#point is this is the summer of big time rush and scandal but for me like pretty much only for me

[a9saga]

i want scandal to cover the new big time rush song “honey”

[navegandoaciegas]

no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: catholic priest!Bucky, virgin!Bucky, desecrating thoughts and actions, explicit language, smut, consensual sexual acts, mentions of loss of virginity, slight innocence and religious kinks (nothing disturbing), oral sex, fingering, masturbation, sex in a public (and sacred) place.

Summary: As punishment for your sinful behavior, your parents send you to your aunt’s house in the middle of nowhere, in hope you’ll redeem yourself. The punishment quickly backfires when you take an interest in the local (and handsome) priest, and you manage to corrupt his pure soul.

A/N: I was in a priest!Bucky mood this morning and I wrote this for @saiyanprincessswanie​ writing challenge. I chose prompt 17 and the ‘opposites attract’ trope. I hope you like this!

Filth and happy ending ‘cause I’m a sap. Take me to church by Hozier inspired this.

This is not a dark story and both reader and Bucky are consenting adults. Fyi, catholic priests can’t marry, and they change their name when they are ordained. We’ll pretend James is the name he took as priest.

You look over your shoulder to check if anyone’s around and knock on the backdoor of the church, waiting for your lover to usher you inside. The sinful secrecy of it all, the rush of excitement, your love for all that’s forbidden: you’ve never felt more alive.

Being forced to spend the summer in the middle of nowhere is not the way you expected your senior year of college to end, but not all evil comes to harm, and in this quiet little town, you’ve become quite interested in the local priest. In your defence, boredom is the root of all evil, and in your case, evil happens to make you horny and prone to making bad decisions, and Father James is young and handsome, so it was only a matter of time before he gave in the temptation of the flesh and you found yourself fucked against the altar. 

Ordained or not, he’s only a man after all.

-

The confessional is dark and suffocating; behind the wooden screen, the priest is all ears.

Muscle memory kicks in when you do the sign of the cross and begin to speak. 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” you recite the formula that’s been ingrained in your mind since you were old enough to need it, “My last confession was seven years ago.”

You mentally curse your parents for still having the authority to send you to Bumfuck Nowhere, Alabama, and your aunt for forcing you to attend church and confess your sins. 

It will be good for your soul, they said, New York is corrupting you.

You suppose it’s only fair that your good catholic parents would react so drastically; they wanted to surprise you in your new apartment and drove all the way from Rhode Island to New York, only to find your piano tutor buried balls deep inside of you. Lord knows what they’d do if they knew you’ve lost your purity long before that, with one of the good catholic girls in your private boarding school. Extramarital sex, with a woman at that! They’d probably have a meltdown, drag your to a cloistered convent and lock you there for life.   

You don’t wait for the priest to acknowledge you and start talking.

“You know Father, I found a handy dandy little list of all the sins you’re supposed to confess to and I checked them. I’ll read it to you. Let’s see.” you clear your throat, “So, I use artificial birth control, I broke a couple of promises, including the one to wait for marriage, I can be kind of blasphemous sometimes, but you see, I spent six months abroad in Italy last year and the kids there taught me all sorts of ways to disrespect the Lord, they have so many, and once those things get stuck in your brain... what can you do, they just stick in there, you don’t even want to say them but they become part of your vocabulary.” you continue uninterrupted, “Anyways, my parents caught me in the act with a man, so I guess we have ‘dishonoring family’ too. Underage drinking as a kid, a lot of that. Drugs sometimes, nothing major, ya know, I don’t do coke or nothing. Gossiping, impure thoughts, God-”

He interrupts you clearing his throat.

“Sorry. See? I don’t even do it on purpose. As I was saying, I love those. Lying... not a whole lot to be honest; to my parents, mostly. Haven’t prayed in a good 10 years. Masturbation, did I mention that? Watched porn a couple of times, ‘m not a big fan if I’m being honest, but to each their own. Oh, and premarital sex, a ton of that. Had an orgy once, not too fond of those either. Too many limbs.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, so you give him a moment to ponder his thoughts. He stays silent for a while, and when he speaks his voice is not at all what you expected it to be. He’s soft spoken yet commanding, and sounds surprisingly young.

“Anything else you can remember?”

“Well of course, the cherry on top, my own first class ticket to hell.” you say, not as cheerful as before, repeating the exact words you’ve been taught for years, “God gave me free will and I used it to commit homosexual acts, Father. Multiple times.” 

You let the words hang in the stuffy air of the confessional; you don’t know what to expect from the priest, to be honest. Last time you admitted to thinking of a girl to a religious figure, Sister Theresa told you you’d never have to act on your impulses, or you’d burn in hell for it. You were 12. 

“You think that’s worse than the rest?”

“Not me, no, I don’t.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What makes you do the things you do?” he asks, and you don’t feel any of the judgment you were expecting, only genuine curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me to repent for my sins?” you reply, equally as curious.

“Is absolution what you’re seeking?”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, Father, and I’m way past asking for permission.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My aunt forced me.”

It’s his turn to snort this time. “You don’t seem the type to follow orders blindly.”

You admit the guy’s got a point. “I guess… I don’t know. I felt the need to. It feels nice, talking to someone. I feel lonely a lot, and it’s easier to talk to strangers. And this is cheaper than therapy, so that’s a bonus. Really, I just need to vent.”

“Do you regret any of your choices?” he says, after a while.

“Not the ones I confessed to.” you admit, trying to discern the priest’s figure behind the screen. 

“What is it, then?”

“You know, you’re kinda chill for a priest from Alabama, I gotta give it to you.” you respond, dodging his question.

“Thanks, it’s probably because I’m from Brooklyn.”

“What the hell-” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry. Why would someone move from Brooklyn to this place?”

“Vocation.”

“I see.” 

It’s silent again, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“You should come to the parish sometimes. We have meetings, we sing, we eat together, the children play football and the young adults talk about what it means to be a Catholic in the modern world. It may ease your mind about a lot of worries and misconceptions you might have.”

You contemplate on his words: it wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like you’ve got a whole lot going on here; and you might as well find yourself a devoted man or woman to pass time. 

“I might.”, you finally respond, not willing to give him the satisfaction, and stand from the chair. “I’ll see you around, Father.”

“May God give you peace, miss.”

“Amen.”

-

“What took you so long?” James asks, grunting when you pull on his hair.

“My aunt asked me to make lunch for her husband, as if he couldn’t do it his damn self.” you respond, and suck on his bottom lip, “Missed me?”

“Always.”

You coo, “My eager boy.”

He’s sitting on his office chair and you’re straddling his lap, grinding your hips on him and feeling his arousal grow. You’re burning up, panties damp and a familiar coil in your core. You don’t know what excites you the most: being responsible for the corruption of such pure soul, the forbidden aspect of fucking a Catholic priest, or the possibility of someone walking in on you. Your walls flutter when you imagine the scandal that this affair would create.

You pull him closer, tugging on his white collar, and he breaks the kiss. His eyes are black and glossed over, lips swollen, cheeks red, but there’s something like worry in eyes.

“Do you love me?” he asks quietly, in the soft voice you adore.

“Of course I do, you know that.”

You fall on your knees and fumble with the zipper of his black pants.

“Would you love me if I didn’t have this collar?” he stops your hands with his, “Would you still love me if I wasn’t this?”, he gestures to his sacred attire.

You pause your actions and search his eyes. Where is this coming from?

“Yes, I’d love you anyways, I’ll always love you.”

A small, shy smile breaks on his face. He lifts you up and makes you sit on his desk.

“I- I w-want to try something,” he begins with a stutter, “I remember hearing some kids back when I was in school talk about it.”

You cock your head to the side, observing carefully as he sits back down on the chair and parts your legs. He lowers his head and begins peppering the inner skin of your thighs with open mouthed kisses. Oh-.

“James, you don’t have to do this.” you try to tell him, but he’s already moving your panties to the side.

He stares entranced between your legs; he’s never been this bold, never watched you there. “You’re so pretty, I want to kiss you here.” 

You feel a finger tease your entrance and dip in. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and when he licks a strip of your dripping cunt, you feel like you could burst. He delves in your glistening folds, tongue swirling around as if he was kissing your mouth, and your hips jerk forward when he crooks a couple of fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes the coil in your belly grow tighter. 

You throw your head back and your eyes fall on the cross behind you. You are very much past forgiveness at this point, you muse, and that makes this all the more exciting.

You’re writhing under his touch, completely at his mercy. You grab the back of his neck and bring his face upward so that his mouth comes in contact with your clit.

“Suck there.” you demand in a raspy voice, rocking your hips and fucking yourself on his fingers. “Good boy.” you praise when he closes his mouth around your bud and begins sucking and lapping on it. “Yes, oh my God, fuck, faster.”

James obeys and jerks the fingers inside of you, the vibration and his tongue enough to make the knot in your core unravel and pleasure release in jolts, shooting from your center to the rest of your body; you slap a hand on your mouth to suppress wanton moans as your hips twitch involuntarily and your toes curl. He rides you though your orgasm until you’re too sensitive to handle his face on you.

When you look down, you find him, face wet in your arousal, eyes half lidded.

“Did I do well?” he asks full of hope, still clinging to your legs and nuzzling your thigh.

“You did amazing, sweet boy.”

-

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

Hearing your sultry voice, he chokes on air behind the screen and clears his throat, trying to keep the same composure he always seems to loose when you’re around. 

“I got friendly with a man, you see, a man of church.” you begin in a teasing tone, “He kissed me, and I didn’t pull back. I let him roam his hands all over my body, Father, and then I corrupted him.”, You lick a couple of fingers and dip them in your mouth, then you release them with a popping sound and slowly slip them in your panties. You push a finger in your already wet core, smearing arousal around and teasing your clit, slow at first. “You should have seen how innocent he looked, Father. He said he’s never been touched like that. A virgin. I’ve never been with a virgin before.” you continue, almost moaning the last part as you slide three fingers in and out of you and tease your bud with your thumb, “He didn’t even know I could please him with my mouth, so I took him in and I sucked him off.” You’re panting, hand furiously circling your clit. You hear Bucky’s ragged breath behind the screen. “He moaned so loud, F-F-Father, he c-came so quick. And I swallowed it all, because you can’t let a single drop of seed g-go to w-waste, can you?” you whimper, feeling an orgasm build up.

You’re fueled by his suppressed grunts and the lewd sounds of him touching himself.

“I don’t come for absolution Father, because I’d do it all again.” you breathe at last, letting pleasure run through your every nerve, setting you ablaze. 

Behind the screen, Father James paints his hand and black shirt in white spurts, shame and pleasure fighting eachother in his mind.

-

You haven’t moved yet, legs parted, trying to catch your breath, and James is still clinging onto you.

You don’t know how it happened. 

It started with boredom, with a wish to fuck the pretty priest, but you’ve caught feelings now, and in three weeks you’ll have to get back to New York, where a job and a new apartment await you.

At least your aunt and your parents are happy about your redemption: you’ve been going to church everyday. They don’t need to know you’ve spent most time on your knees or on your back.  

But you don’t want to think about it now; you can’t let sadness take over and ruin these moments when James is only yours. Your love is on borrowed time, and you intend to make the most out of it.

“Do you want to fuck me, my love? You want me to come all over your pretty cock, yes? You want to fill me up with your cum?” you whisper in his ear, amused at the way he blushes.

“Please.” he whines, palming his cock through his briefs.

“Please what, sweet boy?”

“Please let me-” he interrupts himself.

“Let me what?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Can’t hear you.” you tease him, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up.

“Let me make love to you.”

You let out a chuckle and shake your head fondly. This man has had you bent over his desk, in the confessional, behind the altar, on the benches where the devoted Catholics of this town attend mass, and yet he can’t bring himself to talk crudely.

You pull on his hair so he stands, and you kiss him ravenously, letting your hands roam over his lean body, the taste of his lips permanently etched in the back of your mind. You don’t want to forget a thing, so you commit to mind each of his little noises, the way his tongue swirls around yours, the soft caresses of his hands.

Clothes discarded in a blur, the room is filled with your moan and his grunts. He pounds into you like a desperate man, clinging onto you with a bruising touch, holding you impossibly close as if you were about to slip through his fingers. And in a way, you are.

When James makes love to you the world disappears and there’s no judgement, no church. He’s not a priest, you’re not a sinner; he’s not pure, you’re not sick.

It’s just you and him, united in one body. Just a man and a woman being one in the flesh.

His thrusts become sloppier, his breathing labored. He brings a hand on your clit and presses on it. He comes inside of you, painting your walls, and the feeling of his swollen cock inside you and his cum filling you up are enough to trigger your release too, your walls clenching on him and milking every last drop.

You’re exhausted, panting in each other’s embrace. 

There’s no sin when you’re like this; you’re no longer the devil to his holy water. 

There’s only love.

-

James’ desk in his office is dark and wide, with mahogany panels on all three sides except the one he sits at. So when Ms. Lee, the adorable elderly lady that organizes the monthly fundraising events for charity, knocks on the door as you’re bouncing on James’ cock, all you have to do is crouch down and disappear under the table.

“Good evening, Father James.” She greets him cheerfully.

You hear the tapping of her heels until she plops down on the guests chair. 

“Good evening, Ms. Lee.” he responds in a strained voice, adjusting himself on the chair.

Ms. Lee speaks a lot. She’s talking James’ ear off, blabbering about the next charity event, and you think what better occasion than this one to be an indecent slut.

You slowly massage his thighs, bringing your hands from his knees to his groin, teasing him when you get close to his crotch and retracting. 

You watch as his cock swells in front of you, and you bite back a giggle. You hear him suck in a breath when you start pumping his length with both your hands.

“Are you alright, James? You’re looking a little worse for wear.” Ms. Lee asks him worriedly when she sees her priest red and sweaty.

James clears his throat and when he’s about to open his mouth, you lick a strip from base to his leaking tip, and the noise that escapes him is between a moan and a grunt.

“Y-yes, Ms. Lee, I’m fine. Just some food poisoning I think.” he manages to answer, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.  

“Poor thing.” she coos, and you take his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around, sucking on the frail skin of under the tip, “Anyways-” she begins again.

James tries to keep his composure, but you sense his distress, and you imagine it must be written all over his face. One hand massages his balls, the other aids your movements as you bob your head up and down, careful not to make a noise. His legs twitch under the table when you push his cock all the way down to your throat, and he makes a strangled noise.

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re fine? You really don’t look like it.” Ms. Lee interjects again, interrupting her story.

“I’m fine ma’am, don’t worry about me.”, he says through gritted teeth, jaw clenched shut so hard he might break his teeth.

You give it all you’ve got until your jaw is aching and your knees are killing you. Your effort pays off when, with one last motion on your hands, James grunts and cums in your throat, hips jerking forward and legs shaking.

He comes so hard that you choke on his release.

“Did you hear it too?” she asks in alert.

“He-hear wh-what?” he stutters, pretending to cough to hide your noises.

“A choking sound?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that, just my cough.” he answers, red faced and spent.

“I guess…” she doesn’t sound convinced but lets it go anyways. She could never imagine her sweet priest is getting blown by a city whore under his desk, “I’ll get going then, but please get some rest Father, your holy duties can wait.”

They can indeed, you think, as James yanks you from underneath the table and bends you over the desk, fucking you until you’re crying.

-

“What makes you do the things you do?” he’s playing with your hair as he asks the question that’s been plaguing him for months, since that first time in the confessional.

You’re in a motel somewhere, two hours away from your town, laying on a bed like two lovers. In this room, you’re not a dirty little secret.

What excited you before, suffocates you now.

You thought you may only like the forbidden, but you find yourself at peace in his arms, that peace you’ve yearned for for 22 years, that peace you could never find, because people like you are born sick, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life.

“If I tell you, will you absolve me?” you ask, basking in his affection. 

James is so sweet, so caring. You wish this moment could last forever.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my love. I’ve sinned too much myself.”

“My bad.” you giggle.

Silence falls on you, and you hum in though, pondering your next words very carefully.

“I don’t do them for any reasons, other than they feel good. It feels good to drink, to smoke, to fuck you, to suck your cock.”, you say, and he blushes in embarrassment, “Or maybe I never got over my teenage phase and I just like doing all the things my parents always told me not to do, who knows. Trauma? Maybe. Spite? Quite possibly. I don’t even know at this point.”

He nods slowly. 

He wishes you could see yourself through his eyes, see how perfect you are. In his heart, there’s only love for you, in his mind, no more conflict.

“I do them for you.” he answers, and you smile at him, “And for myself, I guess. I thought I had found my way, but maybe I was wrong.”

You turn to look at him, and bop his nose.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what choice you make. I’ll wait for you if you ask me to.”

But his choice has been made already. 

He doesn’t deserve his collar, but hopefully he deserves you.

-

I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Please, reblog if you liked it and leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

Priest bucky masterlist

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter One

Ron was hiding. Sure, your own bed probably isn’t the most brilliant place to do such a thing, but it sure beat the common room. He would’ve been found in minutes.

Harry’s nearby, laying atop his own bed, no doubt pouring over Maurders Map, watching Malfoy.

Besides the chosen ones self assigned task of watching every move the Slytherin makes, it’s quiet.

It has been for a while.

There’s an obvious divide between the three of them at the moment, or more so, Ron and Hermione. Harry has been forced into the middle of this, so whenever he isn’t obsessing over Draco, he usually sits idly, unsure what to say.

Ron knows it’s all his fault. Lavender kissed him, sure, but he wasn’t exactly fighting her off. Then before he knew it, she was dragging him up to the astronomy tower, and again, he wasn’t resisting these advances. When they reached their destination he found Harry and Hermione on the steps. Her head propped on his shoulder as sobs wracked her body.

At the sight of him, she stood. She held her head high and demanded he left. So he did.

And for a fleeting moment the look of pain that found it’s way down her face felt good. A swell of pride bubbling deep within him to know that his affections to another girl caused it

To know there was a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, she loved him back.

However, the feeling was short lived because when he shut that door, he hadn’t bargained he was closing himself off to them. To her.

And he’s a complete idiot.

He woke up the next morning, intending to apologize, despite not even fully understanding what he did. But he was stopped. Lavender had walked up and planted a wet one right on him, calling him some dumb pet name, and claiming him her boyfriend.

He just froze.

Snogging her wasn’t bad. At least at first.

Eventually, it got harder and harder to imagine Lavender was someone else. Not to mention, the look of pain never left Hermione’s face whenever she saw him. It hadn’t been worth it.

So he tried to fix it, he really tried.

“Lavender look I,” he began one morning after she insisted he walk her to breakfast.

“Silly Won-Won! We can’t go snog in the astronomy tower right now, people have class!” She giggled.

There were a lot more attempts on his end and he could’ve tried harder, but Lavender made it near impossible.

Just yesterday,

“Lavender, I’ve been meaning to tell you something, you know Christmas is coming up,” and I’d hate to ruin your holiday but I just don’t think I can see you when we come back to school.

He never got to finished, “oh! I wish I could come to your house for the holidays! You’re so sweet to ask, but Mum and Dad have already made arrangements for us to travel! I promise you Easter.” And she kissed him.

He better have gotten his shit together by Easter.

“Alright over there?” Harry broke his thoughts.

“Fine.” He grunted shifting atop his sheets.

Harry shrugged, Ron wasn’t sure if he was going to say more, and merlin he wanted him to. To talk about this all, to maybe even hear about Hermione, how she was.

But Neville came in.

“Harry!” He sounded winded like he’d run up here.

“You okay mate?” The dark haired boy asked, getting up from his bed as Ron did the same.

He huffs some air, “I’m fine, it’s not me, it’s,” his eyes flick momentarily to Ron’s, “it’s Hermione, I didn’t know who else to get.” He rambles.

Me. Ron thinks bitterly.

Ron, who got her off that chess board once he’d woken up first year.

Ron ,who sat at her bedside every night when she was petrified.

Ron, who made sure she was still eating during Buckbeak’s case.

Ron, who held her after Cedric Diggory had died.

Ron, who helped her recover from the Department of Mysteries over the summer.

Neville should’ve come and gotten me!

In the back of his head he always feared Harry and Hermione would become more than friends. He just never thought it’d be his doing.

However, he quickly pushes the thought down, because soon the incessant fear that Hermione could possibly be injured is at the forefront of his mind.

“Is she alright? Is she hurt?” Ron asked flustered.

Neville lamely shook his head, he didn’t seem very sure of it himself, “I dunno, I don’t think so, I just found her, she’s a mess. She wouldn’t talk to me.”

Harry threw down Maurders Map for the first time in weeks and began to charge from the room.

“Let’s go Neville, take me to her.” His voice was shaky, he needed to get the point across that Ron was not to come, well without saying as much.

And it’s not that he didn’t think Ron couldn’t help or that he didn’t care, Harry is just worried whatever Hermione’s got going on may have to do with him.

Since that day of the match, in the stairwell, Harry hadn’t seen her cry again, at least not in front of him.

One morning, a few days after the incident, Harry was up watching Malfoy move about the castle. Though not on the map, Draco was moving to where Harry knew the Room of Requirement was. Not caring that it was nearing four in the morning, he threw back the covers and made a run for it.

Until something stopped him.

Peering at the map, he noticed another name out of place, Hermione Granger.

Prefect, bookworm, brightest witch of her age, Hermione Granger, was in the common room after curfew.

Worrying something may be wrong, he took a detour through the portrait hole.

There, he found a mass of wild curls splayed all over the velvet couch. And she must’ve heard the portrait click close making her jump awake.

And upon talking to her, it turns out since the day of the match, Hermione had taken to sleeping on the common room couch rather then her dorm.

Lavender had always been rude to Hermione. Snide comments here snd there on her looks, but it only got worse after she started dating Ron.

“No wonder my Won-Won didn’t want her, look at that hair!” She’d say loudly to Parvati as the brunette got ready one morning.

“Hermione Stranger! Isn’t that just brilliant! Surprised you haven’t thought of it yourself.” Lavender tutted proudly before bed a few weeks ago.

And that was fine, Hermione could take it, but what she couldn’t take were the ungodly amount of details the blonde spilt rather loudly every single night.

“And then he did this thing with his hands, oh his hands! Parvati have you ever noticed how big they are?” She gushed.

Hermione casted a silencing charm both to drown out her sobs and Lavender’s shrill voice.

“We did it!” She announced proudly one evening.

“Did what?” Parvati questioned scandalized.

“It! Oh it was wonderful! He was so amazing. Parvati, I think I’m falling in love!”

After that, she only returned to the room to grab some clothes. Hermione couldn’t even bare dressing in there, instead she’d taken up to the Prefect’s bathroom.

And maybe this wouldn’t be the case if Hermione knew everything Lavender was spewing was complete lie. That whenever she and Ron were together it was only ever just snogging or him running off.

But how would she even know that? It’s not like they talked. Not anymore.

Harry was halfway across the room before he noticed Ron following, “Ron...” he trailed regretfully.

He sighed, “please Harry, what if,” he can’t get the words out, “just in case, please?” The ginger begged.

His best friends stepped closer to him, voice dropping so Neville couldn’t hear, “look, I just don’t think it’s the best thing. I swear to you Ron, if it’s bad, if she’s got so much as a splinter, I’ll have Neville come get you.” Harry pleads.

Defeated and hurt, Ron watches the pair hurry off to the staircase.

And if he didn’t know he messed up before, he sure knew now.

——————————————————————————

Neville and Harry were rushing down the corridor when a strong grip had pulled back on the formers robes.

“Where are you going? What’s wrong?” Ginny had asked them, voice sounding a little terrified.

“It’s Hermione,” Neville couldn’t even finish before the red head interrupted.

“I’m coming.” She claimed.

“No, Ginny,” Harry told her.

“No, this is Hermione. She’s my best friend too you know! Even if it just about my git of a brother, sometimes all you need is another girl. Not some daft idiots who stare at maps all day or date bimbos!” She answered haughtily, a little red in the face.

Harry opened his mouth clearly to protest again.

“Please Harry.” It was the third time she’d cut off anyone from speaking.

He sighed in defeat, “look, you go up and make sure Ron doesn’t follow. Once Neville brings me to Hermione, he’ll come get you.”

“Oh and Ron needs a babysitter now?” she raised one eyebrow.

“Well it very well looked like he was ready to curse me when I told him to stay put,”

“Or me!” Neville added.

“Or Neville. Either that or he’s gonna come follow, I left the map open on my bed. Just go please. I promise Neville will come back for you and he’ll stay with Ron, right mate?”

The Gryffindor gulped. He’d seen Ron angry, but when it had to do with Hermione it could only be described as next level.

“Right.” His voice came out a little shaky.

Ginny rolled her eyes, “don’t just stand there then! Hurry up!” She scolded, the girl turned and made her way to the boys dorms as the pair scurried in the other direction.

“Where is she anyway?” Harry breathed as they ran through the castle.

“A closet, a potions closet, I think? I heard her when I was walking back from the greenhouse.” Neville took a quick turn, “over here!” He hollered.

