#coast guard challenge

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Semper Paratus

In 2017, The US Coast Guard rescued 16,000+ civilians during Hurricane Harvey.

December 2017, then President Trump closed his Mar a Lago golf course to host and honor the 75 Coast Guard heroes! 🤗

[itsthemorph]

JANAURY DAY 7 - Everything, Everywhere, All At Once AU - @stillpreoccupiedwith1985

February 1st, 2025- “Basically, Marty is aware and can access all universes.”

What better of a way to end off Janaury then with an au where Marty can see all aus? I hope yall enjoyed all my art, and sorry to those I spammed at the end. I had a great time though, and I definetly plan to do more in the future! For now though, imma go and finish my homework 🤠👍

Link to all the posts below the cut!

Day 1 , Day 2 , Day 3 , Day 4 , Day 5 , Day 6 , Day 8 , Day 9 , Day 10 , Day 11 , Day 12 , Day 13 , Day 14 , Day 15 , Day 16 , Day 17 , Day 18 , Day 19 , Day 20 , Day 21 , Day 22 , Day 23 , Day 24 , Day 25 , Day 26 , Day 27 , Day 28 , Day 29 , Day 30 , Day 31

[melanchoire]

idk if you’re request are r still open but could you pleaseeeee right a squid game au with karina where’s she’s a vip whilst the reader is a player who happens to catch rina’s eyes and orders one of the guards to ‘kill’ her but the truth is she just wants them to injure you so she could pretty much buy you and offers them a generous offer and takes the reader with her home to fuck her ofc-

HEAD TO TOE, WE'RE G-O-L-D, GOLD ──── yu jimin.

── ( ⚜️ ) in a high–stakes arena where the rich play with lives, karina's unhinged affection for a clueless player spirals into a thrilling pursuit of power and possession, as she wages a clandestine war against the elite who want to control the game—determined to make she hers in a landscape where loyalty can be deadly.

pairing. soft dom!vip!karina x sub!player!fem reader

warning(s). dark themes (blood, blackmail, guns, manipulation, wounds.) smut (cunnilingus, fingering, pet names, praise.)

word count. 6,9k

on the remote, windswept island off the coast of korea, where the air felt thick with the salt of the ocean and layers of privilege, karina stared intently at the massive screen that flickers unrelentingly in front of her. it projected scenes of desperation and grim determination, a macabre theater of survival that the elite of society had come to revel in as they reclined within the plush confines of their exclusive lounge.

the other VIPs —a cadre of wealthy men each shrouded in opulence and armed with an ego the size of their fortunes— prattled away around her, their voices a cacophony of bravado and crude laughter. their animal masks glinted in the dim light, each an embodiment of their own stunted sophistication: the bear, the buffalo, the deer, the eagle, the lion, the owl and the panther. karina, with her sleek, glimmering snake mask, had long stopped trying to fit into their ill–fitted notion of power. they bestowed her with the title of “black mamba” — a name that clung to her like an aura, representing both seduction and danger.

indeed, karina was like the serpent after which she was named. she navigated through the male–dominated realm of wealth with a grace that was lethal. a CEO of multiple chain buildings, her empire spanned continents, erecting glass towers that pierced the skies. she delighted in the art of negotiations, mastering the calculated dance of give–and–take, luring her opponents close like prey in her velvet–lined trap before swallowing them whole. boredom had become her only true foe, and thus she found herself here, in this disturbing yet exhilarating environment, where life and death were mere odds in a high–stakes game.

the room pulsed with energy as the VIPs loudly deliberated on who among the 456 participants would prevail in the intricate, ruthless challenges laid out before them. they were gambles in a world fueled by adrenaline and greed. fingers flicked extravagantly as large sums of money were wagered, laughter erupting akin to applause for a theatrical performance. to them, these people were merely pawns, skittish players manipulated by the whims of chance.

karina sipped her wine, the rich bouquet swirling over her senses, but there was no warmth in the glass. she let the crystalline liquid glide over her tongue, savoring the taste, yet it paled in comparison to the sensations she was accustomed to in her world of opulence. her golden snake mask, adorned with shimmering jewels, reflected the flickering lights of the room, but it only accentuated the dark aura that surrounded her. the other VIPs, a proud gathering of men adorned in various animal masks, were discussing their latest ventures and betting strategies with animated enthusiasm, their laughter booming like thunder against the backdrop of muted dread that enveloped the game they were spectating.

karina leaned back against the plush leather chair, feeling the weight of their stares. she was the only woman present—an anomaly among this cadre of wealthy men whose fortunes were built on the backs of the common people. each one was a titan in his own right, possessing more money than they could spend in several lifetimes, yet as she surveyed the colorful men in their masks, she wondered about the hollowness that lay beneath their bravado. they were captains of strewn empires, quibbling over who could win this sadistic game, their dispositions fueled by overconfidence and unshakeable egos. she snorted softly at their amusement, a derisive smile curling her lips.

“who do you plan to bet on, black mamba?” a man clad in a golden lion mask leaned towards her, his voice oozing with faux camaraderie.

karina turned her head slightly, her gaze flicking to him with what might have been amusement, but instead might have been a deep–rooted contempt for the mundanity of their discussions. “i’ll pass on the pleasantries.” she said curtly, breaking her silence — a strike of intention as elegant as the flick of a serpent’s tongue.

“c’mon, karina. we didn't invite you here so you could just sit there with your butt on that couch.”

karina turned her gaze towards the massive screen, which projected the first horrifying game of the night. a collection of desperate players, their faces a tapestry of fear and determination, stood ready for the fight of their lives. they were fodder to the insatiable piggishness of the VIPs—a spectacle that turned the brutal struggle for survival into mere entertainment.

“your instincts are keen, lion.” she replied, her voice silky yet piercing, like a viper poised to strike. “but i tend to reserve my bets for those deserving of my admiration.”

the lion chuckled, prattling on about the odds and potential outcomes, but karina felt her attention drifting. she wasn’t interested in the banal exchanges of these men; they discussed their wealth like it was their greatest accomplishment, flaunting it like peacocks. she preferred the power she held; the way she commanded respect in every boardroom, every meeting, every deal. wealth was merely a tool for her, one that created empires, sculpted architectures that defined skylines, but sometimes left her yearning for something deeper.

as she analyzed the players on the screen, she noticed one in particular—a young woman with innocent features that contrasted sharply with the stark reality of her surroundings. the girl shifted nervously, glancing around at her fellow competitors, her wide eyes brimming with a blend of anxiety and determination. there was something captivating about her essence—an aura of naivety that made her somehow endearing. it felt like looking at a delicate flower amid a sea of thorns.

karina felt her heart flutter eerily, straying from her hardened exterior. the girl’s spirit spoke to her in a way few could, a spark of light threading through the darkness that surrounded the entire game. it would be easy to dismiss her as mere fodder—she was just another desperate soul seeking the elusive promise of freedom. yet here she was, glistening like a diamond hidden among the rubble, and as she carried out her calculations of survival, karina couldn’t help but feel drawn to the story she was weaving amidst this tapestry of despair.

the lion called for her attention again, trying to ensnare her in another round of gossip concerning their bets. but karina felt herself slipping further away from them, her focus honing in on the girl. her thoughts transformed into a meticulous analysis, breaking down the tension radiating from the competitors. they moved like a pack of wolves, filling the arena with their primal instincts. each one’s strategy revealed their desperate wish for survival, but none of that had meaning until you chose the right person to believe in.

“what am i doing?” she muttered softly under her breath, snapping her fingers.

one of the guards in his pinkish–red suit materialized at her side, his triangle mask glinting ominously in the low light. a calculating young man who had been handpicked among the elite soldiers to serve in this twisted charade. “yes, ma’am?” he replied, cheeks around the edge of his mask concealing the knowledge of death that lurked behind his crisp demeanor.

“i need you to do me a favor.” she said, her gaze unwavering, steely resolve underlying her words. the guard would obey; they all did. her wealth commanded loyalty, but it was her reputation that ensured it.

“bring me the details of the players.” she instructed, her tone sharp and unwavering. “and ensure that the ones who seem the most intriguing make their way to my corner.” the guard nodded, his expression unreadable beneath the mask, and swiftly vanished into the shadows of the lounge. “but i want you to put in some effort with someone in particular. and you better do a good job.”

“fiind out more about the girl in the competition. the one with a naive aura.” karina instructed, her tone sharp and demanding. intrigue ignited within her, fueled by a thrill she hadn’t felt in ages. “i want every detail—her background, her motivations, her weaknesses. i don’t want a single scrap of information overlooked.”

“oh, do tell me who has caught your eye.” the lion interrupted again, too enthralled by his own drunken bravado to notice the shift in her demeanor. “she looks like she’s just waiting to die.”

snarling inwardly, karina felt the sting of irritation clawing at her composure. “she looks like anyone who has something worth fighting for.” karina responded crisply, her voice sliding dangerously through the thick air, laced with reproach, “consider that next time you choose to gawk like a fool.”

several heads turned, intrigued by her sudden display of assertiveness. but she didn’t care about the flocking attention; she felt the familiar heat of a challenge flare up within her. several minutes passed before her thoughts were interrupted again—by the same guard who had been summoned earlier. cracking through her internal focus, he delivered, presenting a sleek tablet showcasing detailed analyses of each player, their backgrounds, and their potential weaknesses.

the guard nodded, committing her request to memory. as he moved back into the shadows of the room, karina returned her attention to the screen, her expression morphing from indifference to fierce concern. in the midst of blood-soaked chaos and merciless intent, there was this flawed creature, fighting for her life with a purpose she may not even fully comprehend. It invoked an emotion within karina—an empathic tug that ached like an old scar.

why did she care? amidst the avarice that suffocated her, a flicker of benevolence stirred restlessly. perhaps it was the girl’s resilience in this devil's game; perhaps it was simply an impulse to save someone beneath the weight of despair. for a moment, karina pondered the irony of her existence in this enclave of excess and power, a sentiment largely forgotten by these men as they laughed and teased, their masks disguising their insignificance in their perceived greatness.

would she risk her reputation, her wealth, to help the girl survive? her mouth curled again, this time in a contemplative smirk, a realization dawning on her—rescue could be a form of rebellion against all that she had come to loathe about this cruel game. in a world thriving on the indulgences of the wealthy, karina realized she might just have found a reason to play.

a voice broke her reverie, and she faced the men once more. “well, what’s it going to be, black mamba?” he boomed, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of potential profits hanging in the balance, oblivious to the stirrings within her heart.

“let’s see how this game unfolds.” she replied with a chilling smirk, her eyes betraying none of her internal turmoil, an intricate tapestry of wealth, boredom, and now—unwitting hope. As she settled into her seat, she could sense the adventure beginning, a plot still unwritten as the games played on.

karina turns to look at another guard. “and you, come here. i have a slightly more risky task for you. i hope you have fun…”

the scent of metal and fear hangs thick in the air as you awaken, the oppressive quiet of the giant room enveloping you like a shroud. the stark buzz of fluorescent lights hums overhead, illuminating a labyrinth of stacked bunk beds, some of which undulate with nervous bodies still cocooned in dreams. the ceiling is far above you, the dimly lit room stretching into shadows and uncertainty. bunk beds cascade down from the walls in chaotic rows, each occupied by a bewildered, anxious player. they glance at you, some with fear, others with a wild spark of determination. but none of their expressions give you solace. this is where you are: the squid game

you push yourself upright, blinking against the harsh light, your mind racing to stitch together the fragments of your recent past. the memory drifts into view like a haunting specter: it all began with a simple, stupid decision—a game of ddakji with the man in the suit. he had an air of disinterest, as if he watched your life dribble away like sand through an hourglass. winning felt easy, almost like a cruel joke; the slap that accompanied a loss had sent a wave of humiliation through you. but as he handed you his business card, you thought maybe, just maybe, this was a ticket out—out of your monotonous life as a cashier at a quaint cafe, a life spent earning pennies to help support your struggling parents. the card that promised a way out of your mundane existence led you here, to an unknown fate among 456 players wearing identical green uniforms. you had no idea that the card would lead you to this hell.

pushing those memories aside, you navigate the maze of players. your white sneakers touch the cold metal floor as you walk cautiously among the bunk beds. you try to consolidate your thoughts, recalling the night you were taken. the black van. the shouts. the fear that pulsed through your veins. you rub your arms, trying to shake off the cold creeping into your bones, when suddenly you bump into someone.

“i’m so sorry!” you exclaim, stepping back.

the girl before you towers over most, her deep–set eyes ringed with dark circles that speak of sleepless nights. kang saebyeok—her name rolls off the tongue like a haunting melody. you catch a glimpse of something in her gaze: a weariness that piqued your curiosity. but even in her state, she seems different, composed under the chaos surrounding you.

“it’s fine." she replies, her voice neutral yet tinged with a hint of something deeper.

amidst the suffocating expressions of panic, she stands tall, her dark eyes ringed with shadows that hint at sleepless nights and untold stories. she catches your gaze, an understanding passing between you — a connection sparked by shared dread.

“are you alright?” you ask hesitantly, your voice trembling against the silence.

as you share small talk, she reveals pieces of her past, vibrant yet dark. the tales of her childhood in north korea, the devastating epidemic that robbed her of family, the escape that still left her haunted. you listen intently, captivated, as she paints a grim picture of survival. but it isn’t just her battles that draw you in; it’s the faint glimmer of compassion that flickers in her eyes when she looks at you.

your paths diverge as you each retreat into your own thoughts. you sense an inexplicable bond forming between you, as if her pain resonates with your own deep yearning for freedom and escape. but your stories are different—intertwined by fate but separate in essence. you entered the game in hopes of helping your parents, to lift them out of the grasp of poverty, while she seeks a much larger goal: to find and rescue her mother, trapped in a nightmare of her own.

you feel the stark contrast of your lives: hers marked with survival against insurmountable odds, and yours a life filled with ordinary struggles. you weren’t a pickpocket or a defector; you were just a girl trying to help her family.

but you sense something in her, an empathy, as if your vulnerability reminds her of her younger brother, all dreams and innocence, much like you. it pulls you toward her, igniting a flicker of hope that there is someone here for you, and in this monstrous place, companionship becomes your refuge.

then the voice booms again, and you’re ushered towards the outdoor arena, the cold air biting at your skin. you can see a large, eerie doll looming at the far end—a haunting figure with oversized eyes painted in a way that could front a nightmare. it looks so innocent yet so deadly.

“welcome to your first game: red light, green light!” the announcer’s tone is devoid of any genuine warmth, slicing into your resolve.

a collective gasp ripples through the crowd. you glance sideways to see saebyeok’s expression: determination mixed with a flicker of fear. the giant doll, younghee, stands ominously at the other end of the field, its haunting eyes carefully tracking each player as they formulate their plans for survival.

