#The epic highs and lows of being someone who cares about how they dress

[daydreamdoodles]

Gonna bonk my brain with a stick

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Soft Epilogue

Prompt: Hear ye, hear ye, I humbly request from the fanfic goddess, a merlin fanfic of epic fluff proportions!! Lol I love your writing, can I request an Ace!Merlin and Ace!Arthur platonic love life bond?

Thanks for the request, babe! it seems fitting that on my birthday I get to upload a fic about ace qprs

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur qpr, implied morgwen 

Warnings: none my dudes

Word Count: 1807

In the end, there’s no big celebrations.

Oh, Camelot has a feast to end all feasts, but that’s not the point.

 There’s no big rushing into each other at the end of a hard-won fight, Arthur looking all stupidly heroic with his hair all sweaty or Merlin rippling with otherworldly power that makes men want to fall to their knees.

 There’s no kiss after years and years of pining finally being deforested—get it?

 “Shut up, Merlin.”

 “What, that was a good one!”

 “Merlin!”

 —alright fine, there’s no big kiss, there’s no music that swells romantically in the background—

 “Though not for lack of trying on your part, I’m sure.”

 “Will you shut up, you prat, and let me talk?”

 “It’s a wonder you ever stop talking.”

 —okay, look.

 It’s simple.

 It’s the end of a fight. Everyone’s exhausted. There are heavy pants and the scrape of steel on steel from the trodden corners of the battlefield, as soldier after soldier, knight after knight, falls to the ground in a heap. Some get back up. Some don’t.

 Arthur’s fingers fumble on the pommel of his sword. Huh. He needs to redo the grip on the left side. It’s fraying. His fingers are too clumsy. They won’t hold the damn thing properly. The chain mail keeps snagging where it’s come loose. He really needs to fix the grip.

 The sword sings quietly as it slides home, back into the sheath, away, away. His breath leaves him in a rush and he looks up, looking around, counting.

 Leon stands, already directing the survivors to start taking care of those they lost. He catches his king’s eye and nods. Once. Arthur nods back.

 Gwaine pushes his hair out of his eyes and makes a joke. It’s what he does best. As the desperate chuckles start up again, Arthur’s mouth quirks up in a smile. Gwaine catches it.

 Elyan strips the last of the shrapnel from someone’s wound and hauls them to their feet, a man of the people until his last. Arthur watches, paralyzed by the weight of the crown on his shoulders, as Elyan helps in ways he can’t.

 Percival stands. Shadows Arthur as they start to move through the field. The weight is a little easier to bear now, as his breath starts to sink back into his chest.

 Lancelot turns, smiles. Says ‘it’s good to see you,’ as if they’re just mates, running into each other after a long hard day. As if he’s about to buy Arthur a drink at the tavern and talk about the harvest, the new work from the blacksmith siblings, how much he misses looking up at the moon. Arthur just claps him on the shoulder.

 Everyone’s here. Except—

 “Arthur?”

 So there’s no dramatic turn, no big flourish. Time doesn’t slow to a standstill as they rush into each other’s arms. The bards would be so bored, there’s no dramatic confessions, no infamous realizations, no murmured apologies through the hurried meeting of lips. What would they have to sing about?

 Well, perhaps they could sing about this.

 Arthur turns, sees Merlin standing there. He smiles. Merlin smiles back. There’s a little cut on Merlin’s shoulder. Barely enough to graze through the tunic, but enough to draw blood. Arthur frowns, stalks forward, gently tips Merlin’s head to the side so he can have a look.

 “I’m fine, you prat.”

 “You’ve managed to injure yourself.”

 “Wasn’t me!”

 “Given how clumsy you are, I’d be surprised.”

 Arthur presses gently over the cut. It’s nothing more than a scratch, should close by the end of the day. And yet Merlin just rolls his eyes and lays his hand over it. A moment of golden light later and it’s like nothing ever happened.

 “There. Happy now?”

 “Mm.”

 Merlin sighs and moves his head back. Arthur doesn’t. For a moment, their foreheads rest together.

  Thank the heavens you didn’t die, I would’ve dragged you back here myself.

  Just so you could kill me?

  Obviously.

 That’s all. Don’t look so disappointed, there needn’t be more.

 Oh, alright.

 The ride back to Camelot is slow. There’s work to be done along the way, after all. There are people to tend to, knights to bury and mourn, families to tell. There are knights that return to Camelot only for their hands to shake too much, their eyes to go too glassy. These knights leave with the highest honors Arthur can give them, thanked sincerely for their service and the knowledge that the people will forever be in their debt.

 There are preparations to be made, hugs to give. Gwen throws herself into Elyan’s arms, Lancelot’s arms, Merlin’s arms, Arthur’s arms. Gaius isn’t far behind. Each of them breathes in the scent of the other. Home.

 “So you missed me?”

 “Of course I missed you!”

 “I’ve got your favorite waiting, Merlin.”

 “Thanks, Gaius.”

 “Oi! Why don’t I get a hug?”

 “Oh, fine, come here.”

 Arthur looks up to the top of the steps to see Morgana. No longer is she the intimidating figure cut from Camelot’s noble cloth, dressed up like Uther’s legacy, no. Just a simple dress, one of Gwen’s, her hair down around her shoulders in limp curls. If Arthur were someone else, he’d say she’d never looked better.

 “Don’t tell her that.”

 “I don’t need to, she knows.”

 “Merlin!”

 “What? She’s your sister.”

 She smiles, a little dimmer, a little warier, as she descends the steps and holds out her arms. Arthur doesn’t hesitate.

 His sister is here, finally recovered from her long fight with the magic Morgause wove through that horrid bracelet. Morgana hugs him back, tighter than they can imagine.

 “I’m glad to see you,” Arthur mumbles into her shoulder.

 “I’m happy you’re back.”

 Merlin joins them a moment later and Morgana pulls him in too, laughing at Arthur’s affronted face when Merlin squawks and his elbow digs unceremoniously into his ribs.

 “It hurt, you idiot.”

 “She pulled me!”

 “If you weighed more than a beanpole maybe that would help.”

 “My weight is just fine, thank you very much.”

 The feast is glorious. Food and wine flow freely out of the castle into the city below. The people dance, sing, yell, live. The city comes alive with the sound of its people. And that’s the end of the story.

 They won.

 They’re safe.

 They’re with the people they love.

 “You can’t just leave it there, Merlin.”

 “What happened to wanting to keep your privacy?”

 “Just—get on with it.”

 “Fine, you prat.”

 It’s not entirely over. There are still nights where Merlin wakes up and his fingers tingle so much it feels like they’re about to fall off. Nights where he swears he hears a low rumbling voice in the back of his mind, feels giant hands on strings grafted to his arms. Nights where he still feels like Destiny’s puppet, strung along without a second thought.

 There are still nights where Arthur can’t stop hearing the singing of steel and the weight of a sword in his hands. Nights when he can’t stop seeing Uther’s face, hearing his voice, seeing Morgana dead and twisted, broken on the ground. Nights when the flames rise high as knights—his knights—slaughter innocent people as part of a meaningless war.

 There are still nights when they think they can hear each other screaming.

 But Arthur is always there to roll over and wrap his arms tighter around Merlin. He’s here, he’s right here, and he’s warm, and nothing, nothing can take something away from Arthur once he’s decided it’s his. Merlin jolts awake to a cold nose pressed in the crook of his neck, sleepy declarations of ‘mine, my Merlin, go away, leave my Merlin alone, he’s mine, you can’t have him.’ Or it will be to tender words, gentle hands shaking him away, whispered promises of ‘you’re here, it’s alright, I’ll keep you safe, you did it.’

 And Merlin is always there when Arthur clenches the pillow so hard he looks like he’s going to break his fingers, there to gentle them away and pull him close, tuck his head under his chin and say ‘it’s over now, it’s safe now, they’re all safe, they’re all safe.’ Arthur wakes up to rough tunics, slim fingers woven through his own, the warmth of someone else who won’t ever leave. Or just the weight of an arm or leg thrown across his middle. It’s just enough to wake him up and realize that there is someone who, even in sleep, wants to hold him close.

 In the morning, Merlin will wake before Arthur does. The morning will ruffle along the edge of the curtains and he’ll shiver, hiding a little further under the covers. Arthur will hold him closer, unwilling to give up his heat source just yet. Some days, Merlin will let him, falling back asleep with his fingers carding through Arthur’s hair.

 But on most days, he carefully separates himself and tucks Arthur back up, pulling on his clothes and moving to get their breakfast set up. His fingers will brush a vase and a bouquet of flowers will bloom, one of the side effects of training with Morgana. He’ll smile and pick one out to give to Gwen.

 Arthur will wake slowly, first reaching out to feel where Merlin’s gone, then sitting up to spot him at the window, or the table, or right next to him, comb in hand. He’ll grumble, saying Merlin gets up too quickly, only for Merlin to laugh and pull him up to eat.

 The sun will rise through the curtains as they eat, get dressed, and leave to go about their days. The door will close softly behind them, waiting to open again once the day is over.

 There’s no furious declarations of love, no gritting of teeth as they fight to make the world change. Just slow, steady, constant. A touch of a hand here, a brush here. A knowing look or a quick jab. Nothing rough, just soft.

 They deserve a soft epilogue.

 “Hmm. Should’ve known you’d get all sappy.”

 “You like me sappy.”

 “I think I should go see Gaius, my teeth are starting to hurt.”

 “You love it.”

 “…maybe.”

 “Did Arthur Pendragon just admit I was right?”

 “Shut up.”

 “He did! He definitely did!”

 “Shut up, Merlin.”

 Morgana just rolls her eyes and wraps her arms around Gwen to watch the two of them bicker.

 “He’s right, though,” Gwen murmurs after a moment, leaning back to look up at her, “they do deserve a soft epilogue.”

 Morgana smiles. “I think we all do.”

 She’s right and she should say it.

[dyaz-stories]

Screaming Color — A SessKagu One-Shot

“The rest of the world was black and white... but we were in screaming colors”

Tagging: @shinidamachu @sailorbabydoll92 @sweetchcolate @clearwillow @zelink-inukag @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @danycontreras90 @redflamesofpassion @lost-amidst-the-stars​ @eternalnight8806-3 @desiree239 @keichanz @ashleys-canvas​ @mustardyellowsunshine​ @meggz0rz​ @contacting-u​ @ramen---boi​ @superpixie42​ @kazeinori​

Also available on Ao3 and ff.net.

Prom night. Balloons suspended around the school gym in a desperate attempt to make it look a little more dreamy, not-so-dazzling lights, the one mirrorball the school owned, which had probably been purchased at the peak of the disco era, considering its looks, glitter on the floor, and bad music. Girls dressed to the nines and boys, well, making an effort, at least. Smiles, heartbreak, epic highs and lows of teenage romance.

And, standing by the drinks table, bored out of her damn mind, Kagura Kaze, art teacher in her thirties, chaperoning.

To say this wasn’t Kagura’s dream night would have been a complete understatement. See, when Onigumo, the school director had approached her to give her that job, she had had a moment of hesitation. It had lasted a second, if not less, as memories flooded her mind. When she’d been in high school, she was way too cool for prom, so she had never experienced it, and it made her— it made her somewhat curious, you know? Made her want to know what all the fuss was about.

Of course, the thought quickly vanished from her mind. Obviously, she couldn’t experience it as a teenager again, and while it might have been fun back then, though she seriously doubted it, there was no way she would enjoy it even the tiniest bit now.

But because of her hesitation, she’d lost her way out, and that was how she found herself, well, here.

“I’m standing right here, Manten.”

The teenage boy seemed genuinely surprised to hear her talk, and almost dropped the bottle of alcohol he’d been about to pour in the punch that was available for all students to drink from.

“Yeah, I know, I just—”

He just hadn’t thought she’d say anything. She’d heard that a lot tonight, and she didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. It definitely confirmed that she was the ‘cool teacher’, a title she’d earned because she was, by far, the best dressed teacher in school, because she actually had some renown in the art world and also because, if she dared to say so herself, she was an a-fucking-mazing teacher.

That would have come as a surprise to anyone, including her own self, just five years ago, when she’d gotten the job. She’d thought that would be the nail in the coffin of her creativity and of her already dying art career. She’d thought, and everyone around her agreed, that she would murder one of the young imbeciles she’d have to look after after just one day, and end up in jail, and if that didn’t happen, she would certainly die a long and boring death in the small high school of a small town, miles away from the city and everything she loved.

But, as it turned out, that had not been the case. She could, in fact, live without Starbucks, and she didn’t need to go shopping at high-end clothing stores every week-end.

Not that she could afford it these days.

As for teenagers, they were horrible, stupid, and hormonal, but some of them, sometimes, were also interesting. Those, she did her best to help. After all, Kagura liked talent. She took pride in her ability to spot it, even in its rawest form. She had thought it would make her bitter, to see these talented teenagers, with all their lives still ahead of themselves.

It didn’t. It just made her want to help them, and if that meant she had to do her damnedest to find scholarships they could apply to, well, she’d do that.

Other students didn’t complain about her class, either. It gave them an outlet for all sorts of emotions, and if there was one thing no one had ever said about her, it was that she was boring.

So it didn’t exactly surprise her, to hear that Manten had thought she’d let him spike the punch, but on the other hand— how did he dare? Did he really think she was that irresponsible? She wasn’t going to let teenagers get wasted on her watch.

“Give me the bottle, Manten,” she sighed, extending a perfectly manicured hand.

“But…”

“And tell your brother to come here and give me his,” she added, eyeing Hiten, who was watching the scene carefully, and who, of course, had sent his brother do his dirty job for him.

“Oh, Hiten would never—”

“You heard her, kid,” a deep voice growled from behind him. “Get it done.”

Manten immediately seemed to shrunk and disappear, which could have been a pretty funny sight, in different circumstances. The look Kagura gave to Inuyasha Taisho, P.E. teacher, was not amused.

“I was handling it,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, and I got it done faster.”

She had to resist the urge to snarl at him. Inuyasha was an alright person, but what an asshole he could be.

”Hey,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, clearly unaware of the less than charitable thoughts that were going through her mind, “you wouldn’t have happened to see—”

“I’ll tell you where she is if you get Miroku and Sango back from their break,” she interrupted him. “I want to take mine, and we need someone by this table.”

She didn’t add that they were probably making out. Miroku had taken two bottles she’d gotten from kids who also wanted to spike the punch — which showed that there was no coordination there and was very irresponsible of them, because what if they’d all succeeded, that would have been a disaster — and winked at her before leaving with the perpetually unimpressed Sango. Thinking back on it, she probably should have stopped him then and there.

She’d high-fived him instead.

“Sure,” Inuyasha shrugged, not realizing what he was probably opening himself to seeing. “So?”

“She took a group of lonely kids to the library.”

“Keh. Of course she would,” Inuyasha scoffed, but his dumb, soft smile betrayed his feelings. That was how he’d been tricked into being here tonight, too. Because, of course, ‘she’ had also volunteered to watch over the dance.

Another day, another time, Kagura would have loved to meddle in the slow-burn developing between him and the literature teacher, the lovely Kagome Higurashi, because they were so damn entertaining, definitely her favorite couple among the faculty, but if she stood there one minute longer, she was going to spontaneously combust or something.

“Good. I’m off.”

“Hey, wait a second—”

“Hiten, here!”

The teenage boy begrudgingly handed her a bottle of what she knew at a glance was a very, very nice wine. Those kids really had too much money and too little supervision for their own good, which wasn’t something she could fix. Wasn’t her job, either, but sometimes, it disappointed her a little. Gave her heart an unpleasant squeeze. Every year, how many of those kids graduated, about to jump headfirst into a shitty life that would never get better? How many of them had she failed?

That wasn’t something she ever thought about, before starting to work here. It wasn’t a pleasant thought by any means, but she didn’t hate it, either. It felt— needed. It felt like it was something she should have thought about before. Then maybe she could have made a difference sooner, maybe she would be doing a better job.

On the other hand, if she didn’t think about it, maybe she wouldn’t need a drink so bad right now.

“Mrs. Kaze,” a calm, even voice, called from behind her as she was just about to leave the gym, “may I ask where you are going?”

Kagura froze, closed her eyes a second, then turned around, a charming smile on her lips.

“I was just taking my break, Mr. Taisho,” she said, ignoring the way her heart was hammering in her chest, as it always did whenever she talked to him. “Care to join me?”

Sesshomaru Taisho rose an eyebrow at her offer, and she had to remind herself not to hold her breath waiting for an answer. She wasn’t one of the teenagers she was supposed to chaperone, dammit!

That was all his fault, by the way. He had no business looking this good. He hadn’t dressed up, exactly, but he was wearing a fitting white shirt, which underlined a nicely chiseled chest, and black pants, and that was enough to create the illusion. She knew, from the looks he was getting, that she wasn’t the only one feeling that way. His long white hair, which he usually tied into a ponytail, were falling over his broad shoulders, and she would have killed for that hair, but that wasn’t what got her attention.

No, she was entirely focused on his face. He had the type of face she would love to paint someday, and that was the first thing that had struck her about him, when she’d first met him. He was beautiful, sure, but beauty could be boring. With him, it wasn’t. It wasn’t just his sharp jaw, thin lips, straight nose and high cheekbones. He was much more than the sum of his parts, but Kagura was convinced that even without all of that, if she had met his golden eyes, if she had seen the intelligence behind it, she would have been irremediably lost, regardless of anything else.

Sesshomaru glanced behind him at Inuyasha, who was sullenly watching over the drink table where she’d abandoned him. The two of them were brothers, but you would never have guessed it from the way they acted with one another. There was a rather painful story behind that, which Kagura had heard from Miroku, but she knew better than to bring it up with the brothers, so she kept her mouth shut.

“I suppose I could,” he finally said. “Inuyasha knows better than to let Rin get in trouble.”

Another subject it was better not to speak on. Sesshomaru’s adopted daughter was the apple of his eye, and he was, perhaps, just a little overprotective. Some had tried to point it out to him, but they’d learned that he didn’t take kindly to comments on his parenting, something no one in school ignored, at this point.

Unfortunately — for herself —, Kagura had never been really good at not speaking her mind, and there was only so much she could hold back in one night, especially for the same guy.

“Rin’s perfectly capable of getting in and out of trouble if she chooses to. I doubt there’s much Inuyasha could do to stop her from doing that.” I doubt there’s much you could do to stop her from doing that.

Sesshomaru glared at her in silence for a few seconds, but that wasn’t nearly long enough for Kagura to regret speaking her mind.

“Why would Rin want to do that?” he finally asked.

“She’s sixteen,” Kagura shrugged. “She might want to… experiment.” Like with that Kohaku kid I’m positive you don’t know about. “Are you coming or what?”

Sesshomaru looked over his shoulder one last time, sighed deeply, then nodded. Kagura deemed to be an absolute win. He was by no means talkative, after all, and this conversation had gone well enough, considering who it was with.

“Let’s get to my room,” she said, tilting her head towards the door. “Yours is depressing.”

By that, she meant there was a plain, black board — because Sesshomaru refused to change it to a white one — and nothing else. Evenly spaced desks, one larger one for him, no books, no posters, no nothing.

“And yours is too full of useless things,” he replied, frowning ever so slightly. “You should throw them out as soon as you’ve finished that project.”

Kagura let out a horrified exclamation. She could never do that. She knew what it felt like, when someone threw out something you’d poured your heart into, and she didn’t see the need for her pupils to experience that just yet. Of course, she couldn’t keep everything, and at the end of the year, she did have to throw away things that were left, but it had never crossed her mind to do that during the year.

“My room,” she argued as the two of them walked through the silent hallways, “is pretty and the students are happy to come here. I doubt you can say the same thing.”

“I’ve never heard anyone complain.”

“That’s because they’re terrified of you!”

In the dimly lit hallways, she missed the half-smile that curved Sesshomaru’s lips while the two of them argued. Even if she’d seen it, she would probably have assumed she’d imagined it, and yet, it was there. Sesshomaru was enjoying himself.

With a frustrated sigh, she pushed the doors to her room and let him in, turning on the light to reveal a place she was genuinely proud of. On the walls hung finished products, on the tables, paintings were still drying, and on the shelves were the results of that time they had tried pottery. Inuyasha probably hadn’t been happy that she had used his ex’s contact information to find a teacher for that, but he hadn’t said anything about it.

He’d just hidden in the gymnasium all day.

“There,” she said, satisfied with the scene. Esthetically, maybe it wasn’t the most pleasing sight, but she could see all the efforts poured into this work. She knew what belonged to which student, by name. She knew which themes had felt the most personal to whom, she knew…

Ugh, she was getting all mushy now.

“Let’s drink,” she said, pulling out the two bottles she’d gotten off of Hiten and Manten earlier.

But Sesshomaru wasn’t listening to her. Instead, he stepped closer to one of the walls and examined it in silence. Kagura narrowed her eyes at him. What exactly was he… Ah.

“Fractals,” he said, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, well, an assignment that was inspired by fractals,” Kagura said, rolling her eyes. She started tapping her fingernails on the wood of the desk she was sitting on. This was more embarrassing than she’d thought it would be. Not that she’d thought about it much, actually, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have done it. “Are we drinking or what?”

