#category five white man event

[windmill-ghost]

The thing about Splatoon is that the names have always been dumb, so the new band names make perfect sense. “I can’t believe my favorite character would have a less cool name!” The most prominent characters in the series are called Callie and Marie.

[r-is-typing]

the music teacher | s.r

summary: in which spencer finds love in an unlikely place

requested?: yes! by anonymous!

pairing: professor!spencer reid x professor fem!reader

category:

content warnings: none!

If you knew Spencer Reid, you knew he loved to ramble. So, of course, the thing that made sense for him to do during his required thirty days off from the BAU was just that; rambling, well, teaching.

Emily Prentiss, the BAU’s Unit Chief, had came up with the idea for him to teach seminars on any topic under their profession that Reid sees fit, thanks to the Spencer’s reinstatement conditions that for every one-hundred days he worked in the field and for the BAU, he’d take thirty days off.

So, there he stood, in front of a class of about fourty-five people on a Tuesday morning, beginning his first lesson. “A trigger,” he begins. “is a sensory event experienced by an offender that precipitates subsequent behaviors.” He animatedly talked with his hands, looking at the class.

“Where as, a stressor is a longer-term pattern of behavior or circumstances which push,” Spencer thrusts his hand up in the air. “a person into behaving differently than they normally would.”

Spencer notices now that no one in the class was writing anything, so he adds one last quip. “You’re probably gonna want to write this down.” He suggests awkwardly.

“I shouldn’t be telling you guys this, but I’m definitely putting this on the final.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Y/N, another professor at the University, stands in the back of the class by the door, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed in a polite, sophisticated manner.

She had snuck in sometime between the conversation of modus operandi (more commonly known as M.O.) and Spencer discussing the differences in pattern between female serial killers and male serial killers.

"I'm only auditing this class." Y/N watches a girl tucks her hair behind her ear nervously, looking up at the tall professor. She watches as Spencer's brow furrows, looking around the room.

"Is anyone else auditing this class?"

Y/N sees a sea of women's hands, and even a few men's hands raise at his question. She softly chuckles under her breath. Spencer nervously checks his watch. "U-uh, unfortunately that's all the time we have for today. Thank you., guys."

People pass her, nodding as they leave the classroom, recognizing her as another professor on campus. She moves slowly, making her way to the front of the room, watching the man gather white papers and manila folders into his satchel.

"That was a really interesting lesson today."

Spencer's eyes dart up. "Oh, uh, thank you. A-are you a student?" He frowns. "I don't think I saw you." Y/N softly laughs, shaking her head. "No, no. I'm a professor here. I teach music, actually." She smiles at him.

"Music, but an interest in Criminology?"

"Well, I actually have an undergrad in Criminology."

This peaks Spencer's interest. Y/N nervously laughs. "I know, it's probably weird, but I find it fascinating. I've actually sat in on one of the BAU's lectures a few years back. Well, probably about six years ago now?" She shrugs.

"Your team had come to my college, my undergrad class actually, and spoke about profiling. Kind of the same stuff today, but more.. in depth?" Y/N smiles shyly.

"Oh, the Tommy Yates case!"

Y/N nods. "That would be the one. I'm surprised you remember." Now, Spencer smiles shyly. "I actually have an eidetic memory, so it's hard to forget."

"Wait, so.. if that was your undergrad only six years ago, and you're a professor now, you must be really young, unless, of course you started college later!" Y/N shakes her head.

"I just turned thirty."

Spencer nods. "That's very impressive for your age." He says, but she rolls her eyes, knowing he's done more impressive things at a much younger age.

The two converse until the bell rings, signaling another class coming in to learn from the FBI's resident genius. Y/N makes sure to get his number, excited to have made a new friend as most of the professors at the university were old or just plain rude.

A few months go by, and they're closer than ever. Spencer was reinstated within the FBI, but had asked Emily, for his own mental state if he could still teach as often as he did before the reinstatement.

What he didn't tell her though was that he did it so he could see her every day. He didn't think Emily would understand what it felt like; the things he felt for her. The mornings where the two would meet for coffee in her classroom, followed by lunch in his perspective class, and then on some nights, they'd even spend time together and hang out after classes would end and everyone would go either home or to their dormitories.

On one particular Friday night, the BAU had just gotten back from a case, and wanted a wind down. So, in true Penelope Garcia fashion, she suggested going to a bar. Of course, the idea was met with high praise, even surprisingly from the 'good doctor' himself, as Garcia deemed him.

So, there they were, sitting in a corner of the bar, having drinks, eating bar food, and laughing. Across the bar, Luke eyes a group of women. "You stare anymore, your eyes are going to fall off." Tara quips with a smirk. Luke flips her off, sending a glare her way.

"C'mon, you don't think they're good looking?"

Tara shrugs, Emily stays silent but watches, Rossi puts his hands up in innocence, JJ and Garcia laugh, and Spencer, his face turns white as a ghost.

His eyes lock onto a familiar person. Y/N stood with the group of women, throwing her head back in laughter as she clasped a drink in her hand. Spencer watched as she took small sips, slightly wincing. He assumed from the alcohol.

Y/N wore a tight dress that had accentuated her features, making Spencer's mouth go dry. "You okay there, Spence?" JJ chuckled, seeing her best friend go what Emily had liked to call 'just like that; an IQ of 187 slashed to 60'.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine."

His coworkers shared looks, knowing him well enough to know that what he said was far from the truth. They eye the group of women and watch for a moment.

As if Y/N could sense eyes on her, she looks up and to the right. Her movements stop, seeing the familiar face of her friend (and the guy she had become enamored with) in a booth on the other side of the crowded bar.

Y/N loudly excuses herself so her friends could hear, beginning her walk to the other side of the bar. "Hey, you." She says as she approaches. "I thought you don't drink, much less at a bar." Y/N raises her brow as Spencer looks up at her with a shy smile.

"I don't normally."

Y/N chuckles, sipping her drink. "Who's this?" The antsy, excited voice of Penelope Garcia spoke up. "Oh, right." Spencer laughs, placing a hand on the back of his neck. "Y/N L/N, meet my team. Guys, this is Y/N, her and I work together at the university I lecture at. She's a music professor."

"It's nice to meet you all, I've heard so much about you."

"I wish we could say the same."

Spencer looks between his newer friend and his team with a little guilt. "Well, now you've met." He chuckles nervously. He feels a hand on his shoulder and feels his face heating up. "Don't feel bad, Spencer, I know your team is very busy."

Y/N smiles at him as the two lock eyes. "Listen, this may very well be the wrong time to do this, but drinking makes me very... honest." She laughs nervously. Spencer eyes her, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Do you want to go out with me next Saturday?"

Spencer chokes on his saliva, staring up at the woman. She frowns slightly, afraid she had said something wrong, or worse, thought there was something there when there wasn't. So, to save face, she started to speak. "I-If you don't want to, I totally get it, I just-"

"I've been trying to ask you that since I met you!"

r is typing...

hi! i hope you all enjoyed :) sorry this took so long, i've been really busy and just came back from visiting family. in a few days, i'll actually be leaving again so fics may be sporaddic but please please please, keep requesting! i love writing for you all <3

anyways, thank you to anon for the request!

r is signing off...

[coochiequeens]

Yet another case for SheWon.com. Not just any case, one where a grown ass white dude was allowed to compete against an 11 year old girl of color in the name of inclusiveness.

By Amy Hamm February 22, 2024

A trans-identified male is set to compete against women as the reigning Women’s Snooker Champion at the English Women’s Snooker Championship on May 24 in Walsall, UK. Jamie Hunter, 27, became the top women’s player following a semifinal victory against a young girl last year.

Hunter first rose to prominence during the English Women’s Snooker Champion finals in 2023 after he came out victorious against Mary Talbot-Deegan, finishing 3-1. Hunter had managed to make it to the finals after he beat out Ellise Scott, an 11-year-old rising star in the snooker world, taking 2-0 against her in the semifinal grouping. The event had been Scott’s debut in the tournament, and, prior to her match against Hunter, she had achieved three match victories against experienced female opponents.

Hunter had been participating in women’s cue sports since 2021, just one year after he “came out” as transgender.

Prior to transitioning, Hunter played in a mixed-sex amateur league for five years. Speaking with Snooker Zone in 2021, Hunter admitted that he had no intention of competing professionally until he discovered that there was a women’s tour.

“Until this year, cue sports was just a hobby, something I done once, maybe twice a week, but now finding out about the Women’s snooker tour, I believe that will change,” he said at the time. “They make out as if I played snooker as a man, I was rubbish, so decided to do it in the women’s instead. I changed my gender for my wellbeing and my life, not for anything else.”

Hunter received significant backlash after his 2022 US Women’s Open win, when former women’s world champion Maria Catalano criticized the policies enabling males to compete against females. In an interview with The Sportsman, Catalano argued that women’s snooker should exclude males from female categories, as some rugby leagues have, to ensure fairness for women. 

“We have fought so hard for our rights in the past – myself, Reanne Evans and others got people to write letters to allow us to play in leagues and clubs that banned women. I don’t believe that women can compete against men on a level playing field in sport. We are wired differently, we think differently. We are mentally different,” said Catalano. 

The World Professional Billiards and Snooker Association (WPBSA) publishes a mixed sex international ranking of players. The highest-ranking female on their current list, Mink Nutcharut, is listed at 119.

In response to the criticism of his wins against women, Hunter has framed the backlash as transphobia.

“Everybody’s human. Regardless of what choices you make. You should treat everybody with respect,” said Hunter speaking to a BBC journalist last fall. Bizarrely, Hunter was interviewed while he sat in a gaming chair in a dark bedroom — which he refers to as “the dark girl cave.” The room has a transgender pride flag pinned up on the wall behind him.

The upcoming English Women’s Snooker Championship is set for May 24, 2024. It is being organized by the English Partnership for Snooker and Billiards (EPSB), which is the national governing body for the sport in England. They describe their goal as creating a “structured coaching environment that will inspire all regardless of gender, ability, or ethnicity to fulfil their potential in our sport.” 

The EPSB has a diversity, equity, and inclusion policy with a lengthy section on discrimination, including a ban on any “condition, rule or practice [that]… particularly disadvantages people who share a protected characteristic.” As for their list of protected characteristics, the EPSB includes “gender, gender identity, marital status, sexual orientation, race, colour, nationality, religion, age, disability, HIV positivity, working pattern, caring responsibilities, trade union activity or political beliefs.”  

The English Women’s Championship is set to take place at the Landywood Snooker Club in Walsall, UK, on May 24.

This is not the first time a male has dominated women’s cue sports, sparking backlash from players and fans.

Last November, a female pool player refused to compete against a trans-identified male opponent at a women’s championship in Wales. Lynne Pinches received an outpouring of support as video began to circulate showing her walking away from the table after being matched to play against Chris Haynes.

Days later, two more female pool players refused to compete against Haynes in solidarity with Pinches during the Ultimate Pool tournament in Blackpool, UK.

In January, Pinches headed an effort to launch a lawsuit against the World Eightball Pool Federation (WEPF) and Ultimate Pool Group (UPG), accusing the governing bodies of subjecting women “to direct sex discrimination and harassment on the grounds of sex.”

What does he have to gain from this?

ENTRY FEES AND PRIZE MONEY

Entry: £30

Winner: £200 

Runner-Up: £100 

Semi-Finalists: £50

[dkakapizzaboy]

Masterlist || Part 1

Category : Smut (NSFW, MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Seungcheol x Fem Reader (AU office setting!)

Words: 3.1k approx

Warnings: Smut (Sex), Jealousy, A kind of Sleazy side character, Mentions of Sex Dreams (that’s about it I think, lmk if anything else should be added)

A/N: It’s new year here as I’m typing this, hope you have a happy and healthy 2023! A big thanks to @onlyseokmins and @junhui-recs for their endless support and encouragement as I struggled with this.

Taglist: @junhui-recs

Feedback always helps!

You made your way into the lobby of the five star hotel where your office's annual Christmas party/ charity event was being held. You had a halter style backless gown on, in a deep navy blue, with a simple set of diamond earrings you'd purchased after saving up for a year.

You felt confident.

You felt hot.

But there was only a slight issue.

When Seungcheol had offhandedly commented that you'd probably not be using your plus one pass, you'd rebelliously told him that you actually had a date to bring.

Which was obviously an utter lie but seeing Seungcheol's eyes widen and jaw tighten was well worth it. He'd vehemently declared then, that he too would be bringing a date as well.

You'd looked through your contacts to find a decent person to take with you but you weren’t able to find anyone who was willing or available on such a short notice. That left all the not-so-decent people you knew. And unfortunately the only not so decent person who was available was your ex (well you'd only been on 4 dates back in college) Taeyong. He was hot, and intellegent but a little bit too touchy for your liking. But you determined that you'd rather handle him for four hours than go alone and be bested by Seungcheol.

Speaking (thinking) of Seungcheol, you remembered how he used to hate Taeyong back in the day. There was that one time Seungcheol had accidentally walked in on you two making out at one of the parties when Taeyong had his hand under your shirt, had screamed his head off about locking the door, and his commotion had effectively killed any mood for romance that night. You'd broken it off with Taeyong not long after.

Anyways, back to present day, you stood with Taeyong, waiting for the elevator to take you down to the basement hall where the party was being held. You saw Seungcheol coming in, hand in hand with a gorgeous girl in a pretty white dress, and for some reason, you felt like yanking their hands away from each other.

Seungcheol saw you first, looking like every man's dream with the low cut backless dress and he visibly gulped. He then saw who were standing with and for lack of a better proverb, he saw red. Taeyong was literally a piece of shit, why did you have to bring him of all people. In his rage, Seungcheol squeezed his fists a bit too tightly, causing his date to audibly yelp from pain.

He quickly apologized to Yeojin, one of his childhood friends who had only agreed to come with him if he would babysit her little brother whenever she pleased during the winter break when she was out with her boyfriend.

Taeyong saw Seungcheol and gave a quick smirk his way before wrapping a hand around your waist, pulling you a bit closer than you were expecting. You begrudgingly went along, as you had to sell the act.

"Fancy seeing you here Seungcheol, oh right, you'd told me you both work together babe." Taeyong's acting was impressive, you had to admit.

Seungcheol introduced Yeojin to you as the four of you got in the lift. Seungcheol still had his jaw locked, trying to keep his anger at bay as his eyes kept focusing automatically on Taeyong's hand on your bare back.

He knew it was irrational to feel this way but he had never liked the guy. Even back in college, he seemed like a sleazer, bragging about his "number" to anyone who'd listen and frankly you were too good for him. He wouldn't admit it to himself even, but he was happy when you'd ended things off quickly back then.

The elevator dinged open and as you were about to greet your manager, he pointed towards the ceiling to the mistletoe hanging.

It was a silly old tradition, forcing people to fluster for others' enjoyment.

Seungcheol practically rolled his eyes as he gave Yeojin a quick peck on the cheek and eagerly looked towards the other pair.

Taeyong, on the other hand, took his sweet time, looking at you a bit too intimately for your liking before giving a kiss on the corner of your jaw, almost on your neck as his fingers slid down your back to rest right above your hip.

To anyone else, it would've looked innocent enough but Seungcheol was fuming. He didn't know if he was imagining things but you looked furious as well.

After greeting your manager, you pulled Taeyong to the side as you made it very clear in a fake, sweet smile, to tone it down a notch and a half, or you were going to break his fingers. Your terms were perfectly clear before coming in, all he had to do was stand by your side, smile at people and eat and drink whatever he wanted. It's not like Taeyong wasn't getting anything out of this "date". He worked for a hedge fund and this party was a gold mine of investors he could approach.

Taeyong left you to get you both drinks from the bar. He saw Seungcheol ahead of him, ordering drinks for his date and himself as well. It was the perfect opportunity to fuck with him.

Taeyong knew there was something under the surface between you and Seungcheol the moment he saw Seungcheol staring at you and practically (figuratively) drooling while you were waiting for the elevator. His suspicion was further confirmed when Seungcheol had looked at him like he wanted to punch him in the face when Taeyong had grabbed you by the waist.

Taeyong didn't really have anything against Seungcheol besides the fact that he'd cockblocked him that one time in college, his only chance to sleep with you.

He greeted Seuncheol with his old college nickname, like they were long lost friends.

"Scoups, so how many countries did you have to check off before you realised that home is indeed the sweet, sweet place to be."

Seungcheol didn't really want to talk to him, but he also didn't want to ignore him and potentially cause a scene, so he reluctantly continued the conversation.

" Three, but in six years, I realised that most of them are just lazy fuckers honestly. I like the challenge our home, as you aptly called it, offers." Scoups summarised, his thoughts taking him back to the college rivalry the two of you had shared and how much it had helped him grow.

"Oh I know exactly what you mean, see now last time if you remember, you had annoyingly cockblocked me with my beautiful date who I have with me today, but now, years later, I'm going to conquer this unfinished challenge, hopefully tonight," he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Taeyong knew he was pushing Scoups's buttons but he didn't really care. It was fun. There was also the fact that Taeyong knew you weren't really interested in him and he'd rather chase investors than chase someone who's interested in someone else. That wasn't really his vibe. So riling up Scoups didn't really impact him in any way negatively.

You were waiting for Taeyong when Seungcheol's date came up and stood next to you, seemingly because she didn't really know anyone else while he was also at the bar getting their drinks.

"So Yeojin," you awkwardly started a conversation to get rid of the suffocating silence that was starting to build," how did you and Seungcheol meet?"

"We both grew up together on the same street. So I've known him ever since we were kids." Yeojin replied as she finally saw Seungcheol coming back with their drinks.

She saw him eye you with something akin to longing, but his expression soon turned exasperated as your date caught upto him.

Seungcheol was really trying. If there was a god, it knew how hard Seungcheol was truly trying to not punch Taeyong where it hurt.The man was absolutely infuriating and to top that he couldn't stop picturing you and Taeyong, his hands on you, you moaning his na- yup he was going mad.

And it was all your fault, for inviting him while wearing that sexy dress and your pretty face and that damn low back- fuck he just really wanted to feel if the skin was indeed as soft as it looked, and how you'd react if he ran his fingers along the curve of your spine.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as your manager clinked his glass and started giving a toast, thanking everyone for their contribution to a noble cause and requesting everyone to join for a cheesy slow dance- like in the movies (he wanted to be funny).

As your manager's eyes fell on you and Seungcheol, you reluctantly pulled Taeyong to the dance floor, as did Seungcheol with Yeojin. It was a slow song, you both were gently swaying as your eyes landed on Seungcheol, who was facing you around 5 ft away. His eyes bore into yours, drawing you in as you gently swayed in the arms of Taeyong, but it felt like you were actually dancing with Seungcheol, as you could see his hand on Yeojin's back and you could almost, in some weird sort of telepathy, imagined him actually holding your waist, his hand on your bare back, one of yours on his neck, gently playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, while the other intertwined with his other hand.

