#True North Bricks

[carebearcody]

should’ve been 2/2 wins in north london but we move

[cammys-imagines24]

• Being in a Relationship with Kaz Brekker •

No one is going to dare touch you, that's for sure. Doesn't matter where you are, whether you're in the most shady parts of Ketterdam or the worst of pleasure houses.

No one will go near you or chance laying a hand on you. Not unless they'd like their face bludgeoned with a crow's head cane, everything they've ever loved taken from them and their bank account completely wiped out.

Though despite your unspoken protection and despite whatever rare intimacies Kaz may show you while in private, out in public he treats you as no more than a stranger.

He can't have others, enemies, seeing how much you mean to him. He can't have his preferential treatment slipping through the cracks and out into eyesight and hearing distance.

He would give you the world, burn down the heavens and lay claim to hell for you but any public displays of his affection is out of the question.

You know how crows will gift little trinkets to the people they're attached to? Well Kaz will literally do that with you.

Often you will happen upon little presents or useful gadgets resting on your pillow in your room at the Slat. All anonymous, because it's Kaz we're talking about but you know who they're from obviously.

It took a very, very long time for Kaz to open up to you and reveal to you his past, his trauma but once he decided of the place you held in his heart, he never backtracked ever again.

He will never keep a secret from you and you are the only one who is privy to all his plans, every single step. From plan A to plan F.

Kaz yearns, oh, he does yearn. His craving for you is more deep than the True Sea and more faithful than that of a compass showing you North.

But with his aversion, it is all about baby steps and you've accepted that about him.

For instance, if you're feeling upset or scared or even needing a bit of human to human contact Kaz has realized that if he gives you one of his gloves that that assists him.

By wearing one of his gloves you can touch his arm or rest your palm against the beating drum of his heart or even hold hands for a brief period.

He knows it isn't much and it kills him, it really does but it's the best he can offer at the moment.

Though every day Kaz feels like he's healing, brick by brick, because of you. And maybe one day you two needn't the gloves at all.

One day he wishes to touch you freely, openly. Getting past his fear and phobia if only to be graced with the brush of your lips against his or the warmth of your body.

With you Kaz tries, he really tries to be more than just "Dirtyhands" Brekker or the bastard of the barrel.

And sometimes, only you can see glimpses of Kaz. Just Kaz Rietveld. A boy in love.

[mariacallous]

I LOVED this article. Leslie Gray Streeter expresses it perfectly.

https://www.thebaltimorebanner.com/opinion/column/kamala-harris-no-press-interviews-OPD4MAXYKRB4XJHB2TFB6ZJX6Q/

Since becoming the presumptive Democratic candidate for president, Vice President Kamala Harris has done myriad public appearances and given speeches but has not, as of this writing, talked to journalists outside a brief session on the tarmac before a flight.

I’m a journalist and have been for more than half my life. And you know what? I don’t blame her one bit.

Because of her refusal to sit for an interview with any print or broadcast media, Harris has been the target of a lot of indignant insistence that she change her mind — that she’s not giving the American public answers they deserve. Critics say she’s subverting an expected system that all other elected officials have gone through. They say she’s hiding behind a wall of hype and “irrational exuberance” that is proof she lacks the toughness to hold the office she seeks.

Be ever so real, y’all. You know that quote, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”? It would be insane to subject yourself to unfettered questions by an industry that doesn’t seem to know how to handle interviews with true journalistic integrity and practices. Why beat your head against a wall you know is made of brick and disinformation?

Harris has seen a media landscape that arguably legitimized soon-to-be-President Donald Trump as a normal candidate when he was sowing seeds of unrest, writing about him agreeing to accept the 2016 election results, “if I win,” and then denying those results in 2020 with not an nth of the absolute pushback and condemnation it deserved. She saw, as we all did, major outlets referring to obvious racist attacks by the current Republican nominee and others as “racially tinged” and to blatant bloody lies as “falsehoods” and “misstatements.”

The vice president recently approached the press gaggle with a deliberately direct “Whatcha got?” That is the same thing my late daddy used to ask me point-blank when I’d been calling and calling and he knew I wanted something. The reporters had been clamoring for this. And their response? A bunch of requests for a response to crazy stuff Trump said about her.

This is the same industry that initially wrote presidential fanfic pondering replacement candidates that weren’t Harris. Then, when President Joe Biden stepped down from the race and named her as his chosen successor, they compiled panels ruminating on Trump’s assertions about her racial identity. Fox News has gone on the attack about her every day, but she’s being called a coward for not agreeing to a debate on that network in front of an arena of opposing fans.

Yeah, no. She is not, as we say in my culture, Boo Boo the Fool, nor is she, as she’s stated, falling for the okey-doke. Would you rush to sit down to withstand more of that foolishness? I would not. Despite the protestations of several writers from traditional media absolutely aghast at her avoidance of them, the truth is that Kamala Harris doesn’t need them.

Just as Trump has flocked to friendly outlets like Fox and a live conversation on X with app owner Elon Musk (or what Harris’ team referred to as “whatever that was”), Harris has done speeches at a rally in North Carolina and last week in Prince George’s County, and she has her savvy and very online comms team to get her message out. It’s smart, because most outlets have proven they don’t know how to approach her.

The vice president has expressed interest in setting something up, but I wouldn’t be shocked if she sidesteps your Dana Bashes and Kristen Welkers and does something inventive. If I were her, I’d talk to MSNBC’s Lawrence O’Donnell, who has himself been critical of media colleagues, including his own network.

Maybe she should completely pivot and do something fun like “Hot Ones,” where she can answer policy questions while eating spicy wings. Talk to Teen Vogue. Do podcasts. Hang out with “The Real Housewives of Potomac.” I know these sound like lightweight options, but are any of these suggestions less weighty than Harris’ opponent, who bleats lies and racism on his own app, or his approved media partners who go on about Harris’ laugh, dating history and heritage? It’s all a circus. I say make your own big top.

And if madam vice president decides to talk to the traditional media, be it the New York Times or CNN, I think she should only do so with interviewers who have proven themselves to have cultural competency about race, gender, historically Black colleges and universities, the Divine 9 Greek system, step parenting and being a baddie in the 1990s. I’m not saying it has to be a friendly person like Trump seeks, but it does have to be someone who respects Harris enough as a candidate to do research and not spend the whole time asking gotcha questions about her opponent’s lies. Heck, I’ll do it! I know this is a long shot, but at least I know what okey-doke means.

I am excited for Harris’ future media choices because they are sure to be unprecedented, just like her candidacy. And it’s going to be on her terms. Everyone gets to set theirs, after all.

[starlightsreigns]

bloodline | the bloodline

summary: gianna feels like the shinest toy in the middle of a classroom with everyone eyeing it. she attracts all the interest when she walks into the room, and now it's causing chaos. But, chaos is so fun and it's only the beginning.

warning: language and BRIEF smut

word count: 10.1k

author's note: she for the whole team — twins. but I started writing this and over time the main love interest kept changing as the story developed hahah. I'm just a girl and I love every version of the bloodline (i couldn't find a gif of the whole bloodline so imagine) x

“i ain't lookin' for my one true love, yeah, that ship sailed away”

Gianna rubs her eyes trying to mask the exhaustion written all over her face. she forces a smile as the photographer lifts his camera towards her. the flashes don’t help with the headache that’s pounding through her skull. if anything, she wants to be in bed with her comfort movie and a pile of food — but of course, work always comes first. 

“c’mon, Gigi, that’s the best you got?” a familiar voice booms through the room. 

solo stands in the doorway of the room, a grin on his face because he knows he’s irritating her. “damn, my bad.” he raises his hand when she glares in his direction. “don’t be like that.” 

eighteen years of knowing someone makes you immune to their antics. Gianna and Solo have been best friends since fifth grade; attending the same schools in California since kindergarten, but something changed in their last year of elementary school that brought them together – that something being their teacher sitting them beside each other. Their similar loud nature and her crush on his older brothers made their friendship blossom over the years. She was a cheerleader in high school, and he followed his brothers and cousin in being a football player. They spent every waking moment together, took the same classes, made the same jokes, and got close to each other’s family. 

Graduation hit them like a ton of bricks – they spent 13 years always in the same state and school, and now that had to change. Neither one of them understood how much that would hurt. While he stayed in Sacramento for a while and then went on to North Dakota, Gianna moved across the country to Florida. They’ve always been committed to their friendship, which meant every holiday was spent in California and every school vacation was divided between there and Florida. For four years, they made it work through the school work, the various jobs, and the multiple relationships that found their friendship a little too high maintenance – but it only had to matter to them. 

Gianna finished college, and with the push of Solo’s older brother, Jimmy and Jey convinced her to try out for WWE. It was always a pipe dream. They came from a wrestling family, the most prominent one at that, and she fell in love with it because of them. Gianna couldn’t imagine making it in the business, but the twins refused to let up. They’d take her to the performance center whenever they were in town until she was convinced she could do this. She trained and prepped until her body couldn’t take it anymore. 

The distance came. Their friendship was harder to balance once she joined the main roster years later. Once he joined WWE, their schedules were even more of a mess, but again, if they could survive six years across the country from each other, they could survive the fucking apocalypse – and yeah, they survived the apocalypse to be on the same show now…

Gianna glances at Solo again. Usually, she’d smile at his comment, but any facial movements only exacerbate the growing pains in her body. And he could see it from where she stood. The way her face could barely hold a scowl and the glint in her eyes was gone – she was almost lifeless. 

“You hungry?” He asks softly, seeing the way she was trying to hold it together. 

After a slow nod, Solo gives her a thumbs-up and quickly disappears from the doorway. The rest of the photoshoot feels like a million years until she’s set free. Gianna gathers her stuff, shuffling through the hallway, bombarded by all the noise the backstage area unfortunately brings. 

“Gianna, baby, you okay?” Naomi calls out where she sits in a makeup chair. 

Gianna stops beside her, holding onto the arm of the chair, “No, I feel like absolute shit.” She holds onto her forehead, trying to steady the spinning room. Naomi holds onto her arm. “I think I just need to sit for a little bit.” 

“You need me to walk you back there?” Naomi’s voice fills with worry. “Or, lemme call Jimmy.” 

“Nah, I’m good girl, I can make it.” 

Solo comes from behind her, seeing the look of concern on Naomi’s face, “Hey, you good?” He’s holding a plate of food from catering. “C’mon, lemme take you back to med.” 

Naomi smiles at her brother-in-law before she meets eyes with Gianna, “text me, ‘kay?” 

With a small hum, Gianna lets Solo lead her back to medical. She can barely remember the walk or anything that Solo says to her. To be truthful, she can’t remember anything from before she blacks out and wakes up hours later in confusion. 

The world feels hazy as she takes a deep breath. The room is dim while the TV screen plays the current match. Gianna groans, realizing she passed out. From beside her, someone chuckles and Gianna groans louder when she knows exactly who it is. 

“Of course, you’re still here,” she smiles softly as she looks over at Solo. “Please tell me I didn’t throw up or say something stupid.”

Solo sighs dramatically, “Now, you want me to lie to you, Gigi?” 

“No!” Gianna’s eyes widen. “Was it bad?” She covers her mouth with a laugh. 

“Doc was givin’ you fluids,” Solo starts and all Gianna can do is cringe. “You threw up over his shoes, said you was sorry, threw up again, then told us how much you love us for takin’ care of you.” 

Gianna shrieks, laughing into her palm as she throws her head back. Solo follows suit in his laughter. 

“You piece of shit, you should’ve kept all that to yourself.” Gianna shakes her head just as the door opens. “Hey, girl.” She greets Naomi who walks in cautiously.

Naomi grins, sashaying up to the bed, “girl I came in here earlier and you was out, dead to the world with this fool watchin’ over you.” She jokes as she takes a seat at the end of the bed. “How you feelin’?” 

“Like a million bucks, apparently all I needed was some water and to empty out my fucking stomach.” Gianna rolls her eyes with a sigh. “Thank Jesus I didn’t have a match tonight or I would’ve killed myself.” 

“Don’t say that, you know I hate that.” Solo rolls his eyes. 

He was the sensitive type, not that he’d ever admit it. It’s what she adored most about him, since they were kids, he was very serious about statements like that and went to great lengths to always be there for Gianna. He never wanted to feel like he wasn’t communicating or was being purposely rude to anyone. Kindness was the biggest thing for him. 

“I’m sorry,” Gianna reaches over to cup his chin. “I didn’t mean that.” 

Naomi watches the pair for a moment, they way Solo instantly melts into a smile at the physical contact. The twinkle in his eyes when he watches her and how he falls into laughter when she says something stupid and it’s about the way he’s always talking in her direction, even when Naomi talks and he responds to her, his eyes always drifts towards Gianna to watch for her reaction. 

This wasn’t new – Naomi and the twins often teased him about it, never in front of Gianna because he begged them to not make her uncomfortable, over the past couple of years but they’ve laid off the teasing because damn… they’ve known each other for years and have never made a move. But something about recently has made Naomi suspicious. Solo couldn’t seem to be away from Gianna for more than a single day. It’s the point that if she calls Gianna and she doesn’t answer, she knows to call Solo cause he’ll be with her. 

“I gotta go get ready, but I’ll be back to get you later.” Solo stands from his chair, playfully throwing a pillow at Gianna as he walks towards the door. “See you Nao.” 

“Bye, brother.” She calls out then turns her attention to Gianna. “Can I ask you something and you won’t be mad at me?” Naomi asks cautiously. 

Gianna scrunches her nose, “and what exactly is this question?” She sits up in the bed. “And why would I be mad?” 

Naomi sighs, “Why haven’t y’all dated?” She asks right out, catching Gianna off guard. “Y’all’ve known each other y’all whole lives.” 

There’s a beat of silence while Gianna thinks about the question. She looks out at the wall. Strangely enough, it’s never been anything she’s sat and thought about. There was always someone she was in a relationship with. This is the first time she’s truly been single and the thought never crept in. 

“I’ve never thought of him that way, honest, you know I broke up with whatshisname last year and we were together for six years. It’s always been purely platonic between me and Solo.” 

For the rest of the night, the thought rings through Gianna’s head. Why hasn’t there been a romantic relationship between her and Solo? Now, she kinda wishes that it never came up because she’s not one that can hold her tongue and unfortunately, he knows her too well and will eventually read her face. 

Gianna has to force the thought to sit in the furthest spot in her brain, it wasn’t something she had the time to worry about, and she’d been a little upset with Naomi for bringing it up. Even weeks later, there’s an air of awkwardness and she’s not sure why it’s there. 

The hallway is empty as Gianna rolls her suitcase. 

“Gianna,” Naomi’s voice calls out from behind her. Gianna stops reluctantly and turns. “G, you mad at me?” 

They both continue their walk towards the locker room. Gianna sighs and shakes her head. 

“No, I’m sorry girl, you know how I get sometimes.” Ginna apologizes, “I got uncomfortable with the thought and haven’t been able to face you.” 

Naomi nods slowly, “I ain’t mean it like that, I was just askin’.”

“I know, it’s dumb, but he’s my best friend and funny enough when we left high school, I think we both left those thoughts in San Francisco. So, for the past thirteen years we’ve gotten into this perfect groove and yeah…” 

When they walk into the locker room, it’s empty and almost eerily silent and it makes Naomi’s next question land in the center of the room like a pin drop. 

“Do you think the reason you reacted like that was because you do like him and have liked him all the years?” 

Gianna sets her bag down and turns to Naomi. She squints her eyes in disbelief. 

“No, I don’t think that’s the case.” She answers bluntly. “And quite frankly, I really want you to leave this alone, Trinity.” 

The atmosphere in the room turns uncomfortably cold as the pair stare at each other – it’s almost a stand down as neither one of them say a word.  Naomi shakes her head, refusing to let the conversation go. Gianna rolls her eyes, retreating from the room before she has to hear anything else about it, but her friend is on her tail. 

“Gianna, be serious.” 

Gianna groans, “No, you be serious and drop it.” She grits through her teeth. Down the hallway, she spots Jimmy and Tama in the middle of a conversation. “Jimmy, Tama.” 

Something or someone has to get Naomi off of her back and she’s hoping that her husband can help as the men turn to look at her. 

“Hey G, what’s up?” Tama smiles, pulling her closer and resting an arm over her shoulder. “Why you look like you about to kill someone.” 

“Cause, I’m ‘bout to kill your wife if she don’t leave me the hell alone.” Gianna points to Jimmy. 

The men glances at each other before they look between either women. “What the hell goin’ on?” Jimmy asks. 

Silence. Naomi raises an eyebrow, waiting for Gianna to say it but she knows she won’t let the words pass her lips. Gianna stares up at the ceiling as she shakes her head, anger not being enough to describe how she feels. Tama shakes her softly, smiling when they make eye contact. 

“Talk to us, baby.” Tama rubs her arm. 

“Jimmy, you’ve know me since we were kids, please.” Gianna begs then turns to Naomi. “And girl, I love you but don’t make me hate you.” 

With that, Gianna shakes out of Tama’s arms and marches down the hallway. There’s nowhere to go, but she refuses to stand with them any longer. That’s the problem of knowing people for so long, there’s no separation in their personal life. All she wants to do is to forget this conversation ever happened and hope that Solo never hears about it, but now Jimmy and Tama knows and soon enough Jey, Tonga, and Jacob will know. None of those men know how to keep a secret if you paid them a million dollars. 

Gianna is lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear Solo call her name. He grabs her hand to stop her, scaring her in the process. She snaps her head in his direction, faking a smile when she realizes who it is then gives him and Roman a quick nod. 

“Hey, you two.” Gianna runs her fingers through her hair suddenly very uncomfortable. 

Roman sends Solo a look before poking Gianna’s shoulder, “What’s up with you, G?”

It’s awkward for a moment as she tries to discreetly place some space between her and Solo, “nothin’, I’m just tired and tryna prep for my match tonight.” 

“You ain’t look like this even with your mania match, for real, what’s going on?” Solo questions, closing the space between them. 

Again, like said earlier, Gianna can’t hide a single emotion from Solo. Her face betrays her as if it doesn’t care what her brain says. She musters the best believable, fake smile she can and shakes her head. 

“Y’all I’m good, I promise, can we talk later?”

How long is it appropriate to kinda ignore someone? There’s always been a need to place some distance between Gianna and the amazing Fatu/Anoa’i family before she lost her fucking mind. If she didn’t, she wasn’t sure her friendship with Solo would survive – and again, it’s the most important thing to them. She felt awkward and unlike herself. Naomi sort of took the hint to cool off, Gianna wasn’t sure if she came to that conclusion on her own or if Jimmy convinced her, but whatever it was, she was thankful. 

Yet, ignoring people you’re on the same brand with came with making a lot of excuses – tired, training, media, family plans – whatever it was, she used it. Now, Solo wasn’t really accepting any more excuses, she can feel it. But Gianna needs a little more time to not feel so weird about everything. 

After her match, Gianna strolls into catering, trying to figure out if she was actually hungry or if she was just anxious… or maybe she was both? She rubs her temple as she stares at a platter of cookies. 

“You lookin’ for something sweet?” 

Gianna turns to meet eyes with one Tama. She laughs softly with a nod. 

“Yeah, tryna figure out if it’ll be worth cheating on my diet.” She stares at the cookies with a sigh. “If you eat one, I’ll eat two.” Gianna propositions him with a laugh.

Tama thinks about it for a second then shugs, “fuck it, let’s do it.” he laughs as they grab their cookies. “Can I ask you something?”  

“Uh oh, that’s scary.” Gianna jokes as they walk out of catering. “Should I be scared of this question?” 

The taller man lets out a loud laugh that makes her smile, “Nah, you ain’t gotta be scared, baby.” He waits for her to nod before he continues. “Let me take you out?” 

Gianna stops to stare at him, “and why do you wanna take me out?” 

Tama groans at the same question he’s gotten every time he asks her out. Unfortunately for him, Gianna always gave him the same response. He wraps an arm around her shoulder while continuing their walk. 

“You play too much, G,” 

Sunlight pours into Gianna’s living room as she lays sprawled on her couch, eyes transfixed on her TV. She could have said yes to Tama’s date, but her one weekend home in over a month… she needs to spend that at home for her sanity. The comfort of her couch and her puppy makes everything manageable. 

The doorbell ringing doesn’t bother her puppy nor when she slips off the couch to peek into the peephole. Gianna bites her lip when she sees Solo on the other side, hands in pocket, almost expressionless. She shuts her eyes for a moment before she unlocks the door to come face-to-face with the man she’s barely spoken to in weeks. 

“Hey,” Gianna smiles, pushing the door wider for him to come in. “I didn’t know you were comin’ over.” 

Solo smiles then his brows furrow in confusion, “When have we ever called before showin’ up at each other’s house?” He watches her shut the door in silence. “What’s up with you, Gianna?” 

They sit on the couch, Solo pets the puppy he hasn’t seen in a while, giving Gianna the chance to come up with whatever she needed to say. She’s never felt this anxious in her entire life and she wishes this wasn’t happening right now – why couldn’t she act normal about this? She knew what her feelings were and she thinks she knows what Solo’s feelings are, so why does she feel like she could go skydiving without a parachute? 

“Gia,” Solo says. The only person in the world she allows to use that awful nickname. “Talk.” 

“Naomi, a couple of weeks ago, was basically pressurin’ me about you and I’s relationship and why we’ve never dated. She wouldn’t let up on it no matter how many times I told her it wasn’t somethin’ you and I were interested in, and it just made me feel all awkward cause now I’m thinkin’ how many other people have the same idea as her and if maybe you was thinkin’ about us some type of way.” Gianna word vomits the entire sentence in one breath as she watches his reactions. When he doesn’t say anything she sighs. “Are you thinkin’ about us in another type of way, Solo?” 

Solo runs his hand over his beard, “I’ve told them all not to do this shit over and over again, I don’t know why Naomi would do that, but Nah, G. You my best friend and it’s always been that since we was kids and it not gone change now.” He confirms. “I don’t like how you felt like you had to ignore me instead of just comin’ to talk to me about it. 

Gianna swallows. There’s something in the pit of her stomach that doesn’t disappear after his answer, actually, it gets worse and she feels like she’s about to be sick, but sucks it up for the moment, mauling over his most recent statement. 

“I didn’t know how you’d react, and I’m sorry, I just started feelin’ awkward and anxious, so I just took a step back.” She smiles softly. “I know how you are and I should’ve just went to you and told you.” 

Solo finally cracks a smile. He walks up to Gianna, helping her up then envelops her in a bear hug. With their hearts pressed together, Gianna blinks away the sad tears brimming the corner of her eyes. She stares at the door, feeling nothing but… misery? On the opposite end, Solo shuts his eyes tightly with the exact same fucking feelings. 

“Listen, man, you ain’t listen, G.” Tama throws himself back in his seat in anger making her laugh. “Oh, you think this shit is funny?” 

Gianna tries to hold in her laugh, “Tama, I love you, but baby you can’t do no fucking coup de grace.” 

Tama finds himself beyond words in their argument on whether or not he’d be able to steal Finn Balor’s finisher. On a Tuesday night, this was the best they had to do as they sat in the backyard of Jimmy and Naomi’s place, liquor in hand, and no expectations for the next day. Tama sucks his teeth, turning to look at Jey as he walked out on the patio. 

“Man, tell this girl I can do Finn’s shit.” 

Jey looks at the older man then lets out a holler, “Uce, you can’t do no fuckin’ coup de grace.” 

With a shit eating grin, Gianna raises her glass then takes a sip, “I’ve said that for the past hour, thank you, my brother.” 

She sticks her tongue out at him when he places a greeting kiss on her cheek and takes the seat next to her. 

“Mr. Monday Nights, I feel like I never see you anymore.” Gianna sits up, crossing her legs. “How’s it goin’ over there? I been seein’ you and rhea.” 

“Man, we chillin’, I’m just vibin’ with everything right now.” Jey grins. “When you comin’ back to the winnin’ brand?” 

Gianna scoffs playfully, “I’m already on the winning brand, if anything, we might need you back.”

Jey shakes his head with a grin. He loks down at his glass for a moment then meets eyes with Gianna, “I miss travellin’ with y’all, but this is somethin’ good, you know?” He shrugs. “I know you missin’ me.”

“Of course I miss you,” Gianna stands and moves over to sit on his lap. “These dudes get on my last fucking nerve.” 

Tama scoffs, “what I do to you, G?” 

She rolls her eyes with a smile, “Nothin’, Tama, you ain’t do nothin’ to me.” Gianna says sarcastically before tipping the rest of her drink into her mouth. 

“The girl crushin’ on me and doesn’t know how to say it.” Tama mocks with Jey. 

“Oh yeah? So that means she got over her crush on me?” Jey raises his eyebrow.

They turn their attention to her as she slowly brings her glass down with wide eyes. Gianna’s mouth widen with a smile, trying to come up with a quick comeback. 

“Oh, y’all playin’ tonight.” Gianna sputters. 

Tama sucks his teeth, “you a horrible liar, G.” He shakes his head while Jey hums in agreement. 

“And what did I lie about?” She challenges while she stands from Jey’s lap to retake her seat between them. 

“Forget us,” Jey speaks up. “But when you say you don’t like my brother, we can see it on your face.” 

In the silence of the patio, Gianna leans back in her seat. She should’ve known that this conversation would never truly end – it was inevitable. Jey and Tama share looks as they wait for her to say something. Tama scoots his chair closer to hers. 

“Tell me somethin’ G,” Tama starts while Jey watches. “If you don’t like Solo, let me take you out tomorrow?” 

Gianna smiles, “Oh, so you’re not worried about family, you just want me.” She raises an eyebrow. “Is that what this is?” 

Tama chuckles then shrugs. “I mean, I don’t understand how they all known you all this time and haven’t taken you out.” 

