#I had like 3 in a row on an aeroplane

[tourettestaco]

Seizure mimicking tics is really not the vibe.

[probably-writing-x]

Well Rested

Summary:

Warnings: Fluffy as heck, maybe some tiny tiny sexual reference if you’re squinting

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy <3 Thank you for your request, my requests are always open if you fancy giving me suggestions xoxo

~~~

It was a surprise to all of you that you’d managed to organise this trip and actually find time to do it - two weeks where all of you were free, and all of you up for a trip away. You’d flown out from New York in the early hours of this morning and had landed in the Dominican Republic an hour or so ago. Your flight had been a little delayed, the aeroplane was packed full and you were waiting at the airport now for your transport to the villa you’d be staying in. It was a lodge on the beach, overlooking the water, a spot where you’d be certain to get the best views and a couple of weeks of blissful break.

Drew had been groggy since you’d woken up this morning. He hadn’t slept last night because he was certain all of you were going to miss your flight, or one of you would be stranded at the airport. He hadn’t been able to rest at the airport because he had to make sure you all had your boarding passes and your passports and the information for your trip. He was like the holiday Dad of the group - keeping everything in check. He never slept on flights - his long legs were too cramped in the seat and he couldn’t settle for long enough to ever let him properly rest. So, by the time you landed in your location, he was overtired and yet to relax.

“Okay, car’s here!” Madelyn smiles, standing up from where you’d all been sat on the pavement outside of the airport.

She stretches in the heat and grabs her suitcase as a minivan pulls into the space in front of you all.

“Thank god!” Chase lets out a sigh of relief and follows after her, the rest of them following too.

Drew pokes open an eye and groans, stretching a little from where he was laying on his big backpack, “It’s here?”

“Were you sleeping?” You smile lightly at him, picking up your own bag.

“No, trying to, but no,” He sighs, pushing himself up to sit, “Wait wait wait.”

You stop in your tracks and turn around to face him as he forces himself to stand, taking your bag from you, “I got it.”

“Ugh, adorable,” Madison grins at the two of you, her head sticking out the window of the car, “But please god just get in the van.”

Drew throws your bag next to his in the trunk and holds the door open for the two of you to climb into the back row of the van. Jonathan, Rudy and Madelyn were sat in the row in front of you, Madison, Chase and Carlacia sat in the seats in front of them, and you and Drew at the back, with Austin on the other side of you. Drew crosses his arms over his chest and leans his head onto your shoulder, snuggling into you like he was some sort of golden retriever.

“Woah, woah, woah, none of that,” Austin wiggles his finger in Drew’s direction, “We’re in holiday mode now! We need energy!”

“Shut up,” Drew grumbles, shuffling closer to you in his seat so that it urges you to wrap an arm around him.

He stretches out one of his hands and moves your hand up to his hair, waiting for you to run your fingers through it before he drops his arm back down.

“He’ll have energy once he’s napped, but you’re currently dealing with a very sleep-deprived Drew Starkey,” You comment, running your hand through his hair aimlessly.

Jonathan and Rudy look at each other and then turn in their seats, both poking above the height of the chair so that you can see them like floating heads.

“Do you need us to sing to you?”

“No,” Drew states.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Wait you do want us to sing to you?”

“No.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“So you do?”

Drew opens his eyes, “Please shut up.”

You laugh and wrap your other arm around him, running your fingers along the length of his forearm, “Leave the poor boy alone.”

Drew wraps his arms around one of your arms and buries his head into your neck, breathing in your scent as he wished for sleep to overcome him.

“Oooh I think we’re here!” Madelyn points out of the window, “That’s the villas, right?”

You glance up as the car is indicating to turn into the complex, where a row of separate villas are just visible across the sand. They’re bigger than you had imagined, which is a little bit of a relief considering how many of you there were.

“Come on baby, we’re here now,” You comment, nudging your shoulder up a little to move Drew’s head.

He grumbles and reluctantly pulls his head away from you, keeping his arms wrapped around one of yours.

“We can go straight to bed,” You encourage him quietly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He closes his eyes and hums at the contact, releasing a little sigh of relief.

“Come on lovebirds!” Austin grins, holding the door open, “No time to waste.”

~~~

The group of you all pile through into your villa once you’ve been checked in, all of you dragging bags through the door. It’s got a wide open plan lounge and kitchen, and a wall of glass windows and doors that go out onto the terrace. There, it’s decorated with two hammocks on either side, and a fire pit with a big couch before the floor dips and an infinity pool appears to spill down into the sea beyond it.

As the only couple on the trip, you and Drew take the master bedroom and the rest of the group split between the remaining rooms. They all tell you to be out at the pool as soon as possible, the group seemingly injected with energy now that you were finally here.

You follow behind Drew who’s carrying your bags into the room, dropping them down beside each other in front of the closet. Your room has a large window on one wall stretching down to the floor, giving you a view of the bay, quiet and tranquil. Your boyfriend instantly goes over to the bed and flops himself down, spreading out his arms either side as his legs dangle off the edge, bent at the knee as his feet rest on the floor.

“We need to meet the others,” You giggle, rummaging through your bag to find a bikini.

Drew pokes one eye open at you as you start to change out of your airport clothes, folding them on top of your suitcase as you pull your bikini on.

“Oi!” You wiggle a finger at him, “Stop looking.”

He laughs and rests one arm under his head to angle his head up a little, “Can we just sleep here?”

“No,” You raise your eyebrows at him, “Tie this up please.”

He pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed as you move to stand between his legs and his fingers come up to tie up the top of your bikini, fitting it neatly in a bow around your neck. When he’s done, he drags his hands down your sides until they’re at your hips and he guides you around to face him.

You lift up your hands into his hair and run your hands over it, watching him lean into your touch, “You can catch up on your sleep later.”

He wraps his arms tighter around you and rests his head against your stomach, pressing a soft kiss just above your belly button.

“I want to catch up on sleep now,” He mumbles, looking up at you with the closest thing to puppy eyes that he could give you, a pout on his lips.

You lean down until your lips are just an inch away from his, pulling away slightly before he can make any contact, “Then what’s the fun in me putting on my sexiest bikini if you don’t even get to enjoy it?”

