#Are Sailboats Too Small to Live On? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flamingo-writes · 6 months ago

Note

what about Hobie dragging the reader to their apartment after a party and they're babbling and drunkenly hitting on Hobie, completely oblivious to the fact that he's their boyfriend

like "hey, handsome, can you give me your number?" COMING ON HE'S TRYING TO CHANGE YOU AND GET YOU TO BED IN YOUR HOME

I love your work btw

you inspire me to learn english better haha

Pick Up Line — Hobie x Reader

Notes: I wrote this before going to sleep 🫡 it is not proofread (I might do that tomorrow) writing this was so much fun, I only knew what I wanted to write in the beginning, and then I just let everything unfold on it’s own. I didn’t have a title for this until I finished it. I hope you like it!!

Man I have so many requests I’m sorry for posting one thing and then disappearing for months 😭 anyways, here’s the fic:

“No! Put me down! I have a boyfriend!” You groaned with a breathless sigh, feeling the heaviness of the booze weighting down on your body, most of all your mind.

Hobie chuckled as he carried you back to your apartment after one of those self destructive parties the darker alternative scene liked to throw every now and then.

“Oh, you do?�� He chuckled with a cheeky tone as you hummed.

“Uh-huh. I do, and he’s the most handsomest, coolest motherfucker…” You replied and let your head fall onto his shoulder as he was carrying you as if you weighted nothing on his arms, with an arm holding your back and on the other your legs. “He’d kick your ass,”

“Oh, would he?” Hobie teased, raising an eyebrow, thinking it was insanely adorable how even on your state you talked so highly and proudly of him in your own way.

“Yup, certified badass shit,” You groaned. “I love him,”

He let out a deep chuckle as he gazed at you and turned on the corner, spotting your flat building a couple of blocks down.

“I’m pretty sure I could kick his ass,” Hobie said, trying to see how you’d react.

“In your dreams,” You sighed deeply.

As he approached your flat building and got inside, in your drunken state probably it would be best to avoid using his Spider-Man skills. You’d either puke, or start yelling that he’s Spider-Man and he wouldn’t risk it. On the bright side, you lived on the third floor.

As he stopped by your door, he gazed at you. “Can hold yourself up for a couple of seconds while I open the door, darlin’?” He asked you, as you giggled.

“Darlin’…” You giggled as you nodded and tried hopping off his arms as he let you down, and you leaned against the wall.

As you patted the pockets of your jacket, you found your keys and took them out as he gently took them off your hands and unlocked your apartment.

In your drunken haze, you started at him with a soft smile, taking in the details. The door squeaking open went unnoticed, your mind was too taken away by Hobie.

“Hey there handsome,” You sighed and closed your eyes. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

“You’re never gonna believe this,” He chucked as he gently grabbed your hand and pulled you in with him. “But I basically live here as well,” he chuckled.

It was partially true. He had his sailboat docked not far from there, but your apartment was wider, and every excuse to spend time with you, he’d take it right away. At this point he spent more nights crashing at your apartment than staying in his sailboat.

“God! What a small world!” You whispered as you let him guide you to your room.

“Isnt it?” He chuckled and as you got to your room, you let yourself collapse on the bed.

“Do you have a phone number I can borrow?” You asked with a cheeky tone, as Hobie chuckled and gazed at you as he looked in your wardrobe for your pyjamas.

Something in his chest squeezing with a sweet nostalgic feeling. It had been the exact same awful pick up line you’d used on him when you’d met him a couple of years ago. The rest was history, and now you were drunk in your apartment with your boyfriend taking care of you.

“What about your badass boyfriend?” He teased as he grabbed your pajama pants and sat on the edge of the bed and helped you take off your shoes.

“God, he’s so badass…I love him,” You sighed sleepily as you closed your eyes, as you slowly came to the realisation that he was taking off your shoes. “What are you doing? Buy me some coffee first,” you giggled with a soft snort.

“It’s too late to find a coffee shop open at this time, luv,” He chuckled and then took off your belt and undid your trousers.

At this point you were more asleep than awake and you let him take your pants off as you kept whining with playful banter. Both hitting on him and telling him about your badass boyfriend. As he managed to get you to put on your pyjama pants and remove everything last bit of uncomfortable accessories or clothes, he helped you get under the bedsheets.

He grabbed some water, aspirins and left them ready on the nightstand besides the bed, knowing the killer hangover you’d be having tomorrow. He then took off his boots, his vest, accessories and got on the bed with you in just his boxers and his t-shirt. By the time he did you were already lost in some dreamland and he simply snugged besides you and wrapped an arm around you before joining you in a deep sleep.

The next morning, he woke up to the sounds of your painful groaning and your husky voice saying:

“I’m never drinking that much ever again…I’m never drinking again, period…”

He opened his eyes, blinking several times before he finally processed your words He chuckled. “You always say that, luv…” He sighed and stared at you.

“Leave me alone…” You whined with a playful voice as you gulped down the water and the aspirins before collapsing on the bed again. “The last thing I remember is Karl and his boyfriend convincing me to do shots with them…”

“That was your mistake, you should know by this point those guys can drink their weight in booze,” He teased.

“I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

“You were about to let Mattea dye your hair in the bathroom in the middle of the party,” He explained, “and then ran off to the closest convenience store to try and buy bleach and hair dye…”

“Ah, fuck,”

“That’s when I thought maybe it was time to take you to bed,” He laughed softly. “So I brought you back,”

“Thanks, baby…” You whispered with a sheepish voice and kissed his skinny shoulder.

“You bragged to me the entire time about your boyfriend, by the way,” He teased.

“What?” You asked confused.

“And the proceeds to flirt with me and ask for my number…”

“Bullshit,” You groaned as you blushed softly, starting to remember some things about him carrying you back.

“You pulled out the same terrible pickup line you used the first time we met,” He giggled and looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“Oh my god…” You gasped, burying your face against the pillow in embarrassment. And after a brief silence you said: “did it work, though?” Your questions make Hobie laugh softly as he rolled to his side and looked at you, running his long slender fingers up your spine over the short.

“I’m here, am I not?” He replied with a soft velvet whisper.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie fanfic #hobie imagine #hobie #hobie x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown #hobie brown imagine

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janitorhutcherson · 1 year ago

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finnick odair who was never in the games but instead is your average man who lives in a coastal city in california. he’s rough around the edges still, gruff, sarcastic, and cocky, but he is happy and free. he’s more soft spoken and his guard is let down more, but only around specific people. mostly only around you.

finnick odair who owns a fishing company called ‘odair fisheries.’ he spends most of his time out on a little sailboat he’s made up. he’ll spend hours out in the ocean, just him, a cooler, and his fishing rod. his golden tan skin is sunburnt in some areas from long exposure and lack of sunscreen, something you’d gotten onto him about ten times too many. his body is covered in little tattoos of seashells, sea turtles, boat anchors, small outlines of fish. a seashell necklace sits around his neck, homemade from your delicate and loving hands.

finnick odair who’d practically BEG for you to come fishing with him. you weren’t the biggest fan. something about sitting out in the searing heat all day on a rocking surface didn’t seem all that appealing to you, but when finnick would look at you with his big blue puppy dog eyes, his bottom lip sticking out, you couldn’t resist. if you were determined to deny his suggestions, he’d go even further, throwing in a desperate, “please, sweetheart, you know i hate being without you as is.” as always, you’d give in, not particularly loving the sweat dripping off of your forehead but loving admiring your partner in front of you. you loved the way his face scrunched up in focus as he cast the line, his eyes perched on a particular spot. you loved the way his muscles tensed as he reeled the line in, or the way he huddled over you when attempting to teach you how to fish for the hundredth time (once again unsuccessful, though you know he’d try again tomorrow).

finnick odair who also taught children to fish as a part of his company. on weekend mornings, he’d have different classes that would last about 30 minutes. at the beginning, he’d take a group of kids out to a dock near his boat and he would teach the basics. by the end of the block of classes, he’d have even kids as little as 5 out fishing on his boat with him. he loved the kids like his own, growing attached to each and every one of them. you loved watching him teach, seeing how he’d sweetly hug the little boy gripping onto his leg back or how he’d soothe the crying little girl who fell and scraped your knee. he’d get you involved in helping to wrangle the kids, too, watching you intently as you’d braid a little girl’s hair for her or cradle one of the youngest ones on your hip. finnick wanted kids more than anything and he wanted them with you, his mind going crazy, desperate for a little family with you every time he saw you with children. it’s safe to say finnick’s baby fever is crazy.

finnick odair who spends rainy sunday mornings with nothing else to do playing guitar hero and other various video games. as rain would pelt down heavily on the roof of the house, the waves rocking the boat a little too much for him to even dare to attempt the seas (although he had in unsafe weather one too many times for your liking), you’d be awoken far too early in the morning to the smell of freshly baked muffins (from a box) and the sound of some rock song on the tv mixed with plastic clanking. you’d trudge into the living room, fuzzy blanket wrapped around your cold shoulders, and plop down onto the couch where a muffin already awaited you with some warm coffee on the side table. you couldn’t help but laugh as you nestled into your corner on the couch, turning yourself into a nest of blanket. finnick would be going crazy with the guitar strapped around his neck, resting at his somewhat bare torso. he’d be jamming out in his underwear, hair tussled, eyes still puffy with sleep. his nimble fingers would click through the red, blue, green, yellow pieces as his piercing blue eyes focused on the screen. you couldn’t help but fall more in love with him as you begin to doze back off in your corner.

finnick odair who loves intimacy. it was something that didn’t come easy to him. although things were much simpler for finnick odair in this life than in the hunger games, he still had his guard up. you’d taught him how to be intimate, how to love and to feel love, how to share his feelings with more than just ‘i love you.’ at night, he would spoon you to sleep, hand always resting on your stomach from behind, nuzzled up as close as he could get. if he was holding you the other direction, he’d hold you close into his chest, resting his nose in your hair, taking in your scent. “you are my entire ocean, the sea breeze that makes the waves move, the crystal blue water, all the way up to the glisten in the sea, sweet girl,” he’d mutter into your ear. even when you were fast asleep, he’d still whisper sweet nothings into your ear. when you’d take showers, he’d carefully sneak in and slip in behind you, almost always causing you to fall, but he’d be prepared and catch you. he’d then tenderly wash through your hair for you, pressing little kisses to your shoulders. finnick loved and adored you and he’d do anything possible to show that.

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 year ago

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 43

Part 1 Part 42

Will’s loitering around the school, Dustin, Will, and Lucas plastered to his sides like burrs as he waits for Jonathan to get out of school and pick him up. The hallways are almost empty – everyone else allowed to take buses, and ride bike, and walk home; Will left the odd one out.

Even his friends who are dawdling by his side as they walk the empty parking lot have bikes chained up at the front of the school. They’re only still here because Will’s not allowed to be left alone. By anyone.

The air is crisp, biting into his cheeks, but it’s too crisp to be the other side. Snow is on the horizon, not ash. He can smell it.

Mike’s talking about El in a hushed voice, moaning about Hopper blocking all access like the protective Father he isn’t. Will wishes his problems felt as small as Mike’s are,, and promptly feels bad about the thought.

It’s just, winter is in the air, and the sky is getting darker earlier each day. In a few more weeks, Will’s not sure he’ll even be able to get home after school without the specter of the Demogorgon hunting him from the shadows between each tree.

He wishes he didn’t live so close to the woods.

He wishes he could live in Steve and Eddie’s pockets like they live in each other’s. He only feels covered when he’s looking at Steve Harrington’s broad back.

Jonathan’s car pulls into the empty parking lot, and Dustin, Lucas, and Mike run off with shouts of goodbye. Only Dustin looks back, waits for Will to shuffle into the passenger seat before waving and peddling quickly to catch up.

Jonathan’s heat is up high enough to hurt. Will sinks into it, puts his frozen hands up to the vents to dethaw.

“How was school?” Jonathan asks, The Doors playing near silently from his crackly radio.

