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elioslover · 9 months

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Afterparties on Tour (One Shot- Italrry x reader).

Premise: Love on Tour is over and Harry needs to tell you how he feels.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: / Other writing

[I'm a little late to the party but here's a little snippet of Love on Tour ending and Harry's vay-cay in Italy. Obviously Italrry! is my favourite, I have a whole fic about it lmao.]

🪐

The moon bounces across the gentle but choppy waves, coming to a crash against the scattered rocks before dissipating and retreating from the shore. It must be loud considering the celebrations behind you, a chorus of cheers and booming base.

Feet devoid of shoes, toes buried in the cool sand, nursing a drink and gazing out at the ocean, all that dancing has rendered you an unfit kid in gym class. It’s taken longer than you expected to even your exhales, and once it had settled, the feeling of your skin enveloped in the sand has you staying put. At least a moment longer.

It would help soothe your thoughts about that succubus dressed in only a pair of short-shorts and a loose-fitted button-up, dancing far too close, eyes far too bright, glimmering under the ultraviolet strobes.

He is so unaware of how unhinged he makes you feel, it seems like he only aims to pull you in further- so unaware, that he couldn’t begin to comprehend the concept of needing space and is already making his way over to your hunched figure.

You hear him long before you see him, his steps are heavy and uneven, you can just picture the way he fumbles about, a faint and fond smile soothing your frown.

Once he is only a foot away, he announces his presence,

“Oi! I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”

He comes to a halt, and as you tilt your head to acknowledge him, your face is levelled with his thigh, bare, unnecessarily thick, and begging to have teeth sunk into its fleshy skin.

Your brain is buzzing with profanities, ‘Jesus fuck’, ‘fuckin’ unfair.' 'fuck, fuck.' But you hold it together with perseverance, patting the empty spot in the sand beside you an invitation,

“Hi, Lovie. Have fun?”

He obliges with a loopy, and cheesy grin that obliterates your sense of composure. He is so clueless as he drops to the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, arms stretched out to keep balanced. His finger brushes against your thigh, and you are furious with how easily your skin flares with fireworks.

Harry takes a deep breath, craning his neck and tilting his face to fix his gaze on your own, his eyes sultry, pupils swollen with celebration. His smile only widens,

“Much better now.”

He has to know what he’s doing. Surely. You cannot risk looking into his eyes for even a moment, fearful it will end with your lips trailing along his neck, tongue lapping and nipping at the nape. And for obvious reasons, you cannot look at his mouth, instead diverting both your gaze and the topic,

“I like the hat.”

“I’ll give it back, I swear.” He doesn’t want to.

“Don’t. it looks better on you.” You want him to keep it forever.

There’s a hopeful look that flashes across not only his green gaze but the crinkles of the corners of his eyes, swelling dimpled cheeks, and dramatically raised brows.

You don’t like that look; it makes your insides melt into one big ball of overwhelming happiness and hopefulness. He could set you alight with one facial expression, just imagine what would happen if he did even more.

You cannot will yourself to find out, choosing to commend him instead,

“You’ve been dancing up a storm.”

“Mm. Wanted you to dance with me.” He nods, eyes lulling shut, his chin tilted to the stars.

“I did. For a good three or four songs.”

He seems the opposite of satisfied, bushy brows creasing into a furrow and crinkling his forehead,

“Want you to dance with me all night.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You take the risk of brushing your shoulder against his own.

“And you’re beautiful.” He instantly retorts, tainting your skin with blushing berries, thankful that the moon reflects on the ocean instead of your cheeks.

You’re even more thankful when Harry moves on without your help, inquisitively pointing at the cup still clutched in your palm,

“Whatcha drinkin’?”

“I think vodka and cranberry.” You ponder, glancing down and swirling the cup, liquid sloshing against the glass.

He motions for it, holding his hand out, and you are more than tempted to drop the drink and wrap your palm in his. But he waits with anticipation, and you can only oblige and pass him what he wants, settling for a swift moment of your fingers brushing against his own.

Tilting back, neck mercilessly on display, Harry takes an unintentionally large sip, swallowing with sudden unnerving panic. His mouth is an explosion of sugar sticking to his gums, sending electric charges straight to his brain,

“Christ that’s sweet!” He exclaims, eyes scrunching with distaste, his hand blinding stretching out to return the concoction to your custody.

“Just like me.”

“Just like you.” He mirrors. And he’s looking over at you now, eyelids swelled and intoxicated, lashes wisping, irises flickering in the moonlight. His expression slowly morphs into one of soft sorrow, and he can’t stop himself from speaking the silly truth, "'M gonna miss you, y’know.”

“You’ll still see me.” You attempt reassurance, but you’re almost certain Harry can hear the way your words stay trapped between your teeth, squeaking out with disappointment. You are disappointed if that even begins to cover it.

“Not every day though.” He whines but before your heart can skip a full beat, he panics and presses on, “You’re the best assistant.” This is partially true- you are the best assistant, but Harry will definitely miss you for much more than that.

You scoff softly, lacking the courage to take his words as anything other than platonic banter, a culmination of spending a prolonged period together- over two years to be precise.

In honesty, you hope Harry shares same ache as your already-churning stomach at the thought of spending the unforetold future apart. It's embarrassing, though, knowing you feel far too much for a boy whose only obligation is to be shared with the world.

“Oh, please. You’re just gonna miss being waited on hand and foot.”

“That too.” He teases, hardly able to hold any sternness in his words, more focused on proving his feelings of fearing the distance from you. He needs to make sure you know. Before it’s too damn late, “But I'm gonna miss you more.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” You try to rationalise and lighten the mood for both of your sakes.

“Hardly! My heart’s been breaking for days.” He flails his arms with a flair of dramaticism, even stomping his foot into the sand with extra emphasis. Dramatic display aside, Harry means every word, just the statement has his chest closing in.

“I think that’s all the Scotch talking.” You say in an attempt to stop your own chest from aching the same.

“I’m serious!” He defends, frustrated that you seem to have mastered the art in denseness… or diversion… which is worse?

It’s obvious to Harry that you’re gonna need a little more convincing, and he is happy to oblige, turning his torso to face you, eyes fixed on your nerve-ridden ones,

“Gonna miss your clumsiness, and your positivity,” he likes the way your face tilts down with shyness, lips pressing together bashfully, “and your sweet laugh.” He’s heard it once, he wants to hear it on a loop for all of eternity.

His truthfulness is almost believable, but even if it was, you aren’t sure what to do with the information. He’s just begging for you to smother him in kisses at this point, and the conviction that he is simply unaware of the effect his words have on you is encouraging you not to indulge. Instead, you are rerouting the conversation again,

“None of that has to do with me being your tour assistant.”

“Still.”

Contradictory to his tongues distaste, Harry wants to touch your hand again, even for just a second, so he reaches for the glass of reddish liquid, skin sizzling when your hold lingers, taking an extra gulp for good luck, a small droplet of cranberry slipping down the slope of his bottom lip.

The silence, though comfortable is deafening, and Harry needs to hear your velvety voice again,

“Say it.”

You turn yourself to accept his authoritative switch, eager to see where he plans on going with this. Ignoring the desperate temptation to rub your thumb across his peachy, puckered lips, absolving him of the merciless sweetness, you take back the drink and finish its contents with one swift, throat-swelling swallow. Eyes crinkling from the candy cruelty, you discard the glass and give him your all,

“Say what?”

“Say it!”

He persists, looking at you with the most darling of pouts, a glimmer of mischievous knowing- wanting you to confirm his wishes. And, who would you be to deny him such an obvious confession?

“I’m gonna miss you too, Harry.”

“How much?”

“You really are ridiculous!” Your eyes roll in sync with the huff that slips from between your teeth.

“And you’re beautiful.” He says like it's old news, “We’ve been over this, how much are you gonna miss me?”

Your stomach is in your head, your head is in your heart, and your heart is in Harry’s hands, unsuspectingly holding your entirety between the creases of his palms.

He cannot know. So, you gesture your thumb and pointer finger together in matrimony but leave the tiniest of spaces in between- the false space in which you hold your sorrows for his soon departure,

“This much.”

“So little?” He playfully pouts, and unbeknownst to you, his pupils are swelling with desperation for you to miss him as much as he, you.

“Hmm, maybe this much.” With little leeway, you expand your two fingers as far as they will stretch, allowing your longing to settle in the gap.

Harry's eyes light up with some sort-of satisfaction, his forehead raising, creases disappearing as his dimples swell from the force of his fiery smirk,

“Just as I suspected.”

“What’s that now?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that… I win.” He concludes, boyish grin only growing- if possible- and with as much grace as one could have after two Scotchs, Harry stretches his arms out, swerving to miss you, his muscles spanning like that of a proud swan, “Cause I’m gonna miss you thisss much.”

His body is starting to stiffen and then loses all rigidity, he can’t stop- well, even if he could, he wouldn’t- his arm from wrapping around your shoulder, tugging you down with him as his body starts to tilt back, threatening to sink into the sand.

“Harry!”

And your bodies are pressed to the trillions of pearly grains, giggles escaping through your parted lips. Your hair is surely sprinkled with sand, as must Harry’s, bodies awkwardly pressed together, his chest criminally close to your own.

“Y/n.” He mocks, confirming his cheeriness over pulling you into his grasp, your back balancing on his stretched-out arm.

The party plays on in the distance, the sea is still singing, and you can hear the soft and stable breaths of the prettiest boy on earth, his face tilted towards your own, freckles flickering under the silver sky. Harry is looking at you with an unreadable gaze- one that you have curiously noticed the past couple of months- it may be fondness... But whatever it is, it quickly dissipates into a woeful stare, and he glances away from your wondering gaze in favour of the sky.

It's quiet for a moment- theoretically only a minute, but it feels like an eternity. Your eyes are tracing the curves of his chiselled jaw, swooping cheekbones, softly kinked nose. He seems miles away, leaving you alone on the beach just as you feared the future would be.

But he is back on earth, and his eyes are back on yours right before your body threatens to rip itself apart. His brows are furrowed, and his chest hurts so carelessly that he wonders if you might feel it too,

“’M a little sad, y’know?”

“Would be weird if you weren’t.” You reassure, from a practical point, this is true. But from an in-love point, you need to ensure he understands you mirror his melancholy, “I am too.”

“Cause you’re gonna missss me?” Harry coos.

Harry wants to hear you say it in your own words, and the only way he knows how is to sugarcoat his words with a sweet and playful demeanour, scared of what might happen if it turns out that his feelings truly are one-sided. You wish he had said it seriously; you want to tell him that you’re being more than serious, that you will miss him, and that you’ll spend the rest of your life missing him, everything about him, everything he makes you feel,

“Have you always been this annoying?”

“I think you’re mistaking annoyance for attraction.” He tries a new tactic.

“Even so…” You concede.

“Even so…?”

“You’re both, alright. And you already know it.” Perhaps you’re giving away too much.

To Harry, not enough. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to happen; did he really think you would confess your devout attraction for him? Did you even feel the same way? You give him the tiniest of hints, always so cautious and thoughtful. He knows this; he feels your fondness, feels the fiery connection… there has to be more, and how much longer can he wait? Threatened by the reality of the two of you going your separate ways, Harry is fighting this obstacle, fearful that this is his only and final opportunity, having to give you something more, some sort-of encouragement,

“Just like to hear you say it.”

What are you supposed to say to that? It has to be obvious that you feel so much more for him than mere attraction. Stumbling on words, a blushing mess, tripping over your own toes whenever he expressed his endearment or wonderment.

It was certainly easier to chalk his affection up to close proximities, homesickness, and maybe even pining over another woman. Theoretically, Harry had more on his mind than spending his time seeking out your affection.

Your lips are sealed, unwilling to separate and spill your secrets- the only thing stopping you from saying every little thing you love about him.

But Harry is watching and waiting, carefully checking out the way your forehead furrows, eyes darting with some deep thoughts that he just wishes you would share with him. He’s seen this look before- sometimes showing up during difficult days on tour when you were challenged with a particularly gruelling or complicated task, and on occasion, Harry had noticed this conflict in your eyes during the duet of late-night conversations.

He knows you’re stumped for words. He knows you don’t plan on speaking up. He needs to know what you’re thinking about, his face leaning forward, trying to close some of the merciless gap preventing him from being able to peck your cheek,

“Tell me a secret.”

“Yeah, right.” You can tell this is a trap.

You’d be a fool not to know what he was trying; this was his last resort in deciphering your hidden agenda, and the last thing you need is the humiliation of finding out that this little thing going on between you two would remain just that; a thing of the past.

“Tell me, and I’ll tell you one in return.”

He insists with such sweet innocence that could surely coax you into doing whatever he wanted,

“Okay.” You’ll go with the thing that’s been torturing you for weeks now, “I think you should grow out your moustache.”

“Done.” He answers so quickly, with such authority that your heart is doing somersaults. Before you can overthink his hastiness, he continues, “Tell me another.”

“Hey, that’s not how this goes.”

“I make the rules. Tell meeee.” He’s a needy little one and he has you trapped, nowhere to go but nowhere you would rather be.

What’s the point of keeping anything from him when it’s clear his persistence will only be soothed by your obligation?

Harry is as Harry as ever, so welcoming and understanding before even hearing what you have to say. As far as you’re concerned, he’s been seeking you out for a reason, wanting to make sure that this ending isn’t eating away at you.

It is eating away at you, though. You both know without verbalising it. If it remains unaddressed it may very well result in severing the ties you so tenderly share,

“I’m nervous about going home.”

“Had a feeling.” He needs you to know that he knows. “‘M sorry, darling. Promise we’ll see each other, okay?”

“Pinky swear.” Your eyes are like a puppy dog.

“I’ll come over, and we can watch Normal People and… pretend we are.” Harry wants that more than anything.

“I’d like that… a lot.” Your eyes lull with the promise of his loving presence, “I’ll make you a warm cuppa.”

“You’ll have hot chocolate.” He notes proudly.

“And I’ll let you use my fluffy blanket.” You do the same.

“Ugh. I love you.”

He whines dramatically, eyes rolling back, deliciously biteable lips parted and glossy. He really does though- love you. You loathe the flippancy with which he uses these words, substituting playfulness for the failure of his reciprocating your feelings,

“It’s hard not to.”

“That cranberry’s giving you a big head, huh?” He nudges himself against you.

“Don’t be mean.” Also nudging against him in an attempt to reprimand his cheekiness.

“I could never be mean to you.” He pouts cutely, hoping you can tell that he certainly means it.

He’s close- too close- churning your common sense into a spiral of neediness to nearer his face, scatter kisses wherever his skin forfeits. Shuffling back slightly, you miss the way his brows twitch with misunderstanding, and you misdirect the conversation once more,

“Did you see the video I sent you?”

“That puppy was so cute I could have cried.” His features turn to mushy lovability.

“Don’t cry, you’re too pretty.” You tease.

“Too late.” He tries to add a convincing pout.

“Such a crybaby.” A cute, fuckable little sulk. Your diversion has certainly worked, but now you long for the back-and-forth of will-they-wont-they, and you cannot resist letting the words come out, “So, what’s your secret?”

“I already told you.” He says it like it should be apparent.

“You did?” Had you missed something?

“Yep.”

Harry’s certainty is cast-iron, peering over at you with palpable perceptiveness. If his secret was that he planned on growing a moustache, then he had done a marvellous job at fishing you onto the hook. A simmer of frustration bubbles in your belly, shyness and foolishness teasing you for falling into his trap with such ease. Your tone reflects this, retreating to the sanctity of defensiveness,

“Your secret is that you’re a crybaby? We already knew that.”

“Not that.” He rolls his eyes.

“Alright, well, tell me again.”

“Ask me nicely.” He keeps you baited.

“Y’know what, I don’t even wanna know.” You tilt your nose to the sky, giving him the perfect sight of your neck craned, cheeks like apples, lips pouted and puckered.

“Yes, you do.” He informs.

“Nope.” Your lips pop at the P.

“It’s gonna eat away at you.” He sing-songs. He’s right.

“Glad to see you’re getting off on this.” Grumbling, you avert your gaze.

“Would rather get off with you.” He torts, muttering, sudden arousal slipping from his lips and settling anxiously in the already-small gap separating your bodies.

“Filthy boy.” You friskily reprimand.

“And you haven’t seen the half of it.” He promises.

“Is that your secret?” You press on curiously, “Not a surprise. I’ve seen your ‘fuck me’ eyes before.”

“When I was looking at you?”

Harry knocks the breath out of you, not even out of you- it’s trapped if your throat, body stilling like a statue, tied and bound by the predicament he seemed to so blatantly provide,

“Not me in particular…”

“Apparently I have two secrets then.” He muses.

“Just tell me!” You are clearly too focused on secret number one to notice that he just revealed secret number two.

“Hmm… Maybe.” Since you seem so clueless, Harry thinks he should drag this on a little longer, becoming more-and-more discouraged by your blatant dismissal of his attempts to express his affection.

“Harry, I swear-”

“Alright, missy.” He can hold out no longer. “I love you.”

“I know that-”

“Love, love you.”

“Oh.” You finally let the realisation sink in, and it sinks in slowly whilst Harry patiently watches the way you process both his feelings and your own.

The fear of rejection humidifies the air around him, but the relief of having you hear him say it aloud is something he had not known he needed.

Your entirety is like electricity escaping a plug socket, shocking you with such passion that the only thing left to do is give in,

“Well, I guess I have another secret, too.”

“Tell me.” He need not know because you have said it in your own words. But, how nice would it be to drizzle your ‘I love you’ like honey across his aching heart.

You will; coat him in so much caramelised molasses that he will have no choice but to understand that you love him... Right after you make him play a round of his own proven-pointless little game,

“Hmm. Maybe.”

—

#harry styles x reader #elioslover #harry styles one shot #harry x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #itallry

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darksxder · 10 months

Note

Oh darling, I'm super excited for your event! ❤ If I may go ahead and drop a headcanon request: What would it be like to go to the beach with Price (CoD)?

