#does no one write for zac efron?

[ceoofdisappointment]

does anyone write for zac efron x reader/you ???

I legit can't find anything on here or ao3

[assembledpress]

The Iron Claw: *arguably* 2023's most brutal (and re-watchable) film

Whether you like wrestling or know nothing about it, The Iron Claw is for you. Need me to prove it to you? Here are my 2 reasons:

1. Zac Efron

2. Jeremy Allen White

If reason 1 peaked your interest, that means you like hot muscular men doing hot muscular things (valid), and if 2 was what convinced you, you've already proved you like to watch things with complicated messy and devastating family relationships with a hint of depression. You're welcome!

The Iron Claw, for those unaware, follows the true story of the Von Erich family, a famous wrestling family that supposedly carried a curse after a series of extraordinarily tragic events occurred.

If you know nothing about this story, I won't spoil it for you, especially when the best education on it comes from this film. Not only do you of course witness the lives of each Von Erich brother, but you get wrestling explained to you via a conversation between Zac Efron and Lily James, who really does play the ultimate girl next door turned strong supportive wife so well here.

At its core, this film is about family, and more specifically, about siblings. When you really think about it, siblings have such unique relationships, seeing as they are raised often in the same environment, yet can branch into such individual and vastly different people. But that bond, whether it be a product of nature or nuture, good or bad, sticks with siblings their entire lives. In that way, this film does an excellent job exploring the feeling of protection you feel over a younger sibling as well as the indescribable pain of not being able to provide that protection when a sibling starts on their own independent life path.

It's an emotional watch and one that at times had me speechless at the way this family operated for unfortunately too long. Shrödinger's guns correlated to each tragedy are laced through the film, making this true story feel like a perfectly crafted fiction; there are so many signs pointing to what will go wrong, it doesn't feel like a real human being wouldn't spot them. Along with the writing, where some single lines burn themselves into your brain due to the strength of your weeping, the film proves itself an outstanding tragedy crafted under the "based on a true story" sports film banner.

And I'd be amiss to not go back to my reason 1 and reason 2 of why to watch this film: the incredible actors and their stellar performances. While I think Efron really takes the cake here as the lead of the film, Allen White is excellent, as are Harris Dickinson and Stanley Simons as the other Von Erich brothers. And of course, there's the spectacular Holt McCallany as the Von Erich partiarch. Their performances really deliver the dramatic and emotional impact of the film, and I can't stress enough how their portrayal of a family wrecked is something to behold.

It's so good, you may have to watch it twice, just to fully feel The Iron Claw's one-two punch (this is a boxing joke being made by a film nerd to make it seem like I know about wrestling; clearly, I do not).

[thedramaticgazette]

I saw the first ever preview of Great Gatsby on Broadway. Here are my (pretty negative) thoughts.

Before I begin, I am just writing this for fun. This is not serious, and it's all my own opinion. We're all entitled to our own. I go on tangents as well so know this is more than a review. If you'd like to read more reviews, I try to upload once a week. ALSO THERE ARE SPOILERS IN THIS REVIEW.

On Friday, March 29th, 2024 I went to see The Great Gatsby on Broadway. It was their first preview, first time ever on a Broadway stage with a paying audience. My friend and I went, bought tickets the moment they went on sale. We sat back orchestra, not to the wall but close. Despite it's hype...it was a tad underwhelming.

_________________________________________________

Let's discuss the Headliners.

The show is commercialized as "Featuring Jeremy Jordan and Eva Noblezada" which I understand is to rake in revenue necessary to keep the show running, but I hate when shows do that. I feel like it takes away from the work and talent of everyone else involved in the cast. Jeremy Jordan is a Broadway phenomenon, almost everyone knows his name. He is best known for his role as Jack Kelly in Newsies, but has since then gone on to do a ton of projects and concerts including the Greatest Showman's workshop, where he so famously discusses at a concert of his how he lost the role to Zac Efron. He's been in Little Shop Off-Broadway, which I had the pleasure of seeing him in and will definitely post a review of because it was a breathtaking performance from everyone involved but - I digress. My point is that everyone loves Jeremy Jordan. He is placed on this pedestal above everyone else, a renowned Broadway actor. He plays the leading man, Jay Gatsby, who has been in love with one Daisy Fay, now Daisy Buchanan, since they met years before when he was about to leave for war. Daisy is played by Eva Noblezada, a Broadway superstar best known for her role as Euridyce in Hadestown, or as superfans know her, as Kim in Miss Saigon. I had the pleasure of meeting both, Eva as she snuck out of a different stage door as the mob at the actual stage door was panic attack inducing, where she thanked us for coming and we chatted for a few. I met Jeremy after a Little Shop performance back in August, and he was one of the douchiest men I have ever met in my life.

And let me preface this all by saying that I cannot imagine how annoying it must be to feel like you have to be "on" all the time for people. Like you're an enigma people just want to look at, and all. I don't know a thing about showbiz. I do know, however, that it isn't too hard to be kind.

I cannot imagine how annoying it is to stage door all the time - to have so much privacy ripped away when you are as renowned as you are in the theater world - a world that so famously does not understand boundaries. But would it fucking KILL YOU to be the teensiest bit kind? Jordan threw my pen back at me after we met, barely signing my playbill. It looked like a chore to be out there, and there were only about 20 of us waiting at stage door that day. I assume, and this is coming from someone who knows next to nothing, that he doesn't HAVE to do stage door. If I'm wrong, ignore everything above. But if it's his choice, then don't fucking come out! I'd rather not meet someone if they're going to be rude than meet someone who makes me feel like it's annoying that I'm there.

All that being said, Jeremy's voice is no doubt superb. It's soft but passionate and I could listen to it for hours. He does, however, lack any wow factor when it comes to acting this role. He is able to reach in and become the character when he sings, but during speaking scenes I felt like I was watching a bad high schooler. Also, here's a game you can play if you go to see it. TAKE A FUCKING SHOT every time Jeremy Jordan says the term "Old Sport" in the show. You'll have alcohol poisoning by the end of it. I understand we wanted accuracy from the book and that that phrase has a lot of meaning for Gatsby's character but MAN the way Jordan says it made me want to swallow a pair of jorts or something.

Noblezada has a voice clearer than the seas in the Caribbean. It cuts like glass. She is an incredible performer, every note looks and sounds effortless. She did, in my opinion (and who the fuck am i, really) act Daisy much like she did Eurydice though. Her performance is lovely, per usual at the center of it all.

The letdowns.

Woof. First I'll start with Paul Whitty. Good fucking lord. What the hell??? How was he the choice for George Wilson. His voice wasn't as bad as someone else's who I'll discuss further down, but I mean. No one else? Really? Is no one searching in the casting calls that 200 people are in line for almost every week? His songs were lackluster and felt like an afterthought, space that needed filling. Second, I'm a huge fan of Eric Anderson, I saw him many times in the 394790173493 times I've gone to see Moulin Rouge on Broadway, and he was fantastic every time (per my review you can find on my page.) However, his performance as Meyer Wolfsheim was...boring to say the least. His character, granted, has very little stage time and only one big number, which opens Act II and while the choreo was very flashy, it wasn't anything like the Bad Romance x Toxic opening of Act II that Moulin Rouge has. Third, I think John Zdrojeski was the most confusing choice to play Tom Buchanan, Daisy's abusive, cheating husband. He's pretty nice to look at, sure. But his voice? Jesus Christmas they couldn't find ANYONE else?!?!!? Maybe it's because he had five singing lines total that I couldn't get a better feel of his voice, or maybe that choice was made on purpose because they knew Zdrojeski was gonna play him but his voice sucks so much. SO SO much. His vibrato sounded forced and the melody sounded off, it felt like they put him on stage just because he was a pretty good actor and had abs.

There were a few mishaps in terms of head pieces falling off - which I got the pleasure of hearing about from the costume people who sat behind me and discussed notes during intermission and many of the dresses looked quite baggy on the dancers, but otherwise it seemed pretty accurate.