With his statement, Gianna turns to Jey and raises an eyebrow. Jey chuckles and runs his hand over his beard. “I don’t know, baby, you like family at this point. We can’t cross that line.” 

“It’s okay, young me wanted you before I knew how annoying you are.” Gianna jokes as she places a hand on his cheek. “It’s all love though.” 

Jey swats her hand away while they laugh. The door to the patio opens and catches their attention.  Solo steps out, coming to join them on the lawn chairs. He sits beside Tama. 

“What’s goin’ on, people?” He greets, clocking the way the guys are  all sitting so close to Gianna. “I can hear y’all laughin’ from inside.” 

“Nothin’ man, I’m tryna get G over here to go out with me tomorrow.” Tama looks into Gianna’s eyes as he says it making her laugh. “But she think I’m playin’ with her.” He jokes.

Thankfully the trio is both distracted and drunk or they would’ve seen the way Solo was burning a hole through Tama after his sentence. The way his grip tightens around his beer could shatter the glass. Solo rolls his head before producing a fake smile just as Gianna looks in his direction. 

“They’re drunk as shit.” She lets out her own drunk giggle. Gianna studies Solo for a second then stands, holding a hand out for him to take. “Can we go talk?” 

After their conversation at her house not too long ago, things went back to normal. But there are still times when Gianna catches him deep in his own thoughts when they’re together. There’s just a slight difference in their relationship now that isn’t noticeable on certain days, but she can see it now, even though her drunken haze. 

It’s quieter at the front of the house, so Gianna and Solo rest on the hood of his car. She messes with the seam of her skirt as they sit in some silence. It’s as if they don’t know what to say to each other and it’s killing them. 

“What are you thinkin’ about, sweet?” Gianna finally asks as she turns her head towards him. 

Solo slowly shakes his head, “I ain’t know Tama had a thing for you.”

“I don’t think that the case, I think he just likes getting under my skin.”

Gianna shrugs. They sit in silence again for a moment then Solo nods. 

“Let him take you out.” 

What? Gianna wasn’t sure she heard what he said correctly. Never in their lives has he ever pushed her towards going out with someone, especially not family. Solo turns to look at her shocked and confused face. For a moment, his eyebrows furrow in confusion at her confused look, but then he nods. 

“That’s not somethin’ you want, G?” Solo asks. “might as well, you know, you been single a while now.”

Gianna opens her mouth and closes it several times, “I don’t understand you, Solo, why would you tell me to go out with him?” Now she’s slightly irritated. “What the fuck?” 

Solo holds his hands up in question, “I’m just sayin’, if you want to you should. Who you waitin’ on? Me? Man, go out with Jey too if you wanna, fuck ‘em if you wanna.” 

That makes Gianna push off the car. She turns to look at him with pure anger, “If I wanted to I would’ve, but again, what I’m tryna understand is what the fuck are you saying to me?” She can’t explain the feelings in her body as she yells at him. “I don’t understand this anymore.” Gianna motions between them. 

“And what is this?” Solo stands up straight. 

“Our friendship?” She scoffs at his question. “You know what, Solo, I’m over this and I’m over you right now.” 

Just as she finishes her statement, Jey and Tama walk out from the backyard. Solo glances in their direction then looks at Gianna. 

“Aye, one of y’all can take Gianna home now.” He says cooly. 

Gianna licks her bottom lip, “Wow, just like that?” 

“You said you done, G.” Solo shrugs without a trace of humor. “So, be done and don’t worry about me.” 

“Fuck you,” She spits, shoving him away from her. The tears hit her cheek before she can realize she even wanted to cry. “Cause I never would’ve said that shit to you in a million years but you think that’s fuckin’ cool to say to me then kick me out? You're a bitch.” 

Gianna wipes her tears as she walks away from him. She stops in front of Jey and he immediately wraps an arm around her shoulders. He sends a confused look to Tama who in turns sends daggers at Solo. 

The ride home is quiet. Jey had the unfortunate task of taking her home as Tama stayed behind, completely plastered. She sits in the passenger seat and stares out the window. It was a horrible way to end the night and she didn’t even understand where the hell it went wrong. All Gianna can think about is how her best friend essentially called her a slut because of a joke that’s been ongoing for the past year. This attitude wasn’t anything she’s ever seen from him before. 

It broke her heart to think that he saw her in that light. She was never that person. He knew that, so why say it even if he was upset at her for whatever reason? 

“What’s goin’ on with y’all?” Jey asks. 

“I don’t know,” Gianna says through shallow breaths. “He basically called me a slut then told me to leave, not much explanation there?” 

Jey glances at her shocked, “Uce said what?” He shakes his head. “I need to talk to him. Why he say that?”

Gianna rubs her temple, “Jey, he said I should sleep with Tama or sleep with you. I wish I fuck knew where he got the idea that I wanted that, but he’s convinced I do.”

By the time they make it to her house, Gianna’s panic attack is soothed. She gathers her heels and purse and looks at Jey. He gives her a sympathetic look then quickly gets out the car to open the door for her. They walk up to her door slowly and he waits as she looks for her keys then unlocks the front door. 

“Thank you for bringin’ me home, and please just leave this whole thing alone. I really do think your brother and I just need some separation for a little while. I think we’ve been in each other’s faces for too many years and it’s just a phase.” 

It was a wish that Solo would come to the conclusion on his own that what he said was wrong. Hopefully the separation would create some clarity for them both. Jey nods in understanding and pulls her into a tight hug. 

“I got you, mama, you know that.” He murmurs into her ears. “And, how about we give him something to be mad about?” She can hear the smirk in his voice. 

Gianna moves back to meet his eyes, “What do you mean by that?”  She searches his eyes then breaks out into the biggest grin he’d ever seen. “Oh my God, are you gonna kiss me? Please tell me you are so I can prepare young me.”   

Jey laughs brightly and nods. Gianna throws her stuff into the house, turns back to him, and watches as he leans into her. He presses the soft kiss on her lip, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her closer to his body. When they pull apart, Gianna covers her mouth in shock. 

“You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had in this life, thank you for that.” Gianna kisses his cheek. 

“You know I got you, G, goodnight.” 

As he walks back to the car, Gianna stands in her doorway. She laughs to herself at the fact that she got to kiss her first ever crush, even though it wasn’t in the most romantic way. She waves as Jey pulls of and closes the door to the dark house. The kiss was amazing, but it wasn’t something either of them were ever going to pursue, it was a way to make her feel better. 

Why does she feel like shit about the events earlier in the night? She didn’t do anything wrong but here she was wondering if she should text Solo first. 

There are rare instances that Gianna and Solo fought. It was rare. For them to find themselves at odds, it’d have to be serious. Their first ever fight was in elementary school when Gianna decided to sit next to another kid for an entire week. Solo proceeded to throw paper balls at her for the week until she sat next to him again. Then, in middle school, Solo thought it’d be the bright idea to date Gianna’s nemesis. They spent half of their seventh grade year at odds. High school was probably their biggest fight. For years they couldn’t come up with the reason as to why the fight started, but Gianna remembers that she started talking to some guy on the football team whose name she can’t even remember anymore. 

It was her thought that Solo would be okay with it, he knew about it, and didn’t say anything. Her relationship with the guy was fine, until it wasn’t. A rumor started that her and Solo liked each other. It wasn’t true and no matter how many times she explained it to her boyfriend, he just seemed to hear something different. The real kicker came when she found out that Solo was making stuff up and telling other players, who of course shared it to other players until the entire team was talking about it. The fight started when Gianna showed up on his porch. He denied it, even though they both knew he was doing it. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he’d sabotage her relationship. He said it was because he didn’t trust the guy. 

No correlation, he was right, her boyfriend was a piece of shit who was cheating on her, but that wasn’t the point. It took them until the following summer to make up. 

There’ve been several more fights post high school. All of them revolved around her relationships. Either the guy was too nice, too douchey, or just was plain boring. No one ever seemed to be quite right. Yet, everything before paled in comparison to this one. 

No contact is what they’ve been for the past three weeks. He avoids her when they travel, they don’t text, they don’t call. Gianna’s sick and tired of this shitty ass attitude he’s had towards her and refuses to be the one that fixes it. So, she’s letting it run its course, if it ever does. Hopefully it does or it’ll ruin the next few days.

“Hey girlie,” Naomi smiles, wrapping her arm around Gianna as she sets her carry on down.

Gianna scrunches her nose, “Hey baby doll, you look cute.” She scans Naomi’s outfit for the flight. “Your ass is actually insane, bro, how Jimmy handle all that?” 

Naomi laughs as they find a spot to sit, “Girl bye,” she waves her off. “Did you bring your best outfits?” 

“Oh, of course, I plan on being the best dressed.” 

Once a year, for the past ten years, they all take a big vacation to relax. Naomi and Gianna were the ones to convince everyone and it’s become habit. This year, they decided on Puerto Rico because they loved it so much when they all went for Backlash. It was probably one of their easiest ones to pick – usually it’s a big group argument about where to go, and this years they’ve invited three new, annoying people in Tama, Tonga, and Jacob. 

“Where are the brothers?” Gianna quickly glances around. 

“They went to get somethin’ to eat, you know how they are.” She rolls her eyes then clears her throat. “You and lil man talkin’ again?” 

Gianna chuckles at the nickname but shakes her head, “No, I think we just need some more time.” 

And unfortunately, the three hour flight had Solo and Gianna sitting besides each other. They both bought their tickets months ago and it was awkward. Neither of them had the idea to switch seats, but both had their headphones on, acting as if the other wasn’t there. Gianna’s eyes rarely stray from the window out of fear of making eye contact with him. 

Hours flew by from the plane ride, to the awkward waiting for their car, and the hour drive to the rented villa. Gianna wants to run and hide and take the ride with Tama and Tonga and Jacob, but Naomi wasn’t having it, so she found herself squished beside her in the quietest car ride. 

Sunset shines off everyone’s sunglasses when they finally get to the house. Gianna flicks her hair over her shoulder as she grabs her suitcase from the driver with a small smile. 

“G, you sleepin’ with me?” Tama yells out. 

Their car pulls in with him hanging out the window. Gianna laughs as she turns to see them. Tama leaves the guys behind to wrap his arms around her. 

“I can’t share with you,” Gianna laughs against his chest.

Tama raises an eyebrow, “cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself when it comes to me?” 

Gianna pushes him away but he doesn’t move, “no, cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” she smiles, glancing at his hand that’s at the top of her ass. “like right now.” 

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you, G.” 

His eyes never leave hers as he talks  and Gianna finds herself, for the first time, completely lost in the thought of his words. She hums softly and looks around at everyone making their way towards the front door. 

“Fine, we can share, but you have to promise to keep your dick in your pants.” She stares up at him. “Unless, I say otherwise.” Her voice dips as a glint sparkles in his eyes. 

The house is absolutely insane. Once everyone claims their rooms: Jimmy and Naomi in one, Gianna and Tama in one, then everyone gets their own with a single room left empty, they meet in the kitchen to eat before getting started. 

“Where’s Roman? I thought he was traveling with you guys?” Naomi points to Tonga. 

Tonga sips his water, “He should be here later tonight.” 

“Who invited you?” Gianna points to Jacob who’s pulling out his cigarettes. 

Jacob throws a wrapper in her direction making her laugh, “Didn’t you ask me, Gigi?” 

Gianna gags at the nickname, “And I think I’m regrettin’ that now.” 

“Oh Gigi,baby, you know you love me.” Jacob comes around the counter, wrapping his arm around her waist. She leans her head away with a groan. “Don’t act like that.” 

Gianna folds under the pressure, giving into a smile and letting Jacob hug her. He’s the biggest teddy bear of the group and she can’t be mad at him for too long, even if she was only pretending.

“Man, y’all let’s eat.” 

 Most of them took a nap after they ate. Gianna sighs into her pillow when she feels Tama’s hand on her hip. She keeps her eyes closed, but slaps his hand away. 

“Tama, stop playin’, I’m tired.” 

Tama groans softly, moving closer to rest his chin on her arm, “I ain’t tired, G.” 

Gianna opens her eyes and looks over at him. She searches his eyes for a while before shifting down to see his shirtless torso and it’s a fight to bring her eyes back to his. 

“You’re a horny fuck, do you know that?” she asks softly, laying on her back. “Why you stressin’ me, Tama, you haven’t let me breathe since we met.” 

They met several years ago at an event. The twins introduced them and it’s been history ever since. He was the biggest flirt she’s ever met and she’s his primary victim. Once he joined the main roster, she hasn’t had a moment of peace. 

“I can't let you pass me by, Gianna.” He leans up on the palm of his hand, hovering over her. “I want you.” 

She shies under his gaze. His usually playful face is more serious than she’s ever seen. Gianna watches the way his other hand slowly moves the duvet from her body. Tama gets on his knees in front of her and pulls her up against him so they’re both kneeled in front of each other. 

“We can’t be together,” Gianna whispers softly, feeling his hand on her back. “You know that.” 

“I know that, G.” 

Yet, the doesn’t stop either of them as their lips come together. Gianna sighs into his lips while Tama wraps his arm around her waist and pull her into his bare chest. The kiss starts to get frantic, neither one of them wants to pull away, it’s like life or death. Tama manuevers them back onto the mattress, but Gianna snaps out of his and pulls away. 

“I need to cool off,” She rolls to the other side of the bed, trying to catch her breath while he lays besides her. “I’m gonna go get some water.” 

Gianna gets to the bottom of the stairs, playing with her hair as she tries to find a light switch in the darkness. She finally turns one on then looks for the glasses to get a drink of water. She’s barely down a sip when she hears a knock on the door. Gianna hesitates for a minute, looking down at the oversized judgment day shirt she was wearing with nothing else. 

She walks over cautiously and peeks towards the glass door but calms when she sees the familiar, friendly face. Gianna cheers as she runs towards the door. 

“Ro, you’re here,” she throws the door open. “How was your flight?”

Roman takes a deep breath as he shuffles in, “exhausting, but hey G.” 

She chuckles, giving him a quick hug, then takes him over to his room that’s on the main floor near Jimmy and Naomi. Roman drops down on the bed with a huff as she stands in the doorway. 

“Excited to not think about work for the next three days?” 

“Very,” He peeks at her. “You upstairs?” 

Gianna nods, “Yeah, i’m sharing with Tama.” 

That catches Roman’s attention and he sits up, “Huh… Why’s that?” 

For a moment she thinks about it, suddenly very cautious and aware that she just made out with him. 

“I dunno, he asked so I said yes.” She speaks slowly. 

“Well, if you need an escape from that fool, you got a space down here.” 

With a smile, Gianna blows him a kiss, “I appreciate that, Ro, I’ll let you shower.” 

Back in the living room, Tonga and Jacob were sitting on the couch in their own conversation. Jacob whistles when he sees her. Gianna rolls her eyes and goes around to sit across from them on the couch. 

“I thought y’all were passed out,” She crosses her legs. 

Jacob groans, “Man, this fool woke me up talkin’ ‘bout it’s time to drink.” 

Gianna laughs and leans her head back against the arm of the couch to stair at the ceiling, “I’m down with Tonga, where’s everyone else?” 

“Jim took Naomi and Solo to the store.”  Tonga says as he watches the way Gianna absentmindedly taps her exposed thigh. “Tama ain’t botherin’ you, is he?” 

“Nah, he’s not botherin’ me.” Gianna meets his eyes. “Not yet at least.” 

For a little while, the trio sit in a meaningless conversation about backstage at Smackdown. Tama joins them not long after, taking a seat beside Gianna, stealing glances at her when she’s talking. Their conversations halts when the door opens and a loud cheer comes from Jimmy. 

“Good, all your asses awake now.” He calls out as she comes into the living room with the bags. 

Gianna gets on her knees on the couch, facing him, “so, what’s in the bags?” She smiles hopefully. 

“You wondering if I got your stuff?” He raises an eyebrow. Jimmy shuffles through the bag before he pulls out a bottle of 1942 Tequila. “You know I got you, sis.” 

With a dramatic sigh, Gianna grabs the bottle and kisses it before she sends Jimmy an air kiss. She peers back to catch a look from Tonga. He smirks and leans in towards Jacob to whisper something to him. Jacob chuckles and peers over at her. 

They don’t look away when she keeps her focus on them. So, Gianna shakes her ass in their direction. Tama whistles and grabs her by the waist, pulling her t-shirt down. 

“Nah, this all me.” He points to Tama and Jacob. 

Solo and Noami come out from the kitchen and she claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. 

“You two, c’mon, y’all been nappin’ too long.” Naomi points to Tonga and Tama. “G, give me the bottle.” She holds out her hand and Gianna sadly gives it back. 

Gianna sighs back into her seat with a pout making Jacob laugh. She turns to look back at Solo then quickly turns around when they make eye contact. Her heart falls and she drops her head down to stare at her legs. Jacob looks up at Solo and widen his eyes then look at her. Solo, thankfully, gets the hint and clears his throat as he comes to sit beside Gianna. 

“Can we go outside and talk, Gia?” 

The nickname makes her look up. She nods slowly and follows him out to the backyard. There’s a pool and they’re overlooking the ocean as they sit on the lounge chairs across from each other.

A silence sits amongst them for a while as Gianna massages her scalp. Solo keeps his eyes on her while trying to come up with the first word to say. She finally looks at him and raises an eyebrow. For all the years they’ve known each other, if he fucked up, Gianna will sit in silence until he apologizes, and she’s good at that. 

“Gianna, I was an ass to you and I’m sorry.” Solo finally talks. “I didn’t mean what I said and I never should’ve said it. You’re my best friend.” 

Gianna swallows hard, “why’d basically call me a slut?” 

Solo shakes his head and looks down in shame, “it’s dumb,” he says lowly. Gianna uses her foot to nudge his to continue. “I felt like you was pullin’ away from me, and then you was getting close with them and I just…” 

“So you were jealous?” She nudges him again. 

“I shouldn’t, cause you can hang with whoever you want, I don’t own you.” He meets her eyes. “I want us to go back to how we were, Gia, I love what we got and how we doin’ it.” 

When he finishes, Gianna rubs her hands together, “I accept your apology, because you’re my best friend, and I know your heart.” She reaches out and grabs his hand. “If you ever imply that i’m a slut ever again, I’ll cut your dick off.” 

They break into a smile then a fit of laughter as they stare at each other. Solo stands and pulls her into his arms in a bear hug. He lifts Gianna off the ground as she shriek, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“I love you, Gia.” Solo sets back on the ground. 

“Love you much more.” She caresses his cheek like the million of times she has before. “I’m happy we’re cool now.” 

She turns first to walk away but feels his hand hold her in place. 

“Also, I said it like an asshole, but really, Tama likes you.” 

Gianna searches his eyes, for what, but she’s not sure what she’s expecting. Her stomach slightly drops but she sports a smile and a nod. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Solo walks in first, leaving her outside, in the middle of her thoughts. Gianna watches him bounce around the room, obviously a weight off of his shoulder after their conversation. Yet, now she feels a million time heavier. 

Tama peeks his head out the house. He sends a bright smile and steps out to stand with her. Gianna stares into his eyes, making a decision to let go of the one thing that’s been gnawing at her. She steps closer to him and holds onto his arms. Tama knows the look in her eyes and nods silently for a little bit. 

“So, it’s a no for us?” He finally questions. 

Gianna places a hand on his cheek, but then immediately moves it, “the opposite, actually, we can see how this goes.” 

He squeezes her in a hug, but all Gianna can do is stare at Solo from inside the house. When they move eye contact, she holds it until he’s the first to look away. 

Back inside, Gianna stealthily grabs the bottle of 1942 and hurries back into the living room. She jumps onto the couch just as Roman arrives. He glances down at her and chuckles. 

“Who bought you Tequila?” He rests against the arm of the couch. Gianna shrugs, trying to mask her grin. “You know you get crazy off that Tequila, G, what we gettin’ into tonight?” 

Gianna thinks for a moment, “i’m getting fucked up off this 1942, everything’s up.” 

Roman claps his hands on her shoulder, “you do know you get really sentimental when you drunk? Save me a kiss when you go around kissing everyone.” 

A laugh falls from Gianna’s mouth, “you’ll get the first kiss this time, promise.” 

Drunk Gianna is fun Gianna. It’s her and a bottle of Tequila against the world. Instead of going out the first night, it was easier for them all to just eat, drink, and listen to music at the house. Gianna was about five shots deep, pouring Tequila into everyone’s mouth as it got later into the night. 

They pulled the sliding doors all the way open, letting the music waft out poolside. Jimmy and Naomi were in the pool, lips stretched, Jey and Solo were going between the patio and the living room, Gianna sat on Tama’s lap in the living room with Roman and Jacob as they played 2K. 

“G, baby, ain’t it time for your drunk kissin’?” Naomi called out from the pool. 

“Yeah, I'll save yours for later.” Gianna sticks her tongue out. “Ro, you want another shot?” 

“Pour it up,” He responds, his eyes not leaving the screen. 

Gianna gets off Tama’s lap, takes a moment to steady herself then drops down beside Roman. She carefully leans his head back to pour the tequila into his mouth. They lock eyes as she does so. After his mouth is full, Gianna moves the bottle and lets him go, but neither of them look away. 

“I'll come back for you later,” Gianna winks, using her finger to place his attention back onto the tv. 

A sudden yell from the kitchen catches her attention. Gianna makes her way into the kitchen to see Tonga and Solo turn to look at her with their hands behind their backs. She rests against the counter to steady herself then takes a sip from her bottle. 

“And what are y’all up to?” She raises an eyebrow. 

Tonga glances at Solo before he lets out a sigh, “we unfortunately can’t tell you that, G.” A wicked smirk on his lips. 

Gianna cocks her head to the side. She taps her nail on the counter before shrugging her shoulder. “That’s fine, you’ll come crawling to me later.” She winks while turning on her heels. 

As she leaves the kitchen, Gianna smacks herself on her ass. She sighs softly in the living room. She leans over to whisper into Tama’s ear. 

“Wanna go into the pool?” 

Tama looks up, “you ain’t gotta ask me twice.” 

Outside, Gianna finally sheds the oversized shirt she’s been wearing, leaving her in a bra and thong. Naomi whistles at the sight making Gianna blow her a kiss. 

“c’mon, G.” Tama watches as she takes a swig of the 1942 then places the bottle at the edge of the pool. 

After jumping into the pool, splashing the other couple, Gianna pulls Tama further down with her. She wraps her legs around him as they surface. Gianna closes her eyes as he twirls her around in the water. She closes her arms around his neck, pushing their bodies together. 

Without a word, Gianna draws him into a kiss. Tama doesn’t miss a beat, falling into the rhythm. His arms tighten around her. All the noise, mostly coming from the other couple cheering them on, falls into the background as it becomes messier. 

A drunk Gianna finally pulls away with a laugh, floating onto her back. She was too drunk to even process anything more than Naomi pulling her arm towards her. 

“G, girl, I need to party like you.” Naomi laughs. 

“Babe, my bottle of 1942 is off limits, sorry!” She shouts, swimming up towards the edge to grab the bottle. Gianna pours more Tequila into her mouth before stumbling out of the pool. “where’s everyone?” 

She stumbles lightly into the living room. Gianna scans the room, only seeing Roman on the ground. She whistles to catch his attention. 

“You comin’ in?” Gianna asks but he shakes his head. She walks over to him and drops down next to him. “More ‘42?” 

Roman takes the bottle out of her hand and pours some of the liquor into his mouth, “you drippin’ water everywhere.” His voice is dark as he stares at her bare legs. 

“Then grab me a towel.” She raises an eyebrow. 

He gets up, pulling her alongside him into his room. Gianna sets her bottle on the dresser and runs her fingers through her wet hair, mentally cursing at the fact she’ll have to wash it later. Roman comes out of the bathroom with a towel, pausing to watch her. 

Gianna meets him where he stands. She slides the towel out of his hand and wipes down her body. When all the water is dry, she tosses the towel on the ground and then turns her attention to Roman who's still silent. She steps closer to him, messing with the hem of his shirt. 

“You got me alone, in the dark, you not gonna take advantage of this moment?” Gianna murmurs when they gaze into each other's eyes. “Cause i’m waitin’ on you.”

Roman chuckles, “You don’t need no more tequila.” 

She shrugs at the comment. Yet, even with that, he doesn’t move an inch, but instead, continues to watch her actions. Gianna gets on her tiptoes slowly, hands on his chest to keep herself steady. She doesn’t say anything, only stares into his eyes, until his eyes drift down onto her lips. Roman finally captures her lips with his, making her lose her breath. 

In the pitch-black darkness of the room, Roman pins Gianna against the wall with his hands cupping her face. It catches her off guard at first, the sheer hunger in the kiss, the neediness, was unlike anything else — this is a new question she needs answered. Roman hikes her legs up around his waist, one hand firmly on her ass to keep her up. 

“This what you wanted, G?” He growls in her ear, getting a moan in response. “I been watchin’ you with Tama all night, now you wanna be in my bed?” Roman continues, peppering kisses down her neck, sucking on a sensitive spot. 

Gianna arches her back against the wall, “And so what? is that a problem for you?” she hits back, knowing there’d be a hickey in that spot he was still sucking on. “Are you tryna mark me?” 

“I don’t need to mark you, baby, I can make you mine without all that.” 

His mouth moves up to her lips again, taking her into a breathless kiss, “You’re so fucking cocky,” Gianna says in a breath before his lips is back on hers. 

Breathing is harder every time Roman pulls away. Gianna’s head spins, but she’s never one to tap out. Her fingers slowly massage her raw and swollen lips while making note of how long he’s been holding her up. Roman swipes her fingers away to look at his handiwork, making her nervous under his strong gaze. He finally breaks a small smirk. 

“Where you sleepin’ tonight?” He questions, but Gianna can tell it wasn’t a question. 

“I actually have no plans on goin’ back out there.” She murmurs when being placed on her feet. 

