#bnchee

he doesn't think she's ever seen him like this , he knows he told her to come over whenever. but it's not the same when he's been in his head all morning and all he can think of is how he has friends who's faces got blown out of their skulls others who lost their torsos before they lost their breath. eyes answer the door red from crying , eyes landing on the only angel on earth. ❝ sawyer , uh ... hi. ❞

CHARLIE!!!! how tf can one person be so gorgeous, so rad, & so talented!? how unfair of u tbh >:( ok but really, everything you touch is gold. i will gladly follow you from blog to blog to bask in ur talent!! thank you for always being a gem, i adore you ok <3

i recognize your face from somewhere. [ from here ! ]

A smirk rises up onto Jamie's face. Oh, he fucking loves when this happens. When people recognise him, know him as someone. He knows he's got a pretty face - a recognisable face, yes, a face a journalist for one of the gossip rags called Manchester's response to the Greek gods. Being fit and famous is an incredible thing, isn't it. He's one of England's finest footballers - he plays for the Three Lions [ how bizarre! ], and, on Richmond, he's a fucking star. So, of course he gets stopped by people who don't necessarily know his name. It's more difficult when he's not wearing it emblazoned across his shoulder blades, with the large number 9 [ or 24 ] beneath it.

"How much of a football fan are you?" he asks, the smirk still on his face as he looks down at her. She's even shorter than Keeley, he thinks - he's not very good at guessing people's heights. And, just as the words really process in the air, he realises that she could recognise him from elsewhere.

───IT WAS LIKE BEING IN A DREAM… All  of  Soren’s  life,  he’d  heard  tales  of  merpeople  and  faefolk,  but  never,  not  even  in  the  wildest  stretches  of  his  imagination,  did  he  ever  believe  that  he  would  encounter  such  creatures  in  his  lifetime…  and  a  SIREN,  of  all  things!  There  were  few  men  that  could  say  that  they’d  ever  laid  eyes  upon  one,  even  from  a  distance,  and  even  fewer  and  farther  between  were  those  lucky  enough  to  live  to  tell  the  tale  if  they  did.  In  that  regard,  Soren  wasn’t  sure  where  he  placed  with  his  unique  situation,  but  the  percentile  had  to  be  a  fraction  of  a  fraction,  he  thought.

                        Some  might  have  called  him  a  fool  for  taking  the  risk  that  he  did  in  keeping  the  siren  around,  and  others  might  have  thought  him  crazy  or  deluded,  or  even  assumed  that  she  had  him  wrapped  up  in  the  persuasion  of  a  spell.  Many  times,  he’d  even  weighed  the  possibility  himself,  although  he’d  dropped  the  notion  almost  altogether  when  it  had  suddenly  dawned  on  him  that  he  just  didn’t  care.  If  it  was  a  dream,  then  he  didn’t  want  to  wake,  and  should  he  be  stepping  off  a  precipice  with  naught  but  the  tides  of  insanity  to  break  his  fall  below,  then  he  would  happily  take  the  plunge.

                        They  had  just  come  back  from  the  marketplace;  Sawyer’s  first  real  outing  since  Soren  had  found  her  washed  up  on  the  shoreline  outside  of  his  lighthouse.  As  much  as  he’d  enjoyed  seeing  her  skip  around  his  place  in  nothing  but  his  oversized  shirts,  he’d  come  to  realize  that  it  wasn’t  practical,  especially  now  that  he’d  unintentionally  attached  himself  to  the  sentiment  of  having  her  stay  awhile.  He’d  loaned  her  one  of  his  mother’s  old  dresses  for  the  sake  of  blending  in  on  their  trip  into  town,  but  even  that  garment,  as  small  as  it  was,  billowed  off  of  her  small  frame  and  swallowed  her  whole.  He’d  even  made  a  joke  about  being  afraid  that  he’d  lose  her  in  it.

                        To  Soren’s  surprise,  he’d  enjoyed  the  trip  even  more  than  he’d  expected  to,  and  for  reasons  he  couldn’t  have  predicted.  Watching  the  way  that  Sawyer  interacted  with  the  foreign  world  was  as  hilarious  as  it  was  adorable,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  he’d  caught  himself  smiling  completely  uninhibitedly  as  he  focused  on  her.  There  was  something  about  the  way  curiosity  and  fascination  painted  her  delicate  features  that  made  his  heart  swell  and  burst  in  his  chest.  Her  doll-like  eyes  seemed  to  sparkle  with  what  he  could  only  have  described  as  enchantment  as  they’d  strolled  together  through  the  quiet  coastal  town,  every  bland  commodity  sparking  intrigue  as  though  it  might  have  been  made  of  magic.  The  car-ride  had  been  especially  memorable.

