#and we r going to take a nap in the sunlight and in the grass

[elytrafemme]

getting struck with the i love my mutuals hammer very hard rn 

[indianamoonshine]

c h a p t e r | i

summary: every summer you work on your father's strawberry farm with your three sisters. it's a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. this year, your father's old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. din djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become...well, let's fact it...smitten.

rating: m (18+) for future and explicit sexual content.

author's note: reader is well over eighteen for obvious reasons. i won't ever go into physical detail about the reader's appearance because we include everyone. this fic is pretty much a mix between pride & prejudice and call me by your name except without the und*rage crap we do not condone. so, without further ado, here's an aesthetically pleasing fanfic.

the moment din djarin laid eyes on you he knew he was a dead man.

at first, his view of you had been obstructed because you'd opened every door and window in the house. june in the midwest sometimes required such nuisances, so all of the curtains billowing in the breeze prevented him from looking upon you.

you were also on the couch, but he hadn't known that until you lifted a hand - soft as a dove's - from the back of the sofa. you played with the light between your fingers, shielding its dazzling rays from your eyes, just before setting it down again. your hands were so small (smaller than his anyway) and gentle. he imagined how foreign your skin would feel in warm contrast to his; how your fingers would feel intertwined with his calloused ones, which had done enough work throughout the years to be mistaken for a beggar’s. within the first moment, he saw you as flawless.

your father had not stopped for breath since din arrived, lamenting about the farm or discussing the layout of the home with an eagerness din had yet to match. he would've initially been interested in the history of the farm or how many sprawling acres rolled endlessly before them, but his eyes couldn't leave your hand.

you must've been asleep - napping in the embrace of the sun - because as soon as your father drew breath upon entering the living room, your voice tickled din's ears for the first time. sweet as music.

"dad? is that you?"

din couldn't help but blink at the sound of your voice. it seemed unnatural, like one hears in dreams or spiritual awakenings. he manages to compose himself at your father's side, straightening his posture to err on the side of caution.

your father exclaims with a joyful "ah!" and then introduces you by name.

"my daughter. one of them, anyway. she and the three eldest help during the summer," he had said, and then turned to the bay windows to go on about the view.

but you meet din's eyes, rested and glimmering with curiosity, while your father droned on in the background. you reach out a hand - the one he'd thought of holding - to shake.

he does. and it's every bit as beautiful as he knew it'd be.

"how do you do?" you give him a polite and pretty smile. if he hadn't known any better, you bat your eyelashes for good measure.

your father's tour continues but din can't stop thinking about the way your skirt rose to your thighs as you stretched awake.

|||

you were lying if you said you didn't think about him for the rest of the day.

you weren't the only one. your sisters - all three of them - had also met the mysterious din djarin.

"who is he?" charlotte asked while you congregated at the nearby pond. it was a lovely place, nestled within the thick of the woods and bursting with greenery. flowers of every kind blossomed around you and scents the air with a sweetness.

rhea lays in the shade of a peach tree. "one of dad's old friends," she says. she waves herself with a floral paper fan she'd gotten from chinatown while visiting you in new york.

"but why is he here?"

madeline, who paints with her watercolors, pipes in. "i heard he got into some trouble with the law and now he's in hiding."

you roll your eyes with a scoff, lounging in the grass and watching the clouds in the bright, blue sky. "madeline, that's absurd."

rhea (who is the oldest and most pragmatic) surprises you when she shrugs her shoulders. "i don't know. he looks likes a bad boy..."

you recall the way his jaw clenched as you introduced yourself - his neck was tempting. his skin glowed with a radiant hue in the sunlight and his eyes shone with an aura of broodiness. he was very austenian.

"boy is hardly the word," you correct.

charlotte, being the flirt, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. she swims in the pond, hair wet and fanning against the water. she sinks lowly for dramatic effect. "how right you are."

