#I didn’t even feel rested because I had to go to a friends fucking funeral

[oh-katsuki]

I hate working a fucking job all the time. it was a mistake to finish the quarter and then immediately start working every single day. it could be the greatest environment in the entire world and it’s still fucking soul sucking. I hate coming home after working a retail job and being too exhausted to even fucking to devote time to my hobbies and passions.

[bweeeb]

STORM

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Theo didn't like the rain but the reader learned to appreciate it when she was younger. On a night when Theo is feeling alone in the middle of a storm, the reader takes Theo out of his thoughts with just words and smiles.

English is not my first language, so forgive me for mistakes~

Rainy days at Hogwarts weren't always the worst; in fact, they were far from it. The rain pattering against the castle's gravel, the windows of the common rooms, the library, and the Great Hall. Y/n had always been in love with the rain, the way mornings would be chilly after a storm, and how Herbology class would be canceled.

Theodore Nott, however, felt quite the opposite. He had never liked the rain, not since the day his mother died, when it felt like the world was falling apart along with his childhood tears at her funeral. Theo hated how the rain made him want to disappear from the castle, how it distracted him and failed to bring the calm it brought to the other students who enjoyed extra sleep or sat by the fireplace in their common rooms, their nerves soothed. It was almost midnight when Theo got out of bed, restless. The storm had started around nine o'clock, and as predicted by the Slytherin students, everyone had decided to have some fun and drink since the next morning's first class, Herbology, would be canceled. Theo hadn't thought about the aftermath before drinking the whiskey Mattheo had procured, and now he was drunk, scared, anguished, and alone with the voices in his head. Trying to clear his thoughts, Nott left the room he shared with Mattheo and went down to the common room. But once he got there, he realized it was a terrible idea: it was dark, cold, and though the sounds of the rain were muffled, they were still there. Sitting on a leather-upholstered sofa, Theodore sighed and buried his head in his hands, which rested on his knees.

— Fuck. He murmured, feeling ridiculous, and the feeling intensified when he realized he wasn't alone. — Are you okay? Y/n, the quietest Slytherin in the seventh year, and Theo knew her only because she was one of the prefects, along with Draco.

— Mm-hmm. Theo just murmured, straightening up on the sofa and avoiding Y/n's gaze as she stood behind it.

Theo had never been very open with people. He talked a lot with his friends, but outside of that, all you got were those dead blue eyes. — I didn't mean to bother you. I heard footsteps and sometimes, when it rains, some second-years cry here in the common room and... Draco isn’t very attentive to that, so... — Theodore thought she didn’t talk much until now, and so his surprised gaze lifted to her as she bit her lower lip, as if she knew she was talking too much and was trying to stay quiet not to bother.

— Sorry, I’m already bothering you, I’ll… I’ll go… since you’re fine.

She stammered, intimidated by Nott's stare, and afraid of being labeled weird by Theodore Nott, she started stepping back, intending to distance herself from one of the elite Slytherins.

— Draco can be pretty heartless sometimes. But you get used to it. Theo's voice responding to her surprised the girl, who turned to look at him again.

— Yeah, he sometimes says he wonders if I'm really a Slytherin. But what can I do if I don’t want to hear crying during the only time the common room is quiet. She shrugged and let out a nasal laugh.

— You hear them even when you’re sleeping?

— What? — The crying, the footsteps… — Oh, I’m usually not sleeping, so it’s easy to notice.

Y/n said, approaching the sofa and waiting for Theo's confirmation to sit down, from which it came quickly for an honest look. — Why? His voice came out softly, and Y/n was once again surprised that he was genuinely interested, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. All she could think was: how could Theodore Nott be interested in what she was saying instead of going to sleep? Wasn’t he supposed to be as insensitive as everyone at Hogwarts said? — When it’s raining, I like to listen to it. — The rain? He asked curiously, and Y/n nodded, vocalizing her agreement.

— I mean, close your eyes and listen to it. Y/n closed her eyes, and Theo felt stupid for never noticing her at the castle. She was probably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire life.

— Don’t think about anything, just feel it.

— I don’t think I can. Theo admitted, and she opened her brown eyes, which contrasted with his blue ones. — I can’t find any peace in it, Y/n. Theo rolled his eyes and laughed without humor. — Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me. He murmured, and Y/n frowned at the sight of vulnerable Nott in front of her.

— I bet there isn’t, Theo. I think it’s normal not to feel comfortable with something that everyone else does. We’re not all the same. She said, and her voice felt like a soft, warm fabric to Theo. Her closeness made him feel comfortable, and he almost forgot the discomfort in his head. — I even understand how it’s bad to hear the rain when you’re alone. I think it just takes time to appreciate it. — Y/n gave a sympathetic, sly smile to Theo. — I actually hated it. It made me feel lonely. My parents always traveled a lot, so I was left alone. — She laughs a little — Merlin, i cried so much, afraid of being that way forever, and that one day I started to like the noise.

— How did you start to like it?

— My friends would sleep over occasionally, and when it rained, I began to notice that if I looked at it positively, it could be relaxing...

— She smiled softly once more and saw Theo's lips curve into a smile. She swore she was either seeing things or going crazy. — Your friends are passed out after drinking dragon whiskey, and you’re still a bit drunk. It’s okay not to like what you hear outside. Y/n nodded as she finished speaking. She got up from the sofa, grabbed Theodore’s cold hands, and he looked at her as if he’d never seen anyone like that before. Y/n pulled him up from the sofa, and their height difference made her laugh foolishly. —You’re taller than I remembered.

— And you’re shorter than I imagined. Theo looked at her, and Y/n swore she saw puppy eyes in those dead, very, very sexy eyes

— You should get some sleep, Theodore. It’s late… think about the bright side, or don’t think at all, it helps a lot. She murmured, heading towards the stairs with him following her. As she approached the girls' dormitory, Theo’s voice stopped Y/n in her tracks.

— Why did I never notice you?

— Because you’re Theodore Nott. — She smiled at the boy who was no longer thinking about the rain outside, only about her.

— Just, Theo, you can just call me Theo. Theo said, looking at every detail of her body, face, hair and especially her voice that would echo in his head all night.

— Your friends call you that? — Only those I want call me that, Bella. — Okay than, sleep well, Theo.

---

I hope you enjoyed this

Requests are open, message me if you have any ideas💞

[luselih]

older gentleman zhongli thought 🤭

You always thought that you were cursed.

You haven’t had a serious relationship since forever, since who were around you mostly? some horny immature boys with no personality or respect for anyone. Even when you were dating through your school years, boys were always so immature and disgusting. With couple of them who you wanted to be forever left you when you got soul crushing news. You were infertile. infertile, you could assumed it since you had irregular and painful periods, reduced sex drive and other signs of it. After that, you weren’t interested in dating or having a family since you know you probably can’t have biological children ever and because of that man now usually avoids being with you or break up after a while since they want to have little ones that even if you try to have, you just couldn’t give them.

You were sure were thinking it would be another failed attempt of a blind date with an older man your friends reagents to you to have, they already know what is your type and are sure that you will hit it off immediately. That man was no other than good old Zhongli. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's consultant is man of his age, he’s devilishly handsome, well dressed and knowledgeable, yet not even once did he hold his experience, age or knowledge over your head. His true gentleman though his actions even, being on spot you two already planned to meet for the date since you didn’t feel comfortable with a unknown man picking you up at your place, yet you know how he wanted to pick you up, even insisted but he didn’t make a big deal of it when you insisted given a spot to meet him instead. When you get to the not cheap at all restaurant he booked table at, his movement were very smooth and elegant, opening door for you, sliding off your jacket and pulling your chair for you to sit on, putting on napkin on your lap too.

Little is to say that you weren’t expecting everything he did, but it was so so nice.

Date was amazing, there is no words existing to explaining how amazing it was. His stories, personality traits and behavior were just perfect, not even batting one eye when you told him you wouldn’t be able to give him little ones, oh- how much were you so ignorant of who you were talking and having a date with at that moment.

He insisted to get you home after he pays for the date and you agreed to it. When he was paying, you noticed how just he looks sexy. Couple of greys in his hair, slightly signs of wrinkles on his forehead and eyes but it did fit him well, black button down that showed his collar bones since they were unbuttoned on top, veins on his hands were just so…so fucking hot for no reason at all, and he smelled amazing too.

As you two walked, his hand was comfortably resting on your lower back as you were having a genuine conversation as he walked you home, not having your “i can go alone” or “i will call taxi” at all. Who are you talking to now? To him. So there would not be any of that nonsense in this.

Even that breathtaking look from his amber eyes at your face, his hand hand picking your chin up with two fingers as he gives you a deep kiss, absolutely melting every single bit of you in a moment as he declared, not said. “See you tomorrow night at some time, sweetheart.” Before leaving you speechless and flustered at your home’s door.

Well i guess you have a boyfriend now.

And as your relationship progressed, got married if you prefer and have beautiful domestic life.

Even your eyes who bulged up from the shock as your shaky hands were holding into a stick, a positive one for that. A positive pregnancy test. You are left speechless. But your overthinking were cut short by your man, who rested his hands on your stomach almost instinctively. Even your dumbfounded expression got him to smile as you could just mutter out.

“I…i-i don’t know how this happened- i-even doctors told me i wouldn’t be able to have kids-“

“No worries about that now…now, shall we celebrate good news with a cup of tea?…and i should tell you more about…everything.”

( dragons essence is…very much good…infertility cure..;) )

[izvmimi]

cw: angst. character death. you and izuku are married and have a young son. godparent!katsuki. katsuki has an unnamed wife.

Your son always starts a fuss when you bring him to his grandmother’s house, but for some reason, as you slowly trudge up the steps to your mother-in-law’s modest home (she’d refused to let her son move her out into your large shared home or even a much larger, more roomy domicile of her own), you find that your son is eerily quiet, as though he can sense the turmoil inside of you and is choosing to give you a much needed break. 

