#has this been done for this gif? probably. well i'm doing it again

[tremendum]

where to start 

(gif not mine) pairing: din djarin x afab!reader (gender not specified, descriptions of afab genitalia)     rating: explicit.  (18+. mdni.)     requested: yes, here !!! word count: 2.7k  summary:  Din lets out a shaky sigh, finally turning around in the chair to face you, legs spread slightly, "it's not like- I don't not want to- I just haven't-I don't know where to start."  warnings:  SMUT. there’s like no plot. teasing, PiV (unprotected), Din has a praise kink, he begs, inexperience, loss of virginity, brief allusion to rough sex if you squint, yall cant convince me Din isn’t a stuttering little mess, riding in the pilot’s seat!!, sliiiight dom!reader, slight discussion of Din being ashamed he’s a virgin, idk what else tbh  notes:  thank u for requesting this! i just wrote it in like 30 mins haha. i hope yall like it i love my space cowboy boyfriend <3  this is unedited. reblogs/comments always motivate me hehe

   [other din fic          din series (be like me): masterlist  ]

★  

you stare at the cold metal in front of you. 

it stares back silently. 

your hand is itching to just go knock, to raise a few inches and rap your knuckles upon its shimmering, textured surface; it'll be so simple. so easy, definitely one of the easier things you've ever done. 

but the conversation that awaits on the other side- well.

that's not so simple. 

"why don't you go over there, Din?"  a glint of beskar as his head whips to you, alarmed. thrown off. a head tilt of irritation, "excuse me?"  a raise of your eyebrows, "oh, sorry, didn't realize we were playing innocent." you jut your chin towards the young woman who stands, twirling her hair and making bedroom eyes at Din from across the bar. jealousy curls up your throat - he'd been staring in her direction since you'd arrived, too. "come on, she's been staring at you the whole time. go- go do your thing." 

"that isn't funny." he mutters, causing the chilled pint of ale between your fingers to sear you as you flush. tough crowd.  "why do you assume I'm joking, hm?" you tilt your head again and he shakes his head. it's painful, the way you and Mando have been dancing around each other for weeks. a brush of a leather hand on the small of your back, a kind chuckle at something you say, your hands soothing over the thick cowl that hides his sore knots - the ones that form in his shoulders from carrying the jetpack - a murmur of your name when you're in danger, the curling of your hand around his arm in crowded public spaces. you're sure it's torture, but it seems neither one of you can make the move. 

"she's not looking at me like- like anything." he dismisses, arms curling over themselves in a cross of defense. you hum a laugh; who wouldn't look at Mando like that? 

"oh, c'mon. jus'go up and talk to her. she's probably dying for a big man like you to toss her around." you elbow him, winking. a slick, regretting coil of envy curls around your stomach as you take in the way his helmet tilts from you back to her; what the fuck are you doing? you silently beat yourself up, cheeks hot with the swirling complacency that befalls you following several drinks of ale. you sound like a complete moof milker as you let yourself encourage Mando to- to what, pursue another woman? 

how does that make sense to your brain?  

there's an echoing thud as Din slams his fist hard on the bartop. you jump, eyes wide as he shakes his head, turning to stalk straight out the doors, leaving you behind in his anger. 

yeah. the wall has never been so daunting before. 

you know you upset him earlier. he's been cooped up inside his bunk the whole night after you returned alone from the cantina, and no matter how much you've tried to ignore it, you know that it's your fault that you've made him angry. 

your fist raises. 

the metal whooshes before you can make contact, though, and your eyes meet the hard chest of beskar before you can take a step back. a soft oh leaves your lips as his helmet tilts microscopically down towards you for a moment; he's pushing hard past you with a fierce silence and without a second glance in your direction. 

"wait!" you call as he disappears up into the cockpit, the silence sterile in the Crest as he stalks out of view. you chew your lip as you scramble to follow him, knowing you at least owe it to him to apologize for what you'd said. 

he's sitting in the cockpit, fiddling with the controls as you soon start to engage in liftoff protocols; a thudding jolt as the Crest lifts off sends you stumbling into the chair as you stare, wide-eyed, shocked at Mando's abrupt behavior. he didn't even warn you that he was preparing your next track. 

you try; you really do. seven different attempts - yes, you counted them - to get him to speak, casually commenting on the smoothness of the Crest after your last maintenance day, asking him if he remembered the coolant you'd forgotten a few cycles ago, telling him about Grogu catching a flying-Banda and swallowing it whole mid-air; stupid shit. 

all you got in response was silence.

a sigh, maybe - his helmet wouldn't turn anywhere near you, and your glare cuts through the glinting on his head as stars race above you. it was just like when you'd first met, agreeing to go with him and work maintenance or grogu-sit when he needed it, and existing in weeks of silent tension, the man surrounded in so many walls that he could be armor-less and still the most impenetrable person in the galaxy. 

he was cold. you'd pushed him back into the shell you'd spent months working to chip away. 

"Din." you say flatly, crossing your arms. he doesn't respond; not even a huff, or a grunt, or a movement of muscle to indicate he heard the word. 

"look, I just- I want to apologize. okay?" you say desperately, shaking your head. but he catches you off guard yet again as he speaks up, voice heavy and more hot than normal; like he's been stewing with his thoughts for far too long. 

"-I don't want some random woman. I don't just sleep with anybody because I think they're attractive." his voice moves through the cockpit in defiance and you sit back in your chair, blinking for a moment. oh.  

you clear your throat, unsure how to approach what he's said; a sick, twisted part of you scowls at his insinuation that he'd found the woman from the bar attractive; but of course he did. she was. and you're unable, still, to deny the throbbing ache of desire that dully spreads through you at the very dim prospect that you are not just a random woman to him.

"I was out of line. I over-stepped." you try again. 

"do you think I'm upset that you teased me back at the cantina?" he clips, taking you off-guard. your brows furrow, tilting your head, "y-yes?" it comes out like a question of your own, in your doubt. 

he sighs. the weight of it smashes you back as you furrow your brows; he will not go into another bout of silence again, you won't let him. no. 

"what is it, Din?" you ask gently, leaning your elbows onto your knees. 

he breathes out, hand twitching by his side. "I just-"

you're not sure what spurs his sudden admission; be it from frustration or a genuine desire to confide in you, his only companion besides a 50-year-old baby. 

"I don't have- I don't have much experience." he admits, voice laced with embarrassment. he sounds much more unsure of himself than normal. "because of the Creed- I have lived differently than others." 

oh. oh.

you flood with emotion, eyes flying wide. "oh, Din-" you feel like you're on fire in embarrassment, shaking your head in regret, "I'm- I didn't even think about that. I shouldn't have-" 

"please," he almost whimpers it, "stop." 

you do. 

he lets out a shaky sigh, finally turning around in the chair to face you, legs spread slightly, hands on his lap. "it's not like- I don't not want to- I just haven't-I don't know where to start." 

you nod, throat dry. his composure, the sweet genuine tilt in his voice; your underwear slicks as you wait for him to continue. the air feels... thick with anticipation. 

he's breathing more shallowly, his hands gripping his beskar thighs as he keeps your gaze. "I don't...know how to get what I want from..." he stops, his helmet fully facing you. your words are dead on your tongue as you stare at him; your heart thunders as you beg him to say it. 

"from you." he finishes, body still as he awaits your reaction. 

heat spreads through your entire body as you stare at him, fire licking your fingertips. he wants- he wants you. he wants you. 

you swallow your fears in one sentence, "have you considered... asking?" 

your voice has it's desired effect. his chest almost shivers as he lets out a soft breath, hands clenching as you stand from your seat to walk, slowly, towards his chair. you're more than thankful you'd had the thought to change from your hunting clothes; your shorts, breezy and loose, sit barely below the curve of your ass and you don't miss the way Din's helmet moves with the sway of your hips.

his helmet tilts to stare up at you when you set your hands on each side of his arm rests, leaning in close. you can smell his scent as you smile sweetly, "I would say yes, you know." you whisper next to his helmet as he lets out a strangled noise. 

it’s a split second before he shakily groans. "I want you." he finally gasps, "I need you." 

you let out your own shaky breath as arousal floods your underwear, arousal swirling in your stomach. "I want you too, Din." you press a soft kiss to his forehead, the cool beskar tingling your heated, desiring lips. 

his hands remain clenched until you slide yourself onto his lap, settling yourself to straddle him in the pilot's chair, a fantasy you've imagined almost every night since you've met the man. you don't even suggest removing the beskar; he deserves to be comfortable as possible, and you flush when you realize you like the sharp bite of the metal on your bare skin. 

your hands explore the long, sturdy planes of his chest and neck, over the ruched material, threads loose under the tips of your fingers, armor cold. you can feel him under your aching heat; he's already semi-hard, his breath falling from his helmet in breathy grunts as you slowly, gently rock against him. "you can touch me, Din." 

it's like he's snapped to life; hands fly up to your hips, tugging your chest impossibly close as he mutters into your ear, "fuck, cyare." 

it starts slow; your bodies glued to each other, exploring every inch you'd desire to discover before, the blue-electric lights of hyperspace coaxing the two of you into a dreamlike state. 

but he gets desperate quick. 

he's groaning, straining hard and thick against his flightsuit; as your hand falls to palm him as you rock your clothed clit over the material, you're momentarily concerned that if you aren't warmed up before taking him, he may not fit. "you're so big, Din." you whisper as your lips flutter along the seam of skin exposed between his helmet and cowl. he lets out a moan of your name, one hand pulling you by your back towards him, the other digging into the plush of your ass, sneaking under the fabric of your sleep shorts. 

"cyare, please-" he gasps, voice begging, "need to- need to be inside you." 

you smile, kissing the hot skin of his pressure point, tongue slinking up as his heart pounds. "there, that's how you ask, Din." 

you press another kiss to him, your hands moving to undo his flight suit, pulling his thick cock out; he ruts upwards with a sharp moan, hand digging into your ass so hard it may leave marks. 

pre-cum leaks out of him in beads; he's so goddamn hard, whimpering at your touch. you feel your slick dampen your thighs through your underwear, shivering with desire. 

you pull your underwear to the side swiftly, rising onto your knees as he stables your hips up above him. his chest sputters, grunting as you start to move your hips, teasing him with your velvety wet cunt. 

broken grunts of Mando'a leave his helmet, his fists tightening as his helmet falls back to thud against the back of his pilot's chair. "please, mesh'la, please." he mutters. 

you can't wait any longer; soon you're shifting, prodding yourself over his head, gently taking just a bit of him inside you. your gasps are in tandem at the tight, warm stretch; "Din, y'gonna fill me up so well." 

he moans at that, hands rising to hold your shoulders, his thick, muscled arms swallowing your frame as he hums, "fu-uck, n-need you mesh'la." 

you nod, your breath fogging up his helmet as you desperately shift your hips, preparing to take him into you. and then slowly, you let your legs relax slightly. 

"M-Maker-" Din stutters, the weight of his helmet dropping onto your shoulder as you slowly lower yourself; his cock, thick and warm, eases you open gently, the pain of his stretch curling your toes in your boots. “yes,” you hiss, swallowing dryly as your hands, stabilizing themselves on his neck and shoulder, grip tight. 

you have to ease yourself down onto him; his hips buck up harshly, as if he can't help himself, his tip sheathing so far into you that it prods at your tender cervix, causing you to yelp in pleasure. 

"s-sorry." he mutters, hands shaking as he holds on to you, "can't-f-fuck, it feels so- you feel so warm. y'so tight. ’m not gonna-" 

you nod desperately, starting to move yourself, fucking him slow as his hands hold you. 

"feels good. you're so good, you're so good for me." you mutter, causing his cock to twitch deep inside you. he moans loud as you mutter praises, his cock so deep; dragging through your walls, hitting an angle which nudges that delicious spot inside you.

a groan of your name has you smiling as you suck a mark dark onto his neck; you start to build up the pace, the simmering arousal soon spurring you to chase the building pleasure. 

"yes, yes." you nod, peppering kisses over his throat, nails clawing to expose more of the forbidden, golden skin. you feel him clench below you; his hard, cold thighs tense under the beskar, the muscles of his abdomen flexing under the protection as the lewd noise of your connection echoes through the cockpit. 

he's close, you know it. 

you want him to cum, you want him to be consumed by it; you want him to consume you, you want to consume him. you tug him as you maintain your pace, legs burning as you chase your own orgasm. 

"y'gonna cum, Din?" your voice is laced sultry and aroused, fogging his helmet as he nods, broken moans of ecstasy leaving his helmet. "yes, f-fuck- I-" 

"yes, cum, baby." you mutter, his hips soon spurring to thrust up and meet your own movements, the pet name making him shiver. you let out a yell, cracking with pleasure as he holds you immediately to you, his whimpers echoing with your moans. 

he finishes with a moan of your name and a slam of his fist hard onto the console next to you; all of the lights in the cockpit shut off at his action but you can barely notice as his orgasm paints your channel, hot and thick. you're out of breath as he rides out his high, ropes of cum filling you. 

he twitches inside of you as you stutter to a stop, your wetness causing a stain on his flightsuit below you. 

his head lifts from your shoulder, voice wrecked, chest panting. "you didn't- you didn't finish." he sounds confused, embarrassed. 

you flush at his statement - he just had sex for the first time, and is disappointed you didn't cum? you let your hands rub soothing circles over the parts of his shoulders that aren't covered with armor. 

"n-no, Din- that was 'bout you." you sigh, pressing a gentle kiss to the contoured beskar of his cheek. "we have next time." you ensure him, gasping as his hips still rock up into you gently, his softening cock pushing his cum deeper inside of you; holding it there. 

keeping him inside you. 

he stiffens, head rising to look at you. "no." he mutters, his hands dragging down your spine, catching on your hips, sliding back up to grope your breasts. "show me how to make you cum now. please, mesh'la." 

another rush of arousal floods you, shivers running down your body as you grin with a flush. resisting a loud moan of desire, you nod gently.  "okay." 

- 

requests open

- 

[gomzwrites]

Being their sugar baby

Summary: A look into some moments if they are your sugar daddy(separately)

Pairing: John Price, Simon Ghost Riley with x civy gn!Reader

Tags: fluff, implied/light nsfw, you call them daddy, kissing, mdni(18+)

Note: gif are not mine, reader’s texts are in purple!, indented texts are memories

a/n: this is for you annon who wanted a sugar daddy cod thing <3 It took me a while to get this done and I'm still not 100% satisfied with it, the amount of self-control I needed to not make this into a full-blown smut fic- 

Anyways, this time I only wrote for Price and Ghost, I do have a few drafts for Soap and Gaz but I haven’t finished it yet cause my adhd ass cannot be decisive. I don't know if I will complete them or not since my uni starts tomorrow, so no promises!

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Captain John Price

Hmmm absolutely not, you’re not going anywhere like that.

John clicks his tongue as he shakes his head and looks at the outfit you’re wearing with a disapproving look as you give him a pout. 

Daddy, we’ve been here for an hour already. 

You complain as you sigh and let the workers remove your clothes and frown as Price goes through another list of outfits, putting his finger up in the air as he gives you a smile.

Patience, sweetheart. I need to make sure you look just as good as I am at the party, hm? 

He says as he picks out another fancy clothe that is probably worth more than your car and orders the people around to dress you up again. You chuckle and roll your eyes as you do as you are told. Obediently dressing up as you glance at yourself in the mirror.

There you are, look at you…

He gives a proud smile as his beard shifts and walks slowly at you, you giggle as you give a spin and let him rake his eyes over your body, watching and observing you as if he is admiring a piece of art. 

Mmm, you like it?

He gives a nod as he rests his hands on your shoulders and gently adjusted the creased fabric slightly and glances at you through the mirror, always a perfectionist. A content look shows as he kisses your hair.

Always so perfect, sweetheart. Do you like it as well? 

He whispers into your ears as he runs his rough calloused hand around your waist and thigh, watching as your half-lidded eyes trace his motion from the reflection, he gives your ear a bite when you haven’t replied, already hazy when you take in a deep breath and stare yourself in the mirror.

You’re always confident with how you look with how much care and precision you put into yourself. Sticking a routine and maintaining your diet, and you thank yourself for having such discipline because that’s exactly how you even met John Price in the first place.

You give a few stretches and hum a tune as you feel how nicely the soft silk fabric adorns your body perfectly, no matter where you turn or pose it always displays your shape in the best way possible. You appreciate how he asks for your opinion still even though he makes the final decision, truthfully you’ll wear anything he wants you to because for one, it makes him happy and two, you can rock any outfit really.

Yes, I like it. Thank you, Daddy. 

He gives you a hush on your ear as he slightly runs his thumb across your exposed neck. This is nothing, no need to thank me. He whispers before tilting his head and turning back to the mirror again.

Hm, think you want a little something here? 

He gives a tap on your neck as you give him a nod.

He turns around with a hum and glances around the jewellery box he got you and picks one, you quickly place your hand on his as you shake your head, he raises his brow as he complies and lets you take out another shiny one instead, he gives a chuckle as he watches you wear it.

Out of so many of them, you always wear that one huh sweetheart? 

He says as he brushes your hair away and hooks his finger on the gold choker and examines it. It's the first of many pieces of jewellery he bought for you and it has since become your favourite. You’ll admit that the other necklaces with different gemstones and accessories would’ve fit your look better, but you also wear this one because it always reminded you the day you got it. 

Okay no way, you spent how much on this again?? You gesture at the beautiful gold choker, shining and twinkling brightly under the light as it hangs from Price’s hand. He gives a laugh as he ties it around your neck and ravishes the way it hugs around your pretty neck perfectly. Hush, if it looks good on you then it doesn’t matter. You give a frown and pout as he pokes your puffy cheek and smirks, turning your head to face the mirror again as you take a moment to examine it, you’ll have to agree that it does look pretty good as you run your hand along the cold metal, you’d expect it to be heavy but it’s pretty lightweight and it doesn't bite into your skin. 

Is it because you like the way you look with nothing but the choker on? 

He pulls you back out of your thoughts into the current time as he whispers with a dangerously low tone in your ear, causing you to blush as you tense up and recall the memory. He gives another chuckle as he bites your neck softly and nibbles it, causing you to whine as you push him away gently.

W-w-wait wait wait- the party-

Ah to hell with the party, need you now, need my sweetheart.

He rasps as he pulls the curtain and presses you onto the mirror with your back against him, feeling his palm going under the silk as he stares at you hungrily.  Are you going to be good for me then? He gives a devilish smirk as you quickly nod and arch your back for him.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Simon Ghost Riley

You walk towards your kitchen as you hum out a tune and give a soft yawn as you turn on the sink handle to let the water run, lazily rubbing your eyes as you wait for the water to fill the pot.  

Angel… 

A second voice joins you as Ghost wrapped around your waist and nuzzles close into your neck.

Mmmm, good morning Daddy.

You reply with another yawn as you kiss his cheek which earns a satisfied hum from him as he presses light kisses around your neck, leaving trails of goosebumps as he pulls your body closer to his. Soft, gentle yet needy as always.

You have been in this arrangement with him for the past two years already, he’d pay for your bills and get you anything you wanted, while you would court him to dinners, being his plus one essentially. It started off as once or twice per week, then to three or four, then somewhere along the line though, he had chosen to visit you and just bask in your presence whenever he wanted in your apartment, well the apartment he bought for you that is.

