Amoonlitmemory - Blog Posts

Lydia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders finally slumping as she perched on the edge of the bed. She glanced at Kaleb—really looked at him—taking in the exhaustion in his posture, the quiet understanding in his eyes.

She gave a small, humourless chuckle, running a hand through her already-messy hair. "Yeah," she admitted, voice quieter than usual. "Always."

She let the silence linger for a moment before flopping back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. "I swear, I could write a book on bad dates at this point. Chapter One: ‘How to Spot a Walking Red Flag in Five Minutes or Less.’"

She threw an arm over her eyes, shaking her head. "Tonight's disaster? Talked about himself for two hours straight. Didn't ask me a single question. Like, sir, I promise you, I do not care about your fantasy football league that much."

A short laugh escaped her, but it lacked any real amusement. "The worst part is, I knew. I always know. Five minutes in, and I was already plotting my escape. I should start carrying smoke bombs or something—make my exits more dramatic."

She peeked at him from under her arm, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. "Or, you know, I could just stop going on these stupid dates altogether. But where’s the fun in that?" Lydia stated, flipping over on to her stomach to look at him properly. "Your turn... Make me feel better about my tragic night."

Kaleb’s eyes widened a fraction as he saw Lydia’s familiar silhouette against the window. Of course, it was her. When a date went south—and they often seemed to do so for her—she always ended up at his window. He’d grown accustomed to the soft tap, tap, tap against the glass, a signal he knew well. He pulled back the curtains, his own exhaustion mirrored in her posture.

Without a word, he unlatched the window. Lydia clambered inside with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it countless times. It was a routine, a comforting ritual built on years of a friendship deeper than most people understood.

Kaleb knew she wasn’t really asking a question. It was more of a statement, and one he already knew the answer to. He just nodded as he replied, "Always. You?"

Mei froze mid-rant, her fingers tightening just a little around the bandage she was wrapping around his leg. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous little slits. "Oh-ho, crispy, is it?" she echoed, voice deceptively light. "Just a little crispy? Owen, you look like a marshmallow that someone dropped into a campfire and then tried to convince everyone was still edible!" Ok, so maybe she was exaggerating a little, but she was just trying to get her point across.

She huffed, pressing the bandage down with just enough extra force to make him wince. "And elbow grease and a scrubbing brush?! Oh wow, thank you, Mr. Domestic, for your deep and insightful cleaning wisdom! I’ll be sure to remember that while I’m on my hands and knees scraping your poor life choices out of the floorboards!"

Her frustration hitched when he grinned at her—grinned!—like this was all some big joke. Like she wasn’t currently battling the very real urge to smack him upside the head with the nearest throw pillow. "Owen, I swear to everything good and sparkly--If you make one more joke—" And then he called himself a big, glazed doughnut.

For a moment, silence. Then, a deep, slow inhale through her nose. "Oh, you did not just—" The glare she gave him was like none other she'd ever given.

But just as quickly as it flared, her anger deflated. She sighed, shoulders slumping, as she secured the last of the bandages with a little more gentleness. "You know I hate this, right?" Her voice had lost its sharp edges, replaced by something quieter—something raw. "I hate seeing you like this. I hate that you act like your pain is just… a funny little inconvenience. I hate that you think I only care because of the mess or because I have to clean you up." She tied off the bandage with a little flourish and then sat back on her heels, arms crossing. "I care, you big, dumb, freshly burnt doughnut because you matter. Because you being okay matters."

She sniffed, then nudged his uninjured leg with her foot. "And because I like stealing your medical supplies, but that’s beside the point." A pause. Then, grudgingly, "... You are kind of a glazed doughnut, though."

Owen sighed, though the attempt was somewhat stifled by a sharp intake of breath as Mei pressed a bit too firmly on the singed flesh of his thigh. "Explosion battlefield? Now that's just colourful," he mumbled, trying to inject a lightness into his tone that he wasn't entirely feeling. He knew Mei worried, and he appreciated it, even if her worrying took the form of theatrical frustration and a concerning knowledge of bloodstain removal techniques.

He watched her, amused despite the discomfort, as she ranted about cotton and floorboards. "Relax, Mei. It's nothing a little elbow grease and a good scrubbing brush can't fix." He even managed a small, lopsided grin. He knew she hated that he dismissed things so easily, especially when those "things" involved explosions and blood, but it was his default setting. Panic rarely solved problems.

