#this was supposed to be an “experiment“

[remotewatch]

this is literally what my chem class is like

wizard college is going to kill me I swear to god. I just saw someone without a component satchel reach into their pocket and pull out a handful of LOOSE tapioca to use as a substitute for blood in their fell ritual. and it worked. I've never been so fucking mad.

[boobav]

!season 1

Viktor is, you've clearly observed, insecure of himself.

Quite valiantly, due to some looming social norm or personal feeling, he tries to hide it. But in moments like these, such an act becomes impossible. Try as he might, desperately at times, when he's pressed against you in the warm water, your fingers over his skin, your fingers in his hair, his failure is palpable.

"Are you okay?" You murmur into the nape of his neck, his back against your chest. The water threatens with gentle churns to spill over the bathtub.

He turns his head to press a kiss against your wrist.

"More than," he says, voice quiet but firm, "I just feel, sometimes," and he hums, as though forming an adequate description of his emotions were the hardest task on the planet. Viktor, your genius scientist, hesitant not to innovate, to change the world with his research, no. He's hesitant only to make sure he says the right thing to you.

"Like I'm too good for you?" You ask, catching his eye. By the gentle look you know that's what he means. He faces away again, nods in a vaguely ashamed way.

How, you've always wondered, can you truly change someone's perspective? When words don't seem to persuade, when actions bring only fleeting relief, what can you do?

"It's irrational, I know, some... flaw of the mind. You don't need to keep reassuring my senselessness." He leans into your touch, takes your free hand into his, soap suds bubbling between your fingers.

"Sometimes you talk about yourself like you're a machine, you know." You muse. He gives a half-hearted laugh.

"Not a well functioning one."

Are words or actions worth more in this game of convincing? Does he feel it deeper when you press your lips into his hair, or when you mumble compliments and honeysuckle words into his ear? He shivers either way.

It's a long game, you know. It's taken months to even reach this stage, where the self-deprication is a rarity, not the norm. Maybe it'll take his whole life before he can accept every part of himself like you can, before he can truly see himself through your eyes, gleaming and gem-speckled as they are.

You free your hand from his, reach up instead to knead shampoo into his thick hair. He responds with a sigh and sinks somehow further against you, the water falling slowly to a more lukewarm temperature. You're not sure how long the two of you have been in here, talking quietly about very little, exchanging words that'll disappear forever with the water. But you really can't find it in you to care.

There's work to be done, errands to run. Errands that should've been run a week ago. This ceremony, this meditation makes all of it null. For where else would you want to be? Where else exists besides here, this room, this moment, static in the cooling water with the embodiment of perfection.

When you tell it to him, as you so often do, when you tell him that he's perfect, he can't believe you. The first time you ever said it, peering into his eyes as if they held some secret treasure within, he thought you were joking. He'd laughed, more out of obligation than actual humour, but your expression remained still. Sincere. To say he was moved would be a wildly inadequate explanation. What he felt in his chest that night was something otherworldly, something without a name. He's come now to associate it simply with yours.

You run water through his hair, rinse out the shampoo as he lies pliant in your hands. He insists you use your soaps in his hair, some floral-scented collection you've used for who knows how long, because the smell reminds him of you.

There's no point in overthinking it, you suppose. No point in trying to map out and organise moods, emotions. No point in trying to turn a gentle human experience into something clinical, something without humanity.

That swirling, omnipresent yet transient concept of humanity. You simply must cradle it within your own. You press your lips into his wet hair, whisper words made of ginger and lavender into his ear. Because at the end of the day, you're human. You're in love. And sometimes, that's all that matters.

[dissapointu]

Drabbles: Arcane Characters Accidentally Hurting Their Partner

��———————————————————————-

Jinx

Jinx’s grin disappears the second she sees the small cut on your arm, courtesy of one of her misfired gadgets. Her pupils shrink as she stumbles over her words.

“I-I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t aiming for you!” she blurts, her hands hovering as if she’s afraid to touch you.

When you assure her you’re okay, she frowns, grabbing a rag to stop the bleeding. “It’s not okay! I’m supposed to protect you, not…this!”

She doesn’t stop apologizing, even as she wraps your arm. Later, she silently hugs you, her face buried in your shoulder.

Vi

Vi freezes when you flinch, realizing her sparring move had hit you harder than she intended.

“Shit—are you okay?” she asks, dropping into a crouch beside you. Her hands hover nervously as she tries to assess the damage.

When you say you’re fine, she shakes her head. “Fine doesn’t cut it. I shouldn’t have gone that hard.”

She insists on patching you up herself, her brows furrowed with guilt. Later, she pulls you close. “I’ll be more careful next time. Promise.”

Sevika

Sevika’s jaw tightens when she notices the bruise forming on your wrist—an unintended consequence of her grip during an argument.

She doesn’t say anything at first, but when you notice her uncharacteristic silence, she finally mutters, “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

You try to brush it off, but her eyes flash. “No, don’t. That was my fault.”

She’s gentle with you for the rest of the day, her guilt evident in every soft touch and murmured apology.

Silco

Silco’s expression doesn’t change when you point out the small burn from his lit cigar. However, the way he immediately sets the cigar aside speaks volumes.

“That was careless of me,” he says, his tone measured, but there’s a flicker of concern in his gaze.

When you tell him it’s not a big deal, he shakes his head. “It is to me.”

He carefully applies a salve to the burn, his touch surprisingly tender. Later, he keeps a noticeable distance whenever his cigar is lit.

Vander

Vander’s heart sinks when you wince, your hand flying to your shoulder after an accidental bump during his bar cleanup.

“Damn it, I didn’t see you there,” he says, his voice heavy with guilt.

You try to laugh it off, but he gently guides you to a chair. “Let me take a look.”

He checks on you with the same care he shows his kids, his eyes soft with concern. “I’ll be more careful next time,” he promises, squeezing your hand.

Ekko

Ekko’s stomach drops when he realizes the gadget he tossed over his shoulder hit you instead.

“Crap, are you okay?!” he asks, rushing to your side. His hands flutter around you, unsure where to start.

When you assure him you’re fine, he shakes his head. “No way. That was stupid of me.”

He insists on helping you sit, muttering apologies under his breath. “I owe you, big time,” he says, giving you a sheepish smile.

Jayce

Jayce pales when he notices the grease smudge on your face from a stray spark during one of his experiments.

“I didn’t think it would reach you!” he exclaims, dropping his tools.

You tell him it’s nothing, but he’s already grabbing a cloth and checking for burns. “Nothing? You’re hurt because of me.”

He’s extra cautious after that, keeping you far from his experiments. Later, he kisses your forehead and whispers, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Viktor

Viktor’s heart races when he sees the small cut on your hand from a jagged edge of his prototype.

“Let me see,” he says quickly, his voice tinged with worry.

You try to wave it off, but he frowns. “Please. I should’ve warned you.”

He cleans the cut with delicate care, his movements precise. “I’ll fix the design,” he promises. “It won’t happen again.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s eyes widen when she sees the scrape on your arm from her training session.

“I didn’t realize you were that close,” she says, her voice tinged with regret.

When you brush it off, she insists on tending to it herself. “Humor me,” she says with a small smile, though her hands are steady and careful.

Later, she apologizes again, her touch lingering on your arm. “I’ll make sure to keep you safe next time.”

[bluebeads-art]

2024 November 21st

INTO THE LAKE WITH YOU, MUD CHILD

My part of a retroactive art trade with @anxiousapplepie ! "Retroactive" because I was already drawing this before we agreed to make it part of a trade, heheh.

I read this post about their Role!Swap AU, and, like, multiverse shenanigans? Check. Characters goofing off and having fun? Check. Several opportunities for slapstick humor? Check. Conclusion: I really wanted to draw it. Physical comedy is my specialty. :p

This thing is kinda all over the place composition wise (looking at you, relative sizes of speech bubbles) because there is Too Much going on in these panels and I Did Not plan ahead of time, lmao. This was supposed to be doodlier than it ended up being, so as a growing pain it's a funny jumble of consistency. One of these days I'll be able to doodle without getting carried away. 😂

More rambling and close-ups under the cut

This interaction in particular is what nudged me over the edge to draw this whole thing. I don't know what Fighter Mirabelle's malfunction is when it comes to the Siffrins, but it lets me make Sif the butt of a joke again, so yeehaw! His hat being catapulted out of frame made me laugh when I was thinking of what to do with the composition-complicating hat in question.

Also my personal take is Siffrin is 100% having the time of their life here. Making new(?) friends? Being involved in a fun group activity? Well worth inhaling some puddle water and having to go jump in The Lake to wash the mud off later.

Bonnie being so furious they changed art styles wasn't in my original plan, but I'm so glad I thought of it on a whim because it made me laugh Every Time I looked at their face. 😂

Time taken on this whole thing was 42 hours and 50 minutes. AND. I KNOW THAT SOUNDS BAD. IF YOU KNOW I'M TRYING TO SPEED UP MY ART PROCESS. But this project gets a special pass. This was the farthest out of my art comfort zone I've been in a while! 13 (mostly) full-body characters at various complicated angles, 2 backgrounds, learning to use CSP's perspective rulers, effects I'm not used to like water splashes, etc etc. I made progress on speeding up sketching & line art as well! Some of the lines you see are just extremely cleaned up sketch. I was able to let myself fudge things more too. For example, Mira's dress is a very "dude just trust me" simplification because I don't know how the clothes folds would work at that angle. ^^;;

So while there's still a handful of things I'm not happy with, it's worth it for the learning experience and perfectionism-busting progress! Also for the sake of drawing silliness, of course.

Oh, lastly; the KO sprite is the one from in-game, so it was made by insertdisc5 and not me.

[perdvivly]

Not waiting for chance or fate to dictate the terms of how annoying I’m allowed to be on the internet. I am choosing to answer them all now, unasked as I am.