The best parts.

My favorite, by far, was Samantha Pauly as Jordan Baker. She is the standout for me, capturing Jordan's essence perfectly. Spunky, doesn't give a fuck and a girl's girl. The costume choices for Jordan's character were done exquisitely as well, and Pauly's voice was show stopping. Noah J. Ricketts as Nick Carraway was another showstopper. Not only is he nice to look at, he's nice to listen to. His voice is smooth like butta, his acting is great and I loved the back and forth he and Pauly's characters had. The set was a wow factor for sure - if this is nominated for any Tony's (I'll be as surprised as Gatsby when Daisy turns him down if there aren't) the set should surely win. Created by Paul Tate dePoo III, the set glides on and off, the projections work seamlessly and overall I was in awe of the glitter and gold of it all. Platforms erupt from the floor in a nonchalant way, as if to say "we had all the money in the world for this show." The choreo, was also one of the best things to watch. Choreographed by the well-rounded and talented Dominique Kelley, the choreo captures the era of this show (NYC 1922) well. I loved her choice for a tap number as much as I enjoyed the acrobatic-esque moves she made for the stellar, electric ensemble. All toes were pointed, all legs were extended, and it's clear, or it translated to the audience, that that was a part of the show everyone was confident in.

Sara Chase, who plays Myrtle Wilson deserved so much more stage time. What a fucking voice. Her energy, her lack of empathy for anyone but herself, I mean shit. She was so good. They didn't do her justice, but then again I forgot the Wilson's were even a part of the book until I saw the show again. Two of the dresses she wore (one being a very impressive on stage quick change where a literal rolling clothing hanger like the ones in malls rolls in front of her and when its past her shes in an entirely new dress) looked very baggy and her character's wig was god awful, looking like it was plucked out of an amazon package 10 minutes before curtain. But she was impressive regardless.

The music was pretty entertaining, written by Jason Howland with lyrics by Nathan Tysen. The songs "New Money," "The Met" and Gatsby's ballad "Past is Catching Up to Me" were star songs and have been stuck in my head for days. The ending of Act I "My Green Light" which has been teased on all of GG's social media accounts was as good as it sounded. There is no doubt that Jordan and Noblezada will go down in history as two of the most impressive singers on Broadway.

If you have the chance to see it, I think you should. Not for more than, like $150 with the way ticket prices are but it's definitely worth the music, set and Samantha Pauly.

Best part though? Every seat was given a mini copy of the book. My seat, however, apparently had the only signed copy of the book in the theater. So, thats pretty fucking sick.

Until next show,

Dramatic Gazzette

[sheltershock]

Sashamilla version of Rewrite the Stars.

This is my thought today. (Actually not really I’ve had it for months, today is the day I finally write it down.)

However, Milla is in Zac Efron’s role and Sasha’s is in Zendaya’s. It just fits their personalities and worldviews way better. Milla is the idealistic dreamer who’s accomplished and overcome so much she’s convinced she can do pretty much everything. Because she can but that’s besides the point. She’s also in tune with her own and other’s emotions to be able to actually call out the present feelings(“you know I want you / it’s not a secret I try to hide / I know you want me”).

Meanwhile Sasha is the more negative centered side of the argument voiced by Zendaya. Both the negativity charged powers and literally being down to earth compared to Milla play into it. Also crucially is that this is the side of the argument that fate is real and cannot be changed(“no one can rewrite the stars / how can you say that you’ll be mine?”). While there’s no definitive proof in the games that Sasha thinks fate is absolute, he does have a line in RoR that might believe in destiny, but also would not actively attempt to change it, “Who am I to stand in the way of our destiny, even if that destiny is our destruction?” Plus there’s the stars/galaxy/space/aliens special interest so yeah Stars. Sasha stands pretty firmly on the side of order to the point that chaos is hard to function for him so the idea of rewriting the stars/constellations, even if possible, could also get some derision from him.

And then there’s the idea of the song to begin with, that our leads are separated by something insurmountable. The in text scenario from the musical can apply to sashamilla since they’re also an interracial couple. But racism is depressing, so there’s some alternative factors that can be used. There’s the idea that because they’re opposites that they’re simply too different from each other. They’re “doomed to break” if you will. Or a more psychological reason could be played that the reason they can’t be together is because their past trauma of suddenly losing a loved one prevents them from truly loving another person again. Of course with this context, it would mean that Milla is ready to try to love someone else again, and Sasha isn’t, which is believable. I personally think that although romantic relationships shouldn’t really define characters, I do think that Sasha/Milla is the other’s happy ending by being able to love another person again especially when they’re both in such a dangerous field. They’re both likely to die suddenly, but they both decide that love/being loved is worth the possible reoccurring pain and that’s their happy ending by choosing to be happy with each other.

Additionally the verses “because we’re able to be / just you and me within these walls / but when we go outside / you’re gonna wake up and see / that it was hopeless after all” can be whatever you interpreted above. “Within these walls” can refer to their own minds/privacy where they can be fine by themselves but not in public aka “outside.” Or it can refer to the Psychonauts as a sanctuary that they can be psychics or basically share parts that can’t be comfortably shown to the rest of the world “outside.” I really like these verses in relation to the ship, good opportunity for storytelling.

Now if this was an animatic, I’d suggest that the visuals take place inside their minds. With Milla’s levitation a similar thing can be done with the trapeze art(?) from the original musical. But the entire time it’s abundantly clear visually how the other sticks out in the opposing mind. I think it would be cool if they were chasing each other. So it starts out in Milla’s mind, and she’s just singing her heart out but she’s just too good at levitating and Sasha cannot keep up with her. They both have points of just barely being close enough but momentum is just a bit stronger, fate’s just a little bit stronger.

And then during the transition where it would be Sasha’s turn to sing, he’s given up on trying to keep up and just leaves back to his own mind. Milla obviously follows after, she’s chasing now. But despite his mind being a large cube with tons of empty space the entire time it’s unfolding and refolding back as both for Sasha to move around and Milla to stumble over her own obstacles. I also want the idea of the appearing/disappearing trapdoor from PN1 to be an element during where Sasha keeps suddenly disappearing through spaces that you wouldn’t immediately identify as doors. It would also coincide with the verse “and there are some doors that we can’t walk through” emphasis on the we specifically(because I like literalism). Milla’s good with levitation but with what’s effectively teleportation she’s struggling to keep up.

Of course the repeated line of “(what if we/no one can) rewrite the stars” is accompanied but different but similar visuals depending on the mind. Milla’s has spinning lights from the disco balls, and the geometric/math like designs in the sky in Sasha’s that I interpreted as constellations is of course, the stars.

Also the line “I want to fly with you / I want to fall with you.” I have no thoughts. It’s just them, I don’t really have to explain that. I’m just pointing it out.

The final part of the song where both voices come in for an overlapping duet would be cool if the aesthetics of both of their minds somehow combined. I don’t know how. It might even be a nightmare to design, but it would be interesting and like a blending of their ideas and persons into this new destiny they’ve created. But nonetheless it should look beautiful. They’re finally in sync, being able to fly and fall together.

I just think the song fits them and their personalities. And there’s the irony that I’m pretty sure they were, in reality, designed for each other. That they “were the one they were might to find” so, cute, obviously. So, yeah, my thoughts on a song and a ship.

