swallow seas

Seven love letters to the sea

1. You write a love letter to the sea. The sea swallows it. You write a hate letter to the sea. The sea swallows that, too. You write a technical manual about the maintenance of pre-1960s trainsets to the sea. The sea swallows it. You realise that the sea is like a cat. It basically does not care about anything other than coming in and going out and getting fed. When the sea has kittens, you are perhaps the only person in the world who is not surprised.

2. You write a love letter to the sea. The next day, there is a knock at your door. It is the sea. It has come to stay with you, and it has brought all of its stuff. It hopes the volume of your house is sufficient, but if not can it keep some things in your garden just whilst it’s getting back on its feet, so to speak?

3. You write a love letter to the sea and publish it in a well-respected literary magazine to which the sea does not have a subscription. The sea never sees your letter, which is probably for the best, since you are not really the sea’s type. The sea continues to not know or care who you are.

4. You write a love letter to the sea. The sea writes back. The sea has terrible handwriting and delivers its message by splashing water. You go home, change your clothes and consider the matter no further.

5. You write a love letter to the sea. The sea sends it back, six years later, in a bottle. It is heavily corrected in squid ink. Twelve years later you get an unspecified bill for editing services and for six years’ bottle hire.

6. You live far from the sea. You write a love letter to the sea. Astonishingly, it writes back in a way that you can read. You spend a few giddy years in correspondence, exploring each others’ depths in an entirely metaphorical way, your heart leaping when you see the mailbox is damp. Eventually, you move to be by the sea. The government investigates your relationship with the sea and decides that it is not genuine, and you are prosecuted for immigration-related crimes.

7. You write a love letter to the sea in the form of an international treaty. For ever after, the sea sends you the most glorious icebergs and the most musical hurricanes, this being the way that it shows its adoration to those it holds special.

9

moodboard: wrathful sirens

                           my love wasn’t swallowed / by the sea / the humans came                                and / made her bleed / so now all their love / shall be                                         swallowed / by me

genre: mermaid!au, prince!au, fluff, angst, smut

pairing: reader x Taehyung

preview word count: 453

You eyes flutter open, blinking several times as they focus on the clouds above your head. Their contents now empty, leaving behind light grey traces of mother nature’s fury. Sand was under your fingertips, but you didn’t know how it had gotten there. And although the storm was strong, the current wasn’t enough to drag you from the docks all the way to the beach. Especially not when your foot was caught in a fisherman’s net.

The cool post-storm air stings your lungs as your body tries to push out the rest of the salt from your system. Soreness setting into your bones as you slowly push yourself up off the beach. You look around, searching for possible clues as to how you got here. But there is not a human in sight. No one but you was stupid enough to be around the docks during one of those storms.

A long groan escapes your lips when you realize your phone is still in your pocket. You pull out the soaked device. There was no way a bag of rice was going to fix it. Jimin had probably already called the coast guard to send a search and rescue team to find his idiot lab partner. You knew that once he laid eyes on you, after making sure your limbs were still attached, he was going to chew your ass out for making him have a heart attack. He would be clutching at his chest, sending you on a very long guilt trip for the rest of your time together.

Out of corner of your eye you see it. A flash of red against the grey storm. Your wet hands paw at your shirt, trying to clean off as much wet sand as you can before you rub your eyes. You had to be seeing things. Slowly, you stand up from where you had washed a shore. The soreness of your legs making the short trek to the water seem like it was a thousand miles away.

It’s not until you’re waist deep in the water that he even brings his eyes up to meet yours. His fast is much different, older, but still very much the same. The two of you stare at each other in silence and you’re not sure if he recognizes you. After all, it had been almost 15 years since the first and last time you saw each other.

You reach your arm out tentatively unsure if you had in fact swallowed too much sea water. Or maybe you had actually drowned and were now stuck in a dream. But your hands hit skin as your palms cupped his face.

He felt too real to be a dream.

one sometimes sees claims in modern literature that “the ancient greeks had no term for the color blue,” but that is misleading. it’s true that ancient greek did not have a generic term for blue as we understand it, but there were many specific terms; these, like other color terms in ancient greek, often assigned more importance to the brightness or darkness of the color than to its hue.

