#i met her because she jumped off a cliff and then swam into the ocean right above a shark and SOMEHOW came out alive from both of those | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

Complicit // 14 // Final

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, love, love languages

WC: 8k

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He really, really should’ve had a plan.

But, in all fairness, Shawn’s never done the whole “jump on a 12 hour flight on a whim to chase after the love of his life” thing before, so how could he have been expected to make such a plan?

But still, he thinks, standing against a wall under a baseball cap outside Naples International Airport, he could’ve done some more thinking before all this. Or at least could’ve made a pseudo-plan on the plane.

The most Silver could give him in terms of guidance was the address of the house and that Naples is the closest airport. She’s never been to the “Vineyard” before. When Shawn asked if the “Vineyard” was a nickname or if it meant the house is on an actual vineyard, she didn’t know that either. Not extremely helpful, but he’ll figure it out. He has to.

From what he gathers on Google Maps, sucking up international roaming data charges like nobody’s business, Ravello is about an hour and a half southeast of Naples. Not ideal. But the Amalfi Coast is a pretty big attraction, so he figures there’s probably a train. He just has to find a train station.

On the way out the door with his backpack, the only luggage he bothered to pack, he Googles a train route.

Walk half an hour to the Calata di… something something and take the N5 to… somewhere and walk 3 minutes to somewhere else to catch a bus to somewhere…

.... no fucking way.

He bites into his lip and squints around. Should he rent a car? He winces. Driving in Italy sounds terrifying. What if he gets into a crash? Who is he supposed to call?

No. He needs to hire a car to take him to Ravello. That’s the plan.

More Googling. More squinting. He’s vaguely grateful that he’s been able to stay under the radar so far. He’s not sure he could handle this and dozens of screaming Italian girls begging for selfies without snapping.

He ducks behind a large leafy fig tree when he sees what looks like a group of middle school-aged girls on a field trip scramble past, squealing and laughing. Close call.

He leans against a column and sighs. Silver also gave him Mia’s personal cell number. He could just call her and tell her he’s here and hope she wants to see him and come pick him up.

Shawn sighs heavily, pouting. He’s not going to do that. This is his only shot at being a romantic hero, like, ever. He’s not going to pansy out and call her for a ride. He’s going to show the fuck up because that’s what Mia deserves.

Whether she wants to see him is another matter and he’d rather not worry about that until about halfway up her driveway.

He sets off toward the transportation center at a quick stride, curls fluttering between the brim of his cap and his forehead. He swerves suddenly to avoid another throng of young women that look ready for a beach vacation.

He parks in front of a driving service and a tall, unnaturally beautiful blonde man who doesn’t look up at him.

“Uh, ciao?” Shawn tries.

He glances up. Shawn holds his breath for the pop star response. It doesn’t come. He exhales.

“Do you speak English?” Shawn asks, wincing at how ignorant he sounds. The man nods boredly.

“Cool. Uh. Ok. I need to go to Ravello.”

“Si, Ravello. There is a train,” the man drawls, the slowest talking Italian Shawn’s ever met.

Shawn nods, uncertain. “Yeah. Right, yeah. But… can I get a car to drive me?”

The man even blinks slowly. “There is also a bus.”

Does this guy just not want business? Shawn sighs.

“Do you not take people to Ravello?” he tries, looking to bridge whatever gap this is as quickly as possible.

Finally, the man seems to give in. “Ravello is a long drive. 125 euro. We take--”

Shawn slaps his Visa down so fast the man stops abruptly and stares at him. He sees a tinge of crazy in Shawn’s travel-weary eyes. He fights the urge to roll his own and books the trip.

Shawn had hoped he’d start to relax in the car since at least then he’d know he was heading somewhere. There was no relaxing to be done.

His driver Giorgio seems to have gotten his start in Formula One. Shawn figures he should be grateful, given that the speed they’re driving at will probably cut the travel time in half. But he can’t help but wonder about the headlines if he dies in a fiery crash against the side of an Italian coastal mountain.

Pop Superstar Shawn Mendes Dies In Search Of Love, Giorgio to Blame

Shawn Mendes Perishes At The Height Of His Career, Unrecognizably Mangled

Shawn Mendes Is An Idiot, Fatally

He’s so sure there’s no way they’ll make it between the two trucks Giorgio decides to squeeze them through, but they do. Shawn slams his eyes shut and focuses on the Cez-approved meditation breathing exercises that, by the way, do not save you from your crazy Italian driver who almost plows into the back of a Peugeot going god knows how fast on the E45.

But at least he points out Mount Vesuvius. And doesn’t crash them into it.

They lose sight of the ocean for a while, which makes Shawn panic. The guy isn’t using a GPS, claims he knows every corner of every town on the Amalfi Coast. That sounded a lot better to Shawn before he got in the car, before they were winding through something called the “Riserva Statale Valle delle Ferriere,” which seems as good a place as any to ditch a body.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

It’s a chant in his head until, by some miracle, he catches sight of the water again and it’s exactly like every Instagram travel post he’s ever seen of the Amalfi Coast. He thanks whatever god there is, and thanks Giorgio, too, who grunts.

Ravello, Shawn’s not surprised to report, is fucking beautiful. Cliffs appear out of nowhere and spill off down bleached white coastline to crystalline turquoise water. It’s a goddamn postcard. The town, from what he can see of it from above, is a scattered board of colorful post-its clinging to the side of a mountain. His hungry brain tells him he can smell fresh pasta and seafood, but he knows it’s just an illusion of a man who ate half an airplane meal and a couple stale biscotti several hours ago.

Rather than descend toward the coast, Giorgio winds him around the hills past farms of lemon trees. The sun hangs low. Shawn thanks his lucky stars that he’s not having to deal with locating this place in the dark.

Giorgio stops at the base of a dirt road sporting a sign with Mia’s address. Shawn practically flings himself out of the car, almost forgetting his backpack. He shoves his Tom Ford sunglasses on against the harsh snap of the late afternoon sun. He looks around. Along the dirt path, hardly even a road, are rows upon rows of grape vines. It seems the house name is literal after all. He’ll be sure to tell Silver if he makes it out of this alive.

He starts walking.

It’s a trudge, really, up a reasonably steep hill. He slips once or twice and puts a knee into the dust, kicking up a froth of it around him that clings to his sweaty skin and white t-shirt. By the time he finds Mia, he’s going to look like he swam and crawled all the way to her.

Good.

He crests the hill to find… more hills. There are a series of large buildings that don’t look anything like homes, more like warehouses or farmhouses. Given that it’s not yet harvest season, only a few hands are out tending the vines. He descends towards them, probably looking as ridiculous as he ever has in his life.

They seem to want to ignore him. It’s a habit of Italian men, maybe. He has to wave and walk straight up to the closest figure, an older, shorter man with only a few teeth to speak of.

“Ciao. Uh… Mia Bianchi?”

Shawn hopes if she’s the lady of the house, they’ll know to take him to her. The man stares back blankly.

“Uh… dove… Mia Bianchi?” he tries again. The man looks over his shoulder at his coworkers, who’ve stopped to stare at the tall, sunburnt Canadian idiot. Shawn sighs.

He doesn’t even have a picture to show them. She’s the love of his stupid life and he doesn’t even have a picture of her.

Except that he does. He has a lot of them. Black and white and sparkling. And completely inappropriate to be sharing with a bunch of strange farmhands. He grunts and reaches for his phone anyway, nearly dead, just like his chances of making this stupid romantic gesture work.

Shawn zooms in carefully to just her face and shows it to the smaller man. He squints and attempts to touch the screen, but Shawn nearly slaps his hand away.

“Dove Mia Bianchi?” he almost whines.

One of the younger hands strides up and glances at the picture. He exchanges a few words with the others and looks Shawn over. He sighs and nods at a golf cart a few yards away, then walks towards it.

Shawn blinks, then follows.

If nothing else, it’s a faster way to get over the hills. Plus, if he’s on the vineyard, she can’t be far, right?

“Mia?” Shawn asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

The guy shrugs. It’s not very comforting. But Shawn’s out of options, so he gets in the cart.

The hills just keep going. After about ten minutes of cruising along and over them with nothing but vines in sight, he’s suddenly incredibly grateful for the ride. He glances over at his driver, seemingly much more sane than Giorgio.

“Shawn,” Shawn says, pointing to himself with a flat smile and a little wave.

The man nods. “Maurizio.”

“Grazie, Maurizio,” Shawn grunts, sitting back as they ascend another, steeper hill. He worries for a moment about the possibilities of this golf cart skidding back down from whence it came. It becomes unimportant when they reach the peak and he sees a house.

Well, it’s not just a house. It’s practically a palace. From behind it, he can see the way it sprawls over tens of thousands of square feet. There’s a pool, he thinks, and a few different gardens, and it looks like a grove of trees, maybe olive or citrus, he’s not sure. At some point, the path turns from dirt to pebbles and the ride gets louder. It almost drowns out Shawn’s heartbeat in his ears.

Maurizio slows under the shade of two old stone pine trees and turns up a narrow path lined by lush, well-tended gardens replete with color. He takes the curve around the fountain in the center of the path slow enough for Shawn to notice the detailing. The basin of the fountain is held up by a sculpture of a renaissance-style naked woman. Curled against her, with his arm around her hips, is a man helping her hold it up. His face is tucked tenderly into her neck.

The cart stops. Maurizio clears his throat. Shawn stands and steps off.

“Uh, grazie!” he calls as Maurizio starts to gun it back down the path. Maurizio looks back at him and laughs in a way Shawn doesn’t need translated.

You’re a fucking idiot.

Shawn sighs for the millionth time that afternoon. He knows.

It’s golden hour on the coast. Behind the red tiled roof, the sun spills marigold light everywhere it touches, including the belltower on the chapel beside the main house. Green shudders flap gently in the evening breeze. The front door is wide open. The smell of fresh bread has Shawn’s mouth filling with saliva. He starts to head toward the door when he hears something.

Off to the left, down a grassy footpath, he follows it. It’s as familiar to him now as her perfume, as the feeling of her hair in his fingers, as the smile she gives him when he’s very good for her.

He’d know Ol’ Blue Eyes anywhere now.

It’s one of his Italian tracks, playing off a turntable parked in another open door on the side of the house. He drops his bag beside it, smiling when he hears pruning shears and quiet steps. The record sleeve reads “Come Back to Sorrento.”

He takes a deep breath and follows the sound of the shuffling steps. Sinatra’s voice fades as Shawn nears a small grove of olive trees. The grass below his feet is dappled with shade and the streaming sunset light. A breeze rustles a wave of red fabric out behind the trunk of a tree toward the back of the grove.

Shawn holds his breath, watching a long bronzed leg follow it, stepping backward, then another. She’s on her tiptoes, barefoot in a deeply red mid-length sundress, the cap sleeves fluttering around her arms that follow her focused eyes to the branches above her head. She hasn’t spotted him yet. He could still run. He doesn’t have to stand here until she throws her pruning shears at his head for showing up at her family home unannounced in fucking Italy.

Mia turns her head to check on another branch and he lands in her periphery. Her lips part. Her eyes blow wide like saucers. The shears fall by her feet. She lowers off her toes to face him. The wrap dress hugs her everywhere he’d like to.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, lifting a hand into her hair just as another breeze picks up around them, lifting her dress around her knees to wave at him.

“So… uh… ciao,” Shawn nearly chokes.

Mia just stares for a minute. It feels like forever since she’s seen him, even if it’s only been a couple weeks.

He’s fucking glorious even covered in dirt. His hair is a little matted and sweaty, like he was wearing a hat. His white shirt clings to him. His black jeans have patches of dirt on the knees that give her flashbacks to the day she took him to Malibu in her Aston Martin. She shivers.

“What-- I mean, how… I don’t…”

“Silver told me you quit,” he blurts.

Mia’s eyes seem to swell again, then shut as she groans. “She gave you the address.”

“Yeah. I think… I think maybe she wanted you to want to see me.”

Mia chews on the inside of her lip. Another breeze tickles through the olive branches, surrounding them with a light earthy scent. Shawn shifts anxiously on his feet.

“So you just… showed up,” Mia murmurs. It’s a statement of fact, expressionless. She doesn’t sound annoyed or surprised or, to Shawn’s slight disappointment, pleased. But he knew better than to expect that. Or he thinks he should have.

Shawn shrugs. “I think after everything you’ve done for me, you deserve the effort.”

Mia’s lips tuck in slightly at the corners. She nods down at her feet. “Effort, huh?”

Shawn fights the urge to reach for her, even though it feels right. He wants to do this delicately.

Patience. That’s what Silver told him. If there’s anyone besides Mia he should be listening to right now, it’s Silver.

“I came because I want to talk to you. About everything.” His voice sounds impressively calm to his own ears, even as he feels his hands shake.

Mia looks up and immediately past him into the kitchen. She cards a fluttering strand of hair behind her ear and clears her throat.

“I have extra towels. You can clean up in the guest bath.”

She swerves around him and into the house. He stands there in the grove for a moment or two, blinking after her.

He’s not knocked out, he’s just… regrouping. That’s what Shawn decides in the shower as he scrubs the salty sweat from his hair and watches reddish dust swirl down the drain.