"trouble or not, he was a perfect gentleman." rhea sighs and skims the water with her forefinger. "either way, he's easy on the eyes so i don't mind having him around."

easy on the eyes was putting it mildly. you wouldn't say that to the girls though; they had a habit of teasing when you showed interest in anyone attainable let alone a man decades older than you.

"don't do anything stupid, charlotte." madeline dips her paintbrush into her mason jar full of pond water.

charlotte huffs and flips her hair from her shoulder. it makes a splash, rippling the water as a result. "why not? we're all of legal age."

"he's dad's friend and a guest," you remind her, tearing your gaze away from the clouds.

the middle child lets out a pathetic whimper. "you guys are no fun," she groans.

|||

it was a busy season on the farm.

strawberries were ready to be picked by mid june and there was a three week window to do it. harvesting wasn't easy and it took a lot of man work. hands went numb, skin grew calloused. the sun that beat down on the fields was only manageable by the sprinklers that went off every blessed-ed fifteen minutes. during a drought, it was even worse.

the employees picked from seven in the morning until five in the evening. your father was adamant that breaks be plenty and pay be as prosperous as he could afford, but a strawberry farm wasn't a fortune five hundred company. he did what he could to provide the families with some semblance worthy enough to continue, and so every year he threw a dinner party.

it was always a lovely occasion, brimming with delectable treats and savory entrees. candles were aflame, lanterns lit up the pathway that lead to the entrance of the home and then the land leading into the woods. as a child, the dinner party was as exciting as a birthday. it was a night to look forward to all year long, sharing time with family and friends and gorging yourself on food you wouldn't eat any other friday of the week.

your sisters loved it too, mostly because they enjoyed the promise of gossip that poured from the mouths of guests like the wine served. and now that din djarin - a stranger, in all respects of the word - was attending an annual dinner that's managed to keep as tradition for years, gossip would surely be abundant as the wine itself.

guests arrived by the hour until the clock struck seven. the evening was crisp but warm enough to be comfortable without a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the rock doves sung loudly to declare that sunset had begun, a few rogue and early lightning bugs blinking rhythmically. children of the employees ran throughout the fields bare footed and chanting taunts to their friends as their parents chattered among themselves.

home. here is home.

while the party had already begun (officially, at least), dinner hadn't yet been served. admittingly, you were a bit behind schedule, but you worked quickly to finish setting the tables. the theme was simple; linen napkins and wildflowers in random antique vases you found in your basement. the lilacs you'd picked from their bushes were already beginning to limp but you hoped no one would notice.

you hum when you work. whether it be intentional or not you find your lips buzzing with a tune plucked subconsciously from your brain as your hands busy themselves. you straighten the tablecloths, fill the vases with water, and set the silverware in their particular order. needless to say, you had a tendency to get lost in your own little world. so when a hand gently tapped you on the shoulder, you spun around with a shriek.

din djarin - man of the hour - is smirking handsomely at you, hands fiddling with a depressed looking lilac. you place a palm against your heart and count its beats. too many.

"mister djarin," you sigh out. "you scared me."

he lets out a breathy chuckle, hands running through his wavy locks. "i see that. i'm sorry, but i was just wondering if you'd like some help."

his voice...oh, stars and garters. it was so rough but tender - like a steak. you cock an eyebrow at how strange the comparison is but convince yourself it didn't matter. still, you're blushing from the jump so you duck your head from his gaze.

"there's not much left to do," you admit, turning back to the table. you spread your hands against the tablecloth to ward off any wrinkles. "you can double check if i missed any forks, i suppose. i have a tendency to do that."

din hums in his throat and nods a little. "sure," he says, moving to the first setting. his eyes scan along the silverware carefully. "where are your sisters? they don't help, huh?"

"they're better at entertaining," you say truthfully. "i volunteer to take care of the dinner part...as long as i don't have to socialize as much i'm content."

it was true. it's not that you had an aversion to people in general, but you tried to avoid conversation whenever possible - it wasn't your strong suit. you could get away with it when need be but you found it took too much energy to pretend to enjoy conversation about the weather or politics.