1) This is mildly variable depending on the amount of effort I’m willing to expend. Typically the common theme is no adulterants. No sugar, no milk, no queen of England. If I’m getting fancy with it I’ll make an effort to time the brewing duration, 3mins for a black tea, 5mins for a green tea, 7mins for a herbal tea. But honestly the sort of depression chic I’ve been serving lately has been leaving the bag in and drinking it straight, tannins be damned.

2) Mandarin. Just seems like it’d be the most useful innit. Also, relatively harder to pick up non-magically given my native Englishhood.

3) God. I try not to honestly. No, but seriously, my sleep schedule has been all sorts of out of shape recently. I should work on that. At the moment it varies wildly day to day and depends on my responsibilities the days before and after the sleep. I’ve pulled a couple of all nighters recently and it gets screwy.

4) Maybe atla? I remember really liking it when it came out but not fully understanding the whole plot because I didn’t see it serialised until later. Maybe the simpsons? There’s something to say here about the earnestness of the earlier seasons and seeing a deeply dysfunctional family care about each other in ways they struggle to express—that gets glossed out as the production value rises in the later seasons—that’s like heroin to someone trapped in an irony poisoned world. But maybe that’s cope? Maybe it’s just the show I had the easiest access to as a kid. I guess I didn’t watch a whole bunch of tv or at least not a whole bunch that stuck with me.

5) Summer ez. (Have you seen her baphomet pics? 🥵)

6) In general, I doubt very much that either the optimist or the pessimist considers themselves such. It’s not really the sort of thing that admits of self-diagnosis in that way… Philosophically, the broader question is what? Do I align with Schopenhauer, Voltaire’s Leibniz, or Russel’s Leibniz? I’m not sure the tumblrinas care about the history of philosophy. I guess I’ll say to the extent that Schopenhauer relies on Indian mysticism, which I think is typically underrated, he’s simply mistaken about the world as will and representation. I’ll say that, I’m *not* a Buddhist. I think the doctrine of dukkha misses fundamental aspects of human existence. I’ll say that people have richer inner lives, deeper felt internal experiences, than you might assume from reading their little words on the internet. And that, on the whole, these are good things.

7) I mean, both ideally. Variety is the spice of life. If I had to choose I suppose it would be sunshine. But I’m terribly glad I don’t live in a world where I have to choose.

8) I have the cutest little book marks. My primary two at the moment are the sun and the moon, which I use for main text and end notes respectively. Though, I have been known to dog-ear in my time. I once got yelled at by my aunt for turning the corner of the page on my copy of Harry Potter and the order of the phoenix because it was a first edition and she was under the impression that it may be valuable some day. I was like, come on man, I’m 7. Don’t even piss. <- I didn’t say these things, but I was *like* that.

9) For the longest time I *only* wore steel toe capped boots because I ran myself over with an electric pallet stacker and tore my toenail off and decided I didn’t want that to happen again. I don’t do that anymore because I interact with heavy machinery less than I used to. Now all that matters to me is that they’re waterproof.

10) *My* signature scent like, I produce it? Or like I like it? I guess one of my favourite scents is lavender. But I've been told... Okay, it's important you guys know I do *not* have a yeast infection... I've been told some parts of my body naturally smell like bread, like, that sort of doughy yeasty (I s2g I do *not* (I did not hit her. I did not! oh hi mark)) smell that you get with bread sometimes. Is that what the question was asking?

11) I mean... That's broadly not for me to decide right? Unless the sort of dragons you're imagining have some sort of glamoury illusion magic, which seems plausible. Anyway, do you guys remember in Moby Dick when he goes on this wild tangent about how St. George and The Dragon was acutally about whales? And St. George's horse was actually a walrus or something. What was that about??

Okay, author's note, there's a time skip here. I've been scrolling through lists of dragons in popular culture for a while now and there are a pretty neat and widely varied selection of designs. I'll get back to you on this one.

12) It depends on why I'm writing! If it's a quick note to myself for future reference it'll generally be cursive, if it's an important document that will be read by other people generally it'll be print. If it's time-sensitive it'll be cursive. I remember writing essays for undergrad that I'm sure were totally illegible by the end of them, I think literally just a line on a page with occasional lifts and dips.

13) There is more information on wookieepedia than existed in my philosophy but a few minutes ago. The typology I've discerned is thus: blue - jock, green - nerd, yellow - geek, red - edgelord. And I'm a little bit of all of these, so I think any would be fine. Realistically though, I'm not sure a lightsaber is the best weapon in fantasy space-past-future where spaceships and lasers are common. Like, I'll let it slide because the original trilogy was doing a kirkegaardian faith thing and the prequels were doing a logic doesn't matter it's cool thing, and those are both respectable motivations to leave logistics aside for a bit.

14) Sad

15) Ice skates! I love ice skating!

16) I'm a youngest. I have an older sister, I think I talk about her here from time to time.

17) Well, how I would use it would depend massively on what it was. If the question is which superpower I think is the best then why not ask that? Which superpower would I have has a faint ring of incomprehensibility about it. It's really not clear which counterfactual is under consideration. *If* what?

Anyway, I think time control powers are up there right? Top five at least, easy. Imagine what you could do if you could stop time and sleep whenever you felt like it. I feel King Leerish about the ability to just be well rested. I would do such things, what they are yet I know not.

18) The problem with romantic relationships is that eventually, all of your most interesting clothing will end up in someone else's closet. I think my day-to-day wear tends to be mostly blues, blacks and whites. Not hugely interesting colourwise.

19) Snake, I think, they have fewer demands and I can't really handle any more pressure in my life than I already have. I would hate to be a bad bird mom... I would hate to be a bad snake mom too, but I think it's easier. Typically regarded as easier. I don't know.

20) Okay, so, it's like this right: medieval battle = will probably die. And it's also like this: behind city walls = safe, my friend and lover and confidant. And so, for very obvious reasons, it's gotta be a bow right? Like, I'm standing way out of the action and I'll shoot some arrows long range. But if that's against the spirit of the ask then it's gotta be some kind of polearm, like a halberd or something. Not even close. The advantage you get from distance is hard to overstate. Yeah, polearm for sure.

21) Mint choc chip, it's just such a classic. But also, I had a "london fog" flavour recently that was really compelling. It's just earl grey and vanilla but it's so good.

22) I'm more of a herbs person than a spices person. Like, hmm, I do really enjoy paprika and ginger and stuff like that, don't get me wrong. But it doesn't really hold a candle to the sheer universality of parsley or basil or oregano or mint. Herbs stay winning.

23) These days it's aptos because I am the worlds most basic bitch. And yes, I do still have a fondness for arial.

ask game that tells a lot about you.

how do you take your tea / coffee?

if you could be fluent in any language at the snap of your fingers, which one and why?

when do you wake up?

what was your favourite tv show as a kid?

summer or winter?

realist, optimist, or pessimist?

rain or sunshine?

how do you mark your spot in a book?

what are your favourite shoes like?

what would your non-perfume/cologne signature scent be?

if you were a dragon, what would you look like?

is your handwriting more print, cursive, or a mix?

what colour would your lightsaber be?

what is your defining personality trait?

roller skates or rollerblades or ice skates?

are you an only child? oldest / middle / youngest?

what would your superpower be? how would you use it?

what’s your clothing colour palette?

pet snake or pet bird?

weapon of choice in a medieval battle

the best ice cream flavour

what spices do you always use when cooking?

default font when typing?

[madbard]

I was just thinking about post-canon Gravity Falls and imagining what would happen if someone mixed up Stan and Ford’s names. (They’re twins and traveling around a lot, it’s bound to happen eventually.)

I think Stan would take it in stride. It’s not his favorite feeling in the world but he spent 30 years going by ‘Stanford’ so he’s used to it by now.

But imagine Ford being called ‘Stanley’ and suddenly remembering the last time he was ‘mistaken’ for his brother. The last time anyone would have associated him with that name - standing in the pyramid, gun in hand, pointed at his brother’s head.

Whoever mixed up their names feels a chill go down their spine as Ford’s features harden, eyes darkening with that memory. His fingers twitch.

Then, just like a storm disintegrating into the sea, the expression is gone, and the two brothers are walking away. They’re talking cheerfully, and from an outsider’s perspective it would seem like nothing’s changed.

But they’re walking a bit closer together than before.

[ventique18]

Malleus has always been fond of flying. So naturally that includes having you tag along, snug and warm in his embrace as you glide through the skies together. There would be a few sneaky touches here and there, but overall it was always a comfortable experience.

That has always been the norm for you. So imagine the surprise you feel when one day he has to transport you and the rest of his non-flying family to a location.

🌸: "You're strong, so maybe you could carry Sebek and Silver with one arm each? Maybe I could just hug Grim and have Lilia carry me?"

🐉: "Absolutely not."

🌸: "Why not?"

🐉: "My aviation carrying service is VIP. Exclusive only to you."

🐉: "... And I will not be having others holding you."

🌸: "Are you jealous of your own--"

With a wave of his hand, suddenly everyone is airborne. Except for you.

🌸: "You can just make people float?"

🐉: "Well, yes. This is basic magic for me."

🌸: "You mean all along you could have just made me float beside you instead of carrying me?"

🐉: "Indeed, but I do not want to."

He picks you up with ease.

🐉: "That method is rather unromantic, no?"

Suddenly, his fingers slide somewhere they're not supposed to be. But when you let out a flustered yelp, he only flashes a naughty smile at you before launching into the air.

"And I couldn't possibly pass up on this kind of delightful opportunity."

You could've smacked that smug, satisfied grin off his face. Unfortunately, he's far too cute for that.

