#so anything else is a big fat ??? even if it’s fairly regular

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

there is… a job.. and it’s kinda perfect for me i think.. and it’s working somewhere i already know and love………. and the pay is good… and the hours are what i’m after………. and it’s easy enough to get to….

[crappe-my-dude]

I am facing some pretty severe writers block at the moment so I guess I'll post part of the first chapter of The Prank Fic™️ that I'm working on? It's a little bit of setup with Remus and Reggie so enjoy I guess?

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“Merlin! I swear, if you don’t have an actual conversation with him about your feelings I’m going to lock you two in a cupboard just so I don’t have to deal with the tension anymore.”

Remus was startled out of his daydream by Regulus’ abrupt entrance as he dumped his books onto the table, always far more jumpy the day before a full with the regular head and body aches. Thankfully the library was relatively empty this afternoon, there being only a day of classes left before winter holidays and most students avoiding their homework over the break for the moment - something he was doubly grateful for at the present.

“Would you keep your voice down Black,” Remus felt the inevitable heat rising up the back of his neck, “What are you on about now anyway?”

“What I’m on about is your big fat crush on my brother that-“

“I don’t have a crush on Sirius.”

“-you keep insisting doesn’t exist.” Regulus didn’t allow himself to be interrupted, as usual. “If you’re not going to actually get together with him then you need to move on because it is becoming pitiful.”

“There’s nothing to move on from,” Remus insisted, attempting to shuffle the notes in front of him in a way that made it seem like he was focused on his work, “We’re friends. I know you’re fairly unfamiliar with the concept but people can be friends.”

“You’re not fooling anyone but yourself Lupin.” He started pulling out parchment and quills, clearly intending on starting some essay to end the conversation. “And apparently my idiot brother but that’s significantly easier to do. Can I still use your notes for the Runes essay?”

“Uhh yeah,” Remus rifled through his bag to find his Ancient Runes notebook, “I swear I put it in here when I left…”

Regulus only let him continue for a minute or so before letting out a very put upon sigh, “As I said - pitiful.” He stretched across the desk to snatch the notebook in question from directly in front of Remus.

As they settled into the comfortable silence they had seemed to cultivate over the months of studying together, a single thought continued to nag at the back of his brain. Looking over at the Slytherin across the table from him, Remus turned the thought over and over in his mind, seemingly incapable of letting it go.

“Even if…” He faltered, eyes darting back to the notes scattered before him, “Even if it was true, he doesn’t feel the same.”

Remus didn’t think much at first of the lack of response from Regulus, they frequently ignored each other's mutterings in favour of their own work. He actually found it easier to focus when there was someone else sitting across from him, making small sounds as they worked.

It was the lack of these small sounds though, that caused Remus to look up again and find the other man staring at him, wide eyed and unmoving. Regulus’ face was twisted in a way he had never seen before - as if he had just seen someone sprout a second head that was reciting the dates of the goblin uprisings in historical order.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re not joking.” Regulus spoke slowly, drawing his words out like he wanted to make sure he was understood.

“What is there to joke about? We don’t like each other as anything more than friends.” Maybe if Remus repeated it more the sting would hurt less.

“Remus,” Regulus pushed his notes and parchment out of the way so he could place his elbows on the desk and lower his head to rub his temples, “I will concede that your friends are unnaturally close, but the relationship you have with Siri is anything but platonic.”

“No, we’re just-“

“If you say friends one more time I’ll slip veritaserum in your tea at breakfast. Do you really want that?” Regulus raised a sceptical brow, clearly calling Remus’ bluff.

Of course Remus didn’t think they were just friends - he certainly didn’t feel the same way about Peter, or James. The spark of lightning that erupted under his skin as their fingers brushed. The way hearing his name brought a smile to his face. The way his chest clenched and ached with the knowledge that Sirius did not feel these same things.

No, Remus was not under any illusions about his own feelings. They had been impossible to ignore for almost two years now, ever since Sirius had joined the quidditch team in fourth year. There were only so many justifications for Remus to suddenly take an interest in the sport after all.

“He doesn’t even like guys anyway.”

“Okay say that’s even the case,” Regulus waved a dismissive hand through the air, “my point still stands. If you’re not going to get together you need to move on.”

Remus felt his head throb as his eyes rolled back into his head. “Oh pray tell how do I do that?”

“You get drunk. You snog someone else. You make bad decisions.”

“Okay Black I know you find me irresistible but I’m not gonna snog you-“

“Not me dipshit!” A balled up piece of parchment flew directly at Remus’ head, striking him directly between the eyes. “I’m talking about a Ravenclaw party tonight, Panda’s helping organise it and it’s invite only.”

“And you’re inviting me?” Remus gasped dramatically, “I’m honoured truly-“

“Wanker.”

“But as fun as that sounds, I can’t tonight sorry.” He would have to leave soon, make his way down to the shack for the night. He still needed to swing past the dorms for a smoke. “In fact I should get going.”

“Ah right your furry problem,” Regulus mumbled, shifting back to his essay, “You can have the notes back after break.”

“Sure thing.”

[the-firebird69]

This is actually a picture of John Remallard no kidding. It's one of those black characters in his waist is too small to be our son but this would be our son at 6 foot 3 this guy has 6 foot 2 no it's like 5 foot 11 1/2. The small people but with his stomach a little bit bigger like two inches on the face across larger and his physique is a little different not much it's close traps would be a little bigger not much but this is him at 6 3 is risk would be bigger and had but at this size it would be him after becoming 6 foot 3 and bulking up for a couple months which is gonna be a while and working out but not too much. At this size he could do some amateur wrestling. and Hera wants to know when He would become big like this before that it's not real big he's just muscular and she likes him like that by the way but this is big and she really likes it. And he likes a full figured woman of course and she did test it and he would have couple different features. Her son's chest would be shaped more square and large I don't think it up top the traps would be about 3/4 an inch higher up and bigger his wrists and four arms would be much bigger they're almost the same size as this guy now and his stomach muscles would be larger and his stomach wider his midsection wider and hips his neck is already bigger. It's quite a bit bigger already it makes this guy look a little odd. But his mutation is his head and for some reason it's lagging behind which doesn't make much sense. But our son would have a very big neck. Right now our son's neck is around 18 1/2 inches and this guy's neck is about 16 and three quarter it's a big difference. This guy's arms are about 19 1/2 inches our sons are 17 and their muscle he's not far behind when he's pumped up and it's not really strong muscles in this case he was fairly weak they started fights and got beat up pretty easy. But when he's when our son is this big he's gonna have real muscle but people aren't afraid of it because they think he'll be like this guy because it's gonna happen very quickly. And very soon once Trump and his cities get blown up and DJ a actually all the more lock are going to die in fireballs as they plan for everyone else and they keep saying it. And they're going to die. There's a couple other features that are different when the sun is being his shoulders are wide. This guy's shoulders are wide but it's artificially wide and there's some strange things going on with this physiology. If you look his lats are not developed and it's kind of like this weird layer of strange fat and skin and it's because he's stretched it out and then he trunk it shrunk and it's steroid use and he didn't develop the muscles while he was bigger and you can do that and you have to actually do it and his chest cavity is expanded and it is held onto your body and your sternum and at your backbone but it goes upwards in the bone spread apart instead of them growing and you can see ridges it's not a good example that's a good example of the size and our son would have this odd look. It looks like steroids. Definitely not. Because he's still a child and even at 6 foot 3 he's only gonna be actually equated to like a two year old child. and Although a lot bigger he still would look like he's a fun guy it's not he's not dangerous and he still talk funny and make jokes and he does we hear and he feels better he bikes around lots of people gets mad and he says things to people he's not as afraid they think that it's like some sort of genetic failure or is exploding so they try and get him to live stuff and it's just regular stuff and it doesn't mean anything he's lifting groceries in a weird way he always does but so they try and get him to do things for some money and that's when it changes they figured out that he's really strong. The timeline to get to 6 foot 3 and be this size in actually be full of muscle and strong really the good example of it would be the character from Mad Max.

And really it's kind of a combination of the two down below in Mad Max this is beyond a thunderdome he would look like that and would be in shape like that and big it's almost the same but it's real muscle down below and you can tell kind of it's not like a balloon however our son would be a little bit more bulky because he has a layer of fat that would be on there because he's kind of like a baby. So he looked a little bit like the guy on top but he'd be in shape like he was down there. So it wouldn't be as like a balloon but he'll be like this about 1/4 inch over it and you keep getting it back and losing it. And you look really big. At 6 foot 3 he would be at probably 20% stronger than the Humongous. And is very strong in the movie mad Max Fury Road the real version his son lifts an engine out of a car and it's hot his hands are burning and you can see it and the engine weighs about 400 pounds and actually pulls it out it was coming out anyways it was off for about 30 minutes but it does rip it out and he throws it it is a massive feet of strength but is juiced up but that's how it goes but that's when his regular body can do when juiced. When his disaster is different but really trump is strong like that as well when he's juiced off. He goes on to do the Arnold Schwarzenegger movies but as the bad guy and he doesn't lead her but shrinks and he does Peoria Rd and he is a different character and he's gonna have to see him. That's true he's the guy who's white and skinny driving the car and he's gonna bloodline to Peter C. But the point is he'll look like this and he'll be bulky like this and a little bit like the guy at the top but more like the guy on the bottom with some fat so he'll look bigger than Schwarzenegger and he'll look bigger than the Humongous but he'll be about the same size 20% stronger when Humongous does this and he's called that in the movie his 6 foot 5 and he's about 320 pounds and to everybody else he's Humongous. That's that'll be 6 foot 3 half the same muscle mass but be bulkier and will weigh 340 pounds. And and he will be able to lift of course more it's not exactly proportional but the Humongous bench press about 450 pounds. There's a lot of weight. Colonel with both hands he can curl about 300 pounds which is a lot he can press probably 250 pounds and these guys are nuts they can't do stuff like that and squat about 1000 lbs and he could dead lift about 800 pounds. Our son we do get the numbers from when he did it before too and that was the Humongous numbers. Our son can at this size what he's working out every other day for an hour or two hours not much because he'll be able to recover he could bend for us 650 pounds. And he will be able to curl about £500 with both arms and he will be able to squat about £2000 and he will deadlift 1500 pounds he could probably do more if he was ju if he was juiced up or irradiated but at a normal level he could do it and he'd be working out with heavy weight he'd be bench pressing 350 all the time and he only got up to 300 when he was little at least a baby and it was almost twice his weight. Back in here is like an ant. They called him that for awhile but the point is that he'll be very strong however John Cena usually when he's in competition format can bring press about£450 and he can squat about 1300 he can deadlift 1200 and he can curl 500 in both hands and our son would be in trouble. However our son says that ctd

[fuckyeahstephensondheim]

Rick Pender knows his Sondheim from A to Z

If the word “encyclopedia” conjures for you a 26-volume compendium of information ranging from history to science and beyond, you may find the notion of a Stephen Sondheim Encyclopedia perplexing. But if you have ever looked at a bookshelf full of book after book about (and occasionally by) the premiere musical theatre composer-lyricist of our era and wished all that information could be synthesized and indexed in one place, maybe the idea of a Sondheim encyclopedia will start to make a little more sense to you. It did to Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, an independent publisher that’s made encyclopedias such as this one of their calling cards, offering tomes on everyone from Marie Curie to Akira Kurasowa. Several years ago, they approached Rick Pender, longtime managing editor of the gone but never forgotten Sondheim Review and now, after years of research, writing, and pandemic-related delays, the The Stephen Sondheim Encyclopedia is finally hitting shelves. I sat down with Rick (via Zoom) to chat about this unique, massive project.

FYSS: I want to really focus on the new book, but we should start with your history with Sondheim and The Sondheim Review. How did you become so enmeshed in this work?

RP: As a teenager, the first LP that I bought was the soundtrack from West Side Story, and I didn't have any clue about who much of anybody was, particularly not Stephen Sondheim. But I loved the lyrics for the songs, especially “Something’s Coming” and “Gee, Officer Krupke.” These are just fabulous lyrics.

Then, of course, in the ‘70s it was hard as time went by not to have some awareness of Sondheim. I saw a wonderful production of Night Music in northeast Ohio, and I again just thought these lyrics are incredible, and I love the music from that particular show. Fast forward a little further in the late ‘80s, I was laid up with some surgery and I knew I was going to be bedridden for a week or two anyway, so I went to the public library and grabbed up a handful of CDs, and in that batch was A Collector's Sondheim, the three-disc set of stuff up through about 1985, and I must have listened to that a hundred times, I swear, because it had material on it that I didn't know anything about like Evening Primrose or Stavisky. So that really opened my eyes.

Later, my son had moved to Chicago. He's a scenic carpenter and a union stagehand. He worked at the Goodman Theatre, and I went to see a production when they were still performing in a theater space at the Art Institute of Chicago, and they had a gift shop there. And lo and behold in the rack I saw a copy of a magazine called The Sondheim Review! I thought, oh my gosh, I've got to subscribe to this! This would have been about 1996, probably, so I subscribed and enjoyed it immediately. A quarterly magazine about just about Stephen Sondheim struck me as kind of amazing.

In 1997-98 the Cincinnati Playhouse did a production of Sweeney Todd in which Pamela Myers, all grown up, played Mrs. Lovett, and so I wrote to the editor of the magazine and said, “Would you like me to review this?” That started me down a path for a couple of years of making fairly regular contributions to the magazine. Then in 2004 that editor retired, and I was asked to become the managing editor, which I did from 2004 to 2016. It went off the rails for some business reasons, but it lasted for 22 years which I think is pretty remarkable.

I tried to sustain it in an alternative form with a website called Everything Sondheim. We put stuff up online for about 18 months, and we published three print issues that look very much like The Sondheim Review, but we were not able to sustain it beyond that.

FYSS: How did the Encyclopedia project originate?

RP: The publisher asked me to write an encyclopedia about Stephen Sondheim! I envisioned that I would be sort of the general editor who coordinated a bunch of writers to put this together, but they said no, we're thinking of you as being the sole author. They had done a couple of other encyclopedias particularly of film directors, and those were all done by one person, so they sent me a contract asking me to generate 300,000 words for this book, and after I regained consciousness, I said all right, I'll give it a try.

It took me about two years – most of 2018 and ‘19 – to generate that content. I sent it off in the fall of ‘19, and then, well, the world stopped because of the pandemic. It was supposed to come out April a year ago, and they had just furloughed a bunch of their editors and everything stalled. But now it's coming out mid-April 2021.

FYSS: What was the research and writing process like?

RP: This project came about in part because the publisher initially approached another writer, Mark Horowitz, who's at the Library of Congress and who had done a Sondheim book of Sondheim on Music. Mark and I had become quite close because he wrote a number of wonderful features about different Sondheim songs for The Sondheim Review. When I heard that that he had put my name out there, I went back to him after I had agreed to do this and said, Mark, could we use some of that material that you wrote for the magazine about those songs? And he said, sure do with them whatever you wish. And I was glad he said that, because they were really long pieces, and I've reduced each of them to about 1500-2000 words, which I thought was probably about the maximum length that people would really want to read in a reference volume.

But other than that, I generated everything else myself. I relied upon plenty of material within the 22 years of back issues of The Sondheim Review. Another great resource was Sondheim's own lyric studies, the two-volume set which provides so much information about the production of shows and that sort of thing.

Of the 131 entries I wrote for this, 18 of them are lengthy pieces about each of the original productions, so again Sondheim's books were certainly useful for that, and other books like Ted Chapin's book about Follies.

I also spent some time in Washington, D.C. at the Library of Congress, and Mark loaned me a quite a bit of material that he had collected – not archival material but scrapbooks of clippings that he put into ring binders of stuff about Sondheim's shows.

I came back to Cincinnati with about four or five cartons of materials, and I could really dig through that stuff as I was working on these. And then I have, as I'm sure you and lots of other Sondheim fans have, a bookcase with a shelf or two of Sondheim books, and those were all things that I relied upon, too.

I actually generated a list with lots and lots of topics, probably over 200, and I knew that was going to be more than I could do. Eventually, some things were consolidated, like an actor who perhaps performed in just one Sondheim show wasn't going to get a biographical entry, but I would talk about them in the particular show that they were involved in. So, I was able to collapse some of those kinds of things. But as I said, I did end up with 131 entries in the publication, and it turned out to be 636 pages, so that's a big fat reference book.

FYSS: Who is the intended audience for a work like this? RP: The book is really intended to be a reference volume more than a coffee-table book. It does have photography in it, but it's black and white and more meant to be illustrative than to wallow in the glories of Sondheim. There is an extensive bibliography in it, and all the material is really thoroughly sourced so people can find ways to dig into more.

FYSS: Sometimes memories diverge or change over time. Did you come across any contradictions in your research, and how did you resolve them?

RP: I can't say that I can recall anything like that. I relied very heavily on Sondheim's recollections in Finishing the Hat and Look, I Made a Hat because he's got a memory like a steel trap. Once in a while I would email him with a question and get very quick response on things. I really used him as my touchstone for making sure of that kind of thing.

I also found that Secrest’s biography was very thoroughly researched, and I could rely on that. But I can't say that I found a lot of discrepancy, and some of those kinds of things were a little too much inside baseball for me to be including in the encyclopedia.

FYSS: For figures with long and broad histories, how did you decide what to include? George Abbott, for example, is the first entry in the book and he worked for nine decades! How important was writing about an individual as they relate to Sondheim vs. who they were more generally?

RP: To use George Abbott as an example, I would say that the first things that I did was to go back to the lyric studies and to the Secrest biography and just look up references to Abbott. I mean, it was George Abbott who said that he wanted more hummable songs from Sondheim, so you know that was certainly an anecdote that was worth including because, of course you know, it becomes a little bit of the lyric in Merrily We Roll Along. 

So you know, I would look for those kinds of things, but I also wanted to put Sondheim in context because Abbott was well into his career when he finally directed Forum which, since it was Sondheim's first show as a composer and a lyricist, is significant. That was very much the focus of that entry, but I wanted to lay a foundation in talking about Abbott, about all the things that he had done before that. I mean, he was sort of the Hal Prince of his era in in terms of his engagement in so many different kinds of things – writing plays, directing musicals, doctoring shows, all of that.

FYSS: Did any entries stick out to you as being the hardest to write?

I think the most complicated one to write about probably was Bounce/Road Show because it's got a complicated history, and Sondheim has so much to say about it. And because it's not a show that people know so much about, I wanted to treat it appropriately, but not as expansively as all of that background material might have suggested. So I kind of had to weave my way through that one. It also was a little tough to write about, because how do you write a synopsis of a show that has had several incarnations quite different from one another, and musical material that has changed from one to the other? With shows like that, I particularly tried to resort to the licensed versions of the shows. 

FYSS: I haven't had a chance to read the book cover-to-cover yet, but I did read the Follies and the Into the Woods entries to try to get a sense of how you covered individual shows, and both of those are shows that had significant revisions at different times. And I thought you made it very clear what they were and also where to go for a reader who wants to learn more.

RP: Let me say one other thing this is not directly on this topic, but it sort of relates, and that is that in writing an encyclopedia, I didn't want to overlay a lot of my very individual opinions about things, but with each of the show entries I tried to review the critical comments that were made about the show in its original form, perhaps with significant revivals and that sort of thing, and then to source those remarks from critics at those various points in time. And of course, my own objectivity (or lack thereof) had something to do with what I was selecting, but I thought that was a good way to represent the range of opinion without having to make it all my own opinion.

FYSS: Did you feel any responsibility with regards to canonization when you made choices about what to include or exclude? What made the First National Tour of Into the Woods more significant than the Fiasco production, for example? Why do Side by Side by Sondheim & Sondheim on Sondheim get individual entries, but Putting It Together is relegated to the omnibus entry on revues?

RP: I guess that now you are lifting the curtain on some of my own subjectivity with that question. I tried to identify things that were particularly significant. I mean with the revues for instance, several of those shows – you know, particularly Side by Side by Sondheim, the very early ones – they were the ones I think that elevated him in people’s awareness. So, I think that to me was part of what drove that. And then shows that that were early touring productions struck me as being things that maybe needed a little bit more coverage. I think the Fiasco production was a really interesting one, but with the more recent productions of shows I just felt like there's no end to it if I begin to include a lot of that sort of thing.

FYSS: I mean it's so subjective. I'm not the kind of person who clutches my pearls and screams oh my goodness, how could you not talk about this or that. But I was surprised to see in your Follies entry that the Paper Mill Playhouse album was not listed among the recordings, for example. I imagine that once this book hits shelves you're going to be bombarded with people asking about their pet favorites.

RP: Oh, I'm sure, and maybe that will be a reason to do a second edition, which I’m totally ready to do.

The Sondheim Encyclopedia hits bookstore shelves April 15. It’s available wherever you buy books, but Rick has provided a special discount code for readers of Fuck Yeah Stephen Sondheim to receive 30% off when you order directly from the publisher. To order, visit www.rowman.com, call 800-462-6420, and use code RLFANDF30.

Celebrate the launch of The Sondheim Encyclopedia with a free, live online event featuring Rick Pender in conversation with Broadway Nation’s David Armstrong Friday, April 16 from 7:00 to 9:00 p.m. Eastern. More information and register here.

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

Food Addiction

Paring: Jake Tweneboah (MC), Jackie Varma and Bryce Lahela (Mentioned)

Summary: Jake finds out about Jackies eating problem

Taglist: @princess-geek @gamechoices-player @secretaryunpaid @arnikki-2406 @choicesficwriterscreations @riana-drarry @treasure-seeking-elf @lisha1valecha

Jackie Varma, from her charming smile to her curvaceous body, had always been one of the most eye-catching Doctors of Edenbrook though this title swapped hands now and again with the slim, leather-clad, Bryce. When Jake had first seen the perfect curves and inviting eyes of Jackie, and the fiendish, good looks of Bryce, he hadn't known which he liked more. Working at the Hospital had brought him closer to Jackie than he ever thought possible.

However cosmically lucky Jake felt that he had somehow managed to score Jackie as his life partner, there was something clouding his vision recently. Jackie wasn't perfect, and perhaps the worst of her imperfections, as Jake had recently discovered, was Jackie's eating problem.

Though she knew logically it wasn't smart, she had taken during the reopen and had been unable to quit since. No matter how hard she tried to hide it or how many times she tried to quit, the only thing to take the edge off her energetic, high-stress life was a nice meal at the nearby fast food place the end of the day before heading hoe. (And often after lunch, she sheepishly admitted).

"I just feel like myself when I'm stuffing my face," said Jackie.

"Babe, that's not true at all, in fact in some weird way it's kinda... hot," he added, looking a little lost in thought as Jackie screwed up her face in confusion. "But that's not the point Varma the point is, I know we can help you quit, together."

"How?" said Jackie in a small voice.

"Replace that urge with something else!"

"More Eating?" exclaimed Jackie, her eyes lighting up.

"No, an existing urge doesn't count," said Jake.

"Awwww..." whined Jackie, disappointed. "Well... what's something I love to do, that I could do all the time without any consequences?"

"How about Keeping a diary?" suggested Jake. "You can wirte about eating without, forcing yourself to eat"

"That's true," said Jackie. "I ate a ton in college, and I never gained a pound. I suppose, genetically, I'm very fortunate to have this body."

"So am I," said Jake with a wink.

Two weeks later (Jake’s Idea didn't work and Jackie picked up her eating old eating habits, for a while Jake didn't see a problem in it as she didn't do it much but after a while it started to take a toll on Jackie's life)

"Hey Jake, do you think these pants shrunk in the dryer?"

Jake looked up, and was momentarily shocked to see a very tight pair of Jackie's regular work pants, squeezing her quite a bit tighter than they usually did. An inch or so of hip fat was spilling out from either side Trying not to make his gaze

Holy crap. I think she's actually starting to get fat. Jake had not expected this, and clearly neither had Jackie.

"So, just out of the blue... how much have you been eating lately?" asked Jake nonchalantly.

"Oh, not a huge amount really... I had a few extra lunches over the course of the day and it totally worked! I haven't eaten that much since last moth!"

"A few extra lunches?" said Jake , astonished.

"Yeah, with some snacks in between to hold me over. Well, plus that cheesecake I picked up last night."

"Cheesecake?" said Jake quizzically. "I don't remember a cheesecake."

"Yeah, I ate it all," said Jackie, now blushing a little. "All by myself. I suppose that was a lot. I guess I really can put away a ton of food if I want to! I just wish it didn't stick to me!" She bent down to get am undershirt shirt from her drawer, and Jake noticed a larger than usual display of hip fat puffing out over her waistband as she did so. He peeked curiously around the side of her, and was met with a very unflattering view—the beginnings of a very soft belly spilling way over her waistband as she bent back up to put the shirt on.

"Jeez, do you think this shrunk too?" said Jackie, frustrated as she pulled the tight white undershirt over her body, looking down at the rather unsightly little bulge that was now visible stretching out the front of the shirt. "If I didn't know better, I'd say those extra lunches were getting to me!" She laughed. "But I'm pretty sure I haven't gained anything. I would know. Nope, the calories just roll right off me! You don't think I've gained anything, right Jake?" She sounded almost desperate, like she was trying to convince herself.

Jake took another glance at the soft new flesh pushing at Jackie's waistband, and gulped. "Nope! You look... slim as ever!" he lied through his teeth.

Well, whatever works, right? Happy wife, happy life.

One month later

"Jake, I'm a little worried about Jackie," said Ethan stoically. "Her early departure from work today is highly uncharacteristic."

"Well, she said she was feeling a little sick," said Jake. Probably because she'd already had two very greasy lunches by noon, he added in his head. But Ethan didn't need to know that.

"Still, that's highly unusual for her," Ethan insisted.

"What do you mean?" said Jake.

"You'd better go and check on her," said Jake. "She has seemed quite stressed recently, and, if you'll excuse the indecency, eating rather a lot."

"What? She's not getting fat," said Jake quickly.

"I... didn't say she was," said Ethan with a confused look.

"Oh," said Jake. "Did I say... getting fat? I meant, uh... getting fine. She's getting fine, just fine!" He turned his head to the side and shook it, as if to say What the hell did I just say?

"Well... be that as it may," said Ethan slowly, squinting at Ethan, "I thought you would leap at the opportunity to leave work early."

"Thank you Doctor! Jackie doesn't know I'll be coming home early. But she likes a good surprise, so I don't think I'm going to tell her."

"I'm not sure how the lack of information makes anything better," said Ethan in an almost robotic tone, "but if you must. Give her my regards."