ἀέρινος, aerial; light blue or grey
γλαυκός, gleaming; later, of eyes, blue or grey
καλάινος, turquoise-colored
κυάνεος, dark-blue, glossy, (of the swallow, the deep sea); dark or black
οὐράνιος, heavenly; sky-blue
χαροπότης, bright; light blue; sky blue

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Four)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

[Jenny] 

“Jen, love?”

I started and jumped from the pillow in the dark, my whole body seizing and splintering wi’ panic—

But it was only Ian, of course, half-asleep at my back. He pulled me closer against him and kissed my shoulder.  “Yr—tossin’ and turnin’ about like—S’matter?”

“Nothin’…Nothin’, only somethin’ I ate,” I whispered, tryin’ to catch my breath.

“Get—ye somethin’?” 

“Nay, lad, I’ll—I’ll do,” I panted, my blood racing and pounding. “Go b—back to sleep, mo ghriadh.” I pulled back the quilts and made to sit up. “I’ll—go take a turn— settle meself.” Nearly midnight, it must be. 

Ian groped clumsily for me and caught my hand. “Lov’ye…”

Tears prickled in my eyes, sharp and hot against the air of the night. God, the tenderness of him—the sweetness and care and love this good man lavished upon me, always

“D’ye think me a good person, Ian?” I whispered into the dark between us. 

Mm?”

My throat felt sore, the words as raw and frail and desperate as my pathetic heart. “Am I truly good? Or have I only been good at pretendin’ to be…while I’m no more than the verra worst kind of filth?”

The question rang out into the silence; unanswered. He’d have reassured me, had he actually heard, had the soft, familiar whiffle of his snorin’ not already resumed. It was as well not to be coddled wi’ comforting lies. I kent the truth well enough. 

Oh, but how I ached to wake him, to tell him at least of Claire and the evil that I’d done; to let him hold me tight and safe while I wept into his chest; let the comfort of him surround me, soothe me, as he convinced me wi’ gentle kisses and soft words that all would be well, that he’d carry the burden wi’ me—that I wouldna be alone, ever.  

Alone like Jamie. 

Alone like Claire.

This was my penance: this coldness—this regret—this utter, writhing, blistering shame. I’d taken away any chance for their happiness, so for the rest of my life, I had to bear it; to atone, myself, however I might. Emptiness, carried alone: a fitting punishment for my crime. 

I kissed Ian’s brow, slipped out of bed, found my shawl, and made my way down the stairs toward the study. I reeled a bit on the treads, my head achin’ and spinnin’, and small bloody wonder, for I’d drunk heavily all the evenin’. 

At first, it were only that I was preparin’ myself for the task at hand, hopin’ the drink would brace me, give me courage for when I found the right moment to face Jamie. Every time I looked at him, though, the gentle hunger in his eyes that lit over bein’ wi’ family; the smile on his face as he played with the wee bairns, as he joyed in the balm of home—of love—God, my coward’s heart had bucked and fled, at every opportunity. 

And by the time I might have finally confronted things, the drink had taken hold, bringing my fears to bear, and I’d staggered up to my bed long before anyone else, and dreamt of screams of pain—and sorrow—and—

Now, I was surprised and relieved to find as I reached the bottom of the stairs that I was hardened, a wall of conviction slowly rising up around me, protectin’ me. Jamie need not know; Jamie must not be told. It was too late, after all; Claire was too far gone. I’d done wrong, to my everlasting shame. I’d committed a terrible, cruel evil against them both. But what good would it do to torture him wi’ that knowledge, now? When he had no chance of findin’ her? None. T’would be only agony to him, that wisp of hope, now vanished by my hand. 

No. He couldna ever be told. It was the kindest thing I could do, now, to keep the secret from hurting him further. 

All that remained was for me to find a way to live wi’ myself—drink and distraction; and there was always a good decanter of whisky in the study along wi’ the books. I pushed through the study door and was no more than two steps in before I collided wi’ something solid and—

JESUS!”

“WHAT IN—?”

My candle was somersaulting through the air and onto the good rug, and just as suddenly, quick fingers snatched it up again before it could catch.

“I’m so sorry, Jen,” Jamie was sayin’, settin’ the candlestick on the table next to one of his own before turnin’ back to grin at me, all sheepish in only his shirt. “I couldna sleep and came down for a dram and was looking at the books just there by the door, and—” He stopped and blinked, surveying me in alarm. “Lass, you’re white as a sheet and shaking like— Are ye hurt, dove?”

