#painted petals fest
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cherry // ross macdonald x reader
valentine's week - day 1: secret admirer
a/n: before you say anything, yes there will be a part 2 that's literally just a nasty fuck fest. i just wanted to get the plot bits out of the way and it got way too long as you can see.
cw: age gap (10-12 years), highkey ooc, incredibly self-indulgent btw, ummm kinda dom/sub? hand kink, kinda corruption kink also
wc: 7.8k
it’s been twenty minutes that they’re all sat in this room—concrete walls, a little like matty’s house honestly, simple furniture and minimalist decor. it feels anything but sparse though—there’s the mic guy and the cameraman and a few assistants. there’s the host, a cheery, fresh faced woman dressed to the nines. but ross can’t stop staring. which is a problem because he really should stop staring and focus on his actual job. except the girl in front of him is distraction personified.
next to him matty babbles on about the cultural and political significance of their latest album—all interesting, thoughtful stuff. ross, however, stares at the girl transcribing it all. and that’s what she is really, a girl. all softness and innocence, gently rolling the end of a pencil between her perfectly pink lips in a room full of lecherous men. unaware. aloof. or maybe he’s projecting. maybe he’s the lecherous one for staring at a girl who’s most definitely in her early twenties; at the pencil between her lips, at her cherry red dress.
every now and then she pulls the pencil away from her mouth and scribbles a few notes—something in neat, curving handwriting that is a little too far for him to read properly. every once in a while she also types something on her laptop, long, painted nails clacking so softly on the keyboard that the mic probably won’t pick up any of the sounds.
on her notepad, ross can see little doodled flowers—a bit janky and uneven petals, underneath it she’s doodled a box. thin, pencil lines tracing the same shape over and over again until the paper almost rips.
he tries not to be so obvious—tries not to stare at her face so much, at the curve of her cheek and the long lashes almost touching it, at the sharp line of her jaw, and the claw clip holding her hair up and out of her face. a few strands escape though, blowing gently against the air blasting from the aircon.
he tries to keep his attention back on the interview. and he tries to give himself little goals—he can only look at her if matty says a certain word. he can only look at her every time the host laughs—all trivial stuff that goes out the window every time she shifts in her seat and he catches the movement from the corner of his eye.
more than a few times, he catches her staring back—big eyes lingering right on his face with a distinctly interested expression. every time it happenes, he straightens a bit more and runs his hands through his neatly trimmed beard.
the girl follows the movement with her eyes and ross wonders what she makes of him.
“ross?” someone calls out for him. the host stares, expectant, and he stifles the urge to curse. searching his memory for the question that was just asked is useless; it’s not like he was listening to a word that was said in the last two minutes. but now everyone’s eyes are on him and the collar of his shirt feels tighter than it is. his cheeks grow warmer but ross laughs it off.
“yeah, agree with what matty said,” he replies quickly and clears his throat. he has no idea what matty said last but the host seems satisfied and moves on to the next question. the girl looks up at him again and quickly presses her lips together. still, he sees the slight quirk of them, almost like she’s trying to stifle a smile or a laugh.
this time he stares back just a bit longer, meets her eyes with intention and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge; just to see if she’d keep staring so blatantly. her eyes widen a fraction and the pencil stills on her lips. her teeth graze its end and almost dent her soft lip.
ross sees the movement of her iris, unsure where to look. she fidgets in her seat, shifting again and crossing her legs. then she averts her eyes entirely and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.
“your head’s in the fucking clouds,” george deadpans the moment they step outside on the balcony. there’s already a cigarette dangling between his fingers and smoke curls around his head.
ross groans. “haven’t slept properly.”
it’s not exactly a lie. he was up pretty late last night but ross lights a cigarette of his own if only to avoid looking at george. they stand there in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the smoke settle into their lungs and blowing it out. matty’s boisterous laugh floats outside and ross thinks back to the shitshow of an interview.
there’s a reason he hates doing these, there’s a reason matty always speaks on all of their behalf. but ross knows big publications want all four of them and it’s good to create hype and get the fans excited. and he knows it’s just necessary—
the balcony door open with a creek.
at first, ross doesn’t turn. it’s probably adam who’s bored of the conversation or matty who’s managed to escape it but out of the corner of his eye, he sees george turn around and straighten imperceptibly.
and so he follows suit.
the girl clears her throat. “uh… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” there’s a slight tremor in her voice and she looks up quickly from george to ross. she’s shorter than he’d realised before, only coming up to the base of his throat, fucking tiny compared to him and george and he pointedly ignores what it does to his brain to see her staring up at him, craning her neck just to meet his eyes.
“ross…mr macdonald. sir.” she comes to a stop in front of him, all wide-eyed and flustered and calling him sir for fucks sake. he can almost feel the laugh george is trying to hold in. this isn’t the first time a nervous fan’s approached them and he’s had far weirder interaction. still he plans to smack george later for making him lose his composure
“just ross,” he corrects on autopilot then gestures for her to continue. he expects the usual—a selfie or autograph on a vinyl. to his surprise she holds up a phone in front of him and ross almost gapes before reigning it in.
“your phone,” she says. “you left it on the set.”
quickly, he taps his back pocket and feels nothing.
up close, he can see the tiny smudge of mascara under her eyelashes and the precise shade of red on her lips. up close he can smell her perfume too—sweet and warm, something that definitely suits her.
the girls stares up at him expectantly, still holding out his phone.
“thanks,” he mumbles, voice almost gruff and takes his phone back. his hand brushes her for just a moment—the pad of his finger against the back of her hand. but ross swears he feels a little jolt. quickly, she drops her hand and looks at his chest.
“you’re welcome,” she says and this time her voice is a bit steadier than before. he’s about to ask her more. anything to make her talk more when george steps forward.
“thank you, darling,” he says and gives her a winning smile, “he would have made us all search for it later.”
the girl blushes furiously under all the attention, trying to maintain her bravado from before. ross stifles the urge to roll his eyes but takes the time to quickly look at her again. her hair’s down now, falling over her shoulders and hiding half her neck that was exposed to him before. he has the sudden and visceral urge to touch it, to run his fingers through it and tug on the strands until her chin tilts up to him. until she’s looking right at him.
what the actual fuck is wrong with him!
he steps back and takes a deep drag of his cigarette untilt he smoke burns, until his eyes water. the girl nods and stammers a goodbye. then she quickly scurries back inside.
george snorts and ross shoots him a death glare.
“head in the fucking clouds,” george singsongs under his breath and puts out the rest of his cigarette. then before ross has the chance to respond, he opens the balcony door and disappears inside.
ross stays back on the balcony and groans in his hands. then he lights another cigarette.
there’s a rot in his brain, gnawing at his neurons and eating through the organ until everything is replaced by a single image of her sucking on the end of her pencil absentmindedly. ross has been through this scenario a dozen times now. it was fine when he was busy, staving the thought away by replacing it with work related things.
a million things he’s got on his schedule…
but in the comfort of his home, his bedroom, he can’t stop picturing the hollow of her throat—delicate and unmarred skin in direct contrast to her dress, her voice calling him sir. god, she’d even looked at him like a fucking fawn—all wide-eyed and unsure. he would have fucking loved to trace his finger over her bottom lip right then, if only to steal a sweet sound of surprise right out of her.
he’s going straight to hell for this, straight to the fiery pits for doing what he’s about to do.
ross props himself up on the pillows, delaying the inevitable, or trying to at least. but the ache in him won’t subside, the throbbing between his legs, the dizziness as all his blood rushes south. the tent in his joggers taunting him as if he were a teenager in heat. he groans. the sound echoes around the room.
shame courses through him, already overshadowed by the heat that flows through his veins at the speed of lightning.
he needs to stop thinking about her, this girl who he has barely said two words to. maybe this is how he gets her out of his system. instinctively, his hand creeps towards his thighs.
he wastes no time dipping a hand in his pants, the other arm supports his head; nothing he hasn’t done a million times since he hit puberty. somehow this feels more electric than ever before.
ross palms himself, eyes fluttering close and muscles pulled taut. he’s aware of everything—from the stretch of his soft cotton t-shirt against his skin, to his head touching the bedframe. he needs to keep what little sanity he has left, trying to sort through all the depraved and deviant thoughts racing through his mind. what would she have done if she could read his thoughts, if she could see him like this—a mess at the mere thought of her? would she kneel down and crawl towards him, hunger clearly written all over her face, her big eyes hooded with lust.
ross groans loudly, letting out a string of curses, imagining that it’s her hand wrapped around him—small and inexperienced. stroking him up and down with unsurely; long, tentative, languid strokes making his head swim with deluded thoughts.
his cock is painfully hard. ross knows for a fact that he’s never wanted to fuck someone with this intensity before, never before has his brain reverted to its most basic instinct like this.
thoughts of taking her all over his house makes him fuck his fist faster and faster. gone are the gentle, sensual strokes from before, now his hips buck as he thrusts into his hand. his mind plays a slideshow of made up images—her bent over on his kitchen island, the marble biting into her hips as he pounds into her. he would speak the dirtiest and filthiest words to her as he watches her squirming with want; her pussy swollen and wet. his brain conjoures up the phantom feel of her silky tresses between his fingers, gripped tightly in his hands.
ross chokes out a gasp that turns into a broken moan.
this is wrong, this is so wrong and sinful and every other synonym there is for it yet his mind refuses to move on from her. rather, it conjures up more images—her jaw slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she rides him at her own pace, figuring it out along the way. he would flip her at the last second, of course, looming over her like a dominating presence, wrenching another orgasm from her after she’s already cum on his tounge, his hand, his stomach. but she would let go for him again. she would do anything to be his good girl.
his pumps grow rougher and more erratic, gasps leaving his mouth, echoing around the room.
fuck. fuck. fuck.
ross wonders if she’s doing the exact same thing he is, hand buried between her thighs, his name spilling out from her perfect lips. he wonders if that would absolve him of his guilt, his shameless act. it’s the thought of her soft sounds that tips him over the edge until he cums so hard, his vision goes black.
his strokes slow down, back to slow and sensual as he watches his cum flow out of him; milky white ropes splashed on his stomach, on his thigh. his hand is a mess, the tissues he had tried to grab at the last second are nowhere near enough to contain all of it.
with her, ross wouldn’t need any of that. he would fill her up with his cum, fucking it into her, watching it drip out of her mixed with her own release, making a mess of her thighs that he could clean with his tongue.
fuck it. he was damned already. he might as well enjoy the ride.
somewhere in this city, she has no clue about all the dark and wretched things ross wants to do to her. and maybe he could get her out of his mind now, have her out of his system.
he could just as easily fuck someone tomorrow. and someone else the day after.
yes. yes, that’s what he should do. he should forget about the girl he’s known for less than twenty-four hours. that’s what he should do.
he settles on it too, making a mental note to text one of his old flings who might still be in the city. he feels very strongly about his resolve too. the interview is done, he’s likely never seeing her again.
until she shows up at the studio the morning after.
the day starts like any other. he drives up to the studio, one of the assistants tells him that the band will be shadowed for a magazine profile—some prolific publication that’s going to document their entire process ahead of the release. he doesn’t worry about it too much, talking is matty’s job. sometimes george chimes in. ross and adam speak only as a last resort.
besides he has his to-do list cut out for him.
last night—the entire day really—was a momentary distraction. now he’s back on track and focused. the track playing on his headphones is all he is thinking about. all he should be thinking about. until jordan taps him on the shoulder.
“need you for a few photos, mate. and the magazine people are here,” he turns around to leave, almost walks up to the door too then turns back to ross to mouth something. someone new! followed by a waggle of his eyebrows.
ross shakes his head, sets his things aside and walks out with jordan.
everyone’s out in the lobby, and ross hears matty laugh before he sees him. then he hears another familiar laugh and turns the corner to a familiar face. he knows tobias, who shakes his hand and gives him a friendly pat on the back. he’s met tobias before—the man is soft spoken and has a keen ear for good music, a quality ross admires and the thought of him documenting their recording process makes him happy.
tobias goes around making the rounds, hugging george and joking with the sound engineers. then he stops and turns to look at them.
“oh i almost forgot!” he claps his hands together, “need to introduce to a fresh face.”
behind tobias, ross catches a movement. and it’s then that everything around him fades away instantly.
there is no mistaking it. it’s her. it’s the girl, stepping out a bit unsurely from behind her boss and smiling tentatively at the room. he observes how she doesn’t look at him—no, rather she doesn’t look at anyone, cleverly staring at a spot just near them. but never direct eye contact and never more than a few seconds.
unlike yesterday, she’s in a simple jeans and a t-shirt—grey with a faded queen logo on it—but it fits her like a glove regardless. and when she introduces herself in a lilting voice, ross feels his thoughts from yesterday threaten to make a comeback.
this cannot be happening… behaving like a horny teenager once was enough. he doesn’t need her working here and being close to him constantly, doesn’t need her to constantly be a presence in his thoughts. thoughts that are already way too focussed on the way her eyes light up after seeing him. it’s a trick of the light and nothing else. he’s sure of it.
she introduces herself—her name, the fact that she’s here to transcribe and take notes and assist tobias. she tells them she really liked their last album and that it was her introduction to them. matty teases her about not being a fan and she blushes deeply, barely making eye contact with him.
ross, in a world of his own, burns with irrational jealousy. of course, it would be matty who makes her blush and gets her to open up. matty’s a flirt—charming and confident and knows how to get people to come out their shells, even the shy ones it seems. in contrast ross feels about as subtle as a boulder.
but she seems slightly relaxed after that conversation, even throwing him a look once (and only once) when he plucks on his bass string a bit too loud. ross doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day though, not a single time. no matter how tempting it is. even when she’s buried deep in her transcripts, murmuring to herself and listening to a recording of something adam said over and over again.
even when she crosses and uncrosses her legs, sucks on the end of her pencil again—clearly a habit, he’s come to realise. not when she stretches and the hem of her t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of smooth skin and the hints of cherry coloured lace. not even when she asks him where the espresso machine is.
the rest of the day ross spends hunched over his bass, glowering at the floor. and he doesn’t manage to focus even once.
day two he’s in the studio bright and early, gasping for some very strong coffee after tossing and turning the whole night (quite honestly, he’s gasping for something stronger but it’s 8 am and becoming an alcoholic now is not an option)
every time he closed his eyes, his brain would haunt him with images of soft skin and lips caught between teeth and sucking on the end of a pencil. every time his brain sent his body’s supply of blood to one organ and one organ alone and ross has had enough of it.
starting today he’s focused. he’s serious!
that is until he walks into the tiny kitchen and sees her on her toes, stretching and struggling to get a coffee mug down. a red one. the same one she’d used yesterday. with some amusement, he also notices that there are at least two mugs near the coffee machine—one plain black and one with a swirly pattern. but she hasn’t cast either of them a single glance.
she’s stubborn, someone who knows what she wants.
shamelessly, he staggers to a stop at the threshold, watching her lean against the counter and wiggle her fingertips in the air as if that would magically summon the mug. her calf muscles are pulled taut and visible in the dress she’s wearing. each time she stretches, he sees a flash of her thighs.
his fingers twitch by his sides, desperate to what what it would feel like to drag his knuckles against the inside of her thigh, trailing them up and up and up until he reaches her hip. how she would react if he pinched the skin between his fingers, if he marked it with his teeth.
“need some help?” in the early morning stillness of the kitchen, his voice comes out a bit too loud and a moment later she startles, whipping her head to look at him and hand coming up to her thudding chest.