He stopped in front of the wooden thing, tentatively knocking on it. As Harry ventured closer he could hear the muffled cries.

“Hermione, I’ve brought Harry, he’s going to come in.”

No response.

Neville looked worriedly to the Boy-Who-Lived, “it’ll be fine Neville. Just get Ginny and stay with Ron please?”

The other boy nodded and ran back to Gryffindor tower.

Harry on the other hand, pushed open the door, finding Hermione as a crumpled piles of robes against a shelf with empty vials. In her hand, he notices a disheveled looking piece of parchment atop some black covered book she’d been reading for weeks.

“Hermione.” He calls out tentatively.

Her glassy eyes meet his and she seems to break down all over again, “oh Harry,” she moans, “it’s terrible! Just terrible.”

He slides his way against the shelf and awkwardly places an arm around her, to which she burrows into instantly.

“What is?” He asks softly.

“It’s my grandma, my parents have written me, she’s fallen very ill, they think she going to,” she chokes on the words, “to die!” The witch exclaims sadly.

Harry squeezes her a little tighter. He recalls Hermione mentioning a few times how close she was to her grandmother.

Of course, Ron knew that besides her parents, Hermione’s grandmother was the only one who knew she was a witch. She’d confided in the red haired boy that before Hogwarts she had no friends so she’d stay summers with her grandma at her house in the French countryside, but hadn’t been since she started doing holidays at The Burrow.

“I’m sorry Hermione. I’m so sorry.” With a war raging, he often forgets that people are still suffering in other ways.

“They’re traveling to France now, up to her house. She insisted on being comfortable if it happened. My parents, they don’t want me to come. To remember her like that.” She took a staggering breath, “they don’t know I’m not speaking to,” she can’t get his name out, “I haven’t told them I won’t be going to the Burrow for holiday and I can’t do that to them. Not now.”

Her body starts to shake with cries all over again, nothing but heaves expelling from the brunettes mouth.

“Can I read it?” Harry asks after she’s calmed a bit.

Hermione simply nods, moving the letter she had been grasping into his awaiting hand.

Everything she was saying had been confirmed on the parchment. Harry even shuttered a little at the last line.

‘We’ll write when we arrive. We love you, please do try and have a lovely holiday with the Weasley’s. Don’t be too sad.’

“I’ll just stay here. I can’t go.” Hermione said groggily, clearly have noticing Harry cringing beside her.

“Can’t go where?” Ginny’s voice breaks from the doorway

[chanluster]

ann summers | {c} ; mild {f}

oneshot | 2.56K words

“ your best friend was weirdly terrified of lingerie, and you found it irritating yet adorable.”

c o n t e n t s >> a very flustered seungmin, constant clownery, mild fluff, mentions of sex toys but no usage, sexual innuendo, a lot of swearing, y’all basically make seungmin hella uncomfortable lmaoaoo

a / n >> inspired loosely by real events when my friends and i got kicked out of a sex shop for fucking around :’) ann summers is a lingerie and sex shop, in case y’all didn’t know!

back to masterlist

YOU FOUND YOURSELF SIGHING OUT MORE THAN YOU PHYSICALLY THOUGHT POSSIBLE.

“Seungmin,” You explained for the last time, ”They’re not going to come alive and bite you.”

The boy stood in front of you shot you an expression which actually doubted your statement. He hugged himself tighter, white hoodie bunching up at the waist, either to warm himself from the bitter London cold or shield himself from another threat.

Monsters displayed in the windows of Ann Summers. 

These creatures that your best friend shied from hung delicately either on racks, or were boasted upon the slim mannequin bodices, intricate lacing and beadings accentuating the dark colours. Posters of models adorning the god-forbidden entity, posing seductively as they showed off the latest collection.

You rolled your eyes, and this time it hurt as they reached the insides of your mind.

“You actual pussy,” you jeered. “Every woman wears a bra you know. Or at least some point in her life.”

You raised your own chest a little higher, pointing towards the goods. “Even I’m wearing one right now.”

Seungmin’s face was a classic painting of disgust. “You didn’t have to tell me that,” he whined, almost hiding within the folds of his hoodie. “Look, I’ll wait here, you go and do your shopping.” 

“But that’ll be boring if I do it alone!” You looked up at the sky, grey clouds engulfing the sun for hours. “And it’ll rain any moment now, I can’t let you stay outside.”

“I’d rather stay outside than step foot in that…” he glanced at the lingerie shop for a millisecond before hurriedly settling his eyes upon you. “That place.”

“You say it like it’s some twisted underworld.” You waved a hand towards the shop. “To women it is a chance of feeling sexy.

“And I wanna feel sexy, Seungmin.”

He raised an incredulous eyebrow at you. “Who for? The men on your lockscreen you cry over?”

Chuckling, he dodged your hand, nearly whacking him. “Watch it, dickhead,” you warned. “And it doesn’t have to be for a man. I want to feel hot for myself.”

“But ___, you’re already pretty,” he pleaded rather than declared, the tone making you suspicious. “You don’t need that lacey shit.”

“Are you saying that just so I don’t go inside the store? Because I will anyway, whether I’m going to buy something or not.”

A few moments passed after the words left your mouth, and you watched his brows furrow irritably.

“Nevermind, you’re mad fucking ugly.”

“Hey!”

This time, your hand managed to hit home, earning a yelp from Seungmin, who rubbed his arm in pain. 

“Now stop bitching and come inside,” you ordered, ready to take him by his sweater paws, but he stayed rooted to the cobblestone street. 

“I’m not going in,” he muttered. 

Perhaps hitting his head would get him to comply. 

Before you could carry out your sentence, thunder reigned upon the ears of the shoppers and other citizens out, including you two who jumped from the rather loud sound. 

You felt a drop of water hit your head. Then, saw another fall upon Seungmin’s face. 

One drop. Two drops. Four drops. 

Until drops became showers, and you started towards the Ann Summers building, dragging the hesitant boy along and rushed under the cover of the entrance. 

You shot a glare as you slowed down, ignored by the boy watching the showers of rain grow angrier. “I told you this would happen.”

He turned, eyes now desperate. “Please don’t make me go in there, ___.”

“Look, this isn’t normal. You gotta learn to be comfortable with seeing bras and pants and sex toys—”

“Wait what? Sex toys?!” He backed away out of cover, and came running back when he felt the icy rain. “No way am I going in there now. You’re on your own.”

“Seungmin!” You exclaimed, and with his surprise, you took the golden opportunity to grab his sweater-cuffed hands, and with the other hand pushed the doors open as you pulled him inside with you.

You looked up at your surroundings, a whimper sounding from behind you.

It was an explosion of dark pink in the background, complimentary with black railings and racks as thousands of different pieces of lingerie hung, stacked and modelled before you, a full colour blast and wild designing. Lacing you had never seen before accentuating body suits, stockings promising brilliant bedroom results and everything naughty you could ever think of presented on a silver plate to the customer. 

The store knew you sought pleasure, and made sure to offer it in an infinite ways and possibilities. 

It made Kim Seungmin nearly scream.

“I’m going right now—!” he turned on his heel, but you successfully grabbed onto the hood, yanking him back to your side. 

“No time for your whining, buddy.” You stared at the sexual haven, excited to uncover what it offered. “Let’s buy some motherfucking bras!”

“Oh dear God,” he could only murmur.

Batting your hand off the hood, he crossed his arms as he miserably followed you around, not leaving his eyesight from the carpeted floor. You, on the other hand, relished in the polished lingerie store, assessing each new piece in each hot collection, feeling like a proper woman. Of course you had some nice underthings for yourself, but there are always times where you wished you possessed something fancier, something with a little black lace and pants which were tied up at the sides. It seemed awfully silly saying all those little wishes to your best friend, but it was what you truly felt.

You just wanted to feel...nice.

“Seungmin, you do know no one is going to judge you for looking around with me.” You studied a certain two piece, a little too big for your breasts. “I think I’d judge you more for constantly looking down. It’s like you’ve already done something vile.”

“Don’t say that,” he grumbled. “I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m a weirdo.”

“No one’s going to think that,” you assured him. “Just don’t sniff the bras or shit like that. That would definitely get you kicked out.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of that, sick bitch.” He slid a little closer to you, wary of the other shoppers walking, assessing by. “Whatever, I’ll just wait for you.”

You let your lips curve into a malicious smirk. “But Seungmin, I wanted your opinion on a few things.”

The boy’s devastation nearly made you cackle. “No fucking way are you going to show me what you want.”

You gave into your wishes, laughing shamelessly at the blush rising in his cheeks. “Nah, I’m not that sadistic. Actually, I already know what I need, but I’m gonna take a while, so…” your knowing smile remained. “You can search around for yourself if you like.”

Those little cheeks blushed harder. “Shut up.”

Whistling, you only shrugged, walking past the lingerie in a slow stroll. “Whatever you say, buddy! And remember.” You glanced back, eyes dancing. “There is nothing to be scared of in here.”

You continued your search for your specific sized bras, collecting a few and hanging them upon your arm as you browsed, Seungmin close behind, ready to bolt out of the shop at any moment. Every so often a scandalous underwear would be shown off upon the shelves, and you’d pick out a piece, waving it in front of the boy and watch him scurry away from it as if it were a poisonous creature. 

It made your insides sing at the thought of his reaction when he saw the contents further down the shop. You were sure he would pass out.

“Okay, Minnie,” You started, walking towards the far end of the room. “I’ve picked out a few things and am just going back there.”

“Hold up!” He sprang into a little jog, hastily avoiding the lingerie and stopping right next to you. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

“You were the one dying to stay away,” you reminded him, already catching sight of Seungmin’s final doom. “Now come here, I need to find myself one more thing.”

Taking his sweater paw, you lead him out of the lingerie section, a pink wall separating the contents behind the other side. A doorway was present, and you entered through it, the biggest, dirtiest grin adorning upon your lips.

You read out the sign, already feeling Seungmin go statue-still.

“Sex toys!” You declared.

And heard your best friend’s response. 

“JESUS ON A FUCKING MARATHON—”

You let out a gasp. Never before had you seen him this frightened, and you’ve been through a hundred theme parks with him. You’ve seen how this idiot had screamed his voice dead at rollercoasters. 

“Seungmin—” you started, but with a jolt you noticed he had wrenched his hood over his head, pulling at the strings so all you could see were his eyes, angry as the thunder crashing outside in the sky. 

“What are you doing here—!” he mumbled into the opening of his hoodie, but you shut him up with your hand, shushing him.

“Look, we’re technically not allowed to be in here, so shut up.” You turned around once more to the sex toys, proudly being shown upon the shelves. The dildos were the main attraction, catching your eye with the vibrant colours, different sizes and special editions being listed on their tags.

Your best friend looked frantically around, making sure there were no employees around to catch you both. “I hate you so much,” he guttered, which only made you smile. 

You dashed to the shelves, observing one brilliantly pink dildo, veins and all carved into the plastic. “Oh my God, Minnie, look!” 

The disgust on Seungmin’s face made you pick up the object, assessing the little details engraved upon it. “It says it’s eight inches.” Your eyes widened. “Eight inches!”

“You better put that back, then,” the boy drawled, still not loosening the strings of his hoodie. “That shit’ll kill you.”

“You’re just mad you don’t pack that much.” You obliged, putting the dildo back. “Didn’t know cocktail sausages were designed based on your dick.”

“My dick is not small,” he argued. When he saw your knowing smirk, though, he visibly shrunk.

“Oh yeah?” You walked on, cackling. “Keep talking shit, Minnie, but I can’t see any bulge.”

“Oh my God-” he immediately yanked his hoodie lower, as red as a tomato. “Stop!”

“Don’t worry, bud,” you sang out, going deeper into the aisles. You’ll find a lovely girl who will look past your 3-incher.”

Seungmin only had his eyes on you, blushing even more. “fuck you, ____.”

His thoughtful comment was ignored, skipping past various sizes of anal beads, magic wands and other innovative little creations, surprised to find so much range. You knew you would probably never use these objects, but the idea of people trying to spice up their sex lives with all this was insane in your head. 

It was too bad you and Seungmin were pain-stakingly virgin.

You were about to call exit when your eyes stopped on a certain invention, and your mouth dropped. 

“What is that?”

You quickly picked it up, assessing its indigo, snake-like bodice, veins engraved all over with two heads on either sides. Laughing, you raised it to get your best friend’s attention.

“Look at this!”

Seungmin came over, took one glance at what you held, and turned a straight 180 degrees.

“Wait, wait!” You grabbed onto his hood once more, pausing his escape. 

“I am not going to admire a double-ended dildo-”

“But look at how innovative this is!” You turn him around, gripping the sex toy like its a snake ready to strike.

Even the boy’s eyes were ready to dagger you. “____, I swear on Jesus and his disciples, I’m going to get your head checked.”

“How cute would it be if we used it together?” you teased, trying to hand him the tip, but he dodged your hand.

“I’m going! Ciao! Adios! Au revoir!” he crowed, finished with your tom-foolery, and leaving the sex toy’s section.

“No, Seungmin, wait!” You called after him, double-ended dildo still in hand, and trying to catch up to his rapid retreat. 

You were about to fall into step beside him when a woman stopped you both.

When the two of you saw the Ann Summers tag on her blouse, and a rather interrogative expression, you both exchanged glances, yours a little more sheepish than his.

“What were you kids doing in the back section?” she asked, hands on her hips.

You could feel the nerves radiating off Seungmin’s body, so you opened your mouth, saying the first words that touched your tongue.

“My friend and I were, uh, at the back...trying things out.”

Suddenly, a laugh escaped your best friend.

The employee looked at the lingerie on your one arm, and the double-ended dildo in your other hand. Then she raised a groomed brow at you.

Your cheeks flushed aggressively, and with further surprise heard Seungmin’s chuckling grow louder.

“Children are strictly prohibited in the sex-toys section,” she scolded, regarding the shopping in your arms. “You can still buy the bras, but the other thing…”

“I’ll put it back right now!” you declared, eyes wide as your best friend’s laughter boomed across the shop. You hurried back in the erotica section, dumping the dildo among its brethren and returning to your surrender spot.

The attendant then took your remaining items and scanned them in, ushering you to the till. You paid the woman what was due, and took the black shoppings, exiting the shop hastily with a near-hysterical Seungmin at your heels.

The London rain had softened to a light drizzle when you burst out of Ann Summers, getting irritated with the continuous howling, and at last you whirled around, ready to shut him up when you stopped.

Your best friend’s hood was pulled over, and he bent forward, soft locks bobbing as he laughed out his soul, eyes disappearing within his grin. The sound of the rain harmonised with his melodious voice, and you watched, mouth parted in awe. 

You had seen Seungmin laugh a million and two times. It was always after you faced the consequences of your frequent fuck-ups - just like this one. However, looking at him now, finally calming his roaring, toothy grin still on display, there was something quite fantastical in his mirth that made your heartbeat run fast -  faster than you when returning that damned double-ended dildo.

“I hate you!” your best friend declared to London, smiling at you.

You could only return that pure happiness. “I hate you too,” you replied, heart still beating rapidly.

He finally strolled up to you, eyeing the black shopping bag. “You deserve that scolding.”

“I know,” you agreed, turning towards the street, another notorious shop in sight. “Let’s do it again.”

Seungmin shot you an incredulous look. “You already know I’m never stepping foot in Ann Summers again.”

“I don’t mean Ann Summers, Minnie,” you said, staring at the other shop. The next destination of trouble.

The boy followed your line of sight, and his joy nearly vanished. His eyes darted to you, disbelief in his expression.

“No, you’re fucking not.”

But you only stuck your tongue out at him and ran towards the building, you now being the one laughing.

Seungmin only rolled his eyes, a small smile escaping his lips when he looked at you and followed your footsteps, right into the Victoria Secret building.

[mcsplaced]

𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖎 𝖉𝖆𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 . . .

Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but  [SUNNI DAE], a [FORTY] year-old [CIS WOMAN] has lived in [FLATIRON DISTRICT, MANHATTAN] for [TWENTY-TWO YEARS]. This is the city of dreams and [SHE/HER] knows it, because they came to NYC to be an [ACTRESS]. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like [SON YE-JIN]. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it!

hey, everyone ! here’s sunni. her about is listed here, her statistics are listed here, and her plotting page is listed here. if you’d like to claim any of the plots on that page or do some other plotting, shoot me a message ! i prefer discord, but i’m open to messaging on tumblr. my discord is limes#6826. give this a like and i will come to you for plots !

TRIGGER WARNING — child abuse ( mental ), mention of bullying, drug dependency issues ( namely alcoholism ), infidelity, abusive marriage, terminal illness

sunni born under the name dae eun-ha to an aspiring artist and a mother suffering from depression. sunni’s parents met in songpa-gu, seoul, south korea, where sunni would later be born, and quickly fell into a whirlwind romance. they would eventually marry a year before sunni’s birth. 

her father’s family had money thanks to his father’s possession of a chain business for restaurants and not long after the birth of sunni, her father was pressured by his wife to get a gig with the help of his own father. he landed in marketing after some training and the promise of an eventual degree. this pretty much drained the life out of him and he stopped painting, deteriorating into a shell of a man. 

( tw mental child abuse ) growing up was difficult for sunni, as her mother blamed her depression on the birth of sunni. she was a stay at home mother who was perpetually disappointed in anything sunni did and was neglectful due to her own dysfunctional marriage, mental illness, and trauma from an abusive childhood. as for her father, he never acted poorly toward her, but he simply wasn’t around. on the off chance that he did speak to sunni, he would spew hateful speech at her about society and the steady destruction of his life force.  ( end tw )

by the time sunni was four, the family was set up to move to los angeles, california, with the prospect of a higher paying job. this ended up being for naught as sunni’s father never really obtained a super successful job, only managing a small pay bump after years of working in los angeles.

childhood was rough for sunni as her parents would fight constantly over their class difference, financial issues, her mother’s general dissatisfaction with how their lives turned out, and her father’s infidelities. as a means of escaping her home troubles, sunni dove straight into the world of cinema. she found it easy to idolize specific actors and viewed a couple of them as her rightful parental figures. 

in school, sunni felt out of place. her parents had spent their money on tutors for a couple years ensuring sunni could skate by with her english, but she had difficulty communicating with others after a long summer with little practice or when it came to more difficult concepts. it wasn’t until junior high that sunni felt 100% confident in her english speaking abilities.

( tw mention of bullying ) sunni was timid and had extremely low confidence, and this caused her to be preyed on at times. the only time sunni was outspoken was in her theater club, where she landed relatively large roles within the production thanks to her passion for acting and persistent practice. as she grew into her adolescence, she finally began to see the flaws in her substitute parental figures. scandal after scandal followed the celebrities she idolized, and sunni couldn’t help but feel betrayed. ( end tw )

when sunni was sixteen, she began waitressing to save money for when she was able to move out. this paid off, and she moved into a small studio apartment in tribeca, manhattan, when she was eighteen. when sunni wasn’t working, she was performing in local theater productions. her confidence grew as she avoided exposure to a toxic environment and made a small group of likeminded friends. by the time she turned 21, she began bartending and made enough money to move into a two bedroom with a friend.

sunni’s life as a young adult was relatively uneventful until she was discovered by an agent at a show when she turned 23. in 2004, under the stage name “sunni dae”, she scored an audition for a pg family sitcom named the campbells. it wasn’t mean to be a big project, and after a couple auditions, sunni scored the lead role. 

( tw drug addiction ) not long after its introduction to television, it completely blew up. the show is likened to full house both in popularity and general vibe. though she started as a humble actress, the fame quickly got to sunni. her drug dependency issues began quickly after exposure to various substances at a party.

her drug of choice was alcohol, much like her father, and she began frequently drinking on set. sunni’s ego grew to be massive and she began treating others poorly because of it, unable to understand the woes of others if they didn’t pertain to her own life. ( end tw )

moving out of her two bedroom in 2005, sunni moved from tribeca to the flatiron district and top ( seventeenth ) floor luxury penthouse. this penthouse would later be what sunni calls the best thing she got from the campbells. in 2006, sunni officially changed her name from dae eun-ha to sunni dae. 

( tw depression, drug addiction ) sunni saw her celebrity idols smiling and happy in their fame, and wondered why she didn’t feel that same happiness. in fact, she felt isolated, bitter, and cynical; these feelings fed into her drug addiction. it didn’t help that her friendships began to fall apart thanks to her selfish behaviors and narcissistic tendencies. her parents were unresponsive to her fame, with her mother even expressing disappointment in the fact that she was a part of a show with cheap comedy and simple plot lines. ( end tw )

her career took a turn for the worse in 2007. toward the end of 2006, sunni began a relationship that would later turn into a highly publicized toxic marriage a little over half a year later. the marriage had multiple scandals and each news story plagued sunni’s reputation. this stain would follow her even into her forties, as she was considered a high risk individual to act as the face of a project.

it was also released at one point that sunni allegedly gave drugs to a younger cast member, though it wasn’t publicized which one it was. however, sunni wasn’t the only cast member who had public controversies. by 2011, the cast had racked up so many controversies that the show was cancelled, though it was given a proper ( rushed ) finale. in the same year, sunni got divorced, and thanked her lucky stars for the prenup.

after the campbells, sunni hired an skilled freelance investor to expertly invest her money for her; she would later be thankful for this as the few projects she did take after the campbells completely flopped. a frustrated agent would watch as looper’s inevitable “what happened to sunni dae?” video popped up after years of inactivity, though they did choose to stick by her side, as they had confidence in her potential. 

( tw drug addiction ) others did not see her potential, however, as she was simply “the lady from that old sitcom” in the acting world. to those who knew sunni, she was viewed as a destructive force with drug dependency issues and horrible interpersonal skills. she has had a couple relationships, but nothing serious as sunni’s partners eventually grow to acknowledge her toxic behaviors. ( end tw )

( tw terminal illness ) at the age of thirty-seven, sunni’s father passed away from acute liver failure. sunni thought she would feel something from this inevitability, but no out of place feelings came to her. ( end tw )

( tw assumed depression ) now forty, sunni spends most of her time inebriated and getting into shenanigans with new york locals. occasionally, she’ll still have a scandal that hits the news. she takes part in small projects, such as being the face of a bourbon or starring in commercials, but she’s actively looking for something to revitalize her career and give her life meaning again ( at least, that’s what she thinks ). ( end tw )

in the interest of learning more about things i may have cut out, feel free to check out her about page, listed above. you can also find more about her personality there.

[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp These Are Books: the January 2021 Edition

Tumblr’s gif search leaves a lot to be desired, so there’s no actual gif of her slamming the book shut, which is—y’know, disappointing. Still, the continued ability of the public library system to send books to my Kindle ensures that I continue to read every romantic comedy and fantasy story I can find. Of which I have plenty of thoughts and opinions. But, like, what’s the point of having thoughts and opinions if you’re not putting them on the internet? There isn’t one, obviously. Books and links and feelings and more ridiculous headlines all under the cut. 

BEST BOOK AWARD WINNER OF A VERY WEIRD JANUARY THAT HELPED DISTRACT FROM A VERY WEIRD JANUARY

The Wrath & the Dawn by Renee Ahdieh Every dawn brings horror to a different family in a land ruled by a killer. Khalid, the eighteen-year-old Caliph of Khorasan, takes a new bride each night only to have her executed at sunrise. So it is a suspicious surprise when sixteen-year-old Shahrzad volunteers to marry Khalid. But she does so with a clever plan to stay alive and exact revenge on the Caliph for the murder of her best friend and countless other girls. Shazi’s wit and will, indeed, get her through to the dawn that no others have seen, but with a catch . . . she’s falling in love with the very boy who killed her dearest friend. She discovers that the murderous boy-king is not all that he seems and neither are the deaths of so many girls. Shazi is determined to uncover the reason for the murders and to break the cycle once and for all.

This was so good?!?! I finished the first book and them immediately started the sequel, like no break whatsoever?!! I wish they weren’t teenagers?!! But seriously I wish they hadn’t been teenagers. Like, I get it. It’s YA. That probably sells better, something about markets that I don’t understand. I don’t care. It was weird that they were teenagers. Also, some of the plot points just kind of...happened? And I’m not entirely sure they were ever resolved. (Although there are a bunch of short stories, so. Maybe I just haven’t gotten there yet.) Despite that, the writing was gorgeous, I remain as prone to swooning over sad boys patent pending as I was when I was sixteen and Shahrzad was a fantastic heroine. Nine out of ten (would have been ten if they weren’t teenagers) and have already put holds on other books Ahdieh has written. 

