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viktcrr · 4 years

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「maxence danet-fauvel & nonbinary」⇾ samuels, viktor, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that he/they are a capricorn and 24 years old. he/they are studying visual arts, living in noland and can be observant, ingenious, reticent & dependent. when i see him/them i am reminded of a sculptor’s hands clay-ridden, the insistent hum of tv static, and a crying preacher inside a dusty funeral home. ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hllo !!! i’m james n here’s one of my big idiot muses <3 he’s not actually dumb he’s :/ a bit evil. bt thts okay hes still <3 beloved <3 LKDSFHLSADLKGFSHLKD anyways!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

stats

inspired by: beetlejuice (beetlejuice), sid (toy story), jack sparrow (pirates of the caribbean), francis wilkerson (malcolm in the middle), azula (avatar: the last airbender), vicky (the fairly oddparents), stu macher / billy loomis (scream), marshall lee (adventure time), bojack horseman (bojack horseman), any it’s always sunny character :/

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to radcliffe but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, especially since the one year anniversary of tatiana’s death was this month (january) - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

UPDATE: now that summer’s come n go ... viktor hs been thru <3 a lot <3 recently. switched therapists (his :/ last one got her license revoked) & started new medications, went to a treatment center briefly ‘cos .. he wasn’t doing too well :/ bt now he’s back baybey! trying to be better n trying to be sober but ... :/

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the lore & cryptids at radcliffe and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away HBDSJFNGKH

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate… but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies… because viktor would have a lot of them…

familiar faces… people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances… people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids… just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend… probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances… people who knew him from his youth.

exes… good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft… i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited… either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension… of the … spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends… old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups… current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die… friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence… he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg… he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

#ruhqintro #death tw #grief tw #drug abuse tw #addiction tw #overdose tw #hospitalization tw #hypersexuality tw #religion mention

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nomattertheoceans · 4 years

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Top ten favorite male characters

Thank you to my lovely @danieldesario for the tag!!! This was harder than I thought it would be hahaha Also, these aren’t in any specific order

Alexander Claremont-Diaz (Red, White & Royal Blue) My boy, my disastrous, oblivious, smart boy who’s trying so hard not to fall in love even though he’s like the most romantic guy out there. I loved the whole book, but I loved it mainly because of Alex and how much I relate to him and how great his inner thoughts were (I mean Lilly, I commented live to you so you know hahahaha)

Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist) omg my first crush EVER?? No but seriously, I love Edward, he has such a tragic story but he is an upstanding guy (while still being a jerk which is hilarious not gonna lie). He’s a kid who lived through so much traumatic things and has a strong will, I have like.... too many feelings about Edward. I know FMA is a famous manga but there’s a reason for that. If you have to read only one manga in your life, read this one. And then come talk.

Ron Weasley (Harry Potter) I mean, do I even need to explain? Ron is loyal, he’s quick on his feet, he’s hilarious and I love him. Not a day goes by when I’m not mad about what the movies did to his character, when I’m not mad about how most people see him as an annoying, useless friend, when in reality his character is complex and amazing.

Will Parry (His Dark Materials) Will is caring, he’s tough but mostly he cares SO MUCH. I mean, I will avoid spoilers here but.... Lilly you know my feelings about Will. I just love him.

John Murphy (The Hundred) The cockroach. Murphy has one of the most interesting character development of the entires series. I can’t say much without spoilers but his character arc is in my opinion very well handled (for the most part anyway), he’s, for me, one of the only characters whose story and personality have remained consistant throughout the whole series.

Jesse Pinkman (Breaking Bad) First of all, if you haven’t seen Breaking Bad, what are you doing with your life??? Second of all, Jesse is a character with such a heartbreaking story that I just want to hug him all the time. There is not a lot of characters out there that I call soft, but Jesse is. Again, trying to avoid direct spoilers, but go watch the series.

J.D. (Scrubs) Okay I realize that I never talk about Scrubs here but I looooove this TV show, and J.D. is such a great character, I love him!! He’s hilarious and goofy and he day dreams a LOT but he’s also caring and a good doctor.

Jack Sparrow (Pirate of the Carribean: Curse of the Black Pearl) Yes, I specify the exact movie. Because Jack in this movie is just *chef kiss*. His entrance in the sinking boat has me bursting out laughing every time I watch it. Every. Time. This movie in general is awesome but Jack’s character is like 90% of the awesomeness of this movie!

Kaz Brekker (Six of Crows) Because of course, Kaz would be here. I won’t launch into why I love his character, it would get embarrassingly long and emotional, but yeah, I love his character.

James Maguire (Derry Girls) The wee English fella. He’s just so sweet, how could you not love him?

Honorable mentions: Jack Rackham (Black Sails), Captain Flint (Black Sails), Rhysand (ACOTAR), Henry of Wales (Red, White & Royal Blue), Chandler Bing (F.R.I.E.N.D.S.), Connor Welsh (How to get away with murder), Alphonse Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist), Jim Hawkins (Treasure Planet)

#I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting a TON of great characters that I love #there are so many #I can't even imagine making this with female characters because there are too many of them omg

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trashinaglass-archive · 5 years

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How Magical

Disney vacation with Tom and Co

Request: Tom taking reader to Disney for the first time?? :)

A/n: This has been a loooong process. I’m writing this based on my experiences at Disney. (I met a thousand and one British people while I was there too. It was crazy. There was a little boy who asked his mom if “the doors have opened yet” in his little baby accent and my heart melted.)

Also, does everyone understand the concept of Fast Passes at Disney? It’s basically reserving a spot on a ride instead of waiting in line for hours. Hit me up if you don’t get it.

I made the executive decision to make it a family trip? I just had a small idea that would come across better if they were all there. Hope that’s okay.

“I’m so excited!!” You shouted as you walked up to the entrance of Disneyworld. You had never been before so your boyfriend, Tom, invited you to join him and his family on their vacation to the Mouse House (my aunts nickname for Disney. I think it’s super cute so I wanted to share:) . “Where to first?”

“We have Pirates of the Caribbean first, so let’s head that way,” Nikki said, pointing everyone in the right direction. You held Tom’s hand in your own as you walked to the attraction. You were skipping slightly, super excited for your day.

“How have you gone your entire life without being to Disney?” Tom asked with a laugh as he watched your excitement.

“My mom didn’t want to bring us as kids. You know, crying and complaining? Having to carry us around? Too much of a hassle. And then none of us really ever thought about it once we were teenagers,” you told him with a shrug. Almost as if on cue, you heard a small child begin to cry. You gestured at the noise with a hand.

“I think I can agree with that,” Tom said with a laugh.

“I see it!” You exclaimed, pointing to the black flag with the movie title on it. You picked up your speed, leading everyone to the line where you all scanned your bracelet and walked inside. You were practically bouncing with excitement, ready to get on the ride already.

“Damn, do you think you could be more excited, y/n? I don’t think it shows enough,” Harry said, teasing you.

“Shut up,” you laughed as you leaned against Tom, feeling slightly embarrassed. It wasn’t long before you were at the front of the line and being ushered into rows- you, Tom, and Sam in the front, Paddy, Harry, and Nikki behind you, and Dom the unlucky one by himself on another boat.

You felt yourself subconsciously move closer to Tom as the room got really dark, listening to the voice in the room. Your eyes widened as you heard the group before you scream, wondering what happened for a second before the boat went down a significant drop.

You and a few of the boys let out a small yell at the drop before laughing and looking at the sights around you. You were astonished at how life like the robo-guys looked. You found yourself waiting for one to turn around and wave at you.

“That’s so crazy,” you said, watching the animatronic of Jack Sparrow moving.

“Look at that,” Tom said with a laugh, motioning to the jail scene with the dog holding the key while the prisoners tried to get it from him.

“That was always one of my favorite scenes,” you told him with a smile on your face, thinking about how much you loved the films. The ride was over way too soon and as you made your way out of the gift shop, Nikki pulled everyone aside to make plans of what they were going to do next.

“So you guys have the Haunted Mansion next while we go to Space Mountain,” she informed you.

“Why aren’t you two going on Space Mountain?” Sam asked, looking between you and Tom. You bit your lip as you felt your cheeks get hot, knowing they’d tease you.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” you said softly.

“Why? Too pussy for them?” Harry asked with a laugh causing his mother to look at him in disapproval.

“I just don’t like the speed and jerks and all that,” you explained. “Just not my thing.”

“Which is completely fine,” Dom said before Nikki finished explaining where everyone was going to be and where to meet up again, and you all split up to your assigned rides.

“I’ve never actually watched the Haunted Mansion,” you said as you and Tom approached the huge castle looking building.

“Really? Isn’t that one of the big ones?”

“I think so. I was probably too scared to watch it when I was younger.” You walked to the line where you scanned your bracelets and were immediately taken back. The group was ushered into a room where a spooky voice began speaking. You held Tom’s hand and scooter closer to him as the lights went dark, slightly jumping when a few loud noises happened causing other people in the room to scream.

You went through the rest of the ride, watching the cool scenes and laughing at some parts. After it ended, you made your way to your meeting place like you had planned, seeing the rest of the family sat at a table.

“Was it fun?” Paddy asked as you two approached.

“I liked it,” Tom said before turning to you for your input.

“It was fun. They have it set up with some kind of pre-ride room scare thing and I didn’t love that, but the ride itself was fun.”

“I was hoping to do that one,” he told you. You nodded your head and told him he definitely should, that you two would be happy to go again with them.

You rode so many rides- from Winnie the Pooh to The Little Mermaid to Peter Pan. You loved every second of your day. It quickly came to a close, however, as the sun started to set.

“There’s a light show at 9:30,” Dom reminded everyone. “We should probably head that way now if we want a good view.” That’s where you found yourself now.

Standing in front of the Cinderella Castle leaning your back against Tom’s chest as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you to him. You watched the fireworks and lights on the castle, overcome by how beautiful it was. You started to sing along with the songs as they played, a new one every few minutes. As one song ended, the narrator began speaking again giving you time to notice Tom staring at you.

“The show’s up there,” you said, gesturing to the sky with you’re eyes before leaning your head back against his shoulder.

“But the best view is right here,” He said. You felt your cheeks blush at you looked up to him. You reached a hand up, gently grabbing his chin and guiding him to you, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Now watch the fireworks,” you said, your lips brushing against his as you spoke, turning to look back at the fireworks.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied with a laugh, placing one last kiss to your temple before redirecting his attention to the sky. It ended a while later, everyone deciding to pack up and head back to the hotel.

“Aw shit,” Harry said as he noticed the queue for the monorail (My brother’s reaction irl). You laughed and moved to stand in line, hoping that it moved faster than you knew it would. You turned to face Tom, wrapping your arms around him for a hug as you leaned against him, ready to go to bed.

“You had a good day?” He asked you, hands rubbing up and down your back.

“It was perfect,” you told him, your eye closing for a second. “Definitely the happiest place on Earth.”

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader

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harryandmolly · 5 years

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Change of Pace - 4 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 10.9k

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“I missed you.”

“You did?” His teeth dig into his lip.

“Always. Every day.”

“Then why didn’t you come sooner?”

She closes her eyes. Takes a breath. Her fingers dig into her thighs.

“Maya?”

Her name feels heavy on his tongue.

She’s still. Fingers gripping her thighs.

“Maya? Please?”

He blinks.

He’s alone.

He tells Cheri about Maya. There’s no one in Starbucks, so the barista takes a break and sits at his table in the window with him so he can lament about his long lost love.

He also gets Maya’s number from her. Apparently, they take the same yoga class and have had lunch together a couple of times.

She tells him to suck it up, just text her.

He waits a few days, then thinks of an excuse.

‘Hey Lu, it’s Shawn. Dunno if someone’s told you, but they still do that bonfire night on the beach every Wednesday. Still a pretty awesome time, if you’re looking for something to do tomorrow night. You should come check it out.’

She doesn’t answer. He tries not to be disappointed.

+++

Rationally, he knew Maya wasn’t going to show at the beach last Wednesday night, but a part of him had hoped, anyway. He ended up glued to his phone, waiting for an “I’m here!” text all night instead of actually being in the moment, having fun.

So he tries not to think about it this week, because he’s starting to hate himself for still vying for her attention. She clearly doesn’t want to give it to him. She didn’t know she was going to be vacationing in Shawn’s hometown when she picked Avila. So he’s a blight on her relaxing summer, a reminder of a time she probably doesn’t let herself think about because it’s ancient fucking history.

He didn’t expect things to be any different. He never imagined a romantic reunion when he let himself, on the rare occasion, think about running into her again.

He doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed.

(Except he does. Because he’s a hopeless romantic, even when he tries so hard not to be.)

He goes to the beach with his guitar, a case of beer, and s’mores supplies. Geoff has tequila and a bag of limes, plus a handful of joints, both for when the kids go home.

They claim a cluster of beach chairs near the fire, and settle in with a couple of beers as they wait for more of their friends to show up.

Shawn doesn’t look for Maya. He forces himself to focus on Geoff and the way he slices limes in the palm of his calloused hand.

Armed with a handle of the most expensive rum she could find in 15 miles, Maya swaggers toward the beach like Captain Jack Sparrow. (Because maybe she had a little sip already to get herself out the door to come to this thing.)

Wednesdays are a sacred night in Avila. It’s not a very religious community, so in lieu of celebrating god in church on Sundays, they plant themselves by the ocean with snacks and booze and weed and give thanks to the community their own way.

She and Shawn used to spend most Wednesdays together at the Avila beach bonfire nights. That probably had something to do with her reticence to attend. That and their still somewhat unresolved tension after the drunken kiss in his shop a couple weeks ago.

But tonight, after an afternoon in the surf followed by a joint in the bathtub, with her hair kissed by salt and her skin warm and tan again after so many years, Maya heads out, knowing full well Shawn is probably there and she will have to face him.

She takes another little swig of the bottle before she descends to the beach.

The waves lap at the shore a little fiercer than they were just a half hour ago, and Shawn wonders if his chair is far enough back to avoid a rising tide. He doesn’t move, though, just sips his beer and continues to watch the sunset.

He’s trying not to stare at the boardwalk. Trying not to get his hopes up for something he knows he should really be forgetting. So he watches the waves, sips his beer, and digs his toes into the white sand beneath his feet.

As Maya crests the dunes, she surveys the scene below on the beach. It’s not straight debauchery yet, the way she’s seen it after 10pm when all the kiddies are safely tucked away.

It’s clean family fun still. She stows the rum in her tote and clears her throat, trying not to look for him.

Instead, she spots some women from the yoga studio she’s been frequenting since she got into town. They’re sitting around the fire in lawn chairs with wine spritzers. It makes Maya giggle. As she trudges down the sandy hill, her eyes betray her and search for him as subtly as she can manage.

There he is. He’s in a lawn chair closer to the water and not looking at her. From this angle, she can see the way the cut of his jaw is lit up by firelight. There was a time once when she’d take off at a run and drop into his lap in front of everyone with a squeal and a probably inappropriate kiss.

It was a long time ago.

Instead, she makes a beeline for the yoga ladies, who greet her eagerly, already three sheets to the wind.

The night air is cool, but the bonfire is egregiously warm, so he shrugs his shirt off after finishing his beer. Geoff howls from across the fire, but he’s shirtless too, so Shawn flicks him off.

“S’mores?” he shouts to his roommate, who nods, then spreads the news to the people around him.

Shawn pulls the skewers out before popping open the extra-large family sized bag of marshmallows. He skewers a few, handing them off to people as they approach.

Geoff takes his at last, and Shawn’s free to make one for himself. He stands near the fire next to G and flips his marshmallow over every ten seconds, just like Maya used to.

