#I've been thinking about this all morning

[rosepetalkitty]

oh boy tw for family trauma 🫠

yeah no that's. damn.

my dad only ever hit me once, and he probably doesn't remember it, but i do. i never told anyone because i didn't want him to get in trouble — he was always the parent who was less of a threat.

that's the only physical thing that ever happened (thank god) but there was a lot of other shit and moving away to uni really helped me realize that.

my mom would sit on my bed behind me while i worked on homework and shout at me if it seemed like i was falling asleep. she would keep me up until 1am some nights, and when she was tired and angry in the morning she would tell everyone it was my fault no matter how much i tried to say that i wanted her to just go to bed, that i didn't want to keep her up, that i was tired too... that started at the beginning 9th grade (during quarantine) and lasted until the beginning of 11th.

before that, in middle school (i was 12) when i first got a phone, she told me one of the expectations was that i would give her the password and let her go through it. i did give her the password, but even at that age i didn't really trust her, so i used another app to put a second password on my home screen. if you put it in wrong it took a photo of you and emailed it to me.

a few weeks later she told me she wanted to go through it, and i told her that was fine, but because it was past my bedtime she wouldn't let me stay up and sit with her while she did. i asked if we could do it in the morning so that we could go through it together, and she said that was fine. guess who woke up to an enraged mother and an email with a picture of her face in the morning...

i brought that one up in therapy four years later in response to her telling the therapist she didn't know why i didn't trust her, and she interrupted me to say, and i quote, "that was so long ago that it doesn't matter anymore." she then turned to the therapist to tell her about how when i was in middle school i wouldn't let her go through my phone "to make sure i was safe", and that that was evidence that the trust issues were my fault. the therapist just looked at me like 😬 and quickly moved on to the next topic. my mom now refuses to acknowledge that she ever said that.

in high school my parents always kinda treated me like a toddler. i wasn't allowed to leave the house unless it was with them because they didn't trust public transportation and our neighborhood wasn't safe to walk out of (giant road all around the perimeter). i didn't get to take a bus until i was 16, and that was only to the mall a few minutes from my house. it took until i was 17 to be able to actually go and hang out with my friends without her supervision or that of another parent who she would expect updates from.

now that im in uni living on my own, she takes every opportunity she can to berate me about my ability to take care of myself. ive been living alone for three months now and have been perfectly fine, doing what i can to get decent nutrition on a college campus that makes it somewhat difficult, and she argued with me about whether it was "responsible" to get a hamburger when she brought me to shake shack while was home to visit for a weekend. "you probably only eat stuff like this, anyways, order something healthy!"

and honestly, speaking of that trip, y'know what really showed me how much less stress i've been under in uni? having a nice brunch at a fancy-ish restaurant that we used to go to with my grandparents when i was little and being low-key appalled when my parents parents started having a not-so-quiet back and forth in which my mom was saying "oh you just think everything i say is wrong, just tell everyone that, be honest, this is ridiculous" over the fact that my dad had asked "hey just to make sure we did mean to get two orders of potatoes, right? just want to check before the server comes back in case that's too much."

those arguments were normal to me a few months ago. and they wonder why i don't tell them things...

(also for context, it's one of those places where two or three small plates is enough for one person and you share stuff, so he was counting up what we were planning to order to make sure we got the right amount — the answer was yes, everyone in the family loves those potatoes, and the second my brother said that my dad was like "oh cool okay, anyways-" before being cut off again by my mom going nuclear over being interrupted by my brother)

and also, final footnote before i post this, there is so much more. this is like. not the worst of my childhood. plus im not including anything from before i was like 12 because i don't remember any of it besides a couple snippets, so there's that...

[sungbeams]

TEASER | RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT — psh

sending your boyfriend an innocent selfie after a long and tiring day quickly snowballs into something far from innocent...

release date : nov 16 @ 1am cet comment on this post if you want to get tagged in the final fic

⟡ ┆ pairing. park sunghoon x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, established relationship, idol!AU (for sunghoon, y/n unspecified)

⟡ ┆ content warnings. guided + mutual masturbation, phone sex, edging, dirty talk, a tiny bit of voyeurism?

⟡ ┆ word count. 0.7k of 9.7k

⟡ ┆ note. so this is a little fic i've been working on for a while now and i finally finished it! biggest thanks to @jayparked who beta read this whole thing in like one sitting ily snail :')

"Well," he clears his throat, a teasing tone taking over his voice, "you sent me that selfie last night, and I wanted to have some fun with you... but I guess you had better things to do."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he lets his eyes adjust to the bright morning sun shining through the half-closed curtains, not having had the energy to get up to close them the night before.

A laugh erupts from you as you mentally picture your boyfriend sitting in the bed of his hotel room, duvet pooled around his waist and one arm slung over his bare chest as he's leaning back against the headboard with a playful pout etched onto his face. You silently sit up — your arm starting to fall asleep from the position in which you have to hold your phone against your ear — shirt slipping off your shoulder in the process as you reach up to push some of your hair out of your face.

"Yeah? What kind of fun?"

Your voice is curious, although hushed, almost as if you don’t dare to speak too loudly, even though you’re completely alone with no one to disturb. On the other end, you can hear Sunghoon hum slightly, the rumble in his chest echoing in your ear and sending the noises straight towards your core, your plush walls fluttering around nothing. Even after being with and knowing him for quite some time, little things like this — his voice after just waking up, his cheeks painted in a dusty pink, his hair a fluffy mess just asking to run your hands through it — still instantly manage to melt you into a puddle, goosebumps rising all over your skin.

"I think you know just what kind of fun I’m talking about, baby,“ Sunghoon lightly growls into your ear, pushing the duvet completely off his body, pressing a hand against the growing bulge in his underwear to relieve some of the pressure, "You looked so sexy, with your hair all messy from the day, your makeup smudged, and my shirt covering your gorgeous body. Wish I could be there right now to tear it off of you; be the reason you're all messy and disheveled for me.”

A quiet whimper involuntarily slips past your lips, your boyfriend chuckling lowly into your ear in reaction. He's aware of the effect he has on you, especially that of his voice. Whenever when he would want to tease and rile you up, he'd intentionally lean closer to you, whispering into your ear, his breath brushing over your ear, and no matter how innocent or suggestive his hushed words would be, your body would always react the same: shivers wrecking your body, breath speeding up, and eyes glazing over as you gaze up at him. The thought of those memories alone causes you to shudder and press your legs together, dampness slowly forming between them and ruining your underwear.

"Let’s try something different today, alright, sweetheart?"

You clear your throat in hopes your voice wouldn’t come out as breathy as you’re anticipating, but without avail, "Like...like what?”

"I want you to lie back down. I know you just sat up a few moments ago; I heard it, but now I need you to lie back down. Can you do that for me, baby?“

Your response comes as a hum, not trusting your voice and wanting to relish in Sunghoon's commanding tone without interrupting him. Silently, you shuffle down in your bed until your head is resting on your pillow again before kicking your duvet off your legs to feel less trapped and constricted, allowing you to move freely. Your shirt rides up in the process, exposing the bare skin of your stomach, goosebumps forming on it as the cold air of your bedroom comes in contact with your hot skin.

"I saw a blog post a bit ago online; it was about this couple in a long-distance relationship, and to spice things up in their bedrooms, they tried this little game that blew their minds away. How does that sound?"

You swallow thickly despite your mouth feeling as dry as a desert, breathing out a soft 'good’ as you impatiently wait for your boyfriend to continue husking into your ear.

"It's...I'm not sure how to describe it. It's like a guided mutual masturbation game? I'll get you to fuck yourself just the way I want you to do it while you get to listen to my voice and allow me complete control over you. Let me guide you, tease you, make you pleasure yourself until you cum all over."

©sungbeams — all rights reserved. i do not give permission to copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

[archangeldyke-all]

@sumilane made this gorgeous art and i wrote a little something for it! i posted it already last night as a reblog but i'm going to make it it's own post so gio can add more art to it!! eeek!!!

men and minors dni

sevika is feeling strangely vulnerable.

it could be the bottle of whiskey the two of you have been sharing this evening. it could be that silco, the one person she knew best in the world, is gone now. it could even be the brat he left behind for her to take care of who's been slowly worming her way into sevika's heart throughout the time spent fixing up her new arm and changing their looks together.

it could just be you, though. the sorta-sad, mostly resigned look in your eye as you lament your relationship woes to sevika.

"i dunno... every time i think i could have something with someone-- not even like, marriage, but y'know-- just someone to share some intimacy with-- something happens and it doesn't work. after a while i just start to think maybe it's not the circumstances that are fucked up 'n maybe it's just me."

"bullshit." sevika spits, shaking her head and quickly refilling her glass with more whiskey. she has to do something with her hands to keep from reaching across the table and shaking your shoulders as she speaks. "y-you're fine. perfect--" she cuts herself off, a furrow in her brow as she glares at her whiskey.

you snort. sevika's adorable when she's tipsy, stumbling over her words and staring into space. fuck. you need to stop rambling about your heartache to the woman you're hopelessly in love with. "i-i'm sorry for dumping this shit on you sev. 's boring and stupid and--"

"no, shut up, it's just--" sevika blinks up at you then curls in on herself in a manner that's almost... shy. she clears her throat and looks away for a moment, almost whispering. "i-i'd marry you."

you blink.

"what?"

"i'm saying you're fuckin' stupid if you think you don't have options." sevika mutters, hunching her shoulders so much she looks small.

you're heart's beating a mile a fucking minute, and you squeak when you bite your tongue to make sure you aren't dreaming. "you said you'd marry me?"

"fuckin'-- obviously only in some hypothetical world where you were into me." sevika shrugs. "but...yeah." she grunts, before reaching out and drowning the whiskey in her glass, muttering a "fuck." under her breath.

you blink a few times, tears spontaneously bubbling up in your vision and a lump forming in your throat. "i was under the impression that i didn't have a shot with you." you whisper.

sevika's eyes fly to yours, wide and shocked. "what the fuck would make you think that?!"

"j-just..." you trail off, gulping again. "you're the most interesting, attractive woman i've ever met, and i am one of about a thousand other fuckin' people in zaun who think so. a-and we've been friends for years and you never said anything..." you trail off as sevika stumbles out of her booth and over to yours, shoving in beside you and cornering you against the wall, clutching your jaw with both of her hands as she stares down at you-- bewildered.

"is this a dream?" she asks.

"i bit my tongue to check-- it's real."

"i-i was serious y'know. i'll take you down to the courthouse tomorrow morning." she says, her voice shaky and sincere.

suddenly, the full reality of the situation hits you, and you burst into laughter. "i-i've been in love with you for years." you admit through giggles. "years!"

sevika starts to giggle too. "m-me too."

"and your fucking haircut is so hot all i've wanted to do for the past two weeks is kiss yo--"

sevika cuts you off with her lips to yours, and you sigh, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

it's a drunk, sloppy kiss-- years of tension and yearning finally bubbling to the surface as sevika attempts to pin you to the booth.

you have every intention of letting her do just that when she pulls away, grinning down at you.

"you really bit your tongue, didn't you? i can taste the blood in your mouth." she asks.

you nod, clawing at her desprately as you try to get her to kiss you again. sevika grins, swooping in to do just that-- but when she pulls away the second thime with her leps stained with your blood, you gasp. "oh, shit!"

"i tried to tell you." sevika giggles.

"do i need stitches? can you give stitches to a tongue?" you ask.

"this really puts a dent in all my plans." sevika cackles. you snort, and she passes you the bottle. "drink. it'll wash the blood away."

"w-what plans?" you ask as you take a swig.

"the plans i had for your tongue."

you choke, whiskey spraying everywhere as you cackle.

sevika--covered in your spit, blood, and whiskey-- smiles so wide you think her face might crack.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz

[historical-fashion-polls]

your blog is great but its a small sliver of the reason why studios will not care about period dress in film. like 9/10 before voting i already can pick which one is leading based on how silhouettes and other things that are consider more goofy to do in modern times. its not your fault and im not upset but i find it interesting even when looking at historical dress we still see it through a lense of modern styles and almost subconsciously probably prefer what looks more familiar. and well when you got hot actresses executives dont want them to actually dress like theyre speeve maxxing in 1896 bc sex sells of something idk

hi there anon,

I've spent most of the morning trying to figure out how to respond to this message, because I genuinely always try to assume that all asks are sent with the best intentions, but to be honest, I'm having a really hard time seeing this as anything but a bad faith reading of the blog

as I've mentioned many times, I run this blog entirely for fun and because people enjoy it. I've always intended it as a place for joy and whimsy where people can play pretend and imagine themselves wearing lovely garments from the past

if you read the notes of the polls and many of the asks that have been sent to the blog, I think you'll find there's actually a great diversity of opinion on garments from every era. many people have mentioned that the blog has even given them a better sense of the trajectory of historical fashion and has helped them improve their skills in dating garments

even if the majority of people almost always do pick the garment that is most resonant with modern sensibilities (which (1) I'm not totally convinced of, and (2) which is rather a subjective judgement anyway), the real goal here is that people have fun and get to enter an imaginative headspace where they can picture themselves wearing the various garments

there is definitely space for a conversation about what historical accuracy actually *means* and where we do and don't see it in media and why that might be the case, but to be honest I have a very hard time seeing how my little for-fun blog has any relevance to or influence over larger cultural tendencies in major media. if anything, people's responses to the polls are an outgrowth of opinions and ideas about historical fashion that are already extant in the cultural space, not something formed independently by the existence of the blog or by the experience of participating in the polls

I'm not sure how else to conclude except to say that I'm sorry that you feel this way about the blog and – at the risk of being too honest – I'm sorry you felt the need to tell me, because this did ruin my day a little 💔

[burrowkit]

"Another attempt on my life?" I inquire, as my bodyguard pretends that cleaning off one of his blades in the sink is a natural, every day task.

He's been my assigned bodyguard for a week, and it's becoming clear that it is, in fact, an every day task. Some nights, it's almost hourly.

"Yup." My guard answers calmly, a chuckle at the end of the word. Some secret, that I'm determined to get out of him.

I rest my forearms on the back of the couch as I watch my bodyguard in the small kitchenette, the one with a sink, a mini-fridge, and a small amount of counter space.

"Do you know why this one tried to kill me?" I prompt.

My father thinks I shouldn't question it. A bodyguard doing their job? But that doesn't explain why, just this morning, the assassins were going after Timor. Tim, for short.

"Spes, I already told you, they view you as a corrupt Prince." Tim answers, carefully drying the blade. Confirming that it is, in fact, as sharp as it was five minutes ago. "Besides, who else would they be trying to get to?"

Who else, indeed.

Tim, determined to keep me alive at all costs, ensures we are never away from each other. He's about my age, maybe a couple of years older, maybe.

This morning, Tim was in the shower. The fucking shower. And they attacked. I was sitting on the toilet, pretending not to notice him taking a shower, reading a book on mythology. Tim always likes it when I read my books out loud. I suspect it's a way to distract him from the chaos within his head. Unlike my sheltered life, he's been through a lot.

I can see it in the way he always jumps at any noise, a blade in his hand.

And this morning, I heard the sound of someone being shoved into the shower wall. I looked up from my book... and found the face of yet another assassin.

One would've assumed that the assassin, if truly after me, would've attacked my distracted self than to deal with the equally distracted bodyguard. But no, they went for him first.

"Did you know, there's a myth about people's hopes and fears. And how the two work together so well?" I ask, slightly changing the topic.

It was not lost on me that Tim embodies the feeling of fear in the world. He seems constantly afraid. And yet, here I am, afraid for him.

Tim turns his beautiful brown eyes on my, grinning. "Why, Prince, are you saying we should work together?" He teases, tossing his blade and catching it.

"I want to know what's going on." I counter calmly.

Prophesies. There are so many prophesies in this forsaken world. This world likes to repeat them, changing minor details.

In Tim's eyes, I see hope. His hope for me. "Spes, I already told you before. Don't worry about me. Fear not about my life, look for the future. Be the hope this kingdom needs."

Before I can say anything else, he crosses the space, giving me a soft kiss on the cheek. "I was thinking, we could watch a horror movie?"

I shiver, turning around to face the screen as he jumps over the couch. "I like those movies where the good guys win." I answer, sighing. "Can't there be a compromise."

Tim sighs, rolling his eyes, pretending its some big issue. But I can see the glimmer of laughter in his eyes. "Oh, I guess. But one day, I think we should watch this." He holds out a DVD.

A movie that I've never heard of before.

Fear. That's the name of the movie.

My eyes meet Tim's, and for a moment, I see like I'm staring into his soul. "Is this..." I trail off, unsure if I can vocalize it.

"Some answers, I think." He answers calmly.

"Okay." I agree, trying to feel hopeful about the dvd, not afraid.

Tim, clearly afraid I'll change my answer, leaps across the space to place the DVD.

Before he can hit start, a crash sounds nearby. Tim sighs. "Duty calls."

***

So, quick note. Google Translate informed me that Timor means Fear. And Spes means Hope. Enjoy :)

I'm vaguely thinking there's some prophesy about Hope and Fear needed to help push the world to something new, something better, idk.

And Tim is the 'Fear' half. Those that have pieced it together, find themselves always afraid, especially near Tim.

I could go down a rabbit hole about the King becoming more and more paranoid about losing his son, and thus pays Tim more and more money. And Spes is hopeful that the world will change for the positive, and starts to step into his father's role. Working on building relations.

