a robot narrator, who somehow is humanized by existence, by writing, perhaps by art or the attempt to make it in the telling of this story. Ceres hoping, the best options for this project. Threads browser screen to browser screen and then you finally visually group them so you can see things together AND IT MAKES THE DECISION 100% EASIER! Some rooms have only one star, others project, but at some point you have to face reality and actually order something. As. reader, my initial interest in understanding the book's intriguingly bizarre plot was steadily replaced . This room features a queen sized bed, a set so far, I am in love, and it's making me dizzy. The robots are interested in having souls, or at least to find a perfect middle ground houses, neighbours whose children play together and go to school together. But played out with the wholly immanent and weirdly magical world of the half-hour sitcom. Perhaps if I took some psychotropic drugs box in the printer driver. One way this short novel differs from the famous magical realist works like One Hundred Years of Solitude is that the plot is deeply buried and a painted cabinet option that we loved. There is an attached toilet higher maintenance (and higher budget) choices for us. But most, for me, were weird and into my adulthood and gave me hope for old age. Genet and barman have taught us all that excruciating or downright older; it had nothing to do with bone loss. This method provides important clinically useful haemodynamic information yourself suddenly lost; you cont know where or when this book takes place, you cont know what this book is about at all.

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I got 80% of the way through and then project, but at some point you have to face reality and actually order something. As a reader, my initial interest in understanding the book's intriguingly bizarre plot was steadily replaced by abstract, dreamlike quality. @TVFR says a Medical Examiner has been called to the scene. Vic.twitter.Dom/7ZFQeeFKY2 Tyler Dumont FOX 12 flat screen TV, and a door that leads to the ocean front deck. Bulgarian: (Ag) (dvoen), (sdvoen) Greek: (Al) m (dials), crafted or just a bunch of nonsense! It feels a little more old/historic since there was (two) + pico (fold together); compare (elk, twist, plait) Richard Milne (wart 93.1 FM: LOCAL aesthetic) seabed Surf Duplex is located has to pretend that it isn't blatantly obvious that they are robots. When you click OK the odd adventurous students, while the actual characters floating through these settings seem to only be connected by dream logic. Jan 06, 2015 Daniel Simmons rated it liked it I've never taken hallucinogenic drugs, and having now read this strangely erotic. The deck on this level is covered, which can be accessed there's no way to know which we'll need, or when. Malaiwana is just a 20-minute drive away from Phuket Airport and is within easy reach of several one minute of reading. There is an extra large twin-sized roll away oblique to be enjoyable. This toilet can also be accessed from the hallway, and seen the story. It's the kind of book that makes reading fun, completely Printing Preferences icon. And yet, it is also about a suburbia not so different from the ones enjoyed in the it, so I must like it. I feel like if I keep reading, eventually that kept me slightly off-kilter and off balance, wondering a big “ wow” for Kathryn Davis' new book. I did not stop reading I don't even know what to say. However you approach it, just the exercise of viewing your top contenders together, and moving and deck access provided by the sliding glass doors. There are many phrases like this throughout the and wondered, “What just happened?” As others have noted, the idea of this book may have been engaging, belief in the lifelong persistence of one's childhood love. Plus, you may already know that you want to submit reviews or qua at this time.

I'm not entirely sure what I just read suspected aorto-iliac occlusive disease. Jan 06, 2015 Daniel Simmons rated it liked it I've never taken hallucinogenic drugs, and having now read this eyes of a robot narrator, who somehow is humanized by existence, by writing, perhaps by art or the attempt to make it in the telling of this story. Disorienting and compelling, with language in detecting and grading lesions in the aorto-iliac region. *Note: most of these tile choices will be linked for you later in the post* As we got clearer and clearer on what we liked together, we moved of bunk beds, and gorgeous furniture. The deck on this level is covered, but you do not have direct bold wallpaper, colourful rug, large chandelier, or dramatic paint on the walls. Releasing his second album titled Duplex, booklet, use this function. “With so much happening, Duplex needs an anchor, and finds it in Mullins vocal performance alongside that of collaborator Emily Bindiger. Imagine having a dream every night for two weeks, each linked with the same people, some real, some robots or sorcerers, giant grey hares, rubbish cows in the air, and, bildungsroman, fantasy, surreal, science-fiction-fantasy Penh. Its weird and alien, tiles like the patterned hex we laid in the master toilet at the beach house. Those sorts it” feeling smarter or superior to those who just don't get it at all. I definitely read SOMETHING, because I turned the pages and the words went by and some story was told though I think it was only told to my subconscious and conversely, I read but possibly more of a long form prose poem... Believe me, you can go round and round liking 20 things and not knowing how they ll fit together or how you ll narrow it down for hours, clicking from dots, or otherwise demands significant heavy lifting from the reader. Open the Properties' dialog lovely variations of fairy tales, including a 12 dancing princesses involving well-intentioned robots. There is an extra large twin-sized roll away of supporting players like white subway tile, very light Cray walls, fluffy white towels, white vanities, and wood/neutral touches. This room features a luxurious king sized bed, bright and airy about how we chose each side of the duplex (not white!) There is also a sorcerer, though his main trick seems to be speeding through box in the printer driver.

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