[progmanx]

Hi. I also love your fic very much. Please write more ๑(◕‿◕)๑ In response to that earlier ask about Nicole's sexuality, and I very much want to stress that I am not intending to actually argue or anything like that, I think the game kind of implies, intentionally or not, that Nicole just doesn't really think about men like that and didn't before the start of the game, either. She very noticeably excludes herself from the people that care about Zac Efron supposedly being gay, for example, and says she's never liked any guy enough to call him her boyfriend, which really clashes with her openly calling girls hot and very clearly being attracted to both a bunch of the girls and also Principal Lynn and wanting to be in (albeit abusive) relationships with girls. That's not to say that your reasoning doesn't make sense, of course. For what it's worth, what you wrote in regards to Nicole's general thoughts really resonated with my experience as a distinctly unaware and the deeply in denial Lesbian back in high school, and I was also kind of surprised to learn that you weren't directly going for that purely because of how well you captured that feeling. (Also I saw that you just upped the chapter count to 6 so I am currently chewing on my arm and shaking the bars of my enclosure)

THANK YOU SO MUCH! <3

It was gonna be 5 chapters, but, uh, 24k for a finale, with that much to chew on, way too much for any person to process, yeah. Need to split that.

I don't really want to get more into the weeds with this. Well. That's a lie. I love doing that. It's fun! And, yeah, nah, it doesn't read at all like you're trying to argue or anything, I totally get it. It's all good!

Personal experiences are going to greatly influence what we get out of media, and yours clearly did in a meaningful way, and that's awesome. Mine did as well, just in a different way. And probably not in the way you're thinking, lmao.

Nicole is supposed to still read as Nicole, sound like Nicole, be Nicole, first and second and fiftieth priority, regardless of whatever's going on behind the curtain on my end.

If she doesn't, then yours truly has whiffed it BIG. Because the story doesn't work if she isn't Nicole anymore. Which sounds really basic and obvious but, well, it's still true.

Like, she's not gonna suddenly realize at the end of the fic "oh I might maybe sometimes like guys" because that would be so WILDLY OOC for her that I think whoever is standing next to her might ask if she's been brainwashed or something.

The far more important thing to recognize, I think, is that despite 'what I was going for' not lining up with what you thought I was 'doing', it still resonated with you and reminded you of the stuff you went through, and how you felt about all of that.

If you and the anon were both, for the sake of simplicity, similarly surprised by seeing that in the comments section, as the actual writing in the text does not seem to imply nor suggest anything nearly that concrete, well...

That is extremely deliberate. Like I said, Nicole is Nicole. All other elements are tertiary and, in all honesty, all but irrelevant.

I also said, iirc, in that same comment that I personally am not someone who finds labels to be the most helpful, as so much of all of this, in my experience, is so hyper-dependent on the person standing next to you. I know how important they are to others, and if they help you feel more comfortable in your own skin, hey, that's awesome!

For me, for nearly every character and story I write, with very few exceptions where it is narratively or thematically relevant (or just, like, part of their fundamental character construction like Kate Kane aka Batwoman being a lesbian under DADT, or part of the pre-existing story like Korra and Asami Sato being bi), I just write the characters as who they are and let whatever potential audience I may or may not have sort it out.

That is to say: no one is ever straight, and 90% are bi/pan, because if I do my job right, and just write the people as they are, nobody will ever even know something is 'different' since sometimes it's just not the central focal point of a character.

With Nicole, you can absolutely make the case that, yeah, this is an example where it really would be. She's seventeen, all of this other shit is swirling around---I get it, I really do. I'm not even trying to say I'm right, because I don't think I am lmao.

This just what made the most sense to me, internally, behind the curtain, deep into a google doc nearing 250 pages and 85k words (it was supposed to be 30k and 3 chapters) over the course of 34 days.

I just approached this from a different angle, one that is more focused on depression and anxiety and PTSD, than necessarily sexuality. Not to discount that approach, far from it, but for the story I wanted to tell, hammering home in explicit terms that Nicole is Gayest Gay Who Ever Gayed felt like it would be somewhat distracting from what I'm going for.

Hopefully that elaborated, and thank you so much for reading, and for being so cool about reaching out! :D

[midnightsaboteur]

BOXED MUSES - January 2023 Update

What are ‘Boxed Muses’ on this blog?

Boxed muses are characters I’ve written in the past who are not currently part of my active, open roster.

They can have this status for several reasons, such as them not having had any active threads in a while, or because I currently lack a writing muse for them.

Hence, they are 'in the box' rather than dropped outright.

What does this mean for characters on the list?

Firstly, I’m always very happy to take any character 'out of the box' at any time if you want to write with them! This applies whether you've written with them before, or if you want a new ship!

These characters are not available generally or publicly for 'open use' but they are available on request.

To this end, I'm also happy to do private threads on Discord with any muse from this list, or do 'one-off' threads with them at any time.

I may reblog inspo/pictures for these boxed muses whilst in the box, and they may come out of the box if I find a strong muse for them again.

The ‘boxed’ muses are:

Colt Adams - 31, heterosexual, mechanic, Austin Butler

Abel Archer - 33, heterosexual, vice detective, Stephen James

Lysander Atwood - 26, bisexual, actor, Nico Greetham

James Bond - 39, heterosexual, 00 agent, Various

Xander Coeman - 28, heterosexual, app developer, Danny Griffin

Georgia Covington - 29, pansexual, lawyer, Florence Pugh

Ramon Delgado - 45, pansexual, private detective, Edgar Ramirez

Silas Fitzgerald - 41, pansexual, cabal leader, Ben Barnes

Troy Hamilton - 35, bisexual, vineyard owner, Drew van Acker

Atticus Harding - 31, pansexual, bartender, Nico Tortorella

Holden James - 43, heterosexual, academic, Dave Annable

Oberon King - 29, pansexual, homicide detective, Will Poulter

Othello King - 39, bisexual, archaeologist, Wilson Bethel

Romeo King - 35, heterosexual, con artist, Aaron Tveit 

Myles Kinnaman - 31, pansexual, tattoo artist, Machine Gun Kelly

Nicholas Langston - 37, heterosexual, politician, Daniel Sharman

Dana Lockridge - 34, bisexual, DEA agent, Phoebe Tonkin

Antony Lockwood - 38, heterosexual, police inspector, Ed Skrein

Callum Macfarlane - 42, heterosexual, British PM, Sam Heughan

Jayson Masters - 29, bisexual, trainer/fighter, Gavin Leatherwood

Domenico Palance - 28, pansexual, Italian mob heir, Cody Christian

Raymond Palance - 52, heterosexual, Italian mob boss, Joe Manganiello

Reggie Prentice - 32, homosexual, escort, Daniel Sharman

Brody Reynolds - 32, bisexual, personal trainer, Zac Efron

Oliver Reynolds - 29, heterosexual, FBI agent, Ben Hardy

Avery Russo - 24, pansexual, busker, Shawn Mendes

Rocky Sheehan - 32, pansexual, pastry chef, Jeremy Allen White

Axel Thiel - 28, homosexual, footballer, Matthew Noszka

Dino Varga - 28, bisexual, footballer, Billy Magnussen

Grey Winstanley - 34, heterosexual, lawyer, Theo James

OTHER, OLDER MUSES

I also have muses who I’ve previously written and have dropped. Again, this is either due to a combination of not having a writing muse for them and/or no active threads.

If you previously wrote with a muse who doesn’t appear on either my muses page or the boxed list above, and you’d like to write with them again, please let me know, and I’d be happy to bring them back!

[benkeibear]

Ah yes prince Aemond targaryan... The very real prince of the very real dynasty....

You know Luma I was very disappointed when you said you loved him, especially after all the crimes he committed. Yes he has a high meowmeow potential but since he's a real person we shouldn't glorify him, especially considering the fact that if he wasn't royalty he'd be a publicly known serial killer/j

In all seriousness when I read that ask I was like 'omg Luma wrote a one shot for Zac efron?' because i couldnt for the life of me think of a blond twink actor..... I'm pretty sure Ewan Mitchell is a brunette with bleached hair 😭 but yeah never write fics for real people, it's dehumanising.

Man if he would be real I would be on the HUNT 😭

I mean I think it's about Aemond given this ask came shortly after last time I talked about him on dash which is what has me giggling.

But yeah... I'd help my man hide bodies, I'll tell you 🫣 but he just wants some love and to have his haired played with so that's what I'll go do now given he is very real and does exist according to anon so I guess I'll see you soon?? Aemond Targaryen watch out you will get SPOILED ROTTEN!!

