#Baker Avenue

[doo-wop-city]

Sunset Beach with Stella Star

Stella was wearing her sunny neon yellow flair pant suit, so she wanted to stay at a sun-themed place that day. Fortunately, Sunset Beach, located on the intersection of Baker and Ocean Avenues, had vacancies and was already open for the season. Here are some photos from my adventure. I’m up on the east end of the second floor, by the trapezoidal sign, watching the sun over the beach. The sun…

[silverfoxstole]

Doctors (and Ace!) with their Avenue Who puppets. (x) (x)

[princeanxious]

.

[theditchlillies]

Marilyn Monroe // 5th Avenue in NYC // 1957

[rabbitcruiser]

U.S. President Grover Cleveland married Frances Folsom in the White House on June 2, 1886; she was 27 years his junior.

[dcfashionfool]

4 great summer resort looks for men

4 great summer resort looks for men @saks #sakspartner #saksstyle #mensfashion #vacationwear #resortstyle

It’s mid-July and we are in the hot days of summer. Whether it is a staycation or a trip out of town, you may want to refresh your summer looks to keep your style game on point. Need some inspiration? Look no further. These 5 great summer resort looks can carry you from the pool to a wonderful evening out and everything else in between. If you are like me, a summer getaway seems just the ticket…

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Innocent’

Sherlock x fem! reader

- oh. my. god. i got a few requests for this virgin/ inexperienced smutty fic and lord i got so carried away. I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH IT TOOK ME SO LONG BUT MY OWN WRITING HAS ME FERAL??? help x 

Sherlock was feeling completative, pondering upon forbidden grounds that he wouldn't usually travel. He was walking through the avenues of his mind, the thoughts reeling through him- even though it really wasn’t a good time.

You were next to him, he was being awarded another stupid gift for his incredible and somewhat pretentious sleuthing skills but he really wasn't paying much attention. Not after what he did. Not after what he felt.

Sherlock accidentally grazed your fingers while you were standing next to him, he was versed enough to catch onto bodily reactions but yours was incredibly different. Your breath caught in your throat but you still let out an audible gasp, you stiffened under his glare and your face started to blush a heated rose with every moment he stared at you. Lips parted, eyes widened with a surprised sheen, teeth clamping onto your lower lip- he didn't know he had the ability to draw that type of reaction out of you. He hasn't really seen a woman react like that before. Especially because of something he did.

Jesus Christ, it's like you've never been touched before.

He stole another glance at you. You were incredibly bashful, not in a nervous way but in an endearing shyness. Naive but knowing, chilling but warm...sexy yet sweet. A mystery altogether and Sherlock wanted to uncover all the secrets you were hiding, you were concealing something and he wanted to find out what it was. It was nagging him relentlessly. He was in spite of it. Sherlock was able to deduce anything about anyone but he couldn't place his finger on you, maybe it's because he couldn't but maybe it was because he didn't want to. This helpless attitude he was beginning to adopt was disarming him and he did not like it one bit. Even if he did want you, he simply wouldn't have the opportunity, you were as blocked off as he was.

Stop, Sherlock. She's much too young.

Sherlock's sex life was incredibly demanding. It never really occured to others that he had a sex life at all but what he demanded in the bedroom was intricate and detailed- he fucked his women in the way he alone wanted. He pushed the limits of every woman he had ever bedded and to some it may be shocking that he had a line of women begging for him.

Sherlock's tastes were very singular, specific and he was beggining to question if...you...were adventurous in bed. He shouldn't even be thinking about you in this way because you seemed so...innocent. Normally he didn't find that attractive but you were a fascinating creature altogether.

His brow creased. He could quite literally feel you shiver. He wondered if you were cold or nervous, but it all began to click- the puzzle pieces began to fall into place and he only realised once you were alone in his presence.

He asked you to meet him at Baker Street.

You were filled with dread and pining, you weren't even sure if it was quiet or loud pining but the desperation that was beginning to bubble within you was becoming very difficult to control and hide. Especially when the object of your desires wanted you to meet him..alone. You were so sweet for him. So ready for him but concern began whirring the cogs in your mind...for one, Sherlock Holmes was quite frankly unattainable and you were...inexperienced. Either way you were fucked, and not in the way you wanted too. He was just too potent, too strong and he could see through anything and everyone, you couldn't deal with the embarrassment he would be so unashamed to put on you- dealing with the ramifications of that would simply be your downfall.

But you couldn't find it in your bones to say no. Saying no to Sherlock Holmes? It simply wasn't within you, you couldn't find the strength to pretend not to want him anymore. Your heart thundered with every step you took up those stairs. Velveteen and living single wasn't really cutting it for you anymore.

‘’Sherlock?’’ You called after him as you creaked the door open, not really expecting an answer from him. ‘’Sherlock, what do you want?'’ You sighed exasperated and annoyed by the way he was keeping you waiting.

He was very certain with himself. He had a simple hypothesis but he wasn't sure if it was true, it really couldn't be true. Sherlock came out from the kitchen to see you standing there, trying to keep yourself cool, calm and collected but anyone with a brain stem could see that you were filled with panic. He straightened his blazer and unbottoned it as he made his way over to you.

‘’Can I try something? Please.’’ Sherlock asked with inquisitive and dark eyes, you were wondering what he wanted, what he was going to do. ‘’An experiment of sorts.’’

All you could do was mindlessly nod. ‘’Yeah.’’ You breathed.

Sherlock gazed into the endless summer of your eyes. If time stood still you'd take this moment and make it last forever. Your pupils dialated and that was something to cross off his checklist, his face was nearing yours and you blinked up at his dumbly. Your breath mingled with his and you stilled once his fingertips grazed up the bare skin of your arm, the pads flowing on the suppleness like oil upon water. Smooth skin left with goosebumps, you let out a shaky breath- completely confused yet enthralled with what he was doing.

His head dipped near your ear. Sherlock could feel your pulse kick into overdrive, he felt your body alight as he neared you- warm breath coating your skin. You were so damn shy, bright, deep and arousing as hell.

‘’No. It simply can't be true.’’ Sherlock muttered, he let go of you and you felt as though the sun just left everything in complete darkness.

Sherlock swayed slowly to lean on the edge of the table, arms crossed and the way he stood was enough to make electricity shoot down your thighs. Sherlock was shocked. It really couldn't be true but he secretly hoped it was.

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You asked impassively, afraid to reveal too much of yourself and the desire to jump his bones you were feigning in.

Sherlock finally pieced together you hadn't had anyone. You were a virgin.

It made his breath halt in his tracks when he came to the realisation, aren't people your age supposed to be fucking like bunnies? It was an objective expression: you were beautiful, sweet, charming and completely disarming. You had barely been touched. The thought is strangely appealling. Inexperienced? He could work with that, God knows he wanted to.

‘’Have you been kissed before?’’ Sherlock asked out of the blue, completely oblivious to how dumbfounded you were.

‘’Of course I have.’’ He thought you looked offended.

Yeah, you've been kissed but not often.... for some damn reason, it pleased him.

‘’Have you ever been touched before?’’ He questioned as if it was a normal thing to say.

You opened your mouth to talk but you couldn't find it in yourself to speak.

Hmm…interesting.

You were so...different. So different to his other women. He liked that.

And he wanted to fuck you, spank you and watch your skin pink beneath his cold hands. You weren't talking, that's out of the question now- isn't it?

He wanted to whip you into shape, your mouth would need training of course but he liked your naivite- it provided a challenge. Well maybe not fuck, that's too heavy handed for you. Maybe he could break you in...show you the ropes. It would be a novel experience for the both of you.

The look in Sherlock's eyes was that of fire swirling into a cylone, he sauntered his way over to you like a sly fox. Your chest was heavy as you looked up at him, the proximity between you two growing smaller and smaller. You daren't blink when he hooked his fingers up from your chin and jutted it up slightly- the feeling of his hands on yours was enough to do you in.

‘’I would like to bite that lip.’’ Sherlock grumbled concisely, his voice low and authoritative and your lips parted in surprise, he grazed his thumb over the soft pink flesh of your lips.

‘’I think I'd like that too.’’ You whispered, shocked by your own words.

‘’Where have you been? How have you been- how could you…?’’ Sherlock breathed, eyes inquisitive. Imploring you to make him understand how no one had taken you, no one had had you or touched you. How could it be possible?

‘’Waiting.’’ You breathed as you felt his hands cradle your face. ‘’For you.’’

‘’And a nice young man hasn't swooped you off of your feet? Men must throw themselves at you.’’

You were melting, knees buckling- you felt pathetic.

‘’No. No one. Just wanted you.’’ You exhaled, so intense and certain of your desire for him as you give him a bright come hither look, he was startled by the fact you weren't feeling so innocent now.

‘’Can I kiss you?’’ Sherlock asked politely and under his breath, which he wouldn't normally do but for you he was willing to bend the rules, his rules and it made him irate. He didn't like his specific rules he set be broken...he was just so curious about you that he was pushing to just get you out of that skirt, gag you and fuck you over the table but he had to tread lightly.

You shocked him when you grabbed him by the collar like instinct and slanted your mouth against his. Sherlock twisted his hand in your hair while your lips seek to find his. You moan into his mouth, the call of a siren and finally he could sample you: mint, tea, peach and an orchard of mellow fruitfulness, a fresh full supply that he wanted to drown in. Innocence and sweetness.

You taste every bit as good as you look.

You reminded him of a time of plenty. Good Lord, he was yearning for you.

Sherlock grasped your chin, deepening the kiss and your tongue tentatively touches his...exploring. Considering. Feeling. Revelling. Kissing him back.

Good God in Heaven. You thought you would grow wings before you could see the day, this could only happen in your wildest fantasies and dreams. A manifestation of sorts. You were punch drunk off of his taste, completely intoxicated beyond your reach and you didn't want to let go but you had to tear your lips away from his to breathe.

‘’I want to take you now...can I?’’ Sherlock had to ask politely, he couldn't just jump your bones although he wanted to.

‘’Sherlock, please. Do whatever you want with me, take control, I don't care. Just because I haven't been touched in this way doesn't mean I'm fragile and breakable. Fuck me how you want to, show me what you like. I've waited long enough, just do something.’’

Your voice sensual and that of an exotic creature, far too holy to be considered earthly. Sherlock had to contain his amusement and surprise, wow you were pulling the rug from under him and he liked that a lot. Those big doe eyes wide and gleaming to give you a morsel of the pleasure you were craving. He loved your incessant blushing.

‘’You don't mean that.’’ Sherlock warned.

‘’Yes I do.’’ Your voice timid.

‘’You're incredibly brave. I'm in awe of you.’’

‘’I feel like I'm too clothed.’’ You flirted.

Sherlock wanted to taste you, eat you out until tears were leaking down your face and then shock you with his cock.

He'd get there soon...in time. Maybe next time, he'd use the riding crop.

Yeah, yeah keep dreaming Sherlock. You have her here right now, just ease into it.