[so-that-was-okay]

Okay. I was an editor in chief for 5 years in the past, and I've been a managing editor for 6 years. I had a whole team of journalists and writers, they made interviews of people some you would die to meet, and I interviewed artists who inspired the biggest names in Hollywood, people who are hard to book.

Those buddie clowns shitting on Katey's interview of Lou, only to praise the mediocre one of Oliver (not his fault) made by Pink News, are testing my patience.

Katey's interview is very good. She chose her angle according to where the show left Lou's character. She focused on Lou's experience of this scene and moment of the show as an actor, asked about the creative process, how he felt after such an unexpected turn of events. Note that she was interviewing Lou as an actor who played Tommy on 911. It's a different approach than if he was currently still on the show.

Then you have Pink News, who interviewed Oliver. The angle is supposed to be about Buck being bisexual but the title is clear: it's about buddie. It's about a fucking fanon ship. And Oliver has to answer for the umpteenth time to "is buddie a thing?". Oh and snacks. Yeah, very important question to know about what kind of snacks Buck likes.

So on one hand, you have a journalist asking actual questions after a big twist in an important storyline (Buck's canon love life is a core storyline of the show), and on the other, you have a shipper working for a transphobic queer website asking about a fanon ship.

And you know, actually, both are fine. This is the beauty of editorial. Choose your angle and work with it. It can be fun, it can be serious. But hammering the same question over and over is not an angle, it's an obsession, and not even one you can turn into something good apparently.

[red-queen-on-the-heathen-throne]

Nah man. All of these things are symptoms of a book that was badly written for its genre.

This reader's general expectations are pretty clear. Shorter chapters, shorter paragraphs, not a lot of infodumping squeezed into the middle of unrelated things. So probably a more commercially geared genre like thriller, mystery or romance. Probably the latter, considering it's booktok.

So when she encounters stuff like enormous chapters, infodumps in the middle of a conversation, and page-long paragraphs, she has the reading experience to understand - not necessarily articulate, but understand - that this should not be here.

Take the long-ass chapter. Kindle says it'll take her 30 minutes to read. If your average reading speed is on the low end for an adult (220 words per minute), that's 6,600 words. If it's on the higher end (350 WPM), this whole entire chapter is over ten-thousand words long. That is too fucking long! For reference, the average novel is 90,000 words. You'd have fewer than nine chapters in the entire thing if you had chapters this long. Unless the book in question is a quarter million words, this is frankly a sign of a badly written - and massively overwritten - book. Especially in romance, where chapters tend to be shorter (somewhere around 2,000-2,500 words; some shorter books will even keep them around 1,500). She might not have articulated this the way I did, but she feels this and that is perfectly fine.

Same for paragraphs. Long paragraphs are harder to read and follow, that's why paragraph breaks exist. The longer it goes on, the less information from the middle of it you'll retain. And if what you're reading is supposed to be an easy, fun, recreational story? Yeah, reading the beginning and the end of the paragraph is probably enough to give you the important bits, considering you'd probably forget most of the middle anyway unless you put on your Scientific Reading hat in the middle of a romcom. Who wants to do that?

And let's be honest, infodumping giant paragraphs in the middle of dialogue is almost universally regarded as a Bad Thing to do to your reader.

All of those things are fine to criticise. Just because she does it from the point of view of a reader, not a writer, doesn't make it bad or invalid.

Do they know that reading is not mandatory? Nobody is forcing them to read?

[spitdrunken]

HIAHA I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE MR SCARLETELLA CAN YOU WRITE MORE. so odd and unsettling and obscene m just giggling with delight

HIIII thank you so much for the high praise <3 this has kind of a different vibe from the last one but plays with similar-esque concepts!!!! this is 'weird and obscene' LMAO

Notes: Suggestive, mild body horror, bolded = dialogue in the Other World's language.

==========================

How do you touch a man without a physical form? Or, you suppose, 'man' isn't quite the correct term. 'Apparition' would perhaps best describe him. Though he can reach out to you and make you feel the illusion of touch, you can't actually make contact with him. Your hand passes through him as if he were nothing but air.

You don't think he minds. It's always a bit hard to tell, with him. Mr. Scarletella ususally just stares you down with a dead look, communication relatively limited. But you would like to touch him! So you experiment a little, an action for which no mutually intelligible word exists. Still, he doesn't move as you poke and prod at different parts of his body, coming up short every single time.

You crouch down before poking at his ankle, just in case. When you look up, your heart stops for just a moment. Mr. Scarletella's neck is snapped back, folded in on itself in order to observe you. Vacant-seeming eyes are trained on your every movement. The sight makes you feel squeamish. "God... Not do," you tell him. "Head look hurt. Not funny." There's no other way you can think of to put it. You get up and stick your hand down, waving your hand in the other direction at the side of his head. He seems to understands what you mean, as his skull snaps back in its usual direction. You circle around him. "Sorry. Not want upset you." He says, although you know he'll never really listen or learn, not when it comes to these things. "Me like you. You like me." As if you'd ever forget. You beckon him. Rather than simply leaning down, his form flickers, distorting, before reappearing in the desired position. There's just one place you haven't touched yet. Once again, you extend your hand, the tips of your fingers brushing against the top of his umbrella. The surface is smooth to the touch and wets your skin, accompanied by a small burst of static ringing in your ears. It takes a moment for the significance to register. "Oh! I can touch your umbrella!" You say, forgetting the Other World's language in excitement over your discovery. Even though it's relatively small. You can't touch Mr. Scarletella himself, but the umbrella appears to be 'realer' than the rest of him. ...Actually, maybe the umbrella is a part of his body? He's not human, after all. He doesn't have to exist according to your logic. Your brow furrows. The puzzle pieces of language move in your mind, until they're slotted together semi-coherently. You point at his arm. "Arm you." Then, you do the same for his leg. "Leg you." You wave your arm up and down. "Body you." Finally, you lift your hand in the direction of the umbrella. "Object you? Me can touch object. Touch you?" Mr. Scarletella's smile widens. It reveals a little bit of the void that stretches on behind his lips. "I see. Correct. Object me. Object is..." After which he lowers his umbrella and says a word you haven't heard before. You try to repeat it, and he says it once again, pointing the umbrella in your direction. "Touch umbrella. I want."

It's definitely... Weird. It's genuinely like touching an umbrella. Cold and smooth and slightly wet. But Mr. Scarletella wanted you to do it, and you're kind of intrigued yourself, so you do it. Because there's clearly something happening. As you trace your fingers over the outer canopy, making sure to at least touch every panel a little bit, his visible form starts to flicker and fade. When you apply a bit more pressure, move a little faster, parts of him start to distort and change colour. His arm appears a little dislodged from his shoulder, static rising in the background.

When you pinch one of the metal tips in between your fingers and rub it, he lets out a laugh that is far more high-pitched than you would've expected it to sound like. Clearly, there's some kind of link between the umbrella and the rest of himself. Though you can't envision what it must be like, he's feeling something. Your hand pauses. In the blink of an eye, Mr. Scarletella has materialised even closer to you, nose close enough to touch yours, if it could. The inky darkness of his pupils makes up most of what you can see.

"Me like. Like like like like." He sounds breathy despite not breathing. "Touch more. Again. Me want you."

[hardylettuce]

"I don't know how to feel about this-" well that's the thing! Adult media doesn't have to tell you how you're supposed to be feeling, because the assumption is you're an adult and can decide for yourself!

In children's media, there's usually an explicit moral or lesson because the person viewing it is a child and their frame of reference is very small. A kid reading The Lorax for the first time may legitimately not have thought about the environment before that book. A parent may use it specifically TO start a conversation about why their family recycles or doesn't use plastic bags.

But by the time you're an adult, you should have SOME level of being able to decide what sort of media you want to consume, and to decide how you feel about it. There are so many factors here, it's not just "good stories made by good people" and "bad stories made by bad people." Characters can have values that are the opposite of yours, while still reinforcing an overall message you agree with. Stories can be about something you think is important, but in real life the author has morally reprehensible views. Or a movie can just ask "hey wouldn't it be fucked up if this thing happened?" and that's it! That's all it has to be about! And you can walk away thinking "yeah that was pretty fucked up" and it's not any deeper than that! You're an adult, you get to navigate what sort of stories you experience.

The important part here is that you are making that decision for yourself. There have been groups through history who tried to decide for other people what sort of art could and could not exist, and none of them have been what I'd describe as good guys!

“it sounds like you’re justifying their actions-“ i am. they’re a fictional character. i’m okay with anything they do all the time. hope this helps.

[hrrtshape]

✶ THINGS TO REMEMBER WHEN YOU’RE DOUBTING SHIFTING.

𖥻  SPACE. just.. HELLO ?? we are literally a speck of dust in a ginormous cosmic playground that we can’t even fully explore because we’re too busy figuring out if cats can vibe to beethoven or if that godforsaken dress is white or blue. you think THIS is the only reality? somewhere out there, there’s a planet where the sky is pink, dogs talk, and you’re riding unicorns. shifting is NOT a crazy concept.

𖥻 DINOSAURS. THEY. WERE. REAL. like actual dragons without wings, stomping around, acting like they owned the place. if THAT can exist, why not shifting ? you think the universe peaked at “giant chickens with teeth”? no way. reality is way too wild for limits.

𖥻 DÉJÀ VU. EXPLAIN IT WITHOUT THE MULTIVERSE. I DARE YOU. why do we randomly feel like we’ve been here before, done this before, or even said this before? because we HAVE. somewhere, somewhen, sometime. you’re already living proof of infinite realities brushing shoulders.

𖥻 QUANTUM PHYSICS (4 da nerdies). scientists out here with their schrödinger’s cats and double-slit experiments proving that reality isn’t fixed. it’s ALL probabilities until you observe it.

