#Midsummer Seaside Love

[rheya28]

The Bluewind Inn ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

♥ Hi guys, Today I present to you the Bluewind Inn and Suites located in Brindleton Bay. This build was inspired by the sea, the sand, and the sky. The Bluewind Inn sits near Cavalier cove and is owned by retired Marine Biologists, Rio and Jane Clarence. 5 years ago, this beautiful seaside manor was transformed into a Inn to be enjoyed by both locals and tourist.

The Bluewind inn is a multifunctional lot as it could be set as a rental lot, a restaurant, a pool, or a spa.  

ATTENTION: This is a huge build and is very cc heavy, so beware. If you’ve downloaded my other builds, you should have majority of the cc’s I used…But there’s more cc on this than usual.

Please make sure to turn on bb.moveobjects on!

SPEED BUILD VIDEO

0:02 Intro

1:25 Speed Build

30:22 Photos

♥ Lot Details:

Lot Name: The Bluewind Inn

Lot size: 40x40

Location: Brindleton Bay [Cavalier Cove]

♥ MODS:

TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

♥ CC LIST:

Note: I have all parts of all sets in this list, so I highly recommend you guys dl them since I frequently use them in all my builds!

[awingedllama] Boho Living, Blooming Rooms

[greenllamas] The woodwind collection

[Joyceisfox] Cruel Summer, Simple Live Collection, Summer Garden

[QICC] Sleek Hallway Set

[S-imagination] Notal Living Room, Rutland Kitchen

[Sooky88] Coastal Wallpaper, Leaning Framed Posters (4 frames), Seashore Framed Prints (panoramic)

[Aroundthesims4] All Plants and pots

[House of Harlix] Bafroom, Baysic, Harluxe, kichen

[Thecluttercat] Busy Bee, Mellow Moods

[Charlypancakes] The lighthouse collection, Dinna, Lavish, Maple&S Construction, Miscellanea, modish, Soak,

[FelixAndre] Chateau, Fayun, Colonial, Grove, Kyoto, Paris, Florence, Livin Rum, Orjanic, Shop the look

[Max20] Cozy Backyard Pack, Garden at home, Happily Ever After, Poolside lounge pack, Precioujs promises

[Thecowbuild] My home

[Harrie] Brutalist, Coastal, Country, Kwatei, Octave, Shop the look 2, Spoons

[Illogical Sims] Home office

[Kaiso] Rustico Living

[Kiwisim] Blocklhouse Dining, blockhouse study

[Leafmotif] Calliope Bathroom, Sunny Corner, Willow Porch set

[Littledica]Chic Bathroom, Rise & Grind, Delicious Kitchen, Delicato Lounge

[MadameRia] Back to basics, Mayaken Cozy Kitchen

[Mechtasims] Office Set

[Miiko] Harmony set

[Myshunosun] Garden Stories, Dawn Living, Midsummer eve, simmify

[Peacemaker] Alesund, Bowed, Caine Living, Adirondack Love, Creta, Futura, Hamptons, Hinterlands Dining, Kitayama

[Ars Botanica] Peonies Bouquet

[Pierism] Auntie Vera, Coldbrew, David apartment, Domain Du clos, Maison Meuliere, MCM, Oak house, The office, Winter Garden

[Littlecakes] Rustic Romance

[PLumbobteasociety] Cottage Garden

[Ravasheen] on cloud wine bottle, sit sip hooray bar cart

[Sforzinda] Clutter Ep12, GP06, Cabin Slats

[Simkoos] Tiny living Small tv, Tiny living small tv wall

[Simplistic] RH Area rugs II, Cotswolds Rug

[Sixam] Stylish Wood Nursery, Stylish wood Fancy Dining, Stylish wood Living room, Boho Bathroom, Hotel bedroom, small spaces pantry

[Sims4luxury] McGee&Co Callahan Rug, McGee&Co  Goldie Rug

[Simsnetwork] Clapboard brush siding set #1

[Sundays] Kediri “rug only”, Medewi “deco surfboard only”

[Syboubou] Fency, Fitness

[Taurus Design] Angela Bedroom, Elize Bedroom, Lilith Chilling Areas

[Tuds] IND, NCTR, Rope lounge, SHKR, Wave

TS4; Wimborne Siding by Tilly Tiger

♥ Tray file

♥ Origin ID: Applez

♥ Twitter: Rheya28__

♥ Tiktok: Rheya28__

♥ Tumblr: https://rheya28.tumblr.com/

[corrin-xcx]

🌼 Cornxan Midsummer Week Starts tomorrow!! 🌼

Challenge yourself to a week of cornxan content! ICYMI, here are this year’s prompts:

Day 1: Festivals / A Summer Soirée

Day 2: Ghost Stories / A Seaside Breeze

Day 3: Summer Knights / Fairies and Dreams

Day 4: A Sweet Treat / Gardening with You

Day 5: Picnic Day / Vacation

Day 6: Stargazing / A Sweet Memory

Day 7: Summer Love / Rest and Relaxation

Everyone is invited! Draw, write, scream to your hearts content!

[bookwhimses]

WIP Game! ✨

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

~

i was tagged by @redgoldblue (🖕���💖🖕🏼) and I have Elected to tag @goldenaltar @flailfail (though idk if u have any wips atm) and @dont-offend-the-bees but obviously none of you have to do this. I'm trying to get back into writing and posting about my writing and my sibling happened to tag me in this so I'm taking the opportunity.

I'm keeping this to just DGHDA wips, and just the titles of the actual drafts, not the plan/world-building docs that are secondary to actual draft docs, and also eliminating copies of docs that just have the same name but I've clearly copy-pasted to work out alternate ideas. I have included a couple from my notes app because I also store wips in my notes app and voice recordings. The ones I've asterisked are ones I'm confident I came up with and talked about with @gallantrejoinder, and the ones I've double asterisked are ones I'm pretty sure we both came up with or talked about with @flailfail. Bear in mind I may miss some because there was like a two year period when all the three of us did was scream into the night on Discord about how Dirk and Todd should kiss. I also omitted one doc titled "oreo lols" which became Jack's fic like a small boat on the ocean.

Edit: okay. some of these are more deranged than I thought. I've arranged them into categories of "this is a fairly good title for this draft" to "i have no idea what this is without opening it". bon apetiser

~

This Is At Least Something Resembling A Sane And Relevant Title:

bronfman estate's holistic haunted house*

in orbit to a shining sun

Miracle Aligner

Dirk Gently's Holistic Jukebox*

midsummer night's dream

playing cyrano

the night sky settling over our shoulders (The title of this is taken from an original poetry work by @gallantrejoinder)

the office is haunted

this, forever

Dear Theodore

Inhibitions

Pink In The Night

A Hand Full of Aces (Held Close To The Chest)*

Here For The Cult Stuff*

metaphor about embroidery of self

Farah

Clearly Just The First Sentence Of A Draft Or Scene Outline:

Todd: hey yeah just getting off the plane

Todd and Amanda are the children of a merchant

The Brotzman family go to the seaside

This At Least Vaguely Communicates An Idea:

metaphor about embroidery of self

touch starved

bargaining

regency dirk**

teacher au*

the scenes from cub from dirk's pov that i absolutely should not be working on rn

forcebond fic

Dirk and Todd are Sad and Asexual and Pining and In A Relationship. (This one is actually one I came up with with @gallantrejoinder and they took full writership of it and it's their partially posted wip, If You're Still In, I'm In. My working title for this, which is also used in my files as a folder title, was "pink lemonade".)*

TMA x DGHDA crossover

nest fic

reverse dghda au

Body swap

MY FAIR LADY AU*

Shapes and Colours filler scenes

season three

Disneyland AU**

tumblr verse picture fic*

No Idea What's In There Bestie <3:

dude just write a whole nother fic ya useless twink

haha lol well

THREE

Big shush

kisses

despair squid

Bonus Round: Folder Names For Groups Of Docs That Make Comparatively More Sense:

all my elephants

dirk of creek cottage

kiss kiss fall in love

the trouble with mistletoe

timebomb

[sabotage-on-mercury]

mariiiii 🧠💻🧑‍🏭 please!!!💕

Rhi my love 💖💖 Thank you so much!

🧠What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

Ohh I love this question, because this idea really just came a few days ago. Idk if I could pull that off, but it keeps haunting me.

So it would be a Human AU and kind of a mystery/crime story, in the 80s perhaps, with Aziraphale coming back to his little hometown, somewhere at the seaside, after he learns about the death of his school crush Crowley he hasn't seen for 15 years. The townspeople are quite dismissive, they don't care much that a small crime rogue, who was also quite openly queer, drank too much and drowned in the sea. There is nothing openly strange about the case, except Aziraphale's intuition. He starts his own investigation, and finds more and more indices that don't add up, which soon lead to the question, what if Crowley didn't fall? And even more, what if Crowley isn't dead?

