#she has fallen into the ocean TWICE at the same beach now

[nakkipalkka]

She's so dumb I'm impressed it's incredible there truly is nothing but static noise inside her head

[justsome-di]

Andy & Syan: Modern AU (excerpt)

A delinquent breaks into her sick best friend's home. I've been writing a modern short story for my own Fairest of All Stars bc I think these funky lesbians are cool

So, Andy goes about her favorite past time—going through Syan’s stuff. There’s nothing new on her shelves and dresser but one necklace. Most likely from her mother. It’s not Syan’s style, and nothing her mother ever buys for her is. It still sits in its box on a square of cotton. The silver chain blends in with it. But a dainty gem of amethyst stands out. Bright purple against stark white. Andy will ask later if Syan wants to pawn the necklace or sell it online for twice than what it’s really worth, making up some significance about its origin or forging. They can use the money to buy junk food and nicer booze than Andy usually has in her apartment. She thinks about pocketing the necklace, but she decides against it. Syan might want to keep it after all.

Andy weaves her way to the bookshelf by Syan’s bed. Never a great reader, Syan has shelves of graphic novels and fantasy series meant for young children. Along the top shelves are rows of sheet music from years ago, never touched after high school. Andy reaches for one, but the shelf is a little too tall. There’s no stool around because Syan is tall enough that she doesn’t need things like stools. Andy stretches and gets to her toes and her fingers just barely brush the folders. She pulls one forward after snagging her finger on the edge, but instead of carefully pulling it down, it topples to the floor with three other folders. Andy grimaces at her casualties and then raises her head to see Syan staring at her, her usual frown peeking out from her pink blanket. “You’re awake!” Andy says. “Good.” She climbs onto Syan’s bed and claims a pillow about half the size of her body. “Sick?” Andy asks.

She wishes she has more capacity for outward sympathy. The way she asks if Syan is sick sounds too casual and too flippant. Anyone else, Andy wouldn’t care. Caring about people isn’t really something she has ever been good at. Syan nods pathetically, rubbing her fingers over her eyes. Like this, with her hair in a messy bun half-fallen out and with her face pale and dull, she still manages to look beautiful. Freckles line her cheeks and nose. Her eyelashes flutter as she tries waking up. The extensions she got last week are holding on strong. Andy thinks all the beauty stuff Syan gets done is a waste. Not because she doesn’t need them—which is true. Syan has a sort of freaky, ethereal beauty about her. But because they always get ruined. Her nails were manicured last week but are now jagged and uneven from their beach trip that weekend when they dug through the sand and climbed on the rocks. Her lashes never hold as long as Andy thinks they should, and she suspects Syan plucks them off herself. She gets all these expensive treatments for her hair, but ocean water washes them all away.

Syan spends her parents’ money just to spend it. She’s always resented their wealth and by extension, has always resented her parents. In retaliation, Syan buys stupid stuff and goes through continuous beauty maintenance that costs roughly the same amount as Andy’s rent every month. It’s benefited Andy more than a few times. She gets fancy dinners out of it though she never fits in at the swanky joints Syan takes her to. For her birthday one year, Syan bought her a cool antique sword. While it was supposed to be for display only, Andy and her roommate took turns swinging it around their apartment and putting nicks in their second-hand furniture. “Do you want to do any sick activities?” Andy asks. There are about a dozen sick activities they can do depending on how well Syan can move around. “We can listen to Chappell Roan.” “No.” “We can listen to Mitski.” “No.” “We can… play a video game? We can play Doom?” “No.” “What do you want?” “For you to stop asking me questions.” Syan throws her arm over her eyes. Andy rubs her own shoulder. It’s tender from a fading sunburn. The skin has started to lift and peel off, and Andy has been leaving little pieces of herself everywhere she goes like a disgusting lizard. She wiggles off the bed and continues going through Syan’s things. On her desk is her laptop for her part-time gig as an editor for musical scores. Andy doesn’t understand what she really does, but she knows that every time Syan talks about music—good music, not the shit her family has forced on her or the stuff she edits—Andy can’t look away. Syan’s face softens from its usual stone-hard roughness. Her shoulders relax, and her fingers twitch in time to the melody or time signature she’s describing. Or whatever she talks about. Andy doesn’t listen. She can’t listen. she’s always too captivated by Syan herself to focus on her words.

Next to her laptop is a rock that Andy picked up for her during their last beach outing. It looked cool to Andy with one jagged edge and a smooth body. There’s little flecks of something sparkly on the edge where it had cracked. “Do you want to watch a movie?” Andy asks. Syan doesn’t respond right away, and Andy thinks that she got her. “What movie?” Syan asks. “What do you want to watch?” Andy knows her favorite comfort movie. “The Exorcist?” Syan nods. She owns a pirated copy, ripped from Andy’s collection of MP4 files on her trusty computer. Syan wanted to buy a copy. After half-listening to Andy’s usual rant about how art should be free, how the movie made millions already, Syan had told her to burn a DVD for her (if only to get Andy to stop talking). Andy slips the disc in Syan’s DVD player and finds the remote for the flat screen TV mounted across from her bed. She climbs back into bed with Syan.

[theinternetcafe]

A Recap of The Red Turtle.

An animated film about a stranded man on a mysterious tropical island guarded by a massive sea turtle.

Shipwreck to shipwreck?

The movie begins with an unnamed man fighting to stay afloat and get back to his small boat during a dangerous ocean storm, after a brief black screen we see him washed ashore onto a bamboo forested tropical island far from any civilization. After searching inland for fresh water and fruits he began searching the outer parts and spots a floating barrel in the ocean, making his way to it from the top of a cliff he slips and falls into an enclosed cave, thinking fast he spots an opening just big enough underwater and manages to slip through but when he inspects the barrel it breaks.

He then gathers fallen bamboo to start working on a raft, at night he spots a group of baby sea turtles making their way to the ocean, after dreaming of flying across a bridge stretched across the ocean he wakes up and begins constructing the raft and a boat ramp to move it into the water. While resting and eating he feeds a small group of crabs then gathers more food and sets sail while the crabs watch, his raft is soon broken by an unknown creature, and he is forced to swim back to the island where the crabs seem to greet him.

He immediately starts working on another raft until the sounds of cicadas suddenly stop, he heads to the beach only to find that there's nothing there and the sound of the cicadas return. Some time passes, as seen by him now having facial hair, he sets sail again on a raft twice as big only to be met with the same fate. After living on the island for what appears to be months, giving the state of his clothing, he is woken one night by the sound of a quartet (a 4-man orchestra) but upon closer inspection they disappear then reappear at a different location to only disappear again.

The following morning, while working on a third raft he spots a dead sea lion which was briefly shown the day he arrived. Making customized pants from the fur he sets sail on his biggest raft yet equipped with two sails and a bamboo spear, after his raft is attacked and broken by the same creature, he finally meets it face to face, a red sea turtle almost three times his size. After identifying him as a non-thread it leaves, and the man is once again forced to swim back to the island.

The Red-Haired Woman

After expressing his frustration in the forest he spots the same turtle coming onto land, with rage in his eyes he rushes to it and hits it on the head with a peace of bamboo then flips it onto its back. Later that day he is building another raft while the turtle lays in the scorching sun unable to move, that night after realizing what he's done he desperately tries to flip it over then splashes sea water onto its face. He sleeps besides it and wakes up to look around the beach but when he looks back he's in shock to see a red hair woman inside of the turtle shell, he makes sure he isn't dreaming then rushes to give her fresh water and builds a small shelter to protect her from the sun.

The next day he realizes her shelter isn't enough to keep the rain from passing through the leaves so he heads inland to gather more but upon return the woman is no longer there. After the day passes the woman, now in the ocean, watches him sleep at the edge of the shore. Realizing he has no clothes he drops his tunic and wait in the forest for a moment then walks out only to find her casting her broken shell into the ocean, seeing this he hesitantly casts his unfinished raft into the ocean then sinks into the water for a swim.

She soon joins him and the two seemingly embrace for a moment. Getting out, they sit on the sands of the lagoon where he reflects on his previous outrage while she opens oysters, tracing her fingers down his face they both walk back to the island where they embrace and eventually kiss.

New Life

The movie introduces their newborn boy who finds a glass flask washed up near the rocks, the parents begin to draw in the sand with the dad drawings caveman fighting mammoths and the mom drawing a turtle. The scene shifts to the family picking plants near the same cave entrance at the start with the son falling into it this time where shortly after he learns to swim, after the mom instructs him to swim underneath he passes through the same opening his dad did, exiting the cave he meets a small green sea turtle who just looks at him for a moment before his dad swims to get him.

A few years later the son, now a teenager, is now swimming with two green sea turtles for a short time. The scene moves to the whole family gathering oysters in hand crafted baskets, the son heads inland while the parents stay on the lagoon but suddenly notice the seagulls acting strangely. Noticing the water in the lagoon has cleared, the mom then looks out at the ocean only to see a huge tidal wave heading their way, meanwhile the son notices the sounds of cicadas has stopped and heads back to the beach only to be forced back when the tsunami reaches the shoreline, all while the parents desperately run to the island.

After surviving, the son climbs out of the fallen bamboo and searches the island for his parents, he finds his mom passes out in a ditch with an injured leg but no signs of his dad. His mom signals that he was taken by the current into the ocean and after hugging her he sets out to find his dad with the help of his now three turtle friends. An entire day passes when he finally catches a glimpse of his dad hanging on to a peace of baboo for dare life but soon falls into the ocean due to exhaustion, the turtles help keep him from sinking and the son pulls him above the surface where the turtles help them back to the island.

Finally reaching the shore they are greeted by the mom with a hug finally united after a few days, they clear the broken bamboo and build a huge pile where they then burn it at night. Several years later the son, now a young man with facial hair, dreams of the ocean creating a giant wall around the island. Taking time to walk around the island and think about what he just dreamt he is spotted by his dad but wasn't followed. At the end of the following day he sits next to his parents where they silently understand that he wants to leave, they spend the final night sleeping together as a family and the parents see him off the next day where he swims out into the ocean with his turtle friends.

The Rest Of Our Lives

The couple now alone grieve the departure of their son and spend time comforting each other. Many years later the couple, now elderly, spend their days walking around the island and dancing with one another. One night while the mom sleeps, the dad looks out at the ocean as he slowly closes his eyes and passes away in his sleep, the dying sounds of the cicadas as this happens wakes the mom and she finds her lover now deceased. She spends the next few days next to him grieving until one night she lays next to him holding his hand and slowly turns back into the red turtle then leaves towards the ocean where the movie ends.

[noocturnalchild]

SEALED IN MARBLE  Chapter VII Tell Me Everything, Father

Warning : NSFW, a hint of FemDom ! Virgin!Garupe 

His rosary beads went flying off his neck.

His rosary…

His rosary!

God of earth and heaven.

How did he… How did he forget his rosary under his habits?

Francisco thought this would be a simple dinner. In the precipitation of his actions, his mind preoccupied by the lies he prepared to tell, he forgot to pay attention. He didn’t think he had to take his clothes off, he was wrong. So wrong.

But now only Clarissa’s eyes mattered. With a glare that seemed inhuman, she stared and stared, surprise and shock slowly turning into rage and disgust. And he already felt sick, falling, he was feeling as if his soul was crucified, twisting on an abstract cross, again and again, without finding relief, painfully wringing and quivering in his body.

“These rosary beads are… I saw them… They belong to the Jesuit priests of…”

“I… Clarissa! I was about to tell you, I swear to God, I was about to tell you.” Garupe choked while talking. Voice small like that of a child.

“Tell me what?” You didn’t seem to understand yet. You pushed away a truth that was flagrant, denying reason for few more seconds, pushing the pain away, for few more little seconds. Vicente was a servant, just a servant, an unmarried servant that was just about to be yours. No, he can’t be. HE CAN’T.

He was falling and falling and falling.

With every second, every shake of your lovely curls, every swell of tears in your eyes, he was falling.

“Vicente… Tell me it’s not what I think, please, tell me.”

“Francisco” He swallowed his own tears, closing his eyes in shame.

“Francisco… Francisco!” You laughed, crying. You laughed madly, so madly you made him gasp, you made him worry for your sanity and he reached for you without thinking twice.

“Don’t you dare! Snake!” you spat out, slapping his hand.

Your world was falling apart, a mirror of lies, shattering and breaking in sharp pieces, wounding you in their burst.

Why?

Why would he be one of them? Of all men, why would he be a priest? A priest!

“Clarissa… I… please listen to me… I was going to tell you, I—“

How dared he speak again?

“Hypocrite!“ You yelled, “I knew you were all but muddy pigs, black vultures from hell! Murderers, schemers!”

You smashed an empty water bottle on the floor, glass spattering everywhere and Garupe gulped again, but in fear.

“Clarissa, I beg you to hear me out! just… please—“

“Shut up! Close that rancid mouth of yours!” You blurted out, anger blurring  you vision. You saw red.

“I am going to tell your church of your shameful activities, if in hell I should rot, I swear to every god existing , if there is any, I will destroy you!” you panted. You were trembling all over, heart wild, wrath setting every nerve of your body on fire.

“Or is it the church that sent you?” you hissed in realization, more tears flowing “Is it those hordes of blood thirsty raptors? Finishing their work, they want to get me now? They are coming for his daughter now, aren’t they?” Your voice broke.

You felt poisoned. Liquid cyanide in your blood.

Francisco was shaking, head spinning. What were you talking about?

You didn’t seem to notice his twisted features, face contorted in pain and confusion, so lost in your own suffering and bitterness.

He didn’t know what to do, he hoped Miguel was still sleeping wherever he was. It was absurd, but that’s what Garupe hoped for now. For a child not to witness that ignominy.

“Clarissa—“ He said quiet, but a flying glass almost landed on his face and he pounced on you, stilling you in place. He didn’t want to hurt you, not for anything in the world.  But then at that rate, he had no choice. He had to talk sense into you but first he had to calm you down, make you listen to him.

Your back thumped on the hard wall as you screamed.

“Bastard! I am going to ki—“

Suddenly his lips were on yours, as his arms held your body in a death grip. Forceful and rough, he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to act, so he just kissed you. He had never kissed a woman before, and if he had ever imagined kissing a woman, it was never in that manner. But he kissed you, open mouth closing on yours, he kissed you with anger and pain and passion and all the desire he had retained for so, so long.

You stilled. You really stilled. The world blanked out for the moment of a heartbeat, the flutter of an eyelash, and the universe shrunk to its primal nothingness. Then a breath, then another, and another.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He kissed you again and again, urgency in his movements, in his hands, his lips. He was everywhere, all around you, your whole universe. And you wanted to forget, just for a moment, forget who he was, forget what he did.

“I’m sorry” His shaky breaths came as urgent as his kisses. Because he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say, he just wanted you to forgive him, he just wanted you.

Your nails were painful on his chest as you reciprocated his kisses. Finally.

Oh he was sorry, you knew, but you weren’t, you weren’t for what you were about to do to him tonight. He could be theirs, but not tonight, he was yours tonight. Your anger and pain melted into nothing as the heat of him invaded your senses, everything merged into a desperate need, a flame that bloated into a wildfire.

“I’m sorr—“

“Shuuush… Come here, you are going to sin tonight, Father.” You panted, eyes dark like unfathomable seas as you violently pulled on his hand, leading him through your galleries up to your room.

The heavy wooden door closed with a thud behind your back as you leant on it.

“I can tell you everything.” Francisco breathed out.

“I said, silence.” You pushed him into the bed, into your crimson sheets, where you had wanted him for countless nights, pleasuring yourself at the thought of him. He looked divine; You let out a small laugh of satisfaction, fingers on your corset, freeing your waist from its confinement.  With a deftness he found dizzying, you got rid of your heavy dress, and the ribbons that held your hair up.

You stood in your undergarments before him, like the portrait of sin, skin glowing and shiny with the sweat of your desire, breasts barely covered as you slowly crossed the few steps separating you from him.

Francisco clenched the satin sheets in his fists, heart hammering in his ribcage as you crawled on him, slowly unbuttoning that old ragged shirt he wore, your palm gentle on his abdomen, pushing him further into the depths of your bed.

He felt like he was swimming, surrounded by red waves, and you the sea siren, enchanting his senses, bringing him down, deeper. You hovered over him, your curls fell on him like a silky curtain, your hard nipples brushed his chest under your thin garments and he inhaled the scent of you.

Like the ocean. small white villages on the oceanside. Heat, children playing and women laughing and him, barefoot, running on the beach. Sunsets in the horizon and hundreds of ships, sailing far away, to lands of gold and glory. You smelled like home and he smiled, eyes closed as you nudged his nose, endless teasing before closing your lips on his again, savoring his taste. He shuddered and ground towards you as your tongue teased his, and when you sucked into it, into his red lavish lips, his moans echoed desperate and needy.

Outside, the leaves of your garden’s trees whispered and fluttered, and the moon was full in the starry sky. You inhaled, deep and shaky into his feverish skin. He smelled like old paper and perfumed wax, so monastic, a far reminder of his celibacy. You grinned to yourself, triumphant as his breath became shallower, urgency in his gaze as he devoured you under heavy eyelids. But you remained in control, tapping on his hands every time they wanted to grasp you. A part of you wanted to punish him, you wanted to show him who had the power over the other tonight. Tonight was for your pleasure, even if it was only this time, even if this was to be your only and sole union in flesh. But as you started tugging on his slacks, unwrapping his last layers of modesty, you saw terror and distress in his eyes .

“Clarissa, please… I’ve never… You should know.”

His eyes were like those of a deer, already knowing it has fallen deep into the hunter’s trap, begging, wide, sparkling, teary… beautiful.

Surprise flashed through your eyes for a second. Was he telling you that he had never slept with a woman before? You stilled your palms on his wonderful chest, heaving now with excitement and apprehension. Should you believe him this time? He had lied to you before, he had lied to you about everything, to be fair.

“You’ve never?” You crooked a brow, doubtful.

“Please,” he almost sobbed, “what should I do to make you believe me?” He closed his eyes, trying to gain some control over himself.

“You should have told me the truth from the beginning!” You fisted your hands on his chest, leaving hot red marks on his skin. You shouldn’t have let him talk. He looked so sincere now, so vulnerable, and God, why was he a million times more beautiful like that?

“ I couldn’t… I couldn’t… you should know that I couldn’t…!” he swallowed painfully, trying to ignore how your hips were still grinding into his aching cock.

His hands reached slowly to take yours and you let him this time, breath unsteady as they eclipsed yours, warm and so masculine.

“I… It is not the Church Clarissa, it’s just me, I needed the money… I had to… Then I saw… you.”

“Hush now.” You said softly. His words were what you wanted and dreaded to hear at the same time. Somewhere, in the darkest corners of your soul, you wanted him to be the evil one, the liar, the vicious priest, you wanted to be right, always right. You wanted to dismiss the feelings that were seeping free again. You wanted to make this about pleasure, since you knew, anything more than that and your heart would be the only one paying the expenses. But now… you didn’t know anymore.

“Please stop talking…” You whispered, as you freed your hands to comb on his luxuriant mane, fingers detangling the knots there.

“Hush, close your eyes for me, Francisco.”

And he did, you didn’t have to ask twice. He was telling you the truth, you knew it suddenly as a tear rolled down his cheek, leaking from his closed eye. You leaned in to kiss it, and you kissed his eyelids, the ridge of his nose, his upper lip then his cheeks, his jaw… and when you bit his lower lip, his hands clutched your waist through the linen of your clothes and he thrusted up, legs shaking with want.

“You can take it off… Father.” Your voice barely there as you nibbled on his earlobe and guided his hands to the hems of your undergarments. Francisco’s body was barely holding back, eyes still closed, he focused on the sensation of his hands on your bare thighs, as he slid the thin clothing up, up, up… When your body was finally freed of its last constraint, he opened his eyes and his breath hitched in his throat .

Sweet Jesus.

He had never seen such beauty before. For long seconds, he stilled, eyes taking in the sight before him. You were glowing, silky curves and valleys on display as you smiled down at him. Francisco was suddenly afraid to touch you. He felt ignorant, small, unrefined as his eyes roamed the swell of your breasts, the smoothness of your belly and the nook of your… sex.

So different, this was so different from the guilty glimpses he sometimes took of nude statues of goddesses that decorated the palaces and gardens he visited. Cold white marble, it was just cold marble and his only poor knowledge of the female body. But you… now, before him, radiant with heat and arousal, flesh and skin offered to him, eyes daring him to touch you, to take you, to make you his…

God have mercy.

You were amused to see him, awestruck and clueless, palms flat on your thighs and eyes wide, lips parted.

“Come here, you poor thing.” You laughed seductively as you tugged on his hands, lifting him up to meet your body, overheated from endless teasing and impatience. Your mouth found his neck as you pushed your breasts into his hands. He whined, your tender nipples hardening against his fingers, and instinctively, he squeezed, making you moan into his mouth.

God.

You looked up, into the fire in his eyes, and smiled, as if to say “that’s nothing compared to what’s coming, Father”. And as you started to roll your hips again, he felt it this time, the wetness between your legs, the proof of your passion, coating his engorged sex, and he knew he was lost.

Your lips left his neck with a sticky pop. You were sure to leave your mark on his divine body, as you tugged on his hair and made him shudder with sinful pleasure.

“Look at me Francisco.”

His eyes instantly fell on yours, ready to take anything you wanted to give to him. Like a love sick fool, he was waiting, his hands flexing greedily on the expanse of your back, descending hesitantly to take more. He was still wondering if he would last more than the next five minutes. He didn’t want to disappoint you, he wanted to please you, oh so much, he wanted to make up for everything he had done to you, for every single lie. Was this ache in his heart what they called love? Was he in love with you? What was the difference anyway, he was lost, not only in the wonders of your body, but lost to himself, in himself. He was entering unknown territories, ones he had never wanted to enter, never wanted to know. Trepidations, anxiety and heartache. He had never wanted this, but feeling you now, watching you move on him, looking into your eyes, touching your hot skin, waiting for a word from you rosy lips, God, he understood now… He understood how men lost their faith for love, how they lost themselves for a woman, how they lost their minds…

“I want you to touch me there.” You breathed in his mouth, as you took his hand and splayed it on your sex.

“H-how… do—“ He was truly lost. But somehow nothing seemed more tempting than to touch you there, nothing seemed more perfect than to pleasure you there, he wanted to know how to do it properly, he wanted to make you sigh and moan his name. It was instinctive, his fingers were naturally drawn there, exploring your secret lips as you moved your hips to let him in.

As you changed position, his throbbing cock twitched against his abdomen, proud and thick with need, seeking your attention. The head was already leaking pearly precum, and the pained look on Francisco’s eyes told you of his efforts to keep himself from finishing right there, as his fingers soaked and indulged in your juices. His breaths were coming ragged and short and he was whispering incoherent words (or were they prayers?) as he buried his nose in your collarbone, avidly inhaling your scent. You had never thought that the sight of such poor unexperienced man would arouse you so badly. You wanted to show him, you wanted to make him feel good, appease him now. With tenderness blooming in your heart, you shoved his fingers away.

“You first.” You caressed his hair, seeking his attention.

“Mhm… Please… I’m sorry…” He managed to stutter.

“Open your legs for me, Father” Your low voice sent shudders down his spine.

He hesitated, face red, limbs buzzing with electricity.

“Don’t be shy now, beautiful thing.” You leaned, left a kiss on his head and he jolted, hips bucking to meet your mouth, as he sucked in a deep breath. You parted his legs further, you wanted to see everything. He was really well endowed, you admired, beautiful everywhere.

“Breathe, Father, you can take this.” You patted his thigh and lowered your mouth, eyes always locked with his to seek his permission. He swallowed and threw his head back on your crimson pillows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his hands sweaty, fisting your sheets.

You started slow, peppering light kisses on his length. With the tip of your tongue you wetted the underside of it, from the base to the tip. You hummed at the salty taste, your core tightened around a void, and you huffed with edginess. You straddled his thigh then, and moaned as your cunt rubbed on the firm muscle. Once settled and able to take the edge off, you took him in the heat of your mouth and started to suck, rhythmically with the undulations of your hips on his thigh.

Francisco chocked and gasped, spasmed under you. Jesus, he had never felt such a sensation before. His rough fist paled before the wet and smooth insides of your pretty mouth, showering his most intimate parts with care. His eyelids fluttered, as the doors to heaven opened behind them. God, it felt so good. He never knew it was in the power of a human to make another feel that good, almost too good to handle, and he struggled with his will to restrain himself, as your lips closed tight around him, hummed and moaned around him, he did the same, loud and shameless now.

“God… oh… God, please… sweet child, more… m-hhore”

“There” you stopped to catch your breath, mouth swollen and red, spit glistening on your enflamed lips. You returned to the task, sucking hard and fast on his head, as you fisted his base with one hand, and toyed with his balls with the other. You worked with purpose now, passion in your movements, heat coiling in your core, conscious of your cunt drooling on his thigh, his meaty cock filling your mouth deliciously, his moans music spurring you on, undeniable proof of his pleasure.

He was close to his release now, the familiar pool of liquid heat running through his veins, sending waves of shock through his body. His thighs began to spasm and he tried to warn you, too ashamed and innocent to know that him spilling in your mouth was exactly the thing you desired, that wanting to taste his seed in your mouth was the ultimate sign of your desire and infatuation…and love. He was soon to learn that, as you protested in a moan, and gripped him harder, worked faster and he lost all control.

God in heaven.

Francisco thought he was ascended to the ninth heaven, magnificent golden light exploding behind his shut eyes, as he spent into your hot mouth… ropes of his seed, thick and abundant, coating your lips and dribbling over your chin, as your nostrils flared and your chest heaved. No sound emitted from him, too spent to utter a word, too spent to remember how to breathe, too far gone in the aftermath of his pleasure.

You sighed as you watched him, pride swelling in your chest. You had wanted him for so long. Tortuous endless nights of hot wet dreams and solitary pleasure, and now, admiring the sight before you, you knew, he was endlessly yours. No church, no misunderstandings and no barriers, human or godly, would ever make it less true. He was yours.

“Pleased?” you rubbed his belly, helping him recover, as sweat beaded on his brow, the last remnants of his high dissipating.

“It was… so goo—hd… more than good… was… j—hust… ” Words failed him as he managed to smile, dimples gracing his cheeks, hands already seeking for you.

“Come, come here, child.”

You kissed him sweetly on his inner thigh before you obliged.

“Can I make you feel the same…? I mean is it possible?” he asked sheepishly.

“You are a silly man, Francisco” you laughed and crawled on him, kissing your way up.

He laughed awkwardly, wondering if he earned the label.

“Of course you are going to make me feel good too, just with those wondrous fingers” you took two of his thick, long fingers and put them into your mouth, wetted them nice before bringing them to your sex again, “Remember how to use them?”