The whole world had vanished, all you could see is the intensity with which he was looking at you, making you almost feel breathless.

Five feet away, Seungcheol was feeling the exact same emotions as you, your eyes, your lips pulling him. It's funny, when the evening had first started, he believed it was due to the dress, but as he recalled your previous interactions, he could always see something attracting him towards you, the way he was jealous of Taeyong, even back in college, the way he craved the competition with you as it was the only time you actually interacted with him, giving him your full attention and respect, it was all hitting him like one brick after the other.

After the song ended, Yeojin and Seungcheol excused themselves off the dance floor. Yeojin had received a message that her babysitter had a family emergency and so she would have to rush back home, her boyfriend was going to pick her up in a bit.

Seungcheol's hormones had completely taken over him within about three minutes, the duration of the first song. He was on auto pilot now, guided by his emotions, any cohesive, logical thoughts dulled by the loud thumping of his heart. His legs made way to where you and Taeyong were dancing, and he tapped Taeyong's shoulder.

"Mind if i cut in?" Seungcheol asked, his eyes never leaving yours.

Taeyong thought about saying no, but decided against it. If he were to get any investors from this event, it was imperative that he didn't cause a scene.

So he quietly excused himself to the side of the dance floor.

Seungcheol placed a hand on your lower back, and mentally cursed when he realised that your skin was way softer than he had been imagining in his wildest dreams.

His hands, one in yours, and the other one on your bare back was setting your skin ablaze. Especially because he'd unconsciously started rubbing his thumb up and down your spine. He was looking at you like you were the only one that mattered in the world, and suddenly everything clicked in place, and you didn't want to waste even a single second more.

He was about to speak, but you beat him to it.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Never in a million years had he heard anything sexier.

"I saw Yeojin's wallpaper on her phone when she was standing next to me. It was her kissing another guy. I know she's not your girlfriend, and I brought Taeyong just because you commented that day that i didn't have anyone to use my plus one pass. It was stupid."

He didn't say anything for a few seconds, his silence had now started to make you nervous. Had you read the entire situation wrong? Oh god, how were you ever going to work in the same room again? What we-

"Your place or mine? Actually fucking scratch that, I can't fucking wait long enough to drive, let's just get a room here." Seungcheol growled in your ear, his composure was slipping and his fingers were curling against your back into a fist as he pulled you as close as he dared.

You were thankful he was supporting you as your legs went limp.

He smirked.

Fuck.

Both of you counted down the seconds for the song to end, a couple of minutes feeling like an eternity.

And when it finally did, neither of you had the patience to say goodbye to anyone as you both dashed off from the party.

But as it was you and Seungcheol, a couple of competitive souls, you had a quick quarrel at the reception counter as to who would pay for the room, fighting only feuling the desire. In the end it was decided that Seungcheol will give his card and you would pay him half later, or this was only be a one time thing, you'd warned.

The elevator was leading you up now, as both of you stood at the opposite ends of the elevator, a silent agreement to wait until you were in a 100% private setting, with no one to interrupt.

You knew in your bones he was going to make you see stars, by the way he was staring at you, devouring you with his eyes. Your felt a blush creeping up your face.

He didn't even wait for the door of your hotel room to fully close as he backed you up against the nearest wall, his knee between your legs, his hands on either side of you against the wall, his strong body cocooning you.

"Are you sure?" He rasped, his eyes boring into yours, your foreheads almost touching.

Fuck, was he always this hot?

He didn't wait for even a split of a second after you said yes, desperately joining his lips to yours.

He kissed you hard, years and years of emotions, that were long subdued by his brain, pouring into the kiss, with lip biting and teeth clanking.

There would be a next time where you'd both take your time to gently explore each other but tonight, this first time, you were both starving for each other.

He was now sucking your bottom lip between his when you suddenly froze, making his immediately stop and take a few steps back.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Do you want to stop?" He searched your face, his worry clearly evident in his eyes.

"We don't have a condom."

"Ooh, I always have one in my wallet, you know for emergencies like these." he said smugly.

"Oh really, and how often has this come to use?" You taunted him as you backed him the edge of the bed, taking off his blazer and tie.

Your hands had started to work on the buttons of his shirt as he answered sheepishly.

"Well, hoping that I'd get to use one today, exactly once. What, girls in the west usually had one with them so I never needed to use mine."

Your laugh died in your throat as you finally took off his shirt, your hands running across his well defined torso and shoulders.

"God really has his favorites," you purred as your hands and mouth started exploring his upper body, while he got to work trying to take your dress off, and miserably failing.

"For fuck's sake, how do you take this damn thing off?"

You lips murmured against his neck that there were buttons at the back of your neck.

You stepped out of the dress as he flipped positions and gently lowered your body on bed.

There was no awkwardness, no shyness, as if it wasn't your first time together, and he was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world, with such awe, you felt beautiful.

His hands, followed by his lips, touched, kissed, sucked and licked down your body, learning what made you gasp and tighten your grip in his hair.

Seungcheol was in heaven, your quiet sounds and wandering hands making him harder and harder in his pants.

You decided you'd had enough foreplay for the first time, you were dangerously close to an orgasm, desperately craving to join your bodies together.

You pulled him up for a kiss as your hands worked on his belt and buttons of his trousers. You palmed him over his underwear and he let out an animalistic grunt, further fueling your arousal.

He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, never breaking the kiss, as he shoved his other hand between your legs, satisfied with how wet you were.

He quickly rolled the condom on and dived into you, left hand fondling your left nipple and right hand between your legs, rhythmically stroking your clit with his thumb.

The combination of this his hands and his thrusts made you dissolve into pleasure first, closely followed by him.

He rolled off of you and discarded the condom, you both now lay on the bed facing each, only hands touching as you come off of the high.

"Fuck, you don't know how many times I've had wet dreams of us like this over the years, you in that black dress you wore at the last college party. But this way, way fucking better than my imagination," you smile at him, as his fingers gently stroke your palm.

"Also, I think we can effectively say that I'm on top when it comes to sex" his eyes were now mischievous and you saw cocky smile on his face.

"Really? Because from my perspective you did all the work and I just laid there and enjoyed a mind blowing orgasm."

Cut to the party:

"10 bucks say they aren't coming back for another 20 minutes" Taeyong challenged Yeojin as they saw both of you zooming out.

"I'll bet a 100 that they're not coming back at all," your manager smiled knowlingly behind them, making them both jump.

It was about time.

A/N: Yeojin and Taeyong were the characters from The Golden Spoon, a show I recently finished. I linked the actors if you were curious what they looked like :)

[bunniesbearsandadventures]

I love Pokemon this is no surprise.

And I love Bug pokemon its my favorite type.

I also love bug boss man.

So yeah forgive me if I feel as if the BUG type was ROBBED! OF GLORY!

what I mean is that I feel like the bug type gets the short end of ths stick when it really doesn't need to be.

For instance case one:

Why was drapion ever given the dark type? I don't care what its pokedex states about personality or the fact that it learns a lot of dark type moves. Either make its pre-evolution dark as well or save us Bug lovers from heartache and just keep it bug please.

Case two:

Why aren't volbeat and illumise bug/electric? (Or bug fire) They are lightning bugs (Fire flies). Nintendo literally went

"Give me a lightning bug pokemon"

"Okay"

"But don't make it bug/electric"

"Not bug/electric?"

"Oh and make syre it doesn't learn any electric moves by level up!"

"No electric moves by level up?!? . Aye YO! Give me a lightning bug pokemon with nothing!"

The fandom: "Nothing?!?

"Nothing!!"

Robbed I tell you ROBBED!

Case three:

Us bug enthusiasts have not only been fucked over

Not once

But twice

TWICE!

They had two opportunities to give us a dragon/bug type and it hurts knowing we've had 9 generations of Pokemon and we still don't have a dragonfly dragon/bug type.

Tell me that these two wouldn't have been the perfect match for a dragonfly dragon/bug Pokemon

Why is flygon and its whole line ground?

Did we really need another bug/flying type?

Don't get me wrong Yanmega is my favorite bug type but it does sting knowing it isn't a dragon type when it literally is a dragonfly!

Case four:

Speaking of missing out

Why don't we have a cool legendary based on a bug or at least has the bug type yet?

I like Genesect but I don't really count it as legendary considering you could have only obtained Genesect through an event.

Its more of a mythical.

There are so many ways a legendary Pokemon to be bug type from lore, to design to awesome new movesets its time for a legendary to show that bug types aren't weak!

Case five:

Now this one isn't a huge deal

But I am still bugged (hehehe) that Kabutos isn't a bug type

I get all fossil Pokemon needing to be part rock duh

But so many people mistake Kabutos for being bug that we forget its actually water.

Now I know that they're based on horseshoe crabs which are found in water

But did kanto need to have both of its fossils be rock/water? I get that a lot of fossils are found in the water so it makes sense that water would be a strong second typing for a lot of fossils but I still wish we had another fossil Pokemon with the bug type besides just the Anorith line.

The water type os already the biggest if not the biggest group of Pokemon.

They're are so many bugs that have been fossilized that would make for cool Pokemon. Its not just dinosaurs and plants and sea creatures. A ton of bugs, huge massive cool bugs were part of ancient times too.

Even google classifies horseshoe crabs as more related to spiders and scorpions!

(Yes I know that spiders and scorpions aren't bugs but many are put into the bug type anyways so yeah!)

Case six:

Why did it take so long to have an easy to obtain Bug/Fire type?

Don't get me wrong Volcarona is a fantastic bug but for many people, including myself, Volcarona is not on many peoples teams because of its difficulty to obtain.

Many people confuse it with being a mythical or a legendary because of it!

In some aspects I think its pretty neat that it has such strong and fascinating lore around it but it just seams disappointing that so many people never get to utilize it during casual teams.

It takes forever to evolve, you can't just obtain it in easy areas (if I recall Volcarona is post game for black and white and Sun and Moon Larvesta can only be caught via a Pokemon calling for it in Lush jungle).

I love centiskorch but again it falls into that "why did it take so long for this to happen" category.

Last case:

The problem with Mega's.

Now this isn't a problem exclusive to the bug type but I am upset with how they handled which Pokemon got mega's overall.

I think mega beedrill, pinsir, scizor, and heracross are dope!

But did so many of them needed to be dragon or become dragon? And why so many kanto and johto only Pokemon?

Again this isn't just a bug type problem as so many types can say the same thing but as much as mega pokemon are a cool concept it's really unfair how so many Pokemon could have been mega's and bug type

Like Yanmega, Flygon, Masquerian, Vespiquen, Drapion, Leavanny, Scoliopede, Crustle, Galvantual, and so many more

And with how GameFreak Handled Mega's beyond X and Y they really wanted to out it to rest too fast.

And it is such a cop out to Make Mega's out to be this terrible thing that hurts Pokemon, by shaming trainers into feeling bad for using Mega's

Like Thanks for basically saying you won't be doing Mega's anymore any hopes for Mega Flygon being Bug Dragon are officially out the window (if they were even going to make Flygons mega bug dragon).

Anyways. .I do love Pokemon but man does it feel like some silly decisions are being made. I still love the bug type with all my heart but so many places and decisions were completely fumbled over the years that makes me want to design my own region with JUST BUG TYPES TO FIX THE DAMN PROBLEMS MYSELF!

[otter1962crystalball]

Pride and Spirituality

June 2, 2024

Happy day two of Pride. The idea of spirituality came up in my blog yesterday and I also engaged in a conversation with a fascinating person on FaceBook who read my blog. So, here I go with my take on spirituality - a collection of memories that shaped my beliefs. I’d also like to discuss how this relates to our pride celebrations.

My mind has always been in the clouds. One of my earliest recollections was around three years of age. My mother told me that she came out of the house where we lived at the time and saw me lying on the sidewalk, face up. Her initial response was, of course, alarm seeing her child in such a state. It turned out that I was motionless, intently watching a bird circling far above me. Knowing my habits, I was definitely contemplating something - I have no clue what it was, but I know that I’ve found myself always thinking about many abstract things. That includes spirituality.

In my early years, God was in the same category as Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. He was a bigger than life image in my head based on what I knew at the time. I saw him as a friendly soul that loved me for who I was. As I grew up, I discovered these imaginary friends were made up. Gone were the times of joy when Santa came, or when I found chocolate eggs magically appearing or a quarter under my pillow after losing a tooth. God, however, stayed an friendly enigma - until one fateful day in Sunday School.

We moved to a farm in Southern Ontario when I was around four years old. The closest church was a tiny wooden church belonging to the Free Methodists. Their religion is based on being committed to the authority of the bible and live the life of loving religious integrity. As an adult it sounds rather enticing; until I recall my first wake up call in Sunday School around the age of five.

Our teacher was this severe looking middle-aged white woman dressed in farm clothing sitting in front of us children. We were resting on the cold floor listening to her. She looked down on us, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her message was clear and I can still hear it ringing in my ears more than 50 years later: “If you children don’t behave, God is going to wipe your name out of his book!” Her actions were as severe as her voice. Her hand wiped across an imaginary book with so much fervour that is scared the shit out of me. She didn’t say exactly what it meant to “behave,” but the wildly imaginative me absorbed it and created a totem of fear.

Methodism dictates that believers should be free of sin and live the life according the bible. To be a true Methodist one needed to be someone of perfection signifying the completeness of the Christian character. One would have freedom from all sin, and have possession of all the graces of the Spirit, complete in kind. To a five year old, this gave me nightmares - how could I go to heaven? I was a bad boy!

I didn’t actually belong to the church of the Methodists. We went there for convenience. I was later baptized in a Pentecostal church in town, along with my brothers and sister. While the Pentecostal beliefs aren’t as severe as the Methodists, it was still a place of fear for me.

So here I was, a five year old boy knowing in his heart that he was different than the other children. I didn’t have a name for what I felt - I had a fascination with the other boys and a total disregard for girls’ bodies. I did, however, hang out with girls - but that is a story for later. Everything in my heart said that I was going to hell and that God had already wiped my name out of his book.

I can remember a time after this happened where I questioned God’s motives. Mother was driving us home in the evening after some event in town, when a man my mother knew, approached the car and rattled the door and said hello. He was clearly drunk and mother locked the doors, hunched her shoulders and put the car in gear to leave. I looked out the window and saw the drunken man standing there watching us depart. I asked my mother whether the man would go to hell or not because he was drunk. If I remember correctly, Mom said something to the effect that it was between the man and God. Now, I knew that I had to face God for all that I did or would do.

My parents didn’t go to church. They sent us off on our own. I still don’t really know what their beliefs were as I never asked them. I didn’t think much of their position until they gave me permission to choose whether I wanted to go to church or not at the age of twelve. I believe they were being kind and letting me make the decision. I did make it; not in how they thought I would work out my beliefs, but out of sheer horror that I was a sick, disgusting creature that was going to hell for being interested in boys.

In my years childhood and most of my teenage years, I felt alone and faced all the things that the world threw at me - the bullying, the idea of the bad boy, and shame for being who I was, would be and so on - the tortured soul bound for hell. There are so many stories from that time in my life that I could write about later. Suffice it to say, religion was out of my reach and I avoided it with earnest. 

I can tell you that in all those years since I quit going to church, I’ve been in one a total of three times: one for a midnight Christmas mass with friends alone over the holidays, an Easter service because a friend had seen the light and wanted to go but not alone and a recent visit here in Nova Scotia. Last year I went to an Anglican Church, not far from where I live, to say goodbye to a friend who was the music director there. He was leaving for Ontario and they were celebrating his work with them. The church was also becoming a LGBTQ friendly church and had the celebration on that same day along with their gay pastor. The service was really friendly and non-judgemental. Here was a place that actually welcomed people like me. Quite the surprise!

Now here comes the part about my spirituality. I feel that my beliefs are closer to the First Nations of North America. The idea of Mother Earth and all of us being part of nature makes sense to me. As a gay man, I am not seen as a mistake or an evil thing. I am who I am and whoever the creator is, accepts me as such. To me, there is something that guides me, but doesn’t judge me for my humanly actions. What this exactly means to me is still not clear and I will probably ponder it for my entire life. All I know is that the hatred being spread by religious means is something that frightens me a lot. Dangerous beliefs can be dangerous weapons in the hands of hypocritical believers who preach love - as long as you are like them. If not then we are less than holy. You get my drift...

I no longer feel like a mistake or should be punished for being who I am. My spirituality is my belief in myself, self love and that I can genuinely be who I am without being judged for being gay. The bible pounders and the religious haters have no room in my life. I’ve even thought about attending a few services at that local Anglican church because they are a friendly community and that is what pride is about for me - community - supporting and loving one another; even though we are all so vastly different. What better reason to celebrate: our differences and our diversity?

Happy Pride, everyone. Carpe diem.

[pinkierre]

I thought I'd make a little fic masterlist to pin to the top of my page

just hear meowth woosang (ateez) | 4.6k | G | complete

yeosang has never seen his best friend wooyoung in his cat form, until he does

the real golden hours yunsang (ateez) | 6.1k | E | complete

skateboarder Yeosang meets fencer Yunho in the Korean Team hotel during the Paris Olympics, and some cardboard has never stopped him before.

if you fell to your death today yukierre (f1) | 5.3k | M | 2/7

It’s strange how the energy of rebirth manifests and lets you know when you’ve found your soulmate once again. Pierre’s fingertips only grazed the palm of Yuki’s hand before he was overwhelmed with fluttering images passing before his eyes. or, Pierre & Yuki are soulmates in every lifetime. It's just tragic they're plagued by bad luck.

add 50 mililitres of blood piarles (f1) | 1.5k | T | complete

Charles tries to make Pierre a smoothie, but how and where does he get blood? (vampierre x human!charles)

opposites attract woosang (ateez) | 2k | T | 2/2

Yeosang and Wooyoung have always been inevitable. Wooyoung moved companies to prove that. Yeosang just takes it all in.

better latte than never (with @yukierres & @duquesademiel) piarles (f1) | 18.1k | G | 6/6

the five times Charles and Pierre shared a cup of coffee around the karting track and remembered the past, and the one time they thought of the future.

because, not despite wooyoung & seonghwa & hongjoong (ateez) | 2k | G | complete

“Am I a lot?” Wooyoung asks, his words barely audible. “Do I take up too much space?” He adds and Seonghwa has to strain his ears to make sure he hears it correctly. Seonghwa feels his heart breaking inside of his chest, yet he is simultaneously ready to mess up whoever had decided to put these thoughts in Wooyoung’s pretty little head. aka a trainee is mean to Wooyoung and Seonghwa & Hongjoong comfort him.

hold me like a grudge seongjoong (ateez) | 3.1k | M | complete

"He doesn’t expect a person falling through his doorway as soon as he opens his door." aka Seonghwa takes care of his neighbour Hongjoong after he crashes into his front door.

danger, destruction (piarles winter fic exchange) piarles (f1) | 6.7k | T | complete

Pierre Gasly doesn’t win the 2016 GP2 title, and thus he stays in the category for another year with Prema. He’s joined for the 2017 F2 season by his long time best friend and fresh GP3 champion Charles Leclerc. What starts as a dream come true, quickly turns into a nightmare. Fast forward 8 years later and they’re teammates again. At Ferrari F1 team. However this time, they hate each other. How will they cope?

on track to love (hallmark fest) piarles (f1) | 9.7k | T | complete

Charles sings and records songs in his bedroom, uploading them to his socials for the world see. One day, his videos show up for up and coming music producer Pierre. When Pierre flies out to get a signature on a record deal, he goes home with a lot more than he initially thought.

see life as a worthy opponent piarles (f1) | 2.9k | T | complete

"Aphrodite is shocked by the man who has just appeared, seemingly out of thin air. He’s… gorgeous. His hair is dark but has a golden gleam. The sharp edges of his facial structure are hidden by a neatly trimmed beard. His shoulders are about twice as wide as his hips. There’s muscles peeking through from the side of the exposing white toga he’s wearing. It’s entirely enticing. She wants him."

the anatomy of us (fantasy fest) piarles (f1) | 13.1k | T | 3/4

When his life at home doesn’t satisfy him anymore, Pierre boards a ship from Marseille, sailing into the open world. Charles is a terrified and lonely shifter, who loathes himself, and his shifter form, more than anything. The two meet through an unfortunate event. Can they help one another to find themselves?

