dreams-of-a-lark

[dreams-of-a-lark]

PISCES:

You love to love. So go love. Love the clouds, love the sun, love that special someone. But love yourself more.

#vibes #mirror #moods #rising like a zombie for the sake of the memes #don't mind me

[dreams-of-a-lark]

Do you ever doubt that other people exist? What if you’re the only real person in the world and everything else is in your imagination?

“Of course I’ve had moments where I’ve briefly wondered that, but I can’t bear thinking about it for long. To be alone in this existence… well, it sounds like fresh hell, doesn’t it?”

#vibes #answers

[dreams-of-a-lark]

I close my eyes, but I can't fall asleep, my body dying for rest while my mind's wide awake.

— Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

#vibes #quotes

[dreams-of-a-lark]

#vibes #mood #songs of a lark #lark songs #Spotify

[dreams-of-a-lark]

Time: Midday Location: North Beach/Western Cove Closed Starter: @iyazakbar​

Lark spotted Iyaz along the north beach and felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. He contemplated turning away, worried that bothering him would only make it hurt more for the both of them. But the winds pushed against his back and, if he could still believe in anything, he could almost believe it was a sign from Luke that he needed to do this. Each step was plagued with hesitation, each second held a million doubts, but still he carried forward, feet dragging deep trails in the sand. For someone who’d grown so used to being light, it was impossible to picture a future that wasn’t heavy and dark... if there was one at all.

One thing he couldn’t bring himself to do was look Iyaz in the eye when he reached him. He stared at his feet shifting in the sand and choked out a weak, “H–hey.” If he didn’t ask what he needed to now and get it over with, he knew he never would. So he carried on, each word blurring clumsily into the next, “Look. I know I’m the last person who deserves to be asking anything of you now, but I don’t know what else to do or who else to talk to. I can’t sleep, which isn’t anything new really. I can’t eat, which is. I can barely think, but I suppose Luke would say that isn’t new either.” He let out a dry, lusterless laugh, then clenched his teeth, choking back all the emotions he’d been fighting to keep at bay since Luke’s death, “I–I think I want to go back to his cave. I don’t know, maybe some attempt at closure or something. But I just... I can’t go alone. I know he meant a lot to you too and how much you did for him in the end. So, I just thought... would you come with me? Please? And then I’ll leave you alone forever if you want.”

#closed starter #re:iyaz #iyaz3 #death tw #grief tw

[dreams-of-a-lark]

~End~

lucas-lowe​:

dreams-of-a-lark·:

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

“You calling me a sky rat? You know what, I’ll take it.” Lark puffs up his chest proudly, “Wildly misunderstood creatures, rats and pigeons both.” He’d say like him, but he’s not sure he believes he is misunderstood. Not by Luke, at the very least. Most of the time he feels like an open picture book, all too easy to read. Though there is something to be said for the nature of the creatures vs the treatment they receive — the analogy isn’t wholly inapplicable to him. “Anyway, who you calling city boy, city boy?” He teases, suddenly reminded of memes, specifically the Spider-Man pointing meme. Oh how he misses the simplicity of memes.

“I’m not saying I don’t have any fear of the jungle, I just—” Lark shrugs defensively, “I know, look, I know. I know I’m a dumbass. I know you think I need to put myself first sometimes, or whatever, but what do I gain in doing that here? And don’t say my life, because that’s not what I mean. I just mean like—like—,” he stammers in search of his own meaning. He wants to say that self-preservation means nothing to him if the people he cares about are in danger. That making sure they’re okay is maybe some roundabout way of putting himself first. That he wouldn’t know how to live with himself if Luke or anyone else died or got hurt and he could have done something to prevent it. But he’s unable to articulate any of this before they’re taking off through the trees.

“Yeah. I suppose I am. I’m flying, I’ve no idea know how.” Luke wriggles uncomfortably in his arms. Lark doesn’t blame him, this would be an uncomfortable state for anyone to be in, let alone someone who can’t stand physical contact. Lark readjusts his hold, but refuses to drop him. “Right. In hindsight, maybe not my smartest move, scooping you like that. But, sorry Wendy. I can’t risk losing you. We both run or we both fly.” He thinks for a moment and is struck with an unfortunate realisation, “And frankly… I uh… don’t know how to land. It’s fine. You’re lighter than you look.” This last statement is a stretched truth. Luke feels like a solid mass of muscle, but air is still his element, so the wind doesn’t seem to mind his extra weight in Lark’s arms.