He nodded and wrapped one arm over your waist as his fingers delved into the velvet of your cunt, swollen and so ready now. You guided him with praise, as you rutted into his palm. He was naturally talented, seeking and flickering your folds artfully. You had awakened his senses to the pleasures of the flesh, and he understood his effect on you, as you writhed in his arms, as your teeth bit on his nipples, as your mouth expelled languid moans. He found your entrance and a gasp of surprise left his parted lips.

“Yes… You are almost there. Inside, I want you inside…”

“There?” He asked in his deepest voice, making you shudder.

“Ye—ees” You nudged his nose, foreheads touching as his hot breath fanned your lips.

His fingers easily slipped into your slick heat, moving experimentally, rubbing your walls in and out, slowly. You didn’t expected him to know, yet… but god if he wasn’t blowing your mind just trying.

“Can you… mhmm yes… Can you move like that for me?”

You guided his fingers all the way out to your clitoris and back inside you.

“Like that but faster, please?” you moaned at the end of your sentence, your sweet priest already on task.

His strong diligent digits worked you with devotion, pinched brows as he focused on bringing you to orgasm, and soon enough your walls started to clench around them, as your whole being reached for him.

“Please… Please.. Please…”

He was dizzy, didn’t even know what you were begging for, but oh how he wanted to deliver…

Please be with me

Please stay after

Please love me

Please

I forgive you.

Your soul chanted, your vision shattered and you cried out his name, whole body quivering upward, mouth trying to catch his, fingers holding on to his strong shoulders as you climaxed high, so high.

“Did… Did I hurt you?” Francisco was utterly terrified. He stopped his ministrations, two thick fingers stilled deep inside you.

Poor innocent man.

You laughed in your haze and shook your head lazily.

“No, silly. No.” You whispered softly, head finally resting on his chest “You made me feel so good, and when a woman feels so good in her lover’s arms, she lets him know… loudly…” You sighed. He was so endearing as realization hit him, and he blushed further, as if it was even possible.

You slowly moved his fingers out of you, kissed them gently.

“Goodness… Are you here, for real, with me?” He spoke softly, body slack in the afterglow. He didn’t have the strength to linger on his acts for now, he allowed himself to just feel, touch, breathe, live in the moment, with you.

“Does this feel real?” You pinched his pec and he recoiled, surprised.

“Ow!”

“So?”

“It does!”

“And this?” You kissed his lips, achingly slow.

“It does…” He exhaled, low into your lips.

“Good. Now tell me everything, Father.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Kingdom Collisions II

I've just finished a book and it made me cry so happily I thought I'd post a fanfic to commemorate it. Also I'm probably going to start an AWAE/AoGG account soon because I cannot fathom living my life without a space dedicated to my darling loves. Anyway that isn't relevant to the post. This is just a fun little fic I've been writing on the side to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing (I'm a known dialogue whore). I see fit to write it whenever I feel like, so updates may be far and few between, however I do hope you enjoy whatever does come out. I adore this moody ansgty side to jercy. It's been fun to explore.

Masterlist, cat-eye aquamarine

Leave me alone.

[we have known loneliness forever]

Why did I ever agree to this?

[so we do not quite know what it is like]

I never asked you to say yes!

[to want]

Fuck you.

[one another]

-lonliness is a two-sided conversation//badpoetry

Percy doesn't even look at his husband. Doesn't acknowledge his perfect hair, or blazing eyes, or how close they're sitting. He just stares directly out the car window, arms folded across his chest. The rolling hills and wild lavender dance past his vision as the car bounces along the gravel road. They are almost to their destination, to solid ground and quiet, peace. Despite the circumstances he is excited to be back at the cabin his family has owned for so many years. He relishes in the fact that he can escape somewhere that is untainted by the rest of his life. Throngs of people, and public demand, and never ending scrutiny. 

He is nothing short of pissed that he has to share his safe place with someone he despises so sweetly it is honey on his tongue to talk to them. But his mother had insisted if they were to act like a married couple they would have to go on a honeymoon and he had only agreed if he could choose the place. She wanted to send them to some private beach in Spain where they could pretend to be alone, oblivious to the paparazzi that were sure to follow, and the people who wanted to meet not one but two crown princes. It was his final stance that if he were being forced to spend time with his husband, it would at least be where he could enjoy it.

"Prince," A crackling voice says through the speakers.

Percy clicks a button on the arm rest, "Yes Mr James?"

"The security team has secured the area, would you like us to drop the bags off before you head inside or after?"

"Whenever suits you Mr James, I'm going for a walk."

Jason who had since then, fallen asleep, jolts awake as they go over a particularly bumpy area.

"And your husband Prince?"

"Ask him yourself, I'm sure he has much to say on the matter." Percy huffs, turning away.

"Prince Grace,"

Jason glares at Percy unimpressed with his dismissal and his rudeness towards the driver.

"Yes James sir?"

"Would you like your bags dropped off before or after you enter the area?"

"Before please, I feel it will help me settle in much easier if everything is already there."

Percy wants to scoff, who talks like that? This pretentious, stuck-up, goodie two-shoes is who. He wants to stick his tongue out, settle their rivalry like five year olds battling to see who can scowl for longer. Mostly, desperately he just wants to get out of this damn car. His leg bounces in time with the bumps, and his hands fidget in his lap. For all his princely training nobody ever managed to get him to sit perfectly still. His mother had finally given up and started carrying drawing pads and pencils wherever she went.

"Can you stop moving!" Jason growls.

"If it bothers you so much get out and walk." He spits back.

An eye roll is the reply but by then the car finally rumbles to a stop and a security detail is opening their doors.

"Princes,"

"Thank you Madison, Arlo." He manages to grit before he stomps off down the path and disappears into the woods.

"Where are you going?" He hears his husband yell. He doesn't bother to reply, someone will tell the Prince.

He kicks at the dark soil and pulls breath after breath into his lungs. He needs to calm down. Just then his ears catch the soft bubbling of a stream and he heads in the direction of the noise. The woods are quiet and cool. A soft breeze flutters between velvety leaves and needled pines, stirring the undergrowth. He wants to become one with the trees, become a branch that sways in greeting and grows friends, and feels the wind wrapping around it every evening. He just wants to stop being human for a little while. 

And then the stream is underneath him, soaking his fancy shoes and fine thread socks. He laughs, tugs them off and sits down in the middle of the cold, flowing water. He can feel it run into him like ice in his veins. He dips a finger in, then another, his whole hand and shudders at the smooth caress. It has been so long since he just got to be. Here in this little stream, pants soaking, hands turning blue he has never felt so faraway, out of his body. The world narrows to his fingertips, to the bead of water running down his ankle and joining its family once more. His brain is far and long forgotten, simply taking up space in his skull. He decides right then and there that if he ever comes back to this world he'll come back as a rock in the stream. To live in this beautiful, ever-moving world, where the cold is a kiss and you can never meet the same drop of water twice seems a good life indeed.

Just then he hears a rustle behind him. In an instant he’s on his feet, pulling a dagger from his suit jacket, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt.

"Whoever you are come out right now. I am not in the mood."

"Relax," A deep smooth voice says, "It's just me."

"Oh," He pulls his lips up in half disappointment, half relief it wasn't danger. "What do you want?"

"Mr James wants to know if you want five or ten of the guards here for the remainder of the time here."

"I want zero." He frowned, "I just want to be left in peace for the next few days."

"Well it's not an option so choose." Practical, always so practical.

"Leave five here, there's three other cabins about half a mile out on either side of ours that should be enough space. Everyone else can go home."

"Of course, I'll leave you to it then." Jason nods, stands there awkwardly for a moment longer and then disappears into the greenery once more.

Percy doesn't know what to do, doesn't know whether he should scream or cry or laugh.

He hadn't let himself think too hard about the events of the last few weeks. He had shoved every feeling but contempt and general dislike deep deep down into his cage and threw the key into the deepest parts of his ocean of thoughts. He wasn't sure he had the strength to unpack everything that had happened. When his mother had came to him all those weeks ago a heartbroken look in her eyes he knew whatever had happened would be nothing short of a disaster. Within the week he was promised to Crown Prince Jason Grace of Caelum and had been shoved into endless, meetings in which wedding arrangements and economic agreements had to be made.

He didn't even meet the Prince till the night before they were to be wed but by then Percy had despised the whole ordeal so intensely he hadn't any happiness or hope left in him to be kind to the Prince. And even if he did gave some it would have vanished completely upon their introduction. Jason looked at him with such calculating authority he had reminded Percy of an old tutor who thought children should be seen and not heard, and learn whatever was given to them without question. Jason had been stiff, and unyielding, and looked just as unhappy or even unhappier to be meeting him. At dinner Jason only spoke when spoken too, he didn't fidget even once, and worst of all he somehow still managed to charm his mother in about five seconds. One dimpled smile, and a cute story about his first time riding a horse and Queen Sally Jackson had accepted him as one of their own. Percy on the other hand was ignored the entire dinner, and on the walk in the gardens, at the insistence of his advisor, they hardly said two words to each other. Whether it was because Jason was lost in his own world or letting his displeasure for the whole ordeal simmer and burn into their company as Percy was he would never know. Either way the walk ended with a gruff, formal goodbye before they headed to their rooms.

Percy shuts out the politics of the arrangement and how his life has turned into this unrecognizable hurricane of chaos. He cups some of water in his hands and drops it over his curls. Letting it drip down his temples and catch on his collarbones. The coolness soothes him, as water has always done. Finally when his blood is no longer boiling with hidden anger he steps out of the stream, picking up his discarded shoes and socks and sinks into the earth with each step.

The cabin has a soft orange glow in the windows, and the many cars that escorted them have disappeared. He throws his belongings by the door, shucks his pants off and steps inside. The interior is just as he remembers it. Where the castle was dripping with opulence and royalty, the cabin was simple and stripped to the bare essentials. He had always loved the place. Even when he was little and his mom would whisk him away for a secret weekend. She would pack hoards of cookies and ice-cream and light the fire immediately. They would sit on the soft, fleece rug, her with a book and him with his sketchpad, sipping cocoa and spooning ice cream straight from the tub. Then he didn't have to be the prince one day inheriting the crown and she didn't have to be the Queen dealing with every problem under the sun. They hadn't been back in a good few years and he misses everything about the space. He is silently grateful that Jason has lit the fire. Something familiar to hold onto.

"You're back." The Golden Prince says.

"Astute observation." He rolls his eyes but the blonde doesn't look up from whatever he's doing.

Percy walks into the space, shrugging his suit jacket off and unbuttoning his wrinkled white shirt. He hears a sharp inhale and glances up to see a red cheeked Jason staring at him.

"Why aren't you wearing any pants?"

"Oh," He laughs softly, "Yea they were wet so I took them off before I came in."

He sputters and blushes, glancing down and then peaking back up again.

"You alright there Prince?"

Jason clears his throat, and Percy watches that golden Adam's apple bob. His skin prickles with heat and he knows its time to go.

"I'm going to shower. I'll give you a tour afterwards if you want."

"That would be great."

With a nod in which they both avoid eye contact and general pleasantry he disappears into one of the three rooms of the cabin.

His shower is scorching, water pummeling against tired muscles. His mother always says a good shower and steaming cup of tea can fix more problems than a board of professionals. So far she hasn't been wrong.

"Hey," He walks back into the lounge sometime later, looking down as he ties the string on his pants, "You ready?"

The house is dead quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the soft wind that whispers in the grooves of the floor.

"Jason?" He frowns, moving to stand in front of him.

The Prince is fast asleep, head lolling forward, book still clasped in his hands. Percy takes in his husband for the first time. Unobstructed by either of their waking emotions, or the general hustling that had shrouded their lives. Jason, he grudgingly admits, is beautiful. His hair looks soft and golden, and when it catches the light of the fire he's sure it's made from sunshine itself. And his skin is such a startling contrast to Percy's rich brown colour. The Prince's body, now folded into an awkward bent angle as he lay across the velvet-cushioned chair, is lithe and graceful. Corded with muscle but somehow still smooth in a way only an uptight Prince with a personal trainer may ever achieve. At least, he thinks sordidly, if I'm forced to marry someone he is as darling as Jason.

The blonde stirs softly, hand twitching, before he settles back into his position. As awkward and unhappy the two are with each other Percy can't leave him here. He's sure the Prince will bend into a chair himself if he slept like that all night long. So he gently taps his husband's shoulder, waking him almost immediately. Jason has never been a particularly heavy sleeper, and it is worse when he finds himself in a place he doesn't know. He blinks up at the world, blue eyes bright. They reminds Percy of the cat-eye aquamarine, the gemstone sat at the base of every crown ever made for his kingdom. He wonders what it says that the colour of his husband's eyes are also the colour he most associates with home. Just as quickly he expels those thoughts, content to bask in his clear dispassion and irritation for as long as this should last.

Jason scrubs a hand over his face, "Sorry you wanted to take me on a tour?"

"No, no there's time for that tomorrow. Why don't you head up to bed."

"Oh, okay. Goodnight then,"

"Goodnight Prince," He says stiffly.

"Sleep easy."

A nod in return and they both retire to their rooms, content to put the last week far behind them. Bury it under dreams, and hopes, and the promise of a tomorrow where nothing has tarnished it yet.

Percy left his window open, watched the tree outside it sway gently. Maybe tomorrow he would climb it and become acquainted with the birds in the nest.

He falls asleep, finally, to the chirp of crickets and the soft rustle of whispering leaves.

[wevegottogetaway]

Whirlwind Part I - Mistral

DAY 0

Time seems to slow down but the speedometer on Aella's Triumph says otherwise. As the needle flirts with the 124mph mark, it's hard to tell wether she's the one chasing after the wind or the other way around. Miles after miles, her beloved motorbike swallows up the empty road offering itself before her, almost begging her to throw speed limits cautions to the wind. Speed has no secret for Aella though. Brown eyes steady on the asphalt, her focus is unswerving. Yet, she's never felt more free and insouciant.

Except maybe when she's flying.

In the tight confine of her Tomcat, as she defies other kinds of laws, Aella seeps in a whole new world. One where she makes her own physics, her own rules. One where the sky in no longer a limit and neither is her gender. Because when she occupies the cockpit of the F-14 - a baby only a handful of aviators are lucky to even sit in - she's just that: an aviator. A squadron unit who receives missions and completes them. Once her feet tread the tarmac though, the reality is quickly sobering. That's why Aella has learnt to savor each one of the limited hours she spends in the in-between realm of the stratosphere.

Tilting her head briefly to look at the clear sky above her, Aella lets a smile grace her lips as she realizes she'll be back up there very soon. And in high amounts at that. A few years ago, she could have only dreamt to be recruited as part of the most elitist of naval aviation programs in the world. But after years of working twice as hard as her fellow Navy fighter pilots and putting up with their never-ending bullying, her resilience has finally paid off. The memory of their crest-fallen faces when their Commander announced her promotion in front of them all is still one of her favorite. And on that note, they can respectfully kiss her ass.

Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just life. But no matter how serendipitous the death of Navy fighter Jonathan Evans, she'll be the one taking his place in the US Navy's Fighter Weapons School's Top Gun program. It was a regrettable news but one that changed Aella's destiny forever.

San Diego's sun is just as blazing as LA's, but the nice breeze the city benefits from neighboring the ocean makes it easier to breath. The streets are void of the usual hustle and bustle that inhabits the city of angels, but the palm-trees-lined streets seem to remain a consistent feature of the Californian landscape.

After driving in two hours what should have been a three hours ride, Aella finally pulls up in front of a single-story condominium situated on the street that runs alongside the shore. Taking in the magical scenery that surrounds her new place, she finds herself standing front row for the sun's crepuscular show.

Aella has always loved sunsets. She fell in love with their ephemeral hues when she was 7 and already wanted to make the sky hers. At 25 years of age, they now serve as a reminder that regardless of the fact she knows it like the back of her hand, the blue immensity still withholds secrets that are meant to remain forever's mysteries.

Aella finally makes her way to her new home and her eyes immediately fall on the three large boxes that she had sent from LA the week prior, as per US Navy's request. Waiting for her on the floor, they seem quite a bit lonely in the otherwise empty room. The place is small but designed well enough to be comfortable. The L-shape kitchen directly on the right upon entrance shares one main open space with the living room and dining room, though the term "room" is to be taken loosely. Mostly, they consist of a dining table placed in the center, and a sofa facing a TV set at the back. Between the two, french doors lead the way to a small garden; just enough space for a sun lounger and a small outdoor table.

Aella doesn't expect to be around much as most of her days will be spent at the training center, but as she starts unpacking, she can already picture herself living there anyway. Early runs on the beach, morning coffees out with the birds chirping the news of the day and some lazy reading on the lounger when she's lucky to have a day off. That night, as she lays on her bed waiting to be taken in Morpheus' arms, Aella relishes in the jitters of happiness that course through her veins.

She can't remember the last time she was so impatient for tomorrows.

DAY 1

To say the San Diego Fighter Weapons School's campus is huge would be an understatement. Aella has been on plenty bases during her short naval aviator career, but they all pale in comparison with the three massive hangars standing ahead of her. Deeply rooted on these holy grounds, they serve as home for no less than 30 of the most powerful aircrafts ever designed in the world. Perched on her Triumph, Aella can't help but slow to a more moderate speed as she drives past them. She can feel her heart bouncing in joy at the sight of the F-14 Tomcats, F/A-18 Hornets and F-16 Fighting Falcons neatly aligned like pawns on a chessboard ready to be pressed into service.

Finally, the main buildings come into view. They house all the administration offices as well as lecture and conference rooms. Indeed, part of the Top Gun program takes place indoors (that is, not in a cockpit) as trainees are taught advanced combat strategy, theories of air-to-air and air-to-ground missions, and most painful of all, the riveting matters of astrophysics. In addition to their scientific knowledge and flying skills, the recruits will also be tested on their physical fitness.

That's what Aella dreads the most. While she could probably recite all of Newton's laws in her sleep and fly a supersonic twin-engine, variable-sweep wing fighter aircraft with an arm in a cast, she's positive the physical examination is what might give her the most trouble. Not that she's in bad shape. Obviously one has to be quite fit to be able to handle 25 tons of titanium rocketed at more than 1500mph. But alas, the minimum requirements generated by the State for the final physical examination have yet to be adapted to female dispositions.

The military field has definitely still plenty of room left for improvement when it comes to women's interests...

Two men in their service uniforms are casually conversing in the parking lot when Aella pulls up with her Triumph. One seems to be in the middle of a thrilling story judging by his gesticulating limbs, while the other listens to him, cigarette pinched between his lips. As soon as the latter's eyes fall on Aella though, he interrupts his friend with two taps on his torso. The shock on his face quickly turns into a condescending smirk as his eyes shamefully scan Aella from head to toe. His friend turns around intrigued and it's not long before his features mirror the same irksome smug.

For a few seconds too many, Aella doesn't react. She simply stares at the jerks standing a few feet from her like they might be two very realistic-looking hallucinations. A sick jock her brain is playing on her by materializing ghosts from her past when she's least expecting them. Aella doesn't know who she's the most angry at: Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for looking at her like she's a hot commodity or herself because she'd actually thought it wouldn't happen here.

It takes all of her self-control and then some to keep her from rushing over and giving them a piece of her mind. Instead she just swallows back the crude remarks she's dying to throw at them and puts her uniform cap on. Maybe there weren't checking her out but the Triumph behind her instead. Maybe she just bumped into the two assholes of the program. Maybe the 13 other recruits will turn out to be actual decent human beings who acknowledge women's worth in the Navy and will treat her as an equal. Aella tries to keep the positive thoughts coming as she heads towards the main building for the induction speech.

Still, she can't help the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The effervescence of the conference room is almost palpable as loud chatter and boisterous laughters bounce off its walls. Taking in the glorious sight of her fellow trainees, Aella already feels like an outsider. Easily distinguished by their uniform, they're all bantering like they've all known each other their entire life, even though the program hasn't officially started.

From afar she recognizes the two morons from the parking lot, sitting on tables as they're gathered around a balky blond man completely sprawled out on a chair with aviator sunglasses tucked in the front of his kaki shirt. Because of his lazy posture, he has to look up at his disciples but it is clear that he's the last person to be looked down on.

Aella already despises the narcissistic vibe he exudes. That disdainful and self-assured attitude which makes her want to rip his stupid head off. It's certainly not the first of his kind she's had to partially work with and sadly, it will definitely not be the last.

"Oi, Rex! How's it goin' man?" Another block yaps.

"Snyder," Rex chuckled. "'Was doin' good till ya ugly face showed up"

"Ah, 's not what the ladies say..." Snyder replies, completely unfazed by the playful dig made at him.

"That's cause you woo them drunk, you bastard." The whole group of them burst in laughters as Snyder rolls his eyes.

"Speaking of lass, I heard there was a bird joining the ranks with us? 'S up with that?"

Aella immediately stiffens as she hears the dreaded words. Ones that make it crystal clear she's gonna be the odd one out right from the start. Not to be mistaken, Aella takes great pride in being one of the very few female fighter pilots of the US Navy but all the self-confidence in the world couldn't amount to the loneliness she always feels on base. Amongst the 'mates', she's never more than a fellow recruit, watching from afar her colleagues' relationships blossoming from mere work affiliations to ones of brotherhood.

Finally making her way to the last seat available in the audience, Aella feels the energies in the room drastically shift. Voices are no longer clashing in rowdiness; instead, the air is charged by the intensity of the quiet stares following her silhouette. However, the silence is interrupted by the sound of a flirtatious whistle that does no wonder for her already-tested nerves. God does she hate men sometimes.

"Well, well, well...look at that guys. I think the eagle has landed its cute ass down."

Aella is about to pop a knuckle from how hard she's clenching her fists. How foolishly naive she was to believe that things would be different. That joining Top Gun with the 'best of the best' would give her solace from the incessant chauvinistic behaviors she'd been so used to. If anything, the prestige of their accomplishments has exacerbated the arrogant disposition of their ego-inflated character.

Aella knows better than to respond though. No matter how quick-witted the comeback, it never works in her favor. So once again, she just takes a deeper breath and settles in her seat facing forwards. She is saved from hearing more about her eagle ass by two impressive figures marching in the room towards the front. Postures straighten, smirks vanish and a de facto silence ensues at the officers' arrival. Respect is almost tangible in the air, and it has little to nothing to do with the plethora of decorations adorning their white uniforms, and everything to do with the aura of invincibility transpiring in their intimidating gaze.

"Gentlemen," one of them starts before tilting his head towards Aella and adding a soft "ladies." He then proceeds with a quick scan of the room. Years of experience standing on that very same stage have forged the unyielding yet somewhat benevolent eyes landed on the students' expecting faces.

"You were probably told that you were here because you are the best of the best. Well, let me set things straight: you're not. Not yet anyway. You might be lieutenants out there, but on these grounds, you are nothing but students. My job, is to make you unbeatable up there. Your job, is to trust me in doing so. That means no challenging orders and no cocky attitude or any funny business. If you respect that, you might have your name on one of these plaques in 5 weeks. Until then, work your hardest. My name is Aaron Berks and I will be your Commander. Everyone, welcome to Top Gun."

Commander Berks offers a light smile to his audience, and Aella has a feeling it's not a sight she will be privy to very often. She likes him though. He seems intransigeant but wise, proud but not arrogant and no matter how cold his exterior, he has the warmth of a master who looks after his apprentice. A caring facet that resembles that of fatherhood, and Aella knows she'll be able to trust Berks just like he asked in his introduction speech.

After a brief silence, the class' attention is once again captured by one of the officer. Taller and bulkier, this one is definitely missing that fatherly vibe Aella is so found of. "Gentlemen, I am Lieutenant Commander Wayne Rogers, I will teach you the art of naval strategy in flight combat alongside Commander Berks. You will also have the pleasure to have me whip your asses in physical testing. As you know, Top Gun is structured around 3 ranges of expertise, namely: naval strategy both in theory and practice, advanced astrophysics knowledge and physical training. Needless to say, you will be tested in more ways than one. And just a heads-up, I don't do no favor. To anyone."

Aella cringes for a second as she wonders if there is any implicit lines to read behind Lieutenant Rogers' clipped tone. She already dreads the time she will have to spend under his teaching. She doesn't have the time to dwell on it though, before Rogers resumes his speech. "Anyway, enough with the pretty words, let's go over the program. As you know, the 16 of you will form 8 crews who will be confronting each other and us instructors to master advanced dogfighting tactics. Each of the 25 missions you will be assigned during the program will earn you points. Your aptitudes in physical training will also earn you point, as well as your results in astrophysics evaluations. I'm sure you can guess who wins the Top Gun trophy at the end of the program. Bear in mind, that all instructors have the right to deduct points from your score should they deem your actions or behavior disrespectful, underserving or quite simply unacceptable. On that note, welcome to Top Gun, class dismissed."

As soon as Lieutenant Rogers voices the discharging words, the room is once again caught in a rambunctious nebula of clacks and clatters. Everyone is making their way out when the commander's voice transcends the ongoing commotion; steady and resonant.

"Officers Styles and Lonethorne."

Aella's brows immediately wrinkle as she recognizes her last name. Turning around, she sees Commander Berks intently looking at her as if beckoning her over. Obediently she makes her way up to the front of the room where Berks hasn't moved an inch since the beginning of the induction. Soon she realizes she's being followed by a tall lanky man. His face, objectively handsome, doesn't seem to show any emotion but Aella doesn't have much time to further study his features as she finally reaches her commander.

"I wanted to welcome you both personally given the circumstances. Styles, you have my support and condolences. Lieutenant Evans was a very fine man and gifted flyer." Aella is a bit thrown off by the declaration. It takes her an extra second to figure out the reason of her presence for this discussion. Once she does, her attention is immediately drawn to the silent man standing next to her, his face still not displaying any feelings, as though his skin was made of cold marble.

"Harry, this is Aella Lonethorne. Her former chief has nothing but praises to say about her flying skills. She will be your partner for the next 5 weeks." A nod and the brief connection of his emeralds to Aella's sapphires seems to be all the assertion elicited from Harry. No handshake, no hello, not even the pucker of a brow. Commander Berks might as well have announced the refectory's lunch menu, the lad's reaction would have been the same.

"Miss Lonethorne, it's a pleasure to have you on base, I have no doubts you two will achieve great things together." It is such a relief for Aella to realize her first impression of Berks was spot on. He is the kind of manager that leads with strength in his fists but encouraging lyrics on the edge of his lips. There is no hint of condescension fueled by the power high of his status, coloring the tone of his voice. It's something Aella has seen a few times. Pleasant comrades turned into aloof leaders full of bitterness from their years of submission and laden by the hierarchy's expectations. Commander Berks never yielded to that pressure though, it was clear in his wholesome nature.

"Thank you Commander, it's a real honor." Aella responds in genuineness.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it. See you both on the tarmac" he exclaims with a smile before making his way out. Berks departure leaves enough room for tension to settle between the newfound partners like a third interlocutor taking the warmed place of their superior.