He was struck dumb when she led him up the stairs to one of what looks like many guest rooms. She got him a fluffy towel and showed him how to work the faucet because it’s a bit tricky. She turned and left without another word.

Shawn didn’t have a speech prepared or anything, he didn’t write a sonnet on the long trudge up to the house, but he didn’t expect her to shut down as soon as he started getting into it, whatever it was going to be. That took the wind out of his sails.

He’s not giving up. Not yet. If after a real conversation she says she does not love him and wants him out of her house, he’ll go. He’ll hold his head high and leave, knowing he put his heart on the line. And he’ll be ok.

Shawn’s breath shakes. He blinks quickly under the spew of warm water above his head. He plants a hand against the wall for stability. It’s the first time he’s let himself think about it, really consider the idea. What if he really actually made all this up in his head? What if she’s really as good as what he pays for and feels nothing for him beyond a professional sort of fondness? Or perhaps worse, what if she’s had feelings, but they’re not enough?

He closes his eyes and slowly scrubs his face with his pruny hands. He’s conspicuously been in the shower a long time. He bets she doesn’t mind -- gives her time to strategize.

Shawn lifts his head and turns off the faucet. He doesn’t want her strategies or her carefully delivered lines. He wants her.

He wants Mia as much as he wants Penny.

For once, Mia does something that would make the former owner of this home, her great grandmother, very proud. She sets aside her panic, confusion, irritation and angst and prepares for a guest.

She sets the table. She decants a bottle of Castello di Ama chianti. She hauls the record player back inside and switches over to Dean Martin’s Italian Love Songs and decides not to overthink the choice. She sets to work on a quick spaghetti alla vongole with the clams she bought at the market this morning. Her homemade loaf of ciabatta rests warm in a checkered cloth on the table.

Anything to distract herself.

But then she almost lops off a finger slicing the bread. She nicks the pad of her thumb and gasps, instinctively squeezing her fingers around the wound to staunch the bleeding.

“Hold on, I’ll get a napkin.”

She turns from the counter to see Shawn in a t-shirt and sweats at the bottom of the stairs, his hair shining wet against his neck. He swipes a paper napkin off a credenza and meets her at the counter. She watches him as he checks the cut, dabs it with the paper, wraps his hand around it to apply pressure and holds it over her head.

He looks down at her. “Does it hurt?”

“No, not really,” she murmurs, sounding sheepish.

He’s closer now to her than he was before. Holding her arm over her head seems an oddly intimate gesture between two people who’ve seen and done a lot more. It’s heightened by the way he caresses her palm with his fingers. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it.

“God, I missed you so much,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

Mia aches with the returning words and lets them rattle through her bones. She’s not going to say them back.

“I really don’t know what you were thinking coming here. Did you cancel work stuff? What about the album? And the tour?”

Shawn seems unfazed. “I’m on a break before we start working on tour promo. I actually went to your house. Got worried when I didn’t see Pammy’s leash outside.”

Mia’s eyes flash with affection. “She’s… staying with Gus for a while.”

Shawn nods slowly. “I bet you miss her.”

Mia’s eyes drop. Her other hand, gripping the counter behind her to keep from grabbing at him, squeezes tighter.

“Of course. All the time.”

After another few seconds of Shawn’s intense staring and Mia’s equally intense avoidance, he lowers her hand. The small cut has stopped bleeding. He cups her palm, kissing it gently. Mia turns away.

Shawn’s head drops. He sighs.

“So. You quit.”

Mia continues slicing bread. “Yes.”

“I’m surprised. I know how happy it made you.”

Mia’s stomach swoops. The ease with which he talks about her profession still strikes her sometimes when she least expects it. He talks about it like it’s any other job, like he never for a second thought to judge her for it.

“It got too complicated. I have other things I wanted to focus on.”

She takes the freshly sliced bread to the table. He follows with the bowls of salad and pasta.

“Like what?” he chirps.

Mia grunts, irritated. “A project. It’s a charitable thing.”

He seems to decide not to push for the moment. She tucks into her bowl of pasta, eager for something to shut him up.

He hums, bobbing his head as he slurps up a bite. “This is fucking great. I didn’t know you can cook.”

She shrugs. “I’m an Italian woman, Shawn. If I can’t cook, I shame my ancestors.”

He smiles as he swallows and reaches for his wine. He looks oddly relaxed, comfortable in her favorite surroundings. It strikes her as odd, suddenly, that he’s here. She’s never brought any non-family member here before. Not even Silver. Definitely not a client.

But Shawn brought himself. He flew 12 hours and, Mia knowing the journey well, probably took trains, buses, ferries and god knows what else to arrive on her doorstep.

She has yet to truly reckon with it. She sips at her own glass and watches him look around.

“This house is incredible. It’s a family place?” he asks.

Mia swallows and nods carefully. “For a long time. My great grandmother was the last one who lived here full time. We sold the vineyard in the 90s. The rest of the estate is still ours.”

Shawn looks around at the vaulted ceilings and the rustic stucco walls and stone floors. A glass door looks out onto a vast back patio strung with twinkle lights that overlooks the acres of vineyard land that used to belong to her family. The farmhands have packed it in for the evening. There’s no one in sight all the way to the horizon, where the sun has burst into flames of pink and gold. Shawn hasn’t felt this far away in a long time.

When he looks back, Mia doesn’t bother to look away. She knows the games are over. Glancing away from his pretty face so he doesn’t catch her staring won’t work anymore. He’s not here for a game. She swallows and feels her heart in her throat.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long,” Shawn murmurs. He sits forward across the smooth oak table. The sunset light catches him through the window. It makes his intense gaze even more entrancing. Mia’s fingers twitch around her wineglass.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t think I’m ready to hear whatever it is you’re about to say.”

She watches something flicker in his eyes uncertainly. He wets his lips and seems determined to soldier on.

“Mia, I know this wasn’t the plan. For either of us. It was never supposed to become… this. But I think it’s been something real since at least Vegas. Maybe before. And I think it’s as real to me as it is to you.”

Mia’s heart sprints. She knew what he was going to say. She’s known since he showed up in her little olive grove. She’s not sure why being so close to hearing the words has her pulsating in her own skin. She shifts in her seat.

“Shawn, please…” she begins, shaking her head, “I don’t want to put you through this. I know you’re already here and… god, I still can’t believe you’re here. But I don’t want to make you say it.”

“Why?” he presses, “Why can’t I say it?”

Mia closes her big brown eyes. He misses them immediately.

“Because it’s not going to make a difference. It can’t.”

She opens her eyes when she hears his wooden chair creak. He’s sitting back, his jaw tight, his eyes still on hers. He swirls the wine in his glass absently.

“Tell me I’m crazy. Not for coming out here, not for wanting this with you, tell me I’m crazy and I imagined all of it. Tell me it was all for show, all for money. Tell me Rio wasn’t real, or your house, or my house. Fuck, tell me Vegas wasn’t real. Mia, tell me you don’t love me. Please. If it’s true, please tell me.”

It’s silent. They’re far enough up the mountain from the town of Ravello that there’s no sound but the breeze in the trees and Mia’s heartbeat in her ears. She feels her face going scarlet with every word. Her hand shakes in her lap where he can’t see it.

She sits up tall, channeling Silver, and thumbs at the base of her glass.

“Like I said, it doesn’t make a difference.”

“How could it not?” Shawn hisses. He sits forward again, his gaze imploring, “Mia, it’s the only thing that matters.”

Mia scoffs. It’s patronizing and ugly. Shawn flinches.

“We both know better than that. We’re not teenagers, Shawn. Actually, even if we were, we’d be in the same position. You’ve been very famous for a very long time. I was never an option for you the same way you’ve never been an option for me,” Mia explains, her voice quivering under her false calm.

“Jesus Christ, Mia, you’re not an option,” Shawn spits. His eyes seem to darken, or maybe it’s a trick of the fading sun, “You’re the one. You’re the fucking one.”

Mia’s eyes drift shut as they well up. She lifts her hands into her silky hair and releases a rocky sigh.

“You’re not thinking. You have to think, Shawn, not just feel. This is your whole life we’re talking about. You know I can’t just fit into it. I would be catastrophic for you. Anyone could tell you that. Andrew would be first in line, I bet.”

Shawn stands. He walks to the door and stares at the rolling hills strung with vines like Christmas lights, neat strands growing darker with the night. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“If I let Andrew tell me who I can and can’t be with, my life isn’t mine. I’ve experienced something close enough to that this summer. I know I agreed to it, I know I was complicit in the whole thing, but I’m not interested in that anymore. If that’s where I really am in my life and my career, none of this is worth it. And that’s not even about you, Mia, that’s about me. I won’t put up with that. I’d sooner fucking quit and never play a show again if it meant I couldn’t be with someone I love because of however it looks to some people.”

Mia’s chest shudders. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I can’t live with that, please.”

He whirls on his heel and stares at her, eyes hot. “Don’t say what? That I’d give it up for you if I had to? Fuck, Mia, of course I would. What kind of fucking human being would I be if I picked being famous over the person that I love?”

“Stop, please,” Mia begs, shaking her head, pressing her face into her hands.

She hears him shuffle over the stone to her. His fingers are gentle as they pry her hands off her face. He cups her wrists, massaging them slowly.

“Hey,” he whispers, the aggression in his voice gone as quickly as it came, “It doesn’t matter. That’s not our reality, it doesn’t have to be. I don’t have to make that choice, so neither do you.”

Mia’s lower lip quivers. “Shawn, I don’t think you realize what would really happen if you stood up in front of the whole world and told them you love a whore.”

Shawn releases her hands. The corners of his lips turn down. His eyes are hard and somehow cracked.

“Don’t do that. Don’t say that. I know you don’t even believe that. You’ve never thought of yourself like that, I know you haven’t. You know you’re so much more than that.” His voice grows louder as he continues until he’s shouting.

Her brow furrows. “You don’t know! You don’t know anything! The things I’ve done, the things I’ve said, the things I’ve had done to me. Shawn, if you had an inkling of the depraved… fuck. If you had any idea at all, you wouldn’t be saying this. You probably wouldn’t come near me ever again.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” he barks back, his eyebrows lifting, “Really? Fine. I’ll call that bluff. I’ll sit here with you all night if you want. Tell me everything. Every filthy detail. Sorry, Mia, it’s not that fucking easy. I won’t love you any less.”

“You can say that now! You don’t know, Shawn! You don’t even know me. What do you know? You know my dog, you know my music taste, sure, you know my name. What if everything Penny did was a lie? What if you love a ghost?”

Shawn goes cold. He stiffens all over. She watches it from his eyes down. She freezes in place.

“Don’t try to tell me I love something that isn’t real,” he breathes. There isn’t even a hint of uncertainty in his face or voice. Mia looks down at her feet.

Shawn steps forward again. Slowly, gently, he cups his hands around her neck, his thumbs working softly into her jaw.

“We can talk about image and PR and logistics. We can talk about Andrew and the headlines and the future. But don’t insult me, honey. I know what’s in front of me. I know what I love. I love you. I love you, I love you. We can talk about the rest, but we can’t talk about that. That’s real and it’s not up for discussion.”

Mia’s eyes close, pressing the building tears down her cheeks. Her head lowers in defeat. Shawn’s hands skim down her shoulders to her upper arms. He plants his lips on top of her head and breathes. Two deep inhales, two deep exhales. Then he steps away and heads back up the stairs.

Neither of them sleeps that night. He’s in the guest room down the hall from her master suite. At around 3am, she gives up altogether and sits out on her balcony under the crescent moon wrapped in a chenille blanket. She’s convinced that inside she can hear him breathe.

Meanwhile he sits at the end of his bed, sheets half torn off from his tossing and turning, begging for words. He’s never had to beg before. His artistic, lyrical brain has handed them to him his whole life. Those aren’t the words he needs now. He needs the ones that will convince her.

When she wakes up, he’s downstairs in a t-shirt and boxers. His hair is sticking up everywhere. He’s staring hopelessly at her espresso machine. She knows he hears her come down the stairs, but he doesn’t turn around.

Silently, Mia arrives by his side. She presses a few buttons until the machine starts to whir. She reaches up to the cabinet above her and pulls down two tiny espresso cups. When she hands him one, their fingers touch. They both nearly jolt apart.

She spends the morning outside. She gets her white sundress filthy picking citrus off the trees. She hauls baskets and baskets full up to the porch. Each time she brings one up, it disappears and ends up on the counter, but she never sees Shawn move them.

At lunch, he smells more seafood. She glistens with sweat over a deep dutch oven full of hot oil, frying calamari. He slices lemons and opens the bottle of white she has on the counter, pouring them glasses. They eat silently, picking at their salads, letting Rosemary Clooney’s voice do their talking. When he finishes, Shawn looks at Mia. Mia looks up at Shawn. He takes her hand and guides it to his lips, a silent thank you. She lets him touch her for five seconds before she pulls away and heads back out to the lavender garden. When she comes back for dinner, the kitchen is clean and the fruit is stored in the butler’s pantry.

She roasts a chicken with rosemary and thyme, along with some potatoes and carrots and lets him rest his hand on her knee while they finish a bottle of wine.