"i understand," din nods. he straightens a spoon with the nudge of his finger. "i find myself to be the same way."

there's an awkward silence between the two of you. you didn't know how to respond. while you weren't good at social situations in general, you found it natural to feign interest in subjects bland enough to circumvent discomfort...but you felt the need to impress him.

"so you'll be staying with us this summer then?" you decide, falling short. how stupid.

din nods swiftly. "yeah. in one of the cabins."

the cabins were located at various points of the land your father owned. in order to get there, one usually took an ATV or walked if the going gets tough. you preferred to stroll along the river, but your sisters liked riding the four wheelers or their bikes.

"which one?" you ask, tone mindless.

din's finished with double checking your work. he pulls out a chair - an old, wooden antique - and sits down upon it with caution. you stifle a laugh and, if he notices, he doesn't say anything. he'd soon learn that everything here was old but sturdier than they looked. you wish you could say it was for aesthetic purposes but it was more convenient than anything.

"the one closest to the pond," din replies lowly.

you notice how his eyes survey your form and how intimate it was. he was studying you but for whatever reason you couldn't be sure. you try to shake away the idea that he could be (dare you say?) pining over you. how silly. like you told charlotte: din djarin was off limis.

that was the end of it.

you find yourself blushing again so you hide your face. "that's my favorite one," you tell him honestly. "i like the view."

din smiles in agreement. "so do i."

if you weren't so heated with frustration, you would've called him out on the implication (as out of character for you it may be). then again, you found yourself weakened by the mere presence of this man. it wasn't unlike you, per say; you were naturally timid but there was an eagerness to his charm that you weren't familiar with. guys your age were so sure of themselves but it was almost always under false pretenses. this man however...well, he was a man and that was intimidating.

fine. it was hot.

you clear your throat in an effort to regain a semblance of poise. this summer had already proven to be laborious in a way you hadn't expected.

[forestwater87]

Chapter 3: Headbutts & Catnaps

Camper-counselor bonding happens in some pretty unique ways.

CW: use of the r-word in the beginning of the second section

"Sorry, nerd! Actually, I'm not sorry, and my sarcastic apology is meant to further annoy you. It's a quick and effective way to get attention."

Gwen sighed. "Nurf, get over here. And run."

She'd discovered after a few weeks that their resident bully tended to keep to himself when he had something to do. It was a combination of lack of attention, boredom, and pent-up aggression that seemed to cause the most trouble, and while David wasn't a huge fan of the solution she'd come up with —

The boy broke into a trot, lowering his head as he thundered past the other campers. Gwen crouched down and braced herself, closing her eyes.

"Grahh!" He collided into her with enough force to send her back a few feet, their heels kicking up a massive cloud of dust. She tossed her head, shaking him off, and they backed up without taking their eyes off each other.

— he had to admit it worked.

When she'd first tried this, it had taken nearly half an hour of head-butting to work out all of Nurf's energy to a point where he could pay attention and not bother the other campers; they'd worn deep grooves in the dirt with their heels, and David had been about to call her off when the kid had shrugged and returned to his station, keeping to himself for the rest of the day. Now it only took a few runs before he was calmer, and once he slowed down, his tail no longer flicking with agitation, she straightened and held up her hands in truce.

"Better?" she asked. He grunted and she shoved him toward where David was setting up for Scuba Camp. "Good. Back to it." Rubbing the base of her horns (it didn't hurt, but it gave her a strange jittery feeling) with one hand, she followed at a slower pace and joined David on the dock.

"He seems calmer," David hummed, glancing over at where Nurf was letting Preston lecture him about how to properly wear scuba gear without a single insult or threat. "Do you feel all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's what we do." She rapped her knuckles on her forehead. "Thick skulls, remember? We're not all delicate fluffy kitties like you. Speaking of —" She groaned, bending down and picking up another set of scuba gear, "I really can't talk you into doing this instead of me, huh?"