When she called him a doughnut, he chuckled. "A big, glazed doughnut," he corrected, then immediately regretted it as her glare intensified. He understood her frustration, truly. He knew seeing him hurt bothered her more than she let on.

"I know, Mei," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. "But I'm alright. Just a little… crispy. Besides," he added, attempting to lighten the mood again, "who else would you steal medical supplies from if I wasn't constantly providing a reason to?"

Jeyda’s eyes flickered to hers for a moment, almost imperceptible—enough to catch the question but not answer it. His lips tightened, a small shift in his posture, but his gaze quickly drifted to the ground, focusing on the faint crack in the pavement as if it held the answers. He didn’t want to talk about the city. The city didn’t matter. The past didn’t matter. Not right now.

“Yep, new to the building not to the city” he muttered, his voice still rough. He shifted again, ready to end this little exchange, but her smile—her lightness—hung in the air like a tug on his chest. She was persistent. It was almost unsettling considering the harshness he had become used to in prison.

“Though it's been a while since I've been out in the city,” he added, this time quieter. He didn’t know how much more he could give her.

Aylin beamed, her usual sunny disposition not even slightly dimmed by Jeyda’s reticent demeanor. The way his fingers had barely grazed hers when he took the mail did make her pause for a fraction of a second, though. She wondered if he was alright.

"You're welcome!" Aylin chirped, her voice light and airy like the dandelion seeds she sometimes saw floating through the courtyard. She noticed he didn't look at the envelopes, and a small frown tugged at her brow. Legal firm mail wasn't usually cause for celebration, was it?

When his rough, quiet 'thanks' came, Aylin just nodded. She didn't expect him to say more. Jeyda never did. She held his gaze for a moment longer, a gentle, unspoken question in her bright eyes. Maybe he just needed a friendly face, even if he didn't want to admit it.

Seeing him tuck the stack under his arm, Aylin gave a small tilt of her head. "Have you settled in? I know you're new to the building but what about the city?" she questioned curiously.

Rory let out a soft laugh. He shook his head, still grinning as he glanced down at the empty space where his coffee should have been.

“Ah, well,” he said, looking back at her with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Contrary to popular belief, I have somewhat of a life outside of performing. Oat milk lattes are a big part of that life. Well, it's vanilla latte, if we're being pedantic but that's neither here nor there.” He joked with another laugh. He started to say something else when a group of fans approached, asking for autographs and photos. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face—pausing mid-conversation felt a bit awkward—but he obliged with practised ease, signing and smiling before turning back to Ember with an apologetic smile. As the fans walked away, their hushed whispers lingered in the air, curiosity evident in their voices as they wondered about the redhead by his side.

Rory let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he glanced toward the café. "Well, technically, yeah," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I'm in no rush. I reckon the latte can wait. I like being able to have these moments with my fans." He replied honestly. "Just make sure you get a photo or something before I go. I'd feel terrible if I forgot and left you with nothing to remember from our chat... that's if you even want to remember this -- I probably shouldn't assume. I'm not that arrogant, I promise." He ran a hand through his hair, laughing.

Ember's cheeks burned brighter under Rory's playful gaze. He thought she was flustered, not making a fool of herself? Well, that was… marginally better. Relief washed over her, quickly followed by the realization that she still had to say something.

"No, no crisis!" she blurted out, a little too fast. Ember immediately cringed internally. Smooth, Ember, real smooth. She forced a small, shaky laugh. "An existential crisis might be a bit dramatic," Ember managed, her voice a touch breathy. "Just... a bit surprised. You're... you're usually on stage, not, you know, buying oat milk lattes." She gestured vaguely with one hand, hoping she didn't look like a complete idiot. The fact that Rory was smiling at her, a real, genuine smile, made her want to melt into the tarmac. She just hoped she wasn't making him regret ever leaving his house for caffeine. "Oh my goodness, am I stopping you from getting your coffee?"

Rory’s grin widened, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, hands slipping into his pockets. “Ah, c’mon now,” he teased, tilting his head. “I don’t think you’re making a fool of yourself at all. Bit flustered, maybe. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He let her words hang in the air for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. “I'm not, am I?" He feigned shock, his mouth hanging open before a laugh bubbled from his lips. "And here I was thinkin’ I was just a lad trying to grab a coffee.” His smile turned slightly crooked, playful. “Didn’t realize I’d be causing an existential crisis in the middle of a car park.”