He groans, from deep in his chest, as you kiss his lips quickly and pull away from his grip, glancing over your shoulder for just long enough to see him looking desperately after you, defeat hanging on his shoulders.

~~~

You’re out by the pool with everyone for no more than ten minutes when you hear the door of the villa slide open again and shut soon after. You’d managed to steal one of the netted hammocks in the sun, lounging back on it and basking in the relief of having the sun on your skin.

“Well look who decided to show!” Rudy grins from where he was in the pool with Jonathan, the two of them playing a makeshift game of water basketball.

Madelyn and Carlacia look up from where they’re sat with their legs dangling in the water, and Madison, Austin and Chase all look up from where they were squashed beside each other sitting on the other hammock.

You poke an eye open to see Drew closing the villa door, a pair of his new swimming shorts on and a navy baseball cap on his head. His torso looks even more defined and his skin looks desperate to catch a tan. He makes a beeline for you and grips the net of the hammock to stop it from swinging beneath you, towering over you to block the sun from above.

“Hi,”

“Hello,” You grin, “What made you change your mind?”

He rolls his eyes sarcastically at you before shifting himself to lay down on the hammock beside you, stretching out an arm so that you can rest on his chest.

“What you’re not going to join us? We’ve just set up a game!” Jonathan exclaims, splashing water in your direction that fails to catch you.

“Shut up,” You mumble in response and feel Drew’s chest shake with his laugh beneath you.

He draws lazy patterns up and down your arm as you rest on the rise and fall of his chest, and he moves his other hand up to knock down the cap from his head to cover his face.

“Good night,” He grumbles, his other arm wrapping around you to tighten his hold on you, making it certain you weren’t going anywhere.

You draw circles around his chest and torso as he starts to doze off, sleep overcoming him soon under the comfort of your touch.

The sleep deprivation felt worth it to fall asleep exactly like this, the rowdy noise of the rest of the group feeling forgotten when he had you in his arms.

[monsterkin-culture-is]

10 Epic Songs for the Divine & Otherworldly💫🪽

It's a deity & divine kin songlist so I've focused on epic covers & originals as a focal genre to link to the 'species.' For those who haven't encountered "epic" music before, it's often orchestral music made to mimic stuff found in trailers & movies. The maladaptive daydreaming playlists were let loose on this one! I'll probably do a less specific deitykin playlist in the future but see what you think. All song names link to Spotify. 10. Smells Like Teen Spirit by Tommee Profitt & Fleurie. Society forces me to be normal about Fleurie's music but I'm genuinely so in love with everything she makes or is featured on. This is an amazing cover of Nirvana's original. The choir at the end pulls everything together. A 2nd epic cover that y'all might also like is by Malia J and was the opening song to the Black Widow movie. The opening to that movie still haunts me to this day and I love it.

9. Beyond by Tommee Profitt & MILCK. This song is exactly how I imagine the freedom of flight. It's that feeling of watching the sunset above the clouds on an aeroplane. The song feels like something luring you into the world of fantasy.

8. Losing My Religion by BELLSAINT. I suppose this is more the antithesis of deitykin but I'd still consider it fitting in a more ironic way. I really can't decide if I prefer this to the original. It's more my style but it lacks a lot of the gritty and grounded tone of REM.

7. Dream On by Cinematic Pop & Cosette. The ways this song has changed me. Personally, I'm an Aerosmith fan, but this cover just adds a whole new level. In relation to deitykin, it makes me picture a deity stuck in a mortal body, waiting to be free again.

6. Immigrant Song by SOAK. When hearing this song, some think of Thor Ragnarok, some think of Shrek and some will think of the actual Vikings. Which are you? I'm unfortunately all 3. On an actual serious commentary note, if the original version is a battle cry, this is a warning growl. It's so sinister and says so much with so little.

5. House of the Rising Sun by Lauren O'Connell. Second day in a row I've featured a cover of this song, though this one is honestly my favourite. I can't disguise I might have just snuck this one in here because I love it but I still think it could apply to the right deity out there.

4. It Had To Be You (Dark Version) by Tommee Profitt & Tiffany Ashton. Wrathful deity of love anyone? Ashton's vocals are so sinister and truly captivating. Profitt's choppy violin is the finishing touch. Gives me shivers every time.

3. Genesis by Ruelle. Biblical references in a song about transformation and rebirth. What more do you want from me on a deitykin songlist? This is an enormous fave of mine and I hope some of you can have the same connection.

2. The Call by 2WEI, Louis Leibfried & Edda Hayes. No one does epic music quite like 2WEI and their collaborations with League of Legends has produced some masterpieces. The way the army of vocals build at the beginning with the marching beat only to erupt into the animalistic pounding of drums has me gagged every single time. If you do like this one, my second choice would be Still Here.

1. LABOUR - the cacophony by Paris Paloma. This was already such a powerful song when it first came out. This new version is utterly breath-taking. I distinctly remember showing my mother the original on a roadtrip home from visiting relatives. I had to find her phone in her bag to add it to her Spotify whilst she was driving! For those who don't know, labour is a song about feminism and the burden of being a woman and/or afab. Really a listen for yourself moment.

Would recommend listening to these in a dark room... or maybe on a long roadtrip...

[perksofbeingradioactive]

Dick and Wally loved rom-coms. It was a public secret at the Mountain. At first if someone caught them watching, they would find an explaination as to why it was on or blame M'gann, but after a while (and too many "accidental" scenes of "Love,actually") they ran out of excuses and just gave in. Wally's all time favourite was "Four weddings and a funeral", while with Dick, it was a tie between "One day" and "When Harry met Sally" (because, friends to lovers). The first time they watched "Four weddings and a funeral" when the scene with the funeral passed,Wally turned to Dick:

"I want somebody to recite that at my funeral"he stated,mouth full of popcorn.

"Dude,why are you thinking about that??"Dick responded, still a bit shook from the emotional scene that just passed.

"Well, it could happen any day in our line of work, so I'm telling you, as my best friend, my requests"

"Pfft, any musical wishes?"Dick asked sarcastically, "Also,who do you think would read the poem anyway? I don't recall you having a husband last time I checked. And if you do, well, that funeral will be much sooner than expected, given that you didn't invite me to the wedding."

"Hmm" Wally furowed his brows, deep in thought, "I haven't figured out that one yet, but when it happens I bet it'll be my smoking hot, smart-ass girlfriend with whom I'll have at least two dogs".

Dick scoffed "Okay,sure Kid Mouth, lets lighten up a bit, we still have two weddings left"...

Every single time they watched the movie, the same conversation would come up and it would never get past the"Who will read the poem" part.

...

The night before Kid Flash officially retired, he and Dick watched their favourites in Wally's room one last time. After "Love,actually", "Notting Hill" and "Bridget Jones' diary" (it almost seemed like Wally had a thing for Hugh Grant,the blue-eyed,brown-haired heart throb) "Four Wedding and a funeral" got its turn. As the funeral scene was ending, Dick was ready to repeat the same sentences he always did during the years,but Wally's opening line surprised him:

"I've decided who's going to recite at my funeral" he said with a smirk(yet again, mouth full of popcorn).

"I hope you told Artemis cause she does not like surprises" Dick looked away, feeling a sting of jealously over a hipothetical situation. And even if it weren't, god forbid, Arty is his girlfriend, Dick snap out of it!

"Oh no, she doesn't, but she shouldn't be worried cause I chose you" Wally turned to Dick, who went through 17 different emotions in 3 seconds.

"Why me?" Dick asked after processing the newfound information for much longer than his mind usually did.

"Well, your my bestest friend in the whole wide world plus with how many times we've watched this masterpiece, I bet you know the poem by heart"

"Just because you love it doesn't mean it's a masterpiece" Dick tried averting from the conversation.

"I know, but it still is. You haven't responded"

"But its a love poem and most oftenly linked to these two guys!" Dick slightly raised his voice, panicking.

"If someone even tries to comment anything even slightly negative on that matter, they will be haunted by yours truly for the rest of eternity" Wally joked, punching Dick in the shoulder.

"So,will you do it?"he asked after few minutes of silence.

"Yeah, of course" Dick huffed "but don't you dare die any time soon!"

"Well, with Artemis' cooking, it might be sooner than you think" Wally grined,enjoying his best friend's company...

...

It was a rather gloomy day, although it wasn't raining. You'd think that rain was an essential part of every funeral, but people died throughout the whole year. Dick was sitting in the first row, next to Artemis and her mother, Barry and Iris, wearing dark sunglasses and a black suit. He felt a deja-vu, but unlike at his parents' funeral, he wasn't crying. Not that he didn't want to (he wanted to lie and weep and scream at the sky and curse into the ground all at the same time) it just wasn't his assigned role. Artemis was sobbing into her mother's shoulder, Barry's face was puffed, he definitely spent the night crying, same as Iris'. Dick couldn't cry in front of them, he was just Wally's friend. Who also got him killed. Wally was never supposed to get back into the superhero business and now he was gone. It was all Dick's fault. No one said that to him,but Dick knew it was the truth. And there was nothing more that Dick wanted than to dig up a hole and just die in it(that is actually a lie,more than that he wanted his best friend back) but unfortunately, that wasn't possible, so he got up to hold an eulogy for his (former)oldest,best friend.

Dick cleared his throat, checking if he actually had the strength in his voice to pull this of, and started: "Wally loved romantic comedies. He would cheer when it came to the happy ending and complained and cried when there wasn't. It was always easy to figure out Wally's emotions. When he was happy he smiled and when he was sad he ate 2 gallons of chocolate ice cream. When he asked me to read a poem from one of his favourite movies at his funeral I could see he was being serious. That was weird because: 1)he wasn't serious very often and 2)we were teenagers and you don't really think about these thing when you're a teenager. So here I am, today, respecting my best friend's,at the time,riddiculous wish."

Dick pulled out a piece of paper with the scribbled poem but then he stopped and put it away. Wally was right,he knew it by heart.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West." Dick paused,trying to keep himself together.

" My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good. "

He whispered the last line,saying a final goodbye to the one that got away.

[spiralfucker]

hiiii hi hello!!!!!!!!! 5, 13, 24, 28 for that music ask, go 👁️👁️ <з

Afternoon vik <3

5) Sorry to be that guy but it's nmh aeroplane

13) Um.... hi trent what synth were u using in the march of the pigs interlude bit <3 (no but rlly i'd sell my soul to get bubble tea with him or whatever)

24) My angry playlist is like 600 songs long lmao but off the top of my head maybe like stay here by swans

28) Not to be cringe but here;s a mini playlist of songs that were written about me <3 everybody's happy nowadays - the buzzcocks girls & boys - blur thirsty dog - nick cave & the bad seeds i just wasn't made for these times - the beach boys sour times - portishead suburban war - arcade fire only - nine inch nails ballad of big nothing - elliott smith i wanna be your dog - the stooges book of revelation - the drums

Vik these were good ones I blushed

35 music-themed questions

an album you can’t stop listening to lately

an album you wish you could hear again for the first time

a song you really like by an artist you otherwise don’t listen to very much (whether that’s because you usually don’t like their music, or just because you haven’t listened to the rest yet)

name 1-3 LEAST favorite songs off one of your favorite albums (bonus: if the person asking knows what some of your favorite albums are, they can suggest an album OR you can just choose one yourself)

name an album you feel is perfect

from the album you feel is perfect, what three songs would you choose to eliminate if you absolutely had to?

do you have any concert tickets right now? if so, whose concert is it?

name an artist/band that isn’t touring at the moment who you’d really like to see in concert

name a musician who is no longer living who you wish you could see in concert

what was your first concert?

what’s a song that your favorite band doesn’t perform live, but you really wish they would?

if you could hear any album performed live in its entirety, which would it be?

if you could talk to any musician, who would it be? what would you want to say?

is there any band/musician who you really strongly dislike? if so, why?

have you ever traveled outside of your area to see a concert? if not, would you want to?

have you ever been in the first row for a concert? if not, what was the closest seat you’ve ever had?

if you could go back in time and attend any artist/band’s concert that you were unable to attend, who would it be and when?

what decade do you think had the best music? is there any particular year that you think was the best?

who is your favorite member of your favorite band?

who (if anyone!) is your least favorite member of your favorite band?

what is a song that you like, but that you don’t listen to very often?

name a song that reminds you of one of your best memories

name a song that you associate with being sad

name a song that you associate with being angry

name a song that makes you think about someone you love

name a song that makes you think about someone you don’t like

name a song that you wish was longer

name a song (or a few songs) that would need to be included in a movie about your life

is there any song that you mostly like, but there’s one specific part of it that you don’t like as much? if so, what is it?

name an album you really love that you haven’t listened to in awhile

name an album you’ve wanted to listen to for a long time, but you haven’t gotten around to it yet

what is a band/artist you really wanted to start listening to, but you just really couldn’t get into it?

do you wear a lot of band t-shirts? if so, do you like it when strangers comment on them?

pick one of your favorite bands/artists and choose a song by them that you associate with each season

name two musicians who haven’t already collaborated on anything who you think would sound great together

[moranadiaries]

“Hello, welcome to Boeing 746! All the passengers are requested to hold tight for takeoff in 5 minutes. Flight attendants, please prepare for takeoff”

My bags. They don't fit in the cabinet. Ugh. I stand on my tiptoes to try pushing my bags, squeezing them back into the deck, but it is of no use since they keep falling. Can my life get any better?

“Ma’am, we’re about to take off. Can you stay in your seat please?” a young steward came beside me.

Oh for goodness sake! Can’t he see that I can’t stuff my bags into the rack?”

“Yeah, just a second” I try stuffing them further deeper when a leather-clad arm comes into view. The man towers over me from behind and effortlessly stuffs my bags, further into the wall. I turn to look over my shoulder to thank him but all I could see is his broad back retreating to his seat.

I stare at the steward in confusion and he just offers a smile back.

~

I realise that it's a little difficult to find 'my' seat among all the others considering it's my first time aboard. However, I managed to somehow get through thick pairs of legs sprawled across the aeroplane floor.

I find my seat in the end corner of the body and count the seats from the one beside my body to the last one in the row.

1..2….3…4 ah 5 is empty!

Considering the last one to be mine, I make my way across the swollen bellies of aged men and cigars to the 5 seat, right next to the seat beside the widow.

Well, that's what happens when you buy a cheap class economy ticket.

I settled in my seat, feeling a lot more comfortable on the spongy cushion….and very fascinated by in-tablet service in front of me and food at the order of just one ring.

I was so engrossed in taking in all the features of these luxuries that I hadn't noticed a young man staring at me with his elbow resting on the adjacent window, lips curved in a smirk and his blonde hair messily falling on his forehead.

And then it hit me, he was the same guy who helped me stuff the bags in. I didn't see his face, but his leather jacket was familiar.

"Are you the young guy who helped me with the bags?" I had the courage to ask him. He stared at me for a few seconds and answered with a raised eyebrow, "Are you the short girl I helped as she couldn't reach the cabin compartments?"

Not gonna lie, I was kinda surprised. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. He just laughed at my helplessness. I giggled too.

"hi, I'm Jimin," he said. "y/n" I answered.

The pilot made an announcement after the air hostesses demonstrated the usage of oxygen masks and other safety measures.

They were now helping the passengers clicking the safety belts.

Seeing that one of them was still in the front rows, I tried to attach them myself but failed to. I felt so stupid for not knowing how to buckle the belts. I heard a faint chuckle and the same leather clad arm swooped to my side, dragged the belt and clicked it into the empty pin.

"First time?" I nod. "mine too" he gives a nervous laugh. I bow my head slightly as a silent thank you.

The plane takes off and I try the new technologies in front of me. Jimin had already fallen asleep and I'm all by myself for this 9 hr long journey.

Hours passed and I'm tired of watching the same old cliché movies repeatedly. I huffed in my place and turned my head to see the blond haired guy already turning towards me — his eyes closed and his mouth slightly ajar. I try to engage myself by looking outside the window. I was looking at the calming orangish blotches of clouds spread over the pink, sunset sky. I bring back my gaze until it lands on his face again. He looks beautiful, almost ethereal — like an angel. I was analysing his whole face until I landed on his nose which was trickling down with blood. A stream of red flowed through his nostrils, hooding his lips. Gasping, I try to wake him up.

"Excuse me? Hello? Please don't die on me." I try to shake him and he eventually wakes up. He looks around confused and clutches his head in pain. "Should I call the stewardess?" I offer to help but he just shakes his head and gestures to me to just calm down. Like how am I when a person is literally bleeding next to me?

"It's fine. It's fine" he shrugs it off like it's nothing and shifts in his place until he is comfortable. He rubs his face with his hands and then excuses himself to the washroom.

I look at my watch and notice there is still more than 5 hours to reach Vegas. It takes almost half an hour for him to come back to his seat later. His nose was tinted pink…as if he cleaned himself of blood.

"Hey Jimin, are you okay?" I tried to make conversation with him as he removed his shoes and made himself more comfortable on the small leather seat. He laid his head back as he groaned, "Yes, I'm more than fine"

His words reminded me of someone. Someone I wanted to forget but couldn't. Someone who hurt me for which I always replied with the same. And I hate remembering him now.

I sense his boredom. Syncing it with mine, I take this as a chance to actually talk to him. "Do you wanna talk? We have more than 4 hours on our hands now ``I lightly wink at him and he smiles.

He sighs and lays back again, resting his hands behind his head, leaning on the backrest. I smiled at him before taking the same position, leaning towards him on my seat.

"You seem curious about me," he replies nonchalantly. Yes I am. I hum as a response and he continues, exhaling a long breath. "I ran away. From home. It suffocated me. My parents are shit. What's your story?"