OBLIGATORY RAGE-INDUCING ROM-COM

Head Over Heads by  Hannah Orenstein The past seven years have been hard on Avery Abrams: After training her entire life to make the Olympic gymnastics team, a disastrous performance ended her athletic career for good. Her best friend and teammate, Jasmine, went on to become an Olympic champion, then committed the ultimate betrayal by marrying their emotionally abusive coach, Dimitri. Now, reeling from a breakup with her football star boyfriend, Avery returns to her Massachusetts hometown, where new coach Ryan asks her to help him train a promising young gymnast with Olympic aspirations. Despite her misgivings and worries about the memories it will evoke, Avery agrees. Back in the gym, she's surprised to find sparks flying with Ryan. But when a shocking scandal in the gymnastics world breaks, it has shattering effects not only for the sport but also for Avery and her old friend Jasmine.

I stopped reading it. Honestly. I got, like, 46% of the way through, kept complaining to Justin about how goddamn annoying Avery was and how no one had any personality and I wanted them all to fall off the beam and he was like—stop reading it, then? And I was like—I can do that? And then I did! Also, I understand it needed conflict, but the “shocking scandal” in the description is a sexual assault that was not only NOT my cup of tea, but felt like a massive attempt to be topical by using what happened at Michigan State without actually saying it was about Michigan state. 

PEOPLE WHO DON’T KNOW SPORTS WRITE SPORTS AND DO IT OK

Evvie Drake Starts Over by Linda Holmes In a sleepy seaside town in Maine, recently widowed Eveleth “Evvie” Drake rarely leaves her large, painfully empty house nearly a year after her husband’s death in a car crash. Everyone in town, even her best friend, Andy, thinks grief keeps her locked inside, and Evvie doesn’t correct them. Meanwhile, in New York City, Dean Tenney, former Major League pitcher and Andy’s childhood best friend, is wrestling with what miserable athletes living out their worst nightmares call the “yips”: he can’t throw straight anymore, and, even worse, he can’t figure out why. As the media storm heats up, an invitation from Andy to stay in Maine seems like the perfect chance to hit the reset button on Dean’s future. When he moves into an apartment at the back of Evvie’s house, the two make a deal: Dean won’t ask about Evvie’s late husband, and Evvie won’t ask about Dean’s baseball career. Rules, though, have a funny way of being broken—and what starts as an unexpected friendship soon turns into something more. To move forward, Evvie and Dean will have to reckon with their pasts—the friendships they’ve damaged, the secrets they’ve kept—but in life, as in baseball, there’s always a chance—up until the last out.

I am admittedly a sports snob. Writing about sports is my thing and I’m super particular about reading about it. But this sounded good and for the most part it was good. Emotional, too. Like, “jeepers, that was intense” kind of emotional. But also some of the things Dean talked about were just...not how sports work and that drives me nuts. Also another story that was, as mentioned, super emotional only to get tied up in this nice little bow. Which, cool, but also...not? Just felt rushed at the end. 

IN WHICH SHIPPING IS QUESTIONED AND I JUST LIKE BEN BARNES

Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo Soldier. Summoner. Saint. Orphaned and expendable, Alina Starkov is a soldier who knows she may not survive her first trek across the Shadow Fold—a swath of unnatural darkness crawling with monsters. But when her regiment is attacked, Alina unleashes dormant magic not even she knew she possessed. Now Alina will enter a lavish world of royalty and intrigue as she trains with the Grisha, her country's magical military elite—and falls under the spell of their notorious leader, the Darkling. He believes Alina can summon a force capable of destroying the Shadow Fold and reuniting their war-ravaged country, but only if she can master her untamed gift.As the threat to the kingdom mounts and Alina unlocks the secrets of her past, she will make a dangerous discovery that could threaten all she loves and the very future of a nation. Welcome to Ravka . . . a world of science and superstition where nothing is what it seems.

I wanted to like this so much. So, so much. And sometimes I did. Sometimes I did not. At all. World building is my weakness and this has got it in spades, but the characters are kind of—boring? I couldn’t really bring myself to care about Alina and I wanted to kick Mal in the shins sometimes. The only interesting one was The Darkling who’s like the embodiment of all evil and I am not here to ship-shame anyone, but it’s kinda weird to ship him and Alina. I pictured Ben Barnes the entire time. I’m still excited for the show. I’ll read the sequel at some point, probably. 

BEING A JERK IS NOT ROMANCE, YOU’RE JUST A JERK

Would Like to Meet by Rachel Winters It's Evie Summers's job to find out. Because if she can't convince her film agency's biggest client, Ezra Chester, to write the romantic-comedy screenplay he owes producers, her career will be over. The catch? Arrogant Ezra thinks rom-coms are unrealistic—and he'll only put pen to paper if Evie proves to him that it's possible to meet a man in real life the way it happens on the big screen. Cynical Evie might not believe in happily ever after, but she'll do what it takes to save the job that's been her lifeline . . . even if it means reenacting iconic rom-com scenes in public. Spilling orange juice on a cute stranger? No problem. Leaving her number in books all over London to see who calls? Done. With a little help from her well-meaning friends and the adorable father-daughter duo who keep witnessing her humiliations, Evie is determined to show Ezra she can meet a man the way Sally met Harry. But can a workaholic who's given up on love find a meet-cute of her very own?

I love cliches. Love ‘em. Want to read about ‘em, want to write about ‘em. Here for happily ever after. Much less here for the overused and antiquated cliche of dude doesn’t believe in love like girl does, dude ridicules girl’s belief, dude was secretly in love with her the whole time. It’s super dumb. And we should stop writing it. Also really done with rom com girl can’t figure out her life! she’s overworked! she doesn’t have time for her friends! Super duper dumb. I don’t know guys, this book happened. 

FAST-PACED ROMANCE ISN’T AS WEIRD WHEN IT’S WELL WRITTEN AND THERE’S A MOOSE INVOLVED

The Tourist Attraction by Sarah Morgenthaler He had a strict "no tourists" policy...until she broke all of his rules. When Graham Barnett named his diner The Tourist Trap, he meant it as a joke. Now he's stuck slinging reindeer dogs to an endless parade of resort visitors who couldn't interest him less. Not even the sweet, enthusiastic tourist in the corner who blushes every time he looks her way...

Two weeks in Alaska isn't just the top item on Zoey Caldwell's bucket list. It's the whole bucket. One look at the mountain town of Moose Springs and she's smitten. But when an act of kindness brings Zoey into Graham's world, she may just find there's more to the grumpy local than meets the eye...and more to love in Moose Springs than just the Alaskan wilderness.

This story of Alaska marries together all the things you didn't realize you needed: a whirlwind vacation, a friendly moose, a grumpy diner owner, a quirky tourist, plenty of restaurant humor, and a happy ending that'll take you away from it all.

I’m not one for slow burn, but I also have a hard time believing romances that happen in, like, a blink. Not the case here! It was so goddamn cute! There was a moose! Graham kept calling Zoey darlin’ and it made my heart try to explode in my chest! Stars Hollow-levels of small town with lots of side characters and a good plot and a restaurant that everyone always went to! You guys know I’m trash for everyone always going to hang out in the same restaurant! I’m reading the sequel now, so that’s how much I enjoyed it. 

AMAZON BOOKS THAT CONTINUE TO BE WAY BETTER THAN THEY SHOULD BE

Elodie of the Sea by Shari L. Tapscott (part of the Eldentimber Series) Eight years have passed since the marriage tournament that decided the fate of Princess Pippa of Lauramore and strengthened alliances between the kingdoms of Elden. The competitors have moved on with their lives. Some have found adventure; some have found love. Prince Bran of Triblue, however, has put his life on hold, preparing for his father's crown. Two days before Bran's winter coronation, just when the prince cannot afford distractions, a girl washes onto the Triblue shore. She has no memory of her past life, no clue who she is or where she belongs—nothing but a ring on her finger and a peculiar marking on her cheek. And the newly crowned king has more than a mysterious girl to worry about. The sea has become unpredictable. Storms claim ships in the dead of night, and sailors return with horrifying stories of monsters from the deep. It soon becomes clear the girl and the bizarre events are connected. The girl came from the sea... and the sea wants her back. But Bran isn't willing to give her or his kingdom up without a fight, even if it means he must request help from every corner of Elden.

Listen, sometimes you have to read about a mermaid who lost her memory and the soon-to-be-king who’s, like, immediately in love with her. I mentioned Tapscott’s books in the 2020 post and the sentiment remains the same. You ever read a book that reads like fic? Lots of banter, some romance, steady pacing. That’s what her books are like. There are five in the Eldentimber series, all about a different princess in a different kingdom, but they all connect so characters pop up again and again and then they kiss. It’s real good. 

[cxmetery-gates]

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER FIVE: COFFEE AND TINDER

SUMMARY: Lynn and Gabriel have a heart-to-heart talk about her last lover, with Gabe offering barely-legal suggestions. WORD COUNT: 2.45k NOTES: Gabe is probably my favorite character WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston, mentions of past relationships, break-up talk, h*tler reference?? never thought i’d write that

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

THE SOUND OF A BELL alerts the classroom that the period is over. Everyone had been already packed and ready to go minutes before Mr. Hiddleston even began wrapping up his lesson. Even when I suffered through chemistry or dragged my deflated soul through finance, I never thought of putting my notes and pens away so soon. I know more than one student saw the icy glare I sent across the room but, most importantly and unfortunately, I also know nearly all of them didn't catch the slight disappointment in Mr. Hiddleston's tone.

I truly despise most people.

From the moment class started, it's been so unmistakably clear how much he loves what he teaches, that he enjoys what he spent thousands of dollars on just to show people how great literature is. I understand that all too well— save the going into debt part. Teachers are often times so mundane with their knowledge, not realizing how the way they present the information affects our understanding and interest in such. This is why high school teachers are stereotyped as people who just want a paid summer vacation. However, Mr. Hiddleston really put effort into his theatrics, like his lecture was a play. People with a teaching degree should teach in this way— why else go penniless willingly? The overall excitement was entertaining. And for that, I have to give the man some credit.

"Alright, guys. We'll be diving into the second part of this lecture tomorrow. Have a good one, you are dismissed." I don't think Mr. Hiddleston needed to announce the last blip of his closing statement. As I said, people are so rude.

Ellie begins to shove her notepad and other items into her bag after our teacher finishes speaking, reminding me of my kind company. I, on the other hand, am scrambling to take the last bit of notes, trying to relay any possible concepts mentioned on to paper. While there might not have been much depth in today's class, jotting down every last tidbit of information could be life or death. Or perhaps I'm just anal-retentive when it comes to note-taking. By the time I finish the note, Ellie is already standing.

"Girl, hurry up. We gotta go!" She drags out the last vowel of the last word humorously.

I wave my hand at her, flipping pages and dodging paper cuts. "Go on without me. I'll be fine," I say, remembering that Ellie's homeroom is on the first floor and the farthest down the hall.

Rolling her big brown eyes, she sighs, walking backward. "I'll miss you poppet. I love you." Her fake British accent is terrible, but I don't bother enlightening her. Perhaps the slight discoloration in her cheeks and how fast she dashed out of the room was due to finding Mr. Hiddleston in ear-shot of her terrible accent. I bite my lip, forcing myself to look away out of sheer second-hand embarrassment.

Once all my belongings are together, I turn to leave.

"That truly was an awful mockery," Mr. Hiddleston says in my direction from the whiteboard. His long toned arms wipe the marker away as I begin to walk past him.

I chuckle. "I'll let her know you said that."

Mr. Hiddleston fakes a groan, placing the eraser on the marker tray then turning to face me with those oh-so-charming eyes. There's no other way to describe them other than mesmerizing. "Oh, don't tell her I said it. I like being liked."

"Being 'liked' is the least of your worries with these girls," I mumble, mostly to humor myself. However, I must have been louder than anticipated. The innuendo is heard and doesn't fly over his head.

A titter of a laugh is heard from the man, and I now regret the words I mumbled. "So I have been told," he replies, making a slightly uncomfortable face. I can't blame him; anyone would feel incredibly awkward if teaching a class full of people who would sell both kidneys just to see them without a shirt.

Not in my dreams would I have imagined having a conversation with Mr. Hiddleston about how everyone wants to nail him. While such a phrase hasn't been explicitly noted, I have a feeling both our minds are in the same gutter. And with that recognition, an awkward heat embraces me. I press my lips together tightly and offer a shrug. "I think the proper thing for me to say is good luck."

Seeming to take my word, Mr. Hiddleston passes me a smile. I can't read what the meaning is, but I'll take it nonetheless with a cough to clear my throat. "Ah, well, as much as I love juicy gossip and scandals, I've got a stuck up prune for homeroom, so I definitely need to get going." I send him a wave, making my exit as awkward as possible.

"Warntz?" He asks.

My nose wrinkles at the name. It eve sounds terrible, almost as terrifying as Trunchbull or Umbridge. "You betcha."

"Good luck, Lynn. You've got two minutes."

I want to give another sassy remark, but the teasing look I find when I look over my shoulder sends my body into another blush. Muttering something close to 'whatever,' I decide that leaving is for the best, even if that means awaiting an angry, shriveled up raisin.

══════════════════

Exiting the high school front doors a few hours before the final bell is like the biggest sigh of relief and 'sucks to be you' to everyone else. An arm wraps around my shoulder, one I embrace kindly.

"So, we've got an hour on our hands," Gabriel reminds me, hinting we'll have to come back to grab Ellie and River. As he speaks, I toss my head back on his toned bicep. I swear he works out too much for an unpopular loser. "What would you like to do?"

I groan, dragging my chin down to my chest. "Why do I have to decide? You know I hate making decisions."

"We're taking second lunch here, Lynn. It isn't life or death, you weirdo," Gabe chortles.

"Can we just go get a coffee? I feel like I'm about to pass out." For effect, I pretend to faint, nearly going complete limp before his arms can hoist me back up.

Rolling his dark eyes, my partner in crime pulls a set of keys from his pocket, swinging the lanyard around his fingers while we head towards a tattered white truck being held together by zip ties, duct tape, and love. "You and Elle with your coffee addiction."

"Could be meth," I retort.

Snorting, Gabe slips a key into the slit on the driver's side. I stand on the opposite, sending a humored smile. "Yeah, as if that's any worse."

We make it to the local coffee shop in no time. Luckily for us, the lunch rush hour in this town ends just as we hit the road if we avoid the main highways that is. Gabe's truck and the coffee shop have a similar aesthetic: crowded, old, falling apart with an overwhelming sense of home and personality. I can't count how many times I've broken down and received well off advice from him in both locations. It feels safe here and being around him. Gabe's like the much older brother (by a month) that I never had. We're both complete, utter assholes to each other about 60% of the time, enforcing the sibling-like bond we have.

"Thank you," I say sweetly to the barista as he places my cold brew in front of me and Gabe's hot chocolate in front of him. Mimicking my gratitude, Gabe gives his thanks as the employee shuffled away, awkwardly patting at his frizzy hair.

We both take a sip and visibly relax. "So, the first day of our last year of high school." Gabe is also the mom friend. "Tell me, dear, how were all your classes?"

"Oh, dearest mother, I feel so content with my choices," I reply with a vintage accent, acting as though my voiced popped in from the 1920s. "How ever will I pick a favorite?"

Wiggling his brows, Gabe replies, "I hear someone landed themselves in the hottest teacher's class."

Prompting to return to my normal voice, I roll my eyes, a huff expelling from my diaphragm. "He's definitely a piece of eye candy, I'll tell you that."

"Took four years to figure that one out? I didn't realize unobservant you are." Taking a pause, Gabe brings to smirk widely. "Maybe that's why you haven't asked River out yet."

My eyes grow wide, my skin goes red. Looking at anywhere other than Gabe's eyes and smirking lips is a must. "I don't know—"

"Lynn, everyone knows."

"Sure, but he doesn't." I pause. "Wait, does he?"

"Dude, no, of course, he doesn't. He still thinks you're heartbroken over Trinity."

Ah, yes, Trinity. Who knew a happy year and two months could be wholly demolished beyond reconciliation in a single weekend? Certain not I, as I have spent the past three months moving on and over the ordeal. An annoyed grunt leads my cheek to rest in my fist. "He thinks I'm not over it?"

Gabe leans forwards. "None of us do, Lynn."

I stay silent.

"What happened... you didn't deserve that. Hell, Hitler wouldn't have deserved that. Probably."

"Weeeeell—"

"Point is, I know you're still trying to find a way to heal. You've done a damn good job, duh. But River thinks you're still in love with her."

"Ugh. I'd rather eat hairy horse shit than see her ever again."

Gabriel nods, "I was hoping that would be the case."

Knocking my knuckles on the wooden table, I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Man, I'm tired."

"You know we're all here for you, right?" Gabe asks, leaning in just a few inches. I want to roll my eyes, tell him that he worries too much, but I can't. I can't tell him, not because I want him to shut up or to change the topic, but because he knows me. To Gabe, I'm an open book.

I run out of words to say relating to the topic. The breakup is old news, everything following the incident becoming irrelevant memories and irreplaceable time. I'm kidding myself when I say I've moved on entirely because Gabriel is right: I haven't. Sometimes my thoughts get stuck on what I could have done better or what I should have done to convince her to stay. Despite these annoying blips, I know deep down that it was inevitable, that her consistent cheating and the emotional manipulation would only surface for everyone to see in due time. If they hadn't— which I tried to keep from happening— I have a gut-wrenching feeling I'd still be in the situation. I had a feeling Trinity and me wouldn't last, but it wasn't until after things ended did I realize how well she had me wrapped around her finger. It's taken months to find my way out of her web, but I now face the scary journey of recovery. Thankfully, the process has not been as hard as I anticipated. After all, living two cities away certainly helps.

"Yeah, I know. I'm still going through the motions. I just want it to speed up, you know?"

Smirking and pulling his hand back, Gabriel replies, "Maybe a Tinder will help?"

My nose wrinkles at the mere consideration. Hooking up, dating apps, meeting strangers behind a phone— not really my thing. "Nah, I'll pass on that offer, thanks."

"Suit yourself."

"Hmm, maybe I'll look into a sugar daddy site. Money from older men might make me feel a bit better."

Gabriel takes a sip of his hot chocolate, grinning. "Well, you have an interesting way with teachers. If you're struggling in a particular class, maybe that little fantasy of yours will come true."

"Oh yes, I can't wait to hop on Mr. Riley's seventy-year-old dick."

"Mhmm, yummy."

At this, I bark into a laughing-while-painfully-cringing fit. Never being a fan of the phrase "yummy" and having it tied to a man that's so old he's basically decaying, I find every part of this new conversation revoltingly hilarious. I guess my sudden outburst of laughter caught Gabe off guard, staring at me with a shocked grin and fixing the infamous beanie he wears. I couldn't count how many times I've seen him without; you can't count to zero.

"It really wasn't that funny," he says with a small hiccup of laughter in his voice.

I settle myself now that I feel the eyes of everyone in the coffee shop staring. "You're right, but something about it made me crack." I flip my phone over to check the time. "Should we be getting back? They've got twenty minutes left."

Gabe nods and lets out a content sigh. "Yeah, I guess so."

We decide to chug the rest of our beverages quickly— now room temperature and not as satisfying— before heading back out into the world. Away in the parking lot, the truck seems to beckon us to its forty-year-old, duct-tape-bound seats. As Gabe unlocks the truck doors, I let out a content sign and stare up at the sky. Above, the sun beams down on us and, like an idiot, I managed to look directly into it. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust but by that point, a dark cloud rolled over the blinding, distant star.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

TAGLIST:

@khadineberry​

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED, LET ME KNOW!

[kiribaku-fics-whatever]

Slow burn

So guys, there were just too much Slow burns to share, so I'm doing more than one list, still don't know how many... Also, I lot of them are like classics, and my favorites!Hope yall enjoy!

Kokoronashi by chiisanaai

It started the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once. There wasn’t a single moment of realization for Katsuki Bakugou, no specific point on his mind’s map that he could point to and say, “There! That’s when it happened.” As with all people, he was constantly developing, feelings coming and going, some fading into obscurity, others growing into a deafening crescendo that took over his thoughts, kept him up at night, spread a particularly spectacular brand of ache through him. Slowly, then all at once.

No Secrets to Sucess by kingdoms

“Hey!” Kirishima says brightly, stepping sideways to be directly in the guy’s path. “I know you!”

“Fuck off,” the guy snarls, pushing past him and barely slowing down.

Kirishima is forced to start his first semester at UA two months late. Somehow he still meets Bakugou Katsuki, makes the most of those two months, and gains a tutor, a best friend, and an exciting way to scandalize his new peers.

Canon AU where Kirishima and Bakugou become friends before Kirishima meets the rest of Class 1-A.

Moment of Truth by Fanficismything

Faced with deportation from Japan, high strung Bakugo Katsuki accepts a marriage of convenience with his partner and co-worker, Kirishima Eijirou. A suspicious immigration officer has him playing along on a trip to Kirishima's family home for his birthday, and is suddenly thrust into the middle of many, many eager friends and relatives, all delighted to know Kirishima's fiance. The longer he stays and sees Kirishima in his element, the more Bakugo unpacks his own feelings on the matter, and on Kirishima himself.

A fanfiction based on the 2009 movie The Proposal that turned into its own storyline and lovingly stuffed full of cliches.

so take my hand(your life will be brighter) by multiclassmaps

When a stranger shows up at the ice rink during Bakugou's usually private training sessions, Bakugou expects to hate him. He doesn't expect to develop feelings that become increasingly difficult to deny, or for them to help each other sort through their emotional baggage.

-

Bakugou really didn't like Kirishima's smile. There was something about it that made his stomach hurt, something about it that made it difficult to focus. He definitely hadn't thought about that smile on his way to the ice rink that day. He definitely hadn't.

quote love unquote by newamsterdam

Sero nods. “It’s the chance of a lifetime, really,” he says. “We want you to date Bakugou, for the sake of his reputation with the press. Some public appearances, a few ‘candid’ photos. For at least a couple of months.”

“Bakugou sent you to ask me to date him?” Kirishima asks, baffled.

“Of course not. We, his people, are asking you to date him. He’s going to have to get on board, if he wants his career to survive. And in the bargain, Riot will get all sorts of publicity, because their lyricist will be dating one of the industry’s hottest stars. A win for everyone.”

When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.

the fool's rush by chonideno

Settling down with each other is naturally what comes after being dorm neighbors for years. It’s time to navigate through adulthood together, to live the daily grind of being pro-heroes, to learn more than they thought they’d like to know about each other, about themselves.

Or how Bakugou and Kirishima find a way to call each other “home” and struggle with the realization that once all their bills are on auto-pay, the only thing they still have to deal with is this pit full of feelings they have ignored for too long.

When You Let Your Heart Win by tea_at_yazes

Bakugou Katsuki finally achieves his dream of becoming Number One Hero, but he still feels like something is missing.

A Meme A Day by PorcelainRose

Boarding school is bullshit. School is bullshit, and Bakugou Katsuki wants nothing to do with it. He doesn't give a shit about grades or homework or any of that crap, and he's more than tired of the damn principal breathing down his neck every second of the day. And to add a cherry on top of the shit sundae that is high school, he suddenly gets reassigned rooms and ends up with a way-too-fucking enthusiastic Hair-for-Brains idiot who's probably got the biggest, dumbest smile he's ever seen. Of-fucking-course.

~

Kirishima's always been happy to meet people and make new friends. Needless to say, he's ecstatic when he's informed that he's finally getting assigned a roommate after a month of living alone in a dorm room. He's more than happy to welcome his new roommate with a smile and help him out with anything he needs. He isn't expecting, however, to meet a seriously attractive blonde with intense irises that shine with his favorite color, and who he also has trouble keeping his own eyes off of.

If I Don't Act... by SilentNorth

The problem with this city is that it's no one's destination, yet they're all stuck here one way or another. It chews you up and spits you back out again. They all have their scars, plenty of problems to cover up and whether or not that's what's keeping them in this city remains to be seen. Eijirou's problem is that he has a hero complex not even his closest friends can talk him out of. It's not his fault. The police are never there and he doesn't want to leave anyone feeling helpless. He's been there. But if they all just keep smiling and pretending everything is okay, then it will be. Eijirou will make sure of that.

Bakugou Katsuki throws a wrench into everything. He can save himself, thank you very much.

Seven Years of Summer by dr_awkward221

"Katsuki was leaning his head against the car window, cheek pressed against the plastic body of the door, feeling the vibrations reverberate in his skull. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be stuck in the car for hours and hours only to arrive in a half deserted village in the middle of nowhere where probably only old people lived.

[...] He didn't care about nature, he didn't care about rivers, mountain animals or stupid old trees.

He wanted to stay at home, where every normal ten year old kid was spending the summer."

Or how Bakugo Katsuki, a lonesome and surly city boy, spends seven summer breaks in the mountains he will grow to hold close to his heart. And where, waiting for him, he always finds Eijirou, with his messy dark hair, carefree smile, sun-burned skin and wide eyes full of wonder. His opposite in almost every visible way, but who maybe understands him more than Katsuki could ever imagine.

Almost Midnight by justyourtypicalfangirl

A look at the odd friendship of Bakugou Katsuki and Kirishima Eijirou over the course of ten years.