Ember felt her cheeks burn even hotter under Rory's smile. Her name, coming from him. She swallowed hard, hoping her voice wouldn’t crack. "Class?" she managed to squeak, then instantly regretted it. Great start, Ember. Real smooth.

She felt a lurch in her stomach as he chuckled, a sound that probably soundtracked the dreams of half his fanbase. His teasing question made her want to disappear, to be swallowed whole by the sidewalk. He was right, of course. Part of her did want to be anywhere but here, not because she didn’t want to meet him, but because she was so unbelievably unprepared to actually do it.

“No, seriously,” she blurted, trying for some kind of composure. “Huge fan. Just… surprised. And… probably making a fool of myself.” Ember finally met his gaze, her eyes wide and pleading, hoping he wouldn't judge her too harshly after this spectacularly awkward introduction. "It's just, you know... you're Rory." She gestured vaguely with her hands, words failing her. "It's a lot to process in a parking lot on a Tuesday."

Rory grinned, the kind of easy, lopsided smile that made his fans' knees feel unsteady. "Ember," he repeated like he was trying it out, rolling it over his tongue. "That’s a class name."

She still looked like she might either faint or bolt, and he found himself chuckling, not unkindly—just amused, endeared.

"Big fan, yeah?" he said teasingly, tilting his head slightly. "You sure? ‘Cause right now, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else than here."

He’d actually noticed her. Now he was looking at her. Ember felt the blood rush to her cheeks, warmth blossoming in her chest. Don't be ridiculous, Ember. He probably just thinks you're a weirdo staring at him.

She tried to speak, to conjure up the witty, intelligent greeting she’d practiced a thousand times in the mirror. Instead, a pathetic squeak escaped her lips. Ember cringed inwardly. Smooth, Ember. Real smooth.

Ember finally found her voice, though it was still shaky. "I...I just...I'm Ember. Big fan." The admission felt ridiculously inadequate, a laughable understatement of the devotion that consumed so much of her free time. She wanted to say more, anything to actually start a conversation but she was terrified of saying something even more stupid.

Jeyda’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t move to take the mail right away. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked from the envelopes to the woman standing before him—Aylin. 4B. Too many words, too much warmth. He wasn’t used to either.

A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, he reached out, taking the stack from her hand with deliberate slowness. The legal firm's gold lettering gleamed in the sunlight, but he didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew what was inside.

His voice, when he spoke, was low, rough from disuse. "Thanks." Nothing more. No welcome, no acknowledgement of her offer. Just that.

Jeyda turned the mail over once in his hand, then tucked it under his arm. His gaze settled on her, not quite meeting her eyes but near enough. Aylin was still watching him, waiting—for what, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have anything else to give. Not pleasantries. Not reassurances. Definitely not friendship.

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers based on this:

"Excuse me! Are you… Mr Arslan?"

Aylin held out a small stack of mail, the afternoon sun catching the gold lettering on the return address of a legal firm. "I think I might have accidentally grabbed your mail. 4A, right? I’m so sorry! I was in a rush, trying to beat the heat… and honestly, these boxes are practically prehistoric. I'm Aylin, by the way. I live in 4B." She offered a tentative smile, one practiced for calming anxious brides and soothing stressed mothers-of-the-groom.

She took a closer look at the man in front of her. He was… imposing. Tall, broad shouldered but there was an intensity in his eyes, a haunted quality that sent a shiver of unexpected concern through her. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. He didn’t speak, didn't even acknowledge her. He just stared, his eyes fixed somewhere just past her shoulder.

“Look,” she continued, her voice softening. "I really am sorry. Here." She extended the mail again, pushing it gently towards him. “I'm sure you’re expecting these. Welcome to the building. I hope you… settle in okay.”

She hesitated, a sudden impulse tugging at her. Against every ounce of self-preservation, Aylin added, "If you need anything… anything at all… please don't hesitate to knock. I'm usually home, knee-deep in tulle and seating charts, but… I wouldn’t mind a break. Just let me know if there's something I can do." And then, she waited, holding her breath, wondering if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

He noticed her—just for a second, and then he couldn't look away. Among the shifting crowd, the flashing cameras, the hum of London life, there she was. A girl clutching a newspaper like it was a lifeline, her eyes wide with something between excitement and panic. Rory had seen that look before, but there was something different about this moment. Maybe it was the way her hands trembled slightly, or the way she seemed to be fighting an internal battle just to say something.