“No, its—I’m fine—” I shrank back from his touch, from the heartbreaking sweetness of the endearment.

Tell him.

Only—agony to him, now. 

It’s far pa—past—(breathe)—too late—damn me to hell for it. 

I turned hastily for the door. “I didna mean to intrude upon your quiet, Jamie, I’ll just—”

“No-no-no, dinna be daft,” Jamie laughed, eagerly, stepping swiftly around me to block the door. “Stay! Sit wi’ me a time—have a drink.”

“No, really, I should—”

“Jen, we barely got to speak all this evening,” he said, and there was more than a touch of hurt in that soft voice, those soft eyes. “Please? Stay wi’ me?”

Brother, if ye only kent what I was, you’d cast me out into the cold this moment, and have me walk until the very sea swallowed me up. 

And I’d deserve it. 


[Jamie]

“Come on, wee fool,” Jamie said, gently, but in truth, he was begging. He wanted her to stay. He needed her to stay, to help drive this terrible sadness away, tonight. 

At last, she relented, and let him close the door. He held out his arms to her, and after a very long moment, she came to him. “It’s very glad I am to see ye, lass,” he whispered into her hair, trying not to let his voice crack with just how glad he was of it. 

“Aye—well—” 

Lord, why did she sound so tentative around him, tonight? She had been cool toward him all the evening, busying herself with the meal and with clearing it, and with taking another whisky, offering him one, but then bustling onward to the next task and retiring early before they could exchange more than a dozen words. 

“Tell me true.” He gently took her by the shoulders and held her far enough away to look her in the eye, beseeching. “Have I done something to wrong ye, lass?” 

She gaped at him, going even paler than before. “Wrong me?” 

“I dinna think I’m mistaken in noticing you’re no’ pleased to see me, this visit. So I’ll ask again….Have I done something that’s wronged ye?” Even moments ago, she had seemed barely to touch him as he embraced her. “I’ll do anythin’ I can to make it right, I swear it.” 

“Never.” To his astonishment, her face fell, and she made a little sound almost like a sob as she at last hugged him tight, a real embrace. “You would never do anything to wrong me, Jamie.” 

He held her close, the sense of home finally settling around him. His blood—his sister. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” she said, muffled into his chest, “I am glad to see ye. I’m just—no’ quite myself, tonight.” 

“Is something amiss wi’ ye then, dove? Are ye feeling ill?” 

“No, I’ll do.” He could have sworn she shuddered, but she pulled back and put her hands on her hips to study at him with brows drawn, as she always did, the dear, wee busybody. “Lord above, you’re too thin, ye great toad.”

“Are great toads typically thin?” he laughed, placing a kiss on the top of her head and moving to settle onto the plump cushions of the settee.

“Aye, and your voice all scratchit like one, to boot,” she laughed with something like her usual fire, curling her legs under her on the armchair facing him. “But truly, do ye get yourself fed at all, in Edinburgh?”

“Aye,” he said, passing her a whisky glass, “not grand fare, mind,” he winked, or tried to, “but dinna fash: I make it a special point of policy to eat every day.”

“Well, that’s good. Do it more, aye? You’re—” She shook her head, looking actually pained as she took him in again. “You’re….wasting away, Jamie.” 

He waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s why I must visit my sister, whose excellent cooks will always get me fattened up again.” 

“I must thank ye again for seeing my wee Ian safely home to me.”

“’Course, Jen,” he murmured, “happy to do it. The lad continues to be quite the handful, I see.” 

“God,” she groaned, “I’ve not the faintest idea what’s to be done about the wee eejit. S’like tryin’ to trap a breeze upon a mountaintop. I’m sure he’ll ask to be allowed to go back wi’ ye wi’ our blessing this time, but—” 

“I’d no’ mind it, owermuch” He tried to sound casual, not as desperately eager as he felt. “In fact, I verra nearly let him talk me into letting him stay, this time.”

“Wheedles something fierce, does wee Ian,” Jenny agreed ruefully. “I suppose ‘tis good for his hope of catchin’ a wife one day. A boy that’s so plain best ken how to wield charm to his good uses, at least,” she said with a grimace and a deep draught from her glass.

“Aye, that’s so,” Jamie laughed. “He can argue the black off a boot. Though, it was less to do wi’ him than me,” he added quietly, a moment later. 