Arthur piarles (f1) | 1.9k | T | complete

Arthur, Charles, and Pierre are on a flight to Melbourne. Charles and Pierre finally figured out their shit and they’re together…they just haven’t told Arthur yet. They’re hiding it - very poorly.

the most dangerous thing is to love (co-authored with @duquesademiel) piarles (f1) | 34.3k | M | 4/4

Pierre Gasly, F1 driver and the son of Apollo, manages to anger the goddess of love and beauty, and suffers the consequences.

Pierromeo & Charliet (Emoji Challenge) piarles (f1) | 2.8k | M | complete

Yes. This is exactly what you think it is.

Lorenzo piarles (f1) | 3.9k | M | complete

Lorenzo reflects upon the similarities between himself & Jules and Charles & Pierre. Until he sees the differences.

fuelling the fire until we combust (Piarles Winter Fic Exchange) piarles (f1) | 11.2k | T | complete

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Charles looks up into the direction of the voice. His heart skips a beat when he realizes who’s standing right in front of him. The very gorgeous looking guy Charles has been staring at for months. And he’s waiting for a response.

if i pulled you closer, would you mind? georgierre (f1) | 1k | M | complete

All he could remember was George leaning in, his arm around Pierre’s neck, gripping his shoulder lightly, as he asked him to accompany him to the dance floor.

you're holding in your hands the two halves of my heart  piarles (f1) | 2.1k | T | 1/?

Prince Pierre feels the pressure to find a spouse, for his Kingdom's sake. Though nothing could have prepared him for what meeting Charles would entail.

use every fibre of my being just to keep me at bay piarles (f1) | 2.2k | T | complete

Pierre's roommate Max has a mortal enemy, and Pierre might have a bit of a crush on him.

[a-modernmajorgeneral]

In the Encyclopedia of Clothing and Fashion (2005), Leslie W. Rabine describes the boubou as:

“the classic Senegalese robe, worn by both men and women all over West Africa and in West African diasporic communities of Europe and the United States. Sewn from a single piece of fabric, the boubou is usually 59 inches (150 cm) wide and of varying lengths. The most elegant style, the grand boubou, usually employs a piece of fabric 117 inches (300 cm) long and reaches to the ankles. Traditionally, custom-made in workshops by tailors, the boubou is made by folding the fabric in half, fashioning a neck opening, and sewing the sides halfway up to make flowing sleeves. For women the neck is large and rounded; for men it forms a long V-shape, usually with a large five-sided pocket cutting off the tip of the ‘V.’ When stiffly starched and draped over the body, the boubou creates for its wearer the appearance of a stately, elegant carriage with majestic height and presence. Men wear the classic boubou with a matching shirt and trousers underneath. Women wear it with a matching wrapper or pagne and head-tie.”

This traditional blue indigo-dyed boubou (Fig. 1) is decorated with geometric and figural embroidery which shows the prestige and importance of the wearer. These Islamic motifs were for protection and this boubou was only worn for special occasions.

In the Berg Encyclopedia of World Dress and Fashion: Africa (2010), Babatunde Lawal explains a possible origin for the boubou:

“It has been suggested that the Berbers/Tuaregs from North Africa might have introduced some of these robes and trousers to western and central Africa in the course of the trans-Saharan trade that started before the Christian era and lasted until the late nineteenth century. Some of the earliest evidence of the flowing robe in sub-Saharan Africa comes from a ninth-century c.e. burial site excavated at Igbo-Ukwu in eastern Nigeria.”

This indigo-dyed cotton robe (Fig. 2) is a single piece of fabric which creates the flowing drapery on the body. There is a slit in the center where the wearers head goes through then the rest of the fabric drapes down.

The boubou can also be designed with patterns and imagery. This boubou (Fig. 3) includes alternating strips of fabric sewn together. Both fabric sections are indigo dyed, one being light blue and the other being dark to create a contrasting striped pattern. Around the squared neck hole is geometric hand-sewn embroidery in red, white, brown, and black.

While traditionally a robe for men, in the twentieth century women also began to wear a version of the boubou, as Lawal notes:

 “Women sometimes wear a loose blouse or robe (called boubou in Senegambia and Mali) on top of their wrappers.”

In the Berg Encyclopedia of World Dress and Fashion: Africa (2010), Hudita Nura Mustafa explains the complexity of the boubou:

“While building upon enduring forms and values, dress also possesses a fertile capacity to evolve. For example, billowing boubous, robes of six meters (twenty feet), simply cut and often richly embroidered around the neck, are recognized the world over as traditionally West African. Yet the boubou is not a static symbol of origin but an object of dynamic dialogue between tradition and modernity, hybridity and authenticity. It was further spread by Islamization in the nineteenth century and, while the basic form stays constant, it has its own fashions.”

Mustafa further elaborates:

“Although the basic categories of dress are traditional/African and modern/European, the diversity of styles transcends this opposition. These categories are symbolized in the French suit, the attire of the civilized black Frenchman, and the embroidered boubou, the attire of the traditional Muslim man. The embroidered boubou is, and has always been, the pinnacle of prestige. African dress is associated with religious and traditional ceremonial events, domestic space, and modesty.”

This cotton boubou (Fig. 4) made for a man is embroidered with red, white and blue wool has a squared neck opening for a more masculine effect. The length of this boubou is more conservative and not particularly long and the geometric designs depicted across the front and back show how customizable this garment is.

Boubou tailors in Nouakchott, Mauritania. 

Instagram: ricci_s

[casspurrjoybell-27]

Moving Forward - Chapter 15

*Warning Adult Content*

Mates

They'd fallen asleep on the porch,but Max woke up in his bed with a heavy arm over his waist and a warm presence claiming his back.

He hummed, turning over in the covers and then nuzzling into the crook of Kyle's neck, over the scarred imprint of his teeth.

There was still a little bit of bruising but that would fade over the day with the assistance of Kyle's werewolf healing.

It took a moment for Max to suppress the urge the poke the faint yellowish-green blemish and he moved to press his face into Kyle's chest.

This was what Max wanted.

For the rest of the week, month, year, for as long as it would last because there couldn't be anything better, apart from shifting.

But that was in a different category and couldn't really compare to moments like this.

Moments when it was still early morning and the sun was just beginning to banish the cold from the night before and the heat of the man next to him was radiating throughout the bed.

When he was awake before the man who'd claimed him as his mate and could spend as long as he wanted examining those strong, handsome features.

It was surprisingly difficult not to touch Kyle's face, to not trace those high cheekbones and strong jawline and heavy brow with the lightest touch he could.

It took a moment for Max to realise Kyle's smothering dark eyes were open.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice clogged and husky with sleep.

"Just looking," Max murmured.

In the quiet moment, neither man moved, Kyle apparently content to let Max stare with his feline yellowish-green eyes.

The moment probably would've lasted longer if there hadn't been a howl.

Kyle sat up with just enough urgency to dislodge Max from his arms.

"One of yours?" Max asked, voice low and cautious, despite not moving from where he fell.

It took a moment for Kyle to answer, his eyes flickering as he examined the howl and then he shook his head.

"Not one of mine."

Nothing was said between the pair, even as they left the bed with their hands entwined and stepped out into the open air.

Kyle changed first.

Max waited, keeping watch and then followed River's lead.

Kyle's ears were pushed flat as he went and it was interesting to see how he ran with his head lowered.

Max tended to lower his head anyway but Kyle was close enough now for Max to see him move with more caution and urgency than usual.

They ran quickly, heading in a different direction than what Max was used to.

His claws hadn't marked the trees here, his scent hadn't been left here.

Even as they went, Max couldn't help allowing the scent glands on his paws to leave their mark.

It didn't take long for Max to take to the trees, bounding through the denser branches to conserve the energy he was sure he'd need in the following events.

The trees began to space out a bit.

Not enough to prevent Max from running through them but just enough to make him a little more wary about where he trod and then they stopped.

In front of him was a clearing larger than that of his own home and in the middle of it was basically a mansion.

A huge, mostly clean, white mansion.

Max wasn't sure what he was supposed to do and hesitated to come down.

A few seconds passed before Kyle noticed that Max had stopped and turned around, loping right back.

Pawing at the tree Max was in, Kyle seemed to think Max was stuck up there.

He wasn't but the encouragement was just enough to make Max leap off of the two story high branch he was perched on.

The pair didn't even have to wait to be allowed entry and Max was thoroughly surprised to not be reprimanded for walking on a clean white marble floor with muddy paws.

Kyle didn't waste time changing back.

He was back on two legs within a minute but Max couldn't confidently say he could do the same.

Besides, this wasn't Max's territory.

He didn't know who lived here and staying in jaguar form was a lot safer than trying to get his body to turn back within five minutes.

Striding with those long, strong legs, Kyle looked, well gorgeous, obviously but also wore a serious expression that no doubt meant he knew something was up, grabbing a pair of trousers somewhere along the way and only stopping for seconds to pull them on.

It was a cue that Max didn't miss whilst walking through the unfamiliar hallways, his lithe body keeping up with Kyle's ridiculous speed without a problem.

With barely any time to look around and examine his surroundings, Max only barely noticed the portraits and landscapes that adorned the walls.

The masterpieces of wolves, howling or running, hung up with pride or the ornate green and gold panelled walls.

The only thing he could really take note of was the constant marble floor that he took extreme caution not to damage with his claws, hence why they were retracted for now.

Then Kyle disappeared through a door, Max close behind, only to find a room filled with wolves, well werewolves, most of them were in human form but there were two or three that still had their fur suit on.

They were staring, Max could feel them staring at him as he followed behind Kyle and Max couldn't help it.

His head sunk low between his shoulders and his ears flicked back.

Universal animal language for 'if you come near me, I will bite'.

One of the wolves began a low growl.

It was quiet but audible and was echoed by another.

It was then that Kyle stepped in and from the expression on his face, he clearly felt that it was not something he should've had to do.

He stood directly in front of Max, blocking him the view of the wolves.

"Mine," Kyle growled, voice little more than a snarl but it was enough for them to back down.

"If any of you have a problem with him, you come to me and I'll give you a reason to back the fuck down."

Those in wolf form whined, the majority in human formed mostly appeared uncomfortable but Max was a little confused.

Where were the wolves that came and found them when they were napping on the porch?

This couldn't have been them.

Max's confusion was dismissed with a hand passing through the fur on his neck, signalling to go.

Once again, he followed Kyle's lead into a bigger hall, one with much more wolves to stare at him, plus Kyle's parents and Carter.

The human to wolf ratio in this room was more even and some, Max noticed from his peripheral, even recognised him.

There were a lot of people here though, managing to make Max feel even more threatened, only reigned in by the sensation of Kyle's hand in his fur.

It looked like a ballroom, with a high ceiling and a dais at one end where the Rivers family were seated in full view of the rest of the pack.

It was like being in the presence of royalty.

As they approached, Amelia gave a bright smile, forcing Max to wonder if she recognised him or his scent.

The question was quickly dismissed.

"Hello Max," she greeted warmly.

That was it, that was all Max needed so that he could ignore the other wolves crowded around the ballroom and give that pleased rolling chuff.

He greeted her with the most gentle headbutt to her leg he could and then sat himself down next to Kyle, prepared to be there for longer than he'd prefer.

River's mother handed her son a shirt and then sat in one of the large chairs on the dais.

Her voice rang through the room as she spoke.

"That howl was not one of ours."

[qu-film-history-to-1968]

How Cinema Changed for the United States Post WWII

Julia Merolle

     Five readings that I chose that I found interesting in terms of the history at the time were, “The Films of Billy Wilder” by Stephen Farber, “The Post-World War II Suburb in the United States” by Seth Browner, “Widescreen” by Paul Schrader and Robert Brink, “Hollywood’s Conversion to Color: The Technological, Economic and Aesthetic Factors” by Gorham A. Kindem, and “Martyrs, Miracles, and Martians” by Tony Shaw. All of these readings were informative and helped me learn about the period, especially after World War II.

     The first reading, “The Films of Billy Wilder” had this really interesting quote. It stated, “In fact, the happy ending is not convincing, and Wilder glosses much too quickly over the perversities that would have to exist in any such relationship. But he does believe strongly in the mutual attraction of innocent and roue. The innocents in Wilder's films are never attracted to other innocents, always to people who have been married or have had eventful sexual pasts; surely this is Wilder's comment on the impossibility of innocence's survival and the irresistible pull of corruption.” (page 15). The reason I found this quote so interesting is that Billy Wilder has made films that are very similar to each other through the events that happen and the way that he conveys his storytelling, whether it be from a girl marrying a man many years her senior or a young woman trying to commit suicide before she is eligible to marry. 

     Another quote that I found that was interesting was from “The Post-World War II Suburb in the United States” which was, “To examine government planning laws more closely, single-use zoning has secondary homogenizing impacts. Zoning was a “device to keep poor people and obnoxious industries out of affluent areas.” Similar prohibitive statutes and restrictive covenants were put in place to purposefully exclude people of color from relocating to proliferating communities like Levittown, Long Island. Additionally, home sale practices like blockbusting, which depreciated real estate values, contributed to minorities’ incapability to spread outward. Resulting from these discriminatory measures was drastic racial and economic homogeneity in suburbia.” (page 3). I found this quote pretty informational because it explains a lot of the ways that the United States kept out minorities from certain areas, which connects to the films. After all, they mostly represent white middle-class or wealthy families. 

     Another quote, from “Widescreen” which I found especially interesting, was, “What lifted widescreen out of the novelty category was anamorphic lenses. A man named Henri Chrétien developed this lens during World War I for use in tanks. It was a way to have wider vision.” (page 64). This quote was especially interesting to me because I never knew that was why they went to film, but it makes more sense to me now that the military came up with the technology first. 

    Relating to new technology, the next quote comes from the reading “Hollywood's Conversion to Color: The Technological, Economic and Aesthetic Factors” and the quote that stood out to me was, “Technological innovation (economic) theory suggests that companies invent, innovate, and imitate new technologies to maximize their long term profits.” (page 31). This quote stood out to me because it shows that companies adapted to these new technologies to stay with the newest trends and the highest quality to help them in the long run and their profitability. 

     Lastly, a reading that pertains to Cold War cinema, which is different from all the readings was also interesting to me. This is because usually a lot of people believe that after World War II everything was back to normal. However, this was not the case with the Soviet Union. In this reading “Martyrs, Miracles, and Martians”, it states, “The 1950s and early 1960s witnessed a subtle yet decisive shift in Soviet cinema’s treatment of religion, in line with the “cultural thaw” that the Soviet Union and its satellites experienced after the death in March 1953 of Stalin.” (page 8). This quote stood out to me because it shows that cinema in the 50s and 60s was different because of the shift in the cinema that came from the Soviet Union. This is especially important to note because it changed the way that religion was also being shown in the Soviet Union, especially after the death of Joseph Stalin.

Sources:

Browner, Seth. “The Post-World War II Suburb in the United States” 2013.

Farber, Stephen. “The Films of Billy Wilder,” 1971. 

Kindem, Gorham A. “Hollywood’s Conversion to Color: The Technological, Economic and Aesthetic Factors” 1979.

Schrader, Paul. Brink, Robert. “Widescreen” 2015.

Shaw, Tony. “Martyrs, Miracles, and Martians” 2002.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Genuinely wondering, if you like S8 then what is it you like about it? I make an honest effort to see what you see but it's just trash. Trash everywhere. I challenge yoou to name 5 things you like about it.

Is this about Game of Thrones? I'm assuming it is, so this should be fun.

I'm not saying Season 8 is award-worthy television. It's one of the weaker seasons for sure. In general, I dislike that the decision to shorten it to six episodes, just as I disliked the choice to shorten Season 7. I also don't like how Doctor Who's seasons have been gradually shortening over time since the Capaldi Era. I just really wish shows would stop doing this. Why actively choose to give us less content? We like your shows! Let us have more! Take the time you need to tell your stories! Ah well, if only these seasons were a bit longer, I feel like they wouldn't be hated quite so much. Though some of the decisions in Season 8 were so universally despised that it might not matter. I'll get to a couple of them. But as you wish, I shall list five things about the eighth season that I unironically loved. Nah, I'll go you one better. Here's ten:

10: Varys' Death. We can talk for hours about all of the terrible events of S8E5, but I don't think this falls under the same category. It's easy to forget that Varys died in this episode because it happens right at the start and, let's be honest, most fans probably just remember this episode as the one where Dany spends 75% of the runtime torching King's Landing. This is the episode that "killed the show" for the general fandom. But Varys' death was perfectly handled. It was foreshadowed in Season 7 extremely well, and much like Littlefinger's death, it's a fitting end for his character. Varys played his games, and they caught up with him. Sure, he did so for noble reasons, but he was still playing with literal fire. I also don't think Daenerys was wrong to kill him, even if I wept to lose such a fine character and honorable man. She vowed to execute him if he betrayed her. In this episode, he spread secrets to undermine her and it's suggested that he tried to poison her. He would still have been a threat from a prison cell, as he has all of his "little birds" and what's more, if Dany doesn't honor her promise, then she's sending the message that her word as Queen means nothing. This was a powerful death, exactly what makes Game of Thrones so great.

