maltesegeek96  asked:

The talent development bonus mode gives us not one, not two, but three wonderful interactions between Gonta and Nekomaru. And they're all amazing. What a time to be a fan of the small ship :D

I have to say, I wasn’t really a fan of Nekomaru before this (I didn’t hate him, I was just ambivalent). But this “small ship“ (a boat, surely?) is adorable


Slavic Languages Aesthetic

Russian: warm black tea with honey. Warmth from the fireplace after a cold day outside. Cookies and old books.

Bulgarian: Green fields and the fresh morning air. The sunrise peaking out behind a mountain. Small potted plants outside a house.

Serbian: cigarette smoke drifting through the streets of a busy city. Rain falling down harshly but gently at the same time.

Ukrainian: sunflowers in a field surrounded by blue skies and sunshine. Flower crowns and cute cats hiding among window sills.

Polish: old historical buildings and cobblestones. A dewy morning. White curtains wafting through the breeze.

Slovenian: a small boat drifting quietly down a lake. Small churches hidden behind lush trees and hills. The smell of blooming flowers before spring.

Bosnian: old coffeeshops and beautiful rugs with intricate designs. Small lanterns tinkling in a window. Bridges with arches and minarets in the distance. The feeling of warmth you get from seeing an old friend.


The Marble Cathedral is a formation the mineral calcium carbonate on the shores of Lake General Carrera in Chile . Over the years, the lake water have eroded the scarps coastal creating these formations, which when the lake is at a low level, you can go inside in small boats.

six of crows aesthetics

inej - knives glinting in the moonlight, royal purple, small but sturdy boats, sitting on rooftops, hot tea and cool nights

nina - red lips, decadent sweets, a heartbeat, whispered secrets and knowing glances, pricking your finger on the thorns of a rose

matthias - icicles on gabled roofs, warm jackets, sitting by the fire with your dog, aurora borealis

jesper - crooked smiles, cool metal, warm hands, shooting stars, laughing until your stomach hurts, a deck of cards

wylan - cozy sweaters, sheet music, fireworks in your backyard, marble columns, sunlight peeking through on a cloudy day

kuwei - lighting a match and passing your hand through the flame, bell jars and vials, crushing hard, doodling in your homework

kaz - $$$CASH MONEY$$$

anonymous asked:

Hi, I just wanted to say the the gods & monsters series is one of the most wonderful things I've read. I know that some already have Hades in them but could you please do one about Hades and Persephone meeting? That would be amazing, thank you

Apollo comes to her, warm and smiling. He likes her body, its gentle curves, the flawless skin, how it shines with the youth and strength of spring. He is the sun and she is the earth, and it is from his rays that she gains her strength, and it would be expected of them to love each other. The god is golden, from his skin to his hair to his mischievous eyes, and there is not an inch of him that is not as lovely as the rays of sunlight peeking through the leaves.

Kore is not stupid. She knows Apollo does not linger, that she will be a wife in name and little else; he will lie with her and worship her and then grow bored of her.

Hermes comes to her, eyes sharp and hands gentle. He likes her mind, her acuteness, the way she views the world as a gem cutter would a raw emerald. He is wings and air and she is firmly rooted in the earth, she is as far from him as one can be, but his skin and hers are the exact same shade and she finds the shape of his mouth pleasing. She likes the way he considers her his equal.

But Hermes is meant to fly, spends his time carrying messages for Zeus and meddling in things that ought not to be meddled in. He may be a fine enough man, but he’s no husband.

She has two offers – each from powerful gods, each attractive and clever. There’s no reason she should find them both as unappealing as congealed chicken fat, yet she does.

“I do not often find you alone,” a deep, feminine voice says, and Kore suppresses a sigh as she turns to greet the approaching woman. She sits deep in the forest under a blossoming apple tree, but this is not her dominion alone.

“I am not often alone,” she concedes, observing the blood soaked goddess. “I’m assuming none of that is yours?”