ILY! ‼️❤️thank you for being the first to send in a prompt!! and i love this big burly man so bad help <3

pre-beach

this man is someone who rarely gets leave, and someone who rarely ever takes it either when it’s offered (he is forced to take it lmao)

i think john is so ingrained in a system that strains his own morals so bad that he doesn’t like to be out of it much.

once you have such a taste for blood, the usual comfort of life have a certain tinge to it

i think you would have mentioned it mid mission. in a gasp, swiping dust from your eyes onto to squint at the sun. half delirious and dehydrated “ever been to the beach, captain?”

and he smiles softly. looking perfectly content in all black with the sun beating down on you all. “why?”

it’s said with a soft drawl that has your heart flipping and hands sweating.

“uhh i don’t know. just wondering. thought maybe a team date at the beach would help with bonding?” and you say it like a question, the confidence that you had to line up a shot or take a man down to the ground with a jump and the force of your legs, never quite correlated with talking to price (it never would)

and like you did in early training runs and drills, and under the scream and spittle of your many older male superiors, you dropped it. gave it up. “you know- forget it-“ you start but his deep british lilt had your words fracturing into silence.

“sounds like a good plan. you have quite the knack for team bonding.” he teased

your body flushed with heat, a thousand times the sun deep in the balm of the desert around you. it was a joke. you had never been subtle about the lack of connection you felt between your teammates and many games that usually started with ‘what’s your favourite colour’ were not uncommon to be lead by you

and you forgot about it. not really. but truly you had thought it a joke. him agreeing.

but when you were laying across your couch on leave, bored as all hell, mind buzzing, lower lip worrying between your teeth, he called you.

called you for the first time ever. his voice awash in your ears, a thousand times more pleasant than the ocean as he told you to “get your swim suit private and head down to the blum in’ beach.”

the beach trip

this man immediately complimenting you. even if you’re wearing a cover up. or your clothes are completely on over your bathing suit

with his uncannily good instincts he notices how you can’t even look at his eyes, even avoiding him entirely. facing the side of sand beside him as you spoke.

it was hard not to. he was in simple black swim trunks, all the broad shoulders, muscled and soft curves was ripe to your sight

and he was smirking at you. his stupid bucket hat still on, but now finally matching the setting around him

his hands on his hips instead of on the neck of his vest like you were used to when he was looking over you

you have to chase this man down to put sunscreen on him (we have seen the lovely amount of freckles ofc)

100% picks you up and puts you deeper in the water when you refuse to go past the water sloshing at your hip bones. no matter your sharp gasp and grip, he will dunk you at least once

absolutely is down for any sport on the beach okay- football, ultimate frisbee, a plain game of catch, everything. but especially beach volleyball

and because gaz is a snitch this man knows you played in high school, so he offers you first serve to “see your moves” and “how you set the pace, love”

it’s canon you absolutely obliterate him on every round. every. single. one. and you’re so humble about it

meanwhile soap is losing it, literally slapping at your shoulder and treating you like a god when you spike another hit directly on their space of sand. his scottish yells drowning your ears

and every new round, when you hand price ‘his ass to him ‘- he gets hotter. from exertion or something else, he will never tell

1000% is the person to tell you to ‘c’mere’ then quickly rub some sunscreen on the bridge of your nose and the soft highs of your cheekbones

he spends the entire time holding his breath instinctually. his lungs strained when he saw your features up so close. he counted every scar and mark, every dip in your smile and the butterflies that bloomed from your soft exhale of warm breath on the inside of his wrist, as the pads of his thumbs trace along the seam of your cheeks

you end up staying till sunset

he brings a cooler with his own ‘prissy beer’ as gaz says. but you make him drink many fun coloured sweet drinks that would be characterized as alcoholic popsicles. all of them in chimed glass bottles and unnaturally bright colours (he downs five)

price loves how your filter dissolved with the alcohol and that you apologized for everything, even if it was just walking alongside them

hours later he spends at home, wondering why he can’t stop thinking of you. the burning image of sand slipping past your fingers, the wind carrying tiny grains along your stretched leg, a soft and true smile carved on your face. every part i grace in his chest. it was a small smile. but private, almost secret, sincere. it made his heart flip and ache. both at once, always the case with you

places you in shade and makes you drink water and rest when you almost get heat exhaustion and get all cranky and weak :,)

brought a nice fluffy towel but shared your barbie one ‘for the principle’

saw you laying in the sun and thought you were tanning, but soap was kind enough to point out “nah she’s just not used to feeling the sun. you know, with her hermit habits..” that got him a kick to the shin and a rumbling chuckle from price that had your eyelashes fluttering along with your stomach

you guys building a sand castle because you strayed from the group and found him in his and i quote “old man time”. smoking a cigar perched on a beach chair, a ripe sunburn on his chest that had you sighing and wincing at once. hands itching to take out some aloe and help ease the burn, but he didn’t even flinch

he just sees you drop off your stuff and head to the shallows with a tiny orange bucket and he just kinda follows you. watches for a moment before he feels pulled to trudge through the warm sand towards you

at first only making short and direct comments on your sandcastle architecture whilst taking puffs of his cigar

loving the burn of sweetness in his chest it gave him. it was nearly the same feeling when you laughed mid recom mission in the Arctic. it had been the first time he ever heard you truly laugh. he never forgot it. the hue. the pitch. he remembered he stopped shaking, as if his brain was in too much shock at the beauty of the sound to realize he was freezing. as in that moment he had never felt so warm in his life.

but after you huff and tell him to ‘do it himself’ he folds and basically throws the stub out (you make him throw it out properly after istg) and this 37 year old, 6’2 unit, gets on his bad knees to help you form the damp sand monstrosity

and after a genuine hour of hushed focus and teamwork

“looks like an evil dwelling.” you say it seriously. your hand poised on your chin, eyes catching ever smoothed edge and exaggerated curve and dip on the soft structure

prices lips twitched. “that right?”

“mhm.”

and he took a minute. fingers drawing a moat along the side of the castle that had your teeth biting into your lower lip slightly. “why work so hard on something just for it to wash away?” he asked, eyes on the separating sand drawn from his touch

it’s not about the sand castle. you know that. but this was surely something you should be asking instead and having him reassure you about

“was the work purposeful?” your voice as strong as the setting sun behind you

he nodded. his eyes a bright blue in the bright peach rays of the setting sun. the light catching onto strands of his beard, and framing his mouth in gold

then maybe it washing away was apart of the job. the end of it. we just didn’t know it.”

and he holds your gaze, noting the glaze in your eyes. the sheen.

sometimes he forgot how young you were. but with your hands next to his and covered in sand, knees knocked and pricked with bruises, hair up and secured with a scarf, you looked painfully young.

too young to know the pain of all your hard work washing away. again and again.

and he’s speaking before he’s even thinking

“i’d build a thousand sand castles with you.” he rasped.

you smiled, bright and beautiful. unrestrained. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he mocked.

and you shuffled closer, just a little scoot of your knees in but it has his breath catching hard

“and i’d wait for them to wash away. and truly only be excited, because we could start anew.”

#john price x reader #john price fic #cod drabble #ally’s birthday bash #prompts #i love you belle

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theclaravoyant · 8 months

Note

historical ineffables + the golden age of piracy *prayer hands* *puppy dog eyes* (i know you're a fellow OFMD enjoyer, so i just had to do it to em!!)

AN ~ YES!!! Happy 3 Weeks to OFMD Day to all!! ft. longhair crowley my beloved

Read on AO3 (~800wd)

Aziraphale’s coat-tails flapped violently and he once again had to grab his hat to stop it from being whipped into the ocean. That’s one thing the papers and novels had never truly captured: it was blasted windy out here. That, and every single thing everywhere was somehow wet. It was taking a very literal miracle to keep dry the cargo of books he had been tasked with accompanying across the Atlantic - that and a hefty amount of oilskin and dry rice. Fortunately, this crew was one of the best when it came to maintaining fragile and historical artifacts on long journeys. Unfortunately, they were… less adept, shall we say, when it came to defending said artifacts from skullduggery.

Which was how, with little more than a warning shot and a cry to raise the white flag, Aziraphale found himself with a knife between his shoulders, shoved up against the railing whilst all manner of brigands ransacked the Mercy. The Flaming Sword was tucked well away on another plane, he had only a small pen knife and if he was honest he wasn’t all that confident in its use, so he put up the smallest of fights as his assailant patted him down for weapons. He was more put out than anything else - so help the bastards if any of this jostling scored his newest and most favourite pocket watch.

“Unhand me, fiend!” he scolded, daring to put a little elbow into it when said favourite pocket watch’s pocket crushed angrily against the balustrade.

“Oi!” his assailant yelped. His elbow, as it turned out, had nearly struck a very familiar face.

Aziraphale turned to face him, and Crowley groaned:

“Oh, fuck.”

–

It was late and the moonlight was having a very hard time making it below deck by the time Crowley was able to steal away to visit him. His lanky silhouette was a welcome sight, and Aziraphale found himself rising to his feet without even thinking.

“Crowley!” he cried with delight, remembering at the last moment to keep his voice down. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know.” Crowley shrugged. “Business.”

In lieu of details, he passed a piece - more like, a handful - of cake in a serviette through the bars of Aziraphale’s prison cell. The angel’s eyes lit up and he licked his lips as he grabbed it.

“Bless you.”

“Really, don’t. I’m surprised you’ve survived this long on ship biscuits, to be honest.”

“Actually, our chef trained in France, so he makes quite a good go of it. Although I do miss fruit rather terribly.”

Not too terribly, given the chocolate-mustache he was currently sporting. But it was the thought that counted, and Crowley could certainly relate to that. He cast a judgemental eye over the dreary hold.

“I miss being dry and warm. This place makes me long for Judea.”

“Really? I think it rather suits you.” Aziraphale hummed around another mouthful of cake, and looked him up and down to make a point. “Dapper.”

Crowley snorted, but he couldn’t help smiling. Dirty linen and worn leather was hardly dapper, and his hair was longer and wilder than it had been in decades. Now, Aziraphale, standing in his cell with his ‘miraculously’ stainless frock coat and coiffed rolled curls despite the rats and mildew; that was dapper.

“What about you then, angel? What brings you out here - Heaven in need of recruiting some Holy Dolphins?”

“It’s more of a personal mission, actually.” Aziraphale leaned close to the bars, a conspiratorial humour to his voice. “I’ve come across some rather unique editions of some rather unique texts, and I’m to accompany them to their new library in Calcutta.”

Crowley’s expression soured.

“Your lot is not mixed up in that Trading Company business, are you? Spreading to the Good Word to the uncivilised edges of the world and all that?”

His voice was laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm, but Aziraphale baulked. In hindsight he should not have been shocked, but it still appalled him to think that Heaven - that he - that Crowley would think -

Aziraphale puffed his chest.

“No,” he insisted. “In fact, I was originally booked on an East India ship and you’ll be pleased to know that in about a week’s time they’ll find that all their rope has rotted through at a very inopportune moment.”

“Oh, but Angel, they’ll be too far from shore to do anything about that. They’ll be stranded, completely at the mercy of another ship chancing by them.”

“Out there in all that vast ocean? How devilishly unlucky.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale’s expression was unusually firm. Not quite as confident as he was probably aiming for, but not his blustering anxious backtracking either. A smile crept onto Crowley’s face.

“You really are a little bit of a bastard, aren’t you?”

Maybe it was just him, but he could have sworn the Angel took that as a compliment.

#ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #aziracrow #good omens #gomens fic #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff

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brooklynislandgirl · 5 months

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@nightmarefuele may have had a certain Agent Chaos who may or may not have asked: What’s your favourite part of foreplay?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Puberty only came knocking on Beth's door, hat in apologetic hand, the year everything else changed, and maybe she didn't notice it right away. Where she was concerned about the mainland, what Gotham and college would be like, and the like, her brother was already twenty and anxious to leave behind a series of hearts that would invariably break. She'd come home early to surprise him but hadn't realised he'd already gotten himself company. Beth knew the girl to be a senior in her glass, more by sight than by name, and for the long blonde hair she sported. She remembers hearing the noises and being curious had made her way to her brother's door. She pushed it open and then stood there and stared. Until that moment, Beth had never seen two people engaged in physical intimacy. Moreover, she'd never really felt any interest beyond the occasional kiss in a story. So why did she watch until he noticed her? She doesn't know. Why did it fill her with a sort of rage she'd never known before? She doesn't know. She walked away as Andy pushed the girl off him and chased her out into the back yard after pulling on a pair of basketball shorts. He tried to explain himself by saying what he had done was sinful. That the reason the girl was making those noises is because sex was something terrible for girls and painful, too. Something that should only happen between husband and wife. At some point, she could only cover her ears and refuse to listen to him but more or less the damage was already done. The anger never really went away. It only became worse when Andy subsequently got married to that goblin of a woman. Beth was only eighteen then and maybe could be forgiven for the meltdown that followed his announcement. She hasn't yet addressed this fully in therapy. ~*~ But more than a dozen years later, that feeling lives in her belly, and she recognises it the moment he steps into the room. He doesn't need the shot-gun blast to garner her attention, but oh how he has a certain flare. She can practically choke on the smell of fear and adrenaline at the mere sight of him. Of course her own breath catches in her lungs for entirely different reasons, which go unnoticed and unmourned in the sigh she exhales slowly. He makes his rounds with small talk in flashes of charisma, nibbling on the hors-d'œuvres and passing judgement on the sparkling wine ~she feels quite the same but she's spoiled by the cellar her family has always kept~ but she feels bile rise when Rachel Dawes has to steal any chance or garnering his attention. Beth watches as she grandstands and hears the way he calls Rachel beautiful. If he watched her swim out in a pool of her own blood, would he find Rachel so pretty then? Beth almost gets to have an answer, a thing that hardly ever happens in day to day life although there is another surge of smouldering envy when she sees light dance off the edge of his knife, and how close he comes to kissing her. She doesn't understand why she feels that ache. Why her eyes prickle and her vision blurs, why she wants to tear Rachel apart because Beth has never really been a jealous creature. But that is the right word. Wanting something... some one ...that doesn't belong to you. Maybe never could. Beth isn't important. Certainly not enough to have a score of men blindly fighting over her. She's only even here because she's Bruce's neighbour, and they are expected to extend invitations to one another. She doubts he or anyone else even know her name. She tries to ignore that rush of heat deep in her belly. The way her knees turn to ocean-eroded sand. Doesn't know what to do with the urge to bite and lick and leave a scar on him all her own. Beth wouldn't flinch from him. She watches until the Bat comes and ruins everything, until the window shatters. When night comes rushing in with a whistling scream. ~*~ There's nothing a hot bath and Eddie Vedder can do for her.

#Mahalo!C <333 #Painting A Lifeless Face|His Highness #The Strangest Twist Upon Your Lips|J and Beth #Demons With Subtle Guile|Gotham au #All Our Tomorrows|DC verse #{{voyeurism? knife-play? biting? who knows...maybe they're all the same}}

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harrietmjones · 2 years

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Jenny Joyce: Durham

Jenny Joyce perfectly encapsulates what it is to be a Durham university student, with her easy access to a trust fund and unwavering superiority complex giving major ex private schooler energy no matter how hard she tries to deny it.

Though Jenny may try, she unfortunately isn’t quite up to par with the Oxbridge students, perfectly rendering her to the notorious Oxbridge Reject title that has haunted Durham students for decades.

Erin: Nottingham

Erin’s main-character energy and impeccable people-watching skills perfectly situate her in the campus uni that is Nottingham. Constantly surrounded by rugby boys and goss, Erin’s favourite past times would include frequently updating her diary, going slightly overboard on the £1 tequila shots at Ocean Wednesdays and causing absolute havoc at a concerning number of Lenton house parties.

Michelle: Leeds

From her scarily chaotic energy and lack of filter, to her inability to recognise when getting absolutely paralytic doesn’t quite fit the vibe, Michelle is the starter pack Leeds student who would be found drinking to her hearts content in Hyde Park at the drop of a hat. Here for a good time not a long time, uni lecturers are nothing but a distant memory.

Aunt Sarah: Newcastle

The Newcastle nightlife would be Aunt Sarah’s dream. Getting dressed up in a PLT mini-dress and heels, ready to hit up Slug & Lettuce and Insta boomerang her pornstar martini to her heart’s content, she’d slot right into the Geordie lifestyle in no time.

Gerry: York

A simple, unproblematic king, Gerry just wants to be somewhere peaceful and remain entirely undisturbed (especially by Grandpa Joe), thus making the picturesque, quiet and ultimately uneventful town of York a perfect spot.

Claire: Exeter

Perfectly suited to the ease of a campus uni (god forbid she has to navigate a public-transport system or walk a city’s streets alone at night), Claire would undoubtedly make herself a permanent resident at the 24/7 library, downing 50 cans of energy drinks to keep her going as she embarks on her weekly essay crisis and inevitable panic-induced existential breakdown.

James: Edinburgh

James’ simple inability to interact with the female species means Edinburgh’s 63 per cent female population would be a perfect fit. He’s no stranger to a bit of harsh English criticism, making the occasional snide remark or critique by the Scots all part of a day’s work, whilst the over-bearing Englishness and rah energy of Pollock are ideal.

Sister Michael: Cambridge

Let’s be honest, no uni is really up to the high standards of Sister Michael, but the number one top UK university will have to do. Completely unbothered by the Oxford vs Cambridge divide or the annual boat race, you’ll find her in the chapel completely engrossed in her favourite book, The Exorcist.

David Donnelly: Loughborough

Mysterious and aloof, David Donnelly could only really end up as somewhere as irrelevant and unexciting as Loughborough. Only making it into about three scenes across both season one and two combined, he’d certainly be unlikely to want a uni of rich nightlife or culture, making Loughborough’s one nightclub the perfect fit.

Orla: Bath

Her absolutely iconic talent show sport-esque performance and overly-energetic presence means the sporty uni of Bath would suit Orla perfectly. She’d be found strutting the streets of Bath in leg-warmers and vibrant jackets that would be enough to scare anyone from a mile off.