Well…that took a turn. I formulated every answer of his except this one. His story is too familiar with mine. I look at his shining orbs, gleaming with hope. Hope which says it's about to perish soon.

He looks at me, expecting a similar answer. I was quite taken aback from the look in his eyes, but it spoke out every unsaid emotion of his — feeling love, comfort, hope and help..

I didn't try to pry too much about his story but I continued with mine. "my parents forced me to marry this random piece of trash. They said he'll help them from ending up on the streets. He was a pervert, tried to force himself on me, and I ran away. Someone I know lives in the US, so here I am." I laughed in between. "So yeah we're kinda similar"

He looks at me with pity in his eyes and drops his gaze to the bags under my eyes. He looked surprised, a little shocked after hearing my story for which I assume he didn't think I'd go into so much detail.

He released a low, relaxed groan and put his legs on one other over his seat. Ge continued, "I had a girlfriend. She needed a transplant and I gave her my kidney"

Oh no…. I think I know what's gonna happen next.

"she fucking cheated on me" thick, tear droplets swan down his rosy cheeks. "We broke up. Two years later, I was diagnosed with neurological cancer."

I gasped, and this time it was audible. He noticed my concern and quickly covered it up. "Now I'm going to the States for the treatment" he smiles and i smile back.

"I hope for the best"

I answer with a little strength in my voice.

But his eyes spoke otherwise. His eyes screamed for happiness. His eyes screamed for love. His eyes screamed for help.

A frown soon settled one my face and he looked at me in confusion. The hostess entered again to serve us some food which we kindly accepted. We chatted about everything, his ex-girlfriend, my husband, our parents, our jobs, our lives…. Everything. With him, I felt a sense of relief spread over me. I felt a weird connection with him. Something destined. The more we talked, the more we realised the similarities we share. With him beside me, I felt happy. Talking to him made me lose consciousness over other vile things like my marriage.

…

When I tell you Jimin is the funniest guy I've ever met, I'm not lying. Go argue with a wall if you don't believe me. We've been laughing till our stomachs hurt for the past 1 hour. The air hostess approached us and even asked us to be quieter as we were apparently laughing so loudly that it was bothering other passengers.

I never really cared.

"Will you stick with me in the States? I've never been there before." I blurted out honestly. And the atmosphere instantly went gloomy. All the happiness and joy were drained out of him in a span of seconds. He looked hither and thither, scratched his neck before nodding. I squealed and he smiled.

The lights started to dim as the moon came out. It was magnificent to look at such a beautiful ball of craters amidst the grey clouds. We were given pillows to rest our heads on and sleep till our plane lands. We were told that it would take more than 2 hours to reach.

As I was adjusting my pillow, I felt a pair of shimmering eyes on me. "Trouble sleeping?"

I asked, still adjusting in my small seat.

"Will you hold my hand?" I nodded without any second thought. I love how he used 'will' instead of 'can'.

We held hands and drifted to sleep.

I woke up a little later after I felt a light nudge on my shoulder. Of course, I did wake up when Jimin excused himself for frequent bathroom breaks, but this was for a better cause. I noticed his shoulder was buried in the crevice of my neck and shoulder. He nuzzled a bit before entirely adjusting himself.

Just as I was about to pat his head, I heard him babble, "It's 4…I can't live…no cure, baby… they're calling me to the other end…have to go… thank you for everything…."

He was sweating a little and his chest heaved with heavy breaths. Tsk! He's just dreaming. How cute! Not wanting to disturb his deep slumber, I position him properly on my neck before getting into a proper position myself. I lean back and think about all the possible new things i'm gonna come across in my new beginning, of course with jimin beside me. Smiling, I drift back to sleep.

…

"Please exit carefully. Walk in the line to avoid casualties. Thank you for choosing Korean Airlines. Hope you had a good flight! This is captain…."

I blink my eyes open trying to adjust to the bright light of the sun peeking through the tinted glass. We're here… finally! I pat on Jimin's cheek and try to wake him up. Hey look, we're here! Finally!" I tap his cheek constantly, but he doesn't wake up.

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No….

This can't happen.

I move towards his seat, frantic and panicking and I touch his forehead and face.

It's freezing cold!

I open his eyelids and his pupils don't dilate to the light of the sun. His blood is almost dry now. Droplets of tears already make their way onto my cheeks. With every touch of his, they drop from my eyes.

"Excuse me? Excuse me!! We have a medical emergency here! Someone assist me, please!" Few of the staff personnel come rushing and carry him out.

The dream! It wasn't a dream. Only if i could realise it earlier then maybe i couldn't have prevented it. Only if I could understand what it meant, I wouldn't have lost a friend today.

Panicked screams of mine were all over the plane as I ran through the corridor of it, trying to save an already dead person. Sirens blared in the air and people looked at us in a strange order. I didn't care. All I knew was that I lost the only person who I actually laughed the first time with in almost 3 years.

He was lost, so was I. But we found hope in each other. Though desolate, we still went on with that thin line of hope for 8 hours. I know him, he knows me. That's all.

Now we are nothing, but just strangers with memories.

[swanlake1998]

Article: Julie Felix: the brilliant Black ballerina who was forced to leave Britain

Date: March 3, 2021

By: Steve Rose

(CW: racism, anti black racism, police brutality, violence, murder mention)

She was told there was no room for a ‘brown swan’ in the London Festival Ballet, so she went to the US. There she found enormous success, dancing for everyone from Michael Jackson to Prince

The turning point in Julie Felix’s career came in 1975. A student at Rambert ballet school in London, she was selected to dance in Rudolf Nureyev’s production of Sleeping Beauty with the London Festival Ballet (now the English National Ballet). Nureyev was the god of British ballet – and he lived up to his reputation on the first day of rehearsal, Felix recalls. “He was late, but everybody said he was always late. All of a sudden, the doors flew open and in he came. He was well renowned for these big boots he used to wear, and a big fur coat. He took the coat off like a matador and threw it so it slid across the dance studio floor. Everybody jumped up and stood to attention. He was there for probably about half an hour.” At the time, 17-year-old Felix was awestruck. In hindsight, half a century later, she is less impressed: “Talk about unprofessional.”

In the fairytale version of Felix’s life, having acquitted herself on stage with Nureyev, she would have joined the London Festival Ballet and become the first Black British dancer to begin her ascent through the ranks of a British ballet company. Instead, she was told she was a “lovely dancer”, but was not going to be given a contract, “because of the colour of my skin. I would mess up the line of the corps de ballet, because you can’t have a whole row of white swans and then there’s a brown one at the end.”

Felix was stunned: “It hit me like a thunderbolt.” Her mother was white British and her father African-Caribbean, from Saint Lucia. She had never thought of the refined world of ballet as being what we might now describe as institutionally racist. “It sounds ridiculous, but because I didn’t experience any racial issues or difficulties before that, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the colour of my skin. I thought that I was talented and that would be enough.”

Having grown up in Ealing, west London, in the 60s, Felix certainly knew about racial difference. She rarely saw any faces that were not white in the neighbourhood or at school, she says. After her parents had met on a bench in Hyde Park, her mother’s family disapproved. “They said: ‘If you marry that man, we’re going to disown you.’ And my mum just said: ‘Well, fair enough, I still want to marry him.’”

Her father, who worked as a foreman at the Hoover factory, was quite the charmer, says Felix. “He was the proudest man. He would paint the front door a different colour every year. He was always up the ladder washing his windows. He would grow fruits and vegetables in the back garden. But I would say my dad had a big chip on his shoulder.”

She describes how he would dress like a dandy, in 40s suits and spats, even if he was just going to do the shopping. “He would always berate the grocers and say: ‘You’re picking the bruised fruit and vegetables because I’m Black. You think I can’t see this?’” She laughs. “Why would you move somewhere if you’re going to spend your life being concerned about the way other people look at you and your colour?”

There was an incident when she was eight or nine, when her father returned from work very late, his shirt ripped and covered in blood. A colleague had attacked him outside the factory gates with a meat cleaver on a chain. “He didn’t like, one, the way my dad spoke to him and, two, because my dad was Black,” she says.

Culturally, the Felix household was “100% British”, she says. She had no connection to her Saint Lucian family, although she would see her British grandparents in Essex regularly (relations had thawed when Felix’s elder sister and she were born). Musically, her father liked American crooners such as Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole; her mother preferred classical music and had once aspired to be an opera singer. “So, when it came to my wanting to dance, there was a local ballet school around the corner in Ealing that I would go to, and Mum said: ‘Well, as long as you keep working hard and you’re enjoying it, I will fund it for you.’ She wasn’t a pushy, stereotypical ballet mother, but she knew that I loved it. And because she’d been stopped doing what she wanted to do, she was there 100% for me.” When she passed the audition for the Rambert, her parents could not afford the fees; Felix won a grant from the Inner London Education Authority, which paid 75%.

Felix says no one is “born to dance”, but, as a student, her passion for ballet was boundless. “I can remember the feeling of waking up in the morning, earlier than I needed to, getting on the underground and going into Notting Hill Gate, where the school was. I was the first one in the door. The cleaner was still there.

“I could not get enough of it. My friend and me would stretch and practise our fouettés in the lunch break. We’d be the last ones out of the building. Get back on the train, go home. My feet would be bleeding. I’d have blisters all over my toes. And I didn’t care. I just knew this was what was required. I soaked my feet in salt water, dabbed surgical spirit on them to get the skin to heal and get them dried out so that I could get up the next morning and get on that train again.”

After all her dedication, being rejected for her colour was devastating. “It didn’t last long, mind you,” she says. “Part of my personality is: sink or swim. And I thought: ‘I am not going to sink here.’ So I just flipped it around and just said: ‘Watch me. I’m going to show you I can do it.’”

She didn’t have to wait too long. The previous summer, the Dance Theatre of Harlem (DTH) had come to perform in London. This was a pioneering Black ballet company founded in 1969 by Arthur Mitchell, the first top-flight Black dancer in US ballet. While they were in town, Felix went along, auditioned for Mitchell and was immediately offered a contract. She declined. When her teacher at Rambert found out, “she absolutely hit the roof”, Felix recalls. “She said: ‘You can’t pick and choose. You’ve been offered a job!’” Fortunately, the DTH returned to London a few months after her Nureyev experience. Felix auditioned and was offered a job a second time. She did not turn it down.

This time, Felix’s skin colour was to her advantage, although working with an all-Black company in the US was a curious reversal: “I’d gone from all of my ballet training, and growing up not really being aware of anything to do with Black people, to going to New York and there’s no white people.” Before relocating to New York, Felix had never had a passport, left the UK or flown in an aeroplane.

“Within two weeks of being there, Arthur Mitchell said to me: ‘We’ve got to knock the British out of you.’ And I took umbrage, because I’m really proud of being British,” Felix says. In retrospect, she knows what he meant: “It was the wishy-washy way I approached my technique and my ballet training. But it wasn’t just about that; it was everything that Arthur Mitchell taught and portrayed and wanted us to portray within our work. He wanted to show that Black people really can do this.”

DTH’s sense of purpose aligned with Felix’s own. She stayed with the company for 10 years, earning her place as a soloist and touring the US and beyond (including a satisfying return to the Royal Opera House). Life in the US put British racism into perspective, says Felix. In her first week in New York, she witnessed a young Black man being shot dead in the street by two white police officers for shoplifting. A touring performance in Mississippi in 1978 had to be cancelled because the Ku Klux Klan staged a protest outside the theatre, in white hoods, burning cross and all. “No words can describe that feeling,” she says.

There were more good times than bad, though. Felix shared the stage with, and danced for, luminaries from Ronald Reagan to her hero, Luciano Pavarotti. She danced with Lionel Richie to All Night Long at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics closing ceremony; visitors to her shows included Michael Jackson and Prince. Jackson wanted to cast the dancers in his ill-fated Peter Pan movie, she says. He came to a matinee in Pasadena, California, supposedly incognito, but in full Jackson regalia: black sunglasses, Jheri curl and military-style outfit, with a complement of bodyguards. “I was annoyed, because I was there to deliver the performance, but you had all these girls screaming in the audience,” says Felix. “Anyway, after it finished, he came backstage and said to us, very, very quietly: ‘I really enjoyed your performance. I just think you’re fantastic.’ What a humble man.”

A year later, Prince came to a show, by coincidence at the same theatre. He was similarly “incognito”, in a sequined, hooded purple cape. He never took the hood down. “At the end of the performance, he got back in his limo and left and didn’t say thank you, hello, anything. Really quite rude.”

By 1986, aged 30, Felix was beginning to feel the physical toll of ballet life. She also missed home. She returned to the UK and became a teacher and remedial coach for Sadler’s Wells Royal Ballet, first in London, then in Birmingham, where the company relocated when it became Birmingham Royal Ballet, in 1990. She married and had three daughters (none of whom followed in their mother’s footsteps).

She then became head of dance at a local school. Now it was her turn to “knock the British out” of her students. “They don’t seem to know how to really push themselves,” she says. “Ballet is really painful. If you don’t feel that, then you’re not doing it properly.” Ballet has also always required a highly specific form of physicality, Felix points out. “It needs very arched feet, it requires good natural rotation of your hip sockets, a slender body, long, lithe muscles, long neck, small head.” Regardless of talent or musicality, she says, dancers who do not conform to this body type will struggle. Perhaps it is this inherent discrimination that has made other forms of prejudice easier to disguise.

British ballet has made some progress since the 70s, but it could do more. Birmingham Royal Ballet, for example, had a successful workshop programme with local schools, whose pupils were often from Black, Asian or minority ethnic backgrounds, but such programmes seem to have “fizzled out” as a result of local authority budget cuts, Felix says. On the other hand, there are institutions such as Ballet Black, which advocates for diversity in professional ballet. At the time of its founding in 2001, there were still no women of colour performing in any British company. The Royal Ballet recruited its first Black, British-born male dancer, Solomon Golding, only in 2013.

Felix is not convinced British ballet has turned the corner: “I still believe that we’ve got ballet companies who will take a few people of colour just to be politically correct.” However, she was heartened by the appointment of the Cuban-British dancer Carlos Acosta as director of Birmingham Royal Ballet in 2020, although the pandemic has so far curtailed its activities. While all British arts are vulnerable at the moment, ballet – with its high demands for time, labour, space and personnel – is especially so. Now based in Cornwall, Felix has made do teaching over Zoom for the past year. She is not complaining: “It really is a lovely place to be locked down.”

Felix’s skin colour began as a factor that counted against her, but it became an animating force in her career and led to a wealth of experiences and successes she might otherwise not have had. With that satisfaction, the anger she feels for her 17-year-old self being told her brownness would “mess up the line” has mellowed a little. “Their choice of not accepting me enabled me to find something within myself that I probably would never have known was there,” she says. “And then to open up this whole world for me. So I can say that hatred was turned to gratitude.”

[artificialqueens]

Just Like a Folk Song (Our Love Will Be Passed On), 1/3 (Trixya) - Pinkgrapefruit

A/N -

hi! I’m really excited for this!!! I started it back in the summer of 2020 and it’s been a labour of love for sure. I was initially dead set on waiting for it to reach its end before I posted but I want someone who isn’t me and ortega to enjoy it. I’m so, so proud of it and I really hope you enjoy it so please let me know and maybe I’ll actually finish this one.

Thank you to Jaz, Ortega and Frey who have endlessly supported me, egged me on and corrected the minutia of my grammar. This one is for you xoxo

[chapter 1. pirate wives]

*

part one. joy

please picture me in the trees i hit my peak at seven feet in the swing over the creek i was too scared to jump in

There is a girl in the trees. She is blonde and messy, and her knees have scratches that Trixie’s mama would never allow. She clambers through the branches in her wellies, light as a feather until she’s straddling the edge of a thick branch, white teeth glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. Trixie is immediately jealous. She’s missing her two front teeth and although her mama straightens her dresses and tells her she’s very pretty - she’s not entirely convinced. The girl jumps down from the tree and hits the debris-littered floor with a soft thud. Her shoes are caked in mud and she runs a dirty hand through her hair in a way that makes Trixie’s skin crawl.

The day is warm, and Trixie’s mama had told her to spend it by the river near their flat. It’s overlooked by a wood, and the last man who pretended to be her daddy built a tire swing, so her and her brother could play down here when the sun makes it unbearable to be indoors.

The girl tilts her head and Trixie mirrors her, unsure. Her eyes are a crystalline green, the same colour as the lazy river, and she blushes as Trixie stares. The girl waves exuberantly.

“I’m Katya!” She introduces, pushing her hand forward for Trixie to shake. She sees her mama greet people like this, but it seems very strange. She cautiously moves her hand to meet it and they shake rather forcefully.

“Katya?” She repeats, almost a question, half-formed on her tongue.

“Yup! K-A-T-” she pauses, eyebrows scrunched as she tries to remember the next letter. The sun filters through the leaves, speckling her face with dots of light. “Y-A! Katya!”

Trixie giggles, cheeks flushing. She grips her pink corduroy dungaree dress, letting the soft fabric soothe her nerves. “My name is Beatrice,” she says, voice tight like a rope pulled taut. She is being polite. She is a good girl. Katya purses her lips, shuffling from one foot to another. “You can call me Trixie, though?”

Katya smiles, nods slightly. “I would like that, Trixie.”

She reaches out for Trixie to take her hand, and Trixie is slightly less hesitant this time. Katya’s smock blows in the slight breeze as she tugs Trixie forward, and the girl in the pink follows willingly.

