#and saw this inside cover first page and here was the series of events

[oofuri2003]

Sorry my finger is there but. Looking at the rainbow 🥺

[deliciousangelfestival]

My Problematic Girl - 11

Character: College!Steve Rogers x Rich!Female Reader

Summary:  Steve has lived being nobody in this prestigious university. He just wants to graduate and get a job to get more money to pay the bills for his mother's surgery. But his life turned upside down when a new student attended his class. His quiet and dull life became dangerous and full of surprises.

My Problematic Girl - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

The following day, Steve woke up early, as usual. After getting ready, he went to prepare the medicine for his mother.

Once everything was set, he headed to his benefactor’s apartment, a woman he admired and resented. Seeing her struggle with nightmares recently had stirred a sense of pity in him.

He knocked on her apartment door. "Knock, knock!"

“Come in,” her voice called from inside.

He entered and saw her being attended to by a makeup artist and hairstylist.

“Great, you’re here,” she said, glancing at him through the mirror.

“Do you have an event to attend?” Steve asked, noticing the formal preparations. He knew she liked parties, but this seemed different.

“We’re going to the Solomon banquet,” she informed him, her eyes returning to her reflection.

“We?” Steve repeated, a hint of surprise in his voice.

She pointed towards the couch where a suit was hanging. “That’s your outfit.”

Steve sighed. “Why are you including me in this?”

“They want to meet the artist who received half a million dollars in less than a month. I’m sure you’ll find potential buyers at this event,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

With another sigh, Steve unzipped the garment bag. Inside was a designer suit and bowtie. He changed into it, feeling the quality of the fabric as it fit him perfectly.

“Does it fit you? If not, I’ll order another suit,” she said from across the room, glancing over her shoulder.

“It fits,” Steve replied, not wanting to burden her with unnecessary expenses, knowing how expensive the suit already was.

“Good. Next, I want you to remember some important names,” she said, turning back to the mirror as the makeup artist continued their work.

“Huh?” Steve didn't understand what she meant until he saw the binder handed to him by her stylist. Opening it, he saw photos with names and job positions. His eyes widened—these were all the guests attending the Solomon banquet.

Flipping through the pages, he exclaimed, “Are you insane? This is a lot! And you’re just giving it to me now?”

“It’s not difficult,” she replied nonchalantly.

Steve rolled his eyes, knowing it was futile to argue with her.

“You can’t be clueless about the people you’ll meet there. None of them will be wearing ID badges,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, trying to memorize the guest information.

“You have two hours,” she added.

“Fuck you,” Steve muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” she said, her tone amused.

Steve approached her and saw her wearing a black dress with long sleeves, which he knew was to cover the scars and tattoos on her arms. The simplicity of the dress was contrasted by the elegant diamond necklace shaped like a snake.

“By the way, you’re not afraid of heights, are you?” she asked.

“No,” Steve replied. “Why do you ask?”

He should have known better. Soon, he felt a cold sweat forming and his fists clenching as he realized what was happening. He closed his eyes tightly.

“You said you weren’t scared of heights,” her voice came through the headphones.

“I did. This is my first time flying in a helicopter,” Steve admitted, still keeping his eyes shut. She hadn't mentioned they would be traveling by helicopter.

He heard her laughing while he desperately hoped the helicopter would land soon.

🚁🚁🚁🚁

Steve's heart finally started beating normally again after the helicopter landed at the Solomon residence. The mansion was the largest he had ever seen, an architectural marvel that spoke of old money and long-standing power. The pristine gardens, the sprawling estate, and the impressive line of luxury vehicles and helicopters signaled the status of its guests.

This was the first elite party he had ever attended, and the grandeur of it all left him momentarily speechless.

“Close your mouth, Steve,” Y/N said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Steve did as instructed, feeling like a child amazed by Christmas lights. The interior of the mansion was even more opulent, with chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, priceless art adorning the walls, and finely dressed attendees mingling with an air of practiced elegance. He couldn’t help but notice the curious and scrutinizing gazes of many guests directed at Y/N and himself.

“They’re looking at you,” Steve whispered, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“The stray daughter comes home,” she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm.

They continued walking until they saw Maximus Solomon, the family patriarch, seated in his wheelchair. Though physically frail, his eyes were sharp and commanding. Beside him stood his daughter, Sophia, a middle-aged woman with an air of affluence and authority, and her daughter, Sarah.

Sophia, dressed in an elegant evening gown adorned with sparkling jewelry, greeted guests with a practiced smile. When she spotted Y/N, she whispered something to her daughter before excusing herself and walking toward them.

Sophia opened her arms in a welcoming gesture. “Y/N, I’m so glad you could be here.”

Y/N put on a fake smile. “Me too. I want to slit your throat.”

“Ohohoho, funny as always,” Sophia responded with a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Your grandpa is waiting for you. You should go see him. I’ll accompany your friend.”

Steve felt a bit abandoned as Y/N walked away, but he squared his shoulders and tried to maintain his composure.

Sophia turned to him with a polite smile, breaking the ice. “I finally get to meet the artist who has been the hottest topic.”

“Thank you. It’s an honor to have someone like you know me,” Steve replied, trying to keep his nerves in check.

Sophia chuckled, her gaze appraising. “Polite young man. As you know, I have a gallery too. I could give you an offer that’s better than Y/N’s.”

Steve felt a mix of surprise and unease. He wasn’t used to such direct propositions, especially from someone as influential as Sophia. “I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Solomon. Y/N has been very supportive of my work.”

“Of course,” Sophia said smoothly, her eyes never leaving his. “But opportunities like this don’t come around often. Think about it, Steve. You have potential, and I can help you reach heights you’ve never imagined.”

Steve nodded, trying to mask his discomfort with a polite smile. “I’ll definitely consider it.”

Sophia’s smile widened, satisfied with his response. “Good. Now, let’s enjoy the evening, shall we? There are many people here who would love to meet you.”

As they moved through the grand halls, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling of being a small fish in a large, wealthy pond.

@cherrybubblebullet

Author Note: I know this chapter feels like a filler, but I feel like I need to keep writing to regain my inspiration. 😔

Join the tag list :

@starsofcloud

@kandis-mom

@bagoffeelings

@darkofimagination

@mansaaay

@zaraomarrogers

@magnificentsaladllama

@rebeccapineapple

@irishhappiness

@sjlainny

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[dollgutssss]

hypnotic film opus

୨ৎ Choso is a hypnotic experience that stimulates all the vital organs. 𝄢۫.ࣨ. ݁

gummo apnea series. + rockstar! au choso (actually, he and his trashy band)

warnings — mentions of cinematographic violence, somewhat violent thoughts, religion (just a bit), first-person narration, honestly, this sucks, implied/referenced drug use. are more ramblings than anything else anddd fem OC

HAD SEEN "CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST" for the first time after seeing the T-shirt of a character from the Spanish movie "Tesis" and my stomach was not in the best state. The feeling was familiar to me: the typical anxious nausea when waking up in the morning or the taste after some unpleasant event that makes me aware of my internal organism. The important thing is that it was late spring, the power had gone out in the Audiovisual Faculty and the generator was not working due to overheating. Walking to the main auditorium was a torture because, every time I saw a person, I imagined them impaled like on the cover of that disgusting movie. So, everything around had a strange vibe like when one wakes up at six o'clock on Sundays after a supposed half-hour nap that stretched to seven. My stomach moved, one of its walls did and I thought about going back home, but I could not miss the presentation of the photozine or video art in which I signed as a collaborator in art direction and costume, and also, where I posed in some shots.

Many times, as I walked along, I wondered what the point was —specifically, the second film I saw—. What was the need? Why was it so disgusting? What was the point of making such a film? It occurred to me in between musings, at the entrance to the auditorium, that it was supposed to feel disgusting. It was meant to be something difficult to watch as if you got a merit out of it. I was meant to end the film feeling dizzy and nauseated. As dazed as if someone had shaken me hard by the shoulders and yelled as loud as they could directly into my ear as if in a fever dream. That kind of footage had no comfort, no soothing or melancholy effect even in misery. It just drained me by making big gashes.

In the main auditorium of the faculty there was electric light and everything worked well, since it had a system detached from that of the building. The place had been rented for a few hours to a group of students for the presentation. Inside, everything is dark except for the abstract play of cold lights and the big screen with the cover of the photozine. Behind me, there were still people entering or leaving. I took off my headphones as I walked a little further in because I wasn't even paying attention to The Police song that had been playing for about 4 minutes anyway. When I took my cell phone out of my pocket, its light was annoying to my eyes. Also annoying was the low battery I had left in the device and my poor ability to recognize people was still bothering my bones —I was waiting to greet the team I collaborated with and go sit down—.

"Bekka, I thought you wouldn't make it. Here, these three are from the first batch of photozines."

"Woah, thanks" I say as I flip through the first few pages without stopping to look at each photograph. Not because I had no interest, but because the colored light wouldn't let me visualize, so, long story short, I stuffed the three photozines into the cloth bag. Maki looked busy leading the others, her hair looks straighter than usual and it looks like she painted her hair roots again. "I'll go sit over there. Good luck."

The hours were not good. It wasn't crowded like a local fair, but even that was pretty good for a small college project. Maki glances at me a couple of times before I leave to find a seat. I should be next to her during the presentation on the screen. But I had asked that they not put my name in the credits. Not even a pseudonym.

Is it some form of self-sabotage?

I didn't know.

I've been living like this my whole life. I remembered the movie again. I climbed the steps, to go to the upper seats, my foot feeling my way up, afraid to jump a step because of the darkness. It's in no one's best interest to sit upstairs if I wanted to pay close attention to the video art, but I remembered there was an electrical outlet on the seat to the left and I needed to charge my cell phone battery.

Someone was sitting there. I sat down next to him, without any embarrassment. The truth is that I hadn't seen him until I was already very close, so I had no choice. I turned to see him, unable to stand the slightest curiosity to know the identity of the person and then I realized that I actually already knew him: Choso Kamo, bassist of an underground rock band of which I momentarily forgot the name. Well, at that moment I didn't know him. Know is a deep word and, actually, I hadn't exchanged a single word with him before. I had gone to some of his band's shows, when they played in open garages, basements —my most beloved basement parties, where everything looked like it was going to fall apart if we jumped around too much and where I dreamed of finding a catacomb when I opened the washing machine, but in reality I was just really drunk— and those kinds of places. They were various college bands, quite a few and of all kinds. Choso's was one of many, though a bit more «popular» - in the most underground sense possible, if that's possible - because of their vocalist: a rich kid, like so many around here, but surprisingly good-looking. Good-looking like a husky. Choso, on the other hand, was pretty as an owl that looks sideways at three in the morning or as a puppy you kick by chance and with whom you have to apologize every time you remember that event because you think he doesn't understand you.

The latter were assumptions I had. I was surprised to see him at the photozine presentation.

"Can you charge my cell phone in the outlet next to me," I asked him. He was charging his cell phone too, it was obvious from the seat he had chosen. Choso looks at me out of the corner of his eye, or so I thought, the darkness and the purple and blue tones didn't allow me to notice it for so long.

He doesn't say anything, he just sees my hand outstretched slightly at his side, which holds the cell phone and my charger. His pale fingers take my things and then his dark eyes analyze me, he is vague, tired. Two eyes like little black olives or the eight ball in pool. I never played pool. I don't eat olives often either, only green ones.

"I think your hand is stained." Choso points from his seat to the back of my hand. I was a little surprised that he noticed it. He didn't say a word before and then seemed to analyze something about me.

"It's a scorch mark. It's in the shape of Czechoslovakia."

"Czechoslo... What?"

His confused face coincides with the start of the music and the microphone test.

"Czechoslovakia."

It was a little weird. I didn't imagine him impaled in the middle of a jungle, but my stomach was still churning and I felt a need to sink four fingers under my ribs to move the order of my organs a bit. Kind of a silly feeling. It reminded me of all the times I felt a lack of wisdom, as if I had been born with nothing special. I turned to look at him again because I sensed he was sending me neurological signals and only the hairs on my left arm —the side where he was— twitched.

The projector turned on to play the video art and slides. Our faces changed color in the light.

"I've seen you before," he commented, nonchalant. His tied-back hair gave a coolness.

"I haven't."

"But I've seen you seeing me."

"Do you remember all the people you see when you walk down the street?"

"But it was in Fushiguro's basement."

"I was just teasing you. I'm Bekka."

"I know. I'm Choso."

"I know your name."

"It seemed appropriate to say it."

He had a je ne sais quoi. Or I did. He pursed his lips softly, as if he was holding back from saying something half-heartedly because he didn't want to smile anyway. His nose and lips reminded me of Japanese shoegaze and his eyes of protopunk fibers: though they seemed affable and bored, there was a hint of hostility, as if he wasn't used to talking to people he didn't know. Unclassifiable. A bit confrontational. In everything there is movement. It disturbs me, I can suddenly feel every last nerve and it's kind of annoying in a bad and good way.

"Oh... You appear there," he points. His shirt was light and suddenly I was more aware of myself and my bony wrists.

The big screen photograph was not a perfectly staged scene. Maki's tastes and mine were beautiful messes, so the goal was that; decadence and anonymity, ignorance as the seed of happiness, patience as an anti-value. Seeing myself, in a photograph projected to scale, is like trying to learn to live again and I didn't like that. But the elements were carefully placed: my figure in the corner of the room, unbathed, short tank top that showed my nipples, white underwear that looked dirty and half yellowed. Actually, I was sitting in a lot of dirty clothes. I had the chubby bulldog of one of my classmates next to me, my hair was dirty and in my lap was a wilted aster flower with missing petals.

The title of the photograph: «Philocalia»

Choso looked. I know he looked for quite a while as there was more silence than usual.

"Geto's neighbor also has a bulldog" Choso spoke suddenly, but his eyes were still fixed on the screen.

"Does he really?"

"Yes. It's called Cannibal Holocaust."

"You're kidding me."

"I don't know how to joke," he replied with some embarrassment, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm serious."

"I saw the movie before I came to college today and it was the worst mistake of my life."

"Cannibal Holocaust is a movie?"

"Ah, you weren't kidding."

I laughed.

Her ears turned red almost instantly. Conversations felt fast every time they started as if, milliseconds after he closed his mouth, I already had an answer on the tip of my tongue and vice versa. I looked at him for a few seconds, long enough for him to have seen me blink uncomfortably about three times and still not feel strange, quite apart from the fact that his body automatically stopped breathing. So, he had to think about it five more times.

Even everything about the video art felt like a cheap excuse of time, a divine being or invisible threads for him to finally talk to me. Or for me to talk to him. I spoke to him first. So it was Choso's wish, time's favorite, Buddha, God, invisible threads, red ribbons, destiny.

Our encounters escalated from that day, I'm afraid to say. I don't know to what extent or how intimate we became. It felt like Motion Picture Soundtrack, maybe from minute 2:15, in the solitude of the room. Or maybe something from the beginning, when he sang the cheap sex and sad films part, because it summed up my daily life when I used to rot in the guest room and never in my own. I went to a few shows of his band, invited by him and maybe we talked more about Riot grrrl, and he looked more punk rock and I looked more Bikini Kill style, or a Bikini Kill cover that sounded much worse with narcotics on top while I pissed with the cubicle door open, sleepy eyes and his figure on his back, pouring the last of them into the urinal. Every time he opens his mouth I am reminded of something —the least bit violent— in constant rupture, like tearing his dress to cover the bleeding, slowly ripping out the page of an adult magazine - and we are both adult enough now to keep referring to that magazine in a "formal" childlike manner— to make notes and counts of money earned and spent over the legs of a girl who resembled Belle de Jour.