When he gripped you by the hand and lead you to his room, you felt your cheeks pink in desire. Sherlock felt a wholly unexpected thrill unfurl inside of him. He held you flush against his body. You gasp in surprise and his loud thoughts were subdued by his libido, he was so damn horny because of you- you had no clue how arousing you where. So alluring.

Sherlock's fingers tug at your hair, pulling your face up to his as he gazed into your captivating eyes.

This is so different...so intimate. It felt so heated. Although there was no arrangement made between you two, nothing placed, no limits set, you weren't his to do with as he pleases but yet he was still excited.

Aroused. It was obvious the way he was trying to reign his eagerness in when he was peeling you out of your clothes. You were shivering into his feather light touches, your body was alight like the fourth of July- a million fireworks exploding into the clear night sky and you were bathing in the feeling. He was so damn seductive. It was an unfamilair and exhilerating feeling, the desire for him coursing through you, at the tipping edge of a giant rollercoaster.

Sherlock got you half naked fairly quickly, he kneeled in front of you as you stood and your eyes widened. Sherlock Holmes on his knees? Dear God. You felt so special. He got you in your bra and now he wanted to peel your skirt off. His gleaming eyes met with yours and they daren't waver, they were blown out and dialated. Sherlock hands gripped onto your hips and he kissed the skin below the hem of your skirt and it began riding up with his nose as it travelled north. You whimpered and threw your head back in pure ecstasy. Your brows tensed as he stopped kissing you and finally shimmied your skirt down your legs.

Damn it.

His cock hardened in his pants. You in stockings? You in fine lingerie even though you had no one getting to see you like this, this…intimate? Who were you wearing them for? Him? Oh fuck. He was on top of the world.

His nose trailed over your panties and the scent of you was simply perfect, so delicious, he was salivating.

‘’Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?’’ He grumbled, planting kisses on your thighs.

You whined at nothing, the words filling you up entirely. You were entranced- lost in his spell- he was clearly happy with himself.

‘’Do you want me to kiss you here, sweetheart?’’ Sherlock asked and you nodded fervently as his mouth was dangerously near the place where your ache was.

Lord, you were pulsating. Soaked.

‘’Yes. Please.’’ You agreed politely and he loved how naive and cute you were, it was delightful that you remembered your manners.

Sherlock's thick finger pulled your panties to the side as he kissed and suckled on that spot that no one else had touched. You felt electricity course through you, your hands flew to his soft curls to tug at it. It made him feel so good. His tongue was doing his magic now, swiping and suckling on your swollen clit, illiciting these lewd noises out of you in the process.

You were seriously about to cry, it was all so much.

You grabbed his face to make him stand and he got on his feet in quick hot flashes, his mouth was fastened to yours again. You moaned into his mouth when his tongue tangled with yours again, you could taste yourself off of him- it was so damn erotic, something out of a dream. When he ripped his lips from yours to see the wanton look in your eyes, he found that you were covered in a delicious rose, your breathing shallow and quick. You were clearly embarrassed at how quickly he got you like this.

Sherlock groaned when you gripped onto his arms, he finally reached behind you and unclasped your bra. Your tits fell free and he immediately palmed at them, your nipples were painfully hard and it made him realise how badly you actually wanted him. Your skin was warm as you flushed. It was the first time anyone else had seen you naked and the fact it was the infamous Sherlock Holmes made it all the more better.

'So pretty, I want to mark your skin up, make you mine." He wasn't sure why he blurted the last part. Would he make you his? Well you weren't.

‘’Do it then.’’ You breathed.

Like clockwork, he obeyed. His teeth sunk into the skin of your neck as he littered bites all down the column of it, leaving his mark on you.

His mark all over you. You then noticed that he was still fully clothed and it made you frown and Sherlock saw that as he peeked at you.

‘’What's with the frown? Am I not satisfying you enough?’’ He taunted.

‘’You've still got clothes on.’’ You pouted. ‘’Let me take it off for you.’’ You offered so deliciously and for once, Sherlock let you. It was unheard of, but you were already bending his rules.

You unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off him, but before you could revel in his physique he pushed you onto the bed. Your face contorted into different scenarios of pleasure and he wasn't even inside you yet. Sherlock fawned over you, hands roaming every inch of your skin, your hands raking in his hair. Breath warm as he kissed you. Your hands flew to his pants.

Whoa...gentle. Easy. So...eager. He liked that. The naive innocent itching to just get into his pants- interesting.

You unzipped it and Sherlock finally let his cock spring free. He peeked up at your face to check that you were still keen but it was more than that. You were desperate. Your mouth formed into an 'o' as it popped open, eyes wide with how big he was. It startled you, even envisioning what it would look like. He was leaking. Fuck.

‘’You still want this?’’ He checks again and you nodded furiously, already panting. Has he ever been this aroused? He didn't get it…it must be you.

Sherlock postioned himself in between your thighs as he slid into you so he could take you on his whim. Your eyes were open wide, imploring him as you strained. Should he be gentle and prolong the agony or just go for it?

The need to posses you clouds him. He goes for it.

You cry out and the pain felt so fucking God, the sting burned and you fucking loved it.

‘’Is that okay?’’ Sherlock checked as his eyes bore into yours, your face was etched in pure pleasure.

‘’Mmhmm...fuck...it feels...nice.’’ You whisper in his ear, moaning and whimpering and it was like his favourite sound of music.

Nice?

Sherlock? Nice?

Oh no, that's not good enough.

Sherlock wasn't nice in bed he was downright devilish in bed but for you he was willing to be soft, maybe later he'll fuck you in every way possible.

He had never felt this desire. This hunger before. He wanted so much from you but for now, he wanted you to cum on him.

Sherlock eased in and out of you slowly, eyes connected and scorching. Intimate. Hot. Slow. Normally, he would've pinned your hands above your head but right now they were in his hair and that's exactly where he wanted them to be right now. He began to pick up the pace and your moans echoed throughout his bedroom. It was just beginning to dawn on you that you were being fucked by Sherlock Holmes in his own bedroom.

‘’You're so fucking wet, I love it.’’ He cooed condescendingly and you didn't find it in yourself to care.

Sherlock reached you at the hilt, hitting that spot over and over as he kissed your lips and your jaw. He was just relentless and perfect.

‘’..God..'’ It was more of a strangled cry than an actual word.

‘’Cum with me...feel it with me, baby.’’

That's it…Feel it.

He loved that you were so responsive, he'd have to keep you in line for that later though. The pet name drove you to insanity as you bottomed out, gushing onto him as the flood gates opened and you had none of the means to keep them closed. Your cry was incandescent and it made him follow you in your footsteps. How telling. It was an explosive collision, a once in a lifetime event. That blush began to coat and prick your skin again.

When he finished, he rolled off beside you to regain his breath. The air was so thick and fulfilled, fire and erosion turning the atmosphere to molten lava. You cut through the pants.

‘’Am I supposed to thank you...because..uhm. Thank you.’’ You breathed bashfully, so sensual in your stance but you attempted to collect yourself and he wanted to laugh.

You were so amusing. So fun.

‘’This was more for me than you.’’ Sherlock admitted truthfully.

‘’Humility will always be a mystery to you.’’ You raised your eyebrow as you leaned to your side to peek up at him. Silence encompassed the air as your statement was incredibly true, he wasn't oblivious to it.

‘’How on Earth have you avoided…?’’ Sherlock seemed exasperated, confused as his brows creased but you cut him off.

‘’I told you, I wasn't interested. I only wanted you.’’

[hwaightme]

Sangshine

(masterlist) (join taglist)

🌅 pairing: sun god!yeosang x gn!baker!reader 🌅 genre: fluff, fantasy, soulmates, studio ghibli-coded 🌅 summary: when yeosang opens the door to your bakery, and a new chapter of your life begins, you cannot help but feel as though you had met before; yeosang is elated to relive every sunrise and sunset, and fall in love with you again. 🌅 wordcount: 5.4k 🌅 warnings/tags: solo edit, food/eating/making food, destiny talk, discussion of time, discussion of deities/olympus, kiki's delivery service-inspired setting, multiple lives, mortal/immortal, summer fantasy, seaside town, baker's assistant yeosang, his precious self, (not quite) strangers to lovers, falling in love again... and again, waiting for love, sun magic, mention of lacking sleep 🌅 a/n: when i say i listened to the playlist on loop, i mean it. this yeosang is dear to me, as is time, the sun, and the cusp of spring and summer, bringing transformation. this fic is also an early celebration of yeosang, our beautiful, talented malberman~ I hope you enjoy, love you, any and all reblogs, comments, asks and notes appreciated!

🌅 playlist: Suzume - RADWIMPS, Toaka ; Time for two - RADWIMPS ; A Town with an Ocean View, The Baker's Assistant, You're in Love - Joe Hisaishi, Path of the Wind (Piano Version) - URE Relaxing, Summer - Joe Hisaishi, Pekka Toivonen

🌅 perma-taglist: @doom-fics @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @ssaboala @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @pyeonghongrie-main @cosmic-w0lf

🌅can't be tagged: @yunbug @hjoymyluv @memoriesofwoo @mystar1024 @ate-ez

Once upon a time, on a day when the weather forecast had promised, and the grim steely clouds delivered ceaseless downpours, and you were stuck inside watching rain turn window views into a hazy blur and scare away any potential customers with its ferocity, the sun, cautiously, with a bashful grin on his face, apple cheeks and a boundless kindhearted disposition hinted in every gesture, entered your store.

Raven locks, slightly curled and framing his heaven-sculpted face, inquisitive eyes that were a complex painting, an entrancing shade of grey - one which, much to your surprise, you were fond of, unlike the endless expanse of rain summoners hanging above your shop. You attempted to regard him like you would any other customer, but stopped on your tracks, barely finding the counter with your hands as his form became the sole focus of your vision. It was as though the rain had purposefully passed him by, left an avenue just for him to enter the bakery and keep his leather dress shoes and black outfit pristine, the man crowned by a lucky spotlight. As the young man fumbled for a way to proceed, you wondered if he was a ray of sun himself and that was how he stayed dry in that torrential catastrophe. Forcing your mouth into a more amiable shape than blatant gaping, you returned his shy smile and inquired whether there was anything in particular that he was looking for - after all, if the man was in your store, and managed to expertly dodge what had to be the worst rainfall in a decade, he had to be determined to buy something, anything. Silently, you were hoping that even if he were a passing face, that he could keep your business, and you, afloat. 

You left him a moment to ponder and watched him amble towards the counter. This allowed you to study his features at proximity, with bated breath as he leaned towards the glass display and looked at some of the pastries. The drifting of a couple of unruly strands as he lowered his head revealed the hints of a birthmark, a rosy pink blossom on the left side of the beautiful man’s face. Delicate, elegant. You looked away in an effort to appear more professional than usual for the sake of first impressions - you were not sure why this particular man had inspired the urge within you, seeing as you were so used to serving only locals and speaking in an array of neighbourhood inside jokes that you would think any newcomer would instead inspire callousness and aloof behaviour. But the unmistakable warmth emanating from him, the soothing balm of a brighter day that he appeared to carry made you want to grow closer, aim higher, beam instead of scowling.