“It was okay,” Will says, thinking of Zombie Boy shouted out at him like a slur in the hallways. Thinking about how sometimes he’ll walk up to his friend’s and be greeted by abrupt, strained silences, like a few days in the Upside-Down has made him a freaks among the freaks.

Jonathan hums, but doesn’t press. WIll loves him for it. As they drive toward home, the long-familiar fishhook feelings hooks and yanks his stomach. In a moving car, it’s almost a queasy thing, like he always imagined being on a sailboat would feel. He’s being pulled in two directions and his organs are sloshing around with it.

“Can we go see Steve and Eddie?” Will asks quietly.

Jonathan’s hands clench hard, shitty steering wheel vinyl creaking. He sighs, like a dog when you won’t share a piece of your dinner no matter how hard it begs. He takes a u-turn without a word, heading toward Forest Hills, knowing just like Will does that if they’re not already there, that’s where Steve and Eddie will end up soon.

Will knows they’re not there yet before Jonathan parks in the vacant spot where Eddie’s van usually presides. He puts it in park, doesn’t take the key out of the ignition, turns the heater down just a hair.

“I just don’t get it,” Jonathan says, looking at the Munson’s closed front door, not looking Will’s way at all.

“Get what?” Will asks, even though he knows.

Jonathan sighs that same sigh. “Just–” he runs a hand through his discheveled hair until it partially covers his eyes, “you spend a few days with them and now it’s like they’re all you think about.”

Will looks down at his lap, can’t meet Jonathan’s eyes even when he feels his brother turn to look at him. Left unsaid in the space between them is that Jonathan doesn’t get them, doesn’t get him anymore, when they’re all each other has had for years.

“You weren’t there,” Will says. He knows it’ll hurt even before Jonathan breaths in like he’s been shot.

The heater and radio static break up the silence. Will can still feel it.

“Can you–” Jonathan srarts. Will sees, out of the corner of his eyes as Jonathan reaches out toward him before dropping it. “Can you try to explain?” Will looks down at his dirty sneakers, thinking. He doesn’t have the words. But hten Jonathan says, “please?” all quiet and desperate and Will turns.

He pulls his feet up onto the seat, arms wrapped around his knees, turning his body to face Jonathan as Jonathan does the same. Jonathan’s knee bangs on the bottom of the steering wheel, but he gets it all the way up to mirror Will’s posture, both their shoulders hunched, both of their arms around their knees.

“I was really scared,” WIll says, for the first time admitting something that was obvious. “And then they saved me.”

Jonathan nods, meeting his eyes. “And that’s it?”

Will shakes his head, looks down at the stick shift separating them. “No,” he says, fidgeting his fingers anxiously. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Jonathan reaches across the car, covering Will’s knee with his big palm and squeezing. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He doesn’t understand, Will can tell.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, eyes prickling. The fishline is slackening now. He can feel it. They’re on their way. “This isn’t like that.”

“Like?”

“Like, a stupid teenager thing,” Will says. How does he say this isn’t about puberty, or growing up, or a fight with his friends, or even the isolation of the school halls where everyone treats him like he’s oil and everyone else is water.

“Okay,” Jonathan says in that calm, quiet way that always calms WIll down. “What is it then?”

Will looks back down at the stick shift, Jonathan’s foot now propped up against it after he’d stretched it out. His sneakers are too small – Will can see his pinky toe pushing up against the side.

“Like, there’s something in me,” Will says. “And it’s in them too.” Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but Will can feel his eyes on him. “I can feel them, right now.” He whispers it out, a secret in this car confessional of two.

“Feel them, how?”

“It’s, itchy? When they’re too far.” WIll says, struggling to find words he’s not sure exist. “And I can tell they’re turning into the trailer park right now.” He touches the hollow just below his ribs, looks up into Jonathan’s eyes. “Right here.”

Jonathan’s brows are furrowed, eyes intense, just as Eddie’s van comes peeling into view, parking haphazardly in front of Eddie’s trailer. Jonathan’s eyes go wide. He hadn’t gotten it until this moment. Will can see it hit him in the dilation of his pupils. “Like El?” he asks, quiet as Eddie tumbles out of the driver’s seat and rushes over to open the passenger side door for Steve like a goofy knight.

“I don’t know.”

Jonathan glances over just in time to watch a wan-faced Steve take Eddie’s hand to hoist himself out of the van. “Do they?”

Part 44

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b

#steddie upsidedown au #my fic #steddie fic

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sweetercalypso · 1 year ago

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🫐 Abby and reader sneaking out so that Abby can take her to the aquarium for the first time :)

Salt Water || Abby Anderson

Bathed in the murky blue glow of the empty aquarium tanks, Abby has never looked so beautiful.

The building is silent beyond your echoed voices and the hum of the dying water pumps, still producing idle waves twenty years after the aquarium doors had been boarded shut. You don’t think anyone’s been here since, except the occasional stragglers finding temporary shelter in their search for something better.

Abby had discovered this place on her own – a testament to her strengths in the field. She’d explored enough to be sure it was empty before returning to base and telling you about the “fish zoo” by the pier, practically begging you to sneak out with her to see it.

It didn’t take much convincing for you to let her guide you out of the stadium the next day to show you what she’d found. Truthfully, you’d follow her anywhere.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen her this excited before. She’s beaming as she leads you through the clear glass tunnels, hand gripping yours tightly as she pulls you along behind her.

Heavy green vines have overtaken the walls of the aquarium, though spots of color peak through the foliage in odd shapes and strings of letters that are too faded to read. Abby stops and points to a statue of a seal veiled in patina green moss that sits at the end of the hallway.

“Y’know I saw one of those the other day, except it wasn’t bronze… and it was alive.”

You roll your eyes with a huff of laughter, too excited to antagonize Abby’s failed attempt at humor.

She lets go of your hand to clear away the vines covering the set of double doors that she’d stopped in front of. There’s a key stuck in the lock and you briefly wonder how much she’d already explored without you.

“Wait ‘til you see the rest of the place. There’s a sailboat in the amphitheater and a big tank in the floor. Bet it’s connected to the ocean.”

She turns the handle and disappears through the doorway, and you’re left alone under the rippling shadows of the overhead tank. A pale, radiant light pours out from the room, guiding you to follow after her.

“Abby- slow down.”

You push through the doors and your jaw drops at the sight. This section is different from the rest of the aquarium, shaped like a dome and made of glass, looking out into the ocean. The tanks you’d passed so far had all been empty, but in here, you can see the real flora and fauna living under the waves of the pacific bay.

Abby stands on the far side of the room with her hand hovering over the glass, watching a group of small silvery fish dart through the water. You tread over on silent feet to stand beside her, still taking in the breathtaking scene. She turns to look at you with a softened gaze, the reflection from the glass lighting up her features.

“My dad would’ve loved this place.”

You offer a half-hearted smile at the thought, weaving your fingers between hers and giving a gentle squeeze.

“He would’ve.”

She blinks and turns her attention back to the water. Everything beyond the glass shares the same cloudy blue haze, but you think it’s beautiful all the same. You can only imagine what the view would’ve looked like when the aquarium was still cared for.

“This place is just for us,” Abby decides after a breath of silence. Her shoulder brushes against yours as she sways in her spot, leaning in and pressing her lips to your cheek.

“You and me.”

#the last of us #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson fluff #abby x y/n #abby x reader #abby fluff #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #tlou abby #tlou x reader #tlou fluff

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reythenerdypisces · 11 months ago

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things that I overlooked in PJO the first time / small, funny things I noticed during my reread

Part 2: Sea of Monsters

there is a lot this time.

this book is so short and it makes up for the length by being hilarious:

I had nightmares about what Poseidon might turn me into if I were ever on the verge of death - plankton, maybe. Or a floating patch of kelp.

Tyson froze. "Pony!" he cried in total rapture. Chiron turned looking offended. "I beg your pardon?"

"Um..." I said. "Would this be the super-dangerous prophecy that has me in it, but the gods have forbidden you to tell me about it? Nobody answered. "Right," I muttered. "Just checking."

"Uh, I like Hercules." "Why?" "Well, because he had rotten luck. Even worse than mine. It makes me feel better."

Annabeth looked at me. "We have to get out of here." "You think I want to be in the girls' restroom?" "I mean the ship, Percy! We have to get off the ship."

Tyson was terrified of them. All throughout the tour, he insisted Annabeth hold his hand, which she didn't look too thrilled about.

"Then why do the gods even let me live? It would be safer to kill me." "You're right." "Thanks a lot."

A minute later, Annabeth hit a slippery patch of moss and her foot slipped. Fortunately, she found something else to put it against. Unfortunately, that something was my face.

As Luke was raising his sword to rally his troops, a centaur shot a custom-made arrow with a leather boxing glove on the end. It smacked Luke in the face and sent him crashing into the swimming pool. and a few moments later: He [Luke] raised his sword, but got smacked in the face with another boxing glove arrow, and sat down hard in a deck chair. Luke can't catch a break from those boxing arrows, it's the funniest thing

2. also so much baby percabeth!! they’re so cute

She'd [Annabeth] emailed me the picture after spring break, and every once in a while I'd look at it just to remind myself she was real and Camp Half-Blood hadn't just been in my imagination. the fact that he printed out Annabeth's photo?

Annabeth punched him in the nose and knocked him flat, "And you," she told him, "lay off my friend." her standing up for Percy is adorable

I mean she [Annabeth] looked good. Really good. I probably would've been tongue-tied if I could say anything except reet, reet, reet.

She [Annabeth] started to sob - I mean horrible, heartbroken sobbing. She put her head on my shoulder and I held her. Fish gathered to look at us - a school of barracudas, some curious marlins. Scram! I told them. They swam off, but I could tell they went reluctantly. I swear I understood their intentions. They were about to start rumours flying around the sea about the son of Poseidon and some girl at the bottom of Siren Bay. number 1. the way percy is always there for her, number 2. the gossiping fish?? I love it

The look in his [Grover] eyes told me something was terribly wrong. Annabeth had been on guard duty that night, protecting the Fleece. If something had happened -he’s admirably protective, of not just annabeth, but all his friends and I love to see it… exhibit b:

"But if I [Grover] get in trouble again, you'll be in danger, Percy! You could die!" "If you get in trouble again, I want to know about it. And I'll come help you again G-man. I wouldn't have it any other way." I adore their friendship.

3. other mentions:

"I'm Thalia," the girl said. "Daughter of Zeus." what. an. ending. I still remember how floored I was when I first read this wow

the mention of Hylla got me so excited

am I the only one who forgot Percy could control the sailboat? like the flying ropes and whatnot

I also completely forgot about his watch shield!

I'll be back for part 3 shortly! :)

#sea of monsters #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo series #rick riordan #percabeth #annabeth chase #grover underwood

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nirikeehan · 25 days ago

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For Meira x Cole: [ HANDS ] : The characters’ hands touch. (anything from grazing past or the hand holding content we all deserve.) and a Quiet Sigh

Yeah, idek. Trying to find Meira a love interest, take one!

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 2055

After the beating taken at sword training, Meira left the Grand Cathedral and tried to find water. The sea had been calling to her for days, and the longer she delayed it, the stronger the pull became.

The Val Royeaux afternoon was sunny, the temperature tipping from pleasantly warm to sticky and hot in the cobblestone streets. The maze of the city still confounded her, even after several weeks. No boulevard seemed to connect correctly to any other junction; even with street signs she was lost. At least Nevarran urban centers seemed to be built around one thing: in Nevarra City, the Necropolis; in Cumberland, the port. Val Royeaux seemed to thumb its nose at anything sensible, and as beautiful as it was, Meira deeply suspected she hated it.