It took a while to get used to him, you were even sceptical and scared out of your life when you first met him after a friend recommended him to you. You study his actions a lot, being on your best behaviour for him on the first few outings. Overtime, you come to realise a few things about him.

He doesn’t ask for much whenever he’s at your place, he just wants to have you close to him, he’ll pull you away from whatever you’re doing to sit on his lap, smiling whenever you protest or complain about how it distracts you from doing your chores. 

I can hire a maid for you to do it you know. Absolutely not, I don't trust them. Hm, I’ll find trustable ones... Then what am I going to do? Then you’ll give me all your attention, Angel. 

Whenever you’re with him outside, one of his hands must always be on you, be it your waist, hands, or neck. He’s never one to speak a lot, instead to answer you based on his actions. He is also incredibly observant, if you stare at one item just another second too long you’ll see it on your bed the next day. Thanks to him, you also forgot what it's like to stress over every single payment every day, he’d always pay your bills the moment you send him the receipts. You don’t question where or how he manages to carry things out with this efficiently, but you suspect it’s probably due to his job in the military. Well, you don’t know if he actually is working in one.

So are you like an admiral in the military or something?  You asked casually one day when you were sitting on his lap and feeding him strawberries, you can tell he glance at you from the corner of his eye as he slowly run his hand along your back and munch the fruit, to your surprise he actually responded to your question this time and not ignore it like he always does to any questions that are related to him. How did you come to that conclusion? You give a long hmmm and answer back as you gesture at his body. Well, you’re ridiculously big and tall, and you carry yourself highly anywhere you go. At first, I thought maybe it was just a confidence thing, but the way you walk, your gait…it follows a very specific rhythm. You also tend to have a much broader, stricter stance.  You paused before you glance back at his arm and ghost your finger cautiously, Aaaaaand your tattoo, quite interesting with the choices of pattern no? You say as you trail along the dog tags, guns and skulls, pausing as you rest your hand on one of the longer faint scars on his forearm. and I’m assuming these scars are not just from simple accidents.  He gives a low chuckle once he patiently listen and wait for you to finish your answer, feeling the vibration from his chest as you give a grin and tilt your head and watch him, he gives you a smirk as he run his finger along your cheek, Such a smart angel, hm? He whispered as he brings you in for a kiss, wrapping his palm around your neck as you give a shudder, you kiss him slowly before retracting as you wipe the string of saliva that connected from his lips to yours. So was I right? He only hummed as he kissed your ears and grabbed your thighs over for you to straddle his hip. You never got a confirmation or an answer, but you didn’t mind since he was clearly professional in throwing your questions out the window the moment he pulled your hips close to him and feel something hard pressing against you as a gasp escape your mouth-

The memory sends a shiver down your spine as you snap back to the present time.

Cold?

He mumbles when he stopped his hands, you realize he has been rubbing your bare hips under your hoodie for some time now as you felt the warm pad of his fingers pressing into your skin.

You shake your head as you turn around and face him,

Mm, just thinking…

You whisper back as you rest your hand on his chest, watching it rise and fall, he raised his eyebrow as he carries you with ease and puts you on the cold kitchen counter, watching the way your thigh bounce softly upon contact, he glance back up at you as he rest his chin on your chest.

What were you thinking about? 

He says with a smirk as you blush and giggle softly.

Thinking about you. 

You replied back as he tilt his head in amusement.

Issit now…. 

He gives a reply as he kisses your nose and gives you a coy smirk,

Thinking about how well your sugar daddy treats you? 

He whispers as he kisses your neck teasingly, making your cheek red as he flattens his tongue on your skin and swipes it in a circular motion.

M-mhm. 

You replied back with a shaky tone as he sucks on your soft skin, leaving a soft mark as he chuckles. He starts to slowly trail his hand up under your shirt as he leans in and mutters against your sensitive ear once more. 

My angel, always so good to me.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

a/n: am pushing my soft Ghost agenda with this one >:] and yes, if you noticed I always write Price to be a bit mean hehe. I don't know how to feel with this fic, do let me know what you think! Have a nice day/night :D

[the-marshals-wife]

Strangers Like Me (Orm Marius x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: I love Orm so, so much, and I've wanted to write for him since my major obsession with the first movie back in 2019. The sequel was everything I could have wanted for his character, and now that he's had the perfect open ending to his cinematic story, I finally let the inspiration run wild. This is the longest fic I've ever posted, and I'm proud to say he was the muse that inspired it.

Description: Orm Marius/Ocean Master x Fem!Reader (human), friends to lovers | Warnings: suggestive themes, steaminess at the end, cataclysmic levels of fluff throughout | Setting: after The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 5.8k

Gif credit: user acecroft

Imagine Orm opening up to you about who he truly is, and wanting to be part of your world

If someone had asked you a few months ago where you liked to be most, you wouldn't have said the boardwalk. Now, it'd become your favorite place in the world. Not for the noisy crowds, overpriced deep-fried foods, or vendors overflowing with cheap beachwear and souvenirs for the tourists. Those things you could have done without. That is, until you met Orm. Ever since that fateful day, everything around you had transformed into something new and exciting. Today was no different.

"I can't believe you've never had a corn dog before," you say.

Orm walks alongside you, well into his second serving. "And I can't believe something this abysmal in appearance can taste so good," he replies before taking another bite.

"Seriously, what have you been eating all this time?" you ask, wiping the mustard from the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

He swallows before answering, "Fish, mostly."

He was completely serious, as usual.

"You really love seafood, don't you?"

"Where I'm from, it's just called food," he counters.

Once again, you found yourself wanting to ask where exactly that place was. The last time you inquired yielded little insight. He gave a vague reply to the tune of "somewhere far away" and quickly changed the subject. For a while, you'd assumed he was originally European or something like that. Yet the more time went on, the more difficult it became to believe in that explanation. There must be a reason he did not want to talk about it, and you knew when he was ready, he would probably tell you. Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he had come from, and why he had not showed up sooner.

"So, what did you think of your first corn dog?" you ask instead.

"It was excellent. And I imagine it will not be my last," he says, tossing the stick into a trashcan as you walk by, "I still don't understand the name though, if it's not made of dog."

"Me either, honestly," you laugh as you toss your trash as well, "I'll have to look it up sometime."

"Speaking of, I listened to the singer you told me about."

"You did? What did you think?!" you exclaim, almost bumping into a passerby in your excitement.

"She is quite good, vocally. But I do think Ms. Parton would have more success exposing her rival publicly," he suggests.

"I know you're not talking about Jolene right now," you burst out laughing, covering your mouth.

"Indeed. This Jolene is a siren. She lures men with her wiles, and then goes unpunished because of her beauty," he explains wholeheartedly, holding his arms behind his back.

"Well that's the point of the song. Dolly is calling her out," you remind, "Plus what about her man? Shouldn't he get some of the blame? Falling for Jolene when he's already in a relationship? I mean come on, he's talking about her in his sleep. That's pretty low."

"Indeed, he misses the treasure that is right in front of him because he too has no honor," he expounds, his expression turning thoughtful, "You're right. Ultimately, they're deserving of each other."

"See! I told you," you chuckle victoriously.

Orm shakes his head, "I could not be tempted by such a woman."

"Oh, I don't know. You heard Dolly. Her beauty is 'beyond compare'."

"That is merely a facade," he dismisses, waving his hand, "Besides, I have seen far more beautiful than her."

You're about to inquire about his remark, but then you realize he's looking over at you. You can only hold his attentive gaze a moment before averting your eyes toward your feet, heart fluttering.

The previous moment still hanging heavy in the air, you walk together quietly for a minute before Orm stops in front of a beachwear vendor.

"Now that is amusing," he declares.

You backup a couple of steps to stand alongside him, "What is?"

He points to a pink tee shirt, the image of a mermaid riding on the back of a smiling dolphin printed on the front. "Dolphins are actually quite aggressive. They do not enjoy having riders on their backs. Sharks are much better mounts."

You stare at him, brow furrowed. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I, uh, saw it on a television program," he stutters, "about taming sea life."

That was a lie if you'd ever heard one, and a strange one no less.

"Uh-huh," you reply unconvinced, walking away.

In silence, you resume your short walk to the end of the dock, Orm trailing close behind you. Once you reach the end, you lean over and rest your arms on the weathered wood railing, and he stands beside you. A few moments pass as you watch the waves crash upon the shore below and breathe in the salt air. It's not long before you feel his gaze on you once again.

He finally speaks, hesitation thick in his voice, "Something...on your mind?"

You smirk to yourself before looking over at him, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"What do you mean?" he asks, concern visible in his bright eyes.

"I've never met anyone like you before. So much of what you say is a mystery," you remark.

"That is a fair point," he concedes, "I don't wish to vex you. There's just...so much that I don't know how to say."

You stand up straighter, smiling at him softly.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Everyone has parts of themselves that they hide. Parts they don't want anyone else to see. There's nothing wrong with that," you reply, turning towards the ocean, "You don't like talking about your past, and I respect that. I just don't want you to think you have to hide. It's awful feeling like you don't belong, just for being yourself. I wouldn't want that for you."

"That is kind of you to say. Truly." He mirrors your posture on the railing, moving closer to you as a result. "You don't make me want to hide, Y/N. Quite the opposite, actually. I've learned so many things from you these past few weeks, and I have greatly enjoyed your company."

You look back to him, your heart skipping, "So have I."

His gaze softens. "I've also never met anyone like you before. You find joy and purpose in even the smallest of things. It inspires me how gracefully you view the world. And I've known no one whom I've wanted to share it with more."

Everything else around you melted away as you find yourself becoming just as lost in his eyes as you've been in his words.

Before either of you can move an inch closer, the chime of your cellphone cuts through the thick air between you.

Cursing inwardly, you shoot upright, embarrassed, and retrieve it from your pocket. It's an all-caps text from your sister with many exclamation marks, quickly followed by another. The sister you just now realized you forgot needed picked up.

"Oh no. I have to go," you say, frenzied, "My sister's waiting for me. I have to drive her home from her class, I completely forgot!"

"I understand," he nods, touching your arm assuringly, "Do you want me to accompany you back to the lot?"

"I really appreciate it, but I literally have to run. I'm so sorry, Orm," you say, turning to leave.

You make it only a few steps before you hear him call out.

"Y/N!"

Despite the urgency of your escape, you can't help but turn on your heel expectantly.

"Would you meet me tomorrow? Down on the beach, beneath the pier around sunset?"

A grin spreads across your face. "I'll be there!"

♆

It took everything in you not to grin like an idiot the entire drive to pick up your less-than-amused sister. You weren't ready for the brutal interrogation that would surely come if she saw the look you knew was on your face. After apologizing to her profusely and letting her chew you out, as was her sisterly right, her suspicions were already raised.

"You've never looked this happy for me to yell at you," she said, glaring at you.

"I'm just really enjoying my book! I started the sequel I told you about," you defended, flashing a smile even you knew was pretty fake.

"Enough to forget all about me," she rolled her eyes and punched your arm, "You're not telling me something, I know it."

"I'm dying to know if she's really the lost heir to the throne, I heard the reveal is like halfway through," you add, ignoring her last words.

"Mhm," she grumbled, "Fine don't tell me. I'll figure it out, just wait. You can't hide from me."

"The only thing I need to hide from you is my chocolate bars," you argue in a desperate attempt to throw her off the subject.

"I'll find those too," she snickered confidently.

You laughed it off and went back to biting down hard on your lip. It was the only thing you could do not to spill everything to her as she continued to give you the side-eye. Your body was at the steering wheel, but your mind, and your heart, were back on that boardwalk. The final glare she gave you in her driveway was unmissable, but for now, you'd evaded being found out as you made a getaway back to your own apartment.

That night you'd hardly slept, the moment at the end of the dock replaying in your mind over and over well into the morning. Work only made it worse, the monotony making the perfect backdrop to picture what the coming evening would bring. When your shift ended, you couldn't get out of there fast enough to go home and change.

Now, with sunset fast approaching, you were circling the parking lot trying to find a space, and close to bribing someone to move, when a spot finally opened up.

"Someone loves me," you exhale, hurriedly locking your car as you throw your bag over your shoulder.

The words linger in your thoughts. You can't help but blush at the notion, given your current destination, and who was waiting there.

In some ways it seemed like a lifetime since you met Orm, and in others it felt like only yesterday. The memory of that fateful day comes to the front of your thoughts as you start the long trek to the path that cuts through the dunes.

Unlike your fib from last night, you'd actually been desperate to finish the book your coworker had been pestering you about all summer. With only four chapters left, you'd escaped to the boardwalk one sunny Tuesday afternoon, hoping to find a bench, a fresh lemonade, and far less crowds than the weekend so that you could finally finish in peace.

Just as you'd sucked up the last drop of your drink and reached the last handful of pages, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. On a bench across the way from you, you saw a man trying to untangle the most knotted pair of earbuds you'd ever seen in your life. You watched him from behind the top of your book, and suppressed a giggle as he became more animated in frustration. He ran a hand through his blond hair and seemed near to giving up on the whole endeavor. Unable to watch him struggle any longer, you tucked your book beneath your arm, tossed your empty cup in the trash, and started to walk over.

"He did this on purpose," he muttered as you approached.

"I can take a crack at them, if you'd like."

In his fierce concentration, he hadn't noticed you approach. He jumped a bit at your greeting, and squinted up at you, confused.

"Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like some help with those?" you smiled hesitantly, "I just, I couldn't help but notice you were having a hard time with them."

"Well, you are welcome to try," he invited with a sigh, extending them to you, "Although I have seen seaweed less entangled than this."

You took them and sat down beside him, analyzing the knots.

"Earbuds are pretty notorious for getting tangled," you began, pausing to focus a moment, "These, however, look like a sailor used them to practice tying his knots."

"Courtesy of my brother," he said with no small amount of exasperation, "He delights in making things difficult for me."

"As brothers are wont to do."

"Indeed," he conceded.

Untying your own numerous pairs of earbuds over the years had more than prepared you for this moment. You'd made quick work of separating the right and left buds, down to the last few kinks in each.

"You're quite skilled at this," he observed.

"I should probably put it on my resume, huh?" you chuckled as you conquered the final knot.

"I think you might consider it," he laughed as well.

At last, all the tangles were gone.

"There you go," you declared, handing them back, "Good as new."

"Impressive," he remarked, marveling at your handiwork before looking back at you, "Thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome," you smiled and pointed to the iPod in his lap, "What do you like to listen to, if you don't mind me asking?"

He hesitated, picking it up, "I'm...not actually sure how this device works. Are you familiar with the technology?"

"An iPod?" you laugh, "Yeah, I had one in high school. It's been a while and it wasn't this exact model, but they're all pretty much the same. MP3 players, that is. I had so many songs on mine, I couldn't add any more. Never went anywhere without it. I had to tape it together in senior year because I used it so much."

"Perhaps you could show me how to properly operate it?" he posed, turning towards you more, "My brother sent it to me. He said it contains music inside that I must hear, but I'm at a loss on knowing how to make it play."

You gazed at him bewildered a moment, caught off guard. Never had you met anyone who didn't know how to work an iPod before. But then again, you reminded yourself, not everyone had a chance to own one.

"Sure," you grinned, "I can show you. There's not too much to it, really, once you know the basics."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, "It's not often that I've met a lady with such kindness, and lightness of fingers."

Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks at his gracious works, and suddenly it was difficult to hold the gaze of his rich blue eyes.

"It's no problem at all," you replied, offering your hand, "I'm Y/N, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Orm Marius, and the pleasure is mine."

Before you could blink, he'd taken your hand, and instead of shaking it, he kissed your knuckles. If he had lingered, perhaps it would have alarmed you. But he did it so quickly, it was like it was second-nature to him. Practiced or not, your head spun nonetheless, and launching into an urgent, flustered spiel about how to power on the iPod was all you could do to keep yourself held together.

You spent the next half an hour showing him everything from the buttons to the way to change the background image on the menus. Before long, you were talking about all of your favorite songs and artists, simultaneously making lists for each that he would have to listen to. Orm listened eagerly to your recommendations, and soon the conversation turned to any and every subject, from foods to places to dreams. You still remember the feeling of the rest of the world fading away as you talked to him, afternoon turning to evening. And the thrill you felt when he asked if he could see you again.

In the almost four months since, every meeting followed much in the same manner as that first day, with introducing Orm to the many things he'd never experienced before, and hours of conversation on the pier or walking along the beach. You'd stolen away to this area as many times as possible to see him, well over a dozen now. Of course your sister was more suspicious than ever after yesterday, but you still weren't ready to reveal where you'd been spending so many evenings, and who you'd spent them with. There was something exhilarating about you and Orm meeting secretly, and you wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.

He had such wonder about the world, like someone who'd not been in it very long. It was one of his oddest qualities, but his curiosity was endearing to you. Despite knowing so little about his past, you'd come to trust him like few others in your life. Whoever he'd been before, and wherever he was from, it seemed he had no intention on going back. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't want him to. There were so many places you wanted to take him further inland, yet he was still hesitant to go far from from the ocean. You'd never gone beyond a couple of blocks from the boardwalk together, but tonight, with the energy of yesterday's encounter fresh in your mind, you'd planned to breech the topic with him.

Now, the sun is sinking lower in the pale orange sky and your pulse quickens with the threat of being late. With all your reminiscing and daydreaming, you'd lost track of the time. You nearly run across the wooden walkway over the dunes and down the broad stairs. As soon as your feet hit the sand, you remove your sandals. Grasping them in one hand and the strap of your bookbag in the other, you take off into the best sprint you can manage. The pier is still a good distance up the beach, and you want to curse out whoever built the access so far away. You run at an angle towards the water, the wetter ground giving you better traction than the loose sand.

Just within the shadow of the great structure, you finally see Orm up ahead, his back turned. Out of breath, you slow your pace and try to catch some of it back before you reach him. Once he's within ear shot you call out to him.

"I'm sorry I left in such a hurry yesterday," you pant.

He spins on his heel. Relief is written all over his face.

"You came. I was afraid you might not," he sighs, walking up to meet you.

"Of course," you exhale, dropping your shoes and brushing away the hair clinging to your forehead, "Why wouldn't I?"

His expression indicates he had not thought of an answer to that question.

"I don't know," he hesitates, "I didn't mean anything by that. I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I did ask you at the last minute."

You can't help but chuckle as he stumbles regretfully all over his words.

"I brought you something," you declare to change the subject, much to his gratitude.

"A gift? For me?"

You can tell by his tone that he is actually baffled. Reaching into your satchel, you retrieve the item. In your outstretched palm, you hold a small snow globe, a miniature skyline of New York City contained inside.

His confused expression leads you to elaborate. "It's called a snow globe," you say, turning it upside down so that the little flakes inside swirl around, "You told me once that you never get to see snow where you're from. Now you can see it whenever you want."

He tentatively takes it, entranced by the miniature flurry.

"That's where I'm from. Well, I grew up there. We moved here when I was sixteen," you add, chuckling, "It's a little bit nicer in person."

Orm looks up at you, visibly touched by the gesture, "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smile, "I, hope that I can show you the real thing some day."

"I would like that," he replies with the smallest hint of sadness, pausing to behold it again, "I will treasure this always."

You'd never met anyone who talked like he did. Everything word he spoke was with full conviction. Others might sound pompous or conceited speaking the way he does, but when he said something, you believed he truly meant it.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I do, very much," he says, frowning a bit, "I'm only sorry that I have nothing to give you in return."