Sesshomaru looked at her over his shoulder.

“I do not think that is a very good idea. We need to look out for the students. We cannot do that drunk.”

Why did he have to be so reasonable all the time?

“Why fractals?”

Kagura pushed herself off the desk with a sigh and walked to his side.

“Well, I was looking into some geometrical things,” for no reasons whatsoever, “and I thought fractals were… an interesting theme. Most kids went for a mirror type of thing, but some took more interest in the snowflake shape and others on…” She sighed, but couldn’t quite contain her amused smile. “The Triforce, I guess.”

Sesshomaru watched her as she spoke. Kagura was always passionate about things. When she cared about things, it was obvious in her voice, in her attitude. Right now, her eyes shone as she examined her students’ project, her lips curved into a smile he knew she couldn’t quite control. She smirked, a lot, but she always looked like she was caught off-guard when she realized she was genuinely smiling.

“That isn’t a bad idea to get them interested,” Sesshomaru conceded, voice perhaps softer than it usually was. “To pick things they can— have fun making, I suppose.”

“Well, we don’t all have that luxury,” Kagura grinned, shooting him a wink. “You’d have trouble doing that, wouldn’t ya?”

Sesshomaru rose an eyebrow, and took a step towards her. Kagura tried to step back, only to realize her back was already against the wall. She swallowed as the tall, white-haired man leaned towards her, towering over her even though she was wearing high heels. Curse him and his stupid height…

“Is that a challenge, Kagura?” he asked, and God, his voice was doing all sorts of things to her.

She didn’t think he’d used her name before. She found she quite liked it.

“Might be,” she replied, lifting her chin defiantly. “I’m pretty sure even if you tried, you couldn’t get your students interested.”

Something dark briefly lit up in his golden eyes, and Sesshomaru sighed.

“You’re an impossible woman,” he said, possibly for himself more than for her.

“Yeah, I kind of pride myself on—”

Sesshomaru kissed her. At first, it felt brusque, his lips crashing against hers but remaining immobile, his body so completely tense against hers.

Kagura reacted immediately. She didn’t try to understand it, didn’t stop to consider whether or not that was a good idea. Before she could have any form of cohesive thoughts, she was pushing herself against him, her hands were in his hair as she pulled him down against her. If that took him by surprise, he didn’t show it. In a second, he’d pulled her away from the wall and lifted her onto a desk, where she promptly wrapped her legs around his waist.

She’d thought about this for years, wondered of what he’d taste like, how his body would feel against hers. His warmth, seeping through his clothes, was almost surprising, opposed to his  usual cold demeanor. His large hands, his long fingers, moved slowly, up her legs, then on her waist, as he took his time to discover her body. It was the clash of her passion, her impatience, and his slow deliberateness.

When he pulled away from her, she let out an annoyed whimper, but didn’t try to hold him back. Instead, she took in the sight of him in that moment, and it made her smirk. She liked the way he looked right now. Disheveled, shirt all creased,  tie half-undone, hair a mess. She liked the way his lips parted as he tried to steady his breathing. She knew that in a second, he would look as tidy as ever, but for now, she enjoyed a sight she doubted many people has set their eyes on before.

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes, and her smile widened. It only lasted a second before he did compose himself again, and when he looked back at her, it was gone.

“I think it’s time we go back. Shall we?” he asked, offering her his hand.

Kagura took it and jumped from the desk, quickly smoothing out her skirt. It wasn’t her first rodeo, and she knew she could make herself look perfectly presentable before she walked back into the gym.

“You should give that back to Hiten’s parents,” Sesshomaru added, pointing at the bottles she’d abandoned by the door. “He probably took it from them.”

She rolled her eyes. He just had to know everything better than everyone else, didn’t he? Fine. She would. Because, of course, it was the right, smart thing to do. It was just very annoying. Ugh. The things she was doing because she liked him…

She grabbed his tie and took to straightening it, and he went very quiet. His face didn’t express any emotion, but he didn’t have to for her to be able to read him. Pulling him forward, she planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Watch out, professor,” she whispered huskily, “you have some lipstick there.”

Then she took a step back, winked at him, and disappeared through the door.

Sesshomaru spent long seconds there, regaining control of his breathing. He couldn’t explain to himself what was different about Kagura. Everything about her was fascinating. The way she moved, the way she talked, the was she smiled. She brought color to his mostly dull, black and white world, something only his adopted daughter had been able to do before. He had never really considered acting on — whatever it was he was feeling, until tonight.

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about when to do it again.

It was a shame the year was ending, but they’d both still be here for the next one. At the thought, his lips curved into a smile.

He would be looking forward to it.

Hiii, thanks for reading! I’m tentatively coming back on Tumblr so you might see more of me in the next days. I don’t think I’ll be engaging with any content from the sequel, at least for the time being though. Hope you enjoyed this piece I wrote while I was gone!

[myownwutheringheights]

Me again! I was wondering if you could write something with him with a younger so? maybe headcanons on how their relationship would work? -🙈

You got it! I ended up making a full story line?:

Let’s be honest, he was SUPER hesitant at first! “She’s practically still a kid, she has her whole life to get fucked up without me helping! She has no idea what she’d be getting herself into!”

Of course he was interested! But she seemed so off limits for him. Others told him to keep away.

But she was interested too. “At least let me TRY to get to know you!” Eventually he gave in and part of it was to see how quickly she’d run.

But she didn’t run. He showed her all his demons and she was a lot stronger than he gave her credit for.

Is is fully aware of who he is, and what his father has done. But she’s not afraid to ask him questions about his father and his childhood. She’s even offered to go with him to see Martin, if that is what Malcolm needs. She can handle it.

She’d be wicked smart - it’s the only thing that would catch his attention in someone just old enough to drink. She’s working to get into grad school and it’s a lot of late nights and ordering Chinese food, and it suits his insomniac schedule just fine

Varied and unique dates; from museums to fast food, to walks in the park, to checking out old antique shops, and buying old books, and going to oddball events, the list of what they did together is a beautiful jumble of both their interests, from the high-brow to the low, and they enjoy all of it together.

He has the courage to go to one of the uptown holiday parties that his mother attended that year, with her at his side (she looked absolutely stunning in that dress)

People don’t know why she’s “settled” for the crazy son of a serial killer. She could have had anyone, but she chose him.

When she hears anything that sounds remotely like that - the anger comes out, and watch out, she kicks. She’s got a temper on her worthy of a Whitly

“Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean you can talk down to me Malcolm!”

“Stop profiling me” from her

“What exactly is a “yeet” from him

Discovery of avacado toast - and other pop culture things she’s more aware of than him

Jessica thinks he’s being selfish in putting the weight of his problems on a “young, innocent girl.”

But this “young, innocent girl” can drink Jessica under the table, and Malcolm adores that about her, but finds it also an equal cause for concern.

She is the responsible party for the yoga in his healing journey. She even gave him some lessons, and the first few were just a disaster.

She’s responsible for the the daily affirmations too. He drew the line at lavender essential oil.

Couples. Counseling. So. Much. Couples. Counseling.

And Malcolm hates it

He relies on her more than he should, let’s be real. And it’s a lot to handle. He’s worth it, but it’s still a lot

She enjoys the restraints too 😉 do with that what you will, because you won’t hear any information from them. They value each other too much to cheapen what they have, and since most people assume they are just together for the sex, they don’t talk about it to others, at all.

But....yes, they have a crazy insane sex life

Their fights were just as epic as the sex. Often they were about feeling an imbalance of power. He feels he is taking care of her while she feels she is completely taking care of him and he’s not doing enough to take initiative for his mental health.

The team would absolutely judge at first. They’d say it was a bad call. Of course jokes would fly now and then about the age difference but they make sure not to cross the line. That only happened once.

It was JT’s fault; he mentioned daddy issues and he got full dark side Malcolm in his face.

Because Malcolm is SUPER protective of her, almost to a fault. She has to counsel him to back off, that she’s actually an intelligent adult and she is fully capable of taking care of herself

They seem like such an odd pair but in the end, he keeps her grounded and she keeps him hopeful.

One day she tells him she wants kids and he spits the whisky out....it’s going to be a crazy adventure

[giant-dekubowl-ship]

Hooky is a DAMM GOOD webtoon and you should all read it.

Every want to read a long-running epic? Do you like magic and witchcraft in your stories? Is the thought of a colorful cast (literally and figuratively) enough to catch your attention? Do you like stories that are all about love - familial,  romantic and platonic? Want all of what was mentioned above to be renditioned in beautifully drawn and flowing tapestries? 

If so then Hooky - a webtoon by Miriam Bonastre Tur is just for you.

Its a story deserving of a seat next to the ‘greats’ people quote when talking about storytelling on the level of Avatar: The Last Airbender and the like. This is not being said lightly. The pitfalls of any kind of story that goes on for longer than a few episodes or chapters or storytelling arcs is that they may lose their way. Lose track of what the initial chapters were trying to tell or lose focus and bloat up into messy storytelling. This can happen in any medium and webtoon is certainly not immune. 

There are many great stories in webtoon - but many, just like a certain shonen jump manga which continued and stretched until the publisher itself decided to give it the infamous ax - continue their stories until they are unrecognizable. Sometimes, ending the story at just the right time makes a story that much more precious to its readers.

On webtoon, there are certainly quite a few great stories both ongoing and complete that have this ephemeral air of just right. Those kinds of stories that read confidently with the attitude of an individual who has a goal and will and does complete it. 

I personally have many series I hold dear to my heart which are themselves webtoons. Today though I’m here to talk about Hooky. 

The Story 

Hooky, a series so good, that if it were a manga I’d want it turned into an anime and if it were a comic I’d want it turned into a cartoon. And even as a webtoon, I just want someone to bring this to the big screens. 

Its a story about many things. At its heart, it's about love and the lack thereof it (as cheesy as this sounds). Divides from distrust, lashings from hatred, misunderstandings from miscommunication all looked at different levels. From the interpersonal to the societal. Miriam weives a careful and interesting narrative on what can quickly become a complicated and controversial topic. 

Its a series that starts off quaint and oh so very sweet. Akin to Disney's retelling of all the classic fairy tales. 

Two twins, Dani and Dorian dash through a pastel rendition of a Spanish village, dressed in matching black robes as they run late for their school bus. Upon missing their only ticket to the hidden rendition of Hogwarts this world has they have a brilliant idea to hide this from their parents. And instead, find a mentor in magic as an alternative. 

From then on its a swirling adventure as these children navigate a world they’ve obviously never interacted with. It's a fairy tale - but not from Disney - that takes some interesting inspiration from the famous stories fables. Hansel and Gretel being an example which comes to mind. 

Going back to comparing Hooky with Avatar - it’s a story with its high and low moments for the characters. Just like Aang, the main duo of this story, don’t always get to play around with their equivalent of Elephant koi. It’s at times grim but not overly gritty. It doesn't revel in life’s tragedies any more than it indulges in fantasy’s escapism.  

Our main characters find themselves in a world they quickly realize they know very little about and it is quickly made obvious to both us the viewer and the twins, that not everything is exactly as simple as it seems to the inexperienced eyes of the child twins. 

In a way, they are almost perfect reflections to us readers. Ignorant and oblivious to the reality of this open and unexplored world. Almost except for the fact that unlike them, we have some grounding story elements of the initial fables interwoven into the narrative. 

Taking inspiration from a story does not mean copying it however and this is certainly true of Hooky, which is it's own grounded and fleshed out tale.

The world-building starts off in the form of little one-off lines and details which quickly snowball into a predominant feature of the story. Something that demands the attention of both you and the characters. The story and its contents evolve and mature just like the characters as they grow up both figuratively and literally. 

Scenes and events happening as early as chapter one will come back later. Twists, turns, self-fulfilling prophecies - all of which given this series a wonderful re-read value (in addition to the first read-through ride). 

There’s so much I could say about Hooky and it’s story and storytelling. However, much of it is walled off behind intricate layers of world-building and scenes - all of which are too spoil-ery for me to justify, well, spoiling it. 

Instead, I’ll move forward to another greatly quality of this story: Its characters. 

The Characters 

This story’s characters are much of its charm. If you can’t find yourself enjoying Dani and Dorian’s antics along with their friends - then much of this story will fall flat. 

They should not though, because, every character it a well and finely crafted piece of art. 

First, we have the main duo: the aforementioned twins. Both are polar opposites in character, as many twins tend to be written - but both come off as very genuine and their sibling love for each other comes across even more so. 

It’s the little things that make them work. The sibling bickering, the disagreements that put them at odds but eventually bring them back together. The fierce care and protectiveness they have despite this and hostility that will sprout against anyone that attacks one or the other. They won’t be finishing each other’s sentences but no one else in the world would understand their unsaid words better than they do with each other. 

Dorian, the brother is the ‘book smart’, the skill. He likes to think of himself as a well-read gentleman but isn't all that prideful over it (for the most part). He doesn’t handle the more rambunctious boys his age well despite his admiration of them and needs to socialize. 

If there is one thing he’s proud and or defensive over it’s his magic. His wizard heritage and family name - no matter what the outside world’s opinion of it is hell stubbornly hold on to it. A flip side to his genuine and endearing clumsiness when friends are in the picture is the fact that he is perhaps more cynical or anxious than his sister. He’s far from perfect, but again this is due to his youth and inexperience rather than any lingering personality flaw. Throughout the story, he does many things, both good and bad - but everything he does is consistent and grounded as the individual he’s been built up to be. 

Dani is the more outgoing of the two twins, she’s more so the ‘raw power’ of the duo. Despite being just as sheltered as her brother, she’s a step ahead of her brother when facing the uncertain, confident, adventurous but rash - despite how this gets her into trouble. 

She is, however just as sensitive as her brother. In fact, all the while being more outgoing it can seem like she is more easily pressured by the views of others on her than her bother at times, the more easily influenced by the world around her. 

There is also a vast supporting cast of characters in addition to our interesting twin due. Some of which I doubt hesitate to even call just “side” characters with the role they continuously play. 

There’s Nico, a rambunctious village boy - who just wants to properly get the chance to grow up as a wizard’s apprentice despite his ‘lack’ of ability with magic. He’s first introduced as one of those ‘rough around the edges’ individuals with a somewhat un-empathetic temperament. 

As the story’s scope grows and as our characters mature with their experiences, however, Nico is quickly one of the characters who take the lead in his development. Considering where he started, he ends up one of the most grounded and wise characters.

Our next character is Princess Monica. As per her moniker - she certainly starts off impersonating her title. Stuffy, self-aggrandising, very obtuse regarding the lives of everyday people - the list goes one. Her introduction is set with her decision to embark on a quest to find her prince charming. 

Just like our main character duo, she is very sheltered, however. And quickly she’ll discover that her wants and beliefs may clash with reality. This pompous air (which may annoy some readers) thankfully, does not last long. Monica quickly blooms to be one of the most empathetic and hardworking characters within the story. Her blooming relationship with Dorian is as agonisingly anxiety inducing as it is heartwarming to see. 

I could talk at length about the other characters, but if I did this post would go on and on. But certainly, Mark, Alex, Damien, Will, Master Pendragon, the King, the Wytte family - all are intriguing and compelling characters which will keep you around if you’re not hooked already. 

The Art 

The final thing to this post is me just briefly discussing the art. If you haven't noted already from the screenshots - it’s gorgeous and unique. Here the author/artist takes full advantage of the medium provided to her. Scenes will flow down for pages, something only possible in the webtoon. Characters will talk in coloured speech bubbles, something only possible in coloured and static media such as comics. 

The art in this series is nothing close to static, however. It's dynamic and inventive in its paneling in a way that brings so much charm to the series. 

Emotional moments are that much more impactful as you, the readers, are swept through both dream-like and nightmarish scenes alike. Scenes will flow just as much as they will pause between panels, letting words and emotions soak in. They build up awe as well as they do tension and dread. The artistry of the author develops along with the story is nothing short of beautiful especially as we reach the current ending arc’s climax and denouement. 

To Summarise 

Hooky is a well-crafted piece of writing that I hope more people learn about and get to read. It's currently going into its final arc (as of writing this post) and I can attest that it certainly is worth the read. While as a story it enjoyed taking after the grim origins of our favourite fairy tales, it never forgets what it once was - a story about two twins just missing their school bus - and it makes sure to show the readers it hasn’t forgotten with a fairy tale ending fit for a child’s bedtime story its so sweet. 

[ravens-words]

We burned down our paper house

"Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed. Epic."

Scenes from a lost decade.

Part 1

On AO3

................

Chapter 2 of 4

.................

Late 2008

Alex had given Michael his number a little over two months ago,  and Michael hadn't called him. Alex was disappointed, but he couldn't say he was all that surprised. He'd probably been setting himself up for failure when he'd left while the other boy was sleeping, but the mere idea of saying goodbye to Michael had been like a vice around his heart. 

He remembered woking up next to him, and for a second, allowing himself to fantasize about a lifetime of mornings waking up just like this, cocooned in the warmth of Michael's arms, feeling so happy he could burst  with it.

But then the second was over and reality had set in.

He'd gotten up and gotten dressed, as quietly as he dared. He'd gathered Michael's clothes and folded them neatly. The next thing he'd done was to take out a blanket from the small dresser. He'd draped it cautiously over his sleeping form and then sat on the second bed in the room, taking a minute to just watch him sleep, wondering how it was possible for him to miss him already. 

Alex remembered wanting to wake him up,  to kiss him one last time. He'd wanted to say goodbye because he knew how much it hurt when Michael hadn't been there two months ago. But then he'd looked at Michael again and his heart had fluttered and ached and for a whole minute, all he could think was; I don't want to go. I want to stay here with him. Which had confirmed what Alex already knew. 

If he'd woken Michael up, he would not have been strong enough to leave him.

So, he hadn't. Instead, he'd given him his number and had allowed himself to hope.

He'd planned on taking his leave after tech school to visit Michael, but after two months of no contract, he figured it would be better to save himself the heartbreak of being rejected and instead chose to spend his leave in Biloxi. He stayed close to Keesler for no other reason than his lack of desire to go home. Saving up the money and spending his days on the beach were just added bonuses. 

A day before his leave came to an end, his cellphone rang. Alex spent a good three seconds staring at the number, trying and failing not to get his hopes up. He pressed the button to answer with shaking fingers and put the phone to his ear. 

"Alex?"

His breath left him in a rush and he closed his eyes when he felt the pressure behind them. 

"Alex?"

"I'm here," he managed to say and could hear what was probably a sigh of relief coming from the other end. 

"How are you?"

Alex laughed at how awkward he sounded and realized just then that they'd never been ones for small talk. Nevertheless, he went along with it. "I'm doing okay. How about you?"

"I'm good."

Alex smiled. "You staying out of trouble?" 

His attempt to break the ice fell flat. He'd only meant to tease him, but from the silence on the other end, something had gotten lost in translation. "Michael, I didn't mean it like that, I was just ki-"

"I know," he cut him off. "I know. And, I am staying out of trouble. Well, mostly."

Alex laughed quietly and dug his toes in the sand. "Michael?" 

"Yeah?"

Alex gatheed up every bit of courage he had in him and asked the question that had been churning in his mind for the past two months. "What took you so long?"

Michael answered his question with a question. "Why didn't you come back? I know you're on leave."

Alex wondered how he knew that, but didn't ask. He sighed and lay back in the sand, staring at the clear sky. Part of him wanted to be stubborn and demand that he answer his question first, but Alex was tired, and he missed him so much it was like a constant ache at this point. "I didn't know if I had anything to come back for."

Silence greeted him on the other end and he he was afraid that Michael might have hung up on him. But then he spoke, "I didn't know if you really wanted me to. I knew you'd be busy at school and- you left, Alex. You just left."

"Michael-"

"I bought an airstream off Sanders a couple days ago," Michael rushed to say, changing the subject. Alex went with it, though he wanted to reassure him that there would always be space for him in Alex's life, that Alex would always make space for him. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm fixing it up now."

Alex could imagine the smile he heard in Michael's voice on his face if he tried hard enough and it made his heart ache. 

"That's really good, Michael."

"I mean, paying for it is gonna be a pain and it'll take me forever, but-" 

I'm proud of you, he almost said, but didn't. You could so much more. You deserve so much more.

He smiled. "Maybe the next time I'm in Roswell, you can show it to me?"

When he answered with an eager, "yeah!" his voice sounded considerably brighter, and Alex felt a spark of hope ignite in his chest.

"Hey, I-uh, I gotta go okay? Isobel's gonna kill me if I spend any more of her minutes."

Alex chuckled. "Okay."

"Can I call you again?" He inquired hesitantly.

"Yes, of course you can," he answered quickly and he sounded eager to his own ears. "We can e-mail each other, too."

"Yeah- I- Alex?"

"Yeah?" 

"I miss you," he whispered.

Alex closed his eyes again, but not before a tear escaped and ran down his cheek.

He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat  "I miss you, too, Michael."

He heard what sounded suspiciously close to a sniffle before Michael let out a cough. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Yeah." Alex smiled. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too." And with that, Michael hung up.

Alex smiled helplessly to himself and breathed in deeply. He rested his chin on his folded arms and watched the sun set, casting an orange- pink hue against the ocean water.