“listen carefully.” saebyeok urges, leaning close to you. “when it’s green light, run. when it turns red, stop. but just before it calls red light, slow down for a moment. it’s all about timing.”

you glance to your left and see saebyeok, her posture tense yet alert. the moment the game begins, time seems to stretch. the doll’s voice booms out, “green light!” and adrenaline surges through your veins. you take off, feet pounding against the ground, the illusion of safety fueling your determination.

another shout. “red light!” you freeze mid–run, adrenaline turning to ice in an instant. you see players wobbling and stopping awkwardly around you, just trying to stay still. the tension in the air tingles across your skin. in the pit of your stomach, dread settles like stone.

you sprint forward, the fear of elimination driving your legs to move faster than ever before. a surge of adrenaline propels you closer to safety, but as your eyes dart from the doll to the finish line.

you remember saebyeok’s warning — you feel the momentum pushing you forward despite your mind screaming for you to stop. you lock your muscles, your breath catching as you freeze. but another sound pierces the tension; your heart sinks as you hear the vicious crack of a gunshot. agony blooms in your thigh, a needle of fire that overwhelms you, forcing a muffled cry from your lips.

you gasp, heart racing, as your body betrays you. you could scream—there’s a storm of panic within, mingling with blood pooling around your leg.

panic erupts around you, players rushing, some dropping to the ground, their hopes extinguished. you want to scream, to cry for help, but gihun, a fellow player crouched beside you, who previously placed his forearm across his mouth. “don’t move! stay still!”

every word he utters vibrates with urgency, a mix of fear and steely resolve. writh blood seeping from your wound, the world around you begins to fade as your strength wanes. darkness edges into your vision, but you fight to stay present, wanting nothing more than to push through — for saebyeok, for your family, for the chance to escape this hell.

“green light!” echoes the voice again, and saebyeok darts across the field, her eyes locked on you.

your vision blurs, but through that haze, you see saebyeok dashing toward you, defying the chaos, defying the rules. “hold on!” she shouts, voice fierce and full of urgency.

another player crouches by your side, his expression a mix of horror and determination. “don’t move… just hold on!”

saebyeok arrives, scooping you upwards, as if you weigh no more than a feather. there’s a desperate strength in her—a promise of protection that pulls you from the abyss. together, you and saebyeok reach the safe zone just as the surrounding shouts of horror and despair fade into a distant echo.

fear melds into gratitude as you look up at her. The realization flickers across your mind—this girl, this strong-willed stranger, cares. she won’t let you surrender to the darkness swirling around. as others rush toward you—concern etched deeply on their faces—you meet saebyeok’s eyes, putting all your hope into that very glance.

but before you can articulate your gratitude, a guard appears next to you. the cold metal of his revolver snakes through the air, and with a swift, brutal strike, everything dissolves into darkness. the world blurs, enveloping you in an unforgiving void.

you wake up dizzy, your heart racing and breath shallow as reality begins to uncoil around you. the world swims into focus: you are lying in the back of a remarkably expensive car, the leather seats firm beneath your body, yet far too soft for your liking at this moment. the familiar ache in your thigh is still there, throbbing painfully, a stark reminder of the chaos you just escaped—and yet, there’s a noticeable tension around the injury. you glance down, and your eyes widen as you see a piece of cloth wrapped tightly around your thigh, fashioned in a makeshift tourniquet style. a towel, stained dark red with your blood, absorbs the warmth of your injury.

turning your head with effort, you peer over toward the front seat, where the driver sits, her hands gripping the wheel with quiet determination. your breath catches; she has sharp yet elegant features, a woman with an air of unpredictability that unnerves you. her dark hair cascades down her shoulders, framing her pale skin, but it’s the intensity of her gaze in the rearview mirror that sends a chill racing down your spine. she appears calm, unbothered by the gravity of the situation.

“where— where are we?” your voice sneaks out, hoarse and weak, your tongue feeling thick in your mouth.

the one woman glances at you momentarily before returning her focus to the road, her expression unreadable. in that split second, you catch a glimpse of the pain and resilience etched into her features. “you’re safe.” she replies simply, her voice low and steady, almost melodic in its resolve.

the word safe echoes like a haunting refrain in your mind, pulling you back to thoughts of saebyeok and the chaos of the squid game. perhaps it's the remnants of fear from the game still thrumming in your veins—an unshakable instinct that safety may be a fleeting illusion. you remember her urgent instructions and her fierce determination, the way she urged you to escape.

“saebyeok… where is she?” you manage to croak out. “Is she—”

“she’s fine.” the woman interjects, turning the wheel sharply to the left. the abrupt motion sends a wave of nausea through you, and you fight to keep your lunch where it belongs. “but she’s not important now. just focus on your breathing.”

“i’m someone who’s not interested in watching you die.” she replies, driving through a narrow, secluded street. “i want to help you and her, but you need to trust me.”

to trust her? the irony is almost bitter, after everything that’s happened in the game. desperation gnaws at your mind as you replay the memory of the guard who shot you—totally unexpected, coldly calculating. but the woman radiates something different. maybe it’s the calmness in her tone, or the familiarity that lies beneath her sharp exterior. it’s tempting. but trust is hard–earned, especially in a place like this.

before you can respond, a wave of dizziness washes over you like dark ink pooling in water. the pain in your leg blurs into a backdrop of discomfort, and your vision starts to dim. The last thing you remember is your head dropping back against the headrest, the sound of tires screeching against the pavement rippling through the veil of unconsciousness.

you awaken with a gasp, the unfamiliar softness beneath you bewildering. the scent of herbal tea lingers in the air, mingling with a sense of disorientation. your body feels different—lighter, perhaps—but the sharp, throbbing pain in your thigh propels your thoughts back to the last moments of brutality. the memories rush in like an uninvited wave: a dark room, masked figures, the echo of gunfire, desperation, and the struggle for survival. you sit upright abruptly, panic clawing at your throat.

your hands shoot to your legs, searching for familiar fabric—the green uniform that has defined your existence as a player in the squid game—but instead, you find the cotton texture of a loose white t–shirt. but then, a sharp pain in your thigh reminds you that you can’t move too swiftly. it pins you to the plush sofa where you lie, the cushions cradling your body as you cautiously shift. your hand brushes against your thigh, and you flinch—something beneath the bandage is throbbing, a burning sensation just underneath your skin. you hesitate, then gingerly push the cotton of the bandage with your fingers. an unsettling reminder of the bullet wound you had suffered during the game.

as you breathe deeply, trying to steady your racing heart, a voice pulls you from the brink of a spiraling panic. a woman stands in front of you, her silhouette sharp against the backdrop of an exquisite living room. she’s striking, with deep auburn hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, and her attire—a silk blouse paired with tailored pants—screams sophistication.

“i hope you had a restful sleep.” she says, a soft smile playing on her lips. “i’ve prepared some tea for you.” she states matter–of–factly, gently setting a delicate teapot and two ornate cups on a coffee table in front of the expansive, luxurious sofa. she gestures toward the opulent coffee table in front of the sofa, revealing a polished silver teapot and delicate porcelain cups, almost too beautiful for the situation.

you want to respond, to ask questions, but your words are lodged in your throat. the sharp pain in your thigh throbs again, and your body refuses to cooperate.

“you need to stay still.” she advises, her voice low and soothing yet commanding. you can’t help but comply, your instincts telling you that defiance could lead to consequences you’re not ready to face. “the wound needs my attention first.”

the casual authority in her voice suggests that there’s more power in her small frame than you might comprehend. as she approaches, you can’t help but return to your previous survival instincts—should you trust her?

with that, she kneels beside the sofa, drawing your attention downward. you watch as her cool hands delicately examine your thigh, her fingers brushing over the bandage, careful not to apply pressure. the intimacy of the act sends an unexpected shiver down your spine, igniting a spectrum of emotions within you. she pulls out a small kit, pristine and organized, revealing instruments that slice through the nerves of your apprehension.

as she kneels beside you, the weight of your vulnerability hovers between you, and an unsettling mix of gratitude and apprehension blooms in your chest. “you took me out of there.” you whisper, realizing the implications of her actions. “but why?”

“because i can offer more than survival. i can offer a life.”

the first touch is gentle—a sting, but not unbearable—as she removes the bandage. you wince but remain silent, your gaze fixed on her intense focus. as the cloth comes off, pain lashes through you like a whip, spiking through the haze of confusion. you grit your teeth, the sight of your injury—a jagged bullet wound—is startlingly graphic. it sends a wave of nausea through you, but karina’s touch is gentle, almost comforting, as she surveys the damage.

you can feel the edges of her fingers as she applies antiseptic, a sharp bite that trails warmth as it spreads. the contrast leaves you breathless, a wave of sensations battling in your mind.

“hold on, this might hurt a bit.” she warns softly, and without hesitation, she begins to remove what’s left of the bullet from your thigh. you gasp, the pain surging through your body like a wire crackling with electricity. you feel your grip on the sofa tighten, knuckles whitening as you suppress a grunt.

“there we go,” she murmurs, her voice laced with a strangely comforting cadence. “you’re going to be okay.” with expert precision, she extracts the jagged piece, placing it gently aside. as she applies a new bandage, you can’t help but catch glimpses of her calm demeanor. the way she moves is both careful and confident, a jarring juxtaposition to the chaos you had just escaped.

“i have some experience with these kinds of things. you’d be surprised what money can buy in terms of expertise.”

“money doesn’t matter anymore.” you insist, wanting nothing more than to push through the oppression of helplessness and reclaim your freedom. “there’s no way out of this.”

when she finishes, she sits back on her heels, allowing you a moment to collect yourself. Your breath steadies, though your heart pounds, both from pain and the surreal circumstances unfolding.

“oh, but there is—if you choose to play your cards right.” she coos, her voice almost a sultry whisper as she pours a cup of tea, carefully handing it to you. “much more than your little coffee shop will ever pay you. just think of your parents. what if i told you i could change your life? make sure they never worry about a thing again?”

the room falls into a heavy silence. then, with a twitch of her mouth, she leans closer, her face just mere inches from yours. “you know, i could offer you a lot more than you make working as a cashier in that little coffee shop.” she states, her tone shifting into something more alluring. “you could have a life free from worry, free to take care of your parents without the constant struggle.”

you swallow hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you. the allure of an easier life tempts you, especially when you think of your parents. but there’s always a catch. with karina, everything comes at a price.

you sip the tea, feeling it warm your insides, yet the unease inside you doesn’t dissipate. Understanding dawns on you, but you wish it wouldn’t. “what’s the catch? what do you want from me?” you finally ask, barely above a whisper, daring to look her in the eye despite the unease thrumming in your veins.

iarina smirks, her eyes glinting with predatory delight. “nothing too complicated. be my partner in this little enterprise i’m building. utilize your skills from the game. you know the ins and outs of manipulation and survival better than most.”

the implication hangs heavy in the air, the predatory nature of her offer sinking into your consciousness. “you want me to work with you on something illegal?” you ask incredulously, heart racing. “you know what i am. what we’ve all been through.”

“in a way, that gives you more credibility.” she replies smoothly, her fingers now cleaning the wound with a swab, delicate yet firm. “people respect that type of history. i’ll pay you handsomely, far beyond your wildest dreams. enough to support your family, to elevate your status above merely surviving.”

her smile widens, and for a moment, her gaze holds yours fiercely, a burning intensity behind it. “just a little trust. a little cooperation. things can be… quite beneficial for both of us.” she leans in even closer, her breath brushing against your skin, warm and inviting.

the friction of your emotions collides: the urge to fight back against exploitation, against being used again, but the recurring reminder of your parents—their struggles, their sacrifices—fuels a twisted sense of acceptance. “and if i refuse?” you challenge, attempting to brave the interpretation of her intentions.

karina’s expression shifts slightly, a flicker of danger surfacing in her mischievous smile. “then i’d have to reconsider what to do with you, wouldn’t i?”

you watch as she applies an antiseptic ointment, the calm precision of her movements oddly mesmerizing. the tightness in your chest only deepens; you can feel vulnerability and desire intertwining together, as she leans in closer, the warmth radiating from her body washing over you.

“you see, this could be the beginning of a mutually beneficial relationship.” she whispers with a tantalizing smile, her breath laced with a floral scent.

before you can process her intentions, her lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, a sudden invasion that catches you off guard. you feel the world blur around you, the pain in your thigh forgotten for just an intoxicating moment as you succumb to the fervor of her kiss. it’s passionate, electric, filled with a raw hunger that ignites a yearning deep within you.

her hands find their way to your waist, fingers gripping you tightly as she draws herself even closer. In a confused swirl of emotions, you wrestle with your thoughts. reality clashes with the moment—the situation, the vulnerability, the manipulation—all exposed, stark and unavoidable.

as she deepens the kiss, you feel her hands move, groping at your sides with an urgency that sends an onslaught of conflicting feelings surging through you. it’s dangerously thrilling yet utterly terrifying. you’re caught between the lush fantasy she offers and the grim reality of what it all could mean—the depths of her manipulation, the shadows of power she wields.

when she finally pulls back, your breathless gasps fill the silence that lingers afterward. a mixture of confusion and desire fills your mind. “we both have things to gain here.” she states matter–of–factly, her cool composure returning, eyes glimmering with that same seductive control.

accidentally, karina places her hand on your injured thigh, earning a hiss from you. karina paused for a moment, her expression softening slightly as she took in your words. she stepped closer to you, her hand cupping your cheek gently as she gazed into your eyes. her thumb brushed lightly over your bottom lip, a tender gesture that belied her usual rough exterior.

“oh baby, i'm sorry... i forgot you’re still recovering.” she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft and caring. “don’t worry, i’ll be extra gentle with you, okay? i promise i won’t hurt you.”

she leaned in closer, her lips hovering just inches from yours. her breath was warm and sweet, smelling faintly of peppermint lip gloss and the lingering scent of cigarettes. when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“i just want to make you feel good. i want to worship every inch of your beautiful body until you’re trembling with pleasure. we’ll take it slow, okay? nice and easy, just like this…”

with that, she closed the remaining distance between you, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. her lips moved against yours with a tenderness that caught you off guard, her tongue teasing the seam of your mouth.

karina’s hands slid down to your waist, her fingers splaying across your lower back as she pulled your body flush against hers. she deepened the kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to dance and twine with yours. the kiss was slow and sensual, a contrast to her usual aggressive nature.

she takes your wrist, guiding you to walk to one of the many rooms in the house. she walked you backwards until your legs hit the edge of her king–sized bed, the plush mattress cushioning your fall. karina followed you down, covering your body with her own as she continued to plunder your mouth. her kisses were intoxicating, leaving you breathless and craving more.

one hand slid down to the hem of your shirt, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric to caress the smooth skin of your stomach. she broke the kiss to trail her lips down the column of your throat, her tongue flicking out to taste your racing pulse.

karina nipped at your collarbone before soothing the sting with a slow lick, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin. she looked up at you with hooded eyes, her gaze smoldering with desire.

“tell me what you want, babygirl.” she murmured, her voice low and seductive. “tell me how you want me to touch you…”

“please karina. i need you so badly…”

karina’s hand slid higher, her fingers skimming over your ribcage before cupping the soft swell of your breast. she squeezed gently, her thumb finding your hardening nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. she rolled the sensitive nub between her thumb and forefinger, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp.

her mouth found its way back to your neck, her lips and teeth and tongue working in tandem to leave a trail of hot, open–mouthed kisses along your throat. she nipped and sucked at your pulse points, no doubt leaving marks that would linger for days.

karina’s other hand slid down to your hip, her fingers dipping just below the waistband of your jeans to tease the sensitive skin. she traced lazy circles, her touch maddeningly light and teasing.

she pulled back slightly to look at you, her eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over your face. her hand slid up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“i want to taste every inch of you.” she murmured, her voice low and rough with desire. “i want to feel you come undone beneath my touch, to hear my name falling from your pretty lips as you scream your pleasure.”

with that, she slid down your body, settling between your legs. she looked up at you with a wicked grin as her fingers found the button of your shorts, popping it open with ease. “lift your hips for me, babygirl. let me take these off of you.”

karina slowly peeled your shorts down your legs, her fingertips trailing along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. she tossed the denim aside carelessly, leaving you bare from the waist down, clad only in your lacy panties.

she took a moment to admire the view, her eyes hungrily taking in the way the delicate fabric clung to your curves. she leaned in close, her breath hot against your inner thigh as she spoke. “fuck, baby... you have the most gorgeous legs i’ve ever seen. the perfect body.” she murmured appreciatively. “and this pretty pussy... i can’t wait to get my mouth on it.”

with that, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly dragged them down, revealing your glistening folds to her eager gaze. she let out a low, approving moan at the sight.

karina leaned in even closer, her nose brushing against your slick heat as she inhaled deeply. the scent of your arousal filled the air, and she let out a low, guttural groan.