9: The conclusion of Theon's character arc. Seriously, as much as I didn't want to lose him, I feel like he'd been marked for death for a while. Had he survived, I believe a small part of him would always have that self-sacrificial death wish, that belief that he didn't deserve to still be alive. He went down a hero, protecting The Starks. Protecting the same boy that he'd once betrayed. Well...not exactly the same person but close enough. Considering how a few other character arcs ultimately ended, I'd say Theon takes the cake for having the best one. He grew up uncertain of who he was, and then he thought he found himself, but he was wrong, so he lost himself - and how. But eventually, he emerged from the dark and reclaimed his identity and his true family. I don't even mind how easily he got defeated. He was never much of a warrior, the strength in his character always came from his emotional complexity. Much like Jaimie, he's the sort of person that initially, you despise and can't imagine yourself feeling for. And yet it creeps up on you, because these people are complex. They're not black and white. Well, some of them are, but not Jaime, (I'll...I'll get to him.) and not Theon.

8: Arya and Sandor's farewell. I'm gonna cheat a little bit for this one, because personally, I do not like Sandor's ending at all. I know everyone loved the Clegane Bowl but that was probably the worst ending he could have gotten. How does it service his character arc at all to fight his brother? To die fighting him? To die fighting him in fire? It doesn't even feel poetic like Jaime's death does. But! Enough about that. We need to talk about the positives. And seriously, few things get me as choked up as hearing Arya call Sandor by his first name. The acknowledgment of their bond. It's some weird blend between former enemies/rivals, big brother/sister, and father/daughter. It's hardly conventional but it's one of my favorite friendships in the entire series. Sandor was always ultimately good, but it took Arya (and Sansa, to a lesser extent) to bring out that side in him, and it took Ray and his friends for Sandor to start accepting it. He entrenched himself in hate for so long and he could see himself in Arya, which gave him pride, but also made him wary. He didn't want her to be like him, not completely. He tells her to save herself, and not inherit the bad parts of his legacy, and Arya finally lets go of her obsession with revenge after the literal embodiment of revenge tells her that it ain't all it's cracked up to be.

7: Jorah's Death. Hot damn, did he go out like a fucking hero. Saving Dany's life yet again, leading her to safety, and-is that Dany holding a sword? Oh hell yeah! Where has this been all my life? Jorah just protecting her to the last, wielding Heartsbane in Sam's stead, which I take as a symbol of their friendship and if you like, a sign that Sam doesn't have any hard feelings toward Jorah for serving Dany, despite what she did to his family. Jorah sustaining multiple fatal wounds throughout the fight, and yet - and yet! He friggin refuses to go down until the White Walkers collapse and he knows Dany's safe. And in the end, he can't even say anything? Oh, my heart. That's painful, and it's realistic too. Sometimes, if you've been stabbed in the chest and you're dying...you physically can't get any words out. Dany's expression, Jorah's expression...oh, it kills me. Drogon landing to shield Dany and mourn Jorah as well? I'm dead. Destroyed. I'd also be remiss not to mention the absolute badassery that is Lyanna. Consider this a shoutout to House Mormont in general, as I am a major fan of theirs. Lyanna, who's all of eleven years old, insists on fighting in the war. She dies, yes, but she takes out a fucking giant first. I'm sorry, y'all can call this kid a bored meme all you like, but your criticisms will be drowned out in the absolute earth-shattering thunder of her storm. She's too cool for you, she's too cool for me, she's too cool for anyone.

6: Tormund. Just, just Tormund. He never fails to make me smile and laugh, and say what you will about some of the other characters, but they didn't miss a single beat with Tormund on this cycle. Seriously, there wasn't any line he had, not a one, that was not perfect. When he tackled Jon in S8E2? "My little crow." God, they are such bros and it makes me so happy. In the first episode at the end, "I've always had blue eyes!" I've got to hand it to the actor, and yes, the writing, for how Tormund was an endless breath of fresh air, and he even got an emotional farewell with Jon in S8E4. Seriously, this character has such heart, and he's so funny. The scene where he's lamenting his woes and his heartbreak about Brienne choosing Jaime, and the camera pans out to reveal a pissed off Sandor being forced to listen to him blubber? I had to pause the damn thing because I cracked up so hard. But my favorite line of his? I'd have to go with his exchange with Jon about how they need to be celebrating. "Vomiting isn't celebrating." And then Tormund, with a straight face. "Yes it is." Seven hells, what a riot. And yeah, I know, I know, he drunkenly rambles on about how badass it is that Jon climbed onto a Dragon, and "kinda forgot" he'd also ridden one himself. Or, y'know, maybe he was referring to people who have actually "piloted" dragons rather than just being passengers, which only Jon, Dany, and the Night King have ever done. Or maybe he was just drunk, guys. That was quite clear during the scene...I swear, some of these complaints are just confusing...

5: Melisandre's death. That's it. Just, that it happened. Not as satisfying or cathartic a death as I would have hoped, but boy am I glad she's dead and I don't care if that's petty. Rest in peace, Shireen. You deserved so much better and you are at last avenged - well, sort of.

Alright, alright, the real #5: Jaime's Death. Okay, flame shields up, let me offer my disclaimer. This was not the ending I wanted for Jaime, not by a longshot. I'm a Braime shipper and I hate Cersei as much as the next fan, possibly more. Even so, as I alluded to earlier, there's a kind of poetry to Jaime and Cersei's death that I cannot ignore. I can somewhat defend the choice to have Jaime go back to her because, let's face it - that relationship is abusive. Jaime has resigned himself to this idea that he can never be a good person because he's done bad things, because he still cares about Cersei, who will always be a bad person. He knows she's never going to change, but he can't let go of her. It's a crying shame because he was on the road to recovery, and I can understand the idea that his character arc was thrown away. I'm not saying I disagree, but I still think of Jaime as a victim and his death as a circular tragedy. Just because the writers make a choice we disagree with or would have done differently, doesn't automatically mean it's bad writing. I don't understand the complaint that Cersei was killed by falling rocks. So? That final moment was unironically beautiful, and sad. The final shot of them being buried choked me up. It's telling that as much as I despise Cersei, I couldn't enjoy her death. How is it "lame" that she was killed by a collapsing building? Besides, Daenerys may not have swung a sword at them, but she's clearly the one who killed them? Besides, if it had never happened, we wouldn't have gotten that gut-wrenching scene of Tyrion unearthing the golden hand and sobbing, hitting the rock on the ground. Or the badass moment where he quits as Daenerys' Hand.

4: Sansa and Daenerys' rivalry. I'm not sure why people disliked this so much, when it's literally the same kind of conflict we've always had. Game of Thrones, for the most part, doesn't have heroes and villains. It has three dimensional people who all have their own political agendas, and Sansa and Dany's agendas were in serious conflict. This is like complaining that Renly and Stannis were at odds with each other. It's just always been a part of the show and I thought it was realized pretty well. Whether you side with the Starks, with Dany, or you think they're both being stupid, it's easy to understand where each of them is coming from. It's a well crafted debate and both sides have good points. And I love how it's not about Jon - it's literally about Northern independence. Sansa is in overprotective sister mode but she also just generally doesn't trust Dany, and Dany knows it. Sansa shows what she's learned from her mentors when she betrays Jon, and yet paradoxically she also proves how much she cares about him. Sansa's betrayal matters a lot, and while I know some fans hate her for it, there was no way she was ever going to do anything else. This response was exactly in character. As was Daenerys' begging Jon to keep his heritage secret and resenting him for not agreeing to. It's a hell of a thing to ask, but Dany's been working toward the throne for the last seven years - and what, all of a sudden it's going to be snatched away because some secret *male* relative shows up at the eleventh hour? Yeah, if I were her, I'd think that was some bullshit as well.

3: Jon's realization about his identity. Alright, I know the memes. Jon only has two lines throughout the season, "I dun want it" and "muh queen" (Frankly, those memes have become more annoying than the actual problems with Jon's character in the show. Seriously, that joke is more dead than Ned Stark, just let it rest.) I agree that not nearly as much was done with Jon's heritage and that his overall role in this season was a passive one - until the end, anyway. But that scene in S8E1 is an actual masterpiece. Jon and Sam reunited in the most wholesome hug, Jon learning the truth at last, not being able to cope with it, the question being raised of who would be better. The discussion about Ned. It's just a magnificent scene. Sam was the perfect person to tell him, and it helps that he also finds out about Dany killing Sam's family in the same scene. I absolutely love the line where Sam asks if Dany would give up a crown to save her people because for better or for worse, S8 kind of suggested that she was not, and would not. It really kicked the conflict of the season, the tension between Jon and Daenerys, into overdrive, and I appreciate that. I appreciate that the scene happened in the crypts as well, and how significant that location has been to this storyline. Hell, you could call this whole scene a narrative mirror to Robert and Ned's scene by Lyanna's statue all the way back in Episode 1.

2: Arya killing the Night King. Oh yeah, I said it, I love this. It blows my mind that there are fans who are genuinely devastated that it was Arya, based on fan reception I've seen. First of all, she makes perfect sense - she has the skillset to sneak up on the Night King. This gets into a bigger fallacy I've noticed where fans who hate Arya will simultaneously complain that she's overpowered, and that she never uses her face-changing abilities. Like, which is it, guys? Sometimes I just think people want to hate her, and for the life of me, I don't get why. She spent two whole seasons training to be a master assassin. People hate that storyline too, but they seem to forget it happened when they criticise Arya. (Though believe me, I'm right there with the folks who are mad about the final fight with the Waif. I can suspend my disbelief far enough to accept that she survives those wounds, but do not show her running the very next day, because no. That would not happen.) Second of all, am I the only one who thought that the Night King's death wasn't about who did it, but how it was done? The Catspaw Dagger, the weapon that was used to try and kill Bran all the way back in Episode 2, ultimately saved his life and ended The Long Night. The narrative thread that was resolved with this death wasn't the killer, it was the weapon. But that's just my two cents. I know a lot of people wanted it to be Jon, including Kit Harington himself, but the fact that it wasn't doesn't mean they were just trying to "subvert expectations."

1: Jaime Knighting Brienne. I said before that I was a Braime shipper, but you don't have to be one to appreciate this incredible scene. It was preceded by Jaime's trial, which I also enjoyed, and especially the moment where Brienne speaks out in his defense. It was so damn satisfying to see someone do so and Brienne was the perfect person. Their bond has been built up over the last five seasons and never mind romantic tension, there's a mutual respect going on here, and recurring themes about honor and loyalty and what it means to be a Knight. Jaime's own tricky relationship with all of these values, and how he carries the title anyway. Brienne being the picture perfect example of what a Knight should be and yet not having the rank, having always been held back. This moment is satisfying because holy fuck did Brienne earn this. And it warms my heart to see how happy it makes her, for however much she claimed she didn't want it. And not only did Jaime make logical sense for the person who would do it, narrative-wise, he is absolutely perfect and the only real choice. It just blows my mind how much I love this scene, and really this entire episode. The episode is even named for her, as damn well it should be. I've talked about this before but between Jaime and Brienne fighting together, the two pieces of Ice are reunited to defend Winterfell and that's kind of perfect. I'm gonna have to stop myself now because I could easily gush for another five minutes about this flawless scene and how Season 8 is honestly underrated. Far from perfect, but also far from the travesty that most make it out to be.

[gryffindordaughterofathena]

OK, question time!

Back in med school, it was well known that many students admired Ethan Ramsey’s work (Diana included). Now she attends a medical school alumni reunion at her alma matter. And everybody knows that Diana and Ethan are dating/engaged/married. What’s their former classmates’ reaction when they see her? Do they gossip about it? Do they treat her differently? Does Ethan attend the event as her plus one or does Diana attend by herself because plus ones are not allowed?

You asked this ages ago, but I wanted to answer this with a fic, I am so sorry for the long wait😭

INVISIBLE STRING

Book : Open Heart

Pairing : Ethan Ramsey x Diana Ramirez

Word Count : 864 words

Rating : General

Category : Fluff

Trope : And that med-school ex

Warning : None

Summary : Ethan and Diana attend a med school reunion and find things that connected them for years.

A/N : Are we surprised that the title is another TS song? Also, E and D were both from JHU, so technically they are each other's plus ones.

In the dim string lights strewn across the campus grounds two lone figures walk, their hands entangled in a practiced ease. "I don't know why I let you talk me into this.", the man says, his feet dragging in feigned reluctance.

"Because I am your wife and the love of your life and you can't say no to me?"

"Who said anything about the love of my life?"

"You take that back right now Ethan Ramsey.", her face scrunches up in a pout, which immediately softens as Ethan bends down to kiss her.

"I promise we'll leave the moment it starts getting weird or boring."

"I'll hold you to that promise Rookie."

………….…….…………..

"Is that Ethan Ramsey?"

"With Diana Ramirez?"

"I heard they were married?"

"Is it though? There was nothing in the tabloids?"

"I heard he is extremely private."

"Have you seen him? I'd be private too."

Whispers followed them as they made their way through the hall, whispers they were quite accustomed to by now.

"They are talking about us. Again." Ethan grumbles for what seems to be the hundredth time.

"Just a few minutes more and Arjun and Caitlin will be here soon. And then we can be around normal people. Till then we can go chat with some of our professors. I heard that Professor Mori will be here, let's go meet her."

………….…….…………..

The older woman's face splits into a dazzling smile the moment she spots Diana tugging along Ethan with her.

"If it isn't my two favorite students together.I didn't think you would come"

"Diana forced me obviously."

"At least one of you is the voice of reason then.", the familiarity of the well practiced gentle admonishment from Professor Mori was enough to put them at ease.

"So how long have you two been married?"

"Since last October actually."

"And in these five months she has already worked her magic on you, didn't believe I'd see the day Ethan Ramsey will bring a date to a reunion, much less a wife."

"It's the other way round actually, I am here as her plus one."

"Hah! How the turntables, Diana's been making news lately, your paper on vestibular ataxia has been garnering a lot of good reviews these days.", she turned to Diana. "Actually I wanted to talk about it with you. If you could spare a few minutes."

………….…….…………..

"I am surprised you actually showed up Ethan.", a voice he hadn't thought of in years, startled him from his reverie.

Isabella White

"Although I had a feeling you would be here this year, what with your fairly unknown wife needing all the introductions in our field."

"You really should broaden your horizons regarding the people you share an alumni matter with Doctor White."

"What do you mean?"

"The fact that Doctor Ramirez, youngest keynote speaker at WHO medical symposium doesn't need introductions at her own med school."

The approaching figure in red, draws his attention in a way that he misses the smug smile on Isabella's face fall.

"Hey sorry, I couldn't get away from Doctor Toussaint and his team faster, got into the bit where he started recounting the day Sienna told you he was asking for you."

"Of course he would say that."

"Oh who's that you're talking with?"

"This is Dr. Isabella White, we were in the same year."

"We dated back in our Med School days."

"Oh Tobias and Ethan told me a lot about you." Her smile, successful enough to hide her steely gaze.

Fighting fire with fire

"Well we should be going, it was nice meeting you." From her tone it was anything but.

………….…….…………..

"So, where are you taking me?"

"The place where I went to think."

"Are you sure it's not the library?"

"No, that's the spot where I went to not think."

Starlight and string lights lead them through the campus, through memories of bygone days.

Diana leads him to a sheltered alcove by the internal medicine building.

"I used to come here alone, with your book."

"This place hasn't changed a bit."

"I didn't think anyone knew about this place."

"Probably not many people do, people hardly come here to the back."

"But you did."

"In my final year after the falling out with Tobias, I found this place, I used to sit here and—"

"brood?", a soft adoring smile plays on her face.

"Yeah probably."

"See this little broken edge? That was me."

"I always thought who would have an agenda against garden decorations"

Sitting in silence was never difficult for them as long as they had their fingers intertwined.

It was Diana who broke the silence, "I just find it odd that we both found this place in our different times here, I know you don't believe in soulmates but—"

He doesn't let her continue, his sudden movement in drawing her to him silencing her mid-speech.

His lips captures hers in the blink of an eye, the wind picking up the little murmured, "no, but I am starting to."

A/N : If you've read this far, thank you ❤ this fic probably doesn't make much sense (I am terribly sleep deprived) but I wanted to write Ethan being starry eyed about how amazing his wife is, so you get this 🤷🏾‍♀

Tags : @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

Perma :

@a-crepusculo | @choicesfanaf | @coffeeheartaddict2 | @crazy-loca-blog | @genevievemd | @headoverheelsforramsey | @jamespotterthefirst | @jerzwriter | @maurine07 | @mm2305 | @natureblooms24 | @potionsprefect | @quixoticdreamer16 | @rookiemartin | @rosebudde | @schnitzelbutterfingers | @shreyasrivathsa | @sincerelyscarring | @sweetheartdetectivex | @terrm9 | @zahrachoices

Ethan x Diana :

@detective-rose | @queencarb

[tootiredmotel]

Give him the real thing

For @floral-cas 's event!!! First time writing from an outsider/oc's pov so bear with me. Huge huge congrats on your milestone K!!! You are a PILAR of this lil community and we all love you 💚🌺💚🌺💚🌺

Read on ao3. 1.7k words

"Alright, uh… confession. I got no idea what I'm doin' here."

He looked around the shop like a monster was about to pop out of any corner. Like the carnations were going to bite him and the pots lined up on the windowsill next to them would come to life and crush his feet. The poor guy looked terrified, but it's nothing Maya hadn't handled before.

"That's what I'm here for. What's your name?" She asked, sensing they'd be there a while.

"Dean."

On any other day, Maya would've been resenting a burly, middle-aged guy with no idea what he wanted coming into the shop twenty minutes before closing, especially on a Thursday. Jade had their A.A. meetings on Thursdays so Maya was alone for the evening. But this Dean guy? He looked so lost, so nervous, so utterly out of place. There was something else about him that made her want to help, too. Maya wasn't sure what, but she'd figure it out.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Maya. Let's start with this: why are you here today, Dean?"

"Anniversary tomorrow."

Concise and to the point. Maya made a mental note. She also noted how he wiped his palms on his jeans and clenched his jaw. Nerves.

"How many years have you been together?"

That got a smile out of him. "A lot. A whole lot. But this is, uh. First wedding anniversary."

She donned a wide smile. "Congratulations. That's wonderful."

"Yeah. Thanks, thank you." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, still not meeting her eyes.

"Doing anything special?"

"Nothin' fancy. My brother and his wife are taking the kiddo for the night so, picnic in the backyard, lookin' at the stars, all that cheesy romantic crap."

His words didn't match his tone. It was evident Dean was absolutely smitten, Maya recognized the look, and he was making an effort. He was filled to the brim with giddiness and adoration for this person, and it shone through from him just thinking about them. Jade still looked at Maya like that every morning and night, and so did Maya at them. Every day since freshman year of college. Maya's chest swelled.

