#hot turkish boys

[hombresexual2]

Craig Jones and Luke Rockhold

no homo, I guess

[jsprnt]

meeting your boyfriend’s parents

arda güler x turkish! reader

A/N: based on this request, thank uu 🤍 my first arda fic!!

W/C: 2.175 (yes, I got ahead of myself)

"is this too much?"

you ask yourself, thoroughly examining your outfit in the mirror. you run your hands down the soft fabric, grunting in indecisiveness.

turning around, you're greeted by a huge pile of clothes on your bed. a combination of dresses, jeans and shirts crumpled up from the way you'd thrown them behind you, after trying them on.

jeans with a sweater, too hot.

a pair of trousers with a blouse, too formal.

a skirt with a cropped top, too much skin showing for a first meeting with your boyfriend's parents.

the weather was becoming warmer these days, so you also had to keep the fabric and thickness of the clothes in mind.

"fuck this.." you mumble, sitting on your bed, the clothes barely allowing you to see you pink bedding. you lay down, the clothes becoming your soft pillow, apart from the buttons on the items, digging into your neck and the back of your head.

you and arda have been together for a few months now. you had gotten acquainted with him through mutual friends when he had just transferred to real madrid.

at first, you were a little nervous, meeting new people was exactly your thing. though, your friends had convinced you to meet him, only due to the shared background you both had.

since arda was born, he'd never lived anywhere else other than türkiye. born and raised partially in the capital, ankara. only to move to istanbul to play at his childhood dream club, fenerbahçe.

the years had gone by fast, and when a huge opportunity came, he finally decided it was time for him to leave and move onto one of the biggest clubs in the world.

you had met arda at a small gathering, specifically a surprise birthday party you attend for one of your close friends. 

the night was full of fun games, karaoke, and the best of all the multiple 'halay' dance routines.

you'd found arda to be a very sweet person, the second you met him. the way he so gently shook your hand, and gave you the prettiest smile you'd ever seen on a boy, had you mesmerized instantly.

obviously, you knew who he was before you met him. it was unavoidable to not know who 'arda güler' was, especially as a turkish person.

growing up around adults who watched and played football religiously, you were definitely aware of the debate.

which football club is türkiye's biggest and best?

was it the 'lion's', galatasaray, who had won the league last year? or was it the 'yellow canaries', fenerbahçe, who were first on the 'Süper Lig's all-time table'?

some would even nominate the 'black eagles', beşiktaş as candidates.

since all three of these clubs are based in the eurasian city of istanbul, derbys were an absolute show every time.

the excitement, the nerves, the turkish anger issues revealing themselves when someone gets fouled, or the thrill of seeing players of the opposite team fight each other, after a highly emotional match at full-time.

to see arda right in front of you, after seeing him on tv all the time was incredibly weird. but, you got used to it fairly quickly after seeing how humble and kind he was to everyone around him, whether he knew them or not..

you rub your nose with your fingers, eyes itching from the amount of dust in your room. you pause your movements for a second, sniffing softly and looking at the sun shining through your window.

the combined actions finally allow you to sneeze, and you don't waste time before you stand up to and go open your windows.

you were supposed to be picked up in an hour, so you had to hurry up and choose something to wear.

you had already texted your friends asking for advice on how you should dress. it didn't help much though, because whatever they said you should wear, you'd change your mind about it last minute. finding an issue with the clothing items, and then having to chuck more clothes on your bed as you rummaged through your closet.

your mind becomes busy with getting distracted by the beautiful weather outside, and the neighborhood children playing and laughing together.

though, you immediately whip your head around when your phone goes off. processing and realizing the ringtone, the one you had specifically set for arda, you walk over.

you sigh in irritation as you look around for your phone, finally catching a glimpse of the white case, from underneath a single black sock.

you're entire demeanor shifts when you read the caller id, smiling to yourself when you pick up. propping the phone in position, against the alarm clock on your nightstand, so he can see you properly.

"aşkım?" (my love) he says, the sweet nickname falling off his lips. his phone incredibly close to his face, as he shifts and moves, from what you can see, his car.

"arda, why did you call?" you question, grinning when you can finally see his full face. he moves his arm, playing with his hair as he smiles back.

"just finished training, showered and I'm coming over right now.."

"right now?" you panic, pointing downwards with your finger to confirm. "right now? but I'm not ready yet- and you said be ready by 5:45.." you blurt, already getting up to your feet, eyes flickering around the room as you forget he's on the phone for a moment.

"hey, calm down.. we have a lot of time, I just thought I'd come over since I know you're nervous.."

you look back at the screen, brows furrowing in confusion.

"that’s very sweet, but you just gave me a heart attack.."

"I'm almost at your place, canım. (my life) don't worry.."

you nod back, your heart calming down slowly.

"I don't know what to wear.." you say, running a hand over your face.

"I'll help you, I'll be over in a minute.."

"okay.." you mumble, waving quickly before telling him you'll hang up and wait until he arrives.

your thoughts are interrupted by an annoying yell and then a scoff.

"y/n! the footballer is here!"

you chuckle at your brother's voice, it's undeniably funny how much he liked galatasaray. even though arda had almost transferred to real madrid months ago, from fenerbahçe, your younger brother had vowed not to like him ever since he heard about you two.

well, he did cave when you asked him if he'd come along to some real madrid matches..

"I'm coming.." you shout back, jumping when you come across your brother. he scoffs at you, hurriedly stomping up the stairs to probably bother your older brother.

"arda?" you question, smiling when you notice him in the living room. he looks up immediately, walking up to bring you into a tight hug.

"I've missed you, tatlım.." (my sweetie) he whispers against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

you look at him, grinning from ear to ear. you hadn't seen him since he had left for an important match in a different country, so it was practically your catch up dinner too.

"I missed you too.." you reply, planting a kiss to his cheek. without waiting for him to say anything else, you drag him towards your bedroom, showing him the disaster.

"did a tornado visit your room, and should I be concerned?" he asks, squinting at the pile of clothes.

"I don't know what to wear.." you groan, throwing yourself onto your bed.

you watch arda walk closer, his hands reaching out to grab a slightly wrinkled floral blue dress.

"this one." he firmly states, turning around to grab a pair of white kitten heels from your shoe rack.

"and this.." he says, presenting the two items like a football shirt.

muscle memory, you guess.

you sit up, fixing your posture as you analyze the combination.

"that's not too much?" you ask, getting some hope.

"what do you mean? this is perfect, my parents would love it.."

he watches your unsure expression, placing the dress on your bed and the shoes on the floor.

"try it on for me, okay?" he asks, nudging your chin up, so he can look you in the eyes.

"I'll wait for you in the living room, maybe b/n will join me.."

minutes pass, and you've pulled the dress on successfully. fidgeting with the fabric, you smile, starting to feel satisfied. already thinking of what jewelry and other accessories you'll style the dress with.

hurrying up, you walk into the living room, surprised when you can actually see both your brothers sitting with your boyfriend. and it didn't look like either of them had said anything crazy to arda.

they looked, strangely happy and relaxed..

"what do you think?" you ask, raising your brows at the three boys.

you're bombarded by compliments, and almost gawk as your older brother calls you 'pretty'.

had arda replaced him with other person while you were getting dressed?

without much more thinking, you run back to your room. pulling on the rest of your accessories and fixing your appearance.

"I'm more scared of meeting your sister, than meeting your parents.." you confess, playing with the ring on arda's finger, looking up at where the driver is taking you.

"my sister's not going to kill you.." he chuckles, looking down at your intertwined fingers.

"still.."

you've heard the horror stories. girl's meeting their 'sister-in-law', only to find out how incredibly mean and protective they are about their younger brother.

deep inside, you knew his sister would be nice. he'd told you so many times about her wish of wanting to meet you.

it was just scary to meet three new people at once. especially those closest to your boyfriend. you had to get along, no questions asked.

you fidget with the bouquet of flowers in your hand. other hand intertwined with arda's, as you waited for his family to open the front door.

"hoşgeldiniz.." hearing the welcoming greeting in turkish you immediately tense up. arda seems to notice, looking at you and squeezing your hand reassuringly, before you step in.

you try to smile when you make eye contact with his mother, her loving arms coming to wrap around you. you greet each other with two, traditional kisses on each cheek, the worries in your heart slowly melting away.

you hand the flowers to her, and watch as the smile on her grow, an exact replica of your boyfriend’s smile..

you watch as arda hands his sister the gift bag in his hand, a kilogram of baklava.

you almost drool at the thought of having the dessert with a cup of turkish tea, but stop yourself before you get ahead of yourself.

it doesn't take long before you're all seated at the dinner table. having greeted all three of his family members with a lot of affection.

the atmosphere was friendly, warmer than you had dreamt of. but, you should've expected it, especially with how loving and caring your boyfriend is.

you admire all the different types of food prepared for dinner. eyes catching on the 'manti' you, oh-so- loved. you could describe them as little dumplings, instead of soup they were mixed in with yogurt, a sauce of tomato paste, and a lot of spices.

with how small they looked, you could guess it took a long time to make. not to forget, the other types of food. 'mercimek soup', 'olive-leaf sarma', and a colorful 'çoban' salad to refresh your palate.

you almost drooled at just the sight of the delicious array of food, and the way it tasted was a million times better.

"so, what city are your parents from?" arda's dad asks, the insanely predictable question every uncle asks when they notice you're turkish. only to magically always know your dad in some way or another.

"my mother is from c/n, and my father is from c/n.." you answer, making sure you answer with the perfect pronunciation.

"oh, back when I was younger- around arda’s age. I worked in c/n. we had worked hard for our bread and butter, sending money to the family was the most important thing back then.."

and without noticing, you'd passed the 'meeting my boyfriend's family test'.

only, because everyone at the table started complaining loudly, comfortable enough with you, already- to act like that. indicating they had all heard the story he was going to tell, a million times before.

you chuckle, smile pulling on your lips, as you feel arda's hand slip onto yours. his palm resting on the back of your hand, as he pats it reassuringly.

you glance at your boyfriend, his boxy smile showing, as he calms you down.

"don't listen to him, or he'll talk your ear off, y/n. let's talk about something else.." his sister chimes in, leaning forward to ask you something to save you from the talk.

this could definitely become something you could get used to..

[letorip]

i heard your name

"i heard your name and i'll never be the same”

===+++===

pairing: cairo sweet x reader

summary: after a life of fleeting things, you come to tennessee, and find someone you don’t want to be “fleeting” anymore, though she may come with ulterior motives

warnings: rivalry, references to sex, hints at student-teacher relationships, reader is being used (duh)

word count: 4.8k

A/N: i really really hate the concept of miller's girl as a whole, but i can't deny that cairo sweet is a captivating character psychologically, and that jenna does an absolutely amazing job. inspired by lolita, pale fire by vladimir nabokov, and the movie hot summer nights.

===+++===

You became aware of Cairo Sweet on a hot, sunny school day, one that almost seemed to mock your lack of enthusiasm for the new school in its beauty and the light breeze.

The high school was an ugly building, one that sat in limbo between southern charm and the studious American educational experience seen in the likes of pretentious New England. The decorator had clearly not known which one to pick, but no amount of fancy classrooms or bookshelves and Turkish rugs would make you forget you were in Tennessee of all places.

It would be just as unmemorable and brief as the last, and that’s exactly what you reminded yourself while you waited dreadfully early in the front office, in an uncomfortable yellow plastic chair that had one leg much shorter than the others.

The receptionist lady seemed nice enough, smiling at you all bright and wrinkly like old people did. “So sorry about the wait, dearie. Any minute now, she’ll be—”

“It’s no problem,” you shrugged. “I’m not really in a rush.”

The woman nodded, her eyes melting into little crows feet at the ends. There was a theory you had heard once, that the more wrinkles someone had, the more they had smiled in their life. It didn’t fit many of the crotchety old people you had met, who seemed to have frowns permanently stitched onto their leathery faces, but it definitely fit her. She glowed like a beacon, or twinkled like a chandelier of happiness.

“Are you excited about coming here?" She asked. "Starting the new semester has to be exciting!” The entire time the older woman kept sheepishly glancing over at the door, waiting someone to come in. Whoever was supposed to be guiding your tour was clearly very late.

