Asterisk * = a favourite of mine but they are all fantastic. This list will continually be updated.
My series now i have no one to tell how i lost my best friend
Part One: my lover’s the sunlight (the awful things we do to make the head go quiet)
you said i killed you - haunt me, then!
Part Two: called your name till the fever broke (another leg around you in the bed frame)
Jack dreams a good dream.
*weren’t we the stars in heaven? weren’t we the salt in the sea? by @sillylittlerock
He’d had a nightmare. Like he had done pretty much every night for the last five years. And like he expected to for the rest of his life.
No amount of time could erase the island. No amount of time could erase Simon.
or ~ even after years have passed, Jack cannot forget Simon, and cannot escape his grief.
There he stands — those eyes, hair the color of dry wood, amber light resting on him — and Jack feels a thin white cloth drawn slowly across his sight.
It’s just another Christmas spent at school for Simon and Jack.
Snow is falling in sheets outside, while fire crackles to life in front of two boys with too much time to think. They talk about growing up. About what comes next. About who they’re supposed to be with.
Neither of them are as good at pretending as they think.
*No Lord Among the Fireflies (WIP, 4/?)
Jack Merridew, chorister, prefect's favourite and his father's son in every way that matters, starts spending time with the witch's son who lives past the slaughterhouse road.
orange marmalade (eating disorders, implied OCD)
All Jack needs is control.
Not over everyone else. He already has that.
That surely can’t be too much to ask.
How Jack got so sick that Christmas in the first place.
Jack’s parents forget to wish him a Merry Christmas. He spirals.
Simon was at the top of a very high cliff, the barren land around him beaten down by countless millenia of wind and rain. He gazed at the land at the foot of the cliff, wich stretched out in front of him. A valley wich led out to the sea a vast glittering blanket that looked almost unreal, sparkling in the distance, the water catching the light of the sun wich hung low in the late afternoon sky. It would be hot down there no doubt, well, as hot as summers got in North Wales. That was where he was wasn't it? He turned around and was met with a moody landscape- purple clouds and jagged tall mountains stretching far off into the distance. It was strange though, he had no memory of ever visiting Wales and yet he was quite certain that this was there. The place was familiar like his own home, or the way his voice sounded.
A Forest of Tinsel Trees (WIP, 2/x)
There is a ghost on the other end of the pew, and it is looking directly at him.
Jack is the beast from the island, he realises, horrified, they never killed it, they killed Simon, he killed Simon. And he killed Jack too, and now he’s a beast, standing somewhere that it does not belong, wearing a choir robe, a pair of school shoes and the stolen skin of a twelve year old boy.
He smiles for the choirmaster anyway, because he’s a creature, who’d end the world to hear the last man alive tell him he’s a good boy.
Or: Starting a violent tribe on an island doesn't exempt you from having to go back to school after the fact, it only means the one person who has ever understood you completely isn't there with you anymore. But maybe there are ways to heal.
ᰋ ˓〝 worried warrior 〞 ♡ (on hiatus, but still good, 3/x) by @st-sieunnie
* * * ON HIATUS * * * I probably won't come back to this unless I rewrite it completely.
'' Simon thinks that Jack has a horrible fear of illness.
But in a platonic sort of love, Simon will be there for him. The other choir boys are arguably closer to Jack - they regularly go on outings together and spend every waking moment of the school day together. But they don't know him like Simon does. The tactful care with which he treats Jack is something none of them can (or want to,) provide. ''
OR: simon and jack pining for each other while refusing to acknowledge their feelings.
Holiday is declared. Father has decided he does not want me home for Christmas after all. It does not matter much to me. I suppose. Maurice and Roger had taken off before the day was up. Only I and Simon remained. It was strange. He barely spoke, barely existed. Yet I couldn’t help but notice him. I tried to make a laugh of it at supper. Making a silly joke of some sorts. I can’t quite remember what I said. I was just trying to gain any sort of reaction from him. He tried not to. But I heard him laugh anyway. His laugh is nothing of the sort that I’ve ever heard before. It made me feel warm.
(Spoilers for the BBC Lord of the Flies adaptation.)
one is not the loneliest number
“See?” He asks again, quieter now, “Do you see what you do to me?”
Simon takes a deep and steadying breath. His head feels thick and throbbing. He needs to be brave now. His father used to say he lacked that all the time. He touches the wrist of the hand Jack has over his own, brings it gently to his own chest, his own heart.
“We must have the same thing,” he says, then.
@sillylittlerock @meridews @worriedwarriorr @kaazable @awaggaa @dejaroze @jiafeick-merriproduct @boyoftheisland @ineffablexsuitcase
stormborns
izzy806
ellievsbear
annaxmalina
jbbartram-illu
dededos
tangentwithtanner