Harry is still keeping mum, unfocused eyes staring somewhere far off on the floor while his mind appeared to be wandering the secret passages of never-never land. It freaks the hell out of Aella though she doesn't show it. They are a team now. They're supposed to trust, rely on each other and have the other's back no matter what. Yet, she doesn't even know the sound of his voice and it doesn't seem like he's gonna give her the time of day anytime soon.

Aella is about to speak up when Harry suddenly shakes his head out of its hypnotic trance. For a second she thinks he's gonna initiate conversation himself but instead he just tilts his head in her general direction and rasps a weak 'see you' before storming off the room. Aella is left in total disarray, she doesn't comprehend why he's acting like a 3 year-old running off because he's scared to say hi to the postman. Is it because she's not what he expected in a partner? God she hopes not. He doesn't strike her as a misogynistic prick, didn't really show any sign of disgust or clear animosity. But then again he was impossible to read.

After exiting the teaching building and mounting her precious Triumph, Aella feels the dread resurfacing. It is such a big contrast to how she felt when she left this morning. All the thrill and elation that had bubbled in the pits of her stomach just evaporated into disillusion, leaving a fog of uncertainty in Aella's frenzied mind. This was supposed to be a drama-free experience; a chance to be recognized and treated with respect.

Instead she got barely acknowledged.

The music coming out of Godspeed's is so resoundingly loud Aella can feel the bass line thumping through her whole body. Standing across the street from the entrance, she's still hesitating joining in the merrymaking even though she can hear the spirits calling out her name. Despite the crispiness of the air, a few rowdy souls are camping out front, obviously warmed over by the substance in their glass and the nicotine stick between their lips.

The dodgy pub never lacks in visitors no matter how threadbare the furniture, tacky the decoration and questionable the sanitation prove to be. Truth be told, the popularity of the place can be explain by one and sole reason: it is, lo and behold, the only bar on base. A fact that implies 99% of its customer base works in the US Navy, and thus explains why one could usually count on one hand the number of people dressed in day-to-day clothes.

Bracing herself, Aella finally makes her way inside the bar. The smell of booze and fries immediately invades her nostrils but she pays it no mind. Instead she takes in her surroundings from the swaying of hips on the torrid dance floor to tokens passionately thrown at a table with a pair of aces following. The sound of glasses clinking blends with that of drunken laughters and even drunker squawks. It's nothing but good times and pent-up stress release, and for a moment Aella is really glad she decided to show up. She was told Induction's Rave was not to be skipped.

Unfortunately, as she heads for the bar, Aella's eyes fall upon a few familiar yet loathsome faces. It appears the infamous Rex and his phony clique didn't want to miss out on the festivities either. Much to Aella's dismay, they are all huddled around the counter monopolizing the bartender's attention and just like that, she knows a relaxing time is not in her cards for tonight. There is no way she can walk out of this with both a drink in her hand and her composure intact. It would be too easy.

Strategically, she waits till the barman is done with them before voicing her request as inconspicuously as she can. "May I have a Vodka Martini, please?" she asks just as the bartender lifts his eyes from the counter he was wiping. She originally went for a pint but somehow she had an inkling it wouldn't quite suffice. The guy nods and leaves to mix her precious elixir but just as she thinks she might make it through unscathed, the obnoxious voice she has come to strongly despise cuts through the pub's damp air.

"Gotta stop trying to play James Bond, darling. S'just not for you." Snickers. "Now, James Bond girl on the other hand, you definitely have the proper assets for that." Once again, every guy within Rex's arm radius bursts into insipid laughter as the mockery tumbled out of his mouth. She doesn't have to look his way to picture the disgusting smirk he must be sporting. Jerk.

From the corner of her eye, Aella recognizes the lonesome lad sat at the far end of the bar, nursing a Bourbon with tinted cheeks and glossy irises. There is no doubt he's in a slightly inebriated state but his participative chuckle still stings. Maybe even more so than Rex's offensive words for Harry is supposed to be her closest ally. She doesn't expect him to jump to her defense, wouldn't want him to anyway, but she's profoundly disappointed he would find such humor in someone degrading her that way. The thought angers her so much, she doesn't realize Harry is actually showing some kind of emotion at last. It's not the one she wanted anyhow; not when it's at her expense.

She's handed her drink before Rex speaks up again. "You think you can just sweep in and fight the bad guys with your pretty hair and 5 pounds muscles? I mean, come on darling, you're not meant for the job." She'd started to walk away at first but Rex's lousy rant makes her halt in a sudden. "Just sit and look pretty like the others. Or fucking teach. You know what they say, right? Those who can't, teach... Anything but the fucking Navy, yeah? We have enough wannabes as it is."

Deep breath. Tight fist. Down the Vodka. Then she turns around and marches up to him, armed with daggers in her eyes and a punch away from feeling better. She doesn't hit him though. Has more dignity and self-control than that. "You should really consider shutting your goddamn mouth before I show you just what I can or can't do." Aella's tone is cold; colder than the marble of Harry's face from earlier that day.

As she expects, they don't take her seriously and giggles erupt all around her. "Darling, I really wouldn't mind," is what he replies with a suggestive lip bite and a smug that rivals her scowl in intensity. He's dangerously toying with her last nerve and he knows it. Deliberately exploits it in the hopes of seeing her explode and then crumble into pieces. That's how Aella knows she has the upper hand. She knows how guys like him work, what gets them going and their tactics to achieve that, but Rex has no clue what she's like. He's deluding himself into thinking he's pushing her break-down button when in reality he's in for something else.

Nobody knows that yet, except maybe Harry.

As a quiet and incredibly guarded individual, Harry proves to be a tremendous observer. It might come off as standoffish though he doesn't mean to, but those who matter know and have accepted just how introverted his nature is. He knows he probably should have made an effort and better impression on his new copilot but the wound from his best friend's loss is still too fresh to be bothered. They'll get to talk soon enough anyway, is what he thought. Plus she didn't really go out of her way to make an impression herself, did she?

Now though, observing the sour interaction from afar, Harry's starting to think differently. He shrugged at Rex's crude remarks, already used to the block's insolence and admittedly amused at the childish antics. But as he becomes more attentive to Aella's shifting stance, it is obvious to him that she's not a person to ever take shit from anybody.

His suspicions are proved right when Aella slowly closes the few steps between her and Rex until her eyes level with his. "Oh Rex. The thing with guys like you, is you feel powerful because power was handed to you on a silver fucking platter." All the while talking, she moves to remove his hold from his glass. "I could have pity for you, really. You think you're good; you must even think you're the best but you're nothing more than a selfish privileged opportunistic prick who feels entitled to walk over anyone who won't fucking bow down before you." Then she chucks the rest of his Whiskey in one swallow and places the empty glass back on top of the counter next to them.

"Oh yeah?" Rex smirks as he watches her face closely, casually leaning on the bar. It works in her favor as he fails to notice her hand creeping around his own. Then the next thing he knows is a tremendous throb shooting from the joint between his thumb and index, all the way through his arm and up to his neck. The pain is seizing and has him doubled up like it is suddenly to painful to even stand straight.

Aella has never been more glad to learn a thing or two about pressure points.

"Yeah. And I might be smaller than you or less of a weightlifter than you are, but I can still bring you down wherever and whenever I want to. Don't you forget that." He's almost kneeling by now, arm twisted in a weird angle from where she's still applying pressure on his hand. Rex's acolytes seem to have lost their voice and giggles as they're all taking in the sudden reversal of the situation. They have probably never seen Rex in such a submissive position, hence the dazed expression of stupor plastered on their faces.

Aella finally releases the whimpering man at her feet. She's about to make her way out but she stops herself. "Oh and one more thing. You're cocky, and vile, and despicable. And one day, probably too late, you'll realize your arrogance is what will fail you."

Satisfied with her last words, Aella looks up at the scene around her. Most people are still engrossed in what they were doing when she first came in, oblivious to the whole confrontation. Then just as she turns around, her eyes catch Harry's broad frame, as though some magnetic field was coaxing them to his radiating force. She doesn't delay her departure though. Her steps barely falter on the way out but her mind is left in a whirlwind of thoughts.

He was smiling. Shy and in the corner of his lips. But genuine and almost knowing, like he'd been rooting for her the whole time. And really, for Harry to be on her side is everything Aella hopes for.

[twiceblackvelvet]

Can I request Twice Mina honeymoon with her fem idol gf in Hawaii?? Fluff with smut?👀

A/N; sorry for the wait, i hope you enjoy anon. thanks for the request!

Blistering heat settles itself throughout every bone in your body and radiates throughout the entire hotel room. The sun’s glowing beams bursting through the balcony window to illuminate your figure alongside another. Another whose own brightness could easily rival that of the rays threatening to shade both of your skin to a deep and bruising red.

If you had to describe the perfect day, nothing would come close to the experience you’re currently living out. The secluded area surrounded by palm trees with a backdrop of the Pacific Ocean could not be any more fitting for a honeymoon where escaping is the first thing on the agenda.

From a very early age, you’d dreamt about finally getting to walk down the aisle towards someone waiting at the altar, all eyes focused on how breathtaking you both look and to feel overwhelming adoration for the person you’re about to spend the rest of your life with.

Now that the moment is complete, with all of the things you imagined and more happening, you can’t help but focus on the said person you promised forever to just a few short hours ago.

Whoever you ask will gladly tell you that the idol world is intense and full of pressure. Yet, no one could predict you’d find solace in the arms of another navigating through those same struggles. Someone who was so terrified at first to even begin a relationship yet has now become your wife. Pinching your own skin several times throughout the day has put a stop to any doubts that all of this is just a fantasy you’ve dreamt up.

Mina is effortlessly beautiful no matter the place, time or reason. Yet, seeing her in all white with tear-brimmed eyes and a smile wider than the very ocean you find yourself staring out upon from the balcony, you’ve never felt more in love and content.

Whilst the wedding had been organized by the two of you alongside an event planner. The honeymoon was left entirely down to Mina as she vowed to make it the most special getaway to finish off what turned out to be just as she predicted, a perfect wedding filled with emotion. Your cheeks can still feel the outlines of the floods of tears you let out upon seeing Mina ready to commit the rest of her life and love to you.

Hawaii has always held a special place in her heart. There’s a calmness to the tiny island that no other place on Earth holds according to her. Something you’ve never fully understood until now since it’s a tourist hotspot. But as the waves slowly roll in and out, couples idly pass by the beach and the sun causes the sand to glisten, you get why Mina loves it here.  

Arms slowly circle around your waist as she presses the front of her body to your back. Gentle kisses placed on your shoulder blades as you sway back and forth within her embrace.

“It’s perfect here Mina.” You practically whisper, not wishing to disturb the peacefulness surrounding you both even slightly.

“Just like you.” One last gentle kiss reaches your neck as she drags your body back through the balcony doors and crashing the two of you back down onto the bed.

A minute passes with the two of you just holding each other close and looking into one another’s eyes softly, full of love. Your fingers intertwined as she idly rubs her thumb across the side of your face.

The sheets still tangled from the two of you sleeping off the jetlag as soon as you entered the room, suitcases and bags scatter the floor not yet opened. Mina’s body shifts first to hover above your own as her stare remains intense. Her nose almost brushes softly against your own until she finally leans in to capture your lips with hers.

No matter how many times you feel her soft, plump lips against your own, it always manages to drive you insane. She’s addictive and tastes like champagne as her tongue requests access to your own. It’s unclear whether your stomach or your heart is the one doing somersaults from Mina being so filled with passion and lust but your body is ready to reciprocate it all.

Her teeth drag along your lower lip as she hurriedly removes your shirt almost ripping it in the process. Your hands are quick to catch up with where your new wife is trying to get to as they roam her own body and undo the button on her shorts. She stands on the bed, eyes remaining on your own from above as she steps out of them and throws her vest over her head.

“Take those off.” She demands and motions towards your jeans. Without hesitation, you move your body to sit up and remove them for her viewing pleasure. A slow roll of her tongue across her mouth as she practically salivates at the sight of your thighs. She slowly kneels back to eye level with your own body as her hands push your shoulders back into the mattress. Her legs straddle your waist as she places lazy kisses to your cheek, down to your neck and to coat your collarbones.

“This next.” She pulls back the left strap of your bra and lets it snap against your skin as you once again comply immediately.

Her eyes turn dark at your obedience to her every command as she lowers her body to places kisses across your chest. Her movements to anyone else would be considered antagonizing and slow, but you know better that she prefers to take her time to love every single body part equally rather than rush the experience of making love to each other.

Her tongue draws circles around your nipple, suckling and biting lightly to allow you to release sharp moans that she’s fallen in love with listening to. In fact, if someone were to ask her, she has no idea if hearing you say “I do” or letting yourself go to pleasure like this is more pleasing to her ears which are currently burning red.

A warm hand gropes your tongue-less breast and applies pressure as she moves her body lower down your stomach. As she reaches your pelvis, her teeth pull on the underwear blocking her path until she raises her head and removes her hand from your chest. Despite the warmth outside, losing her touch makes your body shiver.

“Now this.” Before she’s even finished speaking you’re entirely bare for her eyes only and they refuse to look at anything but your own, only drifting to your naked form once she’s ready to continue.

Confidence is not an easy thing to gain, and yet, Mina’s eyes wandering across your sun-kissed skin brings about a sense of freedom to just be in this moment, deeply in love with someone so passionate about giving you every bit of pleasure you desire.

“Beautiful” She whispers before tugging your chin upward to press a rough kiss to your lips. Her fingers slowly running down the expanse of your neck, chest and resting firmly on your hipbone. “How would you like me, Mrs. Myoui?”

Her flirtatious tone as well as finally being addressed by your new family name is enough to drive you insane, and yet you manage somehow to stop yourself from releasing a gleeful yelp.

You can feel her body tense with anticipation as she awaits instruction on how you’d like to finally consummate your marriage. Her lips curl into a smirk as she slowly begins to suck at the pulse point on your neck.

A shudder of pleasure and low whine makes Mina relax, satisfied that she’s warming you up to whichever main prize you’re craving from her.

“I just want you inside of me, now.”

Without hesitating for a second longer, her hands begin to lightly claw down your body once more. Her lips following as she places light kisses to your naval, inner thighs and already dripping core. She inserts two of her fingers first into her own mouth and then allows them to steadily find their way inside of you.

Her fingers rest there for a second as her face twists with uncertainty.

“Talk to me, tell me what you want, tell me how badly you need this.” She demands once more. You try your hardest to gain any form of friction, however, her free hand forces your hips down into the mattress as she once again repeats her request. “Tell me, or I’ll make you wait and beg for it all week, you know better than to act up like this.”

She’s right, you do. Yet, you can’t help but try to push your luck with her every single time. Now is not the time to rebel, however, as your body is practically begging for her to get to work and bring about your release.

“I want you to fuck me, Mina.  I need you to fuck me, please.”

Her fingers curl against your walls as your breath hitches in your throat at finally being able to feel her working her fingers back and forth inside of you. A thumb quickly joins to draw slow circles against your clit. You desperately cling to the messy bedsheets as her tongue sucks on the inside of your thigh, nibbling every now and then.

Everything about Mina is intoxicating and carnal. Passion emanates from her very being and creates a bubble of ecstasy that only the two of you exist within. Both of your eyes remain trained with each other. Her seductive brown orbs filled with lust awaiting to watch your body squirm with pleasure as she begins to pick up the pace, hungry to give and hear your climax.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” She purrs and moves her red lips to replace her thumb positioned on your clit. Your head rolling back to break the eye-contact finally as she laps at your juices, her tongue pressing harder every time and flicking around in circles wildly.

Your body jerks at the increased pressure and speed as you let out a low groan, wrapping one of your legs over Mina’s shoulder.

“Mina,” your voice husky and stuttering. “Mina, I’m gon- Fuck,”

You crumble and dissolves into pleasure as your orgasm courses throughout your entire body, leg shaking against the side of Mina’s head still firmly attached to your entrance as she laps up all of your juices and allows her fingers to slow to a stop.

As your body begins to tense,  she raises her head from between your legs and removes her two fingers. Her tongue suckling on her digits to make sure she’s tasted every part of you possible.

Before your brain can register anything other than the pulsation from where her fingers were previously positioned, Mina is straddling you once more. Grabbing your hands and placing them onto her hips as she begins to grind herself down onto your thigh positioned between her legs.

“Come on, baby. Help a girl out.” She breathes out.

Almost on instinct, your body jolts forward to press light kisses against her breasts still covered by a black lace bra. Your hands are slow to help rock her hips back and forth, still overwhelmed with pleasure. However, her pace is quick by itself as she throws her arms around your neck and teeth gnaw lightly on your ear.

You can feel her wet slit squelching against your thigh as she gives up on biting and nuzzles her head into your neck. Moaning breathlessly against your hair as she edges closer to coming undone from simply pressing herself against you.

Mina has always had a thing for your legs, but this is the first time she’s attempted something like this. Her hands would always linger towards them and she’s developed a bit of a kink for placing small bites to the skin on the inside of them. Even going as far as seeing how low she can place the marks without anyone realizing what they are from.

Quite frankly, you can’t think of a better time or way to introduce new things to your relationship than your honeymoon and you’re more than happy to indulge her, forcing her hips down further and shaking your leg against her core.

“Yes, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.” she whimpers and repeats several times over before her body flops beside your own to the mattress.

Your eyes once again find her own as they flutter open and shut several times. A small smile graces her lips as she crawls to clean up your slick coated thigh with her tongue and using one of her fingers to gesture some of her juices towards your own mouth, which you accept not-so gracefully.

“Thank you. I’ve wanted to do that for so long now.” She lays flat on her back and tugs at your arm to join her. “I love you.”

“I love you too, but we really must discuss this thing with my thighs.” You chuckle at your own words as she covers her face with embarrassment.

“Sure, but later. We aren’t finished here.”

Your bodies continue to entwine themselves in a web of sensuality as the sun begins to set. Hawaii is a special place for Mina before today, but now, it means so much more to have you here in her arms as you both begin your married life fulfilling desires and having your confessions of undying love and pleasure washed away with the ocean.

[terrorhqs]

                                       THE END OF THE HUNT

By the time the rescue party reaches the island, the runaways are scattered across the beach. Within the gloom that sticks to everyone’s bodies, only tendrils of lamplight, flashes of steel, and faraway shouts reach the crew. The distance is leveled, an uphill climb that skews the angle of vision, so that the few signs they can make out come to them as if from another realm.

Those who have been on patrol before make quick work of the clues: it’s an encouraging sight. So far, no one looks injured. Whatever roams this place seems to have been placated for now, and they count their blessings it will last long enough for the way back. The saviors gesture to the others to climb down. At first, it’s a stage of familiar motions—urgent, irritated, somewhat surprised that the trekkers have not moved further inland.

They hold in their sighs of relief.

Yet all is not as it should be. The reactions are delayed, sloughing, dragging on.

One pair on the island seems to be enveloped in conversation, bent as they are over a trail of running water. From this distance, there’s hardly a way for the others to know what they’re taken up with. It could be a scientific debate, some lover’s tiff, or a final plea to heed the rescue team’s call—and the call of reason. Their heads are bowed, and below, their fingers move quickly, parting out the silt. Every other second, they bring the water to their mouths. With fluid ease, they lather it over their heads.

They seem to be muttering something, but no one can make it out. The crewmen are not sure they want to.

From five feet apace, THE MARKED thinks she can see their hands bleeding. She wants to call out, but does not: the first warning shot is the Captain’s. She cannot speak against him. Her hand clutches in her pocket, around absence, around stolen tokens and blame. 

THE SHADOW nods to something in the dark.  

The military trifecta, SCION & IDOL & WILDCARD, exchange a glance. There is both fury and fierceness in it; there is the irritation of people who have grown too intimate with danger to tolerate these conspirator’s whims. But there is also panic, flailing about without coordination: the fear of people whose loved ones are channeling a storm. Of people whose loved ones have become lighting rods.

With a nod shared between them, the guards clamber from the plateau and onto the mainland. Their rifles are held at rest on their shoulders, and when they motion to THE CAPTAIN for permission to approach, Dowling gives a similar jerk of his head. 

No one seems wiling to disturb the night—sound waves have fallen as dead as the ocean waves under their feet. For all appearances, this might as well be a hidden skirmish between two tribes, an ambush at play. It looks as though each had selected this island as a vantage point, and are now about to quarrel for its seizing. Only blades are not drawn, and muskets are not cocked. The sets of gimlet eyes, when they roam about, blink uneasily, concerned rather than calculated.

They are not only fretting for their own safety, but also the safety of those uphill.

Despite the bluster, despite the army formation, this is a climb to save these madmen, not remove them from their seat of power. Loyalties were forged. Affections, too; and who can tell which one is dangerous? Who can tell what’s the better incentive?

Those on the Promethean have only one thought in mind: to see the would-be hunters delivered back on deck. The punishment will come later, if at all. That is Dowling’s domain. For now, everyone encroaching on the island wants this to be over with. They all remember the way the Boatswain’s body has been caved out, his flesh scooped like melon rinds in the sun.

Anticipation frazzles in the air, louder than the crackle their boots give out. More poignant than the scent of explosives laid out in the ice, which THE ICE MASTER & THE APOSTATE are ready to set off at the first signal. Get a move up, we have to go, the crewmen want to cry. The urgency is betrayed through their steps, through their grope on the crags and the soil as they try to reach the hunters uphill. But the sand makes it difficult to gain headway, and the pelted night renders visibility treacherous. The rescuers advance uneasily along the slope.

The oldest of the bunch, the most weathered, being to realize they won’t be out of it as easy as they supposed. This bloody mess, this landlubber’s mess, the thought goes, unrestrained in the silence. THE WOLFHOUND is the first to cock his rifle. Other men, men with their heads on their shoulders and their paycheck stored away, are quick to follow. Their own fault if it comes to it, the meaning stands. But it is never spoken into being.

THE CAPTAIN gives a shout, an unwavering command. He bids the islanders to approach.

At once, the hunters straighten in unison. No—there’s not six of them, just five.

Somebody is missing; what they thought were pairs a few moments ago, is in fact a jagged pentagram. Was someone caught by the creature? Did a trekker mean to make it back to ship and got lost in the smog? They see it now, a frame on the edge of the circle. It’s collapsed in a heap, a furrow of dress and petticoat strewn around it. THE NOBLE, they catch it by the headdress of red curls, illuminated in a halo. The lantern has collapsed by her side. Is she dead, then? Did they sacrifice the lass? The crewmen shy back. 

THE PURSER cries out to the islanders. His voice is authoritative, yet there’s a tremor to it when he asks about casualties. The words are bent over by the darkness, their consonants whittled. 

Not one of the five answers back.

They stand to attention—only there is no sense of awareness to them. 

It is almost as if their bones are latched together, packed with twine and tugged in the right directions. Aligned to a higher order, a louder call. Not one of them steps out of row. They are entranced; flexible to whatever molds them, whatever hand laid itself on the scruff of their necks. They respond to neither Dowling nor sense of danger. God help them, nothing else can be seen in the darkness, no one knows what still waits there, except this: they are under some sort of spell. Is it like THE LOVER’s song, then, which led her to the ice like a mother to a cradle?

THE IDOL’s shout rings out again. His foot draws a burrow in the sand, a yardstick of his own making. “Come towards us”, he calls out, “and approach slowly. When you get at this line, tell me my name. I’ll only say this once more before I fire.” 

Five pairs of eyes rake over the guns. They stare down the iron and fire, and they do not blink. 

The conversation has long stopped between the islanders. Only the crewmen begin to whisper their doubts. Had they really heard talking at all, when they were drawing near? Were the trekkers talking, or was that chanting instead? Were those human words at all?

THE MARKED snaps her arm to the side, a blockade in the path of those behind. It lands on THE ROMANTIC’s chest. “Don’t”, comes her warning. “Don’t move any closer.” The steward peers forward. His eyes are seeking something, as desperate as they are earnest, something that the night would not impart. He picks up on the absence. He picks up on far more besides. With the same gesture as hers, he stops those at his back from following.

The entire rescue team halts not ten feet away from those they meant to rescue. 

They are close enough to spot the silhouettes, the heedless listeners, the blind voices. Yet they are too far to parse the details—their faces, but, worst of all, their eyes. They cannot predict whether they will be met by pitch black pupils, by empty sockets gaping back at them, like the horrid sight of that woman on deck. They cannot rule it out. Though perhaps they do not have to. The momentum shifts. The rifles change hands.

The saviours become judges. It is plain, is it not, that whoever is there on that island, it’s not the same people they dined, and laughed, and fought alongside in these last months.

It’s not the people they came here to save. Above all, it’s not the people they said they would die for, if need be. Who can vouch they even are people, now? Who can call out to the humanity in them, and still stick close enough to hear the answer?

Everyone awaits their Captain’s decision. Malachy Dowling looks to the sky. A quiet communion, a quiet reproach between a man and the Gods that left him. His throat is pale. The line of it trembles when he swallows. Then his head bows. His mouth opens to give the order, the rifles pitch up, triggers half-pulled, and        .

THE DOCTOR steps forward. 

Jonathan Bhavsar walks like a man who forgot to move. A man who forgot he was ever a man. He doesn’t stumble, no, but lurches through the night. His body angles backwards, careens forward, joint-less, boneless, as though carried by hidden currents. His muscles seem caught in pockets of air. Within less than a minute, a long and convulsive minute, he is down the slope of the island. He begins making his way through the crew ranks.

It’s instinct, the reason everyone parts for him. They call it instinct now. It could just as well be fear—what is cowardice but the rules of your own flesh against you? What is cowardice but the natural order? Those on the left flank stands out of his path, down to the last man.

At the back of the salvage team, a strange light flares. The night is no longer night. A gap, wide as an ellipse and twice the length of a man’s body, shimmers on the horizon. It looks like a mouth, a fish mouth’s on the cooking coals. It looks like a hole in a kitchen girl’s skirts. Red and white and putrid yellow. It looks like so many things, and all of them senseless, wordless—all of them struggling to put reality against reason, reason against reality, and failing short.

But THE DOCTOR still walks. From the chasm, a hand stretches out. 

THE IDOL fires his musket, a jab of smoke, a jab of loud sulfur. It shoots past Jonathan, only an arrow of powder. It stains the night, burnt orange and useless, but does nothing against the darkness that began to boil. The mouth continues to stretch, gaping at the edges. A wineskin pulled askance by two adept fingers. And THE DOCTOR still walks. The hand grows a palm, and a flower sprouts from it, a stem of purple. The palm grows an eye.

It happens in a second. Time is dead, here, time is a thing carved from wood and light. It has no purpose in a place devoid of either.

