#and that fish has been sitting in the hot sun for a few days

[https-florals]

daydreamin' and i'm thinking of you - j.m.

summary: jj returns from a day of surfing and devotes his night to you and a lil bit of weed.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: smoking weed, a lil suggestive, but mostly super fluffy and full of sweetness

author's note: back from the dead pookies!!! i just wanna say how incredibly grateful that none of yall have come for my wishy-washy ass! this year has been vcery hectic and rough, and i am so thankful y'all have let me be MIA. here's this little blurb smooch ily (i was too scared to flesh out the smut at the end IM SORRY ITS BEEN A WHILE)

JJ smells like a perfect, heady blend of sunscreen and salt when he and the boys get back from surfing. You’re waiting on the porch like a little 1950’s wife, and he runs up and hugs you as soon as he gets out of the Twinkie, acting like its been months since he’s seen you instead of a few hours.

“J!” You’re giggling as he swings you around, smacking loud kisses all over your face and neck. 

“Missed ya, pretty girl,” he murmurs into your neck.

John B slaps JJ’s back, surprising him so he lets go of you. “You literally just saw each other.” 

JJ’s jaw drops, hand over his heart like he’s been deeply wounded. “You’re just mad your woman isn’t out here to greet you,” he counters, squeezing your side and giving John B a sympathetic look.

“Wrong!’ Sarah says as she pushes open the screen door, giving her boyfriend an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. 

John B grins back at JJ, and follows Sarah back inside. 

“You still up for that boat date later?” you ask, fingers intertwining with his.

You swear his eyes sparkle. “Um, duh!” 

A few hours later, the sun is sinking into the horizon, sky turning the prettiest pink and orange. You are toting a basket full of picnic supplies: a tupperware full of elote salad, another with some grilled chicken, a speaker, and of course, a little cellophane baggie and some rolling papers. JJ’s job is to carry the fishing poles and bait (raw hot-dogs because why would he spend money on crickets when there’s hot dogs in the fridge?), and the six-pack of mini Dr. Peppers you’ll split (JJ will inevitably drink two of your three). 

“Where are you going?” You hear someone call from inside the house, but both of you act like you can’t hear it. 

HMS Pogue is sitting pretty at the end of the dock, and you practically skip onto it. The rev of the engine is like the call of an old friend, thrumming through you, bare feet on the deck.

You sit cross legged at the bow while JJ drives, your hair flowing behind you. The spray of freshwater is perfectly refreshing. 

It’s dusk when the boat reaches a little secluded spot on the marsh, and JJ announces it. “Gorgeous,” he says, the sky purple above him. “And no one around for miles.” He plops next to you, sticking his nose in your neck and sighing. You’re sitting pretty in a bikini top and jean shorts, and he plays with the tie at your back.

You laugh and push him off, getting up to get your basket of food. He helps you unload it, mouthing a silent yes as he pulls out the sodas. Then comes the tupperware, and he sticks two spoons into the corn. “Cheers.” He holds his out.

You tap your spoon against his, and gasp in fake shock when he knocks the food of it.

“Gotta be ready, babe,” he deadpans, snatching up your bite after he eats his. “Danger is waiting at every turn.”

You shake your head and laugh, scooting the tupperware closer to yourself. “You’re so weird.”

“You love it,” He grins, and you can’t argue with that. 

After you eat, JJ pulls out the package of hotdogs and starts to prep the rods.

“There’s no way you can catch fish with those,” you question, wrinkling your nose at them. You frown, turning on the puppy-dog eyes. “Do we have to fish? I wanna smoke.”

He copies your expression and sticks his bottom lip out. “Poor bunny,” he mocks, but shoves your fishing pole in your hand all the same. “Catch a fish, I’ll roll you a joint, ‘kay?”

You sigh. “ ‘Kay,” 

He grins and plants a kiss on your forehead. “You got it, babe.” He gives you a chunk of hotdog and you slip it onto the hook. JJ comes up behind you to guide your cast and you let him, his breath warm on the back of your neck. There’s the whir of the line, and the satisfying plop of the bobber in the water. 

“Now, we wait.” He takes the rod from you and drops it into the holder, and works on casting his own line. 

You’re bored before he even puts his down. “I have to catch a fish before we smoke?”

“Yeah, crybaby.” The two of you sit on the bow, feet dangling over the water. His ankle knocks against yours.

You let out another dramatic sigh, but you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “This is the worst part. I hate waiting.”

JJ laughs. “Yeah, honey. I am well aware.” He pokes your side, and you yelp dramatically. Reaching over you, he pulls the speaker out of your basket, and turns it on. You watch as he connects to it and goes through his spotify, thumb skimming over the screen as he looks through his playlists. JJ clicks on one of your collaborative playlists, titled “songs for slow dancing.”

He stands up, reaching out to pull you up as the hauntingly pretty piano intro for Aretha Franklin’s Daydreaming begins to play. “Wanna kill some time?”

You smile, and let him pull you into him. You think you could slow dance with him until you dropped dead, until you collapsed into each other and turned into intertwined fossils. Maybe that kind of thing is a little too poetic for the two of you, but you don’t really care. He starts to sing along, and you press your ear to his chest to hear his voice thrum through his chest.

daydreaming and i’m thinking of you, daydreaming and i’m thinking of you…

One of his hands splays on the small of your back, fingertips sneaked under the waist of your shorts, callused and all too soft. The other one is holding yours as you sway back and forth to the beat.He twirls you out fast, and back into his grip, your back to his chest as he squeezes you.

No one would ever know it, but JJ absolutely loves to dance. A little after you started dating, you dragged him to some swing dancing classes at the community center, and expected plenty of pushback, but you were met with absolutely none. The two of you fell in love stepping on each others toes and falling all over each other. It’s always a fun party trick to pull out at the fancier parties. He’s always wanting to dance with you, whether it’s learning how to shag in the living room late at night, or spinning you around on the boat.

He stops you mid-step, asking, “Can we try the dirty-dancing jump?”

The dirty-dancing jump has only been successfully executed by the two of you once. All other times have ended in someone being injured (usually JJ). Your jaw drops open, and you lightly shove him. “Absolutely not! You wanna fall off the boat?”

He gives you the biggest eyeroll, but immediately switches to puppy dog eyes when you cross your arms. “Just like, a lift? Pleaseeeee,” he drags out, taking your hands and acting like he’s going limp. 

“Fine! But if you drop me in this water, I’m actually going to have serious beef with you, Maybank.”

He laughs, maybe an itty-bit manaically, and grabs your waist. “Okay, I’m gonna count you off, and you’ll jump, ‘kay? So, one, two, three-”

You hear your fishing rod rattle in its holder and jump away from him. “My line!” Scrambling after it, you grab the pole right as it looks like it’s going to leap out of its holster.

“Get it babe!” JJ practically shouts, darting behind you and placing his arms around yours to give you a little support. 

The whir of the line rushing out makes you jump, and you hurry to start reeling it back in, furiously turning the handle. JJ’s mouth is by your ear as you lean into him and he talks you up as you fight the fish. “Come on, baby, you got it. Keep going, keep going, you almost got it!”

He’s pulling half the weight, you know that, but you don’t mind the help when you can watch the cords in his forearms tense and pull.

Finally, the line leaps out of the water, and soon a big scaly body is flopping on the deck of the boat. “Atta girl!” JJ shouts as you snatch it up by the lure, holding it up proudly. It’s pretty heavy, probably a little over 14 pounds. 

“Look at that, baby! Got yourself a bluefish.” JJ is smiling so proudly as he fishes out his phone, and makes you pose for a picture like one of those Tinder frat guys. The flash is harsh and you know you look crazy, but he grins at the picture all the same.

“Can you throw him back in? He’s too pretty to eat,” you ask as he messes with something on his phone. You’re still holding the fish as you try to lean over and see what he’s doing.

“Here, yeah.” He drops his phone on the boat deck and takes the fish from you to fling back in. When you look at his phone, you see your face staring back up at you from his lockscreen. It was some picture of the two of you from a party, but now it’s you and your fish. He immediately changed his wallpaper after he took the picture. In your opinion, it’s definitely not a knockout photo, but you almost tear up at the sweetness of it.  

“You looked cute,” JJ shrugs, seeing you looking at it. 

You just smile, shaking your head, and lean against him. “Can we get high now?”

“Damn, you waste no time, huh?”

Soon, your fishing rods forgotten, you’re watching JJ roll you a joint to share. His fingers dance along the rolling paper, tucking and smoothing all gentle. He’s mesmerizing. When his tongue darts out to wet the paper, you swear you start salivating.

He catches you staring, hitting you with that heartbreaker grin again. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Shut up and light up,” you sigh, reaching for the blunt in his hands. 

“Can’t light up if you don’t hand me my lighter,” JJ frowns, expression sarcastic. He puts his hand out, waiting.

You reach into your basket and pull it out, smiling when you see it. A few months ago, you had decided to buy JJ a custom lighter. You got him one off Etsy, a cheap Bic lighter with your face printed on the plastic. Of course, the image didn’t translate correctly, so the picture is heavily distorted, your smile big and wide and eyes even bigger. 

It’s probably his favorite possession. 

He lights the joint, letting it smoke for a second before raising it to his lips.

“Hey,” you whine, reaching for his hand. 

“So needy,” he chides, taking a hit, gripping you by your neck, and blowing the smoke into your open mouth. Your breath hitches as you try your best to inhale, try to not think about his lips just ghosting over yours, his calloused fingers hard on the sides of your neck.

“Good girl,” he exhales as you successfully breathe in without hacking up your lungs.

The frogs are peeping and the wind is slow and soft, pushing the smoke around the two of you and enveloping you in it. You’re talking mindlessly as the joint passes between you, staring at the way moonlight shines through JJ’s hair, turning it platinum. His irises catch the light just right- bright, icy blue. 

You’re sitting cross-legged, knees knocking with his. All you can think about his how much you love your boyfriend, even with the edges of your mind soft and your senses fuzzy. JJ takes your hand, pressing the pads of your fingertips against his. 

“It’s like I can feel your fingerprints,” he comments, fingertips lightly rubbing yours. He pulls your hand as he leans back, so you’re both on your back, looking at the stars.

“It’s so pretty,” you whisper in awe. With absolutely zero light pollution, the sky is a myriad of deep black and blue hues and so, so many stars. You’d decompose while trying to count them all. You snuggle up against J as he takes a final hit. From your perspective, the rising smoke almost looks like it’s weaving through the stars, netting around them and sparkling right above your head. JJ tosses the remnant of the joint into your grocery bag of trash. 

“C’mere,” he sighs, propping himself up and running a hand down your torso. When he kisses you, he tastes like smoke and sweat, and a wave of heat rushes through you just from the taste. You’re pulling him on top of you by the loops of his cargo shorts, pressing yourself against the firm plane of his abdomen.

“God, you’re needy,” he laughs, pinning your hips down with a heavy hand. 

“You made me this way,” you squirm, and it’s true. He’s too generous with his touches and too sugary with his words, and you chase him like he’s a hit of the purest cocaine. 

He shifts on top of you, a knee between your thighs just like you like it. He presses his knee up just to see you gasp and grind down on him. JJ’s laugh is a little mean as snaps the waistband of your shorts. “Okay, honey, what do you want?”

There’s no shame in your voice as you blurt out, “Fuck me.” You’re whining out a plea before he can even answer, with no care that you’re out in the open… no care that the cops patrol at night.

JJ fakes shock, but the hardness of him against you gives him away. “You wanna get fucked, huh. Out in the open?”

“Don’t act like this wasn’t your whole plan, smartass,” you counter as he pins your hands down right above your head. 

He just laughs in response. “Dirty, dirty, dirty,” he tuts rebukingly, but he’s pulling apart the tie of your swimsuit top all the same.

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

[sunlightmurdock]

AETERNA | Four

Three | Masterlist

chapter synopsis: rooster gets a glimpse of what he’s been waiting for.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin. supernatural circus au. smoking; the fic takes place in the 70s and so 70s era things will happen; this fic has mature themes and is intended for adults, minors pls dni. spooky stuff. word count: 8.8k

There is a river on the O’Malley land that comes from way up in the mountains, spilling down into the valley that Atwood was built upon. Across some pastures and some trees, there’s a quiet spot where nobody ever comes — not even the seasoned pros who got their fishing licenses direct from Mr. O’Malley himself.

In the early mornings, Rooster gets antsy. He tosses and turns in the swelter of his camper for a while, counting the rays of gold that pass across the weathered ceiling. He can hear everyone else tossing and turning too. 

He hears Paulie and the guys still up talking from the night before. Waylon snoring wildly from a few rows away. Erin and Tomas feeling each other up in their tents.

It has become his common routine to now give up sleeping once the morning sun crests the roof of the farmhouse up on the hill. On those mornings, he goes walking. 

He came across the spot where the horses are buried. Where the blackberries grow and brambles have started to consume an old chicken coop. Then, he came across the spot by the river.

As he plucks at the strings of his beat-up, old guitar on Monday at noon and tries to pretend that he’s all alone, Rooster regrets ever telling his chosen few about this place.

It had been fun, at first, when the eight of them had taken the walk out there and spent a couple of hours cooling off. But now, he’s stuck with the sound of Jake’s voice while the others play in the water in front of him.  He should be grateful that the rest of camp hadn’t bothered to invite themselves, too.

The next place he finds, he won’t be as quick to share.

Jake basks in the sun, his skin shining gold. He’s laying in his boxer shorts on the smooth rocks that verge the O’Malley’s access to the river, his arms crossed under his face and his eyes closed.

Rooster sits at the edge of the rocky riverbank with sunburnt shoulders and a guitar in his hands, strumming absently at something old. He’s watching his friends swim; Natasha sits on Bob’s shoulders and Callie sits on Rueben’s as they chicken fight in the clear, moving water around them.

The conversation between himself and Jake fell stagnant a few moments ago. His brown eyes track the blue dragonfly as it plays around the reeds that stand tall, out of the water, thinking of what Jake had last said. He can’t let it go.

There isn’t a lot left for them to argue about, these days. Something shiny and new comes along and the habit strikes back up. 

“If she’s got any sense, she’ll stay away.” Rooster sounds much older than he is sometimes, and that’s why all those lonely older ladies love him so much. Jake doesn’t bother to lift his head, but Rooster can hear his smile through his words.

“She’s got a sense of adventure, old man,” Rooster is only a year and a half older, technically. Jake teases him anyway. Rooster plucks at the strings like it doesn’t bother him. “And the sweetest tits. She’ll be seein’ me again.”

Rooster misplucks. 

Jake grins against his arm, a beaming smile from under his sunglasses, content with the idea that he has gotten under Rooster’s skin. 

The sun scorches above them, one of the first days in early May where the sun dares to be this hot. There’s still a light breeze, one that makes the heat just about bearable outdoors, but one that makes the river a straight godsend.

Callie shrieks as she topples off of Rueben’s shoulders and crashes into the cool water, sending droplets of water flying over Rooster’s thighs.

It’s a very unassuming scene, these town newcomers playing at such normality, right as the Redbrook River fishing season picks up. It’s far from secluded, just not frequently stumbled upon this far out.

Jake lays undisturbed, grinning against his arm, as Rooster tries not to picture your tits — more specifically, Jake’s hands on them. It’s bad enough he had to listen to it all. It’s a conflicting thing to have enjoyed so much about what he was hearing, and to have known it was all for Jake’s benefit.

“Keep dreamin’, bud,” Rooster answers right back. Their group of friends continue to splash in the water, long past the days of being fazed by Jake and Rooster’s competitive streak. “She thinks you’re a freak.”

Jake’s lips quirk and he twists his hips and rolls onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes. The sun covers his chest gladly, bathing him in mid-morning light. “I can work with freak. She thinks you’re a stick in the mud with an attitude problem.”

Maybe I am, Rooster acknowledges bitterly.

“If she likes you so much, why’s she chasing me?” Rooster counters.

Jake takes his arm away from his eyes and props his elbows against the flat, warm surface of the rock under him. As he lifts his sunglasses, the light catches on the green of his eyes, twinkling daringly as he looks across at Rooster. His grin stretches wide across his lips, dimpling at just one cheek — practically the only thing not symmetrical about his face.

Rooster stops plucking at the guitar. He fucking hates when Jake smiles at him like that. Smug and daring— and Jake knows how much he hates it. 

He sets the guitar down swiftly and stands up, shaking his head. “Fuck you.” 

They’re joking, but Rooster knows you won’t come chasing after Jake as easily as he would let on. He scared you last night; really scared you. Gave Rooster the impression that you’re smarter than he gave you credit for when you had first come poking around out here, all by yourself.

From the second things felt wrong, you had hauled yourself out of that truck like your hair was on fire. And, you hadn’t left your friend behind.