Somehow or other, people change. Choso was no exception. But, I was already used to his screeching guitar and the bad trip feeling I got from his shaky voice over video call. I had already learned and gotten used to being a poor college student, living the dog years: going from a domestic one raised with sticks and strings around my neck to a street one scavenging and kicked out of every place, where every day is an unfruitful jam.

"My mother once told me something stupid, like I shouldn't hang out with people who didn't have parents or didn't know them. Because they would wilt me," I once remarked, lying on my stomach on his bed, dissecting flowers and crushing them in old books. He was sitting on the floor, next to the freshly laundered carpet, his chin on the edge of the bed, watching. Watching. "I don't even know my dad, so I think she was just trying to curse me out."

His eyes were lighter because the sun was shining full in his face.

"That's kind of a weird way of putting it. Her mouth dropped open, wanting to say something else. He hadn't slept that day so he teared up because of that, or maybe something else. I close the book and place a heavier one on top. I settled a little to reach for it. "You shouldn't remember stuff like that." he says.

"Hmm, well, who knows."

Children of the same inflorescence. The first four-legged, four-armed human in the month-long introductory philosophy class. The anatomy of the hug, interrupted mitosis, Siamese twins, two mirrors, the two for one deals on cans of booze at 7-Eleven. I liked watching him. It's different. My skin gets like a chicken's. Phobic. Tense. He formed the basis of my love, but I wasn't willing to accept it.

Sometimes I felt that he looked at me and touched me in a way that I knew he wasn't meant for me. That I didn't deserve him. Something stored in my blood, flesh and bones - and maybe even in my adrenal gland - wasn't rejecting him, but my brain was. A personality and low self-esteem where I constantly felt undeserving of good things and at the same time, I hated waiting for good things. I hated the glazed path to happiness. I felt I was doing the good thing, the right thing. It grows like mold. Inside me. There is no calm, because I feel all the movement of life. My organs, my feelings, the words in my mind. The wind in the dusty curtains, the dead insects on the pooled water, the dirty water flowing from the sink. And, as I was saying, sometimes he looked at me and didn't touch. Sometimes he touched me and didn't look. He probes the skin like a mole in the dirt.

When I looked at him, he almost never looked away. People walked, stumbled, laughed. Everyone moved. I move, my strands, my glands. He oxygen did, does and will cycle. I never knew how to write. I never knew how to pick movies well either. But, even when he had a bored expression, I could guess the feeling of longing creeping into his mind. The vision of him cemented itself in me. "Seeing him" suddenly became "The seeing of him," solid, so it entered hard through my eye, like a pebble in the first breeze off the street after the hangover and that one, the pebble, broke through some ocular membranes to settle inside me: to make it almost as basic a need.

We didn't usually talk about it. But one occasion, when he stayed at my house after a party, he cornered me.

"What exactly are we?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because you kiss me for free." His voice was soft, calm. I could only see his head, because he was still hiding his body behind the bathroom door. Maybe he was still a little drunk, but his voice has always been sleepy by nature, a tired inheritance. I laugh at the expression used. He frowns and presses his forehead to the cold slab. "And I know some things about you that I don't think your friends know."

"Like what?" I asked as I sorted through some of the music albums he had given me the previous weeks. I didn't look at him. He tended to hide more behind the bathroom door the more I scanned with my eyes.

"You like to sleep with your face pressed against the wall."

"I just want to suffocate at night."

"You don't like to go to the bathrooms alone, you prefer the cubicle door to be open and see someone nearby."

"I thought you were high enough to remember that."

"You cried, Bekka."

His eyes were like puddles into which someone or something had to jump for the tears to fall. He has always been someone quite sensitive, though he didn't seem so at first glance; but I had said it before: he's like a puppy kicked by accident. My heart dropped. I'd only ever seen him that way with his younger siblings. So I was rethinking what I was meaning to him so far.

"It's not a big deal, I just panic in small, enclosed places, kind of like claustrophobia, but it only happens to me with cubicles."

I closed the windows and pulled down the blinds. He pretended he had washed his face to dry the tears that no longer came out for that moment. His bass case rested on the door of the small closet. The light bulb was yellow from moth dust. The Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer logo flashed on the screen as he stood next to me, the lion's roar reminding me of my childhood making me tear up a little. Why was I sensitive?

"Why were you interested in me?" I asked as I took off my stockings. It's been a while since I took off my slippers. His mouth half-opens and buries his nose in my shoulder. I could feel him wet my T-shirt with his body, as he had bathed in the rusty Spanish shower in the room.

His eyes look at my mouth.

"You were the one who kissed me first."

"I kiss with my friends at parties."

"But..."

"It's a lie." I didn't used to be a fan of showering kisses all over my face. I didn't have the patience for it much before. He frowned upward, an expression of complaint and I had no choice but to quickly kiss his cheek and then down near his chin and finally his lips. "It's a lie."

I was never used to love tokens. I've meditated on it many times. I pondered it more when I began to have whatever it was between Choso and me during that time. His anxious face, his wet mouth and chapped lips... He was quick to lose his head when it came to physical affection. He had been hostile and difficult to deal with beyond simple, quick conversations at first, but he always had a full, fleshy heart, like a fleshy fruit of premature birth. I marveled at him, in constancy. Although, when I first noticed it, I had been mean —quite a bit— thinking of turning him into a lust puppet. But it remained only a thought, something intrusive like an injection. The way his fingers used to curl around my shirt, blouse or jacket, every time I kissed him in the privacy of his room or mine, the way he asked permission for everything when it came to me and underwear of questionable taste. I learned many things from him, feeding myself, sipping any small trace of purple stillness: caressing his face with my fingertips, slowly, patiently; taking things slow was not in my inventory if my body was a sack and his hand was the one that opened me up and saw my bloody interior, used to the quick, anonymous, short life. Too short.

"That time, when I saw you, your hair was matted," he said, hugging me, the movie in the background and my fingers buried in his loose, black hair. "And a bruised knee from a blow."

"Yes, I fell coming to the party because Megumi didn't warn me about the extra step at the entrance."

Choso smiled shyly over my shoulder, though his eyes were still the same, but more affable and three months older. He's done that before, or never did. It provoked me to watch all the naughty movies to leave only the good stuff for him, like a meticulous and destructive selection for the formation of a solid and impenetrable bubble. The same thing he does for his siblings that no one ever did for him before. When I turned to kiss his cheek, he spoke at the same time the movie dialogues started.

"Sometimes I don't know if you like to play with me or just enjoy living carefree, no strings attached."

I ran my thumb gently over his dark circles under the eyes, or the increase in them because there was a small dark smudge of makeup that didn't come out in his quick shower. I only managed to expand the smudge a little more anyway and laughed. His skin felt fresh. I hadn't even wanted to take a bath, I was getting bad after the drink.

"Do you want us to be something more? Is that why you say that?" I wouldn't have minded giving it to him. The vision of his hair wetting the bed in drips and me rubbing the towel through his strands was starting to become a reality as I waited for his answer.

"You're just so strange."

"Me?"

"Not in a bad way, but in the sense that I'm attracted to you even though nothing you say is certain or solid. But you're genuine and you don't seem to be hiding anything on purpose, so you just confuse me."

"I could tell you a thing or two, when you ask me." No answer, just a quick kiss.

When I run my fingers around his shoulders, he has the same look from that time he helped me clean my room —this room— and I ended up with my hands under his Acid Black Cherry t-shirt, caressing his abdomen as he talked to me about the dirt and how messy I was for not cleaning my room in weeks. On the down low, he meant "in months," but the truth was that I hadn't cleaned it thoroughly since last year, and for that, Maki loved me. Because I was the perfect example for the theme of that photozine.

I took off the jeans I had worn to the party, leaving me in my underwear.

"Phyllocalia"

"Mmh? You remembered all of a sudden."

"I bought a photozine that day."

"You could have asked me and I'd give you one of my free samples."

He settled into the sheets, covered my bare legs and glanced at the dirty film left on the side.

"Why? Filocalia, I mean."

"Ask the Greeks," I joked. "Although you won't see them if you snort any shit or inject yourself in the arm."

"I looked it up on the internet after talking to you. I idealized you."

"Everyone does it, what did it mean?"

"«Love of beauty», but you were wearing dirty clothes, in a pile of dirty clothes. Then the meaning stretched to «Love of beauty, and the source of all beauty is God,» but I don't believe in God."

"I don't either."

"But someone saw Him in you. Even when everything had withered around you. It's one of the best pictures in the zine, even when there's an "anonymous" next to the model's name, that's you. It's as if you wanted to erase every map of your human existence."

His fingers traced imaginary lines - the parallels and meridians I struggled to learn in middle school - on my collarbone. I wanted to learn more from him. Much more. He made me understand my intellectual laziness and my search for visual and carnal stimulation as an attempt to satiate myself, to satiate ourselves. He enlightened me to the idea; that unnoticed aster flower, wilted and with missing petals, could be more than an exhibit on poverty and misery, more than a stuffed decoration in the Russian book. Most things happened too fast, ominous, and the movement made me dizzy, the fast days, the fleeting affairs as if I was running away from something... All of it too, he could explain to me, letter by letter, the slowness of things, of love, like a slow burn but in good hands and covers of Radiohead's OK Computer as a warm-up.

We both knew nothing essential.

We weren't part of the top fifth in college.

Nor did we stand out much.

Movies, music, and higher education didn't understand the small things, the costliness of crawling along when everyone was running and the ease of lying down for a while, bleeding out, talking and kissing each other in the stillness, when the lamp goes out and the movie is half over. Luckily, even though it was February and the pollen caused me to sneeze, there was a breeze after sex.

english is not my first language, so, SORRY IF YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS LITTLE STUFF. more than that, this is a small exploration, and I will probably make a longer fic taking this idea. (update, actually, I have a fic, but it's in Spanish)

୨ৎ ⊰gummo apnea⊱ is the set of three one-shots of this style, the other two are about suguru geto and toji fushiguro, soon to be over here too <3 !!!!

[braintapes]

The Hotel Podcast Season 3 Analysis: Part II - The Lobby Boy

(Time to blow out another candle.)

Welcome back! Part I was allll about the Manager's arc, covering episodes 3.1 - 3.4. We saw the Manager as she was repeatedly killed by a pale, gibbering creature, we watched the darkness consume her and the lobby, and we also witnessed the Hotel being built, in a way.

The Manager's been killed again by the gibbering creature. Now we see from the Lobby Boy's perspective. Well, we will see.

As I said in my previous post, S3 is simultaneously the old crew's origin, end, and a place/time/series of events they intermittently return to. This means that we're seeing the staff in a very specific, raw state of being. A different a lens to understand them through.

(Time to make a wish.)

This season functions as a collection of character studies showing us how the old crew responds to inevitability. The certainty of death. There is no release for these three, as there may be for the guests. There is only dying to wake up to die again.

The Manager's arc emphasized the certainty. The Lobby Boy's arc will showcase the cycle.

As always though, this is only my own personal read on the text/audio. Analyzing the art and stories I like in this way is a creative fun outlet for me, and my hope is that this can prompt more discussion for other people too. I love getting to see other people's perspectives and bring up stuff I hadn't considered!

Enough preamble though, let's get right to it. (Do get comfy though, because this is nearly 7 full word pages long)

(It's almost my birthday.)

To properly set the stage for the Lobby Boy's arc, I need to talk some more about the Manager first. Who is the Manager? What drives her?

I'm going to go by Season 2 here. I believe S2 is another, though different, look at these characters. There, we see them as raw as raw can get. They're a mixture of ingredients sitting in the pan waiting to be put into the oven. Whereas in S3 they are freshly baked and piping hot. And also still being baked. And speaking of food metaphors…

The idea of hunger and satiation continually shows up in the Manager's stories. Burger Baby is, uh, fairly obvious and speaks for itself, I think. Mrs Bones is interesting because again we see her thirst as this primal need inside the Manager, a desperate instinctual urge that drives her forward. This also happens in 5.1 Merp and Burble, where she. Well. She merps and she burbles.

In these altered states of consciousness, she has an animal-like nature. She is concerned only with satiating herself. But even when she gets what she's looking for, it's never enough. She can never truly be content.

This shows up in 3.2, when the laborers' deaths satiate the Manager. They even build her/the lobby as they perish one by one. But of course, of course, the fullness doesn't last. This is one of my absolute favorite aspects of the Manager's character. It makes her so distinct from the other two.

The Manager's response to the inevitability presented to her is to allow it in. She neither fights it, kicking and screaming, as the Owner would, nor does she run from it, as the Lobby Boy will. She accepts her circumstances and adapts to them. She takes to everything the easiest of the three.

So, she dies. So...she dies. So what? She's dead now, and will remain so for the rest of the season. What's done is done, until the Hotel wills it otherwise. They serve at the pleasure of the Hotel Herself, after all.

(Do you remember how to die? I'll remind you.)

The most distinct difference between the Lobby Boy and the Manager is that the latter seems to relish in her job. Not in the way the Owner does, as a title to preen and puff up over. She gets nothing out of lording her position over the other two. She does what she does because it's in her nature to do so, and it's a form of sustenance. Her job is her life is her nature. Literally hashtag ultimate girlboss, y'know?

The Lobby Boy, on the other hand, does NOT relish his duty. He is deeply intimate with death and dying and the horrors that lurk inside the Hotel in a way that the other two simply are not. He constructs nearly every awful thing in the Hotel and personally delivers the guests to those things.

As the gibbering creature continues to beat (and then starts to consume) the very dead Manager in 3.4, the Lobby Boy notes the "pulsing and bruised" walls of the Hotel. Something is deeply wrong here and he can feel it. The way he's seeing everything is not how he normally would. He says:

"It's not supposed to look like that, I think. Not to me. Maybe to the guests, but to me it only looks like...I knew underneath and behind and through everything was something awful and vast watching, but I could still look at the facade and know my place here."

The Lobby Boy has, off the top of my head, seen the Hotel in this way two other times. Well, one of this times was in a bonus episode and so doesn't really count, but it's one of my favorite bonus episodes so I'm going to talk about it a bit anyway. Feel free to skip that part.

First, in 4.12 X - X, during the big fight between the Owner and the Lobby Boy, the two go sailing and flying through the Hotel. They crash through lobbies and halls and rooms. The Lobby Boy SEES everything in the Hotel. He sees everything he has built and everything he hasn't yet. He sees the guests dying. He sees himself, burning. And he hates it. He decides to look away, to try to not remember.

In fact, the Lobby Boy's active avoidance of witnessing his own work is THE big reason the Owner hates the Lobby Boy and picks that fight with him in the first place.

In the bonus episode The Hotel, the Lobby Boy has a dream in which he is entirely alone. He examines the lobby before using his cool powers to rise up through the Hotel in such a way that he can see it all. He keeps going, pushing aside and shaping and conducting the Hotel's form until it reaches a crescendo of swirling color and shape and fervor...Then, of course, he remembers that he's not alone, not really. He's never alone in the Hotel.

Like I said, that lies in murky non-canon-ish waters so feel free to ignore it. I personally consider it an interesting supplemental to the other two examples. The point is, the Lobby Boy isn't an idiot. He's very well aware of what the Hotel is. What he is and what he does.

3.4 ends with this:

"In the Hotel there is only death. Only ever death. But still I run to the second floor, where the deaths don't matter so much. The floor with the guest rooms."

He sees the darkness consuming the lobby, the Manager, everything in the Hotel lobby. He knows what's happening. Still, he decides to run. He chooses to look away. To not think about it, if he can.

He runs to what he knows best: the guest rooms. The familiar forms the Hotel is supposed to take. The facade he can try to lose himself in, knowing all the while that it's a lie and he will face the horrible truth that envelopes and underpins it.

(Here comes another one, don't miss it or we'll have to start over.)

Now, it's time for 3.5 The Lobby Boy Dies.

“I step off the elevator and hold the door for the guest, but the elevator is empty.”