Nobles in their strange frippery and stranger masks sauntered by, shielding themselves with parasols from the punishing sun. The lower classes, not wanting to be outdone, skulked around in eye makeup and face paint that looked ready to melt off their faces. Before her arrival, Meira had known nothing about Orlais, other than “empire to rival Tevinter” and “beware their well-patrolled waters,” both axioms from her father. Books told her little and less. She knew, mostly, about it through the prism of Thalia Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste: Thalia’s third cousin, a former Orlesian bard, had advised her in the Inquisition. And the traitor-turned-hero, Thom Rainier, had risen and fallen here, only to rise again as Lady Thalia’s sworn knight. Meira tried to picture either on these self-same streets, their faces covered or clownishly painted, and found it preposterous.

Foreigners stood out here, though, and she did this with a sort of pride. In simple tunic and jerkin and trousers, covered in scratches and purpling bruises, she followed the salt in the air, ignoring what must be judgmental looks behind those soulless masks. She turned down a small alley and found the harbor.

Shining, gorgeous. Meira’s first thought was: home. She’d lived on land for going on seven years now, but nothing felt as inviting as the vast expanses of undulating waves. She reached the balustrade, leaned against it astride some fisher’s crates on this forgotten avenue, and breathed it in. The cooling breeze came off the water and pulled back her hair. She’d noticed many ladies keeping it in the elaborate braided updo of the Herald. She’d tried that years ago but her fine hair fell out of every plait she put it in. These days she braided little bits away from her temple and pinned them out of her eyes and left the rest loose. Her own nod to the Herald, in her own little way.

The smells of the sea beckoned her. Sailboats and pleasure yachts glided by. Meira hoisted herself up on the ledge and sat with her feet dangling, too far above the water line to touch, but close enough. She thought about whether anyone would notice if she stripped down and took a dive in. A swim would feel wonderful right now. But the guards who stood watch on most street corners looked the type not to like errant naked girls in their harbors, and Meira was under strict orders not to have to explain she was actually under the protection of Divine Victoria, if she could help it.

So she hugged one knee and watched, and homesickness overtook her, which was something she had told herself she was not allowed to feel, this being her grand adventure, her chance to finally prove herself in her own right. Her father had been an honored member of the Inquisition, but Meira had been too small to be much of anything, the first time. But she thought of the practice courtyard tucked away in the Grand Cathedral, and the punishing glares of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, far harsher than any account in All This Shit is Weird had led her to believe. She wished she could find Varric Tethras again so she could ask him why he would willfully misrepresent Cassandra. Meira was feeling petulant, and wounded because her swordplay was abysmal, and Cassandra had told her so, plainly, in front of everyone — a fellow Nevarran, at that!

A stupid thing, really, to send her fleeing, but Cassandra was Cassandra, and it made Meira wish she was far, far away from this stupid city with its stupid culture and why did they have to call narrow bread baguettes anyway—

Beside her someone let out a quiet sigh, startling Meira so badly she near tumbled straight into the harbor.

Thankfully, she maintained control of her faculties, and only shrieked mildly. She looked over, and there was a boy sitting beside her.

“Andraste’s mitten, you scared me!”

He was her age or slightly older, with shabby flaxen hair reaching his collar, peach fuzz of a beard along his narrow jaw, and haunting blue eyes. He was pale enough he should already be sunburnt, but the heat didn’t seem to bother him. And he was watching her inquisitively.

“Sorry.” His voice was quiet, somehow old and young at once. “I sneak up on people sometimes. I don’t mean it.”

“Right, well. You could have started with hello.” Meira had a strange sense of deja vu, as the Orlesians put it. She narrowed her eyes. “Have we met before?”

The boy looked out over the water. “Not really. But I have seen you.”

Not a terribly comforting response. Cryptic as it was, it did help Meira place him. She’d seen him around the Grand Cathedral, skulking in odd corners, shoulders hunched over a meal in the mess hall, staring at a spoon like it was a new invention. And again, at today’s sword lesson, holding a great sword that seemed like it ought to weigh more than he did. He also hadn’t been very good, if Meira recalled, but Cassandra didn’t single him out.

“You’re in training too,” Meira said softly, because they weren’t supposed to speak about it out in the open. “For Divine Victoria.”

The boy nodded, once.

Meira laughed. “Pentaghast’s a bit of a bitch, ain’t she?”

He said nothing. The boats across the water held him in some sort of thrall. “She’s trying. But she’s worried. About the war to come. About doing it all again. They’re so young. They get younger all the time. Was everyone in the Inquisition like this, and I blinded myself to it?”

Meira blinked. Somehow, he seemed to speak in her voice, despite the cadence and accent remaining his own.

“That’s, um, a neat trick you’ve got there.” Maybe he was some sort of minstrel? She’d met a few mind reader types on the docks of various ports, usually in Rivain. “Are you — sort of like a seer?”

“Close.” The boy smiled thinly. “I’m not as good at it as I used to be, though.”

“No? I’d think that’s something you’d get better at with time.” She tilted her head. Weirdos she could deal with; she’d taken a liking to many of them, called them her aunts and uncles at sea. Something told her this one was mostly harmless. But maybe that was because she’d seen him be just as shit as her in the practice yard. “Like swordplay, supposedly.”

“Better with knives,” the boy murmured.

“Oh, me too. You think maybe next time Pentaghast will let us practice with daggers?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

They lapsed into silence, which was not terribly comfortable. But Meira had not made any friends here yet, not really, because they were mostly sons and daughters of nobles and heroes while she was, well, a half-educated sea rat. Maybe a so-called psychic (almost certainly a con artist) was right up her alley. She needed friends, badly.

“I’m Meira, by the way,” she blurted, and hoped that didn’t sound too needy.

He turned, stared at her with those watery eyes. “Cole.”

She tried a smile. “Nice to meet you, Cole.”

He hesitated. “A courtesy, yes. To be returned. The pleasure is mine, Meira.”

“What brings you to the Grand Cathedral, Cole?” The words were awkward in her mouth, but the operation for which they’d been recruited had not yet been given an official name.

“I traveled. Saw many things. Fell in love. Fell out of love. There was… an emptiness.” His shrug seemed out of place with the sadness in his voice. “Then I was asked back. I want to help. I have always wanted to help. The hurt… it’s getting worse. I can still feel it.”

“I… think I know what you mean,” Meira said, although she wasn’t sure if she did, but the way he spoke, with such an urgent yearning — that she understood. “D’you ever feel like… like you were made for something, something important, but you haven’t sorted out what yet?”

That sounded stupid, so stupid, she knew it as soon as she said it, but the strange seer-boy Cole looked at her and she felt like he really saw her, and for half a second the loneliness receded. “Yes!” he said excitedly. “I was made for that! She made me — she encouraged me, I mean. She said it was better to be a person. I could still help, but I could also live. I wanted to live. I still do. It’s just — harder than I thought it would be.”

He swallowed thickly, cutting himself off, all of a sudden. Meira caught a tinge of red in his sallow cheeks. He looked down, as if ashamed. “I’m sorry. I’m talking too much nonsense again.”

“No, no. It’s all right.” She was confused, but could sense he’d revealed something important to him. Meira reached out, putting her hand next to his on the warm stone balustrade. Her pinky grazed his, just a little, in a way she hoped would be encouraging. He watched her curiously, but didn’t pull away.

Softly, she asked, “Who… who is she?”

“Oh, Thalia,” Cole replied pleasantly, as if it was nothing. “She’ll be here soon.”

Meira reared back, mouth agape. “Wait— you mean—” Maker’s breath, why did this keep happening to her? “You’re that Cole?”

“Is there another?” He cocked his head, confused.

“I-I mean — it’s a pretty common name—” She’d met three Coles from Ferelden alone. One had spent some time moored by the docks of her father’s keep a few summers ago. But that was no matter. “Is it true, then? That you’re a— spirit?”

This had always been one of the most fantastical elements of Varric Tethras’s All This Shit is Weird. Meira had debated it heatedly many times, with her father, his crewmen and again with her tutors, once her father had been given the keep outside Cumberland. Many thought Cole’s presence in the narrative to be metaphorical, or a composite character of some sort, because everyone knew it wasn’t possible for a spirit to inhabit a human body without becoming an abomination. Meira wasn’t sure what she believed, and it was becoming even harder to tell, now that she was staring the real thing in the eye.

Cole grinned a little. “I was, once. Now I’m me. But still a little bit not. It’s… difficult to describe.”

Meira stared, and maybe it was because she never had quite believe Cole to be real in the first place, she blurted the question she hadn’t been able to ask Varric and Hawke. “So — can you tell me? What’s she like? The Herald of Andraste, I mean.”

“Oh, she’s very nice. She’s my friend. She’s soft, but strong.” He paused. “And lonely. She was lonely for a long time, and she is again. You’re like her a little, I think.”

Meira swallowed hard. She’d seen some strange things in her time, but nothing so strange as a half-spirit boy telling her that she resembled her own idol. Should she pinch herself? Maybe she’d gone to drowsing in the afternoon heat.

“But it’s all right,” Cole said happily. “She’ll be back soon. For the next one.”

“The… next one?” Meira felt a creeping anticipation scuttle up her spine. “You mean the war? With the Qunari?”

Cole shook his head vehemently. He leaned close. His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “The blades are being sharpened. And wolves walk in dreams.” He spoke with fear or reverence — she couldn’t say which. “They’re about to march.”

#meira van morovich #cole #you take the dread wolf au #dragon age drunk writing circle #ugh that line from genitivi dies in the end just haunts me ok #i had to use it #haven't written cole in a hot second but boy he's good as a foreshadowing machine huh #anyway should they kiss???? idk

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alpydk · 5 months ago

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Into the Ocean

Gale had always been a strong swimmer, the waves threading under his powerful arms as he fought through the currents. Now would be no different as the tide pushed itself against him, trying to drag him back to the shore. His legs kicked, propelling him forward; the warm sun barely noticeable against the cool water than splashed against his face. He thought of Waterdeep, of returning and swimming along the coast as he had a child, of coarse sand between his toes, of the shining sunlight on his face and a salted breeze brushing around his locks.

He swam for a purpose as the city of Baldur’s Gate vanished on the horizon, his small sailboat abandoned for the glint which lay beneath the waves. The crown would allow him to be free again, to live his life as he wished, to go back to Waterdeep and feel those waves against his body once again. Under the water, he could see it clearly, the single light in the tunnel of darkness which grew around him. His blessed future, which he had dreamt of for so long. He descended into the shadows, his memories and dreams becoming one within in his mind. Peace under the coastal waves.

The first time he had swum had been a disaster. He’d sat on the docks not too far from his home, watching as the fish had burst and coasted beneath the water that lapped upon the dark wood. All he’d wanted was to see them closer, to feel their scales against his fingertips. A new world away from his lonely reality. Kaleidoscope blue grew in his vision, the scales stroking against his skin as he reached up for the flickering of sunlight above him, and then came the silence. A silence he had never known before but had dreamt of often since, a dreamless sleep from which he knew he would not wake and yet found peace in.

A peace that now took him as his eyes closed, as his lungs accepted the offered saltwater potions. Could he accept his place beneath his waves, a place that for so long he had fought to escape? Dare he reject the pinprick light and its hopeful glistening; one he was now too exhausted to reach for? How many salted tears would he have to shed to find his dream in the darkness?

It would be so easy to stop swimming, to let go of everything and see where the current would take him, to embrace the silence he’d been refused by others. He’d always been a strong swimmer…

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #galemance #Spotify

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strawberryfiction · 1 year ago

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Stayed A Summer Memory

Even in the dead of night warm wind raced off the water blowing across the docks. Summer was right behind the gusts bringing the annual surge of sight seers and summer workers with it. Taking a deep breath Sanji let the warm air clear the cigarette sting from his lungs. Last summer was the best and worst summer of his life. He took a drag of his cigarette sitting against the large metal fixture used for mooring. The cool touch of the metal seeped through his pants causing goosebumps to ripple across his skin. Sanji spent last summer planted in that spot watching the waves and the stars. He took another drag of his cigarette.

“Sanji! What are you doing out here?” A voice called out angrily.

Sanji smiled waving, “Usopp, you on the night shift?” he called back into the night.

“Dude it’s like four in the morning- again- what are you doing here?” Usopp pressed arms crossed tight across his chest.

