#i saved the post i found on instagram and it must have been taken down because not its just gone

[in-a-slanted-outhouse]

If anyone has the bts photos of Five with the long hair (if you’ve seen them you’ll know what I’m talking about) please send them to me I’d like proof that they’re real

[ember-not-amber]

I just went on the fandom wiki to learn more about what the WAF trailers were hinting at and what Jess was saying in reverse in the second trailer and I found out that the caption Jason wrote in his Instagram post of the 2 relics was a cryptogram and not just some random letters or another language and it translates to “I gave the life of our daughter to save the rest of our world” and now I’m absolutely gagged by that and obsessed with it!

IG post

Wiki page

It’s obviously something that Irene said or thought or wrote down or sth but I’m wondering about the specifics of that sentence now. What did Irene mean by “the rest of our world”? Does that mean that some of or a lot of the MCD world had been destroyed or taken over by the Demon Warlock or someone else?

What happened since MCD S3 when Aphmau didn’t believe that she is Irene and Shad possessed Aaron’s body that got to the point where clearly she remembers being Irene and acknowledges that one of their daughters is hers and Shad’s daughter and the only way to save the world was to sacrifice their daughter and turn her into a relic? Why did their daughter specifically have to be turned into a relic? Did she inherit some kind of power from Irene and/or Shad?

Also which daughter was sacrificed? Bc Alina is still alive in “Her Wish” and Lilith Garnet has light hair and blue eyes since she was adopted so they must have had another daughter whose name has not been revealed bc she doesn’t look like Alina or Lilith.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Here’s another thought based off this blurb I wrote. 

Reader Insert. 

CW: Smut adjacent. 

_________________

You’re just on the couch, feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table still scrolling through TikTok. Calum’s taken resident up in your lap, head resting on your thighs and his phone is preoccupying him too. That TikTok keeps coming back to your head, the sudden change from the soft voice over to Corpse’s voice. It looks some lurking, and lots of Googling on how to actually make a TikTok, but in the search you come up with a plan. It in some part requires Calum to trust you. 

“Babe?” you start, running your fingers through his hair. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I make a TikTok of you?”

He looks up, tearing his gaze from his phone. “What-what you are you thinking about?”

“Using the same sound off the same video I showed you. Just tickles, really,” you say. 

“God, I hate tickles. But sure, I guess.”

You kiss his nose, “Thanks, babe.” 

“Do I need to do anything?”

“Nah, just say comfy,” you encourage, kissing his forehead. 

He nods, turning his head just a little to kiss at your tummy. “I can do that.” As the countdown starts, you drag your fingers over his scalp. The song plays and your fingers move into his armpits and he giggles. His natural reaction is to squeeze his arms to his side. It ultimately keeps your hand trapped but you laugh just a little at his response. 

As the bass drops and Corpse’s voice filters through, you’re able to wriggle your hand free and slide it over his chest. He settles, peering up at you to see if you’re done. In this action, you’re able to slip your hand up to his throat and give it a small squeeze. The surprise isn’t missed as Calum gasps for just a second before a tiny tiny moan escapes him. His eyes flutter for just a moment. You’re positive the audio is done by now but you do lean down to press a kiss to his lips. 

Calum’s not one to usually submit, but it’s there. He does like to be taken care of sometimes and it tends to happen when things get stressful with work or when he’s got a lot on his plate. And it’s not that he can’t take care, it’s not like he can’t take care of things, but sometimes it’s have someone else do it. It’s nice to have someone else please him. 

And truth be told, the action should shock him. He should recoil given that you just tickled him, but there’s a gleam in your eyes when you leaned into him. You looked so proud to see him respond that way, to see him trust you, so he pull himself into a seating position and cups your cheek. “You didn’t tell me that was part of the bit.”

You’re acutely aware to save the draft, but your phone is the last of your worries. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

The distance between you two is short, and grows even shorter as you push up and Calum leans in. His nose brushes over yours. “Considered me surprised.” The pad of his thumb strokes your cheek before he drags his whole palm down and cups your throat in return. 

You push forward to seal his mouth in a kiss, peeling his hand away from your flesh. The kiss is short before you pull away. “I don’t think you get to call the shots right now, baby.” 

Calum can only let out a shaky exhale as you kiss over the side of his neck, “Okay.”

Calum’s head rests on your chest, the blanket draped on the back of the couch thrown over the both of you. His fingers trace over your sides slowly. Your fingers are scratching over his scalp. “Do you remember if we got Oreos last trip to the store?” you ask quietly. Your fingers move down to the muscle of his back, scratching just a little at the flesh.

“We did. But I can’t say any is left,” he laughs, sitting up. “Which might entirely be my fault, but that’s neither here nor there.” He redresses but drapes the blanket back over you, even goes as far as to tuck the ends around you. 

“I am not prisoner to the couch,” you tease.

“You must certainly are.” While Calum checks the kitchen for Oreos, you redress mostly but rewrap yourself in the blanket. 

“Huzzah, a full sleeve is left,” Calum declares from the kitchen and then rushes back into the living room. He plops down behind you, resting the package in your lap. You feed him the first one and the voice from the TV surround the two of you. The two of you enjoy the sleeve and then eventually move into the bedroom to wash up and retire under the sheets. 

The next morning when you check your phone, as you open the Twitter app your notifications are absolutely flooded. You check to see what happened. Normally, there’s a tweet about you here and there, but you turned off notifications just in general to be safe. But you still checked it periodically. As the tweet loads, you pull your brows down into confusion. Didn’t know they got it on like THAT!

When you scroll up in the chain, you spy the TikTok. You could’ve sworn you had only saved the draft not published it. But when you change to the TikTok app, you realize at the top of your profile is the video. “Holy shit.” You climb out of bed and scurry to find Calum. You’re already trying to get your fingers to stop shaking so you can delete the video. But at this point it is too late, you realize. “Babe?” you call out into the house. “Babe?!”

“Outside,” comes his reply and you spin around and hurry down to the open backyard doors. 

“Babe, I’m so sorry,” you rush out. 

Calum takes in the panic in your eyes and how your phone is wobbling in your hand. “Hey, hey, whatever it is, we’ll work through it, okay?” But all you can seem to do is just apologize. He nods, guiding you into his chest and rubs his hand up and down your back. “Ssh, take a deep breathe.”

“I-I thought the video was just a draft,” you say more but it gets slightly muffled as you press your face deeper into his skin. 

Calum can deduce the problem though. “But you published it by accident?” he asks. You nod. “And I can only assume it only took a matter of time before fans found it huh?” You give another nod. 

A sigh leaves his chest and you pull back, “I-I deleted it once I found out and it’s a throwaway account. It’s not even my face as the profile picture you know? I-I thought I was being safe.”

“Shit happens,” Calum returns, using his fingers to wipe away the tears. “It’s out there now. What else can we do?”

“I’m so sorry.” 

He kisses your forehead. “I accept your apology. Let’s get some waffles, want waffles?”

You’re not sure how Calum can be so calm about this. “You’re-you’re not mad. After everything?”

“You posting something by accident isn’t the same, okay? Besides, that video is the most harmless thing that’s come out. You know, none of us are saints, nor do we pretend to be saints.” He shrugs. “Besides, what a way to confirm a relationship, you know?”

The two of you had been dating for a while, two years and some change. You had popped up occasionally in an Instagram posts and you two got spotted here and there hanging out. But you were pretty good at keeping your face hidden or turned away from paps when you could spot them. One picture of your face had surfaced, really early on. But not much since then. 

Of course, the fans still speculated after all these years that you two were still together but neither you or Calum had done anything to confirm it. It didn’t bother you, you kinda liked the secrecy. It was easier to ignore the occasional tweet about your relationship but most fans had a feeling nothing would ever really be said. 

Until now. 

And sure, Calum is right on some front. You can’t really do anything about it now. The video is out and no doubt making its rounds. “I’m just going to delete the account, but yes to waffles.”

“If you want to, then I won’t stop you. But really I’m not mad.” 

You take a moment to look at him, study his gaze. It’s steady, he looks more concerned than anything else. “Sorry,” you say one last time. It’s clear that there’s not much else that he can say that will ease your fear. 

He presses another kiss to forehead, rubbing his hands over your arms. “Let’s go get dressed and eat waffles.”

You nod and it finally dawns on you that Calum had been out with Duke and you spy him laying your and Calum’s feet, completely content to stretch out the rest of the day. You kiss Calum’s cheek and then pick up Duke to nuzzle your nose into his fur. “Oh, buddy, bath time soon for you,” you laugh, but Duke just nuzzles into you. 

You settle onto the edge of the bed and Duke rests on your lap. You delete the TikTok account. There’s thousand of tweets it seems, so many comments and you can only imagine that Instagram is going to look the same so you take point not to look at it and to stop looking at Twitter as well. It’s not going to do anything good for you at this point. 

As you pull clothes from the dressers and closet, Calum returns to the bedroom. He walks pass you but takes a moment to squeeze your elbow three times. You turn to watch him disappear into the attached bathroom but smile just a little. Three squeezes, always a way to say I love you without necessarily saying it. You two use it most often when you and Calum go out into public, or at parties. Two squeezes means let’s go/there’s a problem. But three, and no more than three is your secret way to say I’m always there with you and for you. 

The car ride is quiet, but you hold Calum’s hand like always. It’s easy enough to slip into the breakfast diner. You pick at the corner of the napkin the utensils are wrapped in. The waiter is quick to get your orders. But you’ve stayed silent still. “Look, if waffles don’t fix this, I will go to extreme measures,” he teases after trying to gain your attention. 

You roll your eyes, but smile. “God, let’s not do that either.”

He laughs and takes your hand. “I mean, I would always go to the extreme measures for you.”

“Thanks.” The waitress comes back around to refill your water glasses and assure you your food will be coming out soon. “Wanna go to Lowe’s after this? Still gotta find materials for those shelves in your music room.”

He nods. “Yeah we can check them out. But if you stop me from buying my string of pearls, I will riot.”

“I want one just as much as you do, but we need a place for it first.”

“Nonsense. No plan. Just buy.”

Your food is brought out a couple of minutes later and the waffles do make you feel a little bit better, but right in the back of your head is the morbid curiosity to check what is happening on social media. You struggle against it continue to eat on. The sun’s a little brighter as you and Calum leave the diner. You keep your head down and walk a little behind him, but he reaches back, wiggling his fingers for you. 

“You sure?” you whisper. 

“What are paps going to get now that’s news?” There’s a devilish grin on his face and you give in, catching up and taking his hand. You’re pretty sure you can spot a pap or two but you don’t think too much about it as you stride side by side with Calum. 

In the Lowe’s you keep close to Calum, finding the right size planks that would be needed. He drags you over to the plants and allow yourself to be dragged over.  “You’re the one that got me hooked on this. This is your fault,” he teases. And you’ll admit it is kinda your fault. You wanted to bring in a few house plants, which Calum admitted to avoiding because he wasn’t home a lot. Though you weren’t sure how that logical applied to a dog, but never the less, your interest in house plants has rubbed off on Calum. 

You steer the pallet around with the planks you’re going to use for the shelves, long with the brackets and screws. You might’ve taken over a corner if the garage with some power tools and a small saw for some home projects you’ve wanted to take on. And so now, you tend to take up to some handy projects around the house and Calum’s always there to help hold whatever you need him to hold. 

“There are already three plants on this things, let’s slow down,” you tease. 

“Never,” he replies, placing another one down. “Kitchen window?” 

You nod. “Sounds good to me.”

When you two get home, you unload the planks into the garage and Calum finds his gardening gloves to move the plants into some pots. You watch him settled onto the steps that lead up from the garage into the house, gently pat some extra soil around the plant. “Want some help repotting?”

“It’s only two more,” he returns but does look up pushing his lips out for a kiss. You laugh and kiss him but check the soil on two he’s finished potting to see if they need water. “Can you add a little water to that first one for me?”

“Of course.” It’s not long before you add a little water to the plant and you settle in front of him, snapping a photo of the concentration on his face. It’s slightly obstructed by the baseball cap, but you angle it well enough.

“Cutie,” you whisper and pinch his cheeks. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he laughs. The last plant potted, he turns his attention back to you. “How’s it going? You okay now?”

You shrug. “Better, I guess. Still feel bad.”

“That’s valid. It’s okay if you still feel bad. But all in all, we’re okay. If you’re worried.” You nod, fingers rubbing over leaves gently. “Check my Instagram.” That’s all he says before turning around and head inside with one of the plants. 

You stay seated and pull up the platform. When you find Calum’s profile, you a new post. It’s a series, indicated by the white square icon in the top right corner. The first one is hardly a photo of you from years ago but the other two in it are more recent, the last actually a video of you struggling to get some of the planks from the display in Lowe’s. Calum’s voice floats through your speaker and the camera bounces a little as he moves in to help. “Let me help. You’re going to kill yourself trying to do all that by yourself,” he laughs. 

“In my will, I will leave you everything then,” you counter and hoist the plank up. 

The video is still rolling and captures you grinning as you pointing just off screen, “To plants for my good sir?”

He giggles. “To plants!” and the video ends. 

Here’s a very short collection of two years and 3 and a half months, reads the caption and that’s all. 

“Calum,” you call out, grabbing the string of pearls and head inside. He shuffles to a stop having been coming around the corner. “I love you. Your post is sweet. Now where do we locate the newest plant baby?”

“Kitchen window. Other will are going in the office.” You go to step past him but he squeezes your elbow-- three times. 

[tuffduff]

Companion of My Youth (Izzy Stradlin x Reader)

Pairing: fluffy modern!Izzy x Reader 

Words: 1,413

Request: @thatcrazybandchick94 : “Hey I was wondering if you could do a imagine of present day Izzy and the reader looking back on memories of them being together. Sorry to bug you!!!”

A/N: Thanks for the request, lovely! Okay, literally I’m such a sap for sentimental fluff like this. Like the “Yesterdays” GNR music video could make me cry. Happy hump day, friends! xx

Taglist: @ubernoxa @the--blackdahlia @reigns420 @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker @rumoured-whispers @dustnbones

“Izzy! Babe, it’s almost three!” You called upstairs to your husband and frowned when you didn’t hear a reply; Izzy had disappeared a long while ago to go and grab a pair of shoes. “Babe?” You asked curiously from the door frame of your bedroom.

“In here, Y/N.” You headed towards his voice coming from your walk-in closet and found him sitting on the floor of your closet. There was a half-rusted metal box in front of him open, full of pictures, faded letters, ticket stubs, old flyers of yesteryear...

“Hey, I took that picture!” You grinned, sitting down next to Izzy and reaching for the large picture of him with his old bandmates from Guns N’ Roses.

“Yeah,” he remembered softly, finally taking his eyes off the letter he was reading and giving you a smile. “You liked my nail polish. You wanted me to paint your nails because whenever you did it, it got all over your fingers.” You laughed. To this day, he still painted your nails for you.

“That glam phase didn’t last long for you guys.” You said and Izzy chuckled as he nodded in relief. You smiled at your husband as you watched his eyes inspect the picture. “I had a crush on you for years. The more time that went by and the bigger you guys got, the less of a chance I thought I had.” Izzy raised his eyes to yours, smiling slightly.

“If you had said something sooner, we could’ve saved a lot of wasted time, you know.”

“You were too cool. You made me nervous.” You defended yourself before elbowing him. “You could have said something too!”

“You made me nervous.” Izzy argued, making you laugh. It sounded funny now; it had nearly been 30 years since you had married. Almost three decades. Izzy had now seen you at your best and worst. He was there for every job promotion, every birthday, every small victory. Better yet, he was there to catch every tear, to help you through every setback and illness and heartache. You both had created a life together. How distant it seemed that the mere sight of him had once made you nervous.

“I kept every letter you wrote me while I was on the road, you know. From before we even started dating.” He told you, shuffling over faded envelopes as proof. “I keep more of them in an old shoebox.”

“This was such a long time ago.” You murmured as memories of the Sunset Strip filled your mind. Loud, rowdy and raucous nights that leaked into early mornings, you and Izzy making your way to the apartment you had back then leaning on each other’s shoulders. The way you were always so proud to be seen with him, the way his eyes would seek yours out in every small LA club they played.

“It feels like yesterday, though.” Izzy replied, resting his hand on tops of yours. He smiled down at your hand, and you could practically see the memories flashing in his eyes. “I can remember everything.” If someone had told you back in your youth the life you were about have with Izzy, the happiness, it would have seemed unfathomable.

“Look at those!” You noticed, pointing to a stack of polaroid pictures hidden underneath an old Guns N’ Roses flyer.

“Jackpot.” Izzy grinned as he pulled out the photos. You scooted closer to him, clasping your hands and resting them on his shoulder as you peered down at the pictures with him.

They were precious; you hadn’t seen these in years. A picture snapped of the two of you by Steven the one time you visited them on tour somewhere on the east coast in a little Chinese restaurant. It was a candid; Izzy had his arm over your shoulders and you were laughing at something he had said, your hand against his chest, chopsticks on the table beside your half-eaten meals. You were both practically babies, your face youthful and your hair big, while Izzy’s was jet black from all the times you had helped him dye it. You reached up and ran your fingers through it. Now, it was dusky brown, and he had a few sparse strands of gray.

There were several pictures from your date at the state fair in Indiana. You had brought your camera along and asked strangers throughout the night to take pictures of the two of you.

“You hated taking these; you were embarrassed when I would stop someone and ask if they would take our picture.” You reminded him. There was one of the two of you standing beneath a glowing Ferris wheel, one of the two of you beside the balloon booth where you had popped enough balloons me that you won a teddy bear—Izzy held it for the photo. One where you’re grinning with your funnel cake while Izzy looked down at his critically—his was missing powdered sugar.

“You’re right,” he chuckled at the memory. “Well, I’m glad we took them now.”

The next must have been taken by one of your friends; you were standing in the crowd of an Aerosmith concert, neither of you looking at the camera or at the stage, but at each other. Izzy held your face in his hands and you stared up at him, your hands stuck down the back pockets of his jeans.

“I love this one,” Izzy said, staring at it the longest. “This is what I always felt whenever I’m with you. A crowd of people and it always just feels like it’s me and you. And seeing the way you’re looking at me…” You smiled at him, admiring the creases that had formed by the outer corners of his eyes and the lines beside his mouth—all evidence of the years you had played a part in making him happy. And he was still just as handsome today as 1987.

“Do I still look at you like that?” You asked him, affectionately teasing. He leaned his head back to kiss your cheek.

“Still do, and it still gives me butterflies.” His words gave you butterflies.

There were more memories, more recent ones—your honeymoon traveling the country in an RV, the time the Christmas tree had toppled on top of Izzy, your pumpkin carvings over the years, your vacation to Yosemite. Something with a dull shine caught your eye from the corner of the box and you gasped.

“I forgot all about that,” Izzy said, his eyes following yours as he reached and grabbed the small handmade ring. Izzy had broken a string on one of his guitars and had it made it into a ring as a present for your birthday one year.

“I never took it off.” You remembered as he slid it into your finger again. Somehow, it still fit. “...Until I got pregnant. Speaking of which, it’s almost three. You know your daughter is not going to be a happy camper if she has to stand outside on the curb of that high school a second longer than she has to.” Izzy chuckled—he knew you were right—and quickly gathered up the items in the box once more.

“She’s never seen these. Maybe now she’ll believe me when I try telling her that her dad used to be pretty cool.”

“Don’t kid yourself, babe. There’s a reason she prefers you picking her up over me.” Izzy reached forward and pecked your lips, his hand patting your leg.

“It’s because I let her play whatever music she wants.” Izzy stood, the rusted box tucked under one arm and the other hand reaching down to pull you up off the ground. The idea of going through the pictures with your daughter and telling her stories had you budding with excitement. You looked down at the handmade ring on your finger again.

“Maybe it’s time someone else get some use out of this ring.” You mused. Izzy smiled knowingly; your daughter loved vintage relics and clothes from the past.

“One of my guitar strings made into something you wore for years. A piece of me and you, for her.” He draped his arm around your waist.

“You know she’s probably going to be posting these pictures on her Instagram, right?” You asked. Your husband grimaced a little. “And me too, probably.” He sighed and smiled, shaking his head tenderly as he grabbed his car keys.

“Well…better you two than me.”

[candy-and-writing]

What A Triple Lutz Can Do

Dark! Bucky x Ice Skater! Reader x Dark! Steve

Summary: Steve and Bucky have found each other again, after everything they've been through. When Steve meets you at the Winter Olympics, he decides you're the perfect little doll for their plan.

Warnings: non con/dub con, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, male masturbation, pet names—kitten, oral sex (female and male), fingering, poly relationship (m/m/f), somnophilia, light bondage, more to be added as the story goes on

A/N: This is loosely based off @henchry​ post about Chris Evans dating an ice skater. I read it and instantly had this idea, I’ve just never posted it. I think I unintentionally used bunny by @buckybarney​ as inspiration in making final edits. They also helped me figure out how to make this moodboard, so thank you! Please let me know if you enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing this!

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Before the war, before Bucky had fallen off the train and Steve crashed into the ice, before the Avengers and before and the world made Steve Rogers harder—colder—he liked to call himself a hopeless romantic. He wanted to meet eyes with someone across a diner and feel the fireworks explode in his chest. He wanted to buy a girl flowers, he wanted to walk down the streets of Brooklyn while it was snowing with her hand warming his. He wanted to buy his girl a ring, he wanted to get married, have a family.

He thought he would get that with Peggy, but he missed his chance. When he woke up in another century, he thought for sure he would never get his happily ever after. The women today were so. . . brash. A lady was supposed to be kind, polite, and dutiful. He understood that times were different, but that shouldn't excuse the ungrateful attitudes.

Then he found Bucky again, and the crazy world he had been forced into didn't seem so hopeless anymore. 

Tony had received a call from the International Olympics Committee, formally inviting the Avengers to the Winter Olympics. They were in Italy this year, Milan and Cortina. It was the first Olympic Games to be held in two cities, according to Bruce.

The committee had asked Steve to conduct the medal presentations for ice skating and hockey. They wanted Thor to carry the torch for the opening ceremony, but he was off-world and unavailable.

So here Steve was, sitting in the Mediolanum Forum venue next to Sam so he could watch the ice skating events. He figured if he was going to be giving the winners their medals, he should see why they won.

The committee had given the team access to front row seating, and that's where he was when you came out.

You were the third skater, and the first American representative, to take the ice. Your hair was pulled into a braided braid low on the side of your head with a blue flower pinned above the bun. The little dress you wore was modest—the same shade of blue that matched your flower and a sleeveless neckline that connected to a sheer fabric for sleeves and a higher neck, the little flowy skirt stopping in the middle of your thigh. Lines of little jewels dipped along your bust, beads varying in size. You had makeup on, like all the previous girls, but yours was light and glittery—save for the ruby red lipstick, but even that looked classical on you. It reminded Steve of the makeup women would wear back in the thirties.

He was so focused on you that Sam had to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention. He shut his jaw then, listening to the way your name rolled off the commentator's tongue, the syllables lining and matching each other perfectly.

You were twenty-one, and this was your first time competing in the Olympics. You've competed in other national and international tournaments, and you've done good in them if he was understanding correctly. It made an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. You were skating to Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

You moved to the middle of the rink as the announcer informed the stadium who conducted and performed your piece. You had four quads set in your routine, two in the first half and two in the second. It got quiet in the arena as you raised your arm over your head and arched your back like a ballerina. Steve counted five seconds before the music started and you spun around slowly. You started to move your body and—

Oh. Oh.

Steve was sure his jaw had dropped to the floor. The way you moved was bewitching, beautifully languid yet articulate. It was like the music moved through you, coursing through your veins as you made it entirely your own, bringing something so utterly delicate and ethereal out of the melody. You made it show in your body, in your movements.

The first of your quads were coming up, something called a quadruple lutz. Steve didn't know what it was, but when you threw your leg back and jumped, spinning in the air before landing and the crowd erupted into applause, he figured you did it correctly.

Your feet glided across the ice as you skated backward, your muscles tensing—you were preparing for your next quad. You kicked your leg back and used it as momentum to jump, spinning and landing what the commentator called a quadruple flip. The crowd cheered again.

Your expression—the raw focus and determination hiding behind your eyes—was gorgeous. Your crimson lips were parted slightly, eyelids hooded as you brought your head up. The delicate expression, the way your shoulders tensed as you jumped and spun in the air once, twice, three times before you landed gracefully on your toes had the breath leaving his lungs.

It was art. You were a work of art. So beautiful he wanted to lock you behind a glass cage and put you on display. You commanded the ice as if you controlled it, with such a degree of intricacy that Steve thought if you jumped high enough or spun fast enough you would grow wings and fly away.

You were in your element. You kicked your foot back before bringing it forward, using it to start your jump. You spun in the air and landed on one foot, your other leg spread out and leading the twirl you used to end the jump. The stadium cheered, Sam said something about a triple axel.

Steve wished the song lasted forever, wished he could watch you forever, but soon there was a flute trilling and you slowed, circling back to the center of the rink and just like that—your performance was over. The crowd exploded into cheers, throwing flowers, stuffed toys, anything they had in their pockets.

You broke into a smile, your plump lips parting and bringing out your dimples. Steve swooned as you waved to the crowd, bending to pick up a rose. Your gaze met his, and he swore he felt fireworks erupt in his chest. You smiled at him before skating off the ice, hugging a man sporting a red lightweight jacket with the USA logo embroidered on the sleeve, his dark hair slicked back. Steve watched as you smiled at him, not missing the way he stared at your ass as you turned away.

Then, suddenly, you were in first place. Your eyes went wide and you jumped up, hugging the man in the red jacket—Steve assumed he was your coach. He heard your squeal above the rest of the cheers.

Even from where he was sitting, your eyes were bright, brighter than your smile. Steve was proud of you, pride swelled in his chest as he watched you speak with a reporter. His eyes stayed glued to you as you shook hands with the reporter, your coach walking you to the locker rooms. He watched you until he couldn't anymore.

A strange desire pulled at his heart as he pulled his Stark Pad out, looking you in F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s database.

--

After watching your performance every other skater seemed dull, incomparable, to you. The judges must have thought so, too. You stayed in first place, winning the competition.

According to F.R.I.D.A.Y, you grew up in Chicago, but you moved to Manhattan for college. You got a new coach, Adrian Tucker, who was a gold and silver medalist back in the nineties. You're a junior at NYU, majoring in Art History. You have an Instagram, some sort of social media Peter had been trying to convince him to get, and Steve created an account immediately just to follow you. You had pictures of yourself, of friends, of the rink, even a pair of ballet shoes.

So you did ballet, good to know.

