#THE WHOLE WRAPAROUND ABOUT STORIES AND WHAT YOU DO TO GET THEM AND HOW THEY EFFECT PEOPLE

[what-even-is-sleep]

Thinking about Bodkin bc like found family trope but you’re more like ough.. uh oh.. OH MY GOD… uhhh… AHH… AHHHHH… aghhh.. OH MY GOD NO

[4kingz]

Just for the Summer | Ticci Toby X Reader

Summary : Camp Redwood is just what you needed—free food and a break from everything back home. No signal, no drama, just trees, bug spray, and a summer to reset. The other counselors are easy to get along with, each one bringing their own energy to the group. It’s a peaceful routine—until things start to feel a little less like a break and more like something else. People come and go, and you start to realize there’s more to this place than you first thought. But for now, all you really need to do is enjoy the simple moments. Right?

Warnings : Nothing I can think of yet! There will definitely be some later, I'll update each chapters warnings as they're posted! Word count 2.7k A/N : Hie! I've never posted anything online before, I'm very anxious about this LOL but I hope it's enjoyable regardless! This is for fun right now and I'm unsure of how long it'll be & whatnot. This is going to be a painful-slow burn fic, as they're my favorites :insert evil laugh: anyways, enjoy the first chapter!

divider by @cafekitsune (© 2023-2024)

The bus smells like old leather, sweat, and something vaguely burnt—the way all public transportation does.

I’ve been on it for hours, watching the roads thin out into winding dirt paths, the kind that only lead to places people forget about. The trees are thick and heavy with fog, their branches curling toward the road like fingers stretching for something just out of reach.

The scenery is gorgeous. Creepy, in its own way. But it’s enticing, too.

There hasn’t been much talking. A few of the other counselors murmur to each other here and there, heads bobbing with the movement of the bus, but for the most part, it’s quiet. I figure it won’t be like this for long, so I might as well soak it up while I can.

Shifting in my seat, I adjust my backpack in my lap. At first, I took this job for the paycheck. The job listing made it sound easy—a summer in the woods, good money, free food. But after thinking about it more, I realized I needed something different. Something away from everything. I told myself it’d be fun. Maybe a little nostalgic, even.

Even if the view is a bit eerie and uninviting.

The driver clears his throat.

“Couple more miles,” he grunts, knuckles tight on the wheel. “Once we get past the old bridge, you’ll see the camp soon after.”

No one seems to have the energy to respond.

I don’t either. Instead, I lean my head against the window, watching as the trees blur past.

They’re dense out here, packed so tightly together that the spaces between them seem darker than they should be. Their branches stretch overhead, filtering the daylight until everything has that dim, greenish tint, like the world is underwater. The bus rattles along the uneven road, and for a moment, I just breathe, sinking into the rhythm of the movement, the steady pulse of tires crunching over gravel.

It’s calming.

Just trees, stretching on forever, untouched. I try to picture what the camp will look like—cabins by the lake, a big open field for activities, kids running around in bright-colored shirts. The kind of summer job I can look back on fondly. Maybe even one I’d come back to next year if I like it enough.

The driver flicks on the radio, muttering something about hating the quiet. The speakers crackle, then settle on a warbly folk song.

“There we go,” he mumbles.

The bus jolts as it crosses the bridge, wooden planks creaking under the weight of the tires. The water below is dark, slow-moving. Definitely not the kind of water you’d want to swim in. 

It felt like the whole day had passed by before we finally arrived.

A huge wooden sign hangs above the dirt path in front of us, written in all red paint and welcoming bubble letters.

‘Welcome to Camp Redwood’

The bus slugs along, before we reach what looks like the main campsite.

It’s way bigger than what I could’ve ever imagined. The main lodge stands at the center, an old two-story building with a wraparound porch and a roof that looks like it’s seen better days. The cabins are scattered near the lake, their wooden frames blending into the tree line. A toolshed leans slightly to one side, like it’s trying to back away into the woods.

No lights. No movement. Not even an animal in sight. For a place that’s about to be filled with kids and fun activities in a week, it's oddly... quiet.

The driver clears his throat again like he’s about to say something, but in the end, he just sighs and eases the bus to a stop.

“We’re here.”

As I expected, the silence doesn’t last long. The other counselors immediately burst into conversation, gasping at the sight of the camp and talking over each other as they shuffle down the aisle and off the bus.

I decide to wait, grab my bag and follow as the last person passes me. The driver doesn’t even glance our way, tapping his fingers against the wheel in time with the radio. Some country tune seemed to gain his favor more than we managed to. The moment we’re all off, he pulls onto the roundabout path and drives away without a word.

Wow. The way here was impressive enough but the camp itself is just… wow. 

“Counselors! Glad to see you all made it in one piece!”

Everyone stops short, twisting around to find the source of the voice.

There’s a guy on the porch, leaning casually against one of the wooden beams like he’s been there the whole time. He’s got messy blonde hair and the same Camp Redwood shirt we’re all wearing—an aggressively bright orange with plain black lettering. It clashes horribly. But he’s managed to make his stand out with a few personal touches.

A green beanie. A name tag pinned to his chest, the word BEN scrawled across it in some weird, almost alien-looking font. A few layered bracelets—woven, beaded, maybe even handmade—clink softly as he moves.

He grins, stretching his arms out like he’s welcoming us into his home. “Come on in. There’s plenty of rooms for everyone—first come, first serve.” He winks.

That’s all it takes. The group surges forward, practically tripping over themselves to get inside. I wasn’t too concerned about what room I’d get, but their excitement is contagious, and now I kind of want to check them out, too.

The inside of the lodge is somehow even bigger than the outside. 

It’s one of those places that feels like it was built to be rustic, but maybe just a little too much—like they took the word “charm” and ran with it until the edges started fraying. Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, and the floors creak underfoot, even though I’m not sure how much traffic this place gets. The furniture's old but stylish, everything in that faded, vintage style—couches that look like they belong in your grandma’s house and coffee tables that probably came with matching coasters back in the day.

I glance around at the others, already getting a feel for the space. Some people are checking out the check-in desk, but there’s no one behind it. A few other counselors are leaning against the wall by the fireplace, casually chatting.

Ben, still hanging by the door, lets the others scramble past him with a casual wave. “The rooms aren’t gonna pick themselves.”

Everyone seems to take that as a challenge. The buzz of excitement builds as counselors crowd toward the stairs, chatting about how nice the place is, how big the rooms must be, and if anyone’s heard the rumors about the lake.

The stairs creak as I make my way up, and the hallway stretches out before me, long and narrow. I let the smell of pine trees and old wood lead me, the smell oddly refreshing. 

As I pass by the rooms, I take note that every single one of them is different. Whether it’s the way they’re arranged or the architecture entirely, none of them were the same. Every door is different, too. Some were engraved with florals, others were boxier and had no markings. The handles were different, too, some more updated than others. 

Whoever built this place must be proud. I couldn’t even imagine how long it must’ve taken to build, let alone to continue updating it. Some pillars were definitely newer than others, showing just how much care was put into this place. 

I pause in front of the last door—a corner room with a direct view of the lake behind us. It’s simple, but smaller than some of the other rooms I passed by. Must be why no one’s claimed it yet. It is a little cramped, but the bed is made with clean sheets, and there’s a small desk with a cute green lamp and a couple of old books stacked neatly beside it. I drop my bag onto the bed and run my hand over the smooth surface of the desk, feeling the faint grooves of wear in the wood. 

It was perfect. 

I set my things down carefully—my jacket draped over the back of the chair, my bag placed neatly by the door. I take a second to unpack just the essentials: my notebook, my charger, the books I’ve been meaning to read. It’s kind of funny how much of your life can be tucked into a bag. I set my phone down on the nightstand, its soft glow a reminder that I’m still tethered to the outside world, even if I’m a few hours away from it now.

I sit on the bed once everything’s to my liking, letting the silence wrap around me like a blanket.

Everything about this cabin was so comforting—the way the wood smelled, the old style of the furniture, like it had stories to tell. It all felt... settled, in a way. Even the soft creaks of the floorboards seemed welcoming, like the place was gently sighing, content to have someone here.

It’s only been maybe fifteen minutes, but I can already tell I’m going to love spending the next few months here. My eyes flutter shut at the thought. It’s strange how quickly the exhaustion hits. I didn’t realize how drained I was until I actually got into bed. I deserve a quick nap. Just a little one. It wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Hey, counselors,” Ben’s voice carries up the stairs, sharp and casual. “Dinner’s ready, and we’re meeting in the dining room. I wanna get everyone settled before we start. You’ve got five minutes.”

Around me, doors creak open as everyone scrambles to put their things away. The walls here are thin—I can hear every shuffle of footsteps and rustle of bags being shoved into corners. 

So much for a nap.

I push myself off the bed, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes. Everything’s already unpacked, so I might as well head down and grab a seat before the ‘good’ spots are taken. 

The floorboards groan beneath me as I make my way out, the sound unnervingly loud in the empty hallway. 

Downstairs, the lobby is just as stunning as before, its large windows framing the darkening sky. I catch myself staring again, drawn to the lounge chairs by the window—faded with time, but still holding onto some quiet character, the geometric patterns barely visible beneath years of wear. I can already picture myself sitting there with a book, the camp buzzing in the background. “Admiring the view?”

I spin around so quickly my heart practically leaps out of my chest. My hands fly up to my chest, a reflex to calm the sudden rush of adrenaline.

When the hell did he get there? 

Ben’s standing in the doorway, watching me with an unreadable expression, though I can tell he’s enjoying this—his eyes twinkling with amusement.

I exhale, forcing my hands to drop from my chest. “I didn’t hear you.”

His grin sharpens. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

I glance toward the dining hall. “Dinner time, right?”

Ben nods, rocking back on his heels. “Unless you wanna skip and live off granola bars for the rest of the summer. No judgment.”

Tempting, but I shake my head. “I’ll pass.”

"Suit yourself." He turns and starts walking, and I fall into step beside him. As we move, I find my eyes drifting to the walls, each one covered in carvings that stretch from the floor to the ceiling. Some are intricate, delicate swirls and symbols, while others are rushed and jagged, like someone had been in a hurry. Initials, strange symbols, even full sentences, as if the lodge has been quietly collecting secrets over the years. I slow my pace just a bit, letting my gaze wander, taking in the little details. There’s a heart carved into the wood, faded names inside it, a date so deep in the grain it almost looks like it could split the wood apart. And near the door, there’s a message so faint it’s nearly illegible: "Don’t look up."

I don’t.

When we step into the dining hall, it’s completely empty.

I slow, taking it in. The space is just as intricately designed and furnished as the rest of the cabin. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Long wooden tables stretch across the room, set with mismatched plates and silverware. Lantern-style lights hang overhead, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. 

He unlatches a few of the old windows as I take my seat, letting the air breathe through the room. It rolls in slow, like it’s been waiting for someone to open the place up again—cool and woodsy, carrying that sharp pine scent mixed with the damp, earthy smell of lake water. It shouldn’t smell good, not really. But it does. It smells like summer. Like scraped knees and mosquito bites and campfire stories you only half-remember later. 

It settles around me in a weirdly soothing way, like the room just exhaled and said finally.

“So,” Ben says, turning to face me with one eyebrow cocked, “what brings you here, counselor?”

There’s something about him that’s disarming. If I had to guess, it’s probably his carefree attitude. But still, for someone I just met, he’s making it way harder than I expected to not just spill everything.

I shrug, tapping the edge of my fork against the table. “No big reason, really. Saw the listing online, thought it sounded pretty chill. Good pay, free food... hard to pass that up.”

His grin stretches wider, like he’s won something. “I knew that would work. That little incentive combo? Totally my idea. I figured it’d reel in a couple of fun ones.”

“You saying I was lured?” 

“I’m saying it worked,” he replies, his voice full of pride, like he’s been waiting to drop that bomb all night.

I bite back a laugh, but that eyebrow of his? That does me in. I can’t help it—my laugh spills out before I even realize it.

“Nice to know I’m early!” A new voice cuts through the moment. We both glance toward the entrance, where a taller woman with dark brown braids steps in, all easy smiles and confidence. She moves like she’s done this before—whatever this is. I give her a quick wave as she slides into the seat across from me.

Ben finishes pouring water into the glass beside him and settles in.

“Nice of you to be early,” he says, nodding at her in an approving demeanor. Her face immediately brightens at the clear compliment, and she slides closer to the table, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Before things can stretch on too long, the rest of the counselors start trickling in, each finding their spot around the table. There’s the shuffle of chairs, the soft murmur of greetings, until finally, everyone settles into place.

Ben stands up then, the scrape of his chair loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. He scans the room with that same easy smile, giving a nod of acknowledgment to everyone around the table.

“Welcome to Camp Redwood,” he says, his voice carrying over the soft chatter, drawing everyone’s eyes to him.

The room erupts with cheers. For a group of just nine counselors, it somehow feels a lot louder than it should.

“Alright, alright,” Ben says, waving a hand as the noise starts to die down. He clears his throat, just loud enough to pull everyone’s focus back. “I’m not gonna kick things off with a lecture on rules—you all definitely read the application, right?” He grins, not waiting for an answer. “Tonight’s about us. The counselors. In a week, ‘us time’ goes out the window. The kids show up and we’re locked in for three months of chaos. I know I got a name tag, but I’m Ben. I’ve been here since the camps opened up six years ago.”

Ben’s gaze shifts to the redhead sitting to his left, who’s busy shoveling a forkful of chicken into his mouth. The guy pauses mid-chew, his eyes flicking up slowly like he can feel the weight of everyone’s attention on him.

“We’ll kick things off with introductions,” Ben says, “and then we’ll vote on how to wrap up the night.” 

This was proofread by friends and edited over the past few weeks before I finally decided to post it—hopefully it’s up to your guys' standards! If you’ve got any tips or comments, feel free to drop them <3

[hotcryptidsinyourarea]

Falling for the Frogman of Loveland, Ohio

story synopsis: Molly is a 30-something cookbook editor who has decided to move from New York to Loveland, Ohio after a bad breakup and a desire for a fresh start. She is instantly attracted to her neighbor Jeremiah's midwestern charms, but this local guy is much more than meets the eye...

human (she/her) + interdimensional humanoid frogman (he/him) cw: social anxiety, existential pondering, negative self-talk

Chapter 3

My body and mind are so exhausted, I sleep in an hour later than I usually do. The fact that my new bed is very comfortable also facilitates this late start, but I don’t really have it in me to complain about that. I finally pry myself from between the sheets and get dressed for my first full day in my new home. First thing’s first: coffee. 

I do a quick search for the closest non-chain coffee shop to my place. Part of the appeal of moving to a smaller community is supporting the local business culture. Never again will I spend $10 on a tall, burnt-ass latte from the Bucks. There’s one on Loveland Madeira alongside all the other fast food chains, but I’m going to avoid it like the plague. It’s the weirdest thing in New York: everybody talks about how much they love their neighborhood coffee shops, but no matter when or how you see them in real life, there will always be that ubiquitous siren-logo’d cup planted firmly in hand. It’s like some grand delusion we all pretend we’re not a part of. 

No that I think people in a small town are paragons of virtue or anything. I know there is hypocrisy and assholes everywhere you go. But you spend enough time in one place and eventually you have the right to gripe about it as much as your little black heart desires! Or that’s what I tell myself, I guess. Part of me will always love New York and I truly look forward to going back and visiting. But the agitation I feel at just a passing reminder of the city tells me I made the right move leaving town. I just hope this place ends up being where I’m supposed to be. 

Well, what better way to get a feel for a new town than running a couple of normal, domestic errands? Namely: coffee. Let’s fucking gooooooo!

_____________________________________________________________

I’m loving the decor at the Blue Chip Roasters coffee shop. The amount of hearty wood furnishing and exposed burl fixtures gives it a Twin Peaks vibe without being derivative. It’s warm and homey and the scent of fresh coffee brewing makes my mouth water. There’s a huge wraparound counter that isolates the staff area behind the machines and cash register, which lines up with the doorway so you can walk right up to it. On the other side of the counter are bar stools occupied by various coffee drinkers who are all immersed in their books or laptops. It’s simple but welcoming. A satisfactory first impression, for sure. 

It’s a blessedly simple menu. They only have two types of milk, whole and oat, but I’ve never strayed from the classic whole milk-coffee combination anyways. Full fat means full flavor and that’s what I want. I order a double iced latte and a cinnamon roll for breakfast. As I drop in a dollar for tip, I notice the jar is covered in stickers and such all depicting some artists’ renditions of an anthropomorphic frog. In big block letters it reads: 

>> DON’T FROG-ET TO TIP! - LFM <<

“Who is LFM?” I ask the girl working the register. 

“Oh, it stands for Loveland Frogman. You’ve never heard of it?” 

“I can’t say that I have, but I’m new in town. Like, brand new.” 

“Oh, well it’s just a dumb local legend. Years ago, a couple cops saw a lizard standing on its hind legs and told everyone they saw a Frogman. Locals have kind of taken it on as a mascot of sorts even though it’s fake as fuck.” 

“It’s NOT fake,” says the kid behind the espresso machine pulling shots. “The Frogman is real. That lizard story is a cover-up ordered by the FBI. Ask anyone from around here and they’ll tell you a story about them or someone they know spotting him at some point.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” the cashier rolls her eyes. “The people that claim to see him are just dumbasses lying so they can be the center of attention for a moment. Either that or meth heads.” 

“It wasn’t a frog at all,” says a third worker sweeping something up behind the counter. “It was an alien. A being from another dimension. That’s why the FBI wanted to cover him up. No one cares about some overgrown science project.” 

The local color of it all has me stunned silent. I am not used to talking this much with strangers. Honestly, I felt like I was pushing it by asking the cashier in the first place. I was half expecting a snide fuck-if-I-know dismissal. And now after instigating the conversation, I find myself at a loss for words. Great! I have no idea how to get out of this in the correct, polite way. I’m a decade out of practice. Thankfully, a voice coming from a bar stool in my periphery offers me a blessed interjection to keep me from looking as dumb as I feel.  

“Don’t listen to them. They’re just messing with you because you said you’re new in town. We don’t get a lot of ‘new’ around here often. A lot of the same,” says the guy. I turn to look at him, remembering the most rudimentary of manners, but what I see doesn’t help my muteness because this dude is good looking. 

Very good looking, one might say. 

Ridiculously, if you’re so inclined. 

I get that feeling in my chest that makes me feel like I’m twelve years old again and my friend Jessica’s older brother Adam would walk in the room while we watched TV– like it’s suddenly difficult to to take a full, deep breath and a heat spreads across my shoulders and chest. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. I am completely flustered. I break eye contact to fumble through my wallet for an extra couple dollars to throw in the tip jar. Fuck! I need to work on my spontaneous conversation skills. I wasn’t expecting to experience culture shock quite to this extent, but I guess even just one state away is a whole other place, isn’t it? 

“Where are you from?” asks the guy. A straightforward question that I am perfectly capable of answering… hopefully. 

“I moved here from New Yor–” I manage to croak out, stumbling over that last syllable. I clear my throat. “York. I moved here from New York.” 

“New York City?” 

“The very one.” 

“Why would you leave New York to come to Loveland of all places?” he asks. “Most people are doing everything in their power to make it out of here.” 

“Oh, you know, sometimes the place a person needs is the last place you’d expect,” I reply. Looking back at the cashier, they have an incredulous look on their face like I’m speaking crazy talk. 

“Whatever you say, lady.” They hand me my coffee, my transaction finally complete. I lift the cup in salute and give a tight mouthed smile to the hot guy at the bar. He lifts his cup in return, a good humored smile plastered on his face. 

As I leave the coffee shop and settle into the driver’s seat of my car, I’m suddenly hit with the realization that I answered that hot guy’s question with the kind of trite bullshit normally reserved for Pinterest quotes. 

“Sometimes the place a person needs is the last place you’d expect,” I repeat back to myself. “What the FUCK does that mean, you dumbass weirdo bitch?” The heat I felt across my chest has definitely spread across my face. Luckily, there’s no cute coffee guy to see my embarrassment as I drive back home. 

_____________________________________________________________

Once I’m back home with my coffee and cinnamon roll, I park it back outside on the iron patio set and enjoy my breakfast. With a little food and caffeine in my system, I realize I may have been overreacting to the little interaction at the coffee shop. It probably wasn’t as bad as it was in my head. I was just hungry and fatigued from moving. No big deal. 