Dennis: Warwick

Sick and tired of everyone and simply at uni to get a degree and nothing else, Dennis would thrive at a uni as quiet and deserted as Warwick. Simply migrating to and from the library and nothing else, he’d be an absolute nightmare to end up in a Zoom break out room with due to his seeming inability to engage in a conversation lasting any longer than 20 seconds.

Ma Marry: Sussex

Incapable of dealing with drama or stress, Ma Mary seems more suited to the more simple uni life, making the coastal uni town of Brighton with its picturesque streets and calming sea air an ideal spot.

However, her new-found love of learning would inevitably render her a library prisoner as she, like us all, enters into the warzone battlefield of attempting to find a seat in exam season.

#derry girls #jenny joyce #erin quinn #michelle mallon #aunt sarah #sarah mccool #gerry quinn #clare devlin #james maguire #sister michael #david donnelly #orla mccool #dennis #derry girls dennis #dennis derry girls #mary quinn

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plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms · 2 years

Note

Hello my darling. Could I please ask you for something including vampire!Billy Russo and my all time favourite Dracula quote ❝ I have crossed oceans of time to be with you ❞

Do with this as you please. I’m excited to see what you come up with 💋💋

My beautiful statuesque goddess of a friend. I adore you and I'm glad I got to know you on this hellsite. Your knowledge in historical fashion is unbelievable and I'm still very grateful that you so generously share that with me to flesh out some of my ideas. Thank you for this request and I hope you like it.

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

This is still part of my 1.5K Followers Celebration. Requests are closed and I'm just finishing up those in my inbox. It's slow going, but we'll get there.

All of the posted Drabbles will be listed under my One Shot Masterlist.

P.S. I know the gif is not Billy Russo but this is a historical setting drabble so just go with it.

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

Pairing: Vampire!Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. some sexy flirting, mentions of torture, vampires and vampire-related things (duh)

Word Count: 961 (drabble)

“A toast!”

The ostentatious voice of the host rang through the extravagantly decorated ballroom, heard clearly over the music from the group hired for the night’s entertainment. He raised his glass of sparkling champagne and tipped his hat, the rest of the guests following suit. He smiled widely at the attention, gesturing with a flourish with each word that he said.

“To my cousin who has graced us with a rare visit. Join me in welcoming our guest of honor, William Russo.”

Billy flashed a tight smile as he raised his own glass and hid his bored frown behind a sip. The rest of the guests drank in his honor, men and women alike were sizing him up against the rumors that had accompanied his visit. In truth very little was known about the main branch of the lineage, only that they held all the power and wealth in this bloodline. Each decision was made by the main family and they decided the fate of the rest. They were secretive in their presence, discrete with their actions, and terrifying with their influence. The secrecy gave the family an overall mysterious reputation.

But the truth was much darker.

Billy had sent a letter ahead of his arrival and what was supposed to be a quick trip turned into a widely publicized extravaganza. He was greeted with this very ball upon his arrival and he had been in a foul mood since then. He hated all the pomp and circumstance. After millenia of being alive, the allure of opulence had faded and even the pleasures of company stirred very little interest in him now.

He knew that this party was merely a ploy for this branch of the family to delay the inevitable. A way to both assuage his displeasure of them and to boast of their own wealth to the community. Their guilt was much too evident. He sighed, scanning the room for at least his meal during this tedious stay. He ran his tongue against the pointed tip of his hidden fangs.

Very well.

They would have tonight, but tomorrow would be far more brutal for them as a result. He brushed off the lingering hair and perfume on his suit jacket from the ladies at the party who had flocked to him, eager to capture the affections of the mysterious handsome Lord and ingratiate themselves into this prolific family. He scowled in annoyance as he fiddled with the ornate buttons on his vest while he trudged through the hallways.

So furious with irritation was he as he ran through his head all the ways he would make this family’s torture much worse that he failed to recognize the soft playing of the piano until he was right outside the open doors of the lounge. He stood frozen in his tracks, all prior train of thought was wiped and the tension on his body was released. He was enraptured immediately by the beautiful vision of you with your eyes closed and a serene smile as you played the notes fluidly while the moonlight from the large windows bathed you.

“I hardly think it appropriate for you to leave the party in your honor, Lord Russo.”

Your sudden words, laced with playful teasing, broke him out of his hypnotic state. He had no idea how long he must have been staring at you, for the first time completely unaware of his own consciousness. He looked at you more closely, fully taking in all the little details about you. Who could blame him for being so distracted when you were wearing that crimson dress that pulled at your curves, pushed up your bosoms, and laid bare for him the skin of your collar and neck?

You looked absolutely delectable.

You continued to play, the melody increasingly becoming softer as he entered the room. You seemed undeterred by his nearing presence, your chest rising and falling steadily and causing him to lick his lips at the movement. He sat next to you on the bench, shuddering slightly at your intoxicating smell that called to him. He wanted to know you. He craved to know all of you.

“What is your name?”

You gave it, your hands not faltering over the keys and your eyes still closed. He repeated your name aloud more than once, liking how it felt on his tongue and knowing in his heart that he would never forget it.

“Do you play, my lord?”

His own smile grew on his lips as he nodded, placing his hands gently over the keys to play a tune to compliment yours. He did not know the song you were playing, he guessed that it was a personal composition of yours, but he instinctively knew to play the notes that would twine perfectly with it. You grinned and bit your lip to suppress the giggle as the room was filled with a song so intricately woven and embedded with meaning.

Billy had never felt so intrigued yet so peaceful in his long life. He took your hands in his, abruptly halting the music and lulling the room into a deep silence. He placed your hands over his chest as he cupped your face tenderly in his. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze for the first time and it felt like the world ceased to exist.

“I have crossed oceans of time to be with you.”

You could hear the sad exhaustion in his voice and you tried to assure him with your eyes and the soft touch of your thumb against his lower lip, his fangs slipping out as you craned your neck and brushed your hair aside for him. You peeked at him between your lowered lashes, sultry and confident.

“I know.”

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #vampire!billy russo x reader #vampire!billy russo #1.5k followers celebration #cassie answers #asks and replies

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

Text

Take What You Need

A special treat for the lovely @keeper0fthestars - a flimsy excuse to get railed into next week by Francisco Morales.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with a flimsy nod to plot. Word count: 2300

Thanking @alwaysbethewest and @songsformonkeys for the beta!!

“All right! You heard the man, wheels up in thirty!” Redfly shouted across the small airfield. “Catch some sleep, eat, do whatever, but I want us all in that helo, in thirty.”

“Copy that,” Pope shouted back, heading off towards the thick bushes surrounding the hangar and aircraft. Ironhead followed, probably to try and talk some sense into him. Ironhead had always been the most sensible of you all.

In fact, it was William who had spoken up for you when Pope suggested you come along.

“She’s good with a rifle,” Ironhead said calmly. “And her Spanish is decent. Way better’n mine and Benny’s, anyways.”

Redfly - the infuriatingly traditional conservative middle-class American man - had ummed and aahed, and you knew it was because you had a vagina.

But here you were, and you’d taken out two of Lorea’s guys from the roof with your rifle, so Redfly could suck your metaphorical dick.

The man in question loped back to the other side of the airfield, towards Pope’s informant, and started to talk to her about something.

“This is a clusterfuck of epic proportions.”

You turned at that voice. A little raspy, a little husky-edged, it sent a shiver up your spine. Always had, and probably always would.

Francisco Morales shook his head when you turned to look at him. His ballcap - dirty, soft - was pulled down low over his head. Hair the colour of milk chocolate curled out from underneath it. He met your gaze, and his own hazelnut eyes were so, so tired.

“It could’ve gone better,” you agreed, letting your eyes trail down his long, lean frame - a little soft in the middle, but you’d always liked his tummy.

Francisco - Catfish to you all, because during special ops training, he’d caught one almost the size of himself - was an enigma of a man. Soft, sometimes. Hard, sometimes.

You’d known him five years now, and during that time you’d seen him pull the trigger a foot from a man’s head without wincing, and you’d seen him comfort a three year old girl left homeless in a war zone, his voice soft, his touch gentle. The yin and yang of him fit, somehow.

Catfish scoffed. “Not sure how it could’ve gone any fucking worse.” He ripped off his cap, and your eyes were drawn to a deep cut on his cheek.

“What’s this?” You automatically reached up to touch his face. His tanned skin was rough under your fingers as you traced the edges of the healing wound. “It might scar.”

Francisco grunted. “Like that’s a concern right now.”

You grinned, dropped your hand. “It’ll be sexy. The scar, I mean.”

“You think?” He laughed without humour, wrung his cap in his hand, and you saw how drawn his starkly handsome face was, the patchy scruff around his jawline grey in places. God, had you thought about kissing that almost-beard, stroking your fingers over his bristly chin. “I wish being sexy was what worried me most. I’m fuckin’ losing my shit here. The scales are off the charts, the helo will never make it to the ocean-” he swore a stream in Spanish, and stuffed his hat back on. The frustration steamed off him in waves.

“Fish.” You braced your hands on his shoulders, looked up into his face, twisted with anger and fear. “We’ll be okay. We’ve had worse than this.”

“Yeah, but we’ve never had worse with you,” he bit off, shrugging off your touch and pacing away, shoving his cap back on, his hair curling at the edges. “Jesus fucking Christ, if anything happens to you, I’ll-”

“Fish!” You shout to be heard over the noise of the aircraft prep, the wind, the sound of Redfly and Pope’s informant arguing. “Nothing will happen to me. You saw me take out Lorea’s guys. And I saved your ass on that mission in Istanbul.”

Francisco shifted, adopting that hands-on-hips stance he always did when he was thinking. “I know.”

“Then what? I’m not a porcelain doll, Francisco.”

And you saw it. His eyes went hot when you used his full name. Hot and sort of.. Dark. Like he wanted to drag you into that hangar and bend you against the corrugated metal wall and rail you into next week.

And boy, you’d let him.

“What?” you challenged. He needed this release. Whether it was shouting at you or whether you wrestled until the fight had gone out of him, he could not fly that helo with your lives and that money at stake in such a state.

He muttered something in Spanish. Your command of the language was very good but his voice was pitched too low for you to make out the syllables.

“Oh, you wanna go?” You lifted your fists in a mock fighting stance. “You ever hit a girl, Morales?”

“There’s always a first time,” he gritted out humourlessly.

You danced around, goading him. “Maybe you’re afraid I’d kick your ass.”

Fish scoffed, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, in the line of his back. He was a loaded powder keg, seconds from a bloody explosion from the heat, the stress, the shooting. “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

You saw the moment his eyes changed - went dark again, and you turned, running for the hangar.

You heard him bark out a laugh as he pursued you, his long legs eating up the terrain. You ran flat out, reaching the hangar in under a minute, Fish hot on your heels. The minute he barrelled through the door you slammed it behind him.

“What the fuck?” he asked, confusion parading over his face - somehow even more alluring when he was dirty, tired, stressed.

You yanked him close and kissed him. It was the first time, and all the times you’d thought about kissing him, an inaurgural kiss, it was never like this. It was in your shitty home town, under some trees, or under the bleachers of the old high school, or by moonlight at the drive-in.

It took a second, and then Francisco was kissing you back, his lips fierce, hard, the kiss almost painful in its intensity. He tasted of terrible coffee and the beef jerky you’d all forced down, and you licked into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his, and the flavour of his little groan was divine.

“We don’t have long,” he whispered harshly. “What - what do you want?”

Your breath was coming in pants. He smelled of clean sweat, the outdoors, and the spring rain, and you were wetter than you’d ever been. This close to Catfish, you couldn’t cope with the well of desire, too long ignored. “You can’t fly us like this, Fish. In this state.”

His hands clenched on your hips. “What?”

“Relieve the pressure.” You slid a hand down his body, cupped him, felt his erection like steel in velvet. Your blood fired. “For us both.”

“Shit.” Francisco leaned down, rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve fucking dreamed of this. But not… not like this, like you’re a cheap fuck. You’re not. You’re… everything.”

The words shook you, and you pressed your lips to his, drinking him in, loving him, like you’d loved him nearly five years, and always been afraid to rock the boat.

Well, now the boat had run aground and it was time.

“You can show me that when we’re safely back on American soil, soldier. For now…” you yanked him close again, pressed your palm to his cock. “Take what you need. Give me what I need.”

“Fuck,” he bit off, and then he was kissing you like a starving man falling upon a banquet, all tongues and teeth and Frankie, and you pressed as close to him as you could.

“How long do we have?” you panted out.

He shot his cuffs, checked his watch. “Quarter hour.”

“Then make every minute count, Morales.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. And he got on his knees in front of you, pulling at your jeans.

Your heart leapt into your chest at the first brush of his breath on your bare legs. Frankie rolled the denim down, ghosted a kiss over your underwear.

“You would not believe, baby, how often I’ve jacked off to the thought of having you,” he whispered.

“Fish, if you don’t do something, I swear to God…”

He took off his cap, passed it to you. “Wear this for me.” After you slapped it on your head, he pulled your hand back down, thrust it into his hair. You tugged him close as he yanked your underwear down and proceeded to fucking feast on you.

You’d never experienced Frankie like this. Near feral, his tongue licking at you like you were his last meal, his favourite food, a longed-for treat. He used his hands - hands you’ve wished were on you, inside you - to spread you so he could spear his tongue inside you, nip at your clit, write his name with his tongue, whatever the fuck he was doing, it felt like Heaven.

“Stop. Stop,” you whined, pushing at his hair. “Want to come with you inside me.”

He looked up, those cocoa eyes dark and hot and irresistible, and then he was on his feet in a hot second, and he spun you around to face the wall.

“Hold on to something, baby,” he muttered against your neck before he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin at your pulse point, the tiny hurt only making you wetter.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone and the shove of the denim down his thighs was loud to your ears.

“Please,” you gritted out, arching your back.

Frankie slid a palm down your naked butt, and you heard the growl in his voice when he said, “Sweet girl. When we get back on US soil….” And then he positioned himself and slid home in one smooth, hard thrust, and you gripped the hangar wall hard and cried out at the pleasure and the stretch. He kept going until he bottomed out, curses in English and Spanish falling from his lips in that husky baritone made for pure sin, and then as you groaned in satisfaction, he curled a hand around to your front and rubbed you in maddening circles.

“We don’t have long,” you warned, muscles already fluttering.

“Fuck. Won’t take long. You feel too good. You’re so fucking tight. How - how do you-”

“Fast and hard,” you instructed, and you felt him twitch inside you at your words, heard his moan. “I wanna feel you tomorrow, Francisco.”

“Oh fuck,” he grated out, and then he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force was just what you needed, and you cried out at the wonderful pressure, the push of him inside you, the texture and shape of him. Better, harder, larger than you had imagined.

You spread your legs as much as you could given the denim around your calves, and Frankie fucks you hard, keeping one hand on your hip and the other at the apex of your body, strumming you expertly.

“Wish we had more fucking time,” he rasped into your hair, pressing a frantic kiss there. “Sweet girl. You feel like heaven. Always.. Knew.. you would.”

“The things I’m gonna to do you when we get home,” you shot back, and pressed your hips into him. “Oh God, more, please.”

He upped the tempo, and the sound of your bodies slapping together was obscene. His fingers circled your clit once, twice more, and you flew off that sweet cliff edge, crying out his name and burying your face in your elbow to muffle the sound.

Frankie’s hips faltered as he gave you all he had, thrusting into you at a punishing pace before his hips stuttered.

“Two minute warning!” Ironhead yelled from outside.

“I want to feel you come inside me, Fish,” you whispered over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” And he tumbled over the precipice too, hips shaking. You felt him jerk inside you, felt the hot surge of his climax, and he pressed down hard on your clit, triggering another little orgasm for you, too.

“Jesus. Fuck.” Frankie leant his forehead on your back, panting. “Christ.”

“You gotta get some more swear words, Morales,” you said, but your breath hitched too, and you wiggled your hips, making him shiver.

He pulled out, zipped up, and then took care putting your clothes in order. When he tugged you close for a kiss, you tasted yourself.

“First fucking chance I get,” Frankie rasped, his lips in your hair, “I’m gonna take my sweet time doing everything I want to you. With you.”

“Then get us over those mountains, Francisco, and I’m yours.” You nip at his bottom lip, then sprang apart when Redfly yanked open the hangar door.

“Fuck’s sake, Fish, we thought you’d gone AWOL. It’s go time.”

“Copy that,” Frankie shot back. You let him leave first, glanced down to admire his ass in those jeans.

And you thought, with single-minded determination: We just need to get over these mountains. Then Francisco Morales would be all yours.

Redfly looked at his departing back and then turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Why are you wearing Fish’s hat?”

****

Tagging the Pedro pals: @emmy-dandiliom918 @thirstworldproblemss @cinewhore @poenariuniverse @keeper0fthestars @scarlettvonsass @casually-introverted @knittingqueen13 @phoenixhalliwell @10-96dispatcher @buckstaposition @agirllovespasta @songsformonkeys @gamingaquarius @mstgsmy @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @dornish-queen @maxphillipswasright @winters-buck @mourningbirds1 @pascalitomorales @mrsparknuts @alldatalost @abuttoncalledsmalls @mrschiltoncat @auty-ren @heatherbel

it’s 10.45pm my brain has failed if I left you off I apologize!!

#catfish x fem!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader

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kenziedrawz · 2 years

Text

PRISM Summarized - SEASON 1 ARC 4 {SEASON FINALE}

HOO BOY, Season finale time! and it's also the arc in which one of my favourite villains are introduced! Also, it's very, VERY long. idk how much words exactly but probably over 1k

It's been almost a month since the Music festival, not much has happened since Headphones was almost sacrificed( or at least presumably was going to be sacrificed), well, not much the Squidbeak have heard of anyways. Headphones had recently been released from hospital, and with good news as well. The nurses reckon that all the people who were found in the metro should be all healed up in the next few weeks.