Luke calls for him to be careful only just in time for Lark to process that he doesn’t even know how to manoeuvre with these new abilities, so he doesn’t know how to dodge. He makes up for it by doing his best to shield Luke and brace for impact. The tree branch collides with his back, knocking the proverbial wind out of him and sending them both spinning toward the ground. “Well, hold on, looks like you might be getting your wish.” Lark croaks right before they land with a dull thud on the mossy earth. The air slowed their fall a bit, but he absorbed most of the impact and can’t quite bring himself to move just yet.

He’s put enough distance between them and the vines that they aren’t immediately upon them, but gaining fast. “Go on now.” He groans, letting go of Luke as the soreness of the fall wraps around him like a constrictor. “You wanted to run, so run. Hurry. I’ll catch up. I will. I just gotta—” He looks toward the serpentine vines making their way to meet them, then back at Luke, “Get the hell out of here! Now! Go!”

—

Luke rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Of course Lark would say shits like ‘they are just misunderstood’ about rats and pigeons. He doesn’t have anything against rats or pigeons, as long as they stay in their lane and leave his food alone. He doesn’t have energy to spare to understand what people call vermin. “You and I are different breeds of city boy.” He points out brazenly, though it probably has a grain of truth. From what he can tell, despite their shared shitty history with the family, they grew up in wildly different environments.

He stares pointedly at Lark rambling, the cogs in that little head rattling at the notion of ‘putting oneself first’. “The fuck are you talkin’ about? Okay, then, the fuck do you gain from being here lost in the Jungle, huh? Gettin’ chased by vines?” He argues, the familiar tone of anger setting in. “How are you supposed to help anyone if you can’t help yourself? Seriously, why are you like this?” This conversation will likely to go nowhere, their opinions on the matter running like parallel lines. As far as Luke is concerned, all living things are designed to be selfish; that’s just the fact of life. Sure, people love to preach about altruism and helping each other, and that’s all good and dandy. Humans are also social creatures, they thrive off of cooperation and solidarity. But Luke draws a line on self-sacrifice for the sake of others. At the end of the day, one’s priority must be themselves, and no virtue is worth sacrificing oneself for.

Luke represses the urge to punch Lark in the face for multiple reasons– for picking him up like he was some baby, for thinking that flying was ever a good idea in the Jungle, and for just being a dumbass. But that should come later. “Of fuckin’ course you don’t know how to land,” he barks out a sarcastic laughter, “look, we don’t have time for you to learn the new–”

His bickering was cut off as they were thrown in the air. Luke manages to conjure light gust around them to dampen the rough landing. He is quick to jump back up on his feet. His ears are ringing over the other’s voice, telling him to go first. And for a split second, the world slows down to a pause, and everything is quiet all of a sudden. His instinct flares up in that unknowably critical moment, and he finds himself rushing toward Lark. A sharp, hissing sound pierces through the air, and the peculiar warmth spreads on his stomach and through his throat. Luke looks down at himself and finds a thin vine stuck in his abdomen. “…well, that was stupid,” he mutters to himself. He tries to look over the shoulder but his body, paralyzed by the shock and twitching, can’t quite turn to see Lark behind him. What happened to drawing a line on self-sacrifice? It turns out, he is just as much of a dumbass as Lark. “See… told you you should’ve got out,” his knees buckle as he collapses forward, “just… get the fuck out of here, Jesus Fucking Chr–” he manages to squeeze the words out before more vines grabbed and yanked him deeper into the Jungle like a ragdoll.

#re:luke #luke5 #violence tw #blood tw #stranded event 4 #tresspasser #bear with me here #just wanted to get this end on Lark's blog

[dreams-of-a-lark]

but in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth.... such a constellation was he to me. — circe by madeline miller.

[dreams-of-a-lark]

akbartheolder​:

Location: North Beach Time: late evening

@dreams-of-a-lark​

Emre was heading back from the lagoon, crossing North Beach to get back to his homestead.  He had pomegranates collected from the lagoon, tucked into a sling hanging off his middle.  The more seeds the better, when it came to trying to cultivate them on the farm; Emre would try again tomorrow.  

For now, he strolled, having all the time in the world.  He carried a torch, flame courtesy of his miserable brother.  Iyaz was currently like a ghost - moving between the homestead and the apothecary, silent and morose since the discovery of his fiancé’s tree in the people-grove.  Everyday, Emre was occupied with trying to figure out how to help him.