Roman nods. Gianna grabs the bottle of 1942 and sits on the edge of the bed. She downs the last of it and lays back on the bed. All she can do is let out a soft laugh when one random thought pops into her head: maybe she is a slut. But, honestly, who gives a fuck?

Life is more fun when you don’t give a fuck. 

Gianna sits up slowly, “Are you just gonna sit there or should I go find someone else?” 

“That’s a threat, G, you wanna threaten me?” Roman stalks up towards her. Gianna eyes the boner he has under his joggers then shrugs. “What you lookin’ at?” He smirks. 

Feeling his soft touch on her skin, Gianna flips onto her stomach and looks back at him, “Please?” She rests her head on the mattress. 

How could he say no when she asks so nicely. Roman trains his eyes on her as he drops his jogger, chuckling at her reaction. His hands slide up her legs before massaging her ass. Gianna's eyes flutter shut, even when he helps drop her up on her knees. His rough hands were weirdly soothing to her. 

“Gianna, look at me,” His voice rough. 

When she opens her eyes, a gasp escapes her lips as he pushes into her slowly. With her thong to the side, Gianna can feel every inch of him pressing into her. She clutches the bed sheets not finding enough air in her lungs. 

“Fuck,” Gianna moans into the bed, feeling his hand on her stomach. “Roman, please.” She pleads at his achingly slow pace. 

“I got you baby,” 

With one swift buck of his hip, Roman fully pushes into her then pulls out, repeating those steps until there were tears of pleasure streaming down the side of her face. Gianna’s moans were breathy at his erratic movements. 

Roman grunts softly, “talk to me, G, how you feelin’?” He leans to whisper in her ears. 

“Just keep goin’, please, I need it.” Gianna begs, unable to think of anything beside the sensation pulsing through her body. “I need it.” She muffles a loud moan into the mattress. 

Her legs, now shaking, couldn’t hold her up anymore. She was shaking so bad. Roman pulls out, chuckling at her groan, to turn her onto her stomach. He waits as Gianna pulls her thong off and throws it across the room. Roman pulls her towards the edge of the bed and plunges into her. Gianna’s back arches off the bed, wraps her legs around him, unwavering in their eye contact. 

Ecstasy would be the only word to describe what’s pulsating through her body. She finds Roman’s arm, digging her fingernails into his skin to find some form of tension. Gianna’s eyes roll to the back of her head, a loud moan reverberating through the room as she came down from the high. She was barely breathing when he pulled out of her, cumming on her stomach.

There were no other words when Roman collapsed beside her. Gianna rolls towards him, resting her head on his chest. Before a minute passed, they were knocked out. 

The sun in the room blinds Gianna when she finally opens her eyes. She moans softly, sitting up, but freezes in realization that she’s not in her own room. Beside her, Roman stirs. 

“Oh, shit.” Gianna covers her mouth, glancing around to see her bra and thong alongside Roman’s clothes. “Oh… shit…” 

Roman grunts as he opens his eyes. When he looks in her direction, his eyes widen. Gianna runs her hands through her hair not knowing how to start this conversation. That, and the fact, that she can’t get out of bed because she’s naked. 

“G, baby, did we…” Roman sits up as she nods. “Oh, shit.”

Before anything else is said, Gianna bursts into a fit of laughter. She shakes her head at the scenario in front of them. Roman finally cracks a smile, running his hand down his face. 

“Okay, I’m gonna get up and leave before anyone sees us.” Gianna slides out of the bed, finding her bra and Roman’s shirt. She turns to look at him before quietly exiting the room.

The living room, thankfully, is empty, but Jacob and Jey are passed out on the couch. Gianna tiptoes to the kitchen and starts the coffee. Anything can help with this hangover. When it is ready, she takes her coffee out by the pool. Her feet dangle as she thinks of the mess she’s put herself in now. 

“There you are,” Naomi walks out in her bikini, taking a seat beside the younger woman. “You went missing last night.” 

“I passed out in Roman’s bed, bless his heart.” Gianna smiles. “I need to lay off the Tequila sometimes.” 

Naomi laughs, “Girl, I don’t think anyone here, beside me, can remember anything from last night.” She says then clears her throat. “So, how are things with you and Solo?” 

Gianna sips her coffee slowly, “We’re good. He apologized and told me to get with Tama.” 

“That’s good,” 

For a long moment, neither one of them says anything. Gianna can only think about how she woke up in Roman’s bed. There’s no one she can confide in — as much as she loves Naomi, the information will eventually find itself being shared with Jimmy and it’ll make the rounds from there. She runs the risk of Solo and Tama finding out and that’s the last thing she wants. 

“I’m gonna go shower the Tequila smell off of me, be back and we can swim?” Gianna starts to get up. 

“I’ll be right here, G, I’ll save you a mimosa.” 

Gianna winks as she enters the living room. Jey stirs on the couch, groaning loudly. She leans against the arm of the couch for a second. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty, coffee?” 

Jey nods with his lopsided smile. “You’re my savior, G.” He scans her outfit then chuckles. “You don’t own pants?” 

“Nope, but you can just say that my half naked body makes you horny.” She teases when he grabs the mug from her. 

“Oh, that’s what you wanna hear?” 

Gianna shrugs, lightly yawning with a stretch, purposely raising the shirt to give a glimpse of her ass. “Who knows, but you staring at my ass tells me more than anything else.” She winks. 

“You play dirty,” Jey groans softly, leaning his head back. 

“It’s the only way to play, Jey.”

Upstairs was quiet. Gianna found Tama asleep on bed, body horizontal. She slips into the shower and sighs under the warm water. Lost in her own thoughts, Gianna leans against the cool tiles, letting the water cascade down her body. 

There are rarely moments that make Gianna stop and think. She’s always been the wild child, that’s what people love about her, the willingness to throw caution to the wind, party until the sun rises and not remember what happened the night before. 

In her last relationship, she took precautions — too many precautions because her ex didn’t appreciate the wildness she brought along. Now, she’s not understanding why she’s acting out. Sleeping with Roman was never part of her plans, if anything, it almost concerns her. Yes, he’s the most attractive human on the planet, but it was never something she thought of. 

The person she wants, she’s now realizing, doesn’t want her. Gianna is in love with her best friend, but he’s not in love with her. How was she supposed to deal with that? 

Gianna doesn’t do well with unrequited love, it makes her crazy. It makes her act erratically. It’ll literally drive her insane. 

“G, baby, that’s you?” Tama’s hoarse voice slices through the room. He opens the fogged shower door in nothing. “You doin’ okay?” 

She looks at him for a moment then pulls him into the shower. Tama licks his lips as she presses him against the wall. Gianna runs his chest softly and slowly moves down until her hands wrap around his dick. 

No, she’s not doing okay. But, when life gives you lemons: fuck. 

one of my most hectic pieces of work. thanks for ignoring all my grammatical errors... i literally went to school for writing

but until next time... or until part two x

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hintata shoto x tall!female!reader romantic headcanons

You got it! Shoyo is absolutely into tall queens, his gf can carry him around. He gets to be pampered and spoiled and be cute since he’s smaller. Yessss~!

Shoyo Hinata- North and South

Right up. Shoyo is the one who basically bulldozed towards you at full speed and asked you out. He may be a bit shy with beautiful girls like you but he is not afraid, he will coming in guns’a’blazing. He proudly yells out, after catching you in the hallway, a;

‘Go out with me, Dokusha!’

And yes. You said yes. Shoyo felt like he was flying when you smiled at him with your beautiful face and agreed to his request, even when he suspected not a single chance since you probably only knew him as the short middle blocker from the Volleyball club

But yet, you have him the chance he never thought he’d get. Shoyo is extensively training with his team after school in the Gymnasium and hitting Kageyama in the head with the volleyball. Proud, he’s unstoppable and his heart is flying as high as he can jump for basically the whole goddamn week

Shoyo absolutely asks all his friends for help with you… mainly Kageyama, whose gives the worst advice, and he does those bad ideas. He does every single thing his friends suggest to impress you and make you smile. You don’t even mind when he messes up and just keep trying him out. He is cute, he is caring, he is cheerful, he is inspiring and you do like short guys so you’re all for exploring Shoyo as a boyfriend

And you do! You also don’t regret it

I won’t say Shoyo has a baby-like attitude over your height but he is very clingy about it. He wants you to carry him around so he can; one see the world from the higher spots and two; just enjoy being able to touch and embrace you. Front or back, hook him on. He’ll be fine

Shoyo is so caring to you. He is the ultimate wingman and motivation-giver, he will always be there to support you, little or big situation, and he’ll give you his raw determination and ambition to help you persist through everything. He’s a excellent idol, even when learning and growing, and he strives to be perfect for you

Shoyo is quite loving and touchy. Like, he is always attached to your hip. He loves hugging you, the moment he sees you. He parts from whoever he’s with, to cling onto you like you can’t walk without him supporting you. He just wants any excuse to breath in your beautiful scent and look up at ‘your goddess of a face’

Shoyo is an emotional bond connector, not for the body or whatever pleasure you can give him physically. Shoyo doesn’t care if you’re fit as a brick wall or flabby like a sack of potatoes. He doesn’t care if you’re skinny or overweight. He loves you, he cares about who you are and he will never ever value your body or your looks over you. He does find you beautiful, no doubt, but it plays second fiddle to your true beauty!

Your personality

Shoyo is the most eccentric energetic boyfriend you will ever have in your life. He’s the golden retriever to your white siberian. He never stops running, he never stops in general. He can barely even sit down for five minutes without twitching, but if he is sat in your lap or cuddling your torso… he’s out as fast as you can snap your fingers

Shoyo is loyal as actual heck. You think he even looks at other girls now that he has you?! He doesn’t even look at… stimulating material as a growing hormonal boy, if it doesn’t include you. He’s that deadset on you. He won’t even look at Kiyoko since he refuses to find any other girl as beautiful as you

Shoyo chats. He’s open, he trusts you but he also has no idea when to stop so he tells you everything whilst you two are having lunch together. He’ll go in depth on how Tanaka and Nishinoya got flung like frisbees out of the window when charging for Kiyoko to explaining how Kageyama’s gym clothes smell like a combination of rotten eggs and soy sauce… he just

He’s very silly

Shoyo is a silly boyfriend. Silly, playful, he does his best to make you laugh and smile but don’t get me wrong. He absolutely can get serious… in his own Shoyo way, he just prefers to deflect the sadness and make you focus on the positives but if not, he’ll be here as an listening ear for you and your issues

Shoyo genuinely believes you and him will persist so trust me… he’s already looking for the perfect wedding ring for you. He’s just that certain you’re his soulmate. Let him have this

Shoyo feels comfortable with admitting his insecurities over his lack of height to you, but thanks to you and your support and your words, he grows to discard that issue altogether as he knows he can make up for his height on the court very well, whilst you can make up for his height in civil reasons. You’re his height

Now. To the part we all want; heights. Shoyo loves his tall queens, if a woman towers over him. He’s bleeding at the nose, it’s very intimidating but it’s making him feel amazing at the same time

Hell, Shoyo will even make himself smaller so you’ll take care of him— yes, he is the submissive bottom of you and his relationship. He likes it when you make him blush and whimper, he likes it when you sit him on the table to kiss him, he likes it when you retrieve things on the high shelf for him. He just… likes it

Shoyo just loves tall queens and he is glad you like short kings. Sure, he wouldn’t mind a short queen but tall queens call out to him more

“Baby! Baby! Wanna come join in on practicing with me? Sensei Tanaka and Sensei Nishinoya said they’ve been working on a routine for a game they said will win every time! Of course, I want you apart of it! You’re my girlfriend! Pleeeeaaassee~?”

[strangelittlestories]

The three girls were sitting outside the McDonalds by the dingy underpass beneath the A-road that circled the town. They wore grey hoodies and seemed to be arguing.

Cee checked the map she had been given by the Hermes courier. It was still there in her hand, even here in the dream. She had followed the route as best she could.

1) Head north until you reach the country club. 2) Steal a rowboat and head out onto the lake. 3) When the storm descends, bargain with the spirit at the centre for passage, 4) When you are spit out you’ll find yourself in a forest pond, at which point you must turn twice widdershins and pass under the mushroom arch. 5) Take the footpath until you’re back on the main road, then take a left past the Gregg’s. 6) Look for the golden arches on Argyle Street. 7) Fall asleep there and dream: in your mind, they shall be there.

Here she was. And these must be the ladies.

She sidled over and began to hear their argument:

“Dana, give it. You know I cannot read the thrice-cursed menu without the i.”

The girl who spoke was reaching for a battered old iphone, which the second girl was currently using to record a video.

“Shut up, Enya, you are distracting me. You can have the i once I have used it to complete the Oracle Challenge on TikTok.”

The third girl snatched the iphone away, while the first two bickered and began scrolling it with one hand.

“Oh my gods, Freddo, you already have the tooth! Stop hogging!”

The third girl grinned and produced a small off-white bluetooth speaker from her hoodie. She tapped the iphone screen and the speaker began playing Despacito.

“It is almost out of charge, sisters. I must have my jams - my jams! My jams! - before it is fully depleted.”

Cee cleared her throat, so as not to surprise them.

“Um, excuse me.” The three girls all swung their heads to face Cee at the exact same time. “I was told that you three would know where to find the gorgon?”

The three replied at once, speaking over each other in one fluid and deeply creepy rush.

“Oh for-” “-the sake of-” “-Zeus’s golden showers-" “-another would-be hero-” “-approaches us to- “-accomplice another monster murder-” “-get-” “-to-” “-fudge.”

“Oh no,” Cee replied. “You’ve misunderstood. The gorgon is my girlfriend. I think … an ancient king or god or something … kidnapped her?”

“Hmmm.” said Dana. “That’s new. I don’t know if I like it yet.”

“Oooh, a queer retelling,” said Dana, “BookTok is gonna flip their shit about this.”

“No. A fully unadulterated, manifested, healthily boundaried ‘no’.” said Freddo, “I am not gonna be a part of burying this gay. And I will gatekeep the flip out of you if I must.”

Cee thought for a moment.

“I get where you’re coming from,” she said, “but perhaps I could offer you something in exchange? I notice you just have the one dying iphone and one dodgy speaker between you?”

“One i and one tooth, yes. That is the way of it.”

“Well … I could offer you this power bank and a couple of USB/lightning cables? Then you could keep your stuff charged and you might not have to argue over the last dregs of power?”

The three girls huddled and whispered for a moment. The sound of the cars on the circular road above - each roaring with the sound of a thought tearing through Cee’s subconscious - drowned out their deliberations. Once more, they looked up at exactly the same time and all spoke as one.

“Very well, we shall tell you what you seek.”

Cee was glad she had brought the charge brick with her. She supposed it was true what they said: In the ring-road of the mind, the charged iphone is king.

---

With thanks to Anne V McClure for the Word of the Month prompt ‘Kingdom’. Want to submit your own prompts for tortured puns? Become a supporter on Ko-Fi! https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[captainhunnicutt]

One of my all time favorite episodes is "The Yalu Brick Road," and sure, part of it is because it's written by Mike - but I think it's also a really interesting study in how BJ uses humor to diffuse any sort of situation. I should preface all of this with, yes, I understand this is an episode that is pure sitcom comedy. The absurdity of the situation is the humor, and we all knew that nothing drastic was ever going to happen to Hawkeye and BJ. They weren't going to die, and even if they actually got captured - they would make it back to the 4077. I suppose there's an argument to be made that by Henry dying, it opened up a world of possibilities where any member of the 4077th wasn't safe - but I've yet to come across someone who truly believed Hawkeye and BJ weren't going to come out of this situation in any other way besides comedic flare.

It's no secret that I think BJ stands out as a character whose complexity goes beyond the surface of his seemingly laid-back demeanor. I think there's a lot of reasons why he appears that way, but maybe it's not a true and accurate representation of him as a whole - but that's another post for another time. In "The Yalu Brick Road," the idea that Hawkeye and BJ are almost captured by Ralph (a single North Korean), who in turn actually wants to be captured by Americans... and they all mutually surrender to one another is just absurd. It's a perfect sitcom plot line. It takes something potentially serious and flips it on its head and makes it ridiculous.

As drafted doctors, one might think that BJ and Hawkeye's reactions to every situation from the time the jeep wrecks is so absurd and unrealistic - and to an extent it is. While I've never been a drafted doctor, I can't imagine that I would remain as calm as they both did. I think it could also be argued that BJ's character was notoriously "calm" and "collected," and his reactions to everything might not have seemed entirely out of character. But... why is that? What is it about what makes BJ tick that makes the calmness in the most absurd situation actually work?

I think it's because Mike recognized that BJ's calmness is rooted in several fundamental parts of his character - starting first with his general professionalism and competence. He's a highly skilled surgeon (yes, Hawkeye is as well and anything that I say is not to negate anything about Hawkeye. I am just explaining my opinion on why Mike made the choices he did for BJ and only BJ.) I think when you're as confident in your skills as BJ was, that easily translates into a steady demeanor under pressure. He can't perform in the OR if he's a nervous mess. It's how he gets out of tight situations - and maybe subconsciously those same methods are applied in the face of either a.) potentially captures or b.) being lost in the middle of a war. I guess what I'm saying is that this level of professionalism is a cornerstone of BJ's character, and it's not really surprising that it would extend to moments of potentially personal danger.

The Korean War presented an array of horrific and absurd situations, and humor becomes a vital coping mechanism for all of those at the 4077th. I've often wondered if the wildness of the A-plot in Yalu is Mike's way of commenting on the absurdity of war in general. How 99% of the situations that these men, women, and children found themselves in is because of the insanity of others. That it is absolutely absurd to think of a war as anything other that blatantly insane, and there are real people impacted and facing ridiculous decisions and situations day in and day out. And that sometimes, the only thing we can do to maintain our sanity is to laugh. By cracking jokes, by being sarcastic, by being himself - BJ shields himself from the potentially overwhelming fear and stress of the situation that could easily consume him. Instead of firing bullets to keep himself safe, he's firing off quips and jokes. It's the one trait of his that never waivers throughout the entire series - and one of the main reasons Yalu works.

The absurdities (I am so sorry for reusing this word as much as I have) of war and touching on them throughout the series helps balance the line between comedy and really tragedy, and showing how the characters cope with the bizarre reality of their situations hits in different ways for different people. BJ's ability to find humor in the absolute absurdity in Yalu, and just the war in general, is a reflection of this broader theme throughout MASH.

I think the fact that he was going through all of the potential danger and fear alongside Hawkeye helped BJ respond and react in the most typical BJ way possible. No reaction. Nothing out of the ordinary. I think the presence of Hawkeye was a significant factor in BJ's overall calmness. Their connection runs deep, and it's not even about Beejhawk. Whether you ship them together or you don't - it's very hard to deny that their connection exists and that they really help keep the other tethered to reality and focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel. I think on some level, BJ just knew that as long as Hawkeye was right there with him, and going through everything as well, they will get out of every situation. He draws strength from their relationship, and sometimes I think this was Mike's way of giving a nod to Alan for welcoming him with open arms, for fostering a community where people could grow and take risks and learn new things, and for just being his friend. The bond between Mike and Alan wouldn't exist without the bond between BJ and Hawkeye, and I think Mike deliberately putting the characters in a potentially really bad situation - but coming out of it unscathed and together - speaks volumes.

"The Yalu Brick Road" is, in my opinion, one of the funnier episodes - but I really love and appreciate that Mike knew exactly who BJ was and knew exactly how BJ would react - and nothing felt weird or out of place. None of it felt forced. The reactions felt aligned with the character arcs, and Mike's ultimate vision of who BJ was and who BJ was going to become.

I also love that Mike saw an opportunity to put Alan in a sidecar and without hesitating took it. Such a BJ move.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 2: Dusk]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 4.0k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @ipostwhatifeel​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @quartzs-posts​ @tclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @chainsawsangel​ @itsabby15​ @serrhaewin​ @padfooteyes​ @arcielee​ @travelingmypassion​ @what-is-originality​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @blackdreamspeaks​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @jvpit3rs​ @sarcastic-halfling-princess​ @flowerpotmage​ @ladylannisterxo​ @thelittleswanao3​ @elsolario​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @minttea07​​

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

The girl is from Milan, and Daeron is enamored with her: bright-eyed, beaming, blood rosy in his cheeks. Her name is Nicolosa, though she is adamant that everyone should call her Nico. She is one of those effortlessly informal people. She laughs too loudly and says all the wrong things, too-honest observations that would be offensive if the person breathing life into them was anyone but her. She spins around the hall as violins and lutes play, swinging from the willing arms of chuckling noblemen, an aisle of light in a goldenrod gown, the sun made flesh. She has the luxury of dancing until breathless, until she glows with the sheen of exertion. She could not possibly be carrying a child; she will not be wedded and bedded for another year.

This is a great triumph for Otto the Duke of Hightower. Milan under the House of Sforza is an enviable ally, wealthy and sophisticated, and eager for friends who will one day be willing to assist them in resisting French encroachment. This is the deal that the Duke of Hightower has struck. True, Daeron is still rather young to take a bride. True, Nico’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Milan, were insistent that they would concede to the match only if the marriage and consummation was postponed until next August. True, this does not resolve the immediate concern of Aegon’s lack of an heir. But it is another tile of a mosaic, another thread in the patchwork of the Greens’ objectives, another brick in a castle wall from which boiling oil could be poured down upon invaders.

The Duke of Hightower is accepting warm congratulations from the nobility of Southern England: Norfolk, Gloucester, Somerset, Buckingham, Suffolk, Clarence, Exeter. Those of the North—Lancaster, York, Stark—shun him. They stand instead with Rhaenyra, admiring her two eldest sons, pretending not to notice how little they resemble the late Laenor Velaryon. The Crown Princess is wearing black accented with maroon, as she almost always is. She sends a small, reassurance-seeking smile to where Daemon sits at the high table, and he raises his cup to her, his face sly, arrogant, proud. They love each other, this is clear; it may not be an especially conventional love, and it may be a love that emboldens rather than tames, but it is love nonetheless. This does not make your resignation to your own fate any easier. Queen Alicent, laughing as she joins Daeron and Nico dancing, is dressed in dark green to match her father and her children. You often wear purple, the color of royalty…just to remind people that you still deserve to be here.

You are at the high table too, albeit on the opposite side from Daemon; the Blacks are always seated to King Viserys’ right, while the Greens are on his left. Aemond doesn’t dance, you aren’t permitted to, Aegon is too drunk. He’s apparently not too drunk to leer, however; his bleary storm-blue eyes follow Lady Joanna Montford as she glides across the floor like a shark through surf, flashing luring eyes and flirtatious simpers. You’re a better dancer than she is, but of course that doesn’t matter, because no one ever gets to see you do it. Aegon won’t go so far as to touch her in public—he would consider that discourteous, you think—but he’s sleeping with her, and everyone knows he’s sleeping with her, and you can’t even truly wish he’d stop because you don’t want him in your bed anyway. But the humiliation of it…the hopelessness…that is more difficult to come to terms with.

“Portugal,” Daemon tells Aegon nonchalantly. “You could have married some princess from Portugal.”

Aegon guzzles his wine and says nothing. Aemond—scribbling messy lines of black ink onto parchment at the end of the table—glances up at you and then back down again.

Daemon continues: “The Infanta Maria was wed around the same time you were, and she’s produced a more than satisfactory son for her husband. Hugely fat, practically hoglike, I’ve seen portraits.”

“Daemon, please,” King Viserys scolds mildly, smiling as he watches Rhaenyra mingle with nobles who wouldn’t mind burning you alive if it meant the Blacks would ascend more seamlessly to the throne. The king has her son Joffrey in the chair next to him and has enthralled the boy with stories of jousts, hunts, feasts, Christmases and May Days. You wonder if he’s ever shown such interest in any of his children with Alicent. If he has, you aren’t aware of it.

“Or Savoy,” Daemon says. “Not as cultured as Milan, this cannot be denied, but of great strategic significance geographically. One foot in France, the other in Italy. I’ve heard wonderful things about Princess Louise. Very athletic, very…” He smirks, biting into a pomegranate. Ruptured seeds spurt juice like the gleam of rubies. “Flexible.”

“Oh, look, Prince Daemon.” You point into the crowded hall. “I think your wife is beckoning you to join her. Your third wife, I mean, the most recent one. The one who also happens to be your niece.”

“Or Naples!” Daemon exclaims, as if it has just occurred to him, as if he hasn’t been waiting to torment you like a wolf shadows a wounded stag, saliva filling up its mouth, fangs bared and dripping. Southerners detest Daemon because they fear he is mad; but that’s exactly what the North likes about him. “Or perhaps even—would we dare to hope?—a princess of France! Think of it! The poor Duke of Hightower would not know what to do with himself, he would be so delighted. At his age, the shock might just kill him.”

“Daemon,” King Viserys warns again.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be giving us so many ideas,” Aegon says, slurping his wine. “Aemond is still unspoken for, and now we have a tidy list of candidates to consider. How thoughtful of you.”

“Or you simply could have made the same arrangement that you did but in reverse,” Daemon goes on as if no one else has spoken at all. “You could have taken a Castilian bride, and Helaena could have been shipped off to the Pyrenees, and your circumstances would be wildly different than they are now. Princess Lucia would have been the right age for you. Do you want to know what she gave to her new husband this past Christmas?”

“I surely don’t,” Aegon replies.

Daemon grins beneath glinting eyes. “Twins.”

“Enough,” Aemond says, dark and quiet like midnight.

Now Daemon addresses you, resting his elbows on the table. “How many more chances do you think they’ll give you, Navarre, before some providential technicality that voids your marriage contract is discovered and you are discarded of in a nunnery?” Another bite of the pomegranate; another freckling of bloodlike red across the tablecloth. “The globe is crawling with royal women, they’re fish in a barrel, why would anyone jeopardize their dynastic ambitions for you?”