I hear the doorbell and go to let the internet installation technician inside. I’m impressed that he showed up so early in the estimated service window. It wasn’t uncommon for me to wait all day for a tech in New York only for no one to show up when they said they would. The next day or so, I’d often get a call while out and about. 

“Hi ma’am it’s George from Concast. I’m here to install your internet. Can you let me in?” 

“Let you in? You were supposed to come yesterday. I didn’t get any notification that you’d come today– I’m not here.” 

“Well, I need to be let in to install your internet…”

“But I’m not there. We’ll just have to reschedule.” 

“Next availability is in two weeks.” 

“GODDAMMIT. Wait right there– I’ll be back as soon as possible!” 

But none of that rigamarole is happening now. At this moment, I am reading a book on my back patio with an iced coffee and a cinnamon bun while Lyle sets up my fiber internet at the exact time he was scheduled to do it. Life is good. 

Okay, I may be looking at everything with rose colored glasses, but I’ll allow myself to bask in my new home serenity for a little while longer. What can it hurt to take the time to enjoy the fact that things are going smoothly? Back in the city, it felt like I was constantly having to strive for things to work. They rarely did and any hint of them possibly doing so was dashed with such expedience I never allowed myself the luxury of thinking that I possibly deserved for things to be easier. 

There was no way for me to get to that point when stuck in constant survival mode. The city is a beast, constantly growing. So even if you get to a point where you’re realizing some sort of comfort, the beast will continue to expand and shift until your complacency gets you displaced. It’s exhausting! I guess the hustle gives you something to live for– that’s why you see so many 80-year old women wandering around the streets of Manhattan. But they’re a hard eighty. And you can’t help but think they’re not there because they want to bust their asses just to make it through a day, but because they simply don’t even know there are other ways to live. Humans are creatures of habit. We find comfort in conformity. We create these confines and then tell ourselves because we made them, we must also work within them. 

It’s logical: as animals, we are bound by evolutionary instinct to find and keep a lifestyle that enables us to be productive– namely, reproductive– so that drives us to make choices that are safe and keep us connected. But I don’t think it’s extreme to say we as humans can and should continue to evolve past base evolutionary drive. It’s not imperative for all of us to be constantly productive. We have machines and programs that help us do a lot of the heavy lifting so that we may spend more time enjoying the world we’ve been gifted. And just as these advancements further separate us from any quote/unquote “natural way” of existence, we should consider the possibility that breaking free from our patterns and choosing not to conform to the established expectations may serve us positively. 

Of course, it’s that “new is better” mindset that led Mark to breaking up with me. He saw moving in together as conforming to the established expectations of those around us and he couldn’t do it. So perhaps I’m a hypocrite waxing poetic on the evils of conformity. No ideology would’ve stopped me from moving in with him. I was dead set on doing the expected. 

Except, I didn’t see it as settling. I saw it as an exciting new experience that just happened to promise a bit of security alongside the novel. There is adventure to be found alongside someone you can rely on. I guess at the end of the day, we broke up over a difference of perspective. If you’re going to build a life with someone, you should both see your future from the same vantage point. 

_____________________________________________________________

With the internet working and full stomach, I’m ready to continue unpacking. It’s not so much the unboxing that’s taking up my time. But with every essential item I unwrap, I’m reminded of something I’ll need to buy in the process of turning this house into a home. It feels a little consumerist, but I fully intend to take my time in accumulating these items and purchase with quality in mind, so I don’t sweat it.

Well, I don’t sweat the prospective shopping. Unpacking boxes does work up quite the literal sweat, however. It’s almost 6 pm and I am in desperate need of an end-of-the-day shower. Before I hop in, I pull up a food app and find the best rated Thai restaurant in my delivery area. I put in an order for pad thai and spring rolls and receive an hour delivery estimate– plenty of time to get clean before dinner, so I hop in the shower. 

I’m right in the middle of rinsing the conditioner from my hair when I hear the doorbell. An hour was either an incredibly inaccurate delivery estimate or it took me much, much longer to wash my hair than it normally does. 

“WAIT!” I holler towards the door as I wrap myself in my favorite extra large, super fluffy bath towel. “I’M COMING! I’M COMING!” I scurry as fast as I can to the door, probably looking like a drowned rat. 

“I’m so sor–” I halt as soon as I see who’s on the other side of the door. It isn’t my Thai food at all. It’s the guy from the coffee shop– the hot one who rescued me from my social awkwardness. He has that charming smile on his face, but it fades a bit as he gets a good look at me. In a breath of realization, his eyes go up to the sky as a pink blush spreads across his face. It’s kind of adorable, to be honest. 

“I am so sorry,” he says. “I’m your… we’re neigh– I live a couple doors down,” he fumbles through. “I wanted to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood.” 

“We– we met earlier, right? At the coffee shop?” I find myself once again in a situation I haven’t experienced in quite some time. Fourteen years in New York and not once did I have a neighbor come to my door to introduce themselves. I’m not even certain if I’m expected to invite him in. I certainly don’t know how to proceed when I’ve opened the door but a single layer of terrycloth between my nude body and the– admittedly gorgeous– welcome wagon. Thankfully, the wagon in question seems steady on the trail. 

“Yes! Yeah, that was me. Hey– I can, you know, wait here a second if you want to…” he makes a vague gesture towards the towel. 

“Oh! That would be great, yes. But you don’t have to wait outside. Please, come on in.”

He gives me a wary look. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…” 

“Yeah, I guess it’s not exactly best practice to let some guy I just met into my home while I’m changing, huh? I’m sorry, I just don��t want to be rude.” 

“You’re not, I promise. Go ahead, I can wait here. I’m patient.” 

Now I’m the one who’s blushing. Blushing a nude in front of a strange man. Mother would be so proud. I give him a sheepish smile as I close the door then scurry back to my room to throw on the nearest clothes I can get my hands on. I make a pit stop to take a peek in the bathroom mirror, rub the smudged mascara from under my eyes, and run my fingers through my hair. It’s not much, I think looking at my sorry state, but it’s what I got. 

I head back to the front door and take a moment to compose myself to come off with a false air of nonchalance. Fake it til you make it, right? 

I open the door and see him leaning against the wall and looking through his phone casually. I notice for the first time he’s holding a bottle of wine in the other hand. He looks up and catches my eye. A smirk sprawls across his face. 

“Woah– that was quick!” he says. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a lot of things unpacked here at the moment, so I don’t have much to sift through. Cuts down on the decision fatigue when choosing what to wear, for sure.” 

His smile brightens and it puts my entire body on high alert. I may not be nearly naked anymore, but looking at this guy makes me feel so exposed, like he’s seeing things about me that I’m not even aware of. I’m a grown ass woman, but this guy has me feeling bashful for the first time in years. 

“Come on in,” I move aside and open the door completely to let him inside the house. “I think you’ve proven you’re trustworthy enough.” 

“Cool, yeah.. I mean, thanks.. Yeah.” His stammering is endearing. There’s something comforting in the shared awkwardness as if the meeting of two awkward nerds cancels us out into being normal. “I’m Jeremiah,” he introduces himself and holds his hand out to shake. 

“Molly,” I grasp his hand in return. “It’s nice to officially meet you.” 

“Yeha! I hope you don’t find this creepy, but earlier I noticed the internet guy in your driveway and realized someone had finally moved into this place. The for sale sign was taken down about a week ago and I was wondering when you’d show up. Then when you said you just moved here at the coffee shop earlier, I thought maybe the new owner could be you.”

��And it is!” I interrupt. “I mean, I am. That is to say… It's kismet.” Jesus Christ. Is that something people say? Can I even define “kismet?”  Am I just embarrassing myself here? 

“Exactly!” His smile breaks my shame spiral. “It’s always worth noting when we get to witness the stars aligning in real time.” He holds the bottle of wine up to eye level for me. “I brought you a housewarming gift. It’s nothing special– I wasn’t even certain if bringing wine to a stranger is appropriate. But it’s a pretty dry red. I thought if you don’t drink, you can use it for cooking.” 

“I do! I mean, I do drink. Thank you, you’re very kind and I feel quite welcome.” I take the bottle and scan the label. It’s a Chianti I’ve never tried before. “This looks beautiful. Would you like to have a glass with me?” 

“Um… sure! That sounds nice. Do you have glasses?” 

“I don’t have stemware, but I have a couple cups that will do. Plus,” I pause to rummage in the drawer where I stashed my well loved wine key the night before, “I have this!” I grab the water glasses I have from the cupboard and start working the corkscrew into the top of the bottle. 

“Please, allow me.” Jeremiah takes the wine and key from me and effortlessly drills deep into the cork, angling the bottle away from him. He looks me directly in the eye as he pushes the lever away from him and removes the cork with an muffled POP.

What in the actual fuck? How was that so… hot? 

He grabs the glasses and distributes even, modest pours in each of them before handing me one. “Cheers,” he says, lifting his own glass, “to your new home.” 

“And new neighbors,” I clink my cup against his, immediately questioning whether that was smooth or just pathetically thirsty. Either way, I take a sip. I notice his eyes darting around, taking in the details of the house. 

“This place is almost the exact same layout as my place, just reversed.” 

“Really?” I ask. “Is that unusual?” 

“Not really, no. These subdivisions are financed and built before they’re ever sold. Developers will have a handful of blueprints and rotate between them while building. I guess keeping everything as uniform as possible allows them to churn out houses quickly and reduces the risk of error. You build the same house over and over again, you can probably throw them up in your sleep.” 

“Or they get so overconfident and cocky, they begin to slack off and make mistakes.” 

“Oof. You’re telling me. Complacency can definitely lead to miscalculations.” He takes another sip before continuing. “Happens in my work all the time.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

He winces. “It’s kind of hard to explain– not that it’s beyond your understanding,” he reassures me and my heart melts ever so slightly. “But, basically, I track and predict rainfall.” 

“You’re a meteorologist?” 

“No. I don’t really know much about weather in general. It’s more like I use statistics to estimate which places will experience flood or drought in the near future. I then use those estimates to inform the purchase and sale of certain commodities.” 

“Commodities. Like food?” 

“Food is a big part of it, yes. But also a lot of precious metals and whatnot. And oil. There’s always oil.” 

“So you’re a gambler,” I tease. He grins in response. 

“An informed gambler, yes. But, you know– no risk, no reward.” 

“Well it does sound pretty interesting. More so than what I do.” 

“Which is?” 

“I am an editor for a publishing company that specializes in highly stylized cookbooks. A lot of Housewives for housewives kind of content. I basically make sure that what the authors– or, at least, their ghostwriters– put in their drafts all make sense. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve caught cups– multiple cups– of salt from being added to a dessert recipe.” 

“That sounds interesting to me,” he says, being polite. I appreciate it nonetheless. “So does that mean you know how to cook a lot of different things?” 

I guffaw. “In theory, at least. I’m not a talented chef by any means, but I can make a meal.” I realize that at every chance I get, I’m diminishing myself in this conversation. When did I fall into that little habit? But before I can think much more about it, my doorbell rings. “Speaking of meals, that would be the takeout I thought you were.” I answer the door and thank the delivery person after they hand me my order. When I come back, I see Jeremiah rinsing out his now empty glass of wine before gently placing it in the sink. 

“Well this seems like the perfect opening for me to make a graceful exit. I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner.” He gives me a genuine smile and reaches out to shake my hand goodbye. “It was really great meeting you. I’m excited to have someone cool in the neighborhood. And if you need anything, anything,” he gives my hand a squeeze on the emphasis and while making some very effective eye contact, “don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Damn. My new neighbor is hot.

[maroonghoul]

Terror Time 2023: Day 20 Thru 24

V/H/S 94 It's been a long time since I visited this franchise and I know I'm still two entries behind. I'll get to them, but in the meantime, I want to talk about how much I like this one.

Holy Hell the wraparounds have always been the weakest part of these movies (sans maybe Viral since I skipped that one) and this is no exception. I don't think i get it. So the female members of a SWAT team are part of a videodrome like cult and tonight they're sacrificing their squad? I mean, OK.

Storm Drain this cliche about reporters going into the lair of the killer is now starting to wear thin for me. Even if sewers weren't creepy (and these ones very much are before the cultists show up), why would you be this willing to wade through literal shit for a story?

That being said, the Ratma effect is awesome. I may not understand how acid puke equals god, but I'm willing to overlook that because these ARE cultists and they may be more we didn't see. The final scene makes all those flaws worth it. It's an all-timer.

The Empty Wake This story easily has the best build up. Funeral parlors are great settings already, but add onto that a storm, loneliness, boredom, and then add sudden paranoia about the body not being dead; whoo boy! And even if that doesn't work for you, the zombie is great. The whole last bit of this plays like one of those stealth horror games in the best way. As a bonus, the zombie doesn't play fair.

The Subject Certainly the most balls-to-the-wall modern update of Frankenstein you'll ever see. It's also probably the best action movie adaptation of it. Also appreciate that as monstrous this version of the mad doctor certainly is, it remembers also he was never the only monster from that setup. I'm starting to feel like we're over the police being the designated heroes in horror films. Good.

Terror Of course when right-wing redneck extremists gain access to a vampire, all they care about is how to use it to blow up or set something on fire. Kinda also like you don't get that it IS a vampire until about halfway through. Good on him for taking revenger, but the best part is they were so stupid about it, they didn't even get the chance to carry out their actual plan. And I though being seduced by them was the dumbest thing you could do.

The Craft: Legacy I chose to watch this one over the original because I heard this one was less anti-women with power. Turns out, I might've been better off with that one.

the characterizations of the other three was so weak, you might as well combine them into one character instead. I don't even know anything about their home lives. The reveal of the main character's mother I guess is big to fans of the original, but it doesn't seem to really add anything here.

As for Timmy, yes he was a jerk, but I'm not sure he deserved getting, as far as the coven knows, brainwashed. Did they even know what spell they casted on him? A Woke spell? How does that even work? Though given his coming out of the closet moment later, I could think they actually casted a bravery spell on him by mistake. And thanks to it, he finally gains the spine to throw the BS he's been taught and regurgitating all his life by the patriarchy out the window. You can certainly see potential in a subplot in how men are benefitted by feminism too, especially bi men. But instead, they cut it short by getting him killed by an asleep David Duchovny. I get the point of his villain, but it's the kind of character that needs either a down to earth approach or a campy performance, and this has neither. I gotta find better pro-witch movies.

Dark City (1998) When I felt like rewatching Body Snatchers, I knew I had to rewatch this one too. It may not be an actual horror movie, but it's visuals take inspirations from some of the earliest ones. An example being the Strangers looking like a race of nosferatu without the teeth. Though honestly, whether I knew what was going on or not, I would still kill to live in a city like this. Granted, I would appreciate there being a beach to escape to plus actual sunlight. The choice is part of the point, regardless which one I choose.

Getting back to my first sentence; In a spiritual sense, this is Invasion of the Body Snatchers in reverse. In fact, I feel that describes a lot of movies released in the late 90s. Pleasantville, Equilibrium, American Beauty, and of course, The Matrix. A world where a few pod people stop and think; "Wait, what's the point of all this? There does need to be more to life." A bit overly optimistic, especially when considering what world event comes later...and the monstrous acts we as a society did in reaction to it. Does changing the world matter if not a lot of people care enough to wake up?

Evil Dead Trap I watched this and the following movie in one day. It's amazing I never lost my lunch. Now I know what inspired Gabriel from Malignant. I don't know how they got away with making this movie back then, but I'm glad they did.

Terrifier 2 As long as you can really stomach the most brutal, bloody, and cruel kills imagined by mankind, this is a good addition to your yearly Halloween watch traditions. As long as you have the time, of course. And I didn't even like the first movie that much.

The Haunted Palace (1963) Remember last year, I said I wasn't going to watch any more Vincent Price movies? Turns out I lied, including to myself. I'm hitting the Poe films of his I haven't seen yet, starting with this one. Yes, it's not really Poe instead of Lovecraft but whatever. The titular palace certainly lives up to the title, and there are a shocking amount of faithful Lovecraft trademarks here (my favorite is the Necronomicon actually have "Necronomicon" printed on it's binding). But overall, I didn't care for it that much. I guess it's a pet peeve when I feel characters are slow to realize someone being possessed or bodyswapped. Also, kind of weird the revenge subplot just stopped halfway through. Everyone knew this was the most fun part of the movie so well, they made two better Vincent Price movies that were all about revenge after this.

The worst part is the ending. Where the servants go? I thought they were fighting Charles? Did they escape or dead? Also, if Curwen is back in control, shouldn't the revenge subplot continue? This ended too soon.

The Blob (1988) This was a mean movie the first time I watched it and it's still feels mean now. I don't know how they got away with making this in the late 80s though I can see why it bombed. I even appreciate the twist where it was a US weapon gone wrong more then I did before (Though did they have to make the human villain one of the only two black people in this movie?) This movie takes the then passable "teenage rebellion" of the original and ups the ante by saying "F the police! F the government! and F date rapists too while we're at it!"

This is the best the blob has ever looked and ever will look. (Especially in today's Hollywood). Mad respect to any movie that takes a silly and taken-for-granted monster and finds a way to show why it scared people in the first place. I'm sad there wasn't a sequel, but at the same time, I'm not sure I need one. There's been plenty of religious horror made since anyway.

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review: All Hallows' Eve (2013)

All Hallows' Eve (2013)

Not rated

<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2024/09/review-all-hallows-eve-2013.html>

Score: 3 out of 5

All Hallows' Eve is less a singular film than it is a collection of three horror shorts tied together after the fact by a wraparound, two of which writer/director Damien Leone had previously made separately in 2008 and 2011 and one of which he made for this movie. Watching it today, after Leone has gone on to far greater success with the Terrifier films that he spun off from this, I found it to be a rough and uneven film but one where you could still tell that this guy had some serious talent. The segments range from acceptable if clichéd to simply dull and forgettable, but the framing device elevates them, the special effects are horrifying and especially well done for a low-budget indie production, and the recurring villain Art the Clown is a fuckin' frightening little bastard whose use throughout the film lent it an eerie feeling. Overall, it's only a film I'd recommend if you're a fan of the Terrifier series or looking to get into it (as I am), but if you're either of those things, and can stomach some seriously mean-spirited shit, definitely check it out.

The film starts with a babysitter named Sarah taking care of two kids, Timmy and Tia, on Halloween night after they come home from trick-or-treating, where Timmy discovers an unmarked VHS tape in his bag of candy. Timmy and Tia both want to see what's on it, and despite Sarah's protests, she gives in and throws it on, the contents of the tape being the three horror shorts at the center of this film -- which turn out to be far more real than Sarah ever anticipated. It's a simple but effective framing device that does a good job explaining how three mostly unrelated short films were gathered into one movie, and I slowly found myself getting more and more unnerved as it went on. The film's first segment began life as a 2008 short film titled The 9th Circle, and revolves around a woman at a train station who is kidnapped by Art the Clown and taken to be sacrificed by a Satanic cult that inhabits the tunnels beneath the station. It's a simple cult story barring Art's presence in it at the beginning, but it's an effective one, keeping its real monster in the shadows until the end and serving up plenty of claustrophobic scares capped off by some gnarly special effects. The third segment, meanwhile, is the original 2011 Terrifier short film that became the basis for the whole series, and it is a beast. Leone breaks out every low-budget indie filmmaker trick in the book as he makes Art into an unrelenting, inescapable, and darkly humorous and twisted figure who's not only killing people but enjoying every bit of it. He may be a silent slasher, but Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees he ain't; Mike Giannelli's performance leaves him brimming with a sadistic personality conveyed through his facial expressions, his mannerisms, and the props he brings out as he torments the people he's trying to kill, while some of the shit he pulls (especially to the protagonist of the third segment) takes the icky, misogynistic undertones that have long been read into the slasher genre and makes them an explicit part of his character, all the better to make me hate his ass more. And when the film wrapped up and the horror came for the babysitter Sarah who thought she was just watching a movie, it managed to get under my skin. There's a reason why Art's the one on the poster and why he became the breakout character.