“I found a guitar upstairs,” he confesses, chewing his wine-stained lower lip.

She glances over at him. “My grandfather’s. It’s old and shitty but yours to use if you want it.”

He nods appreciatively, rubbing his thumb into her warm skin. She aches to rest her fingers on his pulse, just to prove he’s really there.

That night, they clean up together. He walks her to her room and kisses her cheek. She doesn’t hear his footsteps walk away from her door for a long minute after she closes it.

His gentle plucking of the guitar from down the hall puts her to sleep.

She’s gone when Shawn wakes up. He lets himself panic for only a minute or two. All her stuff is still here, and this is her house, after all. She returns around lunch in an old pickup truck with bags from the market. Eggs, cream, cocoa, fresh mascarpone. She announces she’s making tiramisu for after their branzino dinner. She smiles a little, tentatively, and it nearly makes him fall at her feet.

Neither of them seems interested in disappearing today the way they did the day before. They hover near each other, rotating positions, swirling like opposing magnets. Shawn keeps the guitar close. Once he gets it in tune, it doesn’t sound too bad. He works on a melody. He thinks it must be good because she’s humming along in the kitchen while she prepares a batch of limoncello and rosemary gelato.

(He doesn’t know what army she’s cooking for, but he just hopes he gets to be a part of it.)

He finishes the song that afternoon, pacing around the lavender garden with a sprig of it tucked behind his ear. When he’s satisfied and turns to head inside around sunset, he clocks her on a balcony above looking very settled, like she’s been there a while. She’s far enough up that she didn’t hear it, so she must’ve just been watching him.

They eat in silence -- branzino with lemon, citrus salad, arugula with balsamic, then tiramisu for dessert. They nearly finish two bottles of wine, like they’re both preparing to get mouthy. Shawn goes first.

“I think I knew when I bought the necklace. Like, I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. I knew what it would mean to you to have that. I wanted so badly to give you something as meaningful as what you’ve given me.”

Mia stiffens at the sudden conversation after a long drought. She recovers quickly, thanks to the wine.

“What I gave you was sex, Shawn. A lot of it. Really good sex that required you to make no decisions, gave you no responsibility. I took care of you in a way you’ve never been taken care of before.”

His eyes flash and Mia regrets her words immediately.

“If you really think I don’t know the difference between sex and love by now, you must think I’m a fucking moron.”

Mia’s chest deflates as she sighs. “I don’t think you’re a moron.”

“Are you sure? Because you’re treating me like one,” he jabs, draining his wine. She misses his heavy, warm hand on her knee when he stands and starts pacing back and forth in front of the table.

Mia stares at him, tensed with every word she won’t let herself say, every feeling she’s been beating back for months. Her spine aches. Her brain swims. Her mouth is dry.

Shawn stops suddenly so that his boot skids a little on the stone floor. Mia blinks quickly.

He stands in front of her, staring. Slowly, without moving his eyes from hers, he lowers to his knees, turning her in her seat to face him. Having his hands on her again makes her want to scream. She waits, holding her breath.

“I just need you to say it. Please. I know you don’t think it’s enough, so it can’t hurt, right? Because there’s a part of me, the piece I hate, the piece I’ve always hated and that’s always hated me that still wants to convince me it’s not true. So please, please, just once, just say it. Say it if it’s true.”

Mia’s knuckles are white as she grips her chair. They feel oddly detached and wiry when she pries them up, flexes them, and sieves them into his hair. His eyes shut. He lowers his head to rest in her lap. She takes a deep breath.

“I love you, Shawn Mendes.”

Mia’s on the counter in an oversized t-shirt, swinging her feet, eating limoncello and rosemary gelato out of the freezer bowl. Shawn stops at the bottom of the stairs and smiles at her. His love for her gets so big it feels ready to explode out of his ears.

He shuffles up to lean beside her at the counter with the extra spoon she offers. They eat quietly, smacking their lips.

“So what’s the charity project?”

He catches her off guard while she puts away the rest of the ice cream. She stands upright, a little too straight, then catches herself and forces herself to relax.

“Uhm… it’s an idea I had a long time ago. A non-profit sort of thing for La Splendeur. A way to look out for the girls that are working jobs like mine but on the street. It’s always seemed so arbitrary to me, you know? The women that wind up as courtesans making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year flying all around the world doing the same thing that women standing on street corners do, constantly putting their lives in danger. Sex work is so odd that way.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. “How can you help them?”

He watches her brighten a little, scooping hair behind her ears as she explains.

“Resources make all the difference. Women like that end up there because they don’t have resources. We can provide shelter, safety, rehabilitation if necessary. We can start a scholarship fund. We can offer career counseling and interview practice and resume building. Or we can help them organize and stay safe so they don’t end up with pimps. They just need help, and money can provide a lot of that.”

He bobs his head, clearly interested. “So where does the money come from?”

“Philanthropists and investments. Between Silver and I, our network is pretty vast. A lot of the donors will likely prefer to remain anonymous because of the nature of it, but we only need a couple powerful people that would speak up and draw attention. If they say it’s ok to care, it’s ok to care. Julia Granger and Christian Becker could be those people.”

Shawn cracks a smile. “So where are you in all this?”

Mia smiles back, infected by the pride written all over his face. “Silver and I are finalizing the paperwork for the creation of the non-profit. We’ll start approaching investors formally when I get home.”

Shawn ducks his head, turning his enormous, goofy smile down at his feet. “That’s incredible, Mia.”

His voice is gentle, touched. She tingles all over. She wants to run into his arms just to feel them around her again. She locks her own around her chest instead.

“Th-thank you. It’s been a long time coming.”

They lock eyes again. The air sizzles.

Mia smiles sadly. The silence is pregnant with potential headlines written about the Canadian golden boy loving the whore who wants to help the whores. Shawn scrabbles for words to fight them off but comes up choked and huffing breath.

He watches her disappear outside, heading for the vineyard.

The bottoms of Mia’s feet are nearly black. She takes a sick sort of pleasure in it. It makes her feel like a kid again, she guesses. Reminds her of chasing Peter around the gazebo, skinning knees, playing “scuba divers” in the pool while their family ate and drank and sang, happier in Ravello than they ever were in New Jersey.

She sits on the swing beneath the pergola, listening to him sing now. The house is so much quieter than it used to be, but no less filled with love. It’s a different kind of love. And despite their desperation to beat it away, it gets stronger every second. Shawn is the strong one, the brave one, she thinks, letting it into his heart before she could.

Because it’s not like he’s not scared. She knows he is. She can hear it in his voice and see it in the way he holds himself around her. He can’t know what would happen if they made it real -- could they last? Could they manage to see past all the bullshit the papers would surely print and hold on? If they did, would their love be worth anything after all the bulletholes and sharp words?

She hugs her knees to her chest and closes her eyes, leaning into his melody. She has the song memorized now. He keeps playing it the same way like he’s planning on changing something but never does. She already knows it’s perfect.

It’s a love song about tortured yearning, a hidden love, a love that’s bursting, searching for the sunlight. Mia thinks it’s his best ever. She considers herself biased.

After the sun sets, she heads inside. He’s not really playing anymore, just kind of plucking away. She needs to think about getting dinner ready. He’s sweet, offering to cook, since she does so much of it, but she really loves cooking Italian food with Italian ingredients in Italy and won’t think of wasting an opportunity. Plus, she still loves taking care of him.

The stairs to the wine cellar are cool, worn stone. The cellar is built into the foundation of the house, which was once part of a fortress that stood on their property in the 11th century. Now lined with shelves of hundreds of bottles of every variety of Italian wine, it’s one of Mia’s favorite spots.

His footsteps are quiet, too. He’s adopted her barefoot lifestyle. He stops at the bottom of the stairs.

Facing the wall of dolcettos from the 80s, Mia twirls a finger around a protruding bottle, covered in dust, with a foil cap.

“I used to hide down here when Peter and I played hide and seek. For some reason he never thought to look down here. I always thought it was so obvious.”

Shawn steps closer, hands in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slightly hunched.

“Maybe he wanted to let you win.”

Mia smirks, looking over her shoulder at him. “Maybe.”

She turns, her arms crossed behind her back, leaning against a shelf. He fixes his eyes on hers, biting the inside of his lip.

“I’m not… I mean, I’m not saying it would be easy,” Shawn murmurs, rubbing at the back of his sunburnt neck, “I know better than anyone how it all works. I don’t want you to think I’m just ready to throw us both to the wolves. I wouldn’t do that to you or to us. I just want to talk about it, for real. I… I know we’re worth it, honey.”

Mia’s chest inflates. She tilts her eyes up at the low ceiling. Her tears start hot and fast.

“I could be the thing that ruins everything you worked so hard for. I don’t want that for either of us. I’m not sorry about who I am or what I’ve done, despite what I’ve said. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to be ripped apart publicly for it. That kind of attention puts more pressure on a relationship than either of us is really prepared for. You have to know that.”

Shawn nods slowly. “I do. I know. I don’t want that for you or for me. But I don’t think that’s the only outcome possible. I think this would take a lot of thought and discussion about what we’re both comfortable with. And it’s going to take some of both of us… letting go a little. Which I know isn’t your favorite thing.” He looks at her pointedly, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Mia chuckles for the first time in days. “Point taken.”

Shawn senses cracks in the veneer with the way she’s looking at him now, like she actually might be considering it, all of it. For him. With him.

He takes a chance, and takes her hand.

“And the most important thing is we go at our own pace. We… I mean, obviously, we’ve done and seen a lot already. And I know I have so much left to learn about you. We can focus on that first, just getting to know each other more. I know how to make a relationship really loud, but I know how to keep it quiet, too. If that’s what you want.”

She looks down at their entwined fingers. She blinks quickly and feels her heart rate pick up, like her body knows something her mind hasn’t decided yet. She swallows and looks back up at him.

“I’ve never been both Penny and Mia with one person before. Because I know I am both. Penny’s as much a part of me as Mia is. I got good at letting them share my body because they never inhabited it at the same time. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. How I’m going to be caretaker and businesswoman, domme and girlfriend. I don’t know how to be someone who wants to be honest and upfront about my history and also wants a big white wedding and a couple kids. So if I don’t know how to do that, be that, how can you know and love that about me?”

Shawn’s smile is cautious but warm. He scoops up her other hand and cradles them close to his chest. He’s not afraid of showing her how his heart is clanging around in his chest. She’s had a piece of it in her body for a while now.

“Because it’s you, Mi. Whether or not you’ve meant to, you’ve let me know both. I’ve loved both this whole time. I just want the chance to be there with you as you figure it out.”

Mia looks up at him. She thinks about the night they met -- watching him come completely undone, taking a sip from his glass, waking up to see him slam his eyes shut to pretend he wasn’t watching her. She sees the same look of wonder in his eyes now as he looks down at her, all of her. Mia always knew she was worth loving. Having someone else figure that out was always the part she wasn’t sure of. But she’s sure now. He is, too.

Mia pulls her hands from his, sliding them up his chest. She plucks at the curls at the back of his neck, tugging him closer as she presses back against the shelf. Shawn’s breath hitches in his chest. His hands fall to her hips.

Mia nods, no words of protest left. His lips are gentle against hers, confident and calm. She lets him take the lead this time.

--------------

Grazie mille 💜

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virareve · 4 years

Link

While languishing over the fic exchange, I recently noticed that some of the first few times I shared some drabbles/one shots I posted from a collection of short J/B writings I’ve put up on AO3, I was just sharing a link to the main work and not the specific chapter. I wanted to reshare some of the ones I was most proud of/cared about the most that I didn’t properly link to previously.

For anyone who prefers, I’m posting the text to the chapter below as well. :)

Summary: Unsent Letters from Kingsguard's Lord Commander Jaime Lannister are leaked to the press.

King's Landing Chronicles, Issue 1011

Excerpt from page 2:

Love Letters from the Lord Commander By Pia Waters

Once thought the coldest, cruelest man in the Six Kingdoms, unsent letters from the head of the royal Kingsguard’s Lord Commander shed light into the enigma that is Jaime Lannister, and reveal that he is not so much a mystery as he is a man with his own inner turmoils and a love long gone.

Content leads royal experts to believe that the letters were penned sometime after he was reinstated to the Kingsguard, following the execution of Dowager Queen Cersei, his sister, for plots against the crown. (This was the last time state sanctioned capital punishment was permitted before 'Ned's Law' was enacted and banned capital punishment throughout the six kingdoms.) Readers will also notice the subject of the letters does not appear to be the late Queen, his alleged lover for most of his career. Many are surprised by the emotional depth thought nonexistent in the man the press popularly dubbed the Kingslayer but King Tommen and the newly coronated Queen…( Cont. on Pages 5-7 )

- - -

King's Landing Chronicles, Issue 1011

Excerpt from page 7, The Last Letter:

What is more beautiful, my love? Love lost or love found? Don't laugh at me, my love. I know it. I'm awkward and naive when it comes to love. I ask questions straight out of a pop song. This doubt overwhelms me and undermines me, my love. To find...or to lose? All around me, people don't stop yearning. Did they lose or did they find? I can't say. A motherless child, who is raised by a heartless father, has no way of knowing. He lacks a first love. The love for his mother and father. That's the source of his awkwardness, his naiveté. You said to me, as the snow whirled down on us in Winterfell, "Stay." But I didn't do it. There, my love, is love lost. That's why I've never stopped wondering, since that day: Where have you been? Where are you now? And you, the shining pinnacle of my regrets, did you lose or did you find? I don't know. And I will never know. It hurts to even remember your name, my love. And I don't have the answer. But this is how I like to imagine it, the answer. In the end, my love, we have no choice. We have to find.