"Alright there?" he said, his voice warm, easy, like he wasn’t the reason her world had just tilted on its axis.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might speak. Instead, she let out a tiny, strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a hiccup. He couldn’t help but chuckle, not unkindly, just amused, endeared. Something about her was different from the usual faces in the crowd.

"Don't worry, love," he said, still smiling. "I'm not gonna bite."

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers based on this:

The air crackled with an almost unbearable electricity. Ember clutched her phone so tightly, her knuckles were turning white. Outside the trendy London cafe, a small crowd had gathered, their whispers a constant hum against the backdrop of city noise. He was in there. Rory Murphy. The one whose voice had soundtracked countless late-night study sessions, whose lyrics had gotten her through heartbreak, whose goofy smile plastered across magazine covers had always managed to brighten her day.

She’d only come for a quick coffee before heading to her internship. Now, armed with a shaky determination fueled by years of fandom, she was lingering, pretending to read a discarded newspaper, hoping, praying, that he’d emerge.

Suddenly, the door swung open. A ripple went through the crowd, cameras were raised, and there he was. Rory. Even more dazzling in real life, if that was even possible. He grinned, a genuine, sunny expression that melted away the London chill. He signed a couple of autographs, politely answered a few shouted questions, and then started to move in her direction.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Her palms were slick. She wanted to speak, to say something, anything, but all that came out was a strangled squeak.

Closed starter for @amoonlitmemory

The night air was cold against Lydia’s skin as she stood outside Kaleb’s window, hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. Her breath clouded in the space between them, between where she stood and where she knew he was, just beyond the glass. The night had gone to hell— just another disaster date.

She raised a hand, knocking lightly against the glass, just like she had a hundred times before. A ritual. A quiet, wordless way of saying, Hey, I’m here.

A moment later, the curtains shifted, and there he was—Kaleb, bathed in the soft glow of his bedside lamp, eyes heavy. He opened the window without a word, and she climbed through like it was second nature because it was.

“Rough night?” she asked, voice low.

Rhiannon stood frozen in the middle of the road, her bare feet numb against the cold, slick asphalt. The rain poured down relentlessly, soaking her to the bone, but it didn’t seem to faze her. She shivered violently, her body trembling with the chill, but her gaze remained fixed on something distant, something far beyond the reach of the storm. Her clothes clung to her skin, dripping with water, but it was the bare feet that seemed most out of place, her toes curling against the icy ground, leaving behind smudges of wet footprints where she stood.

When she finally spoke, her voice was weak, barely audible over the roaring storm, but there was a coldness to it that seemed to cut through the rain. "I’m fine," she muttered, though the words were barely a whisper, strained with the effort of speaking. She didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t move even as her body continued to shake uncontrollably from the cold.

Her teeth chattered as she spoke again, her voice sharper this time. "You shouldn’t have stopped," she said, her tone distant, as if the words weren’t meant for him at all. "It’s not safe for you here." She let out a soft, breathy sigh, her feet shuffling slightly on the wet ground, but her gaze never wavered from the horizon.

closed starter for @littledaydreamers based on this

Rain was already spitting against the windshield, blurring the already indistinct lines of the two-lane highway. Lucas gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. The weather report had been dire – flash flood warnings, potential hail the size of golf balls – and all Lucas wanted was to be home, safe and dry. He glanced in the rearview mirror, a habitual check even though he hadn’t seen another car for miles. Empty. Just the churning blackness behind them, reflecting the red glow of their own taillights.

A jolt of adrenaline shot through him as his eyes snapped back to the road. Someone. Standing right in the middle of the lane. Lucas slammed on the brakes, the tires screaming in protest against the slick asphalt. The car shuddered to a halt just inches from the figure.

Heart hammering against his ribs, Lucas shifted into park and killed the engine. The sudden silence was broken only by the increasing patter of rain against the roof and the frantic thumping of his own pulse. "Okay, okay, stay calm," he muttered. This was probably just some poor soul who's car had broken down, he reasoned.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and got out of the car.

The figure was definitely human, though the darkness and the rain made it difficult to see clearly. They were facing away from the car, head tilted back, as if staring at something only they could see in the storm-wracked sky. Their clothes were damp and clinging to their frame, and a shiver wracked their body, but otherwise, they were motionless.