“you smell divine.” she purred, her voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “i bet you taste even better…”

she didn’t waste any more time, burying her face between your thighs and running her tongue along your slit in a long, slow lick. she savored your essence, moaning wantonly as she lapped at your dripping core.

karina focused her attention on your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of her tongue before suckling gently on the swollen bud. her hands gripped your thighs, spreading your legs wider as she delved deeper, plunging her tongue inside your tight channel.

karina’s tongue explored your depths, stroking and caressing your inner walls with skillful precision. she curled her tongue in just the right way, hitting that special spot deep inside you that made your back arch off the bed. pleasure coursed through your veins, setting your nerve endings ablaze.

she could feel your slick walls fluttering around her invading muscle, your body instinctively trying to draw her in deeper. karina obliged, thrusting her tongue in and out of you at a steady pace, fucking you with her mouth as she savored your essence.

pne hand slid up your body to palm your breast, kneading the soft flesh and rolling your nipple between her fingers. she pinched and plucked at the hardened peak, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

karina’s other hand slid down to rub at your clit, her fingers circling and stroking the sensitive nub in time with the thrusts of her tongue. she could feel you growing closer to the edge, your body tensing and trembling with impending release.

she pulled back slightly, her lips wrapping around your clit as she suckled greedily. two fingers plunged deep inside you, curling in just the right way to stroke that special spot with every thrust. karina fingered you hard and fast, her mouth never leaving your clit.

“that’s it.” she encouraged, her voice muffled against your flesh. “come for me. i want to feel you come all over my fingers and tongue. give it to me, darling. let me taste your pleasure.”

karina could feel your walls starting to quiver and clench around her plunging fingers, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. she doubled her efforts, sucking harder on your clit as she pumped her fingers in and out of your dripping cunt at a furious pace.

she could tell you were close, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps and your hips bucking erratically against her face. karina wanted to taste your release, to feel your essence flooding her mouth as you came undone.

with a final, hard suck on your clit and a curl of her fingers deep inside you, she sent you hurtling over the edge. your body convulsed, your walls clamping down like a vice on her invading digits as your orgasm crashed through you.

karina moaned loudly as your juices gushed out, coating her fingers and chin. she continued to lap at your spasming flesh, working you through your high as your pleasure peaked and then began to ebb.

finally, as your body went limp and pliant beneath her, karina slowly pulled back. she sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she gazed down at you with a satisfied smirk.

“that was so fucking hot, sweetheart.” she purred, her voice low and rough. “watching you come apart like that... it was beautiful.”

she crawled up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pressing her mouth against yours and letting you taste yourself on her tongue. karina’s hand slid down to your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh gently.

“i’m not done with you yet though, babygirl.” she murmured against your lips. “that was just the beginning. i’m going to fuck you over and over again until neither of us can move. i hope you’re ready for a long night."

[schemingdiva]

pick a pile reading - messages that you need to hear right now

Pile 1:

Cards: the world, 9 of pentacles, knight of wands, king of cups | shapeshifter oracle card

A situation that you have been praying about has finally reached its end. New financial opportunities are on their way to you dear one. Keep an eye out for incoming money or career opportunities. You are being encouraged to travel and step beyond your comfort zone. Don’t stay in the same place where you struggled, now is the time for you to leave and really challenge yourself to thrive outside of your comfort zone. It’s possible that you may be considering a new career or moving to a new city. You might be into art or traveling. You are also being encouraged to hone your skills and spend time with yourself focusing on your strengths.

extra confirmation: butterflies 🦋, dolphins, the coast, 777

Pile 2:

Cards: death, ace of pentacles, 7 of wands | mountain oracle card

You’re going through a major transformation right now! It may be hard to accept but once you let go of the past, you can get started on your glow up love! You spent a lot of time doing the hard work behind the scenes, doing shadow work and now your hard work is paying off. You may be getting a new job or raise, your life is being promoted in huge way. You may feel a bit defensive right now, but trust that the Universe/God, whomever you believe has your back. Make sure to keep up your boundaries and guard your treasures. The Universe is guiding you to stand your ground regarding this situation, continue with your beliefs and what you’re focusing on. Other people around you may disagree but ignore them, the Universe is supporting you 100% with this. What you’re doing is right for you, and you alone.

extra confirmation: 444, leo, scorpio

Pile 3:

Cards: 9 of swords, 7 of cups, death | earth mother oracles

My heart aches for you pile 3. You’re currently feeling alone, maybe even depressed. You’re in a lot of pain. You may feel so overwhelmed by life that you don’t know how to move forward. If you’re feeling this way this message is for you. You’re being encouraged to start anew, allow yourself to start over. This part of your life has ended, and no longer serves you. You’ll soon find that life is changing to your benefit. You’re entering an entirely new chapter of your life! During this transition please know that you are loved. As you go through this process it’s important that you make plans and assess what your next steps are. It’s time to be focused so you are prepared for the changes coming your way. Trust yourself and your ability to succeed.

extra confirmation: 555, holly berries, feathers

Pile 4:

Cards: 6 of pentacles, king of swords, death, 5 of wands, the hermit | winter oracle

Pile 4, it looks like you need to slow down and take some time for yourself. You’re a very generous person, and you’re often the person that people turn to for help. A lot of people may depend on you in your personal life. You should reevaluate your relationships and consider if these people are deserving of you and your generosity. At this time, you’re entering a period of rebirth. Your life is transforming for the better. This period may be a little rough, I’m seeing some challenges coming your way. The best way to navigate these challenges is by spending time alone. This may be hard, especially if you’re normally surrounded by people. Stand your ground, and focus on you. Keep an eye out for more information that may be revealed to you.

extra confirmation: snow, snakes, smoke

————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! More to come soon.

[jiabeewrites]

so this is what i've gathered from the memes and tumblr posts:

(please do not take this as 100% accurate. it's probably only like 78% accurate)

TITANIC II:

a few billionaires + a 19 year old + one other person(?) went into a "submarine" that wasn't actually a submarine

it was controlled by a VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER

and they were supposed to explore the titanic

and the submarine thingie didn't actually work and they KNEW THAT before getting on

and it imploded

and they all died

the only person anyone has sympathy for is the 19 year old bc he didn't wanna go on but wanted to make his dad happy

also celine dion is trending lmao

and fanfic is being written for the submarine (im slightly concerned)

oh and the company who made the submarine is called oceangate

this link. that's it, that's the addition.

oh yeah and @hkayakh said that a documentary is being made about this???

RUSSIA:

there's a coup

and there's basically a civil war

and the person in charge of the coup said that he's trying to topple russia's military leaders

and ukraine just took back some of their land

also the troops stopped for coffee before fighting

important addition by @chimp-prolly-not-typing-hamlet: the rogue battalion that rebelled against Putin is a private paramilitary organization called Wagner’s Group which has been linked to far-right extremism and neo-nazism

GREECE:

the greek coast guard capsized a boat full of hundreds of migrants, killing 80 with over 500 people still counted as missing, and the eu won't even investigate (according to @socialist-microwave-laser, please go check this post for more info)

so yeah fuck capitalism actually

THE STOCK MARKET???:

logitech is NOT suing oceangate, that was a fake post

EXTRA SHIT:

andrew tate is being charged for rape and human trafficking

and apparently elon musk challenged mark zuckerberg to a jiu jitsu cage fight

and andrew tate offered to coach elon musk

the season finale of helluva boss came out!!! (s1e8)

the season finale of helluva boss is coming out only right now because of some legal issues that vivsiepop + spindlehorse had. i think it had something to do with working with kesha and her label

FNAF TRAILER JUST DROPPED

yeah the world just decided to speedrun history today

(pls tell me if there's anything to add to this in the replies!!!)

[sweeterthanficstion]

— coast2coast (pt. one) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, featuring claire (and chris in later parts!), UNEDITED!! so far only fluff (unheard of...) i'll add as i go!

oh actually, my shitty attempt at knowing anything about surfing despite learning everything through youtube, google and malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid (what started this whole thing). i am NAWT a pro --- so if any of you guys actually know a thing or two abt surfing hit me up!!! i'd love to learn more!

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: AHH HI! i'm so excited to post this one!! it's currently summer here in australia and i've been down at the beach nearly every weekend, so it was only inevitable that my fixation on surfer!leon came back full force. i have this big story all set up in my head, but i was too excited to wait to finish writing it so i'm posting it in parts!! ++ oh also i had no idea corral beach was an actual place in malibu so my version is fictionalised. just. take everything in this fic with a grain of salt i have no idea what im doing lol

i also thought it'd be really fun idea since i'm so busy nowadays, that if you guys are interested at all, you can send in little ideas for blurbs for surfer!leon, and i'd love to write them! i'll figure out ways to fit them into the story, just as little extras, but obviously no promises on writing all of them!! i'll likely just pick the ones i think fit best into the plot. i just think that'd be AWESOME!! <3

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3 ⭑ series masterlist⭑next part (coming soon)

California is exactly how you’d left it. Exactly how you remember it. Nothing has changed between the sand beneath your toes and the palm trees lining the scorching hot tar roads, their shadows stretching long and thin like sleepy cats in the afternoon sun. The salt-kissed air wraps around you, sticky and warm, a gentle reminder that time moves slower here. Or maybe it doesn’t move at all. 

That’s the thing about California. A time capsule—sun, sand and sky.

June, July, August, Summer melts in your mouth like a sticky popsicle, one into the next, so quick you forget what it tastes like before it’s even passed.

No matter where you are in the world, what waves you're chasing, whether it be in Oceania, the Pacific, the Atlantic, summer melts, fickle and eager.

You’ve learnt to love it while it lasts.

“Another fish and chips!” One of the waitress staff calls from the front—Bunny’s Seafood Diner has been around for as long as you can remember, a weathered little gem perched off the coast of Corral Beach, Malibu. A quick and convenient right turn off the PCH, it’s a lighthouse for road-tripping families and sunburned surfers chasing their next ride.

You flip the fryer around your wrist with a practised flourish, “On it!” You call back, before you dip the metal back in the bubbling oil, the familiar sizzle of golden fries accompanying the bustle of the late afternoon rush. The kitchen smells of salt and grease and the faint tang of fresh-caught fish, a scent so familiar it clings to your skin like a second layer.

Claire breezes past with lazy grace, bumping her hip against yours. “Heading to the surf after?” she asks, her grin as wide as the beach outside, like her mouth was made for holding sweet oranges on hot summer days. She’s balancing a seafood basket in one hand and a plate of fries in the other, weaving through the bustle with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

“How’s the forecast looking?” You ask back instead, tossing the crispy fries into a basket lined with deli paper. 

“High tide in twenty,” Claire winks over her shoulder at you, side-stepping a counter corner like it’s second nature. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

You can’t deny that does sound perfect. After a shift as long as the one you’ve worked today, a surf might be all you need to feel alive again. You look back up at the foggy old clock on the wall—ten minutes left, five if you can sweet-talk your manager. You end up counting the minutes in your head, that familiar itch to feel the sand under your feet and the sun on your skin insatiable. 

By the time the clock hits four, you’re halfway out the door, ready to trade the smell of fried seafood for the briny tang of the ocean instead. Claire is hot on your heels, boards tucked under both your arms as she chases you across the tar road that burns under your bare feet, down the splintering boardwalk, and onto the powdered-sugar sands of Corral Beach.

The sun has already dipped far past it’s zenith, and the world feels washed in gold. Golden rays stretch out across shimmering waters, painting streaks of honey over the horizon, the heat settling into a balmy hum that sticks to your skin in a way you can only love.

You follow the shaded path of sycamore trees until the beach opens up to surfer’s paradise—a long stretch of sand, waves that swell and crash, aching to be carved into by hungry surfers. The path curves past a weathered wooden bulletin board, been there as long as you can remember, and you think it might be older than Bunny’s, if that’s even possible. 

“Wait!” Claire stops in her tracks, and you are helpless but to comply. Your eyes stay glued longingly to the beach while Claire’s squint at the array of flyers pinned up—some faded, some fresh. There’s a yoga class, a missing dog poster, and the usual surf report stapled to the corner, its ink smudged from damp fingers. But her eyes zero in on something bright and bold and new. 

“Here we go.” She plucks a flyer off the board, turning it toward you like she’s struck gold. The words Corral Beach Annual Surf Comp are printed in big, blocky letters, accompanied by a grainy photo of a surfer carving into a wave.

“Oh, no,” you groan, already shaking your head.

“Oh, yes,” Claire says, a grin spreading across her face.

Claire’s been singing the same song since you were fifteen and cutting through waves better than most kids your age here on Corral Beach. That you should be out there winning trophies and medals and 10k cheques instead of cleaning out the back of the greasy old fryer’s in Bunny’s. 

“C’mon, you have to do it!” She bugs on, waving the flyer around like some magic wand. 

You laugh, ducking under her arm as she tries to push it into your face. “Claire, come on.”

“I’m serious!” she insists, jogging to catch up with you as you head toward the water. “You’re out here every day. You’ve got the moves, the skill—everything they’re looking for.”

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. You’ve been surfing since before you could walk. You’d grown up right here on Corral Beach, knew these waves better than yourself. You’d watched your parents chase waves like it was their religion—Bali, Costa Rica, Australia, it was their entire life. Something they loved that was inevitable for you to love too. 

“I’m just not the competition type,” you shrug, gaze drifting out to the waves curling in the distance. It’s not that you don’t want to—well, okay, maybe it is. The idea of standing out there, under the scrutiny of judges, crowds, and strangers, feels about as foreign as the first time you stepped onto a board. Surfing, to you, is about as religious as it is to your parents. An outlet, an art form, the ocean calms your restless soul when you need it most. Putting a score to something like that just doesn’t feel right.

“You’re one of the best surfers out here.” Claire presses, she does it so effortlessly. Poking and prodding, always enough but never so much as to push you over the edge. “Half the people in those comps are just there for a shot at a new wetsuit.”

You meet Claire’s gaze, hesitate, the memory of your dad paddling out at dawn or your mom teaching you how to duck dive flickering in your mind. “It’s not about that. My parents taught me how to surf before they taught me how to say mom and dad. They’d enter comps now and then, but it was never about winning. It was about the waves, the adventure.”

“And you don’t think that’s in you too?” Claire asks, raising an eyebrow as she shields her eyes against the sun.

“Maybe it is,” you say finally. “But that’s their story, not mine.”