- - -

Brienne dropped the paper, swiping at the tears in her eyes.

“Oh Jaime,” she sighed, feelings of nostalgia bubbled in her. Now that so much time had passed, it no longer hurt to think of him. And her mind could only think of him now. Jaime with his part-time irksome, part-time cheeky smile. And his mischievous green eyes. Or his gazelle-like gait. Or the way he smiled and she felt like it was just for her.

It was nice to feel like that.

It was nice to feel warm at the memory of Jaime and not angry at herself for remembering him.

She traced the text on the glossy paper of King's Landing Chronicles. Sansa had mailed it in from the mainland with the insistence that she read it.

When Brienne and Jaime had stopped seeing each other nearly eleven years ago she'd been heartbroken and distraught. The memories in Winterfell had quickly proven too much and she left her new home for her old one. It was a comforting choice in the end. There was something welcoming that she felt on Tarth that she had not felt before. Something that perhaps the change she sought inside of her, and had experienced on the mainland, allowed for as she sought to build a life of her own.

Over a decade since, and she felt calm in knowing she’d met that goal. That her life in smalltown Morne was something that existed without ghosts of her dead mother and siblings and memories of a man she expected would never enter her life again.

Unburdened, she sat comfortably at the dining table her father had carved for her and her family. The laughs from her children, young and precocious and so full of love, teased into the house through the open windows. They were accompanied by the squeaks of skin against water and thick plastic as her children went through the slip-n-slide she’d made for them, over and over again.

Oh, how she loved Gal and Alys.

The choice to embrace motherhood and start a family after she’d given up on ever finding love again, had been easily the most rewarding thing in her life. It was something she had wanted as much as she wanted to fall in love. Raising her two had been a balm for so many internalized wounds, and the pain that used to flare constantly became forgotten and relegated to a dusty corner of her memories.

And yet to know that she’d still been on his mind brought a sharp relief to know that Brienne of yesteryears had not been a fool. She’d been in love and had been loved. None of that could be called a mistake.

Learning what had been in his mind, she could say, too, that the end was not her fault. Here was physical evidence to put her fears at bay and tell herself “Look, you are whole! It was him who was broken!”

But it sounded rather cracked and jaded and Brienne wasn’t feeling cracked and jaded herself. She had loved him and he had loved her.

Not all who loved were allowed to be together. It was the theme of her own parents’ tragically short love story and she would be remiss to think it could never apply to her. As sad as likening her story to her mother and father's was, she could also find the evidence she needed to point out to herself that what had existed in those brief months was a love story.

It had to have been. Because once he’d left, Brienne had never wanted to love another man again. The ending might have been harsh, but the rest of it was a fairytale. No one could ever know her, ever understand her, as well as he had. She had been prepared to never be loved in life and now that she had experienced a love to end all loves, she didn’t ever want to fill in the gap with a poor replacement.

She no longer felt like she needed to.

Brienne shook her head and stood up from the table, brushing her fingers gently over Jaime’s words one more time.

“Love bugs!” she called out, making her way down the back porch, pulling off her own clothes to reveal her own swimsuit underneath, “Wanna learn a trick you didn’t know Mommy could do?”

She jogged slowly past them in the direction of the nearby cove.

“Yeah!” they screamed joyfully.

They took off as fast as their much smaller legs could take them and crashed into her sides, each grasping for one of her hands. Alys was quick to intertwine her long, nimble fingers with her mother’s left, while Gal was clumsily forceful as he wrapped both his hands around her right in an airtight clasp.

Leading the children on, Brienne brought them to a short cliff overlooking the cove and kneeled before them, “Now we’re only ever going to do this with Mommy’s permission and an adult with you okay?”

The two of them nodded vigorously, enthusiastic at the prospect of whatever she was going to show them.

“Alright,” Brienne grinned, standing up and letting go of their hands. “Watch me and do what I do.”

Putting a good distance between her and the cliff's edge, Brienne squatted down into a runners position and quickly pressed off against the earth with a mighty push, speeding towards the edge. On reaching it, she pushed off with all her might and yelled into the air with a freeness she rarely allowed herself.

“Goldenhand!” she screamed, like a knight invoking the legends beside her into battle.

She’d forgotten what it was like to freefall in exposed air, exhilarating and a little bit terrifying all at once. But the air was warm and her hair experienced its own descent as gravity pulled her down and she couldn't help the want to yell again. So she did.

The ocean welcomed her lovingly when she breached the surface and for a moment, Brienne thought of Jaime, taking her just outside of Casterly Rock, encouraging her to take the leap.

Above the children cheered when she surfaced, then swam backwards to put space between her and the bottom of the cliff.

“Your turn!” she yelled, cupping her hands to her face.

Gal and Alys looked at each other. They grinned and moved away from view.

With them out of sight, Brienne briefly allowed her eyes to close, lapsing into that memory of Jaime, sunkissed and smirking as he pulled her after him into the water. His bright, light laugh as she screamed bloody murder and he yelled out “Goldenhand!” like it was the normal battle cry for this sort of event.

“Goldenhand!” the children screamed out in delight and she opened her eyes to watch Gal and Alys catch air. Of course, without her there, they’d decided to jump in holding tightly to each other’s hands.

Brienne couldn’t stop the love that overwhelmed her heart.

Their identical faces were lit with joy. Their golden hair fluttered in the Tarth wind.

When they surfaced, they paddled over to her, trying to talk over the other in their battle to hold all her attention. Their emerald green eyes glittered with impish glee.

#jaime x brienne #braime #my fic

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cryysis · 5 years

Text

Siren’s Song

The Kraken will drag your ship to the bottom of the sea. A sea witch will steal your soul and leave your bones for the briny deep. Jones will offer you a deal, and haggle you into eternity.

But the mermaids. They are the Ladies of the Waves, the call on the rocks. Mermaids are sweet and will sing you to your demise. They are cousins to their warriors, the siren’s who drag their sailors beneath the waves. The siren’s do not sing so often as their lovely cousins, but any sailor will tell you their song is twice as deadly. Nothing breaks the spell of a siren’s call, and no man who has ever heard it with his own ears is ever seen again.

They both knew what she was. But she never sang for him. He never understood why.

And now she’s gone.

He knelt on the dock, untying his boat from its post. The morning was soft and misty, the sun a dying candle through the fog. He could hear the water as it lapped gently at the posts beneath him, the small waves breaking against the rocky cliffs of the lighthouse. When he raised his head to drop the rope into the boat, he saw ribbons of copper and brass floating by the wood.

So. She was back.

He had never believed in ghosts and monsters before he saw her. Never believed in the stories old drunk sailors shouted at the taverns, the ones about sea witches and the Kraken, Davy Jones and his locker. Mermaids.

Then one day out at sea he saw something circling beneath his boat. He’d no notion of what it was, only that it seemed to pose no threat to him. But his nets had been moved by the currents, and he had to fetch them back.

–

“You stink like human,” she said tartly.

“I always smell like a human. I am one, if you remember.”

“But even more so when you come back from your ‘mar-kets.’ I do not like it then. You should swim in the ocean more. The smell will lessen.”

He almost mocked her, but then she would get angry and leave. He wasn’t ready for her to go yet. “If I don’t go to the markets I don’t get paid. Eli and I would have no money for food.”

“Money. You have said that word before. It is how humans trade?”

“Mhm. We trade money for food and goods.”

“And this money, what does it look like?”

Quirking a brow, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. She picked one up from his hand with her claws? Talons? And took her time inspecting it. “If you had more of this, you would not have to go to the mar-ket as often?”

“Not as often, no. But in order to have more of it I have to work for it, and that means going to the market.” He grinned. “And stinking like a human.”

She wrinkled her nose and handed him back the coin. They didn’t speak of it again, and he thought nothing of it when she didn’t return to the docks the next day, or the day after.

–

It was a while before she spoke again. “I have something for you.”

He turned to look at her, raising a brow in mild concern. “It’s not more money, is it? I’ll end up getting robbed at this rate.”

She waves a clawed hand dismissively. “It is not money, no. And did you not say you are a warrior? Fight them off if they trouble you so much.”

He didn’t bother telling her he’d already dealt with a few. “What do you have then?”

“A gem,” she said. “You will wear it.”

“Oh really?”

She frowned at him, displeased with his reaction. “Why do you question me? You will do this.”

“I’m not a woman. I don’t wear jewelry.”

“You will wear this.”

He sighed, hiding the quirk of his mouth with his hand. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

She eyed him shrewdly, judging the measure of his words. Then she smiled, sharp and knowing. “Because I have said so. You will like it, it is your color.”

With that, she opened one of the small straps of her belt and pulled out a long golden chain. When she held it up for him to see, his eyes landed on the large garnet pendant, uncut but polished by the waves.

“And what is this supposed to be?”

“You are foolish for a human,” she ignored his snort of exasperated amusement, raising herself higher in the water to reach around his neck.

The sudden closeness of her drew him short. She muttered to herself as she fumbled with the trinket’s clasp, the wet tendrils of her hair catching against the stubble of his cheek. For the first time with her, he allowed himself a brief moment of weakness: he turned just enough to smell the ocean in her hair. Unbidden, his hand moved to feel those strands between the pads of his fingers, but it was not to be. She pulled away, inspecting her handy-work with an air of satisfaction.

His eyes were drawn to hers as her fingers settled over the stone hanging at his chest. She leaned close to the jewel, pressing it to her lips and whispering in something that sounded like another language. This time their eyes caught; his warm with something he wasn’t ready to name, and hers brimming with power.

He tried to speak, but had to clear his throat against the dryness in his mouth. He gave her a look when he thought he heard her laugh, but she only smiled, sharp and playful. Damn her. “So. What, uh… what was that?”

“A blessing,” she answered, fingers moving to the stone again. “Whenever you travel out to sea, if the winds are too strong, this will tame them for you. If a storm approaches, this will make the currents remove you from its path. Do not abuse its power, and you will be safe.”

The longer she spoke, the more he heard the distant call of a song in his mind. He would swear she wasn’t singing, and yet…

His fingers found her cheek, and she looked up to him in surprise. Their eyes held for a long moment, and the call grew sweeter, more and more tempting the longer their gazes met. Tentatively, her hand moved to his cheek, mirroring his touch. His eyes closed of their own volition, pressing more fully into her hand…

“Lyyy!”

Eli’s voice pulled him back to his reality, and he looked to their home where she was calling him from.

The siren was quiet when she spoke, as if reluctant to break the bubble surrounding their world. “You love her, yes? Your sister?”

Lysander’s smile was small but fond. “She’s a brat when she wants something, but yes. I love my sister.”

He could hear the smile in her voice now. “And your human mate? She has your love?”

Luciel. The thought of his dead fiance twisted his heart, his hand dropping from her cheek to curl to a fist in his lap. “There is always a part of me that loves her. She’ll hold my heart for the rest of my days.”

“Good,” she said, slipping back into the water. “It is late. I must return.”

He nodded in understanding. It was for the best. He could still hear the echoes of a song in his mind. “When are you coming back?”

She looked to the sky as she took a moment to think. “The moon will be at full circle tomorrow. Use the blessing the day after. I will return three days from then.”

“So five days from now,” he said, swallowing hard at her nod of agreement. “What if I want to see you before then?”

She looked briefly surprised, but then pleased. She tapped the center of her chest, where the stone lay on his. “If you have need of me, hang the stone in water and call to me with your heart. I will hear it, and come when I can.” With a parting nod, she dove below, disappearing beneath the waves.

Eli called his name again, and Lysander stood to full height, hand going to the pendant. “With my heart, huh?” He lifted it, bringing the cool gem to his lips where hers had rested. “Damn.”

–

He didn’t know how to tell her that it didn’t matter that she never sang for him. Her voice rang in his mind day and night. It came to him, louder and louder, until even a whisper sounded like a song.

–

“You lied!”

“I didn’t lie! I told you–”

“You said your heart belonged to another! Your human mate, you told me you loved her!”

“I do love her! A part of me always will.” Anger and frustration burned in his throat, but he fought for patience. “But Luciel is gone and buried. She has been for three years now.” Admitting it out loud didn’t hurt anymore, and he needed to make her understand. “I loved my fiance, Lady. But she wouldn’t want me to wallow in despair. I know she would want me to try.” He dropped to a knee at the edge of the dock, pleading with her. “Hearts change, Xotchil,” he tried to ignore her flinch at his use of her name, “and mine is calling to you.”

“No,” the siren’s eyes were filling with tears, fierce, full of rage and despair. “I will not sing for you, human. You will stay here, where you belong. You will stay.”

“You can’t make me stay!”