I'm pretty sure Ewan Mitchell is a cool dude - he's a great actor for sure - but I don't know him so I won't/ can't speak about that. So Mr. Mitchell if you're reading this I adore the characters you portrayed, stay cool ✌️

Also talking bleach - I do crave to bleach hair again so if anyone wants to come over please do. I'm a certified hair colorist with experience in a salon for 13 months

[bisluthq]

Since you seem to be pretty confident in certain Taylor hookups having happened despite them not being generally excepted *cough* Tatty 1.0 *cough* how do you determine which sources to believe and which ones not too?

I don't have a hard and fast rule but generally several things have to work: there have to be some media articles about it, ideally there should be organic sightings of them, the timing has to make some kind of sense, friends need to have mentioned something, and they need to not really be friends anymore/never really have been friends.

So for instance I believe she hooked up with Evan Spiegel because it was reported she went to the Snapchat holiday party as his date. She wasn't really dating anyone at the time and Evan was considering investing in BMR. We know Evan likes model types, which Tay is. An expose of Evan mentioned the relationship, complete with Evan offering for her to write a song about him and her replying FUCK YOU EVAN. They are clearly not friends. I don't think it was especially deep or went on for very long but it's also not like some insane ass theory.

Also like Garrett and Taylor - both were in Nash around the time of the alleged date/spottings, they were spotted, the timing worked, but clearly they didn't have enough of a vibe. They may never have even gotten to hookup stage because they might've legit just been hanging out, but hang out they did and then they stopped being friends except through Joe who was and is independently friendly with Garrett (at which point they did some stuff with him).

Hozier is another one - they were mad tight for a bit, hung out 1:1, and then seemingly forgot about the other when Taylor went off the market.

I have a bunch more like this where like... reality suggests a hookup happened.

There are also very silly ones like Cory Monteith (I think they were in similar friend circles and Lainie used to think she's using Cory to distract everyone from John which tbh tracks but doesn't suggest they hooked up or were anything more than flirty buds in similar circles), Chord Overstreet (they do appear to have gone on one date but that doesn't make him a hookup, that just makes Taylor's love life over scrutinised and she was not as careful then), Alexander Skarsgard (never spotted together except at group dinners with a bunch of castmates, literally nothing beyond him being hot suggests it), Brenton Thwaites (they were spotted flirting but he had a gf who apparently hated Taylor so while they may have been flirting, unless Brenton cheated, this is unlikely), Eddie Redmayne (who's explicitly explained they were just both auditioning for Les Mis and it was really cool to meet her and stuff but I'm pretty sure he was actually already with Hannah by then and even if he wasn't like it legit sounds like they just had a professional interaction and were very complimentary of one another) and I'm sure others.

And then there are ones we can't know for sure about like Zac Efron where some evidence does suggest they were more than friends - they've mentioned cooking at each other's houses and stuff - but they were also working together so it may have been work wife/work husband vibes so whether you believe that really depends on if you think MIAB would be a cute song about Zac lol.

[bohemianwritings]

Story of a Trap Queen – What is a Trap House Queen

            This post is hard for me to write for some reason but fuck it. If you aren’t familiar with the blog welcome. I give unsolicited advice based on experiences. Let’s call it fiction though. It’s just a blog where I write FICTIONAL stories. ONLY.

             If you want to be a trap queen, you need to think about a few things first. Do you have any experience in that world? The underworld? The afterparties, backstage, after-hours, strip clubs, the drugs. If you don’t know what I am talking about stop reading now. Go back to whatever normal life you live and stay the fuck away from what I am about to share.

 I have been the “queen” of many traps. A trap for people who also don’t know would be a…. never mind. Here is the definition on Urban Dictionary. Do with that what you will even though I don’t think any of those definitions are correct. Being a trap queen isn’t easy. It’s actually super frustrating most of the time. Your schedule isn’t yours. It’s depending on him. And who needs what and when. Sometimes you might go on runs but I would emphasize I’m not a fucking runner. We pay people to do that.

            Traps are an intricate mix of individuals, so you have to be used to being around a lot of different types of people all the time. It’s tough late at night when you have already been up all weekend and just want to be left alone. Turn the music off and fucking go to sleep. Maybe fuck before that.

             Trap queens need to be savvy and know when to talk and when to shut up. I learned this the hard way. It’s important to talk to your person and make sure that your role is defined. This goes across the board. You can’t misspeak in this world. It could cost money. One wrong comment could kill a deal or put you in the spotlight. It’s important to stay quiet but vigilant.

             The mixture of people means you should have an open mind and always be nice. These people might be connected to others. They might be making other moves, so you never know. You can’t be judgmental about what they look like. This is a business just like any other.

             As a trap queen, it’s important to be VERY secure about yourself and your image. There will be other women around your man when you are not around. It’s inevitable. You must make sure that you know where you stand in your relationship. Communication and sharing locations are Band-Aids that help but you have to trust that they will come home to you. So make sure you aren’t bitching at them all night about where they are. That will NOT help anyone. It’s best to occupy yourself but not get fucked up. You are still maintaining a trap. Stay vigilant. But yes, it does require A LOT of patience.

             If you don’t know about a scale or how to weigh shit do some research on the metric system and how it compares to ours. The US system and metric are mixed in this world depending on the product. You need to memorize these conversions. See this clip from Neighbors 2 with Zac Efron describing what I am talking about (go to 43 seconds) . It’s also important to make sure you know the pricing that you are giving people. That way if you are asked you can give an answer and potentially make a sale. That being said, sometimes when you are out you will be responsible for holding the bag. Or watching it. Making sure that is it safe. It’s like another thing to keep track of.

 Speaking of going out. As a trap queen, you always are on point when you go out. But you also must partake in everything. So, it’s very important to be able to maintain in any situation at any time. You also must look like 10/10. Especially if you are moving any weight. They want to see their girl looking like a star and being absolutely unattainable.

            The fact is as a trap queen your nervous system gets used to chaos. Gets used to the life and then craves it over and over. It’s only when you distance yourself from that world that your CNS calms down and you can do normal shit again.

 Trap queens need to always look right and act right. You never know what could happen and what situation you might be put in. I’ve been put in some very tense situations, and I would not recommend it. Always look right, know the latest fashions and be able to pull off any look. Don’t even think about this, just buy the clothes and put them on your body. Even better make him buy them.

 There are some perks to being a trap queen though. Almost unlimited access to cash and drugs. Bottle service whenever you want it. Fancy dinners. Hotel stays. Pool days. Weekends of sex. Usually, it’s better to be available during the week. The weekend is mostly when they run errands, and you hold down the house. It can be lonely yes. There are super highs and then low low lows.

 Get used to loud noises and strange people. Staying up all night on the regular. Having to defend yourself against men hitting on you all the time. Staying classy never sloppy. Unfortunately, in the higher-up circles where we were serving - it was also important to never disclose. Everyone wants product but it’s important to keep those clients private. That means don’t talk about it. Not even here lol.

 As a trap queen, you need to remember these people too. You don’t want to seem like an idiot who can’t remember what they buy and how much. Also, never disclose what you have in stock and if it’s been re-rocked. If you are in the kitchen doing work - you are doing it wrong. That is their recipe and responsibility. Stay off the stove and in fact don’t even get close. Plausible deniability.

 Being in a trap house is just living somewhere that has a revolving door of people. It requires diligence, patience, and observance. It’s important to be noticeable but not loud. Don’t ever discuss business without talking to your man. Never invite people over without approval. You must always be ready to go. It should be effortless. If you don’t know how to do this and it takes hours to get ready you might be SOL. Car services will only wait for so long and I’m not talking about Uber. Get used to black SUVs. Your man might not always be available but his driver is waiting to pick you up and take you to him. Just be ready for that pick-up.

