#and davy… i seem to just never draw him

[monkee-mobile]

I guess it’s obvious I have a monkee bias (at least when drawing) when I look through my sketchbook and 99% of it is micky and mike lol

[hauntingblue]

making a collection

making another collection with a threatening aura

[tickettride]

I’ve just seen a face || J.D.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x f!reader

in which the man you've been staring at all night long at a party meets you in the kitchen, and suggests to walk you out where it's safer. the only danger is not being able to stop kissing him.

word count: 2k

warnings: 18+ (mdni), alcohol, mention of weed, men being creeps, smoking, sexual tension, kissing and a touch of fluff?, "girls are prettier without glasses" speech (ugh), maybe a few mistakes and nonsense

AN: I can’t believe I've spent a whole afternoon on this. anyway, this is a gift for myself as I’ve spent my first day at my dream college, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. And yes, I love very long gifs.

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. — The Picture of Dorian Gray

 

Johnny’s lips hovered over yours, mixing his warm breath with your shaky exhales. You had never felt so connected to another human being before. Never felt your soul leaving your body that way. And here you were now, nose-to-nose with a man you didn't even know.

A deep, unwavering sexual tension had tethered you to Johnny for hours. Even since you had stepped into the house, actually. It had been hard to see right through the smoke, even more since you had decided to ditch your glasses for the night, just for the experience. Well, it had been a fucking mistake. All the faces were blurry, and you swore you introduced yourself twice to the same people, all of them hoisting their beer and exchanging looks you didn't quite understand.

It doesn’t matter, your friends told you. They won’t remember anything the next morning. You supposed it was a relief, to think people would forget about you in just a few hours. At least until you saw that guy who had been standing in a corner the whole time. 

No, not a guy. A real man, with broad shoulders and a certain way of carrying himself. Even from across the room, you knew he was respected.

It had taken you longer than necessary to reach the kitchen behind a group of wobbly men, bumping into shoulders and apologizing inaudibly. Someone talked to you but you barely paid any attention, giving a small "okay" instead as you focused on getting to the kitchen in one piece.

Rubbing your eyelid tiredly, you nearly scratched your eye out when a hand closed around your wrist, though it felt warm and gentle.

“Hey.”

The man from the corner was looking down at you, worry flickering in his eyes. So close to you, he was even more handsome. Full lips, a face that carried memories. Clearly, he had seen a lot.

“Ya need help?”

“No?” You dragged the syllable, confused as you shot a look at your friends. The three of them had crashed on a couch, their loud laughter drawing attention. You might have looked drunk though, you gave him that. “I’m just headin’ for the kitchen. Gotta drink some water before I start feelin’ all…”

Your vague hand motion made his lips twitch in amusement, which pulled a smile to your lips too. It slightly faded when he removed his hand from you, and you turned back around.

So he had noticed you.

A strong scent of alcohol and weed burned your nostrils when you walked over to the sink, your eyes sweeping over the room to find where the glasses were stocked. Littered cups filled with some sort of alcohol mix had your nose wrinkled up at the smell, wondering what was wrong with those people. Did they really enjoy drinking this? Finally, stacked glasses that seemed clean enough caught your eyes.

And now that same man was standing at the threshold.

“I’m old enough to be left on my own, y'know," you said sarcastically, almost nervous to be left alone with him. Was he one of the creeps? Or just a man bored to death?

In response, he nodded like you had made a great point. “Just don’t want ya to feel unsafe, is all.”

You shrugged, retrieving a glass, checking it was somewhat clean, and filling it with water. “I know how to throw a punch. I've been taught the basics.”

“Show me, then.”

The three words made your heartbeat faster. With your free hand, you closed your fist, barely thinking. 

“Nah. Ya’d break your thumb like that.”

Your gaze flitted to your hand for a second. “Yeah. Probably.”

Another nod was addressed to you, and a moment of silence wrapped you both in a comfortable bubble. You drank the water silently while he kept his eyes on you, which would have looked truly odd did he not seem safe. He looked exhausted, though. Maybe a bit entertained. Maybe like he’d been waiting for someone like you to light up his evening.

“I’m Johnny.”

You gave your name back, watching his smile that definitely shouldn’t have caused a hot nudge in your lower body, considering he would surely move on from you the next day.

Still, the tension choked you as he stepped further into the room, picking up a bottle of beer in a bucket. Your hand tightened against the glass when you opened your mouth to ask where he was from–the usual small talk you used when silence made you uneasy–and instantly closed it as two bearded men barged in, ruining the moment.

“I say, "You ain’t goin’ nowhere, motherfucker",” the first one spat, waving a gun in the air. “I captured you.”

Swallowing thickly at the sight of the small handgun, you set the glass back down into the sink and glanced over at Johnny. Your senses returned to you enough to do some calculations. From what you could see, you could slip beside him and make your way back to your friends swiftly. But those two creeps had spotted you, standing there like an outsider or just a woman, and nerves started filling your body as you hyped yourself up to take the few steps toward freedom. There was no way you were staying there to risk being shot accidentally. What a stupid end that would make.

Johnny’s brow furrowed at those guys and back at you, sensing your discomfort. He tipped the drink to his mouth, taking a long sip as you took a deep breath. 

“I think I’ll head out,” you announced quietly, ignoring the men’s hot gazes on your back.

It was a shame to leave so fast, but maybe you just weren’t meant to be talking to Johnny. You believed in all that stuff fiercely.

Johnny’s head turned around, watching behind him before meeting your eyes again. “I can’t see your friends.”

“Oh, they must be smokin’ somewhere out there.”

Giving a small nod, he stepped closer to you and left his beer near the sink. “I’ll walk ya out.”

You cleared your throat, trying to alleviate the lump forming from the thoughts racing through your brain. His hand settled on your lower back as he guided you to the back door, and you didn’t think once. Perhaps you'd finally have that time alone with him, after all. He didn’t look like he wanted to leave either.

The cold breeze hit you in the face as you squinted through the darkness, praying hard not to fall or trip or do anything embarrassing in front of him. And that was exactly what you did. The couple of stairs were poorly lighted, and there was only one idiot to miss that one step. You.

“Shit,” you stumbled, chuckling awkwardly when you felt Johnny’s hand on your waist, making sure you were not collapsing.

“Alright?”

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, unable to stop yourself from smiling. 

Maybe it was his big hands on you, or maybe it was just the one beer you had drunk, but the wind seemed less cold, less aggressive on your skin. God, he looked so... attractive.

A small smile graced his lips as he gazed down at you, almost checking you out. “Should’ve slowed down on the beers.”

Another giggle escaped your lips, trying not to shrink under his gaze. “It’s not about the beers, promise. I just can’t see nothin’ without my glasses.”

“You lost ‘em?” Johnny asked, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. 

“No. Um… I’ve been told girls are prettier without glasses.”

He made a sound. Kept frowning. That was your cue to blabber on. 

“Not that I found myself… unattractive. I just thought I could try one night without wearin' them. Which was really stupid, considerin’ I’ve almost died at least twice.”

You pursued your lips as you caught a whiff of his scent on his leather jacket, willing yourself to shut up and flee. As you were supposed to. And yet, as dumb as you sounded, Johnny’s eyes were fixed on yours and did not leave for a moment. He was listening carefully, blocking out the world to hear your silly explanation. 

“You’re not unattractive,” he said in a low voice. "I bet they make ya look even prettier."

“How would you know?” your tone matched his, your blood heating another degree. 

Johnny came closer, raising his hands to run his thumbs above your cheeks, where your glasses usually fell. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, but they were beautiful. Dark. Full of fantasies. 

“Just imaginin’,” his raspy voice sent a hot shiver down your spine. "I've been lookin' at ya since you walked in, but I hadn’t noticed those freckles right there."

Your heart hammered in your chest. It was all going so fast, but the mere thought of slowing things down was absurd. You couldn’t think of anything but feeling his lips on yours. Moving your body with his. Feeling so wanted he might die, and you as well. You usually were careful and rather shy when it came to flirting, but why would you resist the temptation now?

The party didn’t matter. The people out there didn’t matter. Hell, even your friends didn’t matter. It was only you and the man you had checked out (ogled) all night, the man who had made sure you were feeling safe, the man who had caught you in his arms like they did in the movies. 

It did feel like a movie anyway. None of this felt real. 

“I can’t see much, but you look pretty attractive too,” you dared to say, though you wished you had sounded bolder. 

His lips nearly touched yours. The top of your noses did, causing you to chuckle. What was even happening?

“See me better now?” Johnny muttered, angling his face.

"Much better."

"Good."

You had known a few men, kissed a few of them, but nothing had ever come close to this particular moment. Nothing had ever felt so exciting, so hot and passionate. You didn’t want him to forget you. Fuck, you were sure you would think of these minutes until your last breath. You needed to have him, even for a short moment.

Nose-to-nose with a man you didn't even know.

“Johnny?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Emboldened by his widening smile, you closed what little distance was left between your mouths and pressed a soft kiss against his lips, just testing the waters. You hadn’t expected it to feel that good. Like a taste of heaven. Gripping his shoulders, you drew yourself high against his chest and slipped your tongue into his mouth, a tiny sound mixing with a groan of his. His hands pressed against your back, holding your waist like a fragile doll as yours slid to the back of his head. Fuelled by the need to make him moan again, you wrapped both arms up around his neck until you were shamelessly making out on the grass, wishing he could do something to alleviate the burning in your body. It was bewitching.

You were out of breath when you landed on your feet again, as though you had just taken a trip to the stars for a minute. Clearly, Johnny was as dazed as you were. 

Looking over his shoulder, you found no less than ten faces peering out the window, and a couple more watching from the front porch. Smoking. You bet your friends had seen it all. 

“Shit,” you whispered, at a loss for words. 

Johnny ran his thumb over your lip, his eyes tracing his own movements as he did. ‘Tell me where ya live.”

Forgetting everything about the safety rules you had always followed when it came to men, you whispered, “Next to the shoe store. I work there on weekends.”

The detail had slipped out, but you just wished he would suggest picking you up someday. Don’t let him forget you, your brain kept saying. You couldn’t be anticipating the saddest goodbye of your life yet.

“You’re workin’ tomorrow?”

A bit of hope flickered in your chest. Men usually fucked off after getting what they wanted, but he seemed really into you. That was unreal.

“Tomorrow’s Friday,” you grinned playfully, chuckling as he nodded. 

"Tomorrow’s Friday," Johnny repeated, realizing his mistake. "Guess I don’t wanna spend one day waitin’ to see ya again."

“Me either,” you admitted lowly, removing a strand of hair sticking to your lips. “You can—you can still come on Saturday, if you want to.”

“You’ve been on a motorcycle before?” 

You shook your head, wondering why you felt so bashful all of a sudden. Johnny’s lips curved at your hesitancy, holding your gaze for a moment. His eyes full of promises again.

“Hmm. Ya should leave before I keep ya out here with me,” he declared, snapping you out of your thoughts as he squeezed your hip gently and stepped backward. 

And with that, the moment was gone.

“Saturday, then?” you asked, just to make sure. 

You sounded almost desperate, but you couldn’t care. There was something scary about being so attracted to someone so fast. What if a simple change of heart left you heartbroken?

“Saturday,” Johnny confirmed, making it sound like it was years away. 

You dropped your gaze for a second and raised it again to look at him one last time, the steadying sounds of your breathings filling the cold air. Johnny broke the eye-contact to check that your friends were still standing in the distance.

“Ya need help walkin’ over there?”

The question made you smile. “I’ll be alright. I’ll try to walk in a straight line and avoid people."

Johnny’s stare could have been a good reason to stay with him and let him keep you, but after a second of hesitancy, you willed yourself to utter a small ‘Well, see you, then’. You made a beeline to your friends, blinking a couple of times as though your vision would become clear again. 

You shot one look behind. Johnny was waiting for you to reach the others, not moving.