Getting the homestead finished, would help, Emre thought.  Give his brother a kitchen, a separate private room of his own.  Some semblance of individuality and peace as he grieved.  It wouldn’t fix or solve anything, but maybe it would help Iyaz heal.

So when Emre spotted the little hut on North Beach, he paused, studying its make from a distance.  He looked to the Leander looming in the dark, back to the hut.  “You’ve always been there, haven’t you?” Emre said to the hut.  “Right - might as well take a look then.”

As he got closer, the scent of fire-cooked food wafted past, making Emre’s mouth water.  When had he last eaten?  He couldn’t even remember.  He quickened his step, but as he got closer, Emre didn’t immediately see anyone near.  Emre ducked inside, looking about the small space, clearly well lived-in.  He poked about without hesitation, touching hanging clothes, random utensils on a small table.  

“Lovely,” he murmured, running his fingers along the table’s surface.

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

Lark was cooking his dinner at his makeshift kitchen, set up under a canopy just to the side of his hut. This was one of the first things he had constructed when he first came to the island and was the part of his home that had seen the most love and care put into it. It was his pride and he felt fortunate that the other islanders respected that enough not to mess with it too much.

He was about to plate up when his ears perked up, someone approaching his hut. Really approaching. Were they going inside? It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, but it was bold nonetheless. Then he heard the murmur of a familiar voice on the other side of the wall. 

Emre. 

He rolled his eyes, chuckled lightly to himself and set up an extra plate before quietly inching around the side of the hut. Emre’s back was turned to him when he positioned himself in the doorway. For a moment Lark wondered if it was mean if he startled the man. But then realized Emre was, in fact, intruding on his space and felt less guilty about whatever surprise may overcome the other by sneaking up on him.

He watched Emre rummage a while longer before interjecting, “I wasn’t expecting visitors, you know?” His eyes drifted to the table Emre was admiring, “Beautiful, innit? Courtesy of Cash. Great guy. Helped me set a lot of this up, actually. Can I help you with something? You hungry? I’ve just finished making dinner. Sort of heard you coming, so I prepared another plate just in case you’d like to join.”

#re:emre #emre3

[dreams-of-a-lark]

maura--gallagher​:

She made space for Lark to sit and brought her knees to her chest, focusing on the flickering flames in front of her. If she met Lark’s eyes, if they were half as concerned or gentle as the way he spoke to her, she was sure she would begin to cry again. 

“Thank you- I-” I don’t deserve that. “It was a bad dream.” Memory may have been a more accurate description, but she was not about to share that piece of information. Not even with Lark, who she had began to trust more readily than most despite herself.  “I’ll be fine.” If she said it enough, one of these days she was bound to believe it. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, attempting to ward off the chill that lingered even as her heart rate began to slow and the panic began to subside. “No rest for the wicked then? Or in your case, no rest for the overly considerate?” She managed a half hearted smile, meeting his eyes only briefly. 

“That super sonic hearing of yours must be a bitch when people begin to shack up.”

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

“Alright.” He noticed her avoiding his gaze and stared at the fire with her instead, “Though, even bad dreams can feel real and almost as scary as reality.” He knew a thing or two about how hard a dream could hit and hoped that this point might validate her if the dream affected her more than she let on.   

Her joking question came as an adequate segue to explain as much. He let out a tired laugh, “I suppose so. I hardly get any sleep anymore. I keep having these recurring nightmares. They’re usually of my last night on the outside. They’re horrible and painful and—yeah. So, I guess that’s all to say... if you do find you’re not, in fact, fine. I’m always here... and almost always awake.” 

Lark laughed again, more genuinely this time, at her comment about his hearing. She wasn’t wrong, “I try to ignore it as much as I can, but... yeah. It can be a bit much sometimes. Also, seeing as Emre’s the one doing most of the damage, I’ve been seriously considering getting that man to find me a set of earplugs or something.” 

He looked over at her and noticed the way she was curled in on herself, “Cold?” He shrugged off his sweater and held it out to her, “Here. It wasn’t really doing anything for me, anyway.”

#re:maura #maura1 #sorry this took so long

[dreams-of-a-lark]

lostboyjamiebevans​:

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

Jamie paused in his thanks, then barked out a rough sounding laugh. “You know, I suppose that’s true,” he said, “Only someone with no conscience at all would pass a drowning man and think, ‘Yeah, probably serves you right.’”