𖥻 YOU'RE HUMAN. our brains are INSANE. dreams? lucid dreams? daydreaming? thinking of a time and feeling like you just tasted it? if your brain can already do ALL THAT, shifting is just another level. literally just....closing your eyes and opening them in another place.

𖥻 YOU'RE ALREADY DOING IT. every time you daydream or even think “what if,” you’re stepping closer to a version of yourself in another reality. you're peeking through the multiverse’s window. shifting is just diving in instead of peeking.

𖥻 YOUR DESIRES EXIST. if you can imagine it, it exists somewhere. that’s not wishful thinking; that’s logic. where do ideas come from if not from infinite possibilities? you’re not just dreaming—you’re remembering. nothing goes by you without a purpose. if it found you, it was supposed to !!!!!!!

𖥻 THE MANDELA EFFECT. remember when pikachu definitely had a black tail tip, or when the berenstain bears were called the berenSTEIN bears? reality’s already glitchy as fuck. shifting? just another glitch—but YOU’RE IN CONTROL.

𖥻 FAIRYTALES HAD TO COME FROM SOMEWHERE. you think someone just WOKE UP and said, “dragons, magic castles, enchanted forests!” no. no. no. those stories? they’re just whispers from realities where that’s NORMAL. you’re not making it up—you’re tuning in. experiencing it. liviiiiiiiing it.

𖥻 TIME IS FAKE. i said it. not to get too conspiratorial on my tumblr blog, but what even IS time? a straight line? a wibbly-wobbly thingy? we made clocks, but the universe? the universe is, like, “what is a ‘tuesday’?” shifting doesn’t care about time; it’s above all that silly nonsense. and so are you.

𖥻 PARALLEL UNIVERSE ARE A THING ('n' SCIENCE effing SAID SO). quantum mechanics already told us there’s an infinite number of realities where every possibility plays out. in one of them, you’re already living your best life. shifting is just YOU popping in to say hi to THAT version of you.

𖥻 REALITY IS (lowkey) BORING WITHOUT BELIEF. why settle for “this is it. this is my life. a 9-5 job. a life which i barely live out” when the multiverse is basically screaming, “come explore!!” ? you’re a creator. you’re a wanderer.

𖥻 "I FEEL IT" IS ENOUGH. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. if you can close your eyes and feel that DR, the love, the magic, the LIFE—you’re already there. the multiverse doesn’t need proof; it needs belief. so don't let idiots with half a brain on tik tok tell you that you're wrong, when you're so, so, so, so, SOOOO close to BEING THERE and living your best life.

𖥻 finally, LITERALLY, WHY NOT ?  life’s already bananas. people thought flying was impossible, and now we’re out here booking ryanair flights to halfway across the world. people said sex with robots isn't true, and kim k is already siting on a robot's lap. people said the government cannot be stupid, and elon musk is already part of it. shifting is just the next “impossible” (and not to be cheeky...but the word literally has 'i'm possible' in it) thing that YOU are proving possible.

so. girl. dude. diva. bro. go shift.

[owl-wolf]

um i turned him into a college physics professor

[diamonddaze01]

69. "You know my name?" + chan omg im begging u or ill beat u to it and write it (lol stares at all my wips 💀)

call me by my name

Pairing: lc x f!reader | wc: 971 words prompt: "You know my name?" au: university au! | warnings: none a/n: HANEULLLLL thank u for the ask this was so cute and fun to write i hope you love it <33333

The lecture hall buzzed with the usual pre-class noise—pens tapping against desks, chairs creaking as students settled in, snippets of conversation floating from every direction. The air carried a faint hum of fluorescent lights, blending into the background chaos. You sat at your usual spot in the front row, pen poised and ready, eyes skimming the lecture notes you’d pulled up on your laptop.

Behind you, it was less preparation and more pandemonium.

“Seungkwan, what the fuck! Stop throwing shit at me!”

You didn’t have to look to know it was Soonyoung. His voice carried, loud and incredulous as always.

“That’s not throwing—it’s called handing,” Seungkwan shot back, his words dripping with mock seriousness. “Get some spatial awareness, idiot.”

The sound of a paper airplane slicing through the air followed, landing somewhere near your seat. You glanced down briefly at the crumpled attempt at aerodynamics before looking back at your notes.

“Is that supposed to be a plane or modern art?” another voice chimed in—Chan this time, laughter in his tone.

Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of the trio in their usual seats toward the back. Soonyoung had crossed his arms, glaring at the offending paper in Chan’s hand. Seungkwan was smirking triumphantly, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head.

“Give it here,” Chan said, snatching the airplane and inspecting it with exaggerated care. “Yeah, no. This isn’t a plane. This is, like… a bird that forgot how to fly.”

The paper flew again—this time courtesy of Chan—and barely made it past the second row before nose-diving onto the floor. The resulting laughter spread like wildfire across the room, even prompting a raised eyebrow from Professor Lee, who was just arriving.

“If the three of you could channel even half this energy into engineering,” the professor said, setting down his coffee with a thud, “you might actually pass this class.”

A round of chuckles rippled through the room as Chan held up his hands in mock surrender. “We’ll consider it!”

You shook your head, letting the familiar chaos wash over you. It had been like this all semester—Chan, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung acting as the unofficial class entertainment. Their antics had a way of filling the space, loud enough to distract but not enough to pull you from your work.

Professor Lee called the class to order, his voice steady as he launched into announcements. You settled in, fingers flying over your keyboard as you took notes.

Until he dropped the bomb.

“Alright, folks, listen up,” Professor Lee announced, raising his voice over the chatter. “Big news today—it’s time to kick off your group projects.”

Groans and murmurs spread through the room like wildfire. People immediately started swiveling in their seats, calling out to friends to lock in their groups before anyone got left behind.

You stayed put, as you always did. You’d learned from experience—being the quiet one meant waiting out the storm. Once the dust settled, you’d deal with whatever scraps of a team were left.

“The project is worth thirty percent of your grade,” Professor Lee continued, adjusting his glasses. “So choose wisely.”

“Thirty percent?” someone whispered behind you.

“Yeah, that’s fucked,” another voice muttered.

You ignored them, jotting down the project details from the board. If no one picked you, you’d just work alone—it wasn’t ideal, but you’d survive. Your eyes flicked back to your laptop, but before you could even finish writing down the assignment details, a shadow fell over your desk. You blinked up, startled, only to see Chan grinning down at you, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket.

“Uh, hi?” you said cautiously.

“Wanna be in a group with me and my friends?” He jerked his thumb toward Seungkwan and Soonyoung, who were mid-wrestle over a pencil in the back corner of the room.

Your pen froze mid-word. “You… know my name?”

Chan tilted his head like you’d just asked him if the sky was blue. “Uh, yeah? Considering you’re the one who ruins the curve every time… yes, I know your name.”

Oh.

“But also,” he continued, “you clearly know what you’re doing, and we’d be stupid not to team up with you.”

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a moment. “Okay.”

His grin widened, and he gestured for you to follow him.

By the time you reached Seungkwan and Soonyoung, they’d paused their argument and were now watching you with matching mischievous smirks.

“So,” Seungkwan said, leaning closer to Chan, “you actually got her to join us, huh?”

“Guess today’s my lucky day,” Chan muttered, side-eyeing him.

Soonyoung jabbed Seungkwan in the ribs, grinning like an idiot. “Told you he wouldn’t chicken out.”

“Shut up,” Chan hissed, his ears already pink.

But Seungkwan wasn’t done. “You didn’t have to use the whole ‘you ruin the curve’ thing. You could’ve just said, ‘Hey, I think you’re super smart and pretty, and I totally have a crush on you.’”

Chan’s eyes widened as if someone had just slapped him with a textbook. “What the fuck—”

“Or,” Soonyoung added, tapping his chin theatrically, “you could’ve been, like, ‘I sit two rows behind you every day because your hair smells like strawberries.’”

“I do not—”

Seungkwan gasped, fake-shocked. “Oh my God, you’ve smelled her hair?”

Chan groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I hate both of you.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, covering your mouth as the trio dissolved into chaos.

“Don’t listen to them,” Chan said quickly, turning back to you with an apologetic look. “They’re dumbasses, but I promise we’ll actually get work done. Eventually.”

You raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “As long as no one brings paper airplanes to the final presentation.”

“See?” Soonyoung crowed. “She’s funny too. You’re screwed, Chan.”

Chan didn’t answer, but the flush creeping up his neck said more than enough.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[quarterlifekitty]

Video Girl!AU

this is dumb as hell but i had to get it out there because i am so so so ill for ghoap

Soap did not remember this video store. He’s passed by this street hundreds of times— surely… he would’ve seen it. Then again, maybe heartbreak makes you see the world differently. The clerk hands him a member card with a smile, and a promise that they’d have what he needed.

Yeah, he was doubting that. He didn’t recognize any of these titles. But something catches his eye– a girl on the cover of a VHS. One that’s just his type– a cute face, a gorgeous body, and a teasing little smile.

He turns the lights off in his room, slotting the tape into the VCR. It makes a kinda clunky, scary noise but eventually loads up the movie. It’s got a production logo like it’s softcore porn, which it very well could be– that’s what you get for picking by the cover without reading the back. Not that he’d mind if it was.

The girl from the cover appears on the screen, just as radiant. Maybe more, now that she’s in motion. Her laugh sounds like bells– gentle, sweet, innocent.

“Thank you. Thank you for choosing my video! Oh, why do you look so sad?” What was this, some sort of girlfriend experience type of thing?

 “Oh, I see, unrequited love is it? Don’t let it get you down though, okay? They just don’t understand you. You’ve got a lot to offer another person. I know I’m not much, but. How would you feel about letting me be the one to cheer you up?”

Video girl’s got him right pegged. Though he supposes it's not an uncommon reason to rent a flick with a hot girl on the cover. He sighs. Her expression softens even more in sympathy, her eyebrows drawn in as she pouts on his behalf.