His marshmallow catches fire once or twice, but he likes them burnt, so it’s okay. He and Geoff go for the rest of the s’mores supplies at the same time. Geoff hands him a graham cracker while Shawn snaps off four pieces of chocolate for them each.

They bite into their sweet sandwiches at the same time, both getting crumbs all over their laps. Marshmallow clings to his lips as he pulls the s’more away from his mouth. The strings of fluff eventually snap and recoil onto his chin.

“Napkins, dude,” he says as he sucks stray chocolate from his thumb. “You need one?”

Geoff crunches on graham cracker and nods, pointing to his chocolate stained mouth. “Mmph, ya,” he confirms, then takes another bite.

Shawn laughs and goes for the snack table, where napkins, plates, and cups also rest. He’s too busy thinking about the next s’more he’s gonna make to stop himself from scanning the crowd, and that’s when he sees her.

Maya sits on the opposite side of the fire, settling into a chair in the circle of yogies. He jerks his head away when he realizes he’s been staring for a moment too long. He makes his way back to Geoff.

Shawn chucks the napkin at his roommate, then goes back to his chair that, luckily, isn’t facing the woman he’s addicted to staring at. He stares at the ocean instead, and forgets all about that second s’more while he wonders if she saw him when she arrived. And if she did, why she didn’t even bother to say hi.

Maya’s doing the thing.

She’s doing the thing she used to do in middle or high school when a boy she liked didn’t fall all over her when she walked into a room. She’s doing the “I’m having so much fun over here with my friends without you, ha ha ha!” thing.

She sucks down the rest of her Solo cup full of water and takes a wine spritzer when it’s offered to her.

She knows he’s seen her now as he gets up and goes for a shirtless jog to the snack table. Her entire circle of ladies go silent and slack-jawed when he passes. She just averts her eyes and laughs to her friend who didn’t even say anything.

This is stupid, she decides after the wine spritzer has come and gone. She has to just go talk to him. They’re practically neighbors in this tiny beach down and yeah, he doesn’t know yet that she’s not actually leaving at the end of the summer but…

She’s heading over anyway. She leaves mid yogi convo and strolls over with her empty cup. She stands by him and chews on her lip.

“Hey mister, can I have a s’more?”

Her voice is clear, cuts sharply through the sounds of the water rushing against the sand and the gulls, screeching along the horizon. A shiver runs down his spine, and he has to resist the urge to visibly shake with it.

“I think ‘a s’more’ is grammatically incorrect,” he deadpans, but when he looks at her his heart leaps into his throat, and he has to smile. “But I wouldn’t know what’s actually correct, so. Sure.”

He can’t believe he was pouting because she wasn’t going to say hi to him. He feels like he’s back in middle school, when liking the prettiest girl in the grade is a given, but also totally taboo because like, ew. Girls. It’s stupid. She makes him fucking stupid.

She watches him closely, trying to determine how he feels about her trotting up to him and asking for food after how their last two meetings went. He doesn’t seem put off. In fact, he seems a little shyly happy to see her. It’s… nice.

He stands and brushes his hands on his swim shorts, then leads the way to the s’mores. He skewers two marshmallows on a stick for her, because he remembers everything, like how she takes her s’mores. Two marshmallows, three chocolate bits, and half a graham cracker because they’re better “open-faced”.

He hopes it hasn’t changed, that someone else hasn’t come along and shown her a better way of eating s’mores. He likes her way.

Before she can ask for additional mallow, he skewers one more for her automatically like he never forgot, like they never skipped a beat. She stands there a little dumbfounded, staring at him as he preps her food.

She almost says it, almost says “you remember”.... but she knows where that got them last time. She holds her breath instead.

He hands her the skewer, then takes his own to the fire, hoping she’ll follow without any prompting.

She goes with him to the fire in silence, trying not to check him out as he walks ahead of her. It’s hard, because he’s him and he’s sculpted from marble.

“So… uhm… do you come here often?”

Oh my god.

“Um, I don’t know, are you a 50 year old divorcee or are you just really bad at small talk?” he says with a laugh and a glance in her direction. She’s funny even when she doesn’t mean to be, which is disgustingly cute, just like it’s always been.

He’s trying not to resent her for it. (Or fall in love with her because of it.)

His laughter subsides and he mashes his lips together, suddenly worried that was maybe a little mean, given their previous interaction. He always used to tease her like that, they’d tease each other. But now—

Now, everything is different.

“Sorry,” he murmurs with a ghost of an apologetic smile tugging his lips.

Shawn seems to fall in to teasing her, treating her like he always used to. She feels warmed by it, feeling like between his attention and the fire she might just combust.

He begs off, though, like he remembers that they’re not what they used to be. She blinks and nods.

“It’s ok. I know I have no game at all,” she sighs, timing her marshmallow carefully as she rotates it onto its side.

He’s pretty sure her total lack of game is part of what makes her so charming, and it’s definitely something he’s into. He always has been.

He watches her roast her marshmallow for a moment, then remembers she actually asked a question.

He clears his throat, looks back at the fire.

”I do, though. Come here often, I mean. It’s a fun time, and a cool way to connect with people. There’s, you know, music and dancing. Plus plenty of booze and drugs.”

Maya knows about beach Wednesdays, but he’s telling her this shit anyway. He’s not sure why.

She can imagine him getting into his rhythm here, showing up with Geoff, kicking around a ball, rolling the joints she remembers he was known for in college, maybe taking home a yogi every once in a while.

With a furtive glance back at her group, she scans them, wondering which, if any, Shawn’s fucked. She blinks hard and looks back at the fire.

He laughs again, but it’s stilted this time. “I sound like the mayor or something. Trying to sway you on Avila so you’ll stay for good.”

Please, stay here for good.

He shouldn’t let himself think like that. He shouldn’t let himself care again, even though he wants to. So he just laughs.

And then he mentions her leaving. She licks her lips and shifts on her feet, cursing herself for her enormously stupid lie. Because he’s going to fucking notice when she doesn’t leave at the end of summer.

She chuckles falsely and pulls her marshmallow from the fire to prepare her s’more. “I like it here, too.”

Shawn follows her lead, pulls his sticky marshmallow from his skewer and goes for the pieces of graham cracker and broken chocolate left on the snack table. He hands Maya a graham cracker with a gentle smile, watching as she picks the marshmallow from her sticky fingers.

“It’s definitely not a bad place to settle,” he says as he smushes his marshmallow between the crackers and chocolate. He takes a bite and only demolishes half of it, doesn’t go for swallowing the whole thing in one go because it’s kind of gross and he doesn’t think he and Maya are in a place where he can be disgusting in front of her, again.

As he wipes to corner of his mouth with a napkin, he wonders if she’ll notice him holding back.

Shawn sprays his chest with graham cracker crumbs as he takes an enormous bite of his s’more. Maya giggles like they’re in high school. She feels the gap between them now in an intangible way, like they’re not entirely themselves right now, but a cleaned-up, tucked-away version.

Maya fidgets, deciding whether or not she should leave the gap be, let it take the place of what they were to each other, or if she should fight it. Fight to love him again, fight to be there for each other.

He jerks his head towards the pair of beach chairs that Geoff has recently abandoned in favor of flirting with the yogis, says, “You wanna watch the water with me? Or look for constellations?”

He hopes to sound casual and not completely desperate. He’s trying so hard to play it cool, cooler than he did the other night when he kissed her and made her cry and then she ran away, again.

He really doesn’t want her to run away from him a third time.

Shawn’s voice startles her as she chews. Maybe this time she’ll let him make his mind up for them.

She follows him to the set of chairs he’s nodding at and drops into one, taking another bite and giggling at the stickiness. She hasn’t had a s’more since… probably that summer with him here in Avila.

Maya’s drawn to the water. She watches it rush in and pull away and she feels like she understands it. Maybe it has a million reasons not to stay onshore. Maybe the ocean is torn too.

She looks over at Shawn and leans back, looking at him in a way she hasn’t really let herself since she got here.

Maya doesn’t say anything and it’s only a little unnerving. There used to be a time when he knew exactly what she was thinking, no matter how quiet she was, no matter how few words they actually exchanged. They communicated with a look, with touch, with a carefully timed catch of breath.

It’s nothing like that, now. Now, he has no idea what she’s thinking, why she’s not saying anything, or what she might want. He doesn’t know what she expects of him. He hates it. He feels untethered around her, even though she once was his anchor, his fucking rock.

The anchor tattooed on the front of his right hip aches, and he decides to never tell her he got it for her.

He drops down next to her, pushing his feet deep into the sand as he stretches his legs out and leans back into his chair. He finishes his s’more in a big second bite, then has to resist the urge to watch Maya finish hers.

The waves draw closer to their chairs, but he doesn’t move. They used to always do this, plant their chairs too close to the shore and let the water wash over their feet. They used to play pictionary in the smoothed sand, either with their toes or a stick, if they could find one.

Shawn glances at her briefly, a millisecond at most, and is satisfied to see her gazing out at the horizon, totally distracted from him. He looks back down and tries to think of something to say. It’s not a problem he used to ever have with her. There were always a million things he wanted to tell her, a million things he could think to share, a million secrets he wanted to tuck into her hair as they fell asleep curled together.

There’re still are a million things to say. But he’s too scared to try any of them.

“Beer?” is all he can come up with, because it’s safest and he thinks he definitely needs to be drunk to get through this.

Maya is too deep in her own head when she hears his voice again. She looks up from the sea and sees him looking eager for something to do.

She swallows; her mouth is dry. “Actually…”

She trails off and glances around. Her tote bag is back by the yogis. She dashes off to get it and comes back, lifting the handle of rum out by its neck.

He watches her run away and tries not to stare at her ass. She has such a great ass, though. Which he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about. He tries to think about anything else, anything that doesn’t remind him of how well he once knew her body, and how well she let him love it.

He watches the sand kick up around her feet instead as she comes running back towards him.

“I brought something stronger. If you’re interested.”

She twists off the cap and takes a swig, dropping into her seat.

He blinks up at her, lips pressing together as he contemplates the rum. He was thinking tequila shots with Geoff, but rum with Maya sounds like a much better idea. He watches her drink, watches her throat move as she swallows and tries not to think about how badly he’d like to taste her there again and leave a mark or two like he used to.

He pulls his gaze from her, directs it back at the ocean and tries to shake the thought.

As Maya swallows a second sip of rum, she looks him over again.

“Some of those tattoos are new,” she comments, trying not to sound too hungry, like she’s been staring at him.

“Oh,” his gaze drops to his own torso, to the intricate black lines of ink that adorn his skin, “uh, yeah, all of these chest pieces are new for you, I guess.”

He looks up at her and tries not to blush under her gaze. The rum taunts him from her fingers, so he plucks the bottle away and takes his own sip.

Maya leans in, looking closely. She struggles to focus on the artistry above instead of the masterpiece below it because she doesn’t want to salivate all over him. She lifts a hand and almost reaches out to trace the waving tips of the thistle outlined on his abdomen but manages to stop herself and clear her throat to make way for more rum.

“Mm.” Shawn pulls the bottle from his lips and swallows. “This one, too,” he says as he twists his left forearm around to show her the black-line tattoo of the little prince being carried away by a flock of birds that sits just beneath his elbow.

She takes the rum back and takes a hearty sip, blinking away the haze. She looks in at the tattoo he’s gesturing to on his inner forearm and smiles.

“Le Petit Prince,” she recites with a wistful smile, “You used to keep a copy of it by your bed in all your apartments.”

She tilts her head back against the chair. She’s not sure why she said that. Why did she say that?

The rum passes between them again while Maya looks like she’s caught up in a memory of which she’s particularly fond. A memory of him. His pulse beats loudly in his ears and he wonders if she’s thinking of all the times he read the book to her in french as they soaked in the bath together. He swallows and looks back at the ocean, twirling the bottle between his fingers so the liquor sloshes around in a sloppy vortex.

“Yeah,” he finally answers, looking back at her, “that was a little pretentious, wasn’t it?”

He blinks, looks down at his arm.

“Is this tattoo pretentious? Do I need to get it turned into something that makes me look less of an asshole?”

He looks over at her, and he’s not really worried about looking like a pretentious dick. He just wants to make her laugh. Or for her to tell him how much she actually loves his tattoo. He’s really not above fishing for a compliment from her. He’s always basked in her praise, whenever he’s managed to get it.

Maya watches him crawl inside his own head like he’s always been prone to do. She used to get to crawl in after him and pull him back out again with a few quiet love words and some kisses to go with them. She doesn’t have her old tools available to her now so she has to improvise.

With a deep breath, she leans across the space between them and traces the lines of the balloons with her fingertip.

“It’s not pretentious if it’s honest. And this is honest,” she hums, remembering how much he loves that little book, how his whispered broken French used to set her skin on fire when they were under water.

He holds his breath as her delicate fingers brush across his skin. She’s casual about it, like it’s no big deal and she’s totally not setting his entire body on fire. He has to fight the urge to jerk away.

She eyes the large tiger tattoo curling around his ribs and hip and raises her eyebrow. “That one’s questionable though.”

She notes the way it disappears under his bathing suit and licks her lips, taking the bottle back from him for a drink. “Please tell me the tail doesn’t wrap around your dick.”

He lifts his arm as she nods to his side, looking down at the tiger that he can’t completely see unless he’s looking in a mirror. His brow furrows, lips pursing.

“I’m not that much of an asshole,” he says, trying to ignore how hearing her say the word ‘dick’ does something funny to his. “I also don’t think I’m tough enough for that. Sounds very not fun.”

Maya didn’t actually think for a moment that Shawn had actually been stupid enough to get his dick inked but she’s glad for the reassurance. He has the most beautiful dick from what she can remember. And she remembers it well.

He drops his fingers to his ribs and traces the lines of the tiger he’s always been pretty proud of. It was actually inspired but one of Maya’s drawings, a quick little character study she did when she was going through an animal phase in the beginning of senior year. He guesses she doesn’t remember that.

She watches his thick, nimble fingers trace his ribs over the intricate lines of his tattoo. She wonders how long it took, how long he laid there alone under the needle, thinking, getting lost in his head like he does.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, looking back at her and dropping his arm. “He protects me from danger and shit.”

He grins, takes another sip of rum, then pushes the bottle into the sand at their feet.

“Nothing,” she coughs, eyes running over where the tiger disappears into his shorts, “He’s beautiful. I’m glad he’s there to protect you.”

When I wasn’t.

She glances down at the bottle, then leaves it where it is. She uncrosses her legs and settles in, thinking.

“I never got any of the tattoos I planned.”

She sounds… resigned. Like she’s destined to live a tattooless life and that’s just that. He frowns, watches her watch the ocean before them.

“Why not?” he hears himself asking, even though he thinks the answer might be personal. He remembers her notebook of tattoo ideas, remembers how she would say she was saving up so she could get them done completely, perfectly right.

He was supposed to go with her to get the first. Hold her hand if she needed it.

And then she left.

He doesn’t want to let himself think that he’s the reason she never got any. It’s more likely that she was too busy or it’s inappropriate for her line of work.

He’s trying not to assume everything in her life has some symbolic connection to him, because that’s stupid and narcissistic. He reaches for the bottle of rum to help him ignore the idea.

Maya hasn’t put much thought into why she never got the tattoos she wanted, just like she hasn’t thought about why she hasn’t been in a real relationship since Shawn. That’s the problem, though — she let her life sprint past her while she sat at a desk and worked herself to the bone.

She chews on her lower lip and wonders — is there a part of her that didn’t want the tattoos if Shawn couldn’t enjoy them with her? She doesn’t like to think that. She doesn’t like to think she can’t be herself without him.

But she hasn’t been herself in years.