"That's alright," you dismiss.

"Will you keep it safe for me while we are by the water? I regret that I have no pockets large enough to carry it."

"Absolutely," you say, putting it securely back inside your bag, "I know that feeling all too well."

When you finish with the zipper and lift your head up, you see Orm offering his arm to you. Surprised, and twice as excited, you take it.

As you cross beneath the pier and set off down the beach together, you suppress the urge to glance up at him. You agonize over what to say next, hoping he would speak first. When he did, it only made your heart beat faster.

"Actually, when I said I had nothing to give you, that was not entirely true," he said, clearing his throat before going on, "As much as I enjoy your educating me in foods and traditions I've never tried, I was hoping this evening we might enjoy a treat of a different kind."

Just up ahead, something on the shore comes into view. Your mind races in anticipation, and moments later, you come upon a blue blanket spread out neatly across the sand. A single white rose lies in the middle.

"Oh Orm," you breathe.

"It's not much, but I thought you would like to watch the sunset with at least some level of comfort," he says, a veil of nervousness in his voice.

"It's perfect," you exclaim.

He releases your arm and picks up the rose, presenting it to you.

"For you."

You feel nearly breathless once more as you take the flower and inhale its sweet fragrance.

"It's beautiful," you sigh, "Thank you."

He smiles timidly at your approval. "Shall we?"

"This is amazing," you say, removing your bag and carefully sitting down on the soft blanket.

He follows suit, and you gently place the rose in your lap as he comes to rest close beside you. The glow of the setting sun warms your skin, but it's nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

You'd never seen him act like this before. He was normally so calm and collected, but now he was almost pure nerves. You work up the courage to glance over at him. He's staring hard ahead, clenching his jaw and rolling a seashell between his fingers. It's slowly becoming clear that you're not the only one who wanted to say something this evening. Normally, you found the rolling of the waves to be one of most soothing sounds in the world. But at this moment, they were far too loud.

You decide you have to break the excruciating silence.

"I've only watched a true beach sunset alone before."

Your voice brings him out from his trance. "I've also been by myself. I'm glad I have someone to share the splendor with."

"Me too."

He smiles weakly, and fixes his stare back on the horizon.

To your disappointment, the silence returns. Before long, everything is bathed in golden light. The sky transforms into rich oranges and reds before your eyes. The beach is surprisingly deserted apart from the seagulls and sand pipers, making it seem all the more that this moment was tailor-made just for the two of you.

Just when you're about to speak again, Orm at last turns towards you.

"I wish I could show you my world, Y/N. It is a realm of beauty, and strength, and light. You belong in such a place."

You feel your cheeks flush as he continues.

"Where I'm from, you can't see the stars at night. But there is a place with magnificent, glowing lights. A cave, filled with luminescence of every color you can imagine. You would absolutely love it."

"That sounds magical." You hang on his every word as you try to picture it.

"My mother used to take me there when I was a boy. I remember my whole hand disappearing inside hers." He smiled at the memory, but it faded as he spoke once more, "We used to go there seeking solace from my father."

Frowning, he throws the seashell towards the water. The sun begins to dissolve into the ocean, but neither of you take notice.

"Did you not get along?" you ask, hoping it was not too personal to do so.

His gaze falls downward again. "That's one way of putting it. Growing up in his shadow was- challenging. He was severe about many things, and against all of the rest. He expected me to become just like him. Demanded it, more like. Yet he was never up to the task of teaching me how. I wanted nothing more than to please him, but as I look back on it now, I'm not sure that I ever did. I was never worthy enough to be his son."

His words make your chest ache. You reach to gently touch his hand on the blanket.

"You are not an unworthy son," you assert, your feelings coming to the surface, "He was an unworthy father. I don't need to have met him to know that. Because I know you, and you are a good man. The most thoughtful, polite, decent man I've ever met."

He stares at you, emotion all over his face. A wistful look shines in his eyes.

"If only I had known you then," he reflects, "Perhaps I would not have gotten so lost in the tides of his storm."

"I wish I had known you too," you agree, more shyly than you'd expected, "But wouldn't have needed me. You already survived it, all on your own. You're stronger than he ever was."

His expression steels.

"Y/N, there is something I must tell you," he says, his tone turning grave, "It will not be easy for you to hear it, but I can't go on without you knowing what I am. I cannot hide it any longer. You deserve to know the truth."

Your heart starts to race quicker than your thoughts at his startling declaration. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he casts off his jacket and stands up.

"Orm, what are you talking about?"

"Perhaps, it would be better if I showed you," he says, reaching out his hand to you, "I want you to understand. No more secrets."

For just a moment, you look up into his pleading eyes. Then, as if it had even been a choice, you carefully set the rose aside and take his hand. He helps you to your feet and leads you down past the water's edge. The cool water on your feet sends a shiver up your spine. The foam is lapping at your ankles when he stops just in front of you.

"You see that marker?" he points ahead.

The breeze whips your hair into your sight as you fight to push it away. You have to squint to see the outline of the buoy, the red light on top twinkling faintly in the twilight.

"Yes," you hesitate.

"Keep your eye on it," he directs calmly.

With that one instruction, he retreats further into the water, stopping until it is well above his waist. You cross your arms against the chill of sea spray and wait worriedly. He looks up and down the beach, as if to make sure no one is watching. You are still alone. Before you can call out to him, he dives headlong into the waves.

What follows you can only describe as a thunder beneath the water. It looks as if a missile has been launched from where Orm stood, careening toward the marker. Mere seconds later, a blast like a whale spout shoots above the horizon, and the buoy rocks violently as it is landed upon by the figure that flew up out of the sea.

A gasp escapes from your agape mouth as you witness the silhouette wave at you, and proceed to dive back into the blue.

Three pounding heartbeats later, Orm immerges from the surf and walks toward you, slicking back his dripping hair. His tee shirt clings to his muscular form, and his soaked jeans don't seem to encumber him at all. You're frozen in the sand, staring at him with only one word on your parted lips.

"How..."

"There's no simple way to say it, but you must know. I am from the Kingdom of Atlantis," he confesses, struggling to hold your stare, "I am Prince Orm Marius, son of Queen Atlanna. Although I was once ruler, I made many mistakes during my time on the throne for which I was banished. My penance is served by my exile here on the surface. I deserve my fate, and I gladly uphold it, but it is not something I wanted to keep from you any longer. I'm sorry that I was not honest with you sooner, but I didn't think that I could trust any surface-dweller with my secret. I was...proven wrong."

"You're a real Atlantean?" you manage to get out.

"I am," he nods, apprehension still in his voice, "I was raised to hate the surface and its inhabitants, but much has changed. You, Y/N, have had no small part in that."

Despite your reeling head, it's slowly becoming clear what Orm is saying by this grand unveiling of his true identity. As you struggle to process it, however, your silence compels him to go on.

"If all of this is too much, I understand. It is my burden to bear, and you did not ask to be part of it."

"I-It's not that," you stammer as the shock starts to wear off. You step closer to him. "Not at all. It's just a lot to take in. I need a minute, that's all. I promise."

Hope lights up his eyes.

"Absolutely," he agrees eagerly, "I apologize, I know this reveal was sudden. Please ask any questions that you have. I will withhold nothing from you."

As you finally begin look at him instead of through him, only one question lodged in your throat.

"Why?" you ask through threatening tears, "Why did you tell me all this?"

You knew why, because it was the same reason you wanted to tell him all of your own secrets. The same reason you came back to this beach over and over. The same reason your heart skipped every time you saw his handsome face, and heard him speak your name. You just wanted to hear him say it. For any of this to work, you needed to hear it.

His anxious gaze softens as he weighs his answer.

"I meant every word of what I told you yesterday. When I'm with you, I see a future that I never thought I would deserve. You make me feel like I can be more than I've ever been. And for the first time in my life, I have felt true happiness," he says, finding the words along with his conviction, "I never thought I would belong anywhere but Atlantis, but now, I want to know more about this world and its many gifts. And most of all, I want you to be by my side to show it to me."

"I want that too," you respond, tears threatening.

He gently takes your hand in his. "Even after all that I've done, part of me hoped that I might find some kind of redemption here on the surface. I wasn't sure how, and then I met you," he says tearfully, searching your eyes, "Y/N, you gave me that hope. Your goodness, your charity, your beauty. This realm has much to offer, more than I ever dreamed, but you are what I love most about the surface. From that very first day we spoke, I knew that you were what I was meant to find here."

Your vision blurs as he reaches to gently stroke your cheek.

"All of that to say...I've fallen in love with you, Y/N."

A sob escapes your throat as you look into his eyes and see it.

"I fell for you too. From the first day," you nod, finding your own confidence, "Being Atlantean doesn't change that. I don't care about who you've been or what you've done. I want to be with you. I love you too, Orm."

His composure crumbles along with yours as you embrace. The distance between you vanishes as your lips meet in a desperate kiss. You rest your hands on his chest and melt into his touch. He sighs and deepens the kiss, pulling you close against him. You feel the coolness of this still-dripping clothes soak through to your skin as you become lost in the taste of salt and longing. When you're forced to come up for air, you're both beaming.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he smiles, caressing your face.

"Me too," you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck, "What did you think of your first surface-dweller kiss?"

"Not too bad. I think I'll have to try it again before I decide if I really like it," he smirks.

"Well, if you get me out of this frigid water, I'll see what I can do about that," you tease back.

"Now that I can do," he announces.

You shriek in surprise as he swiftly lifts you from the water and into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. He chuckles in amusement and carries you bridal style back toward the shore.

"Orm!" you protest, in an obviously half-hearted fashion.

"I have to admit, concealing my Atlantean strength has been considerably more difficult than I anticipated," he reveals, wincing a bit, "I intended to bring a bottle of wine tonight as well, but- the glass here is far weaker than what I'm accustomed to."

You laugh. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

"I'm glad you think so. Because I thought since I'm responsible for us missing the best part of the sunset, that perhaps we could lie under the stars instead?" he suggests, setting you down gently on your feet upon the blanket.

"I would love to," you say, looking up at him, "But aren't you freezing in those clothes?"

"I'm used to it," he shrugs, "I don't think I feel the cold the same as you."

"In that case," you say, pulling him closer into a tender kiss, "What do you think about that?"

He grins.

"It was perfect, and I'm certain it will not be my last."

You no longer feel the chill as you cling to him, and he rests his forehead to yours. It didn't matter where the tides of life would take you next. As long as Orm was there to hold you in the waves, you would always be in your favorite place.

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

It's home cinema manufacturing time! 🏴‍☠️ Gonna put my pirate show on my shelf! (I'm doing an Arts and Crafts Project and I'm making it everyone's problem.)

After seeing how much they cost, I abandoned the idea of getting a Blu-ray writer for now. For the time being, good old DVDs is what it's going to be! My TV is old and not very big, so DVD resolution is gonna be fine.

It's been ages since I last burned a DVD. For the full experience, I'm gonna create nice menus and pretty sleeves for the boxes. Graphic design is my passion! Um.

Well. First needed to find a program to do stuff with. I'm a Linux guy, so I'm using Devede. (Which is free, btw. In case someone else wants to do a low cost spot of putting pirate show on the shelf.)

DVDs fit a maximum of 120 minutes of video. So, four episodes, I thought. But after a quick attempt, the program refused to do more than three (maybe because of the menu also taking up space, and four episodes cutting pretty close to the 120 min mark?). Anyway, three episodes per disc it is. It's a pretty nice runtime for watching the entire disc, IMO. An hour and a half, and then you can return to reality to realise you should probably eat something, or go to bed because it's midnight.

OFMD with its current two seasons has a total of eighteen episodes, which is divisible by three. You get the following setup:

Disc 1: Pilot, A Damned Man, The Gentleman Pirate - That's pretty good, Stede's introduction to piracy all on one disc!

Disc 2: Discomfort in a Married State, The Best Revenge is Dressing Well, The Art of Fuckery - All bangers. Great to watch together, our boys meet and shenanigans happen!

Disc 3: This is Happening, We Gull Way Back, Act of Grace - Many romantic moments, lots of great scenes, shit hits the fan at the end there. Alright!

Disc 4: Wherever you go, there you are, Impossible Birds, Red Flags - ... Pain and angst! What have I done!?! The disc of horrors. Gotta make sure to have tissues at hand when I watch this. But hey, it also has messy bun Ed! Small mercies.

Disc 5: The Innkeeper, Fun and Games, The Curse of the Seafaring Life. - Another disc with all winners. I love all these episodes so much! (You can watch this disc to recover from the trauma of the previous one!) But seriously, this one slaps.

Disc 6: Calypso's Birthday, Man on Fire, Mermen - Great combination again. Season finale! Love and excitement!

... Honestly, except for the psychological damage of putting all the most painful episodes together, this is coming out pretty cool. Says a lot about how good the show is. I actually really love all the episodes (yes even the painful angsty episodes of massive depression). Thinking about this little project really reminded me how much I love this entire show.

So, we got a tracklist, now menus, then we can burn this stuff!

I did the menu backgrounds in GIMP. Realised I have a big folder full of screenshots I took myself, screenshots someone else took and posted on Tumblr, official promo pics for the show, and I have no idea anymore where most of them are from, because I named the files according to what's on them. Which is useful for when you want to find pics (Need a picture of cursed suit Stede? I have files named that, easy peasy!), but not so great if you wanted to give credit to whoever took a given pic you used. (It's probably @sherlockig or @ofmd-ann or @blakbonnet. Please feel credited, your beautiful screens and gifs brighten my day, and some of them are now probably part of my DVD menus. Shrunk down and cropped, but, yeah.)

I originally wanted to structure my menus as having the title of an episode, then some pics from it, then the next episode, then pics from that, and so forth, but I couldn't convince the program to give me the necessary padding between the menu items, so I ended up just putting the episode images below the menu. Still like it.

Anyway, DVD menus can also play sound! Behold a crappy video of my beautiful creation (provided entirely for sound):

It plays Gnossienne N°5!

More crappy pics of my other disc menus:

Gonna make them some nice sleeves next. Some day. Gotta make sure they all work properly first. So. I'll be on my sofa, watching my DVDs. With menus! (Edit: here are!)

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light

Omg here we are. At the end. I'm sad, I've been having such a blast with you guys this week! But all good things... Anyway, this is a strange one, rambling and mournful but hopefully with some sweetness. I hope it makes you feel things, I hope it gives you something, I hope we part on this final day of Painland Week as friends and confidants 💛 Huge, huge thanks to the organisers of Painland Week for putting this magical event together! Special love on this day goes out to @mellxncollie , who has been creating amazing gifs all week and has made beautiful ones for this very fic. It's been so so wonderful to collab with you and everyone should go and look at these wonderful creations at ONCE. Warnings for canonical character death (sorry, Charles) and the stuff that comes with it (i.e. refs to bullying/hatecrimes), non-graphic injury description, and just general mournful grief vibes all round. But hopeful ending bc let's face it, we all know how this played out! 7.3k, M-rated, available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Colour! What a deep and mysterious language. The language of dreams."

~ Paul Gauguin

Edwin Payne had always possessed a thirst for knowledge. As a child, he'd wished to learn just about everything there was to learn — every fact in every field. He'd been told, many times, that he could live to be a hundred years old, and still not have enough hours to do so.

Edwin had most certainly not lived to be a hundred. But he supposed that if you added his sixteen years of life to his seventy-three of death, he was getting rather close.

The dead years, however, had been far from conducive to study. Knowledge was hard to come by in Hell. Found either in burnt and bloodied books scavenged from individual damnations, or delivered in the form of cruel trials. He'd been taught a lesson or two in his time, but not on anything so polite and pedestrian as geometry. Edwin's key area of personal study in Hell had been one thing, and one thing only: how to escape from it.

It had taken seven decades, a slew of disembowelments and innumerable failed attempts, but at last he'd passed his final exam with merit. Or at least, a version of him had. But there wasn't much to be done for his original self, whose body lay mouldering on the dollhouse floor beneath a thousand savaged duplicates.

Best not to dwell on it.

He supposed he should have been upset about where the door to Hell spat him out. Not many people would be happy to return to the place where they'd met their untimely, violent demise. But to Edwin, after a small infinity in the blackest pit, stepping back into St. Hilarion's hallowed halls felt like greeting an old friend. Well, friend might be a tad generous. More of an acquaintance, or perhaps a second cousin one barely tolerated. Not a person one enjoyed spending time with, but nonetheless a familiar face.

For a day or so he'd wandered about in a bit of a daze, glancing over his shoulder for any sign he'd been followed from the depths. He'd drunk in every familiar feature, and puzzled over the unfamiliar ones. It was a small change in the grand scheme of things, but he suspected they'd replaced the drapes. They were a lighter grey now than they had been in his time. He wondered what colour they'd chosen — or for that matter, what colour they were in the first place. He'd never thought to ask.

Then on his second day of wandering, he'd stumbled across the old library. And that, for several weeks, had been that.

He'd probably had dreams about this, in his youth. Dreams of being left to his own devices, surrounded by books. All the information he could inhale, with no interruptions. Not even from the other boys. Their voices had startled him a few times, and he was always wary when a gaggle of them descended on the library. But he'd quickly realised that none of them could see him, and so long as he turned the pages quietly, he was free to continue his reading unmolested.

And he did so, continuously, for days. Not even boring old human restrictions like hunger, tiredness or eye strain could stop him now. He read everything he could get his hands on, brushed up on everything, filling in the gaps of the last decades. On the future that had been robbed from him, subsiding into history while his back was turned. He'd sat in his own shellshock when he read not only about how the so-called 'war to end all wars' had concluded, but also how little time had passed before the next one. He'd blushed and skimmed the pages pertaining to the nineteen-sixties free love movement. He'd gazed, thunderstruck, at the moon through the library window; wondering what the Earth must have looked like to the man they put up there.

All these years he'd been trapped in the gutters at the deepest depths of suffering, reaching up towards the light; all that time, humanity had been reaching, too. Up, up and up, all the way to the stars.

It became habit, after that, to gaze at the moon in between books and chapters. An opportunity to gather his thoughts on what he'd just read, to file away the facts, to jot down the most pertinent in his notebook. It was rather a meditative process.

Or at least it had been, until the night he'd seen something else beneath that moon. Something tragically earthbound amidst the gently illuminated greys of the grounds. A hunched and trembling shape against the trees, lurching by Edwin's window. A boy, on the run — his pursuers baying for blood like wolves at his heels.

They could put a man on the moon, but some things never changed.

It would be the first time Edwin had left the library since re-discovering it. Holding aloft the pilfered lantern he'd been using to read into the night, he trod carefully through the darkened corridors. The majority of staff and students were in dorms or common rooms by now, voices a soft patter, bleeding with the light under the doors. No one marked Edwin, or came to investigate the lantern floating past. Though some extinguished their own lights and hushed their voices, mistaking him for a warden. Edwin didn't wish to scare anyone, but he drew some comfort from it. He'd grown tired of being pounced upon in long, black, twisting hallways. How comforting for once to be the root of fear and not merely its captive.

Edwin had to search a little while, but he was already familiar with the best hiding places. It wasn't long before he was creeping up to the attic, minding his ghostly tread upon the stairs. He didn't wish to cause alarm, or send the boy deeper into hiding thinking his assailants had found him.