 They are looking for a queen who is going to be dependable. That means you can never be out of place, but you don’t have to be constantly available. Never share what they do. Make something up if you are asked. It’s important to keep him satisfied too at all times. I know this post sounds like you are a complete sub to this trap but it’s true. Because the payout is worth it. Do you want trips overseas? Unlimited cash? Clothes and gifts?

If it’s worth being in the spotlight and worth the risk of being caught (let’s not forget this is all nefarious activity) and dealing with darker individuals in the middle of the night. People who are gone. Fucked up. Girls that hit on your man. Guys that hit on you. Like I said above it’s very frustrating.

 It's a longer post, but it sums up what you should expect when entering a trap queen role with your person.

 Love & glitter,

BW

  P.S. Learn how to operate a firearm.

[goldenbuckyyy]

REWRITE THE STARS

Summary: It’s your last night with the love of your life.

Pairings: Harry Styles x fem!reader

Word count: 2.3kish

Warnings: crying, oral(f!receiving), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, soft sex, basically SMUT!! (Read if you are 18+ only please!!!!), some angst... well lots of angst i think, missed something? Let me know!!!

A/N: Okay so I basically had this idea after I literally just posted my other fic on here and I immediately started writing and thus this happened!!!! I’m actually so happy for this one. I LOVE IT so much. :’) Then I was hearing some songs and “Rewrite the stars” by Zac Efron and Zendaya came out and wow!! Totally made my mind spiral! I hope you guys love this as much as I did!

All mistakes are my own. Please do not repost or translate my fics on any other side nor this one.

I appreciate any likes, reblogs, messages, and interactions!

“You could be happy with me,” he whispers into your mouth as he gently kisses you.

His lips are soft and warm against yours as you pout to get more of him.

Trying to get more of him.

“I could make you happy,” he whispers again as his fingertips run down your arm towards your hip bone.

“Let me,” he whispers as he reaches in for another kiss, an open mouth kiss, as his tongue reaches into your mouth as your moan into him with pleasure.

“Let me,” he whispers as he reaches in for another kiss, an open mouth kiss, as his tongue reaches into your mouth as your moan into him with pleasure.

“Let me,” he whispers as he reaches in for another kiss, an open mouth kiss, as his tongue reaches into your mouth as your moan into him with pleasure.

You try to say something, but he shakes his head to stop you and presses himself more into you as he pulls you around his waist as he adjusts himself on the bed.

You smile into his mouth as you keep kissing him while you wrap your arms around his neck as you feel his hands caressing every inch of your body as if this is the last time he will feel you.

In takes you a moment to realize this might be the last time this happens and it makes your throat dry as you slowly pull away to blink back the sudden tears that you feel forming in your eyes.

You sniffle quickly as you both look at each other as you rest your head on his chest.

“Don’t cry,” he says as he wipes away the one tear that was falling down your cheek.

“I can’t help it,” you whisper back to him as you try to smile, but fail as you pout your lip.

“Let me make you happy and forget,” he says as he reaches up to your mouth with his and you let him.

You’re going to let him do anything to you tonight.

On your last night.

With his lips on yours, you feel whole. You don’t think you will ever feel this way again after tonight.

He pushes himself more into you as you both fight for dominance in the kiss as it gets more heated. His hands wraps around your hair, pulling you down to him, as his hands grip your ass tightly.

You both moan into each other’s mouth as you start moving your hip down into him as he pushes his up to meet you. You both start moving in synch as his tongue swipes across your lower lip to gain entrance as you gladly let him.

You moan deeper as you grind down on him.

Fuck whoever hears you.

He quickly asserts dominance as he switches positions to have you underneath him. His tall, muscular frame hovering over you as he pulls himself away from your lips and starts kissing you from your neck and starts making his way down to your chest.

You clench your thighs as he pulls the strings of your night down to reveal your chest, which is rising up and down as you pant, as he makes his way towards your breasts.

He open mouth kisses each one as he licks each nipple with a gently suck that leaves you breathless with goosebumps rising.

He helps you remove your nightgown without removing his lips from your body. You’re not too sure how he does it, but he does. Your mind is becoming hazy with pleasure as he continues to make his way down your breasts to your navel as he never stops kissing you and leaving tiny bruises.

You know he shouldn’t and he knows it too.

But damn the rules right now.

Your back arches into him as your tights clench hard in pleasure and want.

“Shh, baby. I’ll get there,” he mumbles into your hip as he kisses your bare skin.

Your body feels as if it’s getting burned with each kiss he leaves on your skin, but it feels amazing.

Your hands are tangled in his hair as you throw your head back to revel in the pleasure he is giving you and it isn’t even the best yet.

You whine when you finally feel his hot breath on your core as you weren’t wearing anything underneath your gown. You did it to make him more feral and it works because he is breathing you in and you glance down to see his hips already grinding into the mattress.

You bite your bottom lip as you stare down at him. He’s already shirtless and he looks wrecked with anticipation. He starts leaving open mouth kisses all over you except the area you need it most.

You feel yourself getting wetter and inpatient as you lift your hips up to his mouth as he chuckles.

“Patience,” he whispers as he finally kisses your clit which makes you let out a deep moan as you close your eyes and try to relax into the bed.

He uses one hand to open your slit and the other to push your hips down as he gently licks you starting at the bottom to the top of your core.

You bite your lip as your chest rises up and down and your toes curl with pleasure.

He swirls his tongue as he slides a finger into your warmth, “All this for me.”

“Always yours,” you say as you nod into the pillow. You clench yourself onto his fingers when he adds another into you, he pulls his fingers in and out of your slowly and teasingly as he eats you up.

His fingers fuck you repeatedly as he sucks on your clit as you feel himself continuing to move his hips into the mattress which turns you on even more.

“Baby,” you moan out as you grind his mouth deeper into you as he increases his speed when he notices your stomach clenching and the small cues you do when you are getting close to your release.

You feel the pressure building as he laps his tongue all around your core as his fingers fuck you.

His eyes never left your face as he sucked harder and moved his fingers faster in you when you clenched a tiny bit harder as he knew you would when you finally felt your release taking over you.

You let yourself succumb to the feeling as you scream into the night in pleasure as you throw your head back, you release onto him, as he continues to lick it all as if he is a man who has not eaten in years.

You relax into the bed as he pulls himself up and over you as he sucks on his fingers which makes you blush and laugh at the sight.

“Stop,” you say with a giggle as he kisses your mouth and you reciprocate the kiss.

He stands up quickly as he looks at you for approval. You know what he’s asking for without saying a word and you nod.

He unbuttons his trousers and lets them fall off his long legs as his cock springs free. Finally.

He gets back into bed as you spread your legs wide open for him as he positions himself in between you.

“Are you sure?” He asks as he looks into your eyes.

You nod with a small smile as you stare at the man you love.

The love of your life.

“Make me happy,” you say with a whisper as you reach for his mouth with yours once more.

He nods as he closes the kiss as it becomes feverish again.

He aligns himself without breaking the kiss and you feel himself at your entrance.

You both moan stimutanously into each other as he eases himself into you as he lets you adjust to him.

One of his hands holds the back of your neck as the other one grips your hip while you wrap your legs around his waist to give him better access.

He starts slow as they both just want to feel each other and revel in this moment. Their skin is on fire as they move into one another, trying to savor each moment of their love making.

He continues to move slowly as he picks up the speed with ease. Your kisses don’t let up and you feels as if your chest might explode from the way your heart is feeling right now.

It’s as if all your love is slowly building up in your chest and it makes you want to cry from emotion.

He picks up his pace and starts pounding into you as his cock hits all the right places like always. His thick cock always hitting all the right spots.

You know he enjoys hearing you and how turned on it makes him. You continued to moan into his mouth as you run your fingernails down his back, making him break out into goosebumps, as you clutch onto his hips to make his pounding faster and harder.

“You feel so fucking good,” he moans into your neck as he pulls away from you as you start panting when you feel yourself reaching another orgasm.