You had gone home last night, and you had checked that the latch on your bedroom window was locked. He had heard it click from across the fields, but only because he had been listening out for it. 

In theory, he likes you. He’s sure that the two of you would get along just great. But, way out here is no place for a lady.

“You act like it’s my fault your balls haven’t seen action since Roosevelt died.” It’s a slight exaggeration. Rooster’s moral compass sometimes loses its true north, and he winds up rolling out of someone’s bed before sunrise once again. It’s easier when he knows he’ll never see them again. 

Jake tends to be a little more… sentimental, about things. 

Rooster opens his mouth to speak. He’s standing there with water droplets drying like flecks of gold on his freckled shoulders, his curls wet at the nape of his neck and his blue boxer shorts clinging to his thighs and what hangs between them. Jake looks him over, pushing up onto his elbows, venom on his tongue.

The words die in Rooster’s throat as he looks up the riverbank and finds where the faint ringing in his ears is coming from. 

Upstream, nestled in the shade of the pines, Amelia watches them all. He wouldn’t notice her if he wasn’t specifically looking for her, tucked halfway back into the treeline and sitting down, her sketchbook open wide in front of her.

Her hair is wild and messy, like it always is. She must know that Rooster is watching her, but her eyes are on the ones in the water, cold and blue. Too calculated for a girl her age. 

“I’m going into town,” Rooster decides, not speaking to any one of them in particular, but loudly enough for them all to hear. Amelia looks at him. Her pale skin and sharp eyes remind him of a porcelain doll sometimes, and not in a good way. “Don’t need me.”

They will, undoubtedly, need him for something around camp. Everyone around here earns their keep, despite frequently having no place in the world to be but right here. Given that Rooster no longer performs, his duties around camp look a little bit different to everyone else’s.

He breaks up the fights, and man there are plenty. He’s the one who heads into town; he can keep his head down and get what he needs, a polite face and someone not interested in finding new friends. He keeps the customers where they’re supposed to be on show nights. 

Rooster pulls on his jeans and he takes his guitar.

On his walk back to their settlement, through the trees and across the fields, he gets to thinking about how much this sprawling land reminds him of fuzzy childhood memories.

He remembers his parents in shades of blue. The broken porch swing at the front of their house that his mother wasted away in. His parents’ bed with the slight dip in the middle. The car rusting away in the back, while he was still too young to drive it. He remembers everything about his mother and her sickness.

His feet brush across the grass and he thinks about his existence back then. Growing like a weed, always feeling hungry and always being too tall for his jeans. Playing with the neighboring boys in the street out front. Looking at that picture of his father in his service wear on the mantle, wondering what he would look like at that age.

Far beyond it now, Bradley hasn’t much considered his similarities to his parents. In some ways, his life is better than theirs ever was. Hell, he’s seen more of the continental United States than they ever could have dreamed of from their West Virginia trailer. He has time, which they never seemed to have enough of.

That being said, he’s glad they never got to see who he would become.

“Mornin’.” The voice startles him, which is a surprising feat in itself. Jeans unbuttoned and his shirt fisted in the same hand as his guitar, Rooster spins on his heel to look, finding Gus O’Malley himself sitting on the front porch of the Big House that Rooster had been passing by.

“Oh. Good mornin’.” Rooster tries to find it in himself to be polite, like he doesn’t know the kind of man who sits in front of him. He saw the fist-shaped hole in the house’s back door. “Sir.”

Gus is an average-looking man, with thinning hair and sun-reddened skin all over. Sun damage across the tip of his nose and his forehead, wrinkling him beyond his years. “Where are you headed?”

He looks Rooster over with an especially spiteful kind of envy.

“Just back from the river, I cut through the field.” Rooster explains with a quick gesture back over his shoulder.

Gus, red-headed and sitting with his hands on his rounded stomach, gives Rooster a look over.

“Yeah, I saw y’all out that way,” Rooster tips his head slightly, studying the amused shift in Gus’s tone. “That one with the dark hair, she your girlfriend or something?”

A pang of protectiveness strikes him. It’s not just about the fact that Natasha, who had been sunbathing on the large, flat rock that protrudes from the middle of the river, is like a sister to him. It’s that Rooster hadn’t once spotted Gus.

He hadn’t heard the heavy rattle of his strained breathing, or the lazy thudding of his heartbeat. It prickles at him like heat. 

As much as Natasha can care for herself, and take care of men like Gus, Rooster doesn’t want his bulbous nose poking anywhere around their digs. His mouth tips toward an aloof smile, disarming.

“Or somethin’.” He tells Gus with a soft nod, despite having never touched Natasha in his life. Gus smiles back at him approvingly.

“How are you finding it here? — I heard Maggie was putting you to work.” Rooster knows that Gus considers this question to be a test, and that he’s gauging exactly how close Rooster has been getting to his wife.

“Quiet. Nice to have somethin’ to do sometimes.” Is all that he offers up.

Gus’s mind ticks over the answer. He leans back in his rocking chair and nods his head. “Well, you kids stay outta trouble.”

The saying is that trouble tends to follow — and that isn’t quite the case for Rooster and his crew. They usually just happen to be where the trouble is already occurring. Well, that isn’t quite the case either. There’s nothing incidental about those two things.

You too, Rooster dreams of saying aloud. Instead, his eyes spark with a calm and polite smile as he nods his head and takes that as his dismissal. “Yes, sir.”

It plays on his mind as he pads his way back to his camper, images of Gus leering at them from his truck, probably drooling something fierce. Had it been while Rooster was teaching himself that Ray Charles track, or was it while he had been bickering with Jake? — What had he been so distracted about that he hadn’t noticed?

Gus hasn’t been around much since their tenancy began, and Rooster hopes that things will be that way for the majority of the summer.

His trip into town requires more clothes than are generally needed around camp. Shoes, for one, are a must, and shirts that are actually buttoned and paired with a tidy undershirt are appreciated too. He combs some tacky, woodsy-smelling pomade through the sides of his hair to tame the air dried, river-mussed mop of curls.

Perfectly presentable to go into town and hang fliers all afternoon. He could have taken Jake and Javy with him, maybe some of the others, cut his task load in half. But the alone time is worth the hundred or so extra papers.

As some kind of sick testament to the joke that Rooster will never really be rid of Jake, Elvis on the radio accompanies him into town. 

He hears you before he sees you. Smelling of daisies and cheap cigarettes and a fresh pack of gum, he twists his neck around at the stop sign and starts to wonder if he’s losing it. It’s not until the truck comes around the bend that he finds you.

Perched on the back steps of a large, brown-stoned building with a cigarette in your hand and a worried little frown plastering your face. Your hair is scraped all the way back, tucked into a neat updo, and you’re wearing a candy-striped tunic with white knee socks and Keds. Perfectly presentable.

It makes him think of the first day that he saw you, on the seats of that truck on all fours and waving at him in those little shorts.

“Maybe not branded,” You muse, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you while Olive studies the new baby blue colour on her nails. “Is there another word for when someone burns a shape into your skin?”

You don’t notice the green pickup truck pull past and head for town as you fret to Olive. It’s been a while since you had a man to complain about, but this isn’t your usual kind of conundrum. 

She smirks. “Maybe it’s something freaky-deaky.”

The back-and-forth repertoire thing that brought the two of you together fails today. The witty remark dies on your tongue with a wistful sigh. You wish you could laugh with her. He laughed it off pretty easily, waved you goodnight like nothing had happened. 

It just doesn’t… feel right. There’s an unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach that you just can’t shake. “D’you think it’s like a cult thing?”

That’s no joke. You hear the stories about the hippies still hanging out in the countrysides, girls going missing across the country. Mansonites that didn’t wind up on death row. 

Your folks let you get away with a lot, but joining a cult might push the boat out a little.

Olive doesn’t seem half as fazed. The miserable guy who named himself after the least impressive animal on the farm hadn’t seemed too worrying to her, beyond his attitude. “His hair was short. Guys with crew cuts aren’t in cults.”

She’s still kidding. The comment wasn’t meant to reassure, and it doesn’t.

“Yeah.” You guess, knees tucked up to your chest as you mull over the idea. He looked tidy. Smelled good. His hair was certainly a little longer than a crew cut. Rooster’s hair was longer again. Neither of them looked particularly unkempt — Jake had smelled like a piney, masculine cologne. 

Cultists surely didn’t take such a pride in their hygiene.

Now, Olive knows not to joke with you too much. She had seen the dazed way you had stumbled back into the bar, colorless and rendered silent. It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out that whatever went down in the cab of that truck wasn’t a joking matter.

She just hadn’t expected it to be so strange.

You hadn’t been expecting him to let you go. Surely if he was so dangerous, he wouldn’t have helped you back into your shirt. Maybe you’d had too much to drink, but you don’t remember the last thing he said to you.

Something along the lines of taking care of yourself, making sure you got home alright. Entirely unthreatening, as he had remained in the cab to buckle his belt and wait out his boner, you guess.

“Why didn’t you just ask him what it was?” She frowns at you, plucking her cigarette from her lips and stubbing it out on the wall. Break time is over and soon Conrad will come looking, 

You don’t remember that either. 

You must have made such a fool of yourself scrambling out from under him and offering no explanation as to why his tattoo gave you the jeebies so bad. But then, he hadn’t exactly offered to settle you about it.

Your nose wrinkles as you straighten out your dress and follow your best friend back inside. 

The Pines has this perpetual kind of dust smell. Olive joked once that it was something to do with all the time running out around here. It’s a joke that sticks with you sometimes when those years of dust are making your sinuses itch.

Faded yellow walls and deep blue carpet. Stock-image paintings on the walls. It’s an okay place to send your parents, in the grand scheme of things.

Your mind is far, far from the Pines today. Out past Airport Road, following that narrow winding road up the O’Malley driveway. You think of the two strange, strange men who live out there now.

“It could’ve been really traumatic.” There can’t be a lot of ways that someone winds up with a cross branded into their skin that aren’t traumatic. Olive doesn’t think that way. She gets her answers when she wants them. She would have asked him then and there. She’s braver than you, like that.

“Yeah. You wouldn’t want him asking about Wes.” Olive sometimes speaks without thinking. His name hits like a ricochet, which is a strange thing. You spent your first seventeen years hearing it every day. It’s a shame that now his name is tainted— it will always bring sorrow.

You’ll never scream it when he’s taunting you again, never again write a gift tag addressed to him. You swallow. You almost have to shake your head to bring you back to what the original conversation had been about— not your big brother.

“No.” You agree. Atwood knows what happened to Wesley. The story spread like wildfire that late July. In a way, you’re glad that it had — you hadn’t ever had to explain a thing for yourself because everyone already knew.

She’s back on the topic of Jake quickly. “So, you think you’ll see him again?” 

You linger in the hallway as she knocks on to Mrs. Palmer’s bedroom door. “Didn’t give him my number.” 

“But you know where he is.”

“Yeah,” You mull over the idea. Seems a little pathetic to drag yourself all the way out to the O’Malley farm for the third time this week. Not very ‘California’ of you to spend your time stressing over some Carnies. “I dunno.”

“Maybe it’s just a war thing.” She considers, closing the door behind her and leaving Mrs. Palmer with her morning meds. You watch Mrs. Palmer’s blue rinse disappear behind the wood, her head turned toward the window. “He was over there, probably.”

“Probably.” You agree. It’s hard to find a guy born before ‘55 that doesn’t have a thigh full of shrapnel or a jagged scar somewhere he can’t hide. But you’ve never seen anyone with a wound like Jake’s.

Teetering on the verge of hidden and displayed. He covered it up, technically, with the ink and the necklace — but he wears both on top like a badge of honour. You just can’t shake the grin on his face when he noticed that you had noticed.

Like he was excited by it.

Rooster, three blocks away, feels eyes on him from before the heel of his boot first hits the sidewalk. It’s nothing too new for him. These small towns are always filled with people who like to stare, and people who like to ask questions. 

Jake’s the entertainer of the bunch, not him. 

He’s got his to-do list crumpled up in the pocket of his Lee’s and that’s all he’s here for.

Hanging fliers always comes last. He has found that townsfolk don’t generally take too well to strangers coming and sticking up what they consider to be trash all over their streets. First, comes the library to get those books that’ll keep Amelia from getting bored. 

The door opens with a jingle, the bell above it swinging wildly to alert the aging, half-deaf librarian of the stranger in his midst. Rooster’s boots are silent across the worn carpet, heading for the fiction section. 

“Afternoon.” He nods towards the staring librarian as he passes him by, earning himself a sound of acknowledgement at least.

Amelia reads a lot, and she passes her books around camp once she’s done. She must have library fees all across the Continental US by now, but they keep her put— out of trouble. 

She’s the youngest of their settlement. Maverick’s daughter when the cops come asking, just the kid he had found on the side of the road when they don’t. She’s not like the rest of them. Rooster knows that she likes him, she finds him funny and he doesn’t treat her like a baby — but he steers clear of her when he can.

She’s too curious for her own good. That’s landed them in trouble before. Trespassing seems to be in her nature, and Maverick usually has better things to do than to keep the twelve-year-old occupied. Their crew doesn’t exactly roll with too many babysitters, either.

In spite of all of that, she’s a good contortionist. Rooster watches every weekend as people in the audience gasp and lurch away from the way her joints bend and pop at will. They don’t even notice, half the time, that she’s the same grinning kid who does the aerial tricks in the first quarter.

She’s been good at making people squirm for as long as he’s known her.

“Could I check out these three, please?” He sets down the three dust-covered novels, broken spines and peeling covers included, and looks the gentleman in the eye. 

“You’re into thrillers.” The man comments, picking up the top book from the small pile and inspecting it. Rooster doesn’t care to make conversation, or to correct him. He smiles and nods like that’s the case. “I’m not going to ask if you’ve got a library card with us, because I know you don’t. Are you new to town?”

Rooster bites back a sigh.

He smiles something polite, albeit tight-lipped. “Yeah. Working just outside of town, got a lotta downtime during the day. You need my name first?”

Bradley taps on the counter as the man takes down some vague details, asking his small-talk questions each step of the way. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Atwood’s desolate Main Street, where the afternoon heat has driven people back inside.

The whirring fan behind the librarian's head kicks out more dust and lint than it does cool air, growling in complaint with each circle of the fan blades. 

Perspiration beads at his weathered, wrinkled skin. The long arm on his smudged watch face tells Rooster that the seconds are ticking on as normal, even though everything here feels so much slower.

He’s grateful for the heat because at least it means fresh air; leaving the librarian behind with another abrupt jingle of the bell above the door. 

With barely enough time to walk back to his truck, Rooster realizes that you’re heading his way. Thoughts are buzzing around your head like radio chatter, almost enough to make him wince. He doesn’t even realize you aren’t alone until he catches the scent of Old Spice walking next to you.

He lifts the tailgate and swings it shut with a bang. You notice him as he turns his head. Walking in your cute candy-striper uniform with your bag on your shoulder and a guy at your side.

He almost smiles. This wouldn’t be the first time that Jake’s kissed a girl with a boyfriend and suffered the consequences. But, he knows better than to assume. Plus, the step that you take away from the boy at your side is instinctual.

Barely even a conscious decision, but Rooster sees it and understands what you’re telling him. The blond in the coveralls at your side is not your boyfriend. 

In no mood for a conversation, or to upset the poor kid who probably thinks he’s got a chance with you, Rooster opts to give you the same polite nod he had wanted to offer everyone else that has crossed his path today, and turns his back. He walks around to the cab and flings open the glovebox, grabbing the red fliers. 

Shoes tapping delicately across the pavement. Perspiration and Old Spice beading along the back of your friend’s neck. The thoughts whirring around that pretty little head as you sneak closer. You’re leaning against the truck when he straightens back up, one elbow popped against the side and your brows furrowed through the glaring sunlight. 

Rooster gives you the benefit of pretending that you got the jump on him.

“Hi.” It’s a greeting by nature, but there’s something accusatory to your tone that tells him, yet again, he seems to be being held responsible for something Jake did. 

“Afternoon.” Rooster answers you, lifting his head to check on the sulking guy about a foot behind you, watching this exchange with his hands in his pockets. His train of thought isn’t half as pissed off as it could be.

“Are you by yourself?” You ask him, subconsciously reaching back to feel for your updo, smoothing back some humidity-stoked stray hairs.

“Jake’s a big boy, I figured he could watch himself for one day.” He replies, not sounding exactly kind in the way he refers to his buddy. 

Convenient for you at least, to be able to corner an inside source. The thought does cross your mind that maybe Jake is being punished in some way for his behavior last night, kept at their camp like a grounded kid.

“So, who’s watching you?” You poke at him, trying to get a feel for the type of mood he might be in today.