Hope burned bright in his chest and, try as he might, he couldn't stop it. So, he indulged himself and allowed it.

Tomorrow, he would think about all the reasons he and Michael couldn't really work.

Tomorrow, he would think about how hard it would be to maintain a relationship, if that was even something Michael wanted with him, when he had to hide it, when he had to hide who he was. 

He would deal with everything that was wrong with his life, but only tomorrow. 

For now, though, he was content to just watch the sunset and be happy that Michael wanted to give this a try, that the other man was making a life for himself despite what his father had done to him and that maybe, just maybe, Alex had a place in that life.

Late 2009

A little less than a year into his first deployment, Alex managed to get approval for a leave. He didn't tell anyone in Roswell, and in the years to come, he would regret that decision.

But for now, all he could feel was excitement and an eagerness to see Michael.

In the year after their phone call, Alex and Michael e-mailed each other at least once a week, but they rarely got to talk to each other over the phone, mainly due to time differences and the fact that Michael didn't actually have a phone yet. 

They never talked about anything important, though, and there was always this feeling of disconnect between them that bothered Alex.

In an unspoken agreement between them; there conversations were never about anything too heavy or serious. They didn't talk about the war, they didn't talk about Michael's hand or his money issues, even though Alex wanted to know desperately. And the only people they'd ever mentioned were Alex's squad mates and Max and Isobel. And even then, they only tended to share the light-hearted tidbits of their lives. Alex, though he wasn't proud to admit, had lied a few times, made up a cheerful or funny story or two to share with him on the days there weren't any, because the alternative would have been the truth and the truth was this:

Alex was miserable.

Almost a year in and he still lay awake at night, most nights, and thought about all the ways his life could've been different if he'd been braver, faster, stronger. On the bad days, he wished he'd never tried to kiss Michael in the shed. On the worst days, he wished he'd never offered him the shed in the first place. 

Those thoughts never lasted long, though; they were always chased away by memories of Michael's kisses, his touches, his smile. The thoughts never lasted because he could never regret Michael, no matter what.

Michael had saved him in ways Alex suspected he never realized. If it weren't for him, Alex would never have known what it felt like to be completely safe with someone. 

Before he left the Roswell airport, he hurriedly changed out of his fatigues in the airport bathrooms and stuffed them carelessly in his duffel. It didn't take him long to find a cab and thirty minutes later, he was about half a mile away from the junkyard where Michael had parked his airstream. 

He'd decided to walk the remaining distance,  wanting to have a clear head, maybe get rid of the nervousness too, before he saw Michael. The night air was cool on his skin and it soothed him.

When he got to Sanders', all Alex could hear was the frantic beat of his heart. He tried to take deep breaths, he told himself it was just Michael, that he didn't have to be so nervous about seeing him. 

He walked ahead and was just a few feet away from the airstream when he heard it; a giggle, high-pitched and obviously female. It was followed by Michael's deep laugh and Alex froze, unable to do anything but breathe raggedly. When he could get his feet to move a little, he saw them. 

Michael was sitting in a lawn chair, and the girl was in another one next to him. His hand was buried in a her hair and when he moved closer and said something, too low for Alex to hear,  she laughed and then they were kissing. Alex turned away and all but ran away. He ran for a long time.

The thing was, he and Michael hadn't promised each other anything. They hadn't defined what they were to each other, had skirted around the subject masterfully, so was it any wonder that Michael moved on? 

Alex couldn't really fault him for it. They were young and they weren't ready. Maybe it was better this way, for the both of them. Maybe they were never meant to last and Alex had just held on to the hope because Michael had been the one person in his life who'd given a damn about him.

Alex gathered all the heartache, the pain and the disappointment, put them in a neat little box and put it away. 

And he ran.

He ran for what felt like an eternity.

He didn't see Michael for another five years after that night.

[metalchick19-blog]

The Bowers Gang: Ship #8 - Belch Huggins

Request: I’m really tiny like REALLY. I’m 5’ feet (or 154cm I don’t know if the inches are correct). I’m redhead but not a true one because I dye them. I wear a lot of bands shirts or horror movies ones, and a lot of high waist skirts or dresses with belt and chains and a black hat all the time. My shoes are platforms from the new rock brand and sometimes I wear Santiag but it’s really rare. I always have a leather chocker around my neck with spikes on it. Peoples call me dog because of that but I don’t care because I feel good with it. I wear A TON of makeup (only because I love makeup so fucking much), and that’s usually black lipstick with red eyeshadow and eyeliner that’s all. I also have tattoos on my right tight and on my left arm. I literally can’t live without music and my favs bands are Aerosmith, Guns N’ Roses and Slash. That’s so basic I know, but I love them and I always want to dance and sing when I listen to their song, because they makes me feel so happy. I also love witchcraft and paranormal. I do believe so much in magic and ghosts and I love to walk around old abandonned places and talk about ghosts, aliens, demons ect, because for me it’s so fascinating and interesting. I’ve already played Ouija and it worked and I freaked out but loved it. Peoples think I’m a witch actually but I’m ok with that. I love watching horror movies so much, but I hate blood and gore, wich is pretty contradictory I know. I’m also scared easy even if I love all theses witchy/paranormal stuffs. Last thing is : I’m getting angry REALLY (too much) fast, and that’s a big problem because I have so many issues because of this. I do cry so much too because anger makes me cry and shake but I do love cuddles so much (not all the time but that feel good sometime to have someone who can give you hugs, that warm your heart). I do a lot of sex jokes too and my friends hates me for that but hey, it’s funny.

All the guys were attracted to you at some point, because they’re each turned on by different aspects of your style (Henry by your makeup, Patrick by your red hair, and Victor by your skirts/dresses)

But Belch (who knew he had to have you the second he saw just one of your epic band t-shirts) wound up coming out on top, because he’s the only member of The Bowers Gang with a proper respect for the greats

The greats being Axl Rose, Saul Hudson, and Steven Tyler 

All the other guys might pretend to be metal-heads (because bad boy aesthetic), but Belch is the only one who legitimately deserves the title

Seriously - he’s never more confident than he is when he’s talking about his music obsessions (i.e. rock, metal, and the development of those genres), and you’re one of the very few people in the world who ever gets to see him like that

Belch dominates the floor talking-wise, and his entire body language changes; for just a few minutes, he seems to lose all pretense of being meek or uncertain 

Aka: You get to meet confident Belch who knows what he’s talking about, and that’s a friggin’ miracle 

You guys have insanely long, thorough debates as to which current bands should be considered “real” rock bands 

These talks can last for hours at a time (because you’re both just passionate like that), and tend to take place around Belch’s kitchen bar 

The two of you just sit on your stools (next to each other, like the adorable humans you are) and crack open beer after beer, completely losing track of time listening to each other’s rants 

Usually neither of you notice how long you’ve been talking until the sun starts to set through the kitchen window - you’re just that into what one another is saying 

Belch shows you his vinyl collection (over 500 records, all alphabetized) 

This is great because 1.) that collection is Huggins’ pride and joy, which means you’re definitely his person if he wanted you to see it, and 2.) because everything sounds better on vinyl, and you never knew it until he showed you 

You come over to Belch’s place almost every day after initially finding this out, because you need that ear-sex feeling of the music pulsing all around you (*Steven Tyler’s voice pulsing all around you* - definitely a mood)

... And Belch honestly loves it, because watching you dance around his bedroom is literally the highlight of his life 

It was hard to get him to dance along with you the first few times you asked (he would just do a few awkward, timid movements before laughing and sitting down) but he now does it with you almost all the time

And when Huggins dances... he dances hard

We’re talking the robot, the sprinkler, everything 

... Which you’ve explained to him are not moves that should be done when listening to death-metal, but he just keeps saying he “knows you love it,” and persists in doing those moves

... You do kind of love it, though 

What can I say? You’ve led the man to his free spirit (and the world thanks you for doing so)

Belch also takes you to some well-known sites around town that are famous for tragedy (The Black Spot, the Ironworks Factory, etc.) so you can do paranormal investigations there

He actually almost took you to the Neibolt house once on Patrick’s suggestion, but decided to back out at the last minute because it was a Hockstetter idea

... Yeah, even Belch knows better than to trust Patrick with his physical well-being

Typically all the guys tag along for these paranormal activity trips though, because even though Belch wants to look tough for his girl, he doesn’t like the idea of scrapping with ghosties by himself 

... It’s truly a hilarious sight to see

Ghost-hunting missions typically entail you and Patrick being at the front of the pack (you trying to “make contact” as Patrick actively fucks with your process) while the rest of the guys trail lazily behind you 

Henry complains at least once every 3 minutes (”my fuckin’ legs hurt”/”why are we still out here” x10), Victor looks quietly at the scenery, and Belch just tries to look brave (but can’t hide how hard he’s listening to whether or not anything responds to your prompts - he’s silently praying nothing does)

Sometimes things do come through though, and it changes the atmosphere for everybody

... that is, everybody except for Patrick (who would refuse to believe in the occult even if he was levitated by Casper)

All arguing/off-handed banter comes to a stop, and the guys act way more on edge for the rest of the night

Typically involves a lot of mildly nervous looks around on Victor’s part, and flinching in response to loud noises on Henry’s - Belch is a combination of both

After close encounters like these, you all tend to walk back to the car in a much tighter group than before

Henry and Victor press in on the sides, and no one says a word

... Except for Patrick, who makes joke after joke about how big of pussies you all are, and challenges all demons in the near vicinity to fight him 

He’s never been fought, but it sends you all into a frenzy of “shut up!” every time

All the guys love that they don’t have to change their regular movie aesthetic for you

Literally everything they ever watch is some type of horror, so you’ve never been more well-suited to a group of people  

They don’t sit down and really watch things together very often, but they usually have a horror movie and/or violent TV show on to serve as background noise for their conversations (”Tales from the Crypt,” ”Friday the 13th” re-runs, etc.)

Regardless of whether or not you’re with the guys though, Belch always covers your eyes when he knows the next scene of the movie that you’re watching is about to be especially gory

...Seriously.

The dude physically covers your eyes.

He even flung himself across a room once (in front of the gang and everything) just to child-proof your vision before you could see the fish hook scene in “Hellraiser”

Mostly because he knows you don’t like gore, and he tends to remember when it’s about to happen at the very last second - it’s all our teddy bear can think to do to save your innocence

Now, bro - it’s totally fine that you have a temper

I can’t imagine where that would be less of a problem 

Even though Belch tries hard to keep you feeling calm and collected (because he just cares about your inner peace), he’s low-key enthralled by the way you look when you’re angry

... And all the other guys just find it entertaining as hell, because they’ve never met a 5-foot powerhouse such as yourself

You get into arguments often, though.

...Often. 

So often, in fact, that the guys eventually stopped letting you finish.

They tend to let you go back and forth with people you’re arguing with for a while, but if it becomes obvious that you’re not really going to fight the person, they eventually decide to move on with their day...

... at which point either Henry or Patrick will pull you away by your choker.

... Yes, by your choker. Like you’re a little dog. 

Patrick did it first (”Come on, killer! We’ll find you some other crotch to bite later.” *Annoyingly satisfied Hockstetter cackle*), and Henry just followed suit afterwards.

It’s a thing now; you’ll have to accept that. 

Belch gives you the best cuddles that have ever been cuddled 

Seriously - because of your size, you can curl up on his gargantuan male body like a cat 

Pick any cuddle position - you guys can cuddle it better than hibernating bear cubs 

And you’re high-key cuter to watch, too, because your love for one another just rolls off of you both in waves 

Just so wholesome, and so very adorable

Overall, you fit into the group well, and cultivate a refreshingly genuine connection with Belch

He gets to be who he really is with you, and that means more to him than anything 

[ponyregrets]

for the friends-to-lovers prompts, i found this in a text post i once reblogged: "we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and i don’t know how to act around you anymore wtf". hope you have a nice day !!!

I combined this with another prompt (a tweet about a teacher with a birthday message on his forehead) from @allstandsilver

AO3!

Bellamy's first mistake is assuming that he's safe because his twenty-eighth birthday is on a Monday.

He doesn't make any plans, obviously. Celebrating the weekend before always feels kind of like cheating, but he invited people out for drinks on Friday, which he assumed was sufficient. It wasn't like he was ignoring his birthday.

When he gets home from work, Clarke isn't there, which isn't particularly surprising, but she has left a cupcake with a single candle on the kitchen counter, and a card that says, Happy birthday! See you in a couple hours, I hope. It's a fairly typical Clarke message, one that would have pissed him off, once upon a time. He moved in with her because the rent was cheap and the apartment was nice, and Clarke was friends with Monty, who is his friend who is least likely to tell him to move in with someone who is secretly awful as a joke.

And Clarke really isn't awful. The biggest issue was that she's rich and her parents own her very nice condo, and Bellamy was surly and vaguely resentful about the way she didn't have to work like a normal person and could still take care of herself. He might have been benefiting from her wealth, but that didn't make him like her.

Luckily, Clarke could do that all on her own. Within about a month, their bickering had moved from barbed to affectionate, and as he got to know her, he started to realize how hard Clarke did work, albeit with weird hours and less compensation than most people would need to survive. She wasn't an idle rich person, she was a rich person who took advantage of being well off to do what she wanted. It sucked that he couldn't do the same, but that's not really Clarke's fault. She works part-time for Planned Parenthood and volunteers at various museums and goes to parties her mother has just to argue with rich assholes, and on the side, she does art.

Now that he likes her, he's glad she's got the life she wants. She deserves it.

Right now, she's probably in her studio, so he texts Do you want me to make dinner for you or are you good? and goes to find a beer. He's going to have a couple drinks, not do any grading, and play video games, and when Clarke gets home, she'll probably hang out with him. It's a pretty good birthday plan, as far as he's concerned.

When the door opens half an hour into this plan, he calls, "Hey, welcome back!" and doesn't think anything of Clarke's not responding until the blindfold goes on.

"Happy birthday, dickweed," says Murphy, and shoves at shot into his hand.

"We love you," Miller adds.

"If you really loved me, you'd let me stay home and play Stardew Valley."

Miller takes one of his arms and Murphy takes the other and they pull him up and out of the apartment. He doesn't resist that much--they're probably not going to kill him on purpose, and if they got into the apartment, Clarke is at least involved, and she won't let them kill him by accident--but he makes sure there's enough resistance that they know he's not thrilled about this turn of events.

When he gets into the car, he gets another shot, and then Clarke says, "Your safe word is banana cream pie."

"Really?" he asks, downing the shot. It does actually taste like banana cream pie, which is kind of terrifying. "Is my safe word supposed to be dirty? That seems counter-productive."

"Is banana cream pie dirty?"

"It sounds like a euphemism for something. Come on, that's some sexual imagery."

"It might have been too long since you've gotten laid. Are you planning to figure out what sex act banana cream pie could refer to and then ask me to do it?"

"I'm definitely planning to do the first part." The second's not unappealing either, but he knows better than to fuck his roommate, especially his roommate he has a crush on. That's a recipe for disaster.

"Me too," Clarke admits. "But if you need to get out of this at any time, tell me banana cream pie and I'll bail you out."

"And you'll be a pathetic asshole," says Murphy. Then he squeaks, so Bellamy assumes Clarke kicked him.

"She'd only agree to this if we gave you an out," says Miller.

"This is why she's my favorite."

"Uh huh."

She's also his favorite because she ignores Miller. "So, do you need to get out?" she asks.

If he was a little better at letting friends down and/or self-preservation, he'd just say the safe word, and he and Clarke would get out of the car and have the low-key evening he'd been planning. That would definitely be the right choice. But they went to so much trouble, and he's kind of curious, and he's going to get to hang out with Clarke either way, so--

"I need another shot," he says, and everyone cheers.

*

Bellamy's alarm is set to go off every weekday at five-thirty, which is good because he wouldn't have remembered to set it and bad because his fucking phone is going off and he's definitely going to die. His mouth tastes like old leather, his whole body aches, and he thinks he banged his elbow on something, but he has no idea what or when or how.

"Happy birthday to me," he mutters, and staggers into the shower.

He stays in there for longer than usual, letting the hot water ease the various aches and pains in his muscles, but despite that, when he gets out of the shower, he still sees that BIRTHDAY BOY is written on his forehead in bright red sharpie, apparently unaffected by the steady stream of water trying to wash it off.

The calculations happen as quickly as they can, given how slowly his brain is moving. He spent a long time in the shower, and he's been dragging his feet every step of the way on top of that, so he doesn't have a lot of time to spare. He could try to scrub the marker off and be late, or he could just let it slide. His first-period class is APUSH, and while they're obviously assholes, they're the kind of assholes who will have fun with the teacher coming in with something weird written on his forehead. And then he's got second period free and he can deal with the problem then. That should be enough time.

It's not the best solution. But it's the best one he's got.

He gets dressed, gets packed, and makes sure he's completely ready to go before he pushes Clarke's door open and shakes her awake.

"What?" she asks, muzzy.

She's good at falling back to sleep, so he doesn't feel that bad for saying, "Hey, quick question."

She sits up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Yeah."

"Is there writing anywhere else on my body?"

It doesn't seem to be the question she was expecting. "What?"

"I've got this," he says, pointing to his forehead. "Anywhere else? I don't want to find out from a student."

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't." She finds her glasses on the bedside table and examines him, with a small frown. "I think you're good, as long as you keep wearing exactly that amount of clothing."

"Cool. Sorry I woke you up."

"I probably deserved it." She wets her lips. "That's it?"

"Yeah. Have a good day, get more sleep, I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

*

In Bellamy's experience, high-school kids think they're much slicker than they are. Which, to be fair, is true of a lot of people. But it's clear even to his alcohol-fogged brain that his APUSH class is laughing at him and they think he hasn't noticed, which is kind of pathetic. That is a level of failure to deceive that is truly epic.

"Okay," he says, once he's done with his lecture. No one has said a single word about the message on his forehead, and that is impressive. They're passing notes about it, but the class collectively understands that this is a rare and beautiful moment that must be protected at all costs. "Before we break into groups, any questions?"

Fox's hand shoots up, and he points at her. "How old are you, Mr. Blake?"

There's some giggling, and someone hisses, be cool in what they clearly think is a whisper. He can't tell who it is, though, so that's something.

"Uh, I just turned twenty-eight."

Apparently it wasn't the answer they were expecting; the news sets off another round of frantic whispering.

"I'm going to regret asking this, but did you guys think I was younger or older?"

"I thought you were, like, twenty-four, tops," says Sterling. "Maybe just out of college."

"Thanks, I think. Is any of this relevant to the exercise we're doing?"

"You asked," Sterling shoots back, which is true.

"I did, thanks for letting me know. Any relevant questions?"

"Did you do anything fun last night?" asks Jordan, and he makes a show of rolling his eyes. He's Monty's little brother, and Miller has a huge crush on Monty, so Jordan might actually have insider information on Bellamy's private life. It's something he tries not to think about.

"I don't know, did you? Get to work, Green."

The period ends with none of the students having told him about the writing on his forehead, which is the kind of thing that feels like it deserves a reward. He had expected someone to tell him, and the fact that no one did is genuinely impressive. They did a really good job.

Me: Do you think I can leave this message on my forehead until a student tells me it's there?

Clarke: I think you can do whatever you wantThat's your question?

Me: My first period class didn't say anything about itI want to see how long they can go

Clarke: They're going to counter-bet how long it'll be before you notice

Me: So everyone will have an exciting dayHow's your hangover?

Clarke: I don't get hangovers, I'm not an amateurDid you have fun?

Me: I think soMy memories are basically a fight scene filmed by Peter Jackson with a strobe light, so it's hard to be sure

Clarke: Ouch

Me: Did I ever use my safe word?

Clarke: NoIt seemed like you were having fun

Me: I'm pretty sure I wasThanks for helping to set it up

Clarke: [thumb's up emoji]

By fourth period, his day has completely turned around. His students have all entered into some kind of blood pact about not telling him that he has something written on his forehead, and three of his coworkers have come over to tell him privately, which means he can get them in on the whole thing. The students are convinced he just hasn't looked in the mirror since whenever the message was left, and there's some sort of pool to see who can find out who wrote it, which is doomed to failure. Unless someone confesses, the mystery of who wrote on his forehead will probably remain unsolved.

Still, it's nice to see the students banding together to keep a secret from him. Anything that gets the kids united is good in his book.

Madi Taylor from his sixth-period freshmen is the one who finally tells him, quiet and a little hesitant, after a homework question, when no one is around. She's clearly aware it's a betrayal, but she is one of his favorite students. He can't be mad she's on his side.

"You've got something on your forehead," is her way of putting it, which is pretty cute.

"Yeah, I know."

Her eyes widen. "Who told you?"

"Madi, how many mornings do you not look in the mirror before you go to school?"

"I heard you came right from the party."

"I don't know how anyone would know that, but I didn't." He smiles. "Don't tell them, I know you guys are having fun."

She looks dubious. "Aren't you going to get in trouble? Like, with the principal or something?"

"Not if everyone's cool."