“christ!” she gasps loudly, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at him properly. “ross–shit! sorry, you scared me a bit is all.”
he can’t help the way his eyes linger on her face—big, wide eyes and scarlet mouth parted open as she blows out a breath. when he starts walking towards her, she stays in her spot, practically transfixed on him as he comes closer. ross stops right in front of her, their bodies so close that another inch and he would be pressing into her, or rather pushing her body back against the kitchen counter. with some satisfaction, he also realises how he towers over her—almost a head taller and practically twice her size.
her breath catches in her throat when he reaches for the mug, pulling it out and setting it next to her. but he makes no move to step back, not until she finally looks up at him instead of just staring at his chest.
her throat moves, her pupils dilate. almost as if she’s doing it involuntarily, she quickly looks at his lips and back into his eyes.
for perhaps the hundredth time, he’s blown away by how beautiful she is, how fucking perfect. and everything he’s thought about her comes rushing back to him, all the times he’s pictured her mouth and her hand, her soft sounds and the feel of her hair between his fingers. his train of thought runs him over so thoroughly that ross actually staggers back a bit, averting his gaze and pointing at the mug.
he has to wait a beat and clear his throat before he can speak.
“there.”
“thank you…” she trails off unsurely, voice barely above a whisper. “did you want some too? i was just about to brew some fresh coffee.”
all he can do is nod. and when she moves around the room, getting other things out and making coffee, all he can do is watch.
by day ten, they talk a few more times, each time being interrupted by someone or the other—first it’s tobias, assigning her frankly trivial tasks (in ross’ opinion anyway) that she agrees to happily. then it’s matty coming over to shamelessly flirt with her which honestly makes ross want to deck him with his bass even though he knows it’s harmless.
but at least with matty she opens up slightly—telling him she’s been working for tobias for almost two years now and that it’s her first adult job. ross finds out that she’s not from london, instead she shares a flat with a friend.
day ten is also when she stays at the studio much later than anyone else, even when the skies outside darken and turn grey and flashes of lighting burst through every few minute. ross watches her anxiously stare out the window once it starts drizzling a little before she buries herself into work again, sorting through the video and audio footage of that day and making her notes that tobias seems to praise so much.
and so ross does the same, putting on his headphones and focusing of the actual music instead of the tip of her nails digging into her jaw, creating slight crescent moons. this time, he even manages to stay focused for ten whole minutes until he hears unsure footsteps walking towards him.
ross looks up at her, nervously playing with the ring on her index finger and takes off his headphones.
“you need anything?”
she shrugs, looking at him and then around him briefly. “yeah i just needed a little break from work and, uh… barely anyone else seems to be here?”
barely anyone. he’d rather there was no one here at all. and even then, the urge to seduce her into the little soundproof recording booth weighs strongly on him. it would be just him and her and the tiny cramped space and all her sounds would belong to him and only him—
“ross?” he jerks back to her looking expectantly at him before her eyes widen. “uness you’re busy, i don’t want to be a bother. sorry.”
he quickly dismisses her apology, motioning for the chair opposite him before ross smirks at her. “so you’d like to sit there and stare at me huh?”
he feels a little evil for enjoying the way she sputters, trying to come up with a retort or just plain denial or whatever else but he gets a little distracted by the faint red tinge to her face…
what else would make her blush like that? he can think of a few thing for sure.
“what? no! no, i just…” she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to gather her bearings. “i like watching you work.”
oh that’s certainly interesting.
“just me? not the others?”
“uh, well.” she leans back in her chair slightly, getting a bit more comfortable than before and catching her bottom lip betweem her teeth for a second. just long enough for ross to go entirely rigid.
“you’re really still when you work,” she continues, “it’s quite calming.”
oh he’s still alright. if only so he won’t give into the urge of constantly looking at her and following her every move with his eyes like some creep. he has to stay still if he needs to stop himself from going to up to her to try and flirt and like matty does, when he will inevitably end up making a fool out of himself.
but she’s entirely unaware of his inner conundrum. she’s all too absorbed in her analysis of the band.
“matty bounces and paces around and it makes me slightly nervous. i like watching george when he’s on the drums or the piano but lately he’s been doing more production work so he’s always on his laptop and well, that’s slightly… boring”
“boring?!” he laughs sharply. “i should tell george that.”
and then he finds it even more amusing when her eyes widen and she scrambles to backpeddle. there’s nothing to salvage it though. so she just sighs in defeat.
“you wouldn’t! would you?” she looks at him with those big, round eyes and juts out her bottom lip and fuck! she could ask him to sign over half his possessions right now and he would say yes.
“no,” ross laughs again, softer this time. “your secret’s safe with me.”
this time he sets the bass aside, all pretenses of work gone as he leans back on the sofa, one arm behind his head. “what about adam? why not him”
she contemplates her answer for a bit before speaking. “i don’t think he likes other people watching him, he looks a bit uncomfortable.”
“love, half our job hinges on other people watching us…”
“no, not like that!” she straightens, gesticulating wildly, “not when you’re playing songs you’ve already played hundreds of times. i’m talking about when he’s experimenting and writing new stuff. i don’t think he likes to be watched then.”
and once again ross is impressed by her astute observation skills. he knows how young she is—younger than him by a decade, yet here she is, reading his best friend of twenty years perfectly in just ten days.
so he leans forward, properly interested now and scans her face for a bit, trying to get a proper read of her, of what she might say next. “and is that what you like to do? watch people?”
“sometimes,” she shrugs, “when i find them really interesting.”
“so you find me really interesting.”
he expects her to blush and stutter again. it is a bold statement after all and yet again she surprises him. “yeah… yes, i do.”
this time she’s the one with her eyes roaming over his face, maybe a bit over his arms too (something he observes with an immense level of satisfaction) and the way they strain against his t-shirt.
“good,” he smiles. “now i know i’m not the only one dying to know more about you…”
he tries not to flirt with her too directly but they talk. he tries not to ask anything and everything all at once and freak her out before she’s entirely comfortable with him but with every question she relaxes even more, leans forward and places her chin in the palm of her hand while he’s explaining something inconsequential about his bass.
it’s only the muscle memory that keeps him going when the strap of her top slides away and a sliver of lace peaks out.
his fingers still on the strings and she frowns. “no, play! i like the way your fingers move.”
the words slip out before she even realises it. in fact, it doesn’t dawn on her until he freezes completely and she goes bright red!
“i– no, that’s– i didn’t–”
but ross laughs it away, if only so he won’t fucking dwell on it until his head feels like it’s going to explode.
“let’s go outside for a bit,” he offers and she accepts gratefully.
the air on the balcony is cool—the sort of breeze before a thunderstorm—and he’s itching for a cigarette. ross looks at her again as she stares out at the trees outside, swaying with the wind. one strong gust and she shivers. her skin erupts in goosebumps.
“you’re cold.”
she quickly shakes her head. “it’s fine, it’s so nice outside. i don’t mind that much.”
he wishes he was wearing some kind of a jacket that he could give her. the though of her in his clothes does something absolutely primal to him to the point where he has to physically stop himself from grabbing her by the waist and kissing her till she’s dizzy and moaning in his mouth. and she doesn’t help matters by moving a little closer to him, until they’re almost touching, until her arm is almost pressed up against his chest.
“you’re cold,” he says again, voice tinged with roughness but she clicks her tongue.
“‘s alright. you’re warm.”
“am i?” he chuckles deeply and takes a hold of her by her arm. “come here then. have a cigarette with me.”
it’s about as bold as he’s been with her. she whips her head up to look at him, and ross doesn’t miss the way her gaze dips to his mouth. just for a moment, maybe even half a second until she quickly looks away and at his chest.
“i don’t… i don’t smoke.”
“ever?”
that makes her giggle. “no ross. i don’t smoke. ever.”
he wants to say something but the words don’t come out easily. the palm of his hand feels electric just from touching her arm, just from being so close to her. and the breeze all around them makes it impossible to escape her sweet perfume.
“i’m not opposed to trying though,” she continues shyly and ross quirks an eyebrow.
“you could try with me…”
“i’d like that.” he studies her face for a moment, looks at her big eyes staring up at him with a mix of sincerity and interest.
“do you know what to do?”
she mulls it over for a moment, pinching her lips together until they’re in a kissy pout. “sure, i’ve seen people do it. i’ve seen you do it.”
“have you now?”
“mmhmm, seems easy enough.”
so ross pulls out a fresh one from the pack and places it between her lips. his finger grazes her bottom lip, the touch electrifying, making him linger there until her gaze dips to his mouth again and a light flush covers her face. she shivers again and steps even closer to him than before.
“should i light it then?”
she nods tentatively, and ross flicks the lighter on. the flame wavers, almost goes out until he shields it with his palm and brings it up to her mouth. the fire casts a warm glow on her face, in her eyes. and she’s somehow even more breathtaking than he’s ever imagined.
once the cigarette lights, she takes an unsure inhale and breaks out into a cough until there are tears brimming on her lashline and she’s pushing ross away lightly for laughing at her.
“you’re helpless,” he teases. “here. let me.”
his hands graze her lips once again as he takes the cigarette from between her lips. it’s smudged with her lipstick, something sheer and pink. then he places it in his mouth, lazily taking a drag.
“watch.” she obeys instantly, pupils dialating when her eyes linger on his mouth until her lips part and she swallows visibly. he takes the moment to blow the smoke out, bending down so he can blow it in her parted mouth without startling her too much. her eyes widen and she sucks in sharply but this time she doesn’t cough. instead, she bunches her lips together and tries to blow out some of the smoke she inhaled. it comes out in broken wisps and disappears on the wind.
“there we go, darling,” he speaks roughly and watches her blush all the way to the tip of her ears. “should we try that again?”
she nods. he takes another drag. this time, he grips her chin between his fingers, tilting it up until her mouth is so close to his and he can practically feel her breath on his skin. her pupils are so blown out, her eyes almost look black. then he lightly brushes her lips to his and blows the smoke out again.
ross stays where he is. he even pulls her closer until she’s pressed against him and her eyes flutter shut. her breath hitches, her hands move up to his biceps, gripping onto him until she exhales again and smoke caresses his mouth before dissipating once more.
“a-again,” she whimpers but he’s already taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out on the railing.
“yeah?” he challenges just to see if she’d move away but her hands move up from his biceps, fingers traliing up his arms until they’re at the nape of his neck, nails softly trailing down his skin. and when she shivers again, it’s definitely not because of the cold.
“yeah,” she nods and presses her lips onto his.
his heart skips at how unsure it feel, how she has to stand on the very tips of her toes and hold onto his just so she won’t lose her balance. he doesn’t give her a lot of time to overthink it though. as soon as he’s over the initial shock, he wraps and arms around her until she’s fully pressed against him, effectively trapped between him and the railing. the light drizzle of rain starts again. ross grabs her face in his hands, keeping her still so her can kiss her properly—the kind that leaves her gasping when he grazes her bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has her leaning against him entirely for balance when her knees almost buck under her. the kind that makes her moan involuntarily but ross doesn’t let her pull away in embarrassment. instead, he pulls her up until her legs are wrapped around his middle, her thighs pressed against his waist and his hands under her ass. and then he carries her back inside.
just like he predicted, he fills up the tiny little space of the recording booth. the mic stand clatters and she moves it aside with a ferocity that’s unlike anything he’s seen from her before, it’s a nice surprise, to see just a glimpse into her feral side.
ross groans into the kiss and slides his hand under her ass. his fingers snake up her neck, gripping her jaw in a grip that’s almost too tight. it’s tempting to mark her up, to leave behind bitemarks and fingerprints everywhere for people to see. she responds in kind and bites his bottom lip just hard enough to make him hiss.
“someone’s going to hear us”
“it’s a soundproof booth darling, no one’s going to know a thing.”
his hand that’s been cupping her jaw slowly moves to her throat and she lets out a whine so desperate and needy that all the blood rushes straight to his cock. she’s practically begging for more at this point and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet.
he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of her like this, so malleable in his hands—thought of the feel of her hair between his fingers that damned bottom lip that’s driven him so crazy over the last few days. he can’t resist nipping at it and the sting makes her breath catch.
“i’ve nev-i’ve never done this.”
his heart thuds in his chest and for a second he worries she’s entirely inexperienced. not that he’d have a problem being her first… but he’d be damned if he let her first time be in a fucking recording booth.
“done what?”
“hooked up.” she clarifies almost through a gritted tone, almost like she’s trying not to be ashamed of it. “outside of relationships i mean.”
“no? do you want to stop?”
she takes a beat to think then shakes her head. “no, i-i just really want you.”
ross hums in approval. it does stroke his ego immensely if he’s being honest and he can’t help but see how far he can push her buttons. “do you now? what do you want about me?”
just like she had outside, she blushes furiously, to the point where she has to stare right at his chest and take a moment to compose herself. her hands never let go of his chest though. and it’s safe to assume she can feel his racing heartbeat just like he can hear hers.
“your hands are… i like your hands.”
“do you think about my hands a lot?”
“i don’t–i d—” her eyes go round again, wide as saucers, almost like it’s impossible for her to lie.
“no lying, sweetheart.” he tsks, and then bends down just until his mouth caresses her earlobe. “bad girls don’t get what they want.”
she makes a stragled noise, somewhere between a moan and a sound of protest but ross cocks his eyebrow and that shuts her up effective. a beat later, she tries again.
“fine. yes. i think about your hands a lot. all the time…”
“and what are my hands doing when you think about them?”
he enjoys it very much when she stutters, trying and failing to meet his eyes, to say the dirty words in her head out loud. that alone is enough for his painfully hard cock to throb again.
“go on,” he breathes over her skin and lets his hands trail up and down her body, “show me what my hands do.”
she places her palm on the back of his hand, so much smaller in comparison, and moves it down her body. he lets his fingers trail, lets the callouses pads of his fingers brush over every inch of skin he can until she stops just at the waistline of her jeans and looks up at him again.
“i want you t-to…to touch me. use your fingers on me.”
“that what you think about hmm?” slowly, the slowest he possibly can without jumping out of his own skin, he undoes the button of her jeans. then he pulls down the zipper, all the while letting his knuckles drag across her skin. she shivers at the smallest of touches, so responsive and perfect.
“words, darling,” he taunts again. “i’ll stop touching you if you stop telling me what you want.”
“ross,” she whines, and tries to grind against his hand, tries to push it deeper in her pants but he quickly gathers her wrists together and tuts at how little strength he needs, how easily he can hold both her wrists together with just one hand while using the other to feel her up through her underwear.
it’s soaked and he can clearly feel her clenching and unclenching, desperately trying to move her hips and grind shamelessly against his hand but he won’t give her what she wants until she forces the filthy words out.
“please!”
“you’re soaked, sweetheart. i can give you what you want but only if you ask for it.”
her eyebrows knit together and she almost looks… angry, about as feral and threatening as a little bunny. “fine…” she huffs, “i want–i want you to fuck me. with your fingers.”
the crass words sound filthier from her mouth, like she shouldn’t be saying things like these to lecherous old men in dark corners on even darker nights. “see?” he grins at her, all sharp teeth ready to almost rip into her, “was that so hard?”
when they kiss again, ross pushes his tongue inside her mouth until all he can taste is her, until all her can smell is her. his fingers move faster against her clothed pussy, making the fabric soak more than it was before and her legs spread wider, her hips move faster until she’s soaking his hand and practically rutting against it.
she’s shaking, clenching around nothing and looking at him with tears in her eyes—so frustrated now, constantly whining for him to push his fingers inside her. slowly, ross pushes the underwear aside and circles her entrance with his middle finger. before she has the chance to whine again, he plunges the fingers inside and swallows her cry with another kiss.
she clenches around his finger desperately, slickening his hand every time he pushes into her, more so when he adds another finger and thrusts into her faster. as a reward he lets go of her wrists and she immediately latches onto him, pushes her hands inside his shirt and lets them greedily roam all over his body. she traces his chest and down his stomach, she lets her nails trail up his back, scratching and digging into his flesh every time he thrusts his fingers deep inside her.
her breathing quickens and she starts pressing kisses to his jaw, tracing the golden chain around his neck with her tongue. every so often she tries to nip at his skin, to leave some of her own marks behind. once or twice he lets her… but it’s more fun to hear her gasp and mewl and cry out his name.