“But still - it means the world to me, mate. Don’t pretend like you did nothing.”

Jamie grinned when Lark said that sturdier sorts were easier to carry, giving his ample bottom a smack. “Finally,” he laughed, “-it’s good for something except pulling. It can double as a flotation device.”

But when Lark asked what Jamie had been doing out there in the first place, being that he was earth attuned and couldn’t swim, the younger man flushed a little and said. “You’re right, I am and I can’t - but I ate a mango in the jungle and lost my powers, and I figured rather than moping I should try to find something positive in being just regular old me again. So I thought, swimming, yeah? Teak gave me a few lessons before we realised I sank like a stone, so I thought I’d put them to some use. It was then that my powers decided to make themselves known again, and I nearly swallowed up half the sea trying to splash my way back to shore. I won’t be doing that again, I can tell you that much.”

“What about you though? How did you fare in the jungle?”

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

Lark smiled at the fact that he’d gotten a laugh out of Jamie, pleased that this was going better than their last real conversation. Who’d have thought it would take saving the man’s damn life, but it is what it is. “Exactly! Now, what kind of person does that? Just seeing you flail for your life like, ‘Eh, he’ll figure it out.’ No, I’d hope a little more than that would be expected from me.”

He finally accepted the thanks, with an added, “Anytime, mate.”

Then it wass Lark’s turn to roar with laughter as Jamie slapped his own ass like a car salesman selling a Chevy Impala. “Yes, really gives a whole new meaning to ‘thick thighs save lives’, doesn’t it?”

Ah, the mangoes again. Oddly enough, the only people Lark knew who’d eaten those power-sucking mangos were people who ended up seeing it as more of a gift than a curse. Just like the last time he’d heard about the mangoes, Lark understood Jamie taking advantage of the loss of his power. But, fuck, did it sound dangerous. It made him think he should probably also stop pressing his own luck with all the flying and cliff jumping. “Yeah swimming in the ocean’s not the safest even when you know how to swim and don’t have wild magic pulling you down like an anchor, so... Well, I’m just glad I was able to get here in time.”

Jamie’s question hit like a ton of bricks. Too hard to think about for too long. “I—uh... well, if you’re asking if I lost my powers or not... no, mine were amplified actually. It actually kind of resulted in... um...” He choked, knowing the truth that his power surge may not have been directly to blame, but nevertheless played some role in Luke nearly dying over him. “I almost lost someone that means... a lot to me. So, I guess you could say I didn’t fare too well.”

#re:jamie #jamie1 #so sorry for the delay #death mention tw

[dreams-of-a-lark]

@lucas-lowe​

#vibes #songs of a lark #lark songs #re:luke #luke4

[dreams-of-a-lark]

lucas-lowe​:

—

Luke returns a weak chuckle, snorting. “You really don’t. I mean, how did you even survive this long?” The humor can do only so much, as there is a hint of weariness in his faint smile, washed up and lackluster like waterlogged picture. Still, it’s an improvement.

He grimaces at the ‘good last words’, the pang of guilt twisting his stomach. The fact that Lark saw the man he loves, and then the man who hurt him, while gasping for breath– and still thought not of his own survival, bothers Luke. “…yeah, ‘cause if those were your last words, I’d’ve felt great about myself after accidentally offing you. Jesus Fucking Christ, Crain.” He shakes his head, sighing. 

“It does matter,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “…look, I’ve said before and I’ll say it again– it pisses me off when you act like it don’t matter what happens to yourself.” He crosses his arms over the chest, clenching his jaw as he continues, “and I know it sounds ridiculous after what I did, but seriously. You wanna tell me I gotta learn how to accept my shitty, disgusting parts– well, you gotta learn how to put yourself first sometimes.” 

Luke raises a brow, running a hand through his messy curl of hair. He scoffs at that stupid face Lark is giving him. He can’t help but roll his eyes, “…yeah, yeah, I’ll go back so quit your worryin’.” He waves the other off before taking a deep breath. It’s weird how his life didn’t completely fall apart after… opening up. He doesn’t know how he feels about that, but, it’s something. Luke grabs his backpack and slings it over the shoulder. He then punches Lark lightly on the shoulder before saying, “c’mon, let’s get movin’. I’ve had enough of this stupid rain.” 