"Will do!" shouted Jake over his back, already turning to run back to the bus stop. "I'm gonna have the happiest wife in the world!"

Jake giggled excitedly as he walked up to the front door of his house, knowing Jackie would love a good surprise.

"Honey, I'm home!" called Jake in a thick sitcom voice, as he grasped the door handle and pushed.

What Jake heard next was a scream of surprise... and what he saw, he was not prepared for.

A bloated, frosting-smeared Jackie Varma was laying on the couch by the open window, wearing nothing but a pair of panties, holding a donut in one hand, and a in the other. On the table in front of Amy was a mostly-empty box of donuts, and it was fairly clear this hadn't been a box she was slowly working on—she'd bought them and wolfed them all down that afternoon. Chocolate frosting was smeared across Jackie's lips and dotted across her breasts and stomach. And now that he was looking at her stomach, exposed to the world and filled with donuts, Jake finally couldn't deny that it was noticeably fatter than it had ever been. Even in her reclined position, it bulged several inches outward into a round globular mound, and it was even beginning to jiggle a little bit every time she hiccuped or burped... both of which she was now doing.

Jackie stuffed the rest of her half-eaten Boston Cream donut into her mouth. She sat up, which Jake couldn't help but notice caused her newly engorged stomach to bunch up into several ungainly rolls, and continued in a rather embarrassed and hopeless tone, "I definitely was not and stuffing my face with donuts..."

"What in the..." Jake began, but Jackie cut him off. She coughed hoarsely, a cigarette smell still ripe on her breath, and gestured vaguely towards the box of donuts. "This happened."

"Oh, babe," said Jake, trying to figure out how to handle this bizarre situation. "

"And now I'm fat," she moaned sadly, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"Oh honey, you're not—"

Jackie interrupted him with a raised-eyebrow look.

"Okay, so you got a little fat," said Jake delicately. "But honestly? I'm into it. I love you, big or small."

"You really mean that?" said Jake.

"I really mean it," said Jake. "Hell, seeing you like this is kind of hot. It's such a change from your normal strict self."

"That's why I hate it," said Amy quietly.

"Oh come on," said Jake, picking up the last remaining donut. "Here, just one more."

"I can't, Jackie, I'm already fat..."

"No way," said Jake "You're beautiful at any size. And you love donuts."

"I do love donuts," admitted Jackie, her eyes glinting. "Okay, one more."

"Once all this is done, I'll find some way to help you fix this chapter of your, you hear me?" Jake leaned over and give Jackie's open belly a kiss.

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 4 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

 July twelfth dawns like any other day, Annabeth wrapped up in Percy’s sheets. She’s spent significantly more nights in his bed than she’s spent in her own apartment over the last two months, but who could blame her? This bed is literally to die for. Therapeutic mattress for the fucking win.

 Percy, to her greatest confusion and chagrin, is a morning person. Well, actually, what he is is someone who runs on very little sleep for three weeks at a time, before crashing headfirst into his bed for thirteen hours. It is a decidedly unhealthy way to live, but it means that Annabeth is used to waking up alone. The nights where she gets to wake up with Percy are the nicer ones, sure, but his presence is suffused in every corner of the room, his smell wafting from every piece of sweaty clothing tossed haphazardly about the floor, so much so that she never feels like she is truly waking up alone.

 Gross? A little. But the smell is oddly sexy, too, especially after he’s just come home from a run, all wet and glistening and flushed, panting hard--

 Ahem.

 The point is, when Annabeth rolls out of bed in one of Percy’s shirts (the one that says “Do You Even Lift, Bro?” with an image of a male dancer raising his partner, courtesy of one Jason Grace) and stumbles into the kitchen for one of Percy’s patented brunch specials, it’s a pretty normal morning. What catches her off guard is the spread: eggs and bacon, obviously, with fruit and granola and yogurt, but also an enormous tray of delicious, flaky croissants, perfectly crescent shaped, with little bowls of every condiment imaginable, multiple flavors of jams and preserves and Nutellas.

 “Bounjour, mademoiselle!” Percy says cheerfully from the oven, perfectly accented, bending over to take out a tray. “Ça va bien?”

 “Um… bonjour…” She pokes a croissant experimentally, and is equally delighted and dismayed to find that it is just as flaky as advertised.

 “Take a seat, these ones just need to cool for a bit and then we can get started.”

 Spring in his step, he opens the refrigerator, taking out the most beautiful cake Annabeth has ever seen in her entire life. Perfectly round, paper white, with little blue borders piped around the edge, but it’s got Annabeth feeling like she’s just been doused in cold water. “How the hell did you know it was my birthday?”

 Immediately, she knows it was the exact wrong thing to say. His eyes go wide as the saucers on the table, mouth open in shock. “It’s your birthday?”

 Goddammit. “Um.”

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 Because birthdays were inherently a dumb concept? Because her father had to be reminded of her birthday more often than not? Because her mother had stopped sending her birthday cards after she turned thirteen, calling them a waste of money and resources? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, dipping her finger into the strawberry jam. “I guess I just didn’t think it was a big deal. Ooh, does this have rosemary in it?”

 “Annabeeeeth,” he whines, plopping the cake onto the kitchen island. “I can’t believe you! I love birthdays.”

 “Well,” she flounders, attempting to duck his sudden attention, “what were you originally celebrating? I don’t usually think of cake as a brunch option.”

 He raises an eyebrow, not at all impressed with her attempts to change the topic, but he answers dutifully, “Originally, we were celebrating me being one month cig-free--”

 “Percy!” Annabeth gasps, clapping her hands delightedly, and a little exaggeratedly. “That’s great!”

 “But,” he continues, “now we’re definitely celebrating your birthday instead.”

 “Oh, come on!”

 “Nuh uh,” he chides, grabbing his phone and beginning to type something, “I am asking Nico to pick you up a birthday card as we speak.”

 Oh. “Nico’s coming?”

 “Well, this is his apartment. Part of the deal is that I make him breakfast. I think he’s bringing his boyfriend.”

 “Is… anyone else coming?”

 “Just a couple of people, my friends Frank, Grover, Rachel… I invited Hazel and Thalia, too, but I think Hazel told me she was busy, and you know Thalia. If it’s not at a crappy dive bar then the odds of her showing up are virtually none.” Percy pauses in his text, fixing her with an odd look. “You really don’t want anyone to know, do you?”

 How easily he reads her is a little disconcerting, and also a thought that she just can’t handle right now. “I just don’t like people making a big deal out of it. You know, it’s just another day. I’d much rather celebrate you quitting.”

 He holds her gaze for a beat, before smiling, finishing typing out whatever he was doing on his phone. “Yes, I am officially quitting. Cigarettes are terrible for you, and I do not have the money to keep up the habit. So, I swear,” he holds up a hand, “No cigarettes, no weed, no vaping. Not that I ever vaped before.”

 “Oh, never?” Annabeth teases.

 “Not ever.” He leans in, grinning that devastating grin that is seriously detrimental to her health. “You could not pay me enough.”

 “Good.” She goes to meet him, pressing her mouth to his, sweetly and chastely, but swiftly turning deeper, almost against their higher brain functions, like they only exist to be here in this moment, lips against lips, tongue and tongue. She’s always hated the taste of cigarettes, she prefers edibles to blunts, and anyone who vapes is automatically dropped from her list of potential partners… but she’s never minded the taste of ash on Percy’s tongue. It was just another part of him, another facet of the whole sexy package.

 Now, though, she has the full taste of him, unfettered and unfiltered, his morning coffee and his morning breath. It is disgusting, but again, oddly thrilling. This is Percy, stripped down and divested of all the trappings of blue lipstick and tight pants. She wonders what he thinks when he sees her like this, messy haired, face and ears empty of metal, last night’s mascara smudged all around her eyes. Given the way that he deliberately threads her hair through his fingers, winding the frizzy curls around him, pulling her close enough that the pristine cake is in danger from some serious smushing, she thinks he likes it just as much.

 Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which perspective, either Percy’s, Annabeth’s, Nico’s, or the cake’s, their little impromptu makeout session has cold water dumped on it before they can end up doing it on the kitchen island. The sound of someone unlocking the front door is almost comically loud, and they break apart, equally red and flushing.

 “Gross,” says Nico di Angelo. “No heterosexuality allowed in my kitchen.”

 “Take that back, you biphobic ass,” Percy says. “I have never been heterosexual in my life.”

 “I’m not biphobic, I just don’t want to see you getting it on on my marble countertops.”

 “Speak for yourself,” chimes in Will, setting down a grocery bag right on the spot which would have been ground zero. “Hi, Annabeth.”

 “Hey, Will.”

 “Nice of you to join us today,” he says, as though he doesn’t see her here all the time.

 She offers her assistance in cooking or setting up, knowing full well that she will be firmly rebuffed--domestics are not her strong suit, by any stretch of the imagination--and is sent away with an iced coffee that Will has so thoughtfully bought for her instead of the birthday card she was dreading.

 Soon after, the party is in full swing.

 Well, she uses the term party loosely. It is fairly intimate, even with Nico’s enormous apartment making everything smaller. They have assembled an odd amalgamation of people: “You already know Nico,” Percy says, indicating the goth prince next to, “and Will,” his boyfriend, the perpetually cheery med student, next to, “and this is Frank,” a large, physically imposing man with a shy smile, next to, “Rachel,” a red-headed girl who looked like she just walked out of a paint shower, all making space for, “and my buddy Grover,” the guy in crutches who had immediately dropped into the single, out-of-decor, but extremely comfortable-looking loveseat Nico had placed nearest to the bathroom. All told, they look like the brochure for a community college who really, really wants to publicize how diverse their student body is, but with a kind of natural chemistry and camaraderie that those kids on that brochure could only dream of. “Everyone, this is Annabeth.”

 They greet her, each giving a limp wave.

 Then Percy leaves to attend to his brunch spread, but not before giving her a quick peck on the cheek. She can feel all eyes on them, hot and burning.

 Silence.

 “So,” Annabeth says, as awkward as a freshman in an orientation mixer. “What’s up?”

 “Your hair is amazing,” says Rachel.

 Hers is crusted with paint, a deep red that turns pink against the orange in the light, a close cousin to Annabeth’s, which is in dire need of a touchup, curls thrown in disarray by Percy’s grasping fingers. “Thanks, I--”

 “So how do you two know each other?”

 Annabeth blinks. “Friend of Thalia’s,” she says. “You?”

 “Used to do ballet together,” Rachel says, brusque, efficient. “Frank, too.”

 Frank waves again.

 A beat passes.

 Annabeth looks to Grover, who watches, bemused. “You, too, I take it?”

 Another second. Then he laughs, weird, but hearty, a joyful bleat. “Oh, sure,” he says. “I’m a regular Baryshnikov.”

 She can almost feel the room relaxing, heaving a sigh after holding its breath.

 “Are you with NYCB, too?” she turns to Frank, shoving her hands in her pockets, fingers curling around the fabric there.

 Shaking his head, he swallows his orange juice. “I mostly do modern and hip hop, now, music videos and stuff.”

 Objectively, she knows that you don’t have to be skinny as a rake or bodybuilding champion to dance, but Frank is neither of these, a huge, sweet-faced guy with a healthy layer of fat around his face and torso--a strict counterpart to Percy, who could give the Belvedere Apollo a run for its money. “Have I seen you in anything?” Not that she really watches music videos, but she figures it’s the polite thing to ask.

 “Um, maybe,” he shrugs, embarrassed. “I’ve been lucky enough to work with some really big people.” Though he offers no further details.

 “Working on anything cool?” She asks, doing her best not to cajole.

 He nods. “Percy and I have a thing coming out probably in the next month or so, with--ah, well. Can’t say.”

 “Tease,” Rachel grumbles, tossing back her mimosa. “I’ve been trying to get the secret out of him for months.”

 Frank smiles, secretive and a little smug. “Sorry. You’ll find out along with everyone else.”

 “Do you work together a lot?” Annabeth asks. She had thought that Percy was strictly ballet--though, she supposes dancers do crossover work more often these days, if only for the money.

 “Not as much as we used to, sadly,” he replies. “We actually lived together in Paris for a few years while he was contracted with the opera before I decided to come back home. Vancouver,” he adds at her unspoken question.

 “Bit of a hike, from Vancouver to New York,” says Grover.

 Frank shrugs. “I was in town anyway, and I haven’t seen Percy in about a year.”

 Annabeth frowns, doing some mental math. If Frank hadn’t seen him in two years, then that meant… that Percy had been alone in Paris all that time. The man thrives off of friendship and social interaction; no wonder he was jonesing to come back to America.

 “Remind me again how long you two were together?” Rachel asks, red hair bouncing as she cocks her head. A jolt goes down Annabeth’s spine, appraising Frank in an entirely new light.

 “On and off for about two years,” says Frank, thoughtful. “But I just lived with him to save money. The rent in Paris sucks.”

 “And you were the best roommate I ever had,” Percy says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Clean, good cook, better kisser--”

 Frank shoves him away.

 “You’ve only ever had one other roommate, other than Nico or your mom,” Grover points out. “That one guy when you first moved overseas--Frodo? Fedora?”

 “Fyodor,” Percy corrects. “He was terrible. I didn’t know any Russian, he didn’t know any English, and our French wasn’t good enough to actually hash it out, so he just gave me a permanent cold shoulder.”

 “Kind of a low bar, don’t you think?”

 “And there was my roommate in Boston.”

 Sharply, she turns her head. “You lived in Boston?”

 “Yeah, for like a year. I told you I was with Boston Ballet for a little bit, didn’t I?”

 Pretty sure he didn’t. She almost opens her mouth to retort, to ask when and compare notes, to mention that she lived in Boston, too, before remembering who she is with, swallowing her words.

 “Fyodor hated you,” Frank hums, reentering the circle. He’d wandered away and returned with a croissant, dipped in chocolate.

 “Trust, me, the feeling was mutual.”

 “It must have been,” Frank says, “because I saw your new apartment after he kicked you out--that place made a shoebox look luxurious.”

 Something in Percy’s face almost falls when Frank says that. Annabeth is sure there is a story there.

 But Rachel laughs. “Annabeth, you have no idea. It was a      Chambre de bonne    ,” she says, exaggerating the accent, “which might sound super fancy and French and cool, but trust me, it wasn’t at all. It was this size.” She slaps the kitchen island, a little too hard, her third mimosa making her loose-limbed and loud. “When I visited for Thanksgiving that year      I     had to pay for the heating bill, because Percy basically refused.”

 “It was cozy,” Percy mutters, suddenly very preoccupied with the half a croissant on his plate.

 “It was not.” Rachel says. “It was sad and cold and small.”

 Nico looks interested, but not nearly as boisterous as Rachel or Frank, “Was that the place…”

 “Ye,” Percy cuts him off, “Yes it was.” He smiles, Stepford-strained. “But, then Frank came to town, and so did his grandmother’s money.” He slaps Frank on the back. “And I got a bathtub.”

 “I still can’t believe that a ballet dancer lived anywhere for two years without a place to soak,” Frank says, shuddering.

 “I can’t believe you waited until Frank got to Paris to get yourself a sugar daddy,” Grover quips. Percy throws a grape at him. Grover, to her immense surprise, manages to catch it in his mouth.

 Annabeth can’t really be impressed. This is the second time someone has brought up Percy and Frank having a history. Something hot and angry curls in her stomach. But Percy is laughing.

 Rachel laughs too. “Oh, he didn’t wait,” she says. “He had a bevy of sugar mommies for trips to Ibiza and Moscow and Beijing.”

 “It was Tokyo,” Percy says, “and they weren’t my Sugar Mamas.” He turns to Annabeth, sheepish, but not actually shameful. “They weren’t. Honestly.”

 “Uh huh.”

 “They were mostly Kym’s friends, and sometimes we’d go out when they were in town, and if we had fun, they’d invite me wherever they were going next. And if I didn’t have to work, I’d go with.”

 “I have heard rumors,” Will says, popping his head in, Nico attached to his hip, “of Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous of Europe. Is it true?”

 “Yes,” Grover and Rachel say at once.

 “Do you want to hear about that, Will?” Percy asks, “Or would you rather hear about the summer Nico came to stay with me and Frank before he started college, and slept with every single dancer in Europe except Frank?”

 Nico waves him off. “Only because you were already sleeping with him, cause he was your sugar daddy. Not like I needed the money.”

 “It wasn’t like that.” Frank says.

 “And now that we’ve aired all of my dirty laundry,” says Percy, “I need to borrow Annabeth for a second.” Gently, but with force, he tugs her arm, his other hand around her waist, directing her where to go like she’s one of his dance partners. Usually, she minds--a lot. She’s not about to let anyone, let alone a man, tell her where to go--but, you know, it’s Percy. Alone time with him is never a bad thing.

 He pulls her into the hallway, shoving his hand into his pocket. “What’s up?” she asks.

 “So.” Mouth open, he pauses for a moment, just… looking at her. His eyes are soft, warm like the first day of spring.

 “What?”

 “Uh, nothing,” he shakes himself a little, pulling his hand out. “Sorry, I just--I know you said you didn’t want anyone making a big deal out of your birthday…”

 Oh, no. She braces herself for the worst.

 Uncurling his fingers, he reveals his present for her.

 “It’s… a pin?”

 “Yeah,” he smiles. “Remember when I took my sister to the Met a few weeks ago? They were having that thing on Egyptian jewelry? Well, of course we had to stop in the gift shop, and I saw this and just--you know, thought of you.”

 It is a pin--one of those lapel pins that more often than not are added to a collection usually displayed on a backpack. This pin is a silhouette she recognizes instantly: the Parthenon, its columns and angles rendered in sterling silver, little grooves dug into the metal in an approximation of the fluting.

 “Wow,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

 “It was nothing.” His ears are pink. “Happy birthday.”

 And then he hugs her.

 After a moment, she hugs him back.

 It’s amazing how she can have had sex with someone so many times, but feel so awkward giving them a hug.

 “I didn’t, um, tell anyone else,” he says, pulling back. His hands linger on her shoulders, thumb tapping at the base of her neck. “But, I kept meaning to give this to you, so, you know, now was as good a time as any, yeah?”

 “I love it,” she says, honestly. Which surprises her. “Thank you.”

 She slips it into her own pocket, not even minding the sharp corners.

 When they return, Nico has already cut into the cake. “You were taking too long,” he snips.

 It really is delicious. Much, much later, Percy sends her home with a sweet, soft kiss, and one of the last remaining slices, rather than staying for dinner.

 Percy is the kind of boy who goes to his mother’s for dinner every week. She had been invited, but also threatened with the promise of another cake, and his ten year old sister, who would “love to make you a present.”

 It sounded nice, but Annabeth knew when she wasn’t really wanted, and so she demurred, citing a need for some solo downtime.

 She hasn’t heard from Thalia in, like, four days, which meant she had probably gotten a short-term gig. (“You’re lucky, she’s had Jason paying for her phone the whole time you’ve known her. Before that, she was almost impossible to get ahold of.”) Piper would take her out to dinner tomorrow, “just because.” But they would both know it wasn’t true.

 So, to refresh and relax after a long, harrowing day of socializing, Annabeth goes home.

 Or at least to her apartment.

 It doesn’t have a doorman, or the views, or the room, like Nico’s place. Nor does it have any of the people, the energy, the joy. Her furniture doesn’t fill it up. The most appetizing thing in her kitchen are the granola bars Percy had made the week before, or maybe the brownies he made four days ago. She sets her to-go bag of cake and croissants down next to them, a smorgasboard of Percy’s culinary prowess.

 Despite the long hours, her clothes still smell a little like last night’s bar, and her skin has a faint patina of dried sex sweat, and smudged makeup.

 She doesn’t want to start leaving things at Percy’s place--don’t want him to get the wrong idea--but she also occasionally needs to be able to touch up her eyeliner. She’s either going to have to find a bag that isn’t embarrassing to carry, or surreptitiously shove some eyeliner and lipstick next to the condoms in Percy’s nightstand next time they have a sleepover. Or raid Nico’s bathroom.

 Regardless, she needs a wash something bad.

 As she scrubs down, she does her best to focus on the lemon scent of her body wash, and not Percy’s perfect form, dripping with water. She tries to visualize her last trip to Sephora, not blowing him under the hot water.

 It doesn’t really work, so she gets herself clean and gets herself off and considers just spending the rest of the day naked, in case the mood strikes her again. But it's only 5PM, and she doesn’t have Percy to cook her some dinner tonight, so she sucks it up and puts on some pants.

 When she had visited Boston for work a couple of months back, Alex had insisted on taking her shopping, complaining that her sister and her friend Mallory didn’t understand Versace quite like Annabeth did, and that Blitz sucked all the fun out of fashion, anyway. Then, she had bullied Annabeth into buying a set of sweats, claiming it was because of the Grecian patterns, but probably because she thought Annabeth in that much purple would be funny.

 But eventually, she had wheedled, cajoled, and threatened Annabeth into buying a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. After deciding to forgo a bra, because that is just one more area she has always fallen short in, she shoves on a School of Architecture underneath them. The crimson clashes terribly with the lavender and seafoam, but she kind of likes it. Piper would call it “artfully nauseating,” or something.

 Besides, no one is going to see her but her delivery guy. And if someone did see her, someone like Thalia or Percy, well, the clashing colors would be the least of her worries.

 She is folded into her couch, wedged into the corner, very much      not     looking up Paris Ballet clips from the past few years, trying to spot Percy in the background, when there is a knock on her door.

 Not for the first time, she curses her lack of doorman--and then frowns. Who even knows where she lives?

 Piper and Leo? Magnus and Alex?

 Has she already ordered food and just forgotten?

 Is memory loss a side effect of a SK-II mask no one had warned her about?

 Tentatively, she creeps towards the door, opening it slowly. If this were a horror movie, the door would creak open, revealing the villain cast in the shadows of the hallway, holding his weapon of choice.

 She sighs.

 The man is only a few inches taller than her, and dressed impeccably in a t-shirt and jeans that probably cost half a year of her rent-- a big critique coming from her, since she wears a month of her own rent as sweats. His blond hair is impeccably combed, his tennis shoes impeccably white, and his smile the most charming thing you can find this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

 “Happy birthday, girly,” he says, giving her an awkward, one-armed hug, trying to avoid getting any of her facemask on his shirt.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “It's your birthday,” he reminds her, holding up the bag. “I told you I’d stop by last week.”

 Had he? Maybe, and she’d just been too drunk or hung over to really process it. But maybe he’d also meant to, and then failed to follow through. Luke has a bit of a nasty habit of treating his intentions as the same as his actions. His intentions are good, usually, but it means that he often ignored the actual actions. Like how his intention was to support his mother in the best nursing home in the northeast, but his action was to work with Saturn, a very shady hedge fund, to facilitate it. Or how his intention was to have someone at a stuffy party to talk to, but his action was dressing up Annabeth as his arm candy because none of Piper’s models would call him back anymore. He hasn’t asked her to do that since, like, February though, thankfully.

 “Sorry,” Annabeth says. “I just… you know I don’t like my birthday.”

 He also has a bit of a habit of ignoring her distaste in a really blatant way.

 He’s a little like Percy that way, actually.

 She’d only ever told Luke about her birthday back in those embarrassing freshman days, when she’d thought he looked as good on paper as any Harvard MBA student possibly could, with a devastating smile to match. She’d been so convinced that he would be the right boyfriend that might finally get her mother’s approval, and she figured that her future husband should know her birthday.

 “Come in,” she says, reaching for the bag, but he shakes his head and brushes past her, dumping his black back on the coffee table. Graciously, he doesn’t look at her as he starts to empty out its contents, giving her an opportunity to dart back to her bathroom and peel off her facemask. Luke would forgive designer sweats, but they aren't at the “just chilling in a facemask” level of a relationship.

 When she returns, there is a small assembly line arranged on her coffee table: a stack of paper plates, a carton of Haagen Daas, forks and spoons, and a Milk Bar cake, all wrapped in its box.

 “Is Milk Bar still the ‘it’ thing?” she asks. “With locations all over the country, I figured it would be passé by now.”

 “I know it’s your favorite,” Luke says. “I don’t always have to choose the most popular thing.”

 Milk Bar had been her favorite, that is true, right up until she’d started fucking Percy Jackson, and eating his food.

 “Thanks,” she says, cutting herself a slice, and scooping herself some ice cream.

 “That’s all you’re going to get?” he asks, cutting himself a sliver.

 “I have had so much cake today,” she says. Milk Bar really isn’t as good as Percy's, but it reminds her of birthdays in high school, waiting for her mother to visit, sneaking out when she inevitably didn’t, convincing the local bad boy to buy her some alcohol. She eats it, eagerly.

 Luke’s jaw drops. “You had a birthday cake? By choice? On your birthday?”

 She shakes her head, swallowing. “No, I was at a party with some friends. They didn’t even know it was my birthday,” Until she had stupidly revealed it. Whatever. She just has to make sure he’s been excised from her life by this time next year. And maybe freeze some of his baked goods beforehand.

 Luke doesn’t let her go through with her evening plans, which consisted basically of watching      Legally Blonde     for the gazillionth time while she slurped down some pierogies, but he capitulates to      Roman Holiday    , helping her put away the leftover cake and ice cream. “Thanks,” she says, when the movie was done. “I’m glad you came over. “

 No one ever comes over. Thalia is her best friend, but Thalia would have questions about how she could afford the place, Piper never understood why she’d moved out here at all, and Percy… Percy was irrelevant. There is no reason for him to come here.

 “I always like to see my best girl.” He smiles at her, charming and rogueish.

 “If all those models you keep trying to date know that your best girl is an architect who lives in Brooklyn who you actually feed, that’s probably why they don’t want to date you back.”

 Luke laughs, leaning over and knocking his shoulder against her own. “None of those girls could hold a candle to you.”

 “God, you must be a terrible boyfriend.”

 “Probably,” he agrees, sitting up and stretching, before reaching back to the bag he brought the cake in. “After all, you are the one I bring all the nice presents. But I think I’m a pretty good friend.”

 He takes out a box, burnt orange, a black ribbon wrapped around it, because Luke is nothing if not predictable.

 Annabeth sighs internally, quietly reminding herself that money is how Luke shows his love. And that she is wearing Versace sweats.

 “Herm  é  s,” she says, pulling off the ribbon. “This box looks too small for a Birkin.”

 “Do you want a Birkin?” he asks. “I can get you a Birkin.”