"Hey! Are you alright?" Lucas called out, cautiously approaching. The flashlight beam danced over the stranger's back. "I almost didn't see you. Are you hurt?"

Jeyda’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more like amusement laced with warning. He took in the fire in Rowan’s eyes, the rigid set of her shoulders. Defiance suited her. A shame it wouldn’t serve her well.

"You wound me, Rowan," he murmured, voice smooth, unbothered. He plucked the champagne flute from her hand, deliberately brushing his fingers against hers, and took a slow sip before handing it back. "I’d at least hoped for a 'darling' before the insults began."

But his amusement didn’t reach his eyes. Beneath the cold exterior was something else—something bitter, something resentful. He glanced around the ballroom, at the watching eyes, at the silent puppeteers who had sealed their fates. His father’s presence lingered like a ghost, unseen but suffocating.

Then, just for show—because they were always performing—he took her hand and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles. His lips barely grazed her skin, but the gesture was enough to earn approving nods from the men who had dictated their futures.

When he looked at her again, his steel-grey eyes were unreadable. "Smile, Rowan," he said, his voice quiet, almost taunting. "The audience is watching."

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers based on this

The champagne flute felt fragile in Rowan's grip, threatening to shatter under the pressure of her clenched hand. The forced smiles, the platitudes about unity, the goddamn wedding cake – it was all a grotesque charade. She caught her father's eye across the crowded ballroom. Sal Price, a man who thrived on fear and intimidation, gave her a curt nod, a silent reminder of what was at stake. Her life, her freedom, her family's future, and more importantly the life of her brothers. Of course she'd never tell Brax the real reason why she'd agreed to follow along with their father's orders, the whole point of this was to avoid the blood shed.

She took a large gulp of champagne, the bubbles doing little to soothe the burning resentment in her throat. Tonight, she was a pawn. A sacrifice on the altar of peace. Peace bought with her misery. A shadow fell across her.

She lifted her head and met the cold, steel-gray eyes of Jeyda Arslan, her soon-to-be husband, her captor. "Arslan," she spat, the word dripping with venom. "Or should I call you husband? The thought makes me want to vomit."

"Oh, Owen!" Mei gasped, her voice full of exasperated affection as she practically bounced across the room, light as a sunbeam. "You always say things like that so casually—like 'Oh, I just tripped and accidentally fell into a whole battlefield!'”

She dropped to her knees beside him, her small hands fluttering over the wound like worried butterflies. "That is not a 'small' explosion! And this is not just a disagreement—this is your poor leg being very upset with you!" Mei pouted, puffing out her cheeks before sighing dramatically. "Owen, do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of cotton? It's, like, level ten difficult. And I don't even wanna talk about the floorboards!"

But even as she huffed and fussed, her fingers were already reaching for the first aid kit, which she definitely didn’t steal from his bathroom last time. "Honestly, you make my heart work overtime! Now sit still, you big doughnut." She shot him a glare as she dabbed at the wound, not as gently as usual "Y'know what else isn’t easy? Watching you come home all battered up like this again and again and again!”

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers based on this

The crimson liquid stained the pristine white cotton, blooming like an angry flower against the soft fabric. Owen sighed, a rumble that vibrated against the floorboards of his impeccably clean apartment. He hated blood. Not because of the violence it implied, no, Owen was intimately familiar with that particular dance. He hated it because every drop on his clothes or floor meant a lecture was coming.

He knew she was there, he felt her eyes on him before he even bothered looking up. Sitting on the edge of the plush sofa, his massive frame dwarfing the delicate cushions. “Just a disagreement," he mumbled, trying to minimize the jagged gash across his thigh. "A disagreement that required knives and a… small explosion.”

Closed starter | @amoonlitmemory

"Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?"

Closed starter | @amoonlitmemory

“Do I ask questions, or do I just help you clean up all this blood?”

amoonlitmemory​:

Jacey grinned as she listened to him rant, not that he didn’t have a valid point with all his concerns, it was just that in her job she was used to having to make the best of a situation and make do with what you had so being short staffed wasn’t anything new to her. If anything working with children had made her pretty easy going as a person. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad. Look at it this way, you get to stay in a beautiful place that you don’t have to pay for. Free food and my company for the summer.” She nudged his shoulder playfully. “Everything is going to be fine, we’ll figure it out and besides it’s for a good cause remember? This is the only holiday some of these kids will get and it’s a chance for them to get away from things going on at home.”