THE IDOL gives a start, but THE WILDCARD’s rifle is quicker. The butt of it catches the Sergeant in the ribs. Private Yamatov uses this leverage, the momentary slip of pain and astonishment, to push his superior to the side. He mutters something, mutters two separate things. One of them to his right, so intent, so quiet it scarcely reaches anyone else. Sorry, a stark syllable, this one to the sergeant. This one everyone hears. The other one is lost. I serve you, some sailors will later recount. Though why he would say such a thing to the soldier in red, the soldier still standing, with his fingers pulling at Vladimir Yamatov’s wrist like a creature gone rabid, is not very clear to any of them. One of them can swear he heard: You saved me. 

THE WILDCARD darts forward, a footfall against the frozen ground.

He runs, quicksilver, relentless, until he catches THE DOCTOR from behind. With a grip, he yanks Jonathan backwards. The smaller man tumbles, slumps like a puppet of sodden straws. Inertia keeps his body sliding across the ice for several feet, a wide and painful stretch that counts ten heartbeats too many, so that by the time he’s shaken awake— 

“VLADIMIR!”

THE DOCTOR’S scream welds together with THE SCION’s. They warp together, drowning out the sounds that start to pour from the doorway. Inside it, the hand buckles into a fist. Its fingers of mist quiver, recoil. They sputter, with the rattling speed of a snake’s tongue, and lash out against flesh. They lick at the soldier’s hand, fog against skin, the nameless and the unspeakable.

“VLADIMIR!”

THE WILDCARD blinks. There’s a flash of something alive in his eyes, bristling animal panic, and then it’s gone. A smile—human and sad.

The mouth in the darkness gives a last shake. The soldier is pulled inwards.

There is a howl, an awful and harrowing burst of pain. It crashes against the silence that waits on the ocean. There is the smell of burnt, signed flesh. There is a whisper, but nobody can tell which side it came from      if the hurt inside it belonged to this world or the next. Then there is nothing.

The living chasm, for all the flesh it lacks, folds into itself like a tongue. Its mouth closes.

Slowly, ever so tentative, the night begins to peel off. The darkness detaches from the sky, and hangs down like molten skins. The islanders shake out of their trance, all down to THE NOBLE, who is still unconscious. Some break into sobs. Some run to their saviours. The living become living once more. In these moments, where humanity pours back into them like a forge, like a forgery, the essence of it is betrayed. Friendship, infatuation, weakness. The best, the worst of it.

THE DOE-HEARTED rushes to THE SCION.

THE APOSTATE leaves his post to find THE SUNFLOWER.

THE MARKED surges ahead, just in time to catch THE ENIGMA from falling.

THE ARCANE lifts THE NOBLE’s form. Limping, he carries it downhill, away from the running water, away from the rivulets and the undergrowth. Wordlessly, THE ROMANTIC meets him halfway, and takes the body over.

At the end of all of this, most people look up, then down. The darkness has cleared.

The ice is thawing.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 20)

It was over something so stupid, she could have probably forgotten about it entirely if it weren’t such a milestone.

Sokka was absolutely convinced that angelfish and angler fish were the same thing. For some reason, it drove her mad and she just couldn’t let it slide. After a certain point, she was almost certain that he was basking in his wrongness, flaunting it pridefully and adamantly rejecting facts just to spite and bother her.

She searched up images and presented them to him. She edited side by side pictures of angelfish verses anglers.  He would declare that anyone could edit text to make it look like a real search and that all of her images were fakes. And louder than ever he would declare that the fish were exactly the same. And when those antics became tired, he began stating that that ‘angle’ was a mispronunciation of ‘angle’ and therefore that angelfish do not exist.

Azula’s face had grown beet with aggravation that day, her patience worn thin. She began bickering with him about other things; about how he was growing his facial hair out because he knows that she hated the scratchy feeling of it while kissing him, that she was blowing him off for surfing and Chan, that he needed to clean his damn room if he wanted her to come over…

It was endless. She was certain that Toph was watching with a bowl of popcorn. And then he told her that she was too fussy and uptight and that he wanted to find himself a girlfriend that wasn’t so high strung and argumentative.

She was thankful for her own stubbornness, lest she’d have tried to make herself more sheepish and timid to appease him. But she would have been fooling herself if she said that she, even if unconsciously, toned it down several notches. It might have been the product of a low mood. She didn’t really speak with many people that week, no matter how many times Mai and TyLee tried to coax it out of her.

The following week she’d finally vented to TyLee who had nodded along and got teary eyed on her behalf. Azula sighed, the girl seemed almost more distressed about the breakup than she had been.

Evidently that was how things got resolved. Sokka had been passing by when TyLee’s lip began to quiver. He turned around ready to scold her for making TyLee cry and then TyLee had burst out that she was weeping because the two of them had made such a cute couple and she was sad to see it end over angelfish.

How absurd it had sounded when phrased like that.

“Oh man, that is…” his face had gone so very red. “Wow.” And he started chuckling.

For some reason Azula had felt compelled to point out, “you shaved?”

Sokka stroked his chin. “Turns out that facial hair nurtured and grown using spite is very patchy and makes you look like a backwoods serial killer.”

“At least they’ll see it coming this time.”

That was their first fight. That was their first break up and make up.

It wasn’t their only fight but it was their only break up.

.oOo.

The storm raging outside leaves Azula with too much time to think. For awhile she and Jet wander the hotel hallways, stealing kisses when Ozai isn’t there to groan or roll his eyes. But they feel somehow empty and she thinks that he is aware. Evidently she just isn’t in the mood for passion and romance.

She can’t quite place its origins but a feeling of sorrow is choking her, muting many of her other emotions. Jet, Zuko, and Katara have all gone to the cafeteria for snacks. She lies on her bed and stares at the ceiling, tuning in and out of Ozai’s video call. She knows that the storm has broken the connection when she hears a muttered curse, “dammit.” The only other explanation is that Nobu has made another off color remark. Her father has only complained about the squeaky voiced man at every chance he got. “Nobu should be banned from our meetings, he is enough to have a person drinking again.” Is among his most common declaration. It faintly humors she and Zuko both.

He closes his laptop and peers over at her. “Why aren’t you with the others?”

She shrugs. “Maybe I think that your AA meetings are more entertaining.”

“You can lie to everyone else, but not me.” He says flatly. “Are you still thinking about the last storm?”

Azula swallows, it comes to her that, that is a decent chunk of her distress. But it is more than that. Much more. She finds herself staring at the floor with an uncomfortable fluttering in her tummy.

“If you want to talk, I’ll be here…”

“I was going to let Katara die.” She pauses. “Just like I let mother die.”

Ozai inhales sharply. “Zuko is your brother.”

“And Katara is my friend. Her family let me stay at their house…”

“I think that it would have been much harder to have lost your brother, yes. But you don’t have to worry about that because both of them are alive. Even if Katara had fallen, it might have been for the best. She would have been with her brother.”

She knows that he is trying to help, that he is doing his best. “That’s awful, father.” She says flatly.

He sighs. “You know that I am not a very comforting person.”

She nods. “Yes. But I still want to talk to you.”

“Well continue then.” He prompts.

“I think that she is angry with me, she knows that I picked Zuzu.”

“I’m not angry.” Katara replies as she closes the door. “I care about you and Zuko more than you guys know. But I would have chosen Sokka if I had to make that choice. He’s your brother, Azula and losing a brother…” She falters. “I can’t even explain how it feels.”

“Probably a lot like losing your mother…”

“Yeah.” She trails off. “Can I sit?”

Azula makes room on the bed.

“Is that what has been bothering you?”

“One of the things.”

“What are the others?”

Azula stares, with tired eyes, at her palms. She hasn’t checked the mirror, but she is fairly certain that she has rather prevalent bags under her eyes. Decidedly, she is glad that she isn’t on the ship right now. That in itself is exhausting enough. She lays down upon the mattress and clutches a pillow.

“You aren’t sleeping well?” Katara guesses.

“Correct.”

“Do you miss home?” Ozai asks.

She shakes her head. “I’ve been having dreams.”

“Dreams?” Ozai inquires.

“About mother.” Her grip tightens.

“Let me guess, she asks you why you couldn’t save her?” Katara asks.

“No.” She is quiet for a very long time, the knots in her stomach build and tighten. She bites the inside of her cheek. “She doesn’t say anything at all. She just goes under and I don’t see her again.” She is surprised that she can keep her tone so level with such an intense wave of sadness is building up in her brain. “And then I see the bloody foam and the sand.”

Katara swallows.

“I haven’t had that dream in a while.” She adds quietly. “I thought that I was done having them.”

“Well, you were just put in the exact same situation as before.” Katara points out.

“I know.”

“And this time it worked in your favor.” Ozai comments. “You saved your brother and Katara.” He clamps a hand on her shoulder. “That is power, dear. That is something to be proud of. Carry it into your dream.”

“I’ll try.” But, for as much as she fancies control, she isn’t a lucid dreamer.

“I dream about your mother too.” Ozai admits upon growing tired of hearing only the hum of the air conditioner. “She asks me why I didn’t tell her to stay home.” He pauses. “I should have. I had a feeling about that day and I ignored it.”  

There comes a flash of lightning so bright and then the room goes dark. The air conditioner’s incessant whir is cut short, leaving them with only the sound of rain falling as heavy as the death they speak of.

“Why is it always like that? Why do we always feel so guilty?” Katara asks.

“Because, when there’s nothing that you can do, the mind fills itself with fantasies of what you could have done if you had only been stronger.” Ozai answers.

Azula isn’t sure if this is true for her, but it is the only answer that anyone has ever given her. She grips the pillow tighter, if only she had seen it coming. And she thinks that, that is a better answer “We feel guilty because we keep reminding ourselves of what we could have done if we would have just seen it coming.”

Her father suddenly looks so very far away.

Her head pounds and aches as it tries to work through guilt and grief so freshly resurfaced. Doubly so when Sokka’s face slips into the mix.

The door crashes open.

“They found someone in the storm!” Jet declares.

“They’re trying to get them out of the water.” Zuko adds.

Azula nearly covers her ears. The last thing that she needs right now. She isn’t sure why, but she gets to her feet and heads for the door.

“Azula where are you going?” Her father asks.

“To the beach.”

“For what?!”

To be stronger, she notes to herself. For who, she isn’t sure. Perhaps only herself, to prove that she can beat the storm and the ocean more than it has beaten her. She had lost her mother and Sokka to it but she has kept if from stealing Zuko twice and Katara once. She will fight the ocean until the score is so tipped in her favor that the nightmares will cease.

“You are not going out there!” His voice is raised but she keeps walking.

She feels his hand clamp around her wrist, bruisingly hard. This time she doesn’t flinch. “Let go, father.” He is already dragging her back into the room. “Would it matter if I said that you’re hurting me?”

“I’m hurting you?” He asks. “That storm will hurt you more than I ever can.”

“I’m going to help them rescue the sailor, father. I am going to do it so that the nightmares will stop. I am strong, I know what is coming. This time I am going to stop it.”

Ozai rubs his hands over his face. “You enjoy raising my blood pressure, don’t you?” He asks. “We’ll go out there together.”

“I’ll go too.” Zuko replies.

“So, you wanna watch TV or something?” Jet asks Katara.

“First of all, the power is out. Second of all, if they’re going into the storm, so am I.”

Jet groans. “And I thought that my reckless hero syndrome was bad.”

Azula narrows her eyes as she makes her way down the hall. She has already decided the outcome of this fight. The storm won’t fracture another family. The dreams will leave her mind.

[peacefulwriter88]

The Woman in Dots One Shot

Frank x Leo x Reader 

Sebastian Stan as Frank; Richard Madden as Leo 

Warnings: R for sexual content. Penetration, fingering, rimming, going down, its just a whole bunch of nasty ass smut

_____________________________________________________________

Havana, Cuba 

                                                                                                 To You - Frank, 

I shouldn’t be here. 

I should be at the open bar down by the beach.  Another tropical fruit whose name tastes foreign in my tongue but always has the aftertaste of rum should be staining my lips. My Sony Alpha a7 camera should be drinking in the strong rays of cotton candy pink, pewter lavender and artic blue as the strong roar of waves kisses sandy earth.  

Instead, I am here with you. 

Your curly hair brushes the underside of my face, the delicate skin that barely feels the light of day, your mouth suctioned against my neck as your hands grip my pillowy breast in salvation. The shadow of your beard itches, I want to both push you away and yet I can’t help nuzzling deeper into the discomfort - the mild pain. 

I cannot think. 

I cannot breath. 

My entire being is focused on you. 

And we’re not alone. 

Your hands, Frank, are strong but delicate. Artists hands. Even the way they grip around my breasts are mindful, the soft flicker over my covered nipples as you dig - dig deeper into me. Cause me to arch back - to lean my head further back into him. 

Leo. 

Leo is far different than you in all the ways he is the same. 

His hair is cropped in a similar short curly cut, my fingers tangle in the strands as his hands grip my waist, keep me hostage as he watches me. Your eyes, Frank, are cerulean and remind me of the deep water of the Mediterranean sea as they hit the Grecian isles. They feel like vacation - relaxation. 

Freedom. 

Leo’s eyes are so blue they waver on silver - biting and dangerous like the Atlantic ocean on a cool Scottish morning. They watch me now, half hooded, rigid, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth as I arch deeper into him, body nearly breaking against his as I moan out in pleasure. 

I shouldn’t be here. 

You both allow these ministrations to occur for what feels like hours, but I know has to only be minutes, your mouth Frank, now working down my halter sundress, cherry red dots staining your lips as you sucked my tender breasts through the thin material of my gown. 

It's only when your nimble fingers untie the strings to my halter that we all snap. 

My breasts spring free, they ripple against the strong motion of material pulling them free and you groan Frank, your tongue lascivious as a lizard as it latches around my right breast. I whimper louder, needier, and its Leo’s tongue that finds my own finally, his mouth demanding and yet controlled as his tongue battles my own for power. 

I cave in completely. 

I couldn’t even fight it if I wanted to. My body betrays me - one hand dragging Leo closer to my own, the other urging Frank closer to my body, my legs wanting to wrap themselves around both of you desperately. 

A minor hint - all either of  you need. 

You move away first, Frank, forever the silent leader. Your footsteps are heavy in the small room that you call your own, are short before the soft creak of the mattress betrays your new resting place. Then there is silence. 

The focus is moved to Leo - dear, sweet Leo. 

Except he’s not so sweet anymore, not the same Leo who has been calling me ‘Mi dulce Dottie’ in broken Spanish. Now his hands were moving upwards, finding the billowy tissue of my breast, calloused hands finding every ridge in my nipple. 

I whimper when he squeezes my left one between his fingers. 

The right one he cups, groans into my mouth, curses to himself lowly though I only capture his deep Scottish accent. I can feel him against me - his erection poking into my soft underside and he pulls me closer to him, moves backward until he’s resting against the small counter I vaguely remember placing the drinks I had been offered an hour earlier on. 

All a lost thought. 

“Mi dulce Dottie” - Dottie isn’t even my name. It's what Frank and him had started calling me after realizing that 90% of my wardrobe is peppered with dots. “Mi dulce, dulce Dottie. Can Frank have a little taste? Let me know what I am in store for.” 

I keen at the idea, my eyes flicker open as I pull away, nod. 

He smiles, moves the hand that has been squeezing my left nipple in agonizingly sweet pain up to cup my face, pushes his lips closer to my own. 

“You going to be a good girl for us sweet Dottie?” 

My damn neck moves more urgently than I’d care to reveal and Leo gives a nod, his other hand moving lower to lift my waist, rest it upon his legs. 

“She’s all your Frank.” 

Frank. How had I forgotten about you? 

You were always so quiet Frank. A man that could be equal parts the life of the party and yet a shadow in a crowd. Tonight, you were playing the latter, your new steps panther like, silent and deceiving. 

You barely make it to me before the scent of your cologne tangles in my nose along with Leo’s - bergamot, basil, musk - the faint smell of sweat and something sweeter. Something huskier. 

I can’t tell if it's me anymore or one of you. 

You are careful, Frank, take your time as you get on your knees. Leo has widened my stance, before moving his lips down upon my own, his tongue silently demanding to take over my own again. I relent - its all I want at this point, his and Frank’s dominance - and I’m so distracted I almost forget about you. 

Almost.

You take extra care in me, Frank, your hands moving so slow up my thighs I can’t control the small shivers that emerge after your hot fingertips, the faint peppering of goosebumps that trail after you. I can’t see your eyes Frank, not sure I want to, I’m too busy watching Leo. Leo who’s handsomeness scares me in a way yours cannot.  

I know I’ve mentioned it before - once or twice within the past few days. Leo who has finally leaned leaned into the small silver growing at his hairline, a small wisp of it dancing between his auburn and brown strands. He had more red in his overall palette - the shadow of his beard and the hairs on his chest - so different than you. 

You, my dearest Frank, were all dark edges. Dark and subtle signs of grey that peppered here and there that didn’t threaten to grow but neither go away. 

In my mind you both swirl together around the same time your hand hooks under my underwear, dragging down the thick shape of my thighs - the curve of my calves, the delicate skin of my feet. 

I give a content sigh as your lips kiss my ankle, soft and sweet, like a whisper as you brush up my calf. I haven’t shaved - not in days as I wasn’t expecting two sexy men to devour me the way I am now - but you move up my leg shamelessly, kissing every inch of skin your tongue can devour. 

Leo has found his way back to my breast, large strong hands cupping them, watching them bounce as he kisses me and I can’t help but watch him, urge him on as I jut them out more. He hums contently, teases the skin under my nipple, causes me to shiver but refuses to move upwards. 

Just waits. 

Is patient. 

Waits for you. 

You’ve inched closer now, Frank. You’re now in that place of full betrayal, the light fabric of my gown around you like a crown as you disappear further and further up my leg - deeper into my gown.

Your breath is hotter under here, I can feel the way it huffs against my mound and i wonder what your face looks like right now. Is it contorted in desire? Or are your eyes narrowed in that serious way they squeeze into when something deeply interests you?

It's lost on me. 

Instead, I am slave to your tongue. 

My moan is as ferral as the way your fingers open up my lips - majoria then minoria - tongue making long, cat like licks upon each inch of the inner ridges of that feminine part of me betrays my desire.  When your tongue latches upon my clit I lose any more inner will. My fingers move to find your curls, driving you closer to me as my tongue find’s Leos’ - a battle of desire I cannot will myself to end.

Leo chuckles in humor and eagerness - he’s pushing my dress down, his hips bucking into my own, exchanging the material  with Frank who temporarily pulls away to wrangle it down my legs in a less ceremonial fashion than was given my panties. 

Leo’s all but fallen back on the counter, legs spread wider as he widens my own against his thighs, placing them on top of each of his knees, the slick of my desire falling against his dark jeans. Your back on your knees Frank, so quick and eager as your mouth latches against my clit, right hand exposing me open as two others in your free hand start to dance up my thigh. 

Fully naked I flush myself against Leo, lips now demanding for his own, other hand gripped vice like in the soft strands of Frank’s hair, willing for his hands to dance higher until they disappear into the fruit of my being - make me sing, dance, bend to his will. 

You, Frank, are my god. 

You answer my whispered prayer in the motion of two fingers, swift, sucked deeply by the betrayal between my thighs and I scream, mouth freed from Leo’s as he sucks my neck. My body is on its own dissent, my hips rocking steadily against the strength of one finger, two - and when i don’t think i have anything left of me a third that causes me to grip both of Leo’s arms, my eyes fluttering to his as I watch him under inky irises of desire. 

Meanwhile, Frank, you’re too busy moaning against my center, dragging me closer and - by default - Leo. You suck and prod as one, those beautiful artists hands driving me to a place of delusional. The world clouds, there is nothing more important than the hot touch of your mouth, the soft strum of your fingers, the soft whispers from Leo and the fountain of my passion pouring out onto the both of you. 

Then it's over. 

I feel cheated, robbed, and I moan as much as I whimper after you Frank, the way you move away from me, brush the back of your hand and lick the remnants of my affection from your stained beard. 

“You’re sweet like wine Dottie.” You whisper and I nod, bite my lip as Leo shifts me slowly, steadily. 

“I want a taste.”

You nod as you move toward me, help my feet fall from Leo’s knees and on the hardwood floor of the rented hut - sand and dark wood tied together as you move me back toward the bed. 

I'm insatiable. 

You’re all hard in the places where men should be - its not fair you know that Frank? - and i try not to rush pulling your shirt over your head, revealing in the taut way muscle pulls over sinewy skin. 

You watch me, curious, watch the way my hands dance over the sparse hairs of your chest, outline the sharp features of your face, the softness of your lips. 

‘Frank’ - the words come out like a sigh. 

Leo is behind me in a matter of seconds, hands tickling at the small pudge where the apex of my hip meets my thigh. He likes these soft places of mine, like the way muscle and fat collide and fall and move and keep me human, make me womanly, remind him of fertility that was never mine and far less belongs to him. 

I giggle as I pull my hands away from Frank and wrap them around Leo’s, my lips tugging his again into a deeper kiss, trailing up my torso, teasing my breast along with his help. 

The soft clink of a belt pulls my attention away and it makes me aware of the soft way Leo’s chest hair tickle my back, the stiffness of his erection as my eyes draws down to you who is kicking off your jeans, eyes blown indigo in the faint moonlight that the ocean was reflecting - a fading flashlight into the world. 

Your boxers come next and I groan, bend over in reverence as I drink in the girth of your manhood. You’re so different from Leo - so dark and untameable and clean in ways that Leo is wild and controlled and my mouth salivates at the notion of having you, finally, around my tongue. 

Leo doesn’t give me a chance to relish in it. 

He bends me over in one harsh push, pointer and middle finger at the top of my spine pushing me downward, watching in pleasure as my mouth goes to engulf you. 

Frank, the sound you make is downright sinful. 

A whimper and whine and groan all blended in one harsh moan as your head snaps back, hands gripping the mattress as you widen your legs deeper. 

“Sweet isn’t she? Our sweet Dottie.” 

Then he’s slowly sliding in one swift movement, my slickness sucking him in and causing me to groan around your length, to dig my hands deep into your thighs. Leo takes his time - makes sure to bottom out before he stills, hands gripping the bulbous tissue of my love handles as he looks down at me.

The red lipstick I had been wearing is all but gone, the remnants smearing up and down your long shaft, which you mutter in appreciation. My world is consumed by you, Frank, the musky scent of your balls and the way it has consumed all of my senses. I dive without thought of another world, not the discomfort of the way you bump against my throat, or the way your hand tightens around my head, singing me praises.

This worshipping is for you. 

Meanwhile, Leo has found his place in me, makes me coo as he takes his time. He knows my body like clockwork, like he was made to push inside me so slowly each cell in my body is reawakened, alive, distorted, broken. The sound reverberates against my throat and it causes you to moan deeper. 

Its punishing the treatment Leo is providing and when I pull away from you for air, its Leo who pulls me back and states lowly,

“Want to taste more of him sweetheart?” 

I understand what he is implying - the taboo of it making me wetter by the second and he grins as he slaps my right cheek, nibbling at my jawline. 

“Yeah, you want a little taste. Is that okay with you Frank? Is it okay if she returns the favor? She’s squeezing the hell out of me from the thought.” 

I know you don’t understand Frank, I can see it in your eyes but you also don’t say anything as I lean lower, move my lips down between the sack of your balls. You grunt in approval, body moving back into the bed with ease. 

Leo is slow, watching with keen interest as my lips suction you off, one of your balls sucked delicately into my mouth, followed by another. Your taste stronger, more potent and my hips snap back onto Leo’s of its own accord, causing him to chuckle, grip around my love handles stronger. 

He was always here for a show. 

And you are a trusting man Frank. 

‘Too trusting’ I think as my tongue moves lower, taking pride in the way you let out a low chuckle as my tongue moves down your perineal, finding home in the tight, puckered hole where your anus meets my mouth. 

You stiffen. 

But you don’t pull away. 

Instead you shift a bit, waiting. I can hear the deep beat of your tongue, can feel the uncertainty and curiosity dripping off of you so i probe a little deeper. Move a bit further. The taste has changed...not in a bad way but different. 

Leo loves it. 

Snaps his hips deeper into me so i can move all the way into your arse, causing you to pop your head up in surprise as I moan in desire. I can’t help it now - the taboo-ness of being here while my hand finds your length, precum leaking from the tip and I  swipe it up and down as my mouth takes its time exploring. The overwhelming sensation of feeling Leo’s length in me, the way you moan and holler, your body stiffening more, grabbing at my sides, pleading silently to stop it. 

I can’t. 

I’m consumed. 

You come first Frank, its sweet and messy and sticky. It takes over my whole right hand and I lean up, lick you and hum in your taste as Leo hisses behind, gripping me so hard I know I will have marks the next day. 

I don’t care. 

I reveal in the way it feels to be taken by him, kissing you while my free hand moves to my clit, plays with myself. 

It all feels too good. 

Too dangerous. 

So overwhelming. 

I come with a cry. 

____

My eyes flash open and my back arches off the bed. The gasp I thought I was letting out is a full fledge scream - it consumes the room and I shake violently, my hand slipping from that sweet place between my thighs before I fall back onto the bed, exhausted. 

It's between finding my breath that I hear,

“Are you good?” 

My eyes pop open with a start. Leo is standing in the doorway, shirtless, his pants unbuckled as he watches me, that same half lidded look from my fantasy dancing in his eyes. 

I nod slowly and he gives a small smile, moves to the sink in the small cabana we had rented. 

Right.

It all comes pouring to me. 

The roar of the waves. 

The way the cool caribbean water danced around my toes, pooled around the delicate fabric of white and cherry polka dotted dress. I was still wearing it - sand crusting the edges and water cooling my back against the humid night. 

There were no stars - no - havana had sucked them all up and threw them out into the city that was in full swing right now. 

Leo is on me in minutes, handing me the glass of water and helping me to sit up. He watches as I take two large sips, curiosity dancing in his eyes before he shifts his hips to pull a joint from his pocket. 

We both say nothing as I reach over the nightstand, find the lighter in the darkness and light the joint with ease. He inhales it deeply, watching me still in the darkness of the room, the only light from the joint before he hands it over to me. 

It's only when I take my first drag that he whispers, 

“So you and Frank have met up again, eh Dottie? I take it he’s the one that made you cum.” 

Fuck. 

Oh fuck. 

Frank - you always were trouble. 

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[trellanyx]

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky

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“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Time slowed to a crawl without any help from Crowley. Every bit of movement and sound heightened to match his growing panic: the crunch of wet sand under his boot; the waves rolling rhythmically against the shore; the unrhythmic, staccato beating of Crowley’s useless heart; and there, standing on the water, was Gabriel, his long, pristine coat flapping around his ankles like wings in the wind.

“Nice place,” Gabriel continued, unbothered by Crowley’s silence. Hell’s sake, he was probably enjoying it. Gabriel looked around the empty beach, taking in the expanse of shore and sea and sky that Crowley and Aziraphale had claimed as their own. “Open, quiet, private. Dull as shit, but then, you’ve never been one for taste. I mean.” Gabriel laughed like an old friend. “Just look at who you hang out with.”

