#High-end vacation rentals

[vacation-resort-solutions]

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[antlersatdegray]

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Dad Steve in the summer bringing his nugget(s) and you to the beach 💗

dad!steve harrington x fem!reader

The car kept in the sticky heat in a way that Indiana never did. Boneyard Beach in Charleston, South Carolina was a mere forty minute drive from Hopper and Joyce’s new home, but the journey felt too long behind the wheel of the rental car.

Steve was pink in the cheeks by the time he parked in the sandy lot, his hair wild from the rolled down windows but at the sight of the ocean, he turned to you and grinned.

“It’s so blue,” you exclaimed, hands clasped together under your chin and you were almost frantic as you tugged off your seatbelt and opened the door. “Look, baby! Can you see the waves, huh?”

From behind your chair, your toddler clapped her hands, completely too young to understand what you’d asked her, but Margot gurgled happily all the same. Almost two years old and with curls as wild as her dad’s, she shared your eyes and Steve’s pouty, pink lips.

Steve managed to contain his grin as he gathered the bags and blanket from the trunk, eyes soft behind his sunglasses as he watched you gather your daughter from her seat and into your arms. She was still sticky with sunscreen, chubby little arms clinging to yours as you attempted to pop a sun hat on her head, much to Margot’s dismay.

Steve did his best to wrangle the bags into one hand in order to curl his free arm around both of you as you made your way from tarmac to sand, the pearly white grains of it making the vacation feeling come to life. The sky over the water was blue, cloudless, the ocean relatively calm and the beach quiet. There were a few families relaxing on the sand on bright towels, a couple and their dog a few miles down, throwing an orange frisbee into the shallows.

And once you found the spot you wanted, partly in the shade of some palm trees for Margot’s sake, you set her down on the blanket between your legs and let Steve tug off her tiny sandals, cooing at her the whole time as her daddy grasped her tiny hands in his own and let her experience sand for the first time.

She was unsure at first, babbles turning to whines as she stamped her little feet into the cool hills of it, brows scrunched as she stared up at her dad warily.

“I don’t think she likes it, babe,” Steve snorted, grinning at you and looking too pretty while he did so, with red swim trunks and his shirt off, freckled shoulders already turning tan under the summer sun. “Wanna try the water instead, Margot, yeah? Daddy’s gonna find you the prettiest seashell on the beach, how ‘bout that, princess?”

Your heart ached as Steve scooped your baby up, her fingers flying for his hair like always, grasping onto the ends of it as Steve blew a raspberry against her cheek. “I’ll find the second prettiest for you, honey,” Steve promised, winking at you in a way that reminded you all too much of senior year in high school, all the way back to when you first met him.

“You’re such a flirt,” you snorted, leaning back against the empty picnic bag and stretching out your legs. Your book was folded on your lap, fingers itching to pick it up. “I’ll hold you to that, Mr Harrington.”

Steve was already making his way down to the shore, but he looked back over his shoulder at you to grin wider. “Please do, Mrs Harrington.”

Despite your intentions, you found that you didn’t pick up your book at all. No, instead you watched from the sand banks as Steve held your daughter above the gentle waves, her tiny legs kicking wildly at the cool water, her face a picture of absolute marvel as she squealed and shrieked happily at each splash.

[babe-bombadil]

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield On Vacation

Fili is the first to get stopped in the metal detector for carrying knives

Ori also gets stopped but that’s just because he's wearing overalls

Bifur gets stopped at the metal detector too for obvious reasons, but he just sighs and waits for Bofur to pull his doctor’s note out

Nori’s carry on bag gets stopped because his bottle of hair gel is over the 100 ml limit

Stirs up a fuss when he won’t throw it away

Balin has to step in and resolve the conflict that’s literally his job description in Erebor

Kili looks at the arrival/departure screens and sees that a flight got canceled and just immediately assumes it was theirs

Convinces half the dwarves they need to go back before Bilbo actually bothers to double check

Gandalf claims he “accidentally” booked himself in first class while all the others are in economy although he honestly deserves it after the stress of trying to get every dwarf on the plane

Gandalf also “accidentally” booked all the dwarves seats in the very back of the plane

He gets a Thorin Glare™ when they figure this out

Kili claims he needs to sit by the window so he doesn’t get nauseous but really he just likes to look at the clouds (and stars!)

Oin is out COLD before the plane even takes off

The others pretend not to be jealous he can fall asleep so easily

Bombur usually falls asleep quickly but makes sure to stay awake because he’s excited for the free snacks is very disappointed when he realizes it’s only a tiny bag of pretzels

Gloin’s seat accidentally got switched so he’s sitting in the front of the plane next to a middle aged couple

He doesn’t care but soon gets them into a conversation about their children

Talks for hours about his own son Gimli(!!!)

The couple absolutely loves him and by the end of the flight Gloin gets invited to their daughter’s wedding

Fili reaches over and presses the call flight attendant button on Ori’s seat

Ori is extremely embarrassed and flustered when the flight attendant comes over and apologizes for bothering her so many times that it starts being awkward and the flight attendant just slowly backs away

Bilbo reads a book for the entire flight like the nerd he is

Bofur nearly gets kicked off the plane after trying to start a group song doesn’t understand why the other passengers wouldn’t join in

Dori claps when the plane lands

FIli and Kili join him as a joke and start cheering loudly

Dwalin hits the back of their seats but can’t do much more because security’s been watching him since he arrived

Thorin has the darkest circles under his eyes because this man has MAJOR insomnia

Tried to fall asleep the entire 10 hour flight and only got 5 consecutive minutes also couldn’t sleep the night before

Is officially in his Grumpy Cat Era™ because he hasn’t slept in 36 hours and is dealing with a LOT of travel stress

Falls asleep in the car on the way to the hotel

There aren’t enough seats in the rental car so they just stuff Fili and Kili in the trunk don’t worry it was their idea

Bilbo is driving

Gandalf tried to be the driver but his drivers license was revoked years ago

Balin tries to tell the company about cool landmarks they pass on the way to the hotel but everyone is so tired no one responds

He doesn’t seem to notice and will continue giving a history lesson the entire drive

Bilbo runs over a pothole and Fili and Kili hit the ceiling with a loud THWACK

No one bothers to check on them until they get to the hotel sorry not sorry

Bonus:

Thranduil and Legolas are the ones who wear full suits to get on an airplane Legolas tries to get out of this but is told he will be disowned if he wears sweats

They are also the kind of people who will get off of a 15 hour red eye looking fresher than a daisy

Have to avoid paparazzi in the airport

They bring Tauriel with them for crowd control

Can definitely afford a private plane but don’t get one because of the high carbon emissions remember elves are the biggest tree huggers

[adore-laur]

PINK VELVET

— an italian getaway full of sunshine & surprises 💗

——

SALERNO, ITALY

Crystalline blue waters sparkling under the sunshine, ornate architecture standing high among the cliffsides, and mopeds burning rubber on the cobblestone streets — it's all pure, unadulterated bliss. 

To share that bliss with your boyfriend enhances the experience. Both of you have been staying at a villa rental for a few days already, and the surrounding greenery and stucco buildings on the precipice rocks of the Tyrrhenian Sea bring a much-needed sense of privacy. It's a getaway for your third anniversary with Harry, and while it's a more extended vacation than usual — two weeks to be exact — the mellow atmosphere makes you feel like you could stay in Italy forever.

Harry had said he plans on wooing you with the foreign language, having bought a book filled with romantic phrases at the airport's souvenir shop. You're dreading it because once he starts, he won't stop. 

It's four in the afternoon, and you're getting ready to kayak off the Amalfi Coast. The heat will be sweltering, especially out on the open water, so you put on jean shorts over your swim bottoms, leaving just your bikini top on. Harry is standing in the doorway of the master bathroom and tying the strings of his swim trunks. He's wearing a white tank top that you know will be taken off eventually. 

A cooler packed with snacks and drinks is by the front door. Once you reach downtown, the journey to the kayak launch takes about fifteen minutes, so you and Harry will drive in the vintage Cadillac he insisted on renting and park on the street before walking the rest of the way. 

"Ready?" Harry asks, giving your ass two pats as he walks by. 

"I guess," you say flatly. 

He smirks and steals a scrunchie from your makeup bag to put around his wrist. "That's enough outta you." 

You hoist the cooler over your shoulder, sling a beach towel over the other, and then stroll through the spacious villa rooms toward the door. When you open it, a blast of humid air immediately hits you. Harry brushes past you while jingling the car keys, a drawstring backpack on his back. You lock the door before heading toward the luxurious car you don't want to know the cost of. 

Harry swings the passenger door open for you like a gentleman, but you decide to mess with him by ignoring his gesture. You open the driver's side door and smoothly crawl over the console until you're in the passenger seat. Harry slowly shakes his head, reaching forward to pluck your bikini strap with his fingers and lightly snap it against your skin. He throws his backpack under the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life. Harry's hand places itself on your headrest, his body twisting around so he can carefully reverse down the circular driveway. You take his hand and set your interlocked fingers in your lap. He glances at you and smiles, his hair blowing beautifully in the wind and the sun casting a golden hue over his face.

When you arrive downtown, Harry parks along a random street. He removes his hand from yours and claps once. "Okay, here's the game plan. I reckon we should rent one kayak for both of us. It'll be cheaper and more fun, and we can work together like—"

"Absolutely not." 

"Pardon?" 

"I'm sorry, but being stuck in a kayak with you sounds like my personal hell. You'll somehow manage to tip us over or get us lost." Harry can live in a world of his own sometimes. You really want to avoid ending up stranded in the deep, expansive ocean.

"Baby," he says, looking at you with wounded eyes. "What if I drift away and we lose each other? I need you. I'll do all the work while you sit back and relax." 

You can't possibly say no to him when he looks like a literal Greek god basking in the Italian sun, his lips irresistibly pink against his tanned skin. 

"Fine," you surrender. "I'm not letting you do all the work, though, because we'll probably end up in a different country. Also, I'm sitting in the front seat. Deal?" 

"Sì, amore mio," he says, passion dripping off his tongue. "And, um... I may have already paid for just one kayak when I booked the reservation yesterday. Well, singular ticket." 

"You're unbelievable." Stepping out of the car, you stretch your limbs while Harry puts his backpack on and grabs the cooler. You hold onto his free hand and begin walking to the beach. Many people are out and about — vendors selling gourmet cuisine, kids riding bicycles through the alleyways, and tourists stopping at attractions.

At the waterfront, kayaks are stacked on racks, shimmering under the sun. Since Harry booked a reservation ahead of time, he walks toward the man who appears to be running the operation. You watch them shake hands and converse. Harry knows enough basic Italian to navigate through any language barrier yet to come. 

Eventually, they both wander over to you, and the man caresses your hand and kisses your cheek. You smile and shyly mutter an Italian greeting. The man then excitedly leads you to the kayaks, taking a maroon two-seater from the bottom rack and dragging it toward the water. While following him, you notice only a few people are on the beach today. Only a couple of other occupied kayaks drift in the ocean, looking like mere silhouettes from where you stand. 

"You know the rules, yes?" asks the man as he pushes the front of the kayak into the shallow water. 

"Yes, I've done this before. I'll teach this guy," you say, pointing at Harry while draping your towel over the seat. 

Harry smiles mindlessly, placing the cooler and backpack between the two seats. The man briefly leaves to grab life jackets and oars, leaving you and Harry to get into the kayak. You have him go first since he's sitting in the back. As you grip the side so it doesn't rock, he removes his tank top and hands it to you before steadily climbing in and bending his long legs to fit in the restrictive space. 

You're next. Harry plants his foot in the sand to keep the kayak balanced and then offers his hand to grasp. Once you're situated, you sigh relievedly.

"This sucks," Harry mutters, nudging his knee against your back. "I can't even see your face." 

"You could've solved that problem if you got us two kayaks."

"Yeah, but I wanted to be close to you," he says, sliding his shoes off. "Just look behind you every once in a while so I can get my fix." 

You laugh, looking at the water that endlessly expands past the horizon. The man comes back with two life jackets, and you clip one to your body as sturdy oars are placed across your and Harry's laps. The man gives a thumbs up and slowly maneuvers the kayak away from the shoreline.

"Grazie!" Harry shouts, waving to him as the both of you drift further from land. 

"Ciao! Stai al sicuro!" he shouts back. 

The destination to the cliffs is a short one, their imminent height visible far out to the left of the coastal village. You begin paddling, alternating sides to stay on a straight path, while Harry opens the cooler to take out a package of crackers and a bottle of water.

"Please tell me you know how to properly paddle," you say, taking a break to sip some water while the kayak naturally rides the ripples.

"Obviously. I'm kind of the backbone of this kayak, so I know what I'm doing," Harry replies with faux confidence, still not picking up the paddle. 

"That's funny, considering I'm literally doing all the work right now. Get to paddling, or I won't turn around so you can get your fix." 

"Calmati, bellissima," he murmurs, snatching a handful of crackers before finally helping.

A comfortable silence ensues, only the sound of water splashing and the slight creak of the kayak that comes with each movement. Harry whistles a tune every so often. A content smile pulls at your lips.

However, it doesn't last long because if there's one thing Harry loves to do, it's acting like a child sometimes. He disrupts the long stretch of peace by pretending to tip over the kayak by rocking slightly back and forth in his seat, gasping like he's not doing it. 

"Harry, I swear to God," you say with a nervous undertone, holding on to the edge of the kayak so you don't actually tip over into the vast ocean infested with who knows what. "You're like a five-year-old!" 

He listens immediately, apparently noticing your anxiousness. He settles back in his seat, stretching his legs next to your body and nudging his foot against your thigh as a silent apology.

"It wasn't me. I think there's an animal under us," he says, playing with your hair to distract you. It doesn't help, because you know that there are probably massive creatures swimming below you. He knows one of your biggest fears is drowning, so he should feel like a jerk now after his little charade.

