#in-the-words-of-camp-campbell

[mynameisvarian]

Total Drama Camp Camp AU

Basically the entire premise is that the entire Camp Campbell, Flowerscouts and Woodscouts cast are in a Survivor/Total Drama type show that has challenges every episode with the losers having to vote out a member to be sent home with the last remaining contestant winning 1 Million dollars.

(They're all also aged up because I'd rather not have to make 10-13 year olds compete with eachother, I don't plan on putting any relationships too so yeah-)

Might expand this AU to actually go in-depth into characters and what changed since Cameron made a Reality show instead of continuing Camp Campbell like how:

• Max had to stay with his parents

• David is less David and more so an Intern that's just there to make sure nobody dies

[syinqbudz]

surprise! its not moral orel.

anyways i am very hyped for the new episode. shoutout to camp camp for being my longest lasting hyperfixation

[fenkizard]

Every time I rewatch episodes of camp camp I always find myself going to “Cameron Campbell the Camp Campbell Camper”. The episode where he dressed up as a kid to try and get David to lie and say all the messed up shit was his fault.

Anyway I think it has some of the most interesting moments. One of my favorites is Mr Campbell saying he wants to go hang out with Max and Neil and David, instead of encouraging it or getting excited at the prospect of giving Max new friends, he warns the guy and tells him he doesn’t think they’re first day friend material. That they’re a little much for a new kid. That’s INTERESTING. That’s a level of awareness I feel like sometimes people miss that David has.

Then it also has one of the most heart touching moments of the show (to me) which is solidly tied between the end of parents day, the last episode of season 4 I think it is where David gives Max the camera, and this episode. Specifically the moment where Mr Campbell accuses David, appalled, tells him that after all he’s done for David, David’s choosing a bunch of awful kids over him and in response David tells him “But that’s the job. You really don’t get that do you?” And then when asked by Max if he’s pissed off, he tells him no and that he’s just disappointed.

Like there’s something about that that means SO MUCH TO ME. I love that David is portrayed as this never ending happy guy but I LOVE LOVE LOVE when they show this maturity to him. When they show that he’s built for this job because he understands working with kids. He honestly knows what he signed up for, how kids work, and he’s genuinely prepared to deal with it and to forgive them because they’re KIDS.

His job is to take care of these kids over all else. He’s going to do his job and he WANTS to do it. He wants to be a good place for them.

[blackhat-organization]

CAMP CAMP TOMORROW GUYS OH MY GOD?!?!??!

we NEED to get more daniel this season i do not CARE I WANT MORE DANIEL NOW!!!! IMMEDIATELY!!!! I DEMAND IT!!!!!!!!! I NEED!!!!!!!!!

[deluzional-simping-time]

✩₊˚.⋆ ANOTHER SUPER SELF-INDUGENT DAVID X READER FIC ⋆⁺₊✩

david x stressed reader

David hummed a cheerful tune, his signature smile plastered on his face. Y/N, however, was busy thinking, their mind racing a mile a minute. They were so caught up in their thoughts that they barely noticed David’s attempts to engage them in conversation.

“Hey, Y/N, did you see how excited the kids were about the scavenger hunt today?” David asked, trying to catch their eye.

“Uh-huh,” Y/N muttered absentmindedly, their fingers messing and fiddling with each other.

David frowned, sensing something was off. He moved closer, his eyes filled with concern. “Is everything alright?”

Y/N stopped pacing and sighed, finally looking at him. “It’s just… I have so much on my mind, David. Between the activities, managing the campers, and making sure everything runs smoothly, I’m just—” They paused, running a hand through their hair in frustration. “I’m stressed, okay?”

David’s smile wavered, but he quickly recovered. “Hey, it’s okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes. We’re a team here at Camp Campbell! remember? You don’t have to handle everything on your own.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating his words but still feeling the weight of their responsibilities. They started pacing, their voice rising as they continued to rant. “I mean, we have the talent show coming up, and I’m not even sure if we have enough time to prepare everything! And then there’s the familys coming next week—what if I mess it up? What if—”

“Just… stop talking!” David’s voice was firm, surprising Y/N enough to make them pause mid-rant. Before they could process what was happening, David’s hands were cupping their face, and he leaned in, capturing their lips in a heated kiss, pulling Y/N in.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, but soon they melted into the kiss, their arms wrapping around David’s neck. It was as if all the tension and stress they had been feeling evaporated in that single moment. They kissed him back with equal fervor, their heart pounding in their chest.

David pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against theirs. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.. hah...” he admitted, his breath warm against their lips.

Y/N stared at him, their mind racing. How had they been so oblivious? They had always felt a connection with David, always enjoyed their playful banter and subtle (one way) flirting, but they had never realized just how deep their feelings ran. “David, I—”

Their moment was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. They turned to see Gwen standing in the doorway, a smug grin on her face, and Max right behind her, looking both disgusted and amused.

“Eeww, get a room!” Max exclaimed, scrunching up his face in exaggerated disgust. “Seriously, this is so gross.”

Gwen chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Knew it.”

Y/N felt their face heat up, and they quickly stepped away from David, trying to compose themselves. “Gwen, Max, it’s not what it looks like,” Y/N stammered, though it was clear it was exactly what it looked like.

“Oh, please,” Gwen said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s about time you two admitted your feelings. Everyone’s been waiting for this to happen.”

David blushed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “We weren’t exactly planning for it to happen like this.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t be all gushy infront of us, campers..” exiting the mess hall

As Gwen and Max left the cabin, Y/N turned back to David, their heart still racing. “So… what now?”

David smiled, taking their hand in his. “Now, we take it one day at a time. Together.”

[callmelola111]

color me purple ♡ part two

 ✄ - - - -   part 1 , part 2 , part 3   - - - - soundtrack - - - - ♡

synopsis: it’s summer and you’re back at camp stillwater. as a counselor you mean serious business and you’ll do whatever it takes for your cabin to come out on top. the only thing in the way of that; ellie williams and her crazy antics. 

      | 𓆣 | pairing & wc: ellie williams x reader. wc: 3.3k

      | ❀ | cw (by part): 18+ themes (MDNI), modern au, fem reader, some fluff but mostly angsty, HEAVY sexual themes on the verge of smut, swearing, slight mention of marijuana, ellie is kinda a perv, ellie calls foot fetishes weird so if u have one i'm sorry lol not trying to kink shame its just for the plot !!

a/n: happy wednesday y'all!! i was literally kicking my feet while writing this hehe. i love being a delulu lesbian on paper. also i've never played poker before so if i worded something wrong i am so sorry lolz. sending hugs and kisses 2 you all ♡~ lola

Mrs. Campbell seemed taller this evening as she stood waiting to confront you with your fate. The moon shone brightly casting her long, mangled shadow across the dirt. As she spoke, your gaze remained locked to it, avoiding the disappointed look you knew was written all over her face. 

“What do you two think you’re doing?!?” she yelled. You struggled to form any words with the large lump consuming your throat. Your stomach would’ve dropped too but you were pretty sure you had lost it during your barefoot dash through the woods. Ellie stood next to you just as silent until your devastated face clued her into your current state. She quickly tried to rationalize, speaking for the both of you. 

“Mrs. Campbell, we're so, so sorry. Seriously, it was all my fault, please don’t blame Y/n!” You softened hearing Ellie so quickly take the fall. Feeling compelled to finally join this tense confrontation, you looked up from the ground. Your eye’s met with the wardens but they were filled with concern rather than fury as you had expected. Your injuries had alluded to a situation that she felt needed a bit more context.

“I’m just trying to figure out how you two ended up here bloody, wet, and 2 hours past curfew!” she said. With the guidance of Ellie you calmly explained the situation. Of course, it wasn’t the full truth. You took extra care to leave out the part about your little smoke sesh. And after what felt like hours of questioning and nagging, you and Ellie were given the benefit of the doubt, remaining counselors for the summer.

Mrs. Campbell gave her final say, “You girls better count your blessings. I’m feeling nice tonight. But, I can’t let your behavior go unpunished. Neither of you will be participating in tomorrow's first round of games. I'll take your campers under my wing while you two think about your behavior back at the cabins. Alone.” Tears welled in your eyes as you came to terms with the consequences of your actions. Ellie shifted her gaze to your heartbroken expression and the corners of her mouth turned down. Sure it was just one day of sitting out, but she knew how much the competition meant to you and felt like a total piece of shit for making you miss out. Even if it wasn’t completely her fault. 

“That’s final. Now both of you please go wash up and stop making me worry!” Mrs. Campbell concluded.

You and Ellie made the 5 minute walk to the showers in silence, still shaken up from the recent events. Despite the water’s icy temperatures, it felt nice to wash off the evidence of your night living on the wild side. However, Ellie showered one space over with little emotional relief, too consumed by you. She just stood idle as the sharp drops of H2O hit her back. Questioning how you felt about her, if you were mad, and what you were thinking but wouldn’t say.

She couldn’t take it anymore and quickly switched off the water, drying off with a rough gray towel. You followed in suit, stepping out wrapped in your pink towel. The textured fabric wrapped tightly over your breasts hoisting the mounds up to peak over the linen. They sat pretty like a Victorian woman in a tight corset. Ellie, now in a fresh pair of clothes, kept her head forward but eyed you from her peripherals before finally speaking.

“I’m so sorry… I don’t even know what to say. I never wanted to get you in trouble.” She looked absolutely miserable, so convinced you hated her. You’d never seen this side of Ellie before. A side that was real and vulnerable. You had always pinned her as this impenetrable tough guy, never seeming bothered by anything. And now here you were, bothering her. What was so special about you, why did she care?

“Ellie, I’m not mad at you, just a little sad. This was my choice as much as it was yours.”

Ellie turned to you, voice breaking, “Wait… really?” Part of her felt like an idiot for bringing it up now, considering it was all in her head, but you didn’t think twice about giving her the reassurance she seeked.

“Yes, really.” Ellie gave a timid smile slanting to one side and breathed a sigh of relief knowing that her assumptions were just a product of overthinking. 

“Now please, stop being so melodramatic and help me patch up all these stupid cuts.” You took a seat on the long bench placed in the tiled bathroom and Ellie followed like a humble servant. She got down on her knees like she owed it to you. Taking a wet cloth in her right hand and carefully cleaning your cuts one by one. Her touch was gentle, almost too much, but she didn't want to hurt you. You took pleasure in Ellie’s tender care and couldn’t help but wonder if she’s like this with all her friends. Even more, you questioned if it’s something you should be enjoying as much as you did. Ellie took her sweet time rinsing out the dirt from your wounds that you had acquired as an unwanted souvenir. Tending to your injuries gave her more time to study all of your nooks and crannies. Something she had only dreamed of. Ellie enjoyed every second until she reached your thighs, your gorgeous plush thighs. She observed as your pink towel bunched at the abdomen before splitting down the sides of your legs in a triangle-like formation. Mind hazy with desire, she couldn’t help but yearn for the other body parts under that towel that she wished to tend to. Ellie internally slapped herself for the heat that followed her nasty thoughts and her tour of your body was cut short. Following the clean, she took some Neosporin to smooth across the bigger gashes that covered your knees and elbow. You winced at the friction.

“It really got you good huh,” she teased, “maybe you can lie and say you got attacked by a bear or something.”

“No, not a bear,” your eyes rolling, “just Ellie Willaims and her antics.” 

“Oh shut up, you had fun.” You didn’t say anything back, just gave a smile, because you knew Ellie was right. As much as you wanted to be upset about how everything went down and how you were so easily influenced by her, you just couldn’t. Maybe because you knew she had no ill intent, or maybe you were beginning to realize that breaking rules wasn’t so bad- perhaps, it was even a little fun. 

You woke up early the next day with everyone else, despite your impromptu grounding. Although you yearned for sleep, the sun shone too bright and the girls chatter, too loud. You pulled the scratchy covers of your twin bed up, making it semi-nice for your next sleep. A sleep you looked forward to, as it signaled the end of this awful day. But, with the cabin overcome by girlish excitement it was hard to remain in such a sour mood. You ventured to the top of an empty but rickety bunk bed to observe the members of team red from above. It was like watching a village of little ants running around prepping for the day ahead. Some flew out the screen door to shower, a few braided each other's hair, and all of them finished dressed up in color coordinating outfits.

As 9:30 am approached, you wrapped up your finishing touches to the last few stragglers with silky hair ribbons and red face paint. By 9:40, the once bustling room was empty and the silence was loud. In an attempt to occupy your wandering mind you cracked open a Nancy Drew book, the 3rd in its series. The crisp pages slid between your fingers as the mystery consumed you, but it wasn't long before your peace was interrupted.

A peculiar knocking sound tore you from the novel opened in your hands. Setting it down on your green and pink bedding, you ventured to your dirty window to scope out the inexplicable noise. On the other side of the glass stood Ellie, like a kid, throwing rocks at your window. You stared out the gray panes that divided her in four, rolling your eyes at the audacity of it all. She continued her little performance pulling out a janky sign written in dried out blue marker. It read I'm bored… You pretend to be distraught at the news, playing into her little game. Ellie then flipped the sign over to show you the back where she had scribbled the words Do U wanna hangout? and then some idiotic smiley face to complete the message. Ellie’s own face mimicked the emoticon as she displayed all her teeth like a child on picture day. It was stupid and cheesy and it was kinda working.

The sign continued to waver in the wind as you consulted the imaginary angel and devil that lurked on your shoulders. You finally answered Ellie (whose arms were getting tired) through the window with a simple middle finger and yanked the curtains closed knowing you weren’t supposed to be leaving your living quarters that day. And although you maintained a tough exterior for the sake of the bit, you felt just a little bit giddy being invited over by Ellie. That same giddiness nagged at your morals until finally you sided with the devil. Besides, everyone will be gone and too busy to catch you guys slacking off.