They all shouted in your ear when you stepped on the tiled floor, but you weren’t listening. Just thinking of how fast it all could change when you least expected it. You weren't fully sure he'd really show up in two days, so you crossed your fingers during the whole ride back home and hoped he wouldn't forget. You were already longing for this man’s touch.

[ikamigami]

I'M LEAVING SAMS FANDOM

And I won't continue watching any of these shows..

I decided that I can't enjoy Sun and Moon Show anymore when Davis and EC decided to mock me (and many fans with mental issues) instead of just post something on social media that would clarify everything.

Regardless of their true intentions people were hurt and it doesn't seem like they plan to apologize for this.

They want us fans to feel sorry for the fact that they decided themselves to post these episodes daily and because they're a small team they don't have a time to make their story more clear.

Many people who were self-projecting onto Sun and who made headcanons or just saw him as suicidal did that as a way to cope with their own mental issues and trauma. None of us were forcing anything on Davis and EC.. I definitely wasn't doing that - I don't know them.. I don't even know where they live.. I don't know who they're friends with.. I don't even follow (in a sense that I'm checking their social media) their social media - I only ocassionally see some posts on X from Davis because I followed him but like I said I don't spend my time to see what Davis and EC are doing.. I have my own life, my own struggles to care about and I thought that Sun and Moon Show can be a fun escape for me which turned out to be the opposite..

It hurts a lot because thanks to this show and thanks to Sun's character I finally reflected on myself and my own experiences.. and I was finally able to put together the broken pieces of myself..

They say that we're assuming something about Davis and EC but they're doing exactly the same thing when they portray us as creepy and disturbing fans.

Many people felt disgusted by that episode. And yet they didn't even care to make any clarifications because they don't give a damn.

I'm sorry that I didn't believe those people (who used to be fans of these shows) that Davis and EC don't treat mental issues with respect and that they mock people who have these mental issues.

I'm saying all of this as someone who really tried to defend Davis and EC's decisions many times. Trying to defend the way they portray mental issues. Trying to support them.

And what it left me with? The awful mockery.

I'm sure that they assumed some horrible things about me because of some well known fans in this fandom who were trying to paint me in awful light - that I'm disturbing for relating to Sun in more dark way (I saw Sun's behaviour and thought to myself that he act like me in many situations and the things he went through reminded me of my own experiences hence why I thought that he might struggle with similar mental issues to mine which also include being suicidal - I was passively suicidal for quite some time). These bigger names were laughing at my theories just because they didn't turn out to be true but they didn't care that the topic of suicide is something serious to me. They were bullying me. They also lied that I dragged anyone into discussions about this topic when it never happened. I'm talking mainly about a person behind Twinanimatronics blog. They told this lie when they assumed that I posted something on Tsams Confessions blog - where in fact someone just tried to defend me. And they did all of that behind my back - because they blocked me.

I was spiraling into despair and my mental state worsened when I've seen these awful accusations about me..

This fandom is toxic. Davis and EC can't act like adults but decide to mock fans.. even though the way they portrayed their characters drawed fans who has mental issues because they saw themselves in these characters.. and what they got is awful mockery..

My advice is to avoid Sun and Moon Show and any of these shows especially if you suffer from mental issues and especially if you struggle with suicidal thoughts.

I'm grateful that I met in this fandom some amazing people who showed me tons of support ^^

I can't thank enough to any of them for their support and kindness and lots of care they showed me 💗 Thank you ^^

I'll still keep in touch with my friends who I met through this fandom ^^

[ebbpettier]

what do you mean with your hc that simon was always a dragon?

okay so this is one of my deepest most self indulgent headcanons because i'm gay and i think he deserves more and sharper teeth but it's extrapolated from a bunch of different details in the series: 1. we don't know what kind of blood davy used in the ritual. lucy couldn't identify it, but it almost definitely wasn't human. killing a dragon is one of the worst things you can do in the WoM and i really think davy isn't above that, at this point. (in terms of what i think the ritual entailed, i don't think he would have killed an adult dragon, either. a son for a son.) 2. simon's false feather wings dissolved in a bloody mess, but his dragon wings did not. iirc, he also had to wish for them, and penelope pointed out that this is fundamentally Not How Magic Works 3. penny also theorized that simon was actually turning INTO a dragon at the moment he got his wings, unless i'm misremembering again? its been a while since my last reread of the series and i have a memory disorder bear with me 4. "you don't kill a dragon unless you're trying to open a portal to hell" davy what did you do. DAVY, WHAT DID YOU DO. 5. once magic stops working on simon at all/after he loses his magic, the wings don't disappear, which makes me think they weren't powered by magic in the first place; they were just a part of his body. 6. margaret almost immediately (probably falsely but still) identifies him as a Kitten. she straight up thinks he's a baby dragon. maybe he smells like one, or feels like one, but i feel like she would be the most qualified to like ... tell? simon insists he isn't, but she seems confused and even a little put off when he tries to say he isn't just a lost dragon-kit. 7. when he's going off his magic is described as very blistery and prickly and black and red, and he glows and smokes and smells like a forest fire. dragon coded as fuuuuck 8. i think it would fucking rule I've never quite decided if i want it to be dragon ancestry, or if he's some kind of changeling via the ritual*, or something else, but the reason i draw the sword of mages with a fancy hilt shaped like a dragon is because i also headcanon that it looks different for everyone who wields it. (in my Baz Is The Heir AU: he summons it as a spada da lato, light as a feather with a handguard that curls like fire in a windstorm, inset with little sapphires) and simon's just ALWAYS been that dragony. i want him to grow more teeth, and they keep growing so he either has to accept them or have them pulled. i want his nails to be hard and sturdy as iron and he just never notices because he's always used them as tools, and he thought everyone's were like that. he bites them off because they break clippers. i want the red scales around the second set of deltoids (the ones on his wings) to start slowly creeping down his back and over his shoulders over time. because i think it would fucking rule. *i subscribe to this one the most, tho. makes sense. also i feel like the mage WouldTM.

[luvneymar]

can you do a neymar fic where he falls for davis school teacher that he meets when davi gets in trouble for something at school

GOOD BOY, BAD BOY — NEYMAR JR

SUMMARY: you finally meet the parent of your star-student & he’s more than you’d expected.

CONTENT: absolute fluff, neymar is a atrocious simp, neymar gets whiplash LMAOOO. also not proof read cuz it never is. think of the spelling errors as fill in the blanks! ❤️

PARING: young!dad!neymar x preschool teacher!reader

“Davi! How many times have I said we don’t hit other children? It’s not nice!”A honey like voice scolded the young boy who stood in-front of you tears forming in his eyes. Today Davi had hit another kid for something he refused to tell you which unlike him.

He was normally a good kid who shared his toys and snacks with everyone unless someone set him off. And in this case someone did indeed set him off, with the amount of times he’s hit another child or just been a pain you’d think the director would’ve sent him somewhere else but since you took a liking into him the director placed him on your hands.

“I’m sorry but we’re gonna have to call your daddy and tell him about this.” Hearing that Davi burst into tears, brave face coming off almost instantly. You scooped him up and cradled him into your arms pacing around the room in an attempt to calm him down.

He cried into your shoulder getting snot all over your shirt as collarbone, Davi didn’t cry often cry even when he did he didn’t cry as much as he did right now.

You walked towards the side of the room where the parents phone numbers were kept and dug through the draw hysterical child still in your arms. Once you found it you ripped the piece that had his fathers phone number and tucked the paper into your pocket.

“I know Davi, but there are consequences to your actions. I’m sure daddy won’t be mad.” You muttered into his ear as he rested his head on your shoulder sniffling every 15 seconds as he got snot all over your shirt.

“I sorry. Don’t call daddy.” Davi babbled our lifting his head from your shoulder to look at you with his big brown eyes, you were almost convinced but deep down you knew this decision was needed.

“I’m sorry baby I have too.” You kissed forehead before rested his head onto your shoulder softly stroking his blonde hair once again before walking towards the sink station to grab some tissues for his snotty nose.

Once Davi had calmed down the rest of the day went smoothly as you kept both of your eyes on him at all times leaving him alone for very little time. The end of the day was soon approaching and you could notice that Davi’s happy smile was fading into a look of nervousness.

All the other kids had there parents come to pick them up leaving you and Davi in the preschool centre along with some other staff who’s were preparing to leave. As you were playing transformers with Davi you turned your head for a moment to place a piece that fell back onto the toy you were playing with.

Once you turned around you noticed that Davi was gone and looked up to see him running towards a rather handsome man, as your eyes met his you felt your heart skip a beat and quickly looked away trying to compose yourself. “Daddy!”

“Hey buddy, how’ve you been?” You composed yourself dusting off your clothes and getting up from the spot you sat to make your way towards the man who pretended to eat his sons nose.

“Mr. Dantas?” You called out as you walked towards the pair still holding a transformer in your hand unknowingly, Neymar looked down towards the toy before chuckling as he adjusted the toddler sitting on his waist.

“Oh I’m so sorry how rude of me, I’m Neymar Santos. It seems as if you guys don’t update your system to often.” He laughed deeply practically undressing you with his voice, despite feeling like a high-school girl all over again you kept your composure.

“What makes you say that?” You questioned cocking your head to the side as you crossed your arms right under your breasts unknown to the fact that Neymar’s gaze was at your chest and not at your eyes.

As you waited for a response your eyes tracked where Neymar’s eyes could possibly be looking at that had him so distracted, it wasn’t that hard to figure out that he was basically gawking at your breasts like some horny teen.

You cleared your voice signalling him to look up at your face as you crossed your arms on your breast, keeping your chest out of his sights. Barely.

“If you did you’d know that it’s no longer and was never Mr. Dantas & that was just a cover up name from my ex-wife.” He looked up at you with a seductive look, his signature look that he gave all the girls he wanted to see naked.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind then.” You answered secretly cheering at the sound of ex-wife and not current wife.

“Keep the ex-wife part in mind too.” He winked at you before turning towards the door to leave the pre-school centre. As he was leaving you completely forgot why you even approached him in the first place.

“Before you go I need to speak with you about something.” You grabbed onto his jacket stopping him from leaving the building. He spun around as he let his down from his hold on his hip holding his sons tiny hand in his large one.

“You can speak to me about anything.” He answered still looking at you with his signature look, despite almost melting when he looked at you like that before you stayed firm mentally.

“No this is serious please be serious.”

“What’s going on? Is there something wrong with Davi?” His look immediately changed into concerned one, you hadn’t meant to alarm him so you waved your hands immediately putting his worries to rest.

“Yes. Well no. Yes & No. More leaning towards yes rather than no.” You stuttered out not knowing how you were supposed to explain this.

“Take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on darling.” Neymar looked at you with a smile on his face flashing you his blinding pearly whites. It was almost insulting how perfect he was. Nonetheless you remained composed.

“That isn’t appropriate I could have a boyfriend you know.” You mentioned trying to deflect from his flirtatious remarks. Neymar had a smug look on his face as he responded.

“But you don’t.”

“You sound so sure about that. How do you know I have a boyfriend?” You questioned looking at him up and down watching another smile form on his face as he looked away looking quite embarrassed.

“Just a hunch, as you were saying you needed to speak to me about something.” He deflects from the side conversation returning back to the original conversation.

“Yes, uh. Davi has been having a lot of behavioural issues recently. He’s aggressive, violent & sort of mean to the other kids. Today he hit a kid so hard their lip begin to bleed. Is everything okay?” You looked down at davi who was sucking on his finger looking at everything around him but you two.

“That’s probably the aftermath of the divorce his mom and I recently went though. It wasn’t a toxic or malicious one he just misses seeing her 24/7.” He responded as you crouched down to pull his fingers out of his mouth and wiped the saliva from his mouth.

Unknown to you Neymar was looking down at you with smile as he finished his sentence, he hadn’t known why he was intrigued by you. You were just a regular pre-school teacher but watching the way you cared for his son even when you weren’t being payed for it and how you became flustered and fidgety at every flirtatious comment he made, made him feel fuzzy.