The award ceremony couldn't come soon enough. The idea of being closer to you sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach. Ever since he had gotten him back, Steve and Bucky have been talking about settling down—creating a life with a girl and starting a family. But they haven't found the right partner, but maybe. . . ?

When he stood in front of you, he swore he almost stopped breathing. You were gorgeous. Your hair had been taken out of the bun, cascading down your shoulders in loose waves. Your makeup was still done the same, but he noticed light freckles dotting along the bridge of your nose. Your eyes sparkled up at him—good God, you barely stood past his chest—your painted lips parted in a smile as you took him in. He placed the gold medal around your neck, congratulating you. You whispered a small, "thank you, Captain," and Steve felt a spark of electricity jolt down his groin.

Your voice was light, melodic, quiet. You were respectful, something he valued in people, in women. He could almost imagine you posed as the perfect housewife. With the perfect husband—or husbands—with the white picket fence, the kids. He could imagine your belly swollen, the little children running around calling you 'mama'. You were young, right at that age where women would start becoming wives and mothers back in his day. The thought only made his cock harder as he watched you on the platform, waving to the audience with the biggest smile on your face.

As he sat back down next to Sam, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up Bucky's contact and sent him a picture from your Instagram.

'I think I found her,' he typed.

--

Bucky remembered the first time he realized he was in love with Steve—he was sixteen. He had danced around with plenty of girls already but none of them ever really seemed to stick. He had saved up enough money to spend Steve's birthday at Coney Island, that was the day he made Steve ride the Cyclone, back when he was still skinny. He had bought Steve a hotdog, which a pelican attacked him over. Bucky was crying from laughter, face red and stomach aching, when he looked over at Steve. Something just clicked then.

The past couple of months, Steve and Bucky had been making plans to add a third partner into life. After all this time, fighting Nazis and being mind-controlled and saving the universe time and time again, they both agreed they deserved it—that they deserved a family. They had both been selfless for so long, was it so wrong to want someone to be selfless for them? To want someone soft that could share their love?

Steve and Bucky were great together—the love of each other's lives, in fact—but they shared an overwhelming need to dominate, to control. On and off the field. When they fucked they were ruthless, full of scraping nails and biting teeth. Fingertips that left bruises that lasted for days. They needed someone else, someone they could focus that control on, someone who could take them so gently and lovingly, a way they rarely took each other.

Then he got Steve's text. You were young, and it wasn't hard to find out almost everything he needed to know about you. Steve helped him use F.R.I.D.A.Y to figure out where you live—a small apartment that was close to your college campus. You could walk to class if the weather permitted it. It also wasn't too far from the ice rink you trained at. It was easy for Bucky to find a building across from your suite where they could watch you. You liked to keep your window open, let the sunlight in.

They took turns sitting on the roof of the neighboring building, looking through a pair of binoculars. They would watch you for hours—watch you do simple things like reading. That was Bucky's favorite, the way your lips moved ever so slightly as you read the words on the page. You enjoyed reading horror novels—Steven King, Mary Downing Hahn, an author named Chuck Palahnuik. A worn copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein sat on your bookshelf. At first glance, Bucky never would have pegged you as a horror kind of girl, you were too sweet and too timid. As he continued to watch you through the cameras Steve had him install, though, he saw that you very much liked psychological thrillers. You would watch a show on YouTube about true crime and haunted locations, a couple of amateurs who didn't quite know what they were doing. They were funny, though. Steve and Bucky would watch you laugh as you stared at your phone, smiling to yourself.

You trained at a ballet studio in lower Manhattan, worked out at a gym a block away from that. They were quick to memorize your routine once they started. You'd wake up at five-thirty every morning and make yourself some breakfast. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's you hit the gym and the studio; you'd go to whatever classes you had that day, grab a coffee at the campus cafe, then head to the skating rink for two hours. Two and a half hours max. You went home, studied, and then you were left to your own devices. Sometimes you read, sometimes you baked and God, Bucky almost couldn't stop drooling at the thought of tasting your cooking. You'd watch television in your small living room and be in bed no later than eleven o'clock every night to start your day again.

One Monday morning, Steve and had followed you to the gym. They'd been doing that the last few weeks. At first, Steve reasoned it was so they could watch over you, in case you got into some trouble. Some mornings they planned on running into you on the sidewalk, pretending it was an accident—there was a flower cart along your route you liked to stop and admire, sometimes buying a bouquet of daisies for your little bachelor pad—but the timing never seemed right. Steve was never wearing the right shirt, or Bucky's hair was always a mess from the wind.

You took a cab, which Steve followed a couple of cars behind on his motorcycle. The air was brisk, the first signs of spring coming into the city. Some of the trees had started growing their leaves again, vibrant greens against the grey winter sky. He parked his bike underneath a plotted tree that had just started to turn, the tips of the leaves a bright green as blossoms began to bloom, pastel pinks against vibrant greens with petals blowing in the wind. He bought a newspaper from a vendor a couple of stores down and sat on a nearby bench, catching up with the world as he counted down the minutes. You would be in there for an hour and fifteen minutes almost exactly.

Steve almost couldn't sit still. He was itching to get his hands on you, to feel you. He and Bucky have been watching you for a long time now, waiting for the right moment to get their hands on you. Steve was growing impatient.

At forty-five minutes, his eyes began to flick up at the building every few minutes. He knew it wasn't time yet, but there was always a chance you got done early.

At an hour, his gaze hovered just above the paper. Ten more minutes, he told himself.

At an hour and twelve minutes, you emerged. Steve watched as you hugged your coat to your chest and began walking. The studio you danced at was only a block away, so you wouldn't have to be out in the cold for long. Still, Steve couldn't help but chastise you for not wearing something warmer. All you had on were a pair of thin leggings—that hugged your ass beautifully, he might add—and a compression tank top under your lightweight sweater.

Steve rushed to his bike, folding the newspaper in his hand and revving up the engine. He drove down the block, parking in front of a cafe across from the ballet studio. He watched you enter the studio and sat at a table, ordering a cup of coffee. He saw you through the floor-to-ceiling windows, your let stretched up over your head. He reached for his sketchbook and pencil, laying it out on the table before him.

The night of the Olympics, the first time after Steve had seen you, he stayed up all night drawing you. He found a video of your performance on the internet, watching it on repeat as he drew you in different positions. The first sketch he did was of you with your arm over your head, just before you started skating. He found he loved drawing the shape of your lips, so the next sketch was a portrait of your face. Your long lashes were hooded, eyes downcast and your lips parted slightly as the pencil scratched against the paper, your plump lips etched in charcoal. The expression Steve caught you in was oddly ethereal, the kind of innocence that Steve found absolutely breathtaking.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Steve sighed, pulling the device out of his jeans. Cursing, he reread the message Sam sent, looking back up across the street. You were still in front of the window, leg propped up on a bar with your upper body reaching for your foot. He sighed, closing his sketchbook as he stomped toward his bike.

--

Steve and Bucky trudged back into the Compound, exhausted and irritated. Not only have they been unable to see you for a week and a half, forced to watch you through the cameras hidden throughout your apartment, but the mission had been a complete bust. They had been sent away to Northern Peru, where Fury had given them intel about a group of HYDRA smugglers shipping illegal weapons into the country. Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky spent twelve days in a cramped, boiling building across from the target's warehouse and managed to find nothing before Fury called them back.

Steve was sweaty, Bucky hadn't taken a shower in a week, and they missed you. Bucky wanted to touch you, he wanted to kiss you until you were breathless. He watched you on his phone when he could, often opting to watch the camera feed than to sleep.

Once they were in their suite, Steve stripped his uniform off, leaving it in a heap on the floor to pick up later. Right now he just wanted to feel clean. He turned the shower on and peeled his boxers off as Bucky undressed, Steve stepping below the showerhead. The warm water felt nice against his taut muscles, his shoulders relaxing under the water pressure. He watched the dirt and grime from the mission get washed away, down the drain in muddy-grey color.

As he massaged shampoo through his hair, his thoughts wandered back to you, fingers itching to run against your skin. The way your lips always looked so soft, how utterly delicious you would look with them wrapped around his cock. The sweet little noises you would make as he forced himself down your throat—you were so small, it wouldn't take much to make you choke on him.

Steve groaned as his fist wrapped around his length. Almost two weeks without imagining you on your knees, imagining your mouth on him and he was oh so sensitive. He cursed, running his thumb over his slit. He pictured your tongue dragging against his girth, your wrecked expression as you struggled to take him deeper, as Bucky struggled to fit himself in behind you. He fisted himself faster, gasping out your name.

"Yeah, baby," he mumbled to himself. "Just like that. Fuck."

He could only imagine how beautiful you would look when you came. Your skin sweaty, hips bucking, your innocent little eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squealed. Oh, you were definitely a squealer. They would make you cum over and over and—

He bit back a moan as he came, hot white spurts coating his stomach as he slowed his movements, nerves on fire. He sighed, rinsing himself off before he turned the water off. He was still hard, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get himself off.

The tips of his fingers buzzed as he redressed himself and Bucky hopped in the shower. Steve didn't know if it was the stress of the mission or the adrenaline you gave him, but he couldn't wait anymore. He didn't have the patience to wait anymore.

He was watching the camera feeds in your apartment when Bucky came out of the bathroom. All it took was one look from Steve—they already had it all planned out, they just had to put it into motion.

--

You struggled to unlock your door, twisting the key in the lock a few times, cursing as you pushed your shoulder against the door, stumbling as the door swung open. You managed to catch yourself before knocking over your vase of daisies, straightening as you waited for your world to stop spinning.

You knew it had been a bad idea when you agreed to go out tonight. You're such a lightweight and after just three shots and half a glass of wine, you're going to have a killer hangover in the morning. God, and it's three a.m. But Annie had begged you to come with them. You haven't hung out with her in so long, you were desperate to see her again. You just wished she hadn't dragged you out to a bar.

You dropped your handbag on your little dining room table, opening the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You drank half the glass in a couple of gulps, letting out a sigh as you set the glass down. As you moved to pull your phone out of your purse, you heard the floorboards creak, like someone was taking a step.

You froze, looking down the hall. The boards in your bedroom creak like that when you step down on a certain spot, but you've been in the apartment long enough to learn where it is exactly and step around it.

As quietly as you could, you made your way down the hall, checking the bathroom. You've seen enough horror movies in your life to know never to close the shower curtain when you weren't using it, so with a quick glance you knew the room was empty.

Your bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door cracked open. You walked in, carefully looking around. Your closet door was open, the windows were closed, you turned and looked towards your dresser mirror and—

You saw the figure behind you before you could react. Your eyes went wide, their hand coming up to cover your mouth before you could muster a scream. Your hands flew up to the hand, legs kicking out as the intruder dragged you out of your bedroom. You screamed into the hand, thrashing as you felt a sharp prick in your neck.

"It's alright," they cooed. "Shhh, it's okay, doll. You're just gonna go to sleep for a little while, okay?"

You shook your head frantically, tears streaming down your face as you felt your body getting tired. You blinked furiously, trying to fight the sleepy feeling. Your muscles felt like dead weight, you stopped kicking your feet as your grip on the man's cold hand went slack.

"That's a good girl," he crooned. "Just relax, kitten. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Your vision blurred, and then everything went black.

[rowanwhitethornisbae]

Faking It Ch 5

Faking It Masterlist

Aelin groaned upon realizing that the last chocolate chip cookie was gone. She glanced towards the stovetop where another empty tray sat. 

"Lys," she yelled, "what happened to all the cookies?"

Her best friend emerged from the bathroom with a wide grin on her face. "I think you ate them all."

Aelin laughed and slumped into the chair nearest from her, suddenly feeling the tightness in her chest back in full force. "I guess so."

Lysandra's smile faded slightly as she took in Aelin's tone. "What's on your mind?" She asked softly, pulling up a chair.

Aelin took a moment to think back on all that had happened. In all honesty, things had not been good. Rowan had pointedly ignored her after their hallway confrontation, to the point where Aelin hadn't even bothered merging their friend groups for lunch like planned. Instead, both of them just chose to pretend the other didn't exist. She texted Rowan last night to confirm that he was still picking her up for Dorian’s party tonight. All she’d gotten in response was that dumb thumbs up emoji he always used. The only other person she knew who used that emoji was Aedion’s literal fucking grandfather. 

Aelin swallowed slowly and loosed a breath of air. "He still thinks I cheated on him."

Lysandra bit out a harsh and humorous laugh. “Of course he does. You told him that.” 

Aelin flinched, surprised by her friend’s harsh tone. “You’re supposed to be on my side.” 

Lysandra sighed. “I am,” she paused to think about her next words. “I am Aelin. But you told Rowan you cheated on him and then never bothered to tell him the real truth. If you want him to forgive you, than just tell him what really happened.” 

Aelin willed herself not to cry. She’d done enough crying over Rowan Whitethorn to last her a lifetime. “I can’t tell him.” 

Lys just shook her head in exasperation. “You can Aelin. You’re just too scared of what might happen.” 

Lysandra was absolutely right, but Aelin would never admit it. Ever since her parent’s death, she’d spent the following years in a constant state of fear. Over time, she had just gotten better at hiding it. 

“Come on,” Lys said, sensing the shift in Aelin’s body-language. “Let’s go get ready for the party.”

They got dressed quickly, Aelin doing Lysandra’s makeup and vice versa. She took a moment to examine herself in the mirror. She looked hot, even if she didn't really feel it. Her black mini skirt was unnecessarily short, to the point where one wrong move would have her ass falling out, and the red tank she’d pared it with left little to the imagination. Her lips were painted light red and silver eyeshadow had been brushed across her eyelids.

She fiddled with her hair before finally settling on just leaving it down. She couldn't find a hair elastic anyways. Aelin plopped down on her bed to watch Lysandra pick a pair of shoes. Aelin was wearing doc Martens - but when wasn't she - and couldn't really care less about Lysandra’s shoe choice. 

“How about these?” Her friend asked, showing Aelin a pair that looked identical to the previous four. 

“Sure.” Aelin nodded, and picked up her phone to scroll mindlessly through instagram. There was nothing of interest, so Aelin searched up Rowan’s name for the first time since their breakup. 

Her phone slipped through her fingers at the same second Aelin took in his most recently post. She scrambled for the phone, picking it back up to stare at the post.

It was her. 

She was in sweats and his hoodie, her hair up in a messy bun. She was rolling out the dough to make sugar cookies, using all different shaped cutters. Rowan must have taken the photo without her noticing, which is why she wasn't smiling at him. There was no caption, and the comments were off. 

May 5th, 2019.  

The date was the only thing under the picture, but it was enough that Aelin had to crane her neck to check in the mirror that the tears in her eyes hadn't smeared her makeup. 

Two days after that photo was taken, on May 7th, Rowan had fucked everything up. At least, she liked to pretend that he was the one who screwed up. It made not hating herself a little bit easier. 

Her phone buzzed and she looked back down at it. Aelin read the words and sighed, preparing herself for this dreadful evening. 

“He’s here.” Aelin said, climbing off the bed. 

“Fuck I don't have any shoes yet.” Lys squealed. 

Aelin laughed and gestured at the piles of heels and platforms of every colour. Sighing, Lysandra grabbed the one closest to her and threw it on. They walked down the stairs, Lys nearly tripping, and opened the door. 

Rowan’s black car was pulled up in front of her house. He was sitting in the passenger seat, glaring at the front lawn like he could still see their breakup taking place. Aelin walked down the porch steps and cleared her throat as she neared the car. 

Rowan tore his eyes from the grass lawn to look at her. He didn't show any reaction to her appearance, merely nodded. Lysandra snorted softly behind her, and Aelin elbowed her friend subtly. 

Rowan was in the passenger seat, which meant that considering Fenrys didn't have his licence, Lorcan must be driving. Aelin internally groaned at the thought of being in a confined space with the always brooding teenager. 

Unable to avoid it, she backed away slightly so that Lysandra could climb in first to put separation between Aelin and Fenrys. 

Fen, unfortunately, noticed and offered Aelin a pitiful smile across the seats. It was at that moment, that Aelin realized for the first time, that she missed Fenrys Moonbeam. When she’d been with Rowan, her and Fen had been nearly inseparable. He constantly made her laugh, engaging in whatever trouble making scheme she asked of him. 

She’d gone to see him actually. Right after Rowan and her had fought on the lawn, she’d gotten in Aedion’s car. Her body was shaking with the weight of her sobs, to the point where she was barely able to see. For a reason she couldn't even figure out now, she’d driven to Fenrys’ house. 

Aelin had gotten out of her cousin’s truck and made it all of three steps before she’d vomited all over Fenrys’ porch. He’d come out of the house then, but the normal playful look on his face was wiped clean. In it’s place, was nothing but hatred and disdain. 

He’d picked her up and driven her home. When he thought she was passed out, he’d kissed her on the forehead and mumbled he was sorry. 

As Aelin noted the slight tic in Fenrys’ jaw, she finally understood what he'd meant by those two words. 

Fenrys’ wasn't sorry about something that he’d done. He was sorry because he knew what she’d done. And why. 

Aelin supposed she should've known that Fenrys would've figured it out first. He wasn't clouded by blind love or hatred like Lorcan and Rowan. His view of her allowed him to think clearly. Work through the logic of it. 

She’d pull him aside later at the party. For now though, she just smiled back and slammed her head against the back of the seat. Fenrys turned away from her to stare out the window, and Aelin felt like she could finally breathe again.

“So,” Lysandra began hesitantly,  “Are we going to talk about this?” 

Aelin’s head whirled in Lysandra’s direction, her eyebrows shooting halfway up her forehead. 

“No.” Rowan answered bluntly, saving Aelin from speaking. 

“Why not?” Fenrys whined before Lorcan turned his head to shoot him a glare. 

Aelin watched Rowan’s knuckles go white from his grip on the door handle “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Lorcan made a sound that was some sort of cross between a laugh and a grunt. “Sure there is. You two,” he waved his finger between Aelin and Rowan, “are back together.” 

“We’re - “ Rowan began, but Aelin cut him off. 

“We’re not actually together. It's just an agreement that works for both of us.” 

Fenrys let out a long suffering sigh. “Yes Galathynius, we are all aware.” 

Aelin flinched at the venom in his tone when he used her last name. She adjusted herself in the seat and cracked the joints in her fingers. Tonight was not a good night for her anxiety. 

“How do you plan on getting Rowan on the football team?” Lorcan asked, always the skeptic. 

“Cairn.” Aelin told him, her toes curling and uncurling inside her shoes. Moving parts of her body helped to relieve the pent up tension swirling in her gut. 

“Cairn doesn't do favours for anyone.” Fenrys replied, sounding slightly dejected. “If that's your plan, it won't work.” 

“I’m not just going to ask him for a favour.” Aelin snapped back, upset at their lack of faith in her. “I’m going to offer him a deal.” 

“You and your deals Galathynius.” Lorcan mused under his breath. 

Aelin made the smart decision not to reply, and the rest of the drive was completed in silence. 

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

She looked good tonight. Rowan wasn't stupid enough to deny that glaringly obvious fact. They’d walked into the party side by side, earning a few shocked glances from fellow classmates. Aelin had offered him a smile, one which he didn't return, and went off to get them both drinks. 

She’d been gone for all of three minutes, and Rowan was already incredibly uncomfortable. This was Dorian Havillard’s party after all. Rowan and Chaol were high-school’s definition of mortal enemies. So, by association, he and Dorian were enemies as well. 

The dark haired and blue eyed heartthrob hadn't ever been explicitly rude to Rowan, but he still got the feeling he wasn't totally welcome. Fenrys had gone after Aelin, mumbling some lie about not trusting her with his drink order. On another day, Rowan might've gone after them to eavesdrop. But not tonight. 

Instead, he just slumped against a wall and glared at every human in the room. Music was blaring across the speakers, so loudly that he could feel the vibrations in his lower stomach. People all around were swaying awkwardly or chatting against the wall with plastic red cups in hand. 

Rowan looked around for familiar faces, more specifically Vaughn or Gavriel, but found neither. For a brief second, he wished he was better at making friends. 

“You look miserable.” 

Rowan almost sighed in relief at the sound of Lorcan’s low and rough voice. His friend held out a cup of some sort of alcohol, but Rowan shook his head. 

“Aelin’s bringing me a drink.” 

Lorcan let out a breath through his nose. “I wouldn't count on it. I saw her and Fenrys heading up to the bedrooms.”

Rowan’s heart stopped dead in his chest for a moment as he processed Lorcan’s words. The loud music became nothing more than a subtle roar in his head. 

“Fenrys and Aelin?” He managed to stammer. 

Lorcan, realizing his mistake, swore under his breath. “Not like that, holy shit. Just to talk.” Lorcan paused. “Fenrys would never do that.” 

Slowly, Rowan’s body began to function normally again and he managed to take a deep breath. His hands were shaking, so he took the solo cup from Lorcan in an attempt to calm them. 

“Talk about what?” Rowan finally asked. 

Lorcan shrugged. “I don't fucking know.”  

“Whatever man. This party is shit.” Rowan took a long sip of the liquid in his cup and nearly spit it out immediately. It was some mixture of coke and beer that tasted like pure vomit. 

Lorcan laughed at the expression of disgust on Rowan’s face. “Yeah it’s pretty bad. The brunette making it was hot so I couldn't really say much.” 

Rowan involuntarily laughed at his friend’s antics. “You always were a sucker for brunettes.” 

Lorcan’s jaw fell open in shock. “I don't have a preference.” 

“Sure man. Whatever you want to tell people.” Rowan finally spotted Dorian across the room and his heart rate began to accelerate once again. “Kaltain, Nesryn, Maeve, Nehemia, Sar -”

“Okay okay,” Lorcan conceded, cutting Rowan off. “Don't pretend you don't prefer blondes.” 

“I do prefer blondes.” Rowan’s eyes trailed from Dorian to the figure beside him. Chaol. “I would never hide that fact.” 

Lorcan held up his cup in a mock cheers. “At least we’ll never fight over women.” 

Rowan clinked their plastic cups together, happy for any excuse to celebrate something. Even if that something was that Lorcan Salvaterre had a thing for brown hair. 

At long last, Chaol spotted him from across the room. His brows furrowed and he whispered something in Dorian’s ear, who then turned to look at Rowan. As the two friends continued to discuss Rowan right in front of him, Aelin Galathynius chose that moment to reappear. 

---------

They were in Dorian Havillard’s bedroom. A place that Aelin was uncomfortably familiar with. She’d lost count of the hours she’d spent on Dorian’s bed, on the phone with Lysandra, as Chaol and Dorian played video games. 

Now, her legs were cross as she sat against his headboard, Fenrys Moonbeam on her left. 

“What do you want to talk about Aelin?” Fenrys asked, clearly anxious to return to his party. 

Aelin figured there was no point to dancing around the truth. “You know.” 

He stiffened, but let out a relaxed sigh all the same. “What do I know.” 

“You know the real reason behind what happened last year. I never told you, but you somehow know.” 

Fenrys, it appeared, also didn't see the purpose in faking dumb. “It wasn't that difficult to figure it out Ace.” 

Her heart squeezed at the casual use of the nickname he’d given her. “Rowan and Lorcan couldn't do it.” 

“Lorcan hates you and Rowan’s heart was shattered. Emotions can hold you back if you’re not careful.” 

She elbowed him playful, and internally rejoiced when he smiled. “When’d you become so all knowing?” 

“Probably around the same time you had a huge growth spurt. You’re a fucking giraffe now Aelin.” Fenrys’ tone was light and joking and a familiar hint of laughter was present. 

“Five Seven,” she announced proudly, “and still growing.” 

“Maybe Rowan was slipping some anti-growth potion in your drinks.” Fenrys joked. 

Aelin chose to laugh, rather than dwell too much on Rowan. “That’s why water at his house always tasted off.” 

Fenrys eyes widened and he turned to look at her. “It does doesn't it.” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. 

Aelin laughed, a real laugh, and smiled broadly at Fenrys. For a moment, there was a tension filled pause, and then Fenrys spoke again. 

“I get why you did it Aelin, truly I do. But don't you think he deserves to know the truth.” Fenrys’ eyes were full of pity, and Aelin had to turn away. 

“It won't make a difference?” Aelin shot back. 

Fenrys gave her an incredulous look. “Aelin you were scared. Your parents died and it fucked with your head. Rowan told you that he loved you, and you got scared.” 

Aelin’s heart was racing, but she finished the story anyway. “I panicked. Thought that if I let myself love him, he’d hurt me just like my parents did. So instead, I hurt him first.” 

Fenrys picks it back up again. “You told him you cheated on him, because you knew that was the only way he’d stay away.” 

“Then I went back to Chaol because it was safe. Because I didn't love him enough for him to hurt me.” 

Aelin felt like she was floating above her own body. She could do nothing but watch as the biggest secret in her life was exposed to Rowan’s best friend. 

“Why didn't you tell him?” She managed to say through her own terror. 

Her lips felt raw, and she realized with a start that she had been chewing on them with reckless abandon. A shiver ran down her spine and grit her teeth in an attempt to hide her discomfort. 

“It wasn't my secret to tell.” A lock of Fenrys’ golden hair had come undone from his ponytail, and Aelin had to fight the urge to tuck it back. Aelin sometimes found herself jealous of just how pretty Fen was, if that made any sense. 

Rowan and Lorcan were the type of heavily built males with hardened features and miles of muscles. Fenrys was prettier, with attributes so perfect that it hurt to look at him. Now though, it hurt to look at him for an entirely different reason. She felt exposed, like the barrier she’d crafted for herself was crumbling down. All her insecurities were on display for Fenrys to see, and Aelin fought the urge to flee the room. 

Luckily, Fenrys made the decision for her. “Ill give you a moment. Meet me downstairs?” 

The last part was a question, but Aelin couldn't bring herself to show any response besides a subtle nod. 

He seemed to deem that answer enough, and left the room to rejoin the party. Aelin suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion take over her body. She lay back on the pillows, not bothering to climb under the duvet. With her baggage weighing her down, Aelin fell promptly asleep. 

-----

TOG Tag List

@queen-of-glass

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@fictional-horan 

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@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

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@heirofthrnightcourt004 

@sportfire1089

@inthecityair

@aflickeringsoul

@sjmships

@superspiritfestival

@perseusannabeth

[pluviophile-bookworm]

HSMTMTS 2x9: so dreaded, so exciting, 'Sword!' (yeah, I went there, I've been thinking about this scene - you know the one - since yesterday for some reason)

After two computer malfunctions and a very tough, very sleepless night, here I am with a third attempt to write this post. The universe is against me today. Is Mercury in retrograde or something? Ugh, I just want to get this over with already. And I haven't even managed to see half the episode yet. You better like this cursed post because it's taken me two hours at this point, and will probably take another to finish - and that is if nothing goes wrong this time. Please bear with me. This is my reaction to HSMTMTS 2x9, take 3. Let's hope and pray it's the last one.