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

“I had help,” Lark reminded him, “I had you. Don’t think I would have survived otherwise, if I’m honest.” And perhaps this is a major reason why Lark believes in others so much. He has to. He needs them. Without them he’d be nothing.

Luke makes a good point, one Lark couldn’t have seen clearly as the life was leaving him. “Right. That’s fair. Sorry about that. I just... I guess I couldn’t go without saying it. It was selfish, really. So... yeah, sorry about that.” Maybe there’ll be a time he can say it again under better circumstances. He hopes so. But, knowing this place and his luck, he doesn’t bank on it.

Will this be them forever? Caring too much not to get frustrated with the other when they’re careless with their own well being. Caught in a cycle of insisting the other is more important. Or rather, insisting they’re important at all. Luke tells Lark to put himself first sometimes and all he can think of is the last time he did that. It went well for a time, but then it all fell apart. It’s hard to see much point anymore, but then again maybe it isn’t supposed to be easy. “I... Yeah, okay. Deal.” He concedes, “I start putting myself first more often, you stop believing you’re irredeemable and worthless. I can get behind that. You first though.” He doesn’t see the irony in his final choice of words.

Lark’s heart thrills, having won this battle. It all fully hits him how much he’s missed Luke when he playfully punches him in the arm. He tries not to make it so brazenly obvious how excited he is to be walking out of the jungle again with him now. He laughs at Luke’s comment on the rain and takes a moment to appreciate all that’s happened under it. There’s a warm gratitude in this cold atmosphere and maybe it’s cheesy, but Lark has to say it, “Oh, it’s not so bad. I think I’ve grown rather fond of this stupid rain.”

#re:luke #luke4 #wrap?

[dreams-of-a-lark]

madibyrd​:

— ✿ ❀ ✿ —

“Don’t worry, I’m good at these sort of things. Maybe it’s not something you’d expect of me, but I promise, I’ve climbed more dangerous things.” Usually with some security on her, but climbling on the side of buildings wasn’t exactly like climbing a tree, but this was easy right now. He was high up, but she had good holds on the tree and she worked fast.

“The mango is a working theory, it’s not– it’s not a definite thing, not completely certain. But the attunement gone thing absolutely is certain.” It made her feel like a completely new person. Or at least getting herself back - she felt light, she felt like she could do anything. Finally she wasn’t cold. “I know most people enjoy their attunement, but I wasn’t really a fan of mine. And by not a big fan, I mean I’m going to be happy to go without it for the rest of my life. I spent thirty-eight years without magical powers and I made do, I will be okay without it here, too.”

Even if without it sometimes it felt like she was useless, when everyone else had theirs to wield and use. Especially in situations like this. But she wasn’t going to think about that.

Once she settled onto a good spot next to Lark, she got her pocketknife out and leaned over, stopped Lark from spinning around and checked on his hands and fingers. “What the– Lark, that looks really bad. I’m pretty sure you were up here longer than thirty minutes.” She looked over him again real quick, but he was right, the thumb was the worst of it. “Okay, I’m going to start cutting now.”

She was working fast but precise - it wasn’t like anything she’s done before, but still, the essence of the action reminded her of having to cut people out of car wrecks. It made her feel like she was doing her job, just for a little while at least, and as weird as that sounded, it felt nice. It felt like the jungle was kinder to her at least. She didn’t have dumb ideas, it was still a horrible place and she’s seen her fair share of horrors even today, too, but still, she got a better deal than most and she knew that.

While she was working, she said, “Tell me about your day - did you run into people before the vines dragged you up here?” She wanted to keep him talking, keep him distracted from what she was doing, get him to be less stressed.

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

“Oh? What were you a professional climber or like a first responder or something? I don’t think you ever told me what you did before... well, this.” It was odd learning new things about someone while being in such a precarious situation, but such was Meridium. Normalcy was a luxury not often experienced here.

“I don’t know what I would do without my magic anymore, but I suppose fire can be... well, I think I could understand why you might be happy to lose it.” Lark had always been fascinated by fire, often using his own attunement here to play around with it in whatever ways he could. It had always felt almost as important to him as air itself. Such a force of life, but also destruction as well. The fire attuned had to be the most cautious with their abilities and Lark could imagine that growing tiring. Plus the symptoms were definitely something he didn’t envy.