You rushed to the sink to brush your teeth aggressively and then changed into a red cropped shirt with a wide neck and black biker shorts that sculpted your ass perfectly. You weren’t sure why, but you had this sudden need to impress her. Her opinion now carried a weight that was foreign to you. That weight then influenced a smear of the same cherry flavored lip gloss from the night before, remembering Ellie’s thoughts on it. You slipped the tube into your bra just in case and then skipped over like the girl next door.

Ellie opened up with a smirk. Her hair was messy and despite waking up hours ago her lounge wear remained on. You didn’t mind though. Something about her toned body in a black wifebeater tank and gray sweats made you excited. 

“Well hello there.” She gestured for you to come inside. You sat in the middle of the room on an old, sage green rug. Anticipating Ellie’s next move, you pulled your scuffed up knees to your chest. She plopped down next to you and began to poke.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show up.” 

You scoffed, “I mean, I hate you Ellie, but not that much.” You straightened out your right knee and gave her a little kick in the shin.

“Shut up dude. I know you love me.” Ellie nudged your shoulder and you gave a simple chuckle in response, but inside you were questioning the past feelings of distaste you once harbored for her and the new ones that replaced them. You needed a distraction.

“Sooo.. how are you gonna entertain me??” Your question sent Ellie’s mind to all kinds of places, some dirty most dirty.

“Oh? So you wanna be entertained? How about a little game of poker?”

“Poker?” you said, becoming suspicious of Ellie's seemingly normal answer but the tone of her voice was a dead giveaway to the mischievous plans.

“Well… not just any poker. I play a little differently.” You urged her to continue.

“Like different how?”

“Ever heard of strip poker?” she questioned, scrunching her freckled nose in anticipation of your response. She wouldn’t think twice about indulging in this game with other friends but it was something about you and the unspoken homoerotic nature of your relationship that made the request much more daunting.

“Oh my god Ellie,” you gave a long sigh, “Do you really wanna see me naked that bad?” Usually her face would go bright red at a comment like this but today she was prepared for your little quips, having taken the leap to propose such a game in the first place.

“No. I wanna watch you lose.” she stated bluntly. And with her words, a jolt of that familiar cutthroat attitude surged through your body along with a little arousal that you ignored, pretending it was just adrenaline. 

“Oh you’re on.” you spat. What had Ellie Williams done to you? Just days ago you would have opposed such a scenario like sneaking over to play strip poker but her dangerously seeming presence was exhilarating to you. She was a drug you just couldn’t quit. And before you could even think twice, that drug was pulling out her playing cards and popping a mixtape ← into her old cassette player.

You grew quiet and the music grew loud as you anxiously waited for Ellie to shuffle the deck. She had a classic one with the red patterned backings. The cards slotted into each other as Ellie thumbed the split stack from bottom to top. It made a satisfying noise that repeated a few more times before she dealt them out between the two of you.

The rules were simple, each chip signified an article of clothing, whoever had the worst hand lost a chip and a little bit of dignity along with it. A stack of 4 old poker chips sat in front of you balancing on the ridges of the rug. 1 for your shirt, 1 for your shorts, and 2 for each sock. Ellie had the same. You could practically feel the sweat gathering on your brow as the game began. The first round was close, Ellie with a straight and you with 3 of a kind.

She quickly snatched up one of your chips before saying, “You lose!!” 

“This is just the first round, don’t get used to it.” you replied, peeling off your left sock. Quickly you placed your other foot on top of the now bare one, hiding it from Ellie like it was something to be embarrassed of. She took note of your behavior and clarified her intentions.

“You know, I don’t have a weirdo foot fetish if that's what you’re thinking.”

“Oh my god. Shut. Up. I don’t think that, I just don’t want you looking at my feet.” You turned your face away from her, putting your hand up theatrically. Your embarrassment amused Ellie.

“Just wait till you have to take your top off.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” You tried seeming confident in your reply but your face felt hot and your hands were clammy. You didn’t want to imagine being so exposed in front of Ellie. What if she doesn’t like it? Why did it matter if she did?

“Right, we’ll see how that goes…” Ellie’s voice trailed off, letting go of your stubborn ramblings. The game continued as so; round 2: you won, round 3: you won again, round 4: Ellie won. At this point there were no more socks to take off. Your stomach twisted and turned thinking of the next possibilities. Part of you wanted to give up and take off but the other part of you wanted to stay around and see what Ellie looked like without a shirt. This confused you.

During round 5 you could hardly focus, but luck was on your side when all Ellie could present was a pair against your straight, leaving you a winner. Without a second thought she crossed her arms grabbing at the hem of her tank. Her biceps flexed with motion as she pulled it over her head revealing a black sports bra. You stared unintentionally, mouth agape.

“Like what ya see?” Ellie remarked. Your cheeks flushed red and your head shot down into your lap like a reflex. 

“Relax, we’re just friends having fun. You can look.” she continued. Right… friends. You took a deep breath in trying to calm yourself. There was still more of the game to play and a craving for victory that lingered.

The next round was brutal leaving you with a measly high card, the worst hand you could get. Before Ellie even revealed her hand, your mind was at war deciding if you should remove your pants or shirt first. This felt like so much more than a simple game of cards with a friend. I mean here you were in front of half-naked Ellie, questioning if she was more of an ass girl or if she liked tits better. After your losing cards were revealed you took a pause, twirling a stray thread around your finger that you had pulled off the rug. Just as you were settling on pants Ellie interrupted.

“If- If you dont wanna, you don’t have to. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Ellie was starting to feel guilty for roping you into her games. For her, this wasn’t about winning, it was about pleasure and that's what made her feel so bad. You were here to play poker and Ellie was just waiting to see what panties you wore that day. Such a perv. 

“NO,” your voice raised, halting Ellie’s skewed thoughts like your life depended on it. “I want to.” You stood up slowly trying to steady your shaky hands. Gently, your long fingers rimmed around the waistband of the shorts. Ellie sat criss-cross looking up at you like a god. The black spandex peeled off your wide hips and down your thighs at an agonizingly slow pace for Ellie. Finally reaching your knees they fell the rest of the way down, pooling at your ankles. The cool air tickled your pantie-clad privates, sending you back down to the warm spot you left on the floor.

Ellie couldn’t even speak. It was like a wet dream seeing you dressed in nothing but a crop top and some lacey, pink underwear. The heat between her legs was almost unbearable and she could feel as her slick seeped straight through the plaid boxers hidden under her sweats. Too busy with her downstairs, she failed to give you any sort of sign that would hint to the pleasure your body was giving her. You felt stupid for even wanting that from her and flipped to lay on your stomach trying to hide your nakedness. Without Ellie’s approval or encouragement you felt ashamed.

Wanting this moment of awkwardness to pass, you reached for more cards to continue to the next round. Ellie grabbed the deck before you could even reach it.

“Actually uh- we should just stop.” she said, not even able to make eye contact from how overwhelmed she was with lust. Of course, you didn’t know this and a downward spiral of thoughts began. Have you done something? Said something? What happened?

You stuttered out a “Wha- why?” Ellie continued staring down at her crotch. Her stupid crotch- that was the reason why. She knew that if she lost the next round, her sweatpants that shielded her from embarrassment would have to be removed. The large and growing wet spot of your doing was something Ellie refused to let you see. She assumed that if you were to ever discover the amount of arousal a friendly game of poker caused, you’d be disgusted and never speak to her again. 

“I just- I think you need to leave.” You blinked hard and fast, trying to swallow back any tears being provoked by Ellie’s response.

“So… I’m that ugly, huh?” you said, voice now shaking. You felt humiliated.

“No, no!! It’s not th-” 

“Save it Ellie,” you yelled, tears beginning to run down your cheeks. “This is the last time I let you make me out to be some loser idiot who falls for all your tricks! I am not ending up like all those stupid girls who you’ve fucked over!” You kicked open the swinging door taking one look back at Ellie. Her face was dumbfounded, confused, hurt. What were you saying? What was all that supposed to mean? She thought of chasing after you but knew it would be no use. You were too stubborn and upset to be talked to by Ellie, and it was quite clear that neither of you had realized what this game had meant to the other.

 ✄ - - - -   part 1 , part 2 , part 3   - - - - masterlist - - - - ♡

taglist...

@endureher @gold-dustwomxn @alexpritch @4rt3m1ss

(taglist is for all callmelola111 works, if you'd like to be removed just kindly lmk)

[twinki3zs]

Unlucky Encounter

A Masha One-Shot

[For you :) @chrzannekk ]

This one shot shows the more rivalry side of Masha :))

_______________________

Max walked through the forest as the moon lit up his path. He did this almost every night. With all the counselors and other campers bothering him, Max needed a little alone time. Especially now that the Flower Scouts were back.

Miss Priss and Mr. Campbell were gone on a cruise for nearly a month. But Campbell wasn’t allowed to stay any longer, so they cut their trip short. Meaning that the Flower Scouts came back sooner than anyone expected.

Max sighed as he tried not to think about it. He took in the atmosphere of the forest as he sat down against a tree. It was quiet and peaceful, unlike Camp Campbell. Max didn’t hate spending time with the others, but his social battery was dead. Max took out the book he brought with him. He shifted into a more comfortable position as the moon light allowed him to see the cover.

“The Charming Mr Drickton”

It was a known detective romance book and cooed over by mainly girls. Of course, there was nothing wrong with a guy reading a romance book… right? Max read page 102 with a smirk, it would’ve looked weird to anyone else, but if they were reading the same thing, they’d understand.

Max would never admit it, but he was amazed by John Drickton, the main male protagonist. He could flatter someone in a second and never stumbled with his words. He was so confident and cool, but showed it in a way that didn’t make him seem like a try hard. Max studied the way Drickton approaches and speaks to women.

“I wonder if this would work in real life…” Max quietly asked himself.

Max kept reading, letting his world drift into the one of the book. It was so peaceful in the quiet forest. Max was so lost in his book, he didn’t notice a person walking toward him. Max read down the page, adjusting his position.

He had no idea how he ended up so hooked to this book, but deep down, he didn’t regret it. Of course, Max wouldn’t dare read it in public, but it didn’t stop him from loving it. He swore to himself he wouldn’t end up like Gwen, so he kept his interest in romance books to a minimum. TCMD was the only romance book series he allowed himself to enjoy.

Max brought the book closer to his face, it was getting interesting.

“He tucked his cuffs into his blazer, looking deep into Isla’s eyes. His deep brown eyes narrowed as he leaned over the desk. Drickton didn’t dare break eye contact, but Isla thought differently. She looked away as she blushed red. His confident demeanor over powering her calm façade.”

“She gulped down her nerves, “Must you stare me down with such integrity?” Isla said gripping her skirt. If Drickton was nervous, he wasn’t showing it. He stood up straight, hands behind his back as he walked around the table. “I’d just like to know the truth,” Drickton says with a grin. “And I’m sure you do too. So, do us both a favor and don’t make this difficult. Alright, princess?”

“Hey!”

Suddenly, a familiar voice snapped him out of his daydream. Max jumped in surprise, letting out a yelp. He looked up to see a girl standing in front of him. A girl he knew all too well. She had a pale complexion and peach pink hair. Her eyes were a deep rose and her bangs draped over her forehead. Max hid the words in his book, pressing the pages to his chest.

“What are you doing here?” Sasha hissed. Max’s shocked face turned into a more annoyed one as his heartbeat began to slow down to its regular pace. “None of your business. What are you doing here? Looking for a stick to stir your cauldron?” Max smirked.

Sasha wasn’t very impressed with his comeback, but she answered his question anyway. “Actually, I’m looking for some Chickweed. Tabii’s starting to break out and I will not be seen hanging out with a blonde Pikeman.” She said looking down at Max sitting against the tree. “Great. Now go away, I came here to be alone.” Max said sounding uninterested. He attempted to keep his book hidden as he tried to get her to leave.

Sasha looked down at Max’s book and raised an eyebrow. Max didn’t have time to blink before she snatched his book from his hand. Max yelped as he witnessed his book getting ripped out of his grip. “What are you reading? Some kind of stupid spy book like The Salzburg Connection? I wouldn’t be surprised, it’s pretty popular among guys right now-“ Sasha paused as she looked at the title, “The Charming Mr Drickton.” Max’s eyes widened as he pressed his knees together, gripping the brim of his hoodie.

“No way…” Sasha said as she looked at the back of the book. She read the plot with wide eyes. She looked down at Max, who sat uncomfortably on the ground. The silence flowed through the air with strong tension when suddenly, Sasha burst out laughing. “A romance book? Are you serious?” She said with a grin. Max jumped up off the ground, grinding his teeth as he tried to snatch his book back. Sasha kept it away from him as she skimmed through the pages he’s already read.

“Damn it, Sasha! Give that back!” Max squirmed as he tried to reach his book. “No way! This is too good!” Sasha said pushing Max away. She laughed at every little sentence she read from the book, it was all so cheesy. Max’s heart pounded in his chest. He tried to get the book but Sasha kept pushing him away or moving, so he couldn’t reach it. “Give that back a**hole! It’s not yours!” Max protested.

Sasha slammed the book shut, holding it in her hand and baiting it. She put a hand on her hip as she held the book up with a smirk. “Oh, yeah? It shouldn’t be yours either! Wow, a guy like you reading a romance book, now that’s interesting.” She taunted. Max let out a frustrated growl as he stood in place. There was no point in trying to get it back, she had already read the pages.

“Ha! Is this what you’ve been so glued to? You were so into it, you didn’t even notice me standing in front of you before!” Sasha laughed. Max clenched his fists as Sasha teased him. “I’m not that into it. I just didn’t have anything else to do!” Max tried to make up an excuse but Sasha clearly wasn’t buying it.

She narrowed her eyes and grinned as she began to walk toward him, “Oh, really? Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I told everyone about this “passing-time” book you’re so hooked too.” Sasha grinned as she watched Max’s eyes widen. “I’m sure they’d find you reading a romance book, very interesting.” She said with a smirk.

