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Pride Month: Father Donald Callahan (James Cromwell) ’Salem’s Lot (2004) [mlm in The Dark Tower books]

My submission for the Lockwood & Co Disney AU exchange we did over on the Chaos Discord!

I had a lot of ideas for this one, my assignment was the Little Mermaid with Lockwood as Ariel and it was so fun!

I may add some more to this idea in the future but for now here is the finished product: A mermaid prince Lockwood enamored with the mysterious young artist he spots doing some rather risky plein-air painting at sea

  forty, love ᵕ̈       tennis au!miya twins x gn!reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : the three of you always  ⋮⋮  end up finding yourselves on the ⋮⋮  court , time and time again

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮 ( for now )     ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛     ♡ # 2.2𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴     ♡ # 𝙘𝙬 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴     𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵     𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘵𝘰-𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺

🧺 extensions  ⋮⋮  series masterlist  ⋮⋮  next  ⋮⋮

🎶 on shuffle " the signal " - trent reznor & atticus ross ( challengers movie soundtrack )

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ hey chat i caved and i'm making this multiple parts 😔☝️ a special gift for the one and only ree 😚 inspired by challengers aka my fav movie ever ( besides greta gerwig's little women , or cmbyn , or emma 2020 , or –– ) ”

in tennis, it's about winning the points that matter.

you can barely sit still. the heat of the sun, blaring down onto the court and onto the spectators in the stands of this match, didn't matter to you at all, though. you were used to this: the summer sun, desperation in the air, and your eye trained on the ball, zooming in a neon green blur from left, to right, from left, to right–

on your left, is the man you swore your life to. on your right is the man you loved.

you must admit, maybe it was bad, getting involved with a pair of twins for the better half of about two decades now. but if you had to defend yourself, they were like no one else you've ever met on the court.

and at this moment, it all comes back to you. all those years ago, when the miya twins first stepped onto court with their duffels.

،   の   ✧   後    🌱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

you were 18 then. nine years earlier, you watched as little dots darkened the blue hardcourt underneath you, bent over and supporting yourself with your arms on your knees. you felt the drops of your sweat glide down from your hairline and your temples to your chin and the tip of your nose, finally hitting the plane of blue beneath your sneakers. the racket in your hands was starting to dig into your palm. the summer sun relentlessly prodded at the exposed skin of your shoulders as they heaved up and down as you tried to catch your breath.

24 hours from that moment, you would be in a make-or-break tournament final for your tennis career. if you secured a that win in that ongoing tournament at the time, you were guaranteed to be in the top seed in ranking for the next event you were attending later that summer–when by then, you were hoping, you'd have gone pro.

'it only goes up from there, y/n,' your coach had told you. and that was your dream, ever since you were a child.

your heart was pounding up into your ears, but you knew that was just your body's signal to keep going.

you heard a prolonged creak far off–the gate to the court. thinking it was your coach, the only other person with you at the moment, you glance up and go to straighten up your back before they could scold you for slacking.

but no. past your coach, two boys had entered the court that your coach had previously assured was supposed to be private, just you and her for the afternoon. it was hard to see in the bright sunlight, even with your visor on, but one had a head of dirty blonde hair, and–as the pounding in your head died down–your ears caught on to how he was actually speaking pretty loudly as him and his companion approached. said companion had gray hair, saying very little and not nearly as loudly as his friend.

'gray hair? an old guy? maybe that's the other's coach,' brows knit together, you thought.

but as you squinted to see better against the daylight, you noticed how young–and how good-looking, actually–that "coach" was.

and... wait. same with the blonde guy.

in fact, they were alike in their good looks.

a bit too alike.

'am i seeing double?' you adjusted the wires on your racket while your eyes were trained on the two as they continued their carefree stroll in, slugging their matching black duffels with a certain fox-looking logo on them.

"y/n! what's the hold up? you alright?" your coach shouts out from the opposite side of the net.

just as you were about to say you think you need a drink of water–to hopefully prevent you from hallucinating and seeing more things in twos–the strangers became startled at the sound of your coach and their heads darted in your direction.

the gray-haired one's face seemed unfazed, but you watched as his eyes confusedly dart back and forth between you and your coach. the blonde, visibly surprised with brows raised high, quickly whips his arm around, the shiny watch on his wrist reflecting a brief glare as he flicks it to check the time.

"oh! oh, we're sorry!" he calls out with a chuckle. he grabs a hold of his partner's arm and starts redirecting their path towards the stands, "our reservation for this court isn't for another hour! we can wait, don't mind us!"

they already started climbing up to a place to sit, their toned legs reflecting the sun above. 'wow, those shorts are short'

"hey! who told you that you can–"

"no," you interrupted your coach before she could scare them away from the court, "they can watch. it's only for a little while longer, anyway, yeah?"

with a huff, your coach complied with your reasoning, and your gaze lingered on the strangers for just a bit longer as they sat down, before you pulled a tennis ball out of your pocket and got ready to serve in front of your new audience.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

"alright! that's enough for today. let's get you back to the hotel so you can rest up before your big day tomorrow," your coach announced about an hour of rallies and drills later, clapping you on the back. dragging yourself over to the bench, you ravaged your bag for some water. racket, towel, snacks... shit. you didn't bring your water with you.

as soon as you started to curse yourself under your breath you heard the distant crackle of a plastic bottle filled with the very water you were deprived of. following the noise, you look up–seeing the strangers from earlier, still sitting in the stands. (you had forgotten they were even there, honestly.)

they sat there, still. mouths agape and each holding a water bottle in his hand. they kept that pose for a long moment, and you couldn't help but start to laugh lightly at them. that seemed to snap them out of their trance, though, and suddenly both of them were climbing over rows of chairs in front of them and scrambling to get over the partridge to where you were.