"Are you going to sit there and braid my hair, or can you help me get to our destination before it gets dark?" 

"Sorry," he murmurs, grabbing his paddle and helping you turn left toward the rock formations. They aren't too far away now.

"We're almost there," you encourage softly, dialing back your slight attitude. Harry is quiet, so you turn around to see him pouting softly. "Why are you sulking?"

"Am I being annoying? You sound annoyed with me," he says, avoiding eye contact and setting his paddle down.

"No, honey. I just want to get there as quickly as we can and swim for a bit. We have wine tasting after this, so we can't dilly-dally." 

"Dilly-dally," he repeats, laughing at your chosen phrase. "Okay, I'll behave. Kiss?" 

You capture his lips with yours, tasting the tomato basil crackers he's been munching on. He kisses you back and reaches his hand to push some hair behind your ear. Pulling away, you see the cliffs only about two hundred feet away. You both begin paddling again in serene silence. 

At the side of the cliff, you stop the kayak by a large, flat rock that peeks out of the water and appears safe to stand on. You hold onto it, the waves more active in this area, and tie some rope around the post provided. You assume it's there for other kayakers and cliff divers to take advantage of. 

Once you climb onto the rock, you offer your hand to assist Harry and pull him up. "We made it!" you exclaim, lifting your arms. Harry high-fives both of your hands and bends down to kiss you. 

You unclip your life jacket, then do the same for Harry. Free from obstruction, your arms naturally loop around his waist for a hug. He embraces you, his large hand cradling the back of your head. You stay like that for a while, watching waves crash against the rocks as the sun starts painting the sky with blue and orange streaks. 

"Wanna do something stupid?" you mumble into his chest before lifting your chin to look at him mischievously. He has more freckles due to hours spent sunbathing. 

Harry peers at you with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Let's jump off that rock," you say, pointing your finger behind him. 

He turns you both around, still trapping you in his arms. A tall, cliff-like rock surrounded by several smaller rocks makes it easy to reach the top. You don't wait for Harry's answer and pull your shorts down, revealing your cherry-red bikini bottoms. Venturing your way up, you glance back at Harry. He grins and immediately follows suit, walking behind you with outreached arms in case you slip. 

At the top, you both stare at each other with knowing smiles. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. 

Out of nowhere, Harry experiences a burst of spontaneity and quickly lunges forward, cannonballing off the cliff and into the water. He emerges after a few seconds, shaking his hair and letting out a loud holler, probably caused by adrenaline or the cold water. 

You shuffle toward the edge and get ready to jump. Harry's gaze never wavers as you daintily leap off, plugging your nose and closing your eyes on the long way down. When you hit the water, a powerful sensation rushes through your body. You glide to the surface and find Harry swimming toward you, drenched hair plastered to his skin.

The water is an uncomfortable temperature, so you move briskly to climb back up on the rock the kayak is tied to. Shortly after, Harry lifts himself up, droplets dripping from his body. You dry off with the towel, then hand it to him. Once he finishes, you take your phone out of the backpack and tell him to pose. He presents both middle fingers, sticking his tongue out with a smile. The breathtaking evening view in the background makes the picture ten times more perfect. 

"Let's head back," you say after soaking in the skyline. "The wine tasting is at six, and it's a little after five right now." 

Harry nods, and you both put your life jackets back on before situating yourselves in the kayak. You untie the knotted rope, push off the rock, and then head toward the coastline. He helps paddle the whole way there, kissing the back of your neck every so often. 

Bliss, bliss, bliss. 

—— 

After returning the kayak and packing all the stuff in the car's trunk, Harry says he's going to find a nearby bathroom so he can change into his outfit for the wine tasting. He hands you one of his sweaters out of the bag — a grey crewneck. It's your favorite and still smells like him, no matter how often you've worn it. 

You have no idea what outfit he brought; he manages to take it out and quickly runs into a shop while you're distracted by the lively village. Waiting with anticipation in the car, you cozy up, growing tired from the strenuous paddling and calming atmosphere around you. 

Five minutes pass before Harry appears, and you immediately laugh at the sight of him. Not because he looks silly but because his outfit is too fancy for less than an hour of wine tasting in some restaurant's cellar. 

"Harry," you say breathily, taking in his outfit, "I'm wearing a sweater, and you're wearing a suit. Where did you even get that?" 

It's a bubblegum pink suit left open over a plain white button-up. White dress shoes are on his feet, and he must've fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror. 

"Eh?" He spins around. "You like it?" 

"You look very handsome, but now I feel severely underdressed. Why didn't you tell me to pack a dress?" You obviously don't have the time to go back to the villa and change, but you're curious as to why Harry didn't say anything about the apparent dress code for tonight. 

"Wanted to surprise you, darling. Plus, I know you would be worried about spilling wine on something nice. It's a private tasting, so no one will see you but me and the chef I mentioned."

Harry had booked a wine tasting with a man he'd met when he last visited Italy, the friendly owner of a family-owned restaurant in the village. He has always been able to leave unforgettable impressions on everyone he meets, so the man gladly moved some things around so that he could have you two come to the cellar for an intimate experience. 

You sigh, realizing there's no point in arguing. They won't care, so why should you? You have no doubt that Harry will make you feel comfortable once you get there. 

"You're right. Hopefully, he doesn't care that I look like I just crawled out of a lake." 

"Basta. Sembri un sogno," Harry says, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the car. 

You assume he said something incredibly charming. Your face naturally warms as you distract yourself by picking nonexistent lint off your sleeve before walking the bustling street toward a restaurant called Dahlia. The man Harry knows is waiting by the arched front door with a jovial smile.

"Ciao, Signore Styles!" he greets enthusiastically. "Ah, la tua ragazza. Benvenuto!"

Harry shakes his hand. "Che bello rivederti. Questa è la mia ragazza, sì. Cominciamo, va bene?" 

"Yes, yes. Seguitemi, cari." 

The two of you follow him through the small, packed restaurant and descend a narrow flight of stairs that leads to a wine cellar. Harry is behind you, his hands on your shoulders so you don't take a tumble. His dress shoes click against the polished wood with each step. 

At the bottom, you turn down a dim hallway. Endless wine bottles are meticulously stacked on shelves against the walls. There's a table and chairs, and two wine glasses and napkins are already set neatly on the surface. There's even a plate of bread. 

You sit, Harry doing the same. He immediately begins shaking the napkin out and placing it in his lap like he's done this a million times before. You cross your legs and angle your body toward him, admiring his features in the low, yellowish lighting from the antique wall sconces. He grins handsomely.

The man brings over two bottles of expensive-looking wine, and you think of your preconceived notion of what wine tasting would be like—rolling hills and vineyards in the countryside, getting wine drunk with middle-aged moms wearing patterned blouses, gossiping about their cheating husbands. 

Where you are right now is undeniably better. Who wouldn't want to be in a cramped room with their boyfriend who's wearing a pink suit and looking at you like you're the only thing that exists?

The man fills the wine glasses with an adequate amount of blood-red liquid, then stands back to observe your reactions. Harry spins it around in his glass and sniffs it, acting like he's all fancy. You want to laugh at him but keep it inside so you don't seem disrespectful. Instead, you bring your glass up to your mouth and take a small sip, tasting wild berries and a hint of an unknown aromatic herb. Harry sips his next, eyes locked on yours the entire time. He smacks his lips after swallowing and exhales, obviously pleased. You roll your eyes at him secretively. He's acting like he owns the place, and it's shameful that you find it attractive. 

You rip off a piece of the bread from the loaf in front of you and eat it, the buttery dough instantly melting on your tongue. Harry smiles at you, resting his hand on your chair as you rip some more off and offer it to him. He puts it in his mouth and mouths a silent swear, then picks up the entire loaf of bread and inspects it like he's Gordon Ramsey. 

"I need the recipe for that," you whisper humorously. 

Harry, of course, takes it literally. He beckons the man to come closer and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "La mia ragazza adora cucinare il pane. Potrei avere questa ricetta per favore? Questo è sorprendente." 

"Ovviamente! Tornerò," says the man while hurriedly going upstairs. 

You turn to Harry with confusion, needing help understanding the exchange. 

"He's getting the recipe for it," he explains. "You can make it before we go home."

"Harry," you say with a sigh. "Stop being so nice. I could've just found an online recipe. What if it's a family recipe that's super important to him?" 

"Stop worrying, my love. He doesn't mind."

Before you can respond, the man returns with a tattered recipe book. He opens it to a bookmarked page and sets it in front of you. "Fai una photo, caro. Fammi sapere com'è quando lo fai," he says, pointing at the bread drawing — not a picture — on the weathered page. Was this recipe from medieval times? Goodness gracious.

You can't understand him, so Harry takes your phone out of your pocket and snaps a picture of the handwritten words on the paper. You can't believe this man you just met is so willing to give you a recipe from his own restaurant. 

"Grazie," you say shyly. Harry smiles at your sudden bashfulness, scooting closer to you and kissing your head.

Wine tasting continues for the next hour. Throughout the various sips of eclectic flavors, Harry amps up his lovable antics — slowly and dramatically reeling off flavors he gets from the wine and spinning the liquid in the glass so quickly that it spills onto the napkin in his lap. 

Anything to see you smile. 

After what feels like gallons of wine, you and Harry thank the man for his graciousness and ask if he could drive the car back to the villa since driving back yourselves while tipsy would be idiotic. Harry offers to pay a hefty amount for the favor, and the man happily obliges, saying he will drive it back when he finishes closing the restaurant. Harry hands him the keys before you leave, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with the other chefs on the way out. 

You're both wine-drunk—arguably the best kind of drunk—and stumbling on clumsy feet with cheeks that won't stop smiling. It's dark out now, and the streetlights guide you to the Corvette. Harry calls for a taxi, speaking in full Italian, which makes you weak in the knees. 

Harry removes his suit jacket after hanging up the phone, leaving the white button-up in all its glory, his tattoos and chest hair peeking out from the few buttons undone. You take your belongings out of the trunk, set them on the ground, and then stand beside Harry. You kiss his chest, nuzzling your cheek against it and closing your eyes. He rubs his hand along your back and begins swaying with you under the streetlight. 

You look up at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, admiring his matching appearance. "How do you say 'pretty' in Italian?" you ask, getting lost in his gaze. 

Harry pouts, thinking. "Patatina," he replies after a few seconds. 

"You're patatina," you say lovingly.

He snorts at your cluelessness, smearing a kiss on your forehead. 

"What?" you ask, looking at him with confusion. "Is that not what it means? That's not nice, Harry. What did you just make me say?" You gasp. "Is it something dirty?" 

He's still giggling, crinkled eyes and deep dimples carving his face. You poke his ribs to get him to answer. "Sorry," he says, breathing out a final laugh. "No, it's not dirty. Patatina is a term of endearment I read about in the book I bought. It means little potato." 

You stare at him with a deadpan expression, thoughts about why you decided to date this boy running through your head. "Little potato... it's actually kind of cute," you admit, shuffling closer to Harry's warm body. "If you're a patatina, what am I?" 

"Cipollino," he murmurs, cradling your face. It translates to 'little onion .'The book said it pairs well with patatina, and we're, like... a pair." 

Your nose scrunches. "But an onion, out of everything? That's probably the least romantic vegetable. I want to be rhubarb or something, you know? They taste sweet, and I think... I think I'm pretty sweet. Right, Harry?" The wine is making its way to your dizzy head.

"Correct," he says. "And I'm patatina, not Harry." 

"Shut up." 

"Kiss me, then. Shut me right up." 

You don't question him, lurching forward to give him a searing kiss, fingers hooking in his belt loops. He returns the kiss with the same, if not more, passion. You can taste the residue of wine on his cherry-colored lips, opening his mouth with your tongue to suck on his. 

You suddenly hear tires rolling up and turn to see headlights shining on your figures. Great timing, taxi. You part from Harry's swollen lips, short of breath, and hastily pick up your stuff. You hope no one witnessed anything too wild.

Harry hands the driver a wad of cash before he climbs in the backseat. You follow suit. The vehicle drives off into the night, and your head rests on your lover's shoulder the whole way back.

—— 

The villa looms exquisitely under the starlit sky. You're relatively sure you fell asleep not even five minutes into the drive. Harry helps your sleepy body out of the car after grabbing all your belongings, then walks you up the driveway. He sets you on the outdoor sofa surrounding the fire pit before disappearing through the sliding door. The whispering breeze makes you shiver and burrow deeper into his sweater still clinging to your figure.

Harry returns with two wine glasses and a bottle of... cranberry juice?

"If I have any more wine, I'll puke. So, cranberry juice?" he offers, his voice rising to a higher octave. 

"Sitting by the fire drinking cranberry juice out of a wine glass with you," you say dreamily while scooting over to make room for him. "I can't think of anything better."

You soak up his company. When he went inside, he changed into grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and he looked like such a boyfriend. It's ridiculous. He's always so inviting and lovely. You find yourself wanting to touch him and absorb the warmth he exudes.

Sleep overtakes you again while tucked into his side. The next thing you wake to is silk sheets on the king-size bed. You instinctively curl up to Harry's body beside you. He must have opened the vast bay window that provides an impossible sea view because a beautiful breeze flows over your skin. It has you sinking further into the mattress. 

"Want me to get your pajamas?" Harry asks quietly.

You sleepily shake your head, perfectly fine with sleeping in his sweater. However, you do slide off your shorts and bikini bottoms. 

You're dozing again when Harry clears his throat. You blink open your eyes, feeling his heart rate speed up under your cheek resting there. 

"I have something special planned for our anniversary tomorrow. It's in the evening, so we have time to do other things. Just letting you know." 

"That makes me nervous, but I trust you."

"Tomorrow will be even better than today. I promise." 

"Can't wait." You yawn. "Goodnight. Love you."

"I love you more than anything," he says, lightly scratching your back. 

You grumble an incoherent response, drifting off to your dreams that always pale compared to life with the man next to you. 