When she reached him, her surprise broke his train of thought on all things attunement related. “Oh.” He looked at his purpling hands, a bit surprised himself, “Perhaps you’re right. I’ve got a terrible sense of time, you know.” He nodded at her, almost begging, “Please. Cut away.”

He trusted her not to hurt him—as he did with most people he knew, despite learning on plenty of occasions that it wasn’t the smartest thing to do—but, he appreciated her attempts to distract him. “My day? Oh you know... It’s been... uh... pretty much this, actually. So... pleasant enough, I suppose,” his sad attempt at a joke. It was a shame he wasn’t upside down so he could blame his bad sense of humor on the blood rushing to his head. 

Then there was a sound of tearing in the vines and he readied himself. The vines snapped and he summoned enough air to cushion his fall. Once he’d landed, he rubbed at his wrists. His fingers stung pins and needles and had trouble moving, but at least he was free now. “Thanks.” He called up to her, “Seriously, thank you so much. I owe you one.” When the feeling started to return to his hands, he positioned them in her direction, summoning the air to support her, “Alright, maybe don’t just jump out of the tree, but if you fall on your way down, I’ve got you.”

#re:madi #madi1 #sorry for the delay #we could probably start wrapping this #stranded event 4 #tresspasser

[dreams-of-a-lark]

ameliaxdalton​:

.

“I’m sure anyone could, yes. It is just a treehouse. I’m aware it’s dangerous if you roam too far, but the furthest I usually go is out to the cove.” A choice, right. Amelia shifted and didn’t say what she wanted to say; that most of the time she didn’t feel like she had a choice either. The jungle trapped the castaways, the strangers on the beach trapped her. Certainly, washing up thrityfive years ago with a man hovering over her, the trees- despite the dangers of the unknown- called out to her as a place of safety, a place you could get lost.

She didn’t comment further on whether or not she was special. She wasn’t. Special people got more than three years to be happy.

A man in her corner? That would certainly be the day, wouldn’t it. Amelia quirked a brow, skeptical and wary. “Sure.” She said anyway, not wanting to start a fight. (Especially with the heat of the fire between them, so easily weaponizable.) “I’ll remember that.” 

They ate quietly for a while and Amelia had no problem with the peace. She’d never cared much for people who were uncomfortable with long stretches of silence. Perhaps she preferred them because for most of her life the alternative had been all anger. “It’s not spicy enough.” She said after considering the food a moment, “but that could be because my favourite dish at the local diner used to be their spicy noodle challenge. It’s good though, I like it. I don’t know how you come up with this stuff.”

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

Lark simply smiled and nodded. He was familiar enough with the idea of underestimating and underselling oneself. Once one got into the habit of it, it was damn near impossible to break. Amelia seemed to have fallen into that trap herself and, in truth, only she would be able to pull herself out of it when or if the time came.

He saw the doubt in his promise play across her face as plainly as the sun upon the beach and made a note to show proof in action. “I’ll be sure to remind, as well,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug, trying not to make the sentiment seem to heavy.

He laughed, appreciating her honesty and her spice tolerance. “Duly noted. Perhaps I’ll double the capsaicin in the next batch, then.” Her compliment was sweet, but gave him far too much credit. Or perhaps that was his own beast of self-criticism rearing its head, “Thank you, that’s very kind. Really, it’s simple enough. Or should be, at least. But god knows, I’ve done plenty of iterations, many of which were... not so good. Trial and error, right?” 

They continued to eat, riding waves of exchanged pleasantries and comfortable silences. When the sunlight began to fade, Lark cleaned, packed up, and left her some spare supplies for the future as he often did when he visited. When at last he left, walking the beach back to his his hut, feeling the sand between his toes, he took some time to ponder. One of the things he wondered was if she would ever let anyone up into her treehouse. Then he stopped himself to ask silently if that was really an indicator of growth or if everyone was really just wired differently and if hoping that for her was just forcing his own comfort onto her lifestyle. He decided that he didn’t have a definitive answer and that it was probably best to just mind his own business. He turned his attention to the waves and let his thoughts go silent for the rest of his walk home.

#re:amelia #amelia1 #pre-tresspasser #end?