 “I probably don’t need a Birkin,” she admits. Though maybe it would be nice to have one in her closet, if her mom ever calls her up for lunch again. She could show up with a Birkin and an eyebrow ring. Sweet revenge.

 Luke waves a hand. “It doesn't matter if you need one, just if you want one.”

 Inside the box is a scarf, the silk soft and smooth between her fingers, a pleasing gradient of oranges and reds and pinks and corals. When she unfolds it, laying it out before her, she finds a sharp, geometric design, columns stacked together like skyscrapers. Luke obviously had her in mind when he picked it out.

 “Thanks,” she says. It’s pretty--perfect for an ambitious young architect with two degrees from Harvard who had moved to New York City with an offer from one of the best architecture firms in the world. And Annabeth has no idea where she could possibly want or need to wear it.

 “Hey,” Luke says, suddenly soft, “don’t cry.”

 Shocked, she reaches her hand up to her face. It’s wet.

 Luke is probably the only person she will let herself cry in front of. She’d spent three years doing that in college. He’d seen her through heartbreak and hangovers, guiding her through it all like an aloof big brother.

 “I’m okay,” she hiccups, wiping her nose.

 He hands her a napkin.

 Annabeth blows her nose, wet and gross. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m alright.”

 “You sure?” He sounds sincere, but she catches him glancing down at his wrist.

 “Do you have a date?”

 “I…” At least he has the decency to look sheepish. “Just some guys at work. You can come, if you want.”

 It could be fun. Hanging out with Luke can be fun. Get a little lit, take a business bro home, screw his brains out, send him on his way. But there’s an unspoken dress code to these things, and Annabeth just doesn’t wear Louboutins anymore. And the idea of fucking a business bro just… doesn’t hold any appeal right now.

 “No thanks,” she nods, using the clean edge of the napkin to wipe her eyes. “I am going to watch      The Search For Elle Woods    , and you're going to strike out with some models, and everyone is going to be happy.”

 “You really are so mean to me.” Luke complains, as she walks him to the door, before giving her another hug. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

 “I am.” She is different and new, but Luke is still her friend. She had survived. It would be okay.

 “Well, call me if you need something.” He kisses her cheek, sweetly, without any heat. Perfectly platonic. “I love you very much. Happy birthday.”

 “Thanks,” she says, “I’ll see you around.”

 “Always.” And he is gone.

 She folds the scarf, going to put it in the dresser in her room, shoving it among a handful of accessories, gathering dust. She realizes, with a start, that she’s left a week’s worth of clothes all over her room on the way to the shower, and, with a sigh of adulthood, and the knowledge that if she doesn’t follow the ADHD gods and pick them up now, they’ll be there for weeks, languishing on her floor and stinking up the place, she goes to at least move them into her hamper. She rifles through ripped jeans and band t-shirts and black socks as she goes, checking each for anything like discarded change or a bus pass she doesn’t want to wash.

 She shakes out the pants she’d worn out the night before, and therefore the entire day until she’d gotten home. There is a rather unfortunate stain on the knee that she can’t quite parse--ketchup? Chocolate?

 Then she reaches into the pockets, touching metal, and she suddenly remembers her other birthday present for the day.

 Pulling out the pin, she feels strange, hot in the face, funny in the belly, tossing the jeans haphazardly in with the dirty laundry. It's small and shiny, cheap metal for mass market production, and yet, she walks it over to the dresser, laying it down on the silk scarf like it's the diamond broach her aunt gave her for her sixteenth birthday.

 She really is beyond Hermès scarves now. But that pin? Well, you never really can get more Annabeth--the middle school know-it-all, teenage debutante, college perfectionist, New York yuppy, or barfly and punk princess--than one of the greatest architectural achievements in human history.

 She is still a little shocked by how much she loves it. How much it means to her that Percy saw that it was perfect for her.

 And like so many times when she is confronted with an emotion she doesn’t like, she slams the door closed, and goes and watches a favorite movie from high school.

 She does order dinner, eventually, setting out her meal in between texting Piper about brunch tomorrow. It's a whole thing, pretending that they’re not going out for her birthday, but eventually they agree on a time and a place, and she can eat her sausage and watch everyone practice the Bend and Snap in peace.  

 So she is very annoyed when her phone buzzes again.

 Maybe the reservation fell through. Or maybe she doesn’t want Annabeth to show up in ripped fishnets, even though that only happened once.

 Her stomach sinks when she checks her phone. It isn’t Piper.

Hello Dear, Happy Birthday. We miss you. Please call anytime. Love Dad, Mary, and the boys.  

 Below the text is a link, leading to a gift certificate for $200 to Sephora, which has Mary’s name written all over it. Aunt Natalie would have suggested Bergdorf Goodman.

 Her hand clenches, momentarily overcome with the urge to hurl her phone against the wall. But there is no one around, so there wouldn’t be any point to it.

 She stabs at a pierogi with a chopstick, and watches the girls dance on screen, humming along.

 She passes out on the couch after midnight.

 Her mother never called.

[freebooter4ever]

i’ve seen the discussion going back and forth on boundaries and sexual objectification, and i don’t have much to add to the conversation other than to say everyone is allowed to determine their OWN ‘lines’ and just because we don’t vocalize them doesn’t make them any less valid. but here’s the limits i set for my blog if anyone feels it is important for them to know (<3):

personally I consider ‘characters’ fair game for anything goes, with ‘public personas’ a little more iffy. ‘RPF’ isn’t new - it just takes on a new more accessible/visible form nowadays. i remember reading my first fic about a ‘real person’ back in my LOTR fandom days - it was a story in first person perspective about the main character meeting orlando bloom on a plane before he was ‘famous’. like a lot of these types of stories, it wasnt so much about the person as it was about the meet cute. the actor was just a convenient placeholder with a handsome face and some personality quirks thrown in to make the romance/dialogue more specific. i personally dont read much xReader fic nowadays, but mostly only cause i’m an old fart who can’t relate to the ‘you’ format. i miss the good old days when people actually created OC’s and then inserted them into things LOL. but also LOL if you think i’ve gone an entire year of quarantine without some imagined personal fantasies of joe mazzello (or steve aoki in the years before)(ramilicious can attest to this. she can also attest to most of these fantasies ending in friendship rather than anything explicit cause that’s just how i roll these days lol). the line i draw is i would never post these types of fics in a place where the subject could accidentally find them - you have to go looking for this stuff on tumblr, most fics are given explicit ratings and under read-mores. with the blacklist tags it’s pretty easy to filter things out. its even easier to add filters to ao3 searches. i am NOT going to do something like message steve aoki and say ‘yeah i watched that movie Ibiza like five times, here is my 1k fic where you’re the dj and i’m the one night stand’. but obviously people still enjoy imagining scenarios like these otherwise movies like Ibiza wouldn’t exist?

for art, i consider anything already on display up for grabs, we all know a certain person’s ass is all over the place...all you have to do is google ‘need for speed’ and rami’s name. HOWEVER, in the case of actors i personally would not draw anything more explicit than what’s already there. i’m not gonna draw full frontal nudity for rami (unless he gifts us with it in a movie, i suppose) or anyone. this is 100% a personal choice for me. 

i was a sophomore or junior in college when i volunteered as a figure drawing monitor where i’d time the nude model’s poses and help them set up the stage and lighting and such. there was this one guy in his mid forties probably, a regular who came every week, and i always thought of him fondly till one day (the day after i ran into my Hot Programming TA during dinner and later sent him an email begging him to go on a date with me because i was desperate for kissing experience)(and Hot Programming TA emailed me back within minutes saying yes) this artist guy who i saw all the time and thought i knew fairly well, decided to draw me instead of the model. which would have been fine except he drew me naked. i was NOT naked at the time, i was wearing a shirt, and a bra, and a full prairie skirt with alternating calico and floral patterns. he drew what he imagined was underneath all that. he came up to me after the figure drawing session and showed me his drawings and told me i had been ‘glowing’ and my response was to laugh it off awkwardly and get the hell out of there as soon as i gave the model their pay check. but inwardly i was thinking a) i was NOT glowing for this creepy man twice my age and b) i did NOT give him consent to sexualize my body under my clothes and then SHOW me that objectification. i never said anything to him or anything else, i continued to be the monitor, and i continued to field off creepy advances from him including multiple job offers, but when i finally realized i could just...stop..and i passed the student volunteer monitor job on to my friend naeem, i also realized that what that older male artist did was NOT ok in my book. and it was probably not something he would do while naeem was monitoring.

nowadays im working in an industry that regularly objectifies female bodies. in the past year alone i have had to deal with requests to make breasts bigger, i have been given character rigs that in addition to the usual elbow, knee, and spine joints also have ‘nipple’ joints but ONLY for the women (to make them jiggle for animation), every time i send out a female pose i get it back with notes that push it further into the sexy type of body language reserved for women (twist the spine more! sway the back more! give it ‘energy!’), i have been told to erase wrinkles and fat and pores but ONLY for the women (men you ADD pores bc realism! and manliness!) and this is all me working for a company that is actually fairly progressive in terms of sexism compared to OTHER studios.

like it or not, sexual objectification is a huge part of specifically women’s lives and how we react to that is our business. for me, turning the tables and putting men on display feels like fair’s fair. i cant stop the men from doing it, so if i want to enjoy sexualizing male bodies, damn it im gonna! like dang it, boy do i want to send steve aoki a thank you note every time he posts a video of himself doing those ice baths during the sunset golden hour bc holy shit gorgeous or working out in his gym wearing VERY little clothes, but i dont because i know what its like when someone imposes their personal fantasies on the subject. or, god, there was that time i had to unfollow nicole’s insta for a while bc i had a very explicit dream about her and realized, shit, i need to take a break and get my emotions under control before i can refollow. and god some of the stuff i see dudes sending her during her live videos on mental illness/meditation is TOTALLY gross and not something they should be confronting her with. and she’s not even ‘famous’ famous. or how some fans send their idols explicit direct messages without consent. THAT feels inappropriate to me.

a part of me feels like i shouldn’t have to defend this. men don’t. they’re even encouraged in mass media to sexualize women. but i also recognize the importance of talking about consent. the importance of recognizing that a celebrity deserves to have their boundaries respected. these are my lines in fandom. other people have different lines they won’t cross, and that’s okay to me. i block or blacklist any blogs or tags i think go over the top.

heck, even in fandom-only spaces i still try to keep my own more sexual fantasies off this blog and only in private messages with my friends and mutuals, and i feel like that might come across as unintentionally prudish or judgmental sometimes. i’m not ‘horny on main’ very often. but like...every time i reblog that particular ‘washing machine’ gif of joe mazzello am i thinking about him naked and thinking about how he’s got very loooooong feet, and ‘gee i wonder if that means /other/ things are Too Big for my tastes’ but also ‘gosh wouldnt that make a pretty picture to draw’???? hell yeah.

i dont know who is gonna actually read this essay but yolo i guess :)

[naturecpw]

Shuteye and Sleep Hygiene: The Truth About Why You Keep Waking up at 3 a.m.

You eschew caffeine after lunch, have stopped drinking alcohol and eat healthily. But you’re still staring at the ceiling in the small hours. Here’s why. The Guardian   Elle Hunt

‘If you find yourself waking regularly during the night, flag it with your GP so they can consider any possible underlying causes.’

You land in your body with a start, or else it slowly comes into groggy focus: either way it’s night-time, but you are now awake. Why? Alice Gregory, a psychology professor at Goldsmiths, University of London and the author of Nodding Off, says it’s quite normal to wake up during the night.

After dropping off, we move through different stages of sleep, a cycle that takes the average adult about 90 minutes to complete and speeds up towards morning.

“The night is also punctuated by brief awakenings,” says Gregory. “Typically, people return to sleep without realising that they had ever been awake.” But sometimes we might at least be more aware of it, or pulled entirely awake. Reasons range from the fairly obvious (being too hot or cold, needing the loo, having a nightmare, a crying baby) to the medical (disordered breathing such as sleep apnea, or nocturia: excessive night-time urination). 

Waking up during the night does not necessarily mean you have insomnia, which, says Gregory, is diagnosed alongside other criteria such as the frequency of this occurrence and how long it has been happening. “If you find yourself waking regularly during the night, certainly flag this with your GP so they can consider any possible underlying causes.”

 Still, sleep deprivation takes its own toll, from irritability and reduced focus in the short term, to an increased risk of obesity, heart disease and diabetes. If you do find yourself regularly waking up without any apparent reason – what can you do about it?  

 “It’s a misconception that we sleep the night through – nobody ever does,” says the sleep coach Katie Fischer. Waking as much as five or seven times a night is not necessarily a cause for concern – the most important thing is how you feel when you get up. “In the morning, do you feel refreshed, or groggy and unable to function, 30 minutes after waking?”  

 If there is nothing to suggest an underlying medical issue, Fischer will look at the bigger picture with a patient. “It’s really important to know if they have children. Do they have a partner who snores, or works shifts?” she says. “They might not have their own sleep issues but they might be sleeping next to someone who does.” 

Lifestyle changes can make a big difference, even for people suffering from sleep apnoea (although that should be treated by a specialist). It is hackneyed to point the finger at caffeine, but people tend to underestimate how long its effects can last – Fischer says to stop consuming it by 2 p.m. or 3 p.m. Water intake during the day is also a factor: “Even going to bed mildly dehydrated can disrupt our sleep.” 

Similarly, although people commonly turn to alcohol to help them fall asleep – Fischer says one in 10 use it as a sleep aid – it has a disruptive effect beyond the initial crash, causing spikes in blood sugar and cortisol levels. Diet can function in the same way, with “anti-sleep foods” that are high in sugar or cause flatulence or heartburn (such as broccoli and cabbage).

  A “pro-sleep” bedtime snack is a small amount of complex carbohydrates and protein, such as wholegrain cereal with milk, or toast with peanut butter, says Fischer. An “anti-inflammatory” diet favouring fruits, vegetables, lean protein, nuts, seeds and healthy fats (and limiting processed foods, red meats and alcohol) has been shown to improve sleep apnea.

As for exercise, although being active during the day aids sleep, anything strenuous is to be avoided before bedtime. A lot of advice for preventing night-time “awakenings” falls under the umbrella of what has come to be known as “good sleep hygiene”: restrict the bedroom to sleep and sex, ban screens emitting blue light, keep to regular bedtimes and so on.

Our bedrooms – even our beds – have come to double as home cinemas, offices, “a dining room, maybe,” says the sleep consultant Maryanne Taylor. “You would be amazed at how significant that is for sleep. You’re training to associate your bed with wakefulness.” For that reason, if you do struggle to fall back asleep on waking up during the night, the advice is to get up for a bit. “Don’t just lie there – it’s counterproductive.” 

 So, too, is looking at the clock, especially if it doubles as your phone. “As soon as your brain has registered that it’s 2 a.m., you convince yourself that that’s your lot,” says Taylor. Such worry loops might be waking you up in the first place.

 For many of us, bedtime might be our first opportunity of the day to be alone with our thoughts, she says. “It’s connected to waking in the night because, if we haven’t had any processing time during the day, it’s the first time we stop and just be.” Managing stress and anxiety during waking hours and learning how to relax body and mind are key to a good night’s sleep – but ironically, fixating on getting your full eight hours can make it harder to achieve. “You get this awful self-fulfilling prophecy that’s quite hard to break,” says Fischer.  

 A mindset change may be what’s needed. “People might have this belief that they are a ‘bad sleeper’ and there is nothing that they can do about it. Sometimes it’s about changing people’s perceptions of what good sleep looks like.” Taylor says she “really cannot bear” fitness trackers, which monitor sleep, for focusing people’s minds on often inaccurate data. It is wrong to assume that you must sleep through the night, every night, she says. “We all have blips in our sleep – it’s never going to be that you sleep brilliantly all the time.”

But accepting that – even as you lie awake, hours before dawn – might be the first step towards it.                    

https://getpocket.com/explore/item/shuteye-and-sleep-hygiene-the-truth-about-why-you-keep-waking-up-at-3am?utm_source=pocket-newtab

What Happened When I Forced Myself To Wake Up At 5 A.M. Every Day For A Month

What Happens to Your Body When You Wake Up at 5 a.m. Every Day

7 Morning Habits That Can Affect Your Entire Day

Scott YoungThe 5 Keys to Falling Asleep On Time Every Night

If You Love Staying Up Late and Sleeping In, Doing Otherwise Might Actually Hurt Your Health

[miikrokkosmos]

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, angst, coffee shop!au, college!au, best friend!au, shy/awkward!reader (they say to write what you know)

word count: 6.3k

summary: “Yoongi begrudgingly rose to his feet and walked to behind the counter, but didn’t stop at the register, much to the chagrin of the young hipster man waiting to order his third iced Americano of the day. He instead went to the back and whipped out the biggest mug the coffee shop offered, and got to work on a drink that nobody ordered. By this point, the whole line of customers had their eyes glued to him incredulously. “Oh, I’ll be with you all in a minute,” he said to them nonchalantly.” aka Yoongi and reader have been dancing around their feelings for each for far too long and something’s gotta give

a/n:hey guys! i’m still trying to figure out my writing style for my bts characters. but i hope you enjoy, and as always, any feedback, ideas, and/or constructive criticism would be indescribably appreciated! inbox currently open for requests, as well!

You hugged your sweater tighter around your torso as you settled into the hard plastic chair of the lecture hall to get ready for your favourite class of the week – your M/W/F late morning marketing class. Not that marketing was your concentration, or even one of your favourite topics to study…it just happened to be the one class you shared with your best friend, Min Yoongi. Not a day passed by without you thanking the heavens above that marketing basics was something required for your business major, as well as Yoongi’s music production degree. It worked out perfectly. Almost as perfectly as when Yoongi had gotten an assistant manager job at the café you spent all of your study hours in (as well as your free personal hours, if you were being honest).

Fresh off the morning shift at said coffee shop, Yoongi’s face poked through the door with minutes to spare, fluffy black hair flying in every direction as he tried to keep two coffee cups in his hands from slushing over their brims. You hustled to lift your heavy backpack off the chair next to you, dutifully saved for him every time. He gave you a warm smile and slid one of the paper cups towards you, gently patting your head as he sits in his chair. You excitedly grabbed the cup and brought the side to your eyes to read WCM scrawled across the side. You eyed him sneakily as you raised the cup to your lips. “White chocolate mocha? You’re trying to make me fat, aren’t you?”

“Don’t act like it’s not your favourite,” he threw out. “Besides, we needed to have matching drinks,” he said, twirling his own cup around to show you the matching sharpie label scrawled across the side.

“You’re really annoying, you know,” you mumbled, but couldn’t hide the grin stretching across your lips.

“You’re welcome for the free coffee, by the way, hand-poured by your favourite barista,” Yoongi drawled out, attempting to match your annoyed tone, but even more unable than you to make his visage match his tone.

He moved to take his notebook and textbook out of his bag, neatly arranging them on the desk in front of him. You eyed him fondly as he did so, enjoying the coziness spreading throughout your body from both the hot drink in your hands, as well as from the warmth that you naturally felt whenever you got to spend time with Yoongi. Even if that time was sometimes spent just slouching next to each other in the far back of a business lecture hall, passing the time by sharing memes and occasionally jotting down notes only when it seemed most important. In those moments, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Which is precisely why you decided then and there that you had to do something, anything, to move on, to keep yourself from basing so much of your happiness in someone whose depth of feelings for you surely didn’t match your own of his.

_______________________________________________________________________

After finishing up your classes the next day, you headed to the café as usual to work on your homework, Yoongi working to keep up at his register in the background with the rush of rude customers coming in to order minutes before the café was officially closed. You couldn’t help but notice how every second girl attempts to flirt with him, pausing your music each time to listen in on their suggestive comments every time against your better judgement. Jealousy would boil in your veins every time, but you were usually able to calm down fairly quickly given the fact that Yoongi never, ever appeared to reciprocate. You didn’t know if he was completely oblivious, or if he just plain didn’t care for girls who blatantly asked for his number in the same breath as their latte order, but either way you appreciated it. Not that you truthfully had any right to appreciate it. It’s not like he ever flirted with you either.

Minutes later, after ushering everyone out of the café on time, Yoongi rushed over to you, placing both his hands on either side of your head, kneeling in front of you. “The place is finally ours again,” he said, rubbing soft circles into your temples, “and…we didn’t sell out of those big ass expensive cupcakes today. They have to be gone one way or another. Interested?”

You lightly place your hands on his wrists, still hovering by your face. “Do you really need me to answer that?”

_______________________________________________________________________

You found yourself not ten minutes later seated across from Yoongi at your tiny round table, quickly putting away your study materials to make room for two cups of tea, giant cupcakes topped with bountiful icing in tow.

“I don’t think that last group of customers appreciated being kicked out while I so blatantly overlooked you lounging in the corner,” Yoongi said, a grin finding its way to his lips.

You weren’t quite sure how to take that one. “Oh, well, I can start leaving earlier if you think it’s an issue…I never want to do anything that could chance getting you in trouble, you know that.”

Yoongi quirked a brow. “What? No, I’m kidding, _____. Besides, what are they gonna do about it? I’m here more often than the regular manager. I practically own the place,” he added, with a wink.

You giggled, trying to hide the bright pink dusting your cheeks by practically stuffing your whole face in the cupcake. Yoongi rolls his eyes as he reaches across and wipes off a dab of icing off the top of your lip under your nose, which did absolutely nothing for your already furious blush. You both laughed at each other for a moment, a beat passing between you as you catch each other’s eyes. Yoongi had a way with his eye contact. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, and there wasn’t a particular technique to it, it’s just the way he was. Something about it always felt so intense, but in a good way. It made you feel so…seen.

You felt a painful pang after you felt you had spent too much time gazing into his orbs, however, and soon looked off to the side. “So, I have something to say,” you started slowly, taking a big gulp to keep yourself from going further.

“Let me guess. You’ve decided to switch majors and we now have all of our classes together?”

“No, about my love life, actually.”

An expression flashed over Yoongi’s face that you couldn’t quite identify, but you didn’t have time to attempt to decode it. “Oh? How so?”

“Well,” you began, slowly pushing your teacup to the center of the table, “I think…I don’t know. I just feel like it’s a good time for me to be more open to looking for a relationship, maybe?”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were closed off to the idea before now, actually.”

“I mean, I wasn’t really. I just mean…I want to start being more intentional now about it, I guess? I didn’t really have time to think about it much the past couple years, with finishing my undergrad and then traveling around and working for a while.” AndbecauseI’vebeentooinlovewithyoutoconsiderdatinganyoneelse.“But now that I’m back in school and working on my master’s, and I know I’m gonna be here in one place for a while to finish that, I thought maybe it’d be a good time to look for something more serious, I guess?”

Yoongi was no longer even trying to make eye contact with you, his gaze firmly pointed at the empty cups in front of you both. “I mean, yeah. That makes sense,” he said rather quietly, throwing his head into a quick firm nod, as if to make up for the firmness he lacked in his voice.

“Yeah. So I think I’m going to break down and finally try a dating app.” You try to force yourself to look more excited about the prospect than you actually feel.

Yoongi threw a hand behind his head, ruffling up his already messy hair. “Ah, I see. You know, from most people I wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear that, but that isnews coming from you.”

“I know, I know,” you say as you let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m nervous.”

“Well, it’s a brave thing to put yourself out there,” Yoongi said, offering a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

You nodded to him, rising to pick up your dirty dishes to bring to the café’s counter behind you.

“Hey, that’s my job,” Yoongi whined after you, which you completely brushed off.

You walk up behind him, letting your hands drop to his shoulders. You begin kneading in a massaging motion, causing him to drop his head down onto his chest. “Ready to go home and study for the marketing exam?” you quietly ask.

He tenses and raises his head back up, standing to his feet, causing your hands to drop back down to your sides. “Would you mind if we pushed that to tomorrow, actually? I have to sort through some stuff in the money room here that I forgot about, probably will take a good while.”

“Oh. Okay then, tomorrow it is,” you say, tipping your head in thanks when he hoists your backpack around your shoulders. You give him a quick hug before turning to walk towards the door.

“Hey, _____?” Yoongi calls out after you.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks…just thanks for being open and vulnerable with me and telling me about your thoughts and feelings. I know it’s not easy to do.”

Ouch.

“Of course, Yoongi. That’s what best friends are for.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Your study session with Yoongi the next day lasted all but fifteen minutes before you had both given into the temptation of moving from the stiff kitchen chairs to the enveloping coziness of his couch, marathoning episodes of your current favourite tv show all afternoon instead. Although you had begun the show by sitting upright next to each other, the sleepier you became, the more your body involuntarily decided to crawl into Yoongi’s welcoming hold. You eventually fell asleep with his arm around you, head tucked gently into his neck, television buzzing lowly in the background.

You woke up what must have been several hours later, almost feeling overheated by how absolutely entangled you and Yoongi were in each other: legs mixed up in each other, a protective hand pulling you closer to his chest rising up and down in soft breaths, and a plaid blanket that was strewn across you sometime after your eyes had first fallen shut. Not that you could complain, though. Settings such as this were where you felt truly the safest, and most at peace.

As slow as possible, you hoisted the blanket off of yourselves and attempted to extricate yourself from Yoongi without waking him. But the second he noticed in his drowsy state that you, his source of warmth and comfort, had been ripped from his hold, his eyes snapped open with a start.

“Don’t get up,” you whispered in a soothing voice, hoping to coax him back into his comfy position. “I didn’t mean to stay so late, sorry.” You walked over to the kitchen area to pick up your study materials you had left strewn about the table.

Ignoring your instructions, Yoongi picked himself up and sauntered over to stand next to you, your hips touching. “You can stay, you know,” he said in a raspy voice still full of sleep, gently placing a hand atop your own to stop you from continuing to pack up.

You glanced up to meet his eyes as you contemplated his offer. It wasn’t like you hadn’t accidentally stayed over before, late night study sessions and movie nights never ending and never moving from his couch in time to beat the sun rising. It also wasn’t as if you didn’t desperately want to spend more time with the boy, especially if that time involved reverting back to your previous position of having your bodies tightly snuggling into each other under a woolen blanket on his oversized couch. It’s just that you really didn’t know if your heart could handle that any longer.

“No. No, thank you. Thank you though. But no,” you awkwardly stuttered out, dropping your gaze almost as quickly as you rescued your hand from his tender grasp to snap the straps on the front of your backpack.

“Oh. Okay,” he said, and did his eyes look…sad?, “But text me when you get home. It’s getting pretty late.”