He turns his head and looks at you, his expression serious. Maybe it’s the look on your face, or maybe it’s that he likes you, but his hardened expression cracks and he breaks a smile.

“Looks like that would be you, doesn’t it?” He replies, tilting his head to the side, flashing you his stack of papers. “It’s gonna get pretty lame, just warnin’ ya.”

You turn your head and shoot a glance back at where Billy stands a couple of feet back. His hands are balled into the pockets of his overalls and he might as well be tapping his damn foot at you, but he just sulks instead. 

Rooster had this look on his face when you’d left last night, just this knowing expression— a real ‘I told you so’ kind of thing. He’s more of a straight shooter than his buddy is, maybe you would get some real answers out of him.

“Well, you need some help?” 

She thinks you’re a stick in the mud with an attitude problem, and yet, here you are offering to traipse all over town with him sticking these things up. Rooster looks over the top of your head, glancing back at your friend.

As much as he would get a kick out of watching you hop into the truck and stick with him, Rooster knows better. He’s already shaking his head before he speaks, certain. There’s a place for you, and it’s not with a guy like him — or a guy like Jake, for that matter.

“No, you two look like you have plans and I’m starting way out by the Shop’N’Save. I’ve got this.” He shakes the papers once and leans back against the door of the truck. He isn’t expecting you to give up easy, but he isn’t expecting you to step around him and grab the handle either.

You’ve already made your mind up. “Well, I actually wanted to talk to you, so y’know— two birds, one stone and stuff.” 

Rooster stands up and watches with furrowed brows as you pull the door open and step up into the cab. Then, he looks toward your friend. Your forearm grazes at Bradley’s, your skin against his as he stares ahead. 

Billy. Closer to a family member to you than a boyfriend with the tepid attitude you’ve got towards him. There’s a loyalty and affection there that Rooster would be grateful for if the roles were reversed.

Rooster looks between you, settling down onto the tan leather seat, and Billy, blue eyes are narrowed and he looking just about ready to rush him. Rooster catches the handle of the door. He considers telling you to get out. He should.

You hit him with an expectant raise of your eyebrows, and crane your neck back to look at Billy. “I’ll call you later. Take Lori out on that date!”

Billy’s mouth opens and closes. Rooster presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, his decision made for him. Even if he’s your excuse, he’s not going to make you get back out and walk home with the kid when you’re so clearly trying to ditch him. It’s just not gentlemanly.

Your mouth twitches, equally surprised at his compliance as Rooster swings the door to the truck shut with a resigned smile, walking around to his side without much acknowledging your friend at all. You’re watching Billy through the side mirror as Rooster starts the grumbling ignition. 

“He’d follow me around forever if I let him.” You mumble quietly. Then, it’s like you remember yourself. You shake your head and sigh. “That sounds conceited, and I don’t mean it like that, but girls ask him out, y’know and — he just— he’d rather pick me up from work and sit in the same diner we’ve always sat in.”

There’s quiet on the other side of the cab, Billy is already walking away in the rearview mirror. You turn your head and he’s watching you, one hand on the wheel and the other out of the window. 

“This is what you wanted to talk to me about?” He prompts you, knees spread and his thighs straining against the blue denim, fingers drumming against the exterior of the door. He cocks an eyebrow at you, waiting for your response.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, you’re sitting in the cab of this truck and your mouth is watering. But, you’ve got better sense this time.

“Okay, fine. Look, I want you to give me a straight answer,” You turn in the seat, tucking one knee under you and creasing your features sternly. “About what’s up with you guys. Did Jake say anything after last night?”

He considers relaying the comment about your tits, just to further ruin Jake’s chances, but he plays dumb.

“No, but I figured you didn’t have the best time when you came running back in like that.” Rooster shrugs.

“He just gave me the jeebies,” You admit, fiddling with the hem of your uniform. Your tone is light but your skin is prickled like you’ve somehow found a chill on this warm summer afternoon.  “Like that tattoo on his neck, it’s like a scar, right?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” You’re studying him from your side of the bench, and you’re good at it, looking for the smallest little tell. Eyes on the road, he gives you nothing but a shrug. “The scar’s what freaked you out?”

“No, like — it’s weird. How’d you end up in a circus? — Are you on the run or something?”

His mouth twitches. He turns his face toward the window, smiling at the scenery rather than at your face, shaking his head all the while. 

“Maybe some folks just get their kicks juggling,” He taunts you with a shrug of his broad shoulders, craning his neck as he turns off of Main and toward Third. “You don’t hear me questioning your career choices.”

“Okay, fine,” You’ve seen Jake drop an entire marquee into stunned silence with his act, he’s undeniably good at what he does. You swipe through the fliers absently. “I just— I got this weird feeling from Jake last night.”

Clearly today, he’s in the mood to play. He quirks one eyebrow and smiles out at the road ahead. “Yeah, they usually tell you all about that feeling in Health Class, I think.”

You swing out a hand and smack at his arm, scoffing out a distinctly unimpressed and unladylike sound. “Shut up! I’m not talking about that, I’m talking… like that tattoo on his neck? — Was that— Was it a burn? — What was that?”

He pulls over to the side of the road coolly, killing the engine and looking across at you like you’re asking him to explain the intricacies of geometry. The Shop’N’Save is dead empty this time of day, feels like you’re the only thing around for miles. He reaches for the door handle and leans back, itching for some space, needing some fresh air.

“Means that Jake’s an idiot who’ll do just about anything on a bet.” He answers as bluntly as one can, taking the fliers from the middle of the seat and the shiny new staple gun from beside them. “He wasn’t gonna hurt you.”

You’re hot on his heels as he steps out of the truck and heads for the telephone pole, taking the fliers as you duck around him.

“I figured that much.” There’s a bite to your tone as you take the page and hold it up against the wooden pole, narrowing your eyes at him. He lifts his brows, unimpressed but amused. “I mean, I’m standing here, aren’t I?” 

Standing on a stretch of road that you’ve driven by a thousand times but never once walked down, the breeze catches your skin and makes your white and pink striped skirt blow around your thighs. His gaze flickers between your face and your hand on the pole with a beat. 

His boot tucks itself between your tidy white sneakers, his shoulders seeming to stretch wider as he steps up close. 

He places his hand over yours and tugs it upwards, readjusting the flier to a height that he deems appropriate. Pinning your hand with his palm, he lifts his other hand and strikes a staple into the wood.

“Call it baggage. Things with us tend to get complicated,” He nails another staple into the other side of the flier, and turns to look at your face, a grin ghosting at his lips. “Hell, why don’t you put that kid you were with out of his misery and go out with him?”

As you open your mouth to argue back, he drops your hand back down to your side with a squeeze and takes a look towards the two buildings to his left. Anything to cut this conversation short.

He jerks his head toward the stores behind him. “Feel like helping a guy out and asking to stick these in their windows?”

“Fine.” You thought he was a lot cuter when you couldn’t hear what he was saying that day out on Airport Road. He leans back against the door and watches you walk inside in your uniform, thinking to himself that you’re plenty cute right now.

Just like he had expected, both the gas station and the liquor store allow you to hang the fliers without so much as a question about why. Rooster wouldn’t have gotten the same treatment. 

He lifts his fingers and waves them at you as you cross the small parking lot back towards him.

“Let’s go, unless you want to be out here all day.” You hear him laugh to himself as you walk around the truck and pull yourself into the passenger side. He fixes his smile, knowing that it’s just likely to provoke you. 

As much as he’d rather not have you in his passenger seat, you’re useful when it comes to navigation. He wouldn’t have even tried half of the side streets that you point him down. He humors your questions for two hours, giving you barely there answers as the beat-up, old truck rattles down oak-lined streets. 

The afternoon sun fades from golden to gray somewhere between Sixth and Elm. The sky hangs low, darkening, a covering of dark clouds threatening a downpour. 

By the park, Bradley pulls over and hops out with a stack of fliers, offering you little more than the instruction to, “Stay there.”

He slaps the red papers up where he can, smoothing the papers out with his palm and working them into wooden surfaces with the staple gun. You are left with the rather cushy job of sitting pretty in the cab, while he does the hard work.

A couple of kids whizz past on their bikes, calling out loudly as they cycle home. Atwood is the kind of place where mothers are more than fine with saying goodbye to their children after breakfast and not seeing them again until sundown in the summers.

While following them by, you catch sight of a glinting metal at your feet. Just to check, you feel at your earlobe. Sure enough, your earring sits in the footwell.

As the driver’s side door creaks open, Rooster stands on the sidewalk and frowns at the way you have folded yourself downwards and are reaching for something under the seat. His brows knit together as you strain uncomfortably.

“You okay down there?” He prompts.

You huff, still struggling. “My earring. I hit it all the way under the seat when I was trying to grab it— I must’ve left it last-“

Last night. When you were sprawled across the bench with Jake’s tongue in your mouth. Rooster smiles at the way you stop mid-sentence, like that’s going to save his feelings. Like he hadn’t stood inside and listened to every last part of it. 

“Got it!” You pop back up, holding the dainty thing between your fingers and smiling at him. It stretches across your cheeks and your eyes glint with delight. The afternoon sun seems to brighten with you, despite the clouds rolling in from the east. 

His eyes widen with a dramatism that tells you you’re being mocked. “Thank god.” 

Caught somewhere between shooting him a glare and laughing, your face settles into a reticent smile as you fold your arms over your chest. “You’re a jackass, you know that?”

“So I’m told.” He agrees, settling back into the driver’s seat as the rain clouds decide to make good on their promise. Clicking his tongue, he sits back in his seat and glances across at the very much paper fliers he had just hung. “You hungry?”

“Hungry? Mm, a bit,” You shrug your shoulders, he nods, the answer spurring him into action as he heads back towards town. “Does that make this a date?”

He huffs out a small chuckle, which wounds your ego more than you would like to admit, reaching across your body to tug open the glovebox. “Depends if you’re as scared of me as you are of Jake, doesn’t it?”

Now, that’s the type of comment that doesn’t deserve an answer. You’re not afraid of him. He’s too honest to be frightening. Raw and witty, maybe a little grumpy, but man — that smile is one worth working for. You like him, a lot.

Your lovey-dovey thoughts come to a sudden stop as you track his hand. More aptly, you track what his hand nudges out of the way.

Unfazed, Rooster reaches past the box of Trojans and fishes, instead, for cigarettes. He plucks one from the pack and sets it between his teeth, then looks across at you. Watching him with an unimpressed expression that’s halfway to being a full-blown scowl. 

He smiles around the cigarette.

“What? — Did you forget how that earring wound up on the floor?” He taunts you, reaching back across with little regard for your personal space, in search of a lighter. 

You knock his hand out of the way and hand him the silver flint-wheel lighter from your own pocket. “It’s a big box, is all.” 

He steadies the wheel with his knee, cupping his hands around the flame to ignite his cigarette, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not my truck.” 

“Hm.” 

He looks across at you, one brow quirked, and a smile of disbelief toying around the cigarette.

“I’m not saying anything,” You answer, defending yourself with little conviction, arms still folded over your chest. “Just didn’t realize this passenger seat was such a tourist spot.”

He coughs out a laugh around his cigarette, his cheeks warm and crinkling around his endlessly deep brown eyes. His freckles are darker under the gray clouds, dotting his nose. He reaches across the cab and swats at your arm as you had gone for his.

You press your tongue into your cheek; keeping yourself from beaming as his hand comes up and covers your mouth, smelling of the cologne on his wrist and the cigarette he had held. 

“Cool it, kid — that spot’s all yours,” He’s still laughing as he talks to you, glancing across at you. Blinking at him with his hand settled across your jaw, the gold ring on his pinkie finger sitting against your chin. He pulls it back to hold his cig, his touch leaving you longing. “Now, what do you want to eat? — I’m buying.”

You crane your neck to look at the brown leather watch on his wrist, already knowing that you’re going to be in the weeds for missing dinner back home. Damage already done, you decide to introduce him to Atwood’s finest— the shitty little diner owned by Billy’s uncle that has had the same shitty menu for thirty years. 

It’s the perfect spot, in a hometown kind of way.

You hold your head a little higher than usual as you stroll through the place.

There are a couple of girls who work at Louie’s that will just die when they see you with the tall stranger, and you enjoy that just a little. Rooster enjoys it a little, too.

He’s busy looking around at the decor as he slides into the wooden booth, not exactly critical of it but not impressed either. He shucks a hand through his dampened curls and settles down into the seat, spreading his knees and kicking one of his feet between yours under the table.

“That’s the bridge out by us, right?” He asks, pointing to one of the paintings on the wall. Just another oil canvas in a dusty frame that you’ve never taken much time to critique. You purse your lips as you study it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” You come to realize, glancing back at him. “You’ve been exploring out there?”

He sits back a bit, as a tall brunette comes to fill your water glasses, brown eyes on you and a small smile on his mouth. “Yeah, a little. It’s quiet out there.”

“Lonely?” You prompt, lips stretching into an amused grin. Man, it almost gets him again. He bites at the inside of his cheek to keep from matching your look, rolling his eyes as he looks back towards the painting.

“Get real.” He mutters.

He watches you resting your chin on your palm and batting your eyelashes and simply shakes his head.

“This isn’t a date, by the way,” He’s cool as can be, staring back at you like you hadn’t seen the look in his eyes when you had him laughing. “You did me a favor, so this is me bein’ nice.”

“Well,” You hum, tapping your fingers along the edge of your glass, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Louie’s isn’t exactly a busy spot at the best of times, but especially not on a Monday night. It’s just the two of you, the waitress who was rude to you in the playground all those years ago, and maybe a couple of line cooks in the back. 

The entire place is wood-paneled three quarters of the way up the wall, with green paint covering the rest. There are family photos and mass-produced paintings on the walls, and dust on the lampshades. Roy Orbison playing on the jukebox. A candle in a glass jar lit on the table between you.

He pays attention as you recite your usual order, finding the items on the menu as you go. Then, probably to make this thing easy and over sooner, he decides he’ll just take the same. 

Begrudgingly, he has to admit that your choice and your order is better than he had been expecting. Good, even. It feels good, being out and sitting across from a pretty girl, picking at fries that are a little too salty, like nothing had ever happened. Trying not to laugh too hard at her jokes, even when his lips keep twitching around the straw of his ice-cold Coke. It has been a long time. 

It’s almost disappointing to settle the check, and to have to see you walking ahead of him back to the truck. The rain has stopped and the air is grassy and piney, the sky a fading lilac, casting shades of blue across your skin. 

Cooler breeze passes you by, bristling at your skin just enough to make you appreciate the fading heat of earlier that day.

He starts by turning up the radio, tires rolling through a deep, mud-splattered puddle as he pulls out of the parking lot. You should feel exhausted after being at the Pines from the crack of dawn, but he’s got your stomach alight. Tapping his foot to the drum beat absently, one hand on the wheel, his jaw set and his shoulders straight. 

“Which way?” Like he couldn’t piece it together. You were walking home today, you’d hightailed it to the right after leaving Dutch’s last night. It would take him minutes to find his way to your front door.

Stretching your arms above your head, you sigh and settle back against the door. “Next left and then right at the lights.”

He was right. The guesses in his head would have led him to the Post Office near the park, and then he spots that station wagon in the driveway. He lets you direct him to the right house anyway.

Sturdy car in the driveway, flower boxes on every window, and the greenest lawn on the street. It looks like a nice place to have grown up. If he had grown up in a place like this, he wouldn’t be itching to leave half as badly as you are.

He looks back to you, watching him and trying to figure out how to route the conversation back to what had happened in that dark parking lot last night.

“Thanks for helping me out today.” The plain white fabric of his t-shirt stretches around his arm as he cards his fingers through his curls. 

You bite at the inside of your cheek. Fingers skimming over the stitching in the seats as you try to figure out your next move. Late already, he’s in no hurry. 

“I guess I’ll see you Friday.” You decide.

His brows draw together. “Friday?”

You smile, pointing down at the significantly smaller stack of red papers now between the two of you. “Uh-huh. Friday at eight.”

Friday at eight. You’ll stroll through those lit arches, looking for him. His brows knit a bit, but he doesn’t tell you to stay away, that’s not in the rules. 

He flattens his mouth a little, almost a smile but not the same kind where his eyes had lit up so bright.

“Right,” He nods. “Friday.”

You smile at him, reaching across and giving his arm a quick squeeze before you turn and hop down from the truck.

If this was a date, he would walk you to your door and sneak a kiss before your overprotective mother found an excuse to come to the door and introduce herself to him, which is when he would be charming enough to impress her but cool enough not to embarrass you. 