I'm normally [unpopular opinion alert] a very spoiler-positive person (it's the combination of anxiety and ADHD and a bunch of other stuff, I suppose), but for this one I've been refraining from looking at the tag all morning, so by now I'm simply bursting with impatience. But before we dive in, I need to get some stuff off my chest.

Some pre-watch thoughts and feelings (let's see how well they will have aged by the end of the episode):

Seriously, what is with whoever writes this show? I know it's impossible, but I feel like they've been toying with my emotions specifically all season. Like:

Ah, so you were a Rini shipper last season? Great, now we'll make them obnoxious and borderline toxic to the point where you actually want them to break up, but then their old chemistry will be back just for the breakup scene so that you can cry your eyes out over the one couple you couldn't stand - even though you can't seem to relate to a single song from Sour, we'll make you feel like you do for a hot second. At least it will remind you that you loved Ricky.

So you say Redlyn own your heart and soul? Great, we'll make you dread something going wrong with them for a week straight, and mess up your sleep schedule beyond repair over it. You're welcome!

We heard you said Rodfini give you life? Perfect, how about a big Seblos fight? And would you like a side of questioning your choice to stan Carlos with that? Because what is life without a little anxiety, a bit of doubt of your ability to read people, and a pinch of existential dread, right?

Ah, so you claimed not to ship Portwell romantically, is that right? Brilliant, we'll make you ship them and then we'll use that to torture you, too.

You've been excited about ABF and Asher Angel guest-starring ever since they were announced? Magnificent! We'll make you hate ABF's character to the point where you can't even look at him, and we'll make you call him names you thought yourself incapable of uttering. And as for Asher, you'll be left waiting for him until the last third of the season, and then you'll dread the possibility of hating his character, too. Do you love us yet?

Oof! Right then, I've got that out of my system. Time to dive in.

Miss Jenn playing around with the backgrounds is, like, 90% of the people who had online school this year, and honestly, I love that for her.

Wait, why is Nini first on this call? Are they going through with the Rose thing? Cos like, the song is nice and all (and, might I add, much more to my taste than nearly all of Sour, don't @ me), but if they use it, it will get them disqualified. They’ve been told that! Gosh, please let me be wrong about this.

We get it, Carlito, rich and fancy and over-the-top is kind of your thing, but have you stopped for a second to think about how others will feel about this? Especially Seb, whom you claim to care about. Seriously, though, I love Carlos and would not hesitate to die for him, but I’m getting the feeling that, unlike my other favourite (you know the one), he wouldn’t do the same for me. Oh well, he’ll figure it out. He’s just a kid. Give him time.

Wait, Milky White? Is that an Into the Woods reference I smell? Cool! If I had a cow, I’d totally name her Milky White (or Gertrude, but don’t ask me why). I just hope they don’t have to, like, take her to the market and exchange her for magic beans, if you catch my drift.

Ahhhhh, Caswell cousins content! We love to see it!

‘You guys are watching, like, old old movies’ WTH, Nini (or is it Nina)? Scary Movie is literally younger than me. But what do you know about it, you 21st-century baby! Ugh, I don’t know why I’m being so hostile today... must be the lack of sleep. Hope it doesn’t influence my reactions to the episode so dramatically as to make me forget how much I love this series. Because I do.

Yay! Big Red is here! I can finally smile. And did Ash just say they’re soulmates? Because yes they are! Ahhh my heart is going to explode.

‘Nini, have you heard from [Ricky]?’ Yikes, awkward... but of course, Big Red can be counted on to save the day here, too.

Ok, so that was a cool cold open. Time for some nice in-person scenes, though. I did not spend all of three semesters doing online school just to have the characters of my favourite series do the same.

Wow, Gina is really embracing that French accent thing! And I really don’t want to think about, erm, ‘Napoleon over here’ right now, but I really think the fact that she’s doing it better than him will be another piece of evidence towards my theory of fake-French!Antoine... ugh, I said his name. Oh well. Back to Gina. Too bad the French thing didn’t work out for her.

Ahhhh, Portwell with Ash in the background! And Ash is going to paint EJ’s nails! I feel like he’s going to end up loving that, despite what he says right now. But seriously, I just love how comfortable these two are with each other. Can you blame me now for shipping them as friends? Well, I mean, it’s obvious they will be more than friends, and somehow, despite the amatonormativity of it all, I’m here for it.

Wait, was that Asher? That was Asher, I’m 100% sure of it. And Gina said ‘a sign’ and then looked at him, even from the back... what am I supposed to think and feel here? I’m confused. Moving on.

Ahh, poor Ricky being a burrito... good thing that breakup scene last time reminded me that I love him, because the entirety of the season before that was very good at making me forget that.

Wait, did she say ‘the Bean’? As in, that Bean? The infamous Bean? LOL.

‘So the only time you two talk to each other is to gossip about me’ Boy, did I feel that. I once got my hands on my dad’s mobile and I... kind of went through his texts with mum. Yep, all about me and my brother. At this point I feel like they’re only together because of us. But this is getting too personal. I’m here about the episode, not to rant about my family. Moving on.

Yikes, looks like Nini’s got writer’s block all over again. Am I supposed to feel sorry for her? Because I kind of don’t. I mean, no hate towards her, none at all, but that entire scene just felt awkward and unnecessary. And not just because it’s her first time going live. That I can understand. What I don’t understand is why the writers can’t seem to do anything creative and interesting with Nini. Olivia is being wasted there. Idk, that’s just how I feel. Again, no hate.

Ahhhhh it’s Asher! And well, he’s not Jonah, but I kind of really like him as Jack. I wonder if that will last.

So is it just me, or is anyone else not quite sure how to feel about Ricky’s mum? I mean, their interactions seem kind of awkward and strained, but that’s how it’s supposed to be given their recent history, and yet something just doesn’t sit quite right with me.

‘You there, Muse? It’s me, Nini!’ Ah, so it’s Nini again? I didn’t get the memo. Gosh, this episode is kind of really underwhelming. The most exciting thing so far (but not nearly as exciting in practice as it was in theory) – Asher and Sofia’s on-screen reunion. The second most exciting thing? The thought of Ash painting EJ’s nails. Everything else? Kind of ‘whatever’. Is this what I tossed and turned about all night? Totally not worth it. This episode better get, like, 300% better right this instant. It’s just not worth all the frustration and excitement and dread so far.

Looks like my prayers from just now have been heard! That improv scene was hilarious! Guess it was lucky that Miss Jenn had them do improv before this moment. But I need to know more of Jack’s backstory now.

Ok, so that was awkward! So Kourtney is talking to Howie again, I guess. And I guess I know now what Carlos did that was all public and no subtle. Still, what’s wrong with posting photos from your holiday? Guess I don’t exactly know yet what Carlos did to piss the others off so much.

Great, now I’m tempted to google butterfly faces. Good thing I’m not eating anymore. *** Ughhhhh this was a mistake! Please don’t ever look a butterfly in the face if you want to stay sane. Don’t be like me.

Ahhh the Duke sweater! ‘Is that your boyfriend’s?’ Well, not quite yet, it’s not... *screams in Portwell*

Oh, now we’re talking! But seriously, Ricky? The ‘my friends think’ card? Why don’t you just say ‘I think’? It’s clearly something you’ve thought about a lot. I feel like I’m going to love this scene or cry over it or both.

Ooh, therapy. It’s not just... basically the entire fandom... who says it now. Please tell me that means Ricky will be going to therapy at some point. Says the girl who is currently firmly refusing to go to therapy in favour of hyperfixating on HSMTMTS and getting back into the good old practice of having imaginary friends... yeah, I’m one to talk.

My, my, my! Seb has really had it now. I mean, it was about time, but... not quite like this. My heart is starting to do some weird stuff, I can feel it. I might need to lie down.

Ok, so as much as I envy North High for getting to see so many shows on BWay – basically living out my dream – stalking East High on Instagram and being shady about them taking a well-deserved break... just goes beyond all limits. I mean, if you’re so into Broadway shows, you should know as well as I do what happened the last time a certain founding father did not take a break. Maybe you’re the ones in need of a break here.

Nini on the call with the Caswell cousins, though... ‘I’m obsessed with both of you’ – first relatable thing she’s said or done all season. And EJ playing with old toys is pure gold.

Oh, so Jack’s dad is a pilot. Makes sense, I guess. I’m kind of intrigued by this guy. Just as long as he doesn’t try to come between Portwell before they’ve had the chance to happen, you know...

Ashlyn might need to stop swooning over Nini’s songwriting or Big Red might get jealous... I mean, I would not have pinned him as the jealous type before 2x7, but ever since then... I guess insecure + dating a girl like Ash = the jealous type. And although that looks good on him, I’d bet anything it doesn’t feel particularly pleasant on his side. So... wait, why am I talking about Big Red? He hasn’t even got anything to do with the scene at hand. But then again, there’s been so little Big Red content in this episode that I seem to be trying to make up for it. Still. Stay focused.

Ooh, so Big Red did edit that video! Is there anything my boy can’t do? Ok, now I feel like he’s even more criminally underappreciated than he was before. But let’s look at the video. I’m curious to see the whole thing because that sneak peek from yesterday simply hasn’t been enough.

That was... really, really cool! I love how they took the ‘when they go low, we go high’ line from last time and run with it. Now if only they were putting as much effort into BATB... North High wouldn’t know what hit them.

Hmmmm... I guess Gina and Jack could be what I originally wanted Portwell to be... really cool friends. Unless it’s one of those ‘airport magic’ things. Oh well. It probably is. Was that all we’re seeing of Asher here? I did not wait 2/3 of the season for this. Though it was nice.

Ooh, Ricky’s solo song... why is there more Rini chemistry in this song than there was in all the season? Not counting the breakup scene, of course. Also, I feel like it’s just as much about him and his mum as it is about Nini. Some say music is the best therapy. I think they might be right. And no, I’m not crying. You are.

The granola bar, though... this episode might have been very underwhelming in the first half, but... it delivered in the Portwell front, and the music was *chef’s kiss*, so I’m willing to let it slide that the advertised Seblos ‘big fight’ was not touched upon nearly enough. Maybe next week...

Ok, now that we’re done watching the episode, let’s see how my feelings from the beginning have aged:

The Rini breakup: apparently, along with reminding me that I love Ricky, it has rendered me unable to look at Nini. What’s up with that? If this is some sort of tactic along the lines of ‘Olivia might be leaving the show so we’re making you hate her character so that you won’t miss her’, it’s not really working. Because I don’t want to hate Nini. Believe me, I don’t.

Redlyn: ok, so there’s nothing wrong with them whatsoever - we even got a ‘soulmates’, which I loved - but first they’re being swept under the rug, and then the antis come at us with that ‘their relationship is underdeveloped’ nonsense. Individually, though, I liked them in this episode (even if there was a significant shortage of Big Red), and Ashlyn collaborating with Nini again was cool, but... what I really wanted to see was her painting EJ’s nails. Did she even get the chance to actually do it? Maybe next week.

Seblos: I’m still failing to understand exactly what Seb thinks Carlos did wrong (please enlighten me if you did catch that, I’m kind of slow), but he (Seb) does have reasons to be mad at him (Carlos)... and at other people, too. Still, if you want to have a fight between two people in a relationship, you could do much better than whatever this episode was. Maybe next week. I notice I’m saying that a lot. Guess I’m putting a lot of hopes on 2x10. I just pray it doesn’t disappoint.

Portwell: boy, am I happy that my frustration on this front did not age well! What I mean is, apparently they’ve decided to bless us, not torture us for once. Even a rather disappointing episode like this one had to have some sort of silver lining. And Portwell is it.

Asher as Jack: well, luckily I didn’t hate him, but... it’s kind of the opposite problem. I loved him and now they’re taking him away from me. Guess I just can’t win here. Oh well. At least he didn’t have the screen time to get in between Portwell...

All in all: 2x10, my hopes and prayers are with you!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 4, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

“hello literally everyone,” the official account of Twitter tweeted this afternoon, after Facebook and its affiliated platforms Instagram and WhatsApp went dark at about 11:40 this morning. The Facebook outage lasted for more than six hours and appears to have been caused by an internal error. But the void caused by the absence of the internet giant illustrated its power at a time when the use of that power has come under scrutiny.

In mid-September, the Wall Street Journal began to publish a series of investigative stories based on documents provided by a whistle-blower.

The “Facebook Files” explore how the company has “whitelisted” high-profile users, exempting them from the rules that put limits on ordinary users. Another article reveals that researchers showed Facebook executives evidence that Instagram damages teenage girls by pushing an ideal body image and that they flagged the increasing use of the site by drug smugglers, human traffickers, and other criminals; their discoveries went unaddressed.

Concerned about declining engagement with their material, Facebook allegedly privileged polarizing material that engaged people by preying on their emotions. It appeared to have encouraged the extremism that led to the January 6 insurrection, lowering restrictions against disinformation quickly after the 2020 election.

Last night, on CBS’s 60 Minutes, former Facebook employee Frances Haugen revealed herself to be the source of the documents. She is concerned, she says, that Facebook consistently looks to maximize profits even if it means ignoring disinformation. Her lawyers have filed at least eight complaints with the Securities and Exchange Commission, which oversees companies and financial markets. Facebook’s vice president of global affairs, Nick Clegg, said it was “ludicrous” to blame Facebook for the events of January 6. Chief executive officer Mark Zuckerberg and chief operating officer Sheryl Sandberg have not commented.

Lawmakers have repeatedly asked Facebook to produce documents for their scrutiny and to testify about the social media platform’s public safeguards. Tomorrow, Haugen will testify before the Senate Subcommittee on Consumer Protection, Product Safety, and Data Security about the effects of social media on teenagers. Her lawyer, Andrew Bakaj, told Cat Zakrzewski and Cristiano Lima of the Washington Post that Haugen’s information is important because “Big Tech is at an inflection point…. It touches every aspect of our lives—whether it’s individuals personally or democratic institutions globally. With such far-reaching consequences, transparency is critical to oversight, and lawful whistleblowing is a critical component of oversight and holding companies accountable.”

Amidst the outrage over the Facebook revelations, technology reporter Kevin Roose at the New York Times suggested that the company’s aggressive attempts to court engagement reveal weakness, rather than strength, as younger users have fled to TikTok and other sites and Facebook has become the domain of older Americans. He notes that Facebook’s researchers foresee a drop of 45% in daily use in the next two years, suggesting that the company is desperate either to retain users or to create new ones.

While the technology Facebook represents is new, the concerns it raises echo public discussion of late nineteenth century industrialization, which was also the product of new technologies. At stake then was whether the concentration of economic power in a few hands would destroy our democracy by giving some rich men far more power than the other men in the country. How could the nation both preserve the right of individuals to build industries and preserve the concept of the common good in the face of technology that permitted unprecedented accumulations of wealth?

While money is certainly at stake in the issue of Facebook’s power today, the more pressing issue for our country is whether social media giants will destroy our democracy through their ability to spread disinformation that sows division and turns us against one another.

When we began to grapple with the excesses of industrialism, lots of people thought the whole system needed to be taken apart—by violence if necessary—while others hoped to save the benefits the technology brought without letting it destroy the country. Americans eventually solved the problems that industrialization raised for democracy by reining in the Wild West mentality of the early industrialists, protecting the basic rights of workers, and regulating business practices.

The leaked Facebook documents suggest there are places where the disinformation at Facebook could be reined in as the overreaches of industrialization were. When Zuckerberg tried to promote coronavirus vaccines on the site, anti-vaxxers undermined his efforts. But one document showed that “out of nearly 150,000 posters in Facebook Groups disabled for Covid misinformation, 5% were producing half of all posts, and around 1,400 users were responsible for inviting half the groups’ new members.” Researchers concluded: “We found, like many problems at FB, this is a head-heavy problem with a relatively few number of actors creating a large percentage of the content and growth.”

“I don’t hate Facebook,” Haugen wrote in a final message to her colleagues at the company. “I love Facebook. I want to save it.”

While most Americans were busy watching Facebook crash—the falling stock took between $5 billion and $7 billion of Zuckerberg’s net worth—drama in Washington, D.C., was an even bigger deal.

Los Angeles Times reporter Sarah D. Wire noted that the rioters who broke into the Capitol on January 6 ran more than 100 feet past 15 reinforced windows, “making a beeline” to four windows that had been left unreinforced in a renovation of the building between 2017 and 2019. They found the four windows, located in a recessed part of the building, Wire wrote, “by sheer luck, real-time trial and error, or advance knowledge by rioters.”

The Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the United States Capitol will likely look into this oddity.

The committee has begun to take testimony from cooperative witnesses. Observers expect fireworks on Thursday when former White House Chief of Staff Mark Meadows, longtime Trump aide Dan Scavino, Trump adviser Steve Bannon, and Trump appointee Kash Patel must hand over documents. Trump has vowed to fight the release of any information to the committee. Chair Bennie Thompson (D-MS) says the committee will make criminal referrals for anyone ignoring a subpoena.

Finally, today, the debt ceiling fight got even hotter. While Congress passed a continuing resolution to fund the government through December 3, the issue of the debt ceiling, which stops the government from borrowing money Congress has already spent, remains unresolved. Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen says the government will be unable to pay its obligations after October 18, and warns that a default, which has never before happened, would be catastrophic.

Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) insists the Democrats must raise the debt ceiling themselves, although the Republicans raised it three times under former president Trump and added $7.8 trillion to the debt, which now stands at $28 trillion. But when Democrats tried to pass a measure to raise the ceiling, Republicans filibustered it. As Greg Sargent points out in the Washington Post, McConnell is trying to force the Democrats to raise the debt ceiling through reconciliation, which cannot be filibustered. Since they get only one chance to pass such a bill this year, this would force them to dump their infrastructure bill.

McConnell is holding the nation hostage to keep the Democrats from passing a very popular bill, and today, Biden called him on it. McConnell complained that congressional Democrats were “sleepwalking toward significant and avoidable danger,” prompting Biden to demand that Republicans “stop playing Russian roulette with the U.S. economy.... Not only are Republicans refusing to do their job, but threatening to use their power to prevent us from doing our job—saving the economy from a catastrophic event—I think, quite frankly, is hypocritical, dangerous and disgraceful. Their obstruction and irresponsibility knows absolutely no bounds.”

When asked if he could guarantee we would not default on our debts, Biden said, “No, I can’t…. That’s up to Mitch McConnell.” If McConnell doesn’t blink and the Republicans continue to filibuster Democrats’ attempts to save the economy, there will be enormous pressure on the Democrats to break the filibuster.

Meanwhile, every day this drags on, Congress does not pass the Freedom to Vote Act.

—

Notes:

https://www.commerce.senate.gov/2021/10/protecting%20kids%20online:%20testimony%20from%20a%20facebook%20whistleblower

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2021/10/03/facebook-whistleblower-frances-haugen-revealed/

https://www.wsj.com/articles/the-facebook-files-11631713039

https://apnews.com/article/facebook-whatsapp-instagram-outage-8b9d3862ed957029e545182a595fdce1

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/03/technology/whistle-blower-facebook-frances-haugen.html

https://www.wsj.com/articles/facebook-whistleblower-frances-haugen-says-she-wants-to-fix-the-company-not-harm-it-11633304122

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2021/10/04/facebook-instagram-down-outage/

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/04/technology/facebook-files.html

https://www.wsj.com/articles/facebook-mark-zuckerberg-vaccinated-11631880296

https://www.latimes.com/politics/story/2021-10-04/jan-6-rioters-exploited-little-known-capitol-weak-spots-a-handful-of-unreinforced-windows

https://www.politico.com/news/2021/10/01/bennie-thompson-jan-6-panel-subpoena-514940

https://www.politico.com/news/2021/10/04/jan-6-panel-trump-collision-514979

https://www.washingtonpost.com/us-policy/2021/10/04/biden-schumer-debt-ceiling/

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[mcheang]

Based on the Instragram photo that Lila "insisted" Adrien to post. Fans saw it and feel like Lila is holding a gun to his back based on how uncomfortable Adrien looks in the pic. So they retaliate by hosting a "Protect Sunshine Boi from the Witch!" Rally at the next photoshoot. All lead by Wayhem. 😏

"Protect Sunshine Boi from the Witch!"

Devoted fans to Adrien have dutifully and enthusiastically followed his Instagram.

So when he decided to post that weird picture with Lila, they felt something was off.

They have seen hundreds of Adrien’s smiles from magazines, interviews and Instagram. Natural and blinding.

So why does Adrien’s smile look forced in this picture?

Is this Lila nobody holding a gun to his back?

Yeah, a lot of comments went up like this on the photo. Lila did not get the envious comments she had hoped for about her closeness to a model. Nope, she got criticism for making Adrien Agreste uncomfortable.

Adrien did not bother to defend her since he was too busy avoiding her. But Nathalie certainly noticed the uncomfortable tension and observed the public reaction.

Maybe it was best the teenagers did separate shoots from now on. Gabriel only promised her exposure, not his Son.

Wayhem himself contacted Adrien the day he posted the picture, asking who that Lila girl was.

Adrien: she's a classmate of mine. She somehow impressed my Father.

Wayhem had a bad impression of Gabriel Agreste. He disliked anyone decent like Nino. So for him to like Lila...

Wayhem: seriously Adrien, you looked so uncomfortable with that girl. She is not your Friend, is she?

Adrien hesitated. He had promised to pretend to be friends to save Marinette. But he didn’t want to lie to Wayhem. That was the start of this whole problem.

Adrien carefully said, “She is someone I have to be friends with.”

Wayhem saw through it. “Yeah, you are so forced into being her Friend.”

Adrien: what else can I do? If I push her away, she’ll turn on the dry waterworks and start throwing around accusations.

Wayhem: are all your friends so blind that they can’t see how she makes you uncomfortable?

Adrien: only Marinette. But that’s why I have to look like I’m friends with Lila. If I don’t, she’ll target Marinette.

Wayhem suddenly got a mischievous glint in his eye. “Ooh, first Kagami, now Marinette. Adrien, do you have a thing for Asian girls?”

Adrien laughed. “Don’t be silly. She’s just a Friend.”

For some reason, Wayhem felt an inexplicable desire to slam his head on the desk.

Wayhem: don’t worry Adrien. You can always turn to us if Lila gives you any trouble.

Adrien smiles. “I know.”

After their conversation was over, Wayhem frowned and mused over all he had learned. Lila was a bully, of that he was sure.

But before he decided to rally Adrien’s fan club to protest his new modelling partner, it was best to do research.

He called a few trustworthy fellow members and invited them to help him look into this Lila character.

Social accounts show Lila having an unbelievable and fantastical life. But with some missing logic. Wayhem’s eyebrows rose further as he scrolled down her Facebook.

If Lila had really been in Achu, why weren’t there pictures of her with the prince? Moreover those background photos could be found online...

Ok...why would Jagged Stone write a song about a minor? Also, the dude has been allergic to fur since way before Lila was born.

Ladybug’s BFF... seriously? Who even believes that? Chloe goes around parading it all the time but we see Queen Bee least of all. Moreover, Ladybug doesn’t seem to like Chloe. Also, even Hawkmoth doesn’t seem to be trying to target Lila beyond that Volpina’s first time. He must have learned the truth.

Research complete, Wayhem and his friends discussed the results.

What a wannabe.

Who even believes this trash?

I bet she fooled Gabriel with a fake resume

And now she’s sinking her claws into Adrien. Ugh!

We must stop her!

Together, they spread the word to the fan club.

Meet at Adrien’s next photoshoot. We are going to put a stop to this liar’s career.

Lila had been demanding people help her stop the fan hate comments. But Adrien told her she had to learn to deal with it as a model. In any case, they were doing separate photo shoots from now on, so people should let up.

Yeah, so not.

Imagine Adrien and Nathalie’s surprise to see protesters led by Wayhem with signs blaring out "Protect Sunshine Boi from the Witch!"

Adrien: why does everyone call me that?

Along with calling Lila a witch, there were also terms like liar and deceiver.

Nadja arrived to report this rally.

Wayhem was only too happy to tell her that Lila Rossi was a liar who had fooled Gabriel Agreste into letting her model with her Son; who obviously doesn’t feel comfortable with her.

This apparently makes it way over to Jagged and Ali who promptly sue Lila.

Lila’s Mother is aghast at what her daughter has caused, not to mention giving her trouble at work.

Gabriel faces criticism for believing flimsy lies.

The school is under investigation for not checking Lila’s Achu story.

Adrien is given lessons on how to identify and handle sexual harassment, insisted and taken by his friends too, who felt guilty for not recognising it themselves.

Oh, Hawkmoth definitely akumatized Lila into the Director, so as to brainwash people into believing her stories.

She was defeated with the help of Wayhem.

Lila is taken out of school and sent back to Italy to a private, remote, strict boarding school. She will obviously be in the spotlight for a while and Hawkmoth might take advantage of that. It was better that she leave Paris behind.

Marinette baked Wayhem and his friends a large cake in thanks.

[drahtphotography]

Look at this! Eric has some words to share! Draht Photography

New Post has been published on http://www.drahtphotography.com/the-log-cabin-wedding-up-on-sun-peaks-sampler/

The Log Cabin Wedding up on Sun Peaks Sampler

At Sun Peaks, in Kamloops, we had a wedding. It was quite the day. There’s this golf course, and because the mountain is so high, it enveloped the trees in this thick fog. Lucky for us, no one seemed to want to golf in the rain. So we had full run.

However, I get ahead of myself.

We begin with the detail shots today, although those were taken a little bit later! The flowers, the ring, and a very special dress photo.

In the AirBNB, the maid-of-honour (and also mother!) was helping our bride with her dress. We had a first look to plan, in a beautiful hotel.

We had approval all the way from England (Hello England!), and now, the first look. Sun Peaks is absolutely massive, with marble floors, rugs, and old beams stretching from one side of the lobby to the next. I found a place where the light was coming from one direction, because no one like flat or overhead light, and took a few steps back.

If you look carefully, you can see how nervous they both are. This, of course, makes the photos even better.

It was absolutely beautiful.

We went down the huge staircase to take a few more photos. I wanted to keep them here anyway, I didn’t want guests seeing them too early. Fortunately, this actually wasn’t an issue. But more on that in a bit.

And over in the Residence, the ceremony had begun.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Hand written vows, in this small and personal group.

After the kiss, we made our way to the bridge. It’s this lovely little bridge, with plants everywhere, that connects the golf course with the rest of the resort.