By the time he makes it into Inko’s arms, he’s always less fussy, but today he’s quietly looking at you, curiously, as if he’s waiting for you to break down and cry. He’s unnerving that way, gifted with practically the same emotional intuition as your sweet husband, and it doesn’t help that he has practically the same face. Inko is quick to take your behaving not-yet-toddler from you, and gives you a sympathetic look. She is not going to the funeral yet because she plans to watch your son, but she’s spent practically every night this week at Mitsuki’s house, preparing food and helping her through her tears. You’ve helped your best friend, Katsuki’s wife, grieve similarly, but now that the final moment has come to lay him to rest, you feel dread rising in the pit of your stomach. 

You should not show your face. After all, you killed Katsuki Bakugou.

After you repeat this statement again out loud to your mother-in-law, shaky hands folded in your lap as she hands you a glass of water and tries to steady your nerves, she reminds you, as all good mothers would, that it wasn’t your fault.

He’d meant to save you. You hadn’t been the one to force an unclosable hole through his chest, and if it hadn’t been you standing and vulnerable in that particular spot, it would have been someone else he’d have aimed to save. 

Perhaps that last part is true. Or perhaps, because you are one of his closest friends' treasures, he fought a little bit harder, moved a little bit quicker and a little bit more recklessly to ensure that you made it out, that you’d be the one to explain to your best friend why her husband is not coming home to dinner, rather than he have to explain to Izuku why the mother of his child is no longer of this world. It’s a moment that plays in your mind constantly ever since you first heard the sickening crunch of bone and sinew give way, the spray of your child’s godfather’s blood soaking your clean clothes.

You’d just been at the grocery store and run into each other by chance. It’s been over a decade long gag now to pretend you hate each other more than everything while acknowledging that you’ve both intertwined your lives with a person the other holds terribly dear. When you saw Katsuki you crinkled your nose, a joke akin to ‘look what the cat dragged in’ muttered in some variation by you both, before walking side by side and catching up. The four of you had dinner plans that weekend anyway and Katsuki takes the idea of godparent far too seriously for being an only child, and thus was far too interested in what you were putting in your cart.

“I read kids develop their tastes early in life and I don’t think this” - he picks up a six-pack carton of juice that was admittedly laden in sugar from your cart - “is particularly conducive to healthy development.”

“Katsuki, I didn’t ask you,” you hiss, snatching it out of his hands, then sheepishly add, “in fact, that was mine.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“Figures for all that chaotic energy you have,” he jokes. 

You had more to say to him, and then merely ten minutes later, in a flurry of explosions and debris, screams and scattered people,  you were staring straight through his chest to the other side.

“Fuck.”

Fuck? You thought. Katsuki looking at you, then looking at the gaping wound in his chest, then looking at the incapacitated villain and the destroyed supermarket, then looking back at your hands deep in his wound, pressing down at his chest desperately to stop the bleeding as best you can, tears running down your cheeks. You who so often were joined at the hip with the one he loves, who’s grown to merge their natural smile with Izuku’s over time, whose face is distorted in fear and shock and desperation to keep him alive so you don’t have to tell your best friend that you are the reason he’s no longer here to protect her.

Because he was protecting you. For his friend. For his wife. For the kid you’ve entrusted to him in case something happens to your or Izuku's child, who better not get that goddamn juice box.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

You want to scream, no it’s not, it will never be, how am I supposed to tell her-

“I forgive you. I’m not mad. Just take care of her, okay?”

Katsuki’s voice was the quietest, calmest you had ever heard it be since you’ve met him and you hate that he smiled, and you hate hate hate that Izuku would have done it for him, too. 

The shaking turns into sobs again and Inko holds your hands tightly. Your son is upstairs, too occupied with toys, again far too polite and considerate, and you wonder if he’ll remember how hard you are crying right now. If he’ll remember his father crying and holding you that terrible evening. You wonder what he’ll do when he’s old enough to know why his auntie doesn’t have a husband and why there are four people smiling in that wedding photo that hangs in your home instead of the three he knows, and who bought him nearly half of his books and toys. 

“I can’t go there,” you whisper again. 

Inko tilts her head. 

“But she needs you,” Inko murmurs. You wipe your tears with the back of your hands. Your husband, who isn’t the coward you are, is already at the funeral, working through funeral arrangements. Your throat dries up at how much he must be apologizing again, or perhaps he’s not apologizing at all, keeping his head up high and reminding everyone that Dynamight died saving someone important to him and what he did was not a mistake. 

“Kacchan is a true hero.” Izuku repeated softly into your ear, then to himself, then to you again, then to the world, then to his wife. His wife who should hate you but is too mournful to bother.

“I can’t go there,” you repeat. “I cannot look her in the eyes.”

But your best friend needs you and cried in your arms that very first night.

Inko nods.

“But she’d do it for you,” she says, softly.

She would do it for you, the same way Izuku would have done it for Katsuki. 

…

Moments later, you’re squeezing Dynamight’s widow’s hand as Izuku praises him, and you wish it hadn’t turned out this way but you’re at least fulfilling your promise.

Just take care of her, okay? 

You will, for the rest of your life.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — two. one more time.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: very canon divergent because criminal minds timelines fuck me up. emotional cheating (not on reader). no happy ending (for now). angst. right person wrong time. no use of y/n. word count: 700+. a/n: me taking my least engaged fic and making a series out of it? more likely than you think. summary based on himym's victoria and her theory.

previously

    Your palms are undeniably sweaty following the anxious feeling you had in the pit of your stomach. After transferring you made a successful career as a profiler for the Crisis Negotiation Unit, so it wouldn’t be the first time seeing Hotchner after all, you saw him at seminars, you read his book, his face and his voice were still a strong presence in your mind.

    But being close to him, talking to him, working with him again… That was making your mind swirl. The BAU needed a senior profiler, again. You had rejected the transfer at least two times before and the upper ups found someone else for the job. Not this time, this time you had no choice. 

    You try to feel comfortable on his office’s couch, looking around to notice the little things before him and the rest of the team arrive, profiling each other wasn’t very well seen in the BAU, you remember that much from your years there, but you knew Hotch, you were just basking at the familiarity his office brought you. 

    Pictures of him with his son, his late ex wife, awards, piles of cases organized. It all pointed to him being more serious than when you worked together first. It made sense not only considering what he had been through, but his nearly obsessive nature. 

    Throat cleaning is the sound that brings you back, his face lighting up when he notices it’s you, but letting the smile disappear seconds later. “It’s been a while. how can I help you?” 

    Oh. Politeness. The tone. Not asking how you are. He’s mad. Possibly because you never called. Never answered his calls. Never talked to him when he was around your unit. Always sent other agents when the BAU needed negotiators. You made impossible efforts to avoid him. And yet here you were, in his office. 

    “I get that you haven’t looked into your new profiler’s paperwork.” You were always snarky and that made him huff trying to hide a laugh. He didn’t have to look at the paperwork to know you wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t mandatory. “You look good, big office, the suit. It fits you.” 

    He stays silent, and you wish you could read his mind like you did before, but it was different now, all you could read from him was how… Sore he was in your presence. Like you were there just to cut open old wounds. You couldn’t blame him, you prided yourself of being his best friend for so long and sure it was a weird gray area you both danced in, but he got divorced, was stabbed countless times, Haley was murdered, you never even called. You couldn’t even pretend you didn’t know, you kept in touch with Rossi.

    He moves to his desk, sitting and looking through your paperwork without much care, enough that he caught you staring at the picture he had of Haley, Jack and him by the bookshelf behind him. “You didn’t come to the funeral.” 

    “Dave told me to go, but… It felt disrespectful to Haley.” Hotchner takes a deep breath, it finally hitting him that at least there and then it wasn’t about avoiding him, it was about Haley, as it was when you left Quantico. He didn’t want to hurt her, you didn’t want to disrespect her, that was always the central point of why you two couldn’t be. That relaxes his demeanor, his features soften. Your heart beats faster. 

    “Think you can handle BAU rhythm after a decade away?” He smirks, that one you know so well, that one that meant trouble. And he finally looks up from the file, locking eyes with you. 

    “You should be worried about keeping up with me.” And just like that it feels like you’re ten years younger, flirting with your partner, hoping he will flirt back. And by the look he gives you, it almost seems like he would if his phone didn’t ring, getting his attention away from you in a flash of a second. 

    Got caught up, will be there soon, yeah, love you too.

    “Sorry, that was my–my girlfriend, Beth. I have to get going, see you tomorrow?” You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek for some relief. 

    10 years. 10 years of running from it. Just to get back exactly where you started: At the BAU, heart out for Hotchner when he couldn’t take it. 

    So much for keeping your FBI career and not going against orders.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

The Bee & the Bear, Chapter 1: And Then There Were Four

summary: Mikey’s death brings the gang back together again.

pairing: carmy berzatto x f!reader (Bee)

contents: 18+/NSFW/heavy content, mention of suicide/mental illness, grief, longing, pining, angst, friends to strangersish to lovers

wc: 2.1k

an: this is my first time writing for the Bear so i beg of you to go easy on me.

series masterlist

The sky is gray and cloudy and birds are singing softly, perched in dead trees. There’s snow on the ground, crunching beneath the weight of everyone’s shoes. Beneath the weight of everyone’s grief, so heavy it's palpable. It’s the coldest day of the year, fitting for the occasion. Because Mikey’s dead, taken from all of you with his own hand.

You’re sandwiched between Sugar and Richie, to keep them apart, to keep them together. Regardless of their history and their care for each other, it's always touch and go– a disaster waiting to happen. But with you here and in the flesh after so many years, they’re both trying to balance that fucked up mixture of happiness from seeing your face and the pure despair from losing Mikey.

“Thank you for comin’, sweetheart,” Richie squeezes your shoulders, his eyes soft and watery when you look up at him.

You lean more firmly into his side, “You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

“You know who would.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about. Carmy isn’t here, and while anyone else would expect him to show up to his brother’s funeral it had not surprised you. Not with how the last several years have gone. Richie’s words make you sigh tiredly, and you give him a stern look. The last thing that Mikey’s funeral needs is more blaming. That didn’t start at Mikey’s funeral though, the Berzattos have pointed fingers at each other for as long as you can remember.