She doesn’t answer his question and he suddenly feels like he crossed a line. His fingers tighten slightly around the bottle between them as he looks back to the horizon. He won’t push if she won’t answer.

He doesn’t want her to run again.

Maya looks over. He’s got the bottle in his big, beautiful hands again, held by the swallow tattoo she used to kiss when she said goodbye to him and trace with her tongue on lazy Sunday mornings.

“I want a tattoo,” she murmurs.

Her voice is so soft he almost doesn’t hear her. When he registers she’s spoken, his head turns, his brows raise. She wants a tattoo. Now?

“Now? Like— tomorrow? Or right this second?”

He wonders what she wants. When they were together, she was really into getting this elegant, simple line tattoo of an easel, like the proper kind she used in the art studio. He loved it then. It was so Maya.

Shawn doesn’t know if it’s still her. People change. He wouldn’t care though, truthfully. He’s beginning to realize he’ll be in love with Maya Lu for the rest of his life, no matter who she chooses to be. He tried to not love her once. He only ended up loving her more, and having to work that much harder to pretend he didn’t.

Even when he hates her, he loves her. The emotional dissonance is sickening sometimes.

So she’ll get an easel or a surfboard or a really hideous chest piece that says MOM and it won’t matter. He’ll still be as miserably fucked for her then as he is now.

She wasn’t really that sure until he said it out loud.

“Yeah,” she gasps, “Yeah no, now. I want it now. Do you have a place you like? Is it open?”

She must look a little frantic. She knows she used to go off on whims like this when they were together in their early 20s, but maybe he’s not used to that anymore. She doesn’t want to freak him out.

But she wants him with her for this. This is big.

“Please,” she murmurs, lifting her gaze to his, “Please, I want to do this now. With you.”

He hurled back to college by the desperate look in her eye. He’s nodding before he can really think. Of course. He’ll do anything she wants. He’s had enough rum for that to be easy, for his heart to be plucked out of his chest and slapped on his sleeve. It beats loudly in his ears and he wonders if she can hear it, too.

“Okay,” he says, “Yeah, now. Let’s go now,” he says, already pulling on his shirt and finding his shoes.

With me, with me, with me.

“I-- yeah, my friend Jessica, she’s-- yeah, she’s the best, she did my whole torso. She’s always open til midnight, too,” he pushes himself up and holds his hand out for her.

“C’mon, Lu. It’s now or never,” he urges with a grin, even though he knows that’s not true. But it feels true, because he knows it’ll never be like this again. This is his shot. His perfect shot at one night where he can pretend they’re them again. Where he can embrace the fact that it feels as though no time has passed, even with everything that’s different, because she still looks at him the same way and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend she doesn’t.

And just like that, it’s 2007 again and they’re them, running against the wind.

Maya stands. Her heart is thrumming hard with the adrenaline rush. It’s a high she barely remembers -- she chased it with him all the time when they were together. Without him, any attempt was dulled, lacking.

So she takes the hit of him now as he offers it to her. She’ll worry about the addictive consequences later. She needs this. She deserves this.

She takes the hand he offers her and looks up at him, a little desperate, a little wild.

“Don’t let me run away from this, even if I try.”

She hopes it sounds like she’s talking about the tattoo.

She holds his hand easily, and his thumb runs along her knuckles, just like it always does.

He shakes his head and tugs her gently as he leads her towards the boardwalk. “No way, kiddo, I’ll strap you down if I have to.”

He’s gone enough to not care about the looks the locals give them as they walk away from the party before it’s really gotten started. He’s gone enough not to think about how creepy telling his ex-girlfriend he’s gonna “strap her down” is. Tonight he’s in college again, and in college he joked like that with Maya all the time.

He doesn’t like pretending around her. And he’s fucking sick of hiding. He’s sick of feeling like a stranger in his own town. Maya makes him finally feel at home. He wants to chase that feeling.

The tattoo studio is luckily not that far down the boardwalk, because neither of them is in the shape to drive. It also means they don’t have a good excuse to stop holding hands, so they continue until he’s hooking a left into a little shop with a bell over the door.

Once inside, surrounded by photos of beautiful tattoos over the years Jessica has displayed, it feels a little more real. She’s not backing down, though. This is too important.

“Just a minute!” Jessica calls from the back when the bell over the door chimes, signaling their arrival.

“S’just me, Jessie,” Shawn calls, pulling Maya into the shop behind him. “I brought a friend, though!”

“I love new friends,” Jessica laughs as she bounces out of the back room.

He gives Maya a little smile as he releases her fingers, then wraps his arms around Jessica, pressing a quick kiss to her hair as she pats him on the back five times, like always. They separate and Shawn steps back, curling an arm around Maya and guiding her forward.

Maya tugs at her fingers while Shawn greets Jessica. She fixates on a photo of a piece that takes up a woman’s entire back -- it’s a scene from Avila Beach. It’s enchanting.

“Jessica, this is Maya, the first timer. Maya, Jessica. The tattoo master.”

Shawn’s arm around her waist gets her attention. Automatically, she rests her hand on his forearm and grins, reaching out for Jessica’s hand.

“Hi. Yeah. First timer. Kinda nervous.”

Jessica takes Maya’s hand with a wide smile splitting her lips.

“Maya,” she says, like the name means something to her, “So nice to meet you!”

Jessie throws Shawn a furtive, yet pointed glance, and he knows he’s been caught. The thing is, he likes to vent when he gets ink. It’s a good distraction from the pain. Tattoo artists are definitely part time therapists, but better, because Shawn doesn’t ever want to tell his actual therapist about Maya.

Not yet, anyway.

Jessie’s easy to talk to, and everything about Maya came out pretty easily when she was doing the anchor on his hip and asked him if it had a special meaning or anything. With each new tattoo came more and more honesty, about Maya, about Leah and his divorce, about everything.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Jess extracts Maya from his side and pulls her towards the little consulting area next to the counter.

“Don’t be nervous,” Jess starts as she sits Maya down, then settles next to her. “They say I’m the gentlest you can get for a first time.”

Jessica seems really delighted to meet Maya and it’s fishy. It’s more than just the enthusiasm of gaining a client, it’s more than that, like maybe Shawn got loose-lipped in the chair while she was inking him. Maya goes red, wondering what her told her.

Jessica guides her to the counter and Maya struggles to focus -- is she doing this? Is she really about to do this?

“Maya’s an artist,” he pipes up, because he feels like a fish on land, flopping behind them in the middle of the shop. “She already has plenty of awesome ideas for a piece.”

When Maya looks back at Shawn, she smiles gratefully and feels a little more secure. Shawn would never let her get hurt. Never.

She clears her throat. “Um, yeah, I was thinking an easel? Really simple, clean lines, on my wrist. Do you have a pad and a pen? I can draw it out.”

She looks back at Shawn and waves him over because he’s looking a little lost.

An easel. Still. He loves that. He always wanted to see the little easel she used to doodle on literally everything inked across her skin. It’ll be all too fitting for her first tattoo.

Jessie goes for a pen and pad of paper as Shawn smiles down at Maya. She looks nervous, like maybe she might get up and run away if he doesn’t stand in front of the door. But the door is so far, and he kind of wants to be as close to her as possible.

Shawn makes his move to sit on the other side of Maya as Jess comes back and slides the pen and paper onto his-- onto Maya’s lap.

“Have at it,” the tattoo artist encourages with a smile before she gets up and fumbles around for papers and what have you behind the counter. She looks back at them for a moment, says, “After you do that, I can do pricing and then we’ll have to talk about the process and aftercare.”

Maya sits at the stool and does her best to block Shawn and Jessica out altogether as she draws. It’s a simple piece, she’s doodled it hundreds of times, but this one’s on her body. She grins at the final product and hands it to Jessica.

Once pricing is set and they’ve gone over details, Maya reaches back for Shawn’s hand and tugs him along to the chair. She sits and looks up at him, trying to hide her panic.

“So your first tattoo, the guitar,” she begins, hearing her voice shake, “It didn’t hurt that much, right?”

Shawn curls his foot around the rolling stool in the middle of the room and pulls it over to Maya’s side as she lies in the chair. He wets his lips, presses them together as he squeezes her hand and sits next to her.

“Nah,” he says, because that’s the truth. Comparatively, his guitar was no big deal. Nothing was worse than the tiger.

Objectively, however, the guitar still kind of sucked.

“It wasn’t, like, a walk in the park either, though,” he murmurs, running the pad of his thumb along the inside of her wrist.

Shawn settles in next to her like a boyfriend and Maya is not complaining. She stares up at him while he talks and feels a little like a kindergartener listening to a big kid explain the rules of the playground. His thumb is calloused and rough against the thin skin of her wrist. She shivers.

Shawn smiles down at her, trying for reassuring. “But you’re fuckin’ tough. You know that.”

Maya smiles. She was tough for a time. Maybe the last 12 years made her a different kind of tough. She doesn’t often feel tough anymore. It’s nice to be reminded she has the capacity.

He rests his elbow on the edge of her chair and lifts their intertwined hands, bringing her fingers to his lips, dusting the tips of her fingers with gentle kisses. He doesn’t think too hard about it, just lets himself do it.

“And anyway, I’m right here.”

Jessica stencils out the easel on her wrist exactly as she wants it. Maya gives her the go ahead to continue. With a smile, Jessica starts the tattoo gun and gently begins the piece.

Maya’s abdomen tenses and she doesn’t know if it’s from the sudden sensation in her wrist or Shawn’s lips on her fingers. She gazes up at him again like they’re alone in the room and watches as he kisses each fingertip like they’re his to kiss.

“Ok yeah,” she pants a little against the pain, “Yeah, it hurts a little.”

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but she’s fucking cute. He bets it hurts more than just a little, but she’s always been good at putting on a brave face. His teeth sink into his lower lip as his laughter subsides and he gives her hand a careful squeeze.

Maya wrinkles her nose at him. But he’s laughing at her, so her whole body is covered in goosebumps.

“S’gonna get worse before it gets better. Just so you know,” he says gently, reaching forward to tuck a wild tendril of raven hair behind her ear.

His fingers linger on her ear, and he realizes she’s got a rook piercing in her cartilage she didn’t have before. It’s pretty and fitting for her, and it makes him want to kiss the delicate shell of her ear.

He doesn’t, obviously, and instead drops his hand away from her to rest it on his knee.

“This is gonna look so good, though, Lulu. It’s gonna be great.”

As he tucks hair behind her ear, she looks back down at her wrist as Jessica does her careful work. Maya’s sure it’ll be worth it when it’s done, but it does hurt like a bitch.

Jessica skims over a particularly sensitive spot. Maya flinches a little, managing to keep her wrist steady, but she squeezes Shawn’s hand.

“Ow,” she mutters quietly, blushing and trying to keep her eyes off Shawn.

He feels her flinch, her hand tightening around his. She’s staring at the needle going into her skin, and he’s not sure why. It always squicks him out. That’s why he focuses on talking.

He squeezes her hand back. “Hey,” he murmurs, tugging at her fingers gently, “Don’t look down there. Look at me, sugar.”

The word falls from his lips before he can stop it. She was his sugar for so fucking long, it’s almost second nature for him to use the pet name. He decides not to back down from it, though, just holds her hand firmly and cups her cheek, urging her to look away from the tattoo.

Maya’s brow is furrowed, focused on the pain in her arm and feeling her heart rate rise at watching the needle in her skin.

Shawn pulls her back in a way only he can. His voice, the pet name, it’s like something from a 10 year old dream. Maya inhales sharply and looks up at him, eyes wide, waiting to see if he’ll shrink away from it, take it back, make a joke.

He’s not joking. He cups her cheek. Her wrist doesn’t hurt anymore.

She looks at him and he kisses her. He can’t help it. Her eyes are wide, pleading. They tell him, stay with me, don’t go.

Maybe he’s making it up. He kisses her anyway. His hand tilts her head back so he can press his lips carefully to hers. A spark ignites; fire spreads from his lips and courses through his veins. It drives him crazy, touching her like this, and then it settles him.

He feels at home here, holding her clenching hand and kissing her soft lips. He feels a dislodged piece of himself, the one he’s been chasing for years, click into place as the tattoo gun buzzes between them.

Maya feels beautifully heavy, grounded somehow when he kisses her. It’s solid and real and purposeful, not fraught like their last kiss. This one feels like an old kiss, like a leftover from their time together. Maya settles into it, scraping her dulled fingernail affectionately against his finger as he tilts her head back.

He tastes like rum. Or maybe she does. She should probably consider the fact that they’re not alone, but it’s the furthest thing from her mind right now. They feel alone, really alone together for the first time since she came to Avila.

Maya sits back a little from the weight of the kiss and smiles at the wet sound their lips make as they separate, audible over the buzzing of the gun. She doesn’t go far, pulling away to his cheek to brush her lips over his skin and watch the hair on the back of his neck stand up for her.

He has to stop himself from purring I love you into her ear as her lips brush his cheek. His drunk brain tells him it’s like, the best idea in the world because the truth is always good, right? But he’s clinging on to his sobriety just enough to know that his drunk brain is tricking him.

It’s a perfect moment, just the way it is. He won’t let his big mouth ruin it.

He pulls back just enough to rest his cheek on the chair next to her face, tucking his chin on her shoulder as he watches Jessie try her very, very hardest not to look up at them. Her focus is laser as she glides the gun across Maya’s skin.

He kisses her shoulder, glances up at her. “This is gonna be super cool, Lu. Like, you’ll love it.”

Shawn stays close, nestling next to her in their little bubble. She unwinds her fingers from his in favor of running them against his jaw and watching his chest rise and fall.

Her eyes slide shut for a few perfect seconds as he kisses her clavicle. She hums in agreement and continues stroking his skin, the rhythm comforting as a distraction from her pain.

He looks back at the gun, at the way Jessie bites her lower lip like she does when she’s really in the zone. He’s jealous, for a moment, of Maya’s abused skin. He basically always wants another tattoo, has an endless list of ideas, and witnessing someone else get inked always makes him that much more desperate for something fresh, himself.

“I think I’m gonna go next,” he says from his perch on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze.

Her eyes open. “You’re getting one? Now?”

Jessica sits up and turns off the gun. Maya looks down. She bites down on a goofy grin.

“Wow. Jessica, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He looks from Maya’s wrist to Jessica as he lifts his head from the chair.

“Yeah, now,” he says with a nod, “I mean, if that’s okay, boss.”

Jessica laughs as she takes off her gloves, cleaning up in the sink in the corner of the room.

“Fine with me, babe,” she says, drying her hands, “Just lemme know me what you’re thinking.”

Shawn looks to Maya and reaches for her freshly inked wrist, now wrapped in cellophane. He runs his thumb along the back of her wrist as he studies the easel.

“I like it,” he murmurs, even though he fucking loves it. He loves seeing ink on her skin. He looks up at her while Jessie futzes around the shop. “But I don’t know what to get.”

He keeps one hand on her while he retrieves his phone, looking at Maya with pleading eyes as he opens his photos. “Help me pick?”

Maya’s admiring the tattoo, turning her head to different angles while Jessica tidies up. Shawn tugs at her hand and takes a close look with her.

As he leans in, Maya turns her head and noses at the fine little curls at his temple. She hopes it’s ok to do now that the distraction of the pain can’t be used as an excuse anymore. Though her wrist still hurts a little.

Maya watches Shawn flip through pictures of inspiration on his phone and chews on her lower lip. She doesn’t know what piping up now will bring, but as soon as he said he wanted a tattoo tonight, an old image came to her head.

“I have an idea, if you want,” she offers, standing and going to the counter for the pad of paper.