You nodded dutifully at him as he reached over your shoulders to grab your bag, lifting it over your shoulders and patting it twice for good measure. “I will.”

This was clearly the moment you were supposed to leave, but somehow you were both kept standing there in front of each other, stubbornly refusing to be the first to move. He looked down at you through his shaggy bangs, eyes still not fully open as the not-so-distant promise of sleep tried to pull at his eyelids, lips pressed together in a maddeningly adorable pout, and you were sure in that moment that you had never before seen him look so beautiful. You had definitely never before had such a pulling feeling in your gut that was just begging you to reach forward, just a few inches more, to capture his soft strands in your fingers, and pull his delicate mouth against your own.

In the midst of unknowingly staring at his lips, you felt his hand reach down to grab your own, slipping his fingers in between the spaces that always felt like were made to house his digits perfectly.

You only noticed how your close your faces had become when you felt the heat dancing on your cheeks, causing you to once again unceremoniously yank your hand from Yoongi’s. “Okay, I will, I’ll text when I get home. Okay. Bye. Goodbye,” you stumble out, fiercely making your way to the door. The last thing you see as you pull the door shut behind you is Yoongi still standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes trained on his still outstretched hand, dangling empty above his floor.

_______________________________________________________________________

As you sat in class the next morning, backpack saving the seat next to you, you did everything in your power to think about absolutely anything other than Yoongi. You didn’t have enough time, however, to focus on any one thing for too long before the man in question hopped into the seat next to you, placing a warm, handcrafted beverage in front of you. Once again, “WCM” was printed into the side in his tiny, meticulous handwriting.

“I brought your favourite again today,” he offered, a smile in his voice.

You brought the drink to your lips, a grateful smile on your face, but unable to meet his eyes. “So, I’m actually talking to someone on that dating app already.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m surprised. Most of the guys on there are as gross and vulgar as can be, but this guy is actually talking to me like I’m a real person.” You tried to sound excited. You tried to make your little chuckle sound convincing. Whether your efforts were more for you or for Yoongi though, you weren’t sure.

“Ah, well that’s exciting. And most guys are gross.”

“Yeah. Wanna see a picture of him?”

“No,” Yoongi said, probably faster than he intended. “I trust your judgment. I’m sure he’s very good-looking.”

You looked up to Yoongi at that, but his gaze was trained on the PowerPoint on the back wall, refusing to meet your eyes.

_______________________________________________________________________

Later that night, you found yourself on your balcony having an evening cup of tea with your roommate, Kelsey, who knew your relationship with Yoongi probably better than anyone. You inhaled a deep breath in an attempt to ward off some of the stress of your current situation, the burnt orange sunset reflecting off your face.

“I just can’t continue on like I’ve been going,” you practically whine. “It’s getting to a point where it’s almost painful to be around him. And I don’t want to ruin the friendship I’ve built with him because I got greedy with my affection or something.”

“Well, I’m not saying that I’m not in support of you talking with your dating app boy,” Kelsey began, “But having feelings for someone does not mean you’re being greedy, _____. And you know I’m not convinced Yoongi doesn’t have feelings for you.”

You placed your head in your hands and groaned before sitting back up in your rocking chair. “You always say that, but let’s be real. We’ve known each other for several years now. If Yoongi really wanted me he would’ve said something by now.”

“The same could be said about you though, couldn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m too shy. I’m not good at being open about my feelings. Yoongi knows that better than anyone.”

“But isn’t Yoongi quiet and shy as well? Particularly when it comes to his true feelings on things? At least, that’s what you’ve said before.”

“Yeah. I mean…yeah, but still.”

Kelsey nudged your knee with her own. “Hey. I just want to see you happy. You know that. And you also know I think Yoongi is a great guy, and I’ll never be convinced he doesn’t feel something for you. But I’m gonna support you doing whatever you think will make you the most happy. And if that means moving on from Yoongi, then go for it.”

You gave her a small, sad smile. “I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Once classes were finished the next day, you spent your evening time at your usual table at the cafe going over homework. There was a bit of a lull in the traffic of customers at this point, so Yoongi took the opportunity to just sit with you for a while.

“I don’t know what to be doing with myself at this point, Yoongi. We talked on the phone for a little bit today, and I was so awkward. He said he liked my accent though, so I guess that’s a good thing?” Yoongi nodded to this, offering a small smile. “I think it went well. But I’m getting terrified at the idea of meeting him in person.”

“Why?” Yoongi cocked an inquisitive brow.

“You know me, Yoons. I’m shy enough over text, but much more so meeting people in person.”

You noticed a couple of customers walking towards the counter, and nodded your head towards them so Yoongi could take notice. He turned around, and immediately rose from his chair. He walked closer to you until he was a foot in front of you. “Just remember to be yourself, _____, and if he doesn’t fall head over heels for you he’s a complete dumbass, because you’re perfect.” Right as he finished his sentence, he quickly dipped down to place a kiss to your forehead, before skipping back over to behind the counter to serve his customers.

You were left sitting in your seat, your lips forming an “o”, completely unprepared for the sudden public display of affection from your best friend. The only thing your mind knew in that moment was that the butterflies in your stomach wouldn’t let you sit still for a moment longer.

You rose to your feet, grabbed your stuff, and called out a quick “Have to go now!” to Yoongi. His eyes were ripped away from the customer whose order he was taking, and his legs rushed to meet you at the other side of the counter.

“Wait! Don’t forget your tea!” he practically shouted into the café, outstretched hand offering you a paper cup.

“I didn’t order tea…” you breathed out, but found your hands reaching for the drink all the same.

“Well, it’s still your tea.” Yoongi smiled, locking eyes with you for a few moments until his waiting customer loudly cleared her throat in the background, causing him to dejectedly walk back to the other side.

You pushed your way through the doors into the cold night, and took a sip of the welcoming warmth. Peppermint tea with vanilla steamed milk. Your favourite soothing, caffeine-free drink that you only treated yourself to nights before you had a big exam or stressful day ahead of you. A treat Yoongi usually insisted on making for you himself. At this point you weren’t sure whether you enjoyed and got so much comfort from that particular drink because of the drink itself, or because of its association with Yoongi. You also weren’t sure you really wanted to know the answer to that question.

_______________________________________________________________________

The next afternoon was spent comfortably sitting next to Yoongi at the campus library, catching up on studying for the marketing exam. Or at least attempting to, as your brain deemed it fit to focus entirely on the boy next to you instead of the thick textbook in front of you. You chewed on the strings of your hoodie, sneaking a glance here and there at Yoongi’s adorable focused expression whenever you felt you had the best chance of not being caught. Eventually you failed, however, causing Yoongi to take one of his AirPods out once he saw your face studying him.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“Uh, so…he asked me out! To your café, actually.” “What?” Yoongi asked, and ripped out the remaining AirPod.

“Yeah. I want to do it when you’re not working though,” - you attempted to throw out a giggle – “So what’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

Yoongi scrunched up his face, as if he couldn’t comprehend the simple information you were giving him. “You’re going out with him? The guy from the dating app?”

“Well, it’s a date. Just to meet up in real life and see how it goes. I’m really nervous…but you said it’s good, right? To be ‘vulnerable’, and put myself out there?” You gave him a wide-eyed, questioning glance.

Yoongi broke your gaze, and dragged his eyes to his clasped hands settling on the table in front of him. “I just close shop tomorrow,” he said quietly, as he dragged a hand through his hair.

“Okay, well I’ll suggest early evening, give us enough time. I just don’t want to look over my shoulder and accidentally lock eyes with you and think of an inside joke and laugh in his face, thus ruining any chance of a good first impression,” you tried to reason good-naturedly, though your smile didn’t meet your eyes.

“Makes sense,” Yoongi said.

You grinned as you reached over and gently punched Yoongi in the shoulder. He did not respond. _______________________________________________________________________

Yoongi entered the café for his closing shift with a sulk on his face, tying his apron perhaps a little tighter than he usually did. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when he noticed you still sitting at your usual table in the back of the café. He didn’t expect to find you still there, but he most definitely didn’t think he’d find you there sitting alone.

Upon moving closer, he happened to notice that the gloomy expression on your face was rivaling his own. He gently walked towards you, wordlessly coming to a stop right in front of you, hoping your eyes would meet his own.

Although you took notice of the quiet boy standing in front of you, you continued to scroll mindlessly through your phone, refusing to look up for fear of your current emotions betraying your vulnerability. “So! He didn’t show, stopped answering any messages about an hour before he was supposed to show, and probably has no intention of ever answering messages from me again anyway. I was right, I should have trusted myself, online dating sucks butts.” Your tone was firm and final, and your eyes still refused to meet Yoongi’s.

You sensed him standing awkwardly still for a few moments, unsure of how to react to you, but you couldn’t blame him. You eventually sensed him dropping to his knees on the floor right in front of you, most likely dirtying his apron in the process. Strong, gentle hands were placed on either side of your face, physically dragging your focus away from your phone and onto your best friend’s face.

“What are you do – don’t look at me like that, Yoongi.”

You couldn’t stand the pitiful look he was giving you. If your heart wasn’t already heavy that night, it was at that moment being crushed to pieces.

“I’m not a hurt puppy, Yoongi…I’m just frustrated, is all. I didn’t really like him all that much anyway,” you said, trailing the last bit off into a mumble.

“Angel,” Yoongi breathed out.

You quirked an eyebrow at the endearment. Why did he have to make everything so much…harder?

“You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

As if on cue, the final rush of customers seemed to be gathering by the counter all at once, some of their eyes pointedly trained on Yoongi. You grasped Yoongi’s hands to take them off your face. “You have customers again,” you said, nodding your head behind you.

Yoongi begrudgingly rose to his feet and walked to behind the counter, but didn’t stop at the register, much to the chagrin of the young hipster man waiting to order his third iced Americano of the day. He instead went to the back and whipped out the biggest mug the coffee shop offered, and got to work on a drink that nobody ordered. By this point, the whole line of customers had their eyes glued to him incredulously. “Oh, I’ll be with you all in a minute,” he said to them nonchalantly.

Although you pretended to focus on your phone and not know what was going on, your insides lit up when he walked over and laid the drink down in front of you, extra whipped cream spilling over the side. You had half a mind to just reject it and leave, not wanting to have to face Yoongi any longer that night, but you couldn’t make yourself budge. “You really are trying to make me fat.” Yoongi laid a tiny pat on your head and made his way back to the counter. Feeling deflated, you sunk down even further into your seat, and decided to drown your sorrows in the tub-sized white chocolate mocha in front of you.

By the time Yoongi had rounded everyone up and out of the shop, you were so deep in your thoughts you had no concept of the time until you heard the lock on the door click, leaving you and Yoongi alone once more. A position you really didn’t trust yourself to be in in that moment. Before he had even fully made his way over to you, you had stood up, hastily rushing your dirty cup over to the counter and running back to pick up your phone and the bag you had thrown aside as soon as you knew your date wasn’t showing.

“You know you don’t have to leave yet,” he called out softly to you.

You pushed your chair back into the table, your back still turned to him.

“_____.”

You still had to force yourself to ignore him, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the area to make sure everything was in place before you left. You knew he didn’t deserve to be treated in such a confusing manner, but you also knew what you had to do to keep yourself together in that moment.

Before you could make your break for the door, however, you felt two strong arms wrapping around your waist in a loving manner, and a warm face nudging gently into your neck as his chin laid over your shoulder. “I’m sorry about today. Truly.”

You couldn’t do it anymore. You swung out of his grasp and around to face him, tears stinging at your eyes. He gingerly reached out again, this time stroking your hair. “Hey,” he cooed, “You’re gonna be okay.” You scrunched up your face and looked down to your feet, causing the first silent tear to swim down your cheek. How could he be so…good,but so oblivious to what his actions did to you?

“You’re crying?”

You push against his chest to try to bring some distance between yourselves, so you could move around him and finally go home to your bed safe from boys who ghost you and from boys who fill your heart to the brim with unrequited love. “No, really it’s okay, just stop being so nice to me, please, Yoongi.”

A concerned expression graces Yoongi’s face as he cups your face in his palms for the second time that night. “What?”

“Please stop,” was all you could weakly muster out, pushing against him again. This time his hands fell limply to his side, and you took your escape out into the night, once again leaving him in a dejected confusion.

_______________________________________________________________________

You couldn’t bring yourself to get up to go to class the next morning, especially not marketing, especially especially not when you were supposed to save someone a seat in that class. You saw a notification come up on your laptop that you had one attendance point for today, and laughed, realizing it was the only time you had skipped class all semester. Maybe the first time in college, come to think of it. And all because of your best friend.

You were mindlessly flipping through tv channels when you realized you had a voicemail from Yoongi, voice full of worry, telling you about how sorry he is about that dumb guy, how much better you deserve, and whether or not he could drop by with the class notes from today for you.

You felt guilty enough to force yourself to compose a quick text just to let him know you were okay and that you’d see him in class the following Monday, but felt a ball of anxiety knot in the pit of your stomach when his immediate reply to your text was simply “come down please”.

You inch over to your curtains, pulling them back just a smidgen to look out, and there it was – Yoongi’s white car, parked directly in front of the staircase to your apartment.

You threw your favourite grey hoodie over yourself and tiptoed out of the apartment, trying not to alert Kelsey, who was getting ready for class. You took a deep breath when you began walking down the stairs, bracing yourself for whatever was ahead.

When you got to his car, Yoongi leaned over to open the passenger door for you, welcoming you into the warmth of his car. Two cups of coffee and a bag of steaming breakfast sandwiches lay on the dash, Yoongi ever the provider.

You sat in the seat next to him, and eyed him carefully for a moment, neither one of you offering to speak yet. Eventually, Yoongi nervously reached a hand over to cradle the back of your hand that was rested on your knee. “I just don’t understand it.”

“Understand what?”

“How a man could be brave enough to ask you out and then not follow up on it. The logic of that is beyond me. And –“ he held a finger up with his free hand – “I know it must be a blow to the ego. But, _____, please don’t let yourself dwell on it. He doesn’t deserve any more of your time or thoughts. You do deserve someone who takes care of you.”

You shook your head. “Yoongi, please stop talking about that stupid boy. I keep telling you, I don’t care about him. It was just a minor frustration.” You felt the familiar sting of hot tears rising to your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that week. Using your free hand, you quickly brushed away the beginnings of any that threatened to slip out.

“I know you’re hurt…” he said, ever so gently.

“Yes! I’m hurting!” you yelped in his face, maybe a little too loudly.

“And it hurts me to see you like this! I need to know how to help!” Yoongi’s tone easily matched yours in passion, but he could never bring himself to actually raise his voice. Especially not to you.

He tried to interlace his fingers with yours, but you pull your hand back. The anguished expression on his face at your rejection was just enough to push your tears over the edge, and they once again flowed freely.

“Stop hurting me then! We can’t keep going like this, Yoons, I care about you too much, I…I –“ you trailed off almost at the point of hyperventilation, crossing your arms across your chest in an attempt to do anything to keep yourself calm.

The shock on Yoongi’s face was unlike anything you’d seen on him before. He was almost to the point of tears himself now. “What? Angel, am I hurting you somehow? You have to tell me, I love you, the last thing in this life I want to do is hurt you…”

“I love you too! But not in the way you think! And I’m sorry, I’ve tried so, so hard to not think about it and, and to just move on but. I can’t! I fucking love you, Yoongi!” You didn’t try to scream it out as loudly as you did. But there it was. Out there now, and it couldn’t be taken back…there was no mistaking your feelings this time. You couldn’t bear to see what would come next, and buried your face in your arms as you sobbed your heart out.

If Yoongi’s shocked silence was any more deafening, your ear drums would’ve burst. It took way too long for an eventual soft “Hey…” to roll of his tongue.

“Stop crying.”

You kept your head hidden, sobbing onto your own arms.

“I love you too…I mean it. I’ve tried to show it to you for years, but I just wasn’t brave enough to say it, oh my god I love you so much, oh my gosh please stop crying you’re breaking my heart – “

Your heard whipped up now, puffy red eyes meeting his own swollen ones. “What are you talking about?”

“I. Love. You.”

You knew you probably should’ve stopped crying as loudly at that point, but you couldn’t. “You do?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Yoongi whipped the arm rest backward to remove the only barrier from between you two, and pushed his chair till it went as far back as it could go. “Come here,” he said, patting his own chest.

You took the hand he offered out to you, awkwardly trying to maneuver yourself over to him. You sat facing him, straddling his lap, and he pulled your sniffling form tight into his warm chest. “Please don’t be sad anymore,” he whispered into your hair, hand rubbing soothing circles into your back.

You pushed off of him to bring yourself to an upright position so that you could see his face. He looked so beautiful, eyes staring at you full of emotion, his delicate hand thumbing at the hair on the nape of your neck. Your head still swam with all of the new information it was trying to hold, but for the first time in a long while, you truly felt like everything was going to be okay. He leaned forward and rubbed his nose against yours, barely touching it. You tilted your head up to place a gentle kiss on the tip of his button nose.

He let out a soft giggle – music to your ears -  and gently placed a palm on your cheek. He rested his forehead against your head, but kept his eyes fully open and trained on yours. “So…is there any chance you’d like to be my girlfriend?”

You nodded and giggled like a silly schoolgirl, but were cut off by his warm lips pressing against your own. You were caught off guard at first, but soon melted into the kiss, becoming putty under his touch.

A few seconds later he pulled away, not wanting to overwhelm you, but you were having none of that. Your fingers curled around the collar of his hoodie, dragging him back to you as soon as you caught your breath. Just like you had dreamed about so many times before, you let your fingers tangle in his dark locks and twisted them accordingly. The small groan of appreciation he let slip out of the back of his throat was all the encouragement you needed to melt into him further. You felt him push against your shoulders, leaning backward until a loud “HONK” sounded from the horn under you, causing you to break apart with a jolt. Yoongi hugged you back into his body with a chuckle, leaning backwards against his seat. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, and placed a soft kiss under his jaw.

“Maybe we should try to make it to our last classes of the day,” he said with a laugh, the reverberations in his chest rumbling against your hand that was laid there.

“Maybe we should,” you said, peppering his jaw with gentle kisses.

_______________________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes later, you were being driven to class, Yoongi’s right hand intertwined with your left, resting against your lap. You felt your phone buzz and checked to see an attachment text from Kelsey. You opened it with curiosity, to find a photo she had evidently snapped on the way to her car earlier.

You on Yoongi, front seat of his car, making out like high schoolers. The caption? “Happy for u”.

You were happy for you, too.

[lewdladylily]

You've mentioned this kink club you frequent a few times, what's the place like generally? Like what kinda stuff do they have going on in a place like that?

There are about 4 within reasonable driving distance of where I live (salt lake city, Utah) but I have only gone to two of them due to time and distance constraints. Though you do get kink nights at a couple local dance clubs, I know Area 51 (local dance club) does them here and there, and they are generally kink friendly any time. The local drag queens really like Area 51.

Anyway, the kink clubs are community run and non commercial. The two I am familiar with are actually built in a residential area - from the outside it just looks like someone’s house, you would never know unless you knew. Someone owns the place and it is technically their home, but I don’t know who. They don’t like to let people know who they are and we all respect their privacy. My understanding is not even the neighbors know. As a side note, the cops all know where these clubs are, it isn’t a problem.

My personal favorite was founded around 60 years ago by the gay leather community but it’s always been open to the larger kink community, we all want somewhere to meet and do our thing so we support each other. Also there is a lot of cross over between different groups.

The one I go to most often has a large living room area that has been converted into a dance floor, which acts as the main play area, area for meetings and classes, and occasionally as an actual dance floor when events call for it. There is a sound system, dance club style lighting, padded benches along the walls, and lots of bondage furniture (also scattered around the rest of the clubhouse). There are several other rooms, 3 additional smaller play rooms, a rest area, a kitchen area (Free water bottles all the time, snacks most nights, as well as a soda machine).

Outside of the main clubhouse they built a small bar, maybe 15 feet by 30. You can smoke there, some nights they serve drinks, tables, stools, etc. You get it. It is a good hangout place, cozy and comfortable feel. I’ve spent a lot of hours there just chatting with people.

They have a consensual non consent area set up in the back half of the bar. The idea is that there is a hazard line on the floor that indicates a “danger” area, as well as a stop light they got somewhere. If it is green, all normal rules apply. If it is red then past the line cnc rules are in place - if you are past the line then it is an invitation for someone to come and do what they want with you without asking permission first (unless you safe word, safe words are always in effect). Generally people are not confident enough to do anything though, unless they already know you. I’ve never had the nerve to try it myself on either side. There is this one lady that is a really good belly dancer that likes to go hang out and dance in the CNC area. I’ve never been around for anyone doing more than groping her, but I understand sometimes people will tie her up, maybe use a vibrator on her.

There are also two chairs with built in restraints set up in the CNC area if that is your thing. 

There is also a pretty good size patio area. Generally we just sit and chat on warm evenings out there. It is technically open for scenes, and that does happen sometimes. I once saw a girl and her dominant doing a water torture scene, basically she was tied up arms behind her back, on her knees in front of a plastic tub filled with water. Her dominant shoved her head under the water, holding her in place while she tried to resist and break free. Pulled up and allowed to breathe before she was unexpectedly pushed back under. Very hot to watch.

For the more general things we get up to there, generally things are set up as events that you can attend. The entry fee was $15 last time I checked, just to cover minimal expenses. You can also donate to improve the clubhouse. It gets a good amount of donations, everyone wants a good place to hang out, but no one is getting any real amount of money out of it. All the donations go into things like buying furniture or cleaning supplies. All events are invitation only, basically any member of the clubhouse can sponsor someone for their first event, after that they have a standing invitation to any open event.

The events themselves vary greatly. The most popular events are the general play parties, where people just show up, hang out, meet people, and sometimes do some play. It is not uncommon at all for people to come without any intention of sexual play at all, it is a very comfortable, queer friendly environment. We’re all weirdos here, no one is going to judge you for whatever you do.

Generally speaking at any given time someone will be doing something though. All scenes and play being done in the clubhouse is open for anyone to watch. So if some hot girl is being tied up, or two attractive people are having sex, or if there is just a really sexy woman half naked across the room, you are free to watch the show and it is not considered impolite to stare.

At any given party you are going to see a wide variety of people. Lots of people in street clothes hanging out, chatting, and watching whatever is going on. You’ll see several people in anything they find sexy such as lingerie, corsets, formal wear, or even just straight up naked. I have seen two submissive friends come handcuffed together and only in panties. One of my friends likes to wear maid outfits with cat ears and a tail. All that good stuff. You’ll see people on leashes or other obvious signs of dominant/submissive dynamics too.

The events are 18+, and I’ve seen people in their 70s there. Most people are 25+. You’ll also find a wide variety of body types, including fat or otherwise not traditionally attractive people, trans people, you name it. That isn’t a real barrier to joining in on the fun or finding partners.

For an example of a more exclusive event, there is a gender queer play group that used to meet regularly, I am not sure if they still do. Open for trans people and cross dressers plus established allies. Strictly invitation only because this can be an extremely frightening thing for people.

I was a regular of the gender queer group, it was an easy place for me to start as a trans women. I felt more comfortable there than at a general play party until I got my bearings in the community, and I was friends with all the cross dressers by that point. Generally the idea was we would get together to hang out and chat, give all the cross dressers a night to dress up, some of the more experienced CDs would put on a workshop for how to do makeup. That sort of thing. These were more casual parties without much heavy play. You wont find people fucking in the basement, but you might see a light spanking scene.

They also do a weekly class on some kink subject. Someone in the community puts together a presentation on something they like in kink - for example, pony play, or dollification, or leather working - and you can come learn about it. I went to a leather class once where the presenter showed off these black leather angel wings she made, they were stunning.

These classes are strictly no play, with the exception of any demonstrations the presenter does, and the donation drive, in which a female volunteer brings around a donation box (it is actually a wooden duck, a lighthearted tradition that I don’t know the origin of) while stripped down to her panties in order to “encourage” donations. It’s a tongue in cheek tradition, we are all perverts so we might as well have some perverted fun and let an exhibitionist whore herself around a bit. No one is expected to donate, but it is encouraged.

The thing that might not get across easily is that this is a very comfortable atmosphere and basically one of the safest places you could go. Everything is built around safety and consent, and everyone is looking out for everyone else. I’ve done intense bdsm scenes before that left me so fucked up that I couldn’t even walk on my own. People helped me to the couch so I could rest, got me a blanket, and then got me a sealed water bottle so I could rehydrate and checked in on me regularly until I was able to properly take care of myself. I felt completely safe the entire time. I’ve watched over people like this myself before. It is just what you do.

If I had to pick a personal favorite thing, it would have to be the cages.

The clubhouse has a large standup cage, usually one occupant, but you can fairly comfortably fit two. Often someone gets locked in there and basically put on display. One time a cute girl was locked in the standing cage, her arms bound to the top of the cage, with it sitting in the middle of the room. People were encouraged to reach in and grope and touch her as they passed. I’ve locked people in there before, including heavy bondage to the bars of the cage while I groped and teased them with a vibrator. That was a ton of fun.

There is also a horizontal, long cage big enough for one person, or if you are willing to get very close and personal two people. It is comfortable enough for long periods of time. You often see a submissive or two locked in that cage, sometimes left there while their dominant goes off and plays with someone else. I met one of my good friends while she was locked in that cage. It has a padded top so it doubles as a bench for an added level of humiliation.

[moth-and-raven]

CHAPTER THREE

Pounding on the door before it slams into the wall with enough force to rattle the window panes. A cool hand in mine, pulling me into the dark, resting on my shoulder just a little too long as frantic directions are whispered into my ear. Adrenaline urging me on: I’ve done nothing wrong but I have to get out of here. Skidding to a halt, panting for breath, getting my bearings as the streets turn familiar, wondering how much of myself I left behind as the silver moon against my chest grows cold...

At the very least, the hike back to the palace gives me time to think. And I have so much to think about.

I must’ve led the guards right to him. Either that or someone in the bar tipped them off, which is even worse. He’s being so careless, letting so many people see him. He swore the neighborhood didn’t think much of the palace, so he was perfectly safe, but tonight proved him wrong.

I hope he escaped. Despite his recklessness, I don’t think he really wants to be captured. And I certainly don’t want him to be. I’d already decided that I wasn’t going to tell Nadia I’d seen him, and now, after talking to him, and talking to him, and talking to him… Are my loyalties so fluid, that one night can change them?