Claire’s gaze softens for all of a second before she snorts, shoving your shoulder with her own. “You’re so full of it. You’ve got more talent in your pinky than most people out there. Just think about it, okay? It could be fun.”

You do nothing of the sort.

The second your feet are in the water, you forget all about the comp, all about your job and any other worries on your mind. Salt water seems to have that sort of effect on you. Wasting no time, both you and Claire paddle past the surf, straddling your boards in the ocean, watching as the other surfers before you take off one by one with each new wave that rolls in.

It doesn't take long before the first wave in a gorgeous set comes in, Claire’s all but primed for it. She takes off, gets into position, and pops up on her board, carving into it like it’s breathing. You follow suit as the next one comes in, and just like that, you fall into the rhythm of the ocean.

Wave after wave, you don’t stop until the sun is cotton candy pink, purple, gold. Most of the other surfers have dispersed by now, and Claire’s traded shredding the bigger waves for wading through the calm waters with her back pressed against the flat of her board. 

You, on the other hand, feel like fate is decidedly on your side. You watch as another set rolls in, the first crashing just out of reach. It peels exactly as you’d hoped, slowly to the right, so when the next one rolls in right after, you paddle with it, catch the feeling of the tide underneath you, and like it's simply second nature, get to your feet.

This is where you feel most alive. There is not a second to spare for the other noise in your head, not about the past nor the future nor anything in between other than right here and now. Nothing but the instinctual insistence of how much longer can you stay on? How much longer can you keep your balance? Lean left, right, forward. Better, longer, more, more, more.

And when you’ve finally completed your balancing act, you dance up to the nose, hovering there on the tip of your board, arms out to steady yourself like sails catching wind, and then you close your eyes and let the crash of the wave topple you off.

It’s only once you’ve resurfaced, board nowhere to be seen, that you realise you didn’t feel the familiar tug of the leash around your ankle. By the time you drag yourself to shore, breath heavy and hair clinging to your face, you see it—the measly cord trailing behind you, frayed and snapped clean.

You huff a sigh, not surprised. It had been old crap for a while now. So had the board, but it carried enough summers in its scars to mean something. A history you weren’t quite ready to part with.

Claire’s already gathering her things by the time you meet her on the sand, shaking out her towel and tossing it into her worn tote bag.

“What happened to your board?” she asks, her tone casual, but her raised brow suggests she’s caught the fraying leash.

You lift your ankle and let the cord dangle, the sad state of it all the explanation she needs.

She winces, offering you a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. Guess it’s finally time for a new one?”

It’s only when you’re halfway up the beach that you spot it again. Your board? Your board!

It’s leaning lazily against the base of a lifeguard tower, looking as though it had simply wandered off and decided to wait for you all this while. Relief blooms in your chest, and you call to Claire that you’ll catch up.

It’s only when you’re closer that you notice him.

He’s standing by the lifeguard tower, a red rescue can slung casually over his shoulder. Blonde hair catches the light, tousled and damp like he’s been in the water himself. His broad shoulders are framed by the white-and-red uniform shirt that looks a little too crisp for someone who spends their day in the sun.

You can tell he’s new. There’s a hesitation in the way he stands, like he’s trying to look comfortable in a place he hasn’t quite claimed yet. But there’s something magnetic about him, the way he surveys the beach with quiet curiosity, like he’s soaking in every detail.

And you don’t mean to stare, but you’re caught in the moment, the way he looks like he belongs there despite it all, carved from the same sun and salt as the beach itself.

You’re still staring when his eyes meet yours.

They’re blue, impossibly so, the kind of blue that reminds you of the water when it’s so clear you can see straight to the bottom, the kind of blue you could fall into and forget how to breathe. His mouth quirks into a smile—easy, natural, like he’s been doing it all his life.

For a heartbeat, the world shifts, tilts ever so slightly, like the two of you are caught in some half-remembered dream. Something stirs in your chest, familiar yet unnameable, like déjà vu soaked in sunlight. You freeze, caught like a fish on a line, just before his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he lifts a hand in a casual wave.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice carries over the sound of the waves, warm and low, and you think there’s a hint of the coast in it—just not this one.

You blink, salt-sticky and sun-drunk, realizing belatedly that you’re still rooted to the spot. “Hey,” you manage, shifting your weight on your feet.

He doesn’t move, but his attention is all yours now, quiet and steady, as though nothing else on the beach exists, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Nice ride out there,” he says, nodding toward the water, his voice dipped in easy admiration. “That last wave—you made it look easy.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, unplanned but genuine, a flush to your cheeks at the notion of being watched and noticed. You hope he mistakes it for sunburn. “Easy? You sure you weren’t watching someone else?”

“Nope,” he says, the smile widening just a fraction. “Definitely you. The board gave it away.” He says, nodding towards the board that’s still propped against the lifeguard tower like a loyal dog.

“Ah,” you say, realising. “So it was you.”

He shrugs, sweet and boyish in his sincerity. “Figured it deserved better than drifting out to sea.”

You glance down at your battered shortboard, the paint long faded from years of sun and surf. The edges are chipped, and the wax is uneven, but it feels like a part of you. “Thanks,” you say, meaning it. “Guess I owe you one.”

And before you can really think it through, the words escape you all at once. “You surf?”

“Not like that,” he hums, tilting his head toward the waves. Not like you. “Still trying to figure out how to make it look as easy.”

“That’s how it starts,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips despite yourself. “You’ll get there.”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “We’ll see. I’m mostly here for this,” he hefts the rescue can with a crooked smile. “Started lifeguard training last week. Figured I’d better get to know the locals.”

“Locals, huh?” You arch a brow, a subtle quirk to your lips. “And I’m one of those?”

“Definitely,” he grins, his voice sure now, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like this is where you belong.”

The words hang in the air, sweet and sticky like the heat of the day. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“Well,” you manage, recovering with a nod toward the tower. “Welcome to Corral Beach. Try not to let it chew you up and spit you out.”

He laughs then, and it’s warm, golden—like sunlight filtering through the trees. “I’ll do my best.”

He steps back, making space for you to collect your board, though his gaze lingers, like he’s reluctant to go but knows he should. 

“See you around?” he asks, the question carrying a hopeful edge.

“Maybe,” you say, the word feeling light and easy as you turn toward the parking lot.

You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes linger, and it leaves a quiet sort of thrill in your chest, like the first rush of catching a wave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[occamstfs]

Masterpost !

2K Follower Writer’s Challenge: Viral Transformation

Side Blog: Occam's Revue

If you have questions or messages send them there, also going to use it for reblogs!

Stories by Subject/Series:

Talismen

I Beginnings ● II Gamer Grows Up ● III Sorry For The Backwash ● IV Deliverer ● V World Peace

Jock/Himbo

Psych Should Not Be Required ● Team Needed A Coach ● Diet Diaries ● Road Raging ● No Need To Apply ● Gacha Bro ● Chauffeur Swap ● Quite The Hangover ● Roommates’ Trivial Tiff ● Influencing Goes Both Ways ● Brain Rot ● One More Lap ● No Such Thing As A Free Ride ● Batter Up! ● More Of A Man ● Break A Leg! ● Always A Price To Pay ● Masc-X ● Cheat Codes IRL ● It Came From Down The Hall ● Herbal T ● Out To Pasteurize ● Start-Up ● Sticky Fingers ● Green Eyes of Envy ● Triple Shot Theft ● In The Rink: Dunks and Woodie ● What You Really Want ● Work-Study ● Man-Candle ● MuskMask Up ● Perfect Teeth ● Coming Soon: Court Ordered Change

Cultural/Racial

Rosa's Cafe ● Those Holi Days ● Should've Worn Green ● Terracotta Turmoil ● Ramadan Recitations ● Anything For Extra Credit ● Actually, They're Called Tetrominoes ● Spanish Shortcuts ● K-Pop Conundrum ● One More Lap ● Ni Hao!Nyc ● Subcontinental Promotion ● Look Your Age ● Marichismo

Frat

No Need To Pledge, Just Drink ● Legacies Are Supposed To Change ● How Many Drinks? ● New Meaning To Hazing ● Man Of Your Dreams ● Follow Your Nose ● Tailgating

Military/Cop

Wouldn't It Be Funny? ● Coast Guard Compensation ● Anchors Aweigh ● Jonny Get Your Gun ● AL:IV Everycop

Bear

Tenor Troubles ● Beary Blast ● More Of A Man ● The Old Candy Shoppe ● Look Your Age ● Green Eyes Of Envy ● In The Rink: Dunks ● Slice Of Italy ● Talismen II: Gamer Grows Up

Cowboy/Redneck

Ain’t No Place For A City Boy ● Country Charm ● Beau Of The Ball ● Halloween Bacchanal ● Keep On Trucking

Role Swap

Diet Diaries ● Chauffeur Swap ● Queering The Ring ● Conjuration: The Call

Surfer

Shaka-Screen ● Surfin’ The Years Away

Stoner

Ugh, I Hate Bongs. ● Higher Education

Misc

Tarot: The Knight of Swords ● Daddy: How To Be A Father ● Straight to Gay: Diet Diaries ● Twunkification: To The Ground Floor ● Voice Change: Tenor Troubles ● Temp E-Boy: Influencing Goes Both Ways ● Surfer: Shaka-Screen ● Biker: Helmet Left Behind ● Devolution: Pre-Homo Sapience and Conjuration: The Call ● Corporate Stepfordization: A Paragon Man ● Satyr and Knight: Halloween Bacchanal

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 6)

Plans are being made. And Link is facing his demons as well as he can.

Still taking time to inch my way back to full speed. Things are getting better though and I can feel my fingers itching to write more and more. Still riding the joy of pure indulgence with a feel good favorite. I can never stop myself from rambling in this one.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Finally back in Hateno after several weeks of long, uncomfortable (sand infested. lizalfos infested) travel along the coast (doing your standard business. gathering what supplies you could for Link), and you were ready to just slip into bed for the rest of your life. Maybe even retire early. Ensure you never have to see another damned lizalfos for as long as you live (you won't, but the thought is there).

But it was simply not to be. You'd barely crossed the gates into Hateno proper and already you were planning (reluctantly) an even longer trip into territories you'd never (well. not never. but not for long) thought to venture to. And honestly, you weren't looking forward to it.

And by the look on Skim's and Adino's faces, neither were they.

Not even a day after returning to your home village you'd broken the news to your guards that you were planning a trip towards Goron territory. Though, if you were lucky and utilized your resources wisely, you might never even have to set foot in that brimstone hellscape of a volcano (you hoped).

You'd thought once (some years ago), that maybe it would be a place you should visit. The Gorons were known to be friendly to travelers. The paths were littered with unclaimed mineral and gemstone deposits. And the infrastructure for travel was there thanks to the thriving tourism industry in the area.

It'd seemed like a wonderful idea when you'd started planning such a venture in your early days of merchanting. Back when you were still riding high from making your first small fortune and were still relatively unaware of the world at large. Of its challenges. Of its dangers.

That was until you started gathering information on the hazards in the area, and your opinion of the region took an immediate and drastic turn.

The high death rates associated with heatstroke, dehydration and smoke inhalation were concerning enough. But learning that the volcano occasionally erupted (killing dozens, even hundreds of travelers when it did), and was infested with talus' (over 40 confirmed sightings. nearly 20 unconfirmed). It was enough to put you off.

Skims and Adino knew this. You'd made it a point to explain to them why you wouldn't be heading that direction ever (but apparently not ever, because here you were. planning). No matter how much money could be made harvesting minerals or trading with the locals.

Not the produce trade though, despite what one would think coming from a land known for its lava lakes and frequent wildfires.

The volcanic soil was actually an excellent source of fertilizer (which you wanted. in bulk. as much as you could shove in your mindslate). Making the region around the volcano one of the more prosperous lands for growing crops and herbs. Even when compared to the more central settlements of Hyrule, right on the bread-belt of the land (if you were willing to risk the guardians, that is).

It was a region a farmer (and merchant) could make a fortune, if they were lucky enough to hit brown gold. And if one was willing to take staggering losses everytime the volcano blew its top. And there would be losses. There always was when mother nature got involved with the lives of mortals.

No. You had been eager to get into the fish and cloth (and sand) trade. So close to the volcano, magma deposits were unusually close to the surface in the surrounding lands. And while this created the most beautiful hotspring (entire lakes worth) tourist attractions, it also limited the amount of life-sustaining (and fish-sustaining) water sources in the area. Which, in turn, limited the number of local fisheries and livestock flocks the land could sustain.

The constant presence of ash and volcanic runoff also poisoned much of the water sources in the immediate areas around the mountian. Further adding to the lack of available water sources for fish and livestock (and people too, for that matter. Hence, the sand. A natural filtering agent for locals in the area) to live off of.

So. Fish and cloth (and sand). Those had been your plan a couple years ago. Until the reality of the territory's dangers made you reconsider. And later, dismiss the idea all together.

Knowing this, of course Skims questioned your sudden interest in the northeastern part of Hyrule. A territory you had said yourself was not worth the risk of death and revenue loss to expand your business ventures into.

You had been honest with them, of course (you were always honest with your most trusted guardsmen. when confronted, at least). Though not necessarily forthcoming with the details. Which, frankly, was par for the course as far as your more private dealings were concerned.

"I'm looking to acquire localized goods for an important client." You offered in way of an explanation, letting the things you hadn't said speak volumes. And, of course, Skims merely nodded. Still looking doubtful, but willing to accept your reasoning as your own without contest.

That was another thing you liked about him, other then his fierce loyalty and care. Easy going at the best of times, accepting at the worst. You never had to worry too much about Skims poking holes in your reasonings or explanations. You just needed to pay him, and he was willing to turn a blind eye to your eccentricities.

Adino, on the other hand.

"It's a waste of damned time no matter how important this so-called client of yours is. Just use the stable system instead of draggin' us along to that Goddess forsaken hellhole." Adino snapped, irritable still so soon after the previous trip (the bite a lizalfos nearly took out of his rear near Highland Stable not having helped his already sour attitude). Narrowing his eyes at you with suspicion.

Which was fair, honestly. In any other situation, letting the stable system deliver your desired product would have been the most efficient (and cheapest) way for such a limited and precise order. What would take several months of travel for a merchant (yourself included), the system could get delivered several weeks earlier. Maybe the same amount of time, or slightly longer than originally calculated, if the weather turned unfavorable or a blood moon cluttered up previously clear roads with monsters.

Without knowledge of your mindslate or the connection you have with Link (the previously mentioned client), it does sound like a bullshit reason to undertake such a dangerous journey out of the blue. Especially when there are safer and more cost efficient methods to achieve the same results (sort of). But the fact of the matter is that the system would not be quick enough to deliver your order before Link begun his journey towards Death Mountain.

(And it would be soon. Already there were rumors of the Zora Domain's endless rains easing at the boarders.)

Tally up the timeables, and getting the merchandise yourself was the only feasible way to get ahold of what you needed when you needed it. Where the stable system would require a two way trip to acquire your goods, you needed only one way to get it yourself (and add the slate's instant delivery to Link, and you're set). It was the only way to guarantee you'd meet the rapidly approaching deadline.

Also, you didn't trust the stable system to be as discerning as yourself when choosing suitable product. While you didn't doubt they would put forth their best efforts, you acknowledged that a delivery guild probably had limited knowledge of advanced spell craft and their associated counterfeits.