—— 

The following morning's ambiance consists of Harry's snoring and glorious sunshine pouring through the wind-blown curtains. You must've slept like a rock because the bedside clock reads nine-thirty. You decide to abandon the soft sheets and let Harry get more sleep. 

You wrap yourself in your satin robe and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. One glance at the oven, and you remember the bread recipe from last night. It'd be a pleasant anniversary surprise for Harry, considering his surprise for you is shrouded in mystery. Plus, making bread is oddly therapeutic—the kneading, the delicious smell, the endless possibility of flavors. Luckily, all the simple ingredients are in the pantry, so you can start making the dough. 

By the time it's in the oven, Harry is still dead to the world, and the time is nearing eleven. Some days, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to go on a stupid run, or he'll sleep until noon on the weekends after a long week of work. There's really no in-between. 

While the bread bakes, you clean the mess on the counters before sitting at the kitchen table to aimlessly scroll through your phone. Another twenty minutes pass before you hear feet shuffling against the hardwood floor. You glance up to find a puffy-eyed Harry rubbing his face. He's wearing black swim trunks, and that's about it, except for the sunglasses on top of his head. 

He bends down and kisses your cheek. "Buongiorno, mio piccolo cuoco," he says, his voice as raspy as the slight mustache above his lip that seems to have grown overnight.

"More like good afternoon." You shut your phone off and set it aside. "Did you sleep well?" 

"Mm, the best I have in ages," he answers, scratching his stomach. He then smiles lazily, his eyes looking more awake. "Happy anniversary." 

"Three whole years. I don't know how I've gone putting up with you this long." 

"Hey. I can go back to bed if you want," he says, pointing his thumb toward the bedroom. 

"No, stay," you plead softly. "By the way, I'm making that bread recipe. It's my present to you for being an average boyfriend." 

"Being sassy this morning, are we?" 

"You love it." 

"Got that right," Harry mutters, nosily peering into the oven. He sniffs the bread dramatically and whistles impressively before shutting the oven door. The mouthwatering aroma reminds you of wandering the Italian streets yesterday.

"Going for a swim?"

"Yeah. Join me?"

"I will once the bread is done." You stand and send him on his way with a peck to his lips. "Go ahead. I'll make you a fruit platter."

"Dragonfruit, please?" he requests, opening the sliding door that leads to the infinity pool. 

"Got it. Don't forget to put sunscreen on!" 

He gives you a thumbs up, leaving the door open to welcome the pleasant breeze. You grab hot pads and take the finished bread out, setting it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off. While it cools, you change into a swimsuit, tie a chiffon wrap skirt around your hips, and then arrange a platter. 

You gather the cubed fruit you've both been eating the past couple of days—cantaloupe, watermelon, strawberries, and, per Harry's request, dragonfruit. He wanted to buy some after his wonderful mother grew it in her garden. Then, you precisely arrange the fruit in a circle on a floating breakfast tray that can go in the pool, keeping the middle open for slices of buttered bread. You sincerely hope it tastes close enough to what you ate yesterday. 

Lastly, you fill glasses with orange juice before carefully heading outside to keep Harry company. You see him floating on his back, arms open and eyes closed. You set the platter down on a table and tiptoe to the edge of the pool.

To hell with it. You're going to scare him to get him back for trying to tip the kayak yesterday. It's only fair, right? 

He's oblivious to everything around him, a peaceful glow on his face. You almost feel bad for deciding to disturb it — especially on your anniversary — but what good is a relationship without a bit of havoc? 

You mull over what you could possibly do to frighten him. Maybe throw a cantaloupe piece at him or pretend the car came back destroyed. These are two vastly different ends of the mischief spectrum, and ultimately, the latter is the obvious choice—and the most fun.

"Harry?" you say quietly, changing your expression to make it seem like you're distraught. 

"Yeah?" he replies, keeping his eyes closed. 

"Um, your friend from yesterday just dropped the car off. Harry, it's—"

His eyes snap open, picking up on your wavering and anxious tone. He stops floating and swims over to where you're standing by the edge. 

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Did something happen? Are you okay?" he rambles worriedly, his eyes darting between your face and body to check for any signs. 

"The car," you whisper, mustering up fake tears. Harry instinctively holds your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "It's destroyed. It looks like it got in an accident. What are we going to do?" 

"Seriously? What the fuck? How— I don't—" He heaves himself out of the pool and begins walking around the villa toward the driveway. He looks like he's about to punch something, so you suppress your laughter and decide to end the game. 

You grab his wrist, spinning him around. He stares at you with panic, and now you feel bad. "I'm kidding, baby. I'm just messing with you. The car is fine. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, clasping his cheeks and laughing.

His jaw drops. "You're so mean." 

"I'm just getting you back for yesterday. Them's the rules."

"Yeah, but you've been quite sassy all morning, hmm? First, you called me an average boyfriend. Then, you didn't even kiss me good morning. That hurts my heart." 

"You were completely passed out. How would you have known if I kissed you good morning or not?"

"I can always tell. They bring me back to life." 

"Shut up," you scoff, grabbing the platter. "Here's some fruit and homemade bread as a peace offering. Take it or leave it." 

"Feed me in the pool, and I'll consider your offer." 

"Fine. I'm not getting in, though. I want to sunbathe for a bit. 

Harry dramatically rolls his eyes and dives back in. When he emerges, he swims to the edge. You sit down with the platter and let it float next to him before putting your feet in the tepid water. You pick up a slice of bread and hold it to Harry's awaiting mouth. He places your legs over his shoulders, his arms hooking around your upper thighs. 

Someone's needy today. 

He tosses the bread into his mouth, eyes rolling back like they did in the wine cellar yesterday. He borderline moans at the taste, jaw flexing with each chew. After he swallows, he leaves grateful kisses on your thighs. "Deliziosa," he murmurs, paired with more nipping and kissing. You know he's not talking about the bread. The 'a' he added to the end of the word makes it feminine. He's not slick.

Before you both get carried away — wanting to save your pent-up tension for later — you feed him a plethora of fruit before deciding to make both of you an actual meal. You're starving, so you'll catch some sun later. 

Harry whines at the loss of contact. You use your foot to push his chest until he's floating on his back again. He throws you a peace sign before you head back inside. 

As you whip up a quick breakfast, you watch your boyfriend from the door, appreciating his sunkissed body and tattoos. You smile and think about how time has flown by with him in the most remarkable way.

Three years and hopefully a lifetime more.

—— 

You're nervous. 

You don't have the faintest idea what Harry's surprise is. All he's said is to dress nicely and not eat anything yet. Maybe he's taking you out to dinner? Or perhaps you'll walk downtown together and stop at vendors. You're stumped. He's annoyingly good at keeping secrets. 

It's nearing seven as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Harry is in the bathroom spraying cologne on his neck, looking casually handsome in a flowing, off-white button-up. He's paired it with matching cotton shorts and sneakers that need washing. You keep telling him to clean them, but he ignores your pleading and claims the dirt gives them character. 

A short cherry-colored dress with puffed sleeves adorns your body. Red lipstick to match. Hair loose. The necklace Harry bought you for your last anniversary glimmering against your neck. 

Harry comes behind you in the vanity mirror as you apply a final coat of mascara and starts soothingly scratching your upper back. He can probably sense you're feeling nervous, knowing you don't particularly like surprises. However, you think he looks undeniably handsome, his new tan and stubble pulling you back into his comfort. Somehow, just looking at him eases your nerves.

"Gorgeous," he whispers.

You smooth any remaining wrinkles out of your dress. "Thank you. I'm almost done." 

"Take your time," he replies, squeezing your shoulders. "I'll start the car." 

You make sure your makeup is smudge-free and then shut the bedroom light off on your way to the front door. Harry is waiting by the passenger side of the Corvette with a distracted look on his face. When he finally sees you coming, he opens the door for you. This time, you accept his gentlemanlike gesture. 

He drives to an unknown destination, taking the backroads. You can't even guess where you're heading since everything outside the villa is unfamiliar.

Ten minutes later, Harry slows down and turns right toward what appears to be a small seaside forest. He drives along the path leading through the trees until a hidden beach area eventually reveals itself. He parks the car while you're speechless at the sight before you. The only things on the sand are a round table with two chairs surrounded by tiki torches. 

No one else is here. If Harry tells you he rented the entire beach, you'll kill him. 

"I rented this portion of the beach for the night."

Of course.

"You're ridiculous," you say, taking in your surroundings. "Thank you, Harry. This is a wonderful surprise." 

He ducks his head bashfully. "C'mon, let's eat." 

You follow him to the table and sit on the wicker chair across from him. In front of you is a plate of stuffed ravioli with a side of roasted asparagus, cooked just how you like them. Harry has vegan fettuccine alfredo with peas--a lot of peas. A gagworthy amount.

"I'm floored right now," you say, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "I can't believe you did all this without me knowing." 

"I'm a sneaky guy. There were lots of secret phone calls while you were in the shower or swimming in the pool. 

You take your sandals off and enjoy the cool sand between your toes. "Yeah, I bet. I'm not even going to ask how much it costs to rent this part of the beach." 

"It's not important," he says. "Let's eat, shall we? And talk me through this little outfit you have on. Why on earth haven't I seen you wear it yet?" 

Then, both of you eat, talk, and watch the waves glide on the shore. The sun is dipping past the horizon, turning the sky a violet shade with splashes of fading orange. You talk Harry's ear off about random stuff in your life and humorous anecdotes since the trip started. His body naturally leans toward you to give you his undivided attention. He listens the entire time, eyes on you with his chin in the palm of his hand, except for when he pops some spearmint gum into his mouth after finishing his truckload of peas. 

After you finish rambling, you wait for him to start talking your ear off. He usually can drone on and on about anything for hours, but right now, he's just sitting and staring at the sunset. 

"You're quiet," you point out, gently poking his arm with your fork. 

"Just thinking." 

"About what?" 

He sighs longingly before saying, "I know we still have more than enough time here, but I kind of don't want to leave. I love it here so much. This is the happiest I've ever been." 

Your heart melts. "I feel the same way. I could stay here forever and never get bored of it. Especially with you by my side."

Harry finally looks at you, his eyes holding something unreadable yet powerful. He stands abruptly and reaches his hand out. "Let's walk for a bit," he says with a tone that kicks your anxiety into high gear. 

You grasp his hand, and he leads you along the shoreline, your feet getting wet whenever the tide washes up. It's quiet except for the pesky seagulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. Where you are right now makes you want to bottle up the memory so you can keep the feeling forever, replay this trip, and relive the most joyous moments of your life. 

Harry eventually stops, facing you with both hands holding yours tightly. He looks... pale. Are his hands shaking, or are you imagining things? Is he about to pass out from sunstroke? Did he eat too many peas? 

He clears his throat and visibly gulps, squinting at the sky and exhaling quickly. His feet shuffle nervously. An incomprehensible thought zings to the front of your brain. 

Is he about to do what you think he's about to do? 

"I might cry and possibly throw up, so please bear with me," he says, his voice shaky.

You just stare at him, unable to say anything. Then, he begins lowering on one knee, and you just about go down with him. 

He removes his hands from yours and takes something out of his pocket. It's a velvet ring box, pink and delicate.  

You gasp as Harry opens his mouth, his watery eyes trained on nothing but you. "I love you with all my heart. I'm weak for the things you do, and it consumes me to the point where I feel like I might burst from loving you so much. Every word you speak or smile you give me has me falling for you deeper and deeper. And... you love me back. You love me better than anyone. And I realized when we first met that you're someone I not only want in this life but need. You're the only one for me, and I'll take care of you, support you, and love you so thoroughly until you get sick of me. I'm rambling now, so I'll shut up and cut to the chase. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? Please? Il mio cuore è solo tuo. If you want it, it's yours." 

Harry finishes his speech by opening the ring box to reveal a silver oval-cut ring that takes your breath away. A tear trails down your cheek as your lips wobble. You nod your head what feels like a thousand times. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. Holy shit."

He laughs beautifully, his eyes squinting so much that the captured tears in his waterline spill over. He stands and shakily puts the ring on the correct finger. It fits perfectly. 

You cup his cheeks and bring his face toward yours. "I love you," you say while kissing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. "You're so sneaky. I wasn't expecting this until you looked like you were going to pass out in front of me." 

"Be glad I didn't throw up on your dress." 

"That's true." Suddenly, everything hits you. Harry, we're going to get married." 

He smiles with unbridled happiness, nodding before picking you up bridal style and running into the sea. The splashes he makes strike you with cold splatters, and you squeal, but it quickly turns into uncontrollable laughter when Harry spins you around and dips you toward the water. You squirm with resistance and manage to escape his arms. He stumbles from the waves but remains upright, then stares at you intensely for three seconds before kissing your lips like they're his life source. 

"My fiancée," he says, kissing down your face to your neck. "I adore you."

"Can we" — you whimper breathily — "go back to the villa and celebrate? Some wine, dessert, and... maybe some other things." 

He can't propose to you while looking this good and expect you not to jump his bones. 

"Sì, mi amore." 

—— 

At the villa, palpable tension lingers in the air and throughout your body. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing in your blood as Harry makes a beeline straight to the master bedroom. It's only right to follow with shallow breaths and a hammering heartbeat.

Approaching the bedroom, you see Harry already taking off his shirt. You walk over and lie on the bed, waiting for him to initiate the celebration. You're usually the one who likes to be in control, but being the sexually dominant type calls for preparation and the right kind of mood. Now, at this moment, all you want is to writhe in pleasure on silk sheets and feel Harry's touch everywhere. 

You're already impatiently aroused because of Harry's teasing on the drive back. His fingers were stroking the inside of your thigh, traveling up, up, up until they reached dangerous territory. He'd start to pull away after realizing how wet you already were, but you would trap his hand with your thighs, making him groan. Two could play at that game.