                        Without  knowing  what  sort  of  preference  the  siren  had,  Soren  had  wandered  with  her  until  something  caught  her  eye.  The  method  had  eventually  led  the  pair  into  a  quaint  boutique  that  was  filled  with  hand-made  garments,  the  apparel  crafted  in  a  variety  of  silks,  laces,  knitted  wools  and  breezy  cottons  that  were  well-suited  for  the  fickle  moods  of  the  coastal  climate.  He’d  quickly  come  to  realize  that  Sawyer  had  an  affinity  for  the  color  black,  and  he  couldn’t  deny  that  the  shade  suited  her  well,  especially  considering  the  inky  pigment  of  her  scales.  That  hadn’t  stopped  him  from  sneaking  a  floral-patterned  dress  in  his  favorite  shade  of  seafoam  green  into  the  bag.

                        Just  as  the  sailor  had  been  all  day,  he  was  all  but  helpless  to  stave  off  the  growing  affection  and  adoration  that  he  had  for  the  beautiful  siren,  his  doting  gaze  transfixed  on  her  every  time  she’d  step  out  of  the  changing  room  in  something  new.  Her  first  appearance,  which  had  her  dawning  a  black  sundress  that  sat  snug  against  her  dainty  physique,  had  caused  the  faintest  tinge  of  a  blush  to  color  his  cheeks  and  a  goofy  grin  to  tilt  his  lips.  He’d  almost  forgotten  how  small  she  was,  as  he’d  grown  accustomed  to  an  overabundance  of  fabric  concealing  the  curves  of  her  body.  After  a  while,  he  was  sure  that  she’d  stopped  believing  him  when  he  told  her  that  he  liked  the  way  the  clothing  looked  on  her,  but  it  couldn’t  have  been  any  closer  to  the  truth.  He  couldn’t  help  that  everything  looked  good  on  her…

                        Once  the  shopping  list  had  been  completed  and  Soren  had  paid  for  everything,  he  took  her  home.  The  sky  outside  was  beginning  to  dim  by  the  time  that  they’d  arrived,  the  bright  blue  fading  into  a  vibrant  palette  of  purples,  pinks  and  oranges  that  streaked  the  horizon  like  paint  on  a  canvas.  The  sailor  filled  his  hands  with  the  assortment  of  shopping  bags  and  toted  them  up  the  winding  staircase  of  the  lighthouse,  keeping  Sawyer  in  tow.  After  he’d  set  them  down,  he  took  a  moment  to  admire  the  view  from  the  window  before  he’d  turned  back  to  look  at  her,  noticing  now  that  she  seemed  preoccupied  with  a  train  of  thought.

                        Soren  began  to  smile,  offering  the  slight  tilt  of  his  head.  ❝ You  okay? ❞ He  asked,  earning  a  glance  from  her. ❝ What  are  you…  thinking  about? ❞ His  grin  widened  and  his  eyebrows  knitted  together  with  a  faint  hint  of  curiosity  as  he  watched  the  way  that  she  was  touching  her  delicate  fingers  to  her  lips,  as  though  she  was  using  the  gesture  in-place  of  finding  words.  The  language  barrier  that  hindered  their  ability  to  communicate  was  frustrating  at  times,  but  more  often  than  not,  he’d  found  that  it  had  given  him  amusement.

⛧˖ ─── EVEN WITH THE PREPAREDNESS THAT THE weather forecast had provided the venue, the sudden shift in the elements had been swift and violent enough to warrant the cancelation of the days’ scheduled events. All of the rain jackets and umbrellas in the world couldn’t have saved the attendees from the turbulent winds that swept through the festival grounds, shaking the tents and causing the structures to sway in their wake. It had been drizzling all weekend, the blue of the sky desaturated by the billowing silver clouds that covered the sun, but now the rain was coming down in heavy sheets from black skies, whipping through the atmosphere and lashing at the walls and windows of the tour buses with a force that could almost be perceived as wrathful.

            Despite the war that mother nature waged just beyond the thin walls, however, Eddie found an unexpected calmness in the humble space of Sawyer’s bedroom. It was as though her presence, in and of itself, echoed something akin to the quiet eye of a hurricane— an ironic concept, considering he’d recently begun to discover that she was just as much a storm as she was the stillness of the center. The metalhead had braved the elements to get there, sprinting through the rows of parked buses and trailers while raindrops pelted his skin like tiny bullets, soaking him from head to toe. By the time he’d flown through her front door, he looked a little something like a WET DOG, the mop of disheveled locks atop his head weighed down by the concentration of water that now dripped from the ends. It had taken little more than seeing the crinkle of her nose and the dimples of her cheeks when she’d smiled at him to convince him that it had all been totally worth it though.

            Now, with his shirt in a soggy heap on the floor and his dark curls clinging to his skin, Eddie was atop Sawyer’s bed, big brown eyes blinking admiringly from his place on a pillow as his gaze traveled through each feature of her sweet face. It had only been a day since they’d first kissed, but since then, those pretty lips of hers had been all he’d thought about. Kissing her was all he wanted to do. An impish note began to color the expression on his face, curving his mouth into a slanted grin as his arm reached out to snake around her slender waist, pulling her closer to him. His cold skin was dusted in goosebumps, although it wasn’t entirely the result of the cold air. The proximity of their bodies may have had a lot something to do with it.

❝ how do you do it? ❞ a pause and a sigh, ❝ you know, stop caring about what other people think. ❞