#anchor point

[surfline-screenshots]

Anchor Point, Morocco

[bravery-test]

The Olympic Exclusion Zone

20"x16", oil on canvas. Inspired by the game Pacific Drive, painted using the techniques of Bob Ross.

"I advise you to not take the Zone lightly. You'd better gear up or you may not survive the trip. Which would make my life easier, so. Your call."

[bbygocrazy]

ANCHOR POINT

Synopsis: Maybe the most dangerous thing about ordinary days is that you never realize they're becoming memories while you're living them.

CHAPTER 3: SIX TUESDAYS

The strange thing about six weeks was that it sounded longer than it was.

Six weeks was forty-two days.

Six Tuesdays.

Six Thursdays.

Thirty-six ordinary evenings that would disappear whether either of them was ready or not.

She discovered this accidentally.

She was sitting at her desk on Wednesday afternoon, pencil in her hand, homework open in front of her and entirely unread, when she counted backwards from the date he'd leave.

Then she counted again.

Six Tuesdays.

The realization settled somewhere uncomfortable.

She closed her notebook.

She did not think about it again.

She failed immediately.

—

Thursday evening.

Studio B.

She arrived first.

This happened sometimes now.

Not always.

Just often enough that she'd started noticing.

She plugged her phone into the stereo and stretched while waiting.

At six ten the door opened.

He walked in carrying two convenience store drinks.

He placed one beside her without looking at her.

She blinked.

"What is this."

"Tea."

"I can see that."

He shrugged.

"You like it."

She stared at the bottle.

Then at him.

Then back at the bottle.

He was already putting his bag down like this was the most normal thing in the world.

She picked it up.

"You remembered."

"Obviously."

She stared at him for another second.

Then she unscrewed the cap.

"Don't get used to me saying thank you."

"I'm not worried."

She narrowed her eyes.

He pressed play on his music.

The conversation ended there.

Somehow, that was becoming normal too.

—

The thing she hadn't anticipated was how irritatingly aware she was becoming of him.

Not in a dramatic way.

Nothing like that.

Just...

She noticed things.

She noticed he preferred the right side of the room.

She noticed he always stretched his left ankle twice.

She noticed he drank water every thirty minutes exactly, without ever looking at a clock.

She noticed he'd started wearing his headphones around his neck instead of putting them in his bag.

She noticed he was tired.

That one had arrived gradually.

His movements were still good.

Excellent, even.

But there was effort underneath them now.

The kind that hadn't existed before.

He repeated combinations more.

He sighed occasionally.

He sat down between runs.

Once, she watched him stare at the floor for almost an entire minute before standing up again.

She didn't mention any of this.

She didn't know how.

—

Late March arrived.

The academy was preparing for spring showcases.

Everyone was busy.

Everyone was loud.

The instructors were louder.

Studio B remained exactly the same.

The fluorescent lights buzzed.

The mirrors fogged at the edges.

The floor complained under their feet.

Somehow that felt important.

Like the room was refusing to change out of principle.

She appreciated this.

On Tuesday she was halfway through a piece when he spoke.

"I'm scared."

She almost missed it.

The music was still playing.

He was still facing the mirror.

Like he'd said:

It's raining.

Or:

The room is cold.

She turned the volume down.

"What."

"I'm scared."

She stared at him.

He looked back at the mirror.

Not her.

The mirror.

Like saying it once had already been difficult enough.

She waited.

He exhaled.

"I've wanted this forever."

"Yeah."

"And now it's happening."

"Yeah."

"And what if..."

He stopped.

She waited.

"What if I'm not good enough when I get there."

The room became very quiet.

Not because the music had stopped.

Because something else had.

Something she'd never heard from him before.

Doubt.

It sat strangely on him.

Like someone wearing clothes that didn't belong to them.

She walked over.

Stood beside him.

Looked at their reflections.

"You are."

He didn't answer.

"You are," she repeated.

Still looking at the mirror.

"Do you know how annoying that is."