You couldn't afford to make any mistakes when it was The Hero of Hyrule's life you were working to secure.

Only the very best would do for Link, after all. Even if you had to put in the footwork to ensure it.

You smiled tiredly at Adino, noting how his thin brows were pulled into a deep frow. How his eyes flickered over your road-weary face and sagging posture with veiled intent. Searching and prying and worried. Lips pulled down in displeasure.

He was worried for you. Keeping secrets (something you'd seldom done so openly before. something you'd rarely done, period). Taking seemingly unnecessary risks (something you'd never done at all before this little proposal). All behaviors that were definite red flags. All behaviors that were concerning. Especially coming from someone like you (who you'd become).

And you loved that about Adino. How quietly observant and caring he was when he cared enough to try. Even if he acted like a prickly little cactus most of the time.

"Trust me. I wish I could just let the stables handle this." You'd begun, meeting Adino's (and Skims) gazes as you continued. Sighing. "But this is something I have to do myself. It's important to me."

Skims nodded, having already accepted your reasonings regardless. And slowly, reluctantly, Adino nodded too. Still looking as surly as ever, but willing to back down quietly so long as you were in possession enough of your thoughts to acknowledge the strangeness of your current plans.

"Thank you." And you meant that. Even as the next words hurt your very soul. Perhaps even more than the damned sand (yeah right). "I'll pay you triple if you agree to accompany me as my bodyguards." Skims' and Adino's eyes lit up at that, and you could practically see the rupee signs swimming within them. The bastards.

And somehow Red was suddenly there as well, looking just as bright-eyed and eager as she nodded along with the boys.

Your brow twitched. And Red grinned. Far too many teeth caged within blood red lips.

You sighed.

'Damnit, Link. Why do you cost me so much money.'

---

Sitting on the edge of the Zora Capital's Central Reservoir, Link held the slate in his cold-numbed hands. Looking out over the misty landscape laid out far below, cushioning the shining zora city in its translucent shroud.

The divine beast calmed at his back, as was the spirit still trapped within its confines (patient. kind. understanding. even in the face of death and heartbreak).

His fingers tightened on the slate's smooth edges at the reminder. Knuckles turning white from the pressure of his grip. The chilled ache of his bones a painful burn against his exposed flesh and skin.

His shoulders begun to shake. He wanted to sleep in his own bed, with his own pillow and his own blankets. He wanted to bathe in his shiny round bowl of a bath with his nice smelling soaps and hair cleansers.

He wanted to go home.

He was afraid to go home.

But no. That wasn't true. Not really. It wasn't that he was afraid to go home (to his home. to your home).

It was that he was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had lost. Ashamed of how he had failed.

Seeing Mipha's face (and that was her name. Mipha. the zora woman he may have once loved. not some nameless face peering out of her tomb with sad, accepting eyes) had finally made him understand the weight he carried upon his shoulders now. The burden of his past failings.

And he didn't know how to reconcile these feelings. Of who he was, and the pain he'd left in the wake of his death.

And who he was now, and his inability to grieve these people who had once meant so much to him. And who, in some ways, still did. Even if he couldn't remember why he felt as such. Even as the guilt tore him apart at the seams.

Far below, in the dark waters of the Domain's endless web of rivers. The flashing white of paper slips beneath a rising current. The ink fading into the darkness of the depths.

---

AM,

Thank you for everything you've done for me. Without you, I don't know if I'd have the strength to continue on. Knowing so much has been lost because of my failure.

I'm afraid of what I'll find if I remember who I used to be. I don't think I can be the man so many remember.

I don't want to be him. He's dead. I'm not him anymore. I'm me.

Is it selfish of me to just want to be the man I am now?

I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger for you and everyone who ever believed in me. I'm sorry I don't want to remember how to be strong.

I hope one day you can forgive me.

-Link

---

Back to the shadows to rest.

I forgot the tags before sleeping! Sorry Babies, I know you already found it, but I'll still tag you regardless!

Tagging: @littlepanda7 @2000babies

[airybcby]

my top artist was childish gambino !!!

if your top artist was childish gambino, i’d pair you with…

nagi seishiro

જ⁀♡⊹｡° don't run too fast

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event! - masterlist

♡ content — nagi seishiro x gn! reader, gn! reader, best friends, set before blue lock, brings up nagi beinhg lazy a lot, nagi slowly catching feelings?

♡ synopsis — nagi seishiro found everything to be a hassle, well everything except you.

The sound of buttons being furiously pressed filled the quiet of Nagi's apartment, accompanied by the faint hum of the game console. The light from the TV cast a soft glow over the dim room, illuminating you both sprawled on the couch. Nagi, as always, was reclined—one leg dangling over the armrest, the other pulled up lazily. You sat cross-legged next to him, entirely immersed in the game as if you were the one trying to get better, not him.

"Seriously, Nagi?" you groaned as your character narrowly avoided another in-game catastrophe. "If you don’t start paying attention, I’m gonna win. Again."

“Doesn’t really matter,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. He stretched his arms up, yawning lazily, the controller balanced precariously on his chest. “Winning takes too much effort anyway…”

"Yeah, but losing all the time must get boring. Even for you."

You said it with a laugh, not expecting much of a response, but something about the word boring hung in the air. Nagi glanced at you, his silver hair catching the soft light, an unreadable expression flickering briefly across his face. You had always teased him about his tendency to coast through life, but this time, the playful jab dug deeper than either of you realized.

Boredom—his constant state of being. He hadn’t thought much about it before because, for the most part, everything in life was just… fine. Soccer, school, gaming—it all came and went in a hazy cycle of whatever.

But then you leaned into him, elbowing his side, wearing that lopsided grin that somehow made everything feel lighter. “Come on, Seishiro,” you said, dragging out his name dramatically, your tone teasing but warm. “Put in some effort for once. Impress me.”

He blinked.

It was such a small thing—an everyday moment. But for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t bored. You had this way of pulling him into the present without even trying. It wasn’t flashy or overwhelming—it was just… you. And it made his chest feel heavy and light all at once, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

"Why do you care if I win or lose?" he asked suddenly, voice quieter than usual.

You paused, caught off guard. “What do you mean? I just… I don’t know. I want to see you try. It’d be cool to see what you could do if you actually cared.”

Your words hung in the air, and for the first time, Nagi didn’t know how to respond. He always thought effort was overrated. Caring about things meant opening yourself up to the possibility of failure or disappointment, and that just sounded… exhausting.

But now, as he sat there watching you play, your brows furrowed in determination, he realized he wanted to care—just a little. Not about the game, but about this moment, about the way your presence filled the room with a kind of warmth he hadn’t noticed until now.

For once, he wanted to try.

And that scared him.

When the game ended—another easy win for you—you turned to him, triumphant but soft-eyed. "See? You could’ve at least made it a challenge."

He only hummed, his gaze drifting away to the darkened corner of the room. A thought lingered in his mind, unspoken and unresolved.

“Nagi?” you prompted, tilting your head.

He exhaled slowly. “Hey… do you think I’m lazy?”

You laughed, light and free. “Oh, absolutely.”

He groaned dramatically, his head tipping back against the couch, but you nudged his shoulder with yours, your smile softening. “But I think there’s more to you than you let on. You’re not lazy—you just don’t see the point in doing things that don’t make you happy.”

Your words settled into the quiet like an unshakable truth, one that made his pulse quicken in a way he didn’t understand. He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers curling around the controller.

Blue Lock. The invitation still sat untouched on his kitchen table, a decision waiting to be made. He had dismissed it at first because it seemed like too much effort—too much risk. But now, with you here beside him, something inside him stirred.

Was it worth trying? Was he worth trying?

“You make it sound simple,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before.

“It is simple, Nagi.” Your gaze met his, steady and sure. “You just have to care about something enough to give it a shot.”

He didn’t reply, but the seed of something—curiosity, maybe even ambition—planted itself deep in his chest. And as he looked at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to care. Not if it was because of you.

i don't listen to childish gambino a lot i hope this was good

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter thirty seven. laser tag cw. derogatory language/slurs. wc 701 + 4 ss a/n. I do want to be clear that I am part of the lgbt+ community and have been called these things which of course isn't like? an excuse to say that like I can say it? though I think people should be able to reclaim their slurs but. ANYWAY the point is, I have censored it but if it makes people uncomfy, I can fully censor!!

After Felix had stopped pouting he had showered you in compliments, genuinely impressed at how you were able to get the plushy in two tries. He pretends to bow down to you.

“All hail the claw queen!!!!” You snort at his silliness before trying to pull him up, hoping no one was watching the two of you.

“Oh my god, stop it!! Lix!”

“What?? I’m just giving my respects to my new queen,” Your eyes roll playfully, nudging him softly.

“So, what should we name our son?” You question as you point to the duckling plushy he was holding. Honestly? It reminded you of the pretty boy.

Felix on the other hand was absolutely melting on the inside. The fact that you had called the plush “our” son. Why were you so adorable? He could feel himself falling more in love with you, every second he spent with you.

He clears his throat. “What about bbokari?”

“As in…yongbokkie?” A sly grin tugs at your lips.

Felix groans. “Who told you??!”

A giggle falls from your lips. “Minho let it slip,”

“Minho??? I expected Jisung or Hyunjin at least. They have big mouths. In more ways than one” Pink dusts your cheeks as you push the boy who only laughs at your shyness.

“Bbokari is cute though. I love it,” Felix just gives you that breathtaking smile.

“Oh!” Felix exclaims, pointing over towards the back of the arcade. “Look, they have laser tag. You down for a round?”

“It’s been forever since I’ve played. I’m down,” You nod, the two of you starting to make your way over there.

“Shall we make a wager?” You squint at Felix.

“What kind of wager?”

“Loser buys ice cream?”

“Oh you are SO on,”

And that’s how you find yourself in the dark arena, neon lights lining the floor as your only source of light. You were slightly directionally challenged so the maze like turns has made you very lost but you were still on guard, making sure to stay far away from Felix. It was just the two of you, trying to hunt each other down, taking your bet very seriously.

You’re hidden behind a wall, peaking your head out to see if you can catch a glimpse of his now raven hair. When the coast is clear you take a step to move to a new location, but a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you back, pushing you up against the wall. Even though you were only a few inches shorter than the boy, you had felt so small under his gaze. Felilx has his hand slightly above your head, effectively caging you in.

He smirks down at you and you hate how attractive he looks under the neon lights.

“Well, well, well. Seems I’ve caught myself a pretty girl,” He hums, hand coming down to twirl a strand of your hair around his fingers. Felix’s grin becomes more cocky, canines peaking past his lips. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now,”

“Because I’m cute?”

“Hmm, that is a good answer…but is it good enough?” He pretends to think about it, but you take the chance while he’s momentarily distracted. You lean up to press your lips to his and Felix completely freezes, eyes comically wide. Before he can even consider kissing you back you’re tilting your gun, that’s been in your other hand, up so you can shoot him. His vest vibrates to signal that he’s been hit.

“Bye, bye~” You singsong before ducking under his arm and running away. This finally seems to pull him out of his stupor as he yells out after you.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait!! At least let me kiss you back!” Felix wails, chasing after you.

In the end Felix still wins but refuses to let you pay for ice cream and doesn’t give you a chance to argue.

The poor boy has been pouting the whole time about not being able to kiss you until you had let him actually kiss you. And perhaps that lead to the two of you making out in the backseat of his car.

But, you’d never kiss and tell. (But Felix certainly did).

previous | masterlist | next waiting for us taglist (50/50) send an ask or sign up here!: @abbiestearsricochet @boo-ven9eance @adorawritesalot @melleus @inlovewithallmusic @alnex05 @borahae-reads @zonked-times @yoonrimin @slay-and-gay @loverlixie @katsukis1wife @0325tiny @adestayskz @minhwa @littleaprilcherryblossom @soobery @lillithathecat @everglowdaisies @boi-bi-ahaha @popcatx0 @stayinhellevator @jaiuneamesolitaiire @enchantedgrunge @corrodedthorn @143lix @ashitshowforalot @xrvrqs @lynlyndoll @txtandroll @kawennote09 @liknws @ritzy-dream-boy @vampcharxter @jisuperboard @surefornext @puppy-minnie @freckleboilix @imwithurmother @turtledove824 @fylithia @toshijimafarms @hyunestrella @blackrowses @chlodavids  @reallysparklychaos @peachbokkie  @irantoyouwithoutthinking @sunnibearr @chili-crab0811

[writeforfandoms]

Fast Car 1

Find my Ghost masterlist

My second submission for the Ghost Challenge hosted by @glitterypirateduck

You can't believe your luck when you find what looks like a functional car, an excellent way to repair your own car. Turns out you were right not to trust your luck. The truck has owners, and those owners are not happy to find you rummaging around. Oops?

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

For this one, I used a few different prompts through the whole fic - have fun finding each of them! #'s 3, 9, 14, 18, 27

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Canon typical violence, light violence, swearing, zombie au, mention of cannibals.

You slowed when you spotted the truck. The truck itself wasn't that unusual - they existed aplenty out here in the country, away from the remains of civilization. 

But this one had fresh tire tracks behind it, the ground still a little soft with the rains from last night. 

You hadn't seen a working vehicle in… months. Maybe a year. 

Of course, you could have a working vehicle of you could find a replacement part. 

Maybe you'd take a look. Real quiet and sneaky like. Just a little look. Just in case you could find a complementary part. 

You weren't stupid, though. You looked around carefully, checked the footprints around the truck. Checked for any movement. Listened hard too. 

But there was nothing. Whoever had come in the truck was long gone, but could be back any time. If you wanted to try grabbing the part, the time was now. 

The doors were unlocked, half luck and half the times. No need to lock the doors when there was nobody around to rob you blind. It was easy to pop the hood. One more look around showed that the coast was still clear. 

So you pushed the hood open to investigate, humming to yourself. 

“You need a tune up,” you muttered to the truck with sympathy. “I can tell. Too bad I'm not sticking around to help.” 

You patted the headlight but continued to look. You needed to hurry up now. 

You spied what you needed and smiled. Close enough to work. 

“Hey!”

The shout made you jump and very nearly bang your head on the hood, and you jerked around to spot someone walking towards the truck quickly, long strides eating up the distance. 

You took off. No way you were sticking around to get in an argument with the owner. Or skip straight to getting killed. 

You didn't get very far before someone grabbed your arm, nearly wrenching it with the force of his yank. You yelped, the sudden pain startling, and swung around with his pull. 

The man was huge, not just tall but broad. Dark makeup smeared around his eyes made him even more imposing. 

“Let go!” You kicked out at him, clumsy but determined. 

He moved out of the way easily, not even shifting his grip. One more tug sent you off-balance, and he twisted your arm behind you and up, your breath hitching in your throat. 

“Stop struggling.” The rough words made you pause, swallowing hard against the noise of pain that wanted to escape. 

The one approaching the two of you seemed in less of a hurry now that you were subdued, adjusting his hat as he eyed the two of you. Mainly you, probably. You narrowed your eyes at him, tempted to bare your teeth. 

“What were you doing, eh?” He stopped, one hand planted on his hip, the other holding his gun. 

Well. You'd survived two years of fucking zombies and zealots and shit, only to get killed because of a car. Seemed fitting. 

“Looking for a snack,” you drawled, wincing when the man behind you tugged your arm a little higher. 

The hatted one eyed you, shrewd and cold, calculating. A sudden, terrible thought made you swallow hard. 