but i, i was high in the sky with pennsylvania under me are there still beautiful things?

She ends up pulling her towards the tyre-swing and she holds Trixie’s cardigan as she wrestles up onto the tyre. Katya can only manage to push her for a few minutes before she wants her own turn, and Trixie makes her pull the swing as far back as she can, so there’s no chance she’ll end up in the river.

“How old are you?” Trixie asks as she holds the tyre patiently for Katya, who struggles in her wellies, despite being adept at climbing trees in them.

“I’m seven,” she announces proudly as she sits atop the tyre. She grips the rope tightly, so her fingers turn white and her brown smock is tucked under her thighs for grip. “My mama told me I look very old for my age.”

Trixie wouldn’t necessarily disagree. Katya looks bigger and certainly stronger than her. She is louder - more physical - and her hair is pretty. Trixie considers it all for a second.

“Okay,” she replies, pushing the swing gently, so its reflection ripples across the river. “I’m seven too.”

She pushes Katya gently for a few more minutes before Katya pipes up again. She’s more relaxed, fingers only barely hanging onto the rope.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Trixie?” The question makes Trixie squirm almost as much as the fact that Katya is now trying to hang upside-down above the river.

She gulps her anxiety down. “No,” she tells her, “I don’t really want one.”

Katya looks at her from upside down and smiles brightly. “boys are gross, Trixie,” she tells her sternly as if she’s had experience. She is steady in her convictions, and Trixie finds this admirable - she’s not sure if she has convictions.

Katya’s smock comes loose from under her thighs and Trixie looks away in shock as it exposes her almost naked body. Katya just giggles, her stomach expanding with laughter as she tries to grip with her legs and pull herself back up, so she is no longer exposed.

She twists her body slightly and manages to jump off the swing and onto the ground, watching as Trixie winces.

Katya puts her arms in the air. “I’m fine, look,” she tells her reassuringly. Curving her fingertips slightly she smiles. “RAWR!”

She chases Trixie through the horse fields until they end up on a street full of little stone cottages with flower boxes under the windows. Trixie stops when her mary janes hit the concrete and looks quizzically at Katya who’s stopped at a green door. She beckons for her to follow, and Trixie does.

sweet tea in the summer cross your heart, won’t tell no other and though i can’t recall your face i still got love for you

Katya’s sister Anna is sitting in the living room with a jug full of sweet tea and ice that makes Trixie drool just thinking about it. She smiles, offering them plastic cups full of the sugary liquid that Trixie happily gulps down after hours in the woods. She goes to slip her shoes off by the door, but Katya waves her hand. “Keep ‘em on.”

Trixie shrugs and follows the messy blonde up a flight of wooden stairs into a little red room. It has a bed pushed up to the wall and a set of gymnastic rings that come down from the ceiling. Katya places her cup down on the nearest flat surface as Trixie cradles hers in her hands, and launches herself at the rings.

Trixie is astounded that Katya can push herself off the ground, arms locked straight. She jumps down and grabs the shorts off the bed, pulling them on (somewhat awkwardly) over her wellies. Trixie watches in wonderment, fixed in place on the carpet, so she doesn’t spread dirt as Katya swings around, flipping and tumbling, aided by the rings.

When she finally stops, they sit crossed-legged on the floor, sipping sweet tea.

“Will you be my best friend?” Trixie asks Katya sweetly - her tongue coated in tea and her body energised from the most fun she’s ever had. She picks at the lace on the top of her socks while Katya considers her offer.

“I can do that,” she tells her, voice earnest and honest.

“Deal. I think best friends braid each other’s hair.”

“That sounds good.”

your braids like a pattern love you to the moon and to saturn passed down like folk songs the love lasts so long

“You can move now!” Katya announces after a painfully long time. Trixie gently pats the neat rows of hair on her head - it’s tender, and she scrunches her face up in response. She finds herself jealous - Katya is much better at braiding than she is, but she promised to teach her on the hand-me-down styling mannequin she got from her sister Anna.

“You’re better than me,” she effuses, hand splayed on the soft fabric of Katya’s smock.

“Yeah, well you have freckles,” Katya retorts, and Trixie nods because she makes a good point. “You can’t have everything, Beatrice.”

Trixie chews on her lips. She feels freer in Katya’s bedroom, there are no ghosts in the cupboards or angry ladies drying the washing in the sun. “Can you call me Trixie?” She asks. “I liked that better.”

Katya jumps up, pulling Trixie up with her. The sun makes her red walls glow, and they reflect onto her blonde hair.

“Okay, Trixie, do you wanna go on an adventure?”

Trixie nods and they barrel out of the bedroom and down the stairs, which creak pleasantly with every thundering step. Katya tugs her round the bend at the bottom of the stairs so fast that Trixie almost slams into the wall, but eventually they find Katya’s mama, Seraphine, in the kitchen making a salad.

“We’re going on an adventure!” Trixie exclaims, and Seraphine chuckles at them, ruffling Katya’s hair until the blonde scowls.

“Okay girls, stay safe,” she tells them, and they nod earnestly. “Are you staying for dinner?” She asks Trixie, and Trixie shakes her head sadly.

“My mama told me to be home for six.”

Seraphine smiles warmly and moves, so they can exit through the back door. Katya’s house backs onto a horse field and it makes Trixie feel like a butterfly - all warm and free in the sun and she never really wants to go home.

Katya sticks her arms out like she could fly if only she had the lift, and they run around playing aeroplanes for a little while. Trixie’s scuffed mary janes let her socks get wet from the dew in the grass and it makes her feel like she is a part of nature.

Katya takes off her wellies and the ground squishes under her toes.

and i’ve been meaning to tell you i think your house is haunted your dad is always mad and that must be why

Katya walks Trixie home to the grey flats on the edge of the town. They tower high above the little cottages - a relic of a revolution long gone - and cast hazy shadows in the late afternoon sun. In the shadows, Katya’s hair looks dull and Trixie’s dress looks clean, and it makes the hairs on Trixie’s legs stand up as a breeze whistles under her skirt.

“You live here?” Katya asks and she doesn’t mean it to sound mean, but the words still crackle in Trixie’s ears like dying embers. She bristles, standing up tall and proud like she’s always been taught to.

“Yes, I do,” she tells Katya almost haughtily - trying to channel her mama. Her hands firm around the squish of her hips and she purses her lips.

Katya frowns. “I’m sorry,” she voices, chewing the inside of her cheek, fingers clinging together behind her. “It looks like ghosts live here.”

This makes Trixie laugh, it’s soft and ladylike because she’s a lady, which in turn makes Katya laugh - loud and raucous.

“Good-bye, Kat-y-a,” says Trixie, her mouth rounding over the syllables. “Katya.”

“Good-bye, my best friend Trixie,” replies Katya with a wave and a nod before she skips back up the path towards the streetlamps. She steps inside the building and heads up the stairs, knocking three times on the door.

“Why are your shoes scuffed, Beatrice?” Is her first greeting and she turns her toes in an attempt to hide them from her mama.

“The forest, Mama,” Trixie responds, calm and quiet. Her brother is watching from the couch and he sticks his tongue out at her with a kind smile. “I met a girl named Katya.”

Her mama scowls, face tight and eyes sharp. “You let a girl named Katya touch your hair?” She asks, almost mocking as she picks up a braid and lets it fall back onto Trixie’s back. She sighs. “Go get ready for dinner and wash your hands.”

“Yes, Mama,” Trixie tells her dutifully before running off to her bedroom. She places the bobbles Katya used in her hair in her jewellery box.

and i think you should come live with me and we can be pirates then you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet

They play pirates, skipping rocks on the river like cannonballs. Katya is Blackbeard with her macaroni necklace and her stolen clip-on earrings. She smiles sweetly and tells Trixie that she is Grace O'Malley, because she is pretty and male pirates were not pretty. Also because then they could have the best pirate wedding anyone has ever seen and this makes Trixie laugh so hard she accidentally throws her best skipping stone. Katya decides that she’s won, but she will share her treasure and they lay on the grass on the bank of the river.

Seraphine has been reading Katya a book on pirates, so the young girl parrots the information back to Trixie, who revels in the knowledge. She begs her brother Josh to read her that pirates books she’s borrowed from the library and the next day she comes back to the river and tells Katya that they are both women pirates.

“I am Grace O'Malley and you are Mary Reed,” she announces authoritatively. Katya frowns, head tilted so her blonde hair glows white in the sun.

“Can we still have the best pirate wedding though?” She asks, and Trixie squeezes her hand before jumping up.

“Of course!” She tells her like it is obvious. “We will just be pirate wives.”

Katya nods, because this makes perfect sense. “We will be pirate wives,” she consolidates. She pulls a stick out of the belt of her smock and holds it aloft. “TO BATTLE, PIRATE WIFE!” She screams so the horses in the next field are adequately prepared before running down the grassy bank, so her wellies get wet on the rocky shore of the river.

“To battle!” Trixie squeals, running after her with enthusiasm. She stops when the stones start because she doesn’t want to get her socks wet this time, but she watches as Katya jumps in the water.

'Best friend pirate wife,’ she turns over in her head. It sounds good.

and just like a folk song our love will be passed on

part two. discomfort

i want you to know i’m a mirrorball i’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

There’s only one middle school in the village. Its bricks are a rust-brown and rough like they’ve just been dug out of the ground. It used to be a factory town, so everything is covered in a thin layer of dirt and dust anyway, but this building manages to look particularly rugged. Trixie assumes the planters were at one point neat and trimmed, although they don’t seem to be anymore - wiry stems making their way up the walls. It’s not unwelcoming, Trixie just doesn’t really want to be there.

She pushes that down though, pulling her white long-socks back up past her knees and adjusting the way her backpack falls on her shoulders. She spots Katya loitering under the carefully positioned 'no loitering’ sign and smiles - picking up her pace so her mary-janes slip a little on the gravel-covered yard. Katya’s wrists are covered in the friendship bracelets they spent the summer weaving with Seraphine’s embroidery threads. She wears Trixie’s too - her mama threw the first one out with her brother’s holey socks.

They share a homeroom, and Katya makes sure they get two seats next to each other, the plastic chairs sweating in the late August heat. Trixie’s thighs stick to them against her will and she finds herself gently prying her thighs away from the seat every so often as Katya laughs in her loose jeans.

Katya has always been the one who preferred practical fashion. Her brown smocks have turned into tank tops and jeans, and she’s only eleven, but Trixie thinks she dresses a bit like the boys from Grease. They’re older. Maybe, by then, Trixie will look like a Pink Lady. That’s what she wants, anyway.

They write notes on each other’s pencil cases while Mr Thompson gives them a rather hasty personal health lesson. Trixie worries at one point that she’s missing important information about periods or nail varnish, but Katya tells her that Anna can just explain it all to them, so they go back to doodling hearts in the margins of their brand new notepads.

At one point, Trixie chances a look around the room, the walls are sparse and the paint peels, but there’s one poster that makes her tummy feel weird and she almost points it out to Katya, but the other girl is too busy making a paper plane.

The poster tells her homosexuality is a sin.

She wonders if pirate wives are exempt.

i’ll get you out on the floor shimmering beautiful and when i break it’s in a million pieces hush

In Biology, Katya is seated next to a boy named Maxwell. He’s Jewish and sweet enough, and they talk about his babushka’s chak-chak. Katya remembers the sweet, doughy treat from her times visiting her baba back in Russia, and she almost asks why his name doesn’t sound like hers, because he sounds awfully American even though he can pronounce her last name.

Most of the teachers can’t. It’s the third day and they’ve already resorted to Zamo. She’s too used to it to be hurt.

Mrs Dodds comes in through the teacher’s door and drops a textbook on the desk to get everyone’s attention. She’s a mousy sort of woman - light hair cut to a bob that stops at the nape of her neck. Her blazer is tweed and also oversized, and it reminds Katya of the jacket her dad wears to job interviews.

Dodds starts scratching her name onto the board in white chalk and the sound sends shivers down the class’s spines.

“Can anyone explain to me where humans came from?” She asks the room, and the eleven-year-olds cower from the cadence of her voice.

A brave girl called Monique waves her hand, but Dodd’s picks on a boy called Jaremi instead and he quivers under her gaze. “Sex?” He suggests, tone light like he’s walking on eggshells and all of the preteens burst into giggles. The poor boy turns the same shade as summer poppies, and Katya feels terrible. Unfortunately, her face must betray this because a crooked finger is pointed in her direction. She shifts awkwardly.

“Evolution,” she musters with enough confidence that it doesn’t sound like a question, and while the class looks vaguely impressed with her, Mrs Dodds does not. She scoffs.

“A fallacy,” she claims, stalking back to the chalkboard with her sleeves crumpled by her elbows.

The chalk scraped on the board, spelling out a word: God. Katya gulps. She’s pretty sure god didn’t make humans. They came from fish - at least that’s what her encyclopedia told her.

“God created humans,” she announces to them all, smiling faintly, “and it’s people like you, sinner,” she points at Katya again, “who make him regret it.”

when no one is around, my dear you’ll find me on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you Hush

They square dance in gym class and even though there aren’t enough boys, the girls aren’t allowed to dance with each other, so Trixie ends up sat on the bench while Katya and Max twirl in circles - blatantly flaunting the teacher’s instruction. Her long black skirt is patterned with white skulls and flares prettily around her ankles, exposing her red Doc Martens.

Katya leads, stepping backwards while Max steps on her toes - his shorter stature making for quite the picture (one that makes Trixie snort into her elbow).

She is not jealous. Jealousy is too strong, what she feels is subtle - like pulling on her ribs, shifting them under her skin until her heart hurts. Her heart does hurt. Maybe she’s not used to Katya having other people, so what - they said they would stick together and they will. She is confident.

When the dance ends, Katya bows - waving her arm so it circles under her and allowing her messy hair to fall over her face before flicking it back dramatically. She smiles at Trixie, and Trixie smiles back for the split second before she is assigned to the tall, lanky boy at the back of the gym. His hands are clammy and damp and strangely cold, and Trixie tries to hold them as lightly as she can, confident that Katya’s would be softer, warmer.

The boy smells strange, his hair falls over his eyes, and he stutters when he talks to her, making a poor effort of leading her and standing on her feet more than she stands on his. The teacher doesn’t seem to care, too busy screaming at the blonde girl who refuses to dance with the boy who has eczema.

They dance in circles rather than squares and Trixie’s mind is running in triangles rather than circles.

i know they said the end is near but i’m still on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you

Trixie finds herself giggling with the girls Katya called plastic in her English lesson. She doesn’t share it with Katya and she didn’t want to sit alone, so she positioned herself at the back with Gigi, Pearl, and Courtney, who don’t seem to have an appreciation for Keats, but then again neither does Trixie, unless Katya is reading it to her in the hammock behind the cottage.

Gigi is dating a hippie boy from the next town over. She refers to him as Crystal, and the other girls go along with it, so Trixie doesn’t ask. Pearl wants to smoke weed with the high school boys that hang around the skate park, but she’s promised her brother that she won’t until she’s fourteen. Courtney is from Australia. They seem interesting.

Trixie doesn’t understand why they’re plastic.

But Katya drags her by the arm out of school one day ranting about how they’d called her names like 'dyke’ for not having a boyfriend.

“Boys are dumb,” she’d told them proudly, “I don’t want one.”

“Boys are dumb,” Trixie agrees solemnly, sat on a wall near her flat as Katya paces. She kicks a stone into the road and watches it skitter to a halt before sitting next to Trixie with a huff. “Sometimes girls are dumb too,” Trixie reminds gently, and Katya puts her head on her shoulder.

“You’re not dumb,” Katya tells her, “I don’t understand why they have to be.” She sounds so dejected that Trixie wants to bundle her up in blankets and make hot cocoa until she’s smiling again.

“Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You’re going to love it,” Trixie quips, and it does make Katya chuckle at her best friend’s antics.

“You did not just quote friends at me,” she jokes, pressing a finger into the softness of Trixie’s side. Trixie jumps off the wall in shock as Katya cackles to herself and sticks her tongue out.

“I hate you,” she tells her, smiling widely.

“I hate you too.”

i want you to know i’m a mirrorball i can change everything about me to fit in

They walk the final stretch to Trixie’s flat, hands swinging between them. Katya’s hand is clammy, but it is warm, and it grounds Trixie’s thoughts from where they are spinning. She knows people can be horrid, her brother once told her that 50% of the town is assholes and 50% is assholes you can deal with, but knowing and realising are two different things, and maybe she just hadn’t realised.

She doesn’t mean to be, but she’s more careful from then on. She giggles with boys and she doesn’t really hold Katya’s hand outside of the woods and the fields, where they are free to be whatever they want. And maybe she wants to hold Katya’s hand. Maybe.

There is a boy called Ben who hangs around the library. He seems sweet and small and kind, and she sits at his table while she tries to work out algebra. He plays baseball, but he mostly paints and makes jokes, so everyone seems to like him and Trixie admires that.

She appreciates the non-judgemental silence as she struggles over Pythagoras one evening. Katya is at art club, and Trixie doesn’t feel like having to do the work in the flat where the heating is broken, so she bundles herself up in the library and watches Ben eat a chocolate muffin over the top of his book. He smiles warmly at her and offers a chunk, which she takes gladly - savouring the way it seems to melt in her mouth.

"That’s good,” she mutters appreciatively, mouth full and all too aware of the watchful eye of the librarian.

“I made them!” Ben responds, his cheeks flushing with excitement.

“And they’re not going to poison me?” Trixie asks as he offers her a full one from a Tupperware in his bag. He sticks his tongue out, shaking his head, before ducking down as the librarian looks their way.

you are not like the regulars the masquerade revellers drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

“I think Ben has a crush on me,” Trixie postures, approaching it slowly like one approaches a kitten stuck on a road. Katya, in many ways, is comparable to a scared kitten - whether it be her anxious quiver or the mess of her hair - soft, but tangled in a knot on her head.

Katya’s eyebrow quirks, though her mouth stays set. “I thought we said boys are dumb?” She tells Trixie firmly, feet planted in the damp October soil.

Trixie shifts her toes on the crunching leaves and the noise ripples through the forest.