💻Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done?

Somehow always yes!🤭 Even for the one's I started explicitly with the intent to just let it flow, just vibes no thoughts.

I think the deepest research so far was for my second GO fic, An Ineffable Midsummer Nights Dream where I tried my best to find the original sources and information about Shakespeare's play, about the Globe Theatre etc.

(Also, an unpublished WIP where I did a lot of research on the body snatchers, history of Edinburgh, rigor mortis and church laws)

👮‍♀️If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

Ehehe that's my recent WIP I Put A Spell On You for sure 🤭 It's just...incredibly horny and probably violates several laws of public decency.

[noisycowboyglitter]

"Make This Christmas in July Special with Gingerbread Delights"

"Gingerbread Christmas in July" brings a whimsical twist to summer by infusing the warm-weather months with the cozy charm of winter holidays. This concept playfully merges the spicy sweetness of gingerbread with the sunny vibes of midsummer celebrations.

Buy now:19.95$

Imagine pool parties featuring gingerbread-flavored cocktails or ice cream, and barbecues serving gingerbread-crusted grilled treats. Bakers might create summer-themed gingerbread houses adorned with tiny sunbathers and palm trees instead of snowmen and fir trees.

Decorations could include gingerbread-scented candles in beach-inspired holders, or strings of lights shaped like classic gingerbread men wearing sunglasses and flip-flops. Crafters might design "sand castles" made from gingerbread dough, complete with seashell decorations.

This theme offers a refreshing change for those experiencing holiday fatigue in December, allowing them to celebrate Christmas spirit without the pressure of the actual holiday season. It's an opportunity for creative marketing, unique product launches, and themed events that stand out in the summer calendar.

Buy now

"Gingerbread Christmas in July" appeals to those who love the holidays year-round, as well as anyone looking for a novel way to beat the summer heat with a dash of winter whimsy. It's a concept that invites creativity, nostalgia, and a touch of humor to the dog days of summer.

"Funny Beach Summer in July" evokes images of lighthearted seaside antics and comical vacation mishaps during the peak of summer. Picture sunbathers with ridiculous tan lines, beachgoers struggling to apply sunscreen to hard-to-reach spots, and sandcastles that hilariously collapse just as they're finished.

Imagine beach volleyball games where players comically dive for the ball, only to face-plant in the sand. Visualize the chaos of families trying to set up complicated beach umbrellas in gusty winds or the sight of seagulls boldly stealing snacks from unsuspecting tourists.

This concept might include humorous t-shirts with beach puns, inflatable pool toys in absurd shapes, or beach games that inevitably lead to laughter. It's about embracing the joy of summer, complete with melting ice cream cones, awkward tan lines, and the inevitable sand that finds its way into everything.

Buy now

Celebrate your love this Christmas with the perfect gift for two. Whether you're looking for something romantic, adventurous, or simply cozy, there's a perfect present out there for every couple.

Experience Gifts: Create lasting memories with shared adventures. Think weekend getaways, spa days, or concert tickets. For thrill-seekers, outdoor gear or experiences are perfect.

Cozy Home Essentials: Transform your space into a love nest. Indulge in plush blankets, scented candles, and cozy loungewear. Board games or puzzles are great for quality time.

Culinary Delights: Share the joy of cooking and dining. Explore gourmet food baskets, wine subscriptions, or cooking classes. For coffee lovers, a stylish coffee maker and assorted beans are a perfect choice.

Buy now

Personalized Keepsakes: Express your love with custom gifts. Create personalized artwork, engraved jewelry, or a photo album. For a unique touch, consider monogrammed mugs or blankets.

Tech and Gadgets: Elevate your shared experiences with tech gifts. Explore wireless headphones, smart home devices, or a portable projector for movie nights.

Remember, the best gift reflects your partner's interests and personality. Choose something that shows your love and appreciation. Merry Christmas!

[seaside-wanderer]

Hello there!✨

I'm Ea, ae/aer and they/them pronouns. I speak Italian and English, and I do my best in Sindarin. I'm learning Quenya (Noldorin, Telerin, and Vanyarin) so feel free to talk to me about them!

This is my everything Tolkien blog, particularly The Silmarillion and LOTRO, so expect a lot of LOTRO liveblogging, where I'll be recounting all my funny (and less funny) deaths, my attempts at soloing instances just to fail miserably, and everything else I deem worth of sharing!

My blog name, seaside-wanderer, is a title you can get by doing a quest in the Cape of Belfalas Homesteads.

I also LOVE playing in fellowships and helping out so come find me anytime, and I WILL play with you (this is a threat)

I enjoy crafting light/medium armours on my tailor (Doomfold), shinies and utilities on my jeweller/scholar (Westfold), and generally play together.

I currently have 4 characters, all of which on Gladden:

Aeargail: high elf, blue mariner, lvl 74, jeweller/prospector/scholar, of the Shadow Riders of Ringló Vale; 90% of the time I'll be online with him [🌊]

Fasvald: hobbit, blue guardian, lvl 122, Valar boosted; I enjoy swimming in The Wastes with him and pointing and laughing at regenerating morale faster than he can lose it [🛡️]

Heliflower: man, blue/red minstrel, lvl 78, forester/tailor, of a small kinship with my IRL friends, called Gilda Della Fossa; I'm online with him only to play with my friends or craft armour for someone [🎻]

Seinn: elf, red burglar, lvl 32 [🗡️]

I've played LOTRO for two years now, but never thought I'd make a blog about it; however, here it is!

Happy LOTRO Midsummer and Yule! Remember to check your Ancient Scripts and Tokens Of Heroism cap, and make sure your gear is all repaired and ready before you set off!

[updated 06/25]

[george-weasleys-girl]

Star-Crossed

George Weasley x you

Warnings: fluff to angst, sad ending

Summary: AU, no magic, forbidden love between the daughter of a wealthy merchant and a traveling actor.

~•~

Stonegale, England 1559

A warm glow expanded through your body. The Weasley Troupe had arrived late in the night, long after you'd fallen asleep. But word travels fast in your little seaside town. Your lady's maid couldn't stop gushing over the new actor, a young Spainard, who already had half the unmarried ladies in town wrapped around his little finger. You couldn't deny your curiosity, but there was one person you ached to see more.

The company returned every spring, setting their stage up on the village green, just a short walk away from the cramped stalls of the town's bustling market. It was there, at the age of nine, that you first met the Weasley family, becoming fast friends with the puckish, twin brothers. Over time your friendship with the younger twin blossomed into something more, your love only growing stronger in spite your long separations.

~•~

Your heart raced as you descended the stairs of your home two at a time and darted out the door into the bright morning light. Never the lady your mother wished you to be, you hiked up your dress and ran through the muddy streets kicking up sludge onto your sea green dress. Glancing down at the mess, you weren't sure who would be more furious, your mother or the washerwoman.

George snuck up behind you as you approached the encampment. You squeaked when he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the market and toward the small, hidden cove you'd discovered two summers ago. The two of you spent many hours there, wrapped in one another's arms, listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and planning out your future together.

~•~

It was only when you reached the safety of your seaside sanctuary, that George lifted you off your feet, his arms encompassing you as your lips touched for the first time in almost half a year.

"I have missed you terribly, my love," he mummered as they pulled apart.

You caressed his cheek. "I've missed you, too. The dark months are all the more bleak without you."

He sat down on the warm sand, pulling you onto his lap, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "End of summer."

"End of summer?" Your eyebrows drew together.

"By the end of summer we'll have enough saved up."

Your eyes went wide. "Truly?"

His expression softened at your beaming face. "Yes, truly."

You wrapped your arms tight around his neck, causing a strangled laugh to fall from his lips.

"Y/N, my sweet." His strained voice alarmed you, causing you to pull back.

George's eyes sparkled with a mixture of love and amusement as he rubbed his throat. "I can't marry you, if you choke me to death."

~•~

George had proposed the previous summer. You both had kept your engagement secret, knowing your wealthy merchant father would never approve of his youngest daughter marrying a poor, traveling player.

The only other person who knew was George's twin brother, Fred. They shared with you their dream of moving to London to open their own theatre. Once the brothers were settled, George promised to come steal you away.

~•~

Time flew, as it always did when George was in town. Spring turned to summer and the Midsummer Festival was fast approaching. As usual this time of year, you'd barely been able to sneak away with your fiancé, the hustle and bustle of the preparations keeping you both busy.

Your household had been more hectic than normal. Your parents were hosting a visiting merchant family from one of the neighboring towns. "Our guests will be arriving in two days time." Your father announced at dinner. "This is a very special visit. Please prepare yourselves. I want everyone to be on their best behavior." He gave you a pointed look. An innocent smile spreading across your face was your only response.

~•~

Four days later...