Max narrowed his eyes, trying to hide the embarrassment behind them. “I swear to god I will reign hell on your camp if you do.” Max threatened as he looked up at her. Sasha smirked at Max’s response. “Oh, I don’t know about that. If anything, I have the upper hand here.” Sasha said with a hand on her hip.

She then raised her hand and hovered it over her, then Max’s head. “Morally and physically. Now quit whining before I actually do tell everyone.” She said looking down at him. Max clenched his fists and stared down at the ground. “I’m not whining!” Max said as his cheeks started to turn a light shade of pink.

“…”

“Are you blushing?” Sasha chuckled as she leaned in to get a closer look. “No, damn it! Leave me the hell alone!” Max quickly backed away as he let out another frustrated growl. He didn’t know why he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Sasha grinned, finding amusement in the whole situation.

She held Max’s book behind her as she stared down at him. “Come on, why the blush? Am I embarrassing you?” Sasha snickered as Max clenched his jaw. This seemed too familiar, it was just like the page he was reading in his book. The bad part is, he’s Isla in this situation. Sasha let out a satisfied sigh as she took in Max’s expression.

“Here.” Sasha said holding out the book and giving it to him.

“You can have your book back. I have to get that Chickweed for Tabii before it gets too dark.” Sasha said as she began to walk away as if nothing happened. “I’ll keep your little “passing time” book a secret, but don’t expect me to not make fun of you for it.” Sasha added, looking back at him with a smirk as she walked away.

Soon she was out of sight. Max let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he tried to return to his normal complexion. He groaned as he began to walk back to camp. What was supposed to be a relaxing night of reading turned out to be the perfect amo for Sasha to tease him with. One thing was for certain though, Max wasn’t going to let Sasha have the last laugh.

This means war.

[sgiandubh]

Hitting a nerve, again

Dear @outlanderfandomfollies,

You took an extraordinary amount of time to lecture me on your blog with regard to one of my comments about the (in)famous funeral pictures. This deserves a reply and I hope you will understand it is done in good faith, although I cannot guarantee you that my answer will be devoid of irony. I am who I am, even if my opinions clearly vex you: I am sorry, but there is little I can do to accommodate you in that respect.

Fair enough, then. I took a stroll on your two blogs yesterday and I have to say I am underwhelmed. The thousands of words, the hundreds of pages, all that Taj Mahal of wisdom so liberally, relentlessly bestowed upon us, ignoramuses, was not enough to shake my beliefs. And pardon me the approximation: trying to make sense of what you wrote left such a strange aftertaste, that I did not pay enough attention to such details. Stupid me.

I have to say I was just starting to enjoy your very interesting interpretation of Jungian archetypes as applied to JAMMF. It did also remind me of Richard Campbell's Hero With A Thousand Faces, to be completely honest. I wanted more of that: a non-biased and personal interpretation of a beloved literary character. So, I am asking you in all honesty: why do your approach and your tone change, from professional to patronizing, when you deal with this side of the fandom, including me?

You present yourself as an independent blogger within the OL fandom. That, in my humble opinion, is a bias and a lie. There can be no independence in the current context of cold war, with the "truthers"' side bucketing out insults on a daily basis, with no prompting and no provocation from the shippers. You probably know as well as I do how the spiel works, via multiple spy sock accounts, anonymous submissions often sent to oneself and yes, rivers of "stupid shippers, idiot shippers". You also know and yet keep complete silence about it, that sensitive information is always exchanged in DMs and private groups, primarily out of respect for the people concerned (and also because that is none of your business, Antis).

Your very peculiar orientation is also something that ethically nags me. Independent, yet aligned. I find this fascinating, truly: it reminds me of an Eastern European tyrant's game of promoting himself for years to the West as aligned with the Soviets, yet independent from them. True story.

In the side note at the end of your long (loooooong) intervention about a mere comment expressing an opinion, you write:

I am asking you and I would appreciate a serious, well-researched answer (a girl can dream): exactly which boundaries did I (and I really mean I, Sgiandubh, not "shippers": that is very cheap rhetoric and I expected better from you) cross by simply expressing an opinion that disagreed with your POV?

For comparison purposes, an example of a very recent, supremely suave comment on one of the major Anti players' blogs. We never read any well-articulated protestations from you on those, ever: it is as if they do not exist. Heh. Talking about bias, when it's all about hiding the Antis' garbage under a skillfully woven carpet of scientific jargon:

And since you love side notes and caveats and all the critical apparatus paraphernalia, let me be very clear: I blurred the blogger's name on purpose, and not by cowardice. I blurred it because it is perfectly irrelevant, in this context and at the same time, very representative of a certain dominating vibe, in your camp, about OL's male lead. Something I believe you, as an independent (let's not forget aligned) blogger, should have no trouble taking a strong stance about.

Oh, the stench of intolerance, from the same person who wrote this, in 2016, on her blog:

Yes, yes. I know you also wrote your opinions changed with time and adventures along this long-winding, twisted road. Yet, I cannot help but thinking that a walk down this particular memory lane could bring more serenity and more clarity to your fandom endeavors.

I have no wish to attack you and I am not the insulting type, unlike some of your fellows. But I also do not need a laissez-passer sealed, stamped and delivered by you (with which authority?), in order to continue my journey. I would be very happy to settle on a non-aggression 'we agree to disagree' , keep calm and carry on common ground. At the very worst, I will simply ignore you and would be very grateful if you did the same. I simply feel I owe you absolutely nothing, including my time and attention.

Cordially yours,

Sgian-dubh, stupid shipper

[radio-navlee]

id sell my soul for you to write nikki and neil ganging up on max >:3

No need to sell your soul goul! I gotch you!

Say it!

Lee: Max

Ler: Nikki & Neil

Summary: Nikki and Neil had enough with Max just insulting them and decided to finally do something about it!(Takes place before s5)

——————————————— “Eugh! Max you reek of coffee!” Neil complained causing Max to growl back

“Yeah, I need it so I can deal with your bullshit!”

“Shhhh! Guys I’m trying to listen to what Terrence is trying to say!” Nikki shushed the boys cupping her hands around a fly and holding it up to her ear

It was a relatively hot day at Camp Campbell. Nikki, Neil, and Max laid in the grass that had been warmed up by the sun. David and Gwen thought it would be a good idea to give the campers a free day. (It totally wasn’t because Gwen didn’t wake up on time and David couldn’t think of anything to do for the day)

“Okay! Good bye Terrance!…. Yeah I can’t speak fly..” Nikki sighed

“I thought having a free day would be fun or something, I’m just bored!” Neil whined.

“Shhh! I’m trying sun bathe!” Max whipped out a pair of sun glasses and put them over his eyes.

“Sun bathing in a hoodie and jeans?”

“Guys did you hear that? I could have sworn I heard an annoying pussy start talkin” Max said with sarcasm

“Don’t call me a pussy Max!”

“I’ll call you what ever I want!”

“Can I call you stuff too Neil?” Nikki interrupted

“Nikki how about you go speak with the animals, you Snow White wanna be!” Max grumped

“Hey! I don’t even like Snow White!” Nikki frowned

“Max quit being such a dick!” Neil stated

“That’s funny, if you get to call me a dick then I get to call you a pussy!” Max crossed his arms

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Neil started to get annoyed with all the bickering.

Max, Neil, and Nikki broke out into an argument between all of them for different reasons, but it was mostly all traced back to Max. Neil pushed first

“Max your so annoying!”

“Don’t push me!” Max pushed back

“Ugh! This is exactly what I mean!” Neil and Max wrestled on the ground bumping into Nikki and pulling her into the fight as well.

“Let go!”

“Ow stop!”

“Hey!”

“GET OFF!”

“AUGH!”

Nikki and Neil both caught each others eyes and nodded their head, ganging up on Max and pinning him down.

“Hey! No fair!” Max gritted his teeth

“Stop calling me a pussy!”

“Stop calling me Snow White!”

“Get off me!!” Max growled

Now Max was pissed, this was just ridiculous! He squirmed underneath them but could get free. Nikki had pinned his shoulders to the ground while Neil unintentionally held his sides down.

“Stop callin us names! And say sorry!” Neil compromised

“This is outrageous!” Max groaned

“Now!” Neil readjusted his grip squeezing Maxs sides

“GAH! NEIL!” Max jumped

“What?”

“Don’t doho- that!”

“Do what?”

“Eh? Whatever you just did!”

Neil thought and squeezed Maxs sides again.

“Stohop! I mean it!”

“Max your ticklish?”

“Shut up!” Max blurted embarrassed

“What, can’t handle when I do this?” Neil teased squeezing Maxs sides over and over again. Max almost lost it. He tried to stifle any giggles trying to escape but Nikki was already starting to pin his arms

“GaHAha!” Max finally broke letting all the pent up giggles spill.

Neil moved up to his ribs to try to get a better reaction. Spidering between every rib and vibrating his fingers, Max was losing it.

“EHAHAhehaHA! NEHEhil!!”

“What?”

“QUHIhihit it!” Max bucked

“Say sorry!” Neil let up

“I- hihi- don’t say (inhale) sohorry!”

“Is that so? Nikki, help me out!” Neil smirked down at Max watching the smug in his eyes drain.

“I’d be glad too!” Nikki chirped, instead of hold his hands up she used her legs to pin them down, making her hands free. She giggled looking at Max wiggling her fingers, she swore she heard Max whine.

“Fuck!” Max let out his last words before Neil went back to his ribs and Nikki went right above his armpit. Teasing and tickling his upper arms instead. Luck for Max, Nikki couldn’t get under his hoodie like Neil.

“THISIS ihis STUPIHihihid!!”

“Just say sorry Max!”

“Yeah! Before I get you!” Nikki wiggled her hands in front of Maxs eyes. ‘That’s right, fuck!’ Max remembered, Nikki knew Max was ticklish, she knew all his spots.

“So are you gonna say sorry or not?” Neil stoped for a second.

“s-sohohorry…..YOUR STILL A PUSSY!!” Max insulted

“Oh that’s it-” Neil was cut off by Max laughing hysterically.

“GAHAHA! NIHIHIKIII!! FUHAHAHACK!!” Max scrunched up his neck at best he could, but he could not escape Nikki’s fast fingers.

“Nikki how did you-”

“DAHAHMNIT!!!”

“That’s not all! Look how he reacts when I get his ears!” Nikki quickly changed spots, Max squealed.

“SHIHIHIHIT!!” Max tried to shake her off but Nikki was too quick.

“NIHIKKII!! YOHOUR SUCH AHA *snort* GAH!”Did Max just snort? Holy moly, Neil was impressed. Nikki stoped to laugh.

“HAHAHehe! Sehee! Gosh Max you’re insane!” Nikki wiped a tear from her eye

“Nohot fuhunny!” Max said trying to catch his breath.

“Neil, if you’re still look for that apology. Try his hips!” Nikki said, grabbing Maxs hands and pinning them.

“His hips?”

“NO!” Max blurted

“Yeah his hips!”

“Like right here?” Neil teased tickling the air right above his hips

“Fohor fucks sake!” Max complained

“Yea yea! Right there!”

“okay!”

“Wait your serious?”

Neil inched closer

“WAITWAITWAIT!!”

Closer

“NEILISWEARTOGOD!”

“Closer”

“neilneilneilwaitpleaseyouhavenoideahowloudimgonnaget!!” Max tried to warn him panicking at the anticipation.

“If only you would-,” Neil latched onto Maxs hips, massaging into the bone

“-Just say sorry!”

“AHAHAHAHAAA! OHOHKAY!! ILL APOLOGIZE! PLEHEHEAHASEE!!” Max plead

“And it will be a real apology?” Neil did his best to drag the tickling on

“YEHES!! IT WI-*snort*-IHILL!!” Max snorted again! Nikki was laughing her ass off.

“Ok ok!” Neil let up

“gehehez!” Max panted

“I’m sohorry! I’m sorry I cahalled yohou a- a pussy!”

“There we go!” Neil clapped, Nikki let go of Maxs arms and Neil got off.

“Ugh, please shut up!” Max said covering his face in embarrassment

“Some one’s embarrassed!” Neil said in a baby voice

“Stop!” Max pushed Neil away

“I got an apology! I got max to say sor-ry!” Neil sang

Max whined, turning to his side to think of what just happened. ‘Did I really just say sorry?’ God damnit! Neil turned around to see Max lying on the ground facing away from him.

“Hey Max? Are you okay?”

“just don’t mention this every again!” Mad mumbled

“Sorry what?” Neil got closer

“I SAID-!” Max stoped himself and quieted down

“I said, don’t mention this ever again! Not to David! Not to Space Kid! Nobody should know about this!”

“About how easy it is to take you down with just a couple wiggles of the finger?” Neil laughed

“Ugh! Shut up! And yes!” Max groaned

“it took so long to get Nikki not to say anything!” Max pointed to Nikki who was digging up the grass.

“Okay okay! I won’t say a thing!” Neil said putting his hands up and backing off.

The rest of the day was pretty tiring for Max, the three of them laid back down in the grass just talking about whatever came to mind. Max eventually fell asleep causing Neil to also fall asleep, which made Nikki also fall asleep.

——————————————

Okie Dokie artichokie! Hope you enjoyed :)

-Navy out!

[separatist-apologist]

Red Earth & Pouring Rain

Remember what we found? No one can ever take that away. Something forever.

Summary: When Feyre's father tries to set her up with one of his high society friends' sons, Feyre does the only thing that makes sense in the moment: she fakes a Scottish fiánce. Writing him letters detailing her escapades, Feyre never expects anyone to read them. But when a mysterious uncle leaves her and her sisters three scattered castles, Feyre's forgotten fiánce appears on her doorstep, determined to make an honest woman of her yet.

Or- that time Rhys fell in love with a stranger writing him letters.