“They are,” she agrees, quietly, “I don’t want one.” She feels like she’s having to defend herself and she doesn’t really know why. Her cheeks prickle red with heat.

Katya scowls, and Trixie’s quivers on instinct before pulling her shoulder back and standing up straight. The clouds rolling overhead seem greyer, but maybe that’s just a trick of the light.

“You can’t control who I’m friends with, Kat,” she advocates, the telltale signs of anger slipping into her tone as the pitch heightens with every word. She pulls the sleeves of her jumper over her palms so she can feel a little sense of security, and Katya’s face softens.

“I know,” Katya sighs. She falls down onto a log, brushing some of the bark off the edges. She shifts as it scrapes her legs through her trousers, but eventually settles, looking mournful. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

Trixie holds her hands in her own, feeling the clammy warmth.

“I promise you won’t.”

hush

part three. comfort

when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Trixie is fourteen, holding hands with Ben as they eat ice creams from the parlour down the street. Ben dots some of his onto her nose, and she flushes pink and flustered as he wipes it off with the pad of his thumb. He’s grown taller, face chiselling ever so slightly, although his cheeks remain doughy and soft. She has to refrain from imprinting her fingertips into the pale flesh just to watch it bounce back. She’s grown into herself, breasts growing until her mama had to take her to the department store, an hour away, to buy training bras in sizes larger than the local shops have in stock.

She blushes and goes back to her ice cream, the strawberry sauce dripping into her knuckles so she has to run her tongue along them, leaving only the faint hint of pink food-colouring trailing across her hand.

He presses his lips to her cheek, tongue skimming the tip of her soft serve on the way, and grins like a Cheshire cat. She relents, placing her lips on his for a peck, and his lips taste like chocolate sauce. It’s sweet.

It took her a few years to finally accept his constant asking her out, but they spent ninth grade canoodling in the library, hand swinging between them and lips pressed to each other’s cheeks. It’s nice.

The girls she changes with for gym class tell her she must be in love, but she’s always thought that love would feel more like fireworks rather than popping candy. It’s pleasant. She doesn’t know if she should want more.

but i knew you dancin’ in your levi’s drunk under a streetlight, i

Ben wanted more. He dumps her for Kelly Mantle, a drama student famed for giving Brian McCook a blowjob behind the smoker shelter.

She cries into Katya’s paint-splattered denim jacket, the blonde’s fingers worming their way around the fullness of her hips until Katya’s holding her.

Trixie sobs in hiccups, and Katya’s sorrow rolls in waves. She’s held the girl so many times in their friendship, but they swore it would never be over a boy. And now Trixie is clinging to her like a liferaft in the ocean and Katya cannot help but pull her ashore.

Katya guides her over to the blanket she’d thrown on the warm grass, and they collapse onto its cushioning. Katya holds her until all her sobs muffle into croaks, and then there is silence.

They eventually roll onto their backs, Katya’s arm resting under the nape of Trixie’s neck, and although she’s losing feeling in her fingers - she wouldn’t move it for the world. The sun is warm, bright and even across their exposed stomachs in crop tops that Anna gave them when her chest grew too large. Katya’s hangs limply, but Trixie’s is stretching to her body and moves gently with each breath. Katya could watch the hypnotic movements until the sunset.

The river at the bottom of the verge babbles softly. There’s a heron in it, tall and proud and searching eagerly for fish. Its beak hooks into the water and it pulls out a flapping anchovy - or so Katya tells her, fingertips painting the words into the skyline.

Sometimes Trixie feels like the heron, but most days, she supposes, she is the anchovy. She is only fourteen, but life is harder than she thought it would be. Heartbreak hurts more. Making daisy chains with a lifelong friend soothes the pain a little.

i knew you hand under my sweatshirt baby, kiss it better, i

The rips in Katya’s Levi’s let the grass brush her calves. She longs to pull Trixie up, drag her around on the grass till they’re dancing, but the sun is starting to burn orange on the horizon line and Trixie’s mam has never been one for letting her off curfew.

She tugs the blonde up, sleepy and satiated - brushes a thumb along the redness of her under-eyes. Trixie adorns her with a flower crown and in the headiness of the sunset, Katya blushes.

The sky goes from naphthol red to quinacridone. Trixie swings their hands together as they take the long road home. Their path is shaded by the trees, and a breeze causes goosebumps to appear all up her arms, so she tugs her sweatshirt on, and Katya carefully pulls her hair out of the back for her. She whispers something, but it is lost to the whistling of the leaves.

Sometimes Katya wishes they could go back to playing pirates. They could be pirate wives and gallivant about the woods, waving their sticks up high and pretending that they could always go home to each other. It would be easier, she muses, easier than enduring school with girls who call her a dyke and a lesbo and tell her not to look at them in gym class, when, really, she gets ready facing the corner. Pirate wives would be fanciful, but lovely nonetheless.

The softness of their footsteps stops as they reach the path to Trixie’s. It’s gravely and it crunches underfoot, but the streetlights cast shadows that make Katya yearn to dance with Trixie once more.

She gives in this time, pulling the younger girl into her arms so they can mock-waltz, imagining the streetlamps as spotlights and maybe their friendship as something more.

Katya’s hand slips onto the fullness of Trixie’s hip again, her skin hot under her cold palm.

“You’re my favourite,” Katya whispers, lips brushing the flyaways from Trixie’s ponytail. She cannot see the blonde blush, but she squirms a little in Katya’s arms and it makes her smirk.

“And you’re mine.”

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed you put me on and said i was your favorite

They kiss under that streetlight.

It may be the first, but it’s the sweetest and the quickest and the kindest too - lips brushing like a promise. Trixie can’t say what she’s promising, but she’s pretty sure she’d promise her life away just to taste cola off Katya’s tongue again.

a friend to all is a friend to none chase two girls, lose the one when you are young, they assume you know nothing

part four. deception

make sure nobody sees you leave hood over your head, keep your eyes down tell your friends you're out for a run you’ll be flushed when you return

Katya pads quietly along the line - her socks not quite keeping out the 3am chill. She’ll have to wait until she’s out of the door to put her worn converse back on - the squeak of the soles bound to wake the whole flat up. She resists the urge to skid - knowing she’ll hit the front door with a thud that Trixie will struggle to pretend is the wind. It’s a calm night.

She’s left Trixie in bed - the duvet twisted around her recumbent form like a snake. She wishes, for a second, to turn around and snuggle back into the warmth of Trixie’s side. To sling a leg back over the plush of her thigh and rest her head on Trixie’s chest.

Cuddling, she decides, is god’s divine creation. And so is Trixie.

She manages to avoid the creaking floor panel in front of Mama Mattel’s bedroom door, hugging the wall opposite just to make it out unscathed.

She locks the door with the key Trixie gifted to her over summer - pressed at a locksmith two towns over. Mr Lackerty in the village centre would have asked too many questions. Trixie paid for it with her allowance, stealing change from her Mama to take the bus there and back. She’d gifted it to her in a little shoebox stuffed with pulled-apart tissue. Katya has cried.

Slipping on her shoes in the hall outside, she sighs in both relief and sadness. She leaves quickly.

take the road less travelled by tell yourself you can always stop what started in beautiful rooms ends with meetings in parking lots

Trixie shifts on the wooden desks - hoping her skirt won’t be covered in chalk and graphite when she gets up. She’s watching Katya, dark eyes trained on crystalline green, and Katya smiles up at her before focusing back on her canvas. Her tongue pokes out when she does something she deems good, her eyebrows scrunching in concentration.

The art room is empty except for the two of them and by the silence of the corridor outside, lunch isn’t over just yet. They’re safe.

It’s like their own little sanctuary, Katya with her paints and Trixie with her Katya. She gently brushes the girl’s fringe back whenever it looks in danger of getting messy - there’s already a streak of pink across the bridge of her nose, but Trixie doubts she’s noticed.

She starts humming to herself, an old song that she’s heard through the walls of the flat, and Katya looks up at her.

“You should sing more Trix,” she tells her, ever so earnest.

“You think?” Trixie tucks her hair behind her ears, eyes twinkling at the compliment.

“I do,” she muses, turning back to the painting so she can put a final stroke in place before she tugs on the edge of Trixie’s skirt.

Trixie brushes a hand at her, hoping there won’t be painted fingerprints on the corduroy before coming to stand behind Katya. She wraps her hands around her waist and balances her chin on Katya’s shoulder before finally allowing her eyes to fall on the canvas.

It’s the river. Their river.

And they’re on the banks.

Together.

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares

Trixie turns sixteen in February. Her birthday is celebrated by the world even if they don’t realise it, pink hearts adorning every establishment in town. She spends the day with Courtney, as Pearl is smoking weed with her boyfriend from city college. He’s a forty-minute bus ride away on a good day, but Pearl says the sex is good, and Trixie just blushes softly because she shouldn’t know what Pearl is talking about, but she does.

She’s okay with it, though, spending the day without Pearl. She and Courtney get smoothies from the 'healthy’ diner that Courtney’s been going on about and talk about boys, and Trixie makes up most of her opinions, but that’s okay.

She decides that she’ll be attracted to Mathew because he’s tall and he’s got the same cheekbones, as Katya so she can just talk about that. Courtney’s raving about this guy called Danny that she wants to be friends with (make out with), apparently he’s in a band and he sings, and that makes Courtney positively ravenous for him.

They part ways after Courtney gives her the charm bracelet she and Pearl bought. It’s silver and has a little heart charm on it, but Courtney tells her not to worry, they can buy more.

It jingles, but it’s not as comfortable as the woven friendship bracelets she and Katya made when they were eleven.

Katya meets her by the river and they walk through the woods hand in hand till they reach the clearing where she’s laid out a picnic blanket.

They lay on it together, looking up at the sky and holding hands through their gloves.

“We met here,” Katya ponders, as she allows herself to get lost in the smell of cherries on Trixie’s breath.

“Huh,” Trixie replies, placing a gentle kiss on Katya’s nose, “I guess we did.” A blush spreads across her cheekbones and she feels the heat in her chest as she remembers the past few years.

“You’re my favourite,” Katya tells her, a whisper in the wind.

“And you’re mine.”

it’s born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies a million little times

They go through a rough patch. They’re only seventeen, it’s their god-given right to, and they’re hiding a secret that’s burning them both, slowly, but surely.

Katya spends more time with Danny and his band, and Trixie spends more time with Courtney and Pearl and Gigi and her boyfriend, who transferred at the end of last year. He’s got a mullet, and it’s confusing, but apparently it’s in fashion, so Trixie doesn’t try to argue.

They drift apart a little bit. It’s the kind of drifting where Trixie stares at Katya across the corridor - watches a boy with eyeliner compliment her rings in front of their lockers. Katya stares at Trixie too - watches her when Courtney and Pearl aren’t around to call her a dyke, and maybe she’s still hurt that Trixie chooses to be their friend.

She wonders what would happen if they knew where Trixie’s proclivities lie.

She slips a note into her locker, telling Trixie to meet her in the art room, 6th period on Thursday. It’s bound to be empty, the rest of the school busy with summer term exams and home study. She tells herself that she’ll wait till then. She can wait.

Trixie looks nervous when they meet, she’s pulling at one of her nails - the glossy pink peeling off.

“You wanted to see me?” She asks, voice low and cautious, and it breaks a little part of Katya that she doesn’t even realise is shattering.

“I’ve missed you,” Katya responds, honest and raw. She’s twisting her fingers together too, subconsciously mirroring Trixie, or whatever Danny was trying to tell her about psychology. Trixie nods slowly.

“I’ve missed you too,” she agrees, gulping air like she’s drowning. The tension is sucking all the air out of the room, but she’s only just noticed it’s ugly form. She manages a smile, and it’s softer than she thought she could muster.

“I love you, you know?”

Katya frowns, and it makes Trixie back into the table she’s been stood in front of.

“I don’t think you do,” Katya says, and suddenly the silence feels like it’s been shattered.

“Wh-” Trixie stutters, feeling like the air has been sucker-punched out of her lungs leaving her winded.

“I don’t think you do,” Katya repeats plainly, her eyes suddenly emptier than Trixie’s ever seen them. She’s gripping the table behind her so hard that her knuckles have gone white - gathering all her resolve because she’s sure she’ll crumble if she lets go for a second.

“Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“You don’t.”

“Just because you’ve decided you can’t accept it.” Trixie’s indignant now, she wants to scream and shout and yell, but most of all - she just wants to understand.

“You don’t love me,” Katya says again. “You say you do, but you can’t. This hasn’t meant anything to me.” It’s a lie. She watches Trixie crumble and then pick herself back up again all in the space of a few seconds.

“You know what, you can go fuck yourself.” She throws it out there and watches it detonate - the harshest words she’s ever said to Katya.

She turns to leave, inhaling deeply to try and keep the tears in her eyes instead of streaming down her face where they want to be.

“Dyke,” she mutters as the door slams.

She leaves, and Katya finally falls apart.

look at this godforsaken mess that you made me you showed me colours you know i can’t see with anyone else

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Fourteen (final!) (nsfw)

You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? Do you have so little faith in me?

Spoilers: I was in bed when I remembered, and it’s 11.45pm here and I totally had forgotten. I’m so sorry.

Well, this is it, folks! The conclusion to the 14-part story! Hope you’ve enjoyed it, and thanks to the few of you who’ve let me know when you’ve enjoyed it, and to those of you who have consistently reminded me when I’ve forgotten to post! <3

This week: our boy has shown us his true wyvern form and has taken us for a brief test-flight around the grounds of his home, but now he's got a surprise for us and wants to take us further afield!

Catch up on previous episodes here:

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen

You would remember that flight for the rest of your life. The way the ground disappeared beneath you should have left you a frightened wreck, but sitting astride Mikaeïl like that gave you a strange rush of courage, knowing that his power and strength and agility in the air would keep you safe, that you would not fall tumbling to your death through the endless space beneath you. He would bear you up, hold you aloft, soar and glide with you as the world passed by beneath. It was hard not to laugh like a lunatic after a while, even once the adrenaline had mostly worn off.

Mikaeïl’s wing beats whooshed with a steady, thrumming rhythm as he flew, the vast stretch of the leathery wings reaching as wide as an aeroplane tip-to-tip, his neck long and spiked extending ahead of you, and, if you were brave enough, you could twist and look behind you and see the rippling muscles of his back and tail working to steady himself like a rudder in the strong currents up this high.

In the sun his scales gleamed a million shades and hues of gold and amber, and you barely noticed the countryside streaming past beneath you. As you finally released your grip on a very handy pair of spikes at the base of his neck, about ten minutes into the journey, you allowed yourself to run your palm down the smooth, reptilian scales of his withers. With a rumbling groan that was audible even with the wind roaring in your ears, he dropped a few feet in altitude as the rhythm of his wings faltered. Your stomach lurched and you felt the blood drain from your face.

“Careful,” Mikaeïl laughed, half turning back to look at you over his shoulder at you. “Remember what I told you about you being distracting while I fly?”

You laughed and apologised, but he could clearly see that you meant not a word of it, and he turned away, his nostrils actually smoking softly, which was a new sight.

“Hey,” you called. “Can you breathe fire?”

“I’m surprised that that hasn’t come up before now,” he said. “Yes,” he added. “I can. Why, do you want a demonstration?”

You looked around at the vast emptiness on all sides and shrugged. “Here’s as safe a place as any I can think of…” you yelled.

Unexpectedly, Mikaeïl laughed. “Hold on,” he rumbled. Adjusting the pattern of his wing beats, slowing down a little and tilting his head downwards, Mikaeïl sucked in a great lungful of air, his ribs expanding beneath you, and suddenly, with a booming roar, a gout of flame burst from his open mouth below you.

The distant heat of it hit you in the face as you flew past it, and you gasped, laughing. “That’s amazing!”

He shook his head and simply took a moment to breathe and continue flying. “We’re nearly there,” he said, turning his nose first and then banking right with the rest of his body as he shifted direction slightly, heading for a wooded patch of hillside above a glimmering lake shaped like a diamond.

In the distance, a small, lone building caught your attention and as he shot like a missile right towards it, it began to reveal itself with greater and greater clarity. It looked like a ruined tower, seated at the top end of a wide, grassy meadow, backed by deciduous trees.

Leaning forwards, taking hold of those two golden horns at the base of his neck, you shouted, “Is that where we’re headed?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Hold on. While I descend, alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, stomach swooping unpleasantly again as he dropped in altitude.

In fact, landing in the meadow was easier this time than it had been the first back at his estate. Perhaps that was because you knew what to expect and you hadn’t rammed your eyes shut this time, but whatever the reason, you slithered laughing to the floor as he helped you down off his back and settled down into the grass with a soft rumble.

“Are you alight?” he asked, breathing hard from the effort of the careful landing. “Not too cold?”

You turned your hands over and grimaced a little. “Hands are a bit chilly,” you mumbled, “But no, I’m ok.”

“Here,” he said before he exhaled a rush of warm breath over your hands. “Better?”

Useful. With an answering grin, you nodded, and he led you up the meadow towards what you could now see was a cylindrical tower with a red tiled roof. “It looks like one of those fairytale castles where a helpless royal is locked in a keep and guarded by a monstrous dragon…”

“And which one of us are you suggesting is the helpless royal?” he asked, his reptilian face expressing curious sarcasm with the merest adjustment of his brow, golden eyes flaring.

“Well it’s not me,” you laughed. “I’m pretty sure don’t have a single drop of blue blood in my veins…”

“You must be the dragon then,” Mikaeïl grinned, flashing his rows of incredibly sharp teeth and adjusting his wings behind him like a bird just returned from a long flight. He caught you staring at him again, and tilted his head. “What?”