Your heartbeat ticks steadily in your chest. You’re already thinking about what you’ll wear on Friday night— whether you’ll bring Olive, or Georgie— absolutely not Billy. He watches you climb the porch steps and let yourself in through the creaking, blue door with the glass pane in the middle, not stopping to look back at him because you’re worried that your parents will notice it was a stranger who brought you home. Your mother greets you from the kitchen.

His mouth dries as he pulls away from the curb.

He could be like Jake, and let himself enjoy the feeling. Pretend that he hasn’t done the things he has, pretend that he hasn’t sat and listened to all the thoughts you have about him. 

He could pretend that he really doesn’t want to see you at the show this weekend.

But, the sun has already set on his day of normalcy. He turns the sound dial, tapping his foot to the only radio frequency that doesn’t drop out on the backroads out of town, windows down and the scent of fresh-cut, wet grass and new deliveries of hay carried by the evening breeze.

Fingers draped loosely around the cracked leather of the wheel, shooting the occasional glance over to the empty passenger seat. 

Lilac skies casting shadows across the rolling fields all the way out of town. 

It’s forty minutes before the truck pulls onto that gravel driveway with a growingly familiar crunch. He stops it in his spot by Jake’s trailer and steps out onto the mulchy, wet grass, following the sounds of conversation until he gets to the yellow RV. 

The yellow RV houses Natasha, Bob and more recently Mickey — but that’s just until he apologizes to Reueben. Most nights, that’s where you can find the guys. It’s the furthest vehicle on the row, and Natasha always lays out rugs and the camping furniture that’ll fit in the storage space.

Like he knew he would, he finds his friends busied with a game of poker, settled into the chairs they could scrounge up, illuminated by a couple of camping torches.

Jake’s tall tale about one of their times back on the West Coast falls flat, trailing off until it stops all together. He watches Rooster cross the lot, headed right for them.

Wordless, Rooster greets his friends with a cool smile as he steps right by them and plants himself into a wooden chair at the far side of the circle.

“You were gone a while.” It’s Javy that comments first, meaning well, not doing the best job at hiding his cards as Natasha studies them shamelessly from his side.

“Yeah.” Rooster agrees, sitting forwards as Callie kicks her legs up and stretches them across his. “Deal me in.” 

Jake’s brows draw together, their round seemingly dead in the water as Bob starts to collect the cards back in. He studies Rooster through the warm light of the lantern, narrowing his eyes just a bit.

“You want to play?” Jake scoffs.

Rooster rarely plays with them. He usually makes a point of keeping to himself, when they’re all together. He likes Natasha, and he’ll keep her company, when he’s not with Maverick. Everyone knows that he likes to pretend that he’s stuck with Jake, rather than accompanying him by choice.

Rooster’s mouth twitches, reaching out and letting Bob set the cards in his hand, meeting Jake’s gaze for the first time since he sauntered past him and sat down.

“Scared you’ll lose?”

…

NEXT CHAPTER

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tags: @sunflowercharlie13 @spinning-away @eloquentdreamer-blog1@a-reader-and-a-writer@breezyweazybeezy@mel119g@hersuitisbanana@one-sweet-gubler@atarmychick007@ximehs@nnatel@topherwrites@seitmai@yepyeahuhhuh@cherrycola27@ohtobeleah@roosterbruiser

[starogeorgina]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Baratheon reader

Warnings: None

1.02

You watch as the hot wax runs onto the surface of the rolled-up scroll, the color of which is much like blood. You press a stamp onto it and wait for the impression of a stag to set into the wax.

“Sending another letter to King's Landing?”

Looking over your shoulder, you smile. “Uncle, I had no idea you were there.”

In jest, he wags his finger. “You’re a very bad liar. Deceit wasn’t a Lannister trait you inherited.”

“Well, as my mother likes to remind me, I am my father’s daughter.” Your uncle was right; you were an awful liar. And you knew it was him approaching because Meraxes always hissed at him. “But no, I’m sending this to Winterfell.”

Tyrion places the jug of wine he brought with him in the middle of the small table. He sits across from you, smirking, “Oh, pray tell. The king's daughter, who’s going to marry a prince, sends love letters to her former betrothed. How scandalous.”

When you are happy that the scroll is securely sealed, you place it with the other two you wrote. “You sound like a gossiping lady at court, uncle.”

“That is not a denial, y/n.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Of course I’m not writing to Robb; I’m writing to Jon.”

Not long after your tenth name-day, Lord Stark traveled south with two of his sons, his eldest son Robb, and his bastard Jon Snow. You liked both of the lord's sons, but only Robb made you blush. Your father had proposed to betroth you to Robb, but your mother fought against it for years until she finally got her way and you were promised to another.

“Ah yes, Ned Starks bastard. Do let me know if you ever find out who the boy's mother is.” He takes a large gulp of wine, then lets out a satisfied sighing noise. “That truly has been a mystery at court.”

“And betray my friends' trust? Never,” you chuckle. “I’ve written to my father and siblings, but I’ve yet to receive anything back.”

“If it’s any consolation, I very much doubt my sister is letting them receive it. I’m sure Myrcella and Tommen would both be thrilled to know you’ve written to them.”

“I hope so.”

Tommen and Marcella were both you and impressionable; you didn’t want them to think you’d abandon them deliberately, gone to start a new life while leaving them behind without a second thought.

—

Burying your toes into the sand, you enjoy the feeling of warmth surrounding your feet. You lean to the side and dip your finger into the cool water of the pond, causing a ripple effect on the surface. After a few moments, you watch as several colorful fish swim closer to your finger to investigate; one of them brushes against it, causing you to giggle slightly.

Feeling eyes on you, you look up and see Ellaria walking in the opposite direction across a wooden bridge. She was looking over her shoulder and glaring right at you.

The people of Dorne were rightfully still furious about the horrific deaths of Elia Martell and her children, and the anger was aimed in the direction of house Lannisters. Which has resulted in you being very lonely. Most people were indifferent or just outright hostile towards you. The only people who spoke to you daily were your uncle Tyrion and your lady-in-waiting. But you were the daughter of the king, so no matter how you felt, you needed to hold your head up high and not let them see how badly you were hurting.

“Princess.”

“Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn stands in front of you with his hands behind his back gracefully. Your mouth goes dry. Oberyn was tall and slender, with lustrous black hair. Even now, with his eyes squinting slightly because of the sun shining in them, you avoid his gaze, afraid you’d get drawn in by the darkness of them.

“Where is Lord Tyrion?”

A Dornish beauty who works in a pillow house had caught your uncle’s eye, so he would be most likely absent for the rest of the day. You click your tongue. “He has gone to drink the finest wine and bed the most beautiful woman.”

“Oh,” he laughs.

Your gaze remains on the pond as the prince sits down beside you. Oberyn was very flirtatious with both men and women; however, a mere simple interaction would cause your cheeks to burn.

“I’ve got you a gift,” he says, pulling a book from behind his back and giving it to you. “When we first met, you said your septa only told you what they wanted you to know.”

You read the title out loud, “The Songs of Robert's Rebellion.”

Oberyn seems intrigued as he watches your reaction closely. His intention was never to offend you, but when he heard the book had been written, he thought you might find it interesting.

You straighten your shoulders up, place the book on your lap, and look up at him, finally locking eyes, and it’s him. “They say my father had the strength of a giant; the weapon he used in battle was a spiked iron warhammer that was so heavy that Lord Stark could barely lift it himself. In his youth, my father was known to be quite fearless.”

“I dare say he was.”

Your lips press together into a thin line. It was easy for you to get carried away talking about your father. You want to believe the version of his heroics that the septa told you, but it was just a lie. They knew it, you knew it, and Prince Obryen knows it, but no one dares speak the truth.

“Are the two of you close?”

“Yes, we are. Are you close with your daughters?” It was common knowledge that the prince had several bastard daughters. You had briefly met his eldest, Obara, whom Obryen fathered at the age of thirteen.

“They are my whole world.”

“All my life, I’ve heard King Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. But he doesn’t feel that way.” Your father shared that he never felt so alive as when he was winning his throne, but from the moment he sat on the iron throne, he felt dead inside.

“Even a man with a reputation such as the king has a softness to him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have named his firstborn daughter after his mother.”

Crossing your arms over you, you hold the book to your chest and smile softly. “Thank you for the gift; it was a thoughtful gesture.”

[faun-the-fawn77]

Prologue - "𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀"

"True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree A willow dancing on air before covering me" ☆.𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆ Word Count: 1.5k Chapter Warnings: Blood, swearing Note(s) at the bottom! <Next: Chapter 1>

It was a rare sunny day in the little town of Sitka. While the heat barely reached 65 degrees, it was still hot enough for the residents to feel sweat accumulating amongst their skin. The seagulls were circling above, screeching with annoyance at the lack of fish surfacing. Boats heading in to unload and others heading out to set gear and bring back what they can get. Sitka was a small town with a population of a little more than 8,000. Sadly, it was tourist season so all of downtown was crowded with out-of-state people looking for souvenirs to bring back. Since everyone was busy, that meant most trails(besides Totem Park) were more open.

Y/N was busy putting together her hiking pack for her trip up Thimbleberry. She wanted to make it up to Heart Lake for lunch and rest for a bit before coming back down for the day. The essentials she usually has on her were:

Phone, battery pack with charging cables, headphones, water bottle with more ice than water, protein bars, bug spray, bear spray and whistle, a speaker, a pocket knife, a first aid kit, and a change of clothes.

This time, since she was going to be gone for longer than normal, she had also added her iPad with the stylus, a lunch box that had more than just the protein bars, one more set of clothes, an extra pair of shoes, a hoodie and a blanket big enough to sit on.

She made sure to tie a rain coat around her waist in case it decides to rain(it usually does 360 out of 365 days a year). While the weather app on her phone did say it was going to be cloudy with sun all day, rain has a tendency to show up when unwanted. She sprayed herself with the can of bug spray to avoid any pesky mosquitos from biting her, making sure her hair was out of the way.

Her outfit for today was a thick strapped tank top and sports bra, thermal leggings underneath cargo pants, thick socks, and chunky hiking boots. She double checked her pack, making sure her pocket knife was in a pocket on her pants, and that her water bottle and the bear spray were easily accessible. Her bluetooth speaker was hooked onto her backpack and fully charged.

She huffed as she picked up the pack and lugged it out her front door. She made sure her cat was fed and had plenty of water before she took off for her day trip.

"I'll see you later, stinker." Petting the feline, shestepped out and locked the door to her house.

The house itself, while not that amazing outwardly, meant everything to Y/N. It's been standing from the early 1800's and passed down throughout generations in her family. Making sure the knob couldn't turn, Y/N picked up her gear and headed towards the Jeep Wrangler sitting in the gravel driveway. She unlocked the vehicle, stuffing the pack into the passengers seat, and closing the door.

The drive to Thimbleberry was bit long for a town that only had 14 miles of road from one end to the other. The scenery passed by in a blur of green and blue, the trees swaying and the ocean waves crashing against the shore. The concrete structures of whales in Whale Park were being climbed upon by kids and finally the lot for Thimbleberry was seen. Two other cars were parked closest to the entrance which Y/N paid no mind to.

Walking around the front of her car to grab her pack, Y/N unpocketed her phone to connect it to her speaker. Usually playing something loud was enough to scare off any of the bears who decides to wander too close to the trails. Putting on her 'Classic Rock' playlist, she grabbed her pack and hoisted it up on her shoulders, making sure to tighten the straps.

The walk through Thimbleberry was scenic and relaxing. Y/N stopped a few times to take pictures of whatever she found interesting and what she'll probably draw later. She picked a handful of salmonberries to munch on as well. Finally, Heart Lake was in her sights. It was a huge lake surrounded by evergreen trees. The water was clear and you could see the bottom full of colored rocks. A wooden dock was built out a few feet from shore and a two person boat with oars was tied to a pole on the dock.

Y/N walked a bit more till she found a small grassy area near the lake shore. A giant spruce tree was at the edge of the small grass area and that is where she shucked off her pack and crouched down. Unclipping her blanket, she rolled it out to sit on.

"Maybe I can nap for a bit before heading out..." She mumbled to herself. She kept an arm looped through one of her pack's straps and settled against the thick trunk of the tree. The speaker was blasting out the song 'Highway to Hell' as she fell into a deep sleep.

The feeling of falling was what abruptly woke Y/N up. Her brain didn't seem to register the fact that she was free falling through the air until she tried to sit up. A scream tore through her throat as wind whipped by. Her arms immediately clutched the closest thing to her, her hiking pack. Closing her eyes, she hoped this would be a quick and easy death. Unfortunately for her, she didn't die. Her back was cut up by the smaller branches of the trees she is currently crashing through.

Her spine made contact with a thick branch and she could feel the wind get knocked from her lungs. Letting the hiking pack go, she curled up and landed roughly on the forest floor.

Breathing was difficult, but she pushed herself up to sit. She looked around to see if she could identify where she was, assuming she was still in her small town in Alaska.

It was dark. Looking up, she could see the full moon glaring back down. The stars were a lot clearer and twinkling against the dark blanket of the sky. The forest she was in was quiet. Actually, it was suspiciously quiet for someone who grew up surrounded by the woods.

Reaching for her pack, Y/N dragged it closer towards her and opened it. She grabbed the green kit full of medical supplies, opening it, and grabbing the bundle of bandages. She could feel the blood from the cuts on her back drying against the tank top that was surely shredded to pieces.

Taking off the piece of clothing was a chore itself. Her arms and torso were screaming in pain as she slid the torn up fabric off of her. She wrapped the bandages around her as best she could, stuffing the tank top into her pack for extra bandages in case.

Armed with only her pocket knife and gear, Y/N got up. Grunts of pain escaped her chapped lips and she could taste metal in her mouth, whether that was from blood or her tongue piercing, she did not know.

The song 'Paradise City' was now playing through her speaker. She almost forgot that she was supposed to be at Heart Lake. No sign of water nearby and no critters making noise was heard.

Y/N huffed, dragging her feet through the broken branches on the ground. Her brows furrowed as she listened intently for any kind of noise. The lack of forest fauna was concerning to her. There wasn't even any buzzing from mosquitos. Walking further into the dark woods, a faint screaming could be heard.

That was definitely human. Y/N picked up the pace, gripping her pocket knife tightly in one hand and the other was holding onto the strap of her pack.

The yelling intensified as she got closer. A spark of hope burst into her chest and now she was running. Closer and closer she finally broke through the trees into a clearing where a boy with burgundy hair was on the ground covered in wounds and a child, no older than 12, was glaring at the boy.

"What the fuck."

The two turned towards the foreign voice. Y/N stared back as she took in the scene. That's when she noticed the appearance of the 12(?) year old boy who was definitely not human. Everything about him screamed supernatural. Looking closer, she could see something printed in his eye.

"Sorry to interrupt but, do you two know where the fuck I am?"

The two slow blinked and, faster than Y/N could see, the white haired boy shot his arm out at her. She could feel something wrap around her. Her body was now hanging upside down with the blood rushing to her head.

"Your fight is with me! Leave her out of this!" The burgundy boy lunged at the kid, katana drawn and ready to hack the kid's head off in one swipe. Y/N almost passed out from shock. What language was that? And katana's?! Why is he attacking that kid?!

Wait...

Squinting her eyes, she took in the faces of the two.

Well, shit. She fell into Demon Slayer.

PROLOGUE IS DONE!!!! Hope you guys like this! I'm looking forward to writing this story!

TAGLIST:

@eris-rose-86

[scarletnakazato]

In the spirit of summer(ugh it’s still freezing over here but still)— what are your hc’s about a beach date?

• All Initial D Male and Female Characters • Word Count: 1,782. • Synopsis: In which you're on a beach date with the lovely boys and girls. • Note: Thank you for the cute ask Anon, apologies it took me forever to get to it!

Keisuke: Will go in the water with you for a bit, but I feel like this guy gives into his primal urges and likes to dig holes in the sand. Will probably dig a massive pit and shape it into a circular sitting lounge, sticking the umbrella in the centre to shade the entire pit and sit with you in it while you sip on cold fruity drinks after being in the hot sun for hours. If you both stay the whole day and sunset comes around, he’ll take you to a beachside restaurant or pub to sit outside and watch the sun set over the ocean while you eat and drink.

Ryosuke: He’d indulge you and go in the water with you a bit, but he seems more of the type to relax under the umbrella and simply enjoy the breeze and the warmth while staying under the shade to not burn, he’s pretty pale. Would also love to enjoy the sunset with you at a beachside restaurant with a walk on the pier together to enjoy the views before leaving for the night.

Takumi: If he’s not zoned out and blushing at the sight of you in a swim suit, he’d follow you around as you collect shiny shells and hold them for you in his hands, finding it adorable how you take the scavenging seriously and fish through the shallow water for them, sometimes get caught with a sneaky wave and get submerged for a second before popping back up, hair soaked and sticking to your face before plopping a shell or two in his hands and continuing on, earning a chuckle from him.