He swallowed, glancing from her face to the gear, then out to the lake. "I-I mean, I suppose I could . . ."

"Nah, I wouldn't do that to you." Cats and water, Jesus. "Just watch the kids, okay?" Neil and Max were the only two water-phobic kids, so David had planned an activity that would keep them dry while the rest of them tried not to drown in Lake Lilac.

"Can do!"

He was about to return to shore when she put a hand on his shoulder and added, "Don't try too hard, okay? You know it'll backfire."

"I know, Gwen," he said with a sigh, his shoulders drooping. "It's just so exciting . . ."

"Yeah, I know it is." David had been hoping for years to have another cat at the camp, so when Max's name and breed had first appeared on the camper applications he'd been ecstatic. Unfortunately, Max was . . . well, Max, and after two years of back-and-forth there were no signs of either his animosity or David's hopefulness letting up anytime soon. "But if he scratches you, I'm the one who has to deal with it, so think of me before you do something stupid."

"I will!" He leaned in to peck her on the cheek before freezing, his eyes widening. He quickly pulled back, dusting imaginary dirt off her shoulder with the fakest nonchalance she'd ever seen. "Take care, everyone!"

She ushered the kids to the end of the dock. "Come on, guys. Let's get this over with."

Gwen had never really considered herself the kind of person to have strong feelings about animals, pro or con. She'd never had pets, but she freaked out over an adorable panda video just like anyone else. Fairly neutral when it came to animals, full or hybrid.

The more time she spent at this camp, though, the more she started to think she was really not a cat person.

"The fuck is he?" she muttered to herself, shaking silly string out of her wool and pounding on her touchscreen. The phone rang a couple times, then an obnoxiously sunny voice rang out, "Campe diem! You've reached David Greenwood. I can't take your call right now . . ."

She was going to kill him.

Especially since . . . oh, fuck. "Where's Max?" she demanded, counting the campers again as though he might materialize if she tried hard enough.

Despite it being their first summer, Neil and Nikki had been here long enough to realize they were basically Max's keepers. It wasn't like he'd willingly spent time with anyone else at camp. Neil ruffled his feathers anxiously, glancing around like his friend might suddenly appear out of nowhere, and Nikki beamed at Gwen with teeth way too large and sharp for her age.

"Not trying to escape, that's for sure!"

Gwen immediately didn't believe that, but Neil jumped in: "Really, though. We haven't seen him since breakfast." He scratched at the ground with his talons. "I — think he said something about trying to learn David's secret?"

Nikki jumped in, her tail wagging. "That's right! He wants to figure out what makes him so happy all the time!" Dropping to the ground and scratching behind her ear, she added thoughtfully, "He said either there's something he's repressing or he's just retarded." She turned to Neil. "Hey, what's 'retarded' mean, anyway?"

He shook his head affectionately, patting her on the top of the head with one wing. "Nothing you need to worry about, Nik."

Well, that at least sounded vaguely plausible. And it'd kill two birds with one stone (no offense to Neil) if they were together. "Think you can sniff him out?"

"On it!" Nikki immediately took off, her nose to the ground, with Neil fluttering anxiously behind her.

"All right, guys. Keep . . . uh, doing whatever you're doing." She turned to the Quartermaster, who was hardly at his best during the day but better than nothing. "Can you make sure they don't kill anyone, QM?" The old man grunted, not opening his eyes. His wings were folded protectively around him, but at least he was upright; if she came back and he was hanging upside-down, they'd have a problem, but she figured he could probably stay awake for five minutes.

She turned and followed Neil and Nikki away from the activities field, half-expecting the trail to lead them into the woods or to where QM's bus was parked or something, but surprisingly they wove around to the area behind the camper's tents, a little grassy field where the kids sometimes spent their free hours. David was sprawled out snoring in a patch of sunlight on the road that curved around the field, one arm flung over his eyes and his ears twitching with the breeze. This was annoying but not entirely unexpected, and part of her was relieved to have confirmation that he slept at all.

