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vestaignis · 21 days

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Милфорд Саунд (Milford Sound, маорийское название — Пиопиотахи (Piopiotahi)) – самый знаменитый фьорд в Новой Зеландии, известный на весь мир своей первозданной красотой. Милфорд Саунд, как и фьорды Северного полушария, сформировался в результате деятельности ледника 10-12 тысяч лет назад. Знаменитый английский путешественник и писатель Редьярд Киплинг побывал однажды на берегах Милфорд Саунд и под впечатлением увиденного назвал этот фьорд восьмым чудом света.

Милфорд Саунд – это вытянутый залив с высокими скалистыми берегами шириной около 3 км, который вдается в сушу на целых 16 км, а максимальная его глубина 512 м. Со всех сторон он окружен горными вершинами, увенчанные вечными снегами, высотой более 1,5 км. Нетронутые человеком густые влажные леса растут здесь практически на отвесных скалах.

Милфорд Саунд - одно из самых влажных мест на Земле, здесь за год выпадает до 7000 мм осадков. Дождь идет каждый день и это сказывается на характере леса - гигантские деревья покрыты мхом и лианами, здесь растут лишайники и папоротники, лес очень влажный. Туристы могут рассчитывать на солнце в течение нескольких часов ближе к полудню, но во второй половине дня их наверняка настигнет ливень.

Интересный факт — В дождливые и бурные дни можно увидеть потрясающий природный феномен. Водопады, которые падают вверх. Это явление вызвано географическими особенностями Милфорд Саунда. При встрече с утесом сильный ветер часто поднимается вверх, и обычные водопады, попадая в поток воздуха, кардинально меняют свое направление.

Воды Милфорд Саунд населяет множество тюленей, пингвинов и дельфинов. Исследовательская станция Милфорд Дип позволяет ученым и туристам «заглянуть» в подводный мир. При таком изобилии мелких птиц невозможно обойтись без хищников: в глубине фьорда рассекают толщу воды многочисленные акулы. Также здесь можно увидеть уникальные коралловые рифы, в том числе и самые редкие виды - черные кораллы. Вода в Милфорд Саунд настолько прозрачная, что дно видно даже в самых глубоких местах, если, конечно, его не заслоняют густые водоросли.

Milford Sound (Maori name - Piopiotahi) is the most famous fjord in New Zealand, known throughout the world for its pristine beauty. Milford Sound, like the fjords of the Northern Hemisphere, was formed as a result of glacier activity 10-12 thousand years ago. The famous English traveler and writer Rudyard Kipling once visited the shores of Milford Sound and, impressed by what he saw, called this fjord the eighth wonder of the world.

Milford Sound is an elongated bay with high rocky shores about 3 km wide, which juts into the land for as much as 16 km, and its maximum depth is 512 m. On all sides it is surrounded by mountain peaks, crowned with eternal snow, more than 1.5 km high. Dense rainforests untouched by man grow here almost on sheer cliffs.

Milford Sound is one of the wettest places on Earth, with up to 7,000 mm of rainfall per year. It rains every day and this affects the character of the forest - giant trees are covered with moss and vines, lichens and ferns grow here, the forest is very humid. Tourists can expect sun for a few hours closer to midday, but in the afternoon they will probably be overtaken by a downpour.

Interesting fact - On rainy and stormy days, you can see an amazing natural phenomenon. Waterfalls that fall upwards. This phenomenon is caused by the geographical features of Milford Sound. When meeting a cliff, a strong wind often rises upwards, and ordinary waterfalls, getting into the air flow, radically change their direction.

The waters of Milford Sound are inhabited by many seals, penguins and dolphins. The Milford Deep research station allows scientists and tourists to "look" into the underwater world. With such an abundance of small birds, it is impossible to do without predators: in the depths of the fjord, numerous sharks cut through the water. Here you can also see unique coral reefs, including the rarest species - black corals. The water in Milford Sound is so transparent that the bottom is visible even in the deepest places, unless, of course, it is obscured by thick algae.

Источник: //mirsg.ru/ru/pages/milford-sound,//cattur.ru/australia-and-oceania/new-zealand/milford-saund.html,/australiantravelclub.ru /articles/milford_saund_i_paryashchie_vodopady.htm,/sunsetobsession.com/ru/milford-sound/,/mirsg.ru/ru/pages/milford-sound, /varlamov.ru/1250158.html,//wikiway.com/novaya-zelandiya/milford-saund/,vk.com/@greenfieldworld-novaya-zelandiya-fordlend-milford-saund.

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softonshanks · 1 month

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Can i request a Shanks x female reader in which she's the only female member on the crew and she's her period and everyone freaks out? I think it'd be hilarious thanks

Hey, thank you so much for your question. I really like this prompt, I tried to keep it funny as you asked, with a little bit of fluff. I hope you enjoy it (:

Characters: Shanks x female reader

Total word count: 1445 words

It was a sunny afternoon on the ship, but instead of enjoying the day on deck with the rest of the crew, Y/N was curled up in her hammock, clutching her stomach in pain. She had woken up that morning feeling awful, her abdomen cramping in a way she’d never experienced before. It didn’t take long for her to realize what was happening: her period was trying to kill her for good this time. Normally, it was just mild discomfort for her, but this time, it hit her like a tidal wave. The pain was sharp, radiating from her lower stomach down her legs, and it left her feeling nauseous and weak. The worst part? She had no idea how to deal with it on a ship full of men who had absolutely no idea what she was going through.

At first, she tried to tough it out. She didn’t want to make a fuss over something as natural as her period. She usually tried to keep it cool every month, and she always succeeded, but this time, by midday, she couldn’t take it anymore and retreated to her hammock with a groan.

Word spread quickly through the ship that Y/N was sick, and before long, a small group of panicked pirates had gathered outside her quarters. Benn Beckman was the first to peek in, his expression filled with concern.

"Hey, Y/N," Benn said cautiously, "uh, we heard you're not feeling well. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Y/N groaned, her face half-buried in a pillow. "It's just… cramps."

"Cramps?" Benn echoed, looking confused. “For what? Have you hurt yourself again trying to carry stuff way heavier than you?” he asked, worried.

"No, Benn,” she quietly laughed. “And I can handle heavy stuff,” she pointed out before placing her hand on her aching stomach again. “It’s just… girl stuff," she muttered.

That immediately sent Benn backtracking. "Oh! Oh, right, okay. Uh… anything we can do? Maybe… get you some water?"

Y/N chuckled weakly. "I think I'll survive, Benn. Thanks, though."

But Benn wasn't the only one concerned. Soon enough, several other crew members began showing up, each trying to be helpful in their own way—though none of them really knew what they were doing.

Yasopp walked in with a blanket. "You cold, Y/N? You need a blanket? I heard you're supposed to stay warm." She tried not to laugh while she told him, "Thanks, Yasopp, but I'm already warm enough."

Lucky Roo appeared with a tray of food. "Brought you something to eat. Maybe it'll help?"

Y/N glanced at the plate, her stomach turning just at the sight of food. "Thank you so much, Roo. I’ll just eat it later when I’m feeling better."

The men hovered around, trying their best to be supportive, but Y/N could see they were all clueless and a bit nervous. After all, they were used to facing sea monsters and enemy pirates—not a young woman dealing with period cramps. It was sweet, really, but she couldn’t help but laugh at how out of their depth they were.

Finally, Shanks appeared, a wide grin on his face as he shooed the others away. "Alright, alright, you bunch of goofs. Give the lady some space. We can't be crowding her like this,” he said, making Y/N burst into a loud laugh.

“As if you know what to do to make a lady feel better when she’s on her period,” commented Benn, taking a puff from his cigarette.

“Of course I do, I’ve had much more experience with the ladies than all of you,” the captain answered, laughing, while the rest of the crew started to make fun of him.

“Best thing to ease period cramps is to have sex,” he said seriously. Benn put his hand on his face, while Y/N, still in her hammock, threw her pillow at the captain.

“You wish it was, you pig,” she answered.

“Well, the Captain is actually right,” Hongo said, trying to regain his composure. “I mean, from a medical point of view, this is true.”

“SEE? Thank you,” Shanks said, throwing his hands in the air. “Anyway, there’s something that will work even better: laughing. So now all of you get out of here while I work my magic,” Shanks said, as the others slowly backed out of the room, murmuring well wishes before disappearing completely. “If he tries something on you, scream, we’ll come here and rescue you,” shouted Yasopp before closing the door.

Shanks approached her hammock and plopped down on a nearby chair, propping his feet up casually. Y/N, seeing the captain so close, pretended to scream, while he raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

“That’s how you repay me? I’m here to make you feel better after all, I’m hurt,” he joked.

Y/N couldn’t help but crack a smile despite her discomfort. "Oh, really? You think you can make me laugh while I feel like I’m being stabbed repeatedly in the gut?"

Shanks winked. "Challenge accepted."

For the next hour, Shanks was in top form. He regaled her with stories of his adventures, mimicking the crew members’ quirks in exaggerated, goofy ways. He told her about the time he and Beckman had gotten lost on a small island while drunk and ended up at a fancy ball, pretending to be nobles. He even did silly impressions of Lucky Roo’s laugh and Yasopp’s serious face whenever he tried to shoot something, all while making absurd faces.

Y/N found herself laughing despite the pain, her body relaxing bit by bit with every joke Shanks threw her way. His carefree attitude and easy charm made her forget, even for a little while, how miserable she had felt.

Eventually, after another round of chuckles, Y/N sighed contentedly, her pain easing just a little. "Thanks, Shanks," she said softly, looking at him with gratitude. "You really helped me out today. You’re a really good captain, you know that?"

Shanks waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, I’m just a guy who doesn’t know how to leave someone alone when they’re in pain. But hey, I’m glad I could make you laugh."

Y/N took a deep breath, her smile faltering for just a moment. "It’s… It’s tough sometimes, you know? Being the only girl on a ship full of guys. You all are amazing, but there are moments where I feel a little out of place. Like when I get sick like this, or when I just want to talk to another woman…”

Shanks’ expression softened as he looked at her, his usual playful grin replaced by something more sincere. He reached out, placing a hand on her arm. "I get that, Y/N. And I’m sorry if we’ve a bunch of clumsy, noisy and confused man most of the time. But you belong here just as much as the rest of us. Hell, I’m happy you’re a girl because it means I have someone to stare at whenever I am in need of a pretty face.”

“Thought the only pretty face you loved staring at was Benn’s.”

“I know, right? His long black hair, his stare… the way the cigarette dangles from his lips,” he started seductively describing his first mate, causing Y/N once again to burst into laughter. He stopped, incapable of doing anything but listening to her delightful laugh.

“Yeah, Benn’s hot, but you’re lovely.”

There was a moment of silence as their playful banter shifted into something more serious. The tension between them, always present but never acknowledged, seemed to thicken the air around them. Y/N’s breath hitched as Shanks leaned in closer, his gaze locked onto hers.

"Can I kiss you?" Shanks whispered, his voice barely audible. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters. But when he responded, kissing her back with equal warmth, the hesitation melted away, and the kiss deepened.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were smiling, their foreheads resting against each other.

"That… was nice," Y/N said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed.

Shanks chuckled softly. "Yeah… it was."

They stayed like that for a moment, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence, before Shanks finally pulled back and grinned at her. "So, do you think I’ll have to wait until your next period for another kiss like that?”

Y/N shook her head. “Of course not, but don’t ask my permission next time.”

She watched him leave, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and happiness despite the dull ache in her abdomen, trying to sleep as she started thinking again about their kiss and less aboout the pain.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #shanks x y/n #red haired shanks #shank #Red-Haired Pirates #fluff #angst #romantic #first kiss one piece #one piece kiss #one piece romantic #akagami no shanks

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 3 months

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ill

anthony bridgerton x wife fem reader

Anthony Bridgerton prided himself on being a man of honor, a man who upheld the duties of a husband with unwavering dedication. Since the day he and Y/N had pledged their lives to each other, his commitment had never wavered. However, it was only during these most trying times, when Y/N was unwell, that the depths of his devotion truly came to light.

The morning had dawned grey and dreary, mirroring Y/N's increasingly pallid complexion. She had awoken with a heaviness in her chest, a fever clouding her usually bright eyes. Anthony, ever perceptive, had immediately sensed that something was amiss. By midday, it was clear she had fallen ill with the flu.

From that moment, Anthony had taken it upon himself to nurse her back to health. He insisted on doing everything himself, waving off the maids and servants with a determined hand. His wife was his responsibility, and he would see to her care personally. He stayed by her side, offering comfort and support. When she was sick, he held back her hair and rubbed soothing circles on her back. When the chills wracked her body, he fetched warm blankets and held her close, whispering words of encouragement and love.

Anthony found himself taking on a role he had seldom played to this extent: that of the primary caregiver for their twin children, Emma and Edward. With Y/N needing all the rest she could get, Anthony was determined to manage both his duties as a viscount and his responsibilities as a father

One evening, after a day filled with overseeing estate matters and ensuring Y/N had everything she needed, Anthony turned his attention to the children. It was time for dinner, and he decided to handle it himself, much to the surprise of the household staff.

In the kitchen, Emma and Edward sat at the large wooden table, their eyes wide with curiosity as their father attempted to prepare a simple meal. Anthony’s culinary skills were still rudimentary, but he managed to prepare a meal of roast chicken, potatoes, and steamed vegetables. The children watched him with amusement, occasionally offering unsolicited advice.

“Papa, you’re supposed to stir the gravy,” Emma pointed out with a giggle.

“And don’t forget to taste it,” Edward added helpfully.

Anthony chuckled, taking their advice in stride. “Thank you, my little chefs. I’ll make sure to do just that.”

Once the meal was ready, they sat down together and enjoyed their dinner. Despite a few mishaps like slightly overcooked potatoes and a gravy that was a bit too thick the children ate heartily, delighted by their father’s efforts. Anthony found himself smiling more than he had in days, his heart lightened by their laughter and the joy in their eyes.