If you’re just coming by to visit, it’s something you must see! The narrow windows on either side provide two strips of light, which is fairly unique lighting. And, as you can probably see, it’s a covered bridge, so no problem in the rain. All the flowers along the outside really complete the look.

We popped on some running shoes, and we ran into the mountains.

Sun Peaks is fairly high up in the mountains, and because of that, we can see the clouds as they obscure the top. If you look carefully, you can see the trees fade as the fog overtakes them.

There’s an old photographic rule – LMN. It stands for Light, Motion, Narrative. I love when the photos tells a story, and when there’s some motion involved, all the better.

You can see how green that grass was. It was raining a bit, but it just made everything look greener and more beautiful. We made our way into the forest, there were some leafy trees and I wanted a fall look. After all, it’s in the middle of September, which is basically Canadian fall.

Back at the cabin, we immediately crowded around the fire to warm up. Food was being prepared, and appies shared around. The decorations were just beautiful, and it really embodied what this wedding is – a cozy, log cabin, mountaintop wedding.

The whole evening was so beautiful. There was a few more tears, and a lot more laughs. Some stories about trips, and a slow first dance in the candlelight.

Unfortunately, this is where I’ll have to leave you. It was a beautiful evening, after a very jam-packed day. You’ll have to wait at least two weeks, maybe three, for the full album.

Thank you for reading this far! If you’d like to save any of these images, just right-click or long-press, and the option should come up!

If you’d like to follow me, feel free to add me on instagram, facebook, or even tumblr! You’ll see my weddings here, but all those fun family and baby photos are all over there!

Thank you for reading, and we’ll talk again soon!

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Becoming A Stark (8)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count: 2390

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: No Peter in this chapter, but he’ll be in the next few. Promise.

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List 

Your dad hasn’t been home in 48 hours but, according to Pepper, he somehow had time to go to MIT, spend the night at the compound and then fly to Berlin. It took less than a week for him to go back on what he had said and to be honest you were a bit passed pissed about it. Pepper had decided to order dinner for you both and had said Tony could figure something else out whenever he got home. If you were a betting woman, you bet that Pepper ordered some extra Thai food for him though. You, on the other hand, had decided to work on homework while waiting for food to arrive. But not even your English homework could hold your attention it seemed. Tony has managed to take the joy your favorite class normally brings you, because all you can think about is how pissed you are.

It also didn’t help that the tower was freezing, but you didn’t feel like telling FRIDAY to turn the temperature up. So instead you go digging through your drawers to find a sweatshirt to help warm you up. It wasn’t until you find a black one with words that really suit your mood. ‘No. I Checked My Receipts. I Don’t Buy Any Of Your Bullshit.’ Even though AC/DC’s Highway to Hell is blasting over your speakers, a knock on your door tells you that someone isn’t going to leave you alone.

“Hey there kiddo.” Even his voice irritates you right now. Instead of greeting him, you turn back towards your English assignment and continue typing. “Wow, two days away and I get the cold shoulder.”

“FRIDAY turn music up by 25%.” You say, trying to block him out.

“FRIDAY, music off.” You huff at the fact that his commands override yours. But decide to play it sweet instead of sour. 

“Did you need something?” You turn in your chair and paste a fake smile on your face.

“I know I was gone the past two days. I let you down. But I came and saw you before I even went looking for Pepper.”

“I don’t care.” But then you see the bruise on his face and you can’t pretend anything. “What happened to your face?”

“Ex-assassin under some brainwashing. Long story.” So he’s still going to keep things from you? 

“Was this while you were in Berlin? Missing family dinner again?” You know you sound like the stereotypical teenager that you usually try to shy away from, but you can’t help it.

“I fucked up. I know. And honestly, according to people other than you I fucked up in more ways than you can count. But I’m here for tonight’s dinner. I even pushed a trip to Germany to be here for it.” Tony sits down on your bed.

“Wow, I came before Germany. Not before Berlin though.” You throw your hands outward as your head moves from side to side.

“You do come before Berlin. I was hoping to make it home before I missed another dinner because I didn’t want to disappoint you again. I’m not good at saying it, but I’m sorry. I missed you the whole time I was gone.” His eyes read your sweatshirt and then looks back at your face. “That’s at me isn’t it?”

“Kind of.” You admit. “You did say ‘I would drop anything and everything for you’ and a week later I’m having dinner by myself and then finding out that Natasha’s in building’s that are being bombed and I don’t even know where you are and I was hurt by it.”

“You’re allowed to be hurt by it. I’m trying to be better, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck up occasionally. I wasn’t in Vienna, but I’ve seen Nat and she’s fine. Saw her in Berlin earlier.”

“Don’t tell me she has one of those too.” You motion towards his eye.

“She’s fine. She’s also an ex-assassin, remember? They tend to be pretty good at fighting other ex-assassins.”

“Good.”

“Now, dinner? Last I checked you were trending downward, so it’s a perfect time for dinner.”

“Has dinner been delivered?”

“It arrived when I did. Come on.” Tony offers an arm to you and you sink into his side hug as you walk downstairs with him. Pepper smiles at the two of you as she unboxes the Thai food that had been delivered.

“You two all good now?” She asks as she sets the food on the table. You nod. “Good. Now dinner is served.” You sit down and start eating your pineapple fried rice and tofu as Pepper and Tony talk about some SI stuff. 

“You know Y/N, I talked to a boy from your school today.”

“Really, why?”

“Possible intern.

“Uh, ok. Guess that makes sense. But do you even work at the lab at SI that much really?”

“He might end up being my personal intern here or at the Avenger’s Compound.”

“Really? Do I know him?”

“He knows you.” You can’t help but cock your head to the side as you take a bite of food. “Name’s Peter Parker. Talked about you quite a bit. Especially how you skipped out of class today.”

“I had a good reason. You see your family members' names in tweets with the word bomb and you would skip out of class too. I was going to call you too, but Natasha told me you weren’t there.”

“Well he told me so much about you that it makes me wonder if I need to start laying down some ground rules for you and dating.”

“Pepper, make him stop!” You plead as you use your chopsticks to scoop up more food.

“Tony.” She warns from the other side of the table.

“No, this is my little girl. I’m allowed to be protective about this aspect. Dating and evil villains are my prerogative.”

“I’m not little. I’m fourteen. I’ve already gone on my first date.” Tony chokes on the water he was drinking.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I misunderstood you, but I thought I heard you say you already went on your first date.”

“I did. I already had my first boyfriend and girlfriend too.” You wait to see a reaction from either Pepper or Tony, but nothing happens.

“No more dating until you're 25, at least. I forbid it. I don’t care who they are. No one is good enough for you!” Tony says before angrily eating his food.

“He’ll lighten up eventually.” Pepper says with a smile.

“Or he’ll have FRIDAY lock me in my room until I’m 25.” You say with an eye roll.

“Don’t give him any ideas.” Pepper teases.

“I’m not completely unreasonable. I would just lock her in the tower.” Tony teases back. 

“I’ll text the Avengers to come save me.” You watch as your dad’s face grows darker. “What’s going on with the Avengers?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He says, not really answering the question.

“I can call Natasha and ask.”

“Natasha is busy and I don’t think you should bother her.” Based off of the conversation you had with her earlier today, you can guess that’s probably actually true. “Besides, don’t you want to see your old man before he leaves tomorrow?”

“Why are you leaving?”

“Official Avengers business.”

“Weren’t you just on official Avengers business?” 

“Yes and sometimes the Avengers business is nonstop.” You glance over at Pepper and see a look of almost exasperation on her face. Apparently this isn’t the first time for her hearing this argument.

“When will you be back?”

“Hopefully, tomorrow night. But if not the day after at the latest.” Tony wants to promise that he’ll be back for dinner tomorrow night, but even with quinjet, he doesn’t think he can make it back in time. 

You walk back into the kitchen later, not expecting to find anyone. You just want a glass of water and then you’ll head to bed. “What are you wearing?” Your dad’s voice startles you.

“What are you doing up still?”

“Shouldn’t I ask you the same thing? One of us has school tomorrow, and it’s not me.”

“I was thirsty. Came to get water.” You shrug. “What do you mean what am I wearing?” You glance down at the shorts and tank top you had thrown on to go to sleep.

“You’re Iron Man?” He questions, looking over the wording on the grey tank. You glance down and finally realize what shirt you had put on to sleep in.

“Pepper found it when we were thrifting before school started. She thought it was funny.”

“Definitely is kiddo. Now water?” He asks, already reaching in the cupboard for a glass. Stepping into his favorite role, he gets you your water and walks up the stairs with you to your room. 

“You don’t have to come tuck me in. I’m fourteen.”

“Humor me.” He says, following you into your room. You set the glass on your bedside table and climb under the covers. Tony pulls them around you and tucks you in. “Goodnight kiddo. I love you.”

“Love you too Dad.” He kisses your forehead before heading towards his own room. He can’t help but smile as he thinks about you wearing something that reps him.

“What’s got you all smiley?” Pepper asks, setting down her Stark Pad.

“Well seeing as you got her the shirt, I guess you did.” Pepper’s eyebrows furrow as she tries to understand what Tony is talking about. “The Iron Man tank top? Y/N wore it to sleep in and... I just love her so much Pep.” Pepper smiles but reaches for her phone.

“You want to see something better?” She asks as she sends Tony a picture. He glances at his phone before making a double take. “Completely her idea on the pose.”

“This is the best thing ever. I have the best kid.” Tony says. He slips under the covers to lay down next to Pepper, but can’t help but look at the picture again. Fuck it. He logs onto Instagram. Caption- I have the best kid ever. Nothing else and then posts the photo after tagging you. After posting it, he flips over to your Instagram. He notices you have changed your bio to no longer show your old last name, but it doesn’t read Stark. He scrolls through some photos that you and your friends must have taken at lunch the other day as well as some pictures of some recent reads. You really plow through books fast. Maybe he should look at signing you up for one of those book subscription boxes that you get new books every month. You’d probably like that. He likes the newer photos that he hadn’t liked yet, before clicking his phone off. He pulls Pepper into his arms and lets sleep pull him under.

When you wake up the next morning, you see your notifications have blown up over night. You have hundreds of thousands of new followers on both Instagram and Twitter. There’s also a bunch of comments. What happened? You had been sitting at a few hundred followers when you went to bed, and most of them were friends or people you knew from school. So what happened after you went to sleep. You click open Instagram and look at notifications. It’s too cluttered for you to find anything. So instead you click to your profile to see if one of your book photos went viral? That’s the only thing you could think of that would do this. But then you see the notification that you’ve apparently been tagged in a photo. Flipping pages, you see that your father made the dumbest mistake yet. You grab your phone and walk towards your dad and Pepper’s room, knowing that they’re probably up but not yet out of their room. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the situation as you knock on the door. 

“Come in.” Pepper calls from inside the room. As you walk in, you see her putting on jewelry, getting ready for her day at SI. Your dad is still laying in bed on the other hand. “Good morning Y/N.”

“Is it a good morning? Because someone in this family is an idiot.” You say looking at your dad.

“What did I do?” He asks, glancing up from his datapad as he keeps working with the design that he’ll need to work on when he gets back from Germany.

“You tagged me on Instagram. My private account now has a few hundred thousand followers and people have found me on Twitter too.” Pepper turns from where she stands in the mirror.

“I thought we were trying to keep her name out of the press?” She asks, looking at Tony.

“Ok, so I didn’t completely think this through. But it was so cute I couldn’t not share it.”

“That’s not the point Tony. The whole world knows who your daughter is.”

“They already did.” Tony counters.

“No they knew you had a daughter. But her name and her face were mainly out of the picture.” Pepper takes a deep breath. “Guess I know what my day will be focused on.”

“I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.” Tony says pushing off from the mattress. He wants to hug both females that are upset with him but doesn’t know which to go after first. You, definitely you. “Kiddo, I just had to share with the world how much I loved you. I didn’t think what tagging you would do. I’m sorry.” He pulls you into his arms. “Forgive me?” He asks.

“Yeah I guess so. Except that now everyone knows for sure that I’m related to you.”

“I’ll up security if I have to. You’ll remain safe. I promise you that.” He says into your hair. “I do have to steal Happy from you for the next few days. He’ll take you to school today, but one of the other security people will pick you up. I’ll have Happy text you who it will be after we know for sure.”

“Fine, if you have too.” You step out of your dad’s arms. “I have to go get ready for school. Try not to expose anything else about me online while I do that ok?” You tease him.

“Cross my heart.” He promises.

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick

Becoming A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway  @iamaunicorn4704  @furiouspockettoad  @daughter-of-stark  @eternalharry  @huntective-kyeo @riiis-stuff @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb @sovereignparker @bbarnestan 

[work-life-harmony]

Harmony Journal/Blog Posts

9/8/21

“I Stress, Eustress, We All Stress”

It is two days past my 42nd birthday and the eve before the start of another school year.  And I anticipate it is going to be a year like no other.  There is a tremendous amount of uncertainty that I am feeling at the moment.  Personally, I am in the thick of things trying to raise my twelve year-old daughter and blend ourselves with my fiancee and her two children.  It has not been easy.  My daughter has dealt with anxiety ever since she was little.  Her mom passed away two months after her second birthday and it’s hard to know whether her personality has been shaped in part because of the void my wife’s passing created.  Now that she is entering adolescence, a certain alchemy of anxiety, anger, and depression has yielded some chaos in our household.

That the pandemic happened to coincide with the time in her life where she is feeling the hardest is unfortunate.  Did the lockdown and disruption to our lives exacerbate her feelings of anxiety and anger?  It’s probably a safe bet that it did.  So that has been a major area of concern and frustration for me.

On the professional side of things, although last year was difficult for many teachers, and I certainly had my frustrations, I was in a fairly good place mentally.  There were some aspects to the school year that I actually found novel and enjoyed, such as the ability to sleep later, roll out of bed and teach from my kitchen table.  Conversely, the new routine allowed me to develop some habits that were not healthy, including daily rituals such as making and drinking light and sweet coffee and having a serving or two of ice cream nightly between dinner and bed.  Furthermore, I seemed to become a slave to my phone.  Although I’ve had the willpower to delete apps such as Facebook off of my phone in the past, the last few years I became addicted to the news...and Instagram...and checking my email.  One concerning consequence of the pandemic is that I’ve lost my concentration stamina.  If I start something, particularly work related, it only takes a few minutes before I feel compelled to get up and do something else, even just for a half minute.  Of course this breaks my rhythm of work and I’m unable to achieve any kind of flow.  And, worse, sometimes I find that I mean to do something, such as check the weather, but when I open up a tab to do it, I have completely lost what I meant to do when I opened the tab.  Scary!

With the start of the new school year, I intend to turn over a new leaf so to speak by approaching different aspects of my professional and personal life with an eye towards my well-being: physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.  The forthcoming journal entries will chronicle the conscious changes that I am making in order to foster more harmony in my life and a stronger sense of well-being.  Part of that will be my investment in activities that help me achieve a sense of flow, including but not limited to music, reading, and immersing myself in nature.

9/16/21

“Time In a Bottle”

As the school year has started, the typical looseness of my summer days has come to an abrupt end.  However, there are some benefits to the structure of my school days.  My body has started to adjust to my new routine, and although the school day seems to necessitate a routine, there are conscious choices that I’m making to build a healthy daily schedule.  I am up at 5:30 on weekday mornings and in bed reading by 10 pm, a major shift from previous school years in which I would stay up until 11 or later watching television before hopping in bed to fall asleep.  Although I’m still adjusting to this new routine (as the school year is still young), I am recognizing an easier relationship with waking up in the morning.  As noted in the course, avoiding screens before bedtime contributes to a better sleep and I am finding that I am waking up more rested and ready to meet the day.  

An interesting stressor at the start of the school year, before my body has fully adopted the new schedule, is my anxiety that I will somehow miss my morning alarm.  I’m the first one in the house who is up in the morning, and no one is coming to wake me in time for my early day if my alarm fails me.  Thus, the first week (or two) of the school year leave me sleeping lightly and somewhat anxiously.  I continue to add measures into my routine, such as meditation and muscle relaxation practices to help ease my mind.  Additionally, I have quieted my mind before falling asleep by acknowledging the things that I am grateful for.  This will be touched upon in more depth in a forthcoming journal entry, but there is tremendous value in gratitude.  Lori Santos, a renowned professor at Yale University who teaches the highly sought course “The Science of Well-Being,” acknowledged in an article for Newsweek Magazine, “Grateful people tend to be happier and show lower levels of stress hormones like cortisol. Health care workers who keep a gratitude journal show reductions in stress and depression. And people suffering from chronic pain who practice gratitude show improvements in both sleep quality and mood” (Santos). It has become an important strategy for me to ease the chronic stress and anxiety of life which gets exacerbated at the start of a new school year.  

With each day, it does become easier to sleep peacefully and I suspect that soon my eyes will open a minute before my alarm rings.  I am also pleased to report that rising before the sun comes up has been easier than in years past.  Typically, trying to get out of bed in the dark has always been difficult and miserable.  Of course, it may return to misery as winter sets in and leaving a warm bed is a shock to the system, but for now I am happy to report that the newly adopted schedule for this school year is working well.  

On a more professional side of things, I have been working on my planning as it regards daily obligations.  For instance, the adoption of daily to-do lists has helped me to stay better focused on items that need attention; efficient about tending to, and completing, those items; and avoid being frazzled like I have been in the past because the ideas bounce around my brain but have not been concrete since they aren’t visibly posted somewhere.  The morning ritual of composing a daily to-do list has really been beneficial for me.  An example of items that I’ve included on lists include: grade seven essays today, photocopy “Heroes” article, email Nina’s guidance counselor, drop two books in Mari’s mailbox, hit the supermarket with grocery list, and call the car dealership.  Furthermore, I’ve been diligent about staying on top of the “house calendar” to not only make sure that all family events are noted on the calendar, but also to consult the calendar every day as part of my daily routine to see what obligations members of the household have that day and in the near future.  This is an indispensable part of our lives and internal harmony.  For instance, my daughter’s “picture day” is tomorrow.  Since it is listed on the calendar, we can save ourselves stress and frustration by potentially being caught off guard that pictures are being taken tomorrow.  Heaven forbid my daughter arrive at school with no inkling that it is picture day, likely exacerbating her stress/anxiety because she feels unprepared.  These measures have been part of my process for winning back time and peace of mind.  

With that in mind, it is going to be a school long objective to work on organization skills with my students.  In particular, I have two sections of remedial sophomore English classes.  A good percentage of these students have IEPS or other individualized plans to help them be successful in their high school classes.  It is not uncommon to see a personalized modification that revolves around breaking down big concepts and keeping them on task.  For this reason, we’ve established a routine of taking out binders/notebooks at the start of every class period.  They need reminders, but it is with the purpose of establishing healthy and productive habits that they can carry with them for a lifetime.

9-19-21

“Love May Know No Bounds, But a Teacher Better Set Some”

The financial wizard Warren Buffet has been quoted, “The difference between successful people and really successful people is that really successful people say no to almost everything."  While there’s probably a bit of overstatement to Buffet’s claim, one can’t deny that from an “American Dream” point of view that he is considered a success.  Thus, there must be some truth behind his words which reinforce the Module 3 concept of boundary-setting.  With the rise of technology, be it e-mail or Google classroom, students have greater accessibility to their teachers.  In fact, everyone has greater accessibility to teachers.  Compounded by the fact that part of last year was taught remotely, the boundaries of the school day almost ceased to exist.  Fortunately, the summer has been a quiet time to turn away from professional demands, but with the new school year upon us,  I feel it is going to be important to counter the feeling of always being tied to work.  For this reason, boundary-setting is going to be a priority for me.  My first concern is to establish that I will not be addressing professional inquiries/issues on weekends or days off.  Of course, this will be somewhat of a test at the start of the school year because I’m also conscious of the anxiety that arises when my inbox fills up with issues that need attention.  But branching off of the time-management piece of the puzzle, I hope to create effective solutions in my approach to time and boundaries.

When I started my career as a teacher, I recall a colleague noting that teaching is a twelve month job condensed down to ten months.  Thus, the school day doesn’t truly end with the last bell.  There is much to get done between planning, grading, and tending to all of the extra aspects of teaching.  Even as a veteran teacher, it is virtually impossible to complete all of my professional needs during school hours.  In fact, the demands of being a school teacher may feel endless at times.  This is why it is so important to set boundaries.  Granted, when you have children of your own, as I do, priorities tend to shift.  But, even so, most caring teachers yearn to give 110% to their schools and students.  The phrase that comes to mind when that happens is “slave to your work.”  This is a recipe for stress and potential unhappiness, so it becomes incumbent upon teachers to set boundaries and strike a balance between personal and professional life.  This school year, I feel I’ve done a nice job of making my nights and weekends sacred.  I use my time at school effectively and efficiently, shying away from distractions that keep me from being as productive as possible during school hours.  I have even established practices with classes that have helped in this regard.  For instance, I have designated Friday as an independent reading day for my basic skills classes.  While this is productive for them because it creates an environment that they can do sustained reading of literature that they choose, it also affords me time to catch up on grading and plan for the following week (which would otherwise be happening during my weekend).  The items that I am not able to get to during the school day are addressed during my time at home, but I believe that I am approaching it in a more thoughtful way.  On weekend mornings, I’ve been waking up early as my body adjusts to my 5:30 wakeup routine during the week.  So when I’m up for an hour before the rest of the house, I can attack the items that I didn’t get to during the week.  Needless to say, my approach this year has left me feeling a better sense of control over my professional duties.

9-22-21

“Shake It Off” 

Several years ago the topic du jour in school districts across the country was resilience or grit.  This was pre-pandemic.  As a concept, it hasn’t gotten the same attention as of late, but that does not undercut the importance of resilience and the tools we need to develop in order to persevere.  As noted in Module 3, a growth mindset plus stamina equals achievement.   As part of my journey to better living, particularly during the stressful pandemic, I have landed on, and dedicated myself to, several areas which follow:

Developing habits of self care and compassion for others

As we went into lockdown and found ourselves somewhat trapped in our homes, particularly during the fall and winter, it was easy to lose the habits of self-care that had been so natural in our daily lives.  I have consciously made an effort to develop better habits of self care since taking this course.  Namely, my diet and sleep have been areas of focus.  My daily diet looks something like:

-Greek yogurt with granola and fresh berries for breakfast

-A greens, apple, avocado, grilled chicken and blue cheese salad for lunch

-Apple slices, banana, flavored almonds, and/or pretzel & hummus for an afternoon snack

-Dinner varies, but is typically home-cooked and avoids red meat

Prior to this conscious change, I had no real dietary routine and I recognized the impact it was having on me physically and mentally.  I was leaning hard into sugar and caffeine; beyond the damage it was doing to my body, it was adversely affecting my sleep habits.  Now, however, committed to taking better care of myself, I am cognizant of the synergistic benefits of self-care, especially when times are tough.  

Another area of focus, and one often taken for granted in our well-being, is the power of authentic socializing with others.  While I was lucky to have a full house made up of my fiancee and our three kids which helped me not feel starved for close, authentic social interaction, I still was not feeling completely edified.  Making sure to nurture my relationships, especially with students and colleagues, brings a greater sense of gratification from meaningful interaction.  For instance, last school year, I noticed that one aspect of my school day that was glaringly absent was laughter.  Whether it stems from banter with colleagues or the shenanigans that carry on with a loose and happy classroom of students, last year punctuated how important laughter is on the psyche.  In fact, a line from one of my favorite novels, Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, emphasizes the deep importance of laughter when the protagonist, McMurphy, remarks, “Man, when you lose your laugh you lose your footing.”  While social distancing may have made us inclined to shrink away from people, so much has been lost by cocooning ourselves.  A tremendous part of our mental health is the release we get when laughing.  I have reinvested in that and it has led to the next area of well-being and resilience:

Building a network of positivity

As an extension of that investment into relationships is the support system of those who help to buoy me.  While we know that misery often loves company, we should also recognize that happiness is augmented through company as well.  One of the better pieces of wisdom that I ever found from a fortune cookie fortune was “Joy shared is doubled; grief shared is halved.”  (Does one need to create an APA citation for fortune cookies?  Ha!)  We certainly are better off building a mindset of positivity.  It can be infectious.  And although as the school year neared I was having grim thoughts about what was in store for us, my network of people which includes friends, colleagues, and even students have helped me navigate to a place of harmony.  Sometimes we are our own worst enemy and our brains can be unkind and counterproductive. And sometimes we lose our way which also takes a toll on our sense of being.  That’s why anyone will be better off:

Finding Purpose

Yesterday, I was catching up with my best friend from childhood.  I asked how his mother was doing since she retired three years ago from her position as an anesthesiologist.  My friend’s response was, “She’s deteriorating.”  Granted, this is a woman in her 70s, and time can be cruel.  (My fiancee told me last night that she saw a shirt for sale online that said, “My favorite childhood memory is my back not hurting.”) But the real point of my friend’s words is that once she lost her daily purpose of getting up at 5:30 and doing meaningful work, she became aimless and lost the person that she had been for most of her lifetime.  

Finding purpose is an important element to the senior curriculum I teach as the literature we read in my ELA class forces us to confront the universal themes of purpose and identity.  So much of self-understanding and drive derives from the things that we do.  

Perhaps the best figure to explore the value of purpose is the mythological figure of Sisyphus.  You may know him as the guy who rolls the rock up the hill.  That’s his identity, because that’s what he does.  He is suffering eternal punishment for angering the gods, and they have determined that there is nothing worse than this act of futility.  When Sisyphus completes his task and gets the rock to the top of the mountain, it just rolls back to the other side and he has to collect the rock again and repeat.  Ad nauseum.   However, the French absurdist writer Albert Camus examines Sisyphus as a representation of the everyman.  We all roll our metaphorical rocks only to watch those acts be undone.  We make our beds in the morning.  Wash our dishes.  Mow the lawn.  Go to work.  Day after day after day.  And ultimately, we suffer for no greater good.  However, Camus acknowledges that Sisyphus overcomes his torment if he has his own purpose to the seemingly futile act.  When he steps up to the rock with his own personal motivation, or purpose, then it’s not a punishment.  That’s the value of purpose.  

Fortunately, the profession of education naturally provides purpose as we invest in our students.  And beyond that, I have invested in music and relationships.   These areas of my life have certainly been instrumental in creating a sense of direction and happiness. 

Finally, I believe in:

Continuing to learn, experiment, and grow

Recently, a colleague noted how much she loved being a student and learning.  She pointed out that if she could be a student for the rest of her life, she would do it in a heartbeat.  I feel somewhat similar.  And one of the best aspects of being in the world of education is that I’m consistently being exposed to new ideas and ways of thinking that have satisfied an aspect of my personality that yearns for knowledge.  