You had long given up on hoping your mom would pick a spot and stay there. In two more months maybe, she would announce she 'wanted a change' again, and you wouldn't give this place a second thought when you left, just as you hadn't given the last places a second thought either. But you couldn't just say no.

You smiled back at her. "Yeah, kinda. This seems like a good school."

"Oh it's just splendid!" She assured you. "The kids love it here, it's just-" Before she could finish, the office door swung open, and a girl in crazy clothing bustled in, dropping her bag on the floor in the middle of the room and spinning to the receptionist.

“I’m so, so sorry!” She said, visibly dishevelled (though maybe that was just her nonsense outfit) and maybe sweating a bit. “I completely forgot I was supposed to do this!” She laughed. She seemed like one of those girls that were always drunk— not in a sad, alcoholic way, but like they were drunk on life (and maybe alcohol too).

“It’s alright, Winnie. They haven’t been waiting long.” Winnie spun around, noticing you where you sat, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Hi there, I’m Winnie,” she said, holding out her hand with a smile. You stood up and shook it in your own, smiling back. This would all be fleeting anyhow.

“Hi, yeah I heard. (Y/n)."

Winnie tilted her head, giving you a devilish smirk. She was absurdly energetic for it being so early. "Boy, aren’t you cute.”

“And aren’t you really forward,” you laughed.

She shrugged. “I think it’s more fun that way. You got a nickname?"

"Eh," you shrugged. You did, from your mom, but it wasn't worth mentioning when you wouldn't be here that long. "Not really."

"Nooo, you definitely should have one," she said, and you raised your eyebrows at her.

"I'm really good, I think," you said, grinning. "Not the most nickname—able name out there."

"Fine," she shrugged. "Suit yourself I guess. Now c’mon,” said Winnie, sticking her hand out to you. There was a certain glint in her eyes then. “I’m gonna show you every little place in this shitty little school.”

"Winnie, language!" The receptionist scolded her.

"Sorry," she winced.

Winnie dragged you around the halls like that, hand in hand and pointing into classrooms; she waved to the people that she passed. It was decent sized school, with a big cafeteria and gym, but not much else unique to boast except for the few sports fields outside. Your last school didn't have that, but it had been northern Alaska, so it made sense. It was probably hard, what with the snow.

“Boris!” Winnie waved over at a man in a track suit, with a whistle around his neck that all gym teachers seemed to wear. He rolled his eyes, waving back at her. "That's Coach Fillmore," she explained.

“What’ve I told you about that, Winnie?” He asked.

Winnie slipped her red-heart sunglasses over her eyes, flashing him a smile. “Still your favourite though, right?”

“Yeah yeah.” And he turned his attention back to the football field, coffee in hand. Winnie spun back to you, with an almost infectious aura.

"So, why'd you move?" she asked, grabbing your hand again and tugging you back inside. The metal door slammed shut behind you with a loud thud.

"Witness Protection Program," you shrugged as she pulled you around the corner. “On the run from the cartel." She looked at you like you were crazy for a moment, eyes all wide, then you laughed and ruined it. "I'm kidding. Not actually."

"OOooooO, I like you. Cute and unserious. I thought you were going to be all square, but it turns out you can joke," said Winnie, shaking her head at you. "What's your locker number, again?"

You handed her the paper. "She wrote it on here."

Winnie took it from your hand, holding it up to the fluorescent lights and examining it like a slide under a microscope. "Ah, damn. You're on the opposite side of the school from me. Like literally, the exact opposite side. That's good though, right? Your first block is Calc?"

"Uh, no. It's uh..." you stopped, leaning against a wall and sliding your backpack off. You pulled your schedule from the top pocket. "Creative Writing, with Mr. Miller."

Winnie's eyes lit up, and she punched you on the arm. "No, fucking way?! That's my first block too!"

You shrugged. "I'd honestly rather do that than calculus right now, so."

Winnie laughed. "Yeah, you and any normal person." She stopped for a minute. "Are you okay if I go off and get some breakfast before class? Winnie hungee," she said, rubbing her stomach. "I also kind of ditched my friend, and I told her I'd find her."

You nodded. "Go ahead. I'm just gonna find my locker."

"Okay!" She said, giving you a small salute. "See you in class."

===+++===

You found your way well enough, and after fumbling with the big metal lock and struggling to put the code in, could actually open your yellow locker and throw the heavy bag you had been carrying inside.

You could see other kids walking up and opening theirs around you. Their doors had metal magnets and small whiteboards, stickers and posters. You hadn't brought stuff to decorate your locker in four years. Instead, your backpack had everything you carried in it, ready to go at the drop of a hat.

The creative writing classroom was down a hallway that split off near the gym, and luckily seemed less ugly than the rest of the school. The room smelled of pine and paper, which was probably a good sign, and bookshelves and glass jars littered the walls with a bunch of other random things setting the scenery for the big chalkboard and wooden desk in the middle.

Most of the other students were already there when you arrived through the double doors, including Winnie. She stood at one of the front desks talking to someone. When she saw you, she waved, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree even from afar. In her past life, this girl would have been a golden retriever. You waved back then turned away, heading to one of the back desks that put you firmly away from the teacher's line of sight.

Mr. Miller seemed like an alright guy, or just enough of one. He didn't do any cheesy introductions of people, or make you do one of those stupid icebreakers that made you want to die, no— he was straight to the point, with just a splash of drama.

"Hello everyone! This semester my main goal is to make you write. And I mean really write." He paused for dramatic effect, as if he thought it was Dead Poet's Society. "This is not like your other English classes, where you put minimal effort into a 'meh' essay and turn it in, and you're happy with a B. No, I want you to feel something."

After that, you couldn't help but tune him out. He wasn't bad, no. But he was just boring and unremarkable, and anything a high school writing teacher from Tennessee would be, in the way he stuttered or played with the lid of his plastic coffee cup.

He spent most of the class prattling off the syllabus and giving out the first assignment, due in a couple of days. You weren't especially interested in writing as a whole, and even less interested in the prompt of 'write about you,' but you shoved the paper into your backpack and figured you'd give it a shot.

"Mr. Miller?" asked a voice from the front.

"Yes, Cairo?” Mr. Miller said, and you raised your head up, looking to where he was speaking. The hand belonged to a girl with dark hair, and you immediately recognised her as the one Winnie had been talking to before class. She was clearly very smart, with a small stack of books on her desk in front of her.

“Are we talking about ourselves literally, as in our achievements, or as in our emotions and how we feel?” she asked. Cairo looked pretty when she talked, though you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. This was fleeting. It was important to remember that.

“It’s up to you, actually,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning back against his desk. “Whatever really lets me know you.” Boy, how cliche.

When class ended, Winnie bounded over to you with a smile, her school bag tucked under her arm like it had been earlier. “Sooo, how was your first class?”

“It was pretty good, no complaints,” you said, fumbling with your folder and shoving it back into your bag.

“So, listen, do you want to sit with me at lunch? Me and Cairo sit together and you can totally join us if you want,” said Winnie, still as bubbly as ever. She gestured towards the door, and you could see the girl from earlier looking through the books on the bookshelf that stood next to it.

You shook your head. “Sorry, I got invited by a group to sit with them and I already said I would.”

Winnie frowned, pouting cartoonishly with her lower lip drooping. “No worries. If ever again though, me and Cairo would be happy to have you."

You gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Maybe tomorrow."

You ate lunch that day leaning against a concrete wall underneath the football bleachers, with no one else around, a thick paperback in your one hand and a sandwich in the other, headphones over your ears.

===+++===

"Thank you all so much for your submissions," Mr. Miller said, a stack of essays sitting under his arms as he passed them back to the class. The weather of that Friday was much more relaxed, with a smattering of clouds covering up the sun, the way you liked it.

The past three days had been just as uneventful as the last, and you went home each night only to wake up the next morning and stay equally as unenthusiastic, and attempt to bury your face into the fabric of your pillow for another five minutes.

He cleared his throat. "I've decided to do something fun, and kind of crown a 'winner' for the week, if you will." He shrugged. "It's just someone I really was impressed with, and want to recognise so, uh, we'll do this after every writing piece."

From behind the class with your head propped up on your palm, you saw Cairo tensing at his words. It had become clear even through disinterested observation that she cared way more about the class than literally anyone else— maybe even Mr. Miller. She raised her hand first, offered feedback on anyone made to read aloud, and always stayed after. She was probably itching for the recognition and you figured she deserved it too.

Which was why it shocked the hell out of you when Mr. Miller walked right up to his desk, put his hands in his pockets, cleared his throat like he thought it was a drum-roll moment, and announced, "this week I was incredibly impressed with (Y/n)'s writing."

There was no way. You froze, not entirely sure he was talking to you. Maybe he had just mispronounced someone else's name indistinguishably close to yours. Cairo's head whipped around, face equally as in shock. There was no way. Winnie was smiling at you, other kids were staring, and you wanted to die.

"Uh...thanks."

From the other side of the room, Winnie whooped for you, clapping a little, in an awkward way. Someone else let out a cough. Mr. Miller shook his head, and said, "No, thank you. Your writing was really impressive. It made me feel, in a way that was refreshing from some other things I've read."

Cairo whipped back around to gape at him for a moment and then back to you. Then, back to Mr. Miller as he continued. "I don't have much in terms of prizes, but there is a bowl of candy over there, and you can take one if you'd like."

You nodded, standing up and making your way over to the clear bowl. Why the hell not. Writing had never been something you thought you were fantastic at— you had never shared it with anyone since there had been no one to share it with. Your fingers went in, and out you pulled a grape lollipop, retreating back to your seat and popping it in your mouth.

From the front, you felt Cairo glancing at you from over her shoulder, but tried to ignore the raising hairs on the back of your neck with her focus on you. “Okay,” said Mr. Miller. “Turn to your textbooks.”

===+++===

The grape lollipop was still in your mouth at lunchtime, leaning against the concrete wall and feeling the hot Tennessee breeze ruffle against your soft shirt, moving it gently against your skin. It was quiet out, and you had your headphones over one ear, leaving the other one to listen to the trees and the wind.

That's how you heard the footsteps from around the corner, even through your music. You looked up from where your eyes had been tracing the cracks of the concrete and watching the ants walk by into their nearby hill, and there she was.

Cairo Sweet had found you.

She stood a bit down the way, on the path, with her arms crossed right over her chest. Her eyes were just as dark as before, and they bore into yours with a strange carnal desire. It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Uh, hi?" you managed. She didn’t even acknowledge it.

"So, how long are you going to keep lying to Winnie for?" Cairo asked, her voice as smooth as butter on your ears. It was a question that caught you completely off guard in its sincerity.

"Uh— I'm not— I haven't been lying," you stammered. Cairo wasn't convinced; her eyebrows lifted a little, creasing her forehead in disbelief. She took a step, one agonisingly after the other, closing the distance between you two until she stood directly beneath you, staring up through her lashes in a near haunting way. Subconsciously you took a small step back.

"I have a question," she whispered, like it was right in your ears. You could feel your blood rushing to them quickly, and it felt as if everything was happening in an almost sinful daze, slow and burning.

"Yeah?" you murmured back, fighting against the lollipop to speak. It made it harder to swallow.

"Can you smell my perfume?" Cairo asked, and your brain hung off every word that spilled from her lips.

"Yes," You clumsily nodded, eyes shooting down to her perfect mouth as it moved, then up to the freckled apples of her cheeks. You knew you were breathing loudly. "It's lavender, and—"

"—Good," she praised, barely audible in her sickly soft whisper. You nodded again, head feeling heavy. God, this girl. "Good," Cairo said again. You didn't know what to say.

"I want to read your essay," she continued, scanning the bleachers for a moment and then eyes shifting back to you in full force. She had you right where she wanted you. Under her thumb.

"Uhhhh, why?" you trailed off, confused as all hell and letting out an awkward laugh to cover.

"It's good, isn't it?" She asked, challenging you with her stare and a smirk, as if to say she knew exactly what she was doing to you chemically. "I haven't found many I want to read."

"Essays?" You mumbled.

"Good ones," she corrected you, whispering it slowly. Your gaze lowered to her lips again, her lower one caught between her teeth. Her own eyes flew to the lollipop, the stick hanging between you both.