It's a joyous moment and yet still a fleeting one as Goggles realizes that a few people are missing from the square, he assumes that most of them could have slept in, but begins to dismiss his theory as he realizes who exactly is missing. Those people being Straw-hat, Octoglasses, Forge, Full-Moon Glasses, Stealth, N-Pacer, Half-rims and Omega.

Goggles get's called in to go to Octo Canyon so he quickly departs from his conversation with headphones saying he forgot to do something. So Goggles heads off to Octo canyon, meeting up with Prince at the manhole and going in together. However, they are unknowingly trailed.

At Octo canyon, most of the agents are freaking out, Hachi, Callie and Marie are trying their best to calm everyone down, whilst Agent 3.3 watches from the side-lines, alongside the familiar face of Ghost. After everyone is mostly calmed down the senior agents finally tell the group what they were called here for.

First and Foremost, new outfits! designed and made with help from Ghost!

((Currently not in colour, yet.))

After the outfits are given out Rider brings up the current dilemma of the People who have gone missing. At this point is where Agent 3.3 speaks up, speculating that they may have been taken to the Prism Isles, but that's only due to having received a low-quality emergency signal from there.

During the discussion Ghost cuts in and points out that she thought that there were only seven people that were supposed to arrive at Octo Canyon and not eleven. This immediately puts everyone on guard, weapons are drawn and intruders are demanded to reveal themselves.

The intruders then proceed to reveal themselves, turning out to be the rest of the S4 and Emperor. So, after a tense few moments Prince decides to break the tension and explain things in the best way that he can. After the explanation, Callie and Marie decide that it would be best if the four were made temporary agents, so they don't get a number.

Eventually, the gang heads off for Coloria ferry port to catch a boat to the Prism Isles, as that is the only way to get there. Once they get to Coloria, they find their way through the large crowds and get to the ferry port, buying their tickets and getting onto the boat.

The ride to the Prism isles is filled with banter of most kinds, cheerful banter, worrisome banter and some complaining banter. Although a problem arises when they almost get to the Prism Isles when the boat is suddenly attacked and everyone is sent flying in different directions. Luckily, all of them manage to land on one of the Prism isles' islands.

On the first island, Vintage awakes, seemingly alone. Not long after waking up he notices that, he is in fact, not alone and surrounded by weird ink creatures that look like ocean creatures, and they are very hostile. There are far too many to fight off so Vintage does what any smart person would do. Attempt to fight them before realising you can't defeat them.

So Vintage proceeds to get the hell out of wherever he is and pray that none of the creatures follow him, some do and attempt to corner him, but they get shot down. Vintage finally takes a moment to catch his breath before the communicators come back online.

As it turns out, everyone had been in a mostly similar situation. Once they all clarify what all their surroundings are, everyone decides that it would be best to simply just recon the islands for now.

So a tad bit more filler stuff later and we get back on track to finding out what the hell is going on.

Vintage makes it to what seems to be a boss arena, to where he encounters the first of many foes in this arc, a Prisma sea serpent. Vintage ends up making use of his X-zone ability a lot in this fight to keep up with the snakes own speed and agility. The over-use of the ability leaving him tired.

After the snake is defeated, a sort of orb-shaped ghost-like thing pops out of it, circles around Vintage for a few moments and then going into his chest, the moment it enters his chest all of the wounds Vintage may of had from the battle are healed.

This mysterious healing, however, does not cure his what was presumed to be tiredness, but actually exhaustion. So Vintage passes out on the spot. However, by chance a cloaked figure had been watching Vintage fight the snake.

When Vintage awakens again, he's still on the ground, but now being stared at by the cloaked figure. After some prolonged eye contact the silence is broken via Marie tuning in on the group radio. The cloaked figure and Vintage jump back away from each other, Vintage then proceeds to Inform Marie about this cloaked person.

The agents ( + Ghost) back at Octo canyon finally get their video link working so they can see what the hell is going on over at the Isles. They immediately tune into the stand-off between Vintage and the Cloaked person. Almost immediately after tuning in, 3.3 notices the Kanji for the number 3 engraved onto the hood of the cloak. Calling out for there to be a stop to the battle and for vintage to put her on loud speaker.

3.3 calls out to the cloaked figure, saying that they had to be the previous Agent 3. The cloaked figure, stunned for a brief moment, hesitates before responding that they are indeed Agent 3. Taking off their hood to reveal shimmering blue tentacles. Agent 3 asks what's happened in the long time she had been gone, because clearly, a lot happened.

Agent 3 is then caught up on the whole story thus far, once they get to the current situation Agent 3 remarks that she had come to the Prism Isles not too long ago to chase down an old nemesis, theorising that the two issues were related and that this old nemesis of hers could be behind the recent disappearances, In order to confirm it, Agent 3 asks if the people who disappeared were Prisma Inklings, this is where Prisma Inklings get explained.

Prisma inklings are inklings born with an abundance of color, so much so that it gives them an extra ink sac filled with ink that has a heavy color concentration mixed in with it. This causes the ink to become more powerful than regular ink, maybe even a bit magical. Prisma Inklings are usually slightly different in appearance to regular inklings.

The group figure out that it's most likely the case that they were all Prisma Inklings, and that they were taken by 3's old nemesis. After this conclusion, Ghost tunes in and states that there can't be two agent 3s, Agent 3 hears this and decides to simply have everyone call her by her name, Azure.

Whilst Vintage and Azure try to figure out what the hell is going on we switch POV's from those two to some of the other members of the Squidbeak Splatoon. Specifically Prince, who got stuck on an island alone, on this island, it seems to be under the control of a being calling it's self Queen, which appears as a large abstract humanoid Ink-monster.

Prince eventually has to fight against Queen, he ends up winning the fight just barely, the Inky body of Queen disappears and leaving in it's place is N-Pacer, and another one of the ghost orbs, the orb goes into Prince's just and he get's healed, just like what happened with Vintage. Speaking of Vintage, after Prince beats Queen he and Azure show up on the Island Prince is on.

After hearing what happened with Prince and filling the group in on it, Azure speculates that her old Nemesis could be using their kidnapped friends in order to lock away the Color Spirits, the guardians of the Prism Isles. But as for why they would choose to go into Prince and Vintage? She's stumped on that part.

Azure leads the small group (with N-pacer having to be carried due to being passed out.) Back to the Island on which Vintage was sent to at the beginning, having made it their temporary base of operations on the Prism Isles.

So now the group are focusing on getting to the other members of the Squidbeak Splatoon in order to help them fight and rescue their friends. Here's how they all go down, basically.

Skull vs Soldier ( Forge)

All Skull had to do in the fight was keep Soldier in his, and keep himself out of hers, but he also had to deal with the pre-set bombs around the battlefield. As the battle progresses, Soldier begins to use more weapons and specials. In phase 1 Soldier only uses one Rapid Blaster and Suction bombs, Phase 2 has her using two rapid blasters, a mix of burst bombs and suction bombs and the occasional sting ray. On phase 3 a splashdown attack is incorporated into the fight. After a little(read: a lot) struggle, Soldier finally goes down and Forge is saved.

Army and Gloves vs Spy ( Stealth Goggles)

This fight isn't really all that special, it's main gimmick is that fact that Spy is like a chameleon and can blend into the surroundings. This camouflage ability is used mostly for sneak attacks. For phase 1 Spy uses a knife to fight. for phase 2 the knife is discarded and switched out for two Jet squelchers, and for the final phase, Toxic mist and Tenta-missles are incorporated into the fight, eventually Spy goes down and Stealth Goggles is saved.

Aloha and Hachi vs Sorceress ( Full-Moon Glasses)

For the fight against Sorceress, it was a bit more complicated. In phase one Aloha and Hachi had to continuously dodge balls of exploding ink coming from Sorceress' wand. On the next phase ink pillars are added into the mix as the two hero's begin to focus on trying to break the wand. For the third phase Aloha and Hachi have to scale a tall tower filled with traps in order to get to the top to deal the final blow against Sorceress and save Full-Moon Glasses.

Goggles and Mask vs Sniper ( Half-rims)

The fight against Sniper is, well, difficult, due to the two people who are fighting Sniper being, well, Mask and Goggles. This fight works a lot like the Octo Shower fight, with the two having to make use of grind rails and platforms that are scattered around the battlefield. In order to progress the fight and damage Sniper, they have to take out the winged ink creatures holding up the platform Sniper is using to snipe out the two. The winged creatures increase in number for phase 2, and gain a speed boost in phase 3, and after the long battle, Half-rims is saved.

Emperor and Rider vs Siren ( Octoglasses and Straw-hat)

This fight mostly plays out like the SAYU fight from no-straight roads. For the first part, Siren is out of the two's range. In order to bring Siren down for the next phase, they use and ink cannon. For the second phase Siren is within their range now so they can use their weapons, once Sirens core is exposed the ink cannons are used once again, but this time it's fire Emperor through Siren in order to end the fight via taking what's powering the body. However this launches phase 3, in which Siren is furious and Rider and Emperor are somewhat confused, yet also fighting for their lives along with the weight of one passed out inkling. Eventually, Siren goes down for the count and both Octoglasses and Straw-hat are saved.

In each battle, after it's won a non-temporary member of the Squidbeak Splatoon gets a Color spirit yeeted into their body and their wounds healed. This only changes a bit after the fight again Siren, in which there are Two color spirits released and one goes into Emperor, the other obviously going into Rider.( Foreshadowing? maybe)

After all the Color Spirits are saved a Giant, purple crystal Castle rises from the sea, and since there are no more Islands, that has to be where Omega is being kept.

So the group begins to prepare to enter the castle, Aloha, Mask and Army stay behind via the suggestion of Azure in order to make sure that the rescued people aren't attacked or kidnapped again.

So, now they're all inside the castle, it's very big and has a lot of pathways. Ghost says that she's getting life signals further on in the palace, however one of the signals is very low almost reaching critical levels. This prompts the group to hurry. Azure rushes on ahead, saying that the others can catch up with her later.

Eventually, they get to the throne room of the large castle. Azure is kneeling on the ground, clutching her side whilst royal blue ink marbled with red leaks from where she's holding, surrounding her were shattered blue crystals. further on in the room, someone sits upon a throne, presumably the mastermind behind the kidnapping and monster-fication of their friends, Azure's Nemesis.

Upon noticing the group, Azure's nemesis laughed a bit, before introducing her self as Queen Amethyst. Azure calls out that she is no queen and promptly get knocked into a wall by a giant crystal shooting out of the ground. Amethyst remarks about how Azure was stupid and weak.

{{ " Honestly Azure, you need to learn your place. We are fundamentally the same but your own stupidity of siding with these... nuisances. You deserve to be thrown in at the bottom of the ladder of superiority alongside both Inklings and Octarians." }}

Amethyst is once again interrupted, this time by Vintage demanding to know where Omega was, Amethyst said nothing as more light spilled into the large room, and then, she spoke.

{{{ " Why not see for yourself?" }}

So yeah, not good. Vintage is first, in pure shock, as he should be, and as Amethyst begins to explain what exactly is happening to Omega right now his anger is only fuelled.

So basically, what's happening to Omega is that her ink is being directly drained from her Prisma ink sac, and yes, Omega is a Prisma Inkling, specifically a pure Prisma Inkling. And since in this au Omega and Vintage are siblings( tbh I headcanon them as siblings in general.) that means that Vintage is also a Prisma Inkling. So what's being drained from Omega is pure prisma ink. As for why the others weren't getting drained, it's because they were Prisma Inklings, but not Pure Prisma Inklings.

Shortly after Amethyst finishes her short explanation, Vintage zooms in to attack, starting the fight.

For the first phase of the fight, Amethyst has an advantage due to being able to create purple crystals out of seemingly thin air. These crystals are used to block attacks and to attack. Prince and Hachi move Azure to safety before joining in the fight alongside the others.

about halfway through phase 1, Hachi gets the idea of maybe, un-hooking Omega from the draining device, so he, Skull, and Emperor work on that whilst everyone else continues to fight and distract Amethyst to keep her eyes away from Omega. Eventually they manage to get Omega out of the draining device by disconnecting the tube from her prisma ink sac, but this gets Amethyst's attention, then she attempts to attack the trio. But then Vintage decides to throw his modified Ball-point Splattling at her. Which proceeds to get her attention again, but unfortunately the weapon breaks upon impact.

This starts the second phase of the battle, in which Amethyst decides that enough is enough and gets the pure prisma ink that she drained from Omega, and proceeds to drink it, but before she drinks it, she gives out another short speech-like statement about what she's going to do.

{{ " You see, I am a Gemopod, though I doubt you even know what that even is. tsk, typical. Well then, we Gemopods can create crystals out of our own ink. And when a Gemopod consumes pure Prisma Ink, they get unlimited power! Ahaha~ Think yourselves lucky that you will meet your end to such a powerful being!" }}

Her body then begins to contort and melt into a mass of inky purple crystals, Changing in both size and shape whilst still looking like Amethyst, and yet not Amethyst at the same time. It's eyes and mouth glowed a bright white light from within.

After her transformation, Amethyst goes all out in attacking the Squidbeak, mainly targeting Vintage because well, he has no weapon. During this portion of the fight, Vintage has to use X-zone in order to be able to damage Amethyst at all. However even that proves to not be enough as Amethyst manages to grab Vintage and throw him to the ground, hard.

Vintage blacks out for a mere moment, then, the darkness is replaced with that of a garden atop a hill, on the hill there is a singular tree, a fancy white table. Sitting at the fancy white table, was an inkling? Octoling? It was hard to tell. Vintage was also sitting at the table, and was offered some kind of... fruit?

{{ " It seems that you have fallen in battle." A voice echoed. " But it is not your fate to fall here, your opponent has cheated her destiny, taking what is not hers. But here, within this fruit, lies a power which you can use to bring her down, and save the Prism Isles and all who dwell beyond them." }}

And so, Vintage takes the fruit, because the only thing on his mind right now is the desire to kick Amethyst's ass into the next century, and if this strange ass fruit can help him do that then so be it.

The moment he bites into the fruit he feels a power surge through his veins and explode through his back, adrenaline fuels him as he awakes into the battle. Long hands made from ink restrain Amethyst and pin her into the ground. Thus giving everyone a chance to full on wail on her body, Vintage dealing the final blow by flinging her into her own throne.

After the finishing blow, Amethyst reverts back to her regular self, heavily damaged. The castle begins to shake and crumble. If the Squidbeak didn't get out now then they would surely die. They don't bother to get Amethyst of anything, she would most likely drown within the water once the castle sinks.

The group manage to get back to the main island just in time for the castle to sink into the sea. Everyone heaves a sign of relief, not really registering that they might of just left someone to die. But that doesn't matter now, it can sink in later on the boat ride home because now everyone is waking up! yay!

It's an hours wait for the boat to arrive to take them all home, the Squidbeak take this oppertunity to try and question Vintage about what the fuck happened back in the throne room with the Ink arms and stuff, because they like, came from him, specifically his back. Vintage then proceeds to vaguely tell them about the strange mind fruit lady, and is about to say more when the boat arrives.

And guess what happens on the way back, the realisation that they literally just left Amethyst back at the castle, and she most likely died, but there's the possibility that she might not have died because she was presumably in the castle underwater for most of the adventure. Oh well, that's something to be paranoid about another day.

Once they all get back to Coloria, it's straight to the cod dam hospital time. Because hoo boy some people have some bad injuries. So everyone takes about a few days in the hospital to get better before they go back to Inkopolis. Aloha promises that once they are all better again that he's gonna throw one of the biggest parties he's ever thrown because, like, they deserve a good party to be honest.

----

During the epilogue, another meeting is held between the older members of the Squidbeak Splatoon, this time to properly welcome Azure back. During the meeting, Azure brings up the Amethyst is still out in the world, most likely plotting her next scheme. This prompts 3.3 to also remember the Tar Armada and Priestess, Saying that some members of the Tar Armada and Priestess herself could also be out there. They all agree to deal with them when the time comes, ending the call.

Meanwhile, with Headphones, she awakens in the dead of night. Something is wrong, she just doesn't know what. Nervously, she enters her own bathroom and looks into the mirror, turning the light on. She can feel something under her bangs, so she moves them to the side. Being greeted by her own reflection with an eye upon her forehead where the strange plant liquid was poured.

And then it speaks, and she screams.

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crak-ducktales-theories · 3 years

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Fethry Abandonment Theory

How long and Why

How long?:

The poster of ocean madness, the only visible parts are: pressure of the deep, and isolation for long periods of time.

Pressure of the deep, check, fethry was literally decompressing when we first meet him, and has to swim presumably every day, to get from his pod to the lab and aquavator.

And then, thers the isolation part, Fethry says he has been in the lab for 4 and a half years. But is he? Some things don’t add up.

There’s literally no one else there, ducks (and humans) are a very social species so Fethry is going trough something called total isolation

Syntoms of total isolation:

-Antropomorphizateion of inanimate objects and animals (Arturo his pirate scarecrow, and his shrimp team check)

-Problems processing information (doesn’t seem to grasp the fact that Huey and Dewy are kids that need help, and abandons them several times to fend for themselves again the giant worms and swimming trough the vents)

-Anxiety (meh, not really)

-Depression (also not that present either)

However, most of fethry’s time is spent in the lab, that is falling apart and has unreliable lighting so he is not only alone, he is alone in the dark which is psychologically worse. It’s symptoms are:

-Memory loss (forgets the word “brain” and how long he has actually been in the lab, We are getting there i swear)

-Disruption in the sleep cycle (not shown)

-Hyper focus on their surroundings and goal of their predicament (cave and Antarctic explorations) (fully dedicated to investigating the wonders of the sea, as much as he can from his up keeping job and the fact that he has apparently tried to warn scrooge about the lab falling apart)

-Distortion on time perception/ time dilation

Now lets focus on the time dilation part.

The fact that Donald and Scrooge went to aid fethry together at least once, means they did it at least 10 years ago, and Fethry was already there, so what he thinks is 4.5 years could very well be 12.

Why?:

Why is fethry in the lab?, why is he alone? without a way out no less, there are no vehicles, he is literally trapped there.