“good girl,” he coos at her, “taking it so well, sweetheart.”
“feel so good,” she whispers and lets her head fall back. under his hand, her thigh spasms lightly and his pulse pounds all over his body—his chest and throat and stomach and fuck even his cock that so hard and leaking with precum now.
he needs her so bad, bad enough that he entertains the idea of pulling his fingers out and bending her over right there.
but this might be his one and only time with her and he needs to make it memorable.
he needs her to feel him between her legs for days and taste him on her tongue for weeks.
he needs to bottle up her gasps and whimpers and the feel of her cunt around his fingers and keep it hidden away forever.
so he needs to make her cum over and over again until she can’t remember any other name but his.
and he’s not about to do all that here of all places.
“‘m so close,” she moans out, rutting her hips faster now, almost trying to match his thrusts and ross increases his pace, presses his thumb against her clit harder than before. “kiss me.”
instantly, he obeys, getting lost into the kiss and the way it sends little currents through his blood. she’s no better either, exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue and riding her fingers until he can practically feel her dripping down his hands and wrist. until she lets out a string of curses and her eyes roll back. she lets out a broken moan, louder than all the ones before and he feels her squeeze around his fingers harder then before.
then he feels her release, gushing onto his hand until he has to hold her up so her legs won’t give out on her.
ross doesn’t stop though, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, each time earning himself another cry or hiss or groan until the tremor in her body subsides to a slight shiver and she presses her face into his chest, sweaty and barely coherent.
“that was–” she tries and breaks off. “you were–”
“have i left you speechless, sweetheart?” he teases pointedly. “look at me.”
when she manages to open her eyes, ross pulls his fingers out of her and brings them to her mouth.
“suck,” he orders. to his surprise she obeys without hesitation. her mouth closes over his fingers, taking them all the way in until her lips are around the base of his fingers. then she swirls her tongue around them and licks them clean. every inch, every crevice.
she lets them go with a slight pop and ross almost gets on his knees right there.
“you are not what i imagined,” he whispers, not trusting his voice at all.
“am i better?”
he only nods in response and kisses her deeply, tasting her on his tongue, tasting the tang of her release mixed with her saliva.
“let me take you home,” he offers. “i want to fuck you. but not here. i want to fuck you properly.”
“like a gentleman,” she giggles.
he worries she might say no. but she only pulls away to button her jeans properly.
“let’s go then,” she smiles mischievously and hooks a finger through his chain, eyeing it with intent. “i have thought of loads of other things apart from your hands.”
lemme know what you think <33
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#this is the longest. the others are not going to be this long#well it's already past midnight when i'm posting this so i'm already a day late but shh you didn't see that#valentine75#valentine's week#ross macdonald#ross macdonald x reader#ross macdonald smut#minors dni#the 1975 fanfic
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actually the unit works really well considering theyre all from very different families. like the dynamics between them are all so different, knights’ independence, ryuseitais typical family, crazy:b’s dysfunctional one, even switch and eden have really interesting and complex dynamics, i think the best part of the unit would be them all realising that they love the family they come from :] . yeah :]
AAAAA you’re so right about the family dynamics !!! Also when I said Kohaku “can’t imagine having a functional unit” Oukawa it was more along the lines of
Kohaku: You have a functional family?? [Rinne with Niki in a headlock while HiMERU is drinking coffee on the side in the background]
He still loves them in a “they’re my idiots” kinda way (Sudden Death) and I’m like 90% sure all the bees are very much ride-or-die for each other (HiMERU is but he would never admit it) but anyways yeah I think part of the shuffle could be like them being hired to promote a spring fest kinda thing but all having different ideas on how to do it like “well this is why my unit would do”
More below the cut I have so many thoughts actually
Something something something cherry blossoms remind Kohaku of when he was freed from home and came to ES so he wants to do a less traditional thing and something that’s like. More freedom in vibes (the only reason I went the springtime festival direction in the first place was ‘cause paint splatters kinda look like scattered petals—)
Going off of the “each of them have their own approach” idea, the street art theme works really well ‘cause like. You can literally do whatever with art so each of them would have their own fun with it
Funny story this all started ‘cause I wanted to play around with making a spray paint mask design and it snowballed so hard.
#also springtime is such a kohaku thing like the pipeline was right there#this was long ‘cause formatting on mobile is so jank im sorry#kohaku: hey so for this spring fest what if we just do vandalism#okay. listen. everyone in that group would be down for committing crimes (except maybe tetora)#just because it’s not the first thing hiyori would do doesn’t mean he wouldn’t#i could go on and on about this I am being enabled#in the original post I saw ‘street art’ and my brain turned off#not art#get shuffled#street art shuffle#sana postal service
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Day 12: Candy Corn
Usually, Marinette knew better than to agree to Alya’s schemes. She’d been embarrassed one too many times in front of Adrien back when she’d had her crush on him and those memories served as her warning enough to decline any involvement whatsoever. But she’d been tired the past week, staying up late to meet deadlines for her senior project. It would be her last project in college and she wanted it to be perfect.
So while she didn’t remember agreeing to anything, apparently she had, and Alya even had a piece of paper with her signature on it agreeing to help out at the school’s annual Halloween Fest. She’d been expecting something like concessions or face painting, something that took advantage of her natural ability to handle people or her artistry and love for kids. Something in her comfort zone, basically.
She should’ve known better.
Marinette twisted around in front of the mirror, eyeing the costume they’d put her in. She was dressed as a fairy, which didn’t bother her. The craftsmanship of the dress did, as did the fact that she would have easily made a better one. Still, from a layman’s perspective, she could admit that the dress looked pretty.
It was designed as flower petals, asymmetrical on the top with a skirt made of more petals. She had wings that shimmered in the lights as well as delicate pink shoes that reminded her of her old ballet flats. Her makeup was basic but glittery, and her hair was loose but twined with flowers. She felt beautiful.
Not that it changed how she felt about being tricked into this, mind you. She’d only found out today that she was participating in a fundraiser for the local food banks in the form of auctioning off dates for the Halloween Fest with people. Her only consolation was that the money was for a good cause, and it was only a date. She could handle one night in exchange for helping people.
“Marinette! You’re up in five!” Sabrina called, beckoning her forward.
Marinette took her place behind a guy dressed like a classic vampire and a girl in a sexy cat costume, mentally thanking the universe that she hadn’t gotten that one.
When it was her turn, she channeled her inner designer and walked confidently down the runway, going back up by the announcer to wait as the bids came in. She couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that came out of her mouth as the amount climbed, until someone calmly announced an amount that had everyone’s mouth hanging open.
She squinted, but with the stage lights it was impossible to tell who it was. The announcer told the winning bidder to come get their date for the night, and Marinette’s heart dropped as she realized who it was.
Of course, because the universe hated her, it was Felix. The boy she’d shared a passionate kiss with at a party, only for him to completely ignore her existence the next day. Of course!
Marinette pasted the fakest of fake smiles on her face as he walked up the stage, but she knew that her eyes held malice. He linked his arm through hers and guided her off the stage, taking them through the audience to the rest of the festival beyond. Thankfully, most of the people attending Halloween Fest were dressed up, so her attire didn’t stand out as much as she’d feared.
She immediately yanked her arm away as soon as they were far enough away and they walked silently, occasionally stopping when she saw something she liked. She had no desire to make things easy on him, nor did she feel particularly communicative, so she weaved through the crowd on her own whims, stopping and starting whenever she felt like it.
They reached the end of the festival and Marinette slipped into the space between two buildings, sighing as she was released from the crowd of people. Her feet were also starting to get sore from the shoes, which was irritating.
“Candy corn?” She turned when he spoke to see an open bag of candy corn held out in her direction.
She scoffed and turned away, but Felix grabbed her arm and turned her back around.
“Ok, I tried to be nice, but clearly that’s not going to work. Why do you hate me?”
Her mouth fell open in astonishment. “I hate you? You’re the one that hates me!”
This time, he scoffed. “What are you talking about? We’ve hardly interacted.”
She set her jaw, not surprised but still hurt that he didn’t remember. “Oh, we have certainly interacted. We made out at a party months ago, but after that you barely acknowledged my existence. Pro tip? Girls don’t like you when you do that.” She tried to pull away but his grip on her arm was unrelenting. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t releasing any time soon.
He didn’t say anything, just stared.
She rolled her eyes, trying to mask her hurt. “Guess it wasn’t as memorable for you as it was for me.” God, why did she say that? That sounded pathetic!
“It was,” he admitted quietly.
“So why did you ignore me the next day when I tried to talk to you?” The anger had drained from her tone. She was mostly just confused now.
He cleared his throat and looked away, an adorable blush coating his cheeks. Wait, adorable?
“Feelings are awkward for me and talking to the person I have them for is even more so. Especially after the kiss looped through my head all night.”
“So you bid on a date with me, why?”
Felix exhaled forcefully. “To make myself talk to you? To get your attention? To kiss you again and see if it’s as good as I remember? To maybe finally get you out of my head? Take your pick, because I don’t know.”
Marinette stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed as she absorbed everything that he had just admitted.
You know what? Screw her inhibitions.
Their second kiss tasted like candy corn and was one neither would forget anytime soon.
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TASK #11
WRITE A LETTER
sensitive / triggering content warning: none (just brief mentions of loss, and some sad girl words).
To the flowers in my garden,
You will bloom again.
As fall settles in, and summer slips away, I've been watching your petals wither and die, fall off to the ground below. Sometimes I pick them up and press them between the pages of a book in my living room, knowing that they'll be a pleasant surprise someday if I pick up the book to read it again, or if someone else ends up in possession of it down the line. Other times, I let the earth do its thing, break it down so your petals can be used to welcome more flowers. Your stalks are growing weary, and the leaves that once flourished are tipped in brown, and I can see you fading.
You will bloom again.
I've been there. That overwhelming feeling of the world around you dying; feeling like giving in. My own edges were fading, tipped in brown, and my petals had long since fallen off. I longed for someone to pick up my pieces and press them between a book, so someone, somewhere, would remember me years later, so that I didn't have to remember myself. So that I could just rest. I was so weary and tired and spent in those lost days and weeks and months and years after the loss I experienced that I wished for winter, so I could curl up, so I could sleep, so I didn't have to worry about facing the sun and shining so brightly.
You will bloom again.
I did, too. It took me a while, and it took getting out of London and coming home and turning my face to the sun to remember who I was. To remember that anyone who loved me would not have wanted me to flounder -- they would want me to flourish. It took me a long time to find my footing, a lot of afternoons painting the house, sorting my clothes, teaching classes, trimming flowers, going out with friends, making new acquaintances, getting closer and closer to the person who I was. Having setbacks, of course, days where I wanted to quit, but moving forward. Gradually, and then all at once.
You will bloom again.
During Creek Fest, an older gentleman asked me if this time of year made me sad as I tended to a group of flowers on produce, deeply discounted because they were at the end of their life and could maybe be saved... but just for a few weeks more, before they, too, faded into oblivion. I smiled and told him, "it makes me happy, the flowers get to rest, so they can give us a gorgeous season next year." He thought about it for a while, smiled, and said that he would look at it that way from now on, too. Told me that I was 'wise beyond my years,' and picked up one of the plants, said he would give it a go. I hope that it's true. I hope that you're resting, that your petals are no longer tired and weary, and you come back next year, ready to give us a gorgeous season.
You will bloom again.
xo
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Heartfelt Valentine's Day Decorations to Set the Mood
As Valentine's Day approaches, love is in the air, and what better way to celebrate than by transforming your space into a romantic haven? Whether you're planning a cozy night in with your significant other or hosting a Valentine's Day gathering with friends, the right decorations can help create a warm and inviting atmosphere. In this blog post, we'll explore 10 great Valentine decorations to add a touch of love to your surroundings.
Heartfelt Wreath:Start the love fest right at your front door with a charming heart-shaped wreath. Choose one adorned with red roses, ribbons, and cupid's arrows for a classic touch.
String Lights of Love:Create a soft and romantic ambiance with heart-shaped string lights. Hang them around door frames, windows, or drape them over furniture for a warm and inviting glow.
Lovely Table Centerpiece:Set the scene for a romantic dinner with a beautiful Valentine's Day centerpiece. A bouquet of red roses in a stylish vase or a combination of candles and rose petals can create an intimate dining experience.
Cute Cupid Cutouts:Add a playful element to your decorations with cupid cutouts. Place them strategically around your space, aiming their arrows of love towards different corners of the room.
Heart Confetti Everywhere:Sprinkle heart-shaped confetti on tables, countertops, and even in greeting cards. It's a simple yet effective way to spread the love throughout your home.
Love Letters Garland:Craft a garland of love letters or heartfelt messages to hang across your walls. This personal touch can evoke a sense of nostalgia and warmth.
Romantic Pillow Talk:Dress up your living space with Valentine-themed throw pillows. Opt for designs featuring love quotes, hearts, or cute couples to add a touch of romance to your couch or bed.
Scented Candles for Ambiance:Enhance the romantic atmosphere with scented candles. Choose fragrances like vanilla, rose, or lavender to create a soothing and pleasant ambiance.
Table Setting Elegance:Elevate your Valentine's Day dinner with elegant table settings. Use red and white table runner, heart-shaped dishes, and polished silverware to make the meal feel extra special.
Love-Infused Wall Art:Decorate your walls with love-themed artwork. Whether it's a canvas painting, framed prints, or DIY crafts, let your walls tell a story of love and togetherness.
With Valentine's Day just around the corner, these 10 great decorations can help you set the mood for a memorable celebration. Whether you're planning a romantic evening for two or a festive gathering with friends, these heartfelt touches will surely make the day extra special. So, unleash your creativity, spread the love, and let these decorations turn your space into a haven of romance. Happy Valentine's Day!
DreasIdeas.com, your trusted online source for unique and meaningful ideas, offers a selection of enchanting decor that capture the spirit of love and connection along with thoughtful gifts.
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Thrilling Thursday Extravaganza: 10 Summer Fest Frenzy!
Celebrate the kaleidoscope of life as July unfurls its vibrant petals, revealing a symphony of music festivals, mouthwatering gastronomic wonders, and mesmerizing cultural fiestas. This month is a kaleidoscope of possibilities, ready to paint your memories with an eternal brushstroke. Step into the rhythm of the festivities, savor every delectable moment, and let the enchanting allure of July's magic whisk you away on an extraordinary journey. Get ready to dance to a tune only July knows, for this month promises a symphony of experiences like no other!
Elrow Town
22 July
Photographer: www.lukedyson.com
Awarding-winning Spanish super clubbing brand Elrow hosts one of its famous mega summer outdoor parties. It's likely to be a sell-out event where 25,000, party-loving people all up for an epic time this weekend. The party is taking place in the UK's capital city for one big marathon dance extravaganza where no expense has been left-out on the production set up, that includes mammoth stages, elaborate décor, stellar entertainers and also, so much more, ensuring Elrow Town is one of the unforgettable dance music parties for the summer of 23, and one that is not to be missed on your dream clubbing bucket list.
However, Elrow Town fans know this is one of the stand-out festival, where the party crowd like to go all out on dressing up to the nines. Festival golden tickets holders can expect a carnival clubbing atmosphere like you've never experienced. Everything is OTT from this prestigious super-club event brand.