Takeshi: Oh, yes. Sure, it may have been your idea to go to the beach for the ocean, but those plans changed the minute he took his black t-shirt off, casually setting it atop your towel bag. His hair was left messy, seeing as gelling it would be useless if he’s gonna go in the water. His little messy strands on his forehead are doubled now that his hair was left natural. The water was completely forgotten as you sat on the large towel, simply staring and admiring his form. He’d give you one of those raised brows, his lips pressing together in a “really babe?” expression once he caught on to what you were doing. Don’t be surprised when he picks you up to carry you to the water, enjoying how you’re squirming around to get out of his hold, but also enjoying how easily those defined arms are holding you. The clear smirk on his face tells you he knows the effect he has on you before he drops his arms without warning, dropping you straight into the water. Only he’s surprised when you grab onto him at the last minute, taking him with you.

Shingo: Is a little shit. He’ll straight up carry you over his shoulder before Batista bombing you into the water like a WWE fighter. You’d resurface and find him laughing his ass off with that high pitched voice of his before deciding to take him with you and knock his legs out from under him, making him squawk before he goes under. Gives you the same unimpressed look you gave him after he comes back up. If you both go to back to shore to lay on towels, he’ll try to get a tan but with how pale he is, he burns easy so he’ll tan first, looking like how he did in Final Stage, but then the sunburn will come in a few hours later. Refuses to sunbathe again after that, going back to being pale and pasty instead of tan and tasty once again. He’d take you to a pub as well, but as I’ve previously headcanoned for him, he’s a lightweight, so expect to be driving the EG6 back home.

Itsuki: Probably got a beach date by doing that double date stuff with Takumi and Natsuki, or even when the SpeedStars went to the waterpark with Sayuki and Mako. You’d be a friend of one of the girls and basically be Itsuki’s date for the day. Though, he’d spend more time gawking and daydreaming about “hot babes in bikinis” than actually holding a simple conversation with you and spending time in the water or going down waterslides together if its at a waterpark. Typical Itsuki, heh.

Iketani: Holds it together better than Itsuki, will actually go in the water with you, maybe try to play volleyball with the large blowup beach ball. If it’s another double date, he’d be on your team of course, even if it’s against your friends. If it’s not a double date, he’s pretty much down for whatever you want to do. Doesn’t mind sitting back and relaxing at a table, or laying on towels with snacks and drinks while you two talk about cars, hobbies and anything else that interests you. He’s just happy to spend time with you.

Kenji: Similar to Iketani, just loves enjoying the moment. Definitely is the one to drive you to the beach, making a fun road trip out of it. Will like to check out nearby shops for goodies, and get one of those disposable cameras to take pictures of you in your element, and even request some where you pose in front of his car. Bro’s living the high life. Will totally rub it in Iketani and Itsuki’s face, showing him the pictures and going on about how hot you are, much to the dismay of the Lonely Drivers™.

Kenta: Will sunbathe 100%. As seen in Project D when Keisuke and Takumi get to sleep in that lovely hotel, the rest of the Project is “chilling” in the middle of summer under a tree in the shade. Except Kenta. Bro’s tanning full on. He’d be cool if you wanted to go out and do your own thing, play in the water, build sandcastles, dig holes, whatever, as long as he can get a good tan in, he’s a happy guy. I definitely see him falling asleep at some point, most likely on his stomach while he tans his back, and you decide to just bury him in the sand, putting scoop after scoop on top of him until it’s just his neck and head showing. He’ll have an uneven top tan and be mad about it lol. His front looks good, but his back is probably paler since he was covered by then and didn’t know about it. His sleeping mind wouldn’t process it either since the sand made him warm with the sun soaking it up so it’d feel the same to him.

Kyoichi: Doesn’t strike me as a beach enjoyer. I feel like his tough guy act and pride would tell him that enjoying the beach is a wuss boy’s activity. However, he’s more than happy to watch you enjoy yourself and admire your form in that swimsuit. Would definitely take you out to a bar later to fit his tough guy vibe, and give you his large jacket to keep you warm, but more so to keep you covered and prevent weird guys from staring at what’s his for a second too long. Only the Emperor gets to admire his Empress for longer than a second.

Rin:  Takes you on a romantic walk along the shoreline at early sunset. Ankle deep in the water as it rises and lowers periodically, enjoying each other’s company and talking about anything. Will take you to a scenic pier or nearby shrine overlooking the water after the sun goes down and perhaps dinner shortly after.

Go: Water fights you, hands down. Loses very quickly because he’s easily distracted by the water droplets flowing down your boobs and into your top. When you notice him standing still too long and catch on, not even registering your hand waving in his face, he’s completely unprepared to be tackled head on and dunked into the water. You wrestle him in the shallow water with alarming strength telling him that you’ll “cleanse his dirty mind of boobs forever” as you dunk his head in the water several times like a baby getting baptized.

Wataru: Is down to do anything, really. Will take you to the beach early in the morning so you have plenty of time to check out shops, restaurants, ice cream stands and more. Will also get a disposable camera, happy to take pictures of you with his car, building stuff in the sand, going in the water, any and all of it. Will help bring you buckets of water for your sand creations if you need more to help shape it. He’s rewarded with a kiss and “What would I do without my muscley hero, hmm?”

Nobuhiko: Seems pretty chill, would probably prefer to sit back and relax over anything else. Would go for a short walk with you before he’s ready to cool off under the shade again. I see him being temperature sensitive so he gets hot or cold easily. Would pack a bunch of snacks and drinks for you two to have as you lay on the towels, taking in the moment.

Mako: Would enjoy having some fun with beach volleyball. If it’s a double date with Sayuki, she’d team up with her against you and your friend and get as fiercely competitive as she does behind the wheel. Inadvertently kicks Sayuki’s ass and smiles all innocently about it. She also loves sitting back and enjoying some talking with you and learn new things about you and vice versa.

Sayuki: With how energetic she seems to be, I feel like she’d want to go to a waterpark over the beach like she did with the SpeedStars and Mako after the Usui race. Would drag you with her on all the rides and go in the massive wave-pool. If they had any little competition activities, she’d sign up right away and go full send, having every intention of winning. She’d be down for an early evening dinner and drive after to unwind and relax.

Kyoko: She’s the one who drives you both to the beach. Can’t go a day without driving her FD and would ask you to take pictures of her and with her next to the car. Like the time Natsuki asked a nearby guy to take pictures of her and Takumi at the beach, she’d do the same to a passerby while she hugs your arm or side sweetly, smiling bright for the camera before thanking the person and taking off with you to enjoy the water and find a couple fancy shells as keepsakes.

[floydmtalbert]

Tab + “nostalgia” from this prompts list, for @shoshiwrites

It is a hot, still evening in late August. The war has been over for a year.

Floyd steers the pickup onto a dusty side road skirting the edge of a cornfield, driving slowly, heading nowhere in particular. He holds the wheel loosely with one hand; the other hangs out of the open window. The lowering sun is warm on his forearm and on the side of his face, and glaring bright, so that he has to narrow his eyes as he stares through the dirty windshield down the road ahead, stretching away into a heat haze along the horizon.

There are no other cars on the road, no houses or farms in sight. No people. Just the cornfield, flashing yellow-green past the window, and the road ahead, long and straight, rippling in the heat. Everything quiet and lifeless, save for the pickup, the hum of the tyres on the asphalt and the rumble of the engine.

The mail that morning had brought a letter from Bill Guarnere, chatty, containing a photo of Frannie and their baby boy, and full of updates on other Easy men and plans for a reunion. Floyd can’t see the point. A bunch of fellas sitting around talking about the good old days, when they weren’t all that good, and aren’t exactly old, either.

He huffs a long sigh, makes a slight adjustment to the steering wheel. Maybe it’s only him that thinks that way.

Floyd came home nearly a year ago and picked up where he left off. He sleeps in his childhood bedroom, under the old patchwork quilt his great-aunt made, with his high school basketball trophies still on the shelf, dutifully dusted by Nellie Talbert every week, and all the old photographs pinned to the corkboard: himself as a ten-year-old with the family dog, him and his father fishing on Lake Michigan during the one vacation his parents had been able to afford, photobooth snapshots with girlfriends, all married, now, or gone to Indianapolis for work. A few months back he’d even found a bunch of dirty magazines hidden in a box under the bed, a relic of his teenage years. He’d burned them in the backyard, and filled the box instead with his medal ribbons, and his jump wings, all the patches and chevrons, and other bits and pieces, and the bundle of photographs he never looks at but still can’t bear to throw out, and kicked it back under the bed.

He turns onto another road, the pickup bumping over a pothole. The sun is behind him now. He drives past a couple of ramshackle houses, and, further on down the road, a farmhouse, with a barn and a cluster of grain silos. The road is long and straight and level, but he takes it easy. No hurry, nowhere to go.

Major Winters writes now and then—and that’s another thing, Floyd can’t stop thinking of him as Major Winters, even though the man keeps telling him to call him Dick. He’s working in New Jersey, with Captain Nixon, has already been promoted once. Chuck is doing better, working, seeing a nice girl. Joe Liebgott is getting married—or is maybe already married by now. His latest letter sits in Floyd’s bedside drawer, unopened. Smokey calls every couple of weeks, talking about using the GI Bill to go to college.

Floyd got his old job back with Mr Nelson, doing odd jobs on the farm, and in the evenings he takes his dad’s Chevy and heads out for a drive, alone, going nowhere in particular. Sometimes he circles the reservoir, watching the changing colours of the sky reflected in the water. Sometimes he drives through the suburbs on the other side of town, where the houses are tidy and painted fresh white, and have big wraparound porches and garages, and trees on the lawn out front. Other times he heads east, taking one road after another through the acres of farmland, left turn, right turn, zigzagging out and around and back on himself. Just driving, and smoking, sometimes drinking, half a bottle of whisky in a paper bag that he tosses out before he gets home.

In the rearview mirror the sun is a deep orange, flaring along the horizon.

He tries to think of what a reunion would be like. He imagines a big room in some hotel, with a dance floor, and tables set up around it. Maybe there’d be coloured paper garlands strung along the walls and across the ceiling, like they did for his high school prom, or the USO dances in England. He imagines all the fellas there, with their wives in cocktail dresses, and pictures of their kids in their wallets, catching each other up on their jobs, and their houses, and the new car. Or else their college classes, the cute girls on campus, the fraternity parties. And then the talk would turn to the war, d’you remember when and I’ll never forget that time, the jokes and the hijinks and everything else tucked away and the whole thing a big adventure, and done with, in the past.

Floyd slows the pickup and guides it carefully over a culvert. The engine chugs.

He doesn’t want to remember the war, but he can’t seem to move on from it, either. He sleeps in his old room, and works the same job he was doing at eighteen, and after work he drives around aimlessly, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. He’s tired, bored. Mostly he’s angry: at everything, and everyone, and himself most of all.

Maybe it would be good to see the guys again, he thinks as he turns onto another road. Just once. Maybe then he could get it out of his system. Snap out of it, stop holding himself back.

Twilight is falling now, and the air is soft and warm. Floyd switches on the headlights and keeps his eyes on the road ahead, dusty, uneven, patched asphalt revealed in the wobbling beam of light, and glances up now and then to watch the colours fade from the western sky.

He wouldn’t go, he decides. There was nothing to say, nothing worth remembering. He props his elbow up on the sill, and then hangs his hand out of the window again, feeling the air stream through his open fingers.

[voids-colourful-creations]

Sunny Day - A Tiny Pokemon Fic

[Read on Ao3!]

Rated: G Pokemon Scarlet/Violet No Warnings Words: >600

One of my tiny fics for the lovely @pokepocketzine ! This one focuses on Goomy, and one of Nemona's attempts to train it! Head on over and check them out, at the time of posting we've opened leftover sales!

--

“Alright, come on out!”

Nemona tosses the Poké Ball up into the air, albeit a stretch more to the left than she’d been intending. In a red flash of light, Goomy materializes at her feet.

“Goo?”

The Paldean sun beats down hot, rippling the air in front of Nemona’s eyes. Today, however, her excitement burns hotter than any star.

Goomy had only been caught a few days ago, but Nemona already adores it. The most exciting part of catching a new Pokemon is training it, naturally!

“Now, see where Rockruff is, over there?”

Across the field, grass tinged brown with the lack of moisture, Nemona points to Rockruff. It yips, bouncing a bit in response to its name.

“Try using Water Gun against it! Rockruff’s a Rock type, so it’ll be super-effective! Right— huh?” Nemona looks to Goomy, or where Goomy was. Its place at her feet is empty... “Where did— oh!”

Nemona spins around, startling slightly when she sees Goomy simply sitting behind her.

“Silly thing! You’re supposed to go towards Rockruff! Over there!” She points to it again, twirling around after its own tail. “Don’t worry, Rockruff won’t hurt you! It’ll be gentle, promise!”

But Goomy doesn’t move, only seeming to sink deeper into the ground.

Bending over, Nemona gently picks Goomy up and nudges it closer towards Rockruff. “See~, friendly! Just a friendly training battle.”

Goomy seems fine with Rockruff when Nemona puts it down, but when she straightens up to direct it, it’s already zipping through the grass to hide behind her again.

“Ah- Goomy…” Nemona frowns, raising a hand to her chin. Even if she knows Goomy has nothing to fear, if it doesn’t, they’ll never get anywhere with battle training.

Sighing, Nemona fishes Rockruff’s ball out of her pocket. “You did good, Rockruff, but we’re gonna have to play you and me later, okay? Return for now.”

In a flash of crimson, Rockruff is recalled to its ball. Nemona turns her head around, hoping that Goomy will creep on out now that it’s gone. She looks down at the tiny Pokémon behind her, sitting in her shadow.

“What’s the matter, Goomy…?” She muses. Nemona just doesn’t get it! What could be wrong?

Thinking, Nemona crosses her arms together.

“Ow!“ Nemona startles, uncrossing her arms as fast as she’s crossed them. It was so hot she couldn’t touch the metal parts of her arm brace without burning herself on it! “Oh! Oohhh….”

Suddenly all the pieces click into place, and Nemona whirls around to pick up Goomy. She cradles the tiny Pokemon in her palms, careful that the metal parts of her brace don’t bump into Goomy. Goomy lays in her hands like it’s melted, having significantly dried out.

“Lo siento, Goomy! I didn’t realize!” She fiddles with her bag, pulling out a bottle of fresh water. “Here!”

Unceremoniously, Nemona dumps the entire bottle of water on Goomy, thoroughly soaking it and her shoes. “Better?”

Goomy noticeably perks up, nodding.

“That’s a relief. I’m so sorry! We’ll train some other time when it’s not this hot.”

To her surprise, Goomy shakes its head— well, body?— hard.

“You want to train?”

Goomy nods, bouncing up and down.

“...Alright! Then I know the perfect place to practice battling, and keep you hydrated!”

The swamp north of Cabo Poco makes a messier battleground, but it’s the perfect environment for a Pokémon like Goomy. And if they both end up covered in mud at the end of the day? Well, when Nemona sees Goomy smiling so wide, she finds she doesn’t mind getting a bit messy.

[End!]

[climbthemountain2020]

Hope of Spring - Chapter 25

Friends, we have reached the end!

This was my very first fic that I've written and published, and I can't tell you how much it means to me that you all came along for the ride with me. To those of you who made a habit of following all my updates and regularly commenting, you have no idea how much your comments lit up my day (even when I made you mad lol).

I was so nervous to go out on a limb and share my writing, but this has made me so glad I did. I hope you'll keep an eye out for me--I've got some other good stuff coming :)

And, more than anything, I hope you've enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3

Now enjoy this tooth-achingly sweet, self-indulgent epilogue! Also on Ao3! Find Ch. 24 here

The sun was setting over the hills of Spring, and the hot day was giving way to a balmy evening of twinkling stars. The fireflies were dancing around the edges of the garden, and mourning doves and crickets could be heard calling out in the twilight. A shriek pierced the evening, as two figures shot from the garden maze, a dead sprint towards the stairs of the house.

“DAD!”

Tamlin was sitting on the stairs, whittling a small horse into an old piece of willow wood, when the two forms burst forward, hurtling toward him. The first figure dove, attempting to reach him in time, but the second figure was too fast, lunging on to the first with a grunt. The first, a boy, bellowed as the second, a girl, smeared a handful of mud down the side of his face.

“Kalliope, stop!” He slapped at her arms and face as she held him town, Tamlin looking over at the two teenagers brawling a few feet away from him.