Now, Harry saunters over to you in nothing but his cotton shorts. His tanned skin looks tempting in the muted lamplight. The rest of the lights are off, and the moon is brightly shining in the indigo sky. 

"Ready for me?" he asks lowly, hungrily glancing over your body. 

You nod and bend your knees. Harry lies on his stomach and gets between your legs, his hands gripping your upper thighs with fervor. He must've put his rings on when you weren't looking. He knows you love the feeling of them. You're not picky as to where. 

"Gonna let me take care of you?"

"Please. Please, Harry." 

"Patience, my love. Let me see you." 

"I'm right here. Do something. Please, I need you." 

He shushes you with a soft timbre, scooting closer to where you need him the most. He lifts your dress, bunches the material up by your stomach, and then readjusts his grip on your thighs. His lips trail closer to your lace underwear, and he looks at you under his eyelashes. His eyes ground you, make you nervous, and leave you spellbound. Maintaining eye contact with him is hard when you know you'll come undone way too quickly from just his intense gaze. You're not giving him the benefit of that. Not tonight, at least.

Instead, you stare at the vaulted ceiling and gasp when his lips graze over your underwear. Soft, purposeful movements have you closing your thighs around your head as a reflex. Open-mouthed kisses over your wetness lace drive you crazy. You're clenching, internally soliciting for him to just do something. 

"Stop teasing," you say firmly, still not looking at him.

"Don't be bossy." 

"I'm not being bossy. You're my fiancé, so you're supposed to be nice to me." 

He moves your underwear to the side. "Yeah? My fiancée wants me to be nice to her? I'm always nice, baby. Always good for you, you know that." 

"You are, you are. It's true. The nicest man I've ever known. No one has even come close." You squirm with impatience. "Just take them off." 

Harry doesn't waste any time, propping himself up to slide the material down your legs. You lift your ankles above his head to fling them off, then plant your feet back on the mattress and spread wide open so he can resume. 

His mouth immediately latches onto your clit, sucking it, his nose fitting perfectly above it. You moan loudly, back arching and hands grasping his neck. You have to look at him now and watch him take care of you like only he knows how. When you do, it's a sight straight from heaven. His brows are drawn in, eyes shut, and pink lips bring you pleasure in the most intimate way. 

Harry continues sucking before soothing his tongue along your entrance. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers. He dives two of them in, curling them in a way that makes you inhale sharply. His mouth occupies itself with kissing the inside of your thighs, biting little marks so you can remember this experience. 

The sensations of both his fingers and mouth are overwhelming, and your hand can't help but involuntarily pull his hair. 

"God," he mumbles against your thigh. "Do that again, baby." 

You pull harder, and a deep, raspy moan leaves his mouth. He begins kissing along your body while his fingers continue bringing you to your peak. He adds a third as he nips your waist, his head exploring under your bunched-up dress. He props one arm up to hover himself over you. You look at him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted, soft moans escaping when he hits a particular spot. He smears a messy kiss on your lips, and you try your best to return it as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

An orgasm quickly forms in your lower stomach. Harry massages your clit with the pad of his thumb to bring you there, knowing your body and when you're about to let go like the back of his hand. He grinds against the bed to soothe his own arousal. He's been hard since your act in the car, having felt your thighs clench around his hands, his fingers so close to his favorite spot. He apparently couldn't help himself. 

When Harry hits that final spot that has you crying out, you arch your back and let go. Your eyes squeeze shut as you moan from the delightful pressure freely flowing out of your body. 

Harry places his mouth back on yours as you finish, removing his fingers from inside you and gripping your hips, leaving a coat of your arousal on the love bites left there. Your body is strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows and leave marks on Harry's neck. He grunts when you bite the sensitive skin below his earlobe and grinds against the bed once more, stilling and then shuddering through a fierce release.

Oh. He came from that one touch. 

He falls flat on the bed, cupping himself and breathing heavily. There's a damp spot on his shorts. It's a filthy sight.

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry," Harry murmurs, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I thought I'd be able to last." 

You brush some sweaty hair off his forehead. "It's fine. I don't have to do any work now." 

"Hilarious," he says monotonously. He suddenly jumps up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, confusing you. You hear him wash his hands and then turn on the jacuzzi. He returns with a clean pair of boxers and smoothly lifts you from the bed. Your dress covers your exposed state, yet it doesn't hide the slick feeling between your legs. The warm water will feel amazing. 

Harry gently sets you on the sink counter as the tub fills up. He grabs a washcloth and dips it under the faucet before cleaning you. It's comfortably silent, with only rushing water in the background. 

When the jacuzzi is adequately filled, Harry helps you stand and remove your dress. Once naked, you quickly go to the bathroom while Harry removes his boxers. He then leads you to the jacuzzi to sit down. When he climbs in, you cling onto him for a cuddle as sleepiness washes over you. Harry presses a button to turn the jets on. Everything feels so lovely.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says. 

"You knew I would. How could I possibly say no to you after a speech like that?" 

"Dunno. We're, like... together forever now." He rubs the ring on your finger. "Well, not yet. But when we actually get married, it's a lifetime with each other. It's wild to think about, but I want nothing more." 

"I get what you mean," you say, scrubbing the red lipstick stains on his neck with the pads of your fingers. "I want this with you too." 

When you softly rub around his lips, he kisses your finger and looks at you with disbelief. You pluck his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, then lean in to plant a truthful kiss there.

Everything with him is so simple. Every touch is meaningful. Every unspoken word holds the weight of a million said. Every laugh leaves you teary-eyed with a heart full of love.

He is pure love. What he gives so naturally is exactly what he is.

Once your skin turns wrinkly and the water becomes lukewarm, you and Harry get out and dry yourselves off. He retreats to the bedroom to grab pajamas. When he returns, you put on an oversized shirt and walk out of the bathroom after draining the tub, running toward the bed and bellyflopping on it like a kid. Harry shuts the bedroom light off and flops beside you, letting out a long and blissful sigh. 

"I'm hungry," he says.

You snort. "You ate a million peas not even an hour ago. How are you still hungry?" 

"Sex makes me hungry. And stop making fun of my love of peas. Hey, can you get the cantaloupe? I'm knackered." 

His rapid change of topics makes you laugh. "Anything for you, pea boy."

You hear him faintly whine at your new nickname for him as you stroll into the kitchen. You open the refrigerator to grab a bowl of cantaloupe cubes and then return. Harry's eyes are fluttering shut, and his limbs are spread out on the mattress. You climb over him, sitting against the headboard as he blindly reaches his hand for some fruit. He chews against the pillow, his cheeks squishing adorably. 

"Thanks," he mumbles with his mouth full. 

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to sleep. I'll put the bowl on the nightstand for you." 

Once you've moved the cantaloupe, you scoot down and lie on your back. Harry keeps reaching for the bowl without moving his head, sometimes missing entirely and waving his hand around to find it. You eventually close your eyes, a smile making its way to your face when you realize you'll wake up tomorrow as an engaged woman next to your future husband.

Harry finishes all the fruit in the bowl and then turns off the lamp. He tugs you against his chest, and you exhale happily, his warmth effortlessly pulling you under into a deep sleep. 

—— 

Two Weeks Later 

After situating yourself in the airplane seat, you pull out your phone and open Instagram. You and Harry are on your way back from Italy. It was an unforgettable two weeks together, and not one day went by without you making new memories. 

You had told only the closest people to you about the engagement—your parents and Harry's. No one else knows, so you decided to announce the news with an Instagram post. You wanted to wait until after vacation to worry about making phone calls and giving details about how it happened. 

Now, you start creating a post on the fourteen-hour flight to California. You already know what picture to use — Harry cutely holding a bottle of wine along the lusciously green countryside, ready for a picnic date in a park. Also, with an impressive mustache. Throughout the ten days after the engagement, Harry had decided to grow his faint mustache into a full-fledged one. You don't know how it grew so fast, honestly. You also didn't know how to feel about it at first, but you're accustomed to liking it now. It makes him look mature. 

How it feels between your thighs, well, that's a story for another day.

Harry has chosen to post a picture of the ring, gleaming brilliantly in the pink velvet box. And with him being the artsy, moderately strange social media poster, he had to add something extra to the picture — a paint swatch. Both of you spontaneously went paint shopping one day when you got bored in the villa. You had been talking to him for months about redoing the bathroom at the house, so you went to a local paint store to ogle at different options. Harry, being the sentimental and cheesy man he is, suggested painting it the color of the ring box he proposed with. You remember thinking the diluted pink would complement the white tiles and granite counter of the master bathroom perfectly. 

You couldn't possibly refuse the idea, especially since it would always remind you of that special evening on the beach.

You had searched with him to find a color that resembled the box, all while goofing around and laughing at the bizarrely specific names of the swatches. You had pointed to a light green swatch appropriately named peapod and told Harry he should paint the kitchen that color since he loves peas so much. He pouted at you and dramatically walked down another aisle. Typical. And so sensitive about his peas!

Harry is sleeping beside you, his head snugly settled on a pillow propped against the airplane window while soft snores escape his mouth. You'll wait for him to wake up so you can both post at the same time. As for now, you rest your head on his shoulder to also take a nap. Harry stirs and drowsily slaps his hand onto your knee to keep you close.

You'll miss Italy's golden sunsets, good-natured people, and ethereal views. However, the thought of going home and beginning a new chapter with your fiancé doesn't sound too bad. 

Bliss, in all its glory, takes hold once again.

——

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Sleepy Swap

I absolutely hate family vacations. Don't get me wrong, the vacation part is pretty nice. The fact that I'm with my family is the problem. Each year we go to some new crazy location, which would've been fun if they didn't embarrass me every single moment. Normally it's some dumb place within the states, but this time we're going out of the country. I turned 18 a few months ago and just graduated high school, so my parents thought it was a special occasion. Oh, it's going to be special all right - it's the last time I'll be forced to go with them! As soon as the summer's over, I'm moving across the state for college, and hopefully I'll never see them again! But for now, my parents set their sights on Brazil. I guess that's where they went on their first trip together. But I'd rather go to much cooler countries like France or Japan.

So, arriving in Brazil, we moved through the airport - me, my dad, mom, and little sister. There were so many hot guys and good looking people in general walking through the halls. I wanted to flirt with them so badly! But my parents would probably call the police if I went out of their sight for a single minute. We took a taxi and arrived at our hotel room. I found out that there were only 2 bedrooms - one for my parents and one for my little sister and I. I can't even jerk off in the privacy of my own bedroom anymore! I unpacked my stuff anyway, just as my mom walked into the room.

"Are you hungry, kids?" I hate being called a kid. I'm 18! Nobody seems to understand that I'm a legal adult now!

"Yeah," we both replied.

"How about we visit some of the local places to see some culture?"

"Lame," I said.

"Jackson, YOU are going to go with us and YOU are going to like it!" My mom ordered.

"Fine."

Outside the hotel, my dad arrived with our rental car. We drove through the streets but ended up parking in what looked like the poor part of town. I thought we were going to a nice restaurant?

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"Language, Jackson! This is what I was talking about! What better way to see the local culture than to visit the local marketplace?"

We got out and I looked around. The roads and buildings were all run down and there was a gross scent in the air. The marketplace was thriving anyway, but the people there were all ugly. No hot guys! We bought some kind of pastry, eating it at a nearby table. It tasted awful! When we finished, we all split up to explore the rest of the marketplace; I didn't even bother to look at anything else because I knew I wouldn't find anything good.

I walked down the road and saw an open garage-like area with some people inside. Outside sleeping in a chair, was an obese guy with a belly so big, it hung right out of his blue tank top, and covered his knees entirely! His belly button was so big, you could probably fit an entire fist in there! He was probably the grossest human being I've ever seen in my life! It was guys like that that made me feel at least somewhat grateful that I'm so young and skinny.

I walked right past and suddenly he grabbed my arm. His eyes stayed closed though, so I guess it was some form of sleepwalking. I was disgusted anyway, so I jumped backwards and shouted at him.

"Get away from me you disgusting slob!" 

He stayed asleep even after that. But I definitely needed to wash my arm now. Who knows what kind of diseases he was carrying? I started walking towards a restroom, when I felt like I was being watched. I looked to my right to see a creepy old lady staring at me from between two buildings. She was so hideous, she looked like a witch! I ran inside and quickly washed my hands. I walked out of the bathroom, only to come face to face with the witch lady.

"Ahh! Who are you?"

"You don't like your family do you?" Is she trying to relate to me or something? Gross! I answered her anyway.

"Yeah. So?"

"Would you do anything to get away from them?"

"Yeah I guess. What are you getting at?"

"Nothing. Nothing you need to worry about." Anger rushed to my brain and out my mouth.

"Nothing? You can't just ask about my problems then offer to do nothing! Get out of my face you old hag!" Her smile changed to an angry frown but then back to a smile.

"Very well, you want me to do something? I will do something." She took a piece or chalk and started drawing a circle around my feet.

"What? Are you using your witchy magic or something?" I said, sarcastically. She ignored me and continued. With a full circle of purple chalk around me, she put her hands together and started mumbling something. The circle below me was glowing! Not just that, but I was actually sinking into the ground! Is this some kind of portal? If I could teleport to my college campus that would be great! Even better, a gay bar or somewhere I can freely be myself!

I sunk lower and lower until it was just my head and neck sticking out.  I looked up at her and said "Thank you." For some reason, instead of a friendly smile, it seemed like an evil smirk. As my eyes were about to fully submerge into the ground, I closed them.

When I opened them back up, I was sitting down inside, but was disappointed that the same bad smell was in the air. Looks like she teleported me, but it wasn't very far. I knew that witch was full of shit. I guess I should find my family again; it had been an hour and they were probably worried. I tried to get up but something was wrong. I looked down to see what was keeping me grounded when my heart started thumping extremely fast. Gone was my slim body, which was replaced with an overly large hanging gut. What the fuck happened to me? Is it touching my knees? Wait, I recognize that gut! It can't be! I've turned into that one gross slob! Was this that witch's way of getting revenge?