After dinner, it was time for baths. Anthony led the twins upstairs, running a warm bath in the large clawfoot tub. He carefully bathed each of them, laughing as they splashed and played in the water.

“Papa, make the boat go faster!” Edward exclaimed, pointing to the little wooden toy floating in the tub.

“Alright, but only if you promise to keep the water in the tub,” Anthony replied with a mock stern look.

After the bath, he wrapped them in fluffy towels and helped them into their nightclothes. The bedtime routine was a cherished ritual, one that Y/N usually took part in. Tonight, Anthony was determined to make it just as special. He read them a story, his deep voice bringing the characters to life. Emma and Edward listened intently, their eyes growing heavy with sleep.

When the story ended, Anthony tucked them into their beds, kissing each of them on the forehead. “Goodnight, my loves,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Papa,” they murmured in unison, their voices drowsy.

As he left their room and gently closed the door, Anthony felt a profound sense of satisfaction. Despite the challenges, he had managed to care for his children and his wife. Returning to Y/N’s side, he found her already asleep, her breathing steady and peaceful. He sat beside her, watching over her as she slept, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and responsibility.

Anthony knew that this period of illness and extra duties was temporary. But he also knew that the bonds he was strengthening with his children and the unwavering support he was providing to his wife would have lasting effects. He was more than just a viscount; he was a father and a husband, roles he cherished above all else.

The next morning Y/N had scarcely managed to keep any food down, Anthony decided to draw her a warm bath. As she soaked in the tub, her skin flushed from the heat and the fever, he asked softly, "My love, are you hungry? Is there anything you might be able to eat?"

Y/N, feeling a bit better in the comfort of the warm water, nodded. "Yes, actually. Some chicken noodle soup sounds wonderful."

Anthony's heart swelled with determination. "I'll make you some," he promised, his voice gentle but firm.

Leaving Y/N to relax, he descended to the kitchen. Anthony was a man of many talents, but cooking was not one of them. Still, for his beloved wife, he was willing to try anything. He rummaged through the pantry and the icebox, trying to recall the recipes his mother had taught him in his youth. He found some chicken, carrots, celery, and noodles, setting them all on the counter. With sleeves rolled up and a furrowed brow, he began his culinary endeavor.

As he chopped vegetables and attempted to cook the chicken, Y/N, feeling somewhat better after her bath, decided to venture downstairs. Dressed in her nightgown, she moved quietly, drawn by the sounds of her husband clattering about in the kitchen. Peeking around the corner, she couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the sight before her: Anthony Bridgerton, Viscount, and head of the Bridgerton family, struggling to decipher a recipe.

Her soft laughter reached Anthony's ears, and he turned, a look of surprise and concern on his face. "My love, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting."

Y/N smiled, stepping into the kitchen. "I couldn't stay away. I had to see what my wonderful husband was up to."

Anthony sighed, a mixture of exasperation and affection. "I was trying to make you some soup," he admitted, gesturing to the array of ingredients and half-prepared food. "But I'm afraid I'm not quite as skilled as the cook."

Y/N walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into his chest. "It's perfect," she murmured. "The fact that you're doing this for me means more than you could ever know."

Anthony kissed the top of her head, his heart swelling with love. "Anything for you, my dear. Now, let's get you back to bed, and I'll bring the soup up once it's ready."

With Y/N safely back in bed, Anthony returned to the kitchen with renewed determination. He worked meticulously, and after some time, he finally produced a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. Carrying a tray carefully, he made his way back to their bedroom.

Y/N was propped up against the pillows, looking exhausted but content. Anthony set the tray down on the bedside table and gently ladled some soup into a bowl. He brought the bowl to her, spooning a bit of the fragrant broth to her lips.

Y/N took a tentative sip, then smiled up at him. "It's delicious," she whispered. "Thank you, dear”

He smiled back, relief and love evident in his eyes. "Anything for you, my love. Anything at all."

In the days following Y/N’s initial illness, their twin children, Emma and Edward, had been kept at a respectful distance, watched over by their governess and the ever-watchful staff. Anthony, concerned for their health and their mother's, had made it clear that the children were not to disturb Y/N until she was well enough.

However, as the days stretched on, Emma and Edward’s longing for their mother grew more intense. One sunny afternoon, the twins approached their father with wide, pleading eyes.

“Papa, can we see Mama?” Emma asked, her voice small and hopeful.

“Please, Papa,” Edward echoed, tugging at Anthony’s sleeve. “We miss her.”

Anthony knelt down to their level, his heart aching at the sight of their earnest faces. “Your mother is still very sick,” he said gently. “She needs to rest so she can get better.”

“But we can be quiet,” Emma promised. “We just want to see her.”

Y/N, overhearing the conversation from her room, felt a surge of love and longing for her children. Gathering what strength she had, she called out softly, “Anthony, please. Let them come in.”

Anthony turned to see his wife sitting up in bed, her eyes tired but full of determination. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “All right. But you must be very gentle and very quiet, do you understand?”

The twins nodded eagerly, and Anthony led them to the bed where Y/N waited with open arms. Emma and Edward climbed up carefully, nestling into the crook of her arms. Y/N hugged them tightly, her eyes closing as she breathed in the comforting scent of her children.

“I’ve missed you both so much,” she whispered, kissing the tops of their heads.

“We missed you too, Mama,” Edward said, his voice muffled against her nightgown.

Anthony watched the scene, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions. He climbed into the bed as well, wrapping his arms around his family. They all cuddled together, the warmth of their closeness driving away the chill of Y/N’s illness.

The day was spent in a cocoon of love and comfort. They read stories, played quiet games, and simply enjoyed being in each other’s presence. The twins were careful to be gentle, their usual energy subdued by the understanding that their mother needed to rest.

As the afternoon turned into evening, Y/N’s strength began to wane, but the happiness of having her family close gave her a renewed sense of hope and determination. She looked up at Anthony, her eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you, my love,” she said softly. “I needed this.”

Anthony kissed her forehead, his voice tender. “Anything for you, my dear. And for our children.”

As they sat together in the fading light of the day, Y/N turned to Anthony, her eyes shining with gratitude. “You are my rock, Anthony. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Anthony took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. "And you are my heart, Y/N. As long as you need me, I will always be here, by your side."

like and comment pookiesssss🫶🏼

#anthony bridgerton x wife reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction

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tinydefector · 22 hours

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Marine Centre 3- merformers AU

Warnings: talking about mating, loss of babies. Arguments

Word count: 2.1k

Here's some information on how the Pods kinda work in this fic. If you want more details on the pods let me know.

Here are the Five Pods that reside at the Yawk-yawk Marine Rehabilitation centre. Mind you, there are other pods, but they don't reside at the centre but will make appearances in this fic later on.

Pod 1 - Autobots

Optimus

Ratchet

Bumblebee

Jazz

Prowl

Beachcomber

Ironhide

Pod 2 - Decepticons

Megatron

Starscream

Thundercracker

Skywarp

Soundwave

Shockwave

Pod 3 - Young Autobots (off branch Pod/ Young of other members)

Rodimus

Sunstreaker

Sideswipe

Bluestreak

Smokescreen

Mirage

Pod 4 - mixed members

Windblade

Drift

Pharma

Chromedome

Rewind

Whirl

Arcee

Pod 5 - Combaticons

Swindle

Vortex

Onslaught

Brawl

Blast Off

________________

Little thrills and chirps come from the cove as a tiny blur of yellow and black zips through the water, Chasing the human who walks along the shore line. The little pup eagerly calls out with little noises trying to catch their attention. A chorus of soft crooning rises among the mingled pods at the greeting of the tiny pup.

"Hello Babybee!" The human calls out softly to the baby mer. many of the other oceanides kept looking out over the pup, but they were already aware that the human wouldn't hurt the little one.

The little mer thrills delightedly while trying to drag himself onto the sand closer to them. "No, no, no baby you can't come onto the sand." They call while trying to usher the little yellow and black pup back into the water.

A pout forms on the little one's face, tiny fins flapping in dismay. But just as swiftly Dancer is there in an instant, gracefully scooping the youth back into the safety of the pool.

It's only the deep rumble of Big Blue which makes Bee turn around quickly and call out loudly to his Sire. But he doesn't move. "You haven't been annoying your papa while he's been healing have you?" They inquire only for more little thrills and chirps to leave the pup. Big blue emerges then from the depths, red and cobalt scales gleaming serenely as ever in the midday light.

Bee pouts but subsides against his sire's side, tiny purrs and trills of disappointed longing leave the pup as he clings to the larger mer.

_______

Windblade is first to respond to the little pup, drifting nearer with grace. "Bumblebee, there you are! You know better than to crawl on the sand" she Coos softly to the stripped pup.

Starscream scoffs, though his fins lay flat in disinterest. But ever-playful Skywarp spins gleeful loops around Windblade and pup. "Aww, lookit the little bitlet! You're getting so big, your colours are looking bright" he hums while gently looking over the pup.

"Now now, little one, you know the rules. The beach side is for walking friends, not us, can't have you getting yourself beached." She soothes, calming his upset with the practised ease of a carrier well versed in youthful disobedience. "Aww let him have his fun, Blades! We were all curious pups once."

It's only the deep rumble of Optimus which makes them all go quiet. Bumblebee turns around quickly and calls out loudly to his Sire. But he doesn't move from Windblade’s hold. Optimus slowly takes his pup from her hold cradling the little one close.

"Bumblebee," he rumbles gently, "you know the rules, little one. No going on the sand, you are too young." Gently yet firmly he lifts the pup into loving arms, cerulean eyes glowing with warmth at his little one.

Bumblebee pouts but subsides against his sire's powerful arms, still emitting little Trills of disappointed longing. Optimus meets the caretaker's eyes, they both watch each other for a moment as he continues to cradle his pup.

A mournful stillness falls over the mingled pods as they watch Optimus with Bumblebee.

"last season was a difficult one. But I'm glad to see your little one out and about" Her field pulses faint sadness, she had lost her own too early, taking quickly to Bumblebee as many of the pod did.

“As am I, I'm forever grateful for all the humans have done for Bee, I doubt he would have survived without their help” he rumbles softly. Windblade continues to wiggle her claws at the little one who giggles and grabs them.

"We can't keep losing generation after generation like this. Something's thinning the gene pool and we're not breeding fast enough to replace what's lost." Ironhide calls out while swimming closer. “Hey pup” he hums, giving the little one a head rub.

Starscream hisses uneasily. "There are fewer pods venturing near each cycle. It's those land crawlers doing, mark my words they are the reason for it!” He huffs out.

"I'm aware of the drop in our numbers but as it is, the only help we have received with our young is from the humans, had I not taken Bee to them when I did we would have no surviving pups." His words give them pause. they all knew Optimus was right, Bumblebee was very sick and without the marine centre's help he would have perished.

Optimus to turn to Starscream. “How is Megatron?, I haven't seen him since out fight”

"Megatron's wounds mend, though slowly." Starscream's fins flick in agitation. "The stress is getting to him, he wonders why Primus forbids him his own spawn. But spared yours”

Skywarp chitters nervously. "It's never been this bad before, not for long cycles. Even Megatron knows something bigger's going on, making it hard for the little ones to survive.”

"Maybe the softskins are right and it's more than just bad luck or genes. Something's changing in the deep, and we're on the losing side regardless of the cause." Ironhide shoots back

But Windblade flashes her finned guardians a quelling look. " What matters now is caring for Bumblebee and hope that we are granted a change with the next season."

Windblade continues stroking the youth gently. "Bumblebee would not be here if not for the humans' care. It seems...our song may rely on theirs, if it is to have any hope of continuing in the seas."

Her words are met with uneasy hesitation never before have the Oceanides relied upon outsiders, but Optimus had. Drift speaks up as he Drift's beside Rodimus "Our numbers fall while theirs climb ever higher. If we do not accept assistance, soon there may be no pods left at all."

Starscream hisses uneasily. "Dolphins grow ever more bold and numerous, harassing us when we feed where once they gave a wide berth. The orcas too have tasted our energon and now we have to be wary of them."

Ratchet croons in concern. "The humpback and grey kin have fallen silent, their great pods have moved on. No allies remain in which we can seek refuge when predator numbers swell, our best option is to stay here till they return to these waters."

"The great sharks now prowl only the farthest blue edges, driven from their feeding grounds by the loud noise and flashing lights of human undersea vessels. We have no kin but our own, our safety is the shorelines unless we are in number but with a youngling we can not take to deep waters yet."

Bumblebee chirps again, wiggling in his sires' hold until he escapes, disappearing from Optimus' side and swimming back to the human on the sandy shore again. It earns a laugh from the human as they scoot forward a little. Gently brushing the little frills of his head. It makes Optimus' spark ache.

Starscream vents quietly. "Few among us have known the happiness of sparking and rearing young. I doubt the other pods are having the same issues as us, perhaps we need new mingling when they come to the sands again"

“ It could be an option, considering our five Pods seem to not be having the best of luck” Sunstreaker mutters softly.

“ I'd like to see Chromia again, Hopefully Elita’s pod returns ” Windblade murmurs to herself, she could only hope that Chromia had better luck with a pup. But she did miss her bonded.

“You know the landers don't seem to have much issues with offspring, maybe they'd be willing to help us out” Rodimus blurts out, he wasn't exactly paying full attention to what was being said.

Windblade's fins flare in startled protest. Turning towards the bright orange and Red Oceanide. "Mating with outsiders goes against the sacred bonds of pod and kin!"

"Mating season nears and our numbers dwindle," Rodimus insists. "I'm not saying we have to do anything, it was just a thought!." He huffs out but lounges back against the rocks, his eyes watching the human now playing with Bumblebee in the shallows. But it does make many of the others stop to think. Humans seemed to have much better luck with their young than the Pod. But even that there was no promise of young or if a coupling of that sort would be viable.