Unfortunately, I think I've decided I like Spes-x-Tim, so any marriages would be a tad inconvenient. But it could work, I guess. Maybe some Princess is being abused, so Spes brings her home as part of an "arranged" marriage.

Maybe Vita for life because I can't find a decent translation for safe / neutral ground for her.

She'll be allowed freedoms, and the three of them become some sort of besties? Oh, Speculum for Mirror. Spec or Specks/Spex? for short?

Spes makes her afraid (at least initially, the opposite of what he normally makes others feel naturally), and Tim makes her hopeful. idk

The number of assassins that threatens the prince skyrocket after the king hired the new bodyguard. The king thought that is money well spent, the prince however know the truth. Those assassins weren't after his life, they are after his bodyguard's! And he is determined to find out why.

[hhughes]

៹࣪ ៸៸ CLINGY . . . ꒱꒱

🍵 (blurb)— trevor tries to convince you to skip your morning workout and stay in bed with him

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. gf!reader x trevor zegras. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. domesticity. suggestive content. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. miss writing for my guy trev. as always reblogs and feedback is appreciated and I hope you liked it <3

You sigh watching the coffee slowly pour into your cup. You desperately needed the caffeine after getting up this early. It was 7am on a Saturday and you wanted nothing more than to get back in bed and sleep in 'til noon, but you couldn't. You and Trevor were attending a friend's birthday lunch that would probably go until late afternoon, and if you didn't go to the gym now, you wouldn't have time to go at all.

Usually you wouldn't be opposed to just skipping a gym session, especially if you had plans but you had already skipped 2 days this week and you didn't want to skip another. A creak in the door made you turn your head towards the left where a very sleepy Trevor was shuffling his way over to you, yawning and hair sticking in every direction.

The sight made you giggle slightly and you turned your attention back to the coffee, noticing the cup was filled. You put the lid on your cup, just as your boyfriend's arms snake around your waist from behind, pulling you against him tightly and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up baby," you say, genuinely feeling bad, knowing the start of the season is always an adjustment and he needed his rest.

"come back to bed" he mumbles against your skin, his soft breaths and ends of his hair tickling you slightly.

"I can't. I have to go to the gym" you say, ignoring his hmm of protest, trying to grab your cup in front of you but Trevor was faster and snatched the cup, holding it above his head before you could take it.

You turn around glancing up at the cup that you couldn't reach and gave your boyfriend a deadpan stare. "Really? You're so immature Trev." you say slightly annoyed and he grins. You are so hot when you are mad.

"Babe, you have the hottest body I've ever seen. You don't need to go to the gym." he says, voice slightly groggy since he hasn't been up that long. He was still holding the cup above his head even though you hadn't made an attempt to grab it.

"It's not about how I look. It's about being active. Sometimes I barely get my 10k steps in a day, not all of us play a sport for a living, remember?" you ask but he's not really paying attention, taking a sip of your coffee and immediately scrunching his nose up. He knows you don't take any sugar, but he still drinks it every time, thinking it's gonna taste differently.

"There's other ways you can be active. So many other ways. Come back to bed and I'll show you." he says putting the cup on the counter, hands falling to your hips and pulling you closer to him.

"You're insufferable." you protest, voice fading a little when he starts laying little kisses on your collarbone.

"Come on. I'll make it worth it. I promise you'll burn more calories with me than you will in the gym and you'll have so much more fun doing it." he whispers, his hands sliding down to grab your ass.

You bite your lip, thinking about it for a second before pulling his head down to meet yours in a kiss. He picks you up as you wrap your legs around his waist, carrying you back to bed. It's not like you weren't active at all, right?

[ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2]

Voicelines about you

Arlecchino x Reader

Includes : Tartaglia, Wanderer, Charlotte, Lynette, Lyney, Freminete, Navia, Chiory and ofc Arlecchino

Note : This has been rotting in my Samsung Notes since months lol

Tartaglia

- Have you heard about the Knaves poor spouse? Sneznayas Darling? No? Well, I have seen them only a few times since they decided to reside in Fontain. Or since she made them, it wouldn't suprise me, the woman is intimidating and knows her way with words, who knows what she did or does with them...

Wanderer

- Who? Hmmm, they usually are always by her side, she had never move them an inch from her, or atleast that was before she had them stay in Fontain. But the last time I saw them, I could swear that the ligth had dissapeared from their eyes. And who can blame them, with that wolf of a wife... hehe, she must have ripped them limp from limp by now.

Charlotte

- The Knaves spouse! Of course! They are a hard catch these days! Not that I could Photograph them though, they're the same as the Knave in that regard. If they are dead? I can assure you they are not! I always see them at the mornings when I run to work! Sometimes alone, sometimes with the Knave, but I only have ever gotten a wave out of them. Such a mysterious figure...I wish I could just get one interview, I even tried to write to them! But only the Knave responded, denying it...such a shame.

Lynette

- Huh, I will assume you got that information from Childe. 'Mother' is...different from 'Father' to say the least, they are gentler, have a softer voice. Though if you upset them, that soft voice will turn solid. I've seen it before when a few of my siblings tried to slack off to much. They are even more strict than 'Father' in some cases, but, none of us blame them and whoever talks bad about them...well...you don't wanna know.

Lyney

- So you have heard about them? Was it from the rumors that 'Father' has killed them? Or from Childe? Childe, really? Interesting. Well, when Lynette and I were younger, we have noticed that 'Father' would treat them differently. Just not in a positive ligth, while we liked them. They were... different from the other caretakers, and so we spun a little matchmaking with the help of Freminete. I remember it all quite fondly.

Freminete

- You've heard of 'Mother'? They are kind, I think. Sometimes...sometimes when I wanted to cry when I was younger, they would pull me aside and have me silently cry in their lap, even let me stain their clothes...they would never mention it to 'Father', and act as if it never happend.

Navia

- I thougth they were dead for the longest time! That was untill I overheard the Knave ask one of her soldiers to deliver the message that she'd need to stay a bit longer and for them to prepare the soldiers. I never meet them in person, but...I'd suggest you to be careful with them too. I don't think a Harbinger would choose their Partner ligthly.

Chiori

- I am not really one for rumors, let us just say that I thougth they were made up, but that was untill they came into my shop just five minutes after I opened it on a Monday. They were very adamant about the fabrics I should use and what they wanted, also having their measurements along with them already. I like customer's that know what they want. How I knew that they were the 'Mother'? The presence of the Knave in front of the shop was a big indicator for it, as for some other clues, like the ring, and the fact that they kissed, and maybe because they called her their Husband.

Arlecchino

- My spouse, of course, I've gathered that you have already heard about them.

What I can say about them? Well, as the 'Mother' it is their duty to stay by my side and support me in my work. They do so quite well. You say that, that sounds as if they function as the 'First Lady' or 'First spouse' in this case? Well, I suppose that's true.

- Oh? You wanna know even more about them? Maybe I should get you to meet them then, they have been asking me if they could meet that famous traveler everyone has been talking about, we could arrange something, just be careful, they have been quite timid lately. But I'm sure you'll get along well.

[copperbadge]

Do you ever get stuck in a procrastination loop as part of your ADHD? Like if the thing isn't critically important with a rigid deadline you just keep thinking well it's too much effort or I don't have the time or I'm too busy etc. I haven't been diagnosed but I suspect and this is such an annoying loop

Thanks for your open discussion about your experience. It's been encouraging me to follow in your footsteps (whenever I quit procrastinating and do it that is)

I do sometimes -- more before I had medication -- but I've always treated it as....well, there's a process I call triage, there's probably a less brutal term for it. It's part of triage.

So, pretty much anything I need to do, from doing the dishes to making a doctor's appointment to, I don't know, repainting the bathroom, goes into my digital to-do list, which I keep in Google Tasks. I consult this list multiple times a day, anytime I've lost the thread of what I should be doing or find myself with free time. I generally arrange it each morning so that important/deadline stuff is near the top, but between those items I give myself breaks, so like I might be working on a deliverable for work, but once that's done the next task isn't the next document I need to do, it's something that I would find easier or more enjoyable (say, cooking lunch) . So naturally, stuff that isn't important AND I don't want to do gets bumped to the very bottom.

But that's okay, because the important stuff got done, and the unimportant but enjoyable stuff got done. That's triage -- prioritizing things in a way that makes life livable.

Now, at the end of the week I often just have a list of shit I don't want to or have to do, but that tells me I need to put more focus on those for next week. On Friday afternoon I often move at least one of those things to the weekend to-do list, or I mark it as a priority for the following week. It may not get done promptly, but it's now slightly more important in my mental filing cabinet.

We can't do everything all the time. If you're busy or tired or it's unpleasant that's not necessarily procrastination -- that's prioritizing things that your energy is better spent on. It's good to work on how to get out of that loop -- but also good to give yourself some grace and time to rest.

[starryjkoo]

"the best trips i've had in my life"

I’m still stuck on Jungkook saying that the AYS trips were the best of his life? That’s actually a crazy thing to say when you look back on those trips and where they went and what exactly they did. Hearing “best trip of your life” you would expect something more grand, but for Jungkook it really was just hanging out with Jimin, doing pretty mundane activities and eating a lot of delicious food. Somehow these trips were impactful enough that he felt they were the best of his life? That’s crazy to me.  

Sapporo was beautiful, but Connecticut was… Connecticut lol, it’s pretty but not that interesting compared to other places they’ve traveled and Jeju is somewhere they’ve both already been plenty of times. The accommodations in Sapporo were especially nice, but CT was a camping van and the house from my suburban nightmares. The Jeju house was gorgeous but not anything particularly new for them either. 

The activities? They definitely did a lot of fun things, but most of them were things they had already done before, some of them even on other seasons of BV or with other members, friends, and on “private” vacations. A lot of the trips were actually filled with pretty mundane activities. Jimin even said in Sapporo that was just how he usually spends his time at home. It gave them an excuse to eat lots of delicious food, but that's hardly the only time they’ve done that either.

And yes, obviously they would enjoy these trips because they basically planned them. But that’s another thing, how compatible Jikook are and how well they click because not everyone would enjoy this kind of trip. Even TH questioned why he came at first because they already do all that in Seoul anyways, or how he went off to play golf one morning. So obviously Jikook were going to enjoy AYS, but I still never thought that these trips would end up being the best of JK’s life? Eating, taking drives and playing around with Jimin really topped every other trip he’s ever been on? 

The Jimin part is important because while some of the activities like snowboarding were fun on their own, what made the little things entertaining was how Jikook could take any simple activity and make it so silly and fun. I especially loved things like Jikook shining their bedside lamps at each other and how delighted JK was with that game, how happy he was when JM started playing along with him. Playing cards or having dinner with someone or playing in a pool, shining your bedside lamp at them or taking a drive wouldn’t be fun if you weren’t with someone who made those kinds of things fun and dynamic, if they couldn’t match your humor and energy. In fact some of those things could be pretty boring or tedious with the wrong person. 

There’s so many delightful examples of Jikook being adorably silly while doing these simple things like the mock cooking show in Sapporo, the way they made that scuzzi jacuzzi so fun with the snow, or Jikook coming up with the pool slap game and being so proud they showed it to TH and taught it to him the next day. You could list off so many examples like this and it’s just one of my very favorite things about AYS and Jikook’s friendship in general. I mean, the amount of mileage they can get out of a tiny pool or some bedside lamps is really crazy. JK talked about how they would be copies of each other if they were the same age and it really shows in AYS.

But what I also think really encapsulates Jikook’s bond is that even when things went wrong, such as in CT, they still had a ridiculous amount of fun and considered it a good trip. The cursed hamburger, Walmart, Jimin’s stomach virus, getting eaten up by mosquitos, getting nailed with rain that felt like hail, JK having a cold, JM getting burned by the motorcycle and then stepped on, JK falling into the river, elbowing JM in the face, JMs nose being bruised half the trip, having a fever, honestly just annoying the hell out of each other lol. But they loved that trip! JK wanted to do twelve more seasons after, they started planning Jeju and future trips before CT was even over, (they signed up to enlist together right after this!), JK recounted the trip to Yoongi with the biggest smile on his face. They enjoyed watching that first episode so much and laughed so hard at moments I didn’t even think were that funny (to be fair they were a little drunk there lmao).  

So, even when things went wrong they still enjoyed their trip immensely because they have the kind of relationship where they can take something bad and bond over the experience, turn it into something positive and memorable, create inside jokes that'll probably last forever. They also never truly got annoyed or stressed out at each other either despite both being sick or tired. You have to be so close and get along with someone so well to be able to do that?

So despite JK going to Jeju & Busan with his 97 liner friends, despite allegedly going to Japan with Eunwoo, despite already going snowboarding with TH and WS, despite any other trips or breaks or BV seasons over the years, despite CT being a mess, Jeju being somewhere they’ve both already been, none of the activities being that new or particularly exciting for them, despite being “company content”, in that moment JK felt so strongly and so positively and so fondly about his AYS experience that they felt like the best trips of his life. You don’t even need JKs words to know that, it was clear by the constant smiles and laughter throughout the show how much he loved it. And what made those trips so fun and impactful was clearly that they were together. That’s just amazing to me? To have someone you get along with so well, someone you have so much fun with and enjoy being around that much? 

I do think these trips offering a break from his insane schedule made them more impactful and meaningful to Jungkook too. You could tell how exhausted he was working nonstop during his solo schedules. Jimin even said in CT he was glad he came because otherwise JK wouldn’t have gotten to do all of those things. It’s funny that solos & tkkrs tried to make it seem like these trips were just piling onto JK’s busy schedule when in fact they seemed to offer him a much needed break to relax and do something fun instead. So the timing of these trips probably did add to why JK loved them so much.

I also think that JK felt so strongly about it specifically in that moment because Sapporo was a pretty emotional trip for them too. Based on JKs words they were also using the trip to make memories to look back on during enlistment, probably also wanted to have one more enjoyable experience before they would have to go away for eighteen months. I think that played a part in this trip feeling more special and sentimental than it ordinarily would have. I thought it was especially sweet how when they were both feeling particularly emotional/melancholy on the train ride they shared that moment together and took comfort in each other. Jimin said that he didn’t think he would have felt excited about the snow in SK, but in Sapporo he loved it so much. And JK saying that he wanted to return to Japan because it was the location of their first trip was terribly sweet. It was a really nice and poignant way to end AYS, because those trips and Sapporo in particular did have a lot of meaning for them, clearly. They truly loved AYS so much.

I have so many other thoughts and feelings about AYS I’d like to unpack eventually but really I think what encapsulates my feelings on AYS is just JK saying that these were the best trips of his life. I guess this is just my really long winded way of saying how special I think Jikook’s bond is. You can’t really argue that JK enjoyed AYS as much as he did for any reason other than that he was with Jimin. Even if JK simply enjoyed getting to take a relaxing trip during his busy schedule, what made a lot of the small things so fun was Jikook’s unique dynamic. That trip wouldn’t have been possible with someone else because quite simply it wouldn't have been the same trip. It had to be Jikook for AYS to be so incredibly relaxing but also have the right amount of activity, eating, and playing, for the simple things to be that enjoyable, the food so prominent, the shared dorky sense of humor, the few moments of softness and vulnerability, the comfortable vibe between them.

I’ve never seen JK yap that much in BTS content either, you can tell how comfortable he is with Jimin in particular and how easy and familiar their dynamic is too. I’ve never honestly seen them that relaxed and stripped back in BTS content before, which was part of the reason I enjoyed AYS so much. I felt like I got to genuinely know them better and I really loved that. They could have made the show more dynamic and entertaining by packing it full of activities or other people, but it seems like the main focus was just doing the things they enjoy doing together and having their ideal vacation, which I massively preferred.

I also thought it was really meaningful that they did their little AYS thing right before they enlisted together. They just really enjoyed that show so much, they really bonded over creating it, had so much fun coming up with the title and the little details, and clearly felt so much genuine fondness for it. For them to end their CH2 with AYS was really meaningful, because that’s literally how they closed out the whole CH2 “solo” era, with something they created together. Just the fact that they were even thinking about AYS in that moment shows how impactful it was for them. Jikook closed out their CH2 together while at the same time entering the next chapter of their lives together too. They just make my heart so warm for real. I really loved AYS so much and I’m so glad that Jikook loved it just as much as we did if not more.

ending this with my favorite Jikook edit ❤️‍🩹

[latinare]

Hey, I was having a humorous conversation with a coworker about Aging/Neurospicy/Early Morning Can't Functions, and he had a great idea for a t-shirt playing off of cogito ergo sum.

He wants it to read "I can't adult today, I have the dumbs."

And something beneath "quoting" Descartes, like Descartes, revised; or maybe Aristotle, the following morning. I personally think it would be funny to write Descartes, after a bender.

Anyway, I don't remember if they ever verbed nouns in Latin (I think so?).

How would you translate it?

I'd really like to buy a t-shirt with that fake quote for his upcoming retirement.

Grātiās tibi agō!

Okay, I've been trying to figure out how to capture the meaning and slangishness of your friend's phrase while keeping the structure of cogito ergo sum. Some possibilities:

Potavi ergo stultus sum (I drank, therefore I'm stupid)

Hodie non facere possum: stultus videor (I can't do [it] today, I appear to be stupid)

Convivatus habeo stultitias (I partied and now have stupidities)

All the above are in the masculine; for the feminine, change stultus to stulta or convivatus to convivata.