The surprise was that Max was curled up in a tiny ball on David's chest, his head tucked under the counselor's chin. His tail flicked restlessly, but neither of them stirred as Nikki froze in a point about ten feet away.

Gwen rubbed her head as she passed, going up to the sleeping cats and crouching by David's shoulder. "Hey, chief?"

He stirred, rubbing his face and blinking up at her blearily. "Gwen?" He started to sit up on his elbows and went still, eyes widening as he realized Max was still asleep on him. "Oh my golly," he whispered, breaking into the brightest grin she'd seen all summer (which was saying something).

"Wanna actually help me run Stunting Camp, or should I just hope enough of the kids live that we'll have even teams for tomorrow's dodgeball game?"

David's eyes flicked from hers to the fluffy black ears twitching in his face. "Gwen, are you seeing this?" His voice was too awestruck to be sarcastic.

“I do. And if he wakes up and sees this he’ll probably kill you. Or himself. Or everyone in the camp so there are no witnesses.” He shot her a reproving look but carefully shifted the camper off his chest, settling him on the ground and springing to Gwen’s side with the reflexes she envied (and thought were totally wasted on someone that inherently awkward). “What happened?”

He shrugged, his cheeks flushing pink. “I went to make sure all the campers were awake, and it was so nice and warm I just had to sit down for a second, and . . . well . . .” He looked away self-consciously, bringing his fist to his mouth and running his tongue along his knuckles.

Gwen knocked the dirt off the back of his uniform and shook a leaf out of his hair. “You didn’t have to lay in the road,” she pointed out with a smirk. “There’s grass literally right there.”

David continued licking the back of his hand, still not meeting her eyes. “It’s not sunny over there.”

They were interrupted by Nikki, who’d apparently decided they weren’t going to wake Max soon enough and had jumped on him, sending up a cloud of dust that Neil and the counselors quickly stepped back from. “MORNING, SUNSHINE!”

“WHAT THE FUCK, NIKKI?! YOU COULDA KILLED ME!”

She groaned, rubbing her forehead. “He’s up,” she grumbled. “Energetic little shithead, huh?”

“That nap must’ve really been good for him!” David managed to keep the manic glee out of his voice, but it was a close thing.

“This is the best day of your life, isn’t it?”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his smile twitching. “Almost.”

The kids were still fighting; somehow a very-displeased Neil had been dragged into the fray and was trying to disentangle himself as fast as possible.

“Get off me!”

“But come onnnnn, we’re gonna do stunts today! Up n’ at ‘em and campe diem, Max!”

Gwen sighed. No one ever said dumb motto except occasionally Space Kid -- and, apparently now, Nikki.

David leaned in a bit, still watching the kids. “Okay, this is a pretty good day,” he admitted.

“No kidding.”

“Better than my 4th birthday.” When she looked at him questioningly, he chuckled and said, “My parents hired a clown. It was very exciting.”

She gave a small snort of disgust. “Of course you like clowns.”

“They’re so happy!” As the three kids collapsed in the grass, their energy suddenly spent in that little-kid way that reminded her of a battery suddenly dying, David raised his voice and called, “Come on, kiddos! We’re running a little late this morning, so we need to get a move on if we wanna have time for all of today’s activities!”

Max rolled his eyes, climbing to his feet and shuffling toward them with his hands in his inexplicably pristine hoodie. “Like any of us gives a shit about the activities.”

Nikki bounded after them, dragging a disheveled and squawking Neil behind her. “Betcha’d rather just take a nap with Daaaavid, huh?” she teased, elbowing him in the side.

“The fuck are you talking about? I was following him, and then . . .” He trailed off and his face turned red, visible even with his complexion. “Oh, fuck no.”

“Oh fuck yes!” Nikki crowed, scampering out of the way in case he tried to swipe at her. “You were sleeping on him like a baby kangaroo!”

Max seemed distracted by his dawning horror. “I . . . it was warm,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “I wasn’t tired, but then . . . I was?”