My stomach twists as I remember his smile, his laugh, the cheeky lift of his brow when he made jokes that only landed if your mind was in the same gutter as his. Mine was, every time.

I’m not used to that.

He was friendly from the start, polite and seemingly interested in what I had to say. He led me to a quiet table in the back of the bar, away from the clusters of patrons playing cards and telling outlandish stories. One of them hailed him as we passed, with an invitation to join in, but he waved them off. He asked again if I wanted anything as I sat down: I don’t drink, and I told him so. He smiled and brought me some water instead, along with a beverage for himself that smelled strongly of salt and tonic water. I was able to get a few sips in before I fell so deeply into our conversation that I forgot it was there.

It’s not that I can’t talk to people. I wouldn’t be a very good shopkeeper otherwise, even if transactions are cordial with a regular script most of the time. Of course I can’t be sure how I appear to others, but I think I come across fairly pleasantly. On the surface, at least. And that’s okay with me. It’s when I want anything else, anything more meaningful, that problems start to arise.

It doesn’t happen often, that desire to go further. Just wanting to be friends is rare, and beyond that are dangerous waters I am ill-suited to explore. Dating, even flirting, are mysterious and foreign. I don’t understand them or people who do them like love is expected and commonplace. Like the fascination I feel when I visit the menagerie in the Heart District, it’s as though I’m observing another species through a wrought-iron fence. Even romance novels seem like instructions for a situation that will never happen.

Only once before have I met someone I considered a possibility, and that was years ago now. He was a musician who played for crowds in the marketplace and would duck into the shop sometimes. I felt awkward at first, not knowing if I should talk to him or just let him linger, but eventually he struck up a conversation, and I responded. It took months of jokes and friendly banter, but I worked up the courage to ask if he wanted to go to dinner sometime. And he laughed. And he said there was someone else, and that I should’ve known that. 

And he was right.

I haven’t seen him since. He made his point clear: no one could ever be interested in me. They have no reason to be. I know I shouldn’t have been so affected, but it really just confirmed what I was afraid of all along: I am, at best, an acquired taste. I'm not feminine and I don't try to be, even though people read me as female. No one would describe me as beautiful. My face is too round, my body too fat, my hair too short, my eyes too small, my hands too big… I'm too much. I'm quick to judge, quicker to hide, emotional and hard to live with. And clearly, I tend to assume the worst of people. 

I know all of this. It's just easier to make jokes and cry about it later, where no one can see me. It's better to beat people to the punch and take off the pressure of pretending to care. It makes more sense to prepare for the worst and get it than hope for something else and be disappointed. That's why it doesn't surprise me when Asra leaves: why would he stay? I'm nothing but a burden to him. I can't imagine being anything else. 

At this point, it only hurts when I expect things to be different. 

It must be near dawn now. Julian and I talked for hours. Of course he asked how I’d found him, if the necklace had anything to do with it. I said as much as I could without getting too technical, but that led to him asking about magic in general, and my magic in particular, and how I’d learned it and what I did with it and what, if anything, I’d done before I could wield it effectively. From there we talked about other jobs, what he had done and where. He apprenticed with a famous Prakran doctor, he said, and honed his skills on battlefields across the continent. I was pleased that I knew most of the battles he mentioned, and I think I impressed him by being able to ask which side he assisted.

And he asked about me. I learned a long time ago that people don’t like knowing I can’t remember most of my life, so I built a lie that feels like truth: I was born in a small village in the mountains south of Vesuvia, which I decided because I’m pale, though not as pale as he is, and the shape of my body makes more sense if I needed insulation from the cold. I came to the city right on the tail of the Plague, and bought the shop cheap since so many people had died. But it didn’t become a shop until about two years ago, after Asra brought a bunch of magical herbs and crystals back from one of his trips and we decided to sell them. He wanted to know how I’d crossed paths with Asra; I said only that he was one of the first people I met here.

I never asked about the murder.

The tavern emptied around us. Julian told me it was called the Rowdy Raven, for an old bird that had once lived in the rafters and alerted customers whenever a guard was about to enter. I asked why they would need to be alerted, and he leaned across the table and stage-whispered that some people around here had reputations for bad behavior. I couldn’t help but laugh with him. 

If only that raven had still been around. If only someone with a bad reputation hadn’t tried to save their own skin by sacrificing his.

The sun follows me up the steps of the palace. I hope I can catch Portia and ask her to let me sleep today, but I don’t see her when I walk in and I’m too tired to search properly. The plushness of the bed doesn’t bother me now: I fall asleep almost as soon as I lay down.

As I drift off, it crosses my mind that Julian was flirting with me.

Or trying to, at least. God knows I didn’t give him anything to work with.

------

I dream of him.

The beak of his plague doctor’s mask becomes a crescent moon hanging low in the sky. He’s reaching for me, reaching for me, reaching across waves into a plume of smoke and ash for me and I can’t reach him back no matter how far I stretch. And then he’s holding my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine, kissing me like I’ve never even imagined being kissed before, and then we’re locked in a passionate embrace and he’s sinking his teeth into my shoulder to muffle a grunt as he cums and even in my sleep, I blush scarlet to think that I could be responsible for that. And then the scratches I leave on his back bleed streams of red, and unbearable loneliness, pain rooted so deeply it would take a miracle to loosen, soaks into my bones until I choke on it. I wake up gasping for breath in a beam of midday sunlight.

Someone knocks on my door. I didn’t even take my clothes off when I got back, so I stumble to my feet to answer it. Portia smiles brightly at me and nods down the corridor.

“Up and at ‘em, Reyja!”

I peer blearily at her in response, with thoughts of Julian still clinging to me.

“Ooh, late night? You’ll have to tell me all about it on our way into town.”

“What? Why?”

She takes my arm and leads me towards the entrance hall. “Countess Nadia wants to catch the noon rush at the market with the Masquerade announcement, and she thought you should be there.”

I already know about the fucking Masquerade, I think irritably, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Plus you could check on your shop while we’re there.”

That’s true. I didn’t pack enough to remain at the palace for as long as I’m expected to, so I could take the opportunity to grab some things. I’ll need them: I will see this through to the end. For Julian’s sake.

I’m in too deep. I think I’ve been in too deep from the moment I didn’t arrest him, or maybe from the moment I let him walk away from my shop unimpeded. It will never work. Even if I had a chance with him, which I don’t, he’s on the run for murder. Anything we started would be doomed to end, either in tragedy or with his stealthy departure from the city to which I’m still tethered. And in any case, I would never want to distract him with all of my weird hang-ups. He doesn’t deserve that. No one does.

On the carriage ride to the market square, I do my best to shed the despair lurking in the corners of my mind. I can't tell if I succeed or not. As Portia rushes off to assist Nadia in her preparations, I slip around the corner to the back entrance of the shop.

And I freeze. Someone has been here.

The logical part of me says that it was probably Muriel, Asra’s closest friend. He swings by to check on things every so often when Asra’s away. He doesn’t like it when I notice him, but I know he’s there and he knows I’m there and we agree to ignore each other. Usually, he leaves quickly, sometimes putting myrrh on the windowsills or tracing runemarks on the doors and charging them with protective magic.

But the energy spilling from the shop now doesn’t feel like his, and he never goes inside when he visits.

Yet I still recognize it.

No.

Please tell me he didn’t…

I open the door to Julian’s heavy black coat and leather uniform, his half-covered gaze shifting from disappointment to panic to guilt as he staggers back from me. Thank god we’re not out front. The South End at night was one thing, but to come here? At the busiest time of day? He’ll get himself caught if he isn’t careful and I cannot let that happen. The palace is thirsty for blood and it cannot be his. Regardless of what he thinks of me, I have to protect him. At least until I know if he’s innocent or not. Even after that... I shove him inside and quickly shut the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss, desperately hoping that no one saw him. If he didn’t wear such an obvious “I’m a fugitive” outfit… 

“W-well, I was, ah. I happened to be in the neighborhood and—”

“In the neighborhood? Why?!”

He still doesn’t give me a proper answer, stumbling over several sentences before settling on one: “I know you must be suspicious, catching me breaking in again. I swear on my… Hmm, what would you like me to swear on? Well, anyway, I swear I didn’t take anything.”

“I’m not worried about that!”

“Aren’t you? That could open you up to all sorts of trouble.”

“Oh, I’m going to be in trouble? Nadia is outside in the market square right now! You would’ve walked right into her and half of her guards.”

"Did she suspect anything with you coming back so late?"

"What? No? I didn't tell anyone where I was going, or why."

"Good, good. No other trouble? No one followed you or, or harassed you, or—?"

This is not the most pressing issue right now. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He lets out a long breath and some of the tension in the room fades. "Thank god. I felt awful, the way we left things. I just had to know you were alright.”

Oh. I deflate and step back from him. I suppose it makes sense to come here for that, since he couldn’t walk up to the palace and ask for me. But he shouldn’t have put himself in so much danger after such a close call. And what was his plan anyway, to just stay here until I came back? Still, at least he’s hidden at the moment. Both of our secrets are safe. “I’m— Thank you, but…”

He grins through his embarrassment and fixes the collar of his coat; it had flipped up when I pushed him through the door. “If you ask me, we ought to stop meeting like this.”

I can’t stop the blush from flooding my cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I just wonder how many crimes I can commit in front of you before you get fed up and drag me to the Countess yourself.”

Don’t do this. You’ve fallen for it before. “You’ll have to try something besides trespassing.”

“Oho? Shall we experiment?”

Oh my god. What the hell is he doing? “I don’t really think you should be adding to your rap sheet right now.”

“Are you going to report me, Reyja?”

“Are you asking me to report you, Julian?”

He laughs. “You can do whatever you like with me. I’m rather agreeable.”

Seriously, what the hell is he doing? “Sure you are.”

“How can I prove it? Hmm. Are you quite certain I didn’t take anything? You have some very nice little crystals here, so easy to slip into a pocket and waltz away with.”

“So your one-up from trespassing is petty thievery?”

He shucks off his coat and lets it fall to the floor. “Why don’t you search me and find out?”

Is he really trying to flirt with me? Again? Or is he trying to goad me into something, so he can mock me for thinking I would ever have a chance, like the last guy did. I can stand a lot of things, but being mocked cuts me to the core every time. 

I could run. I could laugh at him first. I could do what I’m supposed to be doing and tell the guards he’s here. 

But— but he’s asking. He asked. Wouldn’t it be his fault, if I took him up on the offer and he hadn’t actually meant it? 

And if he does mean it…?

“Alright.”

I shouldn’t have said that. I’m as surprised as he is that I did. But after he blinks it away, he smiles. “No need to be gentle,” he says, beckoning me closer. “Search until you're satisfied. I won’t bite unless you tell me to.”

He’s calling my bluff with invitations like that. How many times am I going to have to learn this lesson? Shouldn’t once have hurt enough? I need to back down, apologize, run and hide like I always do and never see or speak to him again. I shouldn’t be seeing or speaking to him anyway, given that I’m responsible for bringing him to justice. 

But I’m in way, way too deep. So deep I can’t see the surface anymore. All I can see is him, his broad smile and cream-pale skin, the curls of auburn hair that fall over one eye, his arms spread as if to draw me into a warm embrace… 

I move to stand in front of him. He’s so tall; his collarbone is at my eye level. But he’s watching with interest, chewing on his lip as he waits for me to do something.

Am I imagining it, or is he blushing too?

Physical contact is a luxury. I barely get more than a pat on the back or a handshake most of the time. To have an open request to touch him feels inappropriate, much more intimate than our few hours of conversation merit. I must be blazing scarlet, for how hot I feel. But I reach up and rest my hand on his shoulder, then run it down his whole arm. He’s strong. I can tell that even through the thick leather of his uniform. He shifts so I can feel the other side too, his forearm and his wrist. His palm, his long, slender fingers. 

The heavy black lines and scar tissue of the murderer’s brand, as much a part of him now as everything else.

I hold my breath as I circle around him. He has such beautiful broad shoulders. I wonder, briefly, if he could carry me, and flinch away from the idea just as quickly. Even in my imagination, it’s too farfetched to expect. He almost turns around with me, but stops with only a tremble to give him away. I keep one hand on his waist and skate the other over his back, following the line of his spine beneath his jacket. 

I flush even more when I recall my dream, how I carved bloody crescents into his skin in the throes of—

He sinks to his knees, breathing hard with tousled hair and a shaky grin, hands bound behind his back, chest bare and gleaming with sweat, peering up at me as he waits for my next command.

He flexes into my touch and I startle, drawing back. He couldn’t have known what I was thinking, could he? Of course not. God, but I hate how good he looks like that, how eager and desperate to please he is, how simply and completely he trusts whoever he’s submitting to.

And I hate how jealous I am that that person isn’t me. 

No. No, no, no. Stop it. Stop it! Why do I torment myself like this? I have no right to want him to want me. He's so ridiculously out of my league. But I have to keep him here, keep him safe. I’ll bear the pain of being laughed at if it means he won’t be caught.

I follow the crest of his hip to face him again. To my surprise, he’s beet-red, looking anywhere but down. I see why immediately.

This can’t be real.

“Um.”

He laughs, not nearly as self-conscious as I expected him to be. “You should be flattered.”

“I-I mean, uh, I am, but—”

“Mm?”

I swallow hard, willing words to come to my aid. “You like this?”

“I don’t dislike it, if that’s what you mean.”

That is what I mean, but it can’t be true. “You don’t know me well enough to be that excited just to see me.”

“Yes, well. It’s been a long time since…” He trails off. My mind eagerly fills in the blanks: since anyone’s touched me like you can. But he doesn’t voice whatever he’s thinking, and he’s definitely not thinking that. “And as I said, I don’t dislike things like this.”

Things like this. How familiar is he with things like this, I wonder. Regardless, I’m sure he’s well ahead of me. My experience is limited to books I hide when I’m done with them and however vivid my imagination decides to be. That’s my experience with everything, really.

“Or people like you.”

What? What?

He’s looking at me again, leaning down slightly to meet my eyes with a hint of a genuine smile, and—

“Ilya?”

We turn as one, both trying to shield the other from whoever just spoke. Fuck, it’s—

“Pasha?”

Portia’s standing in the doorway, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. I realize like a lightning strike why she seemed so familiar when we first met: despite their height difference, even more drastic than ours, they have the same nose, the same heavy-lidded eyes, the same wild red hair.

“Ilya, you idiot, what are you doing here?!”

“I was—”

“No, no, you have to go! You have to! If the Countess sees you, she’s gonna—”

“I know, I just—”

Portia breaks into a wild stream of Neviv, scrubbing angrily at her tears. Julian responds as he scoops his coat from the floor, conveniently hiding himself while he prepares to leave. It sounds like he’s apologizing, desperately, for something that’s weighed on him for a long time, but she doesn’t seem to be in a forgiving mood.

And suddenly, she sees me. “Reyja! I, um. Please, please don’t tell Nadia!”

It takes me a second to remember why she thinks I would. “Of course not.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you! And I won’t say anything either, I promise. If my big dumb idiot brother can stay out of—”

The royal salute cuts across her voice. Nadia’s announcement must be starting, which means that all this has to end. Now will be the safest time for him to escape, with everyone milling around to see what all the fuss is about. All three of us come to that conclusion at the same time.

“I’ll go with him,” Portia says, eyeing Julian testily. “Gotta give him a piece of my mind.”

“And I’ll deserve every insult you can throw at me, Pashenka, but—”

“No buts!”

Julian pauses, standing between us, and looks back with an unreadable expression. If I didn’t know better…

“I’ll catch up with you after I get him out of here,” Portia says to me. “Nadia wants you with the rest of the palace staff up on the dais. You should be able to go around the back and no one will notice. Hopefully no one will notice us either.” She grumbles something else in Neviv and scowls, then peeks outside and looks up and down the street before grabbing Julian by the elbow and hauling him out of the shop.

They’ve disappeared by the time I close the door.

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

prev || next

[smallcowplant]

[ P A R T  T W O ]

my favorite thing is monsters (book one) by emil ferris 🧟‍♀️🔍🧛‍♀️

quick synopsis: adult (coming-of-age story from the perspective of a young girl, but definitely targeted at an older audience)/graphic novel. set in late 60′s chicago, the fictional graphic diary of ten year old karen reyes recounts her experiences as she tries to solve the murder of her beautiful and enigmatic upstairs neighbor, a holocaust survivor.

page count: 416

rating:★★★ (this is a hard rating for me...think 3.7-3.9....oscillating to a 4....4.2....I don’t know, man)

review: I keep doing this fun and cool thing where I buy a book without realizing it’s the first in an (unfinished) series, and then end up being cast woefully adrift by reality. that’s what I did with this one. purely based on the artwork alone, I can tell you that this book is a treat for the eyes. a lot is going on here, and there’s something so engrossing about being swept up into the chaotic pen strokes and colors. the story is an interesting one, and not entirely what you expect. the characters are all distinct and layered---really riveting people who feel near-painfully real. as the first book in a two (?) book series, it leaves off with the central (and now additional) mysteries unsolved---which leaves the reading experience feeling unfinished and kind of disjointed. I’m stuck in a bit of a confusing mid-zone with this one, where I truly....well, I can't say I enjoyed it, since this story is so much more than that? I was...fascinated? enveloped? I’ll be reading the next one, definitely.

one of us is lying by karen m. mcmanus 🥜🚓📱

quick synopsis: young adult/contemporary mystery/suspense. five students walk into detention. only four make it out alive. who did it...and who is lying?

page count: 361

rating:★★★ (firm 3.7)

review: the breakfast club....but with murder? if you’re down for that, you’ll enjoy this book! it certainly kept my attention. and MAN was this a suspenseful and super stressful read. (if you need a book that’ll make you go “wow, I’m glad I’m not in high school anymore”, this is it lol!) there’s a bunch of really interesting character studies going on in this one, and it definitely lends to a tense and involving read. the only reason the rating isn’t any higher is just that certain elements of it didn’t work...entirely...for me. that doesn’t mean that they were bad...just not what I...wanted? there’s two more books in this series, and while I’m not anxious to get my hands on them, I’m fairly sure I would read them!

murder at morrington hall: a stella and lyndy mystery by clara mckenna 🐎🍵💏

quick synopsis: adult/historical mystery. 1905. stella kendrick, a lively and confident american heiress, is tricked into an arranged marriage by her coldly ambitious father. her groom-to-be is viscount “lyndy” lyndhurst, who is both roughish and financially strapped. despite this rough beginning, they find themselves oddly drawn to each other. could they actually be a good match? however, all courtship is set aside when the pair discover the vicar who was  to marry them----dead in the library. now they must work together to solve the crime and find the culprit.

page count: 304

rating: ★★

review: ugh, it pains me to say, as I thought I was signing myself up for a fun turn-of-the-century murder mystery/romance...but this was just...meh. a meh story. I feel like it had potential to be an enjoyable, soapy romp with a dash of sensuality...but it was none of those things? (basically, I wanted a self-indulgent and delicious slice of chocolate cake...but I ended up with a week-old raisin muffin.) it didn't help that I had some issues with certain things the writer included. in particular, I REALLY didn’t like the equating of fat = mean/ugly and the repeated use of the word “bulbous” to describe certain characters noses----I had to do a quick google search to see what the hell the author was talking about. still not sure if she was trying to imply that the characters had rhinophyma/rosacea or just that they had bigger, “ugly” noses, but neither is good lmao. whenever you put a “plain/regular-degular person” with a big nose up against your array of stock White People™ characters with thin noses and angular faces, AND make those “plain” characters play the “wow, I’m so ugly but these characters are so pretty oh woe is me” bullshit in their inner monologue, I’m dipping. I’ve collected my paycheck, clocked out, left the building. (your story is already about a bunch of rich, straight, white people in 1905...I’m already skeptical, don’t test me. jk, but also not.) I’m fairly sure this would have caused a decent amount of people to DNF this book, but I’m a stubborn little bitch, and if I paid actual money for the hardcover copy at goddamn Barnes and Noble, I’m reading it. this is all to say that....if I’m being thrown out of enjoying your soapy historical murder mystery to gripe about random shit, there’s a problem. other than that? carpet was described a lot, the twist was decent, the romance was okay (no smut---or anything even vaguely close to romantic/sexual tension---and the kisses were not described at all, so I have no clue if either of them do more than press their lips together while admiring each others pale necks, but whatever), and the setting was the most interesting thing about this book (a crumbling english estate in the countryside?? sign me tf up). I won’t be reading anything more in this series, but that cover is pretty cool isn’t it? (I don’t know that the vase had anything to do with the story I read, but it does look really neat.) sidenote: hate to be a smarmy asshole, as I know full well how much work goes into writing, and I’m in no way trying to shame the author...this book just didn’t do it for me.

wilder girls by rory power 🌳🦷🥀

quick synopsis: young adult/horror/mystery. on an isolated island off the coast of maine, raxter school for girls is under quarantine. a mysterious disease has wracked the island, leaving teachers dead, students twisted and changed, and the woods that surround it dangerous and wild. while the disease consumes the island, the girls wait---for help, for the cure that was promised to them. but when hetty’s best friend disappears, she must venture out of the safety of the school, past the gate that separates them from the woods---and what she finds will change everything.

page count: 363

rating: ★★★★★

review: powerful, blistering, and utterly terrifying. that’s what immediately comes to mind when thinking about this book. I read it in a breakneck pace, devouring the whole thing in a feverish five? hour haze. once it was over, I sat bleary-eyed, the air around me feeling different than before, my hands tense and my stomach jumping. “you were a good one.” I said softly, kissing the spine. so yeah, it’s good. it’s very good. heartbreaking and awful and shockingly beautiful. this one hurts. I felt this one in my bones, in my soul. read it.

lovely war by julie berry 🌷💥💞

quick synopsis: young adult (but the youngest character is 18...so I think this could comfortably slot into adult)/historical (with a touch of fantasy). the intersecting stories of hazel, james, aubrey, and colette: a classical pianist from london, a british would-be-architect-turned-soldier, a harlem-born ragtime genius in the u.s. army, and a belgian orphan with a gorgeous voice and a devastating past----told by the goddess aphrodite, who must spin the tale or face judgment on mount olympus.

page count: 468

rating: ★★★★★

review: do you know how many times I CRIED while reading this book? because I certainly don’t! I lost track, as there are simply too many painful and beautiful things contained in this book. heart-wrenching, sumptuous and intoxicating, vivid in the best and worst ways, sharp and soft at the same time. I met my boyfriend while he was still active-duty military, so the wartime/seperation themes hit me very personally....but even without that, this book is excellent. expertly weaving together mythology and history in one gripping piece of art, it left me with a wistful smile on my face and a faint ache in my heart. it’s good. very good.

we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson 🏡💀🐱

quick synopsis: young adult? adult? who knows!/mystery/horror. mary katherine blackwood is eighteen years old and lives with her sister constance. she has often thought that with any luck at all she would have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both of her hands are the same length, but she has had to be content with what she has. she dislikes washing herself, and dogs, and noise. she likes her sister constance, and richard plantagenet, and amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. everyone else in her family is dead.

page count: 146

rating: ★★★★ (4.5/4.6!)

review: delightfully creepy and utterly odd, with a full cast of extremely unlikable characters and one of the strangest protagonists I’ve ever read. at NO TIME did I have any idea where the story was going, which lead to an completely bizarre (but fun!) reading experience. twilight-zonian/gothic...but better. very eager to read more of shirley jackson’s catalogue, because that lady sure knew how to weave a tale. very glad I read this one.

sadie by courtney summers 📻👥🎙

quick synopsis: young adult (mc is nineteen, and imo I feel like this slides into adult tbh)/contemporary/true crime. told from the alternating perspectives of nineteen-year-old sadie, who runs away from home to find her younger sister’s killer, and a true crime podcast exploring sadie’s disappearance.

page count: 308

rating: ★★★ 

review: sad, awful, raw. that’s this book, simultaneously bright red and angry and deep blue, sadness upon sadness. this book reminds me of every true crime documentary I’ve ever watched---how it wraps itself up in a depressingly soft way, all the emptiness left behind and everything forever-changed. gives me the same icky voyeuristic feeling consuming any true crime content always leaves with me---this peculiar feeling of peering in to others heartbreak, of their horrors. this is a hard book. it’s difficult and not easy to stomach---and it never lets up. know that before you go in. what you may expect/want is NOT what you’ll get. and that’s the trueness of this book. I have my own personal feelings regarding the story, thus the three star rating, but that’s on ME. this book is incredibly well-written and insanely gripping. I finished it the same night I started reading it. if you want a gritty, intense read set in the very bleak reality of our world, this is your book.

FEBRUARY

BOOKS READ: 14

PAGES READ: 4225

# OF 2020 BOOKS READ SO FAR: 17/50

in reflection: my goal for this month was to read ten books, and I did that ...plus four more! so I’m pretty proud of myself, lol! there were a lot of stellar reads this month, and I had so much fun discovering them all! definitely a TON of new favorites to add to my bookshelf! :^)

disclaimer: all fourteen of the books I read this month include/focus on potentially triggering content, although they do fluctuate on the scale of intensity and subject matter. my wrap-up reviews do not contain spoilers/a comprehensive list of potential triggers. I urge everyone to do their own research regarding the content of these books if you’re interested in reading them, and I’m always available for questions. my reviews are just that, reviews, and books that work for me may not work for you (and vice versa).

[becasbelt]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell, Beca Mitchell/Jesse Swanson, Stacie Conrad/Aubrey Posen (mentioned), Benji Applebaum/Emily Junk, Bumper Allen/Fat Amy Characters: Emily Junk, Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale, Benji Applebaum, Jesse Swanson, Fat Amy (Pitch Perfect), Cynthia-Rose Adams, Stacie Conrad Additional Tags: confused emily is my favorite emily, Emily POV Summary:

Emily is smart, so why is it that she can’t seem to figure out the relationships going on in the a cappella world at Barden University?

In which Emily tries to figure out who each of the Bellas are dating.

* * *

Here’s the thing: Emily Junk is smart. She knows she’s smart. Not everyone can go through high school with an almost perfect 4.0 (stupid biology) like Emily did, which she could do because she’s smart. Book-smart, at least. She may still have some work to do in the street smarts category.

Still. SMART.

But if she’s so smart, why is it that she can’t seem to figure out the relationships going on in the a cappella world at Barden University?