Your breathing hitched when her hand came up, lightly grabbing the end and oh so gently pulling it from your mouth, some of your saliva carrying with it. She twirled it, never breaking eye contact with you as she placed the purple crystalline sugar on her tongue, closing her mouth around it for a moment. Cairo smiled, then pulled it from her lips and placed it back in yours.

You blinked slowly, unsure of what this was but finding it all too addicting to know how to stop it. At the sound of voices in the distance, the spell was broken, and Cairo looked back over her shoulder. You cleared your throat, realising the situation you were in.

"What're you trying to do?" You asked. It wasn't a gentle question, but it wasn't a harsh one either. Part of you wanted her to whisper back something cheesy and romantic. Or maybe you wanted something salacious to come from her all-too-plush lips, and the moment to end with hers on yours.

But instead she just blinked at you. It was like the question had taken her power away; she faltered completely. She frowned, almost frustrated by you asking, and she didn't have an answer. "Just let me know about the essay? I'd really like to read it."

Before you could reply, she turned around and walked away, as if going back to a drawing board far off in the distance. You watched her go, turning the lollipop over in your mouth.

===+++===

I should like to think that when I am older, the places I have been will make me cry. They will not meld together, in one long train; I will not move from car to car, blazing past what it may contain and never stopping to look out the window.

I will slide into a booth or take out a folding chair if I must, and watch the world go by. I will sit atop the mountains or amongst the grains of sand on a beach, and watch my eyes begin to water in the light of the setting sun.

Your eyes scanned over the essay in your hands, flipping through it and looking at all of Mr. Miller's notes. There were only four, and two of them were 'Wow!'. Even knowing he was impressed, you were at a loss for how this could be considered impressive. It was just words on a paper. Not difficult to write them, or copy them down. You were just talking, but on a page.

My mother seems to think I can’t hear her crying through the walls at night, wishing she were different. Her tears keep me up, and I trip and drown in the puddles of her despair, falling through the surface and into the depths hidden beneath, whenever I leave my room. I love her, and she always manages to convince herself I do not. She loves me, I always must convince myself she does.

It was this paragraph that made you hesitate, standing behind your locker door and rereading it over and over in your mind. There was no way you could show this to someone- and especially not Cairo.

And right there, like Cairo was conjured up by your mind, she was walking right past you, bag over her shoulder and book under her arm. You looked at her pass, the voice in the back of your mind whispering the word fleeting into your ear. It had been a week since your uncomfortable conversation (if you could even call it that) from underneath the bleachers, and she was acting weird.

She was almost avoiding you, and it was rather noticeable. Not to anyone else, who were unaware you knew each other existed, but to you, you knew. When Winnie said good morning and Cairo happened to be there, she would glance away, fully aware of you staring at her like a big idiot.

You found your way into the classroom, and Mr. Miller was writing something on the board in big white letters. It said 'MEANING,' and 'SYMBOL' in a smaller script underneath. He turned back when he was done, smiling over at Cairo and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

She always was the class favourite, and it made sense. Even if your writing was enchantingly fantastic, or some other amazing bullshit word Mr. Miller would write in blue pen that made you doubt he could actually read, Cairo was the one who actually tried. "I want everyone," he said, clearing his throat with a grunt, "to find a partner and sit down with them. This is going to be a partner activity."

You froze. Shit. These things sucked when you were the new kid who knew no one. You glanced over at Winnie, hopeful you'd find a partner in her, but she was madly gesturing towards Cairo to get her attention, and it made you smile a bit at the look on her face— until you saw who Cairo was staring at. You. Your smile went away in an instant.

Her brown eyes were staring at you again, sharp and intense. Then she picked up her bag, tucked the books she brought with her under her arm, and made due on her plan to pick you. You sent your glance away, as if to pretend you couldn't tell she was coming for you. And yet when her books landed on the table with a soft thud, you couldn't ignore her anymore.

"Care to partner up?" She asked, pulling the chair back to sit down before you could even answer. From the other side of the room, you could see Winnie staring at you, looking confused as all hell.

"Uh, sure," you managed. Was she just going to pretend you two hadn't shared whatever that was? It seemed to be the case, and it seemed she knew you were uncomfortable. Cairo Sweet almost seemed to relish in doing that to people.

"So, how'd you enjoy your first week here?" She asked, pulling out a notebook and flipping to a fresh page. She leaned forward, crossing one leg over her other.

You shrugged carefully. "It was good. Boring, but good."

Cairo nodded. "This is a really boring town, so that makes sense."

"Yeah..." you trailed off. She made putting sentences together incredibly hard for you.

Mr. Miller's assignment was boring beyond belief, but Cairo sat up straight the entire time he gave out directions, eyebrows lowering a bit or head tilting after every clarification, like she was making a mental reminder to remember that later. You attempted to ignore her, looking over to the bookshelf on your other side out of boredom.

They were all leather bound, in alternating shades of brown and green, and some hardcovers in sheathes intermixed. Finnegan's Wake and Scienza Nuova, Being and Time and Infinite Jest, you recognised and had read them all. Day-long car rides would do that to you, and it was within reading you found a particular solace from your mom screaming along to the radio.

"(Y/n), are you listening?" Cairo whispered over at you, pulling your gaze back towards her. You nodded, even though you weren't. Her leaning in seemed to fill your nose with her smell. It was lavender, and it was overpowering.

She raised her eyebrows at you like she knew you were lying again. "Really? What're we doing, then?"

You blinked. Shit. "Uh...I don't know, sorry," you apologised, feeling somewhat sheepish. Cairo gave you a judging look, and you were starting to feel like maybe she was regretting choosing you as her partner. She sighed.

"It's fine. Do you want to maybe come over on Friday? We can work on the paper," she said, playing with her pencil. You frowned.

"I thought Winnie said there was a party on Friday."

Now Cairo looked confused. "Are you going to that?"

"I thought you were?" You questioned, trailing off. She laughed at that, like it was a funny suggestion.

"No, it's not really my scene. Winnie's the partier," she grinned. "A party animal, even."

You nodded, feeling yourself relax a little bit. "That makes sense. You're probably writing or reading instead or something."

She seemed intrigued. "Is that what you think of me? A nerd?"

"Uh..." there was a certain heat flowing towards your cheeks, and it felt like the room was a million degrees. "A little, yeah."

"Wooow!—" Her voice rose in a mocking offence.

"—No, I don't— That's not!— I—"

"You think I'm a geek."

"Yeah, only because you're always reading and stuff, so," you argued, raising your hands up. She laughed.

"So if you read, that makes you a nerd?"

"That's obviously not what I'm saying, but the normal kids just go home and watch a show or something," you shrugged. A beat of silence passed between you, and you groaned, realising your mistake and dragging your hands down your face.

"'Normal', huh?" She asked. You sent her a glare, only to find her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she smiled at you, taking great fun in making you red. Then, within an instant, as if it had been flipped like a switch, the weightless look in her eyes shifted to something far darker.

"You know," she said, and you found your heart catching in your throat. "I don't only read in my free time. I find other things to do." She was back at a whisper, leaning in towards your ear. Each enunciation reverberated in your ear drums and filled your brain with sinful ideation.

"I actually like to do things over and over. Creature of habit, really," she continued and your eyebrows rose. The classroom felt even more humid than it had before, and some sweat was already forming on your forehead. Mr. Miller stood behind his desk, and you felt hyperaware of how he kept glancing towards the both of you, his arms crossed and a deep frown on his face at the almost voyeuristic display.

The bell rang, and just as if nothing had happened, Cairo stood up, gathered her things, and walked off like she had under the bleachers.

"Wait-" You were left frozen there, watching her go out the door and down the hall. It took another ten seconds of sitting there for the spell she had cast on you again to be broken, but when it did, you shot up.

Clumsily you threw your notebook into your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder and taking off as quickly as you could. You wouldn't let Cairo flee.

She was near her locker, where you found her a few halls down. From over her shoulder, Winnie saw you coming, and sent you a friendly wave. Cairo followed her eyes, turning towards you and eyes widening. She was clearly surprised, crossing her arms over her chest as you walked right up to her and stopped.

"I have a question," you said.

"Ask away," said Cairo.

You nodded, thinking for a moment. "Why'd you pick me as your partner in this?"

She scoffed at this, uncrossing her arms and rolling her eyes like you were missing something obvious. It hadn't mattered how loud the passing crowd around you was. You heard her loud and clear, and it filled you with a sense of warmth that you hadn't felt since "fleeting" was just another word in the dictionary and not a mantra.

"Because, I think you're special," she said, only to you in the crowd of passing kids. You couldn't see Mr. Miller watching you both intently from the far wall, one arm crossed over the other.

===+++===

okay so this may or may not be a series i'm starting, but i at least know there is a part two that's already halfway done. part of what took me so long and why i've been gone for like a month has just been me agonising over every damn word. so. enjoy this bad boy ig? not that much happens in this part, but i promise the next part will be kind of crazy.

[baelaria]

Coming back from Narnia pt. 2 Edmund

When Edmund is put back into the body of a ten year old, after having a taste of adulthood, he’s absolutely distraught. His chess pieces, Cair Paravel, the street lamp, everything’s gone.

He looks at his siblings, almost likely suffering, and they slowly stand up, hand in hand, facing the now strange world once again.

At home Helen doesn’t notice much change in her youngest boy. Apart from the newfound affection towards her and his beloved people and the interest he seems to cultivate in war strategy and chess, he looks like the boy he was before the beginning of the war.

But nothing’s like it seems.

Edmund is pestered by violent dreams full of war and bloodshed, just like Peter is. But he somehow controls them better, at least doesn’t wake up screaming at the top of his lungs. Even though sometimes he does wake up in the middle of the night, and not for the scared screaming of his brother next door, and so he silently rises from his bed, clutching tightly his night robe, scared to hit something in the dark as he ascends down the corridor to his older sister’s bedroom.

Susan barely even opens her eyes as she feels Edmund hugging her tightly, pressing his tear stained cheeks in her nightgown silently, listening to her shallow and regular heartbeat.

She slowly moves her hands through his hair until he calms down and stops shaking, until his breath becomes shallow and regular as well.

She doesn’t sing a melody, nor comforts him with words. She knows that nothing will ever fill the deep chasm that is inside Edmund’s heart since he began fighting at the ripe age of eleven. And she doesn’t mention it during the day. But their mother has found them countless times curled up into one another well past the rise of the sun, also comforting one another in deep sleep.

Edmund’s teachers find him astonishing. He’s very talented and good with words, so precise with his wording that a few classmates have started to call him silver tongue.

Ed’s flattered, but every time he hears that name he makes a very nostalgic expression, almost like remembering something far, far away.

Mostly because his counselors used to call him silver tongued, also astonished by his long formal and exquisite letters he used to write to neighboring countries in the name of Peter the Magnificent.

But he is not only good with words.

As soon as he joins the chess club, which, obviously, is one of the first things he asks to do to his mum shortly after coming back; he finds truthful rivals worth many long nights in front of fireplaces with a chessboard at hand.

His rivals actually never find a way to understand his strategies, but once or twice somebody manages to beat him. Maybe after having had a short chat with one of Edmund’s sisters, but that he mustn’t know of course.

So through this valid rivalry he does find one or two friends and so often invites them to play against him in front of a freshly made pack of Turkish delights and a hot cup of tea. Who is to say no that ?

But Edmund also takes on fencing. Sure, the literary courses and activities are between his favorites, but he dearly misses fighting with a sword at hand, forever reminiscing the time when he always had a sword at his side and a shield in his hand.

So he takes on fencing. And he is surely grandiose at it. Actually, after not even a week, he even manages to beat the instructor, who baffled, must also somehow explain to his other students how Edmund beat him, even though he himself cannot really formulate a proper explanation.

So, bored, Edmund forces his brother to take on fencing as well.

At first Peter isn’t really delighted of the idea, thinking that the balance of fencing is completely different, making it hard for such a prude knight as him, but somehow Edmund manages to convince him, and boy was it the right decision.

Edmund and Peter right away find a kind of balance of their own, swinging through the classroom light as feathers. A few students even think that they’re dancing instead of fencing. But the Pevensie brothers just have a connection of their own, different from all kinds of stuff those people had seen before.

Ah, and of course another hobby of his. Edmund deeply enjoys reading, often also to other people. He loves reading lavish tales about faraway kingdoms to Lucy, who loves to be lulled into his arms while imagining those faraway kingdoms.