"Thing is," Dean continued, a bit more relaxed now. "Cas knows all about this stuff. We got this huge garden behind the house that I'm not allowed to even touch. There's a million books about nature and trees and flower meanings on the shelf, and Cas has read all of 'em. I didn't even know flowers had meanings, I don't know jack shit about any of it, but…"

"You want to impress Cas."

"I wanna impress Cas. It's gotta be good." 

"You've come to the right place then." Maya kept an eye on Dean as she circled the counter. He was studying the pride flags hanging in the window with a clenched jaw, and Maya went on alert. She pulled out the binder they kept in the drawer and plopped it down in front of him a little harder than she needed to, calling his attention. "My partner Jade is more of a nerd about this stuff than I am, but they made this for situations like these."

Dean read the cover, Jade and Maya's Quick Guide to Flower Meanings, and smiled. "Nice."

They spent forty-five minutes walking around the store, binder in hand, slowly constructing the message Dean wanted to convey with his bouquet. He was adamant on it containing blue, so Maya went for the Forget-me-nots first. “Love and hope,” said the binder, which she deemed fitting enough for a first wedding anniversary. 

Dean looked like someone content with his life, and he agreed when Maya suggested they look under the happiness category. “Well, Cas makes me happy,” he said, and they settled on Felicias, also blue. 

Dean eventually got comfortable enough and leaned over to look at the binder in Maya’s hands. “Think there’s anything in there for grace?”

Highly specific, but possible, Maya thought. “Let’s find out.”

And they did. Plumerias, white.

“Anything else?” She asked him. Dean donned a thousand-yard stare as he thought about it, and Maya figured this man had been through a lot. More than she could ever imagine. She was glad he’d found some peace.

“Freedom,” Dean said finally. Freesias, white as well.

It was an odd bouquet, Maya admitted, but Dean was an odd man, and he looked happy with it. He was still nervous, still out of his element, but there was more excitement in the twinkle of his eyes than anything else.

“Cas will love it,” Maya assured him, and he beamed. She still knew very little about this Cas person— Dean could speak a lot without really saying anything, careful and reserved, even dancing around using gendered pronouns for Cas, which Maya found interesting—, but she could see Dean was living a happy life as their husband. That was good enough for her.

“Here’s hoping,” he said as he handed over his credit card, but he seemed a lot more sure than hopeful. He knew Cas would like it, and Maya couldn’t help a sense of pride grow inside her. Dean also put some cash in the tip jar and left with a smile. A good day’s work, and maybe a new friend in town.

---

“Maya?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Jade poked their head in the door, beaming at Maya as she ran the books in the back room.

"There's a gentleman asking for you."

"By name?"

Jade nodded. Maya sent them a questioning look, to which they just shrugged. If Jade wasn't all that worried about it, Maya supposed there was no reason for her to be either. She made her way out, squeezing Jade's hip as she passed them, and stepped up to the counter. The trenchcoat-clad man smiled at her.

"Maya?"

The depth of his voice caught her by surprise, but she recovered in time to reply "That's me."

The man smiled wider. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Cas. You might not remember, but last week you-"

"Did you say Cas?" Maya couldn't contain her interruption, or the eagerness as she asked: "Dean's Cas?"

Cas's smile widened even more, which she didn't think was possible. It was blinding, and Maya, even in all her queerness, could definitely understand what Dean saw in him. "That's right."

Dean’s fixation on blue flowers suddenly made sense too, as she noticed his eyes. "He adores you, you know. You're his heaven and earth."

Cas's smile faltered at her words, and Maya feared she'd said something wrong.

"I'm sorry if I'm overstepping."

“No, no, it’s alright.” He looked down at his wedding band, and his smile returned. “He’s all that and more to me.”

Cas stared at his ring for a second longer. It was silver and had a small blue gem embedded into it. Maya could swear it appeared to swirl with light.

“Dean spoke wonders of you,” she said.

He looked back up at her. “You, too.”

She blinked in surprise at that.

“I loved the bouquet. I thanked him for it, over and over, and every time he said you were the miracle worker. That he was clueless the whole time and couldn’t have done it without you.”

“That’s not true,” Maya deflected, a steady heat rising to her cheeks. “He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. And, if anything, he and I couldn’t have done it without Jade’s expertise.” She gestured toward her partner, helping a customer at the other end of the shop, and also tapped the binder, which was out on the countertop today.

“Then I suppose I’m here to thank both of you.”

He reached into a tote bag that Maya hadn’t noticed he was carrying and pulled out a plastic container. “We run a small baking business out of our home. These are on me. Apple and honey tarts.” He placed the container in front of her. On top of it was a label that read D&C’s Pastries. “They are also gluten-free, just in case.“

“What’s going on?” Jade asked, approaching Maya’s side with an expectant smile.

“Jade, love, do you remember Dean? From last week?”

“You told me about him, yeah, wedding anniversary.”

“Well this is Cas,” she gestured to him.

“Dean's husband,” Cas interjected. Jade and Maya shared a knowing smile. “I just wanted to drop these off as a thank you for helping Dean. Apple and honey tarts, gluten-free.”

“That is so sweet of you,” Jade exclaimed, eagerly taking the pastries. Maya rolled her eyes fondly at the pun, which Cas didn’t seem to catch.

“I was just doing my job,” Maya said. “But thank you.”

“Papa!”

They all turned to the child, blond and adorable, running excitedly toward Cas. At the door, where the child came from, stood an exasperated Dean.

“Jack,” Cas started, scooping the child in his arms. Jack wrapped his arms around Cas’s neck. “I thought I told you and Daddy to wait for me at the café, I wasn’t going to be long.”

“He missed you. We both did,” Dean gazed at him as he approached. “Dude, what are you-”

Dean scanned over the scene he’d just walked into and seemed to realize what was happening.

“So that’s what the tarts were for. Hey, Maya.”

“Hi, Dean.”

“And you must be Jade,” Dean said, extending a hand toward them.

“Yes! Heard about you, nice to finally meet you, Dean.”

“You too. You and that book of yours are life-savers. If I’d known the tarts were for you guys, I would’a made more.”

“These are more than enough, thank you. In fact, here...” Maya turned to a vase of daisies they had on a shelf and pulled out three. “Now I feel like we’re even.”

“Not by a long shot,” Dean said as he took his flower and Cas’s. He put his behind his ear, and Cas’s in his trenchcoat’s lapel, as Maya handed Jack his own flower.

They all promised to not be strangers, and kept their promise. Dean and Cas would bring over baked goods, and in exchange, Jade and Maya would let them take home a potted plant for their garden. Jack would always leave with a small flower in his hand, a different one every time, wrapped in Cas’s arms as he explained the flower’s origins or symbolism to his son. Dean would be the last one out the door, always turning back and mouthing a “thank you” to Maya. Every time, without fail.

And every time, Maya would think that she wanted what they had. Happiness, peace, a family, unconditional and true love. And every time, she would look over at Jade, and know she was well on her way.

[sevenkittensinatrenchcoat]

Misto’s Mating Dance Partners

Because the White Cat Lift AKA Mating Dance scene of the Jellicle Ball focuses mainly on Victoria and whoever she’s dancing with, what’s going on in the background is often ignored. But, there’s a clear pattern. The other cats pair off, go to the edges of the stage, forming a circle around Victoria and Her Man. They then do...whatever. There don’t seem to be official rules for what the pairs do, so some of them nap, some of the stare out into space, some of them cuddle...

And some of them blatantly fuck.

This scene is often called the Cat Orgy because of the blatant fucking that often occurs. So, you can watch the characters, see who pairs up with who and whether or not they fuck. Because Misto is my favorite character and one of the easiest to identify in even low-quality bootlegs, I went and watched him during this scene in every production in my bootleg collection.

Part One: Failure

In several of the older productions, I couldn’t see anything. Bootleggers and professionals alike tended to zoom in on Victoria and Her Man and stay there for most of the scene. Mexico 1991 mainly did this. Also, Vienna, with its Dark Voids and Weird Editing Choices was impossible to decipher.

Among the newer productions, Madrid was lost to Weird Editing Choices. Most of the dance wasn’t even visible! There were long close ups on Old Deuteronomy and Grizabella doing nothing when they should have been filming Victoria and Plato doing Something. It wasn’t even like they were distracted by an interesting background event. They just held the camera on characters who weren’t doing anything other than Reacting Slightly.

Part Two: Mistoria

Paris and Zurich paired Misto with Victoria for the Mating Dance. There was a slightly different dynamic with Misto and Victoria than there is when Plato or Tumblebrutus is Victoria’s Man. When Plato or Tumble, the most common choices for this part, approach Victoria, they’re awkward, but they still sort of take the lead. Victoria comes across as a bit shy at first, but she quickly gets into it. In the Mistoria versions, Misto is far more nervous approaching and often jumps back startled after touching Victoria. It feels like Victoria takes the lead in these versions, turning her back and basically being like “lift me”. Zurich Misto in particular is practically freaking out and the lift is kind of bizarre to watch because he looks so tiny!

Part Three: You’d Think Misto/Cassandra Would Be a Bigger Ship

Broadway-based productions, which paired Alonzo with Demeter, seemed to love pairing Misto with Cassandra for the Mating Dance. Troika and Buenos Aires did this and they did it in the same way. Misto and Cassandra practically have a dance of their own, performing the same motions when paired together. Usually, these pairs tend to seem like they’re improvising a little, but this specific couple has its own choreography.

The idea to pair Misto and Cassandra most likely comes from Misto later choosing Cassandra as his “lovely assistant” when he brings back Old Deuteronomy. In most productions, they don’t have much interaction outside of that. In Troika, Cassandra is also one of the cats who sometimes stands in for Coricopat and Tantomile, who were cut. Coricopat and Tantomile’s twin stuff was given to Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, while a lot of their psychic moments were given to either Demeter or Cassandra. So, in Troika, Misto and Cassandra are both mystical cats of some sort, which brings them together, because it’s something other cats don’t get.

I’m not super into this ship, because I generally don’t ship Misto with women, but the implications of the pairing in the Troika version are interesting.

Part Four: Lonely Misto

Hamburg, The German Tent Tour, and probably Moscow didn’t pair Misto with anyone. He just sat by himself. In Hamburg, there was a reason for this. Just like how Buenos Aires and Troika gave Misto’s role of fetching Old Deuteronomy to Skimble, Hamburg has a Mistotable instead of a Skimbletable.

I probably should’ve listed Moscow as a failure, but I’m still not sure what happened there.

The German Tent Tour just has Misto sitting by himself. He crawls to the Cuddle Pile, does a handstand, and no one cares.

But, the German Tent Tour shows signs of being part of a trend. While earlier, Broadway-based shows liked pairing Misto and Cassandra, newer productions never seem sure who to pair him with, so you have this scene of a lonely Misto surrounded by happy, horny straight couples and looking a bit out of place. This was probably unintentional, but it gives Misto an extra layer of gay coding.

Part Five: More Recent Stuff That Doesn’t Fit in the Other Categories

The 2013 UK Tour does something a bit interesting. Misto just sort of naps during the Mating Dance, but Carbucketty, who’s been following him around and imitating his dance moves for the past few minutes, lies down to nap at his feet. They don’t really interact and they’re barely touching, but it still counts as a pair. This is the closest I’ve gotten to finding a version where Misto’s paired with a tom. Of course, compared to most of the straight couples in any version of this scene, there is no horniness to be found. So, they’re two bros napping next to each other, but not quite cuddling ‘cause they’re not gay :(

Also I think Carbucketty might’ve ditched Misto for Rumpleteazer at the last second. We can never have nice things.

The Broadway Revival, having different choreography and staging for most of the Jellicle Ball is interesting in the way the Broadway Revival is usually interesting (kind of frustrating tbh). In the new choreography, everything from Bomba’s solo through the Mating Dance is basically one scene. Some queens dance, even more queens join them, a bunch of toms show up and pair up with them, the Boys Ballet and Whirlygigs are replaced with a romantic dance, everyone takes a hit of moonlight and things start to resemble other productions a bit more from there.

Because the pairs pair up quickly and stay together for a long time, it’s easy to see all of them. Only most of the cast is paired up, but I can identify, Tugger/Bomba, Munk/Demeter, Alonzo/Cassandra, Skimble/Jenny, Plato/Victoria, Coricopat/Tantomile (why do the siblings always stay together for the horny scenes?), Mungojerrie/Rumpleteazer (they’re probably not siblings in this version, so they get a pass), Pouncival/Electra, and Carbucketty/Sillabub.

Jellylorum, Tumblebrutus, and Mistoffelees are absent. They’re offstage until the Mating Dance properly starts. I have no idea where Tumblebrutus went, but this isn’t about him. Tugger crawls past Misto and they almost interact before Tugger leaves with Bomba. Jellylorum pairs up with Misto, presumably because neither one could find an actually date.

Now, the actress who played Jellylorum in this production has said in interviews that she played Jellylorum as the same age as Tugger. (The actors are besties irl so they made their characters besties too). So, this isn’t quite as weird as if feels when you first read it. Everyone’s the same age in this show, except for the kittens. Electra, Sillabub, and Pouncival were played as literal children in every scene but this one, because no one can escape the cat orgy (except Tumblebrutus, for some reason). But, unlike in 1998, which featured a lot of crack pairings during this scene (Tugger/Jenny, anyone?), pretty much every pairing in the 2016 orgy is the most obvious pairing possible. Anyone who didn’t have an obvious opposite gender counterpart was given one, except for Misto, Jelly, and Tumble. They could’ve brought back Peter (renamed Asparagus) from the opening to be Jelly’s obvious pairing, and then just had Tumble nap on Misto’s feet like 2013 Carbucketty, but they didn’t.

The result is that they created a bunch of comphet pairings but simply couldn’t do so for Misto. All his usual comphet pairing were taken. Cassandra’s with Alonzo and Victoria’s with Plato. Knowing that Tyler Hanes and Ricky Ubeda both shipped Tuggoffelees, they probably didn’t want to do the comphet thing either. Up until this point, this production had actually downplayed Tugger/Bomba, compared to other versions and added Tugger/Misto moments. I think, if it’d been allowed, Tugger and Misto would’ve been paired up there. Bomba can be like 1998, not having her usual partner and just going with whoever’s not paired up, which would be Tumblebrutus this time. Peter could be there for Jelly. Everyone’s happy!

But seriously, Gay Misto Mating Dance Scene when? Somebody get on that. People already find the horniness in Cats to be weird and adding gay horniness won’t make much of a difference.

[bopbopstyles]

ELEVATED SURFACES

RATING: R/smut (sex, heavy alcohol use, smoking, lots of cursing)

WORD COUNT: 11.6k

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

MASTERLIST (check it out for extras) | INSPO TAG | PLAYLIST 

a/n: as a recently graduated srat girl and lover of a good frat party, this one shot was intended to fill the whole in my heart which is LEGIT frat Harry. he is fratty and hot and long haired and a mess. if u like this try out TEMPTATION which is my other frat!h series and the first thing i ever wrote on this gd website (he’s not as fratty but we love him a LOT)

a/n pt.2: as a note, i want to make very clear that frats and greek organizations frequently harbor predators and abusers. i do not in any way condone that behavior or that reality, and i would like to bring attention to a petition to remove a fraterity that had done truly many horrible things--your signature would be a huge help. for survivors of assault, you are not alone, and it is not your fault. 

As you rose up, your eyes locked on a figure in the doorway of the basement. His long hair was loose, curls that had been pulled out from the hair tie he always had on his wrist, a tight white shirt that you knew meant all of his tattoos were on display. Harry was watching you, you realized as you twisted your hips and bounced your arms up and down with the beat, singing the words. So you kept his gaze, and just to taunt him, when the chorus hit again, you dropped down, ass hitting your heels, eyes on his the whole time.

or

Harry is a very fratty frat boy and Y/N is a really good dancer

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

“We really should not be still going to our own mixers,” Emily said to you, fluffing her hair and rotating to check her ass in her jeans. You looked up from where you were sitting on your bed, a gin and tonic in one hand to get your blood flowing before the party started. Emily sighed, and then turned from the mirror to you, grabbing the coffee cup that had never seen coffee, just alcohol. “Are people even going?”

You nodded, tossing your phone next to you and leaning against the bed frame. “Alexis is on her way over—she got held up finishing an essay. Maya said she might come, I tried to convince her by promising I’d bring my flask and you’d have your Juul.”

“I swear, she has to just give in and get one of her own.” Emily took a long sip and crossed her arms.

“She claims that will make her addicted.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “She’s already addicted—she uses half my pods and ends up hanging out with whatever guy will let her take a hit. Is it just going to be us and all the new members?”

“No, I think some juniors are going. And definitely the sophomores—they’re all on the little hunt.” You got up, going to your computer to change the song, scrolling through your comprehensive and well-curated pregame playlist. “Plus, who gives a fuck, we’ll only be there for an hour or two for the free alcohol and then we’re hitting the bars.”

“True.” A knock came from the door, and Emily hollered to come in, and Alexis appeared in the doorway, her makeup looking utterly flawless as always. You had always wanted Alexis’s wardrobe and told her constantly, to which Alexis always replied that she wished you were the same size. Unfortunately, Alexis was a solid five inches shorter than you and had a completely different bra size, making sharing quite difficult.  

“Bitches, I brought tequila!” Alexis swung into the room in a cloud of perfume, and threw her arms around you and Emily’s shoulders. “Come on, we need to get tipsy before we get to this mixer. Nick already texted me making sure I was coming.”

“Grab the shot glasses,” You replied, nodding to the makeshift bar cart in the corner, which as laden with glasses of all kinds and all your alcohol. “Are you hooking up with him tonight?”

Alexis shrugged, pulling her tequila from her bag and setting it on your desk before turning and going for the shot glasses. “Probably. I don’t know, he’s been weird lately—we hooked up on Monday night, but then he got all weird and left like immediately after and hasn’t texted me since. Barely acknowledged me when we saw each other in the library.”

“Was the sex weird?” Emily asked, unscrewing the top on the tequila so she could pour.

“Yeah,” Alexis replied, holding the glasses steady while Emily poured. “Like weirdly…intense? I let him come inside me which was probably a stupid idea, but I’m on the IUD so we should be all good. And then I offered to let him stay and he just got all flustered and said he had to go.”

You took your full shot glass, and you all clinked before tossing them back, the alcohol burning on your throat.  You hated tequila shots but Alexis loved them, and you did admit they did their job. “Do you think he’s caught feelings?”

Alexis’s eyes widened. She had been pining after Nick for ages, his tall basketball stature and surprisingly good fashion sense a dime a dozen. Much less, apparently the sex was insane, so what wasn’t to like? “You think? I thought it might’ve not been his vibe.”