Sanji dropped his cigarette onto the concrete, “Summer is right around the corner.” He smashed his sneaker against the cigarette butt, “Do you think he’ll come back?”

Usopp was silent and Sanji almost laughed. The man was never silent he must have stumped him-or scared him. It was a horrifying question.

“Are you hoping he comes back?” Usopp asked in a voice so quiet Sanji was certain it was not the man’s own.

Sanji pushed himself up from the moor. As he stood, he looked back out to the calm rolling sea that would soon be filled with sails from around the world. He could almost make out a small white sailboat peeking out over the horizon. The question felt like holding a lit firework and watching the fuse crawl.

Last summer Sanji felt like he was glowing. As if the sun chose to revolve around him, but eventually the warm glow became too hot. Before the cold came in and the harbor cleared out Sanji was burning.

Laughing Sanji lit another cigarette, “I don’t know. Maybe.” He shrugged, “But also maybe I hope he sank.” After the words entered the universe Sanji wished he could take his darker feelings back.

“I’ll let you know what I see,” Usopp offered, “You should get some sleep.”

Sanji sighed, “Appreciate it Usopp. The old man will kill me if I miss a shift anyway.”

Stuffing his hands into his jean pockets, Sanji let the cigarette hand from his lips as he walked down the street. The small vessel could have sunk for all he knew. After all, the day when Roronoa Zoro pulled into the harbor Sanji watched the man misjudge his space and scrape the hall of his small boat against the concrete siding. They spent all summer patching it up. Mostly Sanji with help from Usopp and Zeff.

Crawling into bed Sanji knew sleep wouldn’t find him. Not now that his mind was wandering to last summer. It always started like the flicker of a lighter low on butane. The smell of cheap beer, shouting in the distance, or the thud of boots. It sent a shock to Sanji’s system as if his mind was just waiting to mule over every detail of the prior summer. As if he could see where it went wrong, as if he could still change it. A pit opened in Sanji’s stomach every time and it swallowed his soft heart. He turned to his side and couldn’t stop the silent tears that rolled along his cheeks leaving a dark stain on the pillow.

He'd become a pro at crying over Roronoa Zoro. It almost felt as easy as breathing.

Waking up to a blaring alarm, Sanji sighed. Feeling around Sanji felt his phone tangled in the sheets. He’d fallen asleep with it in his hands. Squinting he looked at the screen, as expected it was 10am. The perks to the job were no morning shifts, just late nights.

Hauling himself out of bed Sanji opened the shutters letting the morning sun light his room. He yawned even with the bright light assaulting his grey eyes. He ran his hand through his messy blonde hair before stretching. The lack of sleep was going to make the day long, the anticipation was going to make it worse.

Another perk Sanji had was living above the pizzeria he worked for. It allowed him extra time to let his brain fog dissipate before working. Lighting a cigarette Sanji took full advantage of the situation draping himself across a grey quilted lounge chair. He scrolled through Instagram while letting his cigarette sit between his teeth.

Inhaling sharply Sanji coughed choking on the smoke that snaked down the wrong pipe. Pulling the cigarette from his mouth Sanji coughed quickly putting it out in a blue crystal ashtray on a small table next to his chair. His lungs burned and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. His chest felt like he’d swallowed coals, and they settleed in his heart weighing it down. Tossing his phone on the bed Sanji yanked his work shirt from his closet. His fingers slipped every button through their loops. He straightened his stance, eyeing himself in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall adjacent to his wardrobe. Rolling up the sleeves of his striped blue and white shirt Sanji thought he hid his rage well underneath.

Picking his phone up again Sanji hesitating staring at his own reflection in the dark screen. Huffing Sanji punched in his passcode revealing the same Instagram post mocking him. Gritting his teeth Sanji kicked himself for not just blocking the green haired bastard. It would have saved him some headaches.

The photo was on Zoro’s account, but Zoro never posted himself on the account for anyone to know it. Yet, there he stood frozen in a halfhearted smile mid conversation on the deck of his small boat. His hand was cupped above his forehead attempting to block the sun from his eyes. They were as dazzling as Sanji remembered a kaleidoscope of honey golds that glittered every time he smiled. In the sun it made Sanji speechless. Raking his eyes across the photo the photographer was a stranger to Sanji. He didn’t look like anyone Zoro had mentioned before either. Not that Zoro talked much about his life back where he came from. Did Sanji even remember where Zoro lived? The odd man in the photo had black hair and dark brown eyes, there was a small scar under the mans left eye Sanji could hardly make out. The man’s skin was tanned, and he wore a straw hat with a red ribbon around the middle of the hat.

Who was he to Zoro? A new boyfriend?

The captain underneath read All Blue bound. Zoro was returning for the summer. Based on the posted date he was probably halfway there . Marching into the kitchen Sanji yanked open the fridge deep blue eyes scanning for plausible breakfast options. He considered starting his day with just toast with jelly but knew Zeff would give him hell for not starting the day right. Sanji rolled his eyes, the last thing he needed was a lecture on the proper fuel for his body first thing in the morning.

“Sanji!” Zeff’s voice boomed from outside.

It was like the man had a sixth sense.

Throwing open the window Sanji was hit with a gust of warm air, “What is it old man?”

Hanging his torso out the window looking down into the alleyway an older man stood hands on his hips and mouth down turned. It was rarely ever a smile.

Looking up Zeff held his large white chef hat to his head, “Get a move on! We have a big day ahead!” the old man’s dirty blonde mustache twitched as he spoke.

“You think everyday is a big day!” Sanji shouted in return.

“If you’re late it’ll set a bad example for the new hire!” Zeff shouted.

Sanji frowned, “New hire?” his boss neglected to tell him about that.

Zeff shook his head huffing as he stomped in the backdoor. Sanji groaned, his eyes practically rolling back in his head. He may not have been the best listener when it came to Zeff, but Sanji knew his ears would perk up at new hire. He probably would have vetoed it. Sanji ran the small kitchen perfectly fine with the help he had-Zeff and Patty. He never felt overwhelmed by a hectic night of on stop orders, especially in the summer. He reveled in the challenge enjoying the thrill of putting the finishing touches on a large group order. It filled him with triumph to watch it go out into the dining room. If they hired another person, work would become less of a challenge.

Stepping onto the metal fire escape that doubled as his front porch Sanji soaked in the warmth of the afternoon sun as he lit a cigarette. With each step down the stairs, he took a drag and thought of a different reason why the new person should be fired. It would be easy; they were most likely a summer hire Zeff would tire of quickly when he saw no potential in paying temporary assistance. Sanji just had to help the realization process along.

Swinging open the same back door Zeff had disappeared through the moment prior Sanji entered the restaurant.

It already smelled like sweet marinara sauce and rising dough. Sanji always felt slightly guilty for missing morning prep, but he made up for it by mopping after all the customers went home relieving Zeff and Patty as he closed.

“Morning,” Patty spoke up while kneading dough.

“Morning,” Sanji crammed his cigarette into the crystal ash tray he kept by the back door, “Did you get a look at our new employee yet?”

Patty was a tall muscular man with dark skin, a dark well-trimmed beard, and blue curly hair he always kept short. He wore a white headband tied around his forehead. On his left arm he sported two red heart tattoos on his upper arm. One of the cooks’ favorite pass times was showing the tattoos while flexing with a heavy take-out order.

Patty shook his head, “Not yet.”

Sanji clicked his tongue, “Geez than I was called down early for nothing.”

Sanji jolted forward as a stinging erupted over the back of his head. Turning, he saw Zeff standing with a rolled-up newspaper casually tapping it into his adjacent palm.

“Don’t be sour.” Zeff warned sternly.

“I give them a week tops,” Sanji ran his fingers through his short thick blonde hair evening it out after the assault, “Once they realize they’d rather be out enjoying the summer sun and most likely their vacation they’ll be gone.”

“Or you’ll drive them out,” Patty snarked.

Sanji kept his lips sealed he knew Patty felt the same way about summer hires. They weren’t hurting for help. The chime of the classic bell above the door broke the conversation and all heads turned towards their first early customer of the day. A girl with orange hair held back by a thick black clip walked in curious light hazel eyes scanned the empty booths and tables. Sanji smoothed out his shirt and grinned.

“Good morning miss,” Sanji spoke as casually as if he were greeting an old friend, “Please excuse us we’re still preparing for guests and there might be a small wait. Feel free to take a seat and I’ll bring a drink and menu right out.”

“Oh, thank you but,” The girl started in a timid tone.

Before she finished Sanji gently lifted her hand leading her to a booth, “Don’t be shy this one has the best view of our famous pizza being made right behind the counter there!” He beamed.

The girl frowned snatching her hand back, “Right, thank you.”

Bounding back behind the counter Sanji prepped a glass with ice water and picked a clean menu off a stack. Before he could walk back out into the dining area Zeff was walking past Sanji. Watching the old man Sanji assumed he was retrieving the mail form the PO box across the street. Instead, he was shocked to watch the head chef pause at the young patron’s table.

Scrambling out from behind the counter Sanji returned to the booth forgetting about the water. He heard Patty’s footsteps behind him.

“Hey, where’s my drink?” The girl pouted crossing her arms.

“Welcome your new summer co-worker,” Zeff gestured towards the girl in the booth with his hand out as if he was presenting her.

Sliding herself free from the booth the girl stood waving, “I’m Nami, and if you keep treating me as lovely as you did when I walked in, I know we’ll work together just fine.”

“Nami is going to handle deliveries,” Zeff continued.

Sanji was taken a back it was a shock to his system. Zeff hiring a woman for his kitchen was unheard of. However, it sounded like she wasn’t going to be handling food, just deliveries. It meant the kitchen dynamic was saved and left Sanji conflicted. Nami was cute, he could work with a cute co-worker. He frowned and she also came off as a handful.

“Welcome to the crew,” Sanji found himself saying it to her again easily, “I’ll grab that water, why don’t you sit at the countertop?”

“You took that better than I’ve ever seen you for a new hire,” Patty chuckled rolling out dough, “Usually you scowl or growl. Leave it to a cute girl to change your mind.”

Nami took a seat resting her brown shoulder bag on the countertop.

Sanji placed the cool glass in front of his new co-worker, “You’re a new summer face. What brings you into town?”

“Vacation,” Nami batted her brown eyes at Sanji.

Sanji raised a brow, “And you’re going to work during your vacation?”

“Maybe I didn’t do a great job at budgeting,” Nami pouted avoiding Sanji’s gaze. She took the glass sipping from it.

“Shame,” Sanji leaned on the countertop.

“My girlfriend has an expensive hobby,” Nami shrugged, “And I can’t say no to her.”

Sanji’s ears perked up, “Girlfriend?”

Nami’s eyes darkened, “Yea, got a problem with that?”

Sanji shook his head, “I think you picked a good place to work,” his mind wandered to Zoro.

Sanji thought about the first time his heart fluttered upon seeing Zoro shirtless and cursing about his boat while sweating in the hot summer sun. Sanji’s heart had beat a little faster around men before, but it hadn’t beat from his chest until he met Zoro. Sanji had never been nervous about holding hands stronger than his own or kissing chapped lips that bit his skin too hard. A man had never lit his skin on fire the way Zoro had, and it was terrifying at first to admit it.

Nami leaned across the counter, “Oh, so you tried to charm me but there’s a boyfriend in the mix?” she smiled coyly.

“No,” Sanji said flatly.

Nami frowned, falling back into her seat.

Sanji turned busying himself with prepping the stone pizza oven.

“What’s the expensive hobby?” Patty took over the conversation while Sanji listened.

“Wind surfing,” Nami answered.

“So, I’m guessing you’re here for the competition?” Patty asked.

Nami hummed in agreement, “This is actually our first time on All Blue Island.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to explore,” Patty assured her, “I can give you the names of the best local beaches.”

“Vivi would love that for practice,” Nami sounded like she was beaming.

“What competition?” Sanji turned back around butting in.

