brown eyes: autumn, life. reading a book in a window seat. foggy days. bike rides. brownies and chocolate chip cookies. foreheads touching. music through headphones. soft kisses on the inside of a wrist.
green eyes: kites flying. picnic baskets. clouds and giant oaks. seas and giant cliffs. cuddles in a hammock. smoothies. wicker baskets. old fashioned record players. kisses to a collar bone.
blue eyes: oceans, skies, ice cream and laughter, sunny days and diving
into pools. Freckles on a kid’s face. half hidden smiles behind flowery
hats. kiss to entwined knuckles.
black eyes: space. beginnings. fireworks and crashing waves. sand between your toes and a beat pumping through your heart. red lipstick. plum lipstick. shimmer. gradients. a tender, half-second kiss on the lips.
grey eyes: owls. misty mornings. mourning doves. the sounds of a waking city. war. mysterious. the deep winter. wolves in a den. soft music from the other room. snow cones. a kiss to the forehead, lingering.
amber eyes: whiskey on the bar. sunlight dappling through the trees. horses. red balloons. wool hats and scarves fluttering in the wind. cannonballs and belly flops. lake side houses and jumping off docks. a kiss on the nose, making eyes cross.
hazel eyes: strawberry fields. ice tea and lemonade. mint chocolate chips and warm coffee. parasols. flower crowns and long skirts. round sunglasses. lip rings. burned CDs. the brush of a kiss on the back of the hand.
red eyes: cherries. sundaes with fudge. changing trees. high noon. laying on the beach. umbrellas in drinks. ice cubes. bloodied knuckles. new moons and starlings. easy smiles and breathless laughter. neck kisses.
violet eyes: lightning strikes. nebulae. cat’s cradles. dark eye shadow. long nails with rhinestones. black berries and pancakes. soda in a glass bottle. the same song over and over again. tickle fights and forts. kisses along the spine.
was in the crowded kitchen of a semi-detached house in Artane that a
bunch of teenage school boys from Mount Temple Comprehensive, Dublin,
gathered to discuss forming a band. There was barely enough room to fit
around the drum kit, with five guitarists squeezed between the fridge
and the bread bin. A chaotic jam session involved wobbly renditions of Rolling Stones hits Brown Sugar and Satisfaction, with no consensus as to the correct chord sequences.
One wannabe lead guitarist was
forced into the role of singer because he had neglected to actually
bring a guitar. Another young guitarist established his position as lead
instrumentalist because he had mastered the solo from Rory Gallagher’s
Blister on the Moon. The bassist couldn’t play but had the best hair
and, crucially, owned an actual bass guitar and amplifier. The drummer
was definitely in because it was his family’s kitchen. And thus, U2 were born. - Neil McCormick
Taking place in a wide open radioactive region known as The Wastelands, the area’s always bustling with mutant activity. Previous years of being exposed to nuclear waste rendered the natives dead or severely mutated. Everyone’s gunning for control here in The Wastelands, the residence, the police, you name it.
Some are even brave or stupid enough to be willing to go after the territory of the city’s long forgotten mafia group as well, for their fabled transcendent treasure. Something so grand that it’s said to grant, even to the most undeserving, a powerful asset. Information, the one way ticket to fame and control, the ultimate weapon, no one knows and has ever lived long enough to find it themselves.
But that doesn’t stop a certain group from trying. This group called themselves “The Protos” they headed into The Wastelands’ depths in search of their prize, but never came back out.
Suspicious questions arose from that day on, mysteries that agitated a local detective, a former officer of the law, enough to crack the case himself. Along side him came a misfit group of mutants, each with a different motive than the next to accompany the detective on their quest.
They’d drawn their numbers and Hinata had a sinking feeling when he drew unlucky number thirteen. So far in he’d been getting off easy, but he always knew someone had to kiss someone else during these games. So when he heard ‘Thirteen and Seven have to make out, for three minutes’ he cursed his luck trying not to seem too nervous and failing when he saw who was seven, the grinning and amused Oikawa Tooru. Taking a deep breath Hinata was drawn into the setter’s lap, distracted for a moment by the faint traces of detergent, shampoo and some nice-smelling cologne until he locked eyes with the third year. There was a sly smile curving the boy’s lips and a dangerous looking glint in his eyes.
Before he knew it there lips were being pressed together, Oikawa’s arms wrapping around his small frame and his hands resting tentatively on the taller boy’s shoulders. At first it was just a simple movement of lips, slow and chaste until Hinata felt it build into something more. The beginnings of a new kind of heat came into the kiss as Oikawa trailed his hand up along his back to curl into his hair, the other dipping under his shirt to touch his skin and trace the lightly defined muscles of his abdomen making him shiver. For the first time the first year felt himself get lost in the kiss, feeling hazy and rather warm as he pressed back into the kiss. The two broke apart briefly for air, but their mouths were soon together again with Oikawa starting to deepen it. He bit lightly on Hinata’s lower lip to silently ask for permission to continue and it was given easily.
Their tongues met, Hinata being the shyer of the two since he had less confidence and experience than Oikawa. He was quickly encouraged over with soft gestures like reassuring hands running down the length of his body to relax him. He was able to enjoy it more as he was coaxed into becoming a more active participant and soon he was flushed with his hands tangled in the brown locks of his partner.
Gradually the kiss was gentled, slowing down with Hinata still feeling lightheaded and floaty as they seperated. His copper colored eyes were rather glassy, out of focus even when he was catching his breath. His lips were moist and kiss bruised, he felt a little tingly as well like a small jolt had gone through him as Oikawa smiled at him in a haughty sort of way but he was able to catch onto the slight flush to his cheeks. At least he hadn’t been the only one into it, but still he was the most embarassed when their fellow players pointed out they’d been kissing for nearly six minutes instead of the allotted three having not noticed them calling their names after they made the time limit.
I can’t believe I kissed the Grand King…I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do it again.
Queenechidna and I thought of what it might be like if Hatfilms where three barely controllable kids.
Trott: Often shoves spoons in his mouth and pretends they’re tusks (they won’t let him near knives and the forks are always plastic so he can’t use those for tusks.) Also makes sad walrus noises occasionally.
Ross: He will find markers or any other thing that leaves a mark and draw a beard on himself. His favorite markers are the COLOURS HIT brand and he likes to scratch off the COLOUR off the marker so it just says S HIT.
Smiffy: Will smear anything green on his face. Paint, marker, grass, jello, the blood of something that has green blood… Also has his own personal time-out corner. It is the most fire-proof corner in the world.