“Ah that’s why. Well is there anyway I can help? I like Davi but he’s 1 more incident away from being suspended from this pre-school. Which I don’t want to happen.” You mentioned as you got up and walked towards the trash can just few meters away from the father and son.

“You could go on a date with me.” Neymar mentioned casually picking his son up again hoisting him on his hip as he turned around to see your reaction, watching you spin around in slow motion with a shocked look on your face was almost laughable to him.

“What?” You questioned hoping you didn’t hear him right and was just being delusional. I mean no guy you just met a few minutes ago would be asking you on a date right? especially a guy as hot as him.

“Go on a date with me.” He repeated again cheeky smile on his face as he wrote something down on a sticky pad that rested on the welcome table just a few metres away from him.

“W-What! I don’t even know you. All I do is care for your-!” You babbled on not aware that Neymar was walking towards you and placed his spare finger on your lips before placing the sticky note into your open palm all with a smile on his face.

“Shh. We can sort that out later. If you wanna help Davi. Go out with me.” Neymar repeated for one last time before turning to walk out the building leaving you standing there stunned with his number in your palm and finger previously resting on your very soft lips.

“Okay.” You whispered finally composing yourself a few second after, as you turned your head and looked out the large daycare window you noticed that Davi and his father were just driving out of the parking lot. As the car finally reached the street you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket.

(Unknown Number)

hey stranger ;)

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Twenty-Six

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Six: Battling the East India Company

Summary: (Y/N) fights for their seas and their family.

            (Y/N) hit the water with a splash, and they swore they’d never felt so alive. They’d thought sailing and fighting with freedom had been perfect, but this was better. They were in their waters, their scales free, their mind aware of who they were. And (Y/N) was damn well aware of what they were capable of.

            Ready to fight? whispered the storm.

            (Y/N) grinned, and the current swept them forward. Always, Calypso.

            They swam through the water, and they felt it turn. The current constricted into a whirlpool, and (Y/N) was quick to avoid it. The seas were turning on those that tried to tame it. Now it was only skill��that let people sail.

            Not that I need skill. The seas were (Y/N). (Y/N) was the seas.

l

            “Maelstrom!” shouted Gibbs, warning the Pearl about the oncoming storm and whirlpool.

            “Where’s (Y/N)?!” shouted Will, searching the murky waters below for any sight of them.

            “They disappeared!” said Elizabeth, equally worried.

            “The lad is a nereid!” said Barbossa, at control of the helm. “I’ll give my hat to Beckett meself if they ain’t just fine!”

            Will and Elizabeth exchanged worried looks, but they had bigger issues at hand. They were skirting the edge of the whirlpool, and the Dutchman was following.

            “She’s on our stern and gaining!” warned Will.

            “More speed!” shouted Barbossa. “Haul your wind and hold your water!”

            Cannon fire began, and the crew of the Pearl ducked.

            “Take us out!” said Will. “Or they’ll overbear us!”

            Barbossa grinned. “Nay! We’ve got the faster waters on our side.”

            Elizabeth stumbled to the rail as the ship listed, and she saw a flash of silver beneath the waves. Her eyes widened as the Pearl lurched forward faster. As she raised her gaze, she saw the East India fleet itself battling impressive waves as the pirates sailed closer. She could swear the water didn’t seem to be moving naturally.

l

            “Think like the whelp, think like the whelp, think like the whelp,” repeated Jack as he paced. He froze. “Double-barrel hinges.” He turned to the door, grabbed a slab of wood, and pushed down. The cell door fell, and Jack gleefully walked out of the cell.

l

            (Y/N) swam towards the Dutchman. If they managed to take it down, the most important pawn at Beckett’s disposal would be gone. Their hand went to their sword, and they grinned as they reached the ship.

l

            Jack froze as he held Jones’s chest and faced Jones’s himself. Davy Jones had killed the last of the East India Company, which meant it was just him versus those that had wronged him—like Jack.

            “Lookee here. A lost bird,” sneered Jones. “A lost bird that never learned to fly.”

            Jack put his usual smile on his face. “To my great regret. But never too late to learn, eh?” He grabbed a rope, tugged, and was swept off his feet. He swung through the air and landed on a sail.

            Unfortunately for him, Jones was able to move like a supernatural creature on his hip, and he was at Jack’s level in a moment. Jones drew his sword and advanced on Jack.

            “The chest. Hand it over,” he ordered.

            “I can set you free, mate,” said Jack, drawing his own sword.

            “My freedom was forfeit long ago,” said Jones. He raised his sword.

            And a giant wave swept up over the Dutchman. It rocked to the side, and all the pirates struggled to stay standing. Jack and Jones stumbled and fought for balance. The wave splashed over the deck and sails, and they blinked the seawater from their eyes.

            Jack’s eyes widened. “Pearl!”

            (Y/N) stood on the rail between him and Jones. Scales shone in the lightning flashes, and they were soaking wet yet seemed stronger than ever.

            “Sorry I’m a bit late, Jack,” said (Y/N).

            “Perfect timing,” said Jack.

            “You,” said Jones, staring at the scales.

            “Me,” said (Y/N). They grinned and twirled their sword. “By the way, Calypso’s pretty mad at you. I’d be a little worried where you sail nowadays.”

            Jones let out a roar and swung at (Y/N). They blocked him, ducked under his arm, grabbed a rope, and swung to the side. He kept attacking towards Jack, who stepped back with he chest.

            “Jack!” said (Y/N).

            Jack tossed it through the air, and (Y/N) caught it. Jones spun to face them, but Jack stabbed at him, forcing his attention to go back to him. Jones pressed his sword at Jack.

            “You can do nothing without the key,” said Jones.

            “I already have the key,” lied Jack.

            One of Jones’s tentacles lifted the key from his own neck. “No, you don’t.”

            “Oh, that key,” said Jack.

            (Y/N) stabbed at Jones, who pivoted to dodge and reach for the chest. Jack took his chance, swung, and cut the tentacle holding the key off. Jones completed his pivot in anger and grabbed at (Y/N). They tossed the chest back to Jack and blocked with their sword. Jones grabbed it with his crab hand, squeezed, and snapped the sword.

            “Huh,” said (Y/N). “I wish I had those.”

            Jones growled and surged towards them. They stumbled back towards the edge of the wooden bar. Jack held his sword in one hand, the chest in the other, and advanced. He refused to leave (Y/N) to get hurt or worse. He raised his sword.

            Crack!

            The masts of the Dutchman and Pearl crashed into one another. The spin of the whirlpool had finally pushed them together. Jack stumbled and fell back. (Y/N) slipped, grabbed a rope, and swung haphazardly away. As Jack fell, Jones grabbed the chest, and Jack held the other end. His eyes went to (Y/N) upon instinct.

            They had swung out over the whirlpool but were swinging back towards the ships. Jack breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned nervous as Jones lifted him. He gave a weak smile. Jones narrowed his eyes, lowered his down, and pulled him up. Jack went flying through the air and lost his grip on the chest. He let out a wild yell as he flew through the storm.

            He promptly crashed into (Y/N). With one hand, he grabbed the rope, and the other pulled them securely to them. He wasn’t letting his kid fall to the fight below anytime soon.

            “Shoot him!” said Jack over the wind.

            “Right!” said (Y/N), grabbing their pistol and aiming as they swung around.

            Bang!

            Jones roared as the bullet hit his hand. The chest dropped to the deck below. Coincidentally, it hit the ground just in front of Will, who had swung aboard (after marrying Elizabeth). Instantly, Jones dropped himself to the deck.

            “Drop us,” said (Y/N).

            “I’d rather not break my head on the Dutchman, thank you very much,” said Jack.

            “I’ll catch us,” said (Y/N).

            Jack looked at them and trusted them. He let go of the rope, and the pair fell down. A wave rushed up and hit the Dutchman. It heaved to the side, knocking everyone to one direction. The spray of water caught (Y/N) and Jack, and the pair were pushed safely to the deck below.

            Or, well, not so safely since they landed in front of Jones. Jack reached for his sword, but in the swinging and falling, it had disappeared from his hand. (Y/N)’s was still broken. Jones grinned and held his own sword tighter.

            “Damn,” said (Y/N).

            Jones lunged, and Jack and (Y/N) split up. Jack grabbed a piece of wood and spung at Jones. He was shoved back and received several hits to his face. Finally, he grabbed the wood and snapped it. Jack’s eyes widened. A small wave rose and slammed into Jones. He stumbled to the side, leaving Jack to stare at (Y/N) from behind him.

            “I’m a big fan of this new thing you’ve got going on, laddie!” said Jack, grinning.

            “I am, too,” said (Y/N).

            “You’re not the only one with magic,” snarled Jones, melted through the helm and running at them.

            (Y/N) rolled to the side as he sliced at them, but he pivoted, sliced through a rail, and the wood fell down onto (Y/N). They yelped and fell back. Jack quickly grabbed them and pulled them back as Jones slashed down.

            Before he attacked, Elizabeth swung to the Dutchman and landed to face Jones. He narrowed his eyes as he saw her.

            “Harridan! You’ll see no mercy from me,” said Jones.

            “That’s why I brought this,” said Elizabeth, drawing her sword. She and Jones clashed.

            Jack helped (Y/N) to their feet before freezing. A tiny tentacle holding a key was inching by. He dove for it while (Y/N) ran to help Elizabeth. Jones had just struck her across the face, and she’d fallen against the stairs.

            (Y/N) jumped at Jones and stabbed the broken end of the sword into Jones’s back. He roared in anger, grabbed them, and flung them from his back. They hit the ground, and their head slammed into the wood. They groaned.

            “Did you think that would do anything?” sneered Jones. “I’m a heartless wretch, remember?”

            “Yeah, but it still hurts, doesn’t it?” said (Y/N), groaning.

            “Don’t touch them!” said Will, trying to stab Jones.

            Jones pivoted, blocked him, and slammed him back. He hit the ground, and Elizabeth gasped as she lifted her head. Jones huffed, held his sword tightly, and looked back at (Y/N), whose eyes widened as he loomed over them.

            “(Y/N),” breathed Jack, freezing from where he was trying to catch the key. All the adults froze as (Y/N) was placed in danger. No one could move closer for fear of Jones ending their life.

            Jones raised a brow and look at Jack, Will, and Elizabeth before looking back at (Y/N). “Ah. Love.” This was a family. “A dreadful bond. And yet so easily severed.” He looked down at (Y/N). “Tell me, (Y/N) the Nereid, do you fear death?”

            “Do you?” said Jack, standing up and holding a knife in one hand. It rested just above a beating heart. “Heady tonic, holding life and death in the palm of one’s hand.”

            Jones took a step away from (Y/N) and towards Jack. “You’re a cruel man, Jack Sparrow.”

            “Cruel is a matter of perspective,” said Jack calmly. He was protecting his kid, his pearl.

            “Is it?” said Jones.

            He turned. Will lunged forward. Jones stabbed. (Y/N) gasped. Will collapsed to the side, sword through his back and heart.

            “Will!” cried (Y/N).

            “Will!” shouted Elizabeth, running to his side.

            Jones turned and laughed at Jack’s shocked face that his kid had nearly died and now Will was dying.

            “Will, stay with us,” said (Y/N).

            “Look at us!” said Elizabeth, crying. “You’re alright.”

            “William?” A man made of coral and barnacles stood and looked at them. “My son…” He blinked. “My son!”

            He lunged at Jones, and the two began to battle. (Y/N) held Will’s hand tightly, and the waves began to heave. The Dutchman rocked back and forth as (Y/N) lost control of their emotions and the sea did with them.

            They looked up at Jack, tears in their eyes. Rage and pain was reflected in their eyes, and they were caught between remaining by Will’s side to support him and taking out their fury on Jones.

            “Jack,” said (Y/N). “Help him. Please.”

            Jack would never deny his kid. He moved to their side and knelt. He took Will’s hand and placed it around his knife. He stabbed down, into the heart. Will stabbed Jones.

            Davy Jones gasped as his heart was pierced. He whirled on the group—the family—as they stared back at him defiantly.

            “Goodbye,” said (Y/N), raising their hand.