“My wife belongs where I am,” Aegon says: a fact, a dare. “And I will hear no more of it.”

You look at him, grateful but a little stunned. He does this sometimes. He will choose a seemingly arbitrary moment to make a show of loyalty, and then he will never mention it again. He doesn’t return your glance. Instead, he picks apart a roasted chicken carcass with his fingers and resumes staring at Lady Joanna Montford with his dazed, watery eyes. Aemond, engrossed in his writing, hasn’t eaten much tonight. Neither have you; but there’s a reason for that.

“Where you are,” Daemon muses, raising his strange white eyebrows. “Well, I hope she enjoys brothels.”

You fling back: “Like the one you fondled the Crown Princess in?”

“A baseless rumor,” Daemon replies, but he can’t smother the flare of wicked pride in his eyes.

“Will you stop it?!” the king roars at both of you. Joffrey gazes up at him with awe, like he’s seen a falling star or a dragon or the face of God. “This is supposed to be a joyous occasion, a royal betrothal, and you can’t conduct yourselves appropriately for one night—?!”

“What are they squabbling about?” the Duke of Hightower asks as he approaches the table. He can summon nothing more condemnatory than half-serious annoyance; his mood is too lofty, his victory too fresh. Behind him in the festive ruckus, Queen Alicent and Rhaenyra are exchanging awkward compliments and trying to ignore all the enmity that has stacked up between them since the king married his daughter’s lifelong companion and started producing white-haired children with her. Jace is dancing with Baela, Luke with Rhaena; Daeron and Nico have found themselves alone in a corner, giggling as candlelight glows hot and golden on their flushed cheeks.

Rather than answering, the king merely rolls his eyes and sighs, exasperated.

“You must be overjoyed, Otto,” Daemon says. “Another friend on the Continent. And yet, they are awfully far away, don’t you think?”

The Duke of Hightower smiles tightly. “Ships travel fast.”

“Ah, perhaps, though not faster than word from here to the Scottish border.”

“The Milanese girl will make a lovely bride for young Daeron, Otto,” King Viserys praises. He has either successfully deluded himself into believing that the whole of the realm will miraculously coalesce behind Rhaenyra upon his death, or he is determined to ignore the catastrophe that will ensue once he slips, gleefully ignorant, off into the afterlife.

Daemon nods. “Yes. Buxom, vivacious, amiable, she will be a fine mother someday. Unlike certain other people among us.”

Aegon says around a mouthful of chicken: “Grandsire, Prince Daemon was kind enough to point out all the other advantageous matches still at our disposal. Since we haven’t monopolized our bloodline by marrying exclusively immediate relatives.”

The Duke of Hightower chuckles. “Yes, I do sincerely hope that Jace and Luke’s offspring don’t all end up with fifteen fingers or gills or some such thing.”

“Fortunately, Harwin Strong’s blood should dilute the lineage,” you say.

Daemon turns towards you, twisting in his chair, grinning cruelly. “Gills or not, at least they’ll have children.”

You can’t think of anything to say back. Perhaps there is nothing to say. The Duke of Hightower and Aegon both avert their eyes. King Viserys has returned his attention to young Joffrey and is teaching him a prayer to invoke the protection of Saint George. Only Daemon looks at you; and Aemond watches him, quill hovering in midair, his sole blue eye a blaze of cold fire. You push out your chair and rise from the table, fleeing to one of the rooms adjacent to the exuberant, cheerful hall. You’re happy for Daeron and Nico, truly you are. But pain has a way of feeling heavier than joy, doesn’t it? It grips onto your ankles and drags you down into depths that nobody else can see.

The room is small and empty, the music muffled by the walls. Through the stained glass windows trickle in beams of pink-lavender light as dusk falls over Westminster Palace. And you stand there alone in the twilight, thinking of the past and the future and time itself, a ghost that will always be made of more secrets than answers.

You hear the door open behind you. “I’ll return to the festivities in a moment,” you say to the intruder, trying to keep the emotion from your voice.

“No need,” Aemond replies softly.

You wheel, and there he is, walking to meet you in the vanishing daylight. He takes your left hand in his and settles his right lightly, modestly, on your waist. “What—?” And then you understand.

Dancing. Here, where no one can see to forbid or ridicule. He’s come to take me dancing.

You smile up at him. “I’m not supposed to be doing this.”

“We’ll go very slowly.”

And slowly would be an understatement: you and Aemond move together in dawdling, careful steps, rotating like seasons, like the phases of the moon. He smells like he always does, of work and effort: smoke, leather, that scent he wears that is dark and woodsy and with an edge like a knife. His hands are calloused from sword sparring. Yours feel soft and helpless in his; they weren’t always so fragile, but they are now. “I thought you hated me,” you tell him.

“I’ve never hated you.”

“But you ignored me. For an entire year after I arrived in England, you ignored me.”

“I kept my distance. That’s very different from ignoring.”

“Alright, but why keep your distance at all?”

Aemond hesitates. “I am not in the habit of allowing myself to be noticed.”

“Because you fear people will see through the armor you’re wearing?” And when he abruptly stops dancing, you add: “I don’t mean that unkindly. I’m the same way. I wear all sorts of masks.”

He studies you in the lilac light. His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips to your throat. And then he resumes the unhurried dance. “There’s nothing about you worth hiding.”

You spin away from him and then return to be caught. “And you think you are a trove of scandalous secrets, Prince Aemond? Is that what’s in all those poems you won’t let me read?”

“If they were any good, I’d let you read them.”

“But you have the disposition of a genuine poet. Enigmatic, perceptive…” Alluring. Beautiful. You cast those thoughts away like coins into a wishing well. “Graceful.”

“So the dancing isn’t too terrible. I don’t do it often, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t do it ever to my knowledge. And no, not terrible at all.”

“I move best when holding a sword, not a princess.”

“I used to have callouses like yours, you know,” you say. “My palms and fingers were covered in them.”

“Because you sparred with your brothers,” Aemond remembers.

“For hours and hours. Especially with Alonzo. He’s the exact opposite of you, short and stocky and loud, with dark curls and heavy feet. And his poetry would send a lady sprinting in the other direction.”

“Do you miss it? Terrorizing men with swords?”

“Of course. I was almost somewhat good at that, unlike everything I’m tasked with here.”

Aemond grins, broad and mischievous. “Let’s have a demonstration then.” He releases your hand, goes to the door that leads to a stairwell, and waits patiently for you to join him.

This is improper. This is disobedient. But what has being obedient gotten you lately?

You follow Aemond through the doorway, down the stone steps, and out into the courtyard illuminated by dusk like amber, tiger’s eye, amethyst, rose quartz. It is empty except for the two of you; the rest of the palace is thoroughly occupied with drinking, dancing, and murderous scheming. It is a wonder with as lethal as the world is that women are meant to be so powerless. Aemond trots across the grass towards the blacksmith’s forge at the far end of the courtyard, then returns with two swords. He passes you the lighter one.

“How does it feel?” he asks you.

You twirl the sword a few times, admittedly rather inexpertly. “Wonderful. But I’m very out of practice.”

“Fear not. We’ll take this slow as well.” He taps his blade against yours, so tenderly it’s laughable; the sound it makes is blunt and low. Still, you’re both smiling as you circle each other, striking out with intentionally ineffectual thrusts and lunges, blocking, parrying. “Your footwork is excellent,” Aemond notes.

“It used to be better. But I appreciate your compliment. You’re more talented than Alonzo. Then again, you probably spend much less time skipping lessons to chase women around.”

“Undoubtedly,” Aemond says in a tone you can’t decipher. Then he asks, interest piqued: “What sorts of masks do you wear?”

You shrug, your blade skating down the length of his. “All sorts.”

Aemond parries. “I’d be interested to know.”

“A genuine poet would be astute enough to sift out the truth from the lies.”

“So lie to me,” Aemond says, his stare direct and bold, his sword balanced in one hand and pointed at your ribs, your heart. “And we shall find out if I can tell.”

You side-step him, thinking of frivolous diversions. “I love English ale and drink it all the time.”

“Lie. Apple cider.”

The blades clang. “My favorite color is, dutifully, green.”

“Lie. Red, like the flag of Navarre.”

And like blood. “It’s beginning to lose its charm,” you confide in Aemond.

“Don’t do that,” he says severely. “Don’t let them take something you’re proud of away from you.”

You consider him as stars rise in a violet sky. “Why are you encouraging my rebellious inclinations? You don’t give the impression of being much of a rule breaker.”

“I don’t see what good can come from you being denied any source of happiness,” he says simply. “Go on. Let’s have another attempt at a lie.”

You block Aemond’s benign, cautious swing as you circle him. “I’m pregnant again.”

Aemond halts; every muscle in his body goes still and inflexible. And he knows immediately that you’re telling the truth. “I’m…I’m very glad to hear that,” he manages at last.

You laugh fleetingly, cynically. “You can’t even properly congratulate me. No one can. Because everything’s gone so horribly thus far, people don’t want to get their hopes up.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Not yet. But I can recognize the first signs by now.” Constant low-level nausea, difficulty waking in the morning, dull cramping. You force a thin smile. “At least your brother won’t need to visit my bed for a while.”

“You don’t find pleasure with him? Is Aegon not…” Aemond searches for the right word, nervous, bashful. Hot blooms of blood appear in his cheeks. “Attentive to you?”

“It’s not his fault. He tries, really. He’s never been selfish or rough. It is entirely my own deficiency. I’m just not…at ease with him, I suppose. I can’t relax enough. I can’t reach…well…” Euphoria? A climax? A peak? You know what euphemisms others use, but it’s difficult to describe something you’ve never experienced before.

Aemond nods, meaning that he understands, that you don’t have to wrench the words out of you like entrails from a slaughtered animal.

“I know that other women can,” you say, tapping your blade against his. “That their husbands are well-matched with them and that they enjoy great pleasure. It’s difficult for me to accept that isn’t something I’ll ever get to have myself. At least…I don’t believe I’ve ever had it.”

“I think you’d know if you had.”

“Oh, and you’re an expert in a woman’s pleasure, are you? As an unmarried prince?” Your voice is casual and teasing; but the thought of him with a lover is like a bolt of lightning. It pains you, it paralyzes you, it hits you without any warning.

“Years ago, Aegon paid for a woman to…initiate me,” he explains. “Several times. He meant it as an act of compassion, I think. I was speechless around anyone I found desirable.”

Your nausea swells from a ripple to a wave. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s not something that I especially wanted at the time, and it’s not something that I have cared to repeat since. But it was very…informative.”

He gives you an infinitesimal little half-smile, and something passes between you as the last threads of dusk are unwoven from the sky and night engulfs Westminster Palace, something like a promise, a note, a whisper. The queasiness in your belly vanishes and is replaced by something else: a sensation like falling, like wanting. You are overcome by an ache to say something, though you don’t know what.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the Duke of Hightower bellows, striding out into the courtyard. Aemond takes several swift steps away from you and hurls his sword to the ground. You toss yours away as well.

“Grandsire, the princess and I were just—”

“You!” the Duke of Hightower shouts, turning on you first. “You should be in a chair or in bed, you should be resting, you should be thinking only of your health and of the wellbeing of the heirs you will produce with Aegon, not gallivanting around in the darkness and playing with swords, of all things! What would your husband say? What would your parents say?! Are you what we were promised when we signed that godforsaken contract?! Surely, princess, at this very moment you are not.”

Aemond begins: “Grandsire, it wasn’t her idea—”

“And you,” the Duke of Hightower growls at him. “You will immediately rid yourself of your baffling aversion to marriage, because you’re next, Aemond. Be prepared to discuss the candidates tomorrow and decide upon your preferred bride. Your brothers and sister are spoken for. We have one last card to play, and it cannot wait any longer. Not with this enduring…” He glances bitterly at you. “Uncertainty.”

Since you arrived in England, there have been innumerable discussions of who Aemond will marry, and he has staunchly evaded every proposed match. His rationale has wavered from needing to focus on his studies to committing himself to training as a warrior to interrogating the strategic wisdom of each potential alliance. This is strange for a man who is otherwise so constrained by familial loyalty, so devoted to the advancement of the Greens. “I won’t even get to meet her first?”

“You’ll learn to like her. Daeron met his betrothed today and he is happy.”

“Daeron is lucky,” Aemond objects. “I might just as easily not be.”

“You will marry,” the Duke of Hightower insists. “Without protest and without further delay.”

Aemond looks down at his empty hands—lines and callouses, fresh scars and ancient heritage—and he says quietly: “Do you care nothing for love?”

“Have you ever wondered why the old put so little stock in love, Aemond?” the Duke replies. “It’s not because we don’t believe it’s real. It’s because we know it doesn’t last. Women die in childbirth. Men die at war. Thousands die of Plague or the bloody flux. People who once would have killed for you grow to hate you, or worse, feel nothing for you at all. Love is transient and painful and changeable and destructive. Best to skip over such things and think of legacy instead. That’s all any of us are left with in the end.”

And then the Duke of Hightower clasps your wrist and leads you back inside the palace, gently, as if you are made of glass.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is several hours later when Aegon staggers noisily into your bedchamber, knocking over a Florentine vase by the door. Shards of it tumble across the floorboards like wounded men littering a battlefield.

“Sorry,” he slurs, pulling off his tunic and then the plain white shirt underneath. “I’m very drunk, wife, I cannot deny it, but there’s only one part of me that you’re in need of and I think that I can still get it up—”

“Aegon.” You’re lying in bed and sipping a cup of apple cider. “You don’t need to stay. Your part is done.”

He stops cold and blinks at you, comprehending it sluggishly. His eyes flick down to your belly, covered by a blanket decorated with green roses. “Oh.”

“It’s alright. You can go now. You have other places to be, and I know that’s what you want.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? To make it easier?”

Be a different sort of man. Be more like Aemond. “No, I’m fine. But it’s very sweet of you to ask.”

“Okay.” He lurches away, stepping on pieces of the shattered vase. His bare feet leave stains of blood on the floor. And then he pauses under the doorframe, gripping it so he doesn’t fall over. “Wife?”

“Yes?”

“It’s not that there’s anything wrong with you, you know,” he says. “It’s the pressure of it all. It’s the responsibility. I don’t have to feel that when I’m with anyone else.”

I don’t wish he was more like Aemond. I wish he WAS Aemond. “I understand, Aegon.”

He gives you a pitiful, off-kilter, childish smile. “Goodnight,” he says just before he leaves, clutching the doorframe with clawed hands. And then: “Goodnight to both of you.”

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: Ghost Sherbert, Paintings, Mimics & Kelpies!

Senshi's holy sherbet is such a good example of the trope of if something is holy to the user, if they have true faith in it, then it's holy enough for magical purposes like ghost repellant. For all intents and purposes, cooking is holy to Senshi, though he doesn't technically think of it that way. It's just clear in everything he does for and with it.

Paintings! Time to pay extra attention to see if I can pick up any clues that I missed in the show....

...yeah I'm getting nothing. Though I did notice the Mage in the background in the first painting, this time - I kept missing him before.

(I know his name's Thistle, from fanart, but where I am in the story it feels much more correct to call him the Mad Mage, so I shall.)

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ooh nextt chapter stars right off with wing motifs on a chest and another leonine water fountain. I'm watching you, buster!

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The memory montage of Chilchuck getting mauled by mimics is really so funny.

On one hand, Chilchuck is totally valid and reasonable in requesting that his party members stop referring to him as a kid and being irritated when they don't, and in refusing to share personal information like his age which isn't relevant to his job. He objectively has the moral high ground on both these counts.

However, I must also note that the fact that halffoots appear young to most other races, in stature and in face, is clearly a known phenomenon - and it's not pure racism; his head to body ratio is higher than a grown tallman! It's like how cats trigger human maternal instincts by being small with big heads and eyes! - and Chilchuck simply telling the party his age would help negate that. And every time he protests he sounds like SUCH a defensive teenager about it.

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Ooh I didn't get before how the mini poem told Chilchuck in which order to press the bricks, but now I do: sunrise (east), moonset (west), fixed star (north), and then south is last by elimination. Nice!

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Senshi IS the best of them in terms of understanding and appreciating the ecosystem of the dungeon, but his disrespect and dismissal of first Chilchuck's traps expertise and then Marcille's magic does really grate. He's so Old Man Refusing Objectively Useful Technology about it. It's not like you can walk on water unaided, buddy! Even riding a kelpie, if that had worked, means less maneuverability and more risk for you!

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sflajlkl If this mini-flashback was in the anime, I missed it!! But I am not surprised to learn that it happened.

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In my heart, this is now a party in-joke forever.

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Laios and Senshi are so fucking drift-compatible, I love it.

[shunin-gumis]

Designs of Happiness - Track A12

L4mps Main Story Translation

Title: The Whereabouts of Family

Characters: Nagi, Toi, Akuta

Summary: Nagi and Toi are invited by the protagonist to have a discussion on their upcoming study trip. Nagi is completely absorbed as he listens to Toi talk about his older twin brother… 

Location: HAMA House - Personal room

Momiji: Oh right, I called Toi-kun over after you’d asked to come to my room. I figured it was best if he was here for this discussion too. 

Toi: I hope we can… get along… 

Momiji: As you can see, he’s still a little out of it from his nap.

Nagi: Okay, got it.

Momiji: I’ll get straight to the point then. 

Nagi: This is about the destination for our study trip, right? 

Momiji: That’s the main part of our discussion, yes. But there’s something I need to inform you about first. 

Momiji: It’s about Toi-kun’s twin brother. That’s why I called him here. 

Toi: ! We’re talking about Ani-sama?

Nagi: …You have a twin brother? 

Toi: Yes, Ani-sama is the best big brother in the whole world! He always makes sure to prioritize me, he always protects me no matter the time and place, he always makes sure to give me the strawberry when we have cake, and when I get bit by a mosquito, he always gently does the X-mark on my bite!

Nagi: X-mark…?

Momiji: Oh, it’s that thing where you press an X onto your bite to ease the itch, right?

Toi: He also always gets rid of the mosquitoes that bite me! And and! If I get a splinter he makes sure to— 

Momiji: –Er, right, you were saying that you’re no longer able to get in touch with your brother, right? 

Toi: That’s right… I don’t know where he went… My fortune-telling refuses to work when I try to look for him… 

Nagi: … Gone missing.

Nagi: (Just like… her…) 

Nagi: …Could you tell me more? Where did you last meet him? What was his condition like?

Momiji: (Nagi-kun’s being pretty proactive with the questioning… I guess anyone would be worried when someone’s family has gone missing.) 

Toi: The last time I saw him was three weeks ago… Ever since we were young, Ani-sama couldn’t stand being at home, so we’d always message on PeChat and fix times to meet behind the parlor instead.

Momiji: (He did mention his brother didn’t get along with their family…)

Toi: And on that day… I remember waking up in the middle of the night, and finding my brother beside me, telling me that he just wanted to see me.

Toi: I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not, so I drifted back to sleep… But I can still feel the warmth of his hand from when he was petting my hair… 

Nagi: …... 

Momiji: If he came to see you right before he went missing, that must mean he was resolved to do something… 

Nagi: Was there anything else?

Toi: Something else… 

Toi: Ah!!

Momiji and Nagi: !

Toi: He was wearing a really cool eyepatch! He said it’s because he got a stye… 

Momiji and Nagi: …...

Momiji: …That is very important information, yes.

Nagi: True. It should help us identify him while on the search.

Momiji: So you see, I got Toi-kun to join HAMA Tours by promising him that I’d help find his brother. 

Momiji: Of course, I would have still helped him even if he hadn’t joined us.

Toi: Thank you so much…! My fortune-telling revealed that I’ll need the help of the Night Team to find Ani-sama.

Momiji: And you said you managed to get a hint on where he might be now, right?

Toi: Yes. I usually borrow the power of a certain ‘being’ when I do my fortune-telling, but this time I tried to do a reading with my own power. That’s why I could finally ‘see’ a hint. 

Nagi: …...

Toi: —-Far, far north. 

Toi: A large slope lined with many buildings. A town beside the sea, a brick warehouse. 

Toi: That is the place I saw, where I can finally meet Ani-sama.

Nagi: …...!

Momiji: According to Toi’s reading, we can find his brother in a town that fits the description.

Momiji: After I did my research, I found that the closest hit I got was Hakodate. 

Nagi: Hakodate… In Hokkaido, huh.

Nagi: Oh, is that where we’re going, for the study trip? 

Momiji: Exactly. I picked the location while keeping in mind that it might lead us to Toi-kun’s brother… What do you think?

Momiji: I thought it’d be good to have your opinion, as the leader of this team. 

Nagi: …… 

Momiji: …… 

Nagi: ……… 

Momiji: …Um, Nagi-kun? 

Nagi: Oh… Sorry. 

Nagi: Of course, I have no problems with it. 

Nagi: I mean… 

Momiji: Yes? 

Nagi: …… 

Momiji: …?

Nagi: I wanted to say, family is important, after all. 

Momiji: Yeah! You’re exactly right! So that means we’re going to Hakodate for our trip!

Toi: Thank you, both of you!

*knocking on the door*

Toi: Wah! That surprised me…

Momiji: That knocking pattern, it’s definitely Akuta-kun.

Akuta: The Friday Film Show is about to S.T.A.R.T~! 

<- Previous | Next ->

Masterlist

[lichenaday]

Psora crenata

Brick scale lichen

Big Lichen out there wants you to think that P. crenata looks like bricks or scales, but we all can clearly see that this boy is nothing but a mass of melted mini marshmallows, right? I have never wanted to to put a lichen in my mouth so bad. This squamulose lichen grows in scattered or adjacent patches made up of concave, rounded scales. The cracked upper surface is matte orange, red, or pink in color, but is often dusted in or coated with white, chalky pruina which obscures the true color. The margins of the scales are dotted with dark-brown to black apothecia, often also covered in pruina. P. crenata grows on open, arid soil in dry habitats, and has been found in Africa, Australia, and North America. And I want to make it clear that I respect his autonomy enough to not eat him . . . but I am thinking about it.

images: source | source | source

info: source | source

[ofthecaravel]

Brandy

Chapter One

Summary: A port on a western bay serves a hundred ships a day, and the lonely sailors flock to the Caravel Cantina, run by the Kiszka brothers (minus one). But when their brother returns with a handsome sailor in tow, the youngest Kiszka brother finds his perspective about his family and himself turned upside down.