[willowsnook]

When Love is Left Unspoken pt. 2 (MV)

max verstappen x reader

pt. 1 here

I could be talked into a pt. 3 if people want it

It had been a week since the Austin GP and forgetting about what happened had been impossible mostly because Max would not leave you alone.

He didn't reach out directly, but every morning this week, you had woken up to a new gift outside your door. Flowers, chocolate, coffee, pastries, clothing, etc. You had no idea how he even knew your address.

You struggled with what to do. On one hand, you had missed your best friend for a long time. You missed the inside jokes, the comfort you found in him, and supporting one another. But on the other hand, you couldn't stop thinking about how he threw it all away because he was scared of loving you. You had never been scared of loving him, even if you never said. Well maybe that was hypocritical.

Saturday morning an envelope accompanied the box outside of your door. You opened the box first, revealing a vintage RedBull racing bomber jacket that cost who knows how much. It was cute, you'd give it that. Opening the envelope you froze as you read the letter that sat next to a paddock pass for the Brazil GP.

I know you hate me and you have a good reason to but I will do anything to have you back by my side even if you refuse to look at me. Please come to Brazil, I know it's your favorite track. You can stay on Checo's side of the garage if it makes you feel better.

Love, Your Max

Brazil was your favorite track and in the past you had always travelled down early to experience the culture for a bit before the racing started.

You facetimed Carmen, hoping to talk this through with someone else.

"Hey girl, what's up?" She asked, clearly in the middle of a workout.

"Oh, I can call later if you're busy," you said and she shook her head.

"No, it's okay!"

"Max invited me to the Brazilian GP," you told her slowly and her eyes widened.

"Wow."

"I know, I don't know what to do."

Carmen was silent for a little bit, clearly thinking. "Is there any part of you that wants to make up with him?"

"Yes," you admitted quietly. "But I hate myself for even thinking that. I don't want to just forget about everything that happened and take him back with open arms."

"I don't think you necessarily have to forget what happened but maybe focus on the people you both have grown to be in these last few years. Maybe treat it like you are starting over."

"So you think I should go?"

"Selfishly yes of course," she said grinning and you couldn't help but smile back. "You don't even have to spend time with him. Just see how it feels to be around him."

After hanging up with Carmen, you texted the number Max had given you for his assistant in order to get flights and a hotel figured out.

-----------------------------------

You landed in Brazil on media day and didn't plan on going to the track until Saturday. Max was pulling out all the stops even when he couldn't see you as evidenced by the ridiculously nice hotel he put you in. The view was amazing and laying on the bed was a variety of your favorite snacks and drinks with a card that read "I'm so glad you're here -your Max."

The 'Your Max' thing was working even though you hated to admit it. You spent the next two days traveling around the city by yourself and then with Carmen.

Saturday rolled around and you found yourself nervous to be at the paddock despite Carmen's constant reassurances. You hadn't seen Max yet and you weren't really sure what to say when you did.

Funny enough, the first person you ran into when you made it to the RedBull garage was Christian Horner.

"Y/n!" He said surprised to see you. "It's been a while, how are you? You know my wife is obsessed with your tik tok channel."

"Ahh tell her I said thank you," you replied kindly. "I've been doing well."

"We're glad to have you back," he said and your heart swelled. "It's been a rough year for him."

"I'm not sure I can change that," you said politely and he gave you a look.

"You just being here might," he commented before leaving you to go talk with the mechanics. You wandered around the garage, catching up with a lot of people you hadn't seen in a long time.

Max spotted you as he was coming out of his drivers' room and his heart stopped. Of course he knew you were in Brazil, but he still wasn't 100% sure you'd show up. He didn't think he should approach you so he just lingered by watching you. You felt him watching you and looked over at him, trying to control your breathing and gave him a small smile.

He smiled back before being called off to get ready for the sprint. Leaning against the back wall you pulled your headphones and settled in to watch. Max was doing pretty good, battling with Charles for most of the race. Your face appeared on the broadcast and you smiled to the camera, giving it a small wave.

After the race you checked your phone to see that you'd been tagged in countless tweets.

@.username12312: Was that y/n y/l/n in the RedBull garage? I thought her and Max had a falling out???

reply to @.usernam12312 @.user345: Yeah they haven't been friends for a long time. It had something to do with Kelly

reply to @.user345 @.username12312: oh yeah, you're right! I always liked y/n better anyways

You were amused reading the speculation and decided to stir the pot further. While Max was doing interviews you found Checo in the garage and asked him to take a picture with you. The confused man agreed and you quickly posted it to your Instagram story with the caption: My favorite RedBull driver, good luck tomorrow!

Carmen and Lily both slid up with laughing emojis and you walked back to Max's side, trying to avoid the rain. It was really coming down now and you weren't sure if they would even be able to go out on the track. You found Max a little while later sitting against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. You sunk down next to him, holding your knees into your chest.

"Think you'll be able to go out there today?" You asked casually and he looked over at you, clearly excited to hear you speaking to him.

"I would say probably not," he replied. "Maybe tomorrow morning."

"How much longer until we know?"

"Another half hour would be my guess," he said. "I can call for someone to take you back if you want to leave now?"

"No, I'll wait," you said looking down at your phone. You sat in silence for a while and the rain was starting to make you very sleepy. Losing the battle with yourself, you rested your head on Max's shoulder and he stiffened.

Max smiled to himself as you dozed off and the two of you caught the attention of the cameras, the photo soon to be splashed everywhere online. Quali was called off and Max nudged you awake, reaching out to help you up.

"Ride with me back?" He asked hopeful and you nodded. You ran into George and Carmen on the way out and she gave you a knowing look to which you rolled your eyes at.

"You guys should come out to dinner with us," George said. "We're meeting up with Alex and Lily too."

You hesitated, not wanting to miss out but at the same time your social battery was dead. You could only handle so much social interaction before you were craving your warm bed to snuggle into. You started to give in and agree but Max cut you off.

"I think y/n is done being around people for the day so I'm going to take her back."

You looked at him surprised and the realization that he still knew you so well just added more fire to the internal turmoil you were facing. Bidding them goodbye, you followed Max out of the paddock and into the car he had rented for the weekend. The car ride was silent as well as the elevator ride up to your floor.

Max followed close behind you as you made your way to your room and it was starting to irritate you.

"You don't need to walk me to my room Max," you said and he looked at your sheepishly.

"I'm in the one right next to you."

"Are you fucking serious?" You asked frustrated. "I need space Max!"

"I just want you to be safe," he defended and you rolled your eyes.

"From what?" You exclaimed. "Oh yeah, your girlfriend I mean ex-girlfriend is from here. Think she's sending people after me?"

"I don't think that's funny," he said, eyes darkening. "Sue me for wanting you close to me. I'm not going to apologize for that."

"You are the worst," you bit out before shoving into your room, slamming the door.

---------------------------------------

Stepping out of the steaming shower and back into the bedroom you glanced worriedly out the window. You wouldn't necessarily say that you had a fear of thunderstorms but they tended to make you uneasy.

Trying to distract yourself you put on South Park, your favorite show to watch in a hotel, but it didn't work. After a couple of booms you were still on edge. Sighing you got up and left your room, hoping a small walk around the hotel would ease your mind. By the time you made it back, Max was leaning against the wall by your door, waiting for you.

"Can't sleep?" He asked and you nodded.

"The storms."

"You always were scared of them," he teased and you scoffed.

"I'm not scared of them!" Right as you said that, a streak of lighting flashed by the hallway's window followed by a loud crash of thunder. You jumped a little and Max smirked.

"Come on," he said gesturing back to his room. You hesitated and he sighed. "We both know you won't fall asleep alone to this."

Giving in, you followed him into his room. It was a carbon copy of yours and you were amused to see South Park playing on his tv. He climbed into his bed but you stopped short; the scene in front of you reminded you of so many times before. When you traveled with him back in the day you'd often find yourself in his room at night hanging out. You always fell asleep and woke up in his arms, neither of you ever saying anything about it.

Max sat up in the bed looking at you, he knew what you were thinking.

"Y/n," he said softly as he watched you wipe a tear from your eye.

"This is so hard Max," you said, voice breaking. "How am I supposed to just forget?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not even like you broke my heart that day," you said meeting his eyes. "You had chipped away at it for so long that there wasn't even anything left to break."

Max's heart dropped and he moved over closer to where you were standing, so that you were now eye level.

"I was so scared back then y/n," he said and you put your head into your hands. "So scared of failing that I did things I shouldn't have done, like pushing you away to protect myself."

"Protect yourself from what?" You said, looking back at him.

"Your unconditional love," he said sadly and you tried to compose yourself, taking a deep breath.

"You acted like nothing happened, I watched you move on with your life," you accused, whispering to him.

"I did not move on, I was a mess. I couldn't eat or sleep for months and I latched on to you in whatever way I could through your videos or podcast. Every picture or video you saw of me was strictly PR."

"But you never reached out, not once in these past few years," you said, starting to grow angry with him.

"Neither did you!" He exclaimed.

"That's not fair Max," you retorted, moving away from him.

"Isn't it though? You accused me of moving on but I watched you do the same. I watched your popularity grow, watched you start to travel around the world, watched you post with other guys. You didn't need me to be happy."

"I needed my best friend!" You yelled and he flinched. "I needed you to be there to call when I got a new deal! I needed you to be there to lean on when I had self doubt! You ruined everything Max. I could never be truly happy celebrating something because in the back of my mind I was thinking about how you should have been there with me!"

Max squeezed his eyes shut, sitting down on the bed.

"I don't know how to fix this schatje," he whispered and you flinched at the term of endearment. "Everything has been so dark for so long. I am okay with you hating me forever. Because even if you just look at me, it'll be a better day than what I've had."

Sniffling, you stared into his red rimmed eyes. "I want to forget about you so badly Max but I can't."

He smiled softly at you before patting the bed.

"Please sleep here tonight, it will make me feel so much better knowing you were well rested. I'll sleep on the pull out couch," he said standing up.

"Just sleep in the bed with me," you said sighing, wiping the tears from your face before climbing into the bed. Max slid in next to you, leaving a healthy distance between the two of you and you drifted off to sleep.

The sound of his alarm woke you up at 4:30 and you groaned sleepily. Max's arms were wrapped tightly around you, his head buried in your hair as he refused to open his eyes.

"Max, you have to wake up," you said and he mumbled incoherently into you. You pried his hands off your body and stood up, stretching. He watched you lazily from the bed, wondering if this was a dream.

"I'm going to go get ready and then I'll meet you back in the hallway in 30 minutes okay?" You asked him and he nodded. Leaving his room you headed back into yours to get ready for the day. Your eyes were still a little swollen from last night but that was nothing a little makeup couldn't fix.

Pairing the new RedBull jacket with a black jeans you gathered all your stuff before texting Carmen about what had happened last night. All she responded was that we would discuss it in person and sent a winky face.

Max looked more awake standing out in the hallway and you both left for the track.

Qualifying was a mess to put it simply. Crash after crash after crash. It was spiking your anxiety to watch and you were just praying that Max would make it out unscathed. He did make it without crashing, but not without controversy.

You grew furious as you watched everyone in Q2 get to finish their laps following Lance's crash except for Max and Esteban. This made him miss out on Q3 for the first time in forever. You knew he was pissed when he got out of the car and his eyes met yours for a brief second. He talked to his engineers before grabbing your hand to drag you with him to over where he had to do interviews.

Standing behind the reporter you watched him try to contain his anger.

“If a guy goes straight into the wall, it is a straight red,” he said. “I don't understand why you need to take 30, 40 seconds for a red flag to come out...”

His voice was rising as he said it and both you and the reporter braced for the impact of whatever he was going to say next. He started to say something but then looked over at you and stopped himself, taking a deep breath before waving off the question.

“I don’t care in all honesty, it is so stupid to talk about. It’s ridiculous.”

He answered a couple more questions about the race happening later and you waited patiently. Christian came to join you and gave you a knowing look.

"I told you that being here would make things better," he said with a glint in his eyes. "I'm giving you credit for him avoiding more community service."

Things got even better after that with Max winning the Grand Prix in what you could only describe as a complete masterclass.

As the celebrations wrapped up, you and Max found yourselves alone in the quiet of the garage, both still processing the day's whirlwind. He glanced at you, a hesitant warmth in his gaze.

Max reached for your hand, gently holding it, as if afraid you'd slip away again. "I'm glad you came, I've needed you here for a long time."

"I'm still not sure where we stand Max," you said unsure of how to deal with what you were feeling.

"As long as your standing next to me, I'll be okay," he said cheekily and you smiled. You knew that your relationship had a long way to go but maybe, just maybe, it was finally starting again.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 03 Chapter 03 | peace⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The halls of the palace were empty this early in the morning, silent except for the faint echoes of your footsteps.

The stone floors were cool beneath your sandals as you moved gracefully, carrying a tray carefully balanced with food and drink for the queen.

The scents of breakfast wafted upwards—a fresh loaf of bread, drizzled with honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds, alongside a bowl of ripe figs and a small serving of olives. A jug of goat's milk rested next to the plate, the cool liquid sloshing slightly as you walked.

You had walked these halls so many times that you barely needed to think about where you were going, your feet knowing the way on their own, your movements steady and confident.

Yet, you couldn't help but reflect on how different this all felt from when you first arrived

Back then, you had been a frightened, scrawny child, uncertain if you would even find a place here.

Now, after years of training and being in Penelope's service, you had grown into someone with purpose, someone the queen trusted and relied upon

You passed by tapestries depicting scenes of Ithaca's heroes, the vibrant colors muted in the early morning light.

You often found yourself drawn to these tapestries, seeing in them reflections of the great stories Penelope would tell you.

They reminded you of the legacy you were now a part of, a history that you had once thought too grand for someone like you

As you reached a large set of double doors, you paused for a moment before gently knocking. The sound echoed softly down the empty hallway, and you waited until you heard the gentle voice from within:

"Come in."

You pushed the heavy door open, entering the room with a bowed head.

Penelope sat at the windowsill, dressed in her mourning clothes—a deep, rich purple robe, embroidered delicately along the edges. Her dark hair was partially covered by a veil, the fabric thin enough to let light pass through, giving her a ghostly, almost ethereal appearance.

She looked out across the sea, her gaze distant, the waves shimmering under the morning sun. When she heard you enter, she turned, her lips curling into a soft, tired smile.

Even as she smiled, the weight of her sorrow remained, etched into her features—a weariness that never seemed to leave her.

"Ah, ____," she said, her voice gentle, yet carrying the weight of her lingering sorrow.

You curtsied, lowering your head respectfully. "Good morning, Queen Penelope. I've come to help you break your fast."

She nodded, her smile not fading, though the sadness lingered in her eyes, a weight that never seemed to truly lift. You walked forward, approaching her carefully, the tray balanced delicately in your hands.

As you set the tray down on the small table beside her, you couldn't help but take in her tired features—the lines that worry and waiting had carved into her face, the weariness that seemed to cling to her even now.

Your time in Ithaca had been a story of struggle and small victories.

After arriving by boat those years ago, you had found yourself amidst many others—orphans and the poor—standing outside the towering halls of Ithaca, each of you hoping for work.

You remembered how you were overlooked at first, Ithaca's head servant dismissing you and a few others with barely a glance; he had been the one in charge of hiring new servants, particularly while Odysseus was gone and Penelope was wrapped so deeply in mourning that she rarely involved herself in the day-to-day matters.

His face was stern, his patience thin, as he waved you off, deeming you too young and weak to be of any use.

You had felt a deep pang of disappointment, a sense that perhaps you truly were not enough. It was a familiar feeling, one that had often accompanied you since you lost your family.

But fate had other plans.

Just as you were about to turn away, Penelope herself had appeared, her figure somber and regal as she passed by. Her eyes caught yours, and something in your pitiful state must have struck her heart.

She paused, her dark eyes lingering on you before she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently caress your face. Her touch was soft, her expression filled with a mix of melancholy and tenderness.

In that moment, it felt as though a small ember of hope had sparked within you—a feeling that perhaps you were worth more than the hardships you had faced.

"You look as sweet as a dove," she had murmured, her voice laced with a deep sadness. "Such bright eyes for someone so young."

It was in that moment that she made her decision. She called you forward, and despite the objections of the head servant, she decided to take you under her care.

You were to be trained under other servants until you were old enough, learning the ways of the palace, how to serve properly, how to carry yourself with grace and dignity.

Over time, you became one of her personal maidens, trusted with tasks that others were not, your bond with her deepening as the years passed.

You came to understand her sorrow and her strength, admiring the quiet resilience she carried each day.

Penelope had given you a chance when no one else would, and you felt a deep loyalty towards her—a loyalty born from both gratitude and genuine admiration for the woman she was

Now, as you stood beside her, offering her breakfast, you could see the years that had passed reflected in both of you—her, still mourning but holding on, and you, no longer that lost child from the docks but someone with a purpose, with a role in the grand halls of Ithaca.

There was a sense of pride in how far you had come, a feeling that perhaps you were slowly repaying the faith Penelope had placed in you all those years ago.

The weight of that trust and your determination to be worthy of it were always present, driving you to do your best every day.

Penelope glanced at the tray before her, her tired smile softening further. "Thank you, ____," she said, her voice quiet. "You have always been a light in these halls."

You bowed your head again, a warmth spreading through your chest at her words. "It is an honor, my queen," you replied, your voice steady, though you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

As Penelope began to nibble on the bread and sip the goat's milk, she looked at you thoughtfully. "____," she said, her tone gentle but weary, "what news do we have of the suitors?"