Fethry is very passionate, and he wants to share his love for things with his family, he wants to show them. To the family that is a nuisance, they just don’t care.

Donald thinks Fethry is a waste of time, Scrooge thinks it’s best to ignore it.

And there we have it, in the inmortal words of Negaduck it was all a set up, “Uncle scrooge stationed me here for upkeep and a little light cleaning” without ulterior intentions?, I don’t think so.

Donald and scrooge hate gladstone, he is both their antithesis, lazy and super lucky, but he stil has carisma, enough to get help when he calls at least, fethry doesn’t, he is weird and annoying in his families eyes, perfectly encompassed by the several horror shots the kids see of fethry when he is doing regular things.

They don’t understand or see the value in his passion, even when he likes them very very much, loves donald as his favourite cousin, every time he calls he is ignored.

He has been living in a decaying underwater base, what if it collapsed?. Would Scrooge be able to even know? Would he even care? Or just shrug and focus on his favorite family members. everyone in the family wants to get rid of fethry.

And they did. So what really happened:

Scrooge enticed fethry into an isolated, easily ignored location, and he gave him a CAN to communicate, when he still managed to call them (and dissappoint them) he just puts his hat on it and goes his merry way.

Anyway in the comics he gets along really well with Gladstone so I hope he has one cousin who likes him, and mitzy seems to be his friend as well, so that’s two whole friends..... probably, hopefully.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #fethry duck #ducktales gladstone #gladstone gander #dt fethry #fethry ducktales #cousin fethry #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #mitzy #ducktales theory #dt17

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

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the story of us

this was requested by @fantasylover16. I genuinely had so much fun with this thank you! I hope you enjoy. Also I said nb jack frost rights and I meant it.

masterlist; my links

This is a story about two people.

One died three hundred years ago and has been alive since then. They have white hair, whiter than the stars, than burning light, than heaven itself. They have blue eyes that remind you of cracked ice in melting winter. They have ivory skin, some say like porcelain, it's more like liquid opal.

The other is twenty two years old. He has black hair, like jet fuel, and midnight. He has green eyes that hold oceans lost to time, that hold memories. He has brown skin that reminds you of cool forest floors and water glistened rock.

This is a story about who they are.

"Percy!" His roommate shouts from the kitchen. "Get your butt down here and tell me if the blue skirt goes better with these glasses!"

He laughs as he pulls a sweater over his heads and grabs his phone, slipping it into his back pocket. He feels the press of his pen as he pats himself down to make sure he has everything and when he is satisfied he bolts down the passage and stops short of the kitchen where Hazel Levesque is parading in front of their grand mirror on the opposing wall. She is decked out in black platform ankle boots, white fishnets that draw out the colour of her skin, slightly dark than his, a bright blue skater skirt and a soft pastel blue crew-neck not unlike his own.

"You Hazel Levesque," He grins bright and unrestrained, "Are a vision."

"Yes," She mutters still swopping between two pairs of clear-framed glasses and scrunching her nose, "But is it enough to bring my crush to their knees?"

"If Reyna doesn't bow down to you I think we can assume she's in desperate need of glasses."

"Well then maybe I should take both pairs and offer her one." She muses, pulling at her afro distractedly.

He snorts, turning to the counter and grabbing a bowl and whatever cereal he can reach first.

"Well," Hazel turns to him, he can see the smile she's trying so hard to hide, "Shall we be off then?"

He blinks at her, blinks again, points an unsure finger at his chest.

"Oh you don't expect me to brave Reyna on my own do you? Besides we're matching today it'd be quite ridiculous if we went out separately."

"But—" He looks to his bowl, as barren as the desert, "But my cereal?"

"I'll buy you breakfast on the way!" She waves the concern off, grabbing his hand and pulling them both out the door.

Despite their height difference, she makes it look far less like he's letting her pull him and far more like she has the strength to straight up carry him across the country.

"Hazel," He giggles, "Slow down."

"I can't Percy," She shakes her head vigorously, practically running through the park next to their building and into the bustling streets beyond. "If I don't do this now I'll lose all my courage and spend eternity in self-damned misery." Her brown eyes, turning honeyed as they catch the sun through the round glasses framing her face, flash bright and bold.

He stops them, pulling her in for a hug, unable to stop the laughter shaking his body." You have never been a coward Hazel Levesque. No matter the day, time or outfit you have always been brave enough to stand up and do what's needed. And telling Reyna you have a crush on her is just another battle you absolutely can win." He pulls them apart, setting a steady green gaze on her excited one. "Now let's get some coffee, and a mint tea for you because you're hyper enough as it is, and then we'll go find the love of your life and I can finally show you the google-doc I have for your wedding."

She strangles his ribs in another hug and then takes a deep breath as she steps away. "What would I do without you Percy Jackson?"

"Let's never find out," He smiles, slinging an arm over her shoulder and directing them towards the Chaos House.

As per its namesake, walking into the café is like being lost in a crowd of sleep-deprived, adhd kids all connected to caffeine IVs. In short: it's chaos. Its their favourite place on earth.

Being hit with a wall of noise after the quiet of awakening nature feels like being sucker punched directly in your ear canal. Percy cannot help but grin as he takes in the racing patrons and the sound of coffee beans being ground and the smell of cinnamon and honey and endless activity.

They immediately spot a group of their friends and bolt for the booth they're all squished into.

"Reyna isn't here." Hazels voice is pitched with panic, "Oh gods what if she's sick today? What if she fell in a ditch on her jog this morning?" She stops right in the middle of the café, brown eyes wide. "What if she knew I was trying to do this and decided to stay home today to avoid seeing me?"

He grabs her arms already shaking his head. "My darling, I need you to take a deep breath. You are spiraling."

Wildness is still tracing her expression but he feels her shoulders rise and fall as she gulps air.

"Okay," He says gently, "Now we're gonna go to our table, have a good time with our friends and if and when Reyna shows up you're going to tell her how you feel and I'll meet you back at home so you can let me know when the wedding is."

She smacks his shoulder gently, nervous giggles escaping her. "Alright fine. I hate when you get reasonable. It's very disconcerting."

"Good thing it's rare," His lips twitch, and they finally start towards their friends.

A loud chorus of hellos and how are you’s ring around his head as they get nearer and he feels right at home amongst it all.

"What's up losers?" He flops down next to Jason, pressing a shoulder into the blondes side in a hug.

Annabeth sits next to the blonde, squished between him and Piper, a leg over Jason's thigh and her hand intertwined with Piper's. Frank is on the opposite side, a casual arm slung over Leo's shoulder. Hazel squeezes in besides Leo and sighs dramatically.

"What's wrong Levesque?" Piper frowns, reaching over to clasp the girl's hand.

"She's feeling put out because she had something very important to do today and her plans are being delayed because a certain someone isn't here."

And just as their friends start reassuring and ribbing her in equal parts Percy's phone rings. With a frown he pulls it from his pocket, as he gets up and waves to say he'll be back in a minute.

"Hello, this is Percy Jackson."

He's not paying attention to his surroundings as he listens to the person on the line so when his shoulder slams into somebody he almost topples to the ground. When he turns around to say sorry there is nobody there; his frown only deepens but then the voice on the phone is pulling his attention and he makes his way outside.

This is story about they meet.

The conversation is a whirl of information about his upcoming course and what his supervisor needs from him. By the time he ends the call and tucks the phone back in his pocket his whole body feels like it's taken on the sky all over again. He has the urge to check if another grey streak has graced his hair. Instead he leans against the wall, ignoring the way his clothes catch against its roughness. He can feel the cold seeping through the cracks in the brick and into the threads of his sweatshirt.

He looks down, pulling his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep the warmth in but as he takes his arms away from the wall he sees the frost outline of his fingers. A clear, already melting handprint marking the brick like a graffiti tag. He steps back, away from the wall, to find his whole body outlined. It reminds him eerily of the chalk markings they do at murder investigations. He's not entirely sure this isn't prophetic.

The frost, little beads of ice skittered in shape, is melting at a rapid rate but the colour catches Percy's eye. It's not the usual dulled, muddy ice that coats his windows in the morning and sits atop the grass each night. It is blue, bright and pure, and looks... happy?

He's definitely going insane. The lack of coffee is getting to his brain and he has officially going mad. He should go inside and get warm and sit with his friends and have 3 espresso shots in a row.

But the phone call is still rattling his nerves and he can't bare to face the café without all his wits about him. So he studies the melted frost outline, curiosity moving him forward to trace it with his fingers. He doesn't expect to feel cold like winter mornings and snowball fights and sleigh rides coursing through his bloodstream. It's shocks him right into a new state of being. It reminds him of a poem his mother used to say at the beginning of each winter. The poem was long enough that he was always asleep by the end of the last verse but he recalls the first part clearly now

Jack Frost was in the garden;

I saw him there at dawn;

He was dancing round the bushes

And prancing on the lawn.

He had a cloak of silver,

A hat all shimm'ring white,

A wand of glittering star-dust,

And shoes of sunbeam light.

The thought is so ridiculous Percy has to laugh. It bursts out of him unexpectedly but once he starts he cannot stop. It feels like the world has turned on its side but he's still walking upright. Everything is slightly dizzying but strangely amusing from this angle. He laughs harder, ribs aching, cheeks stiff, and eyes bright. He's sure people are staring at him like he's mad but he cannot stop. Until he stumbles over the pavement and is falling to the inevitable crunch of his facial bones.

It happens almost in slow motion. He sees the ground coming towards him, bubbling up like it's going to swallow him whole. He stared it down, refusing to close his eyes, as if challenging it to hurt him, to take him as he goes. But then hands, freezing cold even through his layers of clothing, wrap around his waist and he is being hauled up in a rush of wind and dizzying speed. He bumps into a hard chest and feels as if he's stepped into a freezer.

"Hey," A voice low and playful crackles through him, "You okay?"

He turns around slowly, and is not at all prepared for the site he is greeted with. There is so much all at once, startling and glowing and fracturing. His eyes catch an warm icy gaze, blizzard white hair, pale skin, cold-kissed lips, hands running with blue veins and silver rings.

"You okay?" The stranger repeats, looking at him with concern.

He honestly doesn't know if he has the ability to talk. His mouth opens, his throat bobs, but words are lost cargo.

"Can you hear me?" The stranger asks, accompanying the question with sign language.

Percy responds automatically, raising a fist and moving it back and forth; his head accompanies the action but still no words come out.

They smile at him, and start signing another question. He doesn't bother to stop them, tell them they aren't deaf, he can hear, he just can't talk. He's speechless.

Are you okay? They sign.

He nods, and the words stuck in his throat finally tumble out. "Yes, yes," It is croaky with overwhelming emotion, "Thank you for catching me. I’m sorry I uh—" He doesn't have any respectable excuse for being mute for the entire first half of their interaction. He is just completely struck by everything the stranger is.

"Ah so you can hear me," The stranger laughs. He decides the sound is what makes stars. "Well I'm glad you're okay. I'm Jack."

Percy snorts. This cannot be real. Ice, him thinking about Jack Frost, and suddenly his saviour's name is jack? What has the universe been doing with its time to plan this?

“I'm Percy," He stares at them curiously studying the snowflakes that seem to cling to their floppy white hair despite the snow season being weeks away, and the blue eyes that hurtle him to the Abraham lake in Canada. A holiday his family had taken a mere year ago and one of the most beautiful places he's ever seen.

His demigod senses are peeking out their window, as curious as he is. The action puts him on high alert. His instincts are usually only alerted when he's in danger or............. in love.

"What are you?" He cannot stop the question. His mouth has a self-controlled function and no way to override it.

Jack raises their brow, "What are you, Percy?" His name sounds like luxury rolling off the stranger's tongue.

But the question throws him off guard and before he has time to drool over them again he is pulling his pen out and twirling it between his fingers anxiously. "Are you here to kill me?"

That barks a laugh from Jack, who looks so entirely amused he can't help but wonder if he can frame the moment to keep with him forever; a brow quirked, a slight dimple on their right cheek as their smile grows, and bunched freckles as their nose scrunches slightly.

"Get a lot of assassination attempts do you?"

“You have no idea," He feels his eyes roll in annoyance, an automatic reaction after all these years.

"No Percy," Jack says softly. It brushes across his skin like cool paint and snowy pine leaves. "I am here because the moon told me to be."

"The moon?" He sputters, "What do you mean the moon?"

"I mean exactly that. I talk to the moon and it answers."

He can feel his legs grow weak. "The moon— the moon— the....... moon," He mutters, staring at Jack.

They are silent as he attempts to compartmentalize his thoughts. "You know what?" He finally speaks, "That's not the weirdest thing I've ever heard. The children of Demeter talk to grain so this isn't that far out of reach."

Jack just looks at him with a patient, gentle smile on their face.

"So what are you? A child of Selene?"

"I am not a demigod." They shake their head. "I was chosen by the moon three hundred years ago. I am the spirit of winter."

The silence stretches between them like taffy. He isn't sure he's heard this right.

"You're—" He cannot even bring himself to say it.

"Yes, I'm Jack Frost."

Percy's legs give our from under him. Jack is not quick enough to catch him but he lands on a pillow of snow right before he bruises his knees. "You're Jack Frost?"

"Yes. And you are Percy Jackson."

"How—how do you know?"

"I've been alive for a very long time. I know a lot of people."

He just hums, trying to wrap his head sound another layer of myth and fable that makes up the fabric of the world.

"Why are you here?" He finally gutters out. "I mean I know the moon told you to come but why?"

"I uh have a theory but I need to ask something of you in order to know if I'm right."

He frowns, staring up at the stranger. No not stranger. Can you even call someone who's been around for centuries a stranger? What are they a stranger to? They have seen and heard and learnt and loved more than he ever has or ever will. It's more like he is the stranger. "What do you need me to do?"

"I just need you to summon water for me."

A thousand questions sit like caught snowflakes on his tongue but he let's them melt instead of spilling them into the world. Instead he gets up and concentrates on all the water sources surrounding them.

A reservoir one hundred miles away, fire hydrants near bursting with unused pressure, a small pond in a small park about five miles south, and of course the ocean in front of them, no more than fifty miles within reach.

"How much do you need?"

"Give me fifty liters."

He closes his eyes and imagines the pond, the water rippling within it. He imagines holding it in his palm as he would a basketball ball. When he feels a cool sensation wash over his skin he opens his eyes once more and sees a swirling blob of water surrounding his hand, dancing to the beat of his pulse.

"Is this enough?"

"Plenty," They smile and then their hands are reaching out and as if the water knows they're calling to it, it bounces over in little bubbles. As it touches their fingers a ray of light bursts from the contact and it turns to ice. Jack sucks in a breath, watching in amazement as the water freezes and hits the ground in a flurry of snow.

"What?" Percy cannot hold in his curiosity any longer. "What is it?"

"The moon was right." They look at him, eyes sparkling with something more than awe or curiosity.

"About?" He prompts.

"We're soulmates."

This is a story about their destinies.

"We're what?" Percy whispers. He has never gotten loud when he was surprised or angry or sad. He has always been soft.

"I usually need my staff to solidify water but if I use elements touched by my soulmate I can do it without aid."

"This is ridiculous!" He sputters. There is absolutely no way this is real. Seriously? Soulmates? He would laugh if he wasn't so outraged.

"You don't believe in soulmates?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe in!" He growls, "This whole ordeal is completely insane."

"What would it take to convince you Percy Jackson?" Jack just smiles, it is shining with happiness like it hadn't before.

"I have no idea because I have never heard of or encountered a soulmate." He hisses.

"Do you know why you can see me?"

He shakes his head, thoughts swirling faster than the hurricanes his further looses.

"Because you believe in me."

"I thought you had control over who sees you and who doesn't?" He raises a brow.

"Only with children. I can choose to show myself whether they believe or not. I have the ability since enough of them do believe." They say. "But adults are different. If they don't believe I cannot make myself appear to them. I am simply a ghost of their childhood past."

"I don't understand." Percy cannot wrap his mind around this. "How do you know you can only make ice out of whatever water I touch?"

Jack looks around for a brief moment before catching sight of something behind them. In a split second they are there and then they're back.

"Watch," He pours the water from the bottom he'd nabbed over his hand. It falls to the floor as liquid as it had started out.

"That doesn't prove anything, how do I know you're not just making sure you don't turn it to ice?"

"I cannot touch anything without freezing it, especially water." They worry at their bottom lip with their teeth, thoughts flying across their face. "It's like your friend Leo." They nod their head towards the café where Percy can still see his friends snuggled into the booth. "He doesn't necessarily turn everything he touches to ashes but he will always leave a warm imprint no matter how or what he has touched."

"How do you know that?" He gapes.

"Immortality gives you a lot of time to know the world." They shrug. "Now do you believe me?"

"I don't know." He answers truthfully. "I mean if we are soulmates..." He tries to form the question into some semblance of sense and order. "Does that mean I'm tied to you? That we have to like I don't know get married and spend eternity together?"

"No," Jack says gently, "No you can deny this bond if that is how you feel. It does not mean anything except that the universe put our souls in the same constellation. We are free to pick and choose who we love."

“And how will it work if we do decide to get together?” He frowns, “I will age but you will always stay the same.”

They look at him, head tilted, ice eyes bright. “But you know that’s not true.”

Everything in him barrels forward like a tidal wave. It cannot be. No-one knows. Not even his mother. “What isn’t true?” He will play this carefully, like the strings of a harp. He will not let his life crash through the ground.

“Why are you hiding it?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” He is adamant in his stance. He will not bow.

“You are denying the life you chose.” Jack considers him. “Why?”

“I’m not denying anything.” He huffs, “I’m just taking it slow.”

A snort bursts of them, arrogant and amused. “You are taking becoming a God slow?”

“I want to live with my friends before they figure it out!” He cries, all the fear and terror and worry burning through him.

Jack moves closer, presses a cold hand to his shoulder. “It is okay to be scared and angry and worried but do not forget that you are worthy of the title and you should wear it like a crown, not a burden.”