The DJ line-up is off the chart with DJs flying in from all over the globe and also includes some of the finest UK DJ royalty such as Gorgon City, Patrick Topping, Armand Van Helden, Alisha, Toni Varga, Dj Yoda, Ariel Free, Bamboleo, Bastian Bux, Ben Hemsley, DJ Paulette, Florentia, Nicolas Caprile, Oh My God Its The Church, Raw Silk, The Brothers Macklovitch are just a few to mention of the vast list of entertainers.For Tickets & More Info> elrow.com
On The Beach
When> 22 July
The annual dance music pilgrimage is back by demand. The truest dance music lovers are heading out from all corners to take Brighton by storm this Saturday to see one of the biggest and legendary king of the DJ turntables. Carl Cox takes over Brighton’s famous pebbled beach setting the south coast on fire for one of the biggest beach parties in the UK this summer. The last two beach parties were so successful they both sold out in record-time those that missed out on this golden ticket event were begging and blagging to get their mitts on these special tickets.Carl Cox has a reputation that has seen him travel the globe 10-fold for his non-stop DJ touring road-trip making him a superstar in a league of his own. What he brings to the turntables and dance floor is a party where you keep dancing all night-long. And to make this open-air music feast the best it can be is for the sun is shining high in the sky again this year to give it the Ibiza festival feel. It’s another golden ticket event for Brighton On The Beach summer series that has become a highlight on the festival calender. And the DJ master on helm of the wheels of steel won't be going solo this Saturday as Carl brings some of his best DJ friends to make this one unforgettable dance events on the beach.
The line-up also features the one and only Franky WAH, Syeeta, Keeq, Russell Small, Sasha & John Digweed and maybe a few surprises. It’s going to be a big one!For Tickets & More Info> carlcoxbright.com
Nozstock The Hidden Valley
20 – 23 July
Nozstock The Hidden Valley is one of the best festivals of the summer season. Held in the rural outback of Herefordshire, the festival features a relaxed vibe and a lineup that includes a mix of big named music artists and up-and-coming talent. The music genres range from pop, ska, folk, funk, soul, indie, drum and bass, psytrance, and house music.
There is truly something for everyone at Nozstock The Hidden Valley. The festival also features a wide variety of food and drink options, as well as plenty of activities and events to keep you entertained. From circus acts and theater performances to comedy and dance, there is something for everyone to enjoy. Nozstock The Hidden Valley is the perfect place to let loose and have a good time.
Dress down or dress to impress, but a little bit of glitter wouldn't go amiss!
2023's lineup is so huge, it's going to be off the charts in terms of music entertainment.
The lineup features a host of UK and international music artists, including Sister Sledge, Andy C, Bill Bailey, Gentleman's Dub Club, Submotion Orchestra, The Craig Charles Funk & Soul Club, Ibibio Sound Machine, Calyx & Teebee, Lx One, Flava D, Dirty Dike, DJ Sammy, Huey Morgan, Stanton Warriors, Dillinja, 24HR Garage Girls, Mollie Collins, Nicky Blackmarket, Kanine, Randall, Levela, Total Science, Nu:Motive, Utah Saints, Sonny Wharton, Dark Arts Club, Dom Kane, Phil Kay, Dity Secretz, and Sonny Wharton.
The festival is sure to be a great time for everyone, so don't miss out!For Tickets & More Info> nozstock.com
Latitude Festival
When> 20 - 23 JulyWhere> Suffolk
Much more than just a music festival. Expect colorful sheep roaming the tufty fields, opera on the lake, clowns under canvas, dance troupes, and a huge children's area. Who> George Ezra, Kiefer Sutherland, Mimi Webb, James, Paolo Nutini, The Kooks, Paul Heaton & Jacqui Abbott, PulpMore Info> latitudefestival.com
Standon Calling
When> 20 – 23 JulyWhere> Hertfordshire
Beautiful boutique festival, in beautiful surroundings, which hosts a stella line-upYears and Years, Self Esteem, Bloc Party, High Contrast, Faithless, LF System, The Human League, Anastacia, Confidence Man, Dylan, Katy B, KT Tunstall, Groove Armada. Scouting For Girls, Django Django, Caity Baser More Info> standon-calling.com
Tramlines
When> 21 – 22 JulyWhere> Sheffield
In its 15th year, Tramlines has become one of the best sell-out festivals in the region of Sheffield. It's a festival that packs a punch, delivering on all the festival expectations and beyond. Moving to its new destination at Hillsborough Park for 2023, the festival is a firm favourite created by its big atmosphere and the mega artist line-up outdoing itself each year. This is one of the festivals that reaches a capacity sell-out. So, get your tickets quick
The line- up features Richard Ashcroft, Courteeners & Paul Heaton and Jacqui Abbott, DMA'S, Blossoms, Kaiser Chiefs, Sugababes, Bloc Party, Sea Girls, Circa Waves, The Enemy (Special Guests), Pale Waves, Beabadoobee, Kate Nash, Katy B, Reverend and the Makers, The Zutons (Special Guests), Black Honey, Spector, Omid Djalili, Jonathan Pie, Paul Smith Scott Bennett, Raul Kohli, Myq Kaplin, Harry Stachini and more
More Info> tramlines.org.uk
Junction 2
When> 21 – 22 JulyWhere> Brentwood London
Hosting the most iconic stage productions Junction 2 returns to its birthplace for the ultimate two-day festival packed with all the festival features in the heart of the UK summer alongside one of the best festival line-ups that dance music and festivals fans could wish for. Taking up the ante this is one festival that sounds out in a crowd.
The line-up features Underworld, Adam Beyer & Cirez D, Asch Pintura, DJ Tennis, Charlotte de Witte, Dixon, FJAAK, Hessle Audio Trio, Jeff Mills, Skin on Skin, Margaret Dygas, Sonja Moonear, Midland, Mona Yim, Nina Kraviz, DJ Stingray 313
More Info> junction2.london
Bluedot
When> 20 – 23 JulyWhere> Cheshire
After a two-year break, this unique festival is an experience that offers a full-on program of music, science, arts, technology, culture, and film, similarly to no other open-air event around the globe. Expect off-the-chart live performances, DJ sets, conversations, workshops, hands-on experiments, exhibitions, and new experiences.The weekend line-up features 2ManyDJs, Adam Buxton, Annie Mac, Belief, Big Joanie, Black Country, New Road, David Holmes, Divorce, Django Django, Grace Jones, Gwenno, Leftfield, Matt Winning, Max Cooper, Max Richter, Nihiloxia, Nish Kumar, Nubya Garcia, Pavement, Roisin Murphy, Supernature Disco and many moreMore Info> discoverthebluedot.com
Penn Festival
When> 21 – 22 JulyWhere> Buckinghamshire
Taking place in the quintessential Penn village, the camping family-friendly festival with one of the best boutique festival DJ line-ups and top music artists to keep you having a top weekend. Throw together workshops for the curative types, and upmarket food stalls to this returning festival with a cracking atmosphere.
The line-up features 24 Hour Garage Girls, Artful Dodger, Bad Manners, Bastille, Brandon Block, Corinne Bailey Rae, Craig Charles, Dj Fresh, Dj Luck And Mc Neat, Ellis Dee, Embrace, Gaz Coombes, Johnny Marr, Jumping Jack Frost, Kenny Ken, Mr. C, Mr. Wilsons Second Liners, Musical Youth, My Nu Leng, Noel Gallagher, Not3s, Sub Low Hz, The Cuban Brothers, The Skinner BrothersMore Info> pennfest.net
Truck Festival
When> 21 – 23 JulyWhere> Hill Oxfordshire
Truck Festival has announced its lineup for 2023, with Royal Blood, Two Door Cinema Club, and Alt-J headlining. Other acts on the bill include The Wombats, DMA's, The Vaccines, Self Esteem, Maisie Peters, Everything Everything, and Beabadoobee.
Truck Festival is a three-day camping festival that takes place in Hill Farm, Steventon, Oxfordshire. The festival is known for its diverse lineup, friendly atmosphere, and relaxed vibe. Tickets for Truck Festival 2023 are on sale now.More Info> truckfestival.com
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Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Painted Petals Fest (June 14th-28th)!
What is the Painted Petals Fest?
Painted Petals Fest is a two week long event dedicated to the creation of Gardener!Harry and Artist!Merlin AUs.
This fest was born from a simple idea: Harry Hart and Merlin being happy and soft together. But of course, from a plot bunny as minimalistic as “gardener!Harry and artist!Merlin” an author could choose to go down many different roads. Why does Harry keep a garden? What kind of artist is Merlin? How old are they? How young? Are they Kingsman, or did they just meet? Will they get together, or just forge the deepest of friendships?
With so many option, we decided there is only one solution: a fest where everyone is free to choose their own story and write it, or to illustrate whatever picture is on their mind, or compose a playlist with anything that’s in their heart.
As long as the story is centered on Harry and Merlin’s relationship, and keeps in line with the base prompt of Harry as a gardener (or botanist, or lepidopterist, or florist, or beekeeper…) and Merlin as a painter (or potter, or poet, or actor, or writer…), anything goes! You can even make a work for any other pairing (Hartwin, Merwin, Merhartwin, etc.) as long as Harry and Merlin remain the main focus - because these two deserve to be happy.
That sounds awesome! How do I do it? Do I have to sign up?
It’s simple! There are no sign ups, no check ins, and no expectations. All you have to do is make your creation, be it fic, art, or whatever other fanwork content you catches your fancy, and begin to post it at any point between June 14th-28th. Works can be posted on AO3 and added to the Fest collection (link to come), or to tumblr, dreamwidth, or wherever else you host your content. Then make a tumblr post about it, at the @kingsmancollabevents blog and use the tag #paintedpetalsfest. The kingsmancollabevents blog will reblog and promote all fanworks that meet the Fest criteria that we see (so make sure to @ us and/or tag it).
What are the criteria?
Create a fic, artwork, or other fanwork involving Gardener!Harry and Artist!Merlin, in whatever interpretation of those concepts catches your fancy. There is no minimum word count, nor any other minimum limitations. Fics do not even have to be completely written by the end of the Fest! (Although that would be advisable). As long as you at least begin posting your work before the end of June 28th it will be eligible to be counted as part of the Fest.
It is important to note that we are using “gardener” and “artist” as generic terms here, and there is a lot of wiggle room contained within those terms to follow your fantasy. Artist!Merlin could be a potter, a poet, a write, a painter, or use whatever other medium of art you prefer; similarly Gardener!Harry could be a botanist, lepidopterist, florist, beekeeper, etc. Whatever catches your fancy so long as it falls loosely with then categories of “gardening” and “art”.
Can’t make up your mind between a couple of different versions of the AU?
You are not alone! The more content the better! Feel free to post as much or as little as you want.
I love the AU but I want to write a different pairing and/or different characters?
That’s awesome! We support and encourage all of the soft floral and artistic AUs you can dream up! However, for the purposes of this Fest we are focusing specifically on Harry and Merlin. This does not have to be shippy, we welcome platonic/gen Harry&Merlin, and we also encourage side pairings (whether this includes Harry/Someone else and/or Merlin/Someone else, or an unrelated side pairing such as Eggsy/Tilde, Lancelot/Percival, or whatever!). However, if the main focus of the fic isn’t on Harry and Merlin it does not qualify to be included in this Fest; it cannot be added to the AO3 collection nor will it be reblogged/promoted by the kingsmancollabevents blog.
Are there any limitations on content?
A few. As stated above, the primary focus must be on Harry and Merlin’s relationship to be included in the Fest. Additionally, we will not allow non-con or explicit underage content. Hurt/comfort and angst are allowed and welcomed, but be sure that everything - especially content that is heavy or potentially triggering - is tagged appropriately. We all love the occasional heartwrenching angst or hurt/comfort, but we would hate for anyone to be triggered or surprised by angst and unhappiness when they were looking for fluff.
I have a really great idea but don’t have time to create it myself? OR I really want to participate but I can’t think of my own variation to make?
Not to worry! We will be putting out a shared doc (link to come) where people can pitch ideas that they cannot create themselves, or would like to see more than one version of. Anyone looking for an idea can then access the doc and see if anything there catches their fancy. This is not a claiming processes, you will not in anyway mark the idea you would like to create for and more than one person is welcome to work on any prompt left in the doc. We also cannot guarantee that every prompt left in the doc will be filled. This is a Fest that is based on how many people can write a simple idea in an entirely different ways, and we encourage open creativity for everyone!
If you have any questions, comments, or concerns you can leave me an ask or an email @ [email protected]
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stop being such a dick, harry
@kingsmancollabevents
#painted petals fest#ppf#kingsman#kingsman au#harry hart#Agent Galahad#colin firth#agent merlin#merlin kingsman#mark strong#2018
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A fanvideo for the Painted Petals Fest hosted by @kingsmancollabevents
This is a soft AU wherein Harry is a gardener/beekeeper/lepidopterist and Merlin is an artist.
Concept and event art by the amazing @stravaganza <3
Video crossposted to AO3 HERE
Make sure to check out @kingsmancollabevents for other works as well as the Painted Petals Fest AO3 Collection
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Title: Like Silver
Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.
It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out. And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief. A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.
Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.
Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.
Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)
AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes
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Chapter 2/?: A Poetic Sort of Procrastination, Indeed
Sakura saunters home late in the evening, admiring the stars above her in a daze of spring air and clutching her tote bag to her shoulder as if her very life force is tethered to it.
In the flurry of emotion, she completely forgot about returning her library books, but she doesn’t give a damn.
She drudged through her entire pile of paperwork, though it was an almighty effort requiring every ounce of her discipline. Even after Sasuke left, she kept tearing up and just gawking at the impossibly beautiful gift he’s given her, affection requited bubbling up inside her ribcage and unleashed into the air she breathes like some sort of ambrosial perfume she can finally afford to bask in. She has always known there is a softer side to him, that there is much more beneath the surface than he lets on with his laconic demeanor, but this is something else.
It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out.
And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief.
A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.
She hangs her tote on its entryway hook and carefully removes the box inside once she reaches her apartment. After she’s padded her way to her bedroom, she flips on the two lamps before placing it tenderly on her bed.
Sakura briefly contemplates taking the lid off then and there, but she knows she really should shower first, because otherwise the evening is going to quickly spiral away from her, whirlpool of tender feelings that it already is.
It’s the quickest shower she’s ever taken in her life; berry-scented soap floods her body and seems to take forever to rinse clean in her haste, although it can’t actually be more than a minute or two in reality. It’s also the quickest she’s ever toweled off and changed into pajamas, scurrying back to her room and grabbing the first pair she lays eyes on from her dresser drawer.
Once she has shimmied them on, she opens the box again, and just looks.
It still exists - it doesn’t disappear or dissolve as a figment of her imagination - so she picks it up with careful hands.
It is so, so pretty, exquisite in a way that makes her heart hammer relentlessly against her sternum, a catharsis in her chest sweeter somehow than anything she’s ever experienced.
It’s unavoidable; her eyes well with tears again, because he said he had it made for her. Not found in an antique shop off the beaten path or some happenstance market who knows how many miles away. Not just something that reminded him of her.
Made for me.
Which means he thought of this himself. Silk that shifts colors like the Uchiha crest, fastidiously stitched petals, and a cherry blossom tree, carved light wood that is startlingly similar in tone to the accents here in her bedroom.
And the way he looked at her, after, a storm of silver and obsidian that took her breath away.
And he kissed her.