Your face faltered for a brief moment, the exhaustion of dealing with the suitors creeping into your expression, but you quickly smoothed it out, replacing it with a cheerful smile. "Prince Telemachus is handling them well, my queen," you said brightly, though in your heart, you felt the cracks beginning to show. The suitors were restless, and each passing day seemed to test the young prince's patience more and more; you could sense that the tension was growing, and it was only a matter of time before something would need to give. "He's been taking them on hunts and finding ways to keep them occupied. He does his best to ensure they remain... entertained."

Penelope sighed, her eyes lowering to her lap. Her fingers traced the edge of the table idly, the tiredness once again visible in her features. "How long can I keep them at bay?" she whispered, almost to herself. "It's been twenty years now... how much longer must I hold them off?"

The sorrow in her voice was palpable, and for a moment, the silence in the room seemed to deepen, broken only by the distant sounds of the waves outside.

Knowing your place, you tried to offer her comfort, your voice gentle but resolute. "My queen, remember what your husband promised you?" you began softly, stepping closer. "You told me once, in confidence, that he swore he'd sooner fall into the River Styx than betray his vow to you. King Odysseus will find his way back to you, no matter the trials he faces."

Penelope looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She gave you a watery smile, her shoulders lifting slightly as she sighed once more, her posture relaxing just a bit. "Thank you, ____," she whispered. "Sometimes... I need reminding."

As she finished her meal, Penelope glanced at you again, her expression softer. ____, would you perhaps sing for us tonight at dinner? The halls could use some joy, and your voice has always been a comfort to us all."

You smiled warmly, bowing your head. "Anything for you, my queen," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

☆

☆

The palace kitchens were bustling with commotion. The air was filled with the smells of herbs, freshly baked bread, and simmering stews as people moved back and forth, their arms full with ingredients, plates, and cooking tools.

Voices overlapped, cooks shouting out commands, and scullery maids scrambling to keep up with the rapid pace. The clinking of pots and pans rang out like a steady rhythm, the heartbeat of the palace.

You moved gracefully through the chaos, the tray held carefully in your hands until you found an empty space on the counter to place it down. You glanced up just in time to hear a voice raised in frustration.

"Gods above! Another request for roast peacock and olives, as if we're swimming in olive oil and gold!" The man in question was the head cook, a greying, scowling figure by the name of Argon, his face twisted in annoyance as he ranted to a younger kitchen boy. His voice was deep, roughened from years of shouting over the din of the kitchen. His hands were covered in flour, his apron stained with the work of the day.

The moment his eyes landed on you, however, his fierce expression softened considerably, and the scowl fell from his lips. "Ah, ____," he called, cutting himself off mid-rant, his eyes crinkling kindly. "How are you, girl? Did the queen enjoy her breakfast?"

You gave him a polite bow, smiling as you replied, "She did, Master Argon, thank you. Though she did ask if it would be possible to have a lighter broth for her dinner later on. She's not feeling up to anything too rich today."

Argon's face softened further, a gentle smile replacing the frustration. "Of course, of course. Anything for the queen," he murmured. But his face soon fell back into a scowl, and he shook his head, muttering under his breath. "If only those no-good suitors were anything like the queen. They want to eat like kings every single night! Extravagance, waste... they're draining the storage dry with their demands." He let out a gruff sigh, slamming a rolling pin onto a pile of dough with a bit more force than necessary.

You hummed in understanding, your brow furrowing slightly. "Perhaps I can speak with Prince Telemachus," you offered, your voice gentle. "Maybe he can convince them to bring in more from their hunts. They should replace what they take if they want to keep demanding so much."

Argon looked at you, his eyes warming as he paused his work. "You're too kind, ____. Always thinking of everyone else. A real beauty, inside and out." He reached out and patted your arm gently before turning back to his dough, the scowl still lingering but tempered by your promise. "Go on now, and watch out for yourself. Those halls are filled with troublemakers."

You nodded, offering him one last smile before turning to leave the busy kitchen.

As you walked down the quieter hall, the hustle and bustle fading behind you, you were suddenly yanked around a corner, your heart leaping in surprise.

You found yourself face-to-face with a familiar grin.

"Cleo!" you gasped, a laugh escaping you as you steadied yourself. Cleo was a striking girl—pale skin, long blonde hair that fell in waves around her shoulders, and bright green eyes that always seemed to be filled with mischief. She was beautiful, with delicate features and a playful smile that could charm just about anyone.

Cleo giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Sorry, sorry! I just had to catch you before you disappeared again," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Are you free later? A few of us girls are planning to head over to where the young suitors will be gathering after dinner. We thought we'd do a little... mingling." She waggled her eyebrows at you suggestively, her grin widening.

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. "I can't. Queen Penelope has asked me to sing tonight at dinner."

Cleo groaned dramatically, then giggled once more. "No worries, we'll just have to use your beautiful voice to get serenaded by those dashing suitors," she teased, nudging you lightly.

You scoffed, a smile tugging at your lips, though you couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. "You know better than to be fooling around with those suitors, Cleo," you said, your tone more serious. "They aren't interested in anything more than fleeting entertainment. You could get hurt."

Cleo just rolled her eyes, her expression shifting to one of nonchalance. "Oh, ____, you worry too much. They're rich, and we're just servants. I'm just having fun while it lasts. It's harmless." She waved her hand dismissively, her green eyes twinkling with defiance. "Not all of us have a handsome prince practically hanging on our arm."

You blinked, feeling your cheeks grow warm at her words. "Cleo, it's not like that," you stammered, waving her off, but she just laughed, giving you a knowing look before skipping away down the hall, her laughter echoing behind her.

You watched her go, your face still flushed, before you shook your head, letting out a sigh. You had to get back to your duties, and today that meant ensuring you completed Penelope's request.

As a personal handmaiden, your duties varied greatly, often requiring you to attend to the queen's comfort, whether it was keeping her space tidy, arranging her garments, or fetching whatever she needed; but today, all the queen asked of you was to bring music back to the halls.

You headed towards a small shed built on the edge of the palace grounds, a place dedicated solely for your instruments.

Not too long after you had settled into the palace, Penelope had discovered your talent for singing. She had been utterly moved, telling you that your voice was the first thing that had stirred her heart since her husband left for war.

Wanting to nurture your gift, she had this little structure built to hold the growing pile of instruments she would acquire for you.

Whenever Penelope came across a unique or exotic instrument—whether it be at a market, a gift from a visiting dignitary, or a trinket discovered in the palace storerooms—she would have it sent to you.

You always seemed to master whatever instrument she placed in your hands, your fingers learning the strings, keys, or beats with an ease that brought joy to her otherwise weary heart.

The inside of the shed was filled with an assortment of Greek instruments—lyres of varying sizes, an aulos, a kithara, and a pandura.

But there were also instruments that were much more exotic: a Chinese guzheng with its shimmering strings, a small djembe drum with intricate carvings, brought by a trader from distant African lands, and even an erhu with its hauntingly beautiful tone.

Penelope loved seeing you interact with these exotic gifts, marveling at how easily you brought each one to life with music.

You stepped into the shed, the familiar smell of polished wood and aged parchment wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

You selected your favorite lyre, the one Penelope had given you first, and turned back towards the private courtyard—a space often used for rehearsing or practicing away from the prying eyes of the palace.

The courtyard was quiet, filled with blooming flowers and shaded by tall olive trees, providing you with the tranquility you needed.

You began practicing the song the queen had requested, your voice rising softly amidst the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze."I weep for you, my lost love, across the endless sea, and still my heart will find you, where the wild winds are free..."

The song was one of love and loss, a haunting melody of tragedy and reunion. It was a ballad you created for her; a tale of lovers separated by fate, only to find each other again through trials and tears.

As you sang, you did not notice how the sun seemed to shine down on you a little brighter, as if the heavens themselves were listening.

The small flowers around you swayed gently, their blossoms leaning towards you as though you were their light.

The air seemed to hum in harmony, a warmth spreading through the courtyard, and the leaves of the olive trees rustled softly, almost in applause.

There was a beauty in the moment that felt almost divine, as if the earth and sky were united by the sound of your voice, each note resonating with the hope and pain carried in the song.

And as the last note rung out and you struck the final chord on the lyre, you felt a warmth roll over you, like the embrace of sunlight on a cold day.

A low voice sighed from nearby, whispering, "Gods, I don't think I could ever tire of hearing you sing..."

Startled, you opened your eyes, your gaze shifting towards the voice.

Leaning casually against the trunk of a tall cypress tree stood a young man, his presence subtly commanding the tranquil courtyard. His hair, dark and curly, fell in messy waves around his face, some strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead and cheekbones.

He was dressed in the fine garments of royalty—a rich, deep blue himation draped over a white tunic, the fabric of which was adorned with golden embroidery along its edges.

His skin held a warm, sun-kissed hue, with faint traces of stubble gracing his jawline and upper lip, giving him a rugged, almost wild look. His build was lean but solid, showing a life that spoke of training and discipline.

Though youthful, there was a quiet intensity in his sharp features, a hint of something deeper beneath his calm, collected exterior. He seemed almost a part of the earth itself, grounded, unwavering, and watching.

You breathed out softly, "Prince Telemachus."

The young man's smile widened at the sound of your voice, his eyes lighting up with a mix of admiration and warmth as he began making his way over to you, his footsteps quiet against the stone pathway.

Telemachus reached you and, without a hint of hesitation, plopped himself down on the grass beside you.

Internally, you wanted to fret about him getting his fine clothes dirty, but you knew better by now—Telemachus had always been one to ignore such trivial concerns, brushing them off with that same carefree grin.

He looked at you, his eyes twinkling with a boyish delight. "I swear, I could listen to you sing that a hundred times over. Especially the part where you..." He cleared his throat, attempting to mimic a line, though his voice wobbled in a way that was both charming and utterly off-key. "...Wᵉeᵖ fᵒr ʸoᵘ, mʸ lᵒsᵗ lᵒvᵉ..."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound spilling out as you shook your head, nudging his leg gently. "Not quite, my prince. Perhaps leave the singing to those of us who aren't heirs to Ithaca," you teased, setting the lyre aside. He chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Before he leaned back, though, he hesitated. "Wait a second..." he murmured, and his fingers reached out, brushing away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over your cheek.

Your breath caught as he leaned in closer, his hand lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

His eyes met yours, the warmth in them somehow soft yet piercing. His lips curled into a smile, his gaze holding yours as he hummed in approval. "...There."

The space between you seemed to vanish, and your pulse quickened, your heart racing over this simple, fleeting touch.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you looked back at him, your thoughts whirling. Surely he could hear the drumming of your heart?

But then he pulled away, completely relaxed, as though he hadn't just sent you into a whirlwind of overthinking.

Telemachus stretched back, lying flat on the grass with a contented sigh, his arms tucked behind his head as a makeshift pillow. His eyes drifted closed, his face bathed in the golden light of the sun.

His expression was carefree, as though he hadn't a worry in the world, and you watched the way the sunlight traced the lines of his jaw, highlighting the boyish softness that lingered in his face.

His curls shone like burnished bronze, his skin glowing with the warmth of someone untouched by the weight he carried.

You couldn't help but think how effortlessly at ease he seemed, oblivious to the way he'd set your heart into overdrive.

Suddenly, he popped open an eye, startling you out of your thoughts. You quickly looked down, fiddling with the strings of your lyre, pretending to adjust them.

Telemachus sat up, his gaze fixed on you, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Mother told me you'll be singing tonight," he said, his voice soft.

You nodded, your eyes still cast downward. "Yes, my prince, that is correct."

Telemachus hummed, absently toying with a blade of grass between his fingers. "Will you be playing her favorite song?" he asked, his tone curious.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. "Of course, my prince," you replied. His mother's favorite song was one you knew by heart, each note infused with the hope she carried through the years of waiting.

Telemachus' eyes softened, his smile turning sad. He looked up at you, his gaze earnest. "I'm glad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I fear it's the only thing that's been keeping her 'here'."

You both knew what he meant. The weight of the years was heavy on her, and there were moments it seemed her spirit had almost drifted away.

There was a silence between you, the kind that held shared understanding, until suddenly, Telemachus' lips curled into a smirk. His features glowed with a mischievous charm, his gaze twinkling as he leaned closer.

You couldn't help but notice the light scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, almost hidden beneath the shade of his dark curls.

"Tell me, ____," he said, his voice teasing as he looked up at you from under his long lashes, "will you ever write a song for me?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your heart raced, warmth rushing to your cheeks.

Little did the prince know, you had written hundreds of songs about him—about the love you harbored for him but were too afraid to speak of. You turned away slightly, trying to calm yourself before stuttering out, "O-of course, my prince. All you need to do is ask."

Telemachus chuckled, the sound soft and almost affectionate. "It's okay," he said, shaking his head, still toying with the blade of grass. "I'd rather you write one for me without asking, for me to be your muse. Otherwise, it wouldn't be any better than me paying for a song, would it?"

Before either of you could say anything more, loud voices cut through the tranquility of the courtyard.

You looked up, startled, to see a group of suitors ambling down the courtyard, their voices echoing off the palace walls. They were dressed in hunting gear—thick tunics, leather belts, and their bows slung across their backs.

The men spoke loudly, laughing amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.

Telemachus let out a groan, throwing his head back, cursing softly under his breath as he stood up, brushing the grass off his garments.

The group of suitors moved closer, one of them impatiently calling out, "Telemachus! We're waiting for you; hurry up! We want to hunt a bit before we head back for dinner."

Another laughed, elbowing his friend as he added, "Maybe we can charm some 'desserts' out of a servant or two while we're at it." The rest of them laughed in agreement.

Telemachus cast a glance down at you, his eyes softening for a moment as if checking to see if you were alright. But after noticing that you seemed unbothered by their crassness, he frowned, turning back to the suitors. "It's uncouth for you all to lust after another household's servants," he said, his voice stern.

One of the suitors laughed him off, shaking his head. "A servant is a servant, no matter the location, Telemachus," he replied dismissively.

It was then that one of the suitors, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scruffy beard, took notice of you sitting on the ground behind Telemachus. His eyes narrowed, and a sleazy smile spread across his face. "Well, hello there," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance as he began to move toward you.

Before he could take another step, Telemachus moved swiftly, positioning himself between the suitor and you.

The easygoing smile that had once graced his lips was replaced by a cold, serious expression. His eyes darkened as he stared down the suitor, who paused before letting out a derisive laugh. "Ah, I see. This one's taken by the prince, is she?" he sneered.

Telemachus didn't rise to the bait, his voice steady and uninterested. "We're wasting daylight. If you want to hunt, let's get going," he said, sidestepping the taunts.

With a few more muttered comments, the group of suitors eventually turned away, moving on with their plans.

As they walked off, Telemachus stood still, waiting until they were at a good distance before turning back to you. He offered his hand to help you up, and with one graceful motion, he pulled you to your feet with ease, his strength evident as he lifted you almost effortlessly.

You steadied yourself, murmuring a soft thank you. But just as Telemachus was about to walk away, you found yourself reaching out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Prince Telemachus," you called softly.

He turned, his face softening as he looked down at you, his full attention on you now.

You had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze, your fingers slipping from his wrist only for his hand to turn, grasping yours gently in return. The warmth of his palm against yours steadied you.

You swallowed nervously, pushing through your frazzled thoughts. "Would it be possible... to get the suitors to cut back on their extravagance? Or perhaps encourage them to bring in more from their hunts? The kitchen storage is running low. The demands are getting quite... difficult to manage," you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Telemachus met your gaze, the intensity in his eyes fading into something gentler as he offered you a small smile, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand. "Of course, ____," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'll take care of it." 

[luvyeni]

⠀ ( drabble ) they don't know ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 大崎将太郎 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ your friends don't know about you two ヾ

fwb!shotaro・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ unprotected sex , ‎ ‎doggystyle wc ・ ‎0.6k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. Hiii! Could you create a friends with benefits smut including taro from RIIZE? Something like you guys are in the same friends group or have mutual friends?

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 enjoy it , hope you like it <3

“you know shotaro right?” you friend introduced the boy in front of you. “he's in one of my classes , yeah i know him.” you smiled , the boy in front of you , smiling back — it wasn't a friendly smile , but a smile; unbeknownst to your friend that you knew too well. “it's nice to meet you.”

there was a knock on your door, getting off your couch to answer it. opening the door the to the boy smirking. “don't look at me like that.” you allowed him in; he took his shoes off following you inside. “he's in my class.” he mocked you, you rolled your eyes. “shut up.” he laughed , coming up behind you. “what you embarrassed of me?” his voice was deeper than before. “didn't want her to know im fucking you into your mattress at your beck and call.”

knowing your apartment like the back of his hand , he guided you to your bedroom. “at my beck and call?” he pushed you down on to your bed. “you called me tonight remember?” he was already ridding himself of his clothes. “that's because you looked good tonight , even though you ignored me.” he took in what you were wearing now , the lack of clothes making him bite his lip with a smirk. “i like this look , easy access baby.”

he didn't even give you a chance to say anything, before grabbing your face, slamming his lips into yours. “been thinking about fucking you since earlier.”

he wasted no time, almost ripping your panties off , climbing on top of you. “tiny fucking skirt, desperate for my attention huh?” he toyed with your clit. “fuck you're so wet.” he groaned. “taro, fucking hurry.” you moaned out. “so needy , don't worry not gonna make you wait.”

teasing your hole, slipping his cock inside you, both of you letting out a moan. “fuck you're so tight.” he sighed , pulling out stopping at the tip of cock. “gonna ruin your pussy.”

he slammed inside you; holding your waist as he plowed into you , pulling your bra down to release your boobs. “shit so fucking sexy.” he groaned. “pussy is so-so fucking addicting.” his eyes rolled to the back of his head , your cunt sucked him in , gripping him like a vice. “best pussy i've ever fucked.”

he quickly slipped out of you; whining at the sudden emptiness. “up.” he maneuvered your body, pushing your body into an arch before slipping back inside. “oh fuck , yeah keep it arched liked that. “yo-you talk too much.” you moaned. “just fuck me.” he laughed darkly. “whatever you want.” he gripped your ass , pounding into you. “yes fuck!” you screamed. “fuck me!”

the headboard slamming into the wall as he fucked you. “this is what you wanted right? ignored me all night now begging for my dick.” he growled. “fuck , fuck you feel too good.” the knot in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter. “fu-fuck taro.” you moaned out loudly not caring about facing your neighbors in the morning. “fuck im gonna cum.”

you soon came , eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came. “oh fuck you're choking my cock.” he gasped , pulling out of your spent hole. “fuck.” he tugged at his cock , shooting his load on to your back. “shit.” he groaned.