So why, then, did the second segment, the one that Leone made to bring this movie up to feature length, have to be such hot garbage? It tried to stand on its own two feet as a segment without Art, with a story about a woman being harassed and abducted by alien visitors in her home, only to shoehorn in a reference to him that had nothing to do with the rest of the segment at the literal last minute. The acting isn't necessarily great at any point in this movie, but it felt especially hokey here, with this being largely a one-woman show in which the leading lady was hideously overacting throughout. The alien's look was a cool take on the classic "Grey alien" concept, but it was unfortunately undermined by its goofy movements, particularly how it constantly waved its arms to its side as it walked. It felt like I was watching a completely different, far lesser film from the one around it. Sarah even comments on how bad it is, and while that does admittedly improve the wraparound, it doesn't change the fact that, much like Sarah, I had to spend about fifteen minutes watching it.

The Bottom Line

It's an uneven film, but it's also a short one that never overstayed its welcome and ended on a good, dark note. There's really no "safe" introduction to the Terrifier series given the kind of vile character and grisly subject matter it's built around, but this is as good as any.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Eight

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: the beginning of the end :,) if u made it this far i think ur cool

***

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Lana asks.

Nesta closes her eyes, letting the picture swirl and take shape in her mind.

This time last year, she would have imagined nothing. Nothing but a desk in a busy law office, and maybe a nice apartment if she was lucky. That would be it. But now she sees…

“Somewhere with good food and good music,” she muses. “Maybe a sea breeze.” The sun-faded buildings of Portofino fade into the foreground of her imagination. “There are lots of people with me,” she hears the sound of children shrieking and Cassian’s rumbling laughter, “but it’s okay, because I love every one of them.” Her eyes open. “Is that a good answer?”

A near invisible smile tugs at the corners of Lana’s lips. “You tell me, Nesta. Do you like what you see?”

“It’s a little too cinematic if you ask me,” Nesta says nonchalantly, picking up her bag from the ground, “but I suppose all dreams are that way.”

“It’s a good dream,” Lana says. “A worthy dream, and one you deserve to chase.”

Nesta shrugs lightly, not too worried about the burden of the future for once. “Maybe I will.”

“In that case, congratulations on completing your final therapy session,” Lana says, setting her notebook aside. “You’ve made some amazing progress this year.”

Nesta gives her therapist her signature what’s-wrong-with-you look. “I’m going on vacation, not firing you for good. I’ll see you again in two months.”

“Two months can be enough to lose all your progress, if you forget everything you went through to get here.”

Nesta isn’t stupid. She knows that she isn’t suddenly desperate to make babies or be maid of honor at her sisters’ weddings or some bullshit. She knows that the image she just dreamed up, with Cassian and kids and her unburdened heart, is likely more than five years away. If it happens at all, it could be ten, even twenty years of hard work away.

She’s not nearly finished growing yet. “I’ll see you in two months, Lana,” she repeats.

Lana smiles at her fully this time. “Enjoy your summer, Nesta.”

***

The air is different in the Smokies.

Nesta rolls the truck windows down so she can inhale it, relish it. Wind whips her hair every which way as they drive down the winding freeway cutting through the lush mountains, and something about the look on her face makes Cassian chuckle and press down on the accelerator.

Nesta watches the red needle on the speedometer cross ninety, then one hundred. She can barely feel the June heat with how fast they’re going.

In the end, it was Feyre and Elain that reached out and invited her to the Tennessee summer home. Cassian had made it obvious that he wouldn’t push her to go if she didn’t want to, and at first she really didn’t want to. But Feyre had looked so hopeful when she asked Nesta to come with them, and even Elain had revealed a glimmer of eagerness that Nesta would say yes.

So against all odds, she agreed to go.

Exchanging one mountain home for another isn’t much of a getaway, but Nesta can’t help but be excited. Even with the unhappy memories of her childhood, she loves these hills more than any other.

The pure exhilaration of being back in Tennessee overcomes her at some point during the drive, knocking her out in the passenger seat where she sits. In her drowsy state, she distantly hears the windows being rolled up, before feeling Cassian’s hand guide her head to rest against the glass. The rest of the drive is warm and sunny, enough to lull her into a deep sleep.

The next thing Nesta’s aware of is the crunch of gravel and the feeling of the truck tires slowing to a stop. Fingers brush against her heated cheek, and then Cassian is murmuring at her to wake up.

Blinking her eyes open, Nesta twists around to see their destination.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still dreaming.

“Welcome to Holly House,” Cassian says with a grin. The house in question is quaint and sprawling at the same time, the way most upper class Southerners like their houses. The whole thing gleams with a fresh coat of white paint under the afternoon sun, complemented by a sky blue wraparound porch. Colonial style windows and proud columns decorating the facade of the building makes it look like the setting of a fairy tale.

Beyond it, Nesta can see cherry blossoms. Pink, fluttering cherry blossoms that fly off their branches and swirl through the air, some of them disappearing into the thick woods behind the house. Woods that Nesta has walked countless times before.

“The rest of the guys won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon,” Cassian is saying to her, “so we have the whole place to our—”

Nesta isn’t listening anymore. She unbuckles her seatbelt and shoves open the truck door, hobbling outside on unsteady feet to make sure she isn’t hallucinating things. But no, this is…

“Cherrywood,” she breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

Cassian gets out of the truck, coming up beside Nesta to slip his hand into her shorts pocket. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“This is Rhysand’s summer home?” Nesta points at the house. “This place?”

Cassian looks around at the building grounds in confusion. “Has been for the last two decades, yeah.”

It’s been eleven years since she last stepped foot on these grounds.

With wonderment in her voice, she utters to Cassian, “I’ve been here before.”

At his puzzled look, she explains, “I lived just on the other side of those woods.” She points to the trees. “There’s an old cracked road that hasn’t been maintained since it was first paved, and you can follow it straight to the poor side of town. Whenever I wanted to get away, I would come down that road and trek through the woods, and I’d end up here. I stopped coming because…” she trails off.

Because she got caught that one time.

Cassian seems to realize it at the same moment as her. His hand slips out of her pocket. “You…”

Nesta remembers a tall boy with shocked eyes and shaggy hair, and she shakes her head slowly in forceful denial. It can’t be true. It’s too much of a coincidence.

But he points at her, then her feet. “You—with the size six Converse,” he sputters. “It was you.”

Before Nesta can confirm or deny it, he grabs her by the wrist and starts tugging her along, up the porch stairs and inside the house.

Even with Rhysand and Feyre’s renovations, it looks undeniably the same as all those years ago. The living room is to her right and the farmhouse style kitchen and dining area is to the left, though she speeds by it all as Cassian pulls her farther inside the house, to the closet beneath the curving stairs.

He lets go of her hand to search the small closet, muttering, “I know they were here somewhere.” But the closet looks like it was stripped empty for renovations, with only bolts in the walls indicating that shoe racks used to hang there.

Cassian turns and heads for the stairs, and Nesta blindly follows him. She also wants to go upstairs, wants to see if the bay window looking out onto the garden has stayed the same.

Like he read her mind, he leads her straight to the room she used to spend hours reading in. It’s smaller than all the other bedrooms in the house, but it’s always been her favorite because of the view.

As Cassian keeps looking for whatever it is he’s looking for, upturning boxes and checking beneath furniture, Nesta drifts toward the bay window. She looks from the cherry blossom trees outside, to the full-sized bed, to Cassian, and a weight drops even heavier in her gut. She has to reach out and grip the edge of the dresser for support.

Finally, Cassian pops out of the closet victorious. In his hand are a pair of ragged shoes that Nesta hasn’t worn in a long, long time.

He comes over and drops them with a thud at her feet.

“Whose room is this?” she asks with a rough voice, still staring down at the shoes.

“Mine,” he answers simply.

“Oh.” She met him before. She met him before.

When Nesta dares to look up and meet Cassian’s eyes, what she finds there nearly robs her of breath: wonder, astonishment, and unwavering fealty. He breaks into sudden wholehearted laughter, which dazes her even more.

“What’s so funny?” she demands.

Cassian gets out between laughs, “What was it Rhysand said about Feyre? When they found out they were close to crossing paths when they were younger?”

Nesta’s earth-tilting shock slowly slips away, replaced by a stern look. “Don’t say it.”

He pretends to remember. “I think it was fate.” A wicked smirk pulls at his lips at Nesta’s resigned sigh. “But I have another word for it, too.”

“Don’t say that, either.” She pleadingly holds up her hands, only for Cassian to snatch one out of the air and intertwine his fingers with hers.

“Soulmate,” he says quietly, now less amused.

Nesta swallows thickly, not having any words for him. All she knows is that he is never going to let her live this down.

“Imagine if we’d gone to the same high school,” Cassian says to her later that afternoon as they lounge in his old room. “Fuck, I could’ve saved myself so much time with all those random girls.” They’ve been swapping childhood stories for the past hour, as if they might find more instances in their history of a red string tying them together.

Nesta doesn’t need coincidences or fateful run-ins to know that a string has always been wrapped around her ring finger, pulling her to Colorado and to that cabin. But for Cassian’s sake, she’ll gladly amuse him. “I would have been a freshman while you were a senior,” she says matter-of-factly. “It never could have happened.”

He hums in thought, head propped up in his hand, elbow propped up against the bay window seat. “Maybe if you were older. You would have been the smart, quiet girl, and I’d have been the player jock, and as soon as we locked eyes in math class, I’d be head over heels in love with you.”

Nesta cackles from where she sits in the window seat above him. “Now you’re just writing fanfiction.”

Cassian grins up at her but doesn’t send a rebuttal her way. The conversation falls into a lull, until Nesta has to reach out and ask, “What are you thinking?”

His smile turns a little sad. “That I wish we weren’t doing this right before I leave for another country.”

Right. That’s what’s been hanging over them the entire trip to Tennessee: that as soon as they get back to Colorado, Cassian is going to be on a plane to Milan.

Getting Keith O’Connell to quit—how exactly Cassian went about accomplishing it, he still won’t tell Nesta—left Rhysand at square one with his search for a team leader for his overseas venture.

When Cassian brought up the idea of taking the job to Nesta, he sounded like he hoped she would shoot him down, talk him out of it. He both wanted to go and was reluctant to leave, like his very soul was glued to his home and he didn’t want to unstick himself.

So Nesta, being his home, had to do the unsticking for him. She nearly accepted the year-long Milan position herself for Cassian’s sake, and it took weeks of coaxing and convincing to put him at ease about the whole thing.

“But we promised to go together for the first time,” he kept saying.

“We’ll still go together one day, and it’ll still be our first time there with each other,” she reassured him.

Eventually, he relented to her and Rhysand’s pressures with a single condition. “I’ll do six months. Not a year.”

Only Nesta knows deep down how much Cassian needs this opportunity. Though Cassian must know it a little bit too, because he wouldn’t have taken the job if he didn’t.

Nesta might have needed him in order to come out of her shell, but now he needs to get away from her in order to find his own shell. Something he can call his own, unburdened by his loyalties to the people he loves. So he can find who he wants to be for himself, without always being attached to her hip.

Rising to her feet, Nesta raises her arms in the air in a full body stretch. Her back and legs ache with being curled up in that window seat for so long without movement.

Dropping her arms, she holds out a hand to Cassian still sitting on the floor. “Come on,” she urges him. “Let’s go outside. I haven’t seen a Smoky sunset in years.”

“But it’s not evening yet,” he argues while taking her hand.

Outside, they explore the garden that leads into the woods while waiting for the sun to slink down the sky. Cherry blossoms ride the summer breeze wherever it takes them, resulting in Cassian sniffling and scratching at his neck as they walk hand in hand.

“Rhysand wanted to take these trees down and replace them with a flower garden for Elain,” he tells Nesta as they walk. His sinuses sound clogged, but he’s refused to go back inside until he’s explained every inch of the land to Nesta. “I convinced him not to because it would ruin the view from my bedroom window. Didn’t I make the right choice?” He throws a grin in her direction.

Nesta’s swallow is tight at that grin. “The view from your room was always my favorite part about the entire place. So yes, you did good.”

His eyes widen at that tidbit of information, and she can almost see him tucking it away as more Soulmate Evidence.

They stroll through the woods for a while, and Nesta points out the path she would take to get to Cherrywood—she still insists on calling it Cherrywood, even when Cassian argues that the house’s original name has been around since the sixties.

“Show me the rest of the way?” Cassian asks her, face lit up in boyish hope. “Show me where you ran away to that day I found you.”

Nesta almost expects the memory of the rundown apartment complex she grew up in to feel like being shoved into sludge: dirty, cold, and slimy. Instead, she finds she has no problem with looking back at her old home, no matter how many ugly memories she holds from there.

However, the dappled sunlight streaming in through the trees overhead has turned from yellow to dark gold, and she shakes her head in apology to Cassian. “Another day,” she promises him. “It’s almost sunset.”

They walk back to the house, rounding it until they reach the front. At the bottom of the hill that the house is perched on stands a pier that leads all the way out to the lake. Green mountains frame the lake from both sides, creating the perfect cradle for the sun to sink into.

They go all the way out to the edge of the pier, as if they’re trying to get as close to the sunset as physically possible. Dragonflies lazily swoop by as the lake is gradually painted in a hundred different colors.

Once there’s more darkness than light in the sky, Cassian nudges Nesta with one of the arms he has around her. “Look.” He points.

Along the shoreline of the lake, little dots of light have lit up to welcome the evening, their blinking glow so small that Nesta almost doesn’t catch it. Fireflies.

Nesta watches the insects flit in and out of the long grasses of the lake shore, getting tangled in the weeds and wildflowers. In that moment, she remembers something Cassian once confessed to her not long after his birthday.

I want to see more beautiful places with you.

Nesta ticks this beautiful place off the long list in her head—the first place out of many that she plans to see with Cassian.

More beautiful than the scene before her is the man in her arms. The man who was kind enough to understand a woman who barely understood herself, and to be her friend when she had none. The man who is extending his kindness right now by not having made any breaking-and-entering jokes about Nesta so far, though she’s sure he’ll pull them out eventually.

Discovering that she once found Cassian, just to let him slip by running away from him, only to find him again over a decade later—it comforts the tiny part of her that’s loath to say goodbye to him in two weeks.

Like Cassian is thinking the same thing, he murmurs into the dark, “I can’t wait to come back to you.”

Nesta huffs in amusement. “You haven’t even left yet.”

“I know.” After a moment, he adds in a low voice that not even the fireflies can hear, “Thank you for convincing me to go.”

She reaches up to squeeze his bicep. “Always.” And then she adds what she really wants him to hear: “Don’t come back until you find what you’re looking for.”

“I better find it quick then,” he jokes. Still, he nods in promise against the side of her head.

The only sound after that is the chirp of cicadas and the occasional lap of water meeting the pier beams. Nesta and Cassian stay outside in the June heat long after the sky turns ink blue.

***

a/n: next chapter is just some ic bullshit so take all ur bittersweet sentimentality here and go

tagging: @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @arinbelle @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99 @mystic-bibliophile

[popculturebuffet]

Christmas Carnage: A Christmas Horror Story Review (Comission for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people! Halloween’s in the rear view and that means we’re ready for the next big holliday.. Christmas! And thanksgiving too I guess but since my producer Kev coudlnt’ wait to unwrap his presents, he’s comissioned a whole month of holiday horrors for ya’ll to enjoy that i’m dubbing CHRISTMAS CARNAGE. It’s all christmas, all horror, all this month. Well not all this month I still have frogs, ducks and some other stuff to attend to. But the point is it’s gonna be good. 

Starting us off we have an anthology film, a format for film i’ve grown fond of. Wether it’s a bunch of stories around the same period of time that zig and zag out of one another like Love Actually or Dazed and Confused or just straight up a bunch of stories held together by a wraparound of some sort like Tales From the Hood or The French Dispatch, I love this kind of film. So I was excited to dive into this one. 

From what I could gather up, ACHS was thought up by the producer of the Ginger Snaps films, Steven Harvey who also directed the film along with Grant Harvey and Brett Sullivan who had both worked on the Ginger Snaps series, a series I do need to check out at some point as it sounds great. The writing was handed off to the guys who wrote a series called Darknet, a canadian horror anthology> Did this rag tag canadian crew make a christmas classic or another lump of coal? Join me under the cut to find out!

Content Warning: This review has mentoins of forced abortion. Feel free to sit this one out if you need to. I love you all. 

So before we get into four tales I need to talk about the films... creatttttivveee.. no that dosen’t feel right... baffletageous? Closer... Baffletastic. Oh yes that’ll do.

I want to talk about this films baffletastic decision on how to present the four shorts. As I showed earlier most anthology films either have the shorts on their own, sometimes with a cool wraparound story like Tales From The Hood’s mortuariy or french dispatch’s having the story presented and narrated as pieces for the titular magazine and bookending each story with the editor of the magazine talking the piece over with his writers. The other option of course is to have a bunch of interconnected stories that weave in and out of each other sharing characters as the night goes on. You can even do that with the previous format, simply having characters from the previous story show up in another one. There’s a lot of clever ways to do this sort of film and it’s part of their charm. 

This film.. chooses to take four self contained films, chop them up, and intersperse them, having one continue when another one’s scene ends.  While the films DO have connections, their small ones that would’ve been better served if the films were all seperated and simply connected by our wraparound DJ’s antics. Instead we’re stuck watching the shorts as if I was watching a film on tv and someone took my remote and bonked me over the head with it every couple of minutes to turn on another movie that just happened to be in the same genre. It also wrecks the shorts pacing as the School and Changeling shorts are slow paced and built on tension... but then cut to another story entirely which ruins what their going for. It’s messy and disoreinting. To show just how it feels here’s a little experiment I did. I’ve taken four, unrelated christmastime comic strips and chopped them up like this flim does to give you a sense of just how jarring this feels. 

I think you get the point. Now here’s each of the original strips as they were intended. 

I did this both so the original authors, in order Berkely Breathead, Randy Milholland, Lynn Johnson and Scott Kurtz could have their strips properly presented.. and so said proper presentation can prove my point further.  It dosen’t RUIN the stories but it still hurts them to be presented this way.  But even if the format’s janky, are the stories any good? well let me tells you

Dangerous Dan:

I named each story myself because the filmakers didn’t for no apparent reason. Like you don’t have to have titlecards but simply name them in the credits.  It’s not that hard. 

So the wraparound is DJ Dangerous Dan trying to inject some Christmas Joy into the town of Baileyville, which one year earlier had a massacre happen in a school. Naturally one of our stories is about said massacre, but for now we’re just focused on good old William Shatner, ham, egotist, astronaut and a delight in the right work. He’s the only actor here who has a bundle of experince, as most of the actors were ameturers and unknowns. Sadly he just dosen’t ham it up the way you’d think, especially since his first segment has the character getting drunk and his segments are just kinda there. Again if this film had proper framing he’d be a great intro to each segment, giving us some yuletide stuff releated to the story... that then contrasts with how dark the story actually is.  It’s not hard. He also gets told “Fuck Christmas” by his weatherman, and reports on a situation at the mall. Gee I wonder if this is setup for later.

Now for the stories i’ll be following them in MOSTLTY order of introduction, the one exception being the Santa segment which gets a teaser to start the film but dosen’t properly start till after the other three segments and ends up closing out the film so i’ll be saving it for last. 

A Child Was Unborn This Christmas Day:

So instead we start off with this segment. Three bland teenagers, Molly, a redhead, Ben, your standard movie NEEEERRRDDD who clearly has a crush on Molly, and Dylan, their friend whose just kinda there and whose girlfriend Caprice...

Gets them the keys to sneak into the school to break into an old convent beneath their school where last year two grusome murders took place. One of them is Dangerous Dan’s nephew as we later find out. Caprice was going to go but has to go with her family instead, which leads into her segment which we’ll get to in a moment. It once again would’ve worked better had we seen her segment later instead of the next scene, allowing this shitty passion play to continue and THEN find out what happened with her later. 