Big thanks to Unhinged Bookclub for help with the moodboard and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant (which consisted mostly of me asking about swear words)

Part 1/2: I've Got Something Burning, Coursing Through These Cold Veins | Read on AO3

Dear Rhysand Campbell-

Today is my sixteenth birthday, which ought to be cause for celebration. I want to be happy about it, but I’m not and I can’t tell anyone. My sisters already think I’m terribly spoiled and my father probably would, too, if he ever cared enough to notice me. Ugh, that sounded spoiled, too. Maybe they’re right. I don’t suppose you understand.

Of course you don’t. You aren’t real. And I guess there’s no danger in telling you about this miserable birthday party (if you could even call it that) or worrying you’ll think I’m spoiled and a miserable brat (like my older sister accused me of) (don’t worry, I pulled out one of her extensions in front of Tomas Mandray which…in retrospect…maybe proved her right on the miserable brat front. It was pretty funny, though. Even Elain cracked a smile.). 

It all started with my father. He woke up one morning a month ago, looked me straight in the face, and asked me how old I was. I didn’t know what to say (I might have forgotten), so Elain told him I would be sixteen in a month. And he said we should celebrate, which made me so happy. I rattled off a list of things I wanted to do, and I thought he was listening.

I should have known he wasn’t when he put Elain in charge of planning. It’s not that Elain is malicious, she’s just…prim. Perfect, really. The sort of daughter he actually wants, I think because she doesn’t make a lot of fuss and maintains his calendar for him like mother used to (she died when I was nine). 

And I definitely should have known we were NOT going camping when Elain had me measured for a dress. She looked so apologetic and I couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings when I know she’s trying really hard to fill the gap mom left when it comes to me, even if it makes her spineless when it comes to dad. And I could have asked Nesta to ruin it, but I guess I’m a little spineless, too.

So by the time the day arrived, it’s this huge party for all of dads friends, one of whom is running for parliament and needs money. And I look so very stupid in a floor length ball gown and—I am not joking—a jeweled tiara while all these old men in their fifties whore themselves out for cash. There was a cake (five tiers and chocolate, which is my favorite flavor, at least), there was singing, and of course the aforementioned incident in which several of Nesta’s extensions were pulled from her head unceremoniously. 

Some leering prick told me I was a woman now. Well, he said it to my breasts, not really me. What is it about men that makes them think that’s a normal thing to do? Am I supposed to be flattered? Elain whisked me away, a smile plastered on her face and when I asked her how she stands it, she only laughed and said, “Oh Feyre.” Like I was the silliest person in the world. 

She looked like a princess, and I don’t envy her for it. Every man our father is friends with is trying to trick or trap her into marriage. I think she could be a princess like Kate Middleton if she had the interest. 

Anyway. 

Father made some grand speech right before the cake cutting, where he talked about peace and, for some unknown reason, Brexit. He also thanked God for  our monarchs, which, I didn’t realize he was that religious but I guess for this crowd, he is. 

You know what he didn’t do? Say thank you for his daughters? Imagine, blessing Charles but not the daughters who enrich his life. Nesta was gripping a steak knife so tightly I thought she might actually stab him and Elain’s eyes were glassy and sad, even with that plastered smile.

And despite how Nesta thinks I’m a miserable brat, she DID stand up and demand everyone sing me happy birthday. And Elain led everyone in an off-key rendition of the song, which was nice. Serving staff cut the cake, and there were, of course, no candles.

Happy sixteenth birthday to me.

And at the very end of the night, some lord (I think—honestly, I wasn’t even listening at that point, I was just thinking about getting those miserable shoes off my feet) told father that his son was single, and also sixteen. I could see father's interest peak and I can’t be like Elain. She’s always letting those awful boys take her on dates, and they always make her cry. So I blurted out,

“Actually, I have a boyfriend.”

Father asked who, but already he didn’t care. So I said the most made-up, Scottish name I could think of—Rhysand Campbell. Maybe you do exist, somewhere. Actually, there are probably hundreds of you, though who's counting? What’s important is that YOU, Rhysand Campbell, are not real and this address is to a post office in the middle of nowhere Scotland. I expect it’ll be shredded. Perhaps the mail worker will read it and have a laugh at my expense. 

Still.

Thank you for saving me tonight. 

All the best,

Feyre Archeron 

Dearest Rhysand–

I didn’t think I’d write to you again, but I think I have to confess my lies, and you are the only person I know who won’t judge me.

Of course, you’re fake, but in my mind you’ve become a little real. Everyone wants to know how we met, and if you’re curious why they would ever want to know that, well, you are very convenient. You see, most girls my age want to date. And in some ways, so do I. There are some very handsome boys, nice boys, even.

But none of my family approves of. If they found out I slept with Isaac Hale, I think they might actually kill me. He’s a fishmonger, which is a very real job thank you very much. It only sounds fake and like something from an eighteenth century book because of the word monger. Which made me laugh the first time I heard it. Anyway, I thought maybe it was better to just get things over with, and he really was so nice that I just…kept going back.

He has a girlfriend now, and I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt my feelings a little. Even though I know I could never bring him home. Nesta would sneer and call him smelly and Elain…well, Elain would probably be nice but her eyes would be pitying. So maybe it’s for the best.

I’m sidetracked again.

So Isaac has his girlfriend from Milton Keynes, which I am absolutely NOT  jealous of, even if her eyebrows made her look insane. I admit, I was brooding which Elain says is going to give me frown lines around my mouth. And of course father took that moment to stroll in and say he knew just the thing that would cheer me up.

That thing??? A MAN. In what world has a man’s presence ever made a woman feel better? Even Elain turned her head to roll her eyes, thinking no one saw. Nesta was in a mood, though I didn’t ask why—I don’t care, so long as she keeps yelling at father on my behalf. She told him seventeen was too young to worry about marriage, which made him remember that Elain is nineteen and Nesta is twenty-one, so I suppose we’ll all be dealing with that fall out later.

But the Lord of Rose-something-or-other has a son. Tamlin? Timothy? I was not paying attention. What I did say, was, “You know I’m dating someone already. I’ve told you all about him.”

I probably could have gotten away with that if Nesta and Elain weren’t in the room. We talk more frequently and they’ve never once heard me say your name. Of course Elain was fascinated, and Nesta was suspicious. Father is far easier to gaslight. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, that liar. “Remind me, who’s son is he?”

And I said, of course, that you were no one’s son, but just a regular Scottish man.

Nesta, that traitor, narrowed her eyes. He can always tell when I’m lying. “Oh? How did you meet this London-living Scotsman?”

Murdering your sisters is a crime. I’m saying that as a reminder to myself, because if she invented a fake suitor to get father to leave her alone, I would have gone along with it. So I said we met in a tea shop. I made you charming. I said you saw me from across the room and couldn’t help yourself. In this fictional meet-cute, you were enamored at first sight, and I, of course, believed you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen (I did not mention that because I was talking to my father). 

That was important, because NO ONE thinks that about me. They think it about Elain, who is so beautiful it makes my teeth ache, and they might think it about Nesta if her eyes didn’t promise violence all the time. But not me. And I have mostly made my peace with it, but it would be nice if there was one man who didn’t prefer my sisters to me.

Even if I have to make him up in order for that to happen. 

He told me to invite you to dinner. Please, oh please, Rhysand Campbell, will you do me the honor of dining with my dysfunctional family? Father will want to know all about your father, and if your family could be of use to him and his shipping business. And Nesta will hate you on principle alone, while Elain won’t be able to help but like you. 

Of course I like you, if only because you are not real.

It’s a shame you can’t make it because you’re heading back to Edinburgh to take care of a sick relative. You’re so compassionate, so selfless. This is why I like you. 

Thank you (again) for rescuing me. Too bad you’re just me, rescuing myself,

Your beloved,

Ferye Archeron

Darling Rhysand, 

Last names are formality by now, don’t you think? I’ve officially taken things too far. The nice thing about being overlooked is everyone kind of forgets what you’re doing (or that you exist), which means you and I have been happily dating for the last two and a half years. If I go out with someone else, no one questions it because they assume I’m seeing you.

And no one cares that they haven’t met you, because you’re some nobody they assume I’ll eventually tire of. Which would be all well and good if I hadn’t blurted out, in front of god and EVERYONE, that you asked me to marry you. Let me set the scene:

I panicked. 

Okay, I guess I didn’t need to set much at all. It was another party and as you can guess, I was in another stupid dress. Have you ever seen Gone With the Wind? You know those kinds of dresses? That’s how I feel, no matter how sleek and lovely the dress actually is. And I know I look perfectly fine in them, but I feel out of sorts. Like a doll, like someone who LIKES when men stare down my dress despite their wife right beside them, and tell me I’m beautiful.

They never say that when they’re looking at my face.

Anyway, do you remember Tamlin? Well, he’s a baron and his father and an MP, despite having so much money he doesn’t need to work (I suspect he just misses when the nobility could boss around the english populace), and he is quite taken with me. Rhys (can I call you Rhys? I feel like since you proposed I could probably call you that), he’s actually really handsome, too. The first time I saw him, I almost considered breaking things off with you. No hard feelings, of course, it’s just…you’re not real.

But he’s duller than dry paint. BEIGE dry paint. We have nothing to talk about, and believe me, I’ve tried. I thought if I could get him to talk to me for even thirty minutes, we could get naked.

But it’s like pulling my own teeth, dragging answers out of this man.

And, between you and me, he once told me “your hair looks clean” as a compliment. He couldn’t even lie and say I was pretty? So you and I continue our romance, implausible as it is. Tamlin’s father was saying how handsome we’d be, and Tamlin jumped in to ask me on a very public date and I am a coward, I think. 

Because I said, “Rhysand proposed.”

And Nesta burst out laughing, the bint. It was Elain, eyes brimming with hope and pleasure—she so badly wants to see one of us do whatever we like, father be damned—who asked to see the ring.

Of which there isn’t one. So I’ve made you poor, I’m so sorry. I lied and said you didn’t have one, because you were working toward affording something nice and of course I don’t care about it (because I don’t). Father demanded to meet you and Tamlin was humiliated (a silver lining to this whole affair, truly). 

Any reasonable person would have just confessed the whole plot right then and there. But I am not reasonable, my darling fiance. I am, I think, a little crazy because I slipped out the next morning and purchased a ring myself from Boodles, and since I bought it, it was perfect. Nothing terribly fussy—a sapphire cut in the shape of a diamond, with little diamonds haloed overtop, like falling stars. Set on a delicate silver band, it really is quite lovely. 

I showed father, who was rather impressed with it. I lied and said it had belonged to your mother, who was so overjoyed at the thought of getting a daughter that she solved your ring dilemma on the spot.

It doesn’t fix the problem of everyone wanting to meet you, of course. 

Our engagement is going to be short lived, I think—just as soon as I can figure out what to do next. If I’m not careful, I’ll be saying I eloped and then what? 

What then, indeed.

Yours, faithfully,

Ferye 

Rhys,

Well. 

It’s officially over. Why am I so sad? You were never anything more than a figment of my imagination, and yet telling my family you had ended things drew real tears from me. Elain comforted me, and Nesta called you a self-serving asshole, which is her way of assuring me she loves me. Father, of course, just barely remembered you existed despite the ring I’ve been wearing for a full year. I tucked it in a box as a token of how far I’m willing to commit to a lie (and because it was pretty expensive, and I don’t think I can return it). 

Even though you’re fake, I didn’t have the heart to make you an asshole. I said your mother had become gravely ill and you had to care for her. That it was with your deepest regrets you ended things—that you thought I deserved someone who could be in London fully, and you would always regret me. 

Nesta called it “typical male bullshit,” so I suppose she believes me now. Or she’s willing to pretend, given how sad I am. I’m mostly sad that I think I should probably stop writing to you. I’m twenty, now, and I think it’s time to stop indulging in my fantasies and be real. I’m nearly finished with school, and I should devote more time to paintings.

And besides, Elain is practically engaged, which has taken the pressure of marriage off Nesta and I, for now. Lord Graysen Nolan. How I wish you were real, because you would think he was a total twat, too. Nesta begrudgingly tolerates him because Elain is so head over heels, but he is awful. A scourge, a plague upon mankind and CERTAINLY upon my beautiful sister. He’s going to dump her in some ancient country estate, fill her with babies, and crush her into dirt and she can’t even see it. 

He is handsome and charming, though, and he has my sister wrapped around his finger. I think it’s because he doesn’t think she’s beautiful—though, I think he says so in his effort to break her down. She is so used to everyone finding her impossibly lovely that the first man who insults her is worthy of her heart.

I’m rambling again. Anyway, this is my official break-up, fake boyfriend slash fiance. I have loved you, though you never existed. You were the perfect man (because you were fake), and I’m not sure how any others will compare. Maybe I’ll try boring Tamlin again. 

What’s funny is that we could have been together, if you’d been actually real. Some dead uncle gifted my sisters and I three castles—one apiece—and mine is in the Scottish highlands. Isn’t that wild? He was my mothers uncle, so technically an uncle twice removed? I’m not sure how that works, honestly. But in his will, he left us each a castle in need of repair to do with as we like. Elain has dreams of turning hers (of course it’s located in the English countryside) into a charming bed and breakfast while Nesta wants to live in it as, and this is a direct quote, “the local bog witch all the children are afraid of.”

As for me, well…I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. I intend to go visit at the end of the month with my paints to see if inspiration might strike. I admit, I’m curious about a real life castle—maybe I will start a farm and remove myself from society instead. Everyone will ask (no one would, because that would require remembering I exist, but lets pretend they would), “What ever happened to Feyre Archeron?”

And my father would be forced to tell them I own a multitude of cows. All of which are named—and perhaps even treated like my children. Who can say? I am not sure if I’m cut out for livestock, or farming or even castle living. Maybe I’ll make it a museum or something else that requires little effort on my part. 

The caveat seems to be fixing it up. I can do that, I suppose.

This whole letter is rambling. It is supposed to be me telling you goodbye, and putting this whole messy affair behind me. Thank you for being my only friend, which I recognize is pathetic. I hope the postal worker who has been reading these takes pity on my plight, however pathetic it was. 

I will think of you fondly.