Skywarp speaks up next. "If it means pups, what does it matter who their carrier is?"

Ironhide rumbles grim concerns. "Involving outsiders in matters of our Pods could alter both species in ways none foresee."

The younger mers pulse with surging field and logic as Rodimus presses his point. Bluestreak begins voicing his opinion. "Look how the caretaker cares for Bumblebee. Is that so different from how one would care for our young? And see how the little one beams at their touch, as content as any podling among kin!"

"He's got a point - the softskins aren't so strange. And if it brings pups, what's to lose?" Vortex states while watching the other pods continue to argue over the subject.

"Frag the fleshies, if it means more bitlets! Who cares? if it saves our pods I'd say it's worth it” Onslaught remarks only for other mers to hiss at his crash words.

But steely Jazz croons, despite his love for their little caretaker and the other human's of the centre he didn't trust that other humans wouldn't use it to their advantage. "Breedin' another species ain't no simple thing, mech. what's to stop the softskins wantin' somethin' back we ain't willin' to give?"

“We mate freely when the tide flows, so why not them? On land or sea,” Swindle shrugs, it was true, some mers had multiple mades others single, but due to the times they had taken to mating with multiple in hopes for young.

Rodimus refuses to relent under Elders stinging reprimand. "Do you think I propose this out of boredom or mere lust?" he retorts hotly. "Since my own youth, our numbers have halved - and how many more fading cycles must pass before no pups remain at all?, this season we have one surviving, one Pup between Five pods"

"The landers recognize as we do that something ails us. If natural means no longer can restore our numbers, then must we not embrace other paths, however unorthodox, hey im all for if we find another way, but what happens when next season we have no pups"

Rodimus spins to pin each dissenting elder with a fiery piercing glare. "Or would you have us fade to nothing instead, condemning future generations to exist only in memory?" His impassioned defence strikes silence from many.

Optimus' gaze turns to watches with quiet intensity as the human and pup interact, observing how they handle the bitlet with such care.

Long has he guided his pod, but he too knew something was amiss. The broods he once bore long since ventured into the deeps few remained. Yet...if agreement could be found, built, why not try. “If by this season we have no young It will be something the human will know. They are intelligent. If they are willing to assist, we will gladly take their offer” Optimus rumbles, it's the end of discussion as he slowly moves away from the others towards his bitlet.

____

"Yes, yes hello sweet baby, you know I'll get in trouble if I'm around you too much, vets said you need to be around your pod, can't have you getting too attached to me" they hum mainly to themself knowing full well the little pup didn't understand.

Bumblebee thrills piteously, tiny claws outstretched and straining toward them, flexing futilely. "No test today baby, you look so healthy now!" They chimed but sigh as the little one drags themself into their lap. Slowly scooting down the sand they sit in the water so Bee doesn't dry out too much. Their eyes watch the larger Oceanides talk amongst themselves. It almost sounds like a melody with the sweet sounds they made.

“Are the adults boring you baby?” They tease softly only for the little yellow and black pup to snuggle Into their side purring contently. “Gonna get me in big trouble with Quin Beebee.

It's a long while before the older mers finish what seemed like an intense conversation.

Gracefully Big blue nudges nearer, slowly beaching himself close to them, trying his best not to startle either of them. gently but firmly he lifts the pup away, cerulean eye meeting their own with gratitude beyond words. They smile and laugh softly as it earns a grumble from the little one who didn't want to be disturbed.

_______________

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superprincesspea · 9 months

Text

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 1 - Spring

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

Though summer had not yet fledged, the stifling heat in the keep of Storms End had become intolerable for every soul residing in the castle.

Usually, you enjoyed the warmth of sunshine and would happily sit and bask in its glory for hours on end, but this was no mere heat. This was humidity. Hot and wet, lingering in the air and drenching heavy clothes to clammy skin.

You couldn’t escape it even when the sun went down, and everyone was miserable, too lazy to do anything more than sit and swelter and too uncomfortable to find any rest.

You, however, had other ideas.

You’re Father had strictly forbidden any of his daughters from leaving the keep without an escort and, even then, he did not readily allow it. But you had always been a somewhat unruly child and as a young woman you had certainly not become more obedient.

No, quite the opposite, you’d grown accustomed to doing as you pleased regardless of your fathers demands. He had daughters enough for obedience and you had no ambition to become a well-trained pet for him or any other man.

So, when breakfast was finished, you escaped the keep, ducking between the watchful eyes of your fathers' guards before wandering down to the pebble beach below the imposing castle walls.

Down here was the realm of smugglers and pirates but it had been years since the caves had been used for any nefarious purposes. So, you were alone, the beach clear except for the gulls which landed on the rocks before sweeping out across the waves.

As expected, the air here was much more tolerable if you could forgive the stink of seaweed and salt. More importantly, you could enjoy your own company while the creeping tide chased at your feet.

It was a risky game, daring the water to soak through your shoes and you didn’t want to spoil them. You wanted to take them off and hitch up your skirt to feel the cool lick of the bay's glistening sea. How refreshing, how scandalous, how irresistible ….

Your shoes slide off so easily as do your stockings before you find yourself tucking your skirt and chemise into the waistband of your dress.

It’s a precarious thing, exposing the bare lines of your legs for anyone to see and, all the while, you find yourself craning your head back and forth to check for prying eyes. But you remain alone down here, and the water feels as good as you’d imagined. In fact, it's bliss enough for you to finally take pleasure in the heat of the midday sun and, like a cat rolling on a cool stone floor, you relish it.

Ice smothering your legs while fire kisses your cheeks. The only sound is that of the waves and the occasional cry of a gull which, after days spent listening to your sisters complaining, is the sound of absolute serenity.

In the following afternoons, your secret trips down to the beach become routine. Even though the weather is not as insufferable as before, you like the solitude and the feel of the water on your legs. But it isn’t enough, and it hadn’t taken long before you’d began to toy with the idea of submerging yourself into the depths of Shipbreakers Bay.

What would it feel like to have salt and sand tangled in your hair? To float on the waves? To be suspended between air and earth in a crystal sea?

Those questions have tantalised you beyond rational thinking and, if you wait any longer, it might be too late to find their answer.

Already storms are on the horizon and when they arrive, this little stretch of pebble beach will be underwater for the foreseeable future. So, with this in mind, you’re wearing a gown that fastens easily in the front and, though the wool is far too hot for the climate, you do not plan on wearing it for long.

After removing your shoes and stockings, you do your usual checks. Looking up and down the beach to ensure you’re still alone while your fingers dally at the knots on your dress before finally conceding to unfasten them.

One by one, you loosen the ties while the prick of frightened delight coats your skin as the fabric becomes looser and looser before sliding to a pile at your feet.

Without your dress, your chemise billows about as if the wind has fingers which grasp and pull, urging you to freedom. But you need no encouragement, your mind was already set the moment you woke up and, when that happens, there is little chance of dissuading it.

You pull your chemise over your head and the wind snatches it away, sending it through the air like the sail of a ship before it snags on a boulder further down the beach.

Your heart is in your throat as you retrieve it, wondering what excuse you could possibly imagine to explain the loss of your undergarment. The answer is none. You have to be more careful. Yet careful is the exact opposite of what you’re being.

In all the excitement, you’d almost forgotten that you were standing on the beach wearing nothing more than a necklace which rests at the hollow of your neck, catching the sunlight. But you are naked. The breeze cool against your flesh, your nipples tightening to hard buds.

You laugh at the absurdity of the situation just as a chill of unease ripples down your spine. If someone sees you now, it will be a scandal so terrible you’re not sure you could survive it. Yet that does not stop you from opening out your arms to embrace the air.

It isn’t often a high-born woman or any woman at all gets to choose her own actions but you’re choosing one now. Perhaps this will be the only time you ever swim in the bay, perhaps you will hate every moment of it, but it doesn't matter. At least for a single afternoon, you can be completely in control of your own autonomy. Men take such freedoms for granted but you will savour it.

With careful steps, you make your way into the bay, deeper and deeper until the water comes up to your chest and the cold bites harshly into your skin. You know you will grow accustomed to the temperature as you had done on previous days, so you keep moving, letting the blood flow into your limbs and the warmth return.

When you’re ready, you duck your head under the waves without regard for how you will explain your wet hair when you return to the keep. Instead, you dive down, propelling yourself through the water until your lungs begin to burn and you’re forced to surface.

With each dive, you can hold your breath for longer and swim further and the cold becomes a forgotten thing. You’re like a dolphin or a siren, a creature of the sea, flipping through the water with what feels like grace, and you know one thing is certain- Today won’t be the last day you’ll swim in the bay, not when it feels like this- or so you think.

With the sound of waves crashing against the wall of rocks beneath Storm’s End and the rush of water all around you, you’d be forgiven for not hearing the beat of dragon wings as they fly overhead.

No, too consumed by your own amusement, you don’t even notice the large shadow grazing the beach or see where Vhagar lands on a tuft of grass barely a stone's throw from where your clothes are strewn across the pebbles.

All you know is one minute you’re ducking under the water and the next, the sun is bright on your face and a tall black figure is standing on the beach.

A man .

Your heart plummets, the bay choking down your throat as you gasp and inhale a mouthful of water. Perhaps letting yourself sink and float away from all consequence would be the better option, but you resign yourself to whatever reprimand is waiting for you on the beach, coughing and spluttering as you move closer to shore

Wiping your eyes to bring the figure into focus, you expect to see your father or perhaps Ser Maurin Selmy but the person on the beach is an almost stranger. A man you have never met yet recognise by reputation alone.

Aemond Targaryen.

“Your Grace!” you exclaim, concealing yourself beneath the waves with little success. Afterall, he’s close enough for you to see the sigil stitched onto his doublet so you’re in no doubt of how easily he can see you- even with one eye.

A mischievous smile lights up his entire face as he glances at the black and yellow clothes piled at his feet.

“My Lady Baratheon?” he suggests, his manner surprisingly soft spoken yet commanding enough not to be lost against the waves, “you seem to have misplaced your gown.”

“I was taking a swim,” you say rather absurdly, and he laughs to himself before moving closer and bending down on one knee. Not close enough to be caught by a wave but close enough to touch the water, which he does with great care, carefully removing a single glove to dip his fingers in the surf when it stalks towards the toe of his boot.

“Far too cold for my liking but do not stop on my account,” he smirks, his good eye peering once more beneath the waves.

You wrap your arm a little tighter around your chest as though it will prevent him from seeing the curve of your body and the rise and fall of your nervous breaths but, of course, it doesn’t. The water is like glass and your bare skin shines brightly in the sun.

You’ve never been so exposed before, not even in front of your handmaid who only enters your room when you are already wearing your chemise. So, this is beyond anything you can imagine, and shame would have burned on your skin if it wasn’t for the cold seeping into your bones.

“Your Grace is right; the water has grown cold. I should like to get out.”

He raises his eyebrow, his tongue licking lazily across his lip before his smirk returns.

“Suit yourself,” he says, standing upright and towering even taller than you’d remembered. But he doesn’t walk away, he remains rooted to the sand, the waves daring to reach out and sully the soft suede of his riding boots.

“Your Grace?” your teeth chatter and his smile inches even deeper into his cheeks.

“My lady?” he says, toying with you and seeming to enjoy every ounce of your humiliation before he slowly steps back to where your clothes are still spread on the rocks.

Using his boot, he kicks your dress up into his hands and you think, for a moment, that he’s going to steal it away, but he doesn’t.

He tosses it a little closer to the water, grazing your body with one last look before he turns to face the wall beneath your Fathers keep.

In all this time, your heart has not stopped racing and your muscles are beginning to tighten painfully. Still, you wait another minute, hoping Aemond will leave altogether but he does not, and you have a choice to make.

Withdraw from the relative safety of the water and risk being seen, or remain in Shipbreakers Bay for the rest of eternity. So perhaps, when you think of it like that, you have no choice at all.

Bracing yourself, with a wary eye cast towards your escape route, you force your feet to move forward. Emerging with gooseflesh and chattering teeth yet cheeks burning hot enough to rival the sun.

You scoop up your dress, cursing yourself a thousand times over while your numb fingers struggle with even the simplest task. You can barely hold the fabric, let alone dress yourself. Yet more than anything, you curse Aemond and that’s before you notice him glancing back at you.

You pause, breathless with fear though you know you should be moving faster, dressing quicker, running away. But you’re like a frightened deer under his scrutiny. All you can do is stand there; the dress clamped against your body.

He could do anything to you, and it would be your fault. You had done this. You had disobeyed your father and all sense of propriety to leave yourself vulnerable and completely at the mercy of a Dragon.

Mercifully, Aemond’s gaze only lingers for a moment before it returns to the wall, and you move far quicker than before. Hurriedly pulling your arms into sleeves before fastening two of the strings in haphazard knots.

Though Aemond Targaryen might be a Prince, he is certainly not a gentleman. He glances at you again but this time you’re feeling bolder.

You blow out a huff of bad-tempered air, displeasure oozing from your every movement as you snatch up the rest of your clothes and make haste towards the slope which leads back to the keep.

You need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible. But your escape is hindered by bare feet on jagged pebbles. You can’t ignore the sharpness and you don’t dare to stop, leaving you to slip on your shoes in an awkward half hop as you try to maintain the momentum of your furious exit.

Aemond, on the other hand, has no such hindrances and catches up to you with little effort, stepping into your path and blocking you again when you try to skirt around him.

Frustrated, you hold your ground knowing that in a physical fight between yourself and Aemond, you would certainly not be the victor. But you would not cower either.

“Will you not tell me your name, Lady Baratheon?” he asks, as though this was some ordinary meeting between strangers.

“I think your Grace has known quite enough of me for one day!” you snap through gritted teeth, your temper growing shorter as your body grows colder.

He laughs softly, bowing his head, “perhaps another day then.”

You expel a gasp of complete disbelief. “I shall endeavour to avoid it!”