But he also appreciates silence while reading.

All the siblings know where to find their brother when they’re desperately searching for him, and he is overjoyed to be found in the library, feet tucked under his legs, arms with book in hand resting on the mahogany leather armrest of the comfortable chair he was sitting in.

His library back in Narnia was almost as big as a small ballroom, but back in London he has to settle with a single wall full of books.

But that does not stop him from buying more books. The bookshop employees of the little bookstore at the angle of a small street know him very well by now, even offering discounts, knowing he will always be back for other books that might peek his interest the next time he visits the little bookshop.

And so also Edmund has left a piece of his soul back in Narnia, desperately trying to fill the hole with hobbies and interests he also had back there.

But nothing will ever feel like Narnia, except - maybe- returning there…

[scrollonso]

First Kiss (Race 14)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (1.7k words, pure fluff) [@v3lnys @biancathecool] {LANCE FIRST WIN 🤯 aka fluff before crazy angst}

last part - masterlist - next part

Lance got to the paddock with Nico, Racing Point having booked a different hotel than Renault so the Canadian had to wait until later to see his boyfriend.

"It's so fucking hot, I don't understand why they want us both to do media today. I'm gonna melt" The younger of the two complained, practically dragging his feet on the pavement as they walked towards the cameras.

"You'll be fine, Bubu, just rush them" Nico laughed, wrapping an arm around Lance as they reached the bundle of reporters, quickly bombarded with questions about both this weekends race and their personal lives.

Lance had grown to not mind media days, most of the questions either being about developments to the car or his and Fernandos relationship.

He could talk about how wonderfully him and the Spaniard got on for hours, it was almost embarrassing how his body language changed the second the older man was mentioned.

As he was walking away from the crowd of media personell he was stopped by a familliar voice, bright smile taking over his face as soon as he spoke

"Lancito!" Fernando called, walking a little faster to catch up to the boy in pink, arm draping over his shoulder as they walked closer to their garages, side-by-side on the grid.

"Hi, Nando" The teenager beamed, hearing the clicking of the cameras behind them "Sleep good?"

"Not at all" Fernando groaned, unable to wipe the smile off his face even as he complained "Would've been better if you weren't so far" He quickly added, shooting Lance a cheeky grin

The Canadian hit his shoulder, shaking his head at the mans comment "Dirty, dirty, old man!"

"Old??" The Spaniard scoffed, pulling away from Lance as they reached their garages "I'm hurt, mi vida, so hurt"

"Well, you can take it out on me on the track" Lance rolled his eyes, the two exchanging soft smiles before disappearing into their pink and blue garages, ready to prepare for quali.

As Lance drove back into the pit lane he had no idea what place he was in, some cars still trying to get in the fastest laps possible as he pulled himself out of his seat.

"You were quick out there, Lance, let's hope it paid off" Brad commented, already by Lance's side to take his helmet and balaclava

"Thanks, I'm feeling pretty confident in both the car and the track." Lance hummed, nodding to himself as he glanced around, seeing Giancarlo pull into the pits with Fernando close behind "Not sure what changed but it's a big improvement."

Lance and Fernando leaned against the wall between the two garages as they finished figuring out lap times and setting up the starting grid. Fernando found out his place first, having qualified 3rd because Felipe Massa was given a 5 second penalty for track limits.

Brad ran up to Lance next, practically yanking the boy away from the man in front of him as he began speaking quickly

"YOU'RE ON POLE, LANCE"

"What?" Lance furrowed his brows, unsure if Brad was saying what he heard him say

"POLE, P1." He confirmed "Your lap time in Q3 was 1.25.801, you're brilliant"

Lance smiled, pulling Brad into a tight hug once he realized he really had qualified on pole, it was insane, he out qualified Fernando for the first time ever and would be starting the Turkish Grand Prix from the front row, now all he had to do was pray for a podium finish as well.

As soon as Brad let go of him he was pulled away by Fernando, the Spaniard practically smothering the boy

"Joder!" The Spaniard started, hands cupping the Canadians face as he pulled back slightly to get a good look at him "Eres el mejor, mi vida"

Lance laughed, jaw hurting from how hard he'd been smiling, the Spaniards praise not helping

"Are you ready to look up to me on that top step?" Lance asked, unsure if he really believed that would be the outcome of the race

"Am so ready," Fernando smiled, praying nothing would go wrong in the next days race "Cannot wait, Lancito"

Lance was in a good mood as soon as he got the paddock the next day, being asked how he felt about starting the race on pole really made it feel real.

"How are you feeling today, Lance? Nervous to have Michael Schumacher and Fernando Alonso so close behind you?"

"I feel fine, if i can out qualify them it shouldn't be hard to beat them today" He said sinply, not sure if he believed his own words.

As he made his way to his garage he was greeted by Nico, who was starting 10th but still managed to be excited for his friend and teammate.

"Welcome, race winner" He beamed, dorky grin on his face as his hands fell on the younger boys shoulders

"Don't jinx me, you saukerl!" Lance laughed, pushing Nico slightly

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Lance?" The German gasped, covering Lance's lips with his hand, the two insanely close "Who taught you that word?"

The boy tried to respond, his words coming out mumbled in the Germans hand

"Oh, right" Nico laughed, moving his hand so he could undersfand Lance

"The Schumachers say it a lot"

"Well they're adults! You're just a säugling" Nico cooed, moving his hands to Lances cheeks to tease him

"Fuck off" He groaned, turning his face away. He knew whatever Nico said was making fun of him but he couldn't help but smile at the funny sounding word.

Nico and Lance stood to the side of the grid as their engineers swarmed the teammates cars, Lance back at p10 to talk with the man before the race started.

It was hot, the boys overheating in their pink race suits. Nico unscrewed the lid of his waterbottle, shoving it into the Canadians hand as he poured water on himself then Lance, the contrast in temperatures feeling heavenly.

Lance set down the lid, both of their hands combing through their hair at the same time. Lance's was darker and a little longer but the two had grown more popular because of their long hair, fans saying it made up for their poor performance that season.

He gripped the wheel, it was weird looking ahead and seeing no ones rear, he hoped to keep it that way but he couldn't help but miss recognizing people and waving at his acquaintances in the midfield as they awaited the start.

His heart almost stopped as the red lights ahead of him turned off, pushing hard right away.

He got away brilliantly, Brad radioing in to praise him for his start as soon as it'd happened. He was sure Fernando fighting Michael for 2nd and Giancarlos spin on turn 1 helped him a good amount.

"What Mclaren is in the wall?" Lance asked a lap later, Brad having told him earlier that there was now over a 1.8 second gap between him and Michael who was battling Fernando for 2nd.

"That's Kimi. He's all good but theres a yellow flag"

The next 11 laps went on fine, now under a green flag he'd lengthened the gap to 2.3, very pleased with himself and he could tell Brad was too.

His hopes were just getting higher until a safety car was called out, Vitantonio having spun and stopped in the middle of the track.

"Pit now, Lance. Safety car. Pit now."

"Coming" He responded, entering the pit lane with Michael and Fernando following behind him. "This is so scary I'm gonna piss myself, Brad."

"Not in the car, Lance."

He laughed, shaking his head as he pulled out, watching in his mirrors as Fernando made it out ahead of Michael, now in p2 right behind him.

The rest of the race was fairly comfortable, Michael took the lead from lap 40-43 but Lance got it back soon after which earned him some cheers from Brad.

"Insane work there, Lance. Fucking insane."

"I think I'm gonna fucking explode, Man" Lance said, voice high pitched as he tried his hardest to rebuild the gap he'd lost

He made up a 1.2 second gap as the last lap started, Fernando visibly fighting to keep 2nd and just barely making it as they crossed the line.

"AND LANCE STROLL WINS THE TURKISH GRAND PRIX AND IS NOW A FORMULA ONE RACE WINNER" The racea commentator roars, the crowd screaming as Lance's hands shook on his steering wheel, breathing heavily as he struggled to come to terms with this being real.

"LANCE STROLL YOU ARE A RACE WINNER" Brad screamed over the radio, all of the Racing Point staff audibly cheering which just further confirmed that he really just did it.

"YES. Thank you, thank you guys this means so much I owe you all the world."

Fernandos engineer radioed in, the Spaniard barely registering his words

"That's p2, Fernando, 1.2 behind Lance and 0.0 ahead of Michael. Terrific job."

"Lance? Lance won?" Fernando spoke loudly, the smile on his face audible even through the shitty audio quality

"Yes, p1 for the first time, you proud of your friend?"

"So proud." He muttered before turning off his radio, in awe at the news and now more ready than ever to park his car and greet the race winner.

As soon as Fernandos car stopped he exited his car faster than he ever had, running to the Canadian and pulling him into a hug.

"Lance, fuck, te quiero mucho mi vida." Fernando said breathlessly, hands on either side of the boys helmet as he pulled away to look at him, so insanely proud of his lover.

"Told you I was gonna beat you." Lance laughed, eyes practically closed with how wide he was smiling.

Michael came over, helmet and balaclava already off as he patted the rookie on his back "Great work, Stroll."

"Thank you!" The boy nodded, moving away from Fernando to look at Michael as they spoke. Crazy. THE Michael Schumacher was congratulating HIM.

Lance stood on the top step of the podium, Canadian anthem coming to an end before he was absolutely waterboarded with champagne from either side, covering his face as he was soaked.

It felt amazing. The top step. The sun. The cheers from the crowd. The Spaniard beside him. It couldn't have been a more perfect race.

[terraelbus]

Small Horror Headcanons

- he purposely crunches his bones in a disgusting manner, which is extremely annoying to Bad Sanses, but even after being asked to stop doing so, he continues, as he enjoys taunting them in this way.

- before joining Nightmere, he hadn't been a good cook and wasn't generally picky about his food, but now that he was no longer permanently hungry, he began to pay more attention to what he ate and gradually learned to cook quite well. Although at the initial stage all his cooking was almost tasteless and bland, because after a long starvation he had developed an intolerance to spices, too salty, bitter, sweet, etc., that is, any food with spices could literally kill him. It took him a long time to get used to them again. He also cooked rather small portions, because the usual amount of food could also do him more harm than good.

- he can run fast on all fours.

- the starvation has caused some bones to twist and stretch. For example, it affects his feet, so he can't wear shoes that aren't custom-made for him.

- he has bonded with Nightmare on the grounds that he is the oldest of the gang, and when the youngsters (usually Killer and Murder) do shit, he and his boss stand aside, watching and discussing with judgment. Then Horror will definitely go to break them up as soon as it smells hot, but first of all he will discuss them with the boss, and only then he will go to deal with them. Though sometimes the boys drag him into their adventures, too.

- he has scoliosis, which is slightly aggravated by the fact that he's the tallest in the gang and has to bend over all the time, especially when talking to Nightmare.

- he's usually in charge of fixing anything broken in the castle.

- Horror got along best with Cross, as the latter relieved him of household chores, which before Cross joined the gang he was almost solely responsible for. Cleaning, cooking (partly because of Dust and Killer he started to learn to cook, at first it wasn't very good, but these two generally don't care what to eat, so they didn't complain), shopping, laundry and so on.

- he and Error hit it off because of their love for intricate multi-part serials like Undernovela, they also love Turkish serials like Magnificent Century. While Error is knitting something, Horror holds his yarn or sews/knits something for company too.

- he can be very stubborn and meticulous if he needs to find something or get to the bottom of something; he won't stop, he'll stub his toe like a sheep, but he'll do it.

- because of the wind in his head, which enters through the hole in his skull, he is always dizzy outside in bad weather, and if the wind is very strong, which causes whistling in his skull, then headaches are added to the dizziness. So he usually walks around with a hood or hat on, so as not to be distracted by his ailments and not to attract unnecessary attention, even though he doesn't like wearing hats.

- if he wants to, his eye can roll from one eye socket to the other.

- he has amazing intuition, he can use one fleeting detail to build up an almost complete picture of what's going on in his head.

- he has lost his sensitivity to the smell of blood and other odors emanating from dead bodies, so he asks one of the Bad Sans to smell him to make sure he's washed the scent of deadness off himself.

- он специально противно хрустит костями, чем крайне подбешивает Бед Сансов, но даже после просьб прекратить так делать он продолжает, так как ему нравится таким образом издеваться над ними.