I didn’t want to, but I felt compelled to touch the gut. Unlike before, he was completely shirtless so the massive hanging blubber was visible for everyone to see. I looked at my huge sausage fingers, and poked it. It jiggled. I took my whole hand and pressed into the flab over and over. My whole belly rippled like a body of water. It was actually kinda fun and felt nice. No, what am I doing? I gotta get my body back.

Trying to get up was the hardest part. I had to summon all my strength in order to force the weight of the gut off of me, and plant my feet on the ground as hard as I possibly could. When I got my ass out of the chair, gravity took hold of my gut and I nearly fell over. Slowly, I got myself back onto my feet.

I couldn't even see the bottom of my gut but I could feel it touching my knees! I grabbed the bottom of it and shook. I stuck my hands between the overhang and my waist, and felt a river of sweat hiding underneath. I swear if I ever get back to my body, I'll never insult any fat guy ever again!

I tried walking back to the same bathroom I was just at, but it was more like a waddle. The gut was swinging back and forth, slapping my knees every time, pain with each slap. My back was killing me too. My entire body ached! How did this guy let himself go this far? I squeezed through the door and saw my face for the first time in the mirror. I had gray hair and silver stubble. I was an old man! My whole face was huge and I had a double chin. This can't be happening. I'm only 18!

I walked out of the bathroom just as my family strolled by. Finally! For once I was happy to see them! It'll be weird but I'm sure they can help me get back to normal somehow. I waddled over, approaching them, and freaked out when I saw…me! There was a college aged guy who looked exactly like me alongside them. Is he the owner of the body I'm in? He must be!

"Hey it's you! You have my body!" Everyone turned around, surprised to see me. My parents narrowed their eyes.

"What? What's this about bodies? Who are you?" My dad demanded.

"Mom, Dad, its me, Jackson! There was a witch that swapped our bodies! That guy isn't me!"

"What? Who do you think you are, talking to my son that way? Get out of here creep!" The guy in my body pretended to be just as confused as they were. That liar! Instead of taking any action, they just walked away, shaking me off as just some homeless creep. They probably assumed I wouldn't be able to catch up to them…and they were right. I felt exhausted already, but managed to shout one last sentence at them.

"Wait c-come back! I'm sorry! I'll never complain about vacations again!" The guy who stole my body turned his head around and gave an evil smirk at me. I looked to my right to see the witch again.

"You wanted to be away from them and your wish was granted. Here, you might want this." She tossed me what looked like a shirt, but it was huge. "Paolo gets especially lazy sometimes and doesn't feel like putting on a shirt. You'll get used to it, but here's one just in case."

I wanted to argue but I couldn’t. I just…gave up. I was feeling tired so I slipped the shirt on, pulling it as far over my belly as I could, and waddled over back to the garage area. My knees were killing me at this point so I stood next to the chair I was sitting on earlier, rotated myself, and firmly plopped onto it. All the pain went away and I started feeling drowsy. I rolled up the shirt a little and stuck my finger inside my belly button, playing with it. Am I getting hard? I shouldn't be so turned on but I am! I then pressed my belly in, seeing and feeling the ripples until I finally fell asleep. Haha…Maybe this won't be so bad afterall. I'm finally away from my family, and I can just sleep the day away…everyday…

[obscureblorbofics]

Dracula and Chill (NSFW)

Foxy Coltrane x gn!reader

18+ only! Minors be gone!

Summary: reader goes on vacation to Mexico with friends and meets Foxy in a bar.

Warnings: smut, mention of Foxy being a serial killer (does it really need to be said? If you've watched the movie you already know), alcohol

Length: 3.5k words

(For the purpose of the fic, reader is American and AFAB)

-----

Your phone rings.

"Any chance you'd want to go on vacation with us next month?"

Alexis had been your friend all throughout high school and was trying to set something up with a few friends so you could catch up without the pressures of work or responsibilities. You think for a second before responding back.

"I have some vacation time saved up. Let me know when and where"

"Durango, Mexico. Not the most interesting place but it's cheap and it'll definitely be a nice change of pace for a week. Thinking February 16th to the 23rd. Brooke already said that week is free for her and I'm still waiting for a response from Ryan"

You check your calendar, seeing nothing pre-planned to stop you. You put the call on hold and call your boss to ask about getting that week off. He makes note of it and tells you to have fun.

"Yea I'm free that week. Need to get my passport updated before then but we should be good"

The plane lands, jolting you awake. The drunk bachelorette party a few rows in front of you woops and hollers rowdily. You look to Alexis, who had mentioned a headache a mere 20 minutes into the flight. You offer a sympathetic glance, to which she responds with a smile. You grab both of your carry ons out of the overhead bin, handing her hers and checking on the row behind you that contained the rest of the group. The four of you exit the plane and go through the usual post-flight bathroom breaks.

After everyone is out and accounted for, the group heads to the rental desk and goes through the process of renting a car. After maybe about twenty minutes of driving, you come upon the shabby little hotel Brooke's uncle owned and had left to her cousin upon his death.

Once checked in and settled in your rooms, the four of you leave to get dinner. You find a little restaurant nearby and order food.

Dinner conversation is mostly tame and what you'd expect from the group. Alexis commented on how Brooke's cousin flirted with her when offering the group a discounted rate. Ryan tells the group about scoring his dream job that he'd be starting in April. Brooke showing everyone pictures of her son and talking about how motherhood has treated her.

The next morning the group of you set out sightseeing in the city nearby rather than stay in the small town for the whole time. Once you head back, Ryan has an idea.

"I saw a bar not far from the hotel. We should check it out. Might be interesting" he shrugs and you all agree it's worth trying.

The four of you make your way to the bar and order your drinks. They're out fairly quickly, and you get to exploring the place. There's a few rowdy men throwing knives at a particle board target, some women who seem to be there mainly for the purpose of getting laid and not much else, a few isolated groups of patrons, and the trio at the other end of the bar. They're all roughly middle aged, but the blonde woman with them has the energy level of a teenager. She seems to be the life of the party in the bar.

The two men with her, however.. The older one seemed irritated at the woman's antics, clearly trying to pick up a woman at a table nearby. The other one was attractive to say the least. Tall and lanky, with longish honey brown hair and blue eyes. You'd always had a thing for older men. And he was looking straight at you. His face broke into a smug grin and he winked before bringing his attention back to the other people he was there with.

You take this as a sign to get back to your friends as well. You tune back into the conversation, noting it to be about everyone's college experiences. Not much for you to add. You finish your drink up only to see another slide in front of you once you put the empty one down. You arch an eyebrow in a silent request for explanation. The bartender shrugs and points to the end of the bar. At the man you were just observing. He gestures for you to come over.

You let your friends know you're going to look around some more and 'socialize with the locals' as you so put it, before slipping away and joining the stranger.

As soon as you approach him, he gives you the same shit eating grin as earlier. "Hey sweetheart, come here often?"

You roll your eyes at the cheesy overused line. "First time. Vacation with friends. What about you?"

He shrugs. "Been living in the area 'bout 3 months. Not much to do 'round here" He pauses for a moment. "Oh where are my manners? I'm Foxy."

You offer a weak smile at his introduction. "I'm (Y/N)."

He smirks. "Lovely name for a lovely person. Mind sticking around a while?"

"I don't see why not."

He offers you a chair and you sit down.

The two of you talk for what seems like hours before Brooke approaches you. "We're heading back to the hotel. Here's the spare key to the room whenever you're ready." She drops the key in your hand and you stash it away in your pocket.

Foxy takes a look behind him real quick. You notice the other people he was there with are gone. "Well. It looks like Otis and Baby ditched. How bout you join me and we ditch too?"

You agree and he pays off your tab for you, throwing an arm around you and guiding you out of the bar. After walking down the street for maybe ten minutes you come upon a modest building. The other man from earlier, Otis you presume, is sitting in a lawn chair with a beer. He notices the two of you and waves at Foxy but says nothing.

Foxy holds the door open for you, and swats at your behind as you enter.

You take a look around, checking out your surroundings as you head for the couch. Nothing too out of the ordinary besides the large number of weapons either openly out on display or poorly hidden. To be fair you did hear about some gang activity nearby so it couldn't hurt to be cautious if you live in the area.

He sits down next to you. The two of you talk about backgrounds for a while. You find out the people he was with earlier were his siblings. Otis you had seen on the way in and Baby was out doing who knows what. He mentions being really into classic movies and having amassed a fairly large collection of them. You offer to watch one with him if he didn't mind and he leads you to the bedroom.

The inside of Foxy's bedroom is exactly what you'd expect. Old movie posters on the wall and a large hunting knife on the nightstand accompanied by several empty beer bottles. You sit down on the bed and he puts a VHS tape in the player before sliding into bed next to you. Once the movie starts you notice it's the original Dracula.

About twenty minutes into the movie Foxy wraps his arm around your shoulders and you instinctively lean into him. You don’t take your attention off the movie to look at him, but you hear a low chuckle beside you.

After another half hour or so a hand makes its way to your thigh. You ignore it at first, but then it slides higher and begins to squeeze, so you glance over at the man beside you. Same shit eating grin you’ve come to associate with him.

“Well don’t look at me, babydoll. Pay attention to the movie.”

You cautiously obey, not sure where this would go, but certainly not mad at the development. A minute or so of squeezing and rubbing your thigh later, he goes for your pants button. You turn back around to say something about it, but he quickly stops you, shushing you gently before replying in the same cocky tone that got you into this situation to begin with.

"I said focus on the movie. Don't mind me havin’ a feel."

The second he says that, you feel his hand slip into your underwear. He uses the arm still around you to move you into his lap. His fingers make their way down, checking for evidence that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. He drags his fingers through the wetness he found there, bringing them up to play with your clit. At first he was gentle, barely touching you. Ghosting over where you wanted him most and teasing you experimentally to see what made you gasp and squirm. He figured this out rather quickly, judging by the way you were panting and squirming and trying to close your legs around his hand.

You lay back into his chest and feel him hard and poking into your back. This somehow makes you even wetter. He gets you right to the edge but when you're about to cum, he backs off.

Foxy waits for you to cool down before he begins again, filling this time by placing soft kisses all over your neck. You moan and tilt your head to give him better access.

Once he deems it safe to continue without you finishing too soon, he moves a finger down to your entrance. It stays there for a moment, gathering you juices, before he easily slides it all the way in. You gasp and grab onto his thigh next to you. Your legs begin to shut again on their own accord, but he holds them open, making sure you can’t move away. He pumps it in and out experimentally, waiting until you calm down to add a second. His fingers curl up inside you, perfectly hitting your g-spot. When he figures out he found the right spot, he rubs it in soft circular motions. Your eyes flutter closed and he stops.

“Watch the movie. It’s almost over. Wouldn’t want you missin’ the ending, now would we?” Foxy flashes you a toothy grin and you try to focus on the screen.

He starts again, and you’re careful to keep your attention on the movie rather than Foxy. You only really have to hold out another ten minutes before the movie ends and the screen fades to black. As soon as the movie is over, he grabs your throat, squeezing just hard enough to be pleasurable.

He pulls his fingers out of you and cleans them off in his mouth.

“Damn, doll. You taste good. You should have a taste.” and with that, he kisses you. It’s sloppy and dirty, but still soft enough to be enjoyable. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and he’s right. It is good.

You get off his lap and stand up to take your clothes off. He watches closely as you expose more and more skin.

Foxy jumps up and joins you, quickly throwing his shirt off and unbuckling his belt. He rips his pants and underwear down his legs and pushes you down on the bed. His hand cracks down on your ass and your hips jolt forward, away from him. He cackles like a madman at your reaction and slaps the other side with just as much force. This time you’re expecting it, and it actually feels good. So naturally, you lean into his touch.

“Dirty little thing, aren’t ya?” You nod, rubbing your thighs together to try to get some friction. “Ya want some more?” You nod again. “Gonna have to ask me nicely.” You whimper out, trying to muster up a singular brain cell to give him a coherent response.

“P-please Foxy. Please give me more.” you stutter out shakily.

“Gladly.” He rapid fire gives you six more slaps before grabbing and squeezing your ass. It stings and you can feel the warmth radiating from your flesh, but you can also feel how soaking wet you are. So can he. You feel the head of his cock slipping through your wetness. You try to push back on it, desperately needing filled up. His grip on your hips stops you in your tracks.

“Patience, sweetheart. You’ll get it soon. I like to have a little fun first.” He takes the next few moments to slowly, torturously tease you with his cock before he finally lines up with your pussy and pushes inside. He lets out a deep pleasured groan directly into your ear. You moan at the feeling of finally being stretched open. It’s been a while, and Foxy is giving you exactly what you need.

“Damn, dollface. You feel so good. Might have to keep you around just for this.” He rolls his hips a few times experimentally, figuring out what you do and don’t like, and which spots to hit to make you writhe beneath him. Just like with his fingers, he finds it quickly and you moan, definitely louder than you should've considering there are other people in the house, but you’re too focused on the pleasure Foxy is giving you to think about anything else. He grabs your hip with one hand, and the other goes down to rub your clit. The room is full of the sounds of his hips slapping against your ass, your wetness squelching around his cock, and the combined noises from both of you and that ambiance is more arousing than you would’ve thought. After a few particularly hard thrusts and his hand that was previously on your hip making its way around your throat, you feel yourself begin to get close. The hand around your throat squeezes enough to make your vision start to blur and it intensifies everything you're feeling in a way you’ve never experienced before.

“Foxy, yes! Don’t stop!” You cry out, feeling your orgasm moments away.

“That’s it. Cum for me, sweetheart”

Your orgasm hits, and it’s blinding. You’re vaguely aware of Foxy groaning beside your ear and a warm feeling spreading inside you. He fucks you through your orgasm before pulling out and rolling to collapse beside you. You crawl back up into the bed and he follows you. Your head makes its way to his chest, sweaty bodies slightly sticking together in a way that would otherwise seem gross, but in your post-coital bliss is endearing. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall asleep in your comfy embrace.