“I told you it wasn’t going to go over well if she found out that you ate the last tart, Kyron.” The boy rolled then, pushing the girl’s muddy hands back into her own face as she wrinkled her nose and kicked. The twins rolled down the slight hill next to the manor as Tamlin sighed amusedly.

“Where’s Silas?” He called out after the two, still tumbling and now heaving great handfuls of mulch at each other.

“The fish pond.” Kyron gritted out as he slung the two of them into a nearby puddle, Kalliope gasping with rage. Tamlin sighed again, setting his whittling knife and the small figurine down and pushing himself off the steps to go drag his younger son out of the fish pond. Just as he made toward the gardens, a small boy, bright eyed and carrying a bucket, toddled out from the maze. He had sticks and leaves scattered through his light brown hair, a proud look on his face, and was soaked entirely through.

“Dada!” He pointed animatedly to the heavy bucket. “Fiss!” Tamlin peered into the bucket of, indeed, fish, who looked irritated at having been removed from their home. He laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair, trying to brush some of the nature out of it.

“Good job, buddy.”

“Fiss.” He confirmed, then stomped proudly back towards the pond.

Penny walked out on the porch just in time to see Silas walk back among the flowers, Tamlin watching him go and scratching the back of his neck. She hauled the baby she was carrying higher on her hip, then sent a little breeze to him and she began to walk closer. He turned immediately, love in his eyes as he found her.

“Baths tonight?” She asked, lightly.

“Baths tonight,” he confirmed with a laugh, gesturing over his shoulder to the twins, finally done sparring and attempting to brush themselves off. “How’s my Poppy today?” He came and kissed the cheeks of the baby in her arms.

“Your Poppy refuses to take a nap unless someone is holding her.” Penny cooed at the baby in her arms, who giggled and smacked chubby baby hands on Penny’s arms in response.

“Cass and Nes are coming tomorrow and bringing Irina and Osiris. “Kyron perked up at the mention of Irina, then immediately tried to play it off as Kalliope punched him in the side and snickered. He’d had a thing for Cassian and Nesta’s daughter, Irina, for years now. The twins were seventeen, along with Irina and Kit, the second daughter of Lucien and Elain, and the twins had spent almost every other weekend with the two since then. While the four were thick as thieves, Kyron was hung up on Irina in a much more romantic way.

“Maybe you won’t fuck it up and look like a total idiot in front of her this weekend, Kyron.” She smirked.

“Shut up, Kalliope.” He punched his sister in the shoulder as Tamlin sent them both a look.

“They get that mouth from you, you know.” Penny grinned at him and nodded enthusiastically as Silas waddled back out of the maze again, this time with mud adorning his cheeks and a very empty bucket trailing forlornly at his side.

“Fiss went home.” He shrugged sadly, as Tamlin came to scoop him up.

“It’s alright, sweet boy. We can go see the fish again with Osiris tomorrow, hm?” Osiris, the hulking, four-year old, sweet-as-a-button carbon copy of Cassian, was Silas’ very best friend. The little boy's eyes lit up.

“Siris!”

“Yeah, buddy. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

The group had all grown up together, their parents staying close after the war. Nyx, Nova, Sirene, and Kieran, the four oldest, had been the ones who’d taught Penny and Tamlin all about children–and also encouraged them to wait for a decade or so before trying for their own. The little winged Night Court heirs were all wild will and energy. Their cousin Sirene and her cousin Kieran were wild bursts of fire everywhere they went. The oldest four were off most of the time now, Nyx and Nova training in the Illyrian Steppes much of the time, Sirene shadowing her grandparents in Day, and Kieran learning how to help run Autumn as the heir.

When Tamlin and Penny finally had their fill of quiet and sleeping and decided to try for children of their own, they’d immediately been blessed with twins. Around the same time, Nesta and Cassian had Irina, and Lucien and Elain had Kit, and thus the second group of kids were born. Now, the group of teenagers was always fighting–with each other and everyone else. If you saw dust clouds kicking up or a tavern about to erupt into a brawl, it was certain you’d find the four of them there.

A third wave had hit all the friends another few years past that, which provided them with Osiris, Silas, and Azriel and Gwyn’s daughter, Catrin. The three were a wobbly mess of toddler antics, always sticky, muddy, or otherwise.

Finally, Lucien and Elain had just been graced with a third, their first boy, while earlier in the year Poppy and Nira, Feyre and Rhys’ third and final child, had been born the same month.

More often than Penny would admit, she would think back to that first time in the Night Court, where she’d sat under the stars with Feyre and Nova, shushing the sweet babe to sleep and allowing herself to wonder for the first time if any of this could be possible for her. She had shared her dreams with Feyre, even though she’d never been tempted to tell anyone before, and Feyre had pushed her. Told her it was possible for her to have that here.

Sometimes, she couldn’t believe how much time had passed. They all looked the same except the children–time meant almost nothing to her anymore. Since the war, they’d lived in a period of peace in Prythian, which made being High Lady of Spring a relatively easy job. After the dust had settled, they’d set up a series of town halls in the village, allowing the people to speak about what bothered them. At first, the people were hesitant, but Penny set up an anonymous system of reporting. Once they realized that the things they suggested were being taken to heart and no one was getting singled out, they became more comfortable with sharing and speaking openly about changes they wished to see.

Over the years, the town halls gave way to a council that helped with ruling over Spring. Ideas were shared willingly and enthusiastically, and votes were often held between the different provinces. As had been the plan, the tithe was done away with, and the people flourished for it. The celebrations were resurrected across the holidays in Spring, and Penny and Tamlin had had their fair share of Calanmais together, too–one of which was almost certainly responsible for Poppy. Spring was a place like it had never been before, and trust had been restored in its rulers.

In the summers, the children would spend the majority of their time in the Night Court. When they were young, they would help Elain in the kitchen or the gardens, or paint with Feyre in her studio on the Rainbow. As they grew older, some chose to train with the Valkyries or Azriel and Cassian, though they’d had to break up and separate Kalliope, Kyron, Kit, and Irina on a number of occasions.

In the deep winter, when Velaris was so cold that training was miserable, they’d all travel to Spring and return the favor, spending long warm days outside identifying plants, learning archery, horseback riding, and about all the creatures that lurked in the woods. It was a great exchange, and it allowed all the friends and their children to stay close. As the children grew and Lucien and Elain moved to Day, the warm summers were spent in the sun, running through the towns of white marble and down to the gentle slopes of the sea. It had been a wonderful few decades of peace and memory-making.

Tamlin pressed his lips to Penny’s temple. “It’s the last day of the month, yes?” She perked up.

“Yes! I went into town for it the other day. I’ll run get it and have Tally start the baths up. Stay here.” she handed him Poppy, and raced into the house. She ran into her old bedroom, now mostly storage for items they weren’t currently using and grabbed for the cloak on the bed. She’d purchased one at the seamstress in town this week, as she did the last week of every month. She grabbed it off the bed, wrapped it up gently in tissue paper, and went back to Tamlin so that they could go put it out in the woods by the birch trees.

On her way out, she ran into Tally.

“Baths?” Tally asked, amusedly.

“Baths.” Penny nodded, with a laugh.

Before she made it to the doors, she paused, taking a few steps out of her way to run her hands across the cracks that remained in the walls and floor by the eastern corner of the foyer. Out of the window, she could see Tamlin, baby pulled to his chest, chasing Kyron and Kalliope around the yard, now also covered in mud courtesy of the twins. Silas trampled behind them, roaring and tossing mud around a few steps away, all of them laughing uproariously.

She let her fingers trail along the cracks once more, a smile on her face, and she held the cloak close and walked out into the evening sky of Spring.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible by James Russell Miller

The Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13:1-9;18-23)

Jesus was always teaching. On this particular day His pulpit was a fishing boat, from which He spoke to the multitudes standing on the shore. Perhaps there was a sower somewhere in sight, walking on his field, carrying his bag of grain and slinging his seed broadcast. The sight may have suggested the parable.

“Behold, a sower went forth to sow.” Christ Himself is the great Sower but we all are sowers sowers of something. Not all who sow, scatter good seed; there are sowers of evil as well as of good. We should take heed what we sow, for we shall gather the harvest into our own bosom at the last. “ Whatever a man sows, that shall he also reap” that, and not something else (Galatians 6:7).

In the parable the seed is good it is the Word of God. The soil likewise is good it is all alike, in the same field. The difference is in the condition of the soil .

The first thing that strikes us in reading the parable, is the great amount of waste of good there seems to be in the world. On three parts of the soil nothing came to harvest. We think of the enormous waste there is in the Lord’s work, in the precious seed of Divine truth which is scattered in the world. What comes of all the sermons, of all good teaching, of the wholesome words spoken in people’s ears in conversation, of wise sayings in books? What waste of effort there is whenever ever men and women try to do good! Yet we must not be discouraged or hindered in our sowing. We should go on scattering the good seek everywhere, whether it all grows to ripeness or not. Even the seed that seems to fail may do good in some way other than we intended and thus not be altogether lost.

The wayside is too hard to take in the seed that falls upon it. There are many lives that are rendered incapable of fruitfulness in the same way. They are trodden down by passing feet. Too many people let their hearts become like an open common. They have no fence about them. They shut nothing out. They read all sorts of books, have all kinds of companions, and allow all manner of vagrant thoughts to troop over the fields. The result is that the hearts, once tender and sensitive to every good influence, become impervious to spiritual impressions. They feel nothing. They sit in church, and the hymns, the Scripture Word and exhortations, the appeals and the prayers fall upon their ears but are not even heard! Or, of they are heard, they are not taken into the mind or heart but lie on the surface.

“The birds came.” The birds always follow the sower, and when a seed lies within sight they pick it up. The wicked one “snatches away that which has been sown.” So nothing comes of the seed which falls on the trodden wayside.

The lesson at this point is very practical. It teaches our responsibility for the receiving of the truth which touches our life, in whatever way it is brought to us. When we read or listen we should let the word into our heart. We should give attention to it. We should see that it is fixed in our memory. “Your word have I hid in my heart,” said an old psalm writer (Psalms 119:11).

The next kind of soil on which the seed fell was stony only a thin layer of soil over a hard rock. There is none of the fault of the trodden wayside here. The seed is readily received and at once begins to grow. But it never comes to anything. The soil is too shallow. The roots get no chance to strike down. The grain starts finely but the hot sun burns up the tender growths because they lack depth of rooting .

There are many shallow lives. They are very impressionable. They attend a revival service and straightway they are moved emotionally and begin with great earnestness. But in a few days the effect is all worn off. Life is full of this impulsive zeal or piety which starts off with great glow but soon tires. Many people begin a holy book, read a few chapters, and then drop it and turn to another. They are quick friends, loving at first but it is soon over.

One of the pictures of the crucifixion represents the scene of Calvary after the body of Jesus had been taken down and laid away in the grave. The crowd is gone. Only the ghastly memorials of the terrible day remain. Off to one side of the picture is a donkey nibbling at some withered palm branches. Thus the artist pictures the fickleness of human fame. Only five days before, palms were waved in wild exultation as Jesus rode into the city.

The goodness of too many people lacks root. The resolves of too many lack purpose. The intentions of too many lack life and energy. There are many shallow lives in which nothing good grows to ripeness. What this soil needs is the breaking up of the rock. What these shallow lives need is a thorough work of penitence, heart-searching and heart-breaking, the deepening of the spiritual life.

The third piece of soil in which the seed fell was preoccupied by thorns whose roots never had been altogether extirpated. The soil was neither hard nor shallow but it was too full. The seed began to grow but other things were growing alongside of it, and these, being more rank than the wheat and growing faster, choked it out.

Jesus tells us what these thorns of the parable stand for. They are the cares, riches and pleasures of this world. CARES are worries, frets, and distractions. Many people seem almost to enjoy worrying. But worries are among the thorns which crowd out the good. Martha is an illustration of the danger of care (see Luke 10:40, Luke 10:41). There are plenty of modern examples, however, and we scarcely need to recall such an ancient case as hers.

RICHES, too, are thorns which often choke out the good in people’s lives. One may be rich and his heart yet remain tender and full of the sweetest and best things. But when the love of money gets into a heart it crowds out the love of God, and the love of man, and all beautiful things. Judas is a fearful example. The story of Demas also illustrates the same danger. A godly man said to a friend: “If you ever see me beginning to get rich, pray for my soul.”

The PLEASURES of the world are also thorns which crowd out the good. It is well to have amusements but we must guard lest they come to possess our heart. We are not to live to have pleasures; we are to have pleasures, only to help us to live.

The fourth piece of soil was altogether good. It was neither trodden down, nor shallow, nor thorny; it was deep plowed and clean. Into it the seed fell and sank and grew without hindrance. By and by a great harvest waved on the field.

This is the ideal for all good farming. The farmer must have his field in condition to receive the seed and to give it a chance to grow. That is all the good seed needs. This is the ideal, too, for all hearing of the Word of God. If only we give it a fair chance in our life it will yield rich blessing.

[eisa-core]

Episode 1 - Ready to time off

SEVENTEEN visits the forest in the middle of a hectic tour around the world!

Can the woods offer them a refreshing retreat?

15 october 2022

It's only been a day since Seventeen landed in Korea from Singapore for a leg of the Be The Sun Tour, and without unpacking their bags, they were ready to film the second season of In The Soop. They felt the stress and consequently also the pressure of not being able to deliver entertaining content but once they boarded the bus in the direction of their residence, their eyes closed on their own without giving too much thought to what to do or say, but only to total relaxation.

2:00 pm

«Hyejin-ah, wake up, we're here we have to get off» - Jeonghan's soft voice shook her from her dream. All along the journey she had managed to sleep, and she wasn't the only one: Jun, Minghao, Mingyu and Joshua had also fallen asleep on the way.

When she looked up, she noticed a breathtaking landscape outside; lots of trees and clean water reflecting the sunlight. It was a really healing atmosphere.

«I'll take that» - Minghao took the bag from her hands to hold it, and she thanked him with a smile. «Wow! Looks like we're the only ones here»

[ We did all of this for you Seventeen! ]

«Where should we go first? Shall we look at the rooms?» - Seungcheol took a stance gathering everyone beside him and all 13 nodded, following him to the entrance of the sleeping area. «Daisy, this room only has one bed, you can take it!» - Seungcheol saw the first room and immediately thought of the only girl in the group, who was still too tired and gave a thumbs up in response.

Half an hour later they were all already doing something else: Seungkwan and Minghao taking pictures of the sky; Woozi, Joshua, Hoshi and Dino in the gym and the rest in the dining room waiting for the chef par excellence to cook something.

«Mingyu, are you making fried dumplings?» - Vernon asked him setting plates and chopsticks on the table, «Alright, anything else?» - Without complaining Mingyu was already in the kitchen catering to the members' needs. «Whatever you want! I could eat the table too» - Daisy licked the tip of her chopsticks feeling her belly growl.

«I brought some sauce too» - Junhui entered the kitchen with something he had already prepared, and memories of when he brought the hot pots in the first season came back to everyone's mind. «Where are the others?»- «I know they're at the gym, Woozi wants to get paid as a personal trainer»- Dokyeom laughed but it was all true. «I'd rather dance Hit 10 times in a row than have a gym session with Woozi» - Seungcheol replied imagining the effort the others were making. «Oh and Jeonghan is having Japanese lessons» - he continued «Huh??? I thought I was your favourite Japanese teacher, I feel betrayed» - Daisy spoke «To me you always will be, aishiteru» - Dokyeom sent her a heart with his fingers making her giggle.

5:00 pm

«Who wants to go to the lake with me?» - Minghao asked once they finished eating and cleaning the table. «Me!» - Seungkwan and Daisy raised their hands at the same time and a few minutes later they were sitting by the lake playing with rocks, precisely creating a tower with them.

In the back, Seungcheol and Mingyu could be heard arguing over who scared away the fish they had caught.

«The sky is so beautiful» - Seungkwan couldn't stop taking pictures «So are you Kwanie» - Daisy complimented him knowing how much she enjoyed Seungkwan's embarrassed reaction to such comments «Mhh I don't think so. I think I was trained too much on how others might see me. I wasn't like this when I was young.» - Kwan spoke, not taking his eyes off the sky as Minghao and Daisy listened attentively. « I used to goof off before I was a trainee, then I started to hear a lot of 'you don't look cool enough's”»- Minghao took a long breath «You've been worrying about pictures ever since. Like coming out looking good, being cool and all. You do it to get good reactions from the fans but you shouldn't care so much. Why do you need others' acceptance? Seungkwan-ah, it's OK for you to do what you like, without having to please someone because you feel like it's your duty.» - He finished by going to put an arm behind his shoulder. «Minghao is right, as always» - Daisy added and stood up to hug Seungkwan as well. «We love you.»