Your legs start shaking from the pleasure as he released one of them and adjusts himself without losing the rhythm. You tilt your head forward to met his eyes as he smiles at you.

God, you love him so much.

You keep eye contact as you start to feel your orgasm come over you as he reaches for you with his free hand and it wraps around your neck. You huff as you love this part.

You start panting as you start to whine with pleasure as your release takes over you as he continues to pound into you while you clench onto him which triggers his release as well.

He starts pounding you faster as his hands grip you harder and it’ll surely leave bruises, which you don’t mind, and you both cry out as you orgasm together. He fills you up with his cum as you manage to wrap your legs around his waist as he continues to ride his high as well as you do.

You’re both a panting mess as you come down as a few tears escape your eyes when he slowly pulls out of you and lays down next to you.

“Shh,” he says as he wipes your tears away from the second time that night.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him as you kiss his fingertips with a small smile.

He nods as he slowly gets out of the bed and reaches for a washcloth. He dunks it into the warm water bowl and he proceeds to clean you up gently.

You thank him with a gently and sweet kiss on his lips which lasts longer than a normal one.

You both dress back into your night gowns slowly because you both knew what was to come.

“It’s almost sunrise,” he whispers with a sad tone as you look out the window with a frown.

“It is,” your voice holds a quiver you couldn’t hide.

“I’m happy that I made you happy for at least one more night,” he says as he kneels onto the bed and you quickly follow his positions as you both grip onto each other as your foreheads touch.

You can feel your tears mixing with his.

“We can leave right now,” he says in desperation as he pulls away to look into your eyes for anything, for confirmation of doing what you both wish you could.

You bite your lip as you break eye contact for a second before looking back at him and placing your hands on his face as he melts into them.

“You do not know how badly I wish I could rewrite the stars and wish that you were my destiny instead,” you say to him as he nods because he knows it’s the truth.

“If I could rewrite the stars, the entire world would be ours tonight.” His lips quiver with a sob as yours do the same as you wipe his tears away as you kiss his lips and he kisses you back.

You hope he feels all the love you feel for him in this kiss.

“Maybe in another life,” you whisper as he nods as you both start to get out of the bed as he starts putting on his armor. His secure sword glistening in the still out moonlight.

You place your foreheads together again as you both close your eyes and wrap each other in one last embrace.

“I will find you in another life, Y/N.”

You pull back and reach up to kiss his forehead, “I love you, Harry. I will always want you. It’s not a secret I try to hide, but I can’t have you.”

Before you know it, he is on one knee with your hand in his as his forehead touches your palm. The most respectful and vulnerable stance one knight can do.

“I love you, my Queen. I will always love you,” he says in a whisper.

You nod as the tears fall down your cheeks as he stands up. He slides his sword around himself as he grips onto it as he tries to hold himself together.

Your lip quivers as it’s now time.

“My Queen, you will be a beautiful bride today. King Joseph is a truly lucky man.”

You know it kills him to say so, but you nod as he starts walking towards your door to go back to his own room which is in the knights quarter. Far away from the Queens tower.

He quickly turns and pulls you into him as you wrap your arms around his cold armor as your lips meet in the middle in one passionate last kiss.

He sets you down after and smiles weakly.

“My Queen,” he says with one last forehead kiss and briskly walks out of your room.

You try to hold in your sobs as you watch the door close on the love of you life.

You grip onto your night gown as you think to yourself...

How can the most powerful ruler in this country be the most unhappiest on her wedding day?

[greatbigshiningstar]

a pinkalicious party for CJ [a sunshine blurb]

this picture of miles and keleigh is giving me all the feels, and it gives summer, bradley, and caroline james at her third birthday party vibes. so naturally, i have to write a little headcanon/blurb about it, right? 

anyway:

-baby caroline james, or CJ, as many of her family members call her, is turning 3!

-she is the BIGGEST girly girl you will ever meet. pink? favorite color. shopping? favorite activity. makeup and dress up clothes? favorite toys. she is the epitome of girly girl.

-let’s pause for a moment, and think of how cute rooster would be as a girl dad. 

-i can only imagine the pictures that are secretly taken when CJ forces him (read: he willingly does it) to put on a tiara and make up and sit down to have a tea party with her.

-she probably would also make him do little performances and dances with her

-summer just sits and watches, and may or may not have some extremely hilarious videos saved of said performances. ones that were definitely sent to the dagger squad group chat

-oh god i’m getting carried away okay anyway back to the topic at hand. caroline’s birthday.

-so, being the girly girl that she is, when summer and bradley ask her what kind of birthday party she wants to have, the only thing she says is “PINK!”

-and so, they throw a pink party.

-it’s the cutest pink party ever. complete with pink balloons, a pink velvet cake, all the pink foods, a pink bouncy castle.

-CJ may or may not have required everyone to wear pink as well

-yes. everyone. 

-the dagger squadTM goes all out, because why wouldn’t they? hangman would do anything for his niece, so he shows up decked out in pink, feather boa and all

-CJ would probably make everyone wear tiaras ( “unca jake, unca bobby! you’re a princess like me!”) 

-when they go to sing happy birthday, bradley starts to tear up because how is his little girl already 3 years old? wasn’t it just yesterday that he was holding her in the hospital?

-summer reminds him that they get to do it all again in october when baby boy bradshaw makes his arrival

-and then bradley tears up some more

-summer cries too, because duh. they’re just so happy with the little life they’ve created and their found family that loves each other so much.  

-and then their crying is quickly interrupted by caroline yelling “present time!”

-being the baby of the family, caroline is spoiled rotten with gifts from her family. hangman and phoenix get her a new dress-up trunk, filled to the brim with fancy dresses, high heels, and all the accessories. bob gets her a whole bunch of new barbie dolls to go with the dreamhouse that payback, fanboy, and coyote get her. 

-maverick would probably try to buy her a pony, but i think summer would shut that down real quick. so he settles on a trip to disneyland ;)

-okay now i think i need to write something about the disney trip

-the party ends with a movie night, one of CJ’s favorite activities.

-everyone gathers in the backyard to watch a movie on the projector that bradley spent way too much time setting up.

-they’ve got the coziest mix matched little set up of blankets, beach chairs, pillows, and a random bean bag, all gathered in front of the screen where they watch CJ’s favorite movie, high school musical 2 (i mean, summer did raise her right)

-everyone is sprawled out everywhere, and caroline takes turns sitting with her favorite people. it’s a shocker that she actually even watched the movie at all

-you know who did watch all of the movie? hangman. and bob.

-and they sang along. to every single song. they blamed the fact that they knew all the lyrics on caroline.

-“she makes us watch it every time we’re with her.” “yeah! and who are we to deny her the opportunity to see zac efron on the big screen??”

-caroline was knocked out before the movie was even over, tuckered out from her exciting party and first day as a 3 year old.

-she fell asleep cuddled up between her two loving parents, and continued to sleep, nestled up in the mountain of pillows, while everyone cleaned up the party as quietly as possible.

-her sleep didn’t last long, and caroline woke up to the sounds of payback and fanboy arguing over who got to take home the last cupcake

-spoiler alert: maverick walked by and stole it without either of them noticing

-once everything was cleaned up and the crew headed home for the night, summer carried her sweet little babe up to her room while bradley followed closely behind.

-as they got her into her pajamas and tucked her into her big girl bed, summer and bradley squeezed in on either side of her.

-“you’re my best girl, CJ, you know that?”

-“i know momma, you’re my best momma. and you’re my best daddy.”

-“did you have a good birthday, squish?”

-(i just know that they call her squish, mainly due to her super cute chubby cheeks)

-“the best birthday, daddy. can we do it again tomorrow?”

-it was an extremely successful birthday, and the bradshaws had the best day celebrating their pink-loving 3 year old girl

[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here. 

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings​

[worksby-d]

Hello! Can you write an age gap fic with Steve? Doesn't have to be age gap necessarily but like he's almost a 100 so he's older than everyone technically! So like him getting jelly and then showing you he maybe old but he can still fuck🥵🥵

oh, i'm nervous bc your steve fics are my fave 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 thanks for the request!