“ I see...it’s that bad huh...? Poor guy, there’s no way just a video is gonna help you…” Ain’t that the truth? Terrible way to get him to rent more tapes, though. An epiphany seems to strike the girl, and a smile spreads over her face.

“That’s it! I’ll stay with you for as long as it takes!”

Imagine being the girl from a video Soap rented while wallowing in his feelings. Rejected by Simon, for reasons he doesn’t understand. They got along so well– different from the other guys. But then again, judging from how Simon looks at Price whenever he steps into the room… Maybe he does know why he was rejected.

When you come from the screen, Johnny’s surprised none of his neighbors call the cops, because he screams bloody murder.

You vow to help him… to help him be less lonely. To help him get the guy he wants. For the one month that his rental lasts, at least.

When you meet the guys, Soap is able to put together some lie about you being a friend of his sister who’s staying with him while you’re in town.

It’s just your luck that Ghost has a sixth sense. Man knows there’s something strange about you. The otherworldly knows the otherworldly.

And to make matters worse… You’re supposed to be a world-class lover. A teasing, minxy girl who knows just how to make a man fall over himself and beg for more without breaking a sweat. Or, you would be– if you hadn’t been played on a broken VCR.

Now you’re so damned timid. Incredibly sensitive, shy, stuttering whenever you make eye contact with any guy that isn’t Soap. And to Ghost, it’s like smelling blood in the water.

He’s constantly cornering you, chatting you up, trying to fluster you. He hardly knows he’s doing it, sniffing you out and trying to get you to crack. Quite frankly, you’re doing a terrible job of getting the two of them together.

And when Soap sees this all happening… He feels like he’s supposed to be jealous of you. He is–but it isn’t just that. He’s jealous of both of you… and at the same time, seeing you together seems so natural-- and it turns him the fuck on.

[grapejuicestyless]

Haunted By The Look In My Eyes

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: After a near death experience while on an adventure Y/n and JJ were supposed to be sat on the bench for, tension builds between the Pogues until finally, JJ’s reckless attitude meets Y/n’s intense feelings that can only be compared to the hopelessness JJ once felt himself.

“Guess it’s just you and me.” I rolled my eyes, the coolness from the surface of the metal shipment container doing nothing to cool down the sweltering heat that danced through the air within the four walls. Boxes of random assortments of various items plastered in rotting wood and wrapped thickly in plastic wrap.

Water clung to everything, beading down my forehead in thick droplets of sweat, the salty liquid tasting on my tongue with each swipe of it over my cracking lips. I swore if I ever had the curse of being sent to hell, this was it. This was the fiery depths of heat people spoke about, I was sure of it.

JJ was glistening too, though, he seemed used to it. Growing up with no temperature regulations in the unforgiving summer heat seems to have made him less uncomfortable by the thickness in the air, I hadn’t been lucky enough to adapt over time.

I watched him slide down against the floor, trying to get as low as possible. Heat does rise, after all. I sat opposite of him. Climbing on the crates of junk and cringing at the insufferable squeaking sounds that I could only ever compare to nails on chalkboard. I sat as close to the small opening in the container as possible without making myself known to anyone walking outside. The risk was worth it for the cool breeze of the ocean, even for just a moment.

But just as I close my eyes, swaying and praying that the heat will die down, the blond speaks.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. When all this is over, and we’re just rolling in the dough…I’m gonna get a new board and I’m gonna deck it out. And I’m gonna go on a surf trip.” His head leaned back against the crate behind him, his hair sticking to the back of his neck and his once wildly untamed hair clumping together in a wet mess.

I gave him a look, leaning forward on my palms and smiling at him, I let my eyes wander around the container.

“I don’t know where, but like, the worlds callin’.” He smiled, dissociating for a second and letting his smile fade. Slipping away for only a moment. “I don’t…name a place.” He was back, the same toothy grin as before, the same glistening shine in his blue eyes.

I thought for a second, blowing air through my lips.

“Spain.” I nodded my head.

“Then, after Spain…South America or South Africa, you know-“

“You’re gonna go to South Africa?” I interrupted with a teasing smile, partially shocked that JJ ever wanted to go away so far.

“Or one of the south places.” He defended himself. “A-and then Micronesia maybe. And then, just ride…wherever the wave takes you.” He looked down at his ring clad hands, twisting them nervously like he might have doubts that his dreams were stupid, unachievable.

I smiled at him even when he wasn’t looking because I believed everything he said. I knew that one day, he would go out just like he said and catch the best swells around the globe.

“Y’know?” He looked up finally, catching my grin.

“So that’s the plan—if we were to get a ton of cash?” I asked, looking away from him again. “That’s the dream?” I said it like a question, though, really I was agreeing with everything he said. It sounded like a dream. “Surf trip.”

“Bamboo hut…cooking a fish on a fire and…after that you go back out and just hit the waves again.” He moved his hands wildly as he spoke, building his dream in his mind with just the wiggling of his fingers. I rolled my eyes playfully.

“That’s the dream.” He confirmed, his voice lowering slightly, and I knew he was serious.

“Sounds perfect.” I agreed softly.

“Yeah.”

“Got room for one more?” I shrugged, asking honestly despite the light smile on my face. JJ simply laughed, smiling and looking back up from his lap to meet my eyes. I watched how his smile dropped when he saw how serious I was.

“You got your passport?” He asked, and it made me laugh this time.

“You don’t got a passport.” I teased.

“Hell no I don’t got a passport! The Kookiest thing ever.” He smiled, and I felt myself laughing from my stomach. A real, happy laugh that I hadn’t felt bubbling up since I was a little girl. Since before all the guns and allegations, and prison sentences, and near death experiences.

Sometimes I wondered what I would think of JJ, if I didn’t know him. Sometimes, I feared that if I had been born on the other side of the island, if my parents could afford a nicer house, if I lived just nearly two neighborhoods over, would I be just like everyone else?

Would I have thought of him as just another Maybank? Surely, if told his dreams to Topper or Kelce, they’d laugh and call him nothing greater than his old man. I thought he was a great deal more than Luke ever was, but would I think that if I had more money in my pocket?

I decided that I would, because the look in his eyes told me I would have. They were blue, sure, but they were the most trusting, truest eyes I’d ever seen. Maybe that’s why he knew he was a good liar, because he had the doe eyes down, but he couldn’t fool me any more than he could fool John B, Kiara, or Pope.

JJ Maybank had been the center of my universe since he had dropped down right front and center of me, since he had wandered into my life and claimed that we were to be best friends forever without leaving any room for argument.

I knew that I would have found him in any life. Because I know JJ Maybank better than anyone ever has, and he knows me more than I know myself.

When he sighed and fought against the “B-Team” I faked my offense, because though I knew he was itching for action, we’d get to share a tender moment like this together, just locked up in a hot box with no room the breathe and no wind to cool us down.

I craved our conversations like he craved the chaos, and I clawed my way into his heart because since the moment I met him I understood how special he was to me. He’s so, undeniably special.

“The Kookiest.” I agreed softly, letting my head fall back and my eyes close again, content with the feeling of my beating heart racing for him.

Maybe being the B-Team wasn’t the worst, because then the only worry was trying to maintain a steady temperature and keep myself from swaying my way to the floor. Heat stroke seemed a lot less scary than this.

JJ quieted me down, though, I hadn’t said a word, and his pointer pressing against his lips reminded me that maybe he shouldn’t be leading us around the boat, completely exposed to danger, and so I snuck around him and squeeze through the thin passageway, ignoring his whisper-shouting protests.

Our bodied pressed flat against the side of the upper deck walls, my head stretched around the corner to view the empty deck ahead of us.

“Clear?” He asked softly, and I nodded my head quickly.

We ran on our toes, walking light on our feet to avoid the loud slapping of boots against metal. JJ fell behind me slightly as he spun around, paranoid of the potential of someone following behind.

“Jay, come on.” I mumbled desperately, feeling the stress falling down on me.

We turned the corner quickly, JJ turning to look over the railing for John B on a lifeboat, our getaway car, only to be met with open water. Our breathing echoed between our ears, neither of us heard the harsh slapping of extra feet plowing down the stairs ahead.

“I don’t see them.” He announced, all too loudly.

I froze in the presence of a taller man with untamed hair and scruffy facial hair.

“JJ…” I warned, squaring my shoulders off as he stepped in line with me. No one made any movement for a split moment.

“Jayj…” I said a little more desperately as the man unsheathed his machete, only drawing JJ’s in closer, a fein for danger, and a junkie for risk.

“Of course…” The man began to speak, his brows furrowing. “There’s more of you.”

JJ and I shared a look, our faced contorted in an unspoken agreement that we understood the numbers here. Two against one was a safe bet, though the factor of his blade made me squirm a little.

“Get down on your knees.” The man instructed, and I wanted to laugh.

“Yeah, thats not gonna happen!” JJ’s words became shorter as he took a step back, the man’s slow approach sending both of us in fight or flight. I knew from the first glance what JJ would choose.

The man swung violently, aiming down on JJ’s shoulders with a quick blow, but missing as he ducked and shifted to the left. The machete made a loud clanging sound as it hit the metal floor.

He swung again, this time at me, but he was already off balance, swinging aimlessly at someone who wasn’t there. My hands pushed down against his arm, keeping him and the weapon pinned to the wall of the boat, right against a closed compartment that looked like it was hiding electrical cables.

Grunting as he fought against my hands, JJ wound up and struck the man with his bare knuckles, hitting him square in the jaw. His hands braced the mans shoulders, our eyes meeting in the chaotic scene, another unspoken plan shared between our glances.

“Hit him, Y/n/n!” He instructed, and as JJ pulled the man back, I opened the compartment where his hand had been, smacking him dead center in his face so hard, it echoed through my ears. I couldn’t help but grimace to myself.