Yours, forever, 

Feyre 

Feyre wiped her nose on the back of her hand, breathing rather hard for someone who was in decently good shape. Six months since she’d moved to the highlands, thinking replacing the inner workings of a centuries old castle would be easy. Replace the plumbing and the floors, rework the electric, and fix the broken glass and she’d be done.

If only. Every day there was some new, horrible discovery. Bats in the attic and rodents in the cellar. A crumbling foundation that had to be nearly rebuilt. A leaking roof that flooded water into the great hall, which then ruined all the flooring Feyre had installed, causing it to be ripped up and replaced again. 

It cost a small fortune before the sprawling structure was decent enough to sleep in, let alone live in. And though she had her uncles inheritance to go along with fixing the god forsaken castle. Of course, that money was only for castle repair, and was just barely enough. She’d used her fathers money, too, a paltry sum given just how much of it he had to give away when it was for one of his friends or some do-nothing politician looking to cut taxes in a way that personally benefited her father. 

Feyre also considered she was far luckier than Elain, who’s castle came with a rather surly occupant that swore he also owned the castle—and after a little digging through legal records, was found to be correct. Feyre would have lost it if she had to compromise at all.

Except, now she had a nearly finished castle she had no idea what to do with. As it turned out, Feyre did not have the aptitude for farming like she’d hoped, and rather missed living in the city—though, she didn’t miss London. She missed people, and things to do, but not London itself. 

There were enough rooms to turn it into a hotel, like Elain was considering. Feyre also thought it made a rather nice venue for people looking to host events or get married. The view of the Scottish highlands was breathtaking, and the castle itself was really nice. Stone on the outside, mostly modern on the inside. Full, working plumbing so long as no one shoved too much toilet paper into the drains, claw baths, and big, four poster beds in circular rooms overlooking the hillside. There was a full, working kitchen Ferye had never used, a ballroom, a grand hall, dungeons—anything a person might want, if she could only figure out how to market it. 

It was just a passing idea. For now, Feyre was living in it with a small, paid staff to keep herself fed and the bats from sneaking back in. 

It was pure privilege to spend her days painting, and yet Feyre felt like she’d earned it. Without her father and his obnoxious social circle breathing down her neck, she could run wild like she’d always wanted to. She had a little hammock in the courtyard she frequently fell asleep in, a barbeque she’d spent an exorbitant amount on only to use twice, and was even considering digging out a pool. Why not? Who could stop her? 

No one. 

She’d have to go back eventually—home, that was. Her father’s calls were becoming more frequent and becoming more annoyed. All three of his daughters had just vanished, leaving him to manage his own life for once. Who was he going to build life-long alliances with if he couldn’t move Feyre and Nesta around like pawns. 

Elain was all but sold to the Nolans, if the ugly engagement ring Graysen had given Elain was any indication. Feyre supposed she’d have to come home for that tragedy. Sometimes Feyre wondered if Elain wasn’t dragging out the business with her castle in an attempt to avoid wedding planning.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

Feyre woke that warm, summer morning like she did every day. Breakfast was waiting in the small dining room on the main floor—a simple fare of sausage, beans, and toast. She dressed, braided her hair in a long, french tail, and gathered her art supplies, intending to make her way to the furthest point on the grounds. 

Outside the heavy, rounded doors lay a neat stone path meant to feel old, though it was very modern. She’d watched the workers lay it herself. And standing at the very end of it, dressed in a black shirt and a blue and green plaid kilt, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His dark, blue black hair ruffled in the wind, while eyes so blue they seemed nearly violet, stared openly at her.

She saw plenty of Scotsmen, given she was in Scotland. And yet there was something about this man, with his toned shins clad in high, black socks and his tall, powerful body, that gave her pause. She could see the hint of ink just above his knees and the curve of his neck, and when Feyre looked back to his face, his mouth was curved into a sensual smile. 

“Feyre Archeron?” he asked with a rich, dark accent. 

Feyre cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s she—I ah—I mean, that’s me.”

His smile widened. “Aye, ye are, aren’t ye?”

She blinked. “Can I help you with something, Mr…?”

He chuckled, placing a broad hand against his muscular chest. “Ma apologies. I’m Rhysand Campbell.”

A soft scream escaped Feyre’s lips. “Liar.”

He took a step toward her, reaching into the leather sporran hanging from his waist. Feyre couldn’t breathe, watching in horror as he pulled a stack of letters out and offered them to her. 

She didn’t take them, shaking her head back and forth. “Prove it.”

He was still grinning, reaching for his wallet. Feyre’s hands shook when he pulled out a license, proving he was exactly who he said he was.

“How…?”

“Did ye think there was no one in all of Dornoch with the name Campbell? It’s quite common a last name.”

Feyre’s heart was mere seconds from jumping out of her chest. 

“It was luck I happened to be named Rhysand.”

“Luck,” she repeated, looking skyward. “All those years and you never thought to write back/”

He merely shrugged, taking back his license from her shaking fingers. “At first? It was charming. I figured ye’d stop eventually. Ye wrote a lot of things.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ferye said stiffly. Prick. 

“I’m sure ye don’t,” he replied with that insufferable smile.

“No, I do. You got my letters, figured out who my father was, and now you’re here for money. Is that it, Mr. Campbell?”

“Not quite,” he replied, coming closer still. 

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Where’s tae ring, darling?” he all but purred. Ice slithered through Feyre’s veins, her eyes landing back on those letters. She’d spent three years writing to him, pouring out her secrets, venting about her family…and telling him all about their nonexistent romance. At best, Ferye had imagined an elderly postal woman reading those letters with a mixture of pity and amusement before tossing them. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she imagine that an actual man was reading what she wrote. 

“It’s here, isn’t it?” he pressed, those eyes flashing with delight. “Sentimental, lass.”

Feyre shook her head again. “No. Absolutely not. Send father those letters—”

“And Nesta? Or Elain?” he pressed, preventing Feyre from turning on her heel and leaving him standing in the garden looking foolish. “What about them, hm? What do ye think they’d think of yer scathing assessment of them?”

Feyre exhaled. “What is it that you want? A sham engagement?”

“Oh, a wee bit more than that. I’ve come to claim my wife.”

“You don’t even know me,” Feyre protested, wondering if she ought to just call the police. He was blackmailing her—into marriage, for a purpose she couldn’t ascertain. 

“We’re in love,” he said, some of his smile fading just a little. 

“So I’m supposed to, what, exactly? Call up my father and tell him—”

“The engagement is back on,” he interrupted, closer still. She could smell him, then—like citrus and the sea, washing over her with the warm morning breeze. Rhysand blotted out the sun with his large body, peering down at her with enough intensity to make her uncomfortable. “And we’re in love.”

“Lies.”

“Ye should be verra familiar with that, darling,” he replied, an edge to his voice. 

Feyre ran a hand down her face. “For how long?”

He shrugged. “Who could say?”

Prick prick prick! 

“A marriage built upon the foundation of blackmail. You are too charming, Mr. Campbell.”

“Just as ye always imagined,” he replied with a wicked grin. “Now. Are ye going to invite me in? Or do I have to beg?”

“Why not?” Feyre grumbled, eyeing those letters. Rhysand caught her, offering them up again.

“Take them. It’s not like I didnae make copies.”

Still, Feyre snatched them from him all the same, holding them close to her chest. She’d hoped she might undo this mess simply by throwing them away and thus, removing his leverage. In truth, were Rhysand ever to show her father her letters, it would merely force him to pay attention to her. Elain and Nesta would forgive her, with time.

But the idea of her father knowing just how much she loathed him, all while craving his validation and approval, was too much for her pride to handle. It was enough to make her think that, perhaps, this wasn’t such an awful idea. If she could set some hard rules, having a ne’er-do-well for a husband kept her from ever having to get married to someone awful.

Like Tamlin, who still sent the occasional too-formal text inquiring after her help.

And this man was hot. Surely he knew it, too, if that wide smile and the way he kept running his hand down his chest was any indication. How long could he tolerate her? How long before he realized his new wife had no intention of sleeping with him, of showing him any affection? 

He couldn’t blackmail her into sex—even Feyre had her limits and had to assume he did too.

Or hope, anyway. The bar was in hell, even for a man who’d shown up on her doorstep and declared his intention to marry her. 

She forced a smile on her face. “Right this way, Lord Campbell.”

His smile vanished. “I preferred when ye were calling me Rhys. All my friends do. My wife should, too.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” Feyre reminded him. “My sisters are going to be so thrilled. Elain will want to throw an engagement party, and father—”

“Elope,” he said, stepping through the threshold with big, wide eyes. “I’m not going to London for a wedding.”

“Your wife is from London,” Feyre reminded him through gritted teeth. “You’ll have to visit them eventually.”

“Why? Invite them here. Surely there’s space.”

Feyre whirled on her heel, smacking straight into the hard plain of his chest. Rhysand reached for her arms, steadying her with a soft chuckle. “Careful, lass.”

“Let me get this straight. You will make no concessions in this sham marriage? Because, despite what you’ve imagined, blackmailing is a crime and my father has a lot of money.”

“Do ye want to go back to London?” he asked patiently, one perfectly groomed brow arched. As if he already knew the answer to that. As if he knew Feyre would have done anything to stay exactly where she was—far from London, far from her father and his circle of friends. Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, hating how smug he looked.

“It will be an actual wedding. And you will invite yer family—”

“I have none,” he interrupted, a shadow crossing his handsome expression. Feyre faltered.

“Friends?”

A soft smile. “Aye. Friends I do have.”

“Okay. Then friends. And you will keep your hands to yourself the entire time. Separate beds. Separate lives.”

He clenched his jaw for a moment before nodding. “Aye. I can do that. Any other demands ye have?”

“Once we’re married, I want you to burn those letters,” Feyre said, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable. “I’ll—marriages are not so easily undone.”

“And how do I know ye won’t back out tae moment they’re gone?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

She considered pleading with him. Was it not enough, she wanted to ask, to make her go through with this? That he knew things about her she’d never wanted anyone to know? He couldn’t let her forget it? Feyre took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. Not in front of him.

“Very well,” she said, trying her hardest to channel Nesta’s icy disdain. “Let me just—”

She turned, and he caught her by the arm, spinning her around. “Give me a reason to trust ye, lass, and I’ll destroy them.”

“And will you be giving me a reason to trust you?” she asked, wrenching her arm from his grasp. 

“I could have gone straight to ye father. Shown him what ye did, demanded he pay me to keep quiet. I came to ye, instead. I don’t want yer money, Feyre. Just…”

“My home,” she finished with a sigh. 

“Aye,” he agreed solemnly. “A castle that belongs to Scottish blood, not the English.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” she snapped.

“Tae only way,” he murmured, and despite the softness of his tone, it was clear he didn’t care for disagreement. Feyre dug the heel of her hand into her eyes and sighed loudly. 

“Call him,” Rhys said, nodding toward her shorts and the phone outline in the tight fabric. “Tell him the good news.”

“He will never accept you as a son.”

Rhys only shrugged. “As long as his daughter loves me.”

“She doesn’t,” Feyre snapped, but it didn’t matter. She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Took a breath. And then. 

“Dad? It’s me, Feyre.”

-*-

Living with Rhysand was a mixture of insufferable and tolerable in equal measure. The castle was sprawling, big enough that for the first day, she didn’t see him at all. She’d instructed the staff to serve him and slipped that ring back on her finger in order to keep up appearances. Absurd, given any truly happy couple reuniting might have spent that first night locked in bed together, and Feyre had very much shut her bedroom door with the letters Rhysand had given and begun to pour through them.

They were worse than she imagined. Not only had she complained about her family, she’d divulged personal secrets, told him about her hopes, her dreams. She’d sent him sketches, she’d told him about the people in her fathers social circle, along with all the most embarrassing and hilarious gossip. Things that Rhysand could have sent to a trash magazine and humiliated half of London with. 

She’d treated those letters like a diary, never thinking there was a real man on the other end. Feyre couldn’t sleep that first night.

Or the second.

She did sleep the third, but only because Elain had promised to come down that weekend, delighted to meet the man she’d heard so much about. Nesta had sent back only three words.

Are you sure?

If Nesta came, she’d see straight through Feyre, so Feyre supposed she ought to be grateful Nesta was embroiled in some kind of property dispute with her castle and a local reenactor who took to staging battles of Scottish victory over the English on her front lawn with loud enthusiasm. Feyre suspected Elain was rather happy to escape for a bit, and might soften Rhysand ever so slightly.

And maybe if he realized there were more interesting Archerons, he might take to courting Elain instead of insisting with the sham wedding. Not that Elain would ever agree to it, but…men had always gravitated toward her. Feyre thought Rhysand simply wouldn’t be able to help himself. 

On the fourth day, Feyre slipped back through the castle, lugging her art supplies in a canvas bag with her. She expected the grounds to be empty, that Rhysand would be inside lording about her staff like some kind of king.

She heard the sound of wood splitting in the courtyard before she saw him.

Shirtless, in that kilt and the same black socks, rolled halfway down his shins from sweat and exertion. He’d found an ax and with a mighty swing of his powerful biceps, brought it screaming onto a block of wood.

Feyre couldn’t take her eyes off the slick, taut muscles of his stomach, his back, tattooed in dark whorls of ink. Rhysand seemed far too pretty to do any sort of manual labor, which brought Feyre back to the present.

Though, he’d absolutely caught her ogling him. He halted, pushing one booted foot up onto the heavy stump he was using to split wood while using the hem of his kilt to wipe at his forehead. “What are you doing?” she demanded. Didn’t he know she paid someone to bring in firewood? Besides, there was heating the castle—she’d also paid for that.

“Chopping wood,” he replied, his eyes sliding to the neat stack at his feet. His tone was polite, though perhaps annoyed. As if he really wanted to say, what does it look like I’m doing? 

“I pay someone to do that.”

“Of course ye do, lass,” he said with relish. “I don’t see why—I am more than capable of helping.”