Aemond’s smile broadens, and he seems surprised, even somewhat delighted by your candour as you push past him with a complete disregard for his name, his size, his strength or his dragon.

“Then we will see who is the victor,” he calls after you, but you ignore him.

You would rather die than ever lay eyes on Aemond Targaryen again!

~~~

Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you would like to see more.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader

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acasualcrossfade · 6 months

Text

toes in, ankles deep

Written for STWG daily prompt: new beginnings

(happy belated birthday to @pearynice and @stevesbipanic since this prompt fell on their birthdays!)

Rating: T | CW: mentions of past drowning, mild cursing | Words: 1078

Steve is determined to swim with Eddie in Lake Michigan.

Steve looked out on the serene waves of Lake Michigan, the familiar panic curling around his lungs at the thought of the open water. The sun was overhead and shining bright, and yet he shivered. Steve still had nightmares about the way that thing gripped his leg, dragging him down, down, down under the water and far from the surface.

The memory always brought a roll of shame in its wake, whispering that he should be over this, that it’d been years since nearly drowning in Lover’s Lake, and that there were no monsters hiding in the depths of Lake Michigan.

“Are you sure about this?” Eddie asked, stepping over their picnic to stand beside Steve. “We can walk the beach for a bit before heading back to the car.”

Steve gave Eddie an assured look. “I want to do this. I miss swimming with you.”

Moving to Chicago was their new beginning, and for Steve, this lake was part of their effort forward together.

Their first time to the lake, Steve only made it toes in and ankles deep before retreating to shore. The third time he made it to his shins, and by the fifth, he made it to his chest and dove under the water.

Eddie always wrapped Steve in a soft beach towel afterwards. He pressed kisses and love into Steve’s goosebumpy skin, making sure Steve knew how brave he was, and how proud he felt.

But even though Steve swam many times before, the fear still bubbled up in his chest.

“I’m right here, okay? Won’t let anything happen,” Eddie reminded him.

Steve swallowed and adjusted his grip on Eddie’s hand.

Lake Michigan was rippling glass against the midday sun and Steve shivered as he stepped into the cold water. He watched the water rush over his bare feet before retreating, pulling pebbles of sand from in between his toes. Steve sucked in a breath, remembering how tightly that thing wrapped around his ankle, and how powerless he felt as the surface disappeared above him.

Steve pushed away the thought of how easily he could be pulled in again, even in shallow water. He turned his gaze to watch a group of teens take a running start into the water, stepping and splashing loudly before they dove under and resurfaced with splashes and laughter.

Jealousy made Steve’s shame return; he wished it was that easy for him each time.

“Shh, hey,” Eddie crooned, his voice closer. “It’s okay. We’ve got time. There’s no rush.”

Steve felt the way Eddie’s words softened the harder edges of his panic. It was true, he could take his time. And he knew that Eddie would stand in shallow water as long as he needed.

Steve let out a groan of annoyance. “It just…shouldn’t feel this hard. It’s been like, four years, Eds. Now it’s just getting pathetic.”

“Stevie, you’re so far from pathetic. And the fact you’re determined to swim again despite being afraid is impressive as fuck.” Eddie nodded over to the group of teens who’d now moved on to a handstand contest. “They have no idea there could be monsters in this world. What I wouldn’t give for that ignorant bliss sometimes.”

He gave Steve’s hand a squeeze as he stood on his tippy toes to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “I’m right here,” Eddie softly reminded him. “We only go as far as you want to.”

“Maybe you could, um, go first?”

“That can be arranged,” Eddie guided, taking Steve’s other hand with ease and turned so he faced Steve instead of the lake.

Steve looked down at both their feet, seeing that Eddie already stood in ankle-deep water. Determination bit at his fear. He wanted to swim, and he wanted to swim with Eddie.

Eddie took a step backward and Steve took one forward, holding both of Eddie’s hands tightly. He concentrated on their intertwined hands and the sturdiness of Eddie’s steps. Steve’s feet stepped an inch forward and his feet sunk into the sand below.

Toes in, then, ankle-deep.

Another step and Steve was up to his calves.

Then, knees.

Steve never let go of Eddie’s hands and Eddie encouraged him with every step. And when Steve was chest-deep, he tensed. Going under was the second-hardest part, but he’d made it this far. His feet still touched the sandy bottom, and he let out a breath.

Just as something brushed his arm.

He splashed it away with a gasp and Eddie was right there, just in time to see the tangle of seaweed bobbing away in the water.

“Just seaweed,” Steve gasped breathlessly, taking a minute to rest his forehead on Eddie’s shoulder. He let out a shaky laugh. Then, he looked ahead to the open water, feeling braver.

“Wanna dive in? Together?”

“On three,” Eddie nodded.

Steve squeezed Eddie’s hand as they counted down, and on three, Steve pushed off the sandy bottom and took his last breath before diving under the water.

The cold hit full force and he resurfaced quickly with a gasp. A surprised smile split across his face as water poured from his soaked hair. He pushed it off his forehead and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him as Eddie resurfaced next to him. Eddie’s dark eyes looked bigger with his hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks.

“We’re swimming,” Steve laughed.

“We’re swimming,” Eddie echoed. “You did it.”

Steve’s chest expanded as his fear dissipated, letting Eddie pull him closer.

“And do you have any idea how amazing you are?”

“At this?” He shook his head. “Took me a good ten minutes to make it in.”

“But you made it in.” He nudged Steve. “Look at you, conquering fears and making it look easy.” Eddie’s own smile curled into something more, and he leaned into Steve in search of his lips.

“You always make it easier,” Steve confessed before Eddie’s lips, kissing away the chill of the lake water. Eddie tasted like everything safe, everything encouraging, and Steve couldn't help himself as his hands found their way into Eddie’s curls.

Eddie pulled him closer and Steve’s legs wrapped around Eddie’s waist, smiling at the way the man could easily hold him up underwater. He tightened his legs around Eddie’s waist as he returned his lips to Eddie’s mouth.

And wrapped in Eddie with the heat of the sun on his back, in the open water of Lake Michigan, Steve was at peace.

#stwgdailyprompt #new beginnings #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stwg #steddie in chicago #steddie fluff #established steddie #steddie angst #acasualcrossfade writes #thunderously halo writes

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sensualnoiree · 12 days

Text

astro notes: daily transits 9/16

Today, 9/16, the Pisces Moon weaves a thread of compassion, empathy, and emotional depth into the cosmic energies. Luna’s shift into Pisces at 2:39 a.m. on Monday morning sets the tone for a reflective and sensitive start to the week. This watery Moon works to soften the atmosphere, which is necessary as Venus opposes Chiron, bringing up emotional wounds that can make us more sensitive or defensive. Midday on Monday, a helpful Moon–Mars trine supports healing actions, though misunderstandings loom later with a polarizing Moon–Mercury opposition just before midnight. As we navigate this three-day period, emotional understanding, communication, and healing are the key themes.

Key Influences

Pisces Moon:Empathy and Emotional Healing: The Moon’s entrance into Pisces early Monday morning imbues the next few days with a heightened sense of empathy, intuition, and emotional depth. Pisces is a water sign, known for its compassion and ability to feel the collective emotional undercurrents. This transit can encourage a softer, more introspective approach to life, where we’re more likely to tune into our emotions, dreams, and the needs of others. However, it can also increase our sensitivity, making us more vulnerable to emotional overwhelm or confusion. The Pisces Moon encourages us to go with the flow, trust our intuition, and embrace vulnerability as part of the healing process.

Venus Opposite Chiron:Wounds in Relationships: The Venus–Chiron opposition, which perfects on Monday, brings a focus on relationship wounds, self-worth issues, and vulnerabilities in love. Chiron, the "wounded healer," often reveals old, unhealed emotional scars, particularly in the areas of relationships, love, and self-esteem when opposing Venus. This aspect can make us more reactive, defensive, or sensitive to perceived slights, especially in romantic or close relationships. While the Venus–Chiron opposition can trigger discomfort or pain, it also offers an opportunity for deep emotional healing. By acknowledging our vulnerabilities and being compassionate with ourselves and others, we can heal old wounds and cultivate greater emotional resilience.

Moon Trine Mars:Supportive Action and Emotional Courage: The Pisces Moon forms a trine with Mars in Cancer on Monday afternoon at 2:03 p.m., providing a harmonious flow of energy between our emotions and our actions. Mars in Cancer is protective and nurturing, while the Pisces Moon is compassionate and empathetic, making this a good time for emotionally driven actions that promote healing and understanding. Whether it’s smoothing over disagreements, offering support to others, or taking courageous steps in addressing emotional matters, this trine helps to ease tensions and promote constructive, compassionate action. It encourages us to channel our emotional energy into actions that foster healing and support.

Moon Opposite Mercury:Misunderstandings and Communication Challenges: Later on Monday night, the Pisces Moon forms an opposition with Mercury in Virgo at 11:43 p.m. This aspect can create communication challenges, as the emotional, intuitive Pisces Moon clashes with the logical, analytical Mercury in Virgo. Misunderstandings, miscommunications, or heightened emotional reactions are likely under this aspect. It’s not a good time to try to resolve disagreements or have serious conversations, as emotions may cloud judgment, and words may be easily misinterpreted. Instead, it’s better to wait until the emotional intensity subsides and clarity returns before addressing any contentious issues.

Integrating the Influences

Nurturing Emotional Sensitivity:Pisces Moon and Venus–Chiron Opposition: With the Pisces Moon enhancing our sensitivity and Venus opposing Chiron, it’s important to be gentle with ourselves and others. The themes of vulnerability, emotional wounds, and self-worth are likely to arise, particularly in our relationships. This is a time to embrace empathy, practice active listening, and offer support where needed. Rather than shying away from difficult emotions, we can use the healing energy of Pisces and Chiron to confront our wounds with compassion and understanding. This is also an excellent time for creative or spiritual activities that allow us to process emotions in a non-verbal way, such as journaling, meditation, or artistic expression.

Channeling Emotions into Positive Action:Moon–Mars Trine: The supportive trine between the Moon and Mars on Monday afternoon offers an opportunity to channel our emotions into positive, healing actions. Whether it’s resolving conflicts, taking steps toward personal healing, or offering help to others, this aspect provides the emotional courage and motivation to act with compassion and empathy. If tensions arise from the Venus–Chiron opposition, this trine helps to smooth things over and restore harmony. It’s a good time to address emotional issues in a proactive and nurturing way, rather than letting them fester.

Avoiding Miscommunications:Moon Opposite Mercury: The Moon’s opposition to Mercury late Monday night can lead to confusion, misunderstandings, or emotional misinterpretations. To avoid unnecessary conflict, it’s best to avoid having difficult or emotionally charged conversations during this time. The Pisces Moon may make us more prone to emotional reactions, while Mercury in Virgo seeks precision and logic. This can create a disconnect between what we’re feeling and how we’re communicating. If disagreements arise, it’s better to hold off on discussing them until the emotional intensity subsides and we can approach the situation with more clarity and rationality.

follow for more astro insights like this and head on over to @quenysefields or my etsy --> sensualnoiree to grab my new astrology guidebook on reading your own natal chart :)

#astro #astro blog #astro posts #astrology #astro placements #astrology signs #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #astrology chart #astrology notes #astrology observations #astrology fyp #astrology readings #astronotes #astrocom #astroblr #astrology tumblr #sensualnoiree

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natalieina · 3 months

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Lady Evening

She came on summer evenings, descending from the sky, covered with a purple haze, collecting herbs and flowers burned by the midday sun. Her silver hair held the light of a distant star, her glance penetrated into the very depths of forests, waters, and skies. She kept this forest from evil eyes, showed the way to lost souls. Her weightless steps and warm breath could be heard behind someone, wandering alone through the fields that were illuminated by the last rays of the disappearing crimson. Violet dreams and the quiet flight of bats circling in the dark sky were her faithful companions. Evening was her time, with the first glimmer of dawn, she lays down on the wild grasses and became a cold dew that sparkles silver in the smoky mist...

Model - Daria Skupova.

Natalie Ina Photography.

July 2021.

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little-annie · 5 months

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Steddie Mermay anyone?

***

The night sky's a hazy sort of blue-black, the stars swimming throughout the wispy clouds as fish do through the coral below the calm waters. From where he sits, wood solid below him and murky depths beneath that, Steve sees not much more than the two blending together; night sky meeting ocean waters in a never ending blur of uncertainty, intrigue and mystery.

Whispers between lips and the ears of strangers and kin, stories have been told seemingly for centuries. Forwhat lurks beneath the clouded waters is what seals the fates of many men. Only the scarred and hardly lucky left to tell their tales.

It'd been an elder fisherman who'd told Steve of an evening from his past. Dark eyes, porcelain skin and water wet curls accompanied by the deadly hymns of a creature that'd pierced his skin with nails black as the night sky and dragged him to what he assumed to be his death.

The docks were busy as they'd sat side by side, the screeches of gulls in the distance and the nattering of the market to their rear, old Gus had muttered with whiskey stained breath as he continued.

“ ‘twas a scary thing boy, ain't no other thought in my mind than I'd die right there. I ain't even remember much of it. Seems to ‘ave faded with time I think. Jus’ when I saw that thing's face and suddenly I was under water, bleeding from my arm and pulled along by those damn claws.”

Gus had paused for a moment then, scratching at the greying scruff of his chin as if in thought, ageing clouding eyes squinting into the midday sun, he grumbled, “Ain't even remember how I got back to town for Christ's sake. Woke to the gulls screaming something awful right here on this bench, soaked from ass to teeth, head throbbin’ and m’ arm wrapped in a mess of seaweed.”

At the time Steve had simply hummed, hat hanging low on his head shielding his eyes and mole dotted cheeks from the sun. He'd stop to take a nap in the warmth before he set out for a noon-hour fish. Truthfully he hadn't asked Gus a damn thing, the old bastard just plopped down next to him with a grunt and sorta just started rambling.

But that was days, weeks ago now and with the nerve to find something of substance, to track down the creature he'd heard so much about, Steve was out on the waters for what felt like the 100th night in a row.

He's yet to have seen anything of grandeur, only ever the whispers of hymns in the breeze and the ripple of water when scale skinned bodies have dove from his devoted gaze.

Though that's not to say such creatures' eyes haven't fallen upon him.