[dreams-of-a-lark]

j-crain​:

✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶✶

James was expecting Lark to return the hug. As distant as they were Lark had never pushed him away. They had even opted to spend time together. Rarely. Usually when James was already in New York on business. He hadn’t appreciated it then, hope willing Lark was to let James into his life. What James hadn’t expected was his childhood nickname. As a child he’d always preferred it to his given name, a name shared with their grandfather whose portrait still hallowed the halls of their homes and businesses. His mother once commented (when their father wasn’t around of course) that the portraits made her feel like she was living with a ghost. So James became little Jay, flying about with his big brother Lark. When he was too young to go out on his own he would beg Katie and Lark to take him to the edges of their summer properties were he could see the farms and rolling hills in the distance.  

Then James was sent to boarding school and well… he had to change.

So taken aback by the old nickname James almost didn’t process what Lark was saying about the island. “Decades…” he repeated, making sure he heard right. James looked down at his feet, his boots still soaked with sea water but otherwise holding up quite well. Even with how expensive they were they probably couldn’t survive decades of use. “No, I just got here. Far as I know,” he shrugged. “My memory right now is…” A flash of falling hit him like a bus. The silhouette of the cliffs edge meeting the blue sky. James shut his eyes tight before finally finishing his sentence. “My memory is a big foggy. But I just washed ashore on what feels like today.”

James’ head cocked to the side when he saw Lark wince as if someone had rubbed salt in one of his many wounds. Always so sensitive. There had to be someone in the center of it. Lark had practically said so. If it wasn’t for– For who? Or what? But knowing Lark it was a who that had saved him. Perhaps someone he too had once saved. Like Elias. Like a lot of his staff at the restaurant. Of course then he had to ask about his people. James felt his jaw tighten, though he reminded himself James did this not out of spite or even curiosity. These people were apart of him.

Which made it all the harder to say. 

“Eleanor is well,” he started with the easy one. “She retired to the countryside outside Biarritz. She still sends mom pictures. They grew a lot closer after…” He didn’t have to say it. It occurred to James that Lark hadn’t even asked about their mother. Ignoring their father he understood and respected but mother… She wasn’t perfect. There were things she should have done differently, things she should have worked at harder… but when Arthur Crain was your husband what could one really do? “Katie… Katie is…” A heavy sigh cut off his statement. James took a step back, sitting on one the taller, less jagged rocks. “… Katie went missing two years after your death.”

James didn’t even tough on Elias. Not yet. One thing at a time. Not that James would ever tell Lark what had happened between them– it wasn’t like there was a point to it. They kissed. Once. James wasn’t sure if it was anything that was going to continue… though obviously now that problem had been solved. But Katie missing– and now with them both on and island that hid family members from one another for decades. “I feel sick,” James muttered.

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

TW: dissociation, death mention, suicide ideation

‘...Katie went missing two years after your death.’ Nothing else James had said, or hadn’t said, could process then. Those words echoed in Lark’s skull accompanied by that high tinnitus ringing reserved for the nightmares that plagued him every night. Somewhere off in the distance maybe James said he felt sick, but the nausea twisting Lark’s own stomach drowned that out. Time became excruciatingly slow and Lark could feel his soul and his body uncouple from one another. He was outside of himself now, some other thing that was only half there, looking down on the hollowed out shells of two brothers meeting again in some place between realities.

It could have been seconds or even hours that passed before Lark realized he should come to some understanding of the implications of Katie’s disappearance. Maybe she needed to get away to process her grief and decided to go off the grid entirely. That was a best case scenario that Lark found extremely unlikely. If the roles were reversed, he could imagine feeling a gaping emptiness knowing Katie was no longer in the world with him. That strong, psychic bond between twins severed, leaving an aching sensation that would never pass. Like a phantom limb. He could imagine failing to find any reasonable way to continue on after that. He felt a twinge of it now. Perhaps the only way she could bear the idea of the world without him was simply to follow. And maybe...

He looked, wide-eyed toward the jungle. “She could be here too.” He needed anyway to convince himself she wasn’t dead. He looked back at James, “Jay, Katie could be here too!” The sickening feeling resurfaced and, like a man possessed, he took off running toward the jungle he had so recently sworn off for the foreseeable future. He didn’t check to see if James was following him. He didn’t care. He just needed to make sure. Cutting through the trees, he moved with pointed purpose for the spot where he feared to find that familiar face which looked so much like his own.

Finally, the lagoon came into view, surrounded by trees mottled in the shapes of statuesque corpses. He didn’t want to look, for fear of finding something, but he knew he had to. For some half-closure, he had to know. His eyes searched the tomb trees frantically. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground.