- до присоединения к Найтмеру он не умел готовить и в общем-то неразборчиво относиться к пище, но теперь, перестав испытывать перманентный голод, он стал больше уделять внимание тому, что ест и постепенно научился неплохо готовить. Хотя на первоначальном этапе вся его готовка была практичес��и безвкусной и пресной, ведь после долгого голодания у него выработалась непереносимость специй, слишком солёная, горькая, сладкая и тд, то есть любая еда со специями могла буквально убить его. Ему долго приходилось привыкать к ним вновь. Так же он готовил довольно маленькие порции, так как обычное количество еды могло тоже ему больше навредить, чем принести пользу.

- он умеет бегать быстро на четвереньках.

- из-за опять же голода некоторые кости искривились и вытянулись. К примеру, это касается стоп, потому он не может теперь носить обувь, не сделанную специально ему на заказ.

- он сблизился с Найтмером на почве того, что он самый старший из банды, и когда молодёжь (обычно Киллер и Мёрдер) творит херню, он с боссом стоит в сторонке, наблюдая и с осуждением обсуждая. Потом Хоррор обязательно пойдёт их разнимать, как только запахнет жаренным, но перво-наперво пообсуждает их с боссом, и только потом пойдёт разбираться. Хотя и его бывает парни втягивают в свои приключения, не без этого.

- у него сколеоз, который слегка усугубился из-за того, что он самый высокий в банде и ему постоянно приходится наклоняться, особенно при общении с Найтмером.

- обычно он отвечает за починку чего-либо сломанного в замке.

- лучше всего Хоррор поладил с Кроссом, так как тот разгрузил его в плане домашних обязанностей, за которые до прихода в банду Кросса он отвечал практически единолично. Уборка, готовка (отчасти из-за Даста и Киллера он и начал учиться готовить, сначало получалось не очень, но этим двоим в целом плевать что жрать, так что они не жаловались), поход по магазинам, стирка и тд.

- он и Эррор поладили из-за любви к замудрённым многосерийным замудрённым сериалам по типу Андерновелы, им также нравятся турецкие сериалы по типу "Великолепного века". Пока Эррор что-то вяжет, Хоррор держит ему пряжу или тоже что-то шьёт/вяжет за компанию.

- он может быть очень упёртым и дотошным, если ему что-то нужно найти или докапываться в чём-то до сути; он не остановится в таком случае, упрётся как баран, но сделает.

- из-за ветра в голове, попадающего через дырку в черепе, у него постоянно кружится голова на улице в непогоду, а если ветер очень сильным, что вызывает свист в черепе, то к головокружению добавляются и головные боли. Поэтому он обычно ходит в капюшоне или шапке на миссиях, чтобы не отвлекаться на недомогания и не привлекать лишнее внимание, хоть ему и не нравится носить головные уборы.

- если он захочет, то его глаз может перекатываться из одной глазницы в другую.

- у него потрясающая интуиция, он может по одной мимолётной детали выстроить в голове практически полную картину происходящего.

- он потерял чувствительность к запаху крови и другим запахам, исходящим от мёртвых тел, потому он просит кого-нибудь из Бед Сансев понюхать его, чтобы убедиться, что он смыл аромат мертвечины с себя.

[sulfies]

Desmond would 100% have a praise kink. He can flirt like no one's business, but the minute any of the boys start telling him what a "good boy" he is or that he is "doing so good", his brain shuts down and he melts.

Or him having a horrible realization he has a daddy kink would be funny.

I think we can agree All the Assassins have praise kink... They all havent been appriciated enough lol. I think All (including Des) would be emberassed by it lowkey tho

Connor would say "hmm...better than how I would set it, good job" to Ezio after he sets a snare trap and ezio is like "...learned from the best" inside he is yippiiii~

Altaïr would praise Desmond in training and Desmond would instantly put 100% more and try to show off that he can fight like Altaïr lol

Ezio would say smthn like "Your thirst of knowledge makes me jelous Altaïr, You got a good head for a lot..." First altair would snip back at the innuendo but also be smug about Ezio calling him smart the whole day (even tho yes ofc he is duh)

Desmond would patch Connors wounds and be like "goddamn what did they feed you, how are you built like this, where did these genes go and why did they miss me?!" Admire his muscles and Connor slowly blushes more as he stares at the ground and if he maybe flexes his bicep or stuff a bit when Des touches...who can blame him

Someone could ask one of the 3 about a memory or something and they would be like "oh I dont remember it was yrs ago wasnt that big of a-" and Desmond would be like "I fkcn do, here is how it went and how awsome it was" and the other would be like trying to not grin the whole time like lovesick dumbass

-----

Now

Im such a fkcn party pooper but I dont like Daddy kink😭 no shaming those who like it tho, I do enjoy a hot father figure character. I think its the same w me not liking english petnames it just sounds weird to my ear lol 😭 Turkish also use "Baba" so I cant have him say it in other languages as well like for Altaïr lolol

[hirsuteandcute]

One of the things that still hurts me deeply about hair removal culture is the loss of innocence. I was sitting in a shopping centre today having a drink and I saw this little girl, maybe around 8 or 9 with her mum and older sister, I think Turkish, and she had this glitzy little tank top on, probably dressing up for he last day of school since it's school holidays now. She had visible dark hair up to her shoulders and on her lower back and she was running around playing with her sister without a care in the world, just looking so happy and free and I felt a pang in my heart, I was both so happy and so sad for her. I thought about the last time I was unaware of my body hair or of my body at all, and I can't even remember it. I remember being 7 or 8 and messing around with the sink when washing my paintbrushes at school and one of the kids pointed out how dark the hair on my arms was when it got wet. And since then I couldn't stop noticing it and how much darker and more visible it was than everyone elses, even the boys, especially whenever I had to put on a tshirt for P.E. or a dress in the summer. And I remember going home one day and trying to cut all my arm hair off with a pair of craft scissors and my mum found out and was so angry because she thought that I since cut the hair it was going to grow back even thicker and darker and that I was going to look like a freak (her exact words - thanks mum). So she started waxing my 8 year old arms with hot wax even though it burnt my skin. Then when I was 10 she started waxing my legs. Then my underarms, then my bikini line, and when I was 17 she tried to persuade me to get a brazilian wax.

The world is just so messed up for little girls, it's like no one cares that you're a child, you're a female first so you have to fit the standard of beauty from childhood at whatever cost. It's like a curse, as soon as you become aware of some new 'flaw' you can't unsee it or stop thinking about it and you're expected to 'fix' it. And it's getting even worse with the rise of even more ridiculous beauty standards and procedures and social media and now we're seeing 14 year olds with anti aging routines. I genuinely feel like the destruction of innocence as a girl is such a scarring experience, you stop being a relatively carefree and happy child who is unaware of the expectations of beauty and start having to become a 'girl'

[yuzuna123]

how would the Mishima fam spend christmas post Tekken 8 and in the past when Kazumi was alive?

ohh headcanon time!

So after Tekken 8 and of course, after Heihachi is defeated. Hopefully in Tekken 9. Kazuya on Christmas eve would take Jun and Mikoto out on a fancy restaurant somewhere in Tokyo for lunch and hot chocolate and snow fun. Much to Kazuya's annoyance, Jin would come and join them as well!. The four would later then join Lee and Anna at their house after their outing. They would have a nice time there with them and Lars and Alisa too. Lee would spoil Mikoto a lot and buy her anything she wants and give her lots of money!. Mikoto loved how Lee's residence was decorated for christmas, the Mishima residence was decorated full of elegance too but the Chaolan residence was marvelous~

Mikoto and the Mishima family would stay at the Chaolan residence for the night where Santa would bring them their presents! Mikoto would wake up first and open hers. She always got excited for her presents and loved everything she got!.

Later Hwoarang and Xiaoyu would join them and of course, Victor with his nephew Ben, bringing some fresh wine for the adults. Claudio and Zafina would come as well with some presents. Lidia would at some point join somewhat late because of her job, she would bring some delicates and cakes for christmas. Asuka would be invited by Jun and Lee, and of course Lili would be dragged too. They would both come and Lili would bring the most expensive presents and deserts ever.

Reina wouldn't go to Chaolan residence, as my headcanon is that she lives in california and studies in LA but she would video call them and wish them a Merry Christmas and a happy new year. She would hang out with her classmates that day and have an outing with them at her own appartment. She also has a cat and a dog! a Shiba and a white Turkish Angora cat. She named the boy doggo Ryu and the girl cat serafina. She dresses them up for the whole holidays and posts pictures of them online on her instagram as well as her facebook.

After she finishes her studies, i either have the headcanon she would stay in the US or go back to Japan. I haven't decided, which do you think would work? i hope you liked my headcanons!.

After Christmas was over, Mikoto, Kazuya and Jun would go home where Mikoto would run into the christmas tree and open the presents Santa brought her here.

In the past the Mishima family, Heihachi, would keep Christmas time a bit low but special. Kazuya would train with Jinpachi and drink tea while warming up at his house. Later he would go home where Kazumi would welcome him with a dinner. When he would wake up for Christmas, Jinpachi, Kazumi and Heihachi would take him to a near by restaurant to eat for the special day. He would open up his presents before!, and he would always get something special he would ask his mother that year. After his mother and Jinpachi died and Lee joined the family, Christmas became a painful time for Kazuya as he would remember the wonderful time he spend with his beloved mother and grandfather.

[15-lizards]

loved your asoiaf characters and their olympic sports post!

do you have any more thoughts for other characters?

So many

Theon is in skateboarding but he couldn’t compete in the last games bc he failed his drug test. When he finally makes it he talks big game but gets nervous during his actual runs and busts his ass like twelve different times. Also he has beef with the twelve year old skaters. Also he sees Tony Hawk and the crowd and almost pisses himself then eats shit again. Safe to say he does not medal

Meera is in archery, she gets her first gold when she’s like 15. A modest prodigy. Kinda like that Turkish Olympic shooter who’s going viral rn for having no special gear just vibes. Has no fancy lenses or gloves or anything she just shows up, shoots a bunch of bullseyes, goes :], gets her gold medal, and disappears off the face of the earth for another four years.

Bran is in the Paralympics for archery, cause he watched Meera on tv when he was younger and freshly wheelchair bound, and was inspired 🥺 gets lots of love online for being such a wide eyed cutie. All of his interviews are precious. His siblings are in the stands at every match screaming for him (especially Robb). Robb never misses a chance to promote his brother to the cameras after his own rugby games, and literally runs onto the field to hug him after bran wins his first silver

Oberyn is a beach volleyball veteran, and goes viral without fail every four years. Lifts up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and suddenly everyone’s rooting for a Dornish gold medal. Insanely talented and more than a little bit cocky about it, but he still funds volleyball programs for underprivileged youth (good for the pr). Messy personal life, his Wikipedia page is like a gossip tabloid for his drug and sex scandals. Also raises up all his daughters to be olympians of course.

Renly does fencing and the international committee literally banks on his pretty boy looks to get people invested in the sport. Very quick on his feet, and usually darts around to avoid getting hit. Twitter artists love using him for drawing references for some reason. Twitter fujos ship him with whatever other hot fencer they see him talking to. Which is fair bc he usually is fucking them but his main boyfriend is rugby player Loras 💜

[impetusofadream]

Calling all Stucky/Steve Rogers/Captain America fans!!!!

My friend needs help! They're looking for a fic that they're 99% sure was Stucky, obviously Marvel/MCU fandom and had the following bitchin' snipet in it somewhere. Sadly they do not recall much else other than it's at least a year old, ask they saved this passage in thier notes on Jan 2 2024:

"Today has… not gone well so far,” Steve says, as the doors shut.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

“My high horse turned out to be a Shetland pony,” Steve sighs.

“They so often do,” Natasha says quietly. “Hot fudge sundae cheer you up?”

“Yes. Extra maraschino cherries, though.”

“Freak,” Natasha snorts.

“Hey, you’re the one who likes Turkish Delight,” Steve counters.

“The White Witch was unfairly maligned. Tempting young boys with Turkish Delight is absolutely a valid career path,” Natasha hums as the elevator doors open on the main lobby floor. “Plus, it’s delicious. Especially the rose flavour.”

“One day you’re going to realise that opinion is just another fake Red Room implant,” Steve counters.