Asher took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Jacey had a point, the kids were the reason they were doing this. They were there to give the children a chance to experience something they might not have otherwise. And he couldn't deny that the location was stunning, with a crystal-clear lake and towering trees surrounding the campsite. "Okay, you're right. We'll figure it out," he said, smiling at Jacey. “And if we don’t, well, maybe I’ll just sneak off in the middle of the night and leave you with all of the screaming brats.” 

amoonlitmemory​:

Kennedy couldn’t help the feeling of relief at hearing her friends voice, not that she would let it show of course. It would be a mistake to show any type of fear or emotion amongst current company. She couldn’t even let it show that she had no weapon, instead having to bluff her way out of trouble. “I believe my friend asked you a question. I would be wise in heeding her unless of course you’d like the rumor of having been bested by two women?” Feeling the grip on her wrist loosen and the fact that she was now able to take a step back from his grubby paws. Not taking her eyes off him as she made her retreat and moved closer to Theo.

The man sneered at the two women, his eyes flitting between Kennedy and Theodosia. He seemed to be evaluating their worth; to him, they were nothing but two skinny girls, easy prey. But as he prepared to make a move, Theodosia pushed the blade deeper into his back, causing him to wince in pain. "I'm not going to ask you again," Theodosia spoke firmly, her voice carrying a dangerous edge. "Leave us be, or face the consequences."

The man hesitated for a moment before turning around to face the women. "You'll regret this," he spat before walking away with a limp.

As the man disappeared into the crowded streets of Nassau, Theodosia turned to Kennedy with a concerned look on her face. "Are you alright?"

amoonlitmemory​:

Naimh couldn’t help but grumble under her breathe as she watched the other man walk away following the intruders threat. A part of her looking forward to the fight as if to help prove her capabilities and strength only for the opportunity to disappear. “And what makes you think that he wouldn’t have finally met his match with me? I do not like to be underestimated.” Not having many other options and also being low on funds for the time being, had her taking the offered seat. “I’ll take the drink considering I no longer have other forms of entertainment.” She paused briefly before mumbling. “Thank you.”

Jacob found himself rolling his eyes at the fiery young woman. He usually would have found the impassioned woman capable of fighting her own battles impressive but he’d had a long day and wasn’t totally convinced it was a fight she’d be able to win despite her protests. He, himself, could have probably taken the male on but in all honestly he didn’t fancy the fight. “You saw the guy, did you not? That man was six foot three, he could have just stepped on and you’d be splattered like a grape. Do you want to be a squashed grape? I thought not, now please, choose your fights wisely and preferably when I’m not around. This is my quiet time and I do not react well to people disturbing it.” Jacob chastised the young woman shaking his head at her. He nodded his head at the bar keep gesturing for two more drinks to be brought over. “Have you ever tried gambling? There’s only a slight chance of being murdered or a fight breaking out and much more entertaining. You should try it.”

amoonlitmemory​:

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers​

“I’m sorry–” Niamh glanced down at the parchement unsure of what she was supposed to be looking at. “Are you sure this is meant for me? I– I don’t know what this is.” Having been self taught, she would never admit that when it came to reading her knowledge was only that of which she appeared familiar with. Yes, she could read words but that didn’t always mean she had a clear understanding of what things meant.

Tristan nodded affirmatively, a subtle gesture accompanied by a satisfying "Yep," the soft sound of the "p" popping. "Well," he continued, his voice filled with a hint of curiosity, "that's what it seems to be—a letter. If you'd like, I could read it aloud for you. The lighting in this room leaves much to be desired, but fortunately, I possess exceptional vision." With a compassionate gaze, he observed the writing before him, sensing the air of perplexity surrounding it. While illiteracy wasn't uncommon among the inhabitants of Nassau, Tristan understood the reluctance of many to acknowledge this fact openly.

amoonlitmemory​:

“That won’t be for a while yet, Mr Dawson. You’re not going anywhere until I’m happy with your progress and I know you’re injuries are fully healed.” Her heart couldn’t help but break a little seeing his face. Of course she knew that she had no real power to stop him being called once more, it was inevitable with war. Yet she couldn’t have stopped the attachment that she had seemed to have formed during her care of him and the time she had spent by his bedside. “Your sister asked me to drop by. She’s worried about you.”