He crossed the threshold, and at once heard a shuddering intake of breath as the harsh white aura of his lantern bounced off the walls. He supposed there was no disguising the glow. He hung back a moment, conflicted. All he wanted was to offer some light and warmth, but perhaps a floating lantern would be a sight too much for the terrified boy. Well, it was too late for that, now. He stepped into the room proper, peering past the flare of his lantern to the source of the sound. A shivering bundle on the floor, tucked into a nook behind the shelves. Trying to be as small as possible and, by and large, succeeding.

Wide, hunted eyes stared into the light. A voice, low and wary, spoke.

"What do you want?"

It was then that Edwin realised the eyes weren't looking into the light. They were looking at him. He glanced behind himself, just to make sure, but he wasn't mistaken. "You can see me?"

It was also when he noticed something equally perplexing happening to the light. It had started to look... less white. No, in fact it no longer looked white at all, but it had not dimmed, and it bore no resemblance to any shade of grey Edwin had ever seen. It was... he didn't even have the language to describe it. If he had to choose a word, he could only say it looked warm. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in seventy years of Hell, nor in his life before. It simply defied description.

He tore his gaze from it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. "I... I thought this lantern might help," he said, still dumbfounded. He approached, with care — this boy was clearly a victim in this circumstance, but there was a defensive set to his jaw. A wild look in his eyes. A creature caught in a trap was as liable to bite a rescuer as an attacker. "You can simply extinguish it if those boys come up here."

The guarded expression cracked, vulnerability bleeding through. As Edwin drew closer, he noticed that the strange new quality of the light was reflected where it hit the boy. There were notes of something else beneath the pallid grey tones of his skin, something richer. Just as something beyond simple black glistened in his enormous eyes.

"You saw them?" the boy rasped.

"I did. I went to school here a long time ago." Edwin knelt before him, bringing the light closer to the lad’s face and marvelling, quietly, at the strange tones that sprang into sharp relief. Whoever this young man was, Edwin's very perception of the world appeared to be shifting in his presence. "We had bullies, too."

He looked so weak, curled up and trembling. He certainly wasn't weak, Edwin suspected that much. Peeking out from beneath the blanket were shoes and trousers of a kind he'd seen these modern boys wearing out on the sports pitch. The lad was no delicate flower, but at this moment, at the mercy of his wounds, he was helpless.

And if he could see Edwin... then his fate was already sealed.

Edwin looked at the boy levelly, at the fear in his strange eyes. He'd seen that fear upon countless faces these last seventy years, on the wretched souls crying out for respite from their torment. He'd worn a similar expression some decades ago, when a careless act of cruelty had damned him, too.

"Rest assured," he said, gently, offering the lantern. "I shan't hurt you."

He could see the moment the boy decided to believe him. His shoulders slumped, his breath escaped in a rattle of relief. He reached out from his blanket shell, and flashed a sliver of that curiously saturated skin at his shoulder. Against the stark white of the sleeveless vest he wore, the difference was now undeniable. Not grey, not white, but something altogether different. Like his eyes, like the metal at his throat and ear that glimmered in the lamplight. Tones Edwin had never seen before, couldn't even name.

It couldn't be...

"Cheers, mate," said the boy, shivering as he brought the lantern closer. "I'm freezing. Never been this cold in my life."

Swallowing, Edwin nodded. "It's the least I can do."

The boy's lips twitched in a feeble half-smile. "Yeah? You mean you can do more?"

Probably not as much as he'd like. But Edwin nodded again. "Of course."

The light shone upon the boy's face and the dark, waterlogged curls of his hair. Steeped in that impossible hue.

"Stick around a bit?" he asked, his voice very small indeed. "Bit lonely up here..."

Edwin had not come here with any plans to stick around. He'd wished to help, of course. But to say he was unaccustomed to dealing with people was a tremendous understatement. He'd planned to drop off the lantern, check the boy was alright, and slip away without a fuss.

But the boy was clearly not alright, half-alive and fading fast. And he'd seen Edwin, asked him in no uncertain terms to stay. Asked him with all the broken hope in his voice and all the impossible buried, blooming hues in his eyes. And if those colours meant what he had always been told…

Well. How could Edwin begrudge his own soulmate a last request?

"My name is Edwin," he said, as measured as he could manage. "Edwin Payne."

The boy grinned. It wobbled at the edges. "Charlie," he introduced himself. "Charles Rowland."

Edwin hummed. Charles. A pleasant name. Respectable. He thought it rather suited the young man. "A pleasure to meet you, Charles."

Charles chuckled, drawing the lantern closer to himself. "Pretty bloody brills to meet you, too, Edwin."

The colour — for it surely was a colour, Edwin knew of no other word or explanation — of the lantern seemed to pulse, then settle, stronger than before. It illuminated the feeble grin upon Charles' drawn face in hues as yet unnamed.

Edwin would have to find some names. Compare what he could see with what he'd been told, what he'd read. Identify what he could.

While he still had the chance.

"Best thing to happen to me all night," Charles mumbled. "You showing up."

Edwin wished to tell him things could only improve from here; but he knew it to be a lie.

~

"It is the color closest to light. In its utmost purity, it always implies the nature of brightness and has a cheerful, serene, gently stimulating character. Hence, experience teaches us that yellow makes a thoroughly warm and comforting impression."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Just didn't seem right. Letting that kid get beat on 'cause he's from Pakistan," said Charles.

His socks peeked out from the blanket, bright white in the lamplight. Interesting — a part of Edwin had always presumed that white would look vastly different with the rest of the spectrum unlocked. It didn't, but there was much less of it. The world was full of more off-whites in more hues than Edwin could've previously imagined. Charles' skin wasn't dissimilar. Pale-ish, but bearing pleasant warm under-and-overtones that made Edwin's look near-translucent by comparison.

"I mean, I'm half Indian," Charles continued. "Why am I so different?"

"That is a fair point," said Edwin, thoughtful, harkening back to some of the history books he'd skimmed of late. "They were the same country back when I was alive."

Fascinating how the times changed, new lines drawn in the sand. Fascinating, and frustrating. In the time Edwin had been gone wars had started and ended, entire countries had been ruptured, borders reshaped. And yet some of life's most persistent mysteries remained unanswered.

He'd not looked much into it, but it seemed little advancement had been made in understanding of the so-called 'soulmate' principle. It had been a frequent enough phenomenon to be common knowledge in Edwin's time, but no one ever had any real explanation for it. Plenty of spiritual explanations, of course. But it seemed no one could point to any tangible scientific reason why a person, upon hearing the voice of a certain other person, had the entire hidden colour spectrum revealed unto them. An entire dimension of the visible world remained inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, and still no one knew why, or even how. Clearly, there was still much research to be done on the subject.

And clearly, the notion of this mysterious person as a 'soulmate' was romantic drivel. Charles seemed a pleasant fellow, but he was a fellow. And two boys could hardly be soulmates, could they? No God-fearing Christian would embrace the concept if that were the case. So no, Charles couldn't possibly be his soulmate. Perhaps the phenomenon represented something else entirely. Like minds? Charles seemed an easy boy to get on with — and Edwin seldom got on with anybody. He even felt at ease sitting beside him on the hard attic floor, nearly touching. Perhaps Charles was simply his universe-appointed fastest friend; the one person in creation who could truly understand him.

Or maybe it was a cosmic fluke, a quirk of biology. Maybe it could have been absolutely anybody in the world.

Yes, that was probably it. Nothing deeper at play than that.

Still, it was a pity Charles would be dead before the night was out. Soulmate or not.

(Definitely not.)

"Right..." Charles mumbled. Followed by a frown. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What d'you mean 'when you were alive'?"

Edwin looked at him. Charles still seemed rather small, rather sorry. A chilly little lump, all curled in on himself, even now they were side by side and of a height with one another. He looked cold, sallow. Not even the warm hues of the light Edwin had tentatively designated yellow could hide it, cheerful though it may be.

"You ought to move around a bit," said Edwin, standing smoothly. "You must keep your circulation going."

It would do no good, of course. But who knew? Charles might be hardier than Edwin gave him credit for.

"Edwin," said Charles, all seriousness. "What d'you mean when you were alive?"

Edwin's brow twitched. He held out his hand. "Get up, and I shall tell you."

Charles took his hand — and startled. "Fuck — you're colder than me, mate!"

"And for good reason. Come, now. Two or three quick laps of the room. I'll hold the lantern."

~

"Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead."

~ Wilfred Owen

Edwin had heard some truly hideous sounds in his time. Crunching bones, squelching organs, agonised screams. And yet somehow, the wheeze of Charles hacking up water from pulverised lungs was among the worst to date.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asked, hands clasped upon the table — lest he risk something overfamiliar like a pat on the back.

"I'm fine," Charles deflected, voice hoarse and unconvincing. "Just answer my question.

Charles was looking worse by the minute. The warm tones of his skin that Edwin had grown so fascinated by were receding under sallow grey. A new colour was blooming, in and around his eyes; in the puffy lids underneath, in the spiderwebbing veins across the whites.

This colour was not nearly so puzzling — the veins were a dead giveaway. Edwin had read more than enough crime literature to be able to identify the colour of blood.

So, this was the famous red. A bold colour, possibly quite charming in the right context; which this most assuredly was not. Edwin was no physician, but he'd read a number of medical textbooks. Charles bore all the hallmarks of a man bedevilled with internal bleeding. It was not a matter of whether he would die, but of what would kill him first; the cold, or the injuries.

He tore his gaze away. Anger, bitter and harsh, had him by the throat, had his fists clenching together until his gloves creaked. Who were those wretched boys, to lay hands upon Charles? To break him so? This boy who, insofar as Edwin could tell, hadn't a bad bone in his body? Whatever Charles was to him, soulmate or not (definitely, definitely not), he was his. He was supposed to be his, and soon he would be dead, and Edwin understood, now. Understood how people found themselves mired in Hell's fifth circle, swamped in wrath and rage. For no reason, no reason at all, those boys had taken Charles’ life without a care. Taken his life, and the colour from Edwin's eyes, all in one fell swoop. Soon both would be gone; and if Edwin ever found the hooligans responsible they'd have a formidable haunting on their hands.

"Nineteen thirteen, to..." he counted one, two, three, slowly. Collecting himself. "Nineteen sixteen."

"Bullshit." Charles cocked his head, a small smile of disbelief upon his lips. It was a charming expression, in its impertinence. "When did you go to school here for reals?"

"Nineteen thirteen to nineteen sixteen," Edwin repeated, slower. "I am dead, Charles."

Charles laughed. Edwin raised his eyebrows — and pretended not to be fascinated by the flash of not-red in Charles' mouth, his tongue and gums. What was the word for a light red, again? He was sure he'd read it somewhere...

The laughter died, and Charles' eyes went wider still. "...Oh."

There was more of that not-red than Edwin had thought, actually. The shells of Charles' ears, where the dawning light from the window glowed through translucent skin. He'd never considered that a person's ears might appear a different colour to the rest of them. How many secret tricks of the light had he been oblivious to all these years? How many more had he yet to discover? How many would he never get the chance to see for himself?

Just how much more could possibly be stolen from him?

"I... I dunno if this is, um, bad to ask, or what, but..." Charles swallowed. "How'd you die, mate?"

His lips, too, were redder than the rest of him; although that was fading, rapidly. Cooling at the edges. Edwin suspected that wasn't supposed to be the case.

"As I said," Edwin replied, sadly. "We had bullies, too."

~

"Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

~ Robert Frost

He had Charles move around again, though it was clear it would serve no purpose. He was delaying the inevitable. Charles was all but shutting down already; the occasional boost to his circulatory system was hardly going to bring him back from Death's door.

But perhaps Charles would beat the odds. Why not? He seemed a resilient fellow. Perhaps he would, indeed, outlast the night, see another day. Perhaps help would arrive. Perhaps Edwin could give him the push he needed to survive this if he only persisted.

Besides, he couldn't let Charles seize up and expire just yet. Charles had questions and damn it all, Edwin would answer them!

"Actually, you can move around any space however you like," Edwin explained. "It is not that you cannot touch things, you just cannot feel them."

A blessing in disguise, on occasion. Though Edwin had done his utmost to fill up this nook by the window with whatever musty blankets and futons he could salvage, he doubted the floor was comfortable. He himself sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, bracing for discomfort he couldn't feel. It was far from ideal. But he supposed that a hard floor was the least of Charles' problems.

Charles was rapidly declining. That cool tinge upon his lips was growing more prominent, his coughs harsher and more visceral-sounding. But here, at least, he seemed as snug as Edwin could make him. Swaddled like a babe, tucked up against the cluttered old shelves. Perhaps this was warm enough to get him through. It certainly seemed warm, with the yellow light burning merrily on.

It glowed not only off Charles' skin and his eyes, but a myriad small reflective surfaces strewn about the forgotten nook. Edwin was particularly taken with the shimmer of it off what appeared to be a dented instrument — possibly a tuba? — near Charles' head. Metals had always looked very similar to one another, in Edwin's grayscale vision. Now he could see the metal of the horn was a somewhat deeper shade than that of, say, the earring Charles wore. Finally, he could see first-hand the differences between the precious and non-precious metals. Alas, he had few of them to choose from, and little way of knowing which was which. He supposed it safe to assume that the instrument was brass, hence its orchestral designation.

But the metal Charles was wearing was his favourite so far. It had a little of the yellow about it, but richer, more lustrous. Edwin found himself quite transfixed by the way it fluttered and flickered in the light.

He was familiar with the saying all that glitters is not gold, of course. But for want of further evidence, gold seemed as good a guess as any.

"It's stupid, but... I think I'd miss kissing," said Charles. He looked right at Edwin, earring and eyes twinkling with the motion. He did have... handsome eyes. Edwin simply must figure out what colour they were. Of a similar hue but different tone to his hair, to the old wooden shelves at his back. "Do you miss kissing?"

"Mmm-mmmm," Edwin mumbled, with a small shake of his head. "No. Not as such."

How many people had Charles kissed, he wondered? Surely not an abundance, they were of a similar age. Had he kissed someone this month, this week? Today? Before his lips grew cold and chapped, when they were... oh, what was that word for a lighter red? Pink, yes, that was it.

Then again, perhaps he went about with painted lips in every day life. He already wore some sort of cosmetic on his eyes, after all, so maybe it wasn't a stretch for a modern young man. Imagine. A boy, staining the lips of his paramours with lipstick when he kissed them...

Goodness. The world really had moved on.

Edwin cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, firmly. "No, I don't miss kissing."

He supposed it was fine that Charles liked it, though. And maybe he'd get the chance to do it again. He just had to hold on a little longer, outlive the dawn chorus, until the teachers noticed his absence and sent people searching. Then he could keep on living, and kissing and whatever else he wished to do and Edwin...

Well, Charles probably wouldn't have much use for a ghost friend. But at least Edwin could keep the colours. Just a little while longer.

Charles chuckled. It was a bit of a sadder sound than the last time Edwin heard it. "Must've had some shit kisses in your life, mate."

Edwin smiled, tightly. "Something of that ilk."

"Shame we weren't mates," said Charles. "I'd've..."

"You'd have... what?"

A smattering of colour returned to Charles' face, then. It might've been a trick of the light, but Edwin could've sworn his cheeks warmed. "I'd've... well, I'd've found you someone to snog, wouldn't I?" he laughed, drawing his blanket closer around his chin. "Got some fit mates from my old school. And the birds proper fancy the brainy lads."

Edwin frowned. "The... birds?"

"Y'know. Lasses. Girls."

"Oh." For whatever reason, Edwin felt... disappointed. And not just at the apparently abysmal state of modern slang. "Yes. Girls."

He cocked his head, watching Charles carefully. He was a very good looking boy. And he wasn't Edwin's soulmate, couldn't be, but...

Edwin cleared his throat. "Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look..." He wavered. "...Unusual, at all? To you?"

Charles blinked. "Um. Well. Outfit's a bit retro." His eyes widened slightly, a dash of mortification. "Not being rude! I like it! It's... it's cool."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I don't mean my outfit, I mean... have you noticed anything different about this room since I walked in?" he pressed.

"Well, yeah."

Edwin inhaled. "You have?"

"Yeah."

He leaned in closer. "What have you noticed exactly?"

Charles smiled weakly. "Well. It... feels a lot less lonely. With you here. Warmer, too." He chuckled. "Daft as that sounds. With you being dead, and all."

Edwin's fingers flexed on his knees — all he could do to stop himself hugging them, wretchedly, to his heart. "Yes," he agreed, dully. "Daft, indeed..."

~

"Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it’s loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star."

~ Kobo Abe

Edwin had only ever known one person ‘fortunate’ enough to meet her soulmate.

Aunt Florence had always been a bit of an odd duck. Flighty and fickle, a perpetual embarrassment to her brother — Edwin's father — whose job it had been to lend financial support to her spinster lifestyle. As she alleged it, she'd found her soulmate in the late eighteen seventies. For reasons undisclosed (to Edwin, at least) they had never married. Edwin had never had the pleasure of meeting her mysterious match.

She had always seemed very fascinated with the world around her, Aunt Florence. A trait she shared with Edwin; though while his interest lay in facts, hers lay in aesthetics. He’d seen her dedicate hours to the study of a singular rose petal in her garden. Edwin was told she could do quite beautiful things with oil paints, for those with eyes to see. They were passable, too, in black and white, but lacking dimension.

Once, when Edwin was about nine or so, Aunt Florence had taken his chin between her willowy fingers.

"What lovely eyes you have, my boy," she'd said, in a smoker's croak. Uncouth for a woman to smoke, particularly one of her social standing, but she'd never much cared what others thought of her. Her tobacco-stained nail had nipped his chin as she held him close. "Your mother's eyes. Sea green... You'll find yourself someone who can appreciate them, won't you?"

Edwin, of course, had had no idea what green was, and little desire to find out. Not if finding a so-called soulmate was the prerequisite condition. He was of an age where the fixation that grown-ups seemed to have on kissing one another was both vexing and perplexing to him. A phase of his life that, to be frank, he'd never entirely left behind. He'd extricated himself from Aunt Florence's talons as politely as possible, and given her a wide berth for the rest of her visit.

The next time he'd seen her, she had taken one look at his eyes, and burst into tears.

They all ended the same way, these soulmate stories. It was a law of nature. Death was not neat, or particularly fair. No matter how blissfully happy the pair, someone always had to leave first; and when they did, the colour left with them.

Some, at least, got time to enjoy it all. Before their love — and their colour — died away. A few decades, or years. Months, even.

Some, like Edwin, got far less. Hours, if that.

And some, like Charles Rowland, got no time at all.

~

"They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two

Moles dead in the pebbled rut,

Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —

Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed.

One, by himself, seemed pitiable enough,

Little victim unearthed by some large creature

From his orbit under the elm root.

The second carcass makes a duel of the affair:

Blind twins bitten by bad nature."

~ Sylvia Plath

"Shut up, mate. That is brills."

Edwin was inclined to agree. Especially now he could appreciate the full effect. He'd been aware, of course, that his form seemed to partially dissolve into a mirage when he passed through solid surfaces. He'd been unaware that the mirage seemed to possess a certain hue. Not unlike the hue beginning to bleed through the filthy window.