He caught you as you were smoothing your apron, your break in attentiveness allowing his gaze to travel over you the same way that yours had done when he had crossed the barrier into the delicious safe haven from the atrocious weather that he had to schedule - unbeknownst to the residents of the town, he had actually negotiated to carve a few more sunny days, more days for him to search. It was rare, for someone like him, to stumble across little paradises. After all, for the most part the planet was a blur for him, a daily task and a routine roaming that he had to carry out and maintain. The last thing that the young god needed and had to want was the experience of mortal pleasures - the responsibilities that the deity, in the form of a young man, had were drilled into him again and again, and none of them involved doing what he was doing right this second. But the calls had grown too persistent as he passed by this town, too strong to dismiss, and the sky was curtained by clouds, much to his fortune. It was not that anyone would notice if a blip in the sunlight ever happened. He knew what he needed, and he knew that it was time to achieve it.

“Um, sorry. Do you have melon pan?” the young man addressed you, his deep, dulcet tone like music to your ears. The tilt of his head as the question permeated the air, subconsciously mirrored as you broke into a series of nods, setting off to the bread rack that was located behind the counter, off to the right. Seems it was good to give into your own cravings sometimes and impulsively introduce new items to the menu.

“With cream or without?”

One thing that you would have never expected was that a sun god would make it a habit to visit you in his free time, and be it for a sweet treat or for reasons known only to him, would put on an apron and fall into your beloved routine. What the deity never expected, and remained pleasantly surprised about, was just how readily you had accepted him, and instead of obviously falsified reverence that he had grown accustomed to from mortals who were graced with knowledge of his existence, you treated him as ‘Yeo’. That was the nickname you had given him after he had introduced himself with a human name - Kang Yeosang; a key which, upon turning, made him your new friend, and he would be lying if he said he did not feel elated when you happily shouted out his name from the back of the store, instructing him to move some trays around, or asking him to help you with some bags or dishes. 

If there was another heaven, it would be in the rhythm that he had rediscovered with you. In the cosy space of your bakery, Yeosang was at ease, in a tranquillity that he previously thought existed only in books and in mortal movies, in myths about eternal bliss, a paradise in the palm of one’s hand. Something that belonged to other lifetimes, other avenues that he had traversed. He thought that he was the one to have the better cards, the advantages, but it was you who had him figured out, despite his abilities, immortality and near-invincibility. After a particularly scalding hot day, the first words that you had spoken to Yeosang once he made the chimes that were hanging right above the door ring exactly at sundown, were: “you made the sun shine brilliantly today, Yeo,” leaving him awestruck. To you, it was only a matter of putting two and two together, making the man, or not quite exactly a man, into the legend that he truly was. After that, you simply delivered him a melon pan with cream, and pointed at the little table you had put out at the front of the shop, asking if you could enjoy the last of the rays together. He had happily obliged, stars in his eyes as you guided him out, balancing a jug of freshly made lemonade and a couple of glasses on a board resting 

As the days grew impossibly long with the climb of the spring into the summer season, so did the opening hours of the bakery, right up until you were stretched so thin over the day that you introduced a midday closing time with a break for a few hours, much to the surprise of the locals. At the same time, it turned out to be a welcome one, seeing as with the arrival of Yeosang, the number of people coming through the green-painted door increased considerably. Of course they would never say it, but you could detect a curiosity and admiration in them as they spotted the beauty strolling around in the kitchens, and the dreamy sighs when Yeosang would peek out, and even interact with some of the customers were far too obvious to ignore. If you knew any less, you would probably find yourself jealous, but at the same time, how many people walked under the sun, day in, day out? That was what you tried to tell yourself when the crowds of students would blast past, buying up the stock on one occasion and simply loitering around on another after their gruelling hours of cram school, and the odd brave youngster would try their luck to flirt with the god. His responsive stoicism, however, dispelled any of your itching doubts, and with a couple of polite nods and a step in a direction farther and farther from whoever was his unwanted interlocutor, Yeosang returned to the rhythm. 

He did not mind the visitors of the shop, nor the delivery men who brought you fresh produce and ingredients. In fact, he had made some new friends in this way. But it was when he could catch your grin, listen to your melodic laugh and feel a light playful tap on his shoulder that the light was truly brighter. Aside from the laborious maintenance of the glowing orb, patrolling his part of the world before he needed to pass it on, he was now a baker. Technically an assistant at best, but you proudly called him ‘the real deal’ when you applauded him for helping you with the brioche loaves. The coolness of the morning before dawn never felt warmer as his heart swelled with your encouragement, as if the sun really did set and rise in this bakery, home to nature’s magic and the adoration that he held for the world, reflected in your eyes that caught the hints of the rising sun. Nothing could be more beautiful. 

“Good luck for today!” you chirped with excitement evident in your voice, adjusting his shirt absent-mindedly, a habit that he had allowed you to form, the few precious seconds where he could let himself imagine a timelessness with you.

“Good luck to you too, and see you this evening. We have the Summer Solstice event opening!” Yeosang answered, matching your joy. While you adjusted his collar and clapped your hands a couple of times, satisfied with the neat look, Yeosang remained more still than the verdant green trees that cast calming shadows over to the side of the shop in the early hours.

“That’s right, so you better be prepared to work the till until you become the till,” you should have known that your attempt to move the blackboard sign would be intercepted, and the deity’s arms were already guiding themselves between yours to grasp onto the wooden frame. Whispering out an apology, a light blush coating his cheeks when your fingers barely brushed as you detangled yourself from the kind intervention, Yeosang moved the elaborate logographic art onto the street in its rightful place, continuing with his encouraging ponderings:

“First day sales are about to beat all records for this beauty.”

“They better, or the seasonal specials will-”

“I can always call my friends if you’re worried.”

“So I can have Olympus in my shop?”

“Why not? Your treats are heavenly…” he trailed off, partially in disbelief at his own choice of words. Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, Yeosang decided to let the moment carry itself forward, listening to the trickling of time. 

Again, the gentlest touch of your hand on his chest as a laugh escaped you, and what had struck fear in his heart dispelled to reveal a brilliant sunrise. It was always you behind those sun rays, wasn’t it? The question crept out of a deep slumber, having lied dormant for what had to have been decades, now crawling up the walls of his consciousness, melting away doubts that came with every first meeting.

“You really are too sweet. Now go, can't keep your colleagues and the world waiting.”

As you peered into his eyes, clear, bright, hopeful, you felt as though you were looking at the sky itself, admiring its infinite expanse and omniscience. An odd sensation hinted at its existence as you did not dare look away, letting yourself sink further into ever-changing blues and greys, highlighted with flickers of a mahogany flame right by the pupils. Almost as if you had seen these very eyes before, gazed into the summer sky and caressed the sun itself as though it was an ornate glass marble. Perhaps this was another one of the peculiarities that came with interacting with the divine, you concluded and brushed it off, simply glad that in the now, in the early dawn on what was to be a hot summer day, you could look forward to more than ever before.

Yeosang bit the corner of his lower lip, in nervous contemplation, before tentatively reaching for your hand which had been resting by your side, and giving it a soft squeeze, barely there until you responded, fingers intertwining, answering to his unsaid hopes. Gaze not leaving the unity, thumb running over the edge of your palm repeatedly in an attempt to memorise the presence, he whispered out, half to himself, half to the divinity above and around him in sacred promise:

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Even as he departed, and you watched his figure evaporate into the morning mist as he approached the reddening horizon, the feeling of his hand in yours remained as vivid as that feeling that you must have known Yeosang before, or at least the irreplaceable, unique warmth that he shared with you was something akin to the idea of home itself. Supported, quietly cheered on as you continued your daily duties and finalised preparations to open the store for the first half of the day, Yeosang was there in your every thought and movement.

The glints of sun as the trees, having been ushered awake by the earliest hints of warmth that the red tiled roof of the bakery caught, commenced their serene rustling, were ciphers, music to your vision that danced over the concrete of the street outside. The way in which the colours changed as the sun grew more prominent and energetic was a masterpiece in the making, white paint turning into a glowing fantasy. When you closed for the day break, setting off on a daily walk around the neighbourhood in your favourite linen dress and wide-brimmed straw hat, you were embraced by the luminance that ambled across the ultramarine heavens, Yeosang matching your stride.

Running your hand over the top of the stone fencing that lined the hill on which your bakery found its home, you let your gaze rest over the breathtaking scenery of your beloved town, the terracotta roofs, the cream walls that were highlighted with wooden planks that stood the test of decades, the cobbled streets and hustle and bustle of squares and markets, and the glistening ocean that was always the first to wave to Yeosang, all shining thanks to the summer sun. It was fascinating, how with the marvel of the seasons, the town transformed into a fantastical land that you could only hope to spend all your years in. It had always been your home, your calling, and even in the times when you had gone outside of the town’s boundaries, your heart remained right here, come rain or shine. Perhaps this was the true reason why you were so drawn to Yeosang - in his eyes, you saw the same place, the same time, the understanding of a home that was so personal you were convinced he was taking the threads from your very soul, and singing the melodies right back to you. Your own, only sun that you could not believe returned your daring, unwavering gaze. You waved at the midday orb, chuckling to yourself as a flock of birds dashed past, hoping that your cheers would be delivered. 

As you turned to give the bakery a once-over before turning the corner to head down the stone stairs that would lead you to a busier part of the neighbourhood, you gasped as the sign, a dainty metal pretzel right above the entrance rocked back and forth on the rod, as if waving back to you, and caught a sudden sun ray, reflecting the warmth for it to fall at your feet like a thousand stars, decorating the cobble to turn to an illuminated path of glowing marble. Unable to contain your beam, you bowed your head in gratitude and curtsied, wondering just what your neighbours would think if they were to poke their heads out from their bedrooms and shops. But you did not pay it too much mind, instead twirling around, and with a newfound lightness, found yourself on a mission to surprise the precious sunshine.

The longest day of the year, marking the moment when the sun would begin its slow journey to a hibernation for the northern hemisphere, and Yeosang would find himself growing that little bit less busy as a god, busier as your loyal assistant. He rushed down the streets as soon as his feet hit the concrete in a secluded spot that he liked to use for his returns, counting every second that passed and matching it to the start of the event. Seeing the small crowd that gathered by the bakery, waiting for their much adored pastries and cheerfully chatting away, pride swelled within him as he thought back to the wishes you had made, what you had been working towards and what you had now achieved. He glided into the store in efforts to find you, picking up the apron that you left for him behind the counter. You were in the middle of carrying a new tray of buns and motioned for him to take his position by the till - back to his favourite rhythm.