“Alex,” the male interjected with a gentle correction. “Please, call me Alex. Mr Dawson is my father. Besides, I believe we’ve known each other long enough to drop the formalities now.” He fell into a thoughtful silence, mulling over her words. Although he didn’t perceive his injuries as overly burdensome, he acknowledged his lack of medical expertise. “My shoulder gives me some trouble but overall, I feel like I’ve healed quite well. It’s more my head, y’know?” Alex’s voice grew softer, as if opening up a part of himself he rarely shared. Melissa had a way of putting him at ease, enabling him to speak about thoughts he never thought he would verbalize. “She worries too much.” It was undeniably true, yet he couldn't deny his own contribution to her concerns—ignoring her calls and isolating himself at home for over a week.

amoonlitmemory​:

“Excuse me?” Naimh whirled around to face him, her attention diverted from the original annoyance she had been arguing with as her eyes flashed in anger at the new stranger. “If I wanted your input I would have asked for it, this is no business of yours so stay out of it. Unless of course you would rather my knife be held to your gut instead of his?” A single brow arched in challenge as her gaze flicked down to her wrist where she was gripping her blade. Once again her temper and short fuse had left her in a predicament that could probably have been avoided.

Jacob raised his brow as the young woman began to complain. He suddenly regretted inserting himself into the situation. The woman obviously didn’t want help despite needing it unless she wanted the conversation to end violently. It almost certainly would, given the pirate she was arguing with was known for being hot-headed and bloody thirsty. “Y'know, most would say thank you. Do you have any idea who you were getting into a confrontation with? You may be able to look after yourself, Miss, but trust me, he is not a man you want to be fighting with.” He warned her, shaking his head as he gestured to the barkeep for another two drinks. “Now, you can sit down and have a quiet drink with me, or you can piss off – I honestly couldn’t care much either way."

amoonlitmemory​:

Status: Closed @littledaydreamers​

Location:  Tavern

“I’d think twice about releasing me. That is if you had any intention of keeping your hand” Kennedy hissed her threat to the stranger as she attempted to loosen his grip on her whilst trying not to draw attention to them. Her hand drifted to her hip where her small blade was usually hidden, only to find it missing and her heart to lurch. She had only wanted to have a quiet drink, hoping to over hear any information on the new arrivals, though this time it appeared that she had made the mistake of listening in on the wrong people and they hadn’t been as drunk and unobservant as she had originally thought.

Theodosia didn’t often get involved in other people’s problems, but she’d grown warm to Kennedy, and so when she saw a man grab her, she found herself rising to her feet and storming over to the pair. She had given Kennedy a small blade to keep on her person at all times. Men around Nassau couldn’t be trusted - well, men anywhere couldn’t be trusted in Theo’s opinion - and so she was surprised to find the young woman hadn’t had it on her person. Luckily for the redhead, Theodosia had hers, and it was currently pricking the male’s lower back. “Do we have a problem here, sir?”

amoonlitmemory​:

Status: Closed @littledaydreamers​

Location:  Tavern

“I’d think twice about releasing me. That is if you had any intention of keeping your hand” Kennedy hissed her threat to the stranger as she attempted to loosen his grip on her whilst trying not to draw attention to them. Her hand drifted to her hip where her small blade was usually hidden, only to find it missing and her heart to lurch. She had only wanted to have a quiet drink, hoping to over hear any information on the new arrivals, though this time it appeared that she had made the mistake of listening in on the wrong people and they hadn’t been as drunk and unobservant as she had originally thought.

Jacob stood at a nearby table, observing the tense situation unfolding before him. His eyes darted between Kennedy and the stranger, analysing their body language and trying to assess the best course of action. He had seen Kennedy at the tavern before, a tough and independent woman who seemed to be able to handle herself in most situations. However, it was clear that she was in a vulnerable position now. His instinct to help kicked in, and he quickly made his way over to Kennedy, trying to keep a calm demeanour. He approached from the side, not wanting to startle either of them further. As he got closer, he spoke in a low voice, "Hey, is everything alright here?" The stranger, taken aback by Jacob's unexpected intervention, loosened his grip slightly. Jacob stood tall, positioning himself between Kennedy and the stranger, projecting an air of confidence. He maintained eye contact with the stranger, subtly conveying that he wouldn't tolerate any further aggression. "I suggest you walk away now," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. The stranger hesitated, his gaze shifting between Jacob and Kennedy. Sensing the mounting tension, he finally decided to retreat, his pride wounded but realizing the situation was no longer in his favour. With one last lingering look, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. Jacob turned his attention to Kennedy, offering her a reassuring smile. "Are you alright?" he asked gently, concern evident in his voice. 