Emily grabbed the bottle. “Another?” You all nodded, and she poured again, The Weeknd crooning in the background. “Just see what happens tonight, feel out what his vibe his.”

“Good idea.” You slammed back another shot, hissing before setting down the glass. “Okay, that’s enough tequila or you two are going to be carrying me home tonight.”

Emily and Alexis laughed, before taking seats on your bed, continuing to chatter about the night ahead. It was a Friday, your favorite night because it was usually just mixers, no general parties, which as a senior you had grown to despise. The fighting for watered down alcohol, packed bodies and horrific gender ratio was simply no longer something you had the energy to deal with. Mixers were your preferred zone, filled with your sorority sisters who you adored, the opportunity to actually hang out with the frat brothers whose presence you enjoyed, and usually pong. Sometimes they even let you DJ because you had the best party playlists. The president of Sig Ep had actually asked for the link one time and you’d heard they used it sometimes when the brothers didn’t want to man the computer anymore.

You surveyed your outfit in your narrow mirror, the black denim jeans and simple white tank that showed a bit of stomach and your tan you’d worked hard on during your winter escape to the Caribbean with your lineage. It was simple, yet it suited your needs—after three and a half years of college parties, you had discovered getting dressed up for frat parties was a useless activity, since your clothes would get drenched in jungle juice and sweat anyways. You left your best outfits for Saturday nights spent clubbing downtown.

If you were being honest, the whole reason you were going tonight was because at the last mixer you’d had with Beta, you’d turned around on the dance floor to find Harry’s eyes on you. You were already dancing with another one of the brothers and ended up making out with him in a corner until you got bored, but you hadn’t been able to get the sight of his eyes on you out of your head.

You’d known Harry since freshman year, your interactions limited mostly to mixers and the occasional run-in in the dining halls when you exchanged pleasantries, or the one time he’d volunteered for a karaoke team for your sorority philanthropy event and you’d been in charge of his team. But the two of you had rarely ever spent time together.  That didn’t mean you hadn’t had a lingering crush on him since you’d first laid eyes on him, though, and over the years he’d only gotten more attracted. A body that filled out his white t-shirts and black jeans, hair long and sweeping his shoulders to where he wore it in a bun most times, a jaw that could cut glass. He was hot and he knew it, as did everyone else on campus.

As juniors you had both been on the executive boards of your respective Greek organizations and had ended up in meetings together about housing violations and social calendars, but it hadn’t ever led to much more than you both complaining about how fucking annoying FIJI and their insistent requests for a house was, considering they’d trashed their last one. But this year, you’d found his eyes on you multiple times, and you wondered if perhaps your time had arrived. You’d both always danced around each other and you were curious after all these years if he was finally interested in hooking up. Not that you really expected much more, or were looking for much else—you were a senior, after all, and you were enjoying it.

“Y/N.” Alexis’s voice ripped you from your musings over Harry, her fingers snapping from her spot on your bed. “What’s got you thinking hard over there?”

“Harry?” Emily guessed, one eyebrow raising. “Emmett said he’ll be there tonight.”

“He’s always there,” you replied, because he was. Like you, he seemed to enjoy the mixers, but usually avoided the open parties unless he was on door duty.

“You’d hook up with him, right?”

You looked at Alexis. “Obviously. He’s so fucking hot.”

She laughed, as did Emily. “Then go for it, girl. It’s not like he’ll say no.”

You shrugged. “He might. Never know.”

“I seriously doubt that. You look hot as fuck, as usual, and are the life of the party. Beta adores you. They literally asked you to move in this year when they had an open spot.”

“It was a joke,” you reminded them, because it was—you wouldn’t ever be allowed to live in the house and they knew that. It was true though, you had become a bit of a groupie over the past few years, preferring the more laid back vibe in their house. You’d become friends with all the senior guys, except the weird or obnoxious ones, and had become a regular invite to Bachelor Monday watch parties in their second floor living room. You brought snacks and your friends, they provided the booze and the cable.

“Still,” Emily said, nudging you the toe of her black booties. “Don’t sell yourself short, babes. He is missing a brain if he’s not interested in you.”

“And seriously missing out,” Alexis added. You shot her a look, but she just chuckled. “Bitch, I lived next door to you last year. You are loud.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, laughing, but she was right. You were. Guys had told you on countless occasions, but you really couldn’t find it in yourself to care all that much. “Come on, we should go. Maya is texting me asking when we’re leaving.”

“Do you have your cigs?”  Alexis asks you, downing the rest of the drink she’d made while you had been staring into space.

It was your vice, one you had picked up during a semester abroad and only did when you were drunk. You knew you should stop, but something about it made you feel powerful, a bit badass, so you kept doing it. “Obviously. Emmett will have a fit if I don’t.” You swiped your pack from your desk drawer and your trusty pale blue lighter, and shoved them into the pocket of your jacket. With one last swig of your drink, your veins buzzing with alcohol just the right amount, the three of you were off, singing an old Hannah Montana song in the elevator down to the lobby of your dorm.

One of the pledges was working the door, but happily let you three into the frat house. The lights on the main floor were off, except for the ones in the front study that doubled as a coat room, where you tied the arms of your jackets together and set them in the corner so you didn’t lose them. Your cigs were transferred to your back pocket, and you just prayed you didn’t forget they were there and crush them again.  

Josephine and another junior were the sober sisters, and offered you three hugs before checking your names off the list. You got positive points for being there, as if that was the main reason you had shown up.

“Emmett!” Emily called, and the blond-headed boy’s head flipped up from where he was standing behind the bar. A Gatorade water cooler was sitting on the high bar, stacks of red solo cups and boxes of white claws and beers sitting on top of one another.

Aka, your happy place. “He’s bartending, thank god,” you said, and grabbed Emily and Alexis, weaving through the crowd. Girls stopped you all as you moved, hugs and squeals at your appearance. You had to admit, you were popular in your sorority, but mainly because you had made it your mission to get your money worth. As a result of your exec position, you’d gotten to know the sophomore member class and you adored them all, chaotic messes who always turned up with you and made you laugh hysterically. Honestly, you were sad to graduate because it meant leaving behind so many fun friends and memories.

“We’ve been waiting for you three,” Emmett said when you arrived in front of him. He was wearing the frat’s homecoming shirt from the previous year and his eyes were dilated, obvious that he had smoked before. “What are we drinking?”

“What’s the mix?” You asked, pointing to the cooler.

He grabbed three cups, knowing you would be taking it. “Shit ton of vodka, Kool Aid, water, the usual.”

“My favorite,” you replied, blowing him a kiss. “How is it downstairs?”

He filled the cups and handed them to you all. “They just wrapped up pong so it’s still getting moving.”

Alexis took a long sip before grabbing your hand. “Sounds like we need to get people dancing.” With that she turned around, her long slick black hair moving in a circle. “Let’s dance!” She called, and the girls around you cheered, following the three of you down the slippery steps to the basement.

Downstairs, The Motto was playing and you bobbed your head along with the beat, moving your hips as you entered the large basement space. It was dark except for a glowing sign with the Beta letters in narrow neon lights, casting the room with a tint of green. Your battered frat shoes, an old pair of white Vans, stuck against the beer and jungle juice-covered floor as you made your way to the middle. A couple of other girls and brothers were scattered around the floor, and you broke from Emily and Alexis’s hands as you twirled on the floor.  

You raised your cup above your head and started dancing, rapping the lyrics by heart, moving your hands and hips along with the song. Emily and Alexis sang along with you and some of the younger girls showed up, then some other seniors who shared your love for frat parties. All of a sudden your little was screaming and running towards you, Mallory’s arms wrapping around your waist.

“Oh my fuck god, MOM,” she screamed, using the nickname she’d had for you since you’d taken her as your little two years ago. You laughed and threw your arm around her shoulders, screaming the lyrics. There was a specific reason you had taken Mallory as your little, and it was because she lost her shit at parties just as much as you did. You two were a dynamic duo like no other, and if your grand little didn’t have a huge exam on Monday, she’d be here too and you would all be dancing together as usual.

You downed your jungle juice, the sugary drink combined with the loud music blasting and your friends making your adrenaline kick into high gear. And then Maya appeared, arms waving like crazy, and then she dropped it low and you remembered why you adored her, even if she always stole Emily’s Juul. She had a beer in one hand and a white claw in the other, ready for the night ahead.

Then Emmett appeared, trailed by some of the other brothers in tank tops and t-shirts, one carrying a six pack on his shoulder and handing out warm beers to the brothers he passed. Emmett beelined for Emily, his arm thrown around her shoulder, their completely platonic friendship on show for everyone. The song ended and you took a breath, crushing your cup and tossing it into the corner so you could have your hands free. Emily pulled her Juul free and took a hit, passing it to Maya next without a question between them.

The opening notes of Come Get Her started and you immediately grabbed Alexis and Emily, beelining for the bar that the speakers rested on, something you weren’t even sure how it got there, but it was your favorite elevated surface of all time. Wide enough to dance, tall enough to be high but not too high where you couldn’t mostly stand. You clamored up, coming to nearly full height and turning to your friends.

“Somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper!” You screamed, your friends coming in a circle in front of the three of you, some other girls getting up on the bar. When the line came through again, you decided fuck it, and you dropped your ass low, bending your knees and tipping your head back.

When you danced, you didn’t give a single fuck about impressing guys or any of that. You just simply loved to dance with your friends, move your hips, and didn’t care what you looked like. Mallory screamed when you got low, your name falling from her lips in a squeal of joy.

As you rose up, your eyes locked on a figure in the doorway of the basement. His long hair was loose, curls that had been pulled out from the hair tie he always had on his wrist, a tight white shirt that you knew meant all of his tattoos were on display. Harry was watching you, you realized as you twisted your hips and bounced your arms up and down with the beat, singing the words. So you kept his gaze, and just to taunt him, when the chorus hit again, you dropped down, ass hitting your heels, eyes on his the whole time.

That had him moving. He joined a circle where Emmett and some other senior guys were dancing with some other girls, beers in hand as they shifted back and forth. But you knew what would have them all actually dancing and screaming and jumping along with you. You needed to see Harry like that—loose and free. So you turned around and grabbed the attention of the sophomore on aux, his name something along the lines of Justin, and screamed your song choice to him. He gave you a thumbs up, and then you turned back around. Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck, and you rolled it into a loose, high bun, pulling the elastic on your wrist around it as you swayed to the song.

You could hear the song ending, and with your eyes on Harry, you decided you would get down. He was next to a pledge with a six pack, and you wanted a beer. You were mixing alcohols like nobody’s business tonight, but you’d done worse. You squatted down and kicked your feet out, Mallory’s hand coming out to help you down. “You good?” She asked, leaning in to you.

“Yeah, just hot,” you replied. “Going to get a beer.” She nodded and let you go. There wasn’t a need to watch your friends as much in a normal party, since you knew all the girls here. Maya pulled you in for a hug as you moved, and then the current president called out your name from where she stood with her boyfriend, a white claw in her hand.

Squeezing next to Emmett, you nudged the waist of the pledge next to you. “Can I get one?” You asked, pointing to the beers.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling one from the case and handing it to you. It was a Natty Light, but you really could’ve given fewer fucks—they were a frat after all, they didn’t buy the good stuff.

You popped the tab and took a long swig, the liquid quelling your rough throat from singing. And then, the song changed, and you smiled, eyes meeting Harry’s. You decided you were going to draw him out. “I got hoes, callin’!” You screamed, the song starting the speakers, and the boys all joined in. Fuck it, you thought, and chugged the rest of your beer so that you could jump, your arms outstretched and pumping up and down. Your bun was bouncing on your head and you were grinning, the music flowing through you.

Harry was watching you, his head tapping, hair swishing back and forth. You needed more. So you moved into the center of the circle, knowing the guys would hype you up, and reached for him. “Why aren’t you dancing?” You asked him playfully, and his eyebrow shot up.

“Fuck! Shit! Bitch!” The best lines of the song ran through the speaker and you just grabbed his hand, which was warm, and pulled on him. Suddenly his body was in front of you, close, and you tried to process what your original plan was. But then, Harry started moving, back and forth, head bopping, rapping the lyrics in time, and you knew you had gotten him. “I be ballin’, like a motherfuckin’ pro,” you sang, starting up to jump, and to your surprise, Harry joined you, a carefree expression finally crossing his face. He was screaming the lyrics then, hair bouncing as he moved. He rotated, grabbing the shoulders of another one of the boys, who joined in with him, them screaming the lyrics at each other.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the change in his demeanor so sudden. When the song changed, T-Shirt by Migos coming on, he turned back to you. All of a sudden, his lips were next to your ear and you choked on air. “Fuckin’ love that song,” he said, accent smooth in your ear.

“You and every other frat boy,” you replied, stepping backwards. You had ended up at the side of the circle closer to the wall, and so you moved towards it, freeing yourself from the heavy circle of boys.

The song was slower, not a jumping and dancing song, but one that suggested the slow grinding of hips and closeness of bodies. Which fuck it, you wanted. Desperately. He was looking at you with an intense stare, smile sloppy from alcohol, Harry sweaty on his forehead, arms straining under the fabric of his shirt. He was following you, taking a step away from his friends and following your body as if magnetic. So you just went for it, putting your weight lower, and rolled your hips back and forth to the music.

Mama told me/not to sell work/Seventeen five/same color T-shirt

Your eyes met his, and the shared intensity of his gaze stirred something inside of you. Desire. A need to know what his skin felt like, a desire that had been lingering since you first saw him. Your hands moved on their own, draping over his shoulders, and his hands found the curve of your waist, and suddenly you knew what his skin felt like on yours. They found the bare skin between the hem of your shirt and the top of your jeans, burning your already warm skin.

Justin-something on aux changed the song, deciding that was enough, and then No Role Modelz was on, and you moved, swaying back and forth, your chests coming closer and closer. His face was inches from yours and you wondered what his lips would taste like. The slow rap and smooth feel of the beat had your eyes fluttering shut, mind twirling from the alcohol and the lowlights, the heat of the packed basement. If you didn’t have Harry under your hands, you might have left for a smoke break, an excuse for air. But you weren’t letting go of him anytime soon. So you turned around and when your ass touched his dick you couldn’t help but smile—he was already hard. You felt his arm move and watched him sip his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. You rolled your hips against him and then reached up, grabbing the can and bringing it to your own lips, taking a sip and watching him watch you. The two of you were taunting each other, acting on a feeling that had always been an undercurrent in every one of your interactions, a slight sexual tension that if you pulled on would become taught.

Which as you pressed against him, you fucking yanked on. His free hand clasped around your hip, holding you close and swaying in time with you. You could feel the sweat that had soaked through his t-shirt a bit, but you didn’t care—you  were sweaty yourself, so was everyone in the room. It was part of the appeal, the fact that everyone was a mess and no one cared. He was rock hard between the denim of both of your jeans, and you could feel the power racing through you, the fact that you had him like this going straight to your head.

When Mr. Brightside came on, you decided that was your smoke break time. You couldn’t stand the song after so many years, and the feeling of bodies pressing together as they jumped was too much for you. “I’m going to get some air,” you said, turning around so you could face Harry.

He was so close to you, just inches away, when his tongue licked over his lip. “Can I come with?”

“Sure.” You grabbed his hand as you moved through the crowd, pushing between frat brothers and your sorority sisters who were all dancing together to the song. When you made it through the exit you sighed, the stale air of the stairwell even feeling better than that room.

“Fuck it was hot in there,” Harry said, your hand dropping from his. He followed you up the stairs and you nodded. You pushed open the door and a Doja Cat song was playing, some people upstairs scattered around, drinking and talking, some sitting on couches together. You waved to Maya, who seemed to have also needed a break, and nodded to the door as if to tell her you were getting some air.

“I’m going to smoke if that’s okay,” you told him as you made your way to the door, pulling your cigs and lighter from your back pocket.

He nodded. “Can I bum one?”

You opened the heavy oak door and said hello to the handful of guys sitting on the steps, who were manning the door and making sure no one random got in. “Sure,” you responded to Harry finally, sitting down on the concrete half wall that lined the landing. You could hear the slight thump of the music, but for the most part it was quiet, the the frat house a couple yards away not throwing anything tonight.

Harry leaned against the wall close to you, taking your offered cigarette. You flicked the lighter and raised it to your cigarette, taking a drag when it lit. Then you handed it to Harry, who accepted it gladly, doing the same. The smoke filled your lungs and your drunken mind considered that you should quit, but at the same time, you liked having something to do when you got air, an excuse to be on the steps. One of the other guys asked for one, and you handed one over, making a new friend.

And then you looked back to Harry. “So,” you said, tapping the ash on your cig. “How have you been?”

You hadn’t seen him since your last mixer with Beta, but you two hadn’t talked in ages. “Good,” he replied. “Busy with classes and stuff.”

“What are you studying again?”

“Political science,” he answered, and your eyebrows shot up. You had expected business or economics, like most of the Beta brothers.

“Why poli sci?”

He shrugged, tapping the ash before taking another drag. “Dunno, really. Took a class freshman year and liked it enough.”

“You don’t want to work in politics or something?”

“I don’t really know what I want to do, honestly.”

“You make it sound like that’s unusual,” you tell him. “Most people don’t.”

He chuckles, a low sound from the back of his throat, and you like the sound of it. “I’ll tell my dad that next time we talk.” You could tell there was a story there, but didn’t push. It wasn’t that kind of moment. “What about you?”

“Psych and pre-law,” you reply, the answer rolling off your tongue with ease.

“Oh? What kind of law?”

You took another drag before answering. “Criminal defense, but I want to work with people on death row.”

His eyes widen, just as you expected. It’s the usual response from people. “Fuck, that’s awesome. What made you interested in it?”

“I just got really into true crime when I was in middle school and ended up doing research on the criminal justice system and what a fucking disaster it is. Death sentences and death row especially. So I want to overturn false convictions.”

He puffed a cloud of smoke, and you watched his lips form a circle, a dark pink color that drew you in. “And you said most people don’t know what they want to do.”

A breeze made the hair on your arm hair stand up, and you rubbed the skin to warm up. It was cold tonight. “I’m unusual,” you told him. “Most of my friends have no idea what they’re doing after graduation.”

You had reached the end of your cigarette, so you dropped it to the ground and stamped it out, the combination of the nicotine and alcohol making your head deliciously hazy. “I’m going back in.”

Harry dropped his cigarette too, putting out the bud. “Lead the way.” He swiped his ID card on the door to let you both in, and you held the door for him, the sound of Post Malone sweeping through the house. “Want another drink?”

You mentally considered how drunk you were, came to the conclusion that you could take some more, and nodded. “White claw, please.” If you laid off the jungle juice you would last a bit longer, and you weren’t particularly wanting to get wasted tonight—you wanted to see where this went.