David put a hand on the camper’s shoulder comfortingly. “It’s okay, Max! Cats need to rest a lot during the day, and it’s perfectly natural for kittens to cuddle up with their mother, so --”

“You're not my mother!” He jerked away, fluttering his arms like David was an annoying fly.

Gwen tried and failed to keep her face blank. “I mean, you’re the only cats around here for miles. And we have legal custody over you while you're at camp. So I guess for the summer he kinda is your mommy.”

“I hate all of you.” Grabbing Nikki by the wrist and snagging a handful of Neil’s wingfeathers, he dragged them ahead to the rest of the campers, growling threats about them not telling anyone about this.

She expected David to scold her for teasing Max, but when she looked over at him he was watching the kids walk away with his hands clasped at his chest and tears in his eyes. “Did you hear that, Gwen? He thinks of me as a mother!”

“You’re a guy, David.”

His expression didn’t change, and neither did the choked-up joy in his voice. “I don’t care!”

“Now is it the best day of your life?”

David paused, turning back to her. His expression softened, and he blinked away the mistiness in his eyes, taking advantage of their temporary solitude to kiss her on the nose. “Second-best.”

[lattetudes]

hello hello hello! 💫 i'm carolina and my favorite things in the world are sleeping and old foreign movies! i'm most proud of sucessfully sleeping through my last maths lecture without getting caught ahaha. (we weren't doing proper maths - it was like a chit chatty thing w the professor bc we finished the syllabus)

hiii carolina! (beautiful name, by the way.) i totally get that - it’s one of the simple pleasures in life (: sleeping is just one of the best things in the world and during the summer, it just feels good, you know? waking up to the sunlight streaming through the curtains, snuggling in a canopy outside with some iced tea, taking a nap on the grass, sleeping in as late as you want. (shh.. i’m in awe of your skills. keep being you, love.) what type of foreign films do you like? i love french ones! url : hmm / cute! / simply adorable  / hello, excellence. / outstanding icon : who? / cute! / lovely just like you / perfection mobile theme : hmm / quite pretty / beautiful / shockingly perfect / stunningdesktop theme : hmm / quite pretty / beautiful / shockingly perfect / stunning original content : couldn’t find any / good! / great! / true gems / j ‘ a d o r e. following : no(t yet) / +follow / yes! / always overall : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10era : antiquité / moyen âge / renaissance / classicisme / lumières / romantismewriter : baudelaire / horace / voltaire / la fontaine / victor hugo title : poet / philosopher / novelist / fabulist + compliments��first, off: your mobile theme is striking. i’m obsessed with your header: the calligraphy, that bright green! it grabs your attention and keeps it, which is a + quality characteristic you want when you’re a blogger. can i just say i love it? because i do. (and a secret: ravenclaws are superior, go ravenclaw!). the title has that same eye-catching feel to it. also, the way the reblogs / posts are layed out is super practical - when i scroll through, i can truly see everything. (the things you re-blog too! so pretty). edit: your first photo is very relateable (it looks like my study space!) which is what i love about it. if you continue to post like that, you’ll go far (:want a blog rate / name aesthetic?

[coytoy]

By The Fire -- RvB Bingo Wars

Here’s a little piece for the “Freelancer Fun Times” Square. Go Medics!

Word Count: 1752

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Description: On a rare instance of shore leave, the Freelancers travel out to an island for the weekend for a little R&R on the beach.

AO3 Here!

Carolina leaned back onto the railing, closing her eyes and breathing in rhythm to the rocking of the ferry. Somewhere, a bird screeched unceremoniously, while the boat’s horns rumbled in anticipation of arrival. With another deep breath of fresh air, Carolina opened her eyes just in time to catch York sneaking up on Wash, armed with an inflated beach ball; the younger Freelancer never saw it coming, and as the ball hit him square in the head, his drink tumbled onto the floor, swirly straw and all.