The next morning, you wake up, naked, in an unfamiliar place, using someone’s stomach as a pillow. You look around and remember the events of last night. Finding someone at the bar. Going home with him. Watching Dracula. The sex.

You quickly get dressed and sneak out of the house, walking back to the hotel. You unlock the door to the room you’re sharing with your friends, and they're having breakfast. Brooke glances up to look at you, and laughs.

“Ooh the walk of shame. Assuming things went well with mystery man from the bar last night?”

You nod, looking anywhere but her. “I’m going to go shower.”

That night, the group decides to go back to the same bar, reasoning that they had decently good drinks and were reasonably close to the hotel, so they could get drunk without worrying about having a designated driver.

The group orders their drinks and finds a table. Not long after sitting down, Ryan elbows you in the ribs to get your attention.

“Hey (Y/N), isn’t that your guy from last night?”

You cautiously turn your head to look in the direction he’s gesturing to and see Foxy with his siblings that you briefly met yesterday. Otis and Baby, you think. But of course you weren’t focused on too much other than him.. And that damn movie he wouldn't let you look away from. You nod.

“You should go talk to him” Alexis encourages, quickly catching onto the gist of the conversation.

You shook your head. “Nah. I figured it was more of a one night stand than anything else.” The thought was tempting though. He was cute, great in bed, and from what you knew you got along well with him. But he lived here and you were just on vacation. You had to go back home in four days. Better not to get too attached to people you meet on vacation.

However, across the room, Foxy was debating the same thing. Hook ups were nice and all, but sometimes he got greedy, wanting more than the limited connection allowed by one night of sex. He had explained his dilemma to his siblings. Otis laughed, accusing him of going soft on them, then suggesting he just kidnap you. That wouldn’t work. They had just built a decent life where no one would be looking for them, it wouldn’t be good to ruin that because he wanted pussy.

Baby, however, was a little more sympathetic to his situation and had better advice than kidnapping. She suggested that he just talk to you. To lay the charm on thick the way he was known to. He thought about it for a moment, before concluding she wasn't wrong. It was at least worth a shot. So he got up and started heading for your table

The conversation had moved on from what you did last night to what your former high school classmates were up to now. Ryan’s eyes widened slightly, and you didn’t have time to ask why before a set of hands settled themselves on your shoulders.

“Damn, sweetheart. Didn’t even wake me up for a proper goodbye?”

You blushed. Apparently the decision of whether or not to talk to Foxy again had been made for you. Your friends immediately started paying attention to the two of you, deeming this much more entertaining than what they were previously talking about. You, however, didn’t really want to have this conversation with an audience. So you got up, telling Foxy you wanted to go somewhere more private to talk. He agreed, and led you to the bar’s patio area.

The two of you sit down at a table outside and discuss the things that happened last night. How you liked the movie. How you liked what happened during and after. Why you left without waking him. He found a piece of paper and scribbled his phone number down on it, hoping you’d at least stay in contact for the rest of your vacation. You shoved it in your pocket with the key for the hotel room, making a mental note to call him later. Then he drops the line you were hoping to hear, but unsure if you would. He wanted last night to happen again. So did you. So it did. You actually waited for him to wake up before leaving this time and were rewarded with some nice morning sex. That happened two more times before you had to leave.

Once back in the states, you had maintained loose contact with Foxy. Of course a good majority of your phone calls would end in phone sex, but getting to talk to him was always nice, long distance fees be damned. One night, you’re on the phone with him while you make dinner. The news is playing on the TV in the background, and you're only barely paying attention to it. But the one time you do look over to the TV, you drop the phone in shock. Three mugshots are displayed on the TV with the information that there’s been a search for them for several months. One of them being Foxy, and the other two being his siblings that you’ve come to be acquainted with during your visits to their house. You knew they seemed familiar for a reason. You scramble to pick up the phone and put it to your ear to catch Foxy asking if you’re still there and asking what happened.

“You’re.. You’re on TV” you manage to whisper out.

“Aw fuck, babydoll. This isn’t how I wanted you to find out” He then briefly explains what all happened and asks if you’re going to try to turn him in. Your mind however, is somewhere completely different.

“Wait.. your name is actually Winslow?”

“Yeah.. really doesn’t fit me too well, does it?”

“I absolutely get why you go by Foxy now.. No offense, but Winslow is an unmoanable name if I’ve ever heard one.” you chuckle, completely unfazed that you’re talking to a serial killer. To you he’s still Foxy, the guy you met in a bar in Mexico, and got a little too attached to.

“To answer your question, I’m not going to turn you in. This won’t change much. Besides, I always did have a thing for bad boys”

[son-of-drogo]

Adulting protips with Jaz:

-if your underwear is crunchy after it's been though the wash, throw it away.

-always keep a can of minced garlic in your fridge. Not only does it ward off vampires and the British Royal family, but it's a super easy way to flavor your dishes without having to cut up garlic.

-Keep these things with you whenever you go out: condoms, tampons, and a first aid kit.

-And make sure you have colored band aids, it's super helpful if the person who's injured is a kid.

-If you live in an area where it gets cold, spend the money on a good pair of winter boots. It's better to spend $100 or more on a pair that will last 5-10 winters than $20 for a pair that will only make it though one.

-Actually, when you can, always buy good quality. I have knives that were my great grandmother's that have lasted better than the knives I got five years ago.

-Do not ever, ever answer your phone on your day off when work calls. And above all, if they ask if you can come in, always say no. If you say yes once, they'll know you're willing to come in on your day off and keep calling.

-Don't go above and beyond at work. I know you want to seem like a good worker, but if you do that you're gonna end up doing the job of three people for one person's pay.

-Just always assume that your job is trying to take advantage of you. Because 90% of them are.

-A vacation does not have to be expensive. You do not even need to go out of state. Seriously, just take a few days off and find something cheap and fun to do.

- in that vein, beach towns are obscenely cheap to visit in the off season. We went to Myrtle Beach this past March and it was like half the price for a rental and there was still plenty to do.

-Buy the shit you want, do the shit you want. We only get one go around and as long as you're not hurting yourself or others, do what you want.

-In the same vein, eat whatever you want, unless there's some medical reason you can't.

-Your hobbies do not have to have value. You do not have to learn a skill to make money. Sometimes it's just fun to make things.

-You will get so much further in life if you just listen to people (unless they're bigots obvs). Especially marginalized people.

-If someone does not treat you well, you do not have to keep them in your life. This includes family, this includes longtime friends. You do not owe anyone a relationship.

-Setting boundaries is a totally normal part of any healthy relationship.

-if therapy is available to you, I highly recommend going. It's a great way to work through your thoughts and feelings with an unbiased person.

-Always, always, ALWAYS trust your gut. It can literally save your life.

-You're probably not going to stay friends with the people you knew in high school. As you grow up, people grow apart and that's totally ok.

[swap-meetog]

I have to admit, I was in a sort of dark place when I installed that dating app, The Switch. I barely graduated high school, I worked at the ticket kiosk at Universal Studios, and lived in a shabby studio apartment. On top of that I was never into sports or any kind of physical activity so as my metabolism began to wane I just started bloating up.

The app was a lot like Tinder, where you were given a profile and you basically said yes or no. Every once in a while on these apps I would get lucky and find someone on vacation looking to dole out a pity fuck.

I never thought I would match with Evan.

He was beautiful! As soon as we matched he messaged me, asking if we could hook up at my place right then, as his vacation had just ended and he was about to head to the airport. This app was amazing.

I agreed and tried to tidy up as good as I could manage in the twenty minutes before there was a knock at my door.

I opened the door and then I was outside my apartment looking in at... myself? I was in shock until Evan asked if this was the first time I used The Switch to meet up with someone. If I had read the terms and conditions I would have known that when you meet up with someone you both swap bodies until you have sex with each other.

I couldn't believe that I was now in the body of the super hot guy that messaged me. We went inside and he said how he was taking a vacation before starting a new job, and he loved the app because he liked exploring foreign bodies. He was originally from New York and was about to start working at a museum in London, but before he left he wanted to try out the body of a townie like me. When I looked skeptical of everything he said there is no one who knows your body like you do, so he wanted me to do everything to my old body that really got me turned on.

I processed all this information, and gave the whole situation some thought. A devilish idea popped into my head. I had been slowly feeling my new body and decided I liked it, and he seemed to have his future laid out for him, while I was just going to be stuck in a dead end job for the rest of my life.

So I led him to the bed, telling him I was really into bondage. He giggled, then jiggled my belly, then asked me to show him. I opened a drawerer and pulled out some rope. We both got undressed, and again I found myself marveling at the muscles and body I have never had in my life. I tied his wrists to the headboard and we started making out. I teased his nipples, played with my old small cock a bit, but I wasn't even getting him close to a climax.

I leaned down and told him that I was only a little sorry for what was about to happen. I wrapped my new strong hands around his neck and squeezed. He looked shocked, then scared, and eventually passed out.

I climbed off my old body and went to the backpack he had come in with. I found the keys to his rental car, his wallet, passport, and plane ticket. And the flight was scheduled to depart in just a couple hours.

Looking over at my body passed out on the bed, I really didn't think twice about my decision. I dressed and left for the airport. He wouldn't wake up until I was already on the plane, and even then he couldn't do much. For one, I didn't have a passport, so that would take some time. Secondly, with the job I had he would never be able to afford a ticket to London.

Looks like The Switch was the best choice I ever made!

[twosroos]

Attempting

roos says ! is this in character? no idea. rooster plays a big role here bc i can imagine him being fed up with everyones shit very quickly. also fanboy playing guitar is such a good idea i love it. also this being called 'how guitar??' in my docs is rlly funny to me, thought I'd share :)

desc ! you've worked at the Hard Deck for a few years now, and everyday you swear you fall more in love with your job. Little do you know, the Daggers are enacting a plan on Fanboy's behalf-- an attempt to swoon you with live music.

genre ! pure fluff baby

TWs: drunkenness, cursing

Being a server at The Hard Deck was probably one of the best post-college decisions you had made. In the past three years that you'd worked there, Penny had become more of a mother than a boss, and your co-workers were like sisters. The restaurant was one hundred percent your second home, and if you found yourself bored at home, there was always something to be done there. It was not the only job you had, freelance didn't pay consistently enough though, so you found yourself working at both The Hard Deck and a small boat rental company on the shore for vacationing families in San Diego. Moving to California right after graduation was the worst post-college decision you had made. Rent was high, jobs were hard to come by, and even with your three roommates in your two-bedroom apartment, you still struggled to make every end meet. But you made it work, with the help of your co-workers, your perseverance, and a shit-ton of luck you somehow had. The day was winding to an end, the golden sun cresting over the ocean and shimmering the day's goodbye across the sky in vibrant hues. You snuck a picture on your phone, sending it to your roommates with an inside joke caption before you shoved it in your apron and adjusted your shirt. The low-cut v-necks were a new uniform piece, and optional compared to the usual button-up shirts or the custom company tees. The cut didn't bother you, but, as you served around a group of regulars-- the Iron Daggers, you'd come to call them, since it was their Squadron's nickname, you caught the eyes of the man who simply would not stop staring at you since you'd served him months ago. Fanboy, his name tag read, and luckily for you, it was a busy Saturday, so you didn't have to keep his dark eyes gaze with his soft grin pushing up his tanned cheeks, and ugh, why was he so... perfect? 

He was nice, you'd spoken a few times. He was from New Hampshire, hated the cold, and moved to California the second he got the opportunity to. He was in the Navy now, and you respected his line of work but weren't the type to settle down. Even years after graduating with a master's degree in Architecture, you still needed to land a solid job you could keep. And nothing in this area was lasting you longer than six months, or it paid job-to-job, which you fucking hated. Sure, it was nice to have a couple of thousand dollars dropped in at once, but it wasn't sustainable for your compulsive buying habits.

You made your way back to the servers station, tugging up the v-neck and huffing, reminding yourself mentally to wash your other work shirts when you got home. As you stood on your toes to grab a pitcher, someone else kicked open the swinging door and groaned as they set down the various plastic baskets of fries on the dish shelf.

"How long do you think we'll go until the jukebox gets shuts off?" A fellow server, Savannah, asks as she starts dumping the fries into the trash and the plastic bins into a dish tray. Her long blonde hair is pulled up in a perfect ponytail, the whispy hairs framing her face. She always looked so flawless, it made you a bit jealous, but you knew she'd taken a lot of time to care for and nurture her look. She did a wonderful job.

"Give them two rounds." Amelia comments from the other side of the server station, she's propped up on a counter, idly typing away on her laptop with one earbud in. You chuckle to yourself as you carry the two pitchers in one hand over to the other side of the kitchen, throwing a towel over your shoulder as you grab ice from the cooler and a scoop for the ice. You bend over to begin filling up your pitchers.

"Your mom would be pissed if she saw you on that counter, Amelia." You comment, moving the full pitcher to the side as you fill the other. Savannah walks over to a small mirror in the station and adjusts her hair and makeup as she chuckles along to your comment. 

Amelia pointedly rolls her eyes, "She's with Maverick today."

"Oh god, another woman lost to the Navy." Savannah salutes and you blow a huff out of your nose with a smirk, rolling your eyes as you use a small "drink gun" (which was essentially a soda fountain in a hose) to fill your pitchers. The six kids there were absolutely downing every small cup you gave them, so this would be easier, for you and their parents who had to flag you down every five seconds.

"Be careful, Y/n might be next." Amelia looks at you over her laptop screen, "I saw Fanboy checking you out."

"That's a him issue." You say, "And I refuse to date Navy."

Savannah turns back to you with an overexaggerated pout, "Awe, why not? Fanboy's cute!"

"Nope, no Navy." You say, and then you perk up when you realize the music had stopped at some point during your conversation, "Are the Daggers on their first round still?"