When the world came to a screeching halt in the spring of 2020, eager to quench my desire to improve my knowledge and skills, I found just what I was looking for online.  After some searches for guitar instruction on the internet, I stumbled upon a fellow with a channel on youtube that has been somewhat life-changing.  His avuncular disposition and clear explanation of guitar theory has helped me to become a better guitarist and feel a newfound confidence in my playing.  Upon reflection, I’m happy that I dedicated myself to improving my skills because it has paid great dividends and underscores the value of knowledge, experimentation and growth.

I feel lucky that a few of the ideas noted above are organically interwoven into the life of an English literature teacher.  

9-26-21

“The smell of gratitude” - Sensory Awareness, Attitude and Thankfulness

Yesterday, I stepped outside in the morning and immediately recognized that it was a glorious day.  An early morning autumn chill was in the air (my favorite time of year), and the sun dappled the earth through its magnificent golden rays.  Shortly after breakfast, the family hopped in the car and headed north to Warwick, NY.  When we reached our destination, my fiancee and the kids hopped out and spent an hour on an alpaca farm while I drove into Sugar Loaf, the neighboring hippie town.  There, I walked along the main drag in the middle of town and basked in the sunshine between dropping into the different stores.  After picking the family up, we drove back into town and had a delicious lunch before heading home mostly along back roads that traced the shore of a lake that crosses the boundary between NY and NJ.  It was sensational; the only thing that could have made it better is if the foliage had started to turn.  

Days and moments experienced, like yesterday’s outing, force me to return to the lyrics of Neil Peart whose words echo from his band, Rush’s, wonderful song “Time Stand Still”:

Freeze this moment

A little bit longer

Make each sensation

A little bit stronger

Experience slips away...

Experience slips away...

Time stand still

Of course, time doesn’t stand still, so it becomes necessary for us to savor the big and little moments of our lives.  Akin to the Scottish poet Robert Burns’ remark in his poem, “To a Mouse”:

 I backward cast my e’e,

       On prospects drear!

An’ forward tho’ I canna see,

       I guess an’ fear!

We are so busy worrying about our past and futures that we forget to live in the present.  With this in mind, I’ve been practicing the art of savoring.  Right now, as I write, there is the wonderful aroma of pumpkin muffins in the air.  This morning, I relished the hot water pouring down when I took a shower.  And even though I’m allergic to animals, I still felt and savored the buttery softness of the teddy bears made with alpaca fur that the kids got when they were at the farm.  

There are many areas of our lives to be more present and “tune into” in order to achieve a deeper appreciation for the present moment and increase our happiness and well-being.  And, following the advice from the Harmony course to spend time in nature, I find this to be the best time of year to do such a thing.  Thus, I have been spending extra time outdoors, smelling the autumnal air and savoring the beauty of the natural world.  Fortunately, I’ve had the pleasure of teaching Romantic writers whose ideology turned away from the harsh, cold logic of the Age of Reason and towards the wonders of the natural world and the emotions of humankind.  Several poems I teach underscore the value of nature; perhaps no poet celebrates the natural world more than William Wordsworth.  He characterizes the peace found in nature when he says in “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey:

how oft—

In darkness and amid the many shapes

Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir

Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,

Have hung upon the beatings of my heart—

How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,

O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,

         How often has my spirit turned to thee!

I, too, have looked to nature, both literally and figuratively, to counterbalance the “fever of the world.”  I will continue to do so, especially on these glorious autumn days.  And in times when I cannot be out in nature, my spirit can still turn to it and find some internal peace with recollections of how sublime Mother Nature can be. 

9-29-21

Crisis - “A season to build resiliency”

The subheading to this journal entry comes from an Edutopia article written by Jessica Cabeen, “How School Leaders Can Frame Tough Decisions.”  It’s certainly an optimistic mindset in relation to times of struggle or outright crises.  Entering my seventeenth year in education, I could never have predicted what the state of education was going to be over the past few years if I had never lived it.  If we are to understand “crises” as events that cause us to change our routines and threaten our safety, the pandemic certainly fits the bill. 

I’ve had a few other crises since becoming a teacher.  The most recent one was a crisis wrought and then averted by Mother Nature right as this school year was beginning.  When Hurricane Ida swept up the eastern coast of the US, those of us in the metropolitan area had no real warning about the amount of water that the storm was going to dump on us.  At around 8:30 pm, I went into my basement to see streams of water pouring through the basement walls soaking the basement floor as the sump pump struggled to keep up with the quickly rising water table.  Ten years prior, I had a similar experience with Hurricane Irene.  (It dawns on me now that I must really take note when a Hurricane named after the letter I bears down on me that I need to be alert.)  The morning after Irene, I woke up to the items in my basement floating around like they were in a bathtub.  With Ida, I made a mad dash to remove the items from the basement that I could and tried to shift my thinking of helplessness to acceptance.  

You can’t fight Mother Nature.  Thus, I took solace in knowing that I salvaged the things that I could and to not fret about the things that I couldn’t control.  This is perhaps a difficult thing to do, especially in a situation like this as we are naturally conditioned to protect our abodes.  But the mindset is vital part of our wellbeing.  One of the moments from the course on Harmony that really resonated with me was the transference of anxious energy into positive energy.  Rather than feel confined by the heightened energy of anxiety, simply telling yourself “I’m excited” can have a real positive effect.  Certainly, saying “I’m excited” about a hurricane is a ludicrous connection, but attempts to assuage the mind can bear fruit.  In the middle of the madness as Ida was wreaking havoc across NJ, I made a conscious attempt to soothe myself and accept what the fallout was going to be.

From there we are able to learn and grow, and our resilience is definitely tested.  Although we may struggle and even suffer, we have the opportunity to learn and grow from our experiences.  Additionally, when we go through our own trials, we become empathetic.

Given the extreme negative impacts that trauma can have on individuals, especially young people, crises take on a more serious consideration because it’s not just the present crisis that needs attention; the ramifications for the long-term also need to be addressed.  Sometimes checking in is an important step to help others.  For that reason, I spent a couple of class periods talking candidly with my students about their feelings regarding the pandemic.  Not only was it eye-opening, it was also greatly appreciated by my students.  Quite a few students remarked that none of their teachers bothered to check in with them.  They carried on with business as usual, even though the students had bigger things on their minds than math or chemistry or history.  Since then, and with the endorsement of the Harmony course, I have made it a priority to emphasize and invest in the human connection with my students and the other people in my orbit.  

Although the course emphasized a distinction in the connotations of balance and harmony, I do believe that a conscious balancing of different aspects of my routines and choices has led to a more harmonious life.  The school year is off to a great start...a better start than I had hoped.  And, ultimately, I feel a stronger sense of well-being, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

Cited Sources:

Burns, Robert. “To a Mouse.” Poets.org, https://poets.org/poem/mouse. 

Cabeen, J., 2021. How School Leaders Can Frame Tough Decisions. [online] Edutopia. Available at: 

<https://www.edutopia.org/article/how-school-leaders-can-frame-tough-decisions> [Accessed 29 

September 2021].

Gilbert, D. (2021). Stumbling on Happiness: Think You Know What Makes You Happy? 

Alfred A. Knopf.

Kesey, K. (1672). Ken Kesey: One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (Mass Market 

Paperback); 1989 Edition. Ken Kesey.

Rush. “Time Stand Still.” Peter Collins, The Manor, Oxfordshire, 1987. 

Santos, L. (2020, December 22). Laurie Santos, Yale Happiness Professor, on 5 things that will 

make you happier. Newsweek. Retrieved September 16, 2021, from

https://www.newsweek.com/2021/01/08/laurie-santos-yale-happiness-professor-5-thing

-that-will-make-you-happier-1556182.html. 

Wordsworth, William. “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the 

Banks of the Wye During a Tour, July 13, 1798.” Poets.org, 

https://poets.org/poem/lines-composed-few-miles-above-tintern-abbey-revisiting-banks-

wye-during-tour-july-13-1798. 

[softforcal]

Monte Carlo : Racecar driver!Cal

Summary: They've been going to the same bar for a while, but have never talked. Then, across the globe, they meet at a club. He's there for a formula one race, she's there as an Instagram promoter for The Grand Prix. Angst and slow-burn ensues.

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: some smut

Tropes: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Angst, ft. Harry Styles

note: I started writing this when i first got into f1 so it's not 100% correct on how f1 operates but that's ok. Also I’m not from New York but i tried my best lol

Nascar stuff to watch if you want a full experience: Hot Lap, Champagne popping. 

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

She’d met him in a bar.

It wasn't a southside bar. The carpets weren’t stained by booze, ashes from used cigarettes and various human fluids, whether that be blood or sweat or whatever else landed on the floor in a dodgy hole in the wall.

Yet, it wasn’t a North Side bar either. They didn’t have the most expensive bottles of whiskey, no ‘hints of aged oak’ or bottles boasting of being over a hundred years old.

No, it was a middle ground. People loitered outside, men in leather smoking with the bouncers. The women there wore strappy heels and weren’t afraid to kick them off to play a game of pool. It was perfect, and there was nowhere else Celeste would have rather been.

The charm of the bar wasn’t even really the bar itself, but a certain regular.

His arrival was always signaled by the scent that would rush into the bar when a bouncer opened the door for him. The stuff he smoked always seemed to smell different, the type of sweetness that was edged, the type of sweetness that told you not to get too close.

No one could help but look at him when he entered. He was beautiful, the type of guy who could afford to relax in a North Side bar where the extra cost for drinks bought you more discreet eyes.

He never seemed to mind the eyes though, and Celeste wasn’t surprised, after all, she supposed a racecar driver of his stature would be used to it by now.

She’d thought he was cute before the bartender had even mentioned that the gorgeous brunette was a famous race car driver. Celeste wasn’t the type to watch cars, whether they be NASCAR or formula one. Hell, she didn’t even know the difference between the two - didn’t particularly care.

Celeste could understand the man - she wasn’t sure of his name - she wasn’t too picky about being seen either. Both of them were young and alive, chasing dreams and becoming successful at an early age.

The driver must have been twenty-three or four, already a known winner. If Celeste could remember correctly, she thought she’d heard he was one of the drivers for Ferrari, which sounded prestigious.

Celeste was twenty-two and at the cusp of finding stardom in the world of modeling. She’d been discovered by a recruiter at aged sixteen and bounced around smaller brands before landing a gig with Victoria’s Secret. Although she’d yet to walk their runway, one of the designers had showed her picture to a friend and just like that, Celeste had become the muse for one of the biggest fashion brands in North America.

She supposed she was lucky, blessed really, to have been in the mall the day the recruiter discovered her.

And likewise, she supposed the driver was fortunate to have been introduced to driving at a young age.

So there the two of them were, two young stars shortening the vicinity between themselves every Friday night or so. Close but not touching, never meeting.

Later in her life, Celeste would wonder if it was odd for the other patrons who frequented the bar. If it was odd for them to be minding their own business and have not one, but two, semi-famous people just decide ‘this is my chosen bar.’ But in those moments when Celeste accepted a challenge in pool, playing against other drunk university girls, Celeste was just one of the people who’d found a little slice of home in a midtown bar.

***

Calum swirled the whiskey in his glass, taking a deep breath and turning so his back was leaning against the bar top. His eyes found her immediately. She was the type of girl that stood out. Even if he hadn’t been told by his favourite bartender that the girl was a model, he could have guessed.

It was hard to tear his gaze from her as she bent over the pool table to line up a shot. Her little jean shorts hugged her ass perfectly, and the way her thighs were pressed against the table made Calum lick his lips. She wasn't a typical model, or at least didn’t have the thinner body type. She was what his friends would call slim thicc, and Calum ate it up every time she entered the bar.

The girls she was playing with were obviously university students from the school down the road. Calum had seen them once or twice, they liked to get drunk and play pool. They were also obviously fans of the model, and to the models credit, she was very kind to them any time they approached her.

“You should go talk to her.” the bartender suggested, “two pretty people like you, it makes sense.”

Calum smirked against the rim of his glass, humming absentmindedly, “does it?”

“You should do it soon, you know everyone’s been taking bets on when you end up talking to her, who approaches who.”

“Really?” Calum turned to look at the bartender.

“No, but it’s a good idea, maybe I should start that up.” he paused, “come on man, you’re a regular, she’s a regular. You’ve both been coming in for what? Six months now? Most Fridays? Except for when you’re off in Italy or Mexico or wherever, winning trophies and she’s doing modeling gigs. The two of you would make sense together.”

Calum shot the last mouthful of whiskey, setting the glass down, “no we wouldn’t.”  he stated, tossing a bill onto the counter. He didn’t look up at the bartender, instead, he grabbed his leather jacket that had been thrown over a bar chair and shrugged it on. It was warm and worn, and Calum produced a joint from inside one of the pockets, tucking it behind his ear and amongst his dark curls. His trusty lighter was in his hand by the time he was pushing the door open to escape the bar.

The cold air wrapped around him and Calum’s nimble fingers moved the joint from behind his ear to his lips, the lighter flicking on. He took a long drag and his eyes closed, the warm feeling wrapping around him pleasantly.

He knew he was being a pussy.

Knew that sixth months was six months too many for him to be in the same vicinity of a girl like that and not make a move. Calum liked to take his time with women, which is why he enjoyed going to the bar alone.

His friends didn’t get it. They were all about driving fast, living fast and fucking fast.

Calum would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy speed, he was a fucking racecar driver for Christ’s sake. One of the fastest in the world, if his last race was anything to go by.

But when it came to women? Well with women, Calum liked to go slow.

Besides, he was only going away for a week, maybe a little more. She’d be there when he got back.

***

The pop of the champagne bottle announced the spray of liquor that began to stream over Calum and his friends. Ashton was pointing his bottle towards the crowd and fans screamed up at them, allowing the expensive liquid to drench them as the drivers celebrated.

Calum’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and two of his friends held his head back as Ashton poured booze into his mouth. He was getting used to this treatment, they were only four events into the year but this was Calum’s third win. He was going to drink a little, but he was saving his energy for the next race, it mattered more to him anyways.

The Monaco Grand Prix held a special place in Calum’s heart and he could hardly wait for the week and a half for it to start.

Champagne dripped down the front of his red jumpsuit and Calum shoved his friends away, heart pumping fast. It only ever beat this way when he won first place, something that was happening with more and more frequency.

The air was still tinged with red from the gusts of coloured smoke that had been released as he’d crossed the finish line.

For a moment something else flashed red across his vision, a shirt the model had been wearing the week before. She must have not had any idea when she’d chosen that colour that it had a deeper meaning for Calum. It was the colour of Ferrari, his colour, a colour that always sparked his heart with fire, the colour that promised a race, promised the elevation into paradise that came with a win.

One of his friends grabbing his jumpsuit drew Calum’s attention, and the image of the girl was gone.

***

Celeste lounged in her chair, celebrating a successful shoot with a slice of pizza. As she bit into the cheesy goodness, her makeup artist sat next to her, “you have to see this.” she said, moving her phone where Celeste could see, “it’s from the race practice today.”

“And it’s Formula one right?” Celeste clarified. She felt bad, knowing that she should logically know more about the cars. After all, she was in Monte Carlo for the Monaco Grand Prix. The brand who hired her to be their correspondent for the paid promotion trip had known Celeste had no background with motorsports, so they had a journalist creating her captions for all of her paid posts. But Celeste still felt bad.

“Yeah this is formula one, you can tell because the cars are thinner remember? just watch this.” the girl said with excitement. Celeste focused on the screen, watching as a red car sped down a track, “oh my god, how fast is he going?”

“Fast.” the girl breathed.

There were two cars, a red and a blue. The red tried to skim past the blue and sent them both spiraling out, the blue coming to stand still as the driver got their bearing, however, the red car hadn’t even stopped spinning before it was off again, speed gaining to catch the car that had taken the lead from him during those brief seconds of collision.

The camera angle switched to the camera attached to the red car and even at massively high speeds, the driver was fixing their mirror that had been damaged in the collision, and driving with only one hand.

One more harsh turn had red overtake the other red that had been in the lead.

The clip cut off.

“Did he win?” Celeste asked.

“He did, but this was just a practice, we still have qualifiers and the actual race.” her artist said, “fuck, Hood is insane, I’ve never seen a driver recover from a bump so quick.”

“I’m shocked the bump didn’t have them both like, flipping or something.” Celeste said, “every time I think about race cars I think about how deadly the crashes look.”

“Just be glad you’re not dating a driver.” her artist said.

Celeste laughed, “thank god.”

***

Celeste had been busy most of the day, but she’d heard the notorious Hood had won yet again, not that it was a surprise, apparently. People on the streets were talking about him, his name whispered over and over again everywhere Celeste went to take pictures.

The other model she was with had done the Monte Carlo coverage for the brand the year before, she’d chosen a club and said that it was the place to be the night of the qualifiers and especially the next night after the final.

It was easy enough to get onto the list for the exclusive club, and the fellow model, a girl named Alexa, warned Celeste not to sleep with any of the drivers, “they’re pigs.” Alexa said as they got out of the limo, “only good for pictures and tags but other than that? They talk a big game about liking it fast but these men don’t have stamina for shit.”

Celeste laughed, following Alexa up past the security who didn’t even ask if they were on the list. Alexa and Celeste where the types of girls who surpassed lists, if a straight man ever tried to refuse them entrance to a club, it would surely mark a coming apocalypse and pigs would be flying.

The VIP section of club was alive with people, full of the rich elite, the type of people who flew out to Monte Carlo with the pure intent of watching Formula One racing. Celeste decided, as she walked amongst people with pearls and diamonds adorning their bodies, that Formula One was an expensive sport. Alexa had mentioned early in the day, as the two of them absentmindedly waited for the cars to zoom past where they were sitting in the crowd, that some Formula One cars could cost around fifteen and a half million dollars to make.

Celeste had nearly fallen out of her seat at the number, and her mouth had gone dry as her eyes went to the track, watching the expensive cars who could at any moment flip and waste so much money.

The thought of cars crashing was swept from Celeste’s mind as she was dragged by Alexa through the crowd of people. The racers weren’t hard to spot. They were all decked out in sponsored caps and casual outfits. The only people in the room who didn’t feel like they needed to dress up, because they didn’t. Every rich person in the room was there for them, the racers had all the power, all eyes on them.

Some were surprisingly young looking, and many of them were smaller than Celeste expected. “Why are they so tiny?” Celeste whispered, stopping Alexa in her tracks as Celeste looked at the racers.

“The more weight that’s in the car, the slower it goes, smaller is better… for once.” Alexa teased, “come on.”

Then they were in the midst of the racers, Alexa hugging a man she fondly called Ash. He was a bit bigger than the others, but still not up to Celeste’s standards. Her eyes wandered, a smile on her face flashed to anyone Alexa introduced her too.

A song came on and Celeste’s hand tightened around Alexa’s, “oh my gosh, this is my song!” Celeste said, looking at her with pleading eyes, “come dance with me?”

“You go ahead, I have to catch up with some friends.” Alexa said.

Celeste didn’t need to be told twice, letting go of her friend to escape to the dancefloor. It was out of the way of the VIP section, filled with a younger crowd that Celeste felt akin to. She meshed in, lost within the swarm of dancing people. The song was new, by an artist she’d followed since his boyband years. His new music was rich and fun, the artist making a true name for himself as a rockstar.

Her hips swayed to the music, the beautiful metallic sheer dress hugging all her curves as she smiled and danced with the people who made room for her. She’d never had issues fitting in, least of all on a dancefloor.

When the song finished, she continued to dance, even though the next songs weren’t her favourites. She was just beginning to sweat when a hand grabbed hers, Alexa pulling her roughly, “Celeste come with me now!”

By the time they’d exited the crowd, it was obvious where Celeste was taking her. Standing in the VIP section, surrounded by racers, looking as handsome as ever, was Harry Styles, the very artist that Celeste had swooned over when his song had come on.

Her heart froze in her chest and she stopped in her tracks, pulled harshly again by Alexa, “come on!” Alexa said, “you have to meet him!”

***

Calum was becoming an expert in the art of opening and spraying champagne. He’d won the Monaco Grand Prix, taking the first spot like he was entitled to it, and keeping it until he’d crossed the finish line. His entire body was on fire, heart racing in his chest.

Ashton stood next to him, he’d finished third, which was also impressive. It was obvious that they’d be celebrating that night, after the interviews. Calum was excited about the night ahead, he’d always found Monte Carlo to be a dreamlike city, wonderous and in a way romantic.

He wasn’t sure what would happen that night, but if it was anything like his triumphant day, he knew it would be amazing. Nothing could pull him away from his post win high, and he was sure of that.

***

It was her.

Calum blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. No, it was her. The girl from the bar. The influencer who’d weaseled her way into his brain without even knowing it, was there, a few yards away. She had a glass of champagne in her hand, but it was still full.

Calum recognized the girl next to his influencer, a model named Alexa. He’d met her at a few of his races, she was a brand endorser for a number of the same brands Calum worked for. He knew he was on her Instagram, tagged a few times, pictures of the two of them standing next to each other, her smile much larger than his. Alexa was a nice girl, he enjoyed her, but Calum generally tried to stay away from models, he wasn’t quite sure why.

Alexa spotted him a moment later, her eyes widening as she motioned him over, opening her arms to pull him into a tight hug, “I can't believe you won!” she screamed, “that’s what? Your third race in a row? What’s your secret Hood?!”

Calum’s eyes darted between Alexa and the influencer next to her, still not introduced, waiting politely for his answer.

“Uh-” Calum wracked his brain for a witty response but nothing came, “who’s your friend?”

Alexa didn’t even seem to mind that he hadn’t answered her question, “this is Celeste.” she said.

Celeste held out a hand, “nice to meet you-”

“Calum.”

“Calum.” she repeated his name, a silly smile on her face. The name tasted sweet on her tongue, “I think… have we met before?” she tried to play it cool, but she knew exactly where she’d seen him. This was the mystery hunk who frequented her bar back in New York.

For months she’d been trying to work up the courage to go talk to him, and now there he was, halfway across the world in a club that was too loud, a new title added to his impressive resume.

Calum nodded, “we go to the same bar in New York.” he didn’t even bother dancing around the idea of where they knew each other from.

Celeste’s heart leaped in her chest.

“You two know each other?” Alexa asked in shock.

“Not really-” Celeste began as Calum said “no.” they both stopped, waiting for the other to continue. Both of them blushed, Calum readjusting his guinness cap on his head.

A man with honey coloured curls appeared, arm going around Calum as he greeted Alexa, “who’s your friend?” Ashton asked.

“Celeste.” Celeste answered, holding out her hand to him.

Calum watched every movement, loving every motion.

“I’m Ashton,” the man said, turning to Alexa, “you need a drink.” he stated, grabbing Alexa’s hand.

“Only if you’re buying.” Alexa teased, allowing Ashton to pull her towards the bar, leaving Calum alone with Celeste.

“So you won today!” Celeste said enthusiastically, “that must be so great for you!”

Calum could see her struggling with her words, “you don’t watch F1 much do you?”

“F1?”

“Formula One.” Calum corrected himself with a laugh.

“No, I don't.” Celeste admitted awkwardly, “fast cars aren’t really my thing.”

“Really?” Calum asked in shock, she looked like the kind of girl who would own a luxury car, but maybe he was getting ahead of himself.

“Yeah, I don't know, fast cars, crashes, guess I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat.” Celeste laughed, sipping her champagne.

“I could take you for a drive.” Calum stated, the words left his mouth before he could stop them, “I mean, my Ferrari is down at the track-”

“I’d have to be really drunk to agree to that.” Celeste laughed, the tone of it twinkling deliciously and making Calum smile.

“Then, cheers.” Calum clinked his beer with Celeste’s champagne glass.

“To F1.” Celeste said, already incorporating the new term Calum had taught her.

Calum smiled at her, “To fast cars, crashes and scaredy cats.”

***

“We are not doing this.” Celeste said, even as she got into the car. Calum closed the door behind her, hurrying to his own side to get into the driver's seat, “Calum, your seatbelt is straight out of bondage porno.”

“Watch a lot of those?” Calum laughed, his skin heating as he turned to look at the model who was holding the harness like a seatbelt.

“Calum!” Celeste said loudly again, jaw-dropping as she looked at him, “no!”

Calum grinned, reaching over to help her put the seatbelt on. He hadn’t pushed her to drink more, Celeste had done that on her own. She’d said after a few sips of champagne that ‘it wasn’t every day a formula one racer offered to take a gal out for a drive’ and had downed her glass. Seeing she was serious, Calum had put down his beer, having only had a sip of it.

He was completely sober, unlike the girl next to him. She was a bubbly drunk, much like the champagne that had caused her to be this way.

Calum grabbed the two safety helmets from the back of the car, handing one to Celeste. She looked at it like it was about to bite her, “what?!”

“For safety.” Calum said, putting it on her himself before putting on his own.

“How fast are we going to go?” Celeste asked.

“As fast as you want.” Calum said, putting on his own seatbelt before looking out at the track. He didn’t want to tell her that he would go over 200 km/h on straights, he knew he was being devious but he didn’t care so much.

He’d done this before, never with a model, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to show up and go for a celebratory lap of the track the night after a win. He’d even left his car on the track, having always planned on coming and doing this. Security was always nice to him, partly, he supposed, because he was a winner, but also partly because he was a nice guy.

“Fast.” Celeste whispered, then she looked at him, “wait, not super fast,” she said, then she frowned, “no, fast? Maybe?”

Calum laughed, “I'll just start, and if you want me to go slower, I can, yeah?”

“Okay.” Celeste said, her eyes lingering on the racer's profile, “pretty.” she mumbled, so quietly that Calum almost didn’t hear her. He felt his skin heating, could feel his ears turning red as the car roared to life, the engine purring.

“Fuck.” Celeste said, grabbing at the car door.

Calum laughed, turning to look at her, “we haven’t even moved yet.”

“What if I don't want to anymore?”

Calum took his foot off the brake and the car rolled about two feet, making Celeste grip the door tighter.

“We can stop.” Calum said, easing off the brake again to move another few feet.

Celeste took a deep breath, then turned to look at him, “Murder me.” she stated.

Calum’s breath caught in his throat and he blinked, taking a moment before he realized she meant that he should drive so fast she’ll metaphorically die. He swallowed thickly. “You got it.” he said, voice hoarse.

“Have you ever taken someone out on something like this before?” Celeste asked, suddenly sounding quite sober.

“We call them hot laps.” Calum stated, “I've taken a few athletes out on some, done some drifting, some donuts-”

“Can we do some donuts? I love donuts.” Celeste said as Calum pulled onto the track.

“Sure.” Calum looked at her, “do you trust me?”

Celeste wet her lips, “no?”