The pre-dawn light was different to the majority of the colours Edwin had identified so far. It was colder. Greyer. Pale and stark against the opaque black silhouette of the distant treeline (interesting, how the trees still seemed black in this light. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see this green he'd heard so much about before the night was over.) If Charles' face was warmed by the yellow lamplight, it was cooled at the edges by the seeping tones through the glass.

This, like the red and the blood, came with an easy reference point. Everybody knew that the sky was supposed to be blue.

Seemed Edwin finally had a word for the sickly tint of Charles' lips.

"Why don't you fall through the floor?" Charles asked, puzzled.

"There are many, many, so-called ghost rules," said Edwin, sagely. He had, after all, spent several weeks conducting his own personal study and compiling the rules himself. "I shan't waste your time listing them."

"Well, I only asked about the floor, didn't I?" said Charles, a teasing lilt to his lip. Honestly, the cheek of the man.

"Because I choose not to fall through the floor," Edwin replied, in utterly falsified exasperation. "Happy?"

Charles had a certain way of smiling; one that spread up from his grinning mouth and into his eyes. Despite the cold, miserable state of the rest of him they fairly shone with warmth, a merry humour. A knowing gleam that said 'look at us, in on the joke'.

Edwin had never been in on the joke, before.

Charles chuckled; and Edwin did likewise, helpless to the draw of it. The magnetic sound. It had his lips lifting of their own volition — even as his heart sank further and further into the floor.

The blue devils, that's what his father had called it. On those rare occasions when he acknowledged Mother's low mood, or found Edwin weeping silently upon his bed. "You've just got the blue devils, my boy. Chin up, now, and soldier on. You've better things to do than mope."

He could feel them, now, those blue devils upon his shoulder. Cold, heavy, and the colour of Charles' bloodless lips. Weighing Edwin down like stones in his pockets. He hadn't felt hot or cold in decades, but now he felt as Charles must have done with the chill lake pressing down upon him, filling his lungs. And unlike Charles, he wasn't sure he possessed the tenacity to break the surface before the bubbles stopped.

He'd fought his way from the pits of Hell itself, and yet this climb seemed more insurmountable by far. He was no longer fighting his way from the dark to the light. There was no light above the surface of this icy water, no light at all. The light was here, the entire spectrum of it; above was only grey, grey, grey, as far as the eye could see.

"Oi," said Charles. He looked so very tired; but still inquisitive to a fault. "What other cool stuff can you do, then?"

Edwin huffed. "I can travel through mirrors, if you must know."

Charles' blue lips parted, breath escaping on a wonderstruck wheeze. "Wicked."

He ought to be more careful with his breaths. He couldn't have had all that many left to draw.

~

"We love the sight of the brown and ruddy earth; it is the color of life, while a snow-covered plain is the face of death."

~ John Burroughs

Charles Rowland passed away in the small hours of the morning. Edwin didn't even need to look up from the page; he just watched the pinkish tint bleed from his own ghostly fingertips, and made a deduction.

Even before his passing, Edwin hadn't looked directly at Charles in some time. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. The colour in his ailing new friend had diminished all but completely, his skin a sallow patina, his lips a cracked grey slate.

Edwin had only come to know colour on this night, and already he could feel its absence like a hole in his heart. He understood, now, why Aunt Florence had dragged herself so mournfully through her twilight years. Going through the motions of existing. Colour, for Aunt Florence, had been life; without it, there was simply no point living.

Somehow, Edwin found his voice, and he read on. Because Edwin was no Aunt Florence, arty and flighty and prone to outpourings of passion. Edwin was his father's son; he soldiered on. No matter what.

But the ache in his chest persisted, despite his best efforts to quash it. There had been so much yet to see. He'd never witnessed the colour purple — an expensive hue of which he'd heard a great many appreciative things. He'd never seen a flower, any flower, in full bloom, or watched one of those famous sunsets.

In the end, he never even got to see what his aunt meant about his eyes. But he had no reflection anymore, so. Perhaps that one was always a lost cause.

On the topic of lost causes; there was someone else in this room with him, yet. Someone who'd lost far more than a fleeting glimpse of creation in technicolour.

""— I cease to believe,"" Edwin finished reading with a soft, forced chuckle. To no response. He looked up to find Charles standing tall, gaze turned to the window. It was the first time all night he'd been without his blanket; and the first time he'd borne not the slightest shiver.

Well. At least he would never be cold again.

"Not enjoying this one?" Edwin prompted, gently. "Carrados the blind detective was just becoming quite popular in my day."

When Charles turned around, of course Edwin already knew what he would find. Knew what his own eyes would fall upon when they followed Charles’ gaze.

But knowing did not prepare him for the reality. The cold, desaturated tableau of Charles Rowland's demise, illuminated like a crime scene in the stark white light of the lantern. How a person so vital, so vibrant as Charles should be without blood and colour defied all reason. And yet there he lay; bereft of hue, and of life.

Edwin swallowed, and closed the book gently upon Max Carrados. "When you could see me, I knew it was too late."

Charles was silent. For the first time all night. Silent as the grave.

"But I simply..." Edwin hesitated. "I did not want to scare you."

In the corner of Edwin's eye, the lantern guttered and died. Good. It didn't seem right; all that light upon Charles, and not a drop of warmth in it.

"Well. Glad you didn't say anything." Charles' voice was stronger, now. How different he sounded, without the rattle of lake water in his lungs.

Charles looked at his hands. As did Edwin. How strange they appeared, in the bleak grey of Edwin's impoverished eyes. How unsettlingly close to the pallor his skin had taken on in his death throes. And yet he wasn't pallid, not in the slightest. Standing tall, unchained from his ailing flesh, he was more wholly and healthily Charles than Edwin had yet seen him.

"Doesn't feel like I imagined. Being dead," said Charles, thoughtful. "Feels okay, doesn't it?"

In truth, there was nothing remotely 'okay' about this situation. Edwin felt... robbed. He felt robbed. Because he would never know the colour of Charles' skin when it wasn't frozen grey, or beaten black and blue. He'd never see this Charles, standing tall in the dawning sunlight, the way he was designed to be seen. The way he was chosen, by God or fate or an impossible quirk of biology to be seen, by Edwin. Only by Edwin. For he was Edwin's, no more could he deny it.

And Charles would never see Edwin. Not the way Edwin saw him. Because by the time they met, it was already too late. Because in a wretched twist of fate, Charles’ soulmate — his unfortunate, unorthodox soulmate — was dead in the ground before Charles was even born.

And Edwin had thought Hell to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer," said Edwin, dropping the magazine and standing from his seat on the old trunk. "But Death will come for you, now. You should go with her when she arrives."

He turned, and began his brisk march to the door. What's done is done; and Charles was, unmistakably, done. Done in and done for, done in just about every sense.

So Charles would be off, now. He'd be off, and Edwin would just have to carry him, too. In his head, with his facts and his torments and a thousand tiny heartbreaks. What was another one, in the grand scheme of things? What else was there to do in this fugitive afterlife but keep his chin up, and soldier on?

"Well I'm not ready, am I?” Charles called out. “I don't wanna go somewhere else, yet."

Edwin faltered. Turned. Charles was watching him.

"What if I stay here for a bit with you, instead?" said Charles, preposterously.

"Then you will always be running from her," was Edwin's quick, logical response. But Charles was still watching him with those... those damnably appealing eyes, and he felt the need to defend his case. "Also, I'm not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so. I'm out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So. When the light comes. You stay, and I go."

He smiled, tightly, and turned once more. There. He'd avoided mentioning Hell all night, but it was done, now. No boy with a lick of sense would —

"Well, I'm aces with other people."

… He simply could not be serious.

"Pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate," Charles continued, maddeningly blasé. "That sounds hard. Nice job."

Edwin turned on him, incredulous. "That is not how you make decisions," he snapped, taking a challenging step towards Charles. "Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment!"

"It's how I lived my life."

Charles turned his head, looked down at his own body. Edwin couldn't bring himself to do likewise.

"Doesn't seem all that different now."

Charles looked at Edwin, unflinching. And what a different creature he was, free of cold and pain. Lithe but lax, eyes slightly narrowed in almost catlike contemplation of Edwin. He stood before a hellbound soul, near naked and freshly dead, and yet the easygoing slope of his narrow shoulders bore no strain.

He shrugged, nonchalant. White light glimmered from his dangling earring. "Looks like you're stuck with me.”

For a moment it was nigh on impossible to believe he hadn't seen it, too. Hadn't seen the spectrum unfold when Edwin said his name. Because how else could someone look at anyone, let alone Edwin, with such certainty? As if he'd never been more sure of anything or anyone in his tragically short life.

Breathtaking was not a word Edwin liked to use lightly. In fact, he preferred not to use it at all. Who had ever seen something so rare, so staggeringly beautiful they'd lost their breath? It was the sort of word Aunt Florence would have used; flowery and hyperbolic.

It seemed Edwin owed her yet another apology.

Light flared in the corner. Their eyes leapt to it. It was of no colour that Edwin could see and yet he could feel it, deep in his soul, he knew its shape and colour; blue. A kinder, softer blue than that of bloodless lips and dreary skies. The wild blue yonder that he was barred from forevermore; the one that awaited Charles Rowland with open arms.

Charles looked at Edwin.

Edwin looked at Charles.

Charles smiled, soul glowing lantern-bright in those dark, confident eyes. He didn't move, not towards the light or away from it, but he held out his hand. Planted like a tree, unbending, unbowed. His roots sunk deep into the loamy earth of life; his branches beckoning Edwin into their boughs.

Oh, thought Edwin, when he understood — didn't see, simply understood — the colour that had been gazing back at him all along. That's the word I was looking for.

~

Thirty years passed, fading into memory, and with them faded the sting. It was hard to mourn the loss of colour when one could scarcely remember what it looked like in the first place. Those fleeting hours blended and blurred amidst the grey years, lost to time; a single hand-tinted frame in a hundred miles of monochrome celluloid.

Though he tried to remember, Edwin struggled to visualise the yellow light that had bathed their faces; the gold that glinted at the cut of Charles' jaw. Pink lips, red veins, the blue stain of death. Such things were impossible to note down in a world of black ink and white pages, and his aide-mémoires soon failed him. The colours fluttered away into the past, scattered to the winds of memory like his mother's smile, his father's voice, Aunt Florence's smoky laughter and the roses she painted on the guest room walls.

But though he could not recall the exact shade of Charles' eyes, nor compare them to any other — not even his own — Edwin knew something about them. Just as he knew Death's light shone heavenly blue. And for once in Edwin's long and tormented afterlife, he felt truly fortunate. Because he'd been allowed to experience only a fraction of what the visible spectrum had to offer; colours he could count on less than two hands.

And yet somehow, by some stroke of luck, he'd seen the best one nonetheless.

~

"At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colours. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence."

~ Aldous Huxley

~~

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, my darlings 💛 Love to hear your thoughts! Reminder to check out Olly's amazing gifs! This one took a little while to come together, bc in my first draft Edwin's feelings/progression were a bit all over the place. But I realised that all the sections of the attic scene (not including the very first one/my inserted flashback about Aunt Florence) could track along the five stages of grief quite nicely and that gave me a good framework to loosely follow, starting in his denial of the implications and ending in devastated acceptance of what he's lost. As to why he didn't like, *tell* Charles, well, what would you do? Be honest? If you were a dead Edwardian ghost boy and you found out your actual soulmate was not only another boy, but a doomed one? One who isn't even seeing what you're seeing. Maybe he thought Charles wouldn't believe him, or would take it badly. Maybe he thought telling him would sway him unfairly into staying when Edwin believed he should go. I think he will tell him, one day. And Charles is gonna be PISSED that he kept it from him so long xD For the quotes, I tried to stick to things Edwin could possibly have read, so pre-1989 things, as I like the idea of him using literature as a framework for understanding what he's seeing. It was really interesting writing about colour from the perspective of someone with no reference for it! Some of the quotes might have ended up anachronistic by a couple of years, tbh people are *shit* at sourcing their quotes and while I could source authors easy enough it was hard sometimes to isolate what specific book/anthology the piece came from, or what year it was published. If I'd have had more time I would have done more digging! Anyway, that's about all I got right now. I dunno when I'll be back, probably (hopefully) in a few weeks with the next chapter of Lonely Bones. In the meantime please, feel free to continue chatting with me in the comments, on my tumblr, come be a pal, I've had the time of my life with y'all this week and I'm not ready to get off this train just yet! Until next time! 💛

[scarletwinterxx]

little flower - dad haechan scenario

hellloooo, it's a bit late for Haechan day but better late than never😊 a quick fluff moment with our fullsun and his lily girl. hope you like it!!

pt. 1 - Lee and Lily

pt. 2 - bigger that the whole sky

pt. 3 - lily and chocobi

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Between you and your husband, he tends to be the one who overreact. Especially where you're concerned. You thought he's overprotective over you already but he managed to succeed himself when you found out you're expecting.

It doesn't bother you though, you're used to your golden retriever husband's antics. When he's home, he has to be in the same room as you. When he's at work he would text you or call when he's available to make sure you're okay at home.

You've been adviced by your doctor to avoid any stress and strenuous activities. You and Haechan had a long serious talk after that doctor's appointment, you both were working at that time and he didn't want to stop you living your life. But as your husband, he wants to make sure you and the baby is safe so he asked if you could stay at home just how the doctor adviced. You understand where he's coming from, so you agreed. You wanted your baby to be safe.

And now 39 weeks laters, you feel like you're as large as a balloon. Most of the times waddling around the house clad in your husband's clothes since that's the only thing that fits you at this point.

Haechan loves it. He loves watching you grow each week. To his eyes you are the most radiant woman he's ever laid his eyes on. And the fact that you're growing his baby just makes him fall even more in love with you.

Not a day passes by without him reminding you of how thankful he is of you and how much he loves you and your little human.

"She's being dramatic, like you" you tell him one night while he watches her little foot kick against the inside of your belly, revealing a tiny imprint on your tummy.

Haechan caresses your belly gently. his hand against your skin feeling her kicks from inside you. "Still can't believe she's in there, moving and all that"

"Soon she'll be here, kicking you too" you joke

"I would gladly be her own personal punching bag or kick board or whatever she needs me to be"

You smile at that, you just know he's going to be the best dad to her.

"You do that, i think my insides are done being her practice tools. I can feel her other foot against my lung"

"Does it hurt? What do you need? You need to sit up?"

"I'm okay, just a bit short of breath. She'll move around eventually, probably later she'll sit on my bladder again then I'd have to pee every freaking second again"

Haechan kisses your belly a few more times before sooching up the bed to lay against the headboard  beside you

"We have dinner at my parent's tomorrow, do you want to stay the night there or drive home after?"

It's his birthday tomorrow so his mom invited you over for dinner, since you're due any day now Haechan decided not to do anything grand. He didn't want you to get tired or stressed over planning his birthday.

"We can stay, won't it be too late if we drive back? You'll be tired bub"

"I'm good, it's just driving but sure if you want to stay the night. She won't come out tomorrow wouldn't she?" He jokes.

Your husband might as well have a foresight because the next day during dinner with his family, you started to feel your belly contract. At first you didn't think too much of it but as the night progressed, you're starting to think of the possibility you're having contractions right now.

For a while you didn't tell anyone, you didn't want to take the day away from Haechan. It's his day after all.

During dinner, just as Haechan's mom about to serve dessert you felt something warm. You look over at Haechan, grabbing his arm catching his attention

"Either I peed or my water just broke"

"What?"

"Yep, I think my water just broke"

"Y/N's water just broke" Haechan just said catching everyone's attention then everyone was on their feet. Haechan on your right while his mom stands on your left, guiding you to stand up

"Honey, can you get towels from the bathroom. And a change of clothes. I think your brother has some in his old room. Do you need anything else" his mom asks you calmly

"The stuff, I mean the baby's stuff" you tell her

"It's already packed but we left it at home. I only have the carseat right now" Haechan adds

"Your dad will go get everything, go to the hospital first. Do you want to come?" she asks you, her mother instincts kicking in. Right now all of the attention is on you.

"Will you?" you ask, she smiles warmly at you holding your arm tightly but in a comforting way "Of course, dear. Hyuck, go start the car"

The drive was less hectic, all thanks to Haechan's mom. She kept on telling you comforting words all the way to the hospital, you got settled in and now the waiting game begins.

You got there just in time, the doctor checked and asked if you wanted to get epidural which you said yes to. Your pain tolerance goes as high as 2. You cry whenever your headache gets too bad, you can't imagine delivering a baby all natural. Kudos to those who do but that's not you.

"You need anything?" Haechan asks, brushing the hair away from your face. Ever since you arrived here, he hasn't left your side. He only lets go of your hand when the doctor or nurses need to check on you

"Ice chips?"

"I'll go get more" Haechan's mom volunteers, walking out the room to get your request

"Sorry we can't finish your birthday dinner" you tell your husband

Haechan shakes his head, smiling down at you "This is better than any party. How cool would it be if she's born today? We'd have the same birthday"

"Your daughter isn't even here yet and she's already so much like you. Announcing her entrance to the world like this" you chuckled

Hearing the words 'your daughter' does something to him, like a blanket of warmth wrapping all over him. He hasn't even met her yet and he's already so so so in love with your baby girl.

"I can't wait to meet her, we'll have her here in a few hours"

"Are you excited?" you ask him

"Of course, I'm never putting her down. She's gonna stay in my arms forever"

"Silly"

"I'm not kidding. You got a headstart, I'm gonna make sure I'm her favorite" he says with a determined look on his face, you don't even try to argue back

"You're my favorite" you mumble

He just looks at you for a while, admiring you. He leans down, kissing you on the forehead. "I love you so so much. I know you're about to hate me once you start pushing but it's okay" he jokes

And he, once again, was right. You felt bad, cursing him out as you push his baby out of you while his mother heard every word. "It's okay, dear. Don't worry about it, I know how it feels"

"I don't really like you right now" you mumbled, taking a break from pushing

"You liked me enough to carry my baby" he replies

"Shut up"

A few more pushes before you hear her cries fill the room, the nurses lay her on your chest while Haechan stands right beside you

"Oh my gosh, she's here. She's so cute" you hear the nurses mumble, Haechan's mom capturing the moment from the sideline

Meanwhile Haechan stands frozen, looking at the little human in your arms

"What are you doing over there? Come here" you ask him, Haechan scoots closer, holding his pinky finger out to your baby girl which she holds with her tiny hands.

Haechan lets out a sob, not able to contain it.

"It's okay, she's the worth the tears Hyuck" you tell him. Your free hand caress his now tear stained cheeks

"Hey baby girl, happy birthday" he mumbles, still looking at her

"You wanna hold her?"

"I don't know how"

"Yeah well you gotta start learning, daddy. Here, hold her" you say, ever so carefully Haechan takes her from you. His mom stands behind him to take a peak

"She has your nose" she tells him

"She does, doesn't she" you say with a tired smile

"Hi baby, it's me. I'm your dad. You recognize my voice right? I sing to you every night and tell you stories" he tells her like she understands his words

After a few more minutes with her, a nurse takes her from Haechan to check up on her. He takes this time to check on you,

"She's perfect. Thank you" he tells you

"Thank me? You made her too" you joke, he smiles at you then kisses you sweetly

"Happy birthday, Donghyuck. What shall we name our little girl?"