There are faces familiar and not around you, all of them turned to the ground, paying their last respects to Mikey. This hurts, it hurts deeper than anything you’ve ever felt before. Since you’d gotten that phone call from Sugar something heavy and dark has sat in the pit of your stomach, taking root and finding its home there. Life has always been the 5 of you, even with you and Carmy strewn across the country. You and Mikey and Carmy and Sugar and Richie. A reality that you’d always known, that you found comfort in on days you felt a little too homesick. Your relationships with all of them heavily inspired your art, they had become your family.

As you watch Mikey’s casket be lowered into the ground you can’t help but feel like your lens on life has shifted. For the first time in a long time, you aren’t completely sure where anything goes.

—

“Are you hungry?” Sugar asks as the two of you shed your coats and head into her kitchen.

There was no repass, what with the restaurant currently closed. Everyone had agreed it didn’t feel right to eat anything but The Beef in Mikey’s honor. There had been one last huddle, shared goodbyes and I love yous, and many tears before everyone had dispersed. You’d promised Sugar that you’d help her sort through everything since Carmy never showed up.

“Starving.”

She sets the file box full of Mikey’s paperwork on the counter and takes a step towards the fridge, “I’ll make us something.”

You rest your hand over hers, shaking your head, “No, it’s good, Sugar. Sit, start sifting, I’ll do it.”

“You sure?” She asks skeptically– sure you know how to work your way around a kitchen-- its impossible not to with Mikey and Carmy-- before you’ve never been known for being a cook. You're the artist, the traditional creative of the bunch who has mess and color strewn all about.

“I’m sure, just let me help. It’s what I’m here for, yeah?”

Her eyes go a little soft and she nods, “Yeah, okay.”

She goes to sit at the breakfast bar, looking at the pile of documents that hold Mikey’s life. Heaps and heaps of paper that mean nothing to her. That do a terrible job of capturing who Mikey was and what his life meant to others.

You open the fridge, poking through the contents as if you’ve done this a million times. That’s just how things are with Sugar, they’re comfortable– always have been and always will be. She has the ingredients for their mom’s chicken piccata in her fridge and you quickly fetch them and the proper tools.

Sugar does her best to stay on task, but the sounds of someone else in the kitchen, and the smell of her mother’s food are distracting. She watches the flick of your wrist and the speed of your knife. You dice and sprinkle and stir in similar ways to her brothers. It’s impossible to notice.

“You look like them,” She says, her voice a little melancholic.

“Look like who?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at her in concern.

The smile on her face is wistful, “Like Mikey. Like Carmy. Carmy especially.”

Something in your chest cracks. You turn back to the pan in front of you, spooning sauce over the chicken one too many times, just to stay away from the tender look on her face. “They did teach me the basics.”

She’s silent for a moment, battling herself, wondering if she should ask this question. It’s a touchy subject, it always has been despite your closeness but she just had to know. “I sorta know the answer to this, but did you…did you try?”

“Don’t start with me, Nat.”

“I just want to know,” She assures you gently. “Did you really try?”

You reach for the jar of capers angrily, though this is less about the anger and more about the hurt. About the longing, this brings up. “He treated me just like everyone else. There was nothing for me to try.”

“You know Carmen’s always had a soft spot for you.”

“Not soft enough to follow through on his words,” You mumble sourly.

She goes quiet then because you’re right. Carmy had taken off for culinary school and seemingly never looked back, besides the infamous Christmas– the one you don’t even know about. All of his promises of staying in touch and showing each other new worlds fell flat.

You had tried. You offered to take him on a food crawl through Seattle where you were going to art school.

“Oh my fucking god,” She grits out, the shock in her voice sending you into fight or flight. The plate in your hand clatters to the counter without breaking, thankfully.

You turn to her, leaning across the counter, “What? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes continue to scan the page in front of her, over and over as if the letters will say something different. “Michael you fucking— he left Bear the restaurant.”

“He what?”

“Fucking Mikey,” She stands abruptly, scrubbing her face with her hands. “Ok, ok, um–uh–can you call Bear? I’m gonna call Richie.”

“Me? Call Carmy?”

Was the man that you’d fallen in love with when he was just a little boy really still out there? Sure, he was— living and breathing, walking and cooking and testing. But, all of that was mechanical. Was his smile still the same? His laugh? Did a heart still beat in that empty chest of his? Did his blue eyes still hold as much as Lake Michigan?

Sugar sees your panic, face softening with concern, “We both know he won’t answer, you’ll be fine.”

“But��“

“Please, Bee?”

The name that Sugar calls you knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s been a long, long time since anyone has called you that— since you left for college. Since the last time you’d seen Carmy. Would he still call you that? He’d started it after all. Named you Bee because you were obsessed with painting flowers, they covered your room, all of your canvas and anything else your parents deemed invaluable enough to lose to your hobby turned career.

“Hey, you okay?” She asks when you don’t respond after several seconds.

You blink a few times before refocusing on her. You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, “What? Yeah, just fine.”

Her brow furrows, and she steps closer reaching out to run her hand up and down your arm, “Are you sure?”

You give a smile that doesn’t touch your eyes and fish your phone out of your pocket, “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll go call Carmy.”

Before Sugar can respond you make your way to the front door and let yourself out. You’re met with the frigid Chicago air, the wind whipping at your cheeks. With your coat inside, the cold chills you to the bone but the feeling is welcome. It shocks your nervous system in a way that makes it easier to call Carmy. Your head is clear, and most of your focus is now on warming your fingers as you dial his number and start to pace.

Sugar was right– he doesn’t answer. It rings and rings and rings until you hear his voice for the first time in years. It's the same message that he’d set years ago: Hey, it's Carmy. Let it rip at the beep.

Many beats of silence pass before you realize that it's time for you to speak.

“Oh fuck, sorry. H-Hi, Carmen. It’s…it’s me. Nat and I just went through Mikey’s will and well…he left it to you. The Beef I mean, it’s yours. Sugar really needs you to come home to figure this out.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if you should say anything about yourself. About your friendship that he’s let crumble. About your heart that he’s ground into dust with each day that goes by with no contact. No that won’t do.

“Just come home and help your fucking sister. Please, Carmy,” You plead softly before hanging up.

You aren’t sure if that was a good enough attempt, but you don’t want to risk calling back and having to face him. Despite your worry, it does the trick.

—

You and Sugar are tucked in Mikey’s office, combing through records of unpaid pills and disorganized expense reports when it happens.

“Cousin!” Richie yells with just enough disbelief in his voice for you to know.

You and Sugar look at each other with wide eyes, hands frozen and full of stacks of paper. You can hear them clambering through the restaurant, making their way to you and you wish that some freak accident that denies the laws of physics would swallow you up.

To your dismay, It doesn’t.

Carmy and Richie round the corner, and you’re a goner like you’ve been all these years. Soft blue eyes that give the crystal skies a run for their money and a messy mop of ashy hair. It doesn’t matter that a man waits for you at home or how many times you’ve told yourself that you’re over Carmy. It never sticks, you don’t know why you thought it would. You were hoping that he’d hurt you enough for it to fade.

Carmy stops in his tracks at the sight of you, throwing Richie a look that clearly says “you couldn’t have warned me”. You aren’t sure how to interpret it– was he excited to see you? Upset?

He stuffs his hands into his pockets nervously and leans against the door frame. “Hi. Hey,” He means to say it to you and Sugar, but his eyes don’t leave your face.

“Hey,” You squeak, cheeks heating in embarrassment. You clear your throat and try again. “Hi, Carmen.”

“Hey, Bear,” Sugar waves her hand playfully as if she’s trying to get his attention, and his eyes finally flit over to her.

He smiles, one that you know is genuine despite that lack of teeth. His eyes drop to the ground and he nods a few times before glancing to Natalie again. “So he left it to me,” He says lamely.

“Yeah, Carmy, he left it to you,” Sugar repeats his words, frustrated not only with Carmy for his late arrival or for his lack of appearance at his own brother’s funeral but for this entire situation.

None of them should be here trying to figure this out. Mikey should be in this kitchen with Richie, she should be at home thinking about what she and Pete for dinner. And though this finally brought you and Carmy home, she wishes that things were the way they were just a few short weeks ago. She wants Mikey alive.

“Guess that means I should open it.”

Richie gives out a shout before clapping Carmy on the shoulder, “See now I like the sound of that, cousin.”

Carmy flinches under Richie’s touch, hoping no one will notice. It's not something he wants to talk about or even think about. He can feel your eyes on him and quickly makes up an excuse to put some space between the two of you. “I’m gonna go check out the stock in the fridge. It— uh, good to see you, Bee.”

You nod awkwardly, though those simple words make your heart race, “You too, Carmy.”

Richie doesn’t follow after him, stepping into the office and crossing his arms. The three of you sit there in a silence that screams he has something to say.

“Just say it, Richie. Fuck’s sake,” Sugar finally says, rubbing her temples.

Your brow furrows as your head whips from side to side to look between them. “Say what?”

“You know he’ll notice, right?” Richie asks you, leaning back against the desk.

“Notice what?”

Richie looks at Sugar expectantly, and she sighs, rubbing at her temples again. She fixes you with a look that is as sympathetic as it is accusatory, “That you don’t call him Bear anymore.”

| > chapter 2: Back in the Beef

let me know if you’d like to be on the carmy taglist!

[alaskan-wallflower]

I need any and all headcanons you might have about darry and paul

Ooooh okay!

They became friends in third grade

They were both competitive little shots and they were from different classes (like say there were two third grade teachers, Darry was in one and Paul was in the other)

They were both picked as captains for field day and as soon as they saw each other they were glaring at each other because they were competitive as fuck-

Things kinda escalated when they started getting physical with each other and yelling insults at each other and the teachers made them sit out for a bit

They actually kinda got to talking and Darry’s just like “I have a little brother named Ponyboy” “Is he an actual Pony?”

They became good friends after that one

Darry of course used to go over to Paul’s like…every other day. The dads even started talking and getting closer because their sons were best friends and it was kind of nice

They used to go out and watch movies together.