The first part of the track was straight and Calum’s foot went all the way down on the gas pedal. Celeste squealed, thrown back into her seat as Calum grinned. They reached 230 km/h quickly and Celeste screamed as she saw the first turn coming into view.

She didn’t tell him to slow down, which Calum appreciated as he adjusted the car for the turn, hitting the apex (the inner corner) perfectly as Celeste squealed next to him. Calum couldn’t help but smile, pushing the car faster again as he came out of the corner.

He knew this track like the back of his hand. Knew it was 3.4 kilometers, nineteen harsh corners that would have him breaking for around 20% of the drive, giving him ample reason to drift just to make Celeste scream. Fuck. He loved it.

There was no one watching, just him and Celeste, and she obviously knew nothing about racing. Which meant he could get away with doing things that had them both thrown around the car, just for the hell of it.

It was the type of track where he couldn’t go as fast as he wanted, he wanted to be able to show Celeste how fast a car could go.

The sharp turns were coming up and Calum was ready for Celeste’s loud scream as the tires skidded across asphalt, he wasn’t ready for her hand landing on his thigh, holding on tightly.

He held the record for fastest lap in the world at this track, having completed it in 1 minute and 13.60 seconds, almost a full second faster than anyone else in the world. In the car he was in now, it would take longer, but driving always seemed fast to him.

He was focused behind the wheel, moving it expertly, taking each turn as Celeste screamed next to him, never letting go of his leg.

To Celeste, the ride felt like eons, every turn threw her to the side, her eyes unable to keep a track of the road in front of them. She simply had to hold on and enjoy it. Part of her did. Perhaps it was her drunken state, but she wasn’t really that afraid. She trusted the man next to her, even if she didn’t understand why.

The car skidded to a halt and just as Celeste thought it was over, Calum lurched the wheel to the side and threw Celeste to the left, as she squealed. The car continued to go in tight circles, a harsh weight pulling on Celeste as she screamed, eyes closed, mind dizzy.

The car stopped and Celeste took a moment to open her eyes, blinking at Calum.

“That was a donut.” he told her.

“Thank you.” Celeste whispered.

Calum laughed, then his eyes darted down to her hand on his thigh, she followed his gaze, offering him a lazy smile, “you have nice thighs.”

“You do too.” Calum said, voice hoarse. It was true. She’s what Calum’s friends would call “thiccer than a sniccer” and it had not escaped his notice.

“Do I?” Celeste asked, removing her hand from Calum to look down at her lap, “you don’t think they’re too big?”

“No.” Calum said honestly, following her eyes now as he looked at her legs. He swallowed thickly, tearing his gaze away, “where are you staying?”

“I forget what it’s called.” Celeste said, a happy smile on her face, “can I stay with you tonight?”

Calum’s mind was blank for a moment. He wasn’t sure what she was asking for. He wasn’t about to take advantage of her, no matter how badly he wanted her thighs wrapped around his head- “uh- sure.”

“Sleep over!” Celeste squealed, “we have to order pizza!”

“I don’t eat pizza.” Calum said as he took off his helmet, reaching over to help Celeste take off hers.

“What?! Why not?!” Celeste pouted, looking very concerned.

“Racecar drivers are supposed to be small, less weight means a faster car-”

“But you’re so big and tall.” Celeste smiled.

“Yeah,” Calum laughed, “so i try not to eat much, don’t want to gain any more weight than I already have, I'm a lot taller than most drivers.”

“That must mean you’re really good.”

Calum smiled, setting the helmets in the back of the car then going to unbuckle Celeste. He stayed quiet, too humble to tell her that she was right.

Celeste turned to look out the window, opening the door once she’d been released from the seatbelt. By the time Calum had gone to join her on the other side of the car she was laying on the ground, “the stars are so pretty.” she mused.

Calum sighed. At the start of his day, he’d expected maybe winning the race. He hadn’t expected to bump into the model he’d been lusting over for months from New York, in a club in Monte Carlo, only to drive her around then lay on the track and look at the stars with her.

Calum got down next to her, his shoulder just touching hers, “the stars are pretty nice.”

“For my part, I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” Celeste breathed, “Van Gogh. I'm really tired Calum, can you take me home?”

He couldn’t take her home, not really. All they had was his hotel room. But perhaps it wasn’t bricks and mortar that made something a home, perhaps it was something else. Something not solid, not something you could hold in your hands. Maybe it was a feeling.

He wondered what could be home.

***

Celeste blinked, sitting up in a bed that was not her own. The first thing she noticed was the wall of pillows to her left. Curled up in the pillows was a head of dark curls and Celeste recognized Calum. His back was to her, a redshirt covering his broad shoulders. Even in bed, he wore Ferrari’s colours, it was intriguing.

Calum was awake, and when the bed dipped, he knew Celeste was as well. He rolled over and sat up, looking at her, “how are you feeling?” he asked.

“My head hurts a little,” she admitted, “you took me racing last night?”

“I took you on the track.” Calum said.

She blinked at him, “I remember screaming a lot.”

A smile spread across Calum’s face, “yeah, I think you enjoyed it.”

“I think I remember enjoying it.”

Calum got out of the bed, “I'm going to go get you breakfast, waffles and donuts right?”

“How did you know my cheat meal?”

“You were ranting about it last night, wanted to go find a diner to make you some fried chicken and waffles.” Calum answered, leaning against the doorway, “I don't think they’ll have the deep-fried chicken, but they have waffles, and donuts, sprinkles right?”

“Did I tell you all of my favourite foods last night?” Celeste laughed.

“Nah,” Calum smiled, “just your top hundred.” he teased, “I'll be back soon.”

Celeste looked down, realizing she was also in a Ferrari shirt. It was Calum’s, the red of it more worn and comfy looking than the shirt Calum had been wearing. It was large on her and when she got out of bed it went just to her upper thighs. The fabric was not made for a woman, not made to curve over a large bum, as Celeste turned to look at herself in the mirror next to the bed, her eyes took in the way the shirt teased. Every movement had it riding a little bit higher, sneaking a sliver of bodaciousness that she was known for.

Her hair was still wavy from it’s styling the night before but all of her makeup was gone.

She had some sort of memory of Calum wiping a warm cloth over her face.

Yes, now she remembered. He’d brought her to the hotel and had insisted on cleaning her up before letting her pass out. He’d wiped the makeup from her face gently while she ranted about food. She missed American food, missed the diner in New York that she went to every Sunday morning for deep-fried chicken and waffles.

The door to the room opened and Calum stepped in, a box full of food in his hands. He set it down on the tabletop next to Celeste’s side of the bed, then he began rearranging the pillows, straightening out the blanket.

“Thanks for the breakfast.” Celeste said, picking up a waffle.

“Don’t mention it.”

“So… are you headed back to New York soon?” she asked.

“There’s another race in under two weeks, I think a lot of us are going to stay here, and then head to Canada together, France after that-”

“Oh my god, I didn’t know you raced in so many countries.”

“This is round six, there’s twenty-one in total, so that’s still fifteen to go.” Calum said, not looking up at her.

“Fifteen more races? Fifteen more countries?” Celeste asked in shock.

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” Celeste chewed on her waffle.

Calum looked down at his watch.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Celeste asked.

“Yeah, I have to go do training, then meet up with my team and talk about the race yesterday.”

“You’re a busy guy.”

Calum offered her a smile, “sorry I can’t stay longer and have breakfast with you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you going back to New York soon?” Calum asked.

“Uh…” Celeste’s mouth was dry, “I'm not sure yet.”  her skin was prickling. She’d almost forgotten about the charming brit she’d met two nights before. The brit she’d gone home with. The brit she was meeting up with in- “fuck, I have to go-”

Calum laughed, “got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah a date,” Celeste answered, shoving the waffle in her mouth, “I need to give you your shirt back-” she said around the waffle.

Calum’s expression had changed, but Celeste hadn’t noticed, too busy looking around for her stuff, “Keep it.” Calum said, “You can give it back to me in New York.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I have a lot of Ferrari shirts.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh huh.”

Celeste grabbed her small clutch purse, finding her shirt and skirt on the ground. She pulled the skirt up her legs, the stretchy material hugging her curves as she did a french tuck with the front of her shirt, “Calum, thank you so much for last night, for everything.” she said sincerely, turning to look at the driver.

“Don’t mention it.”

She stepped towards him and wrapped him in a hug. After a moment of hesitation, Calum hugged her back.

“I’ll see you in New York.” she promised as she pulled away, “we’ll have to meet up at the bar or something.”

Calum smiled, but it was forced, “sounds fun.”

“It will be.” Celeste ran to the door, “good luck with everything! Congrats again on your win yesterday.”

“Thanks. Get home safe.”

“I will.”

Then she was gone.

The twelve hours he’d had with her felt like borrowed time. As if he’d somehow stolen those hours from whatever god or being had kept the two of them apart for so long. And now she was gone. Calum felt like Cinderella at midnight, except it was nine AM and he wasn’t a princess in a Disney movie.

He was a formula one driver with a job to do. And he wasn’t about to let a pretty brunette get in the way of his work, even if she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his life.

****

They’d followed each other that day, the notification lighting up Calum’s phone. The first of many pleasant phone buzzes signaling a message from the model. She’d posted a picture of chicken waffles on her story her first day back in New York and Calum hadn’t been able to resist the urge to message her about it, congratulating her on finally quenching her craving.

Conversation with her was easy. Two weeks into casually talking, she’d sent him a meme about friends, saying ‘us.’ it hadn’t thrown Calum off, he considered her a friend too. After all, the best relationships start with friendship, something Calum had learned after many failed attempts at love.

Celeste even congratulated Calum on winning second in the race in Canada and it had shocked him that she’d watched it. “What are friends for?” she’d messaged back, warming Calum’s whole body.

Their friendship reached a new height when she asked for his snapchat, and thus began the great dog snap challenge. Anytime either of them saw a dog, they’d take a picture and send it to the other.

Calum was busy with work. Ferrari was ramping things up, and Calum had his head in the game. Because of this, he didn’t have time to go home, even though he wanted to. Which was why he was so excited when Celeste messaged him to tell him she’d be in England when he was there for Round Ten of the championship.

Calum didn't ask too many questions, too excited to see her.

It was an hour before Celeste’s flight to England, and Calum wondered if he should message her. He finally gave in, it was late for him and he knew if he didn’t message her, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Before he could text her, his phone rang.

He’d had Celeste’s number since they’d met, 45 days ago, not that he was counting, and they’d never called each other.

“Calum! I’m not waking you am i?” Celeste’s voice was worried.

“No, what’s up?”

“Is it okay that I called you?”

“It’s fine, you sound worried.” Calum sat down, eager to give her his full attention.

“Have I ever told you I'm not into flying?” Celeste asked.

Calum chuckled, “no, you never mentioned it.”

“Well, I am, and I don’t know why this is freaking me out so much.”

“I mean, it is a long flight, maybe that’s why?” Calum paused, “you’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Are you my captain Calum?” Celeste asked sarcastically.

“No, but you’ll be fine.” he paused, “hey, when you get here, do you need me to pick you up?”

“No thanks! Harry’s picking me up.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah.”

Calum opened his mouth, then closed it, he wasn’t sure what to say, “I didn't know you were seeing him?” he offered.

“It’s funny, I met him the night before I met you. He actually has been coming to visit me in New York, so I figured it’s my turn to head out to him, and when I saw it would line up with you being there i had to come.”

Calum’s skin was cold. He’d thought she was coming to see him, but as it turned out, he was only fifty percent of the reason. Was he even fifty percent?

“But I’m coming to your race!” Celeste continued, “the training ones and the final one.”

Her terms weren’t correct but Calum couldn’t be bothered to correct her. “Is Harry coming with you too?” Calum asked.

“Yeah, he’ll be around, but I do really want to see you Cal.” there was a muffled sound, then, “they’re boarding so I gotta go. Talking to you really helped Cal. I’ll see you soon! I’m so excited!”

“Me too.” Calum forced out.

“Awesome! Love ya! Bye!”

Calum’s mouth felt dry, his body still frozen, but he managed to say “bye.” then the line clicked and Celeste was gone, but had she ever really been there?

***

He was late. Something that never happened, but he’d been late with Celeste. They’d gone out for drinks her second night England and had stayed up talking and ordering room service until three AM. Calum had lost track of time, another thing he’d never really experienced.

Shoving his legs into his race suit and pulling it up, he ran past a few mechanics, eager to get on the track. He’d had a call early that morning that some rich person had paid a lot of money to have a hot lap with him.

It seemed to be the day of things that had never happened to Calum.

He usually didn’t do hot laps, and Ferrari knew that. There was, allegedly, something special about the person who’d requested him, but that morning, half asleep when his phone rang, Calum had been too tired to ask.

Calum was used to camera’s being shoved in his face and he pushed through them, approaching the signature red car that he’d be using.

“Calum, what’s it like driving one of the most famous British singers in the world?” a reporter asked.

Calum looked up, for the first time getting a glimpse at who he’d be driving around.

Harry Styles looked as Calum always supposed he would. His hair was perfect, and the black jacket he was wearing made him look like he’d come straight out of an Abercrombie and fitch magazine. Or perhaps another magazine, Calum didn’t keep up with fashion.

Then came the dimples.

Calum could have thrown up.

“You must be Calum!” Harry exclaimed, holding out a hand and offering a smile.

Calum shook his hand, hard, not smiling, not saying anything.

Then he remembered the cameras. Remembered that this was his job. Remembered that as the top f1 driver, driving a man with a huge fanbase, the video would probably go viral. Calum forced a smile, “nice to meet you.” he said politely.

“So let's get to it yeah?” Harry asked, his British accent way too charming.

Calum nodded, going around the car to escape the paparazzi. He put his helmet on and took some joy in the fact that Harry would have to do the same, and maybe it would ruin his hair.

There were cameras in the car.

Calum wondered what would happen next.

“Excited for your race, mate.” Harry said, buckling himself in, “you’ve always been the one to watch.”

“Didn’t know you were a big formula one fan.” Calum mused, the engine roaring to life.

“I wasn’t.” Harry admitted, “we have a mutual friend, she got me into it.”

Calum wondered how far Harry would go. After all, there were cameras in the car, and Calum had heard about Harry and his tendency to stay elusive.

That’s when he realized it was serious. The thing between Harry and Celeste.

Harry had spent a lot of money to be in the car with Calum. He was facing the cameras, despite his desire to mostly not produce content.

And he was talking about Celeste.

Calum’s foot stepped onto the petal and the car lurched forward. He hoped that Harry wouldn’t talk anymore. Hoped it would be a quiet ride.

“How did you two meet again?”

“What?”

“Our mutual friend.”

Calum wished he’d just say her name. But he understood why Harry was being aloof. Understood it protected Celeste from being prematurely exposed to his fan base, for better or for worse.

Calum respected it.

“Met in Monaco. She mentioned it was the day after she met you.” Calum said, making a point to mention Harry. He supposed it would ease Harry’s mind, knowing Celeste had mentioned him… even if it had only been a few days earlier. Calum pushed the car faster and then braked hard for a corner, throwing Harry to the side.

“That was a good race by the way.” Harry said, “You came in first, congratulations.”

“I like Monaco.” Calum said, “it’s a special place.”

“It is.” Harry agreed. Calum couldn’t be sure, but Harry seemed satisfied with their interaction. Calum wasn’t sure what he expected, after all, it’s not like the guy was going to come out and be aggressive with him… even if that’s what Calum might have done in his position.

The rest of the drive went smoothly, with Harry complimenting Calum’s driving and even letting out happy hollers at sharp turns.

As the car came to a stop, Harry turned to shake Calum’s hand, “maybe I'll see you tonight.” Harry offered.

“Maybe.” no way in hell.

One last smile and the gorgeous man was gone, out of Calum’s car and hopefully his life.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out?”

“Yeah, I need sleep tonight, the race is tomorrow-”

“Did… I- Harry told me about this morning, said he was eager to meet you, did you like him?”

“He’s fine, I’m just tired.” Calum lied.

Celeste was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, “but tomorrow night, we’re still on, right?”

When she’d first arrived and they’d gotten drinks, Calum had promised to do the same thing after the race. But when he’d promised he’d assumed it would be just the two of them. Calum didn't want to go anymore, “yeah.” he said.

“Okay, because I had a lot of fun last night Cal. Anyways, have a good night, get some sleep, you’re going to be great tomorrow.”

“You promise?” Calum asked.

“I’m your captain, I definitely promise.” Celeste laughed, the sound was magic, “love ya Cal! Talk tomorrow!”

“Love you too.”

He hung up.

***

Celeste’s arms wrapped around him and when Calum lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, “you did it!” she screamed in his ear, a little too loud, but he didn’t care.

He set her down and Celeste pulled way, keeping him close as she looked up at him, “that was amazing Calum!”

“It was nothing-” Calum brushed it off, looking down. He could be cocky about his driving, but not with her. With Celeste, his heart always seemed to swell.

“Calum, you hit every single apex!” Celeste said and Calum’s heart fluttered even more.

She’d learned a term used in F1.

He didn’t even know what to say so he just looked down at her, unable to stop smiling.

“Harry’s not coming, by the way, he had to go back to London for work.” Celeste said, finally pulling away from Calum, “so it’s just us tonight!”

Calum let out a breath, smile widening, “so where are we headed?”

He didn't care that other drivers were probably going to celebrate at a specific location. He only cared about taking every moment with Celeste…. As friends of course.

Of course….

Who was he kidding, Calum knew he was walking a fine line. Part of him wondered what would happen when she came to England… before he’d found out about Harry. And although those ideas were no use anymore, he’d be damned if he didn’t still take advantage of their time together.

“Let's get drinks?” Celeste suggested.

Calum smiled, “sounds perfect.”

***

Calum stared up at the ceiling and Celeste rolled onto her side to look at him. Calum smiled, turning to look at her too, “what?”

“I’m just…” Celeste studied him, “I haven't really had any guy friends before. All the guys I know try to be my friend just to get me in bed. And we’re here and you’re not trying anything.”

Calum coughed awkwardly, sitting up, “well, you’re seeing Harry.”

Celeste rolled onto her back, hair fanning over the pillow, “yeah.”

“How is that going? You didn’t talk much about him last time we hung out.” it was true. They’d been together for hours and Celeste hadn’t mentioned him once.

Celeste took a deep breath, “I really like him. I think. I don’t know. When I was a teenager and he was in One Direction he was huge. And, like every other teenage girl on earth, I was definitely a fan of his. Being with him feels… well, it’s odd. He’s a great guy but I almost feel like I enjoy the grandeur of him. I enjoy the Harry that I know from social media…” there was a pause, then, “fuck, this is why I’m trying not to get drunk anymore. I always want to talk about philosophy and end up confusing myself even more. Forget I said anything, I’m being stupid.”

Calum looked at her, watching the way her chest rose and fell. Her eyes were closed. She was frowning.

It was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her.

Calum laid down next to her, “I'm sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll probably just do what I always do, stick with it until something really bad happens, then run away.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy.” Calum stated.

Celeste smiled, “Never said it was.” she yawned, “can I stay here tonight?”

“Sure… do you need me to build a pillow wall like last time?” Calum teased.

“For your protection or mine?” Celeste flirted, but Calum knew it was just for the sake of teasing, her expression changed, “why did you have to make a pillow fort last time?”

“You asked for one.”

“So you just built me one?”

“Of course.”

“You’re really sweet, has anyone ever told you that?” Celeste asked, pulling the covers over her body.

“No.”

“Well, people should tell you you’re sweet more often.” Celeste’s eyes were closed and from the wispy tone of her voice, Calum knew she was about three seconds from falling asleep.

“Goodnight Celeste.”

“Goodnight Cal.”

***

Calum stared at the deep-fried chicken on top of waffles. Celeste looked like a kid in a candy shop and Calum was shocked she’d even found a place that served her favourite breakfast. She looked adorable, having stolen one of his Ferrari hats and a shirt.

It was big on her, but he loved it.

“Cal, can you take a pic of me and my waffles?” Celeste asked, handing him her phone.

“Sure.” he said, adjusting the camera as Celeste made a face, tongue out, fingers up in peace signs.

He took a few pictures, smiling down at them before he handed the phone back.

“Do you mind if I tag you?” Celeste asked, “I mean, I am the new Ferrari spokesperson after all.” she joked, flipping the hat so it was backwards.

“Sure.”

He watched her. She was so focused on making the post, it was her job after all.

Calum wondered if Harry would mind that she was tagging him. But… as was plainly obvious, he was just Celeste’s friend.

Sitting there, across from the gorgeous model, Calum decided he’d be just that: a friend. He’d be there for her always, or as long as she wanted him around. He’d take her out for waffles and make blanket forts and support her, even if it meant supporting her with another man.

He’d be whatever she needed him to be. And if that was simply a friend, so be it.

***

“Can you believe you’re almost done the world championship?” Celeste asked.

Calum smiled. It had been five months since they’d met. This championship had felt particularly long for some reason, “miss me already?” Calum teased.

He’d been coming back to New York on his time off as much as he could. He was living for the nights he and Celeste spent at the bar they should have met in. The bar that, if he’d had the balls, could have been where they’d met months before. Could have been where they had their first date-

“Of course I do Cal!” Celeste said, “fuck, I wanted to tell you once you got here, but, I can’t hold it in anymore!”

Calum’s skin felt cold and anxiety overcame it. She’d been getting more and more excited about Harry and any time she had news, Calum was scared what it would be.

“Harry and I are getting married.”

Calum’s mouth was dry, when he opened his mouth to speak it hurt and he had to swallow thickly, giving him the time to think, “congratulations.”

“You’ll come right?”

“When is it?” Calum asked, worried by the eagerness in her voice.

Celeste and Harry had just come out as a couple a month earlier, when he’d taken her to an event. Calum hadn’t looked at the pictures but Celeste had sent him snaps of her dress before she went, and Calum had been so upset he’d gone to a gym to punch things.

“Harry wants it soon, weird right? I didn’t think he was the marriage type.”

Calum bit his tongue. He’d never brought up the night in England when Celeste had told him she worried about why she was with Harry. He wanted to bring it up.

He chose not to.

“Anyways, next month I think?”

Calum’s chest hurt.

“So you’re coming right?” the hope in her voice made it worse.

“I’ll be there.” Calum choked out, “I have to go.”

“Aw really?”

“Yeah, sorry, talk later?” Calum collapsed into his bed.

“Good luck in your race tomorrow. Last one, then you’re coming home.”

Home. He’d wondered before if home was a feeling. He’d felt it every time he was in the bar with Celeste, or grabbing waffles, or with her staring at the stars or even the ceiling.

He wondered if he’d ever feel home again.

***

Alexa looked at Calum. He’d not been impressed to be there. Every time Celeste came out in a new white dress, he’d put on a big happy face, but as soon as Celeste was gone he’d frown again, sitting back and sighing.

“Aren’t you happy for her?” Alexa asked. She’d heard about Calum and Celeste being good friends. Hell, part of Alexa wondered if Calum had surpassed her on the friend scale. Not that Alexa had minded, she was busy and working in LA more and more, which made it harder to keep up with Celeste.

“Yeah. Of course.” Calum said.

“You don’t look happy.” Alexa pointed out.

Before Calum could respond, Celeste called for Alexa’s help and Alexa disappeared. Calum pulled out his phone, opening Celeste’s Instagram. The newest picture was one he’d taken. Celeste bending over the pool table to take a shot. She’d kicked his ass that night, and Calum smiled sadly, wondering if she’d still be up for dodgy bar nights after she was married.

Movement caught his eye and he looked up.

Celeste was standing there in the new wedding dress. It had a form-fitting corset that showed off her curves. Plain white and silky with harsher lines rather than a softly rounded neckline. Beautiful tulle layers of soft white fabric puffed out from under the corset.

She looked like a princess.

Calum’s heart leaped in his chest and he looked at her with eyes that betrayed everything… to Alexa, who was watching him carefully.

“What do you guys think?” Celeste asked, spinning.

“It’s the one.” Calum stated.

“I agree.” Alexa nodded.

Celeste beamed, her whole body alight with happiness as she looked at him, “I think so too.”

Celeste turned to go back into the changeroom and Alexa caught Calum’s eye, she frowned at him and Calum looked away.

Alexa felt bad for Calum, and as she helped Celeste out of the dress, Alexa also realized how much respect she had for the man. He’d said he was coming to the wedding. Alexa wondered if that was true.

***

He couldn’t do it.

He had to do it.

Calum sighed, leaning over the sink and splashing water onto his face. When he stood up, the face looking back at him in the mirror seemed put together.

Calum wished it was true.

The door to the bathroom opened and Alexa peeked her head in, “Cal?”

“This is the men’s bathroom.” Calum said, upset that she was disrupting him when he needed time alone.

“Celeste wanted me to come check on you.”

The anger in Calum’s shoulders disappeared and he took a deep breath, turning to Alexa, “I’m fine.” he lied.

Alexa stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, “you’re at your best friend's rehearsal dinner the night before her wedding. Your best friend, who I might add, you’re in love with.”

Calum swallowed thickly, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“It’s okay to admit it to someone Calum.” Alexa said, “I'm sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Calum sighed, running a hand through his curls, “it’s my own fucking fault.”

“It’s not.”

“It is. I should have said something.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” Calum said, voice rising, “but I should have. Before the wedding, before the engagement, before-” he cut himself off, turning to rest his hands on the sink again, head bowed, “it doesn’t matter.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re a really great guy.” Alexa said. There was a pause, then the bathroom door opened.

Celeste stuck her head in, eyes drifting between Alexa and Calum. For a moment she was expressionless, then she smiled, “what are you two up to?”

“Just talking.” Alexa said, “Calum needs to tell you something.”

Celeste entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She looked radiant as ever, in a soft lavender silky dress that Calum longed to touch. It lit up the green of her eyes and the tanness of her skin and Calum’s mouth went dry looking at her.

It had hurt to spend the whole dinner seated next to her, watching her laugh with Harry. Calum could barely stand it anymore.

“So…” Celeste said, “what’s up?” she looked between Alexa and Calum again.

“I’m going to give you two privacy.” Alexa said, quickly leaving.

Celeste turned to Calum, concern on her face, “is something wrong?”

Calum’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Celeste waited patiently, searching his face for a sign of what was to come.

This was the time to say it. The time to tell her how he felt.

He couldn’t do it.

Couldn’t bear the thought of making her upset, two days before her wedding.

“You’re not coming to the wedding are you?” Celeste frowned.

“No.” Calum breathed out before he could stop himself. He wouldn’t have said it on his own, wouldn't have brought it up, but now that she had… now that she was verbalizing it, he realized there was no way in hell he’d be able to go. Celeste’s eyes were welling with tears and Calum was quick to wipe them away before they could drip down her chin and tarnish her dress, “hey, it’s not you, I uh- work.”