"Nari, like the little Lily flower"

You smile at his explanation, "Your little flower, our little flower. I love it. Happy birthday Hyuck and Nari, I love you both so so much"

"Best birthday ever"

[rafferty3207]

omg I'm the anon who requested the jamie x reader neighbours fic and boy you delivered! fucking love it! can't wait for part 2

This is so lovely anon, I'm so glad you liked it!!! For you, I will deliver a part two with the caveat that I'm so sorry I got carried away and now it will be in three parts (sorry again), but the last part will be the finale!!! Anyway I present to you:

Too Good to Be True (part two)

read part one here

warnings: allusions to abuse, mention of anxiety/panic attack, daddy issues, two hopeless idiots flirting, a bit of angst at the end but worth it (sorry again)

A/N: I have nothing to add except this gif is not mine and has turned me feral

It’s been several days since you left your phone number and you are nervous. 

You don’t get why you care so much.

It’s just Jamie, your annoying neighbour. Your annoying, but also extremely handsome neighbour. Your annoying, handsome neighbour who massaged your feet, and your legs, and almost your thighs and god you couldn’t think straight. You’d been able to get nothing done as you had spent the last few days just constantly replaying that evening in your head. And to make things worse, it turns out Annoying Handsome Jamie was in fact a very famous Premier League footballer. Who has also been caught having sex on TV. (Yes, you had binged the entirety of his Lust Conquers All series since that night, but that was neither her nor there.) 

After almost a week you had given up. The exhibition was just under two weeks away and you hadn’t seen him in the garden or outside the house at all. He had probably come to the conclusion that you were both too weird and too normal for him and the only conclusion was move on with your life and forget his stupid sexy face ever existed, when you got a text. 

u free tonight

Jxoxo

Of course, you wanted to play it cool. After all, you had spent the entirety of the week waiting for this message.

29 minutes and 59 seconds later.

I might be.

The phone immediately pings.

do u not know??

xoxo

Depends, what are you thinking?

thought u wanted a model

Xoxo

Of course, he was thinking about the painting. As you also definitely were. You were a professional artist. Almost.

What time?

ill come after the match

You spend your evening preparing and also perhaps figuring out an outfit that says 'casual bohemian artist that definitely doesn't care' while redoing your makeup twice. However, as the hours stretch on and on and on you are at the point of giving up and going to bed, when the doorbell finally rings.

You race down, before waiting a minute, quickly checking yourself in the mirror and pulling out your phone to pretend you had already been looking at something when you open the door.

But before you can pull the casual act, he walks right past you.

“Hello to you too, Jamie.”

He strides into your living room where the canvas is set up and immediately starts taking his clothes off.

“Woah, what do you think you’re doing there?”

“Er, I thought you were painting nudes?”

“Er no-”  At this point his shirt has already come off and he’s starting to unbutton his trousers. Of course he is very toned, with tanned arms and neck where his football shirt has been. You feel the breath knocked out of your body, glimpsing the very top of his boxers as you struggle for words.. He looks at you confused. Eventually you stutter an answer. "K-Keep the trousers on, okay?” 

“What should I do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do I pose, like?” You shrug.

“However you want to, Jamie.”

“I dunno what I want.” You sigh.

“You just need to stand there and look pretty.”

“Well I do that all the time, so.”

“Great. So just…keep doing that.”

Jamie smiles to himself.

“What is it?”

“So you do think I’m pretty?” He smirks at you. You fold your arms.

“What are you, a sixteen year old girl Jamie?” You start sketching. “Besides, you know what you look like.” You go back to drawing in silence. You swear you see his cheeks dust pink for a second before he ouffs his chest back out and smiles.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I think you’re pretty?”

You freeze.

“No, because if you haven’t noticed, I’m not sixteen. I am an adult woman and I don’t need random men for unsolicited affirmation, no matter how pretty they are.”

Jamie opens his mouth, before closing it again. Maybe that was a bit harsh, but what else could you say? Tell me how pretty you think I am Jamie. Or better yet, show me. I’m dying to know. You could practically feel the feminism leaving your body.

You dismiss these thoughts and get back to sketching. You can see Jamie is looking down and acting fidgety, swinging his arms.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” You walk over and plant your arms on his shoulders. He is surprisingly warm and firm to the touch, and you try not to blush. “Is it okay if I move you?”

He nods, surprisingly quiet. You turn him ever so slightly, before gently pushing him down onto your stool. As you move one of his (very muscly) arms, you swear you feel a slight tremor. Was he shaking? You step a little closer, a hand on his back. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Jamie.”

His face hardens.

“But I said I will, so I will.”

“But you don’t have to. Only do this if you want to.” You smile at him, and his face softens again.

“I do want to, trust me. It’s just been a long day.”

“Okay, but if you need to stop or take a break, just say the word.”

You step back to your canvas. You try to focus solely on the drawing, but every time he looks at you, you find your whole body heating up. Despite this, you steal glances anyway. He stares at you constantly, in a way that makes you feel stupid and giggly. Observing all the soft and hard lines of his body, you eventually start to notice small scars all over his body until you reach his hands. You don’t know why it took you so long to notice, but his knuckles are slightly bruised.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah?” 

“Tell me about your day.”

“Why? It was dead boring.”

“I don’t know. I find it helps me find the right mood.” You prepare your brushes. “You know, it tells me what colours to use.”

“Oh. I mean, nothing much happened.” He looks down at his feet. “I got up, went to play football, came here.”

“But why did you text me? Why today?”

“I dunno.” You sit in silence for a moment, as you mix the colours. “I mean, my dad came to the match.”

“Right.”

“Pulled his usual shit.”

“Usual shit?”

“Just being a complete dickhead.” You start painting. 

“In what way?”

“Saying stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just the usual stuff.”

“You keep saying “usual” Jamie. I don’t think whatever he said is usual for most people.”

“What about your dad? He said that thing about you being a teacher right? Because you couldn’t paint or summat?” You put your brush down. 

“Yeah he did say that. He says a lot of shit, none of which I would consider usual. Or at least it shouldn’t be.” You step off your chair and towards Jamie, reaching gently for his hand. “We don’t just have to take this shit, you know.”

“I don’t fucking take it!” He pulls away. You flinch back. He looks alarmed as he realises. “I should go.” He starts to walk out.

“Jamie, I didn’t mean to upset you -” You walk after him as he paces towards the door. He halts at the entrance.

“I’m not upset,  I just - I came here because I didn’t want to think about my dad. When I’m with you, I never think about him. Or anything else, really.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.” Before you can reply, he runs off. 

The next few days pass by. You send a few texts to Jamie, but no reply. The exhibition is only a couple of days away now, so you try to keep yourself busy. But his words won’t stop swirling in your head to the point you struggle to sleep. So you do what you always do: paint. 

It’s not until one of these nights when you're up late at the canvas that you glance out of the window. Your heart stops. Someone is lying in Jamie's garden, very still. You dare to look closer. Is that..Jamie? He looks glassy eyed. He can't have...Without thinking, you run down.

"Jamie! Jamie!" Your heart is thumping in your ears so loudly you can't hear anything else. "Jamie are you okay?" You ask as you scramble to climb the fence. However just as you are almost over, you catch your foot, spectacularly falling over it into the bushes.  You hear that trademark laugh.

"Why are you laughing? I thought you were dead, dipshit!" You say, crawling out of the shrubbery. 

He remains lying down but he’s smiling at you now.

"Why would you think I was dead?"

"Why are you lying in your garden on your back completely still at 2am? Let's not pretend this is normal." You crawl down next to him.

“You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“No I won’t.”

He looks away from you.

“I mean everyone else does, why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think they do.”

“There’s my dad. Plus, I’ve read Twitter.”

“You know how I feel about your dad and Twitter is full of very stupid people. But never mind them. I can promise you I don’t. And let’s be honest, I’m the only opinion that matters.” He scoffs as you offer him a pinky. But, he puts his pinky in yours before looking back up at the night sky.

"I can't get up."

"What? Are you injured?"

“No…I dunno, I told you it was stupid."

“It's clearly not that stupid. Are you okay Jamie?”

"I dunno. I was thinking about the other night with you and my dad and then I came outside because I needed some fresh air and then I lay down and started thinking about everything and now it feels like I'm stuck here. It's stupid -"

“Stop saying that.” You lie down and grab his hand. “Sometimes when you've gone through some shit, it comes out of your body in weird ways. But you're okay. We can stay here for as long as you like, but when we get up, you will be able to.”

He nods, and the two of you lie there holding hands in silence. You take some deep breaths and he follows. Eventually a small voice pipes up.

“I think I can go in now.”

You sit up and slowly pull him.

"See?"

He smiles at you gingerly before he looks down.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?”

You look down. Both your knees are cut, along with one of your palms and your wrist.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” 

He gently holds your wrist up to the light. He looks sad.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I need to work on my graceful dismount. Either that or just walk around to the back door.”

“I mean, I dunno, I think you could give Simone Biles a run for her money.” You swat him.

“Oi, you cheeky shit! Next time I’ll just leave you for dead.”

“I think the blood loss is going to your head, we should treat that ASAP.” He leads you into his house. “I think I’ve got a first aid kit upstairs.”

He starts walking up and you follow him. He seems surprised. You realise your error.

“Oh, I can wait downstairs if you like.”

“Er, no, it’s fine.” He steps into a bedroom and starts rummaging around in what is clearly an ensuite bathroom. You sit on the edge of his bed and look around. There’s pictures of him and his mum, as well as some pictures with the team and one with a slightly older moustachioed man.

“Is that your dad?”

He pokes his head out and laughs. 

“No, that’s our coach Ted.” You look up at him. “He’s a nice guy though. Annoyingly nice. Almost too nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Right.” It was clear Jamie was soft on this man, but you wouldn’t push it today. He sits down and starts gently wiping the cuts. It is the same tenderness he held your foot, and it is the same tenderness that is slowly melting your heart. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were starting to fall for Jamie Tartt.

You yawn as he applies the final plaster. “Right, you need to go to sleep.” He says, through his own yawn.

"I could say the same for you"

You sit up to leave, but hesitate. YOu feel Jamie’s about to say something.

“Hey, I don’t suppose.. You’d maybe fancy…”

You turn around.

“Staying around?”

Jamie looks at you pleadingly.

“No funny business I promise.” He looks up and offers you a pinky.

“What if I want funny business?”

“Eh?”

“I’m just messing with you Jamie. Besides, I’ve already stolen your knickers anyway.”

“Someone told me that’s a weird thing to say to people.”

“Well, that person sounds very wise.” You look around. “Can I use your bathroom?”

He gestures towards it and you go in. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you think: what the fuck is going on here? You splash some water on your face and tell yourself to get a grip.

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the blue pot if you need it.” Jamie calls through the door.

“Ew gross Jamie, I don’t want to use one of your many girlfriend’s toothbrushes!”

“I’ll have you know that’s brand new as I don’t have any girlfriends at the moment. Although there are sanitary towels if you need them love.”

“Piss off you patronising git!”

“‘Ey, I was trying to be nice and a good feminist and that.”

You brush your teeth before coming out and leaning against the doorframe.

“No girlfriends? What happened to the Island’s top scorer?”

He groans before flopping back onto the bed.

“I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I’ve been doing my research.” You get into the bed next to him. He flashes you a dirty grin.

“Bet you have, you little perv.”

“Me? The perv? What you did in that jacuzzi was a crime to my eyes, and probably in several countries.”  

“Woah, you have been doing your research - that was like episode 42? 43?”

“What can I say, you make good television?”

Jamie pulls the duvet back before hovering for a moment. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He gestures to the bed.

“I know. But I’ve been in your position before, and I really needed a friend back then. And I think you would do the same.”

“Any time.”

You squeeze his hand.

“Now go to sleep, you menace.”

“Aye aye captain.”

____

You wake up and find yourself once again not in your own bedroom. In fact, not only are you not in your own bedroom, but you appear to be cuddling Jamie Tartt. You panic silently. Your leg is swung over his, while his arm is draped over you. You try to move, but still asleep, he squeezes you a little tighter. And then something really surprising happens.

He kisses you. Just a little kiss on the forehead, but your chest is fluttering.  You hate to admit it but, it feels just so natural. You’re so content and relaxed in his arms then…

Fuck. You fell back asleep. You’re in the exact same problem as before.

This time however, you are both awoken by Jamie’s phone going off. He reaches to switch it off, eyes still closed, but then it rings again. And again. The third time his eyes shoot open.

“Shit!”

“What is it?” You ask from behind bleary eyes.

“The match!”

You slowly sit up and watch him run around and get dressed, silently handing him things on occasion. He runs downstairs and you plod along after him, still half asleep. He runs out of the door, before abruptly stopping and turning around.

“Aren’t you going to wish me good luck or something?”

You wrinkle your nose at him in confusion.

“I don’t need to. You’re going to smash it anyway.”

“How do you know that?”

You shrug and smile. 

“I just know.”

At this point, he strides right up to you, before cupping your face in both his hands. 

“Jamie what are -” Before you can finish, he kisses you, hard. Your eyes flutter closed and you melt into the kiss, before he pulls away, but only just. His arm reaches around the small of your back and his forehead touching yours, he whispers.

“Wait for me.”

He runs off to his car, and you stroke your bottom lip, where you trace the swell of where he used to be.

Your heart is still pounding and you are unsure what to do with yourself, so you try to make yourself at home. You take a very long, hot shower before getting changed. Of course, you didn’t have any clothes here, so you find some pyjama shorts along with one of Jamie’s old jerseys.

You sit down to watch the match. You had never really gotten into football, but now you were glued to the screen. You couldn’t believe that the little Jamie on screen was the same one who shared a bed with you last night. And the same Jamie that kissed you…

The game is electric, and Jamie in particular is the standout player. Even the commentators remark on his zest this match as he keeps skilfully weaving through the players to lead Richmond into not one, not two but three goals.

Once the match is done, you watch, still glued to your seat when Jamie is invited to an interview.

“Jamie the way you played today was extraordinary, against Man City too. If you don’t mind us asking, what happened?”

“Ah well, I was really inspired by Simone Biles. She’s honestly changed my life.” At that moment, he turns straight to the camera, grins and winks, and you feel like he’s somehow winking right at you. Your heart skips a beat. You were really in trouble.

You look at your phone and Jamie Tartt is trending. Simone Biles herself has already tweeted reminding everyone she is a married woman and has never met Jamie. There are plenty of other women, including some famous other gymnasts and celebrities offering their Biles-like services to Jamie in some rather explicit tweets. You wonder if Jamie reads these ones too.

You walk to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and as you wait for the kettle to boil, you look at Jamie’s calendar. There’s all sorts of notes, primarily training and matchs but you notice your exhibit is there too, with a little heart drawn around it. Jamie never stopped surprising you. But then a cold shock goes down your spine. You remembered today’s date. You are meant to be going to the gallery this evening to plan the exhibition. Shit. You check the time. You’ve still got three hours left, but you need to get back into your flat ASAP. You scramble around before realising that you had left your phone in the flat last night in the chaos to get out. But you also remembered Jamie and what he had said.

Wait for me.

You write a little note and stick it on the fridge.

____

Jamie comes back way later than he planned. Of course, after the match, there were drinks and celebrations but he couldn’t concentrate on them, just trying to leave to get back to you. He finally manages to break away, but when he gets home, he finds the living room empty. He searches around the rest of the house, and you are nowhere to be found. He checks his phone. No messages. He gets a message through from Keeley about how he’s trending online. 

Of course he sees all the Simone Biles stuff and smiles to himself. He made a note to send Simone Biles a message in future, if this all worked out. Then he sees all the stuff other women are saying online. A lot of it is quite graphic and he wondered what you’d think. He imagined the two of you laughing together at them. Then he sees. The tabloids are already speculating. Not only do they actually think he’s having an affair with Simone Biles, but they have already posted some paparazzi shot of him with Keeley, along with long extensive timelines of his tumultuous dating history. His stomach drops. Anyone would run away if they saw this much baggage.

He tries to ring you. Once, twice, three times, No pick up. He’s desperate and pacing, until he realises he can just walk over to your front door. He rings the bell several times, before loudly knocking. Still nothing.

He can’t believe how much he’s fucked it. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you, but he couldn't help it. No one had made him feel like this, like he was going crazy but also that he was calmer than he had ever been, like riding a lifeboat in the centre of the storm. As he walks back into his flat and into his kitchen, he doesn’t see the small corner of a note that has fallen under the fridge. He checks his phone again. 

Still nothing. What could he do?

____

Sorry for the angst kids, hope it was worth it and the finale will be juicy!! lmk if you want to be tagged in the final part!! Not sure if I've done these tags right, apols if not!!

@skewedcherries @e-mmygrey @reading-blogs @alex-sulli @cameoutstruggling93 @sqrlgrl22 @maydayfigment @aiyaiy @alipap3 @okkkkkkksure @city-of-cards

[mhsdatgo]

What fire and blood version do you read? https://pin.it/5zmnMIik4 this? Alicent and otto start claiming that viserys should name Aegon heir the moment he was born, that's why otto was litterally sent away. And alicent instead of creating a good relationship with rhaenyra cause yk she was an adult and rhaenyra a child, she make every effort to be sure to create dislike between the family. She start spreading gossip about rhaenyra’s sexuality, her first three sons claiming that their eggs would have not hatch and sequentially that viserys egg was a sign of bad omen (like girl none of your children eggs hatch shut your mouth), impressing her sons about them being the rightful heir over rhaenyra's sons, infact the book point out how aegon aemond and daeron were bullying rhaenyra's sons. If there was a damage alicent increased of 1000%. You would like to have a relationship with a woman that spread venom on all your family all the time? Alicent create all of this, rhaenyra had welcomed her when she marry Viserys. She made sure to create animosity only to end up like "rhaenyra will hurt my children!!!! " maybe if she didn't torment her she wouldn't have doubted? And that is really funny you to claim that alicent fight for her children as if rhaenyra wouldn't spare all of them only to aemond killing luke and aegon celebrate it. Please listen to yourself and re read the book, the only one who were in danger were rhaenyra and her children at the hands of alicent and her. The green were litterally write to be the villain stop pretending alicent was acting due to her good heart nor the care for her children. And stop pretending she was a victim of viserys's since she was marry to a men only 10 years older that adore her and cover her with gifs, litterally the only thing he denied her was taking a five years old eye and name Aegon heir, how could she lived with such abuse??

She was in a better situation that most of the ladies of Westeros, rhaenyra was married at 16, same rhaenys with a man of 37, haelena at 13. Also, ask Robert Baratheon or most of the men in Westeros what would they have done if their wife had disrespected them all the time like alicent did with viserys, and you will understand how privileged alicent's situation was.

"And Alicent instead of creating a good relationship with her because yk she was an adult and Rhaenyra a child, she make every effort to be sure to create dislike between the family."

Girl.

GIRLIE.

FAIR MAIDEN.

WHAAAAAAAT a horrible stepmother. LOOK at her, trying in every possible way to break the family she was made to wed inside, look at her disobeying to her KING!!! What a bitch move!

Instead, look at the way our beautiful perfect QWEEN Rhaenyra proved herself to be loving and compassionate towards her brothers, TOTALLY not showing just how much of a threat she was to their lives ❤️:

Note: sharply questioned means TORTURED. I'm tired of people saying it's not.