Artemis doesn’t have enough hair to toss it over her shoulder, but she runs a hand through it, pushing it out of her face and streaking it copper in the process. “Of course not. I hope you weren’t too attached to the bucks of this forest.”

“Animals are not my concern,” she answers, “Besides, I am the goddess of spring, and therefore am born from death. It would be foolish of me to reject that which bore me.”

“Funny you should say that,” she says, “since all of Olympus is gossiping about how desperately you seek to leave the sanctuary of what bore you.”

Kore raises an eyebrow. Artemis is clumsy with her words, but she supposes the woman has never had a need to be otherwise. There are few as transparently straightforward as the huntress. She smiles, “Perhaps it is more funny, dear cousin, how easily the words prison and sanctuary become entangled.“

Artemis crosses her arms and sucks her lower lips between her teeth. “No,” she says finally, sobering, “I don’t think that’s very funny at all.”

Kore arranges her skirts around her, the green of the thread and that of the grass nearly identical. “If you’re here to plead your brother’s case for my hand, I’m willing to listen.”

The huntress snorts, derisive, and Kore raises an eyebrow. “I would not recommend my brother’s hand,” she says, “There are other parts of his anatomy which leave many satisfied, however, if that falls within your interests.”

“I am a more desirable bride as a virgin,” she answers instead of saying that the thought of touching a man she does not love makes her skin crawl. Artemis laughs as if she just told a joke, but if so Kore is ignorant of the punchline.

She does not know if she could love either Hermes or Apollo, at least not for the eternity that marks a god’s impossibly long life. It would result in a rather lackluster love making, which is presumably their main goal in pursuing her.

She dislikes her options. Behind her is the gilded cage of her mother’s overprotectiveness, and ahead of her lies the gilded cage of a loveless marriage.

“Kore,” Artemis says, frowning, “if – if you are to defy Demeter, you must go someplace that she cannot enter, a place where her magic cannot reach you.”

“Where might that be?” Kore asks dryly, “She is as I am – all that grows from this earth is our domain. Perhaps in the sea I could hide from her, but Poseidon is no friend of mine and has no reason to grant me asylum.”

Artemis shrugs, a wry twist to her lips. She cracks her neck on either side and walks back from where she came, but not before calling out over her shoulder, “I guess there is no such place Kore, goddess of spring, born of death and Demeter.“

Kore is still for a long time, staring at the place where Artemis stood.

Perhaps she is not so clumsy with her words after all.


Slipping away from her mother’s watchful eye is always monstrous task, even more so since the rumors of her proposals, but she manages. She finds the River Styx and follows it against its current, walking past and through all the warning sign that she’s gone too far, ignores the prickle along her skin as she crosses the threshold from this world to the next.

Almost immediately she comes across a hooded figure standing besides a small boat. “Charon,” she greets confidently. She tries to catch a peek under his hood, but he tilts his head away from her and manages to give the impression that he’s frowning at her even though she can’t see his face. “I need passage across the river.”

“You are not dead, lady goddess,” he says.

She holds out a shiny gold coin, “I can pay.”

“You are not dead,” he repeats, “You may not be ferried across.”

She nearly snaps at him, but instead takes a firm hold on her temper and thinks. Charon did not say she was not permitted to enter the underworld, only that he may not ferry her across. She peeks into the rushing river. It’s so powerful and fast that it churns grey foam and the water itself looks black, or perhaps that is simply whatever lies beneath. She skims her hand across the surface and the skin of her fingertips comes away burned and blistering.

“May I swim?” she asks.

“There are no rules preventing the impossible,” he tells her, but his shoulders stiffen as if he’s grown nervous.

Kore is not nervous. Either she survives and manages to enter the underworld, or she dies and Charon will have no choice but to ferry her across.

She sheds her gown – it will only weigh her down and get in her way. “My lady goddess,” Charon says, and Kore would almost say he sounds panicked. “Please do not –”

She jumps into the river.