Tags: Brotherly shenanigans as always, mentions of parental death, a little squabbling, flirting, minor angst

Words: Lil under 10k (whoops)

A/N: I started this literally a year ago. God help me. Inspired by Brandy by Looking Glass and Sam and Danny being goofuses. I really hope y'all like this because there is so much more to post 😭

~~~

As always, the Kiszka brothers had gotten to work a little earlier than they needed to.

The elder of them, Joshua, had always believed that a clean bar would result in an easygoing night, so they often found themselves slipping in through the back door around 5pm on nights they didn't even open and staying until 8pm to mop the floors and replace anything that had been tarnished in nights previous. Josh and his spritely spirit found it invigorating to fiddle with such things as measuring the level of alcohol in their assortment of kegs and casks, or the arrangement of glasses and the security of the coat hooks. But Sam, the youngest of his siblings and the only other one who tended to the family business on a regular basis, usually found himself walking away from all of the menial chores Josh assigned him. He was annoyed enough that he'd had to start full time as their one and only waiter since their brother Jake had left the family business to his twin and little brother to chase his dream of sailing the high seas three years ago. Since then, Josh and Sam had struggled to manage the popular bar all on their own, stretch their very small budget out between the business and themselves, and not murder each other in the process. Sam thought he deserved a little break before work, and the seemingly pointless tasks that Josh insisted he do to help out were not exactly morale boosters. He was coming up on a year of Josh's least favorite pre-shift ritual of his, which included leaning his head against the window tucked into the corner that faced true north and staring in unblinking, unmoving silence. 

It was a clear, early June evening when from his post wiping down the keg spigots, Josh noticed Sam drifting out of the corner of his eye. He sighed when he realized where his younger brother now stood.

"Will you get away from the window? I just cleaned it and you're gonna fog it up again with all your longing sighs."

Sam tossed a sour look over his shoulder at his brother, who stood behind the bar with a rag slung over his shoulder and a judgmental look on his face. Josh pulled the rag down and across the already gleaming wood in front of him and shook his head in near pity, his hand working anxious circles on the surface as it had done every night for nearly 7 years now. 

"I'm not fogging it up," Sam argued. "What, I'm not allowed to look out the window of my own bar?"

"Not if you're going to get your fish breath all over my nice, clean glass," Josh shot back with a barely contained smile, looking down amusedly while Sam scoffed.

He rolled his eyes all the way around to look back out the window, his keen eyes trained on the bustle of the harbor town coming alive as the sun slowly sank deeper into the twilight sky. Lamps were starting to blink awake in the windows of the weathered brick buildings surrounding their little bar, casting their amber light on the cobblestone that the fishmongers tread on with their stained aprons still tightly tied as they headed homeward bound. Sam sported a similar apron that he kept hiked up flatteringly around his waist, worn begrudgingly and scattered with its own fair share of stains and stories. But unlike the fishmongers that passed him by without so much as a glance, he was in for the night,  his shift starting when the first patron inevitably burst in with a thirst for comradery and the extra strong spirits and liqueurs that Sam and his brothers distilled themselves. 

They all specialized in their own kinds, and as their regulars eventually went on to point out, they all suited their specialties very nicely. Josh with his appropriately rosy cheeks and boisterous, people pleasing nature was a natural when it came to bold, sweet wines. Jake had a knack for whipping up a whiskey with a sharp bite and smooth burn, but just like the man himself, those bottles were usually gone from the bar and ran out fast when they were. But Sam was the only one with the patience and palate to tend to the bar's most sought after delicacy: casks of sweet brandy that he laid down in crystal glasses bought off a merchant ship with his private stash of tips. The men that frequented the bar the most had long since stopped referring to him by name, simply raising their hands to catch his eye as he made his rounds and calling out "Brandy!".

Much to his chagrin, his name slowly started to get left at home, and he was soon known solely as "Brandy" to the bar goers of The Caravel Cantina. Only Josh called him Sam at work, knowing it was a surefire way to get his attention as he tended to the mobs of ever parched, low lidded men. Josh called it then, recognizing the mournful look his little brother was casting towards the docks that lay just out of sight of the northern window that his head was lolled against. Sam startled again and fully turned away, pressing his hand briefly to his forehead to feel how his skin had cooled against the pane.

"What?" Sam asked in annoyance, already feeling his ears perk as he thought about the water and its many ships that now lay at his back. As Josh shook his head at him again, he absently wondered if he would be able to recognize the ship he was waiting for by the creak of its sails or how its bow sliced into the dark seawater that pooled around their port. "You wanted something?"

"I want you to get away from my goddamn window and do your job, you hooligan," Josh scolded lightheartedly, tossing his rag with force into Sam's slight chest, who caught it with an audible "oof".  

"Nobody's even here yet," Sam pointed out, gesturing dramatically with the cloth out at the warmly lit yet definitely empty sea of cramped tables and chairs with its lone jukebox pressed against the wall. 

"Sam," Josh said again, his voice softer this time. He let out an even softer sigh and cocked his head at his brother, giving him a small smile. "They're not coming tonight. You got to give it up, bud."

Sam hesitated, slightly stunned that Josh had been able to read his mind so easily, but after a lifetime of close quarters and shared secrets, he could only be so surprised. 

"Jake said they'd be back in the summertime," Sam said carefully, echoing his brother's words of encouragement from the year prior. "The fishermen are starting to bring in albacore and those big, pink shrimps and you know damn well those are only in season when the weather has turned. It is officially summer, thank you very much."

"Hell, you think sailors measure the seasons by the fuckin' fish?" Josh barked out a condescending laugh. "They're not out there to pick salt off of shrimp and clams. You think Jake captains that hunk of junk across the Atlantic to get the ol' pole out and let it fly?"

Sam's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he furrowed his dark brow with a frown, casting his eyes down as he wrung the filthy bar rag between his lithe hands. 

"Jake knows," Sam muttered. "And he promised."

"Because his promises are so reliable," Josh said sarcastically, a genuine hint of bitterness slipping out as he started stacking glasses aggressively. "Something tells me it's not him who made you that promise, Sammy."

"The sun is staying up for longer, too," Sam pointed out, skillfully ignoring Josh's accusation. "He'll notice that the daylight is blazing beautifully on their masts for an hour longer or whatever pretentious garbage sentiment he writes in his journal. Or do they not have the sun out on the sea, wise guy?"

"Sam."

Sam finally met Josh's gaze and felt a guilty curl in his stomach from the glint in his brother's tired, brown eyes.

"Why don't you have a drink and remember how sweet the fruit of your patience can be, hm?" 

"Yeah," Sam replied simply, feeling a slight shame that he was only adding to ever growing list of Josh's stressors. "Okay. Might help with the rush tonight."

"Rush?" Josh looked lost for a moment before he gripped the glass in his hand even tighter and spun to look at the bar's beloved Mermaid of the Month calendar. "It's Saturday? I thought it was a fucking Friday, fuck!"

"Oh, and Fridays are any better for us?" Sam laughed, dipping behind the bar with his frazzled brother to grab a glass and pouring himself a shallow drink of golden brandy from its coveted bottle. 

Outside, Sam could already hear laughter carrying from down the street that would soon arrive as a pack of rowdy men ready to unwind after a long day by the docks. They surely wouldn't be the last group to swarm their painfully understaffed yet ultimately well loved cantina, and as Sam was throwing back the last of his drink and watching the panic sizzle off of Josh's abundance of curls, the door slammed open and the space filled with thundering voices and cackles.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Josh greeted jovially, his visible anxiety peeling off of him in an instant as men started to take seats at the bar and drag tables together. "What can I do you for?"

"I sure could use a tall, sweet drink of brandy," one of the grizzled regulars purred, giving a sharp toothed grin to Sam, who had already grabbed his tray and slipped from behind the bar and out into the fray. Josh bristled at the man's comment as he skillfully poured him up a glass and watched his brother sidle up to a throng of butchers, who were giving him a look they usually saved for their finest cuts of meat. Josh knew what the men in the bar thought about his brother's feminine features and hospitable grace. He heard what they said about his body and long hair as he slinked through crowds and brushed hands with eager patrons, flashing his wide smile and playing into their little jokes. Of course Sam knew too, and it's not like The Caravel was the kind of place that would let anything like that go by without getting a boot to the ass, but Josh couldn't help but feel protective of him nonetheless. 

"Cool it, Caldwell," Josh said with a slight bite in his gravelly voice as he set down the drink in front of the sharp toothed man. "We wouldn't want the missus knowing what you say about my brother after a few of those tall and sweets, now would we?"

"You're no fun, Kiszka," Caldwell mumbled into his drink, his mustache dipping into the liquor as his grubby pals quickly roped him into a conversation and left Josh to his pouring and coin collecting. 

Across the bar, the jukebox blared to life, and Sam felt a wave of relief wash over him at the sound. The jukebox's chronically high volume meant he had an excuse not to hear everybody's little comments to and about him as he dutifully dished out spilling glasses and salty scoops of peanuts. However, as the song stretched out beyond the first 30 seconds of instrumental, the wave inside Sam came crashing down as he recognized the song's bright lyrics and the vocals they danced on. He swallowed an emotion he'd been biting back since he'd first felt the temperature begin to rise, and as he placed a ring of shots on his metal tray with shaking hands that made the metal and glass clatter in time to the beat, Sam relived a burst of last summer for what felt like the hundredth time.  

-

One Year Earlier

-

Against his will, Sundays had become the designated day for Josh and Sam to come to the bar during the daytime and work on any repairs that couldn't be done in their little interludes before regular nights. The Caravel was closed on Sundays, and despite Sam's consistent protests that that logic should also be applied to its employees, Josh insisted that it was a great opportunity to fix it up for the upcoming week. 

Despite the fact that he and Josh hadn't got home until 3am, Sam woke up with the sun that Sunday. As he lay in bed and focused only on the feel of the linen sheets on his bare skin and the distant whistle of the wind outside, he tried to think back on the last time he had gotten a full night's sleep. 

He figured it had to be around the time that he'd last seen Jake, right before he had left to join a crew on a merchant ship that he made seem a lot cooler than it probably actually was.

"The captain says we're going to sail to all kinds of places," Jake had told him, perched on the end of Sam's bed with a map so wide it sprawled across their knees and grazed the edge of his pillow. "Not just Europe, but Africa, too. Maybe even Asia."

"I don't even understand what you'll be doing," Sam had mumbled darkly, bitterly watching Jake's fingers trace over imaginary waves in the yellowed sea on the paper, charting routes he was yet to go on. Without them. 

"We'll be transporting cargo to ports all across the world," Jake had explained proudly, not understanding the disdain that Sam felt towards his sudden career change. "Not every harbor is as drab as this one. There are really wonderful ones, and I want to see them all."

"It isn't that drab here," Sam had argued weakly, even though he wholeheartedly agreed that their town was the poster child for sad, salty, seasick ports. "Just work on the docks that sail to Canada and Greenland if you want to get on a ship so bad. You could be home for Christmas if you wanted."

There was a moment of silence when Sam leaned back against the wall sullenly, crossing his arms and glaring at Jake. Jake couldn't look him in the eye, instead choosing to slowly roll the map up and secure it with a little slip of ribbon as Sam huffed and bit back any tears that threatened to rise to the surface. The whole house was quiet in that moment, every room empty of noise and joy, Josh having long grown silent since Jake had broke the news over dinner and caused Josh to immediately retreat to his room with a slam of the door. The air had grown thick and cloudy since the words had left Jake's mouth, and as he watched his lanky little brother suddenly shrink very small on the bed he'd slept on since he was a child, Jake fully understood just what his absence was going to do to his family. 

"I need to do this, Sammy," Jake had pleaded with his brother, scooting closer to Sam on the bed and putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "I'll be back before you even care that I'm gone."

"I care now," Sam had whispered, shrugging away from Jake's touch and turning away.

It had been the truth. And it was still the truth two years later, after months of letters that came few and far between, and random parcels that came in the mail containing garments made of soft, dyed fabric that Josh snuck into every outfit and hair oils that had made Sam's awkward, choppy bob grow into glossy, walnut waves that he wove into plaits and loose buns to keep out of his face at work. These little gifts he sent from his travels were nice to have around, but they couldn't make up for Jake's substantial absence in their lives. As he got out of bed and dressed in the hazy peach light streaming through his thin curtains, Sam looked at the map hung crookedly on his wall and wondered where Jake's ship was docked now. 

"Jake wouldn't drag me to the bar on a fucking Sunday," Sam murmured to himself in his mirror as he pulled a comb through his hair and twisted it into a loose, wavy ponytail that swung nearly to his lower back. Just a moment too late, he heard his brother's footsteps out in the hall, and hoped in vain he didn't hear what he had said so close to his only partially closed door. 

"Yes, he would!" Josh called from right outside the door as he passed by, knocking on it with an enthusiasm that seemed completely unwarranted for the time of day. "Lighten up, Sammy, we only have a few chairs to fix. It'll be nice and easy for you, Mister Cranky."

"You always say that!" Sam called back, smacking the door and hearing Josh's donkey bray of a laugh move into their small kitchen, followed by the familiar clatter of the kettle and the other sounds that Josh put into motion to bring the house back to life for the coming day. 

Sam looked back at himself in the mirror, tugging on the lavender skin under his drooping lower lashes and pale waterline, taking only a second to dwell on any thoughts outside of getting through the day before he braced himself and headed out the door. 

As predicted, a few chairs to be fixed turned into a couple of barstools that needed tightening, a window pane that needed to be replaced, a floorboard that needed to be hammered back into place, glass shards that somehow went unnoticed from a minor brawl two nights prior needing to be swept up, and Sam being sent on an errand to find a vendor open on Sundays selling oranges. By the time Josh called it quits for the day, the sun was already starting to start its journey back down under the horizon line, much to Sam's dismay. He could barely keep his temper under wraps as Josh circled the bar one last time, letting his honey brown gaze rest a moment longer than necessary on every square inch of the place.

"This is insane, Josh, let's go," Sam hissed, trying not to claw into the doorframe as he attempted not to bolt. "There is absolutely no need for this level of astuteness unless you're expecting the goddamn Queen of England to pop by for a visit."

"You never know when a special guest might grace us," Josh said mysteriously, wiggling his eyebrows while he locked up the maintenance closet.

"Nobody even comes on Monday nights," Sam continued to whine. "You're prepping for three drunks and some mice." 

"Maybe I'm just trying to set an example for the level of care this place deserves," Josh explained in his even, oh-so-wise tone that Sam hated. "This place will be yours someday, you know."

"Yes, I know, and your ghost will still find a way to micro manage it."

"I'll be great for business," Josh grinned, finally turning down the lamp and clicking the key into place. "Sailors love a ghost story."

"It was a dark and stormy night when the young master Kiszka broke free of his cruel, domineering eldest brother and slayed him in his sleep," Sam crooned in a spooky voice as he took the lead down the street back to their little house. 

"You'd never get the chance," Josh scoffed.

Sam continued on with his dramatic tale of how his brother's ghost went on to curse his bar for all eternity and sent him spiraling into madness, with Josh contributing his own details where he saw fit as he trailed him. Right before it went out of sight, Sam cast a look back at the bar, sitting squat and dark against the lilac sky, wondering if what made him detest it so much might be the same thing that made Josh fuss over it so much.

-

The following night, Sam's expectation of a slow night was more than lived up to. By the time 9pm rolled around, Caravel had been graced by a whopping 2 patrons, who had only lingered for about an hour before leaving Josh and Sam to awkwardly sit around and flick coins at each other. 

Sam was able to read his brother's moods pretty well, and as he watched Josh stacking silver coins in a pyramid at the other end of the bar, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with him. He kept glancing at the door and his usually steady fingers had a slight tremble to them, which caused the coin pyramid to shift and slide to a clattering mess on the wood, making Josh cuss and scoop them back into his palm.

"Hey, brother of mine," Sam prodded gently as Josh occupied himself with spinning a quarter like a top. "How are you?"

Josh tossed him a weird look, laughing slightly as he straightened to admire his growing army of spinning coins. 

"I'm peachy, baby," Josh chuckled, knitting his brows. "And yourself?"

"Good, good," Sam said absently. "You know, if something's bothering you, I'm here to talk."

"Sammy, nothing's the matter," Josh insisted as if it was the silliest thing in the world, but he said it a little too fast. "Seriously. All is well in the house of Kiszka."

"I don't believe you," Sam said lazily, resting his face in his hands as he stared his brother down. 

"Well, I can't help that, now can I?" Josh teased, rolling one of his coins towards Sam. "Let's see how many of these we can spin at once."

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn't going to be able to get anything more out of Josh but still watching him out of the corner of his eye as they worked together to set the glimmering surface of the bar ablaze with a ballet of dancing silver coins. 

Around midnight, they had managed to accrue a small group of women in the back corner and a few more men at the bar, keeping them only slightly more busy than they had been in the empty bar. Sam, bored out of his mind, stepped away for a moment to "check inventory". This thorough "check" consisted of Sam slipping out the back door and taking a moment to breathe in the sweet, summery air. The chill coming off the ocean gave it a cold, salty bite, and Sam breathed it in gratefully through his nose as he slipped a cigarette and lighter out of his apron pocket. The cigarette, purchased secretly from the general store's quiet cashier, lit up quickly and was slowly inhaled, the herbs and tobacco mingling deliciously with the night air in Sam's senses. He tipped his head back and let loose a billowy stream of smoke into the dark sky, watching a moth sail through it on its way to the streetlight a few doors down. Josh would absolutely kill Sam if he knew he was smoking, so Sam had to sneak them in his rare moments completely alone. He was going to save it for a busy night when he'd really need it, but Sam couldn't help but give in to temptation. He closed his eyes and took in another long, slow drag, listening to the sizzle of the paper and the unmistakable, jovial noises of a group of sailors making their way down the street in front of the bar.

'Oh, boy, here we go,' Sam thought begrudgingly, hearing the muffled shouts and laughs enter the bar through the door to his back. Surprisingly, he heard Josh's voice ring out the loudest, making some kind of announcement and laughing. Josh was loud, of course, but he wasn't one to command a room when there were customers just coming in. Sam took a few more hits before dropping the cigarette and crushing it underfoot, putting his ear to the door curiously as he listened further. Josh's voice seemed to layer over itself alongside the unfamiliar voices that had just come in, and Sam furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out what he was hearing.

"SAM!"

"Fuck, shit," Sam whispered to himself, readjusting his apron and swinging around to open the door, stumbling back inside and powerwalking his way through the back and out into the open expanse of the bar. 

"There he is," Josh grinned brightly, his face completely alight. He was, for once, out from behind the bar and mixed amongst the sailors cluttering the front of the bar. Sam suddenly questioned if his assumption that they were sailors was even correct, judging from their casual, loose fitting clothes that varied in style. Usually the sailors that passed through their town were decked out in the traditional, matching garb with plain stripes and jaunty hats. But, still, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that these were sailors of some sort of caliber. He approached, turning on his cute waiter charm and flashing a warm smile, only for it to fall a moment later when he caught sight of who exactly Josh was standing with his arm around.

"Got a drink handy for an old seafarer?" 

"Jake?" Sam blurted in disbelief, adrenaline seizing his every sense as he tossed his tray haphazardly towards the bar and threw his arms around his brother, who clapped him on the back with a genuine and utterly Jake laugh. "Holy shit, I thought it was Josh I was hearing. What, I mean, oh my God, you're here, what the hell!"

"Good lord, Sam, since when do you swear like a sailor?" Jake exclaimed good-naturedly. "That's supposed to be my sort of thing."

"You should hear the shit he says, I tell you," Josh interjected. He was absolutely beaming, radiating joy from the tips of his curls down to his loafers in a way that should've projected the shimmer of sunlight's pure heat. Sam knew how much he had missed his twin, and now that they were back together again, it felt like something in Josh had slid back into its rightful place. Standing right next to each other, Sam was able to properly assess just how different Jake looked from the last time he had seen him. When he'd left, Jake's hair had curled up boyishly around his ears, but it now fell in sun kissed and wind tossed waves just above his shoulders. He was sturdier in build, with muscles built from lugging cargo on and off ships. He also sported some sparse facial hair and the biggest, ugliest hoop earring Sam had ever seen. Jake was lucky that Sam was too overwhelmed with emotion to make a comment about it, even when they hugged again and Sam felt it brush against his neck, causing him to choke down a giggle as Jake started one of his rambles. 

"You wouldn't believe the weather we had to get through to make it here," Jake said, throwing his palms up dramatically. "Rain like knives the whole way. I thought it was gonna cut through the sails but thanks to some expert direction from yours truly, we made it in record time."

"So, what, you're a captain now?" Sam asked, slightly in awe. 

"Sure am," Jake announced, pride dripping off him as he tipped his chin up and smoothed down his shirt. "A lot has happened since I've been out to sea."

"And you never thought to mention it in any of your letters?"

"Didn't seem fair to brag."

"Oh, get over yourself," Sam scoffed with a smile. "We've been pretty damn successful here without you. We're the talk of the town."

"Really? I didn't hear anything when I was showing the boys around town tonight, did we, boys?" Jake spoke to the crowd around them, and Sam startled slightly at their muddled replies and laughs as he remembered that it wasn't just him and his brothers alone in this space they had grown up in.  

"When we had dinner tonight, did any of you hear about the ol' Caravel?" Jake teased, slinging an arm around Sam and pulling him down to his height, mussing his hair. "Any talk of sweet Brandy?"

"Shut up!" Sam cried, trying to wiggle out of Jake's surprisingly strong grip, his face flushing as the men around them erupted into raucous laughter and whistles. He finally released him, Sam immediately straightening and brushing his hair out with his fingers with a huff as Josh covered a smile with his hand and Jake laughed. 

"You're the worst," Sam declared in true youngest sibling fashion. "You can make your own drinks tonight, how about that?"

"It would be my pleasure," Jake invited warmly, and from the genuine twinkle in his eye, Sam could tell he meant it. 

"Don't you fuck up my bar, Jacob," Josh said seriously, jabbing his finger at his twin as Jake happily made his way behind the counter. "We did all this cleaning and organizing for you, you know."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam exclaimed, putting the pieces together as he glared down Josh, who immediately turned sheepish under Sam's sharp gaze. "You knew he was coming back? That's why you were being so weird? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We thought it would be a fun surprise," Josh explained meekly. "I still think it was."

"You're unbelievable," Sam sneered, secretly very touched by the gesture. "If I had known it was just Jake, I would've left some of that glass out on the floor."

"Cruel!" Jake cried from his spot behind the bar, where he was now dutifully pouring drinks for his crew, who were only now starting to settle. "It's not just me, it's my men, too. Wouldn't want them getting hurt, now would we?"

Sam didn't reply, simply smiling innocently and turning back to grab his tray to tend to the sailors who had taken seats at tables. He didn't remember exactly where it had ended up landing in his tackling of Jake. He looked around the shoulders of the burly men who had conveniently gathered around the spot on the bar he figured he must have set it down, but didn't see it anywhere. 

Behind him, the jukebox started up, a high instrumental starting to swing out over the crowd inside the Caravel. Sam turned towards the sound instinctually, and blinked in shock when he saw his tray resting atop the jukebox, sitting casually beside the tall man facing the jukebox. Sam approached the tray thief, sidling around his strong frame and preparing himself to have to argue with whoever this kleptomaniac was. Instead, Sam found himself freezing up when he caught sight of the man's profile. 

His eyes, cast down and shadowed by dark, stern brows and long lashes, tracked the song listings as his long, calloused fingers ghosted the dials. His hair was as long as Jake's and fell in smoky ringlets that swayed against his broad shoulders. His nose was handsomely aquiline, and Sam realized that he was close enough to see a peppering of freckles across it. He swallowed thickly and prayed that he hadn't been standing there too long, suddenly unaware of how much time had passed since he had first started looking at the stranger. Sam decided to break himself out of his brief funk by reaching up and snatching the tray off of the jukebox, the flimsy metal making a racket that made the jukebox man jump slightly and turn to Sam with wide eyes. 

"That's my tray," Sam announced, staring him down. There was a short pause, a smile creeping onto the man's face as his gaze softened.

"You're Brandy," he finally said, his small smile stretching into a full, charming smile that was crooked in the way Sam had only ever read about. Sam flushed, his ears going hot as he gripped the tray tightly and curled his lip.

"It's Sam, actually," Sam snapped, wondering why his flustered state was translating as frustration.

"Oh, well, my apologies," the man said sincerely, dipping his head slightly in apology. "That's what the captain called you. I'm Daniel."

"Your captain is my brother, so I wouldn't take anything he says about me at face value," Sam explained, pushing away the thought of what the hell Jake told his crew he was like, if he talked about him and Josh at all. He must have. He was too much of a sap not to. 

Daniel laughed, and Sam flinched at the sound. He didn't know why, it was a nice laugh.

"Don't worry, he speaks very highly of you," Daniel affirmed, and Sam was annoyed to find himself physically relaxing. Did he really care what a bunch of sailors thought of him? "You don't look how I pictured, though." 

"Oh?" Sam barked out an awkward laugh. "What did you think I'd look like?"

Daniel shrugged, his hair shifting enough to reveal hoops in his ears similar to Jake's. He did a dramatic look up and down of Sam, which made him go hot in the face again as Daniel's eyes finally rested on his own. 

"He always described you as, I don't know, like a squirrely little brother," Daniel remarked, gesturing vaguely at Sam. "Messy hair, snotty nose. Which is definitely not you."

"You're strange," Sam replied, meaning it. 

"You're pretty."

Sam froze as he had when he had first approached Daniel, every muscle tensing up as his mouth snapped shut. Daniel stood there smiling at him like he hadn't said a word. 

"I'm working," Sam countered nervously, turning away and then turning back. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Daniel echoed, looking back down at the jukebox. "Brandy."

Sam tossed a silent glare at him before hurrying away, quickly distracting himself with fetching rounds for the nearby tables occupied by Daniel's crewmates. 

'What the fuck was that?' Sam kept thinking to himself as he bustled around for the next hour, far too aware that Daniel was still somewhere in this space with him. It wasn't that he had made Sam uncomfortable...it was something else entirely. He couldn't put words to it, and it frustrated him. 

"You're a pistol tonight, Sammy," Jake commented as Sam came sailing back to the bar for the 3rd time in the past 10 minutes, clearing his tray and stocking it with a fresh round of clean glasses. "I knew me being here would renew your zest for work."

"You're a hoot, Jakers," Sam said dryly, both of them exchanging mocking faces as Jake poured up Sam's new round. "Your friends are something else."

"They're a lively bunch, aren't they?" Jake responded proudly, casting a look out over the bar at his men. "Make any friends yet? I talk about you and Joshy every chance I get, you should know. These boys all think you two are the bees knees. Brother of the Year goes to me, thank you."

"Daniel told me about that," Sam replied coolly. "The talking about us, not you being Brother of the Year. Not sure you've earned that one, Mr. Runaway."

"Ah, Daniel," Jake smirked, shaking his head with a mysterious smile. "I love that guy. Damn good when it comes to heavy lifting and rigging. Did you get a look at those tree trunk arms of his?"

"I can't say I did," Sam muttered, lying.

"He's a strong fellow. His talents are much appreciated. He also happens to be a complete sweetheart. If you're gonna actually try and befriend any of these fuckers, he's probably your best bet."

"Noted," Sam replied quickly as Jake poured the last drink. "I'll be back in a second."

"Take your time!" Jake encouraged, pushing Sam back out into the fray. "Go say hi to Daniel for me!"

-

Sam didn't honor Jake's request until after 3am, when Josh had finally taken back control of the bar and insisted Jake and his crewmates get moving so they could clean up. 

"Tell me they're not staying in our house," Josh muttered to Jake as the three of them huddled behind the bar, pretending to be busy as the sailors all gathered up their coats and drunkenly stumbled their way to the entrance. "You promised. We only have the three rooms and our living room is certainly not up to code for sailor folk."

"I've booked them week-long stays at the inn, don't even worry about it," Jake insisted in a whisper. "I sure hope I'm allowed the privilege to sleep in my own bed."

"Of course, idiot," Josh smiled, smacking Jake's arm. "Your bed is still how you left it."

"You're only here for a week?" Sam questioned, his stomach sinking as reality shook the seeming eternity of this odd night. 

"I'm afraid so, pipsqueak," Jake affirmed, his tone weak but his voice far too laced with whiskey to effectively communicate any kind of genuine sadness. 

Sam stared into the glass he was halfheartedly wiping and held back everything he wanted to say. He wished he could say anything about how it wasn't fair to the family for Jake to leave for so long, or how the almost complete lack of communication was even less fair, or how much easier it would be for him to just stay. But Jake was drunk, and it was late, and it just wasn't worth it, so Sam just mumbled an "okay" and stacked the glass. 

"You know," Sam started to say, faltering slightly when both of them looked at him expectantly. "Josh, why don't you just go back with Jake and I'll finish up here. I don't think he can make it back by himself, and I doubt he's kept hold of his house key since leaving."

"Aw, Sammy, you don't have to," Josh pushed back, putting an appreciative hand on Sam's slight shoulder. "I think he can make his way."

"I'm standing right here," Jake interjected, swaying only slightly as he leaned forward. "I can give input. My input is I'm completely fine to walk the 5 minutes home."

"And you have your key?"

Jake paused, his glassy eyes darting around in space as he thought, gently moving to pat his pockets.

"He does not," Josh said to Sam alone, his tired features raising in devilish amusement.

"No, he does not," Sam agreed as they watched Jake turn away slightly to dig in his pockets some more. 

"Still here," Jake piped up again, finally giving up on his key search. "But, yes, it would seem I've misplaced them. But I can wait outside. It's not even that cold and I got some fire in my belly to keep me warm."

"People are going to think you're a vagrant, Jake, no," Sam argued, waving his brothers away. "Josh, take him home. Both of you, get some sleep for once. I'll lock up and see you in the morning."

"Are you sure, Sammy?" Josh asked again, looking at him with a little too much concern. "I'm not saying I don't think you can, I'm just-"

"Get out!" Sam insisted, grabbing both of them by the shoulder and spinning them to face away from him. "And stay out! Follow the crowd, little fish, swim away. I'll be fine, I can handle putting up chairs and mopping."

"Fine, fine, sheesh," Josh giggled, wrestling Sam away from him and slinging a rough arm around Jake, hauling him towards the last few men trailing out the door. "You take care of my baby! And get home quick!"

"Bite me!" Sam replied cheerfully, waving them away with his rag like he was waving off a ship.

"Good to see you again, Sam! I love you!" Jake called loudly, despite being only a few feet away.

"I love you too, you drunk!" 

"Aw!" Jake blew him a kiss, causing Josh to cackle and start up an unheard conversation as they opened the door in identical hand slaps and slipped out into the cool, dark night. 

Sam turned his back to the door, slinging the rag in his hand over the spigot of the sink and sliding the tub of dirty dishes into the basin, letting the water run from cool to warm to soak them. He looked into the full length mirror that Josh had tipped sideways in front of the sink and just under the first shelf of bottles, grimacing slightly at the dark circles continuing to grow under his eyes and the state of the flyaways that had fallen from the ponytail he'd thrown up around 1am. Sam leaned in closer, pulling the ribbon from his hair and letting it fall in a shiny curtain, smoothing it back with his damp fingers. Something fluttered in the mirror, causing Sam to squint and look into the slightly warped and smudged glass, catching sight of something dark behind him. He straightened with a jolt and spun on his heel, brandishing the silk ribbon as if it could do anything to protect him against an intruder. 

Instead, he found Daniel wandering around by the door, watching him with that same gentle smile he'd given him before. Sam's heart had raced when he'd seen something behind him, but now it was just about ready to slam a gory hole through his chest and escape. 

"Oh, my God," Sam wheezed, clutching his chest to hold his heart in. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I didn't mean to," Daniel said with a chuckle, his long legs delivering him to the bar. "I was worried we got off on the wrong foot and wanted to rectify that."

"And you figured waiting in the corner like a silent specter until I was alone was the perfect solution to starting up a jolly ol' friendship?" Sam teased, annoyance lacing his voice with no real venom behind it. "I stand behind when I said you were strange."

"And I stand behind what I said after you said that," Daniel doubled down, leaning onto the bar and meeting Sam's eye, which Sam tried to hold with a nervous swallow.

"Oh, is that why you stayed?" Sam laughed weakly, turning away from Daniel to start on properly washing the dishes. "I don't know what kind of guy you think I am, but I'm not like that."

"No, no, that's not..." Daniel sighed, and Sam watched him lean his head against his hand in the mirror for a brief moment before looking up again, watching the back of Sam's head. "I'm fucking blowing this, huh?"

"Pretty much," Sam agreed with a smile, his cheeks warming. "You really haven't talked to anybody outside of your crewmates for a while, hm?"

"No," Daniel mumbled dejectedly, and Sam bit his lip to prevent a giggle from escaping.

"I can tell."

There was a minute of quiet between them, the only sound being the motion of the water in the sink and the dishes clinking together as Sam rinsed them and wiped them down haphazardly. 

"Do you want help? I can dry."

Sam looked over his shoulder in surprise at the offer. Daniel looked sincere, so Sam nodded slightly and motioned for him to join him behind the bar. Now that they were standing right next to each other, Daniel's towering height and body heat were dizzying in Sam's peripheral as he struggled to keep his hands steady in the soapy water. Daniel dutifully took the ratty drying towel and gently dried off the glasses and plates as Sam handed them to him, both of them working in tense silence. Sam's mind spun as they fell into rhythm, wondering once again just what the hell was going on tonight. 

They were done in a quick 10 minutes, with Daniel drying the last dish with a flourish and training his blinding smile on Sam, who returned it with much less fervor. 

"What next?" Daniel asked brightly. Sam just looked at him for a second, squinting his eyes in confusion as he stared up at the kindly giant who was apparently more than ready for chores.

"Dude, we're closed," Sam explained. "And you don't work here. You're lucky I let you stay this long. You don't have to be here."

"I know, but I want to be," Daniel explained right back. "And you're lucky to have some company. So, what's next?"

"Uh," Sam stuttered, utterly flummoxed by Daniel. "Well, I was going to put the chairs up so I can mop."

"Okay, why don't you get the mopping stuff and I'll put the chairs up?"

"Well-"

It was too late for any kind of response because Daniel had already started shimmying out from behind the bar and making his way over to the sea of tables that had been knocked around and moved all night, straightening them up and effortlessly lifting chairs with a single hand and sitting them gently on the wood. Sam hesitated for only a minute, watching Daniel work to a tune he had started humming, absently wringing his cold hands before wiping them on his apron and shuffling off to the maintenance closet to pull out the mop and bucket. By the time he had wrangled them out, Daniel had managed to get every chair off the ground, allowing Sam to flop the old mop onto the hardwood and start pushing clean water across it. 

"Careful or I'm going to mop you into a corner," Sam threatened, starting towards Daniel with the mop. Daniel yelped in mock fear, backing away dramatically with his hands up. Sam let his front fall for a moment at seeing Daniel play along so easily, smiling as he lifted the mop off the ground and held it out towards Daniel, swinging a spray of floor water towards the sailor. Daniel yelped for real then, laughing as he tip toed his way back towards the bar, perching on one of the bolted down stools as Sam snickered to himself, continuing his mopping route.

"You're a beast with that thing," Daniel encouraged, kicking his leg up onto the stool and resting his cheek against his knee. "How long have you been a mopping prodigy?"

"Well, I've been the designated mopper since I was 12, so about 10 years now," Sam said, and Daniel let out a low whistle. 

"I'm surprised they started you on it that late. Did you do any work here before that?"

"Some," Sam offered, redipping the mop. "More cleaning stuff. I couldn't serve until after we inherited it, so I had sort of a late start on that front." 

"Jake told us about that." Daniel paused. "I'm sorry about your parents."

"It's alright," Sam answered immediately, the response mechanical after so many years of sentiments. He couldn't even begin to delve back into the emotions their accident brought. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Another lull, save for the sound of water.

"My folks bit it, too."

Sam's grip on the mop shifted and he had to fight it from falling over, looking over to Daniel at the bar, whose face was still chipper despite his statement.

"Same thing too, actually," Daniel continued, his hand tracing the motion of waves. "Spot of bad weather on a trip and down they went. The sea is a merciless mistress."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that," Sam stammered, shocked at how blasé Daniel was about such a trauma, especially considering how much he could relate.

"As you said, it's alright, and thank you," Daniel grinned, nuzzling his cheek into his knee further. "I forgave her."

"Her?"

"The sea," Daniel explained, his eyes twinkling slightly. "She can't help but do what she does. Sometimes it means getting a little rough and taking a few of our own. She can't stop it, and neither can I. All I can do is try and bend to her ever changing will."

"Sounds like you two have a complicated relationship," Sam joked as he mopped himself back towards the maintenance closet. Daniel laughed and he nearly bowed under the weight of it, instead gripping the sweat slick handle of the mop a little tighter.

"Maybe we do," Daniel laughed, watching Sam with a fierce grin. "But I love it. She's my life, my lover, my lady."

"Is that so?" Sam leaned the mop back inside the closet, taking advantage of the door shielding him from seeing Daniel for a second. "Then what are you doing here with a landlubber like me?"

There was no reply, forcing Sam to close the door and make eye contact with Daniel again, who was still staring at him with that frustratingly ever present smile ghosting his rosy lips. 

"Because I'm going to need someone to hang out with while I'm here," Daniel said simply. "And Jake told me you're my best bet."

Sam couldn't help but let an inappropriately timed laugh escape then, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and crossing his arms.

"Jake, you bitch," he spoke to the sky. "He said the same damn thing to me tonight."

"Ha! He's never struck me as the matchmaker type," Danny chuckled. "What a sly dog." 

"I wouldn't call it matchmaking," Sam protested, bending to lift the mop bucket and struggling to get it off the ground, flushing in embarrassment. In a flash, Daniel was on his feet and in front of Sam, taking the bucket from him and carrying it like it was a glass of water.

"I would," Daniel argued back. "Where do you need this?"

"Uh, the sink," Sam replied meekly, waving towards the sink. "If you get it there, I can dump it."

"Don't bother, I got it," Daniel insisted, strolling over to the sink and tipping the gray, foamy water down the drain. "Come on, you're not going to let me take you out?"

"I already told you, I'm not that kind of guy," Sam doubled down, tucking hair behind his ear as he watched Daniel shake the last of the water out. "Gimme that."

"I suppose you'll want this back too?"

Daniel held the bucket aloft and in his same curled hand, Sam's silk hair ribbon hung down, the longest bit of lilac thread nearly grazing the inside of the bucket. Sam let an involuntary quiet gasp fly, feeling his cheeks flush once again as he stomped towards Daniel, reaching out for the bucket and ribbon. Daniel held it even higher then, giggling down at Sam as he stood on his tiptoes and struggled for his things.

"You're a fucking kleptomaniac, you know that, right?" Sam hissed in frustration. "It's a disease, and buddy, you have it tenfold."

"One date, that's all I ask," Daniel cooed. "Jake said you'd be tough, so I came prepared to wear you down."

"Jake said what?!"

"He saaaaid,'' Daniel began, lifting the bucket and ribbon even higher when Sam made a springing jump for them, grabbing desperately. "That his little brother was a sweetheart pretending to be a real tough cookie and in desperate need of a date."

"Lies and slander," Sam seethed. "Jake was lying through his teeth to prank you. You've been pranked. Now bite the bullet and give me my things back, please!"

"Mm, no, see, he said you'd say something like that," Daniel hummed, backing up against the bar as Sam stalked closer. "He said there were few things you'd be unable to resist and that I had the most of those qualifications out of our crew. Therefore, I was deemed the lucky fellow tasked with treating you right."

"Oh, really? And what are these alleged traits I find so irresistible?" 

"He said you were a sucker for dark hair," Daniel smiled, cocking his head so his glossy curls swung around his flushed face. "Especially curly hair. He said you like freckles, and green eyes, but most of all you like someone who can handle your attitude."

Sam stood there silently, his heart pounding in his ears as he attempted to glare a hole through the center of Daniel's head.

"You don't have green eyes," Sam pointed out, his voice still dark with frustration. "And I can barely see your freckles." 

"But you admit I'm doing a good job of handling your attitude."

"Stop putting fucking words in my mouth!"

"Stop fighting me and admit you're enjoying yourself!" Daniel crowed, the bucket swinging happily over his head. "You already like having me around. I'm charming, and I'm useful, and I'll pay for your dinner." 

They stared each other down, inches apart, Sam's already burnt out brain churning desperately to make sense of the situation and figure out how to proceed with such a relentless prick holding him up like this. Finally, he dropped back down to the balls of his feet and let his arms rest at his side, letting out a furious huff through his nose and walking away from Daniel.

"Keep them, I could give a fuck," Sam declared. "I'm going the fuck home. Get the fuck out."

Daniel laughed again, and Sam could've strangled him for it. He heard the clank of the bucket hitting the floor and then the soft tread of Daniel's footsteps approaching. He drew in a sharp breath when Daniel's arm came around his side and extended the ribbon to him, his palm up as if in surrender. 

"At least let me walk you home," Daniel maintained, his voice low and velvet soft. "I don't want any criminals snatching you up on your way."

Sam's hand came up and gently took the ribbon from Daniel, the tips of his finger grazing the warm roughness of his hand and then retreating just as quickly, tucking the ribbon into his pocket. He sighed deeply and looked over his shoulder, trying not to startle physically when he realized how close Daniel was, the front of his dark linen top nearly grazing the curve of Sam's back. 

"Get your coat," Sam muttered, stepping out of the near embrace and making his way to the back door. "And stay away from the register."

Daniel laughed as he went back for his corduroy jacket, sneaking a look at the back of Sam's head and graceful figure.

"You really think I'm a lowdown dirty thief, don't you?" Daniel accused, catching up to Sam and opening the door before he got the chance, a gesture which Sam begrudgingly accepted as he stepped out for the second time that night. 

"Yes, I do," Sam agreed, all but yanking Daniel out the door and locking the door with a firm click that soothed his soul a little, certain the craziness of the night was locked away with it.

"You have no idea," Daniel murmured mysteriously, dipping down to hum it in Sam's ear. The feeling of his hot breath ghosting the cold shell of his ear sent chills down Sam's neck that made him involuntarily speed up his pace as they walked down the dim, quiet alleyway. 

This walk usually took about 10 minutes when he walked with Josh, slowing his speed ever so slightly to account for the gangly legs that Josh simply did not possess. However, with Daniel beside him, Sam arrived at his door in record time, not needing to check the time to know it had been about half his usual time. Daniel had tried a few times to strike up a conversation, but Sam had chosen to satiate him only with simple replies and looks, far too worn out to put up with his relentless cheer any longer. 

"Well, this is me," Sam said with finality, pulling his keys out again and giving Daniel a polite smile. "Thank you for walking me home, it was nice to meet you."

"Of course," Daniel replied, his eyes tracing over Sam's face as Sam quietly slid the key into the lock and opened the door a crack. Before Sam could get inside and finally wind down for the night, Daniel reached out and grasped his arm with gentle force, turning Sam ever so slightly towards him.

"Listen, before I go," Daniel began, his perky expression fading ever so slightly into a calmer look Sam couldn't quite read, his features softened by the hazy moonlight. "I know I've been a lot, and I know you probably don't care for me very much, but I really would like to take you to dinner tomorrow."

Sam let out a long, heavy sigh, looking longingly towards the door. Once inside, he would be able to fall into his nice, warm, comfy bed and just sleep. He could even sleep in if he wanted to, and then in the morning, he would get to hang out with his brother, whom he hadn't seen in 2 full years. But here he was, being tugged on by an aggressively cheerful sailor, who was also aggressively into him. Standing on worn, tired legs, in the cold, in the dead of night. There was only one thing standing between him and that sleep he was fantasizing about.

"Sure," Sam finally agreed, shifting awkwardly to accommodate the grin that burst onto Daniel's face at the affirmation. "If it'll get you off my doorstep."

"Wonderful," Daniel said, his smile bleeding into his voice. "Meet me at the pub by the inn at 5 tomorrow. I'll have you back before your shift starts."

"How do you know when-"

"Have a good night," Daniel cut him off, patting Sam's shoulder before spinning on his heel and setting off towards the inn, whistling the jukebox tune he'd played earlier in the night as Sam watched his dark form bounce away. 

Sam waited until he was out of sight to release the tension he'd been holding in his chest in the form of a fast, hot huff of breath, bracing himself against the doorway as he took in another drink of cool air and tried to stave off the perplexing dizzying feeling that overcame him. He entered his house as quietly as he could and shut the door firmly behind him, his fingertips shaking from the adrenaline that had overcome him and seized every bodily motion with uncomfortable velocity. Clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to get it out of his system, Sam silently padded by Josh's room, listening only for a second before he heard the soft and unmistakable rattle of the snoring his brother claimed not to do. Next, he stopped in front of Jake's door, finding it ajar and peeking in to see him curled up on top of the blanket and sheets, one of his comically large wide brimmed hats sat crookedly on his head and tipped over his face. Sam went to shut the door but stopped halfway, recalling a memory of Jake tossing a shoe at his head when they were much younger, bitching to keep the door open because he "needed the air". Sam left it open, and retreated to his room.

Sam immediately collapsed on the edge of his bed, slipping his shoes off and ridding himself of his shirt and pants in a flurry of motion, rolling over with a grunt and taking the blanket with him.  He faced the wall for a few minutes, trying to steady his breathing so he could dip into the sleep he so desperately craved, but his eyes didn't close and his mind didn't slow to allow unconsciousness. He turned so he was laying on his back, pulling the covers over his bare chest and staring up at the blank ceiling, trying to clear his mind. 

It was around 5am when Sam finally got his shut eye, sinking back into his thin pillow with his lips parted, the darkness outside starting to lift with the first flickers of morning light. It had only taken an hour of tossing, turning, and indulging in the relentless parade of images flickering against his eyelids, counting the freckles on the strange sailor's nose until he drifted away.