His yell drew her up short. Her eyes, green as the ocean she swam in, considered the man before her–and her shoulders sagged, the rage leaving her. All that remained was the despair, making her small, sad… almost human. “No. I cannot make you stay.” She shook her head, and the despair left her too, and instead he was faced with the warriors determined stare. “But I can go where you cannot.”

His eyes go wide. It hadn’t occurred to him that his might be her answer. That asking to go with her would make her leave. “What–Xotchil–”

“I will not return. Good-bye, Lysander.” She dove beneath the surface, vanishing into the brine.

“Wait!” The water stung his eyes as he jumped in after her. He lost precious seconds getting back to the surface, desperate for a flash of copper tail. “Xotchil!” The water was ice on his skin, but he couldn’t stop. Stopping meant losing her, and losing her– “Xotchil!”

He swims as far as his body will let him, and nearly drowns from the effort. He only survives because instinct drives him, and he treads water, screaming against the crashing waves surrounding him. “Xotchil!”

The shouts of her name don’t bring her back, and the combination of freezing waters and the storm moving in forces him back to the dock. He’s a shaking mess on the water logged wood, body wracked with cold and pelting rain coming down on his head. He has to get inside before he dies of hypothermia, but he can’t give up. He’ll find her, somehow.

Days turn into weeks, and there’s no sign of his siren. He’s been careful about spending the gold pieces she left him before she disappeared, but eventually he has to go back to work. He dreads every day of it, the sickening smell of human sweat and rotting fish making his gorge rise. It’s no wonder she hated the smell.

Night after night he goes back to the docks, heart aching. He knows his ship isn’t enough to survive a long trip out to sea, or he’d have gone looking for her already. And he can’t leave Eli. So he waits.

And every night as he dips the cool garnet stone into the water, calling with everything he is for her… every night, he hopes.

#mermaids #sirens #stories #writing #my writing #original characters

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samoyeddaniel-blog · 7 years

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Siren's Call Pt. 1 | Werewolf! Ong Seongwoo

genre: angst, fluff, supernatural, werewolf au, siren au

member: Ong Seongwoo

requested: no

a/n: inspired by wolf au fic I read and I can’t help but write a wolf au fic myself lol

summary: you were performing the call, but you didn’t realize that you called a wolf along with the sailors.

Part 1 | (on-going)

Come… come to me…

No matter how loud you turn the music on, you could still hear the voice in your head and you hoped you could just ignore it. But sadly, you couldn’t. You sighed and put down the book you were reading to glance at the window of your room, looking at the beach near your house. And then you heard the voice again.

Come here… come…

It’s the voice of the ocean calling you. Lazily, you dragged yourself out of bed and rushed out of your house, running straight towards the beach. You knew you needed to get there as fast as possible before everything went wrong.

You hated it when the ocean called you, because it could only mean one thing: it’s time to perform the call.

You never liked being a siren, having to lure sailors to their death to relieve the ocean’s hunger. It made you feel terribly awful, like you were a psychopath or a mass murderer. But it’s not like you were any better than those killers and it’s not like you could do anything about it now. You had chosen to serve the ocean yourself in order to save your own life and nothing could ever be done to break the oath.

It all happened when you were still seventeen, sailing the ocean with your big family to celebrate the wedding of your cousin on a ship. Unfortunately, the weather got worse and your ship hit an iceberg. The next thing you knew, your ship had sunk and you were drowned in the ice cold water.

On the brink of death, you faintly heard someone speaking in your mind.

Do you want to live?

Desperate to get out of the water and breathe, you answered without thinking twice. You didn’t want to die right here right now. You were still young and there were still so many things you wanted to do. It was too early to end your life.

“Yes,” you answered, water going inside your mouth as you did.

You thought you would die soon because you were out of breath and water kept filling your lungs. But then something impossible happened: you suddenly could breathe again. Confused, you slowly opened your eyes and you could see you were still underwater. Your legs felt weird, so you dropped your gaze to check on them and you screamed. Your legs had turned into a fish tail.

Serve me forever… in exchange for the life I gave you…

That’s when you realized you had been turned into a siren, bound to serve the ocean for the rest of your now immortal life.

You reached the beach just in time to watch the sunset, but you didn’t have time to admire its beauty as the voice in your mind got louder now that you were near the ocean. After making sure no one was watching, you jumped into the ocean, feeling your legs turning into a tail once you touched the water.

It’d been a decade since you turned into a siren, so you’re perfectly used to swimming with your tail. Ocean had become your second home and, as if you had memorized the world map and its coordinates in your mind, you knew exactly where you had to go.

You met with two sirens from your choir - it’s what a group of sirens was called; if wolves had packs, sirens had choirs. Like the ocean itself, you could speak to other sirens and sea creatures underwater through your mind, like a telepathy.

Y/N, you take the small yacht near the shore. Soojung and I will handle the huge cruise a little father north from here, Seulgi - the leader of your choir - commanded. That should be enough for two months.

Soojung visibly shivered, although sirens were immune to the coldness of the ocean. I hate this.

You gave her a small smile. We all do.

Soojung was the newest recruit in your choir. It had only been a few weeks since her change. You could understand how afraid she was. Because you too felt the same way at your first time performing the call.

Seulgi was the oldest and the calmest. She’d been serving the ocean for a century. And she was the best leader your choir could ever have. When you were lost and terrified at your first call, she had been there for you, guiding you patiently and helping you get through it.

You parted way with Soojung and Seulgi to head towards your designated target. Approaching back to the beach, you spotted a small yacht floating near the shore. You swam upwards and let your head out of the water to get a better view of the yacht. There were about seven boys sailing on it and it looked like they were having a party, judging from the loud music and the champagnes they were holding. You felt awful that you had to take their life, seeing how young they were.

However, killing people was like a routine for you. You gradually became numb with the guilt. Even if you felt bad, you no longer needed to mop for days after the call. The more you performed the call, you got over it more quickly and more easily.

You found a rock near a cliff and you jumped out of the water to sit on it, dangling your tail in the ocean so that it would stay wet and not turn back into legs. Taking a deep breath, you concentrated and started to sing. You were confident that they would hear you despite their loud music because your voice had much more power to attract men. In a second, the boys turned off their music to hear you more clearly as their eyes were focused on you. One by one, like they were in a trance, they began jumping out of their yacht to dive into the ocean, sending them to their death. The water was freezing cold and humans wouldn’t be able to survive it.

After making sure they were all dead, you were about to stop singing when you caught sight of movement at the top of the cliff next to you. You snapped your head up to see what it was and your eyes widened with shock. It’s a big white wolf, walking towards the edge of the cliff as if it was in a trance just like the boys. At one glance, you knew that it was no ordinary wolf, it was a werewolf.

You didn’t get how it happened. You didn’t know that werewolves were also affected by your singing. No one had ever told you before and it was the first time you encountered something like this during your ten years as a siren.

The ocean wouldn’t accept anything besides humans, so when the werewolf did a cliff diving, you also dove back into the water. The werewolf was still under your spell and not moving at all after diving. When you finally arrived, the wolf turned into a human, causing you to panic for a second, thinking that you might have accidentally killed him. You let out a sigh of relief as you saw bubbles coming out from his mouth, a sign that he’s still alive. With your inhuman strength, you dragged him to the beach easily and laid him down on the sand. It seemed that your spell on him had been cancelled, because he didn’t make any effort to walk back into the ocean.

You quickly dried your tail to change it back into legs and left the beach before the werewolf regained his consciousness completely and asked you questions which you couldn’t answer. You obviously didn’t want to have anything to do with the werewolves.

However, fate had its own plan for you.

The next morning, you woke up because of the knocking sounds coming from your front door. You were beyond shocked to see the werewolf boy from yesterday showing up in front of your house, looking very angry, confused, and exhausted. You certainly hadn’t expected him to visit you at all, much less come to you early in the morning seeming like he hadn’t slept a wink last night.

“Can I help you?” Since he didn’t say anything and only looked at you, you decided to ask first, pretending to not recognize him.

“What have you done to me?” he asked, his breath uneven. He clearly had been running to reach your house.

You raised your brows. Now you didn’t understand what he meant. You didn’t do anything to him besides saving him from death and bringing him back to the shore. “What are you talking about?”

He ruffled his hair in frustration and began rambling, “I woke up in the beach last night and the first thing I caught is your smell. My inner wolf kept asking me to go after you. I ignored it at first and went straight home. But then I couldn’t sleep at all! I kept thinking about you. I kept smelling your scent. My inner wolf wants me to be with you, to make sure you’re okay. It doesn’t make sense!”

You thought that he’s done talking, but then he continued, “The most ridiculous thing is that my inner wolf keeps saying that you are my mate! Can you believe that? I don’t remember finding my mate, so it can’t be you. I’m supposed to sense something the first time I see my mate to know that she’s my mate. But I haven’t even seen you before, yet my inner wolf insists that you’re my mate. It asked me to find you the moment I opened my eyes at the beach yesterday. Come to think of it, I don’t even remember how I ended up in the beach.”

“Ah, I can explain to you why you ended up in the beach,” you said and started to tell him what had happened yesterday.

His jaw dropped after you finished story-telling. “You did what? You performed the call on me?”

You shrugged. “I guess I was too close to the land. I didn’t have any intention to perform the call on you. I didn’t even know that my singing could affect your kind.”

“Me neither,” he said. “So now what do we do? I’m barely holding myself back from hugging you right now.” He shook his head hard. “Damn, I’m craving for your physical affection so much I’m going crazy.”

You blushed at his blunt remark, but at the same time, you felt guilty because it was your fault he was feeling like that. So you sheepishly brought your hand to his face and stroked his cheek with the back of your fingers. “Hugging might be too much. But will this help?”

He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of your touch as if it was what he needed to keep him alive. “Yes, thank you.”

You retracted your hand after a few seconds, worried that it would be awkward between you two. Clearing your throat, you said, “I’ll talk with the choir. Maybe they’ll know what to do.”

“I’ll ask the pack too. Something like this might have happened in the past before,” he said, his eyes never going away from you. “I’m Seongwoo.”

“I’m Y/N.”

You were about to wave him goodbye when he suddenly asked, “Can we meet more often? I think I might actually go insane if I don’t see you.”

“Yeah. It’s fine,” you said, once again feeling sorry for causing this to happen to him. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

Looking very reluctant to leave your side, Seongwoo started to walk away. “See you later!”

After sending Seongwoo off, you sat on your couch and stared at nothingness. The guilt began creeping into you. You felt terrible when you saw his sad eyes as he left you earlier.

Just what had you done to him?

a/n: I know I shouldn’t start a new chaptered stories when I still have so many things to finish but I can’t help lol I need to write down my inspiration before I forget haha tell me what you think about this! Do you like it? Should I continue?

#wanna one #wanna one scenarios #wanna one angst #wanna one imagines #wanna one fluff #ong seongwoo #ong seongwoo scenarios #ong seongwoo imagines #ong seongwoo fluff #ong seongwoo angst #produce 101 #produce 101 scenarios #produce 101 imagines

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shackleschains · 4 years

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What happened? - Chapter One (1,525 Words)

Seeing as his mother gave her kingdom back to her people, Charles was couranated when he was. He was crowned after he was resurrected (story for another day), with his sister at his side. By this time, he was already engaged to his girlfriend, Princess Kiara. Were you expecting me to say Paris? How unfortunate. He was too.

When the coronation crown was placed on his head, his shoulder length hair grew to his upper back. His freckles died out a bit. They were now less visible, less frequent in his face. His stubble of facial hair grew into a beard. His outfit changed as well. His red robes turned into a deep blue with a white fur lining. His yellow tunic and pants turned to a periwinkle. His brown steel toe boots turned to white leather ones. His clothes became less baggy, except for his robes for which became longer. His nose broadened but his face kept its general shape.

He hadn’t noticed the changes until he looked down. His sister was sitting on the throne beside him. They placed the coronation crown on her head. Her long brown hair fell to her shoulders from its previous half-up half-down style. The hair was given blue and purple highlights. The dress she was wearing was their mothers coronation dress. It was solid pink at the top, but had a mix of pastel blues, purples, and magentas for the skirt. While the top hugged her chest tightly, the skirt was that of a large ball gown and feathered all the way down. She paired the dress with her mothers sequined pumps. The dress changed to green, dark purple, and deep blue. The feathered style of the skirt left for a layered one. The top gained a few sequence. Her mothers pumps were replaced by black cone heels.

They both stood up and took a bow for their new kingdom. Charles was now the king. Theodora was the low princess. Kiara was the high princess. She wouldn't be crowned queen until she married Charles in a few months. He hated the idea of losing his freedom, but loved her. Kiara would gain her home kingdom (deep in Africa, around one continent over seeing as Charles' kingdom was off of the Bahamas.) After her parents passed away. The plan was to give Theodora the kingdom that Charles and Kiara were not ruling.

As Charles stood back up, he saw her. Princess Kiara. She had deep black skin, Fiery orange eyes, and deep red hair. She stood there in the natural clothes of her people. A white long asymmetrical skirt with a matching halter top. Her tiara was nothing more than a white silk head tie. As Charles and Teddy sat back down, their new crowns were placed on their heads. Charles' made of solid gold was lined with white fur and full of white diamonds. Theodora's was a silver with mutli colored jewels matching the ones in her dress.