            The waves rocked the boat again, and Jones stumbled to the railing.

            “Calypso,” he whispered before closing his eyes and tipping backwards.

            He fell into the whirlpool and Calypso’s clutches below.

            Elizabeth held Will’s face tightly. She shook her head desperately as he pushed her hair behind her ear fondly.

            “Why?” said (Y/N). “Why did you sacrifice yourself? I would have been alright.”

            Will shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t have.” He smiled. “But you’re family. And family doesn’t leave each other behind.”

            “Oh, Will,” said Elizabeth sadly.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to smile at her. “I love you, wife.”

            “I love you, husband,” choked out Elizabeth.

            “I love you, (Y/N),” said Will.

            “I love you, Will,” said (Y/N), wiping away their tears.

            Jack took their shoulders and steadied them as they cried. He held them as they buried their face in his clothes. Will’s head fell back, and he went limp.

            “No! No!” cried Elizabeth.

            “Part of the ship, part of the crew,” whispered the crew of the Dutchman, coming out from every corner to observe the situation. “Part of the ship, part of the crew.”

            “Don’t leave me!” shouted Elizabeth.

            “Part of the ship, part of the crew,” chanted the crew.

            Jack grabbed Elizabeth and (Y/N) and dragged them away from Will. They fought against him, but Jack pulled them back. Behind them, Bootstrap Bill knelt with a knife, and another crewman opened the chest.

            “The Dutchman must have a captain,” said Bill.

            Jack grabbed a rope and prepared an escape. “Hold on,” he said to Elizabeth and (Y/N).

            They grabbed him, he fired the pistol, and they all rocketed into the air. The sail-parachute caught the winds, and they flew towards the Black Pearl. Below them, the Dutchman plunged into the depths of the whirlpool. (Y/N) closed their eyes and felt the waters close over the Dutchman. The whirlpool disappeared, and Calypso’s storm began to clear as they landed in the water by the Pearl.

            A ladder was quickly let down, and Jack, Elizabeth, and (Y/N) climbed back aboard the Black Pearl.

            “Thank goodness, Jack,” said Gibbs. “The armada’s still out there! The Endeavor’s coming up hard to starboard, and I think it’s time we embrace that oldest and noblest of pirate traditions.”

            “Never actually been one for tradition,” said Jack. He looked out at Beckett’s ship as it approached. “Close haul her!” He turned to business. “Luff her sails and lay her in irons.”

            “Belay that, or we’ll be a sitting duck!” said Barbossa.

            “Belay that ‘belay that,’ ” said Jack.

            “But the arma—”

            “Beckett’s meddling got Will killed,” said (Y/N), voice low.

            Everyone paused and looked at them. They stepped onto the rail of the Pearl and looked out at Beckett’s ship.

            “He tried to kill everyone I care about. He tried to control the Caribbean. He tried to control the seas. He tried to control me.” The sun glinted with pearlescent light off (Y/N)’s scales. “And I told him he’d pay for it with his life.” They raised their chin. “I’m keeping my promise.”

            “Uh, what?” said Gibbs.

            “Give him hell,” spat Elizabeth.

            “Have fun, Pearl,” said Jack, grinning.

            Barbossa raised a brow at the nickname, and (Y/N) took a deep breath. They focused on the familiar pull of the ocean and tugged. The waters rocked around them. The sea obeyed their will. It swelled, and the ships began to rock.

            Near them, a familiar ship exploded out from the water. The Dutchman floated on the water, whole and powerful once more. The crew was human. Will stood at the helm, healthy and determined.

            “Will!” said Elizabeth in shock and relief.

            Jack grinned. He hadn’t gotten his immortality, but a part of his family was alive. “Looks like he made it. Good on him.”

            The Dutchman and the Pearl floated side by side as (Y/N) stood at the front and faced the Endeavor. (Y/N) grinned as the waters rose. They had their family. They had the sea. They had their freedom.

            (Y/N) had everything they ever wanted.

            They raised their hands, and the waters rose. Aboard the Endeavor, Beckett’s eyes widened. He could see Will at the helm of the Pearl. He could see Jack alive and free. He could see the nereid standing before him.

            “Fire!” shouted Jack.

            “Fire!” shouted Will.

            “Welcome to my sea!” (Y/N) dropped their arms.

            Cannonballs shot into the Endeavor, and a large wave crashed down at the same time. As the cannons fired, the ship began to sink, and its crew was thrown to the ground, dead, while the waters rose. As the wave swept down over them, the mast broke, the sails crashed to the deck, and men were swept overboard. Those who could stand opted to abandon ship.

            Beckett was given no such choice. His eyes met (Y/N)’s, and the last sight he saw was their scales and their power. They smirked, and the waves crashed over him once more. He was dragged to the Caribbean Sea, and as he tried to gasp for air, all that met him were the waters he sought to conquer.

            He drowned in his own fruitless ambitions.

Taglist:

@slytherinroyalty16

@aew-kun-age-regression

@grippleback-galaxy

@andsoigotabutterfly

@insomniacneedssleep

@painstakingly-juno

@kitkatlover015

@chronicallybubbly

@froggyisfriend

@elliottheidiot2007

@paastaboi

@urlocalsabito

@speckle-meow-meow

@dmitrytherat

@vanessa-boo

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

@ceridwyn3

@heil-nah

@idonthaveanameforthisacc

@roo024

@rory-cakes

[br4inr0tx]

ah shit..here we go again. Another matchup for @hannibalwritesstuff !

tw - toxic relationships, murder, forced affection, implied parental neglect, kidnapping, and torture

Your Mandela Catalogue matchup is… CESAR TORRES !!

• I’m down bad for alternate Cesar. He’s so silly.

• However, this is about you. Any sort of relationship with an alternate is very rocky and unstable, so be sure to walk carefully on that thin ice.

• He enjoys any sense of confidence from you. He can’t wait to watch you crumble the more he tortures you in your own house.

• As an alternate, he doesn’t talk that often. If he does it’s short responses, like reading lines from a script. The voice comes out is either the original Cesar’s voice, or yours mimicked perfectly.

• Alternates as very unpredictable as I previously mentioned, so it’s hard to say the things he may or may not do to you. There will never be a moment where it’s sunshine and rainbows I fear, as the fear of death always lingers near.

• Most likely, he’ll be your weird roommate, most likely seeking shelter in your home for a while. At first, he was thinking on killing you off immediately, but you seemed to intrigue him enough for him to keep you around as a human pet. Most likely from your charm and uniqueness.

• You are not safe with him at any moment. He could keep you around for a week, or as long as a year. Be prepared to live the rest of your life in fear.

• You’re so shy sometimes.. you wouldn’t dare tell any of your family that he’s an alternate, right?

• Don’t get snappy with him either, because he can always shut you up for good. It’s best to take the backseat, and let him call the shots for you.

• Eventually if you manage to entertain him for a while, he’ll allow you to get your fix and cuddle him. Look! It’s like he’s your real boyfriend!

• He spends a lot of time with you too, since going outside could risk him getting caught. Then again, he’s already in your house. No one is coming for you even if you cry for help.

• Thus, all dates are at home. Perhaps on a rare occasion he’ll follow you out in public under another disguise, but it’s hard to tell.

• He only watches you do your hobbies. I don’t think he’ll ever want to do them with you. As an alternate with no convincing of any kind needed anymore, he just observes..

• Now, you might be asking, this is a horrible match! Why would you match me with someone whom I’ll barely get along with?

• Well, that’s the thing. None of the alternates have the capability to love, honestly. They can always pretend when they are playing as a human, which Alt!Cesar will do sometimes, but since you wanted an alternate I hate to break it to you, theres not much around it pooks.

• However, a runners up for you would be Mark Heathcliff and Thatcher Davis!

Your Platonic! Southpark matchup is… KENNY MCCORMICK !!

• Kenny would be best for you! You’re both excitable goofballs, and I think because of that the two of you would click right away.

• You’re a very charming person, and as soon as he met you in school, his eyes were attached on you immediately. You’ve got that aura that draws people in, and I feel like Kenny is one to sense that vibe from anyone.

• Kenny is a true ambivert, maybe leaning on introvert. He mainly gets shy around new people, though once he digs them it’s smooth sailing from there. He likes that fact you’re so social, as it made him connect with you easily.

• He’s very playful, and loves to hang out and do stuff. He’s not one to sit around and do nothing, he’d rather be out and about. That being said he loves to go out with you and go on adventures.

• Knowing Kenny, he’s extremely crude and out of pocket. You make each other laugh all the time. Just make sure Kenny doesn’t die from it.

• Speaking of which, you would know if his constant loop of dying and coming back to life. I’d imagine it’s traumatic for the both of you, but I guess it just pushes you to live your life to the fullest. You often help each other in that regard.

• He’s really chill about it though most of the time, and hopes that after awhile of knowing you won’t freak out as often about him dying so often.

• Kenny is some what of a people pleaser and peace keeper, so if you have any drama you’re involved in he’s quick to help you resolve it.

• He may call you emo sometimes, but there’s no ill intent with it, it’s all jokes. He digs it, and he’s not one to really judge given his situation. I see Kenny as a grunge/indie kid, with a sprinkle of emo in there. (Here’s a playlist for him I made awhile back based on another Tumblr users headcanons on his music. I agree with it so hopefully you do too!)

• Bro has literally been to hell. He’s in no way scared of you. Not to mention, you see the shit that goes on in Southpark? There’s lots more to be scared of than the way someone dresses.

• He gets hurt all the time and lives in a dysfunctional family, so having a time where you father him might actually make him cry tears of joy.

• He definitely has ADHD, so even if he doesn’t completely understand what you go through on a daily basis, he can definitely sympathize with you through your tougher times in mental health.

• Please put makeup on him! He loves feeling girly pop!

• Kenny is a physical person in my opinion. It doesn’t even need to be on a relationship front either. He likes giving homie cuddles when you need it. Though he’s a gentleman, he won’t touch you if you don’t want it.

• He’s very open, and usually finds fun out of anything happening. He just wants something to do, so anything you want to do won’t bother him in the slightest. He’s very adaptable.

• Though he does favor arcades and malls, their his favorites!

• he’s kinda poor so um..please pay for him, he’s not picky and doesn’t ask for anything tho cause he feels bad - He’s not um..on the rich side so..please pay for him. He’s not picky and will never ask for anything though, so I guess it’s mostly at your discretion.

• He loves gaming, and is into different sports. I believe he’s into art too, even his he’s not the greatest at it. He’s got the spirit though!

• Likes to play video games with you! You’re less annoying than Cartman can be at the very least, so it’s more than he could ask for. He’s into all genres, but I think RPGs his favorite.

• He likes to watch movies and YouTube with you too on more chill days. He wants to try one of those challenges with you though, like the Ice bucket or Cinnamon challenge.

• He also digs anime. His favorites are probably mainstream ones like one piece or dragon ball, but don’t worry cause he’s open to watching more. (He’d love the Ghost Stories Dub.)

• He loves dancing. He isn’t necessarily good, but he has the spirit. He just likes to groove, y’know?

• Other close friends of yours would be Clyde and Craig! Tweek too, depending on how scared he is of you on that day.

• You’re a great friend for Kenny, and he’s glad to have you apart of his circle.

Your Price of Flesh matchup is… DEREK GOFFARD !!

• You really can’t get enough of him, can you?

• Well, seeing as we’ve done this before, I’ll just give you a few more headcanons to tease around your mind.

• He loves seeing the way you run back to him every time like an obedient little pet. Sure the torture sessions are terrible, but the sweet aftercare of cuddles, aggressive kisses, and watching whatever show you want for the evening makes it all worth it.

• I mentioned before how intuitive he is. He picks up on things you do and don’t like very easily, and just as easily bullies you on it.

• When he’s pissed off though, there’s no point in trying to cheer him up. He’s very dismissive, and he’ll end up taking it out on you tenfold. Most of the time there’s a chance you could actually die during these outbursts, so it’s all up to fate at that point.