Feyre hesitated. “You want to help?”

“Aye.” He frowned. “What did ye think I was gonna do? Sit around waving my hands like some kind of fancy lord?”

“Yes, actually—that’s exactly what I thought.”

“I already told ye. I don’t want yer money.”

Yes, he had said this, hadn’t he? Feyre sniffed. “Fine. You want chores? There are bats in the attic again.”

He offered her a handsome smile. Coupled with the bright sunshine and his warm, brown skin, Feyre’s knees wobbled a little. Why couldn’t he look disgusting? Her traitor body had not gotten the message that they hated him.

“I can do that,” he said. “And anything else ye have for me.”

“I’ll make a list,” she said tartly. 

But later, when Feyre was alone with nothing but her thoughts and her canvas, all she could think about was Rhysand, midswing over that block of wood. She thought of the tight expression on his face and the controlled movements of his body.

And even though she hated herself for it, she reached for a piece of charcoal.

And began to sketch. 

-*-

Elain arrived at the end of the first week of Rhysand’s arrival. True to word, Rhysand had done every chore Feyre had left for him without complaint. He’d cleared out the bats and fixed several burnt light bulbs, digging out a ladder from god only knew where. And when he ran out of things to do, he turned his attention to the dilapidated stables Feyre had never bothered with. In truth, she’d always meant to tear them down.

It seemed Rhysand meant to fix them up.

He was out there when Elain swanned in, tan from a summer outdoors in the English countryside. She grinned the moment she saw Feyre, throwing her arms around her sister's neck.

“It’s so good to see you,” Elain said, squeezing tight enough to make Feyre’s ribs ache. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? How are you holding up?” Feyre asked, pulling away to search her sister's expression. A faint blush bloomed over Elain’s cheeks.

“Well—I’m, well, I’m perfectly lovely, if we’re being honest.”

“Oh?” Feyre asked.

Elain held up her hand, wiggling bare fingers while Feyre just stared. “You got your nails done?”

“You’re so terribly observant. I’ve called off my engagement—just in time for you to be married. I’ve come to see if you want any of the things we put deposits on, so they don’t go to waste.”

“You—what?” Feyre gaped, realizing only then Elain was trying to show her a hand without an engagement ring. “What happened?”

Elain only shrugged, though more pink crept up her neck. “It wasn’t right. I was…I was deluding myself, I think. It doesn’t matter, because I know you hated him, so you don’t have to pretend. I’ve brought pictures so you can see everything, and it would be no trouble to have it all brought here for you. I know how much you hate planning,” Elain added brightly. “I only wish I could be more helpful.”

“This is already too helpful,” Feyre said, pulling her sister through the open hall toward the spiraling stairs that led both to the left and the right. Elain drank it all in as the skirt of her buttery yellow sundress swished around her legs. She looked every inch a princess, and it took no effort at all to imagine her walking these halls four hundred years before while poets and bards sang songs about her beauty. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your husband?” she asked, looping her arm through Feyre’s. “I’ve always wanted to meet him. Nesta used to swear you made him up and I told her you’d never do such a thing. It’s nice to prove her wrong sometimes.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed. “He’s working on the stables. I’ll take you to him.”

This would be the moment of truth. Rhysand would see her and realize his mistake, just as all men did. He wouldn’t be able to look away—and Elain seemed radiant that morning, glowing like the midafternoon sun beating overhead. Her golden blonde hair was perfectly curled, a cascade over her slim shoulders while a set of pearls graced her ears. She’d put on make-up, which Feyre never did, and had the air of someone both effortless and yet unattainable. 

The same air Rhysand had, if Feyre was being honest. They’d make a smart couple. Why did that thought annoy her so much? 

Feyre led Elain over the grounds slowly, giving her a tour and pointing out all the work she’d done while Elain explained how her bed and breakfast was going. She’d created a tentative peace with the other occupant and owner of her castle—a man with a distinctly French sounding last name and decidedly French first one. Lucien Vanserra. He sounded snooty, and given the difficulty he’d created for Elain, likely some seventy year old man looking to exert his control one last time before his time on earth ended. 

“Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Elain said, which was a very Elain sort of thing to say. She could charm a wild bear holding a sword. If the man had eyes, it likely hadn’t been hard to talk him into a small compromise. 

Rhysand was coming out of the stables as Feyre and Elain began to walk in. He didn’t see them approaching as he mopped up the sweat on his brow with the hem of his shirt. Feyre’s breathe caught at the sight of peeking abs, vanished the second he saw Elain. His eyes slid from her sister back to Feyre, some answered question flickering in his gaze.

“Elain, this is Rhysand,” Feyre told Elain just in time for her sister to plant her foot in a wet container of wood stain.

Elain screeched, yanking herself backward. Her lovely white flat was ruined, which was a shame, truly—though Rhysand? wasn’t looking at Elain at all, but Feyre. His expression very much betrayed his annoyance, some shared secret she didn’t quite understand, as if to say oh. I understand now.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain said, looking at the mess pooling around them. 

“No need,” Rhysand replied, though there was some disappointment in his tone. “I was going to do tae floor as well.”

“Of course. Probably not like this, though,” Elain replied with a small laugh. 

Rhysand only nodded, looking back to Feyre for some guidance. But it was Elain who was the conversationalist, and when she realized he didn’t know what to say, pressed forward. “How is your mother?”

Oh, christ. Feyre had forgotten that lie, amid the others. Rhysand became rigid for a moment, haunted by Elain’s ask. “She passed, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Elain whispered. Rhysand only nodded, his jaw tight with emotion. So that had been true, in some way. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not yer fault,” Rhysand murmured. “But I miss her.”

Elain nodded. “Well,” she said, wiping her hands on her dress nervously. “We should ah, probably let you get back to…”

“I’ll see ye both at dinner,” he replied, offering up his most charming smile. And that was that. Elain, holding her shoe by the crook of one finger, waited until they were out of earshot before she said, “You really undersold how handsome he was.”

And when Feyre turned to look over her shoulder, she found Rhysand leaning against the wooden door frame, eyes wholly on her. 

It was that night that both Feyre and Rhysand seemed to realize they could not sleep apart in opposite wings of the castle. Elain had made some little quip about how nice it must be to have all this alone time and Rhysand’s fork had clattered to his plate while Feyre’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

He’d come to her, at least. Feyre sat up against a sea of pillows when she heard him knock, sucking in a deep breath.

“Come in.”

A moment later, the handle turned and there he was. He’d put on plain black sleep pants and a white t-shirt, and his still damp hair told her she’d just freshly showered. If she’d been smart, Feyre would have dragged a divan up from another room so he could sleep on it. As it stood, there were two little chairs facing a small breakfast table and then her rather large, four-poster bed. 

And Rhys was a tall man. He looked around, drinking in the cream colored rug and the sand and stone walls, illuminated by an overhanging chandelier. A little potted plant sat half dead in the circular window at the far end of the room, while books were stacked on beneath the television stand haphazardly.

“I’m not sleeping on tae floor,” he told her when he realized their predicament.

“I assumed,” she replied, scooting to the far side of the bed. “No touching.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a theatrical eye roll. As he padded toward her, he asked, “How long will she be here?”

“The weekend,” Feyre replied, trying—and failing—not to notice how good he smelled. “Why?”

“She’s not what I imagined,” he finally said, dragging a hand through his hair with contemplation.

Feyre immediately felt defensive. “She has that effect on people.”

He frowned. “Oh? And what effect do ye imagine she’s having on me?”

“She’s just very…”

“Verra…” he prompted, waiting for Feyre to spit it out. “Dull?”

“What?” Ferye gaped. “She’s not dull.”

“Proper, then. A real English princess,” he amended. 

It was asking for pain, and still Feyre couldn’t help herself. “Then what does that make me?”

He smiled again, his face blooming with warm affection. “Wild. Free,” he added, thinking to himself for a moment, as if he needed to choose his words carefully lest he insult her. “Ye are far more lovely than her—”

“Don’t,” Feyre snapped, unable to stand the lie. “No one thinks that.”

She turned to her side, angrily fluffing a pillow before turning off the bedside table.

“I think that,” Rhysand murmured defensively. “I saw a picture of tae three of ye, once.”

She half twisted to look at him. “How?”

“We do have the internet here too, lass. It was simple enough to google ye. I wasn’t sure which of ye was which—but I hoped ye were…well…Feyre. I thought ye must be Elain, given how much you talked of her beauty.”

Feyre’s heart pounded. “You’re such a liar, Mr. Campbell.”

“Not when it comes to ye, darling.”

There was a pause of silence between them, hanging thickly as Feyre digested that information. Hoped. She didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“It was one of the things I liked about getting tae letters,” he murmured, settling into the bed. After turning off the lights, it felt easier to peel back some of her defensiveness, to listen to him talk. “My sister died when she was wee, and my mother, well. She never quite recovered from it. When ye wrote that first letter, she was ill again and my father was in one of his rages. And there ye were, in a similar predicament. I thought maybe it was fate.”

“Why didn’t you write back?” she asked, turning fully to her side, her head resting on her elbow.

“Cowardice, I suppose. Ye were a bit younger than me, too. Sixteen, but I was nineteen. It dinae seem right, and truthfully, I didnae want spook ye.”

“Is this your attempt at not spooking me, then? Demanding I marry you for reasons you’ve yet to divulge?” she asked, this time without her usual anger. 

“Aye,” he murmured, twisting so he was facing her, too. “I never said I was a good man, Feyre. Only that yer letters were never funny to me.”

“Will you tell me why all this was necessary? I might be able to help, you know—”

“One day,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “When all this is done and ye aren’t so angry, I will. I want to. Not tonight. Hate me all ye like, but I know ye—you’ll be trying to get out of this marriage if ye think you can solve my problems with money. I don’t want yer money.”

“Yes, so you keep saying and yet once we’re married, you’ll have it, regardless. Surely you’ve considered that.”

Rhysand’s pause betrayed him. So he hadn’t realized he’d become unspeakably wealthy the moment Feyre said I do.

It settled some wild, ugly thing in her. “That’s yers,” he finally said. 

And with nothing left to say, Rhysand turned over and left Feyre to fall asleep.

-*- 

Feyre agreed to take the least offensive things from Elain’s wedding, which, to be fair, were few and far between. The cake was nice, along with the flowers of which Elain would always be the expert. Tables and chairs, and of course, the caterer. Elain had been delighted, in no small part, Feyre suspected, because it meant Graysen wouldn’t be getting his money back. What had he done to her? It wasn’t like Elain to be so petty, but with each thing Feyre said yes to, Elain’s smile grew wider and wider until Feyre wasn’t sure how her sister's smile didn’t split. 

And then, with an exasperated sigh, Elain was gone to check on Mr. Vanserra, who was likely wrecking everything in her absence. Feyre thought she’d be sad to see Elain go, but the minute her sister's car pulled out of the drive, Feyre felt the smallest hint of relief.

Rhysand, too. She caught him peeking around a corner, muddy boots on a rather nice ivory floor runner she’d need to wash later. 

“Is she gone?” he asked, as if Elain were some terrible creature and not just chatty and maybe a little nosy.

“For now,” Feyre agreed. “She’s putting together your dream wedding, you know.”

“Ours,” he amended. 

“No matter how many times you say that, it will never be true.”

He stared her down, straightening to his full height. Feyre’s heart leapt into her throat. “Will ye tell me tae truth about one thing?”

“I doubt it, but you can ask,” she replied primly, wedging her way past his obnoxious body.

“In yer letters, ye said I was tae most beautiful man ye’d ever seen. Is that true?”

Feyre froze. If she turned, he’d see her answer written all over her face. “Everything I imagined about you in my letters was a fiction, Mr. Campbell—”

“For fucks sake, Feyre, call me Rhys,” he snapped. “I cannae stand hearing ye call me Mr. Campbell.”

Feyre forgot she wasn’t supposed to look at him, turning to argue only to find him so close she could smell him. Eyes wide, she backed up only for him to slam his palm against the stone wall behind her, trapping her with his body. 

“Tae truth, lass.”

“Why does it matter?” she whispered, hating herself for wanting him and hating herself for not being able to send him away. 

His fingers brushed her cheek. “It matters.”

“You can’t have it all, Rhys,” she hissed. He winced as she spat his name, saying it as though it were a curse. “You can’t have your secrets, this marriage and my affection.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t!” she shouted, shoving him away from her. Rhys let her, though she knew if he’d wanted to keep her where she was, there was little she could have done to stop him. “I’m guessing you’re the kind of man who just snaps his fingers and gets exactly what he wants. You could have asked me on a date! You could have been honest and told me who you were, that you got my letters! I would have said yes, you know. If you’d just asked. And if you told me the truth, I would have helped you. You want your secrets, fine. Here I am, playing along. Whatever else you want from me, though? Forget it. For the rest of your life, just forget it.”

“Feyre!” he called as she stormed off. “Feyre, come back!”

She didn’t turn, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was certain she was going to explode. Feyre didn’t pay attention to the direction she went, running through the halls as fast as she could, just in case he was following her.

He wasn’t. She heard a door slam somewhere in the distance, and if she had to bet, Feyre would have guessed he was headed to the stables. It slowed her just enough to make a decision. He wanted secrets? Well, Feyre didn’t. She’d been too wrapped up in her own misery that past week to bother thinking rationally, but she’d seen him drag in all his things.

Surely there was some answer to the Rhysand question up in his room. 

Feyre didn’t feel even a little badly flinging open that door. Where she was messy, Rhysand was immaculate. His bed was made for the morning, draped in silken black that was just like him.

He’d tucked his suitcase beneath the bed, and when she opened his drawers to the dresser, everything was neatly folded and in its place. Feyre rifled a bit, feeling like a creep as she shoved aside his underwear and socks. 

The curtains to the windows were pulled open, allowing gloomy gray light to filter through. Outside, she was certain a storm was brewing. If it rained, Rhysand would retreat indoors and she’d have to try again another day. 