amoonlitmemory​:

“Alex, look at me. You’re going to get through this, okay?” Genevieve pulled out the chair next to her brother and took one of his hands into hers, hoping to offer some kind of comfort. In reality she was worried sick for him, this wasn’t something that she could protect him from. It wasn’t like when he was younger and their father got into one of his rages. “I can’t promise you everything is going to be okay little brother, I won’t do that to you. What I will promise is that I’m here for you.”   

Alex looked into Genevieve's eyes, his own filled with a mixture of fear and vulnerability. He shook his head, breaking their connection momentarily, unable to bear the weight of his thoughts. He took a deep breath, gathering the strength to voice his deepest concerns. “I... I'm terrified, Gen," Alex admitted, his voice quivering with emotion. He fought to hold back tears, determined not to crumble in front of his sister “I’m going to die out there. I won’t make it back a second time. I know it and the thought haunts me, it consumes me.” His voice choked with a mix of anguish and desperation, Alex continued, “I don’t want to die-- I’ve seen first hand how it happens. It’s not brave or courageous like they make it sound. It’s painful and it’s lonely. I’ve seen men cry out for their mothers, begging for comfort in their final moments, only to be left behind to die a lonely and miserable death.” As tears streamed down his face, memories played like a relentless reel in his mind. Each image etched deeply into his soul, intensifying his inner turmoil.

amoonlitmemory​:

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers

Kate stood outside the door as she attempted to listen in to her co-worker and Asher, they had been whispering between themselves ever since they entered the breakroom. The fact that they were in the breakroom wasn’t anything new, they often let Asher use it to take a break in between his sets if he needed, however the fact that they would stop talking as soon as anyone walked into the room which raised her suspicions. “Alright losers, what are you two up to? Don’t tell me nothing because we all know you’d be lying and you’re awful at it.” She claimed as she pushed open the door hoping to surprise them.

As Kate pushed open the door, Asher and her co-worker, Max, quickly straightened up, their faces betraying a mix of surprise and guilt. Asher, with his usual nonchalant demeanour, grinned at Kate and replied, "Ah, Kate, always bursting in at the perfect time! You caught us red-handed, huh?" He leaned against the countertop in the breakroom casually. "Actually, we were just discussing some new workout techniques. You know me, always trying to stay ahead of the game," Asher explained, trying to diffuse any suspicion despite the fact he’d never stepped into a gym in his life.

amoonlitmemory​:

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers

“Honey I’m hoooome!” She called out loudly as she barged through her twin’s front door. “Now where is my beautiful neice? It’s okay baby, Auntie Edie has come to save you.” 

Bethany sat slumped over the dining room table as Lottie played with her toys on the floor. She couldn’t even find the energy to lift her head and greet her sister. Instead she gave an undignified grunt, a long deep sigh falling from her lips. “You can have her. She’s been a nightmare today.” 

Who : closed | @amoonlitmemory​ Where : Home When : September 1940 “My leave won’t last forever, y’know? As soon as I’ve healed enough and finished my physio, they’re going to send me back.” Alex broke the silence, keeping his eyes down not wanting to meet their gaze.

WHO   :   closed | @amoonlitmemory​ WHERE   :   the tavern WHEN   :    late afternoon

Quiet in his seat, Jacob continued to watch the scene between the two in front of him unfold as he nursed his drink. He’d had a busy day and wanted nothing more than to just enjoy a tankard of ale and his own company but it would seem that the two arguing in front of him had another idea in mind. Looking down at what was left in his tankard, he chucked his neck back chugging what was left, leaving a pleasant burning of alcohol in his throat. Taking a stand as he noticed them getting more aggressive with each other, he let out a sigh and began to walk over. “Enough.” He stated, his voice calm yet with a sharpness to it. Jacob looked at them both straight in the eye as he put an arm between them. “If you’re going to behave like children, then I will be your daddy. Now, you go that way and you come sit with me.” The male instructed with a warning look that told them it would be safer not to argue with him.