Customers came and went, the event turning into a hit, and by the second hour, your specially decorated melon pan was officially sold out; all except one for a certain someone, tucked away, kept safe. You almost felt guilty for keeping this tiny secret from the god, taking notice of his momentary confusion and barely restrained pout as he caught sight of the empty basket, and his disheartened stance as he picked it up and removed it from the display. You swore you saw what was already the night hour darken, and stifled a giggle, instead tapping Yeosang on the shoulder to give him a thumbs up for his hard work and mouth the words promising a gift. With a re-discovered vigour, the deity hurried off to assist an elderly customer who was trying with all her might to contain a loaf of sourdough and make it past a busy line - your store being the only one in this part of town to sport one in such late evening. As the chimes rang out again, you thought back to the little present you had acquired during your afternoon walk, barely containing yourself, bursting at the seams as you imagined what you wanted Yeosang’s reaction to be over and over again.

With the last of the customers came the quietude, a lulling blanket of deep navy decorated with stars that had been lying in wait outside of the bakery, a moment of rest for the sun god, a cooling serenity that you could share with him as you closed up, cleaned up, and ushered him to the little table outside - previously folded away and hidden behind an antique delivery scooter bike out at the front of the shop, so as to not attract attention, nor occupy the space that had always been set out for idle chatter of the visiting locals. As you let Yeosang finalise the furnishing of your makeshift lounge, you recalled his curiosity of the wheeled machine, and your suggestion that one of these days, he could use it as a chariot, much to his child-like excitement. You turned and made a beeline for the store, almost running into Yeosang in the process, your balance restored only by a pair of strong hands on your upper arms.

“What’s the hurry?” as though electrified by the contact, his hands flew away from you just as suddenly as they had caressed your skin, though, much like the heavenly reassurance of his presence on your wrist, the ghost of him remained around you, seeking an embrace. Retraining your focus on the man before you, you huffed and continued past him repeating “just you wait”, over, over like a mantra, a spell that you wanted to use to keep him in place.

Thankfully, he did not follow, instead stepping closer to the window that was now exposed to the moonlight since he folded the ruby red awning, faded with the years of sunlight and rain storms. Yeosang folded his toned arms, smiling to himself as he watched you throw one item, another onto a wooden tray, and shuffle back outside, not once breaking focus from balancing what had to be priceless treasure, considering how carefully you set it down in front of him.

“Sit.”

“But you’re standing.”

“Yeo, come on, sit down, I am just energetic!”

“After that shift? Are you sure you are not a god or demi-god yourself?” he countered, tilting his head.

“I- hm. Okay so we are standing then?”

“I want to be energetic with you!” the innocent comment made your chest ache, and what had previously been utter conviction that what you were doing was casual, customary for colleagues, friends, passing faces who had grown familiar, shattered into a vulnerable confession.

You stilled, the nervous rocking on the balls of your feet ceasing to bring you comfort, the erratic motions and gesticulations as you struggled for a response disappearing into the night and leaving an entrancing clarity. There was no other way to present this, and you had accidentally pushed yourself over the edge, a stance, a dare that you were no longer able to back out of. Facing the sun, you stepped closer and closer to it, and reached for the first item on the tray.

“Here is a little… thing I kept for you.”

“No… no way, is that melon pan!” he exclaimed, taking the small paper bag from your hands and peering inside, amazed to find his, and your favourite sweet bun. The crisp cookie dough layer solidifying the neat, recogniseable hatching, containing a custard cream inside, another homemade specialty. 

“You know, I recently found out that melon pan has another name,” dropping the bun back into the bag to give you full attention, Yeosang glanced back at you and pushed a stray strand of black hair behind his ear, preventing it from blocking his view. Gesturing for you to continue, he nearly squeezed the custard out of the bread upon hearing your elaboration: “a friend of mine, she works at a bakery in a city down south, and there, they call this sunrise bread. Funny, isn’t it?”

“So you bake suns in your oven?”

“Guess you could say that.”

How was it that you managed to leave him breathless regardless of the time you met was forever going to remain a mystery, but one Yeosang never wanted to solve. Instead, he was waiting with a fluttering heart for the moment you were going to say the words that had imprinted themselves in his eternal being, and travelled across from heaven to earth, from the east to the west, echoing in his mind as he searched for you over and over again until finally, your dawn could greet him. He remained silent, glancing at you and at the last hidden object on the tray, a box leaning against the glass jug, this time filled to the brim with a peach ice tea. 

“I… was at this antique store today. Don’t really know what brought me there but as soon as I saw this, I knew I wanted you to have it. I-... well, I don’t know if gods have birthdays but since it is the Summer Solstice, and you are basically the sun itself, I wanted this to be a little celebration of… you?”

“Of me? But-” never, not a single time could the divine being find rationality in your kindness, only the crossing of stars that tugged the fragile lonely hearts together into an intricate waltz woven in the skies. 

“Check it out!” 

Yeosang counted the seconds that passed once more, this night, this fateful night being so cruelly short, but so full of promise. His hands, trembling ever so slightly as he attempted to remove the lid, a trepidation taking a hold of him. Your infinite pools hurried him on with their anxious darting, and inhaling the sweet scent of the sea and his earthly home, he opened the box to reveal just what he had been anticipating, a relic, centuries-old masterpiece passed on from one you to another. Forever yours, finding its place in the same antique shop to return to him and to you, making another beginning. 

He searched for the ring at the top of the sun chimes, stained glass beauties attached by sturdy strings to a hook that, the next dawn would find purchase at the base of the bakery sign above the light grassy green door, there to remain for a measure of time. Lifting it out of the box, Yeosang admired the stars, the crescent moon, the sun that had been crafted and immortalised just like himself, ready to attract and dissipate every ray that would grace them. A miniature galaxy contained in impossibly intricate artwork, with every sparkle appearing to house a memory and still hold space for the near and far future. Your future, his future. Lost in the relief of meeting the object as though it was a good friend, he barely registered your diffident approach.

“So… what do you-”

“I love it, Y/N.”

“You do?”

“I do. And I think I know just where to hang it. If you do not mind, of course,” upon seeing your nod of approval, he lifted his arm to turn and point at the pretzel, gleeful when he saw your face light up brighter than the sun he was tasked to carry. “Let’s do it now, before it is too late to sleep and before the sun rises. So that I can visit you more while the days are still too long.”

Insisting on saying your morning goodbyes to him, even though barely a few hours had passed between the hanging of the chimes and the palette of the skies gaining lighter blue, lilac and pastel pink hues, you stood under them, huddled in a wool blanket to minimise the contrast of the cosiness of your bed and the breeze travelling down the still, somnolent streets, alive only thanks to the the scattering of lamps and the world surrounding them, watching over them. One blink, another as you tried to rid yourself of sleep to convince Yeosang that you were perfectly fine and ready to start the day. In reality, you simply wanted to catch the first glints on the chimes and follow his journey across the sky, dreaming of his sunset back in your bakery.

Hands concealed by the thick material and unable to smooth his shirt, you could only take a step towards the divinity, the action turning symbolic. What you did not anticipate, however, was that this dawn, he was more than happy to take over your duties and instead of him melting under your softness, your ears were turning red as he pulled the blanket tighter around you, taking its edges that were close to your face, adjusting the ticklish fabric like it was a one of a kind ball gown - unbeknownst to you, that was was exactly how Yeosang saw it, and when he saw you trying to nuzzle into it and away from his amused expression, he could not resist any longer, and with one final pull rested his forehead against yours, noses colliding briefly causing you to let out a feeble yelp.

“I’ll see you in the chimes later, yeah?” he whispered against your skin, the proximity proving intoxicating as you could only just register and make sense of his words, initial shock wearing off to lay down the path for the return of the same feeling from the earlier night, only this time more real, more certain fully reciprocated.

“And later. I’ll make more sunrise bread for you.”

“I think I know something even sweeter. If you will let me indulge, of course.” the last moment before the break of your dawn, a question by which the world was hanging in intimate suspense. 

The past, present and future collided as, in response to Yeosang’s careful request, you boldly closed the already practically nonexistent space between you, finally understanding the true meaning of being sunkissed. It did not take any time at all for the god to return the revealed fondness that you had kept guarded until it only felt natural to bring to light. Like the balmy immersion of the elements, suspended on the cusp of spring becoming summer, Yeosang leaned in with immeasurable affection as if he had been carrying it for all his eternity and kissed you like a long-lost lover who wanted to, through every movement, recollect the memories made, the days spent together, retrace the unity of two beings colliding into one entity, set alight like the brightest star in the universe. 

As he tried to remain more level, gentle in an effort to not expose you to the early dawn’s winds, you grew frustrated from the lack of true warmth, wanting to fly closer to the sun, into it, be consumed by it. Gliding your hands out from under the blanket, you reached for Yeosang’s shirt and pulled him towards you, dragging him impatiently to the open door where you promptly shrugged off the material. Perplexed and worried, Yeosang momentarily broke away from the kiss to ask you whether the action was comfortable.

“Aren’t you going to get cold?”

“Are you saying the sun god cannot keep me warm?” chuckling at the fluttering of his eyelashes, abashedness at your ambiguous choice of words evident on every part of his face, you let your arms rest on his broad shoulders, gleaming back when his own found your waist, playing with the material of your top.

Touching your nose with his own, he was shy in his advances, seeing every wrong turn and prospective hurt unfold in accompaniment to the tragically perfect duet of a mortal and an immortal soul. Knowledge of the lives you had lived, while it was a blessing, at the same time was a series of unbearable lessons that decorated Yeosang's heart like untreatable scars. The mark on the side of his face, your first ever caress, a peppering of butterfly-like kisses on his face, celestial stardust, which has manifested itself as a symbol joyously tying you to him, now emitted that familiar dull burning, having re-encountered its creator. This was an ache that he would give up the sun to experience again and again, the pizzicato thrill warmer than the coming heatwaves, than the surface of the galaxy's centre. 

"I don't want you to ever burn, Y/n." He murmured, understanding that the words would not hold as much weight in your interpretation. You took another step towards him, pressing yourself close, surrounding yourself with his solar flare.

"I trust you. Do you trust me too?"

"More than the skies above us, always."

"Then I know that we will be a beautiful sunrise."

He peered into your gorgeous eyes, looking for anything to stop him, convince him that he needed to step away, knowing full well that he would find nothing except his love returned, amplified by your own. Such was the merry-go-round of life that had been set out for you and Yeosang, an unstoppable turning of the gears that were set in motion by destiny. Now, the light began, soon there will be darkness, and in the future, foreseeable by the god, there will be more light. The sun will peek out from the edge of the planet, crawling across the foaming waters to call the residents of this town awake again and again, whether there was to be a town here, or not. The sun remained, and so did Yeosang's eternal wait for the next turn of the divine clock's hands. As he shut his eyes and kissed you once more, feeling heaven and earth collide, his musings reduced to a simple melody. He was happy that in this lifetime too, the sunshine found you.