It burns all over, white hot pain that makes her want to scream, but she has no interest in discovering what would happen if she were to swallow any of this supposed water. The current fights against her at every turn, and her muscles bunch and strain to not be swept away. It’s improbably difficult, the most difficult thing she’s ever done, but she grasps the edge of the shore with peeling hands and heaves her bloody body unto the ground.

Her entire body is one throbbing wound. Perhaps she should have listened to Charon before diving headfirst into the river, but it’s too late for regrets.

“Are you insane?” a thunderous voice demands, and then she’s being lifted by strong arms until she’s settled against a muscular chest.

She forces her eyes open, and the man glaring down at her has hair the color of the night sky and skin as pale as bone. His nose is long and sharp, his mouth wide and thin. The only bits of colors are his eyes, a green so dark that at first glance they look black. She raises a hand and cups his face, and the water clinging to her doesn’t seem to hurt him the way it hurt her. “Hades,” she says, and everything pains her just as much as before but his skin soothes hers. The skin on her palms comes away healed.

He’s angry with her, but his touch is gentle. There’s not a stitch of clothing on her, but he doesn’t glance or grope, only pulls her against him and uses the sleeve of his robe to clear the burning water from her face. “Yes, insane goddess, I am Hades.”

She had not meant to meet him, only to hide among his realm until she could think of a better plan. But she likes him already, an instantaneous and childish feeling, one she can’t remember having before.

She turns into his chest and lets out a pleased sigh, content to go wherever he brings her.

“They call me Kore.”

gods and monsters series, part vii

Hundreds and hundreds of small boats pulled by countless pickups and SUVs from across the South are headed for Houston. Almost all of them driven by men. They’re using their own property, sacrificing their own time, spending their own money, and risking their own lives for one reason: to help total strangers in desperate need.
Most of them are by themselves. Most are dressed like the redneck duck hunters and bass fisherman they are. Many are veterans. Most are wearing well-used gimme-hats, t-shirts, and jeans; and there’s a preponderance of camo. Most are probably gun owners, and most probably voted for Trump.
These are the people the Left loves to hate, the ones Maddow mocks. The ones Maher and Olbermann just *know* they’re so much better than.
These are The Quiet Ones. They don’t wear masks and tear down statues. They don’t, as a rule, march and demonstrate. And most have probably never been in a Whole Foods.
But they’ll spend the next several days wading in cold, dirty water; dodging gators and water moccasins and fire ants; eating whatever meager rations are available; and sleeping wherever they can in dirty, damp clothes. Their reward is the tears and the hugs and the smiles from the terrified people they help. They’ll deliver one boatload, and then go back for more.
When disaster strikes, it’s what men do. Real men. Heroic men. American men. And then they’ll knock back a few shots, or a few beers with like-minded men they’ve never met before, and talk about fish, or ten-point bucks, or the benefits of hollow-point ammo, or their F-150.
And the next time they hear someone talk about “the patriarchy”, or “male privilege”, they’ll snort, turn off the TV and go to bed.
In the meantime, they’ll likely be up again before dawn. To do it again. Until the helpless are rescued. And the work’s done.
They’re unlikely to be reimbursed. There won’t be medals. They won’t care. They’re heroes. And it’s what heroes do.

via–Todd McLaren

Do you ever shut up?

Desc: Richie Tozier is notorious for having the worlds biggest crush on Y/N, Bill’s older sister. The only problem was the fact that Y/N was in an exclusive relationship with Henry Bowers. Push comes to shove rapidly and soon Y/N is kidnapped by the one and only Pennywise, will they get to her in time?

Pairing: Reader/Richie Tozier

Warning: Harsh language, mentions of sex.

Do you ever shut up?