“Promise I'm not a good snack, though,” you said, going up onto your toes to try to alleviate some of the ache in your arm and shoulder. “Definitely not edible.” 

The man in front of you blinked, apparently caught off guard. 

“You sayin’ you've run into cannibals?” The man behind you asked, incredulous. His grip didn't waver. 

“Well, I ran away from them,” you pointed out, very reasonably. “Does that mean you're not interested in eating me?”

“Not even close.” The one in front of you snorted, stepping closer so he could look down at you. “Why were you poking around in the car?” 

“Looking for kittens,” you snarked, even as pain tightened your voice. “They like warm spots, you know.” 

You yelped as your arm wrenched higher, shoulder straining against the pressure. Tears sprang to your eyes, unbidden and unwanted. 

“Got any friends hiding out?” The hatted one didn't change his tone, still watching you. 

Sure, you could keep mouthing off. But your shoulder ached now, and you were worried they'd dislocate it and then leave you. That would be a death sentence, just a slow one. 

“No,” you grumbled, head dropping. “It's just me. Just been me for a while.” 

To your surprise, the man behind you dropped your arm and stepped back. You stumbled from the sudden release, quickly pulling your arm in to your chest. The throbbing hadn't stopped yet, but at least it didn't hurt so badly. 

“What did you do to the car?” Though there was no visible change to the two men, you didn't doubt they'd grab you again if needed. Being released was a reward for honesty, leaving you with a choice to make. 

“Nothing.” Sulking just a little, you crossed your arms over your chest. “I was looking for a part, but I didn't get a chance to grab it. The car is fine.”

“Hm.” He tipped his head, studying you more closely now. “You a mechanic?”

“I was,” you said, a little wry. “Not much to work on anymore, with most of my customers dead or worse.” 

The big guy made a soft noise of amusement. You eyed him for a moment before returning your focus to the hatted man. 

He nodded once, slowly, gaze still focused on you. “Looking for somewhere to settle, then?”

You shrugged, feeling a little squirrelly now. “Haven't decided.” 

“Tell you what.” He shifted his weight forward, arms crossing over his chest. “We've got a safe place. A town.” 

“Do you?” You didn't bother to keep the skepticism from your voice, even as you rocked back on your heels. “Heard that one before.” 

“If you're really a mechanic, you're welcome in town.” He continued as if you hadn't spoken. “Your choice. Think about it. If you want to come with, meet us there.” He nodded at the decrepit gas station not far from where you all stood. “Tomorrow morning, an hour after sunrise.” 

You eyed him suspiciously. It could be a trick still, a way to get you to lower your guard. It could also be legit. Maybe. Possibly. The chance was very low… but not zero. 

Neither of them moved when you took a careful step back, then another. 

“Tomorrow morning,” the one reminded you, gaze fixed on you still, far too intense for your liking. 

“I'll think about it.” You hadn't really meant to say that, but, well… oh well. You backed away to a safe distance before you turned and walked away. 

You listened for footsteps behind you, and took the long route back to where you'd stashed your things for the day. You even paused multiple times to check behind you and around you. 

And not just to check for zombies, either. 

You didn't trust them, not even a little. The ache in your shoulder hadn't gone away yet, either. 

But… if they were telling the truth… Safety was the rarest commodity nowadays. 

You hadn't been kidding when you'd mentioned running away from cannibals. 

You settled back in a corner, pack held between your knees as you rummaged around for something to eat. You couldn't lie, the idea of somewhere safe to stay, at least for a while, was tempting. 

If you went, it sounded like you'd be stuck in the car with the big guy who'd grabbed you. Eh. You'd just not sit next to him, and undoubtedly once you were in town, it would be easy to avoid him. You didn't have to like him, just tolerate him enough to get in. 

And then avoid him like… Well, like a zombie.

You snickered at your own humor. 

Mind more or less made up, you settled in to have your dinner and rest for the night. You'd already blockaded yourself in pretty well. No zombies were getting in while you slept. 

And tomorrow you'd see if they really had a safe town.

[celestiarambles]

Hi this may divert from my usual content, but as someone with a platform like this I need to speak up about this.

The Philippines-China maritime dispute has been going on for years now, but lately the tensions had been getting more and more worse to the point it’s super concerning now.

Here’s a bit of a history lesson: China claims that the West Philippine Sea is theirs because of the nine-dash line, but the Permanent Court of Arbitration in the Hague ruled in 2016 that that had no basis under international law. Other than that, the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) said that China’s historic rights on the territory no longer exists. So basically, the West Philippine Sea belongs to the Philippines.

However, China rejects that decision. They have harassed, intimidated, and even used armed conflict on our vessels. China Coast Guard (CCG) vessels had even used a water cannon against our ships TWICE, in which one incident resulted to getting seven Navy personnel wounded.

Worse, there are also allegations of a spy being planted here. Alice Guo, one of the mayors in Tarlac (a city in the Philippines) had mysteriously risen to power despite having no prior experience or connections whatsoever. Literally no one even knew her in her town. She just claims to live in a simple farm. However, she owns a luxury sports car and a helicopter. And somehow, everything regarding her past is inconsistent; she doesn’t know what her mother’s name was, who she grew up with, no school documents, hell she didn’t even have a birth certificate up until she was 17 years old. This was all brought up because she was involved in the criminal activities (like human trafficking, scams, etc.) of the Philippine Offshore Gaming Operator (POGO) which also has the Chinese involved.

The US has also been taking advantage of the situation by deploying 9 EDCA sites (military bases) for a supposed military pact, but former US Marine Intelligence Officer Scott Ritter has admitted to using the Philippines as a tool to gain leverage over the Chinese.

What has our government done regarding this dispute? They’re too busy infighting to focus on the bigger picture and on how to settle on an agreement with China.

I just want to take the time to speak up and make people more aware about the ongoing dispute. I know that this has been going on for several years now, but my memory and knowledge about the topic may be a bit wonky so I apologize in advance if I had said anything wrong. You can add more information regarding this or correct the information that I've given if I phrased things wrong.

Regardless, I do know one thing: the West Philippine Sea is ours.

Sources:

https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/south-china-sea-why-are-china-philippines-tensions-heating-up-2024-04-11/

https://www.youtube.com/live/aOrmFJXyAVI?si=P9rPJkJM6BF0NIbW (check 1:57:00)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Over the edge

(*Scrolls through drafts* ... oh right, there was something. Have more phantom thief, I guess.)

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, February 2024 edition

Rated: T

Prompt: edge, 509 words

Tags: Fantasy AU, Magic AU, Guard!Steve, Thief!Eddie, Jail Break

Notes: Part 1 | Part 2

Eddie never regretted becoming a criminal. 

You don't watch the high and mighty hoard all the magic still left in the world, feeding their twisted hunger for power, without growing to resent them. 

Even when they captured him, when they locked him away in this prison under the sea, he never once wished he had chosen differently. 

The only regret he had here in the dark was that he'd never see Steve's face again. 

And now Steve is here. Steve is unlocking his shackles and pulling him along dark corridors, up towards the light, and Eddie still thinks this may be a dream. 

When they reach the surface, he faintly registers the wind in his hair, the salt on his skin, the moon in the sky, but all he can see as they stumble towards the edge is Steve. The sea gapes under them, black and endless. 

“How are we getting to land? We'll never-” 

Something is pressed into his hand. A pouch on a leather string, filled with something heavy and sharp-edged. 

“Think you're the only one who knows how to get their hands on magic artifacts?” Steve grins, brandishing a pouch of his own. “Crystals. For warmth and navigation. I have a boat waiting out by the coast, we just gotta-” 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes. “You really are perfect, huh?” 

Steve falters, blushes adorably, and-

-an arrow comes flying out of the dark. It pierces the pouch in Eddie’s hands, ripping it from his hold. The sound of the waves swallowing it is lost over the roar of voices. 

“There they are, seize them!” 

Eddie's heart kicks in his chest. Oh fuck, oh fuck, this is bad, this is so fucking-

“Eddie.” 

Steve cups his jaw in both hands, turns him so that he must look at his face rather than the guards rushing their way. There is a weird, determined calm in those pretty eyes of his. 

“You said you're the best around,” Steve says, fingers ghosting over his cheekbones. The footsteps are coming closer. “Don't look at them, look at me. You said that you can break into any place, steal anything. Was that true or just one of your boasts?” 

Eddie huffs, irritation rearing its head. 

“Of course that's true, what are you even-” 

“Good,” Steve smiles, and kisses him. Eddie’s world grows soft around the edges, everything narrowing down to Steve's hands in his hair, Steve's lips against his, Steve, Steve, Steve. It's why he doesn’t realize how Steve walks them closer to the edge. “Then prove it.” 

He gives the leather pouch one last tug … the last remaining pouch that he has just slipped around Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie's stomach drops.

“Stevie, no-” 

“I'm sorry,” Steve says, and pushes him over the edge. 

Eddie’s world tilts. 

The wind rips at his clothes and gravity pulls him down, clawing his scream from his lips. 

The last thing he sees is Steve's face, alight with grim satisfaction as the guards tackle him to the ground. 

Then the waves swallow him and everything turns dark.

⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️

Next part

Taglist: @sourw0lfs @bananahoneycomb @firefly-party @whoneedscanon @steddie-island @sidekick-hero @theheadlessphilosopher @extra-transitional @penny00dreadful

[melancholicmelanin]

Compress/Repress | Chapter 2: Sister, Sister

Pairing: art donaldson x black!oc x patrick zweig, tashi duncan x black!oc (platonic)

Summary: As the summer of 06' winds down, Maya is anxiously prepping for a secret adventure: flying to New York to watch her half-sister Tashi compete at the Junior US Open. The only problem? She’s doing it behind her grandparents’ backs.

Word Count: 5k

Warning(s): minor challengers spoilers (if any?), mild cursing, a non american writing americans, self edited and no beta.

masterlist | prev | next | wattpad | AO3

BEL-AIR, CALIFORNIA – August 30, 2006

“Look, you’ve already got the plane tickets, right? And you’ve figured out how to get to LAX. You’re halfway there!” Tashi exclaimed. Her tone was light-hearted, like the gravity of the situation was no big deal, as if sneaking across the country wasn’t an act that could land Winston Pratt in the hospital.

It had been a year since they’d made their first connection—one impulsive friend request that had led to a secret sisterhood neither of them had anticipated. An outsider looking in would deduce them as a close-knit pair of sisters. Heck, maybe long-time best friends even. Now, they spoke almost every day—through texts, phone calls and sometimes in person, always careful to keep their connection hidden from their respective families.

Maya let out a low, breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. Like she was failing at convincing Tashi to change her mind and ditch the plan altogether. Her heart raced as she listened to Tashi’s voice echo through the receiver. Maya’s heart raced as she took in her sister’s words, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling beneath her tummy.

“I know, I know.” Maya said as she paced between the four pastel walls of her room, her Paul Frank slippers gliding against the plush white rug.

“I can’t stop thinking about the worst-case scenario. Like what if I get human trafficked at the airport and the kidnappers want ransom. They’d freak!” She exclaimed, dramatically tossing her arms in the air.

“Oh my god, M!” Tashi blurted out, sounding both exasperated and amused at her sister’s active imagination. When her guard was down, Maya Pratt-Duncan’s true form always showed, she was an anxious nervous reck at the end of the day.

Maya shut her eyes and clutched her phone out of embarrassment as she heard Tashi's befuddled voice coming through on the other end. Despite being miles apart, she could almost see the jokes forming in Tashi’s mind.

“You watch too many movies,” Tashi quipped, trying to ease Maya's worries.

“They’re not going to find out,” She explained further, firm and unbothered, the usual confidence Maya admired in her spilling into every word. “You’ve got everything under control. This is our moment. And I want you there when I win.”

Maya made her way towards her bed, her suitcase laid bare on top as she prepared for tomorrow's flight. She carefully checked and rechecked all her belongings, her nerves still prickling despite Tashi's reassurance.

The thought of seeing her half-sister for the first time in action—on the court, in her element—made her heart flutter. But the idea of lying to her grandparents, Tabitha and Winston, weighed on her heavily. They had raised her, protected her, and shielded her from so much of the world. And now, here she was, planning to deceive them.

Maya's voice was soft and hushed, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips as she spoke. "I know you're going to win," she said, her words filled with admiration and confidence. "But...I've never done anything like this before, you know."

Tashi's laughter came through the other end of the phone, light and teasing. "Oh, come on, Maya. You're going to be just fine."

Maya couldn't help but bite her lip, a habit her grandmother couldn’t stand. "It's one thing meeting up at South Coast Plaza, but flying all the way to New York? That's a whole new level."

"Hey, trust me," Tashi reassured her. "You've got this."

“And besides, it's not like I've been completely innocent this whole time.” Tashi leaned against the kitchen counter, her fingers fiddling with the telephone cord as she recounted one of their rebellious antics. “Remember that college party we went to? My dad definitely doesn't know about that!" Maya’s laughter echoed throughout her room as she reminisced about ditching the party in exchange for the local 7 Eleven at 2AM. Till this day she couldn't believe they had gotten away with it, but then again, Tabitha was under the impression that she was at UCLA college scouting.

A warm, genuine smile crept onto Maya's face as she listened to Tashi speak, feeling a sense of comfort and ease wash over her. Tashi had always been one to remain unfazed by anything--whether it be societal rules or the constant pressure of her successful tennis career. It was a trait that Maya both admired and secretly envied, wishing she could exude the same level of nonchalance in her own life.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” Maya admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her words carrying a hint of vulnerability and uncertainty.

“You won’t,” Tashi reassured her, her tone softening. “Look, you’ve covered your tracks. You told your grandparents you’re staying with that friend of yours, right? The one with the gap in her teeth?”

Maya nodded, despite Tashi not being present to see her affirmation.

“Yeah, I told them I’m going to Reneé’s for the weekend,” She confirmed, biting her lip. “I mean, they’re really good friends with her family, but I still feel guilty.”

"Maya, listen to me. You have nothing to worry about. You're not doing anything wrong," Tashi insisted, her voice filled with conviction and confidence. “You’re just… bending the rules a little. It’s not like we’re committing a crime,” Tashi said, her voice filled with the kind of certainty Maya wished she could muster herself.

Maya paused, her mind swirling with Tashi's words. At the end of the day, she knew she had to do this. Her entire life had been spent following the strict rules and expectations set by her grandparents. They lived in a world of high society and legacy, where image was everything. But Tashi's world was different. Spending time with her free-spirited sister had taught Maya to break out of her shell and live in the moment. She longed to let go of Tabitha's expectations and just be herself. This trip was for her, and it would be the last time her grandmother's disapproval stood in the way of her desires. As she gazed at the open window ahead of her, she could feel a sense of freedom and adventure calling to her, beckoning her to embrace this new chapter in her life.

“Okay,” Maya said, taking a deep breath. “I’m doing it.”

"Hell yeah, you are!" Tashi's voice echoed through the phone, filled with pride and determination. Maya could practically picture her sister fist-pumping into the air. "Plane tickets aren't cheap, babe. But trust me, M. You're going to love New York City. It's vibrant, pulsing with energy." Tashi's words sparked a feeling of anticipation in Maya's chest. "And just wait till you see me on that court at the Open—I'm going to dominate."