The lie also slipped out before he could stop it. He couldn’t make her think it was her fault. Couldn’t tell her the truth.

“Work called.” he said, sounding more certain, “there’s a new thing they’re trying on my car so I have to get on a plane.”

“You’re flying out?” Celeste asked in confusion, “but your tournament just ended? I thought you were home for good? I planned the wedding so you could come-”

Calum’s heart broke at her words. He brushed more tears away from her face, hands cupping her cheeks. Celeste grabbed his wrists, looking up at him with those big green eyes.

His voice cracked when he spoke, “I’m sorry.”

Celeste moved his hands away from her face and hugged him, her body pressed against his front. Calum’s arms wrapped around her, “you’re going to have a great wedding.” he said, voice hoarse, “big and white and just what you wanted.”

Celeste cried harder and Calum wanted to go outside and crash his ferrari into a wall.

The door to the bathroom opened and Harry peaked his head in, immediately entering when he saw Celeste crying, “What happened?!” Harry asked.

Celeste pulled away from Calum and stepped instead into Harry’s arms, not saying anything as she cried.

“I got called in for work so I can’t make the wedding, I'm flying out tonight.” Calum said. It was easier to lie to Harry, “Celeste is upset I won't be there.”

Harry studied Calum for a moment, then he nodded, “I'm sorry you can’t make it.”

“Me too.” he paused, “I'll go grab Alexa, she’ll have makeup, I don't want to ruin your night-”

“When are you leaving?” Celeste asked suddenly, turning to look at him.

“In two hours.” he lied, eager to have an excuse to leave.

He was glad Celeste was too shocked by the sudden turn of events to ask many questions or prod him for answers. He didn't have any answers. Knew the lies were weak.

Calum turned to leave but Celeste grabbed his hand, “when do you come back?”

“I don’t know.” Calum answered. He didn't know anything.

He’d go to Italy in a few days, that was Ferrari's home base. He’d learn some more Italian so his mechanics could talk to him, he’d-

“Calum?”

“Yeah?”

Celeste opened her mouth then closed it, then opened it again “don’t hurt yourself.”

“I won’t.” Calum looked at her quizzically, unsure where the sudden warning had come from, “send me pictures from the wedding okay?” he wouldn’t look at them.

Celeste nodded. She said nothing else and neither did Calum.

He left the bathroom, bumping into Alexa in the hallway, “what happened?!” Alexa asked, shocked by the tears that were welling in Calum’s eyes.

“I’m skipping the wedding.”

“Did you tell her you love her?” Alexa whispered, following Calum as he attempted to leave the venue.

“No.”

“So what happened?!”

“Told her I’m leaving the country tonight for work-”

“Calum!” Alexa grabbed his arm and made him stop, looking around to make sure no one was looking at them, “you can’t leave.”

“I’m going to go to Italy-”

“You can’t!” Alexa insisted.

“Why not?” Calum asked, beginning to get angry.

“Just-” Alexa looked around again, voice lowering, “please stay in town. Until after the wedding, then you can go wherever you want, you can be out of here tomorrow night. But… trust me Calum. It’s better if you’re here.”

“Why?”

“I just… I have a feeling.”

“A feeling?” Calum laughed, but there was no humour in it.

“Celeste is my best friend. She’s never said anything to me about you but-” Alexa cut herself off as a server walked by, looking at the two brunettes huddled together in secrecy, “just don’t leave the country. Promise me.”

Calum sighed, “fine. I’ll stay, but I’m getting a ticket for tomorrow night. then I’m gone.”

“Okay.”

Calum studied Celeste’s best friend. Wondered what she was thinking. Wondered what she couldn’t say.

***

Celeste had managed to get herself put together for the remaining rehearsal dinner, it was near done anyways. She’d gone home with Alexa, to the apartment they shared when they were both in the city.

Celeste would be moving out as soon as she returned from her honeymoon and her things were already in boxes, a suitcase packed for the trip Harry had planned to celebrate the wedding.

Alexa watched Celeste mope around. If Alexa didn’t know any better, she would have assumed Celeste had just been dumped.

Except that she hadn’t.

“Your wedding is tomorrow, aren’t you excited?” Alexa asked, passing a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream to her friend.

“Yeah,” Celeste frowned, “but Cal won’t be there.”

“Harry will. That’s what matters right?”

Celeste took a deep breath, “yeah.”

“What are you thinking Celeste?” Alexa asked, a question she’d become accustomed to asking. Celeste didn't open up much, even when prodded.

“I don’t know.” Celeste fell down onto her bed, careful not to drop the ice cream.

Her eyes went to the wedding dress hanging there, then to the picture of her and Calum that they’d taken in Italy months earlier. The two of them at Ferrari HQ where he’d shown her around and explained all the cars to her, talking in mangled Italian to the workers who’d smiled at his attempts.

Celeste groaned loudly, “well. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“Uh huh.” Alexa didn’t sound too convinced.

***

Celeste paced back and forth, hands on her hips. It was an odd sight but not a surprising one for Alexa who stood there watching the fully dressed bride have a panic attack.

“What time is it?!” Celeste asked suddenly, turning to look at Alexa.

“Eleven forty. wedding is in twenty minutes.”

“Oh my god.” Celeste fell onto a chair, hiding her face in her hands while careful not to smudge her makeup.

“Talk to me Celeste.” Alexa said, kneeling in front of her friend.

Celeste looked at Alexa from behind her fingers, then took a deep breath. For a moment Alexa thought Celeste would actually open up, then her mouth shut, “this is a mess.” Celeste whispered.

Alexa sighed, “Celeste. Is it possible, that the reason you were so upset when Calum left last night, is because you wanted him at the wedding-”

“Of course I want him there!” Celeste frowned.

“But maybe not as someone in the crowd? Maybe as the groom?” Alexa asked.

Celeste looked shocked for a moment, staring at her friend as if she’d just said she believed the earth was flat, “what?”

“You and Calum.” Alexa said softly, “do you love him?”

“Of course I love him.”

“As more than a friend.” Alexa specified.

“I-” Celeste looked distressed, “I’m getting married to Harry-”

“Just answer the question.” Alexa took Celeste’s hand gently.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. He chose work over being at my wedding and left the country last night-”

“He doesn’t have work today, and he didn’t leave the country.”

“What?!”

“He didn't come because he couldn’t stand to see you with Harry anymore.”

“What?!” Celeste said, louder this time.

“He loves you.”

Celeste stood up abruptly and Alexa followed suit. Alexa had expected Celeste to be ranting, but the girl in front of her was oddly silent.

Celeste’s hands were shaking as she pulled out her phone. She hit speaker and the sound of ringing filled the room.

“Celeste? Are you okay?” Calum’s voice was worried.

“You lied.”

“What?”

“You’re still in New York?” her voice cracked. The line was quiet, Celeste bit her lip, “can… can you come, and bring your car please?”

“I-”

“Calum please.” Celeste said.

She’d never been one to beg, but there she was. Begging in her wedding dress.

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Please hurry.”

***

Calum got out of the car but it didn’t matter, Celeste was already running down the steps. Her hands clutched the dress, lifting it up as to not dirty it.

She was, in every sense of the word, a runaway bride.

And Calum had never been more in love with her.

He held the door open for the car. He’d chosen the one without a top, it was old but still luxurious. A few girls had told him it was the black version of the car people drove off into the sunset in Grease, but Calum had never fact-checked that claim.

Celeste was beaming. Glowing really. And Calum was smiling back at her, helping her tuck her entire dress into the car before he closed the door and ran to the driver's seat.

The car roared to life, like a battle cry, or perhaps a battle won.

“I need to go to my apartment.” Celeste said and Calum didn’t question it.

She’d yet to tell him anything. But since they were driving away from the church, Calum guessed the wedding was over. He was guilty that it made him happy.

The radio was playing club music, the type of hype music Calum liked to drive to, and Celeste turned it up. Her hair was getting messed up by the air whipping by them but Celeste was laughing, arms in the air.

She looked beautiful. Like a girl going to her wedding, not one running away.

Calum snuck glances at her at the first red light.

He could almost forget about Harry.

Until they drove up to the apartment and Harry was waiting there, leaning against his car. One of his friends was in the driver's seat, but he didn't get out of the car.

The look on Harry’s face was stony and it was obvious to Calum that he knew what was coming. “Calum, I need to talk to him is that okay?”

“Of course.” Calum answered.

Like Harry’s driver, Calum stayed in his car. Watching his best friend, the bride to be, get out and walk towards Harry. They were both dressed for the wedding, and it was odd to see them out on the New York street, even if it was a quiet one.

“Celeste, we need to be at the church-” Harry said.

“Harry, I love you but I can't marry you.” Celeste stated, “and I’m so sorry it took me this long to figure it out.”

Harry was quiet.

“You’re one of the most wonderful people I've ever met.” Celeste continued, “and I needed to tell you this in person, but I can't do this. We’ve only been seeing each other for six months and we’re rushing things, don’t you think we’re rushing things?”

Harry sighed but nodded, he’d had the feeling too.

“Besides, we’re amazing friends and I do love you Harry, but I’m not in love with you.”

“Not the way you are with Calum.” Harry stated.

It knocked the air out of Celeste’s lungs. It was as if everyone had known her feelings except her, and maybe Calum, “I-”

“It’s okay.” Harry held up a hand, “s’ not like I would have been able to live in New York forever, and you can’t give up your sodding chicken and waffles.”

“Don’t bash the deep-fried chicken and waffles Harold.” Celeste said, faking offense, but then she was smiling and so was Harry.

“Come here.” Harry said, opening his arms.

They hugged and Celeste was happy neither of them were crying. It showed that this was right.

“I’m not going to deal with wedding guests.” Harry mused while pulling away.

“Me neither.” Celeste said, “we could both just not show up? That sounds like a good song.”

“You have left me with a lot of material.” Harry laughed, “well, I'll see you around Celeste.”

“See you around Harry.” Celeste said fondly, giving the brit one last smile before he got into his car and left. Then she bounded over to the car, leaning down to rest her arms on Calum’s door, “hey.”

“That looked like it went okay.” Calum said.

“It did. So, my bags are packed upstairs for a honeymoon that I’m not going on… what do you say we go somewhere?”

Calum smiled, “where to princess?”

“Take me back to Monte Carlo.”

***

The sound of the hotel room door opening woke Celeste up, her eyes landing on Calum. They’d arrived the night before and had immediately passed out, both too jetlagged to do much. Calum offered her a smile and Celeste stretched, yawning the words “where were you?”

“Wanted to get you breakfast but I didn't think the stuff downstairs was up to your standards.” Calum said, leaning on a wall. He wasn’t sure where to stand.

They were in Monaco.

They’d talked and watched movies the entire flight but neither had brought up the wedding.

He wasn’t sure where he stood with her. Wasn’t sure what he was allowed to ask.

Celeste could feel his awkwardness as she studied him. Then she stood up, adjusting the Ferrari shirt she was wearing. “Calum?”

“Hm?”

“Come here?”

Calum smiled softly, uncrossing his arms over his chest, he took a few steps forward. Celeste held out her arms and pulled Calum to her, looking up at him, “Calum. Do you know I love you?”

“Yeah.” Calum said, he’d heard it many times, after every phone call, after every ride he gave her home after a hangout.

“Do you know I'm in love with you?”

Calum’s breath caught in his chest and he wet his lips, mind racing. The thought that he was the reason for her ditching her wedding had crossed his mind but he’d pushed it to the side, instead deciding to be, as always, Celeste’s friend.

“Calum?” Celeste breathed his name, brushing her fingers over his cheekbone.

Instead of speaking he kissed her.

He’d gone so long not saying the words ringing through his brain, they could wait a little while longer.

His lips were soft on Celeste’s at first, hesitant, as if he was afraid she would pull away. Only when Celeste wrapped her arms around the back of his neck did he get more comfortable, one hand cupping her face while the other went to her waist, pulling her closer.

Calum pulled away and his entire body shuddered for a moment, in something like pure ecstasy, maybe shock.

Celeste smiled up at him, kissing his lips once more softly, “Are you okay?” she asked.

Calum laughed, returning her grin, he shook his head a little, “I just-” he couldn’t find the right words to explain how he was feeling, Celeste waited patiently and- god, he loved her so much.

She could see it in his eyes.

Calum’s fingers dug into Celeste’s hips and she beamed at him, brushing her fingers against his cheeks. She could feel what was unsaid and almost appreciated it more because he couldn’t find the words to say it. She’d always had a connection with Calum that seemed to be on another level, and moments like this confirmed it to her.

Moments like this. She enjoyed the thought of that, of more to come.

“Are you going to kiss me again?” Celeste teased, eyes darting down to look at his lips then up at him again.

Calum kissed her, not as hesitant as the first kiss. His hands went to her waist immediately, one of them dipping down to just above her bum. His fingers bunched in the red fabric and the cool air met Celeste’s ass. She was in a thong, Calum hadn't noticed yet because she’d been covered by the shirt since the night before, but when his hand dipped a little lower, he groaned into her mouth and Celeste knew he’d discovered the flimsy fabric covering her.

His hand kneaded her ass harshly, and Celeste smiled against his lips, loving the way it felt, loving the way Calum was groaning in anticipation. Celeste pressed against his front, already able to feel his hard on straining his grey sweats.

Then Celeste pulled away and Calum let her go, eyes opening questioningly.

Celeste pulled off the Ferrari shirt Calum had given her, revealing her near nudity underneath. Calum licked his lips, eyes focused on her chest. Then Celeste sat down onto the bed, her thick thighs looking deliciously curvy and grabable, Calum couldn’t hold himself back. He was between her legs before he could help himself, kneeling on the floor and tearing off her black silk thong.

“Calum!” Celeste laughed, fingers tangling in his curls. She’d not expected him to be so eager, expected him to go for kissing first. She had no idea how long he’d been waiting to taste her.

Calum’s fingers danced over Celeste’s calf and he moved it to be on his shoulder, his lips trailing up higher and higher. He kissed both thighs, nipping a little at the skin, fingers digging in as he held her in place.

“So pretty.” he mused, more to himself than anything.

Her fingers gripped his curls when his lips finally met her, wrapping around her clit. He’d had enough buildup. Enough teasing. He wanted to hear her moaning his name, wanted to watch her come undone under him.

The first moan was soft, more like a whimper, and Calum’s whole body felt like it was lit in flame. He sucked harder on her clit, fingers digging into her delicious thighs where they were on his shoulders. Her skin was warm and smelled like flowers, he wondered how she always smelled so good.

Celeste’s eyes were closed, lips parted, sinful, soft noises whispered into the cosmos as her lover devoured her.

Her lover… yes, that is what he was.

Calum was her lover in every sense of the word. It had just taken her a long time to realize it. He did everything for her and as he brought her to her first high, her heart filled with love. Love that had always been there, unidentified and growing. Now that she knew what it was, she was never going to let him go.

Calum licked his lips, looking up at Celeste. Her eyes were still closed, chest rising and falling softly as she chased her breath. He took her legs off of his shoulders and Celeste opened her eyes, looking down at him with a lazy smile. A comfortable smile. As if they’d done this a thousand times, “hi.” she said, voice near a whisper.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Her smile widened, “come here.” she said, instead of answering his question.

Calum moved to be on the bed with her, settled between her legs that wrapped around his waist.

He kissed her shoulder first, then her collarbone, moving up her neck before he reached her lips. When he kissed her, he kissed her gently. One of his hands came up to brush over her nipple, earning a soft shudder from Celeste that made him smile against her lips. “You’re so beautiful.” he told her, kisses traveling to her neck as she wrapped her arms around him, a sigh of content leaving her lips, “fucking love you.” he murmerred.

Celeste’s skin felt warm and her heart lurched in her chest. She knew he loved her, but hearing him say it was different. She brought his lips back to hers and kissed him like her life depended on it, part of her thought it did.

The pressure of his hard, clothes cock, against her sensitive entrance had her moaning within seconds, eager to get rid of Calum’s clothes. Soon, his Ferrari shirt has joined the one she was wearing on the floor and his joggers following soon after.

“I wanna top.” Celeste said against Calum’s lips and he paused, giving her a look but agreeing. He got onto his back and watched her straddle him, lining herself up with him. She sank down slowly, both of them groaning at the way it felt.

He had to admit it was a beautiful view. The first bounce had her breasts moving in a way that made Calum’s mouth water. His hands reached up to cup her breasts and Celeste moaned, continuing to bounce up and down on him.

Calum hadn’t had many religious experiences in his life.

This was one of them.

One of his hands went down to her ass, giving it a test smack that made Celeste laugh, her eyes opening. Her hands went to his chest and she leaned over him, kissing his neck while she continued bouncing up and down. He could see the way her ass was moving with each bounce and Calum groaned, eyes closing as he enjoyed the way it felt.

He was usually the top, usually the one doing all the work. It was nice to just lay back and relax and be doted on, especially since he loved her. Every kiss made him tingle and his heart was racing in his chest.

He felt the way he always felt after a race. It was exhilarating.

His arms wrapped around Celeste, slowing her motions so he could roll them so he was on top. The pace he wanted was faster than the one she had been giving him, and now it was his turn to make her feel good.

She looked so beautiful under him, and the feeling of her breasts pressed against his bare chest did not go unnoticed. He wanted to be kissing her, touching her, loving her.

He angled his hips differently, hitting a spot inside of her that had Celeste’s legs tightening around his waist, “holy shit.” she breathed, moaning loudly.

Her fingers went to his curls again, tugging lightly at the dark strands. Their lips were passionate and slow against each other, tongues clashing, teeth biting. Then Calum grabbed one of her hands, interlocking their fingers as he pressed it down into the bed.

“I’m gonna-” Celeste began but Calum cut her off with his lips, pace quickening.

The whole bed was moving with each thrust, and Celeste’s whines were getting louder as he kissed her. He could feel her fluttering around him, a sign of her impending high. Celeste squeezed Calum’s fingers tight, high whimpers stopping as her whole body tensed, orgasm hitting her.

She was so tight around him that Calum came too, thrusts getting sloppy as they rode out their highs. Their kisses were open-mouthed, both of them moaning into each other's mouths.

When they were both done, Calum stopped gripping her hand so hard, instead, he pressed soft kisses over her face. “Fuck, I love you.” he whispered.

Celeste smiled up at him, “I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

***

The usual patrons of the bar watched the gorgeous couple play pool.

She was dressed in red, a colour she’d adopted to support her boyfriend. The colour made her glow, but her boyfriend’s smile was brighter. He watched her with complete adoration, even when she sunk a ball and got one step closer to beating him.

They were the same people they’d been when they were strangers.

He’d quit smoking, claiming he didn't need the high anymore, after all, he was with the love of his life. He still sometimes brought a cigarette or two to give to the bouncers, chatting with them outside before joining Celeste in the bar.

Celeste still played pool with girls who challenged her, but this time, Calum would come to stand behind her. Watching, his arms looped around his girlfriend, enjoying the way she chatted to the girls like they were old friends.

But they were happier, elevated versions of themselves. They’d always dazzled before, but together, they were an unstoppable force. They had the type of happiness people could only dream of.

Calum had always heard that if you dated your best friends, things would be okay.

With Celeste, his best friend, in his arms, he knew it was true. Her smile was contagious, it always had been. Watching her dance away, her dress teasing him, Calum was thankful for everything that had happened.

There’d been a time he hated himself for not talking to her, but it had led him to where they were now. He’d never believed in fate.

He did now.

********

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[bubble-tae]

Bad Bait

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Angst/Lil Fluff/High School AU

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Your attempt to catfish cheaters goes awry when you get a message from a cute boy at school.

(A/N: This was meant to be a drabble response but I got a bit carried away! Thank you to @ddaengyoonmin​ for helping me edit and giving me the confidence to post and lovely @baepsaesbae​ for the request) 

reposted from old account

You didn’t mean to take it this far, I mean it only started as some dumb sleepover prank. For nearly 6 weeks, you had been pretending to be a girl from out of town online, catfishing different guys in your class to catch them cheating. You’d send screenshots to their girlfriends of them asking for nudes. It broke your heart to deliver news like this to these girls, but after a while it felt like an obligation. Everything was all fun and games until Taehyung fell into your lap. He was a senior who stumbled across your fake Instagram account when all his friends started following it. It all started innocently enough, a few likes, a couple heart eyes on some pics (that were of some pretty model), but before you knew it, he had slipped into your dms.

You had seen him around school before, hell, no one could mistake that gorgeous laugh for anyone but him. He wasn’t popular, but he seemed to be part of almost every group and club. Taehyung was in theater, played soccer, and even is the Vice President of the art club. He would have been a shoe in for Homecoming King earlier that year if it hadn’t gone to Kim Seokjin (now he was popular, and cheating on the Homecoming Queen). Taehyung was known, that was for sure, and anyone that met him had to of had the biggest crush on him. When he first messaged you that simple “hey”, you ignored it. As far as you knew he wasn’t dating anyone so there really was no need to talk to him at all, but one bored Saturday night, you figured why the hell not.

It wasn’t anything for a while, he seemed boring and just like all the other guys that found their way to your account, but things slowly picked up around a week later when he started his good morning messages. Soon he was sending you pictures with a big grin and a peace sign and asking all about you; what you like to do for fun, what job you wanted, even little things like what your favorite candy was. Through this, you got to know him too. Taehyung secretly loved to sing, he wanted to be a freelance artist, and how much he loved brownies.

“He doesn’t even know you exist.” Your best friend said from the driver seat of her car. You had both just pulled up to school, the foggy Monday air clouding up the parking lot.

“What’s it matter anyways?” you asked, pulling down the mirror to fix your hair. Your best friend cackled next to you.

“The matter is that you like him, and he likes her.” They pointed at your phone in the cup holder. You closed the mirror and rolled your eyes.

“I don’t like him.” just as you said this your phone chimed, but your friend picked it up faster than you could. They opened your phone, a picture of Taehyung taking over the screen. He was posing with a little fluffy dog, a fake pouty look on his face. Your friend read the message out mockingly.

“ ‘Baby boy cried the whole time I was getting ready, guess he doesn’t want me to go to school. Hope you are having a better morning than I am beautiful.’ Fuck, I’d cry for him to stay too if my owner looked like that.” Your friend held down the picture with their thumb, saving it as your lock screen. You leaned over and snatched it back from their hands.

“He’s just being nice!” you proclaimed.

“Yeah, sure,” your friend said, “and pigs can fly.”

“Wasn’t your mom on an airplane last week?” you joked. They hit your side as the bell rang. “Not funny.” You got out of the car and started to make your way to class, Taehyung’s morning message forgotten thanks to your first period calculus exam.

* * *

It was lunch time, and though you were desperately craving the cafeteria chicken nuggets, you knew you had to finish up some last minute notes that were due today. You headed to the library, where you found it mostly empty safe for a few studious peers. There was an empty table near the back, so you pulled out a chair and took your book out from your bag. With earbuds in, you fell into your own little world, taking notes on the 15th century Tudor period. It wasn’t long before you were interrupted by someone grazing the back side of your seat trying to reach a book on the shelf behind you. You were about to give them a dirty look when you turned around, but you were taken back by a face you had never seen this close before.

“Sorry.” Taehyung muttered with a smile, book under arm. You didn’t say anything, your mouth agape as you froze in the moment. He was prettier in person, and when he pushed his curly brown hair back and made his way to the front of the table, you swore your heart stopped beating. He pointed to the chair just across from you. “This seat taken.”

“No.” you finally croaked out, taking your earbuds out. There was no reason to be this nervous, he was just a person you told yourself. He sat down in the chair and open the book, cover facing you. The front read “1984”. He peeked over the top of the book, and that’s when you realized you were staring. Taehyung brought the book down to his lap.

“Sorry if I disrupted your flow.” he said.

“Oh no, it was kind of boring anyways.” That was sort of a lie, part of you actually enjoyed getting wrapped up in your work, but it could wait. “What are you reading?”. You knew what he was reading, in fact you read it just last month, but you felt an insatiable need to keep talking to him. His voice was different than you thought, more sultry and smooth.

“1984, I guess it’s about a society living under constant surveillance.”

“Aren’t we already?” you quipped. He laughed and blush spread across your cheeks.  

“I guess so.” he said. “It was recommended to me.”

‘Yeah, by me.’ You thought. “You going to check it out?”

“I don’t know, I’m not really much of a reader.”

“Yeah you’ve told me.” the words left your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. He put the book down, smile disappearing as he leaned back in his chair. You bit your lip, trying to think of some way out of this.

“What? Do we know each other?” he finally asked, brows furrowed down but eyes still cautious as he scanned your face more intensely.

“Freshman year. English.” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t ask what teacher you had. Your legs were bouncing under the table, and you only hoped that he didn’t notice how your body shook.

“But…” he started, trying to remember if he has ever met you. “I’ve never told you that before.”

“Must have been someone else then.” you spat out quickly, standing up and shoving your things in your bag. “Gotta run, nice chat.” He stood up too, confused from the change in the environment. You sling your bag over your shoulder, but as you start to leave you trip slightly on the leg of the table, and your phone falls to the ground. It lands screen up, and if this situation couldn’t get any worse, it turns on, displaying the picture Taehyung took that morning. He stopped in his tracks and stared down at your phone.

“Am I your lock screen?” he asked, almost disgusted. You pick your phone off the ground quickly.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” The two of you eyed each other uncomfortably in the silent library. No one had even noticed that anything strange was going on. Taehyung looked around the library and then leaned in slightly.

“Are you stalking me?” he whispered.

“Taehyung, let me explain” you started to say before he cut you off.

“Oh my god, you’re stalking me!” he said a little louder and angrier this time. A kid at a nearby table looked up for a moment before returning to his laptop.

“Will you shut up?” you whisper shouted. “I’m not stalking you.”

“Then what the fuck is that?” he pointed to your phone. You let out a sigh and rubbed at your temples. ‘This is a fucking disaster.’ you wanted to say.  

“You sent it to me this morning, my friend put it as my lock screen as a joke.” You could tell he didn’t believe you, why would he, he had never spoken to you before, let alone sent a picture with the intent of you seeing it.

“I didn’t send you that.”

“Well, you sort of did.” you opened your phone and pulled out the messages, his text from this morning displayed on your screen.

“How did you get her messages?” he asked, taking the phone from your hands to inspect it further.

“They are my messages.” he looked back up at you still confused. There was only one way he was going to understand this. “She’s not real.” Taehyung’s face fell as he looked down at the phone again, the words hitting him slowly.

“What?” he said, not really asking.

“Taehyung…” you said, taking a step forward. He took one back.