Natasha gasps, and puts her hand over her chest. “But those memories… they’re real… to me,” she fake-sobs."

If you recognize this and have the ao3 link or can help me find it, you will have my everlasting love and fealty. I believe in you Stucky/MCU Tumblr!!!!

[itstokkii]

All these anons just make me want to talk about Turkey more. What are your favorite Turkey headcanons? Personally I love to think that Sadik writes poetry in his spare time, and is very, very good at it.

As someone who ships Turkfra because of how fascinating the history between France and the Ottoman Empire is (Franco-Ottoman alliance) I like to think that they would both really bond over each other’s rich poetry culture. Not to mention their rich cuisines. Maybe they cook together in the evenings, or take turns cooking and surprising each other with elaborate dinners.

Youre so right

aph turkey hcs

- physically he's around 180cm, perhaps he had visible muscles during the ottoman empire period but he's mellowed out now and let a little softness take over his form. He put on a little bit of weight bc he's a sweet tooth but it fluctuates from time to time.

- definitely keeps cat treats in his pocket for the stray cats of istanbul!! and when he fishes he leaves a portion for the cats to eat!

- while he is a cat person and owns cats(one of them is named tombili 🥺), he also owns a few dogs too! he probably gets along with germany on that part(maybe korea? though korea owns the cute fluffy tiny dogs that feel the need to eat your face off when it makes eye contact with you).

- is a man of the kitchen. aside from cooking the most banger meals, he dabbles in tweaking recipes or creating new ones altogether! ive seen enough turkish dessert accounts on instagram to know he'd make a bomber cake with coconut shavings, or a pretty good custard.

- the coconut shavings are important btw they're like on every single homemade turkish chocolate cake for some reason??(source: baby tokki grew up with a lot of turkish family friends)

- sorry i have to do this but...he has mediocre drip 🥲 sometimes he dresses like your average old man or middle aged dad and then sometimes it's so obvious that he's trying to dress like the youngsters.. he def has his knockoff Adidas tracksuits and they always come in clutch

- he's not an old man however. he was born as one of the many tribes running around in the seljuk era before he eventually became the ottoman empire. physically...around his mid 20s to early 30s?

- and cuz he has turkish dad vibes...he regularly watches soccer games. like he lays down on the couch elbow propped up eating pistachios as he watches soccer in a Galatasaray shirt(actually turkish fans of hetalia pls tell me who hed be a fan of bc I don't regularly watch turkish soccer)

- regularly plays volleyball!

- life of the party at weddings tbh, especially those rural ones

- very hospitable! he'll arrange a table full of treats and black tea for you and won't take no for an answer as he brags about how hospitable he is.

- when you're at his house DO NOT EVER suggest getting takeout. he will stare at you with a >:0 face

- WILL spill the tea over tea. man's got enough connections to tell you abt who's cheating on who etc. while he has his whole spread of treats and black tea out he'll keep you up on everything. when he goes "Ok so basically" that's when you brace yourself because OH BOY is someone in a secret relationship with someone else and that person you'd always assumed was super shy actually sprinkled salt on their ex's backyard

- the ac in his istanbul apartment keeps breaking(good luck with that man 😔)

- that's why in the summer he spends a big chunk of his paycheck on icecream. bro makes sure to always have icecream stocked on him at all times(just like me fr !!). he'd even eat it in the winter he loves it that much.

- also at the same time he drinks hot tea in the 40-50 degree summer as well, another win for the turkuzbek fans !

- big into architecture, and back in the day it was custom to write a poem to commemorate a new building. he definitely wrote a few but spent forever thinking about how to write it and pissed a lot of people off because they were waiting for the poem lol

- i actually really like fraturk's dynamic! because theyve got a lot of history together, it would be terrible to ignore. i think they have definitely gotten together during the Franco-Ottoman alliance lol.

- one time the french wanted to flex on austria × spain by going "oh yeah??? well we got turkey!!" and commissioned a huge super ornate crown to gift to suleiman the great. see the funny part about this is um. the turks didn't wear crowns. so suleiman never wore it lol

turkey, holding the crown: uhmmmm... wall decoration I guess?? this is awkward

- the name "turquoise" comes from the French "turkish" to describe the gem. i guess that's a fraturk win??? since we all associate that color with turkey now

- they'd probably try to one up each other with the dinners they cook! (can france handle lahmacun??? tune in later today at 11pm to find out !!)

- coffee guy x tea guy with the whole parisian coffee culture and turkish tea culture thing. (except I mean. turkish coffee also exists so)

- I wanna think france tries to help turkey with his drip situation but. turkey always got that inner middle aged dad in him it's not going anywhere

- bulgaria likes going to turkeys place cuz the stuff there is dirt cheap ~~~~!!! rip the lira you would have loved economic stability

- speaking of bulgaria, bulgaria greece and turkey argue a lot over who invented yogurt. turkey thinks he's got a stake in it because of the etymology of yogurt(yoğurtmak), but like the bacteria to make yogurt is called lactobacillius bulgaricus, but everyone thinks of greek yogurt...yeah you can see why they're all arguing

- speaking of arguing he's ratioed saudi a couple times on twitter lol

- he also posts those ironic turk/turan copy pastas as well

- egypt kinda doesn't like him. during the ottoman empire turkey launched egypt to suppress arab revolts like a pokemon.

*putting down fingers* "the greeks don't like us, egypt doesn't like us, saudi definitely doesn't like us....bulgaria likes us cuz we're a cheap travel destination for them..." - my turkish business teacher in highschool, 2023

- gets along well with korea(uhoh BIAS incoming !!!) due to their history beginning from the korean war. the turkish brigade was the only military unit that built a school for korean orphans. there's a story of a soldier taking care of a korean orphan, but he wasn't able to adopt her. they were separated for years after that until one day they reunited. they'd also suffered the third most losses in the war. that's why we call turkey our "older brother country."

- there's even a turkish culture center in seoul(which baby tokki went to a lot lol). recently turkish kaymak has been trending since one of the top korean celebrity chefs paik joongwon visited turkey a while back to try food. people have been traveling to turkey to go to the exact stores and try those foods as well. there's a lot of kebab shops in korea! the turkish presence in korea was the starting point to accommodate muslims in korea as well.

- all of this to say korea and turkey have a mutual admiration and korea definitely calls turkey oppa or hyung. korea also tries to get him to change his drip but NOTHJNG CAN DEFEAT THE STEADFAST TURKISH MIDDLE AGED MAN RAAAH 🇹🇷🇹🇷🇹🇷

- I've said it before I'll say it again: turkey cannot hold a normal conversation with mongolia because he'll always go "OH MY FELLOW NOMAD STEPPE ALTAIC BROTHER HOW ARE YOU DOING!!!" what???

- same with the central asians tbh given their nomadic history as well. he was the first nation to recognize all of their indepences fom russia. he gets along with turkmenistan a lot because they're the closest languages to each other(both in oghuz family) and a lot of turkmens go to turkey to study at their universities! the governments quite stagnant with their policies however, so turkey's having a hard time convincing her to join the turkic council as a full time member. they give me a gojo and megumi vibe for some reason lol

- kazakhstan 🤝 turkey: both having the asian/european identity crisis

- in terms of first meetings, the kazakh khanate and ottoman empire first established diplomatic relations in 1713, and along with uzbekistan, tried to seek turkey's help in the face of an expanding russian empire.

- nowadays, turkey and kazakhstan are the ones to both try to stir up that regional/turkic unity among the central asians. they've gained some small wins along the way lol. in fact, turkey, kazakhstan, and kyrgyzstan were the founding members of the turkic council! kazakhstan admires all that turkey's doing for them but sometimes thinks he's too cocky. actually all the central asians think he's cocky to certain extents lol

- bro gets along a little better with hungary now and that could be because of the whole "huns=turkic?" debate resurfacing in hungary which is why they somehow landed a spot in the turkic council as well???

uzb kaz kyrg turk azer @ hungary: white woman jumpscare,

- he and hungary regularly bother prussia whenever they're in germany lol

- scraps w the netherlands bc tulips come from him!!! not from Licorice Man!!!!!

- fluctuating relationship with iran over the years

- was a fanboy of iran during the seljuk empire until she joined the khwarazmian empire(uzb's mom lol) and then he hated her

- also close with: azerbaijan(who may or may not be his number one fanboy), japan

Here's everything I could squeeze out of my brain lol hope you like it!!

a good chunk of these hcs are by @peonycats and @hetalia-fannn btw!! sorry for not initially crediting u guys i forgot 😭

[baohanhanesel]

Ghoap.

Ghoap Scribbles.

Spider Kiss.

Soft spot for Johnny.

Possessive/Protective Ghost.

Possessive/Protective Ghost. 2

Whipped Simon. Mask and Maskless version.

Ghoap with a strong hug.

Soap wearing the mask and smooching.

Soap booping Ghost.

Ghost in red.

Frog Ghoap

Ghoap sketch.

Some domestic morning time w the boys <3

Dark Ghoap.

Ghost and his jokes which are filled with love.

To Be Enchanted fanart. 

Possessive/Obsessive Soap.

Soap pulling Ghost by the mask.

Ghost’s a bit shaky.

Ghoap being idiots.

Cowboys comic.

Soap and Ghost Profiles.

Domestic Ghoap

Soap giving Ghost flowers.

Simon "Vampire" Riley/John "I am into that" Mactavish.

Johnny… with lace blindfold… and blood. Featuring Simon’s hands.

He wants to go home! Comic.

John Mactavish.

Simon Riley.

Modeling Comic.

Crochet Ghost… Not a drawing but still something.

“I love my hot turkish girlfriend”

NSFW Possessive Ghost.

Soap ovulation joke.

Aphrodite Soap/Ares Ghost.

Flirting like idiots.

Strong Mactavish agenda. The boobie heaven.

God Soap/Warrior Ghost au.

Simon riling up Johnny just to see him angry.

Johnny taking a shot comic. Drunk Ghoap.

Service Top Soap.

Mactavish body study w Simon.

NSFW Simon with a Mohawk.

Wooing your lieutenant the comic.

Johnny and Simon laughing under snow.

Dog Hybrid Soap/Handler Ghost w a mistletoe. Secret Santa Christmas Gift!

Eepy Simon.

Omegaverse! Aftercare with Alpha Simon/Omega John.

Ghost giving Soap a cheek smooch.

NSFW Omegaverse! Omega Simon down for Alpha John.

Demon John Soap Mactavish/Angel Simon Ghost Riley.

[missameliep]

Title: Once Upon a Summer - Part 2

Book: Desire & Decorum AU Pairing: Prince Hamid x Elizabeth Foredale (OC)

Rating: Teen

Word count: ~5.2k

Summary: Once upon a summertime, eleven-year-old Elizabeth befriended a boy at a beach. Returning to England in a rush, she didn't even say goodbye to her friend Hamid, and had little hope to ever see him again. What would happen if fate brought them together four years later? This is how their story goes...

A/N: No warnings. Just fluff. Turkish words are translated in the notes in the end.

August, 2001. 

From the airplane, Elizabeth’s eyes contemplated the lands bellow but fixed at the sight of the turquoise blue ocean. Her heart soared. Even in the company of her stepmother Henrietta, it seemed impossible to be unhappy in a dreamlike place like this. 

Her father had once more kept the promise, and the 11-year-old girl was beyond excited. 

Trying to reconcile work and vacation, it was Vincent's idea the family spent time at a resort at the Turkish Riviera while he attended business meetings at Istanbul, and later would join them at the weekend. Hopefully everything will go as planned. In his absence, there are plenty of activities to keep Elizabeth entertained and her stepmother off her back. 

Despite planning to spend most of her time at the beach – which would be a lot, considering the expected daily 12 hours of sunlight –, she made sure to research about the history, touristic attractions, and culinary to have the best experience ever with her father and the boys. Her eagerness to share those details were met with similar enthusiasm only by her father. They bought a Travel guide and a Turkish phrase book for tourists and she read them during the flight, memorising the most helpful ones, like “thank you” and “please”, even though her stepmother insisted it was pointless since everybody at the resort must speak at least rudimentary English.  

“It’d be rude if they didn’t,” she remarked at last, and huffed an exasperated breath when Elizabeth didn’t put the book away. 