Crowley turned to face Gabriel openly, stepping to the side until he blocked Gabriel’s line of sight. The cottage was still half a mile away, but Crowley would be blessed and damned if he was going to let Gabriel a single inch closer to the angel inside.

“You get one warning,” he snarled. His eyes flashed poison-gold, pupils thin as a virgin guillotine blade. “Fuck. Off.”

“Tsk. That’s not very nice.”

“We had an agreement.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “We did?” he asked, with all the shallow grandeur of a carnival conman. “That’s news to me. You sure you’re not thinking of…?” He nodded downward. “I know they’re too cowardly to come after you twice, but you and me? We haven’t spoken since the airfield. Am I right?”

Gabriel grinned, and a thin layer of his joviality slipped away with the tide. Crowley could see a thousand years of bloody crusades, swelling with corpse-rot and worship, living in the curve of Gabriel’s smile.

“Y’know, funny thing happened a few years ago, after you two betrayed the Almighty,” he continued. “We tried to execute Aziraphale, you know, and it didn’t take. Flames wouldn’t touch him. Very unsettling.”

Shut your stupid mouth and die already.

Crowley hissed hate through his sharpening teeth.

“Then we hear from Downstairs that they tried the same thing with you, and you survived holy water.” Gabriel shook his head. “And I’m thinking, nah, that can’t be right. Those two idiots?”

Heat began to boil in Crowley’s veins, blurring the air around him and causing the sand under his feet to steam as the water seeped inside began to evaporate.

Gabriel raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not quite idiots, though, are you? I’ll give you credit—it was a clever trick.”

“Weird,” Crowley mused, like he was contemplating an unfamiliar menu item, not seething with hatred and panic. “I didn’t think your head was small enough to be pulled back outside your own arse. Is that why you’re here now?” Crowley tsked in fake sympathy. “Did it take that long, Gabe?”

Gabriel’s smile froze, and his stolen eyes became diamond-hard with barely controlled disgust.

“I imagine it’s difficult, being wretched longer than you’ve ever been divine.” Gabriel’s voice was soft, like feathers inside a pillow he was about to smother you with. “Your memory’s fuzzy—I get that. Still, though, I’d think this one would’ve stuck. Aziraphale at least had the decency to be properly afraid of it.”

“Is there a rest stop between now and the fucking point?” snapped Crowley. He jerked back in revulsion at the sound of Gabriel’s laughter.

“Surveillance, dumbass! Every second the earth has existed has a record. We didn’t have a reason to look before, but now, well.” Gabriel spread out his hands with a shrug. The warmth was back in his smile; a spray of blood from a mortal wound, cordiality and cruelty trickling down the grain of the cross.

Bless it, Crowley thought, but he was an idiot. Because he’d known. Gabriel, for all his inanity and pompousness, had never been stupid. No, worse than that—Gabriel was apathetic. He didn’t bother to learn or observe anything outside his own interests, and this made him appear bumbling, full of hot air and nothing substantive.

But when he did decide to pay attention…

Crowley’s wings shattered the barrier of their prison ad cracked the air like a shot. Gabriel watched placidly as they extended to their full height and wingspan. The air around Crowley was already distorting itself as reality broke down, unable to keep the demon’s true form from answering its master’s summons.

“I will kill you,” Crowley promised, his voice echoing with void and devastation. “I don’t care if I go down with you. You’ll face oblivion before you can even step in Aziraphale’s direction.”

“Oh…” Gabriel chuckled. “I know you will, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley screamed from the abrupt shock of divinity lancing through his chest, scattering light between his atoms like shrapnel. A high note, unbearably terrible and beautiful, rang in his ears and splintered his bones, sending Crowley to his knees in an acolyte’s post. He gasped as it passed through him and stared at Gabriel with mounting horror.

The first thing that was burned away from fallen angels was their name. It was the word She used to call them into existence, each letter encrusted like jewels in the crown of Her Glory. To lose their name was to lose themselves. Crowley couldn’t remember his holy name; sometimes, if he tried hard, he could see the shape of it in his mind’s eye, but it was smudged with pain. He’d always assumed the names of the Fallen were taken back into Her essence, no longer fit for creation or memory.

“Surprised?” Gabriel asked. “Oh, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley gagged as blood filled his mouth. “—did you really think we’d forgotten you? When a demon’s former celestial name can cause this amount of damage, why the hell would we ever erase them?” Gabriel clucked his tongue. “Poor, stupid A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley clutched his chest as the hole where Her Grace used to be was seared with divinity that was no longer his. Stupid indeed. Even the humans knew that names had power; why should the first names in all creation be any exception?

When he raised his head to hiss at Gabriel, black ichor dripped from Crowley’s eyes.

“Enjoying your little party trick? Go ahead.” Crowley staggered to his feet. “Say my name. Say it as much as you fucking want. I want you to.” He smile-snarled at the Archangel. “Let my name be the last thing you ever fucking say before I punt you into a black hole.”

“You still don’t get it.” Gabriel sighed. “Here’s the thing, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley flipped his middle finger as he shook with a fresh wave of pain. “I didn’t actually come here to kill you.”

“Bullshit,” Crowley spat.

“It’s true! I just came for a chat.” Gabriel jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He came to kill you.”

In the space between heartbeat and thought, Sandalphon slipped out from behind Gabriel like an oil spill. The churning waves died beneath his shoes, becoming glass-smooth to match the patch of ocean Gabriel stood on. His smile didn’t bother with the pretense of friendship that Gabriel’s did; it held only the horrifying truth of belief, the kind that made martyrs out of the unwilling and called it just.

Crowley reared like a hooded cobra, cornered but desperate, and furious enough to attack anything that so much as twitched in its direction.

“Can’t even handle killing a demon on your own, can you, you piece of shit?”

Gabriel hummed like he was actually giving it some thought. “I prefer to think of it as not getting my hands dirty.”

“Hello, Crawley,” Sandalphon simpered. His golden teeth reminded Crowley of long abandoned treasures in a skeleton’s graveyard. Awareness coiled sickly in his gut.

Crowley could take Gabriel, or even Sandalphon, on his own. Whether he’d win was up for debate—an angel’s powers were, by design, made to cancel out a demon’s—but Crowley knew that he could at least cause one of the archangels severe damage. But two of them?

He had to try. If he could stall them even a minute, Aziraphale could—

“But you know what, I’m a sporting angel.” Gabriel clapped his hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder, whose eyes were beginning to glow. “How about I give you a chance to prove me wrong?”

Sandalphon held his hands out in front of him like an offering, and the water immediately began to churn. When he breathed in, the tide drained away from the shore into a growing whirlpool blackening the water beneath his feet. Sandalphon raised his arms in a conductor’s stance, his eyes glowing lightning-bright and salt-white.

The flames under Crowley’s scales froze with horror as a wave grew behind Sandalphon. And grew…and grew…

And then it began to glow.

Gabriel whistled appreciatively at the literal tidal wave rising above their heads—every atom of which was vibrating with celestial blessing. Even the scent of seawater in the air was poisoned with divinity; Crowley felt his right eye start to twitch.

“Survive this, demon,” Gabriel intoned. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Survive this, and I swear by the Grace inside me that I’ll leave you two alone.”

Fragments of ideas and plans rattled around Crowley’s mind like dice, and every one of them came up snake-eyes.

The wave had swelled too large to dodge. He could run, fly, crawl through the sand, but he wasn’t fast enough to get out of range before Sandalphon brought the flood down on his head. It would be the same if he attacked. No amount of hellfire would touch the angels so long as they were surrounded by their watery barrier. Even trying to stop time, as he did in Tadfield, would be useless to him. There was no reality-bending Antichrist to aid him, no angel…

Oh.

Aziraphale.

I’m…I’m about to die, aren’t I?

The roar of water dulled and muffled, suddenly far away, as if it was respecting Crowley’s privacy in his last moments. Realization skinned him raw; if Crowley was gone, who would protect Aziraphale? Who would listen to him read his favorite poetry aloud? Who would groom his wings? Who would take him to dinner, to the theater, to the stars and to bed and everywhere in between?

Who would love him?

I’m fucked. I’m fucked and I can’t stay and I’m going to hurt you, Aziraphale. I’m going to make you cry. I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to love you.

Gabriel waved. “So long!”

I know I said I’d be happy with whatever I could get, and I meant that, I did, I meant it because it was you. But angel, angel, I’m too fucking selfish. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, I want more, Aziraphale.

I want more time.

“Farewell,” sneered Sandalphon.

I want to talk with you more, drink with you more, I want more mornings where you’re the first thing I see when I wake up.

The tidal wave rose until it blocked the sun’s light, casting Crowley in a long tombstone-shadow. He should attack them. He should at least try, deny them the satisfaction of striking him down without resistance.

“Auf wiedersehen!”

But Crowley’s mind wasn’t on the beach anymore. It was back in their cottage, curled in Aziraphale’s lap with a deathbed confession.

I want more lunches, more dinners, more desserts, I want more walks and drives and I want to tease you more, kiss and hug and fuck and love you, I want to love you so much more Aziraphale, I want I want I WANT—!

“Goodbye.”

…I don’t want to go.

Sandalphon’s arms surged forward to bring down the wave, and several things happened at once.

A white-gold missile of light slammed into Sandalphon with enough force to send him barreling into Gabriel’s side and shoot them both away from Crowley like a torpedo.

The wave collapsed in on itself and flooded the beach.

Crowley threw his arms in front of his face, hissing as the holy spray connected like a thousand paper cuts in a salt bath.

He only had seconds to register the pain before something grabbed Crowley around the middle and rocketed him above the saturated sand.

Crowley panicked when he felt the heavenly aura surround him, instinctively squirming and kicking until he was flipped onto his back and saw his favorite shade of blue beseeching him to be still.

“It’s me!” Aziraphale shouted over the water. “Crowley, it’s me!”

A gallows moan pulled from Crowley’s chest.

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale crushed Crowley to his chest at the same time Crowley’s arms strangled the angel in a python’s grip. Aziraphale stroke-dragged shaking fingers through Crowley’s hair; his desperate whispers of darling darling darling kept rhythm with Crowley’s racing heart. He whined when Aziraphale pulled away to look him over.

“Are you hurt?” Aziraphale demanded. “Did it touch you?” His eyes followed Crowley’s down to the sizzling freckles on his arms, and Aziraphale growled.

“Monsters.”

Belatedly, Crowley registered that Aziraphale was holding him in a bridal carry. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his vest was unbuttoned, and his bowtie was loose; he’d hadn’t even bothered to miracle his appearance, he’d been too much in a hurry to save Crowley from—

“We have to get out of here!” Crowley scrambled to fly on his own, holding Aziraphale’s hand the whole time. “Angel, we’ve gotta—”

“No.”

Crowley’s neck snapped back to Aziraphale fast enough to give a human a severe case of whiplash. “The fuck you mean no?!”

“They won’t stop,” said Aziraphale. “Not unless we make them.”

Now that he was sure of Crowley’s safety, the abrupt serenity settling around Aziraphale’s shoulders made Crowley bristle with terror.

“Aziraphale, they want to kill you!”

“Oh good.” Aziraphale turned to look over the horizon Gabriel and Sandalphon had been thrown beyond. “It’s always nice to be on the same page.”

His wrist twisted, and Crowley did a double take when he saw that Aziraphale was swinging a fucking umbrella like a broadsword. As it spun, the umbrella came alive with ice-blue fire, licking its way down to Aziraphale’s fingers and sparking like a blacksmith’s forge.

“Aziraphale, what—”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

A pillar of seawater erupted into the air. Crowley reeled back, but Aziraphale was already in front of him, the umbrella wide open and shield-wide, causing any stray drops of water to evaporate before the fire.

“Promise me something right now,” muttered Aziraphale.

“What is it?”

Aziraphale closed the umbrella and shifted into a combative posture.

“Do not interfere. Please.”

“Azira–”

“Promise me, Crowley.”

“No!” Crowley ripped his glasses off and threw them into the sand like a gauntlet. “You’re out of your blessed mind if you think I’m gonna let you—”

“My dear, in just a minute quite a lot of ethereal seawater is going to be slung around.” Aziraphale’s warrior eyes softened when they looked at Crowley’s incredulous face. “Please, love. I don’t want you in the crossfire.”

Unable to refute him, but unwilling to back down, Crowley jabbed his finger at Aziraphale’s flaming umbrella. “What are you even going to do with that, anyway?”

“Something I should have done long ago.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, and all protests shriveled in the demon’s throat. “I love you, Crowley. Wait for me.”

Aziraphale floated down to where Gabriel and Sandalphon reappeared on the water, enraged and sporting several extra sets of wings and eyes.

“Y’know what, I am sick of your shit,” Gabriel spat. “I was trying to be nice about this, show a little mercy by not making you watch Sandalphon kill your–”

A shower of water exploded in Gabriel’s face. He swore and sputtered, leaping back…and gaping at what he saw. As did Crowley.

Aziraphale had impaled his umbrella-sword through Sandalphon’s chest. He lifted Sandalphon until only the tips of his loafers skimmed the water. Sandalphon looked too stunned to try to retaliate, even when his wings fell slack and his extra eyes rolled back into nothingness.

Aziraphale radiated contempt as he unceremoniously yanked his weapon out of Sandalphon’s chest and stepped away.

With his face still frozen in a look of utter shock, Sandalphon’s knees splashed into the water. He pitched forward until he was face down in the ocean, bobbing listlessly as he bled out. Moments later, the rest of his mortal vessel sank with the finality of a suicide.

Discorporated.

Aziraphale’s fire was still burning through Sandalphon’s flesh; Crowley could see a pale blue glow under the waves as Aziraphale turned to fully face Gabriel.

“…So that’s how you want to do this, Aziraphale?” All emotion, satiric or sincere, abandoned Gabriel’s face in favor of cold-iron fury. “You cowered before the apocalypse, and now, now you choose to fight? For this infested world? For him?”

Gabriel jerked his chin upward, disgusted by the mere reference of Crowley on his lips.

“There didn’t have to be a war, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. With his raised head and squared shoulders, he reminded Crowley of a well-fortified bulwark.  “Not between Heaven and Hell, nor between us. Crowley and I have only ever asked for peace.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Without the flood, the olive branch has no meaning. You understood that once, Aziraphale.”

“No, I didn’t,” murmured Aziraphale. “I never did. I had only hope that one day, I would. No more.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. “I’m done blindly attacking whatever is put in front of me, and I’m done hiding like that’s something shameful.” He pointed his makeshift weapon at Gabriel; its calm, defensive blue a far cry from Aziraphale’s original sword—the weapon that fit so perfectly in the hands of War.

Gabriel spread his wings like he was baring his teeth. “You understand what will happen, don’t you? Attacking a superior?”

Aziraphale mimicked the action. “I answer to two voices in this universe, Gabriel, and yours isn’t one of them. None of you are. Not anymore.”

“You’ll Fall for this.”

Aziraphale’s form shimmered and bled until it was little more than sun and steel covered in a thousand glaring, resolute eyes.

“So be it.”

Aziraphale and Gabriel’s magic slammed against each other before their bodies did. The water crested from the shock waves and began to glow again, completely baptized by the unfiltered celestial energies rippling through its currents.

Crowley’s corporeal form tore from his body as he took off towards the fighting. He was never a soldier before he Fell—Crowley’s purpose was that of creation, of forming the precious galaxy that angels like Aziraphale fought to protect—but one didn’t roost in the bowels of hell for a couple millennia without learning how to fight dirty. Crowley swallowed what remained of earthly light into the hollow maw where Grace once shone, his fangs and claws dripping liquid nightmares. Even the broken shards of his halo were sharp enough to pierce an angel’s skin if Crowley just got close enough—

A geyser of holy water shot up and nearly took out one of his wings. Crowley reared back with a hateful shriek as more bless-bright jets rose around the warring angels like a cage. Crowley circled them agitatedly, trying to find Aziraphale in the fight. They were moving too fast and too bright; even Crowley’s supernatural gaze could only pick up afterimages, like a video with delayed audio. He pushed his consciousness out, seeking Aziraphale’s aura in the midst of the chaos.

All of Gabriel’s heads and wings were out, surging towards Aziraphale’s core to gouge him clean. Aziraphale met him blow for blow with his umbrella, the ludicrous sight at odds with how Gabriel snarled at it every time Aziraphale swung towards him.

What on earth had he done to it? It repelled Gabriel’s magic whenever Aziraphale opened it to use as a shield, and its blue flames greedily clung to Gabriel’s face and feathers whenever Aziraphale landed a hit. It didn’t cause the same amount of damage as hellfire might, but the force with which Aziraphale choreographed his blows was enough to knock Gabriel back, if only for a second.

Lightning shot down from above at Gabriel’s command, crackling through their watery battlefield like spiderweb veins. Aziraphale lost his footing as electricity surrounded his legs like barbed wire, and Gabriel struck, knocking Aziraphale backwards into the water. He reared back, teeth gleaming, and surged towards Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale threw up his umbrella with both hands and caught it inside Gabriel’s mouth, inches away from Aziraphale’s nose. The flames flared in Gabriel’s face, covering his head. Gabriel howled, and swung out with his claws.

Aziraphale screamed.

“ANGEL!” Crowley surged forward, water be damned, when—

“STAY BACK!”

Aziraphale staggered to his feet; half of his eyes were lidded or shut, dripping with golden blood. One of his wings was bent out of shape, claw marks breaking up the trail of snowy feathers.

Gabriel covered half of his face, his own lustrous blood spilling through his claws from the lashes Aziraphale’s magic scored across his Grace. Gabriel glanced at Crowley through the fire still licking his face, and Crowley could feel the archangel’s viciousness in the back of his throat, choking him like his tongue was swelling.

That feeling was all the warning Crowley had before the geyser bars exploded like a supernova. Aziraphale’s magic slammed Crowley backwards, burning like acid through Crowley’s teeth and rings, but with enough force to knock him almost entirely back to the other end of the beach, away from the water. Crowley writhed in the air, holding onto Aziraphale’s magic even as it burned, trying to get a sense of its strength from this small sample alone.

Up ahead the angels were clashing again. Starbursts of water rose and exploded like fireworks around them.

Aziraphale was strong, every inch of him exuding the strength and sharpness of an angel entrusted with an entire platoon of soldiers by the Almighty herself. He wielded the umbrella like it was truly steel, parrying and stabbing, smashing his good wings into Gabriel’s face and essence to knock him back. Streaks of golden blood splattered around them like paint, mixing with the shining water. Crowley couldn’t tell whose was whose anymore.

Crowley swelled and spun his rings in terror and tried to keep track of Aziraphale, to pick his essence apart from Gabriel’s own holy energy. It was almost impossible to lock onto thanks to the speed with which it was being thrown around, but after six thousand years and counting, Crowley was finely attuned to Aziraphale’s magic. The difference was faint; Aziraphale’s magic was warmer, shaded with gold. Gabriel, due to his higher rank, had a much brighter aura, a blinding white that hurt Crowley’s infernal eyes when he looked upon it for too long. It was much brighter than Aziraphale’s, pulled from a well of magic deeper and purer than any other angel—

With sickening clarity, Crowley realized what Gabriel was doing.

He was stalling.

By nature, Aziraphale was blessed with less endurance than Gabriel had. Despite how strong and determined his angel was, Crowley knew that Aziraphale’s pool of magic would run dry long before Gabriel’s did. And Gabriel knew that too, because he’d switched to a more defensive style, dodging and blocking, and timing his strikes with a luxury Aziraphale was never created for. Gabriel intended to wait Aziraphale out, to strike him down when Aziraphale’s magical strength abandoned him. Crowley had no doubt Aziraphale could still fight even then—he’d certainly try, anyway—using his muscle memory to attack Gabriel without ethereality, but a Principality with a sword was laughably outclassed by an Archangel with deep reserves of magic left. Aziraphale would lose.

Aziraphale saw it too. His attacks grew more vicious, more aggressive, as he tried to end Gabriel quickly, before his own form betrayed him. But despite the blows that did land against Gabriel, the archangel showed no signs of tiring.

Gabriel swung the clubbed tips of his wings at Aziraphale’s blind side. Aziraphale allowed himself to take the hit so that he could lure Gabriel close enough to smash the handle of his umbrella against Gabriel’s temple, hard enough that even Crowley could hear the sound of crunching bone. Light poured out of the gash on Gabriel’s head as he locked his magic around Aziraphale, beating at him with his expansive wings and causing a swirl of water to cyclone up and around them, obscuring Crowley’s view even further.

Crowley couldn’t stand it anymore; if being drowned in holy water meant the difference between Aziraphale’s victory and death, then it wasn’t even a choice worth thinking about. Crowley wrestled his magic back into his corporeal form and held it tight under his breast. His skin split, and scales flickered up and down his body as his magic frayed the edges of Crowley’s human-shaped form, not meant to be drawn so close and held back in such a way. Crowley grit his teeth with enough force to crack his fangs. He felt on the edge of a seizure, a destruction all his own, but there was nothing for it; Crowley would need to be small for this, lithe and nimble. They only had one shot.

Crowley drew back his hands as he flew towards the angels, and a growing ball of hellfire and dark energy formed between his palms. The fire had to be strong enough to pass through the holy water without losing its shape or power—power that would be needed to knock Gabriel back and give Aziraphale an opening.

Pain throbbed behind Crowley’s eyes; his pupils were disappeared, leaving behind a glowing sulfur-yellow stare. The water was overcharged with holiness, and there was enough of it flying around that it would take all of Crowley’s reserves to create something infernal enough to pass through it. If he was struck down before then...if he missed...if he hit Aziraphale instead...

It was impossible to avoid the spray; Crowley jerked in flight as hundreds of tiny burns connected with his body, like standing over a pan spitting hot grease. It hurt like Heaven, but not enough to keep him back.

Aziraphale’s magic was flagging under Gabriel’s, making it even harder to untangle from the threads of Gabriel’s power. But he was still there, Crowley’s brave, fierce angel, and it was enough. Wherever Aziraphale was, Crowley would come to him. Always.

Crowley weaved between the ribbons of water whipping through the sky, laser-focused on Aziraphale as he lined up his shot. This needed to be timed just right, or he would lose the element of surprise and Gabriel would destroy them both.

Thankfully, time and Crowley were on friendly terms.

He couldn’t spare the energy to pause time completely, but he could break off the barest sliver to slow the seconds around them. Just enough for him to see the forms previously hidden by light.

It would be up to Aziraphale to take advantage of the split-second Crowley was about to give him, because Crowley would be unable to dodge or block anything Gabriel might throw at him after he recovered. Even twist-sick with terror, he never feared that Aziraphale would miss his chance. Crowley trusted Aziraphale to save them both.

He trusted Aziraphale more than anything in creation.

As Gabriel twitched in his direction, Crowley poured everything he had and was into his attack and blasted the ball of hellfire and dark matter into Gabriel’s side. Gabriel stumbled off balance for a single second, and it was all Aziraphale needed.

With an almighty scream, Aziraphale stabbed Gabriel through the eye with the sharp tip of his umbrella.

The water instantly splashed down, leaving Aziraphale and Gabriel in a pool of luminescence. Gabriel dropped to one knee, then the other, and gripped the umbrella embedded in his skull with both hands. He snarled at Aziraphale who, without breaking eye contact, slowly pushed the umbrella, fire and all, through Gabriel’s eye socket.

“Traitor,” Gabriel spat.

“There are worse things to be,” said Aziraphale. “Deliver my message, Gabriel. To the angels, to the demons, to the Metatron and Beelzebub themselves. Tell them what happened to Sandalphon. Tell them what happened to you.”

Gabriel convulsed as Aziraphale deliberately pushed the umbrella deeper until it broke out the back of Gabriel’s skull.

“And tell them that if they ever threaten us again, I will make them wish for something so sweet as discorporation.”

Bleeding out at Aziraphale’s feet, Gabriel cursed Aziraphale in a language Crowley hadn’t heard since the Beginning. His grip began to slacken on the umbrella, and Crowley dared to relax.

Then, without warning, Gabriel’s left arm threw back in Crowley’s direction to hit him square in the chest with the last of Gabriel’s power. Caught off guard and too depleted to respond quickly enough, Crowley arched through the air and landed square on his back on the now consecrated beach.

Crowley screamed as the holy water soaked up by the sand seeped through his shirt and wings and skull. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was Aziraphale’s horrified face.

The scent of clean linen pulled Crowley from unconsciousness with merciful gentleness. There was no more briny smell of wet sand and saltsea. Nothing of ozone or blood. Just clean cotton and an imprint of Aziraphale’s cologne. Crowley breathed in deep, searching for traces of his angel like an experienced perfumer: saffron and sandalwood, juniper berries and sage, and sometimes, if it was a good night, the warmth of cocoa that Crowley could still taste sweet as cream on Aziraphale’s tongue.

“Sssh.” Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair out of his eyes. “Not so sudden. I’ve done all I could, but you’re likely to be sore for a few more days.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, seized with desperation to confirm—and there he was.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, trembling with relief and reverence. He took Aziraphale’s hand and turned it palm-up to run his lips over the lifeline.

“My love,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding as helpless as Crowley felt. He squeezed Crowley’s hand with a strength that would’ve broken mortal bones; Crowley only shuddered and held Aziraphale tighter, grounding himself in his angel’s touch. He kissed each of Aziraphale’s knuckles twice before he could drag his eyes back up.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale laughed wetly. “He asks, after half his backside melted away.”

“Hey, I saw a lot of eyes out of commission,” Crowley reminded him.

“You shouldn’t have been close enough to see in the first place!” Aziraphale snapped. His face twisted and broke down, and he bowed over their joined hands like he—Aziraphale!—was seeking penance. “You foolish, wretched—I told you to stay back!”

“You also tell me to drive slower and be nice to my plants.” Crowley’s voice was gentle, but he couldn’t make himself sound apologetic. “You needed the opening, angel. He would’ve worn you down eventually.”

“Don’t you dare spout logic at me, Anthony Crowley. You almost died.”

Every time you took a blow. Every time he came an inch closer to destroying you. Do you think I could ever separate my survival from yours, Aziraphale? Now? Still?

Crowley bit his split tongue and propped himself up on an elbow. He was on his stomach, his wings still out and brushing against the floor. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look at them yet, to count lost feathers and new scars. He cleared his throat to dislodge the misery choking him with every hitch of Aziraphale’s breath.

“…And Gabriel?”

Aziraphale sniffled. “Gone. Discorporated, I think, or possibly dead.” He raised his head enough to half-heartedly glare at Crowley. “I was a bit too distracted to watch his exit at the time.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley traced the curve of Aziraphale’s skull, down his neck and across his jaw. When Aziraphale closed his eyes to the touch, Crowley kissed both of his eyelids. What else was left to say? “I’m sorry, angel, I’m so, so sorry—”

“Hush,” whispered Aziraphale. He held Crowley’s palm to his cheek, and ran his thumb in circles atop Crowley’s pulse point. He looked thinner than he’d been before Crowley left him for a morning flight—

(how many mornings ago now? how long had Aziraphale sat in a vigil he was never meant to keep?)