Once she's gone, he texts Clarke someone finally cracked and then tries very hard to not think about when she'll respond, but that's an uphill battle. Because he always texts Clarke throughout the day, and she's been weird today. Off. Her replies feel terse, irritated and she could be distracted, but it feels like he fucked up something he doesn't even know about.

It's not even his fault, she was the one giving him endless shots. And she's the one who remembers what happened. He can't fix issues he doesn't know about.

Me: Did I do something to Clarke last night?

Miller: Dude, I'm not setting you up for this

Me: Setting me up for what?

Miller: Some shitty dad joke about how laid you got

He drops the phone and it clatters across the floor, startling his last-period class as they work on their quiz. It doesn't get close enough for anyone to pick it up, but Ethan does ask, "Did you finally see your reflection?"

"Eyes on your papers, it's just a phone," he says, grabbing it. "Two more minutes."

Me: Your shots got me blackout drunk and Clarke is mad at meTalk

Miller doesn't respond before the quiz ends, so Bellamy has to actually be a teacher instead of checking his phone, which is a fucking nightmare. Teaching is his passion, but finding out what happened last night and if he ruined his entire life hitting on Clarke or something would be nice too. That's the kind of data it's important to have.

"And yes, I have known about the writing on my face for the whole day," he tells them, wrapping up his lecture a minute before the bell. "But I'm proud of you guys for not telling me and assuming I don't know what mirrors are. Read the next chapter for tomorrow and be ready to talk about what you want to do for your projects."

He makes himself wait until all the kids are gone before he finally checks his phone, makes himself go to the top of the texts before he starts reading.

Miller: ShitUmOkI wasn't paying a ton of attentionFlirting with Monty etcBut I know you and Clarke were joined at the hipWhich is pretty standardBut you were drunk and touchy-feelyAnd later on I saw you guys full-on making outAnd then you told me you were leaving with this huge shit eating grin on your faceI figured you guys had sloppy drunk sex and I'd never hear the end of it

Me: Fuck I hope we didn'tIf I had sex with Clarke and FORGOTFuckThanks

Miller: Just remember, it takes twoYou weren't the only one grinning and slobberingJust talk to her

Me: I'm tryingThanks for the update

Miller: Let me know how it goesThe G-rated version

It's hard for Bellamy to believe there's going to be any version aside from the G-rated one, but he honestly understand why Miller thinks it's a good sign. If he was Clarke and he'd spent last night making out with her, only for her to spend the whole day texting him about some stupid shit, he'd probably be pretty upset. And if he thought that making out was a mistake, he probably wouldn't be snippy about it. He'd be relieved that she didn't know it had happened.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Even if he made out with someone he hated, he'd probably be annoyed if they just forgot. No matter how he felt about the person, he'd like to be memorable.

But really, there's only one way to find out why she's mad at him; there was only ever one way. They're just going to have to talk.

Me: Do you need dinner?

Clarke: At the studioBut thanks

Clarke's studio is a few blocks from their apartment, so he stops by on his way home from work all the time. If she'd said that on an ordinary night, he would probably stop by, so he can do it tonight too. It's not weird. Or at least, it shouldn't be. Everything is covered with a thin film of weirdness right now, but he'll break through it. He has to.

He's still mildly hungover and doesn't feel like cooking anyway, so he picks up some Chinese on his way. He can hear Clarke's angry playlist blaring as soon as he gets off the elevator, which isn't the best sign, but it's not like waiting will make it better. Not with unspoken grudges festering between them.

Not with his lips tingling with the knowledge that he kissed her and no fucking idea what it felt like.

"Clarke!" he calls, rapping on the door. "Open up, you need to eat!"

The music cuts off and the door swings open. Clarke is paint-splattered and wild, and he wants to kiss her now, fucking wants to kiss her all the time. It's not new, but it does seem more urgent.

"Did we make out last night?" he blurts out, and Clarke slumps against the wall.

"You remembered?"

"No," he admits. "I asked Miller why you were pissed at me and he said the last time he saw us, we were making out."

She wets her lips, not meeting his eyes. "I didn't think you were that drunk. I didn't know you--I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have--"

It makes sense all at once, even if it kind of breaks his heart. She thinks she took advantage of him and she's annoyed with herself for doing it. It's perfectly, totally understandable.

"Clarke, you didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes flash. "How do you know? You don't know what happened."

"Did we kiss?"

"Yeah."

"Did we do anything else? After we got home."

"No. Just at the party. But you were way too drunk to--"

"You were pretty drunk too." He swallows, steps closer. "What happened? Why did we?"

"Because I wanted to!" she snaps. "Because I've been wanting to kiss you since you moved in and I thought you wanted to too and I--"

Interrupting someone with a kiss is, in Bellamy's experience, easier said than done. It happens all the time in movies and books, but it's hard to coordinate in real life, not nearly as fluid or smooth as he wants it to be. It should be a cool moment, but it takes a second to slot into place, Clarke's jaw under his fingers, her lips under his mouth.

But then she whimpers, tugs him close, kisses back, and it is familiar. They've done this before. They're good at this.

"I can't believe I forgot about this," he says. "Jesus, I didn't think it was possible for me to be so drunk I'd lose this."

Her smile is sheepish. "I did give you a lot of shots."

"Probably not just you. I'm pretty sure I drank my weight in birthday shots." He swallows. "So, uh--are we good?"

"Are we going to do that again?"

"I'm in love with you," he says. "So--yeah. As much as possible."

She laughs, winds her arms around his neck and kisses him again. "Wash your forehead off," she says. "Then we're good."

He had actually completely forgotten about the writing on his forehead; he hadn't had time to wash it off, with everything else happening, but it also didn't seem very important. "Do you know who wrote it?"

"No. But that's why I kissed you."

"Seriously?"

"I was just looking for an excuse."

"I'm glad you got one. Maybe I should keep it."

She pushes him away gently, still smiling. "Nope. Get cleaned up and we can have dinner."

He grins back. "It's a date."

[denisehq]

I’ve broken my nose twice. Would have been three times, but someone has soft baby hands and couldn’t get the job done correctly. Still a pretty epic story though. I’ll save that for another video maybe.

I play a lot of instruments. Piano. Drums. Ukulele. Kazoo. I mostly stick to my acoustic guitar though. You know, for the street cred and the opportunity to play Wonderwall ad nauseam.

I went to IHOP four times in one day. 

I’ve liked unicorns forever. They’re my favorite animal. 

I know the entire dance to Lip Gloss by Lil Mama. 

I almost exclusively wear Converse, but I do have some dope ass Docs that I’ll rock for special occasions.

I have six denim jackets. All themed slightly different. I may or may not have a pin/patch problem. I mean, a bigger problem is how often my jackets are “borrowed” but it is what it is. 

You know that scene in Cabin in the Woods where that dude gets impaled by a unicorn’s horn? That’s how I wanna go. That, or like… suffocating between a really nice pair of boobs.

I am, in fact, six feet tall, but I have the worst fucking posture ever so it probably looks like less. Tall boy problems, am I right? 

My cat, Mercutio, was 100% named after the character in Romeo and Juliet. 

I was in Drama Club, Choir, and Band in high school. Triple nerd threat. 

I graduated with high honors in high school and am currently living that “C’s make degrees” life in college. Just kidding. 

I have already met my soulmate and her name is Aliyah and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Leggo.

I feel like I tend to fall into relationships with people that either a.) cheat on me or b.) aren’t entirely emotionally available. 

I skateboard sometimes. One of my boards has a girl with a bikini on it, but her head is a cat. It’s pretty awesome. 

I love violent, campy movies. The gorier the better. 

I’ve seen Hoobastank live about 11 times. 

I’ve never met my birth mom, and I low-key don’t care to. 

I never get just one flavor of Slurpee at 7/11. I gotta have a mix. 

The word “breakfast” gets me hard. Also “free.”

I’ve never dyed my hair. Au natural, baby. Plus, bleach is not really a thing I wanna fuck with.

I have two piercings on each ear, and a piercing on my right eyebrow. Opposite of the side of my face where my mole is because we gotta think about symmetry. 

My metabolism is fast as fuck. I’m eternally hungry, I swear. 

One of my favorite movie scenes is from the movie, Legend, where Tom Cruise’s character takes this princess he’s trying to bang to see a unicorn. It’s actually really beautifully shot. Movie’s fucking weird though. But I’m weird, so it’s fine. 

I have probably a total of 10 selfies on my phone, if that. But Aliyah is constantly taking pictures of my ass, so I kinda don’t need to. Which is a good thing, I don’t need to see my face in my camera roll.

I have the biggest crush on Paloma Mami. She’s super hot. I would definitely learn Spanish for her. Soy un gringo enamorado. 

I am still not sure what kind of lawyer I want to be. I just know I want to feel like I make a difference somehow? I dunno. 

I am very into British alt rock. I feel like I always kind of get into phases with my music, but right now, that’s where it’s at. Such a vibe. 

I haven’t recorded a video of me singing for YouTube in a hot ass minute because I kind of fell off the music thing for a while, but I’m on the come up. Keep an eye out for that shit. 

I have a very convincing “I’m sick. I can’t come into work” voice. 

My socks almost never match. Could be because I get dressed in the dark, but who knows. 

I use WAY too much scent-booster when I do laundry, but I can’t help it. I like smelling clean. Besides, smelling like laundry is better than smelling like sweaty balls. Take note, fellas. 

I bounce my leg when I’m anxious. Mess with my hair. Bite at my lip. Hard for me to stay still unless I’m listening to or playing music. 

I’ll talk to anyone. I don’t give a fuck. Strangers don’t intimidate me. 

I LOVE parties. No matter what kind. I’m there. I love being invited to shit and someone’s plus-one. 

I’m still waiting on someone to genetically engineer weed so it smells and tastes like fruit punch.

I know how to swim but, like, really badly. I can swim to shore but I’m gonna look real stupid doing it. Doggie paddle for life. 

I’m really near-sighted. And before you roast me, I do have glasses, but I really hate wearing them. I’ll only bring those jokers out if it’s a last resort. Meanwhile, catch me squinting like it’s going out of style.

There was a conversation I had with Brady where I said I’d fuck the Grinch, and he’s never let me live that down. In my defense, The Grinch has a big heart, and that’s sexy as hell. 

I can grow a mean beard. Just wait until No-Shave November.

I am not very flexible. You’d think with my long ass arms, I’d be able to touch my toes, but nope. 

I have this phrase I use a lot? “Can’t wait to nut.” And ’m trying my fucking hardest to get my sister, Rachel, to say it. Just because it would be funny as fuck. 

I am very ticklish. Stevie and Aliyah use that shit against me all the time. 

One time, I straight up rubbed a dryer sheet through my hair to smell as fresh as possible for my morning class, because I was a dumbass and fell asleep in my clothes when I was studying and was already late as hell. I like to think it worked. 

A lot of my bongs are from Etsy. It’s not exactly common to find unicorn-inspired shit in-store. Support your local artists.

I look up to my sisters and my dads a lot more than they probably realize. 

I don’t wear socks when I sleep.

My favorite kind of cake is the Funfetti kind. 

I don’t have a middle name, but if I did. I’d probably want something cool. Edgy. Like… Ace. I used to name all my action figures that when I was younger. Not sure why. 

I really want the band I started to be something big. Kind of embarrassing to say, but I’d really fucking love that. Surrounded by my friends, making music? I really can’t think of anything better. 

[spookyspaghettisundae]

You Had One Job

The bass droned on.

The music pulsed like liquid fire in his veins. The rhythmic thumping filled every fiber of his being. Dulcet tones from a feminine singing voice pierced the fog in his mind. But the drug-induced haze filtered out all but the sound of that voice, rendering the words incomprehensible.

He lied there on the velvet-covered couch, sinking down into infinity while the arrays of bright lights strobed and danced around him, turning the silhouettes of party-goers around him into crazed shadows swaying and bobbing and weaving in and out of sync with the DJ’s performance.

The thick upholstery threatened to swallow him, a blood-red sea of comfort. He fidgeted and shifted and swiveled in his seat, preventing panic from overwhelming his senses and attempting to stop any fear from accelerating the fading of his drug-fueled buzz.

The woman in the glittering black and silver dress sitting next to him said something. Or shouted it. Her lips looked like shouting, but he still only heard the bass, and other distant sounds. Things that might as well have been thunderclaps or bombs exploding, but were muffled through the haze.

“What?”

“You’re looking a bit pale,” she shouted to him. He assumed she was shouting, but he could hear her somewhat clearly.

Moments blurred together, and he found himself sinking into a wider couch, upholstered with sturdy black leather or latex or some other shiny black textile he could not identify, nor did he care to. Before that, her clammy hand had dragged him across the dance floor and up a wide flight of stairs and before that, someone punched him in the face after he had splashed his drink into someone else’s eyes.

His jaw hurt now, and he was confused as to how it all had happened. But the haze was clearing, allowing him to scowl in frustration as everybody around him refused to get him a drink, and he felt too woozy to set out on the epic quest of obtaining one himself.

Thick glass windows put the club’s lower level on perfect display, but their thickness reduced the volume of the loud and noisy music to such a low level that he could now understand any conversation. Not that anybody spoke up here, though.

The attractive lady in the black-silver dress smiled at him from where she sat now, on the other sofa across from him.

He registered with delay that she had sent everybody outside and two bodyguards now flanked the entrance to this VIP lounge, with their massive backs turned to the door behind them and keeping everybody else out. Her smile was wide and enticing. She had long straight blonde hair, draping down one side of her face, lending her a strange mystique and a distinct air of elegance. Everything about her appealed to him, now that he got a good look at her.

He was alone with her in here. Nobody would disturb them.

Then the excitement and arousal that first took hold of him made way for fear and paranoia. Her smile stretched from ear to ear and looked knowing.

He was alone with her in here. Nobody would be able to disturb them.

His nostrils flared and his breathing turned fast and shallow. His eyes burned with a dryness caused by not blinking. The high he had been riding from the cocktail of drugs and booze was shifting—transforming—turning into a horror trip with each passing second.

Her words trickled out like cold water running down a sheet of sleek metal when she asked, “You just couldn’t follow rules—simple rules—could you, stupid?”

He did not know this woman, but she seemed to know him.

Only now did he realize that his fingers curled into the couch cushions with such force that the leather audibly cracked under the pressure he exerted on it. With such force as if he was about to be thrown out of a car riding at breakneck speed, clinging on for his life.

The world spun around him and the music’s bass thumped on, causing the bulletproof glass windows to vibrate to the rhythm.

“You had one job,” she said. Her smile drooped and transformed into a scowl. She did not blink either, but her stare cut like a thousand knives, slicing him to pieces as her gaze swept up and down his visage until locking onto his eyes with deadly contempt.

She leaned forwards and he yelped when her clammy fingertips touched upon his forehead. Using only her index finger and middle finger, she wiped across, following the crease of his wrinkled brow.

“One. Job,” she sneered at him. “You just had to stay clean. How hard can it be?”

Leaning back and examining his sweat that she had trapped between her fingertips, smearing it in between them and her thumb, she licked her lips. There was nothing lascivious about it. It was all predatory.

He began to wonder if she was even human.

The deal had been simple—he had to go clean for a month, and they would give him payments every two weeks. A handsome amount, in fact. In turn, all he had to do was donate blood at the end of the month.

Problem was, his drug addiction caught back up with him. No matter how generous the pay was shaping up to be, long-term, he thought he could get away with popping some pills, smoking some shit, and getting hammered. With the donation day still one week away, he could have just gone clean for that week. How would they notice? It was not like these people were government. They were corporate or underworld.

He did not really care which. Until now.

Her hand shot towards his face and grabbed him by his cheeks. Trapped between her thumb and fingers, she squeezed so hard that his mouth was forced open. He groaned and tried to writhe his way out of her vice, but decided against fighting back. She probably only needed to snap her fingers, and then those two gorilla-sized bouncers would come in and snap him in two. She clamped down harder and then jerked his head around.

His vision went pitch-black for the first split second, then exploded into a sea of stars in the next, and he reeled as he got acquainted with the cold hard floor after she had tossed him face-first into it. His forehead hurt like hell. Save for the glossy shiny surface of a high-heeled black stiletto in front of him, her shoe almost blended in with the rough tar-colored surface of the floor, both only an inch away from his face.

“Anybody ever tell you what happens to bad little bitches like you who don’t do their job right?”

He did not need to see her face to sense the sinister smile crawling upon her lips.

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing that escaped his mouth, coming out all crooked and hoarse.

One of the other guys, in fact, had told him.

Billy said that they had done a deal with the devil, and that hell hounds will hunt you down and rip you apart. It happened to someone else before. And whatever they were getting paid was not nearly enough for this, Billy had said, time and time again. He had thought that Billy was going crazy over the withdrawal from his alcohol addiction. Dismissed those words as ramblings of a madman.

And then, just like that, Billy had vanished.

How had they found him? Who was this woman?

He dared to peek up at her. Instead of a sinister smile, she glared at him with fiery wrath written across her face.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry, you say.”

He winced as another flurry of stars exploded before his inner eye, set off by her stomping down on his head and causing his skull to make another unpleasant contact with the ground.

“You will be sorry, you little shit. You don’t even know how sorry you will be.”

The weight disappeared from his temple and he slowly rolled onto his side, just in time to see her walking away from him, leaving towards the exit of the VIP lounge.

Was he free to go?

To his surprise, it seemed so. Somewhat. The liberty of leaving was questionable—the two bouncers watching the entrance to the VIP lounge dragged him out, holding him up by his arms in an unpleasant grapple. He dared not resist. These two men were mountains of muscle, dwarfing him in both shape and height.

The loud music caused his head to throb and he felt a massive headache coming on. The buzz had worn off way too quickly, he thought to himself.

Party-goers made way and stepped aside so the bouncers could drag him through the locale, escorting him forcefully to some desolate hallway behind the main hall, past a couple making out in blissful ignorance, and towards a set of double doors illuminated by the deep green glow of a fire exit sign.

The loud noise of the doors swinging open and hitting the brick wall outside make him cringe, and onward the two huge men dragged him. They tossed him against a dumpster in the back alley and he crumpled onto the wet asphalt. The smell of ozone hit his nostrils and centered him, killing his buzz off even quicker and rooting him even deeper back into reality.

He closed his eyes, ready for what he expected to follow next. He had given up.

But instead of breaking his kneecaps, or knocking out some teeth, or anything else, he opened his eyes to see that the emergency exit doors had closed behind the bouncers, and he stood alone in the alleyway. He looked up and down its entire length and saw only some people from the party hanging out in a few small groups, shooting him dirty looks.

He scrambled onto his feet and wobbled while he attempted to stand up straight, bracing himself against the dumpster. Then he hobbled towards the nearest assembly of people and asked one of them if he could have a hit from the joint they were sharing.

“Fuck off,” said one of the guys in the group. The other people broke out into laughter, but it was at him. He could tell that he was uninvited to their party, too.

He walked away, not keen on suffering any more humiliation. After a few steps, he swallowed and pulled his jacket shut, wiping the grit and dirt on his hands off on his pants. He decided to call it a night and walk away.

His heart began to race again once reality set in.

This was not okay. Why were they letting him just walk away?

Corporate would have collected somehow, and underworld would have roughed him up way worse, he figured. But here he was, walking away with a headache and probably some black and blue spots and not much worse for the wear. And he had gotten high as a kite tonight, and still had some money for more dope, stashed away in his lousy apartment.

Optimism over the situation never set in, though. He kept looking over his shoulder as he wandered the city streets that night, soon remembering where he was and where he needed to go to get home.

On the next empty street, a dark blue van passed by him, and everything inside of him screamed, every instinct told him to run. He instinctively knew that something was wrong about this vehicle.

Its red tail lights flared up as someone pushed the brakes and it came to a smooth stop.

He wanted to run, but he also felt silly. It could have been a coincidence and he would look like an idiot if he fled now, or it could be undercover cops and he would look suspicious if he ran off like a headless chicken. His own thoughts paralyzed him, and his dread tossed more fuel into the flames of smoldering inaction.

The side door of the van rolled open, and something peered out from the darkness.

Something that growled.

Something unbelievably evil.

A man jumped out, landing on all fours. At first, he thought that this man was wearing furs, but it looked more like this man was covered in fur. Like a dog. Or a wolf. The wolf-man snarled at him, glaring at him through glowing yellow eyes. A mouth opened and the teeth looked human, except there were way too many of them.

A heavy metal chain clanked as it hit the sidewalk next to the wolf-man, dangling from a collar around his neck. The chain’s links scraped and screeched when he suddenly lurched forward. Then the wolf-man lept at him.

Before he could scream, the wolf-man had ripped out most of his neck with sharp claws the size of razor blades. Then the teeth snapped and gnashed and chewed through flesh and muscle, ripping and tearing.

The pain he felt arrived with delay, numbed by the dimishing after-effects of the drugs in his system.

The wolf-man cackled as he dragged his dying victim into the van. It did not sound human. Not one bit.

The side-door closed behind him.

This man was never seen again.

“He had one job,” said the lady in silver and black. She smoked a long slender cigarette and observed from the alleyway.

Tires screeched when the van drove off again. She flicked some ashes from her cigarette and took another drag from it.

Now she had to find another loser to take over that job.