One that only ever exists on New Year's Eve each year.

(inspired by 'Almost Midnight' by Rainbow Rowell)

to bear fruit(from clay, in direct sunlight) by taegg

Bakugou dreams and wakes with a fading afterimage of a peach rind sunset and a red dragon painted on a longboard. And a vague, stray thought that maybe he shouldn't give up when he hasn't really tried, that maybe the boy who rides a dragon could really be his.

Bakugou meets a boy with the wind in his hair and feet that don’t touch the ground. Two years pass, during which he learns to carve smooth lines on a longboard, and that he's allowed to love.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 13/02/2021 (Digga D, AJ Tracey, Cardi B)

It’s not as big of a week as it is just a confusing one, so there’s no pre-amble. Olivia Rodrigo spends a fifth week at #1 with “drivers license” and let’s start REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

I started writing this a bit later than usual so I just want to rush through most of what’s here. The songs dropping out of the UK Top 75 are either debuts from not long ago like “Notorious” by Bugzy Malone featuring Chip and “Lo Vas A Olvidar” by Billie Eilish and ROSALÍA, or songs that have been here for a while, like “Monster”  by Shawn Mendes and Justin Bieber, “Holy” by Justin Bieber featuring Chance the Rapper and “Dynamite” by BTS. We even have some #1 hits dropping out of the Top 75 this week, like “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, “WAP” by Cardi B featuring Megan Thee Stallion and “Shallow” by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. In terms of fallers, we have, seemingly, some of the older Winter cuts being replaced, as we see “Sweet Melody” by Little Mix getting a harsh streaming cut down to #30,  “Whoopty” by CJ down to #33, “Levitating” by Dua Lipa and remixed by DaBaby down to #34 (although this could rebound given the album release), “you broke me first” by Tate McRae at #37, “SO DONE” by The Kid YAOI at #57, “All I Want” by Olivia Rodrigo at #61, “Looking for Me” by Diplo, Paul Woodford and Kareen Lomax at #62, “Train Wreck” by James Arthur at #63, “See Nobody” by Wes Nelson and Hardy Caprio at #64, “Take You Dancing” by Jason Derulo at #65, “Therefore I Am” by Billie Eilish at #68, “Before You Go” by Lewis Capaldi at #72 and “Golden” by Harry Styles at #73, as well as some more recent debuts, including the entirety of Fredo’s album impact from last week, as “Money Talks” with Dave is at #11, “Ready” with Summer Walker at #31 and “Burner on Deck” with Young Adz and the late Pop Smoke at #32. “Skin” by Sabrina Carpenter and “Apricots”  by Bicep aren’t faring that well either, at #51 and #56 respectively. When I said these songs are being replaced, I wasn’t overestimating anything as we have our new crop of hits seemingly all surging, as “Martin & Gina” by Polo G is at #54, “Be the One” by Rudimental, MORGAN, TIKE and Digga D is at #49, “Best Friend” by Saweetie featuring Doja Cat is at #42, “My Head & My Heart” by Ava Max is at #35, “Love Not War (The Tampa Beat)” by Jason Derulo and Nuka is at #27, “Heat Waves” by Glass Animals is at #24, “Your Love (9PM)” by ATB, Topic and A7S is at #23 (it’s honestly starting to grow on me), and “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd is somehow back up to #20. Speaking of the top 20, we also have “Friday” by Riton, Nightcrawlers and Musafa & Hypeman dopamine re-editing itself up to #16, “Save Your Tears” also by the Weeknd at #15, and two new top 10 hits, both songs with basically the same chart run and genre. “Goosebumps” by Travis Scott, remixed by HVME, remixed by Travis Scott is at #10, becoming HVME’s first and Travis’ fourth top 10 hit here in Britain. We also have “The Business” by Tiesto grooving up to #7, becoming Tiesto’s fourth top 10 hit. I honestly feel bad for the still completely uncredited vocalist. We also have a third new top 10 entry but that’s a debut that we can discuss later. I should also note that “Roses” by SAINt JHN and remixed by Imanbek is back at #74, and a winning Eurovision song, “Arcade”, by Dutch singer Duncan Lawrence is also back at #39 off of the back of some TikTok traction. I think this is the most streamed Eurovision now – I’d watch out for this being a big hit. Welp, time to get into our really, and I mean REALLY, varied and weird crop of new arrivals, starting with...

NEW ARRIVALS

#75 – “Roadtrip” – Dream and PmBata

Produced by Banrisk and Perish Beats

Okay, so this is a song by Minecraft YouTuber Dream, or at least that’s who I think he is. I think there was some kind of scandal related to him, and a couple people got involved and someone got doxed... listen, I don’t care. Not only is this song really not worthy of reviewing on the principle that unlike Wilbur Soot a couple weeks ago, Dream has never been a musician, which is clear from how involved no-name singer PmBata was in this, but I care for my private information not being made public so... What ridiculous excuse do I have to not review this? Okay, 1997 reggae-rock classic “Doin’ Time” by Sublime returns to #75 after Boris Johnson made a TikTok in the Houses of Parliament where he says “Pogchamp, Brexiteers, I just got tested for COVID-19” with the song in the background, and Joe Biden is on a Zoom call with him a few seconds later visibly annoyed because he prefers the New Radicals. Sure, let’s go with that. What was this entry about again?

#71 – “Goodbye” – Imanbek and Goodboys

Produced by Joris Mur, Imanbek and Goodboys

Everyone’s favourite Kazakh house producer Imanbek is finally back on the charts with his collaboration with British pop trio Goodboys, who you may know from their carbon-copy hits made with MEDUZA. After listening to that EP he made with Rita Ora, I’m slightly less impressed with Imanbek’s production, but that EP’s impact, if any, will be seen when the lead single featuring David Guetta and Gunna debuts low next week. Yes, seriously, all four on the same track. Anyway, this song, “Goodbye”, is actually pretty okay, with a generic deep house groove and fake hand-clap effectively saved by the Goodboys’ really intriguing vocal delivery and processing, which ends up in a Travis Scott-like Auto-Tune harmony that’s honestly pretty endearing right before the anti-climactic slap-house drop. The song’s lyrical content probably isn’t worth talking about, but it’s about a generic struggle with a break-up, and how hard it is for one of these good boys to say good bye. The build-up with the pre-chorus before the blue-balls second drop is kind of genius, and that’s probably my favourite part of the song outside of the abrupt vocaloid drop at the end. For what it’s worth, it takes more risks than most of these house-pop songs, most notably by having only a single verse in the middle of the song, and being really short, clocking in at less than two and a half minutes. It’s not as infectious as “Piece of Your Heart”, but this is fine. I’m glad it’s here if it’s going to give Imanbek another non-Rita Ora-assisted hit.

#60 – “Little Bit of Love” – Tom Grennan

Produced by Jamie Scott, LOSTBOY and Daniel Bryer

Tom Grennan is an English singer-songwriter who released their debut record in 2016 and was crowned by the BBC as the “Sound of 2017”, before dropping off the face of the Earth. He was brought to fame by a guest feature on a Chase & Status song that didn’t even do that well and now he’s back with the lead single from his upcoming sophomore effort, and his highest ever charting song. Well, is it any good? I mean, I like OneRepublic too. The rising strings here in the intro and chorus are pretty cool, and I’ll give it to Grennan for having an interesting voice but the odd level of grit in it does not fit well for this plastic production, which quickly devolves into vaguely danceable synth-mess that’s just not interesting. The content is mostly about unconditional love, particularly one that feels not particularly reciprocated, although some of the detail in the second verse feels like it’s going somewhere. I’ll admit, the chorus is catchy, but this mix puts way too much emphasis on a flawed vocal take from Grennan, which really detracts from the pathetic excuse for a bridge. I do enjoy how this feels like a flash-back to the mid-2010s, where happier, synth-based pop was this prominent, and I do love how the strings come back in the outro, but good production can’t do much to save a song that just feels under-cooked and definitely under-written. The OneRepublic comparison feels particularly fitting here too because their stuff tends to be just as stagnant, not to mention the lyrical riffs off of “Counting Stars”. I mean, when you start your first verse – in the first 10 or so seconds of the track – with the most recognisable part of a very recognisable song, I think Ryan Tedder deserves at least some royalties.

#58 – “Astronaut in the Ocean” – Masked Wolf

Produced by Tyron Hapi

Masked Wolf is an Australian singer and this song is actually from June 2019, just gaining enough traction, presumably off of TikTok, to debut on the charts this week. The song got a 2021 reissue and I assume a remix and, well... for God’s sake. The Kid LAROI should not have been an entry point for Australian trap, because outside of a second or two of distortion in the intro, this is far from unique. It has a guitar-based trap instrumental with dark 808s that even Gunna would pass up on, and an Auto-Tuned delivery from Masked Wolf, clearly trying too hard to replicate Drake in the intro and bridge, Kid Cudi in the chorus, G-Eazy in the first verse, Eminem AND Kendrick on the second verse, to the point where he even directly references Kendrick Lamar’s much better music. He suffers from the same problems as all of these artists combined, with lyrics that seem like they’re building up off of something interesting about depression before going into aimless flexing like a mid-tier Kid Cudi track, flows that sound as meandering and checked-out as Drake’s, the failed attempt at some kind of white-boy swagger that G-Eazy hasn’t pulled off successfully since 2016, the substance-less content hidden behind fast flows from Eminem and... oh, my God, this guy’s just like Australian Logic. I don’t like American Logic, why do we need this guy too? Yeah, this is bad, and there’s not much worth nitpicking in this mix or even the lyrics to even point out. I guess the worst bar is when he says he believes in G-O-D but not a T-H-O-T. So he’s a slut-shaming NF now? Jesus Christ, I’d take a full album from The Kid LAROI over this.

So the next two songs are ones I’ll actually need to somewhat lump together, as they are consecutive on the chart and both from the same album, and the same washed-up band.

#53 – “Waiting on a War” – Foo Fighters

Produced by Greg Kurstin

We have two songs from Dave Grohl and friends here from their latest album, Medicine at Midnight, technically three if we count the entire top 100, which means, yes, the UK just had a Foo Fighters album bomb. I’ll focus on the album as a whole with the next song because this is easily the worse track here and the worst track on the album purely out of how misguided it is. Dave Grohl wrote this song because he felt inspired by the current hell-scape of the political climate, reminding him of his own youth when he was surrounded by rising Cold War tensions. His young daughter asked him if there was going to be a war and naturally this song came out of it, reflecting on the fears he and his daughter have and that everyone deserves a future and a lifetime not taken away from them by conflict and fear. This is a good song idea but it absolutely does not work, and that’s partially down to the production. When I first heard this track on the album, I genuinely grimaced at the vocoder-mumble that Grohl takes on against the scratchy acoustic guitars. The whole point of the instrumentation is that it builds tension with rising strings, multi-tracked acoustics and eventually some electric guitars and powerful drums, yet because of how slow-paced the song is, it fails to mirror the rising tension of the prospect of there being a war. Instead, it’s a slog and its pay-off by the end feels unwarranted in the most boring way. Sure, the squeals of the guitars in the back of the mix sound good, but surely a song like this should not end like any of the Foo Fighters’ other pop-rock anthems, especially not as abruptly as it does. Wouldn’t you want a more subdued outro to comfort your daughter’s fears that at least right now, everything’s okay? That would make the most sense to me, but that’s thrown out of the window, with pathetic songwriting, with verses that play word association with the blandest of rhymes, seemingly irrelevant pop-song-generator filer and a chorus that is mind-numbingly repetitive but ultimately fails to build tension because of the content asking us to wait, constantly, even when it gets into its heavier rock tone. We’re supposed to wait for something that is only implied to never come, because there isn’t finality. Sure, that could work as a way of saying that Grohl is just as uncertain and scared as his daughter is about political conflict, but that would imply this song gives off any further emotion than the fact the Foo Fighters felt the need to cut a vaguely political track out of necessity. As a song, and as an album, Dave Grohl is utterly confused, and “Waiting on a War” is way too slow and non-specific to act as a protest song, as well as being way too on-the-nose for it to work as a ballad. Let’s talk about this next single.

#52 – “Making a Fire” – Foo Fighters

Produced by Greg Kurstin

What the hell is Greg Kurstin doing here? This is the first track on the album and is supposed to make some kind of gripping impact but is instead just a snoozefest. The choral female vocals sound bored, but at least it’s not as strained as the struggling Dave Grohl trying and failing to yelp over a stiff groove which has its momentum killed by drumming too slow and mixed too oddly to make this pre-chorus even coherent, not helped by Grohl’s butt-rock delivery and non-descript lyrics. There could be a guitar solo here, to make this track feel memorable, but no, it’s hidden under a pre-chorus with an extended gospel bridge that doesn’t build up effectively to a chorus that just comes crashing in and hence has no effect. Maybe I just can’t listen to arena  rock in a quarantine context, but I can’t even imagine this making much of a fuss in a packed stadium without desperately needing tweaks in the songwriting and especially the production, because this just sounds stunted. It’s telling that Grohl made his best tracks as the Foo Fighters on his own and those first two records, alongside a pretty decent 2014 comeback in the form of Sonic Highways, are still great. I’m not denying that Grohl can write a good song, or that the Food Figures can’t play, because they’re all talented guys. This is just one album in many that leaves me with the feeling that these guys just can’t do much more outside of their comfort zone than fail miserably. These songs won’t stick around, and thank God for that.

#50 – “Believe Me” – Navos

Produced by Tom Demac and Navos

Another week, another... okay, but we already had a generic pop-infused deep house track from a couple EDM randos, do we really need another? Okay, well, this one is even less interesting than Imanbek’s effort as it doesn’t even try for a verse, instead going for a deep house groove I’ve heard countless times before, drowned out by some square synths and, yes, you guessed it, 90s piano loops and an uncredited female vocalist repeating basically the same couple lines over and over. This is made for the clubs, but I feel like even regular club-goers would tire of this vocaloid drop and cloudy production two minutes in. There’s nothing worth discussing here, because this probably took as many minutes to make as it did to listen to. I have no idea why Navos debuts a song so high, but I’ve got to assume TikTok’s to blame. Apparently this guy makes tech house, where’d any of that skill or intrigue go here?

#21 – “Up” – Cardi B

Produced by Sean Island, DJ SwanQo and Yung Dza

Anyone else surprised at how such a big name gets production from people I’ve never heard of before? Not that it matters, it’s just odd. Anyways, this is Cardi’s new single, presumably from that ever-elusive second album, debuting around 20 spots lower than it will in the US, and it’s going for a more gangsta-rap content than the hyper-sexual “WAP”, but does she keep the same energy? Well, yes... in fact, after all the mediocrity, I’m glad to have a genuinely great song debut this week. This is a great, bass-heavy beat that gives a Memphis phonk feel in the dark keys as well as the hard-hitting 808s and spacey percs and sound effects that add some needed distortion, even if there’s going to be some brief clipping along the way. Cardi brings some necessary energy from the brilliant opening lyrics and continues with a fast-paced, chanting flow that accentuates some of her funnier lyrics with her charisma that she always brings to a trap track like this. I’d say that this is maybe too repetitive – with very little of the verses to speak of – or even somewhat derivative of her previous song, “Money”, but there’s a lot better lyrical content in this one, not to mention how well she complements a more straight-forward but still killer beat. Oh, yeah, and Cardi’s stacks are Shaq-height as she dismisses haters with an impressive level of swagger and confidence, that carries the refrain, but that’s not to say the lyrics aren’t really great in the verses. There’s genuinely funny and sexy wordplay here, especially in the second verse, and also some great liners: “hoes speakin’ cap-anese”, accusing her haters of having pink-eye and their breath smelling like “horse sex”. This is a short, probably underdeveloped song, but it’s the type of surreal, high-energy trap I kind of really love and I hope this sticks around further in the UK.

#19 – “Latest Trends” – A1 x J1

Produced by ShoBeatz

A1 x J1 are a British rap duo with no other songs. Yeah, something’s fishy here: this is their only song on Spotify that blew up from a 15-second clip on TikTok, and their Spotify bio is trying to decide whether they’re the next D-Block Europe or the Beatles, as well as really emphasising how the song grew “all organically”, even though they’re already signed to Universal... yeah, there’s nothing subtle here, so I won’t buy this TikTok fame schtick, but does it matter when the song is good? Well, not really, and honestly, I’m kind of into this guitar-based drill-R&B fusion in the beat, but it doesn’t really help the fact that J1’s Stormzy impression is janky and unconvincing, especially if he’s going to try for some shallow wordplay, and that A1’s Auto-Tuned croon is just boring, reminding me a lot of A Boogie wit da Hoodie, but with a less recognisable voice and delivery, even if the first verse contains a funny line about a woman making that ass clap “for the NHS”, although he totally took that from Swarmz anyway. Yeah, I’m not a fan of this fake attempt at an organic pop-drill crossover, but unfortunately, I can very much see this working, though I’d be happy if the British public will see through this dishonesty as soon as possible.

#5 – “Bringing it Back” – Digga D and AJ Tracey

Produced by TheElements and AoD

Now for a rap duo that makes more sense to debut this high and are actually, you know, separately successful rappers, therefore they debut in the top five, which is impressive. The whole concept of this song is that Digga D and AJ Tracey are using old flows, those that would be nostalgic to their deeper fan base, to spit bars on a new track called, fittingly “Bringing it Back”. The flow AJ Tracey brings back is from his overlong “Packages” freestyle, a five-minute track from 2016, that works more as a freestyle than it does as a song, where he uses a familiar UK drill flow to go off for a really long time, and, yes, it is pretty impressive but the flow becomes stale too quickly. Digga D uses his flow from his “Next Up?” freestyle from 2017, a similarly badly-mixed UK drill freestyle but with a much more palatable length. Digga D’s flow he uses in that track is arguably slicker but honestly one that I see used a lot in UK drill and by Digga D, so I’m not sure it’s not worth “bringing it back” when you could come up with a new, catchier flow. I’ll admit that “Bringing it Back”, however, is a pretty damn good song, with Digga D’s more technical and fluid flow allowing for a lot more intricate internal rhymes that sound really great over the triumphant, string-heavy drill beat, as he trades bars with AJ Tracey’s slower but more confident, laid-back flow, which allows him to spit some more specific, interesting bars, some of which really hit, like when he says he “locked up the food for the kids like Boris and then I let it go like Rashford”. Hey, I respect it, I haven’t heard a more clever way of intertwining political commentary with cocaine smuggling since Pusha T last released a record. The way AJ Tracey and Digga D play off of each other’s lines is really smooth, and especially how Digga D plays with the beat, as while his lyrics may be less interesting, they mash perfectly with the beat’s frantic fades in and out, especially in his last lines before the first chorus, where he asks for the track to literally be turned off... and it is. So, yeah, I’m pretty damn happy with this debuting so high off the energy alone, even if Digga D is going to pronounce “LOL” like a one-syllable word. I’d say this is actually a really good starting point for people who want to get into more UK drill because it has a lot of the grit and menace of the genre in a more accessible, catchy form, even if it may run a bit too long for my taste.

Conclusion

Wow, what a weird, weird week... and a lot of it was straight garbage. I’m giving Best of the Week to “Up” by Cardi B, with an Honourable Mention to Digga D and AJ Tracey for “Bringing it Back”, though Worst of the Week is pretty much a toss-up. I’ll give it to the Foo Fighters for “Waiting on a War”, with a Dishonourable Mention tied between “Astronaut in the Ocean” by Masked Wolf and “Believe Me” by Navos for just both being worthless. Anyways, here’s our top 10:

The UK Singles Chart is honestly kind of chaotic right now – even more so than usual – and I don’t see that changing. Even if I don’t like all of the songs, it’s at least compelling. Anyways, thank you for reading and you can follow me @cactusinthebank on Twitter if you want. I can’t really make any predictions for next week other than Taylor Swift re-recording her own music and I guess some impact from Rita Ora and Imanbek, or hopefully, slowthai. Regardless of what happens, I’ll see you next week!

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {8}

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Angst, Grief, Talk of miscarriage, Potential miscarriage trauma trigger

Word Count: 4.5K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Four and a Half Weeks Later-

  “Okay, Chris, Uriah, welcome back. How are things going?” The therapist Dr. Danquah sat across from both of you in her blue high-backed armchair with a pleasant smile on her face looking over to the two of you on the yellow couch.

  She pushed her hair to the side with one hand and readjusted the clipboard in her hands. “Good, things are—,” Chris began then looked to you for confirmation. You gave a smile and a nod as reassurance. “Good,” you finished.

  It wasn’t a lie. It had been a good four weeks. After Chris suggested therapy, he wasted no time finding a few within the area. They were all outside Boston, so both of you could keep your anonymity and keep the gossip from the magazines. He decided to take some time off traveling as much as he could. You felt bad because he was right in the middle of promo for Knives Out, and you knew he had obligations and contractual responsibilities. Chris persisted though, stating your marriage was more important than some contract or even his career. It was sweet, but you hated feeling like a burden, and that was what you felt like even though it wasn’t his intention.

  You stayed in the townhouse together, you both spent time with his family and developed a routine together. It was nice, and something you’d almost forgotten how well you operated as a unit. You’d missed it—missed him. While the anger between you about the things in your relationship had faded, it was now replaced with something else, an eerie heaviness. When you spoke, it wasn’t about anything significant; you kept it lite and never went beyond the surface. It wasn’t that neither of you had nothing to say to the other; it was you didn’t quite know how to say it.

  “Just good?” Dr. Danquah looked between the two of you and assessed your movements and posture. Chris sat with his back straight with his hands folded over his lap with his legs spread and pointed straight. You, on the other hand, had your arms wrapped around your midsection with your right leg crossed over your left one pointing to Chris’ open ones. You nodded your response.

  “Okay, we’ve made some great progress over the last few weeks, progress that I am hoping the two of you can see.” Chris nodded his agreement. “We’ve addressed each of your maladaptive behaviors and how those behaviors trigger others and then fire off until everything has spiraled out of control. Chris, you learned your way of inadvertently dismissing Uriah’s fears and concerns as her being crazy or irrational triggers her anger and further hurt, which brings out what you call her callousness. Uriah, you learned your way of miscommunication mainly through your callousness triggers Chris’ frustration of not being heard or respected and further fuels his fears of your unhappiness with him and your marriage. You both have learned how your disappearing acts harm your relationship more than help it. All of these little choices and actions build up and turn into major points of contention between the two of you. You both courageously expressed yourselves these last few weeks and let each other in so the other could not only see the effects of their words and behavior but really take in that effect to make a plan to rectify it. You two had homework in the week to write an action plan that would be used to combat the current behaviors you each take part in. I’ve taken the time to go over each of your plans, and I am pleased with them. It shows you both put great thought and time into them. You both should be very proud of yourselves and your progress.” She took a pause and flipped a page on her clipboard then cleared her throat.

  “Let’s talk about the pregnancy.” You took a deep, shuddered breath and looked down at your shoes.

“We’ve touched on it here or there, and every time we did, I’ve noted that when we bring it up you both have very different outward reactions. Chris your jaws clench, brows burrow, but you keep your eyes on me. Uriah, your eyes fall away, and your breathing noticeably changes, it seems as if it has become that much harder to get a breath. Those reactions tell me more than enough. Uriah let’s begin with you. Why look down? Why avoid my eyes?”

  You wrinkled your nose and looked to the beautiful blue paint on the wall and the ornate floral mural that wrapped around the room. You didn’t know if you were quite ready to go there. “It’s easier, I guess.”

  “Okay, I can understand that. Looking at someone applies some form of pressure of scrutiny, looking away usually signified feelings of inferiority or shame. Are you hoping to avoid feeling scrutinized? When we bring it up does it make you feel inferior? Shame?”

  Your throat was tightening, and your heart was pounding. The palms of your hands felt slick with sweat, and you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to hold before you cried. You didn’t want to cry.

  “Uriah,” Dr. Danquah gently breached.

  Shaking your head, you looked to her. She looked at you with gentleness with the compassion shining through her eyes. You could feel Chris looking at you, and your strength faded as a tear rolled down your cheek. Quickly you wiped it away and looked back down to your shoes. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be. Tears are never something to be ashamed of. If neither of you cry, we’re not successful. They are the raw emotion that we need to get to--the emotion without any of the fears and anger.” You nodded and took the piece of tissue she offered. Using the soft sheet you dabbed at the tears on your cheeks and took a few breaths in hopes of gaining some composure.

  “Why wouldn’t I feel shame?”

  “Why would you? This is something that happened to you,” Dr. Danquah interjected.

  “Because it’s my fault. Yes, it happened to me—us, but it’s my fault it did,” you rushed out before using the tissue to catch the fresh tears that dropped from your eyes. No one spoke; they allowed your words to hang in the air for several moments.

  “By referring to the event as “it,” we’re just going around it, avoiding it. Let’s refer to it by what it was. A miscarriage.” Chris sucked in a breath and sunk deeper into the couch. “Why do you think the miscarriage was your fault?”