[impala-dreamer]

At least twice a week, I drive down this back road, and the side streets are named Winchester Avenue and Saxon Lane. Someone really screwed up because if the third was Baker Street, we'd be fully SuperWhoLocked ...

[starfxkr]

On the topic of that what kinda hobbies do you think the girls would like?

❣️

kitten - I really feel like she's a sewer and it started from necessity at first it was sewing holes in her pants closed or hemming skirts but she got really into it but its mostly patches on bags/jackets also nail art because she's broke and very meticulous about her nails!!! she grows em long as fuck and does fun stuff with them. also collects shit like littlest pet shops. like shes a big collector of stuff she has those kitschy ceramic animals all over the place she's also not an active person forreal she sleeps all day but she roller skates/skateboards. prolific reader along with foxy and she's the movie girl so she loves watching movies and logging em on letterboxd

bunny - she's a baker, it givers her something to do when she's home alone! and she's damn good at it too. im not sure if bedazzling shit counts but she def does that, like phones, laptops, shoes. she does it when she's stressed and it's monotonous enough that it gives her a rare opportunity to slow her brain down she was the rainbow loom girl in middle school for sure and that translated into her making regular bracelets for fun. she can never quite settle on one thing because she likes to explore all avenues. likes things like yoga and pilates but not like a super bouncy active girl like she was never a cheerleader. she does really love tennis though and can spend all day on the court

foxy - plants but specifically carnivorous plats like venus fly traps. she loves feeding them and doin experiments on them to see what they can digest. toxic gamer girl....like real bad she traumatizes kids in brookhaven. very big reader and she keeps a reading log of everything and likes to go through it. also!!! she loves fishing! she really does and probably also likes to shoot.

pup - now she's the artsy one!!! I said this wayyyy back when but she crochets her own clothes but I also feel like she paints and gardens. her goldfish are also her hobby she spends hours taking care of them and its so peaceful for her. her green thumb is out of this world she could make anything grow. also she's the theater kid!! she's always singing and she has a beautiful voice. also the metaphysical girl so she reads palms and tea leaves and she does tarot with a deck of playing cards.

lamb - really really good at like needlepoint and embroidery. she's the sansa stark of em all. is secretly into divination but she doesnt call it that, super into astronomy because she feels overwhelmed by her place in the universe. her hobbies are all traditionally "feminine" she also like knits and all that but she sucks at knitting. doesnt let it stop her though!!! doesn't have many hobbies outside of church at first but I think she gains some

[silverfoxstole]

Some of the puppets of Avenue Who. (x) (x)

[blueiskewl]

Archaeologists Discover Electoral Inscriptions in Pompeii

The signs found encourage voting for a certain Aulus Rustius Verus for the post of Aedile, the councilman in charge of public works.

One autumn day in 79 A.D., Vesuvius’s fury stopped the clock in Pompeii and left the ancient Roman city frozen in time forever. Searching through the ashes, archaeologists working on the new batch of excavations have traveled back to the time before the volcano erupted and discovered some election inscriptions that prove that political maneuvering in antiquity was not unlike today; they have also found what was probably the last ritual offering to the gods before the devastating eruption. For researchers, the new discoveries are treasures that help figure out the details of what daily life was like in ancient Rome.

Inside a house, which has only partially been excavated, on the Via di Nola in the central area of ancient Pompeii, several electoral inscriptions — the ancient equivalent of today’s electoral posters and brochures — have appeared on the walls of the room that housed the lararium, the house’s domestic altar.

It was surprising to find these inscriptions inside the house, since they were normally put on the buildings’ exterior facades, where citizens could read the names and good attributes of the candidates for the city’s courts.

Archaeologists explain that the electoral ad was inside the house because it was common practice to organize events and dinners inside the homes of the candidates and their friends to promote their electoral campaigns.

In this case, the signs encourage voting for a certain Aulus Rustius Verus for the post of aedile, a kind of councilor who was responsible for public works in ancient Rome. This figure appears in other inscriptions and is known in Pompeii for having held the city’s highest public office, duoviri — the position to which one acceded after having been an aedile — in the 70s of the first century A.D. In ancient Rome, duoviri were magistrates who were elected in pairs so that they could control and advise each other, as well as supervise the city’s public, political and administrative offices. Aulus Rustius Verus held the position along with Giulio Polybius, who owned a splendid house on the Avenue of Plenty. Consequently, archaeologists deduce that the newly discovered inscriptions are older and that Aulus Rustius Verus probably won the elections mentioned in them.

Apparently, the house belonged to an Aulus Rustius supporter, perhaps one of his freedmen or a friend, and it contains a detail of note for archaeologists: a bakery with a large oven, near which the bodies of three victims, two women and a child, who were killed by the attic’s collapse during the first phase of eruption. The remains were discovered just a few months ago.

According to experts, the bakery’s presence reveals that political patronage — which, like today, consisted of promising favors in exchange for votes — was the order of the day in antiquity.

Maria Chiara Scappaticcio, a professor of Latin at the Federico II University in Naples, Italy, and the co-author of the study in which the new findings appear, explained that councilors and bakers “collaborated to the limits of legality,” and that Aulus Rustius Verus “could have realized very early on, when he was still in the midst of the election campaign to become a councilor, that, above all, the voter lives on bread.”

The discovery of the candidate’s initials, A.R.V., on a volcanic millstone leaning against the house entrance hall, where renovation work was being performed at the time of the eruption, supports that thesis. “Aulus Rustius Verus probably financed the bakery’s activity directly, both for economic and political purposes,” Maria Chiara Scappaticcio noted.

In addition, the remains of a last votive offering were found on the altar of the great lararium, which was decorated with two stucco snakes; the offering was probably made shortly before the eruption. Researchers have analyzed the remnants and discovered that the ritual consisted of offering figs and dates that were burned in front of the altar. To bring the rite to a close, a whole egg was placed directly on the lararium’s masonry altar. The altar was then covered with a tile. The remnants of earlier offerings were also found; they included fruits of the vine, fish and mammal meat.

The director of the Pompeii Archaeological Park, Gabriel Zuchtriegel, emphasized that each new archaeological find is shared practically in real time, through an electronic diary that they publish on the park’s website, as the excavation phase continues. “To my knowledge, we are the world’s first archaeological site to practice this form of scientific transparency: we are convinced that, in this way, Pompeii will be an international model for a new type of data accessibility because of the opportunities that digital technologies offer. The future of archaeology is here,” he said.

By LORENA PACHO.

[rabbitcruiser]

U.S. President Grover Cleveland married Frances Folsom in the White House on June 2, 1886; she was 27 years his junior.  

[kringletheelf04]

Dad is late and Laura wants to make my life hell (chapter 1)

Ever since I could remember I've had the name Bernard practically engraved onto my wrist. Elegant strokes had seemed to dance joyfully across my skin, silver glittery writing that practically glows. I've never met anyone with only a first name. In fact I've never met anyone with a tattoo on them since birth.

Today was Christmas Eve and Laura was dropping Charlie off at me and dads house. Neil, his stepdad, decided to drive them there.

I see them pull into the driveway and open the door wide as Charlie runs to me with open arms. I pick him up and spin around once and set him back down as he giggles. I stand back up and hug Laura .

"I see your father couldn't even be here to greet Charlie. Not that I'm surprised." Laura snarks.

"He just got caught up at work for a little more than he thought. He called me and said he'll be here within the hour." I retort.

Even if she is my step mom she doesn't deserve to be able to talk shit about dad. He's never been the same since their divorce. My mom died when I was around 11. It was on Christmas Day that she died and I've never liked it since. I remember asking Santa to have her survive that year. I had rushed down the stairs hoping to see my mom and dad on the couch, mom checked out from the hospital and all better. Instead I got a dad with glassy eyes and every present I had ever wanted over the years, but no mom. Ever since then I stopped believing in Santa and the whole Christmas shtick. I'm now 22 and work as a baker living in my childhood home with my dad. He could never do it alone and I could never imagine what he would do alone. He's planning to make Christmas dinner so I've already made a reservation for Dennys seeing as it's the only thing open late on Christmas Eve. As I was silently praying that I don't have to spend any more time than necessary with this woman Charlie's voice breaks my concentration on keeping a fake smile on.

"There's not any Christmas lights outside sissy! Can we put some up to surprise dad when he comes home?!" Charlie pleads with the biggest puppy eyes he could muster.

Sighing I nod and kiss his head.

"Sure bud but I'm gonna have to get them from the attic so stay here in the living room until I get back."

He nods his little head and pulls his mom onto the couch where he sits.

I trudge up the stairs to the attic and open the pull latter. All are Christmas decor is still in boxes because dad knows it's a sore subject. But I'd probably kill someone if Charlie asked. So I suffer bringing down the cardboard box labeled *X-MAS LIGHTS*. I make my way back down to the living room and Laura has this annoyed look on her face. As if I'm not fit to watch my brother even though I'm 22. I literally have a successful bakery in downtown Chicago for christs sake!

Charlie notices my presence and runs over to me with the biggest grin he could muster.

"Sissy (y/n)! Let's go decorate the house!" He gently pulls on my sweater sleeve as he guide me out the door. Laura gets up with crossed arms and follows us out.

"So (y/n), you ever get that little idea of yours off the ground? Because if not I'm sure your dad can give you a job scrubbing toilets at his company." Laura asks rather smugly.

Oh how I hate that bitch. I force a smile on my face and turn to her.

"Actually I have a shop in downtown Chicago on Michigan avenue. Thanks for asking Laura!" I rub in her face and get back to lifting Charlie into the air to put the lights on the roof.

"Well how do you afford that. I mean you can't be making that much money off of cookies alone. Are you running a drug ring in the back?" Laura whispers the last bit into my ear as to block Charlie from hearing it.

I bite my lip and take a deep breath before setting Charlie back down and turning to her.

"Charlie it's getting a little cold, why don't you run along inside and I'll be inside in a minute." I smile at him.

"Ok sissy (y/n)!" Charlie skips inside shutting the door behind him.

"How dare you. I've been very cordial seeing as your a massive bitch and all you can say is that I have got to be a drug dealer because I'm making enough money to afford my dream." I snap at her.

Looking dumbfounded she begins sputtering as dad rolls into the driveway.

"Hey guys! Sorry I'm late. Hope I haven't kept you waiting to long!" Dad smiles at us not realizing how tense things just were.

"There's Christmas lights up!

(y/n), I didn't think you wanted them up this year." Dad looks at me confused

"Charlie wanted to surprise you. You know I can't say no to his little face!" I defend myself laughing a bit.

"Your daughter just called me a bitch just so you know Scott." Laura tells dad.

Dad frowns at me "(y/n), now why would do that? All she did was drop Charlie off."

"She said that I was a drug dealer!" I defend myself.

"I did no such thing!" Laura lies.

"(y/n) apologize to your stepmom now!" Dad practically seethes.