—Submitted by Wratts

[kylermalloy]

This Is Not a Panic Attack

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Lydia Martin

Summary: Newly turned into a werewolf, Stiles struggles to find control through his memories—and what's happening right in front of him. Canon divergent AU in which Stiles must turn into a werewolf to defeat the nogitsune. The fox might be gone, but now Stiles is a wolf. And it might be harder than he thought. AO3.

A/N: This fic was written for @unspokenconnection24 for @stydiasecretsanta 2018. Merry Christmas, Sarah! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it!

Stiles took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Being calm was never something he'd been very good at. Find a memory. A good memory.

He had plenty, but they weren't his strongest ones.

The pain was too much. It made him too heavy. Each step he took dragged his feet along the ground, like his shoes weighed a thousand pounds each. When he sat at his desk, it was too much work to keep his head up. He buried his face in his forearms and tried not to think.

It was probably the stillest he'd ever been in school.

He could hear voices surrounding him, feel hands touching, tapping him. Was that his name? Who was calling his name? He didn't care.

Just leave me alone, he thought.

One voice cut through the rest. Higher. Sharper. "Leave him alone."

The babble surrounding him quieted.

"Just get away from him. Can't you see he wants to be left alone?"

Stiles lifted his head the tiniest bit, peeking over his folded arms to see who had come to defend him.

The waves of golden reddish hair, the pert, attentive posture gave it away.

"When my grandmother died," Lydia Martin continued—speaking to the group of gathered third graders at large, but glancing back to meet Stiles's eyes—"I wanted to be left alone too. Grief is a hard process."

As the crowd began to dissipate, Stiles felt warmth flood through his body, lifting the crushing weight of sadness from his limbs.

Just those few sentences. That's all it took.

"Stiles? Stiles, focus."

Hearing his name in the present snapped him out of his memories. As he blinked, shook his head, he realized that fangs had sprouted in his mouth without his permission.

"Crap," he mumbled through a mouthful of sharp, oversized teeth.

"It's not that big a deal. Get over yourself," that same high, sharp voice teased him.

"I—can't," Stiles growled through gritted teeth. A convulsion rippled through his body, and he felt claws tear through his fingernails like tissue paper.

He could barely remember how it happened. One day he'd been losing sleep, discovering a coded kill message in his handwriting, going to see Scott's mom at the hospital—

Then he'd woken up surrounded by his friends, with Lydia Martin clinging to his hand. A bandage was covering his shoulder, dressing the wound Scott had made with his teeth.

He'd lost so much time, he soon learned. It had been only a few days after Halloween—now suddenly November was almost over, and Stiles was a werewolf. A slave to the lunar cycle.

The next few weeks leading up to the December full moon had been a blur of anxiety, panic attacks punctuated by claws, and Zen lessons with Scott.

Now it was here, and Stiles hadn't even had time to get excited about Christmas yet.

"Look at me, Stiles. You can do this." Lydia Martin held his gaze, earnest and trusting. She knelt opposite him on the floor, tilting her head to meet his eyes. "You have to find your anchor."

Find your anchor. Every calming thought he'd run though his mind had failed, every memory with his dad or Scott or...or his mom. Nothing was working like that memory of Lydia. And not even that could really stave off his bloodlust.

"I'm trying, but..." He trailed off, clenching his teeth as another spasm wracked his body.

Scott had never mentioned how freaking painful turning into a wolf was. His body strained against it, against the primal urge to use his new teeth, sink them into the prey, sitting compliant right in front of him...

No.

He delved back into memories. Searched for more of her.

I can't hurt her. I can't.

"Dad, I think I'm in love."

"Really!" His dad, a little less gray-haired, face with fewer lines, lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "With who?"

"Lydia. Lydia Martin. She was nice to me today."

Dad's mouth twitches upward. Not quite a smile, but close. An almost-smile. "That's...good. I'm glad, son."

Little Stiles hops up on a stool, rocking back and forth on two legs. "What do I do? Should I kiss her?"

"Well..." his dad hesitates. "Not at first. You need to respect her. Right now, you like her, but you have to be sure she likes you, too."

"How will I know?"

"Oh, she'll let you know. It may take a while, and you might have to be patient, but you'll know. Trust me, you'll know."

Will I, Dad?

It had been almost ten years now. As Lydia crouched in front of him, murmuring soothing words of comfort and encouragement, he had no idea what she was feeling.

He knew what he was feeling—an intense hunger. Not to eat, but a hunger for violence. To rip, claw, maim.

Werewolves were wild creatures. They couldn't be domesticated.

What was Lydia thinking, staying here with him? Why was Scott out somewhere else, coaching Malia? How had Scott done this?

"Lydia, you need to get away from me," he gasped. "I can't hurt you."

"You can't hurt me?" she echoed, an incredulous shadow falling over her face. "Then should I just take these off?" She reached for the manacles that encircled his wrists, chaining him to the floor.

Adrenaline spiked through his veins, an extra shoot of pain into his already-wracked body. "No! Don't—Lydia, I can't hurt you."

He breathed deep. Reached deep. "I can't hurt you...like...Scott couldn't hurt Allison."

She cocked an eyebrow. Her eyes, already huge and doe-like, grew even rounder. Listening, rapt.

"Y'know, he was terrified of it. Because he...he loves her."

Her fingers had frozen on his wrist. Her lips parted. She whispered. "They're not together anymore."

"But they were, okay? Their first date, that night at the party, that was his first..."

Stiles trailed off. He stared Lydia dead on. His eyes burned, itched, and he knew they were glowing.

Lydia finished his sentence. "His first change." Her voice was so soft, it might not have been audible if not for Stiles's fancy new wolf hearing.

He nodded. "On their first date." He remembered spending the evening in a blur of panic. Thinking he might have to tell the new family in town that his best friend had killed their daughter.

As he said that, the spell seemed to break. Lydia blinked and narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to insinuate that this—" she indicated the dank basement, the chains clapped around his wrists— "this is our first date?"

Oh crap. "What? No! No, no, I—"

"Because this...is a really crappy date." A tiny, smug smirk crept over her face.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, fighting the chant in his mind kill kill kill and trying to get his thoughts in order. "Look, Lydia—"

"If you're going to say something, just say it."

Stiles hugged a humorless laugh. Like pretty much everything else in his life, this wasn't going to work out. "I was trying to say something epic."

"Then. Say. It."

The three words were so cold and demanding that any resistance he had left, any more posturing he'd been thinking of trying, was broken, smashed into nothing.

"I love you. I love you, Lydia, okay? I can't hurt you because...because I love you."

He stopped there, panting, sweating, as another wave of pain rippled up through his head. Hair ripped through the underdeveloped follicles on his face, giving him mutton chops that Elvis himself would be jealous of.

Well, that was great. It would be best if he looked just ridiculous while giving the speech of his life.

Lydia's expression was...more calculating than shocked. "Again with the 'you...can't hurt me.'"

She had to be messing with him. How could he explain this to someone so smart? "No, I...can, but I...can't."

That wasn't right. "I mean, I physically can hurt you, I have the ability to..."

Very cool and non-threatening, perfect. "But I can't...mentally...begin to process how I could...what I would do..."

It just wasn't working. His tongue was in knots. The wolf did it. Wolf-tongue-tied. That was a thing, right?

He hung his head as Lydia spoke again.

"Something epic, huh?"

Stiles couldn't even manage to meet her eyes. "Yeah, well, sometimes things don't turn out the way you want."

Then he felt her hand on his jaw. His furry, misshapen jaw. Her fingers tilted his chin up, up, until he stared into her face.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as the wolf inside him begged, drooled, to be let out.

No. This was Lydia, and her perfect lips were opening again, saying something.

"How about we just skip to the part...where I tell you to shut up?"

With her hand locking his jaw in place, she leaned in, pressing her lips against his.

Unafraid. Uncautious of the sharp teeth behind his lips, waiting to bite, to spill blood inside his mouth and hers—

No, wait. They were gone. His wolf teeth had retracted, and his very human mouth—with his very human breath, he was sure—was moving with Lydia's.

She tasted...good. Not in a yum-human-flesh-because-I'm-a-wolf way—but the way she tasted that day in the locker room. When she'd silenced his blaring mind without words, without anything but a shock. This kiss tasted even better than the last one.

He couldn't tell how long they stayed that way, lips moving in synchronization, both her hands cupping his furry face, no sound except their gasping breaths.

When they finally broke apart, Stiles couldn't do anything except stare at Lydia. Her perfect hair, only mussed the tiniest bit by their...makeout session? Holy crap. The thought froze Stiles's mind completely. He'd just made out with Lydia Martin.

"You kissed me," he breathed in disbelief.

She nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I know. I was there."

"Why'd you do that?" he asked stupidly.

Lydia didn't reply right away. Her gaze dropped, lips curling inward in a shy smile. One hand went to tuck her hair behind her ear—a nervous tic of hers, he knew. With his new eyes, Stiles could tell, even in the dim light, she was blushing.

He'd made Lydia Martin blush.

"Lydia..." Stiles could feel a grin budding on his face. Not only had he done the thing he'd been waiting for since the third freaking grade, he could feel the wolfy hair on his cheeks retracting. His control was returning. And his confidence was blooming. "If you have something to say..."

Lydia wet her lips. She cast a timid glance up toward the basement window, where falling snow was just barely visible.

"Merry Christmas?" she tried.

Stiles snorted.

Whatever memory he'd been searching for was obsolete now. He had an anchor, and her name was Lydia Martin. The feeling of her lips against his, for no other reason than to kiss him, bested any other thing he could remember.

This wolf thing was going to be a lot easier than he'd thought.

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 42

We left the Gold Coast on February 13th, returned home for two days, then were off again…first to Berlin for a screening of ‘The Night Manager’ with a Q & A session, then on to Vietnam, where shooting began the day after we arrived. The entire experience there was life-altering, in a way. The people, who were so kind, generous, and welcoming, and the locations, some of which had never before been filmed, were majestic and evocative of a land time had, to our benefit, forgotten…but most of all, the opportunity to immerse myself in a culture I had little knowledge of was humbling, and miraculous, and I made every effort to be out and about with every spare moment I had. When production wrapped in mid-March, Jordan announced that he was planning on relocating to the area, and I found myself just the tiniest bit jealous. There was such a sense of peace there, despite such a tumultuous upheaval in the not so distant past…a testament to the human spirit, our ability to keep pressing onward, to continue to live, and even thrive. A lesson in perspective, I suppose.

Tom was due in Los Angeles on March 20th for a photoshoot, so we opted to go directly there instead of heading home to London and then back out again. The 21st was booked with interviews, which would be followed by the official ‘I Saw the Light’ premiere on the 22nd. This was the first time I’d be walking a red carpet with him, other than the brief appearance at the Cube. Though Tom normally preferred the Beverly Hills Hotel, we were staying at the Loews Hollywood due to its proximity to the Egyptian, where the screening would be held, and Sadie’s Kitchen, the venue chosen for the after party. Our room was on the 15th floor, modern décor in shades of grey, white and burgundy, with a view of the Hollywood sign…currently packed with a team of stylists, garment bags and rolling racks making me feel like a sardine in a tin. Granted, a very lovely tin, but a tin nonetheless. Tom was almost ready to go, his bright blue suit complementing his eyes perfectly, black necktie offering a bold contrast to his white dress shirt. I was still in my skivvies, one of the gals taping me into my strapless bra ‘just in case’. Despite the opportunity it created for an epic wardrobe malfunction, I was totally in love with my gown. It was strapless with a sweetheart neckline, gradient purple, near black at the top, fading to pale lilac midway down in the front and plum in the back. The skirt was floor length and full, and both a portion of it and nearly the entire bodice were decorated with silver vines and leaves, cascading downward like a waterfall. I’d opted for dark purple heels, on the thick side because I figured there was less of a risk of tripping in front of the press line that way. Around my neck was my tourmaline necklace, and my hair had been pinned up in a loose bun. As I pondered what food choices awaited me at Sadie’s, the gal announced that my tits were secure and I was instructed to step carefully into the gown, zipped up, and released into the wild to fend for myself. Tom’s hands descended upon my shoulders as I inspected the contents of my clutch one final time, making sure I had a room key, my cell phone, tissues and a Snickers bar.

“You look gorgeous, as always.”

I turned my head to meet his gaze. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” He grinned, releasing me, and I spun around to get a better look at him. “Mmm. That is a nifty suit. To the left…to the right…where will…aha, LEFT. What’s that, eight out of ten or something?”

“I didn’t realize we were collecting data. Will the results be in the form of a bar graph or a pie chart?”

“A fifty page thesis, actually. Available for sale on Amazon. I figure we can fund our retirement with it.”

He laughed, interrupted by his phone chirping. “Car’s here. Let’s roll.”

“Walk. I’m going to walk. Probably. Rolling sounds like ‘a YouTube Star is Born’. But I suppose that could fund some shit too…”

We exited arm in arm, piled into the elevator with a bunch of other fancy people I didn’t know, then climbed into the black SUV waiting for us. It was still light out, the day bright and sunny. Our vehicle was sixth in line when we pulled up to the Egyptian Theater, and my jaw dropped at how old-school big-glam Hollywood it looked, the red carpet lining the courtyard, velvet ropes and press wherever I looked. It was far from my first rodeo, but it was the first time I’d be at such an event in the capacity of ‘movie star’s plus one’. A low whistle escaped my lips.

“Wow, so we’re like, really doing this. Surreal, Tom. Sur-REAL.”

He took my hand in his, pulling my attention away from what I could see outside the window. I smiled at the sight of the excitement written all over his face. “It is that, positively. And I’m…I’m…well, I’m like a live wire, Maude. Crackling and vibrating and super charged with energy because I’m not walking this one alone, you’re going to be right by my side and…” He let go of my hand, flinging both his up in the air and waving them around jazz-style as he grinned. “I. AM. UNCONTROLLABLY EXCITED!”

I leaned in to kiss his cheek, quickly wiping the lipstick I left behind away with one of my tissues. “My god you are just too cute. Does this car have a sick bag? Because the cute is going to make me barf, for sure.” I mock-gagged.

He continued to grin like a fool as he pointed to the window behind me. “We’re up! It’s time! Let’s go, my lady. LET’S GO!”

Before I could ask for a moment to get my shit together, he was out of the car, the roar of waiting fans greeting him as he ran around to my side and opened the door for me. I took his proffered hand and stepped out into the daylight, the roars growing louder, our names being shouted above the din by press and onlookers alike. As we made our way down to the entrance, Tom stopped to sign and take selfies as long as time would allow, and then it was time for us to strike a pose. The flashes were the worst part, a ceaseless strobing that made it very difficult to focus, but mid-way through my eyes and brain seemed to adjust and I found myself having a really good fucking time mugging for the cameras with the man of the evening. The interviews were a blast, Tom taking the lead and doing most of the talking, pulling me in here and there when it was someone he’d interacted with on previous occasions or mentioned my name. We were like a comedy improv team that sang on command, and by the time we made it into the actual screening I was totally high on fun. Not exactly the right vibe for such a serious, angsty, sad movie, but in the end I was grateful I went into it with a boost because the ended pregnancy talk scene was difficult to watch even though it was the second time around. There I sat, holding back tears with Tom’s hand in mine, shaking, and me rubbing his wrist with my thumb. As soon as the credits rolled we were ushered quickly to the car, and then it was off to Sadie’s. I was a very intimate setting, the décor an eclectic mix of woods, stones, metals and glass. The food was a bit too micro for my taste, and there were moments when I seriously considered grabbing an entire tray of hor d'oeuvres and making a break for the coatroom. Tom had been indulging in champagne all evening, and Rodney’s band was in the house, so I knew that it wouldn’t be long until an impromptu jam session occurred. I’d avoided going to the bathroom since we left the hotel, and the three sodas I’d guzzled made it impossible to postpone any longer. I kissed Tom on the cheek, leaving him with the drummer whose name I’d been given but could absolutely not recall and headed for the rest room. Fitting into the stall was the first hurdle, turning around was the second, and it actually got more and more complicated every step of the way until my hands were full of fabric and my ass was on the chilly seat. Figuring out how to wipe was the Rubik’s cube of the process, and I stared at the toilet paper dispenser for an untold amount of minutes. I heard the band begin to play Move It On Over, heard them finish, then start up with Long Gone Lonesome Blues. Tom’s yodeling snapped me out of my stupor and I bunched all the fabric in the crook of one arm, tore off the necessary quantity of sheets with my free hand and took care of business like a boss. As I thanked the gods for auto-flush, I unlocked the stall, dropped the fabric back in place and propelled myself outward…right into Lizzie, who was wearing a far more practical dress that wasn’t all floaty and poufy and just waiting for an accident to happen. She grinned.

“So? Enjoying the party? Or did you come in here to hide like, you know, I DID?”

I laughed. “So far, so good. Nice to know it’s not just me who seeks refuge in bathrooms, though. But this time it’s a legit visit. Which was terrifying.”

“Maude, there are more dresses in my closet that I wound up buying because they were unfit to return then I care to count. Wine, toothpaste, hair gel, lipstick, chocolate, things I don’t even know what they are and probably don’t want to…and lemme tell ya, I know all the best bathrooms for hiding in SO many cities all around the world. The private ones with really loud fans are just…” She sighed. “Perfection.”

Washing my hands, I nodded. “Oh yeah. Peace and quiet. If they only came with a Do Not Disturb sign…”

“Oh my GOD, there’s a bathroom in a restaurant in Toronto, I can’t remember the name but I know where it is, I can see it…damn…anyway, they HAVE that.”

“No they do not.”

She nodded, walking to the stall furthest from the door. “Yes they do! Best twenty minutes of my night a few years back.” Turning, she waved. “Okay, I’m goin’ in. If anyone’s looking for me…”

“I have no idea where you are.”

She blew me a kiss. “Bless you.”

As I re-entered the chaos, I was hit with an extra-loud, slightly slurred version of Hey Good Lookin’, and I couldn’t wait to round the corner and see Tom in action. And take a video. Which I’d totally post on Tumblr because surely it was something the entire world needed to see. The band had set up on one side of the dining area, which had been cleared of tables, and they were surrounded by cast and crew, some standing and clapping, others dancing. Tom was easy to spot, and as I worked my way through the crowd, I noticed that there was a woman hanging on him, her arm resting on his shoulder as she shimmied to the beat. She was waiflike, incredibly thin and tall, taller than Tom, even, in her white stilettos, her white mini dress so short I didn’t think it would be possible for her to sit down without putting on one hell of a show. There were triangular cut-outs at the waist, and her platinum blonde hair hung halfway down her back. Her eyes were huge, greenish-grey, and beautiful, the stand out component of her heart-shaped face with its perfect Cupid’s bow mouth. I’d never seen her before and had never asked him to point her out in the film, though I now recognized her from it, and as I registered that it was the woman he was terrified of running into, and that we’d forgotten the possibility of her being there, or at least I had, my heart began to pound in my chest. Claudia. Right there, in front of me, rubbing up against my fiancé.

As the song ended everyone cheered, and she placed her hands on either side of Tom’s head, turned his face towards hers, then kissed him squarely on the lips in far too intimate a fashion and for entirely too long. I heard a few gasps, but they were eclipsed by the roaring of my heartbeat in my ears, and I fought the urge to scream as I watched him gently push her away. He turned back toward the crowd, stone-faced, and when his mask slipped almost imperceptibly I knew he’d spotted me. I wanted to run, flee the scene, disappear into the night but this was a party full of his co-workers, part of the promo, and doing so would certainly hit the gossip rags in a flash and had the potential to damage the success of the film and so I stood, and I faked a smile as he walked toward me with the woman who possessed a cache of sex tapes starring them both at his side. Once they were two feet away, she opened her clutch and pulled out what I knew to be a hotel room key, as it bore the same logo as the one in my own. Her voice was a much higher pitch than mine, volume just loud enough for both Tom and I to hear when she spoke, pressing the plastic rectangle into his hand.

“Here’s my key. Panorama suite two. I’ll see you shortly.” She turned to me, smirking, then back to him, gesturing in my direction with her thumb. “You can bring her too, if you want, even though she’s not exactly my type. That giant cock of yours more than makes up for it.”

She grinned widely at me, then walked across the room, hair swaying back and forth as she rolled her hips, finally vanishing around the corner and into the hall that led to the exit after what seemed like forever. I heard Tom say my name, and I looked up, but I stared at the knot in his tie because I couldn’t look him in the eye. He took my hand in his, which I permitted, and after his first ‘good night’ it dawned on me that one, I should do the same because two, apparently he’d decided it was time to get the fuck out of there. As soon as we rounded the same corner Claudia had minutes earlier, I pulled my hand from his. Neither of us spoke then, and when he began to do so in the car, I silenced him with a terse ‘not now’.

The ban continued as we entered the hotel, and throughout the elevator ride. Once the room door was closed and locked behind us, I held up both hands, palms toward him.

“Tom. I’m going into the bathroom. I’m going to take this dress off. I’m going to take a shower. I’m going to try and calm down and return to some sort of quasi-rational version of myself. You are going to stay out here.” I could feel the rage bubbling up, words I shouldn’t say spilling out of my mouth. “Unless, of course, you’re planning on joining Claudia, which, FYI, I am NOT.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for that. That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. I’ll be out when I’m ready.”

