Feb 21
bruh.
seen from France
seen from China
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Ireland
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from Sweden
seen from France
seen from Spain
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Belarus
seen from China
bruh.
Missed This
You haul yourself out of the swimming pool and pad across the hot stone to get a towel. Jim, lounging in the sun in one of the deck chairs, looking rather like a big cat, wolf-whistles.
“Yeah, yeah, keep your knickers on.” You scrub at your hair. “I’m hardly going to win any beauty contests anymore, am I?”
“Don’t sell yourself short, darling,” Jim says cheerfully. “I’m sure you can still manage to pull a French housewife if you put in a bit of an effort.”
You throw the wet towel at him and he catches, smirking. “Certainly better than you can. Your accent really isn’t as good as you think it is, you know.”
“I’ll ask your French housewife to give me private lessons.”
“Ah, she’s mine already, is she?” You bend down to pull the cover back over the pool, and even with the sunglasses on you can see him eyeing your arse, with visible appreciation. “You know, this would be a lot more believable if I wasn’t so absolutely sure you’d have my balls for breakfast if I so much as looked at someone else.”
No reply. You straighten up, shoot him a glance. He’s grinning at you, hands behind his head, with every sign of enjoyment.
“What, cat got your tongue?” you say, eyebrow up. “Or are you having a stroke or something, because that’s about the only reason I can see you’d ever let me have the final word.”
“Perhaps I’ve grown gracious in my old age,” he says, lazily.
“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes. “When hell freezes over, darling.”
He laughs, then leans back a little in the chair, stretches. “I missed this.”
You stare at him.
He drops his arms, scratches his nose, briefly looks around, distracted, at a pair of birds hopping by.
“You missed this?” you repeat.
He turns to look at you, expression one of mild surprise.
“You fucking mi—” You take a deep breath.
And he’s still looking at you, a little bemused, as if he doesn’t fully follow what you’re—
“Why, Jim,” you burst out. “Why did you—”
He tips his sunglasses forward and frowns, amusement gone.
“What did I do wrong?” you say, and you can’t stop the desperation bleeding from the words. “That you—That it made you—”
He rolls his eyes. “Don't be so conceited, it had nothing to do with you.”
You laugh, disbelievingly. “Nothing to do with— Yeah, no, of course not. I was collateral damage, right?”
“Seb—”
“Tell me, if they'd actually killed me in there, would you have even spared me a thought? Or would you have just shrugged and moved on? Acceptable losses, was that it, Jim?”
“Do you really need to—”
“You abandoned me. How can you fucking act like—like this was somehow out of your control, like you didn't deliberately engineer—”
“That's not what I said,” he says calmly.
“So you are admitting it, are you? That leaving me to rot in a prison was a conscious choice— that—oh, but it's fine, because you missed me.”
“Sebastian—”
“Fuck you, Jim.”
And you stride off, before your patience snaps and you actually strangle the bastard.
---
It’s a lot later when he finally comes to join you on the terrace, the sun touching the horizon.
He sits down next to you, leans back. Eyes on the view, not on you, which is frankly fine.
The anger has gone down to a low simmer, but, Christ.
“It might be best to change locations again,” Jim says, after a few moments. “We've stayed here too long, people are starting to talk about us.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He lights a cigarette, hands you one. His fingers brush yours as you take it.
You smoke in silence, eyes on the setting sun. Feeling him next to you, quiet. He is looking at you, now, but you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze.
“No matter what else, it is true,” he says, eventually. “I did miss you.”
You turn, stare at him.
And he meets your eyes, calmly, as if this is any way enough.
“You can’t keep pretending nothing happened, Jim,” you say, when he doesn’t react.
He stands up. “Come on, we need to pack.”
Just discovered "The Pizza Delivery Man and the Gold Palace"
local 22-year-old baby man thinks he can threaten skilled veteran hitman who could kill him by blinking, is smarmy about it
finally my integrity as an artist, realized: i can draw a shaft head tilt
not me spending like $30 on bye sweet carole just to encounter a game breaking bug in chapter 4 anyway im this close to throwing out my console
I cannot believe I just wrote this:
The eyes behind the glasses seemed glassy.
How absolutely descriptive and poetic, don’t you sure think?
Hope?
“Hey Stevie,” she says. “I hope it’s okay that I came over, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Send me a word, I’ll give the sentence with it in my WIP fic