“How’s that?”

“I’d have been happy for the company.” He shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but it was a shrug of unease. “It’s quite lonely, there in the shop.” His emptiness rang into the very corners of the room in the saying of it. 

Jenny heard it too, and put on a cheery, winning manner as she scoffed, “Nonsense, you’ve got Fergus, aye?”

“Fergus is a great help, true, and an even greater comfort to me,” he agreed. The boy—Christ, he was fifteen years or more past being a *boy,* but Fergus would always be so, to Jamie—was his pride and his right hand. 

“But, of course, ye may not ken how often Fergus is gone from Edinburgh seeing to—other business. Scarce half the days of the month, do I see him, in fact.” He shrugged. “And of course, I’m alone in my rooms, after the shop closes. Wi’ only myself for company, the conversation tends to be a trifle repetitive.” 

He meant it as a wee jest to lighten the mood. It didn’t work, for either of them. There was a fair-sized lump in his throat. Jenny’s hands were tight around her glass, her eyes down. He knew he shouldn’t speak so, so wretchedly self-pitying, but damn him, he needed to have someone hear him and understand.

“Sometimes, I go an entire week or more wi’out anyone—not a soul— speaking to me as if they knew me. And it can be longer, even, wi’out anyone saying my real name to me….In Edinburgh, ken, I’m Alexander Malcolm.” 

She gave a weak smile, whispering, “Sawney.” 

“Aye. And folk smile and bow and say, ‘Good Day, Mr. Malcolm.’….‘Shall we see ye on Saturday, Sawney?’….’When are ye thinking of taking a wife, Mr. Malcolm?’” 

The empty glass shot from Jenny’s hands and spun ‘round on the carpet. Neither of them moved to pick it up, and Jamie found he couldn’t stop talking. 

He swallowed. “Before the cave—prison—England——”

Lord, that he might be safe. 

“—I didna truly ken how much it meant to me to be….known. MyselfAnd after everything that’s happened these twenty years, I now find most days as though—” He shook his head. “—as though I’ll just fall away and vanish into naught, from lack of it. I havena….” He dropped his eyes, too ashamed to look her in the eye as he spoke the darkest desolation of his heart, “I can hardly even name the broken pieces of me, any longer…..let alone hope to put them back together.” 

Jenny blinked hard as though holding back tears. Lord, no, there were tears in her eyes, to his shame. He wasn’t saying these things for pity. It was simply the truth of his heart, and it was a true gift to be given the grace to say it aloud, rather than having it tear him apart in the quiet of his mind, day after day. And yet it pained him to grieve Jenny so, to give her any more reason to fear and fret for him. 

He started to say so, but she suddenly blurted, “Maybe—” She was pale, and Jamie could swear she was trembling. “Maybe ‘tis time to—to come back to Balriggan.”

“No,” he said at once with half a laugh, standing and walking over to one of the bookcases.

“Jamie…”

“No, I said.”

“I ken things wi’ Laoghaire—”

“There’s no’ moving me on this,” he said, more sharply. He had no desire for her to dream up another scheme for rehabilitating his personal happiness. “I’ll continue to do right by them, of course, see them taken care of but…No. I’ll no’ try to find comfort, there, again.”

“Jamie, mo chridhe, please just listen—” She was right on the verge of weeping, from the sound at his back. “I ken she’s not—that she’s… what she is…but I dinna want—” There came the sound of Jenny throwing up her hands in desperation, “—Ye shouldna spend the rest of your days alone, Jamie, wi’—wi’ no JOY! The thought of—”

“There is no joy to be had at Balriggan, sister. Not that kind.” 

“If—” 

He turned to her and gently grasped her shoulders. “You’ve known me all my life, Jen,” he said softly down into her face, contorted as it was with shockingly-vehement feeling. “I’ve been wrong about many things; been hasty and reckless and a fool, when my emotions got ahead of my better judgment, or before I kent proper facts—” He cupped her cheek, his voice hoarse. “—but trust me to ken my own heart, at least: to be alone, to be empty, is better than—than that; to lose what pieces of me still remain to—anger…bitterness….”

She stared up into his face, lips pursed, eyes red and glistening, voice trembling uncontrollably. “But can ye no’—?”