“lay on your back.” he said , flipping you back over. “im not done with you.” he slipped back inside of you. “shit taro.” your legs shook in overstimulation. “too much.” he smirked. “you can take it.” he slowly began to move again. “sh-shit.”

“your friends might not know im fucking you , but your neighbors sure will.”

©LUVYENI

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

know me the way you know your childhood scars, like breathing; i wasn’t running but if i was i’m glad it was to you.

tz11 x reader: a small town, a fresh start, a shared heart.

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), hair pulling, thigh-riding (this is newish), dirty talk (if you're new, welcome!), mentions of previous relationship being awful, i know i'm forgetting stuff but all my typical things. (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: here we go again! i feel the way taylor must when she rereleases music. i love love love this one, i'm happy and grateful to share it with you, again. every now and then i think of the dibs/butterscotch part and i get all fuzzy inside. the matt boldy subplot is still my favorite. let's all pretend, when we read this, that the mullet is not a thing. also, if i posted little snippets of new stuff i've been working on (none of it is x reader, but all of it is hockey inspired), would anyone read it? let me know. i love you and your snakes. be good to yourself).

this was probably a terrible idea, you thought, with your suitcases beside you, your head in your hands at the foot of the bed that would be yours for the foreseeable future. one bed of several at a local inn - local to this town, at least, not local to you.

no, you thought, jittery with unknowing and chance and uncertainty, none of this was familiar to you. not this town in the middle of nowhere, hundreds and hundreds of miles from your hometown, your university. not any of the few people you had interacted with, not the uber driver, the inn keeper, the housekeeping staff.

not one part of this place, this experience, not one part was familiar. but that's what you'd wanted, wasn't it? that was the whole point?

you'd wanted to find yourself, wanted to prove that you could take care of yourself, exist on your own, thrive outside of the bubble that was university.

you wanted a fresh start, away from ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend, their betrayal still fresh, a wound scabbing over on your heart. you wanted to breathe deeply and not worry about who was watching you exhale - a place where nobody knew you, where nobody could whisper about the girl whose boyfriend was cheating on her with her best friend. for three years. she's so stupid, how could she not have noticed?

well, here, you decided, that's what you would get. a humble job as a diner waitress lined up to start tomorrow, a booked room with no check-out date, not a laugh you'd recognize for miles and miles.

this is what you'd wanted, you told yourself, now, loneliness settling in your mouth the way the powder on sour candy does. this is what you have.

completely exhausted from travel and emotional havoc, you passed out that night amidst dreams of fresh starts and trees too tall to see you behind them.

such a lovely image did not last nearly an hour into the next morning, the first day of your new job, just a block or so from the inn you were staying at.

this was part of the reason you had chosen this place for your self-discovery journey, after all - the urgent hiring, competitive wage, amazingly low price for room and board.

you had worked in your university's coffee shop for a year or two to help pay your tuition, so, honestly, how different could it be?

very different, you realized, almost immediately. they were hiring urgently for a reason, which meant there was practically nobody there to train you. one of the line cooks, of all people, just threw you an apron and a name tag to wear over your uniform-compliant black skirt and shirt, mumbled something about a welcome, enunciated something louder about table three needing service.

and so your self-proclaimed new life began completely unceremoniously, with a name-tag that misspelled your name, the smell of waffles and western omelets permeating the air like some grandmother's perfume in an old living room.

at the very least, the business made the time pass quickly, as you paced from table to table, only pausing briefly to introduce yourself to the line, the host, the several curious patrons who asked about you.

"new girl," some impossibly old man husked, "they not have hot coffee where you're from?" he grimaced as he took another sip. "cold as a winter's -"

"okay, that's enough," his companion said, a woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair chopped short. she gave you a sympathetic look, like you two were sharing some inside joke. you liked her immediately. "he's had about twelve cups already. don't mind him."

you felt your mouth tick up in a smile for what might have been the first time this morning as you introduced yourself to her, and her father, who you learned everyone affectionately called "old man peters." you learned that the young woman's name was bridget, and she insisted on giving you her number, in case you had any questions, or wanted to get together, or needed anything at all.

your day was already looking up, you thought, as you lifted your sulking ponytail from you back, loose strands curling at the nape of your neck, around your ears. bridget and old man peters bid you goodbye, and then the young host, a boy who stuttered so much over his name that you still didn't quite know what it was, sheepishly alerted you that he had seated a group at the booth in your section.

your flipped to a new page in your notepad as you walked back to the booth, your gaze quickly being tugged up by a drawl-ish voice blurting out "dibs! i call dibs!"

such as exclamation was followed by several groans and one "not fair, you're the only one facing the door."

your brow was slightly scrunched in confusion when you stood at the head of the group's table, four pairs of eyes faced to you in a way that made you feel like a politician about to give a speech.

you cleared your throat, not quite looking anyone in the face. "good morning," you said, "can i get you guys started with some drinks?"

you looked up from your notepad, clicking your pen against the surface of it, taking in the table of - well, you weren't really sure. construction workers, maybe? craftsmen? the four of them had on heavy canvas-like jackets, worn and worked in, highlighter-bright shirts underneath, callused hands that your observant eyes took note of immediately. they were young, too, probably about your age, which made you blush, only a little. these were not the kind of guys you had met in college, the kind who you would have taken a class on freud with, the kind who thought everything with a woman's hand around it was a phallic symbol.

"just coffee," one of them said, short. he tacked on a please when one of his friends smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

you motioned with your pen around the whole table. "for everyone?" you asked, but the question stumbled out of your mouth when your eyes caught on the last of the four, the one on the bench on the right, closest to you.

that sharp face, high cheekbones and cut jaw, should have been so serious, you thought, like some kind of statue, the kind your art history friends would have fawned over in a museum you didn't really want to go to. he should have been so serious, angular like that, but he was anything but. mirth danced in his eyes, so bright they almost sparkled. his full mouth was fixed in a sort of perpetual smirk, so ready to laugh that he was already halfway there. he had the lines around his eyes that told you his full smile would tear you in two.

you were probably staring at him, you realized, flushing deeper as his smirk broke free into something wider, all over his face.

"see, guys," he spoke, that goofy drawl you had noticed on your way over, nothing like the pretentious academics who spoke in circles. he leaned back in the booth. "doesn't matter that i called dibs. she likes me best anyways."

your face scrunched up in some combination of disbelief and hidden delight. "wait," you began, "when i was walking over here, when you said something about dibs," you fixed him with what you hoped was a glare, "you were calling dibs on me?"

he shrugged off his jacket, drawing attention to his wide shoulders, arms thick even through his bright long sleeve. you snapped your gaze back to his eyes, which shimmered, telling you that you'd been caught. "what's the big deal?"

you scoffed, blew a stray curl from your eye line. "you don't call dibs on people," you said.

"yeah, trevor," one of his friends teased, "what's wrong with you?"

"where to begin?" one of the others said, almost lost in thought.

"c'mon, sugar," trevor said, tilting his head, "'s a compliment, yeah?" his gaze rolled down your frame, almost gelatinous, meeting your eyes again reluctantly. "only 'cause you're so pretty, hm?"

you rolled your eyes, fixed your gaze on the one across from him, the one who looked the least engaged. "but, trevor," you whined, stretching out his name like salt-water taffy, "what if i wanted-" you paused, looked down at the blonde just below you.

"matt," he said, practically bored. you nodded your thanks.

"what if i wanted matt?"

his posture grew even more relaxed as he shifted his knees wider under the table. "oh, what if, sugar?" he mused, his eyes so expressive, never off of you for a moment.

"she's gonna spit in your coffee," matt said.

"how about we cut out the middle man and she just spits in my mouth?" he chirped, smirk so telling it made you flush pink.

you mumbled something about decorum before walking away in a flurry of annoyance and excitement. you couldn't really tell the difference, you realized, as you gave the poor host a pot of coffee and asked him kindly to drop it off at the back booth.

you were not something to be called dibs on, that was for sure, and you were here to find yourself, not anyone else, certainly not some guy. even if some guy had soft-looking hair and a witty mouth. even then.

you took a stabilizing breath and got back to work, noting that the back booth only got coffee, only stayed for about twenty minutes before making to leave, heavy jackets loud as they shrugged them back on.

three of the guys called out their thanks and headed out, leaving only a standing trevor there when you approached to settle their bill. thumbing through his wallet, he grinned down at you when you finally stood in front of him again.

he was taller than you thought, you realized, as he now stood at full height. you had to crane your neck slightly to look him fully in the face.

"thought you'd be shorter," you said, honestly, hoping to knock him down a peg, however mean that might have been. but of course he only smirked.

"get that a lot," he drawled, selecting a bill, putting his wallet back in his pocket with hands you had to force yourself not to stare at. "been told 've got the personality of a short guy in the body of a tall one."

you shook your head. of course someone had told him that.

you couldn't really ruminate on that, though, as he stuck the twenty in the front pocket of your apron, as well as something with a slight weight to it, urging an angry pink to the tops of your ears, the feeling of his wide hand warm, so close to you.

you peered up at him, sucked on your teeth as he pulled out his hand slowly, that ever-present smirk almost faltering at your gaze.

"thanks for the service, sugar," he said, and you probably imagined the way the end of his words sounded strained. "see you around, yeah?"

you didn't break eye contact, only let yourself smile back at him before turning and getting back to work, letting the push and pull of waitressing lull you into a rhythm during which it was practically impossible to think too heavily about bright eyes and broad shoulders.

by the end of your shift, you had been officially tired out. you were sure your hair reeked of coffee, and your ankles ached from standing all day.

going to empty your apron, however, right before you left, your hand settled on the bill from earlier, but also several wrapped butterscotch candies. your face contorted as you stared at them, wondering why trevor had put them there.

exhaustion won over curiosity though, as you thanked everyone for your first day and walked the short block back to the inn.

this won't be that bad, you were thinking to yourself as you walked up the stairs. you already had the phone number of a maybe-friend, after all, and as far as jobs went, this one could be a lot worse. good money, good way to meet new people, maybe even something pretty to look at -

as if summoned by your thoughts, when you turned out of the staircase to your hallway, there trevor was, standing on a ladder, looking into the ceiling, some box of tools on the floor.

you narrowed your eyes, bag suddenly feeling heavy on your shoulder. the presence of a new figure drew his gaze to you, and you had to scold your heart, the way it beat like a teenager at the way he looked at you, then. you didn't know him, after all, and you weren't here for anything romantic.

"you followin' me, sugar?" he asked, stepped down from the ladder, making his way over to you. his voice was slow and tired, from whatever he had done that day. you were shocked at the fact that you wanted to know what that was. his gaze shone as he gently took your bag from your shoulder and slugged it onto his own, fell into step beside you. you let him. "tell me you're following me."

you rolled your eyes, but the small smile on your face wasn't going anywhere. "this is where i'm staying," you explained, "so, if anything, you're following me."

you stopped in front of your door, leaned back against it, suddenly in no rush to lock yourself behind it, alone. not when he was on this side of the door, looking like this.

almost weary with hard work, but not weary enough to sour him, just enough to make his movements and expressions slightly slower, lazier, more indulgent, like they were drenched in chocolate ganache. not when he was here, looking at you like this, like you were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

after years at some preppy, pretentious university, at which ingenuity was the most valuable currency, one you felt you lacked so disgustingly, was it really too surprising that you softened under his gaze? that you wanted to stay in it, just a little bit longer?

"sugar?" he asked, head tilted, and you realized he had been talking.

"sorry, what?" you asked, your voice soft like sponge cake, willing your eyes to focus, your mind to focus harder.

he didn't tease you too badly, though, only let his smile grow sharper with a smirk. "i said that 'm sorry if i hurt your feelings with the dibs stuff," he said, and you were almost confused at his apology. you weren't even upset, and when was the last time someone had apologized to you so quickly after doing something?

your memory cut hazily to your ex, somehow trying to convince you it had been your fault that he cheated on you, that it was something you were lacking that had inevitably led him to do that. you practically shivered, then internally scolded yourself for comparing trevor, whom you had met today, you reminded yourself, to your ex-boyfriend.

"'s fine," you said, waving him off, your back softening further into the door. "didn't really hurt my feelings."

his eyes flashed. "didn't really or didn't, sugar?" he asked, searching your face.

you swallowed, acutely aware of his attention, how it slid down your nose, your cheeks, your jaw, slow and thick as sludge. "didn't."

he gave a nod. "'m sorry anyway," he said, and it came out low. "if you really want to go for matt, i won't stop you."

and part of you wanted to blurt out i don't want matt!

but it was your first day in this place, and honestly, you were still kind of hung up on his apology, and the way it sounded from his chapped lips, and you knew to correct him would be exactly what he wanted.

so you just said "thank you," and were shocked at how gentle it sounded.

"jesus christ, distracted, are we, trev?" the voice of the young inn-keeper called from the end of the hallway. he seemed awfully chipper as he approached, hands in his pockets. "i came up to check on your progress," he said, "or lack thereof, i guess." he looked between the two of you. "now i see who's stolen your attention."

"i'm on my legally-required fifteen minute break," trevor said, half-smiling, turning back to you. "sugar, you know my brother, griff?"

you nodded, suddenly clocking the subtle ways their appearances drew from each other. trevor was taller, griff had a wider face, bigger features. but they had the same eyes, same strong nose, mirroring grins. "he owns my room," you said, dumbly, tiredly.

griff only smiled. "she's had a long day, trev, leave her be."

trevor searched your face again, seemed to find all the proof he needed - your heavy eyelids, drooping shoulders. he gently handed your bag back to you. "i'll see you tomorrow, sugar," he said, as soft as you'd heard him. so soft it startled you. "sweet dreams."

"goodnight," you said to both of them, shutting the door behind you. sleep came easily that night, again, with dreams less so of hiding behind trees and more so of rough hands and laughing eyes.

you were surprised, pleasantly so, at how quickly you fell into a routine in your new home. surprised at how quickly you let yourself call this place that.

maybe it was the way that bridget wasn't just being polite when she had given you her phone number, as she had quickly set up dates to show you all her favorite hiking spots around. your weekly hikes with her became a highlight as she told you more about the town, about her young daughter, about book club, about anything and everything. she was so kind with you that you found yourself so comfortable confiding in her. it felt so easy calling her a friend.

maybe it was the way the town seemed to accept you as one of their own so quickly and genuinely. the line cooks flirted with you in the way only line cooks do (in ways that would not be acceptable outside of a kitchen). they made you food to take home, kept you from starving. the host, harry, began to trust you enough that he asked for your help on homework. the regulars began to recognize you, know your name, ask how you were doing. griff checked in on you, asked if anything was wrong with the room, said you should feel free to use his kitchen anytime (as your room was the simplest kind, and didn't have any cooking appliances). you began to know the names of the streets, the stores, the store owners. your fresh start was starting to feel like just that - a start.

or maybe it was that same group of guys who came in every morning, at the same time, who ordered only coffee and then left in a flush of waves and heavy jackets and called-out salutations. you learned that the one with the curly hair, alex, was the quietest, probably the smartest. his closest friend, cole, was the shorter one, who had the loudest laugh. and matt was warming up to you, you thought. the more you made fun of trevor, the more he seemed to like you.

it was that same group, every day, who came in loudly and left louder, who had paint and dirt smudged on their shirts, their hands. who drank coffee like it was water. who laughed like it was easy as breathing, and maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

and, of course, there was trevor, who, the more you got to know him, the more trouble he became. every day, his "good morning, sugar," would reverberate through your chest, and you would drop a pot of coffee at their table, ask how they were doing, listen for their answers.

some comments about how old man peters' roof is caving in, and he should have told them about it probably a year ago, or about how the police chief's plumbing is fucked, or about how they were going over to fix bridget's sink that day. and, if it was the last one, matt would flush, which would make your eyes widen, would make you pepper him with questions about his crush.

and then, at some point during their morning break, trevor would ask something about you, about how you were, about the way you were wearing your hair, the shoes you were wearing, the book you had been reading the week before. and then, as he left, without fail, he would slip a bill and several butterscotch candies into your apron pocket, each time his hand growing heavier, more significant as it settled so close to you.

it didn't particularly help your small crush that you saw him everywhere. he was always fixing something - in the diner, at the inn, in the park downtown. you couldn't escape him and his deft hands, his working mind, his strong frame and easy laugh and addictive smile.

he was everywhere, so of course he would be here, at the grocery store, after your shift one day. you were roaming the isles, looking for a specific kind of vinegar, your basket hoisted up onto your hip, when a low whistle made you turn. you were met with that lazy smirk, your favorite one of his, the nighttime one, the tired one. he approached you, his work boots heavy on the ground.