“There is always some burden in this much power.” He is bitter. He is right.

“Come,” Jack pulls them together, “Go meet your friends.” The hug is so cold but comforts him to the bone. “And when you are ready to make a decision, just whisper my name and i will answer, no matter where i am, or how far apart we are.”

He studies the person before him, beautiful and strange in an inviting sort of way, like no matter how much he learns about them he'll always want to know more. "Well you are very pretty."

They laugh, and the sound lights up the ocean inside him. "Thank you."

“Live Percy Jackson.” Jack Frost whispers.

And then Percy is standing outside a café, an icy wind dancing between his fingertips, and the impression of a freezing hug still clinging to his clothes. He realizes he feels happy. He feels safe.

This is a story about their love.

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

[image id: a poem by John P Smeeton titled "Jack Frost in the Garden" the poem reads:

Jack Frost was in the garden;// I saw him there at dawn;// He was dancing round the bushes// And prancing on the lawn.// He had a cloak of silver,// A hat all shimm'ring white,// A wand of glittering star-dust,// And shoes of sunbeam light.

Jack Frost was in the garden,// When I went out to play// He nipped my toes and fingers// And quickly ran away.// I chased him round the wood-shed,// But, oh! I'm sad to say// That though I chased him everywhere// He simply wouldn't stay.

Jack Frost was in the garden:// But now I'd like to know// Where I can find him hiding;// I've hunted high and low —// I've lost his cloak of silver,// His hat all shimm'ring white,// His wand of glittering star-dust,// His shoes of sunbeam light"

the background is a light blue and white marble. end id]

Tags: @fantasylover16 @queen-of-demons-and-hell @nishlicious-01 @leyontheway @caffeinated-croissant

#Jack Frost x Percy Jackson #Crackships keep fandom alive #Jack Frost #Percy Jackson #PJJG fanfic #the story of us #not edited

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mintyfrosty · 4 years

Text

Back To Square One

Hello all you wonderful people!!

Ya’ll want more merfolk Au stuff?? I gotchu fame. Small one-shot under the cut >:3333333

You know.

Most humans didn't find themselves to be half fish somewhere in your early 30s. Right happened to be an exception.

Despair following his every moment, frame tight and compact against the rocky edging on the cave's underwater cavern. Caramel eyes gawked blankly at the dozens of grains of sand that littered the ocean floor. Too many to count in a lifetime. In a way, an odd sense of loneliness captured his spirit, mainly for two reasons. The first being he was alone in a literal sense, his fri-- acquaintance named Reginald had swum off somewhere to get the two of them a meal for the evening. And the second, well, he didn't know of any miracle stories of humans turning into merfolk, let alone if there was a way to revert it. It didn't make sense; he just...fell in a batch of glowing, purple water, sunk to the bottom and suddenly he was equipt with a tigerfish tail.

And with it, everything he was familiar with.

His whole life was gone.

His friends.

His family.

His crew.

His ship.

His food.

His bed.

Gone.

Simple as that.

But just because it was gone, didn't mean it didn't stab a deep wound in Right's spirit.

"Right?"

A voice. High pitched. Familiar.

Sullenly, the taller of the two looked up from his arms that were crunched in a huddled position, nothing less than a glare coming under the brim of his hat. The other had a satchel strung over his shoulder down to his left hip (Er- top of his tail on the left side?), swimming over gently to the man's side. It was good, however, that the two knew each other for about a month before this 'incident'; made the whole process a little bit more bearable. Or, at least it would if the two weren't in a slightly discourse at the moment.

When Right was still human, his ship had swept up the merman in a net and said merman immediately lost it. Turns out, merfolk don't take kindly to figuring out your species is the reason that your ocean has been limiting its food supply or polluting your oceans with junk (even if Right wasn't guilty of either of those. He was a pirate, not a fisher). As a result, Reginald...lost trust in him, even though Right had assisted him for about a month whilst the merman recovered. Perhaps it was related to Reginald's 'clan' situation. He didn't know. Didn't seem to matter now.

At least, however, Reginald was being much gentler and pushing his feelings on the matter behind him to assist the transformed human. That was something Right could appreciate.

The purple painted merman took a seat to the left of Right, pulling the satchel in front of him and unclipping the button that held it together. The shark mercreature was sure to slightly uncurl himself out of his misery as his gaze fell to the contents the other brought out. A variety. Recently slaughtered fish. Some kind of cod. Prawns. Was that octopus?

"I, erm, didn't know what you fancied, so I tried to find as much as I could." Explained Reginald, putting the batch of octopi to the side; seemed to be one of his favourites. Right, however, went slightly pale at the suggestion. Eating raw fish? Well, prawns were okay sometimes. But cod? Let alone octopi? That sounded like a slimy mess of distress.

The other must've caught his disgust, as he began saying something along the lines of: "I...understand you're not used to this. But, unless I'm wrong, you-- er-- drylanders don't eat fish fresh, so, it could be better?"

To be fair, Reginald was as much in the dark as he was. And, luckily, he was somewhat correct; getting fresh fish was extremely rare on the surface. Or, at least, being freshly killed.

So, hesitantly, Right reached an arm forward, hands grasping roughly at the cod and inspecting it. Quite clear to see that Reginald had done all the hard labour of cleaning the thing of its insides before presenting himself. A small feeling of gratefulness developed in his soul. Thoughtful, it was. Very kind.

The shark-merman did find, however, that it was much easier to bite into and chew things with his newly sharpened, second row of teeth. And, frankly, wasn't as bad as he was expecting. Yes, the texture was horrid and he had to push the thought back of eating the thing raw but...not terrible.

"'anks, Reg." Mumbled Right underneath his breath, eyes focused on the meal in his hands. Too focused to not see the bright light shine in Reginald's purple and black eyes, turning his head with a snap. Didn't last long, as the sound of crunching octopus flesh met his finned ears. Well, not after a soft 'you're welcome.'

And now it was quiet.

Both of them, Right knew, were confused. Of course, the taller of the two was much more distressed than he was bewildered, caught between a wave of different emotions. He didn't handle them well; that went for most emotions. Stupid feelings. Stupid attachment. Stupid; all of it.

"I...erm--" Reginald's voice hit his ears, eyes only turning to meet Reginald as his teeth sunk into his cod. The shorter cleared his throat. "I'm sorry-- I don't know of any known...solutions to this. But-- I'm sure I can find something in time. I-I can assure you, though, I'll try my best to be as fast as possible to get you back to normal."

... What?

"Yer gonna...find me a cure?" 'Cure' was probably a bad word to describe the term, but, both of them knew they were thinking about this situation as if it were a problem. Right turned his attention fully now, letting the cod rest in his hands that fell into his lap (lap?). The other had a crimson look on his face now, looking down at the ground, fumbling with his hands slightly.

"I...figured it would be...appropriate because, well, you helped me a great deal-- and that-- well-- how I--" Reginald brought a hand to his face, rubbing it with his webbed fingers, letting out a small groan of frustration. "--look. I'm sorry about being upset over the dry lander thing on the ship. Ugh-- the clan's been in such a slump. And we've messed up heist after heists because of those wooden whales. And I was frustrated and upset-- and I just--"

The purple and gold merman slumped his face into his hands. "I'm so sick of how miserable The Toppat Shells and the answer was right there, even though you were already so kind to me. I wasn't thinking; I was just mad and upset. And now that's led to--"

"Oi."

Reginald cut off his rambling, looking up from his hands to look at the small concerned yet stern expression of the other merman in the cavern. A hand came to his shoulder, grasping it gently. "If ye 'ink f' a second t'at...t'is--" Right gestured to his lower half. "--is yer fault, yer wrong. Yeah, maybe it was a result of some dumb s'it ye were upset wit', but t'ings were gonna turn out dis way because of the 'ole...raid on the s'ip t'ing."

"No-No, I'm not saying that." The brunette let out a sigh, brushing a curl out of his face and slumping against the back wall, not moving from the comforting presence on his shoulder. "I-- erm-- just believe I owe you some payment for...everything you've done for me. How I reacted was uncalled for and...consider this an apology, maybe."

Owed him payment? That was an odd thing for an ex-pirate to hear.

He wasn't paid back for anything; that's just how things were on the surface. Steal. Work as a crew. Get the job done. Do it all over again. Right supposed, however, that it did sort of match his out of character performance of helping a dying fish on the beach and growing slightly attached over time. A lot of things were out of character. This whole damn situation was wrong.

A sigh left Right's throat, coming out as a string of bubbles as he brought his hands back into his lap, too leaning back.

"Can't 'ave that, 'orry. If t'ere's one t'ing 've learned being a 'aptain, ye never play princess. Ain't yer responsibility ta change me back, when it ain't even yer fault. Kinda my business, 'onestly. But, if yer committed, we'll...figure it out together, suppose."

Octopi falling to the ground in a stunned grasp, Reginald's eyes turned up and met the brown ones that belonged to Right, blinking several times to understand what he had said. The ex-pirate held back a smirk, feeling slightly satisfied on getting an upper hand. Of course, it didn't last long, since his expression turned into painted, crimson blush at the response from the other.

"S-Sorry, could, erm, I hug you?"

...Hug? Uhm-- It wasn't an odd request, of course. But Hugging

"Erm--" Right let the cod drop into his lap, brushing a hand behind his head to scratch his hair, even if it wasn't itchy. Might as well not bring another problem to this situation. "I mean-- sur--"

Right didn't need to say one word more, as Reginald was suddenly on his chest, wrapping his arms around the other's torso in a tight embrace, face buried into his shoulder. Taking a sharp inhale, the taller of the two felt his face heat up, despite being the cool waters of the seafloor. With much hesitation, Right wrapping his arms around the other, trying his best to not hit his fins or something along those lines (he didn't have a clue to how sensitive they were). Heh. It almost seemed like Reginald was just as choked up at the situation as he was, despite that not being true in the slightest. However, he seemed to be greatly upset by it, at least.

It only lasted a moment, the smaller individual pulling back, keeping his distance and looking slightly awkward. It was clear that Reginald seemed to express appreciation and gratitude through physical affection, even if it was platonic. Didn't exactly clash well with Right's nature of pushing people away when he was emotional. But...it was manageable. The ex-pirate let out a chuckle, scratching his head once more with a cough of bubbles. "'ow about...we start again? Like, bef' all t'is bullshit 'appened."

Before the pirate ship. Before things had gone pear-shaped. Before when the last time they saw each other was on the beach.

The merman before him took a moment of stunned silence before his lips formed into a smile, sticking his hand forward.

"Alright. Hi there. My name is Reginald Coperbottom; second in command of The Toppats Shells!"

A firm handshake was met with a wave of bubbles.

"'ello. 'm Right."

#merfolk au #fanfiction #owo #merfolk #mintyfrosty's au #coperright #gay fish #reginald copperbottom #reginald #right #right hand man #rhm #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin

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proselys · 3 years

Text

December Prompt Challenge - Day 2: Drinking a hot drink.

Even for December, London was greyer, colder and wetter than usual. It was damn right miserable and everyone was feeling it even if the warm confines of the building. Still, it didn’t mean everything was completely bland. Decorations had been sporadically dotted around the large room, a tall, real Christmas tree full with lights and ornaments stood in a corner. Tinsel had been laid over the dividers of the desks and on the banisters leading to the upper level. Each desk had got their own mini light up tree as well, simply to bring happiness to their occupants.

Emily might admit she had gone slightly overboard with the decorations, but then, no one would ever know it had been her in the first place. To her unit she was mysterious, level-headed, someone who didn’t take shit from anyone and possibly a little terrifying as well. They’d admit, Emily Prentiss was a good leader and chief, but she was also an enigma and that’s exactly how she liked it to be. They knew of her time in the FBI and patches from her old Interpol days but apart from that, nothing. Her private life was a complete mystery.

Which was why Emily had decorated the large room at two in the morning when everyone had gone home. The Christmas before hadn’t been that cheerful, and she had wanted to change that this year into something everyone could enjoy. Even if they didn’t celebrate the holiday, who didn’t love trees, lights and tinsel? (Sergio hated tinsel, but he was on the other side of the Atlantic. Oh did she miss him).

Acting oblivious to the sudden decorations the next day with everyone else had been a silent delight for her and the mood in the room had heightened. Her secret plan had been a success.

If she was thinking about getting everyone Santa hats, it was nobody's business.

But even with the festivities, Emily’s mood wasn’t completely raised. She missed her wife, especially at this time of year, and the call she’d had with JJ a few nights ago about the fact they might not be able to spend Christmas together had upset her. Emily knew it was no one's fault. Schedules were hard to match up, especially being half way round the world from each other. They’d simply have to do with what they had. Emily did feel guilty however, it being her projects and cases which were making it harder to get back to the States to spend time with JJ. Hopefully they’d get to in the New Year.

But just because the holidays were edging closer very fast didn’t mean her workload decreased at all. If anything it increased with how Emily was letting those with families have the time off they deserved. It was unfortunate their job couldn’t stop for one day, and whilst some of the unlucky ones would have to be on call Christmas Day, she had tried to make it fair for everyone. She herself had decided to come into the office that day just to relieve some stress off of everyone. Working made Christmas feel less lonely after all.

xxx

It was a week or so before Christmas and Emily had had a meeting first thing. Walking back from it and into her office, nothing seemed out of place or unusual. Putting her bag down on the desk for a moment, she sent a few messages on her phone before noticing the venti Starbucks cup. A smile appeared on her face for a moment as she went to sit down, putting her bag on the floor and logging into the laptop on her desk.

It had started a few months after she had taken the job. Every morning someone would be kind enough to bring her a coffee on their way to work. She had found out they even had a little chart as to who would do it when, and it had been a gesture like that which had helped her relax more into the job and not feel so much like an outsider. Emily had quickly stopped buying her own drinks in the morning and would thank them whenever she saw them for that days coffee.

There was only one small problem, however, and that was Emily wasn’t the biggest fan of coffee. Yes, she liked it, and she would never tell her team because she didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but coffee wasn’t her favourite hot drink. No, hot chocolate was.

Anyone who knew Emily well knew how much she loved chocolate, how she always had some in the bag just for emergencies. She even had a secret stash in the bottom draw of her desk. She loved hot chocolate, it being her comfort drink, and with the Christmas flavours here once more she was in her element. Back at the BAU, only two people had ever got her favourite order right and that was JJ and Garcia.

So it would come as a surprise when she picked up the still warm cup and took a sip, not to find the usual taste of black coffee, but the sweet blend of chocolate and vanilla flavoured syrup. Emily was stunned for a moment, eyebrows knitting together in confusion for a moment. Garcia would have never been able to keep something like her visiting a secret, not by a long shot. Which meant…

Sure enough, as Emily looked up from her desk she was met with the striking blue eyes and blonde hair of her wife, leaning against the doorframe of her office with a grin on her face.

“Took you long enough. I was worried it was going to get cold. I’ve been here for half an hour already.” The grin never left JJ’s face as she tried not to laugh at the shock apparent on Emily’s features.

“Jen? W-What? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in D.C?” Emily was still stunned, her wind whirring to catch up with what was happening. She watched as her wife walked into the office, closing the door behind her and made her way over to the desk where Emily was still sat.

“Well, when you told me you wouldn’t make it back home, I knew I had to do something. So I thought, why don’t I come to you again this year? I asked Hotch and he agreed, and now I’m all yours for a whole two weeks and a half weeks. I had a lot of overtime to use up.”

Without another word Emily put the cup down, got out of her chair and went around the desk, colliding with JJ with force as she wrapped her arms around her neck into a tight hug. “You’re really here for Christmas?” She asked, wanting to make sure this wasn’t just a dream.

JJ hugged her back just as tight. It had been months since they’d last been able to touch and she wanted to hold onto Emily forever. A hand stroked through the brunette's hair, a smile on her face. “Yes, I’m really here for Christmas Em. I couldn’t leave my wife all alone now could I?”

Pulling back slightly, Emily beamed at her before she leaned in to kiss JJ, savouring the moment as much as she could. Screw professionalism for two seconds; her wife was here and she could kiss her if she wanted. “I missed you.” She murmured against JJ’s lips. “I can’t believe how lucky I am. Having you with me for Christmas and you getting me a hot chocolate.”

“I missed you too baby. And what can I say? We both know I’m the best. Now drink it before it gets cold, I’m not getting you another one.” But she would. They both knew she would.

Letting go of her but staying close, Emily reached for the cup to drink from, humming happily to savour the taste and making JJ laugh in the process.

“Will you be able to entertain yourself whilst I’m working the next few days?” Emily was already trying to work out how she was now going to have Christmas Day off, but she had a sneaking suspicion her unit was going to make her regardless.

“Of course honey. I can find things to do, even if that includes annoying you in your huge office whilst you’re busy being the boss. I might even bring you a hot chocolate or two if you’re lucky.” JJ pressed a kiss to Emily’s cheek.

“Oh I am very lucky. Maybe you could get me one of each of the Christmas flavours.” Emily was joking...well, half joking.

JJ rolled her eyes fondly, but in the end she’d do anything for Emily and to see the sparkle in her eyes that was there now. And if that meant filling her with chocolate then so be it. “Don’t push your luck Chief Prentiss. Now, how about we introduce myself properly to your team hmm?” She held out her hand for Emily to take.

Although taking it, Emily looked a little guilty, giving JJ a small shrug. “Well…”

“Emily Prentiss, are you telling me they still don’t know you’re married?” JJ asked exasperatedly. She wasn’t surprised though, it had taken Emily a long time even with the BAU to open up slightly about her private life.

“Maybe…”

Rolling her eyes once more, JJ gently tugged Emily across the room to the door. “Come on, I’m going to tell them all you’re a big softie. Nice work on the decorations by the way. I know the Emily Christmas touch when I see it.”

Emily gasped and shook her head though she didn’t really try to stop JJ. “No, you absolutely can’t tell them I’m a big softie. I’m their boss! I’m fierce and, and-“

She was cut off by JJ stopping in her tracks and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know you are sweetheart. So fierce and badass.” She cooed with a giggle. “Now come, be good and introduce me and I’ll get you another hot chocolate at lunch okay? Maybe even the chocolate mint one?”