Wheneve r they hung out, Paul would get Darry the VIP stuff or whatever that he couldn’t afford so Darry could have some luxuries

Paul never wanted to go to Darry’s place though and would kinda make backhanded comments about his house being small lol

I kinda imagine Paul was naturally a bit spoiled-or a lot spoiled. Especially because he doesn’t have any siblings to share with

Pony and Soda didn’t like him much, especially because Darry acted like Paul was his brother too

Like Pony and Soda would have full on gossip sessions 😭(it was more out of jealousy that he spent more time with Paul than them, at least that’s how they felt)

I remember my school held a fake prom for the eighth graders who were moving up to high school and there they were both tied for prom kings

As they got older their friendship started fragmenting though because the two were a bit different

I feel like Darry was rather intimidating in high school-I mean, dude’s 6’2’’ and a pure tank of muscle. The resting bitch face doesn’t help. But he was the absolute sweetest boy ever-like he would help anyone out who needed it, he would be so sweet to the freshmen too, he was Boy of the year for a reason. And maybe even one of the top in his class.

Paul on the other hand was kind of the opposite. He was the one football player who was really just a jerk to everyone. People were afraid of him honestly and he’s probably managed to coerce Darry into doing some really shitty things with the excuse “boys will be boys”

I feel like he would give Darry things to kinda keep him under his spell a little-hence why he gave Darry his Madras shirt

I love the idea of Paul having an unreciprocated crush on Darry. I feel like that also fueled his jealousy honestly because Darry attracted girls like flies with honey and he HATED watching Darry even jokingly flirt back

Things finally shattered when Darry got the quarterback position-something Paul had been jonesing for since freshman year.

I mean…Paul had a private instructor! And what did Darry have? His dad? Yeah, that just toppled everything

A twisted part of him was even happy when Darry lost everything. In his eyes Darry had everything he ever wanted. A good family. Good friends. Chicks swarming him. And Paul didn’t see the good things he had. And he managed to get Darry to open up

And that’s when he pulled the train prank.

He waited for Darry to cross the tracks one night (maybe the night after the funeral?) when he was with Pony and Soda and he blared flashlights at the car. Darry swerved into a ditch and both him and his brothers got hurt (not too hurt-Darry broke his shoulder, Pony broke a collarbone and Soda needed stitches) but the damage was done. And he saw Paul run away.

That was the end of their friendship.

Bonus:

Darry’s lying in the hospital bed watching his brothers sleep, Pony in a sling and Soda with severe head cuts and he just whispers “you two were right about him.” and promptly busts into tears

[i-trash-about-things]

Eddie's shitty sense of humor strikes again.

A random blurb that came to me after reading some headcannons about Eddie's childish sense of humor

777 words (nice). Suggestive but nothing happens. Reader has hair long enough to tug. GN!Reader and Ed are best friends. Swear word count: 4. English is not my first language! Sorry if something doesn't make sense and feel free to correct me! (Repost because Tumblr flunked the last time I tried posting this)

If you wanna be Eddie Munson’s friend, you’ve gotta learn a few rules. Handle his guitar with care, or else he’ll bash it in the side of your head. If W.A.S.P. is on, you do not skip a single song.

You know all of these, better than anyone with you being his best friend. His partner in crime, the one that always gets him out of trouble– or gets into trouble with him.

But there’s one rule you know better than all of the rest.

Eddie is nothing if not a damn clown.

Loud, potentially annoying, and will crack a joke like he can’t hold it back. Be it an awkward one liner at a funeral, a sarcastic remark in the middle of class or a genuine good joke in the middle of a campaign– His mouth is moving faster than his brain, and all that leaves his lips is absolute tomfoolery.

You know it, your friends know it, all of Hawkins knows it.

And an example of this behavior is that fact he can’t see any one of his friends bending down to fetch whatever fell without pretending to hump against their ass, groaning and moaning so exaggerated you never know if you wanna laugh or cringe.

Shameless.

It is kinda funny when Gareth gets all pissy afterwards, tho.

But, even though you and Eds have been friends for the good part of 4 years now– he never did this to you. Not because he didn’t want to or because it’d be weird, but because he just never had the chance.

You, differently from most people, doesn’t tend to bend down to reach something. You just crouch. Or kneel, when the moment calls for it.

It’s just something you’ve been doing since forever, so you’re more used to it. Mindless, instinct, really.

But the past few weeks, you think Eddie’s been trying to get you to bend down– like he wants to get a completion prize for humping everyone in the Hellfire Club (with the exception of the sheepies, duh). He drops his pick mid practice, asks for you to grab a figurine stacked on the box near the foot of his bed– anything, just to get you to bend over.

So far? No such luck.

But Eddie isn’t anything if not committed to the bit. So, one day, the opportunity shows itself for him and he takes it.

It wasn’t even on purpose, really. He was just getting ready to go out, both of you gathering your coats by the front door of his trailer so you wouldn’t freeze your butts off–

“Oh, hey– wait.” Your hand leaves the sleeve of your hoodie, instead reaching for him to stop moving. Your face is down, eyes on the floor, and he raises an eyebrow. “I think there’s something stuck to your shoe. Hol’ up.”

And before he has the chance to freak out in worry if it’s a spider– you’re kneeling between his feet, tugging on whatever it is stuck to his sneakers.

And, like a match dropped into gasoline, he sees his chance and goes for it.

You don’t have the chance to raise your face before you feel familiar fingers tangling into the front of your hairline, tugging your head up roughly– and Eddie let’s out an exaggerated, throaty groan, half-heartedly moving his hips that are eye level to you.

“Mmph! Oh, fuck yeah, sweetheart, just like that!” He cackles, biting his lip and tilting his head back for that extra effect… But pauses when he doesn’t hear you laughing or groaning in annoyance at his shenanigans.

So he looks back down… And something about the smirk on your face makes his heart skip a beat.

Despite the crude and sexual joke, you don’t look embarrassed in the slightest– much less uncomfortable, which was Eddie’s original fear. No… No, you look amused.

Smug.

There’s something about the way your eyes are halflided, full of mirth as you look up at him from your spot by the floor. The shit eating tilt to your smirk has a shiver running down his spine, and his grip on your hair instinctively loosens. Amused, confident even– even while literally kneeling by his feet.

Jesus H. Christ.

“You’re a dumb ass, Munson, you know that?” You say, the slight tilt to your words hinting at an affectionate tone that has him swallowing the dryness on the back of his throat. He almost doesn’t hear you over the sound of the blood rushing from his head down south.

“I live to entertain.” He hears himself say, and for once he thanks the fact his mouth moves faster than his brain.

[satansapostle6]

fire and ice | james cook

Cook’s interest is piqued when an old childhood friend moves in across the street.

Warning: Mature themes/language. Drug use. Sexual content.

part one.

part two. the system.

“Oi! Tiff!”

Tiffany Wheeler turned around as she headed home from school, realizing Cook was following her, naturally.

“Cookie,” she remarked.

“Going home?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Me too,” he said with approval.

He walked by her side as they went in the same direction, heading back towards their shared neighborhood.

“Did you catch what that assignment was?” he asked her. “JJ had me distracted. Pulled a chocolate out of my ear. Don’t know where he found a chocolate…”

“Sure,” she nodded with sarcasm.

“What do you say, Wheeler?” he asked hopefully. “Help out your best mate? For old time’s sake?”

“Yeah. Whatever,” Tiffany scoffed.

“Alright!” Cook exclaimed enthusiastically. “Fuck yeah!”

Tiff just smiled as she walked, fully aware of Cook’s behavior.

“So, since you won’t be a good mate and shag me, how do I repay you?” he wondered. “Spliff?” he offered.

“Don’t love it, if I’m being honest,” she said as she plucked a cigarette from the pack she was holding and stuck it into her mouth as she lit it.

“Vodka, then?” he guessed. “Drugs?”

It was Tiff’s turn to give a mischievous grin, satiated by the offer.

“You’ve got a deal, mate.”

“Alright. Sorted,” he nodded, happy with their arrangement. “Come over to mine, then?” he invited her insistently.

“Yeah. Sure,” she agreed.

She objectively observed, somewhat fascinated, as he pulled out a spliff, loose somewhere in his pocket, smoking it out in the open as they walked home together. Tiff quickly realized that Cook constantly had to be doing something; if he was talking, he had to be loud, and animated.

If, for some reason, he wasn’t talking, he had to be active, running, or jumping, or otherwise doing something, like flicking or punching something. Cook had the mannerisms of a primary school student; he just needed to feel excited. All the time.

He found that he surprisingly didn’t mind Tiff’s silent, aloof demeanor, because even if she wasn’t speaking, she was always listening. And he liked to be listened to. Cook felt that Tiff had a unique way of fucking with people. It wasn’t in anything she said or did; it wasn’t in anything. Nothing about the way she would just stay there in silence was inherently wrong, or offensive, but just something about the space that she took up could make someone need more from her.

Cook kept rambling and raving throughout the entire walk to his house, secretly needing for Tiff to actually join in. She was speaking, of course, and fully engaging in whatever topic they had currently landed on throughout the entire ordeal, but she never brought herself up to his level and ranted or raved herself. She was almost always level, and cool.

“Say, Tiff,” Cook said as he sat down on his bed, passing her a half full bottle of vodka. “How come you moved back here?”

He remembered Tiffany Wheeler had moved away from Bristol just before their fourth year of primary school. At seven or eight years old, he had actually been quite disappointed when he didn’t see her that first day of school.

“My dad wanted to be close to the family again,” Tiff replied, searching her pockets as Cook held his hand out for the pack of cigarettes.

“Any reason why?” he asked curiously.

“You remember my brother, right?” she said as he took a cigarette.

“Yeah! Andrew, right?” Cook lit the cigarette. “What’s he up to?”

“He’s dead,” Tiff said matter-of-factly as he just stopped for a moment.

“Oh. Fucking hell,” James Cook remarked, seemingly genuinely taken aback. “When?”

“A… A few weeks ago,” she cleared her throat. “Or a month ago…? Honestly can’t remember, exactly. The funeral’s next weekend…”

“Jesus. Rest in peace,” he mumbled.

Tiff just nodded appreciatively. This was much more recent than he would’ve guessed. He began to feel guilty for his casual attitude, knowing he wasn’t exactly great with these things.

“How’d he die?” he asked, optimistically hoping for something standard like illness, or perhaps an accident.

“He killed himself,” she told him, seeming as if she was trying to spare Cook’s feelings more so than her own, which he found peculiar.