They stood up and left. They walked carefully down the two flights of stairs from the royal box. They found it hard not to laugh at each others new royal looks. They spent the rest of the evening socializing.

××××××

The next night, Charles and Teddy went for a walk along the beach that lined their kingdom and edged their castle. Their castle was built on a cliff. It gave an amazing view, but that wasn't the reason why. It was the only part of the kingdom that was unstable in the least. So K'lynn decided that her life was better risked then her peoples.

As they walked along the beach, Theodora played a flute-like instrument that their mother taught her how to play. Charles carried with him, a golden harp. He played a melody along with hers. It was so beautiful and lovely that it sounded as if the trees were singing to their music. As Charles watched the stars and graceful skyline, something in the water caught his eye. It was cargo. Large wooden boxes and barrels. He quickly stopped playing and ran to the water. He pulled out large crates and items of the nature. Theodora helped as well. It was when Charles heard the waves hit his boots and the salt air caress his beard that he heard a soft shallow breath.

He turned around, tore off his boots and tunic before diving into the water. He was met with debris and large chunks of wood. He carried a soldier out of the water over his shoulders. Theodora gasped and helped him carry the man to the shore.

"Start a fire to warm him, replace his shirt with mine, there's got to be others!" He gasped to her.

"How do you know there are others?" She asked as she placed the man against the cliff wall.

Charles looked at the edge of their island and pointed. It was a large wooden ship with a hole edged into its port side. Wood, cargo, and everything else was pouring into the ocean. "That!" He said darkly. "Go inside after you know he's okay and get more people to help! Hurry!" He ordered her. She nodded hurriedly. He took a deep breath before jumping into the beautiful water. He pulled out two more men, one half conscious, the other had a bleeding head.

The conscious one grabbed Charles' hand as he tried to rest them in the sad. He could barely mutter three weak words before passing out into the sand, exhausted.

"Save the Princess..."

Charles scanned the water. He found a girl just younger than him floating on a piece of driftwood. She was unconscious and only hung to the price of wood because her soaking wet dress was caught on it. He dove in again and swam to her. She was the farthest out yet. When he finally got back to land he saw a large number of their own men and women coming to help the lost voyagers. He carried the girl over to the fire and kept her warm. It took them till daybreak before they could get all of the visitors onto land. An entire ship full plus their cargo. The debris still filled the sea but Charles had already arranged a cleaning crew.

The strongest men carried the soldiers up to the castle where they could be clothed, fed, bathed, and rested. It was two men for every one soldier. One carrying head, the other carrying feet. Charles found the princess laying next to the dying fire. She seemed to be coming to and from consciousness. He looked around before picking her up bridal style and carrying her up to the castle. He walked all the way up the ten flights of stairs with her in his arms before setting her down on the soften bed in the castle. His own. He wrapped her in blankets before leaving the room.

He walked back down to the ocean and helped clean up the beach. They were split into two groups. The cleaners and the bringer. The bringers brought everything from the beach back to the castle. The cleaners cleaned up the water and removed the filth that ruined their once perfect marine habitat.

××××××

A few hours later, he walked back up to his room. He had forgotten that he let the unnamed princess stay there. When he opened the door he walked over to his large clauset and removed his wet shirt for a dry one. He froze when he heard the bed move. He turned around slowly remembering the barely conscious girl.

She was quite stunning. Long blonde hair in a french braid behind her back. Her dress looked to be like a white towel tied around her chest. Her piercing blue eyes scanning his body, mainly his top less chest. Several times. She didn't seem to be scared. She just had a questioning look on her face. It was a look that spoke many words but mainly "hmmm," and "why". He nodded his head to her before putting on the dry shirt.

"I'm king Charles. Your ship crashed on my coast last night. You are currently in Asalia, kings quarters of course. Do you know who you are?" He spoke a bit hurriedly but he wanted to know she was okay. He wanted her to know it too. She nodded her head in silence before standing up. Her soaking dress clung to her body. He respectfully kept his eyes on her face. She walked over to him.

"I am princess Launi of the kingdom Valcanus." She spoke with pride but as well as with sweetness. It was as if she was telling him in a way to reassure him but not to offend his ego. He smiled at that. He held out a hand of friendship. She accepted.

"Well, Princess Launi, I'm sure we can find you a dry set of clothes if you will kindly follow me to the next room. It's my sister's. Princess Ted- Theodora." He corrected himself. He held the small of her back with his large right hand as they walked out of the room.

#light of evil #loe #charles strange #charlie strange #theodora strange #teddy strange #fantasy #loe epilog #romance #love square?#love triange?

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stilesloverdaily · 7 years

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The Right Decision

Percy Jackson x Reader

Words: 1040

Warnings; none that i can think of, besides Greek mythology and mentions of a break up, fluff

Sitting upon the edge of Camp Half-Blood, my eyes roamed the lake in front of me. It glistened an orange as the sun was going down, the water still. My eyes drew attention to the little house not far from the bank of the lake, owned by the son of Poseidon. He was sat outside his house, talking to some girl whom I expected to be the Goddess of Wisdom’s daughter, Annabeth.

The two seemed to be in that of a heated argument, so I faced away and enjoyed the sunset from the little cliff I was sat upon, minding my own business. The sky faded into oranges, pinks and purples and I smiled at the thought. I always felt at one with nature, but I guess that was the perk of being the child of Mother Nature. Some rustling was heard next to me, so I turned around and stuck my hidden blade in the direction of the noise, only to be met with goat legs. Glancing up, I noticed Grover was the owner and recoiled my blade.

“Geez, it’s just me.” Grover sighed, sitting down next to me. “Damn.”

Glancing to the Satyr beside me, I put my hands up in surrender, “Sorry, Grove. Habit.” I explained myself.

“Damn well, it’s a habit Y/N.” He stretched his hooves out and chuckled, “I thought you and I were supposed to be chill, you know Satyr and Mother Nature’s child.”

I let out a laugh, “Of course, Grover. You just don’t sneak up on people like that.” My head found his shoulder as I continued staring at the sun, however, Grover’s eyes were elsewhere. He glanced at the two in the house below and their fighting. “Your so nosey, you know that?”

He sat up straight, his head turning back to the sun. “It’s the gossip that attracts me....” I sighed as the sun was almost finished its decent into darkness, the woods around the lake fading into the creepy darkness it became at night. “Especially when they’re pointing over here.”

Grover’s words distracted me, my head whipped to the two down below as Annabeth stormed off, shouting the words, “We’re over, Percy.” My eyes traveled to Grover’s as an ‘oh shit’, and he glanced back. I cut our look short as we heard a splash from the water.

Percy had dived into the water, leaving his clothes behind, so he swam in only his boxers. The boy didn’t surface for a while, as he could hold his breath for a long time, a perk of being Poseidon’s son, I guess. He finally surfaced, only to just mindlessly float in the water.

His brown hair spreading out in the water around him as his ocean blue eyes were hidden under his closed lids.

“Maybe you should join him.” Grover chimed up.

I rolled my eyes, “Maybe you could.”

He stuck his hands up in defense, “Hey, they were pointing over here, Y/N.”

I took his words into consideration in my head, as the man had a point. But, did I want to intrude on his obvious ‘I just broke up with my girlfriend and I need to be alone’ moment? However, they were pointing over here and that intrigued me. Just as I was about to come to my decision, Grover stood up.

“Well, it’s dark now, so I better head out. Plus, Ameina wanted to meet up, and I cant deny her, I mean come on. It’s Ameina.” I waved the horny goat off as I too stood up.

Sighing to myself, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and lifted it over my head, and pulling down my jeans, only to be left in my underwear. Kicking my shoes into a pile with my clothes, I went back a bit and did a run up, before diving into the lake. Sinking down, I pushed myself back up and gasped for air. Once I had enough, I swam underneath the water until I saw the boy.

“Y/N?” Percy asked as I resurfaced. I smiled at the boy as I wiped the water off of my face.

“Hey.”

He giggled at little, “ ‘hey’? No explanation on why you’re here.”

I was taken aback, was this not the right decision? “Well, I saw you and Annabeth fighting, and then you jumped in here, so I wanted to see if you were okay.” I rambled to the boy.

“Okay.” We both just decided to float for a bit in the water, staring at the stars above. Both of us floated in silence for what seemed like ages, but was probably only five minutes, as the world went past. “I’m fine. Thank you for your worry.”

Smiling to myself, I stole a quick glance to the boy before continuing my stargazing. “It’s really gorgeous tonight, if I do say so myself.” I spoke up. It was, the sky was ebony black, with white speckles scattered through it, a moon shining bright and no cloud in sight. A clear night sky, was a peaceful image right now.”

“You’re really gorgeous too, if I do say so myself.”

I looked towards Percy confused, to find him already looking at me. A smile etched its way onto my face. “Well, I’m flattered. However, you just broke up with Annabeth from what I’m guessing with her shouting as she walked away.”

“Did you hear anymore of the conversation?”

“No, Mr. Jackson, because I’m not as nosey as Grover.”

We both laughed as we swayed in the water, “Well, we broke up because she found out that I had feelings for someone else.”

“I’m guessing that’s me?” My smile continued as I turned to face the sky once more.

He chuckled, “Very smart.”

“Well, you see Percy Jackson, I indeed was not born yesterday.”

His hand reached over to mine, and out of respect, I held his back. “I know this is quite soon and stuff, but I’ve learned to go with my gut. So, I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime?” I debated over it, before looking to him to give him my answer and finding him already glancing at me with his eyes that sparkled in the moonlight.

“Of course, Percy.”

Tagged: @justsomewritingsandshit , @itsnotnormalteen

#percyjackson #percy jackson #percyjacksonxreader #percy jackson x reader #loganlerman #logan lerman #grover underwood #groverunderwood #reader imagine #fluff

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 7 years

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Alliance Part 4 (Gibson x Reader)

Summary: The battle is far from over and so is the alliance.

AN: This is the final part of the Alliance Series so I hope you guys enjoyed it and enjoy this. I made it a bit longer than usual because it's the big finale and I had a day off work. @hufflepuff-and-feminist and @firaemsen this one's for you two - my key motivators - and @outofworkactress because I can't wait for more "Je t'aime".

Previous Part Masterlist Alternate Ending

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

“GO! We have to GO!”

Y/N felt the current dragging at her ankles as she shoved Gibson away from the hull and towards the ladder. Only then did he notice the water was up past their necks and everyone else had abandoned their task long ago.

Struggling against the water current, Y/N forced herself up the ladder with gulps for air. Pushing off of the sinking deck with water sloshing around her legs, Y/N spotted another ship a quarter of a mile away. The soldiers from the trawler were already paddling towards it.

“Gibson!” She called, backstroking her way over, “Gibson! This way!”

Feeling her body getting sucked down by the water current, Y/N swam harder, pawing through the water. Her stomach was in stitches and the cold water stung against her body but the behemoth ship was so close.

A dreaded droning zoomed overhead. The source of the stomach-churning noise flew overhead and dropped bombs on the only hope of staying alive. Taking a deep breath, Y/N ducked under the water for protection and covered her ears. The explosions sent shockwaves rippling through her body.

When the barrage ended, she broke the surface to see the ship still floating. Y/N swam around to find Gibson but he was nowhere in sight. Frantically, she looked for the others but they were already headed for the dark mass in front of the ship. If Gibson was going anywhere, the Keith was – Y/N did a double take at the dark mass that was diffusing towards her. It was then she realised that the Keith was slowly sinking below the surface, just like the trawler.

Ducking under the water, Y/N saw Gibson wasn't anywhere in the vicinity but there was a sailboat. Her first thought was that it was a mirage but then she saw others swimming towards it. Avoiding the oil, she swam as fast as she could towards it. Hopefully Gibson and Tommy would be doing the same.

As she drew up to the side, a set of arms pulled her out of the water. She tried to climb up the side but her legs were too tired. She was met with a man in RAF uniform and a younger boy in a bright red jumper. A little disorientated, Y/N stared at them with a disgruntled expression.

“Sit down,” The RAF pilot led her to the corner of the boat, out of the way, before returning to help lift other soldiers onboard. Scanning the faces of those who were brought aboard, Y/N didn’t see Gibson or Tommy. Fear spiked in her as Alex came aboard, his face coated in oil, but he didn’t notice her. Instead he headed straight for the companionway.

The Heinkel swarmed around the Keith even as it was shot.

“GO! GO! GO!”

The last soldier was bought aboard as the Moonstone. He collapsed on the deck in front of Red Jumper. It was Tommy. Leaping to her feet, Y/N practically jumped on Tommy and lifted him off the deck.

“Tommy, you’re ok! Did you see Gibson?”

Still catching his breath, Tommy shook his head before he was taken into the companionway. Y/N looked about frantically, the muffled request for her to sit down falling on deaf ears. Gibson wasn’t on the boat. Rushing to the side, she peered at the men left in the water.

She thought she saw him. There were so many so she wasn't sure but she couldn't just abandon him.