He released her and kissed her cheek, putting all his self into being strong and brave-faced once more, as was his duty. “Dinna fash yourself about me. I’m sorry I let myself carry on down such a maudlin road, this night.” 

Jamie smiled, as warm and broad a smile as he could, as he walked past her back to the settee, meaning to sit. “But it means a great deal to me how much ye do trouble yourself for my sake, truly. I ken ye always mean the best for me, Jenny, and I’m—”

The sob burst out of Jenny like a cannon blast in the night and Jamie whirled, reaching for an absent dirk. “Jen, WH—”

Her face was a broken thing behind her hands. “I’m so—sss—so SORRY, brother.”

“Sorry?” Jamie felt as though he’d been hit by a charging horse. That wasn’t pity in her ‘sorry’: it was true apology. “Whatever for??”

“For the fool that I am,” she sobbed, the tears flowing over her fingers. “After all ye’ve been through—your own sister ought—OUGHT to—Christ, Jamie, I’m so—ashamed.”

“Jenny, dove, mo chridhe,” he whispered as he reached for her, “what on earth  are are ye going on ab—?”

“Wait here—” she managed to choke, already staggering for the door. Her eyes were wild and she put out a staying hand as she went. “Dinna move, just—Just—wait!!”

Too stunned to do otherwise, Jamie stood unmoving on the study rug, mind racing, absolutely at a loss to guess what had come over her. 

When at last she came back through the door, she was white as death, a paper, or envelope, perhaps, clasped against her breast. 

“Jenny, you’re frightening me. Tell me at once what’s happened.” 

“I’ve done—” Her chest seemed to cave in around the envelope, wracked with her sobs. “I’ve done a terrible wrong against ye, brother.” 

“Nonsense,” he vowed, moving toward her to sort things out. “Whatever’s the—”

Don’t,” she hissed, halting him with a frantic shake of the the head, her teeth gritted. “Just—stop.”

He raised both his hands to her in desperate plea.“I dinna understand, Jenny.” 

She closed the distance between them with halting steps and forced the envelope into his hands, holding her own tight around them. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face, for it was an expression he’d never seen there—absolute anguish and absolute shame. 

His eyes dropped to his hands. Aye, a thick envelope, the face bare and unmarked. 

He turned it over and saw the single word there written:

J a m i e

He might have been screaming—he might have been crying—he might have fallen into a dark pit, with the earth closed in over him.

He was on the ground, his leg aching from where he’d fallen against something. The envelope stared up at him from the floor and he stared back. 

those five letters 

written in Claire’s hand

a thin interlace pattern pressed into the blood-red seal.

Jenny was sobbing. “She was here— Claire was here, Jamie—”

“Claire’s gone—” he was screaming or whimpering, “Claire—is—GONE—”

“She came back.”

“—GONE—”

“No, she came for ye—CAME here

Nothing made sense

“—And I did such grievous wrong by ye in the things I said to her.”

There was no damned SENSE in the words that she—

C l a i r e

Jenny kneeling before him. 

Claire—

Jenny, grabbing his hand, hard. “She said it would give ye peace, what’s inside.” 

CAME for’—?

Jenny, pressing the packet against his chest wi’ his own hand, holding it there, tight. 

CLAIRE? 

Jenny’s face, mere inches from his, breaking apart with weeping—all but mute from the violence of her pain. “I'm—so—sorry, Jamie.” 

A kiss on his cheek, and then she was gone.

Watching like one paralyzed as the envelope fluttered once more to the ground onto its face. 

J a m i e

…his real name. 

He lunged, but he couldn’t even lift the envelope. His fingers felt like claws—lacking thumbs—lacking everything except brute force. He managed to rip off the seal and force open the pages, but he could only press it flat onto the floor with both his hands, hunched over it like a starving beast over its kill. 