The unit chief had started to pout as JJ cooed at her, though she let out a gasp at the mention of a second hot chocolate that day. “Chocolate mint? You really do love me.”

Laughing, JJ looking at her wife with such fondness and adoration. “I really do love you. Now, let’s go say hi to everyone. If you’re lucky I’ll let you have one of your Christmas presents early tonight.” With a wink, JJ pulled Emily out of the room.

Emily really was lucky, she thought to herself. Her wife had flown across the ocean to be with her for Christmas and got her her favourite drink. She truly was happy.

(And if her team shared knowing looks when Emily finally introduced JJ as her wife, she pretended not to notice.)

#amelia's december prompt challenge #this was meant to be short #but i can't write short #so have ramblings of my favourite wlw #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #jemily #criminal minds #emily fucking loves chocolate okay #and she is a big softie #and jj will do anything for her #including getting her tons of hot chocolate #romeys writing

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tory-ben-hi-shelton · 3 years

Text

my favourite quotes from code

"Okay, pal." Ben gripped our captive at both ends. "Count your blessings that my friend here is a total softy."

It'd been nice fishing alone with Ben. The two of us didn't spend much one-on-one time together, and he often went mute when Hi and Shelton were around. Probably because those two never let anyone get a word in edgewise.

"Don't be such a baby." I teased. "They're practically lap dogs."

"Lap dogs won't rip your face off. Or eat you."

"All in all," Shelton said, "this is a tremendously dumb game."

"You're a dumb game." Hi shot back.

More dramatic moans, but the boys stopped what they were doing.

"Fine." Hi.

"Whatever." Shelton.

"One time." Ben held up a single finger. "One."

"This game is popular?" Ben was sitting on his tackle box in the shade of a large Elm. "Sounds pretty nerdtastic to me."

"We can't all practice birdcalls like you."

"Honey, in my day a young lady didn't speak to her elders like that. We were taught manners." I was about to further reduce her opinion of my upbringing when the shade to Kit's office rose.

Kit once said I terrify him. He meant it in a good way. I think. Pretty sure.

"Tory!" Whitney squealed. "He's going to attack!"

"Maybe." I walked into the kitchen and snagged a diet coke from the fridge. "Try to protect your throat."

"Tory!!!"

"Later." Jason tossed a head nod to Hi and Shelton as he passed them. The Two Stooges clumsily returned the gesture.

Shelton drifted back to my side wearing a sly grin. "That was smooth, player."

"Shut it."

"I know." I signed, turned. Ben often knew what I was thinking.

Shelton rapped a short sting of characters just above the signature: Hemxvivobz

"That's useful." Hi said. "Sounds like a sex position."

"Like everything you do is cool," Hi snorted. "Still have that ninja costume you wore to my twelfth birthday party?"

"Ben, that's brilliant."

Suddenly, the boy was all blushes.

"No big deal. Easy, really."

"We have got to work on our decision making process." Shelton was shaking his head. "Right now we just follow Tory over every cliff."

"Oh, boohoo." I mocked. "Get moving."

Already handsome, flaring took his attractiveness to a whole new level. His coppery skin practically glowed in the evening light. I turned quickly, surprised by the colour rising to my cheeks.

Ben took a breathe, seemed to realize how hard he was clutching me. His hand dropped as if burned.

"Come on Shel-Dogg," Hi stuck out a fist. "After everything we've done, the dark shouldn't scare you anymore."

"And yet, it does." A moment passed, then Shelton reluctantly bumped Hi's fist.

Terrified, I lunged towards my wolf dog. An arm circled my wait and dragged me to the ground.

"Just follow my lead." Code for: I have no idea.

"Very nice," I said. "I wasn't aware break dancing was back in style."

"Now you are." Hi popped open a bag of Bugles. "I also do a killer mime."

Ben smiled for the first time all afternoon. It was nice to see. When he deigned to flash his pearly whites, Ben went from sullen boy to charming young man. I much preferred the latter.

"What happened?"

"A crazy female line backer pummeled my chest." Hi grumbled. "She's still pinning me to the ground. And she isn't as light as she might think."

Their Cinderella run had made Shelton and Hi popular with the older kids. The two were joking and talking trash, seemingly holding their own. For some reason, this made me proud. What an odd thought.

Without thinking, I launched myself at Ben, catching him off guard. The weight of my body knocked him over backward. Never hesitating, I jumped on his chest and started slapping his face.

Ben was slouched in the copilots chair, too dizzy to stand.

"He's no good for you," Ben said abruptly. "Doesn't deserve you."

"Just be quiet." Soft. "We're almost home."

Ben's eyes were slits. "That guy, he's..." His hand rose, fell. "Dime a dozen. Doesn't know anything. About you. The real you."

Mercifully, Ben trailed off. In moments, he was snoring.

Hi and I headed for the lot. I hoped Wimpy and Vomitasaurus and gotten their acts together.

"Off-limits." Shelton muttered. I chose not to hear.

"I could kiss you, Tory."

"Some other time."

"Choir practice?" Ben rolled his eyes. "Perhaps your worst cover story ever."

Hi grabbed Shelton by the cheeks. "You, sir, are a genius." He leaned forward to kiss eachother one.

"I try." Shelton flailed as Hi his first sloppy smacker. "Man, get off me!"

"Problem? Why?"

Hi looked at me strangely. "We're a little busy Friday night."

"Busy? Doing what?"

The boys exchanged a look. Hi snorted.

"I don't know about you," Shelton said, "but I'm escorting my friend Victoria to her debutante ball."

"Fine! I won't go anywhere else alone. Ever again. Scouts honour."

"You're not a scout," Hi pointed out. "No loopholes, Miss Brennan."

I nearly ground my teeth. "On my honour as a lady, Hiram."

"Excellent! I accept."

Hi lifted the heavy cream envelope penned with my name. "What's this?"

"Oh, that." Could anything matter less right now? "You guys are gonna love it."

I passed along our invitation to the Claybourne Manor. Their groans drew every eye in the room.

"Ben, stop the boat."

He looked at me funny. "We're in the middle of the ocean, Victoria."

"Jason's my friend," I said quietly, "but he's not a Viral. He's not part of my pack. He'll never mean as much to me as you do."

Ben's eyes snapped to meet mine. He stared at me intently. I felt my cheeks burn.

"And Hi and Shelton, of course." I added quickly.

"Of course."

"We're always one step behind. Running straight into whatever direction the Gamemaster points. He's owning us right now. Scripting our every freaking move!"

Abruptly Ben was beside me, his hand finding mine. "Later, Tor."

Voices intruded from far away.

"Oh man, she really did it this time!"

"Should we call a nurse?" Panicky. "An ambulance?"

"And say what, exactly?" hissed a third. "That our friend passed out after some bad telepathy?"

I considered running away. Joining a travelling circus. I had a savings account, and a tiny trust fund courtesy of Aunt Tempe. I could probably get as far as Singapore before anyone noticed. I'm very resourceful.

Hi, naturally, had opted for flair. His tux was crushed purple velvet with tails, accented by all white silk—tie, vest, gloves and suspenders. He completed the outfit with a freaking top hat and cane. Whitney had nearly fainted on seeing him.

Ben lurched forward to catch my elbow. "Jason will escort her."

Unable to speak, I thanked him with my eyes. "You'll do great," Ben whispered, patting my hand. "Just picture them all in their underwear." I gave a decidedly unladylike snort.

"Don't choke, Boat Girl."

I almost laughed. "Step off, bitch."

"Oh, we're, um playing a pretty serious game of Dungeons and Dragons," Hi stammered. "I'm, like, the head ... unicorn master, and Tory has to find my magic... beans. Seeds."

Hi cracked the door. "Ladies first."

"Why, thank you, sir."

For the hell of it, I dropped into another formal curtesy. The boys snickered. Then, straightening their soiled garments as best they could, gave me a polite round of applause.

"You okay, Tor?" Shelton had a sandbag on one shoulder, hauled up from the beach. "We don't have time for an ER run."

"We could amputate," Hi suggested. "Shelton, get the whiskey."

"Comedians, both of you."

"I dreamed it."

"Aha! You dreamed it." Hi yawned and rubbed both his eyes. "I think it's time we get you medicated."

"Good thing we're Virals," Ben said.

Our eyes met. He actually smiled.

"I'm with Tory," Ben said firmly. "To the end."

"Thank you." I felt a rush of affection. When it really matters, I can always count on Ben.

I stared at Ben, aghast, incapable of speech. My friend. My confidant. Trusted above all others on earth.

#this is a contender for my favourite book #virals #virals series #long post #quotes

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taofarren · 3 years

Text

Tina The Cortina

It was December in Cape Town and the South African president decided to surprise us with the gift of additional lockdown restrictions. Alcohol was banned, and spending time on the beach or sea in any capacity was suddenly highly illegal.

With our surf plans turned on their head, my girlfriend, Renske, and I decided to head in the opposite direction of the forbidden ocean, and celebrate New Years Eve in the Cape wine lands. It had been a debate in my mind between taking my mom’s plastic, yet reliable car, and returning before she got home from holiday the next week, or taking Tina, my 1969 canary yellow Ford Cortina, and having the freedom of cruising home when we wanted to. We chose risk, pleasure and freedom!

Renske had always accepted my car without too many questions, but during this particular trip she teased me each time we drove up the smallest hill. “Babe, are you sure we can make it up this one?”.

Of course I defended Tina the Cortina loyally. For a 52 year old lady, she had taken me on many successful adventures, and could surely handle a slow cruise to the wine lands. I was almost offended that Renske was teasing her. It didn’t cross my mind that it came from a place of real concern.

Half way through the journey I realised this was my longest trip Tina and I had taken in the three glorious years we had spent together.

My previous car had packed out after surviving me through the madness of my late teens. There were only terrible replacement options available within my very limited budget at the time. A ridiculously bright yellow car constantly popped up within the Gumtree search results, and I browsed the pictures as a joke. Yellow was my least favourite colour, and I wouldn’t dream of having a car that obnoxiously bright. Curiosity, and lack of a better option lead me to a test drive with the owner in Grassy Park. Despite my terrible driving and constant stalling of the old clutch, I instantly fell in love.

Just the feeling of sitting in the car felt so right. There is instantly a connection when driving a machine that old. The low seat, the thin steering wheel, having to throw my entire body weight into each turn of the power steering-less wheel. This was a real car. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to have her.

We agreed on a straight swap. His keys for mine at the traffic department. As happy as I was, I was too scared to tell my parents. In our initial chats about potential new cars, they shot down any idea of something classic and dangerous. I knew she was exactly the match that they were dreading, and I hid her from them until it had truly sunk in, and there was no turning back for me. They had to meet and accept her whether they liked her or not.

Even though she caused my mothers head to shake in disappointment, everywhere else she went, people would whip their heads around and smile. Whether a passenger or an observer, it instantly made you happier.

From the beginning, this car was surrounded by an invisible force-field of love. This came in handy, as rather stupidly, I think I only wore the stiff seatbelt a handful of times.

1969 must have been a time of minimal accidents, as this particular model had no headrests, and there was no such thing as an emergency stop. Stopping would require you to jump on the brake about 30 metres in advance. Surprisingly (most probably due to the colour), I never had a single accident other than driving very slowly into a few walls.

Contrary to popular belief, owning a classic car is not about self-image, and in this case, most definitely not a “chick magnet”. To most women it was just an old yellow car. Once they had their photo for Instagram, the reality of the journey would set in, and it would be a true test of their level of “maintenance”.

It was in fact more of an old man magnet. Or rather every man. From the day I got her, old men asked me complicated questions about her regularly. I learnt about her anatomy by rushing home to Google what on earth they had asked me.

Almost every day I had offers to buy her. Even though these were mostly from car guards, petrol attendants, and a few times from a persistent garbage truck driver, I would obligingly take down their numbers, knowing I would never sell her. I knew that Tina enjoyed the attention and got the ego boost she deserved.

I wasn’t the only one to feel an emotional pull. It seemed to be the car that many people’s parents had, and seeing it triggered fond memories of their youth.

I was once approached timidly approached by an elderly lady who I mistook for a Jehovah’s witness:

“Excuse me!”.

“Good morning?” I enquired, squinting up at her, while flashing my most realistic, fake smile. She stooped in closer - Her wide eyes magnified by thick glasses, grey hair exploding out from underneath a Christian hat.

“Did you know that my mother had this car when I was younger?”

She blinked at me expectantly.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to have known that, but I decided to humour her.

“Uh…. Good memories?”

She leaned in closer with a crooked grin;

“Yes… especially on the back seat!”

She giggled and walked off with a vacant smile

A few days later, the memory of that lady’s grin still fresh in my mind, a beggar at a traffic light told me that his father had the car when he was younger. Cheerfully, I responded along the same lines, saying that he must have been a great man, to which he responded:

“No, he was a horrible man”, and walked away sadly.

Despite constantly threatening to overheat in traffic, she dominated the city roads. To get across a busy intersection, I would slowly drive into the middle of the road, and people would smile and let me in, just to stare at her beautiful square bum with glassy eyes.

She had a knack with roadblocks too. On a particular incident, with the car filled with mates drinking beers after sundowners on the beach, I was pulled over with a lit joint in hand. I panicked and stalled diagonally across the road.

“Fuck fuck fuck”

I tried to casually stamp the joint out with sandy feet as the policeman walked over with a serious look on his face. Smoke hung in the sweaty interior and the beer bottles on the floor clinked to a halt as he leant down to the window.

“Excuse me sir… what year model is this?”

“Uhm,1969” I replied nervously

“Yoh, look after her hey!” He smiled as he waved us through.

One of the main reasons I had rationalised the choice of a classic car, was that I would learn about how cars actually worked, feeling so detached from my previous modern car. Over the years I learnt intimately what was possible to break in a car, as everything slowly fell apart.

Electrical faults, numerous flat tyres, the radiator exploding in the middle of a petrol station, ball joints seizing, the floor rusting through to the road, using torches as flashlights to get home at night. I got really good at putting my ego aside and asking people for help.

For summer there was definitely no air con. The beautiful black pleather seats became stove plates against your skin, and the only fan was created by the draught rushing through the holes in the bodywork.

This cooling system, so useful in summer, became a freezer in winter. Long johns, extra hoodies, a beanie and gloves were always packed in the trunk. To this day, the usually comforting sound of rain outside the window shocks me awake. I would lie in bed as it poured down, dreading the inevitable puddles filling up the car floor through these holes and the aged window seals.

Strangely enough, the lack of headrests and questionable seatbelts made me feel more alive. The constant struggle to keep the loose steering wheel in a straight line, while listening to every sound in case of a problem, forced me into complete presence.

I saw so much more while travelling slowly. It felt like a leisurely stroll while on holiday, compared to a frantic run. Even if I was late it was literally impossible to drive faster. I learnt that at this point, it wouldn’t help to stress. Pushing the car further than its current 90 km/h top speed would most probably result in something breaking or flying off. I was forced to relax and enjoy myself in every situation.

Every ride, no matter how short, felt like an adventure, a real road trip. Each time I arrived at my destination, I was overcome with gratitude for having accomplished a magnificent feat.

On the streets I was instantly respected. I would pull up to traffic lights next to the latest luxury cars in elite places like Bantry Bay, and have the driver wind down his window to tell me how much he loved my car. When I’d ask them to swap, they would chuckle and zoom off while I tried not to stall.

We also received major street “cred” within the more alternative communities. This came in most useful when working on a documentary with the Ocean View Spinners, a community who passionately (and illegally) spun their cars until their tyres burst. I eventually realised it was safe to park inside the actual spinning parking lot, and upon seeing Tina for the first time, their perception of me shifted. Even though I refused their offers to spin her, I became one of them.

I was invited to an event in a township in Paarl to shoot one of their sessions. When we met at sunrise, their car was too full to take me, as it was a big family affair. The young pit crew boys fought over who would join me in my car for the journey, and eventually all piled in. Their excitement and pride of just being a passenger in Tina filled me with an ovewhelming sense of gratitude as we cruised past the grannies of Fish Hoek main road. A white boy driving while they hung out the window, hooting and hollering to their rap music blaring from a portable speaker.

At the Lavender Hill traffic lights, a notorious crime hotspot, the fun spluttered out along with the engine. Dead. In the worst place possible. Literally a bright yellow sitting duck with doors that couldn’t lock, and a boot full of camera gear. Even though they were the pit crew for the spin car, they were youngsters, and didn’t have any tools or the right knowledge. Internal panic kicked in as I ran through unrealistic solutions in my head. My internal spinning was interrupted by someone pulling in behind us. Sweating, I reached for the locking mechanism that didn’t exist on this model. Hijacking clearly wasn’t a problem in 1969 either It was a member of the Ocean View spinners convoy and most importantly, a mechanic.

They all crowded into the bonnet and fiddled until she begrudgingly returned to life. A few hundred metres of relief, before another cut out. Another stressed session of heads crammed together and hundreds of theories thrown around before we were back on our way.

During the event in Paarl, I was so overwhelmed by the deafening sound and smell of the cars being whipped around the “pitch”, that I completely forgot about my own car troubles. As the sun began to dip, it was advised that we leave the township and start the long drive home. Tina was towed out in amongst the traffic jam of exhausted spin cars and we started the painful process of resuscitation. The Spinners were just as tired as the cars, but they kept their patience with the old lady. An eventual tow-start and I was instructed to not let her cut out, whatever I do. No stops allowed on the hour long journey home.

Night shortly fell, and as we rattled along the road, one of the headlight fuses bumped out of place. The two headlights in their full glory hardly lit Tina’s path, now we were reduced to a single headlight. I couldn’t risk stopping to re-adjust it as I was sure she would cut out wherever she rested. I tuned out the passengers as they animately debated the events of the day, and zoned into the sound of her unhappy engine. We had lost the rest of the convoy on the highway, and this time I didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if we broke down in the middle of nowhere in the dark. I stressed us the whole way back to Ocean View, and as soon as we turned into the road and Tina saw our destination, she cut out.