She sketches it from a memory so old it could’ve been a dream. Or maybe it was a dream. Either way, Maya remembers it well. She thinks it’s probably in an old sketchbook at the bottom of a box in her Avila house -- she has a rule against throwing sketchbooks away.

She holds up the pad, eyes wide, lips tight, heart pounding. It’s an intricately sketched thimble with little crosshatchings and sculpted designs, tipped over on its side with some gentle shading. The image is as intimately familiar to them as anything could ever be, one of their most meaningful shared moments.

He’s busy flicking between two designs when Maya scurries away from him. He lifts his head, gaze following her to the counter. He watches her as she leans over the pad and starts scribbling, her lips pressed together as she concentrates.

He doesn’t move. He’s curious, his stomach twisting at the thought that she has an idea for him. She wants something she’s designed inked into his skin. Permanently. He got his anchor tattoo for her, but getting something she designed for him, on purpose, seems so much heavier. He swallows and eventually stands, just as she’s lifting the pad and turning to show him her work.

“Maya,” he murmurs when his eyes fall to the intricate thimble sketched in the middle of the paper. It hits him in the gut, the simple little design that used to mean so much to both of them. It still means so much to him. That’s why he never got it on his own, even though she’d mentioned it in passing.

Seems like maybe it meant enough to her that she actually ended up designing it for him. And the fact that she remembered it well enough to sketch it so beautifully, so quickly-- well, maybe that means it still means a lot to her, too.

“Really?” he asks, brows raising as he looks from the paper to catch her gaze. “I mean-- is that okay with you? I fucking-- you know I love it.”

Maya looks down at the pad and back up at him. “I just… it’s old. I mean, I had the idea… a really long time ago. I don’t know if this is exactly how you’d even want it. And you don’t have to get it, it’s just--”

She stops herself and takes a breath. She mashes her lips together.

“I know it’s… it’s not who we are now. It’s who we were once. You don’t have to get it, I just wanted you to have it. I’ve always wanted you to have it. I made it for you.”

Maya puts the pad back on the counter and stands. She reaches for his hand and takes it between both of hers. “It’s up to you, anyway.”

She’s suddenly very candid, bringing up their relationship in an honest way neither of them have been willing to broach before. She’s braver than he is, he guesses. His compartmentalization skills are unparalleled; he would’ve gone the entire summer without ever calling direct attention to their past.

He’s a fucking wimp.

He looks down at her hands and shakes his head. She doesn’t have to do so much explaining and justification. That’s it for him. It’s the perfect tattoo.

He reaches for her face, cupping her jaw gently. “It’s perfect, Lu,” he murmurs, tipping his head down so he can press her forehead to hers.

Shawn pulls her in for a tender moment. She closes her eyes and lets herself feel close to him -- feel the weight of his forehead against hers, feel his breath on her cheeks, feel the warmth of his body against hers. It’s a welcome, comforting stillness.

An ‘I love you’ bubbles in his throat, but he swallows it. It’s just a tattoo, right? No reason to confess his deep dark secret because of it.

And yet.

A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. She wants a sign of their love burned into his skin, and that’s gotta mean something.

He wants it to mean something.

He presses his lips to hers briefly before he pulls away and reaches for the pad. Jess must’ve slipped into the back office, because Shawn realizes they’re alone as he looks around.

“Jessie!” he calls, “Maya designed the perfect tattoo!”

She earns another little kiss for her thoughtfulness. When he pulls away to call for Jessie, she blinks out of her Shawn-induced daze and licks her lips.

Jessie comes when she’s called. Maya nods at the pad and continues playing with Shawn’s fingers. Jessie takes a look at the sketch and smiles knowingly.

“Very nice. Where are we putting this?”

Maya looks to Shawn curiously.

He hadn’t thought about it. He looks down at the pad, then looks down at himself, then to Maya. He shrugs, tilts his head.

“Dunno. What d’you think, Lemon? I didn’t even think about that.”

Maya snickers at his use of a nickname he hasn’t used in a long time. He always did love coming up with nicknames for her.

He’s got plenty of clean skin compared to some people he knows, but it’s still always hard to pick the right place. Sometimes it’s nice to have an outside perspective, particularly since he can’t see, like, all of himself.

He takes a step back and tugs his shirt off once more, tossing it onto the counter.

“Here. Tell me what’s gonna look good,” he urges with a grin, holding his arms out wide.

She watches him strip off his shirt and smiles -- now she’s really allowed to study him. He holds out his beautifully toned arms. Maya swallows and turns in a circle around him. As she passes his chest, she shoots him a teasing glance.

Maya reaches her fingers out as she slowly paces around him, tracing them down his spine and swirling around the firm definition of his back muscles. She makes another slow pass, feeling a little predatory. Then, she stops facing his back. She lifts her hands to his waist gently and steps in, closing her eyes as she presses her lips to a spot on the inside of his shoulder blade.

Because he’s Shawn, he’ll know what it means. He’ll remember the way she used to hold him at night as they fell asleep together and kiss her favorite little spot, whispering one of her favorite lines from Peter Pan about how a kiss is a thimble.

Her lips burn against the skin of his back. He has to swallow a groan, has to fight the shiver that crawls across his skin.

Maya feels the well trained muscles of his shoulder go tight under her soft mouth, feels him inhale sharply in surprise. It’s all she can do to pull away from him and not just take more. She rolls her fingers into fists by her sides and steps away.

After letting her lips linger for a beat too long, she moves away from him, but he still feels her even after she’s gone. Like always.

“Yeah,” he coughs, turning to look down at her. “That’s a good idea.”

He doesn’t let himself kiss her again, even though he’s a little desperate. But they’re not alone, and he doesn’t think a second instance of PDA would be polite.

Jessie’s watching, and Shawn can practically feel her gaze burn his skin. He’s going to have a lot of explaining to do, later. He doesn’t care.

“Okay, Jess,” he says, turning to the tattoo artist. “We’re doing the right shoulder blade.”

He agrees breathlessly. The tension breaks when he brings Jessie back into the mix. Maya is grateful. Her head was starting to spin.

Jessie doesn’t say anything, just gives him a smile and nods her head towards the chair, because he knows the drill. He takes it on himself to readjust it, making so he can lie on his stomach while she works on him.

Shawn looks to Maya before he lies down, tips his head. “You gonna hold my hand?”

Maya watches as he climbs onto the chair face down and looks up at her. She smiles and pushes some loose curls off his forehead with a nod. She perches on a stool next to the chair as Jessie begins to set up behind him. She takes his hand in hers and traces the swallow with her thumb.

“Of course.”

Shawn presses his cheek into the chair as she slips her fingers between his, sending her a crooked smile. He hears Jessie behind him settling at his side so she can outline the thimble on his shoulder. He shivers slightly, squeezing Maya’s hand. The pen on his skin always makes his skin tingle in such a satisfying way.

The tattoo gun buzzes to life above him. He wets his lips and looks from their joined hands to Maya’s sun-kissed face.

“I’m a talker,” he starts, eyes slipping shut with the first press of the needle to his skin. “Talk too much, probably, but talking through the pain is good. Like, medically or whatever. If you can talk through the pain then you’re not dying, you know?”

His eyes open again.

“Not that tattoos can kill you. Unless they get infected and then you get gangrene or hepatitis or something. But that’s--”

“I’m a very hygienic tattoo artist, thanks,” Jessie interrupts, and he can hear the smirk in her voice.

“Then I guess I won’t die,” he says with a wink to Maya, just as his fingers curl tighter into her palm. He’s good at a brave face by now, though the rest of his body sometimes betrays him. And the talking.

Maya looks between Shawn’s face as he rambles and Jessie’s hand as she works. She’s always liked watching other people draw. When she was too keyed up after a 14-hour day at the office to sleep, she’d watch YouTube videos of people drawing. It’s mesmerizing and calming to her. And Jessie’s art is unlike anything Maya’s ever seen done.

She likes listening to him talk. When he’d get anxious, he’d go off on tangents, swinging her fingers as he held them and gesturing wildly with his other hand. She’d pipe up occasionally with a comment or a question but otherwise just listened.

It’s nice just hearing him talk aimlessly again.

“Yeah,” she giggles, lifting his clenching hand to her lips. She presses her mouth to the knuckle of his thumb with a shy smile, “Please don’t die.”

Something tugs at his heart when Maya brush a kiss against his knuckles and decides she doesn’t want him to die. Not that he ever thought she did, but the reassurance is nice. It’s nice to know she’d miss him if he were gone. He’s beginning to think she might’ve missed him before, too.

Maya looks back over his shoulder to watch Jessie round out the thimble that she’s dreamed about seeing on him for so long.

With a crooked smirk, she asks, “Do you remember the first time we watched Peter Pan together?”

He grins at her question. “Animated version or the one with the kid? Because yes to both.”

He’s always loved Peter Pan. He’s always loved the idea of being a kid forever, even when he was itching to grow up. It just got worse as he got older and realized growing up sucked a little.

It sucked a little less with Maya.

“I remember you cried both times. And I remember you sang along even after you told me you wouldn’t because you weren't drunk. And you said a thimble would be a good tattoo and I said maybe a naked mermaid would be better and then you hit me.”

Maya laughs. She was referring to the animated version but she remembers both occasions fondly. She was curled up on the couch with him during her senior year. He had a hand up the back of her t-shirt to trace patterns until he slipped her out of it completely. And yeah, she did sing dead sober. She probably would’ve stopped at some point but he looked so delighted to hear her voice.

“I think it was more of a love tap,” she points out, raising an eyebrow at him, “Who gets a naked mermaid tattoo, anyway? Who do you think you are, Harry Styles?”

“Hey,” he crows, his voice slightly more on edge than it would be if he didn’t have a needle pricking his back, “I came up with that idea way before that guy even existed. I’m the original.”

Maya rolls her eyes at his indignation but doesn’t poke at him further because Jessie’s doing plenty of that on her own.

The tattoo artist chuckles and continues crosshatching the thimble. Maya smiles quietly.

“It looks beautiful,” she tells him.

He closes his eyes and hisses when Jessie has to work on a particularly tender spot, just near the spine of his shoulder blade. His teeth dig at his lip and he pulls Maya’s hand toward him, pressing his nose against her fingers.

“Shit,” he chokes out a laugh, “You’d think at some point this wouldn’t feel like anything anymore. Like your nerves would just get used to it. Maybe that’s bad, though. Like, can’t feel pain, don’t know when you’re getting hurt. Then you die.”

As he tenses and drags her hand in closer, she goes willingly and brings her other hand up to stroke through his hair. She hopes the rhythm of it will provide some comfort. He continues rambling, she continues smiling at him and glancing over his shoulder to keep an eye on Jessie’s work.

Shawn blinks up at Maya when Jessie lets up to wipe at his skin with gauze.

“Guess I think a lot about death and mortality when I’m getting inked.”

She looks back down at him. “Stop talking about dying. Nobody’s dying. And it looks like Jessie’s wrapping up soon.” Jessie smiles, still focused on her work, and nods.

Maya chews on the inside of her lip thoughtfully, twirling one of Shawn’s curls around her finger. She’s just become aware that once he’s finished and they’ve both paid, this part of the night is over. She doesn’t know what happens next.

What happens next?

After another ten minutes of rambling, Jess dresses his tender skin with gauze and tape, then leads them both to the counter to pay. Shawn doesn’t drop Maya’s hand until he has to fish his wallet out of the pocket of his swim shorts. He itches to grab her hand again after, but then she’s paying, hands busy, and he wanders over to the door to wait for her instead.

He doesn’t want to leave her. He doesn’t want the night to be over. It’s only like 9:30, and they’ve just started to find the rhythm with which they were once so familiar.

Maya does her very best pretending that things aren’t immediately weird and tense after Shawn stands from the chair and they go to pay. There’s idle chatter, but it feels a little overly polite, like they’re both trying to make each other comfortable at their own expense.

Maya smiles as she approaches him and he grins back. He can’t help it, she’s contagious. He waves at Jess over Maya’s head, says, “Thanks, Jess. I’ll see ya soon.”

Once they’re back on the boardwalk, he takes Maya’s hand back like it’s the most casual thing in the world and not a decision he’s been laboring over since they first separated. He plays with her fingers like he used to, rubs his thumb between her knuckles like he used to.

He really wants to do everything like he used to, but he wants to do it all differently, too.

Not that it matters, since she’s leaving. But he could give her a really great summer, if she let him.

She’s a little relieved and a little empowered when he takes her hand back outside. They haven’t started walking anywhere yet and it’s clear that it’s because they don’t know where they’re going.

“You tired?” he asks, breaking the calm silence of the cool night.

Maya mashes her lips together and focuses on the way his fingers feel interlaced with hers. She wants to feel more, she thinks. She wants to feel him again.

Maya looks up, squeezes his hand. “Is… it ok if I’m not?”

He laughs, bringing their joined hands to his lips. He nips at the knuckle of her middle finger as he looks down at her.

“That is probably the most okay thing in the world, Lu,” he says with a soothing kiss to her bitten skin. “I’m not bored of you yet, anyway.”

It feels like their first date again, back when he didn’t know what she was thinking and wasn’t sure if she wanted all the same things he did. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once. And also sad. If she were staying for good, this could be their chance to fall in love again. But they can’t, so he’ll take what he can get. Even if it makes him more than a little sad.

He shakes the thought and starts walking down the boardwalk, tugging Maya along with him back towards the party.

Maya watches as he cycles through a few different emotions and she’s surprised by how easily she can still read him. Or she thinks she can. She’s curious to see just how much he perks up by the idea of taking her back to the party. But then he takes a left turn into something that seems wistful and nostalgic.

She thinks maybe he’s thinking the same thing she is, about how they used to be when they were here. About how it feels sometimes like maybe they could get back there without too much trouble.

If she doesn’t think about her lie.

“Geoff brought bud, if you wanna smoke or something,” he looks down at her. “Or there’s tequila. And more s’mores. Whatever you want.”

Shawn starts to lead her back down the boardwalk to the party. Suddenly, her body makes up her mind and plants itself firmly like a child about to have a fit at the mall. She locks her knees and stands firm.

“I’m -- wait. I think instead,” she pants gently, “I think you should… god. Fuck it. Come home with me, Shawn.”

---------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @desire-to-live @jillian-nd @shawnwyr @curlsofshawn @graysonmendes @tnhmblive @meltingicequeen

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes series

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nocturnal-alchemist · 5 years

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Y'all, Disney channel Descendants is crazy. I just watched it with my lil sis n bros, and im like "Why the heck r all the 'good kids' jerks? Did their parents not teach them how to be good?"

Then it hit me, they are privileged "royalty" cause technically if Beast was elected, then his son shouldn't be taking the thrown, someone else should be elected. And thinking about it, was it really necessary to revive villains who were dead? Just to have their children grow up in horrible conditions to 'pay for the sins of their parents'? Like that's kinda fucked up if u think about it.

Also what constitutes a villain? Like was Elsa taken to the Isle cause she technically froze her whole kingdom, was Jack Skellington bc he stole Christmas for a bit, Jack Sparrow bc he was morally grey sometimes, or the Enchantress, cause she literally cursed a kid, and his servants, for not letting a stranger come into his home. And the whole "no magic thing" what the heck, fairy godmother bibbidi bobbidi what the heck is this for? Do you not welcome non-mortals at the school either?

And what was with sleeping beauty's mom pulling that shit at the family day? Like damn bitch you didn't have to give up your daughter, just make sure she wasn't by spinning wheels on her sixteenth b-day, same with how Belle was so useless in this movie and did nothing while the Beast was such a prejudiced asshole. By fucking over the kids on the Isle they are literally making their own villains, don't be coming up in here with that "oh no why are these kids/teens that we have neglected and treated horribly trying to take over Auradon? OMG it's bc of their parents, evil parents so evil children!" No dumbass you created evil.