“Oh…” he thought awkwardly. “Was it peaceful?” he hoped.

“Car exhaust,” she informed him, as his face slowly twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. “Choked on exhaust fumes.”

“Oh.”

This certainly did not sound like a very ideal death to Cook, not that there really was any such thing.

“It’s alright. I can talk about it without turning into a weepy twat,” Tiff promised him.

Cook looked at her for a moment, nothing mischievous or teasing behind his eyes in that moment as he just nodded, silently conveying his unspoken apology for his general behavior.

“You know I, er… I remember Andrew. Sort of,” he offered. “He was a couple grades above us… Always trying to make friends with people. Drawing them pictures, and shit,” he recalled, taking a rough swig of vodka.

“Yep. That was Andrew,” Tiff nodded pleasantly. “Definitely Andrew.”

Cook did what he could to help, handing her the bottle as she accepted it gratefully, downing a decent amount of the foul-tasting alcohol as Cook handed her his cigarette.

“He was your best mate,” he said.

Tiff nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed pleasantly. “He was.”

Cook felt awkward and aimless in the heavy conversation, despite the fact that Tiff seemed complete fine. He took another long swig from the bottle, starting to really feel tingly in many different ways, between the spliff and the vodka.

“To Andrew,” he dedicated the thoughtful act of alcoholism.

She smiled, taking the bottle, compelled to drink more.

“To Andrew,” she echoed.

“Do you know why he killed himself?” Cook asked, past the point of knowing whether or not that was an appropriate question to ask.

Tiff strangely appreciated it, never having been asked that in conversation about it before.

“Yeah… I think so. Sort of,” she provided.

She thought for a moment before responding.

“He was… He was troubled. Fucked around with pills a lot. Like, a lot. I mean, I did too, but… He was just different. Like he knew that’s how it would all end, sooner or later,” she sighed. “I guess he chose ‘sooner’.”

“That’s right shit,” Cook shook his head.

Tiff nodded in agreement, finding his take almost profound in its own way. “Yeah. Yeah, it really is.”

“Was there something you think made him do it?” Cook inquired. “Like, something that set him off?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tiff nodded with certainty, a certain bitterness or irony to her tone. “Yeah.”

He listened silently, something he rarely did for anyone, curious to hear the answer.

“He, erm… He was spiraling, after college. Barely passed to begin with. It was all drugs and weird pastimes, every day. Sometimes he’d be gone for days at a time… Mum was at her wit’s end with him… She just didn’t know what to do,” she explained. “Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was the one to off herself.”

Cook still listened intently as she spoke, pondering on every word. He could tell this was a very recent and painful chapter in her life.

“Anyways. My brother. He was doing some really questionable shit, with really questionable people… It was fucked up. And I mean, fucked up. This guy, Seb, he used to party with? Rumor was, he would get fucked up on acid and do some crazy shit. I mean, like, dead cats crazy.”

“Jesus,” Cook thought, surprised at his own reaction.

“Mum had enough… She gave him an ultimatum. Either get his life together, and go to university, or get a job, at least,” Tiff recalled, “Or… he was out of the house,” she concluded.

Cook sat with this for a moment, not responding, just thinking as he tried to process. It took a considerable amount of silence, but he seemed to understand finally.

“So, Andrew…” the words strangely hurt him to say. “Your mum said he had to get his life together, so he killed himself?” he provided.

“Yep,” she nodded.

Cook gave her a funny look she’d never seen from him before in the short time she’d known him as an actual adult. It was almost a look of sympathy.

“Andrew… He would’ve rather have killed himself than try to live a healthy, functional life,” she admitted, an unimaginable pain in her eyes.

Cook truly had no idea how to respond.

“It’s fine,” she added quickly, her tone changing. “It’s whatever. My own brother would’ve rather have killed himself than stop doing drugs.”

“I’m sorry, Tiff,” Cook said after a pause, “If I’m being completely honest… I only got to talking to shag you.”

He waited guiltily for a response of any sort as she just looked at him for a while, fully aware of his patterns. Cook half-expected her to get uncomfortable in some way, or scream, or yell, or throw him out of her home, but she did no such thing. He watched in awe as she didn’t even seem to bat an eye at the confession.

“I figured,” she said, prompting him to wonder if this was all she had to contribute.

Completely flabbergasted, Cook began to spiral as he tried to communicate with her.

“You—You did?” he asked cautiously.

She nodded emptily, no longer worried about being allowed to attractive people. He still found himself praying she wouldn’t punch or disembowel him.

“Of course I did,” Tiff responded indifferently. “Most people only hang out with me because they want to shag me.”

“Yeah, I reckon so,” he said regretfully, a guilty expression on his face.

“But it’s okay,” she said, reading him easily. “I have a system; I always hang out with people at least three times. If they leave by then, then I know they just wanted to shag me.”

“But… what if they’re playing the long game?” Cook geniunely wondered.

“Well, at that point,” she thought. “If I want to shag them, then, I do.”

A large grin slowly spread across Cook’s face as he shifted the mood back to lighthearted stupidity.

“So, what if I’m still here after the third time?” he proposed excitedly.

“Then I’ll know you’re an idiot,” Tiff concluded.

-

part three.

[cacoetheswriting]

I am loving Pearl so far, beautifully written, but WAIT because I have to know what the letters said 😭😭😭

thank you, anon! <3 i appreciate your sweet words 🥹 and thank you for asking, it inspired me to actually fill in this gap - hope you enjoy!

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, mature themes, adult language, death of a parent, topics of grief, emotional hurt / comfort, self-doubt / insecurities - unedited - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist

November 19, 1984

Eddie,

Sitting back in my dorm feels almost surreal. Everyone around me is going about their lives as normal, and I know I can’t be mad because obviously to them nothing’s changed, but how am I expected to join in normality? To just pick up where I left off at the start of the month?

You know what my chem professor told me? ‘We’ve all lost someone. The trick is to not make it your whole personality.’ In a way that makes sense to me. It’s logical. I can’t let my dad’s passing define me. And he obviously would want me to move on with my life. But Eddie, my heart bleeds. 

This grief… This grief is swallowing me whole. This grief has embedded itself into my core being and on most days, it’s fucking consuming me. I lost a parent, a protector, a friend. There are memories I’ll never get to make because he’s gone. I really lost a piece of myself. How come no one seems to get that?

You get that, right Eddie? I know you understand. You always understand.

I miss you. I miss my dad.

P.S. Excuse this tear stained paper. It’s a mess. I’m a mess.

P.P.S I’m sorry for running off on you the day of the funeral. It was just… a lot.

November 22, 1984

Eddie,

Nothing makes sense anymore. (Also, I know I just wrote you, but I haven’t sent that letter yet so you’ll get both together and can respond to them as one.)

I’m trying to catch up on the material I missed and the words blend together before my eyes. Well, I only have myself to blame. My mom offered for me to take the rest of the semester off and start fresh from the new year, but I thought the distraction would help. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I’m so sad all the time. And you know what the worst part is? Aside from the nightmares and this restlessness I’ve felt since the funeral, I just can’t stop thinking about you. What is Eddie doing, who is he with, does he think about me too?

Well, do you? God, this is fucking stupid. I know you do ‘cause you fucking call me everyday and I can’t bring myself to answer or call you back… Stupid…

I also think about our last moment together often… Actually, please ignore this letter, Eddie. Don’t respond. Like I said, nothing makes sense anymore, including my thoughts.

I miss you.

November 27, 1984

Eddie,

I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring your calls. I’m sorry I’ve had my roommate make up stupid excuses for me, that’s so lame. Most of all though, I’m sorry I haven’t called you back. 

You’re trying to be there for me and I’m pushing you away. That’s shitty of me and really unforgivable. But the thing is, I think I’m doing it because I know you’ll always forgive me. That’s even shittier of me. I’m awful.

You deserve a better friend, Eddie Munson. You deserve the world and I only wish I could give you that. Instead, you’re stuck with a girl who runs away from uncomfortable situations and hurts you in the process.

I wish I could go back to the day of the funeral and change

November 30, 1984

I spent the entire day listening to my mom cry over the phone — tell me, does it make me heartless for not shedding a single tear? Thinking now, this is the first time I haven’t cried since the funeral.

Anyway, I’m failing the semester. Surprise, surprise.

Also, Jonathan and Nancy came to visit. Why didn’t you come with them? God, why am I such a loser? Won’t speak with you over the phone, but gets mad when you don’t take time from school to come see me. I’m sick of myself.

P.S. Thank you for regularly doing the groceries for my mom and helping her around the house. You have no idea how much that means to her, and to me. I love— Thank you, Eddie.

December 4, 1984

It’s been a month since my dad died.

The grief hasn’t surpassed. If anything, it’s gotten stronger. My roommate has to force me to do basic human things like eat and sometimes even shower. She’s really been my rock here these last few weeks. You’d like her, I think. She couldn’t be more different than you in style, but she’s funny. 

I know you probably don’t have a high opinion of her now, considering she’s helping me avoid you, but—

I should really call you back. I’m sorry.

December 10, 1984

I haven’t sent a single one of these letters. You’ll probably never read them and know how truly awful I feel for ignoring you.

Eddie, how come things have gotten so complicated? You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s all on me. I wish we could go back to that day at Lover's Lake when you played your guitar for me. That was bliss.

I miss you, my Bobby McGee.

December 14, 1984

Eddie, you didn’t call today.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Not like I’ve given you a reason to call.

I wonder if you’ll even want to see me when I come home for the holidays. Probably not. That’s okay though. That’s okay…

December 19, 1984

Eddie,

Perhaps I’m saying this a little too late, but I appreciate you. Thank you for being my best friend and the entire reason why I know I’m going to be okay.

I think I’m in love with you. No. I know I am.

And I’m going to give you all these letters. Hopefully, you’ll read them in front of me so I can see your reaction when I say:

I love you, Eddie Munson. 

I’m coming home for the holidays. I’ll come see you and I’ll apologise. With any luck, you’ll forgive me for being a cold-hearted bitch. With any luck, although I probably don’t deserve it, you’ll be my person again.