“Wheres John B?” JJ shouted, his voice rough with anger. He shifted from foot to foot, hands drawn in a position ready to swing, even with the man helplessly lying on the ground.

I ran to the edge of the boat, my palms bracing myself over the edge, the empty water making my stomach drop. I wondered helplessly what was holding the others up as JJ and I fought on borrowed time.

“John B!” I shouted, my voiced strained.

I heard the sound of hair moving quickly, the cut of a blade slicing above JJ’s head as he once again ducked, but this time, we weren’t as lucky. With a kick to the gut, JJ went flying back, his head bouncing off the side of the railing. He sat with his hand cradling the back of his head.

“Y/n/n!” He alerted me. Turning on my feet, the man was closer to me than before, his gaze deadly and set solely on me.

He swung once, twice, missing with each violent stroke of the blade. I ducked the best I could, growing more confident as the pain of connection never came, but I grew too overconfident. I spend too much time with JJ, I guess.

The sting came quickly, a burning pain that ripped through my skin and sunk deep past the tissue. I screamed out in a broken cry of desperation, my fingers gripping my shoulder in agony.

The man swung again, only to be pulled away by the blond boy once again, his arms swallowing him whole from the back. Their grunts were the only other thing I could hear past the beating of my heart, yet, seeing the man elbow JJ in his sternum hurt more than the wound that bled out between my red fingers.

He had JJ winded, and with one swift turn, he tried to take me one more time.

I ducked, and watched in horror as the blunt end sent JJ flying over the edge of the boat, nearly three stories until the splash sounded from the deck.

The man came at me again, the dance becoming all too repetitive as the sole of my shoe connected with his stomach. He stumbled into the ground, lying flat. I raced to the edge, the sight below me sickening.

There JJ was, floating on his stomach, his head below the surface, unmoving and sinking slowly. The waves look him in every direction, and all that filled my mind was the silent begging that he would flip.

“JJ!” I screamed, trying to wake him as if the water wasn’t filling his ears. The water around him bubbled, the deep blue a bright white from the impact, his old tank top lifting to reveal the shape of his back.

He didn’t move, he didn’t respond, and my feet met the top of the railing on the boat. I didn’t even think, I didn’t register all the danger below the surface, how stupid it was to jump into the open water with no guarantee that John B would ever show up, but it didn’t matter because I couldn’t stop it. I was hitting the water regardless of how fearful I was of the cold.

“JJ!” Water fell out of my mouth in heaving splatters of coughing fits, my hair glued flat against my skin and my clothes clinging to every inch of my body. I would be lying if I said the impact didn’t hurt, if the salt water didn’t burn the harsh aching in my shoulder.

“Jayj!” With my good arm, I pulled the blond boy into my body, laying his head back against my shoulder to keep him above the surface, to get some air into his lungs.

“Jayj?” My other hand came to grab his face, and my thighs burned with how viciously they cut through the water, treading painfully harsh to keep us afloat. His limp body drifted against mine, and the gentle tangle of our limbs made it harder to swim.

“Jayj, stay with me!” I dropped his cheek, needing the extra hand to keep us above the water. With no help around and only the unfamiliar waters to call home, I felt a bile rise in my throat, like I could vomit if my stomach wasn’t so empty, if hungry was a feeling I had grown to know.

“Please!” I gritted my teeth, feeling my head drip under the gentle waves for a moment, it stung when I opened my eyes again. “JJ, please!” I cried out, taking in every breath of air like it was a gift.

“Stay with me, stay with me!” I grunted, using all my strength. I debated letting the water take me, if only I could extend my arms to keep him a float, I would let myself drown.

My thighs burned, and my arms were too shaky to hold on for much longer. My brows furrowed and my nose burned, a familiar ache in my lungs. I knew crying would do me no good, but as my chest became hollow, I felt my tears mix with the oceans waves drowning out my face.

Everything hurt. Hurt in a way, I could never explain. It was like I could feel each edge of my heart giving out and the sharp cuts of every wheeze that huffed past my cracking lips.

The water was red. Redder than I’d ever seen the ocean because water isn’t red. Maybe it was the cut from his head staining the once vibrant seas a dark maroon, but I could see it swirling in delicate droplets down my arm, I could feel the stickiness even in the salty surroundings.

But there was also fear. Fear that my best wasn’t enough, fear that I would become inclined to give up, because giving up is much sweeter when you have the option. Dying never is. Not even when you want to. Having the urge doesn’t make the pain less scary, and so I kick restlessly to keep the both of us up.

“John B’s coming, John B’s coming, okay?” I assured the empty crowd, JJ completely unaware of the distress of the situation as he lay lifeless in my weakened arms.

His arms floated with the movement of the ocean, his hair covering his eyes. The blond hair that I adored, ran my hands through and ruffled was darker now that it was wet. Not in the way it was when he surfed, but drenched. Stuck to his skin and covering his forehead.

With one strong kick, I gained enough power to lift us up just a bit higher from the surface. My shaky hand brushed the hair from his face.

“John B!” I call out as I steal another glance at his paling face, a red stain spreading on his temple from the blow of the blade, leaking down and staining my own cheek from how close he is to me.

“Help!”

The motor of a boat catches my ear, but my lungs have given up and I’ve already sunk so far below the water, our heads are barely breaking surface.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I pant out, my eyes shutting like it would do us any good. I could have let him go, I could have carried my own weight a moment longer, but with every doubting thought, my hands only held onto him tighter, a silent refusal to give up on him, even if it meant letting the darkness consume me.

Kiara would have yelled at me, and been proud all at once. She would have called me stupid for risking my life for someone so reckless, but then she would have clapped me on the back and said it was what any of us would have done. Pogues for life and all that.

I really missed her now, I wished she was here to scold me, I wished I wasn’t so alone.

“Hey! JJ!” A chorus of cries for us rang throughout the distance, the motor boat approaching as the others all cried out for JJ, my head slipping below the waves.

“No, no, no, no!” John B’s voice broke, the weight on my shoulder lifting, I saw Pope and John B lift him from the water through the stinging of my blurry vision, I felt him leaving my grip, but my hands only grabbed onto him harder.

Subconsciously, I couldn’t let him go. It was only hurting the both of us, we were saved, the Pogues finally finding their way to us, but part of my brain couldn’t comprehend that it was all ending soon because it was all going black. My vision, my heart, my mind.

But just before the water could suck me down, Kiara pulled me on board, her hands grabbing onto me like I had grabbed onto JJ.

“Y/n, holy shit.” Her voice shook with concern. Where her knuckles had held onto me, where my shirt was wrinkled wetly between her fingers, came the slow oozing of deep maroon down my skin, staining everything it touched.

It smeared around with every rock of the boat, and I swore I felt myself swaying. Kiara said something about the depth of the wound, how she thought she saw bone. It blurred like my vision, my lips parting only to shut at the sound of Pope and John B’s distress.

JJ laid still with his head propped up against the edge of the boat, eyes shut just as they were in the water, his eyelashes laying curled against his wet cheek.

The sight gave me a second wind, my hands craved to feel the weight of his body in my arms, to feel the warmth of his skin against my finger tips tor remind me he was here.

“JJ, no, come on!” I begged through broken tears. “Please, get up!” My hands tapped on his chest, though I was ready to press my lips against his and give him all my air if I needed to.

I crawled to him like I needed him to breathe, my knuckles scraping across the bottom of the boat, bruises and cuts littering my pruning skin. I clung to him like a vice, my lips wobbling like a child.

“Get up!” I shouted, scolding him like a mother. Yet, the brokenness of my voice seemed to carry into his empty head as his drool spilled out of his lips, spitting up onto his chest as he gained his bearings.

It was gross, the salt water mixed with the slimy drool dripping from his mouth and wetting his soaked tank top beyond what it was, but I had never seen a more relieving sight. My best friend drooling all over himself, but god, he was alive and that’s all that mattered.

The boat seemed to fall quiet for a moment, all in awe of his return, all following the wavering gaze that swept over the small boat. He was out of it, for sure. His eyes carrying a sense of question beyond what he usually held, but as he registered the faces around him as his closest friends, his family, the panic seemed to fade into a mellow knowing.

“Yeah, yeah! Cough it out, cough it out baby!” John B encouraged, a sea of instructions following from the others in a desperate hurry, all reaching over to simply feel for a steady thumping of a pulse.

I sat back on my heels, looking down at him, and revoking my warm touch from his chest quickly. Retracting it with uncertainty that it would hurt him, like he was fragile.

“Welcome to the land of the living, dude.” Pope smiled, earning a side eye from JJ as he looked around to find his friends all looking down at him with concerned gazes.

My fingers shook, hovering over his chest like I didn’t know if it was right to touch him, if I had the right. I’d felt my own chest caving in just minuted ago, I wondered if I dared to rest my palms against his skin, would he feel the same?

I laid a hand on his shoulder, and watched his vision dance from where we touched to my face, taking a moment to breathe in my presence.

“Hi.” I breathed out in relief, but also something deeper that I didn’t have the words to describe.

“‘Sup.” JJ said, his usually cool demeanor meaning nothing to me at the moment. I pushed his head away gently, still all too aware of the wound leaking from his temple, the way the blood seemed to stain everything. His hair, his skin, his stupid shirt. It tainted everything good with the memories of the bad, the unforgettable, the hurt. But I couldn’t stay away for too long.

As soon as the smile cross his golden features, my arms wrapped around his face like a blanket, holding him to my chest to feel how fast he had my heart beating. He didn’t mention the drumming against his ear, but the warmth that spread across his face told me he felt it, he knew the feeling all too well. Maybe if I had the courage to rest my hands over his heart, I would have known.