I don't know I guess its a movie that is kinda entertaining but kinda irritating.

#descendants #disney's descendants #descendants 2 #descendants 3 #mal #evie #carlos #jay #ben #beast #belle #belle rlly sucked she was not a good character in this #and beast was just an asshole #ben was ok just rlly ignorant #chad sucked cinderella come get your dumbass kid #fairy godmother was a let down

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altviktcrr · 4 years

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『MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL ❙ NONBINARY』 ⟿ looks like VIKTOR SAMUELS is here for HIS/THEIR SENIOR year as a VISUAL ARTS student. HE/THEY are 24 years old & known to be OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT & DEPENDENT. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ JAMES. 20. EST. SHE/THEY.

hllo ,,, again ,,, this is my last child i SWEAR ,,, at least fr now ,,, hes also the most problematic one ,,, the most dramatic ,,, one of my absolute faves ,,, pleathe love him. as always if u wish to plot please like this so i can msg u !!!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

stats

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like ... sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid ... not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

his only redeemable trait was like ... just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just ... not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was ... viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because ... for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears ... that’s them!

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like ... sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s ... a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

vastly impulsive ... like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe ... yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time ... also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not ... with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like ... partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate... but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies... because viktor would have a lot of them...

familiar faces... people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances... people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids... just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend... probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances... people who knew him from his youth.

exes... good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft... i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited... either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension... of the ... spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends... old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups... current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die... friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence... he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg... he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

#radintro #death tw #grief tw #overdose tw #addiction tw #hospitalization tw #mental illness tw #hypersexuality tw #religion mention tw

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soulxism-archive · 4 years

Text

1.. PICK ONE OF YOUR MUSES. 2. FILL IN THE QUESTIONS/STATEMENTS AS IF YOU ARE BEING INTERVIEWED FOR AN ARTICLE AND YOU WERE YOUR MUSE. 3. TAG TEN PEOPLE TO DO THIS MEME. (Repost not reblog)

Tagged by: @diivinerose

1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

“Aiden Walker Barnes”

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?

“...Don’t really tell anyone but my real name is Jack Sparrow”

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU WERE CALLED THAT?

“I’m the most notorious pirate in the seven seas? No okay, on a serious note My mother named me due to its Hebrew roots, My name means Handsome but it also means Little fire. My dad named me Walker ‘cause in Texas everyone is named Walker.”

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN?

“...none of your business”

5. HAVE ANY ABILITIES OR POWERS?

“I’m a Special Ops Marine, I trained in close combat, weapon handling, and marksman, I can kill you 100 ways without batting an eye... also I’m a Federal Agent, don’t mess with me kid.”

6. STOP BEING A MARY SUE/GARY STU.

“If you think that a Veteran with a shit tone of issues and with more scars that you can count a Mary sue? then be my guest, now fuck off.”

7. WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOR?

“Blue”

8. HOW ABOUT YOUR HAIR COLOR?

“Brown”

9. HAVE YOU ANY FAMILY MEMBERS?

“My mother and Sister”

10. OH? WHAT ABOUT PETS?

“I don’t have pets, I have family and it’s Riley, a rescued German Shepherd.”

11. THAT’S COOL I GUESS, NOW TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE

“...liars, deceivers, two face jerks, the Brass... want me to keep going?”

12. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES YOU LIKE DOING?

“Heading to the gym and hiking.”

13. EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE?

“Yup”

14. EVER KILLED ANYONE BEFORE?

“Yes.”

15. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?

“A wolf I think? or a hawk... depends on the mood I guess.”

16. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS.

“I’m not sure you want my laundry list of habits... biggest one would be my drinking.”

17. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE AT ALL?

“Nope.”

18. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL?

“None of your business.”

19. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL?

“Nope went to college, got my degree in Criminal justice then shipped off into the Marines.”

20. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS ONE DAY?

“Yes...maybe with the right person.”

21. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANBOYS/FANGIRLS?

“....No? I don’t know?”

22. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?

“...Are we done yet?”

23. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR?

“Clothes”

24. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE?

"Yes”

25. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WET YOURSELF?

“The hell?”

26. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? (HIGH CLASS, MIDDLE CLASS, LOW CLASS)

"Middle”

27. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE?

"A handful, don’t need a lot.”

28. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE?

“Pies are in my blood.”

29. FAVORITE DRINK?

“Starbucks.”

30. WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE?

“The hiking trails I go to, just walking around in nature is peaceful.”

31. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE~?

“Yes.”

32. WHAT’S YOUR BRA CUP SIZE AND/OR HOW BIG IS YOUR WILLY?

“Why do you want to know? You ain’t getting in my pants.”

33. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN?

"Both.”

34. WHAT’S YOUR TYPE?

"My type is tall, handsome, has this face that makes you nut on the spot, sexy as fuck voice, A little bit of an asshole... want me to keep going?”

35. ANY FETISHES?

“I don’t fuck and tell... “ he squirms in discomfort as he narrowed his eyes.

36. SEME OR UKE? TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE?

".... Take a guess.”

37. CAMPING OR INDOORS?

"Both.”

38. ARE YOU WANTING THE QUIZ TO END?

“Yes... I got things to do.”

#✧ ᴡʜɪsᴋᴇʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ [ ᴍᴜsɪɴɢ ]#✧ ᴄᴏғғᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ [ ᴍᴇᴍᴇs ]

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erickawrites · 3 years

Text

Second Star - Chapter 33

Read the whole story HERE

Harry and Melody finally get to have that heart to heart... too bad they’re forced to do it while battling Sparrow’s entire undead crew.

#Harry Hook #harry hook x oc #mermaid melody #pirates #mermaids #descendents #descendents fanfiction #harry hook fanfiction #disney fanfiction #Jack Sparrow's kid is a jerk

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strongmomfightingwarrior-blog · 5 years

Text

All the things I couldn’t say.

Prologue—She knew, exactly what she was getting her self I too. What she didn’t know was how it would all happen next. I couldn’t remember the last time I’ve ever felt this way about anything, and everything we can be is frightening. He then kissed her hand and parted with words that rhymes “our paths will cross once more in a distant future. Then we can finally be together” This promise ate her alive.

Chapter 1–As I watched my dreams vanish from my hands. I knew I would have to stay here, in my childhood town with the same old streets and people that never seem to move forward or change. I’ve messed up several times in life and letting my opportunity to reach my dream was the most recent. That’s when we meet. Do you remember? It was at that point of my life where I was the most beautiful, and content and confident. Juggling two jobs and with hope! That that missed opportunity will soon be at my fingertips. I saw you, though I don’t think you noticed me. But your friends did. They saw how fascinated I was with your hard work and how swiftly and refined you looked. She said, John is my favorite worker that’s why he gets all the tables. Anyone that comes in I always ask him first if he wants it. Sorry I forgot to think ifshe was crushing on you. Seems like everyone that knew you did. How selfish was I..Like any other hustler in this restaurant industry I did a perfect job and a sweet talk here and there to get to where I needed to be to make the money I knew I deserved. First position was a host, greeting and making the costumer feel euphoric till the second you finished introducing their server and then parting ways back to your podium. Then like the industry, my hours started to drop. So I brought up to their attention I have degrees in the kitchen and can be an excellent expo, short for placing food on the tray to be delivered to the guest. That’s when my fun began. Gentlemen, older than i of course sabotaging me, working at snail speed to upset me, to get me yelled at “where’s the food” because I was too loud and kept repeating the orders that came in..bottom line I’ve been trained to do that job to Michelin star expectations. They just didn’t seem to get that. It’s okay. I was also taught not to cave into that distraction and jealousy. Then captain sparrow, a cook that would give me googling eyes started to ease down that tension, he liked how I work and the poor soul had a crush on me. Ugh why do people like me sometimes!? Right when it’s my me time, at my prime! I know what is this chunky girl bitching about? The kitchen ladies, is full of bored pervs that don’t care about your personal life nor what problems you have possibly just encountered. Just saying. They hire anyone to clean dishes. Captain, was sweet and handsome! I mean who doesn’t want a tall Johnny deep and Orlando bloom baby looking at you as if the most beautiful goddess on earth? I must have wanted him to just get me my fries and salads on que I was so friendly and polite. I could hear my sister say bro you brought home a fucking pirate! Hahaha she always knows what to say! Till one day, John and I, a laddies night and two random cooks. Sounds wild. It was the most risky thing I could have done..I can’t even want to start to remember how I felt. I just heard some Romeo and Juliet verse in my head remixed to my situations” oh fair stranger that I look on the schedule for to see if my foods going to get to their guest on time.” That to us is the most amazing quality in an employee the way they take the food from the kitchen to the anticipating guests. I see you your forearms lock of confidence and balance. The smile you Cary that tray with and the speed! Off how swiftly you Deliver and how before I know it you’re running right back to me to take another tray from my jittering lava cake burning hands from handling things with care. Hot lord just another shift in the kitchen. This guy John, well he was getting several sodas.

My fist rule is Johns they are either the most heartless heartbreakers or the most tender heart broken. He seemed like a troubled romantic and naturally wanted to get a smile out of him. Just one. Then I fell for him. It was one of those so slow nights in the kitchen and where talking too much as we prepped for the next day. And I had no tickets. I did the most common thing humans do when they have nothing to do.. some dumb embarrassing decisions..never have done so. I approached you and said “so where are we going tonight?” And your rude face said” I don’t know where you are going but I am going to my bar” I thought. With a did you really just say that to my face? This boy is trouble! I know now to listen to that fist instinct. No matter how cute a snake looks, some carry venom. Anyway I just walked away haha, because how to reply to that right? Later he talked to me and I handed two word sentences. But you approached me, right after you made me Carry over the tray to the floor, thanks for not doing your job in delivering on a 5top kind of night. “Hey stop” as you stroked my hand. I turned to you and looked in you bright brown eyes. “It isn’t that I wouldn’t want to take you out tonight, but I just have people to sort out, and tell them they can’t be at that bar when I’m there with you. To protect you. Why not Friday? It gives me time to clear the air” Danger danger danger! Why can’t I listen to my thought when I say anything??! It’s because you look like him, like that only guy you that broke my heart the sapphire beauty! The one who taught me to value and love my self. Somehow I want you to be just like him gentle and assertive when I want to hear it. I’m soo wrong! I fell for it. Like my body was in no agreement with any of my vital organs. I can hear people say it over and over again!How do you breathe in that relationship, You are happy? Is he really this much of a jerk outside of work too? All and all I’ve heard. The person I should have listened too was you, my sister that knows my darkest hours. I am sorry for that! Eternally great full you taught me how to diferénciate the diamonds from the rocks. Our roller coaster was an 11month, one that made me see so much of who I was becoming. Who I’ve let be manipulated to be. Who I wanted to be was no where in the distance. All I knew is I was stuck with you! Like you loved to remind me every night. As if getting car jacked by you to “go home” wasn’t my biggest problem you stopped loving me! And I couldn’t get you away! Because after all our disagreement you would say and do somethings to make me fall back in love with you. But swinging on swings because I begged for fresh air; and singing that song to me like we where the only two in that time and space. All that got you sick. Sick of me and the routine you felt you had to do to keep me around? I think you loved my car more. Over all that, that you felt you had to do I still loved you for wanting to make me happy and keep me strong. We had our better moments. Or I wouldn’t have tattooed your name on my heart, or thought about what our kids would do or look like. We had a happy family in my head. But like our differences where like our jobs. Getting fired from where we meet , to working together at a sports bar I knew. To then you getting me fired because I was giving you too much lip about why you light up when you see that manager? Right in my face. I know you wanted out! Me too! But you still kept me threatened to be my self, to be stronger, because the truth is I was better than you and it took me too long to realize it wouldn’t work out. In the mean time I got another job and tried my best to make you feel more manly than me, I laugh because even when I wasn’t trying I would always be tougher but a coward you would hurt my family.That’s when I meet the crazies.

The crazies was this kitchen I worked for that had a 30minute time limit to get the order taken, made and delivered. But this kitchen always had something going on. They where a bunch of on the job alcoholics and nuts. And there you where. My distraction from the real world. Just a friend someone I never saw my self running away with and yet we had so much in common. Oh boy how you loved to stare at me work. Always wanted to squeeze by me any chance you got. To stroke my hand, my, mind know it was just the heat of the kitchen that made us blush. Yup we where each others distraction through the night to get done quicker. Clearly since my life with you was miserable I needed all the smiles I could steal off work. That flame burnt, over me lip singing fethish by Selena Gomez, seeing how easily I can tease you. Whoops! That’s no fun is it Stan..Then I got outside to catch you John, like a creeper waiting out back for me, in the beginning it was cute..Till our fights where so annoying that you waited elsewhere with your lies of course my car and who ever you let in it that left traces of them sitting on my seat..you make bad choices, but I had my skeletons too. Until I meet a fox. They warn you about these Aladdin looking and Disney singing happy go lucky gentlemen. I can’t remember the first words we spoke but then I asked for your name. John you said. Damn! Another one I thought. I laughed ohh no not that name. “What’s wrong with my name? Well that all depends are you John the heartbroken or the heartbreaker? And with out hesitation “ oh definitely the heart broken”we shall see about that “sir John” and I walked away. I know to stay clear from you but your friends they brought us together I thank the fry cook and the other asshole John that forced me to fake my cars death. And break. That I had to beg for a ride Home. From some one I didn’t know what your best friend damn there was no escaping that fate. Hahahahaha! Oh I can see my crazy mind mentally breaking up with John to be with John. Because this John is everything I love in a soul, mixed with the beauty life is. I saw where I had to be, you had the schedule and smile I had before I even meet John. Did you know Jon is another name for the potty. Anyways. I have commitment issues acknowledges and changes it. That’s life. Learning. Even weighing about you. Makes me laugh and cry all at the same time. I am sorry. For how I ended our short love story. It will never be enough, not even if a million dreams rewrite the stars. That’s how you make me feel like if a million dreams for the world were gonna make. Lord I am shaking! , catch up heart! Saw what happened there my heart just meet its match and I was trapped in a toxic wasteland of drowning in tears. Terrified to leave someone that saw right through me. Help me! I can hear the universe yelling at me he’s not right for me. But I’ve stayed.. why am I scared to leave a crazy. Leave a rock! empty, empathy-less, monkey that can’t control his emotions even when he can. If it where up to me I would slap me blind sided. Maybe even punch me in the face? Right? That was your favorite phrase to me. —(This is where the 1800 get help from an abusive relationship I do t want my parents knowing about was known and will cause some problems goes**)— Sorry that I never got to escape with out scrapes and bruises..a Minch of them from crawling away from you; under a bridge that was steep, like spider Gwen I was slanted stepping and grabbing on for my dear life away from you! walkway that overlooked to uncharted waters of the great monster of they abyss that was about to pop I swear out of the water at the end of that tunnel. Meow! So dramatic but true. All because I wanted to go home alone. To be away from you because you where suffocating me! Grasp! A Ghasp of air! I have tried to leave you for a while John John my escape from this balcony my Romeo on the rockx! I am sorry that I left you.