“I still can’t believe you kept this from me for so long,” you said, pushing through the whispering grasses beside him as he lifted elegant, clawed hind paws and balanced on his thumbs at the front like a bat. His long, elegant tail swung behind him, a counterweight for his neck and head.

“Kept what from you? My wyvern form?”

You shrugged. “I don’t blame you, not with the history your kind has suffered, but I’m just… overwhelmed. In a good way!” you added hastily as his regular footfalls faltered.

Mikaeïl’s relieved answering chuckle was deep and throaty and it made you prickle hot all over. Something of that must have showed in your eyes because he lowered his head and sniffed gently, playfully at your neck, making you gasp. “Apparently so,” he rumbled and you let out a quiet - if obscene - moan that you hadn’t really meant to make. He only laughed again and twitched his head towards the tower. “Come on.”

“What is this place?” you asked, finally kicking your legs back into action as he moved off ahead of you.

“It belongs to my family,” he said. “It was once part of the estate of a great hunting lodge, gifted to us by the royal family for our services. We sold most of the land a long time ago, but we kept this meadow, the woodlands, and the folly.”

“The folly?” you asked, looking at the tower. “It’s not real?”

“Well, it’s not an illusion but it was never part of a castle if that’s what you mean. It does have a room at the top and a fireplace though, but no running water or electricity.”

He led you right up to the shadow of the tower before revealing anything else to you, and even when he did, he only asked you to open the heavy wooden door at the base of the tower, and bring out what was inside.

Boiling with curiosity, you did as bidden, and you returned into the daylight with an enormous grin on your face, and a picnic hamper and blanket in your arms. “Mikaeïl,” you smiled. “You big softie.”

He laughed nervously, and then the lines of his body became taut, muscles bunching as he turned a bit shy and awkward. “Do you want me to shift…?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” you shrugged as you spread out the blanket and opened the huge basket to discover an absolute feast inside. Its contents were cool too, and you saw two ice blocks sitting there to keep it all fresh. “When did you plot and pull all this off?”

As he settled his large, bronze body down on the grass beside you, he said, “I had some help.”

“From whom?”

“Frankie,” he said. “He dropped off the basket this morning. And my sister helped too. She’s the one who technically owns this land, and she keeps the keys to the folly.”

“Well, thank them both for me next time you see them, will you? This is amazing.”

“I’m glad,” he said, the fondness for you ringing deeply in his voice. He lowered his head and nuzzled at your back, breathing more warm air around you in an aura of comfort. Your head tipped back and he supported you as you sagged into him for a moment. “You’ve got other things on your mind, haven’t you?” he asked in a darker, sweeter voice.

You flushed hot at his question, but nodded. “Nothing I can’t handle for a while though,” you smirked at him and he rolled his eyes. “I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate this; I do… a lot…”

He leaned in close, bringing his maw full of deadly teeth right up to your ear, and whispered, “I know. I can smell it on you.”

Heat flared white inside you and you groaned.

As amazing as the food was, and the fruit cordial to wash it down, you could barely keep your hands off him. All the while you ate and enjoyed the view, you trailed the fingers of one hand over his unbelievably sensitive wing membrane until he was shuddering and groaning, and even as you fed him morsels of food, the way his tongue cleaned your fingers was nothing short of indecent. You wanted that tongue elsewhere. Finally, with the food long finished and the afternoon tipping towards evening, the mood shifted completely and he began to growl and purr.

“I’m not the only one who’s having trouble,” you commented and he gnashed his teeth for a moment, a plume of smoke escaping and coiling upwards through the still air. “Gods, Mikaeïl, you’re so beautiful.”

He rolled slightly onto one side and you saw that a slit in his lower abdomen was growing puffy, swollen, and had begun to glisten too. His legs kicked once as he came to lie on his side completely, his clawed feet lying limp and gentle now, one wing flopping over to flatten the grass behind him like a toppled sail from a tall ship. “I can’t…” he whispered, though it came out more as an earthy growl. His head fell heavily to the grass too and he lay there panting gently as you began to touch him everywhere you could reach.

In no time he was quivering and snorting beneath your attention and praise. His creamy belly heaved and one hind leg twitched.

“I want you,” you heard him hiss between gasps. “Let me taste you…”

You nodded, and he watched you undress with glazed, unfocused eyes and a slack-jawed expression of wonder and open lust. The moment you were free of your last pieces of clothing, he pounced on you like a cat after a mouse. There was no denying that he was a predator, as careful as he always was with you. His ‘attack’ knocked you back into the grass and he began to lave his tongue over your body as he reared up over you, blotting out the sun with his gleaming, scaled body.

His wings spread suddenly wide, his hook-taloned thumbs barely enough to balance him as he mouthed eagerly at your shoulder and took your whole torso briefly in his mouth while he let his tongue rasp over your skin. He never once gave you even the barest hint of pain, the tip of his serpentine tongue lavishing attention on your hardening nipples until your back arched and you cried out, desperate for more. You might even have articulated that aloud, but you couldn’t be sure. The sensation of his tongue moved slowly south until he tasted you and he let out a low-frequency snarl that you felt in your chest as much as heard.

“Oh gods,” he rasped, quickening his pace.

As you glanced down the length of your body, you saw that his cock had begun to emerge from the sheath between his legs and he was not small; there was no way you could take him in this form. Pre-come dripped liberally from his arrow-head tip and down his leg as he moved, his growling intensifying.

Suddenly he drew back from you with a hiss, breathing hard, sparks dancing at his nostrils. His slit pupils were now blown into a wide circle of blackness with barely a ring of the usual gold around them, and he just stood there, frozen in place and staring at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked faintly, dizzy from the change of pace. “Come back… Mikaeïl, please…”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I… I got carried away… I… I shouldn’t… I could hurt you like this. I should… uh…”

His cock twitched visibly as you moved and he half turned away. “Mikaeïl, please,” you whimpered. “I don’t mind what form you’re in, but please don’t stop touching me… I’m so close now… I need you…”

“Let me…” he said and his body twitched. A moment later, he began to change visibly. The vast wings folded down into his back, coppery scales started to melt away and his size diminished until, with a roar of what could only have been pain, the Mikaeïl with which you were much more familiar crouched on all fours at a little distance from you, breathing hard and sweating and naked. Somehow, he was also still hard.

You rose on shaky limbs and reached out to touch him. He gasped as your palm came down tenderly on the scales that still lined his hips, and you could see that his hands and feet remained clawed and scaled as well. He hadn’t managed to shift back to his more ‘human’ form, but none of that mattered now. “Come and lie down with me,” you said, trying to draw him down to the blanket.

Mikaeïl’s red hair was long and loose and it fell around his face in a curtain of fire, but as he tilted his head up to meet your gaze you could see that lying down quietly was the last thing on his mind.

“Or not,” you grinned, and he laughed hoarsely. He still had sharper teeth than any human would, and his eyes blazed a bright gold.

With hands that were more like gilded gauntlets tipped with talons than they were hands, he laid you back down and lowered his mouth once more to you. It didn't take long with the intense heat of his tongue pressed and lapping against you, sucking and making the most obscene noises, for you to come hard against his mouth. He stayed put and teased you all the way through your orgasm, prolonging it as much as he could before finally withdrawing from you and licking the taste of you from his beautiful lips. His mouth was puffy and red from his efforts, and he stared at you with open hunger in his eyes.

You parted your legs and he took it for the invitation it was, eyes flaring again. With his claws pricking against your hips, he paused and said, “I can’t use my hands,” he said. “And I don’t want to hurt you.” His ridged cock was flushed and red, and still bigger than anything you’d ever had inside you before being with him, but you just cautioned him to go gently, which he did with great effort.

His thighs shook with the effort of not sinking himself hilt deep into you in one thrust, but after a while it became too much for you to bear. You raised your hips and reached for him at the same time, pulling him the rest of the way inside you with a cry that you almost didn’t hear through the spike of pleasure that shot through you. He filled you so completely you thought you might never feel the same again.

Mikaeïl cried out and began to move, slowly at first, snarling and growling, lips pulled back with the intensity of his pleasure. “You’re so tight,” he gasped as he lifted you up higher. With the adjustment in angle, you tipped your head back and yelled wordlessly. “Oh gods,” he said as he picked up his pace, ramming himself into you over and over with a feverish light in his eyes. “I’m not going to last.”

“Come for me,” you slurred. “Mikaeïl, come for me…”

A mere three thrusts later, he did. His hips thrust up flush against you and his head rolled back, spine arching like a bow at full draw as he emptied himself inside you with an open-mouthed roar. There was something so primal about the sight of him like this - usually so composed and reserved, not a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in his shirt - as he gave himself to you, the scales up his arms and on his hips glimmering in the last rays of the sun, and you tumbled after him a heartbeat later.

As you clenched around him, coming a second time, he bowed forwards over you like a supplicant at an altar, and fell against your neck. He kissed you weakly, his body still wracked with the last throes of his own intense orgasm.

In an unsteady, gasping whisper, he said, “I love you,” against the sweat-sheened skin of your neck, right against your thrumming heartbeat. “I love you, I love you,” he chanted, even as his body still twitched and his cock pulsed inside you.

Placing your arms around him and stroking the skin of his back, tracing the beginning of the scales halfway down his spine, you teased gentle, calming circles, centring him. His hair fell around you in a straight cascade and you raked your fingers through it too, feeling him going slack all over. “Shh,” you smiled, kissing his slightly pointed ear. “I love you too Mikaeïl. I love you too.”

___

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[romioneficfest]

To listen

Title: To Listen Prompt/Day: Day 1: Hermione admits she is wrong Name: Rating: T Brief summary: Rose is home on a short Holiday for her 17th birthday and once again, she’s at odds with her very-strong willed mother who can’t quite grasp that Rose is almost nothing like her Mum. Warnings/trigger warnings: Domestic quarrels with Mum; occasional harsh language

“Bugger off, Dad!” Rose yelled over her shoulder. She knew better than to yell at this time of the morning but she couldn’t care any less right now. Everything in her life had gone right into the rubbish bin when she’d come home on holiday from Hogwarts. Not an hour after returning did her Mum tear into her over her marks and the continued reports from school about her less than stellar revisions, but the one that bothered her worst was from Professor Sinestra. She took Astronomy to please her Mum and to try and understand the science behind the magic. It was like Grampa learning how aeroplanes stay up in the sky without magic – just like she wanted to learn how brooms could accelerate at the rates they did.

And maybe she could catch a break academically since Professor Sinestra’s wife was one of Dad’s close friends and mentors at work.

How wrong she was. She was barely scraping Acceptable on her all of her NEWTs coursework. While it wouldn’t open too many doors at the Ministry, that was never her preferred course of study. That wasn’t her.

All she cared about was Playing Quidditch or anything potentially related to it.

Dad told her she was smart, if not smart in the ways her mum was smart. Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry both told her she was brilliant on a broom, like a maestro directing a symphony. She didn’t fathom that metaphor since she was a Seeker, just like her uncle Harry had been. She could have been a keeper like Dad but staying in one place protecting just wasn’t her thing. She didn’t want to be like Uncle George or Cousin James, swinging a beater’s bat and knocking bludgers at people. She also didn’t want to be like Aunt Ginny, constantly racing up and down the pitch either trying to score or steal the Quaffle from someone.

No, all she wanted to do was catch that snitch. She lived for the thrill of trying to solve where it might be hiding, not when it was the size of a walnut shell and wicked fast. She loved the absolute rush of racing on her broom, flying by the heels of her boots, her hand outstretched by inches over anyone else since she was lean and lanky like her Dad. Seekers were usually small and lithe – even family friend Viktor Krum wasn’t that big and kind of awkward but on a broom, he was a master. She towered over Viktor by inches, at 14. She could almost look Uncle Harry in the eyes.

Her height coupled with her propensity to stay aerodynamic, her hair braided and charmed to lie flat on her neck where it wouldn’t get in the way made her the one that professional teams were recruiting – after her fifth year when she’d caught the snitch in every single match.

Uncle Harry didn’t accomplish that – or Uncle Charlie, for that matter.

But there was the small problem of dealing with her Mum, the one she left in a strop earlier in the evening when she finally exploded at her, yelling terrible things that surely never hurt Mum.

Mum was a fierce one, completely relentless in her desire to see her daughter be just like her, with brilliant grades and every possible job opportunity available once she finished Hogwarts. Thing was, though, that she didn’t want to do those things. The mundane monotony and grinding minutiae of bureaucracy would drive her to drink. The thought of being chained to a desk for so many hours a week pushing papers, filing useless reports, fighting selfish sods who wanted Purebloods to be a priority again, where Muggleborns weren’t worth dragon dung broke her will to live.

Fortunately, those who hadn’t died in 98 were dead now or permanently in Azkaban for their crimes, with many thanks to Dad and Uncle Harry.

Why did Mum get so bloody barmy over her marks? It wasn’t like she didn’t put in the work. She never had less than an A in anything, with some E’s tossed in and the rare occasional O. But Mum’s insistence that she make O’s in everything and only study made her cry often – or lose sleep for weeks on end with terrible insomnia while trying to keep her Mum happy. Why couldn’t her Mum be like Dad, accepting her just the way she was, with her interests, her own goals, her own life?

She didn’t want to be like her Mum, arguing daily with people who thought themselves better than Mum. No, she wanted to be on the pitch, where talent and skill were foremost, where her dogged work ethic – the only thing she shared with Mum, for the most part – would benefit her tremendously.

It wasn’t like she had wanted for anything, material-wise. While they didn’t grow up posh like Scorpius, or even Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, with her galleons made for the Harpies and the English National Team, they were quite comfortable and didn’t do without anything. She never missed a meal except for practice or a match and didn’t have to eat grotty tinned corned beef sandwiches for any reason.

Why couldn’t Mum understand that she wasn’t fighting for their world but to entertain it?

Instead, it was the constant drumbeat of You have to earn better marks and You won’t succeed at anything with only acceptable marks for NEWTS and the worst being, ‘Sigh, I guess you’ll just have to buckle down and work harder.’

Why couldn’t Mum see that those things didn’t interest her?

She didn’t care that she couldn’t perfectly brew a Draught of living death. She couldn’t be arsed that she didn’t remember the Goblin rebellion of 1787 nor had trouble transfiguring hedgehogs into pencil cases. Why couldn’t there be a class on the History of Quidditch? Or Brooms and how they fly practical magic class? Those things interested her. The mundane things didn’t.

Rose?

Shite. This was the absolute last person she wanted to speak with, much less at 3 am. The look of utter betrayal and disappointment wrenched her heart when she exploded, yelling at her Mum that she was so sorry she wasn’t as perfect as her Mum or a bloody genius like her little brother. Her rage erupted, yelling that she was sorry that her Mum had a bloody dumb disgrace for a daughter and that she was an embarrassment to her friends at the ministry and that she didn’t give a fuck about that or any job there, only wanting to live her life, play Quidditch professionally and get to it.

Rose?

What a brilliant start to adulthood: getting into a blistering row with Mum, hours before her birthday when she would be an adult.

How fucking hard was it that her Mum couldn’t accept that she was nothing like her? Obviously, it was a broom ride entirely too far for her. Thank Merlin Dad understood, even if he didn’t intervene.

Small yet strong hands squeezed her shoulders. 'I was wrong.'

The fire coursing through her veins tamped down, like using a lid to cover a fire riddled skillet on the stovetop. Mum sounded like had gotten into Dad’s Firewhiskey. She heard a couple of sniffs. Mum was crying? Mum never cries. She’s passionate in the Wizengamot and brutal in taking down criminals she was prosecuting for Azkaban? Voice almost gone from crying? Not Mum, never in her life that she could remember. Dad said the last time she cried was in the hospital after giving birth to Hugo. But one moment, one act of contrition didn’t absolve Mum of the painful things she’d said over the years.

'I’m sorry.'

Rose turned and saw her Mum standing there in her garish orange housecoat, her hair a wreck and her face haggard. Her voice was no better than the frogs in the Burrow pond to this day.

'Please Rose, please don’t ever doubt for one second that I’m proud of you every day of your life,' The words poured out like water from a fountain, all in a rush and so cold on the fire in her veins.

'I want you to be yourself,' Hermione’s voice rumbled. Rose stood, towering over her Mum by many inches, but fell to her knees when her Mum opened her arms for her.

Bitter yet healing tears fell.

'I’m sorry it took me so long to see that clearly. Please forgive me.'

Rose pulled her Mum to her and cried, crying like she hadn’t since she was three and fell off her broom and broke her arm and couldn’t fly for months.

Minutes passed and she eventually let go, catching a whiff of tea and freshly cooked biscuits. Her stomach grumbled, having walked out of dinner during their row.

“I’m ready to listen,” Hermione said as she unrolled the blanket in their yard and sat down. “Tell me what you want to do for your future.”

[misssophiachase]

Klaroline AU Week - Day 3: Crossovers/Fusions

He’s the new hotshot recruit at the U.S. Navy Fighter Weapons School and unbeknown to him, she’s his new instructor (you know how this goes).  Lines from the movie in italics (because I’m no aeroplane expert).  

Take My Breath Away

Sunday 20:45: Raised By Wolves Cocktail Bar, San Diego, CA

“I start my new job tomorrow, Kat,” she insisted. “I should be home in bed preparing.”

“You do that every night, roomie,” she shot back by way of response. “And drinking wine and watching the Notebook for the millionth time doesn’t count as an activity.”

Caroline was an Astrophysicist and had been working in DC for the past ten years. She’d recently moved cross country to take a contract position at the  Miramar Naval Air Station in San Diego and had reunited with her best friend Katherine who was a Professor at the University of California in La Jolla.  

It made sense for them to move in together, but Caroline was realising that Katherine was one of the nosiest roommates ever. 