Fanning herself on the short walk to the car, but refusing to take off her white blazer, Henrietta exclaimed to Elizabeth’s and Harry’s amusement, “Of all places, Vincent sent us straight to this furnace... How can anyone survive in such a horrible place!” 

On the drive from the airport to the resort, tired of the woman’s complains about the hot weather, Harry’s annoyance with the long hours travelled and Edmund’s sulking for some undisclosed reason she suspects might be a girl, Elizabeth put on the headphone and turned on the music on the mp3 player. Nely Furtado’s I’m like a bird starts playing and she smiles. 

Rolling down the window, Elizabeth inhaled the sea salty breeze and closed her eyes for a moment.  

The sea has always been Elizabeth’s happy place.  

Her earliest childhood memories are from walking at Ipanema’s finest sand and building sandcastles by the water with her mother. Once or twice her father was in the picture, and her mother would be smiling at him. Growing up near the ocean turned it into a reference and going to the beach her favourite pastime. Whenever her feet touched the warm sand and her skin submerged into the cold Atlantic waters, life was good. At the beach it was easier to forget the burden of being a spare daughter of an Earl who lived across the world from her or feeling out of place, not British enough but not entirely Brazilian either. 

When she was 9 years old, her mother announced they would move to England to be closer to her father, and she cried for two days until her eyelids were puffy and there were no more tears to shed. One could imagine her sadness was because she didn’t love her father nor wanted to be near him and her half-brother, but that was not the case; what truly saddened her was the fact the nearest beach was hours away of the county by car and the family didn’t fancy the sea like she did.  

“My little mermaid”, her father called her then, understanding her concerns, and promised at least for a few weeks every summer they would travel to be close to the sea. And so far, he kept this promise.  

Even if he could not keep the other promises made, or say no to his wife. 

This year, Henrietta threatened to forbid the boys to come along if Elizabeth’s mother accompanied her, which everybody knew would mean cancelling the trip. 

“Elizabeth is old enough to take care of herself, and you’re her father! Why is that woman even coming? Unless it’s for your enjoyment!” the woman shouted in her father's study at Edgewater, and he eventually yielded; Elizabeth wished he didn’t.  

Being away from her mother in a foreign country, even for a few weeks, would be hard. 

After the first days of glorious sun, the weekend came, but her father didn’t.  

A week after their arrival and the second time he rescheduled his flight, Elizabeth was too tired of avoiding fights with Henrietta and the malicious remarks about her appearance and manners. If her presence was so unwelcome, why would the countess deny her any opportunity to enjoy herself getting to know the region outside the limits of the resort and its private beach?    

“It’s your father’s duty, not mine,” the words were uttered with the intention to hurt her one morning during breakfast. “If he ever comes, he can take you wherever you want...” 

Without a responsible adult, she couldn’t join most of the external activities; however, this minor detail wouldn’t stop her, like Briar remarked when they were chatting online that evening. Out of spite, she decided to venture on her own and visit some of the places she was eager to see, risking a punishment later.

Early in the morning, knowing Henrietta would spend the day at the hotel’s spa, she left a note at the desk saying she would be at the beach.

Backpack stuffed with her books, two water bottles, an apple and a few dates, Turkish bread and cheese collected from the breakfast table, the Mp3 player, she sneaked out of the resort to visit the city of Fethiye and the Lycian rock tombs. It would be an adventure. 

It was a long walk to get to the city, but it was lovely seeing the beach and tourists outside the resort. At a small shop, she bought herself a pistachio ice-cream, then walked up hill to reach one of the famous tombs.  

Reaching the top, the visitors were rewarded with an amazing view of the city. When she picked up the camera, for a moment, she wished Harry or Edmund had tagged along, but both hated waking up early and hot weather. Not to mention the risk of Harry ratting on her, even if unintentionally. She took a few pictures to show them later and drank the remaining water in one of the bottles, rushing to get away from the monument as soon as a few adults started questioning if she was alone.

The sun was high in the sky on the way down, and her stomach started growling. Reaching the main promenade, while looking for a place to sit down and eat, she was startled by a screeching sound right behind her. 

Whirling around, she caught a glimpse of a young boy with a bright blue t-shirt riding a bicycle on the pavement right before he swerved to the right, almost running straight into her. Failing to redirect the bike, he collapsed a few metres ahead, right on the street. The traffic could not be called heavy, but wasn’t insignificant either, and it wouldn’t take long for a vehicle to get to him.   

Her hand covered her mouth, muffling a panicked scream; and she ran to help him back on the pavement. 

When she reached him, the boy, who was about her age, touched his knee, hissed and mumbled words in Turkish she couldn’t understand. There were no visible bruises in his face or arms, and it eased her a little. Her first instinct was to just grab him by the shoulders and pull him back, but she probably shouldn’t, even if she had the strenght to do it. 

Heart hammering in her chest, the only words in Turkish she remembered from the pocketbook inside her backpack were “merhaba”[1] and “Türkçe bilmiyorum”[2], neither helpful in this situation. 

Instead, she waved her hands. The first car swerved to avoid them, but the second coming in their direction managed to stop and halt the traffic in that lane.

“Get up before a car hit you,” she cried, and judging by his wide-eyed expression, he didn’t comprehend a word.  

Regardless of the lack of understanding in his part, she kneeled and asked for permission to help him, slowly speaking in English everything she was doing, like picking up his bike to move it to the pavement, to give him time to get up on his own. When he remained frozen on the asphalt, with those big dark eyes staring at her like a deer before being hit by a car, she offered a hand. “Come on.” 

By the time he got up by himself, a few passersby had rushed to check on him.

First, he thanked her in English. After he did, a smile curled his lips and dimpled his warm brown cheeks. It was bizarre to say the least that he’d smile after falling from the bike. 

“You were so fast,” she cried, unable to control the volume of her voice or the pace of her heart. “Are you hurt? I was so scared a car would hit you!”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he said, and motioned to the persons around them, indicating he was alright and they soon walked away, and the traffic resumed in the previously obstructed lane.

Turning around to face her, he spoke with accented but perfectly understandable English, “I got distracted for a second by the new ice-cream shop there. I love ice-cream.” He pointed at a store at the other side of the street. “Sorry for almost running you over. Are you hurt?” 

“I’m okay. Just a little… startled.” 

“I can see that. If I had money now, I would buy you an ice-cream. It always makes me feel better. I think it’s because babam1 always bought me one when I got hurt,” he sighed and leaned against the bike. “Do you like ice-cream? Because if you do, you’ll love bici bici[3]. Have you tried?” He spoke quickly, a melodic monologue, and she had no idea what bici bici was, and it somehow seemed a safer answer to simply shook her head.  

Smiling at her, he offered a hand. “My name is Hamid.” 

“Lizzy,” she told him the nickname her friends use, finding it more appropriate than the name she came to associate with etiquette and the Queen, and her smile vanished when she noticed his scrapped palms. “You’re hurt.” 

He touched his hand with a thumb and clicked his tongue. “It’s just a scratch.” 

“It’s bleeding.” Kneeling, she put her backpack down and took the remaining water bottle. “Sorry, I only have water,” she said and asked for one of his hands. She poured the water, letting it remove the dirty of the street. 

While she focused on the task, Hamid kept looking at her, with an unabashed smile. 

“Where are you from?” he asked, while she poured the water on his other hand. 

“England.”

“No offense, but you don’t sound British” 

She looked up and refrained from laughing. 

“And how do they sound like?” 

“Like this stuffy teacher I had in school,” he replied, and started speaking random words with a heavy accent like he were a Bond villain, and she supposed he was mimicking said teacher. “You’re lucky you don’t sound like that!” 

“Not all Brits speak the same way, there are different dialects, you know…” 

“I didn’t know that!” he admitted while looking at his palms. “Which dialect do you speak?” 

She laughed. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

“I can’t help it, I’m very curious, and I love making new friends.”  

The word friend was misused in her opinion, considering the fact he is a local boy and she is a tourist due to stay another 12 days, and they would never see each other again. But his expression was so welcoming, and the idea of having a friend – even if on a temporary arrangement – to go to the beach with and walk around the city sounded somehow appealing due to her current loneliness. And a much easier deal to a shy girl like herself since he was offering. 

Hanging her backpack on one shoulder, she shoved her hands inside the pockets of her shorts and contemplated the idea of having a picnic.  

“So, Hamid, before you attempted to trample me, I was going to have a snack,” she said softly, “if you’re not doing anything, I can share with you. It’s not much… but…”  

“Sure!” Holding the handlebars of his blue bike without touching his palms, he started walking and called over his shoulder. “Come on, Lizzy, I know the perfect place.” 

The boy was lively and cheerful, just a few inches taller than her. His skin was a tanned warm brown, much lighter than her mother’s, and his hair straight and black, with longer locks in the front that almost covered his dark expressive eyebrows. His eyes were also of a very dark shade of brown, almost black as his pupils. Like the pearls of her grandmother’s necklace, his teeth were perfectly lined and shiny, and whenever he smiled, two dimples formed on the sides of his face; Elizabeth thought that was a lovely thing. 

Following him down a secondary street, she noticed several scratches in the bicycle’s painting, a scab in his elbow and a few healed scars on his knees, not to mention the thorn on the side of his black and white shorts. Perhaps, falling off his bike was not an unusual occurrence, and something kids in Türkiye and England have in common.  

Hamid did most of the talking and asked several questions without barely giving her time to answer; most of them amused her, while she diverted every single one concerning her family or lodging details, obeying the security protocols taught ever since she came to England. 

“How old are you, Liz?” 

“11.” 

“I’m 11 too! I’ll be twelve on December. When is your birthday?” 

“July.” 

“We’re here.” He vaguely gesticulated, and walked through lines of tables and chairs towards the entrance of colourful restaurants and a fish market.  

Hamid was greeted by some of the waiters and men on their way.  

“Do you like fish?” he asked her, and she nodded.

Then he sprinted towards an older man with grey hair and thick black eyebrows, who effusively greeted him. The boy kissed the man’s hand and touched it to his forehead, in what she assumed was a sign of respect to the elderly. Smiling, they talked for a while, and the man nodded towards her, huffled his hair and they gesticulated, calling another man inside the restaurant. When both men disappeared inside, Hamid leaned his bike against the wall of the restaurant and ran back to where she was watching the scene with curiosity. 

Walking ahead, he guided her to one of the tables.  

“We can have what you brought, and something that I’ll bring.”  

“I thought you didn’t have any money.” 

“I don’t.”  

She smiled and nodded to the direction the man had been standing a moment before. “Is that your father?” 

“No, babam is at Istanbul. Working. Annem is there with him. That one over there is Cemal Bey, he’s a good friend of Dedem and his wife is the best cook in the country... Please don’t tell Hala Fatma I said that,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. 

“And people will just give you food?” 

“Sometimes, if I ask them nicely. And I told my English friend wanted to try the best Turkish food in the country… few people resist being complimented like that.” 

“Clever.” 

The tip of his tongue peeked between his teeth when he smiled at her. “But I admit Cemal Bey being a good friend of Dedem and knowing me since I was a baby helped.” 

She chuckled and took the snacks from her backpack, under Hamid’s attentive supervision.  

“I was expecting something like crisps and Doritos...” 

“Disappointed?” 

“A little,” he replied with a frown. “If you have any candy, I beg you share with me. Halam won’t let me eat anything that isn’t healthy!” 

Elizabeth chuckled and offered him a date. “This is the sweetest thing I’ve got with me...” 

Sighing, he accepted it with a sorrowful look, and she smiled. 

“Dedem and Fatma, who are they?” 

“Dedem is grandfather,” he said gnawing on a date. “Hala Fatma is babam’s younger sister, my aunt. I’m staying with her and my cousins this month.” 

They shared the bread and cheese; and despite her initial protest, Hamid poured some olive oil on a piece of bread and made her try it. When she did, she hummed in delight and asked some more cheese. “That’s too good! I could eat my weight in this cheese...” 

While she took another bite of the bread, Hamid’s expression turned serious. 

“I need to ask: are you a runaway girl?” 

“Excuse me?” she asked, almost chocking on the bread. “Why would you think that?” 

“I just watched X-Men, and you being here alone in a city you’ve never been before with a backpack gives me major Rogue vibes…” 

“I’m just sightseeing,” she shrugged his concern, “not escaping my mutant powers or anything really.” 