Laughing at his own work, York only received a pity chuckle from North before the latter bent down to help Wash with the mess. “What? Oh, come on, that was hilarious.”

“Only if you’re twelve,” South shot back from her spot on the upper deck. She folded her arms and leaned over the side. “That was stupid.”

The green form of Delta appeared over York’s shoulder. “I agree with Agent South’s assessment. That practical joke was not as much of a joke as indicated by your past actions, and seems to be less elaborate as well.”

“Thanks for the pick-me-up, D,” York sighed, already replacing his disgrace with his thousand-watt smile.

Thankfully, the island had finally come into sight, a mass of green trees and red roofs and white beaches just begging to be explored. They only had three days before they were due back on the Mother of Invention, but CT planned to cover every hiking trail, York had already prepped for his cave expeditions, and Florida had brought enough steaks to barbecue for the entire island.

All Carolina wanted was to stretch her cyan-colored blanket over the sand, throw on a pair of matching sunglasses, and fall asleep under the warm sun. The only other plan in her itinerary was a trip to the famous ice cream place the Dakota twins swore tasted like frozen marshmallows.

The ferry pulled up to the dock within minutes. Carolina grabbed her bag and tossed it over the shoulder, silently doing a headcount as she watched her teammates disembark. The last to come off were CT and Maine, who had saddled themselves with the boxes of booze that were apparently essential to the trip; Connie was holding one to her chest, while Maine was balancing one on each shoulder. Only once they were safe on the dock, every can of beer intact, did Carolina join them.

“Okay, I know it’s not tourist season and all, but there is really no one here,” Wash marveled as he walked up the street, peering into the windows of little shops that promised quirky objects and souvenirs nobody wanted. “No one” was a stretch – a car drove by every now and then, and some teenage locals hung around an arcade that had obviously seen better years – but it was probably only a minute fraction of the crowds during the full-swing of summer.

“Well, then we’re gonna have the beach almost entirely to ourselves,” North noted. He placed his hands on his hips and breathed in the island air. “That’s why we would always come this time of the year when we were kids.”

“It does have its downsides, though,” South added. “The mini-golf place is always closed. So are most of the restaurants, though the greasy seafood shack is probably open.”

“But it’s a great time of year for waves.” Theta popped up at North’s side, clutching a surf board to his side.

“Ha, we’ll see buddy,” North answered. “I hear Florida is a good surfer.”

Florida beamed. “I can teach you a trick or two when I take Reggie out for a splash,” he said, wrapping an arm around Wyoming. “The more, the merrier.”

Carolina hid her smile behind her hand; the image of Wyoming’s pompous ass trying to surf was going to be a sight.

“So let’s all stop talking, and start doing,” CT insisted, taking off with South in the direction of the boardwalk.

As Carolina and the team followed, York fell in step beside her. “So what are your plans, Lina? Some R&R? Maybe a little swimming? Exploring?”

“York, I’ve told you – beach, napping, maybe some reading. This is gonna be a nice rest for me, especially because my legs are still a little cramped from that last mission because a certain someone needed extra help taking out his fair share of guards.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fair, fair. Any way I could convince you to play a round at the arcade?” He motioned towards the run-down machines across the street. “I play a mean game of ski ball,” he added in a cocky tone.

Carolina cracked a smile. “Oh, do you now?”

All traces of smugness disappeared from his features. “Um, no, not at all, actually. I normally end up chucking the balls and hoping for the best. However, I was the Ms. Pac-Man champion when I was a kid. Not the regular Pac-Man – I sucked at that – just Ms. Pac-Man.”

Her grin threatened to turn into a laugh. “Well, you know I can’t turn down a challenge.” He responded by bumping his shoulder into hers, the backs of their hands brushing, burning her skin in awareness. She allowed him to press his hand into hers, knuckle to knuckle, though she wasn’t expecting his fingers to wrap around her own in what was probably the most awkward hand-holding position ever. Of all time.