"That's bullshit and you know it. She's lying. And she's not even my stepmom anymore!" I turn and go into the house slamming the door behind me.

"Why do you and mom always have to fight?" Charlie surprises me by popping up in front of me.

"We weren't fighting sport. We were singing! But your moms singing kinda sounds like cats fighting. So that's what you heard honey!" I try to reassure him. I don't think he buys it but doesn't ask further.

Dad soon comes inside and Charlie rushes over to him. Dad whisks him into his arms.

"Why are there no presents under the tree?" Charlie asks dad.

"Well Santa has to come yet buddy!" I reassure him.

"Neil and mom said that Santa's not real. Believing is for babies!" Charlie shakes his head.

Of course the fucking did. Can't the kid enjoy anything?

"Well I believe in Santa and I'm not a baby." Dad tells him, hoping to save the spirit. I quickly agree "I agree and I'm not a baby either!"

"Well sport! I'm gonna start on our delicious Christmas turkey!" Dad strides into the kitchen.

"So we have to eat it? Can't we go out to eat sissy (y/n)?" Charlie whisper asks to me.

"Don't worry sport. I already called Dennys and made a reservation for 8." I encourage him.

"But I don't like Dennys!" Charlie cries.

"I know but it's the only thing that's open on Christmas sport!" I disclose to him.

*TIME SKIP BROUGHT TO YOU BY BURNT TURKEY*

Smoke billows out of the kitchen entrance. It envelopes dad and his extinguisher as he fights the fire. Charlie and I are sitting at the dining table and I give him a knowing look.

"Dad, let's just go to Dennys. I already called them so I know they're open." I call out into the smoke.

Dad steps from the smoke with ash covering him from just about head to toe.

"Yeah. I guess that's okay. I really wanted to make Christmas special for you again but looks like I failed again." He glumly agrees.

"You didn't fail anything. We are here as a family and that's all I could ever want!" I say as my eyes water, somewhat from the smoke and somewhat from the sentiment.

I pick up Charlie and we both hug dad, not caring to get dirty.

"Come on guys! Let's have a Christmas dinner at Dennys. It's an American institution!" Dad scoots is out as we put on our winter coats and scarves.

We load into the car and buckle up. Soon we are at Dennys.

"Are you with Hatsutashi?" The lady with a name tag reading (JUDY) asked us.

Dad starts to open his mouth but I cut him off.

"No actually I made a reservation earlier under Calvin." I inform her.

"Party of three," she begins pulling out the menus, " follow me" she says beckoning us to the right side of the resultant into a booth.

We sit down and dad starts to order egg nog as Charlie sits with a disgusted look on his face.

"We're out." Judy says flatly.

"I guess we will take coffee, decaf though please. And he'll take a chocolate milk please." I tell her.

"We're out."

"Plain milk's fine then!" I tell her and she walks away.

"At least we know they got hot apple pie." Dad tries to lighten the mood.

Judy shouts from somewhere behind the counter "We did".

This is just great!

[dragonrider9905]

The Price You Pay

Haaaaaaaaaaappppyyyyy Birthday @photogirl894 Morgan!!!!!!!! I hope you have a great day filled with many blessings and much happiness!!!!! I made this little drabble for you for your birthday, which I know I'm a little early in posting but I couldn't wait :) I hope you enjoy it <3 I've loved talking to you and getting to know you the last few months. Thanks for being a great friend, bestie!!!! ❤️🤗 Hope you enjoy the show.😎 You have that fun drabble we had about TBB being fantasy characters and actually @lizartgurl to thank for this. Lizartgurl has an AMAZING medieval au, go check it out. Mine pales in comparison.

The wind’s icy hands of early fall ripped down your throat and sent its chilling fingers across all the avenues of your lungs, causing a frozen burn in your chest. It slapped your face and nipped at your nose, hands and feet as you ran. 

But that didn’t matter. 

You had to keep running. 

Breathing was getting increasingly difficult as your heaves were not getting enough air in fast enough, and what you did get, felt like a knife was being shoved in your chest. Your feet were tangling, catching on thorny bushes, blood blossoming from the open wounds left behind. You barely felt them over the pounding of your heart. 

That also didn’t matter. 

You had to get away.

They were getting close. They were gaining on you! The sound of the horses neigh and the gallops surrounded you, closing in and echoing in the distance. 

Typically, you’d stay home on a moonless night like tonight, but tonight, the mist that shrouded the area was your friend. It cloaked you from danger, yet also made it difficult for you to see the forest floor. Luckily, you knew these woods like the back of your hand. The paths and trails (some of which you made yourself) could be trekked blindfolded if you had to, but not making any noise equal with swiftness increased in difficulty. 

You stopped momentarily, panting heavily to catch your breath, leaning against a neighboring tree to look around for the best route.

How did they find out? Or were you just being paranoid? No, they were definitely after you. 

Eyes darting in all directions, you sprinted into the unknown arms of the night again, only to run full force into something…or rather, someone. The bulk of the man’s chest sent you flying backward onto the ground. 

Your body crumpled against the dirt, defeated. You couldn’t find it in yourself to get up. You’d been found out. Caught. A dull soreness settled into your bones and your muscles cramped and pinched. A sigh escaped your mouth as you looked up to see who your captor was. 

The blacksmith. 

Your mind reeled back to when you first met. 

The chill of early spring blooming from the gentle winter nipped at your nose in a pleasant way. The snow was melting, soaking the soil to hopeful green fields and crops. You bounded home, a skip to your step and a happiness to your beat. The sun was shining brilliant reflections of yellow and gold which bounced off the tops of the village roofs in a colorful array of reflections. 

The town was bustling and you couldn’t help but sing a happy song along with the birds that welcomed the morning, pleased to hear their pretty voices again. It was a busy day today. The baker was out with his tray, like always. The butcher preparing fresh meats for purchase. Children laughing and playing tag in the town square. 

A very familiar and welcome sight, it was. 

You knew everyone and everything that went on in town. It was the smart thing to do if you wanted to stay one step ahead. Everything was in its place and everyone was doing their thing. You could never say life was dull in Ord Mantell. Quite the opposite. It was rather an exciting, and well, dangerous place to live. 

Definitely the place to go if you want to disappear. 

Reputable enough to live, seedy enough to live with a fake reputation and no one asked questions. People were nice enough, but true kindness was a downlow. Favor for favor was the rule, except for you. You probably should play that game too, but you didn’t have it in your heart to. You were just too generous and kind. 

But being generous and kind didn’t mean you didn’t have your secrets. 

It just meant you could only be so fake. Your name might be false but you could still be taken at face value.

Some parts of town, a person doesn’t go in lest they never come out. Some parts were completely safe such as in the hoity toity part of town. Then the rest was a solid mix of thieves living honest lives and honest men doing thievery. 

New faces came every day to trade or pass through. You knew the look of a newcomer who was soon a goner or a passer-through. So you could still say with all honesty…you still knew everyone’s face and their business in town, and there were in fact ‘no new faces’. The key was, none that stayed that was. 

That is what made today so different. 

There was a newcomer—who wanted to stay. 

Little did you know how much this day would affect the rest of your life. Later you would wonder if you had cause to bless or curse that day, but as of now, you had yet to see. 

Swinging your basket purposefully with rhythm humming your song, you jolted to a stop at the sight before you. 

A man, rugged with long, dark hair, face half inked in a skull tattoo turned from the man in front of him toward you. Nose was hooked and eyes were sharp like a hawk. Jaw was set and calculating, cold. Hyperfocsed on the world around him…and the sweet child before him, making sure she was safe and out of trouble. You knew the look well. 

She had to be his daughter, you thought. She had the same eyes as him, and perhaps smile if he ever would. Her hair was blond and bounced in sweet, short curls. The image of an angel.

You wondered about the mother, where she was, if she was coming soon or perhaps that’s why they were here to get away. Anything was possible in this place. 

She seemed happy but not unaware of the world around her. She looked about excitedly but minded her ‘father’ well when he’d comment. 

You locked eyes with the man, an unfamiliar chill going through your bones. His face was unreadable, searching yours. The two of you were locked in a silent, tense cord of something you couldn’t name. It wasn’t terror and it wasn’t attraction (though he was attractive). You weren’t afraid of the man—you’d known what true fear was. Let’s just call it caution. Caution was always advisable. 

Was he dangerous? Perhaps that was something you should find out. You suspected he could be if he wanted to, yet there was something to his demeanor that you liked, you trusted, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. Why was this man so different? You’d never felt this curious sense about anyone else before. You had good intuition but was it your intuition speaking or something else? 

Like fate…destiny…

The spell broke when the man he was talking to (who you knew to be the neighboring carpenter) called you over. 

“Come here and meet the new neighbors!”

You approached with a plastered smile and noticed the man tense slightly. 

“Hello! Welcome to Ord Mantell, truely. I know it isn’t much of a place, but it’s home, and I hope you find it to be as well.”

“The name is Hunter.” he grunted, shaking your hand then indicated the child, ‘and this is Omega.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and she smiled up at him then to you. He grinned down at her and you suspected she might be the only reason for him to smile. 

“He’s going to be our new blacksmith! Isn’t that wonderful!” 

“It is!” You exclaimed, “I know business will go well for you here. Well chosen trade. Will you take up the old smithery?”

“I was just showing it to him. What do you think, good sir?”

Hunter considered for a moment. 

“I’ll take it but I also want the house outside of town. I think it would be a better place for Omega.”

The carpenter laughed. 

“Quite agreed. The place will need a little work but it is suitable for the two of you. Word of the wise, fix the locks first before all else. Nothing you do will be any good if it’s stolen…or you’re dead.”

“Well noted.”

“Well, Hunter, Omega,” you smiled again, this time as genuinely as possible, “if you need anything at all, let me know. I’d be more than happy to lend a hand or help out if I can. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Another thing,” the carpenter broke in, “this is a literal angel. Trust no one in town but her. If she says she wants to help, she means it. So take her up on her offer. You’d be wise to get to know her. She’ll keep you out of trouble.”

You laughed softly and shook your head with an eye roll.

“A little dramatic, but thank you. I try.” You felt your face burn up and a shyness threatened to squeeze your throat. “I, uh, should go. Mrs. Pott’s kid is sick again. I promised to bring her some things. Bye now, and welcome.” You strode away with a subdued but still happy gait. 

The encounter was short, ‘normal’ and the strangest thing ever. They seemed normal but everything in the short minutes screamed secrecy. 

You would know. 

But how could a man with a girl as sweet as that be so terrible?

Omega waved you off happily, but before you were out of earshot you heard a “she seems really nice, Hunter! We should talk to her more later.” and a “we’ll see” from the man. 

You couldn’t blame him. He had to know what sort of place Ord Mantell was. You wondered why he trusted the carpenter in the first place.  

More questions. Perhaps he knew him from before? 

You made note of these things in your memory. The answers to these could be really important. Not just for your safety, but perhaps theirs. Who knew?