You could barely catch your breath as you and George fled into the woods trying to get as far away as possible before morning. It would only be a matter of time before your family realized you were gone and then the hunt would began.

Of all the things you expected with the arrival of your guests, an arranged marriage between you and their son was not one of them. The union was strategic, of course, a business contract between two rival businessmen. The families planned the wedding to be the highlight of the upcoming festival.

~•~

Every muscle in your body throbbed, your legs felt like jelly, yet you pushed yourself to keep going. You and George had been on the run for two days, eating on the move, only stopping to sleep.

In the end, it wasn't enough. On the third morning you woke to the sound of hoofbeats and dogs baying. They'd followed your scent to the small barn where the two of you were sleeping. You and George tried to escape through the back, hoping to reach the dense woods.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind. A dog snagged your ankle, causing you to trip and fall. George stopped to pull you up, but there was nowhere to go, the horses had surrounded you. It took three men to pull you and George apart. You thrashed against your father, as he tied you down to his horse, leaving a bloody gash across his cheek.

The last you saw of your love, he was screaming your name, flattened to ground by his father and two older brothers.

~•~

1561

When you died in childbirth two years later, a mysterious bouquet of roses appeared on your grave several days after your funeral. They appeared every year on your birthday for nearly four decades. The bestower was never identified.

~•~ ~•~ ~•~

London, England 1886

It was the final day of the first stop on your European honeymoon. Marrying the son of a railroad tycoon had it's perks. You didn't love your new husband, but you liked him well enough. That was the best you could ask for, being the daughter of a United States senator and having little choice in who you married.

You stood on the docks as they loaded your trunks onto the ship that would take you across the channel to France. Watching the colorful swirl of people around you, a familiar laugh pulled your attention to a tall gentleman with long ginger hair in a patchwork jacket and faded tophat. He was walking your way, conversing with another fellow, a guitar strapped across his back.

As he approached, your eyes locked in an unflinching gaze. Slowing his pace, you thought he might stop. But he only tipped his hat, his fathomless, questioning eyes never once straying from your own.

You did not know this man, but deep in your soul, you knew that if he'd offered his hand, you would've followed him anywhere. A sudden, inexplicable ache of longing consumed you as he walked away, and for a fleeting moment, you remembered how the waves crashed against the rocks of a small, hidden cove.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Starless Plays/Operas/Stories...scripture...(or people too I guess???)

Info’s all from an unofficial wiki

Updated as of  WORLDS APART

Team K

During the Demise - Lohengrin 

Crazy For - Turandot

花はかすかに - Carmen

Halloween Night - Frankenstein

華麗なる誘惑 - La traviata

エギーユ・クルーズ -  The Hollow Needle

Treasured - Il trovatore

The Final Problem - The Final Problem (Sherlock Holmes)

ひらひらり - Richard III

ONLY IF - The Great Gatsby

Raise your resolve - Der Ring des Nibelungen

黒い虚実 - The Black Lizard 

波のままに - Twelfth Night

MADNESS JOKER - The Brothers Karamazov

caprice of love - Les Liaisons dangereuses

Temptation Game -  Les Liaisons dangereuses

Run away together - Blood Wedding

To the world - Around the World in 80 Days

UnlockU - The Scarlet Pimpernel

百花ノ咲駆 - Ikedaya Incident

LEVITATE - A Tale of Two Cities

GRAVITATE - A Tale of Two Cities

FORT/TUDE - Battles of Kawanakajima

Quiet Serenade - Christmas Eve

Blooming in the Darkness - The Count of Monte Cristo

Team W

Breakin’ it Faster - Romeo and Juliet

BadBlood - Ernani 

Seaside Escape - Le Corsaire

Payback - The Two Noble Kinsmen / The Knight's Tale

雪花 - The Treasury of Loyal Retainers 

仮面は闇に溶けて - Un ballo in maschera

No Way Out - Les Misérables

Out in Out - Battle of Thermopylae

Shooooout!!! - The Woman-Killer and the Hell of Oil 

Kiss or Bullet - Billy the Kid

Burning breath -  Der Ring des Nibelungen

孤独の夜、祈りの月、- Beauty and the Beast

GOLGODA - The Brothers Karamazov

ALL IN - The Queen of Spades

That’s my life - John Dillinger

月影紅く -  Blood Wedding

TURNT UP - Records/Romance of the Three Kingdoms

我ら外へ - Sannin Kichisa Kuruwa no Hatsugai

MORTAL SMILE - Pagliacci

Deity’s Game - Trojan War

水底の館 - Cthulhu Mythos

Riskin’ it all - Romeo and Juliet

Team P

虹の彼方へ - The Wizard of Oz

陽はここに - Puss in Boots

Paradise Lost - Faust

荒野にて - Manon Lescaut

僕のすべてを君に捧げる - Little Red Riding Hood, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

はつ恋 - First Love

希望の旗のもとに - The Three Musketeers

黎明は待たない - Prince Igor

残紅の行方 - The Tale of Genji - Beneath the Autumn Leaves

銀河鉄道を探して - Night on the Galactic Railroad

雨傘 - Child’s Play (たけくらべ)

縷々たるは祈望 - Azai Nagamasa and Oichi

Trick or Truth -  Nekomachi

Luminous Snow - The Happy Prince

Only seek you -  The Brothers Karamazov

一雫の秘密 - The Turn of the Screw

Violet -  Utakata no ki

ふたつ星が出逢う夜 - The Tale of Genji

Beyond the Door - The Secret Garden

刹那の嘘  - The Tale of Tamamizu

BELOVED - Mignon

閃光の果て - The Tale of the Heike

Team B

日蝕 - Macbeth

Judas - An Urgent Appeal

Monokaki - La bohème

雷神 - Sugawara no Michizane‘s Vengeance 

Somewhere - Tannhäuser

極夜 - Don Quixote

天魔の宴 - Night Parade of One Hundred Demons 

炎神 - Ragnarok - Loki vs Heimdall

無敵 - Legend of Shuten-dōji

影炎 - Summer Festival: A Mirror of Osaka 

Mosquitone - Book of Revelation

不死鳥 - Phoenix mythology

毒蛇 - The Brothers Karamazov

烏合島(晶ver) - Two Years' Vacation

HELL OH!!!

羅新盤 - Treasure Island

人間失格 - No Longer Human

Satan*Close - Knecht Ruprecht

Team C

Purple Dawn - Ode to Joy

Sub rosa - The Magic Flute

To be, or not to be - Hamlet

花ほどく - The Tales of Ise

続きは明日の夜に - One Thousand and One Nights

虚構の肖像 - The Picture of Dorian Gray

暁の願い - Tenshu Monogatari

Into me - Alice in Wonderland

Just live to dance - The Moon and Sixpence

灰燼に罪 - Les pêcheurs de perles

紅に白 - Legend of the White Snake

Sanctus - The Brothers Karamazov

Cry:Pta - Aida

Sword of love - Nabucco

vow of love - La Morte Amoureuse

白晝夢 - Dogra Magra

千夜一愛 - The Palace of Eternal Life

VAPORIZE - Daphnis et Chloé

溺るる蝶 - Pelléas et Mélisande

夜のしじま - Der Doppelgänger

Mixed

Salva me - A Christmas Carol

Fragile Lake - The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter/Giselle/Swan Lake????

Mid Summer Beach - A Midsummer Night's Dream

Early Summer Affair - Così fan tutte

Without her? - War and Peace

snowflake - War and Peace

催花の宿星 - Water Margin

沈まぬ月 - The Golden Demon

名残の花 - The Charterhouse of Parma

ひなげし - Farewell My Concubine

ermitage - Robert the Devil

The lament moon - Antony and Cleopatra

 You are Mine - Phantom of the Opera

MASTERMIND - The Boy Detectives Club

PRISMATIC TEAR - Beauty and the Beast

aka,aka - The Maid of Orleans

Must be the Heart - Metropolis

Night xo bird - Don Giovanni

Call me, Baby! - Journey to the West

Period.. - Journey to the West

片鳴き龍 - Dragon King

WORLDS APART - Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas

[rp-meme-glaceon]

Yankee Candle Asks

Balsam and Cedar- Is there something you do or once did that you never would have considered in the past?

Christmas Cookie- What do you love/hate about the holidays?

Vanilla Cupcake- How do you celebrate your birthday?

Macintosh- What are some ways you stay physically/mentally/spiritually healthy?

Ciderhouse- Do you like or hate foods and drinks with bitter flavors?

Home for the Holidays- Could people describe you as childish or sensitive?

Sicilian Lemon- What are your thoughts on seaside themed decor?

Spiced Pumpkin- Describe your best friend/rival

Black Cherry- Do you have any secrets you are willing to share?

Banana Nut Bread- Describe something you find comforting

Cinnamon Stick- Do you like spicy things? Why or why not?

Autumn Leaves- What is something you find particularly beautiful about nature?