I'm yours, forever.

thank you for reading <3

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella , @ashlynnkennedy , @ms1oftheboys

pearl masterlist

[servicenonsense]

lol ok so like, I’m 90% sure I have autism and I usually have a resting bitch face and generally just look miserable as fuck but I try to mask it to seem friendly when in public and at my co op (a funeral home, so I have to look nice-ish). Yesterday I went home early because I had a headache as I did not get any sleep, literally awake for over 24 hours at that point because I guess I’m immune to melatonin now, and I wasn’t dealing with people so I didn’t bother to try and ‘look’ happy. I asked and they said yeah, joking if I was bored (because I was on cleaning duty and was cleaning literally from the moment I got there to the moment I left)

Today I actually got sleep and had energy to not look like a miserable fuck so I looked happy nd shit y’know. I was also helping with a service we were holding so it was me and this guy that basically babysits me at this point because they send me to him whenever they don’t know what to do with me lol. We were chatting and being buddy-buddy cuz, again, I spent most of time there with him so we are kinda friends. Then he comes up real close and says “Did you leave because you were sick or were you bored?” and I was like “lol what no I had a headache” and he said that I looked miserable yesterday and he just wanted to know. I was feeling completely fine either than the headache, very content in life. Except for the cleaning. I just didn’t have the energy or mental stimulation to mask my au naturel look lol. I didn’t even know how to tell him I just went “yeah i haven’t slept in 24 hours so i was a little sleepy yknow”

Also, just a little brag (as if); I had only left early ONCE from being bored. There was literally n o t h i n g for me to do and I cleaned that place top-to-bottom, they even sent me to the family center because of how little there was for me to do. and the bus comes every hour and I didnt want to be stuck there for another hour doing absolutely nothing so I asked and they literally laughed and let me go. Let me tell you. I have cleaned the entire place more times in the last 3 weeks than I have the entire 5 months I’ve been there. I am a free maid at this point.

He then explained how to suture a penis shut lmao

[dra-dra-dracula]

I saw The Last Voyage of the Demeter with a friend and by god did I kinda hate it. This is the first ever Dracula esque movie I've ever seen and it just did not deliver. And I know I KNOW we've never had a faithful adaptation of Dracula. But I feel with this bit we could've had something GOOD. This was not good.

But the effects were fucking AMAZING.

Spoilers below.

Random woman there to only explain what/who Dracula is, but does it badly? Eh.

Little boy for shock value? Eh.

Dracula looking like a shriveled scrotum creature instead of a man that isn't quite human enough?

A SURVIVOR?????

They tried too hard to make Anna helpless and then suddenly badass. I did not care that she died or that she died like that. Honestly there were very few I cared about that died at all because we didn't get a good enough reason to care.

They did the Captain and the First Mate dirty. Especially with that ICONIC moment we should've had with the Captain but it wasn't like.. it was ruined when they untied him. That someone else gave him the crucifix, that it wasn't his own belief. The First Mate so fucking bound to the ship, despite that we know in the book he'd rather die to nature than to what is in the ship.

Like theres so much I kinda hated about this movie, and I was very excited to see it. I did appreciate them Going There with Clemens and his struggles. But I wish we got that kind of characterization with the rest of the crew as well. Instead of just 'horny' 'religious' 'angy' 'stupid russian'.

Especially as Clemens talks so much of learning the stars, they don't even fucking USE THAT. Or have him realize he can't use it with all the fog like MAN WHAT WAS THAT LINE FOR??

Honestly I was hoping they were going to throw Toby overboard when it was down to the last few. Rather him a 'swift' death in the tides than to be livestock for a monster. But.. no.

The music was okay but there was too much focus on sting notes and jump scares to really build up the tension of this movie.

And then ending with Clemens surviving and like 'i'mma find him and kill him'? I dunno I think a better ending would've been a somber moment of the funeral. Or of Mina and Lucy watching it.

Maybe it's on me, my expectations were too high.

The actor playing the first mate was hot tho. David Dastmalchian did a great job.

[fobredactedove]

pete and patrick leveraging photos they took of me against me so they can keep raping me aughhhh

pictures of me just absolutely wrecked, fucked out, covered in cum, holes destroyed. they would ruin my life if they ever got out, all i would ever be to anyone for the rest of my life would be a filthy slut.

it keeping me up at night as i sob, feeling so dirty. but every time they come back i’ve lost the will to fight, too scared, too tired.

ooooo maybe i was a virgin before the first time they held me down and used me. drunk and at my first party they lured me away, didn’t spike my drink because they wanted me to remember everything, feel everything, and aware enough to sob and scream and fight back, the music too loud for anyone to hear me. i end up passing out eventually(maybe they drugged me, maybe my body just gave out) and that’s when they took the first picture. i was asleep and peaceful, so it looked like i had enjoyed it, loved being ruined.

ughhh just feeling so trapped in the situation and terrified all the time. sobbing and begging them to stop when i see them, only for them to decide that maybe i’d gotten to much of an ego so it was time to use me again. i can’t tell anyone and they’re still in my life (brother’s friends, classmates, in the friend group, neighbors, family friends idk idk) so i have to act normal around them in public, so i can’t run away from them.

them fucking my throat so hard it bleeds and i lose my voice for daysss, and i just have to tell everyone i got sick. them shoving the photos in my face so often, reminding me how disgusting i am and how much power they have over me. sobbing and trying to cover my face every time they take more so patrick has to grab my arms and hold them down while pete takes the photo, flash turned on. patrick’s grip leaving bruises so i have to wear a sweater even if it’s the middle of the summer and sweltering hot.

maybe they convince my family that we should all have a sleepover for a weekend and they cover me in cum and fluids and don’t let me shower the whole time, completely ignoring me, leaving me exhausted in the corner when they’re not using me. sitting on the bed playing video games like i’m not sobbing in the corner.

augh maybe they don’t let me eat and barely let me have any water(maybe all i can drink is their piss and i get so desperate and thirsty i do it eventually) because they tell me i’m fat and ugly, that’s why they’re the only ones that have ever been willing to fuck me, and that sluts and whores like me don’t deserve food.

maybe eventually, after a year or so(more) of this, i kill myself because it’s they only way i can get out. and they act so sad, go to my funeral and fake cry. knowing full well that they’re the ones that made me do it and have all the proof they could ever want. maybe eventually they get into the church and constantly preach about filthy whores and how people that take their own lives are sinners that are going to burn in hell. turn public opinion in the small town against me. make my family ashamed of me

what sorry i blacked out i just need those men to be evil specifically to me

<3

[ashandkatiewrite]

Four Weddings and a Funeral - Chapter 1

FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL

FIC SYNOPSIS: Maggie Hastings meets her dream man after a flight into New York City— Bucky Barnes, a pilot who seems to be everything she’s looking for. Except that she already has a boyfriend who never has time for her. After a near-tryst with her dream pilot, Maggie runs, only to find out he later meets her best friend and they’re now crazy about each other. Among their group of best friends, between Chicago and New York, and four weddings and a funeral, Maggie and Bucky struggle to keep their fiery chemistry a secret so they don’t hurt the ones they love.

WRITTEN BY: @if-you-onlyknew & @katiekinswrites

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC

Tags: Idiots in love, Mutual Pining, Forbidden Love, Angst, Fluff, and Smut, Explicit Language

Rating: M (Mature) & E (Explicit)

READ ON AO3

CHAPTER ONE

November 15th, 2019

Maggie sighed as she walked through the airport, “No, I can’t. I’m sorry.” She apologized — though it wasn’t necessary. “I can’t come in. No— no , I am not even in the state right now, Danny.” She tried to stay patient with her intern as he went off on her for not being in Chicago. 

Danny Jones was cocky and rarely listened to his surgical resident as it was, but for him to call Maggie up and yell at her for being gone was not something she was going to put up with. People pleaser or not; Maggie Hastings was not going to allow the little shit to speak to her that way. She was his superior.

“Well, I apologize that my vacation fell on such an inconvenient time for you, Danny. But I have been preparing for your intern’s exam for three months now since I knew my time off would fall on the same weekend as the exam. It is not my fault you chose to not attend my stupid, useless, and pointless ,” she quoted him, “study group sessions.” 

Maggie was still trying to remain professional, but she was starting to lose her patience with Danny by the time she got to the airport bar closest to her gate. 

It wasn’t until Danny called Maggie selfish that she finally dropped any shred of professional demeanor. 

“Oh, get fucked, Danny!” She shouted as she sat down at the bar. “It is not my job to hand hold you during the actual exam! I did everything I could to try and prepare you for this and you pushed back each time claiming to know better than I did. It’s time to get your silver spoon out of your fucking mouth and do the goddamn work because your mommy might have been able to secure your spot as a surgical intern, but if you don’t pass this exam, there is no amount of money she could pay to bribe your way through a residency program!” Maggie didn’t bother holding back. 

This wasn’t a case of tough love — more of a reality check and Maggie was sure she’d feel guilty about saying all of this later, but she had a shitty flight that had ended up being delayed to begin with and had sat in the O’Hara airport for over six hours waiting for a flight into JFK and now she had to sit and kill time for an hour until her boyfriend got back into the city from the Hamptons and could pick her up and take her back to his apartment.

“Now, I am going to say this once so you better fucking listen,” Maggie said in a threatening tone. “Do NOT call me again, Danny. I am on my fucking vacation !” She yelled before ending the call and let her upper half fall against the bar, resting her head on the smooth granite surface. “A Tequila Sour, please. And keep them coming,” Maggie said to the bartender, not even bothering to lift her head to look at the woman as she spoke. 

There was a quiet chuckling coming from the seat two over from Maggie. “Think that guy is gonna survive his neutering? He sounds like a prick.”

Maggie raised her brows in response to the man, her face instantly flushing in not only embarrassment for making a scene, but also because the man was incredibly handsome. She muttered the word fuck under her breath and looked away, mortified by her reaction to the good-looking man and her outburst.

The man who sat there was grinning as he shook his head and lifted a finger towards the bartender to indicate that he’d take another beer.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked as he tilted his head to look at her in amusement.

Maggie winced slightly at his question and was thankful that the bartender handed her the drink she ordered. She took a big swig of her drink, consuming half of it before she went on to answer him. 

“Ask me again in about ten minutes once this kicks in.” She tapped her now half drunk glass of tequila sour. 