The Lobby Boy is alone as he walks down the endless hallways. The lights wink at him as he passes by. We'll see the Hotel Herself flicker her lights at the Lobby Boy other times, like in 4.10 Audrey Burns. It's one of her cheeky and fun ways of communicating with him! The Hotel is absolutely playing with him like a toy in this arc. I mean, that's true of every arc but this one especially feels so delightfully cheeky.

He refuses to look back behind him. He's seen the guests look back and it's never saved any of them. Then he spots a different kind of light – a candle by an empty guest room.

“I...the candle wants me to stare into the flame. It wants me to go inside the room. The door matches the key ring in my hand... Why-”

But the Lobby Boy knows what's happening here. He drops his keys and continues walking. He avoids looking at anything but straight ahead of him, down the hall. With each room, door, candle he avoids, another one shows up until every room is an empty guest room with a candle. For him.

He wants to refuse. He doesn't want to go in. Tells himself he won't, he CAN'T. But the Hotel pulsates in the background and he starts to imagine what it would be like if the walls caught fire...the fire spreading...Chasing him...He runs!

But why? Why avoid the flames and the burning and the smoke when he knows he can't, won't escape them? When he knows he'll end up dying anyway?

There's a few ways to look at this. One is that it's part of his nature – he doesn't want to face death, not necessarily in a human way but because it - like basically everything else - makes him squeamish and uncomfortable. If he runs, he doesn't have to face it. If he runs, he can pretend:

"The doors seem to turn towards me as I pass now. Stretching, almost reaching out. Presenting to me, showing me the sweetest lie: Safety. Safety from what is behind me. Safety from the end ahead."

“The flames behind, the fire ahead, I will pretend not to know what is beyond the door and know relief for a sickening, hopeful, instant.”

[Bolding mine]

The Lobby Boy is aligning himself with the guests here. He is a guest in this episode: he has a room he will go and die inside of. He knows the guests aren't saved by their pretending, but he does it anyway because the tiny glimmer of light inside the Lobby Boy is hope. Is wanting. In this case, it's wanting the comforting lie that he'll be okay, somehow.

Another part is that this is technically new to him, new and frightening. His nature is fearfulness, so of course he runs. He's still a fresh-out-of-the-oven Lobby Boy at this point! All of this that's happening doesn't gel with whatever knowledge was baked into him from the Hotel. He hasn't had a chance to acclimate yet!

He enters his room and sees, just before the door closes, himself stepping off the elevator in the hall. He stands in the dark for a long time until the candle appears again.

“I stare into the flame and I can hear the Hotel around me.”

He's transfixed until the candle falls over and the whole room goes up in flames, burning him to death. He doesn't accept it, he screams and tries to run and tries to open the door he knows will not open again. He dies just like one of the guests.

(You were there too.)

Since the previous Lobby Boy is dead, the Lobby Boy who we just saw step out of the elevator is our narrator for 3.6 The Lobby Boy Tries Not To Die.

“I step off the elevator and hold the door for the guest, but...there is no guest. I'm alone.”

Last episode, we saw the part of the Lobby Boy that identifies with the guests, the part of him that's just as trapped as they are. But there's plenty more layers and sides to the LB we've yet to peel.

The Lobby Boy lies to himself and attempts to convince himself that the guest he saw at the end of the hall definitely did not have his face. It for sure wasn't him. Totally. He slips back into his role, what he knows he should be doing. But everything's wrong, still. He continues down the hall and passes rooms full of smoke and burning and screaming.

Occasionally, his voice reverberates. Notably, it happens when the ceiling is full of soot. He says:

“I don't want to fall up into that void. I don't know if I'll hit the ceiling, or just fall forever. (forever, forever.)”

[Formatting taken directly from transcript]

In my last post, I talked about how the darkness – the Hotel – is inextricable from the Manager/the staff. The idea returns here with...Well, with the smoke and soot, obviously, but ALSO with these vocal effects. It's one of the Lobby Boy's things, sometimes if he's particularly worked up he'll get effects like this in his narration.

As it's applied here, it feels like something directly tying him to the Hotel. A part of him that is like it. These reverberations come back at the end of the season both with the Hotel Herself's narration and the staff's response to her. They are not separate entities, but a strange splintering and amalgamation of each other.

The Hotel's pulsing starts up in the background. The Lobby Boy continues walking but his steps become wet and squishy as the floors become coated in, um. Melted Lobby Boy soup leaking out from the room doors. It pools and congeals into a gory sticky mess that clings to him, hinders his running. The desk bell dings and something is chasing the Lobby Boy and screaming at him and his immediate instinct is to run away.

The slurry of himself enmeshed in the floor shows that the part of the Hotel that is the Lobby Boy is this second floor. The same way the Manager is the lobby and we saw her being built, the Lobby Boy is every endless hall, room, door, ceiling, floors. He is both the facade and the horrible truth at the end of it.

What he runs from is himself, literally, in this episode, but also from...himself. You know what I mean?

“I run faster. I want the soot black ceiling to take me. I want to sink into the cold bleeding carpet. I want grey walls and nothing else.”

(mood man I hate being yelled at too.)

They're both screaming now, his pursuer and himself. Just...screaming. I LOVE the distorted layered yells here. Something visceral and miserable about the sounds perfectly encapsulate the Lobby Boy, I feel.

He runs and every door turns into an elevator. He ends up, of course, back at that door. That room, with the smoke and the fire and the other burning Lobby Boy already inside of it. He looks back and sees himself clearly this time. He's terrified. He'd rather burn to death than be caught by himself. He closes the door “a little faster” before the other him can get inside.

And so the Lobby Boy Fails To Not Die.

(Did you see him? Was it too fast for you?)

We are roughly two Lobby Boys down as we head into 3.7 The Rooms Are Filled.

“I step off the elevator and hold the door for the guest. The guest steps out and into the hallway.”

So now there's two of them in the elevator. One must be the guest, if one of them is the Lobby Boy. But then...? They walk together and the other lets our viewpoint LB into the room.

Once again, this opening sequence involves the Lobby Boy following his standard routine. Bring the guest to the room. Ask if they need anything. Our narrator gives a quick rundown of the room but then the fire starts consuming everything again. Instead of running away from each other, the two Boys struggle pathetically over each other to get out. One of them escapes, the other remains trapped in the room.

He heads back to the elevator and goes to another floor.

“There are so many buttons twinkling dully at me. I like to stare at them on the way.”

Bringing up this quote just to say I'm putting a pin in it for later in this post. Bear with me, there WILL be a payoff to this. I just wanted to make special note of this line in particular.

The elevator doors open and the cycle continues, repeats. One Lobby Boy brings the other Lobby Boy to his room and he dies there as the Lobby Boy goes back to the elevator to do it again. Again. Again. Every time the Lobby Boy dies, a light in the elevator goes out. Slowly, they burn to darkness every hall in the Hotel.

He's not running the same way he was during the last few episodes. He's settling in. Getting acclimated. The way he gets through this is by not thinking about it. If he doesn't think, he can hold out the sliver of hope within him that he won't be the one to die. But he'll still die.

He sounds so utterly exhausted as he relives both the walk from the elevator to the room and the burning to death inside the room. So strained, bordering on anger almost.

“Why do I look so afraid, if I'm not the one who has to burn? But I am the one who has to burn. And the one who has to close the door. I'm the only one here.”

Okay to be honest you could just ignore every single thing I've written here and just look at these lines because this is the crux of it all.

The sound gets...weirder from here. The elevator door dings wrongly. The Lobby Boy doesn't hold the door open for the guest. We hear the Owner's scream for the first time in a while, though this comes immediately after the line saying, “The rooms are filled with my screams.”

Hmmmm...

But I can't talk about that yet. I need to talk about this:

“The halls are filled with smoke and mess. I don't know why The Manager only had to die once and I have to die so much. So much. Too much.”

[Bolding mine]

Does this line sound familiar? He sounds envious here, almost...resentful, in a way that reminds me very specifically of 2.2 Cracker Man:

“Why do they get to be in the house? Why do they get to be young and happy and beautiful? Why does it hurt to watch them live? I don’t know why but it does. Every smile stings.”

The Manager's S2 episodes showed us her primal instinct as one of her core traits. The Lobby Boy's S2 episodes show us his envy and rage. He's portrayed as a stalking figure in both Cracker Man and Frozen Figures, something that watches from the outside before going in for the kill. Yeah, technically the Owner and Manager do this too, but it feels personal for the Lobby Boy.

Why do THEY (the guests) get to live? Why do THEY get to pretend, to have the luxury of not knowing what's going to happen to them? Why did the Manager only have to die ONCE instead of being stuck in this endless cycle? (She didn't, she died at least like 4 times, but I suppose he doesn't know that). Why is he stuck here and they're not? WHY CAN'T HE D--

“There are so many buttons twinkling dully at me. I like to stare at them on the way.”

That envy and his feelings towards the guests are also why I think the Lobby Boy likes staring at twinkling lights. I mean, there doesn't have to be anything deeper to it. I do think it is just...a thing he likes and that's that. But if there WERE deeper meaning to it, I would say part of him wants what the guests have. He wouldn't know what, exactly, he wants. But he knows they're different. They have something else. Maybe something nicer. Maybe. He admires the shimmering light until it turns into a desperate flame that eventually burns to soot and ash.

His envy collapses and gives way to the rage tucked deep inside him in Cracker Man. Here in 3.7, he taps into that and chases down the other Lobby Boy. Once again, he becomes the pursuing monster. He is the rooms he built. He is the guests he brought to them. He is the horror that will kill them inside the rooms. The screaming effects layer beautifully again.

“Every room is getting filled. Endlessly. We put ourselves here because we did. Never a thought to why or where. He runs so I'm running. He burns so I'm burning. If I could catch him, if I could touch him, could we burn together?”

I have nothing to add to this, I just want to sit and appreciate these lines for a minute.

The chase continues. This Lobby Boy can see into the elevators lining the hallways. Behind the both of them, “the void spills out” and chases them. No matter what direction they go, he'll always end up back in that darkness. Whether he's inside the burning room or out in the hall. He still, still, holds onto that tiny sliver of false hope that maybe, just maybe, he can catch him this time.

But the Lobby Boy sees him and closes the door a little faster. And the Lobby Boy is brought to a void by a trillion lights.

(The guests were never meant to come this far.)

There's...a lot more I'd love to say. I could go on and on in endless circles about this arc. It would be fitting, but this is already so long and I still have the Owner and the Hotel Herself to talk about!

So for now, let's see what happens to the Lobby Boy in the cleverly titled 3.8 A V O I D.

The Lobby Boy doesn't actually...do much here, since this episode is meant to start us on the Owner's arc. LB sits in the void, afraid. As familiar gibbering/Powers That Be noises follow after him, he panics.

“The worst it can do is kill me. Again. And Again. Forever. WHY CAN'T I DIE?”

[Formatting taken direct from transcript]

One last time, there's the crux of the Lobby Boy's despair. Why is he trapped like this when he's so, SO afraid? Why? Why why? The hopeless wailing and thrashing shared by the guests in their last moments.

We proceed listen to the Lobby Boy having the worst time he's probably ever had when he whimpers and begs “No no no no please no.”

His question is answered by as he's brutally killed by the gibbering creature the Hotel.

(He seems to be dead now though.)

And then the Owner chimes in with the fucking funniest possible line, “Thank you. Dispatching that creature has been long overdue.”

Thanks king. So glad to see you on your hater streak <3

Anyway, that wraps things up for the Lobby Boy's arc. I've never seen a more literal version of the “Man Vs. Self” style of conflict as this, as he grapples and struggles and fights with himself across time.

We get to see the fearful core of his being on full display along with the reasons why he'd be so afraid compared to the other two. Neither the Manager or the Owner are as down in the dirt with the guests, so to speak, as the Lobby Boy is. He embodies the most important aspect of it, the rooms and the killing.

It seems the only way he can get himself to function in that endless cycle is by avoidance, turning himself away from it all. The Owner just doesn't get it. Even though they have so much in common...

Well, that'll be for next time to delve into. See you then friends. Thanks again for reading! :-)

[danielscarcello]

Field of Lucid Dreams

Because I had a hard time getting my novel picked up, I decided to publish my short stories — my collection of coincidences — as a blog, hoping I would gain some traction that way. And before I even wrote a single post, a series of events proved this was the right choice.

At the library where I work, a book came across my desk, called Proof of Heaven, which was about a neurosurgeon who has a near-death experience and describes his vision of the afterlife. It was inside a box full of donated books. I stacked the donations on a cart to shelve them when Sarah, one of my colleagues, stopped me.

“Got one more for you,” she said. She handed me a picture book called Holly, which had a black cat on the cover.

As I filed away the books, I picked up Proof of Heaven and flipped through it. I found a withered prayer card tucked in the book, on page 24; someone must have used as it as a bookmark and forgot about it. I opened the card with one hand, while holding the book open with the other, and one word on the page, from this passage, happened to catch my eye.

Then, out of nowhere, I shouted three words. They were crystal clear, and heard by all the doctors and nurses present, as well as by Holley, who stood a few paces away, just on the other side of the curtain.

“God, help me!”

Holley.

Sarah had just handed me a book called — Holly. I put down Proof of Heaven and picked up Holly, and the first sentence said that last November, we lost our 14-year-old cat named Holly.

That was when Marianne came to mind. Marianne’s birthday was on November 14th. Her father died last year, after a long, grueling illness.

Instead of putting Proof of Heaven on the shelf, I kept it aside for her.

She texted me a few days later: “So I guess I have to read that book now. Last night, this lady at work mentioned that baseball movie, Field of Dreams. Later, I watched this YouTube video, and it mentioned Field of Dreams too. The crazy thing is that the video was about near-death experiences — just like the book.”

“Holy shit!” I wrote.

When I thought about Field of Dreams, I remembered this strange this little episode that took place the night before.

“Here’s another baseball coincidence for you,” I wrote. “Last night I was at Pita Land getting shawarma. I was standing in line, watching TV, and a headline flashed across the screen: ‘Jays sign new infielder Isiah Kiner-Falefa’. But I caught it so quickly that I could have sworn it said infidel, not infielder. I stood by the TV, waiting for the headline to loop back around, so I could see what it actually said. And his name sounded just like what was on the menu — Falafel.”

She sent me a laughing emoji.

“It’s interesting,” she went on. “I never get any signs from my dad, and I want one so badly.”

A few days later, it was New Year’s Eve, and I spent the night at Robb’s place. At one point, he put on the new Dave Chappelle Netflix special: The Dreamer.

Thinking about Field of Dreams, I listened to his monologue, my eyes fixed on the screen.

In your life, at any given moment, the strongest dream in that moment wins that moment. I am a very powerful dreamer. I dreamed tonight as a fourteen-year-old boy, and I’m living it as a fifty-year-old man…

This gave me such a renewed sense of determination to publish my collection of coincidences online. Even if no publisher in the world wanted my book, I would still chase my dream.

And so, the next day, I set out to write my first blog post. I closed my eyes and waited for an idea to come to me. My thoughts went back to Pita Land, and I remembered how on that morning, at work, a bunch of us were talking about obscure horror movies; someone had brought up a documentary about the Donner Party, the group of American pioneers who were trapped in the Sierra Nevada mountains and resorted to cannibalism to survive. Now, just before I saw the headline about Kiner-Falefa, I noticed — for the first time in all the years I’d been eating shawarma — one particular item on the menu: Beef Doner.

With a shudder, I started jotting all this down, wondering how I would string this together into a something worth reading. At first, I couldn’t figure it out, and so I took a break. With obscure horror movies on my mind, I started scrolling through YouTube, looking for something to watch. Then I found a channel called Renegade Films.