Sakura doesn’t know how she’s supposed to fall asleep tonight, deliriously happy as she is, or how she’s going to spend any of her free time from here on out not staring at this supernal treasure. She strokes the wood with careful fingers, bringing the carving upwards for closer inspection. Every inch of it is gorgeous; she is especially enamored with the pink and pearlescent stitching, coruscant in the low light. She assiduously counts the slivers of bamboo, too, and follows the rivulets of fine branches stretching upwards to the boundaries of the framework. Upon her inquest, she notices an impossibly tiny etching, faintly whittled on the interior of one of the slats of bamboo. Tai Ro, it says; she assumes that must be the craftsman’s signature. She wonders where it came from, which far-off land Sasuke traveled through to commission something so resplendent.
She has never seen anything so bewitching, except maybe silver flecks.
Tearing her gaze away from the fan, Sakura eyes the vanity by her balcony door, an idea brewing.
It’s an aged piece, of a bygone style featuring small drawers on each size and a sunken point in the middle, from which rises a large circular mirror. A framed copy of their original Team Seven portrait sits pushed against the framing, right in the center. She placed it there because she enjoys seeing it as she gets ready for the day. It’s a good memory, one of her favorites, sentimental in a way that makes her heart swell, after everything. A pale wooden hairbrush also sits perched atop its surface, given to her by her mother forever ago while she was still at the Academy.
“I found it in the market today, just after swinging by to pick up rose food from Ino’s mother. It’s old, an antique, but I think it suits you, my dear,” she’d said, ruffling her hair, still long at that point and chattering a mile a minute in the overbearing way she has always tended to. She’d brushed her already combed locks in the manner that Sakura thinks all mothers must with their daughters, even when they are starting to become too grown for that sort of thing. “What I wouldn’t give for your hair! So unique; you should have something lovely to brush it with. You’re already such a pretty girl, but someday you’re going to bloom, and when you do, heaven help the boys.”
There’s a cherry blossom on it, too, adorning the back simply with five perfect petals.
When Sakura moved out of her parents’ house, she chose the tones of her bedroom accents, inclusive of the frame, with it in mind; she’d been using it for years by then, and had developed a fondness for pale wood rooted in familial nostalgia. Most of her actual furniture in the room is secondhand, of an older variety and painted with a white stain to make them somewhat match - she prefers things with a little bit of history, has since her mom gifted her that hairbrush - but the few frames and wall-mounted shelves are lighter washes of wood.
Many of the surfaces in her apartment are cluttered with books and other knick knacks she has accumulated through the years, but she tries to keep the vanity’s top clear, almost like an altar, an ode to the things she finds lovely atop it to give her hope with which to greet the day.
Still clutching the gift tenderly in her hands, Sakura ventures over to it.
She holds the fan close to the frame as well as the brush, comparing the color, near an exact match, a fresh memory making her heart swell in a completely different way, a way she had previously thought was maybe unrealistic.
She’ll get a stand for it, she decides, and display it in the spot the frame currently sits; it would look perfect there, the curvature echoed above it in circular looking glass, a hairbrush of a similar stain beside it. Then she’ll be able to gaze at it every morning and evening. There is no way something this precious to her could ever be stored away in a box and only seen on special occasions; it’s the same reason she struggled with the idea of hiding his letters away in one.
No, Sakura is resolutely sure that admiring it will be a daily ritual.
She can relocate the photo frame to her bedside table, maybe, next to An Introduction to Electrocardiography , or perhaps to her living room, though it doesn’t really match the wood out there.
That gets her thinking. We’re... together now, right? He’s kissed her, and she really hopes he will again, surprisingly soft lips against hers, an aroma of woodsmoke, and butterflies unleashed in her stomach. Maybe she should put the frame on the shelf in the main room. He might come over, sometime; it would be good to have it visible, situated in a place where he can see it.
With the utmost care, she lays the fan on the surface in front of her. Sakura combs through wet locks, coaxing out tangles with an old gift and appreciating a new one with watery eyes. When she’s finished, she carefully clutches it again and admires it atop a lavender comforter for the better part of an hour, alternating between mentally mapping its fine stitching within the confines of her hippocampus and paging through her book of Sasuke’s letters in a way that is more than fond, affection freed from her chest after so very long. The jubilance crests to a sense of omneity as she does so, moon glow filtering in by way of the gauzy white curtains that shield the balcony’s glass door.
She absolutely can’t wait to see him tomorrow. She sincerely hopes she’s not dreaming all of this.
She is so enamored with it that she doesn’t even drink her customary evening tea, her being warmed in an entirely different manner she is as of yet unaccustomed to, better than earl grey or some variety of dessert. It’s immensely difficult to pry it from her own hands when the time comes to do so.
Always is the last word she thinks of before she succumbs to slumber, curled up in soft colors and hoping he has found somewhere comfortable to sleep. Treasured memories emanate from objects old and new, brewing together before a looking glass where she’s placed them for safekeeping and admiration.
XXX
When she awakens in the morning, Sakura jerks upright in bed, turning to her vanity to ascertain if it was all a dream, cozened in by her subconscious as she slept.
It wasn’t. The fan is still there, precious and so enchantingly beautiful, dawn flavoring the memory of Sasuke’s return just as sweet as it had tasted yesterday with his lips on hers.
She brushes her hair again, working at the task way longer than necessary and trying not to cry out of sheer happiness. She feels so light, as if being pulled upwards by a latterly existent force of gravity, theoretically possible in terms of relative physics and with the right circumstances, but never actually experienced.
Birds are singing on the balcony when Sakura finally steps outside, snacking on seeds from her bird feeder as she gives her fledgling plants a drink before leaving for work.
It is such a lovely morning.
XXX
Sakura makes it through work as if encapsulated in a brand of inertial navigation system, floating as if she’s a bizarrely sentient cloud from patients to test tubes. She feeds the mice and records the brief observations she usually does on Wednesdays, and then a Genin is being brought in with a linear fracture in their tibia, twisted wrong and impacted during training. She gives instructions to nurses, too, taking care of smaller tasks in between, part of her feeling like she is barely there.
Well, not barely. She still keeps her wits about her and heals people; she takes pride in what she does. She just… daydreams a little, too, sage, smoke, and silver occupying her spare moments, flitting in between the corridors of her head as she flits from exam room to exam room.
She’s sitting at her desk, eating an early dinner and working on a new pile of paperwork before her next appointment arrives at five thirty, when one of Naruto’s clones bangs on her window.
Her gaze shifts to the glass at the familiar boisterous whining of her name - “Sakura-chaaaaaaan!” - and she rises to open it the rest of the way, allowing him entry into her office, an easy grin coming to her lips.
“Naruto!” A million thoughts run through her head. He has to know Sasuke’s back at this point, right? Has he seen him? He must be so happy.
Cyan bores into her, and he grins as he steps down. “Sakura-chan, teme’s back! Can you believe it? Though I guess you knew since yesterday.”
Sakura’s cheeks warm at the implication of that, wondering how he knows this information, but her friend is plowing onwards.
“Anyways, wanna have an original Team Seven reunion dinner on Saturday night? Or maybe Sunday night? Kakashi-sensei said Saturday would be better for him, if it works for you. And we should also make it a housewarming party for teme, but Kakashi-sensei says DON’T tell him that, or he won’t agree! It’s a surprise.”
Laughter erupts from her chest, rich and joyful, because it is crystal clear in that moment that Naruto is as elated at Sasuke’s return as she is - okay, maybe not quite on the level that she is, but close - even through a clone. “Of course, we should! I don’t have anything planned for Saturday night.”
Her teammate grins, all infectious happiness in the way that is so utterly characteristic of him, eyes crinkling at their corners. “Good, great, awesome! Be sure to mention it to him when you see him at seven. I’m sure if you suggest it, he’ll definitely agree.” Sakura blinks in surprise, cheeks staining darker. “Man, this is gonna be so great! Team Seven is fucking back ! I can’t wait to get a mission! It’ll be just like old times. I gotta tell Hinata-chan, too!”
She can’t help it; she smiles so wide that it hurts her face, tears paying her another visit. Sasuke’s back. He’s really back. And-
“Well, anyways, I’ll leave you to eat your dinner, Sakura-chan, but we have to force him to be social. I can’t wait to spar! But also, we gotta have a picnic, and no tying me to the pole this time. We could even challenge Kakashi-sensei to get off his ass and give us another go at the bell test. And, and! We should have a movie night. And go drinking! I’ve never seen teme drunk. I bet he’s a lightweight, and he’ll probably say all sorts of embarrassing shit! And-” Naruto’s clone’s expression turns unexpectedly serious, blue eyes suddenly narrowing in a way that is all-seeing and a tan finger suddenly pointing at her accusingly.
“-I mean social outside of you and him, Sakura-chan! Don’t think for a second that you’re gonna escape my questions later, when my brain isn’t fried from staring at that stupid scroll Kakashi-sensei has me slaving over. I want answers. ”
And then Naruto’s clone disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving her blinking in a strange combination of bewilderment and somehow, shyness, too.
And ebullience. Mostly ebullience.
She stands there grinning like an idiot for a long time. She can’t wait to see him at seven.
#naruto#sasusaku#ssfanfiction#cherry writes#like silver#fanfiction#labor day weekend = finishing things
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Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 15
After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.
Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.
Rated M.
Ao3 | FFN
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*Six Weeks Later*
[Ron]
The flat is small but well-arranged. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, maximizing the vertical space that only one of its residents can fully use. The kitchen is sparkling clean, save for two empty red wine-stained glasses in the sink. Usually, the dishes would be washed and stacked away before the clock strikes bedtime, but last night other, more fun activities got in the way.
The apartment's decor is simple — it has to balance the strikingly orange accent wall behind the television. The only other thing commanding attention is the large painting of a cityscape hanging on the wall across from the entry. It's an artistic rendering of a well-known skyline, characterized by neon lights, a replica of the Eiffel Tower, and a series of flashy hotels. Although the portrait might be recognizable to many, it's meaningful to only a few.
As the morning light peeks through the windows, the bedroom's blinds give up on filtering it out. The sun casts a ray across the pillows, illuminating the two sleeping figures entangled together in bed. Gentle and mild, the light is easier to ignore than an intense desert beam, and it takes a few moments for the tall, red-haired man to open his eyes.
When he does, he turns onto his side to bury his face into his pillow. The bed is warm and comfortable — the satin sheets were a worthwhile investment. Same for the pillow, which somehow maintains the perfect combination of cold and cozy. Ever since they bought a new, albeit expensive mattress, his back problems have become a thing of the past.
He smiles at the mountain of fluffy blankets beside him, topped with spirals of bushy brown locks. There's so much goddamn hair. It looks like a plush volcano of cushions is erupting with curly brown hair. He can't decide what he loves more: the explosion of brunette, the bright orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt, the black mens' boxers that have a little too much fabric for a woman, or the person it all belongs to.
Well, technically, the Cannons t-shirt and boxers are his, or at least, were his. But marriage is about sharing.
"Morning, wifey."
Hermione groans and covers her face with a pillow. "Too early."
Ron slips an arm around his wife, encouraging her to turn toward him. She obliges and snuggles up into the crook of his arm, where she fits perfectly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and nuzzles his head into her hair.
It would be easy to stay like this forever, ignoring real-life responsibilities. In a way, their bed has become an escape from reality, an oasis built upon the lessons they learned in Las Vegas. Defined by frequent 'I love you's, reprieves from work, and late-night explorations fueled by a glass of wine and the need to destress, it's the place that keeps them anchored to the magic. Who wouldn't want to stay forever?
But alas, they can't, as they have Maid of Honor and Best Man duties to attend to. Today is Harry and Ginny's wedding, and within a few hours, they need to transition from the carefree vacationers they became in Vegas to the highly organized planners helping to orchestrate the festivities.
Ron groans. Although their friends know they're together — they put on quite a show back in Las Vegas, after all — they haven't revealed the extent of their relationship, and the worst part about being in public together is pretending that Hermione's just his girlfriend.
"We should just tell everyone," murmurs Ron into Hermione's hair.
She chuckles and snuggles closer. "After the wedding. Let's not steal their thunder."
Steal their thunder. To be honest, Ron has frequently fantasized about stealing Harry and Ginny's thunder. A small part of him is jealous of their hen and stag weekend in Las Vegas and their elaborate wedding. Ron wants everyone to celebrate him and Hermione, and as time passes, he grows more desperate for them all to know.
"I want to steal their thunder."
"I know." Hermione gently pushes him over on his back and slides on top of him. The movement is swift and natural, and as always, she fits like a glove.
"Hmmm, hi," he says right before their lips meet. The kiss lingers; Hermione's teeth lightly latch to his bottom lip, driving him wild. Without breaking their kiss, Hermione shifts some of her weight onto her hips. She knows exactly what she's doing, and if Ron doesn't stop this train, they'll be late.
"Er-my-nee," he groans, pulling away. She pouts at him with her wide chocolate brown eyes, and it's all he can do to resist tangling himself back up in her arms. "Can I ask you a question?"
"What?"
"Do you wish we had more thunder?"
Hermione brushes a tuft of hair from Ron's forehead. "Sometimes. But I still wouldn't change a thing."
Ron smiles as she leans down for another kiss. Her fingers thread into her wild curls, prompting him to flip her over and land on top. He groans when she wraps her legs around his waist.
"You know we don't have time for this," he says between kisses. "We should get rea—"
"Shhhhh." She pulls him into her embrace and tightens her leg lock around his hips. "There's always time."
"Hey!" he teases, then leaning down toward her ear to whisper, "I take offense to that."
Ron doesn't give her time to respond before connecting his mouth to hers for another kiss. He can smell his cologne from the night before on her skin, yet it still tastes like Hermione when his lips travel from her mouth to the nape of her neck. A soft moan escapes her lips and sends him into a tizzy that leaves nothing else to do but get lost in her.
Six weeks in, and he's still convinced he'll never get sick of snogging Hermione Granger.
Plus, she's right — there's always time.
x
Harry and Ginny's wedding is just as elaborate as their weekend of partying in Las Vegas, but of course, classy. The venue is a converted warehouse, which initially horrified Molly, Ron and Ginny's mum, but it's unrecognizable after a few hours of decorating. They tie the knot underneath a trellis of climbing vines and twinkling lights illuminating the exposed brick wall behind them. Cafe lights drape from the ceiling beams, filtering the room's color just enough that everyone appears to glow. Each row of seats is marked by a simple bouquet and a periwinkle ribbon that matches the color of the bridesmaids' dresses, and the aisle appears to have been assaulted by flower petals, courtesy of Victoire, Ron and Ginny's niece, who recently discovered the true strength of her throwing arm.
Ginny has insisted that she and Harry walk down the aisle together as equals. Although originally disgruntled at the pushback on tradition, their father, Arthur, chokes up when he watches the pair approach the altar. Ginny's eyes sparkle with rare tears, and Harry can't keep his gaze off her radiant smile.
They're a couple in love, and there's not a doubt in the room.
Ginny's dress is simple — Hermione had said something about satin, but Ron doesn't remember the details. It's one of those dresses that doesn't dare pull focus from the woman wearing it, not that any dress could. Ron's always resented the Weasleys' fiery red hair and the way it sticks out like a sore thumb, but Ginny makes him think that maybe it isn't so bad after all.
While everyone watches the couple, Ron chances a glance at Hermione across the altar. He can hardly stand seeing her in her periwinkle bridesmaid dress, and he hopes to heaven his gawking isn't too noticeable. When he shifts his eyes in her direction, she turns her head back toward the bride and groom.
She was checking him out, too.
He doesn't have to keep his eyes on her for his imagination to run wild. That periwinkle dress turns white, and suddenly it's Hermione walking down the aisle. Her hair is tucked up into a spiral on top of her head, a few wisps escaping to frame her face.
Since it's his sister's wedding, Ron forces the image out of his mind, but he can't stop a wistful smile from forming on his lips and staying there throughout the ceremony.
When Harry and Ginny arrive at the altar, the music slows to a stop, and the officiant steps out from behind a curtain.