• All those days back at the auction, he could see that spark in you. That charm and liveliness. He knew from that day forward he wanted to take you away and break all your spirit..and show you what true suffering is.

• It’s such a shame you fell into this psychopaths hands, cause he’s not ever going to let you go.

[boltlightning]

# 30 for norribeth or just James and Elizabeth. Pretty please?

30. one more chapter request me a drabble!

The captain’s quarters in the Empress are hastily patched. The cannons from the Dutchman had struck above the waterline, and with the ship lightened of its burdens by Davy Jones’ crew, the Empress sails quick and easy towards Shipwreck Cove.

James is bundled in swaths of silk and wool upon the lone bed. His sleep is uneasy, incomplete, a thin veneer over the plunging depths of his pain. This is the fevered rest of a man barely tethered to life. The rise and fall of his chest is shallow, but even, and Elizabeth watches it with anxious intensity. 

She had questioned the necessity of so much bedding—surely, if his skin is running as hot as Hell itself, he would wish to be cool?—but she has learned to trust her new crew; they had kept James alive against all odds, after he was impaled, tossed unceremoniously overboard, half-drowned, and hauled gracelessly from the churning sea. He had been stabbed with a piece of wood torn off the Flying Dutchman, and the cold of the water had nearly killed him before the infection could, but by the tenacity of the crew, he lives. Elizabeth had seen men succumb to shock and cold in much more favorable conditions and could no longer doubt their medicinal methods. 

The throes of James’ fever had not released him yet. In his few moments of wakefulness, he has not been completely lucid, and does not seem to register Elizabeth’s hand brushing his burning forehead at all, much less as comfort. His tenuous fate does little to settle her nerves with the congregation of pirate kings fast approaching. 

She thumbs the token Sao Feng had given her, kept secure around her neck. It would not do to sit idle and will James to wellness.

Elizabeth peruses the chests left after Sao Feng’s death. She uncovers weapons, elaborate clothing, gold, jewelry, unfamiliar herbs and jars of preserves. Of most interest to her is an impossibly heavy chest filled with books. There are several titles in English and French she recognizes. Much of it is philosophy, Locke and Voltaire and their like, but some literature is present as well. Chaucer, Defoe, Milton, Shakespeare…

Elizabeth selects the latter. She prefers the tragedies and had never read his sonnets. She does not think she can handle another tragedy now.

Careful not to disturb James, she sits on the edge of the bed with the book in her lap. The quiet in the cabin is not true, only the sort that a ship can offer: the creaking of the planks, the susurrus of the water, the lyrical murmur of the crew, and immediate to her attention, the rasp of her closest friend’s breath. Elizabeth draws a breath of her own and begins to read aloud, if only to give her ears something else to hear.

His condition does not improve over the journey. Elizabeth continues to read, telling herself that if he dies here, she has at least given him a comfortable bed in which to do so, with poetry as his accompaniment. The thought makes her stop abruptly mid-stanza. She closes the book and breathes deeply, enough to steady her to stand and set it in the latched cupboard beside the bed.

From the other side of the bed, James stirs. He mumbles something that could plausibly be her name slurred into two syllables, the end lifted in a question. She drops the book in haste and scrambles back to his side.

“Oh, thank God you’re alive,” she exclaims, forgetting herself.

“Barely,” he croaks.

Elizabeth reaches over to brush damp hair from his face. He is cooler than he has been, and his eyes are clear, if bright with pain.

“What can I get you? There’s—well, it’s not brandy, but it’s this clear concoction that's just as strong, and—I can put tea on, just—”

“Water, maybe,” James suggests hoarsely. “No, ah, don’t get up yet.” He shifts to sit up, then hisses at the pain. 

Elizabeth gently pushes him down by the shoulder. “Stay there. What do you need?”

“One more?” He flicks his eyes towards the sonnets, which slide page-down across the floor with the tilt of the ship. “Please. It…it keeps the dreams away.”

He lifts a hand to set it to her arm. He looks nothing like himself, the fever and pain having wasted him away; even his expression is uncertain, vulnerable as she had never seen before. Yet Elizabeth looks into his face, and recognizes him, and feels relief as certain and true as the moon’s tides.

“One more,” she agrees. When she looks away to pick up the book, it is with reluctance.

[wildbasil]

I’ve had a few messages asking me to elaborate on my comic and I gotta say, I’m super honoured that people are enjoying my silly little drawings and want to know more!!

In short, Gwyn, Edern and Blodeuwedd are figures from medieval Welsh literature and folklore. I just think they’re neat 😌🌸

Gwyn

Warrior, Arthurian knight, fairy king and supernatural huntsman, Gwyn is associated with lonely places, like moorlands and mountaintops. He’s evasive, untrustworthy and, especially in earlier texts, has a pretty bad temper. In Culhwch and Olwen, he abducts the object of his affection, Creiddylad, right before her marriage. When her fiancé raises an army against him, Gwyn goes off the deep end a bit, raining violence down on his opponents and taking a bunch of them prisoner. He even tortures one guy into insanity by forcing the guy to eat his own dad's heart. Gwyn’s really caught the imagination of writers throughout time, and at least he seems to have chilled out somewhat over the centuries. For some reason, I like imagining him as tired and sort of past it as a mischief-maker.

Edern/Yder/Ider

Edern is a spirited, confident youth and, like his brother, is a knight of King Arthur. He’s slightly better at it, though. Less violence, more chivalry. Apparently a bit of a hunk too since, in the Romance of Yder, Guinevere admits that Edern would be her first choice if she ever remarried (and it seems Edern was Guinevere’s lover in some traditions). He’s also impatient and cocky, frequently rushing ahead into danger, which normally ends badly for him. In Geraint and Enid, he appears as the ill-mannered Knight of the Sparrowhawk. Despite boasting the title of jousting champion for two years running, he ends up getting beaten badly by Geraint and, begging for mercy, is forced to admit that he’s behaving like a little shit. I like imagining him as a dumbass younger brother.

Blodeuwedd

Blodeuwedd is an owl now, but she used to be a woman. When Lleu Llaw Gyffes was cursed to never have a human wife, his meddling uncle Gwydion magicked him one out of flowers. This flower lady was named Blodeuwedd. When she had an affair and, with her lover, tried to kill Lleu, Gwydion punished her by turning her into an owl, a creature reviled by humans and birds alike. But Blodeuwedd never asked to be a woman and she never asked to be an owl; I think it’s impossible not to feel compassion for her. There’s no real connection between her and Gwyn, but I enjoy imagining them as weird friends. After all, Gwyn’s pretty disliked and feared too.

A (Very, Very Short) Reading List

Here are some links if you want to learn more!

Firstly, I recommend reading Sioned Davies’ translation of The Mabinogion, which is a collection of eleven medieval Welsh stories.

The Mabinogion translated by Sioned Davies (2007)

But there are some free translations online too:

The Mabinogion translated by Charlotte Guest (1877)

In particular, these are the stories I mentioned above:

Culhwch and Olwen

Geraint son of Erbin

Math son of Mathonwy

And here's one of my favourites (not from the Mabinogion): the story of St Collen and Gwyn ap Nudd.

Thanks for reading!!

[artpoint420]

A Long Winded Analytic Defense of Nermal Cat from Garfield -DRAFT

I’ve said before, Nermal isn’t that bad, y’all just mean.

Go ahead. Hate me. Send me to Abu Dabi. But I am a Nermal apologist. I think Nermal makes a good addition to the Garfield cast and he's even a bit of an interesting character, the world's cutest kitty cat yet the most overhated.

I can understand why he's hated, certainly. I'll admit he does deserve some hate.

HOWEVER

As a cat crazy individual, I will never hate a cat. That's my main reason for not hating Nermal. In fact, I want to adopt Nermal so bad but he's just a cartoon character at the end of each Monday (and everyday), unfortunately. There are other reasons I defend him too and here (and next parts) I'll give a detailed overview/ analysis of all Garfield media Nermal has been in, the role he plays, his dynamics with the other characters, and his behavior.

PART 1: THE COMIC STRIPS (early era Nermal)

Let's start with the obvious, his first appearance in the comics.

... to which Garfield immediately hates him. But hey, it's a great way to immediately establish their dynamic, and show the main reason Garfield dislikes Nermal is his jealously (and annoyance at how he interuppts his naps.) The fact Nermal looks so happy to meet him though <3

The next few strips feature Garfield telling Nermal how he hates cute, his general disappointment in Nermal, and all the little ways Nermal annoys him. Here, Nermal is just the naive baby of the group and doesn't seem to mean to annoy Garfield. It's honestly reminisent to how Garfield and Odie were when Odie was introduced early on as well as a reflection on how cats tend to treat new cats, which is usually not very well until they get used to each other. (I have three cats trust me.)

Nonetheless, it doesn't take long until we get strips showcasing the ways they actually enjoy their time together, finding ways to play that shows their friendly side with each other without completely altering their established dynamic.

These are some of my overall favorite Garfield comics. Jim Davis honestly deserves kudos for being able to draw and write his characters in ways that feel like a natural sibling rivalry with both good and bad moments. But when the moments are good, they're so damn good. Here's more examples:

God this is my favorte Nermal and Garf stirip. I can hear them giggling as they confuse Jon.

I don't blame you for thinking that Nermal.

He's just his little baby brother and I will accept no other answer.

However there's this one:

If nothing proves Garfield's hatred is fueld mainly by jealously, this will. So much for Nermal being the "evil" one. (They both have their evil moments I suppose.)

In this one, Garfield fully admits it.

To move forward because I can analyze each and every comic, truly I can, but I also have so much more I want to talk about, I'll just say there's a few basic formulas for a Garfield and Nermal strip in this era I've observed, and that's one of these few:

-Nermal being snobbish towards Garfield to which Garfield is reasonably annoyed.

-Garfield just being a jerk to Nermal unprovoked or scolding him harshly usually ending with Nermal being tossed out the door.

-Garfield yearning for Jon's attention upon Nermal getting attention.

-Garfield trying to copy Nermal and/or have Nermal teach him to be cute (you are cute though Garfield, you're a cat, of course you're cute, Jon or Nermal just won't admit it.)

-Nermal and Garfield asking each other what seems like genuine questions out of a true interest about each other's lives.

-Something a bit more on the wholesome or brotherly side.

Or something kinda random.

Now, before both our attention spans die out, lets quickly look at modern Nermal comics and how Nermal's character has developed over the years. As we can see, early on, he had his snobbish moments but could also be sweet enough to break through Garfield's walls he puts up. Does that sweetness remain or get replaced?

To be honest, their dynamic hasn't actually changed too awfully much. There's so many modern ones with Nermal that feature Garfield's age and birthday more often than the past one's. Nermal is usually insulting Garfield's age but there's one where he does try to comfort him, proving he's still a cute sweet kitty despite his smart-aleck attitude. But I'll have to continue in part 2 because there's already 29 pictures in this post and I can only add one more which isthis one, which I coudn't leave out:

"Garfield! You're blocking my sunlight!"

Tee-hee, yep, one more cute one for the road. Can't get enough of it? Tune in for my next post because we'll have to do a Part 1 part 2!

[beachy--head]

Drabble time! A companion piece to this drabble where Harriet bargains with Jackson to get a pet and ends up with a kitten.

This is for @babyjapril and @himbo-jackson-avery, who always have the best tags and were wondering about Jackson as a cat dad. Ask, and you shall receive! (or something like that.) My brain wouldn't shut up until I wrote this, so here you go.

___

Jackson’s sigh cannot be louder even if he tried.

“Fine, we can adopt a kitten. But!” he adds before his wife and daughter can shriek with joy. “This cat will stay in the garden, he’s not going on any furniture ever, and Hattie, you have to help feed him and clean after him, okay?”

He’s not a cat person (not an animal person at all, actually), and he already envisions a future made of scratched furniture and cat hair on every piece of clothing Hattie owns, but the smiles on Harriet and April’s faces make up for it a little bit.

Still. That cat better not expect anything from him.