Clean Cotton- Do you have laundry that needs to get done?

Fresh Cut Roses- How did your first ever date go?

White Strawberry Bellini- Do you drink? What was your first ever alcoholic beverage?

Mistletoe- What is something you want in a relationship?

Chocolate Layer Cake- What is something you really want that is completely superficial? Why?

Whipped Pumpkin Spice- What are three guilty pleasures of yours?

Home Sweet Home- Describe your home, living space, bedroom, ect.

Dried Lavender and Oak- Describe the last dream you had that you can remember

White Christmas- Do you like snow? Why or why not?

Be Thankful- Are you…?

Child’s Wish- Tell is a funny story

Eucalyptus- How do you prepare for bed?

Coconut Beach- All of the money and power you need falls into your lap. What do you do with it?

French Vanilla- Does ice cream taste better in summer or winter?

Beach Walk- What is your favorite sea creature?

New England Blueberry- Have you ever gotten upset at someone only to immediately regret it?

Cranberry Chutney- What is a food or drink you really want to try?

Juicy Watermelon- Who is someone you will not miss?

Warm Luxe Cashmere- Do You like it cold or hot?

MidSummer Night- If you were on death row, what would your last meal request be?

Pineapple Cilantro- What is something unusual about yourself?

Mountain Lodge- Do you wish you could hibernate?

Magical Frosted Forest- What is your favorite mythological animal? Why?

Tropical Starfruit- What experience left a sour memory?

Life’s a Breeze- Is it true…?

Café Al Fresco- How do you like your coffee?

Mystic Moon- Favorite constellation?

[darling-cas]

Hoax (an original story)

I amaze myself sometimes. 

My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.

This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.

I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.

I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.

Until next time...

Cas.

--------------------

The air was midsummer sweet.

It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.

And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.

His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.

Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.

The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one. 

Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.

In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.

Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.

The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a  ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.

Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.

But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.

It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.

A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.

“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”

Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.

She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”

“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”

“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”

“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”

“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”

“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”

“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”

She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”

Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.

It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.

It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before. 

With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.

He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.

Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.

Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.

Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.

He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed. 

The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.

A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.

The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.

The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.

With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls. 

He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.

“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.

Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”

“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”

The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.

“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.

“You staying at the Beaumont?”

Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.” 

The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.

“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"

“Jake.”

The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.

No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.

“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.” 

“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.

The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.

“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.

A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.

“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”

Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.

Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.

“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”

After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.

“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”

“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”

A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”

Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.

Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away. 

“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”

He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse. 

Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness. 

“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”

“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”

A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas. 

“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.

An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.

Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke. 

Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.

A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.

While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.

“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”

Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.

Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers. 

He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.

“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”

Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words - 

“Who are they?”

The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.

“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”

“Your wife is missing?”

Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”

“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.

Harold nodded. “The fairies.”

He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.

Fairies.

The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.

“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”

Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move. 

“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”

Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”

“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”

“And they got your wife.”

“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”

… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.

A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.

“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”

“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”

“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”

“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”

“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”

The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”

“I do.”

Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.

She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.

It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.

And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.

They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.

Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.

A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”

The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.

Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.

Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.

“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”

Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.

“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”

Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?” 

“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger. 

As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening. 

“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”

There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next. 

Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.

A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.

With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.

A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.

“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”

The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.

Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”

“And his wife?”

Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.

“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.

“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”

Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-” 

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”

A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he? 

The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.

“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”

“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”

“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”

Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”

Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.

And he knew he wanted to get out.

The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.

“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”

Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”

“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”

He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.

The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.

Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.

He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs. 

He needed to get out of this town.

Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…

Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.

And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.

It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.

“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew. 

She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.

“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.

Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.

It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.

It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.

It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”

Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.

“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”

You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.

The blonde trembled. “Promise?” 

With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.

She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.

Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.

Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.

And run she did.

It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.

Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.

She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.

Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake. 

This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?

And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...

They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.

Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.

It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.  

----------

Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon. 

What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen. 

The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town. 

The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.

The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.

The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.

The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.

Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.

By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.

Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.

[anxiouslyfred]

Calm Down Stories

Summary: Remus wishes his telepathic link with his soulmate helped him calm Virgil down in ways beyond telling stories, but it works. Today he tries helping a stranger in a music shop at the same time by talking about a CD cover to them, and sending his words over the telepathic link.

/\/\

'Can't do this. Too loud, too busy. Can't, can't can't' Remus wished that he knew how to help, really help Virgil, especially when these repetitions began to echo through their connection. He'd tried looking up what helps anxiety, methods soulmates had used before meeting in the past.

Virgil had only panicked more when he'd tried using them, terrified that he was harming or annoying Remus with his fears, worries, everything.

Later they had spoken about it, covered that Remus had only wanted to help, support him since he couldn't take the anxiety away but also that he hadn't sounded like himself to Virgil while following those methods. Besides as soon as he knew it wasn't helping Virgil, he'd returned to his usual method of trying to help with his soulmates panic, imagining stories, and adventures he'd gone on, or thought sounded fun.

Remus knew that was all just distractions though, nothing that actually helped long term. Their telepathy thankfully hid his wishes to do more, even just talk through the struggles Virgil had when overwhelmed so he projected stories about his day, and compliments, so many compliments about the things Virgil let slip through in his thoughts.

'You somewhere safe to calm down in? Or still stuck among the madding crowd?' Remus asked, already heading into the nearest shop. It was always easier to come up with a story if he didn't have to worry about walking into strangers constantly. Their yelling could filter through to Virgil and make things worse if he did walk into them.

'Music Shop. Can't move, can't hide, can't can't can't cope, all too much, going to have people staring at me.' On one hand Remus could start trying to come up with some distraction story, on the other, if Virgil was already worrying about getting stares that usually meant he needed someone actually with him to calm down alongside the thoughts Remus could send to him. They'd already mentioned this morning that they were both out picking up some new accessories and clothes alone today.

He glanced around the shop hoping for something he could twist into a bizarre story, more confusing than a surrealism painting and realised that he was in a music shop too, with plenty of CD cases to take inspiration from and a guy in a hoodie clinging to one of the shelves as though the world was ending...

A guy looking like the world was ending could probably use a distraction just as much as Virgil needed on too so Remus had a focus and a way to start chattering away. The display the man had stopped at had some weird album art on it.

“Hey Fella, can I get to those CD's in front of ya?” He asked, trying to pantomime reaching around him without breaching any personal space the man might need.

He got a panicked look and a stumble out of the way for that, but picked up on of the cases anyway, raising an eyebrow. “Are you breathing there, Honey? I would help more but have been told I suck at leading breathing patterns. Or rather that I'm too impatient to count slowly in whatever way they need.” Remus just let any thoughts that crossed his mind and would be okay for Virgil to hear while panicking be said. He knew that quite often if he spoke things they'd get sent over their bond as thoughts too, and really didn't want to make either his soulmate or this stranger worse.

The man did attempt to take a deep breath at his words though, so Remus classed that as a win and waved the CD case up. “You know, Fella, I always wonder what the story could be behind album art like this. Seriously half of music nowadays is all love, sex, money, or escaping to nature. I bet none of the songs even mention a bat, let alone an octopus so why put them on a cover.” Really he could have found a worse cover to talk about, but this would do.

Virgil was quiet, no repetitions of 'Can't' to be heard for the moment and the panicking man was just nodding, clearly still upset, but definitely trying to breathe to some pattern Remus couldn't fathom.

“Then again, why would a bat even be flying over the ocean? It doesn't seem like something they'd do. I mean sure, birds migrate, and there's gotta be some bats that live in seaside town. Literally enough books and films set in England mention bats that it has to be like a given some are near the sea. That island is tiny.” Remus now had to get the CD if only so he'd remember to look up ocean bats later on. If they existed he wanted to know everything, including the weirdest things they eat. Can bats prey on fish?

“Some in Mexico migrate and hunt at sea.” The man breathed out, sounding shaky and half terrified of actually joining in with Remus's conversation.

He nodded in thanks, now frowning at the other animal on the screen. “Still, pretty unrealistic for an octopus to be that vibrantly yellow in the middle of the night. Practically all cephalopods have some ability to change their colour and that bright near the surface. It's basically putting up a sign saying ' I'm here, hunt me' to any predators near the surface. Although maybe it's more trying to get the gift delivered to it and would go to darker shade as soon as that box is actually in its grasp.”

“Why would a bat be taking presents to an octopus anyway?” Remus blinked at the question. It was one he'd expected to have thought at him, if Virgil was starting to calm down at least, but instead the stranger had asked it.

Mentally he thought threw bringing the bat bombs he'd read about once up, but shook the thought away, shrugging and carrying on wriggling. “Could be any reason. Perhaps bats are the animal worlds equivalent to Santa, only instead of one man in a sleigh you have hundreds or millions of these fluffy little friends flying around trying to give presents on like midsummer or something. Can't have a winter celebration for the animals when tons of them are hibernating.”