"Well, hello, folks!" says the blonde-haired man in a thick, mumbling American accent.
The wedding guests stare in silence at the man, who's dressed in white from head to toe, a greasy black wig barely covering his blonde locks.
Harry and Ginny burst into laughter, which breaks the seal for everyone else to follow suit.
"Yes! You got an Elvis impersonator!" shouts Fred, Ron and Ginny's brother, from the front row. "Someone check Mum's pulse."
With that, Ron snaps his head toward his mum, whose face has collapsed into her hands. Her body is heaving with what can only be sobs, or…
Laughter. Ron grins when he realizes that his mother's laughing hysterically.
At Molly's outburst, the tension and stuffiness of a formal event dissipate, and the ceremony continues flawlessly, having now been marked by Harry and Ginny's personalities. Elvis speaks to their bond, and even though he doesn't know the couple, he manages to capture how they approach life, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves and marching to their own beat. They've written heartfelt but humorous vows, expertly eliciting laughs and tears from their guests while they read them with shaky hands. They share their first kiss as a married couple to a round of applause and a standing ovation. Emboldened by the support, Harry picks up Ginny and drapes her over his shoulder as he skips back down the aisle to a chorus of cheers and whistles.
The wedding party follows the happy couple back down the aisle, starting with Ron and Hermione. They link arms and lock eyes, sharing a small, knowing smile. Ron wonders if she's also imagining the roles reversed, everyone clapping and celebrating for them as they traipse down the aisle after tying the knot.
What would the pseudo-Elvis have said about them if this were their ceremony, not Harry and Ginny's? Would he have spoken to how they disliked each other when they first met, and the utter disbelief they felt when they woke up next to one another in bed? Maybe he'd have talked about their strong determination to get a divorce and straighten everything out, followed by the looming 'what ifs' that kept knocking. What if they gave it a chance? What if they opened their hearts and it worked out? What if it was meant to be?
Maybe Elvis would have told a white lie at their request, saving their families the heartache of learning that they missed the original wedding, even though Ron and Hermione kind of missed it too.
That would be best wouldn't it? They could hire an Elvis to spin a new love story for their family, so they could keep the real one to themselves—not due to shame, but the simple fact that it's theirs.
Ron can't help but wonder.
Rather than a formal sit-down dinner, the ceremony transitions straight into a party. The delicate set-up of chairs and flowers clears into a dance floor. The doors to the warehouse open to an outdoor deck complete with a buffet and a dessert table, and a crowd forms at the bar.
Tugged away by Ginny, Hermione disappears into the crowd, and Ron becomes absorbed by friends and relatives. He'd rather stick with Hermione, but before he can locate her again, he's trapped in a conversation with long-lost family members. Old cousin Barny, Auntie Muriel and her flavor of the week — a scruffy looking man who introduces himself as Argus, and a neighbor who used to babysit when he was a toddler — he smiles through it all.
"Anyone special in your life, Ron?"
"I noticed the way you were looking at the brunette."
"Is it serious?"
"Should we be marking our calendars for another wedding?"
He deflects the expected questions — the ones that could draw attention away from the happy couple — with suggestive 'maybes' and 'we'll sees' although the truth, or at least a version of the truth, is evident on his face.
Yes, there is someone special. Yes, he was probably gawking at the beautiful brunette. Yes, it's serious enough that they live together.
"You're living together before you're married?" Auntie Muriel chimes in her most dismissive, judgemental tone.
Ron gives her a guilty look, a 'we're already married, you just don't know,' but to her, it's an admission of living together in sin.
"Well, I hope for your sake, she's the one."
"She definitely is," he says, nodding in a way he hopes ends the conversation.
Ron eventually negotiates an escape from small talk and heads to the bar for a slight reprieve. He slides into a seat and accepts a generous glass of champagne from the bartender. One sip reveals just how thirsty he is, and he lets out a satisfied sigh of relief before indulging in the rest of his glass.
"Another?" asks the bartender once he finishes.
"Erm, sure. Thanks."
While the bartender refills his glass, Ron takes a quick scan of the room. He's looking for Hermione, but she's nowhere to be found. His search doesn't last long as a certain someone slides into the barstool next to him and interrupts.
"Thank you for being here," says the dark-haired man beside him. "It means a lot."
"Ugh, not you," groans Ron, but his tone is laden with a touch of sarcasm only his best friend can decipher. "Should I say congratulations?"
"Yes, please," grins Harry. "Even though you've said it a million times."
"Well, you should soak it up because tomorrow, I'm done congratulating you," he says. "So needy."
"Cheers to you too," says Harry, clanking his champagne glass against Ron's.
"I've been meaning to ask you," says Ron, remembering Harry and Ginny's elaborate ceremony. "Why Elvis?"
Harry laughs. "Oh, Ludo? We met him at one of the casinos in Vegas."
"And you just asked him to officiate your wedding?"
"Well, he offered, and we didn't have anyone else," shrugged Harry. "To be honest, we were kind of drunk when we agreed, but Ginny wanted to bring some of Las Vegas into the wedding, so it worked out."
"Well, I liked him. I thought it was brilliant."
"I agree," grinned Harry. "So, will I get to congratulate you anytime soon?"
"Congratulate me for what?"
Harry rolls his eyes, aware that Ron is playing dumb. "Do you think you and Hermione will ever get married?"
"What makes you ask that?" Ron looks over at his best friend, and his expression that's full of excitement. Part of Ron loves that he and Hermione are the only people who know about their marriage. Another part of Ron just wishes he could share it all with his best friend. It doesn't feel right keeping him in the dark.
"You live together and seem pretty happy," continues Harry, oblivious to Ron's internal debate. "I'll admit, at first, I thought you two were moving fast, but you seem well suited for each other."
"After Hermione, you'll be the second person to know," says Ron, grinning at his friend.
"I'll take it!" says Harry. "Can I give you one piece of advice?"
"Sure, mate." Ron can't help but smirk — Harry's been married for barely two hours and is already touting marriage advice. Typical.
"If you know she's the one, don't overthink it. You'll just waste time."
Ron laughs softly. "I don't think that will be an issue for me."
"Good. I'm going to find my wife," says Harry, emphasizing the word like he's trying it on for size. "And you should go dance with your girlfriend. She looks like she could use a hand."
Harry motions across the room to where Hermione and Luna are alone at a cocktail table. There she is. Hermione's stiff body language is a stark contrast to Luna's eccentric gestures, and it appears that Hermione has become an unwilling audience for one of Luna's wild conspiracy theories.
"Happily," mutters Ron as Harry saunters off to find Ginny.
Ron meanders across the room to rescue Hermione from Luna's verbal clutches. Since she doesn't see him approach, he decides to surprise her by sneaking up behind her and looping his arms around her waist.
"Hi, girlfriend," he whispers into her ear.
"Hmmm." She seems to melt into his touch ."Hi, boyfriend."
"Sorry, Luna," says Ron, as he slides a hand down Hermione's arm and interlaces his fingers with hers. "I'm going to steal Hermione away for a dance."
"Of course! Have fun, you two," Luna says before turning around toward the crowd and skipping away, presumably in search of another unsuspecting guest to engage with.
"She's a lot, isn't she?" asks Ron.
"She's not too bad, once you get to know her. She's just talkative, that's all."
Ron tugs Hermione toward the dance floor where a smattering of couples intertwine, swaying to one of the rare slow songs in the D.J.'s repertoire. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he tightens his embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"It's a little weird to call you my girlfriend."
"It sounds wrong," she says, her voice muffled by his dress shirt. "I was never your girlfriend. It's probably how people feel when they first start saying 'wife' or 'husband.'"
"I reckon you're right."
Ron reflects on the first time he called Hermione "wifey." It didn't feel weird at all, probably because it was a joke. Eventually, the joke just turned real.
"Hubby suits you better, anyway," says Hermione. She always seems to know what he's thinking, but he doesn't mind one bit.
"I agree, love." Even now, Hermione can still make his cheeks tinge red with a simple statement. "Are you enjoying the wedding?"
He can feel her nodding against his chest. "Yeah," she mumbles. "Although, it was a lot of work. Are you?"
Ron shrugs. "Ours was better, I think."
Hermione laughs. "I'm sure it was. Too bad we can't remember it."
Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see Harry and Ginny embracing on the dance floor, surrounded by his grinning family. A spotlight shines on them, and at the sound of clinking glasses, they lock eyes and share a kiss. When they make contact, the bystanders whoop and whistle. "Maybe they should have gotten hitched in Vegas like us. This is a lot of commotion."
"Well, you know Harry and Ginny," says Hermione as she loosens her embrace to glance over at the couple. "They like their parties."
"They do," he says, tugging Hermione back into his arms. "What would you have done if this was your wedding?"
Ron expects Hermione to take some time for her answer, but surprisingly, she has one at the ready. "It would have been smaller. Maybe a live band instead of a D.J. And red velvet cake."
Ron smiles into her hair as she continues.
"I probably wouldn't have had a huge wedding party. Probably just a maid of honor. Intimate rooftop ceremony. I'd write my own vows. I even have photos of my dream dress."
Ron chuckles. "You have it all planned out."
"I never really planned it, I just knew." She's smiling when she pulls away and meets his eye, but her smile fades into a frown. "But seriously, I wouldn't change a thing."
She must have interpreted his pensive look as disappointment. "Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Let's plan it."
"Plan what?"
"Our rooftop wedding," he says as the color pink creeps up his neck.
"Ron, we're already married." Despite her deadpan tone, there's a twinkle in her eye and a soft smirk hiding behind her lips.
"Then let's get married again."
She narrows her eyes at him, and Ron can almost see the gears turning inside her head. "You don't think that would be a waste of time and money?"
"No. Not at all. Plus, I couldn't stop picturing you walking down the aisle today, and I'd love to see you in your dream dress."
She leans back and stares at him for a few moments, clearly running questions through her mind. When she finally speaks, her eyes are glassy with held-back tears, and a smile lifts her words. "You're serious?"
"Hermione Granger," he states in his most serious tone. "Will you marry me again?"
Their feet stop moving, and she bores her gaze into his. Her answer is swimming in her eyes, but he waits for her to verbalize it. "Of course I will. I'd marry you every day."
Ron barely has time to smile before she's pressing her lips against his. He responds so enthusiastically that it could very well be their first or thousandth kiss, lifting her gently off her feet. They're probably drawing attention to themselves, but Ron doesn't mind. It's like she's the only person in the room.
That seems to happen a lot.
Ron sets her back down and slides his hands down her arms, landing at her unadorned fingers. He rubs a thumb across her left hand, desperately wishing he had brought the ring. He didn't think to bring it to the wedding.
The ring — a modest emerald-cut solitaire in yellow gold, is still safely stashed in his bedside drawer, hidden by a few football magazines. He had a whole plan that didn't include a quiet proposal at someone else's wedding, but sometimes the best things in life are accidents.
"I have a ring, you know."
"You do?" she asks, her eyebrows raised. "You planned this?"
Ron laughs. "Well, sort of. But I wasn't planning on asking you tonight. Didn't want to steal anyone's thunder."
"When were you going to ask?"
He had it all planned out. A surprise candlelight dinner at their flat. A homemade cocktail — his best attempt at Liquid Luck. Slow-dancing in a dimly lit living room, furniture pushed against the wall to make room. Dropping to one knee in the middle of a dance. Strawberries and whipped cream. It would have been perfect.
But this is perfect too.
"I was going to propose six months in. Since that's when you can finally divorce me if you want to—"
"Right. Divorce," she scoffs. "When did you buy the ring?"
Ron averts his gaze when he answers. He hasn't planned on telling her this part. "In Las Vegas."
"That early?" she asks, her tone suspicious.
He nods.
"You knew you wanted to stay with me?"
"Of course, I did. Didn't you know, too?"
She smiles and answers him with another kiss. This time it's slow and loving, taking its time. Their bodies seem to melt together into one.
"That would have been so sweet," she says when they eventually break free.
"We can stick to the original plan if you'd prefer that—"
"No!" Her eyes widen as if she's afraid he'll take it back. "When have we ever followed plans?"
Ron grins. There it is — that spontaneous Hermione that only he gets to see. "And you were worried 'Vegas Hermione' would disappear completely," he says, tucking a hair behind her ear.
"I guess she's here to stay," says Hermione as she nestles her head into the crook of Ron's neck where it fits so perfectly. "I love you so much, Ron."
"I love you more, fiance."
Ron can't help but wince at her new title. 'Fiance' sounds just as odd as 'girlfriend,' and it'll only be true for a small fraction of their lives together — not enough time to get used to it.
"I still like 'wifey' better," she says as though reading his mind.
He does too. "Then I guess we have another wedding to plan."
"I guess we do," she says. "And what about our real wedding? Do you want to tell people?"
"Should we?"
"No," she says before securing her arms around his neck. "That wedding can stay ours."
Ron smiles as his lips meet hers. The desire for everyone to know is still there, but less so. They'll get to celebrate a 'real' wedding together, their guests blissfully ignorant of Ron and Hermione's little secret. It's a perfect plan, really.
Someday they might reveal the truth. They might let it slip in conversation, or accidentally admit it to Harry and Ginny after a few cocktails, or decide to tell their future children.
But until then, their original wedding can just be theirs.
*THE END*
#be11a_vegas#Ron Weasley#ronweasley#Hermione Granger#hermionegranger#Ron and Hermione#ron x hermione#ROMIONE#romione fanfic#romione fanfiction#romionecom#hpromione#muggle AU
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Fine Line Fic Fest: Sunflower, Vol. 6
🌻 Volume Seven 🌻 Harry/Louis | 1.1K | Not Rated
volume seven
🌻 planting seeds of love 🌻 Harry/Louis | 5.9K | General Audiences
When little Harry first sees the boy dressed in all green, with mismatched blue and red socks and the huge crown of yellow petals around his head, he doesn't know that he's just laid eyes upon the love of his life.
🌻 Hung Up High in the Gallery 🌻 Harry/Louis | 14.0K | Mature
"Louis, lay still!”
Louis sighed loudly, and Harry watched his chest puff out as he inhaled deeply, the breath he let out loudly making Harry’s curls shift. “I am, stop being so fussy. Can I see yet?”
“Nope,” Harry remarked, smiling to himself. “I’m doing your chest next. Shit, this is going to look so good, Lou. Your tan and these colours… why haven’t we done this before?”
“Because we haven’t been this drunk in a while, and it never occurred to me until tonight?”
When Harry’s best friend, Louis, comes to support him at his art show, he decides they need to do some celebrating afterwards. How fast do the lines between friends and lovers get blurred ... or better, get painted?
Be sure to check out the rest of the collection here. Credit to @fallinglikethis for the edit.
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I'm on the fest blog but,
Consider this ask as a coupon to infodump us about something you're passionate about!
Okay first of all, you are extremely sweet to have sent this in, thank you! I’m not very good with words, so this is going to literally be an infodump, unlike the beautiful articles that you people wrote.
Lately I’ve been reading a book called The Secret Lives of Color by Kassia St. Clair. It talks about the stories of different pigments, hues and colours throughout history. The writer starts the book with “I fell in love with colors in the way most people fall in love: while concentrating on something else.” and that is honestly the most relatable thing I have ever read.
So I fell into the rabbit hole that is ancient pigments and their history.
Earlier, artists were restricted to using only the colours they could make from naturally derived pigments. That meant pigments derived from the ground, or leaves and insects. That lead most prehistoric artwork to have earthy tones.
Quite later, humanity did figure out how to form pigments from minerals and gemstones, leading to the art having a wider variety of colour. Sometimes, the art itself is a hint towards what pigments were used in its making, because people tended to draw what was around them, using paint made from what was around them.