At random, I clicked a video called “Who Let Him Make This Movie?”. The movie, which I knew nothing about, was Babylon. As it turned out, much to my delight, Babylon was directed by Damien Chazelle — whose name echoed Dave Chappelle.

When it was over, another video on the channel, right next to the one about Babylon, caught my attention: “The Perfectly Logical Reason This Director Ate His Shoe (inspiring)”.

The director was Werner Herzog. It was about the time Herzog promised Errol Morris he would eat his shoe if he finished a movie about pet cemeteries he was working on. And, as I later read on Wikipedia, “In 1978, when the film Gates of Heaven premiered, Herzog cooked and publicly ate his shoe.”

Pet Cemeteries. Holly. The lost cat. Proof of Heaven. Gates of Heaven.

In other words, the perfectly logical reason this director ate his shoe was so that it would serve as a call to fearlessly chase your dreams. He said:

If I abandon this project, I would be a man without dreams, and I don’t want to live like that. I live my life, or I end my life with this project. All these dreams are yours as well… we have to articulate ourselves otherwise we would be cows in the field.

Field of Dreams.

My head was spinning. Finally, I read the Wikipedia page on Field of Dreams. And the first paragraph absolutely blew me away. Field of Dreams was based on a novel by W.P Kinsella called — Shoeless Joe.

The Perfectly Logical Reason This Director Ate His Shoe.

Frantically, I kept clicking all the links on Wikipedia, writing down all the connections I found — including the fact W.P Kinsella wrote a book called Butterfly Winter, Proof of Heaven had a blue butterfly on its cover, and Werner Herzog directed a movie called Fitzcarraldo, about a man determined to transport a steamship over a hill in the Amazon basin in order to build an opera house.

Field of Dreams gave us the phrase, “If you build it, they will come.”

If you build your website…

– they will come.

Finally, I jumped back to the Wikipedia page for Field of Dreams. In the movie, Ray, who was unable to reconcile with his father before he died, hears the ghost of “Shoeless” Joe Jackson tell him to build a baseball diamond in a cornfield. If you build it, they will come. Throughout the film, Ray sees the ghost of “Shoeless Joe” and other dead baseball players. Then, during a game, when the catcher removes his mask, Ray recognizes him as his father as a young man.

I stopped reading at that point, and I thought about something Dave Chappelle said:

You have to be wise enough to know when you’re living in your dream, and you have to be humble enough to accept when you’re in someone else’s…

All this time, I thought the coincidences were all about my writing, my blog — my dreams. But then I remembered what Marianne said about her father. And I knew I had to be humble enough to accept this wasn’t for me. It was for her.

[jcmarchi]

MIT community in 2023: A year in review

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/mit-community-in-2023-a-year-in-review/

MIT community in 2023: A year in review

The year 2023 saw the turning of a new page for MIT, as the Institute welcomed its 18th president. MIT also saw the opening of new and renovated spaces, launched a new “Dialogues Across Difference” speaker series, and celebrated a Nobel Prize, Turing Award, National Medals of Technology and Science, and many more honors for its distinguished community members. Here are some of the key stories out of MIT this year.

Presidential transition

In January, the MIT community welcomed Sally Kornbluth, a biologist and former provost of Duke University, as its new president. She immediately got to work engaging in a campus-wide listening tour, which yielded feedback from many in the community.

In May, as part of a multi-day celebration, Kornbluth was officially inaugurated as the Institute’s 18th president, succeeding L. Rafael Reif. Kornbluth’s inaugural address covered a range of matters while connecting them back to the idea that higher education can best realize its potential for society as a collaborative enterprise.

Not to be outdone by Institute Events, a few months later a group of incoming MIT students surprised Kornbluth with a custom-built “Barbis,” a life-sized Barbie-themed TARDIS, inside her office.

Among other administrative transitions in 2023: Maria Zuber was named presidential advisor for science and technology policy, Paula Hammond was named vice provost for faculty, Denzil Streete was named senior associate dean and director of the Office of Graduate Education, and Philip Erickson was named director of MIT Haystack Observatory. Eric Evans also stepped down as director of MIT Lincoln Laboratory, John Dozier stepped down as Institute Community and Equity Officer, and John Durant stepped down as director of the MIT Museum.

Standing Together Against Hate

In November, President Kornbluth launched Standing Together Against Hate, a community-driven initiative coordinated by Chancellor Melissa Nobles. The initiative will support efforts led by MIT faculty, staff, students, and the administration to come together, MIT-style, to use problem-solving skills to address antisemitism, Islamophobia, and other forms of hate.

A Nobel and other top accolades

In October, Professor Moungi Bawendi won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry for his influential work on quantum dots. See what his first day as a Nobel laureate looked like, and view photos from Nobel Week earlier this month.

Three MIT affiliates — James Fujimoto, Eric Swanson, and David Huang — won the Lasker Award in September for their work on optical coherence tomography. The trio was also honored, along with Subra Suresh, by President Joe Biden at this year’s National Medals of Science and Technology ceremony. And Bob Metcalfe received the Turing Award, known to many as the “Nobel of computing,” for the invention of Ethernet.

At MIT, Institute Professor Paula Hammond won this year’s Killian Award, the Institute’s highest faculty honor.

“Dialogues Across Difference”

In March, a new “Dialogues Across Difference” speaker series launched as a way to create opportunities for community members to learn how to think about taking on difficult subjects across differences of opinion, background, viewpoint, and life experience.

The first speaker in the series was John Tomasi, president of Heterodox Academy, who emphasized the importance of humility in community and intellectual life as a means of engaging with differing perspectives and difficult questions. In November, Malick Ghachem, head of MIT’s History Section, described the dynamics of universities and other complex institutions seeking to be neutral on contentious civic and global matters.

Commencement

At Commencement in June, Mark Rober — engineer, inventor, and YouTuber — delighted new graduates and their loved ones with some technical whimsy, and then encouraged graduates to positively impact the world while practicing “optimism combined with dedication” and fostering relationships with others.

President Kornbluth followed with her charge to the Class of 2023, urging them to cultivate “curiosity and a sense of larger purpose” while finding their pursuits in life.

New and refreshed spaces

A number of new and refreshed spaces opened at MIT and in the surrounding community this year. Among them: The Hobby Shop and Cheney Room received makeovers, while a new materials science Breakerspace opened along the Infinite Corridor. The Student Center partially reopened after renovations and is expected to return to full operation in 2024.

In Kendall Square, the new John A. Volpe National Transportation Systems Center opened after nearly a decade of collaboration with the Institute. MIT designed and constructed the highly energy-efficient building as part of an agreement that will allow the Institute to develop 10 additional acres of land in Kendall Square that are no longer needed by the federal government.

Student honors and awards

As in past years, MIT undergraduates earned prestigious international awards. In 2023, exceptional students were awarded Fulbright, Marshall, Rhodes, and Schwarzman scholarships, among many others.

Some students scored big in other ways. Justin Yu became the top Tetris player on the planet by winning the 2023 Classic Tetris World Championships. MIT students once again defended their title at the Putnam Mathematical Competition. And graduate student and former soccer star Karenna Groff ’22 was named NCAA Woman of the Year.

Remembering those we’ve lost

Among MIT community members who died this year were Peter Baddoo, George Clark, Thomas Coveney, Stephen Goldman, Priscilla King Gray, Arnoldo Hax, Frederick Hennie, Walter Hollister, Judy Hoyt, Roman Jackiw, Willard Johnson, Evelyn Fox Keller, Nelson Yuan-sheng Kiang, Mel King, Sanjoy Mitter, Mary Morrissey, Paul Parravano, Bill Pounds, Edgar Schein, Dick Thornton, and Christopher Walsh.

In case you missed it:

Additional top community stories of 2023 included a roundup of new books from MIT authors, a profile of MIT’s unique all-Institute Writers’ Group, a video and profile of Barry Duncan, the Institute’s resident palindrome poet; and a series of numbers to describe the career of Gil Strang, a recently retired and much beloved professor of mathematics.

[writersmacchiato]

come around | edmund pevensie x reader

pairing: edmund pevensie x reader

summary: edmund frequents a bookstore and meets a particular customer.

. . .

edmund didn't know when he became aware of your presence.

the moment was unexpected and happened in such a whirl, he felt dazed. the memory hazy and floating away. but it was such a bizarre event that he knew his own imagination could not have made it up.

it was a slow afternoon, clouds lazily drifted over the sun. there was hardly a breeze in the air.

the bookstore was void of any other patron, only him and the owner. it wasn't normally busy but it was quiet even for the shop.

there was a chime over the door and it let out a sweet ring as it opened and you walked in.

you smiled at the owner, an older gentleman named henry, and began small talk about the weather and then his family. you spoke with ease, as if you'd spoken to him a million times. and judging from henry's smile, you probably had.

after a beat of silence, you moved into the aisles of books with familiarity. and edmund can't help but wonder why he had never seen you before. it was clear you came here regularly, probably more than him.

"hi, i'm y/n."

edmund was taken off guard to see you appear so quickly beside him, quietly moving through the room.

"i'm edmund."

he was surprised that you seemed to be looking intently at the section he was in. mysteries didn't seem to be your type.

"my friend recommend that i try a new genre because i'm bored with the one i normally read but they all look the same to me, if i'm being honest." you said, fingers tracing a book's spine before drifting back to your side.

"you should give Henry Heard a try. i've enjoyed his books. start with 'a taste for honey'." edmund finds the yellow book with a skull and a bee on the cover.

you take it from him, reading the first page quickly, before turning the page again.

"i'm already intrigued!" you smile at edmund, looking into his eyes. "i'll check this out, thank you edmund."

"it's no problem."

"i'll see you around."

with a little wave, you're off. checking out the book and bidding henry goodbye.

edmund can't help but hope that he'd see you around soon.

. . .

it had been a week since edmund last saw you. he had been back to the bookstore only once before today, but there was no sign of you.

he told himself it was only coincidence that he happened to be back on the same day around the same time as the last time. but he knew that it was intentional.

henry was behind the counter, a newspaper spread out. he nodded at edmund when he came in, the chime ringing as it always did. there appeared to be no one else inside, yet again.

he allowed himself to wander over to the mystery section, seeing the section for H.F. Heard and the spot where the yellow book had once been. it was part of a series, though it didn't truly matter what order they were read in.

"you beat me to it."

his heart skips a beat.

"i was hoping there would be another book because i loved the one you recommended. thank you, by the way." you said, looking completely nonplussed while he tries to steady his heartbeat.

"i'm glad you liked it." edmund paused. "it is a bit nerve-racking to recommend a book to someone. particularly to strangers."

"well, we're not strangers, are we edmund?" you grinned. "in fact, you passed the test. i enjoyed a book you recommended, thus i can trust you have good opinion."

"passed the test?" edmund was floored.

"well, not really. i might have picked the book out on my own but you happened to be here on a day that i don't normally visit and set into the motion my discovery of Henry Heard. so, naturally i have to believe that we met for a reason."

"that does seem coincidental." edmund said.

"i don't believe in coincidences. we met for a reason and i do believe that." you said impassioned.

"so, edmund, stranger from the bookstore, will you accompany me to the cafe on the corner for a cup of tea and we can acquaint ourselves?"

"yes, y/n, i would be delighted."

. . .

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fully Completely 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, mutual irritation.

This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: Here’s part two and things are getting aggressive fast.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: Either it'll move me

💀💀💀

Usually your work kept you busy and if you were busy, you were content. Not that day. Not since that man ruined your lunch. You were so worked up that when you got back to the garage, you didn’t even finish your sandwich. You barely got anything done as what you did had to be redone in your distraction.

The night was little better as you planned to get the car done so the next time Loki bothered you, you could tell him to fuck off. If his headlight did come in before he left town, you’d send it down to Carl’s to have the work done. You would take the cost from what Bucky gave you to cover your time.

You were on your second coffee by the time you headed down to the garage, your apartment conveniently above as your existence was relegated to that single lot in Birch. At the bottom step you paused as you sipped from the travel mug and listened to the unexpected noise from behind the black door.

You locked all the doors at night, even that between the entryway and the garage that you kept propped open during the day. You stepped closer and tested the handle and bent to examine the lock. You glanced over at the painted front door and found that both had been picked.

Your fingers tightened on the mug. The last person to break into your garage, well, they weren’t around to bother you anymore after Jerome found out. You swung the door open and hauled the hot coffee across the garage towards the only sign of movement.

Loki sidestepped the splash, a few drops along his dark jacket, and continued to tighten and untighten the wrench. He looked at you nonchalantly and his mouth slanted. He shook his head as he let the tool hang perilously from his hand.

“Is this how you treat all your customers? This ungainly assault,” he peered down at the overturned cup beside his car.

“What the fuck are you doing in my garage?” you huffed as you marched over to him and reached for the wrench.

He gripped it tighter as you tried to snatch it from him and held you close as he sneered down at you.

“Two days,” he said “correct?”

“Tomorrow by my count,” you rebuked and pulled harder on the wrench, “not that it gives you any right to break into my garage and touch my stuff.” He let you yank the metal free of your grasp and you pointed it at his chin, “so leave or this time I won’t miss.”

He chuckled, barely bothered by the tool pointed at him as his green eyes sparkled, “your count is incorrect. I might be early but your work is due this evening so I will wait.”

“Not here,” you waved the wrench at him and grabbed his arm, “so get out and come back later then.”

His hand covered yours and he pried your fingers from him. He twisted your hand back and you gasped and swung the wrench with your other. You hit his shoulder as he raised his arm in defense and grunted at the sharp impact. He let you go and you swung again. He dodged and shoved you away from him.

“Do not presume to put your hands on me,” he warned, “you know who my brother is, that I associate with your cute local chapter--”

“I’m not one of them and I don’t report to them,” you snarled, “so get out now or you won’t be associating with anyone.”

“Mouthy little bitch,” he slithered, “you touch me again, or even attempt it--”

“I said get out,” you hit the hood of his car and left a dent, “It’ll be another day at least.”

His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. He fixed his jacket and sighed. He raised his chin and stiffly strode across the garage and through the black door. You followed feet behind him and made sure he continued outside. You cranked the lock behind him and listened to his footsteps crunch through the snow.

You might not report to Bucky and his goons but he was going to keep the rabble in line.

💀

It was just after noon but you knew Bucky would already be at The Asp. You ventured down the street in your heavy boots, your jacket flapping open in the wind as you were set on your destination and the conversation that awaited you. You nodded at the man who leaned a few feet from the door and sucked on a cigarette.

You entered and shook the snow off your lined denim jacket and kicked off your boots. You looked around at the mostly empty bar. You rarely went there as it was more trouble than you needed. The men were drunk and dirty and like many places in Birch, you just didn’t fit. You didn’t want to fit.

Bucky sat at his usual table, a woman you recognized beside him. She had been a year or two ahead of you in school and a couple behind Bucky himself. You knew she was his new girl but she never really looked happy about it. Knowing him, it didn’t surprise you. He always wanted more than he got.

You crossed to him and stood in front of the round table as his right-hand thug watched you curiously. You raised a brow at Steve and focused on the boss.

“We need to talk,” you said plainly.

“We do?” he asked genuinely confused, “I owe you something?”

“You do and you don’t. I’m not here about money,” you replied, “but it’s important.”

“Alright,” he pointed to the chair in front of you and gestured to his companions, planting a kiss on the woman’s lips before she stood, her lips slightly curled at the corner, and left you. He shifted in his chair as they went and nodded when he was ready, “sorry, if I knew you were on your way, I would’ve kept her in the back.”

You scoffed and shook your head. He was always obtusely arrogant. “I stopped fucking you, Buck, I don’t care who you’re with now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” he inhaled and placed his hand against the table, “so what is it?”

“This guy, Loki,” you began, “brought his car to me two nights ago.”