He chuckled before looking away as the bartender set down a beer for him. 

She stared at him for a moment, taking in the way he was dressed and his lack of luggage. 

“You’re a pilot,” Maggie commented, not asking as a question, but stating it as a fact. It was an assumption, of course. Maggie didn’t know if this man was a pilot, but from the way he dressed, that’s the conclusion she had come to. “Can I ask you a question about turbulence?”  

He turned on the barstool and faced her, giving her his full attention. “Shoot.”

“Can turbulence break up a plane? Because I’m constantly flying out of O’Hare and I have yet to be on a flight without any turbulence.” She told him, “and I was wondering if it’s only a matter of time before I end up on a flight with such bad turbulence that the plane rips apart.”

“They don’t call it the Windy City for nothing,” he told her.

Her drink was hitting her harder and faster than she thought it would — but she also had yet to eat and took a Xanax before take off at O’Hare, which meant Maggie was a lot more chatty than she normally would be with a stranger. 

It also helped that he had a deep voice that sounded like what silk sheets on her naked body felt like and a face that mirrored a young Luke Skywalker. 

So, Maggie continued on rambling. “I mean, there’s got to be some sort of statistic out there that tells you how many turbulent flights one can have before it hurdles to the ground and you die.” 

Someone huffed loudly from behind Maggie and when she looked back, an older woman was glaring in her direction while grabbing her luggage. Maggie winced apologetically as the woman stormed off. 

Perhaps talking about plane crashes in an airport bar was not the smartest of choices. 

“Sorry,” Maggie said in a mumble under her breath as she moved back so her body was facing the man. 

He was smiling patiently at her, however, despite the rudeness of the woman that stomped past. 

“Well,” he drawled as he reached for his drink, “I guess that’s why some pilots prefer to live a life with no regrets.” His eyebrow danced a little. “It’s exhilarating, especially in a smaller plane where you can feel everything. But maybe I just like the thrill. But flying is not for everyone.” He took a drink from his glass.

Maggie didn’t dislike flying per se, she would just prefer it if her flights were a bit smoother. But like the man had said; Chicago hadn’t earned its infamous nickname — the Windy City — simply for shits and giggles. Though, the way he said it wasn’t quite as vulgar.

She sighed, realizing that she’d likely never have a smooth flight coming out of O’Hare. At least she would only be living in Chicago for one more year.

Clearly, she was not relieved at his statement, so he nudged her hand, his fingers brushing against hers which were wrapped around her drink. “If it makes you feel any better, the statistics do say you’re far less likely to die in a plane crash than a car crash.”

Maggie huffed out a laugh. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to remember that on the car ride home from here,” she said back in a sarcastic yet playful tone. 

He tried again. “Look, are you more afraid of dying of boredom on a twelve and a half hour drive with rush hour traffic — or say, being stuck for hours due to a semi-truck breaking down and blocking an entire interstate… or would you rather deal with a few minutes of turbulence flying out of O’Hare and get here in just two and a half hours?” 

“Well…when you put it like that .” Maggie grinned as her cheeks flushed once again in embarrassment. “And there is a bathroom on the plane — as terrifying as they are to use.” She added the last part in a rush. 

“What?” He asked with a laugh. The corners of his eyes crinkled. 

“You can’t use the bathroom while driving…” Her cheeks flushed even more at the realization that she was talking about peeing in front of the very handsome pilot she had just met. “Not that I do that!” 

His brows shot up. 

Wait ? Did she just tell him she didn’t go to the bathroom? Jesus Christ. She was a rambling mess — especially when she drank. 

“I mean — I use the bathroom!” She attempted to correct herself only to make things so worse. “Everyone does! There’s even that book; Everybody Po …” her words trailed off and her eyes went wide. Maggie quickly looked away and focused on her drink.  “I’m going to shut up now.” She tried to hide her bright red face. 

He laughed and partially shifted on his seat so that his shoe was propped on the bottom rung of the seat between them. “It’s okay,” he told her. “I’ve read it. It’s a good read.” The grin on his face hadn’t dissipated in the least and he set his teeth in his bottom lip as he watched to see if she’d look his way again. “My nephew has that book,” he explained after her questioning look.

Maggie closed her eyes while shaking her head in embarrassment and gave the man a thumbs up in response, keeping her mouth shut to avoid saying anything else humiliating.

“Do you want another one?” He nodded at her empty glass. His was still mostly full. “My treat.” 

She looked back over to him with a shy smile. “If I accept, I would be running the risk of saying something stupid and embarrassing,” Maggie said with a chuckle. “But then again, I guess if I have enough of these, I might not care about the dumb shit that comes out of my mouth,” she added.

He laughed again, truly enjoying her candor. 

Maggie looked over at the man again, taking in his beautiful blue eyes that she knew she could easily get lost in. 

God, he was so fucking hot. It was ridiculous!

“Fuck it,” she shrugged before addressing the bartender. “I’ll have another Tequila Sour,” Maggie said before looking back to the man with a warm smile. 

“That’s the spirit,” he told her with a wink.

“You can put it on the Captain’s tab.” She smirked before finally introducing herself. “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

The bartender looked between the two of them with a raised eyebrow but when the man only lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, she got to work on the Tequila Sour as requested.

“I’m Bucky,” he said and reached over the stool between them and shook her hand. 

Maggie looked down at their hands, feeling like her body had now begun to buzz with energy as he held her hand. 

When Maggie’s eyes moved back up to look at him, she smiled as she let go of his hand. “Hi, Bucky.” 

“Hi, Maggie,” he grinned.

Her cheeks flushed again, only this time it wasn’t out of embarrassment.

No, this was caused from something else entirely — it was from her being genuinely, and intensely attracted to the pilot . 

Billy. Maggie tried to remind herself. You have a boyfriend .

But there was no harm in flirting with Bucky though… right?

[msfbgraves]

Also: I think people forget how lonely and desperately needing love and companionship Terry was before Daniel, even if he didn’t know it. Going around drinking and playing piano until dawn, and fucking beautiful little omegas without any emotional connection is no way to live. 

Daniel changed Terry more than Terry changed him. He NEEDED that omega more than Daniel ever needed him (at the start,’of course). Daniel could have moved on from that first meeting—but Terry? Obsessive, detailed, Terry? No way! And Daniel has given him so much—puppies, a home, a family. With Danny he has a friend, a confidant, a lover, a companion, a spouse. Terry desperately needed all of this, but he needed someone especially for him, and Daniel might have been tailored personally for him. 

Those moments in Knights and Pawns when Terry nearly throws all this away—and this special little omega—due to his terrible actions make me want to reach through the screen and slap him. Fool! Don’t you know that if you lost Daniel you would lose yourself? 

Damn it Terry! That’s probably why I’m rooting so hard for him on the Euro Trip but moreso after the funeral reveal. Win that sweet boy back!

OK, man this inspired me to write a whole essay. Thank you Nonnie. I have been thinking about this som much, especially since so many grown men in my life have been such complete and utter idiots about this, and in every tough guy gangster show I see them make this mistake over and over again, it simply poured out.

In my eyes, Terry suffers from something I see a lot in 'tough guy', patriarchical settings. You can force things in life, and win - and these people often try to force love by taking away their partner's option to leave. Terry is also very emotionally smart when it comes to manipulating other people - he knows that proximity helps in building affection, and when he is good to the boy, time and care and puppies will do the rest to build enough love to weld them together. And with that established, he's safe. He can do whatever he wants. All these mob men - they're good enough to their wives to know that if they occassionally want to treat them like shit, they can. Their wife will love them enough to forgive them and stay - cue the cycle of abuse. And Daniel is like the foundation his family life is built on - but who appreciates a foundation, truly? You expect a foundation to be there, you don't go around noticing it every day.

Except of course when your foundation gives, your whole life gives, and immediately.

But that's not what Terry has learnt. You want something, you win it. You win it, it's yours, to do with as you will. If anyone challenges that, you hurt them until they stop.

It has helped him to survive all this time, hasn't it?

What these mobsters always only realise when it is far too late, is that this is no way to live. If you spend your life hurting those you deem weaker, even if you really love them and show them a lot of affection, they'll leave you. Can take ten years, but they'll go. With very close relationships, it can take 25, but they will leave. And Terry in his thirties - he's not seen it enough. Terry has never really been in a long relationship that he didn't dictate. He's Amanda's older brother, after all. And he's been taught only to take and win. Sure, he can dole out love, and get it back, but to him that only ever feels like his rightful due. And he may feel you have to be a good boss, a good Alpha, but then, as an Alpha, you're owed affection back. And that worked for a very long time until he tried to take over the LaRussos. Because that's what he thought it would be, and the LaRussos don't let him. And he can't simply kill them. So here he comes home with a massively bruised ego, stonewalled by a beta brother-in-law...

And it's so goddamn sneaky. If he'd beat Daniel, that would have shown. He would have had to admit to himself that that's what it was. But with sex... it's so easy hide, so easy to gaslight your spouse about. Heat of the moment, baby, I forgot myself. You know how you make me feel. You're just so hot, sweetheart, you drive me wild. And he would have said something like that, as soon as the power rush had worn off. Because immediately, in his war torn soul, he knows exactly what he's done. How wrong it was. But doesn't the patriarchy also teach you that it is your partner's job to love the rough edges off? Isn't that what they do? Pour their love in to soothe what you had to dull to become powerful enough to 'win' at life? You feed them, they love you - that's how it's supposed to work, yeah? You're the strong one here...

But you're so right, Nonnie- Terry, do you think you can win a game of love against Daniel LaRusso?! Indeed, are you stupid? That boy has a strength these tough guys can't even conceive of. Because he is strong enough to leave. That boy nearly eloped without a cent to his name because he loved his girl. Yes, he could have moved on. Yes, he would have found another. He doesn't need anyone to love him into being a person.