—and bruise-dark circles hung below his eyes. Crowley’s gaze sidestepped reality to see the mantle of magic draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Its light was weak and watery, stretched thin as tracing paper over the angel’s essence.

“You look exhausted,” Crowley murmured.

“Battle will do that. Fear will do that.” Aziraphale opened his swimming eyes (Crowley was starting to hate the sight of water). “Crowley, you were so empty when I reached you. I thought—I thought you were—”

The dam broke and Aziraphale bit his free hand, trying to muffle his sobs as tears rolled down his cheeks. He never let go of Crowley, who felt his fingers become slick when Aziraphale nuzzled his palm and smeared tears across the half-scaled flesh.

“C’mere. Aziraphale, hey.” Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s grip until he could once again see the sky blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. “Come lie beside me.”

Swiping at his tears, Aziraphale shed his clothes and climbed in nude beside Crowley, who immediately shifted until he could rest his ear over Aziraphale’s heart.

“You can’t possibly think I’d let you face any of them alone,” he murmured. “No more than you could abandon me.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s chest, followed by his cheek and salt-tipped lips. “Angels don’t get the monopoly on protection, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale shakily laughed. “Well. That might become a moot point soon, anyway.”

Crowley’s heart plummeted in horror. “You haven’t—”

“No, not yet.” Aziraphale cast a bitter glance at the ceiling. “Gabriel’s always loved to pull rank, but even he doesn’t have the power to make those decisions.”

“They can’t.” Crowley reared backward, onto his knees. “You were defending yourself!”

Aziraphale gave him an odd look, but Crowley was too petrified at the thought of Aziraphale actually Falling for him to appreciate the absurdity of expecting Heaven to actually play fair.

“I was defending you,” Aziraphale corrected. “And there’s still the matter of Head Office finding out we defied them twice—”

“Aziraphale—”

“Vis a vis apocalypses and executions that weren’t, well, executed—”

“Stop sounding so calm about this!”

Crowley’s ears might’ve rung from the sound of his own scream, but he couldn’t hear anything over the drumbeat of his wild heart, panic twisting like a noose around its ventricles and chambers. Aziraphale only looked at him for a moment before shifting to sit upright. His wings were also out, and they wrapped around Crowley’s damaged back, mingling with his feathers.

“Crowley. I meant what I said when I challenged him.” Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands and brought them to his lips. “I’ve already disowned them in every way that counts, anyway.”

“You can’t Fall,” Crowley protested.

“I’m not afraid anymore, dearest.”

“I can’t be the reason you Fall, Aziraphale!” Crowley ripped his hands from Aziraphale’s in favor of dragging them across his scalp; his nails, still halfway stormblack and clawed, opened the way for blood to lose itself in his slaughterhouse hair.

“You, you don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know how agonizing it is, to have everything you were broken down and put back together in the wrong order. You don’t know how it feels to have that phantom pain follow you for the rest of eternity. You don’t know how it feels to be worth less than ash. Angel, angel…”

He reached for Aziraphale, aborted the movement, and curled in on himself, irrationally afraid that one more demonic touch would be enough to push Aziraphale over the edge. “I can’t condemn you to that. I could never so much as look you in the eye again.”

The clean scent was gone. All he could smell was burning flesh, burning feathers, burning hair and burning soul and Aziraphale, Aziraphale stinking of brimstone just as Crowley did, his wings turning black as disease and his halo shattering to form something twisted and ugly.

If You’d ever listen, listen to me now. Don’t put him through this. He’s the greatest thing You ever made.

Don’t drag him down to my level.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley shook his head. “I love you. I love you so much. Please.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around Crowley, slowly tugging him back into his embrace; Crowley followed helplessly, but kept his shameful tears buried in the soft white curls across Aziraphale’s chest.

“Crowley. Crowley look at me.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair. “Please, dearest.”

A golden eye blinked miserably up at him. Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re right. You can’t be the reason I Fall. Because if I do, it will be because I chose to do so. Because I choose this life, here, with you. Because I have never felt so happy, or so good, than I feel when I’m by your side.”

Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s chin up; his kiss stung with gentleness and the miracle of being known. Their wings cocooned around each other, and when Crowley rested his brow against Aziraphale’s his thoughts fell silent, blanketed by the heat of their embrace and the whisper of Aziraphale’s breath against his lips.

“Earlier you said you answered to only two voices in the universe,” Crowley murmured.

“I did.”

“The first is Hers.” Crowley didn’t bother to mask it as a question, but Aziraphale heard one anyway.

“Hers,” he said softly. “Not Heaven’s.”

“And the second?”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s nose, giggling when Crowley playfully scrunched his face. “Oh, my love. Does it even need saying?”

This time, when Aziraphale shifted to lay on his back once more, he didn’t need to pull to get Crowley to follow him down.

[artificialqueens]

Hotel California, Chapter 5 (Gigi/Jackie) - Roza

summary: jackie is beginning to struggle with her own anxiety and worry about the situation at home while gigi seems to be in nothing but an utter euphoria.

author's note: thank you jankie candle for all the support and to meg for being my wonderful beta! I hope you all enjoy and tumblr is @leljaaa as always xx

AO3 Link / My Tumblr: @leljaaa / ( ´◡‿ゝ◡`)

— *.✧

Three fateful days had passed since Gigi and Jackie had officially slept with one another.

Jackie kept track, it was something of importance to her.

It was definitely a bold move on both of their parts but especially the Persian who was still the refugee, the one who would be twice as targeted for it, the one who would take all of the blunt force and trauma as the news would roll in more and more about the revolution.

Gigi was in utter heaven knowing that she had no restrictions as long as they were alone or decently private and away from everyone else though Crystal caught on rather quickly and it was only natural Jan was told, the blonde smiled wide and gasped the minute the other had told her over the phone.

They giggled softly like high schoolers once again even if in the back of their head they knew that this was not a good idea for either Gigi or Jackie.

Being in love.

Not just being in love but being in love with a refugee from Iran, being hopelessly devoted to Jackie who still had that ticket to Canada set in stone. Gigi attempted to simply convince herself that the eighties would be better and that all of Jackie’s internalized homophobia would eventually cease when the revolution died down.

It has to end eventually doesn’t it?

The American only hoped innocently for things to return as they were as she slowly engulfed herself more and more into the politics of Iran so Jackie would not feel so damn outcast and alone. She was not perfect but it was a step, one that the Persian beside her appreciated leaps and bounds.

Every endeavour together ended with a long and loving kiss before Gigi would become flustered and watch Jackie chuckle at the red speckles across her cheeks.  

She awoke gently to mumbled newscasters going on and on about the current headlines as she realized she had fallen asleep on the couch by mistake. She wished she had fallen asleep with Jackie instead.

“I don’t care,” she groaned out as she took a sip from the already opened can of Pepsi that sat on the coffee table beside the arm of the brown couch. Her fingers tapped every button possible before she reached an international headline that made her eyes widen.

“Breaking news...On the morning after the Shah declared martial law, security forces fired on a large protest in Tehran’s Jaleh Square. At least 100 have been killed as the revolution continues…”

Gigi jumped up as she instantly raced for the door, not caring that she was still in her outfit from last night; Jackie was the only thing on her mind constantly but hearing the news only made her twice as ridden with horror not even being able to imagine what the Perisan felt.

Running down the field as she skipped a long to the complex beside her home did not feel one bit weird, she needed to see how Jackie was doing even in her dusty old dress from the night before where they had managed to make hummus, Gigi failing terribly though the Persian saved the day and made it delightful.

“It’s me,” the blonde yelled as she knocked twice on the wooden door, her lips unknowingly curling into a smile the moment she heard Jackie’s muffled talking from the other side. The door opened as the Persian smiled gently, her eyes utterly red and stained with tears.

She definitely knows what happened.

The Persian pulled her friend into her current home as she sniffled, hands on her hips as Gigi tugged her sleeves and opened her arms. Jackie grinned with a snicker as she felt herself happily drop

“I ran down the hallway as soon as I heard,” she admitted in a faint mumble as Jackie kissed her lips, not wanting to even think about what was currently going on. Gigi was her favourite distraction from her own issues and problems, she would use that to her advantage.

The blonde smirked, always happy to kiss the Persian even if it was more for personal reasons than to be romantic. Her hands dropped down to her waist as she enjoyed the impromptu make out session as best as she could.

Jackie hummed, admitting that this had been an awful day but somehow Gigi managed to take all of the pain away. It was a harsh reality that the Persian had to live with but somehow her happiness came perfectly on time in the form of a slightly shorter, blonde biker with the cutest smile and best one liners.

“I’m convinced we can solve world peace by just kissing quietly,” the Persian smiled as Gigi cackled, nodding her head at the statement.

“Kissing you is like heaven, what can I say?” Gigi mumbled against her lips as Jackie grinned slightly, never one to reject a kiss from her the blonde. Her fingers gently ran through her hair, twirling strands of the curls as the Persian wrapped her arms around her neck.

It was always going to be difficult for Jackie to take in all of these strong, new feelings towards the blonde for multiple reasons but she was simply attempting to win the war against herself and her own preconceived notions.

Just because I am in love with a woman does not make me any less of a human being or any less of a Persian.

They sat on Jackie’s bed together, listening to the birds who chirped outside on the trees as the both of them were silent, tangled together and holding each other.

 “Do you want to go riding together? I can take you for some very overpriced, very mediocre ice cream,” Gigi asked against her skin as Jackie couldn’t help but smile wide and nod her head, entranced.

“I would love to.”

— *.✧

“This is quite nice, do you really find it that awful?” Jackie asked curiously as she licked her pistachio ice cream beside the blonde who seemed to instantaneously devour her mint chocolate chip ice cream in the span of three minutes.

“I think it’s fine just not worth ten dollars but consider this a date,” she winked as the two rubbed shoulders, strolling down the neverending beach and sand that plagued the coastline.

Jackie shrugged, gently beginning to bite her cone curiously as she sighed in relief. She had never lived near a beach her entire life so being near a beach felt like a privilege.

“Do you come here often? The weather is quite lovely, I am surprised no one else is here besides us and the one woman we saw a few minutes ago,” Jackie asked aloud before Gigi shook her head, admitting that Hollywood Beach was never of interest to her unless Crystal and Jan wanted to spend the day in the water or attempt to surf.

“I have never been a huge beach person and I was born at the hospital in Long Beach, a coastal city we have here in the state; the utter irony.”

The Persian sighed in relief as she stared out at the open ocean, wandering if her family was okay as Gigi pressed a kiss to her neck, interlocking their hands tightly as Jackie nervously shook her head, clasping her own hands together.

“Jackie…”

“Not in public,” she whispered, the blonde sighed as she knew that from the beginning it was Jackie’s biggest rule and fear. Gigi beating up and stabbing the two men outside the grocery store a few days ago did not help this sentiment.

“I love you,” she mumbled quietly as the waves crashed onto the shore, their feet becoming wet with the cold Pacific ocean beneath them as Jackie mouthed the words back not skipping a beat.

The Middle Eastern woman stared off into the distance, finding herself stuck in a constant day dream about being back home in Iran, even with the ongoing revolution and then the fantasy of staying in California with Gigi and living the rest of her life by her side.

They spent another two hours laughing aloud on the beach and strolling aimlessly before the heat became unbearable and they wanted to leave and go back to an air conditioned room.

“Do you want to spend the night with me?” Jackie asked out of the blue as they made their way back to Gigi’s motorcycle. The blonde smirked, knowing exactly what that would entail as she nodded heavily.

“That would be perfect,” She added as Jackie hopped up on the bike behind her, arms once again around her back tightly as Gigi took off for the ride back home.

Jackie attempted to focus on all the palm trees or the colorful buildings that molded her vision of California however nothing was being played except that damn headline.

Over and over.

Slowly the revolution grew not only more violent but to a larger international scale, she had to see the news from American outlets and not her own family though Jackie assumed hearing it from home would only be worse.

She had not yet gotten the chance to call her family but planned to do so the next time they went out early or late at night, time zone conversions had become the biggest bitch of all.

Jackie felt lost, she knew Gigi was attempting to at least get a grip on politics and stay informed on the revolution but it did not feel the same as speaking to her best friends or university classmates or family.

Everything she attempted to say felt lost in English, she felt five times dumber and knew that even though everyone complimented her consistently on her well spent degree and her skills in the language she was still the outsider.

Not just the outsider but the Persian outsider.

She was currently the butt of the joke, the insults were all directed her way and she simply had to keep a straight face against all of the accusations and comments.

"My mother didn't raise me to yell at uneducated street rats," she would tell Gigi as hecklers would pass by them on the streets, cussing out Jackie who definitely looked Persian enough to get long stares or subtle glances consistently.

And now, she wasn't just Persian she was a Persian in love with a woman.

Her lips were utterly sealed to her family when it came to the matter of Gigi and her current endeavour and relationship with the blonde.

She simply said that she had met some good American friends around her age that were helping her explore California.

Who knew I would be deep in exploring things besides America.

Jackie simply tried not to think about it though that always proved impossible considering her entire status and story in America was that she was a "helpless" refugee from Iran.

Crystal occasionally spoke to her in comfort, admitting that seeing her mother who had immigrated from Mexico to California almost two decades ago for a better life still being teased simply for being her the moment they left the comfort of Los Angeles or Hollywood was unbearable to hear.

I deserve to be here just as much as someone who was born here.

Gigi parked the motorcycle and turned off the ignition as she gently hopped off, holding Jackie's hand as she dusted down the red romper Crystal had gifted her with a smile.

"You look good in that, so much better than Crystal did," the blonde flirted as Jackie snickered, unable to hold back her laughter upon hearing the comment.

Almost as if on cue the two of them saw the redhead in the distance, across Gigi's house waving in her floral printed Hawiian shirt as Jackie gestured her over.

The blonde cocked a brow, a bit disappointed that they wouldn't be alone as planned though she couldn't possibly complain if their company was her best friend.

"You look so great," Crystal chirped as she adjusted the sleeves for the Persian girl, Gigi grinned in utter heaven staring at Jackie as the redhead snapped her best friend out of the trance.

"We get it you think Jackie is hot," she groaned aloud quietly as the blonde rolled her eyes, punching her shoulder teasingly as Jackie gave a bright smile and pushed her hair back.

"So lovebirds, are you going back to Jackie's place to hang?"

"That was the plan."

Jackie nodded before asking if Crystal would like to join them for some drinks and food for at least an hour or two.

"So polite, I love it," Crystal winked before Gigi coughed wildly, feeling her jealous side begin to peak as she watched the redhead make an attempt to flirt.

Jackie shushed Gigi as the Mexican girl admitted that she could stay for an hour but no more because she had some more work to do for the recreational center.

"Oh shut up, my dad loves you, he's not going to care if you take a few hours off especially not with me."

Admitting defeat, Crystal raised her arms and laughed as she followed the couple back to Jackie's place. The three of them shuffled towards the hallway before the Persian gently opened the door and let Crystal and Gigi enter first, snagging a kiss from the blonde as she walked through the doorway.

"Would you like anything to drink or eat Crystal?" Jackie asked as she opened the fridge, grabbing the bottle of tequila that Gigi had managed to steal from the grocery store a few days ago.

"Your girlfriend is so wonderful Gigi," she teased obnoxiously before giving a thumbs up at the tequila bottle. The blonde scoffed, kissing Jackie's forehead as she grabbed the glasses.

"I've never seen Gigi so speechless, I'm so impressed Jackie," the younger woman admitted as the Persian heard Gigi mumble something along the lines of "I'm speechless every night you just don't get to hear it."

Crystal laughed as Jackie gently grabbed her lover's chin, whispering at her in Farsi to stop speaking so dirty in front of her own friend; somehow expecting for Gigi to understand a lick of what she was saying.

"I don't know what you said but I'm completely turned on right now," she whispered as they pressed their lips together, grinning wildly as Jackie gave Crystal the tequila bottle.

"Cheers to being single!" She awkwardly added aloud as she shotgunned the tequila she had poured. Gigi frowned, defending her best friend and saying that eventually she would find someone.

"I thought I did but clearly she had other plans," Crystal admitted bitterly as Jackie widened her eyes in shock, a bit confused though both her and Gigi turned their attention to Crystal.

"Jaida is happy where she is now, I won't blame her or Jan," the minute the words left Crystal's lips Jackie gasped in shock.

"You and Jaida? I had no idea I'm so sorry," the Persian mumbled as she rubbed Crystal's shoulders for comfort.

"It was only a few months, don't worry about it, of course you had no idea obviously."

"I did not know about this either," Gigi replied a bit angry as Crystal bit her tongue anxiously in front of her best friend, apologising for the long held secret.

"So is that why you two were avoiding conversation at the rink?"

Crystal nodded in silence.

"You will find that person, your soulmate; trust me, it might be in the most unexpected situations," Jackie added sweetly as she smiled at Gigi, gazing at her lover towards the end of her sentence.

"Oh so I'm your soulmate? How romantic," Gigi mouthed as Jackie stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes.

"I was really in love, what a shame." She hummed before adding that she and Jan had no bad blood about it, it was simply just a lost cause to fight about it at this point.

Jackie could understand, Jaida was extremely attractive and seemed sweet, grounded and intelligent and quite the catch especially for girls as bubbly and extroverted as Jan and Crystal.

"Never say never," Gigi hummed. "In my heart of hearts if you want the truth I still think she's in love with you and not Jan. Give it a solid month or two and I think she will realize that you're the one."

Crystal and Jackie looked beyond interested to how the blonde had come to that conclusion so quickly after just two minutes ago she said that Jan was Jaida's perfect match.

"I might love Jan and think they're cute but I saw her staring at you when you were skating, I'm not stupid."

Jackie ran a hand through her partner's hair as she offered Crystal some food she had prepared last night.

The redhead shook her head, attempting to hide the permanent frown painted across her face.

"No thank you, I'll stick to the alcohol."

— *.✧

Jackie smiled as she felt Gigi wrap her arms around her waist and pull her closer in the bed, the two of them beginning to become sleepy after all the physical activity they had just done to say the very least.

"You're perfect," Gigi mumbled as the Persian beside her flushed not knowing how to genuinely respond to a compliment of such high praise.

"I believe you are also perfect," Jackie finally responded as she ran her fingertip's through Gigi's long, blonde hair as she occasionally planted a kiss near her earlobe.

"So I'm your soulmate?" The American teased beside her before Jackie groaned, admitting that maybe it was a strong choice of words for them only being together for barely two weeks.

"It was beautiful, I almost teared up," Gigi admitted as she tilted Jackie's head back to her own so she could gaze into her eyes.

"My English improves bit by bit," she joked before Gigi shut her lips with another kiss, the two of them giddy and gently melting into every affectionate gesture.

"I hope you never leave," the blonde whispered as she laid her head on Jackie's bare chest with a permanent smile planted on her mouth as she closed her eyes, ready to sleep.

Jackie swallowed her breath, unable to even speak on the matter.

"Goodnight Gigi," she said as she turned off the lamp beside her before running her hands through her partner's hair once again, thinking about all that had managed to happen these past two weeks.

I have to leave but I will keep quiet about that for now.

[gotbts7fics]

Positive | ONE |

One | February 2017 | Two |

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” You mumbled as you stared at the two little lines on the stick. The test was just confirmation on what you suspected for the last few weeks. The nausea, sensitive boobs, and the lack of period was the final straw that forced you to pee on the stick, now sitting in your hand. This was deja vu from 8 years ago when you found out you were pregnant at eighteen. Grabbing the phone, you quickly made a call to your best friend who was sure to not appreciate the time difference right now, but frankly, you didn’t care. This was an emergency!

“Pick up, pick up, oh my fucking good pick up the fucking phone!!” yelling into the mouth piece willing the call to be answered.

“Jesus fucking christ” A sleepy voice said on the other end. “You realize its two in the morning here right? Did you forget Ontario is fourteen hours behind you?”

“Bree, I’m pregnant” You were met by silence from the other end of the phone.

“I’m sorry what?”

“I’m pregnant….”

”HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!! How did this happen?”

“Really? You need to know how this happened? I swallowed a watermelon seed….. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK THIS HAPPENED?” screeching as you buried your head in your hands.

The line went silent for another minute.

“What are you going to do?” Bree asked.

“I honestly don’t know.”

It had been forty eight hours since your phone call home. Forty eight hours since your world went into complete and utter chaos. Moving to South Korean just over 3 years ago at the age of 24, with a then 5year old, left everyone thinking you were crazy. Fresh out of university and after a painful breakup, moving not across the country but over an ocean, with a little human to heal your broken heart. You had quickly settled into your new home, and job, Jaidyn doing the same with school. She adapted very well and made friends within the first day. Everything had fallen into place, which is why when you met a young man who flashed you a devilish smile after literally running smack dab into his chest at a coffee shop, you didn’t hesitate to say yes to a coffee date. His name was Jaebum, he spoke broken English, liked cats and you two shared the same birthday. The only difference was he was four years younger than you, which he promised was not an issue, language barrier and all, considering your Korean really was just memorized lines from dramas. Reeling from the heart ache you had been inflicted with, you figured having a bit of fun was just what you deserved. A coffee date turned to a dinner date, dinner date turned into 5 dinner dates, which turned into lazy nights at home hanging out with the two of you and your daughter. He was wonderful, charming and handsome, a complete package. Then you learned he wasn’t as simple as you first thought. He finally told you he was in the entertainment business and that left him busy a lot of the time as his career took off. Still he always made you feel loved and always followed through with promises he made. He made his career first priority, yet he never made you feel second to it, even as he grew in popularity. You loved him so much, you would do anything for him and you strove to make your relationship work. As the years passed, you had learned to accept the challenges of dating in secret with him. Everything was just easy with him, you understood how busy he was and he likewise understood cancelled dates last minute because you had a child. The relationship you two shared was incredibly simple and easy, making it work the best you could. Now you weren’t so sure. Jaebum was touring with his music group in Japan and here you were staring at a pregnancy test. You were going over every night of passion you had with him, tangled in the sheets with sweaty bodies pressed together, in your head. You were on birth control, you used condoms, you did everything to protect yourself and not ruin his career with an accidental pregnancy. Yet here you are, just celebrated your 27th birthday, a 7 year old and 23 year old mega star idol boyfriend whose career was about to be over because of you. You felt more lost than when you found out you were pregnant at 18 with your high school sweetheart who decided cheating was okay, broke your heart and left. More devastated than when your relationship with your last boyfriend ended because after two years he decided he didn’t want the responsibility that came with your child anymore. You honestly didn’t know what to do. Did you simply just terminate the pregnancy, did you tell him and still terminate, was there even a small chance you could keep the pregnancy. No, no there wasn’t. This would ruin his career. A career he shared with six other hard working men who didn’t deserve this scandal. You wanted to cry, you really wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but your daughter was due home any minute and being it Friday night, it was mommy daughter date night. There was no time to cry.

Seventy two hours after that phone call found you on your couch, sobbing into your friends arms. For some reason she thought the most logical thing for her to do was jump on a plane, travel thirteen plus hours and bust through your door. Jaidyn conveniently was at a sleep over with her friend Soohyuk. So you had the next 16 hours to ball your eyes out until she came home. It was during a moment of silent tears, with the TV on some variety show in the background, cold pizza in front of you, that you decided,

“I’m not going to tell him” You confessed, tears streaming down your face while you desperately tried to console your broken heart.

“You have to tell him” Bree insisted, a concerned look on her face.

“No, I don't” you deadpanned.

“What are you going to do? Not tell him, and hope he doesn’t notice how fat you’re getting? Cause I saw pictures of you with Jaidyn, you’re going to look like you swallowed a beach ball” Bree said rolling her eyes, shoving a slice of pizza into her mouth.

“I’m not telling him, I am going to break up with him” It was a strong statement. One you said with such conviction that Bree looked at you quizzically.

“Y/N, even if you break up with him, he’s going to find out. You have mutual friends. You can’t hide a pregnancy. What do you plan to do? Just disappear, run home to Canada?” It was comical, because in that moment Bree snapped her head towards you, realization etched on her face, as the light bulb went off.

“No y/n…. NO! You can’t do that to him! Hell, you can’t even do that to yourself” You looked at her through wet, red eyes.

“I honestly don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong in this situation. I love him, Bree. I love him so fucking much it hurts. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love again after Matt, but I did. And it hurts, it hurts so much. I don’t want to wreck his career. I can’t, no I won’t do that to him. But this baby, this is my baby. I can’t not have my baby. It was such an easy decision to keep Jai. I didn’t even think twice. And here I am, actually thinking twice. I’m a terrible mother. I don’t deserve my babies.” You felt terrible, so you started sobbing again, because quite frankly it was all you were currently good at.

“Babe, don’t think like that” Bree said as she put her pizza down and wrapped her arms around you.

“Whatever you want to do, I support you. You’re a fantastic mother. Look at how happy my niece is. You’ve sacrificed so much for her. You’ve gone to college and university. You’ve worked and dealt with her dick head of a biological father. You refused to give up when you and Matt didn’t work out. Honey, you’re the best damn mother and friend I know. You love with your whole heart and deserve the world. I know you love Jaebum more than you can explain. I think he will understand. It’s been three years with him. If after three years he shuts you down, this baby down, then he doesn’t deserve you one bit.” She breathed her words into your hair. She wanted you to calm down and think rationally while you figured this out.

“That’s the problem Bree, I think he will throw his career away for this baby. I can’t let him do that. He loves Jaidyn so much already. He does everything with her. He refers to her as his own. Imagine if he actually has a baby. He’s worked to hard. It will ruin him. I can’t ruin him.” You sobbed. The whole in your heart growing with each word you said. The feeling of the most beautiful relationship in your life ending because of the love you have. It was ironic, ending a relationship because you loved someone.

“Okay, look. Let’s get some sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow, or next tuesday. I am staying here for a few weeks. We can figure this out. I love you eh.” She said pulling you up to your feet and leading you to bed.

“Thanks, I love you too” You replied, tears finally stopping for the night. It was like you were in university all over again. Having her stay with you because you were heart broken and couldn’t stand to be alone. Only this time it hurt so much more.

“How did you even manage it?” Bree asks as she eats cereal the next morning.

“Like, he’s so famous. How do fans not know you’re dating… let alone been dating for three years. I don’t understand” You looked at her with your spoon hanging out of your mouth.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m foreign. The fans think I am just a foreign friend with a kid. It’s not like we make out in public. And Jai is always around. Not to mention other members are with us in public. I probably don’t seem like someone he would be with.” you said going in for another bite. Now that you thought of it, it was true. No one really questioned your relationship with Jaebum. Which, considering how popular GOT7 had gotten, someone should have taken notice. You were consumed by your thoughts when, fuck, you thought. Rushing out of your chair and running to the toilet. Whatever cereal you had consumed was now staring you back in the face from the inside of the porcelain thrown. This was getting ridiculous.