It was no secret that Richie liked Y/N, everyone knew and no one really cared. In all honestly they simply expected it to be puppy love, something he would outgrow once he saw another hot girl wandering around innocently. But, what they didn’t know was that it wasn’t just puppy love to him. It was more like infatuation, a craving, actual love. Unfortunately, Y/N was off limits, as Bill had said numerous times. That, and she didn’t really think Richie’s jokes were very funny either. She actually found them to be rather rude, ignorant even, but she let it slide. He wasn’t hurting anyone, she didn’t think.

She knew well that Henry Bowers, her exclusive boyfriend, wasn’t the best person in the world. He wasn’t a saint, but who was? Y/N knew that everyone deserved a chance to change, a chance to be happy. But, Henry never seemed to change his ways, he was still the school bully who had children cowering when he walked by, and Y/N was known throughout the school as ‘Henry Bowers Girlfriend.’ She was certain they never called her by name.

It was either that, or ‘Stuttering Bill’s sister’ or even perhaps, 'Georgie Denbrough’s sister, the kid who died.’ Really this had grown to make Y/N very uncomfortable. She was her own person, not just Bill and Georgie’s sister, not just Henry Bowers girlfriend.


At this current moment in time, Y/N was saying her goodbyes to the losers’, having to go home and help her mother with dinner and cleaning for a bit (she was certain it was Bill’s turn, but he argued against it.)

“I’ll buh-be home in a fuh-few hours.” Bill said, as Y/N waved them off and left to go home, fixing her hair as she walked.

”She really looks good from the back, and the front.“ Richie stated, adjusting his large glasses on his nose. This remark didn’t go unnoticed, a series of groans and eyerolls took over for the moment before Beverly stepped in to break the silence.

“Beep beep, Richie.” She said rather sternly, leaning back in her seat, she was rather annoyed at the inappropriate comment but definitely not as annoyed as Bill.

“T-that’s my sister, idiot. Duh-don’t talk about her l-like that.“ Bill stated blandly, clearly uncomfortable with the comment himself, and certain that Y/N would ultimately destroy Richie for a comment like that.

”It’s not my fault she’s hot…“ He paused for a moment, as if thinking it over before starting to speak again. ”And kind, and funny, and sweet, and—“ he was cut off by Stan talking over him.

”Dude, do you actually like her?“ Stan spoke, his voice slightly deeper than the other losers’, which they just expected it was because he was a little older than them.

Richie hadn’t noticed the opened-mouthed gazes that were trained to his face and the wide eyes searching for a hint of a lie. But Richie wasn’t lying. He really did think all those things about Y/N, but he knew the Henry would literally kill him for saying any of it.

“Do you ah-actually like my s-sister, Trashmouth?” Bill asked in utter astonishment, causing Richie to sink into his seat in embarrassment and shrug a little.


It had been three or four days since the losers’ realised that Richie wasn’t just chasing Y/N for her looks and since then it had been tense in the group everytime the two were together. Y/N didn’t really understand why everyone was so quiet whilst they were out, walking along the river bank in the mid afternoon sun. Beverly and Y/N had been talking, but it was low, almost like a whisper as they spoke as if the others would be mortified at their conversation.

It didn’t take long before they had ran into Henry and his group, minus Patrick who had been missing for several days. This utterly let to a panic within the losers’ but they seemed to remain calm, all of which were rather frightened besides Y/N.

“Hey Losers’, if you’re trying to get into her pants–” he stopped speaking to point a finger in Beverly’s direction, Y/N falling unnoticed, “All you have to do is ask nicely like I did.” He spoke with a wicked grin on his face, like something straight out of a thriller movie.

It was clear that the remark hit Beverly hard, but it hit Y/N equally as hard when she realised what he had said. In a fit of rage, Y/N picked up the biggest rock she could find and flung it as hard as she could. Her throw coming out rather well, hitting Henry on the forehead with enough force to draw blood.

“What the fuck!?” Henrys voice sounded from across the new-found battlefield as he chucked another rock back at her but failed to hit her or do any serious damage to anyone else.

”Rock War!“ sounded out from the losers’ side of the river as sudden airborne rocks were flying back and forth.