“Mhmm, I sent him down. I know I should come down myself but--”

“Please, you hate going down there,” you waved his words away, “it’s not about the car, it’s about him.”

“What about him?”

“He broke into my shop this morning. There was… well, I got a few licks in and for the sake of you I’ve held back but you need to keep him away from me. I’ll fix his car but I’m not dealing with him anymore. He’s a pompous asshole who thinks he can just do whatever he wants.” You stopped yourself, usually not one to go on at length, “he’s your… associate, as he would say it, so he can deal with you, not me.”

He considered you and pulled his hand back to scratch the stubble along his jaw. His blue eyes were intrigued if not surprised.

“He… coming onto you?” he asked.

“No,” you blinked at him dully, “no, he’s just annoying me. You promised me the shop would be my space. He picked my locks, Buck, so you let him know what’s what.”

“He’s new in town,” Bucky sighed, “but I’ll talk to him.”

“You better,” you stood, “because I don’t care about whatever business you got going on, the next time, I’m gonna pop his eye out with a--”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he snipped, “I’ll take care of him, alright?”

“You better,” you said as you backed away, “or you can find someone else to fix up your bikes.”

“Really? You know it won’t come to that,” he sat forward in irritation, “go, he won’t bother you.”

💀

The next day you looked over the front of the car. Aside from the cracked headlight, it was as good as new. You rolled up the garage door and took the keys from the hook. You drove the car out and steered it along the snowy street and parked just outside The Asp. You got out and headed inside to hand off the keys to Bucky with a promise that you would take care of the light when it came in as long as he kept Loki away.

You returned to the garage to close the door and checked the time. You were overdue for lunch and hadn’t been back to The Chipped Saucer since that eventful day. You were hungry and too lazy to climb up to your apartment and dig through your fridge. 

You crossed the street and entered the diner as Kimmie looked up from the harlequin novel she hid behind as she stood by the till. She marked her page and closed it before she grabbed the carafe from the machine and crossed to your table. She poured you a mug and confirmed your usual order.

There were a few of the older residents enjoying pie and coffee at the other tables but the snow still kept many in their own houses. You might try the strawberry rhubarb before you went. You didn’t indulge in sweets often but it smelled good.

Kimmie brought your sandwich and as you finished the first triangle, you were disturbed by the last voice you wanted to hear. You didn’t look back as the door chimed behind the new patron and you continued chewing as you once more reviewed the newsletter. 

To your chagrin but not unexpectedly, the figure appeared at your table side. You bit into the next portion of your club sandwich and ignored him.

“Hello, darling,” Loki sat across from you as he had days before, “I saw that you attended to my vehicle at last. Fine work, I must say. I do hope the headlight arrives soon.”

You said nothing and kept eating as you looked out the window and slid the newsletter aside with your other hand. You took the last gulp of your coffee and swallowed. You raised your cup and looked around, “‘scuse me,” you called out, “when you have a second.”

He laughed to himself and you felt his gaze on you. You pushed aside your uneaten crust and went about your meal as if he wasn’t there. When Kimmie refilled your coffee, he ordered a tea and a bowl of the daily soup. 

You barely withheld your grimace as you watched Babs across the street by her bakery. She dusted snow off the open sign before she retreated back inside.

“I’m pleasantly surprised by the food here,” he mused as he stirred a plume of milk into his tea.

“Can’t you take a hint?” you snapped, “I don’t want you near me.”

“Believe me, at first, the feeling was mutual, darling,” he said.

“I told you not to call me that,” you frowned at him directly and he smirked.

“I like the way it makes your eyes go,” he taunted, “admittedly, that first meeting I would’ve liked nothing other than to never encounter you again but the more I poke and prod you, the more intrigued I am.”

“If you don’t stop--”

“You’ll go back to Barnes, hmm?” he intoned, “yes, he did speak with me but I might enlighten you on one fact. The man requires my business more than a mechanic, especially as there seems to be healthy competition in town.”

“You have your car, you’ll have the headlight done, and you can be on your way out of town,” you growled, “and you can be far away from me. Whatever stupid game you’re playing at, I’m not biting. I meant it when I said I won’t miss--”

“Darling, this is not an invitation,” his eyes strayed from your face for just a moment and he considered the buttons of your flannel shirt, “a man like me doesn’t ask, he expects.”

Your eyes rolled so hard it hurt. You pushed your plate away and pulled out your wallet. You left your tab on the table and stood. You shrugged into your jacket and glanced out the window at the white main street.

“Whatever you expect, it’s not going to happen,” you rebuffed, “but I told you what you can expect if you come around me again.”

You left as you had days before and stormed across the street without looking. You dodged out of the way of a slow rolling Ford as it honked and you waved them off. You stomped up to the front of your shop and realised too late you were being followed.

You spun around at the door to face Loki as he slid to a stop. He grabbed your arm and drew you back from the painted wood. You hit his chest and he barely flinched as he flicked your chin with his finger.

“Oh, darling, let’s not drag this out, I do love that temper--”

“Get off--” you pushed him and he nearly slipped and took you down with him as his leather soles held no traction on the frozen ground.

He threw you back and you hit the corner of the doorframe and gasped out as it forced the air from you. 

“I promise you, it won’t last. I will damp out that flame and bask in the smoke,” he neared again and you kicked out. He fell to his knees as the force of it had you on your ass. 

You crawled away from the wall as he tried to stand and you grabbed onto his leg and pulled him back down. He slid back to his kneeS and gripped the collar of your coat. You hooked your arm around his neck and he jabbed your stomach, not as hard as he could, but a warning.

You brought your other arm up as you struggled to get a foothold and you managed to push you both back. You fell in tandem into the snow, your arms locked as he forced his fingers under them to keep them from snaking tighter. He was strong and you knew you could only do so much. You had to keep him on the ground.

He elbowed your ribs and you released him sharply. You rolled away from him as you panted and scrambled on your hands and knees. The frigid snow seeped through your jeans and burned your palms. You heard him behind you and you turned as you climbed to your feet unsteadily.

He was half-keeled as he got his feet set and his dark hair hung over his forehead as he glared through the strands. He stood straight and pushed back the mess of tangles and you faced him, ready for another brawl.

“Oh, this will be fun, darling,” he brushed the powder from his suit and his cheek twitched, “You needn’t worry about Barnes, you should be more worried about me.”

He puffed out a breath and spun swiftly, nearly slipping again on the icy walk. He headed back down to the street and you saw the tension between his shoulders as he pulled his jacket straight. He hurried across the road and you turned back to the garage.

It was a brief retreat, a chance to plot, you knew that much. You only had to outlast him and if you were anything, it was stubborn.

[peachscribe]

peach’s summer book list

i had a lot of fun compiling the list of books i read during the 20-21 winter, so i decided i would do a summer one as well! i still have a lot of books i own but haven’t read, so im definitely not lacking in material

if you didn’t see my winter list, how my book list works is basically like this: i read a book that i own but have not previously read, write a short summary immediately after finishing the book, write down my thoughts on the book, and then provide a rating for the book. i also might include background info on why i read this particular book/feelings about the author, but that depends on the book. that’s how each entry works

without further ado, let’s get started!

1. Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith

okay so i absolutely adore another book by andrew smith (written after grasshopper jungle) called the alex crow. it’s one of my favorite books of all time, so naturally i wanted to see if grasshopper jungle would make me feel similarly. just like the alex crow, grasshopper jungle’s plot is. so fucking weird. it stars austin szerba, a teenage polish kid who lives in ealing, iowa, and is often sexually confused regarding his girlfriend shann and his best friend robby. and in ealing, iowa, austin and robby accidentally and unknowingly unleash an unstoppable army of huge six-foot-tall praying mantis bugs that only want to do two things: fuck and eat. and i just have to say: andrew smith’s got an absolutely dynamo writing style. alex crow is similar, where it’s a book about kind of everything all at once, framed in a moment centering around teenage boys. it’s fantastic, and it’s more than a little gross, and i love it. this book made me feel so many things, and i thought austin was such an amazing narrator and main character to identify with. this book has it all: shitty teenage boy humor, fucked up science experiments, and poetic imagery that will make you want to cry. and explicit lgbt characters.

412/10 andrew smith what do you put in your water i just want to know

2. Burn by Patrick Ness

patrick ness has written a plethora of some of my favorite books (such as a monster calls, the chaos walking trilogy, and the rest of us just live here) so when i saw this one in the store i knew it would be a great one. burn is an alternate history fantasy that takes place in 1957 frome, washington, during the height of the cold war, and it begins with a girl named sarah and her father hiring a dragon to help out on their farm. but there’s not just dragons, farm living, and cold war tensions; there’s also a really shitty small town cop, a cult of dragon worshippers and their deadly teenage assassin, a pair of fbi agents, and a prophecy that sarah’s newly hired dragon claims she’s a part of. i think eoin colfer’s highfire was on my winter list, which also featured a story that included dragons and shitty cops, so when i first began burn i thought it was funny to have two books that had both things. you know, if you had a nickel etc etc. but that’s really where the similarities end because burn is entirely it’s own monster (dragon). burn is entirely invested in its world, and its fascinating. not only that, i had no clue where the book would take me next. there were so many surprises and amazing twists that honestly just blew me away. this book also includes beautifully written complicated discussions on family, race, and love - it features interracial and queer romances as the two most prominent romance plots which was such a nice surprise from a book i wasn’t expecting to have that kind of representation. this book is witty, fast-paced, and a very heartening read - i absolutely adored it.

9/10 dragons and becoming motivated by the power of love and friendship are so fucking cool

3. As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann

i hate this book! as meat loves salt is a historical fiction novel which takes place in seventeenth century england, which is going through a grisly civil war. the protagonist, jacob cullen, is a servant for a wealthy household and is engaged to another servant in the house. but due to certain events that are almost entirely jacob’s fault, he flees the house and is separated from his wife. from there, he joins the royal army and meets a kind soldier, ferris, and the two become fast friends. jacob and ferris’s relationship begins to bridge past friendly, and jacob struggles with his homoerotic feelings as well as the growing obsession and violence inside him. also, they try to start a colony. listen, i don’t know how to describe the book because so much happens, but it basically just follows jacob and all the terrible decisions he makes because he is, truly, a terrible person. ferris is kind and good, and jacob is scum of the earth. he sucks so bad. the entire time i was reading this book (which took absolutely so long), all i wanted was for jacob to just get his ass handed to him. i wanted to see him suffer. and it’s not like i just personally don’t like him - i believe the book purposefully depicts him as unsympathetic even though he is the narrator. i did enjoy the very in depth and accurate portrayal of what life would’ve been like in seventeenth century england, and i think it was interesting to read a character that is just the absolute worst person you’ve ever encountered and see him try and justify his actions, so if you enjoy that kind of thorough writing, then this book would be perfect for you. however, i did not see that bitch ass motherfucker jacob cullen suffer enough. i’d kill him with my bare hands.

2/10 diversity win! the worst man on earth is mlm!

4. This Savage Song by Victoria Schwab

i know ive had a friend tell me how great one of schwab’s other book series is, but truthfully i bought this book because the cover is sick as hell and it was on a table in the store that advertised for buy two get one free, i think. something like that. anyway, this savage song takes place in a future in which monsters, for whatever reason, suddenly became real and out for blood in a mysterious event nicknamed the phenomenon. august flynn is one of these monsters, but he takes no pride in that fact and only wants to feel human. kate harker is the daughter of a ruthless man and is trying her hardest to be ruthless, too, but deep down she knows it’s just an act. their city, verity, stands divided, and kate and august stand on either side - but when august is sent on a mission to befriend kate in the hopes of stopping an all out war, the lines begin to blur. this book rules. august and kate are such interesting and dynamic characters, and the narrative is familiar while still being capable of twisting the story around and taking the feet out from under you in really compelling ways. this savage song is part of the monsters of verity duology, and i can’t wait to dive into how the story continues and finishes.

11/10 sometimes you can judge a book by it’s cover

4a. Our Dark Duet by Victorian Schwab

this is the sequel and finale for this savage song and i’d figure i’d update everyone: fantastic ending, beautiful, showstopping, painful.

12/10 loved it and will definitely be keeping an eye out for schwab’s other books

5. White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

oh boy. okay. white is for witching is about a house, and it is about the women who have lived inside of it. when her mother dies abroad, miranda silver begins to act strangely, and there’s nothing her father or her twin brother seem to be able to do about it. she develops an eating disorder and begins to hear voices in the silver family house, converted to a bed and breakfast by miranda’s dad; and she begins to lose herself in the house and the persistent presence of her family legacy. white is for witching switches perspective dizzingly and disorientingly between miranda, her twin eliot, miranda’s friend from school named ore, and the house itself. this story is a horror story as much as it as a tragedy as much as it is a romance as much as it is a bunch of other things. oyeyemi brings race, sexuality, nationality, and family into this story and forces you not to look away. this book is poetry.

(like i mentioned briefly, this book heavily deals with topics of race and closely follows miranda’s eating disorder. read responsibly, and take care of yourselves)

15/10 this book consumed me and i think i’ll have to read it another 10 more times to feel it properly

6. These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

okay. okay. strap in for a ride. these violent delights is a romeo and juliet style story, taking place in glittering 1920’s shanghai. the city stands divided - not only between the foreign powers encroaching on chinese land, but also between the scarlet gang and the white flowers, who are at the height of a generations-long blood feud. juliette cai, heir to the scarlets, has recently returned from four years abroad and is determined to prove herself ruthless enough to lead. roma montagov, heir to the white flowers, is standing strenuously on his place as next in line due to a slip up four years prior and is desperate to keep hold of his title. and in the midst of juliette and roma’s burning history with each other threatening to combust, an unnatural monster lurks in the waters of shanghai, loosing a madness on scarlets and white flowers alike. this book has it all - scorned ex lovers, political intrigue, deadly monsters, and all set on a glamorous backdrop of the roaring twenties. i absolutely was enraptured by this book and the way it plays around the story of romeo and juliet so well that it easily became it’s own monster, but with the punches and embraces of something classically shakespearan. gong does just an absolutely breathtaking job of fitting this fantastical story amid the larger world of shanghai and the real life historical events that had shaken the city to its core. completely immersive and outstandingly heart racing.

17/10 i was chewing on my fingernails for the last thirty pages and will continue to do so until the sequel is released (our violent ends, 16 nov 21)

7. The Antiques by Kris D’Agostino

you ever heard of the american dysfunctional family story? this is most definitely that. at the same time george westfall’s cancer takes a turn for the worse, a hurricane hits the east coast, and suddenly all at once the issues of his health, the hurricane, and all three of his children’s achingly dysfunctional adult lives are crashing into each other. reunited by george’s death, the westfall siblings have to face their grief, each other, and the problems in their own lives they attempted to put on hold while planning their father’s memorial. this is a nice story about grief and loss and love and somehow finding the humor amidst it all.

(this book does include a depiction of an autistic child who does experience several pretty bad meltdowns due to ignorant people around him not understanding how to cater to his needs. im not an authority on what depictions are or are not harmful, but i do believe this depiction is ultimately loving and well-intended.)

7/10 it made me laugh and cry and was generally one of those books that somehow hit you close to home

8. Fierce Fairytales by Nikita Gill

fierce fairytales is a poetry anthology that reimagines classic fairytales from a modern, feminist viewpoint, acknowledging that the line between hero and villain, monster and damsel, are not as clear cut as the classics try to make you believe. this book also includes illustrations done by the author herself, which i think is really cool. my personal favorite story reimagining was the story of peter pan and captain hook, called ‘boy lost’ which looked at how peter and hook’s relationship began and rotted. all in all, i think this collection of stories had a lot of important things to say and said them in frank, easy to understand poetry and prose.