Beyond the stillness of death tainted waters, nestled in the jaggedness of stone and rock nearest the shores, floats with a sense of ease a creature whose eyes reflect the starry onyx of the night skies and the silent but waiting silhouette of a man who it hungers for.

This being knowing with a sense of certainty that someday soon the breaking of golden flesh would be felt beneath its teeth and the sweetness of the man's very life's force on its tongue.

***

Because at 37 weeks pregnant, I don't know when I'll ever have the time or energy to finish this 💁🏻‍♀️

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #steddie fandom #eddie munson #steddie mermay #mermay #steve harrington is a fisherman #eddie munson is a mermaid #siren

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deancasbigbang · 1 year

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Title: Beneath the waves

Author: HallmarkDestiel

Artist: suninjang

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Background Gabriel/Sam Background Michael/Adam. Background Crowley/Bobby Past Dean/Lisa

Length: 40000

Warnings: Severe Child abuse. Neglect. Child abandonment. Pregnancy loss. Loss of Pregnancy.

Tags: Mermaids. Marine biologists. Adventures. Atlantis. Secrets. Friendship. Bad guys being bad guys. Hero Castiel. Battles and wars

Posting Date: October 16, 2023

Summary: Dean is a marine biologist who is going on an expedition to find the lost city of Atlantis. Castiel is a mermaid who has dedicated his life to protecting his home city, which happens to be Atlantis. Dean doesn’t know Castiel’s secret and Castiel is determined to keep it that way.

Excerpt: The water sparkled under the midday sun as Castiel swam gracefully through the depths of Lake Overview. His iridescent tail glimmered with every movement. Surveying the area was Castiel's duty as a guardian of the lake and to make sure that humans didn’t get too close to the portal that was located in the lake because there are different portals to Atlantis in all large bodies of water. His keen eyes noticed the ripples on the water's surface, disturbed by the forceful splash nearby. Intrigued, he swiftly swam towards the source of the commotion. There, struggling against the weight of his waterlogged clothes, was a human man. Panic and desperation filled the man’s eyes as he fought to stay afloat, but the more he struggled, the closer he came to being claimed by the depths. Castiel's heart raced with a sense of urgency as he realized the human’s predicament. Without hesitation, Castiel propelled himself forward. He reached the man just in time to witness the man's foot becoming trapped between two unforgiving rocks. Time seemed to slow as Castiel's mind raced for a solution. Summoning his strength, Castiel exerted his mermaid magic. He wrapped his slender arms around the other man’s waist, his touch imbued with a calming energy that washed away the panic. With a powerful surge of his tail, Castiel freed the human’s foot from its rocky prison. Together, they ascended through the water, Castiel guided him to the surface like a protective angel. Breaking through the water's veil, the human gasped for precious air, his breaths ragged but grateful. Castiel hovered nearby, his luminous eyes filled with relief. He dragged the man to the beach and stared at him for a few seconds, wanting to remember what he looked like, what he smelled like— other than salt water. He wanted to know what he sounded like. Castiel heard other voices and knew he had to leave so he jumped back into the water disappearing into the depths of the lake.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

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spoiledleaff · 1 year

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Hello! Do you happen to take xReader requests? I would just love to see a ficlet from you where Mountain catches Rain and Reader cuddling in the gardens? They/Them pronouns for the Reader please? and SFW if possible?

I know I'm asking for a lot, so please don't feel like I'm pressuring you! :)

i mean, i've been threatening to delve into the world of /reader fics for quite some time, but i've never actually made true on my threats, unfortunately :') but!! i will tonight!! >:3c

sfw ✿ he/him mountain/rain + they/them gn sibling of sin reader ✿ wc ; 860.

Mountain knows that Rain's been... predictably vacant from the Ministry's hallways, but the earth's sin had just figured that he was napping in between the pews after Mass or getting high at the lakeside. Rain might not be the same... 'level' as Dewdrop, but the water ghoul certainly knows how to shirk the work he simply doesn't want to do.

Luckily for the Ministry, it's only during the more extreme seasons that Rain choses to abandon his duties. Luckily for Mountain, nothing's really happening at this point in time, so Rain's extra hands aren't a necessity for the wellbeing of the Abbey.

It was midday when he caught them, the black ink of their church uniforms clashing dramatically against the vibrant colors of the garden's flowers. It wasn't surprising at all to find Rain curled up in the depths of the gardens, the shade of the gazebo sparing the water's sin from any risk of drying up in the sun's rays. It took a moment, however, for Mountain to find that Rain wasn't alone in his loafing around.

Mountain recognizes the Sibling from the way they wear their uniform: elongated in some traditionally short areas and trimmed shorter where it was once long. He recalls Rain rambling once — after having met the Sibling a couple of times — about how everything they did was just so uniquely them; their uniform included. It drew Rain in, among other things, and Mountain was happy to watch as Rain grew increasingly infatuated with the very existence of the Sibling.

Speaking of, the earth's sin watches as Rain's tail flicks lazily against their ankle, docile barbs brushing against the sliver of exposed skin. There's small pink welt dragging across the bone of their ankle, he notices, and Mountain decides he's going to have to talk to Rain again about human fragility.

Other than that small detail, the sight laid before Mountain is actually quite wholesome. Rain has the poor Sibling practically suffocated in his arms, his mask flattening the grass below them though his balaclava remains secure over his face. His arms are locked tight around the small of the Sibling's back, their arms curled up in the small spaces left between them and the water's sin. Mountain notices how one of their hands is buried deep between the seam of Rain's button-up shirt, one of the golden buttons having been popped free to accommodate the space of their hand.

The Sibling is curled up tight in Rain's chest, so small and human in comparison to the water ghoul's borderline awkward proportions. It's cute, and Mountain can't help but think of how much smaller the Sibling would feel tucked up into his own side.

Well, it's not that he's never thought about it — the way this Sibling in particular would slot so perfectly into his side or the weight of them on his chest — and he knows that they wouldn't mind! Mountain's lost count of how many times he's caught the little creature wrapped up in Dewdrop's arms or faceplanted into Cumulus' chest. Of course, Rain is never too far away from the Sibling, but Mountain knows the water's sin — or any of them for that matter — wouldn't have any issues with sharing.

They've even offered it to him before! All sweet smiles and an outstretched hand, somehow managing to wiggle out of Rain's grasp just enough to brush their fingers against the leather of Mountain's boots. But, alas, Mountain was supposed to have been in Copia's office two minutes prior to your proposal, and the earth's sin had to refuse.

But now? Mountain's finished his chores in the greenhouse, dinner isn't for another hour or so, and there's no gremlin trying to get into his pants with nothing but hot hands and sly smiles, so-

There's nothing stopping the earth's sin from joining the pair.

Just in case, Mountain quietly slinks off to Rain's side of the cuddle pile, watching the steady of rise and fall of both cuddlebugs' chests as he moved. Mountain plops himself down right behind Rain's curled up form, carefully slotting himself behind the water ghoul so as not to disturb neither sin or Sibling. He presses his chest against the hard plane of Rain's back, scrambling to be rid of his own mask before getting too comfortable dozing underneath the gazebo's shade in the company of those he adores. He sets his mask next to Rain's, mindful of the 'clink' the two masks make, before allowing himself to curl up around both Rain and his napping partner.

Mountain purrs quietly as throws one arm above his head and wiggles the other carefully in the open spaces between Rain and the Sibling, quickly finding the lump of their hand underneath Rain's partially unbuttoned shirt. Through the cotton of the fabric, Mountain holds the Sibling's hand, delighting in the way they snuggle closer and press their nose against his knuckles.

Rain's tail stops swishing, and the devious little bastard starts up a purr of his own, taking great pleasure in having lured in another sailor lost at sea with the sirensong promise of a nap in the middle of the day.

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calilk · 1 month

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Lurking Below

A terrifying encounter with something that was never meant to be perceived by man leads to Grian developing an all consuming, unshakable obsession.

Can be read on ao3 Here

[This is my first fandom writing! Hooray! I had an idea about Grian’s obsession with the mending book, which eventually evolved into this when I was given a creative writing assignment. So apologies if the formatting is kinda wack, I’ve edited it a bit but it wasn’t created with normal fic format norms in mind!!

The sea monster can be interpreted as another hermit, some other abstract idea or just a sea monster.]

The season had faded - the bitter cold of the winter slowly retreated into a slumber, to remain as such until next year. With changing temperatures came changing wants and obsessions; for Grian, that meant this spring, the playful whispers and musical chuckles of waves against the shore seemed almost irresistable. So, after brushing thick swathes of sticky cobwebs from a faded, hewn net and plugging holes chewed by woodlice and termites, he headed to the never ending singing of the sea.

Stretching out for miles all around, the waves playfully pushed and batted at the small - definitely too unstable - boat. The crisp, sea breeze tousled with Grian's hair and skipped along the peaks and troughs of the watery expanse all around. The calm was infectious. Above, clouds glanced down idly and seagulls chattered and screeched as they rode the bucking and prancing wind. Grian took a breath, losing himself in the sheer beauty of it all, before casting his net.

It was just a glitter, many metres below, that caught Grian's eye. The flash of what was probably a school of fish. Eyes glued to the now glassy surface, Grian did not notice as the sea birds ceased their screetching cacophony, noor felt the gentle breeze carrying the reassuring smell of land peter off. The world stopped. The world anticipated. The world beheld as this moment unfold.

Below the surface, a dark shape stirred. An eye opened with the quietest 'snick'. A millennia of silt sloughed off in a cloud. Twisting kelp seemed to pull back, petrified, as the shape began to ascend.

Grian's eyes skittered over the inky depths. There. A movement. G's eyes widened - first in shock, then fear - as the sea floor seemed to rise. Ice cold terror wormed its way through his constricted veins, flooding into his brain and telling him to 'RUN!'. Sweaty hands scrambled and fumbled for oars too slick with seawater to grasp: the shape rose out of the water.

The world exploded into cascading droplets.

Water streamed down it in boiling rivulets. The eye - for it was only the eye - blinked slowly, its bejewelled eyelids glittering in the midday sun. Grian could only freeze, caught in the shadow of this freak of nature, like a fish in one of his nets. The golden fractals in its iris flashed with the sun. Its pitchy pupil seemed to burn Grian's skin with the intensity of its glare: he could do nothing but tremble.

Seconds seemed to seep along like pitch through an hourglass. Days seemed to pass, staring at the hulking, scarred form. Its navy skin was encrusted with layers of barnacles, absent only where silvery scars sliped along the surface of its skin. It breathed; so did Grian.

Slowly, as though pulling limbs from greedy quicksand, the shape descended once more. Grian stared entranced as the water rippled, then ceased. The birds started up their laughter. The wind greeted Grian with a gentle tousle of his hair. The world let out a breath. The world moved on.

Grian did not.

Days of sun and sea evolved into weeks: soft hands became bitten by rope; blistered by salt; crowned by callouses; lacerated by his own teeth. His experience thrummed through his brain - a live wire never to turn off. Winter rubbed her bleary eyes. Grian still fished. Searching. Desperate. Forever unsatisfied.

The season had faded - the bitter cold of the winter slowly retreated into a slumber, to remain as such until next year. With changing temperatures came sour stagnation. The world spun on.

Grian remained.

#cal original #cal writes #ficlet #hermitcraft fanfic #grian fanfic #hermitblr #hermitcraft #mcyt #mcytblr #mcyt fanfiction #hermitcraft season 10 #grian hermitcraft

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abeautylives · 1 year

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Trip Around the Sun - Day One

a/n: Beach Josh is near and dear to my heart, and this is just an upgraded and grown version lol

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: 5.3k this part

summary: A persistent and charismatic stranger disrupts the serenity of your tropical escape. What’s the harm in a vacation fling?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, summer Josh requires his own warning, tiny bit of voyeurism, graphic sexual content, public sexual activity, digital penetration ✌️

☀️☀️☀️

This is exactly what I needed.

Through the green tinted lenses of your Ray-Bans, you let your eyes travel lazily down the length of your own body. Oil-slick and sparkling as your sweat beads on the surface, your skin is glowing a shade of bronze you haven’t seen in what feels like years. The contrast against the vibrant lemon yellow of your bikini is exactly as you’d pictured it, just a week ago as you’d hastily added last-minute vacation essentials to your Amazon cart.

A shadow makes its way into your blissful bubble of sunlight, falling over your outstretched legs and asking if you’d like another Tequila Sunrise.

“I would love one, thank you so much!”

Your gaze follows the woman as she makes her way around the pool deck and back to the bar to retrieve your order, then skims over the sunkissed faces and shoulders of your fellow vacationers bobbing in the crystalline water of the pool. It’s calling to you, a cool reprieve from the midday sun, but you’re just not ready to move yet.

With a fresh drink in hand, you reach down to rifle through your beach bag with the other, digging for your phone. This would make a great photo, and an even better Insta post, just enough to make your coworkers jealous. Arranging your legs attractively, bent at the knees with one foot kicked out just a bit further than the other, you lift the phone above you and take a test shot. You peek at it quickly, make sure most of your body is in it, need to adjust your feet, palm trees in the background? Move the hand holding your drink in just a little, stretch your torso a tiny bit more, snap the picture.

Perfect. Damn I look good.

Your tongue draws your straw into your mouth and you take a long pull of tequila, orange juice and grenadine as you add a subtle filter and… post.

The phone sinks back to the hidden depths of your bag as you let it drop from your fingertips, unconcerned with anyone who dares to try and reach you this week. Settling back into your reclined position, your lids almost flutter closed against the harsh rays before something across the pool catches your attention.

There’s a guy, leaned back on his palms at the edge of your concrete oasis, head tilted to the side, just so. You almost mistook him for a child, his legs are dangling in the water and from this distance he appears tiny but the longer you evaluate him, the more detail you can make out. Both tinted pink (no surprise, the UV index is obscene today), his shoulders and chest are way too broad to belong to a kid. Not to mention the mustache. What had first seized your awareness though, were his eyes. They’re shaded by the bill of some kind of cap, but you’re pretty sure they’re trained on you. And his stare hasn’t wavered since you started analyzing him.

Great, creeper alert.