Even in this instance, Y/N felt like she was having the time of her life. She didn’t really care that after this her and Henry would be over for good, in fact she was incredibly happy about that. A smile spread over her face, even when a rock hit her painfully in the side. She had no idea how her and Bill would explain the deep purple bruises to their parents later, but she didn’t care anymore. This felt like a new beginning to her, she felt more welcome with the losers’ than she ever had with Henrys obnoxious clique.

She felt alive!

Once the final rocks were thrown, Henrys gang started to back up a bit, having suffered the most.

“Yeah! That’s right! Fuck off and go back to blowing your dad!“ Richie shouted from their spot a few meters away. There was a silence for a moment.

“And stay away from my girl!” He finished with, and Y/N didn’t care a single bit.


The bruises took several days to heal, turning from purple to a bluish shade, to a deep red and vanishing entirely. Y/N and Bill had been interrogated by their parents once they got home, but they simply smiled at each other and answered with blatant lies. Once their parents had bought it, the siblings it would be best to stay inside till the bruises healed once and for all.

Y/N sat by the window, the rain pattering against the glass in an almost rhythmic pattern. Her fingers followed the small drops as they raced down the glass, and she rested her head against the cool window. Looking out into the street she was almost certain she had seen a flash of yellow and red running by, and when she looked again she found herself staring at a small newspaper boat, with ’S.S Georgie’ scrawled messily along the side. Tied to it floated a red balloon which carried it with ease down the street as a little boy ran after it in a yellow slicker and red galoshes.

Y/N couldn’t believe her eyes, a sense of delight washing over her as she pulled on her fushia coloured rain coat and ran outside, slamming the door behind herself and chased the small boy down the street, calling out 'Georgie? Georgie!’ every time she got the chance. Deep down, a small part of her understood that Georgie wasn’t actually coming home, that he was almost definitely killed. But, she couldn’t help with hope and pray to God that this was Georgie by some convenience.

She ran after the child with every inch of energy in her body but he always seemed just out of reach, that was until she rounded the corner and came face to face with something she dreaded the most. A clown. A clown with a twisted grin on his makeup clad face. She suppressed a scream, her hand to her mouth and her teeth digging into the side of her pale skin. She noticed the one-armed boy standing behind the clown with his boat in his hands and recognised him as her brother. And then everything went black.


She awoke soon after, still face to face with the God-awful clown that she hated ever so much, yet this time there was no Georgie and this didn’t seem like the upper ground of Derry anymore. In fact, it seemed more like the sewers, and her suspicion didn’t go astray. She was shaking, her hands and knees trembling and her bottom lip quivering as if holding back tears, but she slapped on a confident expression.

“Why are you doing this?” She cried out at last, only to be met with a bizarre smile and a finger pressed to the clowns lips. She stopped speaking just long enough to hear the thudding of someone walking along the sewer pipes, then it came to sound like a group of people.

Y/N wanted to cry, she wanted to scream and tell them to go back and leave her here. To save themselves from their independent doom, but she couldn’t. She simply found herself in an utter trance, staring into the clowns eyes, that was until the losers’ burst into the sewer baring what seemed to be weapons of some sort or another.

“Fucking clowns..” Richie spoke through gritted teeth before they each took their fair share of clown beating till the monster clawed its way away from them, leaving Y/N dazed and confused before spotting the rather bloody, bruised, and ridiculous looking group of teenagers.

Y/N had never been so pleased, she ran forward and incased Bill in the worlds tightest hug, muttering apologies and thank you’s for what seemed like forever.

“Hey! I was the one who figured out where you were and what had happened.” Richie fummed unhappily, rather jealous that he didn’t receive the same attention as her brother did.

“Well then thank you too, Trashmouth.” Y/N laughed as she pulled him into an equally tight hug, an endless smile on her face.

“Really it was nothing, could have…would have done it anyday for you Y/N, It wasn’t that big a deal I mean anyone could have done it–” Richie proceeded to boast, gaining a playful eyeroll from Y/N.