“Would be more animals on the picture if that was the case. Could just be the octopus and bat are friends.” Remus looked at the man again, staring for a moment as he spoke. There was still a shake to his breaths but they were slow again, and his hands weren't tensing for something to grip onto.

“Well now I just want to know how a bat and an octopus would become friends. It can't be easy given one lives literally under the sea and the other in caves or treetops and flies everywhere.” He exclaimed, getting a snort, before focusing on his thoughts. 'Hey Virge, You've gone quiet there. Are you calming down or has something happened?'

The man he'd been helping to calm down at the same time smirked, “Who are humans to limit what friendships animals can make? I'm more curious over what gift they would share.”

“Well that's easy, things the octopus couldn't get normally but might like to eat. Some other types of insects or whatever.” Remus suggested, now frowning as he still got no response.

“Is something wrong? I thought your story from this CD cover was going really well. Have I upset you trying to join in with it?” The man asked, worried again as he watched Remus.

He shook his head, “No, your ideas are brilliant, awesome actually. I just, well my soulmate was upset too so part of the story was for you, partly for him, but now I'm not getting any response.” Remus tried to wave away the concern, already thinking again 'Virgil, please just a random I've been knocked out and thoughts aren't awake response would be wonderful right now.'

The man frowned too, “That could just mean you've... Give me a moment to try contacting my soulmate cause you're right. He'd normally have been telling me some weird story but instead you were here talking and I don't think I've heard from him for a bit.” Remus didn't need to ask what the broken off sentence meant. He'd have lost the telepathy if he had met his soulmate, and the only person that would qualify for that was this man.

He waited for a moment, watching as the man closed his eyes, before staring at him again. “So is your soulmate called Virgil?”

“Is your soulmate called Remus?” He countered, beginning to bounce in place again.

“Yes, oh bloody hell, you accidentally managed to find me, mid panic attack and still decided to help me calm down? You're insane, what if I was dangerous or something?” Virgil exclaimed, shoving at Remus's chest lightly.

Remus just started laughing, grabbing the arm that shoved him to pull Virgil into a hug. “Somehow I don't think anyone dangerous would be frozen clinging to a display in a music shop. Come on, You need food and hot chocolate after that freak out, and I need as much sugar as I can fit into a drink. There's a cafe a few shops down.”

He didn't release the hug while making that decision, and only snickered when Virgil half heartedly attempted to pull away. “If we're going there you need to let me go, and pay for that CD.”

“Hmm, maybe in a bit. I've wanted to wrap you up in hugs when you're upset for all our lives so you can enjoy the longest hug ever before we move.” Remus declared, tightening one arm while the other came up to pet Virgil's hair.

Perhaps he wouldn't normally have helped a stranger calm down but he couldn't be more please that he had today.

[twinklelilstarkey]

Fluffy Alphabet - Rafe Cameron

DO NOT REPOST, REWRITE OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORK!

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

I honestly feel like Rafe would 100% be more attracted to you, whenever he would see you smile. I don’t know why, I just see him as a guy that literally would have to fight back his own smile when seeing you having fun.

(But he obviously finds all of you attractive, and has a hard time finding an imperfection on you)

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

DEFINITELY! THIS MAN WANTS AT LEAST 3 BABIES AND YOU CAN’T TELL ME, and my baby fever, OTHERWISE!

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Usually he’s big spoon, but in days that he’s more tired or just had a rough time with his dad, he would ask to be little spoon or just lay his head on your chest.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

I imagine Rafe as a romantic guy, for some reason. So, I do believe that your dates would be something like, walking on the beach during the sunset, watching a movie on the park (like the whole rest of the island), and sometimes, expensive restaurants (but he still struggles with money, so, it would be kinda rare).

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

Anchor. (100000% because you just make his life better. You take care of him and look out for him all the time, or even help him out when he needs it but is too scared to ask. You’re just his guardian angel, honestly)

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

After months of friendship, and only because of Topper made a stupid joke about you two marrying each other the week after.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

He tries to be as gentle as possible, but he still struggles with his anger issues, therefore, he does explode and takes it out on you. Even though it is extremely rare, he just despises himself after doing it.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

I don’t see him as intertwining fingers kinda guy, so I would say just casual hand holding. But…

He loves to hold your hand! DON’T EVEN TRY TO LET GO, THAT MAN WILL USE HIS IRON GRIP ON YOU.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

Honestly, just pure sweetness of a person.

Only because of how nice you were towards him. He’s so used to people treating him like the asshole he shows to be, that you definitely caught him off guard when you used a soft tone and a smile.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Yes. But no further comments.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Rafe definitely initiated the first kiss, and you can’t tell me otherwise.

(How am I supposed to describe how they kiss? Help)

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

You. You. You. You. You.

But once he hears it and answer it back, nobody is shutting him up. He will say it EVERY SINGLE DAY FROM THEN ON!

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Probably, your first date. Since it was the day that you two began everything and just had so much fun. (Maybe cringy at some parts since you two were nervous the whole time but wholesome in every way)

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

I wouldn’t say everything, but he does spoil you. He buys flowers a tone of times and your favorites foods when you’re down.

Even though you do not want him to spend his money on your meaningless things, he will try his best to see what you wish to have, just for you to have it on your doorstep the next day.

And let’s not even talk about how he spoils you with affection. When you two are alone he just makes you melt at how sweet and loving he is.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

BABY BLUE!!! BECAUSE OF HIS SUIT IN THE MIDSUMMERS!

All because you make jokes about his baby blue suit, even though you definitely loved every second that he had it on. So, it kinda grew to be an inside joke in your relationship.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

All together, you two would use: baby, babe, bubba, bubs, angel… (the classic lovey-dovey pet names)

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

I have no idea.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Lay down on the bed, talk about life, watch a movie, eat tons of food and sleep.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Rafe, whenever he didn’t have you to cheer him up, would just try to remind himself of all the good things you experienced together and every time you told him how much you loved him no matter what.

When you were there to cheer him up, you would just hug him close to you and whisper to him how everything is going to sort itself out and how it will all be okay soon. (As well, as remind him that you will always be there for him)

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Everything and anything. You two would be 100% invested into every conversation you shared. Rather it would be about food or even the color of your bedroom’s ceiling.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Just having you in his arms is enough to relax him to the fullest.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

OMG YES! HE WOULD SHOW YOU OFF SO MUCH!

He would just be so proud to say out loud that you two are dating. UGH! I JUST CAN IMAGINE IT SO WELL!

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Rafe would propose during or after college. But do expect a long engagement with him.

He wouldn’t do anything way too over the top, I don’t think. Maybe just bring you to somewhere quiet and peaceful and wait for the right moment to kneel and make the question.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

I took a minute to research and think about this but…

I feel like a song such as “Elephant” by Tame Impala would be your song.

AND HEAR ME OUT!

Only because it would play in a restaurant when you two would be on your first date, and you would just vibe to it together while walking in the beach by the seaside restaurant (that was playing it).

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

YES! Once you two celebrate your two-year anniversary, marriage would just pop up in his mind right away.

(He wouldn’t act on it right on that second though, he would consider it for a few more months before screaming for Topper’s help)

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

THIS MAN WANTS A DOG MOST DEFINITELY. YOU CAN’T TELL ME OTHERWISEEEEEE.

(Am I the only one that sees Rafe with a family type of dog than anything else? Like a golden-retriever or something of the sort?)

[somediyprojects]

All designs from Mirabilia Designs by Nora Corbett: 

#51: Seaside Kingdom—April 28th, 2000 (OOP)

"I imagined the most beautiful, sparkling, crystallized castle and the warm breezes of the ocean. ~ With a few new treasures from our friends at Gay Bowles Sales, "The Seaside Kingdom" was created. A home of sand and feathers and seashells. threads and beads. This castle will not be taken by the rushing waves. It will be yours to enjoy for a very long time."

#52: June's Pearl Fairy— May 30, 2000

Second in Nora Corbett’s “Year of the Fairies” Collection, June’s Pearl Fairy is a celebration of soft summer sunlight. Awash in tiny pastel pearls, from the tips of her iridescent wings to the hem of her gold gown, she is caught in a contemplative dance. Swirling ribbons of pink satin and seed pearls float gracefully around her as she steps lightly across a carpet of wild flowers.

#53: Spring In My Garden— June 30, 2000

“I’m not a very patient person,” says Nora, “but gardening is teaching me to be. I’ve learned that something tiny and fragile holds the promise of becoming something bold and beautiful, if I only water and wait for it. What I haven’t learned is to not go barefoot outside way too early and freeze my feet! It’s nature’s way of reminding me why shoes were invented, I guess.”