7/10 beautiful message and pretty prose, but at times a little cliche

and that’s all from the summer! my fall semester starts tomorrow, and overall i feel very good about all the reading i did this summer. i even read four other books not on this list for work! so i definitely feel like i made the most out of my time, and im really glad i was able to read so many stories that made me feel a variety of different things

thanks so much for reading this list, and let me know if you read or have read any of these books and tell me what you think of them!

happy reading<3

[worldviewcast]

The Origin of Worldview

So this is going to be a semi-personal, but also a semi-explanation post about alot of the background info regarding Worldview.  Yes it’ll be a long somewhat boring wall of text for many of you, but to ME it’s words I feel need to be said and it would mean the absolute world to me if people would take the time to hear me out.  Even if its only gonna be the five of you that continue on after this. Anyway...

Worldview technically started forming in my mind when I was probably about fifteen. (For reference, at the time of writing this, I’m about half a year to thirty-one) I was really into doing comics, I had done probably a hundred pages of a really dumb fantasy comic I came up with when I was TWELVE, a Sonic fancomic, and every morning on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I would upload my micron inked and colored pencil story about some DnD characters into the school scanner to post on Drunkduck which is probably all still there today. Adventure’s Guild is missed in my heart, for sure.  But in between looking for my first job, the constant writing and doodling I was doing, and my schoolwork I was tossing another idea around in my head. A really DUMB idea, cuz ya know I was FIFTEEN. And I wanted to call it ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’. At the time I was influence by all the dumb anime I was watching and my best friend at the time who always wore black and stood about two feet over me. I don’t know if he’ll ever read this, but trust me if he knew I was talking about this he would recognize this story right away.  Well. My first job came around, along with my post secondary college work, and then a tech school I paid for, and.....life really started to get in the way of development. I was more focused on drawing Adventures Guild and other doodles for a long time, and soon enough taking care of my daughter took precedence over everything, and then I started sewing, and doing conventions....and the idea of ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’ was just stuck in the back of my head. Sitting. Waiting. Forming slowly as it waited for its existence - its time in the sun.  And at some point I decided I wanted Android/Robotic like characters too...some of my FAVORITE series are Kikaider : The Animation and Chobits (the books, not the infants show they try to pass a a fully written anime) - things like that. So I KNEW long before Worldview had a proper name I would be writing robot characters with a twist. But I couldn’t figure out what that twist was, what would make it work. The whole idea was still....building. It needed a push.  Right around the time My Hero Academia came around everyone with a creative mind seemed to be suddenly struck with a similar idea - what if unique powers WEREN’T so unique in a world?  This is fairly common now, but at the start of MHA I remember finding it weird that suddenly every half the new shows out had a whole population of super powered badasses in a world where living daily life with it was more the norm than the exception.  And I remember finding it REALLY weird this all came out the same time I evolving a similar idea for my own thing.... I wish I could prove I was evolving this ideas before I saw em but I can’t. I have a much deeper theory about the evolution of cultural art and how influences drive creative minds to similar conclusions but that’s a LONG mental dive for another day.  ANYHOW.

So my original idea in ‘My Big Brother the Ninja’ was the Ninja would be the weird super power in the normal world.  NOW I wanted the NINJA to be the ‘normal’ one...and the younger sister would be the WEIRD one because she DIDN’T have some sort of power or ability.  I fell in love with this new dynamic and now things were REALLY starting to come together in my mind, what kind of powers were people gonna have, just HOW mundane was it gonna be, how many fantasy elements did I want to have?  Because I already KNEW another element I really wanted to include was modern day Paladins - and YES I WILL be covering modern-day style Paladins in Worldview proper, but this meant the universe needed a Deity system, a hierarchy or pantheon.  And the world just started to grow....but something was still MISSING, the binding, the elements of what all I wanted to do -  Aaaaaaaaaand then came UNDERTALE.  And yes this ENTIRE long post is just me mini ranting about how WV came to be so people can TRULY understand just HOW much is inside MY universe so we can stop tagging it as part of the UT Multiverse please and thank you - it’s not that I don’t UNDERSTAND the confusion, but here is your ultimate ‘for the record’ post regarding mine and @little-noko ‘s personal frustrations. Undertale was obviously a HUGE part of pop culture, personal experiences, my life, MANY of my readers lives, I GET why the emotional connection is there and why its the first thing that comes to mind - but the ONLY part I truly was fascinated by with Undertale was the way the Souls were.  PHYSICAL Souls - an actual magical entity that represented a person - THIS idea.  This was my missing piece.  To say artists get inspiration from other artists is beyond an understatement - even Sans and Papyrus are references to Helvetica, right? If not references, inspired by, or ‘great minds think alike’, whatever your argument there....its not uncommon.  And Souls being PHYSICAL was the element I wanted to play with - the idea I wanted to expand on, and so much more I want to go into detail about but don’t want to go into spoilers yet so I’m not going to - and the absolute CRUX of my frustrations when dealing with ‘WV is just UT with different characters’.  Worldview has.....humans. Only humans, divided into four race. Mechanoid. Masic. Skeleton. Metazoan. (The last one exclusively because I wanted an excuse to draw cute cat girls, so sue me)  A pantheon of Gods. It’s own world map. Special BIOLOGY that I have developed to work specifically with the races I have built. Ability trees (diagram to come, don’t worry, we’re just still working out the kinks).  It’s own countries, nationalities, and even it’s own tangible form of afterlife which I blame watching WAY too much Supernatural on but HEY Reapers are freaking COOL man.  It’s absolutely gut wrenching painful to have people argue with me over a world that I have nurtured and slowly tended to for a good fifteen years...now that it finally, FINALLY gets a chance to exist and be worked on....I feel like the one binding element I finally found and played with and tried to expand on is the ONLY element that people care about. As if absolutely EVERY other element that I want to show just - doesn’t EXIST. We started with Finch because its a good transition from the old projects to the new and it’s the earliest event in the timeline - nothing more than that. But I’m almost starting to feel like that was a mistake because it’s TOO familiar.  There’s no going back now, and thats fine. But it does make me anxious to move on to the next ‘chapter’ we’ll be delving into.  MAN.  I hope that helps clarify a few things.  I love answering questions (those that I can) about  WV...so my ask box is always open.  For those that made it, thanks for listening. :) 

[flowerwrites06]

diamond trail I — myg

Plot: The theft of his most elusive and mystery possession leads to a web of trickery that threatens every large syndicate in the country. (alternative: Yoongis’ prized possession is stolen but he’s not the only gang leader being betrayed)

Pairing(s): Mafia Boss!Yoongi x Consigliere!Y/N

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Mafia | Marriage | Mature Themes/Fluff/Smut

Tags & Warnings: criminal activities, mentions of past abuse (outside of the pair), explicit smut (spanking and very brief anal play), mild violence, coarse language.

Authors Note: it’s here friends!! i’m still a little rusty in terms of writing fanfiction after a while so please be kind lmaoo

A huge thanks to @casuallyimagining​ and @aroseforyoongi​ for helping with the proofreads! 

Gold Dust held patronage of all heads in the underworld, allowing them to orchestrate the most exclusive and grandest auctions. You and Yoongi walked through the vault doors, hands intertwined with one another as two suited guards led you down the velvet lined stairs. Your footsteps silenced amongst the beating music of the club above. Your chest relaxed as soon as the soothing violins and piano touched your ears in the underground facility. Black marble walls and pillars encased you along with the sea of Italian silk suits and satin gowns.

Yoongi huffed at the very sight of them. All of these blank slates were products of a long-running nepotism. He might’ve been the only one alive who succeeded a popular gang leader. Then again, his father lived far too long for his own good and had way too many wives to be considered human.

What annoyed him further was the organization. Only the benefactors received private booths. The non-patrons had to be squeezed in with a potential rival in order to provide more benefits for the ones funding these events.

The suited guards stopped at the front booth on the right. Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek until it almost drew blood when he saw their seating partner.

“Min! Didn’t expect to see you crawl out of your hole.” Kim Namjoon wore the smile of a champion with the attitude of a diseased rat. Since he was part of the three oldest gangs alive, there was much respect to be handed to the man. Except Yoongi had no interest giving him the satisfaction.

So Namjoon made a goal to make his life a living hell.

Namjoons’ eyes flickered over to you, smile softened but gaze sharpened. “The beloved consigliere.” He raked up and down your form. “You look a lot better without business clothes, my lady.”

Yoongis’ grip on your hand tightened as you sat down on the other end of the booth. You pat the back of his hand as a silent comfort.

“Remember why we’re here,” you whispered.

Yoongi nodded. “I know.”

Normally, Yoongi brushed past events of pure greed and showy behaviour. However their syndicate suffered from a planned robbery a week ago. Only one item taken with precision: his mothers’ diamond gun. Everything else was untouched, barely shifted. They knew what they were doing.

You managed to trace it down to Kim Taehyungs’ annual auction. It’ll be natural to assume that Taehyung was the thief but most auction presenters had nothing to do with direct theft. More often than not, they were connected to the thieves to ensure that their place in the web of connections was concealed. Or at least delayed until they could escape to a safe house.

The room darkened; a spotlight shone down the stage. Kim Taehyungs’ lean figure stood proud, adorned in a red silk shirt and his hair curled. A ruby clip glimmered on the side of his head while his rings practically danced on his fingers. “Welcome my beautiful patrons to another friendly exchange of luxuries.” A calculated smile tugged at his lips. “I must say I’ve never seen such variety in a small listing before so this will be one for the ages. The underworld is aware of our rich history, our legends and ancestors who built this country without a trace of credit.”

Taehyungs’ words silenced the crowd to a point where you had to check they were still there.

“Tonight, I have items from each of these legends. Specifically the eight who strengthened that foundation.” Taehyung held a fist up. “Are you all ready?”

An applause indicated their approval earning a satisfied grin from Taehyung.

“Our first item belonged to Don Hayoon of So Pa.” He waved his hand for an assistant to roll the stand into center stage. “A vase made from ox bone and inlaid with gold to create this beautiful marble pattern. Don Hayoon allegedly made it himself during his years of retirement.”

So Pa disbanded eleven years ago due to a police raid in majority of their warehouses but they must’ve missed a few things. Yoongi wondered whether it was taken from the police or the gang itself. The whole retirement story must’ve been a ploy. Don Hayoon had arthritis which is why he had to retire in the first place before embarrassing himself in front of rivals.

Obviously none of these idiots would know that and Taehyung was milking it for what it’s worth.

The price was called and the cards flew up. Anyone with that vase in their house would gain prestige in seconds. It’ll be talked about from all corners of the underworld. Eventually a smug woman in a red suit won the bid.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hold your hand up, Min,” Namjoon spoke. “Considering you’re probably the only person who’s met Don Hayoon.”

“I’ve met him. I’m sure that’s enough for me to go on.” Yoongi landed his hand on your thigh, soft pink chiffon under his rough palm. He squeezed for some kind of comfort and glue to stop him from losing brain cells too early in the night.

“Considering the nature of your parents, I expected you to have more style.”

Nails dents could’ve formed your skin with the way he dug into your thigh. “Darling.” You pulled off his hand.

“Sorry.” Yoongi rubbed the area to somehow soothe it.

“The second item on our list belonged to Don Chun Hei of Mal Pa.” The assistant pushed in the second stand, holding a rose gem necklace which stood on a black velvet altar. “Chun Hei was best known for working closely with the mayor. Her reforms are the very reason these auctions and many other underworld events can be held with elegance and class. This necklace was a gift from the mayor himself. The rose gem is meant to be a culmination of diamond and rose quartz. Whoever made it has long since disappeared but this necklace has carried on this wonderful legacy.”

Chun Hei was someone both you and Yoongi could respect without question. Mal Pa had no age or prestige in the time Chun Hei made a connection to the mayor. She took her simple street gang and turned it into a professional syndicate that still lasted to this day.

You wondered if her descendants knew just the impact she had to the underworld. This item caused a stir amongst the crowd, suffusing the air with an eerie atmosphere of confusion and even anger. As the prices were called out, you noticed two people constantly raising the stakes to the peak until one of them gave up when it stretched too far. Except the one who gained the artefact didn’t look happy. You discovered that the anger came from them. The diamond gun may not have been the only thing stolen.

How many gang leaders was this thief trying to anger?

The power of auctions was the need to be elegant and impressive. Despite a small portion of the crowd knowing what was going on, they couldn’t say anything. Underworld events are where no leader has ultimate power. Everyone had to stay quiet and let the auction proceed.

“The necklace would’ve looked lovely on you, my lady. Perhaps I could buy it off as a gift.” Namjoon rested his hand out on the back of the couch so his fingertips were a breath away from your hair.

“No thank you,” you stated plainly.

If Yoongi didn’t have enough fuel to kill Namjoon before, it was brimming now. Every ounce of patience layered around him so he could sit still on his chair and let the auction go smoothly. He wasn’t going to raise his voice nor his hand first.

“Our third item is a notorious one at best. The famed Sapphire Assassins’ ledger.” Murmurs of recognition spread across the crowd. “Her true name was Mishil, right hand to Don Sungho of Jwi Pa. Sungho was an ambitious gang leader who believed the country’s underworld should have an ultimate master. He anointed himself and hired a professional assassin to kill everyone off on his hit list. Mishil listed all her killings down in this very ledger.”

Excitement coursed through your body seeing the battered old ledger. The blue covers patched with black ink splotches and the pages were tinged brown. You imagined the different ways she could’ve formulated her assassinations; the connections she had to make to be successful in such an elaborate scheme.

“As most of you might be aware, Mishil succeeded in the deaths of many gang leaders. However three gangs were able to execute her and Sungho before chaos could reach its full potential. To this day, no one has ever pulled a deed this vast and destructive. Not a friend to most of our gangs but there is surely a sense of power by having her failed ledger displayed in your home.” Taehyungs’ smirk marked success as soon as he called out for the prices.

Power was a key word to this crowd. While the more hardened members like Yoongi and Namjoon knew it was just a play for sales, Taehyung didn’t relish in the shouting any less.

While your angle wasn’t for power, your fingers still twitched to raise a card. Curiosity tugged at the back of your head, wondering how Mishil managed to gain that many openings and occurrences. Her techniques would’ve been useful in future assignments. All the syndicates you could manipulate for deals and contracts. Getting out of contracts. Anything. So many pieces of information must’ve been overflowing out of that ledger, calling out to you like a siren song. With a small sigh, you calmed the adrenaline pumping through your veins. This auction wasn’t a pleasure trip. You needed to focus.

The ledger was handed off to a man in a navy suit. At best, he would display it on his study like a fool. What a waste.

Reaching into your crystal clutch, you brought out a notepad and pen. If you couldn’t get the ledger now then there is a chance something could be arranged later. The auction was reaching its halfway point which meant the most valuable items are to come now.

“This fourth item belonged to Don Daeshim of Tokki Pa. The gang leader who drove away international syndicates striving to take over the country’s underworld. A bit of a hero. Rumor has it, he took a few drops of blood from each of those international associates and filled this goblet to the top.” Taehyung waved his fingers over the goblet mouth, mesmerizing the crowd like a herd of animals.

You observed the price calling with a brutally sharp eye. It might not seem valuable in the business sense but international associates may have had families and the like. Someone who might want compensation at the right time. You scribbled the description of the one who received the goblet. Thankfully, they had a noticeable scar down their left cheek with a distinguished citrine ring that was only sold by two jewelers.

“I wonder what it’s like having to work for someone you’ve married. Must be a pain hearing requests left to right.” Namjoons’ comment caused another stir in Yoongi but you stayed calm.

“If you think a consigliere simply takes requests then I feel sorry for yours. God forbid they find out they might be worth something more.” You narrowed your gaze.

“The Lady has venom.” Namjoon chuckled. “I mean no insult, of course.”

Yoongi tried to hold in a scoff, biting the inside of his cheek.