~~~

[reasonsforhope]

Catherine Borowski has always had an active imagination. As a child, she dreamed that the car park on her north London council estate would be transformed into a garden. The reality was quite different. “No one had a car, so it was empty, grey and depressing,” she says. Now a sculptor and event producer, Borowski has made it her mission to fill unloved urban spaces with flowers – albeit virtual ones. 

She and her partner Lee Baker are the founders of Graphic Rewilding, a project to install huge nature-inspired artworks into the urban landscape. “Where real rewilding isn’t possible, our goal is to inject the colour and diversity of nature into rundown spaces, urging people to notice – and find joy in – the world around them,” says Baker.   

The pair believe that flowers possess serious powers, even when they’re not real. “We know that spending time in nature is good for us, but studies show that even pictures of plants have a positive effect on the mind,” says Baker. He cites research published in The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, which found that imagery of plants in hospital waiting rooms can help reduce feelings of stress in patients. 

Baker, a painter and music producer, has long understood the benefits of biophilic design. Having suffered a breakdown 10 years ago, he found that drawing flowers was the only way to soothe his buzzy brain. “I would set out to draw dystopian landscapes, representative of my state of mind, but I’d always end up drawing flowers, which uplifted me,” he says.

It was around this time that Baker met Borowski, joining her production company as creative director. The pair have collaborated ever since, launching Graphic Rewilding in 2021. Since then, they’ve installed floral murals at locations including Earl’s Court station, Lewes Castle and Westfield Shopping Centre in Shepherd’s Bush – all hand drawn by Baker. “We love galleries, but we focus on public art,” he says. “This way, our work is out there for everyone to enjoy.”

This year the pair have grand plans to create a series of stained glass pavilions (think greenhouses with colourful floral-themed panels), which they hope might find homes at Kew Gardens and the Eden Project. “The way light shines through the glass is magical,” says Borowski.  

Even so, they concede that art is no match for Mother Nature. “Some people have suggested that our project detracts from real rewilding efforts. But both can co-exist,” says Borowski. “Of course we want more green spaces.” adds Baker. “But we aren’t gardeners. We’re artists. In the absence of nature, we want to create inspiring spaces through art.”

Overall, the response has been hugely positive. “The joy that these artworks bring is palpable,” says Baker, highlighting an early project in Crawley, West Sussex. “Many people in the town were employed by Gatwick airport and Covid had taken its toll,” he recalls. In a bid to spread some joy, the duo painted brick walls, billboards, benches and even bins with their signature floral flair. “Peoples’ reactions were heartwarming. There were so many smiling faces,” he says.

Elsewhere, in Earl’s Court, the pair transformed “a ratty piece of tarmac” into a modern-day pleasure garden, which is now often filled with children dancing and doing cartwheels on the way home from school. “Putting art into a place that previously felt unloved feels like cultivating joy where there was none,” reflects Borowski. “If something like this had been installed on my estate when I was a kid, it would have been a dream come true.”

-via Positive.News, November 6, 2023

[sileaz]

Gemstone ✦ J.F.

✦ Jesper Fahey x Fem! Lantsov! Reader

━━━━━ ( SYNOPSIS. ) Your monotonous life as the youngest Lantsov takes an unexpected turn when, one evening, you come face to face with a man⏤ "a Crow," he insists⏤who seems determined to steal a mysterious jewel. 

5K words ✦ Fluff

In a distant province, at the crossroads of several lands—Fjerda to the north and Shu Han to the south—stood a kingdom both adored and despised: Ravka. The few lonely souls, strangers to this land, who wished to cross its borders had to face the dark horror of the fold or the unpredictability of the True Sea when you did not come from the East.

If, luckily, your feet managed to tread the paved ground of the capital, Os Alta, then your gaze would be instantly drawn to the castle overlooking the city. It dominated the land, its tallest tower almost touching the sun as it was high in the sky, sending shade over the streets which, observed from above, took the form of a gigantic star. In the outer area, where peasants and simple souls lived, the houses piled up in a dancing procession of bricks, roofs, and whimsical walls. Small, large, squares, long… none were similar. Each house seemed to have been carefully shaped by the own hands of those who lived behind its walls.

One needed to venture into the heart of the city for the buildings to become more structured, losing their charm but gaining in size and prestige. Colours also disappeared, replaced by the monotonous grey of the stone, sometimes adorned with the shine of gold but without ever provoking in the retina of the passers-by a flamboyant explosion similar to those triggered by the peripheric villages. The Ravkan elite were jealous of the beautiful sight they sometimes saw on their way out of the city, separated in their carriages.  

Flowers.

They covered the villages. At every corner of the streets, of the houses, the flowers decorated and coloured the hamlets with a palette of hues which could be seen nowhere else. They were an ode to greenery, colour, and joy. Its inhabitants spent their days telling each other the news of the day without worrying about the horrors that this world had to offer. It was as if the Fold had not touched them. Perhaps they wished to hide all the fear that poverty and the uncertainty of tomorrow could bring in this blooming spectacle.  

Roses, hydrangeas, cornflowers, honeysuckles, lilies… all were there, adding their colours to the great and ubiquitous floral harmony, which Os Alta’s centre could only envy, as did the prettiest flower in the kingdom, trapped in the colour-and-flowerless castle. Lovely, radiant, delicate; she was a bud still waiting to be picked.

For gilding blinds the sorrow, no one knew that, enclosed in the top of her golden tower—the highest in the castle—her petals were fading one by one. Slowly. Painfully.

The sound of the piano resonated the room. It was heard, it was understood and appreciated. It made itself understood by all those present except by the person who played it. You could see your fingers moving with grace and delicacy. You were not feeling the music, you were enduring it. For you, this was not a melody, it could not possibly become one. Those were only sounds; sounds without any poetry, nor any meaning.

In the middle of this symphony, suddenly, a false note.A false note that sounded better than a note perfectly played. A false note that reminded you that nothing could be perfect — despite what your mother endeavoured herself to tell you. You wanted to smile, smile at the joy that this mistake had caused you. But you held back, keeping your back straight, your gaze fixed on the music sheet and its lines stained with shapes, of which you understood only a quarter.

“Start again.”

The voice was carried away by the draught, but nevertheless, it reached your ears: a low voice, a firm tone—annoyance. Just like that, your hands began to move again, to move to the rhythm of the notes, without any fault. The sound escaped from the strings pinched by the hammers, encompassing the room in a musical trance in which you did not participate. Your gestures, alike that of a puppet controlled by strings, stopped abruptly when, at last, the final three notes resonated several minutes later.

“You’ll play it until it reaches perfection. It is out of the question to pass for fools because of you at the gala.”

“Yes, mother.”

Receiving a positive comment from your genetrix was impossible. This lack of acknowledgment hurt you more than you wanted to admit, but no one knew about this. Your mother—the Queen—had, after all, done an exceptional job when she had taught you the art of hiding your emotions.

“A dignified queen must always appear in control of the situation, even if she is not.”

“A respectable queen must not let her emotions supplant her wisdom. They are detrimental and useless.”

These sentences were simple excerpts that made up the long list of manners you had to learn. For your parents, most specifically your mother, these were the most important thing to remember. They had focused on instructing their values. They had tried to turn you into their perfect little pet. They had not noticed how they had deprived you of freedom. They had grown attached to perfection, even more than to their own daughter.

These pieces of advice had fixed themselves in your mind. You didn’t let any feelings appear. Never an ounce of fear, anger, sadness could be seen on your face. Never once you questioned this method. Never once you thought that, perhaps, humankind needed it. Never once you thought that perhaps, it was vital for humans to show their emotions.

The most painful thing was to see that this did not apply to your brothers. Nikolai had been allowed to travel at sea, becoming a privateer guided by the wind. Vasily, when he was alive, had had the chance to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, alcohol, life.

The sound of many steps, followed by one of a closing door was the warning signal to drop this mask that had become too heavy for you; this illusion of a model princess, the worthy heir to the throne of Ravka. The citizens thought they had a strong woman in front of them, ready to lead their destiny to glory as your father had tried and failed to do.

They were wrong.

You were none of that. Sometimes, your thoughts would take you on a journey into a parallel world, a world in which royalty did not flow through your veins, a world in which luxury was only one thing you could dream of.

You stood still for a while, staring at those black and white keys; these keys that contradicted the saying, “life is not just black or white.” And it was true. Life was not reduced to two side. Life was an expanse of hues, unique to each individual. Most people had a colourful expanse, similar to the various flowers adorning the village’s streets. Some, more melancholic, held an expanse of dark tones, as dark as the Fold. You, however, had only ever experienced an expanse of grey. Your life had taken the form of a repetitive and boring rhythm, a rhythm that did not make you sing, a rhythm that did not make you dance, a rhythm that made you want to sit on a chair and stay motionless.

Resuming touch with reality, you looked around. Only silence answered you. No maid, no valet, but most of all, no mother, something that relaxed you. Your shoulders, until then tensed, fell back into their natural place, just like the curvature of your back, until then so straight that it had made you feel acute pain in your kidneys.