There are the obvious ones where she doesn’t even have to know the two people involved to know that they’re an item: the one guy from the Trebles and the one girl from the Harmonics, the two girls from the High Notes, and those two guys from the Harmonics. There are obvious couples at Barden, but Emily isn’t concerned with any of them.

Emily wants to know who the Bellas are dating. She needs to know who her family loves, so she can love them, too… only, in a different way. She doesn’t want to love love who her family loves, because that would be so wrong. She doesn’t want to get in the way of anyone’s relationship.

The only problem is, no one tells her anything. Granted, she doesn’t ask, but still. No one tells her “This is my boyfriend,” or “This is my girlfriend,” or even “This is the person I slept with last night but we’re not going to date or anything because I don’t really like them all that much.”

No one tells her any of that, and it’s driving her crazy.

So Emily makes it her self-appointed secret mission to find out who each of the Bellas are dating.

She finds out that Flo isn’t dating anyone pretty quick. When Emily asks her, casually, totally not suspiciously, one day if she was seeing anyone, Flo’s answer is, “Men are dogs. They will take away all that you have worked hard for and sell you to their worthless brother without batting an eye, forcing you to escape under the cover of night after crushing sleeping pills in their dinner.”

Emily had just stared at her, wide-eyed and scared, and Flo concluded by saying, “So no, I will not willingly give myself up for a man again until he has rightfully earned his way into my presence.”

Emily tries not to have too many conversations with Flo after that.

She assumes Lilly isn’t dating anyone. Emily doesn’t think she’ll ever actually find a way to confirm this assumption, because when Emily asked if she liked anyone, Lilly had whispered something about crystal martini glasses and shampoo bottles and walked away.

Emily tries to avoid Lilly, too.

Jessica and Ashley are probably dating each other. Emily doesn’t know for sure, though, because anytime she tries talking to one or both of them, Fat Amy or Stacie or somebody else starts shouting about something, demanding the attention of the entire room. Emily’s confused about how that happens every time, but Jessica and Ashley don’t seem too surprised.

The two of them cuddle in the armchair during movie nights, and do each other’s hair when they’re hanging out in the living room. Jessica likes to steal Ashley’s high school letterman jacket when it gets chilly outside, and Ashley will always steal food from Jessica’s plate when they all go out to eat together. Emily doesn’t know for sure if they’re dating or not, but she fully supports it if they are.

She finds out about Amy’s… intimate partner in a way that she really wishes she hadn’t. Really, if she could forget it, she would. Unfortunately, it seems that the scene that played out is now burned into her long-term memory.

Emily’s last class of the day (biology, ugh) had gotten cancelled one seemingly innocent Tuesday. With glee, Emily had rushed across campus towards the Bella house to see if any of the Bellas were home already. Chloe had said that she was free to come and go at the house however she pleased, so Emily tended to just head over anytime she didn’t have anywhere else to be. Plus, her roommate, Drusilla (Drusilla?), was weird- like, painted her half of the room black the first day they got there, only sleeps for about two hours a night because she’s up writing poetry all night weird.

So Emily tended to spend less time at her own dorm and more time at the Bella house.

When Emily made it up to the front door, she could already hear noises coming from inside. Loud noises. Excited, Emily figured that there was already a few girls home and pushed the door open. She stepped into the living room, already talking about how her class got cancelled, looked up and-

There on the kitchen table, visible from the living room, lay Fat Amy, in the nude, with Bumper doing something involving whipped cream and oh gosh what was that-

Emily had clamped both her hands over her eyes, spun on her heel, and marched- no, ran- out the door. She didn’t uncover her eyes until she’d made it all the way down the driveway and accidentally bumped into someone walking by. Cheeks burning, Emily had walked back to her dorm, ready to rub her eyeballs with soap if that’s what it took to get that image out of her head.

Emily always texted Chloe or Beca or any of the other Bellas before heading to the Bella house now. Even Drusilla and her poems about the beauty of moths were better than the risk of seeing Fat Amy’s baby shoot for a third time.

So Emily knew about Amy and Bumper, even if she wished she’d found out in literally any other way. She didn’t know how public that information was to the rest of the world, though, so she kept it to herself. She also didn’t think Amy knew she knew, because she seemed pretty occupied when the whole terrible event transpired.

At first, Emily thought Cynthia Rose and Stacie were dating, but a closer look at the pair quickly shut down that theory. It was an easy mistake to make, really. Those two flirted with each other so much that Emily wasn’t sure they had ever had a conversation that wasn’t filled with winks and sexual innuendos.

After one late night conversation with Cynthia Rose, though, Emily learned the truth. All the other Bellas had either gone to bed, were out partying, or locked away studying, but Cynthia Rose had been up watching some TV show Emily didn’t recognize. So, she and Emily started talking and pretty soon Emily was sharing her fears about college and the real world, and Cynthia Rose had turned out to be a really great person to confide in.

Towards the end of their late night therapy session, Cynthia Rose’s phone had lit up with some notification. Emily happened to glance down and she saw that her phone background featured her kissing the cheek of a cute blonde girl.

“Who’s that in your background?” Emily had asked, pointing at the device. Cynthia Rose picked up her phone and looked at the picture, smiling.

“That’s my girl,” she had said fondly, eyes softening and smile widening. “Amber.”

Emily had squealed and immediately launched into question after question about Amber, all of which Cynthia Rose patiently answered with a twinkle in her eye.

When it came to Stacie, Emily was honestly too scared to ask her what her dating life was like. She knew that she slept with many different people on a fairly regular basis (anyone that had ever had a two-minute conversation with Stacie would know that), but she didn’t know if any of them had ever been anything serious, or if Stacie had ever had real feelings for anyone ever. She was nervous to ask Stacie these things herself, because she didn’t know how in depth her answers would be if asked, and Emily had already been scarred enough for one school year (thanks, Amy).

So Emily goes with a safer option: she asks Chloe.

“I’m sure Stacie’s had real relationships before,” Chloe says, sliding a veggie tray across the kitchen island to Emily. It’s a Saturday afternoon. Most of the Bellas are out buying clothes, food for the next week, or doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who. The only people home at the moment are Emily, Chloe, and Beca.

Chloe flits about the kitchen; throwing out old food, wiping down countertops, putting stray dishes in the sink. Beca sits on one of the barstools at the island, laptop in front of her opened up to her mixing program. She’s got her big headphones on, though one of the cups is pushed back to expose one of her ears to the conversation.

Emily sits next to Beca, trying to be casual about her curiosity towards Stacie’s love life. “Anybody you know?” She asks Chloe, reaching for a carrot to munch on. “Has she been with anyone since she joined the Bellas?”

Chloe wipes her hands with a dish towel and leans her hip against the edge of the sink, contemplating Emily’s questions. Beca’s eyes dart up to watch Chloe think for a second before focusing back on her computer. “Not that I can recall,” Chloe decides after a moment. “But that’s not to say she’s never been in a real relationship before.”

“Or a secret one,” Beca suddenly interjects, earning herself squinted look from Chloe. Beca holds eye contact with Chloe, seemingly challenging her.

“For the last time, Beca, Stacie was not in a secret relationship with Aubrey,” Chloe says, sounding slightly exasperated. Emily’s head whips around to stare at Chloe with wide eyes. She was not expecting that. “You have no actual evidence to back that claim up.”

Beca narrows her eyes. “Then why did she go easier on Stacie for cardio than the rest of us?”

“Beca, you can’t use that as proof, because Aubrey was easier on everyone compared to you.”

“Aubrey always blushed when Stacie would talk to her.”

“Aubrey is easily flustered when it comes to sex talk because of how she was raised and Stacie always talks about sex.”

“You just don’t want to admit that Aubrey would keep a secret from you.”

“No, it’s just that I know that she wouldn’t.”

Emily’s head switches back and forth between the two captains like she’s watching a tennis match. They debate the issue for a while before dropping it all together, changing conversation topics easily and seeming to forget that Emily is still sitting there.

Emily bites into another carrot. Her questions about Stacie may not be completely answered, but she doesn’t mind because she’s observing something much more complex.

* * *

By far the most confusing relationship on Barden University’s campus was Chloe Beale and Beca Mitchell’s. Because Emily didn’t even know if it was a relationship between Beca and Chloe or Beca and Jesse. Or were Jesse and Benji a thing? They were really close, and seemed to know way too many details about each other’s lives…

Gosh, Emily hoped Jesse and Benji weren’t together. That would make Benji asking Emily out a dozen times really awkward. Plus, she was actually starting to kind of like that sweet magician.

But this wasn’t about Jesse and Benji. This was about Beca and Chloe… and Jesse, maybe. But definitely not Benji.

Moving on.

Emily has thought that Beca and Chloe were together ever since she first saw them interact with each other. It was at the Treble’s party at the beginning of the year, about halfway through the night. Emily had been talking with Jessica and Flo while avoiding accepting any drinks anyone tried to give her because her mom warned her not to take drinks from strangers unless she wanted to wake up in her underwear on the side of some road in Oklahoma 10 hours later.

Anyways.

It had been about halfway through the party when Emily saw Beca and Chloe together. She had met both of them separately earlier in the night but had yet to see them interact. Jessica and Flo’s chatter became white noise to Emily as she focused her attention on the two captains on the other side of the Treble’s pool.

When Chloe spotted Beca, she squealed loud enough to be heard over the sound of the party, making Beca flinch violently and say something that Emily thought was close to, “Jesus, woman. You’ll make me deaf one of these days.”

Nevertheless, Beca had smiled at Chloe and accepted the tight hug that the redhead bestowed upon her. The two stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms longer than was strictly necessary, Emily thought, before Beca turned her head to say something in Chloe’s ear. Chloe started giggling at whatever Beca told her, and pulled away from the hug to place a kiss on Beca’s cheek. Beca had just rolled her eyes with affection and let Chloe lead her by the hand to the dance floor, where the two of them proceeded to spend the rest of the night dancing with each other.

Throughout the entire night Beca only really interacted with Chloe. Her and Jesse did talk here and there, but from what Emily heard from them it was mostly banter and sarcastic comments towards one another. Emily truly thought they were just ‘bros’.

Then Beca kissed Jesse goodnight before leaving to go home and Emily’s world shifted in confusion.

Since that night, Emily hasn’t been able to truly tell who Beca was dating. She had compiled mental lists on evidence for both possible pairings.

Beca and Jesse: Emily has seen them kiss a total of four times. They held hands at the weird basement riff-off thing. Jesse always calls Beca “my girl” and will sometimes swat her butt when she walks away from him. Beca goes out with Jesse a lot, at least according to Chloe (“Where’s Beca?” “I don’t know,” Chloe grumbles. “Probably out with Jesse.”).

Beca and Chloe: Always touching in some way; heads on shoulders, feet on laps, hand in hand. Beca likes to play with Chloe’s fingers whenever she’s bored, like during movie nights. Chloe likes to kiss Beca’s forehead and cheeks, especially when Beca’s grumpy. They fall asleep cuddled up on the couch late at night when Emily’s doing homework in the kitchen. Beca steals glances at Chloe all the time. They always know what the other one is going to say before they say it.

All this is just based on Emily’s personal observations, of course. Nothing that she’s noticed is hard, condemning evidence one way or another.

After months of careful observations and deliberating, Emily still has yet to come to a solid conclusion. She decides to enlist in some outside help, but she’ll have to be real sly about it.

“Who’s Beca dating?” The question bursts from Emily’s mouth before she’s had time to figure out a clever way to ask it.

Darn it.

Benji looks up from his noodles, surprised. When he asked Emily if she wanted to go get Chinese earlier that night, surely he had not been expecting to talk about Beca’s dating life.

(It wasn’t a date. Emily still wasn’t really ready to jump into anything; she was only 18, after all. This was just… getting dinner with a friend. And that friend just happened to be paying for both of them. And none of their other friends were with them. It wasn’t a date.)

“What do you mean?” Benji asks, swallowing his food and scrunching up his eyebrows.

Emily pokes at her own food with her fork (she never could figure out how to use chopsticks). “It’s just… Beca seems really close with… specific people…. And she’s not super open about her life with me, because I don’t think she likes me very much, and she probably thinks that I’d tell everyone her secrets- even though I totally wouldn’t- and I just want to know who she’s dating because there’s a couple people that she could be with and it’s killing me that I don’t know an-“

“Whoa, breathe, Emily,” Benji interrupts her, looking slightly apologetic for doing so. Emily smiles at him sheepishly. “First of all, Beca doesn’t hate you. If she hated you, you would know, trust me.” He chuckles, and then continues. “And to answer your question: Beca’s dating Jesse.”

Emily’s eyes widen in excitement. “Really? FINALLY some answers!” Benji looks a bit shocked by her outburst, but doesn’t say anything. Emily sits there basking in her triumph for a second, and then fully registers Benji’s answer. She deflates a little. “Oh, then that means…”

Benji looks at her curiously. “You… okay?” He asks, head dipping a little to try to catch her eyes.

Emily shakes her head a little. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She says, not so convincingly, she’s afraid. She smiles at Benji instead. “Thanks.”

Benji’s eyes soften at her smile, and he just shrugs a little before going back to his noodles.

That night, Emily lays awake pondering her new knowledge. Beca was dating Jesse, not Chloe. Emily’s shocked, honestly. Sure, she’d had evidence for whoever Beca was with, but deep down she’d always thought it was Chloe.

Emily huffs and rolls to her other side. If Beca and Chloe weren’t dating, then what were they?

The question weighs heavily on her mind until she sees Beca and Chloe next, a couple days later. Emily watches the two captains at rehearsal very closely. Watches the way Beca will look up from her computer every so often and just look at Chloe with a small smile on her face. Watches the way Chloe’s eyes crinkle at the corners when Beca calls her “Chlo” and how she blushes slightly when Beca compliments her. Understanding starts to dawn in Emily’s mind.

Later that evening when all the Bellas pile into the TV room for a movie night, Emily’s understanding starts to really take shape. As she watches Chloe pull Beca down into the spot next to her, blanket falling over both their laps, and Beca smile shyly at Chloe as she plays with her fingers, Emily knows for sure what they are.

Beca and Chloe are just two dummies who don’t know how in love with each other they are. They don’t know yet, but they will someday. Emily’s sure of it.

Emily smiles and turns her attention away from the two fools in love and towards the movie, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth. She can’t wait until they figure it out.

See? Smart.

[cakesunflower]

War of Hearts [Gang!Calum AU] Part 6

A/N: a big fat insane shout out to my girl @hotmessmichael for helping me out SO MUCH with the second half of this chapter. def wouldn’t have been able to do it without her. also, as a warning, there’s some violence in this chapter so read with caution.

Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Part 6

The sound of his fingers tapping against the leather steering wheel was rhythmic, relentless as he glared out the windshield. What was taking her so damn long? Calum had been waiting for ten minutes in his car outside of the building, waiting for Ruby to walk out. Normally he wouldn’t care too much if she was late, but after receiving Ashton’s text about the Sabers’ shipment coming in, Calum had to move fast. He knew he could’ve just sent some other Rider to pick Ruby up, would’ve made a lot more sense if he’d done just that, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Needed to pick her up from work himself and needed to drop her off at the safe house himself because he couldn’t be there with her while he was out with practically everyone else.

Making absolute sure she would be safe was the least he could do.

His jaw tightened as he waited, going over the past few days. Ruby had been staying at his place for almost a week while his men gathered intel on the Sabers, finding out the location of the drop, as well as the day and time it would happen. Additionally, they also learned how many of Sabers’ men would be there and while it wasn’t nearly as much Calum had hoped, it was better than nothing. He just needed to make sure everything would go according to plan.

His agitation grew as he impatiently waited for Ruby to come out,  wanting to be at the warehouse already. Having her stay with him had left Calum feeling a bit restless. After that night, after Lincoln’s death, Calum couldn’t keep it the fuck together for the life of him. His entire room was destroyed, just a small window into what was going on in his guilt, grief and anger ridden mind and twisting soul, and despite having that visual, it still made Calum’s heart clench that Ruby had stayed the night with him.

The next morning, neither of them talked about what happened, nor did they talk about it the following days. Calum wasn’t embarrassed that Ruby had seen him that way, had seen him sitting on the floor of his bedroom with his head in his hands in the middle of a tearless breakdown. He just wished that she’d never had to witness that in the first place. No matter the person, Calum hated showing vulnerability; it wasn’t in his nature. If he had a blind spot, his enemies would no doubt use it against him, wouldn’t hesitate in doing so, because God knows he’s done the same. And while he knew Ruby was the last person to use something like that to get an advantage over him, it still unsettled him. It’s not who he was.

But the sight of her still in his bed the next morning. . . There was a moment where he didn’t give a fuck.

The woman had an effect on him, there was no point in denying that now. For the first time, with her laying in bed next to him, Calum didn’t sleep with one hand holding the gun under his pillow.

After that night, things had been. . . Normal. Or, well, a slight improvement from normal because Ruby no longer seemed to feel as though she couldn’t hold a conversation with Calum, and he definitely held back on the teasing comments he sometimes dropped. Mostly, that had to do with the fact that after losing five people, he justifiably had nothing else in mind except getting back at those who killed them. Though Ruby did sneak into his mind more often than not.

At the thought of the green eyed girl, Calum let out a sharp breath through his nose, already thinning patience completely disappearing as he finally threw the car door open, slamming it shut with his left hand since his right wasn’t healed yet. His shoes clicked against the pavement as he stormed his way towards the building, wanting to see what was taking Ruby so fucking long, when the front doors opened and out she stepped with some guy right next to her.

Calum slowed to a stop, eyes narrowing and lips pursed as he watched her laugh at whatever the guy had said, wearing scrubs similar to Ruby’s. He was familiar, and Calum knew he was one of her coworkers, though his name wasn’t coming to Calum. But he watched, jaw tight, as Ruby and the guy laughed and chatted as if they’d been lifelong friends, ignoring the twist he felt at the sight of them. Ignoring the burn he felt in his blood that he knew too well because he’d rather be angry at the Sabers than jealous over whatever the fuck this was.

As if suddenly realizing someone was a few feet in front of them, Ruby glanced forward, blinking in surprise at Calum. He always waited in the car for her, never stepped out. “Hi,” she cautiously greeted, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Everything okay?”

Calum lifted his chin, hands shoving into the pockets of his signature leather jacket, gaze sliding to the man next to Ruby as he said to her, “Just wanted t’see what was takin’ you so long.”

“Just some paperwork that needed to be sorted for a patient,” Ruby truthfully responded, hiking her bag up higher on her shoulder. Gesturing to the guy next to her, she cautiously introduced, “Uh, this is Oscar. Oscar, this is Calum.”

Oscar offered a smile to Calum, light brown eyes taking him in as he extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Calum’s eyes narrowed at him, ever so slightly. Most people never looked him in the eye, never were so open and outwardly friendly towards him. That wasn’t Calum being arrogant—it was him knowing the kind of attitude he gave off to others, and not caring much for it. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like being feared, or if he didn’t feel a rush of satisfaction knowing there were people out there who merely felt his presence and knew not to cross paths with him. It made his life hell of a lot easier.

But this kid was too bright and friendly and Calum had no time for it.

Instead of indulging himself on why this guy didn’t sit right with him, chalking it up to his own grievance of being jealous, Calum looked back at Ruby and said, “We need to go. Now.”

Oscar awkwardly dropped his hand and Ruby shot him an apologetic smile before shifting her gaze to Calum, who didn’t at all look fazed by her disapproving frown. Not that she thought it would do much anyways. “Um, okay,” Ruby conceded before shooting Oscar a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Her coworker nodded, his gaze flickering to Calum briefly before offering a quick smile to Ruby. “Yeah. See you.”

Calum was swift in turning on his heel to walk toward the car, a sharp, “Let’s go,” escaping his lips as he did so.

Ruby blinked after him for a moment before quickly following him, feeling a bit alarmed at his attitude. It wasn’t anything new, of course—Calum was a cold, distant person to begin with. Even though Ruby had seen a different side of him, had seen how he was to be around on a regular basis when he wasn’t letting the weight of the world push him down. Of course, it wasn’t like Calum was a carefree person lounging around in his living room; he didn’t smile much, smoked a lot, and always carried a gun. There was nothing rainbows and sunshine about him, but Ruby hadn’t heard that cold tone in his voice for a few days. The sound of it was unsettling.

“Are you—is everything okay?” Ruby asked once they were in the car, seat belt buckled as Calum practically sped out of the parking lot.

“We’re doin’ it today and I’m takin’ you to a safe house until it’s done.”

Ruby didn’t need to ask what it was—not when she already knew, not with the hard and factual tone Calum spoke in. He had that no nonsense expression on his face, focused and determined as he stared at the road ahead, ring clad fingers tight around the steering wheel as he drove.

She looked out the windshield as they drove, throat working as she thought of what was going to take place. Ruby didn’t know what the plan was, wasn’t privy to that kind of knowledge, but knowing these guys it obviously was going to be dangerous. It tightened her stomach nervously, her insides feeling empty yet heavy at the same time as worry already began clawing at her skin. Worry for the Riders. Worry for Calum.

The safehouse was a little ways outside of the city, but with Calum’s driving they made it there fairly quickly. To her surprise, Calum got out of the car just as she did, waiting for her to round the car before walking with her to the front of the house. She’d just assumed he’d drop her off and take off, since he looked to be in such a rush, and plus judging by the truck parked, there were already some Riders inside.

It was the same safehouse as before, at the end of some rundown neighborhood and standing tall on two stories. They walked inside and Ruby noticed two members of the Riders in the living room the front door opened into, looking their way and greeting Calum with a nod of their heads. Gesturing to the two men, Calum said to Ruby, “Vick and Sean will be here to keep an eye on you. I’d prefer more around here but everyone else has got other jobs to do. Sorry.”

Ruby looked at him, eyebrows furrowing as she saw the genuine remorse in his dark eyes, his own eyebrows pulled together in an almost dismayed frown. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” she assured him, hand holding the strap of her bag as her grip tightened on it, nervous. “Just—be safe, okay?”

Calum pressed his lips together, saw the worry swimming in her pretty green eyes as his throat dried at the sight of her. He didn’t want to leave Ruby, but he had to go and make sure everything went according to plan, hating that he couldn’t be at two places at once. Jaw clenching, Calum looked over to the side, giving both Vick and Sean a look, prompting them to leave the room to give Calum and Ruby some privacy without another word.

Turning back to Ruby, she noticed how his stance relaxed, only by a fraction, given the circumstances at hand. Calum took a step towards her, letting out a breath as he explained, “It might take me a few hours to get back, yeah? We gotta get rid of their supplies and then I’m gonna go after Hawkins. Once it’s all over, I’ll come back for you, okay?”

Hawkins, as in the leader of the Sabers and the man who basically put a hit on Ruby.

She knew that Calum was personally going to go after him, didn’t expect anything else. This was coming, Ruby knew and expected it, but now that the day was here she felt her heart in her throat, preventing her from breathing properly. Every time Michael left for an assignment, as they called it, whether it be to take care of someone or make a deal or something, and Ruby was aware of it, she always felt a crashing wave of anxiety. Always feared if he’d make it back, if he’d be okay, heart always thundering through her body until she heard from him again.

Right now, Ruby knew she was going to experience the same thing now with Calum. She looked at him, throat dry as she easily picked up on the ferocity with which he was going to get this job done along with the hesitancy he felt with leaving her here. It was crazy to Ruby, how living with him for a few days gave her an insight on picking up on the emotions Calum tried to keep off his face. But now she could see through them; could see him hating that he had to leave her, along with the determination to put down the people who are threatening them. Threatening her.

She was worried for him, could feel it in her Goddamn bones the same way she did when it came to Michael. And yet. . . It felt different. Whenever she was aware of Michael being on a job, there was a heaviness in her heart brought on by incessant worry over her big brother, piling up for years. And now Calum was putting himself in danger, which she was well aware he did practically every day just like Michael, but it was twisting her heart in a completely different way.

Looking at him, Ruby felt her stomach dropping as Calum stood in front of her, the concern coming back in full swing because just like Michael, Ruby needed Calum to come back. The realization that he was about to potentially walk into a line of gunfire had Ruby’s ears buzzing and heart thundering wildly. Terrified.

And maybe he saw that. Maybe he saw the worry and fright on her face as she answered his statement with shaking, absent nod, too consumed in her distressed thoughts about his well being as she frowned at the floor. Calum rolled his lower lip into his mouth as he gazed at her, the anxious pout on her red lips and the disquieted furrow in her eyebrows, his hands curling into fists at his sides as his throat began working.

He didn’t give it much thought, didn’t allow himself the luxury to think things through or consider the consequences. Calum unclenched his hands, not even paying attention to the dull sting his blunt nails had dug into his palms, before he grasped Ruby’s face and pulled her lips onto his.

Her hands instantly wrapped around his wrists and for a moment Calum thought she would push him way, feared that he completely misread the situation, but Ruby was kissing him back. Her lips moved against his, effortlessly making his heart race and her own to drop to the pit of her stomach as the heat of the kiss melted her. It was hot and desperate as Calum pulled her impossibly close, eyebrows furrowing slightly as Ruby parted her lips at her own accord to deepen the kiss, effectively tightening the knots in Calum’s stomach.

He wished he didn’t have to go, but he did and so with reluctance he pulled away a few minutes later, the disconnect of their lips allowing both of them to gasp for air. Calum pressed his forehead against hers, large hands still cupping her face as his eyes remained closed, trying to get his raging thoughts and emotions to settle. But if he waited for that to happen, he’d be waiting for a lifetime.

“I have to go.” Calum’s voice was gruff as he spoke, deep and throaty, cutting through the silence. Except their hearts were pounding in their ears. “But I’ll come back for you, yeah? I promise.”

Ruby’s body felt warmth from this proximity, intoxicated by Calum’s taste and touch and heat, finding herself wishing for nothing more than to keep him close. She was too busy basking in the aftermath of that dizzying kiss, knowing there’ll be plenty of time to freak the hell out over it later. But the fact that he had to leave now was slowly pulling her down from her high, swallowing inaudibly as she nodded, her forehead still pressed against his.

“Okay.” Her voice sounded muffled over the sound of her thundering heart, but she could still pick up its hoarseness. Ruby squeezed his wrists, feeling his silver bracelet trapped under her palm. “Try to come back in one piece.”

Calum let out a short, breathy chuckle before pushing his forehead away from hers, causing Ruby to open her green eyes and catch sight of Calum’s brown, looking warmer and gentle than she’d ever seen them. One corner of his lips was curled upwards, a soft smile as Ruby found herself raising one hand to lightly rub against his lower lip where her lipstick had smeared off, making his mouth look plumper and all the more inviting. She could feel his gaze burning her as she did so, her cheeks heating up as she dropped her hand and he returned, “I’ll try my best.”