The three break into the school because Molly wants to investigate the murders because she’s doing a school project on the murders and wants to get good footage since she can’t use the police video. Because taking murder tourisim videos is the fastest way to get an a..... in getting your ass thrown out of the school. Nothing about this makes sense.. like was she ASSIGNED to talk about the murders or did she choose that thinking “Gee the teachers sure want to be reminded of two of their students getting horribly murdered in the basement” 

The characters themselves.. are nothing. Molly wants to do some murder tourism, Ben is there and is sorta implied to have feelings for Molly and Dylan is also there. I don't’ blame the actors as it turned out I had seen Dylan’s actor before in Degrassi: The Next Generation as Zayne. And you may scoff but the directors and writers on degrassi gave him way more to do and an actual character to play, and I owe the show an enternal debt of gratitue for opening my eyes to the struggles of the trans community and their existance. Before then most things i’d seen with trans characters had used them as cheap punchlines.  I will always give them credit for that any time I get the chance to. 

Here though the cast really just dosen’t pop, and given they’ve gone onto other works. Sure some of it is soapy stuff like the 100 and riverdale, where Molly’s actress played the wife to a cult leader who tried escaping in a rocket while wearing an evil kenevil jumpsuit, just after Betty had to defuse a bomb. What i’m saying is I don’t hold their performances against the actors and I really should review Riverdale at some point and wish I was watching that instead as I haven’t seen it, only heard of the madness secondhand. but it calls to me.... it calls to me. 

Anyway the plot proper has our heroes breaking into the school, dodging a teacher, and then breaking into the basement. Say do you guys like bland teenagers slowly walking around poorly lit hallways for about 15 minutes?

Well neither do I but I’m being paid to review this so I had to put up with it. It honestly reminded me of another horror “classic”: 1313 Haunted Frat, a film by a guy who clearly makes films just to put attractive young men in their underwear, that was literally just a guy walking around in his underwear for all but maybe 10 minutes of a 70 minute movie. This movie is that minus any novelty value from “someone actually paid for and filmed this and amazon actually agreed to put it on their service”. With this it’s just footage that’s so dark and incomprehensible at times I swear this is how Hans Moleman sees the world. 

Eventually plot DOES happen, centered around a rumor Zoey spouts off earlier about a teenager who had a virgin pregnancy but no one belivied her. Via some jump scares she finds out the poor woman was forced into an aborition by the nuns. I scoffed at nuns actually doing this.. and still do, as it turns out there’s a LONG history of sexual abuse of nuns including forced abortions in the catholic church. So this nightmare is possible, it’d just likely be a corrupt preist who actually did the impregnating ordering these women to do it. 

But the ghost of that girl is still around and posseses molly, as it turns out the killings were her host being rejected and Grace. said teen, killed them out of spite or something. It’s pretty vauge ghost stuff. She has Molly throw herself at Dylan and when he turns her down due to having a girlfriend, he gets killed offscreen, though when we later see his impaled corpse which is a pretty neat pratical effect. 

She’s more succesul with ben, who gladly does it, and the whole scene is genuinely creepy, using the fact Grace is using molly like a puppet and barely emoting for maximum horror. Ben somehow gets Grace pregnant because magical ghost pregnancy, while Grace is horrified at what they did. They realize what’s going on, and what the bloody message on the wall seen at the start of the short when they watched polcie footage meant. The ghost ends up killing ben because he has a weapon? I guess. Either way he’s cruficied and flops around goofily so.. that sure did happen. Molly is let go and I count the moments till I get paid for this one

This segment is awful. What a shocker I know I hid it so well, but it’s long, padded, the characters arne’t fleshed out enough to care about and even it’s one effective scene is still awkawrd as all hell. This segment is just terrible what’s next

The Changeling

From the worst story to the best we have the Changeling. We follow a family of three: Scott, a troubled black police officer whose on leave due to being heavily rattled by the events of last year, as he was the cop on the scene and in the video the three doucheketeers watched, his wife Kim who he has a strained but loving relationship with and their cheery son will. So he decides the best way to fix his strained relationships is to commit some gold old fashioned family theft and take a christmas tree from someone’s off limits property. I would also like to point out that this family are the only black characters in the entire film and clearly the directors did not think their implications through at alll when casting this segment.  But Will happily partakes in his dad’s tree theft, but soon wonders off and goes missing, causing his parents to fight till they find the boy in a tree. Nothing weird about that no sir. So they take their boy home only for Will to start acting a bit weird: he dosen’t speak any more, only responds to orders, and eventually only to Kim’s orders, and when eating eats incredibly fast and when Scott tries to get him to slow it down slow it way down he plays a good old fashioned father son game of stabby hand. Will wins because he has the stabbing fork. 

Scott and Kim argue over it, Kim takes a VERY long shower that wouldn’t be out of place on skinimax, and eventually Will opens all the presents and Scott gets out his belt in response. Again.. they REALLY shoudl’ve thought this segment through more. 

Still the aftermath is well done: Kim is disgusted whlie Scott poors over the files, clearly troubled by what he’s done to his son and repentant. Will’s response to this.. is to choke him to death off screen and decorate his dead body in decorations. Tis truly the hap-happiest season of all to commit patracide. 

Kim is horrified and having gotten a call earlier from a creepy weirdo saying the kid isn’t hers, the same creepy weirdo that owned the tree they stole, finally listens to him. The creature in there is not Will but a changeling, the mythical being that replaces one’s child. It’s a fascinating myth but not an often used one in horror, and I question why as there’s a LOT you could do with it and this short shows how, with the sheer terror of bringing your child home only to find your child is missing and someTHING has taken his place. 

Creepy Old Man explains he’ll switch real will for fake will and Kim tries to bluff the creature. She then stuffs her not child in a sack and leaves her husband’s corpse to rot because it really ties the room together. 

Shockingly the creepy old bearded man in the middle of nowhere who can somehow get anyone’s phone number wasn’t being fully truthful: not only does he not know where will is, but he starts beating the changeling the second he gets the sack and his clear abuse makes it VERY clear why the changeling acted why it did: it ate so fast because it likely never got to eat actual food before, it followed simple commands because likely it had that beaten into it, and it attacked Scott because he reminded him of his abusive master. It turns will’s death from a monster attack.. to a tragedy of a creature who killed a semi-innocent man simply because he didn’t know better and who simply wanted a better life, a human life instead of being treated like a thing just for existing. 

While Kim dosen’t share my sympatheties, she does have a gun and waves it at Creepy Old Man, eventually accidently shooting him as the guy approaches her like the creepy old guy he is. He dies thankfully and the creatures are freed... and Changeling Will genuinely thanks her by returning the original will. The Creatures are free to find the life they wanted, hopefully without kidnapping more children it’s a coin flip, and Kim and Will can go home. I’ts a bittersweet but throughly satisfying ending. 

The Changeling is, as I said the best short: it’s mood and pacing are top notch, it’s concept is great and it finds a clever way to tie it into christmas. It’s sad, horrifying and suspensful and it easily could’ve been i’ts own much better movie. As it stands though it’s the best part of a thorughly medicore film. It’s got great acing and unlike most of the segments actual directing, with suspensful shots panned around. It’s just that good and hopefully someone recuts it as a standalone, more people need to see this segment and JUST this segment. But I’m being paid for the whole film so...

A Very Krampus Christmas:

Caprice returns alongside her bratty younger brother, annoying gold digging mother, and scam artist dad whose driving them up to their rich old aunt’s house to try and milk some money out of her, to everyone else’s annoyance. Spending time with these characters is just as fun as it sounds and when they arrive the aunt’s butler is just as annoyed with them as I am while the aunt herself is standofish. Eventually though the kid among them breaks a figurine and the Aunt tells them to skeedaddled, leading to more arguging and yelling in the car. Seriously the first 10 minutes of this short has a lot of first world problems complaining and me praying for the krampus but the krapmus won’t come yet. 

The Krampus does finally come though and wrecks their car before slowly attacking the family, grabbing the little brother when he’s alone

And slashing the dad in his tummy. The family books it to saftey but the mom wants to go back for her boy despite him being red snow by now. The father however feels if they confess their sins, the Krampus will go away and reveals his company’s turned into a ponzi scheme all to keep his wife and he’s clearly going to prision, forgetting he’s rich and white and thus has the cheat codes for the system. His wife refuses and instead wants to go back only for the Krampus to bust in because he’s not a vampire and thus chruches don’t hurt him, and kill the dad, then the mom while she protects Caprice, like she shoudl’ve done when she was born by not naming her Caprice but better late than never amirite? Caprice runs and eventually reaches the aunt’s house, only to encounter the crampus. luckily she manages to stab and shoot the motherfucker killing him and revealing the butler. Her aunt invites her in and we get the full story: the figurine had nothing to do with the curse , it was a red herring. Sadly it was not Red Herring, he was in tahiti back then selling faulty watches. Good guy that Red Herring. Turns out people simply turn into krampuses if they get sufficently upset enough at someone because this world apparently runs on hulk rules, so butler guy’s anger at their shitty behavior caused him to hulk out and murder almost all of them.  Caprice realizes that her aunt sent them away, while KNOWING this guy was angry over their behavior and willingly turns Krampus , ending her aunt and gaining a new super power. So ... kind of a wash for her I guess? She lost her family and boyfriend but she can turn into a Krampus now, so.... fair enough?

This segment.. is okay. I’ts nothing special and i’ve heard the film Krampus released a few years later does a similar theme far better, and i’ll find out in a few weeks when I cover it. It’s quickly forgetable and not really much of note. It’s not great like changeling, terrible like the ghost story or batshit insane like our final tale. it’s just kinda there. Speaking of our final tale

Santa Claus Conquers the Evil Dead

This one is just pure scholocky fun till the twist ending. Santa Claus is at the north pole getting ready when one of his elves dies and gets infected, something that shouldn't happen given their all immortal. Turns out his elf got infected with some sort of virus by his old friend the Krampus, and it’s spreading. It’s basically the evil dead, same shit talking from the possessed and blood from the mouth, but with less gore effects and more elf murders. Really this plot is just santa killing a lot of creepy infected elves for 20 minutes and eventually mrs. claus too when she succumbs. And while quality wise it’s okay, it was clearly shot in an office building and it shows, it makes up for having eh quality by just being batshit: santa having to axe down his elves and fight his way through is awesome and like Changeling should be expanded into it’s own feature.

Though it turns out theirs a twist: after the cover battle with the Krampus, which is also cheestastic, we find out Santa is actaully Phil from earlier, who was said to be playing santa at the maul, snapped and thus acted out the night Santa went crazy but in real life. he’s sadly gunned down by the cops as Dangerous Dan reuminates. This twist is pretty good.. it’s somewhat telegraphed if your paying close atention ( I was not) but it reconteulizes things interstingly, Either versoin of this, disturbed santa man killing people in a delusion or the evil dead but with santa claus would be awesome and combined their pretty fun > At the very least cutting back to this madness is a nice repreive from the lesser part sof the film and a needed shot of adrenline

Final Thoughts

This film.. is not very good. It’s segments are in order, utter garbage, a hidden masterpiece, oh right that one and schlocky fun. It’s far from the worst i’ve seen, but it had so much POTETIAL to be a classic that it’s really fucking sad to see the awful results. it’s not even bad when it’s bad in the fun ways. i’ts just two mediocre films choppily edited into a good and so bad it’s good film.  Hopefully someone else takes a shot at this. 

Next Time: GOLLLLDBERRRG goes on what will hopefully be a much more fun murder spree!

If you enjoyed this review consider joining my patreon and thanks for reading. 

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 3

cruel summer masterlist

AN: I’m really sorry I like posting at 1AM, I guess? Same warnings apply. Drinking, swearing, sexual frustration. Excited to hear what you think about this one... 

There are nice neighborhoods in Wendlyn. There are suburbs with sprawling lawns and white picket fences and wraparound porches and two car garages. But Rowan has never seen anything like the Ashryver’s Terrasen summer estate. It took him a full fifteen minutes just to walk up the driveway. He supposed he could have parked on the driveway – he sees most everyone else has, but he’s certain his loud clunker of a truck would have only marred the view.

The house is stunning. It sits on top of a stony cliff that overlooks the North Sea. He cranes his neck up, taking in the mansion. It looks as if it’s four stories tall, and each window has its own personal balcony. The front door is wide open, so he walks through, admiring the high ceilinged foyer. His flip flops clop across the beautiful black and white marble floor, echoing loudly with each step, making him feel more and more self-conscious.

He’s already running extremely late. It took him forever to decide what to wear. Stupid, he knows. But he’s fucking nervous. He’s never been to a party like this. With people like this. He ultimately decided on a t-shirt and board shorts and flip flops – it was a pool party, right? But as he looks around the back patio, at the caterers and full bar, Rowan’s not sure he made the right choice. He looks over his shoulder, desperate for some reassurance from the girl he brought with him for moral support, but can only gape, horrified.

His roommate Manon, has taken off her leather jacket and revealed her outfit underneath – an oversized band t-shirt she’s wearing like a dress, which… barely reaches the tops of her thighs. He knows the t-shirt well, and though it promotes the Beastie Boys innocently on the front, he knows when she turns around, in large yellow block letters it will read: GET OFF MY DICK.

“Fucking A, Man. Put your jacket back on. That is so not appropriate. We’re at my boss’s house.”

Manon flicks a piece of lint off her shirt with her long black polished nails and narrows her eyes at Rowan. “Maybe if we hadn’t just walked four hundred miles down the driveway I wouldn’t be so fucking hot.” She smiles, baring her white teeth from under her dark lipstick. “Anyway, no one’s going to care soon. It’s open bar.”

“I don’t know why I asked you to come to this,” Rowan sighs, running his fingers through his hair. This was a bad idea. Manon isn’t exactly… work friendly, he thinks, as he takes in the ferocious-looking dragon tattoo that wraps itself around her forearm and disappears up her shirtsleeve.

“You couldn’t bear the thought of leaving me alone,” Manon coos, batting her heavily lined eyes at him. “Despite my many protests.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Don’t fucking slander me like that, Whitethorn. You know I’m the best you’ve ever had.” Manon winks. It’s a joke between them. They’ve lived together now for two years. Manon saved him after a particularly terrible run of bad roommates, and they’ve been cohabitating since. He made the mistake of telling her she was the best roommate he’d ever had one night, and she’s been taunting him about it ever since. Manon loves being the best.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the best I’ve ever had.” Rowan blows her a kiss, and she pretends to catch it and throw it back at him. He clutches his heart, wounded from her rejection. Though it’s par for the course with the two of them.

A throat clears loudly, and they both turn. Rowan’s boss stands with the one person he wanted to work himself up to seeing today. Aelin looks just as good as she did the last time Rowan saw her — if not better, all warm sun-kissed skin and long wavy hair in an ethereal white dress. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes glint with fire. Rowan’s beginning to think that’s just their natural state.

“Lorcan!” Rowan, stutters, unprepared.

Lorcan’s lips tug into a small smirk as his eyes slide over to Aelin. “Aelin, I wanted to introduce you to—”

“Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin drawls his name and holds out her hand out to shake his.

“I guess your connections came through,” Rowan says with a smile, but it’s not returned, and Rowan feels self-conscious again as he pulls his hand back.

There’s an awkward pause as Rowan wonders what the hell to say next. Aelin doesn’t seem interested in continuing a conversation, and Lorcan isn’t exactly the most amicable guy in the world.

Aelin’s eyes narrow and turn to the girl on Rowan’s right. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“What?” Completely flustered, Rowan’s forgotten that Manon is beside him. Manon looks at him, annoyed. “Oh. Uh, yeah.” He shrugs. “Sorry. This is Manon.”

“I’ve just been standing here the whole time, you asshole,” Manon chides, and Rowan sends her a warning glare, but she smiles widely and ignores him, holding her hand out to shake hands with Aelin.

“Manon Blackbeak. Thank you so much for having me.” Though Manon sounds sincere, Rowan knows Manon is being anything but. She’s going to be mocking him about this party for days.

Aelin returns her handshake, and gasps upon seeing Manon’s nails — intricate black and white designs on long talon like shapes. Manon says they’re coffin shaped. Because that’s apparently a thing. Rowan shudders. Manon’s nails are the one thing about her that truly frighten him.

“Oh, I love your nails,” Aelin says, admiring them thoroughly. “But it’s such a shame you’ve broken two of them.”

Manon’s amber eyes flash with glee as she gives Aelin a practically feral grin. “Oh, sweetheart, those aren’t broken. I keep those two short on purpose, so I don’t hurt pretty things like you.”

“Jesus, Manon,” Rowan barks out, blushing for Aelin. Watching Manon flirt with the girl he’s had his eye on is enough to send him into an early grave. Rowan scans Aelin’s face for any signs of offense. He doesn’t see any, but feels the need to apologize for his roommate, regardless. “I’m so sorry for her. Honestly.”

Aelin looks confused, her eyes darting between Manon and Rowan at a rapid pace. “…I don’t get it,” Aelin admits, and Manon is about to explain when Rowan cuts her off.

“It’s better that way.”

Manon rolls her eyes and twists her long platinum hair over her shoulder. She preens, admiring her manicure and picks off a nonexistent hangnail before looking back at Aelin. “Something you should know about Rowan is that he’s absolutely no fun.”

“So it seems,” Aelin says, her brow furrowed. Aelin’s demeanor changes in an instant again, giving them a terse smile. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Manon. And to officially meet you, Rowan. Enjoy the party.” And with a flounce of her skirt, she’s gone.

As Rowan watches Aelin disappear back into her house —

“What’s the story there?” Manon asks. “You piss in her cereal or something?” Rowan quirks an eyebrow at Manon, and she laughs. “That girl does not like you.”

Rowan crosses his arms defensively. “Why would she not like me? I’m very likable.”

Manon poked a sharp talon into his arm. “That’s debateable. Regardless, I know you did something.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Rowan can feel the anger swirling around his stomach. There was some fundamental reflex to being disliked that always got the better of Rowan. It wasn’t that he had a compulsive need to be liked, but — okay, maybe it was that a little bit. But also, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And why was he so damn upset about being blown off by a person he’d spoken to just a handful of times?

Lorcan snorts as he finally pipes up. “Aelin’s a handful. Steer clear that drama.”

It’s the most candid Rowan has ever heard Lorcan ever be, so he nods, taking in his warning. Though he’s not a hundred percent sure he’s going to adhere to it.

“Let’s get drinks,” Rowan suggests and Manon follows him willingly. Drinks are definitely an idea she can get behind.

Rowan meets up at the bar with the rest of the Cadre — that’s what the group of his coworkers has named their text thread. He’s not exactly close with any of them yet, but it was nice to be added to the group chat. Fenrys and Gavriel are already wet from the pool and the twins, Connell and Vaughan, pass around beers to everyone.

Rowan’s taken his first swig of beer when he realizes he’s lost Manon along the way. He finds her mid-conversation with Elide, one of the other Playland managers. Rowan isn’t super familiar with the petite girl, and he’s shocked to see that his roommate is.

“You found a friend,” Rowan says, handing a beer to Manon.

“Manon was my Resident Advisor my freshman year at University of Terrasen. Can you believe that?” Elide squeals. “She was the absolute coolest. She always let me sleep on her couch when my roommate kicked me out for slutty sleepovers.” Elide leans into Manon’s side, and Rowan expects the cold, white-haired girl to shake her off, but she doesn’t. She shocks the hell out of Rowan and wraps her arm around Elide’s shoulders and squeezes her, looking down at her with a fond smile. A small pang of jealousy blooms in Rowan’s stomach. He didn’t expect Manon to have her own friends at this party. She was here to be his support. Which he obviously, desperately needs. He’s floundering here.

As Rowan tunes in and out of Elide and Manon’s conversation, giving the appropriate mhms and wows, his eyes wander the patio, searching for the blonde who disappeared on him earlier. He can’t shake her dismissal. He wants to talk to her. Know what’s behind those blue and gold eyes of hers. Know why the hell she walked away from him. He spots her by the pool. She’s reemerged from the house with her hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing only a white bathing suit and freshly painted bright red lips. Rowan can’t help but stare as she slowly makes her way into the pool, the water rising until it hits right at her chest. It’d be indecent if the swimsuit weren’t so modes. The girl certainly knows how to command attention.

“Rowan.” Manon snaps her long claws in front of his face.

“Hm?” Rowan brings his attention back to his evilly grinning roommate.

“I asked if you wanted to get into the pool,” Manon says, her eyebrow raised.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Manon raises up onto her tiptoes and whispers into Rowan’s ear. “Think she’d be down for a threesome? She is fire.”

Rowan’s cheeks heat as he pushes Manon away. “Stop that.”

Manon grins. “But you’re so easy to rile up.”