  The word felt like a slap in the face, followed by a punch to the gut. It hurt. It happened months ago, and you should have been over it by now, but it hurt. You sniffled then took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  “I just—what if—maybe it is my fault. Maybe if I would have wanted it more, like him then maybe things would be different. Maybe it happened because of me.” Saying the words were like looking it right in the eye and now that you’d said it, it was scarier than ever.

  “It?” You made up your face knowing you’d fall apart if you said them.

  “I can’t imagine how incredibly painful and difficult this is for the both of you, but when we began I gave you my word to help you on this path that you chose to rebuild your marriage. I gave you my vow to be your advocate and your biggest supporters, but that comes with a double-edged sword, I also have to be the one to walk you through the pain, walk you through the dark and it will not be easy, but I can assure you that you are not walking through this alone, I am walking with you. if you do the work, the work will work for you.”

  Chris sniffled, wiped at his nose then crossed his arms over his chest. You took a breath and flared your nose. “The miscarriage.” A defeated, painful sound came from Chris, and it chipped another piece of your heart.

  “Did you want the baby?” Your eyes snapped to her, a little surprised she’d ask you something like that. You wanted to lash out, but you knew that was your fear and anxiety. The feel of Chris’ hand sliding into yours startled you. When you looked down you stared at his fingered laced with yours, and the damn broke. You’d missed his touch. He’d touched you over the last few weeks, but it was always in passing a shoulder touch here, a looped arm there, but this was neither of those. This screamed solidarity, screamed empathy, screamed intimacy. Once you got the courage you looked to him to find his eyes on you.

“It’s okay, Dragonfly.” Your lips trembled as your tears freely streamed down your face. Turning your head from him, you wiped your face and tried to refocus the barrage of emotions that swept through you. After almost a minute, you cleared your throat.

  “I’ve always been a little apprehensive, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a big deal. If you do it and make even the smallest wrong decision, you’ll screw up an entire person. It’s a huge responsibility, a huge—thing.”

  “Did you fear you weren’t ready when you agreed with Chris to start a family?”

  You thought back to the weeks of discussion between you and Chris, then your visit to Australia to visit Summer and Chris, and the night the two of you finally committed to the decision. You remembered the conviction you felt with your choice, the excitement bubbling in your belly, and the love swelling your heart to capacity. You were scared yes, but you were ready.

  “No. When we agreed and really agreed I meant it.” You looked to Chris squeezing his hand firmly. “I was ready Chris I promise. It hit me in Australia what was important. Seeing and talking to Chris and Summer and our god babies showed me that nothing will ever fit into a neat box, and no plan ever goes one hundred percent accordingly. You know me, I am such a control freak that I want everything to be perfect, I want all of it including a guarantee, certainties and I was never going to get that. I was so apprehensive before because I didn’t want to screw them up. Because we fell in love and got married so quickly, you see all this good and beauty, you see this perfect model, and I’m not that all the time.” Chris turned his body to you and took hold of your other hand.

  “Uriah, I know you’re not perfect. Any idea of perfection I had about you flew right out the window the night we sat on those steps talking until the sun came up. You’re far from perfect, and that is what I love, I’m not perfect, I don’t want you to be either. I see you, Uriah, I’ve always seen you. The fact that we got married quickly means nothing. It just means I knew what I wanted then and there and didn’t need to waste time. When you can see forever with someone you want forever to start right then and there. I want forever Uriah.” The two of you peered into each other’s eyes for long minutes, and neither of you seemed to remember you weren’t alone.

  “Did you want the baby?”

  “Yes,” you whispered. “Very much.” Chris gave you a small smile and dropped a kiss to your knuckles.

  “So how could it have changed the outcome if the conditions within your heart and wants were optimal? How could you have held such control over something that was out of your control?”

  You dropped your eyes again and sighed. It was irrational; you knew it. You knew it was your love of control that had you thinking these thoughts. Though you knew it, they were hard to shake.

  “It’s the one thing he wanted more than anything, and I couldn’t give it to him. What if I can’t give it? What if he married me for nothing? Your voice was low.

  “What? Wait, is that what you think? You think I married you for the prospect of having kids?”

  “Did you, Chris?”

  “Absolutely not. I married her because I fell hopelessly in love with her.”

  “Talk to her,” Dr. Danquah advised. Again Chris’ body trend to you, you didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Riah, I married you because I couldn’t not do anything else. I couldn’t leave Paris until I knew your name. I couldn’t leave that night until you agreed to dinner, I couldn’t stop at just one dinner it needed another and another. I couldn’t go back to the States and just keep working after meeting you. All I ever wanted was you. in the past I’ve been anything but quiet about my want for a family yes, but sweetheart you gave me a family, you gave me a wife, a partner, someone to go through life with.” His words were beautiful, sweet, and so touching. “I didn’t marry you so you could pop out kids. I married you so I could kiss you whenever the hell I want.” You smiled and looked at him to see a smile that mirrored yours. It was an inside joke between the two of you.

  “A little girl with your eyes and smile is the icing on the cake.” You searched his eyes and felt the truth of his words.

  “Chris, do you blame Uriah for the miscarriage?”

  “That’s insane, no.”

  “What do you feel about the miscarriage?” You held your breath and waited for him to gather his thoughts. You’d been so scared up to this point to hear what he had to say. If it was anything like what he’d already said, then you were in for even more pain. Chris released a breath.

  “I guess I’m in shock still. I—I didn’t even know she was pregnant. I—can’t help but feel robbed, and I know that’s a little insensitive because of what she went through.”

  “You are entitled to your feelings, Chris. Nothing you feel is right or wrong, they are your feelings, and you have a right to them. When you say robbed, what do you mean?” A few moments passed without a sound; you could feel his reluctance to speak whatever he felt.

  “Chris, if we have any hope, you have to stop biting your tongue around me. I want to hear what you have to say just as much as you need to say that you have to. We’re not doing each other any favors by keeping quiet. I’ve learned that much.” Giving his hand one last squeeze for reassurance Chris nodded and dropped his head then looked to Dr. Danquah, who nodded her head to you. Your eyes met once again.

  “I feel robbed of finding out you were pregnant, robbed of experiencing that with you, feeling that with you no matter how short a time it was. I feel robbed of being a husband to you, your best friend. I know this happened to you, your body, you experienced the pain and everything associated with it, but you robbed me of my grieving period, of being there for you. now I’m here in this weird place, a place of playing catch up, and I honestly don’t know how to act, or what to say or even how to be there for you.”

  Nodding your head, you saw the pain in his eyes. You didn’t think it through entirely when you decided just to push pause and bury everything. You didn’t think of after effect. Somehow you thought he’d never have to know, he’d never have to feel the pain, and it wasn’t your choice to make.

  “Do you think that the reason why you’ve been—standoffish emotionally with her is because you feel resentment towards her?”

  Well fuck, that’s a loaded and fucked up question, you thought. You couldn’t look at him though. You feared he did resent you and would for the rest of his life. “I resent her need to always be in control. If I’m honest, I understand why she did it. Coming here, I’ve learned some things, and I’ve been able to put myself in her shoes. Though I don’t think I can ever put myself in her mind frame, I can empathize because I feel what she feels. I feel the loss, the sadness, the pain, the uncertainty, the regret, and fear. I feel it, Riah. You took it upon yourself to go through it alone, that breaks my heart somewhere in you that you didn’t trust me with your pain, didn’t trust me with your fears. It speaks volumes about me as a man, volumes about the kind of husband I’ve been.”

 “What do you mean, Chris?”

   “I’ve been a horrible husband. We’ve been married for almost five years, and I’ve been away for most of the time we’ve been married. Somehow I got okay with not living a life with you, somehow I was okay with having a wife but not being a husband, and that clouded my judgment. The time apart—it didn’t help us. I had a part to play in it and your fears about the women, I listened to them, but I didn’t hear them. I didn’t hear your fears, and I should have. No wonder you didn’t trust me.”

  “Chris, stop. Of course I trust you. You are the only person I trust explicitly. I never told you of the fears for you to hear them. I just expected you to know them. That was wrong of me; it was unfair.”

  “Uriah, do you think Chris has been a bad husband to you?”

  “God no. He’s been the best. He is there for me when I need him, shares my dreams, calms my fears, works with me for the future we both want, he doesn’t stifle me, or force his way, he is kind, giving—he is not a bad husband. You aren’t a bad husband.” His tears slipped down his cheek, and you cupped his jaw and wiped them away.

  “I didn’t trust myself with the pain. I didn’t want to face it. I was so convinced it was my punishment for something, and I shut it out.”

  “Why did you get back on birth control?”

  Sighing, you began idly playing with Chris’ hand. “I was scared to have it happen again. I knew if it happened again I couldn’t hide it, and you’d find out about the first one and--.”

  “This is a safe space, Uriah, finish it.”

  “And it would destroy me and our marriage. I would lose you.”

  The silence that fell between you again was an uneasy one. You could tell Chris was struggling with absorbing this new wave of information. You felt guilty pushing all of this onto him so suddenly. None of what you felt was sudden, but it was for him to hear it. You’d kept a tight lid on all these fears, and you saw now, you’d made a mistaking in doing so.

  “Chris, can we talk about the birth control? How did that make you feel to find out that not only had Uriah experienced a miscarriage but that she’d been further preventing any future pregnancies?”

  His hand fell still, before he was tracing the lines of your palms but now nothing. You knew the surface of how he felt. He’d explicitly expressed it before.

  “I felt betrayed. That is the best way I can describe it.”

  “Can you elaborate?” Chris released another puff of breath and kept his eyes low.

  “We’d made a plan together, came up with a plan, and decided that we were ready to move to the next step together. We made all of these decisions and plans together for a future, a life. Then she went through this and changed the plan, and I’m not angry about that at all, I get why now. I get it now, but when I first found those birth control pills my heart broke. I went through so many thoughts and insecurities.”

   “Like?”

   “Like if she’d changed her mind about wanting her children to be with me, if she’d decided she didn’t want me anymore and just didn’t know how to say it, if she found someone else, if she’d gone back to him--.”

  “Him?” You sighed, then rolled your eyes.

  “He means nothing, Chris, you know that.”

  “Do I? You loved him a long time Uriah, you told me your history; you were with him before I saw you in Paris, hell you were with him in Miami.” He spoke through clenched jaws.

  “Who is him?” Dr. Danquah slid to the edge of her seat, hoping to regain control of the session.

  “My ex.”

  “An ex she is still friendly with, an ex she partied with mere weeks ago,” Chris blurted out.

  “It’s not like how he’s making it sound. We aren’t friendly. I hadn’t seen him in person in months. We hadn’t interacted in a long time. Yes, I saw him in Miami last month, but it was nothing.”

  “Okay. Chris, by you bringing him up—what’s his name?”

  “Chris.” You narrowed your eyes at Chris before you rolled them.

  “Christiano,” you corrected.

  “She thinks I married her for kids; maybe she married me because I was the Chris she could get.”

  “Excuse me? Do you think I can’t get him back with the snap of my fingers? Do you think that it would be so hard for him to be with me? I can easily get him.”

  “Is that right, Uriah.” The look he gave you was a defiant one, one that said go on.

  “Okay, eyes on me, please.” You both looked to her.

“Chris, why is Christiano an insecurity for you?” He didn’t budge to answer the question.

  “He’s like this black cloud. They run in the same circles; they have the same friends, his business is to be seen. They have plenty of chances to interact. He’s always tried put himself in our relationship. He annoys me,” Chris explained.

  “Why?” Chris clenched his jaw again and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He used his fingers to toy with his beard.

  “They have years between them. She could have easily married him.”

  “Chris, are you afraid Uriah will cheat on you with him?” You stared at him, very interested in his answer. Chris rubbed his forehead and groaned.

  “It is a fear.” Your jaw dropped.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “It’s an unfair one; she’s never given any indication that she’d ever be or has been unfaithful--.”

  “Because I would never be unfaithful. I have never been unfaithful to you, Chris. I have no reason to be I love you. There is no man in the world that has what I want. I didn’t marry Christiano because there was always something missing, something I didn’t know was missing until I sat and talked with you that night. Do you know what was missing?”

  He didn’t answer; he didn’t even look at you. You’d had it with the distance. You slide to the edge of the couch, sank your fingers into his hair, and turned his head to you holding firmly to those strands as you stared into his piercing eyes. Within seconds you felt the familiar connection and warmth all over you. “Do you feel that Evans?” Stubbornly he tried to look away, but you weren’t having it; you held tighter to his hair. “Do—you—feel—that?” He nodded.

  “This is why I didn’t marry him. In the years of breaking up and getting back together, this was never between us. You’ve never given up on me once, and you’ve had plenty of opportunities. I’ve never wanted to give up on you when all I’ve ever done was end relationship after relationship. I don’t want him. There was no temptation in Miami, none. There has never been temptation. I married you, Christopher, you.” You could see how emotional he was and tried to keep your emotions in check, I so he’d fully understand the depth and breadth of your absolute love and devotion for him. Your thumb wiped a tear that fell, and he nodded.

“Chris, do you see the similarities between you and Uriah. You both are so afraid of losing each other to others that you’re not focusing or communicating enough to be able to see that in each other’s eyes, there is no one else.” Chris reached his hand out and wiped your tear-soaked cheek, but he didn’t remove his hand.

  “Sitting here across from you I can see and feel the love you have for one another, I can see how much you mean to each other, and because I can see it and feel it I can tell this path back to one another to rebuild your marriage is not as lost as you think. There is a bright light ahead of you, you both just have to want it enough to do the work.”

  Dr. Danquah looked between you and Chris, you could see her in your peripheral, but you only had eyes for Chris.

  “Do you want it enough?” Chris’ hand slipped to the nape of your neck and gently but firmly held you steady. For some reason, you loved it when he did this. You always felt safe and under the intensity of his eyes, your belly always filled with butterflies.

  “I want it more than enough, dragonfly.” You nodded and held his hand at your neck.

  “I want it too.”

   “Wonderful. Just one last question for this session. Do you still want children with Chris, Uriah?”

   The shock of the question was evident, it took your breath away. Closing your eyes, you tried to push everything to the side, tried to ignore every disparaging thought and voice. It took longer than you expected, but after a few minutes silence filled your head, and you were finally able to think. You took a deep breath and slowly released it.

  “I’m scared, but yes.”

  You heard Chris sigh out as if he were relieved. Your eyes met his red ones, and without words, Chris wrapped his arms around you pulling you into his comforting embrace. You wept together for long minutes. The heaviness you carried within your chest broke apart and brought back the lightness and love you’d always felt for him. You still felt the sadness of what you’d lost, but you didn’t feel alone anymore.

  When you came up for air, you pressed your forehead to his and embraced the intimacy of the moment. You’d both gotten so lost and had come so close to losing it all. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, too,” Chris echoed. Both of you sighed in unison, and for the first time in months, you felt as if you were both converged once again.