“Beep beep Richie.” She stated simply, gaining a strange look from Richie before she pressed her lips to his, and for a moment Richie could have sworn his heart completely stopped.

Once she had pulled away, both were red faced and flustered, though Richie was so close to passing out it was almost unreal. He simply couldn’t say another word besides 'Awesome!’, and honestly Y/N was sure everyone else in the room groaned in annoyance at the sudden display of affection.

Y/N couldn’t have been happier.

{For the lovely Anon who sent me four different asks with so much detail, I absolutely loved writing this!

I hope this is good enough for you! Please keep in mind I haven’t proof read it so there may be some grammar or spelling mistakes throughout, I’m so very sorry. Also, I’m not sure how long it is, so I apologise if it’s too short!}

Christopher Nolan’s ‘Dunkirk’ Passes $500 Million at the Worldwide Box Office

Warner Bros. Pictures’ “Dunkirk” has crossed the $500 million mark at the worldwide box office, the studio announced Thursday.

The World War II epic was the last major hit of the summer season, which turned dismal during August. The domestic total after eight weeks has hit $183.7 million after a surprisingly strong opening weekend of $50 million. Top international markets were the U.K. with $72.6 million, China with $47 million, South Korea with $21 million, and France with $19 million.

Sue Kroll, president of worldwide marketing and distribution, said, “Christopher Nolan has proven why he is regarded as one of the greatest filmmakers of our time. His ‘Dunkirk’ is an absolute tour de force — a harrowing, emotional and sweeping moviegoing experience that pushes the boundaries of mainstream studio filmmaking. Through Chris’ lens, ‘Dunkirk’ does more than capture this pivotal moment in time; it reminds us of both the heroism and the human toll of war.”

“Dunkirk” received the widest 70MM release in more than two decades, a testament to the trust that exhibitors have in Nolan. It is based on the eight-day evacuation of more than 300,000 stranded Allied troops in 1940 from France, which included more than 800 small boats from England. It stars Kenneth Branagh, Mark Rylance, Tom Hardy, Fionn Whitehead, Tom Glynn-Carney, Jack Lowden, and Harry Styles.

Nolan shot “Dunkirk” in France, the Netherlands, the U.K., and California. The Warner Bros. release has a reported price tag of $150 million and a relatively brisk 106-minute running time.

“We are so proud of this film and congratulate Chris, Emma Thomas, the cast, and all the talented people who helped bring this monumental achievement to the screen,” Kroll said.

yumi-chanwriter  asked:

Hey, I asked you earlier something about boats and you recommended a dhow for my intended usage. The only thing that I am wondering now, is how fast they are on average in 24 hours?

It depends on the dhow, really, but I’d say that most probably won’t go faster than 20-25 knots, absolute max.  And you’re not going to have enough fuel to go that speed all day, so your best bet is a cruising speed of around 10-14 knots, just for fuel economy.  Assuming that they travel at 12 knots for 24 hours, that gets you 288 nautical miles.  In your shoes, I’d round up to about 300 nautical miles a day.

Here’s some definitions in case I was just speaking Greek:

Knots = Nautical Miles per hour (the maritime equivalent of MPH)

1 Nautical Mile = 1.15 miles, or 2000 yards.  Mariners don’t tend to use miles or kilometers; nautical miles is the standard.  (Only the US Navy is weird enough to use yards most of the time).

All of that aside, a lot of folks tend to let their boats drift at night or put them on autopilot (sorry that I can’t recall if your story is modern enough for the boat to have an autopilot).  A lot of crews aren’t big enough for a 24 hour watch, but that’ll depend on your plot.


Like what you’ve read? Support ScriptSailor!

Essex was an American whaler from Nantucket, Massachusetts. In 1820, while on a voyage, the ship was attacked by a sperm whale. The attack was so severe that the ship sank. Miraculously, all twenty members of the crew survived. They managed to flee the sinking ship on three smaller boats. However, they were now stranded with little food and little water.