Thats why John I guess we couldn’t be together. You deserved better. Though I let my self believe for that one night that I was going to send you to find out what John was doing if I never showed up that night. And you said he was with her. The her I knew he took my car to go pick up and waste my gas with. So I beloved to hear I was right and that exploiting my heart with you was okay. Remember kareeokee with you was my sleeping beauty scene with red wine lips and roses cheeks that lock between our glistening eyes from the day we meet. Wow how they still sparkle in my head!!my sister would have loved to hear I traded that old fart for my diamond in the roughest. After falling for you I feared your safety and mine. I had to break your heart to keep us safe. John. Remember me..? I’ll always be waiting for you. Kinda. To my sister: Forgive me for hearing your voice as my voice of reason always, with everything I do; you are the last person I wanted to disagree with I finally see that light, and its like God talks through you. Johns’ thruth is that I lost you. Because I needed too. One was the one I let go pass me on that walk home. The other the one I should have stayed away from. To begging with. However God had his plans and lessons. And I don’t regret putting up with you. Now it’s September almost my birthday. And I feel something inside my heart. It’s a little miracle that’s kindly giving me the strength to get rid of all the darkness in our life. Because now it’s momma and her against the world! no one is going to stop us! we are titanium! You Valerie where the first one I told. You come to my room to give me a hug and kiss on my birthday and apologize for not getting me a gift. When I laugh and turn to you to say. “Don’t worry God has given me the best early birthday gift!” Both in shock happy and crying o knew this was a beautiful beginning, to all the pain I put my self through. Truth is who’s baby is it anyways? Was everyone’s game! Mom and sister thank you for plying and for being there through my single pregnancy with out my families supporting me I don’t know what life it would be the one could have lived. Daughter I know we will reach all our wild dreams! Thank you for choosing me as your mommy! You saved me! God thank you for removing the bad in my life. The thing with life is when you can do something, and you let the universe drag it out of you. Your energy needs to better and succeed or it will keep dragging what’s holding you from that. To my wonderful friend, warrior, angel sister that I owe all my life’s smiles too! Thank you for your love and understanding and forgive me that after 16 months of happiness and waking up like momma hens to check on the baby that had made us so united and happy! One January first you left, to a high school reunion Getty, and you where last seen January 5th on a white cascate in an adoring lilo and stitch funeral blue like your nails and a sea of lamented crying people that you touched and broke with your parting. I am sorry that you need to know that you missed out on you nieces birthday. That you couldn’t see her run and learn to walk! I’m so honored and blessed you taught her how to crawl to the remote, up to this day she will five finger swipe it off the cup holder and run away laughing like a little naughty little mermaid! Just like you!I remember waking up January2nd I thought I heard you come home, slamming down stairs, thumping up the stairs and hearing you didn’t even use the bathroom as you slammed the bedroom door. That’s why when I woke up I couldn’t believe your door was wide open lights on and the bed made a mess. But where where you?? Where where you? Lost? Or in trouble I jumped to conclusion. Barefoot I ran outside looking for your car, all around the complex I remember. Praying God please!! Yelling at you better be okay! You better be in love with a guy and that that’s the reason you’re not here! God please save her God protect her I kept saying. My heart knew.

My fear was that you where kidnapped and hurt by them! I couldn’t believe what was going on. When I got home my poor mom, on her knees crying! praying. I called my dad, told him Valerie never got Home that he needs to come over now! He snapped!He knew nothing good would come from this random act of event. You see people like you don’t just not come home they make sure someone knows they’re safe. I called all your friends knowing you hate me contacting them. As we all in our own way, prepared for the worst. I saw how my mom was slowly losing her fate when she said some detectives have my sisters phone and they where coming over. Scared , I called the cops something seemed fishy about the situation. Then I saw my dads face when he got to my house bloodshot look in his face, pale, saying where is she what hospital is she in. And I was trying to keep composure for every one. I knew she wasn’t t dead I thought we had this connection that made me feel she was well! This was all a lie. It’s copping mechanisms I know that know. Then you guys walked in some detectives you are! I had to ask for your badges. Starting off with is this the home of such and so, confirm this and that, well we regret to inform you as of the late hours of 2:55 am she was impacted by a car, and unfortunately the injury Valerie revived where terminal. And she did not make it. Blah blah blah. What did they just say my mom asks. Dad explains..You know in the movies when everything goes silent and you can hear a high pitch ring in the background. And all you see everything fall in slow motion. Well it’s true. Losing you was like losing a vital organ bone of the previous pain mattered after that day. Your untimely parting broke me like no other. It will never be enough, not even if a million dreams rewrite the stars. That’s how you make me feel like if a million dreams for the world were making. Lord I am shaking! , catch up heart! Nah but seriously I have a hole in my heart it’s called a murmur. I miss you by seconds. Your my chikita banana for life you’ll always be my OHANA that keeps my baby daddy secret.

#physical abuse #abusive relationship #love poem #lovestory #john #dear john #dear diary #self help #ohanameansfamily #ohanamanana #grief #grievance #valerie #spidergwen #spilled poetry #spidermom #comics

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queen-ofsunflowers · 5 years

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Queen Plays KH3 Pt. 3

TIME PLAYED: 28 hrs, 4 min.

CURRENT LEVEL: 40

DEATH COUNTER: 32

WORLDS COMPLETED:

Olympus

Twilight Town

Toy Box

Kingdom of Corona

Monstropolis

100 Acre Wood

Arendelle

The Carribean

San Fransokyo

The Final World

The rest is under the cut to avoid spoilers. Read at your own risk... though most of it is just keysmashin at the end.

Starting off with the Caribbean. And I like Jack, I really do. But I wanna smack him, he's such a jerk. And I think we died? We fell off the edge of the world and now Elizabeth is saying we ending up in Davy Jones's Locker. Great, but I'VE DIED 14 TIMES AT THIS POINT. It's just funny to me.

Should be noted I've never seen Pirates of the Caribbean. So I'm a little lost on all this.

Sora has a lil crown on his hat I love it.

Jack is a jerk to Will and Elizabeth. After KH2, I do not trust Barbossa. At all.

Something tells me I'm gonna fail A LOT at the ship driving thing.

Sora ain't afraid of no Kraken. He's faced worse. A lil Kraken ain't anything.

Vexen creeps me out a little right now. And what did Xemnas tell Luxord? Must have been something because I feel something is off. Anyway, there must be a reason Vexen wants to finish his work so bad. I wanna know it. I NEED TO KNOW IT.

It's so weird seeing Sora without gloves on. He has nice hands.

SORA BEING SO BADASS. JUST FLOWMOTIONING ON THE SMOKE AND RIDING THE HEARTLESS. SO CINMEATICALLY BEAUTIFUL.

I DIED THREE TIMES IN THAT BATTLE. THREE. TIMES.

And then Sora went splat.

Is that what Tia Dalma said to Sora? What is she talking about? Free her from what? Eh. We'll find out.

Something tells me, when Sora was a kid... he wanted to be a pirate. Very badly.

Jack may be a jerk, but he's a jerk who's not gonna leave a kid in a cavern.

Luxord calling parley and I'm like "not this shit again"

Jack Sparrow is such a DUMBASS.

Technically, Sora drives the Gummi Ship. He's the captain of it then, right?

Wait what. WAIT WHAT. OH MY GOD CRAB JACK EXPLODED.

The graphics in this world are so GOOD OH MY GOSH

IS ELIZABETH THE PIRATE KING? QUEEN? ... I need to watch these movies now.

When an encounter is cut off by a cutscene. Also, WTF is up with the way Sora pronounced Luxord? Like... "luke sword" is that how you're supposed to say it? I don't remember. I'm gonna continue to say Lux-ord. Say it like how spelled.

DEATH COUNT KEEPS GETTING HIGHER WITH THIS FIGHT. I'M UP TO 19. I'm gonna look up a walkthrough to help, hold on-- I gotta level up this fucking ship before I go any further. I don't want to die a bunch. Putting the story on hold for now. Gotta find crabs. That sounds so weird to say.

I love how the sounds underwater are muffled. It's a nice detail.

THIS BATTLE MAY COUNT FOR HALF OF MY DEATHS (27 so far) BUT I FINALLY BEAT THAT PIRATE GAMBLER WANNABE. OH SWEET LORD YES.

So Will and Co. Ddd our job for us. Or did they? Tia Dalma/Calypso... can she help us? She's a prisoner. But Sora's giving a protagonist speech, so I'm not complaining.

Sora joining in Elizabeth's speech, like... do you even know what "hoist the colors" means boy?!

The Organization are looking for hope. I can see the gears turning in Sora's head. Maybe they aren't so bad after all? Hmm.

"Then I invoke the right of parle--" Jack just comes up to Luxord, puts a finger to his mouth. Like... "No. No parley." Bitch finally learned.

RIP Luxord. Also, something tells me he was pirate before becoming a Nobody. I don't know, just a hunch.

Sora probably knows more about the heart than others. And Jack and I can agree on something.

Jones, stabs Will. SORA LITERALLY LOSES HIS SHIT AND TACKLES THE SQUIDMAN LIKE... YES BUT NO. RIP DAVY JONES. But seriously. THIS SCENE IS SO SAD OH MY GOD WYF JUST HAPPENED!? CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN?!

WTF WILL?! HOW IS HE ALIVE?! Wait... And thank you for explaining it right after I figured it out.

Jack is a major mood right now.

MY SHIP WAS JUST A BUNCH OF FUCKING CRABS.

Back with our redheads, Axel's having emotional problems. Talk about them man. Just talk.

LEA REMEMBERS VENTUS. HE REMEMBERS VEN.

I REMMEMVER THIS PART FROM THE TRAILER. NO, MICKEY. SAVE HIM RIKU.

Cut to Ansem the wise, and Ansem SOB

YAS KIDS YAS. I LOVE HAYNER PENCE AND OLETTE RIGHT NIW. THESE KIDS OH MY GOSH.

Why did the Nobody protect him?!WHAT IS GOING ON?!

VEXEN GET OUT.

Wait what?! Um... WHAT?! AND THE SCENE CUTS OFF THERE LIKE WTF. IS HE A SPY?! IS EVEN JUST PLAYING VEXEN WTF?!

I love Sora's reactions in San Fransokyo. They're so dorky. SORA IS SUCH A DORK I LOVE HIM.

I wanna hug from Baymax.

Sora is a simple Island boy, he's so fascinated by tech.

It sounds like they're saying Yu-Gi-Oh. Is that just me? ITS TIME TO DUEL. THE HEARTLESS.

SORA DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A FIST BUMP IS. THAT WAS SO CUTE.

AHHH SORA AND ROXAS. THAT WAS... JUST... "I'M WITH YOU"... AHHH

What are those things? Are they from Coded? I'm not sure... and that ain't a good thing.

REPLICA. Oh wait, no... I don't think so anyway?

Goofy talking sense into Sora. It's the dad in him.

His eyes also look more hazel than gold.

BAYMAX. WHY MUST YOU DO THIS FAKE RIKU. WHY.

Just like the end of the movie, the end of this world is so freaking SAD. ... I TAKE IT BACK ITS SO FREAKING SWEET!!!! Its official. That is my favorite world now.

Now it's time for the beginning of the end.

RIKU MICKEY NO. Really hope Sora knows what he's doing.

OH MY GOD. THAT. OH MY GOD.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. I KNOW THIS FROM THE TRAILER. NO THIS ISN'T GOOD. THIS CANT BE GOOD.

Can I say that Riku has grown so much since the first game? Because he has. It's good and I love AND NOW LETS SAVE AQUA

Sora is a... wha. SORA. BROS. SAVING THE DAY ONCE AGAIN. AHHHHH YESSS. AQUA IM SO SORRY I HAD TO DO THIS. PLEASE BE OKAY.

SHE'S OKAY. SORA SAVED HER SHE'S OKAY. TEN YEARS AND SHE'S OKAY I CANT STOP SMILING.

AHHH EVEN AND DEMYX. I knew that Demyx wasn't like... dark. Even had me going, that's for sure. BUT YES. EVERYTHING IS GOOD YES.

OH. I have a theory. And if right... Please let it be right...

THEY HAVE IT. YES DEMYX YES. THEY HAVE THE BODY.

OH MY GOD IENZO AND ANSEM... I COULDN'T STOP SMILING THAT WHOLE TIME JUST THE EMOTION IN THAT WHOLE SCENE--

THE LAND OF DEPATURE. SHE'S FIXING HER HOME. NOW LET'S GO GET VEN!!! AND VANITAS RUINS EVERYTHING. AND AQUA KICKS ASS. YAS QUEEN.

Wait what's going on??? VEN?! IS SORA GONNA HES WAKING HIM UP. HES WAKING HIM UP. VENTUS IS AWAKE. MY BBY BOY ISAWALE!!! "Good morning, Ven." MY HEART.

Lea is a MAJOR MOOD.

MY HEART. THEY STILL HAVE THEIR WAYFINDERS.

THE SCENE BETWEEN LEA AND SAIX. OH MY HEART. HE JUST WANTS HIS FRIENDS. AND HOW ARE THESE TWO NOT REALIZING YET THAT THE GIRL IS KAIRI?! I mean... I know it was ten years ago, but given all that you know so far... guys. Come on. Lea, you should at ke in st put the pieces together by now.

Though, it was nice to get an explantion on WHY Isa and Lea were turned into Nobodies. They just wanted to save Kairi. They were just... a little too late.

REPLICA RIKU. THE PRESENT DAY ONE I GUESS??? AHHH. It is only later that my dumbass realizes that this is Past!Riku, the one controlled by Ansem. Forgive me about this.

MY KIDS. SO SWEET.

The day has finally come. I am ready. ... I am not ready.

AND THE CHOSEN KICK ASS. With a train. Woo woo.

What just happened. WHAT JUST HAPPENED?! I DIED?!

CHIRITHY. His voice sounds familiar...

Words cannot describe... how amazing the next few scenes are. Like... Sora... my man... I just... I want everything for you. Please let everyone survive this to the end.

THEKEYBLADES U ION CROSS HAS A REASON FOR EXISTING. AHHH MY BOY.

RIKU NO. HIW DO YOU NOT REMEMBER. Never mind answered my own question. Xehanort’s heart and shit. Nevermind. Time to kick heartless ass.

Also, just noticed that Lea's Keyblade glows. And he's holding it the same way he did his chakrams. Nice.

Yen Sid coming to save our asses. THA K YOU. And thank you, Donald. Goofy. Thanks.

And now... the final battle truly begins... tomorrow.

It's late now, and I'm a bit sad because I really wanted to beat this game today. I'm keeping my fingers crossed I can finish it before I have to go to work tomorrow, if not then on Sunday.

Guys... wish me luck. I'll take advice if anyone has any...

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singlemama2018 · 5 years

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Recently Divorced and Online Dating (Part II)

The FWB (friend with benefits) continued...

So I had decided to make the first guy I slept with after my divorce a friend with benefits, because we had such great physical chemistry and he was not the commitment type. We had hung out for about two months and I continued to do online dating in the meantime. I had even met two of his kids. Trying to meet another guy when you are still stuck on another is not very realistic and none of my dates had materialised into a relationship. Basically, I was stuck on my FWB and was secretly hoping he would suddenly realize that he wanted a relationship.

Captain Jack Sparrow

After about two months, while continuing to see my FWB, I had started chatting with another guy from OK Cupid, who was very interesting and had A LOT to say. He was into Disney and Cosplay. He also had a daughter in college who lived with him. If nothing else, he was interesting enough to distract me. So I decided to go on a date with the Disney, dress up guy and just try to move on. I told my FWB I had a date and he texted me right before my date to see if I was still going and I told him I was. My friend gave me a makeover and we posted my pics to my Instagram with a note, "So excited for tonight." My FWB was jealous! I actually had made him jealous! I felt a bit satisfied that I was going in the right direction, but I knew I should move on, since he was bad for me. Anywho, the new guy liked to dress up like Captain Jack Sparrow and actually looked A LOT like him.