"Just got the second from Macie at the bar. Shit, it took that little time?"

"Unsurprising." Amelia smiles, putting her second earpod in. You grab both of the pitchers, shrugging to Savannah in a sort of 'we knew this would happen gesture which she giggles at before you dip out of the kitchen with the pitchers in hand.

Now, what usually happened when the jukebox got unplugged was Rooster would saunter over to the piano and serenade everyone with Great Balls of Fire. But that was not what was happening, because someone was playing the guitar.

Who the fuck brought their guitar to a dive bar?

You recognized the tune immediately though, it's 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For,' a song you'd loved for as long as you could remember, and you recalled you'd been humming it only an hour or so ago when the Iron Daggers had first walked in. Which you only remembered because Fanboy had commented on it then. As you set the pitchers down at the table of kids, the Mom smiles.

"Those aviators always surprise me with their talents." She whispers as if trying not to interrupt the pretty acoustics. You can't help but agree, watching the mostly tipsy aviators sing and sway over by the piano's nook. Rooster joins on piano, and the whole bar starts to hum along. It's a lot slower than usual, but the joy in singing and being together is clear on everyone's smiling faces.

Then, you realize who's playing guitar as you see his eyes meet yours across the dimly lit bar.

"I didn't know he could play." You say the mother and she smiles, turning to her husband and singing as you find yourself entranced as you slowly move a bit closer to where the aviators sit. Fanboy plays the guitar nimbly, his fingers not once dragging along the frets as he strums the tune out. Subconsciously, you smile, before realizing just how long you've held eye contact and breaking it in favor of slipping away and further into the bar.

--

The next time the daggers are in the bar, Phoenix, Halo, and Coyote are seated at the bar while you're working behind it. The three have ordered enough alcohol to support a small army, which you assume is the pilots behind them, plus a few older pilots you don't recognize. You spot Maverick between two men you don't notice, both have their wives draped lazily on their arms, and pool ques go unused in their hands as they drink and talk with the younger pilots beside them.

"Did Mickey really bring his guitar again?" You hear Coyote ask as you pour him a B52 shot to go with his coffee.

"Head over heels." Halo comments, taking a sip of her cosmo, "He's fuckin' whipped into shape and she has no idea."

"Who do you think it is?" You ask, sliding the shot to Coyote and the look Phoenix and Halo share is enough to cut diamonds. It makes you shift, "Nevermind, the jukebox is currently being unplugged by a drunk mustache man."

"Oh boy." Phoenix takes a long sip of her drink, and her glass sets down on the wooden bar in time with the first strum of a Grenade. You blink, looking across the bar to where you watch the drunk pilots sing together.

"Oh, I love Bruno Mars." You softly muse and Phoenix makes a face at Coyote and Halo that has them both groaning and laying their heads on the bar. You roll your eyes and lean back on the bar, watching the group.

It keeps happening for weeks, every shift you work, at least Hangman, Payback, and Rooster show up with Fanboy. And every time, after Fanboy's had at least two drinks, he plays a song. Sometimes Rooster initiates the song, but the night always starts with beer. Usually either Blue Moon or Bud Light. You find that every shift, you begin to wonder when they'll come in, and every shift you feel yourself slowly spending more and more time by the piano area. You end up getting the front of the house as your section every night, you know Penny does it on purpose.

Tonight's like any other, drunk pilots, bell ringing, spilling beer and soda on your hands and shoes, blue cheese, wing sauce, basically any liquid-like substance making you have to stop and wash your hands a hundred times through the night. But, The Hard Deck closes at midnight, and at around 11:50, all the regulars know to leave. Which makes all the others swarming the bar also want to leave. Tonight seems to be an exception for the Iron Daggers, though. They all hang back by the bar, chatting with Penny and Macie and you find yourself in a gossip circle as you take a stool from the bar and seat yourself. Your closing work is done, and you've done just about everything else for the Sunday night closing work besides mopping the floor, which you have to wait for everyone to leave to start. You have no responsibilities right now, so a soda by the bar won't hurt.

"He won't shut up about it." Phoenix laughs, swirling the wine in her hand. You know it's a local wine from a place Penny had visited in New Jersey years ago based on the fact that you'd heard the woman complaining she needed to sell it all before it went bad and the new shipment came in. And then she'd cursed Navy people for not drinking wine, while you were two glasses in, and you'd laughed so hard you almost puked. It was a... long day.

"Who won't shut up about what?" you ask as you slip behind the bar and use the soda gun to pour yourself a Coke.

"Fanboy's got a massive crush." A very drunk Bob says.

"Shots with Omaha got him again?" Penny teases and Bob crosses his arms before laying his head on them as he grumbles some sort of complaint that makes you laugh softly.

"Anyway, Y/n." Phoenix swats Bob's shoulder, "How do you enjoy serving us every single night?"

"I don't mind, actually. You guys always have something fun going on, and it's entertaining to watch it. Though I'm starting to wonder if all pilots magically have some sort of musical ability," You take a long sip of your drink while Bob laughs, sitting back up, swaying, and then laying back down.

"Only when they're trying to serenade-"

"Floyd." Phoenix cuts him off, "You're terrible at keeping secrets while drunk."

"Oh sorry," Bob says with a flush to his cheeks and a giddy giggle on his lips. You blink away, Savannah taking control of the conversation with a story about a table she had today. You look over to where Fanboy, Hangman, and Rooster sit and talk by the darts. But your eyes narrow when you see Rooster making some sort of vague hand motions at you. Before Fanboy slumps against the table, Hangman laughs.

"Hey, Y/n!" Rooster calls, waving you over, much to the visible dismay of Fanboy. You make your way back around the bar and over to where they sit, swirling your drink in hand.

"Gonna have to kick you boys out as soon as we get Bob a ride home." You say as you walk over, using one hand to adjust your server's aprons, feeling the fabric bump against the few decorative rings you wear.

"Yeah, well Fanboy needs one too." Rooster smacks his shoulder and you give him an odd look.

"Okay..?"

"Y/n. I have a..." Hangman drawls out and you watch as Fanboy's head perks up from where it had previously been buried in his arms, "a question."

"Fire away." You take a sip of your coke.

"Are you free Friday night?" You nearly spit out said coke. It takes you a minute, and a few coughs, to regain your posture.

You clear your throat, taking another sip of Coke to wash down the scratchiness, "Not for you."

"Sucks to suck, bags." Fanboy says and you giggle at his comment when he notices you see his whole face light up red. It looks cute, the way his pupils dilate when you make eye contact, and his insult dies in his throat.

Rooster kicks Hangman under the table, making another vague gesture between you and Fanboy. 

"Yo loverboy," Hangman kicks Fanboy, and Rooster groans, burying his head in his hands, "Follow me up, here, we had a plan."

"A plan?" You say, the three drunk pilots (with Rooster, for once, being the soberest of the group) blinking up at you.

"You ruined it, bagman." Fanboy sits up, brushing a hand through his hair, "I uh... well, I was also wondering if you're free Friday."

"Well, I wish I was. I have work." You say, watching as Fanboy sags, so you keep going, "You can always bring your guitar back around here if you want to hang out a bit."

Rooster's short patience wears out, "Y/n. You're both clueless here. Mickey beside me is askin' you on a date, like a one-on-one thing here."

Oh.

Oh.

"I--" You stammer, but Rooster keeps going.

"He's been spending the past three weeks tryna serenade you or some shit because he claims its super romantic but it literally hasn't worked one time and I'm sick of hearing him complain about it--"

"--Bradshaw!" Phoenix complains from the bar, he pretends to not hear her.

"For the love of god, go on one date with him or something."

"Dude." Fanboy says after a moment, and Hangman has to walk away because he's laughing so hard.

"You've been..." You gesture to Fanboy and he nods, so you turn to Penny who gives you a thumbs up.

"Guess I'm free Friday then." You murmur and he smiles.

--

Every day since then, save for the days of the Uranium Mission and other small deployments, has been a bit of a musical breeze. It's only been two months, but dear god you've never fallen faster for someone. The pilots still come around to the Hard Deck, though, if you're not closing and you get off early, you always end up tucked in a back corner with Fanboy's hand on your waist. It's become routine for you guys to spend time at your house since he lives on base, and his guitar always comes with him. When you're cooking for him on days he comes back from training exhausted, laying around on the couch or outside with him, or with his multitude of friends, there's always a tune playing in your ear.

And honestly, you wouldn't have it any other way.

[universitypenguin]

How would Lloyd and princess spend the holidays together ? Are they the types to go look at the pretty lights the city has downtown? Would Lloyd help her with decorations, etc. As always I absolutely adore these two and the way you write them 🥰🥰 thank you again for writing this series ❤️❤️

They decorate the house together because Princess insists on it. She doesn’t buy the line that he’s “never really been into Christmas.” It’s clear that he just never had anyone to celebrate it with and this year, things are different. Princess makes it her mission to show Lloyd how Christmas should be.

He doesn’t have any Christmas decor, but that’s fine, because it means a trip to the store. She gets a tree, warm toned multicolored lights, stockings for his fireplace, and a welcome mat that says “Merry Christmas.” Lloyd swaps it for the one that says “Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal.” She gets five wreaths, one for the front door and others for his front windows. He’s unfamiliar with the idea of window wreaths but when you hang them up, he has to admire how it looks. His house has never looked so beautiful.

Inspiration photo for the wreaths:

He particularly enjoys the smell of the decorative bowls of pinecones and tree bark you set out. The bough of holly wrapped around his bannister does look very nice. He even makes a note of the name of the special candles you ordered. They make the whole house smell like vanilla pound cake, and he’s totally stocking up on those.

These are all pre-holiday things, though. For the actual holiday, Lloyd would want to take a vacation.

Princess assumes this means somewhere sunny and warm with lots of palm trees, so she’s totally down. But no… he wants to go skiing in Zermatt.

Where Lloyd wants to go:

Princess’ reaction:

By the time she realizes the disconnect, she’s already agreed to go.

While Lloyd knows Princess isn’t the most athletic person in the world, he wasn’t expecting her to be this bad on skis. Efforts to teach her skiing are not successful. What the heck does “you turn with your toes,” mean? Finally, she kicks him out of the teacher role and signs up for a ski lesson package with an instructor.

Lloyd hits the black slopes and enjoys the next few days of solo skiing. At the end of the week he’s shocked to find that Princess swapped her ski rental for a snowboard. And she’s good at it. She’s already had enough practice to manage the smaller green slopes. On one of their final days on the mountain, he takes her down the smaller hills, and realizes she’s far more suited to snowboarding than she ever was to skiing.

He willingly admits that he should never try to teach anyone to ski again.

The problem is, Lloyd’s been skiing since he was eight years old. Growing up in Idaho it was a school sponsored program. He was on the football team, the wrestling team and participated in the ski club, though he never competed in winter sports competitions. His natural athleticism prevents him from understanding the struggles of someone like Princess. But in the end, it worked out. He realizes that she would have liked a warmer vacation due to all the ski lesson venting sessions that occurred when she fell down. And she fell down a lot during the first few days, so he really got an earful.

He proposes a Valentine’s Day trip to Fiji.

Princess spends the last few days in town, taking Lloyd’s credit card for a spin. To get revenge for the awful ski lessons he gave her, she hits the Max Mara store, Kate Spade, Prada, and a high end jewelry store run by a local artisan. Lloyd is amused by the amount Princess considers “punishment.”

It’s a quarter of what he dropped on the heli-skiing day trip he’s taking tomorrow.

They walk arm in arm through the village, strung with multicolored lights, and then Lloyd surprises her with a gondola ride up to the Matterhorn Glacier. After his heli-skiing trip, he takes her ice skating, which is another thing she’s never done. While he’s teaching her to balance and use her toe pick, Princess realizes he’s trying to give her all the experiences her family couldn’t afford when she was a kid. And this is the first real vacation she’s ever been on. It’s also the first time she’s used her passport for recreational purposes.

On Christmas Eve, he takes her to a Michelin star restaurant. She doesn’t have to cook or do the dishes. There’s no crying babies. She doesn’t have any siblings who want her to find their glove and hat and by the way: did she remember where they put the sled last year? This year she relaxes and spends Christmas Day in bed with Lloyd. He’s in a romantic mood. The kind that involves soaking in the in-room hot tub and eating chocolate covered strawberries with champagne. He makes love to her in the morning, followed by a long nap. He does it again at noon, twice before dinner, and half the night. For their last day in Switzerland he has another surprise in store. They take the Glacier Express around Mt. Matterhorn.

The Glacier Express:

He finds he doesn’t mind the slow speed of travel. Taking seven hours to travel 180 miles isn’t usually his idea of a good time. But in this instance, watching you enjoy yourself for seven hours straight makes it a very good time. Combined with the excellent food and the way you cuddle against him during the trip, he’s already thinking about making this a yearly thing. Unless you want to make Fiji your Christmas tradition instead, which he would understand.

All in all, this year is by far the best Christmas he’s ever had.

[bihansthot]

On vacation up north, too bad it’s supposed to be a record high for Christmas Day 😭 The rental is beautiful though and we hopefully ended up packing everything we needed. Hopefully festive drinking and dumb shit posts will start tonight 🩵

[longlivetv]

It's funny that you added the point about reliability for trains, because it's a big issue and Amtrak have absolutely no consideration for the fact that they regularly fail to achieve the scheduled times. It's never been a huge issue for me because I've always been on holiday and learned quickly to factor in an assumed delay, but I met 2 Belgian guys on the train from Denver to Chicago last summer who were totally bemused by the fact that they train was running about 5 hours late and all the Amtrak employees said was "come back later" with no provision of food vouchers or even just a sincere apology! Obviously, the staff deal with the same thing pretty much every day, so they're probably over it, but the difference with the European network is insane.