It was a routine you cherished, that of being able to remove for a few moments this mask of the perfect student, to be able to cut the puppet’s strings. The unfortunate thing, and above all the most painful, however, was knowing that these threads and this mask would control you again in a few hours. Oh, how much you hated this life. If only you could run away, your existence would immediately become simpler. You envied criminals and their lawless world. No more responsibilities, no more orders, no more parents and their lack of empathy. Nothing more than freedom.

How beautiful it was to dream...

You waited for a few moments, finding solace in this silence which, while some might have described it as deafening, differed so much from the sound of this damned piano. That was maybe why you thought of it as beautiful. Standing up was a difficult task to achieve; no matter the season, day, time, your maids persisted in covering your body with the most delicate fabrics and intriguing knots, the beauty of the outfit had always prevailed over comfort, forcing you to keep a smile on your face while your chest was constantly compressed.

When, finally, you headed for your quarters, walking with a steady and assured step, you admired the windows and the beautiful landscape they offered you. The sunset had been magnificent and the moon, almost full, had risen, pouring its silvery light over the plain, the mountain and the mounds that rose here and there.

During your journey among the huge corridors empty of any presence, you observed the bindings of the walls for which you could not pretend care. The people your mother and brothers invited, governors, diplomats from neighbouring lands, were ecstatic at every detail of these walls, floors. They admired the finesse with which the sculptor had carved the stones, the candlesticks covered in gold and the precision of the carpenter who had created the dressers.

All you could see was bricks, candles, and wood. Nothing less, nothing more. There was nothing worth babbling in admiration, after all, it was obvious that these people possessed excessive castles and other dwellings adorned with the same, if not better, attributes. It was only the result of the sheer hypocrisy in which the court of the king, your father, had bathed. Among this crowd, all wanted to be thought highly of, thus laughing falsely at every word, before criticizing those with whom they had just discussed.

However, you were careful to not share your observations with these people, who would laugh with contempt at each of your words, wondering how such an ungrateful and uneducated girl would become the queen.

The castle was plunged into darkness with one exception; on the stones the yellow glow of the still illuminated candlesticks glowed. Your hands caressed the soft fabric of your white silk dress out of sheer nervousness. The wind was howling, crashing against the windows and trees. Chills ran down your spine. The grip on the fabric not loosening, you picked up the pace, hoping to get to your room as soon as possible. Something was terrifying about being alone in this vastness.

Your trembling pupils grew larger as the candlelight dimmed. You felt that the temperature of the castle had suddenly dropped, your whole body beginning to shiver. The silence that you had enjoyed earlier had been broken, disturbed by whispers, footsteps that seemed to become louder. Passing by the throne room, your whole body froze when your eye caught something abnormal.

The door was ajar.

That had never happened before, you were sure of it. In all the moments that made up your miserable life, never had you seen this door open at night. The castle guards made sure to lock it every night, before beginning their rounds. This room was only open to the public on very rare occasions; even yourself could count on your fingers the number of times your feet had treaded the tiled floor. Of course, the gala was approaching fast, but why start preparations in the middle of the night? It was complete nonsense.

Deciding that it would be a wise decision to check what was going on, you approached the carved and gilded door, full of apprehension.

You did not believe in all the nonsense that the old madwoman of the village uttered all day long, this lady whom all the inhabitants had praised for her talents as an oracle. There was nothing more ridiculous than thinking of having power over the future yet so uncertain and anything else mystical. However, and as much as you hated to admit it, as you stood, ready to open that door, you could only trust your instinct. Something didn’t feel right.

Trembling, your fingers wrapped themselves around one of the handles, ready to push it to glimpse inside. With your gaze fixed on your action, it was impossible for you to notice the human silhouette that merged with yours.

“Hello there.”

A bloodcurdling scream resonated in the castle. Yours.

“Shush, princess. It would be a shame to get caught. Don’t you think?”

A hand was pressed against your mouth, forcing you to swallow back your protests. Pupils trembling, heart beating fast, your first reaction was to struggle. Your assailant took the blows without flinching as if your kicks were just a caress. Many tears flowed down your cheeks. Fear slowly crept into your veins, like a snake crawling through a deserted forest, not wanting to be spotted by potential prey. 

The only exception being that, here, you were the prey.

What was going to happen to you? Was this how your life was going to end, at the hands of a criminal? The latter loosened his grip on your waist, but while you saw an opportunity to escape, your ambitions were completely destroyed when he, instead, imprisoned your wrists. The man pulled you into the room with him before closing the door, which you were sure awoke the whole castle.

"Sorry princess, but I need you to stay quiet a little longer.”

A candle was lit, illuminating the face of the man who would surely be responsible for your death. You felt your cheeks warm at the sight of man. Tall and graceful, his features exuded a mix mischievousness and innocence—what a joke, you thought. A slight mocking but sweet smile was addressed to you. A smile so beautiful it must have been carved by the sun itself. He was beautiful, even ethereal. Never had your father’s pretenders reached the level of beauty you were now facing. His curly black hair fell before dark eyes, sparkling of malice. Bowing, he grabbed your hand to lay a kiss on it, a gift from his pink and thin lips.

"My name is Jesper, princess. It is an honour to meet the one who makes the entire kingdom swoon,” he winked.  

“The honour is not mutual. Unhand me at this instant, thief.”

“Ouch, careful with your words, princess! I’m not a thief. I’m a Crow,” he insisted.

You had heard about this name. Nikolai had mentioned it in one of his many letters. You could not remember the exact term he had used to describe them, but there was no doubt that crime was a byword for it.

It was just your luck to be faced with a member of one of the Ketterdam gangs.

For the first time in many months, a dose of adrenaline rushed in your veins. For the first time in many years, the excitement of being a part of an adventure—even though you were the victim — rushed in your veins. For the first time in your life, you felt alive.

You were pathetic, you knew it, walking into the lion's den so simply. Perhaps it was because you so desperately wished to live and feel, even fear. Perhaps it was because he had been the only one in several years to speak to you with a semblance of emotions in his voice, even if it was malice. This tone changed from the contemptuous one used by all those with whom you had been forced to converse.

This man, you did not know him, had just spoken to you as a normal person, if we ignored the excessive use of “princess.” So, yes, maybe this man—a strange character—, who had just broken in the castle if we were to judge the dust on his hands and face, should have been reported to the guards from the moment his hand had met yours… That should have been his destiny, yes, but you could not bring yourself to do it.  

“I demand you to immediately let go of my hand, sir,” you repeated, for he had seemed deaf to your order the first time.

He did so, but not without caressing your skin which he found to be as soft as a plum. The harmonious features that made up your face were royal, worthy of a queen. You were one of the most beautiful sculptures of beauty, a faithful allegory of the saints. Jesper could not look away from your figure. He found your beauty almost poetic as it told a story. On your skin, he saw the expression line caused by excessive and forced laughter. In your eyes, he could see the redness caused by repressed tears. The image you sent back was that of a masterpiece of celestial and melancholy.

All these rumours, those which spoke of an heiress with beauty as pure as a Saint were true.

After straightening his posture, the shooter dusted off his clothes. This particular gesture caused you to draw your attention to them. The black suit adorning his body made you frown, confirming your thoughts. An outfit like this had no place in this castle.

"Who are you, and what is the reason for your presence here, sir?”

A smile lit up his face as he approached you—making your breath hitch at the same time. What a strange man, you thought. He didn’t seem to care about anything, not even the fact that a single word coming out of your mouth could lead him to death. His step was light, giving the impression that he was floating rather than walking. With one hand, he grabs a strand of your hair, wriggling it around his index finger. Two mischievous eyes met yours.

To say you were surprised at this closeness with a stranger was an understatement. Wanting to keep you pure for your husband, your mother had strictly forbidden you to approach men, no matter their age, without a chaperone. Since childhood, your thoughts had been occupied by the responsibilities of being queen, the future that awaited you, never had you had time to find a moment to let your imagination flow to men. This land was totally unknown for you.

That’s why you didn't understand what was happening to you.

Why had your heart suddenly started to beat wildly when the scents of tobacco and musk, an exquisite combination, had reached your senses?

“I already told you,” a sly smile appeared on his face, “The name’s Jesper. The prettiest member of the Crows. As for my presence here… I am looking for a particular object, a gemstone if I may add.” He refrained from saying more. Kaz would kill him.

It was as if someone had just poured a bucket full of ice water on your body. A grimace formed on your face, a face that, you hated to admit, when you were angered, took on features that were known to belong to your mother. Your hand abruptly put an end to his touch by pulling his finger out of your hair. Two steps backwards were taken before an accusatory finger was pointed towards him.

"If you think I will let you steal my brother’s crown or his sceptre, then you’re absolutely wrong. You must leave before I warn the guards about your arrival and how you manhandled me.” 

“It won’t be necessary, sweetheart,” he replied, starting once again to play with your hair. He admired for a few moments the strands against which his fingers were slipping, they shone so much that he could have confused them with silk. You swatted his hand away, huffing. This man was slowly but surely pissing you off. "The gemstone will already be too far away for it to be recovered.”

Impossible. The guards had been chosen amongst the bravest and strongest men in Ravka. It was not a wretched criminal—his clothes made him look like one—that was going to counter that. He was alone, there were dozens of them. You shared your thoughts with him, scoffing at how ridiculous and overconfident he sounded.

"What is this jewel, anyway?” you went on, annoyance slowly increasing. “It must be small if you think its disappearance will not be noticed.”

He imprisoned between his long fingers your chin, which he directed upwards, before plunging his gaze into yours. His pupils were unstable, constantly going back and forth on your lips, your cheeks, your forehead, your hair… 

You were really beautiful, ethereal even, he thought. 

This man—that you had never heard of—was watching, even scrutinizing you, so intensely that you broke the eye contact, embarrassed. With his simple glance, the man had just sent the immeasurable number of lessons given by your mother flying. Even if it was impossible to hide the erratic beat of your heart and the warmth of your cheeks, you tried to maintain a neutral expression.

The words he articulated were spoken in a soft but mischievous voice, in the same tone that someone who would have taken to tell a secret.

"It’s the most beautiful gemstone in the kingdom. It is said that its beauty exceeds that of a pure diamond. Many wish to make it theirs; hypnotized at the thought of seeing this mysterious treasure with their own eyes. It is however inaccessible, enclosed between the walls of this castle. Only the most reckless tried to overcome this obstacle, but no one had succeeded. No one until me.”

"I… I am… not sure I understand what you may be talking about, Mr. Jesper.” Your voice was trembling, by the Saints, why was it trembling?

He shrugged, reassuring you that you would soon understand what his words meant. Looking around, assessing the room in which you were both still standing, his gaze finally landed on a small door at the back, next to the imposing throne. You swallowed when you understood where his eyes were focused. In this room was the wanted gemstone, worth millions of kruge. If by misfortune, this Jesper, whoever he was, managed to gain access to this room, your mother would have his head and yours with it.

"You cannot do that.” The façade you were trying to keep intact was starting to crack, its bases weakening at each of his words. It would collapse soon, for sure. Nevertheless, you had to hold it together until he was no longer in front of you. It was out of the question for him to see how his mere presence was managing to destabilize you.

"It isn’t in there. Though I might have to return one day. I could use some diamonds or even rubies. I’m not picky. Both suit my complexion, he sassed.”

What a boor!

The way he behaved triggered in you a fire that was increasingly becoming more difficult to contain. You were bubbling with anger. Didn’t this man understand what his presence here meant? Didn’t he understand how dangerous it was for him, for you? Frowning, fists clenched so strongly that your nails had made crescent shapes appear in your palms, you tried to stay calm. However, something in you snapped when he had the nerve to laugh.

"Get out! I said get out!”

Your cry was so loud that he recoiled several steps, his hands held up.

“Wow, calm down princess.”

The feeling of having your face on fire becoming disagreeable, you breathed slowly, a hand on it to calm you down. The beating of your heart resonating in your ears, you did not hear the few patting that sounded strangely like footsteps. It was only when the thief approached you, catching your hand in his, that you did realize the threat that was advancing faster and faster, always getting a little closer to its prey. You two.

Suddenly, many sounds of metal friction were heard in the silence of the castle, before shouted orders resonated, they had been pronounced so precisely that they could only be uttered by those who regularly surveyed these grounds.

The guards.

Your wide eyes crossed those of the man. The latter, frightened, stared in front of him, a hand on the holster on his belt, trying to determinate how long it would take these men to reach you. By the sound of their armours, it would not take long. Shaking his head, his thoughts converged in the same direction: he had to protect you—you were precious cargo, after all. Not that you knew.

Kaz would have his head if he were to scuttle the heist.  

A profanity was muttered; it being a word you couldn’t even bear pictured in your thoughts. Without you being able to understand what was going on, your body found itself placed without any delicacy on a shoulder clad in black clothes.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I promise I’m a renowned gentleman in Ketterdam.”  

“Ketterdam?!”

Jesper began to run at full speed to one of the nearest windows, mysteriously already opened. He must have broken in through here, you concluded. Looking behind him, the man hurried to jump off the ledge when his eyes caught sight of the armed men’s horde dressed in armour.

Ignoring your screams, and the blows your little fists dealt to his back, he reaffirmed his grip on you before jumping, trying his best to protect you as much as possible from the impact.

The flower field softened your landing.

The eyes that you had closed under fear began to filter the moonlight again. The incomprehension could be seen on your face. If he had had the intelligence to steal his oh so precious gemstone and leave without a word, everything would have gone well. It wouldn’t have been difficult for you to make up a lie about your presence in this room.

After all, lies were nothing new to you, they were constantly spilling from your lips. “Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I’m glad to be here. Yes, I can’t wait to become the queen.” Finding an alibi would have been a breeze and would have allowed the thief to escape safely. But, in the name of the Saints! Why did he drag you into this? Now his chances of survival had just been reduced to nothing and you were cold.  

In the middle of the chaos that were your thoughts, you could not help but notice something, however. Watching his pockets, nothing seemed to resemble near or far to a jewel.

“Where’s that famous gemstone? Tell me this mess wasn’t caused for nothing.”

“It’s right there, sweetheart.” Not waiting any longer, he took your hand, dragging you through the field of flowers, moving you further and further away from the castle. “Hurry up before the kingdom learns that their precious princess is gone.”

Soon you reached Os Alta’s outskirts.

Your eyes looked around, admiring with almost childlike curiosity the greenery that surrounded you. Stopping, forcing Jesper to do the same, you crouch in the grass, unconcerned about getting your dress dirty. Your eyes wide open, sparkling with happiness, fixed themselves on a flower with red petals. Slowly, your index came to caress the sweetness of this little gift that nature had honoured your kingdom with. One tear flowed, then the other, falling delicately on one of the petals, a morning dew ahead of time. 

For the first time, you saw and touched a real flower that was much more beautiful that what you had imagined the windows of the castle. For the first time, you could admire nature in its most beautiful form, you could be part of this painting and not just have to look at it knowing that it would never become a reality.

Watching the delicate features of the man who had just taken your hand to help you get up, gently caressing it with his thumb, you laugh. For the first time in your life, a real laugh shook your body, lodged tears of joy in your eyes. For the first time in your life, you felt free. For the first time in your life, you took your courage with both hands, ignoring the voice of your mother who tormented your thoughts, and stood on tiptoe to land a delicate kiss on Jesper's cheek, near his lips.

There was a silence that caused your heart to miss a beat. Did you just ruin everything? Perhaps you were deluding yourself? God, you could already hear your mother yelling at you, and the court laughing. Your cheeks tinged with red by embarrassment, you desperately tried to get away from him, wanting to preserve the last spark of dignity you had but you could not do such thing, already his arm had imprisoned your waist and his hand your cheek. Without your brain being able to apprehend the rest, his lips landed delicately on yours, but they immediately withdrew, so quickly that you thought you had imagined their warmth. A chaste kiss, which sent your thoughts into unspeakable chaos. With wide eyes, red face, you tried to hide the latter in the man’s chest shaken by his laughter.

“We’ll do more of that later, Jewel. For now, we need to get moving or Kaz will definitely have my head and I need it to kiss you.”

Suddenly, in the grey hue that had summed up your whole life, drops of paint fell. They fell by dozens. Red. Yellow. Even green. A real summer shower whose raindrops painted the air, your soul, your heart in colours all brighter than the other. It was a splendid picture of a field of flowers that appeared in your thoughts. In the midst of these tasks of colour, of cheerfulness, two silhouettes ran, their hands intertwined; above them, a crow loomed, almost like a protector.

[daryldixonfanfiction]

What you fight for! pt.8 - Killer City

Masterlist

summary: Getting ambushed by a vigilante group that wan’t them nothing but dead, Daryl does whatever it takes to protect Julia.

Warnings: Dark-dom!Daryl, protective!Daryl, unaliving, jealous!Daryl, a lot of gun violence, close call, fluff, mutual pining, age gap, Daryl teaches Julia how to use a gun, unrequited love, angst.

wc: 6.9k

Daryl drives them true to the empty city streets of Pittsburgh, brown leaves covering the pavement as compartment buildings pass them by. 

It takes Julia back to the time when she lived with her mother. It made her heart feel heavy and her mind whirled with all the bad memories that still haunted her to this day - and she wished to simply forget and leave her broken childhood behind. But like always she never could.

“Where the fuck is the hospital?” 

“I can’t tell from this,” Julia said, her eyes on the map. “I’m all turned around.”

“Don’t look at the state map,” Daryl scolds. “Look at the inset.”

“I don’t understand that one either.” Julia sighs, growing frustrated with her lack of orientation. “But, I think we’re heading north? Or is it south?”

They continue true the city, dust blows on the empty road. 

It felt so quiet. 

So empty.

“It’s gotta be the right,” Daryl said under his breath. “What the fuck.”  

Compartment buildings on both their sides - and just when Julia turns to look at him she spots one tall building,

“Stop!” Daryl pulls the car into an abrupt halt, “That must be the hospital, right?”

He follows her gaze to the building. She was right, it was the hospital, but something was off. They had missed them, agin. But his strain of thought was stopped when a man suddenly limped towards them. 

“HEY! PLEASE HELP!”

Everything was of, his gut sending warning signals true his body, and he orders - his tone low,

“Put your seatbelt on.”

The unsettling feeling of fear settels in her chest, her heart beating faster when she looks at him, and she asks,

“Aren’t we gonna help him?”

“No.” Daryl said coldly.

Daryl floors the gas, the limping man dashes out of the way. Julia watches as a man on top of a fire escape throws a brick down on them. 

“Daryl!” She shouts.

The windshield cracks and the tires scream in protest. They run over a spike strip on the road, making Daryl lose control over the vehicle. Another man steps forward, firing shots straight at them, hitting the broken windshield.

“Fuck!”

Daryl swerves away from the man with a gun and launches them into a glass door front. The truck hits a wall of washing machines. The hit was hard, but not enough to sustain an injury. There was this throbbing burn across her chest, the seat belt digging to her skin, once again saving her, but leaving a mark. And this was all too familiar, it felt like being in that car all over again. The second of a flashback was interrupted by his voice - urgent, and serious,

“Are you ok?”

“Yah,” Julia resures, disorientedly and she wondered how many more concussions her head could take.

“You’re not hurt?” He looks at her closely, “Nothin’?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Julia resources.

Two more shots hit the truck, they duked as the glass shattered.

“Belt’s off!” Daryl orders. “Fast!” 

Julia grabs her pack off the floor mat and opens her door. They take cover behind the truck as the two men continue to shoot at them from across the street,

“LETS SEE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Julia could feel herself begin to freeze in place, washing Daryl taking out his pack and weapons from the back seat. It felt like she was disappearing, her body escaping to somewhere else.

“GIVE US YOUR SHIT, YOU MAKE IT THROUGH THIS! WE PROMISE!”

Daryl loads his rifle, his crossbow on his person. Julia blankly looks at his hands working the weapon as she hugs her pack to herself and Daryl looks at her,

“Hey, you see that hole?”

Gunshots ringning.

Julia follows his gaze to the hole in the wall leading to another room. It feels too much like the time he had told her to hide in the closet.

“Can you squeeze through?”

“LAST CHANCE!”

Julia just stares at him, her face turning blank, eyes going far away and she inhaled...Before she could leave herself completely. It was an odd reaction - one she had never experienced before, not to that degree. Leaving her body and having so much trouble returning to it. She supposed it was a coping mechanism, everything that had been done to her finely cashing up, now of all times...Her fight or flight had always been to freeze before the real panic sat in. She didn't like the way she couldn't control when it happened. Julia blinked up at him. She had to get it together, but she found it so difficult to do so inside herself. Then she nods, and Daryl continues,

“When I say go, you crawl to that wall, and you squeeze through, and you don’t come out until I say, okay?”

Julia looks into his eyes. The heart pounding feeling of possibly losing him makes her terribly afraid, every fiber of her being screaming not to leave him. 

They flinch when glass shatters above their heads, and she felt the fear swallow her even more,

“And they’re not gonna hit you. Look at me!” Daryl commands, turning her attention back to him. He shakes his head, “They're not gonna hit you.”

Gunshot.

“You stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet.”

And all she could say was,

“Mm-hmm.”

Daryl looks straight into her eyes and so does Julia. And with trust behind their gaze they agree,

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Daryl gives her a firm nod before he rises to shot, and orders,

“Go!”

Julia throws herself onto the floor, army crawling to the hole in the wall as Daryl begins to shoot behind the truck. It's a tight fit but she squeezed true into the safe space. She rests her back against the wall, shielding her ears from the gun fire.

When Daryl kills one of the men everything becomes quiet. Deathly quiet. 

The crunch of glass beneath the man's shoes cracks as the stranger approaches, Daryl is hiding somewhere. Julia watches from the hole out of view with wide eyes. The man's shadow passes and she pulls herself bak feeling how her heart drums even lowder.

There is this outdrawn early silence - and then it happens.

A gunshot erupts. Sending the man’s lifeless body to the floor and It was quiet once more. When the ringing in her ears subsided she could hear how Daryl was fiddling with the rifle, trying to reload it, but it was stuck by the sound it made.

The back door inside the laundromat swings open, followed by a shoot and grunting between Daryl and another man struggling. Julia washes from the hole, meeting the terrifying sight of the man on top of Daryl, shocking him with a shotgun.

She had to interfere or he would be strangled to death.

Remembering the gun in her pack, she takes it out with shaky hands. She crawls out of the hole and quietly steps towards the man pining Daryl down.

She had to push her thoughts away as she raised her gun with shaking hands, aiming it at the man's back. Her hands trembled so much she feared she wasn't going to be able to shoot. But then she took a breath, the shot fired straight into the man's leg. 

The man yelps in pain and falls to the ground. Daryl coughs, cashing his breath on the floor. Standing with the gun in her hand knowing there was no undoing It makes her feel sick and want to vomit. Her eyes were on the young man's bleeding form. Daryl must have gotten his strength back because he was now standing. Julia stood there staring and staring as he drew closer to her and she was struggling greatly with what had transpired. Everything, everything felt like it was crashing down around her.

What had she done?

The young man leans up, whinnsing in pain. Julia keeps her gun pointed at him, afraid the man would harm the only person she had left. The man was pleading with her to be spared his life, but she couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. It felt like she was disappearing again. Then she lowered the gun. 

She was no killer.

Daryl eyes the gun in her hand. Frowning disapprovingly, he was angry and she felt like she wanted to escape the scolding that threatened to follow. He walked up to her, imposing and calmly, holding his hand out and she gave him her gun, watching him tuck it away in his belt. 

He was beyond pissed and she felt shame and sorry for what she had done.

Daryl turns away from her to face the desperate young man pleading for his life. Julia watches horrifyingly as Daryl uncheats his knife. The large hunting knife he killed walkers and skinned animals was in his hand and her heart sinks. She grabs his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes, brows pulled downwards, begging him to not do what he is planning to do. 

Julia could feel the heat of anger radiating off him, how his muscles underneath his jacket were rock hard and how his pulse was throbbing underneath. His gaze never left the man as if his fate was already settled. Her face began to crumble…she knew he wasn't going to change his mind, that the anger in his heart had taken over. That he had to do this. Julia tried regardless, to make him calm down with her hand soothing his hold on the knife. In hope to somehow persuade his mind.

Then - Daryl orders, 

“Get back behind the wall,” his voice murderous and could, as if cutting knives and Julia felt fear hearing it. It caused the young man to frantically plead, even begin to whimper knowing his fate was sealed.

Julias face crumbled in defeat. But she stepped back nonetheless, turning to the hole in the wall, escaping the room as quickly as possible. When she made it back to the room she tried to block out the frightened screams for the young man's mother before the dull thump of the knife ended it.

Silence followed, her breath and her heart thumping was the only thing she dared to think of. 

Then…

“Julia, I need to get inside. I can’t fit true.” 

Julia brushed the tears away, then looked around the room,

"There's some stuff against the door.”

“Allright, stay right there, I’m coming.”

Julia helps Daryl move the desk away, blockading the door and Daryl shoves his way inside, then pushes it back against the door.

Daryl was staring at her, but she couldn't find the words. She was relieved she had saved him, but she couldn't help but feel the amount of guilt over the young man's end. Believing he would have been still alive if it wasn't for her.  

Could she ever move past it? She didn't know.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, tilting her chin upwards “You good?”

Her eyes met his, swimming and overwhelmed.

“Come here,” he pulled her into his chest, his hand cradling the back of her head, and she melted into him completely.

Julia was surprised by the contrast. She expected nothing but a scolding of disobeying him. How he could possess such gentleness, the softness in his voice, like last night when she had woken from the dream. She couldn't understand. The viollens that threatened just moments ago. Gone - like it never had existed in the first place.

He pulled back, his hand lingering just a second, making her wish for the moment to last just a bit longer. She held onto it, memorizing every touch he gave to remember every kind gesture, knowing times like these were the only time it almost felt like he felt the same. 

But when the sound of cars incoming they were both pulled back into reality and the danger lurking outside.

They had to leave, and fast.