Silence spread amongst the three of you as Taehyung announced the fifth item: a gold mask once used to suffocate the Don of Yang Pa so his son could take over quicker. The sixth item was a First Lady’s dress which held at least a kilo of cocaine, hidden in every rhinestone and gem in small portions. It was later confiscated by the police but Gold Dust always knew how to make use of their connections.

Then seventh item caused a stir in Namjoon. For the first time in the night or ever, you noticed a sense of true and pure fury twisting his features.

“Our second to last item is a jade bracelet that belonged to Don Nari of Sutal Pa. A gang as full of mysteries and tragedies as its main rival, Gae Pa. Don Nari was the default leader after a tragic fire struck the Kim family. Leaving her and her young brother the only living descendants.” Taehyung lightly pressed on the bracelet, causing sharp gold spikes to spread out of it. “This was her weapon of choice. People had the habit of grabbing her wrist when they wanted to make a point so she had this bracelet made to show that she was untouched.” He blinked slowly.

“You son of a bitch,” Namjoon whispered under his breath.

“You’re not the only one riled up, Kim. Calm down.” Yoongi glared at Namjoon both as a warning and courtesy nudge to protect himself from embarrassment. “Don’t raise your hand.”

“Fuck off,”

“Namjoon,” Yoongi warned.

Namjoon shifted on his seat, fingers itching to grab onto his gun and shoot the auctioneer right in between his brows.

For once, Yoongi shared his anger. Of all the things they could take from them, they had to target the most precious object tied to a painful memory.

You noted down the buyer immediately. Park Jimin. He was a chain restaurant owner distantly associated with Yoongi but he soon began delving into arts dealing. He should be the easiest one to track down.

Yoongi had been slightly distracted by Namjoons’ downward spiral. His heart jumped before his mind caught up at the sound of his mothers’ name.

“It’s my honor to present to you our final item. The Diamond Gun of Min Areum.”

The gun rested inside a glass case lifted by a velvet lined platform. Lined in gold, encrusted with diamonds, glimmering brighter than the stars in a country sky. Everyone in the audience murmured in excitement, eager to lift their cards for the bidding.

“She was the First Lady of the oldest syndicate alive, Gae Pa. Her life as the wife of Don Min wasn’t pretty and filled with troubles. One day, she took her son to a mysterious jeweler and gave away all her diamond and gold jewelry. See this jeweler specialized in beautifying weapons and he made this priceless work of art. The same gun, Min Areum to shoot down Don Min and take over as Don herself.”

Yoongi could’ve sworn that Taehyung directed a smirk at him. Mocking him of the fact that he had such a prize in his midst. Flailing it right in front of him as a form of public humiliation.

Cards practically flew up to the ceiling in their sheer speed. Prices thrown from the left to right giving Yoongi a headache. He could hear his mothers’ voice, the small purple bruise on left eye as she took him to the jewelry shop every week. It was their only time of peace.

You reached out and touched his thigh, bringing his attention back.

Then a familiar voice brought you both to a still.

“Sold to Kim Namjoon!” Taehyung announced while the crowd huffed and cheered.

Yoongi glared at the man.

“What? You never said I couldn’t buy your shit.” Namjoon relaxed back on the couch, unrelenting in his own glare.

As the auction concluded, Taehyung announced that an afterparty will be held at the top level of Gold Dust. You noticed most of them were ready to jump off their chairs and kill him but he’d already disappeared backstage. Most likely straight to his vehicle so there was no time for anyone to act.

Yoongis’ body radiated a thick air of heat and the glares shared between the two leaders were sharp.

“We’ll settle this where there’s less people, gentlemen. Calm yourselves.” You glanced around at all the patrons and attendees either excitedly murmuring or harshly whispering. It was a strange atmosphere tonight. One can only wish there won’t be any bloodshed.

***

“Are you fucking serious? You know fully well it was stolen from me!” Yoongi growled. Both gang leaders were toe to toe in a dark corner of the club. Others were mingling on their own problems and issues with the auction and some were close to losing their inside voices.

“And I bought it fair and square. Don’t you think it’s a little childish that you’re simply asking me for it?” Namjoon spoke through gritted teeth. “Now get the fuck out of my way. I have business to deal with.”

Yoongi pressed a hand on his chest. “I could give Jimin one word and you’ll never find that bracelet even if it was up your own damn ass. So stay put.”

“I’m the last person you can scare with status, Min. You know this. I’ll snap my fingers—” he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. “—and your wife will be on her knees for me.”

Yoongi pulled out a small silver blade and pressed to Namjoons’ neck. Eyes darkened in fury. Hungry for a taste of his blood staining the floor, for that face to twist in despair.

“Stop it. Both of you.” Your voice struck firm as you pushed them apart. “Don’t you understand why this auction took place?”

Yoongi and Namjoon stared at you in confusion. You sighed in annoyance.

“Someone is trying to play with your minds. Causing you to drop blood so they don’t have to get their hands dirty. Why do you think all those artefacts were dumped into one auction? Where almost all the gangs of this country were attending?” Your eyes flickered from Yoongi to Namjoon. “Doesn’t that sound a little strange? From the naked eye, you’d think they were just silly but clearly—” You gestured at the both of them. “—whatever they’re trying is working. No one knows who the thief is. That causes suspicion and rumors.”

“We start blaming each other for spilling information,” Yoongi continued.

You nodded, relieved that some understanding spread through their faces. “We need to regroup in a neutral zone. Gold Dust isn’t that anymore. Once we find a place and time, we’ll figure what needs to be done. For now, separate.”

The leaders shared another sharp glare at each other before Namjoon walked away. Some of the heads that were turned to them now moved back and Yoongi hid his blade.

“Where’s the fucking restroom?” Yoongi hissed. You took his hand and led him over to the left side of the room, slithering through the crowd.

Two guards were already situated at the doors as Yoongi kept a grip on your hand when you walked into the restroom. The bright lights made him groan in annoyance.

Anyone who saw them enter immediately rushed out. The tension in the auction was so high that nobody wanted to be found near an angry gang leader.

Yoongi leaned forward on the marble sink, breathing ragged and his limbs shaking from anger. The last memory of his mother now rested in someone elses’ hands. Why couldn’t she come up with something less physical? Something that couldn’t be stolen. Namjoon was holding it now. I’ll snap my fingers. He was right. He had the power. There was no ultimate leader to call the shots. Just however reached the flag first. And if he reached first—no. He shook his head. Namjoon wasn’t the problem right now.

He let the water run, wanting the sound to drown any visions or thoughts that made bile reach up to his throat.

“Yoongi,” you muttered, rubbing his arm. “You okay?”

“I tried—I kept my cool but—when you mentioned you—” he rubbed his face roughly. “I—fuck—I could’ve killed him. I could’ve killed him.”

“But you didn’t.” You caressed the back of his head. “It’ll be okay. I know it feels like all the strings that surfaced are jumbled but they’ll come together. We’ve been through much worse than this, okay?”

Yoongi sighed. “I remembered her for the first time in years.” He chuckled sadly. “I thought I lost those memories a long time ago.”

You felt your eyes burn at his voice cracking. Yoongi never talked about his mother. There were only vulnerable moments in the dead of night when Yoongi couldn’t sleep. That was the first time he ever mentioned her. The first time she saw tears in his eyes. “We’ll get it back. No matter what, I promise.” That promise engraved in your mind.

***

The next morning, you rose in nothing but your champagne silk robe and sat at your study. Handwriting letters until your fountain pen emptied of ink and the steaming black coffee turned tepid. Park Jimin held the Kim familys’ prized jade bracelet and Namjoon held the Min Familys’ diamond gun. Clearly, the scandal spread further than the two gangs but your current priority is ensuring a war won’t break out between Namjoon and Yoongi.

Jimins’ death would also result in only chaos.

Gold sunlight gleamed through the white transparent curtains, beaming rays reflecting against the dark mahogany of the study table. Despite the mess in your brain, the morning itself was peaceful. You made sure Yoongi slept a few hours longer than normal so his daily alarm had been temporarily disabled.

Everytime he drowned in his emotions, Yoongi worked himself to the bone as if to make up for his vulnerability. You knew that would only taint the progress they had so far on the investigation.

You sent the letters out through different messengers. They will be followed through an underground trail until it finally reached the two gang leaders. Cupping your now hot cup of coffee, you let out a deep breath, emptying your lungs of the stress as you looked out the painted window of your study.

There was still time left to relax before they started work. Giving the empty cup to a maid, you walked back up to your bedroom.

Yoongi stirred underneath the white, cotton sheets. Bars of gold light shining down his pale skin through the blinds and a cool air kissed your flesh.

Door locked, you padded closer and gently climbed onto the bed. Yoongi draped a tattooed arm over your waist with a drawling hum under his breath.

“Where’d you go?” His voice vibrated through the fabric of the bed, cheek pressed against the pillow and raven hair covered his eyes.

“I sent letters out to the leaders for a meeting.” You kept your voice soft, caressing the dog silhouette on his arm.

Yoongi groaned in annoyance. “I really don’t wanna talk to that asshole. Can’t we do it another time?”

“The most important thing in the world to you has been taken. This is the meeting that’s going to help you get it and you’re going to back down?”

Yoongi rubbed his face before staring at you. “The most important thing in the world to me is lying down right here.”

You smiled, fingers tracing his chest. “The second most important then.”

“That’ll be our dogs.”

You chuckled. “Darling, you know you want it back. This is also going to prevent any brawl between Jimin and Namjoon.”

Yoongi hummed in agreement. In the moment of silence, he reached out and cupped your cheek. You leaned down and kissed him. You moved down, peppering kisses on his jawline and neck.

Yoongi let out a shaky sigh as your lips grazed his chest, gentle brushes against the tender skin where his prior wounds used to be. Trailing your tongue down his torso, the blanket slid off the edges of the bed.

Your hand reached down and gently cupped his crotch, earning a hiss from the man. Yoongi grabbed onto your hair, breaking the kiss so he could look at you. You graced him with a smile. Biting down your lips, you descended down his stomach. Slow pecks down his torso as your fingers hooked the hem of his boxers.

Pulling down the soft material, the tightening member sprung up, blushing at the tip. With another smile, you wrapped your lips around the tip and swallowed the length until it disappeared into your mouth. You closed your throat around his tip before pulling back. Yoongi hummed. Heat exuded from his body blocking out the cool breeze of the air conditioner, adrenaline seeping through his exhaustion.

Spit dribbled down your chin as you took his length again, bobbing you head. Your free hand wrapped around the base, squeezing until you heard a whine. Yoongi fisted the sheets and the other hand buried in your hair. Madness clouded his mind watching your head bouncing on him, drooling at the edges of your mouth and tears glossing your eyes.

Fire burning in the pit of his belly, he held onto both sides of your head and thrusted into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat making you whimper. He felt the tightness of his release just hearing the sound of your gagging. The way you obediently stayed still as he fucked your throat. Your panties felt heavy and hot with your arousal, desperately needing to be touched. One hand snuck under your robe, rubbing the soggy material.

Yoongi pulled his length out, enjoying the way you tried to catch your breath before staring up at him in tears. Pulling you back up, he flipped you both around until your body was bent over the soft bed, cheek pressed against the sheets. Pushing up your robe and pulling down your panties down to your knees, he positioned himself at your dripped entrance. Without another warning, he pushed himself in. The sheer squelch and stretch could’ve had you unraveling in seconds.

Vulnerabilities of the early morning had you dripping and softened to the slightest touch of ecstasy. Yoongi shared the same impatience as he fucked into you. Barely any remorse, arousal splattering at every thrust. Nectar dripped through the expensive sheets as the bed shifted from his movements. He grabbed your shoulder to push in deeper until the soft walls of your cervix hugged his tip.

Your moans and his heavy breathing melded together in a melody that reverberated throughout the bedroom. He nudged a thumb through your rim, pushing and hooking before pounding into you again. You fell full and overwhelmed, wanting to explode and fall apart.

You gripped onto the sheets until her nails dug into her own palms. Yoongi pushed your dress up further, caressing your back before smacking your bottom. Another whimper left your lips. He smacked it again.

Yoongi turned you around, lifting you onto his lap. Your back rested on the wood headboard as your arms wrapped around his neck. Sleeves of your robe drooped down your shoulders, barely hanging onto your body. Arousal squirted out of you making both of you laugh. Yoongi let out a blissful sigh as he quickened his pace. The headboard could’ve cracked from the pressure, breathing short and rapid like the speed of his thrusts. Lips latched on the curve of your neck as the pleasure trembled through you.

Before he could mutter anything, you felt the warm liquid burst inside you. Filling your womb until it spilled through the sheets. Yoongi snuck his hand between your legs, pushing you to the edge as your lips barely brushed against each other.

Bliss burst at the seams, ricocheting through every limb until your legs trembled, clasping tight around his hips. Yoongi kissed your jawline and your temple. “Fine.” He breathed out. “One meeting.”

You giggled as your breathing tried to catch up. “Good.”

next chap >> 

[90gemini]

Falling Up 🌇 Steve Rogers x Reader AU

Summary: A meet cute on a morning train between pediatric intern Steve and reader.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: big crowds, just too much fluff ngl

A/N: hope this makes you smile, i really love this AU, might be a part 1 of a whole series:)

Every single morning, as if on cue, approximately two minutes before my train leaves the station near my apartment, I come to the realization that if I do not get into full sprint mode right that second, I will miss my train and then be late to my first class and then have to walk in embarrassed while everyone is already inside and then proceed to feel embarrassed over it the entire day. So, considering the fact that I never seem to make myself leave the house just a few minutes early, for the past three years that I have been going to college, almost every morning I run into the train the last moment before the doors close completely out of breath, and have to subtly work on composing myself much longer than I am comfortable to admit.

Yet today, without even realizing, I got out of my apartment solid seven minutes earlier than usual. My roommate and I were so engaged in our conversation about the events of last nights party so we walked out together still invested in the drama which left me pleasantly surprised with the time I was left to spend before my train leaves after we went our separate ways. The extra time opened a whole lot of opportunities for me, almost made me believe I should wake up earlier every morning and not leave for class at the last possible moment. So, with the 420 extra seconds I got today, I managed to actually dig my earphones out my bag, plug them in and wait for the train with the sounds of my morning playlist filling my mind.

Inside the train, when I wasn’t preoccupied by catching my breath but also, even more importantly, focusing on not making it too obvious I was out of my breath, I became very much aware of my surroundings, noticing everything and everyone around me.

There was a girl sitting down right across from where I was standing, she looked about my age and she held a little baby in her arms, slowly rocking it and I noticed the way she was looking totally spent but the moment her baby made this cute laughing sound, a smile spread on her face completely overshadowing the exhaustion in her eyes. Next to the door was an older woman not so subtly judging everyone who was sitting down and has not offered her to sit and right next to the door was a man sitting down and sleeping like a log. I had the urge to wake him up and ask him when he has to get down or if he has already missed his stop, but in all honesty, it was too early in the morning for me to be considerate like that. While continuing to carelessly look around, my eyes landed on something that opened drawers in my memory I did not even know existed.

It was a book cover. A simple white background featuring a boy with frizzy hair who was flying over a drawn-on city with the words ‘Falling Up’ in the middle. So many moments of my dad reading poems from that book to me before bed when I was a kid came up and instantly forced a smile on my face.

In my head, I started reciting the words to my favorite poem from that book, remembering my dad teaching me how to read with those poems when my eyes fell on the arm holding the book and the man attached to it.

And God, was I thankful for the boosted-up heating in the train this morning because that made him take off his leather jacket and throw it over his arm, leaving only a thin, too tight white shirt to cover his upper body and it worked amazing for me that the shirt wasn’t doing its job well.