I thought of the surf trip, of his dreams, of the gold, of everything that he ever wanted, and I sweat at the thought of it never happening. I crumbled at the idea of him not getting to be a forever given in my life, of him only being a fraction of time, when I wanted it all.

“Don’t ever do that again.” I mumbled against his wet hair, but I don’t think he heard it over the chatter between him and John B, the laughter from Sarah all too loud to hear my soft whisper, a confession that really wasn’t much, but carried the weight of all my emotions.

If he did, he didn’t mention it. He was good at not mentioning it, but he was bad at forgetting.

“You’re bleeding all over the sand, Y/n.” Sarah pointed out, stepping out of the boat, allowing JJ and her husband-to-be to drag the long dead motorboat onto the shore.

An island to call home and a tropical paradise to explore for however long the summer would last and the warmth would suffice.

I was the first to let the water reach my shins, practically jumping out of the boat in a rush, an overwhelming need to feel the ground between my toes, to rinse off the grime and hurt from the failed mission. One cross gone and another home taken.

My body lay starfish position on the soft surface, my shoulder still open and aching, but dulling over time. It didn’t feel that bad anymore, and I was sure the ringing in my ears was just from the adrenaline, though, I’d never heard it before.

“That’s nasty, shes right.” Kiara agreed, trying to tug me up by the arm, only to stretch out my collar bone and earn a lazy grunt from my lips. If I were as smart as I had been prior to the stress, prior to the fact of the pact of the B Team, prior to all the shared dreams and promises to make it out, I would have asked Cleo or Pope to help mend my wounds.

Now, I just felt ready to die. Let my life wash away into the open ocean and let the jellyfish drink me up. Let the sea turtles consume me and share the same bliss of a high that I did with my friends.

“Circle of life.” I grunted, my cheek covered in sand, I buried my face into the dirt. “It’s an early Thanksgiving for the seagulls.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Kiara kicked my hip lightly, trying to move the rock of a being I had become.

“Yeah, and not everyone celebrates Thanksgiving.” Cleo joked from a distance, already gathering wood and stone for a fire. It would be dark soon anyway.

“My joints hurt.” I complained drowsily.

“No shit, I can practically see your bone. Get up.” Kiara fought, turning her head to call for back up from someone with the power to move me from my dormant headspace.

“John B, Pope!” Kiara called out with an annoyed expression, and I found myself smiling at the way her face grew fuzzier and the sounds all became one loud booming ring in my ears.

It hurt so good, a warmth covering my body like a blanket, a reward after fighting so hard. If death found me, I found it peaceful. Ready to be consumed by the darkness to avoid the haunting memory of the limp body floating in my arms. To forget about the way my heart clenched beyond repair.

It wasn’t like, it was love. I’d always known it deep down, but now I knew I could put a name to the feeling, and it terrified me. Because it replayed every second of JJ’s life slipping away, and somehow, it left out the part where he came to.

I could barely make out the shape of the trees anymore. Everything became one big collage in the sky.

“John B! JJ!” Kiara looked back, stunned by the look in my eyes, the same look that had been in JJ’s before he was taken by the waves. A look that would have haunted me for a lifetime. It now tormented Kiara.

It was a look of slipping, of giving up, giving out. The end, even.

“Help!” She cried out desperately, watching the clumsy boys scramble to the ground and catch their bearings, hands digging through the dirt to get to me.

“What happened?” Pope called out, his concerned hands holding Kiara’s shoulders and his love sick gaze failing to focus on what really matters.

Isn’t that funny? I spent all my time focused on JJ, my own gaze stuck in the permanent focus of only him. I didn’t even care to feel the pain tearing away at my skin and my bones. I barely even noticed it after a while. It became nothing compared to the something I almost lost.

Now, as I lay in the sand, choking on my breath in agonizing pain that slowly seeps through in waves, I watch through blurred vision as Pope does the same.

It seemed that it just now snapped in everyone’s mind that the maroon pooling around my arm wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like the scrapes from sharp rocks in the surges, or the nasty head wounds from countless drunken dares to climb things that shouldn’t even be looked at while sober.

The bubbling, and the smell, the metaling smell, it was sickening, and it wasn’t normal. Adrenaline can only get you so far, and hell, I’d already spent it all up.

“Y/n/n!” I heard a familiar voice, rough with exhaustion but stronger now that the day was beginning to wash over and the pain was beginning to creep away.

His dirty hands pressed hard against my skin, his delayed nature only slipping his hand over the one place it shouldn’t have been. Touch me anywhere, make me feel okay, like this isn’t really the end, but please, don’t dig your fingers around in the wound I have just for you.

It only makes things harder to mend.

“JJ!” Sarah screamed, and I threw my head back, screaming.

It hurt worse than anything, the feeling of nail against flesh. It stung more than any jellyfish and it scratched sharper than any knife. Thousands of needles shot down my veins, my knuckles stuttering into a pitiful fist.

“Stop! Stop!” I cried, my whole body shaking—no, my whole body collapsing in on itself. Folding into the earth in order to run away from the pain.

“I’m trying to help, stop squirming like a fish!” He stressed, the creases by his brow showing the wear from the evening already, we all felt as though we’d aged a century in a minute.

“Get off of me!” I tried to reach over, I didn’t want his dead hands on my cold body. I didn’t want his limp fingers rubbing against my moving joints. I didn’t want to feel what I felt in the water, and I didn’t want to see it either.

“Please, get off!” I shouted, my voice breaking like a fragile thing. A thin layer, a brittle sheet of clay crumbling under the weight of the hands that once so tenderly shaped it.

Dying does a funny thing to the mind, especially in a panic. You spend all your time trying to remember to breathe, you forget reality. Even though he was kneeling down beside me, digging around under my skin and arguing back harshly words he meant as sentiment in his overwhelming stress, to me, I had convinced myself he was dead. I didn’t do it, I couldn’t save him, I let those thoughts of giving up consume us and I watched him die in my arms.

There is no boat ride, there is no island, there is no nothing. There is only before, and the end. There is no after. Forget the fact the blood is sticking to everything, and the fact that I’ve felt John B’s cold rings slapping hard across my cheekbones to keep me aware of myself, everything is all nothing and I hear nothing but the sound of my ragged breath wheezing and my horrible cries echoing, bouncing off the Pogues.

Pope took over, finally getting his brains back. The scarecrow held firm pressure over the wound, evenly spread along my arm in a way that stung, but never scratched, never matted the fur of my mane or cut off my skin. He spoke so quickly, and it was so muffled, I began to want to hear him, take the trip down the yellow brick road and find the courage to stay.

Then, there was the ripping of a shirt. It was dark, and rough, but worn in so it felt softer that way. Then, more pain, more pressure, and then, nothing.

But this wasn’t death, because I could still hear and feel and taste the spit on my tongue, the salt water that washed everything I bit down on away. I was still there, but now, I could feel myself calming down, drowning out the silence and coming back to the truth.

“Have you considered a career as a EMT?” I panted, my heavy eyes flickering up to Popes reforming face, the hay and the straw hat fading away into just the kind boy I loved. The yellow road becoming the soft, now wet, sand beneath my back.

He smiled like a dope, clicking his tongue and showing his toothy grin. Relief was the only word to describe the silence that fell over the group at that moment, silence that felt heavy to everyone but the victim. Silence that I felt on the boat.

“I hate you.” He laughed, punching me between the ribs with a force that only could be equated to the fact that he wasn’t a liar, and it was obvious he was on the math team, not an athlete.

“No you don’t.”

My body curled up in laughter, nose scrunched and aware of the extreme caution that was required to keep my arm from splitting apart. I tried to argue back, but my words fell short on choked laughter, letting Kiara hoist me up by the waist and feeling her wet bracelets press against my warm skin. JJ simply walked away, all too quiet for a boy who never knew silence in his life.

I didn’t press him.

“Can I sit?”

Days had passed, water lapped at the shore, quenching the insurmountable thirst of the dry land before it. The wind blew softly against the greenery, and the birds sung out, diving into the distant waters for their supper.

JJ sat with his knees pulled to his chest, arms thrown over the bend lazily, hands fiddling with a sharpened stick he had been working incessantly on since he’d finished his first project, a white waving flag that read, Pougelandia.

The wind blew up the end of his shirt, a cut off tank top that once fell to his mid thigh now rested loosely at his tanned hips, ripped unevenly across the dark stitching.

He breathed evenly, eyes not even flickering over to meet mine, not a word shared between us. A dream of surf expenditures and found family adventures. We talked of island paradise when all smoothed over. When the earth buried our blood and tears, and the sting began to slip away.

There was happiness, beyond the blood and bruise, past the curses and cries. Beyond the terror of the swift nightfall, the impending cold that would have brought any surviving energy away from our warm bodies. There was calm.

He promised to make boards with dried wood, to carve them by hand, break them with his knuckles. The wood was rotting, and it was cracking quickly.

Once again, dreams were altered to fit the shitty hand that was dealt. The rich became richer, and our frames became thinner.

The world spat in our face and said it was the wind.

I sat down beside him now, and it was unusually quiet between us. I guess, this was better than the forever silence, the six feet of separation that I wanted nothing more than to leave behind. He couldn’t even see me.

“Did I do something?” I asked quietly, voiced drowned out by the sound of the sea, the distant hollers of our friends echoing above the trees. I wished I could see everything for what it is, but I had not a clue, a fool sitting beside my uncharacteristically empty best friend.

“No.” He answered plainly.

“No?” I asked, begged practically for confirmation. He nodded his head, agreeing, but it was unclear if it was an agreement within a disagreement.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’, bitter, I could see it more clearly now in my new found focus.

“I can’t make it go away if you don’t tell me, Jay.” I smiled, laughing like it was a pity for us to be so awkward. And it was, it was so fucking weird. Fake niceties are weird.