“Hey! Hey! What are you doing?” The RAF pilot restrained her as she stood on the edge. Y/N forcefully shoved him back and dove into the water. Like before with the torpedoed boat, adrenaline gave life to her stiff movements. She didn’t have a plan other than to get Gibson.

The man she thought was him had swam away but Gibson was there. He was left in the wake of the Moonstone, thrashing in the water, away from the oil but not safe from the cold shock.

Gibson was sinking into the ocean, his face barely breaking the surface, when she made it to his side, her muscles burning like the fuel on the water. Tiredly treading the water, she lifted him back up and onto his back. He coughed up the water and fought not to cling to Y/N. His boots were still weighing him down.

“Float,” Y/N spluttered, “You float in cold water so the shock wears off!” Her assurance was in vain as Gibson struggled to swim.

“Stop!” She nearly choked on a wave, “It’s ok!” Keeping a hand under his back, Y/N glanced around. The Moonstone was too far away and showed no signs of coming back but there were other sailboats in the near distance.

Lifting Gibson by the scruff of his neck to keep him afloat, Y/N propelled herself towards another sailboat. One painted red was already sailing over towards them. With a dunk and a kick for momentum’s sake, Y/N waved at it and prayed that they would stop to pick them up.

The sailboat slowed, granting Y/N her wish, and a ladder was dropped down as it pulled against the duo. Gibson was no longer thrashing, simply waiting with chattering teeth. Hands reached down to help while he was ushered up the ladder first. Only when he was pulled onboard, his ally followed him up. She wasn’t making that mistake again.

Y/N flopped onto the deck with Gibson next to her. Wheezing loudly, she was helped up and ushered onto the side of the boat. A lifejacket was tossed at her and she plonked herself out of the way. Gibson fell next to her, shivering as he leant on her chest. Y/N curled up her left arm around to cradle his head, resting hers atop it.

No one asked for them to move; even though it made the other uncomfortable to see two men so close, they were too tired to complain.

As evening came, Y/N was watching the sun go down, the pink rays ghosting over the white cliffs of Dorset. Her fingers gently played with Gibson’s hair, working the feeling back into them; it soothed them both into a lulled state and made time move faster. In no time at all, they were approaching the harbour at Weymouth.

Stumbling a little, Y/N stepped onto the harbour’s jetty and, after helping Gibson onto the boards, headed for the train. A chit, some tea and a pastry were thrust into their hands with murmurs of congratulations at their survival.

“Well done, lads,” The man held out a blanket to her. She accepted without looking up to him. Tucking them under her arm, Y/N rested her hand on Gibson’s lower back to guide him onto the train. He had his own sustenance and was copying her body language.

Soon, they were sat at their own table and shielded their faces from those walking past with their food. Gibson forced some of the pasty down his throat, not enjoying the taste or the burning but he kept eating until it was gone. Then he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and used his forearms as a pillow. He dozed off to the sound of the train pulling out of the station.

Ignoring Alex's comment about the old blind man, Tommy tucked himself into his seat. He opened his eyes at the sound of someone dropping something on his table. Y/N was slouched next to Alex, a clear set distance between them, with a blanket in her lap and a ceramic mug of tea in her hand.

What she said next was directed at Alex, “You say anything, I cut your nuts off and stuff ‘em down your throat. Got it?”

Alex looked down, “Gibson?”

“Over there, sleeping. He’s alright, no thanks to you.”

“We won’t say anything,” Alex swallowed hard.

Tommy copied him, tensing at this hardened version of his friend, “How’d you get him out?”

“Jumped in. Got him to another boat.”

“Are you ok?” Tommy asked.

“I will be... Hope you get to take a shit sometime, Tommy.” Y/N stood and started to leave then stopped. Pivoting back, she swallowed some tea before speaking again:

“I’m glad you both made it. Good luck.”

Then she was gone. Neither Alex nor Tommy got the chance to ask for her real name. And Alex didn't have the chance to ask Tommy what she meant about taking a shit before he fell asleep.

Gibson flinched at the sunlight glaring through the window, rendering him disorientated. He looked around and took in his surroundings; most of the soldiers were asleep and those who weren’t were staring at their tables. Instead of joining the status quo, he turned to his comrade.

Y/N was still tucked up against the window. The blanket was tucked over her body with a small section scrunched up in her neck to prop her head up. Stretching his legs, Gibson felt her boots topple over under the table.

The sound of the whistle shook Y/N awake, her blanket falling away from her neck. She glanced out the window to see the stereotypical English countryside.

Y/N leant forward and gestured for him to do the same. Both of them rested their chins on their forearms, their noses almost brushing as Y/N whispered:

“You and me… Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres…”

She paused, trying to remember what she had to say. Then it came to her.

“Maintenant nous sommes en Angleterre… Tu peux rester avec moi. Chez moi.”

Gibson nodded mutely, near tears. Her French was terrible but it was also somewhat endearing. With what she had given up for him and what she was doing, he didn’t know what to do.

Y/N joked for her benefit, “My translation wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Hiding his face in his sleeves, Gibson wiped his eyes away. He was still waiting to wake up from his nap on the beach. There was no way this person was really letting him do this. It was all just a dream then he’d wake up and have to get back on duty.

But he didn’t wake up. Not when the train stopped or when they passed through the station and not on the entire route to an unknown destination. The walk was long, at least half an hour, and they didn’t go without some strange looks from people. A lot of people. Y/N didn’t stop,

The pair finally arrived at the house. It was squashed on one side at the end of a long line of terraces with grey bricks and uneven slates leading to the front door. But Y/N walked around to the side. Gibson treaded lightly on the lawn on tiptoe, butterflies pounding against the lining of his stomach. This was real. He was going to be ok.

Pushing open the back gate, Y/N stepped into the garden. Gibson took in the sight with wide eyes. Asters, delphiniums, hydrangeas and snapdragons lined the fences. A washing line was filled with fresh clothes that swayed in the wind. Roses climbed up the brickwork and to the windows. Lush grass made the tiny garden feel so much bigger and the trees stretched up to the sky with thick green leaves, blocking the unused privy from view. One had a wooden swing gently rocking back and forth. It was like heaven.

A young man in cotton pyjamas was sat in his wheelchair, staring out into the garden with a lopsided smile. Y/N took a deep breath and walked up to him, leaning over the chair before she whispered something. The young man turned to her and let out a high-pitched groan, his smile widening one side and drooping the other. His twitching arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Michael, what is it?” A voice called out and Gibson shrank back behind the side alley. A tall commercial woman came out of the kitchen door; she was wearing washing up gloves on that juxtaposed her composed appearance.

“Hey, ma,” Y/N’s voice broke. With a wail, the commercial woman flung herself at Y/N. The pair clung to one another, sobbing into the other’s shoulders. Michael joined in, making a discord of noises. Pulling away, now with a large oil smear down her blouse, the commercial woman held Y/N’s face with tears streaming down her face.

“All your hair’s gone!” She ran a hand through Y/N’s curls, teasing out the knots, “But you’re safe! I saw the paper and I didn’t know what to think!”

Y/N saw Gibson hiding behind the house wall and figured she might as well cut to the chase.

“This is Gibson, can he stay for a bit?”

“Sure. Hello Gibson,” Her mother greeted Gibson with open arms. Looking at Y/N over the stranger’s shoulder, Gibson sent an expression of alarm and instantly Y/N stepped in.

“Careful, he’s shell-shocked.”

Her mother quickly released Gibson and moved away with an “oh”. Gibson looked down at the concrete slabs, his hands twitching. Or were they shivering?

“I’ll make you some food,” Ma said quietly, a little patronising, but Gibson didn’t understand anyway. She then went back into the kitchen but not before hugging her daughter again.

“This is Michael,” Y/N helped Gibson over to the man in the wheelchair, “Michael, this is Gibson.”

Michael waved, his hand flailing a little but a definite improvement compared to when Y/N left. Already shaking with nerves, Gibson continued to stare his lap. Ma didn’t seem to mind his behaviour too much. She made him ham and cheese sandwiches with apple slices and a pint of fresh water. Seeing him nearly choke on his food three times, Y/N started to ration his food between helping Michael with his.

Ma was good enough not to ask about anything that’d happened. Instead, she left them to eat alone and went to draw up a bath for them. As soon as they finished their food, Y/N and Gibson went to clean up.

Up the tiny-staircase, Gibson looked around at the photos and odd décor before he entered Y/N’s room. A simple box with a few photos on the vanity, a wardrobe with minimal clothes and a bed that was a bit bigger than the average twin.

“You can stay here,” Y/N pointed to the bed and then to the bathroom that was adjacent to her room. Gibson followed her finger and shut the door behind him but not before she’d handed him a towel, new toothbrush and a freshly washed set of pyjamas that Michael wasn’t using.

As Gibson gingerly placed his things on the lavatory seat, he rubbed the fluffy towel against his face. The soft fabric caressed his cheek, so different to his uniform. Then he brushed his teeth for the first time in weeks. It felt unusually clean, like stepping into an over-disinfected hospital.

The bath was half full of water and coated in a miniscule layer of bubbles. He knelt in front of the bath and waved a hand through the suds. A wave of fear washed over him and he stood up again, going back into the bedroom to see Y/N who was scrubbing her skin red raw with a nail brush. He coughed to get her attention and her rapid scrubbing stopped.

“You ok?” Y/N said quietly. Blinking back tears, Gibson shook his head.

“Uh,” Y/N folded her shirt while she thought of a solution. Opening the draw, she pulled out a flannel and gingerly took Gibson’s hand to lead him back in. Carefully soaking the flannel, Y/N held it up for Gibson to see before gently dabbing his face. For some reason, her other hand came to gently hold the other side of his face.

Closing his eyes, Gibson leant in her palm as she wiped his face free of oil. The warm water was soft against his skin and her fingers was tenderly stroking the hair that curled around his ear, putting him at ease. In no time at all, his face was clean.

“Do you,” She gestured to him then to the bath, “want to get in?” Gibson shivered before pointing to her and the bath.

“You want me to get in with you?” Y/N repeated the gestures. Gibson nodded. Tapping a random tune on the bath tub rim, Y/N nodded with him before disappearing to grab another towel.

Stripping off his clothes apart from his shirt and underwear, Gibson ripped off the dog tags. He didn’t know what to do with them. They weren’t his. He would have to find the family while he was here and give them the tags. Somehow. Maybe Y/N would help him… What even was her first name?

Y/N was now in an oversized t-shirt, probably her father’s. Placing Gibson’s change of clothes next to their towels, she climbed over the side of the bath and stood in it. Taking her outstretched hand, Gibson stepped into the bath with her. They weren’t completely past the awkwardness surrounding their proximity.

Taking a breath for courage’s sake, Y/N squatted down in the water and rubbed some of the suds against her forearms. It was more pleasant than the scrubbing brush. Gibson squatted down next to her, but refused to sit in the shallow water. Together, they rubbed their bodies free of oil and dirt.

Not exactly ready to dunk her head under water, Y/N used a cupped hand to run some water through her hair. Thrice was enough and Gibson got back out to rub himself dry.

“Merci, Y/N,” He said quietly, his accent distorting her name in the sweetest way possible.

“It’s ok,” She squeezed his shoulder and handed him his towel.

“It’s ok,” He repeated, wiping his arms with a nod and a nervous smile. His eyes were drooping shut as he brushed his face with the towel, his lack of energy hitting him gently.

Y/N let Gibson have the bathroom so he could change in peace. At least they still had those boundaries. It was then Y/N remembered that Gibson wasn’t “Gibson’s” real name. Going into the hallway, she ran her gaze across the bookshelves until she found the French-to-English dictionary.

After jogging her memory, Y/N recalled how to change verbs into the right tense. The gears were as taut as her limbs but she got there. Still, she flicked through the French-to-English dictionary to find the right words in order and practised the question before she spoke.

“Comment vous appelez-vous? Votre vrai nom?” She stammered out, peering into the bedroom to see Gibson curled up on the left side of the bed. He was half-tucked under the covers, lying on his front with his arms above his head and propped under the pillow.

Y/N put the book down on the side and lay down next to him. She stroked his hair one more time before closing her eyes. His name could wait one more night.

AN: For those who didn’t know, Aneurin gave Gibson’s real name.

I love this man. Also, the implication that comes with Michael is that the reader posed as her brother who wasn’t well enough to join the army. Bit o’ a Mulan situation on our hands. Side note: I will be posting an alternative ending to Alliance that *cough* stays true to the film’s canon.

Translations:

You and me…Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres…

You and me ... Work together. Protecting each other. Cover each other ...

Maintenant nous sommes en Angleterre. Now we are in England.

Tu peux rester avec moi. Chez moi. You can stay with me. Home.

Comment vous appelez-vous? Votre vrai nom?

What is your name? Your real name?

#dunkirk imagine #gibson imagine #gibson x reader #r: female #my writing #wc: >2k #aneurin barnard #aneurin barnard imagine #aneurin barnard x reader #imagine

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dac-bonj · 8 years

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Lesotho Infinity And Beyond: 6 December 2016: South Africa- Cape Town!!!