“You’re kidding,” Nami said flatly, “Don’t you live here, there are posters everywhere.”

Sanji rolled his eyes leaning on the rep counter, “There are always posters and events especially before summer. I can’t pay attention to them all.”

“You should pay attention to some,” Patty chided him, “You never go out anymore. Last summer I could barely find you for shifts.”

Sanji balled his hands into fists, “Would you shut up! Who does anything in a beach town during winter!” He shouted.

“I’ve done tons of stuff,” Patty shouted back, “If you used your brain, you’d find something!”

“You can find me out back!” Sanji stomped his foot.

“Is that a challenge?” Patty raised a fist towards Sanji.

“Cut it out!” Zeff slammed the rolled newspaper back across Sanji’s head before smacking Patty, “It hadn’t even been thirty minutes and you’re going to scare off our new employee,” Zeff put keys on the counter, “Here are the keys to the delivery moped out front.”

Nami took the keys and slid them into her bag.

“Sanji you better have your head on straight this summer,” Zeff spoke gruffly fixing his sandy colored mustache, “We’re catering the wind surfing competition and I need all hands-on deck.”

“Yes sir,” Sanji nodded.

Spooning marinara sauce over pizza dough the afternoon had steadily picked up to a normal pace. The summer rush hadn’t started yet, but Sanji was sure boats would start docking at port any day in large numbers. Slicing fresh pepperoni Sanji couldn’t stop thinking about what Patty had said.

At the time Sanji didn’t think it was that noticeable. Sure, he’d missed a shift or two sitting by the dock, and maybe he didn’t finish cleaning all the dishes when closing. It just felt like there were more than usual. He didn’t think anyone would notice a few lazy days from him. A few days of dropping the ball and rotting in his sheets. He didn’t think anyone had noticed the way he closed the door to his flat with no intention of leaving. How he spent the chilly winter nights looking at photos he wished he could erase. How he feared his tears would freeze to his face by morning. He didn’t want to keep reliving the same moments repeating the same regrets to Usopp like a broken record. The man had so much to do cleaning ports and preparing them for winter. Sanji did what he thought was the next best thing.

He tried pretending he didn’t exist. He shut out the world, he watched the screen of his phone, and he slept.

Frowning Sanji slid the pizza into the hot brick oven. Maybe it was noticeable, he always had something going on. An event or chores anything to keep him out of the house and busy when he wasn’t working or dabbling in his own personal cooking. Suddenly he was a shut in.

Boxing up a pizza Sanji stuck the ticket with the address on top, “Nami, three pizzas ready to go!”

Nami stood from the booth she was waiting in and set a glass on the counter. She took the sticker off the top pizza box before shuffling the hot pizzas into a delivery bag.

“Be back in a bit,” Nami said while looking over the tag.

The first day with Nami as their new delivery driver was nearly at its end as the sun started to dip to the ground. Sanji thought she did a good job; she was able to keep up. Sanji pulled up the online orders noting the last few pizzas. He cast his gaze out to the few remaining patrons seeing if there was anyone that needed assistance.

The familiar bell rang over the door.

Usopp waved as he walked into the pizzeria.

Sanji waved back, “Can I help you, or do you need more time?” he smirked.

Usopp mockingly tapped his chin disrupting the stubble across it, “How about you start me off with a soda. I’ll need a few moments.”

Sanji picked up a cup, “Very bold of you sir considering you came in so close to closing.”

Usopp shrugged, “I’m a busy man and you still look open.”

Setting the cup on the pale tan granite countertop Sanji looked at a table sitting and chatting metal tray cleared on the tabletop between them.

“Take your time sir,” Sanji smirked as he printed out the check for the table.

While trading the tray for the check Sanji heard the pitter of the moped’s motor.

“Ready to meet the newest member of the Baratie Slice?” Sanji said while walking behind the counter.

“Man, Sanji think you can cut the poor guy a break?” Usopp stirred his soda with his straw, “Or at least send them down to the dock if they’re looking for work. Franky was experimenting with new mooring lines and three have already snapped. It’s a good thing he only tests with our boats and not guest boats. Plus, I don’t know where he gets those ideas our mooring lines are perfectly fine!”

“I would take all of that into consideration Usopp,” Sanji put his pointer finger up, “If it was a guy.”

Without a moment of hesitation Usopp swiveled on his red bar stool. He got a glimpse of Nami walking into the restaurant with a hideous red helmet and googles in hand as she approached the counter. At some point she’d let her fiery orange hair down. Usopp turned back just as swiftly eyes wide and mouth agape.

Sanji leaned on the counter, “I’m also guessing Franky wanting to change the mooring lines has to do with Zoro,” the name slipped from his lips more dreamily than he meant it to. “After all he somehow managed to break one while docking.”

Usopp doesn’t respond sipping his soda. The only sound is the bubbles fizzing in the cup. His dark eyes flit from looking down into the soda up to Sanji.

Sanji forces a wobbly smile; he’s not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or Usopp that it was finally okay to talk about. That surely a year was enough time to let the heartbreak heal It had to be, a year was so long. Sanji refused to believe he was damaged that badly by one man he knew for four months.

Nami sat heavily on the stool one away from Usopp. She placed her helmet and goggles on the counter.

“How was your first day?” Sanji perked up.

“Not too bad,” Nami shrugged, “Everyone gave a generous tip.”

With her cheshire cat grin Sanji believed Nami made out like a bandit.

“What can I get you to drink to celebrate your first day?” Sanji asked.

Nami hummed, “I’m thinking beer?”

“Oh, grab one for me too!” Usopp chimed in raising his hand.

Sanji was placing plates and silverware into the dishwasher, “You should be deciding what you want for dinner. When those logs burn out, I’m not adding more to the oven.”

Walking to the back room of the small restaurant Sanji opened a standing cooler pulling three cold beers out. He stared at the green tinted bottles; it had been a long time since he sat at the bar down the street after a long shift. His company was ever changing, Usopp, Patty, even Zeff. Until one day it was always the same flushed face with a broad smile laughing as Sanji yielding from another drinking contest. Zoro was always turning things into a competition and Sanji couldn’t help his competitive nature being drawn into every one of his challenges. The memories were so vivid, but so hazy. Tinted with a filter of rose-colored alcohol. Biting his lip Sanji swore he could taste the bitter beer pressed against his lips in a sloppy kiss he thought would never end. He clung to Zoro like a life raft as they stumbled down the street.

Sanji’s eyes narrowed as he turned to walk back out into the empty restaurant. Even having a beer was tainted with his memory. Zoro had crawled under Sanji’s skin and cracked open his rib cage to hallow out his heart. Now the space was vacant, and Sanji felt the pain he was blind to.

Setting the beers on the counter Sanji used a bottle open with a flourish making a show of the opening.

Usopp clapped, “One Hawaiian and one cheese pizza please good sir!”

Sanji nodded, “Order taken. Nami do those sound good to you?”

“I’m the one who wants the Hawaiian” Nami raised her hand sheepishly.

“A classic summer choice,” Sanji praised.

With pizza cooking in the oven Sanji wiped the flour from his face, ringing out the last customers thanking them as he followed the party of two to the front door. He felt relieved as he flipped the open sign to close and locked the door. Flipping the front house lights the restaurant became dark only the prep station and bar top remained illuminated under warm diffused lights. Nami smiled laughing at a story Usopp was telling. Sanji was certain it was mostly likely one he’d heard before.

Fresh from the oven the aroma of sweet tomato sauce, crisp pineapple, and soft cheese had Sanji’s mouth watering. He made the pizzas large knowing his stomach would beg for a piece. He was shocked after years he’d never tired of a fresh slice of pizza.

The duo in front of Sanji were silent for the first time that night as they ate.

“I think we should go to the bar this weekend,” Sanji said before crunching on a piece of crust.

Usopp’s eyebrows shot up he looked unconvinced, “You’re positive?”

Sanji nodded, “Why not, it’s been too long” He beamed, “And we have the first weekend of summer to celebrate before it gets too crowded with vacationers. Especially with this tournament going on.” “Can Vivi come?” Nami asked.

Sanji nodded, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d love to meet her.” He took a swig of beer.

#one piece #snaji #roronoa zoro #zosan #writing #fanfiction #vinsmoke sanji #zosan fanfic

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sterekbros · 2 years ago

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Written for @sterekfests week 2, @sterekbingo square chin on the shoulder, @sterekweekly word space, @warmandfluffybingocards square running away together.

The waves rocked against the hull, a gentle bubbling, licking, splashing sound that changed whenever the wind did. That always kept Stiles lulled into sleep, but the sharp squawking broke through his consciousness, and he blinked several times until the dim light of the morning sun filtered in through the small, circular windows of the cabin. He never imagined he could live in such a small space, but the cabin of the sailboat had been home for at least the last six months. Had it been six months? He was starting to lose track now.

After Derek’s return, Stiles decided to take a leave of absence from the FBI. Not only had he suffered physical trauma from his wounds, but the mental ones had been getting to him, too. PTSD was always something that Stiles considered normal, but waking up at night, feeling like his guts were falling out and screaming for Derek was something that had started to finally wane the longer he was away from work.

It helped that Derek promised him that he’d stay forever, that he would never be without his mate again. Stiles’ hand moved down to press against the scar on his abdomen, holding it flat against his stomach as he remembered being shot and thinking that he’d never see Derek again before he’d blacked out from the blood loss.

He reminded himself that he was safe and he was healed and that nothing could get him here. Stiles drew in a deep breath, letting the salt in the air fill his lungs and leave the faint flavor of the ocean in his mouth. He rubbed a hand over his face, brushing against the beard he’d started to grow. He really needed to shave, but he also couldn't bring himself to care while they were out on the open ocean with no one but each other to worry about.

Stiles rolled onto his side and pulled himself upright on the edge of the bed. The boat swayed and bobbed beneath him on the water. That was something else that he’d learned to get used to. Being seasick was never something that Stiles really considered himself to catch, but his first few weeks out on the open ocean had been an experience he’d never forget.

The wood was cool beneath his bare feet and he wiggled his toes before standing and grabbing some shorts. Stiles pulled them on, then found his way to the ladder that led him to the deck where he knew he’d find Derek.

The sun was still rising on the horizon, the air cool and damp with the swaying boat, the sails flapping quietly in the breeze. Derek was standing at the helm, focused on sailing like he usually was when Stiles slept.

Stiles moved with an ease that spoke of living on a sailboat, padding behind Derek and wrapping his arms around him, kissing the back of his neck gently. “Good morning.”

“How’d you sleep?” Derek asked, voice quiet as if he were afraid to wake the world, his hand smoothing along Stiles’ arm.

“I slept okay… I didn't wake up screaming without you this time. No nightmares.” That was a huge improvement. Maybe there was hope yet for him to heal before going back to work.

If he went back to work for the FBI.

He knew that he didn't have to, that Derek would take care of him, that they were mates, and what was Derek’s, was also his. Stiles still hadn't made up his mind about that yet. Especially since Derek promised to never leave him again. And if he did travel, he would take Stiles with him, like he had this time.

“Good,” Derek replied, giving Stiles’ arm a squeeze, his eyes focused on the water. Stiles kissed his shoulder, breathing him in, lips trailing until he reached the mark on Derek’s neck. Stiles kissed his mark, the one that claimed Derek as his, then nosed it and rubbed his cheek on it as he marked Derek with his scent.

Derek practically purred as a growl rumbled through his chest and Stiles smiled against Derek’s skin.

“Where are we?” Stiles finally asked, resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder again and looking out over the water.

“We’re just off of Crete.” Derek gently shifted the wheel as they sailed easily across the water.

“Elafonisi Beach?” Stiles really tried not to sound hopeful or excited about it, but he’d told Derek more than enough times that he really wanted to go to Crete and see the pink sands of Elafonisi Beach.

He knew that Derek had been there before, but Stiles had never been to all the places Derek had seen and he wanted to share them with his mate.

“You said you wanted to see it.” Derek cast him an easy smile, his hand idly smoothing along Stiles’ arm as Stiles held him close, pressed against his chest.