The pigments themselves vary considerably, not only in colour, but in other properties. Some are very commonplace, some are so rare that they were only used for commissions by the royalty. Some were quite literally toxic (though that was discovered long after those pigments had already poisoned a lot of people).
In earlier days, pigments were sold in special shops, including alchemists and apothecaries, and the artists made their paint themselves.
Vermillion is a colour we are all familiar with, but the vermillion pigment we use today is a synthetically made one. The original vermillion used to be made from Cinnabar. Cinnabar, or mercury sulfide, is a highly toxic natural mineral. The first documented use of vermillion colour to date is at the Neolithic village of Çatalhöyük, in modern-day Turkey. Traces of cinnabar have been identified within burials preserved at the 8,000-9,000-year-old site. Because of its cost and toxicity, though, it was almost entirely replaced by a new synthetic pigment, cadmium red, in the 20th century. According to Wikipedia, the Chinese were the first to produce a synthetic vermillion as early as the fourth century BC.
Anything I write about art or colours would be incomplete without a Van Gogh reference. This particular story is about Van Gogh's Sunflowers, which use a generous amount of chrome yellow. The artists of Van Gogh’s day had access to a lot of brilliant blues and reds, but they did not have a saturated yellow. This changed when the French chemist Nicolas Louis Vauquelin began working on crocoite and soon discovered that the orange stone contained a new element. It was a metal, which he named chrome or chromium, after another Greek word meaning “colour,” because its salts seemed to come in an extraordinary variety of hues. By 1809 pigments made from this mineral were already on artists’ palettes. However, chrome yellow tends to brown as it ages. Research carried out on Van Gogh’s paintings in Amsterdam over the past few years showed that some of the chrome yellow in the flowers’ petals has darkened, and Van Gogh’s Sunflowers are slowly wilting. This reaction also forms lead sulfide, which is very toxic. Because of that, it was replaced by another safer pigment, cadmium yellow.
Hematite is the mineral form of iron oxide and gets its colour from Fe2O3, anhydrous iron oxide, or, more simply, rust. The word hematite itself is derived from the Greek word "haimatitis" which means "blood-red." Primitive people discovered that hematite could be crushed and mixed with a liquid for use as a paint or cosmetic. Cave paintings dating back to 40,000 years ago were created with hematite pigments. Since it gets its colour from iron that has already oxidized, it cannot rust more. So it is in a way weather-proof.
Emerald is probably one of the prettiest colours to have existed. The Romans considered green to be soothing to the eyes because the colour was so commonly found it nature, so they powdered emeralds and used them in eye balms. Because it was quite cheap to manufacture, emerald green was used not only as an artist’s paint but as a household paint: it was widely used on patterned wallpaper up until the 19th century. Unfortunately emerald green is chemically not stable, and made from a very poisonous copper-acetoarsenite. Which means it contains arsenic. In 1867, farmers in Illinois and Indiana found that Paris green was effective against the Colorado potato beetle, an aggressive agricultural pest. Despite concerns regarding the safety of using arsenic compounds on food crops, Paris green became the preferred method for controlling the beetle. By the 1880s, Paris green had become the first widespread use of a chemical insecticide in the world.
Before World War II, manufacturers often used uranium oxide in colored glazes to produce vibrant red and orange ceramic wear. This meant that these pieces of dinnerware were radioactive. But since radiation and its effects weren’t seriously studied until the late 19th century, this went unnoticed. These dinnerware lines were discontinued when the US government seized control of uranium because of WWII.
Lead white is a basic lead carbonate with a crystalline molecular structure. It is thick, opaque, and heavy, and there is strong evidence that it was being manufactured in Anatolia from around 2300 B.C. It has remained in production the world over ever since, using roughly the same method described by Pliny the Elder 2,000 years ago. The resulting pigment was used in the enamel on ceramic dishes and bathroom fittings, in house paints and wallpapers, well into the 20th century. White lead had long been used as a cosmetic to make skin look smooth and pale. However because it contained lead, it was extremely poisonous and deadly, and people who used it were often afflicted by painter's colic (which we now know is lead poisoning) because of the absorption of too great a quantity into the body.
Wow this is already too long now. Infodump accomplished!
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I Do (Achoo)
Naruto and Hinata have a summer wedding, complete with outdoor seating, crisp white drapery and beaming sunflowers decorating the venue. It’s all very lovely and elegant, from what Kakashi has seen, until Iruka walks in and he stops looking at everything else.
You can’t really blame him, though. Iruka is looking finer than the china, and coincidentally, Kakashi’d also like to eat off of him. His wedding attire is all deep dark blues and accents, a near match to Kakashi’s own outfit, though he doesn’t pull it off nearly as well. He’d rather pull off Iruka’s, to be honest.
Kakashi isn’t paying much attention throughout the ceremony, too busy side-eying the Sensei, who proudly stands next to Naruto with tears gleaming in his eyes as he watches his adoptive brother/son stumble adorably over his vows to Hinata. He faintly hears the “I do’s” and mechanically claps along with the rest before wandering back to join the chattering crowd, trailing after Iruka while surreptitiously sniffing at his subtle cologne. He’s trying to discern exactly what scent it could be (is that a hint of sandalwood? Amber, maybe?) when the bouquet hits him square in the face.
Flowers and pollen explode everywhere, coating the side of one cheek and the bridge of his nose like a swipe of yellow paint. With a quick startled inhale, the pollen shoots straight up his nostrils to attack his olfactory senses directly and he stumbles back, choking for breath.
“Kakashi-san! Are you alright?” Iruka is suddenly right beside him, hurriedly brushing petals off of Kakashi’s chest, his forehead wrinkled in concern. He leans in close to wipe at a streak of pollen high on his cheekbone, biting his lip nervously. Kakashi is touched by Iruka’s gentle concern, acting like he’d been hit with a kunai and not a bushel of flowers. Also, a little turned on. He opens his mouth to ask him to kiss it better.
And sneezes right in his face.
---
Kakashi wants to die. Which is why he’s currently got his head stuck under the faucet of the bathroom sink, desperately trying to wash away any lingering pollen and shame. Mostly the shame.
He figures a couple more minutes ought to do it.
“Here,” a voice says from behind, slightly distorted by the sound of water. “I brought you a towel.”
“Thanks.” Kakashi straightens, water dripping down his chin, and reaches back without looking to take the towel. He scrubs at his face, lets out a deep sigh, and looks in the mirror to assess the damage. His haggard reflection stares back, bloodshot eyes red and puffy, his nose still running a bit. He looks exactly like he feels – like shit. Thank God Iruka isn’t here to see him like this.
And then he sees who’s behind him.
It’s Iruka.
Now he definitely wants to die.
“You alright?” Iruka asks shyly, standing at his shoulder. He’s kept his eyes down, politely respecting Kakashi’s need for privacy, whether for his lack of mask or sheer embarrassment, he’s not sure. Kakashi just stares at him in the mirror for a long, confused moment.
“…You…you’re not…mad at me?” he asks, his voice rough. All he gets is a raised eyebrow in response. “For…you know…the sneeze?” Iruka scoffs.
“Kakashi-san, I work with children. I get covered in snot on a daily basis. I’ve been barfed on by three different kids in the same hour. And don’t even get me started about kids who ‘can’t hold it anymore’. I’ve had to throw entire carpets away. There is nothing you can do to me that’ll gross me out.”
That almost sounds like a challenge.
Reminding himself to behave, Kakashi slowly turns around to face the other man, pulling his mask back up as his eyes flick downward. He’s surprised to see the offending bouquet in Iruka’s hand, still mostly whole despite their heated battle.
“…You kept it,” he says quietly.
“Of course I did,” Iruka replies, raising his own gaze. “You caught it, technically. So it’s yours. Although…” He breaks off to chuckle lightly. “I didn’t know the Copy Nin’s greatest foe was allergies.”
“…Alright, you got me. It’s my darkest secret,” Kakashi says after a beat. “If anyone finds out, I’ll have dozens of missing-Nin after me, armed with flower arrangements and premium bouquets.” Iruka laughs at that, and Kakashi decides the sound of it far outweighs the cost of his own dignity.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Iruka says, still grinning.
“I’ve always had a sensitive nose,” Kakashi shrugs. “The mask usually helps.”
“And here I thought it was to hide your charming good looks.”
“Well, that too.” He can’t help but wink, which earns another laugh.
“I guess there are a lot of things I don’t know about you,” Iruka admits, scratching at his scar awkwardly. “We’ve never really had a chance to talk, have we?”
“…We’re doing it now,” Kakashi points out.
“Huh. Guess you’re right.” Iruka pauses thoughtfully. “So…do you have any hobbies?” Kakashi either has water in his ears or he hears a hint of flirting in his tone. He’s so surprised that it takes him a few seconds to realize Iruka just asked him a question and his brain starts scrambling for an answer.
“Dog walking,” he says lamely, then has to resist the urge to stick his head back under the faucet.
“Oh, I love dogs,” Iruka says, and Kakashi decides then and there he cannot possibly get any hotter. Actually, scratch that, his shirt could be off. “You have ninken, right? I’d love to meet them.”
“I’m sure they’d love to meet you, too.” Kakashi replies. “Just...bring treats for everyone.” You’re MY treat, he thinks to himself, then takes a deep breath and plunges on. “…Would you like to join us tomorrow morning?”
“I’d like that alot.” Iruka beams at him happily, overflowing with warmth. It’s almost as if he’s a flower himself, lovely and open and fragrant. Kakashi opens his mouth to ask him if he’d like to be pollinated.
And sneezes again.
(Written for @kakairu-fest KakaIru Week 2020, Day One Prompt: Hobbies/Weddings, also kinda works for Day Two Prompt: Confessions/Health too lol)
#kakairu#KakaIru Week 2020#Hobbies/Weddings#dem allergies tho#hatake kakashi#Umino Iruka#naruto#my writing#Confessional/Health
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It’s that time of year again...
...and by that I mean it's my birthday.
I don't generally celebrate my birthday. It became A Thing after my parents divorce, and since then, it is definitely a cursed day (last year I got a whole pandemic, so...)
This year, however, I decided I wanted to write me a story. Some months back, while scrolling through Facebook (I know, I know) I came across a post of a post that was a plot bunny. It was a tweet from user @JohannesEvans that read:
Hot goth in the woods that keeps answering the door and sighing and going "no, I'm not the witch, he lives over there" and points across the street to a dazzling pretty boy wearing a gold waistcoat who's waving excitedly at them
I immediately wanted to write it. So I did.
Now, to no one's surprise, I didn't start this story until roughly a week ago, so... well, it's almost done. So, for now, just to say I've properly celebrated my birthday, please allow me to share with you the first half or so of this silly story. It's rough, really rough, and doesn't have a title. I'm not thrilled with it, but... guilty pleasures, etc. Enjoy!
Quiet. That’s what the little alternative community in the woods had offered. Peace, acceptance, solitude. Quiet.
So Locke bit back a curse when someone knocked on his door for the hundredth time that day. Poppy seeds scattered across his work bench when he jumped because of course he hadn’t used a measuring spoon. Why would he use a measuring spoon for the smallest ingredient? Obviously, pouring straight from the bottle is the best way to measure poppy seeds.
The knocking persisted. Locke sighed and set the bottle down with a thud and rattle of chains. He stomped his way up front and tugged the door open, startling the pair of young women standing on his doorstep. Their eyes widened and the three of them stared at each other for longer than Locke thought was polite.
“Can I help you?” He didn’t growl. This was good communication skills.
The two seemed to shake themselves. “Are you Mr. Devereux?”
Locke sighed. “Which Mr. Devereux?”
They blinked and exchanged a confused glance. “We, um… we’re looking for a spell.”
“Then you want the witch.” He pointed a long arm over their heads toward the obnoxious display across the street. “That Mr. Devereux.” As one, they turned and Locke followed their gaze.
Sebastian was lounging in a pool chair, a cheap thing with neon yellow piping and no pool in sight. He was surrounded by colorful plants, flowers, and enough suncatchers to make any light fairy jealous. Locke was dismayed to see that he was sunning. Long legs, waxed and bronzed, stretched up to the hem of a pair of nautical striped boyshorts. A too small gold waistcoat revealed a pierced belly button and parted with sequined lapels and a collection of charms and pendants against his chest and the hollow of his throat. Golden blond hair was classically cut, cropped close to the sides and left almost strategically messy on top. Locke was not surprised to see the flash of glitter, either put there intentionally, or polluted from the obnoxious, glittery, sun-shaped sunglasses taking over most of his heart-shaped face.
His smile was almost blinding as he waved. “Hey, gorgeous!”
Locke frowned as his face went hot and wished for the hundredth time since moving in that he was the kind of goth that wore full face makeup. “That’s the witch.”
The women gawked at Sebastian, turned and gawked at Locke glowering in the doorway, and then looked at each other.
“Umm… sorry,” the apparent speaker of the duo said, and they turned and fled across the street, whispering to each other as they went. Sebastian stood and stretched, that waistcoat riding higher and those boyshorts hugging… well, everything. Locke sighed and shut the door with a snap.
Newlight Falls was advertised as a quiet town with a village-like atmosphere, tucked away in the old growth forest and home to those who didn’t fit in elsewhere. It was home to all sorts of paranormals, which included an uncommon amount of witches, plenty of fairies, and the obligatory pack of werewolves. Being that it was only an hour away from three major cities, it had become a bit of a tourist attraction, replete with warm-weather festivals that the fairies almost exclusively coordinated. Locke wasn’t a fan, but they were good for the town and good for business.
Even with all that, Locke fell in love with the place almost as soon as he saw it. He’d found the listing on Will’o, trying to find something close to the doctors he needed, but not directly in the city. Not only was his dark little cabin perfectly suited to him, but being back in the woods meant plenty of shade and long trails that he could disappear into if the festivities got to be too much.
It was also supposed to be haunted, which, perfect, but so far he hadn’t experienced much more than a few things being moved and a book or two knocked to the floor. No great shakes, really.
With the image of Sebastian’s sparkling navel piercing embedded in his mind, Locke sulked back to his work room to clean up the poppy seeds and see if the tea could be saved.
“Locke!” Benji’s happy voice boomed, big arms open and face nearly split by his smile.
Locke returned his smile but stayed sequestered on the front stoop out of the sunlight. Benji came to him without question, wrapping him up in the kind of bear hug only large goblins could give. He grunted and gave Benji’s back a pat as the air was squeezed out of him. “Hey, Benj.”
“Good to see you, you look good. This place looks great,” he said, stepping back to appraise the front of the house. To most, it needed some work, but Locke was partial to the busted exterior shutters and chipping grey paint.
“Thanks, the web is real, orb weaver, real beauty,” he said, motioning to the port window overhead.
Benji’s smile went tight and strained. “Love it,” he grunted like it hurt. He cautiously turned his attention away from the spider. “Thanks for letting me come.”
“Of course! Make my favorite sibling miss Fairy Fest after listening to him whine about it for ten years? Fat chance. C’mon, I’ll show you your room,” he said, motioning Benji in.
Benji grabbed his suitcase and thundered up the steps. “This place has a guest bedroom?”
“Eh….” Locke whined and didn’t answer further. It did, but the guest bedroom was where he’d put his workroom and it would have been too small for his hulking brother anyway. Instead, Locke had cleaned up his own bedroom and got a cot for his workroom. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable, but he could deal with it for the week that Benji was visiting. It wasn’t often they got to spend time together one on one.
They wandered in. Locke waved over the small living room, through the doorway to the small kitchen and dining nook, the water closet under the stairs, and then brought him up to the attic that made his bedroom and the full bathroom for his use during his stay. Benji caught on quick, but didn’t say anything, no doubt having considered how small the house was.