“This is a completely new role for me,” she argued. “I need to be on my game, these officers are some of the best in the Navy, Kat. They don’t call it Top Gun for nothing.”

“I’m jealous that you get to work with gorgeous men in uniform and I have to lecture children.”

“I never understood that. What is it with everyone’s obsession with men in uniform?”

“Well, maybe you just haven’t seen one in the flesh yet?” His crisp but attractive English accent wasn’t enough to stop the rolling of her eyes. 

“And I suppose you’re going to remedy that situation,” she drawled, turning in her chair and meeting his dark blue eyes for the first time. 

She wanted to deny it but she couldn’t. This guy was hot, with or without the white, naval uniform.  Sexy stubble, sinful, crimson lips and dirty, blonde hair that curled teasingly over his ears was only the beginning, he had a pair of rogue dimples that she swore had superpowers they were that disarming. 

“Alright, love?” Caroline felt Katherine nudge her subtly in the ribs. She needed to retain what composure she still had. 

“I think you got the wrong location, the fancy dress party is on campus,” Caroline teased.  

“Cute,” he shot back, licking his lips teasingly. She should have been repelled but this guy had the opposite effect and Caroline knew it had nothing to do with the uniform. 

“I need to apologise for my friend,” a fellow officer, also in head-to-toe white offered. “He can’t help himself, he was dropped on his head as a baby.” 

“Oh, I know what this is,” Kat realised. “This is your little, two-man act to try and pick up poor, unsuspecting patrons.”

“Gee, tough crowd,” he murmured in his friend’s ear, although they could still hear him. Officer Number One’s gaze hadn’t wavered, it was still firmly trained on Caroline. 

“I’m Lieutenant Klaus Mikaelson, this is Enzo St John,” he offered by way of introduction, his eyes slipping lower and perusing the low-cut, black top Katherine insisted she wear. Caroline could feel an unmistakable blush forming in that region and hoped he wouldn’t notice. He was an arrogant ass for sure but her body obviously didn’t care about that. 

“Lieutenant?” She asked, wondering if this cocky guy was one of her students because if so this was going to be really awkward come morning. 

“We’re Naval Aviators,” he said it slow like she couldn’t understand the concept. “At Top Gun.”

“Impressive,” Katherine cooed, her voice laced with sarcasm, not that Officer Number Two noticed. 

“I go by Lucifer though,” he shared, they both looked at Enzo curiously. 

“Did your mother not like you?” Kat asked, mouth agape. Unlike her friend she hadn’t been around the Naval culture Caroline had.  

“It’s his call sign, like a nickname,” Klaus explained, again slowly. Caroline had to stop herself from telling him where he could shove his mansplaining.   

“My surname is Saint, get it?” The girls just looked at each other thinking that was just weird logic. 

“And what is your, call sign is it?” Caroline bluffed. 

“The Original,” he smirked, knowingly, tipping his hat in her direction. 

“The Original what?” She asked, unable to help herself.  

“Well, how about we get to know each other and I’ll tell you all about it, love.” 

“Wow,” she muttered, Caroline was surprised there was any oxygen left in the bar his ego was that inflated. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to pass. In fact, we were just leaving, right Kat?”

She picked up her purse and grabbed Katherine’s hand. She might have wanted to be there but Caroline had no interest in staying any longer.

Monday 05:45: “The Strand” Pacific Beach, San Diego, CA

“Tully! Tully, come back here, girl!” He heard a melodic voice before he saw her. 

Running along Pacific Beach was his rare downtime these days. Flight school was intense, not that Klaus minded. He was a fighter pilot first and foremost and he was living his dream.

He liked to think he was confident, most people considered him arrogant but Klaus could practically fly in his sleep it was that deeply ingrained in his life, so too the Navy. 

The first time he’d faltered since arriving was the previous night. Klaus considered himself good with women but his performance at the bar was woeful. If he wasn’t aware, Enzo had been reminding him ever since. He’d never had a woman literally leave a place because she didn’t want to talk to him.  

Klaus knew he’d acted stupid, peddling those tired lines but he had a habit of doing that when he liked someone. And he liked this girl, that much was clear given he’d been thinking about her ever since. Not that he’d probably ever see her again.

The golden retriever bounded over to him, rubbing against his bare legs and almost tripping him in the process. Klaus stopped to lean down and give her a pat. “Hey, girl.” 

He looked up into the familiar, blue eyes of the woman from last night. Dressed casually in form-fitting jeans and a white t-shirt, those blonde waves hanging loose over her shoulders, Klaus didn’t think she could look any better than the previous night but he was wrong. 

“Lose something?” He asked, noting just how adorable she looked flustered, her creamy cheeks tinged pink from the exercise.  

“You again?” she asked, obviously only just realising who he was. “I didn’t recognise you without your costume.”

“There’s that sarcastic wit I’ve missed,” he chuckled. “I take it this is a friend of yours.” Caroline eyed the dog in frustration as she rubbed up against him lovingly.

“Traitor,” she muttered. “Tully is my friend’s dog and as I’ve discovered this morning has a mind of her own and enjoys flirting with strange men.”

“I’m not a stranger,” he drawled. “You know my name but I never caught yours, love.”

“That’s not my name,” she shot back. Klaus felt his muscles going cold so started stretching on the spot, his shorts riding up even higher. He could see her checking him out like she had last night. He still had it. 

“Well, if you told me then I wouldn’t have to call you that,” he grinned. 

“I better get going, don’t want to be late,” she replied, hooking the leash to Tully’s collar. 

“Late for what? Or is that just another excuse to get away from me?”

“I start a new job today, I need to be on time.”

“Well good luck, love,” he offered. She didn’t bother to argue about his endearment and just shook her head. Everything in Klaus wanted to ask her out again but knew it would probably be pointless. 

Monday 09:45: Miramar Naval Air Station, San Diego, CA

“Civilian specialists are here because they are our very best source on enemy aircraft. One of our very best is Caroline Forbes. She has a PHD in astrophysics and is a civilian contractor so you do not salute her. But you better listen to her because the Pentagon listens to her.”

“Good morning,” she greeted them. Klaus was seated in the front row with Enzo not quite believing what he was seeing.

Turns out her new job just happened to be him. He was torn over whether it was a good development or a bad one. Hooking up with your boss was obviously frowned upon but at least this way he knew where to find her. 

The way she looked in that fitted, black, skirt suit with her wavy hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her creamy neck was messing with his composure and looking around the room he could see his fellow students thought the same thing.

A ripple of jealousy came over him and Klaus didn’t like it one bit. 

Somehow he’d managed to lose track of what she was saying, something about F5 and MIG 28 Aircraft but he’d been too busy to really take much notice. 

“However, the MIG 28 does have a problem with its inverted flight tanks. It won’t do a negative G pushover,” she explained. 

Enzo nudged Klaus. Only a few weeks ago they’d seen a MIG 28 do exactly that during a training exercise which had attracted enemy aircraft and nearly killed them for their trouble. They continued to discuss it between them.

“The latest intelligence tells us the most it will do is one negative..” she paused mid sentence.”Excuse me, Lieutenant, is there something wrong?”

“Yes ma’am, the data on the MIG is inaccurate,” Klaus replied, noting her adorable but puzzled look. 

“How’s that, Lieutenant?”

“Well, I just happened to see a MIG 28 do a...”

“We,” Enzo interrupted. 

“Uh, sorry, Lucifer. ‘We’ happened to see a MIG 28 do a 4g negative dive.” 

She cocked her left eyebrow, almost like she was trying to work out whether he was telling the truth or just messing with her. 

“Where did you see this?”

“Uh, that's classified.”

 “It's what?”

 “It's classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

He sent her his very best smirk and given her less than impressed expression, Klaus knew he was going to have to do a lot more work to win her over. 

But he was more than willing to try. 

10:45

“Ma’am? Excuse me!” He called out. She continued walking towards her car, choosing to ignore him not interested in a discussion right now, it was already extremely awkward enough. “Caroline!”

She finally turned, realising he was going to continue to make a scene until she acknowledged him. Of course she’d expected him but what transpired after she hadn’t. Caroline was trying to work out if it was all arrogant bluster or something entirely different. 

“Yes, Lieutenant?” She answered officially, trying to ignore just how good his khaki uniform brought out his Californian tan. He came closer, and even though he wore Aviators she could tell his eyes were trained on her with that same intensity she remembered from the previous night. 

“You tricked me.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You knew I was at Top Gun, you knew I was your student but yet you didn’t feel the need to tell me, why is that exactly?”

“I felt that it was inappropriate to disclose my identity at that time.”

“But yet it’s okay to just show up in class like that? What if I’d said something in front of everyone.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” she murmured. “You want to be here just as much as I do because we love what we do and this, whatever this is, doesn’t factor into that.”

“This? You rejected me last time I checked,” he replied. “Twice.”

“Is that why you did that before in class? Was it some form of petty payback?”

“It wasn’t petty,” she gave him a look which clearly said she didn’t believe him. “Okay maybe a little bit petty but it did actually happen, Enzo has this great polaroid you’d love.”

“But apparently it’s classified though right?”

“How about we go out for a drink and I’ll tell you the redacted version?”

“I am not going out with you, I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”

“Why not?”

“I’m your teacher, you’re my student. This can’t happen because it is all kinds of wrong, Lieutenant .”

“I don’t like to take no for an answer and, just so you know, I don’t give up easily, love.”

“Is that so?” He sent her his best smile and finally removed his sunglasses, those blue eyes roaming over her body before eventually landing on her face. Caroline was trying to pretend he had no effect on her whatsoever but she could feel her resolve fading fast. 

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, ma’am.” He walked away, the spicy scent of his aftershave hovering in his wake. 

Caroline had no idea what she’d gotten herself into but at the same time it excited her too. It had nothing to do with men in uniform, just one man in particular. 

[killjoy-karrot-kake]

🌺💘🌷 Get to know your mutuals! When you get this, it means someone wants to know more about you, so list 5 things about yourself you want your followers to know! They can be as simple as your age or as complex as your deepest fear, as long as it’s something you’re comfortable with sharing. When you’re done, send this to 10 people you want to get to know better!🌷💘🌺

Oh heck!!! Thank you friendo!!! I know we haven’t been mutuals that long but ur so valid <33

Uh okay, 5 things then: 

1. I am a rower, so this means I’m in the gym/training on the water 7 times a week, not including regattas and comps. You think I’m exaggerating but I really am not. Twice a week I’ll be up at 3am training till 7pm and most nights, I lose weekends and holidays too because generally I don’t get home until after I’ve hit the gym for a couple of hours or done 10km of water training. It’s pretty exhausting, racing, running, erging and doing weight circuits, but it’s also pretty cool. This is my fifth year of it and I’ve rowed all kinds of boats from a single scull to a coxed eight and have made my club’s first eight for the second year in a row which is nice. We came 8th in the country and first in our state last year at Nationals for the eight and I’m actually heading off in a week or two to compete on the Olympics course again! 

2. I play like... four instruments? Including flute, piccolo, piano and guitar (both acoustic and electric), I’m in a concert band and an orchestra for the first two but the guitar is by far my favourite instrument to play. I self teach, which means i’m pretty not good, but on the other hand I get to learn the instrument through MCR, Parx, ATL, FOB, Green Day etc songs n tabs n chords n stuff which is neat! (plus I get to jam with a lot of valid people :D)

3. I’m starting to properly learn animation which is really exciting! As part of my final grade I’m going to try and work on a short animated film at some point this year which I’m really excited about!

4. I frigging love to draw and write in my free time. That might have been obviously idk... It’s a lot of fanfic and fanart stuff ngl but another thing I aspire to do is create a comic at some point... I have a full and final cast of OCs and a rough plan of the story. Just absolutely NO time to actually draw it...

5. I have my pilot’s licence! Yeah I can fly an aeroplane and that’s not a joke haha. I’ve had it for a while now, but again, I haven’t really had the time to go out and fly in a while so I’m looking forward to eventually getting back up there when I can! 

Thank you so much for the ask @chemicalgee, it feels like forever since I last got to do one of these!!

[loiswolf]

Day 6 May 25th Brindisi - Castellana Grotte 94kms

Day 6 May 26 Brindisi - Castellana Grotte ( Italy) 94kms

Yesterday was very relaxing. I went for a walk around the lovely harbour and found a nice coffee place.

Actual food became a lot harder to find on the west side of Greece. I don’t think I ever saw anyone eating. There were thousands of cafes and bars and the people in them were only ever drinking. I found a crepe place and ended up going there 3 times because I could get food when I wanted it. I did a find on maps.me for a patisserie and the closest one was back in Arta, 110kms away. There were bakeries which just had the basics so I loaded up on bread to get me through the night.

The evening spent waiting for the ferry was sooooo long. I started a book on my kindle when I checked out of my Airbnb yesterday at 6pm, and finished it this morning exactly when the ferry docked.

The ferry ride wasn’t too bad. We didn’t leave until 12:30am. Most of the passengers were truck drivers from the hundreds of trucks riding underneath with Shirley. I was directed to the ‘cabin’ on arrival. I stepped in, looked at the rows of semi reclining seats all crowded in like an aeroplane and stepped back out. There had so be something better than that on a boat that size. There was. Myself and a lot of the truck drivers slept on the long padded seats in the food and bar areas. The truckies had blankets and I had my sleeping bag. Genius! I slept quite well, not waking until 7 in the morning. I also picked up another hour along the way so I guess it was 6. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling so tired right now.

When we were commanded to disembark I went down the steps to find Shirley had been released from all the straps I had tied her up with and was ready to roll! Great! We rolled off, changed shoes and began our ride.

Today I checked the map carefully as I cycled through Brindisi determined not to make any stupid navigating mistakes again. After successfully negotiating the city I found myself on a flat straight road which rolled along nicely until about 40kms at Ostuni. Before that I had stopped at a lovely service station cafe and enjoyed a pistachio muffin and coffee.....and the use of a very clean toilet which I needed badly.

The ladies serving here are very friendly. I even got a high five from one at lunch time when I complimented her on her English.

Navigating has become a lot easier now that I can read the signs. In Greece I was able to interpret my destination from the Greek alphabet, but not much else. Now I can just remember the next town I want to pass through and follow the signs. Last time I visited Italy the signage was terrible. Now it’s fantastic. Every roundabout had signs either side of the exit I was meant to take, so that even I couldn’t get lost!

After making my way through Ostuni ( without one map check ) I turned off the main road for a more direct route. It was also a much hillier route! Fortunately it was nothing like the mountains in Greece. The scenery was ok but nothing spectacular. I just took this one photo so you could get an idea.

It turned out to be about 27° today but a very considerate dark cloud hovered over me nearly all day, keeping the hot sun off me. It was still a long ride after being on a ferry all night and I was happy to finally reach my destination. I wasn’t so happy about not being able to find my accommodation easily because there were 2 houses with the same number and google maps took me to the wrong street. Eventually I sorted it out and my host checked me in (he did a lot of paperwork) while his wife brought me cold water, coffee ( back to it being served in thimbles here ) and a bowl of fruit. 

Yay! I didn’t get my usual fruit for breakfast and I was craving some. I still had to go for another ride down to the supermarket as my supplies were non-existent. There is no fridge here which is a pain. I’ve made sure to book and apartment with a proper kitchen tomorrow.

See you then!

I didn’t actually go this way. I cut across through Cisternino because I thought it would be quicker. It probably wasn’t!

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October

Paris in the spring, it ain’t.

It had been cold and wet in England, and damp and chilly in France.  When the plane landed in Athens, Natasha was prepared for it to be warmer – but walking onto the jetway was like walking into a sauna. It was only about twenty degrees Celcius, but there was not a cloud in the sky and the air was thick with Mediterranean moisture.

“How did you like your first aeroplane flight?” Sharon asked Sir Stephen, as they picked up their luggage.  Months earlier, while they’d waited for night to fall in Sherwood Forest, she had pointed out an airplane and suggested that Sir Stephen might get to ride in one someday. Nat suspected it had been on both their minds all day.

“It was a bit of a disappointment,” said Sir Stephen.  “The interior is so enclosed and the windows so small, you can barely tell you’re in the air.  I liked the train much better.  You could see the countryside you were travelling through.”

“It’s not for sightseeing,” Sam agreed.  “Just for getting where you’re going.”

“If you’re in a hurry I suppose it’s fine,” Sir Stephen said with a shrug.  “You couldn’t do it for a pilgrimage, certainly.”

“Why not?” said Nat.  “Thousands of people go by air for pilgrimages every year.  It’s the only way Muslims overseas can get to Mecca.”

Sir Stephen was startled.  “But the point of a pilgrimage is to make a journey,” he protested.  “People who live in Compostela do not walk up the street to see the relics of Saint James and call it a pilgrimage.  Pilgrims are demonstrating to God that they are willing to undergo hardship.  To simply fly over all obstacles in your way makes it seem so trivial.”

“Next time we’ll let you pay for the tickets,” Clint said.  “Then we’ll see if you still call it trivial.”

Outside in the parking lot, they met the bus that would take them to their hotel, and everybody was pleased to find that it was air conditioned.  The landscape between airport and city was a wide desert valley, with hazy hills visible all around the border of it.  Life hadn’t changed much here in thousands of years – it was still all stony red soil and tiny farms, though in the twenty-first century these were as likely to host rows of solar panels as lines of olive trees.  The buildings had white walls and red tile roofs, and sheep and goats grazed on little lots of pasture.  It really did look, Nat observed, like something out of another time.

“How are we going to find Madame Desrosiers?” asked Allen.

“By talking to people,” Natasha replied.  “Expats in areas like this, warm places where people like to retire, tend to live in close-knit communities.  So we’ll have to find where the French people live, and ask around.”

“Oh,” said Allen.

Nat glanced at him.  “You sound disappointed,” she observed.