My British friend George and I left for Cape Town from Hermanus in the morning. It was so stressful driving in a city with traffic again. We returned the car, super dirty and needing gas, but the car rental guy said he wouldn’t charge me, which was great. I checked into my hostel, Zebra Crossing, a really nice hostel with wifi and lots of indoor/outdoor chilling space (R170/night, the cheapest I was able to find in Cape Town). We wandered around a little bit, then decided to try to make it to the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens with the train. But it turns out that the trains were all screwed up and delayed due to people stealing parts of the train or something, so they weren’t running. TIA. So we wouldn’t be making it to the gardens. We then met up with these other girls George knew from other hostels, and went to their fancy hostel and swam in their pool, which was awesome. Then all of us went out on Long Street, which is the primary street for bars and music, etc. Every night on Long Street is loud and crazy, but this was Saturday night, so it was especially so, and really fun.

The next day, I went on one of several free walking tours of Cape Town. I ended doing all three they offered, but on that particular day, I did the historical tour. I learned the following: There are 4 million people in Cape Town, with 1 million in the surrounding townships. Most people are coloured and speak English as a first language. On the tour, we saw Desmond Tutu’s church, some Dutch East India Company buildings, the company gardens, the spot where Nelson Mandela made his first speech after being released from prison, and a court house where they determined people’s race with such banal things as the the “pencil test,” in which they stuck a pencil in your hair, and if the pencil stayed put, you were black. If it didn’t, you were white or coloured. The way they classified race was so arbitrary sometimes, and people would often be reclassified from year to year, depending on how some clerk thought they looked. Absurd. I didn’t realize that Apartheid only ended 22 years ago, and the effects are definitely still being felt. Our tour guide was very careful in his choice of racial terms, saying things like “African” or a specific tribe like “Zulu” instead of saying “Black.” Other guides I had had no problem saying “Black.” I guess it’s up to everyone’s specific preference. The first guide said that everyone treats the racial terms differently, some wearing a label like “coloured” as a badge of honor, but others refusing to be defined by their race. They used to call all black people “Bantu,” even though that’s a specific language classification, and certainly not all Southern African tribes fall under this category. Things were divided into “whites only” and “non-whites only,” and even important foreign businesspeople visiting from Japan and China were put into the non-whites category and were treated as second class citizens. Then eventually all Japanese people, and then Chinese people became honorary whites, being granted all human rights and privileges, because of important business dealings. Cape Town, from the start, was always treated like a business for the Dutch East India Company, being used as a pit stop half way between the trade routes, so I guess they decided that people who were favorable to their business interests should be treated well even though they weren’t technically white.

One of two benches outside of the High Court. The other says "Coloureds Only." They are just kept for historical significance; the benches in Cape Town aren't all like this!

One day, a few people from my hostel decided to rent a car and drive down the cape to go to Simon’s town and Cape Point. Our cast of characters include a paramedic/ambulance driver from England/Cyprus, a photographer and adventure company owner from India, and an annoying nature cult lady who only wore white from the US. We rented a car from Around About Cars and picked it up in the morning. Our first stop was Simon’s town/Boulder’s Beach to see the awesome and waddley penguins. They were so cute! I also found my Peace Corps Lesotho friend Hillary there too, who I didn’t even know was in Cape Town, so that was a total coincidence to run into her. She rented a bike for the day to go down the cape as well, because the trains were still out of commission.

Penguins!

Our next stop was Cape Point and the Cape of Good Hope, which had amazing views of the surrounding mountains and cliffs, as well as the endless expanse of the ocean. There were a few trails we walked along in the area, including to an old light house. (It was at this point where Nature Cult Lady split to go to a special beach to do her voodoo rituals. Obviously, we did not join her.)

The road to Cape Point

Cliffs at Cape Point

Hey guys!

Obligatory handstand

"The most southwestern point on the African continent."

So many lizards!

I'd never get tired of these views

Then on the way back, we drove through Chapman’s Peak, on a road that was partially cut out of a cliff, which was awesome. Then we arrived back in Cape Town in the afternoon to return the car. That evening, we decided to light the braai (bbq) and roasted some meat and vegetables. This oldish guy was talking about working as a cameraman all over South Africa and having lions jump at him, which was pretty entertaining to hear.

In Cape Town, there are two main mountains to climb: Lion’s Head and Table Mountain. The next day, I decided to climb Lion’s Head in the morning. The hike takes you spiraling around the mountain, giving views of the city, the harbor, the ocean, and the beaches on the other side. There are also ladders, chains, and staples to help you get up, which was super fun to climb up on.

A ladder on the path up to the top of Lion's Head

A view from partway up Lion's Head. Signal Hill is on the right.

Staples and chains

The beautiful city

A sign at the top of Lion's Head. Who knows what it originally said?

On the way down, I took the path down to Signal Hill, where they fire a cannon every day at the same time. I saw paragliders taking off and floating around, swooping toward the hill and then gliding out toward the sea.

Paragliders that just took off from Signal Hill

Hillary and I met up for Free Tour #2, which was a tour of the Bo Kaap neighborhood. It’s a super colorful area of Cape Town where everyone still greets you (“Salaam” – it’s mostly Muslim there), people look out for each other, and troublemaking kids play a kind of ding-dong-ditch game. Our guide had practically grown up in that neighborhood, so it was great to hear some of his first-hand stories of the area. He explained that it’s so colorful because a long time ago, when everything was painted white, one person painted their house a bright color to distinguish it from the others as a sort of advertisement for the business they were running there. Other people caught on, trying to be more colorful than the next, and the result is:

Hillary and I finished off the evening with dinner at Bisemilah restaurant in the Bo Kaap for some delicious bobotie, a traditional South African dish of spiced mincemeat coated in a kind of egg topping, served over rice. It was so flavorful!

About halfway through my stay in Cape Town, I decided to move to a new hostel. Zebra Crossing was great, but I wanted to check out another hostel that some of my friends had stayed at, Long Street Backpackers. While Zebra Crossing was calm and quiet, Long Street Backpackers had a reputation of being loud and crazy. And it delivered, in a good way. It was also R170 per night, but wifi wasn’t free. I wasn’t mad, though, as I feel like it forces people to actually interact with each other (gasp!), which traveling is all about anyway. Wifi is a crutch. Plus I had a sim card with a little data anyway, so I could do the essentials like Whatsapp and email.

View from one of several balconies of Long Street Backpackers

So the day after I moved hostels, I loaded up my Cape Town bus card and bussed to Hout Bay, which is a beautiful beach and harbor area just south of Cape Town. I really wanted to surf, but the waves were tiny to nonexistent. The surf shop guy there told me it wouldn’t be worth trying to surf. I love the ocean, though, so I couldn’t resist at least swimming in the (freezing) water anyway. On the way back from Hout Bay, I stopped by Lladundo and Camps Bay, incredible-looking beaches.

Camps Bay Beach

I got back to Long Street Backpackers and immediately met an Israeli girl staying in my dorm. All Israelis have to go into the army, and she just finished three years of field intelligence. She was traveling now and would start college in a few months, and felt behind compared to similar-aged people of other nationalities, because lots of them have already established their careers by now. But I told her that having three years of life experience was better, because now she has a better idea of what she wants to do with her life before going to college. Lots of people, me included, just went to college without really knowing what they wanted to do, because going to college is just “what one does” right after high school.

Other people I met at this hostel include a sweet but crazy English guy, covered in tattoos, who takes a few weeks off every year and just goes insane partying in some foreign location. His blood brother, one of the managers of the hostel, and this English guy were being crazy together while another manager, a guy with a beer belly and a ponytail, looked on with a mixture of indifference, judgement, and brotherly love. There were also a couple of stunt guys who liked to hang out at the hostel a lot, one of which legit looked like a ken doll. The fun and craziness continued through my stay, helped along by the hostel bar’s free-shots-for-varying-levels-of-nudity policy (which I did not personally participate in. Don't worry, Mom.).

Perhaps the most iconic destination in Cape Town is Table Mountain, named so presumably because it’s flat on top. Many afternoons, a cloud will descend onto the top and start spilling down the sides, which people aptly call the table cloth. I woke up early one morning and bussed up the long hill to the base of the mountain. I went to the info booth and they pointed the way to the advised path, which I heard was just 2+ hours of stairs up to the top. I asked where the fun/hard path was, and they told me that that path was not advised because it was more dangerous, and that if I got hurt and told someone that the info people had told me how to go up the hard path, they would get in trouble. After persisting, the lady reluctantly nudged her head in the direction of the start of the trail. Sweet! It was really fun, with lots of rock scrambling, some chains and staples where they didn't need to be, no chains or staples where they definitely needed to be, and great views of the city once I got toward the top. For those who don’t care to climb the mountain, there is a cable car that will take you right to the top in just a few seconds. The hard path up would have been almost impossible to go down, as I was hoisting and squeezing myself on and between boulders on the way up, so I decided to take the normal path down. Surprise, it was an hour and a half of stairs, to the detriment of my knees. Ouch. While I can go up a mountain all day long (and have), I always hate going down a mountain. I might have taken the cable car down had I known/wasn’t so cheap.

Partway up Table Mountain, looking at Lion's Head

"This is not an easy way down," accurately advises a sign at the top where the hard path pops out

The tiny city below

Another great place in Cape Town is the V&A Waterfront. It’s a big expanse of shops and restaurant on the edge of the harbor. AKA it's pretty fancy. I got some awesome food, including a pan-seared beef and feta cheese wrap and some bubble tea. There was a Korean cultural festival happening when I was there, and I watched some k-pop dance contest on the steps of a little amphitheater. Then I walked to the Sea Point Promenade, which is a path along the water.

These yellow frame things are all over the city

Tourists think they're funny

The main reason I was at the waterfront was because that’s where the Robben Island tour leaves. I had ordered my ticket online a few days earlier because they sell out pretty quickly. My tour mates and I lined up to get on the ferry, which takes you 45 minutes out to Robben Island. After we got there, we got on some busses that would take us around the island. Before getting to the prison, we had a small tour of the island itself and what buildings used to be what, and also saw some penguins. At the prison, we got a tour with this awesome ex-political prisoner who told us all about life in the prison. There were many people, including Nelson Mandela, who were held there for many years for being part of the resistance movement against apartheid. He told us about how you were only allowed to have a few letters per year, and they were heavily censored by prison authorities by having words and sentences physically cut out of the paper. He told us about working in the quarries hammering rocks, and that the prisoners used to have secret meetings there to discuss political plans against the apartheid government. Even in prison, apartheid was going strong, as black prisoners had to wear short pants like children, got easier jobs, and got less food, and coloured prisoners got better treatment. Then we all ferried back to the mainland. I don’t think I would have understood/appreciated the tour NEARLY as much if I hadn’t read Nelson Mandela’s book, Long Walk to Freedom. It’s super interesting, and in general it helped inform me about life in South Africa (and in turn, somewhat about life in Lesotho).

Entrance to Robben Island

Beautiful Table Mountain on the mainland

Our guide talking to the group in the prison yard

One day, I decided to take the third of three free walking tours, this time in the District 6 area of the city. The tour was pretty boring, so I abandoned it and walked to Woodstock, a neighborhood in the northeast of the city. It was such a good idea to go there instead of enduring the rest of the tour, because I found SO MUCH STREET ART! If you know me, you know that I love love love street art, and it was literally around every corner in this neighborhood. Some people sitting outside their houses were super friendly, and when they saw me with my camera, they even pointed me in the direction of the best pieces. So cool!

Woodstock, straight ahead

This was one of the murals that the tour guide showed us. It's very important, but the building owner was painting over it! We might have been some of the last people to see it. It depicted what life was like in the 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s in South Africa.

A huge mural

Beep

Lots of the murals were animal-related, including this elephant...

...and this rhino

And even some of the buildings are crazily painted

The last place I went around Cape Town was Muizenberg, a beach town known for surfing. By this point, the train was actually running again, so a German guy (who I had first met in Coffee Bay and was staying at my hostel again in Cape Town) and I trained about an hour down there. Someone had told him that the train was unsafe, but I found it perfectly fine. Sure, there was graffiti all over the outside, but I felt completely safe. Some people are just sketched out over nothing, I guess. After we arrived at Muizenberg, we both rented surf boards and wetsuits and tried our hand at the waves. I still kind of suck at surfing, but every time I do it, I have the best time. Then after falafel for lunch, we went on a quest to buy him a wetsuit that he could take with him when he went to New Zealand in a few days. He was doing the one year working visa, which I am becoming more and more enthralled by. He was going to be a hiking guide there, which sounds awesome because I heard that New Zealand is absolutely beautiful for hiking. We eventually found him a suit and trained back to Cape Town, sufficiently exhausted by the day.

A screenshot of all the places I had dropped pins on my maps.me app. It shows where all I stopped along the coast from Durban to Cape Town!

I was super sad to leave Cape Town, and I forced myself to buy a bus ticket to Pretoria a few days earlier because I knew that if I didn’t buy it, I’d just stay in Cape Town forever. A friend I’d made at the hostel was super nice and drove me to the bus/train station where I got on the Intercape bus to Pretoria. Cape Town was one of the best places I’d visited by far: outdoor activities, indoor activities, food, night life, ocean, more food, diverse cultures, and cool people, Bye, Cape Town! I’ll definitely be back!

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