Rowan finds a free chair for their things and strips off his t-shirt, and Manon does the same. He sighs upon seeing Manon’s black mesh strappy bikini, which looks more like lingerie than swimwear, showing off the artwork inked all over her body. Not that he can talk. He has his own tattoo, which runs up his chest and down his back.

As they make their way towards the pool, Rowan pauses. Aelin is in the pool with another man. He’s pale with floppy brown hair, and Rowan can tell he’s a rich kid just by looking at him. Their hands are all over each other. Aelin smiles and lets him kiss her cheek as she hoists herself onto his back.

“Uh ohhh,” Manon drawls. “Looks like Barbie’s already got herself a Ken.”

Rowan elbows her in the ribs. Perhaps a little harder than intended. Manon scowls at him. “I’m never taking you as a wingman anywhere ever again,” Rowan grits out.

“Ahah! So you admit it. I am here as a wingman because you have a crush on the boss’s daughter.”

Rowan flicks his pine green eyes at Manon. He doesn’t have to confirm anything. Manon has figured him out. So what? He thought Aelin was cute, and yeah, he thought maybe today would be a good opportunity to talk to her again. Get to know her a little better. Maybe start a friendship. Maybe more. Who knows? But it looks like that’s not in the cards. The dismissal was her way of letting him down easy. She’s already involved. Whatever. It’s better this way, Rowan thinks to himself. This way he won’t put his job at risk. Or his heart. It’s fine. He doesn’t know anything about the girl other than how good she looks in a bathing suit. He’ll get over it. He’s sure of it.

Except he doesn’t. The rest of the day is torture. Aelin avoids his gaze, shifting away from him at every opportunity. And it drives him absolutely insane. She splashes around the pool with her cohort, whose name he overhears is Dorian. He swears if he hears her shout out “Dor!” with unbridled affection one more time, he’s going to crack his teeth by how hard he’s grinding them. He tries to distract himself by racing with the Cadre, who’ve taken up the entire deep end, but he tires quickly.

Water-logged and exhausted from the sun, Rowan pulls himself out of the pool. He leaves Manon in Elide’s company and tells her he’s going for a walk. Rowan needs to clear his head. He grabs another beer and heads down the walkway to the beach. There’s something about the salt air and the sand that soothes him. Rowan walks a ways down, admiring the row of mega mansions that overlooks the water, though he can’t help but feel like even more of an outsider than he already is. He does not belong in this neighborhood. By the time Rowan makes his way back to the Ashryvers’ the sun is halfway dipped into the horizon, and dusk is upon them.

He finds a side gate to the house and makes his way through it, surprised that it leads to a beautiful rose garden. Vines crawl and wind themselves around arched trellises creating a magical canopy of flowers. His mom would love this garden. He sits to take a picture for her when the garden lights turn on, lighting the flowers with delicate twinkle lights, giving the garden an ethereal glow.

Rowan’s phone buzzes with a text from Manon. People are leaving. Where u at, bitch?

He laughs to himself and texts her back quickly. Be right there. Just paused to take a pic.

Loser.

Rowan ignores Manon’s reply and snaps another photo of the garden. He wishes he had his real camera and not just his camera phone to capture the light of the garden, but he thinks he manages to take an okay snap of the lit roses with the fading sun over the ocean in the background.

He’s about to head back to the patio when he hears a voice from overhead call out, “Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou, Romeo?”

He looks up, and sure enough, Aelin is dramatically leaning over her balcony, hand placed over her brow, as if she were searching through the crowds for her paramour.

Rowan is positive she doesn’t see him in the dusky twilight, so he chuckles somewhat loudly and gives her a short wave to get her attention.

Aelin straightens up immediately, her posture suddenly rigid with tension. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t see anyone out here.”

“I figured,” Rowan says, running his hands through his hair, a nervous habit of his. He spots a silhouetted shadow emerging from behind Aelin and smiles sadly. “By the way, I think your Romeo is behind you.”

Confused, Aelin turns, and sure enough Dorian appears next to her. He pulls her into his arms, and Rowan’s heart gives a small sad tug as he watches Dorian spin Aelin and lower her into a low dip. His footsteps feels heavy as he walks away and hears her peals of laughter ring out into the slowly encroaching darkness.

~*~*~*~*~

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters – ask me HERE

tag list:

@thewayshedreamed​ 

@b00kworm​

@alifletcher2012​ 

@aknymph​

@the-third-me​

@mymultiversee​

@superspiritfestival​

@empress-ofbloodshed​

@http-itsrebecca​

@queen-of-glass​

@but-she-was-aelin-galathynius​

@westofmoon​

@rowaelinforeverworld​

@iliketoasterstrudels​

@bamchickawowow​

@hizqueen4life​

@faerie-queen-fireheart​

@giorgia-the-trashpanda

[koala-otter]

gaang modern AU part ii

here’s part 2 to this modern AU I wrote 

this is coming a day later than I said it would, but in my defense it got really long, and now I simply can’t keep looking at it

I’m not sure if I want to write a part 3, but it’s been fun, so we’ll see!! 

anyways, have some toph beifong and gaang pool shenanigans and a couple of kisses and some light drinking

3.5k words

Suki understands what her friends have been trying to explain as soon as they roll into the driveway. 

“Oh,” she breathes, looking out the window. She turns around to look at Katara. “It’s a villa villa.”

An ancient, eight-foot high stone wall stretches in front of them, with a wide set of wood doors that open to reveal the structure they can already sort of see behind it. The Beifong summer home is a stunning example of old Earth Kingdom architecture, an elegant stone structure built around a courtyard on a raised platform. The house’s front holds a wide entryway decorated with enormous pillars, and between its bright colors and delicate construction, the house itself almost looks like a tiered cake. The central section of the building is four stories, and each of the upper floors is surrounded by a wraparound balcony with its own pillars, all pulling the viewer’s eye up to a roof of spotless, yellow, glazed ceramic tiles that shine under the blue of the cloudless sky. 

Everyone in the car takes a moment to gaze up at the edifice, this testament to the longevity of the Beifongs, their symbol of power and endurance. 

Except one. 

“Yep, it’s old as hell,” Sokka says, putting the car into park. He turns off the engine. “Wait until you see the movie theater inside, though. Now that’s something to look at.”

“Sokka,” Katara says disapprovingly.

They all pile out of the car and begin pulling their bags from the trunk when a voice rings out across the courtyard. 

“Look alive, knuckleheads!”

Toph comes barreling out of the entrance in a way that is only possible through years of familiarization, and she stops in the middle of the courtyard. 

“All right, you all have to come to me now,” she says, her arms outstretched.

“Toph!” Sokka cries excitedly. He rushes over to her and scoops her off the stone tiles and into a tight hug.

Toph sounds like she’s choking. “Keep me on the ground, dumbass,” she says, “so I can know where I am.”

He releases her, and her feet hit the ground with a slight thud. She keeps a tight hold on his arm. 

“Thank God you’re all here,” Toph says. “My mom didn’t want me to be alone before you guys arrived, so she made Yu stay with me.” She rolls her eyes. “Let me tell you, it has not been fun.”

As if having heard his cue, Yu pops out of the house and starts after Toph. The older man, one of the most senior servants in the Beifong household, looks thoroughly exhausted as he approaches the group.

“Miss Toph,” he calls, “you left your balled melon untouched. If you leave it for too long, it’ll get warm!”

Katara and Aang snicker behind their hands, but they stop abruptly when Toph’s face tilts threateningly toward them. 

Toph ignores Yu’s statement once she hears him stand next to her. “Yu, my friends are here,” she says, shaking Sokka’s arm almost in demonstration. “You can go now.”

“But, Miss Toph, I’m sure your mother—”

Toph sighs loudly to cut him off. “Did you buy the groceries?”

“Why, yes, of course,” Yu replies hurriedly.

“And the rooms are ready?”

“Yes.”

“And the pool’s open?”

Aang feels Katara perk up next to him as she waits for the answer.

“Yes,” Yu says again, and Aang can’t help smiling when he hears a hiss of excitement leave Katara.

“And the bar’s stocked?”

“Of course,” Yu says, now with a slight roll of his eyes.

“And my friends are here,” Toph says with a sweeping motion of her arm. No one tells her she’s just gestured toward a bush. “Now if I remember right, this is the part where you go.”

Yu bows to the group. “You’re right, Miss Toph,” he says. “I hope you all have a wonderful stay here.” 

He turns to go back into the house, but pauses to face them once more with a grimace. “Please don’t break anything this time,” he adds before he goes, too full of worry for his words to have been an afterthought.

“He’s so dramatic,” Toph says with a wave of her hand once he’s gone. “It was just a Quartz Dynasty vase.”

“Right,” Sokka says sheepishly, exchanging a furtive look with Zuko, who’s suddenly taken great interest in the Beifongs’ landscaping.

“All right,” Toph says, tugging Sokka’s arm. “Let’s go to the pool before Katara loses her mind.”

“Really?” Katara cries excitedly, already stepping in line with them.

“It was cleaned this morning just for you, Sweetness.”

Zuko stops them. “Hold on, I think Suki’s still taking it in,” he says in an amused tone.

Suki snaps her head back down and grins self-consciously. “I was looking at the little people,” she says in a high-pitched explanation, pointing to a small, ceramic procession of a dragon, a camelephant, and a winged boar on the eaves of the roof. She grabs her bag and follows them.

They walk clear through the first floor to reveal that the house stands on the crest of a hill, the rest of which tumbles before them as a garden full of sprawling lawns and blooming peony bushes and trees thick with pink and white blossoms. Before the drop of the hill, overlooking the lush green landscape, is the swimming pool full of crystal clear water. As soon as it comes into sight, Katara drops her bag and pulls her shirt off to reveal she already has her swimsuit on underneath, a simple white bikini. 

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” she calls, kicking off her shorts, and before anyone can say anything else, she’s crossed the grass and the sandstone patio and dived into the pool in one precise, fluid motion.

“That’s not fair, she already put her suit on,” Sokka says. He notices Aang suddenly dropping to his knees, rifling through his own bag and grabbing something before running toward the poolhouse. “And where are you going?”

“I don’t wanna be a rotten egg, Sokka!” Aang yells. The door slams behind him so he can pull on his orange trunks.

Once everyone’s changed and finally joined Katara in the pool, it turns out Toph is the rotten egg, because she refuses to join them in the water. 

“Come on, Toph,” Aang pleads once more.

“You know I don’t like swimming,” she says from the side.

“Won’t you just come to the shallow end? I’ll stay with you the whole time.” He holds his hand up in an oath even though he knows she can’t see it. “Promise.”

Toph considers him for a moment. 

“All right,” she finally says, holding out her hand for him to take. “But if you let me drown, I will murder you.”

Aang only laughs and helps her down, keeping a hold on her hand as they stand side by side in the water.

The wind whistles through the leaves of the garden’s trees and ruffles Suki’s chin-length hair. She plunges under the water.

“We should have a hawk-rooster fight,” she says when she resurfaces. She slicks her wet hair away from her face with her hands. 

“You’re right, Suki,” Sokka says brightly. He turns to Zuko and pats himself on the shoulder. “Zuko, hop on.”

Katara pauses mid-lap. “Are you kidding? That’s not a fair team.” She swims over to Zuko and pulls him by the arm. “Come on, Zuko, you’re helping me beat my brother.”

Zuko sighs as Katara clambers onto his shoulders. “Why does everything have to be a competition between you two?”

“You sound like Bato,” Sokka laughs. “Every game night he—”

“Sokka, quit talking and help me up,” Suki says from his back.

“Sorry, sorry, okay.” Sokka lifts her easily onto his shoulders and plants himself in front of Zuko. 

“Ready?” Zuko asks.

Sokka leans forward and places a quick kiss on Zuko’s lips. “Don’t get upset when we beat you,” he says with a smirk.

Zuko wears a small, dreamy smile as he replies, “I won’t.”

He feels a repeated, urgent patting on the top of his head. 

“He’s trying to distract you,” Katara hisses. “Focus! Do not lose this for us!”

Zuko rolls his eyes and falls into his stance, his hands clasped around Katara’s ankles. 

“One, two, three, go!” Sokka yells shrilly, and Suki and Katara fall into grappling.

Toph crosses her arms. “I think I’d be good at this game,” she says idly.

“Probably,” Aang replies, smiling when he sees Sokka narrowly avoid a foot to the eye— “Jesus, Suki, be careful!” he cries—and patting Toph on the shoulder. “You always beat me up on land.”

Toph snorts. “That’s nothing. Talk to me about how I pinned Sokka last week. Now that was fun.”

They keep watching the fight playing out in front of them, Suki and Katara’s hands intertwined, each trying to push the other off. Both yell at the young men beneath them to hold steady.

“Oh, shit,” Toph suddenly says. “I forgot to ask Yu to pick up ice before he left.”

Aang glances at her before looking back in time to see Suki nearly lose her balance. She recovers and jabs Katara in the shoulder. “I can go,” he offers. 

“You don’t have to,” Toph says.

“No, I will.”

With one more well-timed shove from Suki, Katara goes sailing off of Zuko’s shoulders and into the water in front of Aang and Toph with a loud splash.

Toph pulls herself closer to Aang. “A little warning for the blind girl next time!” she yells in the direction of the group.

Katara comes up laughing, trying desperately to push the hair out of her eyes. “Sorry, Toph,” she says.

“It’s really Suki’s fault,” Sokka points out before plunging under the water himself to let her off his shoulders.

“Wow, nice scapegoating,” Toph says dryly. “No wonder you guys broke up.”

Suki laughs. “Actually, I think it had more to do with the huge crush he had on his best friend,” she says, tilting her head in Zuko’s direction.

Zuko shrugs with an awkward smile. 

Sokka’s head and shoulders emerge from the water. He tugs on his wolftail to stop its dripping. “Are we playing again?” he asks.

“I’m out,” Zuko says. He swims toward the shallow end and hops out to sit on the side of the pool. “I don’t think I can take Katara yelling at me anymore.”

Katara narrows her eyes at him before turning to Aang. “Looks like I need a new teammate,” she says. “Do you want to play?”

 Aang smiles at her regretfully. “I would, but Toph just asked me to go pick up some ice.”

“In town?” Katara asks, wringing out her wet hair.

“Yup.”

“I’ll go with you,” she says brightly. She starts making her way toward the pool steps.

Aang’s lips spread into a goofy grin. “Okay,” he agrees. 

Katara towels off while Aang gets Sokka’s keys from Zuko and guides Toph up on the side of the pool next to him. As he rises from being bent over Toph and Zuko, laughing at something Zuko’s said, Katara cannot help staring at him. He’s been taller than her for a long time, so his stature is nothing new, but he’s filled out significantly in the past couple of years, and she does not often get the opportunity to see the evidence in full display. The broad planes of his chest and shoulders practically shine in the late afternoon sun, and the clean lines and ridges of his abdomen contract with his laughter, guiding her gaze further down to the angled cut of his hips, across which his shorts are slung low. 

Katara almost gasps when Aang addresses her. 

“Ready?” he asks, pulling a T-shirt over his head. 

It seems he hasn’t noticed her staring.

“Let’s go,” she replies in a rush, grabbing her sunglasses and following him back through the house and out to the car. 

The doors slam shut behind them, and Katara concerns herself with rolling all of the windows down so they can still feel the summer breeze. Aang checks his mirrors and starts out of the driveway when he notices what Katara’s wearing. 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure the ‘no shirt, no service’ rule still applies all the way out here,” he teases her as he guides the car back onto the winding, mountain road.

“It’s not like I’m not going to wear it at all,” Katara says defensively, though she’s smiling. She holds up her shirt in her hand. “I need to dry off first.” 

Aang glances at her from the road and realizes she means the bikini top, which is more or less still soaked through. If she put the shirt on now, it would only seep through and leave an obvious stain on the front. He turns resolutely to look back at the road, swallowing hard.

The last time he saw her in the white top, with just the two of them together, was on a road trip to Omashu to celebrate Zuko’s college graduation. On the last day before they reached the city, Katara insisted on going to see a little-known cave nearby with an underground spring, and that night, after several cupfuls of terrible Earth Kingdom grain alcohol, raised the idea of going to swim in it again, under the full moon. Aang was the only one who could be convinced to go with her. They ventured back into the cave with a flashlight and turned it off once they got to the pool at the bottom, the night quiet but for the occasional sound of droplets falling from the stalagmites. They stayed close to each other in the dark water, but it was Katara who wrapped herself around Aang, and after a while, pressed her chest to his, separated only by the fabric of her white top. She looked up at him with her half-lidded eyes and boozy blush and only hesitated briefly before kissing him under the silver light of the moon. 

Katara woke the next morning with a wicked hangover, and Aang drove the rest of the way to Omashu with Sokka sitting next to him, any hope of talking to Katara about their kiss drowned out by Sokka’s elaborate stories about another student in his department named Wing Fan. Neither mentioned what happened the night before, Aang wondering whether Katara even remembered it, and it never happened again, so they let it go. 

But Aang remembered it. And if he had asked, he would have known that Katara did, too. 

The winding road lets out to a stretch devoid of surrounding trees, and the glare of the early evening sun hits Aang right in the eyes. He pulls the sun visor down, but the light still shines through and makes him squint. 

“I should have brought sunglasses,” he said absentmindedly, vaguely holding up his hand to see the road.

“Here, have mine,” Katara pipes up, and takes them off to carefully place them on Aang’s face. She giggles at the sight. “They look perfect on you.”

Aang sneaks a grin at her, his gray eyes obscured by the bright blue flowered frames thrifted by Sokka for Katara’s birthday. “Thanks, I try.”

He keeps them on even when they drive into town and walk into the supermarket, Katara pulling her shirt back on on the way in. He refuses even to push them onto his head, looking at the signs above the aisles through the darkened lenses, insisting, “But, Katara, I still need them for the ride back.”

Katara only shakes her head in amusement and pulls him after her toward the frozen aisle.

“Oh, mangoes!” Aang cries, and he stops in the middle of the produce to admire the piles of fruit. “These are Gyatso’s favorite.”

“Should we get some?” Katara asks. “Or any other fruit? Or snacks for the house or something?”

“If you think so,” Aang says noncommittally. 

“What do you want?” she asks. She examines the assortment and wrinkles her nose when she notices the papaya. 

Aang shrugs. “Ah, you know me. I don’t really care what we eat.”

“Really?” Katara asks disbelievingly. “This from the vegetarian who tried to convince Sokka to participate in meatless Mondays.”

Aang laughs. “It was worth a shot.” He picks up a mango. “Besides, it worked on you.”

“Hey, I’m meatless everyday now because of you, and you better not forget it,” Katara says, poking a finger to his chest. 

Aang looks down at her hand, those goofy sunglasses still hiding his eyes, and then grins widely at her. “I won’t,” he says sincerely. 

“Good.” Katara swipes the mango from his hand and grabs one more before taking off again toward the frozen food aisle. 

They drive back to the house in no rush, the ice and the mangoes safely stowed in the backseat. They don’t talk but they don’t need to, the sound of the radio tangling with the air rushing by outside and through the windows. Katara smiles contentedly as she sits next to Aang, occasionally sneaking glances at him, at the veins of his forearm as he keeps his hand on the wheel, and at the angle of his jaw. Before they reach the house, she silently leans toward him and reaches for the back of his neck. His chin tilts up as her touch startles him, and he looks at her quickly out of the corner of his eye, but she feels him relax beneath her hand as soon she tucks the tag back into the collar of his shirt. Her fingertips brush lightly against the back of his neck before she brings her hand back to her lap, and she spies a small smile on his face as they pull back into the driveway of the home.

They’re both quiet, feeling content and a little contemplative, as they walk back through the house. 

“You made it!” Suki cries a little too loudly, standing next to Zuko at the outdoor bar on the right side of the pool patio. Her arms rise above her head, and she reveals a tall glass in her hand that’s now only a quarter full.

“So this is what you’ve been up to while we were gone?” Katara asks in an amused tone. 

“Not all of us,” Zuko says, exchanging a look with her. 

“Yeah, some of us were waiting for ice,” Toph chirps, abandoning Sokka at the pool’s edge to walk up to Zuko. “You promised me a frozen marg, Sparky, let’s go.”

Aang laughs and brings the ice over to Zuko, while Katara balances the mangoes on the countertop. 