Then he leaned forward, lips pressing against Ruby’s forehead, the adoring gesture causing her to close her eyes at the newfound heat it ignited. Her heart was still going wild in her chest, unsure where any of this was coming from but not at all complaining.

And then he was gone, with Ruby bringing her fingers up to graze against her lips and turned around to watch him go. Broad shouldered and head held high, he looked like a man on a mission, and Ruby swallowed the lump as she silently prayed it all went well. That he came back to her just like her brother always did.

                                                                *****

The Sabers’ warehouse of choice was near an abandoned junkyard, scraps of all kinds of metal piled high and good for staying hidden. It’s exactly where Calum and the rest of his men were, hiding behind mountains of thrown away junk, guns in hand with silencers attached as they watched, from a distance, a couple of Riders stealthily maneuver their way around and into the warehouse to plant the explosives. Calum was hoping they wouldn’t have to shoot anyone just yet, preferring to just have it all go up in flames in one go, but if a Saber was anywhere near where Luke and Clayton were, the Riders had permission to put them down instantly.

The drop was going to happen soon, so they needed to be in and out quickly and efficiently. Calum wasn’t going to be losing anymore men.

It was going well. Everything was going according to plan; no one had been spotted so far, they didn’t have to put down any of the Sabers’ men. Until the sound of a gun firing in the distance had Calum’s stomach dropping and on his feet in an instant, staring ahead with disgruntled dark eyes widened in bewilderment over what the fuck happened.

Until Ashton’s aggravated voice crackled through Calum’s earpiece, “Fucking fuck—they came early!”

Calum was running before Ashton could even finish his sentence, the wind like ice in his lungs as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He was aware his men were hot on his heels, the adrenaline pumping in his veins as he dodged the metal all over, absently worried as to why he wasn’t hearing anymore gunfire. Hoping that it was because they decided to use their fists and not because Luke and Clayton had been put down.

The thought almost had Calum tripping on his feet. But he kept moving.

They all split up, having canvassed the multiple entrances to the building, as Calum and Ashton approached one of the back entrances. Calum tried to peer in through the small square window on the door, hoping to get a look of what was happening inside before he went in, despite the pressing urge to burst in. But he had to be smart about this; the last thing he needed is loudly announcing his arrival to inform any of the Sabers there was back up coming, and Calum knew the rest of his men knew that, too. He was confident Luke and Clayton could hold their own, but Calum was always one to help out his men within a blink of an eye, whether they needed it or not.

The door shut quietly behind the men as they entered, and with a building as large as this, the sounds of men in the middle of the fight echoed off the walls. Calum could hear fists colliding with skin and pained grunts continuously sounding as he quietly made peered around and through shelves littered with junk no one used, trying to catch sight of what was going on.

Luke and Clayton were outnumbered. They needed help.

Calum’s eyes landed on a guy just a few feet ahead of him, unaware that Calum was behind him as he peered over a few large boxes, gun in hand and aimed towards the fight taking place. Calum’s hand reached behind him to pull out his own gun, the silencer already attached as his jaw clenched at the sight of the Saber about to pull the trigger.

Of course, Calum beat him to it, watching in satisfaction as the nameless guy instantly dropped to the floor like deadweight. Crimson blood seeped from the fatal bullet hole in his head, pooling on the ground as Calum’s attention was turned back to the scene in front of him, watching in mild relief as he saw more of his men enter the building—guns blazing.

Everyone ducked out of the way, finding something—anything—to hide behind as guns were pulled out and the use of fists were replaced with weapons. The blast of guns going off and sharp clinking of missed bullets hitting metal roared in the warehouse, men yelling out positions to one another as they tried to get the most kills for their respective gangs.

Calum cursed silently, looking around the shelf he was using for cover, bent at his knees as bullets ricocheted or hit a target, his own gun in hand as he fired off as well. He needed Luke and Clayton to plant the explosives, not be caught in an impromptu gunfire. With the earpiece still in, Calum instructed, “Everyone fuckin’ cover Luke and Clayton. We need them to plant the bombs and—” He paused, ducking out of the way as a bullet flew right past him and buried itself into the wall behind him. Calum didn’t bat an eye, shaking a few stray curls out of his eyes as he continued in a hard tone, “—blow this shithole and these fuckers right to hell.”

Upon Calum’s instructions, he heard Avi’s voice urgently speak through the earpiece, “Go, go. We’ll cover you.”

From his position, Calum watched in satisfaction as Luke and Clayton swiftly moved from where they’d ducked out, their backpacks on as others covered them. Calum could feel his heart pounding, feeling as though each gunshot going off was hitting him square in the chest, praying that none of his men got hit. And if they did, then it wasn’t fatal. They all walked out with cuts and bruises and newly bullet-made holes, but at least they walked out. Calum was determined that not a single Saber would walk out of here.

It was that same fiery anger and desire of vengeance that had him taking advantage of the cover he had with the shelf, leaning around it to fire off his own bullets expertly and feeling a rush of grim satisfaction every time he watched someone go down because of it.

And then came the sound of one of his men, Devon, yelling in his earpiece, “Hawkins! He’s trying to escape!”

Calum fucking ran.

After the briefest of reassuring nods from Ashton, Calum turned and threw open the door he’d come from, still hearing the sounds of the guns going off in the building he was running around, pushing himself to get to the front. His muscles strained as he ran, the ground hitting his feet harshly, though he didn’t care as he rounded the corner towards the front of the building, gun in hand.

A low, animalistic growl escaped Calum as he caught sight of Hawkins rushing to get into the back of his car on the road ahead of the warehouse, the fucker having a driver of his own to take places, the door shutting behind him as he got in. As he ran to get to the town car, Calum expertly raised his gun and, without tripping on his feet or struggling to get a clear shot, fired off his gun.

He hit the back wheels of the car first, effectively flattening the tires to prevent it from moving, before he fired off some more, this time coming up to the side of the car and shattering the glass of the backseat and  driver’s side window as a bullet embedded itself in the driver’s head.

But he wasn’t his target.

Using the element of the glass shattering, Calum threw open the backseat door, free hand instantly grasping the back collar of Hawkins’s shirt as he had his head ducked to avoid getting hit by a bullet. Calum yanked him out of the vehicle, watching as the light brown haired man gracelessly fell to the ground at Calum’s feet with a deep grunt, to which the tattooed man didn’t hesitate in kicking right in the stomach.

As Hawkins clutched his front while groaning in pain, Calum shoved his gun back in the waistband of his pants before bending down, left hand grabbing the front of Hawkins’s shirt as he lifted him up halfway. “Thought you could make a quick getaway, huh?” Calum sneered, smirking in  mocking humor as Hawkins opened his dark blue eyes to muster a fierce glare that did absolutely nothing to Calum. “Thought I’d let you leave, just like that, for what you did to my men? Fucking bastard.”

The words Calum spat out were followed by another swing of his fist. Calum knew he shouldn’t be going around throwing punches, not when his boxer’s fracture was nowhere near properly healed, but he couldn’t help himself. And it didn’t help that when his fist came in contact with Hawkins’s skin, his other hand letting go of his shirt so he could hit the ground hard with the force, the sight of it had satisfaction mixing in with the blood in his veins.

His wrist definitely hurt, but Calum wasn’t concerned with thinking about that.

Before he could make another move, Hawkins let out a frustrated growl and pushed himself off his feet and lunged at Calum, effectively throwing the tattooed man to the ground. The wind was momentarily knocked out of Calum’s lungs as his back came in contact with the pavement, feeling the sharp sting on the back of his head as well when Hawkins appeared right on top of him.

He pressed his knee into the area right below Calum’s chest, putting his weight on the joint to dig into Calum as he grunted at the uncomfortable pain, teeth baring as he refused to show any signs of agony. Left hand gripping the front of Calum’s shirt, Hawkins brought down his other to deliver a blow right to Calum’s jaw, the right side of his face slamming into the ground, feeling the bone of his jaw rattle under the skin as the force of Hawkins’s knuckles on his face made his eye squeeze shut at the harsh pain that exploded. Calum refused to make any sounds of agony as Hawkins dug his knee into his chest more and taunted, “Maybe if you knew how to run shit, you wouldn’t have gotten your men killed, kid.”

His words ignited a fire in Calum’s veins, lips curling with a snarl before mustering up every bit of his strength to pull out the knife he carried in the pocket of his pants, grip on it tight as he swung it up and slashed it across Hawkins’s cheek. He let out a pained yell and stumbled back and off of Calum, who felt the light splatter of blood on his face upon delivering the cut.

Calum was on his feet the next second, breathing only slightly unsteady as sweat tickled his skin, not giving Hawkins another moment as he just, in a word, went for it.

He was relentless. Hawkins’s spiteful words of Calum getting his own men killed, the reminder of him losing five people he considered to be family, set him off. Days of pent up furious rage finally exploded out of him and through his fists, curls brushing against his forehead with every wild movement he made, uncaring that he was probably going to break his wrist if he continued his violent attacks.

But every time his fist came in contact with Hawkins, a grim smugness fired Calum up even more, reveling in his rings and knuckles digging into Hawkins’s skin, vengeful satisfaction running through him as he drew blood. The leader of the Sabers put up a good fight, blocking a few hits and successfully achieving a few of his own, but that didn’t stop Calum. He punched, kicked, tackled, used his knife as much as he could until Hawkins knocked it out.

At one point, with his heart hammering and lungs screaming for air, Calum grabbed the back of Hawkins’s shirt, breath coming out in unsteady pants and feeling the warm and slick blood dripping out of his nose and tasting the metallic flavor in his mouth. With his grip tight on Hawkins, Calum roughly pushed his head through the window of the other Sabers’ car parked, the glass shattering as Hawkins’s head went through it. Calum felt some prickle against the back of his hand, though how could he care when Hawkins’s body was practically limp in his hold? The older guy didn’t have as much stamina as he liked to think, certainly unable to keep up in a fight with Calum, who was bloodied and bruised as well, but still had some fight left in him.

Through the earpiece that somehow still managed to remain intact, Calum heard Luke’s voice announce, “Bombs are in place! Cal, are you clear?”

A newfound rage sparked in Calum as he gave Hawkins a yank, dropping the man to the ground and grasping his chin. His face was bloodied, a few small shards of glass stuck to his already bloodied forehead, nose certainly broken along with a few teeth in his crimson colored mouth. Calum leaned over him, the sight failing to gross him out, having seen worse, his dark eyes fixed onto Hawkins’s blue. To Luke, uncaring of whether or not he was safe from the blast, Calum ground out, “Fucking blow it!”

Returning his gaze to Hawkins, Calum watched as he coughed, his hands gripping Calum’s wrist that was holding him down, too weak to fight him off. Calum’s other hand gripped Hawkins’s jaw, ready to make him face the warehouse that was about to go up into flames, along with every shipment the Sabers just received. “You come for my bar, you’re gonna watch me blow your shit and your people all the way to fucking hell. You and the Sabers? You’re finished, Hawkins. You fuckin’ hear me?”

He coughed, wet as lazily spat out the blood that was in his mouth. And then, to Calum’s confusion he didn’t make visible, Hawkins smirked, the sight damn near sinister. Blood trickled down the corners of his mouth, staining his teeth, nose crooked and pieces of glass still in his skin as Hawkins nearly wheezed out, “You’re the one that’s finished, Hood.” He laughed, throaty and pathetic yet somehow smug. “You’re the one that left your girl without proper protection.”

The blood drained from Calum’s face, the glare on his face smoothing out to make room for the paralyzed dread that widened his eyes. Calum could feel his heart slow down at Hawkins’s words, could feel the horrifying heaviness that set on his body at what he meant. His curls hung over his forehead as he gaped down at an arrogantly smirking Hawkins, who looked like he got Calum right where he wanted him, who in turn couldn’t even breathe at the implication of Hawkins’s words.

“What—”

Calum failed to get the rest of the words out, cut off by the thunderous sound of explosives being set off, the warehouse detonating with a gust of fiery wind. The two gang leaders were just barely out of the way of the warehouse, the force of the explosion throwing Calum off of Hawkins and against the door of the other car parked, his back hitting against the vehicle before he fell to the ground.

Pieces of debris flew off from the flaming warehouse, Calum’s eyes clenched shut as wind and dust and gravel hit him, turning his face towards the car and bringing his left arm up to use his bicep to protect his face. He caught his breath fairly easily, the air heated from the building that was currently on fire, and Calum let out a grunt of discomfort when he lowered his arm, only to see a sharp piece of glass had embedded itself in his bicep.

Grabbing at it with his free hand, Calum pulled it out, hissing sharply through his teeth, knowing he’d probably need stitches for the wound.

But his attention was quickly snapped back to the man he was after. To the man who’d uttered some chilling words right before the building went off.

Scrambling to his feet, Calum pushed himself forward, ignoring the strain in his muscles as he ran back to where Hawkins was lying. His mind, for the first time, wasn’t focused on if his men made it out. If Luke and Clayton blew up the building, then Calum had to assume all of his men were fine, if they hadn’t been taken out in the gunfire that had taken place before. But he couldn’t think about that just yet.

Calum reached Hawkins easily, dropping to his knees where the man remained lying, pieces of dust and gravel and debris stuck to his skin thanks to the blood coating him. His eyes were closed, and Calum’s heart pounded more thunderously than the explosion. “You son of a bitch,” Calum ground out, his dark eyes taking in the sight of Hawkins. He released a sharp breath, panicked and unsteady, at the sight of a large piece of shrapnel digging right into Hawkins’s abdomen. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Returning his gaze to Hawkins, Calum leaned over him, hands grabbing at his face and slapping at his cheek to get the guy to open his eyes. “Oi, what the fuck are you on about? What did you do?”

He could hear the franticness in his own voice, the demanding fear in which Calum spoke in. He could give a shit about the building burning behind him, deaf to the sounds of his men telling him that they needed to go before the cops showed up. But all of Calum’s attention was on the man in front of him, hooded and taunting eyes peering up at Calum as blood stained lips curled into a smirk. Calum’s grip on his jaw tightened. “Where the fuck is Ruby?”

His question only seemed to widen Hawkins’s smirk, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he purposefully refused to answer. It only fueled Calum’s panic and rage, grinding his teeth together before his right hand reached down and wrapped around the piece of shrapnel. And then, with his cold eyes on Hawkins’s, Calum twisted the metal with a twist of his own expression, digging it further into Hawkins’s abdomen when he refused to answer.

An agonized, animalistic yell emitted from Hawkins, eyes screwing shut and face scrunching up as his head tilted back to let out a strangled scream. Calum merely pursed his lips and clenched his jaw, chin lifting and eyes remaining on Hawkins’s pained expression. Part of Calum was well aware he shouldn’t be intensifying Hawkins’s injury, not if he needed an answer out of him, but Calum felt no mercy for the man, didn’t want to show him a bit of human decency as he felt the metal bury into Hawkins’s skin and what was under.

Calum leaned close, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, grounding out roughly, “Fucking answer me, asshole! Where is she?”

The thought of Hawkins having Ruby had Calum’s heart beating in distress and nerves frenzied. He should’ve left more men with her. Should’ve found a new place for her to be safe in. She was his responsibility. He was supposed to protect her no matter what, and he failed. He put that beautiful, wonderful girl in danger and if something happened to her Calum was never going to forgive himself. Fuck, he would let Michael put a bullet in him if something happened to her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How had they found her? How’d they know where she was? The safe house was meant to be safe, for fuck’s sake. How the fuck had it gotten exposed?

Hawkins looked up at Calum, chest moving unsteadily and quickly as he fought for air his lungs and heart demanded but weren’t getting adequate amounts of. And despite being in a world of pain with a bleeding out abdominal wound and an already battered and bruised body, that fucking smirk returned to his face. Cruel and sinister and smug. He parted his lips, wheezing in between fits of coughing, “I. . . I win and you. . .” Hawkins raised a hand, harshly tapping a finger against Calum’s chest, though it didn’t hurt, seeing as Hawkins had little to no energy left. Calum’s dark eyes flickered between Hawkins’s blue, wde and frantic as he listened to the increasingly paling man. “You lose, kid.”

“No,” Calum shook his head quickly, hand coming up to grip Hawkins’s wrist tightly while the other remained grasping his jaw, forcing the man to look at him. Calum could hear his heart pounding over everything else, the heat of the fiery warehouse melting at his skin, but nothing was as discomforting as the tightness in his chest and dryness in his throat, not at all caused by the smoke that was beginning to surround them. “No! No! You don’t fucking win. Tell me where she is!”

Calum shook the man’s body, getting him to spit what he knew out, his thoughts and actions thrown into a frenzied panic as he realized he was sitting in a pool of blood. Hawkins’s body was limp under Calum’s hands, his eyes shut and bloodied lips flat, no longer curled into the menacing smirk he specifically had saved for Calum. And Calum just shook him, his breathing heavy and his own body beginning to grow numb as every second passed by and Hawkins didn’t respond.

He was dead. And Ruby was gone.

tags: @crownedbyluke @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @softforcal @valentinelrh @hotmessmichael @meetashthere @astroashtonio @calumh-excess @hearts-to-the-sky @old-zeppelin-shirt @angelbbycal @captain-what-is-going-on @calumthoodsyonce @cathartichaoss @misskarynie @softboycal @soulmatecashton @babygirlcashton @cxddlyash @calumhoodless @roselukes @wrappedaroundcal @slimthicccal @kinglycalum @calumculture @ohhmuke @fucking5sos @heavenlyhemminqs @cosmixcalum @invisiblexcth @gettingjillywithit @calistheloml @cliffordcntrl @asht0ns-world @hereforlukescruff @ghostofch @ghostofhood @dxmncalum @bitchinbabylon @walkedhomealone @poppedpins @5secondssofssummer @calumsmermaid @booklove-2 @empathycth @checkeredcalum @lovelettercalum @kaxseychill @rosecoloredash @theagenderwhocriedwolf @cal-pal-cuddles @xhaileyreneex @paqueretteash @calteahood @biwriting @2k17muke @sublimehood @tupeloohoneyy @egyptiangoldhood @x-valntyne-x @bloodlinecal  @97britt @emma070900 @mmxiihood @monsteramongmikey @akacalciumhood @thebodaciouscth @5sos-stan4lyfe @lipstickstainfading @flannelpunkcalum @inlovehoodx @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @grittyisathot @keeponfallling @lmao5sosimagines @isabella-mae13 @mysteriouslycali @maddiebee2019 @blamexcalum @teageowen @raabiac @fallfrxmgrace @dontjinx-it @halloweenhoe12 @thewackywriter @caswinchester2000 

[imagines-forthe-soul]

YAY so excited to see your ask box open again! Could I get the nsfw meme a-z for my top BNHA daddy Fatgum aka (Taishiro Toyomitsu)?

I was so excited to have it open again! Feels so good to be writing on a good schedule again!

__________________

Taishiro Toyomitsu:

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

He is very attentive and affectionate after sex. He’s a pretty big guy in every sense of the word, so he is bound to make you pretty sore after sex no matter how gentle he was being. He’ll take the time to ease your soreness, giving you a light massage, asking how you’re feeling and if you were satisfied. He’ll run a bath for you if you’d like, or simply hold you in his arms until all your soreness seems to leave your body. His main goal after sex is basically just to make sure that you’re satisfied and feeling well.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

He is a real big fan of his tummy. No one can tell me otherwise. He loves the way his stomach looks, that’s all his power right there. Plus, it’s soft and pretty round and he loves how much you adore it too.

On you, he loves your thighs the most. He finds them extremely feminine and the thicker they are, the harder it is for him to keep his hands to himself.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

His cums so fucking much, you don’t even know where he could possibly store it all. His cum is thick and a little unpleasant tasting (but still pretty bearable), so if you’re planning on giving him head and swallowing, BE PREPARED. He also cums in long spurts, so what I suggest doing is letting him cum in your mouth on the first spurt, swallow, and then just jerk him off until he’s done. Your hand will be a mess but damn is it a sight to see.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I don’t think he’d ever admit to it until you’ve been married for 5 years but when you had left your dirty clothes at his house after staying over, he discovered your used underwear and he may or may not have had some fun with it. He wasn’t sure what had come over him but he couldn’t stop himself from picking up the small article of clothing and being turned on by it, smelling you all over it and imagining how cutely you wore them.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He has pretty good experience and got around in his younger days. He knows his way around a woman in general, but is always a little on the shier side whenever he starts with someone new. Even though he knows what he’s doing and is ready, he’s always just going to be a bit nervous when it’s his first time with someone and will want them to instruct him so that he doesn’t hurt them or takes too long.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

His favorite position by far is the Twix. If you’re anything like me and enjoy having weight placed on you (sexually or not) then this is the perfect position. It allows for each party to look face to face at each other, clit stimulation for the woman, and lots of intimacy~! Taishiro will be doing most of the work but that makes him happy because he wants to be the one making you feel good!

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He has his moments of silliness in the bedroom. Taishirou is a playful guy by nature and his playfulness if going to come out in the bedroom depending on the kind of sex you’re having. If it’s slow passionate sex, then he’s going to be a bit more serious, but if it’s fast spontaneous sex, then I see him cracking s few jokes here and there and teasing you a little more.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He is naturally just bare or has minimal hair. He doesn’t have to shave often because his pubic hair just takes forever to grow, and even when it has outgrown his limit, the hair is thin and lighter than his hair so you can hardly see it anyways.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He is very intimate. For him, sex is a bonding experience with your partner, a time in which you both only focus on one another, please each other in ways that words can’t. He wants to make every session special meaningful. To do so he will go to extreme lengths to set the mood, and make you comfortable and relaxed.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He only ever does so when you are not around. He is a pretty needy man and sometimes he won’t be able to hold himself back when he doesn’t have you around to help him out a bit, so he will indulge himself in a little self pleasure. He makes sure not to do it too often when you’re gone, but he will give himself one long session a week (if you’re even gone for that long) to just be consumed by his pleasure and enjoy himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Weight play

Role play

Food play

Thigh jobs/ thigh fucking

Mutual Masturbation

Biting/marking

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

It doesn’t matter where he has sex as long as he can pin you against a wall and fuck you on it. Wall sex is also something Taishiro really likes and will go for that over sex in the bedroom any day. However, is favorite places to take you on a wall are at home, at his office, or in some alley after some hero work~ 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Thigh highs. Those will get him going like nothing else. He loves the way the socks hug your thighs, having it do that thing where it makes your thighs look even plushier and softer. He’d want to rub his hands all over your thighs, press kisses to them, bite and suck on them. And if you’d allow him, he’d want to fuck your thighs silly.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Name calling in a degrading way. That is something that he can not stand. Sex is supposed to be something you enjoy, to make one another feel safe and comfortable in your most vulnerable of moments. Calling you names or vice-versa would ruin all of that. Nothing will turn him off more than having you call him something derogatory and he will not want to have sex at all for the rest of the night or after if something like that slips out.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He is all about giving, dude. This man gives more than you can take a times. He is very enthusiastic when it comes to giving you head and trust me when I say he is very skilled with his mouth and tongue. He enjoys taking his time when he gives you head, using slow, languid licks to work you up before hitting you with everything he has to work your world when you orgasm.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually he is pretty slow and sensual, wanting to take his time to enjoy your body and the way he is making you feel and vice-versa. However, that is only when he is penetrating you. When it comes to thigh fucking, fingering you, or giving you head, he is a lot faster and desperate to feel you and have you come undone around him.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t exactly mind quickies, but he won’t want to have them too often. He is big on taking his time with sex and enjoying all that it has to offer, but he does know that, more often than not, he won’t be able to do so, like when you both are on missions or he is only stopping by for a short while.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He isn’t too big on taking risks. The most he will do is let you leave hickies on his neck for people to see and that is about it. Sex is a private matter to him and would rather keep things in the bedroom than having everyone know his business.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Taishiro has decent stamina and can last for a reasonable amount of time being 10 minutes. However, as for rounds, that all depends on his mood. If it’s a regular day, maybe one or two rounds to get you big satisfied. If it’s a day in which he’s pretty happy and upbeat, he can go for 4 rounds. However, if it’s a day where he’s pissed off or angry or has way too much excess energy, he can go all night if you’re game.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He isn’t too big on using toys on you but if you’d like to use some on him, then that’s perfectly fine. He’ll let you use whatever you like on him as long as it doesn’t hurt too bad.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing is something that he would be good at if he weren’t so needy for you himself. He will start teasing you, denying you your orgasm but he is bound to stop a few moments after when he sees how desperate you are for your release. It turns him on seeing you in such a needy state and will give in to you each and every time.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He can get fairly loud when he gets closer to his orgasm. He just can’t hold himself back and will let all his moans and grunts roll off his tongue as he feels pleasure consuming him. When he finally does cum, he will let out a long, deep groan before going completely silent, pleasure still written all over his face.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He doesn’t like pickles. He thinks they’re pretty gross and doesn’t like the liquid they come in. Any time someone eats a pickle around him, he will gag and scoot over so he doesn’t have to watch them eat it or anything with it. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Okay so this man is 8’2… and wide… so you already know that his cock is going to be rather proportionate to his body type. He’s a whopping 8.5 inches, full of veins, but isn’t all that thick to be honest. The girth of his cock is rather average and suits his body really well. It curves upwards towards him and is a few times darker than the rest of his body. The head of his cock is blunt and is the same width as his shaft. It’s a pretty impressive cock that is bound to give you a nice tummy bulge and fill you up real good~!

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is a little above average. Like I said, he is a pretty needy guy and will be yearning for sex five days out of seven during the week.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He falls asleep once he is sure that you have been satisfied and taken care of. He will give you a gentle massage after sex, get you water, or a snack and shower you in kisses until you are feeling well and sleepy yourself. He will want you to fall asleep in his arms before he does just so he can admire your sleeping form.

Wanna see some other shit I’ve written?

[zukadiary]

On The Twentieth Century ~ Snow Troupe 2019

Oh boy. Oh dear. If you'd like some background, here is a fairly comprehensive Wikipedia summary, but since all signs point to this show disappearing forever (a tragedy), I will do my best to go through it roughly scene by scene in hopes of extending the memory. 