This time she was done for the day, and nothing would bring her back to life. After everything she had been through that day, she had to spend the night in Ocean View. I got a lift home from the spinning crew, and arriving without a car, and a black face full of tyre particles, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the day to my family. “Good, thanks” had to do.

After a few weeks of rehabilitation, Tina was returned by a mechanic in Ocean View but still wouldn’t run properly. For more than a month she sat in the winter rain, while I desperately tried to figure out what parts she needed, and from where I could source them. Because she was so old, it was difficult to find someone that understood her.

She sat there limp and lifeless. My only form of freedom in those lockdown months, dead without much hope.

I eventually found the part that would get her moving and to Uncle Wasief, the world’s most reliable mechanic. He delivered the news that it had finally come to the crucial moment we had both been expecting: Very soon, I had to either let her go, or give her a complete makeover.

He fixed her up as best as he could until then, and we were temporarily back in action.

That day, I made a promise to her to give her the love she needed. I wouldn’t just take from her, but would listen to her requests.

I had all the windows and seats fixed, all the little odds and ends that I had previously dismissed as “character” and saved the quoted amount for a full restoration. She would be booked in at the end of January.

Over the howl of the wind though the holes, the disappointing sound of the portable speaker’s battery dying, brought me back to Renske, and our current journey to the wine lands As we arrived in Franschhoek, I think we both let out a secret sigh of relief, happy that we had made the right choice after all.

After a peaceful week of unnaturally green grass and far too much bootlegged wine, it was time to return to the city, reality, and the new year. As usual we were running late. This time for the last available Covid test appointment before Renske flew to Kenya for a job. If Tina travelled at full speed with no stops, we could just make it to the appointment on time.

The impressively spacious boot, as well as every other surface of the back seat, was crammed to full capacity We had both of our lives packed into the car: Camera gear, laptops, and weeks worth of clothing.

Driving down the first hill and taking in the beauty of the passing vineyards one last time, Renske abruptly turned to me: “Hey man, I think your car is smoking”.

This wasn’t completely unusual, and I attempted to sniff a few times with my hay fever impaired nose. A few metres later the engine cut out completely. She’d done many strange things, but this was certainly out of character for the old gal. We sat in silence, and heard the usually soothing sound of crackling flames, confusingly out of place on a sweaty 30 degree day.

The smell of smoke quickly formed a grey cloud as I ran around to the bonnet, lifting it to reveal a healthy fire. Right in the middle of my engine bay.

“Uhhhmmm…”

Renske hopped out as my brain struggled to compute the next step.

The only knowledge I have of burning cars is from action movies, where they quickly explode in a ball of fire. The passengers are generally running away, or flying through the air in slow motion. Sometimes both. Not interested in the flying option, we started to grab all our bags, and run them up the hill.

During each frantic trip, we tried to figure out which bags were the most important, as we took them higher and higher. If we can only grab a few bags before it explodes, what do we take? My beach umbrella rolled down the hill and my toothbrush flew through the air as unzipped bags vomited our lives out.

“Tao, your laundry!”

Your mind gets a bit muddled under that life or death pressure, and you start to ask yourself important questions about attachment. I was aware that Renske kept running back for random things that seemed unnecessary, yet I couldn’t help worrying about Sunny, the dashboard Hula girl.

After the toothbrush was successfully rescued, Renske remembered that her laptop was right in the front near the flames. Without a second thought, I sprinted to the car and grabbed it. As a video editor, my fear of losing saved work will always be far, far greater than potential death of any form.

We eventually sweated our hundreds of bags to the top of the hill and we stood to truly take it all in. It really was a beautiful sight that I will never forget. There was not a breath of wind on the perfect summer day. Plumes of smoke billowed out of the bright yellow car, framed by lines of vineyards and a perfectly still lake. Not a single part of me could feel sad while taking in such a surreal scene. The sight of this paradoxical beauty was enhanced by the anticipation of it exploding, and lighting up the nearby crops. Realising that this was not the ideal way to thank the farm owner for the lovely stay, I quickly called her up.

“Hi Ginny, quite a strange one, but my car is on fire. Ya… my car…. We were driving and it lit up…… Ya….. I was wondering if there was any chance you could please call the fire department?”

A few moments later, Francois the farm manager roared past. He barely parked before sprinting towards the burning car, wielding a fire extinguisher in each hand. In the shock, I had forgotten that I was a photographer, and I quickly grabbed my camera, and ran to join him. I was now filled with a different sense of urgency: to capture the tragedy.

A few photos, yet still no explosion as Francois and the fire extinguishers quickly snuffed out the flames. The dodgy wiring in the bonnet had reacted to some leaked oil, and everything in the engine bay was toast. The interior, which was the only part of her that hadn’t fallen apart in our love affair, was completely untouched. During her last dashboard hula dance, Sunny’s dress had been partly undone, yet not entirely removed by the flames. Her dignity was proudly intact as she obliviously continued to play her ukulele in amongst the smoke.

Once the curious farm workers cleared off, and the insurance company was notified, I found myself sitting alone with Tina’s burnt carcass in the shade of the vineyard.

Strangely enough, the only thing that came to my muddled mind was regret that we didn’t ever have sex in her extremely comfortable back seat.

Nothing could have prepared me for the many life lessons learnt by owning a classic car as my daily runner.

It’s amazing how adaptable we are as humans, and what we can overcome for love. Broken window? No problem, open the other one. It’s just how it was.

Their age allows you to understand and accept their imperfections, and this understanding leads to love and compassion.

As we all struggle to come to terms with our own constantly changing and ageing bodies, would it be possible to treat ourselves with the same level of compassion?

I was snapped out of my reverie by the tattooed tow truck drivers from Bellville arriving. A quick elbow bump and signature, and they winched her onto a flatbed truck.

I watched as she was towed away on her last ever journey; a burnt chunk of bright yellow metal to everyone she passed.

If only they knew.

Dear old Tina the Cortina . My friend, saviour, teacher and true love.

#vintagecar classiccardailyrunner storytelling creativewriting journal

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1264

Who are you subscribed to on YouTube? Oh man, I’m probably subscribed to over a hundred, if not 200. I’ve subscribed to channels relevant to interests I’ve had over the years, and since it’s not my habit to do spring cleaning on my feeds, the subscriptions have just keep piling up even if I no longer keep up with literally like 98% of them.

Do you like to go to the farmer's market? I don’t think I’ve ever been in one yet. They aren’t very common here and the ones we do have are pricey and mostly inaccessible to the everyday consumer, I’m sure.

What will (or was) the color of your wedding dress be? I wouldn’t want any other color than white.

What's your favorite melon? I don’t like fruits.

What was the name of the last pet of yours that died? Arlee. Technically my family mostly considered her as just Nina’s pet, but the sting was felt all the same when we learned she died.

When was the last time you wished the day would just get over with? Yesterday, because it was Friday. Pretty self-explanatory, I wanted to get to the weekend so I can finally let go of work for a couple of days.

Name one person you've never had a fight with: Andi. I think we’re both afraid of pissing the other off, which works out for us lol.

What are you currently listening to? I can just hear the really loud whirring of my electric fan because it’s a grossly humid day today.

What would you rather have: cat or dog? Dogs.

Who is your least favorite person in real life? I have a lot of uncles I just don’t like.

Do you ever watch anybody's live stream of... anything, really? Technically, yeah. I will sometimes tune in to livestreams of lofi music on YouTube, but I do it to listen, not to watch.

Does your house have security cameras? No.

If you go grey as you age, would you dye your hair or let it be? I think I might dye it for a certain period of time, but I also think I would eventually reach the point where I’ll just accept it and slowly let go of the dye.

What was the last establishment you stopped going to due to bad service? What happened? I haven’t run into much bad service, but I’ll never forget how long my order and bill took for Mad Mark’s. I never really vowed per se to never go back there again and I definitely didn’t confront the staff, but I haven’t eaten there since that incident.

What soundtrack do you listen to the most? Not a big soundtrack listener.

Was there a family secret you weren’t told about until you were an adult? Nah, they’re kept from us until now. The biggest one I’ve heard about was having a kleptomaniac in the family but we were never told who it is.

Do you have an opinion most people you meet seem to disagree with you? Yeah, my dislike for fruits.

What’s something you like to have many options to choose from? Clothes, I guess, like bucket hats. I don’t shop a lot and clothes aren’t a priority in my budget, so when I do pick out clothes, it has to be exactly what I want so that I don’t feel it was a waste of money.

What’s the strangest decorative object you own? We have several quirky, disconnected decor in the living room from gifts we’ve acquired over the years. One object I can tell you about is the polar bear glass figurine we have on the coffee table.

What’s a thing you couldn’t imagine doing with your life right now? Dating around.

What’s been your proudest moment? Managing to stay alive this year and turn my life around for the better when I thought there was no hope.

What’s the filthiest non-pornographic movie you’ve seen? Eyes Wide Shut, probably.

Do you know anyone who doesn't seem to be fond of animals? I don’t think so. Like any animal...? I would find that quite odd, honestly. And I wouldn’t want to be friends with them if we weren’t already close .

Are you planning any outings or trips anytime soon? Whereabouts? No, nothing set in stone. I do want to fly out to South Korea soon, though.

Do you know anyone who has a phobia of a certain animal? I know a few people who are afraid of dogs.

Is there a particular brand of technology/electronics that you prefer? Yeah, Apple.

Is there a singer whose voice gives you goosebumps/chills? Hayley Williams and Jin, especially when he’s belting; and I don’t listen to her much, but I find that Billie Eilish has a unique voice that sounds really nice.

And is there a singer whose voice you simply can't stand? Selena Gomez for some of her songs, Meghan Trainor for most of her songs.

Are there any authors that are particularly dominant on your bookshelf? No.

Have you seen any photographs or videos that made you smile today? Sure.

Which item in your fridge are you most looking forward to consuming? My aunt sent over this gigantic-ass slab of salmon that I can’t wait to eat as sashimi. I already had a few pieces last night and it was hea ven ly.

Has anyone you know got into a new relationship lately? Hmm, I don’t think so. I know my coworker Dev got into a relationship a few weeks ago but it fizzled out as soon as it started because the guy was shitty.

If you menstruate, do you experience much PMS prior to it? Only on the emotional side; I rarely get physical symptoms. I usually feel down or emotionally heavy a few days before my period.

Have you ever had a tattoo covered up or added to? No, I don’t have any tattoos. Can you remember the last time you had a sudden change of mind? Hmm, like last night. I wanted to stay up to maximize the weekend, buuuut I decided against it and slept instead since I had been up since 2 in the morning.

When was the last time you did something on a whim? Two weeks ago when I impulsively dropped a thousand bucks to have cheese tarts delivered to Angela and Reena, hahaha.

Were you raised by both of your parents? If not, then who raised you? My mom, grandma, and one of my aunts were the main people who raised me. Dad works overseas, so he was never at home much.

Have you ever began a relationship with someone you knew for less than a week? No, I wouldn’t do that.

Has one of your friends ever tried to ‘hook you up?’ Mik tried to pair me with one of his friends just days before I finally implied on social media that I was no longer in a relationship. It was a cool ego boost but I declined, since my emotions were still super turbulent then. Andi tried to initiate sex with me once too, but I also declined.

What is your card game of choice? I hate card games; I can never seem to understand them lmao, though that’s really more of a me problem than anything else.

What is your favourite books series? Growing up, I really loved the Septimus Heap series. But the thing about it was that I got into it while the series was still ongoing; and with how bad my attention span is, I always forgot the events/plot whenever the newest book came out.

So whenever that happened I had to read the entire series from Book 1; eventually the number of books I had to reread/revisit became too many (it was a seven-part series) and I simply just lost the time to read and I never got to know about the conclusion.

Do you prefer landmarks or street names when being given directions? Street names – more precise. Landmarks to me can be pretty subjective – a green building might look blue to me, and I could just end up being lost.

Do you read the prologues in the beginnings of books? Sure.

What was your favourite gym class moment? If I genuinely like or already play the sport that was being taught. That’s why PE table tennis was a lot of fun for me.

Do you think that ocean boardwalks are fun? I’ve never been on one but I imagine they are fun, yeah.

Do you dread when people ask you to sign their yearbooks? That’s not a tradition here.

Do you have a favourite Scooby-Doo movie? No. I was too young for Scooby-Doo in a sense that I do remember watching the movies as a 3/4 year old as they were kept on in the background at home, but I didn’t get any of the plots/didn’t really appreciate the films.

Do you think it’s cute when toddlers try to run away and fall down? Sometimes, yeah. If the fall looked nasty I would obviously be concerned.

Do you enjoy listening to your grandparents tell stories of their past? Honestly, only one of my grandparents would be the type to do this but he’s been dead for six years now. It’s a big shame he passed before I could bond with him the way I had always wanted to. My three other grandparents are either too closed off or too quiet to share stories from their youth.

Do you have a crush on someone? Nah, nothing more than a celebrity crush.

If so... what does his/her name begin with?

What attracts you to them?

Do they know that you like them?

If they don't know, why didn't you tell them?

Name two people that you miss: Angela and Laurice.

Have you ever seen Titanic? More times than I can count. I’m sure I memorize like 80% of the script, too.

Have you ever swam with dolphins? No. I’m not so sure if I’ve seen dolphins, either. Maybe I have? Or maybe I’m confusing it with whales...idrk.

When was the last time you had a stomachache? Wednesday.

What's going to bed early for you? 11 PM or midnight.

Do you want to have a big family in the future? I used to, but I don’t think that’s the future I want anymore. One or two kids should be okay.

What was the last thing you did that gave you a rush? Technically speaking, an orgasm, I guess?? Lmao idk

Favorite Nicholas Cage movie? I don’t think I have one.

Have you had your Covid vaccine yet? Which one, if you have? Yeah, I’m fully dosed. Sinovac.

If you've had your vaccine, did you experience any side effects? I was suuuuuuper tired right after my first dose and I wanted to be knocked the fuck out, but I went right back to work after the shot because I am allergic to filing leaves hahaha. Second dose went smoothly.

What's the next item of clothing that you intend to buy for yourself? A bucket hat or maybe one of the Fila x BTS shirts because the collection is actually quite cute!

What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? I join Facebook groups to be entertained, not because I actively look for advice.

Do you like your butt? Why or why not? Yeah. It...has a good form hahahahahaha.

Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? Yes, a few years ago I went to a food park with my ex-girlfriend. I was already not feeling my best that day to begin with, so having to see an old woman stare daggers at us for what felt like years really stung. I felt small under her look and almost cried, but in the end I felt angry that I momentarily felt shame about my relationship. I decided to just piss the woman off on purpose and do PDA right in front of her.

Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I have two dogs at present and I know they make me extremely happy.

Who was the last person you went on a date with? Gabie.

Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. The first and only time I was hospitalized (other than being birthed), I was about 12, I think.

What’s your favorite way to curl your hair? I don’t do that. I rarely style my hair.

At what age did you start swearing? I was 11.

What is something you physically can’t do? Ride a bike.

What do like better, apples or oranges? I don’t like any fruits; but in terms of flavored stuff, I like orange-flavored food, especially chewy candy, slightly more.

Around the holidays, do you hope for snow? Well, no.

What are your top two favorite bands? Paramore and Against Me!

How many people do you 100% trust? There are a handful. I generally trust easily just because I like to believe all people are kind and loyal – but I can also take it away in the snap of a finger.

Do you care what others think about you? Not so much.

Has anyone ever called you a bitch? Sure.

Did you watch Teletubbies when you were younger? Yeah but just super super faint memories. It wasn’t one of my main shows.

Do you have any licenses other than your driver's license? I don’t.

Could you live the rest of your life without eating meat? I doubt it. I could try, but I think I’d get cranky and start looking for meat way earlier than I would like to admit.

Have you ever had a rolling backpack? Yup, if you mean a stroller. I think I’ve answered this on a previous survey.

Did you make any money today? No, because it’s a weekend. What was the highest place you've ever jumped from? Nothing dramatically high. I’ve had acrophobia-themed nightmares in the past, so even though I don’t actually have a fear of heights, the idea of jumping from a high place still makes me antsy.

Have you ever gone swimming in a river? Not that I can recall.

What was the last souvenir someone got you? I dunno if it counts but Andi bought merch from the AEW shop but made sure to also get a CM Punk sticker set for me :(

Do you have a favorite remix of a song? Remixes have never been my thing. What do you think is the most saddest sounding instrument? Piano.

Do you really pay attention to the ratings on movies? Yeah they can definitely affect the level of appreciation I hold towards a film. For instance, if I genuinely enjoyed a movie only to find out it has average to bad reviews, it invites me to think more critically about the movie.

Do you have a favorite species of wild cat (tiger/lion/cougar/etc.)? No.

If you had $500,000, what would you do with it? Give half to my parents and let them do whatever they wish it. With the remaining P12,500,000, I’d probably get myself my own condo and have it fully furnished, then get braces, then get a new phone and laptop. I’ll have a bunch of money still left, I’m pretty sure – the rest of it I’ll save.

Did the last person you touched lips with have a kid? No. I mean, I have honestly no clue what’s going on in her life now, but I know she doesn’t want kids so this is very unlikely.

"First loves are never really over." Is this true for you? It’s true in a sense that she left me a lot of trauma and self-esteem issues that will irrevocably always be a part of me now even though I’ve worked hard to resolved most of them by myself.

Did you like Michael Jackson before he died? Yes, because he has always been my favorite singer’s role model.

What are some things that would make you break up with someone? I don’t know how to answer this question, honestly. All the red flags were thrown and tossed and slapped into my face and down my throat for six years yet I never left. I don’t actually know what my limits are, and I believe it’s because my coping mechanism has to just accept things and suck them up no matter how bad they get. That’s what I’m trying to change for myself now.

What was the worst breakup you've ever had? I’ve had two breakups with the same person, and the second one was worse.

#survey #surveys

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