~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

~~~~~~~~~

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[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

thank you! i think you're genuinely the only person that has ever said they actually like the fact that my bathrobe is obnoxiously pink. and you're absolutely right, one of the things i like most about it is that it hurts people's eyes. i love it actually. if you ever celebrate halloween you should absolutely add your bathrobe to your costume. an amazing idea. since it has a mouse face on the hood it could be two costumes rolled into one - both a vampire and a mouse (if in the middle of the evening you get bored of one), which i think would be awesome. and you probably wouldn't get cold (is it cold in nz during halloween? because here it almost always is). we don't celebrate halloween in lithuania either though. which i'm a bit bummed about, because halloween sounds super fun. mostly because of the dressing up! but i did celebrate it once, when i was 11 or 12 maybe? me and a couple of friends decided it would be fun even if it's not really celebrated here. so we dressed up, even went trick ir treating (half the houses had no idea what was happening and also i pretty much froze to death because i was dressed as a dead bride and refused to put a coat on because then you couldn't see my dress) and also watched horror movies. 12 (or 11) year old me thought it was amazing.

oh yeah! i've broken a knife on 2 separate occasions i think. once i tried to get something out of between the blender's blades, used a knife and then accidentally turned the blender on (i'm so fucking glad it was a knife and not my fingers). so the tip of the knife broke off (the blender was ok tho). and the second time i have no idea how it happened. i was cutting up broccoli and the knife just fell apart??? i was so confused, because one second i'm holding a knife and the next it's just two pieces of a handle and the metal part, all separate. had fun explaining that to my dad. you sound pretty unlucky too! i mean, a cut every time you use a knife, but you don't even notice it at the time? i think it's just that knives are out to get us (it's my newest conspiracy theory). i actually get double vision too sometimes! mostly when i'm tired, but i just figured that it was because i have really bad eyesight

they definitely SHOULD teach about gender and sexuality in school. it's a really big problem that in a lot of places it's either not compulsory or not even in the curriculum. honestly, everything i know about sex ed or lgbtq+ i had to learn myself on the internet, because we only had one class when we were like 13 years old with a guest speaker and it was mostly biology and then a little bit about menstruation and pads for girls (i have no idea what they told boys because we were also separated). so sex ed definitely sucks a lot in my country and i bet it's the same in a lot of others, which makes me really mad

exactly!! it's so hard to tell whether i'm feeling romantic or platonic love sometimes! it's confusing. also i remember one time me and a couple of friends had a sleepover and the friend's, who was hosting, parents weren't home so we watched romance movies (scandalous i know). again we were maybe 12. and they kept going "oh he's so hot" and intensely watching the sex scenes. while i was looking away from the tv whenever sexy times were going on and commenting on how much i loved the house design and the garden. gee i wonder what that means. (still can't believe it took me this long to figure out i was ace)

the breakfast went very well though! it's so interesting how different traditions are everywhere. i hope your lunch and the rest of christmas day went well too! (also i forgot to ask last time, but what is boxing day? google says it's mostly a shopping holiday, is it that? we just call it the second day of christmas and it's pretty much the same as christmas day but there's no presents!) but yeah i hope you had fun with your extended family on boxing day!

having acid reflux sounds like it sucks. i love breakfast, it's my favourite meal of the day (when i don't have to rush that is) and i skip lunch a lot because i usually have no time for it (my schedule kinda sucks), so i usually try to have a bigger breakfast. but hey, peanut butter is good! so at least you can have something that tastes good for breakfast!

aaand i feel like this ask got away from me. sorry it's so long!

it’s because i have t a s t e. it may not be GOOD taste but it sure is...taste...and i am proud of it. and yes, i love the idea of adding my dressing gown to my costume specifically because it means i’m basically in my PJ’s. minimal effort. comfort to the max. living the dream. halfway through the night i’m tired of being the vampire no one invites in so i drop to my knees and start the mouse act. mice are good at getting in houses and getting to chocolate and such. the dream. also i absolutely would get bored of one costume within the space of a few hours knowing me, so that’s a plus. uhhhh halloween is october which is. mid-late spring so it really depends on the day. it might be a little cold, might be shorts weather. I rarely leave my house at night so I’m not an expert on nighttime temperatures sdflsdfjsd. 

I used to wish we did Halloween here but that was mostly because I wanted lollies. Although I also liked playing dress up as a young kid so maybe very young me would’ve vibed with the costume aspect. I know there’s a photo of me when I was like, 5 and my best friend of the time dressed up as witches at some point, maybe we had our own little halloween. I also possibly had a halloween themed birthday party once as a kid? I remember the little gift bags having spooky things in them and also possibly a bat cake but my memory is too bad to remember for sure. aha that’s the problem here too, no one locally would ever think to buy lollies to give out so it’d just be like um. you can have an apple I guess? at least you had fun though! i respect the commitment to the costume despite the cold. 

that is such a stressful story to read, i fear for your life. although i understand the knife breaking in that first scenario. that would be terrifying though. what if the blender launched it,,, nOPE. i’m very glad it wasn’t your fingers, that’s some horror movie shit. the second time is just,, it be like that sometimes. it was probably just waiting to happen. my parents have a cheese grater with a loose handle and it. falls off. every time. i dry it. with the dishes. and every time i fear for my life as the grating bit drops off towards my feet as i’m left holding the handle. i should expect it by now but i never do. I get scared every time it happens. knives are definitely out to get us, i fully support this conspiracy theory. oh yeah, tiredness doesn’t help with double vision. i kind of need bifocal glasses by now but I also don’t want bifocal glasses so i just suffer but I suspect having them would reduce the double vision. maybe. maybe not.

yup! i remember someone handing out tampons and pads at primary school, i assume after giving a talk about periods, idk. i do also remember a teacher pulling the girls aside and being like yo, this is what a period is, here’s a horror story about my daughter and a tampon, enjoy the trauma, go back to class. good times. we did actually get really comprehensive sex ed concerning most things at my high school but that is faaaarrr from the norm around here, clearly. although teenage boys are good at filling in gaps, in my experience. they’re like little sex encyclopedias that offer up information without you asking. i didn’t ACTUALLY want to know that but i do now, i guess, thanks michael. 

dude. the ‘oh he’s so hot’ comments are so confusing. ‘hot’ is like a category of attractiveness that I’ve never understood. ‘isn’t he hot?’ what does that MEAN rebecca. i think i asked once if it meant like, attractive or good looking. and the person i asked was like, you know, hot. you just look at them and, you know- no i don’t know. what is this. i don’t think i’ve ever watched a sex scene with people my age though, generally i just zone out for them sdkfhskdfh. i feel like there’s definitely all these indicators when you look back like oh yeah, should’ve realised i was ace then, but it’s just. such a hard sexuality to figure out. not that other sexualities aren’t but you’ve got to figure out an absence of something when you don’t even know what the something feels like- it’s a challenge.

I’m glad it did! It is interesting, for sure. I’ve always been interested in how winter Christmas’s work. As a young kid I didn’t understand hemispheres...obviously...i was like 5...and i’d go out on Christmas morning to see if there was snow. and sometimes it’d be a bit chilly in the morning and I’d be like damn. we almost had some this year. it’s a shame our climate tends to be too hot for snow on christmas :// like no you tiny dumbass it’s summer you little idiot there will be no snow no matter what. everything ended up going super well here :). boxing day is basically just a shopping holiday, i don’t know if it has any significance in any other way, i’m sure it did at one point, but i know there’s always boxing day sales everywhere. I think it’s also a public holiday (?) to give people another day off work and that, but I could be wrong there. I know I also used to regularly go to the races (horse races) nearby that were always held on boxing day, it was like a 150 year old tradition or something until people in attendance started dropping and I think they finally shut it down a couple years back. I didn’t care all that much about the horses but they also had food and carnival-type rides and such for the kids which is why I loved it. also we tended to meet extended family there for a picnic lunch.

acid reflux is like the least of my problems sdfkjshdkf. it’s annoying but it’s pretty managed with medication, I have to watch certain foods and drinks but I’m used to it by now. I think it’s also what causes me to not be able to eat large amounts normally so I survive a lot on snacks and a reasonable sized dinner. works for me. but peanut butter is good! i’m glad i can have that! I used to also have vegemite but that’s a bit more of a push, it’s easier to stick with peanut butter.

also it’s fine!! my responses are always very long too sdfjhskdf.

[alj4890]

RCD Appreciation Week Day 1 Fun Prompt

(Ryan Summers x Holly Chang) with the prompt: Character A: "Well, I can scratch this off my bucket list." Character B: "Who puts getting arrested on their bucket list?!" As given by @prompt-nonny​

(Ryan x Holly) A Choices Red Carpet Diaries one shot with David Reyes from Most Wanted showing up and Bianca Stone from Hollywood U setting off our heroine.

A/N Sebastian Stan is my FC for Ryan and this silly GIF seemed to fit this prompt perfectly 😂

@rcd-appreciation​​ @lilyofchoices​ @hopelessromantic1352​ @moodyvalentinestories​ @krsnlove​ @cora-nova​ 

Masterlist

This Might Sound Crazy

"Hey! Watch it!" Holly rushed through the backlot with a drink carrier of various hot beverages. She dodged and weaved through the crowd of film crew and extras.

She then bumped into one of the visitors on the set.

"Eww! What is your deal?" Bianca wiped the drop of foam that had landed on her perfect spray tanned leg. Her lip curled in disgust. "I see you have gotten far in your career. Hunt finally promoted you to coffee girl."

Holly narrowed her eyes. "I see you are still frozen in time. You're still the nastiest bit--"

"I'll take that!" Ryan swept between the two enemies and took the drinks from Holly. If this played out any further, Bianca would be suffering from coffee burns all over her body. "Bianca, excuse us for a moment. I need to talk to Holly about the script."

She tossed her hair back. "Anything for you Ryan." She cooed. "Though why you want to speak to someone that can't reach any goal she sets is beyond me."

Holly's fists clinched. She opened her mouth to let loose every insult she had saved up for Bianca. Ryan grabbed her arm and yanked her away. "Don't do it." He whispered. "You'll regret it. Her father still has his hands in everything around here."

Holly jerked her arm away. "The only thing I will regret is not telling her off." She pushed her glasses up her nose and smoothed her short black hair back.

Her thoughts centered around what Bianca had said. Had she not reached any goal?

"Well now I have to kill myself." Holly muttered.

"What?!" Ryan stopped her.

"Bianca is actually right about something and even worse it is about me." Holly frowned while thinking. "Death is the only option." She glanced at Ryan and sighed. He never did get her morbid sense of humor. "I'm kidding."

"Yeah, good one." He muttered. He set the coffee tray on a table near craft services and pushed Holly into his trailer.

"What are you doing?" She exclaimed.

"Sit down." He pushed her onto the sofa and searched the drawers of the lighted vanity.

"Gee Ryan, you are so hospitable." Holly rolled her eyes and started to get up. "I still have to-"

"Sit." He pushed her back and handed her a notebook and pen.

"What am I supposed to do with this? Write your life story?" Her snark seemed to flow like the mighty Mississippi. If she couldn't use it on Bianca then everyone else was going to hear it.

Ryan let out a noise that she assumed was one of angry frustration. It was actually kind of impressive. He took the pen and wrote on the top of the page. "There. Clear enough for you?"

She squinted at his writing. "Not really. Who taught you handwriting?" She held it closer to her eyes. "Bouquet Less?"

Ryan rubbed his hands over his face. "BUCKET LIST!" Was their friendship worth this much trouble? "Write out some things you always wanted to do and we will do them."

Holly's lips parted in surprise. "You want to help me do some things?" Her eyes turned to suspicious slits. "Why?"

"Just write it out." He ordered. "I'm trying to be nice." He dropped his head back in frustration. "I don't know why I'm trying."

Holly's lips curved in a slight smile. "Fine. I suppose I have to appease the temperamental lead actors."

He glared at her. "Thanks so much. Now write your list." He stormed out of his trailer, muttering about insanity.

Holly allowed a big smile to appear once she was alone. An excitement to do some of the crazy things she had dreamed of built and might in some part be due to the handsome man that wanted to help her accomplish it.

"Hmm?" She tapped the pen to her lips and then started to write out some ideas.

_____________

"Holly, for some strange reason, I love you." Ryan began. "But if you think I am stealing somebody's yacht to sail in the moonlight just to jump off of it, you're crazy."

"Didn't you ever dream of that when first in Hollywood?" She asked. "I used to take walks down the pier and pick specific ones to do an Ocean's Eleven type heist."

"No. I can honestly say that thought never entered my mind." He said in a speak softly to an insane person tone.

She folded her arms. "There had to be something you saw that you wanted for your own when you started out."

"Well, yeah." He admitted. "I wanted an Aston Martin."

Holly started to laugh. "You would want a James Bond car."

"What? It is a beautiful car." He replied in a defensive tone.

"I can see it all now. You're in your tux, picking up some gorgeous model in a barely there dress, and driving through the Hollywood Hills while drinking martinis." Holly continued to laugh at the picture her mind conjured.

"I see nothing wrong with this image." He teased, nudging her with his elbow.

"We'll find one of those during your bucket list night." She decided. "Come on. We have a yacht to commandeer."

Ryan shook his head. "We will end up in prison with mugshots leaked to TMZ. How about we do this one?" He pointed further down the list. "I'm willing to dress in regency style clothing and pretend to be time travelers just to freak people out."

"Like you doing that wouldn't end up on TMZ." Holly muttered.

"Yeah. But then I don't have a record for robbery." He muttered back.

"It isn't robbery that we would be charged with. It would be burglary." She impatiently explained.

"What's the difference?" Ryan's brow furrowed.

"Robbery is taking something combined with using force or intimidation. Burglary involves breaking and entering while taking something. With the right lawyer, we can probably knock the charges down to theft." She explained in a no nonsense way.

"Oh well that makes it better." Ryan gestured down the pier. "Should we pick out our spot to get arrested or let it be a surprise?"

"Hmm. There is a big chance we won't get caught. But if we did, then that is one thing I can cross off my bucket list."

"Who puts getting arrested on their bucket list?!" He glared at her when she covered his mouth during his outburst.

"An up and coming screenwriter." She hissed. "I need more experiences in life to help me convey the situations better."

Ryan groaned when she hurried off toward the pier. He jogged to catch up. Once he caught up, he listened as she read off the names of the different ships."

"Hmm...The Scandal...Alimony...Fourth Wife. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "People need to get more creative with their names."

Holly paused next to a yacht that was older than the others. Something about it harkened back to an era when the very wealthy didn't need to be so gaudy. She tilted her head to read the name. "The Magnificent Ambersons." Something about that made her think she had heard that somewhere.

"This is the one." She said in a whisper to Ryan.

"What? Holly, no. We are--HOLLY!" Ryan covered his face with his hands when she leaped on board. He looked up and down the dock then went after her.

"Holly!" He said in a loud whisper while creeping in the shadows. "I'm going to kill you if you don't get off this--" the wood creaked under his foot. He froze while his heart slammed in his chest. "I don't look good in orange jumpsuits."

Holly grabbed his arm, yanking him down a dark corridor.

"We're leaving." He yanked back against her.

"Yes, we are." She turned the handle to a door and grinned. "Jackpot."

Ryan leaned against the doorframe. He watched as she studied all the buttons and such. She placed her hands on the wheel and turned it back and forth. Her giddiness made him press his face against the smooth wood in frustration.

"Holly, we need to-- are you watching a YouTube video on how to work this boat?!"

"Well, yeah. I've never done this before, thus the reason it being on my bucket list." She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Are...are you actually acting frustrated with me?!" His voice cracked. His nerves were completely shot.

"Trust me. It isn't an act." She replied. "Now be quiet so I can learn how to back this thing up."

Ryan grabbed a phone sitting nearby. "Yes, I need your finest mental health professional. No. It's for me. I'm pretty sure I suffer from delusions." He muttered.

Holly glared at him. "You do know that phone only goes to other rooms on the yacht?"

"No." Ryan said sarcastically. "You mean I didn't just alert the authorities to our location?"

"And people say I'm weird." Holly grumbled. She pressed a button and the engine started. "Yes!" She pumped her fist. " Lucky guess."

Ryan's jaw dropped.

"I'm kidding." She told him. "Sorta."

"What is that?" Ryan asked, pointing toward the dock.

"What?" She stood on her tiptoes and craned her neck to see what he was pointing at. "I don't see anything."

"Look! Are those flashlights?" His breathing became loud as panic set in.

"Huh. Maybe." Holly shrugged. "Shall we--"

"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

The two froze at the commanding voice spoken through a megaphone. Ryan stared at the woman he had willingly followed into this. Her lips were parted in shock. She slipped her hand in his. "We'll get out of this."

His grip was almost painful around her fingers while his rage at this situation grew. He pulled her out and let her go as he put his hands up. Flashlights were trained on his face and he squinted while disembarking.

"Ryan?"

Ryan nearly fell to the ground in relief. "Dave? Oh thank God."

"What are you-- hey Holls." The L.A. detective greeted her.

"Hey Dave. Long time no see." She dropped her hands to hug him.

The detective waved the other officers away. "It's not the ones we are looking for." He then turned back to his two friends while putting his pistol back in his shoulder holster. "So you want to tell me what you were up to? I've never known either of you to have a desire to go yachting."

"Oh...er...well...we..." Holly stuttered and gave a silent plea to Ryan.

He folded his arms and looked away. He decided to let her dangle and feel at least an ounce of the fear he had felt.

It lasted all of ten seconds. He had come up with a new form of torture. Ryan's sly grin formed as he wrapped his arm around her. "Holly and I were trying to find a place where we could truly alone. Isn't that right, baby doll?"

If looks could kill he would at least be bleeding out his ears. "Yes." Holly managed to strangle out. "I didn't want the press to see us together. Or anyone for that matter."

"Huh." Dave rocked back on his heels. "I never would have put the two of you together." His firm lips broke into a smile. "I like it."

"You do?" Holly and Ryan said simultaneously.

"Yeah. I can see it." He looked over his shoulder at the commotion coming their way.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Thomas snapped. "First you tell me someone broke in and was stealing it. Then you tell me they couldn't back it out of the dock, but to come anyway to check for missing items. And now you say it's--"

The irate director stopped in his tracks when he saw Holly and Ryan. "What the devil were you two doing on my yacht?!"

Ryan took a stunned step back.

Holly tried to hide behind him.

"They were trying to be alone." Dave explained with a wink.

"Not on my yacht!" Thomas growled. "Go be alone somewhere else. Wake me up at three in the morning to drive to deal with this ridiculous behavior." His voice trailed off. "You're acting like a pair of idiotic teenagers! Ask next time you need to use it." He turned on his heel and stomped back toward his car.

Dave shook with silent laughter. "As much fun as this is, I have to leave you guys. There has been a group of thieves breaking into the yachts the past few weeks and if I am to keep the elite happy, I gotta catch 'em. See you later." He waved and went to join his task force.

"Can we go now?" Ryan begged.

"You didn't have to come in the first place." She set her hands on her hips.

"I know that!" He waved around the dimly lit pier. "I couldn't let you do this alone!"

She rolled her eyes. "I would have been fine."

"I'm sorry, did you not hear Dave's reason for being out here? What if the thieves had bumped into you?" His eyes narrowed. "They would have probably wanted you to join up with them and then made you their leader."

Holly snorted and started to laugh. "And here I thought you were going to say they would kill me."

"Who would want to kill a woman both crazy and fearless enough to try and steal Thomas Hunt's yacht?" He shook his head and started back up the pier. "Is that why you picked it? Did you know it was his?"

"No. Did you?" She asked.

"I didn't know he had one." Ryan admitted.

"The name was what drew me in. Now knowing who the owner is, it all makes sense." She explained. When Ryan still looked clueless, she went on. "Orson Wells wrote and directed The Magnificent Ambersons."

Ryan's confusion eased away. "Thomas Orson Hunt." A shudder rippled over his shoulders. "That is a horrible middle name his parents stuck him with."

"Apparently that was his mom's favorite classic movie." Holly said with a shrug. "Regardless, we dodged a bullet back there. Thanks for um..." She avoided looking at him. "Thanks for coming up with a reason for us to be out here."

Ryan slipped his hands in his pockets. "No problem." He cut his eyes at her and noticed she was doing the same to him as they walked. He nudged her with his elbow while the smile that made women long to kiss those lips formed. "It can be our go to excuse for all our heists."

She looked away when they reached his car. "Anyway, thanks also for trying to help me with my bucket list. It wasn't the worst night of my life so I count that as a big plus."

"I guess it wasn't too bad." He opened her door and then got in on the driver's side. "I might even be willing to help you with another one tomorrow night."

She studied his profile by the light coming from the dashboard. "Really? Have you ever wanted to take over a fine dining restaurant? Every time the patrons order one of those absurd weird dishes, we make them Raman noodles. Then we can..."

[calteahood]

A Good Time {Calum Hood}

Rating: M — Please be 18+ to read!

Requested: Yes! “limo sex btw y/n and calum and the condom breaks ?!”

Warnings: Smut! Includes unprotected sex & a lil bit of dirty talk.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author's Note: Here it is! I changed the ask a little bit, but it's basically limo sex with Cal. Definitely used Shawn Mendes's Lost in Japan performance from the VS fashion show in this, by the way. Possible angsty part 2 dealing with the fact that there was no condom used. Anyway, enjoy! 

The event had been a blast. It's not every day you got to go to red carpets, seeing as your name had just gotten out there in the modeling industry. One lucky shoot for a famous magazine had spiked not only your Instagram following but also the amount of work you had been offered. Just a few months ago you were dreaming of being a big name in the industry, and now you're becoming one. Making a name for yourself meant event after event, even if you weren't on the catwalk that night. This night, in particular, you were there purely because it would be a good appearance, wearing a designer dress that your stylist perfectly picked out for you. The event, which was televised on networks at is MTV, consisted of a red carpet, two performances, and three different collections being worn down the catwalk. The fashion was amazing, but the musical intermissions had been even better. Shawn Mendes performed Lost In Japan, which was amazing. Then, later on, the stage was quickly set up for the band 5 Seconds of Summer. While you knew they had dropped a great album recently, you had never seen them live. You never really had a good look at the boys. The bassist caught your eye quick, being on your side of the stage. His muscles flexed as he played their hit song Youngblood, the tight button up fitting over his torso deliciously, showing off his arms. If it wasn't for your team sitting right next to you, forcing you to behave, you would have sent the man a wink when he looked over to you. Throughout the show, you sat with your manager on the right and your publicist on the left. Being a newer face also meant your every move was being watched. Your team was surrounding you all the time, making sure no bad paparazzi photos could appear, you never misspoke in interviews, and no scandals would arise. It was a blessing to have such a great team, and of course you were thankful, but having a group of people surrounding you constantly meant making it harder to sneak around. Being alone was a rarity unless it was in your own home and no paparazzi happened to be stalking us out of your house. Having such a strong team meant having a weak sex life. Staying out of trouble simply meant don't be caught by the paps either going home with a boy to hook up or leaving his house the next morning. You had been good about that, really, but the event showed you that it would be impossible to stay single forever, not with men looking that good playing bass right in front of you. You had no scandals and had been quite sweet throughout the quick boom of your modeling career. You were seen as kind, a natural beauty and a face for all women who don't have the average "model" body you'd see on Victoria's Secret ads, and you were proud that you had created such a good name for yourself. You were genuinely happy that you are making other people feel better about themselves, so what would be the issue if you finally started dating? Of course, you could understand one night stands might be scandalous, but you were craving another man's touch and, despite what your team said, being seen with a man was not going to ruin your image. Which is why at the after party you made a bit of a bold move. While your manager was looking away, speaking to one of their friends from the industry, you walked over to the bar on the other side of the room. Both the band and Shawn had the opportunity to bring plus one's along with them, so when you saw the handsome bassist without a plus one, just hanging out with the drummer while the others had their arms slung around their girlfriends, you knew you had to pounce. The drummer noticed you first as he walked up to the group, but he could easily tell your eyes were glued to the Maori man sat beside him. You walked up, faking confidence as the group made you a bit nervous, but you couldn't let them know. Confidence is sexy, and if you could fake it till you make it then maybe you wouldn't go home alone tonight. "Hey," you greeted loud enough to be heard over the music. You saw the handsome man's eyes quickly look you up and down, eyeing the tight cocktail dress you put on for the after party specifically. Hook. "You guys did great on your performance!" You turned your attention to the basis, seeing that your compliment had made him smile. Line. With your attention on the rockstar in front of you, you smoothly added on, "I especially loved the bass. You played so well tonight. Totally blew me away." At that, he smirked. Sinker. "Well thank you," he said. That damn smirk was going to be the end of you. The way his lips curved up, so inviting. He was attractive beyond belief. Keeping your attention on him, you spoke up again. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to dance." You hastily followed that with your name, hoping he'd tell you his in return. He looked you over once more. Of course he wanted to dance! He couldn't take his eyes off of you throughout the entire performance. After his first gaze at you, he quickly decided that you could be wearing the couture dress or just one of his t-shirts, and you'd still be the prettiest person in the room just like how he thought you were tonight. Standing from his seat at the bar, he held his hand out for you to gently set your own on to before bringing the back of your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the back of your hand. "'M Calum. I'd like to dance." He brought you to the dance floor, which was filled with other models, men and women. He spun you around, pressing your back against his front. Your hands easily found their way into his hair, holding him close to you. While his own hands held onto your hips, his head ducked a bit so he could whisper to you. "What about me caught your eye, pretty girl?" Fuck. The way his lips brushed against your ear. If it wasn't completely inappropriate to take him right then and there you'd be on your knees in seconds. Turning your head to the side, your own lips so close to his, you said, "You looked amazing on stage, like you know how to have a good time." He chuckled, his hips swaying with yours. "I can show you one if you'd like?" The surge of confidence took over. A beautiful model, a woman so unique and powerful, wanted him? He had heard of you before, recently seeing your face on magazines and all over social media. He knew you're one hell of a woman, but he could also see right through your confidence tonight. He made you nervous. But then again, you made him nervous too, so you were both faking confidence for each other. Though, it seemed to be working considering how your ass was willing pushing against the forming bulge in his pants. "That is if you're interested." You smirked. This was it. And hey, if he showed you a good enough time you definitely wouldn't mind meeting up again for seconds. "I'd love that. Let's go." And with that, you grabbed his hand and hurried out of the dark room. Hopefully, everyone was too busy partying to notice. You took him around the back, to where all the limos were waiting. Calum kept his head down as you approached yours, knocking on the driver's window. When the window rolled down you gave a sweet smile to your driver. "Think you can get us out of here? I'm ready to go home." You gave her a look, basically begging to not ask why you were in a hurry or if you wanted to wait for your manager. "Get in, you guys. Tell me your address, I'll have you there as soon as I can," she said. You quickly told her where you live, and when she told you that it'd be about a forty-minute drive, you rushed to the back. The limo's partition was already up when you two slid in. It seemed as if the forty-minute drive wouldn't be too bad. Once comfortable, Calum turned towards you. "So," he started, "I'm guessing you don't get too many opportunities to get around and meet guys. Be honest, what made me special?" You grinned. You could read him a whole damn list if he wanted you to. Plus, looks aside, he seemed very interesting. What did his tattoos mean? Why did he have a little blonde streak in his hair? Why was he wearing such a fancy jacket to the after party? Every little thing about him made you curious. "You're very handsome, very talented, and if I'm being honest here, I couldn't keep my eyes off of you while you were on stage. Thank goodness you were on the side of the stage I was sitting at; I had the best seat in the house." You flirted a bit, teasing each other. His hand went to rest on your exposed thigh. "You're definitely right, I don't get to meet men often, but when they look as good as you I absolutely have to shoot my shot." With a smug look on his face, Calum asked, "And how many men have you approached who look as handsome as me?" His hand began to slide up, toying with the end of your dress. You giggled. "Would I get extra brownie points if I say that you're my first?" He gently squeezed your thigh before moving his free hand to lightly grip your chin. "Good answer, pretty girl." He pulled you to him, finally locking your lips together. If you thought this could ever be a one-time thing, you were wrong. His mouth on yours, biting your bottom lip and moving your tongues together felt way too good. You moved to straddle his lap, his hands moving to push up your tight dress. He pulled away from your mouth to travel down to your neck, leaving light, soft kisses. "If we're gonna do this we gotta make it quick. Only got a half hour before we're at yours." With your dress hiked up to your waist, he moved one of his hands to your panties, easily pushing the lacey fabric aside. You gasped when he grazed his finger over your clit. As he played with you, you pushed his sparkling jacket off his shoulders and undid the buttons of his shirt. You knew you weren't going to be able to get him naked in the limo, but at least his chest was exposed a bit. You moved down to undo his belt and pants, feeling over his hard-on. You couldn't wait to get him out of those pants. He slid his finger down to your entrance, thumb still rubbing your clit, and gently pushed in. You gasped, finally feeling something inside you. Calum turned your head to face him, leaning your foreheads together. He slowly worked his finger in and out of you. "Can't believe how wet you are for me," he mumbled against your lips, pushing in another finger. He started to speed up his movements, brushing that sweet spot inside you, making you moan out. The way you sounded moaning and whimpering his name only egged him on. Taking back a bit of control you finish undoing his pants, pulling them down a bit. You palmed him through his boxers before pulling those down too, allowing his cock to spring up. He was hard, pre-cum covering his tip, ready for you. You wrapped your hand around him, giving a few good pumps before you heard him hiss and grab your ass. He pulled out his fingers, bringing them between you two. You stuck out your tongue, giving his fingers a small lick, tasting yourself. He grinned at this and stuck the fingers in his mouth. He loved the way you tasted and couldn't wait to get back to your house where he could lay you down and eat you out for hours. During this, he pulled you closer to him, placing your cunt directly over his length. You pressed down a bit, feeling the head of his cock against your wet hole. "No more teasing, pretty girl." With that, he held your hips and pushed you down, sinking his cock into your tight pussy. You both moaned out, loving the feeling. Once you adjusted to the way his cock felt inside you, you pulled away the tiniest bit only to move back down again. His hands traveled to your ass, one hand squeezing while the other helped hold your panties to the side. You bounced a couple more times, groaning at the way he stretched you until you found your rhythm. You began to bounce at a pace that had both of you begging for more. The limo was filled with the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs and the naughty, slippery sounds your pussy made each time you took his cock in. "Fuck Cal, I'm close," you whined out. At this, he attached his fingers to your clit, rubbing quickly to help you reach your orgasm. In no time he had you moaning. "Cal— fuck! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!" You both were loud messes as you came all over his cock. You stopped bouncing, so he took it upon himself to thrust up, never giving you a break, chasing his orgasm. "Look so good cumming on my cock, fuck. Gonna take my load? Gonna let me cum in your tight little cunt?" He groaned against your lips. You eagerly nodded. Fuck, how you wanted everything he had to offer. You felt him speed up his thrusts, grabbing at you so tight that you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow. You could moan just thinking about it. Right before he was about to cum he pressed his lips against yours. You immediately opened your mouth, allowing your tongues to move against one another. With a couple rough thrusts, he stilled in you, releasing into your warm, wet pussy. You pulled away from each other, grabbing at the closest phone you could find to check the time. You were about five minutes from when your driver said you'd be home. Glancing back at him, you noticed his smile. He had the prettiest post orgasm face, heart eyes for days as he looked at you. You giggled. How could a man be so sexy and so cute at the same time? Carefully, you pulled off of him. Both of you hissed at the loss of contact. You sat down, pulled your panties off, and used that as your impromptu cum rag. It wasn't the best option, but it was the only one you had. After cleaning up Calum's cum that dripped onto your thighs, you cleaned his cock. You made sure to be gentle, knowing he was just as sensitive as you after a fucking like that. You each fixed your outfits, preparing for the drive to end. Once ready, you finally faced each other. Suddenly, you both broke out laughing. "Fuck, I can't believe we just did that!" Calum nodded, wrapping his arm around you. "It was amazing pretty girl. Took me so well. Did I live up to my word? Did I show you a good time?" he asked. You pretended to contemplate his question as the limo came to a stop outside your home. "I don't know… I think you'll need to show me more before I can make a final decision." Calum grinned. He saw through your little act, and there was no way in hell he would decline your offer of letting him fuck you more. You shook up his whole night, and now he didn't want to let go of you. "I think I can do that." He opened the door, getting out and reaching a hand out to you to pull you along with him. You thanked your driver before leading him to your door. As soon as you two made it inside you were pressed against the door, his lips on yours. You pushed him back, leading the way to your bedroom, in hopes he'd continue showing you all he had to offer. You were thankful you had such a great team, and a job that empowered you and other women as well. You were thankful for the car you drove, the house you had, and the life you got to live. But most of all, you were thankful for Calum, for that night, and for the best time of your life so far.

--

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[peacefulwriter88]

Silent Orders - Part 1

Teacher!Steve Rogers x Reader 

Warnings: None for part one minus sweet fluff

A/N: @gifsbysimplysonia requested this a while back and my imagination was able to cluster together this cute little two parter - hope you all enjoy

Also mood board created by me so tag me if you reblog/share _______

The spring bake sale had been pushed up earlier, much to many parents dismay. The spring soccer teams were in dire need of new uniforms for every grade so the principal had suggested to use the popular small town event as a fundraiser in which every parent was encouraged to participate in.

And in a small town like Green Oaks, that meant of course that everyone participated.

It was what had led Steve walking down the narrow Green Oaks Elementary hallway, a small chubby hand encased in his own as the pair of them slowly strolled down the narrow passage. Dismissal had been an hour ago but the school was still vibrant with life, surprisingly for a Friday in March, the air drifting with laughter and the sweet smell of baked goods and other wares.

“Is my mommy going to do be down this hallway?”

Adrians voice is tiny, barely audible above the chatter and Steve looks down at him with a large smile, giving him a squeeze.

“I think so buddy. Remember, this morning she said she was going to be a little late because she had to run home and grab all of the yummy goodies you helped her bake for the fundraiser?”

Adrian nods but his small, round eyes still don’t stop from roaming from the endless array of tables. Steve gives him a squeeze, resisting the urge to lift the small boy and sing him one of the many songs that he knew would yank a grin out of him.

Biasedly, Steve adored the inquisitive five year old and he knew that half of it was because the boy had the kind of intelligence and compassion most kids didn’t find until there were far older, and the other half was because he was an extension of you.

When you had dropped Adrian off this morning, you had that worried glint in your eye that he had become accustomed to seeing.

“My father can’t pick Adrian after the bake sale,” you had sighed as you watched Adrian run around on the playground with his peers.

“I have to rush home to pick up all the things I baked which would mean an hour of Adrian being unintended for, and I’m not comfortable enough to ask any of the new moms. I know they mean well but….sometimes they just come off judgy, you know?”

Steve knew. That mixed with your pride kept you biting down on your lips, eyes trained on your son. The solution was  easy to him,

“If you don’t mind,” you had flickered your eyes to him, “ I can happily watch Adrian during that time. Dawkins likes for the staff to linger for these things, say hi before we head out so I’ll be around anyways. And I don’t mind watching Adrian.”

The smile that had erupted across your lips had been all he needed, happy for his decision as you squeezed his arm in quick thanks, before waving at your son and currying away.

You were exactly the kind of trouble he was enjoying getting lost in.  

“Steve I didn’t think you’d stay for this thing.”

The familiar low tone of his good friend draws his attention away from Adrian and he stops them both, turning and watching as Natasha makes her way through the crowd, oblivious to the many dads who give her a second look as she progresses toward him, a bag in hand.

Natasha was probably one of the most attractive people Steve has ever met in his life, point blank. Fiery red hair and a personality to match, supple lips that matched her hips and wide blue eyes. The only thing stopping her from breaking Green Oaks male population was the fact that her fiance and his best friend from childhood,  James “Bucky” Barnes,  was a respected police officer in the community.

That and she shut down most men before they could get a word out.

Regardless, she was far softer with the fifth graders she taught and Steve was grateful that he had someone else in this building he could have normal conversations with. He wasn’t oblivious to the looks he received from most of the women he worked with, the lingering touches despite if they were married or not. It was a far different experience from how he used to be treated in high school - his former scrawny self an afterthought after puberty hit him in college.

“Well I had some motivation.” Steve pulls Adrian into view who smiles widely at the redhead, beaming,

“Hi Ms. Roman….Roman….Romaneff.” the young boy furrows his eyebrows trying to get her name out and Natasha laughs as she ruffles his head,

“You can just call me Ms. R,” she shifts her eyes to Steve. “I’m going to be so happy to be Mrs. Barnes for so many reasons. Mainly so kids can finally say my last bloody name but don’t let Bucky know that’s the top reason.”

Steve laughs as he directs Adrian back in the direction of  the cafeteria and Natasha nudges him, following his pace,

“He’s stinking adorable but why are you on teacher duty? Bell rang nearly an hour ago.”

Steve stops with Adrian at a table, watching as the young boy eyes travel to the  soap dinosaur bombs with mild curiosity before flickering his eyes back to Steve. Steve knows that he shouldn’t buy it for the boy - you would hate that - but there’s something about those large bold eyes that has him tugging in his back pocket for his wallet, telling Adrian he can have one if he liked.

“And one for my mommy?” Adrian asks shyly and Steve chuckles and nods. You were going to be livid with him.

“Sure bud - that way this nice lady doesn’t have to break my ten.” he winks at the elderly woman behind the table who laughs though she blushes, shaking her head as she temporarily asks Adrian which dinosaur he’d be interested in.

Natasha raises an eyebrow as Steve turns to her and says,

“I told Y/N that I’d watch him while she prepped for this thing. Her dad couldn’t pick him up today and she was in a bind so…”

“So you just thought to play babysitter to the hot new mom in town.” Natasha kids and Steve rolls his eyes though he smiles. He notices the woman flicker her eyes between the both of them but he waves it aside.

Everyone knew about you - it was hard not to in a small town like this, a distant suburb of Boston. You had moved here two years ago with just Adrian and had been an immediate hot topic. Single mom who bought the only art gallery in town and curated some pieces for the few museum in the local area - why wouldn’t you be a gossip?

Really it was the women who gossiped and really, Natasha had pointed out the one summer evening she had dragged him and Bucky to a show you were hosting, it was because you were...different. The women were intimidated by you. You were an outsider from the city, this curvy one woman show that was also the daughter of Green Oaks former mayor.

Your dad had bee a scandal - a known Green Oaks native winning their votes despite his Brooklyn upbringing. The fact that he had always talked about you but never dragged you out - the tongues that wagged though he was voted for term until he couldn’t any more.

Then you, his daughter. Single mom with no husband fresh from the big city opening a posh art gallery in town. Obviously you were scandalous.

Except, of course, like most things time shifted the tide.

You used your space on Saturdays to host free art classes that you facilitated. Adrian participated in every class, club and sport you could sign him for and you were a proud member of the local book club and an active member in Green Oaks PTA. You volunteered at parades and organized charity runs and was a proud chair member of the city council.

Through time, people discovered how Adrian’s father ran out on you when he found out you were pregnant. That you had studied in Versailles and was a distinguished artist before you had gotten pregnant. That you moved to Green Oaks where your parents decided to retire so you could get help with raising him, not wanting Adrian to get lost in the city that was New York.

Steve had known you long before Adrian was in his class, from afar, when he would go to art nights with his friends and sometimes drop in for classes. Had enough pleasant enough conversations with you but could never break down your wall.

But then he started teaching Adrian and things had changed.

“She’s not new anymore Natasha.” Steve chuckles as Adrian runs to him with the bright Stegosaurus and T-Rex bombs he had selected. Steve helps him place the bombs in his backpack before Adrian grabs his hand and they resume their journey down the hall.

“I know,” Natasha nudges him, “I’m just curious as to why? You normally shut that down with moms month one. Playing the babysitter.”

Steve keeps the smile to himself as they turn a corner and it's obvious that this is a particularly popular hall, the noise level increasingly louder with families jammed together. The baked goods hall. Adrian tightens his hand around Steve, his hold around the plush dinosaur that he favored being bought to his chest as he looks around amused.

“This hall is busy.” Adrian finally comments and Steve agrees, nodding.

“I agree bud - this hall is busy.”

“Why?” the young man asks, the curls on his head falling back with him as he looks up at Steve with large, curious eyes.

“Hmmmm, I’d guess there’s a really popular table with a lot of yummy goodies.”

“I bet it's mommy’s table.” Adrian doesn’t miss a beat, smiling deeply as he starts to pull the large man down toward the hectiness and Natasha gives an approving nod.

“He actually is right about that.”

It only takes a few strides before they find the source of the long line and, like Adrian and Natasha pointed out, your table is the source. You’re oblivious to their presence as you talk to parents, jumping from English and Spanish depending on the individual as you exchange your baked delicacies for cash or credit card. You’re hair has been thrown into a haphazard ponytail, the bodycon professional dress fully exposed as you throw your blazer on the chair behind you exposing your bosom.

He feels the air escaping his lungs, tries not to let it show as Adrian pulls toward you more strongly, though he feels Natasha’s eyes on him as Adrian screams out,

“Mommy!”

Your head automatically snaps to his direction, eyes falling on your son before they blink up to Steve. There’s satisfaction in seeing the way you exhale a large breath, teeth tugging on your bottom lip before you shake your head, moving from behind the tight space of the table to bend down and extend your arms out for your son. Adrian moves with ease in the crowd, despite the awkward weight of his large backpack and he jumps in your arms as you lift him, placing kisses all over his face.

“Oh little man I’ve missed you.” you say as Steve and Natasha near and you flicker your eyes to the group,

“Natasha you back for more?”

The red head laughs and shakes her head,

“No way. I’ve bought enough chocolate to ruin my wedding dress size for the next few weeks. No, I figured I’d lead Steve in the right direction since he’s been looking for you.”

You smile over at Steve as Adrian burrows himself in your neck, wraps around more  as you say,

“Mr. Rogers thanks so much for looking after Adrian. I really appreciate it and am sure the last thing you wanted to do was watch a five year old for one hour longer on a Friday.”

Steve sticks his hands in his pockets, bashful grin planted on his face,

“It was no problem at all, it was fun hanging out with Adrian. And please Y/N, you can call me Steve. Especially after work hours.”

He feels silly when he’s in your presence, hard to grasp on his thoughts but he is grateful as he sees you fall into yourself, a similar shy smile on your face before you clear your throat and turn with your son in your hands.

“Well everyone bought up a lot of my cupcakes and truffles-”

“You should have an in house bakery in your gallery. Those truffles are sin.” Natasha cuts you off and you laugh as you turn back to them.

“Not sure about that Natasha but I did save these for you Mr. Roge….I mean Steve. To thank you for hanging out with Adrian...it really does mean a lot.”

You hand over the container that held four cupcakes and you shift Adrian on your hip as you say,

“They’re the dark chocolate ones you like. The ones with the salted caramel frosting. I remembered you telling me how much you enjoyed them when I made them for your class last fall so...figured you deserve the small batch I whipped up this morning.”

“Oh come on...those are Bucky’s favorite and she wouldn’t let anyone buy them! I even offered to pay 50 dollars for them. Aren’t you lucky Steve.” Natasha pretends offense though she laughs at the way Steve smiles cheekily at you, a slight blush tinging his cheeks. He doesn’t mean for the thank you he shoots your way to come off as timid as it does as you stare him back down but he also was still trying to figure out how to navigate interacting with you in public spaces.

You clear the air, promising Natasha you’d bake her and Bucky a special batch as you sit Adrian down, handing him a book as you start to clean up the little material you had on your table. Steve notices that you have nothing left, not compared to everyone else around you and doesn’t hesitate to volunteer himself and Natasha to help clean up.

“We were headed out anyways.” he notes when you protest and though Natasha throws him  questioning eyes she doesn’t challenge him, happily helps fold the black tablecloth you’ve bought, pile the left over plastic containers into your travel cart.

“I’m happy I sold out early, means I can head home and start my weekend early.” you say as the four of you head out of the school, Adrian unwilling to leave the embrace of your arms as you carry him and your work bag. Steve is carrying the four tubs of plastic ware and Natasha has the rolling bin that held your tablecloth - the table decorations. You stop temporarily to speak with the principal about your contribution, handing him your moneybox before you proceed with the group back to the parking lot.

“Tell me about it. I don’t know why we planned for a late spring wedding. School is out and then a wedding? I’m an idiot - I have so much to plan for and have little motivation to want to get it all done.” Natasha mumbles and you click your Nissan Rogue open as you say,

“If you want, I could come over this weekend. I took Saturday off and I’ve been in a wedding or two...I’d happily help out if you need it.”

“Oh my god would you? Bucky would be eternally grateful….would even forgive you for giving his best friend all of his cupcakes.”

You laugh as you place Adrian in the back seat, buckling him in and nodding.

“Let me give you my number. Text me when I can come over...as long as you don’t mind Adrian tagging along. We were going to go to the zoo but if the weather is going to be bad like predicted he’d happily watch some movies while we plan and drink wine.”

Steve places the containers in the trunk, and the bin before closing it and checking on Adrian who is playing with the bath bombs like action figures.

“You have a good evening little man. Don’t give your mom too much of a hard time.”

“I won’t Mr. Rogers. I’m gonna tell her about the dinosawr bones we found!” the young boys face is enthusiastic and Steve ruffles his head before coming to the other side, waiting on you patiently as you and Natasha see each other off, Natasha waving goodbye to Steve before heading to her car.

“Natasha’s kind of had a girl crush on you for months...you don’t know how much that means to her.” he says when you turn to him and you laugh as you cross your arms, tightening your hands around your body as you try to block it from the early spring chilly air.

“I doubt that. Natasha is too cool of a girl to want to hang out with a dork like me.”

Your voice is teasing and he laughs as he shuts the door at Adrian’s side, waving at Adrian through the tinted glass as you turn on your heels, moving toward the drivers side. He’s not too far behind you.

“Well it was a pleasure getting to spend time with you, Ms. Y/L/N,” you stop at your door, leaning on it as he stands in front of you, mirroring your movement, “You really know how to brighten up a man’s day.”

You blush as you play with your keys, shaking your head before looking back up at him and smiling,  

“Well you’re the one who saved my ass earlier today Mr. Rog….I mean Steve,” a gust of wind hits and you tighten your hold around you. “Thanks for watching Adrian. I really appreciate it.”

There was so many words going unsaid as he watched you in the twilight, your eyes twinkling as they looked back at him, hair getting tugged out of your ponytail and whipping against your face. He loved that when you smiled your dimples dug into your cheeks, loved the faint smell of perfume that wafted to his nose. If he could, he’d lean over and kiss your lips, succulent and teasing - whisper how much he loved you and how he was looking forward to seeing you later. But you weren’t ready for that, not yet.  You wanted to make sure that it was okay with your son, knows it would be a big step for him to have someone like Steve in his life.

Instead he digs in his pockets, finds the scrap of paper he’s written out to you earlier and grabs your fumbling hands, rubs the soft skin that's gone cold from the wind before giving it a quick squeeze.

“Anytime,” he places the small note in your hands before raising them to his lips, giving it a quick peck and saying, “See you around.”

He opens your car door, waits until you’re in before he closes it, giving you a wink that you return before waving to Adrian one last time. Waits until you’ve safely left the parking lot before he walks to his own car, getting in and waiting for it to warm up. Barely puts his car into drive before Natasha is calling him and he doesn’t get a chance to say hello as Natasha barrels out,

“Holy shit how long have you and her been dating and how the fuck has this town not known and put it on the front page of our herald!?”

He’s on Bluetooth and looks around the parking lot, sighing as he sees her car still in its parking space,

“Did you really stay back in your car to spy on us?”

A snort,

“Uh yes. Bucky and I have been trying to hook you and her up for months now! You always chicken out when we go to the gallery nights. Apparently we should have just brought her to your world, she’s into the whole naughty teacher act.”

He laughs as he pulls out of the parking lot,

“That's not….that's not how that happened at all. I was surprised same as you when I saw Adrian on my roster. But it all gave me some one on one time and we started chatting more casually. And a little before Halloween I finally got the nerve to ask her out and she said yes. That's all.”

“Why haven’t you told your two best friends!?” Natasha counters and Steve shrugs though he knows it falls on silent eyes.

“We wanted to keep it quiet for a bit because everyone in this town is always gossiping about something. And...she wants to make sure Adrian is ready for a new person in his life. It's not just her I’m dating - she wants to be considerate of her son.”

Natasha wait's a beat before saying,

“That’s fair. I get that, I guess, you’d think I’d gossip to the harlots of this town -”

“You’d completely tell at least Sam and Wanda and Wanda actually works for the herald - Sam is a government official…..we all know the minute they know everyone does. So yes, gossiping to the harlots indeed.”

“Whatever,” Natasha continues, “How did you both manage to date for five months without anyone else knowing? Seriously, you sneeze in this town and everyone’s texting about it.”

“We drive to Boston or stay at my place.” he says simply and Natasha laughs,

“Well then you both deserve this secret romance. Well played. Next question - can I ask her about you tomorrow?”

“I’m hanging up now.” he deadpans and Natasha laughs

“I mean I was going to regardless, you kept giving each other fuck me eyes. God you should have seen Alison Johnson - she has such a hard on for you and got so sour when you didn’t even acknowledge her waving at you and instead was drooling over hot mom. She’s definitely going to be gossiping about it….”

“Good night Natasha. Tell Bucky I said hello.”

He hangs up on his friend, laughing in good nature. Natasha was probably right and that was something he could talk to you about later. In the meantime, he needed to make a minor adjustment to dinner plans and he knew exactly where to begin.

________

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[momo-de-avis]

Wordtober Day 14: Overgrown

I was a girl when I first developed my passion for painting.

Papa would take me to the Salon and I would marvel at the stacks of canvases hung on every wall, as high as the ceilings went. Though I tended to pay no mind to the classical portraits of ladies or the massive sculptures from the Académie, I became enthralled by the revolutionaries. The naturalists, that is. The men who left the city by train, taking their pochades to paint the natural elements, who captured the forests of Barbizon for posteriority with a curious, famished eye.

I wondered deeply about these matters until it was all I thought about. How does one develop the ability to capture something within just a small frame of time, only to compose it in timelessness and thus devote it to posteriority? And what frame of time could that be? In a passing moment, as we gaze upon nature, what instant, between every flicker of existence, will we decide to depict? Is it possible to freeze one single second and represent it in several instances of daylight, to pour onto a canvas all the beauty we see unravel before a simple leaf, a dense forest, the still waters of a lake, or even the skies?

The artist opens his pochade, sets up his easel, and looks up at the sky. And there, he sees it: one cloud hovering above hues of blue, dancing slowly to the wind’s cadence, cast in heavenly shadows of grey and white and yellow. Then, he picks up his brush and begins to paint, but time has already moved on—and he rushes to capture all those passing moments and lock them into the surface of the canvas.

That is probably why I was always more inclined to paintings of storms. There’s something daunting to de la Peña’s canvases, in the way he paints one vivid golden arm reaching out between the thick clouds to set the brown rocks alight, like hope cast onto something hopeless to come. And probably why I enjoy the desolation of Daubigny’s depiction of Les Sables-d’Olonne. In either of them, there’s something massive, something imposing. It seems that, instead of painting the present, with bits of the past scattered behind, they focused on the future instead. A storm to come; a confusion of grey and yellow hues that announce the incoming night.

There’s one particular painter that has fascinated me for long, though I’ve only ever seen reproductions on bulletins owned by collectors, and on one occasion, one poor copy by some petulant little student of some small studio. It’s called A Monk by the Sea and it’s by this widely ignored little painter from Prussia called Caspar David Friedrich. It’s a massive canvas, from what I’m told, containing just three things: the sea, the shore, and a monk.

If you look at the skies, you’ll see that, much like Daubigny’s, there’s a combination of darker hues with lighter ones, and though the brushwork is far more formal and even academic, you can outline the very rim of the clouds that hover above the horizon. But they contrast greatly with the darkness below, and it gives us the sense of a looming future, a daunting and terrifying one. A storm is coming. And on this bland, sandy-like shoreline, a solitary monk stands alone. He wears simple vestments, long and crisp, and he stares. He just stares at this storm that is slowly forming in the far horizon, at these gigantic clouds that announce nature’s violence, and he is… unafraid.

Burke called it the Sublime. That which is so daunting, so terrifying, it is, at the same time, beautiful. Something able to make us quiver on our legs in trepidation, yet we cannot but reach forth and touch it.

I always did have an inclination for the more mystical of paintings. Friedrich’s in particular touched me differently. It was, obviously, that element of the sublime, but something else. Like in Constable’s landscapes, and even some of Corot’s, it’s nature’s double meaning behind every piece of beauty we admire. Have a look at Couple Contemplating the Moon and see for yourself how those beautiful branches twist like tendrils in the backlight of the incoming night, and wonder: what will happen to this couple once night settles and they are left alone with this disfigured tree, in the complete darkness? Or why is the spectral image of the Abbey in the Oakwood so enticing we almost want to wait for night to settle and the soul of nature to dance in ghostly shapes before us—even when we’re terrified of it?

Yes, I have always loved the art of painting. But there was one problem to my passion, which is my gender.

Of course, I was not exactly barred from painting, I was just left with little options, and watercolours bored me to death. Even less the motifs my family insisted I painted, those proper of a lady: boring landscapes of sunshine over green grass and still lakes and swans and other birds of sorts—I despised it all.

I knew I had a talent, of course. And I knew how to use it, I just needed the right outlet. Watercolours certainly weren’t it—I wanted proper oils, and I wanted to wear long gowns and cover myself in paint, forgetting the entirety of this world who said painting outside, like the men who took the train to Barbizon, was improper.

In truth, my father minded little of it, and it was my sister who raised much a scandal, though it seems obvious today she was also quite envious. For she married none other than an artist.

She always was quite the uptight lady, however. Proper in every aspect, yes, but incredibly dull. Composed in her folded skirts and wearing hats in the summer, carefully adjusting her little laced glove as she opened her umbrella while her husband paddled a boat on the lake. She always did think of me as far too scandalous, but I minded little so long as I could paint—and it just so happened she married a painter.

Gustave wasn’t so much a master as he was an excuse. He proposed to tutor me and for a while Adolphine was eased by the thought that it was her husband the one to guide me, perhaps considering he’d steer me towards those boring watercolours she adored in order to tame my character. But I was better than Gustave. Though he dominated the technique, of course—for a classicist. For him, it mattered only that I copied the masters and understand a composition, study drawing, that mark of intellectualism of a true artist, and the colour comes after, for it is line that is truly scientific—I cared not for any of that! Colour is the true science, I told him! And screw what Adolphine deemed proper, have a look—I screamed at him—at Delacroix or Gros instead, and dare tell me colour is not scientific! How dare he, when even Vasari praised the science of colour for Titian and the Venetians!

Eventually, he gave in, as my condition—as he put it—appeared to his eyes as none but a whim, and perhaps the best thing to do was to simply answer to my fits of rage before they could develop into something… far worse.

I began to suspect at this point that my family saw me as ill and mad, and it would be no time until they threw me into a hospice. It was common of me to hear them muttering behind closed doors, whimpering like dogs, particularly Adolphone, who wailed: oh, my sister will be the disgrace of us, what shall I do?, she will not leave those paintings alone, and what things does she paint?, she never even shows me!

No, Adolphine, I never showed them to you. 