“Perfect” is a word I’m still reserving for A-cast West Side Story ‘18, but boy is this close. It’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for, what in my wildest dreams I wanted Daimongumi to be, and feared it might never be. It’s hands down the best time I’ve had with my beloved Yukigumi since Chigi retired, and god I hope they continue on something even VAGUELY resembling this trajectory (tragic nihonmono, not optimistic, but,,,). I hope I can convey even a fraction of the joy that is this show.

Firstly, although it is the site of the first time I ever saw Komu live and thus a house of very treasured memories, I do NOT objectively like Theatre Orb. The third floor is too high for musical theater, the back of the second floor should not be A-seki, and the sound is abysmal. Unless you’re close to the front on the first floor, the instrumentals overpower the vocals, and everywhere I sat, including a pretty good S, there was an unpleasant echo. Like, if you can tamp down the power of DAIMON’S voice, something is wrong with your acoustics. The only time I had an improved experience I was on the extreme side of the 4th row and basically hugging a speaker, but if that’s the range for decent audio it’s a problem. And for some of the impressive songs in this show (and also just for Japanese comprehension of the speedy dialogue), it was a shame.

Everything else was outstanding. I can’t describe how WONDERFUL it was to hear Yukigumi, the tragedy troupe no one asked for, get not just giggles but consistent roaring laughter again. The overall casting—both in taking a chance on giving this troupe this show, and assigning roles to some maybe unexpected people—was brilliant. I’ll get more into the individual performances as I go through the story, but in quick summary: 

Maaya was absolutely the star, in both the weight of her role and the extremely satisfying application of her many talents. Lily is, in my opinion, unquestionably the crown jewel of her Takarazuka career so far, and if something ever tops it we’ll be luckier than anyone has any right to be. I’d kill for more of this treatment going forward; she’s talented enough to carry a show, and I think the dynamic of the entire troupe improves when she’s in this strong of a position.  

Daimon, whom I love to death, was SO above and beyond what even I thought she’d be able to do with a comedy; I always suspected she could pull it off IF she had the perfect formula of support (which I wasn’t confident the current Yukigumi lineup could give her), but she was SO good and SO in charge and SUCH a tone-setter for the entire comedic situation, I was truly blown away.

Owen and Oliver are in my opinion the juiciest roles after Lily and Oscar, but maneuvering around rank to cast Aasa and Manaharu was brilliant. Aasa has been average for me after leaving a huge impression in Robespierre, but her performance as Owen was back to MVP status, and Oliver is an absolute jackpot role for Manaharu, who rarely gets to do much of anything. 

I wouldn’t have wanted to see Saki in any role but Bruce; he’s the big dumb just-a-pretty-face movie star, the butt of many jokes and the most slapstick of all the roles, and her exaggerated physicality was I think better suited to that style of comedy than the quick banter in the Oscar/Owen/Oliver group (also, for the sake of their dynamic, I wouldn’t have wanted Bruce to be someone physically smaller than Oscar).

That put Shou, who conceivably could have been cast higher, in the leftover train conductor role. It’s not as exciting a part, but it was perfect if only to clear the way for the other casting choices. She got to be the center of several musical numbers, and she got to tap dance!

After a little introductory tap number by the four main train boys (Tachibana, Suwa, Manomiya, and Seika), the show opens with famous Broadway producer Oscar Jaffe’s right hand men, Owen (Asami Jun) and Oliver (Mana Haruto), running from an angry mob of unpaid theater crew from Oscar's most recent abysmally failed production (again!). They all but crash into Daimon cameoing Al Capone (because Chicago in the 20s!) as he’s escorted away by a policeman. Owen is more laid back and pretty much always drunk; Oliver is high strung and also prone to drinking. As far as my off-the-cuff brain will take me, Aasa and Manaharu have not had much experience playing off each other, but they worked SO well together. They were so funny, so in sync, perfect foils for each other’s characters, even physically similar enough that they just really looked like a matching set of long-suffering assistants. Since Owen and Oliver don’t have any money, they give the angry mob the slip, and read a note from Oscar instructing them to meet him on the 20th Century Limited, a 16-hour luxury train ride from Chicago to New York, and secure Drawing Room A. Then we go into the prologue number (pics are from the little bit of digest video and like one online article they gave us).

Although in retrospect I think it kind of subconsciously stressed me out the first viewing, I LOVED the music and choreography in this. Almost all the numbers mimic the rhythm of a train chugging along, and much of the choreography—when it isn’t just tap literally designed to sound like a train—has a feeling of commuter busyness to it. It wasn’t just on theme, it also enhanced the chaotic screwball atmosphere. 

Owen and Oliver board the train to find Drawing Room A occupied. When their best middle-aged-white-lady-insisting-to-speak-to-a-manager voices claiming (falsely) that they booked the room weeks ago failed to work on the train staff, they deduce from some nearby luggage that Drawing Room A’s occupant is Congressman Lockwood (Touma Kazuki in a hilariously disgusting fat suit and combover with her shirt sticking out of her pants at all angles) reserved under a fake name. Suspicious, Owen and Oliver burst into the room under the pretense of delivering said luggage and catch the congressman fondling his much younger secretary (Sara Anna). They win the room by threatening to leak what they saw if he doesn’t leave—Riisha scrambling around in such a disheveled huff while Aasa loudly counts down from ten. Score! But just then the train starts moving and Oscar is still nowhere to be found.

Whoops. He loses his hat, Owen and Oliver pull him through the window, and despite his abject failures in both life and train boarding, he lands dramatically front and center, all pomp and ego, waxing lyrical about the glory awaiting them in New York. Poor Oliver, despite being generally more sober and organized, is also more abused.

Daimon, always so delicately pretty and deeply sad, nailed Oscar so hard I don’t have nearly enough words for it. Her eye makeup was stern and crazy (and pretty monochromatic, nice touch for the 20s vibe), her mustache was GROSS, her neurotic mannerisms were so on point and so funny. She AD LIBBED!! WELL!! I was CRYING of laughter on senshuuraku, and she wasn’t just reacting; she was DOING THE AD LIBBING. The way she fidgeted and flailed and whimpered and yelled and modulated her voice WAY high and back down again to drag us though Oscar’s manic journey was just soooooo perfect. Not that I had any doubt she’d kill the songs, but they were hard, so it was all the more impressive. As perfect as Aasa and Manaharu were together, the three of them played flawlessly off of each other too. 

Interrupting Owen and Oliver’s failing attempts to convince Oscar that they are in fact heading for insolvency rather than glory, the conductor informs the passengers that they are approaching Englewood and Oscar flips out. He reveals actress Lily Garland, his former protégé and lover, is boarding there and will be staying in Drawing Room B. He gleaned this information from a bellboy who told a maid and stalked Lily onto the train without her knowledge, but insists that in the 16 hours to NY he’ll be able to convince her to star in his next show, solving his financial problems. Owen and Oliver are Stressed.

This leads into my absolute favorite progression of scenes: a flashback introducing how Lily and Oscar came to meet. Oscar is auditioning Imelda Thornton (the goddess Satsuki Aina) for the role of Veronique, a Parisian street singer who refuses to sleep with Otto Von Bismarck so he attacks Paris and starts the Franco-Prussian war as revenge (men!). If only the photos from this scene showed the parts I want; Daimon was SO funny. Imagine like, the face you make when you try to give yourself 8 chins and take the ugliest low-angle selfie you can. Daimon was that + a thousand-yard stare of skepticism, fidgeting neurotically and tapping the arms of the director’s chair, with Oliver and Owen standing behind, simultaneously goofing off and keeping things running smoothly. Also in the picture at this point: Max Jacobs (Agata Sen), a successful Hollywood producer trying to sign Lily in the present, but in the flashback, Oscar’s (later fired) useless assistant who can’t even take Imelda’s coat correctly. Imelda, an all-ego-no-talent diva, is freaking out because her regular pianist was sick so she had to hire a substitute last minute and she’s late. Enter now Midred/soon to be Lily (Maaya) through the audience, in oversized glasses, tacky pink house dress, and matching hair cap, dropping her sheet music all over the place. Imelda is furious, Oscar is disgruntled, Max is Stressed. Mildred sits down at the piano, Imelda declares she’s going to sing “The Indian Maiden’s Lament,” and tries to begin but Mildred is still dramatically warming up her hands and shoulders. Finally she gives the ok and starts playing something completely different (Imelda, furious; Oscar, melting into a pile of gooey discontent). 

Take 2, Mildred begins playing the correct song beautifully, while Imelda sings horrendously and Oscar tries violently and wordlessly to convey to Owen and Oliver in moments of Imelda’s averted gaze that they need to stop this somehow. Imelda hits a sour note that’s just the last straw for Mildred, and she stops playing and corrects her (gorgeously, flawlessly, Maaya’s voice is a treasure). Imelda, flustered, thanks her and tries again, but isn’t any better. Mildred keeps stopping and correcting her, eventually just singing the end of the song herself, while Oscar, moving his chair closer with hilarious little Flintstone car footsteps, stares at her agape and then gives her a standing ovation. Imelda loses her cool and fires Mildred on the spot for ruining her audition; Mildred hulks out and demands her pay for the day plus train fare (Oscar, fully Team Mildred at this point, is mimicking all her movements behind her). Imelda pays and storms off, telling her assistant to call her an ambulance. Just as Mildred starts packing her things to go, Oscar declares he wants her for Veronique and asks her name.

I wish I could share with you all the sound that both of them made saying “Mildred Plotka,” pronounced “Mildred BLEGCH” with copious spit. I’m embarrassed to admit I just spent a good 30 minutes? trying to chase down a vivid childhood memory—I was 11, and watching Spaceballs on TV with my bff, and in the combing the desert scene they censored “we ain’t found shit” not with a bleep but with some absurd SCHMUSCHSG noise, and my bff and I laughed for approximately 8 days, because we were 11 and probably eating Gushers—and in my memory this and Mildred BLEGCH were the exact same sound, and I wanted you to experience it so much I watched every combing the desert clip on youtube fruitlessly, hoping one would be this exact censorship (sorry... I’m just... Daimon was funny??? and I’m very emotional about it????). Anyway, since no one can say Mildred BLEGCH, Oscar decides her new name will be Lily Garland. After some hemming and hawing about not being an actress, Lily decides to give it a shot. The house dress tears away and we have the snazzy number “Veronique.”

Maaya was absolutely brilliant throughout the entire show, but this number hit me extra hard. Not only was she exceptional vocally through a very challenging song (dancing all the while), but her aura of a freshly hatched starlet, packed with youth and hope and freshness and naiveté and raw unpolished talent, contrasted so vividly with the successful Hollywood actress still fueled by Mildred Plotka spitfire that we see in the rest of the show; I found it VERY striking. It was subtle but so effective and truly masterful acting. Veronique ends, Daimon re-enters from the audience and tosses a bouquet (the first time I saw it she missed the stage, and Maaya, fully in character and without missing a beat, just parkour’d off the stage and grabbed it and hopped back on), and we’re ushered back into the present.

The conductor enters Oscar’s room to inform everyone that a religious nut is vandalizing the train with REPENT FOR THE TIME IS AT HAND stickers, but not to worry because they’re doing everything they can to catch the culprit; and to drop off a play that he’s written about a day in the life of a conductor (to Oscar’s annoyance). Then the train arrives at Englewood station, and Lily boards with a flurry of paparazzi, her assistant Agnes (Chikaze Karen), and her attention-whoring movie actor boyfriend Bruce (Ayakaze Sakina). Maaya (in a GORGEOUS dress) is instantly the Hollywood diva instead of the wide-eyed starlet; Saki is the comic relief in what’s already a screwball comedy. Oscar is a terrible person, so if you can imagine how big and dumb and sappy and suffocating and clumsy Bruce has to be to make you root for Oscar, Saki was all that. 

The two lovebirds put on quite a show of excessive PDA for the photographers while Agnes rolls her eyes, until it’s time for Bruce to leave the train. 

Lily falls to the floor dramatically, wailing oh WHAT will I do without him, when Bruce bursts back into the room, declaring he can’t possibly let the love of his life go to NY all by herself (Lily, all sorrow a minute before, is not 2 seconds later annoyed to see him). So he’s now along for the ride to witness Oscar’s whole scheme.

Owen and Oliver, trying to take matters into their own hands, show up in Lily’s room to beg her sincerely to do a play with Oscar, hoping she’ll pity him and his dire financial situation enough to do him a favor. 

Lily sings a whole song about how that’s never ever ever going to happen, and Bruce freaks out to learn that Oscar is on the train. Lily insists they have no romantic history, and then immediately lights up when she hears Oscar’s voice in her head. They sing a lovey duet representing that they’re still clearly both on each other’s minds. Despite the comedic and not at all tender nature of this show, and the love-hate relationship between these two characters, Daimon and Maaya’s chemistry, in my opinion, has never been better. I wouldn’t have thought it would take playing two self-centered assholes who both despise and desperately want each other to send the sparks flying, but BOY did it do the trick. 

Meanwhile, the REPENT sticker situation is getting worse, and the audience at this point realizes that the culprit is the unassuming little old Letitia Primrose—played brilliantly by Kyou Misa. 

She sings about how she’s taken it as her mission to encourage young people to repent for their sins. 

Oscar hears from Owen and Oliver that Lily is with Bruce and is despondent; he declares that he still loves her will definitely steal her back from both him and Hollywood. Oliver is fed up with his nonsense and tells Oscar he’s off his rocker (bless Manaharu and her ability to simultaneously look like a squirrelly little dude in her suit and bowtie and also not only stand up to Daimon but rile her up and get even more out of her). They get into a big fight and as Oliver storms out of the room, Oscar notices a giant REPENT sticker on Oliver’s back and chases after him to remove it. When he removes and reads it, he’s struck with divine inspiration for a new play about Mary Magdalene, a part so good Lily can’t possibly resist it.

Oscar is so sure this will work he instructs Owen to go buy him a bible so he can start writing the script immediately. Owen reminds Oscar that the train is in fact moving and they can’t really do anything at all, when they see Ms. Primrose’s bible on a chair (and all fall dramatically to the ground). Oscar takes that as a second miracle, insisting this means there will be a third, and Owen and Oliver agree to play along with his demands.

Oscar, now filled with renewed confidence, and Bruce, just as big and dumb as ever, sing a duet about how Lily is theirs (not at each other, separately in their own rooms). Both of them are just awful men.

While the two of them are non-confrontationally fighting over the same woman, Owen is in the bar trying to write a press release about the triumphant return of golden duo Oscar Jaffee and Lily Garland. Ms. Primrose picks up a crumpled draft from the floor and muses that she’d love nothing more than to sponsor some big artistic project. That gets Owen’s attention, and she reveals to him that she runs a patent medicine company and doesn’t know what to do with all her money. Owen calls to Oliver that they’ve found their third miracle!

Back in her room, Lily emerges in lime green negligee, to Bruce’s delight. Things are just getting uh sexy I guess when Oscar interrupts them and actually confronts Lily for the first time.

Bruce is furious that Lily lied about her history with Oscar, who is sitting on the couch in back of the room drinking their champagne and eating all the olives out of their martini glass as they argue. Bruce eventually storms off, slapping his headshot onto the wall as he leaves the room (Oscar immediately stands and tears it up). Lily sits down on the couch, now arguing with Oscar and angrily joining him in eating olives. Their hands touch going for the glass at the same time; Lily sternly tells him to let her go but then turns around and caresses her hand happily. Oscar takes this moment to spring his play idea on her; Lily reveals that she heard the whole story of his bankruptcy from Owen and Oliver and tells him she’s on her way to NY to sign with a reliable producer (the formerly useless Max Jacobs who Oscar himself fired). Realizing he’s out of game, Oscar starts hurling insults and they sing another spark-flying duet—Lily insisting she has everything, and Oscar insisting movies are beneath her talents and she’ll rot in Hollywood and fall into obscurity. 

Lily eventually kicks Oscar out, EARNESTLY throwing and smashing a champagne bottle against the door behind him. Oscar, without even taking a breath between Lily’s room and his, screams at his two traitors for ruining his plan and strangles poor Oliver (on senshuuraku Daimon held on for a comically long time, and Manaharu, refusing to concede that ad lib, then played dead on the floor for a good minute). Oliver and Owen save their own asses by telling Oscar about the sponsor they managed to find on board, and THAT’S ACT ONE (right before curtain, we see a tiny little plane labeled “Max Jacobs” flying above the train).

During the big ensemble number (”Life is Like a Train”) that opens act 2 we discover that the train is now absolutely covered in REPENT stickers, then Owen and Oliver take Oscar to meet Ms. Primrose.

I can’t stress enough how delightful Kyou Misa was, the perfect little ostensibly earnest but just subtly batty old lady; the way she stiffly hobbled around was adorable too. Ms. Primrose is thrilled to work with the great Oscar Jaffee, and even more thrilled to share the story of Mary Magdalene with the world, and asks him how much money he needs. Oscar nervously asks for $20,000, at which Ms. Primrose balks that that CAN’T possibly be enough and writes a check for $200,000. Oscar, Owen, and Oliver giddily sing “Five Zeros” in a manner not unlike Scrooge McDuck swimming in his gold coins, and over the course of the song Ms. Primrose bumps it up to $20,000,000 (in the 1920s!). Now they’re sure they’ll be able to lure Lily back. 

Oscar is about to go grab Lily and introduce her to Ms. Primrose when the train doctor Dr. Johnson (Kujou Asu) busts into his room with yet another manuscript (A day in the life of a doctor!). I mention this mostly because a) I LOVE ASU DEEPLY, she is so underused, and b) the three musketeers leverage this manuscript situation later on in my other favorite scene. They get rid of Johnson and Oscar finds that Lily wants to see him also. She sits him down and asks Bruce to give them some time alone (on his way out, he goes to replace his torn head shot with a new one that comically unfolds into five headshots before Oscar violently chases him the rest of the way out the door). Oscar is fuming, and Lily tenderly asks him to sit, which he does with a grumpy face and a flamboyant kick as he reluctantly crosses his legs on the sofa. Lily explains that she’s embarrassed by her behavior so far, is so grateful to Oscar for her career, and wants to help him after all... so she reaches into her bra and pulls out a check for $35 so at least he’s not dead broke. Oscar, amused, stands up and, acting as if he’s a magician, folds up the $35 check and dramatically asks Lily to blow on his hand. Out comes the $20,000,000 check.

Oscar ushers Lily into his room to prove to her that Ms. Primrose is in fact a real person who wants to sponsor his new play, if she’ll star in it. Lily, despite still generally feeling like she’d rather die than work with Oscar again, is now enticed both by the role of Mary Magdalene, which is much juicier than what she’s been allowed to do on screen, and the prospect of raking in this much money without being beholden to the jerks who run Hollywood. Faithful Oliver has already prepared a contract, and we get “Sign It Lily,” probably both the most difficult/impressive song and biggest earworm of the show. Not the best version but here, have a listen.

Oscar, Owen, Oliver, and Ms. Primrose are all bombarding Lily trying to get her to put her name on the thing (I truly don’t know when Daimon breathes), while simultaneously trying to keep Bruce and his contrary agenda out of the room (Saki gets repeatedly slammed into doors and walls, closed into closets, suffocated with pillows, etc). Lily gets overwhelmed and runs back to her room, pursued by a cocky triumphant Bruce, who yells behind him that they’ll never get her back away from movies.

Oscar gets a lightbulb moment at the word movie, and the team files one by one back into Lily’s room, smashing Bruce in the head with the door each time. Oscar tells Lily that if she agrees to do the play, he’ll shop the movie rights to whatever studio she wants (to which Ms. Primrose responds WHY BOTHER, she’ll fund the movie too). That pushes her over to yes, and she takes the contract to read carefully. The conductor enters the room notifies everyone that they are approaching Cleveland, and that Ms. Primrose’s nephew and his wife sent a telegram ahead that they’d be boarding the train there to meet her. She turns cold and hurries off alone. 

Owen, out for a celebratory entire bottle of wine, coincidentally runs into Ms. Primrose’s nephew (Machi Yuuka), who is frantically searching for his aunt. He says she hasn’t been all there since she stepped down from her position as company president, and just escaped from her mental institution. Owen asks about her money, the nephew says there is none, and Owen realizes they’re fucked.

In the frantic search for the missing Ms. Primrose, Bruce overhears Owen breaking the news to Oscar and Oliver, and tells Lily that Oscar deceived her again. She’s furious, and Oscar probably only escapes with his life because just at that exact moment, the formerly useless and fired but currently hot and successful Max Jacobs bursts through the door (Oscar yells MAX JACOBS like he’s going to burst every single blood vessel in his head and neck).

Max hopped a private plane to Cleveland to meet the train, because he has a brand new play written just for Lily (called “Babette”), and he’s so excited he can’t wait for her to get all the way to New York. Babette is a glamorous high society type role about a woman in love with two men. Lily starts reading the script, but finds herself wondering out loud if it can be changed to be more like Oscar’s. Max is incredulous and starts trash talking Oscar, and Lily slaps him REAL HARD in the face. She then catches herself yet again and and asks to be left alone to read the Babette script more carefully.

We’re taken to Lily’s wistful daydream of a classy party taking place in the Babette universe as she tries to wrap her head around the show and imagine herself in the title role. But she finds it dull, and every few pages, she has an intrusive thought about the more inspiring Mary Magdalene—one minute she’s milling through the impeccably dressed party guests, and the next she’s face to face with Owen or Oliver or Ms. Primrose dressed like an Apostle, until finally Oscar dressed as Calaf Jesus crashes the whole thing from behind. 

(Yup that’s a screenshot of the bromide sample page).

But Lily brings herself to her senses yet again, drives away all thoughts of Oscar, and agrees to sign with Max.

Oscar has lost and he’s despondent. He walks into the train bar to find Oliver sulking behind Owen who is passed out drunk in a chair. He takes out a gun (Oliver tries frantically to wake Owen), and begins a melodramatic monologue about how it’s better just to end his life now because no one wants to see him become a beggar in times square. 

Daimon hilariously mimes Oscar begging, then people throwing garbage at him, then dodging the thrown bits (on senshuuraku Aasa and Manaharu joined in with pretending to throw things). Eventually he leaves the room in despair, and Oliver asks Owen if he thinks boss would really kill himself. Owen is in the middle of saying absolutely no way when they hear a gunshot and run into the next room.

Oscar, now in a comical panic rather than a depression, is clutching his side and gasping that he’s been shot, and the heretofore still missing Ms. Primrose is in the corner of the room holding the gun by her fingertips, crying that she was just trying to put it away when it went off. 

Oliver runs to get Dr. Johnson while Owen tends to Oscar who is (again, comically) writhing in a chair and complaining that being shot by a crazy granny is not how he wanted to go, and this is my second favorite progression of scenes.

Owen offers to call the pastor for Oscar (who, by the way, cannot identify WHERE he has been shot), and Oscar gets mad. Owen then offers him ice cream. Oliver sticks his head back in the door to ask of Oscar is dead yet. Owen says not yet and brings in Dr. Johnson (Asu, my love) who at first giggles and assumes that because it’s Mr. Jaffee he’s just acting. Owen and Oliver assure him this is real, and begin moaning and wailing as Dr. Johnson examines Oscar in earnest.

He stands up, and Owen and Oliver take this to mean it’s a hopeless case, and it’s time for them to say goodbye. On senshuuraku, Daimon verrrrrrrrry slowly slid all the way down the chair, so that Aasa had to hold her up by the arms to keep her from wiping out, AND had to kick her foot to a lower step of the stage so she could stand up again. The raku digest thankfully shows a bit of this, along with the Matrix move Daimon had to pull to jump to her feet when Dr. Johnson declares that Oscar hasn’t been shot at all.

(It does not, however, convey how drawn out and hilarious this was, nor does it show the chair then toppling onto poor Aasa, and it taking her at least 3 tries to get it off her again).

Oscar then gets another harebrained idea, and tells Dr. Johnson that he read his manuscript from before and that it’s SO GOOD he wants to give him an acting lesson right then and there. Dr. Johnson is stoked. Oscar tells him to just sit in the chair, stare at him solemnly, and shake his head back and forth if anyone looks at him (Asu, over the next few minutes, gives what my admittedly biased heart firmly believes is the award winning performance of the show). Oliver and Owen are to pretend Oscar is dying. The cherry on top of senshuuraku was in the moment before this all commenced, Daimon, immediately after the chair debacle, took an extra long pause before delivering (completely straight-faced) her usual line of “I don’t want to see any hammy acting,” after which the others took a comically long pause before replying, “Yep.”

Dr. Johnson takes his place in the formerly toppled chair, Oscar grabs a pillow and lays down on the floor, Oliver and Owen go fetch Lily and start wailing again. Agnes and Bruce also follow Lily into the room and start crying themselves at the sight of Oscar “dying” on the floor. Dr. Johnson looks around from person to person in a panic and starts hyperventilating. Owen and Oliver mime at him to look sadder, Asu licks her finger and dabs tears on her cheeks and then makes the dumbest crying face I’ve ever seen, shaking her head increasingly aggressively each time someone in the room looks at her. Daimon and Maaya are weepily singing “Lilyyyyyyyy, Oscaaaaarrrr” back and forth for deadass three entire minutes. I can’t believe how much vocal control Daimon has even lying on her back on the damn floor.

Lily eventually signs the contract as Oscar’s dying wish. When Max enters the room, Oscar immediately jumps up to rub it in his face, and Lily once again is furious at being deceived. Oscar claims that with no money to offer, the only way he could rescue her from a rotted career was through trickery. **I FORGOT BECAUSE I FINISHED THIS AT 6AM AFTER BEING UP ALL NIGHT that Lily gets the last word because she hasn’t actually signed her name at all but written PETER RABBIT. They throw things and hurl vicious insults at each other and then finally realize they’re just too hot for each other after all and throw open their arms and get married.

The finale opened with Agata in a top hat and tails dancing with a stick and a bunch of musumeyaku, then there was a huge golden group tap number and a lovely waltz for the duet dance. 

I’ve been pretty upset that I had to miss BeruBara 45 and that I booked the trip I’m currently on before finding out Komu and Wataru would be returning to Bow Hall this summer, but being able to see this, especially since we’ll never see it again, was so so worth it. It was certainly a much needed boost for me personally, and it seems like it was a boost for the troupe and for Daimon and Maaya as a combi as well. I’m always torn about Broadway shows like this, because they’re SO good, and I WANT them to take on these kinds of challenges, especially when the result is so spectacular, but it’s such a bummer when they disappear forever. Many points to Harada for fitting this weird musical to Yukigumi like a perfect cozy little glove.