Your legs shift against each other, tingling with discomfort, uneasy under his ogling. With another long sip of your drink, you push it out of your mind and finally let your eyes close.

Time seemingly moves differently in paradise, you dig again for your phone when it feels like thirty minutes or so have passed, only for your screen to illuminate and reveal it’s been… twelve. Just to ensure you’re seeing that correctly, you slip your glasses down the bridge of your nose with the tip of a finger before lifting your cup and downing what remains of the orangey pink liquid. Your skin feels like it’s about to ignite, and as you shift to flip onto your stomach you notice that the spot previously occupied by your unwanted observer is now vacant. Settling in and resting a cheek onto your folded arms, your lids lower again and the rest of the world effectively disappears.

“You’re burning, y’know.”

Soft and smoother than silk but entirely too close to your ear, the voice wakes you violently from your swelter induced nap. The owner of said voice has to jolt backwards to avoid the crown of your head colliding with his face.

Clambering ungracefully to sit up, hair hanging over your face and knotted in the sunglasses sitting askew across your nose, you open your mouth to chastise the idiot with the audacity to disturb you but he doesn’t give you the opportunity.

“Sorry about that, didn’t realize you were sleeping.”

He watches, bemused as you awkwardly swipe at the strands that refuse to unstick from the sheen of sweat coating your face, tug through the tangled mess wrapped around your shades. By the time you can see him clearly, he’s relaxed into the lounge chair beside you and shut his eyes.

The creep from across the pool.

“Can I help you?” You feel a bit more composed, hands still smoothing down the wild mass of waves that you’ve pulled forward over your shoulder, sunnies fixed back into place.

Unfazed and without turning to face you, he casually states that he had been attempting to help you. “You need sunscreen, it’s barbaric out here today.”

Suspicious, you examine him warily for a moment. Completely aloof, he’s at ease in his reclined position and his scandalously short swim trunks are riding high on his thighs. You scan upward from there, he is tiny but the lightly defined muscle at his waist leads up to a slightly more sculpted chest. At the base of his neck you can now see that his hair, a tuft of what might be considered curls, is pulled into a frizzy ponytail. His profile is strong, a dark brow framing the curve of an eye that’s still closed to you, a subtle bump in the bridge of his nose that ends in an attractive point, full lips turned up into a smirk. Ugh, whatever.

“Thanks, you can go now.” You bend forward to reach into your bag, shuffling things around until you feel the smooth surface of the bottle of tanning oil at the bottom. He’s still next to you when you straighten, but now his eyes are open and his gaze is lingering somewhere distinctly lower than your face.

“That probably doesn’t have a high enough SPF.” His words are quiet, reticent, barely rising above the ambient din of the crowd formed at the swim up bar. Glancing down at the bottle, you take note of the large font 15 on the label and catch a glimpse of alabaster skin.

Even through the oppressive heat from the sun, you can feel the creeping flush of embarrassment as you slap a hand over your right breast, nearly half of which had been exposed by your still disheveled bikini top. Twisting away from him, his smug chuckle manages to reach your ears as you adjust the strings of your top and put the girls back in their assigned seats.

“It’s clearly working for your tan, though.”

You twist back to him, appropriately covered and lifted, and watch his eyes dart down to your chest before they meet yours. Your own eyes narrow, hidden behind your dark lenses, a silent challenge for him to say something else stupid. Predictably, he does.

“You need any help gettin’ that on your back? Pretty red back there.”

He’s just… grinning at you like this is the most normal interaction he’s had all day. Now that you’re face to face, and he’s not thirty yards away, you can see that he’s sort of cute. Unfortunately he’s aggravated you enough that you’re not impressed.

“Are you okay? Are you losing a bet right now?” You glance back to the side of the pool from whence he came, searching for a group of frat bros or some other type of rabid alpha males that may be watching. When you find none, you let your eyes land back on his face. He's upright, feet on the ground and elbows resting on his knees as he leans closer. He’s still just smiling patiently, probably thinking that he’s wearing you down with what he must perceive as his own charm. “What do you want?”

That is a question he apparently has an answer for. Before he offers it, his smile stretches slowly across his face. You watch it transform his features, a dimple pulled into his left cheek as plump lips slide apart to reveal an impossibly straight row of impossibly white teeth.

Fuck.

“I wanted an excuse to talk to you. I found one.”

“So you came over here,” you emphasize your words with a manicured finger pointed at the concrete between your chair and the one he thinks he’s claimed, “from all the way over there,” your hand lifted to indicate the place at the edge of the pool where you’d first spotted him, “and watched me sleep. To find an excuse to bother me?”

You find yourself matching his posture and putting even less distance between you as you speak. His eyes, an uncertain shade of brown that you can’t decipher under the shadow of his hat, even at this proximity, are practically sparkling with delight at your question.

“I didn’t watch you sleep. I noticed you were boiling like a lobster before I even made it over here, so I let you know right before I sat down. But other than that… yeah.” His shoulders lift into an easygoing shrug, you curse yourself for noticing the way his muscles bunch with the movement.

Considering his response, you tap the orange tip of your index fingernail against pursed lips. Entranced by it, he watches the motion with an eagle-eye and when your hand falls back between your knees, those eyes follow. Yours threaten to fall out of your face when his own hand, palm turned up and long fingers subtly curved, touches yours and lifts it back up between your faces. He moves your fingers with his delicately, as though they might break were he to apply any pressure. Once again, as if this is a totally average part of his day, he speaks.

“I like your nails.” His eyes snap to yours and you can finally tell what color they are. Brown, sure, but you decide in an instant that you would never describe them as such. Lined by long lashes you should be envious of, they’re warm, dripping honey and crystallized amber and you’re pretty sure they’re looking into your soul.

“What?” The sound of your own voice is borderline embarrassing, as if you’re under hypnosis, completely dazed.

“Your nails. They’re cute.”

You break from the spell of his stare to look at them. A rainbow, each nail a different shade. It’s sort of childish but you wanted something bright and unusual for your temporary escape from everyday life.

“I- um… thank you.”

He admires them for just a moment longer before lowering your hand and then letting it slip away from his, the pads of his fingertips sliding over your skin, a purposeful caress. Your hand tightens into a fist as if you’re trying to hold on to the feeling.

“You’re welcome… so, about that sunscreen. Want me to get your back?”

All you can think about are his hands on your skin again. It’s working, almost. The charm is having an effect on you, though you’re not even sure he’s doing it deliberately and it might not even be the charm. He’s not even cute, he’s actually verging on pretty and that probably has something to do with it.

Unnerved by the sudden flip in your own reaction to his presence, you scoot yourself back on your lounger, needing the few inches of distance from him that it gives you. “No, uh.. no thanks. I think I’m gonna, y’know, take a break. Go back to my room.” If he’s not going to leave, you will.

The ghost of disappointment drops the corners of his lips, for a split second but you’ve caught it though his smile never falters. His head nods in acceptance but it stops when you glide your sunglasses down your nose and pull them from your face. He touches you again, the warmth of his palm halting your intent to drop the glasses into your bag, your connected hands frozen there in mid-air.

This time when your eyes meet, his reflect something like surprise, skirting the edge of reverence. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, the way he’s looking at you makes you nervous.

“What?” It’s no more than a whisper, carried to his ears through air on the calm tropical breeze.

“You’re so lovely, captivating really.” He’d already believed this to be true, drawn into your orbit by the gravity of your allure, the revelation of your eyes only feeding his starving intrigue. “Beautiful.”

Your hand pulls away from his of its own accord, your face cast down in an attempt to hide the creeping blush that you can feel forming, the heat suddenly unbearable. The Ray-Bans land in your bag and you’re already looping your arm through the straps and rising from the chair, his body mirroring yours and standing with you.

“I… have to go. It was nice meeting you. I think.” Your unsettled mumblings don’t faze him, he’s enjoying the way he’s flustered you and it’s obvious in the way his eyes are dancing with laughter.

Afraid to touch him again, you step away and move from between the chairs without offering a handshake or a graze of your fingertips over the tempting shape of his upper arm. He simply watches you leave, unabashedly focusing on the way the bottoms of your bikini have ridden up and exposed the distinct tan lines on the curves of your ass.

Before you get too far, he calls out to you.

“See you around, beautiful!”

You glance back over your shoulder, your only acknowledgment that you’ve heard him.

Doubtful.

🌙🌙🌙

The bubbles tickle your tongue as they fizzle and burst before sliding down your throat. Effervescent. That’s how they describe it, right?

You’re not much of a champagne drinker, but it was complementary and it’s been sitting untouched in your room for days. It’s late, or early, probably after one in the morning at this point but you’ve left your phone behind. You left everything, actually, it’s just you, your champagne and the moonlight.

Unable to sleep, you’d slipped out of your room and made your way back down to the pool, clad only in your swimsuit. This one is black, as if that would prevent you from being detected in the cover of night by anyone who dared attempt to thwart your plans. You don’t know if you’re allowed to be here at this hour, but there’s certainly no one around to disturb you or tell you otherwise so you’d tossed your room key onto a chair, popped the cork and slid into the water.

The pool itself provides the only illumination out here, lights tucked under the lip of the concrete’s edge causing the water to shine with an almost neon-like blue glow, but the surrounding pool deck is nearly black.

You haven’t left the spot where you’d entered, forearms resting over the side and lower half of your body submerged, your own movements causing the only disruption in the glassy surface. Maybe half of the champagne is gone, swimming pleasantly through your bloodstream and you think that by the time you finish it, you’ll be able to sleep.

“Rule-breaker, huh? My favorite.”

He’d made his way toward you unnoticed, quiet as a mouse and just as much of a nuisance. The sound of sloshing water fills the void of silence, followed by the grating sound of his laughter as you’ve once again nearly jumped out of your skin.

You hardly recognize the man standing above you, in a plain white tank with hands tucked into the pockets of khaki shorts. This man has a wild mop of curls, some flopped over his forehead and framing his face that give him a much softer appearance than he’d had twelve or so hours ago, though the smirk on his lips is distinctly the same.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You’re shouting at him on a whisper, pissed off but wary of your surroundings. “Are you stalking me?!”

“Hm, nope. Just a bored night owl looking for a little trouble. It would appear… that I found some. How’s the sunburn?”

A huff of annoyance pushes past your lips. “Not as bad as you made it out to be.”

“Ah well, I’ve been called dramatic a time or two. Have you considered the possibility that I got to you just in time to save you from sun poisoning?”

Your eyes roll but his expression doesn’t change, clear amusement on his face as far as you can tell.

“I hadn’t considered any possibilities that concern you.”

His teeth are nearly glowing in the dark as they peek through his grin. “Sure you haven’t… So, what kind of trouble are we getting into on this lovely evening? Pretty sure the pool’s closed.”

You’re already lifting yourself from the water, an uncoordinated effort to sit on the edge made even less graceful by the alcohol buzzing in your system. “Actually I was just heading to bed.”

“Are you a habitual liar or am I special?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Whipping your head around to look up at him causes droplets of water to fly from the ends of your hair and land across his feet, clad in a pair of stark white Tevas. His eyes fall to them and he ignores your question, bending down to remove his sandals. “What are you doing?”

Kicking the shoes aside, he starts to lift his arms behind his head. “Going swimming.” With that, he tugs the tank top up and over, shaking out his curls and tossing it to land on top of his sandals. He knows you’re watching him disrobe, he caught the way your mouth dropped open when he expressed his intentions, but he misses the way your eyes go wide when he reaches for the button closure of his shorts. Without hesitation, his fingers pop the button and deftly slide the zipper down.

Right before your appropriately scandalized eyes, this complete stranger pushes his shorts off of his hips and lets them land on the ground around his ankles.

You immediately wish you could see him better. In the dark, you’re pretty sure his boxer briefs are gray, maybe heather, but you’re positive that they’re snug and leave extremely little to the imagination. The shadows being cast by the light below are unholy, and suddenly your mouth has run dry.

A hard pull from your bottle of Brut helps, but barely.

“You gonna join me?” His head is tilted again, just so as his voice rips your attention away from his crotch, which you have no idea how long you’ve been gawking at. “You can keep staring at me, I’m enjoying that too.”

Drawing your focus back down, he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pushes them even lower on his hips.

“Stop.” You find your own voice but it’s unconvincing.

“Not into skinny dipping? That’s a shame,” he pulls his hands away from the elastic, “You sure?”

You’re not sure that you wouldn’t enjoy seeing him naked, but you’re certain that you wouldn’t be joining him. “Positive.”

“Hm. Will you at least stay and swim? C’mon, live a little.”

Another pull of champagne. Fuck it.

Wordlessly, you place the bottle gently back onto the concrete. To make up for the mortifying way that you’d hauled yourself out, you stretch your limbs and arch your back, allowing the ground beneath you to emphasize the curve of your backside, and then slip your body back into the water. An indistinct and nearly silent fuck drops from his lips, but he steals your chance to turn and see his reaction. From the corner of your eye you catch the flash of pale thighs as they take two bounding strides toward the pool and before you can decipher what’s happening, the collision of his body with the water leaves you drenched and gasping for air.

As you push the wet tresses of your hair away from your face, he’s still below the surface and moving toward you. He slows as he reaches you, nearly touching his face to your kneecaps before he emerges.

You’d swear it’s happening in slow motion. The breath he’s been holding bubbles and breaks the surface, his eyes closed and lips parted as he rises to stand, mere inches between you. His hands come next, arms lifted to push the water from his hair, slicked back away from his forehead again. He’s so close that you can feel him breathing, deep inhales followed by a gentle stirring of air that falls across your skin. Goosebumps raise over your arms before his eyes finally open and his lips turn up into a bold, completely genuine smile.

“Sorry, did I get you wet?”

You can’t help but laugh, it’s so obvious what he’s doing, and that he probably knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His little show had affected you just as he’d intended, and somehow he fucking knows. Two can play, however.

Your arms cross over your chest. “I’m soaked, what are you gonna do about it?”