My wait for that train at Salt Lake City was one time I got caught out a bit. I was supposed to leave at 3am so I decided to just go to the station on the last tram ... which was at about 1030pm. But when I arrived they said the train would be there til 530am (at the earliest) so I really wished I'd just kept my hotel room! It ended up being 630am. I still had a great journey, but it's not a great service.

My one and only Amtrak trip was literally the trip from hell. The planned vacation was a trip to Disney World planned for me by my then boyfriend. We were university students with no money, so the trip also included various friends, including two girls I didn’t know well, a friend of mine from high school, who had introduced us, and my best college friend. Best college friend and I had always wanted to take the train, so we decided to do that while my boyfriend, his two friends, and my high school friend drove. The plan was for them to pick us up at the train station, and we would all end up arriving about the same time, and then we would go to the rental house.

Well. Although our train left on time, somewhere in the middle of nowhere we got stopped. For 12 hours. Which was then so long that once they fixed whatever had us stopped, we were still trapped there waiting on a new crew because they’d been on duty too long. They ran out of food, and we couldn’t get off to walk to the Shell station we could see out the train window to get food or water. There were almost no outlets, so passengers had to take turns sitting in the bag storage to charge their phones.

We arrived in Orlando an entire day late. We missed a whole park day, and in my absence my boyfriend had slept with my high school friend, as I discovered finding her stuff and used condoms in the room he and I were supposed to share. And I then had to fly back to my hometown with her and eat the most awkward dinner with ever, because our respective parents were picking us up and her dad was on the board at my mom's work.

So yeah. No amount of vouchers or refunds was gonna fix that one. Gonna take a lot to convince me to go very far on Amtrak.

[pikatrainer99]

Happy Pokémon Day! (My history with the franchise and how it changed my life)

So, I always post Pokémon stuff here on this blog, but I haven't posted anything about HOW I fell in love with this franchise...so what better time to do that than on Pokémon Day!

I got into Pokémon during the Gen 4 era, when I was about nine years old. I was on vacation with my family and having my quiet day at my grandparents' vacation rental while my parents stayed at ours with my younger brothers (two of them were just tiny little babies, so that's a lot of noise). I was just left to my own devices since I was having quiet time (as an autistic person, quiet time with no sensory overwhelm is a necessity), and I was flipping channels on the TV when I came across an episode of the Pokémon Diamond and Pearl anime on Cartoon Network. I found myself completely sucked in and fully immersed in the battle Ash and Pikachu were in, and from then on, I was hooked! There was just one problem... Pokémon was still seen as a little kid's thing by everyone around me, and there weren't any kids at school or anything that liked it, so I decided to keep this newfound special interest a secret from everyone, including my own family...actually, ESPECIALLY my family, as I already liked too many little kid's things for my parents' liking (read: my dad's liking).

So how did I keep it a secret? Well, I kept everything I consumed limited to the anime, and I always watched it in my own room with the door locked and the key with me inside my room so no one could get in and see what I was doing. Everyday after the living nightmare that was school, I came home, took the family laptop up to my room to do research on the franchise on Serebii.net and Bulbapedia. I looked up all the Pokémon, all the characters, and found older episodes of the anime from the 4kids era to watch, which I enjoyed immensely, especially Ash's voice (yep, I started with Sarah Natochenny's Ash but I still like Veronica Taylor's Ash better...no hate to Natochenny though, she really improved over time and really made Ash her own, so I appreciate the life she brought to the character, I just prefer the sound of Veronica's Ash voice a little more). And at the end of each Pokémon knowledge-seeking/anime-binging session I would always delete ALL the search history on Google AND the watch history on YouTube (I didn't have my own YouTube account at the time), so no one would ever suspect a thing. I did this for YEARS...in fact I did this well into HIGH SCHOOL!

It wasn't until 2015 that I discovered PokéTubers...and from there my world opened up more, as I had finally learned that there were plenty of older teens and adults who loved Pokémon, I just had to find them (which, the whole social thing is really hard when you're autistic like me). MandJTV was the first PokéTuber I watched, and it only expanded from there, to the point where I now watch almost exclusively PokéTubers. Watching PokéTubers made my love of Pokémon feel valid, that I wasn't the only one, and that there's probably more adult fans than kid ones at this point. And when I entered my final year of high school, I met someone new to the school who liked Pokémon! But I had to act like a complete newcomer to the series since I had never outwardly shown interest before. It made me inwardly cringe every time I purposely butchered a Pokémon's name pronunciation, or said my favorite Pokémon was Pikachu when it's really Infernape and always has been, or pretended I didn't know type matchups, etc, etc. But the best part about finding someone in my actual life who liked Pokémon meant I could finally tell my family about it!

When I told them, they were surprised as they never thought I would be into something like Pokémon, but I was finally FINALLY allowed to embrace my love for it, and get merchandise and play my first Pokémon game! I got Pokémon Art Academy for my 3DS that year for my birthday since I was always drawing Pokémon characters on any paper I could find, and this was actually what got me to start taking my art seriously and gave me the drive to improve! Pokémon also gave me the inspiration to start creating my own original characters for original works, and now I basically live in my own creative universe! For Christmas that year, I got my first Pokémon games, Y and Alpha Sapphire, also for my 3DS, and I played Y all day and hyperfocused so hard that before I knew it my dad was yelling at me to "put the pokey-man down and come eat supper" or else they'd take my 3DS away for a little while...oops. 😅

The best part about all this is, this was all just in time for Pokémon's 20th anniversary celebration! I had an amazing time getting exclusive merch from Toys R Us (RIP TRU, I still miss that store...) and starting my Pikachu collection (it's my number one comfort Pokémon, so of course I collect Pika merch) that is steadily growing to this day. I also got almost every Mythical Pokémon from the big giveaway events each month in my game! And then came the cards...oh Arceus, the cards...this is what got two of my three younger brothers into the franchise, and now opening packs is like a huge event in my house. My mom and dad just roll their eyes when we do it but they are happy for us whenever we pull something good from a pack. After the cards came the PokéSpe manga, which I most constantly post about my precious little autistic bean of an OC Orange on this blog (thank you so much for all the support on those posts btw), so obviously I love PokéSpe with all my heart just like I do the rest of this franchise...especially the Sinnoh Trio!

Ever since 2016 I've been living my best life as a Pokémon fan! I made my first true friends through Pokémon, I've learned many valuable lessons through Pokémon, my special interest in Pokémon helps me process the world around me (trust me on this, I know it sounds weird but I don't know exactly how to explain even though I usually can explain things better through writing). I still play the games, watch the anime, read the manga, etc. I've found so many relatable characters as well! And I somehow also can't stop seeing autistic or neurodivergent coded characters in any form of Pokémon media I consume...it's like I have a radar in my head because I'm autistic myself with three neurodivergent brothers as well so it automatically makes spotting the signs easier for me I guess. At the end of the day, it's all headcanons anyway, but it still feels validating to see so many characters in the franchise that is my main special interest possess many of the same traits and deal with many of the same struggles that I do in my day to day life. I will most likely continue to make character analyses on those characters here as well since I've become more confident in my ability to do that ever since my Crispin analysis became my most popular post BY FAR (thank you all for the support on that one btw)!

All in all, Pokémon has really changed my life for the better and helped me through so many hard times in my life. I honestly don't know where I'd be right now if Pokémon didn't exist, but let's not think about that too much, eh...? I'm just happy living life as a Pokémon fan, and I will continue to be a massive fan forever.

Happy Pokémon Day everyone! Thank you for reading this huge post, sorry about the length. 😅 And happy 28th Pokémon, here's to many many more years to come!

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

moonfire mayham 2

"You called Riven Fortemps a whore?!"

The start of the Moonfire Faire was not going auspiciously, P'ebaloh thought. Master Gegeruju was in a proper rage--not that she could blame him. The focus of his ire, another Plainsfolk Lalafell, threw themselves to their knees.

"I-I didn't know! I thought they were con artists! There's so many claiming to be the Warrior of Light and her fellows--"

"Nobody knows where they vacation here!! I pay good gil for security to ensure that!!" Gegeruju was tomato-red in rage.

"If you weren't sure of their identity, you could have called for P'ebaloh! She would have come! And they're all over the newspapers, don't you know what they look like?!" The hapless building overseer yelped as Gegeruju grabbed him by the tunic collar.

"Thanks to you, I'm going to have an angry Ishgardian High House coming for me! And their military friends! Because you decided to not only insult the daughter of said High House, but her fellows!! All of whom are Warriors of Light as well!!"

-----

"So...we're letting Gegeruju squirm then." Mathye said.

"Uh-huh." Riven had her hands full with a pad of paper and a pencil, rapidly calculating numbers. It seemed like Gegeruju had delegated even more of his business to assistants, and it had been their bad luck they had to deal with the newest addition to the Costa Del Sol's corporate roster. When the quintet, Estinien included--had presented themselves to check in and acquire the keys to their vacation home away from home, he hadn't believed them about their identies. Instead they'd been heckled and jeered at, and then kicked off the premises. Luckily one of the Faire's vendors had seen the whole thing, and had told Riven of a Roegayden widow who was holding her own against Gegeruju's beach monopoly. The widow had a lovely house up hillside, and was willing to rent. It was smaller--four bedrooms compared to the seven bedroom that had waiting for them, but it was big, and the view of the coastline was absolutely beautiful.

Everyone had fallen in love on the spot with it. And Riven thanked her lucky stars that the emergency fund covered the damage retainer--and Reinhardt was making a quick run to Limsa with Riven's seal to access her money there. The widow was charging a hefty penny for rent, but Riven couldn't blame her. Gegeruju had all but robbed her of her regulars. The rental amount more than likely would keep the widow going for the rest of the year.

"There's just enough room to park your bike and Seb's but that's it." Augustine stopped to remove his slippers. "I'm assuming the 'bos are staying at Wineport?"

"The better to make that little sleezeball panic." Riven retorted. "Emmanellain already knows, I left him cackling as I ended the linkpearl call." Satisfied with the numbers she'd written down, Riven turned to a fresh page.

"What do we need to grab for supplies?"

[resolutedoubt]

While monied industry groups merely affect the posture of grassroots action and woke language while advancing high level political and legal crusades, small landlords like Lincoln Eccles, uniquely affected both by the pandemic’s economic precarity and its emergency regulations, have taken to the streets and Twitter, where they trumpet slogans like “landlords are people too,” “justice for mom’n’pop housing providers,” and “small landlord lives matter.” Some have even rebranded themselves as “indentured landlords,” “carelords,” and “community-based landlords.” When the New York City Council mulled a bill to target discrimination against formerly incarcerated tenants, a state committee member and shareholder of a Bronx gated community, spun it as “The End of Black Landlords.”

This narrative—and the cash machine behind it—has proven effective in swaying politicians, blunting tenant progress. It was reportedly influential in stopping Good Cause Eviction for the fifth straight year. Discussing the bill, a central Brooklyn assembly member representing a district of nearly three quarters Black renters argued that regulating rent increases would actually lead to “Black grandmas out on the street.” New York Mayor Eric Adams, himself a landlord, said in February that it’s important to “remember that small property owner—who came from the Caribbean [and] was able to buy a ten-unit house—how their increases are going up, what they’re going through.” When pressed by a Holocaust survivor tenant about city-wide rent increases on stabilized units approved by the Rent Guidelines Board, the members of which he appoints, Adams accused her talking to him like a “plantation owner.”

This pernicious rhetoric has succeeded not only at moving liberals but at arming conservatives, offering them the guise of populism while muddying the waters of debate. It has allowed the real estate establishment to cannily exploit the contradictory commitment of Democrats to both wealth-building through private property and, nominally, social justice.

For landlords, the language of victimization, which both identity politics and right-wing grievance draw upon, proves a potent force, tying together a relatively economically and politically diverse movement. It is the central engine of real estate’s outrage machine. No matter how absurd some manifestations of the social justice-minded mom-and-pop trope are, they’re the face of a deadly serious campaign—one close to snuffing out rent control entirely.

The narrative of the “woke” mom-and-pop landlord has since been taken up across the country. During public hearings about a new rent control program in St. Paul, an opponent—on Zoom from a beach vacation, naturally—characterized the policy as a form of redlining. Small landlords seeking to roll back rent control in Portland, Maine, adopted progressive language to do so, with ​​some arguing that their willingness to rent to asylum seekers, those on federal housing vouchers, and other marginalized communities demonstrates notable liberal bonafides. In Seattle, opposition to a local measure was led by a mom-and-pop group called Seattle Grassroots Landpeople. A Democratic city councilwoman in Minneapolis who led the charge to scrap consideration of a rent control program derided tenant advocates as “wealthy beer drinking pants rolled up white men” who need to “get out of mommy’s basement.” In a landlord forum, she described her role as “getting ready, putting my lipstick on, curling my hair and selling our message. [Landlords] are the experts at giving me what I’m selling.”

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Outside of New York, this dynamic has played out most notably in California. The successful fight against Los Angeles’s pandemic eviction moratorium was led in part by the ​​Coalition of Small Rental Property Owners, “a California-based advocacy group that mostly represents black and Latinx landlords.” This past February, one small landlord launched a hunger strike to push for the end of Alameda County’s eviction moratorium, calling himself and other immigrant landlords “victims of government abuse.” The moratorium was ended by April.

Across the country, small landlords wielding social justice language are on the march, but their efforts could prove unnecessary. At the time of writing, the Supreme Court is mulling whether or not to hear any combination of five separate challenges to New York’s rent control law. Rent control has previously been upheld by the court, but with a ultra-conservative majority unbothered by established precedent, there’s ample reason to think they may take the case on—and undermine, if not outright abolish, rent control. Amid a national housing crisis in which rent prices are up just over 30 percent from 2019, the average American tenant is rent-burdened, eviction filings are 50 percent higher than the pre-pandemic average in some cities, and homelessness has reached record highs, the few restrictions on rent hikes that exist could be made unconstitutional overnight. The effects would be catastrophic, especially on renters of color.