“Well, I never thought we’d actually make it here.” He snorted and nosed behind Derek’s ear. “Thank you, for bringing me.”

“I want to give you the world.” Derek’s words were soft and quiet, only for Stiles, despite them being the only ones on their sailboat.

Stiles knew Derek meant it, but he never thought Derek would actually take him to see the world. That was just something that wasn't part of Stiles’ life. At least not before now.

Maybe, though. Maybe they would.

Maybe he wouldn't go back to work for the FBI.

The longer he stayed out on the water, the more he never wanted to go back. Whether it was to Beacon Hills, New York, or anywhere in between. He just wanted to stay with Derek, wherever Derek may lead.

“I love you,” he breathed against Derek’s neck. “So much.”

“I love you too. Always.”

That sent a flutter in Stiles’ chest. No matter how many times Derek told him that he loved him, it always seemed fleeting because Derek had always left him when he’d visited. But now—now they were together, forever.

“When can we go to the beach?”

“We’ll be at the landing by the time the sun comes all the way up. We can dock there and then the beach is only about a ten-minute walk. I figured we could check out the island and maybe get a couple of keepsakes.” Derek tugged on Stiles’ arm. “C’mere.”

Stiles moved, tucking himself under Derek’s arm as his mate hugged him close, pressing his face against Derek’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around him again. Derek was warm and beautiful and Stiles loved that Derek’s body ran hotter than his. It kept away the morning chill.

“Maybe we can stay for a little while?” They’d been moving around so much, seeing all the places that Derek wanted to show him, that Stiles kinda missed his feet being on dry land sometimes.

“Whatever you want.” Derek kissed Stiles’ forehead and rested his bearded cheek atop Stiles’ head. “We’ll stay as long as you want. Maybe we’ll visit the rest of the islands… and then see Croatia and Italy?”

“I’d like that. I always wanted to visit Italy.” There were so many places that Stiles wanted to visit, but Italy had always been at the top of his list. There was so much history connected to the architecture, so much that he wanted to see and learn and experience in real life. Pictures would never do places like that justice.

“Then we’ll go to Italy,” Derek assured him. He rubbed his cheek along Stiles’ hair, then kissed his forehead. “Come on… let’s go back to bed for a little bit. I’ll drop anchor. We have some time before the sun is all the way up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles replied softly, turning his face up to give Derek a gentle kiss. “Plus, I didn't have a chance to give you your blowjob this morning because you were awake before me.”

Derek laughed, full-bellied, loud, and happy. “You know I’m not going to turn that down.”

Stiles smirked and took Derek’s hand. “Well… I think we have enough time for that and a little more.”

He grinned as he tugged Derek along and he could feel his mate’s eyes sliding along his skin and down to his ass.

Stiles had promises to keep. Elafonisi Beach could wait. Right now, he had no plans other than taking care of his mate and making sure Derek knew how much he loved him.

For always.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #sterekweekly #sterekweeklyspace #sterekfests #sterekfestcoastal #stereksummerfest2023 #sterekbingo #sterek fanfiction #mine #my fic

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maddi--paige · 7 months ago

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Princeton scientist Albert Einstein rented a house on the North Fork for the summer of 1939. It was a small beach shack on Nassau Point in Southold where, at the age of 60, he felt he could enjoy the salt sea air, sailing his 15-foot sailboat on the gentle waters of Peconic Bay—he’d brought it with him—and the peace and quiet of a rural community. With him came his secretary to keep his schedules and cook his meals, and for much of the time his married daughter Lieserl, who visited him and did his shopping for him. Einstein worked at least part of every day advancing his theories at a blackboard in the shack’s tiny living room.

While in Southold, Einstein befriended David Rothman, the owner of Rothman’s Department Store on Main Street in Southold. Einstein, a trained violinist, had learned that Rothman and several of his friends played Mozart and Beethoven in a classical string quartet at one or another’s homes in the evening twice a week. Einstein asked if he could join them and of course the answer was yes. Rothman, delighted to have a friendship with Einstein, kept a journal of their time together that summer.

In August, several prominent scientists, seeing that war was looming, drove out from New York to visit Einstein at his little beach house. They had written a letter to President Franklin D. Roosevelt, warning him that the Germans were actively trying to build an atomic bomb. They felt America should have a lab to do that too and beat the Germans to the punch. But they also felt they needed the famous Albert Einstein to sign the letter so it would be read by the president. Einstein signed, and subsequently it was read by the president, and so the top secret lab in Oak Ridge, Tennessee was quickly built and opened. Five years later, the lab split the atom and got the bomb before the Germans could do so.

Source: https://www.danspapers.com/2021/07/history-albert-einstein-southold/

#history #albert einstein #einstein #long island #new york #north fork #southold #travel #science

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pagesandpothos · 1 month ago

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Those Fatal Flowers by Shannon Ives

Official Summary:

Greco-Roman mythology and the mystery of the vanished Roanoke colony collide in this epic adventure filled with sapphic longing and female rage—a debut novel for fans of Madeline Miller, Jennifer Saint, and Natalie Haynes. Before, Scopuli. It has been centuries since Thelia made the mistake that cost her the woman she loved. As the handmaidens charged with protecting Proserpina, the goddess of spring, Thelia and her sisters are banished to the island of Scopuli, cursed to live as sirens—winged half-woman, half-bird creatures. In luring men to their death, they hope to gain favor from the gods who could free them. But then ships stop coming and Thelia fears a fate worse than the underworld. Just as time begins to run out, a voice emerges, Proserpina’s voice; and what she asks of Thelia will spark a daring and dangerous quest for freedom. Now, Roanoke. Thelia can't bear to reflect on her last moments in Scopuli, where she left behind her sisters. After weeks drifting at sea, Thelia’s renewed human body is close to death. Luckily, an unfamiliar island appears on the horizon—Roanoke. Posing as a princess arriving on a sailboat filled with riches, Thelia infiltrates the small English colony. It doesn’t take long for her to realize that this place is dangerous, especially for women. As she grows closer to a beautiful settler who mysteriously resembles her former love, Thelia formulates a plan to save her sisters and enact revenge on the violent men she’s come to hate. But is she willing to go back to Scopuli and face the decisions of her past? And will Proserpina forgive her for all that she’s done? Told in alternating timelines, Those Fatal Flowers is a powerful, passionate, and wildly cathartic love letter to femininity and the monstrous power within us all.

My Thoughts:

Those Fatal Flowers is a historical fantasy that mixes mythology with a lot of feminist rage. I found it surprising, a little gory, thought-provoking, and empowering.

The book follows Thelia who makes a mistake that dooms her lover, Proserpina. In the Scopuli timeline, we learn about her past and how the consequences of her mistake impacted her and her sisters. In the more modern timeline, we see her in a small English colony in North America as she plots to save her sisters. In both eras, her love for Proserpina plays a major role in her story; it is a lot of her motivation, drives the plot, and leads her to her new love interest in the Roanoke era.

I thought the dual timelines were well done. I've read a lot of mythology retellings but I've never read one that was also set in another, very different time and location. It was a unique blend that was imaginative. I enjoyed the juxtaposition of the two eras and thought that both parts of the story were interesting. The pacing was also well done. I never thought the story was too slow or dragging in either timeline. The last half, in particular, was difficult to put down.

Thelia is never a fully likeable character but she's truly captivating and I felt sympathetic towards her at times. I also really enjoyed her growth over the course of the story. There are a host of supporting characters in the novel. Some, such as Cora, Will, and Margery, were well-rounded and added a lot to the story. There were a few, however, that I thought needed to be made more indistinguishable from one another. Thelia's sisters, for example, are an important emotional connection for Thelia but neither sister ever felt like a fully fleshed-out individual. I would have loved to see the two sisters (and a few other minor characters) develop into more distinct characters.

One warning, as the content warnings I have listed below suggest, this book gets dark. Some parts are graphically violent and even a little gruesome. Most of the brutal scenes serve the story but I felt a few scenes were a little overly descriptive. The book does include content warnings in the front and readers should be aware that some of those are described quite vividly.

Those Fatal Flowers is a well-written debut about guilt, the horrors of patriarchy, and female rage. It has sweet Sapphic relationships and a nice focus on sisterhood and supportive friendships between women. Due to the graphic violence, this may not be a book for everyone but I thought it was a gripping and powerful story with a lot to say. It's not a perfect book but I think it's compelling and even a little cathartic at times. I'm looking forward to what Shannon Ives writes in the future!

My Rating: 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌑 (4/5 stars).

Tropes/Tags: historical fantasy, mythology, Sapphic, good for her, graphic violence

Content Warnings: sexual assault, homophobia, racism, sexism, (graphic) pregnancy loss, (graphic) ritual sacrifice, (very descriptive!) cannibalism, and colonial violence

If you liked this I think you will like Those Fatal Flowers: mythology retellings, stories about women who are out for revenge, books with morally grey main characters

Links: Storygraph | GoodReads | ShannonIves.com

Those Fatal Flowers will be released on January 21, 2025, and is available for pre-order!

I received an advanced copy of this book for free thanks to NetGalley, Random House, and Dell. The above are my honest feelings about the book provided. I don’t have any affiliate links in this post, and I do not make any money from my reviews. I review books simply because I love to read.

[ See Everything I've Read in 2025 ]

#those fatal flowers #shannon ives #queer books #netgalley #arc review #book review #books #2025 releases #my 2025 reads

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futurebird · 2 years ago

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Bolting

“I really think the media is blowing it out of proportion. This isn’t a new thing you know?” Petra was working on cracking the formidable locks on the door to the old woman’s apartment. She let out a sigh, the vibrating lock pick had failed, so she rummaged in her many pockets for a different tool.

She went on: “I mean, this has always happened in big cities. People get so emotional, bent out of shape about it. And, you know, I get it!” The balloon on the inflatable lock pick let out a sharp pop. Petra’s dark eyes sparkled with delight. She was very good at picking locks. Probably one of the best. And yet, she was also far too cool to act like what she’d done was a big deal. With a deliberate and professional casualness she went on with her story.

“I get it, I really do! The idea of dying alone is terrifying. The idea of dying alone, no one noticing.” She turned the handle in the door. It clicked.

“The world going on without you?” She pushed, then stood, tucking the tool back into her pocket. She put her shoulder to the door and shoved.

“It’s all distilled for us in these cases.” The door opened to darkness and dust.

The rotten smell coming from the apartment had been an apparition in the hall, impossible to pinpoint or rule out as a figment of your imagination. But, the neighbors noticed. They noticed how the smell would seem to change location and strength. They noticed how it was so much worse when heat index warnings kept everyone inside. But now? The seal of the door broken, all bets were off. The odor was real, pungent, corporal: death. The air from the dark apartment was cool, heavy with stillness. When I first started this job the smell of a decaying human corpse would have been all that I noticed. So overwhelming and distinct. But, from experience, I knew to expect other scents, the staleness of food. The very particular smell of a neglected fish tank. This time there was something else: something verdant and a little damp, a green smell. Petra was looking for a light switch just inside the door. The space was lit by cracks of light filled with dust motes that fell from drawn curtains. The old woman was on the couch, a colorful crocheted blanket drawn up over her too small to really cover her. Her little frail body was curled up. I hoped she didn’t die painfully.

I took in the rest of the room, my eyes now adjusting to the light. A pleasant little space. Photos of the woman and a man, presumably her husband, told a story of travel: There they were at the grand canyon, on a small sailboat, at a cafe somewhere that felt European. Not all of the photos had been hung up, there were more empty frames and prints in a pile on a shelf just below. This seemed like a recent project of the deceased. One she had abandoned. The photo on the top of the pile waiting to be framed was a large print of just the man holding a very unhappy looking tabby cat kissing it tenderly on its head. He had to be dead, her husband. That’s why there was no one to notice when she vanished too. We had both fallen silent for a bit. Working for a morgue can make you callous and flippant in the presence of the deceased– but there was something about the stillness of these kinds of rooms, where a person had died alone that made that impossible. Even Petra couldn’t continue her lecture. “Let’s look around.” I said in a hushed voice. “Then we’ll start packing up.” By which I meant, the dead woman.