#54: Scent of Old Roses— July 15, 2000

There is a princess, we are told, of indescribable wealth, who is fascinated by the mixing of garden scents. “A touch of lavender for sleep,” she muses here, in an ornate gown and stole trimmed with “Wisper”. “And rosemary, that’s for remembrance.” Rumor has it that she has captured her favorite scent, that of old English roses, in a rose-amethyst vial to carry with her wherever she goes. While you stitch, consider the effect of fragrances in your life, and resolve to surround yourself with those that bring you happiness, too.

#55: Mother's Bliss— August 15, 2000

Inspired by a photo of my son and I, this design celebrates an unforgettable moment of joy between a mother and child. It is simple, pure, and beautiful. I can still feel the sunshine on my back on that warm summer day and hear Jack's giggles as we played, back when I could still lift him over my head.

#56: May's Emerald Fairy— September 15, 2000

The third in Mirabilia’s “Year of the Fairies Collection”. She stands surrounded by wild strawberries, gazing into an emerald Crystal Treasure that signifies love.

#57: The Queen Mermaid—2000 OOP

The Queen Mermaid swishes through the waves, glittering in the ocean light. She is a figure of fairy tale but seems quite real in her watery world. Not to be bought, only to be made by you... "with the hand and from the heart".

#58: Queen of Peace— April 1st, 2001. OOP

Somewhere in the mists of time, a young queen ruled wisely and well. In this portrait rendered by Nora Corbett, she has traded her golden crown for a jeweled circlet of full-blown roses. In a pose of calm contemplation, her dove-gray gown is cut low to emphasize a graceful neck embellished with cascades of crystals. Glistening regal emblems march across the sweeping folds of her skirt; a swath of deepest apple green catches her train to one side, and a single amethyst ribbon trails softly about her feet. In her queen's quiet hands, a lone turtle dove perches peacefully, safe in this place of tranquility.

#59: July's Amethyst Fairy

Fourth in Nora Corbett’s “Year of the Fairies” Collection, July’s Amethyst Fairy captures a radiant fairy mere moments before she is to meet with her long-awaited fairy prince. Because even enchanted glens get warm in July, her shadow-hued gown is off-the-shoulder satin, accented with precious gems the color of the midsummer sky.

Her bouquet? Rarest lavender roses. And behind her, airy wings flutter majestically, shimmering with violet amethysts – amethysts as perfect as this moment.

#60: The Blossom Harvest— August 1, 2001

A young maiden crowned with pale crystal zinnias, stops to experience the pleasures of nature. Her apron pattern echoes the neatly kept rows of her garden that overflows with pansies, narcissus, violets, and herbs. Beads make the flowers appear as they are in those first moments of the dewy morning — glistening and glowing with tiny droplets.

[ninja-muse]

i’m trying to branch out and read outside my genre (fantasy) do you have any book recs for someone whose heart is in fantasy but needs to see what else is out there?

Hi anon! Thanks for the ask! Fantasy’s such a wide genre, and this is such an open ask, that I’m mostly going to be recommending books with similar feels or themes from other genres, to push you a little outside the fantasy bubble and introducing you to different genres and types of storytelling. If you have a favourite subgenre or trope or author, I can maybe get a little more specific or offer read-alikes.

Also, I don’t know if you knew this before asking, but fantasy is my favourite genre too, so some of these recs are books that pushed me out of the genre as well, or that I found familiar-but-different.

And this is getting long, so I’m going to throw it under a cut to save everyone scrolling.

Science fiction

the Vorkosigan saga by Lois McMaster Bujold - This is space opera, which means it’ll have fairly familiar plots except with science-y things instead of magic. There’s an heir with something to prove, heists, cons, and mysteries, attempted coups and assassinations, long-suffering sidekicks, and a homeworld that’s basically turn-of-the-century Russia but with fewer serfs. It was one of the first adult sci-fi books I read and genuinely liked.

The Book of Koli by M.R. Carey - I finished this recently, and the second book of the trilogy just came out. This is post-apocalyptic sci-fi, but not grim or particularly complex. (Some SF gets really into the nuts and bolts of the science elements; this isn’t that.) Basically, Koli’s a teenager who wants more than his quasi-medieval life’s given him, and finds himself in conflict with his village (and then exile) because of it. I could see where the story was going pretty much from the start, but I loved the journey anyway.

The Martian by Andy Weir - This doesn’t have much in common with fantasy, but it’s my go-to rec for anyone who’s never read science fiction before, because it’s funny, explains the science well, and has a hero and a plot you get behind right away. In case you haven’t heard of it (or the film), it’s about an astronaut stranded on Mars, trying to survive long enough to be rescued.

Foreigner by C.J. Cherryh - This is an alien first contact story, about a colony of humans in permanent quarantine on an alien planet. The MC is the sole social liaison and translator, explaining his culture to the aliens and the aliens to the human, and working to keep the peace—until politics and assassins get involved. It’s been over a decade since I read this, so my memory’s blurred, but I remember the same sort of political intrigue vibes as the Daevabad trilogy, just with fewer POVs.

Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor - One from my TBR. It looks like dark fiction about women, outcasts, and revenge, which sounds very fantastic and the MC can apparently do magic—but it’s post-apocalyptic Africa.

Speaking of political intrigue and sweeping epic plots, the Expanse series by James S.A. Corey has both in spades. Rebellions, alien technology, corrupt businesses, heroes doing good things and getting bad consequences, all that good stuff. It takes the science fairly seriously, without getting very dense with it, and will probably register as “more sci-fi” than my recs in the genre so far.

Oh, and Dune by Frank Herbert is such a classic chosen-one epic that it barely registers as science fiction at all.

Graphic novels

It’s technically fantasy, but assuming you’ve never picked up a graphic novel before, you should read Monstress by Marjorie Liu. Asian-inspired, with steampunk aesthetics, and rebellions and quests and so many female characters. It’s an absolutely fantastic graphic novel, if you want a taste of what those can do.

I’d highly recommend Saga by Brian K. Vaughan. It’s an epic science fiction story about a family caught between sides of a centuries-long war. (Dad’s from one side, Mom’s from the other, everyone wants to capture them, their kid is narrating.) It’s a blast to read, exciting and tense, with hard questions and gorgeous tender moments, and the world-building somehow manages to include weaponized magic, spaceship trees, ghosts, half-spider assassins, and all-important pulp romance novels without anything feeling out of place.

Historical fiction

Hild by Nicola Griffith - Very rich and detailed novel following a girl growing up in an early medieval English court. It’s very fantasy-esque, with battles and politics and changes of religion, and Hild gets positioned early on to be the king’s seer, so there’s “magic” of a sort as well.

The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry - A widow goes to the Victorian seaside to heal and reawaken her interest in biology. Slow, gentle, lovely writing and atmosphere, interesting characters and turns of plot. Doesn’t actually deliver on the sea monster, but still has a lot to recommend it to fantasy readers, I think.

Yiddish for Pirates by Gary Barwin - The late-medieval Jewish pirate adventure you didn’t know you wanted. It’s funny and literary, full of tropes and set pieces like “small-town kid in the big city” and “jail break”, and features the Spanish Inquisition, Columbus, the Fountain of Youth, and talking parrots, among other things.

The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett - A thousand pages about the building of a cathedral in England, mostly focusing on the master builder, the monk who spearheads the project, and a noblewoman who’s been kicked off her family’s land, but has several other plots going on, including a deacon with political ambitions, a war, and a boy who’s trying so hard to fit in and do right.

Sharon Kay Penman - This is an author on my TBR, who comes highly recommended for her novels about the War of the Roses and the Plantagenets. Should appeal to you if you liked Game of Thrones. I’m planning to start with The Sunne in Splendour.

Lady of the Forest by Jennifer Roberson - Either a Robin Hood retelling that’s also a romance, or a romance that’s also a Robin Hood retelling.

Hamnet & Judith by Maggie O’Farrell - A novel of the Shakespeare family, mostly focused on his wife and son. Lovely writing and a very gentle feel though it heads into dark and complex subjects fairly often. A good portrait of Early Modern family life.

Mystery

There’s not a lot of mystery that reads like high, epic, or even contemporary fantasy, but if you’re a fan of urban fantasy, which is basically mystery with magic in, then I’d rec:

Cozy mysteries as a general subgenre, especially if you like the Sookie Stackhouse end of urban fantasy, which has romance and quirky plots; there are plenty of series where the detective’s a witch or the sidekick’s a ghost but they’re solving non-magical mysteries, and the genre in general full of heroines who are good at solving crimes without formal training, and the plots feel very similar but with slightly lower stakes. Cozies have become one of my comfort-reading genres (along with UF) the last few years. My intros were the Royal Spyness novels by Rhys Bowen and the Fairy Tale Fatale books by Maia Chance.

If you like your urban fantasy darker and more serious, and your heroines more complicated, try Kathy Reichs and her Temperance Brennan novels. Brennan’s a forensic anthropologist, strong and complicated in the same ways of my fave UF heroines, and the mysteries are already interesting, with a good dash of thriller and a smidge of romance.