"you followin' me, trevor?" you asked, repeating what become something of an inside joke between the two of you.

"maybe," he said, looking down at you, shimmering eyes framed by long lashes. "do you want me to be following you, sugar?"

you hummed, noncommittal, some harmony between the fluorescent lights above, the whir of the fridges the next isle over. you turned back to the shelving, resumed your survey of the contents. "your brother offered his kitchen for me to use while he's out tonight," you said, not looking at him.

"did he?" trevor mused, an almost undetectable bite in his tone.

you nodded, eyes alight with excitement. "been eating pancakes and chicken noodle soup for weeks now," you said, referring to what the line cooks sent you home with. "swear my mouth's watering just thinking about something different." you ran a thumb along your bottom lip, as if checking for spit.

if you had been looking at trevor, you would have see his shallow swallow, the way his eyes tracked your movement, how his gaze hung from your mouth like lacy ribbon. he cleared his throat.

you finally located the vinegar you wanted, on the very top shelf. pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, you reached the tips of your fingers for the bottle, only just out of reach.

trevor only chuckled as he grabbed the bottle easily, took the basket from your hip and into his own hand, dropping the vinegar into it.

"i can carry that, you know," you said, suddenly wishing you had something to do with your hands.

"i know," he said, smug.

you rolled your eyes, huffed a thank you, anyways.

"so, what're you making?" he asked as you led him from aisle to aisle, loading your basket with ingredients.

you explained to him how, in college, this one salad had been your absolute favorite to make when you needed something that made you feel good. something about the combination of arugula, kale, chickpeas, sweet potato, whatever other vegetables you had on hand, sometimes chicken, if you were feeling fancy, something about the simple dressing of oil and vinegar - it was perfect. no meal left you feeling as good as this one did.

and it was how you had made it entirely on your own, too - it wasn't some fancy steak dinner your ex had buttered you up with after a fight, it wasn't boxed brownies shared with your old best friend the night before you found out - no, this was all you.

when you looked back at trevor, there was something molten in his gaze. "sounds amazing," he said, low, like he didn't want anyone else to hear.

you tilted your head, let your smile slant across you face, scrunched up your nose, teasing. "would you want to join me for dinner, trevor?"

his face split into a grin. "i would," he said, "i would want to, please."

and so you found yourself fumbling around someone else's kitchen with an audience, washing kale and peeling sweet potatoes with fingers that twitched towards the figure across the counter, practically irritated that they weren't touching him.

you scolded your hands to behave, which became easier as the night went on, as conversation flowed like cranberry juice, the flavor of it lingering in your mouth just the same.

he might ask you about how the diner was going, to which you would look around as if to make sure no one was there. his eyes would flash. you would miss this.

"harry's been making some real progress in precalc," you would say from behind your hand, speaking of the host, whom you had come to view very fondly. "and you didn't hear it from me, but i think he's going to ask his friend jason to the school dance next weekend."

you would be flushed with excitement and pride, and trevor wouldn't be able to get much beyond that, honestly, the way it lit you up from the inside out.

but then he would clear his throat, and lean forward on his hands, and tell you that if harry needed help asking jason to the dance, he knew exactly the best crew for the job.

"don't tell me you're talking about your rag-tag group of misfits," you would say, cocking a brow as you dressed the kale and arugula.

and he would feign offense, place a broad hand over his heart. "i'll have you know that this group of misfits went 16/16 in high school dance invitations," he would say. "all four of us, all four years."

you might roll your eyes. "real band of heartbreakers, were you?" you would say.

and laughter would shine behind his eyes like christmas tree lights behind store windows, and he would stretch his arms above his head, lazily, comfortably. "'course not," he would say, his voice the sort of raspy that comes with stretching, "only alex."

and this would pull a real laugh from you, as you tossed everything together, the kind of laugh that rung in his ears, that made him pleasantly dizzy.

as the night passed on, time moving altogether too fast and the kind of slow that oozes, you would learn about how he grew up in this town, how he went to trade school, how he had had the same friends his entire life. you would ask questions about if he ever felt the desire to leave (not really), how he got into manual labor (he never really felt like he was that good at anything else), what his family was like (close, but not overbearingly so).

and, in turn, between bites and sips and laughs, you would tell him about how you grew up (humbly), what school was like (hard, but rewarding), how you ended up here (cheap housing, good job, close community). and maybe you would actually tell him about the ultimate betrayal you had faced before you left, why that made you want to be somewhere, anywhere else, somewhere where you had no choice but to make a life entirely for yourself.

at the mention of your ex his jaw might clench, his mouth twitching ever so slightly. he would mutter something about nonsense, and you would smile.

he would ask questions about your family (just your dad and you), your favorite parts of your life here (hikes with bridget, homework sessions with harry, bickering with old man peters).

and he would pout, at that, his bottom lip looking so positively delicious it stole your breath. "'m not your favorite, sugar?" he would plead, joking.

maybe you would really look in his eyes, then, find something hot, tilt your head. "you wanna be?" you would ask, breathier than you intended.

and he would smirk, somehow flipping the dynamic on its head entirely with only a single expression. "you know i do, sugar," he would tell you, low and so loaded you would blush.

it might scare you how easily you let him in, how quickly you were warming up to him. his pretty face might scare you, because pretty faces had hurt you before. there had been no one prettier than your old best friend, after all, and look how that turned out.

so, when the night grew viscous, and the meal was long over, the dishes done, a portion for griff packed up in tubberware on the counter, when he walked you upstairs to your room, both of your steps slow, reluctant, when his gaze lingered on your lips and the smell of him grew distracting, the height of him all-consuming, even then, even though you wanted to, you didn't kiss him. you only bid him a gentle goodnight.

"thank you for tonight," he would say, instead, looping his arms around your neck, hugging you close to his chest. this was so much worse, you thought, as you breathed him in, wrapped your own arms around him and squeezed. the way he held you like he was afraid what would happen if he let go. his hair so messy and his tone so genuine it almost hurt. "sweet dreams, sugar," he said into your hair before pulling away.

even though, that night, you might have dreamed about how his rough hands might feel as they held your soft cheek, how his chapped lips might slot against your glossed mouth. even if you woke up, that next morning, practically sweating. not the sweetest of dreams.

today was your day off. you had plans later with bridget, but you decided to book a haircut and blowout at the salon downtown, since you had the whole morning to yourself. the salon was one place you hadn't been in, yet, and you hadn't had a haircut in months, so you figured now was a good a time as any.

the bell above the door rang when you stepped inside, but no one seemed to notice over the shrill thrum of hair dryers, sinks, and the steady stream of gossip that you appeared to have walked in on.

"she told me her trevor went on a date, julia," one of the stylists said seriously, her eyes expressive as she sectioned her client's head of long curls. "won't stop rambling on and on about her, she says."

your heart jumped in your chest at trevor's name, sunk accordingly. he had been on a date? you weren't sure why you had assumed you were the only girl in his life at the moment, but it stung, nonetheless. you pulled at a thread on your long sleeve, eyes down.

you can't be upset, you told yourself, don't you dare be disappointed-

"oh, honey, how long you been waiting?" one of the stylists called out, making her way over to you and the front desk. "swear you have to throw somethin' at one of us when you come in or we'll never stop talking." she had such an easy way of speaking, a comfortable posture, a genuine face.

"sorry," you said, looking around, still recovering from what you'd overhead.

she just waved you off with a smile. "it's us motormouths who should be apologizing," she said before introducing herself as ginger. "now, what name is your appointment under?"

you told ginger your name, and as soon as you did, her eyes sailed up to meet yours again, wide and bright. she snapped her fingers, getting the room's attention. "you're the doll who stole our baby trevor's heart!"

you blushed furiously, felt the words in your mouth twist and tangle like a toddler's hair. "me? no, that can't be right," you said. there's no way last night counted as a date, you thought. there's no way he's talking about me.

the other stylist just squealed as you were led to a chair. "of course it's you! look at her, julia," she said to the woman in her chair, practically elated, "what a treasure!"

your blush wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

"that boy's been talkin' to 's mama 'bout you, honey," julia said from her chair, her expression knowing. "he's just about smitten, she says."

"and a mother always knows," ginger said, emphasizing her words with hairbrush gestures.

so you spent your appointment getting a couple inches off, hearing about the trouble trevor used to get in when he was younger (apparently alex used to be the biggest troublemaker, though), hearing about how trevor just went around fixing whatever anyone needed fixing.

"swear that sweet boy wouldn't charge a dime if this town'd let him," ginger said as she worked long layers into your hair, "we have to sneak payment into his pockets, and even then he tries to give it back!"

your cheeks burned, your heart heavy with affection as she blew out your hair, leaving it soft and smooth. you paid, said goodbye for about ten minutes, found out just how hard it was to escape salon conversation.

"now go show off for our baby, honey!" someone called out the door after you, making you laugh. you guessed that all the stereotypes about small town hair salons were true.

you went on your weekly hike with bridget, who gave you that understated grin when she saw you. "looking good," she said, bumping her shoulder into yours. "trev doesn't stand a chance."

you rolled your eyes. "didn't get my hair cut for him."

she laughed. "i know," she responded, "but all anyone can talk about this morning is your date last night."

you couldn't help but scoff good-naturedly. "i can't believe people already know about this," you said, "it was literally last night, and it wasn't even a date."

she waved you off. "nobody cares about the logistics. even my girl was moping to me about it. she's got a little crush on her skating instructor."

"trevor teaches your daughter how to skate?" you asked, having never heard of this.

she nodded. "he's the highlight of her week," she said, her eyes soft, picturing her daughter's unabashed smile.

"get in line," you mumbled, covering your face with your hands.

why was everyone so intent on revealing adorable information about trevor to you today? didn't they know he already took up enough of your daily headspace?

"can't somebody tell me he hates animals, or something? or that he's really pretentious about art? or that he has, like, some weird fetish?"

bridget laughed. "sorry, babe," she said, "he's the town's sweetheart."

you were still reeling with all of this information when you got back to the inn, your face rosy from the outside chill, your body pleasantly awake from your walk.

you began up the stairs, humming to yourself, ready to collapse onto your bed, maybe catch up on some reading.

"you followin' me, sugar?"

you looked up, immediately, feeling your pulse in your neck, in your teeth.

there he was, of course, there he was, painting the railing in the stairwell, the sharp smell of paint faint in the air.

all dirtied up from the day, that slouch that only appeared in the late afternoon, that crinkly smile, all of it made him almost too good to be real.

"maybe," you said, like second nature now, after all those times before, his face forcing a tiny smile from your mouth.

you stood just in front of him now, held your breath as he reached up, twirled a strand of your hair around a finger. he let out a low whistle you felt in your stomach.

"lookin' awful pretty tonight," he said, not much more than a whisper as he thumbed the soft ends of your freshly-cut hair.

his words settled like thick caramel on your tongue. "thank you," you mustered, your mind spinning with all of the wonderful things you had heard about him, today.

he bent down to one knee in front of you as you collected your thoughts. "um, what are you doing?" you said, strained, dumb.

he looked up at you through those girlish lashes, smirk heavy on his perfect face. he tugged your foot closer to him. "shoe's untied," he said, gesturing to your sneaker. "may i?"

you blinked at him before nodding, because what alternate universe was this? you tried to imagine any other man you'd known willingly getting on the floor for you, just to tie your shoe. you couldn't.

he tightened your laces with nimble hands.

you cleared your throat. "heard something funny today from the ladies at the salon," you told him, trying to focus on something other than his proximity.

he hummed. "nothin' good, i'll bet," he mused, "ginger loves a good story."

"it was a good story," you said, reveled in the way his expression softened, giving you the courage to press on. he began to tie a double knot. "'bout how you're tellin' your mom we went on a date."

he pulled the bow tight, looked up a you for a second, a guilty, childish grin on his face, caught red-handed. you extended a hand to him, helped him back to his feet.

"oh, yeah," he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wall, easy, comfortable. "like how you asked me to dinner, and then cooked for me, and how it 100% was a date-"

you laughed, shook your head. "it was not!" you said, "i never said it was a date!"

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "call it wishful thinking, then, sugar."

and you couldn't focus too much on what he meant by that, so you just shook your head again. "you're too much," you said, wanting it to come out teasing, but instead there was a breathy sort of desperation behind it.

"yeah?" he asked, that smirk present as ever. you had grown so close to him without realizing it, now just a step away. him leaning back against the wall, you right in front of him, looking up at him.

you nodded, swallowed, your blood hot, your skin prickly, alive.

his eyes fixed you in place, teasing. "too much for you, sugar? can't take it?"

you bit your lip to stop any sound from escaping you, because everything seemed entirely too loud, then. you could hear your heartbeat, you swore you could hear his, the radiator could have been screaming at you. you didn't dare think about just how much you wanted to take.

to stop yourself from doing something much more serious, you simply reached your hand forward, swiped at a spot of paint on his face with your thumb.

your touch against his brow bone felt like an exhale, like melting wax. you could feel his warm breath on your hand as you pulled it back, but then he was looking at you, like that, like you were so, so special, like he would have doused his face in paint just to have your hands wipe it all away, and were you imagining the way his gaze grew fiery?

"trev! old man peters says his sink's still leaking!"

griff's voice rattled down the stairwell, smothering the flames in your eyes, if only just. just enough to break the spell, to pull away, to tell him you'd see him tomorrow for his coffee break, for his hungry gaze to follow you up the stairs until you were out of sight.

and so the routine continued, more butterscotch candies slipped into aprons, more pestering his friends, more slyly asking bridget what she thought about matt (she was deflecting, you'd observed, delighted). more helping with homework and reading in bed and cooking and snapping at old man peters to stop leaving his watch behind.

more stolen touches and longing glances and sideways smiles, backwards hats and work gloves stuffed in pockets, damp hair sticking to your neck, the hem of your skirt brushing against your thigh. more flame and softness and sweetness drenching your frame as he said hello, and goodbye, and sweet dreams, and anything else. that coil inside of you twisted tighter and tighter as you wondered what exactly was holding you back, what exactly you were waiting for.

one day, after work, there was a knock at your door. you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little bit disappointed when you opened it.

"you coming?" griff said, "town hall meeting starts in 5."

you scrunched up your nose. "town hall? what, is it required?"

he smiled, kind. "no, but they're usually a good time," he said, "and trevor's going to be there."

you had your jacket in your hand already. "he's not the reason i'm coming," you said, following him out the door and down the street.

"i won't tell anyone," was all griff replied, his smile understanding and gentle.

you had never been to a town hall meeting before. you'd guessed that the closest thing you could imagine was a student government meeting, which you'd been a part of in college.

this seemed much more laid back, though, taking place in the middle school gymnasium. it looked like almost everyone from town was here. you noticed old man peters, sitting with bridget, her daughter buzzing around from person to person. the salon ladies were talking to pretty much everybody. there was harry, sitting next to his mom. you approached bridget as griff went up to talk to the fire chief, one of his close friends.

soon enough, the meeting began, the first issue on the docket being the prospect of a stoplight on the intersection of drysdale avenue and york street.

bridget yawned, "same issue every meeting," she whispered to you. "always divided down the middle." this time was no different, you observed, the parents in the crowd seemed completely for the stoplight, the older crowd significantly against.

"next issue, a write in from the community, quote," the representative began, reading from notecards, "should the implementation of the 'dibs' rule be observed seriously, unquote." he cleared his throat, looked up to the crowd. "thoughts?"

you stifled an embarrassed laugh, held your face in your hands as bridget rubbed soothing circles in your back. "is this actually a real-life discussion topic?" you asked, incredulous.

"just let them have their fun," she whispered in a way that made her smile evident.

"i think 'dibs' is outdated and juvenile," a woman said, "sets a bad example for the kids."

the man up front was taking notes.

"i think it's cute," bridget piped up from her chair.

"me, too!" her daughter giggled, jumping into her lap.

"alright, i've got two for cute, one for bad influence," the man said, "anyone else?"

"i think it's lame," a very matt-like voice said, gruff, short.

"one for lame," the scribe said aloud.

"well, i think you're lame," that goofy drawl called out, making you pull your head up, look around until you spotted him, near the front. he was swatting matt on the back of the head. "and i learned it from alex, so take it up with him."

his curly-haired friend hid a smirk. "it's a high school move," he explained to the crowd, before turning to face trevor. "we haven't done it in years."

"until now," trevor amended, "but you guys understand. you've seen her. you've talked to her."

ginger put her hand over her heart as if swooning.

someone coughed. your face was burning up. bridget nudged you gently.

"she's here, trev," griff said, to which the fire chief let out a hearty laugh.

"really?" he turned to face the crowd, his voice excited, hopeful, searching. "where are you, sugar?"

you raised your hand, of all things, immediately wanted to smack yourself. "hey," you said, mousy.

"hey," he parroted, mocking, but of course not maliciously. his smile broke you apart.

and then you were having a conversation with several rows of people in chairs between you, on a gymnasium floor.