Breaking news: people have eyes. People had been whispering about these children's legitimacy since Jace was born. Alicent simply believed it as well, probably out of scorn not gonna lie, wasn't afraid to say it out loud and just happened to be someone with a lot of influence. Moreover I don't think it's ever been mentioned if Alicent's children ever HAD eggs put inside their cradles, it wouldn't be the first time. Neither Daemon nor Viserys had their dragons as hatched eggs in the cradle.

Seriously, we have the court, the whole Queen's party, the kids looking awfully similar to Harwin Strong (and leave Rhaenys out of this, she has black hair and purple eyes and the boys have brown hair and brown eyes) and you still believe all the speculations over Rhaenyra is to blame entirely on... Alicent?

Yes, all six of the children ended up hating each other, and yes, we have a quote entirely about the way their mothers' hate for each other was passed on to them, the key word is that it was both.

Again, blaming ONLY Alicent for what kids and preteens probably repeat from the elder people they hear it from. If saying that "Jace, Luke and Joff stole Aegon and Aemond and Daeron's birthright" and pushing a three year old down sounds like bullying to you then you don't know what bullying is. And honestly, (not saying they are necessarily right) who could blame them for thinking this way? They were the first trueborn sons in the history of that dynasty that were passed on in favour of a woman that basically had the word "treasonous" painted on her forehead, all because of favouritism.

No, Rhaenyra wouldn't spare them. She wouldn't have a choice, no matter if she wanted to or not. To a lot of lords, Rhaenyra's claim had been rid of any kind of ground the moment Aegon and his brothers were born. Viserys of course did nothing but make it worse, by never reaffirming Rhaenyra as the heir during a ceremony like the one we see in S1 or anything public, and never even changing the laws of succession.

If your reference for this is the statement she made after becoming a Queen, namely:

Then sorry, but after the way she treated them, spoke of them, threatened to do to them, then sorry but I don't believe she wouldn't do anything when most of the lords who had sworn loyalty to her were dead and their sons weren't bound by that oath like Jason Lannister. They were threats, serious threats, and needed to be put down.

And even if Rhae actually cared for them, y'know what? It would change nothing.

"The Greens were written as the villains" you're just proving my point. You didn't understand the whole point of the Dance of the Dragons. There isn't good or bad, there's a family that destroys itself over their own safety and a fucking throne.

Oh yes, I guess Viserys hoping to shut Alicent up (when she was making valid complains that excuse of a man did nothing but ignore) by giving her gifts surely means he adored her, wow. Best marriage ever. But hey, at least she wasn't beaten up, handed over as a child or groomed! How lucky Alicent is! And she still complains?

Greedy Alicent! No way to behave! Should've been slapped across the face like any other man would've rightfully done!

Seriously, calling Alicent "privileged" because her husband reportedly "only" ignored her all the time and saying Viserys adored her because he gave her gifts is... Wow. If you want to see a man who ACTUALLY adored his wife, go see Aegon V and Betha Blackwood.

[hils79]

Hils Watches Lovely Runner - Ep 1

Time to start a new drama and this is another one I found via gifs on @sarah-yyy's blog, which is usually a good sign of quality :D

I love starting a new drama. Is this going to ruin my life (positive) or ruin my life (negative). Only time will tell.

Wow this is the most awkward radio call ever. I have no idea how radio shows in Korea work but surely they'd do some sort of screening before having an idol call a random woman who can't walk and offering her running shoes as a prize. I don't blame her at all for being pissed off.

Also, this wasn't what I was expecting from the synopsis. I thought she was the sunshine one and he was the angsty one. Well, we'll see what happens I guess.

Oh no he's a sweetheart and I'm crying already. This does not bode well for the rest of the drama

Looks like my bedroom 😅

I realise that as someone who is also fannish I probably have a skewed view of things but I was freaking out on her behalf when I found it this belonged to her idol and people kept playing with it.

Holy shit that's nearly £2k no wonder she was freaking out

Oh, now he's the tired and angsty one. So I'm guessing since he saved her when she was ready to end it all now she's going to save him. I really feel like I've seen him in something before but there's nothing I've seen on his MDL page. Maybe it's just because he actually looks like an idol.

Oh no she's me

I love her

So the boy she had a crush on when she was in school got kicked out for fighting after her accident. I smell a love triangle...

Unrealistic because she was running late and the merch hasn't already sold out

Um...no?

Ah, so when she said she was late she meant fannish late not actual late. But come on, if that company doesn't respect your free time before you've even started working for them they def won't if you get an internship with them

So they don't value her time and they don't work in an accessible building. Fuck them, honestly.

Admittedly I've never been to a kpop concert but that can't be a thing, surely. We got stuck in the snow on the way to a hockey game once and no one cared that we showed up halfway through the game

Oh no and she lost her ticket. I mean that's on her I would be checking for it every 30 seconds, but then I have anxiety 😅 I really need to stop expecting realisim from a time travel romance drama.

Aww look she's having a good time even though she couldn't get in to see him. He made her into the sunshine one and now she's doing to do the same for him.

I wasn't expecting them to meet until after the time travel thing. But here he is to save her again. He's a good boy.

Is it going to turn out he saved her back then too. Ooh, or was it the other guy that she had a crush on. I'm sure this will turn out to be significant

Me when Seonghwa wears literally anything

I have definitely never done this *cough*

Do people just not help each other in this drama? The person who knocked her phone out of her hand and smashed it didn't even stop, and the person who crashed into her and made her lose her watch apparently is cool with letting a paralysed woman crawl around on the ground trying to get it back.

Well, shit. A significant time of death though. Right at the start of a new year. I'm sure this is magical somehow.

Wibbly wobbly timey wimey

Wait, why has she suddenly got joggers on under her skirt? Those weren't there when she ran out of the classroom to find him

Okay, the irony is not lost on me that in 2008 he was training to be on the olympic swim team and in 2022 he drowned in a pool. But also this poor kid getting glomped by a random girl he doesn't know in front of everyone

Gotta love a romance that starts with a confession the first time they meet. I mean I know it's not their first meeting for her but it is for him

Haha! She mean let's both not cross the bridge into the underworld and stay alive. He thinks this random girl wants to move in with him.

Ooh so she was talking about his depression in the future and he thought she was talking about his shoulder injury that he's hiding from everyone. This has layers! I like it!

You can tell it's the past because there's a DVD rental store

I love dramas with emotionally significant umbrellas (see also Tale of the Nine-Tailed

[sissylittlefeather]

A/N: Ha HA! Another one done! This is the 68 Special one that I promised y'all after the poll. It goes with my series that is currently unnamed, but includes Baby, What's Your Name, Goodnight, Sweetheart and Always, Honey. There are references to all three in here. It takes place before What Kind of Question is That? and Feels Like Forever. This is angstyyy, but the way the story is in my brain, the mid section is that way and the whole story is kind of tragic, in a way. It's very Catherine/Heathcliff (they should be together but can't be for some reason). I didn't set out to write a tragic story, but there ya go. It is what it is. I hope y'all like it anyway!

Also, don't be shy. Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you 😁

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, kissing, ANGST

Also, I'm using Elvis gifs for this one because I like actual EP here, but if it makes you happy to imagine Austin!Elvis, do you boo-boo.

I Missed You

It's been over 3 years since you last saw Elvis. This is the longest you've been apart since you met all those years ago. You haven't seen him since he got married or became a father. He did all of those things without you and it nearly broke you. Still, you'd had your own marriage happen and fall apart, too. You wondered if you'd ever tell him that it was because of him and the fact that you never could seem to stop loving him.

The year is 1968 and you just got off the phone with a friend of yours who works in Hollywood. According to her, Elvis is going to be recording a new show soon and they're looking for audience members. She called to see if you might be interested in seeing an old friend.

No one really knows what you had with Elvis. Well, no one but your old roommate. Still, despite your long history, he never made you public like his other girlfriends. Maybe it's because keeping you a secret made the romance hotter. Or maybe it's because keeping you a secret meant he could keep you all to himself. Either way, your love affair had always been something that only the two of you really knew about.

But an opportunity to see Elvis again is hard to turn down, even with everything that's happened between you. Perhaps seeing him one last time will give you the closure you need to move on. You decide to call your friend back and see what you need to do to be in that audience.

******

Now that you're here, you start to wonder if this was a good idea. You're sitting in the audience in your new mod-style pink gingham dress with white boots and a white headband. You wonder if he will even see you in the crowd. Will he notice the pink gingham?

Your hands are starting to sweat and you wipe them on your skirt, pulling on it to try to get it to cover more of your thighs. You're not a teenager anymore and this dress is starting to feel a bit ridiculous.

One of the producers of the show comes out to explain to the audience how to react to the "applause" signs. Elvis is coming out soon and you're starting to feel a little sick at the prospect of seeing him. You don't remember the last time you were this nervous.

And then he's there. On the small square stage, right in front of you, in black leather. Your heart jumps and your warm center gets a little warmer. He looks good. Not that you expected him not to, but he looks better than you could've imagined. He breaks into That's Alright Mama and you're instantly transported back to that first show where you threw your panties on the stage to get his attention. You start to laugh a little thinking about what might happen if you did the same thing right now. You'd probably get carried out by a security guard.

He sings 4 songs and then they do a set change to him sitting down with his old band mates for a kind of casual jam session. You're still waiting for him to notice that you're there. Part of you is starting to hope that he'll never notice and you can just slink back onto a plane and go home. Seeing him has enlivened every feeling you've ever had for him and you can't help but have flashbacks to every time he's ever touched you. You long to feel his strong hands on your body, his lips on yours, his fingers and tongue doing unspeakable things between your legs. You squeeze your legs together and pray that you're not going to leave a puddle on your seat.

And then it happens. He's walking around the stage singing again and he kneels just feet from you. You're in the second row, far enough back to be out of reach, but close enough to be visible. He looks out into the audience and your eyes meet. Ever the professional performer, he only freezes for a second when he sees you. You feel like someone dumped ice water down your back and it's suddenly hard to breathe. You want to get up and run out, but you can't. And just when you think he's completely unaffected by you, he closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then he stands up, turns away from you, and keeps singing.

But he comes back.

He walks around the stage like he's supposed to, but he always comes back to you and keeps his eyes locked onto yours for as long as possible before he has to move. Every time it happens, your heart skips a beat and you start to wonder how much more you can take. Just when you think you might melt from the intensity of his gaze, he leaves the stage and the producer comes back and says that filming is done for the day.

You sit there for a while and let the other people around you file out. Eventually you get up and head for the exit. You're one of the last people in the room as you head for the door. And then you hear someone behind you. You turn, expecting someone to tell you that you need to leave, but no.

It's him.

You stand and stare at each other for a good minute before he speaks. He asks a single question.

"Where can I find you later?"

You want to tell him to go to hell. Instead, you hear yourself say, "Hollywood Hilton, room 647."

He nods, turns, and jogs away from you back to wherever he came from. A man comes and ushers you out the exit door. You head back to your hotel in disbelief. You're not sure what you expected, but it wasn't that.

******

You're trying really hard to stop pacing in your hotel room. The clock on the night stand says 12:24am. You're still wearing the pink and white dress, mainly because you're too nervous to change into anything else, but you're barefooted now, your boots in a pile by the door. You tell yourself you are giving him until 1am and then you're going to bed. That's when you hear the knock on your door.

Your stomach tenses up and your heart jumps into your throat. You walk to the door and open it carefully. Elvis walks in quickly and closes it behind himself. You're reminded of the time he did that when you lived in the dorm and you almost laugh out loud.

"Who are you hiding from?"

"Everyone." He looks at you like no time has passed since the last time you were alone like this. He puts his hand on the side of your face and for a moment you let him. Then you move away from him.

"Don't."

"Honey, why--"

"You have a wife."

"And you have a husband. Never stopped us before."

"I don't have a husband anymore."

"All the more reason--"

"You married her, Elvis." He looks down at the floor.

"She has your baby. You're somebody's father."

"I know that."

"Then why did you come here?" He picks up your hand and kisses the inside of your palm, just like he did so many years before.

"I missed you." You want to take that hand and slap him with it. For a second, you really consider it. Instead, you pull it away from him and turn to face the window. If you look at him, you might give in.

He comes up behind you and touches your dress on your shoulder.

"You know I've always loved you in pink."

"It matches--"

"--the dress you wore on the first night. I remember."

That almost convinces you to turn around, but instead you shake his hand off your shoulder. You can't turn around. Not yet.

"Elvis, we said this was over."

"We've said that before."

"Yeah, but last time I thought we meant it."

He walks around in front of you and faces you. He seems afraid to touch you again.

"Baby, you know I could never mean it."

You cross your arms over your chest and look up at him. He looks different now, grown up and fully himself, but he's still the same boy from Memphis who said he would always be yours.

"No. Go home to your wife, Elvis."

You can see in his eyes that that stung. You immediately wish you hadn't said it, but you did and it wasn't untrue. He does have a wife to go home to and you have what? No one because you can't seem to move on from him. He's as much a part of you as you are of him.

"You know what you mean to me." You do know. But sometimes you just wish he would say the words.

You walk past him to the hotel room window and look out at the street below. They say New York is the city that never sleeps, but this town could give it a run for its money. There seems to be people everywhere. He speaks again, ripping you out of your reverie.

"You know, I could ask you the same question. Why did you come to my show?" You step back from the window and look up at the ceiling. That, you don't have an answer for. You're not even sure why you came. It's no use lying to him or yourself anymore. You turn to face him with tears in your eyes.

"I missed you."

It only takes him three steps to walk across the room and pull you into a deep and passionate kiss, his arms around you to keep you from pulling away. You know you should pull away, but you don't even try. You melt into him like snow in the rain, your mouths picking up a rhythm easily. Kissing him is familiar and satisfying and you begin to wonder why you ever stopped. You wrap your arms around his neck and let yourself get lost in him. He walks you backwards to the dresser and then lifts you up so that you're sitting on it. He runs both hands up your thighs and then grabs your hips, pulling them into his own. You break the kiss and moan softly into his mouth as you feel his hardness press into you. In a second, he has the dress up, over your head, and off. Your fingers shake as you undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt and push it off of his shoulders with his jacket, letting them both fall to the floor. The whole time, he's kissing you on the neck, on your chest, and shoulder, and jawline, and lips. It almost feels like he's trying to devour you whole. In fact, he bites the skin next to your collarbone at one point hard enough that you let out a small yelp. He knows you well enough to know that's a good sound. You grab the back of his hair and pull his head backward, diving into a deep kiss with heavy tongue. He almost breaks your bra, trying to rip it off of you and your panties don't stand a chance as he tears at them and throws them to the side. The button pops off of his pants as you feverishly try to get them off of him. He slides them off his hips and to the floor, letting his erection free to land against your thigh. The sight and feel of it there elicits a moan from your mouth and a good deal of wetness from between your legs. He pulls you to the edge of the dresser and pushes himself inside you. He slams into you heatedly and you both start to sweat. You can feel your climax building around him as he pumps. He's still kissing you all over your face and neck, dipping his tongue into your mouth periodically. Your hands grip his back as your fingernails dig into his skin. As many times as you've been together, it's never felt like this before. There's a desperation and need in both of you that's completely new. You wrap your legs around him and he carries you to the bed, still inside of you. You fuck for a while with him on top of you, until you push him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Then, you turn away from him and lower yourself onto him, holding onto his thighs for support. While you slide up and down on him, he reaches forward and makes circles with his finger on the spot between your legs that makes you cry out his name.

"Elvis, fuck!" You scream as your climax pounds into you from every angle, rushing through you from your center to your edges and back again. You turn around and push him back onto the bed. He moves himself backwards until he's fully on the bed and you can ride him easily. You're grinding your hips against him, so that he is so deep inside of you. Nothing seems to be deep enough to satisfy you tonight. You want to swallow him up and keep him there inside you. He moans and grunts while you work, obviously approaching his climax. He flips you over one last time and thrusts into you a few times before he shudders and cusses and fills you with his warmth. You're both dripping wet with sweat and covered in marks from the other's teeth and fingernails. He rolls over off of you and lays next to you, both of you breathing heavily. He picks up your hand and kisses your fingers.

"Oh, honey, I have missed you so much." He smiles at you and holds your hand on his chest. You get up and go to the bathroom, trying to forget that you just committed adultery with him. Again. When you come back, you get some panties out of your suitcase and put them on. Then, you climb back into bed, where he's arranged himself as if he's going to sleep there.

"Don't you... have to... go?" You ask tentatively. You think of his wife, probably pacing her room waiting for him to come home.

"No." He doesn't give any more detail and you don't ask. He puts his arm around you and pulls you close to him. "I'm staying here." He kisses the side of your head.

It feels so good to have him wrapped around you again. This won't be the last time you're together.

He waits until he thinks you're asleep, and you almost are, when he whispers,

"I love you, baby."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist: @itlover8000 @deniseinmn @elvisalltheway101

[puckpocketed]

18/01/2024 - SEA @ EDM

Tuna and his soft hands -> Dumo - clipped all the way back in January before I even knew how to make gifs. a bit of a season obit + thoughts about Tuna under the cut.

ooough this is gonna be very off the cuff and unedited so here goes!

this clip is from the oilers match that ended the kraken point streak. it was a strange, tense match. filled with penalties and scrums. this is where we lost Yanni to a charging major and 2 game suspension. as an aside: I don't think about players and their hits the same anymore after this. at the time, I was pretty much on the train of "well, he didn't hurt the guy", but since then I've done a lot of thinking. every player has thrown a questionable hit, or has the potential to - including all of my favourites. on principle: if a bad hit delivered by a random opposing player is wrong, that standard has to apply to my faves too. anyway. everyone was getting sick around this time, and if i remember correctly we lost a bunch of guys to illness during the pens match just days before this one. the vibes were high up until then, and it feels like we never really recovered. I know the season hasn't panned out the way we wanted since, but I still look back on those times so fondly.

a little breakdown of the clip:

there are two people bearing down on Tuna here. Darnell Nurse (#25) gives a pretty half-hearted effort after he realises Tuna isn't going to rim the puck along the boards. Tuna cuts into the middle - I wonder if he's looking for a cross ice pass to Ebs (#7) here? he stops pulls the puck in so so quickly - avoids the sweeping stick check from Evander Kane (#91), and shovels a backhand pass to Dumo from such an awkward angle that I'm baffled as to how he even did it. he opens himself up for a pass on the blue line after, which I'd have liked to see. but oh well!

thoughts on tuna which have been rolling around in my head like those lint balls in the dryer:

i'm always thinking about Tuna and the little things he does. he's one of the most interesting kraken (to ME). i don't like to play favourites but i have to admit that games just don't have the same shine when he's not in </3 I like that he holds on to the puck a little, I like that he's got good hands in tight spaces, I like that he shoots with accuracy over explosive power. I like that he has a tiny bit of grit to him. I like that he's opportunistic - what I noticed most about him was his habit of just... being in the right place at the right time. he'll probably never be one of those guys who can generate chances on his own unless he miraculously makes a late leap in development, but if there's a chance then he'll be there to finish on it.

he's a quiet player in terms of hype around the league. a journeyman, a depth acquisition. hot on the market when his contract is up, but rarely spoken of otherwise. I felt some kinda way when I saw him answer that question about staying with the kraken. he's been shuttled from team to team, seemingly unable to find a home for so long - and I know this is common, I know that's how this league works for the vast majority of players who aren't franchise altering superstars. whatever. it still hit me that he could simply leave, and this team would just be another team where he couldn't put roots down. there's an article from the 2010s naming him a 'core' player of the red wings, did you know? and since then, he's just bounced and bounced around. i know this league is a business, i know teams just need to do what they have to in order to win. I don't care. let him rest. let him find a home. god.

i've said this about my other teams too, but 23-24 kraken will always be special to me. my lovely losers who fought and stumbled and failed. my first wagon. my little cobbled together family of leftovers. this team won't ever be the same again and I'm trying to be okay with that - but to contradict myself... I hope Tuna stays with the kraken. yeah, okay he's just some guy, but to quote that one tumblr post: hes MY just some guy. i am woefully attached, and it's such a long shot but I hope he can be a part of this team growing and blossoming into something strong for the next couple of years. hockey gods if you are listening - I hope he retires a kraken.

failing that, maybe he goes to one of my other beloved teams in need of a solid middle 6 winger. shark girl summer? haha? <3

[wataksampingan]

Ch 87 is out on Webtoon Fast Pass and uh. Words.