"Now get some sleep and prepare for the most unforgettable weekend of your life," Tashi exclaimed with a wide grin.

They exchanged goodbyes, and after ending the call, Maya stared at her phone, still buzzing from the energetic conversation. She walked over to her window, gazing out at the dazzling skyline of Los Angeles as it shimmered under the night sky. The city lights twinkled like stars as a plane sawed the sky, beckoning her to join in on the fun. Her reflection in the glass appeared small and hesitant. Could she really go through with this? She had never been one to break rules or rebel – every decision she had ever made was with her grandparents' blessings. But this... this felt like stepping into a whole new world. A world where she could let loose and be free, even if just for a few days.

It’s just one weekend, she told herself. Just a couple of days. I can do this.

The Next Day

Now, most people would think the hard part was packing, right? How in the world do you fit a week's worth of clothes into a carry-on suitcase for a weekend trip? Well, lucky for Maya, that kind of job needed experience, and she’d been practicing for years. She had honed the art of over-preparing for every kind of situation—always with the perfect mix of practical essentials and stylish options, who cares if it ends up with you lugging around two suitcases in the middle of LAX. But packing was the easy part; it was everything that came after that was trickier.

The hard part was actually figuring out how to get out of the house without waking any suspicions. Maya knew her grandparents’ routine like the back of her hand; it helped that it hadn’t changed in years. Tabitha woke up every morning at 6:30 A.M. on the dot for her morning jog with "the girls"—her circle of wealthy friends who gossip as much as they power walk. Winston would follow shortly after, making his way down to the breakfast table with the morning newspaper already tucked under his arm. Ettie, the housekeeper, would be brewing a pot of Italian coffee for him. The whole ritual was so ingrained in the fabric of their household that Maya could practically set her watch by it.

Her grandmother always had a way of figuring out when Maya was up to something, so timing was crucial. If she was going to slip out unnoticed, she’d have to be long gone before Tabitha finished her jog. She calculated that the best window of opportunity was during those precious few minutes when Winston would be alone in the kitchen, sipping his coffee and absorbed in the day’s headlines. She’d leave a meticulously written note on the entryway table, some excuse about the early bird catching the worm and hope that would be enough to buy her a few extra hours.

Her heart racing, Maya reached the top of the grand staircase and paused. The entranceway below seemed impossibly vast; the polished marble floor gleaming under the faint light of dawn that streamed in through the stained-glass windows. A family portrait, prominently displayed by the foyer, seemed to gaze down at her—a beautiful oil painting of her grandparents, herself, and her late mother. Her mother’s soft eyes seemed to follow her every move as she cautiously descended the stairs, almost as if silently questioning her decision—Are you sure about this?

Maya tiptoed down the staircase, gripping the banister as if it might help her tread more lightly. The large grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily, the only sound breaking the quiet of the early morning. Her pulse quickened with every step, the echo of her shoes on the marble floor sounding far too loud in the stillness. She couldn’t risk alerting Ettie, who was always the first to rise before her grandparents. If Ettie caught her, there would be questions, and then she’d have to explain why she was up so early, where she was going, and why she had two packed suitcases for a sleepover with a family friend.

Her suitcase’s wheels glided silently over the marble floor as she made her way to the front door, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. She caught a glimpse of the kitchen down the hallway—Winston was already there, sitting at the breakfast table, absorbed in his newspaper. Her note, propped up against the sugar bowl, looked small and insignificant, and for a fleeting moment, Maya wondered if she should just go in and tell him the truth. But she quickly brushed that thought aside. There was no way they’d ever let her go if they knew where she was really heading.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle on the front door and slipped outside, closing it softly behind her.

A sharp gust of cool air struck Maya's face as soon as she stepped outside her front door, sending a shiver down her spine. The crispness of the early morning air seemed to whisper warnings in her ears, urging her to turn back while she still could. But Maya pushed the thoughts away with determination. She had made up her mind, and she wasn't going to let any doubts stop her.

In the pale light of dawn, Maya spotted Reneé's car sitting at the curb, its headlights cutting through the dimness like beacons. Reneé stood next to the driver's side door, wrapped in a thick jacket, her bonnet still on her head and rubbing her sleepy eyes. As soon as she saw Maya approaching, she perked up slightly, though her expression remained a mix of curiosity and concern.

Maya had always known she could count on Reneé, her best friend since childhood. They met in the most ridiculously “private school” way possible: at their elite academy’s spring fair. It was 1995, and six-year-old Maya was twirling around in a frilly lavender dress, sparkly shoes, and butterfly clips in her hair like a mini-Mariah Carey. Meanwhile, Reneé—awkward, with wild curls and a shiny new camcorder her parents bought to shut her up—was filming a “serious” documentary titled “Life Sucks When You’re Six".

The collision was inevitable. Reneé backed right into Maya, sending both of them sprawling. But instead of tears, Maya jumped up, adjusted her dress, and grinned. “Hey, can I be in your movie?” she asked, with all the confidence of a little girl who had just discovered Clueless. Reneé, who was usually more comfortable behind the camera than in front of people, couldn’t help but smile. From that moment on, they were inseparable—like two halves of a Spice Girls cassette tape.

Growing up in the same exclusive Los Angeles neighborhood, they were an unlikely pair, more like Cher Horowitz and Daria Morgendorffer at group sleepovers than your typical best friends. Maya was the girly girl: always perfectly put together, with glittery lip gloss and an impressive collection of Lisa Frank stationery. Reneé, on the other hand, had a style best described as “indie film director in training”—baggy overalls, thrifted T-shirts, and always a journal in hand to jot down her latest “brilliant” ideas. While Maya attended etiquette and ballet classes, Reneé was busy trying to figure out how to direct the next Godzilla movie.

Despite their differences, they shared everything: secrets, dreams, and even some epic middle school crushes. In Maya’s perfectly pink bedroom—walls covered in a fancy wallpaper imported from France and posters of NSYNC and fashion magazine cutouts neatly pinned on a cork board—they would lie on the floor and talk about how one day they’d move to New York City, where Maya would become the next It Girl and Reneé would direct films about “the real meaning of life” (whatever that meant at age twelve). In Reneé’s room, which was more of a creative chaos zone, they would brainstorm ideas for homemade movies, often starring Maya as a glamorous protagonist and Reneé providing the scene of what they thought a woman in her 20s would find themselves in

Their bond was unbreakable, forged through years of navigating the ups and downs of adolescence in a world where everyone seemed to have at least three vacation homes. They laughed at dumb celebrity gossip from TRL, whispered about grand plans that sounded straight out of Lizzie McGuire, and found ways to dodge the relentless expectations placed upon them by their parents. With Reneé by her side, Maya didn’t have to worry about being perfect; she could just be herself—even if “herself” meant spending a Friday night reenacting scenes from Titanic while Reneé filmed it as "performance art."

Even in the early morning light, Reneé’s voice was dripping with suspicion. "I can't believe you're actually up this early," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes and leaning against the car door. "This better be worth dragging me out of bed before sunrise. Did you finally get tired of the whole 'good girl' act and decide to run off with some older guy?"

Maya tossed her suitcase into the backseat, the car grumbling to life as she tried to sound casual. "What? No," she said, though her voice came out a little too defensive. "It’s just a quick trip. I’ll be back by Monday." But she couldn’t ignore the flutter in her chest at the thought of how close she was to getting caught.

Reneé raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing like a gossip columnist sniffing out a juicy scandal. "Right. 'Quick trip' is exactly what I’d say if I were meeting some mysterious silver fox." Her tone was teasing, but there was an unmistakable glint of curiosity in her eyes.

Maya forced out a laugh, shaking her head as she slid into the passenger seat. "Please. If I were running away to meet some older guy, I’d at least wait until I was done with high school. And I’d have a way better cover story."

Reneé leaned over the steering wheel, still eyeing Maya like she was trying to solve a mystery. "Uh-huh. But I’ve known you long enough to tell when something’s up, and you’re not exactly packing like someone who's just 'going to visit a friend.' Spill it, Maya. What’s really going on? Did you get seduced by some rich guy who swept you off your feet at one of those boring charity events? Because honestly, that sounds kind of romantic. Also, kind of reckless, but still romantic."

Maya fumbled with the seatbelt, her pulse quickening. She couldn’t exactly tell Reneé that she was sneaking away to New York to meet the half-sister she’d only found out about a year ago. That kind of revelation was way too fragile, too precious to expose to anyone else’s opinions—not even Reneé’s. "I’m fine," she said, a little too quickly. "I just… needed to get out of here for a few days before the semester starts. You know, clear my head or whatever."

Reneé rolled her eyes but started the car, steering them down the empty streets. "Okay, sure. But if I find out you ran off with some guy who’s old enough to have his own yacht, I’ll say I told you so."

The car cruised through the dimly lit streets; the city still wrapped in the quiet of early morning. Reneé reached over and switched on the radio, landing on a station playing an old Britney Spears song. "Oh my God, remember when we did that dance routine to this?" she exclaimed, a grin spreading across her face. "Come on, Maya, don’t leave me hanging. Sing it like you mean it!"

Maya’s laughter bubbled up despite the tension she was carrying, and she joined in. As they belted out the chorus together, it was easy to forget, just for a moment, where she was headed and the secrets she was keeping. For those few minutes, it felt like they were back in middle school again, planning sleepovers and giggling about silly crushes. But as the song faded, reality crept back in, and Maya’s thoughts returned to the trip ahead.

The car rumbled to a stop at the departure terminal, and Maya took a deep breath, bracing herself for the whirlwind of the airport. The early morning light was just beginning to stretch across the sky, casting a hazy glow over the glass facade. Despite the hour, LAX was already alive with travellers dragging suitcases, taxi drivers haggling for fares, and the occasional lost soul wandering around with a coffee in hand.

Maya climbed out of the car, her steps slower than usual as she retrieved her suitcase from the trunk. Reneé stretched her arms over her head and let out a long yawn. "Alright, runaway princess," she said, still eyeing Maya like she was waiting for a confession. "Go have your mysterious rendezvous. But I swear, if you come back wearing a diamond bracelet, I’m going to need the whole story."

"Will do," Maya said, forcing a smile. But her chest felt tight. She wanted to tell Reneé the truth—about her real reason for the trip, about Tashi—but the words just wouldn’t come.

Reneé pulled her in for a quick hug. "Whatever it is you're doing, just be careful, okay? I’m all for spontaneous adventures, but try not to come back married to a guy who quotes The Great Gatsby unironically."

"I promise," Maya said, laughing nervously. "No secret weddings."

Reneé grinned as she climbed back into the car. "Good. See you when you get back, okay? And text me if you need a rescue."

Maya gave her a final wave as Reneé’s car rolled away, the taillights fading into the flow of early morning traffic. For a moment, she stood at the curb, feeling strangely exposed against the backdrop of the sprawling airport. She adjusted the strap of her bag and took a deep breath. She was really doing this.

The automatic doors slid open with a faint hiss, and Maya stepped inside, letting the chaos of the airport wash over her. There was a comforting anonymity here—a sense that she was just another traveller with somewhere to be, just another face in the crowd. She weaved her way through the bustling terminal, her suitcase bumping along behind her as she headed for the self-check-in kiosks.

As she tapped at the screen, printing her boarding pass, Maya’s thoughts wandered back to Reneé’s teasing. It would’ve been easier to lie and say she was sneaking off to meet some rich older guy. At least then, Reneé would have had something fun to speculate about. Instead, Maya was about to board a plane to meet a half-sister she hadn’t even known existed until a year ago, and not even her best friend knew the real story.

With her boarding pass in hand, she made her way toward the security line, her pulse quickening. She was about to cross an invisible line—leaving behind everything she’d known to find answers she wasn’t sure she was ready for. But there was no turning back now.

Maya found a seat by the window at the gate and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages. There was a new one from Tashi, sent just a few minutes ago.

Tashi: Just got to the courts. Can’t wait for you to get here! It’s going to be amazing; I promise.

Maya smiled, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling inside her. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to finally meet Tashi face-to-face, to see the sister she’d only known through late-night phone calls and Facebook photos. It felt surreal, like stepping into a story that wasn’t entirely her own.

As her flight was called, Maya stood and gathered her things, ready to step into the unknown. Whatever lay ahead, at least it was her secret to keep, for now.

NEW ROCHELLE, NEW YORK - August 4th, 2019

The sun blazed relentlessly upon the crowd, its heat shimmering off the concrete in waves that distorted the air. Maya squinted behind her oversized sunglasses, their dark lenses doing little to shield her from the sun’s intensity. Her skin prickled from the overexposure of Vitamin D, making it difficult to focus on anything besides the sweltering discomfort that clung to her like a second skin. As she sat in the stands, the familiar scent of sunscreen and freshly cut grass filled her nostrils, triggering memories of summers long past—carefree days spent at her grandparents' estate in Bel-Air Crest, where her only concern was perfecting her bronzed tan.

The hum of the crowd rose and fell around her, but it felt distant, like background noise from an abandoned television. Maya’s gaze drifted across the humble country club, taking in the swirl of colors from spectators’ sun hats and vibrant outfits, and the flashes of bright white tennis gear as players gathered to bear witness to what they suspected to be the match of a century. She was scanning the rows of seats absentmindedly when a tall, slender figure caught her attention. The person was descending the steps slowly, almost as if they were reluctant to be here at all.

As the figure came closer, the cascade of mid-length blonde hair, the effortless grace, and the striking features became unmistakable. Even from a distance, Maya could tell it was Tashi. Her sister’s presence filled her with a complicated rush of emotions—part nostalgia, part unease. They locked eyes just as Tashi reached her row. Time seemed to slow, and an unspoken tension hung between them, as heavy as the humid air. Despite the match unfolding on the court before them, Maya couldn’t tear her gaze away. She watched as Tashi took her seat just a few feet away, their proximity at once too close and yet, not close enough.

'Get a grip Maya, you knew she would be here.'

Maya’s fingers clenched tightly around the edge of her seat, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of her usual caramel complexion as the internal struggle roiled within her. Her eyes darted anxiously to the tennis court, where the looming presence of the upcoming match filled her with a sense of dread. The players’ shadows stretched long in the late afternoon sun, mirroring the tension and anticipation coursing through Maya’s body. It was as if the scene was mocking her—a snapshot of normalcy while her mind was anything but calm. The roar of the crowd spiked in excitement as the players began their warm-ups, the rhythmic thud of tennis balls echoing like a ticking clock. Maya shifted in her seat, trying to shake off the prickly sensation that crept up her spine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tashi’s gaze turn toward her. Tashi—the sister who had once known her better than anyone else in the world, who could finish her sentences, who could always sense what she was thinking. Now, it felt like they were two strangers who had to pretend they hadn’t once shared everything. Maya’s breath hitched slightly as she felt Tashi’s eyes on her, the weight of that familiar gaze bringing a sudden rush of memories she had buried beneath layers of silence and time.

Tashi's features, once so easy to read, seemed guarded now. Her cool expression betrayed nothing, but Maya knew her sister too well to be fooled. The slight tension in her jaw, the faint crease on her forehead—it was all there, hiding beneath the calm façade. A year ago, they would have hugged, laughed, shared inside jokes to ease the tension. Now, they were separated by more than just a few feet; a chasm of unspoken words and unresolved issues lay between them.