Two other recs:

Haunted Ground by Erin Hart - The first of four books about a forensic anthropologist in Ireland, who’s called in when the Garda find bodies in the peat bogs and need to know how long they’ve been there. They’re very atmospheric—I can almost smell the bog—and give great portraits of rural Ireland and small-town secrets, and since not all the bodies found in each book are recent, they also bring interesting slices of the past to life as well.

A Burnable Book by Bruce Holsinger - This is essentially a medieval thriller about a seditious book that’s turned up in London. I liked the mystery in it and that it’s much more focused on the lives of average people than the rich and famous (for all that recognizable people also show up).

Classics

Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift - I swear this is actually one of the first fantasy novels but few people ever really class it as such. Basically, Gulliver’s a ship’s doctor who keeps getting shipwrecked—in a country of tiny people, a country of giants, a country of mad scientists, a country of talking horses, etc. It’s social satire and a spoof of travelogues from Swift’s time, but it’s easily enough read without that context.

Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll - Another, slightly later, fantasy and satire! Even more amusing situations than in Gulliver’s Travels and, while it’s been a while* since I read it, I think it’ll be a decent read-alike for authors like Jasper Fforde, Genevieve Cogman, and that brand of light British comic fantasy.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare - Also technically a fantasy! I mean, there are fairies and enchantments, for all it’s a romantic comedy written entirely in old-fashioned poetry. It’s a pretty good play to start you off on Shakespeare, if you’re interested in going that direction.

On the subject of Shakespeare, I would also recommend Much Ado About Nothing, Macbeth, and King Lear, the first because it’s my favourite comedy, the others because they’re fantasy read-alikes imo as well (witches! coups! drama!).

the Arthurian mythos. Le Morte D’arthur, Crétien de Troyes, The Once and Future King by T.H. White, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain, etc. - I’ve read bits and pieces of the first two, am about 80% sure I read the third as a kid (or at least The Sword in the Stone), and have the last on my TBR. Basically, these stories are going to give you an exaggeratedly medieval setting, knights, quests, wizards, fairies, high drama, romantic entanglements, and monsters, and the medieval ones especially have different kinds of plots than you’ll be used to (and maybe open the door to more medieval lit?) **

Beowulf and/or The Odyssey - Two epics that inspired a lot of fiction that came later. (There’s an especial connection between Beowulf and Tolkien.) They’re not the easiest of reads because they’re in poetry and non-linear narratives, but both have a hero facing off against a series of monsters and/or magical creatures as their core story.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley - The first real science fiction novel. It’s about the ethics of science and the consequences of one’s actions, and I loved seeing the Creature find himself and Frankenstein descend into … that. It’s also full of sweeping, gothic scenes and tension and doom and drama.

* 25 years, give or take

** There are plenty of more recent people using King Arthur and associated characters too, if this "subgenre” interests you.

Other fiction

Vicious by V.E. Schwab - I don’t know if you classify superheroes as science fiction or fantasy or its own genre (for me it depends on the day) but this is an excellent take on the subject, full of moral greyness and revenge.

David Mitchell - A literary fiction writer who has both a sense of humour and an interest in the fantastic and science fictional. He writes ordinary people and average lives marvelously well, keeps me turning pages, plays with form and timelines, and reliably throws in either recurring, possibly-immortal characters, good-vs-evil psychic battles, or other SF/F-y elements. I’d start with either Slade House, a ghost story, or Utopia Avenue, about a ‘60s rock band. Or possible The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, which I fully admit to not having read yet.

Devolution by Max Brooks - A horror movie in book form, full of tension and desperation and jump scares and the problems with relying on modern technology. The monsters are Bigfeet. Reccing this one in the same way I’m reccing The Martian—it’s an accessible intro to its genre.

Son of a Trickster by Eden Robinson - Contemporary fiction with a slight literary bent, that doesn’t pull its punches about Indigenous life but also has a sense of humour about the same. Follows a teen dealing with poverty and a bad home life and drugs and hormones—and the fact that his bio-dad might actually be the trickster Raven. Also features witches, magic, and other spirit-beings, so I generally pitch this as magic realism.

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones - Another Indigenous rec, this time a horror novel about ghosts and racism and trying to do the right thing. This’ll give you a taste of the more psychological end of the horror spectrum.

Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia - A good example of contemporary YA and how it handles the complexities of life, love, and growing up. Follows the writer of a fantasy webcomic who makes a friend who turns out to write fic of her story and who suddenly has to really balance online and offline life, among other pressures. Realistic portrait of mental health problems.

Non-fiction

The Book of Margery Kempe - The first English-language autobiography. Margery was very devout but also very badass, in a medieval sort of way. She went on pilgrimages to Jerusalem, was possibly epileptic, frequently “saw” Christ and Mary and demons, basically became a nun in middle age while staying married to her husband, and wound up on trial for heresy, before talking a monk into writing down her life story. It’s a fascinating window into the time period.

The Hammer and the Cross by Robert Ferguson - A history of medieval Norse people and how their explorations and trade shaped both their culture and the world.

A Time of Gifts by Patrick Leigh Fermor - Travel writing that was recommended to me by someone who raved about the prose and was totally right. Fermor’s looking back, with the aid of journals, on a walking trip he took across Europe in the 1930s. It’s a fascinating look at the era and an old way of life, and pretty much every “entry” has something of interest in it. He met all sorts of people.

Tim Severin and/or Thor Heyerdahl - More travel writing, this time by people recreating historical voyages (or what they believe to be historical voyages, ymmv) in period ships. Severin focuses on mythology (I’ve read The Ulysses Voyage and The Jason Voyage) and Heyerdahl’s known for Kon-Tiki, which is him “proving” that Polynesians made contact with South America. They both go into the history of the sailing and areas they’re travelling through, while also describing their surroundings and daily life, and, yes, running into storms and things.

Hope this helps you!

[chantalstacys]

♡ more dreamy films + aesthetics ♡

a midsummer night’s dream (1935): enchanted forests, magical creatures, sparkling dewdrops, flower crowns, fairy kisses, larger-than-life greek architecture, moonlight glow

her highness and the bellboy (1945): books of fairytales, undying crushes, ballerina fantasies, dazzling city views, being carried, singing with the radio, breakfast in bed, royal balls, tender love

fashions of 1934 (1934): secret looks, elegant fashion shows, a mysterious and mischievous man, feather fan dances, elaborate and beautiful musical numbers, fashion sketches, being bad

laura (1944): lingering cigarette smoke, raindrops on windows, fine art, a stylish apartment, a business woman, a dashing young detective,  tiny sequin purses and compact mirrors, being utterly irresistible

gigi (1958): secret sips of champagne, turn of the century fashion, lace parasols, afternoons in the park, collections of antiques, proper manners, seaside dreams, generous lovers

love in the afternoon (1957): hôtel ritz paris, practicing classical music, eavesdropping and uncovering secrets, holding onto memories, living fantasies, the constant need to kiss your love

[thomasstalsworth]

Too Old ... Johnny Boy’s Bones

[ Prior Chapter ]

Captain Florence was a stone, stoic, stalwart and able man.

He wore grey hair with easy features. The sort of unwrinkled face that a man of his age could only acquire through studious effort at not smiling, frowning, or otherwise revealing his innards. There was no emotion about him at any time, even when pressed. The worst of weather he ever wore was on the cuff of his jacket. A ring of sweat when times were at their worst, and a clean slate of white cloth for the rest.

There was a reason -- many reasons, in truth -- why Thomas trust him so well. Old friendship was powerful, but all the moreso was demonstrable history, trust and action. Florence was a man of action and not word, that much could be seen even by the stranger. And so Thomas asked the greatest of efforts needed to the man, allows constituting such things as an offer. The two men knew each other well, but even as his Admiral now -- a feat of strength so far beyond the measure and imagination of their younger minds -- Tom never ordered Florence. He offered, and requested what needed done.

And Florence always, without fail, did what needed to be done.

And so it was that Florence stood at the helm of a thin-strop vessel, a bare creature of wood and tar and two masts that was heavy enough to ferry himself and a trusted crew to Freeman’s Bones. A neutral, freebooter’s harbour and mooring some unfettered stretch of horizon South of Freehold herself. Yet where Freehold was a den to pirate, villainy and the dealings of men’s unsavory hearts -- Freeman’s Bones were just that.

A scattered mass of scaffolding, dockways, mooring posts and stray driftwood to form a bulwark against the rest of the world. A place for men and women of the ocean to take ease a spell before they were off again. A place where you were still free, even if your feet were on land.

‘Land’.