Harry nodded and walked towards the bar, while you turned to the group of girls closest to you, who were drinking juice and chattering amongst themselves. They immediately started asking you about Harry, about what was happening, and you shrugged because you truly didn’t know. “He’s hot,” one of them, a sophomore named Cat said. “You going to go for it?”

“If the opportunity presents itself,” you replied. You weren’t going to push with Harry, the last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in front of him. You’d follow his lead, see what he was interested in, matching his flirting and  see where it went. Not to say you weren’t forward, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. “What about you guys?”

Cat launched into an in-depth analysis of the weird flirtation she’d been having with a junior guy in Beta, how they’d hooked up once but not again, but he kept looking at her. You encouraged her to go for it if she wanted, and she grinned, perhaps just needing an extra push. All of a sudden, you felt a hand on your back, and Harry was next to you, a Black Cherry white claw in one hand, a Heineken in the other.

“If I’d know there were Heinekens I would’ve had that,” you told him, accepting your white claw.

His hair fell behind his shoulders when he tipped the beer back. “Most girls don’t like beer.”

“Well you’ve met one now.” You liked messing with him, dropping flirtations into the conversation and pushing buttons. It made him smirk at you and you loved it, the twinkle in his eyes and the pinkness of his lips.

“H.” A guy appeared behind Harry. “We’re out of vodka.”

“How are we out?” He asked, taking another sip of his beer.

The guy, a pledge from the looks of him, grimaced. “Someone took one of the bottles.”

“Fuck,” Harry said with a sigh. “Have one of the other pledges go get more and keep the receipt. Get more claws while you’re out, we’re running low.” With that, he turned back to you, exhaling sharply. The boy disappeared, sensing that was his cue.

Right as you were about to speak, you heard the opening notes of I Love It from downstairs, and you turned to the girls around you. “Downstairs,” you told them, and they all tossed back the rest of their drinks before tossing them into the trash can a few paces away. You opened the door to the basement and then looked back to Harry. “Coming?”

That made him move, following you down into the dark stairwell that smelled of stale beer and sweat. He stayed close to you, and when your foot slipped on a stair he reached out to steady you, a hand to your side that made your body warm with more than just the temperature of the room.  The girls in front of you streamed into the room, screaming the lyrics to the song.

“You’re such a fucking hoe/I love it!” You joined in, laughing at the lyrics in spite of yourself, but the truth is you fucking loved the song. It was absurd and was filthy, but you liked screaming the lyrics in a room with a bunch of your friends.

You twirled around and walked into the room backward, moving your body with the beat, taunting Harry to follow you. Which he did, as if connected to you by a magnet. You could see his lips moving, the lyrics falling from his lips to match you. You stopped moving in the middle of the room and Harry’s hands found your hips. Turning in his hands, a coy smile on your face, you knew what this song was going to involve. Hips moved on their own accord, grinding hard against him. You could feel his breath on your neck, the lyrics I’m a sick fuck/I like a quick fuck/I like my dick sucked/I’ll buy you a sick truck in your ear. Hearing the words on his lips for some reason had your blood pumping,  and you wanted to hear them again on a loop.

His dick was hard against your ass and your hands stretched behind you, finding his hips to hold him close. His head fell to your neck, nosing at your skin, his fingers on the bare skin at your waist clenching. Your hips moved in time  with each other, his body dropping to be at the height as yours, chasing the desire that was running between you. Your head tipped back against his chest and eyes fluttered shut, letting the alcohol in your veins and the music pounding in your ears take over. All you could feel was him, the cut of his body and the strength of his arms next to you, his hips insistently rubbing against yours and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually grind on him.

The song changed, Work Out by J. Cole sounding through the speakers and you pulled away from him and turned to face him. You were going to put on a bit of a show, you decided, because why the fuck not. It was clear at this point that he wanted you as much as you wanted him, so why pretend like anything else was happening?

So when the lyrics Let me see you get/High then go low/Now, girl won't you drop that thing down to the floor? fell through the speakers you dropped to the ground, Harry’s eyes following you came back up slowly, your body just inches from his. His hands fell on your body, grabbing at your waist to keep you close, pressing his hips forward to grind right over the front of your jeans and you panted from both the heat in the room and the pleasure ripping through your body. When the chorus came again, you dropped down, and this time you ran your hands down his legs lightly as you moved, fingers dancing down and then back up the seams of his jeans.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said and you could barely hear him over the music.

His eyes met yours, searing into yours, a question passing between you. And then you were moving towards each other, an answer to the question in the way your lips met, slotted together and pulled at one another. Your hands were pulling at his shirt, grabbing at the material and the skin underneath, one of his hand holding your head close to his,  the other at your waist. It was fast and messy, your lip pulling on his bottom one, before chasing him, his tongue brushing at the seam of your lips before dipping inside.

Kissing Harry was hot. It was like setting your whole body on fire with desire and you just wanted to know what the rest of him felt like because his lips were sending you to another planet. He tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth and a moan escaped you, desperation clear in your throat. You could feel bodies press around you, the notes of Fire by Louis the Child ringing through the room. When the beat dropped, you knew people were jumping, the guys doing that thing where they slammed into each other like some kind of mosh. But Harry just stayed there, pulling his lips into yours, drawing wet pants from your body. He was holding tight to you as if you were going to slip away, even though that was the last place you wanted to go.

But you decided you wanted to tease him a bit more. Not let him get away, but just…push him a bit. So you drew away, enough to where you could dance, your sorority sisters at your back—you had seen Alexis move behind you. You grinding on her, your asses touching, and you could hear her laughter, before moving against you. It was something you two always did, dancing partners since the moment you met.

“If I go down in flames/The smoke going to spell my name,” you sang.

Harry watched you, his eyes burning a line down your body, the ministrations of your hips against Alexis’s. And then he was moving towards you, his front pressed yours and his lips were at your ear. “Drink?”

You nodded, and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. People were moving down them and you pressed yourself to the wall to let them pass, before following Harry up the stairs to the main floor. “Is there anything better than that shit?” You asked him when you stood next to him, his arm loosely around your waist, holding you to him.

His gaze drifted to the bar and then back to you. “I’ve got some stuff in my room.”

You knew he lived in the house, the result of being on exec last year and having first dibs after the current exec board was placed, the hierarchy the same as in your own sorority house. “Do you have mixers?” As much as you drank, you still hated drinking most straight alcohol, especially if you were going to be sipping on it. When he nodded, you replied, “Let’s go.”

You caught the eye of Emily who was standing on the other side of the room, watching you, and you pointed upstairs to tell her where you were going. After she gave you a thumbs up, letting you know she’d check in before leaving, a silent conversation well rehearsed over the years, you followed Harry up the stairs. Other guys and girls streamed down them, coming from rooms where they were smoking or using the bathroom or drinking just like you.

“What floor are you on?”  You asked when you passed the first floor, twisting to go up the second flight.

“Third,” he replied, not pausing no the stairs. “It’s quieter.”

That made sense, as you could imagine if he didn’t feel like partying one night it would be kind of hard to avoid. You followed him up, the sound of the music fading as you made your way higher into the frat house. You passed other girls on the way you exchanged hugs and promises to catch up after chapter on Monday night. Finally, you made it to the third floor, and Harry pushed open the door to a room with his name on it.

You followed him in and the first thing you noticed was how much of a boy’s room it was. Messy comforter, clothes on the floor, alcohol bottles lining the window sill, the frat’s flag above his bed. Some posters and photos littered the opposite wall, a single framed photo of what looked like his family on his dresser, along with some random items like cologne and a brush and hair ties. A pair of athletic shoes and boots were shoved into one corner, and a tub of protein powder sat on top of his mini-fridge, along with a stack of solo cups. On his desk was a bong and a couple of lighters, his computer sitting next to it on a charger. The dorm room was narrow, most of it taken up with a double bed that you were a bit confused by, since most rooms just had a single.  

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” he said, shutting the door behind you. If you focused on it, you could hear nerves in his voice, a low laugh in the back of his throat as he surveyed his room. “Didn’t expect to have people up here.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, moving into the middle of the room to get out of the doorway, taking in the space.

“Uh, I’ve got Tito’s, Jack, some gin one of the guys got me.”

It drew you back to the whole reason you were in his room. He was standing next to his mini-fridge, a solo cup in his hand as he looked at you. “What mixers do you have?”

“Coke, juice, and tonic,” he replied. “Sorry, it’s not much.”

You shook your head. “Tito’s and tonic,” you told him. Usually you would’ve been all over the Jack and coke option, but considering how much you’d already drank the last thing you needed was to mix clear and dark liquors.

You watched him pour, leaning against his desk as you waited. He handed you the cup, asking you to try it and tell him if it was too strong. You took a sip and it was strong, but not too much. Then, he made a whiskey and coke you were jealous of, and the two of you stood in his room, not quite sure what to do. You didn’t want to go back down the party, the feeling of fresh air—even though it smelled vaguely like college boy, a mixture of sweat and cologne that you keenly recognized—feeling good on your skin.

“Want to listen to some music?” He asked, moving towards you. There was a bluetooth speaker on his desk, you realized,  and shifted away so he could get at his computer.  

You decided to sit on the bed, thighs resting on the soft comforter. “Sure.” You pulled your cigarettes and lighter from your back pocket, before looking back at him.

He fiddled with the speaker, the sound of it connecting ricocheting in the small room, before clicking keys to wake up his computer. “Any preferences?”

“I’m good with whatever,” you replied. “I like pretty much everything.” It was true, you had everything from country to Top 40s and rap on your Spotify, a variety of playlists to fit the mood.

He pulled on his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger as he perused his Spotify and you tried not to focus on the sight. Low music began to sound in the room and you immediately recognized the beginning notes of Let Her Go by 6LACK,  a smile drifting onto your face. He must have noticed, because he turned around, his cup in his hand. “You like 6LACK?”

“More like obsessed,” you replied and he chuckled.

He sat on the edge of the desk, his knees falling open, his back slumped a bit. “I don’t know a single girl who even knows who he is.”

You took a sip of your drink before replying, resting your body back on one hand. “They must not have good music taste, then.”

Harry gave you a small smile, an edge of playfulness to it. “Where’s home for you?”

“Denver,” you responded. “You?”

“Holmes Chapel.”

“Where’s that?”

He brushed a hand through his hair, the long locks slipping between his fingers and you couldn’t help but wish you were the one doing it. “South of Manchester. It’s a small town, lots of fields and shit like that.”

You’d never been to England so you had no idea of where Manchester was, but you didn’t ask. “Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t want to like, move back or anything. But it’s a good place to go home to.”

Denver felt the same way to you—it was home, but it wasn’t a place you saw a future in. You’d go where law school took you, and then the work, wherever you could make the biggest impact. “Where do you want to go?”

The solo cup hung in his hands, and he twirled it a bit, the rim of the cup pressed between his fingers. “LA, maybe. New York. Not sure, really. London, most likely, unless I can get a job and someone to sponsor my Visa so I can stay.”

“Do you like the states?” You knew you were asking a lot of questions, but you’d never had a conversation like this with him and you were curious. Curious about him, about who he was, underneath all the frat shit that he loved so much.

“It’s different than home,” he replied, and you understood what he meant. “I don’t think I’ll want to be here forever, but it’s good for right now. Got friends here now.”

You took another sip of your drink, and then pushed yourself up, the need to pee suddenly overtaking your body. “Where’s the bathroom?”  

“Down the hall. Make sure you slam on the door before locking it—it got fucked up during homecoming and hasn’t been the same ever since.”

You nodded and took your cup with you, four years of college ingraining some lessons into your bones. Down the hall, you found a blond wood door and a doorknob that was barely attached to the door. You pushed it open and shut it quickly, shoving against it with your shoulder so that you could flip the lock. Inside, you wondered for the millionth time why boys were in capable from having a properly stocked bathroom. Head & Shoulders shampoo littered the floor of the shower,  a flimsy shower curtain that had come free from a couple of the rings. You squatted to pee, grabbing the toilet paper roll that sat on top of the toilet, no one even bothering to properly put it away.

As you peed, you scrolled through your phone. Mallory had texted saying she was going bar hopping with some of her friends and you told her to text you if she needed anything and a heart, before checking her on Find My Friends to see she was, in fact at a bar. Then you texted your group chat with Emily and Alexis and Maya, who had asked how you were doing. You told them you were with Harry and most likely going to be here for a while, which got excited responses and Alexis sent the eggplant emoji, which made you snort. They told you to text you if you ended up staying the night so they could keep track of where you were, which you agree to do.

When you went to wash your hands, you rolled your eyes because of course they couldn’t even buy hand soap. You went to the shower and found a bottle of body wash, and squirted some into your hands before going back to the sink, rinsing them off. Then you looked at your face in the mirror, eyeliner and mascara still in tact, but your hair was a disaster. You pulled the bun free and let your hair tumble down your back, running through it with your fingers to calm the strands that were askew.

Standing the mirror, you had the opportunity to consider your choices. Did you want to hook up with Harry? Yes. That was a clear answer, despite your alcohol-hazed mind. Did he want to? Most likely—every indication had pointed towards yes. So your mind was made up as you pulled the door open and made your way back to his room, your phone tucked into your jeans and solo cup in your hand.

“You guys really need soap.”

He was still sitting on the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone and sipping on his drink when you came into the room. At the sight of you, he put his phone down. “I know—it’s fucking disgusting. I have my own, though. Sorry for not sharing.”

You set your cup on his dresser, deciding you were done, and moved towards him. “It’s fine. I made do.” His eyes trailed down your front, the sexual tension thick in the room. When he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed on it, you decided fuck it you were done waiting.

You crossed the space between the two of you in second, slotting yourself between his knees. His hands found your waist immediately, his solo cup moving to rest on the table once your body was pressed to his. Without pausing, you pressed your lips to his, reconnecting them in a fire—you needed him, you wanted him, you craved his hands on your skin. Now that you were alone, it was like you couldn’t hold yourself together and neither could he. His hands moved up and down your back, tugging you into his chest as your hands curled in his long hair. Lips fought for dominance, teeth tugging and tongues pressing for more. When he licked into your mouth a wet moan left your lips and you pressed into the crotch of his pants without even meaning to.

6LACK was still flowing through the speaker, and the smooth RnB just adding to the desire rolling through your body. When his lips dropped to your neck, sucking and biting on your skin, a desperate, filthy noise fell from your mouth and you couldn’t help but smile when Harry grunted into you. “I—fuck,” he mumbled, squeezing at your hips.

Suddenly your clothes were too warm, burning against your skin. You leaned back and pulled at the hem of your tank top, pulling it up over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Harry’s eyes went wide, blown out irises from alcohol and desire criss-crossing over your body. “You can touch me,” you said, confidence coursing through your veins and just desperate for him to do something.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling you back into him and attaching his mouth to the swell of your breast, right above the lace of your bra. Hot breath on your skin had you keening into him, back arching up into his mouth, your fingers tugging into his hair. You loved his hair, having something to hold onto and anchor yourself, and from the pleased hums he liked it too. His hands fumbled with your bra clasp, and when he got it free and pulled the material away, he pulled your nipple into his mouth and you audibly sighed. When he sucked on it, then laved over it with his tongue you couldn’t help but buck into him. You were putty in his arms and he had barely done anything.

Your hands pulled at his shirt, the desire to see his skin overwhelming you. He didn’t make you wait, helping you tug it over his head, and let it drop to the floor. Black ink scattered across his skin, words and images that made a million questions swirl in your mind. The G on his shoulder, the ship on his bicep, the name Jackson scrawled above a rose, the swallows across his collarbones and a butterfly on his stomach. He sat there, chest heaving as he caught his breath and your fingers brushed his skin, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Y/N,” he rasped, “bed?”

“Yes.” The word fell from your lips with ease, and he was backing you into it immediately, hands in your hair and lips on yours. Your bare chests touching sent you into overdrive, the brush of your nipples on his warm skin, a sheen of sweat covering both of you from dancing all night.

The comforter was plush underneath your back as you scrambled up the length of his bed, his body following yours immediately. Your legs fell apart so he could fit between you, and when he did, his dick rested right against your clothed clit and it made you gasp. “Feel good?” He mumbled, the words a haze in your ears as he plucked your lips between his.

All you could do was buck up, your knees finding either side of him. You wanted to be on top, to be in control. You wanted to grind on him properly, after waiting for so long. With a hand at his chest, you pushed slightly, enough for him to move back. He must have understood what you wanted because he flopped onto the bed next to you, one hand on either of your thighs and you mounted him, your ass sitting on the top of his thighs.

When you moved your center over his dick, both of you groaned, deep and drawn out, your head thrown back in pleasure. It was bliss, after so much waiting, to finally be able to do this, his hands crawling from your thighs to your hips to hold you in place, exactly where he wanted you. You put your hands on his chest to hold yourself up, and let your hips find a sinful rhythm, one that was making pleasure curl in your stomach. Pants left your mouth, matched by Harry, who was watching you as if you were a fucking art exhibit, eyes trying to take in every inch of you. Fingernails curled into his skin, red marks that you expected to be there tomorrow, when he nudged at your clit, and you rubbed that spot a few more times, his name falling from your lips in a beg. “Harry.”

That had him moving, pulling your lips down to his so he could kiss you again, his fingers cradling the back of your head. It was just rough enough where you were scrambling to catch up and it felt good, that this was consuming every part of your brain. You rolled your hips again, your hands pressing into the pillow under his head. Then, you felt his thighs agains your ass, and he was pushing up into you, making him snugly flush against you, the only thing between you two being your clothes.

Which you wanted off, and wanted off now. You moved back, crawling between his legs, and his eyes followed you, panting as he watched you pop the button on his pants. He lifted his hips to help you and you tugged the tight skinny jeans that showed every inch of his thickness underneath them down his legs. Then, you pulled on his briefs, and he was bare in front of you, exactly as you wanted him. Your jeans were constricting your movement so you turned tot he side, pulling the denim off of your body so you were left in your underwear.

Then you were on him again, but this time, it was your hand on his dick, fingers running up the length of him.

“Fuck,” he said, voice husky in your ears. He was gorgeous underneath you, desperation making his eyebrows crease, his long hair a mess on the pillow. Why had you waited so long to act on this desire? You suddenly couldn’t remember.

He watched you spit onto his most sensitive part, and then slide your hand over him, spreading the moisture. He hissed at the feeling and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last long here—he was already hard, his tip red and throbbing. The fact that you had him this turned on and you’d barely done anything made your ego soar, to be honest. You pumped him three times before licking up the underside of him, his hands curling in the comforter, a stream of curses falling from his lips.

When you took him into your mouth, a low, rough grunt filled the room and you smiled. You hollowed your cheeks and immediately took him all the way into your mouth, resisting the urge to gag when he hit the back of your throat. “Shit,” he rasped. “You—shit.”  