“We’ll have to share the shower, but otherwise, this room is yours for the week. I, uh… can’t say I’d be real thrilled if you picked someone up at the Fest, but, I’ll be the best wingman I can be,” Locke said, drawing the curtains back from the port window to let some light into the room.
Benji chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Thanks, man, this place is great. Mostly,” he said, eyeing the spider visible through the window.
Locke smirked. “Ghost isn’t too rowdy, either.”
“Ahha, of course you’d have a ghost,” Benji said with a self-deprecating laugh. Locke’s grin went cocky and he thumped his way back down the stairs.
“I gotta make a product run when dusk rolls around if you want to see the town proper tonight. There’s not a lot except some kitschy shops, but you might like one of the little restaurants for dinner,” he said, wandering into the kitchen.
Benji hummed and sniffed the air, eyes landing unerringly on the box that took up most of the little dining table. It was full of Locke’s teas, creative little blends in labeled linen baggies waiting to be delivered to the shops in town he was contracted with. “Sure, I’d love to see the place.”
“Cool, you can carry the box,” Locke said, wandering back to his workshop. Benji’s laugh made the windows rattle.
A few hours later, with the sun set enough that it didn’t irritate Locke’s eyes and skin overly much, he was leading an easily distracted Benji through town. The whole town was decked out for Fairy Fest, covered in lights and flowers and full to bursting with fairies. They flitted about in showers of sparkling color, some already celebrating by tossing petals or handful of pixie dust over the myriad of tourists also steadily filling the streets. Locke would have felt out of place in all his black and chains, but there were plenty of darker fae around, too. If anyone stood out, it was his rather large foster brother, his impressive figure causing people to practically dive out of the way, even as poor Benji apologized.
“Stop apologizing, Benj, you’re only walking,” Locke said with a smirk.
Benji was all tight frowns. “I feel bad, though.”
“Don’t, you’re fine. This is us, though,” he said, veering for a shop door. Benji followed, uttering a few more unnecessary apologies as they went.
The dark little mystic shop was one of Locke’s favorites. It was an evening shop and sold pretty much the same stuff that the rest of the kitschy shops sold, but it was themed dark. Spangled black and purple curtains and tapestries kept most of the natural light out, the shelves all made of cast iron and mahogany. The goods skewed toward occultish, but nothing available to the general public could cause any trouble. Even the obsidian athames were blunter than a letter opener. There were more exotic wares in the back, but the owner, Ms. Gloushire, was highly selective when it came to those sales. Even Locke, who was a resident, didn’t have her convinced, but he was getting there. Not that there was anything fancy he needed for his teas.
Benji, of course, veered right for the collection of polished stones and crystals. Locke grinned and teasingly hissed for him not to touch all of them. Benji glared at him but didn’t put down the peacock ore he’d already snatched from the display.
“Ms. Gloushire?” he called when he saw the front end empty.
“Is that you, Locke!?” a muffled shout echoed from the back.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, sliding his sunglasses onto the top of his head.
A moment later Ms. Gloushire was whacking her beaded curtain out of the way and she smiled warmly at Locke before her eyes settled on Benji. “Oh, you have a friend today.”
“Yep. My brother, Benji,” he said. “I have the tea for you for the Fest. The Starry Night, Full Moon, and Crossroads.” He set his box down on her counter beside the register and pulled back the flaps.
Her face lit up and she rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, excellent. Everything work out all right with your last check?”
“Yes, ma’am, not problems at all,” he said, smiling softly.
“Good. All this newfangled equipment. I know it’s more convenient for the Norms, but electronics and magic don’t always mix well. But if everything’s fine, then it’s fine,” she said, casting her new POS system a distrustful glare as she dug into the box of teas. Locke just chuckled and waited patiently for her to finish her counting and inventorying. Satisfied, she marked it all down and set the box aside.
“All right, dear, everything looks to be in order. If I need anything else, I’ll call you,” she said.
“Yep, you know where to find me. I gotta stop at Coriander’s. You have a good night,” he said, flicking down his sunglasses.
“You too, Locke. Pleasure to meet you, Benji,” she said with a suspiciously sharp smile. Benji tittered nervously, thanked her, and they were off.
The stop at Coriander’s was brief and uneventful. Locke handed over the second box of teas, things packaged in lighter bags with more spritely names, while Benji was one again glued to the shiniest objects the shop had to offer. Even with Coriander chatting at top speed about a new topic every few seconds, they were done relatively quickly. He said his farewells to the bubbly sprite, flicked his sunglasses down, and turned toward the door, only to be blinded anyway.
Sebastian was in the doorway, pushing his outrageous sunglasses onto the top of his head as he meandered into the shop. As soon as he saw Locke he smiled and Locke frowned at the butterflies in his stomach.
“Hey beautiful,” Sebastian said, smooth and a little high. His eyes instantly flicked to Benji and his expression went briefly blank, before he smiled again and got a little swagger. “Well, well, who is this delightful new face?”
Locke glanced over his shoulder and wasn’t surprised to see Benji’s face dark with blush. His greenish skin and purplish blood made him look a little brown, but it was definitely a blush. Locke didn’t blame him.
“Sebastian,” he said. “My brother, Benji. Here for the Fest.” He cleared his throat before his voice broke and ignored the look Benji gave him.
Another expression briefly flickered across Sebastian’s face, this time more surprised than blank, and quickly settled into a coy grin. “Brother? Well, welcome to Newlight Falls, Mr. Benji. I’m Sebastian Devereux, Locke’s neighbor,” he said, sauntering forward and offering his hand. He was a head shorter than Locke, which had Benji nearly towering, but as usual Sebastian’s confidence was unwavering. Locke figured it would have to be with a neon pink sequin sarong over those...shorts.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Devereux,” Benji said. “Which neighbor would you be?”
“The one across the street, handsome. Incase you ever need to borrow a cup of sugar,” he said with a wink. Benji grinned stupidly and Locke nervously fussed with his lip ring. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have some tea to stock up on.” He winked at Locke, who barely resisted watching as Sebastian sauntered past. He huffed, tugging his hood closer to his face, and hurried out of the shop, leaving Benji to scurry after him. Maybe the hood and sunglasses disguised his blush enough? He certainly hoped so.
--
“So how are the infusions going?”
Locke looked up from pushing around his caprese. “Hmm? Oh, they’re fine. They’re infusions.” He cut a bite of cheese and tomato. “I had one last week and I think I’m scheduled for the week after next. Mostly vitamin D right now.”
Benji nodded, obliterating a half-pound cheeseburger and fries. “I remember summers are harder.”
Locke shrugged. “Yeah, but being here has been really great. The woods are so dense that I don’t always get a rash, so I can be outside more during the day.”
Benji’s face lit up. “Oh! That’s really cool! Mom and dad will be happy to hear it. See? I told them this was a good move for you.”
Locke huffed. “What, me telling them how great it is wasn’t enough?”
Benji waved him off. “You know how they are, they always worry about you.”
It wasn’t unwarranted. Locke had been a sick kid with all kinds of health issues and sensitivities, not the least of which was chronic anemia. At the time, being in and out of foster homes like he was, it had been difficult to narrow down his symptoms. Until Dan and Lori snagged him, the pale, scrawny, constantly exhausted thing that he was, and gave him a solid foster home to grow up in. Within the first year they’d discovered he had vampire heritage, which explained the majority of his weird symptoms. It wasn’t enough that he had to have transfusions, but it still meant he was anemic and allergic to too much direct sunlight. After that, with the support of his new foster family, Locke improved enough that he was able to finish school, and even got a degree.
Now, with a healthy lifestyle, he could live pretty normally, even if he still needed to be monitored monthly. Newlight, on top of being paranormally inclusive, also happened to be an hour away from the office that handled his case, which was still better than the two and a half hours he’d been traveling while still living near Dan and Lori. They might not have adopted him, but they still considered themselves his parents, and made quite the fuss when he moved so far away from them.
“Well, I really am doing great. You can tell them that I'm happy and healthy and even the ghost doesn’t bother me too much,” he said.
Benji snorted. “Lori would flip her lid if she knew you had a ghost.”
Locke grinned and didn’t think Lori would honestly be too surprised.
Other than the caprese salad, the choice of restaurant had been deliberate. It sat across from a stretch of woods with a marked path, and that path just so happened to let out a few yards from Locke’s house. The dark fae of Newlight loved to fill it with all sorts of mischief, some of which was quite pretty depending on the mood. With it being tourist season, and the endless woodland trails a huge attraction, Newlight had strict ordinances for what was and wasn’t allowed on the public paths. Benji was hesitant to take the woods home, but Locke assured him it was quite safe so long as they stayed on the path.
True to form, the woods were full of eerie giggles and mysterious lights, shrubs shaking and twigs snapping in the shadows along the lit path. The usual lamps that ran along the ground had been replaced with overhead string lights, zigzagging back and forth like a trail of will-o-the-wisps. Since the sun had finally set, Locke was able to shuck his hoodie and take off his sunglasses. Extreme temperatures had never really bothered him, but the summers could be pretty oppressive. It was nice to feel cool night air on his skin.
Half way home, a fairy appeared, a curvy woman in a diaphanous lavender dress and long, curling black hair. She hovered her way across the path, watching them with a wicked grin and shining black eyes.
“Evening, Iris,” Locke said casually. Benji made some choking noises behind him and Locke suppressed a grin, imagining his brother was blushing so hard he was almost purple.
“Hello, Locke. Who’s your friend?” she asked, moving a little closer.
“This is my brother, Ben.”
Her grin got even more mischievous. “Nice to meet you, Ben,” and she was off again, disappearing into the trees on the opposite side of the path. A symphony of chittering laughs hit them and Locke snorted.
“Wow,” Benji huffed as they kept moving, eyes nearly glued to the spot.
“She works in Mrs. Gloushire’s sometimes,” Locke said with a shrug.
“Oh yeah?” Benji mumbled absently, still searching through the darkness. Locke wanted to tease him, but it was his turn to blush when another fairy appeared.
“Hello, Galena,” he nearly deadpanned, glad it was so dark.
Galena was tall and willowy, built lean like a swimmer and burnished like bronze. He was dressed in what Locke could only call a poison green loincloth with a braided rope of poison ivy draped across him like a sash and pinning back half of his long, curling brown hair.
“Hello, Locke.” He did a little spin, purple wings beating wildly. “What do you think of my Absinthe costume?”
Locke blinked. “Isn’t that the same costume from last year?”
Galena scoffed. “You’re no fun!” he snarked, but blew Locke a kiss anyway and darted off again. Locke sighed and picked up the pace.
“Are the woods always like this here?” Benji nearly whispered to a chorus of laughter.
Locke shrugged. “No, they’re just excited for the Fest. It’s pretty quiet outside of tourist season.” Benji just hummed softly and got a little closer when something shrieked nearby.
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YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO GLORY VALLEY’S YEARLY BLOCK PARTY - LOVER FEST !!
the script of the bubblegum pink flyer found in your mailbox is cute, loopy; perfect for the occasion - someone put a lot of time and effort into the presentation and aesthetics of the message that everyone around you seems to have also gotten in their mailbox this morning. it’s a party to celebrate the month, something to bring everyone together. just below is a list of sorts, describing the event taking place and just what will be happening ...
MAD BATTERS & HONEYBREWS COFFEE HOUSE will be partnering up for the weekend to provide all sorts of themed refreshments at a discounted price. from heart-shaped shortbread cookies and rose-and-lavender tea to selling handmade mugs themed for the holiday, the two shops have come together to provide something for all ages to enjoy throughout the event.
THE DAPPER OWL is also offering themed drinks at a discounted price, but these are for the older crowd - cocktails colored pink and red, some with glitter infused in them, some smelling of strawberries or watermelon. they’re as much a treat for the eyes as they are for the mouth, but that typical alcoholic sting still holds a sharp bite that will keep everyone on their toes.
MAXIMUM GAMES is coming in from sunset beach to provide the entertainment ! classic boardwalk games such as ring toss, balloon popping, water gun races, and even a few pinball machines, air hockey tables, and arcade cabinets have been rolled out to their area for everyone to enjoy for the classic price of twenty-five cents. tickets will be available for purchase for the booth games at hang loose. you’ll be able to find this section of the block if you listen for the throwback ballads of all the boy bands we grew up loving and swooning over.
THE REEL will be dedicating all of their screens to the romance genre this weekend. from modern rom-coms such as 30 going on 30 and 27 dresses to the classics such as casablanca and singin’ in the rain, couples and hopeless romantics alike will find something to spend their time watching for the first time, seeing again after years, or enjoying it as their favorite movie of all time.
ROSE PETAL NUSERY has put together something truly special that will bring back memories of elementary school - flower grams ! operating from their booth near their shop, you can send a single rose bloom or a bundle of three roses to the person of your choice for a reasonable price, keeping it anonymous or signing your name with it. there will be a ‘rose ceremony’ at the end of the weekend to pass them all out, the post office providing their hand in helping as well.
HANG LOOSE SOUVINERS has taken their normal beachwear and replaced it with pinks, whites, reds, and lots of sparkles. in town for the bash as well, you can grab anything from a cute bauble-headband to some adorable heart-shaped sunglasses for a good price. a sticker and small holiday-themed button comes with each purchase as well. they are also the hub for purchasing tickets for maximum games’ activities - twenty-five cents per ticket, with discounts on rolls.
POLARIS STARGAZING will offer anyone who is looking for something quieter and a little more intimate something to take part in. along with selling art prints of the night sky painted each night for couples to take home as a commemorative decoration, every night starting at 9pm they will be holding their special night under the stars on the edge of town - bring your blankets, pillows, and some hot chocolate from honeybrews to look on at the gorgeous night sky with friends, family, your significant other, or your crush.
the entire weekend will be hosted by town hall in close partnership with MIGHTY RIVER RADIO. the station will be providing the music and nightly entertainment, with a dancefloor set up right in front of the founder statue that changes colors - going from soft white to red to pink and back - once the sun goes down. their playlist will provide something for everyone, from slow jams to hold your loved one close to something everyone can jump around to all the way down to original works from members of the town.
( under the cut you’ll find a summary of the event !! )
hello everyone, and welcome to our grand opening and inaugural event !! with it being feburary, the month of companionship, tor and i decided that it would be a great idea to immediately bring us all together with something really fun, easygoing, and light ! basically, this block party is like most other block party town events you might have experienced in the past - shops from the beach and the river are coming into town to provide entertainment, food, drinks, and activities for everyone to take part in. themed food and drinks, handmade goods and cute souvenirs to take home, games to play, people to interact with - the works ! and to end every night, the radio station sets up the dancefloor for everyone in town to enjoy with their drinks and snacks and get their last bits of energy out.
keep reading for a summary of the event requirements !!
EVENT DURATION IN-CHARACTER : four days ( from the 19th to the 22nd of february )
EVENT DURATION OUT-OF-CHARACTER : eight days ( from the 19th of february to the 26thth of february )
PARTICIPATION REQUIREMENTS : this is a mandatory event to participate in !
STARTER REQUIREMENTS : every character will be allowed one free starter ! after that, two open starters must be answered before posting another open starter, and one open starter must be replied to before posting a closed starter.
ACTIVITY REQUIREMENTS : normal activity requirements still apply - five posts must be made in the first two weeks or your role will be subject to reopening.
REMINDERS / NOTES / MISC. COMMENTS : with this being the opening event of the group, please make sure to remember that all secrets are still secret ! please also make sure that you assume connections to the best of your ability, because while plotting is of course encouraged, we don’t want the dashboard to go stagnant just because things haven’t been pre-established. and finally - have fun !! get creative and dynamic, let your muses and imagination run free, and don’t hesitate to reach out to the main if you need any help !
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