She didn’t know what she was looking for when she dropped to her knees, sitting on the plush, circular sand rug she’d put in all the rooms. Feyre pulled out his suitcase, unzipping thinking she’d find a passport with his real name, or maybe a criminal record that would explain this whole thing. And then she could call the police and be free of him.

Her stomach clenched when all she found was a large manilla envelope, unsealed.

Feyre. 

With trembling fingers, Feyre pulled out a stack of letters. They were stapled individually before he’d folded them into quarters. She reached for the one on top, surprised to see it was the very first letter she’d ever sent him, highlighted and starred with a blue pen.

And beneath, was the letter she’d said he should have sent her. 

Dear Feyre Archeron,

Don’t be embarrassed, but I have received your letter. I am curious—do you possess the gift of sight? It seems too much a coincidence that you would mail a letter addressed to Mr. Rhysand Campbell to my home in Dornoch. I’ve decided it’s fate, or at least luck. Tell me, though, this one thing: is your birthday on Christmas? I received this at the new year, and I have been trying to figure out when, exactly, you were born.

I guess it doesn’t matter, though it would be nice to send you a birthday gift next year. If you’re wondering, my birthday is in August. Not that you have to send me a gift. It just seemed fair, since I was asking, to tell you my birthday, too.

And, if it makes you feel better (I’m guessing it won’t, but it did make me feel better), my father also forgot my birthday this year. He was working, and I think he expects my mother to handle those things. I shouldn’t care because I’m an adult, and adults don’t need birthdays (or, that’s what I tell myself at least), but it stings every time he looks me in the eye and asks how old I am. 

I think he thinks I’m disappointing. Maybe I am. 

Anyway. I am happy to be your pretend boyfriend if it keeps you from having to date wankers. If you decide you’d like to write me back, send it to my address in Edinburgh. My mother lives in Dornoch, and I visit when she’s ill (which, to be fair, is pretty often), but I don’t want to miss one. 

That is, assuming you don’t find this horribly creepy. 

Yours in pretend,

Rhysand Campbell 

P.S. I think Nesta deserved to have her hair pulled, just between you and I. 

My silly Feyre,

You keep sending letters (that I devour), but I can’t make myself send one back. I’m starting to suspect I’m a coward, which is a terrible quality in a boyfriend. Maybe you should end things with me and date the beige paint (don’t do that). You’re so honest, and I’m so jealous because without my secrets, who am I? The thought of stripping myself bare makes me feel sick, and so I fold these letters up and pretend you read them and they didn’t disgust you.

In truth, I think you’d stop writing if you knew the truth about me. I’m back in Dornoch and mother is ill and father is working and I am just here. Barely existing, both in Edinburgh where I’m trying to be diligent and finish my education, and in Dornoch, where everyone thinks I’m a good son.

Am I? Can I tell you something? 

My sister died when she was nine. It was no one’s fault—except, I suppose, the man driving the car who hit her. We were out together and Ainsley darted out of reach. Father was closest. He lunged, but he wasn’t fast enough, and by the time mother and I could react, it was all over. 

I was eleven. 

I think we tried to rally together for a while, but the days following Ainsley’s death all blur together. Mother cried all the time and father began yelling. Everyone blamed themselves because we couldn’t blame each other, until we were just festering. Father stayed in Edinburgh, and mother went home and I was in-between. 

It’s like she’s lost in a fog, and I’m so angry sometimes because I needed her, too. I needed them both, and it was like, if they couldn’t have Ainsley they didn’t want me. Or anyone—I think mother wishes she’d died, too. And I think father is too busy punishing himself—and by extension, me—to take care of mother. 

I wonder what will happen to him when she dies. He loved her better than he ever loved either of us. And deep down, I think he’s ashamed he failed her by letting Ainsley die, and it’s better to yell at her, to stay away, to pretend none of it matters to him.

I can’t send this to you, but I like to pretend you’re reading it anyway. That you’d understand, because you feel forgotten, too. That’s how I feel. 

Anyway. Tell Tamlin to stay away. I’m fond of you, pretend girlfriend or not.

Your mess,

Rhysand 

Feyre, my darling,

Engaged? I admit, I laughed out loud when I saw what you’d done. I knew the English were awful, but surely there must be one tolerable man among the lot of them. I’m tempted to drive all the way up there and rescue you, if only to spare you the embarrassment from when this falls apart. I’m also curious to see the ring I got you.

I’d like to have it, if only so I can get on one knee and ask you to marry me myself. It’s strange how much affection I feel for you. How often I think about you, how I miss you without knowing you. I feel as if I do (maybe I’m crazy, too). 

I graduated last week. Father wasn’t there, though he did call in the after to ask me what my plans were. I nearly told him I planned to marry an English lass–but I have no plans for that yet, and no idea how to announce myself to you. It’s been almost three years, and I think I should have been less of a coward back then and just said hello.

I think, sometimes, you would have liked me. More than that other bloke (Ian? I remember his name, but it makes me feel better to pretend I don’t.), at any rate. And maybe my plans wouldn’t seem so far-fetched, and you wouldn’t have to keep lying to your family because I would be asking you to marry me.

For now, things seem possible. I feel like my own man for once, even if I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. Only that whatever it is will bring me closer to you. Of that, I’m certain. I am looking forward to hearing of our fake marriage, though—I hope you tell me exactly how you imagine it, so when we do meet, I can impress you.

Is that charming, or does it make me creepy? It’s a question I keep asking, and I think I’m walking a very fine line when it comes to you. Perhaps this will all be charming to you—or maybe you’ll have me locked up. I look forward to finding out. I’m certain I will never live it down, regardless.

For now, just know that I find you endearing.

Yours,

Rhys 

Feyre,

Your ability to tell the future is unnerving. Our relationship is over because my mother is ill—and though you don’t know it, you were right. I don’t think it would give you solace to hear she finally passed, but in a way, it gave me peace thinking you’d written me to say goodbye. That you understood, even if you didn’t know it, why you and I were just a foolish dream. 

Father and I stood in the rain to bury her. I didn’t think he’d come and it would be just me, watching them set her beside my sister. Reunited, at last, just like she’d always wanted. And for one moment, he and I stood there, shoulder to shoulder, silently weeping for all we’d lost and all the things we’d never have again. Ainsley should be here and so should mother. 

Her heart failed. I didn’t think you could die of a broken heart, and today I think I could, too. I thought I’d prepared myself better for this moment. As I so often am, I was wrong. Father left, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Or if I even want to. Maybe that moment was enough. Maybe enough passed between us to call it even, to start over.

I think I’ve been trying so hard to forget when I should have been trying to remember. And I think you were just another way to pretend I was someone else, at least for a little while. You don’t know me—you don’t know Rhysand Campbell and neither do I. Not your once betrothed, anyway. That man was a fantasy, someone I wanted so badly to be. 

I would have disappointed you. I’m not a good man, Feyre. I don’t think you would have liked the real Rhysand Campbell, and I would have loved you. That’s the tragedy of us, at least to me. You are witty and funny and charming and I am…I am this. I am not the sort of man you fall in love with, but you. 

Oh, you, Feyre. I don’t know how everyone isn’t in love with you. How you don’t walk onto the street and have everyone at your feet, wishing they knew your name. Begging for a second of your time. And even though I know you’ll never see this, and so it doesn’t matter what I think or what I say, I feel as though I’ve been drowning in endless night, and you were the first bright thing that came along.

It would be wrong to go looking for you, no matter how strong the impulse is. You’ve said goodbye, and I am saying it, too. I need to figure myself out and maybe that will take forever. I know one thing, though. I will always be thinking about you. Always be wondering about you.

It’s your birthday (I think), today. That’s what started this whole thing.

Happy birthday Feyre.

Yours, eternally,

Rhys 

A crack of thunder sent the letters flying from Feyre’s hands. Was she crying? For one wild moment she twisted to look up at the ceiling, certain there must be a leak. Only, no, it was just her, dripping salt onto the elegant penmanship of Rhys’s unsent letters. 

“So,” a dark, masculine voice from the doorway intoned. Feyre’s head snapped to the side, drinking him in. His expression was carefully blank, fingertips holding the frame as he leaned forward. Ferye had been caught, had been so engrossed in the parallel lives they’d been living that she hadn’t realized the rain had started or that he’d retreated indoors.

His wet shirt clung to the contours of his chest, slicking that dark ebony hair to his forehead. 

“So,” she agreed, her voice trembling.

Feyre held his gaze. Waiting for his ire.

“Now you know.”

[unoislazy]

Rdr Oc #2

this one has absolutely nothing to do with the original storyline and is just loosely connected to some of the characters.

Marianne Campbell

She grew up in a rich family, living a fairly pure and sheltered life away from a lot of the troubles of the outside world.

She’s known to be quite vain, her looks taking precedence over most things in her life.

The one thing that she never put herself before was her trusted horse, Beau. He has quite the personality of his own mind you.

One day during her shelter life, she met a man who claimed to recognize in her an unforeseen talent in acting. He claimed he could make her big, make her famous, make her known.

These were all the right words to say to her, and with a few requirements from the man, her knew future of fame could be all hers.

Some of those requirements being money, her unwavering trust, and to run away with him.

He claimed to love her. He claimed that he could not be without her and that he truly only wanted what was best for her.

As sheltered as she was, she never learned to see through such obvious lies and followed the man willingly.

One day during their travels, she discovered he had not only been stealing her money that she had brought with her for him, but he was giving it to some other girl. He had promised her a life that he was simply using Marianne to get for her.

Heartbroken and distraught, the poor girl went to sleep, deciding to deal with the man when she was more level headed, but once she woke up, him and his camp were gone. The only thing he left was Beau, who had refused to leave with him, and a rusty gun that she had no idea how to use.

Now she spends her time figuring out how to survive on her own, knowing by now she can’t return home without likely being disowned anyways.

Despite her nature for getting into trouble, Beau does his best to keep her out of harms way

She would quite literally be lost without him.

To be updated

[theghostbunnie]

How do you see Max and Nikki’s relationship?

As siblings

I know that's like sometimes what ppl say when there's a straight pairing popular ship (makki) vs a gay popular one (maxneil) and they don't really mean it they just mean they have a uncomfortbilty or hatred towards one of the ships, but in my mind they're literally twins/hj

I have AUs where they're twins, half siblings, step siblings. I love them sm..There's even a line in one of the end credit rap songs that goes something like "we may not have the same color skin but imma treat em like my twin" and I'm like ah yes,,, something to feed into my delusions/j

((on a more srs note I feel like more ppl should look into the end credit lyrics alot of it seems specifically written to fit Max and might give people a better insight into his characterization))

But enough of my fannon delusions n self indulgence they're obviously not actually siblings they're best friends BUT they didn't start off that way no matter how sweet the "you now have three little bastards to deal with" line is bc in the first season, earlier episodes he's more of an asshole to her bc they're still getting to know each other.

He broke her instrument, quicker to basically tell her to shut up on multiple occasions, ect.

Back to the first episode, Max operates BIG on first impressions. Off the bat he's touching Neil's shoulder, he's impressed by his disrespect to authority, he wants to hotwire the bus with him. But Nikki? Hardly addressing her. Even says "why would you help us?" Bc despite biting him, she appeared to be just a 'little more violent, mini-David.' THAT was his first impression of her. Nikki didn't have his attention or respect technically until he learned her willingness to seek and cause chaos near the end of the episode. There's times at later points where she's clearly getting on his nerves.

I'm pretty sure I already wrote out a whole in depth thing about how Max has issues getting attached to people and will fight it off and deny it once it happens even at the cost of their feelings (points at camp corp episode) where as Nikki is a social person who has been denied a real friend til she came to camp campbell same as Neil, who is NOT a social person. They both start off clingy towards Max for this but Nikki works past it and makes 2 other friends while Neil doesn't.

So recap: Max builds a team of two other kids he can just share a common goal with at first, is a bit of a jerk to Nikki initially at times, but she grows on him and now he really values her as a friend n cares for her deeply.

But now onto NIKKI'S POV: She'd been bullied before, it was a traumatic experience for her yes but that's also the ONLY information we have on any past relationships she's had with peers, kids her own age. Any other time she's talking about someone she knew it's often just her mom. sometimes her dad (often not painting a good picture of him but through a childhood innocence lense) or an animal she knew.

So when she makes her first friend group in camp campbell her only prior experience with one is in the flower scouts. Nikki picked up bad habits from them bc she's a kid and doesn't have the emotional maturity to analyze her every behavior.

So when Max is being the type of person who was being quick to shut her down, who (in her own words) was micro managing her, and only ever seemed like he was having a good time when they were doing what HE planned to do, ofc she's gonna start harboring some complaints. Nikki isn't gonna sit down and talk about her feelings to him like an adult she's gonna do what the flower scouts taught her and you talk shit about the problem to OTHER friends.

This isn't to say she secretly hates him, no I firmly believe she deeply cares about him too but they're both flawed people so their friendship has flaws too that doesn't make it void of care for one another.

You can't unbiasedly hate on Nikki for that scene she's mocking him if you're not even taking into consideration WHAT her original issue was. Nikki shit talks, Max has control issues.

As episodes progress I think they really seem to work past it and become better people AND I THINK THAT'S RLLY SWEET I LOVE THEIR FRIENDSHIP ❣️❣️

The way they interact with each other throughout the series really shows that their differences might cause some clashing but they have FUN together and I think their differences and problems just make them more interesting characters

[campcampyapper]

Camp Camp Fic Friday - 30/08

HOLY FUCKING SHIT I HAVE A FANFIC REC

so you might know of the serial killer!david au, in which he kills a little bit because he was feeling a bit silly :))))

'Put That Kid Down' by KittySmith on ao3 IS THE BEST EXECUTION OF THAR AU I HAVE EVER READ IN MY LIFE. IT'S PHENOMENAL

so basically the concept is that people keep coming to camp campbell to kill the campers, and david protects the camp by killing them :) BUT HOLY SHIT DOES IT HAVE A GOOD GODDAMN PLOT!!!!!

it has elements of canon for season 1, but then it diverges into its own masterpiece and it's just 😍😍😍.

words are failing me right now but it's TOO GOOD. it has slowburn dadvid, lots of supernatural thingies AND LOTS OF REALLY COOL PARTS TO THE STORIES. I'M LITERALLY BRQINROTTING OVER THIS SO HARD HELP ME.

this fic is such an emotional rollercoaster. and it has a sequel!!!!

so. yeah. read 'Put That Kid Down'!!!!!!