Freeman’s Bones was barely such a thing. The wandering, rickety nature of it was all built upon the same, single spit of rock and reef. What had begun as a single dock and a bare-rattle pub with just enough grog for a man to drown in if he kept both nostrils pressed to the floorboards had become a thriving, seaside piece and trade. A freewater depth for the wanderer’s anchor.

And the current dwelling of Roderick Allhouse and Belly-Ann Hurstvale. The two freebooters, accomplished anglers, well-water privateers and occasional buskers that Thomas had asked Florence to find. Seek them out, inform them of the Admiral’s need and plan, and bring them back to Stormholme under a grey sail. Simple.

Thomas’ requests were never simple.

All hands at harbour, all hands on deck or below. Florence tread the half-scoured wooden walkways of the Bones alone. Nary a soul joined him, and with good enough cause. The most of them were green to boot, young men and women who were only of knowledge for that Florence had a pleasure’s call to the isle and her piecemeal wooden skeleton. The better and beastly and trusted of Stormholme’s harbour lay with Thomas. There was work to be done.

And Florence had his part to play. The man was not known for parting before his due was done.

Straight on the lace and burdened with principle, ethic and the equanimity of a Stormsong stream in midsummer, Florence walked through the vibrant pathways of the Bones. So many ragged, half-heart folk passed him by in all direction. An unhurried sort of congestion, ‘roads’ stacked atop each other and swollen high and wide with men and women.

Free men and women.

It was a ten-start of minutes at most before Florence found himself, prim and bucked up in the spine looking far, far apart from the generous masses, standing within the belly of the Bones. That rattle-skin pub that was the first building nailed to reef and pinioned to stand against the rock of the sea below.

‘Coccyx’.

The humor was not lost on Florence, and perhaps in the privacy of his own cabin quarter, with the curtains drawn and a disc of music playing from the gnomecorder, he might have allowed himself a single puff of air from the nostril -- to laugh. As close as he ever was to laugh.

The pub was wide, and squat. No ceiling laid higher than a man could reach up to touch. It felt so much like the hold of a vessel, all run up with the sweat, bluster and cry of sailing creatures that it jarred Florence. He was a perceptive man, though, and shucked off the peculiarity of the Bones to lay his mind to work.

Roderick Allhouse and Belly-Ann Hurstvale.

The former was a sprite of a lad who wore a fashionable face; in appearance he was many years younger than the hourglass would call to. Boyish face and skin so scuttled and soured with ink that his pale flesh was barely visible. They said he could no longer grow hair on account of it. Sailor’s ink dragged into his flesh so many times with whalebone pen that no hair could grow -- only gills and scales.

The latter was a woman of curve and compass, covered as often as she was not. More mindful and heartfelt than any combination of sea captains from the Bones all the way South to the edge of the charter, and back again until you hit the Frozen Sea. She was keen and observant, not unlike Florence himself. But she saw beyond what presence that a man’s eye could conjure.

To find a single soul of affect in the belly of the Bones was a task beyond most creatures. Even those with the powers of prestidigitation or prescience, divination or else wise. Florence had none of that. He was but a man with good cording and a sound mind, a penchant to dress in anticipation of the weather and the ability to inflict a potent right-hook.

He also knew what liquor that the latter and the former of his notion of task drank.

Somewhere, in the far corner that resembled a ‘stage’ cut into the pub’s depths, a lilting of music managed to buoy itself over the craig and call of the patrons. A few lads were having a go with a beaten string-body and a horse-hair bow, a few guitars, and a wooden drum, singing:

“Forty-five in the fox holes And of this I will boast Don't they look fine and handsome My poor Johnny-boy's bones … “

The song carried on, and the next -- and the next.

It took a few hours, but eventually after the fourteenth or fifteenth round that Florence’s purse bought for those in earshot of the pub’s counter top -- which was not far, as it stood, considering the roar of noise in the drink home -- the man and woman of his task slid through the crowd. Whether they had been there the entire time or only came about after getting word -- slowly, through the throng and sweat of sailors -- that free drinks were rolling like tidewater, Florence could not know.

“Two in the air, Bonny!” A male voice called, spirited in the way that young men usually were when they had an amiable lass on their arm and a desire to look the peacock.

“Gush it a’three, love -- thanks.” A female voice called crow to reply. Lilting moreso, but hazy in the throat in such way that constant smoke-fall down the gullet gave.

It was not useful to try to hide. Florence looked as much a member of the shifting, pierced and tattooed, sunk-heel and red-sashed, belly-raised and ‘member’-forward, cutlass-keen and pistol-first crowd as a husk of corn looked fitting in a Duchess’ garden.

He let Roderick and Belly-Ann take up their drinks before he spoke. The liquor was a revolting substance, in truth. But some peoples of the edges of the common folk took good favor to it. If the goal was to be inebriated, invigorated, and given better cause for a ‘second sight’ through the caustic waves of the open sea -- Bonemarrow was the way forward. Florence liked to think it was rum, but in truth no one but the settled souls of Freeman’s Bones knew just what in the good Godly damn was in the kegs that made it run so thick and black, like blackstrap syrup forged with intention to make children in hammocks by the groggy seaside.

-- Thoughts unimportant.

“Let us get a few down beforehand, aye?”

Florence spoke first, standing proddled and proper at the edge of the bar. In a space of pub so shoulder-to-briny-shoulder, it was quite odd how no one was willing to gather near him. Despite the way he spilled coin after shiny coin to pay off the rounds that were poured. Only greetings and raised ‘cheers!’ came his way. So when he spoke, it was noted. Roderick and Belly-Ann both looked to him, appraising each other, then reasserting their gaze.

“Better to know the after-hand first, cuff. Let’s a man know how many to get down first.”

Roderick replied with a simmering sarcasm. His tone was not any surprise. Tom had said he would be the worse of the two of them to net and drag. Liquor helped that, though -- and Roderick drained his marrow quickly from the glass, tapping an obscenely jeweled set of fingers against the vessel to demand more.

Belly-Ann had a covering over her head, some thin-spun silk sort of thing that would not have looked amiss among the caravans of itinerant merchants that often criss-crossed Wrynn lands. She did not say anything as she dragged her lips over her own pour of marrow.

“The after-hand is all gold, friend -- and Big Iron.”

The old name sprung memory back to both Belly-Ann and Roderick when Florence spoke. Few recalled Thomas’ old subtitles. Only those with more sands in the hourglass down with gravity’s flow than naught might have been possessed to know. By the sudden pause and quirk of pierced brow and ink-heavy lip, Belly-Ann and Roderick were counted in such crew.

“He wants you to come hear what he has to say. There is work to do, and a powerful need for capable souls.”

Despite Florence’s prim and structured state and tone -- the relevance and severity was cast in his voice. Even through the haze and smoke of pipe and pouch in the briny pub, his eyes cut through. His words were only buoyed by the marble cast he gave. A contrast, surely, as he was all pressed uniform and stiff collar, shaven face and unlacquered skin. -- But an understanding passed among the scream and huff and heft and lift of the crowd.

“.. I’ve an eye on the lass fifteen paces behind your stick-heel starfish. After I’ve gotten my fill, and if this marrow keeps flowing free to sole, then we’ll consider thumbing tooth with Big.”

Belly-Ann spoke first, and she spoke for both herself and Roderick. Keen and mouthy and saddled with fisticuffs, thin-man’s strength and scrawny draw as he was -- Belly was the mind between the pair. That was clear enough. Roderick nodded in obeyment, trying to eye out the lass that Belly spoke of.

Florence nod once, keeping an eye to them both. After enough of a spelling of seconds to be assured of their validity, he set his coin purse -- full and swollen -- onto the bar top. With a glance to the barman, who looked confused, but quite happy to take the coin and let the rounds keep rolling along, Florence turned and left the pub.

Thomas had said that if he managed to find them and get their mind for it, attention drawn and not quite quartered -- at worst halved -- then they’d know where to find his mooring.

And so Florence returned to his green-galley-gill crew and tried to act like he had just spent the last few hours having a go of his nethers, as had been the implication of the surreptitious voyage, rather than standing around the Coccyx and enduring the smell of spittle, beer and sour rum for hours, waiting.

And Florence waited more, sat upon a beaten old chair on the deck, by the gangway, until late -- late -- into the night, Belly-Ann and Roderick came aboard.

Cussing and ravaging and posturing died quicker than the good Captain could have thought. Florence need only tell them the most intimate of detail and none of the grandeur to gain their fallen faces -- both Roderick and Belly-Ann -- and their nod of trust. The man at the end of Thomas’ harpoon-aim had hurt his child. The man had hurt his child. Far apart as old friends could be in life, some things demanded loyalty no matter what.  -- They would join Thomas’ crew and help round up the disparate old friends -- and some enemies -- that he would need to conjure up a real chance at taking down the Red Lord.

With Roderick and Belly-Ann on board, Florence called to weigh anchor and sail -- back to Stormholme. Their last port of harbour before the hunt was on.