Due to the fact that their boats were far too small to brave the Pacific waves, the crew made their way to an uninhabited island - Henderson Island. They had been at sea for two days and after running out of water and food, they resorted to drinking their own urine and seawater. On this island, the crew found a freshwater spring and crabs and birds to feed on. Within days, however, they exhausted practically all of the island’s food and water sources. Knowing that they would most likely starve to death, several of the crew members decided they would try to reach Easter Island. Three of the crew members decided to stay behind on Henderson Island. They were much too weak to attempt the voyage. One by one, the crew members attempting to reach Easter Island started to die of starvation on the small boat.

After being adrift for several weeks, the remainder of the crew decided they would have to resort to cannibalism if any of them were to survive. In total, seven crew members were cannibalised, two of which were murdered by the other crew members after they had consumed all of the deceased crew men. 89 days after the Essex sank, the three surviving crew members aboard the small boat were rescued. Additionally, the three crew members left behind on Henderson Island were rescued by a ship called Surrey.

See you around? - Imagine

The one where you meet Harry while Fionn gives you a tour around set

Part 2


‘You’re going to have to come to the gates and get me, security won’t let me through’ I typed quickly. For 20 minutes I had stood at the security entrance of the Dunkirk set, trying to convince the two men manning the gate that I wasn’t another groupie and that I did in fact have a invitation to be here. But it was no use, I was sure that everything I said to them, despite it being the complete truth, was just the same old thing they heard on a daily basis.

‘Ok, I’ll be there in 2 minutes’ he sent back.

I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and huffed, clicking my tongue and tapping my foot as I waited. It wasn’t long before several of the group of girls, who had gathered as close as they could to the set, began squealing and shouting. I couldn’t understand it, the excitement and giggly euphoria they got when they saw my best friend was something neither of us had really wrapped our heads around. Fionn approached one of the security guards and pointed to me. He glanced at the screaming crowd and rolled his eyes as the barrier was set aside and I was ushered through.

“Apologise miss, you understand our hesitation” one of the men said as he pulled the barrier closed behind me.

“Of course, no harm done” I said with a small smile, to which he nodded and returned to his post beside the gate.

“Sorry,” Fionn said as I approached him, gathering me in usual limp hug, pulling away before I could plant a kiss on his cheek. From the day I met him half way through primary school, Fionn had never been one for physical contact, so much so that I would make a point of giving him big hugs and sloppy kisses on the cheek whenever I saw him. He would squirm and groan each time, fighting to push me off despite having his arms pinned to the side by my vice like grip. I found it incredibly amusing.

“Didn’t even think about them not letting you past, not used to this whole high security, screaming girls kind of thing” he said as we began walking deep into the heart of the sprawling maze of trailers and crew vehicles.

“You don’t say,” I laughed with a roll of the eyes, “heaven help the first fan that tried to give you a hug”.

“Don’t,” he shuddered, his face twisting into an uncomfortable grimace, “stuff of nightmares” he finished, to which I burst into a fit of giggles.

“Shut up Y/N! You know I don’t like it” he whined.

“I know I’m sorry” I laughed, stepping towards him quickly and embracing him in an ‘empathy hug’ to which he groaned and told me to ‘get off’.

“Come on then, show me around” I said, skipping several steps in front of him, before stopping to let him catch up. He rolled his eyes but smiled slightly.

For the best part of an hour Fionn led me around the trailers, pointing out the directors station, the canteen, storage units and trailers of many of his co-stars. The tour took longer than necessary, for I stopped to take pictures of many, as Fionn pointed out, ‘unnecessary’ sights, but I dint fail to catch his smile as I dragged him beside me for a selfie next to the big sticker on his trailer that read ‘Fionn Whitehead’ and ‘Tommy’ in slightly smaller writing beneath. He was also surprisingly lighthearted when we bumped into Cillian Murphy and I asked if he would mind taking a picture of the two of us.