“You never mentioned your family…” He lowered his voice, so only she could hear him, “If you’re in trouble, there are good people here who can help.” 

“I’m fine. Really. Dad is at Istanbul working. Like yours. And mum couldn’t come to this trip…” she paused and refrained from sharing with a strange boy the dramas of her family. “So, I’m staying at a hotel with my stepmother and my brothers.” 

“Hmmm… I see… evil stepmother!” 

“I never said that!” 

“You didn’t deny it either,” he pointed out with a mischievous grin. "What about the brothers? Are they as jealous as Cinderella’s sisters?” 

“Harry can be jealous at times,” she laughed covering her mouth with a hand, and looked away. “They’re okay. We get along well, but they don’t fancy going to the beach as much as I do… or being outside when it’s hot. Edmund got sunburned on our second day here.” 

“What a bummer...” 

“He’s better now, but refuses to leave his room... And with the pretence of keeping him company, Harry stays with Edmund... So, they play videogames day and night!” 

“You don’t like videogames?” 

“I like videogames; what I don’t get it is why would anyone prefer any game over this?” She waved both hands in a circle around them. “It’s such a perfect day for an adventure! I love the salty sea breeze! Just this morning I walked around the city, and not only had the best pistachio ice-cream ever but was taught about some place called Antep and the story of this man’s family and pistachio. Okay, I didn’t understand most of what he was saying but it was amazing anyway. And when I said Teşekkür ederim[3] he explained that was too formal and taught me Sağ olun[4]. Did I say it correctly?” 

“Yes, perfectly. I can teach you words too.”  

“Then I went uphill, saw these ruins and –” 

“What about meeting me?” with a mocking pout, he asked.

“Usually near accidents are not my favourite parts of any trip.” 

“Near is better than actual accidents.” 

“You’re right,” she laughed. 

“And what’s still missing on your perfect day list?” 

She hummed in consideration and her eyes flicked in the direction of the marina, even though they couldn’t see the boats from where they were seated. 

“I wanted to go in one of those boats and spend the day at the sea, visiting the islands, but Henrietta gets seasick – or so she says it. And Edmund keeps saying we should wait for dad, or something terrible might happen because we’re kids, the world is a terrible place, and we’ll probably be stranded at sea…or drown. Basically, something horrible will happen.”  

“Wow! That’s –” Hamid paused, searching for a word and settled with “disturbing...” 

Cemal bey called Hamid, who sprinted to get a plate with breaded fish, chips, garlic sauce and the biggest olives she’s ever seen. They ate in silence, and Hamid kept gazing at her for some reason. An ear-to-ear grin on his face. 

“Do I have something on my face?” He shook his head, but she kept wiping her mouth and chin with a napkin, just in case.  

Hamid picked the chips with his fingers and tucked into his mouth, and she did the same.

If her grandmother saw her eating this much in public and using her hands, there would be a lot of chiding. For a moment, she hesitated, her hand hovered over the fork, but then she considered how far from home she is and the advantages of being unknown here. Grinning, she used her hands again. The chips tasted even better while disregarding etiquette. 

After the meal, Hamid offered to take her back to the hotel, which she decline since she having so much fun with him; since he didn’t need to go home before sunset, they decided to walk around some more.

Sitting on his bike, he patted the tube and offered a lift and to carry her backpack, even though it was much lighter without the water and food. Putting her backpack on his back, she took the offered seat. 

Chatting all the while, they rode for several minutes until arriving at the marina, where he locked his bike to a lamp pole at the entrance.  

“Race you there,” Hamid shouted from over his shoulder, already sprinting at full speed. 

“That’s unfair,” she cried back, running after him, “I don’t even know where we’re going!” 

She caught up to him, or maybe he let her get closer and they ran side by side until the middle of the marina, to a point where sailboats and yachts were on either side of them. It wasn’t bustling as earlier hours of the days, and few people were working on boats, cleaning them or just walking around.

Hamid indicated an empty spot, and they sat down, letting their feet dangle from the edge and above the water. She looked around with a wide smile, following with her eyes the seagulls flying close to one of the boats, trying to steal someone's lunch.

“I’d love to spend time at the sea, to travel for many days and see many ports... How exciting it must be! Imagine all one could learn. The languages. And the food. I could get something from each place, a treasure, to remind me later from all I’ve seen...” 

“Like a pirate?” 

“No, not like a pirate!” 

“Why not? They have cool clothes and songs.” 

“I couldn’t be a criminal!” she laughed.  

“We could be pirates together!”  

He jumped to his feet with a roar, twirled and climbed into a boat. “Ahoy! Pull the anchor!” he said with his best pirate impression, one eye closed and a hand cutting the air in rapid movements. “Let’s trouble the water. Avast ye! And sail against the tides!” 

Elizabeth laughed and he extended his hand, inviting her to climb it too. 

“Hamid, we can’t do that...” She looked around for anybody who could be watching them. “We could get in trouble...” 

“Don’t worry. It’s Dedem’s boat.” 

He offered a hand and helped her get into the boat. They walked to the bow pretending to be on a pirate ship. The deck gentle swaying beneath their feet as they staged a mock sword fight. 

“Dedem always took me and my cousins with him to the sea,” Hamid said later, when they sat down by the railings to watch the seagulls fighting over food, “and he taught us to sail and fish. Babam and Amca Ozan would join us too, if they were not working...” 

They watched the boats returning to the marina, spoke about movies and Hamid shared many stories of his family and his five sisters.  

“Five sisters?” she asked, “For real?” 

“Is it really the strangest thing?” 

“That was rude. Sorry.” 

“You apologise a lot,” he remarked, “Why’s that?” 

She pondered at the question for a moment, not knowing what to say, and just shrugged. 

Hamid didn’t ask anything else about it, and the conversation shifted to other topics. Whenever he asked about the hotel her family was staying, she diverted and talked about something else. The last thing she needed was Henrietta coming to spoil their fun. 

Leaning against the railing, Hamid pointed at all his favourite places, even if it was impossible to see some of them from the boat.   

“Let’s go,” he said and pulled her by the hand.  

A moment later they were back on the bike. Speeding up, the breeze blew their hair, and she laughed; when they reached the beach, Hamid plopped down the sand, breathless and with beads of sweat between his brows, tip of his nose and over his lips. 

“Hey! I bet I can beat you to that rock,” she dared. 

He used one hand to shield his eyes from the sun and look at her, “Can’t you see? I’m dead.” 

“Afraid of losing?” 

“You pedal next time then,” he muttered. 

“Deal.” 

Disrobing to her bathing suit, she sprinted to the water, skipping waves; Hamid removed only his t-shirt to follow her and cursed when the salty seawater caused his bruises to sting, and she couldn’t stifle a laugh.  

She got to the rock first and helped him climb it to sit beside her.  

When the sun started its descent to the sea, the sky turned pink like her favourite roses at Edgewater’s garden, and the clouds looming over the horizon were painted in gold. It was beautiful sight, but also a reminder she lost track of time. She must return to the hotel before it gets too dark. 

“I should go.”  

Elizabeth hopped to the shore and put on the shorts and t-shirt, and picked up the backpack. 

“Liz,” he called behind her, shortening her nickname, and wiped the water from his eyes. “Can we meet tomorrow? I can bring Faiza’s bike, and we ride together.” 

She nodded and they agreed to meet at 9 o’clock sharp at that same place. Putting on the sneakers, she ran towards the pavement, but spared a last look over her shoulder. Hamid waved at her, a wide smile curling his lips while his gaze followed her.  

In the end, meeting Hamid turned out to be her favourite part of the day. 

September, 2005. 

Loud as flocks of parakeets at sunset, the buzz of students going out of the sports court dimmed down the closer she got to the library.

Away from the noise and prying eyes, Elizabeth fished the mobile from the backpack, and almost dropped it to the ground, only then realizing her hands were shaking. Her heart was not doing any better, beating as fast as if she’d been running. She sat on the ground, under an old tree and leaned her back against the rough trunk. The crown of the tree shadowed that part of the grass and the breeze was cool, soothing the redness of her face.

When she managed to make the call, Briar barely said “hi” and Elizabeth started ranting. 

“Can you believe this? He thinks I’m cute but doesn’t remember me! At all!” she repeated, and Briar squealed.  

“Briar!” Elizabeth cried.  

“Wait! He thinks you’re cute? How do you know? Who told you?” 

“He did when he came to talk to me after the game. He called me gorgeous or something... I wasn’t paying attention –” 

Briar let an even higher-pitched squeal, and Elizabeth moved the mobile away from her ear. 

“He came to you and said that? I’m dying! That’s even better!” 

“How’s that better?” 

“I don’t know. Did you tell him who you are?” 

“I – No! I freaked out!” Elizabeth rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “I assumed he knew. Like why else would he be looking at me during the game or come to talk to me?” 

“Because he thinks you’re gorgeous, silly!” she said in a sing-song voice. 

“I’m mortified. I was super casual with him... How could he not know? I look the same!” 

“You certainly do not. Your hair looks amazing now without any of those stripy pink highlights --” 

“It was red.” 

“It was so not!” Briar snorted with laughter, “I'm grateful now my mother forbade me to dye my hair when I asked!” 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the remark. Her hair is definitely styled better now, and the rainbow coloured highlights from those days remained only in the pictures.

“It's been 4 years, innit? You lost quite a few pounds, you can fill a bikini top now in case you haven’t noticed. And you two met in a total different country! Don’t forget that, Lizzy.”  

Elizabeth’s eagerness to rebuke died down a little. It’s has been a long time. Her chin tilted up to look at a bird chirping at the bough of the tree and she sighed.  

“I just thought that friendship was special to both of us. I had zero trouble reconizing him.”  

“In his defense, you’ve been secretly crushing on him for 4 years –” 

“I was not crushing!” 

“Are we lying to each other now? I know you keep pictures of him on your drawer –” 

“Those are souvenirs from the trip! And I’m on some of those pictures too. And so are Ed and Harry.” 

“I'm just saying it isn’t that weird he didn't reconize you...” 

“I suppose...” she replied, her tone too despondent.

“You can still be sad or disappointed...” 

“But I should be happy, right? He's here.” 

“I would, if I were you.” Elizabeth could picture Briar's genuine smile even without seeing her face. “Even more so if the boy I was crushing thought I was gorgeous!”

“Stop it,” Elizabeth pleaded, covering a warm cheek with a hand.

Briar laughed loudly, then whispered on the phone, “You can finally see if this idealised version of a boy you met years ago stands the test of time…” 

“What do you mean?”

“You never consider dating anyone because boys can't compete with him, now you have him so you can either date him or move on.” 

Elizabeth sighed, and it carried all the exhaustion just the persons closest to her knew about.

“I don't think so... You know I have more important matters to focus. I can't get distracted by boys. Not now.”  

“But don't you think you deserve a break from all that crap? Some happiness? I believe you do. And the universe seems to agree with me. Or it wouldn't just throw him back to you, woult it?” 

Elizabeth listened to her friend while observing other students, two girls rushed with hands intertwined, smiling at each other. 

“You’re living at the same country and are old enough to actually fall in love and date. Just enjoy it. Tell him. Don’t tell him. It's your choice. But you should get to know him now, maybe you'll be running away from him after a ten minutes conversation because he's grown-up to become a wanker.” 

“You’re right,” Elizabeth said, her words coated by a chuckle. “And if he's still the same, we can be friends again.” 

“Oh, my god! It just crossed my mind now how perfect this whole story will be to tell in your wedding! –” 

“Wedding?” Elizabeth echoed, but Briar didn’t even acknowledge her words, still rambling about the pictures in her drawer.

“– the pictures! We need copies. Tons of copies. Just in case. Childhood friends. Lovely!” Briar was speaking quickly and incessantly. 

“I’m fifteen!” Elizabeth protested, “We talked once. And I kind of run away...” 

“Next time, you stay, Lizzy.” 

Notes:

[1] merhaba – means “hello”

[2] Türkçe bilmiyorum – translates as “I don’t speak Turkish.”

[3] bici bici – it’s a dessert, typical of southern Turkey and the Mediterranean region, especially consumed in the summer. Bici bici is prepared with crushed ice, starch, and syrup.

[4] Teşekkür ederim – translates as “thank you”

[5] Sağ olun – it’s an informal way of saying “thank you”