“I hate pregnancy” You said out loud

“No you don’t, you always said you missed it. You just hate the gross parts of it. Puking, constipation, weird hair growing in weird places” Bree appeared, leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, cereal bowl in hand.

“I just threw up, and you’re eating breakfast still?” You asked sitting cross legged and leaning against the wall.

“You’re joking right, like you’re aware I am a cop. This….” she gestured towards you and the toilet with her spoon “This is child’s play bitch.” You couldn’t help but laugh. She was right, she had seen and smelled worse, this was nothing to her.

Later that afternoon, as you waited for your daughter to come home, you finally checked your phone after god knows how long. Bree arriving had kept you so busy you didn’t even touch it, instead balling your eyes out to your best friend who flew half way around the world for you.

[4:34pm] Jaebum <3: Hey babe, I miss you. I hope my girls are doing well. 5 more days until I can hug you!!!! [6:45pm] Jaebum <3: Rude, not even a msg back, fine… I’m going to buy Jai a phone. At least she will tell me how much she misses me. [11:42pm] Jaebum <3: Love you baby, have a good night.

It didn’t matter if you didn’t reply, he knew you loved him. You had always sucked at texting anyways, so your silence didn’t even give him an inkling that something was wrong.

[9:02am] You: I love you Jaebum, forever and always, please remember that. I miss you. 

It physically hurt you to send him that message. You loved him so much, but you knew your time was slowly running out.

“So, when does Jaebum get back to Seoul” Bree asked while you were cooking dinner on the Monday night after she had arrived. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Jaidyn, helping her with her homework.

“Wednesday? Yeah, I think on Wednesday.” You replied as you stirred the pasta sauce.

“JB Appa comes home tomorrow maman, he told me he comes home on Tuesday.” Jaidyn piped up, looking from her homework towards the two older women.

“You forgot didn’t you… well he comes home tomorrow!! That means Aunty Bree can finally meet him, and BAMBAM. You’ll love BAMBAM Aunty Bree. He is SOOOOOO funny” She said, going back to her math homework.

“Why is this math so hard” Bree mumbled as she looked at the problem the second grader was doing.

“Just be thankful she goes to the french international school, and not the Korean school I work at” You laughed, math was the enemy for both of you. Math in french was still manageable, math in Korean not so much.

You and Bree looked at each other and laughed, barely hearing the knock at the door, until it was done more forcefully. Abandoning the sauce you made your way to open the door. The next second found you wrapped in the arms of a handsome man, lips attached to yours, as he carried you back into the apartment and shutting the door with a swift kick of his foot.

“Hi” He said finally detaching his lips, looking at you.

“Um, wow.. Hi” You said looking up into his eyes. You loved his eyes. They were your favourite part of his appearance. The two little moles above his left eye always captivated you. Would this baby have his eyes. Shit, you thought slightly wincing as your stomach did a summer sault.

“Surprise, I missed you. You’ve been so busy, I haven’t heard much from you these past few weeks.” Jaebum said hugging you once more.

“I’m making pasta, are you hungry?” you asked, your mind going this way and that. You were not ready to face him. You had to keep calm, but the nausea was bubbling to spill over and force you to empty the nonexistent contents of your stomach.

“JB Appa!!!!! You’re home early!!!!!!!!” Jaidyn screeched, running full force towards the arms of the man in front of you.

“Oh how I’ve missed you! Were you good for your maman while I was gone?” He murmured into her hair as he hugged her tightly.

“Always” she smiled, hugging him back just as tightly.

“good…. oh hello” Jaebum looked up and saw Bree standing in the door frame of the kitchen. He sent you a look as if asking who this was. None of your friends had ever visited you in Korea, and he had met all of your Korean friends. His poor mind was trying to figure out who this was.

“Ahhhh… this is Bree.. My friend from university. She came for a surprise visit. She showed up on Friday.” Explaining why this seemingly random person was in your apartment.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you. Y/N has been bragging about you for a while now.” She said with a smile, holding out her hand. He shook it and gave her a polite nod.

“Okay lets have dinner” You looked at Bree, Jaebum put one hand on the small of your back and led you to the kitchen. Your seven year old still in his other arm, sitting on his hip. You shook your head. You always said she was too old to be picked up anymore, he always argued that he would continue to pick her up until she was taller than him. He’d been like that from the beginning, he loved to carry her when she was young. When he was away for more than a week he always seemed to carry her more upon returning. He had explained it was because he felt guilty for leaving her. He wanted her to know how much he loved her, from the moment you told him about her he stepped into this loving father role, it had melted your heart to see her loved so unconditionally.

Once everyone was back in the kitchen, Jaidyn cleared her homework and set the table. While everyone talked, small chit chat about school, work, Canada and his travels. You couldn’t help how proud you felt with how far his English had come. Although your Korean was much stronger than his English, he still was able to communicate with your friend openly. While you tried to pay attention, you were ultimately consumed by thoughts of this pregnancy. This secret pregnancy that was threatening to be exposed because the need to vomit up garlic bread was looming over you.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jaebum asked, noticing your less than normal commentary.

“Eh?… oh yeah. I’m okay. Sorry love, I just don’t feel very well.”

“Do you want to go to the doctor? Do you need me to get you some medicine?”He rose from his chair and heading towards the medicine cupboard.

“No, I’ll be okay. I just need to sleep. Are you staying tonight?” You asked, a little more hopeful that he wouldn’t.

“No, I’ll let you have time with Bree. Let me do the dishes and put Jaidyn to bed. Then I will tuck you in too. You girls can have a nice relaxing night.” He said with a smile. You controlled your expression, all you wanted to do was cry and fling yourself into his arms. Instead you smiled as you rose from your chair, kissing his cheek and made your way to the bathroom. You needed to splash cool water on your face.

A few hours later as you lay beside Bree, the emotions of the situation hit you again. You tried to silently cry yourself to sleep.

“Lets go to the doctor this week, k… We need to figure out how far you are.” Bree said with a sleepy voice. She didn’t open her eyes, but she threw her arm over you.

“Okay” You sniffled. You were running out of time and were feeling suffocated.

The ultrasound scan held in your hands confirmed you were roughly eight weeks pregnant, which meant you were going to have an October baby.

“My nephew’s birthday is in October, and my moms. Guess October is going to be busy” You sighed looking at Bree. She had kept her word and brought you to the doctors. She sat through the whole appointment, listening as intently as she could considering she didn’t understand more than two words in Korean.

“From my understanding, everything is okay, right?” She had asked as you made your way home.

“Yup, it’s funny. I am exactly where I was when I found out about Jai. You think I would know sooner, this being the second time around” Your heart was feeling heavy and you really wanted to eat your feelings.

“I mean, you’re busy and shit. I think this is normal” Bree said, taking a sip of the Starbucks in her hand. “So, I don’t want to be that friend, but like… have you thought about what you’re going to do?” She asked.

“I’m going to go home” You said while looking off in the distance.

“Okay, if you feel that is best, I will support you” Bree sighed heavily, neither of you had the right answer but this didn’t feel like it was the correct way to deal with it. “Just let me know when you’re going to come home. I’ll take time off and visit.”

“It’s going to suck, I am going to be so heartbroken. I can’t wreck him though. I can’t ruin his life. I love him so much” You brought your eyes to the ground, wrapping your arms around you, tears threatening to spill over again.

“I know babe, I know” Bree said, stepping forward and hugging you tightly.

[smolfangirl]

A mermaid’s tail

Some headcanons I wrote and that @miris-xo helped me with. I got the idea about the kiss from this lovely ML fanfic and this awesome comic, and finally remembered to post it. (Here you go, Ellie)

Don’t drown in all these messy words!

Word count: 3.5k

She’s a young mermaid living in Cancún, he’s a young boy on vacations with his parents

Kid Matteo is sweet and innocent and loves all the stories the locals tell about mysterious sea creatures

Of course he’s eager to get into the water and dive for just one sight at the merfolk

A few days of endless hours at the beach later (and reapplying his sunscreen after his mom complains), he finally sees a mermaid

She’s about his age, and swims closer to him than he expected (or dreamed) but when he tries to catch up with her she’s gone

Which doesn’t really matter because he saw a real mermaid!!

Back on land, little Matteo runs to his parents, too excited to even speak clearly, tripping over his words

They don’t believe him. He gets scolded for annoying them with such an obvious lie

“Look, you ruined your dad’s newspaper with your wet hands, no ice cream for you today.”

A year later he hasn’t forgotten about the little mermaid, but she appeared in his thoughts and dreams so often, her image has changed too much from reality

So when he spots her again, it takes him a minute to recognize her

This time, she watches him carefully, clearly having been warned about the danger humans radiate (even when they’re just a little kid)

But over the days, she starts to swim with him and her smile becomes a memory that, years later, is still as crystal-clear as on the day he first saw it unfold on her lips

(She’s helping an injured turtle, and while he’s too young to understand that he just witnessed pure magic, he understands why she seems happy once the turtle is cured)

Years pass without a Balsano vacation in Mexico

In the summer before his last school year he finally convinces his parents to go back to Cancún

He’s thrilled

He’s sure he’ll see her again, and wonders what happened to her in the past years. If she’s still his age, or if she’ll remember him, and if he gets to see her close enough to admire her smile

Or, yk, if he’s completely insane and none of this was real

For the next days, he spends his time in the water

Because he sometimes forgets to reapply sun screen, his skin soon takes on a light shade of red, but he’s too determined to find her to stop

The salt water burns after a while. He keeps swimming

His mermaid, however, is nowhere to be seen

Matteo’s parents grow more annoyed with each day that their son pulls a sad grimace at dinner

“You begged and complained so much to get here, and now you’re not happy?”

One and a half weeks later she’s still not there

Sometimes he thinks he sees her in the corner of his eyes, though every time he checks, there’s nothing there

Once Matteo is certain he sees a mermaid’s tail but no, it’s just some tourist who thinks they can pull the mermaid swimming style off

(Later, he will learn that kids can discover a mermaid with ease but that it gets harder with every year except when they leave the water. But most mermaids choose to remain unseen even in the ocean)

His parents drag him to a Maya site. Matteo spends the time with a feeling of disappointment yet he’s glad since he can at least try to enjoy one day without crashed hopes

The next day, he goes to the beach super early. The water is still chilly and only a few joggers run on the cool sand

And away from the shore, just where it gets a bit too deep for his liking, he finds her

If Matteo could cry underwater, he would

She’s beautiful

Her tail shimmers in the few sun rays breaking through the waves and her hair flows in the water like the laws of nature don’t apply to her

Her movements are gentle, she’s gliding through the water with a grace he never saw before

Starstruck, he follows her for a bit. She pretends not to notice him while she also waits for him when he has to go up for air

After a few minutes he realizes she’s leading him somewhere, and he catches her glimpsing over her shoulder at him so without thinking, he awkwardly waves

She smiles back at him

That’s the moment he decides he needs to know everything about her that he can learn

The next time he dives up he finds himself close to a lagoon he never saw before

Is this place even real?

No time to think about it, though, because she swims closer to him and he’s about to have a heart attack

“I haven’t seen you in a long while,” she says. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” Her voice is sweet and calm and Matteo wonders how she knows Spanish

First thing he blurts out is that he looked for her for almost two weeks now

She chuckles, her tail splashing the water a bit

Then, she introduces herself, “I’m Luna.”

He stammers his name and suddenly, they’re talking. For hours.

At one point, Luna shyly asks him if he wants to play a game with her and if he wants to learn a trick to make swimming underwater easier

“What trick are you talking about?”

“So, I think you humans call it kissing? It’d be just a second… but you can say No, really.”

Speechless, he nods

Before his brain has a single chance to catch up, her lips are on his. However, they’re gone too fast and only when she pulls him back into the deeper water does he notice he doesn’t need air anymore

Admittedly, he is shocked

Probably, no, definitely more because of the kiss

He’d stare at her in awe, frozen, but she swims off and motions him to follow so he tries to catch up while thinking how he ended up with a kiss of a mermaid

They play chase and of course Matteo doesn’t stand a chance. But she lets him win every once in a while

He dreams of her that night and tries to find the lagoon, without success

Turns out it’s a magical place

Luckily for him, she waits for him in the water and leads him back

This time, he’s more prepared for the kiss. Every day, they last a bit longer until he builds up the courage to carefully pull her closer and kiss her a second time, her lips cool and wet

They talk for hours and she shows him the marine life and damn, he never thought it’d be so much fun swimming with turtles

He loves listening to her, to stories about her life and the ocean. She knows surprisingly much about the human world but only shrugs and says they learn about it when he asks why

During dinner, Matteo talks his father into making a donation for the protection of the local reefs

Curiosity also gets the better of him, and he asks whether there are any mermen she likes… like that

What follows is an awkward, yet important conversation about whatever it is that they have

By the time vacations end, he’s fallen fast and hard

His heart breaks the last time they lay on the beach, her tail half in the water, the waves rolling against his body. The last time they play in the water, the last time he kisses her. The last time he feels her skin on his, warm and cool at the same time and nothing like he ever experienced himself

She asks if there are any lakes or rivers where he lives. Matteo tells her about the first days of summer when he was a kid, jumping into the water with his friends, unbothered by how cold it was

In return, Luna mentions a spell she could learn, to keep in touch at least a little, but she needs something personal from him

He promises to come back and bring her something she can use

At home, he gets a job to afford going back to Cancún in the winter break, alone this time

The job is boring. Long, dull shifts at a local supermarket. If it gets too much, he thinks of her smile and the sound she makes when she laughs

The moment he puts his bags down in the hotel room, he goes to the beach

But before he gets his bare feet on the sand, he stumbles into a girl

At first Matteo thinks his eyes are playing a trick on him

It’s Luna

As a human

She laughs and jumps a bit, clapping her hands, saying how nice it is to see him again, and before his summer vacation and she had no idea!

His immediate reaction is How

The explanation knocks him off his feet almost. For a few weeks every year, the merfolk comes out of the water as humans, it’s a powerful magic only understood by very few mermaids, but it works and that’s all she needs to know

He’s thrilled

Now they spend a lot of time together

Walking on the beach, going out for dinner (she eats a lot of fish. A whole lot. It’s weird to him, but then again, he shouldn’t be surprised), he even gets to meet her friends and family at the gigantic mansion they all live in

After a while, their make-out sessions at the beach are close to getting them arrested

His parents keep asking who this girl in his pictures is. Matteo keeps it short by explaining she’s a local

During one of his last nights, he asks her if she could stay human. Luna answers that there’s a possibility but he can’t ask her to give up her life when they’re so new to each other. She assures him she loves being with him, and she’ll miss him terribly when he leaves again. But still, becoming a real human is too big a sacrifice to seriously consider it, for now.

Matteo nods and asks if she remembers his promise to get her something personal from him. Surprised he actually brought it with him, Luna wants to know what it is.

It’s his very first guitar pick on a necklace, made out of ocean-friendly material that won’t be ruined by the water  

Again, he flies back home, with a heart even heavier than last time

How do you explain to your friends that your heart isn’t exactly broken but that you fell for a girl you can only see twice a year and even then only when everything works out?

The day it’s remotely warm enough to dip as much as a toe into a local lake, he drives out there, hoping and praying she can reach him

It’s a blurry mess but somehow, he feels what she wants to tell him

“Why didn’t you come earlier?” – “I’m not that fond of freezing cold water.” – “Okay, yeah, me neither.”

The spell exhausts her and although she gets better at it, it’s not working out perfectly. They both agree it’s better than nothing, though

When school is over he’s back in the plane, surprised to learn that his parents follow him. Of course they want to meet this local girl who charmed their son so badly, but is never around to Skype or text

As soon as Matteo swims far away enough from the shore she’s there, kissing him desperately. Her tail twirls around his legs, holding him close (like he’d ever want to let go)

Later when he’s exhausted from swimming and meeting her friends again, they lay in their lagoon

She’s draped over him, her tail glistening in the sunlight, and he is overwhelmed by so much beauty, he barely knows where to look first

In a whisper, she tells him how glad she is that he made it

They’re both touchy af

A wave comes in too fast and big and she ends up face down in the sand after the weirdest body roll ever

He’s laughing so hard he barely can breathe while she tells him to shut up

Two days later, she’s acting weird, giddy and overexcited over the smallest things, but when he wants to know what’s up, she replies he’ll see later

That night, he has dinner with his parents in the hotel. They ask when they can finally meet his mysterious girl and his mom makes a joke about him having heard too many local tales and that she’s probably a mermaid

How funny, haha, of course she’s not a mermaid, that’d be insane, haha

And suddenly, she’s standing next to the table, in a beautiful dress and her hair braided over her shoulder

Matteo blinks

His parents blink

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Luna jumps in, because his mind is still going wild while figuring out what he’s seeing here. “I didn’t know if I could make it tonight, so he didn’t tell you.”

They’re suspicious of her at first, but quickly warm up to her. She’s too charming and sweet to resist

When Luna and Matteo are alone for a moment, she tells him that she made a deal with her people to turn human between sunset and sunrise, but that it allows her to go out of the water for more days

Things go great after that

She’s even allowed to stay a night over. They’re so in love

(Like a gentleman, Matteo offers to bring her back to the water. Luna insists that she wants to go alone, the transformation is painful and she doesn’t want him to see it)

So, they’re happy and in love and sometimes she can imagine a life by his side

Until

Matteo’s dad takes him out for fishing

And Luna follows them around but gets stuck in the net when his dad throws it further than she expected

Which his dad doesn’t notice of course, he wouldn’t see her until she’s out of the water

Matteo panics

Cold chills run over his spine

Breathing? What’s that?

Luna is stuck and struggling and fighting but it’s helpless

In the last moment Matteo yells “Over there! A shark!” and throws the net into the sea, knowing she’ll manage from there on (or hoping)

His dad is so annoyed

Matteo gets grounded for a few days for ruining the net and the trip and basically being nothing more than a disappointment to this family

Arguing he’s an adult and can do what he wants doesn’t prove to be helpful, but at least Luna is safe

Her family is even less thrilled, they lament how humans always bring trouble and that she should consider leaving him

They both question if they’re good for each other, if there’s any chance this could work out without causing a disaster

In the end each of them decides to just allow this to develop a bit more and see where it takes them (but a few doubts remain)

During the last days of him there, they talk about the future

He’ll go to college now, he has no idea how often he can make it, and it makes them both sad

It gets so much worse when he meets a girl at college who he begins to have a tiny crush on

The guilt eats him up, he’s too ashamed to go to the lake or do anything to reach out to Luna

She’s devastated

Believes her magic isn’t working, but she’s not feeling his presence at all, and she’s tired all the time since she checks if he’s anywhere close to water too often

Sometimes she wonders if he died and thinks about how she’ll never know what happened

Luna loves him, she knew that, but she never imagined it would hurt so much

If she swam down to Buenos Aires, would she find him? But how? And she really can’t stand the cold

So, it’s waiting and hoping he’ll come back one day

The first time Luna feels his presence again, she’s too excited and almost messes up the spell

He apologizes a million times

Admits how guilty and sorry he feels

Explaining everything to her takes time, and the way she asks him if he’s leaving her for this girl breaks his heart

Matteo says he tried to forget Cancún, to forget her, but it’s impossible

Long talks ensue

His toes go numb from the cool water, his whole body is freezing but his mind feels more at ease than ever since that day on the boat

He goes back to reach out for her as often as he can

Gastón notices how happy he is ofc and asks if he went back to the moon and if the trip was nice, before asking why he never applied for university in Mexico

Matteo feels so dumb

Because he never considered it

The thought simply never crossed his mind

Obviously, the first thing he does is researching if and how it would work out

Thinking out it takes its time, and he’s tormenting himself, but one day he wakes up and knows

Heavy discussions and fights with his parents follow, especially with his dad

But Matteo follows through with moving, while he makes Gastón promise to visit him often

The first days back with her are great

Now they know they love each other, they choose this, and they’ll make it work

He knows he made the right call

They play around in the water and at night they walk underneath the stars, and she brings him the prettiest seashells to decorate his flat

However, on the first day of uni he comes back home from an introductory course, and he’s not done counting the hours till sunrise when he discovers her crying on the floor in front of his door

Matteo struggles to understand a single word she stammers

He carries her inside and wraps her in his arms and waits until she calms down enough to tell him what happened

She hasn’t told him yet because she didn’t want to make such a fuzz about it, but she’s been arguing a lot with her family lately. About him and his move here, their relationship. So, this morning, she waited for sunrise by the shore and her family was there, asking why she didn’t get in the water already. Her reply was that she enjoyed being a human and wanted to soak up the last minutes of it for the night. Her family was not amused. Like, super not amused. She admits to Matteo that they have had their doubts for a long time, but today it really spilled out of them. They started saying ugly things, like her relationship was getting out of hands, and she should have told him to not move here, it won’t last, she was making the worst decisions for each and every one, and she should break up with him

In a hot-headed impulse, she refused to go back into the water

And now she’s a human

For good

She’s a human and lost and angry at herself and has no idea what to do

All she wanted was for them to apologize to her

Matteo feels like all the wires in his brain burned through

But he promises her that they’ll make it work

The first weeks are a mess

Luna is either crying or mad at herself and along with him continuing university in a new country, they’re both too stressed. She lashes out at him more than once, while he has to swallow nasty comments about how she alone made that decision

Finally, a month has passed. Things are somewhat more stable now. She adapts to being a human for more than just a few weeks, and he gets used to sharing his flat with someone. Both have their weak moments, but happiness slowly finds its way back in

Matteo helps her to reach out to her family and get all her documents and stuff she kept in the mansion. Lots of tears are involved but, in the end, meeting them helps.

He also learns that she has some basic knowledge about all the things people learn in school

Still, it’s not enough to get a job or training, she will need lessons

They decide it’s easiest for him to cut back a bit on classes and help her until she can get a tutor or course program

The hardest thing is going swimming. She avoids the ocean and it takes multiple breakdowns and endless tears for her to go back

But they make it. They make it through fights and blaming each other, through the stress of barely having time between classes and her new job as a tourist guide for ocean trips, through every up and down. Together

Bonus:

He definitely proposes by the beach, the night sky above them and the sound of the waves in the background

[wevegottogetaway]

Whirlwind - Part 1

Hello lovelies, 

It’s a genuine and nerve-racking pleasure for me to launch my very first series Whirlwind. If you like the sound of TopGun!Harry, this story is just about made for you. I really put my whole and then some in this first chapter, and really hope it’ll get a few of you hooked up. Anyway, the whole story should be about 10 Parts and I’ll try and update as fast and regularly as I can. I won’t say much more except enjoy and don’t be afraid to let me know if you do!! Any feedback of any kind or absolutely welcome!

All the happiness xx

Part I - Mistral

Time seems to slow down but the speedometer on Aella’s Triumph says otherwise. As the needle flirts with the 124mph mark, it’s hard to tell wether she’s the one chasing after the wind or the other way around. Miles after miles, her beloved motorbike swallows up the empty road offering itself before her, almost begging her to throw speed limits cautions to the wind. Speed has no secret for Aella though. Brown eyes steady on the asphalt, her focus is unswerving. Yet, she’s never felt more free and insouciant. 

Except maybe when she’s flying. 

In the tight confine of her Tomcat, as she defies other kinds of laws, Aella seeps in a whole new world. One where she makes her own physics, her own rules. One where the sky in no longer a limit and neither is her gender. Because when she occupies the cockpit of the F-14 - a baby only a handful of aviators are lucky to even sit in - she’s just that: an aviator. A squadron unit who receives missions and completes them. Once her feet tread the tarmac though, the reality is quickly sobering. That’s why Aella has learnt to savor each one of the limited hours she spends in the in-between realm of the stratosphere.

Tilting her head briefly to look at the clear sky above her, Aella lets a smile grace her lips as she realizes she’ll be back up there very soon. And in high amounts at that. A few years ago, she could have only dreamt to be recruited as part of the most elitist of naval aviation programs in the world. But after years of working twice as hard as her fellow Navy fighter pilots and putting up with their never-ending bullying, her resilience has finally paid off. 

On that note, those douchebags can respectfully kiss her ass (the memory of their crest-fallen faces when their Commander announced her promotion in front of all of them is still one of her favorite).

Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just life. But no matter how serendipitous the death of Navy fighter Jonathan Evans, she’ll be the one taking his place in the US Navy’s Fighter Weapons School’s Top Gun program. It was a regrettable news but one that changed Aella’s destiny forever.

San Diego’s sun is just as blazing as LA’s, but the nice breeze the city benefits from neighboring the ocean makes it easier to breath. The streets are void of the usual hustle and bustle that inhabits the city of angels, but the palm-trees-lined streets seem to remain a consistent feature of the Californian landscape. 

After driving in two hours what should have been a three hours ride, Aella finally pulls up in front of a single-story condominium situated on the street that runs alongside the shore. Taking in the magical scenery that surrounds her new place, she finds herself standing front row for the sun’s crepuscular show.

Aella has always loved sunsets. She fell in love with their ephemeral hues when she was 7 and already wanted to make the sky hers. At 25 years of age, they now serve as a reminder that regardless of the fact she knows it like the back of her hand, the blue immensity still withholds secrets that are meant to remain forever’s mysteries. 

Aella finally makes her way to her new home and her eyes immediately fall on the three large boxes that she had sent from LA the week prior, as per US Navy’s request. Waiting for her on the floor, they seem quite a bit lonely in the otherwise empty room. The place is small but well designed enough to be comfortable. The L-shape kitchen directly on the right upon entrance shares one main open space with the living room and dining room, though the term "room" is to be taken loosely. Mostly, they consist of a dining table placed in the center, and a sofa facing a TV set at the back. Between the two, french doors lead the way to a small garden; just enough space for a sun lounger and a small outdoor table. 

Aella doesn’t expect to be around much as most of her days will be spent at the training center, but as she starts unpacking, she can already picture herself living there anyway. Early runs on the beach, morning coffees out with the birds chirping the news of the day and some lazy reading on the lounger when she’s lucky to have a day off. That night, as she lays on her bed waiting to be taken in Morpheus’ arms, Aella relishes in the jitters of happiness that course through her whole. 

She can’t remember the last time she was so impatient for tomorrows. 

To say the San Diego Fighter Weapons School’s campus is huge would be an understatement. Aella has been on plenty bases during her short naval aviator career, but they all pale in comparison with the three massive hangars standing ahead of her. Deeply rooted on these holy grounds, they serve as home for no less than 30 of the most powerful aircrafts ever designed in the world. Perched on her Triumph, Aella can’t help but slow to a more moderate speed as she drives past them. She can feel her heart bouncing in joy at the sight of the F-14 Tomcats, F/A-18 Hornets and F-16 Fighting Falcons neatly aligned like pawns on a chessboard ready to be pressed into service. 