[jojo-oliver]

hi... i was too socially anxious to say anything in person but i was at campbell river pride and i really appreciated seeing your work in person :) i've always admired your stuff on tumblr and had no idea you were from BC! campbell river is kind of a hard place to be queer in and seeing artists selling their pride wares joyfully healed me. i wasn't able to buy anything in person but i hope to buy something online eventually. your art means a lot to people.

Hey, I want you to know that there are queer people all around you. I've been secretly investigating. I've been going to every 2SLGBTQIA+ group's events and introducing myself. I'm in Courtenay and people from Campbell River travel here. I want you to know that there are older gay men who act fatherly towards me and if you didn't know you'd assume they're cishet. They live beside you. There's gay polycules in your area. The same people who look like they work in oil or on a fishing boat. There's middle aged bisexuals who never came out to their parents in their 60s. There's trans people in their 30s who aren't as up to date on the web, but they also live beside you. So many people have reached out to me from the flyers I've been putting everywhere. Did you know you have a vibrant community all around you? We're on a retirement island with an older age base. They're older. They meet up at restaurants sometimes. Some talk about their travels and compare the food to the different countries they've been in. Others talk about the northern forestry towns they've cruised in. If you're ever in Courtenay and you're looking to connect with the local community, DM me. I am so serious, I'd love to send you resources. We're doing Trans Nites every 2 weeks, for all ages and genders. We play board games and go swimming. Did you know there's queer camp outs? The ones I'm seeing for this summer are for ages 7-12 but that's what I'm immediately seeing available. My friend Meika is out hosting a queer camp right now. They're a youth event facilitator. These things are mostly organized on facebook. I can send you the flyers and event information in DM if you want it. Or for anyone else who happens to be near Comox Valley and DMs me. Hi, I love you, I want you to know that there are friends all around you that I have personally met and know the names of. I want you to know that the event organizers are busy creating community and making more for you. I know there's not much in Campbell River, the people who come to our events have told me that. But there's more coming. Also I remember there was someone I scared away twice who looked very afraid. I promise you I'm just a scrungly goblin, I can barely piece my words together in social situations like that hahahaha. We'll be at Courtenay Pride in the Park and we'll be at Discovery Islands pride if they respond to my emails. I hope to see you again thank you for leaving this message in my inbox!!!!

[nyxiannas]

Hello! Here’s my writing request:

Camp Camp Max x gn!reader who is a perfectionist + extroverted + fluff

Prompt: This could be aged up or not, if you’re uncomfortable with the idea, but imagine if Max was trying to ask out reader after being friends/having a crush on them for a while originally trying to be low-key about it cus. It’s Max. But because the camp full of nosy people everyone finds out and wants to “help” him get the girl/guy! (Their words) Unfortunately it ends with the Mess Hall caught on fire, Wolves all around the area, Robots butlers attacking the camp and everyone screamed and running for cover. With Max now being more done/embarrassed than ever about to call it quits trying to forget this day even happened before the reader having now just figuring out what the whole plan blurts out the question ”Do you want to go out with me?!” Leaving Max speechless, happy, momentarily confused, flustered, and only slightly pissed cause he wanted to say ask first

I wanted to say it first. || Max (CC) [♡]

Genre, writing style; fluff, perfectionist/extroverted! Reader

Reader pronouns; gender neutral

Tws; none

Overall thoughts; if the camp camp fandom won't revive itself, I WILL!!🔥

Might be a little ooc cuz I haven't watched camp camp in quite a bit and the series isn't free on YouTube anymore so I'm just going by how they all acted in the first episode and the specials....💔💔

You came to Camp Campbell later than all the others, but David still welcomed you in open arms.

Hot outside, and figuring out where to sit in the mess hall with slop on your tray. You went to the table where Nikki, Neil, and Max sat.

Nikki and Neil took quite a liking to you. Although Neil isn't too fond of new places and people, he thought you'd be fine to hang out around. Nikki likes almost anyone who's nice to her, despite acting like a wild animal at times.

Max, not so much. It took quite a while for him to get used to you, having a sudden new member of the camp and not even having a real introduction or a way to make a position for yourself.

But, after a while of hanging out, Max realized that even though he acted like he wasn't fond of you, his thoughts were different.

-and slowly, he accepted that he liked you, and wasn't in denial about it anymore.

Fighting the need to tell you how he felt whenever you two hung out without the other two, he really had no idea what to do or how to tell you.

But, his behavior around you was noticed by the other kids' people at camp, how he was relatively nicer to you than the rest, that wasn't normal.

Slowly, they connected the peices together, and most of them realized that he had taken a liking to you in a different approach, and they really wanted to play a part in helping him.

"WHAT!"

Max thought he was being subtle about his 'slight' crush on [name], or he thought he was being subtle about it.

"You do!!" Nikki gasped. She didn't think it was all that true, considering that it was Max, and he hated anything and everything.

Sitting on the Camp Dock, with Neil and Preston nearby, trying to work on a new sciency thing and Preston was the test subject.

"You like [name]?" Neil asked. He had a feeling that it was true after observing how Max acted around [name], noticing that his demeanor was quite different from how he acted around the camps counselors and everyone else who attended.

"Oh, is it true? THE Max doesn't find someone a nuisance?" Preston dramatically accompanied Neil, astonished that Max could even learn how to love.

"I DO NOT." Max retorted. He didn't want anyone to actually know about his feelings, but it was a good chance to establish a way to finally tell [name] how he really felt.

"It is alright, Max, we shall help you on your quest to get the person of your dreams!" Preston said, supporting the idea of trying to help Max with his crush. Maybe it would make him a decent-enough person.

"Alright, operation 'Help Max try to get a partner and maybe he'll be a better person to everyone' is a go!" Nikki said enthusiastically.

After Nikki tried to gather everyone who would help with it, besides the counselors. She got Dolph, Harrison, Nerris, and Ered to play a part in the 'operation'.

"Could've had a shorter name, but.." Neil trailed, sitting in the Mess Hall, before lunch started. Trying to figure out an approving plan and scenario to have Max confess.

"Whatever, we need a plan first, then we can work on the stupid name." Max said bluntly, wanting to get it over with and have the future plan go smoothly, and hopefully, by the end of it, he would have a partner.

"Oh! We could have Ered try to help the Quartermaster with the food in the kitchen!" Nikki practically set her idea on the table. Everyone went with it.

"I can make a picnic area on top of my tower, so you both can have a good view!" Nerris added, wanting a part.

"No, they'll eat while watching my amazing magic show!" Harrison argued, starting a debate where Max and [Name] would bring their food to.

"Nobody cares about your dumb magic show, Harrison!" Nerris argued back

"My towers way better, and more magical than your magic show ever could!"

"How about they watch me paint, my paintings are quite exquisite." Dolph interrupted.

"NO!" Nerris and Harrison yelled at the same time.

"How about the two get their food from Ered, then go to Nerris's tower to eat, then watch or try to help Dolph with a painting, and then watch Harrisons magic show." Neil stopped the three of them from arguing about something stupid. Elaborating in a way the three of them would understand.

"Fine." The three of them said in usion, agreeing on the idea.

Soon after the plan was set, lunch started, and everyone was set into place, Ered ran to the kitchen, trying to figure out what to help the Quartermaster with. Nerris quickly drew a little picnic blanket on the top of her tower, where [Name] and Max would sit, watching everything from above. Dolph, with his little legs, went to his painting set up and got everything into place, and Harrison set up his magic tricks he would show off.

Nobody knows what went wrong with the mess hall besides Ered and the Quartermaster, Ered got permission from the Quartermaster. Originally, the food was going to be the signature slop that they got almost every single day.

Until Ered wanted to 'make it cool' and added something she found in the back of the kitchen pantry, added it into the food without the Quartermaster looking, and after a bit, mixed into the food, and blew up the kitchen, setting the Mess Hall ablaze.

Everyone evacuated, the explosion was so loud, it led wolves to the camp, feeding on the extra food that flew out from the explosion. Some were eating the slop, and one was biting on Space Kid's weird helmet, dragging him around.

Max quickly grabbed [name] and ran from the camp, trying to take cover from everything happening back at the Mess Hall.

Embarrassed from how the plan failed miserably, dragging [name] into the forest to try and confess at the last minute.

"Max- I think we should get back. We're going too far away!" [Name] suggested, stopping in their tracks and almost making Max fall backward from the sudden stop.

Wiping off the dirt from their outfit, quickly piecing everything together. Suddenly, everyone wanted to help in everything, Ered never wanted to participate unless she had to, Nerris wanting them and Max to quickly come into her tower to do something, Max's behavior from the passed few weeks.

They had a slight crush on Max, too, after around a month of being friends, the feelings developed, and putting the peices together only made the crush grow.

Catching their breath from the running and stopping behind a tree, they had to get their feelings out now that they were sure that Max felt the same way.

"Max!- wait-" They panted, leaning against the tree,

"Was everyone acting strange, and being productive around the camp.. all for me?-"

"A setup, I mean.." They had to make sure, whenever they came into the Mess Hall or tried to go near almost anyone's main place to hang out, they were quickly escorted out.

"And- you were acting strange.. too," confronting Max of everything that happened, noticing the slight redness on his cheeks.

"Well, I-" Max was soon interrupted.

"No! Wait- what I'm trying to ask is- do you like me?" They asked, impatiently, not waiting to hear whatever excuse Max had in store.

"Uhm- yeah?-" Max muttered, slightly pissed off that he wasn't able to start it off like he wanted.

"Do you want to go out with me?!-" They blurted out, cutting him off. Very happy that now they knew it was for real, heart racing.

Silence, Max was thinking about it, confused, flustered, and angry.

"..."

".. Yes." He agreed, he wanted to ask it first, but they beat him to it.

"But, I wanted to ask fir-"

"YIPPIE!!"

After thoughts; Hi

I took like 2 hours writing this and half of it was trying to figure out what font it would be in

and I found all the rest of the camp camp episodes while writing this so I had more to go off of

I didn't add in the robots part even tho it was a good idea I just couldn't figure out how to add them in😭😭

Thank you for requesting, and hopefully, this was good enough (this work will go into editing later cuz I left out some ideas I had but realized that this was long as BALLS but the more the merrier right🤫🤫)

[ahoppingmagician]

Cursed Harrison HC

Alright so I promised an explanation on how a view Harrison's magic. If you are interested keep reading down below

(Warning it's long and very much not canon by any means, yes this is what 6 years of nothing but thoughts have done)

Origins

Harrison's father who I have named Jonah was just like any teenager a know it all who knew nothing.

Jonah was your typical jock raised by heavily Christian parents in a small town. One day his rival Dallas (Nerris's Dad) was talking about an old temple out in the woods that supposedly was used to worship some kind of octopus deity. Jonah didn't believe him because the only thing that should be worship is God. Dallas had enough of his shit and challenged him to go to the temple and do the ritual, the teenage boy foolishly agreed. His first mistake.

The boy hoped on his yellow bike as the sun began to set, he headed into the woods. The temple stood tall, it loomed over him. He took the old book Dallas has gave him out of his bag and headed into the structure that was covered in moss. His second mistake.

He waited around till the moon was glaring down at him. It looked odd, was it always this blue?. Jonah shook it off it was just from being drowsy surely. He placed the book down on the alter as the moonlight hit this weird glowling rock and began to read the words. His Final Mistake.

Now he has cursed his entire bloodline till the end of time. He didn't realise it for years, but then his first born son was born, Harrison Samuel White.

How it effects Harrison

Let's start with the obvious. He has supernatural abilities that doesn't seem to have any true limit. Harrison can simply end the world with a click of his fingers if he desires.

Physically

He can't really feel his hands, from all the layers of burned skin and other magical injuries on his body. His body temperature depends on his mood, an example would be if he's scared, anxious, or worried his body will become cold and can form frost or ice. When he started puberty he started to grow these weird tattoo like symbols on his arms, chest and back.

Sleep Schedule

He doesn't really sleep during the night. Some 0f it is due to his curse in general, another factor is that the "demons" like to torment him at night with laughing, murmuring, humming, and whispering. Also nightmares about him starting Armageddon or relieving him and his twin brother's 9th birthday party, where everything went wrong.

Emotionally/Mentally

So he isn't exactly mentally well. He is coping with it but that's about it. When he was 13 to 15 he decided to lean into being a terrifying bringer of doom that wouldn't hesitate to threaten you with a flame being held to your face. 16 to 19 he began seeking validation by becoming a ladies man. General Anxiety and Depression because obviously..wouldn't you be if everyone told you that you're the rebirth of Satan and being haunted by creepy creatures everyday, while batteling the urge to burn the world to the ground. Also smokes weed with Nerris because Stoner Nerris owns my soul.

Family

His birth family threw him out the house at 16 because Jonah couldn't handle the guilt of the curse anymore, and Harrison was becoming more and more violent. Harrison wondered around till he found a familiar bus that took him to you guess it Camp Campbell. He hid in the attic till David came by for the summer. Long story short he moved with with David, Gwen, and Max. His twin brother (Tommy) wasn't his only biological sibling, Harrison has an older sister (Christina), younger sister(Eve), younger brother(Johnny) Harrison barely interacted with his younger siblings.

Alright that's it for now. Thanks you for reading this far if you did, and I hope you know that I think your amazing and tomorrow is hopefully an better day, I can't give you a hug but just know it's alright if today was hard, you'll pull through the storm.