We walked around as if in an art gallery, not touching anything, taking in all of the details of the well lived-in space. Two desks, one with a computer that had been used recently, the other mostly empty with an older and very dusty laptop, the closet which contained mostly small clothes that would fit the old woman, but in the back there was also a single moth-eaten men’s suit. Prescription pill bottles, most very recent, there were a great many. And so many books. Shelves lined every wall, some custom built to go over the doors, and even under the raised bed. Many were on physics, some on education. “Hey where do you think this goes?” Called Petera from the next room. She was investigating a door just off of the living room. It was down a little three-step flight of steps. “Probably just laundry or storage.” I said. Yet, Petra has never met a door she didn’t want to open, and this one wasn’t even locked. She opened it, and the apartment filled with light. On the other side was another world: the bright midday sun, a vast beautiful garden.

The smell of death vanished beneath the rich scents of soil and grass, pollen and leaves. The greenery, dense and deep, butterflies and bees alighted on bright blossoms, vines swayed lazily in a breeze. The effect of opening such a door was of a magic trick. Like finding a portal– for a moment, squinting I wondered lazily if some absent-minded angel of death, come to collect the old woman’s soul, had forgotten to close the way back to Heaven. “Woah-” Said Petra,who almost never is surprised or impressed by anything. My brain, now catching up with my imagination, I said. “I didn’t know this unit had a greenhouse.” As if I’d even bothered to check about such a thing. As if huge greenhouses were typical things you found in city apartments. But, it made a lot more sense than a portal to Heaven. We were on the top floor, so there could have been a terrace on the back of the building we didn’t notice when entering. It struck me what a brilliant idea it was to have your own garden in the city. Fresh vegetables were something of a luxury. But, even if I had a greenhouse of my own I don’t think I know where to start when it came to growing things. I remember when my mother put the stem of a lettuce plant in a dish of water on our windowsill. This was in one of our many miserable little apartments, shortly after our second migration, in the days of the 4th pandemic. The apartment was in one of the machine-printed buildings with lumpy striped walls and mysterious drafts.

We had just started to settle in, though dad kept on saying how we’d “find something better soon” – we all lived in that one room and though no one would say it, we knew we were lucky. The borders had closed soon after we’d made it in. Since my father was a doctor we still might have gotten through after– if we ever made it far up enough in the line to speak to anyone, if that person would even believe us and not just take one look at our skin color and send us away. There would be a border guard on our third migration that refused to believe my father was a real doctor. It enraged him. By then we were old hands and moving and dealing with officials. My father had said “If you won’t believe in medicine you may instead believe in this.” and bribed the man who was all too happy to take it. Fortunately, he didn’t notice the utter contempt in my father’s eyes as he handed over the money we’d saved for our deposit. But, on that day when my mother put the lettuce stalk in the dish of water, explaining to me how we could grow more, I think we still had a lot more hope as a family. My mother said that the trick of re-growing lettuce so you could eat it twice had “gone viral” when she was in college. Indeed the lettuce plant did grow. Remarkably fast. In days there were a cluster of leaves emerging from the heart. Soon they grew tall and pale leaning towards the light of the window.

But, the regrown lettuce, fed on only water, and what little light made it between the 3D printed shelters was nothing like the head that we’d bought in the store. That plant had been deep green and sturdy. This new incarnation, for it seemed the plant refused to die, put out a web of gossamer translucent roots into the water. The leaves were white, starved for sunlight, thin, unnaturally long and ghostly. I kept expecting it to die, but it went on growing as my mother religiously kept the water dish full. “Doesn't it need dirt?” I asked my mother, gently touching the long white leaves. “Probably that would be better. But we don’t have any soil so there is nowhere for it to put down its roots.” I was hurt when I came home to discover that my parents decided that we should eat it. It seemed disrespectful to its valiant effort at survival. “Lettuce is an annual. It doesn't make a good house plant. Anyway these conditions aren’t good enough for it to bolt.” “Bolt? Like run away?” “No, that’s just what you call it when an annual goes to seed. But store bought plants never produce usable seeds. If we don’t eat it it will just die and go to waste.” I remember the taste of those leaves, insubstantial, like water. Looking back I’m certain we also had to eat it that day because there was little else for dinner. And we’d reached the point when fresh vegetables were beyond our means, except perhaps on holidays. “That wasn’t exactly incredible.” Said my father of the re-grown lettuce. “But we’ll all find something better soon!” “Mom, do you think when a lettuce regrows like that, is it a new plant? Or is it still the same plant that grew in a field somewhere and had sunlight?” “Well, that’s a very interesting question!” Said my mother laughing. “I don’t know.”

“Our daughter is so smart.” Said my father pinching my cheek in the way that always made me angry but that also secretly I loved. I wondered if the little plant could remember the way that it was before, when it was green and strong. When it could have bolted away, producing its own strange flowers, its own strange little seeds, even if they were seeds that everyone said could never grow.

It must have, right? Why else would it have even made the effort?

Shaking off the memory I looked more closely at the dead woman’s garden. On closer inspection it had gone a little feral. Weeds packed the raised beds. A dripping sprinkler system explained why all of the plants weren’t simply dead.

“Someone should take care of this.” I said.

“I’m certain someone will. Though, my money’s on this getting converted to an extra bedroom.” Said Petra.

“It’d make a terrible bedroom. It has too many windows. It would be freezing in winter.” I felt the need to defend this old woman’s project. But then, something caught my eye: “Look, Petra! Bolting lettuce!”

“Bolting? Huh?”

“It’s gone to seed.” I said, looking at the long browning stem that rose from the rosette of familiar dark green lettuce leaves.

“I didn’t know you were such a gardener.”

I’ve never stolen anything from our “clients” homes. But, that day I took a few of the seeds from that lettuce plant. I hoped that the old woman wouldn’t mind. And what does it matter? They will never grow anyway.

#short story #fiction #future #climate change #migration #displacement #gardening #lettuice #death

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driftwccds · 9 months ago

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-ˋˏ ꒰ 🐚 ꒱ ── the odysseus : a character study ( death by boating accident tw ).

the 35 ft white sailboat parked at the valparaiso marina is made out of lightweight aluminum, teak wood and fiberglass. it’s small enough that a one-man operation is not too physically strenuous, but the boat itself is showing it’s age and previous neglect : the hull is crusted with barnacles. the steel railings are starting to rust. the upper deck creaks with each step, and if rohan is docked at the marina instead of on the water it’s likely because he’s replacing rotting boards, ropes, and corroded parts inside the motor. netting hangs from the side, disappearing into the dark water of the marina below.

the odysseus was originally built in the late 1980s. rohan impulsively bought it five years ago off the coast of vancouver while on bereavement leave after the death of his mother and sister. when he bought it the boat was practically unusable, and because of that it was cheap. equipped with nothing but lots of extra time and a desperate need to distract himself from the crushing reality of his grief ( and the guilt of not returning home for the funerals ) rohan spent half a year teaching himself the basics of boat repair instead of dealing with his own problems : he replaced the sails, stripped the plumbing, gutted the interior until he was able to take it out for the first time.

a set of horizontal doors open to a ladder that leads below-deck. his living space is uncomfortably small, especially for a grown man : a kitchenette with a stovetop, a seating area that’s become a makeshift workbench, an archway that opens onto a bed. rohan is at least tidy, if not particularly organized. empty surface area is artfully cluttered with different equipment he’s tinkering with, half-finished composition notebooks full of numbers, books he’s in the middle of reading. sticky notes dangle from cupboards with coordinates and irrelevant and months-old reminders like call dad and make dentist appointment, all of which are incomplete and entirely forgotten about ( or avoided. )

once the boat was in working order, it was only a matter of time before he quit the research position he worked so hard to get and travelled down the west coast a free unemployed man. while he was traveling he started to collect an arsenal of makeshift camera equipment and, thus, unique footage of different kinds of sea life. rohan considers himself more as a documentarian than a scientist. because he never studied marine biology, he doesn’t feel comfortable as a voice in any scientific communities, but he still frames all of his work through the lens of education rather than entertainment. his goal is to showcase the beauty of the ocean, but also to document animal behaviours so they can be studied in better detail by people who have a better idea about what they’re looking at. rohan understands just how fragile alive things are, and how fast some of them are disappearing, and he’s determined to document them before that happens.

during this time he got a lot of random, unstructured footage, which he started gathering into a portfolio collected on youtube and tiktok. he refuses to be on camera, so the platforms themselves didn’t draw in money or attention, but it allowed him to showcase what it was he wanted to do to people who mattered ( and gave him some extra funds to cover the expenses of being alive. ) rohan was able to start applying for grants and contracts, and his reputation within academic circles quickly shifted from up and coming climate scientist to nomadic oceanic videographer ; most of his contracts are to film and edit together raw footage into informational videos for conservation groups or educational institutions.

beside the ladder are a twin set of metal lockers for storage : spare oxygen tanks and his scuba equipment, gas canisters, first aid, flares. an apocalyptic preparation kit for the worst case scenarios. a calendar swings precariously attached to the teak wood wall above, persistently falling off the wall with the ebb and flow of the waves, marking important deadlines. the calendar is carefully plotted out, days crossed out and circled in red ink. it’s easy to lose track of time when you spend days on the ocean at a time.

when he’s in between grants or contracts rohan has free reign to track and study whatever he’s passionate about in the moment. during these periods he usually studies the seasonal ecosystems just off the coast of valparaiso, with his topic of interest changing depending on the time of year and the animals that are nearby. the reefs off the beaches aren’t particularly deep so he usually doesn’t bother with heavy tanks or equipment ; rohan was effectively born freediving── diving without tanks and heavy equipment── in the kelp forests just off the coast of falmouth, so he doesn’t rely on equipment as much. when he invites people out diving with him, it’s usually within sight of the beaches and the marina.

every few weeks he takes longer excursions further out into the pacific. these are generally for a specific purpose or to track and get footage of a specific animal on request── migrating whales, hammerhead sharks around the seamounts, sea turtles── and he will spend multiple days at a time out on the water without coming back into port. he doesn’t bring people out on multi-day trips like this ; he does these alone, because he doesn’t like the idea of being stuck with anyone with no escape for an extended period of time, and because if something happens, he wants to be sure that he’s the only one put at risk. these are usually the times where he digs out all of his actual diving gear because the water is deeper and he wants to be down there for longer, though he will still freedive just for fun.

the decor inside the boat is sparse and impersonal; everything serves a functional purpose rather than aesthetic purpose. there’s one exception. tucked in a back corner, half-hidden by the safety equipment piled in front of them, old photos are taped to an elegantly decorated box : an older woman holding a giant spider crab, that same woman and a younger verison of her smiling and waving towards the camera, a family standing in front of a wild, overgrown garden near the sea. unfortunately the movement of the waves don’t allow for trinkets that aren’t tied down, so inside the box sit the sentimental items that rohan can’t bring himself to get rid of, such as the shark tooth his sister gave hi when he was 7 or the collection of seashells from falmouth he used to keep on the windowsill of his college dorm. the most recently addition is a basket of dead things, used to make a makeshift offerenda luna insisted upon after finding a shedded crab skin their first dive together. rohan wears the key to the box around his neck, still carrying the secrets him and his sisters used to hide inside it when they were kids.

rohan’s obsession with the ocean is bordering on religious. it’s in part a regression, coming from an attempt to reconnect with his childhood, aka the fond memories he has with a family he won’t see again. it became very obvious once the accident happened how little rohan actually cared about the conferences and research labs, and he was able to remember the reason why he went into ocean sciences in the first place── not for prestige or money or to save the world, but because he was raised by people who loved the ocean and it’s part of his dna.

the odysseus is where his self-inflicted isolation started. although he’s well aware of the dangers of diving alone, he’s more likely to sacrifice his personal safety for the serenity of being the only human for miles or for the efficiency of knowing he can complete his work on his own. it’s easier to pour all of his energy outside of himself and into something that he thinks is productive and helpful ; and because the things he does are productive and helpful, rohan doesn’t have to stop, pause, process everything that happened in the last half-decade. it’s likely that he not stumbled into the opportunity he may have been forced into working through some of these issues, but for now, if the sea decides to take him and reunite him with the people he's lost, then he will happily go with it.