“I am a little,” he admitted.  “I was sort of hoping there was some special technique spies use.”

“Sorry!” said Nat with an amused smile.  “Sometimes good old-fashioned legwork is best.”

“Absolutely,” Sharon agreed.  “Even nowadays, when we have CCTV cameras all over the country and DNA evidence, most of what a detective does is talk to people.”

“But if we’re in Athens,” Nat added, “you guys will probably want to let me do the actual talking.  Possibly Allen, too – none of the rest of you.”

Sam, Sharon, and Clint all nodded knowingly, but Sir Stephen was confused. “Why?” he asked.

“Because they’re the Americans, Steve,” said Sharon.  “Greeks don’t like British people, and they’ll like us even less now that we’ve at least tried to give Princess Sitamun back to Egypt.”

“Why not?” Sir Stephen wanted to know.

“The Elgin Marbles,” said Natasha.   “Once we find Desrosiers, we can go see the reproductions in the Acropolis Museum, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Athens itself was a maze of little roads between somewhat shabby-looking buildings, with tiny European cars and motorcycles zipping along with little regard for pedestrians or each other.  The entrance to their hotel, located just a few minutes from the ancient acropolis, was a narrow door in between a pharmacist’s and a camera shop – Sharon and Sir Stephen checked them in at the front desk, while the rest of them took turns hauling their luggage to the fourth floor, in an elevator that claimed to be rated for the weight of nine people but didn’t look big enough to even hold three.  Once they had their rooms, they immediately turned on the air conditioning again, and since they’d had a series of very long days, they all went to bed early.

Nat was sharing a room with Allen.  As she was getting her nightshirt on, she heard him say around his toothbrush, “I didn’t know Sir Isaac Newton was an alchemist.”

“A lot of people don’t,” said Natasha.  “His alchemical writings were only discovered in the 1930’s, but there’s loads of them.  He was apparently much more interested in magic and theology than he was in science and math, he just didn’t publish what he wrote.”

“I wonder why not,” said Allen.

Nat knew the answer to that.  “Partly because alchemy was illegal in England in the seventeenth century, because the crown was tired of con men who promised to make gold but then took your gold and disappeared.  And Newton’s theological writings would have gotten him in trouble with the Church of England.  He denied the divinity of Christ, which was a heresy punishable by death.”

Allen spit out his mouthful of toothpaste.  “That would explain it,” he said with a chuckle.  “How do you possibly remember all this stuff?”

“I was trained to remember everything I read,” Nat explained, “and most of what I hear, if I’m paying attention.  Did you know that quail meat can be toxic if eaten at the wrong time of year, because the birds eat poisonous plants?  Or that a churango is a musical instrument made out of a dead armadillo?”

“No, I didn’t know any of that,” said Allen, standing in the bathroom doorway with a fond smile on his face.  “But I bet I won’t forget it.  You know who you sound like?”

“Who?” Nat asked, pulling out her own toiletries.

“My daughter,” he said gently.  “In my memories you were always full of stuff you’d learned and wanted to share.  You’d learn something new in ballet class and come home and show it to us.  Or you’d tell us what you learned in school that day – with your mouth full, when you were little.  Your Mom and I used to have to remind you to swallow first.”

Natasha could picture it – herself as a child, sitting there eating spaghetti while excitedly telling her family about… about what?  She had brought news home when she was small, but it wasn’t about her ballet classes.

“You’re upset now,” Allen observed.

“No, I’m fine,” Natasha said quickly and automatically.

Allen came and put his hands on her shoulders.  “No, I’ve upset you.  I can tell.”

She sighed and stepped away, hugging her own shoulders, then forced herself to give him a watery smile.  “It’s just that your version sounds way nicer than the real… than the one I remember.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.

Natasha knew he was asking because he cared.  He wanted to help her bear the weight of the memories, because that was what families did.

She sat down on the bed.  “When I was little, in training, my masters at the Red Room would plant us in groups of schoolchildren who were touring government buildings or newspaper offices… places like that.  Our job was to ‘get lost’ and wander around listening to conversations among people who were suspected of political dissent.  It was towards the end of the Soviet Union, of course, but there were lengths people weren’t allowed to go to, and the Red Room was much more hardline than the government was.  I wonder sometimes, whether anybody ever got executed because of something I told my instructors when I got back.  Probably not,” she added quickly.  “Considering the times.”

Who was she reassuring, she wondered – Allen, or herself?

He didn’t reply right away, and Natasha wanted to look up at his face but didn’t dare. She couldn’t bear to find out what he was thinking.  A moment ago he’d shared that warm memory of his little daughter chatting about what she’d learned at school, and now she’d stained it with eavesdropping and possible murder.

“Even if they were, it wasn’t your fault,” said Allen.  He sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “You were a child.  You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Yes I did,” said Nat.  “They told us – they gave us a list of things to listen for, and told us that people who said them were enemies of the State, our enemies, and we’d be making the world a better place by reporting them so that they could be removed.  And we knew what removed meant, because we’d seen it ourselves.”

Again, there was a silence.  This time, Natasha forced herself to look up and read Allen’s face.  Their room had two beds – they were sitting on the one by the window.  The window itself was closed to let the air conditioner do its job, but the curtains were open, and it was possible to see traffic moving on the street outside. Allen was staring thoughtfully out the window at the darkening sky, trying to decide what to say.  It only took a few seconds before Nat couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Allen?” she asked.  It was not a moment to call him Dad.

He looked at her and ran his hand up and down her back.  “Archaeology,” he said.

“What?” Nat asked.

“Archaeology,” he said.  “You dig up the truth and share it.”

A chill washed over Natasha.  She’d done a lot of examination in the past few months of why she’d chosen archaeology as her cover.  There was the ostensibly practical reason that she was unlikely to become famous for it – the silly but sentimental one that she’d always enjoyed adventure movies – and the one she’d come up with as potential real reason, that after so long living in the shadows she wanted to be responsible for bringing things into the light.  She hadn’t thought of it that way, that it was just another way of doing what she’d always done.

“Natasha?” asked Allen.

She swallowed.  “It is, isn’t it?” she asked.  “I expose people’s dirty secrets and tell them to the world.”

“But it’s different now,” Allen added, “because the people who kept those secrets died a long time ago, and nobody’s going to get hurt because you told.”

“I guess,” said Natasha.

Allen patted her back again.  “Was that so hard, Ginger Snap?”

That was what he’d wanted from her, wasn’t it?  That she trust him with her past and let him try to help her with it.  She’d done her best and he had too, but now that seed of self-doubt had been planted, and she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t do more harm than good in the long run.

“I don’t know,” she said, and she really didn’t.

[drawf0ur]

Lily’s Storm: Chapter One

In the quiet, little known county of Cheshiresville, Great Britain, about 300km or so away from London, there's a quiet, little known city called Molstenshire.

It’s the kind of place you would only ever know about if you were born there or a had family there, A quiet, secluded city, where the winter is so cold you have to wear a scarf over your mouth just to breathe properly outside and the only tourists you ever see are backpackers lost on their way to London.

In the centre of that city is a big concrete building,

A tall, brutal grey skyscraper, looming over the city's CBD; the Molstenshire Police Department's Headquarters.

And inside that big concrete building is a dark room, containing only a rusty, worn out light swinging from a dusty cable attatched to the ceiling, two rusted out old folding chairs and a decrepit, wobbly green desk.

Sitting at one of those chairs is a boy...

                                                "Wow, nice table, is that the new Ikea X Pyongyang collab?" the boy said with a grin, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands in his pockets.

Sitting across from him is a man in a dark blue uniform, with a shiny silver badge on his chest, slowly flipping through the contents of a thin, beige manilla folder.

"Hmmmm, Kira Masamune, 18 years old, student at North Quinnston High, just finishing your last year too..." The man said, ignoring his question, a wide smirk across his face.

"Perfect grades, perfect record, no previous recorded infractions whatsoever... an immigrant from Japan i see! interesting..." Said the man, before closing the file and putting it down on the desk, staring the boy in the eyes.

"So how was it that a perfect student like you ended up with your pants down, in school uniform, having sexual intercourse with another student in a park in the middle of the day?"

The boy's smug grin grew wider in response to the officer's question, staring the officer in the eye right back.

That boy was me.

"It all began when i moved here, in 9th grade"

"My story starts in an aeroplane..."

                    [3 years ago]

I was sitting in a chair, an uncomfortable, hard blue chair, with the material of a bus chair, but the design and feel of a shitty budget aeroplane seat, i was in the middle seat of our row, 12-B to be exact, because my dad insisted on having the isle seat so i didn't "Hold everyone up by slacking off"

I just responded by rolling my eyes and complying, sometimes it's just better not to argue with him. Besides, i really didn't have the energy to sit through a one hour argument about why i should or should not have the isle seat after our long journey, all i wanted to do was get home, collapse into my new bed and sleep.

The passengers were all silent as the big, long metal behemoth rolled along the tarmac, every second felt like a thousand years as i waited for the plane to come to a stop, only a thin, white metal door between me and freedom, my new life...

I'd just been on a long, brutal series of flights, from my home town in Shikoku to Tokyo, from Tokyo to London, and then finally from London to Molstenshire, me and my family were moving to Molstenshire to be closer to my uncle, Takano, he was very sick at the time and my Dad wanted to be close to his brother.

He was very worried about his health and wanted to be able to keep an eye on him, he'd never admit that though, just dismissing it with "He's a grown man, he can take care of himself, we're just moving here because it's a fresh start for our family, and this way i can catch up with him and get a beer from time to time"

My dad's a very tough and stoic man, but deep down inside he really cares about us, all of us, my mum, my uncle, my grandparents, everyone, he has a very big heart, he just has a hard time admitting that he has emotions.

I sat there in my seat as i waited for the seatbelt sign to turn off, staring out my mum's window, watching all the workers in their bright orange vests run around the tarmac frantically, yelling instructions at eachother.

Apparently when you're a menial labourer, a total slave to this bleak world, grinding your life away to get nowhere and do nothing until you die, fueling up aeorplanes is actually interesting, and worthy of running around, jumping over baggage carousels and sprinting down the tarmac for.

Eventually the plane came to a stop.

*Bing bong*

"The seatbelt sign is now off, please grab your bags from the overhead lockers and disembark the aircraft in an orderly fashion, the local time is 5:59PM and the tempterature is -5 degrees, thank you for flying with Union Airlines!" The captain said over the microphone.

My dad got up first, retrieving his big black bag from the overhead locker before standing looking at me. I was completely mesmerized watching the workers on the tarmac run around, completely unaware that my Dad was standing next to me, staring at me with an angry look on his face as all of the other passengers began to disembark.

"Come on Kira, get your things. We still have to make it to Burger King before we go, i'm starving and it closes at 6:20, i am not waiting until we get all the way home to eat because you won't get your ass out of your seat" my dad said in a stern voice.

I rolled my eyes at him again and got up, retrieving my luggage from the overhead compartment, waiting for mum and disembarking the aircraft with my family.

                                                                                                                               "How the fuck is this relevant Kira???" The officer said with an impatient look on his face

"Calm down, it's all gonna make sense, it's relevant to the story, the airport's where i met her" i said, The officer's impatient frown slowly transforming into a sly grin in response to my statement...

"Ah yes, Offender number 2, one Lily Fisher, go on..." the officer said, leaning back in his chair and lighting up a cigarette, light flooding the cold dark room...

                                                                                                                             Me and my family followed the other passengers through the winding, white metal and glass tunnels, walking through the exit and leaving the gate with our luggage, before all stopping and facing eachother to figure out what we're gonna do next.

My Dad turned to my mother and said "Alright, Hitomi, you come with me to get the food"

My mum nodded in response.

"And Kira, you wait here, we'll come back with everything, then we'll all eat our food and take a taxi to our new home, alright?"

"Alright cool" i said, walking over to the gate and looked for a place to sit down, eventually deciding on a seat, right in the middle of a long, seemingly endless row of plastic seats.

I let go of my bright blue wheely bag in front of the seat so i could watch it and i slouched back in the chair as i waited, my body sinking into the cold, cheap, crappy chair.

Without thinking, i put my arm on the armrest, somehow not noticing the girl nect to me until there was something soft and warm directly underneath my hand, but i didn't think much of it until i heard a girl's voice from the seat next to me.

"You're awfully rude, holding a Lady's hand without even asking her name???"

I quickly spun my head around and, to my shock, there was a girl there in the seat next me, staring at me with a big smirk on her face and giggling as my face turned tomato red.

I frantically began to apologize, but just as i started to get the words out, the girl cut me off;

"I'm Lily, it's nice to meet you" The girl said, her long, wavy silver hair draped over her shoulders, her deep brown mischievous eyes intimidating me to my core as she stared into my eyes intensely.

"I-i'm kira" i said, looking down in embarassment...

END OF CHAPTER ONE

Author's note: I'll put out Chapter 2 soon but for now this all i've got, a little teaser into the story, It's gonna be a big project. Sorry about the wait, i may or may not be developing an Azur Lane addiction xD

If you want updates on when the next part of my debut story is coming out, follow my twitter, the link's on my page.

Don't worry, i won't shove my political dick down your throat xD

All the best, DrawF0ur

[vrheadsets]

VR vs. Travel

“Oh yeah, I was drunk on vodka and cranberry and then somebody stole my cheese.” Said a clearly outraged Nina.

It was, frankly, too early for my mind to properly process the discussion going on. Either that or it had already thrown in the towel for the day at 5:30am. Which would be something of a record. I rubbed my eyes and stared at the four people hovering around me. Quite the collection of individuals, me included, that shuffled and shivered their way through the airport terminal.

It’s nice to get away from it all and for some reason it had been decided that the entire VRFocus team – yes, all five of us – would be heading to Malta for a couple of days of… Actually, I mused, I wasn’t exactly sure. It wasn’t exactly rest and relaxation since we were still working and would need to work remotely meaning we were all going off laptops and it wouldn’t be until day three we’d be able to really go out and see the place. Plus, two of the five were actually quite ill. Poor Rebecca, who presently needs surgery as part of her is quite literally failing, was being powered along purely by willpower and painkillers. Peter, who would later be strapped into a virtual reality (VR) headset to review Fallout 4 VR was a coughing and spluttering walking plague factory. I was surprised no one from the airport had come up and painted a big cross on the front of his t-shirt.

A warmer climate? A change of scene? Whatever it was we were going and leaving behind us the blizzard that had descended on the UK behind. All of us.

Yes, all of us. For once myself and Rebecca, or as I’d dubbed us #TeamLeftBehind, were also featuring in the travel plans. We were quickly learning that it was probably for the best we didn’t know all the nonsense that went on during a regular trip.  For a start we were heading to the wrong island. Which was something of a faux pas. We’d need to make an additional trip via a ferry when we got there. Meaning that in a twenty-four hour period I would have travelled by train, underground, bus, taxi, aeroplane and ferry. I think I just got a transport bingo.

Kevin and Nina, so often travelling companions to events bickered like an old married couple. Who was looking after the Vive we were taking with us, who had the best seat, who was the best organised. Where they could actually get some cheese right now. The dealing with airports thing was pretty old news for them at this point. Kevin had the philosophy throughout the trip that the plane would, somehow, just wait for us. Me and Rebecca, mortified, wanted to get on as soon as possible.

Eventually after we got on the plane and it was at this point I remembered something very important about plane travel.

It sucks.

Think about it. You’re sealed inside a pressurised metal tube for hours at a time. There’s only so much you can do if there’s no in-flight entertainment. For me, smack bang in the middle of three seats it was an impossible situation. There was no room in the overhead compartment thanks to a guy in row 3 apparently taking every piece of clothing in his possession with him in a blue plastic tarp and filling up our bin with it. Meaning my carry-on only bag had to be jammed between my legs, pinning them to the side at an awkward angle. It was too uncomfortable to sleep. No room to use my laptop. Not to mention too awkward to read and get into the book I’d bought with me. In that situation all you have to look forward to is a battle of wits over the armrest against whichever person next to you turns out to be Elbows McGee.

With all of that is it that much of a surprise that we see hotels and airliners investing in VR so much? For the first time in a very long time indeed I was clamouring to have my Gear VR with and be ensconced on a beach somewhere. Or taking in a film via it, or going to the moon. Or literally anywhere else.  After all, no one wants to be on the plane, you want to get to your destination. It’s more a necessary inconvenience. So having something that transports you to somewhere else other than, well, where you are, suddenly becomes a great idea.  We’ve all seen photos or even videos from phones of people wearing a VR headset on a plane or a bus or on the underground and they’re usually accompanied by much sniggering and pointing of fingers at the ‘silly looking’ man or woman in VR.

You know what? Point and laugh all you want. They’re smart. They’re enjoying themselves and are unconcerned about what you think of them. In fact, let me ask a question in return. You’re on the bus, plane, train, whatever with them, right? How’s your journey going so far?  Because unless you’ve spent a small fortune I’m willing to bet the answer is it’s awful and you’re kind of stressed.  They on the other hand look pretty relaxed.

Funny that.

    from VRFocus http://ift.tt/2CE2SdK