And though he’d feared it some nightmare, his soul burst like the lungs of a drowning man as he read—as he believed— the words beneath him:  

“My own Jamie,” 


ive mentioned before how ame being fat and the gross funny big eater + pearl being the delicate elegant pretty one who happens to be super skinny and vocally hates food…how that has some bad implications lol, and i think it couldve been fixed with pearl being fat, but either way yknow what wouldve been funny and subversive?

ame being a big eater but, super super picky about food. like a gourmet cat. or guy fieri. very high standards for street food.

and pearl is the sloppy gross eater. she noms on grass like liek a fucking goat. she has steven pick up bath bombs for her to swallow whole. she chugs sea water when shes stressed. summons corn chips from her gem

the signs a short extracts i wrote

Aries: She swallowed water, salty sea water, almost drowning from the waves. A spear in her right hand she stabbed after the big fish that was circling her right underneath the surface of the water. She tasted blood on her lips and tried to breathe. She did not feel anxious, no, rather the mere will to survive. Rage, panic, adrenaline, she felt like she was one with the most ancient and oldest feeling of life.

Taurus: Laying on his cloud, he heard the other angels debating on what to do for the day. “Shall we help the poor or watch out for the dying?”, he repeated their words mockingly, biting in his apple with relish. He hummed a lullaby and closed his tired eyes before he drifted off to sleep. “Their heads are full of worries.” They all hated his careless attitude and doubted the effectiveness of his help. In the end, they always forgot that he indeed was the angel of joy.

Gemini: “Tell me a story!”, the boy said to his sister and hand in hand they jumped through the forest, searching for the purest fruit of wisdom. “I could tell so many, but you probably know them all already!”, she responded and her eyes lightened up as she spotted a piece of the blue sky through the crowns of the dark trees. “Yeah, that must be true”, he answered. They smiled happily, being together was all they had. Little did they know, that they walked in circles for days. 

Cancer: The prince watched out of his window, directly onto the water of the seemingly black sea. The moon reflected on its surface and the night silently spoke to him, like an old friend, told him that his sorrows will be gone soon. Sighing he closed his eyes and recreated the dream he had last night. On the lowest point of the sea, hitting the cold, muddy ground he searched for something? But what could it be? His thoughts where interrupted by the crashing waves and he smiled as he looked into the face of a young mermaid. “Loreley?” 

Leo: She watched the something on the throne. It was not her. It was an old, wrinkled beast, already having its best years behind it, being touched by the life taking hand of the universe. It looked dead to her. She touched its leather like skin and shook her head in disapproval. The crown on its head was shining in the most beautiful colors and overwhelmed by its appearance she lifted it up and placed on the top of her head. Then suddenly, the beasts eyes moved and she knew that was it. 

Virgo: She was porcelain. Her hands where slim and her fingers long, her neck looked as fragile as the one of a swan and her long, silver gown, made out of spider webs,  enveloped her thin body. She was cold. Everything she touched turned to ice and as the queen of the country, the most disloyal of her followers adorned her cupboards as little ice figures now. She showed no gesture on her face. She was all alone. 

Libra: “Sir, you need to decide”, the woman told him coldly and looked him dead in the eye. He was sweating already and close to the edge. He needed to escape but his limbs were tied to the chair. “Let me out!!”, he shouted and tried to move, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. “Sir, you need to decide.” 
“No, no, let me out!!!”
“Sir, there is only once chance.” 
His mind was screaming. “STOP IT, THERE IS ALREADY NOTHING LEFT OF ME, STOP IT ALREADY!”

Scorpio: As the cat spoke to her she thought she completely lost her mind. It was the late afternoon as the neighbors cat - that mysteriously always stood in front of her window - told her to “not go to the old cottage near the forest”. She knew she was going insane. And she knew usually people said there was no one living inside of that little abandoned house. But there were flowers planted around the cottage and smoke came out of the chimney. Maybe she was insane. Maybe she just wanted to see the truth.

Sagittarius: He never breathed such clean air. He never tasted this freshness, this pureness on his lips. The cold air surrounded him, tried to get through his clothes and down to his body, but his heart was warm. Warm and pounding to the sound of the wind and mountains, humming a quiet song to the movement of the earth, to the building and children of mother nature. He wanted to kiss the cold, untouched earth and he imagined the landscape in front of him during spring. “Finally, I am home.”

Capricorn: As he walked down the street, busy as always, the crowd of people seemed to squash him, as they all wanted to get home as quick as possible since work was over. It started to rain. Cold, dirty rain that was pouring down on a cold, grey and dirty city. He opened his umbrella and continued his way to the bus stop as suddenly a tall man in black clothes, with a black box in his left hand and a pocket watch in his right stood a few foot steps away right in front of him. Fear grabbed the working man. He started to run. 