Zuko pulls out a blender. “Do you want one, too?” he asks the pair. 

“I will have another,” Suki declares.

“You’ve been cut off,” he replies, only half-serious. He notices Katara eyeing the water again. “As you can see, I do have experience in poolside service,” he says, pointing out Sokka floating idly in the pool, an empty glass near the stone’s edge.

Katara smiles and touches his arm, kissing him quickly on the cheek. “You’re the best,” she says before tossing her clothes off again and jumping once more into the water.

“Katara!” they hear Sokka shriek.

Aang laughs and turns back to Zuko. “Need any help?” he asks enthusiastically.

“Not now that we have the ice,” Zuko replies. He looks at Aang curiously, but before he can say anything, Sokka stops splashing Katara to greet Aang.

“Hey, Aang! Nice glasses.”

Aang’s forgotten he’s wearing them; he blushes once his hand comes up to touch them. “They’re Katara’s,” he explains.

“Cute,” Suki comments before sucking once more on her straw.

Zuko chuckles. “Makes sense.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, and Katara splashes him in the face.

“Aang, are you coming?” she calls. 

“Yeah, just a second!” he calls back. 

He turns back to Zuko and misses the sight of Sokka picking Katara up and throwing her into the deep end.

“Go hang out with her,” Zuko says quietly to Aang, a light smile on his face. 

“Yeah,” Toph says, significantly louder, “go with Katara. And Zuko,” she says, slamming her hands on the countertop, “what is going on? I hear no blending.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aang says, taking the sunglasses off and folding them carefully next to the mangoes.

“I may be blind, Twinkletoes, but I’m not an idiot,” Toph says, crossing her arms. 

“Toph sees things,” Suki says seriously from her perch on the bar counter. Her eyes widen as she faces the group. “Below-the-surface things.” 

“Thanks, Suki.” Toph grins mischievously.

Aang laughs good-naturedly. “You guys are crazy.” 

Zuko watches as the younger man throws off his shirt and walks toward the pool, only to stop dead at the edge. Katara emerges from below the water’s surface, smoothing her hair back into a thick curtain of waves falling behind her. The soft evening light creates shadows across her form that only soften her curves and make her skin look even smoother. She looks almost ethereal, like one of the benevolent spirits of the sea.

She notices Aang and looks up at him eagerly. “Are you coming in?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” he replies, shaking himself out of his reverie and finally slipping into the water next to her. 

She grins in delight and holds his hand under the water. “I’ll race you to the bottom,” she challenges him. 

“You’re on,” Aang laughs, and the two disappear into the deep end.

Sokka turns around from retrieving his glass to find himself alone. “Where did they go?” he asks the trio at the bar. 

They ignore him. 

“Twinkletoes just did it again, didn’t he?” Toph snickers.

“Yep,” Zuko says, and he switches on the blender.

[ironmandeficiency]

day five: ba & jort

ohmygod these boys are two of my faves, can’t have one without the other which makes the longest of all the posts abt my clone boys. i guess you can say i have favorites even tho i will vehemently deny it

playlists: jacob & ba - jort/belladonna

fics: who’s my commander & 13x7=28

a/n: jacob & bella belong to @capricornrabies & the art was made by @persaloodles

warnings: mentions of smut

is a soft and precious boy who tries his best

is a soft and precious boy who tries his best

got his name from this one time when his squad had to take shelter in a barn & the sheep wouldn’t let him sleep with his brothers in the loft area, instead keeping him by them the whole night and threatening to bite jort when he tried to free his batchmate

also has v v floofy hair which also works with the name

he and jort have joint ownership of best older brother ™️ title to naturally, a soft and pure medic-in-training (refer to 13x7=28 for details)

absolute mother hen to anyone and everyone. doesn’t matter if he met you an hour ago, you’re going to get mothered by this soft sniper

“you could pour soup in my lap and i’d apologize to you”

was selectively mute for several months after leaving kamino, jort helped him come out of his shell again and it’s fabulous

jacob sutton (younger sister to jamie) is an admiral for the 91st and their star cruiser crashed, and the 25th was the closest to send aid

ba sees jacob for the first time and tried to flirt but instead inserted his foot into his mouth with his awkwardness

but it gets better between them as time goes on. these two are my personal goal for the future

they have a precious massif named yogurt

jacob found him as a puppy by a dumpster on coruscant eating from a yogurt cup and was like “yes this is my boy”

ba would sometimes get to take him on campaigns. would have to fight who half the time just to see his girlfriend’s dog. when yogurt is a puppy the 25th will carry him around in one of those pet/baby backpacks

in a world where the war ends without order 66 and clones kinda get rights (but jacob doesn’t really get them bc of her status as a not-quite-person), they get a rude awakening when they realize that they wouldn’t legally get the post-war life that they deserve bc the republic isn’t letting her go

other clones help ba smuggle jacob (yogurt was listed as an emotional support animal) off-planet and they settle down in a house they build together. there’s a wraparound porch, a porch swing, fence for yogurt, etc.

since the republic doesn’t know what to do with the baby clones, kamino is commandeered and turned into a clone adoption agency. jacob and ba end up adopting four little boys who are their absolute world. they’re batchmates and were toddlers when adopted (so like 2-3 standard years, 1-1.5 clone years)

cabuor - his name is mando’a for “protect”; the oldest of the four, as he’s older he is the most protective of his bros. is basically jamie 2.0 and even tho he loves saviin they butt heads A LOT.

saviin - name is “violet” in honor of the 25th’s paint colors. jort 2.0. absolutely chaotic but highly lovable. there’s a problem? 99% chance sav caused it. first to start trusting ba and jacob. is the kind of child you would want to put on a leash

ciryc - his name means “cold” simply bc he runs colder than the rest of them. from the time they knew how, they would all dogpile w ciryc on the bottom to keep him warm. gets free pass to snuggle closest to jacob to get warmer faster. will steal jacob’s shirts (that once belonged to ba). sunshine baby!!!

meer - personification of 🥺. got his name from jacob who affectionately calls him a meerkat (he’s smaller and skinnier than the rest). jacob has a second shadow and his name is meer. has mute spells similar to when ba was young but eventually they only happened when he was startled/in new environment

so the boys were hesitant abt their new parents at first. it was only marginally easier for them to warm up to ba bc he was a clone but it took them nearly a year of living together for them to look at jacob and think “this woman is mom-shaped”

but once they get comfortable with her, these boys are all 100% mama’s boys

jacob has a metal spine (incident during her training) that clicks when she walks/moves/does anything. ba and jacob hear it and think of the trauma that led to it, but the boys hear it and their young minds correlate it to “mom, safe, comfort”

it leads to them being able to know when jacob is close to finding them during games of hide-and-seek

ba and jacob both get tattoos that represent their sons (and yes, yogurt too)

jacob has tattoos of handprints of ba, the boys, & yogurt’s paw on her back

ba would get tiny ones for the boys: a meerkat silhouette, a splash of purple “paint”, a shield, and a snow cloud

then he gets a massive one for jacob — a copy of her metal spine tattooed over his

jort:

he’s a bastard child and is proud to be one

scout & chaos bisexual

is a whore at first but when he’s w someone, has eyes for only them

got his name when he turned his blacks into a crop top and short shorts while on felucia during a heatwave

he ended up getting a handprint tattoo on his thigh/ass bc of how often he was smacked when he wore the short shorts

he and ba have joint ownership of best older brother ™️ title to naturally, a soft and pure medic-in-training (refer to 13x7=28 for details)

prankster af

look into his eyes, there is nothing behind his eyes except for elevator music. the only time he’s allowed more than one coherent thought is when the dvd icon hits the exact corner of the screen

will play up his dumbassery around ppl he’s uncomfortable with

will bully/blackmail his bros into going to the medbay — “don’t make nat’ika sad by hiding things, he only wants to help you” bc jort isn’t gonna get caught slippin. you won’t know he’s soft on you until he’s mother-henning you the way ba and naturally do for literally everybody

can bullshit his way out of any situation

isn't the best w crying ppl and will just try to make them laugh and hope that someone that can talk abt said emotions arrives soon usually this person is ba

“and i also don’t want me to be doing what i’m doing”

ends up dating the daughter of a very prominent mob boss who runs a fashion company in the form of seven feet and eight inches tall belladonna tomb, bella for short

has no idea whatsoever that he’s dating the daughter of a very prominent mob boss

bella thinks it’s an unspoken agreement to not bring it up but jort just. doesn’t know.

since bella is seven foot eight, jort can fit into her tops and is unashamed to wear “women’s clothes”. bella will design him clothes (and LOVES to be a model for bella’s clothes). his civvie fashion is comparable to harry styles

bella’s species is half soleon/half skeleton-monster-thing (soleons are an original lion-like species & the skeleton details are all made by cap, mentioned above) (also bella’s partly translucent and you can see some organs thru her torso) and she has talons and very pointy teeth and eyes that slightly glow jort ends up getting a tattoo of her teeth marks in his ass opposite to the handprint but that’s another story

when him and bella start becoming intimate, there are lots. of. marks. teeth, talons, you name it. the medics (esp no, poor man) are frightened that jort is bragging about these marks

then jort has the brilliant idea of sneaking his giant mob boss girlfriend into the barracks while on leave. somehow, maker only knows how, but NO ONE NOTICES until

late that night when everyone’s sleeping, her and jort are sharing his bunk (it’s a tight fit but they make it work). no is doing bed checks to make sure his bros are doing okay, as a concerned medic does. since bella is dark grey in color, she blends in to the dark barracks.

jort starts to fall from the bunk in his sleep and no sees that he’s abt to fall (but does not see bella) and just as no walks to jort’s bunk to fix him, a finely manicured and taloned hand snatches him back into the bunk and gives no a death glare and she deadass GROWLS

poor medic thinks his bro is abt to get eaten by a monster but doesn’t actually do anything to protect his bro from the “monster”

no immediately runs to find who and wakes up nearly everybody in the process. by the time no returns to the barracks with who in tow, jort is awake and is like “hey guys what’s up”

“WHAT IS UP?! THERE’S A KRIFFIN MONSTER WITH CLAWS IN YOUR BUNK!!” “oh no this is bella. bella, meet the boys. the boys, meet bella.” “hi”

ba wakes up during no’s windows shutdown, looks around and sees everyone wide ass awake and then sees bella and jort, “oh hey bella” and then goes back to sleep bc he knew bella

jort did hold ba’s hand while his bro got the spine tattoo for jacob

[lost-n-stereo]

can we steal a moment of happiness

A/N: Harry/Allie New Year’s Eve AU. Prompt by @livinginrhythm

There are at least fifteen people in this room that he doesn’t know.

When he was sixteen it would have been exactly his scene because when he was in a room full of loud people it meant the shit in his head was a little quieter. Booze and pills, random girls that didn’t mind that he had a girlfriend when he kissed them, driving down an empty freeway at three am in a car that cost more than most people made in a year also did the trick.

His dad’s death fucked him up, in more ways than one, not to mention the news that his mom was screwing his girlfriend’s father barely a year later. Everyone looked at Harry Bingham like a rich asshole, which he was (is, sometimes even now) but no one ever really looked beyond that.

Well, except a feisty blonde that made him feel more in two days that anyone else ever did.

It’s been months since he’s laid eyes on Allie Pressman and it’s not as if he thinks about her every day or anything. But sometimes when he’s sleeping alone, which lately has been more often than not, he thinks about her in his bed, blonde curls spilling over dark navy pillowcases, and he thinks maybe he can still smell the perfume she wore in high school.

Luke and Helena are throwing their first New Year’s Eve party as a married couple, which he honestly thinks is a little fucking crazy because they just barely graduated from college. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to settle down. He can’t even make a lifelong commitment to what kind of shampoo to use, let alone who will share his life until he’s fucking dead.

Somehow their entire group of friends managed to stay friends through their college years, even though they spread out literally from coast to coast at various universities. It doesn’t really surprise him that most of them ended up back in the area after graduation. All of their families have been friends for generations so it’s just a given that they all come home for holidays and vacations.

Helena’s parents gifted her and Luke a two story house as a wedding present, a couple acres of land and a wraparound porch, but instead of looking like a newlywed’s sweet little home it currently looks like a fucking frat house. Bodies are everywhere, red solo cups in sweaty hands, and he sees two girls making out in the corner while a group of idiots cheer them on.

He honestly thought he left this shit back in college but hey, what are holidays for?

“Harry Fucking Bingham!”

Hands hit his shoulders and he laughs as Grizz turns him around and pulls him in for a hug. “What’s up, dude?”

Grizz shrugs, takes a pull from a Stella bottle before pointing it at his boyfriend across the room. “Just drove in last night and then picked Sam up from the airport this morning. When did you get in?”

They make small talk, which he kind of hates, and catch up on all the stuff they’ve done since the summer. Harry spent Christmas in London with his mother, which was more of a business trip for her than anything resembling family time. They got back into town two days after Christmas and besides gifting him a new Rolex and the keys to his late grandfather’s Manhattan penthouse, his mom hasn’t said two words to him since.

He sees Cassandra standing in the kitchen, arm around Gordie who’s telling Kelly a story that makes her whole face light up with laughter. It’s hard not to miss her, they weren’t always great together but they spent basically all of high school as a couple but now their parents are together and it’s just weird.

Cassandra makes him think of Allie and he finds himself looking around, eyes searching the crowd for a mess of blonde curls and a surly attitude.

“She’s not here yet,” Grizz says, a smirk playing across his face. Harry raises an eyebrow and his childhood friend laughs. “Oh come on, man. I know you’re looking for Allie.”

He could play dumb or just own up to the fact that yeah, he had a thing with her for a very short time many moons ago and the last time he saw her it was through a diner window in the dead of summer. Kill him for wondering how she’s been.

Instead of saying anything though he just nods, drinks half of his bottled water in one go, and checks the door every few minutes as he’s joined by more of their friends.

It takes an hour before she finally walks through the front door but he doesn’t miss the way her arm is extended behind her, some too tall Hemsworth wannabe grasping her hand as he follows her into the house.

“Allie!!!”

Kelly, Helena and Elle all rush her immediately and Too Tall smiles fondly down at her, kisses her forehead and yells over the music that he’ll grab them some drinks.

He feels a little like he’s been kicked in the stomach but he has no idea why. They slept together two times over four years ago. He shouldn’t give a second thought to her bringing her boyfriend to a party. Then he thinks about it and if she’s bringing him here that means they probably spent the holidays together, with her family, and that means it’s probably serious.

Fuck. Why does he even care?

Her eyes meet his and its then that he realizes he’s been staring at her like a creepy asshole. His first instinct is to just smirk and nod at her, which makes her roll her eyes but he can see the tiny smile playing on her lips.

She might have always seen past his asshole ways but not too long ago she liked how cocky and confident he was.

Her boyfriend joins her after a few minutes, hands her a glass of white wine and joins the conversation she’s having seamlessly. It’s obviously not the first time their friends have met him and he’s kind of surprised no one told him about him.

Then again, no one really knows that they had their little two night stand so he can’t say that he blames them.

“Not drinking tonight?”

He turns around and Cassandra is eyeing his water bottle with a surprised look on her face.

“Nah,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t drink very often these days.”

“Not even on a holiday?”

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes. “New Year’s Eve isn’t a holiday. Just a good reason to party because no one has to work tomorrow.”

“Say hi to my sister yet?”

He’d really like to know why everyone just assumes he wants to talk to Allie.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ like a jerk. He doesn’t mean to be this way but the entire vibe of this night is just pissing him off. If Luke wasn’t one of his oldest friends he probably would have blown off the entire thing.

“You should meet her boyfriend Tommy. He’s a great guy, just graduated top of his class at Stanford.”

He nods and tells her that he’ll get right on that, thinks to himself that he’ll probably keep referring to him as Too Tall in his head, and seriously considers finding a bottle of scotch and making himself at home.

***

The best thing about this house is the wraparound porch. There’s a line of trees at the edge of the property and he lowers himself down on an Adirondack chair that looks straight out of a Pottery Barn catalog.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He doesn’t have to turn to know who that voice belongs to. Sometimes he still hears it whispering in his ear, an echo from long ago that never really seems to go away.

(I’m sure, Harry. I’m ready just…go slow.)

“It’s New Year’s Eve in West Ham, Al. Where else would I be?”

She’s wearing this romper dress thing that he hates immediately but her hair is down and messy, just like it always is. He’s glad to see that hasn’t changed.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

Allie sighs and sets her glass of wine on the table next to him before sitting down in the other chair. “Tommy is inside with Gordie, discussing the time space continuum.”

“Fascinating,” he says with a grin. She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile.

“Shouldn’t you be inside, celebrating the last few minutes of the year?”

“Shouldn’t you be with him?”

She’s quiet and when he looks at her she’s staring in the direction of the trees. “What do you think is beyond that tree line?”

He’s not going to make a big deal of her completely ignoring his question, especially since he ignored hers.

“I dunno,” he says, interest piqued at how she’s studying the landscape so intently. “Wanna find out?”

Allie looks back in the direction of the house. “I probably shouldn’t.”

Harry scoffs. “I didn’t ask what you should do. I asked what you want to do.”

“I don’t know,” she says, so seriously that he wonders what exactly she’s thinking about. “Do you?”

“Do I know what I want to do? Fuck, Allie. Not really.” They both laugh but he’s kind of serious. He graduated pre-law but the idea of going to law school gives him hives. “I just want to be happy, I guess.”

She smiles. “Is that your resolution this year?”

“Sounds simple, doesn’t it?”

He watches as she shrugs, takes a tiny sip of her wine and holds the stem gently between her fingers. “I think I have the same resolution. Just find a way to be happy, every day, if only for a minute or two.”

“Are you happy now?”

The wind blows her hair around her face a little and he realizes she must be fucking cold because it’s December in Connecticut and she’s not even wearing a coat. “I am, right this second.”

He doesn’t know what that means, if it has anything to do with him, but he finds that he can echo her sentiment without any trace of a lie.

“Me too.”

There’s yelling from inside, the countdown is starting (at twenty seconds to midnight because these people are idiots) and she sighs, stands up and runs her hands down her sides.

“We should head inside,” she says needlessly and he nods. She surprises him by reaching for him, giving him a hug and kissing the side of his mouth lightly.

“Happy New Year, Harry.”

“Happy New Year, Al.”

***

He hears through the grapevine that Allie broke up with Tommy shortly after Valentine’s Day.

It’s not that he cares but he does file the information away for later.

***

Summers after college don’t feel the same, on account of the fact that almost everyone has a real job and can’t just take three months off to do nothing.

After some serious soul searching he decided to forgo law school. He’s still not sure exactly what he wants to do but he’s got some irons in the fire in Manhattan, some companies reaching out to hire him so for now he’s considering his options and what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

Or at least for the near future.

There are a few people home though, and he smiles when he sees Allie walking down the street near their high school. He pulls his car over and rolls down the window.

“Want a ride?”

She startles at first before she sees that it’s him. It’s ninety degrees outside but she’s still in jeans and a mint green hoodie. “I’m not sure,” she says with a smile.

“You look hot,” he says, and when she raises an eyebrow he points to her hoodie. “A sweater in June, Al? I mean, come on.”

She climbs into his car, making fun of how ostentatious it is and he shrugs.

“What can I say, it makes me happy.” She’s hiding a smile behind a fist and he nudges her with his elbow. “What about you, Allie Pressman? Are you happy?”

“Right now?” She asks as she clicks in her seat belt. “Absolutely.”

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

I can't believe we're here at the end!!! The good news is that the 1-2 chapter (just deciding how to split it up) companion piece from Killian's POV will be posted on Monday! Thank you so much for reading this story that I truly never thought I would finish. It means everything to me that people liked it even the tiniest bit, and I hope this last chapter is as satisfying for you to read as it was for me to write. (Also, I took some liberties with the whole house-purchasing process, so... bear with me, okay?)

Once again, so many thanks to: @cspupstravaganza, @sherlockianwhovian , @lassluna

Tag list: @quirkykayleetam, @squidvisious, @carpedzem, @revanmeetra87, @kmomof4, @capnjay21 

AO3 if that’s your jam: Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7

I’d Pick You (and Your Little Dog, Too)

A Captain Swan Pupstravaganza Story

Summary: According to everyone in the known universe, Emma Nolan’s dog is supposed to lead her to her soulmate. But she’s not even sure if she wants that. Soulmates are pretty idealistic, don’t you think?