"you're the only one with the dibs curse on you," he said, "so what's your take on it? should we abolish the practice for good? is it outdated?"

you swallowed, were looking only at him as the scribe sat at the front, pen at the ready. "well," you began, "it works, from what i can tell." his smile put you together again. "so it can't be that outdated."

his eyes shone, only for you. "you heard her," he said, "case closed."

"are we actually still talking about this?" old man peters asked, to bridget, but much too loudly.

the rest of the meeting passed, absolutely delivering on laughs and nonsense, as promised.

"last thing before we go," the man said, "does everyone have a ride to the away game tomorrow?"

you leaned over to bridget. "what's that?"

"the rec hockey team is away this weekend," she whispered.

"rec hockey?" you said, confused, "like kids?"

she shook her head. "like kids, yes, but not kids."

"sugar, do you have a ride?" trevor's voice rang clear against the mumbled chatter of the room.

you looked up, met his eyes again. "uh, i don't think i'm going?" you said.

there was a collective gasp, followed by silence. your eyes widened. "babe," bridget whisper-screamed at you. "everyone goes."

you cleared your throat, realizing your grave error. "well, then i don't have a ride."

"you can ride with me, honey," ginger said, sweetly, with a warning in her eye.

"trevor has to go super early since he's playing," bridget whispered from next to you. you nodded, signaling that you had heard her.

"thank you!" you called out.

rides were sorted, the meeting ended, everyone saying their goodbyes, folding chairs scraping against the waxy floor. trevor and his friends caught up with you and bridget on your way out.

trevor slung a heavy arm around your shoulders that you couldn't help but lean into. he smelled like sawdust and something citrusy. "i didn't know you played hockey," you said, looking up at him curiously, not letting yourself ruminate on how good he felt slotted against your side.

he shrugged.

bridget scoffed. "he's good, too," she said, "i hate to pump his tires, but only the best teacher for my baby girl." she pressed a kiss to the cheek of her smiley daughter, whom she had hoisted up onto her hip. "all of them play," she said, a vague gesture to the group. "lit it up in high school."

"not all of them are as good, though," trevor said, which caused some annoyed groans.

"what about heartbreaker alex, over here?" you teased.

"heartbreaker alex has grown up since junior year," alex said, soft spoken. "and it's not my fault my hair looks like this."

the shortest friend of the group, cole, the one with the loudest laugh, whom you had come to rely upon for book recommendations, put a hand in line with his brow bone, as if blocking out the sun to search for something.

"what are you doing?" alex asked.

"oh, me?" cole said, "just looking for all the girls you must be getting, since you've still got all that hair."

alex rolled his eyes, the group laughed.

"what about you, matt?" you asked as trevor held open the door, all of you stepping out into the night air. "i've heard the team's got a perfect record for dance invites. any high school stories?"

matt didn't say anything for a second, but bridget laughed. "you're really telling people that, trev, as if i didn't ask him freshman year?" she nodded towards matt, who was actually blushing, you thought, but the dark made it hard to tell. "was a tough sell, eh? he was so quiet when i asked i thought he pretending that i wasn't there."

"oh, we remember," cole said, tone alight with understanding. "funny how we grow up, but so much stays the sa-" he blew out a breath when matt elbowed him in the gut.

you smiled to yourself. "i'll see all of you tomorrow, for the game, then?" you said, the inn now steps away.

goodbyes rang out, and you made to remove yourself from trevor's embrace, but he only spun you back into his chest, pulling you close, his arms now wrapped around your back, your nose against his breastbone. you breathed in, melted into him, squeezed him back.

"did you mean it?" he said, soft, so only you would hear him.

you mumbled your confusion into his chest.

"when you said it was working? did you mean it?"

your heart jumped, his words so vulnerable you couldn't look at him. "i meant it," you whispered into his bright shirt. "you're working on me, trevor." you felt his lips brush against your hair, featherlight, before he let you go.

"sweet dreams, sugar," he said, and you walked back to your room with wobbly legs and an overactive heart.

the following day, ginger graciously gave you a ride to the next town over. she, of course, chatted you up the entire time, which you welcomed.

"i know i must be super late to the party here," you said, carefully, picking at your nails, "but what's the story behind bridget and matt?"

ginger tsked. "we're a bad influence on you, honey," she said, taking a right. "you're gonna be a big mouth like me in no time."

you laughed. "it's only 'cause matt's so obvious about it," you told her, "they've known each other forever, and i learned yesterday that she asked him to their freshman dance." you trailed off, hoping that ginger would take your cue.

she nodded, smiled fondly. "our bridget was always such a spitfire," she said, "always going for what she wanted. smart as a whip, too, but you know that."

you nodded. you did.

"and she could have had anyone, but she wanted our matthew, and he wasn't a sight for sore eyes then, like he is now."

is matt good-looking? you'd thought to yourself. you surely hadn't noticed. perhaps you were distracted. perhaps your gaze always wandered.

"but bridget marched right up, asked him to the dance, and the poor boy was so stunned it took him a full minute to say yes." she shook her head, lost in the memory.

"did they ever date, like for real?" you asked, enraptured.

she frowned. "no, i don't think so, at least. bridget was always bouncing around flings, trying out guys for a few weeks, then cuttin' 'em loose." her smile grew wistful. "then she had her darling girl, middle of senior year. dad booked it, never looked back. don't think she's been with anyone since."

you frowned, too, hating the thought of someone abandoning your friend, as lovely and wonderful as she was. what a privilege it would be to be a part of her family.

"and matt?" you asked, as the car pulled into the parking lot. you ran your palms up and down your jeans.

ginger whistled. "that boy's been starry-eyed over her since grade five," she said, "but me and the girls aren't surprised he thinks he doesn't have a shot. his self-esteem's never been the highest, not like the rest of 'em."

"not like cole, who swears he could land a plane, if it came around to it?" you said, grinning.

ginger laughed. "exactly. and not like alex, who was never without a girlfriend, and not like your trevor, who's never needed anyone to tell him how great he is."

you sucked on your teeth. "but we do, anyways," you reminded her.

"that we do, honey," she finished, putting the car in park. "let's go cheer on those knuckleheads, shall we?"

the rink was colder than you thought it would be. the walls were practically made of aluminum foil. you wrapped your arms around yourself, blew out a foggy breath, followed ginger to the away section, absolutely packed with everyone you recognized.

as you settled into the stands, your eyes immediately searched for trevor.

"he's number 11," bridget said, coming to stand next to you.

you rolled your eyes. "and what number is matt?"

she shoved you, playfully, but when spoke, it was bashful. "12," she said. "cole's 22 and alex is 39. police chief is 8, fireman spence is the goalie, and griff is the ref."

you furrowed your brow. "isn't that a conflict of interest?" you asked.

she huffed in a laugh. "if anything, it's a disadvantage for us."

the game started, and you realized very early on that maybe trevor hadn't been lying when he said not all of them are as good. he practically flew around the ice, graceful, mesmerizing. and it was obvious that he wasn't looking to show off, either, that he was just playing to have fun, and if he really wanted to, he could run the scoresheet up into oblivion.

you could feel bridget smile beside you. "yeah," she sighed. "it's pretty crazy."

"he could play professionally," you breathed.

she shrugged. "he's happy," she said simply.

cole scored twice, the other team clawed their way back in. griff threw alex in the box for boarding, which old man peters, even with his granddaughter in his lap, would not let go, keeping a one-man ref, you suck! chant going long after the power play was over.

"does he know it's griff?" you asked bridget.

"of course he does," she said. "he'll buy him a beer after this."

such was small town life, you supposed.

in the end, fireman spence made some crucial saves, keeping it tied late into the third. with about a minute left, trevor made an unreal, practically magical pass to matt, who finished it off in a one-timer that sunk into the back of the net.

the crowd erupted. you and bridget jumped up and down, holding each other as the goal horn sounded.

the team went through the line in celebration, then skating by the away section before the next face off.

trevor blew you a kiss. you shook your head at him, but couldn't wipe the smile off of your face.

the game ended in a win, and the town migrated over to the local bar. you busied yourself with harry's mom, telling her that no, she had nothing to worry about, yes, harry was quiet, but he was kind as anything, and that was most important.

everyone cheered when the team walked in. you clapped along with them, feeling a smile tug at your lips as soon as your eyes locked on trevor.

his eyes found yours immediately, that lazy grin following as he squeezed past people to get to you.

you met him halfway, a hazy neon light over your heads, making color dance in his eyes like starlight. his long hair was damp, curly at the ends in a way that made you want to reach up and tug at them.

"speechless, eh, sug?" he teased, shrugging one shoulder with exaggerated arrogance. "i know, my play tends to evoke that reaction from people. i-"

you scrunched your mouth to the side, smacked him lightly in the chest. "god forbid i try to think of something nice to say to you," you said, smiling. you made to pull you hand back, but his warm, wide palm came up to cover it, holding it against his chest.

you exhaled, looked up at him, unsure.

"what was your favorite part?" he asked, those shining eyes careful. "did you like cole's between-the-legs? or maybe my last assist?" he winked. "always a crowd favorite."

suddenly confidence welled up inside of you, a vault. but we tell him anyways, you had said. that we do.

tell him, the overhead lights whispered.

"when you blew me a kiss," you said, reaching your free hand up to cup his jaw, textured under your touch from his five-o'clock-shadow. "that was my favorite part."

flame crept into his gaze abruptly, suddenly, shockingly. he settled his other hand on your hip, pulled you closer to him, his grip making your breath catch. "was it?" there was a roughness to his voice that felt tangible.

you nodded slowly, speaking to his mouth. you weren't scared. you weren't running. you weren't stalling. your skin was humming, your blood felt hot. he was so perfect against you, his hand over yours somehow the most intimate touch you could remember.

he ducked his head to yours, just a breath away, so you could see the gold in his eyes. "let me do you one better," he rasped, waiting for your single nod before finally crushing his mouth to yours in a kiss that felt like early sunrises, slow and meaningful and only the beginning.

you pushed up onto your tiptoes, looped both of your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, closer, as he kept one hand on your hip, the other grasping the back of your neck, keeping you from collapsing into him.

kissing your ex had felt almost robotic, scientific, stiff in an endearing way at best, stiff in an awkward way in reality.

there was nothing stiff about this, nothing scientific about him. this was all feeling, all malleable, all calloused hands and chapped lips. he kissed like someone who had to work for it, like someone who didn't have to prove anything to you but wanted to, anyways.

just that was enough for you to sigh against him, the fact that there were other people around the only thing stifling your soft moan.

he smiled into your mouth, like a low-spoken secret between the two of you. "taste like butterscotch," he mumbled against your lips, pulling away only just enough to make sure his words didn't disappear unheard down your throat, almost drowsily. "you like those candies i give you, sugar?"

your chest rose and fell against his. the low music in the background roared in your ears, the neon light making him look like some stained glass thing worth kneeling for. "like 'em because you leave 'em for me," you said, your fingertips tracing the top of his spine.

his eyes shimmered. "can i tell you something?"

you nodded.

he hummed, gave a guilty sort of smile. "gave 'em to you because i didn't like the taste of 'em," he started, smirk growing wider. "and i wanted to convince myself to hold off on kissin' you. not to rush you, you know."

you understood, and your swollen lips quirked at the story, but your eyes flashed with something like hurt. "you don't like the way i taste, trevor?" even if it was his own doing, you suddenly wanted to brush your teeth.

"that's the thing." he ran a steady thumb along your hairline. "think my plan backfired, 'cause butterscotch's my new favorite flavor." his thumb reached your chin, tilting it up to his mouth again. "can't get enough of it," he murmured, a man possessed, barely audible as he kissed you again, this time with a softness that cut like a dagger.

you swore your head was still spinning the next day. what was supposed to be just another shift at the diner quickly turned into a flurry of questions, of neighbors looking for a side of gossip with their french toast, of line cooks swearing there was something different about you.

it was hard to answer anyone, to do anything, honestly, when it felt like you were floating, like your head was far, far away, up in the clouds.

harry gave you a fist bump when he saw you. old man peters told you in a stern tone that public bars were no place for fornication, to which an ecstatic bridget patted his shoulder and reminded him that it was only a (sort of) innocent kiss.

she pulled all the details out of you, lit up as you flushed and stumbled over your memories.

the police chief made some joke about that boy being a bad influence when you accidentally brought him whole milk instead of soy milk for his coffee.

ginger and the girls were like some insatiable beast that only let you be when you reminded them that if they kept you much longer, the diner would go hungry.

of course, your heart instinctively fluttered when that tell-tale gust of loud laughter burst through the door, along with the drag of heavy work boots, the shuffling of canvas outerwear, the shoving of gloves into back pockets.

you made your way to the table with their regular pot of coffee, met trevor's dancing gaze almost sheepishly.

"morning, guys," you said, smiling at all of them.

they chimed their chorus of good mornings, pouring their coffee into mugs themselves, as they always insisted on.

"so, what's new?" cole asked, his head resting on his fists. "probably nothing, right?"

alex and matt hid their laughs.

you rolled your eyes, smiled nonetheless. trevor had a hat on, today, making his hair curl out from the bottom of the brim. you tucked a curling lock behind his ear, ran your nails soothingly along the hair at the nape of his neck.

anyone watching would have seen the way his gaze melted like milk chocolate, how his shoulders softened, his posture relaxing completely into your small touch.

he looked up at you, eyes so soaked in affection it spilled down his face like mascara-stained tears. "i missed you," he said.

his friends groaned, as if they'd heard this a million times. suddenly, with a blush, you had a guess as to what his morning had been like. perhaps he had been just as distracted as you.

"i missed you, too," you said, because it was the truth.

"he almost dropped a crate on my foot this morning," matt said, bitterly.

you put a hand over your heart. "how tragic." you looked up, making eye contact with your friend across the diner. "hey, bridge! matt almost hurt his foot this morning. has science found a cure for that, yet?"

she huffed a laugh as she approached, shook her head at matt when she stood in front of the table. she held the back of her hand to his forehead, as if checking for a fever. "are you sure you're okay, sweet boy? this sounds serious," she joked.

matt had paled. trevor pulled you into his lap and you hid your laugh in his collarbone.

"'m fine," matt bit out, to which bridget smiled.

"thank god, that was close," she said. her gaze wandered, landed on something out the window. she squinted. "did somebody dig up some of the flowers outside?" she asked.

"dig?" alex mused, "maybe rip is a better word, eh, trev?"

"right. almost forgot." trevor held you in his lap with one hand, reached the other to the side. suddenly several flowers were being held in front of you, thin, spidery roots still intact. "sugar, will you go to the valentine's day skate with me?"

you smiled, wide and toothy, touched one hand to his face as the other grasped the humble, earthy bouquet. "of course i will, handsome," you said, "what's the valentine's day skate?"

"pta event, tomorrow," bridget said, looking on with interest. "whole town shows up."

"this town shows up for everything," you replied.

she smiled fondly. "heart-shaped balloons and fruit punch and ice skates. what's not to love?"

you turned your neck to look back up at trevor. "'m honored to have been on the receiving end of one of your famous invitations," you teased, "even if it's not for a dance." his delight rumbled into your shoulders, the back of your thighs, firm and warm.

cole yawned, stretched. "duty calls, fellas," he said, making to get up.

you reluctantly pushed up from trevor's lap, quickly pouring his untouched mug into a to-go cup. the team filed out with their typical string of thank yous and goodbyes, matt's extra glance at bridget met with a returning smile.

then it was you and trevor, as the morning break always ended, like clockwork, like a bedtime story that was comforting in its predictability. he tucked a bill in your apron, several candies, the weight of them alone making you smile.

"did i tell you how pretty you look today?" he told you.

"no," you mused, your hands clasped behind your back, shifting on your feet.

he hummed. "so pretty, sugar, never been so nervous to ask someone out," he admitted, that smug smile lazy across his face.

you tilted your head. "don't be nervous," you told him. "you're the easiest yes i've ever had."

at your words he ducked his wide shoulders down to you, flipped his hat backwards on his head so as not to impede you in any way, kissed you with a rough palm on your soft face, your hands still behind your back as you met him up on your toes.

a different kiss, one so lovely, still, soft and beautiful, drenched in daylight.

would your head ever stop spinning, when it came to him? would you ever come down from the clouds, again? even if you did, would there not be cumulus tufts in your hair, wisps of cirrus in your lashes?

he was proving it difficult, especially that next day, the fourteenth of february.

you had the morning to yourself, existing slowly and methodically, reading and running errands, finally starting to get ready for your date in the late afternoon.

before you knew it, there was a knock at your door, just as you had swung your jacket on. you swung it open to find him leaning against the doorframe, the picture of ease, shoulders drooping the way they always did after a working morning.

"ready to go?" you asked, making to close the door behind you before pressing up on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. he caught your face in a hand before you could, though, steering your lips towards his mouth instead. you laughed against his lips. "greedy," you taunted, pulling away, letting yourself lean into his warm side.

"got no idea, sugar," he admitted, voice twinged with a day of speaking. you walked together to the high school ice skating rink, only a few minutes away, the brisk february air biting at your nose, your ears. you caught up on the morning, what book you had finished, how annoying ginger's husband was being about the state of his rain gutters.

when you entered the rink, finally, pushing forward the old doors, you couldn't help but smile, and trevor couldn't help but watch you.

everyone was here, of course they were. balloons hung from the top of the glass, streamers decorating every archway and spare inch. a massive table of themed refreshments was just next to the bleachers.

it looked like something out a ninety's film, mixed with the unique small town charm and wintery love you had come to know so personally.

you and trevor quickly got your skates on, all lingering touches and knowing smiles, and headed for the ice.

you were shaky at first, but his hands were so tight on yours, you knew there wasn't a chance he would let you fall. he spun you around the rink easily, twirling you like a ballroom dance floor, ever the show-off, anything to make you laugh.