Once safely tucked away, I focused on each individual detail of every task. Zipper down. Dress off. Hang up the dress. Tape off. Bra off. Underwear off. Water on. Test water. Step into shower. By the time I’d dried off, I once again understood that the man on the other side of the door loved me, and that I loved him, and trusted him, and that we needed to discuss what had happened because there was a side to this story I’d yet to hear, and doing or saying or thinking anything without having that knowledge would be unreasonable. And wrong.

He was sitting on the floor, jacket and tie off, shirt unbuttoned ,back leaning up against the bottom of the bed with his knees up and his head in his hands. Hearing me pad across the carpet, he looked up at me, his forlorn expression shifting briefly to one of desire, which baffled me until I realized I was naked. Knowing that he wanted me in the midst of all this was strangely comforting, and empowering. I pulled a robe out of the top dresser drawer, wrapping it around myself as I walked to the bed and sat down, his body to the left of my own. His gaze was cast downward again, and I reached out and began rubbing the back of his neck, speaking softly.

“Will you sit with me and tell me what happened?”

He nodded, rising quickly and joining me on the mattress. His eyes met mine, and he inhaled deeply.

“I had no idea she’d be attending. I didn’t even think to ask. If I’m honest, I hadn’t given her a single thought in months, not until we watched the movie here, and even then the possibility of her turning up didn’t even cross my mind for more than a few seconds…and I pushed it away as me being paranoid. As soon as I started in on Hey Good Lookin’ I felt someone to my left, which wasn’t out of the ordinary as people had been all around me since we began playing, but the someone was incredibly close, and at first I thought you’d snuck up on me and were going to join in, but when I turned to look it was…her. And there I was, in the middle of a song, in front of everyone, and I wanted to stop and get away from her but…”

It was my turn to nod. “In front of everyone. I know that feel.”

He shook his head. “I told myself to remain professional, to keep going, and I thought if I pretended that we were filming I’d be fine. Then she…she…she kissed me in front of everyone, and I just couldn’t believe it and she just kept going and I wanted to shove her off me but that would have looked…and so I did it as normally as I could and the whole time I was hoping you were still in the bathroom but then I saw you…” He paused. “And when I started toward you she came WITH me and then the keycard and what she said…then watching you keep yourself together when I knew you were…I’m sorry. So, so sorry. If that kiss makes it online…my god. I’m sorry.”

His head was in his hands again, shoulders shaking as he wept, and I recognized that this experience had been so deeply traumatic for him that he didn’t quite realize it yet, his unconsciously focusing outwardly serving as diversion. I wrapped my arms around him and held him to my chest, stroking his hair until he quieted enough to listen. When he was able to look me in the eye again, I began to speak.

“Thank you for explaining. That’s essentially what I thought had happened, and, I’m very sorry it happened to you.” His left brow rose. “What she did was so completely inappropriate…I mean, that’s not really surprising, but…yeah. Is it okay if I go through my thought process here?”

He half-smiled. “Yes.”

“Obviously, there’s a component of jealousy. That hit me first. This beautiful woman that’s been intimate with you kissed you right in front of me, and you look amazing together, and she’s tall and blonde and skinny…and the way she presented the keycard to you made it seem like you had an arrangement, a plan in place. Most of way back here all what was going through my mind was that you’d been secretly contacting her and set this all up. But, then I reminded myself exactly who, and what, she was to you, and the jealousy turned primarily to anger, directed at her, but there was still enough jealousy left to generate some serious nastiness on my part directed at YOU. And, like I said before, I wanted to avoid that because it was likely baseless and unwarranted, the jealousy. So I showered, and I listened, and DAMN that anger is way worse now and you should probably keep that room key far the fuck away from me…” I took a deep breath. “Sheese. Again, I’m very sorry this happened to you. However you want to handle it, I’m here to help. Whatever you need, okay?”

He reached out to touch my face, letting his fingertips drag across my jaw and down my neck before grasping my hand.

“I wasn’t even thinking of anything happening to me. I was afraid of what you’d think, and…”

I entwined my fingers with his. “I know. And I appreciate that. We’ve been through some shit, my dude, and I’m a runner. Or, I was. Now…you’re more important than my internal bullshit struggles.”

A smile lit up his face, but it faded quickly, replaced with fear, then sorrow, then anger over the next several silent minutes as he stared at me.

“Maude, all I know in this moment is that I’m finished being afraid of her. I remembered what you said back in New Orleans, our options, and…well, it’s time, I think, for her to know that what she views as having the upper hand…isn’t. Not anymore.” He ran one hand through his hair. “So. I’m going up there, and I’m going to deal with this for once, and for all. Unless you think it’s utter madness to do such a thing.”

My mouth dropped open as my brow rose. “Oh, it’s madness, alright. But I like it. Hmm…”

He laughed, then poked my collarbone softly with his finger. “Ah, a plan is afoot, is it?”

“No. A plan is a plan. Not a foot.” He groaned and covered his eyes briefly, gaze returning to meet mine as I continued. “Okay. Several things to consider here. Ideally, you’d do this alone. Are you comfortable with that?”

“Well, yes and no. Going in, absolutely. But when I visualize reaction scenarios, I am concerned that a situation might arise that would result in an unfavorable outcome.”

I snorted. “Yeah, as in her recording the entire exchange and then heavily editing it to paint you in a…a…let’s go with ‘negative light’.” He nodded. “The hotel security feed would take care of pinpointing when you entered and when you left, but everything in between is up for grabs, and that’s not acceptable. Having a witness seems warranted, but who’s the witness? Am I the witness? Does my bias preclude me from being reliable in reporting the truth?”

Tom nodded again. “Likely, yes. But you’re the only witness available who’s privy to all the details of the history involved, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else to maintain any sort of confidentiality.”

This was something I had zero desire to participate in, for a multitude of reasons. It was pre-Maude, and in that aspect, none of my damn business. But since Claudia’s future actions could significantly impact my life, even if said impact was short-lived, that made it potentially my damn business. Then there was what I knew…what she’d done with him, and, far worse, what she’d done TO him. Unsettling at best, rage inducing at worst…in other words, I’d be walking into a situation wherein keeping myself in check was questionable, but of the utmost importance. And there it was, another lightbulb moment in the life and times of Maude Gallagher-soon-to-be-Hiddleston. I chuckled, and he stared at me, confused, head tilted to the side as he attempted to discern what was amusing.

I patted his knee. “I’m just laughing at my own stupidity, because I totally forgot that I’m a member of your PR team and thus have a rather valid reason to accompany you since part of the discussion will include…PR. And it ALSO gives me a reason to behave myself. Total coup, right?”

His arms wrapped around me, kissing first one cheek, then the other. “Oh, yes. Check mate.”

“No, that’s just the check. The checkmate is me recording the whole exchange on my phone, which will be tucked in my bra. Or somewhere.”

He pulled back, eyes wide. “Isn’t this a two party state? I recall you mentioning that…”

“Yeah. It is. But that won’t stop me from leaking it if the need arises. You know, someone could steal my phone at any given moment. It’s totally possible. I’m forgetful. I leave things behind ALL THE TIME…”

“Maude, you are deliciously fiendish. And I love you so.”

“Aw, thank you, baby. And I’m a total hypocrite, because I just admitted to being willing to do what I believe she shouldn’t. Anyway…criminal prosecution for this sort of thing is very rare. She could sue, of course. But I don’t think I care. Do you care?”

“I do not.”

“Cool. Hopefully we’ll never need to use it.” I rose, both hands finger-gunning in his direction. “Let’s do this.”

He stood, tugging at the fabric of my robe. “Should you dress first, do you think?”

I glanced down at myself. “Oh. Right. This is not one of my ‘don’t fuck with me’ ensembles.”

Snorting, he began re-buttoning his shirt. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Thomas. I’m struggling to keep a firm grasp on my professionalism. Cease.”

“Firm grasp, you say?”

I pretended to not hear him and searched my travel wardrobe for something that would work, in the end opting for black leggings, a fluffy, grey, oversize turtleneck sweater and my Birkenstock boots. As I caught sight of myself in the mirror on the way out the door, I decided my choices were just the right mix of business and badassery…but a V-neck would have made hiding the phone a whole lot fucking simpler.

****************************************

There we stood, outside Panorama suite number two, me turned away from the door with my shirt lifted and bra on full display as I wedged my phone into it and hit record. Tom and I exchanged a few words, and then it was Titty Time again. I was relieved to hear the playback was nice and clear and began another session, putting a finger to my lips to let Tom know we were on the record, so to speak. He knocked loudly, then even louder when there was no immediate answer. When he paused, a clicking that could only be high heels on tile was audible, its increasing volume indicating the wearer was travelling in our direction. The door swung inward to reveal Claudia, now clad in white lingerie, a lacy bra, bikini panties, garters and filmy white stockings, all paired with the same white stilettos she’d worn to the party. She placed one hand on her hip, smirking widely.

“Well, well, well. Hello, Tom. I expected you to turn up, but not…” A thumb with a fuchsia fingernail jerked in my direction. “…her. Not exactly a pleasant surprise, but, whatever. Come on in. I’ve gotten off with my vibe three times already but I’m still SO fucking horny. Just one kiss from you, that’s all it takes…mmmm…”

Tom held up a hand, palm towards her. “Stop, Claudia. Right now. Control yourself until we’re behind closed doors, for god’s sake.”

She bit her lip. “Oh my, someone’s feeling forceful. Must be my lucky day!”

We walked in past her, and she followed after closing the door and engaging the slide-bolt lock, stopping in front of the not-so-mini mini bar to face us.

“Anyone else want a cocktail before cock?” Neither Tom nor I replied. “Well I do. I need one. Who wears a turtleneck to a threesome? Christ.”

Tom’s jaw clenched, then released as he spoke. “I’m afraid you’ve misinterpreted the reason for this visit, Claudia. Hint, it’s not for a threesome. I’m only here to have a conversation with you, one we should have had quite some time ago. Maude’s presence is due to the fact that she’s a member of my PR team, and will serve as my advisor if necessary.”

She was stunned, silent, and the fingers she’d wrapped around a bottle of rum went white with the strength of her grip. When Tom noted it didn’t appear as if she’d reply, he continued.

“I’m not going to waste my time re-hashing the past, but I will say this…I made it abundantly clear that we were done when I discovered you were secretly filming our encounters. When I also made it clear that I didn’t love you, and pointed out that I’d never given you any reason to believe our relationship was anything more than purely sexual in nature, you threatened me. You threatened to provide a detailed account of our interactions to my family and friends, you threatened to publish all of the videos you’d made online, and you threatened to ruin my career and make my life a living hell.”

She’d done several double takes during his speech, looking at me, then back at him, then back at me, as if she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that I might be aware that something had transpired between them. She finally relinquished her hold on the rum bottle, lifting her hands in surrender. “Tom, that was…I was…I just said all that because I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

He scoffed. “Really? You didn’t mean it? Yet you accepted a million dollar payout from me?”

“I thought we had a future, Tom. Together. The money was like…alimony.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response, Claudia. What I want you to know is that from this day onward, you are to come nowhere near me. If for some reason we find ourselves at the same event or function, don’t approach me. Don’t speak to me. And most of all, don’t fucking TOUCH me. If you refuse to comply, I will not hesitate to file a restraining order against you.” He took two steps closer to her, his face now inches from hers. “Do you understand?”

She didn’t respond, and he repeated the question, his tone far harsher, volume ratcheting up five notches on the dial.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Crossing her arms, she sneered at him. “You know, I still have all those videos...it would be such a shame if they went public and Maude found out what kind of person you really are…”

And there was my cue. I pulled Tom backwards and away from her, then stepped in front of him.

“Maude is acutely aware of the contents of ‘those videos’, Claudia.” Air quotes. I felt like an Office Space character for a second, and really, really wanted to tell her that if she would kindly fuck off and die that’d be great. “Opting to publish them is entirely your choice to make.”

Her laugh bordered on hysterical. “So you’re fine with ruining his career and making yourself a laughing stock? That’s cool. I’ll totally publish them then.”

I shrugged. “Be advised that there will be repercussions that will affect you personally and professionally if you choose to take such action.” She opened her mouth to speak, and I held up my hand to cut her off at the pass, my right index finger pointing up toward the ceiling. “First, since you’ll be violating the terms of the NDA you signed, a suit will be filed for breach of contract wherein we’ll be requesting both expectation and disgorgement damages. That means you’ll be on the hook for repayment of the one million dollars you received as a settlement, as well as any lost revenue Tom incurs as a result of the breach. Secondly, criminal charges will be filed under California’s Revenge Porn Law, which defines said revenge porn as the publication of nude photos or videos of a person one used to be intimate with, without their consent, with an intent to cause serious emotional distress. Each video that was filmed in the state of California would incur a penalty of a fine in the amount of $1000 and up to six months in jail…based upon Tom’s estimate as to video quantity, you’d be facing a prison sentence of up to ten years. Thirdly, and lastly, criminal charges and a civil suit will be filed for your violation of the Invasion of Privacy act. California is a ‘two party’ state when it comes to audio recordings of confidential communication in situations and locations wherein there’s a reasonable expectation of privacy. Audio that’s a component of a video is covered under this particular statute, and penalties include a fine of up to $2500 and a year in jail. Long story short, Claudia…do you want to wind up in jail? Because publishing those videos is how you wind up in jail.”

While I spoke, I’d witnessed her face first going pale, then gradually reddening until it reached a final almost-purple hue. She was shaking with rage, and I just stood there, certain she was going to attack me Dynasty lady-feud style. But she didn’t, pausing, instead to digest what I’d said as best she could and find a way around it. Her eyes, now more grey than green, narrowed as she spoke.

“My attorney will drag out your breach suit for years, and if you win, I’ll hide all my assets and file for bankruptcy and you won’t see a dime, ever. As for the rest, there’s no proof Tom never consented to filming. Same with that distress bullshit. My word against his. I’ll take those odds, and when I’m acquitted of all charges I’ll sue YOU guys for damages and take even MORE of Tom’s money.”

Raising my brow, I leaned in a little closer to her. “Tom saved all your texts and voicemails. Every. Single. One. They’re tucked away, safe and sound, on the very phone you sent them to.”

If Tom hadn’t been paying such close attention, the highball glass she picked up and threw would have hit me right in the face. He’d jerked both of us to the side, and the glass shattered when it hit the wall. With me in front of him, he propelled both of us toward the door at top speed, slid the bolt and pushed me out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him in the midst of the sound of more shattering glass and her screams of ‘get out, GET OUT’. We headed for the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, rushed back to our room, entered and locked our own door, both of us unsure as to whether we were pleased, frightened, or a bit of both.

I reached up under my sweater to pull out the phone, hitting the stop button to end the recording. Tom placed his hands on my shoulders, eyes on mine.

“Are you all right?”

Nodding, I felt my mouth twist into a half smile. “That went better than I expected, honestly.” I stood on my toes and planted a kiss on his left cheek. “Thanks for rescuing me from death by assorted beverage containers. How do you feel?”

His eyes shifted down and to the side, then returned to my face. “Relieved. Like I’ve gotten some closure, and that I’m no longer at her mercy. The fear, the anxiety in regard to my past actions becoming public…that’s subsided significantly. But there’s trepidation present, resulting from her expression of violence towards you, which I’m not quite sure how to handle.”

I slipped my phone into his pocket as I wrapped my arms around his torso. “She just realized she’s powerless, and she was NOT happy about it. Probably best to let it go and hope she finds a new hobby. Or a good therapist. Or Jesus. Something.”

“Maude, if that would have hit you…”

“It didn’t, though. I’m fine, you’re fine, and…that was over the top, wasn’t it? Was she aiming for me? Or you? Or the wall? Wow, I’m kinda freaked out now.”

He pulled me to his chest, kissing the top of my head. “I’m sorry. I knew her behavior as I experienced it was abnormal, and I shouldn’t have involved you.”

I leaned back, reaching up to caress his cheek. “You realize I knew too based on your description of your experience, yes? I’m glad I went with you. She would have spun that visit in the worst way possible, Tom, if the opportunity presented itself. Now she can’t, and I’m glad for that. As for the rest…we have a plan in place if she releases the videos, and we’ll follow through with it. She knows now that you’re no longer afraid of that happening, and that you’ll fight back, and I’m thinking maybe that will take all the fun out of it for her.”

A heavy sigh escaped him. “I hope that’s the case, my love. Truly I do. And I’m not going to dwell on it, because allowing her to diminish our joy is akin to giving her precisely what she wants, and she’s stolen enough already. This shop’s doors are closed. Permanently.”

“That’s an excellent way to look at it, Mr. Eternal Optimist. The doors are closed and the shop’s in the rearview as we travel the road ahead of us into our future.”

He simply stared at me, a small smile upon his face, his eyes once again full of all those things that made me both weak in the knees and disgusted with my sappy-ass self all at once. I rolled my eyes.

“Man, you’ve gotta lay off that adorable shit. We’ve got three months to go until the wedding and when you look at me like that…I just want to say fuck it and go find a judge and do it, like, right now.” Next came the tears shining, ready to spill over. “No. Oh my god, not helping, Tom. NOT. HELPING.”

He laughed. “I’m not even sorry.”

“Color me thoroughly unsurprised.”

“I’d rather color your inner thighs with love bites.”

“That can be arranged.”

Less than an hour later, we were spooning, and I felt his breathing change as he slipped into sleep. I lay nestled against him, wide awake until near dawn, trying to force myself to stop thinking about Claudia. Her actions seemed, as I reviewed the evening’s events, to indicate she hadn’t quite…let go. Far from it, actually. I wondered what she actually wanted, after so much time had passed. Was it more money? Was it revenge? Was it still…Tom? Was it all three, perhaps? And then I found myself wondering how far someone who behaved as she had tonight was willing to go in order to get it. Whatever it was she wanted. And it shook me, so I sang our wedding song to myself in my head until I calmed down, finally dozing off reminding myself that things which were terribly frightening in the dead of night were often immediately vanquished as nonsense by the light of day.

[dailydormer]

Natalie Dormer for the Rake

Publicists are an interesting breed. They are the gatekeepers of popular culture, guarding the people we want to get to know. Avaricious periodicals seek access to tell a good, saucy story, and the publicist is the alkaline to that acidic form of journalism. We at The Rake like to think our mould is different. We want to celebrate people rather than destroy their reputations, and the Rake-in- Progress feature was always intended to pick out younger men who personify the nuances of style and substance.

A few months ago a publicist contacted me with an idea — to feature women in this column. Ah, I thought, this magazine was built on the notion of making certain men relevant, empowering the XY sex and giving the reader confidence that his classical tastes are not antediluvian. With that in mind, if we were to feature a woman, we realised she would have to have something extra special, a bar that, depending on her identity, might be insurmountable. “Natalie Dormer” was the response I got. Bar cleared.

Dormer’s work could have appeared on your radar from a number of places. It could have been in her role as the ill-fated Anne Boleyn in The Tudors, or as Cressida in the blockbuster epic The Hunger Games, or as Margaery Tyrell in that lesser-known show Game of Thrones. In a series that deals in androgynous powerplay and raw sexuality, to come in late and bring something new, as Dormer has done in GoT, requires a rare and idiosyncratic talent — the acting umami, if you will.

Dormer’s red-carpet appearances often see her in bold suits with a cracking selection of colours. For her taste, her craft and, as we discovered on meeting, her humorous and kind disposition, we are delighted to say, Hello to Natalie Dormer, our first female Rake-in-Progress.

On a scale of one to 10, how annoyed are you at interviewers still asking you about Game of Thrones?

ND: Annoyed is the wrong word. I am respectful of what that show did, profile-wise, to my career, and it helps that I love the creators of the show and I don’t begrudge Dan [Weiss] or David [Benioff] a moment of their vision and success, and I am fucking proud to be part of something that is so part of the zeitgeist. I just never want to be defined solely for any role, but I know that with Game of Thrones it will take a few more years than other roles to go; I am not her, I have the ability to change. That is why The Hunger Games was great for me... Doing those two roles at the same time helped me find the money for my own film that I cowrote — without them, the financing would be harder to find. It’s about tipping your cap when you look back and say, ‘Thanks, guys, that was fucking amazing’.

Do you think as an actress you get to be part of today’s influential youth culture by default?

ND: Yes, definitely. I was at the GQ awards and Stormzy came up to me asking for a selfie. I knew who Stormzy was, but I am not into grime. I kind of think the fact this guy wanted to have a selfie with Margaery Tyrell blew my mind.

What has made you resist the lure of social media affirmation?

ND: I do believe that if you open the door to that, there are two sides. If you believe the good stuff, you’ve got to believe the bad, too. At the end of the day I fundamentally act for quite a selfish reason, in so far as I can’t imagine doing any other job. And there is something about storytelling that is cathartic for me, it is how I cope at how unjust and scary the world is, working out my humanity, arguments of love and power, who am I and what do I want to do with the years I have on this earth... My day-to-day way of surviving the world is acting.

So how does that translate to home life?