He nearly chokes on nothing but air, you watch him process your words and recover quickly. It was almost too easy to chip away the icy wall you’d constructed, though he’d managed it with nothing but sincerity. Encouraged to topple it completely, he adds pressure.

“I can make it so much worse.”

The eye contact can only be described as intense, you can’t even make out the details of his face, you can’t see the honey and amber of his irises but his gaze is burning through you and the fire is spreading.

“Try me.”

A hand lifts from the water and you watch it, dripping and confident in its actions, as it moves toward your chest. You’re expecting him to go in for a handful but instead, a slender finger slides underneath the singular string that’s supporting your left tit. It trails, up and down the thin material twice as your arms fall away before he speaks.

His voice sounds different, deeper, with an edge to it that you haven’t heard from him yet.

“Can I touch you?”

It feels like you’re floating outside your body, watching the main characters of your favorite series eye fuck each other, two seasons of sexual tension having built up to this moment rather than two brief interactions. You’re dying to see what happens next. You can only nod your head, yes.

“Where?”

The thrumming pulse between your legs seems like a good place, but you can’t say that. Right? Your confidence wavers, he seems to sense it and continues to take the lead. The finger tucked under the string of your bikini slips lower, following the line of material down until his fingernail is skimming the still hidden skin of the side of your breast. It hardly crosses the boundary of virtue but your entire body trembles, a shiver that has your nipples straining against the fabric. His thumb moves in and brushes over the diamond-hard peak, the sound that you exhale is lust-laden and humiliating and inspires him to do it again.

“Here’s good?” He waits for your head to nod in confirmation before his hand dips below the water and just the pads of his fingers splay over your ribcage, just below the breast that he’s teased and left begging for more attention. “What about here?” His thumb strokes over the curve of a rib and your head moves again. “Tell me, I wanna hear you.”

“Yes, keep going…”

“I will, keep talking to me.”

When his fingers travel over the dip at the small of your waist, your muscles there tense and his hand pauses before it’s reached its destination.

“Please don’t stop…” You’ve wholly given over to it, the feeling of his skin against yours and apparently you’re not above begging for it.

“Yeah? Tell me where, beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm at his request. “You know.”

“Hmm, I’m not a mind reader. I can just stay right here.” He lifts the other hand from the water and cages you in on one side with it braced on the edge of the deck behind you. His palm flattens against your waist and he presses his fingertips into it, a light but almost possessive grip that leaves you in distress. There’s only one thing you can do.

“Pussy.” The word squeaks out of you and your face bursts into flames, but he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Touch me there.”

“That is vulgar.” The grip on your waist loosens and his fingers continue their journey until they pass the knotted string at your hip and two slide up beneath it. “I like it.”

“I like not being teased.” Your teeth are gritted, frustrated and unbearably turned on.

“Oh?” Without missing a beat, his eyes drop and his fingers follow the hem of your bikini bottoms just as the one had over your chest, knuckles this time skimming over your mound and the sparse hair that covers it. He groans, a gravelly sound that starts in his throat and passes through flared nostrils, before he tugs the fabric to the side and exposes you. The shape of your bodies is distorted through the lens of the water but he can see the dark patch at the crux of your thighs as well as the hard evidence of how it’s affecting him. He drags his eyes away from the view and brings them back to your face, where he finds you staring at him, wide-eyed and anticipant.

“Was kind of expecting you to be bare down there.” You lift an eyebrow, confused. “Y’know, the nails, the tan, I just expected… something different.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

He shakes his head, his hair moving with it, damp curls beginning to spring back to life. “You haven’t disappointed once, this is so much better. It’s sexy.”

The heat is back, the compliment fanning the flames on your cheeks as he finally blazes a trail with a finger run through you. Your breaths mix in the air between your lips, mutual sounds of relief floating up and away on the breeze. Instinctively your hands leave the water, one grasping at his arm and the other landing on his chest, finding purchase and holding on tight.

The finger moving between your legs slides through you again and he leans in closer, his lips nearly touching yours. He whispers, “Started to think you were never gonna touch me back.” You close the gap between your faces and let your head fall enough to rest your forehead against his. “You ready?”

He can feel that you are. Your skin is hot and slick, even under water and your hips are twitching with every swipe through your arousal. He almost corrects you when your head nods against his but he doesn’t need to.

“Do it.”

The tip of his finger slips inside as you both turn your eyes down to watch, the view warped and rippling in the blue glow. He pumps it into you until it’s tucked inside to the last knuckle.

“Relax for me.”

Relax. Relax? You’re about to melt into the pool and float away, but you focus on releasing any tension you might be holding onto and he can feel the difference. He starts to move within you again as you slide your hand up his chest and let go of his arm to lay yours over his shoulders.

“That’s good, does it feel good?” His finger curls and drags over a spot you’re not sure you knew was there, eliciting a shaky moan to escape you. “Tell me.”

“Yes…”

He repeats the motion and pulls another wanton sound from deep in your chest.

“You want more?”

“Mmhmm, yeah…”

His finger slips away with your dreamy murmuring, a second added and circling your entrance before pushing back into you. Your hands sink into the still-damp curls at the base of his neck, the stretch snatches your breath and you’re gasping to get it back as he pushes them as far as your body and his will allow.

You can’t tell exactly what he’s doing with them, but his fingers are moving against each other inside you and you feel full to the brim.

“You feel fucking incredible, god damn.” His voice is still as smooth as the first time you heard it and your body reacts, squeezing around him.

Remembering his request that you keep talking, you tell him exactly what you want.

“More, make me cum.”

He’s already pulling and pushing, thrusting into you slowly but with this new demand, he presses the heel of his palm into your clit. “Love it when you say those dirty words. I’ll get you there, I promise.”

The journey to the top is a leisurely one, his pace remains steady and slow as his eyes bounce from your face to his hand where it’s pressed tight and sliding against you. The night is almost dead silent around you, the only sounds to be heard are the water lapping against your bodies, the breathy whines you’re letting out and his soft words of encouragement.

You let your head fall back and your hips grind into his palm, the sky above you is inky black, glittering with stars and you feel like you’re there, weightless and floating in that space until he switches speeds.

He’d looked up at you when your hips started moving and found you offering his praises to the heavens, as if they’d done anything to deserve what rightfully belongs to him. A simple reminder of exactly who holds your impending orgasm in the literal palm of his hand, he sends his fingers deeper, faster, until you’re bucking back against them.

“Fuck, oh my god.”

“No, he’s not here. Look at me.” The hand holding on for dear life to the pool’s edge comes to wrap around the back of your neck. When your eyes meet, his are burning with determination and yours are completely fucked out. “Are you gonna cum for me? All over my fingers?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes…”

You ramble on, riding his hand and so close to the summit that you can taste it. With a final push against your clit, a flourish of his wrist and a violent curl of his fingers, your mouth falls open to scream a name that you don’t even know. Before someone else’s can take its place, he jerks you into him and captures whatever was about to spill from your lips with his own. The orgasm rips through you, your cunt clamping down on his fingers and your fingernails digging into his scalp.

By the time it releases you, you’re kissing him back, tongues timidly meeting as his fingers slow to a stop and stay inside you. He breaks it first, pulling away and you suck a heavy breath past tingling lips, half of his mouth is curled up into an affectionate smile when you finally open your eyes to him.

“Stunning. That… was fucking beautiful.” He slips his fingers from you, the evidence of your tryst washed away instantly, a tragedy from his point of view.

Your hands fall away from each other as he awaits whatever you have to say, his eyes pleading for anything. Still coming down, dazed again and sleepy now, the gears of your brain are turning at half speed. When you finally feel that you can utter words, your question makes him blush.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Josh.”

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jisungsdaydreamer · 1 year

Text

district nine — l.mh

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

SYNOPSIS For the very first time in his life, eighteen year-old Minho is left to fight his demons alone, far from home and everything dear to him. New places, new people, new things to fear— it's an endless tightrope strung by the unknown. But what Minho does not know is that he will never walk it alone.

Pairing: Lee Know-centric story featuring the rest of skz. No pairings apply. Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, college au Warnings: themes of loss and grief, minor character death, fear of water/aquaphobia, post-traumatic stress disorder, mentions of underage drinking/alcohol Word Count: 4k

*Written for @k-labels debut event. My submission is for District 9 by Stray Kids.

“You’ll be okay, Minho.”

Minho tries to swallow the anxiety rising in his throat, fighting the urge to look up at his father one more time. The waves are calm today, rising and falling like the movement of his chest at night. However, the comfort of Minho’s bedroom is missing from the scene, replaced with the familiar fear that Minho always feels whenever he’s around bodies of water.

“I’m scared, Dad.” Minho clings to his father’s sailing vest while staring down at the murky depths of the river. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Minho hears his father sigh in affection, more than frustration, before he bends down to match his height. He runs his hand through his son’s hair, tousling it like the balmy summer breeze overhead.

“As long as I’m here, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” Minho’s father kisses his soft head before standing up once more and getting back to work. “See? You’re all safe.”

Minho nods unconvincingly, trying not to squish the soft grilled cheese sandwich in his hands. He really wishes he brought his stress ball with him. “Okay.”

“Cheer up, Minho! Your grandpa used to bring me here all the time, when I was your age,” Minho’s father calls out from where he’s busy reeling in a long line of thick rope and cramming it into a little metal box for safe-keeping.

“Hmph.”

It’s the perfect weather to be outside on the river, which is frequented by many others in their small town on idyllic days like these. Minho, however, would rather be back home, either assisting his mother in the kitchen or playing with his cats. But his father insisted on taking him on a boating trip, and he couldn’t refuse, not when he barely saw his father these days. He knows his father is facing an immense amount of pressure at work, and that this would help him relax. Still, he can’t help the feeling of foreboding twisting and turning in his stomach.

Minho decides to abandon the sandwich after all, nauseated by both fear and the way the boat consistently rocks against the current. He looks out at the water once more, glaring down at the river like he can subdue it with a withering gaze. As if his expression has summoned something, a little fish pops up into his vision, its brightly-colored scales flashing right beneath the surface.

Intrigued, Minho breaks off a small part of sandwich crust and throws it out into the water. The fish cautiously approaches the particle of bread, before eating it. Now momentarily distracted by the way the fish looks up at him, as if pleading for more, Minho tosses out a couple more crumbs, but this time, closer. The fish swims towards him like Minho wants it to, its little fins wagging happily as it eats.

Minho laughs for the first time today, prompting his father to look over his shoulder. “Having fun, Minho?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. But be careful— don’t go to close to the edge. The river is unpredictable.”

Minho sighs. Grown-ups. “I know that, Dad.”

By now, multiple fish have surfaced, eager for scraps like their lucky friend, and Minho indulges them, sharing his midday snack with all hungry for it. After a few minutes, his sandwich is finally gone, and the fish just gaze up at him. He shakes his head at them sadly. “I don’t have anymore left, guys.”

Not wanting to see them go, however, Minho very tentatively stretches out his hand to the water, wondering if the fish would come to him. They don’t dare to come near, but Minho takes it as a sign to try even harder; the fish were just so pretty. Maybe if he caught one, he could put it in a jar and beg his parents to let him keep it as a pet. He’d name it Lino, so they both have rhyming names. Obviously, he can’t introduce Lino to his cats, but still, Lino would be his friend, a better one to replace the mean people who made fun of him at school. Lino would be Minho’s, and he’d be Lino’s.

Minho leans over the edge, all of his previous apprehension forgotten as his fingertips skim the cool water. The fish splash in the water, trying to escape Minho’s grasp, flicking little droplets of water onto the bare skin of his arms. Maybe this really isn’t that bad, Minho thinks, smiling to himself.

One of the fish darts in the water near Minho’s hand, making him giggle in amusement. His entire upper body is hanging off the edge now, only his feet anchoring him to the belly of the boat. “Just a little closer…”

Just as Minho’s little hand is about to close around the fish, the boat suddenly lurches, and he ends up clasping a handful of river water instead of his target. Minho tries to pull himself back to stand so he can complain about his loss properly, before he loses his balance. The next thing he knows, he’s being catapulted over the side of the boat and falling headfirst into the river with a frightened shout.

The first thing he feels after his body painfully careens through the water is how shockingly cold the water is, enveloping him like a frigid, suffocating blanket. The currents that lie below the surface finally manifest, showing their true colors as they swirl his body around like a rag doll. Minho remembers reading about such a phenomenon in some nature article, that sometimes, even though a small body of water may look peaceful, the sinister truth is hidden right under.

Minho gasps for air in the frothing rapids, fighting to keep his face from lolling to the side and trying to make his waterlogged body move, but to no avail. He was always too scared of the water to learn how to swim, even at their neighborhood swimming pool. Amongst other irrelevant reasons, it’s why he always gets bullied at school, why the other kids always make a big show of flashing their invitations to pool parties to him. He was never invited, and he never cared either, beyond that twinge of sadness in his chest. But now, all he can hear is the raucous roaring of the river around him, and for a moment, perhaps someone yelling his name from up above. But that sensation is soon lost, as Minho begins to submit to the strength of the water.

Before he finally succumbs, however, he feels a different kind of pressure on his body, strong arms circling his legs and propelling him upwards. Minho thrusts his own flailing limbs forward, trying to drag himself to the surface. The struggle barely works, as Minho’s hands finally locate the side of the boat, grabbing at the material and trying to find the side railing. Minho’s savior clutches at his ankles from down below, giving him a final push up and into safety.