Tashi's gaze landed on Maya, her once-closest confidante, now a stranger sitting just a few feet away. It unnerved her, how different Maya seemed, even in small ways—the slight slump in her shoulders, the tightness in her jaw. There was something brittle about her that hadn’t been there before, a fragility hiding behind the composed exterior. Maya's forced smile, offered to a couple of teenage girls who recognized her from a fashion magazine, barely reached her eyes. It was the kind of smile people practiced in the mirror, perfected for the sake of appearances.

As Tashi’s gaze drifted back to the court, she felt a pang of something close to regret. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She had imagined a different future, one where they could lean on each other no matter what happened. But life had taken a different course, and the choices they’d made—some willingly, others out of desperation—had driven a wedge between them that seemed impossible to remove.

The match hadn’t even started, but Maya could already feel the tension tightening around her like a coiled spring, ready to snap at the slightest touch. She stole a glance at Tashi, who was staring ahead, her jaw clenched as though determined not to show any sign of weakness. There had always been that fierce pride about Tashi, a need to present a strong front no matter how turbulent things were beneath the surface. It was one of the things Maya had admired about her growing up, but now it felt like a wall keeping her out.

"Nice to see you made it," Tashi said finally, her voice low and edged with irony, as though she wasn’t entirely sure whether she meant it or not.

Maya's lips parted, but for a moment, no words came. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured, carefully controlled. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

Tashi’s mouth curved into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Right," she said, turning her attention back to the players who were now preparing for the first serve. "Because we’ve always been so good at being there for each other."

The words stung, though Maya wasn’t entirely sure whether Tashi intended them to. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and pressed her lips together to keep the sharp retort from escaping. Instead, she chose to stay silent, gripping the arms of her chair until she could feel the bite of the metal against her palms.

The crowd erupted in applause as the first serve cut through the air, the players diving into the game with all the precision and grace expected at this level of competition. But for Maya, the real match was happening here, in the silent exchanges and unsaid words between her and Tashi. Every ball that flew across the net seemed to carry the weight of their unresolved history, every cheer from the crowd a reminder of how long they had been pretending that everything was fine.

The tension hung between them like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. It wasn’t just a tennis match to Maya and Tashi—it was a collision of everything unresolved, a confrontation without words. The years of sisterhood, of shared secrets and broken promises, all seemed to blur together, fusing the past and present into one inescapable truth: no matter how far they drifted, they could never really escape each other.

And as the players battled it out on the court below, Maya couldn’t help but feel as if she and Tashi were the real competitors, locked in a game where neither of them knew the rules anymore.

[bloodycassian]

Enemy Lines - Reader x Azriel - reader is caught by the Autumn Court and Azriel saves her.

TW - themes of torture/death, gruesome violence, damsel in distress reader, savior Azriel

“I don’t want her going alone.” Azriel’s words were clipped towards his high lord. It seemed that the other part of Rhysand, his brother, would be unavailable for this matter. Azriel wasn’t sure if he blamed him. 

“I understand your bond is new, but this is essential, Azriel.” He said calmly, hardly looking up from the maps atop the table. 

He couldn’t help the way his lips pulled back in disgust. “So send Feyre, then.” He shot back, unable to contain the words. Rhys stilled, then finally, finally looked at Azriel. 

Pity coasted his features, then hardened back into that mask of the high lord. “Feyre does not have the same gifts. It would defeat the purpose-”

“Send me, send anyone else. Rhys this is a death sentence!” 

“Have faith in your mate, Azriel. She is talented, and smarter than you give her credit for.” His dismissal was not angry, nor was it painted with that pitying look he’d shown before. To his credit, he revealed no sign of budging on the matter, even while one of the few that could challenge him and survive raged at him.

Azriel saw the conversation going nowhere, and stormed from the room.

+

The robes were uncomfortable. You sighed and adjusted your position in the saddle again, wishing to the Mother you’d picked a different disguise for this role. The priestess uniform had made you look utterly delectable though, so there was no complaining there. Not as Azriel had whispered filthy things to you while he flew you to the closest stable where he was sure there were no Autumn cout guards or spies lingering. 

You bought the cheapest horse they had, and it’d been a mistake. 

The mare threw her head and nearly reared each time Azriel got within a few yards of her. It made the journey much longer without your mate at your side. You’d planned to at least say goodbye to him before you got to the Autumn border, but with such a fussy mare, it seemed that it wouldn’t happen. 

So as the humidity and heat started to peak, you waved behind you, to the darkening sky where you knew Azriel watched from afar. 

+

You had four days to get as much information as you could on Beron’s plans. He’d recently began acquiring more and more ships along his shoreline, and it’d caused a stir. Skiffs, warships and cargo boats clotted his waterways as you rode up the bridge to the bunker castle, nestled into the leaf littered ground. 

Your pale robes stood out in bright contrast against all the red, orange and brown shades of this place. Guards closed in from the trees once you crossed, meeting you at the outer gates of the castle. Two males stood in front, spears sharp and at the ready. 

“State your business.” One commanded. 

The glamour over your face was essential now, and you made sure it did not slip as you spoke.

“The Mother sends you a Priestess, and you meet her with violence?” You called back.

Your heart quickened as you stepped down from the horse, a vulnerable time of dismount would be the perfect moment to kill. They could take it as a threat, and be justified in their murder.

“I am Vivienne, of the Kallos Sea. I understand your previous priestess has…” You paused for effect, knowing that she was on a very long sailing back to Valhallan. “Abandoned her duties.” 

“How could you-” The leader began, but was interrupted by the enormous stone doors opening. 

“Welcome, priestess.” Eris Vanserra welcomed you, waving you forward.

+

“I understand that the temple in Valhallan has been undergoing restructuring. Much overdo, in my opinion.``You hummed in agreement, made absent comments while you searched the walls and doors for any hint at where Beron’s office may be. Eris made kind smalltalk while he showed you to your room. The male was charming, but revealed nothing about the influx of ships when you hinted towards it.

Remnants of the missing priestess still lay about. The candles, gems and potions lined the shelves on the walls. Personal artifacts had been cleared, and you hoped the female wasn’t fond of the items left behind. Azriel was only able to capture her because her journey to the nearest temple had taken her out of sight of the court’s many guard stations. 

“My lady?” Eris prompted, his forehead pinched. He’d been speaking. You cursed yourself, you feigned sadness, and placed a hand upon your chest. “I apologize my lord, it has been.. Distressing to say the least. With Liasia disappearing it is… unsettling.” You fanned your face, making sure that the false tears showed. 

“You’re safe here.” Eris assured, with a squeeze to your shoulder. His hand left behind a tingling, heated sensation on your skin. A reminder of what he was? What power he possessed? He looked at you, his golden gaze darkening. “Just be sure you have someone with you if you exit the manor.” 

You batted your eyes at him, playing the part of seductive priestess well. “I’d ask for you if I did, prince.” 

That got him to smile. “Please do. I’d be more than happy to show you my court.” 

A new idea sparked in your mind. Perhaps you wouldn’t need to make this a rushed, blind mission. If Eris was as paliape as he seemed to be for you, perhaps he’d give you the information willingly. 

His gaze lingered on you, even as he bid you goodnight.

+

The rotting scent only seemed extreme when your torturers came and went. The fresh air they brought with them a curse more than a relief. All around the Autumn dungeons seemed to reek and ooze with the smell of decay and half eaten things. A bucket of rats in the corner, long dead was swarmed with maggots. The trays of food you’d not eaten had been thrown against the walls, food for more scurrying things to feast upon.

Eris did none of the torturing himself. He did watch though, and questioned while a hooded and masked male did the carving. You had two fingernails left, from what you’d been able to see through your swollen eyes. They’d had some kind of powder, an itching, burning thing that they used when they’d gotten sick of the blood. 

But you hadn’t broken. The glamour was still in place, and you’d die before implicating your court. 

“You smell of snow and wind and rivers. Not of the Ocean, Vivenne.” Eris had whispered, so close you could feel his hot breath on your ear. “There is no reconstruction the Mother’s Temple. The Valhallan sages think it to be distasteful.” He said smugly. 

Though you cursed yourself for falling to such a trap, you worried more for Azriel, who by your estimation would be arriving in less than a day for your rescue.

“Perhaps you don’t know all that you think you do, Prince.” You strained for the words, little more than a whisper.

+

The hours were grinding on Azriel’s nerves. He had gotten the sense that something was wrong days ago, but he refused to act. The bond had remained quiet, diluted almost from the Glamour. He did not enjoy being so blinded from you. Without the mental link, he felt lost, like a ship without course. 

Night fell, and he decided he could no longer wait. He did not warn Rhys or Cassian, because he know - deep in his bones - that something was wrong. Something more than just his mate being late to their meeting point. Something had gone wrong. 

So, with a running start, he flew through the Autumn Court borders and vowed to the Mother he’d find you or die trying. 

+

The pain was less than a pinch, each time they drew your blood. The blades and odd things they used were nothing, compared to the poisoned prods they’d put in your back. Fire rippled through you with every breath, with every heartbeat that dragged the poison through you. 

Your eyes no longer wept from the throbbing, your voice was gone from the screaming. You held on faintly, to the glimmering bond deep inside your mind - your soul. The thick rope that seemed to be vibrating, warm and welcoming to your presence held you together. It was Azriel. It had to be, because if it wasn’t then what was the point of holding on any longer? 

You could feel something like peace embrace you, every time you’d pass out. Darkness greeted you with open arms, enticing you to fall into the shapeless pit. But that cord, that part of you that loved Azriel more than it feared the pain… it was stronger. It helped you stay, to remain in this world for a few more hours. Days? How long had it been since Eris’ guards had ambushed you? 

The question brought forth the violence of consciousness. The males before you came into focus again, and you body tensed. The fire along your back heightened, earning a broken sob from your chest. 

“Tell me where you’re from, who you’re with, and this can be over.” Eris promised, his voice like honey in the darkness. And Mother above it was tempting. So incredibly tempting to allow the words to come out. The answer to what he wanted was only a few syllables. You could feel your hold on the Glamour beginning to shake. 

There was a thudding sound, far above the prison cell. Dirt shifted and rained down from the ceiling above. An earthquake, hopefully - that would rid you of this pain faster than you’d hope. 

Eris flicked a hand, and two of the guards left the room. When the door opened, revealing silvered moonlight from the windows in the hall, it also made that decaying scent swirl and vacate the room for a moment.

And when you’d normally cringe, and attempt to hold your breath, this fresh air was different. It was cold. Downright freezing, in fact. The guards hesitated outside the door, and the screaming began.

+

“Where is she.” Azriel’s voice was not his own. It was a growl, a demand and promise of wrath if the boy did not answer his question. The redhead stammered, and clawed at the shadowsinger’s hands, his eyes wide and horrified at what he saw before him.

He let the boy drop. It’d be more likely a guard would know. Azriel was having a hard time getting to the logic of things though, when he sensed the pain his mate was in. When he knew he’d been right all along, and Rhys should have listened.

The compiled rage leaked from him like a poison. Every guard who got close enough fainted or died on the spot from the intensity of the shadows, the nightmares they saw there. He reigned them in, his surroundings coming into focus. He took a breath, and it was as if his senses were heightened in this state. 

There was a male hiding behind the next corner, beside a barrel of wine and stores of bread. Azriel was there in an instant, his shadows taking him so easily, like liquid from one space to the other. 

“Where is she?” He said the words calmly, but they still came out through his teeth. 

“W-who-”

“The priestess!” Azriel’s blade was at the male’s neck in the next heartbeat. There wouldn’t be survivors here, not tonight. 

“The cells are down the next hall, the door on the left with the lock. The Prince is there as well-” With the teary confession, Azriel threw the male against the wall, flecks of bone chasing his shadows as he winnowed to the end of the hall. 

+

The screams were growing louder, more frantic before ending abruptly. Eris flicked a hand again, and all the devices and pain actively hurting you disappeared. The torturer included. Had he been a figment the entire time? More shouts echoed through the halls. 

A smile curled your lip, stretching the skin to the point of pain. Then, you couldn’t help but laugh. As much as you could anyway, it came out more like bitter coughs. 

Eris was moving then, a swift backhand had you spitting up blood between laughs. He unhooked your legs, then your arms. He held you up by the waist, then decided better and let you fall to the ground. Your body sparked in pain, protesting at every movement. Something cold pressed to your neck, and you closed your eyes, blood tipping back in your throat. 

The cold air flowing into the room stopped all together, and the silvery light of the moon faded. Your heart thundered, every joint in your body throbbing in time with it. Pain sang through you, a symphony of aches and split scabs being torn apart.

The guards at the door shuffled, holding their weapons at the ready, then abruptly fell to their knees. There was no sound, other than the clang of their weapons against the stone. 

Azriel appeared in the doorway like a god, wrathful and wielding his power like a part of himself. Your tears stung your wounds as they fell. You mouthed his name, unable to make the word out around the knot in your throat. 

“Not another step, Shadowsinger.” The knife at your throat pinched, and warmth flowed down your chest. 

Azriel straightened, his jaw flexing. “What about her?” Azriel held up a hand, and a red haired female appeared, a gag in her mouth and tears in her eyes. You recognized her as the Beron’s wife, the Lady of Autumn. Eris’s knife relaxed at your throat, and his other no longer held you in place. Your body sagged, threatening to fall without the support of his other hand at your shoulder. 

“You wouldn’t. She’s done nothing.” Eris spat, and a cruel smile played at Azriel’s lips. Truth teller laid a streak of blood upon the Lady’s high cheekbone, carving down, down, down-

“Enough!” Eris was shaking, you could feel it reverberating through his legs. 

“Let her go.” Azriel’s eyes darted to yours, and he blinked quickly. “Release her Eris, or I’ll be sure she regrets ever birthing you.” 

“I’m certain she already does.” Eris muttered, shame weighing his voice. He nudged you forward, and you nearly fell face first to the floor but Azriel was there - and you were gone. Cool shadows embracing you, circling you like a cat. 

“What did they do- what hurts the most?” Azriel was asking before he’d even stepped from his shadows. You landed together in damp leaves, the moon’s light making you squint. 

His hands shook as they grazed over your tattered clothes. His mind warring with revenge and healing. The glamour on your face was rippling and changing, shifting between the face he loved and the one of a stranger. But your scent. He inhaled deeply, greedily, even though it was tainted with blood and something darker, more sinister beneath the surface. It was still you. Still his mate.

“Missed you.” You breathed, smiling at him through swollen lips. His heart ached, his stomach threatened to spill out right there on the decaying autumn ground. 

He tore off his top layer of leather, covering your shoulders with it. The siphons attached dulled but didn’t darken. He used parts of that glowing power to patch up the larger wounds he could see in the shadowy moonlight. Relief flooded him when that glamour finally shifted, and fell. Your face was a bloodied mess but he kissed you on the forehead anyway, as gentle as he could.

 He felt weak, so very tired and weak after the encounter. Fatigue pulled on him, even as the night air bit at his exposed arms once he took off into the sky. 

[rockyp77mk3]

In the midst of World War II, the Coast Guard Beach Patrol diligently safeguarded over 3,700 miles of coastline, enlisting the service of approximately 24,000 men. These patrols, mounted on horseback, operated in pairs, maintaining a distance of around 100 feet from each other while effectively patrolling a 2-mile expanse. Known as "Sand Pounders," these skilled individuals adeptly traversed challenging landscapes with remarkable speed and efficiency. This account dates back to the year 1945.