ND: I am a simple person that likes to operate on a low level. I am quite introverted. People always assume with my relationship with Anthony [Natalie’s fiancé] that naturally I must be the extrovert and he the introvert, but it is actually the other way round, because he is a director who feeds off people, he likes socialising, being around people, whereas I am very happy being with the dog on my own, reading a book, or going three days without seeing someone. I like my own company. I need quiet, because when I am on set or rehearsal, I do have high energy, so I need calm and quiet and to be a human being that is removed from my job.

Your job is to tell other people’s truths rather than your own. Do you get peace from that?

ND: Yes, there is a catharsis by processing issues through metaphor. Fuck, it’s why we tell stories. Doesn’t matter if we talk about religion, mythology or the latest Netflix show, the way human beings deal with the darkness and light of life is by telling stories.

You were out of work for a while. How did you manage to keep on keeping on?

ND: It was horrific, and I did my fair share of crying every night, rocking in a corner and facing all those demons of, ‘Oh my god, I am never going to work, this is all fucked up, I can’t pay the bills, what am I going to do’ — deep 3a.m. fear. But you have a choice.

There is something innate within me, and I don’t know where it comes from, so long as I think a fight is still worth fighting, I persevere. I have learnt as I have gotten older that if you don’t care about the fight, it is O.K. to walk away.

And now that work is coming your way, can you ever feel comfortable, is it ever enough?

ND: When you are 18 years old you have projections of where you want to be, and at various stages of your life you start ticking boxes... Oh my God, I am sitting here in conversation with Julianne Moore, or on a plane on the way to a premiere, or being directed by Patrick Marber. You have all these imaginary places where you go where you think, I made it, whatever that means. Fuck me, you’ve made it if you can pay the bills and keep a roof over your head doing something you love. What I have learnt as a woman who has come out of the angst of her twenties and being liberated by knowing yourself in your early thirties, you don’t have to hold yourself to the promises you made yourself when you were 18.

Is there anything that gets on your nerves?

ND: Yes, I sometimes hate the word ‘strong’. It gets used in interviews a lot, people say to me, ‘Natalie Dormer, you love to play strong women’, and I think, Holy fuck, how reductive can you be?

What’s the latest film you’ve watched?

ND: Last weekend we rewatched The Karate Kid. I haven’t seen that fucking movie since I was 11, it’s so good. I was bawling, when he was standing the way he does at the end, the tears were coming down. It’s so poignant, a three-act structure and to a tee the perfect hero’s journey.

You were directed in a Hozier video by your fiancé largely in the arms of other men. Did you know that was the plan when you showed up?

ND: No, we didn’t, he didn’t write it. We are friends with Andrew [Hozier-Byrne] and we love his music so much and said that we would love to do a video for you. He said his brother had just come up with the treatment for the video and we went home and read it and I said, ‘Fuck, are you O.K. with this, darling?’ It was amazing, we did it in 24 hours. To me that video is about how our imagination takes us to other worlds, worlds where we see a man on the Tube with a man bun and tattoos and you think, How would my life be different if I was with them, what kind of music would we be listening to, what food would we be eating, what kind of sex would we be having? Or look at that really attractive banker down there with that lovely watch, that’s a completely different existence. To me that girl [in the video] was lonely.

Do you feel like the dynamic of masculinity is changing in a good way?

ND: There are men who are conscientious about their body and their appearance, their spirituality — the modern man, one dare say. Just because women find feminism and equality, and their voice, doesn’t mean men need to be pushed down and be emasculated. Both genders, especially in the 21st century’s cosmopolitan cities, are refining the balance between them, and finding that it is O.K. to think and feel and dress in these different ways.

What do you feel is rakish in a man? What attracts you?

ND: I like a man who knows himself. I can equally fall for a man who wears a £3,000 suit or a guy busking on the street in dirty clothes. If a man knows his identity and is funny and not too egotistical, it is all about making me laugh, because the way the world is going, if you can’t laugh it all goes to shit. Someone who is truthful, candid, honest, and can be called on their bullshit. Aesthetically I have fallen for all different types of men, I don’t have a type, I really don’t. Yes, I like a well dressed man, what woman doesn’t?

You’ve just finished filming Picnic at Hanging Rock in Australia. How was it?

ND: I was staying in an area of Melbourne called Fitzroy, which is like hipsterville. By osmosis, after two months I began to buy the jump suits, wearing my hair in a top knot, getting my turmeric latte (I asked if this was truly a thing: it is).

You often wear suits on the red carpet. Do you know where that comes from?

ND: I came home from this shoot and told my other half about it and he went, ‘Oh my God, that shoot was so you’. Increasingly the core Natalie Dormer is those suits. It comes from an obsession with Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Vivien Leigh, the 1940s, when women started wearing those trousers and the shoulders were in. And suits are so comfortable — fuck you, guys, you’ve been wearing them all this time and you didn’t tell us.

So what’s coming up for you?

ND: Picnic at Hanging Rock has been bought by Amazon. I play Hester Appleyard. It is about a girls’ college on the outskirts of Melbourne in the 1900s: a woman who has run from a dark past in London and has set up her own little fiefdom, this girls’ school, where she reigns as a sort of misguided anti-heroine, trying to teach girls what it takes to get on in the world, but in a kind of Miss Jean Brodie way is doing the opposite of what she thinks she is meant to be doing. I am looking forward to seeing it.

[geminimoonbeamx]

Naive: Part 3

A/N: I’m so freaking happy you guys seemed to like the story so far!, I wrote this and a few other chapters up in one night! Hopefully I can get you guys as hyped as I am for this story. Oh and if you couldn’t already tell, the reader IS mixed race. Because there’s a serious lack of mixed race reader inserts. If this offends you or deters you just skim over it I guess??

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Just cursing in this chapter because I have the mouth of a sailor. Get ready for it to get smutttayyyyy next chapter tho, my home dogs!

Summary: As the goddaughter of Tony Stark you were no stranger to the Avengers, but when you meet the newest member- you’re a little more then intrigued. Unfortunately for him, Bucky Barnes has caught your eye.

💘💘💘💘💘

It’s honestly insane what a little bit of sleep can do to improve your life.

Well okay, a lot of sleep. You’d slept for like thirty hours straight, thank the mother fuckin’ lord and you felt like a brand new woman.

Especially after you take a couple bong rips.

Wake and baking was a way of life for you, had been since you we’re fifteen years old. There was just nothing like it.

You take a shower, deciding against getting dressed in real clothes and instead you wiggle into a pair of black lace trimmed lounge shorts, and then slip on a wireless bralette. It gives you no support of course, your supple breast sit comfortably and unrestrained. Just the way you liked them to be.

As you sit at your vanity and stare at your reflection in the mirror, your brain cloudy and happy; your eyes slightly red rimmed and low, you feel …numb. But a good numb. The numb you wished you can be forever. You rip the tie from your hair and it tumbles down from the bun it had been in and falls around your shoulders, the silky strands tickling your bare, fresh skin.

Do you think you’re pretty? Fuck yes. Do you think you’re fat? Also, fuck yes.

It was a concept that most people couldn’t seem to understand. How could you admit that you we’re fat and yet still sit and check yourself out in the mirror? Well because to you, fat was just a descriptive word. Not the heinous insult other people thought it was. Yes, you we’re fat. Just like you we’re smart. And fucking hilarious if you do say so yourself… and at the moment, extremely stoned.

Your confidence hadn’t appeared out of thin air, it was something that had been ingrained in you.

Because your mother had never made you question your worth. She didn’t give a shit about the numbers on a scale or cellulite. She didn’t care if your hair was wild and curly, curlier then her, a white woman had known how to handle for years. No- she cared if you we’re kind to others. If you we’re brave enough to go after you wanted and speak up for yourself.

So you had.

You broke away from that fat girls should wear baggy clothes and stay quiet and try to shrink themselves. Nah, fuck that. This fat girl was going to do whatever she wanted.

Did have negative thoughts about yourself sometimes? Duh, you’re a human being. Everyone has ugly thoughts sometimes, but mostly you we’re a little full of yourself.

Like now, as you blend on warm, smoky eyeshadow, carve your brows and contour your face. Drowning yourself in highlighter. Acentuating and defining all of the parts of your face that you loved. You liked primping and pampering yourself, loved all things beauty, really. Eyelash extensions, going for manicures, facials. They we’re all your jam.

When you’re satisfied with yourself, tossing and musing your hair until it falls around your head in a messy way that looks more sexy then homeless you rise, intent on going and finding Wanda or something.

Not wanting to be alone anymore.

You almost walk out of your living room in a bralette- because of comfort reasons but think twice as you pass the mirror by the door.

You really didn’t want to give Tony a coronary on this fine Thursday.

Why couldn’t we all just walk around naked? Everyone would be a lot more comfortable. It would probably bring world peace.

So after throwing on a loose shirt and a cape like McQueen floral kimono you slip into a fluffy pair of slides and start your epic journey to find sustenance, thinking about how human beings greatest down fall was when we made it a systematic norm to have to be clothed… what kind of crazy weed had Jessica sold you?

------

You don’t think it’s attention you like, and you’ve thought about it a lot.

No, it’s affection.

You’d always been a…touchy person, and it had tended to get you into trouble. You understood boundaries, you just hated them. You didn’t know why it was such a taboo to show the people you cared about that you cared. Why was intimacy in friendships so frowned upon? Why couldn’t you wrap your arms around your friends. Kiss them on the cheek? Cuddle with them?

It just had never been a big deal to you. You liked touching, and fuck, did you liked to be touched.

When you walk into the kitchen, you’re surprised to find the gathering there.

Nat, Wanda and Clint stand at the island, cutting up veggies and talking between themselves. Thor and Bruce sit at a table with Steve and Bucky. It all seems so…pleasant. One of those rare quaint, normal moments in the tower. It would make anyone smile.

“Goodmorning, sunshines” You greet them as you walk in.

You steal a piece of tomato from Natasha’s cutting board and plop it into you mouth.

“Y/N you are aware that it’s almost one, right?” She informs you with a smile to which you just shrug.

“Technicalities. It’s still noon-ish so it’s morning…pretty much”

“Flawed way of thinking you got there, squirt” Clint criticized. His eleven year old had better sleeping habits then you.

“Flawed or brilliant?”

“You sound just like Tony” Bruce calls from his place across the room and you pull your head from the fridge.

“Why thanks”

When you cant find anything that catches your eye in the massive fridge, even though its brightly lit with an array of food, you call for FRIDAY and ask her if she could have the chef cook you up some Nutella crepes, “please and thank you!”

“How high are you right now?” Wanda reaches over to whisper to you knowingly and you lean forward to rest your chin on her shoulder, her long dark hair tickling your face pleasantly.

“Super. You have to try this shit that I got from Jessica, it’s crazy” You reply, your breath hot on her ear so that she’s the only one who can hear you.

The both of you break out in to giggles, girlish and young sounding. Wanda missed this, the having a connection like this with someone. Welcoming and relishing another’s touch in a way that was both intimate and utterly innocent.

She’d had it with Pietro…and then he’d gone and left her alone and she thought that was the end of it.

But then you’d gotten close to her, befriended her, and there it was again. Being able to just, melt with someone was something that should be cherished. She cherished her friendship with you. The way you let her lean into you with no resistance. You and your bright eyes and contagious laugh. She felt…she felt more like Wanda when she was with you. Less like Scarlett Witch.

Bucky hadn’t meant to watch you for as long as he had. He’d turned to you when you’d entered the room and hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away, for more then mere moments, since. It was a mixture of the tiny shorts you had on, the way the black lacy material rode up your sumptuous thighs…but mostly it was your interaction with Wanda. He wasn’t particularly close to her(he wasn’t particularly close to anyone except for Steve and Sam…although he’d never admit it) but he’d never seen the girl like this. Like you’d somehow lit her up from the inside.

The two of you we’re whispering and laughing like school girls, carefree and light and it stirred something in his stomach.

His eyes snap away as you approach the table.

“Hello sirs” you salute as you come up and take the seat in between Steve and Thor. It’s comical how intensely the two men dwarf you.

“Hello little woman” Thor squeezes your shoulder, his big palm encompassing the flesh “How was your sleep? It seems like it’s been days since you graced us with your presence”

You cant help bite your lips together to hide a grin. Would you ever get over the regal manner in which Thor talked?

Probably not.

“Yeah, Y/N. How are you feeling today? Less drowsy?” It’s the tone in Bruce’s voice you don’t like, not his words. He’s using his doctor’s voice on you.

Yes, Bruce knew about your…situation. Tony had told him, with your permission, so that he could help monitor the process. You didn’t mind him knowing, you just didn’t want him blowing it and everyone finding out about it. It was a sensitive subject for you and you’d rather keep it quiet. It’s not that you didn’t trust the others its just…you weren’t ready for it to be public knowledge.

You didn’t want to be looked at differently.

“I’m fine” You play it off “My sleeping schedule’s just been off. I just had to reset my internal clock to the eastern time zone. No biggie’”

Bruce wants to ask you more but he’s a smart man, and decides he’d press the issue later in the privacy of the lab. He knew what it was like to want to keep a secret, and he wasn’t about to go making you uncomfortable by blowing yours.

You reach over to steal one of the fries off of Steve’s plate, sticking you tongue out at him “How has you guy’s day been so far? No alien invasions yet?”

You had a way of setting the atmosphere, keeping it light.

You talk with the guys until Bruce leaves, needing to go run some labs or smash some things…okay that was an asshole joke, you chastise yourself. You didn’t like teasing him about his little green problem, Thor follows him. Talking about some meeting he was being “forced unwillingly to attend”

“Good luck, big guy” You kiss his cheek before he leaves.

“So really, what have you guys been up to today” You ask the two men you’re left with as you cut into your crepes.

“Nothin’ much, it’s been a quiet one so far. Just training. I was thinking about going for a walk later on, maybe Central Park? Get some sketching in while I can” Steve answers.

“You drawing more, Steve? That’s amazing! You’ll have to show me some of your stuff sometime! I remember they were always so good” You urge him excitedly. Since you’d known him, you’d tried to push him to take his art seriously. Fuck knows it was his only release. You had a feeling even Steve Rogers had a breaking point, you also had no desire to ever see it.

Only Steve’s ears turn red, which is actually progress for him “Yeah, I can do that”

“Really? So a pretty girl asks to see your sketchbook and your game, but I, your best friend cant?” Bucky sees an opening and cant help but take it “Whatta’ Jerk”

Okay, where did that come from? You fight to keep the shock off of your face. Pretty girl? Really?

“Well she’s not a crap critic like you are” Steve justifies himself “Last time I showed you somethin’ you told me that I couldn’t draw dog paws for shit”

“Hey, I was just kidding. That was about a year ago, too!” Bucky sounds truly apologetic and you break out into a squawk of laughter.

“You guys are so married, oh my god” You shake your head at the two of them. It’s cute… seeing them together. Both of their guards way down.

“Don’t encourage his behavior, Y/N” Steve’s trying not to chuckle.

You turn your attention to Bucky then, your body literally angling towards him as you focus in. “What about you, Bucky? Any big plans?”

Why? Why does his brain turn off when you look at him like that? Your gleaming eyes looking at nothing but his face.

“Uh- nothing yet, doll”

“Awe if I didn’t have to go shopping I’d say lets have our marathon!”

“Marathon?” Steve wonders, his eyes flashing between the two of you.

“Yeah, I’m going to force Bucky to watch Harry Potter with me. You know, bring his life great enlightenment and fulfilment” You answer him nonchalantly, taking a bite of your food. Letting out a little moan and crossing your eyes “Oh my gosh this is amazing”

Did you mean to look so sexual? The way your pretty lipstick coated lips wrapped around that fork had Bucky tensing.

“No really you guys, who even is this new chef? Is he the second coming of Christ? Taste this!” You encourage as you cut another piece and hold it out to Bucky, your hand under it incase it falls.

He doesn’t know what to do. Does he turn you down? Would that be rude? Would it hurt your feelings?

So he just opens his mouth and allows you to feed him the sweet pastry.

“Amazing, huh?”

“Mmhmm, really good” is all Bucky mumbles, trying to keep the heat from his face.

“Steve try it!” You urge, pouting a little when he doesn’t let you shove your fork in his mouth.

As tempting as the offer was- Nutella and the look on your face- Steve had learned his lesson. What if Tony came in and saw you spoon feeding him? Nope.

“I just ate a burger, I gotta’ watch my physique” He teases and your eyebrows knit together.

“Really, take a bite. I’m sure your physique can handle it. Here” You give him the fork so that he can feed himself.

Since when was Steve weird with you like that? You used to be able to…flow with him. Without even thinking about it?

You shrug it off as pot linked paranoia. Just because he didn’t let you spoon feed him didn’t mean you guys weren’t still close. Right?

“Hey are we still going shopping?” Wanda asks as she comes up “If so I’m going to go change?”

“Yeah! Definitely. I need to find a new backpack before I start school again next week. And yeah, I need to change too, you can come get ready with me in my room if you want” You stand quickly, scooting away from the table “You guys can have the rest of that. See ya’ later, gentleman"

And with that your sashaying out of the room with Wanda.

Steve notices Bucky staring at the sway of your hips.

“Bud…”

“Shut up, Steve”

“I told you. Y/N- She’s- Something else” Steve searches for the words “But the kid’s Tony’s pride and joy and we’re still on thin ice with the guy”

“How old is she anyway?” Bucky completely ignores the Tony part of Steve’s sentence. Why’d everyone call her kid? She looked a little young, with that dimpled smile but she was in college so she couldn’t be AS young as they treated her.

“Twenty three” Steve’s response is curt. Matter of fact.

Twenty three, huh? Bucky thinks. That is a little young…a lot younger then his near century. Not young enough for it to deter him, though.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say for a moment. Neither of them do really. It’s quiet as Steve eats the reminder of the crepes because holy shit you hadn’t been lying they were sent from heaven.

Then, Bucky’s handsome face stretches into a devilish smile. One Steve had seen many a’ time.

“She’s got a nice pair of gams on her, doesn’t she?”

Steve tries to purse his lips, but fails in hiding his own wolfish expression.

“That she does”

———

Because even though Steve is Captain America we all know he’s still that little shit from Brooklyn at heart right? Especially when Bucky’s around. Lesbi-honest here I have the major hots for Wanda and it’s taking all of my will power not to write her as a love interest but I really want to focus on a close, strong female friendship…even though I’m dying to have Y/N get her some Wanda😩

As usual give me some feedback! Going to slow? Too fast? Is Y/N too…touchy? What do you think the pills are for and do you want to be tagged? Tellllll me ya’ll

@devenrenee @skeletoresinthebasement @kendallefire @mellifluousbabe @toniinhere @agentmstark @purplekitten30 @bellaballanda @yslbucky @arabellaaurorabarnes @prinxessofspace @supernaturally-lucky @sngforme @kyritha  @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @peaceloveancolor @gabwinchester-dixon

[leightaylorwrites]

Leigh Dissects YA Fiction: They All Fall Down (Chapters 9 - 12)

Chapter Nine

Levi certainly wasn’t grieving Olivia’s death…

Of course not. Why would he be grieving his ex-girlfriend? That would imply that he cares about anyone other than you and with this being a YA book, it’s unlikely that a romantic lead would be so complex. 

[...] his open varsity jacket making his shoulders look even broader.

A specific sport isn’t named. Does the author think all varsity athletes get the same jacket? There are emblems, symbols, and other things that are specific to certain sports. This is what happens when you base your YA book on your own nerdy high school experiences and don’t do basic research: you get things wrong.

“Why is everyone so certain Levi Sterling is going to jail?” I demand.

You can’t demand a question that has to be answered by multiple people when you’re only with one person. Also, didn’t you, like recently, say he might’ve been a murderer or rapist?

I nod sympathetically, supposing that’s a legit enough connection for a guy like Josh to shed a few tears.

Because for a masculine boy to cry, it has to be legitimized.

Was he kidding? Girls like Olivia and the rest of them on that list didn’t hang out with nerds like me. But guys don’t always know that.

Okay, even if we’re going with the ridiculous idea that people don’t have friends in different circles, the same would be true for boys. Geeky boys and jocks wouldn’t hang out. Why wouldn’t he know this?

“I missed you last night,” he says right into my ear, with a secret, sexy voice that should have every cell in my body jumping up and down.

You’ve spoken for a total of three minutes.

“I had…” Movie night with mom. “Something else to do.”

Why can’t she just tell him the truth? I get it’s geeky but it’s not like you were committing a crime.

A flicker of distaste crosses his expression as he conciders what could possibly have been more important than his game, and his gaze shifts in the direction where Levi had been. “Out with your parolee?”

Dora doesn’t tell him the truth about her whereabouts as a way for the author to throw in cheap tension. If she had a legit reason or given an explanation (like how I said spending time with her mom is ~geeky~), then it would’ve worked. Without that, this is just lazy writing.

“Good thing, ‘cause they're saying he was there and was having a deep and heated conversation with Olivia before she died.”

Did this book have an editor?

“Good thing you weren’t with him.”

He’s said good thing twice in the past quarter page. Either the author discovered a new phrase while writing this chapter, or someone stans NCT.