As soon as Minho’s hips hit the bottom of the little boat, he ignores the pain in his side from the hard impact, scrambling to the edge of the boat once more. This time, he holds the railing like it’s his lifeline— which it very well may be.

“Dad!” His eyes frantically search the water for any signs of his father, for the man who saved his life, but the action is to no avail. “DAD?!”

His efforts are fruitless, because the water doesn’t stir, calm once more and faithfully concealing the monstrosity hiding in it. The swallows chirp from nearby riverbanks, and the sun shines down on the river. Everything seems as it was before, except this time, the piercing, guttural cry of both Minho’s realization and grief cuts through the air. No, nothing is the same, and it never will be.

10 years later.

Minho wipes the sweat off of his brow as he stacks the storage containers on top of each other; the lack of air conditioning in the room is truly a menace to his efforts. Fortunately, the work is almost over, his bed already neatly made and clothes pressed and folded in the little wardrobe assigned to him.

“You should really take some rest, Minho.” Minho’s mother looks over at him, placing the back of her hand on Minho’s heated forehead. “You’ll tire yourself out.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” Minho turns away from her, trying to mask his trepidations with indifference. He takes some of the extra hangers strewn about and hangs up them, before shutting the closet door and glancing around the room, satisfied. Everything is in order, just how he always needs it to be.

“Sweetheart, you can talk to me,” she sighs, wrapping her arms around his stiff shoulders, leading him to his bed and sitting him down. Minho stares straight ahead, avoiding her gaze. If she looked into his eyes, she’d see straight through his facade, more than she already has. “I know it’s hard.”

“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

But she does, she always does worry for him, and Minho knows that. He hasn’t ever been away for home for more than a few hours at a time; this is the first time he’ll be far from home, and permanently, too.

“I love you so much. You know that, right?” She whispers, hugging him tightly.

He’s long overdue for a haircut, but he didn’t bother getting one. With the shaggy locks falling into his deep brown eyes, along with how his features have finely sharpened over the years, he looks more and more like his father. His mother always says how his father would have been so proud of him.

Minho sighs, patting his Mother’s back gently. “I know, Mom. I know.”

The sound of the dormitory room door opening with a bang makes them both jerk in shock, and they both look over at the entrance. A boy enters, a tangled string of headphones looped around his neck as he drags in a suitcase behind himself. His slender frame is tucked into a plain, baggy t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans, and wears a baseball cap backwards, loose tufts of inky hair peaking out from under.

He pays Minho and his mother no mind as they silently watch him from Minho’s side of the room. The boy doesn’t bother with unpacking his suitcase, just wordlessly dumping its contents into a pile on the mattress before flopping onto his stomach, next to it. He scrolls through his phone for a few moments, before seemingly noticing the other occupants for the very first time. He gives them a small glance over his shoulder, before flicking his eyes back to his phone screen.

“Jisung,” he mutters, barely making an effort to be heard.

Minho blinks, before his mother gives him an encouraging nod to introduce himself as well. “I’m Minho. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Cool.”

Jisung doesn't say anything else, opting to fall silent once more in favor of whatever is so much more entertaining on his phone. Minho looks back at his mother, perplexed, who mirrors the emotion. Obviously, this Jisung isn’t interested in conversation, or much of a relationship with his roommate. Minho’s mother shakes her head, smoothing out a wrinkle in Minho’s jacket.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright? I can stay a little longer if you want me to.”

“You should go now, Mom. The welcome orientation is starting soon.” Minho tilts his cheek, accepting the kiss his mother places there. She’ll be gone eventually, and it’s better sooner than later, so he can prepare himself.

He walks his mother out of the building, where their second hand minivan is parked. And as soon as they both arrived, his mother is gone, and so is the comfort of her love, her presence. Minho just stands there, rooted to the spot on the sidewalk, watching his mother drive away until the vehicle turns a corner and disappears from his vision.

Adopting his customary blank expression, he makes his way back to the room, passing giddy students and their teary yet proud families. He steps inside and finds Jisung already passed out on his bare mattress, phone lying haphazardly on his chest.

Minho’s turns to sit back down at his desk and read a book for a little, maybe, when he feels something crunch under his shoe. He looks down to see an empty potato chips packet; obviously Jisung’s, and it must have been blown over from the other side because of the gusts of air coming in through the window. Minho glances at Jisung’s slumbering form for a moment, as if waiting for the boy to wake and clean up his mess. But he doesn’t, so with an exhausted grunt, Minho picks up the packet and disposes of it in his trash can, along with his hopes of making any friends here.

Minho weaves through the throngs of partygoers, trying not to pass out. The deafening beat of the bass reverberates throughout the vast room, prolonging the aching headache he’s had since yesterday afternoon. The first week of classes just finished; the workload was heavy, but Minho enjoyed his books more than people, anyway, so that didn’t prove much of a hardship.

As for friends, he hadn’t made any. He’d intentionally put up a cold aura so that no one would come near him; he didn’t have the patience to brush anyone off. It’s why he can’t complain too much about Jisung— the guy just left him alone and let him do whatever he needed. Minho’s one grievance about him, however, would be how messy he is. Minho’s side of the room is always kept tidy, while at any time in the day, it looks like a tornado ripped through Jisung’s.

It’s why Minho used the party as an opportunity to escape the dorm, to get away from the filth that he would have to share with Jisung. Even though he knew it would be a bad idea to come out to the back-to-school bash for freshmen that one of the fraternities was throwing, he came anyway. But he should have known better than to try and fit in with all of the other perfectly normal eighteen year-olds here. He’s never been a party person anyway, so here he is now, floating around like a loser while trying to find the nearest exit from the frat house’s outdoor patio.

But his progress is cut off when a heavily drunk frat boy crashes into Minho’s side, shoving him towards the pool that Minho unfortunately failed to notice the dizzying proximity of. Head whipped to the side, Minho stumbles, getting an eyeful of the turquoise, lighted waters of the pool, and moments later, he’s shoved in, an awful case of deja vu written just for him.

It feels like the whole world comes to a standstill when his body smashes into the water. Someone turns off the music, and people gather around to watch everything unfold like a movie. No one makes a move to help him, just letting out intoxicated chuckles at the scene like it’s something truly comical, nothing serious. And it shouldn’t be, barely a few feet of water deep. But Minho still doesn’t know how to swim, and so he thrashes mindlessly in the water, mind frozen over with panic.

Minho tries to scream for help, but it comes out garbled, with all of the chlorine forcing its way into his mouth and keeping him from forming coherent words. The memories of that terrible day come rushing back to Minho. Him, splayed out, afraid and all alone. Him staring out at the water, praying for his father to come back. The rescue boat coming to take him back, wrapping his small, shivering form in a thick towel. His father’s lifeless body being extracted from the river by the patrols, Minho’s mother crying in his ear.

He’d been saved that day, but nobody was coming for him now. Good, Minho thinks. It was his fault, that day. It should have been Minho and not his father. Minho stops trying to make an effort, and this time, it’s by his own choice. He lets the terror paralyze him, and finally, he’s getting what he deserves. He’s so resigned to his fate that he barely registers someone’s arms around him, steadying him in the water.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Jisung’s voice fills Minho’s ears, hurtling him back into reality. Minho feels Jisung’s arms tighten around his waist, and their legs knock against each other in the water. But the agitation doesn’t leave Minho’s body, as he keeps lashing his limbs out in the water.

“I— I can’t swim.” He croaks, trying to inhale and exhale to calm himself down, a technique his therapist taught him long ago. It doesn’t work.

For a moment, Minho thinks that he’s somehow imagined the help, that he’s already died and this is his soul’s strange way of coping. But then Jisung speaks up again, quietly. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

For such a small person, Jisung really is strong, dragging both himself and Minho to the edge of the pool, where he grabs the railing and hoists himself up, before helping Minho out as well. Their audience steps away from the spectacle, going back to their own business, leaving Minho to sputter and cough, while Jisung just watches.

When he’s finished spitting out the mouthfuls of water that he swallowed, Minho looks over at Jisung. He doesn’t know if he really means it, but he says it anyway, because the last time, he never got the chance to. “Thank you.”

“Be careful.” Jisung stands up, stretching out his hand to Minho, who gingerly accepts it. “You never know when some hammered idiot is going to bump into you.”

In an unsaid agreement, the two boys leave the party instantly, having experienced enough of the party culture to last them for the rest of the year. They head towards the bus stop a few minutes walk away, instead of navigating the still-unfamiliar campus in the darkness. Minho walks with his arms wrapped around himself, stealing glances at the other boy, who stares straight ahead, whistling some random tune to himself.

“What song is that?” Minho hesitantly breaks the silence, his hatred for it outweighing the one he carries for conversation, for once.

“Something I made up,” Jisung states, with a careless shrug.

Minho takes Jisung’s willingness to answer as a sign for him to keep going, to ask the questions that tug at him. “Why didn’t your parents come with you to help you move-in?”

Jisung doesn’t look at him, kicking at a pebble in his way. “Don’t have any.”

“As in—”

“They’re dead,” Jisung says shortly. “Car crash.”

Minho’s insides fill with something akin to sorrow. “I didn’t mean to—”

Jisung cuts Minho off for a second time, but now finally meets his eyes. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Minho shakes his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “How are you able to be so… normal? How can you just move on like that? You seem perfectly fine.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything for a moment, before listlessly gazing up at the sky above him. “Everyone has their own demons. Just depends on who’s better at hiding them.”

Minho keeps quiet and hangs his head down, trying not to let Jisung see the tears stinging his eyes.If Jisung notices, he doesn’t say anything, even when Minho’s voice comes out choked. “Does it ever go away, Jisung? The pain?”

“I don’t know, Minho. I can’t say yes for you, because sometimes it does go away, and sometimes it doesn’t.” Jisung sighs. “But we’ve all lost someone. The best we can do is keep moving forward.”

Minho doesn’t see the point in covering up his tears anymore; his roommate saw a lot more of him tonight than he’d have expected from anyone. The dampness streams down his cheeks freely, but Jisung still doesn’t comment on it, and for that, Minho is grateful. “I don’t feel ready— for any of this. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No one does, trust me.” Jisung bumps Minho’s shoulder lightly, and usually, Minho would flinch away from touch like that. But he doesn’t, not this time. “But I guess that suffering with a friend is a little better than doing it alone.”

“I guess.” Minho cracks a rare smile at the other boy, as their ride pulls up in front of them.

They both get onto steps of the shuttle, met with the blindingly fluorescent lighting of the inside. The driver scans the newcomers, looking at them with an eyebrow raised. “Both of you headed to Levanter Dormitory?”

“Yes,” Jisung answers.

“What a coincidence.” The man laughs, and Minho stares at him in confusion. “Everyone else on here is also headed to Levanter. Makes my job a whole lot easier.”

Jisung makes his way to the very back of the bus, Minho following suit. There are only six other people on the bus. All of them are dozing off— a common sight at this hour— except for two of the boys— one dressed all in black and the other wearing a navy sweatshirt with the shape of a puppy embroidered on it. Minho passes by them, recognizing their faces from the past few days— in either quick glimpses or snippets of their conversations echoing in the dorm hallways—before taking his seat next to Jisung.

The drive is long, due to road construction happening even this late at night, but no one says anything. And the quiet doesn’t feel uneasy— it’s comfortable, being able to sit and revel in the absence of the pressure to seem interesting. They revel in the mundane aspects of life; Minho fiddles with his hands in his lap, planning out the next day in his head, while Jisung just looks out the window at the city lights whizzing by.

A loud noise outside cuts through the sanctity, making everyone jump in their plastic seats, and the ones who were previous asleep blink their eyes slowly in waking up. They all gaze out the windows, their young, pensive hearts expecting the worst. Instead, they’re met with the dazzling sight of fireworks, golden sparks exploding above the view of the towering skyscrapers.

The boys exclaim out loud, not bothering to conceal the youthful idealism in their voices of awe. Jisung presses himself up against the window, his breath fogging up the glass. Minho grins, strangely pleased by this new, playful color to his roommate, one that’s just as interesting as his contemplative one. The fireworks keep erupting, casting a hazy glow on everyone’s skin.

“I wish I had my phone to take a picture,” one of the other passengers says out loud, to no one in particular. “I forgot it in my room.”

Minho glances at the speaker, a heartbreakingly handsome boy who looks more like an AI than an eighteen-year old kid. “You can borrow mine.”

The boy smiles at him in thanks, accepting Minho’s phone and using it to zoom in on the lit-up sky. Minho tears his eyes away from the window to look at the others on the bus. Everyone here has their own pain, their own secrets, their own story. Minho would like to know them, and maybe one day very soon, he just might.

Because Minho knows that every day won’t be easy. There will be days in which time feels like it’s just barely ticking by, and others when it’s moving too fast, leaving stressed students with only seconds to finish their exams. There will be festival days and sleepless nights, good days and bad. But the negative thoughts will always outdo the positive ones if he gives them the strength to do so.

He’s pushed others away for long enough, unwilling to forgive them, the world, and most of all, himself. But he’s now realized that life really does go on, that the beauty of it manifests in different ways every single day, whether it’s getting pulled out of a frat house pool or bearing witness to a brilliant aerial display. He understands that he just has to keep looking for it, that small light. And maybe these people— the very ones sitting with him on this simple shuttle back to his new home, the ones who could change his life in an instant— could help him find it one day.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thank you to my impending college first-year worries for permeating my mind & forcing me to write this. Also, quick shout out to the lovely @simpforyongbokk for being my wonderful beta-reader. Honestly... I don't expect this story to get much attention, but either way, I'm dedicating it to all of the others like me, the people who will also be far from home soon enough, those with big fears and even bigger dreams— here's to growing up. Here's to 18.

-Dreamy

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