__

“Yeah, okay, he’s cute. And Hattie picked a good name with Oliver. But you’ve been cuddling him for the past hour, can you put him back on the ground now?”

“Jealous, Avery?”

“I’m not!”

__

“Why is he following me everywhere? I almost stepped on the damn thing ten times this afternoon.”

“Guess he’s just recognizing your natural leadership."

“Ha-ha-ha. Is this because I brought up the Gunther thing from way back this morning? You don’t have to be a sore– Oh come on, you almost made me fall, you stupid cat!! I swear, this thing has no survival instinct.”

“Leave him alone, will you?”

“Make him leave ME alone!”

__

“Have you noticed that he likes being scratched behind his ears? He makes such a goofy face every time.”

“Uh huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. You just seem awfully cozy with him, now.”

“I’m just noticing things. You know, in a scientific approach of my surroundings. It’s no different from observing a patient, actually.”

“Uh-huh.”

__

“Daddy. You have to take good care of Oliver while mommy and me will be in Moline. I made drawings to show you how to do it, and mommy did the words.”

Jackson smiles when he sees the five sheets of instructions created by his daughter (this is 100% April’s DNA, no arguing), and holds his little finger for a pinky-swear. His daughter takes it, looks him in the eye.

“But you DON’T sleep with him in your bed. He’s only allowed to sleep on MY bed, and when I'm not there. Promise. And you have to send me pictures of him.”

“Am I allowed to live in the same house as him, or…?”

“Daaaaddy!”

__

“Yes, Jackson, I showed her the picture where Oliver is eating his food. Yes, I also showed her the picture where he's playing on our bed. Yes, the one with his new collar, too. And the one when he’s yawning. And the one �� Did you go into the office at all today?

__

“I think we should go to the vet.”

“It’s a very small puncture wound, Jackson. I’ve disinfected it, and he cleaned it himself, too.”

“But it could lead to an infection.”

“Tomorrow it’ll be like it never happened. Trust me, there were so many cats on the farm who kept fighting with each other, having bites and marks way worse than this one, and we patched them up ourselves every single time.”

“But just in case…?”

“He’s going to be fine, Jackson.”

“I know, I know. Of course, we could ask,” he squints at his phone’s screen, “Dr. Davis for her input, it says here she’s specialized in felines and her clinic offers complementary training in–”

“Jackson, if you press dial on that button, I swear to God I’m telling Hattie the damn cat has been sleeping in our bed for the past week.”

[lesbianrobin]

hey guys want to help me write?

i started writing this awhile back and now i'm revisiting and i cannot recall Where i was going with this. SO!! it could be fun if you guys let me know what you would like to happen/where you see this going!!

Steve Harrington’s been different ever since he came back.

No shit, idiot, Eddie berates himself, pretending not to stare at Harrington from across the library. Not that Harrington would notice. It’s other people he’s worried about. Staring at Steve Harrington is a popular pastime at Hawkins High now, popular enough that Eddie can’t allow himself to be caught partaking.

The story goes like this:

Julia Davis was sitting in the emergency room at Hawkins Memorial waiting for her brother to get a cast on his arm after he fell off his bike. It was taking a long time, and she hates hospitals, so she decided to take a walk outside around the parking lot just for something to do. Here’s where Eddie knows the story’s at least a little bit bullshit; Julia Davis buys from him every week, and he’d bet anything that she was smoking in the parking lot for a bit of stress relief.

The rest is as follows: She heard sirens right as she was about to go back inside. It wasn’t an ambulance, it was a cop car, so she decided to watch what was going on. Eddie personally suspects that she was keeping an eye out because she smelled like pot. Either way, she watched as a cop pulled Will Byers’ limp form out of the backseat. Will’s mom climbed out from the passenger seat, and instead of immediately following after her son, she opened the other back door to the car, and the whole world shifted.

What she saw has changed a little bit over time. It’s different depending on who you ask, whether anybody on the basketball team is within earshot, or if Tommy Hagan is anywhere near you. If Tommy Hagan’s around, she didn’t see shit.

If Hagan’s fucked off, though, if you aren’t around the basketball team? Harrington’s hands were caked in dried blood. Maybe it was mud, Julia always hedged, but it just… looked like something else. Whatever it was, it ran down his chin, too, stains dripping from his lips all the way to his bare chest. She could see some awful scrapes and bruises down each arm, angry red slashes criss-crossing his back and his pecs, and his sweatpants seemed to be drenched in mud or blood or something awful that stained his bare feet as well.

Joyce Byers guided him out of the car at arm’s length, like he was a wild animal that could lash out at any moment. His eyes were wide and unfocused. Julia swears he never shivered, despite his state of undress and the freezing wind that had swept through Hawkins that night. He shuffled to the ER like a zombie taking its first brainless steps.

The next day, it was on the morning news. Missing boys found wandering through the woods, escaped from their captor and fleeing for their lives. The news didn’t say much about the kidnapper. A few days later, it was reported that the creep had died from injuries sustained during the boys’ escape.

Translation: Steve Harrington killed a man. With his bare hands and teeth, if Julia Davis isn’t bullshitting them.

Eddie’s been watching the scars fade. All of the scrapes on Steve’s arms are either gone now or covered by the sleeve of his striped polo. He buttons them all the way up now, but the guys in his gym class say that his chest is back to normal. His nails aren’t ragged and torn anymore. Technically, he looks fine. Perfect. All-American.

But then there are the eyes.

There’s something about his gaze that draws Eddie in. His eyes are beautiful, of course, the kind of brown that brings to mind mossy logs and golden sunsets in equal measure, just depending on how they catch the light. Eddie didn’t make a habit of gazing into Steve Harrington’s eyes before the change, but he still remembers seeing life behind them. How could he not? Steve used to draw attention everywhere he went. No wonder he got snatched. It’s always those types, isn’t it?

Eddie might be a bad person. Just a little bit.

The point is that those eyes don’t have life behind them now. They’re just empty. Dull and sad, like Steve’s soul has floated off, or else been so weighed down that it can no longer move. Drained, like Frodo after delivering the ring to Mount Doom.

It’s obvious that Steve doesn’t belong in the Shire anymore.

Whenever Eddie isn’t occupying himself with D&D or homework or the band or his business, his mind drifts back to Steve Harrington. What did he see? What did he do? How did that blood look dripping down his chin, was it like a movie vampire or like a Carrie situation, and did Steve lick it from his lips in the back of the cop car? Maybe Eddie really is as sick in the head as people say. He needs to know. Did Steve kill that man with his teeth?

It isn’t any of his business, except that people don’t seem to be as afraid of Eddie as they used to be. More girls are coming straight to him instead of sending their boyfriends to buy their shit for them. Maybe they aren’t any less afraid of Eddie. Maybe they’re just more afraid of their boyfriends. When you skulk around high school parties for a living, you hear stories. According to several sources, Steve Harrington keeps a knife in his pocket and an extra in his backpack. According to Eddie’s own eyes in addition to his sources, Steve Harrington’s girlfriend showed up to school with a bandage on her hand the day after he came back.

Eddie doesn’t personally think that those two things are related. Harrington was definitely in the hospital for at least a few days, and they only give you the shitty plastic knives in there. She was probably just cooking or curling her hair or something when she found out that her disappeared boyfriend had come back.

Steve doesn’t seem to be reading his book. Eddie can’t tell what it is from this distance, but it looks more like a textbook than a novel. The cover is red. Which of Eddie’s textbooks are red? That one for Lit was red, right?

The book snaps shut. Eddie looks up.

Empty eyes stare back.

[doublydaring]

can u say more about the monkee killjoys because i am so intrigued.... i love killjoy-ifying my faves and the drawings of yours that ive seen are so intriguinggg

hiiii I am working on making more art of them but it is going to take too long so and I am too excited to not respond so here goes.

davy is called Raggedy Andy and he is a droid. i AM born sexy yesterdaying him. He was built in some sort of bli facility and never made it to battery city. he has never been activated when the boys find him, hes some sort of song and dance droid, i have him in his little violin playing outfit from head. the boys discovering his pod can be seen in my little comic. they have to teach him how to be a person. hilarity ensues.

micky is called Shorty Blackwell. he is a zone rat if there has ever been one. idk the timeline of killjoys anymore sorry gerard but if its plausible his parents were zone rats too, they were! he is happy-go-lucky, carries a blaster but very rarely uses it, that being said, is pretty desensitized to shooting dracs, doesn't really seem to comprehend hes killing people because of how he was raised. knows his ways around the zones and is really into astronomy and geology, pockets FULL of rocks.

mike is Carlisle Wheeling. hes sort of a classic dark gunslinger type but god guilty guilty guilty about everything. he doesn't say that though. of course. anyway. he was born in battery city and loves to moralize about it. hes always like, you know you guys should be grateful cuz back in battery city and theyre all like groan mikeeee we just want to eat our freaking beans without a lesson okay?????? he is sooooo fucking DRAMATIC. wears a leather duster in the desert and complains about it being hot.

lastly my beautiful wife peter - moniker, Free Love, but they call him love because that is very cute. heart. will not carry a blaster. uh huh. absolute doozy of a right hook though. <- guilty about that too. talks a big game about pacifism but gets really overwhelmed easily and starts lashing out. then he feels bad -> the cycle continues. he doesn't talk about where he's from which could mean nothing. always wearing as few clothes a possible, much to mikes chagrin. serial pontificater. always got a tab of whack ass zone acid if you need one.

[thelightsandtheroses]

Call It What You Want: Chapter 2 - let me put my lips to something

Pairing: Frankie Morales x female reader (she’s Tom Davis’ half-sister, however there are no physical descriptions)

Summary: Tom Davis’ younger half-sister never expected to move back to Florida, but eight months after her brother’s untimely death and in the wake of her, in hindsight, ill-advised marriage ending, here she is. Frankie Morales is trying to get it together after his relapse on returning to Florida led to the breakdown of his relationship. His priorities now are finding his own place so he doesn’t need to sleep on Pope’s couch, maintaining sobriety, spending more time with his daughter and getting his pilot’s licence back. So when the two of them end up sharing an apartment, it seems like the ideal solution. However, things are never that simple, are they?

Chapter Warnings: Minors DNI (18+ only), language, discussions of drug abuse and addiction, allusions to a previously abusive relationship (not detailed or specified), discussions of death, PTSD.

Notes – thanks for your patience with this one. The chapter title is from Eat Your Young by Hozier.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Previous | Series List | Masterlist | Next

Frankie

Frankie curls his hands around the paper cup, his feet tapping the floor.  He’s been thinking about flying again.

It’s been more than nine months since he flew last and he’s not even sure if he should count Colombia. If the helicopter crashes and everything turns to shit, are those miles you want to log?

If he’d just been firmer, if he’d realised Tom was lost in dollar bills and they were all heading the same way. He was the one who’d been to flight school, he knew the weight was a problem.

He could have stopped it.

He could have been slower to the trigger; he could have done it all differently.

No.

No, this was spiralling. This isn’t healthy. Frankie straightens in his chair, takes a deep breath.

If he was more like Will, he’d probably know exactly what number NA meeting this was now. Whatever number it is, it’s too many.

The meeting finally draws to a close. Finally!

Frankie is not sharing today. He has, in the past, but it’s been carefully selected. Frankie offers a creative reimagining of his relapse that removes all criminal liability from the events of the past year, to protect the people he has left. Besides, how would he even start to explain what had happened to anyone who wasn’t there?

It’s frustrating sometimes. He hears people share about terrible childhoods and difficult upbringings and all these things that somehow don’t legitimatise addiction but explain it.

Frankie Morales grew up with loving, if a little stifling, parents and no deep dark childhood trauma. He supposes the army is where it all started to change.

What a fucking cliche.

Maybe you can never really come back from who they make you. He thinks of Will’s paid speeches, of the way he just owns the fact they’ve been trained to manipulate, assess, take your emotions out of the equation. They don’t die though; they just get locked away and weigh heavier and heavier.