ー☆ ͏

taglist: @cinnamon-falls ; @allthings-fandoms ; @taestrwbrry ; @illusionocnet

in the soop mlist

-> oc masterlist

[dtyfp2]

Prologue

The Great War

“…they say she is a great beauty,” Theon tells Robb as they walk just outside the walls of Winterfell, watching Bran and Rickon ride their horses near by. Jon is with them, he walked alongside his brother as their four direwolves play nearby, yipping and growling as they fight over a large stick.

“Who?” Robb asks, looking away from little Rickon to glance at his friend, his brother really, Robb can’t remember a life without Theon, nor can he with Jon.

“The Princess Helen, they say she is a great beauty,” Jon repeats.

“When have you ever seen the princess?” Robb chortles, a little surprised at the turn of Theon’s questioning.

“The Realm’s delight, the face that launched a 1000 ships, isn’t that what she’s called?” Jon asks out loud.

“Well, she must be delightful if they call her that, even this far up North,” Theon says off handedly, glancing down at Greywind who had fallen into dutiful step beside his master. Robb shoos him off, encouraging him to go play and he runs off with Ghost after a squirrel.

“Well, you’ve met her before, haven’t you?” Theon asks Robb, shoving his shoulder in a teasing way after he notices the future Lord of Winterfell’s silence.

“Once, we were children. I hardly remember it,” Robb laughs as he shoves Theon back.

“Well, come on then, what do you remember?” Jon asks, laughing when Robb bumps into him.

“She had…skinny legs, a missing front tooth, and…strong opinions,” Robb answers with a sigh.

“Why do you think the King has decided to come all the way to Winterfell? He could have just as easily ordered Father to Kingslanding,” Jon wonders suddenly. Robb has admittedly wondered the same, but his parents didn’t seem worried so he couldn’t be either.

“The King hasn’t stepped North in over 10 years at least, perhaps he wants to visit his kingdom,” Robb answers, peeking back at Bran who was riding circles around Summer.

“We should get back inside before it gets dark, mother will be furious if we keep these two out any longer,” Robb decides, whistling for the remaining direwolves to follow as he promptly turns around.

”…where do you think that ship is going Helen?” Myrcella asks, pointing far off into the distance as she shakes her elder sisters arm. Helen had brought her two youngest siblings out, they sat at the boating dock to watch all the ships leave. The castle has too somber, having been that way since the Lord Jon Arryn’s death a few days ago.

“That one with the big sail? I think it’s going to Dorne, I think it’ll face ferocious pirates but will return home victorious, with barrels of delicious Dornish wine for us to drink,” Helen answers after thinking a while. The three royal siblings sit right at the edge on the stone pathway, their feet dangling over the edge. Ser Barristan Selmy and your uncle, Ser Jaime Lannister stand behind you, keeping watch as the people of Kingslanding scurry around. But they wouldn’t hurt you, no, you’ve been visiting for years now and they’ve never been anything but kind.

“What about you, Tommen? Where do you think that little one is going?” You ask your youngest brother, raising a hand to smooth out his pretty golden hair.

“I think it’s gone fishing! Perhaps we’ll eat it later tonight,” Tommen perks up.

“Perhaps we will,” you laugh, leaning back on your hands to allow the warmth of the sun to heat your face.

“Helen, I’m hungry,” Myrcella complains, the talk of fish reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since that morning.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Let’s go back home,” you nod, picking yourself up first before offering a hand to each of your younger siblings. Myrcella is quick to accept and get up, but Tommen crosses his arms and remains sitting.

“But I want to stay,” Tommen complains as you kneel down beside him.

“Come on, dear Tommen. We’ve had enough sun, and besides, I think our uncle and Ser Selmy must be feeling very hot having been standing in the sun with all that armour on, don’t you think?” You ask him, quietly whispering as if you were sharing a secret with him as you both peek back at the two members of the esteemed Kingsguard.

“I think our uncle Jaime is looking a little red, don’t you think?” You whisper as Tommen giggles and allows you to help him up.

Tommen runs to catch up with Myrcella, and the two are followed closely by Jaime as Ser Barristan waits for you.

“Have you enjoyed your time in the sun, princess?” A sweet older lady asks as you walk back.

“I have, thank you for allowing us to sit in the silence,” you smile at her as you pull out a few gold dragons.

“Oh, no, please, there is no need, Princess,” the lady shakes her head, refusing your gift sincerely.

“You ensured we wouldn’t be interrupted, I’m sure we’ve inconvienced you today. Please, I will not feel right unless you accept,” you insist, reaching out for her hands so you could place the few golden coins into her hands. You think Ser Selmy flinches a little at your action, but he doesn’t do anything.

“To serve you, princess, is never an inconvience. I was happy to do it,” she smiles as you continue to hold her hands in your own. You pay no mind to dirt on her fingers, was she handling fish before this?

“I will not forget this, thank you,” you smile as you offer her a polite curtesy, allowing for Ser Selmy to lead you back to the castle, after your little brother and sister.

He offers you a tissue as you walk, and you accept it with thanks, quickly wiping the smell of fish from your hands.

As you walk the path back to the Red Keep, the common men and women bow politely as you pass. It never ceases to amaze Ser Selmy, how beloved you were by the people. It almost reminds him of the times he walked with Rhaegar Targaryen all those years ago, but it was different. Rhaegar was beloved because he was meant to be King after his father, he was a beacon of hope amongst his fathers horrid reign. You, on the otherhand, were not meant to be Queen. The people loved you because you were kind, because you walked amongst them as an equal. Ser Selmy wholeheartedly believes that if you could walk through Kingslanding naked, with a basket of gold upon your head, and you’d remain unharmed. The people would rally around you and ensure your safety, delivering you home with all the gold and your maidenhood intact.

“Does my father still sit with the Lord Jon Arryn?” You ask Ser Borros Blount as you pass him outside the room Jon Arryn’s body rests. You frown as you glance at the door, he’s been inside all day, since before you woke until now, even after the sun begins to set.

“He has asked for no one to bother him, princess,” Ser Borros warns you. Your father had been in a foul mood since the death of his greatest mentor. Your father was known to have a temper, but never towards you. Never ever towards you.

“No worries, Ser Borros, it is only I,” you smile at him before entering.

“Leave me alone!” Your father bellows, so loudly it was a reminiscent of the mighty warrior he once was. Anyone else would have left immediantly, but you do not.

“It’s only me, father,” you hum as you kneel beside him.

“You smell like fish,” your father grumbles as you wrap your arm around him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I took Myrcella and Tommen to the docks to watch the ships. It was nice outside, you should get some sun too, father,” you answer as you sigh.

“The Lord Jon Arryn will not go anywhere, father. Come eat with me, bathe, and have a good nights rest. It will make you feel better,” you promise him as your father raises a hand to rest on your own.

“He was like a father to me,” your father says quietly, shame evident in his tone.

“He was certainly a good man, among the best if you ask me. Very smart too,” you agree as you rub your fathers back.

“You became King of the Seven Kingdoms under his tutledge, father. You have brought peace and stability after the reign of the Mad King. You are a good father, proud, and a mighty warrior. He was very proud of you, he told me himself,” you tell him softly.

“He said that?” Your father asks surprisedly.

“He did, well technically he said that the greatest thing you’ve ever done is be one half of the whole that made me. But that’s neither here nor there,” you joke, forcing a laugh from your father for the first time since Lord Arryn’s death.

“I jest, the Lord Arryn was very proud. I am sure he rests well, knowing the boy he watched grow into a man, grow into a King, will ensure peace within the Kingdom’s for generations to come,” you tell your father.

“I have to pick a new hand now, who could possibly live up to Jon?” Your father asks rhetorically.

“Your mother would have me place your grandfather there, I imagine,” he grumbles.

“Who would you like to have, father?” You ask him, ignoring the slight he made against your grandfather. Your father thinks for a moment with a sigh.

“Perhaps I’ll ask Ned Stark. He’s a good man, an honourable man, I trust him,” your father confides in you.

“I think the Lord Stark would be an excellent choice father. What better choice is there than the man you grew up alongside under the Lord Jon Arryn’s watchful eye?” You agree.

“I shall have to call him down to Kingslanding soon then,” your father plans. You look down at your father, a beaten and broken man. Nothing like the King and father you have known him to be.

“Why don’t we go North, father? Let the people up North see you, you are their king, after all. It’ll be nice to get some fresh air away from Kingslanding, don’t you think?” You ask. He doesn’t answer right away, but you know he’s considering your thoughts. The thought of seeing Ned Stark again seems to brighten your fathers spirits a little.

But you don’t want him to think too hard now. Your father needs some rest before making any serious decision, especially one so consequential like chosing his Hand.

“Come eat with me and breathe some fresh air, I’m starving and I’m sure you are too having been in here all day. Someone else can come sit with our Lord Hand, perhaps Lysa will come,” you encourage as you get up, offering a hand for your father.

“Alright,” he sighs as he picks himself up. You link your arm with your father as you both walk out. Ser Borros and Ser Barristan were still waiting, and seemingly stand a bit taller when you (to their surprise) walk out with the King.

“Come, father, I hear the recent fishing trips have been bountiful, perhaps they have something grilled for us waiting,” you suggest.

“I don’t want fish, I want boar,” he grumbles.

“Then we shall have boar father,” you laugh, pulling the King along faster than he would have liked to walk. But he bears no mind, the sound of your laughter is a welcome repreieve from the pain he felt in his heart.

[where-is-vivian]

Finding Comfort Here

from @jegulus-microfic's prompt, comfort (1430 words)

This is a sequel of The Red Servant, another microfic that I did for the word "Swim".

Regulus shifts in his bed. Well, bed. It’s a bit of a big word to qualify the pile of leaves they had managed to gather. It’s the middle of the day, but Regulus can’t sleep more than at night.

It’s been only one week since James and him washed up on this island. They talked a bit. But above all, they spent their time and energy gathering enough things to survive.

They managed to find a little lake of clean water in a cave inside the island — which seemed to, in fact, be bigger than expected. They also managed to find a few fruits, and James goes fishing every afternoon. Regulus wonders how and where he finds the drive to do it every day.

When James is gone somewhere fishing, Regulus tries to build their sort of hut; he adds a roof that has holes in it but well, James doesn’t seem to mind. He adds walls that look like they’re about to crumble, but James doesn’t seem to mind either. He adds a wood bench, he cleans the fire — Regulus managed to make fire, and he believes this is the best thing he’s done here. They can eat cooked fish, instead of eating it raw like they did during the two first days.

But it’s still far from perfect. The “beds” are uncomfortable to no bound.

At least it’s better than when they had to sleep on the sand directly. When he woke up on that beach, a few days ago, his limbs numb and painful, James’ arm around him, standing up had been one of the worst thing he’d experienced.

James didn’t even look disturbed by it all. As if it was not so bad in the end. He was a strong optimist, and Regulus had the opportunity to discover. Though he understood the loss of Regulus’ brother made it hard for him. Regulus and Sirius never had been separated so definitively. Maybe Sirius hadn’t made it. It was hard. They would probably never see each other again.

Even if Regulus and James’ chances to stay alive were increasing every day passing, and even if they were probably going to make it, for what kind of future? Regulus was the contrary of James. He was way too pessimistic, and he knew it.

James walks back into the little recess of trees where Regulus is laying. “Look, Regulus,” He says, proud of what he got, and he shows him three fishes, one of them rather large and colourful. He’s smiling softly at him.

Regulus sits up slowly, leaning back on his arms. “Oh,” He responds firstly. He smiles softly too. “That’s cool.”

Putting his fish away, on the wood ‘table’ Regulus built, James walked to him and crouched. “Are you alright? You don’t look okay.”

Regulus blinked, before shrugging nonchalantly. “I can’t sleep. I’m a bit tired. That’s fine.”

The other looks like he thinks it’s not really fine. “Stand up.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Regulus stands up slowly. James helps him, handing out his hand, and Regulus takes it. Once he’s standing again, Regulus stretches. His clothes are itchy and full of sea salt, scratching his skin. His shirt is lying to dry on a tree, but he still has his pants on. They’re very uncomfortable, but he feels weird about taking them off. James also kept his. Even if they crashed here, they both try to keep what remains of their dignity, Regulus guesses.

James doesn’t let go of his hand, and Regulus blushes at the sight. James leads the walk, so he doesn’t see it anyway; but if he turns back and sees the red on his cheeks, Regulus can still lie and say it’s because of the sun and the too hot temperatures.

Quickly, Regulus recognizes the way to the little lake. He’s glad James is taking him here. Maybe he’ll be able to wash his pants a bit, because they’re full of sand and salt. Maybe a little bit of water will make his bones feel lighter.

When they’re there, bare feet on the strong and wet rock, James finally looks back at him, still with this amazing smile of his.

Yes, if Regulus is one hell of a pessimist, at least he sees James. The only good thing left — or so he believes. He sees him because, well. If he already had a little crush on him when they were still on the Red Servant, it didn’t vanish. James is still beautiful, and now that his smile is for Regulus, and Regulus only, it’s not getting better. It’s impossible not to see James. It’s impossible to not look at him and think; I wish this smile was for me.

Good thing is, Regulus is the only one James can smile to, and for miles around.

So, James smiles, and asks. “Bath time?” He’s still holding Regulus’ hand tightly, for some reason. Regulus is absolutely not against it. “After that we eat, and you sleep.” James gets closer, pushes the hair from Regulus’ forehead, and stares at his face with his gentle brown eyes.

Regulus only nods. His heart is beating so fast and hard he feels it’s beating in his head, leaving no room for any coherent thoughts.

But James doesn’t seem to notice. He slowly leads him to the water, as if Regulus needs to be taken care of — he probably does —, as if he didn’t know the way already — to be fair, with James’ hands on him, he’s so unfocused he could slip and hurt himself —, and when they’re in the water, he drops his hand to cup water, and carefully spilling it on the top of Regulus’ head.

It’s clumsy, and maybe pointless, Regulus could do it himself, but he lets James wash his hair. It’s a nice sensation. He passes his finger through Regulus’ black hair, untangling his curls. Regulus sinks into the feeling. He has water to his shoulders, and his back turned to James.

He looks around; he has to admit it’s pretty. If he wasn’t so worried, Regulus would probably have liked this moment more; but he managed to enjoy it a bit still.

The cave was making a sort of large roof above their heads, but moss and lots of plants had grown on the rock with time, and it made the whole place look like it was out of a dream.

James’ hands moved to his shoulders, slowly, and Regulus’ breath hitched a bit when he started massaging his shoulders. And despite how flustered he felt suddenly, his shoulders relaxed in James’ expert hands.

“Am I hurting you?” He asked lowly, and Regulus prayed he didn’t see the blush on his ears, because he felt his skin burn familiarly everywhere again.

“No,” Regulus managed, without his voice croaking too much.

“Tell me if it’s not good.”

But it was very good, so Regulus slightly shook his head, the following words escaping his mouth. “No, it’s good.”

And so James continued. Regulus wondered why he was doing all of this. But it was so good he didn’t have the strength to ask James, taking the risk of him stopping.

James washed him, and when he was done, he washed himself. Regulus sat on a rock, next to a cascade, feet in the water still, watching the water — and James from time to time. He had lost weight, but he was still looking awfully good. Regulus almost felt bad to take peeks like that, while his brother was probably somewhere, on the sea. Alive, or dead. But… James was pretty. It was making him forget a bit.

Then James took his hand again, and led him back to their little camp. He cooked the fish. Gave the bigger one to Regulus. Smiled at him, and since Regulus wasn’t really the talkative type, he told him about all the corals he saw when he went fishing earlier. Regulus was glad he was talking, instead of letting the silence settle between them.

When the sun was setting, and they were already laying to bed, James turned to Regulus, facing him. So Regulus turned to his side, facing him too.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks James.

“I’m worried for you.”

“Why.”

“Because it’s hard. And because you don’t sleep. And because you probably miss Sirius.”

Regulus doesn’t answer. He knows Sirius and James were friends too. None of this, nothing of what’s happening to them is comfortable. Not their beds, not this island, and neither is their state of mind.

That night, they sleep in each other’s arms.

[impawsiblecat]

100 Days of Deathduo!

End of the world

Tw: Angst, sadness, major character death and accepting death, please take care of yourselves <3

In a broken down room in an abandoned apartment complex, there is a blanket fort. The outside of it is made with old chairs with scratches on them, and the sheets and covers used have a few holes, but the fort holds steady. A guitar sits on one of the chairs, and it is much more taken care of than the rest of the items in this house. A beam of light shines through the blankets, the only light showing for miles around, other than the stars.

Inside the blanket fort, there sits two people, with layers of clothes on and blankets wrapped around them tightly. Neither of them looks surprised at the fact that the flashlight between them is the only thing glowing, but rather resigned.