He blinked.

"What."

"How good you are."

He snorted.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"No, listen."

She pointed at him.

"You have been insufferable for six years."

He looked at her now.

She kept going.

"You memorize things in ten minutes."

"You notice things no one else notices."

"You correct people when nobody asked."

"You steal choreography."

He laughed once.

A real laugh.

She ignored it.

"And if Korea doesn't know what to do with that, then Korea's stupid."

He blinked.

Then he laughed properly.

Head tilted back.

Eyes squeezed shut.

The sound bounced off the mirrors.

She realized, suddenly, that she'd never heard him laugh that hard before.

The realization startled her.

Then it passed.

Then he said quietly:

"Okay."

Just that.

Okay.

As if she'd handed him something heavy and he'd accepted it.

—

They stayed until nine-thirty.

Neither of them was particularly productive after that.

She missed counts.

He repeated combinations.

They corrected each other anyway.

Routine was easier than thinking.

Eventually she packed her bag.

He picked up his coat.

They walked downstairs together.

Outside, Fukuoka was cool and bright and ordinary.

The city had no idea one of its people was about to leave it.

She wondered if cities ever noticed.

Probably not.

At the corner they stopped.

He lived left.

She lived right.

Six years of this intersection.

Hundreds of goodbyes.

She'd never counted before.

Now she did.

Six Tuesdays.

She hated herself for counting.

"See you Thursday," he said.

She nodded.

"See you Thursday."

He walked away.

She stood there for a moment longer than she needed to.

Then she walked home.

Halfway there, her phone buzzed.

A message.

Tomoya: your turn was late today.

She stopped walking.

Stared at the screen.

Then she laughed.

Actually laughed.

In the middle of the street.

She typed back.

You were distracted.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Tomoya: I know.

She stared at those two words.

Then she locked her phone and put it away.

Above her, the sky was darkening.

Six Tuesdays.

Five now.

She hated that she was counting.

She hated it because she knew exactly when it had started.

The moment she'd realized that some people arrived in your life so gradually that you never noticed them becoming important.

Until one day someone said six weeks.

And suddenly every ordinary thing became impossible not to cherish.

[ardentundertaker]

Intro post! o+)

My name is Skiffe (the E is silent). I use any pronouns: he, she, they, etc, you can decide. Like a pick your own adventure but its the pronouns and therefore perception you have of me.

My birthday is June 20th, which isn't as far as I think it is as of May 3rd.

My biggest interest is my yumeship with Terezi Pyrope from Homestuck. That ofcourse means I like (and have read) Homestuck. I am, however, NOT a non-sharing yumeshipper. Doubles are welcome, and encouraged to tell me what you like about Terezi.

My other biggest interests include nautical instruments, such as boating, sailing, boats, oceans, and boats some more. Please, talk to me about boats, or Terezi, it'll bring me immense joys.

I also love to write, most of my posts will yumeshipping "prompts", aka a way for me to take time out of my busy schedule and talk about me and Terezi's lovely relationship. I will occasionally post poetry as well, since I like to write them as well. Though those take longer than my daily free writes.

I also, infrequently, use a typing quirk in my freewrites. It lo+)o+)ks.s like this.s

Tags I use o+) (more to be added)

#anchor point - just a tag to show my writing <:)

#skifferezi - me and Terezi's yumeship name

That's all, thanks for reading <:). Also go to my good friends connen's blog.

[cuppatealove]

Anchor Point - Chapter 11 - Cuppa_tea_love - Castle (TV 2009) [Archive of Our Own]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43213752/chapters/170314999#workskin

New chapter is up!

The boys are on a mission.

[gif]

Also on ff.net

[oshackphotos]

[rennered4real]

BOW AND ARROW, BOW AND ARROW!!!

Jeremy Renner, Hailee Steinfeld and Jolt on set of Hawkeye on December 8, 2020

[jerichopalms]

#48: Anchor Point (2021, dir. by Holly Tuckett)