Frankie understands how the meetings help him overall, why they’re important but sometimes they don’t work. Sometimes all they do is make him feel like he shouldn’t be there, or they pull his weaknesses out in front of him like teeth with pliers. It’s bloody, painful, unnecessary. Every one of his ghosts will sit in the room with him on those days, silently judging.

Frankie takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and tries to pay attention to the rest of the meeting.

Frankie pushes Gaby on the swing further, waving at Santiago as he approaches.

The meeting this morning was rough, but Frankie’s already feeling better. He has his daughter with him gleefully smiling and laughing in the playground. He has one of his best friends back, things are starting to look up. He’s making it through this.

Santiago walks over, slaps his hand on Frankie’s back. “Oh, I see how it is,” he jokes, casting his eye around the playground which is filled with the usual crowd of mothers and possibly nannies. Like Frankie can tell the difference.  “Hey princesa,” he adds, smiling at Gabby who beams up at him.

“She chose the park,“ Frankie says. 

Santi smirks before asking, ”How’s the apartment working out?”

“It’s good. Glad to have my own bed again, fuck I’m too old to crash on sofas.”

“Tell me about it. Are you getting on okay with Tom’s sister?”

“She has a name.”

“Hey, I like her! Look, Frankie, Molly says she asked questions about what went down with Tom, before she moved out of there so just - be aware of that, okay?”

Rain and storms and too much fucking weight on the helicopter flash through Frankie’s mind. He shouldn’t have listened to Tom; he should have been assertive. That’s always been his problem though, that’s what his dad says, he goes along with the crowd. At school, in the army, with Santi and Tom?

Frankie digs his hands into his pockets. “She hasn’t mentioned shi - anything about it to me, barely mentions Tom actually. I get the sense they weren’t close.”

“Sounds about right. You ever hear Tom talk about her?” Santi scoffs. “Families.”

Frankie looks at his daughter. He thinks of Melissa, how they prioritise Gaby. It hurts, the life he could have had with them and the ideas that died with his relationship. They’re still close to friends though, they look after Gaby. Frankie let both of them down but neither of them have given up on him.

He thinks about what Santi’s just said.  Tom barely ever mentioned his sister, barely ever seemed to even talk to you. It’s weird.

He pushes Gabby on the swing, listens to her happy squeals.

“Can we grab a coffee?” Santi asks, “I’m fu - freaking exhausted.”

“Sure,” Frankie says. He seems to remember the bookstore and coffee shop you work in is a short walk from the park and without thinking about why, he suggests that particular coffee shop rather than the Starbucks down the road. It’s better to support small businesses anyway, right?

It’s different watching you to work to seeing how you are at home. You’re wearing a loose black t-shirt, with a band logo Frankie vaguely recognises but can’t quite place.

When you see the three of them, you smile widely. Frankie’s introduced Gabby to you once when Melissa dropped her off at the apartment. Frankie thinks that she wanted to just verify the apartment was as she hoped, and that she could see Frankie was making the right moves.

He’s trying.

The day after that visit she had texted Frankie to say he could have Gabby overnight there next week if he wanted. He’d spent the rest of his shift beaming and wouldn’t tell anyone why.

You smile at Frankie and Santiago when they walk up to the counter.

Frankie lifts Gabby out of her stroller, balances her on his hip so she can see the counter. Her tiny hands clutch around Frankie’s shoulder and she reaches for Frankie’s cheek.

“Hey guys, and good morning, Gabby,” you say as Gabby giggles and then buries herself in Frankie’s shoulder.

“How’s the bookstore and coffee world?” Santi asks, that wry smile Frankie recognises all too well on his face. His voice is honeyed, his whole face has lit up in a way that Frankie’s watched so many girls fall into blushing giggles over. Frankie’s never quite been able to do that; it’s not that he’s necessarily had issues attracting women, and God that feels arrogant to think, it’s more that of his group of friends, well it’s hard to compete with them sometimes.

“Same as ever,” you say breezily, “Where’d you end up then, the park or the zoo?”

“Gabby chose the park.”

“Atta girl. So, what can I get you?”

“An Americano and then another Americano with one extra shot of coffee, right Frankie, and a-” Santi looks over at Gabby and then Frankie expectantly.

“She’s not even two, Santi, she’s not drinking coffee.”

“Hey, I’ve seen how much coffee you drink, I’m surprised that’s not genetically built into her.“

Frankie laughs, but his hairs stand up on his neck. He’s thought about it a lot already - what if his daughter inherits his addictive personality, how can he do that to her.

“Babycino?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie, “I’m guessing she’s too young for hot chocolate?“

“Yeah, yeah, that would be great, thanks.”

“No problem, give me two minutes.”

You turn away and start making the drinks as Santi reaches for Gabby’s hand, smiling at her widely.

“You settling in okay?” Santi asks you as Frankie tries to distract Gabby from the cakes in the display.

“Yeah, things have been good,” you say cheerfully, handing the first coffee to Frankie. “I’m taking it you’re the extra shot, Frankie?”

Frankie nods.

“How much do I owe you?” Frankie asks, placing his cup down so he can reach for his wallet cautiously as Gaby squeezes around his neck. He doesn’t want to disturb her too much, doesn’t want to show how awkward this position is for him.

“It’s fine.”

“No, no, I can -” He can’t take advantage of his roommate like this.

“Eh, roommate and friend discount,” you say casually, handing Santiago his takeaway cup of coffee and Frankie a small cup of steamed milk for Gabby; this must be the babycino, Frankie thinks.

“What about her?” Santiago asks, pointing at Gabby who grins widely from Frankie’s arms.

“Oh, like I could charge her anything,” you reply, smiling back at Gabby and then meeting Frankie’s eyes. “You’ve got a special kid there, Frankie.”

“Don’t I know it,” he replies, kissing Gabby’s forehead. “Say thank you for your - I can’t call this a babycino, seriously. Drink, can you say thank you for your drink, honey?”

His daughter giggles and says her version of thank you. Frankie watches how it makes you smile, how he’s noticed when you it’s genuine, you scrunch your nose.

“We’ve got some new books in that she might enjoy,” you say, “If you want to get any of them, let me know and I can use my staff discount.”

“You’re not offering me a book discount?” Santiago asks.

“I just gave you a free coffee! You can afford to pay full price so I can keep my job. Gabby is too young to have an income.”

“That’s not fair,“ Santiago says.

“Life isn’t,” you say lightly, winking at Frankie and then moving on the next customer.

There’s something about you. It draws him in, makes him want to ask more, know more about you. You seem so light around him, Benny and the others and Frankie knows there’s more to you than that. He can see it.

That’s the thing - you can always see it in others, those matching scars and insecurities. It’s a honing beacon, it’s as visible in a stranger’s eyes sometimes as if you are wearing the same football team shirts. We’re the same, it says.

You’re not though. He knows who he is. Frankie is failure and disappointment and regret, all handily tied together in faded t-shirts and too long hair.

Frankie is why your brother is dead.

Frankie is why the mission failed. Santi needed a pilot, one who would stand up and see if the helicopter was too heavy and not back down, who wouldn’t shoot first.

He can be your friend though, surely?

Santi doesn’t say anything to Frankie until the three of them have left the shop, Gabby clutching a brand new book in her stroller while Frankie pushes her with one hand and drinks coffee with the other.

“You’re in trouble, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Frankie asks, suddenly panicked.

“You like her.”

“I live with her, Pope, it helps to like her.”

“Nah, you know what I mean.” Santi stops and touches Frankie’s arm. “Be careful, hermano, please.”

You

Work has been quieter than usual. You spend your days, idly rearranging book displays and experimenting with the coffee grind and tamping, try and perfect your latte art. Making a good cup of coffee is an art; you must get the grind right, then tamp it with just enough pressure. Steaming milk’s the same; it needs to be the right quality, the right amount of air let in, the right swirling vacuum as the process goes on.

You like the routine now. You like talking to customers and reminding yourself of why you loved books in the first place. Academia taught you a lot, skills you use every day and you’re proud of but overanalysing texts sometimes can make you forget why you loved books in the first place. And yes, perhaps you wish more people were actually buying books in the store, but you’re spending your day surrounded by things you love and that’s a luxury.

And oh, you used to love reading. It was the escape from your parents arguing, from a childhood where you felt like an only lonely child because Tom was older and resented you and didn’t want a sister. At least that’s what you’d assumed over the years.

This new life you’re building in Florida; a new job, new and old friends? It feels right, comfortable even.

So, you don’t even notice when Ella starts trying to set you up with the coffee guy.

And when he asks you out one day, you’re so surprised that he would ask you out, that you find yourself saying yes without even thinking about it.

On paper, he’s everything you would look for surely. He’s passionate about coffee, he’s mentioned books he’s reading idly in conversation, he has a good smile and amazing biceps. So, why not say yes? This is part of building your new life, right?

That’s how you find yourself now, walking back into your apartment after what can only be described as an utter disaster, or at least a complete disappointment.

If this is what dating makes you feel like after a divorce, you don’t want any of it.  Your anxiety has run rampant over the last few hours, along with a deepening and worrying sense that the problem is you.

You’re the one who hadn’t felt the connection after all. You’re the one who held back, who just couldn’t bring up the right feelings like a defective clock.

“Hey,” Frankie says, looking up from the sofa as you walk in. You hadn’t anticipated this - you remembered Benny saying that him and Frankie were hanging out tonight which is why you thought you could get away with just sneaking in and had even scheduled this date for tonight. Crap. This makes it even more humiliating.

“How was Benny?” you ask mildly, shrugging your jacket off and hanging it up.

“Yeah, it was uh-” Frankie pauses, “it was good. He’s training for Friday’s fight, are you coming to that?”

“Yeah, think so.” You walk over closer to the sofa.

Frankie’s staring at you. “Oh god, do I - I look stupid, don’t I?” You self-consciously pull the edge of your dress down, wishing that you’d worn something else instead.

“Not at all,” he says, voice low.

“Thanks,” you say as you walk into the kitchen, “drink?”

“Please. So, how’d it go?” Frankie asks. “I take it you didn’t get dressed up like that just to go hang out with your friends.”

“Hey, I could have.”

Frankie holds his hands up. “No judgement here, sweetheart.”

“It was a date,” you confess finally, “I don’t know. It’s weird. I haven’t had to do small talk for years, I don’t know if I like it.”

“I get that.”

It’s easy with your friends; Danny has known you for a long time, Ella is Ella, Benny and Will just get you and there’s no pressure with either of them, you haven’t known Santiago as well but he’s always consistent. As for Frankie, living with him has been surprisingly easy. He’s calm and even and kind - you like living with him now. It feels more natural than living with your ex-husband ever did.

It strikes you that now you count all four of your brother’s former team as your friends - they were your brother’s first, but now, now you wonder if they might be a little bit yours too.

“So other than the small talk, how’d it go?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, “Hey, how long were you and Melissa together again? I kind of remember her vaguely from Tom’s birthdays and barbecues when I was here.” You hope Frankie will take your oh so subtle subject change without argument.

“Five and a half years. What about you?”

“Me and Melissa?” you joke, causing him to roll his eyes dramatically.

“Ha-ha, you know what I mean. I seem to remember he was always around - it was a long time, right?”

“Ten years, married for nine of them.”

“What?” Frankie looks at you almost in surprise. “That’s longer than I thought.”

You shrug and take a sip of your drink. “My date sucked,” you say after a moment.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  I think there might be something wrong with me?”

“What did that asshole say? What was his name again? Want me to go beat him up?” Frankie asks, a crooked smile on his lips that really shouldn’t be so attractive.

“He didn’t do anything, Frankie, it’s me. I - I should have felt something, right, I mean he was literally gorgeous, right? I should have wanted him.”

When Frankie doesn’t reply, you glare at him and jab his shoulder until he shrugs.

“What are you saying?”

“That I should have wanted to rip his clothes off, but I didn’t though.” This is humiliating. “I mean, shouldn’t there have been butterflies, or even just good old-fashioned lust, or something? Right, there should have been something there? I just felt like we were going through the motions. There was no - I didn’t feel any chemistry.”