"hey, harry!" you called out, at one point, noticing your host-friend helping a taller, skinner kid his age onto the ice. he waved, his eyes glittery in a way you recognized. is that jason? you mouthed. harry nodded, smiled shyly. you gave him an impressed thumbs up, trevor whistled.

you asked trevor how he got into hockey, watched how his mind waltzed behind his eyes when he talked about outdoor rinks with his friends in elementary school, how even piled-on scarves and hats and puffer jackets didn't stop that flying feeling.

significance would gather in your stomach, butterflies morphing into something much more serious, the kind of flame you'd find in a living room fireplace, in the hearts of teenage lovers.

you skated by cole, scooping up the snow he had made with quick starts and stops, and alex, whose neck was becoming the new home of said snow.

alex grunted, immediately breaking into stride to catch a fleeing cole, whose bright and clear laugh echoed under the roof like church bells.

the fire and police departments had started a relay race, ginger and her girls had formed a circle close to the hot chocolate.

old man peters held his sleeping granddaughter in his lap, bouncing his knee gently, both of their smiles blissful.

trevor's hand found your far hip, pulling you into his warm side. you sighed, looked up at him as you let your fingers trace along his jaw.

"touchy today, sugar, hm?" he said into your hair, a rumble to his tone that told you he liked it.

you hummed, nodded. "you just look so..." you trailed off, in thought, thinking about what, exactly, you meant to say. he looked what? practically edible? like an ocean you wanted to drown in?

how could you tell him you'd been avoiding looking at his hands, for fear you'd blurt something out about wanting them around your neck?

you just swallowed, cleared your throat. his smirk was a flash of teeth.

"you feelin' okay?" he cooed. "should i take you home?"

you found yourself nodding, even though you hadn't been at the rink for long.

"yeah?" he mocked, taunting, his hand on your hip suddenly firm, burning.

bridget's laugh cut through the sizzling air like a stream of cold hose water. you both turned to look at where she now sat, having obviously fallen onto the ice. she peered up at matt through her blonde bangs. "some teacher you are," she laughed, "i knew trev was the right choice for my girl's lessons."

matt shook his head, a barely-there smile on his thin lips. he offered her a hand, steadily helped her to her feet, an almost undetectable shake in his breathing as bridget grabbed onto his forearm for extra stability. "alright, smart ass," he mused, "no help for you, then."

he made to drop her hands, to leave her on her own, but she latched onto him tighter. "yeah right," she said, "you're not going anywhere, sweet boy."

cole's laugh sparkled at matt's flush.

you and trevor were already on the way out, bidding your short goodbyes, half-assed excuses about not feeling well given and taken with knowing eye-rolls.

he walked you back to the inn, up the stairs, his hands on you ever-so-distracting, his voice a careless rasp, your heart beating heavy in your chest.

you finally made it to your closed door, your back against it as he looked down at you with that heated gaze, his frame boxing you in.

"well, get some rest, sugar," he said, slowly, smiling. "since you're not feeling well." he twirled a strand of your hair around a finger.

you sputtered. "what? trevor-"

his eyes widened in mock-surprise. "oh, is there something you want?" he asked.

you clutched at his shirt with your fist, pulled. "please."

"please, what, sugar?" he asked, so smug you wanted to punch him. "gotta tell me what you want, hm?"

"you," you whined, but that wasn't enough.

"oh, is that it?" he drawled, ducking his head down to you, so close, but not close enough, not even a little.

you worked your jaw, so frustrated. "just," you tried, "just please, touch me, trevor, i just wanna feel you."

he smiled, held the side of your face in his palm. "am touchin' you, sugar," he said, "tellin' me this isn't enough?"

you ran your tongue along the inside of your cheek, groaned at his feigned confusion. "shut up," you breathed, his mouth an inch from yours.

"make me," he bit back, and then you were kissing him. you swore your lips would be charred, later, as if in proof. you reached a hand behind you, twisted open your door, while the other rooted in his hair, tugged him inside your room as he moaned against your lips.

one of his hands grasped the back of your neck, the other a bruising grip in your side, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees felt the blunt edge of the bed.

you barely registered as he reached under you, flipped you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips as he sat down on the comforter, far too caught up in this kiss, somehow still so different from ones you has shared before. so charged you felt the air might combust at any second, that, despite his relentless repairs, there was no way this inn could withstand the way he was kissing you, now. surely, the roof would cave in under the weight of your want, water would sear straight through the pressurized pipes.

he smiled against your mouth when you started to rock your hips back and forth across his lap, just so desperate for something, anything.

your exhales came out short, little pants as you reveled in the little friction you were getting against his firm thigh, covered in his heavy work pants, nothing close to what you really wanted, but something, at least.

mercifully, he moved your clothes aside, rocked you more forcefully, making the sensation practically blissful. you dropped your heavy head to his neck, moaned into it.

"oh, sugar," he cooed, and you squeezed your eyes shut. "so greedy for it, hm?"

you nodded into his neck, the tough texture combined with the heavy weight of his thigh catching you in just the right spot, urging a whimper from your throat.

"makin' a mess of me, yeah? could cum just from my thigh?" he said, almost like he felt sorry for you, but you could hear the smile in his voice. you bit down gently on the space between his neck and shoulder, your small retaliation, smiled at his groan.

you slowed your rhythm, picked your head up, let your chest rise and fall as you looked at him in the face, searched his eyes.

his face was slightly flushed, his eyes only just a bit glassy, but he looked at you like you were a wonder, like some divine power had made her way into his lap.

you pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, loved the way you could feel his smile crinkle and widen under your lips.

"please, trevor," you whispered, your touch so soft around his neck. "please just give me what i want."

you shifted on his lap until you felt him, hard and hot and heavy underneath you. his voice came out with a strain. "anything, sugar," he told you, "just tell me."

you lifted your hips up, could feel how wet you were, could tell you had probably left a trace of yourself on his pants. "wanna cum on your cock, trevor," you breathed, couldn't help your sly grin when he immediately began to tug his clothes aside. "please, please let me. i know i'm so greedy-"

he was nodding like he understood as he angled your hips up higher, shifted you so that you sat right above him as he pumped himself up and down, once, twice, so obviously ready for you. "you are, sugar," he said, so eager it almost sounded like a whine, "but i'll give you anything you want, swear it." his hands found your hips. "just promise you'll only be greedy for me, hm?"

you sank down onto him with a nodded promise, bit your lip at the slow, scorching pressure, the pleasant stretch that pulled at your middle, that you felt in your toes. you blinked, trying to get used to the sensation, trying to muffle the groan in your mouth.

"fuck," he moaned, his fingers clutching at the flesh of your hips like you might float away if he let go, "all the way, sugar, 'atta girl." you huffed a short breath when he was all the way in.

words felt far away, suspended in bubbles that whirled around your head.

"speechless, eh?" he teased, and you had a sense of deja vu. "don't worry, sugar. common re-"

and you could have growled at him for alluding to the fact that other girls had felt this, that there were other people in the world who knew what this felt like, so you fitted a delicate hand over his mouth and rolled your hips up and back on him until he was the speechless one, moans falling from his mouth, his brow pinched in pleasure.

"don't worry," you breathed, your mouth an inch from his ear. "common reaction."

you began to move your hips up and down faster as the stretch gave way to something dizzyingly good, as he began to thrust back up into you. so hard and fast, but he held you like something precious. his rhythm built until your mouth fell open, until sweat shone on the high points of his face, until time melted away, until you were reminded of what you'd mistaken him for when you'd first seen him, all that time ago - some ancient sculpture. a work of art.

he cursed as your clit caught on his pubic bone, the friction so overwhelming, and you clenched down on him. "give it to me, sugar," he said, but the strain in his voice made it sound like a plea. "fuck, let me hear you, yeah?" his tone grew gentle. "been wantin' to hear you for so long."

you tightened around him further at his small admission, let your nails rake down his neck, probably a little too hard. he grunted, thrusted harder, shifted you closer to him.

you moaned his name at the new angle, one you felt in the tips of your ears, your hairline, your tongue.

you were so close, so impossibly almost there. "please make me cum," you whined, "please, need you so bad." your exhale was practically pained as you ran your fingers over the red marks on his neck your nails had left. "don't i deserve it, baby?"

he grunted, and it was different. you felt his stomach and thighs clench, his hips sputter as his head spun with the fact that you'd gone right to begging him, skipped the asking part. he pressed his hand to your lower stomach, let his thumb catch against your clit, sending you over the edge in moments. "'course you deserve it, sugar," he rasped, gravelly, in your ear as you rode out your high, his thrusts growing wild. "been so good."

you clenched down on him, forcing his own orgasm, fast and all-consuming, the smell of him everywhere, mixed with your perfume. your exhales were warm and heavy, transparent clouds that settled on the floor of your room, making it every bit the dreamland it had become in your mind.

he held you so close to him as he pulled you to his chest, leaned you both back on your bed. you stared up at the ceiling.

about time, one of the tiles whispered, holding a crisp fiver.

couldn't have waited another week? the losing tile muttered bitterly.

you smiled as his rough hand found your face, tilted it towards him. he was smiling. your stomach fluttered as you felt your own mouth pull wider.

"what?" he asked, his voice rough, drowsy with use.

you shook your head. "nothing," you said, "just you." your eyes crinkled under the weight of your happiness. "i'm callin' dibs on you."

his eyes lit up as he pulled you in for another kiss, slow and overflowing with meaning. he hummed. "butterscotch," he whispered against your mouth. "my favorite."

fin.

[apricior]

actually, i'm tired of being nice about this.

for the past week, a terrible cold front has been affecting different parts of spain, especially valencia, where +200 people have died and +2000 are still missing.

for the past week, people have been trying to find ways to help those affected, either by going to the affected areas to help or by donating food, clothes and other resources, even though it keeps raining.

for the past couple of days, i've received daily emergency alarms on my phone telling me to stay at home because of the risk of flood, and today schools and universities have closed to avoid unnecessary risks

people are losing power, their cars, their homes, their loved ones, streets are flooded and filled with mud. this morning the storm was so strong here that the power went out in my entire building and in a lot of areas of the city. trains aren't working, some subway stations are flooded, i have been hearing sirens all day and thinking that i'm lucky for getting to stay in the safety of my home

and then i go online, especially on tumblr, and… nothing. nobody is talking about it, nobody is sharing fundraisers. i only see spaniards talking about it, and even then, most posts don't reach 400 notes.

this is one of the clearest signs of climate change we've seen recently, why is nobody talking about it? it seems like tragedies are only tragedies when they happen in a small handful of countries, and we are, unfortunately, not one of them. but we're more than a vacation destination, we're more than a place with good weather and cheap alcohol. we people deserve protection and safety. we deserve more than global silence

news articles you can read about this:

bbc, 3cat 1 and 2 (if you catalan or want to see pictures/videos of the effects), rtve (if you speak spanish or want to see more pictures/videos of the effects)

[puckszone]

my musings on how to leave longer & more regular comments on fics:

We all know comments are good - readers have probably heard authors on tumblr talk about how valuable comments are for ages, and I hope most of the authors reading this have felt that validating joy first hand.

But we also all have lives, and only so much energy in a given day. Maybe you have worries about leaving a comment that's too "weird", or "awkward". Maybe you LOVE a fic, but have no idea how to put those strong emotions into words. Maybe you leave short comments, but wish you felt comfortable crafting the paragraph-long detailed comments that some readers gift to their favorite fics.

If you've ever thought about trying to comment more often, or trying to leave longer comments, then here are some ramblings of mine that will (hopefully!) bring comment-inspiration your way.

A quick table of contents:

Lower the mental stakes

How do I comment on porn?!?!?!?

My approach to paragraph-long commenting

My call to action: challenge yourself to go one step further

Lower the mental stakes:

When I first joined a writing discord, I was genuinely blown away at the amount of support and love the HRPF community contains. I was also blown away at the amount of people that were actually reading my works and messaging about them!! It is still one of the coolest feelings ever.

In my mind, this is an example of a "lower stakes" ways to talk about fics: messaging a friend, or a group chat, or a discord server.

It takes a lot less energy for me to type a rambling text about how much I love the fic I'm currently reading vs. typing a cohesive, well-thought out comment for the author themselves.

One of those two options is much more intimidating!

I want so badly to tell the author how much I love their fic, but I'll never find the time to write all the things they deserve to hear!! So the tab sits open on my phone for months, and the comment never gets written.

If you relate to this: try to lower the "mental stakes" of writing your comment. Remember: this is a fun thing!! Fic is fun!! And I promise, you don't have to write the "perfect" comment to make an author's day.

A potential solution: treat the comment box a bit more like a message to your group chat. Not in a rude way - let's stay polite to the writers in our community, and recognize when unsolicited feedback isn't wanted.

But instead of forcing yourself to always have the "perfect" comment, think of something lighter. Think of what you would text to a friend if you were going to send them a link to the fic: maybe "dude this fic is so funny you need to read it", OR "this is INSANELY good", OR "i've been reading this all morning you need to check it out right now".

Then write that!

Comment: "this fic is so funny oh my god. love it!"

Comment: "this is INSANELY good"

Comment: "SCREAMING. I LOVE THIS"

Comment: "i haven't been able to put this done all morning! sooooo good!"

Comment: "i read the first chapter of this fic and instantly knew i had to send it to all my friends. i love this so much!!!"

Also, this might just be personal preference but: a discord message can get lost to time. AO3 is an archive, and comments there are much easier to look back on!!

So send that discord message to the author in a server you're in - they're going to appreciate it so much!! But consider copy-pasting that as a comment in AO3 as well, no matter how short it might be. It means a lot!!

How do I comment on porn?!?!?!?

PWP fics are known to have a large number of hits, with less kudos and even less comments.

Listen. I get it.

Especially in a fandom like HRPF, where many fics are user-locked, it can be intimidating to comment with no chance to hide behind anonymity.

But remember this: anybody who might "see your username" has also clicked into that very same fic and gone alllllll the way to the end. We're all in this together!!! I promise!!

Maybe the actual logistics are difficult for you - how do I leave a comment on an 8k porn-no-plot fic?? how do I explain that I love this fic without making the author uncomfortable?? - so in that case, let me give a few brief ideas for you to work off of.

Some words I like to use a lot: dirty, nasty, HOTTTT, sexy, intimate, vivid.

If you're feeling especially blindsided by the Everything of it all: i like to throw in a good "stupidly hot". "my brain is melting out of my ears". "soooooo dirty nasty hot". "WHEWWWW this is making me feel insane".

Don't overthink it!!!! Speak your truth!!!

And, final point: don't be afraid to highlight specific favorite parts, like you would with any other fic! Say it with your chest! If you liked the frottage, then say "the thigh riding was sooooo stupidly hot". I promise, the author put it in because they also thought the same thing!!!! It's going to make their day (and maybe result in more fics with that same favorite part of yours).

My approach to paragraph-long commenting:

I just want to reiterate: there is no right or wrong way to write a comment. But here's the general breakdown of how I think about leaving more detailed comments, if you want some ideas.

I copy snippets from the fic that call out to me as I read

I go into my clipboard to paste them all into the comment box

I write 1-2 sentences about WHY i copied down that specific snippet

Sometimes, it might be hard to know exactly why you were so affected by a given line. Here's some things you might especially appreciate in a fic:

Characterization: maybe the dialogue felt especially realistic. maybe the character's decisions made a lot of sense to you. maybe the way two characters interact is just exactly how you picture it. write that down in one sentence!! done!

Prose/writing style: maybe the line was a really gorgeous metaphor, piece of dialogue, etc. copy and paste that shit into your comment + add some "!!!"s, or maybe a single sentence like "this is so so gorgeous" or "INSANE metaphor" or "beautiful prose i'm chewing on glass"

The plot: "I have no idea where this is going next, and I can't wait to find out" / "OH MY GOD THE CLIFFHANGER"

The emotions you felt while reading it: this one's an easy one I promise! "the way you wrote [CHARACTER]'s pain hurt sooooo good" / "this is making me feel ill" / "i actually gasped out loud on the bus" / "i'm so nervous for the next chapter" / "i'm SO excited by where this fic is going" / "i teared up reading this"

A long comment will come organically & very easily, even if you only have 2 copy-pasted snippets!! And the author gets to hear very specific feedback about exactly what you're enjoying - that's SO unbelievably rewarding to hear.

So, my personal call to action: challenge yourself to go one step further!

If you don't usually leave comments: try leaving one or two one-line comments this week. Throw in a quick "i love this!!" next to that kudos!

If you usually leave one-line comments: try leaving a couple sentences! describe one specific thing you liked about the fic, or one specific emotion you had.

If you often leave comments on the fics of people you know: try going outside your comfort zone and commenting on a stranger's fic. you got this!

Push yourself one step further, whatever that means for you! It's such a beautiful thing, to be able to read and love and discuss fic in a shared community, and it's worth the effort!

If you've read my ramblings the whole way through: thank you!!!! This was mainly an outlet for me to put all my thoughts into real words, and I sort of can't believe you read all the way through. <3

I welcome any and all additions to this post!!!! The more we talk about commenting, and the more we comment, the more this community grows - and that's a positive thing for all of us, readers and writers alike.