(I need a spoiler warning banner gif or something. Anyway, spoilers galore)

As usual I have nothing that makes coherent sense or contains proper punctuation.

All I got is blubbering over how humble these two leads are and how much they doubt themselves in their pain and how much good they still do in spite of it and how many more chapters to go (even beyond That One Chapter I lost sleep over) before they fully realise how well they suit each other-

....okay before Perry realises how well they suit each other.

Also, I am dying to know her stepmother's deal. Clearly Count Zahardt wasn't perfect, but saying shit like "only the faint-hearted follow illusions"* is RICH coming from her when she attempted to achieve her goals (whatever those are) by poisoning her husband (an extremely untenable - thus illusory - method). In fact, all of Perry's childhood memories of her so far have been laced with some sort of strange edge, as if this woman has resented Perry from the beginning. I know money is a huge motive but is that the only driving force behind such hatred?

So what was it really? Jealousy over the previous Countess Zahardt? Resentment against Perry's father for his (according to her) overzealous charity and her greed for more? All of the above?

Perry sure got the brunt of it, considering this one single memory brings up doubts like:

1. If the countdom grew poorer because my father just kept helping others, then that means I could be the cause of the Lapileons' downfall too since they have been helping me constantly

2. Aren't I then also neglecting those around me, like my own countdom and my uncle? Also doesn't that mean just being here instantly brings more trouble to a place that already contends with so many other problems? Even Gloria doesn't live in the manor so as not to overburden their staff and supply run

3. Was my poor father such a fool as my stepmother said? Was the man I loved best in the world really so unworthy?

4. I'm also a fool to 'chase an illusion', to think that I could ever be capable enough to continue my parents' work and legacy when I can barely do anything on my own.

In Perry's mind, it doesn't matter how quickly she learned to help with the Lapileons' household paperwork, how much she's done to bring Celphi out from his shell and how well she manages herself in noble social circles, how she gave Saoirse reason to believe in others again, how she proved to Gloria that she was quick and justified at pointing out flaws in the staffing system of the family, how she essentially rescued Islette and probably countless others from Gen - how she constantly gives Theo reasons to live, rather than just exist.

All of that pales in comparison to watching Theo succeed at seemingly Everything, while she... doesn't. That perfectionist viewpoint that she arguably received from her stepmother makes her so vulnerable to this self doubt.

But now he's actually, and very rationally, putting things into perspective, not just to make her feel better but because it's all true. It's not his talent and discipline alone that sustains the Lapileon estate. He too has received much help, and crucially, while his grandfather was a complete monster, his grandmother, uncle and siblings weren't. Comparatively, Perry only has one trustworthy uncle and no such influence/power/wealth as the Lapileons. Implicitly, to have come this far on her own speaks volumes of her strength and courage (not that she would even notice it herself)

In any case, now not only is Theo capable and successful, he's proven himself humble (humble!), and clearly grateful for her by actually vocalising it.

I love this conversation so much because Theo is gentle without being patronising, and reasonable enough that Perry can't help but see the logic. He also seems to have learned from his previous fit of anger that this woman needs coaxing. She has trust issues as numerous as his own, so he can't brute force his way into her confidence.

But they are so similar, it's wonderful to see him immediately on the same page, immediately recognising her doubts because he's probably had similar thoughts growing up. He was made grand duke after his older brother died and sister incapacitated by grief. He too must live up to a legacy left behind by people he respects and loves. There are huge shoes to fill for him too.

Also:

You did this to yourself Pereshati LMAO

(forever laughing at how he was so focused on pouring out his true feelings to her that he went on auto pilot and won)

Oh oh, one more unrelated thing to yell fruitlessly into the ether:

ENGLISH BOOK PUBLICATION WHEN, WEBTOON?? KOREAN VOL. 3 IS ALREADY DUE ON THE 27TH!!

* I forgot this was a flashback to ep 31!!

...Lillian is still incredibly malicious and suspicious!!

[bridja02]

Dedicating yet another blogpost to @cherrynojutsu's Like Gold:

It's been awhile since I've been on Tumblr, wow. The last time I reviewed Like Gold was, oh my god, three years ago?! Time flies.

As I took a break from reading this fic, waiting for more chapters to accumulate, as one does, and also because of life and studying... I decided to reread it last week, as I realized the latest chapter Cherry released was 19! My review was at chapter 6!

And oh boy, what have I missed! I have to admit I feel terrible for not reading for so long! T.T

First things first, I have to compliment Cherry's writing style, and how much it has improved since the last time! As she began the fic in June of 2021, and I'm not saying at all that her writing used to be bad, just that now it's absolute perfection! Here's a visual representation of my feelings while reading the first time:

The same gif used as for the first review - but the feelings were the same this time around too. The first couple of chapters of SasuSaku's blooming relationship was the cutest, from the tenative first kisses to the lingering touches ♥

However, the emotional rollercoaster that ensued after the story progresseed - oh my god. Here's another visual representation, this time showing my emotions just after I finished chapter 19:

(tears because of Sasuke's inner turmoil and trauma, and the blushing because of Sasuke's-😳 )

Once again mentioning my initial review, I SPECULATED the turn that this fic will take with Sasuke's mental health, and oh- the turn was so sudden and sharp that it sent me tumbling down the road. I feel so sorry for the poor boy, he deserves nothing but happiness, and I need him SO BADLY to talk to someone about it.

I knew the fic was going to be a huge slowburn (which was right up my alley) but at some point I thought to myself this has been so sweet and innocent for so long, with their sweet pecks and hugs and lunches and book clubs, will the author really have the means of turning this into something more? I was proven wrong after reading the scene on Sakura's balcony, and wintessing their first makeout sesh. I realized, Cherry will be going places. Had no more doubts after that.

I have no energy to describe anything I felt for the couch scene in chapter 19, as I am not quite done processing what I just read... (The blushing on my cheeks still hasn't passed).🥵

However, I wish to appreaciate the authors ability to indulge on the topics of mental health disorders and character analysis. It's soo hard to read Sasuke struggling like that, and believe me I've read my fair share on SS fics, but I've never seen someone delve this deeply into Sasuke's character and mental state. Cherry I don't know what your major is, but hats off to your skills! You must be really empathetic to be able to write this so well, and I truly admire you for it ♥

I'm so happy to see Sasuke finally trying to do something about it - the jasmine, the old district, his cuts and oh the letters break my heart into million pieces! I can't imagine how Sakura must feel when she finds out what Sasuke has been keeping to himself and suffering silently, even though she urged him never to suffer alone. Oh my, I CAN SMELL THE ANGST COMING. Am I bad person because I can't wait for it?

I love the authors humor, transfering onto Sasuke's witty one and also the other characters. I love the subtle details and descriptions this fic has to offer - from the descriptions of mugs, books they read, the teas they drink. It's too sweet. You can truly feel the authors soul through their work!

The chapter when Sasuke was sick was so lovely, but I have to admit that the bed scene and counting heartbeats has to be the sweetest, lovliest thing I have read in awhile! <3

I am so excited for the future chapters now that so many things unfolded, Sasuke's state has probably never been worse so I really need him to start healing T.T Sakura is so sweet and supprotive, hopefully Sasuke will help her too by urging her to work less. Also excited for the smut.

Thank you so much Cherry for sharing your work with us, I am eternally grateful! I will be looking forward to the future chapters!

[bryce-bucher]

Midwest Lost Post #2

Stanced Up Sidestepping:

The main thing I've been working on this week is implementing a new stance / sidestepping mechanic. I've been playing through the No More Heroes series lately, and the sidestepping in those games feels so good. It inspired me to want to implement sidestepping alongside rolling as a secondary form of dodging attacks. I really like how Bloodborne implements both methods, but my biggest issue with how it works in that game is that it's tied to whether or not you are locked on to an enemy. Because of this, I decided to replace the button I had planned for heavy attacks (R2 / Right Click) with a stance button. Holding this button down causes the player to strafe slowly, replaces the roll with the sidestep, replaces the light attack with a heavy attack, and causes the lock-on camera to focus onto the target more quickly (the default lock-on is fairly loose). You can also switch stances instantly, so you can sidestep away from an attack and then immediately follow up with a dodge roll. I had to make 8 different strafing animations and 4 different sidestep animations, so deciding whether or not to implement this idea was a fairly big commitment. I really wasn't sure how it would come together, so I was a little scared to put in all the effort to implement it because I didn't know if I'd have to scrap it. Thankfully though I think it came together really well, and it adds a lot of variety to how you might choose to dodge certain attacks and navigate around the bosses.

Hitboxes and Hurtboxes:

This is the first melee-combat oriented game I've ever made, so it was also my introduction to many mechanics that are commonly seen in fighting games, 3D actions games, etc. It took a lot of complex-ish programming to setup systems for knockback fall-off curves and things like that, but I will just cover the basics here. Every character has a series of hurtboxes placed on their limbs that, when colliding with an enemy's hitbox, will take an amount of damage determined by the damage value stored in the hitbox and the multiplier stored in the hurtbox. If a hitbox is set to do 100 damage and the hurtbox has a 2x multiplier, then if the hitbox hits that hurtbox, it will do 200 damage. Pretty basic stuff, most of you probably already know how all of that works. I thought once I had that implemented I'd basically be done, but collision detection showed its stupid face like it always does. Basically, when you have animations that move this fast, you are going to run into a lot of inconsistent collision detection. This is because if a hitbox is on one side of a hurtbox one frame and then on the other side of the hurtbox the next frame, it will have never been overlapping with the hurtbox as far as the physics engine is concerned. To fix this, I do a recursive series of boxcasts between the hitbox's current position and its previous position to make sure that it didn't pass through anything. A boxcast is basically just a laser in the shape of a box that you shoot from one point to another to check if anything was hit. You can see them in action in the images above (they are made up of those pink lines). I'm not sure how interesting this is to read about, but I had an absolute blast programming all this. Combat and movement related programming is always the most fun for me to solve issues for, and it's just really satisfying seeing all those hitboxes move around.

Conclusion:

Again, sorry if this post isn't the most interesting, but a lot of gamedev is just nailing down the basic technical stuff. It's very fun to do, but it's the kind of work that is probably somewhat hard to appreciate/recognize unless it's something you've also done yourself. I also find it a bit hard to convey how the game feels to play through text, so hopefully the above gifs show off what I mean well enough. Anyway, next week I'm switching back over to my immersive sim J(a)SON, so I'll see ya then.

[messrsbyler]

Hello!! what do you think about the tag those days? do you have a fav blog? who do you think is saving the tag from dying with posts and theories?

i think the tag is slowly dying tbh and it's sad to see? the reality is that for the past year or so the tag has been kept alive (from what i've seen and my personal experience here) because of art/fic creators and analysis blogs. however, it's been a year since s4 dropped and as i've seen some people around the tag say, everything that could've been analysed or said about byler in the last season or all seasons has already been said. now, i personally LOVE doing analysis even to this day, doesn't matter if i'm probably repeating something someone else spotted and blogged about two months ago. it's fun to make those posts, but we can't ignore that they are becoming repetitive and that side of the tag is burning out. because of that, things like fics/art/headcanons/ficlets/aus are so important now.

we don't have to run out of content to enjoy in our tag, but people should be willing to step outside their comfort zone and accept that canon is limited to what can he done and said about byler. aus however open new doors that this tag hasn't really explored yet, and for some reason there's a bit of resistance? and that leads us to a dead end because then there's no new not repetitive content and the tag starts dying even with its huge following.

another issue is definitely the lack of rb in the tag. i can jump on any post in the byler tag and check the notes and i know the ratio between likes and rbs will be ridiculous. ofc i can't force anyone to rb if they don't want to, but liking a post and not rb kills a post bc it stops reaching new people who will then engage with said post and then it will reach even more blogs. liking does nothing, it's a dummy button.

rb not only allows a post to stay alive, it's also a great opportunity to create conversations in the tags and engage with other people on this side of the internet. and well if you aren't into that or don't like to add tags to every rb, a simple rb still does much more than a like.

i have many fav blogs and i'll probably forget some, but from the top of my head i have @andiwriteordie (writer and au lover) @foodiewithdahoodie (amazing takes and headcanons) @astrobei (writer and artist) @wiseatom (amazing writer) @doriandrifting (analysis and amazing takes) @emblazons (amazing takes and gifs) @mayahawkins (one of the best gif creators in the tag) @perexcri (amazing writer) @likegoldintheair (amazing writer and amazing headcanons/ficlets) @elekinetic (amazing writer and amazing scripts) @kidovna (beautiful art and aus and comics) @noodles-and-tea (art art art i am obsessed) @nnilkyway (again beautiful art) @strangeswift (writer and a fun blog to check out) and many more that i'm probably forgetting right this moment.

if you (anyone who is reading this) have a blog rec pls lmk!!! i'm always looking for new byler content!!

(if you have stonathan blogs recs uh also lmk i need more stonathans on my dashboard thanks)

[alj4890]

Your mission, if you choose to accept it! :)

I'm sending a GIF to everyone who has participated in Tobias Carrick Appreciation Week this year. Can you create a ficlet (or anything you desire) based on this by Sunday? If so, you'll get one extra chance at the prize to be selected on Monday! :)

Here is your GIF:

I couldn't resist doing these others either. Don't worry, I know they don't count for the drawing but it's Tobias Appreciation Week and the man will be appreciated! This one's not part of my AU's but seemed highly plausible given my MC 😉

Masterlist

The Dinner Party

Tobias's home...

"You have a lovely home." Harper commented.

"Thank you. It helps when your mom is a talented interior designer." Tobias offered her a glass of wine. "I'm glad you and the rest of the team took me up on my dinner offer."

"It would have been rude to say no." She pointed out.

"But understandable, especially coming from you and and Ethan."

He checked the time. "Speaking of which, he and Chris should be here by now."

"They're coming together?" Harper asked.

"I don't know." Tobias wondered at her irritated tone. "Do they normally go together to things."

She humphed. "They sometimes do."

Tobias glanced at her when he noted a hint of disapproval in her tone.

"Are they together?"

Harper shrugged while taking a sip of her wine. "I don't think so, but there's no denying he favors her."

Her nose wrinkled. "He's always favored her."

"Really?"

Tobias wasn't that surprised. Even he noticed during his first week at Edenbrook that Ethan seemed to look to Chris when asking for opinions on cases and such. He'd walk by and see the pair alone and talking. He didn't blame Ethan. Chris was both easy to be around and attractive. Tobias would have done the same in Ethan's place.

"Is that your doorbell?" Harper asked.

"Probably." He went to see who it was.

Chris stood on his front stoop, shivering some from the chilly night air.

"Welcome." He held the door for her. "Did Ethan come with you?"

"No." Chris gave him a strange look. "Why?"

"No reason. "He, um, isn't here yet." Tobias offered to hang up her jacket.

"Oh." She smiled at him. "Thanks."

She then handed him a bottle of wine.

"I wasn't sure what you were having," she told him, "but this is one of my favorites."

Tobias recognized the label of a well respected sparkling wine.

"Nice choice." He smiled at her. "We'll use this to celebrate later."

He waved her on into his living room. "I'll go put this in the kitchen."

He'd only taken a few steps before his doorbell rang again.

Ethan stood there, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Tobias." He greeted in a brisk manner.

"Ethan. Come on in."

Ethan grunted as he stepped inside. "Is everyone else here?"

"The ladies are in there." Tobias pointed down the hall. "Make yourself comfortable."

Tobias went back to his kitchen to see how dinner was coming along.

"Something smells good."

He turned around to see Chris watching him from the doorway.

"I don't like to brag, but I am a phenomenal cook."

Chris began to laugh at his typical arrogance. She walked over to observe all the pots and pans in action on his stove was pleasantly surprised with how hard he'd worked on dinner.

"Well, I for one can't wait to see if that's true."

He chuckled. "May I get you something to drink?"

"Yes, please." She sat down at his bar. "So, what made you decide to throw this party?"

"Can one really call it a party when there's only four of us?" He joked while pouring them each a glass of wine.

"It's too soon to call it a double date." She teased.

The lid he'd just lifted off one of the pots clattered back down when her words registered.

"Chris?" He slowly smiled at her. "Are you flirting with me?"

She gave a slight shrug. "Not very well if you have to ask."

"I wouldn't say that. Mostly you surprised me."

He nodded towards the direction Ethan and Harper were talking. "From what I gathered, I might not be the doctor you'd prefer flirting with."

"Ah, I see you and Harper had a very interesting conversation before I arrived."

"It wasn't that interesting." He propped his elbows on the counter and leaned closer towards her. "Nowhere near as interesting as you bringing up a possible double date."

She propped her head on her hand, smiling softly at him. "Maybe we shouldn't make it a double date."

"Want me all to yourself?"

"Maybe." She responded. "But that all depends on when and what you're feeding me."

"Soon and come see for yourself."

Chris hopped off the stool and began to lift the lids for inspection. She then peeped into the oven, inhaling the fragrant aromas wafting out. Everything he'd prepared looked divine.

"Wow. You've really gone all out for this dinner."

"Well, I'd hoped to impress you." He slipped his hands in his pockets and leaned casually back against the counter.

"Just me or the team?" She asked.

"Can't it be both?" He grinned at her. "I am a man who knows how to multitask."

"We'll see." She returned his smile. "Still, you went to a lot of trouble for us."

"I wore my debit card out at the store." He joked. "I guess I went a little too far in trying to win everyone over."

He lifted his wine glass to his lips. "Think I'll still be hot if I end up broke for the rest of the month?"

She burst out laughing.

"I mean, I can't see poverty diminishing your looks."

"So you do think I'm handsome." He smiled at her over the rim of his glass. "Good to know."

"Someone's fishing for compliments," she playfully scolded, "yet said nothing about how I look."

She did a slow twirl for his benefit.

Tobias took in the sight of her in a short black skirt and a hunter green blouse. Her long legs were shown off to perfection in a pair of black stilettos. Her beautiful green eyes were even more vibrant than usual.

"You know you look incredible." He complimented. "Anyone with eyes knows that you are on a daily basis."

Her lips curved. "A double date is definitely out of the question."

Tobias chuckled, stepping closer to her.

"I take it that if I asked you to stick around after the others leave that you might say yes?"

"It's highly plausible." She stepped closer to him.

"Then let's get this dinner party over with as quickly as we can."