Chapter Seven:

Killian is going to propose.

Emma can feel it in her bones. No, in her very soul. Which makes sense since, you know, soulmates and all.

She can’t figure out when he’s going to do it, or where. He hasn’t asked her to go out to any special dinners. They haven’t made any plans to take the boat out yet, as apparently Killian wants it to be perfect before they take her on her maiden voyage as The Jolly Roger.

She supposes that could be why he wants to make it perfect, if he wants to propose on the boat. But she really just wants him to do it already and stop making her wait.

It’s probably her own fault, really. The way she’d taken ages to let him in, and then when he’d given her Liam’s ring, she’d probably looked about ready to run straight across the town line and never look back.

But she’s ready now.

She wants to be married to Killian Jones. She knows, now, that the feeling she’d had when she watched her brother get married has a name. It’s called jealousy, and she’s ready to stop feeling it. She wants to be married, too, not on the outside looking in on a happy couple with rings and on their way to starting a family.

Emma has thought about this a lot, and she’s decided that the best way to tell Killian that she’s ready is to show him. He’s given her a sentimental ring, bought her a freaking boat. He’s waited for her at every step of their relationship. So it’s time for Emma to pull off some big grand gesture or make a romantic speech. Or something.

The problem is that Killian seems to have an endless well of sentimental items and stories to give as romantic gifts, and Emma has none.

Until the house goes up for sale.

The house that she and David grew up in has changed a lot over the past fifteen years. The couple that bought it after their parents died apparently almost tore it down entirely, but decided on a simpler remodel. A paint job, a new fence, and a wraparound porch are the most obvious changes that Emma’s noticed over the years, but she has no idea what it looks like inside. She’s walking past it, as she does on her morning walks with Rascal, and she sees the For Sale sign out front, along with a small “OPEN HOUSE TODAY!” sign beside it.

It won’t hurt to look, Emma tells herself, so she texts David that she’ll be late to work -- or later than usual, really.

The inside is different. The shape is the same, all of the walls and doors exactly where she remembers them. But the colors are all off. The walls were all pale yellows and blues, with white trim, but now everything is a stale gray. Where the floorboards had been faded with time, now they’re stark black.

We’ll fix it up, Emma thinks. And then she stops the self-guided tour and freezes for a moment. She waits for the lead ball in her stomach to form, or for the stutter of her heartbeat that accompanies frightening thoughts about the future. But none of it comes.

“Excuse me,” she calls when she finds the realtor. He’s from a company called Ozman Realty from the next town over, so she doesn’t recognize him. “What’s the asking price on this house?”

“Two-hundred-thousand,” the man tells her. He smiles, but it’s hard and somehow almost… slimey. Emma doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t really have a choice in who’s selling the home she wants to buy. “I should tell you, we’ve already had an offer today, and the sign only went up this morning.”

“Dammit, David,” Emma grumbles “One moment, please.” She pulls her phone out and angrily dials her brother.

“Are you even going to bother coming in today?” he teases her.

“Are you trying to buy the old house out from under me?” She has no time for the teasing. She’s doing this, dammit.

“Wait, what?” David pauses. “Mom and Dad’s house is up for sale?”

“Yes, David! Keep up!” Emma yells into the phone. “Are you telling me you didn’t put this bid on it?”

“No, Emma, I had no idea.” He sounds sincere.

“Well… do you… I mean are you going to bid on it? Now that you know?” Emma runs a hand through her hair, finally letting her nerves catch up to her.

“No, Mary Margaret and I are uh… we’re building our own house, actually. We bought some property on the edge of town. We were hoping to keep it a surprise until, you know, there’s actually a house there.” David stops talking and Emma can picture him leaning forward on his desk, brows creasing together. “Are you going to buy the house, Emma?”

“Yeah, I think I am.” She bites her lip. “Or at least I’m going to try! Someone’s already put a bid on it, so I’ve gotta go.”

“You can use the inheritance.” David blurts out before she can hang up. “I used some of it to buy the property, but the rest is yours.”

When the Nolan twins had turned 18, they’d been shocked to learn that their parents had had a large amount of money set aside for them. They’d lived modestly, taken few family trips, so their parents must have spent all that time saving up without their children's knowledge. Emma had wanted to take a vacation immediately, somewhere warm and tropical and distinctly far away from Storybrooke just for a week, maybe two. But David had insisted that they save it.

“Mom and Dad would want us to use it for our futures, Emma, don’t you think?”

Reluctantly, Emma had agreed. But what was more ‘for our future’ than this house?

Still, she felt… wrong using so much of it.

“That’s our money, David. Not mine alone. How much did you use?” It’s way too early for this conversation -- Emma has only had one cup of coffee, courtesy of Killian. It’s not enough.

“I used fifty-thousand. There’s still a couple hundred thousand left. Seriously, Emma. Use it. I want you to. And if we need more down the line, we’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll think about it. See you soon.”

Emma wanders through the house, looking for the realtor again.

“I’ve got the full amount in my bank account. I’ll pay it up front. I want this house.”

She knows it’s not a good technique. You’re supposed to low-ball or pretend you’re not as interested as you are. But truthfully, Emma doesn’t care. She wants this fucking house.

The realtor looks thrown off by her forwardness, but he puts on his fake smile quickly.

“I’ll have to contact the buyer from this morning and give them a chance to counter,” he tells her.

Seriously?

“Yeah, sure, fine.”

He steps out of the room to make the call and Emma wanders through the living room, pointing out memories to Rascal.

“There was a dent in that wall from when David and I got into a wrestling match once. His head hit right below that window. He needed stitches.” Rascal sniffs the part of the wall she’s pointing to. “And over here--”

“Miss, uh, I didn’t catch your name,” the realtor calls.

“Emma No-- Emma Swan,” she tells him. Storybrooke is a small town, and while most of its inhabitants know her mother’s maiden name, it won’t be their first thought if word gets out that there’s a bid on the house. She just doesn’t want this to get back to Killian.

“Well, Miss Swan, the other bidder has backed down. We’ll just need you to get the money and sign some paperwork, and the house is yours. You skipped quite a few steps by having the money up front,” he jokes. “Why don’t we meet at the seafood restaurant I saw by the docks at 7 tonight and make everything official?”

“Why would we meet at a restaurant?” Emma asks suspiciously.

“Oh well… I was hoping we could…,” he stammers out.

“I don’t even know your name. And you’re asking me on a date?” She crosses her arms and arches an eyebrow. Rascal comes up beside her, sensing the tension.

The man, undeterred, simply holds out a hand.

“Walsh Ozman, of Ozman Realty,” he’s grinning, as if expecting Emma to be impressed.

“Emma Swan, sheriff and home buyer. As in, customer. As in, inappropriate to ask out.” She takes his hand and shakes it firmly, hammering her point home: I’m in charge, not you. For good measure, Rascal growls and stares at the realtor, unblinking.

Walsh clears his throat and takes a step back, eyeing both Emma and Rascal warily.

“Here’s my card. You can come by my office this evening.”

“Thanks.”

*****

Emma’s practically vibrating with excitement for the rest of the day. Creepy realtor aside, she’s bought her old house. For herself. For herself and Killian.

If this doesn’t show him she’s ready to move forward, nothing will.

When she gets home that night, brand new house keys in hand, Killian’s camped out in front of the TV holding a beer. It’s not unlike him to have a drink to unwind after work, but the fact that it’s a beer instead of a nice glass of rum makes Emma think that he’s been stewing on something all day, and he doesn’t want his anger to get the best of him. And drunk Killian is a bit more emotional than the sober version.

“Hey, babe,” Emma calls from the doorway. She begins the process of untying and removing her work shoes in favor of putting on her more comfortable sneakers. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” he answers, not even trying to convince her that it’s true. “Yours?” She hears his footsteps coming towards her.

“It was great, actually. You okay? You look…” Emma can’t quite put her finger on how he looks. Disappointed? Angry? Tired? A combination?

“Aye, I’m fine, love. I just… had a bit of a disappointment today.” He steps towards her, pulling her body flush against his. “I’m glad you’re home.”

She kisses him slowly, just for a moment or two, before pulling back. He looks down at her curiously.

“I wanna show you something,” she whispers. “Put your shoes on.”

“It’s nearly eight, Swan.” He seems to realize what an old man he sounds like, because he shakes his head. “I was just hoping we could stay in tonight.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly,” he answers automatically.

“Then put on your shoes.” She punctuates the sentence with a quick kiss on his cheek, scruff scratching at her lips.

She’s not sure how they figured out the logistics of getting into a car with two humans and two dogs and not a bit of thought. She opens the driver’s side door and both Rascal and Procella scramble in and hop in the back seat, lying more on top of each other than next to each other. They’ve done it since the first time they got into the same car, back when Emma and David had gotten the call about loose dogs at the park. It strikes Emma how long ago that was, how much things have changed, and her excitement is renewed.

Killian doesn’t complain on the drive over, despite his initial hesitation. Emma can tell he’s had a rough day, though she’s not sure why and she knows she should have asked. But… this is important and huge and hopefully it’ll make whatever it is that happened not even matter anymore.

She bites her lip as the niggling little voice in her head, the one that’s been quiet since the moment she kissed Killian’s cheek in the park on one of their first lunch dates, suddenly starts screaming inside of her head.

What if he thinks I’m crazy? What if he doesn’t want to move into the house? What if he isn’t ready? What if he’s not planning to propose, and I’ve done this huge gesture and he doesn’t get it? What if he wants to keep things the way they are? Or what if he takes one look at the huge house -- clearly meant for a family -- and runs straight out of town? What if it’s too much? What if--

“Swan, where are we going?” Killian’s voice jolts her back to reality. He’s quiet in the darkness, a softness to his voice that she can’t quite figure out.

“I bought something I want to show you.”

“Emma, did you--”

“We’re almost there,” she says, and she feels Killian staring at her. Her voice cracks at the end, and her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. What have I done?

If he leaves, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

She pulls up to the curb across the street and climbs out without looking at him.

Before she even reaches the gate, he’s laughing. She can hear him start to chuckle, and then it grows into a full-on belly laugh.

Oh God, he thinks I’m crazy. Why did I--

“Swan, you bloody brilliant woman!” He’s right behind her now, grabbing her around the waist.

“You don’t even… what?” Emma is so very confused.

“You’re the buyer? I should have known.”

And then the pieces click into place.

“Were you the first bidder?” She turns around in his arms. He’s smiling so wide it nearly reaches both ears, and finally that loud voice in her head quiets down again. She smacks his chest once for good measure. “I was so angry!”

“How did you pay the whole thing up front?” He’s still laughing as he reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair away from her face.

“Inheritance,” Emma says simply. “Why were you trying to buy my house, Killan?”

“For you, of course.” His smile changes then, and his face turns serious. “I work with the man who lived here, Kris. He and his wife are adventuring around the country or something. They’ve been talking about it for weeks. So I knew the house was going up.” Killian shrugs. “I wanted to surprise you, but it seems you got me first.”

“They moved out last week, before it even went up,” Emma tells him, and he’s already nodding because he already knows. “So, we can go in. If you want.”

He smiles again, and she wonders briefly how she could have ever doubted him. Because of course he doesn’t think she’s crazy. Of course their minds were in the exact same place.

Soulmates, she thinks to herself.

They step inside the house, and Emma flips the lightswitch on. It’s still empty, of course, and for a moment, the space feels cavernous and huge. But then Rascal and Procella run out in front of her and start sniffing every corner, every inch of the baseboards. And it’s strange that something so simple eases Emma’s mind, but it does.

“I’m glad you brought me here, Swan,” Killian whispers from behind her. “I had big plans for this house, and I thought they’d all been dashed.” He kisses the skin just underneath her ear. “But now, hope is renewed.”

“Big plans?” Emma asks.

“Oh, aye. In fact, now seems as good a time as any, don’t you think?”

He moves out from behind her and she feels an immediate sense of loss when the warmth is gone. But then he’s in front of her, that same nervous look on his face that he’d had the first time he asked her to lunch.

Emma loves being right.

He gets down on one knee, and in a move that’s so natural that it seems rehearsed, Rascal and Procella come up on either side of him and sit patiently. There are six eyes staring at Emma and watching her start to cry.

“I feel like we’ve done a lot of things backwards, Swan. We met before I even knew I had a soulmate. I thought I’d be alone forever, adrift at sea without anyone for company. But then you and Rascal came along, and you brought me Procella. And then, by some miracle, you let me in. And you gave me something I never thought I would have: true love. And now, Emma Nolan, I have to ask you a very important question.” He pauses, tears threatening to fall from his eyes as well. “Will you marry me?”

He’s barely gotten the question out before she’s whispering yes. And then screaming it.

“Yes! Killian, yes.” And then they’re kissing, in the living room of their house, and it is, without a doubt, perfect.

[megabadbunny]

so after sketching out the doodle for this post upon the request of the lovely @chiaroscuroverse, I decided it was high time I finally got started on something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now. Thusly, I present to y’all the first installment of my sketch series New Who Companions in (Mostly) Historically-Accurate Period Costumes! :D

(clicky on the smaller images above to embiggen; clicky the read-more for costume history facts and assorted nerditude for each design!)

So long story short, I’m a big ol’ fashion history nerd, studied a good chunk of fashion history in the Western world during ye olde college days, and sometimes I like to think about what our New Who companions might have worn if they wanted to go mostly-historically-accurate in their old-world adventures. Below are some descriptions of what those costumes could have looked like, and a little bit of the historical context surrounding the ensembles. Thanks for joining me on this sartorial nerd-journey! <3

Fig. 1: Donna Noble, The Fires of Pompeii (Roman Empire, 79 AD)

So Donna’s original costume, while very pretty, is not accurate in any way; I can only imagine the designer was held back by some untold constraints (i.e. this costume is either constructed based on stylistic requests from Catherine Tate or it’s the product of executive meddling). Here, Donna wears a stola, i.e. a dress-like garment fastened with fibulae clasps and held in place with a girdle high above the waist. This garment would technically be worn by a married woman, to sort of show off her wealth and worth, but I figure Donna don’t give no shits about that, just give her the pretty dress already. She’s also wearing a palla, a shawl Roman women wore when going about their business outside. You would typically see the palla wrapped around the woman’s body to both accentuate her curves where desired, to hide her features when wanted (women might draw the hood close to the face to hide from unwanted male gazes), and to keep the material from dragging along the ground. The volume of fabric in the shawl signified a woman’s status; the more fabric, the wealthier the lady. Donna’s garments are fashioned from the finest material available, being linens imported from Egypt and silks imported from China.

Fig. 3: Bill Potts, The Eaters of Light (Scotland, c. 100 AD)

So, finding solid details on how women dressed in this time and place was fun,* but I did my best to sort of piece things together into a design that would make sense given the convergent influences and the materials (cloth/fibers, dyes, equipment) available in the area at the time. Basically, you’ve got a tunic cinched at the waist, and a woven cloak on top sporting a Pictish-type design, and simple jewelry fashioned from alloys that were commonplace at the time. Bill’s brooch and belt would definitely be met with approval from the other ladies; only peasant-women left the house without a belt.

* It was not fun. It was frustrating.

Fig. 2: Rose Tyler, The Stone Rose spinoff novel (Rome, 120 AD)

Rose’s garments and hair are intentionally sculptural in design, inspired by a series of Roman statues built around the time the story is set (I figured it was appropriate given the book’s plot!). Here she is wearing half of her Fortuna costume, on her way to save the Doctor (obv). Typically, a not-yet-married woman would only need to wear one layer (as unmarried women were, shall we say, low on the priority list in terms of Roman fashion), but here, on her way to being immortalized as the great Fortuna, an exception has been made for Rose; Marcia’s servants have draped, wrapped, and pinned some very fine material over Rose’s close-fitting tunica. Rose is also shown with a mantle, for covering her hair in public. Both Donna and Rose would have had their hair curled using a calamistrum, or an early curling iron, which varied in shape and style, but in this case likely would have actually been made of iron, and warmed over hot coals.

Fig. 4: Clara Oswald, Robot of Sherwood (England, 1190 AD)

Okay, so why did they make this look like a Halloween costume? It’s just, this episode clearly had a budget, the designer clearly did their homework, so who made what decision and where and when that led us to this? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice Halloween costume! Like, one you would have to rent instead of buy, because she is le pricey. But I’m curious to know why the designer ventured so close to the actual periodwear without actually committing to it. Like the sleeves—the flare at the elbow suggests the overdress, or bliaut, is of French design, except those sleeves ain’t near big enough, neither in terms of volume or length. Sometimes these sleeves were so long, women would have to knot them to keep them from dragging the ground. If you don’t wanna deal with big sleeves for your action heroine, that’s fine, just go with a more English design, which forewent the exaggerated trumpet-shape in favor of something more subtle. The current shape just looks weird—like, it’s halfway there, but got tired and gave up. Then you’ve got the front-lacing on the bodice; this is a nope, and only enhances the Halloween/fancy dress look. Dresses would fasten on the side or in the back; if you were upper-class, you might be looking at a modesty panel to hide the lacing in the case of the latter. The hair is another instance of halfway-there; the top half is pretty good, with its center-part and the wraparound braid, but the loose bottom portion and the salon-curls are a big no-no. Curls weren’t really in vogue in the area at the time; ladies’ hair was worn long and braided, both to keep it out of the way and to show off elaborate styles. And last but certainly not least, why the heck is Clara’s circlet shaped the way it is? It’s like they took a necklace, situated it with a bunch of slack in the chain, and stuck it to her forehead using spirit gum. Would noble ladies have worn circlets/coronets at the time? Sure! Would they have been shaped (or stuck-on???) like that? Nope! The original ensemble is full of potential but it feels like someone somewhere along the decision-making process looked at the original, better design, said, “Eh, can you modernize (read: sex) that up for me?” and then this was born. Again, it’s not horrible, just, it could have been so much more.

/rant

Fig. 5: Amy Pond, Vampires of Venice (Italy, 1580 AD)

So I realize there’s a class difference between what Amy wore in the show and what’s depicted here, but I figured the upper-class depiction made more sense, given the fashions of the other young ladies accepted into Calvieri’s school. (That being said, Amy’s original outfit still isn’t quite there; this shows an example or two of what a working-class woman would wear at the time.) On the right, Amy is wearing a velvet gown over a petticoat; even though the color and bodice-shape denote a heavy Spanish influence, the dress would have been referred to as a French gown due to its fitted shape. Were Amy to go whole-hog and give herself some true mid-sixteenth-century hair, the front would be short, and regularly wound into tight, compact little curls, while the back was kept long, for elaborate braids and updos. That’s right--the sixteenth century was technically full of mullets. Mullets everywhere.

Fig. 6: Rose Tyler, A Groatsworth of Wit spinoff comic (England, 1592)

ok but the design in the comic, just

I don’t even understand why the artist drew it this way. It doesn’t make sense, not from a costume history perspective and not even from a design/fudging-the-details-for-the-sake-of-modern-sensibilities perspective. (Also from a perspective-perspective; dude’s having some major issues figuring out how foreshortening works, but that’s neither here nor there I suppose.) It would actually be way faster to focus on what this gown does right instead of wrong. So, let’s see here: it has a lace collar, which was a thing. It has a structured, paneled bodice; also a thing. Full layered skirt, that’s good. And, that’s officially it. The rest of this design is garbage. Like, why the eff is she wearing a ruffle as some kind of low-slung belt? Is that supposed to be cartridge pleating? What century are those sleeves supposed to be from? (Do those outer sleeves even? Show up in any century to speak of, outside of my nightmares???) If you’re going to do a lace cuff at the end of the fitted sleeve, why not do it right (i.e. like the way they actually looked at the time, which was usually in a cone shape flaring out from the wrist to the elbow)? Why would the artist imagine that Rose would go to the trouble of pouring herself into this 80’s-teal monstrosity without bothering to do anything to her hair except for a ponytail? What the fuck is up with the fucking boob lace??? See, I know the artist can draw actual historically accurate outfits, because Shakespeare in this comic looks fine. His shit’s pretty accurate. But for some reason, when it came to Rose’s dress, it’s like the artist lost their goddamn mind. (Don’t even get me started on the jewelry and accents, not if there’s a loving god in this universe)

Fig. 7: Martha Jones, The Shakespeare Code (England, 1599)

So Martha has herself a lovely heavy brocade gown, trimmed in sable, accented with soft leather gloves, and topped with a cartwheel ruff round the neck. (Don’t worry; I imagine the TARDIS only carries ethically-harvested furs, like they’re grown in a lab somewhere or collected after critters have had a long and prosperous life or the hairs are vacuumed up and reconstituted by some futuristic device, etc. etc.) Elizabethan sumptuary laws dictated that folks had to dress according to social class, so depending on what your social class was, you may not have been legally permitted to wear things like silks, certain colors, certain furs, and more. Fashion was such a surging industry and indicator of wealth that, at the time, you had higher-ups selling huge swaths of land in order to have the money to dress themselves as well as possible--it was seriously that important to be fashionable. Martha’s garments indicate that she has pretty high social standing, given the materials used. Also, she wears a pretty bitchin’ hat.