A sigh of anxious relief, that lifted no real weight off his shoulders, rattled through him. “She isn’t here. Thank god. She isn’t here.” He heard the footsteps behind him, but didn’t look back to see who it was, only assumed and continued talking out across the lagoon. “But she could still be here. On this island, I mean. You are. And if she disappeared... She could be somewhere out there too. Right? Don’t you think?” What was the alternative to holding onto this weak hope? She was dead. And if she was dead, he was just as good as dead himself. He could live in solitude on an island knowing his literal other half was out there alive somewhere. But if she wasn’t, there would be no point. He so desperately wanted there to be a point. So he would believe this, no matter what. For no other reason than the fact that it was something to hold onto. “She has to be here.”

#re:james #james1 #dissociation tw #death mention tw #suicide ideation tw

[dreams-of-a-lark]

frank-hauptman​:

— ☼ — 

“Perhaps. You’d think I’d been here long enough to know how this goes. A weapon is better than no weapon at all. Never been the sort to think everyone should have one without the knowledge and wisdom to use it, though,” he says after a moment’s thought. No, there’s too many things precious here for him to think it wise for people to have them.

Still, the more Lark speaks on it, the less concerned he becomes. “So long as you don’t run me through,” he says, though the attempted humor comes out too tightly, his thoughts straying to their location. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Where is Madi, then?

He doesn’t think the thoughts are so clear on his face, but he must be wrong. His measure of Lark rises as the man reads him. “She was on the Leander when this happened. She isn’t here. I hope.” And it occurs to him that he doesn’t really know. “I don’t know how many people it took. Can’t say I’ve ever seen it do something so forward. For all I know, it swallowed the beach whole.” How can he think otherwise, really, when the jungle seems so determined to drag them here and hunt them for sport?

“But that’s unlikely. Where’s the fun in that?” Frank shakes the worry off. Leave, find her. If he can’t, then he can charge back in here.

“Lead on.” Frank gestures him forward, and follows behind him. Their pace is slow going, as much for their attempts at moving silently as the ache in Frank’s knee the further they move.

Time moves sluggishly. He can’t say how long they’ve been walking, only that it’s been a while, when he feels something. His ears strain, attempting to listen, but whatever he sees or feels, it’s not something to hear. An odd feeling creeps over him, and he holds out a hand for Lark to halt. “Give me a moment, and stay close. The jungle is doing something,” he warns, recognizing the feeling from his last foray into the jungle with Iyaz.

The same feeling of vertigo washes over him and he sways. In the same moment, the trees around them rustle. It only takes a moment - a blink, really - for the path behind them to close. The jungle is still once more, but he’s uneasy. “That weapon of yours might come in handy,” he says quietly, rubbing his face as the feeling eases. Even quieter, certain Lark’s attunement will pick up his words, he asks: “Do you hear something? On our right?” He can’t hear it himself, but he can certainly feel it.

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

Lark laughs at Frank’s strained joke, “I think I can manage that. Hopefully I don’t have to run anything through, but if I do, the goal is for it to be either foe or foliage.” He’s too caught up in his word play to note that the two are very much one and the same at the moment. 

“On the Leander, huh? Well, I don’t know how far this jungle was able to reach, but I was fairly close when I got snatched. I should think the Leander was far enough out of its reach, but you’re right, there’s no real way of knowing.”

They forge on and Lark takes note of the way Frank delicately favours one leg, “You alright, there, mate?” He nods toward the leg. If Frank is injured and they find themselves in a situation that requires running, that sounds like a bad situation for both of them.

Lark stops at Frank’s command, raising an eyebrow toward the sound of movement. He unsheathes his knife, spinning it in his hand to face outward on the defensive. “Yeah I hear something…” The vines rumble and drag like beasts awoken from hibernation, “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

And then the vines come into view angling toward them as though they were sniffing out a target, “Now!” They take off running and the vines pick up speed as well. One whips out, lashing itself around Lark’s wrist, “AH! Don’t worry about me, keep running!” He chops at the vine, quickly freeing himself and catches up with the other. But, just as he does, another vine cracks and cinches around his waist, yanking him back. “Keep going!” He shouts, slashing his dagger wildly at the vines around him, “I’ll catch up!” But that’s the last thing he says to Frank as the vines overwhelm him.

#re:frank #frank1 #stranded event 4 #tresspasser #AAAH sorry this is sooo frickin late #anyway end here or with yours

[dreams-of-a-lark]

#vibes #mood