“This is so cool” I squealed as he pulled me along to the waters edge and pointed towards several boats which were being used for the film.

“I’m on that one tomorrow” he said, pointing towards a small blue fishing boat.

“Do you escape on that one?” I asked, shooting his a quick sideways glance and catching his grin.

I’m not telling you” he laughed. I groaned and stomped my feet like a spoilt 5 year old. Fionn had told me nothing about the script, he didn’t tell me whether he lived or died, whether he was rescued or captured, but more importantly he wouldn’t tell me whether Cillian lived or died.

“Fionn” I whined, “please just tell me something!”

“Nope” he chuckled and I groaned loudly.

“Seems like a groan is the usual reaction to spending time with you, eh Fionn” a voice said as it approached us. I leaned back to glance around Fionn as the tall figure who appeared out of a clean white trailer just behind us. Fionn didn’t even turn at the voice, he simply rolled his eyes but I caught the corner of his lip twitched up in a barely concealed smile.

“Shut up Harry” he said lightly. I made an effort not to stare as Harry stepped beside Fionn. I had never been one to overly obsess over the infamous ‘Harry Styles’, I didn’t see the point, he was just a boy that could sing, right? Wrong. I had never seen someone look so attractive in scruffy, brown costume before. His hair was slicked back with a dark brown liquid and his face was lightly splattered with flecks of something black. The black substance was also all over his hands and costume.

“Hi” he said as he approached, his voice was deep and thick and it took several seconds longer than was necessary for me to form a response.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, I’m Fionn’s friend” I said quickly, offering him my hand to try and make me seem less lame.

Harry offered me a crooked smile, before reaching his hand out to take mine. At the last second he seemed to realise that his hands were covered in, well whatever they were covered in, and he pulled it away with a chuckle.

“Maybe not” he said lightly and I smiled. I glanced towards Fionn who appeared to be watching the exchange carefully, offering me a slight raised brow once his gaze caught mine. I frowned at him in confusion to which he only smirked slightly and looked away.

“You just here visiting Y/N?” Harry asked carefully, he appeared to notice Fionn’s smile too but quickly returned his attention back to me.

“Yeah, Fionn and I made a deal that I would stop asking him questions about the film if he showed me around the set” I explained.

“A deal which technically you’ve already broken” Fionn pointed out, earning him a light punch in the shoulder, causing him to whine and Harry to burst out laughing.

“Well Fionn, looks like you’ve got more will power than I give you credit for. I certainly couldn’t keep my mouth shut if I had a beauty like her asking me questions” Harry smirked. Fionn grinned at him before turning to offer me a cheeky smile, but I was still too focused on Harry’s words to form any other response than a bright pink blush and a glance towards the ground.

“Anyway, I better get going, this gloop already took longer to apply than it should have” Harry said, glancing at his black hand, turning it over a couple of times before returning his attention to us.

“See you later mate” Harry said, finishing with a firm pat on Fionn’s back. He turned his attention back to me.

“See you around?” Harry said, the end of his sentence rising in hope as he looked at me with raised brows and wide, bright green eyes.

I blushed once more and smiled.

“Yeah, see you around” I said quietly. He seemed content with my response, offering us both one last nod and a lingering glance towards me before heading away and disappearing between two trailers. I watched him go, avoiding eye contact with Fionn at all cost. When I knew I couldn’t no longer avoid the inevitable, I glanced towards him only to be greeted with a wide, knowing smile.

“Shut up Fionn” I mumbled, turning and walking past him along the waters edge.

“Didn’t say a word” he laughed before catching me up and leading us on to the rest of the set.

It’s so hard to write about Fionn when I really know nothing about him other than he is the same age as me hahaha!

Anyway I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

- Steph

Life is but a sea of inconsistency. There are waves, strong and weak. Storms that come and go that may devour me. Sea creatures, big and small that may annoy me. And here I am still alive in this small boat of mine called hope, and I just keep on rowing.
—  juansendizon