#rohan kaur : musings #rohan kaur : character study #valpohqinspo #death tw #tw death #by boating accident #not him tho #obviously

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voidwarlock-studios · 9 months ago

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I saw your FFXV Oc and I need to know everything cause I have one too and I need every one of them to meet and be friends

;w;

Oh hell yeah! I’ve got a list I typed up a little bit ago. I’ll be drawing a character template for him soon.

I’d love to hear about yours too. Feel free to send me a dm!

Here’s what I have so far:

Loran Antonius

Age: 27

Height: 5’8”

Pronouns: he/him

-Insomniac

Stays up late researching, pinpointing places of interest to visit. Gets maybe an hour or two of sleep a night.

-Hermit

He’s often too busy with his work to hold relations with anyone. His social skills are good at least, and he can talk to strangers when he needs to visit a nearby town for supplies. Pretty much a shut-in though when he’s not exploring.

-Workaholic

Does not take time to rest unless eating…but sometimes he skips meals by accident. He’s collapsed a few times from not eating. None of it has been life-threatening, just low blood sugar.

-Explorer/Researcher

Driven by history and forgotten myths, he explores as many places as possible. He’s tried to avoid getting caught in the forbidden areas…so far successful.

-Field Guide

All the research he does is put towards a field guide that he’s been making over the years. Dude’s constantly taking notes on the field.

-Thrillseeker

This applies to the one above. He started out exploring normal places, but then it wasn’t enough. That led him to Angelgard…

-Sneaky

After years of creeping around unnoticed, he adopted a dexterity-based combat style. His outfit is always a combination of dark blues and blacks. Usually covers up his mouth/nose to hide identity.

-Lucian

He’s from Lucis, but stays on the coast of Lestallum. He lives in a lighthouse northeast of the Rock of Ravatogh, where he hoards books and research papers. His house is a mess.

-Neutral Party

Prefers to have no allegiance. Politics muddle things up. His morals are mostly good leaning, he at least understands that people deserve care when they’re in trouble and all that. That being said, he has a healthy fear of Niflheim.

-Sailing Expertise

Owns a small sailboat and enjoys sailing. It’s big enough to have a small cabin, and sometimes he’ll sleep on it (for as long as he can, at least) when traveling.

#ffxv #ff15 #ffxv oc #ff15 oc #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #loran antonius

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neonponders · 2 years ago

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Part 39 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🧜🏻‍♂️ ~ marine biologist!Steve x shark!Billy with his pilot fish guppies 🍣

Part 37 & 38 (merman!Billy x marine biologist!Steve)

Part 36 (main plot)

Part 31 & 32 (werewolf!Billy chapters haha)

( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 ) ( pt. 19′s art 🦇 ) ( pt. 20′s art 🍳) ( pt. 27’s art 🦦 )

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

A quiet boat. That’s what Billy had said.

Steve presumed this meant a boat without an engine, but this cut Steve’s options in half. He didn’t know how to use any kind of sailboat - yet. He put that on the list of classes to take - and the matter of price made his options even more limited.

He decided on renting an ocean kayak as well as a satellite radio and a nautical gps because he had no idea what Billy intended. If the shark abandoned him in the middle of nowhere, he might have a chance to get himself back to shore.

In the shallows of their customary beach, he practiced paddling around, both seated and standing. He tipped himself on accident a few times, one of which had him coming back up in Billy’s arms. You call this a boat?

Steve wiped his eyes and shook his head for clarity. “I have conditions if we’re going somewhere.”

The subject got sidetracked by the littles greeting, “Hi, Stevie!”

“What’s this thing?” Small Billy smacked the side of the kayak and darted back to Billy’s side.

“It’s a kayak,” Steve said, wiping his eyes as Billy let his feet sink to the sand. “Billy said to bring a quiet boat. This is the best I can do in a day.”

Steve pressed the pads of his fingertips into Billy’s chest, warranting a lifted brow. “We can’t go far. If I can’t use an engine, I need enough energy to get back here. I’m not as strong as you.”

“I know,” Billy said, but it echoed a little in Steve’s mind. Maybe he wasn’t good at separating mental and auditory things the same way he couldn’t kiss without a little teeth.

For some reason, Steve felt like they were at an impasse. “Can I ask where we’re going?”

“You never asked before,” Billy said, and unfortunately he was right. Steve had always trusted him.

“This time I’m asking.”

“Not far,” Billy answered, scrutinizing the backpack Steve had tied to the front of his kayak.

“Could you not do that?” Steve droned as his rope got untied, but Billy ignored him to rework it to the front of Steve’s kayak.

“Get on, pretty boy. Would hate for you to get too tired to swim.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?” Steve countered, but he figured out what Billy intended. Once seated on his rented plastic salvation home, Billy started to swim with the kayak in tow. Steve felt bad. Sharks were like cheetahs; they could do impressive bursts of speed, but they were lazy endurance swimmers. Steve hoped his paddling relieved at least a little of the strain.

He and Billy had different measurements for ‘not far,’ but they stayed within a mile of the shore. Jagged pieces of land, not big enough to be an island, went by as well as clumps of reef.

Steve didn’t know what he expected. A sunken ship? An abandoned yacht? No, humans would notice those. But a cave was not it.

Billy must be able to feel or read his thoughts, because he stopped before the break in the cliff face to breach the surface and look at him. Steve felt his heart in his ears. Everything about this was different. He was used to seeing Billy in turquoise waters, so much blue, green, yellow, and pink. Not darkness. There was no way the littles lived in darkness. Colorful fish needed sunlight.

“Home.”

“You live in a rock closet?” he all but spat.

“Home is safe.”

“Where’s the sunlight?”

Little Steve held onto Billy’s hair as he tried to say above the choppier water, “It’s inside, Stevie! The fwont’s gotta look scawy to keep the bad fishies away.”

Little Billy joined him. “Thewre’s a beach inside. You gotta come with when the waterw’s down.”

That hole is usually covered, Steve’s brain reeled. What was he going to do? If Billy had finally decided to eat him, it’s not like Steve could out-swim him. And he’d constantly broken the hiking and sailing rules about telling people where he was going or when he’d be back. Nobody would come looking for him, except maybe his work colleagues when he’d missed too many shifts.

He rested the paddle on his lap, resigned. Billy took that as his cue to keep swimming. Steve had to use the paddle as a rudder to thread the needle of the opening. It was large enough for three or four kayaks to pass through, but with the sea swinging widely, he could become a bug splattered on the rocks too fast.

Once inside, the water was calm and aglow from the sunlight outside. Veins of light rippled over the rock ceiling. Steve’s heart bounced ferociously between the black tip of Billy’s silver tail and every new turn the winding tunnel made. Sometimes a stripe of rock would glitter, full of quarts flecks. If Steve wasn’t busy trying to figure out what he wanted his last words to be, he might appreciate it all more.

Of all the things he expected to see - fish skeletons, human debris like beer cans, maybe a piece of a boat or airplane - he did not anticipate the color green. Green like leaves. Green like there were holes in the ceiling, and the holes were getting bigger. Leaves and grass sprinkled the water from where masses of foliage hung over the collapsed sinkhole rims.

Steve was so busy looking up that he yelled when his kayak struck land. Small Billy giggled. “Scarwedy Stevie.”

Little Steve swam in excited figure eights. “Wewlcome to our beach!”

Steve carefully stepped out, glad that the stalagmites stood by the walls and not all over the floor. The beach had some soil and sand but was largely solid rock underfoot. Steve dragged his kayak up to where a long stretch of grass grew lush and green directly underneath the sunlight. Hopefully this area stayed dry during high tide.

“It’s pretty,” Steve admitted, and it was. He could see some wildflowers on the fringes of the biggest hole, and a butterfly fluttering around them.

Billy’s hand grasped Steve’s ankle, but didn’t pull. When Steve looked down at his long form stretched out over the beach, Billy said, “Let’s swim.”

Steve unpacked his flippers, snorkel, and mask. In the water, he crawled on his fingertips since the littles darted all around him, but after Billy took his hand, he gently kicked behind him.

The biggest sinkhole was just down the beach and around the corner, large enough for a couple of boats to anchor in. It made sense why Billy called this place home; with the above ground compromised, no humans would dare settle here, and any predators would have to risk entrapping themselves in the narrow tunnels.

This main room had sand and tall kelp that provided more hiding places if the littles needed it. When small Billy heralded, “Stevie! Fowllow me!” he followed the fish into the vast green swaying like hair in the gentle current.

“This is my shewll,” Billy said, managing to lift a shell no bigger than a dime. The inside of it was bright, watermelon red.

Steve tried to say, “Pretty,” under the water, but he settled on chipper humming instead. He pointed to his dandelion yellow shirt today, and the littles sorted through their shell collection until they found the yellowest one.

Little Steve moved on to a spot of sand. "We’ve got these ‘cause they wook wike big Biwwy.”

Steve helped him dig through the top layer of sand and made an awed sound over the collection of pearls. He touched his chest and gestured upward, where they followed him up so he could breathe and say, “Do you have a favorite?”

“Biwwy, obviously,” little Steve said.

The former laughed. “Yeah, he’s my favorite too. I like the blue and green ones. They look like your tails--”

Steve couldn’t say more, because a certain shark grasped one of his flippers and pulled him under the water. They spent a while playing Kissy Fish, which is just a variation of tag, but they were in Billy’s home terf and Steve tried his best to keep his flipper kicks gentle in their home. The consequence was his mask getting knocked off, a lot of kisses, and a bite on his leg that had him swimming back to the beach.

“Okay, okay. I need water and rest. Ow, this feels like a jelly fish sting.”

The littles knew that Steve needed fresh water, but beyond that they didn’t really understand. He sat on the beach, tossed his flippers onto his kayak, and guzzled from his two liter bottle as they spoke just as much to him as with each other.

“We twied swimming in borwing water.”

“It wasn’t borwing. It made me dizzy.”

“The snaiwls were yummy, but the water was dizzy, yep.”

“Stevie, why do you dwink borwing water but taste like us?”

He shrugged and offered, “Because we’re the same. We’re both salty; you just have a tail, and I have legs.”

His gaze lifted and he frowned a little at Billy pacing back and forth, black tips of his fins reminding him of the tips of cat tails.

“But why do you need borwing water then?” small Billy asked.

“We both need fresh water, but I drink mine and yours comes down as rain and rivers.”

Small Billy beached himself on Steve’s knee cap, chin poised on his little fist to think over that. “But we don’t swim in wivers.”

“That’s good for me. It’d be hard for me to find you in a muddy river.”

Billy smiled. “We found you firwst.”

“Stevie?” his smaller self asked. “Do you wike shewll meat?”

Like clams? he wondered, just in time for Billy to emerge with a bushel of oysters in his hands. Considering he’d only brought a sandwich and pickles today, a grin brightened his face. “I sure do.”

All three fish stared at him when he removed his shirt to use as a scrub for the oysters. “What? You knew it wasn’t attached.”

The littles whispered to each other while Billy sank so only his nose and eyes gazed at him over the water. All Steve had to work with was how Billy’s face had flushed a rich pink. Steve defended weakly, “No biting.”

Billy crawled in between his legs, his shoulders knocking Steve’s arms out of the way for him to climb right up and kiss his mouth and purr, I’ll bite whatever I want.

“BIWWY!” the littles screamed as Steve slumped backwards onto the grass and weeds.

#harringrove #like magnets #wrecked-fuse #neonponders #pocketverse #pocket!au #merman!billy #guppies 🥺😭#fic rec #marine biologist!steve

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