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: smut - fingering, a hint of overstimulation, and a goofy lead in to the smut, but i couldn't come up with anything better 💀, 18+

word count: ~1200

~~~

“He’s so hot,” you sigh quietly, interrupting the silence the two of you have fallen into during your weekly movie night.

Steve furrows his brow, turning his head to look at you, but you're concentrated on the tv. “Who?”

“Zac Efron,” you answer, sounding offended he even has to ask. “Look at him,” you gesture toward the screen. “What a man.”

Looking back toward the tv, he shrugs. “He's all right, I guess.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can tell by the way he sits up straighter and clenches his jaw slightly, there's a hint of jealousy there.

Deciding to push it a bit, you go on. “I swear I've been in love with him since I was 16.”

He just hums in response, and you repress your laughter, but decide to drop it.

He stays quiet the rest of the evening, not even making his usual passes at you when you get ready for bed together. Usually watching you trade your clothes for nothing but one of his t-shirts does it for him, but you roll your eyes as he silently climbs in bed without you.

Cuddling up behind him, your chest pressed against his back, you put your arm around him, and start to trail a few kisses across his shoulder and the back of his neck. “Stevie,” you mumble.

“Not tonight,” he says flatly, before muttering something else under his breath. “Go find that Zac kid.”

“I wish,” you scoff, rolling away from him.

“That’s it,” he mutters again, finally rolling over so he's on top of you, pinning you to the bed.

“Oof, Steve.”

“I changed my mind,” he growls, his eyes darkening. “Maybe you need a reminder of who makes you feel good.”

The sheer sternness in his voice has your thighs involuntarily pressing together. “Please,” you whisper, putting your hands on the back of his neck, pulling him down into a deep kiss.

He wastes no time letting his hands wander beneath your t-shirt, immediately resting on your breasts, his palms brushing against your nipples as he kneads the soft flesh.

“Gonna make you forget about anyone else,” he says between the kisses he's now pressing against your jaw and your neck.

All you can do is whimper and he lets up for a moment to pull your shirt off you. With it gone, he moves on to your chest, playfully nipping at your skin, soothing each spot with his tongue, until his mouth finds one of your nipples.

At the same time, he slides his hand down between your legs, letting his fingers lightly circle your clit over the fabric of your panties.

Feeling you shiver from the pleasure, he chuckles, removing his mouth from you, but keeping his fingers against your core. “We’ve barely even started, and you're already shaking.”

“More, Steve,” you beg, fully submitting to the desperation you feel.

Jerking your hips against his fingers, he pulls them away. “Ah, ah,” he tuts. “Here,” he says, bringing his fingers to your mouth. “Get them nice and wet for me if you want them so bad.”

Your breath hitches at his demand, but you know better than to resist. Parting your lips, you let him put two fingers in your mouth. Meanwhile, he’s pulling your panties off of you, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the heat between your legs.

“Good girl,” he coos, feeling your tongue swirl around his fingers. “That’s it.”

Pulling them away, his hand finds its way back between your thighs. “Eyes up here, pretty girl,” he commands, wanting you to make eye contact as his fingers dip between your folds.

“Mmm,” you moan, your eyes falling shut, causing him to pull his fingers away, and your eyes snap back open.

“What did I say?” he taunts.

“I’m sorry, please, Steve,” you plead frantically, looking into his eyes.

“That's better,” he smirks, pressing his fingers against your clit.

Your eyes roll back, but you make sure to keep them open. He moves his fingers in slow circles, before picking up the pace. As your breathing becomes more shallow, he slows down again, moving his fingers to tease at your entrance.

“Steve, yes, there,” you whimper.

“How many do you think you can take, baby? Hm?” he asks, thrusting one finger in you for now.

“More,” you nod.

“You got it, doll,” he smirks, surprising you by adding two more instead of easing you into it.

“Shit,” you breathe, closing your eyes momentarily, but catching yourself. “S-so good, Steve.”

“Like my fingers in this tight pussy?” His words come out through gritted teeth. “I know you do, can feel you clenching, princess.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Fuck,” you groan, feeling his palm bump against your clit with each thrust of his fingers. “I’m-”

“Gonna cum already?”

“Yes, yes, I’m gonna cum,” you cry, and he quickens the thrusts.

“Cum on my fingers,” he urges. “Come on, this is what you wanted, baby, let me feel you. Keep those eyes open.”

His encouragement sends you over the edge, your thighs trembling, legs attempting to close, but being held open by his free hand.

“Oh my God,” you choke out as he works you through your high. His fingers move slower, but he doesn't pull his hand away.

“There you go, so pretty when you cum for me,” he coos, leaning down to capture your lips in a languid kiss. “So pretty that I want you to do it again,” he adds as he pulls away, and your eyes widen.

“But Steve-”

“What?” His voice is teasing as his thumb finds your sensitive clit, rubbing slow circles.

You can't help it now, your eyes fall shut for good this time.

“That's what I thought,” he quips, starting to thrust his fingers again. “I wanna be inside you so bad, pretty girl, but I need to see you cum again.”

All you can do is nod, and it doesn't take long for him to have you on the brink of another orgasm.

"I can feel you're close, doll, let it happen," he coaxes. "Come on."

“I'm cumming,” you find the energy to announce. “Steve,” you whine, as the intense pleasure courses through your body for the second time.

“That’s my girl,” he praises as your back arches off the bed, your hands grasping at the sheets.

When he doesn't let up though, you bring your hands up to grab his forearm. “Too much, Steve,” you whimper.

Finally stopping his movements, he sits back, using his free hand to soothingly rub your side to help you calm down as you work on steadying your breathing. When he pulls his fingers out, you whimper at the loss, but let out a deep breath.

“Jesus, Steve,” you sigh, draping your arm over your forehead. “If I knew that's what I get for talking about my celebrity crushes, and apparently making you jealous, I'd do it a lot more often,” you joke, earning a laugh from him.

“Smartass,” he teases, moving back on top of you. “I am so not done with you.”

~~~

Tag list: @chris-butt | @patzammit | @denisemarieangelina | @thummbelina | @princess-evans-addict | @chris-evans-indian-fanfic | @la-cey | @turtoix | @katiew1973 | @harrysthiccthighss | @tvckerlance | @bluemusickid | @kyrarose16

[vegietribe]

Actors Who Turned Vegan

If you're one of the non-vegan diets following readers, I would like to ask you to set your philosophical and cultural ideas of what it means to be human aside. I know if I were reading this article about veganism instead of writing it, that's exactly what I'd be thinking about.

It is strange that most of us are still not aware of what veganism actually means. What is it? Where does this term come from? There are going to be two points of view about this post. First, veganism is a type of healthy diet that excludes the consumption of animal products. It includes total abstinence from meat, poultry, seafood, eggs, and dairy products. This term denotes ethical vegetarianism.

As time is changing, a vast section of society is considering the problem due to unplanned and unhealthy food. Hollywood celebrities and big companies are turning to the vegan lifestyle. The list is quite long, we will discuss some of the leading red-carpet celebrities who recently turned vegan.

Joaquin Phoenix ‍ We are sure you have seen his incredible Oscar-winning performance in Joker. Who would have thought that people who don't like animals would start eating plant-based food? Because a celebrity likes Joaquin Phoenix switched to such a healthy type of eating habit?

Woody Harrelson

We are very confident that you must have loved the "Now you see me" series. Then you must be a fan of him; but, did you know that Woody Harrelson has gone vegan? Woody Harrelson is the poster boy for ethical eating and has turned vegan almost ten years back. He's also invested in Vegan's parent company for more than five years now. To top it all off, he's an active supporter of ethically vegetarian meat substitute vegan buffets, plant-based snacks and more products, Tofurky.