So we met that evening for miniature golf. He had just come from a funeral. I asked him if he was sure he was ok, and he said he was. We joked around and had a great time. He showed me pics of his Cosplay costumes and I showed him pics of my Wonder Woman costume at ComicCon. He showed me one of Captain Jack Sparrow... sexy, Indiana Jones...sexy too, then he showed me Jason from Friday the 13th...scary! I was thinking, "you better not put that on and chase me with it!"

At the end of our date, around midnight, I was so tired and we were talking. He was looking around, but avoiding eye contact and gave me a "polite" hug. I figured, "Another guy who isn't that into me...oh well..." and we went our separate ways for the night.

But my night was not over yet. As soon as I walk in my door, I get a text from my FWB, "How was your date?" Of course, still stuck on the jerk, I answer him back and he tells me he is stuck at a club with his friends and wants to leave. Stupidly, I agree to go get him and take him home. That night, he tells me that he is interested in a relationship with me, in not so many words. Then, he tells me about his time in prison, when he was young and crazy and how he turned his life around with God and the Bible. I am a bit confused what to think at this point, but I drop him off.

The next day I go to Best Buy and get a new phone and take it home. I text my FWB since I haven't heard from him and ask how he is doing. No reply...next day, no reply as well. This is getting strange, so I text him a mean text that he has no cahones for ghosting me.

The next day, I geta text from Captain Sparrow that he enjoyed our date. I am still hung up on FWB at this point and say the typical, let's be friends text, never expecting to hear from him again. But, to my amazement, he says ok. We start talking on the phone that night and he starts to give me advice about my FWB. I notice his is voice on the phone is sexy...like Antonio Banderas sexy...Iike getting advice from Zorro or Puss in Boots.

I start to flirt with Captain Sparrow/ Puss in Boots and start to forget about my FWB. After I realize my FWB is not messaging me anymore and this guy is getting more interesting, I decide to give it a shot with the new guy.

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accio-ambition · 7 years

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Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the wonderful and encouraging words in response to the first chapter! Honestly, the amount of messages and tag screaming I received made me so happy. I cannot express how much I appreciated every single comment. I can only hope that I do the story and you guys justice. :) I forgot to mention last time that I’ll be updating this every Tuesday and Friday well into sweater weather season. And also we don’t meet Killian for a little while yet, whoops, did, please don’t kill me. Another huge thank you to @sotheylived for beta-ing and @shipsxahoy and @queen-icicle-fandom for the lovely accompanying art. You guys are the best! Go give shipsxahoy’s original post of the cover and queen-icicle-fandom’s snapshots from the first chapter, as well as the other @captainswanbigbang stories, some love. I’m working my way through them right now and they’re all SO GOOD.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: T Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/AO3

Chapter Two

With the weekend behind them, Emma at least has work to keep her mind off of the impending future: Jefferson’s offer, David’s advice, the possibility of moving. This series she’s working on, it’s alright. The cast is sweet – especially Anna, who’s too bubbly for her own good and exactly what casting was looking for in their main character. But it’s minimal work for her. They’re filming on a fucking camcorder approximately four years past ancient.

But it’s a gig. For such a shitty set up, it’s not all that shitty. The pay is good, the food is better, and she gets the weekends off to hang out with her son.

Her traitorous mind thinks of the possibilities. Maybe it would be good to sort of…settle. Good for Henry – he could make better friends if they have to stay in town for a set amount of months instead of moving wherever they’re filming. He could focus better in school, maybe join a sports team.

And her. It could be good for her. She knows Mary Margaret and David and Jefferson, so she wouldn’t have to worry about making friends or having people to watch Henry if something urgent comes up. She’d have a job already set up that has the potential to go on for years. And it’d be an adventure: she’s never so much as been on a boat, let alone know how it works.

“Doesn’t seem like a good idea, actually,” she mumbles to herself as she fixes the camera minutely, trying to adjust for Anna’s subtle shift in positioning.

“What was that?” the director asks her. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope,” Emma quickly answers, standing up and backing away. “Everything’s fine, just talking to myself.”

She can’t come to a decision by the end of the week, something particularly unusual. Even since Henry was born, Emma’s been more of a shoot first, ask questions later sort of person. It’s how she survived and sort of thrived growing up in the foster system. But something about this opportunity – the time, the people involved, everything – gives her pause.

Unsurprisingly, it’s her son that makes her decision for her. Saturday morning is rainy and ugly. The perfect kind of day for catching up on the movies they both managed to miss in theaters.

Instead of connecting her laptop to the TV, Henry sits down next to her with the laptop in hand.

“I’ve got so many questions,” she says sarcastically. “One, what are you doing with my laptop and, two, why aren’t Kate McKinnon and Leslie Jones on my TV right now?”

“Ghostbusters can wait, mom,” Henry huffs. “This is more important.” He presses a couple of keys on the laptop and shifts around on the couch so that the computer screen is completely hidden from her. For a moment, Henry sits there and looks at her, as if he’s gauging her reaction to news she hasn’t heard yet.

Then he inhales deeply. “I found us a house.”

She’s flabbergasted. “What?”

He turns the laptop so she can see the screen properly. “A house,” he repeats himself. “In Storybrooke. For when we go there.”

Taking a look at what the kid’s pulled up on the screen, Emma’s jaw drops even further. “Kid, I haven’t even accepted the job yet.”

The screen shrinks from her view as Henry sets the computer back on his lap and scoots away. “Why not?” he asks.

“Partially because you hadn’t said anything.”

Henry shrugs, his focus turning to the house on the screen before him. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“But won’t you miss your friends here?” Emma inquires.

“Mom, I’ll make new friends,” he reasons, flopping onto the couch cushion behind him. “I think it would be really good for us. Plus I could finally see snow.”

That makes her chuckle, reaching forward to pinch his knee so it jerks. “Is that what this is all about?” she asks him. When he doesn’t immediately answer and she spots his bashful look, Emma sighs. “Henry, all you had to do was ask and we could’ve driven up to Denver or something and gone skiing.”

Henry mumbles something unintelligible, wiggling away from her so that she doesn’t pinch his knee again. When he’s got his back to the opposite end of the couch, he shoots her with a withering look.

“Take the job, mom. Stop looking for a reason to run from it.”

It’s moments like these where Emma can’t help but grin. If she had any doubt as to who’s child this was, it’s accusations and truths as he’s just said that remind her Henry is hers. He knows her so well because, beneath it all, that is exactly why she hasn’t answered Jefferson’s offer yet.

(And she did have concerns about the kid, that wasn’t a lie. She is a mother, at the end of the day.)

“Then look at the house,” Henry continues. “It’s got a fireplace and an upstairs and it’s pretty close to the water.”

“Really?” she asks. Following her son’s finger, Emma spots the little map. It’s got a green pop-up that represents the house and, just as Henry said, three streets over is water. “I bet you can see the ocean from the top floor.”

“Dibs!” he shouts in her ear.

“What are you dibs-ing?”

“I call dibs on a bedroom with a view of the ocean.”

“Um, I’m the parent here, I get first dibs on everything.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Yes it is, you’ll understand when you’re older.” Emma exhales noisily, letting out a little moan along with it. She lets her head loll back on the couch and stares at the ceiling in contemplation. “So we’re really doing this?”

Henry grabs the phone and hands it to her. “Operation Pirate is a go.”

With a resigned sigh, she dials Jefferson. “Can’t you come up with a different name?” she asks as she searches for Jefferson’s number. “You know I’m not going to be following Jack Sparrow or Long John Silver or anything like that.”

Henry shrugs. “Operation Go Fish doesn’t have as nice a ring to it.”

Mimicking his shrug, Emma mumbles, “Fair” before the phone connection goes through and she’s greeted with, “Hello, Emma Swan” from the other side.

“Hello Jefferson.” She winces a little because her voice sounds stern even to her own ears. “Um, I’m calling to-”

“Now wait,” Jefferson interrupts her swiftly. “Should I be sitting down? Do I need a box of Kleenex? Grace!” he yells. “Can you find your papa some Kleenex?”

“What are you talking about, Jeff?”

“I’m assuming you’re calling to let me down gently,” he says matter-of-factly.

Emma chuckles. “No, I was calling to accept.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she repeats herself. “I mean, unless you want someone else.”

“No, Em, this is going to be delightful!” Hearing how happy her old friend is on the other end of the line makes her smile. Jefferson’s always been a bit eccentric - a little crazy more often than not - and thus is always at one extreme end of the reaction spectrum. At least this time around, it’s the positive side. “So do you think you can get up here by the last week of June? Little prep time, get to know the ship, et cetera, et cetera.”

Emma gives Henry a thumbs up. “I think I can manage that.”

“Amaaazing,” Jefferson sings. “We’ve already got a place up there we’re moving to in three weeks, so we’ll be on site if you’ve got any concerns. We can look for places for you two.”

Sending a sly eye across the couch to her son, she says, “Actually, Henry’s already on that mission.”

Jefferson chuckles. “What a forward-thinking son you’ve got there,” he says. “Wonderful. You know how to reach me if something comes up. I’m working with the network on contracts and salaries and such, but we can figure out the nitty-gritty in person.”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine. So long as I’m getting paid.”

“Of course. I’m working for something in the almost exorbitant range.”

“As long as I can keep my kid alive, I’m fine with whatever.”

“Great.” There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation before Jefferson, a tad more serious than she’s used to hearing him, assures her. “This is going to be great, Em. Don’t have any doubts.”

“I don’t have any yet.” Henry starts waving erratically at her, causing her to roll her eyes. “The kid’s having a stroke or something trying to get my attention, so I’ll call you if I have any trouble.”

“Awesome. Goodbye, Emma Swan.”

“Bye Jeff.”

“Bye Jefferson, bye Grace!” Henry shouts before Emma hangs up with a sigh.

Rolling her shoulders back, Emma prepares herself for her son’s enthusiasm. Where he got so much of it, she’ll never know. “Alright, kid, so what have you got for me?”

“You’re gonna love it,” he says, flicking through the pictures.

Her first thought is, “It’s a house,” which she shares aloud.

She hasn’t lived in a house in years. They’re too expensive for her paycheck, too big for just her and Henry, and too permanent for her lifestyle and history. Since he’s been born, it’s been apartment after apartment with an occasional loft thrown in to change things up a little. And it’s worked well.

But, Emma supposes, now that Henry’s growing up and getting older, it makes sense for him to experience that white picket fence life.

“That’s what I said,” he sassily responds. At her raised brow, Henry exhales and gestures toward the computer screen. “I looked for apartments. They don’t really have anything good for us, but they’ve got a bunch of houses.” He clicks through a couple of the pictures and Emma gets a general idea of what the place looks like. Henry stops at one picture in particular that shows what looks like a living room. “Look, a fireplace.”

All Emma can see is the enormous number to buy - not even rent, buy, you’ve got to buy the place - the place. It’s got too many high numbers for her liking. “It’s a bit too expensive, Henry,” she tells him gently. “But we can call the realtor and see if they’ve got something else like this place.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see her son’s shoulders fall a little. “Okay,” he mumbles dejectedly. And then he’s clicking around on the laptop again, another picture of another house popping up on the screen. “But what about this one?” he asks, excitement in his voice once more.

Ghostbusters forgotten, they spend the rest of the morning and a majority of the afternoon looking at houses, finding them on Google Maps, and casually creeping on the town Emma hopes might provide a little bit of home. David wasn’t lying when he said the town was small: Storybrooke had to be less than an eighth the size of Phoenix. One hotel, a diner, an ice cream place, a handful of shops. Two bars, so that counts for something in Emma’s book, not that she would have much time between Henry and filming.

It looks very quaint. Very small town America. And, frankly, she’s kind of afraid. It’s been a decade since she lived somewhere where she knew her neighbors and could chat with whoever she ran into at the grocery store. Smiles on the street and a sense of belonging and community instead of anonymity. That’s what she needed when she had Henry: a way to blend into the crowd to shield herself and her son from any sort of judgment.

“What do you think, Mom?”

“I think it’s gonna be interesting,” she says softly. “Different.”

“Different in a good way or not?”

She shrugs. “Guess we’ll have to see when we get there, right?”

She thinks that’s the end of the conversation – that they’re both sort of jumping into the deep end without much thought – until she’s vacuuming Henry’s room on one of her odd days off and finds a countdown on his bedside table. The number is in the mid-30s on that day and when she flips to the final day, she finds more colors and what looks like balloons. In her son’s script, Emma reads Moving to Storybrooke tomorrow!

The thought of confronting Henry crosses her mind, but the kid’s really excited about this. Surprisingly so. And sensing his enthusiasm makes Emma herself a little more excited about their upcoming adventure. They’ll road trip cross-country to Maine and settle into something a little different than they’re both used to these days.

The whole ordeal of packing is both stressful and calming. Once she settles into the process – taping boxes, filling boxes, labeling boxes, stacking the boxes away – Emma’s brain goes blank. She’s done this so many times before, it’s old hat. When Henry was younger, she’d wrap him in a scarf she’d found and cradle him against her chest, or sit him down with a toy train.

Now, though, they make a game of it, or at least try to. He’s only ten, so his attention span isn’t all too long, but when he does help her out, they shoot objects into the box like a basketball hoop.

(Emma doesn’t bother to fight the fact that she goes through afterwards, once Henry’s lost interest or gone off to do his homework, and reorganizes every box. Over the years, they’ve accumulated much more than she’d ever thought, but she’s still wary and tries to pack it all into as few boxes as humanly possible.)

They still don’t have a place to put all their belongings once they get to Storybrooke. Despite a call to the two realtors in town, Emma’s yet to find a place that Henry likes within her price range. She appreciates that her son has a specific idea of what he wants in his life, but a camerawoman’s salary just does not cover a stone fireplace, a wraparound porch, and a view of the harbor, even if Jefferson’s promised raise turns out. It just doesn’t.

But she’s doing her best, fielding Skype tours early in the morning and spending time after dinner perusing the web. She even calls on Mary Margaret to visit the final contenders in person, just so she can get a feel for it from someone she trusts.

(That leads to late night phone calls catching up and she really, really has missed her closest friend. She didn’t realize how much until the second time it happened, when Mary Margaret brought up an old joke from college that Emma had forgotten about.

It’s been a long time since she laughed so hard she cried.)

The boxes are piling up in a corner of their apartment. Emma’s already locked into a promise to sign a contract with a television network: they’re moving to Maine. They just don’t have a place to live for the time being, despite their hard efforts.

That is, until one afternoon, while she’s packing away temporarily useless kitchen utensils and Henry’s checking what books are available at the library today.

“Mom, this is the house,” Henry tells her. “This is it.”

Her brows furrow as she sets the potato masher on the counter to come sit next to him, getting a perfect view of the screen. Instead of the local library’s portal, he’s on a real estate site. The house he’s talking about is the first house he showed her a couple weeks ago, the one with the fireplace by the water. With a sigh, Emma tries to be gentle with her reminder. “We already looked at that house, kid, and I told you-”

“That it was expensive, I know,” he interrupts her. “But look at it now.”

At first, she glances at the computer screen just to appease her son. But, on second look, Emma sees what he’s referring to: the price has gone down significantly, to just within their price range.

“W-what?” she stutters. “How?”

Henry’s got this shy smile he’s trying to hide, the expression he always wears when he’s about to tell her something he’s done but knows he shouldn’t have. “I called the realtor of that house to talk to her and she told me that David and Mary Margaret live in the house next door,” he explains. “So she called them up and talked to them and realized she knew Mary Margaret and brought the price down.”

“What?”

Henry shrugs. She supposes that could make some semblance of sense - Henry relating their financial situation to the realtor, and then the realtor called the Nolans as a reference check. It’s possible Mary Margaret posed as another potential buyer. It could be possible. Improbable, but possible.