Frankie doesn’t reply for a moment and you take the time to really look at him instead. Sometimes when you look at Frankie, you wonder how he’s still single because he’s a good-looking man. In the time you’ve lived the apartment, he’s never been on a date. He hangs out with Santiago, Benny and Will and he does go out to other places, but you’ve never seen him go on a date or bring anyone back. Thankfully. You’re not entirely sure how you would feel about that.

“Look, maybe he just wasn’t your type,” Frankie says after a moment. “You’re being hard on yourself.”

“He was into coffee and he had perfect arms. We liked the same bands. How the hell was he not my type? What is my type but that?”

“Everyone likes Fleetwood Mac.”

“No, they don’t.”

“It was the wrong guy, that’s all. You’ve been single for a while and is this your first date since the break-up, right?”

You nod. “I couldn’t really date at Molly’s and I thought I should wait a while anyway.”

“Exactly so maybe you’ve just got to, I don’t know, see what works, let things flow a bit? When you know, you know. Did you even like him before the date?“

You think about it for a moment and shrug. Ella had encouraged you and if you were honest, you’d just wanted to prove that you were over Nate, over the trauma of that marriage, that this was the new you. Maybe Frankie’s on to something. You should have fancied the guy, but you hadn’t.

Reassurance flushes through your body. You’re not broken, you’re not.

“I don’t think I did fancy him. I thought I should, but no.”

“Yeah, so it would be a shit date. Next time, date a guy you really like, or something. Oh man, look I am really bad at this sort of talk.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Can we pretend I am?” he asks, nudging your arm as you both laugh. “Can we pretend so we never have to discuss this again because I am so out of many comfort zones right now.”

“It’s practice for when Gabby dates.”

“No, because that’s not happening. I’m going to do the whole cliched, polishing my gun on a porch thing, and she’s not gonna date until she’s at least thirty. Plus, if you think I could be intimidating, you should see Mel. Like, no-one has a chance in hell.”

“Uh-huh, sure, Frankie.”

“Dammit.”

You laugh and Frankie shakes his head. ”Hey, I’ve got an episode of our show saved if you want to watch it?”

“Absolutely.”

He presses buttons on the TV remote, sets up the streaming platform and you lean back against the sofa, exhale and finally feel relaxed.

Frankie has an arm over the side of the sofa you’re sitting and before he presses play, he looks over at you.

“I’m glad we did this,” he says, “that we got this apartment. I like living here.”

You feel it then, the slight tightness in your stomach, the unsettled butterflies flitting around.

Oh.

Oh.

This is going to be a disaster.

After your realisation about Frankie, everything feels different. It’s like the world has just shifted slightly off axis but only you know. Frankie is thankfully oblivious and so the next morning, things continue in the steady routine you’ve both formed.

You drop the milk back from your spoon into your cereal bowl as you notice Frankie join you in the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“My hero,” you reply, pushing your empty mug towards him for a refill.

He laughs. It’s almost self-deprecating; the way he looks away when you compliment him.

You notice the way his T-shirt rises as he grabs a mug from the top cabinet, you notice the line of hair on his stomach right down to the grey sweatpants he’s wearing.

You can’t do this. You quickly try and remind yourself of all of his annoying habits; he never remembers to leave the toilet seat down, he smokes which is a horrible habit.

He hands you a cup of coffee, made just how you like it. He is not helping you at all.

“Are you working today?”

“Yep, hopefully people will actually come in and want to buy some books today. I had like three people yesterday who asked for recommendations, so I spent time with them, I curated a list.”

“Curated?”

“I curated, Frankie, I curated a perfect list. You know what they did?”

Frankie winces. “I have a nasty feeling.”

“They said they’d order online, Frankie, online!”

“Heathens, monsters, the lot of them.”

“I thought academia was evil when I was in grad school, but this is just sick.”

“So, what happens with that?” Frankie asks, “Weren’t you partway through when you left?”

“I was,” you sigh, looking away from Frankie and taking a large gulp of your coffee. “It’s difficult. I burned a few bridges by leaving like I did, without notice and in the middle of the semester. I mean I was TAing and - I can reapply here, try and find a suitable supervisor, but I don’t know. If I’m honest, I have no idea what to do right now, I like where I’m working at the moment. I’m not even sure who I was doing the PHD for by the time I left. I love literature, but I don’t know if I was still in love with it when I left - am I even making sense, Frankie?”

Frankie nods. “Perfect sense.” For a moment he looks haunted. You get the sense that there are a thousand things in his mind at that mind, swirling behind those deep brown eyes. He looks haunted sometimes, there’s more to him then you know. It doesn’t surprise you because you remember seeing the same thing in Tom over the years.

 He checks his phone and curses. “Sorry, hon, I gotta go to work, see you later?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

You watch him make his way to the bathroom. Oh, you’re screwed.

Apart from the quiet hum of traffic in the distance, all you can hear is the evening birdsong and the start of crickets chirping. You’re sitting on the small balcony of your apartment, a half-drunk glass of wine on the table next to your book.

In New York, there was always so much noise, so much activity. When you moved there it felt overwhelming at first, then comforting somehow.

You prefer this though.

The sliding door opens and you turn to see Frankie behind you, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Hey, you mind?” He indicates to the empty metal chair opposite you and you shake your head.

He sighs loudly as he exhales, stretches his legs out.

“Long day?”

“The longest,” he says, “Work was flat out and oh- I need this weekend.”

“Hey, some of us have to still work tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, an apologetic smile on his face as he scrunches up his shoulders. He’s wearing a beaten old t-shirt with a faded logo you can’t quite make out and grey sweats. Frankie removes his hat for a moment, revealing unruly curls that he sweeps back before replacing his hat.

“What’s the story with the hat?” you ask, your curiosity finally getting the best of you.

“Why’s there gotta be a story?”

“There’s always a story, like -” you pull at the familiar necklace around your neck. “This was a graduation present from my Mom and I wear it every day.”

“Cute. I don’t know. I guess I got used to wearing a hat after I joined the army. You have the buzz cut and it gets cold, and then I don’t know - I guess it just feels like me now.”

“I get that.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s cute. I mean, your hair is cute without it -”

“You think my hair’s cute?” Frankie looks up at you, his expression almost childlike with wonder but all you can think is how you’ve definitely ruined everything now.

You stand up and immediately grab your wine glass before moving back inside to the safety of the kitchen.

You down the wine and rest both your hands against the edge of the counter, try and take deep breaths.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

“Hey, hey,” Frankie says from behind you. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything, I should say sorry.”

“Why the hell would you say sorry?”

“I don’t make things awkward.”

“’S not awkward,” Frankie says in a low voice, gently turning you around to face him. “We’re good, right?”

You nod tentatively.

“So you think my hair’s cute, huh?” he teases.

You shake your head and look down, mumbling his name as you place your hand on his shoulder. You notice Frankie’s hand is still on your waist.

“Don’t tease me,” you say.

“I’m not teasing,” Frankie murmurs, “I’m surprised.”

“Why? You’re a good-looking guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t quite sound like he believes it.

“You are.”

He leans in closer to you, his other hand framing your waist now. “You’re beautiful, you know? And smart. I’ve gotta wonder what the hell would you want with me?”

“Frankie,” you say gently, running your hands down in his arms in an effort to reassure him. Is this happening? Is this actually happening?

You can feel the butterflies, feel that warmth of desire and want in your body. You haven’t felt this in years, hadn’t remembered how intoxicating it was to long for someone. Frankie was right, when you know, you know.

Without thinking, you close your eyes and lean in.

“Mmm, this - this is a bad idea, right?” he asks, lips dangerously close to your neck.

“The worst,” you mumble.

He smells like sandalwood shower gel, there’s a hint of tobacco on his clothes and the sharp smell of mint trying to cut through as he moves, his lips just inches from your own.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Nope.”

“It’ll make things complicated.” His fingers lightly trace your collarbone to your shoulder and he leans in closer. You swear you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body.

“I’m used to complicated,” you say gently before you meet his lips.

It’s bold, for you, you never initiate, never make the first move normally. It’s only he’s there and you need him.

It’s been months since you were last kissed.

He gently pushes you against the counter, lifts you so you’re sitting on it while never breaking the kiss, deepening it as you open your mouths.

He tastes like hope and promises and new beginnings.

You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting him closer.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck to your throat.

“You’re - oh, fuck,” you groan.

“Yeah?” his voice is teasing, lighter than you’ve heard it since you’ve moved in.

“What do we do now?”

Frankie smiles at you, his smile lighter than you’ve ever seen it. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

“I can think of some things.”

“Oh yeah?” He kisses you again, skims his hands down your arm and moves even closer against you. He’s so warm, so solid against you. “Well, we better get started, huh?”

[deadpresidents]

Watched “Oppenheimer” last night, and I keep thinking about the scene with Gary Oldman as Truman. While I absolutely believe that Truman would have claimed all the credit & blame of dropping the bombs for himself, and also that Truman would have called Oppenheimer a cry baby and an s.o.b., I am struggling to think of Truman as being so naive that he thought that Russia would “never” develop their own bomb. I checked the reference — Ray Monk’s “Robert Oppenheimer” (2013) is the source for the scene, but I can’t get at his sources to see what he’s drawing from. McCullough’s “Truman” corroborates the cry baby comment and the blood-on-my-hands but not the “never” quote.

Do you have anything to hand about Truman’s belief in the Russian’s ability to build the bomb? How could anyone think that the Russians would “never” create a bomb?

In American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO), which I believe was one of Christopher Nolan's major inspirations for the film, Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin go into detail about that meeting between Truman and Oppenheimer and the scene in the film takes almost word-for-word what is written in the book. Truman is actually quoted in the book as saying "Never" after asking Oppenheimer when he thought the Russians would develop their own atomic bomb and not getting a response.

The sources that Bird and Sherwin list for that meeting and the "Never" comment are Nuel Pharr Davis in the 1968 book Lawrence and Oppenheimer, and Murray Kempton, who wrote about the meeting and the comment in the December 1983 issue of Esquire Magazine and his book Rebellions, Perversities, and Main Events. I haven't read either of those books, but I did read Kempton's Esquire article and he also directly quotes Truman as saying "Never".

I agree that it seems really naive of President Truman to not think the Soviets would ever develop their own nuclear weapons. The only possible explanation that I can imagine for that mindset was that the meeting between Truman and Oppenheimer that is portrayed in the film took place in real-life on October 25, 1945. (In Kempton's Esquire article, he says it took place in 1946, but he was mistaken because Bird and Sherwin researched Truman's Presidential appointment calendar and were able to pinpoint the correct date.) The U.S. dropped the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6 and August 9, 1945, respectively. Japan surrendered on August 15 and the war officially ended when Japan signed the instrument of surrender on the USS Missouri on September 2, 1945. So, the meeting between Truman and Oppenheimer took place less than two months after the war finally ended. I can only imagine that Truman had still not fully shifted towards what the next conflict might be and was focused on trying to stabilize what was left of the world and mobilize the government in a different direction than it had been after 15 years of Depression, economic recovery, defense preparations, and fighting the war.

Plus, it's worth remembering that Truman didn't know anything about the existence of the American nuclear program until after President Roosevelt's sudden death thrust him into the White House and the military realized, "Oh shit, we should probably tell the new President that we're very close to building the most powerful weapon in the history of history!"

I don't think it was necessarily naivety on President Truman's part. I think, as Kempton suggests in the Esquire article, that is was just a fundamental lack of understanding by Truman that the Soviet Union didn't need Oppenheimer to build the bomb, especially since the war was now over and they wouldn't be under the time constraints or immediate pressures that made the work of the Manhattan Project so much more difficult. The knowledge was out there and the very fact that it had been proven by the Americans made it clear to the Russians and everyone else that it could be done. Harry S. Truman was a provincial politician from the outskirts of Kansas City who had a healthy dose of American Exceptionalism in him even before becoming a national figure, so the realities of nuclear physics were probably not easy for him to decipher.