The boardwalk’s path brought them to a steep set of wooden stairs leading to the beach. She released York’s hand in favor of the railing, staring out over the ocean as she descended the steps. Glittering under the afternoon sun, and bluer than… She glanced back at York, who smiled at her before she turned her attention forwards. Those waves – dark and roaring. Theta was going to be thrilled by the surfing potential.

At the bottom of the hill, where grass met sand, lay a row of green huts that would be home for the weekend. North and South journeyed to the hut where the owner lived before returning with a handful of keys. “North and York…Maine and Wash…Me and CT…Florida and Wyoming…and Carolina, you lucky bitch,” South teased as she handed Carolina a single brass key.

“Excuse you, South, but one of us had to be on their own, so I just took one for the team,” she responded with a smirk.

“And sharing a room with me isn’t that bad,” CT said, playfully punching her girlfriend in the arm. “You’re the one who snores.” Carolina watched with content as they bickered their way to their hut, laughing as they wrapped their arms around one another’s shoulders.

Her own hut was situated between Maine and Wash’s, and Florida and Wyoming’s. She stuck the key in the lock and turned, pushing with her shoulder as the door groaned, scraping on the paint-worn floor. The hut was tinier than it looked on the outside, barely containing two cots and a nightstand. She reckoned the elevator on the MOI was bigger, but it would do for the next three days. Dumping her bag on the spare bed, she fished out her cyan-colored towel and black one-piece bathing suit that she changed into once the curtains were closed.

She cautiously stepped out of the hut and back into the sunlight, glad for the protection of her sunglasses as the sun began its descent onto the horizon. Her bare feet enjoyed the feel of the warm sand, free from the sharpness of shells and broken glass. She padded over to where Wash and Maine were assembling rocks and driftwood. “Getting a fire going?”

Maine grunted in affirmation, while Wash added, “Can’t have a beach party without a fire, right?”

“If you say so,” she breathed. She laid out her towel and dropped her book on top, but temporarily abandoned both as she helped Maine arrange the rocks in a circle. Wash then began to prop his sticks in a tee-pee fashion.

“I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” he murmured. “My dad showed me a dozen times, but I guess it didn’t stick.” He finally got it right, creating a strong foundation from the driftwood.

“Need a light?” Carolina looked up to see York standing over them, a more-than-familiar silver lighter in his hand. She stared at it as it lay in his open palm, rereading the word “Errera” emblazoned on the side over and over until she remembered the purpose and took it.

“Thanks.” She flipped the lid and flicked the wheel until a flame sprang up. She offered the fire to the grass Maine had tucked under the tower of driftwood. The flames caught, growing as Wash blew into their core. It unfolded before their eyes, desperately engulfing the wood.

Carolina offered York his lighter back, but he placed his hand over hers, closing her fingers over the still-warm metal. “Keep it. It…you need it more than me. You can give it back to me later.” He left her with her book as he, Wash, and Maine joined North, South, and CT in a game of tackle-football in the water. She tried to focus on her book, diverting her attention only to take a sip from her beer, but she couldn’t help but laugh as CT launched herself into the air and landed on North, causing both to tumble into the waves.

When the sun dipped below the water, the team steered themselves back. The last to come in were Florida and Wyoming, shivering in their wetsuits, but satisfied with Wyoming’s first surfing adventure. Carolina smiled to herself as she noticed Theta hovering next to Gamma; the little guy deserved a little wave action.

York approached her wrapped in a New York Yankees towel. He presented her another beer as an offering, which she accepted and motioned for him to sit beside her. One by one, the rest gathered to huddle around the fire. Wash retrieved a bag of marshmallows from his bag, and handed them out once Connie hunted down some sticks. South and North passed the time by attempting to out-do one another in embarrassing stories about the other, until there came a time when they were obviously just making things up in a competition of dramatic storytelling.

The hours ticked by, but as long as the fire remained strong, Florida kept the mojitos coming, and York accompanied Wyoming’s guitar with his off-key singing, no Freelancer could feel the tug of sleep.