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to be friendly, make them dinner maybe. You wouldn’t have to stay, but extending an olive branch would be smart. An offering of peace. They didn’t seem like people who harmed but were running away from something. You weren’t always right but you weren’t always wrong either. Your intuition was pretty good, and they felt like people who would be good to get to know. 

Stopping by the door to Mrs. Potts’s humble home, you had to stow your thoughts aside. There was another little child who needed your help just beyond the door and he needed your attention. 

Later in the evening, you stopped by the smithery to see the pair hard at work fixing up the place, guessing they didn’t have anything to eat. You were right of course, so when they saw the hearty meal you brought, even Hunter couldn’t hide the staggered look of surprise and longing when the smell reminded him of how hungry he was. He looked suspiciously at you but accepted it with gratitude. They hardly had anything… 

“Ember? What are you doing here?”

His nickname for you (because of your curly red hair—normally crowned with little purple flowers or your favorite, forget-me-nots) pulled you back to the present. 

Hunter stretched his hand toward you but you flinched back, cowering against the tree, arm raised to protect yourself. 

Hurt crossed his eyes for a moment but resolve replaced it in a matter of seconds. He crouched down to your level and raised his hands as a show of peace. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. What happened? Are you alright? Em, talk to me.”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. Instead, you struggled to swallow some invisible sand. In the distance, a terrible crackling sounded. It could be mistaken for thunder by the untrained ear but to those who lived in the village of Ord Mantell, it meant terror. They knew what it meant. 

You tore your eyes away from him to where the sound came from, blood drained from your face. An invisible weight pressed itself onto your chest. Cold seeped in and the ghost of fear possessed your eyes. Hunter had never seen you like this before and it shook him. He’d only ever known your smile, your kindness. 

This was so unnatural to him, a shiver went down his spine. 

“They’re after you?”

Your only reply was a choked gasp. Words refused to form into a coherent sentence, so you nodded instead, ever so slightly. 

“Follow me. I can protect you.”

Hunter stretched his hand out once more. Tentatively, you took it. Your grip shook in his firm grasp, fingers rigid and weak from fear.

“Wh-ere a-re we going?” You hated how your voice faltered. You weren’t afraid of him, were you? Hunter was your friend! He was helping you, right? 

Ugh how you hated questioning him, but you couldn’t help it. 

“Back to the cottage. Our cellar is a safe place. You can rest there for a bit but if you need to, we have an underground tunnel you can use. We’ll get you food and supplies. You must have dropped yours.”

You blushed. You actually hadn’t packed anything in your hurry, but you didn’t want to admit that out loud. 

“Thank you, that would be nice.”

Hunter helped you to your feet and brushed you off. Neighing sounded in the distance again, which spurred a hurried “this way” and the care of cleaning you off was forgotten. 

Hunter guided you through the night in a different direction, bubbles in your stomach bursting acid in your throat, your trust in Hunter swaying only a little. 

You were headed toward the crackling sounds. Not away from it. 

But you also knew this was how you got to his home.

Be calm, be calm, be calm.

The words matched the strumming of your heart. And it was like Hunter could hear it because he kept turning to side-eye you, a look on his face, half shrouded by shadow. 

That look could either be concern and care or something else, something dangerous. 

But he never said anything. Only ushered you on with a “hurry!”, voice deep and husky, red with warning. At a certain point, Hunter left the trail to follow alongside a precipice. You knew why. Others would avoid the sharp decline, it would be your refuge. The horses wouldn’t come near it.

“Hunter, how much farther…” 

You were cut off by the sight to your left. It was a distance off, but the terror it evoked had you standing in horror. A hooded figure, draped in black rode atop a black steed which seemed like a ghost itself. Both creatures' eyes shone red and beady in the night, the sound of each breath breaking the quiet of the night. 

“Look out! Get down!” Hunter was already crouched behind a log, aghast at your immobility, hand extended to pull you down with him.

In your attempt to hide, you slipped.

Down you fell into the precipice below and straight into the murky ravine. You tumbled and rolled gasping and grunting with each roll, only vaguely registering your name being shouted in urgency.

Your head struck a rock just as your body hit the water.

Everything went black, and the rest of the night would escape your memory.

— — — 

Hunter watched you fall in horror. He could count on his hands the number of times he’s felt that distinct fear, and it wasn’t many. He cried out your name instinctively but quickly quieted himself. Cursing himself for the racket, he turned to see the horseman disappear in a different direction. 

Thank the maker.

Hunter hurried down the cliff to your side. Though steep, it wasn’t impossible for someone like him, all the while cursing himself for not being more careful with you. He should have noticed you weren’t by him, he should have guided you more carefully…he should have…he should have…

Hunter jumped into the stream moments after your own entry. He dragged your limp body out of the water, which was deeper than he expected. 

“Hey, hey Ember?” He pushed the hair from your face. Your eyes were closed but you were breathing. He sighed in relief. He couldn’t see anything without a light, so a wound check would have to wait for the time being.

 “Let’s get you out of here, come on.” Lifting you up, he carried you the rest of the way to his cottage. 

He rested your exhausted body on the excuse for a mattress in the cellar as promised. Instinctively, you curled in on yourself. Hunter couldn’t help but smile down at you a little sadly. Even in sleep, worry and care stretched across your brow, a restless type of rest. He started to examine your head to make sure you weren’t severely injured. He wrapped the spot which only started to bruise. Then he moved to the cuts on your face and hands, cleaning them and applying a healing cream that none knew existed (except his brother of course). 

When he finished, Hunter tucked you in under the blanket and brushed the hair further from your face. Sighing and smiling in your sleep, something like relief finally settled into your features. Murmuring some gibberish, you leaned into his warm touch. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at the sight. 

Hunter sat next to you on the bed and pondered. There were a lot of questions to be asked. The whole situation was so strange, and the fact it was past midnight at the time of your run wasn’t helping. Hunter wasn’t superstitious, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t unsettled by it. What were you doing out so late by yourself? 

Of course there was the fact ‘they’ were chasing you but..

Why would you be their target? What had you done to evoke their rage? But more importantly, how did you know? Most people simply vanished unawares. You had a head start in escape. 

Then there was the Black Rider. 

Who was he? What did he have to do with you? 

Hunter ran his fingers through some of the tangles of your hair, brushing them further from your face, smoothing the strands behind the curve of your ear…when he noticed something. Your ears weren’t perfectly round…they were partially…tipped?

Suddenly, Hunter knew.

This was your secret. 

Well, one of many that was.

You were a half-elven. 

Half-elves were worth a lot of money, and rare. Heck, just as rare as a full-blooded elves. 

No wonder they wanted you…but somewhere deep down, Hunter guessed that wasn’t their only reason. 

Something squeezed in his chest for you, making his blood boil at the thought of what could have happened to you. The heat radiated in waves that made his head feel sick at how much fear you must have lived in for so long. 

The fear. The distrust. The urgency. 

Not to mention that this opened a whole new door of strange possibilities in a world a meager human mind could barely comprehend. 

Half elven. 

And you never told him…

Hunter understood, after all. He had his own secrets.  

In the morning, he’d figure something out. All he knew was that he had to keep you safe. 

Hunter left you in privacy quietly, with the lamp dimly lit, to go double bar the door. 

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Back to The Bubble

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 3, 077

Summary: you and Dieter go to England for the filming of his latest project, but he must face an old fear

Warnings: oh boy, do I put Dieter through the wringer!

Check out masterlist here

You looked at you list again; you were sure you had packed everything but felt safe checking one more time. You and Dieter were going to England for a two month shoot on a short film.

FOUR was being directed by notorious auteur director Ryan; pronounced rhee ahn, and anyone who pronounced it wrong would be fired immediately. This was the second in his trilogy of short films based on MacBeth and most people would amputate their left arm to have a small part in one his films, even though he had a certain reputation. You helped Dieter with his lines, and it had been a while since you read the play at school, but this was very different to what the bard wrote.

This was also the first overseas trip you and Dieter would be taking together, the furthest being a trip to Disneyland California for your one-year anniversary. You sipped your tea from the mug you got on that trip, feeling satisfied that everything was checked off your extensive list.

Dieter had never met anyone who was as organised as you and certainly never met anyone who took making lists as seriously as you. It made sense to you, given your mostly freelance work and having lived alone for most of your adult life. You felt safe with lists. And yes, you liked having things packed and ready to go well before you went anywhere, it made sense. You never understood how people could do anything last minute. Speaking of which…

“Dieter, have you packed your toiletry bag?”

Said boyfriend emerged from the bathroom. “Yes, honey cakes”

“Checked everything off your list?”

“Yes ma’am” He lay on the bed next to you and handed over his messily scratched off list. “We’re not leaving for two days you know?”

Dieter was so used to just throwing things in a bag and hoping for the best. He’d never heard of packing cubes and now he’s the proud owner of his own set and everything he could possibly need for a trip away was ready to be packed in a suitcase.

“Exactly” you said “We’ll be away for two months, and I want to make sure we don’t forget anything. Who knows what’ll be available there.”

“It’s England, it’s kinda the same as here.”

“Some things are different; the chocolate for instance.”

Dieter sat up and hugged you from behind. “I know, it’s sweet, like you.”

He gave you a kiss on the cheek and took your mug from you, taking a sip himself, and watch you while you were scrutinising your list.

“Do you know how much time off we’ll get?” you looked to him.

“Weekends or something, I think.”

“So, we could maybe get to explore London a bit?”

“Well, I was thinking more not leaving our room, but what did you have in mind?”

You turned the pages of your travel notebook. “Well, I made a list…”

“Of course you did” he muttered affectionately.

“…of places I’d like to visit” you finished as you showed him the page of listed travel locations.

He swapped the mug for your notebook and looked over this new list.

“Crouch End, All Saints Church, Shaftesbury Avenue; these aren’t normal tourist places. Okay, what horror films are we talking here?”

“Shaun of the Dead, The Omen and American Werewolf”

“They do horror films in England now?”

You playfully swatted him on the chest. “You know they do. Did I not go on about Hammer Horror?”

“I did” he said playfully “But I was too distracted by your pretty face to notice”.

That got another playful swat from you.

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”

“Not really, unless…maybe Baker Street?”

You looked at him in surprise, “You’re not a Sherlock Holmes fan are you?”

“What? No, I’m talking Basil the Great Mouse Detective!”

“Ah, of course”

“Seriously underrated film”

*****

The non-stop flight from Los Angeles to London took over 10 hours and you were glad to be going business class. Trying to sleep in economy class felt like trying to go to sleep in a Saw contraption. Dieter had to uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere; just give him a surface to lean on and he could sleep through the apocalypse.

You couldn’t understand how Dieter wasn’t excited by the luxury of not only going business class but by the business class lunge. But, you guessed, he was used to first class luxuries, or he hated traveling, it was hard to tell sometimes with him. He was at least happy he could watch his favourite films on the flight, even more excited when they had every Aardman film on board. You heard him humming along to the Wallace and Gromit theme song while you went to sleep. It was probably the best sleep you’ve ever had on a plane, and you could certainly get used to it.