“Listen, I know it’s not going to be really fun under the circumstances and all, but a bunch of kids are getting together at my house tonight. Will you come?”

Y’all really about to have a party when someone just died. I get the popular kids are supposed to somewhat suck but there’s sucking then there’s being horrible people.

“We’re changing clothes, you freakazoid!”

Outdated reference is outdated. Most of this author’s demographic does not know that song. Has she ever spoken with an actual teenager? In this century?

“His parents passed away many years ago.”

Please be related to the cult I’m probably totally wrong about.

“I never got into the house but I’ve heard it’s amazing, with an indoor swimming pool and a ten-car garage adjacent to some of the prettiest parts of Nacht Woods.”

Good Lord. First, it annoys me when characters who are loaded go to public school with a bunch of people who are nowhere near as rich. School zoning doesn’t work like that, with only one megarich kid and everyone else being middle class. Second, why are we getting this awkward splooge from Generic BFF’s mom instead of having this description when Dora gets to the party later????? Why is this writing so bad? Where is the editor?

“The grandfather, who’s retired, of course, made a killing on Wall Street, as I understand it.”

What is this SENTENCE?! I suck at grammar and sentence structure and all those technical things but damn, I know I could do a better job at this editor who works for an actual publishing house.

“Really hit it huge in the go-go eighties.”

“Where’d they go-go?” Kayla asks, making everyone laugh.

Not me.

“It’s the idiots who can’t handle the peer pressure. But, okay, you girls use common sense.”

Fucking hell. If they’re pressured into drinking then they’re not idiots. That’s why it’s called PRESSURE. And why are we acting like people with common sense don’t drink? They’re not mutually exclusive.

“(...) I’d love to just sit around that table for house with a family that is so whole and happy. But I only have myself to blame for that.”

Shut your melodramatic ass up.

Chapter Ten

God save me.

(..) what feels like a half-mile-long driveway (...) At least fifty cars are in the drive and along the street.

Driveway. It’s called a driveway. You just used it in the last sentence.

She’s cute - and has to be freezing - but, really, nothing extraordinary to look at.

What a fucking bitch. Honestly, Dora, please die.

“We’re going into the woods.”

Yes, now it’s the point in the book where a Native American burial ground is invaded by drunk suburban white teens who literally have no respect for the land. This includes our protagonist. And if you’re thinking she’s going to mention how wrong and disrespectful this is, bring your expectations of this author down. No, further. FURTHER. Yes, that low.

“We’re at Meesha mound.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Indian burial ground, you know. Cool, huh?”

“Very.”

To be fair, Dora says her “very” is sarcasm but like?? Nothing is done or said about how horrible it is that they’re doing this. Or even the improper and offensive usage of “Indian.”

She misses my sarcasm and takes me down a dark path.

Obviously bad metaphor is obviously bad.

“I like Sisters of the List,” Kylie Leff says, leaning into Amanda. “We’ve been blood sisters since kindergarten.”

Can I return this book and get cult lesbians instead? Side note, if you want to watch something about a cult lesbian, AHS: Cult was AMAZING and its best season since Coven.

She holds up a single knuckle and Amanda meets it with one of her own in the most feminine and lackluster knuckle tap in history.

We get it. Fem = bad, hot fem = bad, weak fem = bad.

Why was Dora expecting some epic knuckle punch when Kylie only used one knuckle? Does she think she has super-strength?

It’s Candace Yardley, number ten, who up to this point has been virtually silent. Once again, I take a second to admire her dark good looks; she is runway perfect.

Why is this book so racist?!! Having the Asian character be silent until Dora is ready to comment on her ~dark good looks~?? And she has to be at the bottom of the list? What IS THIS?!

She smiles at her best friend.

How many times must we be reminded that Kylie and Amanda are gal pals, heteros, and that this book has no room for lesbians? Petition to save Kylie and Amanda from this hetero dumpster fire.

I take the vodka bottle and let a few drops touch my lips, the flavor like bitter grape cough medicine.

One, you can’t taste much with your lips. Two, that’s not what vodka tastes like.

“You bitches cray.” She sings the last word on a laugh. “But I need to get fried.”

Let’s play “spot the Token black character.” I think the usage of the word cray is a testament to how old this book is. Back when white authors thought it was fun to use cringe aave. You gon finna catch me is SHAKING.

“Thank god that chapter is over” - me after every chapter.

Chapter Eleven

“YOLO, baby girl. Which translates into ‘have some fun.’

Petition to have white authors never write black characters again.

I can smell beer, and the sound of rap is barely drowned out by loud boys and girls laughing. Really? On the night after the girl they all planned to vote for class president next year has died? They either don’t care or… they don’t understand death.

You fucking asshole, Dora. Some people have different coping methods. And, how would you know they don’t care or understand death? Do you think you’re the only person in your whole school who has lost someone?

They don’t know how permanent death is. But I do.

Earlier, we learned that Generic Good Boy is a fucking orphan. He lost BOTH parents. You lost ONE brother. Shut up.

“Like I said… YOLO.”

Stop. I’m begging.

“You know what I remember about you in middle school?” (...) “You were hydrogen in our Dress Like an Element Day in science.”

Listen, I like the fact that Dora and GGB have natural chemistry as characters whereas Dora and GBB are forced like hell. But could the author not think of a more interesting element? Why would GGB remember this in particular? Even if he thought Dora was cute, it would make sense for the element to be something less common and therefore more easy for the reader to see why it was so memorable.

“You’re the Latin expert.”

She’s a junior in high school.

“(...) he lives to meet pretty girls.” The way he says it makes me feel like I really am one of those pretty girls.

Because he just told you his grandfather likes pretty girls? An old man? That makes you feel pretty? Really? That?

“Wait--I want to kill her, er, say hi.”

Ignoring this horrible attempt at humor, Dora is upset with her friend for drinking at a party. I’ll point you to Dora’s weird grape cough medicine vodka from her cult meeting in the woods.

“I play on two travel teams--hey, Ryan--and lots of these kids are from all over this side of the state.”

They came all the way out here for one party? Are there no parties in their own neighborhoods?

“Kenzie.” The older man nods in approval. “Of course.” Flashing an easy, wide smile, he looks down--way down--at me. Instantly, I can see where Josh gets his gifts--his height, the build, the sort of raw masculinity mixed with charm that rolls off him. That’s hereditary, I suppose.

I just threw up.

This man is at least sixty, given that his grandson is a high school junior. And Dora just spent a paragraph lowkey lusting after him. I haven’t witnessed something so grossly uncomfortable since Throne of Trash the series we don’t acknowledge.

“You were absolutely correct, Josh. She is a refreshing change.”

Get it? Because she’s not like those other girls.

“You’ve taught me everything, Josh says, a respectful note in his voice. “Including how to pick quality girls.”

Women aren’t avocados.

He pats my hand and shifts in his seat. “Let’s change the subject. I understand you’re on that list that does nothing but objectify lovely teenage girls.”

You can’t call out the list for objectifying them when 1) you’ve done that since you met Dora, 2) you act like a fucking pedophile while you’re touching her, and 3) you follow up the fact that the list is objectifying the girls by calling the girls “lovely.”

“But his legacy lives on, right back in Nacht Woods.” He angles his head toward the back of the house. “He’s buried there, too.”

So not only has this author disrespected Native Americans with using their burial ground for horror aesthetic reasons, but she’s also allowed a white character to be buried there.

“Not him, per se,(...) but the things that mattered to him. I made a place to honor him.”

I know we need exposition but it makes no sense here. They’ve spent half a page talking about this dead dude, rather than the scholarship Dora wants.

“How do I apply?”

“No application necessary, dear. You just have to finish the ropes course Jarvis built in Nacht Woods (...) You look fairly athletic.”

Oh my god. How many ways can this author metaphorically shit on this burial ground?

“Quit hittin’ on my chick, Rex.”

Dora’s next thought is her freaking out about Josh calling her his girl, which okay, I get. But… shouldn’t she be a tad bit concerned about this creepy pedo man who just offered her a scholarship as long as she completes The Hunger Games?

“She’s a total brainiac (...) I think that’s hot.”

“Quite,” his grandfather agrees.

I’M NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP

Chapter Twelve

I haven’t had anything to drink since my one sip of grape vodka, but Molly’s borderline tipsy(.)

We’ve got clarification that her vodka was grape flavored (ew) but what the hell is “borderline tipsy”??? Either she’s tipsy or she’s sober. Tipsy is the full in between of sober and drunk.

“But the weirdest thing of all was the texts disappeared about ten minutes after I got it. I can’t find it in my deleted texts, nothing.”

SHE TRIED TO SEARCH DELETED TEXTS AND WAS SURPRISED WHEN SHE COULDN’T FIND ANYTHING ASHJLDFASHLJL

(...) ready for dark looks from my list sisters(...)

We’re really using this name?

But I won’t tell these girls that. They’re wack.

I love 2001 slang.

Also, you guys don’t know how hard it is for me to not make a Malibu’s Most Wanted reference right now.

Having to post all my notes/opinions means I’m having to read over some of the book again and if you can believe it, these are considered the good chapters compared to what comes later.

Using my irritation as free entertainment? Enjoy my writing as free entertainment, too. I’ve got a freebie book called Epic here.

[rachellesedai]

Happy Birthday, Nancy (and Kal)

@aceofwonders

EATFU High School AU

     Kal slouched down in the back of the Mercedes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He hated it when his mom insisted on driving him to school. She made it seem like a huge favor. He should be grateful she made time for him at all with how busy she was at work. He just wished it didn’t feel like she was keeping track of all the favors and expected him to pay up someday.

     He got out of the car and breathed a sigh of relief when she drove off, already on her Bluetooth, without waiting for a goodbye. He trudged up the steps and down the hall, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he remembered he’d never finished his Algebra homework. He was racking his brain for yet another excuse when Az came belting around the corner and practically slammed into him.

     “Are you trying to kill me?” he snapped.

     “Not today.” Az grinned. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”

     Kal shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face. Az was crazy but she was his best friend, practically his only friend in this miserable place. They’d met the first week of freshman year in detention. Kal had only skipped class, but Az was there because she’d dyed her hair cobalt blue, not to protest the dress code, just because it was her favorite color.

     They stopped at their lockers. “What’s going on tonight?” Kal asked as he grabbed what he needed for the first two periods.

     “Your birthday.” Az paused, rolling her eyes as Kal blinked. “Don’t tell me you forgot.” She punched him in the arm. “What is wrong with you? You only turn seventeen once!”

     Kal shook his head. He had forgotten. So had everyone else, apparently. Everyone except Az. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he said.

     “It will be by the time I’m done.” Az grinned, a wicked twinkle in her eye. She shoved a couple notebooks into her giant turquoise purse. “Your birthday is going to be epic!”

     “Why? What did you do?” Kal cringed, thinking of the trouble that usually followed that look.

     “I’m not telling.” Az smirked. “But it involves bottle rockets and lots of alcohol.”

     “We can’t get arrested again,” Kal protested, grinning in spite of himself. “My mom won’t save our asses a second time. She made that perfectly clear.”

     Az shrugged. “We’ll be fine.” She glanced at her phone. “You’re going to have to run to beat the bell.”

     Kal groaned and sprinted down the hall to the sound of Az’s laughter. First period was the only class he cared about being on time to. The only class he cared about at all, really. He’d had to use all his charisma to convince his mom to let him take band. She was determined to mold him into a mini version of herself or at least that’s what it felt like. He’d had to prove that most prestigious colleges wanted a well-rounded student and music would balance his transcript.

     Of course, none of that would matter if he failed Algebra. Still, she had insisted he choose piano and take lessons from ridiculously overpriced tutors. It wasn’t his first choice, but at least it was music.

      He slipped in the door to the mad caterwauling of everyone tuning their instruments. The bell sounded a second later.

      “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we, Mr. Valor?” Mrs. Jensen gave him a stern look.

      “It won’t happen again,” he said, flashing her a brilliant smile.

      He slid onto the piano bench and ran his fingers over the keys, playing a few scales to warm up. He sighed, closing his eyes. Music made him feel alive like nothing else. It was like falling into his own little world.

      “As if she’d ever write you up,” a teasing voice whispered, “you know you’re her favorite.”

     Kal opened his eyes and glanced over at the girl next to him. “Hey, Wick.”

     The tiny red-head shook her head as she finished cleaning her flute. “That’s not my name,” she said and stuck her tongue out at him. Kal laughed, but when Mrs. Jensen turned toward them Miss Lilli Wickett was looking straight forward, a picture of innocence. Her curls bounced as she straightened up, bringing the flute to her lips.

     The band instructor frowned at Kal before tapping the music stand with her baton. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s see if we can keep it together this morning. From the top…”

     The rest of practice flew by. Kal was always astonished at how quickly it was over compared to the rest of his day. All of his other classes were either insanely boring or some form of hellish torture. Gathering his books, he gave the room one last, wistful look before heading out the door.

     Kal raised an eyebrow as Wick fell into step beside him. They both had honors English next period and often walked together, but she seemed particularly jumpy this morning.

     Hugging her books to her chest, Wick smiled up at him. “Happy birthday,” she blurted out.

     “Thanks,” Kal stammered, “How did…”

     “Az told me. At least, you said you were a Scorpio and I asked her. Anyway, happy birthday.” She looked away, a slight tinge to her cheeks as they continued walking.

     Kal swallowed, running a hand through his hair. For some reason none of his usual semi-flirtatious responses seemed appropriate. “So, do you have any idea what kind of craziness Az has planned for tonight?” he finally said.

     Wick shook her head. “She didn’t say anything about it.”

     “You and Ellie should come. I’m a little terrified to face whatever it is alone.”

     “I’d like that.” Wick smiled as they walked into the classroom and took their seats. “We can work out details at lunch.”

     “Sounds good.” Kal leaned back in his chair. He kept glancing over at Wick’s profile as the teacher droned on about John Steinbeck. He grinned, a warm, lighthearted feeling spreading through him. He hadn’t expected today to be any different from his other birthdays. But for some reason he felt like Wick had tipped the scales in his favor and he might actually have a good day for once.

 ***

       Kal frowned, crossing out another column of numbers that didn’t add up the way they were supposed to. “Damn letters shouldn’t be allowed in math,” he muttered, shoving a few more fries into his mouth. He sat at the lunch table hunched over his notebook, glaring at the treacherous symbols that refused to make sense in his brain.

      “You are not allowed to make yourself miserable today,” Az said, plopping down across from him. She reached over and shut his textbook.

      “Hey! I need to finish that.”

      “Not necessarily.” Az leaned in. “We could always take off and actually have fun for the rest of the day.”

     “I don’t know.” Kal shook his head. Escape, however fleeting, was very tempting. “My mom will kill me if I get caught cutting class again.”

     “Whose cutting class?” Wick said brightly. She slid in next to Kal, setting a tray of food on the table. Her friend, Ellie, sat next to Az, a slightly disapproving look on her face.  

      “No one,” Kal muttered.

      “I think it sounds like a great idea,” Wick said, smiling at Az who was struck momentarily speechless.

      “Seriously?” Kal grinned.

      Wick nodded. “It’d be an adventure.”

      “As long as your pretty little friend doesn’t squeal,” Az said, frowning at Ellie.

      “She won’t,” Wick replied, “She’s coming with us.”

      “I am?” Ellie looked from Wick to Kal. “I thought we were making plans to go to some kind of party tonight.”

     Kal glanced over at Az. He hadn’t told her about the additions he’d made to her birthday plans. He gave her a pleading look.

     Az sighed, rolling her eyes. “Tonight will be awesome. We’re just starting a little early. Who’s in?”

     “Do you really think we can all sneak out without anyone noticing?” Kal rubbed his hands on his jeans and looked at Az. “You know the evil Ms. Cazna will suspect something if she notices we’re both absent.”

     Az shrugged. “It’s a risk we will have to take.”

     “I can get us out.”

     Everyone turned to look at Ellie, varying expressions of shock on their faces.

     “How?” Wick demanded, suppressing a giggle.

     Ellie sighed. “I have a free period after lunch. I always pick up the attendance sheets and take them to the office before going to study hall. I’ll mark us all present and meet you after. That should give us an hour’s head start. All you guys have to do is get out of the building without anyone seeing you.”

     “I don’t believe it.” Kal shook his head as Wick bounced up and down in excitement.

     Az grinned from ear to ear, giving Ellie a nod of approval. “Why?” she asked.

     “Someone’s got to keep you three out of trouble.”

 ***

      Kal took a deep breath of salty air. A laugh escaped him as they scrambled down the scrub covered slope and onto the beach. Az kicked off her shoes and ran to where the foamy surf kissed the shore. She screamed as the cold water sloshed over her feet.

     Wick twirled around, her red hair flying. “This is amazing,” she gasped.

     Smiling, Ellie deposited the bag of convenience store snacks they had bought onto the ground.

     “I still can’t believe we pulled it off.” Kal sat down on the sand and stared out over the water. Wick sat down next to him and untied the laces to her red sneakers. Pulling them off, she gave a low sigh as she wiggled her toes in the sand.

     Ellie joined them on the ground. Pulling a package of pixie sticks out of the bag, she gave some to Kal and Wick.

     Kal poured the colored sugar into his mouth, the taste bringing back fuzzy memories of a childhood filled with sweetness and laughter.

     “Come get some snacks,” Wick yelled to Az who was still running back and forth, playing tag with the waves. She didn’t seem to hear and continued her mad dance along the shore.

     “She’s having too much fun,” Ellie said as she opened a can of soda.

     “And you’re not?” Wick teased.

     Ellie shrugged. “I never thought I’d do anything like this, but I have to admit it was an insane rush, just walking out the door like it was no big deal. I was sure someone was going to stop me and demand to know where I was going, then make me go straight to detention.”

     “Well, no one can make us do anything for the next few hours,” Kal said, “enjoy it while you can.”

     “I think I will.” Ellie stood up and strolled out to where Az was standing ankle deep in the water. Kal shook his head as the two talked for a minute and wandered down the beach, neither one looking back or asking if he and Wick wanted to join them.  

     He glanced at Wick who was smiling at nothing in particular, humming a little song. “Do you want to see something cool?” he asked.

     Wick turned toward him, shading her eyes from the bright sunlight. “Better than this?”

     Kal nodded. He stood up and held out his hand. A smile danced in her eyes as she took it. “There is a cave in the cliff a little further down the beach,” he said as he pulled her to her feet. They walked along the shore. The sandy slope to their left giving way to rocky ledges that gradually grew higher until a craggy cliff towered above them.

     Kal pointed to a shadow among the rocks where the cliff jutted out before curving back inland. Water swirled around their feet as the tide ran out, leaving a rippled surface of wet sand leading up to the cliff face.

     “Are you sure it’s safe?” Wick asked as they approached the entrance.

     “It fills up during high tide,” Kal said, “but it’s fine right now. Just watch your step. The rocks are slippery.”

     Wick took his hand as they stepped inside. The walls were worn smooth, sand and pebbles drifted up against them. They curved up and around to a hole on the far side. Light shone in through the roughly arch shaped opening reminiscent of a natural cathedral window.

     “It’s beautiful,” Wick said as they made their way over the rocks and up the sloping floor. “Lift me up so I can look out.”

     Kal’s cheeks warmed as she steadied herself on his arm. He cupped his hands together and she put her tiny foot in them. He boosted her up high enough for her to grab the lower edge of the opening and peer out. The sunlight lit up her face, her curls glinting like a rosy halo.

     “What do you see?” he asked, struggling to maintain the awkward position.

     “The sky.” Wick’s voice was soft. She released her grip and he lowered her down. She twisted around and Kal found himself looking into her eyes. He swallowed, realizing that his arms were around her. She stared up at him, her hands resting lightly on his chest.

     “Do you like it?” he asked.

     “I love it.”

     Kal took a slow breath. He knew he should play it cool, let go of her, and make a joke about something to relieve the tension. But he couldn’t turn away. The warmth glowing in her eyes, the joy in her smile, it stirred something deep within him, a tiny flame of hope, the hope that happiness was real and even someone like him could find it. He had to remind himself to breathe, vaguely wondering how long he had been staring into her eyes.

     Before he could find the words to even begin to explain what he was feeling, Wick stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him. A jolt of something electric and exquisite coursed through him. His arms tightened around her and he leaned down, savoring the feel of her lips on his. Wick’s hands slid up around his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer. For a moment everything else fell away and they were the only two souls in the universe.

     Then Wick buried her face in his chest and suddenly they were back in the sea cave. He kissed the top of her head, still holding her close. Kal took a deep breath, shaking his head as he heard Az and Ellie calling their names. Wick started shaking with laughter and tipped her head back, a wicked smile in her eyes. “Shall we hide?”

     Kal shook his head, but couldn’t stop smiling. “You know they’d never stop looking for us.”

     “True.” Wick tossed her head, red curls bouncing. She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his and led the way out of the cave and over to where Az and Ellie were walking toward them. Kal shrugged as Az gave him a knowing smirk. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this, but today was definitely turning out to be the best birthday ever.

 (Happy birthday, my sweet daughter! I wanted to do so much more and have them run into Finn and Lucas, but I ran out of time. Maybe there will be more later. Love you. Mom.)