My sister couldn’t possibly bear with my creations, considering my inclination for the grotesque. I remember staring at a Fuseli once and thinking how beautiful his nightmares were. The little goblin-like creature that sat on that fair lady, slouched over her bed in slumber was, to my eyes, not her tormentor but her guardian. And I pondered about it—imagine having a guardian, a protector who watched over your dreams as you slept. So I began to experiment with these pictures that suddenly appeared in my mind at night—just twisting shapes of humanoid presences that always seemed non-threatening to me, and they danced to my will and bowed before me. Once awoken, I would run up to the attic without eating, open my pochade and begin to paint; I would lock the door as to not be interrupted and be cast into this strange world of oils and shapes that composed themselves before my eyes, and time would pass completely indistinct.

Every time I painted, time ceased to exist—or maybe I did. But whatever the truth, I existed outside of this world, and whatever there was to the streets outside my window, it was entirely gone. It was far more than a deep trance—I could feel an intense compulsion I had to answer, or else I’d grow mad! I had to rush up the stairs and begin to paint immediately—and I did. The moment my fingers touched the hardened wood of my brush or the easel, I would cease to exist and transform into something else.

On my canvases, shapes gained form under the dark hues of my nightly landscapes. Explosions of light in the skies, in gold and dull yellow, made way to something lingering in the corner, something large and imposing with wide jutting horns and claws raising above a prey below; and sometimes, the setting sun on a pasture cast an arm of pink and purple onto the skies, enough to illuminate an anthropomorphic silhouette that danced before a farmer, who prayed the Angelus alone; and then, the same creature could be seen upon the corner of a street of Paris as a flaneur tipped his hat back and looked up, right into its big, bulbous, bright white eyes.

There was another thing present in all: the creature, as it appeared, did not hide; it stood right in front of its prey and it gazed upon them in a moment of not doubt, but profound contemplation. And below the enormous hunter, the prey would look up in peace and silence, accepting of their fate, with not a hint of fright nor a bellow of horror. Much like the monk staring longingly at the incoming storm, alone, like a castaway, on an unknown sandy shore—contemplative, silent, peaceful.

When Gustave first saw my canvases he was shaken. I saw sweat pouring from his forehead and laughed in amusement as he moved frantically about the studio, and I could see how much he longed to grab hold of my paintings and destroy them but would not dare to do so. More: how much they frightened him. How he would draw near gently but there was a line he never crossed, invisibly traced on the floors, as he’d freeze on his quivering legs, eyes locked on the monster’s eyes, my monster, cold sweat pouring still as he breathed deep and heavy, and stuttered a compliment that never really came.

I knew he thought my paintings to be outstanding in technique and composition, it was the creature that terrified him, but that only made me feel more confident in my work. That was my creature, my creation, and it stared back at me as if I was its very own God.

It was around this time that I first heard about the disappearances, though I minded them not. Men and women snatched off the streets, to never be seen again, and mere rags from their clothes left behind.

Eventually, Gustave learned to be more at ease with my paintings, though he still would not dare to cross that invisible line he had placed between him and the paintings. Except one time.

He drew near very slowly, quivering at every step, and gazed deeply upon a small figure in the corner, a small man illuminated by a single strand of light coming from a street lamp as he looked up at the creature that stood tall on the left side of the painting, firm and steady on its legs. Something about him lured Gustave, and I watched curiously as his eyes drew away from the ambience of the painting to focus on that one lonely man.

And then, he said: “This man looks eerily similar to Hubert Leblanc.”

I learned later that Huber Leblanc was a frequenter of the Salon and an avid art collector known for being the major buyer of Gustave’s paintings, who seemed entirely disinterested in the revolutionaries of the Beux Arts and instead preferred the boring artworks of a much classical tone. He had even been gifted one of Adolphine’s terrible watercolours, which he treasured delightedly. But at the time, I thought nothing of it. I had never met this Monsieur Leblanc, had no interest in meeting him, merely heard my brother-in-law’s mention of his name and my sister’s adulation of his character, and sincerely cared not for him.

So I kept on painting. I locked the door of my studio and let the word fall into its own insignificance as I painted more and more of my beloved creature in all sorts of different settings: sneaking between the columns of the Palais de Tokyo as a woman gazed up in plenitude to accept her fate; lurking at the edges of the Île de la Cité, obfuscating the Notre Dame de Paris entirely, as an onlooker accepted his fate, stood frozen on the Pont de Saint Michel; standing on the roof of Les Halles, gazing down at an unsuspecting woman who raised her head with a basket of fish on her hand, her eyes meeting the creature’s, waiting placidly; a passer-by exiting the Théatre de L’Odéon, stood frozen in the middle of the Rue Monsieur-Le-Prince, as the monster awaited his arrival at the end of the intersection, an umbrella fallen from the victim’s hand as he watched the creature’s eyes and awaited his ending.

I was ravenous in my dedication. I ate little, for time passed and I saw nor heard a thing, and outside my door, the servants would leave trays of food that would go foul. My sister would knock on my door insistently, but I heard nothing. Whenever we did sit at the table for supper, she’d complain about my behaviour and leave a hint that perhaps I needed some assistance, but her implications angered me and I was driven into a fit of rage.

One afternoon, I heard my sister gasp and turned to find her pale and frozen on her chair as she folded a newspaper and threw it aside with a gesture of disgust. She placed the back of her hand carefully against her sweating forehead and closed her eyes as if she were about to faint, wailing between her heavy pants, as if stricken with a case of consumption—horrible, horrible!, she chanted; such a horrible thing this is, God have mercy on us all!

I picked up the newspaper and read the headline. Seven people had gone missing from the streets of Paris, and at last they had uncovered the body of two: torn to shreds, nothing but gnawed bone, their flesh gone, limbs scattered across the construction site of the Ópera Garnier, abandoned into a rush—a sight so gruesome it had caused several people to faint and be rushed to the doctor.

What struck me as odd, however, was the locations upon which these people had disappeared. A woman vanished from the Palais de Tokyo. A man snatched from the Pont de Saint Michel. An angler caught and taken from Les Halles, leaving behind a basket of fish. An umbrella left behind by an unsuspecting man gone from the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince.

I rolled up the paper and rushed up the stairs. When I opened the door, I saw them: those same locations, painted in hues of black and blue, and sometimes gold, as they told a tale of a person about to go missing, devoured by an enormous black creature that stalked them patiently through several Parisian landmarks. The umbrella left behind was there, fallen on the cobblestones to his side, as was the basket of fish on the angler’s hand.

So I wondered: could my creation be so spectacular it existed beyond my canvases?

It was at this moment that my door swung open and Gustave came running inside, cast into pallor and dabbing his trickling sweat with a white handkerchief he then placed inside his pocket. He ignored me, went straight to my paintings, and gazed upon the figures that lay there, waiting to be devoured alive by this beast, with peace and serenity—and again focused on the tiny little man who stood—I finally recognized—in the middle of the Place Dauphine.

He turned to me with eyes bulging in terror. “That is Hubert Leblanc,” he said. “He disappeared from the Place Dauphine two weeks ago.”

I laughed, unsure what other reaction to have, as he stood in frozen dread before me, unable still to face the monster in my paintings, and said nothing. He turned around then and grabbed the canvas off the easel, with—I knew—the intention to have it destroyed. It burned my insides in horror just to think of it, so I lurched myself at him, and we got into a tussle. Gustave was strong, gripping the canvas until his fingers made dents on my painting, and I shoved him against a wall as I screamed to let go of the painting, but he shouted back in madness: “You did this! You are responsible for this! You are cursed, and have cursed us all!”

Adolphine appeared at my door, screeching in horror at the sight, and began to scream for the servants to come to her aid as Gustave and I tussled still. Finally, he dropped the canvas and I shoved him out of my door, past Adolphine who nearly tumbled onto the ground, and as he tripped on his feet, he fell back onto the stairs and down he went.

I watched from the top of the stairs as he groaned in pain down below, gazing at me in horror. The painting was salvaged, carefully placed against a wall, and Adolphine covered her mouth with a hand, again nearly about to faint. The newspaper was fallen on the floor of my studio, and she picked it up slowly to read its cover. Then, she glanced at the paintings on my studio, the same ones she had never seen, and her pallor turned her into a living ghost. Out of strength, she sought a chair to sit on and fell to it with a tumble of weakness, barely breathing, but her eyes glared only at me.

The servants assisted Gustave, and the doctor was called in as I screamed one last warning: stay away from my paintings. Adolphine, once recovered from her affliction, cursed me and expelled me from her house, saying I had but three days to pack my belongings and leave, lest I wanted to be put into a hospice for the rest of my days.

And throughout it all, I felt… calm.

At night, with Gustave laid in bed, bandaged and tended to by the doctor and his wife, and Adolphine weeping in her privacy words that fluttered back to my ear—oh, she always was such an insolent one, I do not know what to do with her, I don’t want to kick her out, but what else am I to do, Gustave?—I locked myself in my studio and watched my paintings. It was only then that I took notice of the transformation that had occurred in my style: the creature grew in size, becoming bigger and bigger with every new one, sometimes so big I had to relegate it to the background—and as a consequence, so did my canvases, which had grown several meters wide.

Then, an idea occurred to me.

With but one lantern shedding light on the space around me, I grabbed my brushes and began to paint. Though I was in a state of trance still, I was in enough control of my being that, this time, I knew what I would paint. It was my own studio, in a small canvas, and the victim was, this time, me. I drew the shape of the creature in black blotches countered by the flimsy yellow light of my lantern, put the brush down and waited.

I was blinking my eyes wearily, about to fall asleep, when I heard the faintest growl emerging from the corner. As I stood, I saw it then: two big white eyes staring back at me, from a big gaping mouth, fangs began to glisten in yellow and white. I stood, yet I did not tremble. I looked at the creature, at my creation, and smiled as my heart thumped strongly against my chest.

Truly, I was the most exquisite painter alive in Paris, for how many could say their creations had come to life?

The monster stood silently before me, and I felt its heavy, thick breath slapping my face, though it smelled of nothing but emptiness. Its long arms swayed freely, the sharp claws touching the floors enough that scratches were left on the wooden boards, and its legs bent at the knees to fit his jutting horns inside the tight space of my attic, though they too scratched the ceilings. I suppose to any an onlooker it would have appeared as terrifying, yet to me it was… a beautiful sight. For it was my creation, and I was its God.

For a moment, we just stared at one another, and time passed by us unnoticed.

Then, the monster tilted its head slightly and in a guttural yet smoothing low tone of his voice, it spoke: “You are my mistress.”

“What are you?” I asked.

It took a long time to answer. “I am what exists in the corner of the eye. I am the drips of paint left at the bottom of the easel. I am what has been in your mind for very long, set free by a movement of your brush. But I must be fed.”

“You must be fed?”

I felt trapped inside my own canvas, locked in my own creation, my own world, and swore then I’d never leave it.

“I must be fed, mistress,” it muttered. “The day I die shall be the day your painting ends. You might lose your hands, you might lose your fingers, you might go insane enough that painting will bring nought but horrid pain to you. But if I die, you cease to become an artist. Thus, I must be fed to exist.”

I did ponder on it for a moment, on whether or not it was worth to be labelled the most talented painter of Paris if it meant innocents gone and mauled by some mysterious creature. But I knew I would never achieve that status, for I was still a woman who refused mere watercolours, and not even an aristocrat, but someone living in her sister’s attic, who had been lucky enough to marry a successful mediocre painter. No matter how talented I truly was, the city would forever cast its eyes on the men, like Rousseau and Daubigny and Cabanel. But me, I would forever be master Gustave’s apprentice, with no one sparing a second to think of my talents as mine alone, but certainly passed on to me by some man, like charity.

It was either that or becoming some skinflint painter’s muse, bound to be labelled a whore only to die of syphilis. 

No, Paris would never chant for my name as they chanted for the other artists. So I wondered then if it was worth quitting my passion, the one thing that made me feel so alive, while this unsuspecting city slept in terror before these mysterious disappearances, unknown that they happened at the hands of the most masterful artist Paris had ever seen—and a woman at that.

“All you have to do is paint,” the monster said. “Paint my food, and eat I shall.”

“How?” I asked.

“How have you been doing it so far?” It drew near, and there I felt the pulsating definition of the Sublime: how beautiful it was, yet what dread it caused me, something intricate to itself that made my body shudder in cold fear—yet all I wanted was to draw nearer and nearer, to feel its shape closer to mine.

It was an instinct, I learned at last. My talent surpassed that of the easel and the brush, it was something deep into the occult. I had a link with this beautiful creation that was my pet, and in my ravenous hours of work, I could see the present and the future all the same and paint it into a storm to come that would end the lives of those who became nothing but food for my beautiful creation.

I thought about Gustave, and I thought about my sister wanting to put me in a hospice.

So without saying a word, I picked up my brush and began to paint. The monster stood quietly in a corner, watching me in my creation, but in no time I forgot about its presence. Instead, with a smile of delight upon what I considered already to be my magnum opus, I painted my largest canvas yet, locked inside my attic, where the shape of a bed appeared, and by a trembling candlelight, a sleeping man lay, bandaged and bruised from a fall down the stairs, his wife weeping silently by his side, her hand holding his.

It was morning when I was finished. The monster hadn’t moved. He looked at the canvas and its slit of a mouth widened into a smile.

“Eat I shall,” it said.

I did not see it leave. I was so tired I did not retire to my chambers, buy lay on the floor to rest. 

I suppose I was already asleep when it happened, for I did not hear the screams.

___

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

Wordtober Day 9: Swing

Wordtober Day 10: Pattern

Wordtober Day 11: Snow

(Skipped Day 12)

Wodrtober Day 13: Ash

[frisbee-camp]

What’s Hidden Can Be Found|Tyrus Summer Camp AU

AO3 link/Wattpad link

Camp Lowland sleepaway camp is an hour drive from Shadyside, where tensions and disagreements have been left for time to mend. But what will Tj and Cyrus do when the past comes chasing after them? Follow the Good Hair Crew and The Good Boys through their annual two-month stay in the wilderness where nature does not care for petty arguments and time has only worsened their situation.

Chapter 1: Deja Vu

///*takes place about one to two years after the finale**summer after freshman year of high school bcs idk if they're in 7th or 8th lol thx disney//

Disclaimer: ive never been to summer camp lmao but I did go to camp in sixth grade so forgive me if my knowledge of summer camp culture is off. FOR TYRUS WEEK!! ////

TJ squinted when the hot forest sun hit his eyes. It was hot. Actually properly hot. Another degree up and the pine trees would have kindled and Camp Lowland would have burned down. TJ’s duffle bag pinched his shoulder as he walked towards the main camp lawn where the rest of Sunnyside teens congregated around the flagpole. He always enjoyed this weird annual tradition where parents sent their kids to the middle of nowhere to annoy other slightly older teenagers. Anyone who was anyone went to Camp Lowland, this meant all of his school friends would be there. His smiled widened as he was met with hugs from William, Lucas, Grant and his other basketball friends. There were about a hundred or so campers this year, a little less than last year thought TJ.

“YO, TJ!!” Someone to his right called out to him. It was Marty, trailed by Jonah. Marty’s hair had gotten fluffier, he had grown taller since middle school. Jonah had also gotten taller and now had a soccer players body since he switched from Frisbee to the more recognized sport. TJ jogged to his friends and gave them hugs.

“Hey guys, what’s up? Where are we this year?” He dropped his bag around the compact grassy field and looked around. Camp Lowland was set in a valley surrounded by tall prickly pine trees. There was a river on the east side and a lake in the north, and a soccer field and basketball in the west. There were four cabins at Camp Lowland: Redwood, Aspen, Oak, and Willow. All situated on the edges of the grassy field in a rhombus layout with Redwood in the north, Aspen in the east, Oak in the west, and Willow in the south. They were big and luxurious as someone had recently donated an excessive amount of money to them. TJ loved it. No school. No teachers. No stress. Just him, his friends, the wilderness, and fun. He felt like a dog let loose in a flower field.

“We’re Redwood, all three of us. Cool right?” Jonah smiled his classic smile. Tj, Marty, and Jonah had formed their own little posse Andi had named The Good Boys. Tj didn’t even remember how they became such good friends, one day he just found himself in a group chat with the three of them and no one else. In a year they were inseparable. He had a feeling they had been set up by Andi and Buffy, but no one complained. They were some of the only people TJ could completely trust.

“Yeah, cool,” TJ said cooly and looked around in the crowd. He couldn’t see Andi or Buffy or even…

“You looking for Cyrus?” Marty had noticed him looking around, “he’s already in WIllow with Andi and Buffy.” Marty gave him a sympathetic smile. He always kept an eye on Cyrus since he was still with Buffy. Tj returned with a shy smile.

“You ready to go?” Jonah said as he dragged his bag towards Redwood.

“Yeah let’s go,” TJ said without looking back.

Tj loved the new renovations, now it meant that there were four people per room in each cabin with ten rooms in each cabin. Five for boys and five for girls on opposite sides of the hall. By some glorious luck, the Good Boys were all in one room. There were two bunk beds but no one came to claim the last bed. Marty and Jonah took the top bunks, leaving TJ alone on the bottom. Once they settled in, TJ opened the window that overlooked the lake. It was glistening and alive and it took all of TJ’s will to not jump in right now. It wasn’t as hot as it was when he got to Camp, but it was still enough to cause his t-shirt to cling to him. At least the breeze cooled as the sun started going down.

Later that evening, when the camp counselors had introduced themselves and their ridiculous camp names, Tj found himself searching the mass of teenagers for a boy with dark hair. Each cabin had their own fire pit and was roasting marshmallows and introducing themselves to each other, but that didn’t mean Tj couldn’t see the other campers in adjacent fire pits. During high school, TJ had tried to move away from the mean jock stereotype but it was impossible to control how people saw him. He still played basketball, was the best on the team and the captain of JV, but that didn’t make him any less self-conscious. He didn’t have much more to hide really, except maybe his dyscalculia, but everyone knew he was gay or questioning or whatever you want to call it. But they still didn’t know him like, like him. Tj found the back of Cyrus’ head on Andi’s shoulder around the Willow fire. He knew he probably hated being outdoors, probably hated the dirt and the sun. He gave himself a sad smile and burnt his marshmallow on purpose.

After introductions and camp songs Tj had sung a million times, the cabins were allowed to mill about and socialize. The Good Boys and the Good Hair Crew immediately found each other in the crowd.

“Hey!” Andi said, “Aren’t the renovations awesome! We all get our own bathrooms now!”

TJ zoned out after that. They laughed and talked while Tj hid his hands in his pockets. He tried to catch eyes with Cyrus, but he kept looking away from him at the last second. Tj decided that he couldn’t be there anymore and said, “I’m gonna get some chocolate.”

Tj found himself mindlessly chewing on a gummy bear at the snack table. There were all sorts of goodies laid out in front of him, sour candies and chocolate bars, a big bowl of fluffy marshmallows, strawberries, crispy mountain apples, and lots of chips and popcorn. Any other day and Tj would have devoured the entire table, but not today. He reached for a marshmallow to roast and brushed hands with someone familiar.

Tj’s eyes fluttered up.

“Hey,” Cyrus said shyly.

“Hi,” Tj said just as quietly. Tj had his glasses on, the flame from the fire reflected over them and half of his face making him look a little warmer than usual.

“Um,” Cyrus looked down at their still touching hands and inched his way. Tj missed the sensation. “I think there are enough marshmallows to go around,” Cyrus joked. It was nice to hear him laugh, even it if was just a small one.

“Yeah, but who knows. You know I could eat an entire bowl of this stuff,” Tj said.

“Yeah I know,” Cyrus was staring at him. It made him shuffle his feet and look towards his friends.

“How’s your room?” TJ asked trying to ease the tension but if Andi came over right now she’d be able to cut it with scissors.

“Probably not as nice as yours,” Cyrus blinked once. Tj thought he saw his cheeks pinked, but it could have been the heat from the fire.

“Well, you are in Willow…” Tj teased. It was camp tradition that the opposite cabins were rivals. This meant Redwood rivaled Willow and Aspen rivaled Oak. At the end of the summer, whichever camp amassed the most points would have a tree named after the cabin leader. Tj was sure it was just an excuse to plant two trees every year, but it wasn’t about who won at the end, he just loved the competition. Sometimes the cabins would form alliances, last year Aspen won because Redwood helped them during a scavenger hunt, and in return, they let rabbits loose in Willow. Not the fluffy cute rabbits, these ones had rabies. The camp almost shut down because of the scandal but no one found out that it was all Amber and Tj’s idea.

Cyrus laughed a little, “Whatever cabin leader, don’t let the power get to your head.” Being cabin leader meant TJ and the other cabin leaders, Amber for Aspen (again), Iris in Oak, and Buffy in Willow, could choose what days the cabin wide competitions would be held. It may seem small, but every cabin had a strategy. Even the ones with alliances.

“Oh don’t worry Cyrus, it already has,” Tj knew he was looking for too long. He probably had that dumb grin he got around Cyrus.

Cyrus hummed softly and poked a marshmallow through his marshmallow skewer and walked back towards the group. TJ’s heart rate finally calmed down when he left.

The next day began cabin competition or ‘Cabin Comp’ preparations. One competition worth 200 points held at the end of each week and culminating in the final competition which was yet to be determined by the cabin leaders. But during the week each cabin could win up to 50 points, two max for each cabin member that exhibited good behavior, excellent camping skills, or any other skill that the counselors felt deserved an award. That meant there was a maximum of 2,000 points. Tj’s cabin last year had won 1,582 but Amber’s had won a perfect 2,000. He didn’t care though, because he still beat Willow. It was sort of like Hogwarts, except the only magic came from the adrenalin rush he got from playing basketball with his friends.

Tj spent most of the week playing basketball and soccer with the Good Boys. He tried concentrating on figuring out a strategy for the first game: capture the flag. It seemed like Buffy was working on a strategy too since she kept giving him cold glances during morning announcements and in the mess hall. Last year she had gotten only 50 points less than Tj, a little too close for Tj’s taste. He had a feeling she was keeping her cabin members away from the Redwoods, which was understandable since he was doing the same with the Willows. During the first week, campers usually stuck to their own cabins and through the summer tensions calmed until a couple of weeks to the last Cabin Comp.

“Yo T!” He heard Jonah call to him, “you good dude?” Jonah held the basketball on his hip, his blue eyes the same color as the river he was staring into.

“Yeah, I’m good just thinking,” He said absentmindedly.

“Yeah? About CC1?” Marty said a little out of breath. CC1 stood for Cabin Competition One.

Tj just sighed and nodded. “Bro if you need help thinking you know you can ask us right?” Jonah added. Tj’s lip quirked up. For some reason, he thought he could do it alone. He tried not to get caught up in the cabin leader mentality where he only thought the competition was between him and the other leaders.

“How ‘bout now?” Tj said, surprising even himself.

The rest of the night Tj, Jonah, and Marty spent sitting on the floor of their room. Tj had to step out to do room inspections with the cabin counselor Luke, a 20 something with way too much energy and who always smelled like some illegal substance. TJ liked him nonetheless, he was cool and never talked down to his campers.

“Hey, TJ. Don’t worry about all that CC stuff I know we’ll win like last year” Luke whispered as they tiptoed around the cabin with flashlights making sure all the campers were accounted for.

“I don’t know Luke, this year feels different, like a bad version of deja vu or something,” Tj breathed out.

“Just think positive and you’ll attract those good vibes,” Luke said. He had a habit of trying to give everyone he met a psychic reading. Let’s just say that he was 0% psychic.

“I don’t even know why I’m cabin leader again,” Tj was surprised when he was voted as cabin leader around the campfire last night. This would be the third year in a row he’d been elected.  Same with the other cabin leaders.

“Just think of it as the universe rewarding you, you know you can always give it to someone else,” Luke trailed, “like I don’t know, Jonah or even Marty or something. I know you guys are basically the same person.” Luke gave an airy laugh and clicked his flashlight off.

“I don’t know dude,” TJ said, “I guess they trust me or whatever.” Tj actually thought his cabin members were just playing a trick on him. It wasn’t that he was mean anymore, he just thought that they thought he was still a jerk. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he was leveled and a good leader.

When he got back to his room Jonah and Marty had perfected the strategy. Tj smiled as it was laid out in front of him in his friends’ messy boyish handwriting. “Perfect” he finally said after examining it.

When CC1 day came, the mess hall buzzed with excitement. Everyone was nervously chittering away as TJ slurped down two bowls of cereal. He found himself staring at Buffy’s table, more specifically to Cyrus who looked tired but content as he bit into a slice of bacon.

“Tj,” Jonah said to him, “Focus, we need you.”

“You’re right, sorry” Tj felt his nose pink just as Cyrus met his eyes and quickly looked away.

Tj stood on the steps of the Redwood cabin as he explained the rules and strategy of CC1: capture the flag. The plan was simple. They would not ally themselves with either Oak or Aspen, they were to directly look for Willows flag. Half of them would defend and the other half would go searching spread out evenly and with whistles to use as signals and to blow if any of them were in trouble. A third of the searchers would run at full speed and while Willow was distracted another third would follow and when they least expected it the last third would storm. Tj had only a faint idea of where the flag was. He knew that Redwoods' flag was on the dock in the middle of the lake, Aspen’s would probably be on the other side of the river, Willows would be somewhere around the willow tree they were named after, and Oak’s would be on the top of the hill their cabin was in front of. This meant that all the flags would be behind the cabins, they’d have to run through the open field. Once they ran, Willow would know their plan.

He looked out at his cabin members, kids he had known since he was a toddler. They knew him and trusted him and Tj felt his heart soar like when it does when he captains the basketball team. He took a deep breath and looked out at the other cabins. The sun was just as hot as the first day they were there. Hot. Not warm or steamy but a humid sticky hot. Here we go he thought.

“Change of plans,” Tj said suddenly. “Searchers, go in your ambush groups but sneak behind Aspen and Oak before going into Willow’s territory."

It was a good thing he changed the plan because Buffy had chosen to use the strategy he abandoned at last minute. He didn’t know how she had learned it, but once the whistle blew from Head Counselor Moose she and 10 other cabin members stormed. TJ laughed knowing that his cabin would know exactly how to get them out. Marty had volunteered to guard the flag himself. Tj lead one of the ambush groups behind Oak and Jonah behind Aspen. They were sneaky but even then some of them were tagged out leaving only Jonah and Tj to quietly look for the Willow tree. And then it was there. After what felt like thirty years of walking and a gallon of sweat, Tj saw the enormous and beautiful Willow tree. Andi’s sculptures could never compare to the real thing. This one was tall, with branches that hung low and swayed in the wind. It was incredibly green and lush and just slightly tinged pink along the borders. The suns' heat didn’t even phase this part of the forest. It’s rays gently seeped through the leaves, leaving a fuzzy warm light. The grass was taller than normal here, rising above Tj’s ankles. Wildflowers dotted the base of the tree, light purple, and yellow and pink. TJ crept closer to the tree, it must have been a trick, this was too easy. He saw the flag peaking around the corner of the trunk, it was neon orange and foreign in such a natural environment. Tj went to grab it but someone also poked their head around the trunk.

“You didn’t think you’d be able to just take it did you?” Squinted up an already sunburnt Cyrus. Tj jumped back. He wasn’t expecting to talk to Cyrus today, especially not have him holding the flag that could get him 200 points.

“I uh-“ Tj blinked in surprise as Cyrus stood up to his full height. He wasn’t holding the flag, he was the flag. Buffy had tied it around his waist. Not against the rules but fowl play. Of course she would do this. She knew Tj would come himself and she knew he couldn’t just snatch it from Cyrus’ body. Tj vowed to take revenge.

But Cyrus looked so cute in the Weeping Willow tree’s soft light. He had a blue wildflower behind his ear and had tried weaving himself a flower crown. It was crooked on his head. He must have been here for a long time. Probably before the cabin leaders even explained the rules.

“Yes?” Cyrus swayed slightly, he seemed proud of the predicament he had put Tj in.

“I uh,” Tj swallowed and saw Jonah out of the corner of his eye, “I came for the flag.”

Cyrus considered this for a moment and then saw Jonah in Tj’s line of sight, “Tell Jonah that if he comes any closer I’ll tag you out and run. You know you can’t afford that because Buffy is probably just as close to your flag.” He was right. Geez. Cyrus was enjoying this, his eyes glinted and he had a small smile.

“Marty’s guarding ours.”

“Yeah, she knows,” Cyrus sighed slightly, “do you think she cares?” Tj knew Marty and Buffy were so in love it disgusted him, but he also knew Buffy would take the flag without hesitation.

“So what do you want me to say that will make you give me the flag?” Tj blurted. He hated this weird tension they had.

Cyrus looked angry now, “I don’t want you to say anything. Why are you being a jerk?”

Tj grunted in frustration, his win was a foot away from him but he couldn’t get it because of his feelings.

“I don’t know Cyrus?! Why are you so weird around me?!” Tj could tell that his voice had raised. It made Cyrus cower a bit, but he quickly regained his angry face.

“You broke me TJ! You know that.” Cyrus was about the cry, TJ could tell by the way he spit out every word.

“What? Wh-“

And then Camp Counselor Moose’s whistle blew. Buffy had won.