"So that's it then?" The person speaking lets out a shiver, cuddling further into their blue coat.

"That's it, Icee. The scientists said we would only have a couple hours left, at most, from what I remember. But then again, it's been so long since I had a TV to check." The other girl says, resigned. The death of the sun had been expected for a while now, after all.

"It's weird, Clover. In another world, I would have been in school at around this time, figuring out what I want to do with my life. I kind of miss it, if I could be honest. I liked to read." Icee says, staring at the ceiling of the blanket fort.

"Yeah, I would have been drawing maybe, or painting. Maybe writing." Clover quietly sighs.

The silence drags on, though not uncomfortable. The temperature is steadily, quickly dropping, but both people ignore it. "In another world, I think I would have been a wheat farmer." Clover breaks the silence. "It would be calming, I think. Just rows and rows of endless wheat, going on and on."

"Well, in that world, I think I would own a pizza shop. And also a bunch of animals. And I would keep them safe, and warm, and protected. I would help you with your wheat field."

"Maybe we could start a country together, Icee. That would be fun, and we could build a castle! I think there would be a lot of greenery, and waterfalls. And maybe fish."

"Let's make it floating!" Icee interrupts.

"What?" Clover says, looking over, a smile on her face. The air is biting now, cold seeping in the cracks of the house.

"If we could make a world, I think we should make a floating country." Icee says, teeth chattering. "In order to get to it we could do parkour, or something!"

"Well, what would happen to the fish, then?" Cliver rubs her arms, trying to let as little heat out as possible. "The fish would fall, that wouldn't be good."

"Ah, the fish would be fine, we would build it over the ocean, so that no one would fall!"

"Hmm, I still think it would be a bad idea, but maybe it would work! I think we would have a great time in the floating castle country." Clover laughs, coughs, continues. "What if there was a world where I was a bread maker? And you could be some, I don't know, royalty or something. It would be a medieval story, or something."

"Well, if I were royalty, I would come and sneak out to see you every day. You can't get rid of me that easily!" Icees voice grows quieter. "I think we would be friends in all of the universes. Maybe there is another where we become superheros, or vigilantes, or aliens."

Clover's voice is also quiet, but the chattering has stopped, at least. "Aliens? I think I would be human. You can be the alien. And then you could befriend. Uh, you could befriend me."

Another silence breaks out for a few seconds, and then a voice rings out softly. It's not hard to hear, in the silence of the room. "Clover?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't. I don't feel cold anymore. I feel really hot, actually."

It takes a couple seconds to respond, but eventually Clover replies. "Me either Icee. The scientists said this would happen, remember? It's alright."

"Clover?" Icee sniffles. "I'm glad you are my friend." Clover slowly looks over to Icee once again and finds them staring straight at her. A frozen teardrop is on their cheek, and distantly Clover can feel some on her own.

"Me too Icee. In another universe, we are alive, and happy, alright?" The words are sluggish, but Clover can bring themself to care.

"Yeah. Yeah, we are, I'm sure. I. I'm gonna go to sleep now, ok? I'm really tired. I love you." Icee says, the words nearly silent.

"I love you too, Icee. I'll be right behind you, alright? Just dream of those other universes." Clover can also hardly get the words out. The last thing she sees is Icee's eyes close, before her own shuts.

The last thoughts they both have are of other universes, and the earth becomes silent.

[aftonfalk]

GROWTH IN NATURE

Holy shit. The last few days have been insane. We drove 10 hours to get to Styrn in Norway. I had no idea that we could get this kind of scenery in our neighbouring country! Feels like Im in Lord of the rings, Vikings or Game of thrones or something.

I have done things these days I thought was almost impossible to do beacuse of my health anxiety. I realize how priviliged it is to worry about things like this when I have it as good as I do.

A month ago I had anxiety about traveling here (being far from a major hospital) but I did it.

I have had symptoms, but nowhere near as many as back home. I have climbed a mountain 2x times and ignored my intrusive thoughts about heart issues and having a heart attack doing it. Everything went fine, of course. I feel stronger and have so much more confidence than before. Im in a period of finding myself after 2 years of stress and pain. Finally, I feel like Im healing.

The day before yesterday we visited a glacier, packed with weird ass tourists. Kinda spoiled it for us. Some people are so moronic they think its okay to walk up to a strangers dog and start msking faces and petting it. Our puppy is only 9 months old and she has some sort of social issues (she has always been so scared of other people and dogs and are often on high alert around new people). Everything is going great when she just walks beside us and no one is interacting with her but some dumbass teenagers and kids and a retarded middle age man thought it was fun running up to here and making noises. Me and Carl Carl had to literally swat away peoples hands and Carl got into a verbal fight with a french family that was too persistent. So yeah, supercool glacier but the tourist just maked everything feel off.

Yesterday we did the big hike. 4 hours up the mountain. We went out around 12 and it was too hot to handle. The perks of being at a place where there is no one else is that you can kinda do whatever you want. Both me and Carl were more comfortable walking topless. I felt so free, like a prehistoric woman or something hahah. Felt really connected to nature and myself. When we reached a valley and sat down to take in the scenery I cried tears of joy over how beautiful it were and the otherwordly experience of not seeing another living soul for miles.

Today is a lazy day at the cabin, I did my morning pilates on the lawn, looking out over the mountain. (I have never felt so blessed) after breakfast me and Carl have been out on a walk (tried to fish in a pond but failed) and now we sit in the sun eating chips, Carl is drinking beer and Im gonna take some time for myself and write on one of my short stories.🌻

[lilandetime]

Rising Summer Sun

June 19th, 2001

It seemed to be an ordinary day.

Sunny was walking home from his delivery job, bearing his usual emotionless expression.

His missing eye was covered by an eyepatch. He only wears his eyepatch in public.

He would ride his bike home, but he crashed it a week ago.

The sun was hot. He had to wear sunscreen to not fry his pale skin. He'd drank about 3 bottles of water since he'd left for work.

He sighs. The day sucked.

Sunny comes to his house. He tries to open the door. Locked. He fishes through his pockets. ... Damnit, he forgot his keys. How ironic.

Sunny knocks on the door. "Mom? Can you let me in?! I forgot my keys!"

Sunny's mom opens the door. "There you are! I was worried sick!"

Sunny sighs, as his mother hugs her. She's been clingy since his fight with Basil.

She eventually lets go.

Sunny walks away. "... I'm going to my room."

"Oh... well, don't forget to pack your suitcase! Tomorrow you're heading back to Faraway for the summer!"

Sunny's eye lights up. He completely forgot! Despite having been marking the days on his calendar the past 3 months.

Starting tomorrow, he's going to spend the summer with his friends in Faraway. He's going to see everyone again. Kel, Hero, Aubrey, Basil...

Sunny runs to his room, almost tripping over the carpets and his own feet.

As soon as Sunny gets into his bedroom, he tears the eyepatch off his face.

Before he does anything else, Sunny changes out of his uniform into his favorite outfit. His white shirt and black vest. It was hot as hell outside, but as soon as he turned on his air conditioner it was alright.

Wearing layers always brought him comfort.

Sunny hastily dials Kel's number into the phone in his room. He can't contain his excitement, grinning wide as the phone rings.

... It's ringing.

... It's still ringing.

Sunny narrows his eyes.

... Kel picked up!

"Helloooooo?"

Sunny's eye lights up again once he hears Kel's voice.

"Hey Kel."

"Woah, Sunny, YOU'RE the one calling me for once?" Kel laughs. "What's up?"

"Guess who's coming back to Faraway tomorrow?"

"Who- wait- ah, man, I completely forgot! I'm so excited!"

Sunny smiles. "I'll probably be there around, like, 9."

"I gotta get everyone, then! They'll all be so happy to see you!"

"Yeah, can't wait to see everyone again. I gotta pack now. See you tomorrow."

"Right!"

"... Take care."

"Will do!"

Sunny hears Kel shout "Hero!" as he hangs up. He laughs a bit.

Sunny puts down the phone, and starts packing. Changes of clothes... A swimsuit.... His games...

Sunny packs everything he'll need.

Once he's done, he zips up his suitcase.

His eye drifts over to the piano.

The same piano that belonged to Mari. He convinced his mom to put it in his room.

He goes over to it.

He'll be seeing Mari there too, huh?

Sunny glides his hand over the keys.

Then over the engraving. "Omori."

He feels over the crevices where the brand was inscribed into the piano. Mari loved this piano.

He sits down, and, instinctively, plays the first few notes of her favorite song, "Soleil qui pleut sur les fleurs."

He stops when he starts getting off key. And when he realizes the piano is out of tune.

He gets up.

All he has to do now is wait for tomorrow.

June 20th, 2001

Sunny wakes up to the sound of his alarm clock. He sits up, shutting it off. "Nngh..." ... He comes to the realization of what day it is. He gets up and gets changed, filled with all sorts of excitement.

Sunny goes into the bathroom, making sure his hair isn't a mess.

As he stares into the mirror, he feels... Good about himself. He never really realized it, but, he's starting to actually like himself.

He smiles, before he brushes his teeth.

After Sunny leaves the bathroom, he drags his suitcase into the living room.

"There... I'm all ready... ... Can't believe I'm actually going back..."

Train Station

At the train station, four friends were waiting.

Sunny's friends.

Kel was running up and down the station, filled to the brim with energy and excitement. "Come on, when is he arriving?"

"Yeesh. Do you have any patience?" Aubrey rolls eyes. But, she's just as excited as Kel.

Hero tries to calm his brother down before he can trip onto the tracks.

And Basil... Was waiting, anxiously. He had been holding something special behind his back.

The train pulls into the station, and slowly comes to a stop. Kel looks over. "HE'S HERE!" He grins wider than ever, as the doors slowly open...

To Sunny, looking out at all his friends, suitcase in hand.

"Welcome back Sunny!" Kel cheers.

Sunny didn't expect everyone to be here. Once he steps out, he's met with a hug from Kel.

"Hey, Kel... Everyone..." Sunny speaks in a quiet voice, not yet used to seeing everyone again.

Hero stands next to Sunny and smiles. He doesn't exactly hug him, but he does put a hand on Sunny's shoulder.

Aubrey comes to Sunny next. "It's good to see you again." She flashes him a grin.

"You too-" Sunny slightly smiles.

... Snap!

Sunny looks towards Basil, who was holding his camera and smiling.

"You're... taking photos again..?"

Basil nods. "Kel kinda- convinced me to try it again." He rubs the back of his head.

... Sunny smiles brighter, going to Basil as he retrieves the polaroid from his camera.

... As Basil reviews the photo, he takes notice of something, or... Someone, standing by Sunny, someone who was gently smiling.

"H... Huh?" He rubs his eyes. ... She disappeared from the photo.

"What's wrong?" Sunny asks.

"Nothing, I thought I saw..."

Kel runs over. "C'mon, show us the picture!"

"O-Oh!" Basil shows off the picture he took.

"Man, it looks great!"

"Th… Thanks..!" Basil opens his new album.

The cover was decorated with glitter glue and foam flowers, some of which were falling off. Some already fell off. But Basil doesn't mind, because Kel made it for him.

Basil puts the photo inside.

Sunny smiles. He hasn't seen everyone this happy in so long.

Everything is slowly getting better.

He can't wait to spend the summer with everyone.

Little note in tags

[godkilller]

Rangiku’s voice is sultry and low as it hums against Gin’s ear.  She provides a fever dream of sorts; blurring the lines between their shared reality, and the dreams he’s currently caught up in - a mere attempt to stir him awake gently, lovingly, as her lips trail across his skin. 

❝ Happy Birthday, baby, ❞ she hums between kisses, a smile in her voice as her mouth explores the pale exposed skin of her husband’s neck.  While it would be so easy to turn this into something much more intimate  ( Rangiku has to fight the urge to reach for him - waking him up with her lips and tongue in a place much lower than the expanse of his throat )  she has other plans… ones that involve their daughter, who is most likely waiting excitedly for her help in the kitchen.

Rangiku removes herself from their shared bed as quietly as she can, before reaching for her silk robe.  She slips one arm in and smoothes the fabric across her shoulders, before sliding another slender arm inside of its sleeve, and tying the belt at her waist into a neat little bow.  As she heads into their kitchen, Keiko’s eyes are bright, excitement bubbling out of her mouth as she greets her mother and gestures to all of the ingredients spread out across their counters.  Rangiku lets out an endearing laugh as she acknowledges her - so many of the things her daughter has picked out are completely unnecessary for a light breakfast, even for her standards  ( Gin is no stranger to Rangiku’s peculiar tastes, but to smear red bean paste onto honeyed ham alongside chunks of tofu and slap it all onto a bed of buttered toast might be a difficult first meal of the day to stomach ) but she humors Keiko, all the same.  

She guides her daughter to the safer breakfast combinations for now - a slice of toast alongside a bowl of warm white rice, ohitashi and a small serving of grilled fish.  A more traditional meal, as a treat for the man who puts up with her wild taste buds.  Once all of the components are placed neatly on a black serving tray alongside Gin’s favorite chopsticks, Rangiku paps Keiko on the shoulder and sends her on her way to where Gin currently resides in bed. She watches from the doorframe as their daughter wishes him a happy birthday, and waits for him to sit up before placing the tray in his lap.

Rangiku’s heart feels like it may burst in her chest as she watches their sweet exchange, completely taken aback by how beautiful their lives have become after all that they’ve endured.

gin's birthday asks! open from sept. 9 - 16th.

HE AWOKE SLOWLY, having grown more accustomed to Rangiku stirring in bed and not immediately jolting awake in his lighter state of slumber. No, here she lulled him awake, a gentle carress of lips and voice alike. Rather inspiring -- her motions, the sensation of her mouth to his neck. When the realization struck that he was, in fact, not dreaming... well, he took matters into his own hands, shifting to reach out blindly, capturing her into a half-embrace the moment the woman began moving to pull away. Turning his body to pull her back into bed and against him fully, he grinned whilst eyes cracked open, a murmur hot at her ear in return.

❝ -- and where do y'think you're goin'? ❞ Nuzzling his face in toward the crook of her neck and shoulder, Gin spared her a few kisses along the way. ❝ Wakin' me up like that 'n not even stickin' around, huh? How cruel~ ❞ A ticklish kiss nipped at the smooth drop of her shoulder, intentional in how he wanted her to squirm and laugh, yet ultimately Gin relinquished his hold upon her as he knew she wanted to get up for a reason. Probably to get dressed. Bummer. As playful as he could be, Gin knew better than to pursue her at the moment. He was still drowsy, yes, but he knew that look in her eyes that whispered not now.

He rolled onto his side, languidly watching her, keeping himself bedbound in the meantime. It must've been a relatively late morning given the way sun was cascading in -- Rangiku was ethereal, sunkissed, golden hues catching against the waves of her hair and what warmed skin caught his view.

❝ She waitin' out there? ❞ Gin moved slender fingers toward his face, wiping away some sleep from his eyes. He figured that was what inspired Rangiku to slip away from him -- thus, Gin didn't protest as she nodded to him and quietly stepped out of their shared quarters. He swore he heard a hushed attempt by little Keiko asking whether or not he was awake as Rangiku slid the doors shut behind her.

Gin shifted to idly tidy himself up, fixing the state of his sleepridden yukata -- at least enough that the scarring across his chest was not so visible, but he kept himself lounging half-underneath the covers in bed until he heard Keiko's small footsteps moving her toward the bedroom door.

In Keiko marched, tray carefully balanced, and the young girl moved straight to offer him the breakfast assortment with a bright smile on her face. Gin mirrored that smile, beaming back at her whilst she wished him a happy birthday. Rangiku's restraint was present in the way the arrangement of food was... normal, given both of their cabailities for oddities making their way onto any menu.

❝ Thank you, Keiko-chan~ this's quite th' luxury, breakfast in bed. Y'spoil me, you 'n your mother. ❞ Gin smiled as he helped her balance the tray onto his lap whilst he sat up, cooing at the selection and asking the little girl if she helped her mother out. A proud declaration in response, which Gin praised her for. Heart full, he pat the bed and let Keiko crawl onto the spot at his side. Chopsticks in hand, he began assessing what to dig into first, smiling at their daughter.

❝ I was thinkin' we can head toward the fields 'n see about flyin' that kite we made recently, hm? It's supposed to be nice outside today, not too hot 'n all. ❞ That gained a good response from the girl, a little wiggle and enthusiastic nod ensuing. Gin hummed as he ate a few bites, casting a spare smile toward Rangiku in the doorway. Yes, this was an excellent gift -- after everything they went through, everything that he put Rangiku through in particular, a soft and gentle day of domestic normalcy was well-earned.