Fig. 8: Yazmin Khan, The Witchfinders (England, 1612)

Yazmin’s dress sports a fashionably high-necked bodice featuring embroidered linen silk, topped with a standing collar and “wings” at the shoulders. The dark hues shown here were super-popular at the time due to a surge of obsession with melancholia in arts and literature. Yaz also wears a “Cavalier” style hat, accented with an ostrich feather. Her outfit is basically a riding-habit/hunting-habit, constructed with ease of movement in mind.

Fig. 9: Mickey Smith, Rose Tyler, and Reinette Poisson i.e. Madame de Pompadour, The Girl in the Fireplace (France, 1758)

Setting aside my many issues with this episode’s story/plot, the bugaboos I have with Reinette’s original costume design in the show are relatively minor, and I imagine can mostly be explained-away with stuff like “this is what the BBC already had on hand” and “goddamn that’s pretty.” Both pretty salient points! But I do think it’s interesting that the designer(s) went the way they did--Madame de Pompadour was actually famously not in favor of glittering gems (actually, she supposedly donated palace jewels to the French treasury more than once to help out during times of war); she tended to prefer fairly simple pearls as embellishment, instead. She also wasn’t really into big hair; obviously the styles shown here on Ms. Myles aren’t exactly Marie-Antoinette-big, but they’re definitely more voluminous and modernized than the styles the real-life MdP typically sported, which usually consisted of a slight pomp and fairly close-knit curls framing the face. (It’s also interesting that Moffat wrote her with such a heavy innuendo for sex/romance, because rumor had it she didn’t really actually enjoy things in the bedroom all that much, instead preferring to pull political strings, promote the arts, patronize motherfucking Voltaire!!!, help design architecture!!!, and keep the king constantly entertained and distracted so he literally didn’t royally fuck everything up. She was a very busy lady! Also she like. Paid contractors and artists on time? Instead of dicking them over with “credit” bullshit like other wealthy patrons??? Sorry she was just WAY more awesome than the show gave her credit for!) Anyhoo, long story short, Rose and MdP are shown here wearing gowns and hairstyles that are heavily inspired by those worn by the real-life MdP wore in some of her many many portraits.

Thanks for tuning in to my giant costume nerdfest; see you next time for part 2! <3 <3 <3

[adamwatchesmovies]

Goldilocks and the Three Bears (1995)

It kind of hurts to give Goldilocks and the Three Bears the rating it deserves but I have to be honest. Its intentions are benevolent and it's harmless - so harmless it becomes bland. It’s so obscure it doesn't have a page on Wikipedia but in the off-chance that you find it at a garage sale and you wonder if it’s safe for your kids, it is.

Gabrielle “Goldie” Lockner (Hannah Hall) is sent to live with her uncle Hal (Dwier Brown) after her parents' death. She's unenthusiastic about living in the countryside until she meets three magical bears: Bruno (papa bear, voiced by Ed Asner), Ursula (mama bear, voiced by Rita Rudner) and Spike (baby bear, voiced by David Alan Grier). Together, they set out to prevent evil greedy businessman Hawkins (Hal’s boss, played by Stephen Furst) from destroying the forest.

I suppose the acting is alright for what it is, the story sweet, and the message good. The framing device - a magical raccoon telling a bunch of woodland animals a bedtime story - is ridiculous. The bears are nice, the villain is a cartoon. Stephen Furst takes the "greedy industrialist who doesn't care about the environment" thing to a whole new level. The villain is perfectly fine with committing murder... with his bare hands if it means his ski resort will get expanded. Otherwise, Goldilocks and the Three Bears is alright I suppose. I was moderately entertained and kept curious enough that this ordeal never felt like a chore.

Children will enjoy seeing the bears - beautiful animals who sit in chairs pretending to listen to the radio and understand what's happening around them. This time, I'm glad the film wasn’t animated. Usually, I dislike “Peanut Butter Mouth” movies, where they have to resort to all kinds of tricks to make it seem like the animals are actually interacting with the people. This time, I didn’t mind.

As a bonus, the back of this VHS has a “Parent’s Guide” where you can answer some questions with your kids. There aren't any around, so you'll have to do.

What is so special about the forest and the bears? How did Goldilocks help save them?

The bears can talk, listen to music, dance, make porridge, sit in chairs, sleep in beds and have the magical ability to instantly turn seeds into tall trees. Goldilocks helped save them by setting Home Alone-style traps for the poachers.

Why did Goldilocks, at first, have a difficult time accepting her uncle Hal. What led her to later feel differently about him? How did Hal learn to be a father to Goldi?

Goldilocks had a difficult time accepting him because her parents had just died and he wasn’t at the funeral. She began feeling differently about him when they bonded in the wilderness and had a big adventure with those talking bears. He learned to be a father to her by caring about her feelings and spending more time with his niece.

Why would Joshua Crane want to hurt the forest? What would make him change his mind?

Joshua Crane is an evil supervillain not above murder if it means getting what he wants and making money. I’d recommend some jail time and therapy to get him to change his mind. An evening with those talking bears might help too.

Why is it important to preserve nature? What can you do to help maintain our natural environment?

Nature has a certain beauty that no words, notes or images can truly capture. There's something powerful about seeing the natural wilderness. I could help maintain the natural environment by recycling, reducing, and reusing, by using less water and buying products from environmentally-friendly sources.

What do you most enjoy about being in nature?

What I enjoy best about nature is that it’s so different from the world I’m used to. The city is so artificial and easy to predict. Nature is wild and free.

Initially, I was going to give Goldilocks and the Three Bears a 2,5/5 but the more I think about it, the more I actually kind of liked it. It’s sweet and gentle, the bears are beautiful to look at and it warmed my heart just a little bit. Yeah the bad guys are painted broadly and the wraparound story is straight-up bad, but I just can’t help myself, I’ll give it a mild recommendation, a 3/5. (On VHS, January 10, 2015)

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Anything For You

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1,047

Warnings: fluffy fluff

Summary: You and Jensen buy a new house together, and instead of focusing on moving in, you have a better idea in mind.

Square Filled: Buying A House

Author’s Note: This is my Dec. 16th fic for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @like-a-bag-of-potatoes 12 Days of Christmas Challenge and the prompt is Hanging the Lights/Christmas Lights. I am posting it now so I can protest on the 17th. This is also paired with @spnfluffbingo . This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

Lifting the bags out of the car, you looked around to see if your husband was anywhere to be found. He said he was going to help the movers bring in the boxes, but the U-Haul truck was gone, and there wasn’t any indication from the front lawn that there was anything like that going on. It took forever to find a house you really liked, and after seeing about 15 of them, you fell in love with this one.

It was a perfect two-story house with a wraparound porch, beautiful glass pane windows that overlooked the yard, a big backyard for when you and Jensen decided to have children, a big pool, more than enough bedrooms and bathrooms, and everything you could ever want in a house. The only problem was you two didn’t really have any furniture.

There had been a problem with the other moving company you hired that was supposed to be taking care of the furniture back at your old house. The U-Haul guys took everything that fit into boxes while the other company was going to send over the furniture. However, there was a misdirect in the communication, and they won’t be able to come over until the end of the week which was supposed to be tomorrow.

In the meantime, Jensen wanted to get the kitchen ready with what he could, the bathrooms, and other things that didn't require the heavy items. As much as you wanted to help him, you had another idea in mind. It was Christmas, and this is about that time of year when people started putting up their Christmas lights. Every year, you and Jensen would decorate your house with all kind of decorations.

Your house would be the brightest on the block. Since you forgot to bring your lights, you ran to the store to get some to decorate the inside of your house. That was the first thing you did when you arrived. Jensen watched with a smile on his face as you pulled out of the driveway and sped to the store. He loves you with all his heart, but you could get over excited about Christmas. After all, it is your favorite holiday.

It’s a funny thing, you and Jensen actually met at Jared’s Christmas party about four years ago. Genevieve was your best friend and she thought it would be a good idea to set you up with her single friend. Even before that, you were a big fan of Supernatural, so when she told you it was Jensen that she was hooking you up with, you went crazy. That first night was a night of many good memories, and ever since then, you two had really hit it off. Days, weeks, months would go by and the two of you would go on dates, always hanging out. When he asked you to marry him, you knew that you two would be together forever, always being by each other’s side. In his wedding vows, he told you that he would be there for you in sickness and in health, and right now, this was your sickness.

Grabbing all the bags, you made sure you didn't leave one behind as you closed the door with your butt. Walking carefully up the steps, you walked through the open door and called out for your husband.

“In the kitchen!” he responded. Watching where you were going, you entered the kitchen.

“I’m back,” you chuckled. Once Jensen laid his eyes on you, he immediately rushed over to help you. Taking most of the bags from your arms, he set them on the built-in island.

“What did you do, buy the whole store?” he joked.

“This is nothing, and you know it. We need our house to be festive.”

“There are more important things than lights, yet, here we are,” he laughed as you set the rest of the bags down.

“Don’t complain. When we’re done, this house is going to look like a wonderland. Come on, forget the kitchen, help me put up the lights,” you giggled, taking a few boxes of lights from the bags.

“The things I do for you,” he said jokingly before taking a few bags. Starting in the living room, you two worked endlessly to string up the lights. Without any furniture, it was hard to get to the high places, but luckily, you had a tall husband for that. After the living room, the kitchen was done, and you stopped there since that is all the lights you had. By the time you were finished, it was starting to get dark.

“Where are we going to sleep?” you asked.

“I have a room at a nearby hotel we can stay at. However, first and foremost, I do believe this might be the perfect date setting,” he grinned, going over to the light switch.

“Oh yeah?” you asked with a grin.

“See for yourself,” he said before turning on the lights. They were multicolor which gave the room a lot of pizazz and sparkle. Gasping, you looked around and stared at the sparkling lights.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, approaching you from behind. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head affectionately.

“Jensen, this is amazing. How can this be a date?” you asked, turning around in his arms.

“We will call for takeout at that Chinese place I know you love, there is a bottle of wine we can open, and after when we’re done, we can go to the hotel.”

“I love you,” you grinned, kissing him tenderly. He cupped your cheeks and kissed you back, molding his lips against yours. How lucky were you to score a man like him?

“I love you,” he muttered. Pulling away, you placed your hands on his chest.

“I will go get the wine, you order takeout.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled, winking at you. Giggling, you walked away from him to get your favorite bottle of wine. Almost immediately, you heard Jensen on the phone with the Chinese place which made you smile. He did everything to make you happy, and you vowed to bring that same happiness upon him for the rest of your life. There were ups and downs, of course, but you’d always get through them.

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@jae-sch @witch-of-letters

[crowkingwrites]

Bang Bang!: Guilty (Ch.11)

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: You are now a full-fledged member of the Red Kings. After your first successful mission, Domeric comes with troubling news: they’re being watched and there’s a mole among them. The Red Kings, Ramsay, and You now stand against a new enemy: Stannis Baratheon, a high ranking FBI member out to seek justice who may have his own dark secrets he’s trying to hide.

In this next part of the series, you will be tested, face old enemies, and encounter faces you’d thought you’d never see again. You thought you were safe, but the game has just begun.

Words: 1664 // Ao3 Link

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10]

You took a long, exhausted sigh. You suddenly understood why Petyr forbid any of you to be in relationships. This was hard. This wasn’t fun anymore.

“Y/N?” Ramsay’s voice rose.

“The more you raise your voice at me, the less I’ll speak,” you simply said. Red flushed Ramsay’s face.

“No. No, you’re wrong. I can get you to talk. Any way I can,” he said.

“So, you’ll hurt me? Is that how you’re going to solve this? More violence? So you can feel powerful and big? Because I made you feel small and worthless? Is that it?”

“Don’t. Test. Me.”

Ramsay started to pace around the room. His fingers itched to hit something. His nostrils snarled. You could only imagine what Ramsay thought of in his head. You have never seen him this upset before at least not with you. If being under Petyr’s protection taught you anything, it taught you to sit still and take whatever was handed to you. If the Red Kings taught you anything it was you took whatever you wanted, fuck everyone else.

But this? You had no idea what to do about this. A rush of emotions broke you down. You felt your heart beating faster than you could take note of. Your skin crawled when you thought of Petyr again. He was going to hurt you. It didn’t matter if you were a Red King. Petyr was going to kill you.

Your fingers weaved themselves in your hair. Painful cries left your body. The sobs were so hard that you made no noise but hard breathing.

“What happened, Y/N?” Ramsay shouted. “Why did you do that? Huh? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Why are you yelling at me?” you shouted back. Your tears streaming down your face. “Look at me! Fucking look at me!” You shrieked. It hurt to look at Ramsay. You fell in love with someone as awful as Petyr. Things started to be clearer now.

“You know what I see? A crying whore.”

“Ramsay—

“Y/N,” Ramsay mocked you. “You can’t stop, can you? You fucked the world, but that’s even enough for you, is it? No, you want to spread your legs across the entire north.”

“It wasn’t like that,” your voice broke. “Then what was it, then?” Ramsay tucked his finger under your chin. His intense stare grew blurrier.

“I needed someone,” you tried explaining to him. “Don’t you understand that? The need to have someone?”

“I do!” Ramsay screamed at you. “I do fucking understand that concept. Do you think I stayed in New York for their hot dogs? Do you think I risked everything, including my life, for what? Money? You betrayed my trust.”

“I talked to him. That’s all I did.”

“You bared your soul to him. You touched him,” Ramsay’s face twisted in disgust. “You looked at him like he could save you from everything. You’ve never looked at me like that.” Your heart dropped into your stomach. The weight of it all hurt.

“He listened to me. He made me feel—

“Feel what? Loved?—

“Understood,” you spat back at him. You stood up, backing Ramsay away from you. “I am scared. I am frightened. Petyr is still out there, alive and breathing. He has his underbelly at work. Who knows where his spies are? Who knows if they’re here watching me? Waiting for me? Petyr is coming for me. He is coming for you. I can’t sleep anymore. I can’t stop thinking about it. When I do sleep, I wake up in a sweat because Petyr killed me in a nightmare again.

“But, no. I wanted to fuck Jon. That’s all you take away from it. This whole damned hotel is filled with nothing but idiots who aren’t afraid to die. Even so, they don’t even trust me. I feel like I have enemies everywhere and you don’t even care. ‘My girlfriend has killed people. You can’t fuck with her!’ Your boys could kill me. Your whole crew could kill us.

“Does any of this occur to you? Do you even think of the consequences? Jon Snow listened to me and gave me something you never did. Empathy. He made me feel like I was right to be afraid. He made me feel like it was okay to feel them. I don’t want to fuck Jon Snow. I don’t need to spread my legs across the north. I need you. I need you to listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” Ramsay said in a low voice. You cried out another sob and embraced Ramsay. He did not hug you back, and kept his arms at his sides.

“I’m scared.” You hoped he would understand two words.

“Why should I care?” Ramsay’s words cut you.

“Because you love me,” you reminded him.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Ramsay said. A punch to the gut. “W-what do you mean? You love me,” you said, looking him in the eye. Ramsay didn’t flinch.

“You betrayed me,” he spat.

“How? Did I kiss him? Did I fuck him? No! How did I betray you?” You stood up now, facing Ramsay head on. “You still call me a whore. Even when the only man I ever wanted in a year was you.”

Ramsay shook his head and started to pace off. You still stood in place, holding your ground now more than ever. This hurt too much. You could feel a ghost of a headache creeping into your head. You watched Ramsay drag out a bag into the middle of the floor. He started to pull out drawers with your belongings inside, umping them onto the bag, not even packing them inside.

“What are you doing?” you shouted.

“You’re leaving,” Ramsay told you.

“What?”

“I fucking said you are leaving, Y/N,” Ramsay dumped another pile of your belongings onto the middle of the floor. He threw the drawer and headed to the bathroom.

“You’re kicking me out? For talking to another guy?”

“You bared yourself to the enemy!” Ramsay stormed out of the bathroom to face you. “You told him things that you couldn’t even tell me. You’re sitting here and telling me that you trust our enemy more than you trust me.”

“I—

“No, you’re gone, Y/N,” Ramsay dumped your toiletries on top. “You have ten minutes. If you’re not gone by then, I’ll make you disappear myself.”

“Ramsay—

“Fuck off,” Ramsay stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You felt hot tears stream down your face. You tried to hold it together as you quickly packed your things into the bag. You couldn’t fit everything inside, but you had to run. The Red Kings would no longer protect you now.

You rushed down the stairs into the hallway. You started to hear laughter and curse words galore. No, you couldn’t face them all like this. You were an outcast now. Turning your heel, you sped towards the back exit. The wintry light blinded you from seeing a friend in front of you.

“Get in the car,” Ben told you. He ushered you forward into someone else’s car. You headed to the passenger’s side until ben stopped you. “No, you have to leave by yourself.” “What? I don’t have anywhere to go,” you explained. Ben handed you an envelope of cash with an address on it.

“Go there. Tell no one. Understand me?” Ben pushed you into the car. You started it hearing the familiar roar of a tricked out engine.

“Ben, what’s happening?” you cried to him. He squeezed your shoulder.

“I heard your argument with Ramsay. You have to go. Now. Please?” Ben begged you.

“I’m so scared!”

“Just go. Please. Go to the address. I promise you’ll be safe, ok?” Ben looked behind him. You took your chance. He wasn’t fucking around with you. You sped off onto the road with cash and an address. After driving for twenty minutes, you pulled over at the edge of town. You rolled up all of the windows and screamed. You hit the steering wheel with your fists.

This couldn’t be happening. Your fears were slowly becoming real. Ramsay had abandoned you and earned you even more enemies. What if Charlotte was sent to hunt you down? No. You needed to think rationally. Charlotte would never do that to you.

You took out your phone and plugged the address in. Luckily for you, you owned your phone. Not Petyr. Not Ramsay. You. It was the one thing you called your own. Your Waze App showed the most direct route to the address in Montana. You set off in your course along the northern part of America, listening to 80’s hits on the radio.

It had nearly been midnight when you arrived at the address. It was a large property with acres of land stretching out into the night. A handmade fence bordered the land and a dirt path lead to a farmhouse complete with a wraparound porch. All of the lights were still on.

You approached the household by yourself. Your things and money still sat in the car. Ben told you this was a safe place for you to go, but something in your gut told you a different story. You heard a football game being played in the living room. The smell of baked cookies reached your nose.

You raised your hand to knock on the door and retracted it. What if Ben led you to the lion’s den? What if this was a trap?

No.

You had enough of your own anxiety. Ben was your friend. He wouldn’t rush you out of there if he didn’t want you safe. You took a deep breath in and knocked on the door loudly. If you were not welcome here, you knew where the gun was in the car.

You saw movement in the windows and eventually someone opened the front door. Emotions rushed over you when you took in the older man’s familiar face.

“Dad?”

Ultimate Tag List (People who wished to be tagged in EVERY work I post.)

@angelicshinigami @sugarwastaken @carilov09 @i-theredqueen@sleepylunarwolf  @loki-0fasgard @ravenqueenbr

Ramsay Tag List (People who wish to be tagged in everything Ramsay Bolton related)

@boltonblade  @why-so-red @sj-thefan @sunshinesydney @drunkenpoets@antiscocialfanwarrior @fnnexua @parkerplexed  @fraueninflammen

If you wish to be added, removed, or switched from any taglists, only ask friend!