Mary Margaret would say it was a sign. You’re supposed to be in this house at this point in life, something like that. And Emma can’t say she wouldn’t agree. The cards seemed to be falling in just the right way.

“I really like this place, Mom,” Henry says, interrupting her thoughts. Gesturing toward the screen again, he adds, “And at this rate, it would be rude not to live there, after what Ms. Shoemaker did.”

Loathe though she is to admit it, the kid’s got a point. The realtor, Ms. Shoemaker, obviously wants this house off her hands if she’s willing to lower the price that much just for them to live there. And, Emma reasons, she would feel a little bad for putting the woman through all that trouble just to decide no.

And the house is really nice. A house.

Emma glares at her son, scolding him with a stern finger to his nose. “You’re manipulative, you know that, right?”

Henry whoops in excitement, jumping off his chair and throwing his arms up in celebration. “Fireplaces and snowmen!” he shouts. Returning to her side, he hugs her tightly as she laughs. “And when Christmas comes, we can get a real tree!”

Gently pushing him away, Emma goes back to her task of sorting the utensils. “All right, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve still got to pack all this stuff up.”

“But Moooom,” her son complains loudly. “A house. We’ve only lived in apartments.” Henry tugs at the hem of her shirt. “C’mon, Mom, let’s celebrate a little bit. We can pack some more tomorrow.”

(It is a really big thing, he’s got a point. Buying a house is a really adult thing.)

(The voice of reason in the back of her head reminds her that she’s only decided to buy a house. She’s still got to call up Ms. Shoemaker to accept her offer. Well, she should probably check her bank account first, and then she’ll probably have to apply for some sort of loan or something.)

(But she’s going to buy a house. White picket fence and all.)

Setting down the slotted spoon in her hand with a reluctant sigh, Emma turns to Henry. “How about some ice cream?” she suggests.

Her son’s bright smile in response reminds her why Emma does anything in the first place.

#csbb #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #ditlot #my words #storytime #i didnt realize how much time it took to meet killian #sorry about that #BUT EMMA BOUGHT HER HOUSE ITS SO CUTE SHES SO HAPPY #ALSO HENRY AND EMMA #guys i dont think we as writers write enough of that #i fucking love their relationship #and pretty much any parent/child relationship like it

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lol-jackles · 7 years

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I read that Jensen didn't like soulless Sam because it was hard for him to act with Jared like that. I don't feel that was the reason, but more that he had to play the straight man to Jared's new characterization, and he didn't get the fun lines anymore. Your thoughts?

I’ve had the same thoughts as well. Fans thought it was weird of Jensen to complain about the difficulties of working opposite of Jared when he’s not Sam because he couldn’t rely on the same methods that worked so well for him for the last 5 years. Fans were like, but you’re an actor, aren’t you supposed to, well, act? Remember kids, Jensen has been playing Jensen “Dean Winchester” Ackles for most of his TV and movie roles. What worked on Supernatural with Sam as Dean’s partner didn’t work on Smallville with Lana as Jason’s (love) partner. So what Jensen publicly said was valid, just not what people thought he meant. And this lead to why he didn’t like Gamble’s “domestic Dean” arc.

To successfully play the underrated straight-man character, you not only need to be a good actor but you also need to be generous i.e. not hog the screen time as the more eccentric characters run free and wild. For example, Orlando Bloom’s straight-arrow heroic Will Turner to Johnny Depp’s larger than life Jack Sparrow. People rightly predicted that a Pirate of the Caribeean without Will Turner and with only Jack Sparrow to focus on would be as unsatisfying as a Shrek sequel starring only Donkey. Say what you will of Orlando’s capabilities as a leading man, he has on screen generosity that makes him an excellent player in an ensamble cast.

An actor who is generous with screentime doesn’t mean they’re humble in real life, it just means that is how their talent comes across. Just like some actors come across as very likable on screen but are jerks in real life. Jensen’s acting isn’t generous, and I’ve alway wondered if the AAs picked up on that and misinterpret to mean he should be a leading man instead and hence they campaigned extra to change to show to make his character the lead protagonist.

#acting #anti #Jack sparrow #will turner #generous

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dantediscoversfic · 7 years

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Chapter 17: Migration

Our yard had a big cedar elm whose branches brushed pretty close to one of my bedroom windows. I think that’s why I would often get birds hanging out on my windowsill. I liked waking up and seeing them there. We kept several bird-feeders around the yard and I liked figuring out which birds were the same ones I saw on my windowsill. I recorded my sightings and observations in a Field Notes journal. One year for Christmas my parents got me a ‘Birds of Texas’ poster with beautiful painted illustrations of common backyard birds. I loved their names: white-winged dove, pyrrhuloxia, canyon towhee, vesper sparrow, crissal thrasher, white-throated swift, red-winged blackbird, house finch, starling. Their names were like poems. I liked drawing birds, too. But not Texas birds, entirely made-up birds: the persimmon-tufted rocketbird, the tawny tailblaster, the water wawso.

The day that I would come to think of as Dead Bird Day began like any other day. The radio alarm woke me up. Stevie Nicks was throatily belting ‘The Edge of Seventeen’ and a grackle was tittering around my windowsill. I took those as good signs. I whistled to the bird and tapped on the window to say hello. I went downstairs, ate breakfast, and went to the pool to meet Ari. After we were done swimming we went back to my house. We sat on my front porch. My shoes were off and I was staring at my feet. Particularly, I was looking with mild disgust and fascination at all the little hairs on my toes that had suddenly sprung up, as if overnight, like Jack’s beanstalk. I wasn’t sure what I felt about them. The last thing I wanted was to end up with hairy and knobby Hobbit feet.

I looked up from my feet and saw that Ari was smiling at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I was just smiling,” he said. “Can’t a guy smile?”

“You’re not telling me the truth.” I’d been trying to work on his whole not-talking thing by calling him out on it (with limited success). Sometimes it worked. Other times he stayed as close-lipped as a clam.

“Okay,” he said. “I was smiling because you were looking at your feet.”

“That’s a funny thing to smile about.”

“It’s weird,” he said. “Who does that—looks at their feet? Except you.”

“It’s not a bad thing to study your own body,” I said. This topic—my body and the changes I’d been going through recently—had been popping up more and more to the forefront of my mind lately. I wanted to talk about it with someone, but as much as I loved my parents they were definitely out of the running and Ari got squeamish about that type of thing. I desperately wanted to know if he was feeling some of the same things I was feeling.

“That’s a really weird thing to say, too,” he said.

But then he’d answer like that and I knew the topic was not open for discussion.

“Whatever,” I said.

“Whatever,” he said.

I changed the subject before either of us could get a chance to get annoyed. “Do you like dogs, Ari?”

“I love dogs.”

“Me too. They don’t have to wear shoes.”

He laughed, his throaty surprised laugh. I loved making him laugh (either intentionally or unintentionally; it didn’t matter to me as long as I was able to chase the sadness out of his eyes).

“I’m going to ask my dad if he’ll get me a dog.” I’d been thinking about it a lot, and I thought I was ready to put Ringo’s memory to rest.

“What kind of dog do you want?”

“I don’t know. One that comes from the shelter. You know, one of those dogs that someone’s thrown away.”

“Yeah, but how will you know which one to pick? There’s a lot of dogs at the shelter. And they all want to be saved.”

“It’s because people are so mean. They throw dogs away like they’re trash. I hate that.”

Then, we heard a loud pffft noise and rustling and boys yelling across the street. There were three boys and two were holding BB guns. I looked up and saw the trail of smoke, then smelled it. One boy was pointing his gun at a tree. “We got one! We got one!” his voice echoed. I realized that they’d killed a bird and were aiming to kill another. And then something fierce and furious inside of me burst open.

I leapt from the porch and ran over to them before I even realized what I was doing. “Hey! Stop that! What the hell’s wrong with you?” I wanted to grab the gun from them but stuck my hand out instead. “Give me that gun.” They were younger and smaller than me, but harder. My heart was thrashing and my right calf muscles were shaky with involuntary spasms but I wasn’t going to let it show to these heartless assholes.

One of the boys sized me up and said, “My ass if I’m gonna give you my BB gun.”

“It’s against the law.”

With one part of my brain I was staring at the boys and trying to make sure they stopped what they were doing. The other part of my brain was trying to figure out if we could still save the bird they’d shot. Could my dad bring it to the vet? I saw its rigid form, its tiny upturned legs, the puncture in the middle of its beautiful white and brown markings and thought crazily Maybe there’s still a chance.

“Second amendment,” the boy said.

“Yeah, second amendment,” his idiotic crony repeated.

“The second amendment doesn’t apply to BB guns, you jerk. And besides, guns aren’t allowed on city property.”

“What are planning to do about it, you piece of shit?”

“I’m going to make you stop.”

“How?”

One of the boys took a step toward me and spit on the ground. My body was already coursing with adrenaline and anger but then I got a sudden stab of fear in my belly. They had guns. The logical side of my brain tried to assure myself that I couldn’t die from a BB gun bullet. But it would still hurt like hell if they shot me. Or kicked me or punched me. Or any combination of all three.

“By kicking your skinny little asses all the way to the Mexican border.”

Ari said that, not me. I turned my head and he was right there next to me. I hadn’t realized he’d crossed the street until that very second, that’s how fixated I’d been on stopping the bird killers.

Ari knew how to fight. I didn’t. I’d seen it that very first day I met him but it almost felt like I’d been witnessing a dream or an apparition of him since he had never showed me that other part of him since that day. But here was that other Ari, tough as nails and mean as hell. I could almost smell it on him, how willing he was to beat the crap out of these kids without a moment’s hesitation, the way you can smell a coming thunderstorm. He eyed them down hard. One of the boys raised his gun like he was about to shoot it at us.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, you little piece of dog shit,” Ari said in this new voice that was menacing and low and slow as molasses. And then like lightning he reached out and grabbed the gun right out of the boy’s hand. “You’re lucky I don’t shove this up your ass.”

He threw the gun on the ground. It made such a loud clattering noise that I winced, momentarily afraid that he’d accidentally caused it to fire.

The boys also flinched at the noise and the shock of what he’d just done. I thought for sure they’d jump us. But then the fight deflated out of them and they left, cussing us out under their breaths as they went.

We watched them walk away. Ari’s fists stayed clenched and his shoulders stayed hunched until they were well down the block. Ari and I looked at each other. I felt like the wind had just got knocked out of me.

“I didn’t know you liked to fight,” I said. Though this wasn’t entirely true. I knew he could hold his own. I didn’t know that a willingness to fight was hovering just below the surface, ready to bolt into violent action at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t really. Not really,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “You like to fight.”

“Maybe I do,” he said. “And I didn’t know you were a pacifist.”

“Maybe I’m not a pacifist. Maybe I just think you need a good reason to go around killing birds.” I looked at him. His jaw was still clenched and his breathing was a little heavy. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to hug him. Or maybe I wanted him to hug me. “You’re good at tossing around bad words, too.”

“Yeah, well, Dante, let’s not tell your mom.”

“We won’t tell yours either.”

He looked at me. “I have a theory about why moms are so strict.”

“It’s because they love us, Ari.”

“That’s part of it. The other part of it is that they want us to stay boys forever.”

“Yeah, I think that would make my mom happy—if I was a boy forever.”

I looked at the bird again. I knew it was dead this time. I don’t know why I thought a few minutes ago I’d be able to save it, like I was a saint or Jesus or God. I hated those boys who killed it. I hated how careless and callous they were about wiping out such a beautiful, harmless creature without so much as a second thought. And then leaving it there like just another piece of trash on the side of the road.

“I’ve never seen you that mad,” Ari said.

“I’ve never seen you that mad, either.”

Neither of us spoke. We both just looked at the bird. I felt for a second like the bird was fluttering inside my chest, banging its fragile body against my throat and wildly flapping its wings like it was trying to escape out of a cage. But then I realized I was just trying to keep myself from crying in front of Ari.

“It’s just a little sparrow,” I said. I felt so sad and small, so useless and weak. I felt the tears coming hot and fast down my cheeks. I turned my face away from Ari.

Boys don’t cry Boys don’t cry Boys don’t cry

I hated that. I hated how ashamed I was that I couldn’t stop crying. I walked back across the street and Ari followed me. He didn’t say anything. I threw my shoes at the ground as hard as I could. That made me feel a little bit better. I sat back down on the porch and wiped my eyes.

“Were you scared?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“I was.”

“So?”

So? What did it mean that I was scared and Ari wasn’t? That Ari could defend himself in a fight and I couldn’t? That I was crying and he wasn’t? I’d made up my mind a while ago that I didn’t want to be ashamed of who I was. I told myself that it’s ok to cry. Crying feels good. Crying helps ease the crushing feeling inside before it gets to be too much to bear. But however irrational and stupid it was, I still felt like I’d failed a test.

We didn’t talk for another few minutes. I was going through in my head everything I could remember about sparrows. Most types that live in Texas don’t migrate in the summer months. They stay here year-round. They mostly eat seeds and insects. There are at least 35 species of sparrow. I wondered if the bird they killed was a boy or girl. I didn’t know why I wondered that.

Ari broke the silence and asked, “Why do birds exist, anyway?”

“You don’t know?”

“I guess I don’t.”

“Birds exist to teach us things about the sky.”

“You believe that?”

“Yes.”

By studying birds, humans had figured out how to build airplanes. Now we could easily traverse the globe, pick up and move far away from our original homes. Families could scatter like seeds on the wind. I pictured in my head maps I’d seen of different migratory patterns of birds across North America: the Pacific Flyaway, Central Flyaway, Mississippi Flyaway, Atlantic Flyaway. Birds migrate to go in search of better nourishment and to increase their chance of survival. My parents left their families for probably similar reasons.

I thought: fly away home, as free as a bird, empty nest, as the crow flies, swan song, wild goose chase, night owl, ugly duckling, odd duck, chicken out, the early bird catches the worm, take under your wing, kill two birds with one stone.

I took a deep breath. “Will you help me bury the bird?” I asked.

“Sure.”

We got a shovel out of the garage. Ari picked up the bird with it and brought it over to my yard. We dug a hole under an oleander and buried the bird there.

I started crying again. This time, I was thinking of when we’d buried Ringo. I still missed him so much. The ache was raw and wide open. Maybe I wasn’t ready to ask for another dog just yet. Or maybe this meant I was ready. My brain was too full to think clearly.

I was also thinking about how beautiful the oleander flowers were and how that made me happy despite the sadness I still felt because of the bird. The blossoms were pink and showy and fragrant. I wanted to pluck one and put it behind my ear. But I couldn’t.

I was thinking how I’ll never fit in anywhere because I’m a migratory bird with no real home to return to.

We stared at the bird’s grave for a little while in silence.

“Thanks,” I said finally.

“Sure,” Ari said.

I was suddenly so tired. I wanted nothing more than to fall right asleep and wake up tomorrow morning to a bird trilling on my windowsill like nothing today had ever happened. But I knew that was as impossible as me bringing the sparrow back to life after the boys shot it.

“Hey,” Ari whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We’ll go swimming,” I said.

“Yeah, we’ll go swimming.”

I went inside. Neither of my parents were home, which was a bit unusual. I took a hot shower and then fell asleep.

When I woke up, my room was dark and I was confused. I saw that I’d only been asleep for a few hours, but I felt like I had been out cold for days. I felt better, though, so I went downstairs. My dad was finishing up making dinner. I hugged both my parents for a long time. I didn’t tell them about the bird but I didn’t need to.

That night, during dinner, my parents told me they had big news. My dad was in the process of final interviews for a visiting professor position in Chicago and we’d know in a week or so whether or not he’d gotten the job. The minute they told me, I burst into tears.

#ari and dante fic

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