"w-wow that was amazing–"

"how did you manage to return the one that–"

"and this was just your practice? it's incredible how–"

"you're almost, like, faster than the ba–"

"thank you," you interrupted them with a chuckle. the speed at which two quickly shut up the moment you spoke was astonishing, and it was like they were waiting with bated breath for your next sentence, "are you two here for the tournament? you can watch out for me tomorrow if you're so impressed. no use seeing me when i'm not even against an actual opponent."

two water bottles were now outstretched in front of you. you glanced between the bottles and the to boys' faces, expectant and still laced with such awe. (had to admit, spiked your ego a little bit.)

you eventually took the bottle the gray-haired one was offering. your hands grazed slightly when you did, and in the corner of your eye you could see how he gazed down to where your two hands briefly met–

"and you can watch out for us tomorrow!" the blonde quickly interjected. he gave you a toothy grin as his hand holding the other bottle was quickly wrapped around the other's shoulders.

you cracked open the water bottle you picked and took a swig, humming as the refreshing rush of cold water slid down your throat. closing the cap of the bottle you ask, "both of you? you play doubles?"

"yeah we do!" the one grinning at you extended his empty hand this time, "the miya twins. miya atsumu."

the other quickly followed suit with his hand, "miya osamu."

'hm, twins. that explains it.'

amused, you gently shook each one's hand. you shoved the last of your belongings into your duffel and slung it over your shoulder. you gave them a nod, "i'll see you around, then."

"see ya!"

"we'll see you tomorrow."

as you walked away from the court, the gray-haired one's water bottle still in your hand, you took a mental note of highlight reels to look up as you took an ice bath in your hotel room that night.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the next day arrived. at the venue, the crowds were buzzing and announcers sounded off on the p.a. systems, announcing the lineup for the day–including your match, the first of the day. the tournament final.

all the sounds of the tournament couldn't overcome the pounding in your head, however. you felt the adrenaline in your veins as you made your way to the locker room, duffel slung over your shoulder and sneakers squeaking against the pristine tiles.

you decided to throw your headphones on as you did your warm-ups. despite how prepared you felt for this moment–the one you've been fantasizing about for years–you still couldn't help but feel the subtle tingle of nervousness in your bones.

eventually, it was time to face the crowd, the court, and your opponent. but the moment you stepped out into the sunlight, you were suddenly overcome with a laser-sharp focus.

this was the moment. this was your time to take what you always wanted.

the coin was tossed and your opponent got to serve first. you ready yourself on your side of the court, spinning your racket in anticipation. you observe your opponent, and for a moment you both lock eyes. in that split second it was like a cord snapped and stretched out between you two, connecting the both of you and suddenly putting you both in sync–like you two were the only ones in the stadium.

the very idea of nervousness was foreign to your mind in that moment. your racket melded with your hand and became an extension of you. your feet were just itching to follow that damn tennis ball.

eyes on the ball... eyes on the ball...

in a flash, the neon sphere gets lifted up into the air, and you smile to yourself as you already feel your feet taking you where you need to be on the court before the sound of your opponent's racket crashing with the ball could reverberate around the stands.

an impact on the hardcourt. corner.

you swing your racket and send the ball flying over the net and back to your opponent.

it's in, but your opponent is right there. another hit. to the right.

you feel the air rush past you as you stride over and return the ball to hit the corner farthest from your opponent. just where you wanted it.

hit. middle. hit. center. hit. corner. hit–

the crowd erupts in cheers and applause. the ball had gone flying past the other player across the net and you hear the umpire announce your first point of the match.

win.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

third set.

you had won the first one 6 to 3.

you lost the second set 5 to 7 after a long rally with your opponent but you shook it off. you could come back for the final set.

this set has gone on for what seems like forever. this tie break has gone on for what seems like forever. you've already won 7 points, yet your opponent's score has remained hot on your tail.

until now.

"match point," the umpire announces, and the stands fall silent.

you needed to finish this off.

it only takes one point now. one ace can end this match off once and for all.

it's your turn to serve, and you bounce the ball against the hardcourt as you let the thumping in your head die down. it was your signal to keep going, to make that last final push.

you take a deep breath before serving. you think of what it will feel like to lift that trophy.

you gracefully toss the ball in the air, but as your eye follows it as it briefly eclipses the blaring sun above the stadium, you swear you can catch a slight glimpse of two heads of hair in the crowd.

one blonde and one gray, same agape look on their faces from the day before.

it was like they were seeing god.

but no, it was just you...

so same thing.

the sound of your racket and the ball colliding mid-air rips through the silence of the court at that same moment. a gust of air rushes back into the stadium as everyone lets out the breath they had been holding, and you hear the crowd cheer as you let yourself fall to the ground, letting the exhaustion from the match finally take over you because now it was over.

you win.

you feel your chest heave up and down as your arms land to cross over your sweaty, smiling face. you close your eyes, the summer sun trying as hard as ever to blind you through your eyelids, but all you could see behind them was that image of those twins.

you recall how shocked those two always seemed to be as they watched you play, and you couldn't help but start giggling to yourself.

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist (2/30 at the time of publishing) : @zumicho , @liillyliilly (just send me an ask if you’re interested! xx)

HEHEHEHEHE

guys i think i ship peeeeelant and lance cus of this little shit /aff

its unreal how all of my favorite characters have exactly the same traits and hobbies and diagnoses as me