Finally, the main buildings come into view. They house all the administration offices as well as lecture and conference rooms. Indeed, part of the Top Gun program takes place indoors (that is to say not in a cockpit) as trainees are taught advanced combat strategy, theories of air-to-air and air-to-ground missions, and most painful of all, the riveting matters of astrophysics. In addition to their scientific knowledge and flying skills, the recruits will also be tested on their physical fitness. 

That’s what Aella dreads the most. While she could probably recite all of Newton’s laws in her sleep and fly a supersonic twin-engine, variable-sweep wing fighter aircraft with an arm in a cast, she’s positive the physical examination is what might give her the most trouble. Not that she’s in bad shape. Obviously one has to be quite fit to be able to handle 25 tons of titanium rocketed at more than 1500mph. But alas, the minimum requirements generated by the State for the final physical examination have yet to be adapted to female dispositions. 

The military field has definitely still plenty of room left for improvement when it comes to women’s interests… 

Two men in their service uniforms are casually conversing in the parking lot when Aella pulls up with her Triumph. One seems to be in the middle of a thrilling story judging by his gesticulating limbs, while the other listens to him cigarette pinched between his lips. As soon as the latter’s eyes fall on Aella though, he interrupts his friend with two taps on his torso. The shock on his face quickly turns into a condescending smirk as his eyes shamefully scan Aella from head to toe. His friend turns around intrigued and it’s not long before his features mirror the same irksome smug. 

For a few seconds too many, Aella doesn’t react. She simply stares at the jerks standing a few feet from her like they might be two very realistic-looking hallucinations. A sick jock her brain is playing on her by materializing ghosts from her past when she’s least expecting them. Aella doesn’t know who she’s the most angry at: Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for looking at her like she’s a hot commodity or herself because she’d let her guard down. 

It takes all of her self-control and then some to keep her from rushing over and giving them a piece of her mind. Instead she just swallows back the crude remarks she’s dying to throw at them and puts her uniform cap on. Maybe there weren’t checking her out but the Triumph behind her instead. Maybe she just bumped into the two assholes of the program. Maybe the 13 other recruits will turn out to be actual decent human beings who acknowledge women’s worth in the Navy and will treat her as an equal. Aella tries to keep the positive thoughts coming as she heads towards the main building for the induction speech.  

Still, she can’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.  

The effervescence of the conference room is almost palpable as loud chatter and boisterous laughters bounce off its walls. Taking in the glorious sight of her fellow trainees, Aella already feels like an outsider. Easily distinguished by their uniform, they’re all bantering like they’ve all known each other their entire life, even though the program hasn’t officially started. 

From afar she recognizes the two dumbasses from the parking lot sitting on tables as they’re gathered around a balky blond man completely sprawled out on a chair with aviator sunglasses tucked in the front of his kaki shirt. Because of his lazy posture, he has to look up at his disciples but it is clear that he’s the last person to be looked down on. 

Aella already despises the narcissistic vibe he exudes. That disdainful and self-assured attitude which makes her want to rip his stupid head off. It’s certainly not the first of his kind she’s had to partially work with and sadly, it will definitely not be the last.

"Oi, Rex! How’s it goin’ man?" Another block yaps.

"Snyder," Rex chuckled. "‘Was doin’ good till ya ugly face showed up"

"Ah, ’s not what the ladies say…"  Snyder replies, completely unfazed by the playful dig made at him.

"That’s cause you woo them drunk, you bastard." The whole group of them burst in laughters as Snyder rolls his eyes. 

"Speaking of lass, I heard there was a bird joining the ranks with us? ’S up with that?" 

Aella immediately stiffens as she hears the dreaded words. Ones that make it crystal clear she’s gonna be the odd one out right from the start. Not to be mistaken, Aella takes great pride in being one of the very few female fighter pilots of the US Navy but all the self-confidence in the world couldn’t amount to the loneliness she always feels on base. Amongst the ‘mates’, she’s never more than a co-pilot, watching from afar her colleagues’ relationships blossoming from mere work affiliations to ones of brotherhood. 

Finally making her way to the last seat available in the audience, Aella feels the energies in the room drastically shift. Voices are no longer clashing in rowdiness; instead, the air is charged by the intensity of the quiet stares following Aella’s silhouette. However, the silence is interrupted by the sound of a flirtatious whistle that does no wonder for her already-tested nerves. God does she hate men sometimes. 

"Well, well, well…look at that guys. I think the eagle has landed its cute ass down."

Aella is about to pop a knuckle from how hard she’s clenching her fists. How foolishly naive she was to believe that things would be different. That joining Top Gun with the "best of the best" would give her solace from the incessant chauvinistic behaviors she’d been so used to. If anything, the prestige of their accomplishments has exacerbated the arrogant disposition of their ego-inflated character. 

Aella knows better than to respond though. No matter how quick-witted the comeback, it never works in her favor. So once again, she just takes a deeper breath and settles in her seat facing forwards. She is saved from hearing more about her eagle ass by two impressive figures marching in the room towards the front. Postures straighten, smirks vanish and a de facto silence ensues at the officers’ arrival. Respect is almost tangible in the air, and it has little to nothing to do with the plethora of decorations adorning their white uniforms, and everything to do with the aura of invincibility transpiring in their intimidating gaze. 

"Gentlemen," one of them starts before tilting his head towards Aella and adding a soft "ladies." He then proceeds with a quick scan of the room. Years of experience standing on that very same stage have forged the unyielding yet somewhat benevolent eyes landed on the students’ expecting faces. 

"You were probably told that you were here because you are the best of the best. Well, let me set things straight: you’re not. Not yet anyway. You might be lieutenants out there, but on these grounds, you are nothing but students. My job, is to make you unbeatable up there. Your job, is to trust me in doing so. That means no challenging orders and no cocky attitude or any funny business. If you respect that, you might have your name on one of these plaques in 5 weeks. Until then, work your hardest. My name is Aaron Berks and I am your Commander. Everyone, welcome to Top Gun."

Commander Berks offers a light smile to his audience, and Aella has a feeling it’s not a sight she will be privy to very often. She likes him though. He seems intransigeant but wise, proud but not arrogant and no matter how cold his exterior, he has the warmth of a master who looks after his apprentice. A caring facet that resembles that of fatherhood, and Aella knows she’ll be able to trust Berks just like he asked in his introduction speech.

After a brief silence, the class’ attention is once again captured by one of the officer. Taller and bulkier, this one is definitely missing that fatherly vibe Aella is so found of. "Gentlemen, I am Lieutenant Commander Wayne Rogers, I will teach you the art of naval strategy in flight combat alongside Commander Berks. You will also have the pleasure to have me whip your asses in physical testing. As you know, Top Gun is structured around 3 ranges of expertise, naming: naval strategy both in theory and practice, advanced astrophysics knowledge and physical training. Needless to say, you will be tested in more ways than one. And just a heads-up, I don’t do no favor to anyone."  

Aella cringes for a second as she wonders if there is any implicit lines to read behind Lieutenant Rogers’ clipped tone. She already dreads the time she will have to spend under his teaching. 

She doesn’t have the time to dwell on it though, before Rogers resumes his speech. "Anyway, enough with the pretty words, let’s go over the program. As you know, the 16th of you will form 8 crews who will be confronting us instructors to master advanced dogfighting tactics. Each of the 25 missions you will be assigned during the program will earn you points. Your aptitudes in physical training will also earn you point, as well as your results in astrophysics evaluations. I’m sure you can guess who wins the Top Gun trophy at the end of the program. Bear in mind, that all instructors have the right to deduct points from your score should they deem your actions or behavior disrespectful, underserving or quite simply unacceptable. On that note, welcome to Top Gun, class dismissed."

As soon as Lieutenant Rogers voices the discharging words, the room is once again caught in a rambunctious nebula of clacks and clatters. Everyone is making their way out when the commander’s voice transcends the ongoing commotion; steady and resonant. 

"Officers Styles and Lonethorne." 

Aella’s brows immediately wrinkle as she recognizes her last name. Turning around, she sees Commander Berks intently looking at her as if beckoning her over. Obediently she thus makes her way up to the front of the room where Berks hasn’t moved an inch since the beginning of the induction. Soon she realizes she’s being followed by a tall lanky man. His face, objectively handsome, doesn’t seem to show anything but Aella doesn’t have much time to further study his features as she finally reaches her commander. 

"I wanted to welcome you both personally given the circumstances. Styles, you have my support and condolences. Lieutenant Evans was a very fine man and gifted flyer." Aella is a bit thrown off by the declaration. It takes her an extra second to figure out the reason of her presence for this discussion. Once she does, her attention is immediately drawn to the silent man standing next to her, his face still not displaying any feelings like his skin was made of cold marble. 

"Harry, this is Aella Lonethorne. Her former chief has nothing but praises to say about her flying skills. She will be your partner for the next 5 weeks." A nod and the brief connection of his emeralds to Aella’s sapphires seems to be all the assertion elicited from Harry. No handshake, no hello, not even the pucker of a brow. Commander Berks might as well have announced the refectory’s lunch menu, the lad’s reaction would have been the same. 

"Miss Lonethorne, it’s a pleasure to have you on base, I have no doubts you two will achieve great things together." It is such a relief for Aella to realize her first impression of Berks was spot on. He is the kind of manager that leads with strength in his fists but encouraging lyrics on the edge of his lips. There is no hint of condescension fueled by the power high of his status coloring the tone of his voice. It’s something Aella has seen a few times. Pleasant comrades turned into aloof leaders full of bitterness from their years of submission and laden by the hierarchy’s expectations. Commander Berks never yielded to that pressure though, it was clear in his wholesome nature.  

"Thank you Commander, it’s a real honor." Aella responds in genuineness.

"Alright, I’ll leave you to it. See you both on the tarmac" he exclaims with a smile before making his way out. Berks departure leaves enough room for tension to settle between the newfound partners like a third interlocutor taking the warmed place of their superior. Similar in presence, though not as loud. 

Harry is still keeping mum, unfocused eyes staring somewhere far off on the floor while his mind appeared to be wandering the secret passages of never-never land. It freaks the hell out of Aella though she doesn’t show it. They are a team now though. They’re supposed to trust, rely on each other and have the other’s back no matter what. Yet, she doesn’t even know the sound of his voice and it doesn’t seem like he’s gonna give her the time of day anytime soon. 

Aella is about to speak up when Harry suddenly shakes his head out of its hypnotic trance. For a second she thinks he’s gonna initiate conversation himself but instead he just tilts his head in her general direction and rasps a weak ‘see you’ before storming off the room. Aella is left in total disarray, she doesn’t comprehend why he’s acting like a 3 year-old running off because he’s scared to say hi to the new lady. Is it because she’s not what he expected in a partner? God she hopes not. He doesn’t strike her as a misogynistic prick, didn’t really show any sign of disgust or clear animosity. But then again he is impossible to read.

As she mounts her precious Triumph, Aella feels the dread resurfacing. It is such a big contrast to how she felt when she left this morning. All the thrill and elation that had bubbled in the pits of her stomach just evaporated into disillusion, leaving of fog of uncertainty in Aella’s frenzied mind. This was supposed to be a drama-free experience; a chance to be recognized and treated with respect. Instead she got barely acknowledged.

The music coming out of Godspeed’s is so resoundingly loud Aella can feel the bass line thumping through her whole body. Standing across the street from the entrance, she’s still hesitating joining in the merrymaking even though she can hear the spirits calling out her name. Despite the crispiness of the air, a few rowdy souls are camping out front, obviously warmed over by the substance in their glass and the toxic stick between their lips. 

The dodgy pub never lacks in visitors no matter how threadbare the furniture, tacky the decoration and questionable the sanitation prove to be. Truth be told, the popularity of the place can be explain by one and sole reason: it is, lo and behold, the only bar on base. A fact that implies 99% of its customer base works in the US Navy, and thus explains why one could usually count on one hand the number of people dressed in day-to-day clothes.

Bracing herself, Aella finally makes her way inside the bar. The smell of booze and fries immediately invades her nostrils but she pays it no mind. Instead she takes in her surroundings from the swaying of hips on the torrid dance floor to tokens passionately thrown at a table with a following pair of aces. The sound of glasses clinking blends with that of drunken laughters and even drunker squawks. It’s nothing but good times and pent-up stress release, and for a moment Aella is really glad she decided to show up. 

She was told Induction’s Rave was not to be skipped.

Unfortunately, as she heads for the bar, Aella’s eyes fall upon a few familiar yet loathsome faces. It appears the infamous Rex and his phony clique didn’t want to miss out on the festivities either. Much to Aella’s dismay, they are all huddled around the counter monopolizing the bartender’s attention and just like that, she knows a relaxing night is not in her cards for tonight. There is no way she can walk out of this with both a drink in her hand and her composure intact. It would be too easy.

Strategically, she waits till the barman is done with them before voicing her request as inconspicuously as she can. "May I have a Vodka Martini, please?" she asks just as the bartender lifts his eyes from the counter he was wiping. She originally went for a pint but somehow she had an inkling it wouldn’t quite suffice. The guy nods and leaves to mix her precious elixir and just as she thinks she might make it through unscathed, the obnoxious voice she has come to strongly despise cuts through the pub’s damp air.  

"Gotta stop trying to play James Bond, darling. S’just not for you." Snickers. "Now, James Bond girl on the other hand, you definitely have the proper assets for that." Once again, every guy within Rex’s arm radius bursts into insipid laughter as the mockery tumbled out of his mouth. She doesn’t have to look his way to picture the disgusting smirk he must be sporting. The jerk. 

From the corner of her eye, Aella recognizes the lonesome lad sat at the far end of the bar, nursing a Bourbon with tinted cheeks and glossy irises. There is no doubt he’s in a slightly inebriated state but his participative chuckle still stings. Maybe even more so than Rex’s offensive words, for Harry is supposed to be her closest ally. She doesn’t expect him to jump to her defense, wouldn’t want him to anyway, but she’s profoundly disappointed he would find such humor in someone degrading her that way. The thought angers her so much, she doesn’t realize Harry is actually showing some kind of emotion at last. It’s not the one she wanted anyhow; not when it’s at her expense. 

She’s handed her drink before Rex speaks up again. "You think you can just sweep in and fight the bad guys with your pretty hair and 5 pounds muscles? I mean, come on darling, you’re not meant for the job. Just sit and look pretty like the others. Or fucking teach. You know what they say, right? Those who can’t, teach…”  She’d started to walk away at first but Rex’s lousy rant makes her halt in a sudden. “Anything but the fucking Navy, yeah? We have enough wannabes as it is."

Deep breath. Tight fist. Down the Vodka. Then she turns around and marches up to him, armed with daggers in her eyes and a punch away from feeling better. She doesn’t hit him though. Has more dignity and self-control than that. "You should really consider shutting your goddamn mouth before I show you just what I can or can’t do." Aella’s tone is cold; colder than the marble of Harry’s face earlier that day. 

As she expects, they don’t take her seriously and giggles erupt all around her. "Darling, I really wouldn’t mind," is what he replies with a suggestive lip bite and a smug that rivals her scowl in intensity. He’s dangerously toying with her last nerve and he knows it. Deliberately exploits it in the hopes of seeing her explode and then crumble into pieces. 

That’s how Aella knows she has the upper hand. She knows how guys like him work, what gets them going and their tactics to achieve that. But Rex has no clue what she’s like. He’s deluding himself into thinking he’s pushing her break-down button when in reality he’s in for something else. 

Nobody knows that yet, except maybe Harry. 

As a quiet and incredibly guarded individual, Harry proves to be a tremendous observer. It might come off as standoffish though he doesn’t mean to, but those who matter know and have accepted just how introverted his nature is. He knows he probably should have made an effort and better impression on his new copilot but the wound from his best friend’s loss is still too fresh to be bothered. They’ll get to talk soon enough anyway, is what he thought. Plus she didn’t really go out of her way to make an impression herself.

Now though, observing the sour interaction from afar, Harry’s starting to think differently. He shrugged Rex’s crude remarks, already used to the block’s insolence and admittedly amused at the childish antics. But as he becomes more attentive to Aella’s shifting stance, it is obvious to him that she’s not a person to ever take shit from anybody. 

His suspicions are proved right when Aella slowly closes the few steps between her and Rex until her eyes level with his. "Oh Rex. The thing with guys like you, is you feel empowered because power was handed to you on a fucking silver platter." All the while talking, she goes about removing his hold from his glass. "I could have pity for you, really. You think you’re good; you must even think you’re the best but you’re nothing more than a selfish privileged opportunistic prick who feels entitled to walk over anyone who won’t fucking bow down before you." Then she chucks the rest of his Whiskey in one swallow and places the empty glass back on top of the counter next to them.

"Oh yeah?" Rex smirks as he watches her face closely, casually leaning on the bar. It works in her favor as he fails to notice her hand creeping around his own. Then the next thing he knows is a tremendous throb shooting from the joint between his thumb and index, all the way through his arm and up to his neck. The pain is seizing and has him doubled up like it is suddenly to painful to even stand straight. Aella has never been more glad to learn a thing or two about pressure point.

"Yeah. And I might be smaller than you or less of a weightlifter than you are, but I can still bring you down whenever I want to. Don’t you forget that." He’s almost kneeling by now, arm twisted in a weird angle from where she’s still applying pressure on his hand. Rex’s acolytes seem to have lost their voice and giggles as they’re all taking in the sudden reversal of the situation. They have probably never seen Rex in such a submissive position, hence the dazed expression of stupor plastered on their faces.

Aella finally releases the whimpering man at her feet. She’s about to make her way out but she stops herself. "Oh and one more thing: you’re cocky, vile, and despicable, and one day, probably too late, you’ll realize your arrogance is what will fail you."

Satisfied with her last words, Aella looks up at the scene around her. Most people are still engrossed in what they were doing when she first came in, oblivious to the whole confrontation. Then just as she turns around, her eyes catch Harry’s broad frame, as though some magnetic field was coaxing them to his radiating force. She doesn’t delay her departure though. Her steps barely falter on the way out but her mind is left in whirlwind of thoughts. 

He was smiling. Shy and in the corner of his lips. But genuine and almost knowing, like he’d been rooting for her the whole time. And deep inside, for Harry to be on her side is everything Aella really hopes for.

[piratekane]

Numbers don't show up for me so I'm choosing “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say…" (from the happy list)

The wind is blistering sharp, cutting through the thin fabric of the dressing gown Charity had slipped on before she slipped out the door, leaving Vanessa and the boys asleep in their beds. The grassland stretches out ahead of her, lush greens fading into the green-blue water of the bay below. In the morning twilight, it feels like a dream she doesn’t want to wake from.

“You’re up early.”

Charity smiles as a pair of warm arms slide around her waist, fingers locking at the swell of her stomach.

“It’s gorgeous,” Vanessa continues, her words a whisper that Charity barely manages to hear before the wind whips them away.

Charity thought Dingle Peninsula would have been a joke, honestly.

Taking a holiday had seemed like a terrible idea. This wasn’t the time, not with everything they had going on. But the village was becoming too hard to breathe in, and if she didn’t get away now, she’d try and leave when she was needed most - when Chas had the baby and when Sarah’s heart came through and when they tried to get her in the courtroom to give her testimony against Bails. She couldn’t leave then, so now was the only option.

She’d rolled her eyes when she first scrolled through housing options in Kerry, skipping right over the homes to rent in Dingle. Kenmare would have been just as good, really, but she had kept coming back to a small, 3-bedroom cottage for rent right on Burnham Woods, with a big open kitchen and a working fireplace.

Dingle Tides, it was called.

Vanessa had laughed so hard she cried and even Noah, clamouring out of the backseat where he had been stuck between Moses and Johnny, had managed a bit of a chuckle. Vanessa had reached across the car and rested her hand high on Charity’s thigh, squeezing as she wiped her eyes with her other hand. Something had rippled through Charity then. It wasn’t the usual feeling she got when Vanessa’s hand hit the ticklish spot just above the inseam on her thigh. It was warmer and softer this time, comforting. She’d dropped her hand over Vanessa’s and squeezed back, trying to ignore the sudden jump of her pulse under her skin in favor of letting Johnny and Moses loose in the front garden.

“Couldn’t sleep. Today is drayman day,” Charity says. She drops her hands over Vanessa’s, her thumb brushing over the ridge of Vanessa’s knuckles.

Vanessa smiles, her mouth pressed to the back of Charity’s shoulder. “We’re on holiday, remember?”

“Can’t change the internal clock, can I,” Charity says absently.

Charity moves in place, feeling Vanessa bend and sway with her. The wind pushes her hair back and she shifts slightly, making sure it doesn’t end up all in Vanessa’s face. The arms around her waist tighten and she inhales deeply, letting the cool, salty air fill her lungs. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

Vanessa’s hands twitch under her own and Charity feels her tense against her back. “Is there?”

Charity thinks about turning around, but the idea of looking into Vanessa’s eyes as she speaks is immobilizing. She smoothes her hands back up Vanessa’s arms and down to her hands, peeling them apart and lacing her fingers into the empty spaces she creates. Vanessa’s body relaxes, just barely. Her mouth purses, her lips in the center of Charity’s back, just over the line of her spine. She can feel Vanessa’s forehead through the thin fabric of her dressing gown and she breathes in again.

The words have been on the tip of her tongue for weeks now, always a breath away. She’s too nervous, though, to speak them into existence. Not because she doesn’t mean them, but because she’s never meant anything more in her whole life. Her next breath is harder to find and she sucks it down greedily, her body shuddering as she tries not to start to panic.

Vanessa must feel it, her fear and hesitation. She starts to sway again, gently, back and forth. She hums something Charity can’t hear, but she can feel it start in her shoulder and travel to the center of her palm. Vanessa’s chest rises and falls against her back, gently coaxing her to follow along. Her body responds, her next inhale matching Vanessa’s, their exhales fading into the misty morning together.

This is what she’s been trying to say.

Vanessa grounds her. Vanessa steadies her. Vanessa nudges her up, pushing her to do the things she knows she wants to do; the things she’s not sure she has the courage to try. But Vanessa is there, in it for the duration, going nowhere, right by her side.

Vanessa makes her want to be the best version of herself that she can be.

Charity is just now figuring out what that version is, but she knows one thing, at least.

“I-”

“I know,” Vanessa murmurs.

Charity frowns. “You what?”

Vanessa laughs, something low that Charity feels more than she hears. “I said, I know.”

“What do you know?” Charity asks, her cheeks flushed. She drops Vanessa’s hand and inches forward, picking up the loose end of the thin sash tied around her waist as she puts some space between them.

Vanessa clicks her tongue and moves forward, her arms around Charity’s waist again. She reaches for Charity’s hand, working the silk out from between her fingers before she squeezes Charity’s hand gently, admonishing her in that easy way she does. “I know quite a bit, Charity Dingle.”

Charity gives in, leaning back against Vanessa again. “Know-It-All,” she mumbles. “What do you think you know, then?”

“I know,” Vanessa says, pausing. She pushes up, her chin resting on Charity’s shoulder. “I know that this is the best holiday I’ve been on.”

“Not much for holidays, are you?” Charity asks, scoffing. “Babe, Noah has been a moody cow at all waking hours. Johnny and Moses argue about everything. Every day we’ve packed the car, it’s rained.”

Vanessa laughs again, louder now. “Noah helped me make tea last night,” she points out. “I taught him how to hold a knife properly. He’s going to try it on his own tonight, you know.” She squeezes Charity’s middle when Charity tries to interrupt her. “Johnny and Moses have fallen asleep every night so far cuddled up together. And so what if we haven’t gotten to the beach, yet? Our Scrabble tourney is very thrilling, if you ask me.”

“Totally, babe,” Charity says, shaking her head. “Noah’s addition of the word ‘wazzock’ really gave the board a bit of something extra, didn’t it.”

“He played, eh?” Vanessa’s chin digs hard into Charity’s shoulder. “Baby steps. He’ll be my mate yet.”

Charity sighs heavily. She frowns when the weight and heat at her back fades and Vanessa steps in front of her, hands on her hips and the skin between her eyebrows wrinkled.

“This has been the best holiday I’ve ever been on,” Vanessa repeats. Her eyes are shining with something that Charity doesn’t argue with. “I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it away for anything. I’d not even trade Noah away.”

“Steady on,” Charity murmurs, her hands sliding around Vanessa’s waist, pulling her closer. “He’s at an age, you know. Even I’d trade him in for another Moses.”

“Do you want to know a secret?” Vanessa asks, ignoring Charity. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about this trip.” She purses her lips. “Maybe the weather, yeah? But everything else, I’d keep exactly the same. Even if we went from a village of Dingles to a village called Dingle.” She reaches up, thumbing the edge of Charity’s chin. “Anywhere you are… Well, that’s somewhere I’d want to be.”

Charity can feel a flush across her neck and she swallows back against the urge to snark back, to say something and ruin the moment. Vanessa’s eyes are bright and wide and they put the ocean behind her to shame.

“And that thing? The one you’ve been meaning to tell me?” Vanessa continues. “You don’t have to say it.”

Something turns in her stomach and Charity starts to shake her head. She wants to say it. She might even need to.

“Because I know,” Vanessa says again. Her voice is low and her eyes are soft and her hand is warm against Charity’s face. “And I feel the same way.”

The feeling in her stomach tightens. “You do?”

“Totally,” Vanessa breathes out. She lifts up onto her toes, her mouth against Charity’s. Her lips are slightly chapped and cool from the wind, but Charity pulls her closer, kissing her harder.

“Mum!” Noah yells from the door of the cottage, headphones already hanging around his neck.

Vanessa laughs into her mouth, resting her forehead against Charity’s shoulder.

“Moses and Johnny tried to pour cereal. And milk.” Noah pauses. “They missed. Twice.”

Charity groans and Vanessa laughs again, lifting up onto her toes to press a kiss to the corner of Charity’s mouth.

“Come on, then. Before the pour out the brews I made, too,” Vanessa says, grabbing Charity’s hand and tugging her gently back towards the cottage. “Then we’ll pack the car and drive down to the harbour to check the conditions. Today is going to be our beach day, I can feel it.” She gets ahead of Charity, gently nudging Noah out of the way.

Charity watches him roll his eyes, but without the usual malice of late. Moses and Johnny are running around in their Paw Patrol pyjamas, their socked feet milky and wetting the floor. Vanessa catches both of them and strips their socks off, sending them back into the living room where Noah has already put on some cartoon for them. He catches the roll of towels that Vanessa throws to him and lines his shoes, sliding around the floor to clean the mess. Vanessa laughs at him, but does the same. Charity leans against the back of the sofa, one hand resting on Johnny’s head as she absently brushes his hair to one side. Moses grins up at her and she smiles back, winking.

Vanessa might be right; this might be the best holiday she’s ever had, too.