Dieter promptly fell asleep during the car ride from the airport to the hotel. This was your first time in England, so you happily played the role of stary eyed tourist. You only woke Dieter once you saw the hotel approaching in the distance, awed by the prestige of it all. This was certainly a place once occupied by nobility. Your awe was broken when you heard a most unpleasant sound: Dieter had collapsed to the ground and was curled up in a panic attack.

“No…no…not this place…”

He could barely breathe, let alone get the words out and, before you could reach him, he passed out.

*****

Dieter awoke some time later and found himself a stranger in an even stranger place. He thought this place was gone from his nightmares, but now he finds himself stepped once more unto this hell.

He was vaguely aware of your voice in the distance; you sounded angry which was a rare occurrence. As soon as you approached him, you immediately softened. “I am so sorry Dieter; I didn’t know this was the same hotel as…how are you?”

He wasn’t sure, everything felt like it was closing in on him, like a weight was slowly crushing his chest.

“It’s stuffy. Need air”

“Of course.” You cooed and led him outside to the coldness of the English countryside. It helped somewhat. And you were comforting him as best you could.

“I can have us moved to a different hotel.”

“No, I don’t want to be a hassle to everyone.”

You grabbed his face so he could look you in the eyes.

“Your wellbeing is not a hassle.”

“I don’t want to make a fuss.”

“I want to make a fuss.”

He looked torn, he didn’t what to do, “I think…if you’re here, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, so you kissed his forehead. “Okay, but if you have even the slightest dark thought, tell me and I’ll sort something. And don’t be afraid to talk to me or anyone about anything, okay?”

He mumbled back a reply while you pulled him into a hug.

“I think our room has a bathtub. Do you want to have a nice soak?”

“Will there be lavender bath salts?”

“It’s a fancy hotel, so probably.”

You led him through to the reception, having already been given your room key while you berated the production team. Dieter paused and pointed to a random spot of the carpet.

“Oh look, that’s where I technically died.”

He started laughing hysterically and you dragged him away before they turned into sobs.

The staff had thankfully not placed you and Dieter in the room he was in before. It was a very nice suite, much bigger than your old apartment. And they had lavender bath salts, so you plopped Dieter into a steaming hot bath and went to unpack everything.

“Are you going to join me?” you heard a few minutes later.

“I want to get things unpacked, at least everything we need tonight and tomorrow. Are you hungry? Do you want anything?”

“Just you, honey cakes”

Well, you needed to take the toiletries into the bathroom.

You held him close to you that night in case any bad dreams decided to get through.

*****

You didn’t get to meet the infamous director until the second day of shooting. Ryan was known for being eccentric, but you thought he was extremely rude and acted like a spoiled child.

He absolutely detested colour and refused to acknowledge your existence until you wore your least colourful clothes which luckily, you did pack.

The man was impossible to work with, having a habit of saying one thing but meaning another. He’d constantly expect everyone around him to be able to read his mind, and only giving monosyllabic answers. He would throw a massive hissy fit and throw things around if he was questioned for anything. People would give their left arm to work with him? You'd happily take the bite of a zombie just to avoid him.

The crew, which was new for this shooting, as with every shoot, bonded in mutual frustration. You were all giving each other secret eye rolls whenever the director was talking nonsense, and some started recording whatever he said. They’d compare notes just to make sure no one was going crazy and to have insurance against being fired. One poor assistant was already reduced to tears as she’d somehow gotten his tea order wrong.

The cast was small: just Dieter playing MacBeth and three actresses playing the witches. Well, actresses was a loose term. Lucretia Schwartz was an underwear model, Cheery Lin a swimsuit model and Dencidee (yes that was her real name) a Tik Tok star known for dancing and lip synching. They were clearly cast for their looks rather than their talent and Ryan definitely favoured them, praising them so much, it was borderline creepy.

Dieter, however, got the opposite treatment; every little thing he did seemed to be picked over like a rat picking at a bone. Dieter was criticised to the point of frustration every day. There was an on-set therapist, to nobody’s surprise, so he had constant sessions with them along with most of the crew.

You encouraged him to vent his frustrations when back at the hotel, as normally he bottled up his feelings until he exploded in a flurry of chaos.

Today was a particularly bad day.

“Fifty takes. Fifty fucking takes for one fucking line!”

Dieter was lying face down on the bed as he only had the energy to voice his anger. He did happily accept soothing back rubs from you, and he had severe anger related tension in his back.

“And that Tik Tok twit goes and does one take with the worst delivery and his eminence claims it’s a perfect take?”

“She did seem a bit wooden” you agreed with him.

“Wooden? I’ve seen more convincing performances from an actual piece of wood!”

He turned over in a frustrated sigh, so you could see how tired his eyes were. He took one of your hands and started tracing circles in your palm, while you brushed the hair from his face with the other one.

“This reminds me of how Stanley Kubrick treated Shelley Duvall on the set of The Shining. I just hope your hair doesn’t fall out from the stress.”

“So, if someone puts an axe in his back, no one would mind?”

“An axe is too good for him” you mused “It’s not cold enough to leave him outside to freeze to death, so maybe locking him in the hotel freezer would do. Then hope he spends a cursed eternity trapped in a picture”.

“You my dear, have a very depraved mind” Dieter says as he kisses your hand “One of the many reasons I love you.”

You gave him an amused look “Want me to keep listing ways of offing him?”

“It’s foreplay to my ears.”

*****

Those two months were an arduous ordeal. Dieter would be subjected to all forms of verbal abuse on set, and at night, he would sleep. He was prescribed something to help with the anxiety and stress and the medication usually left him feeling drowsy, but it helped him sleep undisturbed.

Whenever you had days off, you’d drag him away for as long as possible, usually for weekend trips to London. You took him to fun spots, trying afternoon tea, exploring the Natural History Museum, Harrods and Borough Market, getting slightly distracted by all the English cheeses and distracting Dieter with the English chocolate. You even got tickets to The Lion King on the West End. Those days were enjoyable, and an occasional smile would grace Dieter’s lips. You took several photos of those occasions. It almost felt like you were having a fun holiday.

You almost didn’t come on this shooting trip, having been offered a job back in LA, but now you’re glad you came with Dieter. He would not have been able to handle all this by himself and if he didn’t come home…you didn’t want to think about it.

*****

Finally, last day on set. Everyone on crew was ready to celebrate no longer having to put up with this tyrannical egomaniac. You were happy to celebrate with Dieter and tell him about a surprise you had planned for him.

For some reason, you had been sent off set to collect something random that apparently his eminence absolutely needed and only you could get. You were wearing colour today, in defiance so that was probably the reason for it.

It took you most of the filming day for this errand, so by the time you got back, filming had wrapped. The set seemed almost deserted you wondered…

You were fuming.

This must be breaking so many laws on so many levels. Now you know why you were sent away.

“Are those…?”

“Pig guts, yes”

“And that…?”

“Cow manure”

Gwen, working on costumes, was one of the few left behind due to the stench, was equally furious.

“This wasn’t on the call sheet”.

“Last minute decision by our esteemed director. Makes the finale more dramatic apparently.”

She helped you hose the filth off of Dieter before taking him into a nearby bathroom. His costume was completely ruined along with his state of mind, most likely. He was numb, barely responding to what was happening.

As soon as you got back to the hotel, you packed up all your belongings and left to check you and Dieter into an airport hotel. When there, you led him into the shower and washed him until the water ran clear. Then you held him tight as he finally broke down into tears. It was a long night, but he finally managed to sleep.

*****

The following day, Dieter spent a good hour facetiming with his therapist in L.A. while you were on the phone to whoever was in charge of production. Apparently, what happened to Mr. Bravo was not exactly considered a crime; something to do with no physical harm happening and a contract being signed before filming blah blah blah. You were stuck in an endless loop of people mincing their words and saying a lot but not saying anything at all. They seemed to be doing everything in their power to protect their esteemed director as he had won several awards and appointed an OBE. You didn’t care if he got a Nobel Prize for Peacekeeping, no one treats a person like that and gets away with it. You now understood why Carrie went and telekinetically destroyed everyone who ever hurt her. But then you had a better idea: revenge was best served by people with hidden recording devices…

*****

Dieter was almost back to normal; he was at least sitting up and able to hold a conversation. You were watching Curse of the Were-Rabbit together and he was laughing at every joke, which was a relief to you.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, will be much better when we’re home”.

“We’ll be home soon” you kissed the top of his head “But we’ll be making a short detour”.

He lifted his head from your shoulder in question while you grabbed something from the bedside table.

“We deserve a bit of happy news so…”

You handed him a gift bag. He looked inside and then to you.

“Is this?”

“Yes”

“Are we?”

“Yes”

He pulled out a pair of Mickey Mouse ears.

“We’re going to Disneyland Paris!”

Dieter collapsed against you in a muddled hug and cried, but this time from happiness.

*****

The next day, you were waiting at your gate headed for Paris. Dieter was clearly excited for the first time in a while, already wearing his Mickey Mouse ears without shame.

“Do you think they’ll have churros at Paris?”

“Maybe, we’ll have to find out.”

His hand hadn’t left yours since leaving the airport hotel, almost like he needed an anchor to avoid floating away into sadness again. You squeezed his hand every now and again to reassure him you were still there.

“I could write us a list of foods we should try.”

He gave you a cheeky glance, “You haven’t made a list yet?”

But before you could answer, there was a chattering amongst the crowd, everyone looking at their phones in disbelief. One of the many TV screens at the gate were displaying a sudden news bulletin. There was no audio but the story playing out was clear: acclaimed director Ryan was having many allegations being held against him for abuse and malpractice. A grainy video showed him screaming at some poor soul. The chatting was now fluttering around the airport.

“It’s not the first time he’s done this.”

“I always knew he was a creep.”

“Does the abuse excuse the art?”

Dieter was looking around, but you tugged him back into attention.

“Come on, they’ve just announced boarding.” And you started leading him towards the queue forming.

“You don’t want to find out about that?” he asked.

“Who do you think started it?” you looked up at his startled face.

“You did this?”

“I didn’t do much, just encouraged everyone with evidence to leak it to the press, and there were so many of us with phones on set so…”

“You, honey cakes, can be evil when you want to be.”

“Evil?” you asked “Me? I’d say I’m more of a Robin Hood type character.”

“Well, I’m glad to be your Maid Marion.”

“You’re talking animated version, right?”

“Absolutely. Underrated film.”

Film referenced: Shaun of the Dead (2004), The Omen (1976), An American Werewolf in London (1981), Basil the Great Mouse Detective (1986), Wallace and Gromit (1986), The Shining (1980), Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005), Robin Hood (1973)

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @brilliantopposite187 @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic @glshmbl