“What’s your real name?”

“Y/N.” you answered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Y/N?” he said, hurt dripping over ever word. He put your phone down on the table and grabbed his stuff.

“I can explain!” you tried, the people in the room watching the two of you. He turned around as he started to leave, eyes just a little bit glossy.

“Don’t talk to me, creep.” he hissed before storming out of the library, leaving you standing alone with all eyes on you.

* * *

You probably couldn’t fix it, and you didn’t really intend to, but you at least wanted to try and make it hurt less. Hurt less for him or you, that you didn’t know. There you stood at his front door, plate of brownies in hand, trying to muck up the courage to ring the doorbell. This was much harder than hiding behind your phone. Your hand lifted to the doorbell, but you heard the lock click out of place before the door opened. Taehyung was in the doorway, a displeased look on his face.

“You’ve been standing here for five minutes, I figured I’d tell you to get lost myself.” He picked at his fingernails as if he didn’t care. It stung a little, to have him suddenly be so cold to you, but you knew you deserved it.

“At least take the brownies.” you held the plate in front of them. He squinted his eyes at the brownies, then at you.

“They aren’t poisoned, are they?” he took the plate from your hands, still suspicious.

“No, but they are fudge brownies” his favorite kind. He contemplated something for a minute before opening the front door wider and stepping to one side.

“You have until I finish the brownies to explain.” you thought that maybe he was kidding, but when you both were inside, he motioned for you sit on the couch next to him as he started to stuff his face.

“I know how this looks from your end.” you began, “I didn’t intend on leading you to believe I was this other person. The account wasn’t even made for you, but kind of to catch this one guy who was cheating. One guy turned into two, and before I knew it, it kind of just became my thing.” Taehyung shoved a second brownie in his mouth and crumbs dribbled down his chin and onto his jeans, which he brushed onto the floor, some of them landing on the tops of your shoes.  

You tried to continue but Taehyung shoved a third brownie into his mouth before he finished chewing the second. “Dude, you’re going to choke.” you said to him. He stopped chewing suddenly, looking at you with cheeks full. He motioned with his hands for you to keep talking.

“Anyways,” you shook your head in disbelief. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I never meant for you to get tangled up in all this mess. I wasn’t faking anything, everything I said came from me, Y/N. If you wanna be friends or something, that’s great, but if you want to pretend I never existed, I understand.” The last part hurt to say, but you knew you would have to respect his boundaries. Taehyung finally finished chewing what was in his mouth, swallowing hard as leaned back into the couch.

“Wow,” he nodded to himself, “so you’re The Fisherman?”

“The what?”

“The one who’s been catching all the cheaters. Catfish turned into Fisherman, how about that?” he wiped some of the remaining crumbs from his pants and contemplated grabbing another brownie.

“I guess so? I didn’t know I had another identity.”

“You’re like a modern day Robin Hood.” he leaned onto his knees and getting closer to you. “I knew it.” You let out a laugh at that. Of course he didn’t know.

“So you’re not upset?” you questioned.

“Oh no, I’m fucking pissed.” he placed a hand on your knee, “but I’m also impressed.” You were taken back by his words. He saw the expression on your face and elaborated.

“You caught 6 different dudes cheating on their girlfriends and still no one knows it’s you. That takes a genius.”

“It’s actually 9.” you corrected. He threw his hands air up in the air in disbelief.

“That’s amazing!” he shouted. “I think I like you more than the girl in the screen.” His smile was lazy and genuine and his outright honesty made your face burn. He scooted just an inch closer, a little hesitantly. “So, everything we talked about was really you?” You recognized for the first time how soft his features were in person, eyes glittering with curiosity. His lips were slightly parted, and you wished to know how they felt. You blinked away the thought, almost embarrassed for having it.

“It was always me.” He laughed at your cheesy line and pinched your cheeks, pulling at them.

“You’re not wearing a mask, are you?” he joked. You pulled his hand away, keeping it in yours as it fell into your lap.

“No more surprises.”

“Don’t I get a chance to surprise you?” he asked, licking his lips and moving in closer. You felt your heart beat faster until it was in your throat, and time slowed. You cursed your sweaty palms and quivering lip, Taehyung’s eyes half closed as he was only inches from your face. You closed your eyes and waited for him to kiss you. His lips tickled against yours, so close but not yet touching, before he averted his mouth upward to plant a kiss on your nose. He pulled away with a wide smirk, and you let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“That’s not fair.” you breathed out. He pulled your hand into his lap to play with your fingers.

“I know.” he said before biting his lip and looking back up at with bashful eyes. Taehyung was a tease, but you knew that you couldn’t wait for for more of his surprises.

[skrltwtch]

Sleep Talk

Prompt: Persons A and B are cuddling on the couch together watching a movie late at night. Person B (who tends to sleep talk) falls asleep, and A doesn’t notice. B begins saying progressively weirder stuff until they finally mutter “I love you.” A internally freaks out and grabs B’s hand, then says, “I love you, too.” Person B wakes up confused and terrified because it was the first time they ever said “I love you” to each other. (Source of prompt in link at bottom of post.)

Word count: 2,026 words

Author's note: Spoilers for Wonder Woman. I also didn't quite follow the prompt to a T.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

‘It’s movie night!’ I said in a sing-song voice upon entering the living room, fresh out of the shower and in my best jammies, a set cut from cat-printed periwinkle blue cloth. George, sadly, wasn’t wearing his matching set. Shame; I’d packed this set with the intention of us spending this iteration of a three-year-old tradition in couple jammies. That’d have been such a sight — and the Instagram story.

‘The best night of the week — which also happens to be Friday night,’ he said, grinning. He patted the space next to him. ‘Saved you a seat. Best one in the house.’

‘Thank you, my darling.’ I put down the bowl of popcorn mixed with funfetti and chocolate, a recipe I nicked off the Internet, and bottle of Coke, and joined him on the couch, its real estate reduced to fit us both as snugly as bugs in a rug by all the pillows he’d added to the living room’s already hefty count. His idea of home improvement made it difficult for me to ever want to leave this couch and live life off of it. Could I put in a request to work from home like this next week? Senior management were strong advocates of ‘flexible arrangements’ and ‘work-life balance’ after all, and none were more deserving of the latter after the week’s events than I.

‘What are you in the mood for?’

‘What are you in the mood for? It’s your turn this week to choose,’ he said.

‘I was being democratic.’

‘For once, you can pretend my opinion doesn’t matter.’

‘“For once”?’

‘Oi.’ He sank deeper into his seat.

The corners of my mouth ached from chortling a little too much at his expense. I almost choked, actually, to which he said under his breath, ‘Karma’, his face gleaming with smug glee. Fair enough.

I reached for the remote and also handed him the popcorn to keep his mouth busy while I picked our poison; I knew, too, that what he’d said about his opinion not mattering this time had to be a bluff. George? Not having an opinion about movies? The next Pope being Buddhist was far likelier. I counted myself fortunate that we had similar tastes.

So, what was I feeling this week? Last week was Ingrid Goes West, which reinforced his decision to stay the fuck away from social media and reinforced my crush on Elizabeth Olsen. It was one of the unspoken rules to not repeat genres to keep things interesting. If there were no such rule, I’d have watched the entirety of Netflix’s sci-fi thrillers, and he its dark comedies, twice over. I navigated to the superhero movies section. I wanted something loud, light, and that wasn’t too long because of the late start.

The cursor found itself on Wonder Woman. Excellent: it was familiar — this would be our second time watching; we had no compunctions about re-watching stuff on movie night, as long as it was within ‘reason’ (whatever that meant — for instance, watching Thor: Ragnarok five times was perfectly acceptable to me) — and didn’t require a tremendous amount of cerebral effort to follow. It was what the doctor ordered for capping off a long, pretty shitty week. I needed the reminder that it was possible, and worthwhile, to find hope in and remain optimistic about such a bleak, ugly world. Besides, what was more cathartic than watching a superheroine, the world’s first, doing her thing in a movie that was, for the most part, also tastefully done? I didn’t want to enter the weekend continuing feeling like shit, so I hit play without further ado.

‘Hey, don’t finish that,’ I said to George, who’d been popping fistfuls of kernels and chocolates into his mouth like there wasn’t a finite supply.

‘You were taking so long to decide.’

‘I’ve decided!’ I gestured at the Warner Bros logo that flashed on-screen.

‘I’m hungry.’ His pout signalled the being of a sulk. ‘We don’t usually start this late …’

I put down the remote and curled up next to him. Our arms made their way onto each other’s bodies: mine across his abdomen, and his over my shoulder. He took my hand and lay a soft kiss on my fingers before setting it back down on his lower stomach, where he preferred it belonged. Fine by me. I burrowed deeper into his side. His scent, fresh and a little sweet from all the candy he’d taken, provided warm solace, as always.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been made to stay late.’

His fingertips skimmed the curve of my jawline. ‘It’s okay. I was kidding. I know your manager’s a prick with no respect for other people’s time,’ he said. A finger landed on my lip; it tasted faintly of vanilla. ‘Now, shh. Movie’s started.’

For something we’d watched before, Wonder Woman continued to hold our attention. Neither of us succumbed to the temptation of checking our phones nor started conversing with each other about our day, whether the Internet would implode if Chris Pine were to ever join the Marvel Cinematic Universe, weekend plans, whatever. None of that was verboten on movie night. Our attention spans weren’t perfect, and we’d never pretend they were; and some movies, like it or not, were better enjoyed as background noise in the comfort of one’s home. Sometimes we could accomplish so much on movie nights.

‘How’d you think I’d look in that?’ George piped up during the famous No Man’s Land sequence.

‘In what?’

‘Her outfit.’

‘That’s something you could consider for next Halloween.’

He grunted.

‘I’d love to see it.’

‘I want cheese. Cheese in bread. Cheese on bread. Pizza?’

‘You can’t be that hungry.’ I patted his stomach. It emitted a loud, watery rumble.

‘’m puckish.’

‘“Peckish”?’

‘That’s what I said.’ His speech had a slurred quality to it.

‘There’s still popcorn left.’

‘Not chicken wings.’ How’d wings come into the picture? ‘Or Sprite.’

‘Gross, Sprite.’

Despite his and his stomach’s grievances, he didn’t take the popcorn or Coke, or get up to order whatever it was that he wanted. I wasn’t about to surrender the position into which I’d worked myself. Likewise, I was genuinely into Wonder Woman (I attributed that to the fatigue I felt toward all things Marvel after Endgame and my excitement for Wonder Woman 1984) to consider taking any interruptions in my stride. His stomach did stop its fussing after a while.

‘Are my Neopets dead? Is there a Neopets Heaven?’

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to. Because he didn’t need to know I was still on Neopets and could therefore tell him with full confidence that no, Neopets wouldn’t starve to death, and no, the concepts of death and Heaven didn’t, and would never, exist on the site because its staff continued to delude themselves about the average age of their current userbase. Look, I put in too much work on my account, which I’d had since the site’s inception, to simply let it rot in the site’s current state of virtual limbo. Actually, maybe I should come clean and reintroduce him to the site … it was getting a little lonely for little ol’ me in Neopia.

‘What do you think happens to Tamagotchi when they die?’

Okay, what the fuck.

I peeled my gaze off of Gal Gadot — a herculean task — and looked up at him. Oh, God. He really was the old man he proclaimed himself to be. I let him sleep. He, too, had had a rough week at work, and I needed him at his best for what we had planned for the weekend … which, for now, was nothing. I was planning for the both of us to work on it when Wonder Woman entered standard blockbuster fare territory! Once again, work had thrown a monkey wrench into the fine-tuned machinery that constituted our countdown to the weekend: sending texts about weekend plans to each other during office hours and bringing them to fruition once our asses found themselves out the door at six o’clock and not a second later. This was called making efficient use of our time at work. Our managers should be so proud.

George’s sleep talking soon eclipsed Wonder Woman in terms of entertainment value. Frankly, Wonder Woman lost its lustre in its third act, where the filmmakers attempted to convince the audience that Remus Lupin and the fearsome Greek god of war were one and the same. That moustache? In what universe —? The nerve of Patty Jenkins, expecting me to extend my suspension of disbelief to such lengths.

Tonight’s highlights included:

‘Fucking parrots, always stealing my hot dogs in the park.’

‘I am not eating that banana without a fork.’

‘Look, that dog is wearing a tea cosy on its head.’ (I really would’ve loved to see this.)

‘Dad’s going to regret not letting mom pursue that degree in apartment science.’

When I couldn’t resist and asked him what apartment science was: ‘You know, when an apartment and science love each other very much …’

‘Government’s come out and made sex on bicycles illegal. That is a goddamn shame.’

‘Pudding’s never hurt anyone. Not physically, not emotionally.’

I was … a little fascinated, honestly. His episodes, as moderate as their occurrences were, tended to consist of brief, simple sentences and max out at four or five. Did I need to be concerned? Or was work taking a heavier toll on him than he’d let on? That was it: our weekend was going to revolve around relaxation. The beach! Massages! Studio Ghibli on Netflix! Spending the entirety of either day in bed was a need, a must; I wouldn’t care to hear otherwise.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you, George.’ I rested my head on his chest and interlaced my fingers with his.

The realisation of what the words that’d left our lips, been said in our voices, and hung in the air above our heads, begging, screaming, to be acknowledged, were drove me to undo what I did and pause the movie. Why did that sound so … natural? Why was I even questioning this? Our relationship — what we had — wasn’t invalid because those words hadn’t been said — until now, where ‘now’ happened to be borne of a sleep talking episode. Love didn’t have an on-off switch. The things we did together, the things we did for each other, the things we did to each other, said volumes louder about what we were than those three words.

Still, it felt fucking magical.

George stirred next to me. ‘Has it ended?’

‘No.’

He snuffled. ‘Did I fall asleep?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Shit. Did you stop because I —’

How was that sentence supposed to have ended? Because he talked in his sleep? Because of what he said? Do you know what you said, and did you mean it? I wanted to ask. His recollection of what he said while unconscious was a crapshoot; at least it wasn’t convenient whenever it might suit him — like now, perhaps. And I did. I meant what I said. Come on, Y/N. Don’t sweep this under the rug. Don’t play it off as a joke. Do it. Ask him. We were adults, whether or not we liked it. I couldn’t have the weekend start on a note like this.

He pressed me closer to him. His lips brushed the top of my head. ‘I’m an idiot for not saying it sooner — or more often, and when I’m awake,’ he said. ‘I love you. I love you. I love you. It sounds divine.’

Heat danced across my cheeks. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Our palms touched. ‘I love you,’ I said softly. ‘I love you, George MacKay.’

I resumed the movie, both better able and more unable to focus on it now. There wasn’t much left to it. Chris Pine had long left the picture, as my interest would’ve, too, notwithstanding what’d transpired.

‘What else did I say?’

‘You wanted to know if your Neopets are dead.’

‘Oh. Well, are they? Can you help me check?’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘I know you still play.’

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Real Story Behind Krampus (2017), And The 17 Other Terrifying Christmas Tales And Traditions You NEED To Know About

Christmas is a time for family, a time for laughter, and a time for drinking volumes of alcohol that make your cousins concerned about your emotional wellbeing.

But most importantly, it's a time for demons to hunt down children and stuff them full of straw and pebbles. No, I’m not talking about the Eastenders Christmas Special - I’m talking about the Christmas traditions they don’t put in Hallmark movies.

As Christmas has been celebrated for 2000 years, it has amassed a collation of equally terrifying traditions and monsters that only the dark corners of history could conjure up. 

Although confirmed by the Dickensian tradition of sharing ghost stories (see Matthew Mcconaughey movie - or failing that some old book about poverty in Victorian Britain), it seems we’ve forgotten the true terror behind the most wonderful time of the year!

So, as your favourite paranormal blogger, I’ve taken it upon myself to bring together everything creepy ‘bout Christmas. 

Today’s post is gonna take y’all through the mythical monsters you should be on the lookout for, plus the Christmas traditions that bare a dark, twisted backstory.  

Which is all of them.

Let’s get spooky! 

First, Let’s All About The Monsters Of Christmas

Hands up if you’ve watched Krampus (2017).

Here’s the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6cVyoMH4QE  

It might not be Love, Actually, nor will it ever score a set of great reviews, but it got everyone talking about the mythical creature titling the film. 

Need a summary?

This dark-comedy/horror film centres around a dysfunctional family at Christmas. When the youngest child loses faith in Santa, he rips up his letter to him, sending a signal to Krampus that he has lost his Christmas spirit and thus must be punished!

Okay, this film doesn’t fit the actual legend that well. But the kid does get dragged to hell - and unfortunately, that’s what sticks closest to the creature titling the film. 

On top of this, the movie features the classic mysterious European grandmother that has a story about the war (as a European I can confirm this). But her story isn’t about an air raid, or some long-gone past ruler; instead, it explains a twisted tale regarding the most famous companion of Father Christmas. 

That being said, it provides an introduction that only scratches the surface of the mythical creatures of Crimbo:

Krampus is the half-goat, half-demon creature that is often witnessed wandering ‘round with Santa Claus. Concieved in the pre-christian era in central europe, his aim of existence was to punish naughty children. 

“So, Santa provides for the nice kids, Krampus provides for the naughty kids? Got it.”

If only it was that simple.

Krampus’s family tree is more twisted than the British royal family - and has a similar collection of dodgy relatives:

Son of the Norse goddess, Hel (ruler of the underworld and the dead), Krampus is a Perchten, a race of beasts born to scare away Winter. Never heard of ‘em? Well, you’ve probably heard of his grandfather, then: Loki.

Given his famous hegemony, it follows that he is always believed to be the Horned God of the Witches, and sticks to a devilish image.

With a dark, hairy body, large fangs and a tongue hanging far below his bottom lip, beast-like is an understatement. Accessorising his frightful look is a grasp of birch branches or a whip, as well as a sack or basket (to put children in and take to hell or save for a quick drink and snack later), and chains.

However, the chains part is still subject to debate: some believe it is an attempt to bind the devil by the Catholic Church in attempt to control him, while others claim it is because Krampus is Santa’s slave.

This directly relates to the position of Krampus and his fellow monsters - they are all believed to be Santa’s companions. 

So, we know who Krampus is. But did you know he has a whole night devoted to him?

Krampusnacht falls on the 6th December, a day from which people put on masks and get drunk, scaring kids. Alternatively, you can dress up and hand out coal, mirroring the Krampus spirit! Nevertheless, both serve as a reminder to children not to be naughty, as does the bundle of golden birch branches you can have in your house. 

Now, who’s ready to get their feminist on?

Frau Perchta is the female counterpart of Krampus. 

This goddess-monster goes about giving good kids silver coins, and giving naughty kids, uh, well, death.

She’d slice ‘em open, and stuff ‘em full of straw and pebbles. But her backstory goes much further than simply murdering children: as she oversees spinning as a part of the 12 days of Christmas, she focuses on people that get their work done.

And if you slack? Then you gon’ get murdered. 

Given her name, it’s obvious that like Krampus, she’s a beast-like creature. But her animalistic tropes only go so far as her feet - just like Krampus’ single goat hoof, she has a swan foot. 

“So, she’s a swan?”

Nope - she’s either regarded as a beautiful young woman, or an old crone. 

Classic Patriarchy. 

Next up is another animal, but this time, it comes in the form of a cat. Unfortunately, the Yule Cat is less Instagram, and more deadly. Yep - this Icelandic beast eats the kids that fail to complete their chores before Christmas. 

Just like Frau Perchta, it can be traced back to farmers attempting to scare their workers into getting shizz done. If they hadn’t processed the autumn wool, they’d be eaten by the cat. If they had, they’d receive new clothes.

You’d better be thankful for those socks, then!

But it turns out the Yule Cat isn’t the only monster from Iceland. In fact, he’s actually the pet of a family of ferocious Christmas beasts!

Gryla and Leppaludi are a couple hell-bent on detecting naughty children. Gryla, the matriarch of this famalam - is a Norse giantess, who wanders round each and every village in iceland. Once she’s found said children, she eats them. 

Often she is described as a beggar, asking for parents to turn over their disobedient children so she can chuck ‘em in her sack, and add them to her signature stew!

Her husband - well, third husband but who’s judging - Leppaludi, is what the Daily Mail would label a benefit-scrounger as he hangs about in their cave all day. On top of this is their 12 children: The Yule Lads.

(God, this has a Daily Mail story written all over it.)

Each lad has a different, um, quirk.

One harasses sheep. One steels tupperware - no, seriously, he makes a point of stealing pots with lids. And another steals candles from children.

So that’s Iceland covered - let’s head back to continental Europe!

Hans Trapp is our next contender for the ultimate creep of Christmas. Trapp is a resident of Alsace-Lorraine, and comes from near the border of France and Germany. But what’s really terrifying about this monster is that he once existed. 

Hans Von Trotha was a French Knight and man of particular political distinction. From his feuds with the church, to his ever-roaming spirit after he died, the following myth was by no means a random creation. However, the backstory to Hans Trapp took a bit of a detour from his past:

Trapp was reportedly a Satanist who would kill children. Yeah, you can see a theme here…

This rich, greedy man was excommunicated by the church, and then exiled to the forest where he would hunt children. Well, he would until struck by a bolt of lightning sent by God. But despite his rather dark past, his backstory is less really-demonic, more redemptive.

A bit like Krampus, he seeks to remind kids to be virtuous, teaming up with St. Nicholas to ensure children would be nice. 

Next is Romanian Werewolves. 

Yep, that’s plural. 

Sure, these man-beasts show up during the full moon, but also makes a point of unleashing their true forms at Christmas. This has merged with caroling in Romania - dressing up as animals and pissing off people busy having a cheeky Baileys rather than see their family is a common occurrence there.

Oh, and they go around and tell you not to have sex.

No, seriously, you aren’t allowed to have sex on Christmas Eve cause Jesus or somethin’. 

The other Christmas mythical creatures include:

Le Pere Fouettard, some fella who tags along with St. Nick, delivering lumps of coal to naughty kids. Well, when he’s not beating them up, that is!

Knecht Ruprecht joins Santa on his rounds too, but he isn’t like Pere, don’t worry! He kidnaps children, instead.

Next up is Zwarte Piet, one of Santa’s helpers who listens at the chimney of family homes to deduce if kids have been naughty or nice. Guys, we got a wholesome helper! Wait - people dress up in blackface to celebrate him?

I think we can all agree that racism is far scarier than anything else on this list…

Lastly, we have Belsnickel. And don’t worry, there’s no racism here. This bloke clad in fur and random clothes asks kids if they’ve been naughty or nice during the year.

Let’s Talk About The Terrifying Traditions

Well, we did it, guys! 

We made it through the monsters behind a Merry Christmas. 

And you can rest easy knowing these are all mythical creatures that can add a smidge of spook to your Christmas. But now it’s time to discuss the spooky side to the traditions we pull out of the attic year-upon-year.

So, no, these aren’t based on myths or religion - its based on historical fact!

Great.

Anyways:

If there’s one thing that defines Christmas - and is currently crippling my bank account - its gift giving.

Thinking of giving someone scissors for the most wonderful time of the year? It will literally cut your friendship or relationship in two. And shoes? The receiver of your gift will metaphorically walk away from your relationship. 

But if you’re looking for a more, uh, positive gift, a wallet or purse should be on your shopping list, instead. 

Wallets with money in them are believed to ward off demons, ghosts, and all other scary things.

Another creepy Christmas fact is the historical origins of mince pies. As a Brit, seeing Americans attempt to comprehend mince pies always figures as a solid meme. But the origin of it doesn’t steer too far from ‘Murican attempts to replicate this Christmas treat.

Back in the 16th century, cannibals would add human meat to pies, selling it off as actual meat. Oh, and this parallels some vague rumour of Santa being a cannibal. Basics, a holy man told him to give gifts to kids instead of eating them. 

In some strange and convoluted way this somehow chocks up to mincemeat now insinuating that there is no meat in there, instead.

*shrugs*

Speaking of tasty treats, why not make sure you stick to the rule of the Baker’s Dozen at Christmas?

When bakers would make batches, they would provide 13 of something instead of a dozen in case something turned out wrong. But they would also provide an extra roll, or a bun, at Christmas!

It’s for that reason that on the 12th day of Christmas, you have to take down your Christmas tree. Fail to do so? You’re gonna have to keep it up all year, then. It’s a mouldy pine tree, or its bad luck.

Our next tradition stakes it claim as the twisting of a Crimbo icon: it’s Santa Claus, himself.

But this time, he takes on an urban legend that I’m sure many actually believe: understandably, ‘santa’ can be traced to ‘satan’, as if it is the unholy being himself but in disguise. And ‘claus’? It can be translated to ‘hoof claws’, a running theme we see with the monsters like Krampus. 

So, could it be the devil in disguise?

Satan aside, who else likes trooping up to midnight mass and singing about the JC?

Well Christmas carols - and even carolling itself - actually sticks to a relatively dark past. Take Good King Wenceslas - this bloke let in peasants and encouraged them to join his bountiful feast! 

Unfortunately, his charitable efforts were not rewarded. He was stabbed with a lance repeatedly outside a church upon his own brother’s orders, and was then dismembered.

Yikes.

Historically, carollers would partake in similarly violent activities, demanding food and drink from their audience. Heck, they would even so so far as to start attacking, raping, and destroying their property! 

Guess it wasn’t a very Silent Night, then…

Our penultimate tradition is that of the Nutcracker: Whether you’re watching it, or using it to have a Christmas-specific nibble, there’s no doubt that this is pretty popular image of the festive season. 

But - and it’s a big ol’ ‘but’ - it’s based on a truly terrifying story.

No, there’s no ghosts, no ghouls, and certainly no demons. But there is a child marriage.

The story goes that a girl, Marie, sees a nutcracker come to life. Her Grandfather than launches into this story of how men can be cursed with the ugliness of a nutcracker. She replies by saying she’d marry one no matter how they looked.

She is then whisked away into a magical world from which she marries a nutcracker. 

This all goes down whilst she is 8 years old. 

Our final tradition of terror is less about the abuse of young girls, and more about evil beings breaking into your house. Merry Christmas?

See, you’d think that people coming down your chimney is reserved for one bloke in particular, but it turns out that European tales of malicious spirits taking the same route is a common tale frequently told. 

Belsnickel does the same, as do Greek goblins in order to terrorise the residents of the house.

So - What’s Your Verdict?

Which tradition left you shook?

And what Christmas film are you now going to watch to try and wipe this from your brain?

Be sure to hit follow to see a real spooky story tous les jours (everyday for the unsophisticated among us)!

At this point, I would tell you to have a Merry Christmas, but I think a safe one where, you know, you don’t get dragged to hell by Krampus, is best.