And Terry is so feckin' brainwashed into this Alpha supremacy bullshit that he has no idea how to respect someone, has no genuine idea what the difference is between people doing what you want because you make them vs them doing what you want because they love you. He really somehow thinks that if he could force Daniel into loving him, he can get that from any other omega, as if that is the only thing Daniel provides him with, adoration and sex. He can get that from any kitty. And when he tries -

Look there's grown men who never get there. Maybe they never actually love their partners. They move on to another, someone younger, and when these younger people clue into their bullshit, someone even younger, that is if they make enough money. Otherwise they grow old begging for love from their children or their exes 'for old times' sake'. But to Terry's slight credit, maybe - he finally gets it. He doesn't love 'his' omega, 'his' mate, and he doesn't love him only for his cooking skills (Lucille's there taking over the housekeeping for her Daniele's sake, and the angelinos and angelinas of grandpups). He loves his Danny, his Daniel. More than that, he needs him. Not 'an' omega. Him. His mate. His love. His heart. For feck's sake, what is he playing at. Also, where is his baby son? And had he known that was why he felt so empty inside, so worn, before he met Daniel - he wouldn't have done it. Never. If Terry could go back, he'd fight himself to the death before he ever laid a finger on Daniel that night. Still, he might not have understood without this terrible crime.

But that's only half the battle. This is completely new to Terry. How to truly love Daniel for what he is after this? Will Daniel even let him? Because the boy has had it. Betrayed by his father, his brother, his mate. Only one of those betrayals, of course, is Terry's, but it hits the hardest. At least his family came through somewhat... No, it's hard for them both for different reasons. Yes, he's had six good years of marriage to look back on, that counts for something. His youngest pup is an infant, and all his children need their home. But you cannot keep hurting someone without them getting sick of it, and for the first time in his life - Daniel has no love to give.

You played yourself, Terry Silver.

[inthenextchapter]

Controversial Fame - Chapter 2

When Mila Jordan meets her long-time celebrity crush Nicholas Whitmore, she understands why people say you're better off without meeting your idols.

But Nick surprises her by showing glimpses of the maturity he should possess, being older than her - only to turn around and act like men half his age, going from one girl to the other at every party they meet. Contrary to what most - even Nick - believe, Mila doesn't mind. In fact, she envies him: after losing her husband and being propelled to fame for the eulogy she performed at his funeral, she's sure she'll never fall in love again. So she's determined to learn the art of casual relationships so she won't spend the rest of her life alone.

What happens when Nick offers to be the one to teach her how to be in a physical relationship without emotional attachment?

Will Nick be prepared to realize the student overcame the master?  

It was almost 2 AM by the time I left Louis’s guest bedroom. Cynthia was always a good fuck, but man, did she take her time to get down to business. If I wanted to wine and dine someone before getting down to business, I wouldn’t be in this damn party, in the first place!

I smiled at some people I know, silently praying no one would pull me towards more meaningless conversation. Friday nights would go so much smoother if people were honest to themselves about what it was that they wanted to be doing in the evening.

Having a drink? Hey, a party is a good place for that. Even dancing, that much was understandable, but the truth of the matter was that most people were here because they either wanted to fuck someone, or wanted people to know they were friends with someone.

And that was something I just couldn’t understand. Well, not the fucking part, I was in that group, too - but I never lied about it. There was no need to pretend something more than sex was going to happen, every woman I’d been with knew that I didn’t fake pleasantries to get them into bed with me.

My Friday nights were about fucking, and only that.

“Hey, Nick!” I almost froze upon hearing my nickname, but thankfully it was only Jesse trying to call me back into the group. They’d moved onto one of the game rooms and everyone was seated in a sort of semicircle around a coffee table filled with dozens of beer bottles.

I smiled, because if there was one thing that helped me handle the dread of parties (apart from fucking) it was talking to my friends. “You disappeared so suddenly, no one knew where you were!” My best friend teased me, only to hear the echo of laughter as I took a place on the couch next to the new girl.

“You can’t be that stupid,” Rachel teased him, giving Jesse a playful punch. “He disappeared into the house with Cynthia. Of course you knew what they were up to!” Being almost as bad as I was when it came to sex and relationships, Jesse just shrugged. If there was one thing he loved, it was teasing me to death.

“He said in an interview this week that he was looking to settle down and have a family. I figured he’d be somewhere proposing to her or something.” More laughter flowed freely around the room, but I could feel my cheeks start to burn.

Leave it to Jesse to miss the line between teasing and making someone uncomfortable. I couldn’t call him out, though - he wasn’t wrong. I still remembered the second after I blurted out those words to the interviewer of a morning show - I could blame the hour, how hungover I was, anything, but the damage had been done…

Thousands of fangirls had my twitter going insane, offering to become the mother of my proverbial children, and the worst part is that I couldn’t say that I hated it.

“I’ll give you this,” Rachel interjected, looking pensive as she waved her beer around as a prop. “You’re almost forty! As the oldest in the group, you should be the one at least considering the idea of settling down.”

I rolled my eyes as I accepted a cold beer someone offered, quickly leaning back to take a swig of it. I didn’t miss the way the newcomer’s eyes watched me, and it made me smirk.

“I don’t understand why you’re so worried about it. I’m not that old, Rachel. The second I decide to settle down…” I didn’t manage to finish my sentence. A little giggle had me interrupting my train of thought, turning to the side to frown at the new girl and find out what it was exactly that she considered being so funny.

“Something wrong?” To her point, she looked mortified, staring at the empty bottle in her hand as if wishing it would burst into flames and give her an out from this conversation. I hadn’t been around her long enough to know how much she’d drank, but it was safe to assume alcohol had played a part in her inability to stay quiet.

“Not really.” She tried to get away with it, but I wouldn’t let her. Maybe it was the alcohol in my own veins, but I was more than a little curious to know what that giggle meant and what was the image the newcomer had of me now. “I’m sorry.”

“No, by all means. Tell us.” There was a little moment of visual confrontation, but even then she seemed reluctant to admit what it was that ran through her head while I was speaking. “C’mon, we’re all friends here.”

I didn’t mention that we - her and I - weren’t just yet - and that I had no intention of letting our relationship become that. For the purposes of what I wanted from her, however, it was important that I knew exactly what it was that she thought of me, and I’d do anything to learn that.

The newcomer - Mila, I remembered it now - looked at Rachel as if asking for help, but the other woman just shrugged, probably too drunk by now to pick up on how uncomfortable the atmosphere had become. Finally, Mila adjusted on her seat and took a deep breath - beer bottle no longer in her hands to give her the extra nudge that she needed.

“It’s just that… I mean, look at you.” She pointed at my outfit, which consisted of a tank-top with a flannel and a baseball cap flipped back. “You don’t look forty, you look like a teenager. If you wanted to be married, you’d be. It’s obvious that you’ll never go down that road, though - unless something really out of the ordinary happens.”

I wanted to ask her why she thought that, but the answer seemed to be obvious enough. Even though I hardly knew her, this woman had been able to perfectly analyze me just by watching my behavior tonight, and I can’t say it felt too good to be so easily judged, even if we were amongst friends.

Her ability to see right through me sparked up some of my deep-seated insecurities. Who’s to say my fans, my audience, can’t see the act I put up every time the cameras are on me? They expect a character in my movies, of course, but not when I’m being interviewed.

Fuck, this woman really ruined the night for me. And she didn’t even know me. That was the worst part. She just had to insert herself into the conversation and turn it upside down. How annoying.

“If I wanted to be married” as if it was so simple. Dating in Hollywood was never simple, and finding someone to settle down with was a challenge enough of its own without fame to consider.

“Does this mean you’re offering?” At her tilted head, a sign of her confusion, I quickly clarified. “Would you like to marry me?” Everyone, including her, broke down into laughter, but I could see there was some embarrassment in her features that she was trying to hide.

I chuckled, drinking my beer while I waited for her response, which she only gave me after wiping her hands down on the loose fabric of her dress. Another sign of nervousness. Good, so I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. “See? That’s the thing. You could have anyone you wanted. It’s not for lack of suitors that you’re still single. So it has to be for the lack of real interest.”

I pondered over her words, my lips pursing as I leaned back on my chair once more. But my eyes never left hers, and I struggled to make sense of the fog of anxiety that was quickly clouding my judgment as my friends waited for my rebuttal.

I looked at the woman who seemed to read me so well with barely veiled interest. She was so young, definitely way younger than me, but despite her obvious nervousness in this environment (then again, she was just starting to get introduced into this world, I remembered), the way she spoke made it seem like she was certain of what she said. And seeing as she was talking about my life, that gave me very conflicting feelings.

First, I felt weirdly understood by this complete stranger who had just waltzed into my friend group. No one here had ever considered this possibility - or if they had, they certainly didn’t have the guts to confront me about it. But here she was, like something out of a novel, just suddenly here and seemingly seeing parts of my soul I’d never exposed to anyone before.

Which, of course, also infuriated me. Try as I might, I didn’t like to be vulnerable, especially in front and because of someone I barely knew. It was irrational and a little bit childish, but I couldn’t control that part of my brain - maybe because of the alcohol, maybe because of the entire situation.

“Very well,” I smirked. “I like how you think of me. Guess it means you find me incredibly attractive, huh?” I winked in her direction, and she ducked her head to hide her expression, but I knew the effect I had on her. I saw the way she looked at me, and it wasn’t that different from the way I had trailed my eyes up her body. “Still, I’d like to know how the hell would you know that all that it takes for a marriage to work is interest.”

She cleared her throat at that, straightening up on the chair as she found the courage to look me in the eye again. I thought that question would have shut her up, the perfect nudge to make her realize she didn’t have the authority to keep talking about this subject, but it was clear that it hadn’t been the case at all.

“I’ve been married, actually,” she clarified, and even though I didn’t sense any presumptuousness in her tone, it still made my blood boil. So I shrugged, taking another swig of my beer before commenting, as if it was no big deal at all, “And so what? If he got tired of you, it’s not like interest is everlasting, is it?”

I regretted the words as soon as they were out. I closed my eyes as I mentally punched myself for hurting someone so viciously for something this small, but when I opened them again, she wasn’t there anymore.

Rachel was though, and she stared at me with clear anger in her features.

“Her husband died, you asshole.”

I felt like I’d been punched to the stomach. Because the worst part was, I knew it. I knew it and I just didn’t remember it. The video I watched, the video that propelled her into the eyes of the nation, was her eulogy to her late husband, and I was nothing but a fucking idiot.