You’d done what you were about to give him just a handful of times before, only with people who you knew you would feel pleasure from too when they did it, and trusted. And Harry fit both of those categories, because he could fucking smile and you’d want to fuck him. So you grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of your head, before taking him all the way to the back of your throat. Your mouth was full of him and it felt so good.

“Want me to fuck your mouth?” His eyes were glimmering in the light, completely focused on you. You were happy you had left the lights on, because it meant you could every inch of him, every reaction you drew from him.

In response, you licked at his tip, hoping he knew that meant yes.

He seemed to, because he curled his fingers into your hair and pushed his hips up, his tip hitting your throat immediately. You groaned around his dick and he cursed at the vibrations. Then, he kept his hips on the bed and instead pulled you up and down him, fucking your mouth just as you had wanted. You couldn’t do much from this position, so you focused on inhaling through your nose and running your hands over his skin, scratching at the butterfly on his torso. Leaving reminders of this night, of you, on his body.

“Shit,” he mumbled, pulling you off. “I—I have to stop. But, shit, you feel so good, babe.”

The pet name made you smile, sitting back on your heels to wipe at your mouth, the taste of his salty precum still on your tongue. “Do you have a condom?” You asked, because all that you had done had left you more than ready—you needed him inside of you.

Harry’s eyes went wide and he scrambled up. “Fuck,” he exhaled, grabbing at his desk drawer and pulling it open. Watching him look through his drawers completely naked was, you had to admit, a bit amusing, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. He wrenched another drawer open, tossing the contents about as he looked. Then he sighed, and looked back at you. “I’m out.”

“Go find one,” you told him, leaning back against the wall, letting your knees drop open to show your underwear. You could feel the wet spot on them and you knew he saw it too. “I’ll wait here.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll—yeah I’ll find one.” He pulled on his jeans, not even bothering with his briefs, eyes flickering to you every once and a while. “Shit, I’ll—I’ll be back.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, pushing open his door and letting it slam shut behind him. Through the door you could hear him knocking on the door next to his, some muffled words, and then him knocking again. He was going fucking door to door looking for a condom, you realized with amusement. Then, the patter of feet on the stairs, and you knew he was going downstairs, that no one else was in their rooms.

While you waited, you grabbed your phone and scrolled through it. Caught up on texts, liked shit on Instagram, checked Snapchat even though you barely used the app. Most people were at bars, as far as you could tell, but it looked like they’d set back up pong downstairs according to Emily’s story.

All of a sudden, feet pounded on the stairs and you knew it was Harry. You pushed your phone back onto the desk, and when the door opened, he was standing there holding probably ten condoms. “How many did you get?”

He looked down at the wad in his hand and visibly blushed. “I—I thought I’d re-stock.”

You let it slide, even though you knew exactly why he got so many. He was hoping you’d have a couple rounds, and  you were not opposed to the idea. “Come here,” you said, and let your legs fall back open.

He was on you in second, his pants kicked down his legs as he moved and you were surprised he didn’t trip. Hands found your skin and he pushed you up the bed, this time he was the one hovering over you, lips drawing eager mewls from you. You pressed your hips into his unclothed erection and he cursed, a grimace crossing his face that you knew was from him restraining himself. “Can I take these off?” He asked, fingers pulling at your underwear.

“Please,” you replied and that made him smile at you. He peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Then he brushed a finger over your slit and you gasped, cool touch sending waves of pleasure through you. “Need you.” The two words made his head snap up from where he was looking at your pussy, eyes connecting with yours.

“I was going to go down on you,” he said, and although the thought was tantalizing, you needed him inside of you.

You shook your head. “Later.”

Harry wasn’t complaining. He grabbed one of the condoms from his desk and ripped it open, rolling it down his dick with a concentrated gaze. Then, he crawled up your body, reconnecting your lips, and you both sighed at the feeling of his dick rolling against your center. “Okay?” He asked, pulling away just a hair to check in.

“Please,” you begged, and that had him moving immediately.

He tugged one of your legs around his waist, and then he gripped his dick, brushing his tip to your slit once, twice, three times. On the third time, though, he pressed in, and your wetness accepted him immediately, allowing him to push in about halfway before he stopped.

It burned a bit—mainly just from his size, which was bigger than most other guys you’d been with. You hands scrambled across his chest, grabbing at his skin, struggling to get your breathing under control. “You’re big,” you said, unable to stop the words that fell from your lips.

A cocky smile drifted over his face and you mentally kicked yourself for adding to his ego. “Can I move?” He asked though and you nodded. His head bobbed down, and you realized he was watching where you two were connected as he pulled back and then pushed in all the way. A choked moan left your mouth and a similar one sounded from Harry’s, although his had a string of curses attached. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped, hands adjusting so they were next to your head, his face above yours. “Fuck.”

You were about to tell him to move when he did it on his own accord, pulling out and back into you, the impact making your body shift on the comforter. There was a very real possibility of you having sore legs tomorrow, but you really didn’t give a fuck because he felt so good. “Holy shit,” you babbled, those words the only ones you could find as he thrusted in and out of you, finding a rhythm that made you both pant with pleasure.

Sounds drifted out of you without you even realizing, something that always happened when you had drunk sex. You couldn’t control yourself as much, unable to process how loud you were being, what you were saying. Looking back you couldn’t even remember exactly what you had said, but you knew it was a mess of curses and his name and God and just pants and mewls that were feeding Harry like a fucking three course meal.

He loved your sounds, used them to figure out what you liked, where to move and shift. You could tell because when you’d let out a sharp gasp he’d say, “Yeah, there? That’s the spot?” and drive in and out of you, hitting your g-spot perfectly with every move of his hips. Your hands were clutching at his hair as he thrusted into you, your ankles hooked around his lower back, and your body was desperate for release.

But you could also tell he was not going to last. His eyes were heavy, eyelids drawing shut with pleasure, fingers curling in the pillow next to you. Shoulders tensing and abdomen tight as he swiveled his hips, a broken moan falling between you. “Close,” he finally said, and dropped down to his elbows, so his face hovered above yours, only a hair away. “You feel so good, shit, oh my god—how do you feel so good?” His words were broken and that made them even better, that he had no control over what he was saying.

“Want you to come,” you babbled, “want to feel it, come on Harry, come for me, please, I need it.”

“Holy fuck—“ that had him snapping into you, hips slapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin overpowering the music that still played in the background. You gripped his shoulders when his head hung in the crook of your shoulder, and you knew he was about to come.

So you said one more thing. “I need you to come, Harry, please.” The words came out as a beg, exactly as you intended. His hips were stuttering immediately, curses falling between you like a broken record, repeating over and over again as he shot into the condom. He smattered kisses on your shoulder as he collapsed into you, sweat sticking to your skin.

He laid there for a second, panting, and you didn’t mind, even though you desperately needed to come. Perhaps it was how you clamped down on him, or you shifted your hips to feel slightly more of him, but Harry seemed to figure out what you needed. He lifted his head, took one look at you, and then pulled out, ripping off the condom and tossing it into his trash before crawling down your legs.

When his tongue licked your slit, you mewled his name, your hands moving into his hair immediately. You tugged and pulled on it as he licked over you, drawing circles that pulled desire from your flesh. And then he went inside, darting his deftly skilled tongue into you and practically thrusting it into you. His thumb brushed across your nub and you let our a shuddering moan, bucking up into his face. You were close—insanely close—the combination of his tongue inside of you and the thumb on your nub drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Harry,” you rasped, voice broken from panting. “I’m close.”

He seemed double his effort, tongue moving in and out of you at double time, his thumb brushing a brutal pace over you. You were twisting in his arms, hips bucking, curses leaving your lips. And when he pulled his thumb away and sucked on your clit, that’s when you came, in a mess of his name and broken gasps, choking on air. Your fingers curled tightly in his hair, anchoring his face to your center as you came, bucking up into him. He didn’t mind though, he just held your hips and took it, licking at you to draw out all of your aftershocks. Your eyes squeezed shut and your mind was a mess, swirling without the ability to grasp onto a single thread of thought, just a mess under his lips.

When you finally regained the ability to breathe, you pulled your hands from his hair and he sat up. You watched in awe as he licked his lips, gathering your juice, and swallowed them, a smile on his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really good at that?”

He gave you a cocky expression and then flopped down next to you. “They have, in fact.”

“Good. I’d be concerned about the other girls if they hadn’t.”

He laughed, and then pulled you into his body. You were surprised at his desire to cuddle, but you weren’t mad. “You can stay if you want. There’s people downstairs still and it’s cold out.”

You propped your head up on his shoulder. “There’s also all those condoms.”

“That’s true. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

You trailed your fingers up his torso. “Might have to just stay the whole weekend if we’re trying to use them all.”

His eyebrows quirked, but he wasn’t mad at the prospect. “Wanna be my study break for the weekend?”

You smirked, leaning up to quickly peck his lips. “As long as you’re mine.”

He hauled your body on top of his and curled his fingers into your hair. “We’ll get your shit in the morning, then.”

“It’s a deal.” You kissed him, lips slotting against one another, slower and less hurried than before, but that same undercurrent of desire stringing between you two. You were already grinding into him, hips brushing over his as you moved.

Suddenly, a pounding sound came from the door, and you froze. “Fuck off!” Harry called, pulling the comforter that had ended up at the bottom of the bed over the two of you.

“Fuck—sorry—I need a condom, man.” The words were muffled, but you heard them all the same.

Harry snorted, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ask Nick,” he replied, “and leave me the fuck alone.” His hands grabbed at you, kneading into your ass, and you licked at his nipple.

It was going to be a long weekend.

SEND ME CONCEPTS ABOUT Y/N AND HARRY!

[teawaffles]

The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 2

“Oh my…… I thought this would be nothing more than a war game, but it’s certainly more nerve-wracking than I expected.”

The participants had taken their places, and around five minutes had passed since the game began. Kevin was whispering to Albert beside him as they walked, while pointing the gun he’d received in every direction around him. But in contrast to the jittery man, Albert had the relaxed air of a soldier.

“Certainly, this is a feeling of tension one wouldn’t normally get to experience. In fact, the enemy might just be around that corner.”

“What!? Really?”

Panicked, Kevin’s eyes darted all around them in a fluster. That disproportionate reaction elicited a wry laugh from Albert.

“Although it’s important to be aware of your surroundings, if you’re that stiff, your movements will be slow when it’s time to fight. Please relax a little.”

“I-I see. Yes, you’re right……”

Kevin nodded. Beside him, Albert’s guard was impeccable as he watched the leaves swaying in the slight breeze.

The playing field encompassed the entire forest. That said, as it wasn’t a vast area, there was no danger of getting lost. In addition, there was a little cabin in the woods, used on a daily basis by the gamekeeper who managed the hunting grounds; as they had obtained permission to use it during the game, indoor battles were also an option.

For the purposes of safety, all players were obliged to wear spectacles shaped to resemble goggles, as well as bulletproof vests. The guns they had been issued fell into two categories: revolvers and sniper rifles. As a forfeit, and also to pass the time, eliminated players were tasked to feed pheasant chicks at a game bird nursery a good distance away.

Incidentally, Herder had also wanted to impose a severe punishment in the event a gun was damaged. Foreseeing that this would create needless worry, Moran and the others had swiftly hushed him before the words left his mouth.

Thinking back to the explanation of the rules, Kevin looked at the revolver in his hand.

“In any case, this gun is exquisitely crafted. As it was mentioned earlier that the guns used fake bullets, I imagined it would resemble a toy, but it looks exactly like the real thing.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, though it’s all due to Herder’s exceptional skill. I heard he oversaw the creation of these weapons down to the finest details.”

Kevin looked at the card attached to his gun with string. Written on it was a number 8.

“I see: so this is a measure to prevent the guns from getting lost. But if they are so important, I thought it would be safer to carve the numbers directly onto them.”

“You may be right; in which case, we may’ve caused everyone some inconvenience.”

Albert said that with a slightly apologetic tone, and Kevin waved it off.

“No, no — if anything, it reflects his passion, and I honestly respect that. Even though I work in a different field, I have a lot to learn from him as a professional.”

“Thank you very much. I’m sure Herder would be delighted to hear that,” Albert replied, with sincere joy.

However, in an instant, Kevin’s expression seemed to grow a little darker.

“Still, maybe I shouldn’t have brought Helena here after all. She absolutely insisted on coming, so I relented, but with the guns looking so real, that…… I wonder if it’ll remind her of that incident.”

Albert could sense what he was trying to say.

“For that, I sincerely apologise. This event must seem somewhat inappropriate after what she went through.”

Hearing Albert take his remark so seriously, Kevin tried to explain himself in a fluster.

“N-No, it’s alright, I did not mean it as criticism. Besides, Helena seemed to be especially enjoying herself too.”

“Nonetheless, please allow me to apologise, for it may be the case that she’s simply putting up a strong front.”

At that, Kevin cocked his head in confusion.

“……Then, why did you decide to hold this game?”

Albert’s reply sounded almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“——Because it’s part of our ‘plan’.”

“Huh?”

Unsure of the meaning behind that word, the question fell from his lips before he could stop himself. But Albert did not elaborate further.

The conversation had unwittingly ground to a halt. Just as Kevin was searching for a different topic to talk about, Albert’s sharp gaze landed on a nearby thicket.

“There’s someone there.”

“Huh? Really?”

Bewildered, Kevin looked in the same direction. Then they heard the sound of leaves rustling, and the undergrowth parted to reveal an elderly nobleman.

Seeing the person before them, Albert lowered his gun. A warm smile rose to his face.

“……So it was you, Lord Andy. I thought you were the enemy.” [1]

“Hello, Albert-kun. Just for fun, I thought I’d hide and see how long it took you both to spot me, but it seems you discovered me instantly. As expected of the young, your perceptiveness is incredibly sharp,” he laughed, ruffling his own short white hair. He was also on the same team as Albert and Kevin.

The elderly nobleman was Andy Krueger, whose estate extended across the surrounding lands; he also owned the hunting grounds on which the game was being held. Today’s game had been brought into reality after Albert proposed the idea to him.

For such an important gathering on the social calendar, one would normally be hesitant to transform it into an unorthodox event like this. But Andy had jumped at the offer, and even offered his opinions on the finer points of the game. Because of this generous and broad-minded nature of his, he also had the trust of the other nobles.

At the man’s arrival, for some reason, Kevin sighed in relief.

“Please don’t surprise me like that — unlike Lord Albert, I was frightened half to death.”

“Sorry about that, Kevin-kun. But aren’t you being too timid? Have a little more nerve!”

“I’ll do my best.”

At their friendly banter, Albert seemed curious.

“Are both of you already acquainted?”

“Yes,” Kevin affirmed. “We got to know each other when Helena’s father and I were gaining recognition in London. Ever since that time, the nobility had not looked fondly upon us, and only Lord Andy treated us as equals.”

Kevin looked gratefully at the nobleman as he said this, and Andy clapped his shoulder heartily.

“Those aristocrats are really quite averse to the changing times, it seems. But I have no interest in such dreadful traditions. Even at the gathering earlier, they were keeping their distance and saying such rude things that I had to tell them off. Although I hadn’t seen them in a while, because of that, I didn’t even get a chance to say hello— Ah, apologies.”

“No, it’s fine, Lord Andy. You don’t have to apologise,” Kevin said, waving both hands in the air. “Rather, after hearing that you went to such lengths for a good-for-nothing like me, I’m truly grateful.”

“What’s this? Timid as ever, I see,” Andy barked. “You’re an excellent businessman, so why not act like it?”

Then the elderly nobleman’s expression, which had been cheerful thus far, clouded over just a little.

“Nevertheless, I still feel sorry for your friend. At least, his daughter Helena seems to be doing well…… Have there been no clues even now?”

Kevin’s tone also grew heavy.

“……None at all. Helena believes he’s alive, but personally, I think he’s no longer……”

“He’d suddenly vanished, didn’t he?”

Out of the blue, Albert cut in. The two men were startled, but Albert continued with a somewhat knowing look.

“After the incident at the department store, I became curious, and tried doing some research into it myself. It seems there are various peculiarities about this case. For one, the store Helena’s father opened with Mr Kevin had been a success, but one day, he simply disappeared without warning. On the night he was thought to have disappeared, when he was having dinner at home, a friend testified that nothing had seemed particularly off about him.”

“Moreover, that was the last time I saw him. I never thought it would be the last conversation we’d have together……”

Kevin — the friend who’d testified — said so in a thin voice, the corners of his mouth twitching as if in self-mockery.

“Of course, at first, the police suspected that I had something to do with it. They even went to the trouble of thinking up a motive: that as a co-owner, I would stand to gain all the store’s profits if he were to disappear.”

Thinking back to that false accusation, Kevin’s shoulders drooped. Seeing that, Andy addressed him in a droll voice.

“Come now, you never know — one day he might just come home all of a sudden. I’ve told you before: there’s nothing we can do at present, and on top of that, worrying unnecessarily will only injure your health.”

“……You’re right. Besides, we’re supposed to be having fun right now: if I’m the only one being so grave, I’ll just be putting a damper on things.”

“Exactly, exactly. Well then, let’s get back to the game,” Andy urged, thumping him on the back.

Albert, who had been watching their exchange with a calm gaze, smiled gently.

“Indeed; let us focus on the competition first. By the way, it’s about time for us to get our blood pumping…… I’d like to advance deeper into enemy territory. What say you two?”

At his invitation, Kevin quickly shook his head.

“No no no! Frankly, since the start of the game, my heart’s felt like it’s about to explode! Anything more than this and it’ll stop altogether!”

But the elderly nobleman threw his head back in hearty laughter.

“You young people have so much energy, it’s making me jealous. Kevin-kun, you’ve got to watch and learn as well.”

“No…… When I think about what lies ahead, somehow my legs can’t stop shaking,” Kevin murmured weakly. His legs were indeed trembling pitifully, so much so it wouldn’t be surprising for them to give out any moment now.

Andy sighed, as if astonished.

“It can’t be helped then. Sorry, Albert-kun — it seems he can’t go on. I’d like to say that I’ll go with you in his stead, but…… for some reason, my legs have been hurting for a while now. Despite my high spirits, my years have bested me today,” he laughed wryly, his expression weak.

Albert nodded firmly.

“I understand. Well then, let’s part ways here. I wish you both the best of luck.”

“T-Take care……”

Watching Albert’s brave figure as he walked gallantly into the depths of the forest, Kevin felt ashamed at his own cowardice once again.

Scoreboard

🔹 Blue team: Albert, Jack, Fred, William, Kevin, Andy

🔺 Red team: Moran, Bond, Louis, Helena

Footnotes:

[1] Andy’s title is not formally given in the story, but judging from the amount of land he owns, I think it’s safe to say that he’s a member of the peerage like Albert, and hence should be addressed as “Lord Andy”. (Wikipedia)