Aquarius: “Sir do you need something to eat? It’s almost 9 pm and you hadn’t have any dinner so far”, the assistance asked worried. He smiled, knowing she always worried about him but he was busy watching the little creatures on the red globe in front of him. They moved and talked, creating new things and build friendships, started fights, wars and made peace. All that in just matter of seconds. As the woman looked over his shoulder she instantly grinned. “You love to look at the past of your creations, don’t you?” He laughed shortly and lifted up his gaze, looking out of the window, right to the stars. “Well, I made them after all.”

Pisces: She held him close as the night arrived and everything was covered in complete darkness. “Don’t let me go”, he whispered, his voice shaking but she just smiled gently and kissed his cheek. “Look.” Her hands glowed as she formed little animal sculptures out of bright bubbles that ran around their heads before disappearing in the night sky. His eyes widened in amazement as he looked at the art she just did. “How do you…”, he started but stopped as he looked into her stark-like eyes. She asked him: “Do you believe in the fairy tales you read?”

20 Favourite Songs

1. Coldplay - Swallowed In The Sea
2. U2 - Every Breaking Wave
3. The 1975 - Settle Down
4. Coldplay - Warning Sign
5. Coldplay - The Hardest Part
6. The Killers - All These Things That I’ve Done
7. Arctic Monkeys - Fluorescent Adolescent
8. Fleetwood Mac - Sentimental Lady
9. M83 - Splendor
10. MGMT - Time to Pretend
11. Of Monsters and Men - Yellow Light
12. M83 - Moonchild
13. Coldplay - Ink
14. Arcade Fire - Here Comes the Night Time
15. Coldplay - Square One
16. The Lumineers - Big Parade
17. Lana Del Rey - Ride
18. Crystal Castles - Baptism
19. Vance Joy - Georgia
20. Foals - My Number

anonymous asked:

imagine how pretty & glowing the missus would look pregnant at the wedding

Especially under the setting sun in the evening when the reception party is in full-swing and everyone is a little tipsy and enjoying themselves and celebrating the exciting day. Dressed in a black and white striped summer maternity number that ran down to her knees (similar to what Gemma wore to her friends’ wedding recently!) and flowed out, her feet slipped into a pair of white sandals, and her hair delicately braided and pinned with petite and pastel coloured faux flowers.

With a glass of lemonade in her hand, since she can’t drink alcohol, and a glass of champagne in his hand because he couldn’t turn it down when offered, she’s nestled into his side as they watch the bride and groom dance through the open doors of the terrace to the venue. The wind coming from sea swallowing her bare skin in a cool flush, making her snuggle closer into his side, his free hand rubbing her bump as the baby kicks away at the touch he applies.

“Yeh lookin’ gorgeous today, did I mention that?”

“Might have mentioned it once or twice this morning when we were getting dressed,” she smiles, taking a sip of the fizz in her glass and letting the bubbles tickle her nose, “you’re looking particularly dad-like today, did I mention that? Very fitting to our situation right now, isn’t it?”

“Jeffrey may have mentioned that when he saw me before the wedding,” he snickers, the curl hanging down his forehead catching in the brisk wind coming from the sea. Blowing upwards and messing up the style. “He claimed the shirt was very dad-shirt-like and that I looked like I already have about 4 kids of my own.”

She giggles and nudges her nose into the jacket covering his torso. A comforting silence between the both of them as the music played through the inside of the venue, filtering out through the open doors and playing away into the breeze. Inhaling his gentle and musky scent that had drowned his body all day, 

“S’this bringing back memories of our wedding day?”

“Indeed, yeah. I mean, as beautiful and as perfect as our wedding day was, this is incredibly gorgeous. Hawaii is beautiful,” he hums, taking a gulp of the champagne before setting the glass on the glass down on the wooden ridge, moving to stand in front of her, booted feet either side of hers as he cupped the underside of her belly. Thumbs rubbing softly into the material of her dress. “I think I wan’a marry you again, love. Have a small weddin’ with our family and close friends.”

“Not while I’m looking like this, Peaches. Maybe in a few years time, yeah? We can have a nice vow renewal and plan it out nicely and more calmly. Here in Hawaii, or out in Jamaica, or in LA or wherever we deem fit and fancy,” she grins, leaning up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his champagne-flavoured lips, “we should go inside, shouldn’t we? Let’s go have a dance with everyone.” xx