Leaning forward to mirror how he sat, I tried to get a forward perspective of the furrow between his brows. He brushed the space below his nose and sniffed like he was annoyed. It reminded me of the boy who held up the cross with his bare hands on the ship, the boy who had aimed a gun at the kids he grew up with, his own sister too. His anger reminded me a lot of a Camerons anger, and I figured he had enough reason to feel stressed, he had all the reason to show it.

“This isn’t Kildare.” I reminded him.

“I know.”

“It’s just us.” I added.

“I know.” He nearly snapped, fingers tingling with annoyance, anger, grief even. It was a dying fuse ready to explode, to burn it all down.

We sat in silence for a moment, and I hoped he would speak. Rarely, we had fights. Usually they were stupid, ending in us laughing and my hips thrown over his shoulder. He never hit and neither did I, neither of us even tempted the idea. If we needed space, we gave it, though, it never lasted long because we craved each other like a dog to its owner. Like a moth to a flame, we always came back.

Still, I hoped he would speak first. I felt like I was doing most of it, carrying the conversation for five people while only speaking to one. When he remained quiet, trying to reel it in, I broke the tension.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, Jay. I’ll be here. It’s not like I could leave even if I wanted to.”

If I hadn’t lost my life, I had lost my ability to read the room, because my weak joke fell so flat, it might as well have served as the boards we never got to make together, the memories we would never get to experience. It rotted into his mind and left something so disgusting to him, I could read it on his face.

“No, no but you could.” Sand kicked up behind his heels, hands pushing up off of his knees, knuckles bruised and palmed sandy. He was scruffier than usual, but the blues of his eyes were all the same, dappled with the flickers of light I had fallen in love with so long ago.

“What?” I laughed, standing up slowly, but then jerking forward once I saw how quickly he was creating distance between us.

If we weren’t alone then, I was sure he had led us into total solidarity.

The trees were thicker here, the shoreline rocky and short, even at low tide. It would be completely gone in a few minutes when the tide would start rolling in. I could feel the water trying to break free against the soles of my shoes every time a larger wave came crashing through, between the overhangs and vines that tried and failed to barricade the sacred land.

“Because you did leave, Y/n. You left.”

JJ turned around, his hand pointing to my heart and his eyes avoiding contact where the cloth was wound tightly around my skin and bone. The shirt he tore to let me wear and to let me feel put together again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between us.

I caught the way his eyes seemed to shine more delicately in the reflection of the ocean, the way the wind blew against his blonde locks, the same shining color as his heart of gold. A loyal, fiercely protective friend who was crumbling at the mere idea that abandonment could always win, even though the people he believed would never leave.

“You left.” He repeated more quietly, his lower lip wobbling with such an intensity, I felt the bile rising up in my throat.

“I didn’t leave.” I defended quietly between choked breaths. “How could you think I would leave? I would never leave you, I wouldn’t want to.”

“Then what was that then?”

His head turned to look out at the horizon, biting down harshly on his teeth and sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. His weight shifted from left to right, fists clenching and unclenching by his side, conflict evident in his face. His brows were drawn in so tightly, his face scrunched up almost like he was in pain, like he couldn’t even fight anymore, I watched the internal battle between strength and hurt argue over who got control over his brain. I could tell which had already won his heart.

“I watched you there, Y/n. I saw the…the blood and the tears. I saw all of it, you were dead. You died.”

I shook my head, feeling a familiar lump forming in the base of my throat. Everything seemed to burn. From my sweaty palms to the flare of my nostrils and the back of my skull. It all ached dully, inflamed by the accusation that I had truly given up, that I had been gone with no intention to come rescue him.

“I was there.” My voice broke, my eyebrows pulled down in a deep frown. My palm instinctively came to cup my wound, and my fingers cupped around the fabric, pulling down gently to let the pain breathe.

Never in our decade of friendship had I ever felt so alone from JJ. We were on other worlds and it was clear, and it was something I hated being accustomed to. We were so alike, but so different in this moment. Together but so far apart. Like January and December, one after the other, following like ducks but with the distance of a lifetime between.

“I was there, I saw you standing over me.”

“You pushed me away, you didn’t need me! You didn’t want me. I saw the look in your eyes. You wanted to leave. You were okay with leaving!” JJ shouted, his voice booming. I wondered if it had the power to carry over to the others and reveal our argument to everyone. We were too far away, and I was thankful for that because I knew whatever was coming wasn’t going to be kind. I could feel the bubbling pressure building in my chest like a hot rock sizzling my flesh from the inside out, and it wanted to sink through if I didn’t spit it out.

“Can you blame me?” I cried out, tears falling from my water line in a stream of pain that cut deeper than any blade had. “I was in pain, JJ! I was in so much fucking pain! I was bleeding out, in a place I don’t know, and I’ve never felt more alone! I couldn’t breathe, JJ. I couldn’t hear anything, I couldn’t see. Why is it selfish to bother want to suffer, when I would wish you the same peace if it were to happen to you.”

JJ’s chin wrinkled in sadness, wetting his lips with his tongue and blinking back his own tears. I had so much to say and only so much air in my lungs. Only so much I could choke on before it all came out.

“The worst part is, I thought you were dead. If the damn blade didn’t kill me, you would have because I would rather die than have to live the next eternity without you by my side. I thought…I thought I failed you, and I couldn’t even look anyone in the eye because all I could see was your face in the water. Do you know how terrifying that was? To have your limp body weighing me down in the ocean? My best friend, my buddy, the only person I’d ever want to bother me like you do. Dead, all because of me? Do you know how guilty I’ve been? How guilty you’ve made me? I’m a god damn monster, and it’s a shame I turned out like I did because I had the potential to be something like you. But I can’t be because I’m a failure. Because even for even for a moment, I was thinking that maybe we would both be better off if I just gave up? If I let the ocean take us because god, if the light hasn’t been kind then the darkness can at least give me some damn peace!”

We both fell quiet now. My chest heaved with anxiety. My bones felt heavy, I felt heavy. I felt stupid, and I knew nothing I was saying made sense. It was all mindless rambling about everything I’d been mulling over for what felt like years.

“I love you. A-and I mean that in a way that I’ve never known before, and that fucking terrifies me. It terrifies me that theres always a chance that one day I won’t have the privilege to lay next to you, or-or to sit with you on the porch at John B’s and just talk about things that don’t matter like they do. Like, I love you, dude! And I can’t act like I don’t anymore. I thought…I thought that if I pushed it down, if I ignored it then maybe I could forget about it, but I can’t. Because the truth is I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry if this means everything has been a lie, if I’m a fraud but I can’t pretend like I wouldn’t die for you, because I would and I tried.”

“I’m sorry, what?” JJ breathed, eyes wide and lips parted. He was shocked, and so was I. There was no going back, it was eat the words or let the words eat me. The truth was out, and I couldn’t deny it.

“I love you.”

Silence. Every moment led me here, to this island. Every time I grabbed onto the back of his jacket to steady myself, or the times I pawed at his chest to get him to stop trying to antagonize the Kooks. I followed him to the ends of the earth, literally. That was proof of my love, if not, it proved my devotion.

“I’m sorry.” JJ whispered back. His eyes shined with freckles of light from the waves and the stars and the sun. He couldn’t say it back, and I knew why because I know him, but we both knew what he meant to say with his apology.

“Me too.” I breathed out.

Often, our friends would poke fun that we couldn’t keep it under wraps around each other. That our lingering touches and fleeting glances were too romantic to be a friendly gesture. Maybe part of their teasing was right, but not completely.

Stepping forward in the sand, I felt the warmth of his arms pulling me into his chest, the strength and the kindness familiar, but the touches deeper and different. Where we once dappled with affection became a feeling that dominated now. We’d stood like this before, but with the confession hanging between our lips, everything was different.

His breathing, his gaze, the curve of his lips, the tucking of his nose against my cheek. We bumped noses blindly, his fingers dancing up my spine to the small of my back. I felt his eyelashes tickle my skin before I felt the rough-soft mixture of his lips pressing against mine.

It felt like something out of a movie, like fantasy. All those stupid stories I’d never believed where the lovers fit together perfectly made complete sense now as we molded together with a dance we knew all too well.

My hands reached for the back of his neck desperately, pawing at whatever curves I could get a grip on. It was slow, a steady pour of the heart into each other and completely intoxicating up until the moment we split apart for air.

“I should die more often if you’ll kiss me like that.” I joked, laughing into the crook of his neck.

“Nah, you don’t gotta do all that anymore.” He promised.

Affection was never our thing, love was foreign and forgiveness came hard. We held grudges and fought secrets for each other, and in the end, it’s what made us make perfect sense.

I look at JJ now in the dimming light above the ocean, and I no longer see the reflection of his empty gaze and heavy body. I see adoration, a softness that I’d always failed to recognize before.

“Jay?” I mumbled, chasing his lips again. He hummed against my skin, warm air tickling my body.

“Save it for the surf trip, okay?” I teased.

He growled playfully, squeezing the curves of my hips and nipping at my shoulder.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed.

“I’d save you.”

“Maybe.” JJ smiled, beaming with love.

After a moment of silence in each others arms, I felt his chest expand with a calm breath, and the stutter in mine silenced whatever thought he was about to blurt out impulsively.

“We should probably really consider getting passports.” I suggested softly, still longing for the surf trip with my best friend.

“Hell no, thats some kook bullshit” He argued softly, his smile still stretched against my skin.

“The kookiest.” I agreed.

I felt JJ pull away to breathe in the salty air. His eyes remained trained on mine, and the look gave me deja vu to a time not so long ago. A look we shared in the sweltering confinements of the cargo ship container. Only, now that I wasn’t blinded by a mixture of excitement for the treasure and the fear of failure, I could see the real gold in front of me. I could understand the gravity of his gaze.

A look that would fluster me for a life time.