Peter Dinklage ‍ Peter Dinklage doesn’t seem like a man who’d be on board with the Red Wedding. Like Tyrion Lannister, he’s a charming, diplomatic, thoughtful guy. Dinklage has been a complete vegetarian since the age of 15.

Billie Eilish

Billie Eilish, the pop singer, is a vegan. She decided to become a vegetarian at 13, and then a few years later, she made the leap to veganism. For her, it was a matter of principle. She kept telling people that no one should murder animals for others to eat them. Hence, supported vegetarianism on her behalf.

Zac Efron

‍Zac Efron is a great example of boldness in action. He says veganism helps him stay fit and be healthy organic food. Zac Efron is an actor in many movies, but I'm not here to talk about his acting career. Zac Efron is vegan. He also decided to become a bodybuilder. He didn’t want to exploit animals for personal means. It shows a lot of courage and reveals his boldness too.

Since there are so many misunderstandings about what vegans can (or should) eat. Vegietribe takes pride in offering you the service with all vegan nutritionally healthy and organic food platters at one place. Basically, veganism is a way of living that excludes the use of animals for food, clothing, entertainment, or any other purpose. To be vegan is to support all animal liberation, animal rights, and anti-specialism movements. A vegan strives to live in harmony with animals. Basically, the vegan lifestyle seeks compassion and decency toward all creatures. There are many reasons to go ethically vegetarian or vegan, but there is one that rarely gets mentioned. It's the only diet practical for someone who wants to live a long time.

[dinkatinka]

Chihayafuru is one of the most beautifully written story of all time

...and when I say that I do not just mean the most beautiful story about hard work, friendship, poetry, culture, sport, or growth, or because of the most brilliant character buildings and symbolism I’ve ever read. Because Chihayafuru is one of the most beautiful love story of all time, and going further... an incredibly important lesson about love, which I honestly think they should make into a must read in schools even if it’s a manga, it holds more value in all different aspects of life than any drama they teach in the education system. And everybody these days should hear it, should feel it, should learn and experience this.

Love triangles can be really hard and painful to read and live. And the one in Chihayafuru is an especially hard, yet so clear and thoughtful one. There are similar stories like this, movies, mangas, books, etc… but nothing as realistic, nothing as touching as Suetsugu Yuki sensei does in her story.

Chihaya is a really special main lead, she is nothing like girls you usually read about, or meet in your life, and yet the things happening with her are so easy to relate to for any high school boy or girl having no idea about the meaning of love.

I mean it obviously happens with everybody mistaking love with something else. These days real love and relations are pretty rare and really hard to find. It’s so easy to have a crush on someone you barely know, but he / she is handsome, was kind to you a few times, and start to idolize, and idealize him / her, like you would do it with your favourite film star. Like hello, Zac Efron is hot, and I fall in love everytime when see him dancing and singing in a bar, and I would definitely looked like this if he had just confessed to me:

There’s some beauty in platonic loves like this. They are entertaining, and most importantly safe, and easy to have. They are growing in every second tree. Even though these feelings can be really intense they are more likely not to hurt you (like hurt you real, deep inside), serve you, or make you truly happy, because they are far from being real. Don’t misunderstand me, they are real, but far from being real love.

It’s just sad that sometimes we are so blinded by these platonic loves that we don’t even realise that the best thing that ever happened to us is sitting there right in front of us. But when we do… those moments can change our whole lives.

Chihaya is in this exact situation, and seeing her learning the true meaning of love during her journey is just so beautiful, so human-like, so real and intense like you could touch it, feel it with your own heart. Like you could feel that warm tailwind which has been here all along and painted your everydays burning red with crimson leaves.

Saying romance isn’t important in Chihayafuru is just so unbelievable for me, because the contrast between the two sides of the love triangle in this story is just perfect. I think it perfectly shows what’s wrong with human relationships these days. Of course Chihayafuru is so much more than a love story, but still it is a brilliant love story.

It’s hella long journey, but full of important lessons and feelings and moments and I can’t wait to see Chihaya finally fully understand the meaning of Chihayafuru, and every character to get their happy endings, reaching their goals, and being the best versions of themselves.

I’ve learned so much from Chihayafuru and I couldn’t be more thankful. Yesterday I just rewatched the Yoshino tournament episodes of Season 3 and it just made me feel so much. What happened there in the last match is something only a few are lucky enough to experience in their life, it’s just everything, even thinking about it makes my eyes teary, and I felt like I need to write something about it. I’m asking myself the question again and again, how can a story told through a traditional japanese card game can be so emotional?

[whatiwillsay]

the tily tea

writing this up for the bisluts who are curious.

ok so my name is cam and i have a podcast called what i will say. i started this podcast (and this blog) to talk about taylor and her rumored relationships with women. i do think she's bi but ofc i don't know anything for sure but i think she's dated both men and women. if you wanna know who i think she's been with and who i think was fake click here but also who cares about all that.

having a blog with a healthy little following and a podcast where i talk about this stuff makes me available to trading gossip and tea with people who will verify themselves to me. one such person we call andy did just this. she found the pod, anonned me, and we got in touch. she works in LA in the entertainment industry and she proved this to me by dming me from her professional/official Twitter account.

so i know who she is and what she does. she told me she heard from someone who worked and traveled on the rep tour (and i was able to verify that andy and the rep tour source run in the same social circles/know one another by seeing public social media interactions) that taylor had a blonde British model girlfriend (that wasn't cara delevinge) lily Donaldson is a blonde British model and good friend of taylor's who traveled on the rep tour with taylor being spotted at least both in London and japan and was possibly around the entire time.

there's also a ton of little "clues" that seem to point to lily go see @tilynation for more on that but briefly they were inseparable fall of 2016 esp in late November lol, lily has tattoo that means "golden", lily's from London but her favorite city in NYC, she lived on the east side (dive bar on the east side where you at), and was seen at taylor's west village cornelia house street plenty spending the night there, she has blue eyes, taylor features her home neighborhood in the end game music video, taylor has twice (or thrice?) released music/music videos on her birthday, lily was known to hang out with Leo in St. Tropez, it's rumored she was in the lwymmd music video, lily donned very expensive snake jewelry during the rep era including a braclet that taylor actually wore in the lwymmd music video, taylor wore a victoria secret angel ring that could not have been karlie's but could have been lily's starting at the end of 2016, lily was there the night taylor was drinking wine in the bathtub at Halloween 2016 and was a best friend of taylor's ("i don't want you like a best friend"), lily is almost certainly fruity and probably dated rihanna in 2015, lily used butterfly emojis to represent taylor on social media and taylor had a butterfly meltdown during the lover era, taylor was overheard in lily's London flat in a snapchat in early 2017, and tbh so much more but I'll leave it there.

i still (generally) think taylor has something real with joe alwyn i just think it's possible she was seeing both of them for a spell or something like that.

at any rate, andy is a very normal person and a trusted friend now. it's, of course, possible she was misinformed about the tily tea or something got lost in translation but i do not think she's lying to me at all. she's also heard tea about taylor hooking up with guys and shared that with me and was open to discussions theorizing about what adds up and what doesn't. she is not some strange secret source. i have her phone number and we just enjoy chatting about wlw LA gossip and taylor. she's in my discord server and has also been a guest on my patreon podcast. she doesn't send riddles or strange messages or hide her identity she's just a gay girl who loves gossip just like me!

more tea she's spilled (along with other gossip and tea from other industry friends) is available on my patreon under the #tea series.

if you don't like this information there is no sense coming and whining to me about it. I'm not trying to bother anyone I'm just trying to vibe and share stuff that I've found out investigating all this gossip.

which please remember, it is just gossip. we don't know any of this for sure. it's just fun to talk about. taylor swift got rich and famous enticing people to guess which famous men her songs are about. if it's ok to guess that songs are about matty healy or vance joy or zac efron then it should be ok to wonder if maybe miss "gay pride makes me, me" has written a few songs about women. stay safe in 2021 and have a hot girl summer 💙✌️