They move towards the back door. Daryl opens it, shining his flashlight into the dark room, he looks back at her, his voice firm,

"Stay right behind me,” he gives her a serious look. “Got it?" 

“Got it.” Julia nodd’s.

And when he turned around Julia held on to the back of his jacket as he led them out. 

Cars were passing by the alleyway. She followed closely behind as they walked up against a wall of the building. Duking behind an abandoned car on the empty street, two more vehicles passed. 

Daryl peers behind the bumper as the men she assumes must belong to the group attacking them found the bodies they had left behind.

“BODY, BODY! THEY GOT FUCKIN BRYAN!”

Daryl motions for her to stay put, Julia nods. He creeps across the alley, and opens a side door. Julia waits anxiously behind the car. But it only takes a second before he motions for her to move towards him, and they slip into the building.

Inside the abandoned bar, the windows are covered in newspaper, Daryl peaks between gaps in the paper. Washing trucks and army vehicles speed by. Armed men and women patrolls up and down the street, searching properties. Julia stands behind him,

"There not the scientists Marlene told me about and there are not raiders, so who are they?”

“People,” Daryl answered knowingly.

Julias stomach sank, knowing what ‘people’ ment. And she hoped it was not like the people that had tried to harm her. 

“Are we okay in here?”Julia asks anxiously.

“For a little bit, maybe. Looks like they’re checkin’ out the buildings up the road first,” another truck speeds by, “But they’ll be coming through these places soon enough.”

Daryl settles close to the window and loads his crossbow. Julia takes her turn to look outside, the anxiety of the danger making her uneasy. She locates the structure he's been telling her about, 

“There's like a really tall building, like four blocks away.”

“Yeah,” Daryl drawls.

Julia turns to him, “So that’s the one?”

“As soon as we don’t hear a truck, we move. Fast as we can.”

Julia sits across on the floor. Daryl rests his head in his hand and rubs his face. He looked tired, his face drained. It had been a close call for him, close enough for her to interfere. And she knew just how frightening that could be. So she asks, concern lased in her voice,

“Are you okay?"

He meets her gaze -  then looks away before he looks at her again,

“I’m alright. Is’ just…” he sighs and shakes his head. “You shouldn't have to…you know?”

“But you're glad I did, right?”

“You're good,” he hangs his head. “You shouldn't know what it means to-  

“Daryl,” she tries but he continues before she could say more.

“I mean, it was my fault. You shouldn't have had to,” he meets her gaze, with eyes softly looking back at her. “And I’m sorry.”

His apology so sincere it feels almost overwhelming. Her eyes begin to burn and she hugs herself, arms tightly around her knees. She was sorry to, but not for saving him. Never could she regret that.

Daryl stepped forward and Julia scooted back against the wall a little bit while he kneeled in front of her, he set the crossbow aside, reaching out and wiped the tear away trickling down her cheek. She looked at him with eyes that glimmered, face sorrowful and pale. He stared into her eyes for a moment, causing her to break the contact. And she didn't understand how someone could regret something so much then act like this? Teasing her with what she longed for so deeply?

Daryl reaches behind him and pulls out her gun, he then removes the magazine, racks the slide and hands her the gun,

“Show me your grip,” he instructs and Julia taks the gun, perplexed. “Finger of the trigger,” and she does so, looking at him for guidance and Daryl questions, “Now, who taught you that?”

"I have never used a gun before this,” she confessed. 

“Figures.”

He begins to guide her hands with his around the weapon like he had done with the knife, dwarfing hers and instructs, “Your thumb, over your thumb. Left hand…squeezes down on the right. You got it?” He looks at her and she nods. “There ya go,” he praised and Julia felt the warmth in her chest spread true out her cold body.

 “Look it,” Daryl pulls the top of the gun as she holds it firmly, his playfulness drawing out a giggle, the sadness of the tramatik ordeal forgotten. 

Julia smiles and inspects the weapon. Daryl motions with his hand for her gun, she gives it over, watching him load the weapon with skill. He then holds the gun out by the nozzle, she gladly takes it, smiling brightly at him. And she swore she could see the corner of his mouth turn upwards. 

Julia moves to put it in her pocket.

“Uh-uh,” Daryl scolds. “You put it in your pack. You’ll shoot your damn ass off.” 

Julia smiles again and Daryl rises to his feet taking the crossbow with him. He takes a last peek true the papered windows, as he does so Julia is quick to sneak the gun into her coat pocket. Julia's heart swelled in appreciation, and so much so she moved up to him without much thought and gave him a quick peek on the cheek in a silent ‘thank you.’ But when he froze in place and the red creeps up his neck, Julia realizes her mistake and her heart begins to race...And being so close made her blush. Maybe she had crossed the line?

“I’m sorry." She apologized sincerely.

He didn't seem upset, he simply acts as if it never had happened, clearing his throat he said,

"Ready?” his hand on the door handle.

Julia nods and they exit the bar, rushing out and beginning heading down the block.

Sneaking past the danger of people patrolling the streets, it had become dark out and he felt relief when they made it to the building. The door didn't budge and he was left with no other choice than to hoist her into the ventilation shaft, in order for them to get inside. He cups his hands together, leaning down for Julia to place her foot down.

“You’re just gonna put you foot here,” he instructs and counts down to give her a push, “One, two- 

“Daryl I don’t think I can,” Julia begins as she holds onto him.

“Straighten up. I got you.”

He gives her a last big push, and she does so. Successfully climbing inside,

“Okay,” Julia says from the other side. ”I’m in.”

“Take a look around first,“ he tried to remind her but was left with no answer, just her moving stuff from the inside, no answer. “Julia?”

Maybe it was a bad idea, him making her do this on her own? The growing anxiety of her being inside by herself without him protecting her, makes him uncheat his knife as he walks up to the door seconds from forcing it open. The door flies open, and he's met with Julias soft smile. But he couldn't help but frown at her recklessness, even though this had been his idea.

“What?” Julia questions him and he simply shakes his head and secures the door behind them.

He takes the lead inside the apartment building, there flashlights dancing around the corridor. They climb as many flights as they can, stopping at the thirty-third floor. Daryl peeks inside the small apartment making sure it's clear before stepping inside. He then pushes the couch against the dore and Julia organizes cushions on the floor along with blankets to sleep on. 

Daryl takes a look out the window before he places the crossbow down. Then rolls onto his back against the soft blanket Julia had folded, acting as a mattress against the cold floor. 

Daryl seemed relaxed enuff to sleep but Julia couldn't shake the feeling, she tried to move past it, but the events of the past few hours were hanging around her throat, the people they had stumbled upon, and the fact they were still out there frightened her deeply. She sits beside him, the blanket around her bent legs as she begins to wright, because her thoughts are always so loud. 

He stares and she tries not to notice. 

Her mistake from before - when she kissed his cheek was on her mind. Maybe he was angry with her? Why wouldn't he be when he had told her it had been wrong - what they had done that night. And it was hard not to think about it. She still didn't understand why he said that and why he regretted it so deeply. Every now and then his voice telling her it was wrong plays like a broken record, reminding he would never feel the same. 

-

Daryl rubs his stubble. Still feeling her lips there, soft and warm.

He had wanted to tell her that it was okay, that he didn't mind and there was no need to be sorry. But, he had been taken off guard. He wasn't used to such displays of open affection, but if it was her he didn't really mind. He just didn't know how to take it and certainly didn't know what to say, he always messed up his words and got misunderstood, so he did what he always did… ignored when he didn't know what else to do. But now he wished he had said something.

It was much harder said than done. He could not ignore it and his feelings for her were straight up painful, but it could also feel breathtaking, making him nervous at the same time. He didn't know what to do with himself, it felt like he would burst, cease to exist if he continued not to act truly to his heart…or maybe it was just his selfishness? To have her to himself. Not in an owning way, it feels much more like he just…needed her. He didn't know, he didn't know anything anymore. He just had to stay focused and keep her safe, protect her like he had promised. He had to keep her alive, he could not lose her, not her. He had already gotten a taste of that and he could not go true that again, it would break him. She had become far too important, and he had gotten way too comfortable and used to her presence.

He knows he's been staring far too long, but he couldn't help it. His gaze always found a way to her soft features and her curly hair. As if his eyes were drawn by this invisible force, pulling him in. And it felt almost annoying how oblivious she was, how could she not know, see what she was doing to him?

-

Julia wraps up her daily log of the day, closing up the book and puts it back in her pack. She still avoided sleep, sitting up and staring towards the window. It was black outside. But she was terebully tired, her body and mind aching to get some rest.

“Julia, go to sleep.” 

“Don’t we have to keep watch?”

“Wheel be fine for a bit. Get some sleep.”

“Okay,” she agreed softly, finely lying down and pulling the blanket around herself, holding her pack close. But she feels restless being smothered by the night and the quiet. Her body was exhausted after all that had happened. And there was one thing her mind could not put to rest. And she asks him, hoping he’s still awake,

“Daryl?” Julia whispered as not to disturb him in case he was asleep.

There was shuffling - and then,

“Mmh?” Daryl humes in acknowledgement,

Julia fidgets with the soft fabric of her blanket, and she asks,

“That guy who said he was hurt. How did you know it was an ambush?”

Silence, Julia thought he had gone back to sleep, but then his deep voice spoke into the darkness,

“I just knew, I guess.”

Julia digests his answer. There was a clear difference between them. What he thought had been obvious, she didn't. She had clearly believed in the act, thinking the man really did need help. But the man that had looked hurt was the one that had tried to kill him. And she still couldn't get her head around it. How could she not have seen it coming?

“But how, I didn't?”

Dary sighs softly, clearly done with the conversation. But Julia wasn't,

“Daryl?” She turns on her side, facing where she knew he would be in the darkness, “Hey? You still awake?”

“Julia, go to sleep,” he tells her once more and she listens, staring off into the darkness until sleep finally catched up.

They left at first light.

Now finding themself in the suburbs of pittsburgh. Piles of desiccated corpses lay outside buildings. The remains of cleaning up the city, explaining why the streets had been so empty. Something unsettling was going on and the urge to get as far away as possible made them move even faster. 

They sneak inside an office building. The corridor on the upper floor looked to have been some type of makeshift-camp. The remnants of the survivors had turned into walkers, some were dead and others were stuck inside sleeping bags and two tents, wiggling and moving inside as Daryl and Julia began their way across. 

Taking them down one by one, easely with their knives, Daryl without much thought pats them down, looking for anything useful. While Julia couldn't bring herself to do it. To disturbed by the dead and the smell of rotten flesh. 

Pausing in front of the two tents with pretty much weary living walkers moving about inside, Julia couldn't help but stare. The walkers fell over themselves as they hungrily tried to crawl their way out, but it was meaningless. Daryl sighs and shakes his head at the weird sight,

“Some days I don’t know what the hell to think.”

Easely making their way true their first walker encounter sins entering the city, they move inside an office. Daryl peaks inside the room, then motions for her to follow. The office was fancy and clean, neatly furnished with art decorating the space. Julia refills their water supply by the water dispenser, taking a few gulps into her empty stomach. A painting had caught Daryl's eye of a young woman lying in water, surrounded by flowers. Julia couldn't tell if he was simply looking because it was there or if he was admiring the nice peace.

“It’s beautiful,” her brown eyes admiring the art, “Isn't it?” 

“I wouldn't know,” Dartl shrugs. “Bet it cost this rich prick a lot of money tho.” 

Julia steps closer, Daryl watches how she reaches for it, reaching the canvas with her fingers delicately - as if she could see better if touching it. Julia smiles in thought and she tells him,

“My grandma used to take me to art galleries, never the fancy kind because we couldn't afford it. But it didn't matter to me. Money doesn't make something more beautiful, you know. I don’t know what it is but I’ve always just noticed art, the poetry behind the painting. Like, how there's so much said in the unsaid. How the saddest thing can become something so soft, so full of life. It’s just amazing how lifelike, how realistik every detail is. Like-

Daryl was staring down at her, his face unreadable.

"Sorry," she apologizes. “I was talking too much wasn't I?”

A bet of a momen’t passed between them. His face staring, but there was something soft behind his blue eyes - and he breathed,

"Beautiful."

Julia blinked in response, waiting for him to explain further.

“I mean the painting,” he corrected. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees, smiling softly and looking at the painting again. 

The way she talked sounded like a song. She's had an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart and a beautiful mind. She was beautiful but not like those girls in magazines. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about her affection for something so simple. Because, despite what she had been true she still had that aura about her, like nothing could take her smile away and he found himself admiring that more than anything. 

She wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks, even if she was the most breathtaking woman he'd ever seen. She was beautiful deep down to her soul. And in that moment he wanted to tell all those things that so long had grown into existence. But he would never possess a vocabulary that would do her justice. His words would only fail him and hurt her and that was what he feared the most.

-

Daryl leads them out of the office, continuing their way through the building. Walking up to a chained two way door with enough space to squeeze true, Daryl holds the door open, Julia pushes her pack in front of her and just when she lifts her gaze to stand she freezes. A man with dark hair, in his young twenties aims a rifle in her face making her instinctively put her hands up in surrender. Julia ses how the man looks behind her, and she could feel how she begins to pale in fear, knowing Daryl was crawling his way true,

“Daryl, don’t!”

The man cocked his rifle at them , “Get up,” he commanded. “Hands up, both of you.”

They both stand, Julia looks to Daryl with fear covering her features. He seemed annoyed more than anything, staring the man down, and she noticed Daryl did not comply completely in surrender, his hands as fists on his sides and she prayed for his hot temper not to get the better from him.

The man eyes the weapon in Daryl's hand, “Lay down your crossbow,” he ordered and Julia swallowed nervously.

“You got some sack on you,” Daryl growls in response.

“I just need some weapons,” The young man insisted. “That's it,” and if she heard it right, he sounded almost a bit scared.

Could he really be one of them? He didn't seem as vigilant as the ones they had encountered, who clearly wanted them dead. 

Daryl eyes the man before he surrenders his weapon, reluctantly passing it over on the floor. Julia washes the exchange between the men standing anxiously with her hands still up, the man then cocke’s his rifle at them and orders, threateningly,

“Back up!”

They step back and the man retrieves Daryl's crossbow, hanging it over his shoulder. The man looks between them and Julia feels the pit of her stomach sink when he begins to release the walkers from the tent’s, giving him enough time to escape before they can cash up.

Daryl wastes no time, taking the two walkers down easily with his hunting knife, but rather forcefully so. Julia could see his anger building up, the annoyance of being taken what was rightfully his he did not take too well. It felt like the plan to escape the killer city had become a second priority until he got it back. And Julia chose not to question it. 

The young man had sounded scared and she would have been scared to encounter someone as intimidating as Daryl. It was clear Daryl was tracking him down. It was almost scary how good he was at haunting another humming being, that he would stop at nothing until finding what he was looking for. 

Persistent, just like he had told her.

Heading down another corridor, corpses of walkers littered the floor. Then one not so dead walker could be heard thumping and gurgling. Daryl approaches the sound, finding a walker impaled into the wall. 

A bolt was embedded in its throat. 

“That’s yours?” Julia askes.

“Yah.” Daryl conferms, then drives the machete through its skull, retrieving his bolt.

Suddenly nearby shots from the man's rifle were heard in a nearby corridor making them move that way. The man came out of nowhere and before she knew it a walker was pushed into her. She fell to the ground, with the walker pinning her down. She struggled to reach for her gun, but the struggle was caught short by Daryl's heavy steps and the machete true its skull. And the man ran out of sight yet again. 

Daryl pulled her back on her feet before she could take a breath of relief. His eyes scanned for any injury and when he caught the sight of the fresh bite mark next to her scar she could see the inner panic there, how he froze just for a second. But Julia is quick to pull her sleeve down.

“I’m okay,” she reassures, “It will be fine. Go, go after him.”

Julia can sense the inner struggle behind his eyes, but he does as she tells him.

As Daryl turned around the corner the man jumped Daryl out of nowhere, choking him from behind. But Daryl got the upperhand fast and pinned the man to the floor, his raw strength easely overpowering and began throwing punches to his face. And Julia finds herself washing it all unfold until she notest a young boy in the corner of the room, he couldn't be older than eight.

“Daryl!” Julia shouts urgently, “Daryl STOP!”

Daryl halts and looks to Julia pointing towards the kid, bravely aiming a gun at them, 

“Look.” She says, and Daryl releases the young man.

It turned out Henry (the young man) was trying to escape the city and the reason for needing weapons was to protect his younger brother Sam. They had been part of a bigger group, hoping to find supplies but just like them they had been ambushed. Then when they all got separated Henry just wanted to get away with his brother, now finding themselves here.

The anger within Daryl dissipated the moment he saw Sam and the desperation behind Henry's eyes. Eyes of someone protecting someone else, just like he was protecting her. Then, when incoming cars approached outside the window, Henry led them safely away to his hideout, promising they would talk more there.

-

They snack on food while sitting around a lantern on the floor. Julia looks between the men and decided to break the suffocating silence,

“Thank you for this, we really appreciate it.”

Henry lifts his gaze and smiles kindly, “Don’t mention it, it's the best I can do after pushing that freak on you.” And Julia gives a reassuring smile back, “It’s all forgiven.”

Daryl continues eating in an unsuffering silence. Julia elbows Daryl, “Daryl, say thank you.” He complies, mumbling, “Thanks.” and then sounding no bulleshit, “You said we would talk, so let's talk.”

Julia rolls her eyes at his bluntlynes. Here they were eating food Henry could have saved for his little brother and Daryl was all about business - and of course he was. But at least he didn't seem to no longer have anything against the poor guy. And she knew it had something to do with his most precious belonging being back but, then she thought more and she realized it had to do more with the kid, there was clearly some empathy there. For what all she could tell Henry was a good man, he seemed kind, nothing like the bad people they had encountered so far. He seemed earnest and just wanted to take care of Sam. So she couldn't help but to feel frustrated. Daryl still looked at him, with his eyes narrowed like he tried to find anything that would tell him he was a threat. He obviously wasn't. Not in her eyes.

Henry nods, “Wright, let's talk,” he agrees in a more serious manner, then he looks to his younger brother, his eyes softening and Julia could immediately tell Henry didn't want his brother to listen to this.

“I have a book and some pens,” Julia said, going true her pack. “If it's okay with you, can Sam and I do some drawings in the meantime?”

Henry looks pleasantly surprised with her thoughtfulness and agrees easely, “Shure. Sam do you want to-

“Dragons!” The kid cut his brother off and dragged her towards the table on the opposite side of the room, too eager to finally get to do the much needed kid stuff.

Julia was happy to entertain Sam. He seemed like a bright young boy that she would have loved to take care of when she worked at the cindergarden back in her hometown. Sam told her anything and everything about how awesome dragons were and she couldn't help but to laugh with him at the funny faces he made. And she didn't know if she was the one that was entertaining him or if it was a wise versa.

Henry goes on and explains his plan to Daryl. It wasn't bullet proof, but what other choice did he have, and he felt as desperate as Henry was in need of him. The plan was to wait until night and they would sneak past the guards guarding the perimeter as they were down to a skeleton crew by then. They would head to west side of a residential area, continuing to the embankment on the other side of the houses. Then head down the pedestrian bridge over the river and they would be ‘free as a bird’.

Julia and Sam's giggles fill the air. The two men watch and Henry smiles affectionately at his younger brother, “He hasn't looked that happy sin’s we lost our mother,” Henry said, “I think she reminds him of her.”

And Daryl could see that too. He had seen it before. How kids loved her presence, adored her in every way, making her shine even brighter. He could see the natural instinct there, she would be a perfect mother and he almost wished he could turn into a kid simply to have reason to be with her, making her smile and hear her soft laugh if he said something silly. But he was not a kid, he was a grown man, and above that he was twice her age. And he knew he wouldn't be the right thing for her. She would be better off with someone within her own age, like Henry. But the idea of Julia having any type of relationship with that guy made him feel annoyed more than anything. Or any other man in general pissed him off.

Maybe no one was worthy of her?

Daryl didn't like the way he was looking at her, even though there was no malicious intent behind his gaze, he couldn't help but to feel protective. Making him step in front of him, shielding Julia with his broad figure and questions, 

“So where were you heading?”

Henry didn't seem to cash on his protectiveness, but instead seemed rather eager to share. But the more he talked Daryl began to connect the dots, and the group he was looking for sounded all too familiar, but he didn't say anything about that in order to keep Julia's secret safe.

“They call themselves the Fireflies,” Henry told Daryl.

Daryl gives him an unimpressed look, “And who came up with that.”

"Marlene. She's the leader.”

“Did you say Marlene?” Julia suddenly said, making the men stop talking and look at her.

“Yeah, way?” Henry questioned. 

Julia's eyes brightened up of what Daryl could only describe as hope making him fear what would follow if it was crushed. Then Julia went on,

“Dark hair, brown eyes, doctor, is about this tall and should I have a wound about here?”

“How did you-?” Henry said, baffled. “You know her or something.” 

“I think so,” Then Julia looks at Daryl, “Wright?”

“Maybe,” Daryl shrugged, ever the pessimist.

“I heard you said something about your group calling themselves Fireflies?”

“Yah, that’s right.”

Julia looked to Daryl then showed Henry a symbol she drew on a piece of paper resembling the firefly symbole she had seen from the hospital back in Virginia. Henry takes the picture and looks at it closely, the look of recognition behind his eyes.

“See?” Julia noodges Daryl, “It is them.”

“I still don’t know.” Daryl said and Julia could only feel frustrated with his lack of belief. What did it take for this man to believe in anything?

“It is them,” Julia insisted. “It has to be and he knows Marlene. And that means she's alive”

Henry looked between them -  then pulled out a city map from his back pocket,

“This is us,” Henry points to the marked area, “There's an abandoned military radio station, just outside of the city. Any survivors from our group they’re supposed to meet us there - tomorrow. Come with us,” Henry insists. “It goes down tonight.”

Julia looks to Daryl, practically begging with her eyes for him to agree. Daryl sighs deeply in defeat, even though he feels a bit skeptical about the situation, remembering the last time they saw Marlene she was in a pretty ruff shape. But he could tell Henry was honest, though a bit naive in his ways and he hoped that wouldn't put them in danger, but then again, what better choice did he have?

Pt.9 masterlist

[lostelfwriting]

Runaway prince Morpheus

But make it modern era

You know how your grandma sometimes gets those spammy, scammy, scummy emails from an “african prince” who is trying to escape the corrupt regime and needs to deposit his wealth into your bank account?

Technophobe Hob who has no idea what spam mail or a scam is.

Btw this is 100 % crack fiction.

History teacher Hob who only got a phone eight yers ago. His students taught him how to use an email when they grew bored of handing in everything through mail or pigeon (seriously, man, mailing your essays???) during covid. So he’s had a small laptop and only used it to access his email for a few years. But then someone reccomends him a couple websites, and what do you mean I don’t need to wait for the new journal to get pronted and mail?! I can read it on the internet a week before it reaches me?!

So, Hob finally starts exploring the internet. But oops, nobody taught him internet safety. The first couple spam emials that he gets are suspicious attractive women that for some reason are interested in him. He brushes it off, kindly turns each of the bots down. Then he starts winning phones. He turns those down too, he is quite happy with his “brick”, as his students call it.

Then he gets an email from a runaway prince from a country that he’s sure doesn’t have a monarchy anymore. He replies with great suspicion. “Morpheus” (Greek name but that guy claims to come from the North and he’s pale as paper) responds with a damn essay that uncovers a huge conspiracy behind his country’s government, and the conclusion is that there still is monarchy that matters but some people don’t aggree with it and want true democracy, including him, so that puts target on his back both from the inside (government) and outside (people who want true democracy and only see him as yet another symptom of the problem). He’s not safe in the country.

Hob, sunshine that he is, offers to help. Sends Morpheus all the info that he asks for, his bank account info, credit card info, his address. He sends Morpheus a lot of money that the prince needs to pay some fees, but he promises he’ll return it.

For three weeks, nothing happens. Hob scours the internet for news of some Nordic prince mysteriously dying or disappearing, but there is nothing. No signs of a huge government conspiracy either, but then it wouldn’t be a conspiracy. Finally, he asks some of his students who are better with technology if they can help him find a person he’s been talking to. He explains how they met. The students gently inform him that he’s been scammed and tell him how to report it.

Hob feels pretty dumb and decides to return to technology-free life. Says goodbye to the moeny that he’ll never see again, if his students are right.

Then one day, a knock on his door in the middle of the night. He opens, because the person sounds quite frantic and Hob will never learn, and the person pushes past him into his apartment and slams the door. And wouldn’t you know it, the man looks exactly like Morpheus from those emails. He looks haunted and pretty beat up, but he’s real.

Hob gets pulled into a complicated web of conspiracies as he helps the prince take the government apart from far away. His apartment turns into a secret hacker den as Morpheus buys more and more computers and... computer things... and apparently, he’s insisting that he can hack the government apart. Morpheus spends day and night slowing down his alleged pursuers and publicising dirt that he has on his own country, and one day, Hob actually sees on the news that several of the country’s politicians end up arrested. His students share memes about the situation with him to cheer him up, thinking he’s still bummed out about the money (that Morpheus has returned tenfold) but in reality he’s freaking out because that proves that this is real.

There are definitely some action scenes. Someone trailing Hob as he’s leaving work, and he leads them into a dark alley and beats them up Greco-Roman wrestling style, because he really enjoyed that hobby at school and he was damn good and nobody ever expects it of him.

Eventually, the whole country is in riot and the current government has to flee and people take over, and some of them demand Morpheus takes over, since he obviously care about democracy, but Morpheus is like nah, I’m comfy here, no thank you. Some feelings have developed between Hob and Morpheus during the few months they spend together with Hob practically force-feeding worcaholic Morpheus and supplying him with a gallon of coffee every day, and Morpheus making sure Hob is alright with being a small but significant part of the greatest scandal in modern history.

And bed-sharing! There is bed-sharing!