I heard the sound of the door opening and saw way too many people try to make their way into the train making it way more crowded which pushed the mystery man to move closer to me. Not as close as I wanted though.

My mind was focused solely on him that at one point I wasn’t even aware what station we were at and have I maybe missed mine, but I found myself not caring at all. The point my eyes landed on his face I was basically addicted. His hair was a gorgeous mess, a bit outgrown but looking so good. And, oh my God, his eyes. I was so upset I am only seeing them under the fluorescent light of the subway because I am positive that it would be an out of body experience seeing them under the sunlight.

At that moment I was sure he was the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on and was already cursing myself because I knew I was too nervous to talk to him and will regret that forever.

His lips would occasionally move into a small, barely noticeable grin while he was reading and every once in a while, his tongue would go over his lips leaving them all full and glistening which led to a whole new set of unholy thoughts entering my brain. And his fingers, the way he flipped over the pages was just so-

‘’May I help you somehow?’’ I was snapped out of my trance by his voice and met his eyes that were looking into mine with the coldest, most unimpressed expression as if he was in front of the most annoying person to ever grace the Earth.

‘’Shit, sorry,’’ I apologized quietly and pulled out one earphone to hear him better because no matter how rude it looks he is going to be right now, his voice was just heavenly. ‘’I zoned out when I saw that book.’’ I pointed to the book in his hand and his eyes followed the direction my finger was showing as if he was surprised I wasn’t staring at him but at the book. I was most definitely staring at him though, but I don’t plan on revealing that. ‘’My dad used to read it to me when I was a kid so just seeing the cover brought back too many memories. Sorry.’’ I said in a soft voice and gave him a forced smile hoping he was not going to talk to me again because I really don’t want to be yelled at by the most attractive man alive at 7.23am on a Tuesday in the subway.

‘’You know this book?’’ his voice broke the short-lived silence between us, making my head snap up to look at him again and I was met with a much softer face adorning an adorable smile. ‘’You must think I’m so weird for reading poetry for children.’’ He let out a small laugh which was, without exaggeration, the greatest sound I have ever heard in my life.

‘’No, I think it’s cute.’’ A sly smirk found its way on my face as I felt my usual confidence come back now that I knew he wasn’t planning on yelling at me.

‘’So, you think I’m cute?’’ The smirk on his lips, on the other hand, was not as subtle as mine was as he turned more towards me, quickly closing the book and focusing his eyes on my face.

‘’I didn’t say one thing about you being cute, I was talking about the book.’’ I lied to keep my cool even though cute truly wasn’t the first word that came to my mind when looking at him. It would be something more in the neighborhood of I-would-drop-on-my-knees-for-you-right-this-momentor whatever.

‘’Okay, so you don’t think I am cute?’’ he leaned closer and licked his lips instantly sending shivers down my spine. This man is too much for me to handle right now.‘’Because I think you are really cute.’’ He whispered loudly enough only for me to hear and moved away a bit to fully appreciate my flustered expression because he obviously was aware of the exact effect he had on me.

‘’Well, I guess you aren’t that bad yourself.’’ The fact that I was not literally falling apart in front of this god cosplaying as a man is still not something I can understand. ‘’And thank you.’’ Saying that my voice got super quiet, and I could see him grin proudly at my reaction.

‘’You are welcome,’’ he didn’t finish that sentence and looked at me asking for my name.

‘’Y/n.’’

‘’Y/n.’’ he repeated and stepped closer to me with an excuse of letting someone else pass and giving them space. ‘’That is a real pretty name.’’ I smiled to say thank you and looked at my feet for a second to get myself together.

I didn’t even run to catch this train yet I’m still out of breath.

‘’I am Steve by the way.’’ He stretched out his free hand in my direction but not for one second broke the eye contact between us. ‘’It’s so nice to meet you, Y/n.’’ God, just to hear him say my name was killing me.

‘’Nice to meet you too, Steve.’’ I connected my hand with his much larger one and was painfully aware of the fact he must have heard the soft sound I made the second my skin first touched his.

‘’So,’’ he continued while slowly pulling his hand from mine. ‘’do you like poetry in general, ‘’he lifted the arm with the book and nodded towards it. ‘’or is it just this one book you like?’’ he asked with so much interest in his voice making me absolutely thrilled he was keeping the conversation going.

‘’I love poetry.’’ I kept my answer short because forming decent sentences was a though job while looking at this man and seeing the way he was looking at me.

‘’What kind?’’ he adjusted in his spot somehow that he was even closer to me, leaving basically no space between us, yet to everyone else it seemed normal because the morning rush in the New York City subway never was famous for the spaciousness.

‘’About love.’’ I said softly and witnessed his expression changing from the cocky, overconfident one he had on, to a completely soft one.

‘’Same here.’’ He replied and as if he can do it on cue, looked even more deeply into my eyes. ‘’I like reading about how people feel things I have never felt, it lets me to feel the emotion without risking being hurt.’’ He confessed to me and I couldn’t believe a guy that has such a hard exterior is ready to share that much emotion after talking to a stranger in a train for only a few minutes. But I was thanking all the gods he was.

‘’That’s much deeper than my reason for loving it.’’ A small smile appeared on his face as he looked at me to continue. ‘’I just like reading about love and watching movies about love and basically everything about love. Makes me feel all warm around the heart.’’ He let out a small laugh reminding me why it’s my new favorite sound. ‘’That must sound so cheesy.’’

‘’I don’t think it’s cheesy. I think like it is really nice to love love.’’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘’It’s cute.’’

‘’So you are calling me cute?’’ I looked at him with a raised eyebrow as he let out a huff once again leaning all into my personal space.

‘’I am. I have once before too.’’ He whispered near my ear and I know he knew just what he was doing to me.

‘’What poets do you like the most?’’ he moved away leaving me upset over not feeling his breath on my neck anymore.

‘’I don’t read a lot in English.’’ I fumbled with the edge of my jacket and lowered my eyes to focus on my boots because his face was way too distracting. ‘’My dad is not from here and I got the gene for loving poetry from him so most of the things I read are in his mother tongue because it’s really the only way to keep myself from forgetting it.‘’ Making a mental note to call my dad tonight because it’s been too long, I suddenly became extremely aware that I am sharing so many personal information about me with a random man I met on the subway. ‘’So yeah, most of the poets I read, never got international fame so you unfortunately didn’t have a chance to hear of them.’’ I felt a dash of electricity go through my body when he put his hand under my chin tilting it up so we can once again face each other.

‘’Don’t hide that gorgeous face doll.’’ Dear Lord, I can’t believe I might actually die on a train because of a hot, poetry reading guy. ‘’I’d love to read some of that poetry you like if it is translated.’’

‘’I don’t know if any of it is translated but you can check, I can write down some of the names for you.’’ I said quickly really happy that he wants to read something I will recommend, still recovering from that ‘gorgeous’ comment.

‘’I don’t have anything you can write it on, we can just-‘’

‘’Oh, I have a piece of paper to write it on to, it’s no problem.’’ I interrupted him while flashing him another smile and started digging through my bag for pen and a paper only to have his hand stop mine making me look at him with confusion written all over my face.

‘’I was thinking something more in the lines of you writing your number in my phone,’’ he took his phone out his pocket and directed it at me. ‘’then I can text you and we can meet up so you can tell me more about those poets and maybe translate some for me on the spot if you want to.’’ The smile was evident on his face when I took the phone out his hand and started writing my number into it.

‘’I would really like that, Steve.’’ I gave him his phone back with a smile a bit too big for the cool persona I was trying to present myself as.

‘’Well, I am really looking forward to it, Y/n.’’ he returned the big smile and focused his eyes on my face once again.

‘’Can I ask you something?’’ I looked at him curiously.

‘’Anything, doll.’’

That nickname is going to kill me.

‘’How come you are reading poetry for children?’’ he left out a chuckle and gazed over the book in his hand.

‘’There are two reasons, actually.’’ He shifted from one leg to another and started talking kind of nervously. ‘’Firstly, this book is something I always come back to for some reason. My grandma bought it for me when I was just a kid and I reread it for too many times, so I always go back to it because it’s safe. Something like playing Friends in the background because there is nothing else to watch but it always makes you feel good, you know?’’ I nodded and he continued. ‘’Second is that currently I am interning at the pediatric wing at the hospital downtown and kids love me reading these poems to them so I always find a few I think they would like the most when I am getting to work in the morning.’’

‘’That is really amazing, Steve.’’ I put my hand on his forearm and looked at him with so much affection in my eyes. ‘’Those kids must feel really special having you read to them, it’s really heartwarming you do that even though you don’t have to.’’

‘’They are going through too much shit, if I can make it any better for them, I will.’’ How pathetic is it that talking about kids with this guy I met literally minutes ago, makes me think about having his kids?

‘’That is really too sweet.’’ I had plans on saying so much more to him, but I heard the automatic voice announce how my station is next. ‘’Shit I have to go; this is my stop.’’

‘’Oh.’’ He said and I swear I could hear some disappointment in his voice. ‘’I guess I will see you again?’’ he asked as if he is not sure if that is going to happen.

‘’You most definitely will see me again.’’ I looked at him fondly again and I don’t even know what force gave me the confidence to do so, but before making my way to the door I got on my tip toes and kissed his cheek.

‘’Bye, Steve. See you soon.’’ I said while walking away from him but still keeping my eyes on his as I saw him put his hand on the place I kissed him with a small smile on his face.

‘’See you soon, Y/n.’’ Was the last thing I heard before exiting the train, completely sure that I won’t be able to focus today in class.

But I don’t mind.

really hope you enjoyed this, any comment on it would truly mean a lot!<3

[pascalscenarios]

JUST THE WAY YOU ARE (Ricky Hauk x Reader)

Just The Way You Are

Scenarios Series

Ricky Hauk x Reader

Summary: Ricky feels as if he needs to change to keep up with your lavish life

Warning: Mentions of an abusive parent, social classes

Words: 1982

Author Note: Based on a scenario from my twitter. Ricky Hauk is so cute ugh! Enjoy! - K 

You first met Ricky when your car broke down on the side of the road. You managed to get to a payphone and look up in the yellow pages to see if you could get a tow truck down to where you were located. The first number you found was for Al’s Service Station.

After calling and waiting for 20 minutes, Ricky had come with a tow truck, wearing a mechanic jumpsuit and a red baseball cap worn backward.

“Hey, I’m Ricky” He greeted you quickly, then went straight to hooking up your car.

You give him a sweet smile introducing yourself.

“Thank you for coming- I don’t know what happened. One minute I was driving, next thing, my started smoking and stopped running”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll take a look when we get back to the shop”

You thought Ricky was SO cute. He had gorgeous brown eyes that you ever saw.

On the car ride to the shop, you tried your best to make conversation with him. He didn’t say much. He was quiet and reserved. A man of few words.

You and Ricky had different upbringings. You have a perfect life. You came from a wealthy family and live in an affluent part of town. You could have anything you wanted. Ricky on the other hand had an abusive father growing up who is no longer in his life. He and his younger brother Joey were raised by a single mother and they struggled financially. They lived off paycheck to paycheck. Unlike you, Ricky couldn’t have the things he wished or dreamed for.

Ricky was hesitant around you. He knew how rich people were. One wrong move, or if you ended up saying something they found offensive, its cuffs slapped around his wrist.

He was already in a shitty mood and didn’t feel like talking. He got his two-week notice from Al that he was being laid off and his mom was still pretty ticked off at him thinking about the possibility of college, leaving her and his younger brother joey behind to fend for themselves. He didn’t need any more tension in his life.

Getting to the shop, he got to work on figuring out what was wrong with your fancy convertible. He popped open the hood of your car, looking around and fidgeting with different parts.

“Sometimes wrong with the engine. It’s gonna take an hour or two to fix. You might wanna call someone to come pick you up and come back later” he states.

“I’ll just wait, no biggie” you shrug.

He cocked his eyebrow at you. Were you serious? Why would someone like you willingly want to stay in a run-down part of town he thought. “You sure? We got a phone by the register-” he motions towards the desk

“I’m sure. I don’t mind waiting” you smile.

“Alright, suit yourself” turns his back towards you, crunches his face in confusion. He thought you were strange for deliberating staying.

You could have called someone to pick you up, but the truth is, you waited to stay to get to know Ricky and you weren’t in a rush to get home.

...

Ricky started to warm up to you after a while, making conversation with you as he worked on your car. You were sweet and you seemed different from the normal rich people he dealt with and he liked that. You treated him as an equal, not as someone who was below you.

After talking about anything and everything random things, you left him to focus on fixing your car. You probably irritated him. You wandered around the shop, exploring the different parts, tools, and old materials stashed around the garage.

Under a pile of greasy rags, you noticed a black leathered book. You opened it up to find writing inside. They were poems. Beautiful yet heart-wrenching poems. You were amazed by each one as you continued to flip the pages.

“Alright, your cars- hey!” Ricky quickly pulls out the rag from his back pocket, whipping the grease from his hands, and walking towards you.

He takes the books from your hand, closing it shut.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean- did you write those?”

He signs looking down at the book.

“Yeah… I did”

“They’re amazing! Do you like poetry?”

He nods. “Yeah, I love it.”

“I love writing! I’m majoring in journalism at Redding. My parents don’t see a future in it though. They want me to have a ‘real career’, whatever that means” you roll your eyes.

“Poems and writings are more of a hobby…I was thinking about taking a writing course down at Redding University. I went to go check a class out but I don’t know… thinking about it.”

“If you love and are passionate about writing and poetry, go for it. That’s what my grandma used to say. You’ve got a gift, Ricky.” You smile.

He changes the subject ”Uh your cars done- we should start it up, see if it’s running” he tosses the book on the side on top of an old crate and walks with you over his car.

You slide into your car, putting the key into the ignition, the engine roaring again.

“Ah! Thank you so much!” You get out of the car and hug him tightly. He was taken back by your hug, but he smiled and wrapped his arms around you.

“Here,” You said handing him money.

“Thanks,” he stuffed it in his pocket.

“It was nice meeting you, Ricky” you smile.

“Drive safe, if you have any trouble, just come by” …

“Ricky!” You shout coming back a couple of days later. He was laying on a creeper and rolled himself out from underneath the car he was working on. “Hey!” he sits upright, grabbing a towel from his pocket and wiping his hands. He gets up walking towards you.

“You alright? Your cars not giving you any trouble is it?” He says, continuing to wipe his hands.

“No, I came to see you actually.” You start blushing slightly.

“Me? Can you see me?” he points to himself in disbelief.

“Yeah, I wanted to bring you this” you hand him a book. “As a thank you”

He stuffs the towel back in his pocket, taking the blue canvas-covered book from your hands.

He brings it to flip through the pages, noticing they were filled with poems.

“It’s a book of poems. I’ve had it since I was little, but I wanted you to have it”

“What?- No I can take this-”

“It’s inspired me a lot, maybe it will spark something in you”

“Look this is nice in all, but I-”

“Don’t argue with me and just take the book!” you laughed.

He smiled “Alright, alright…” he chuckled. “Thank you”

“Bye” you waved towards him walking back to your car.

“Wait! Before I go-” he is getting a little shy now. “Do you maybe you want to hang out sometimes? We could go catch a movie or something do else- or if you don’t wanna hang out that's fin-”

“Are you asking me out?” you cocked his eyebrow at him

“Y-yeah…if that's okay”

A giddy smile appeared on your face, you took the pen from the front pocket of this jumpsuit, taking his greasy stained hand, and scribbled your number down.

“You better call me, or I'm just going to have to come back here and find you” you laugh.

And since then, you and Ricky have been inseparable ever since.

…

You and Ricky were friends at first, but eventually the more the two of you started spending time together, you both started falling for each other.

You had brought him home to meet your friends and family. They were disapproving of you dating a guy from the wrong side of the tracks, but you didn't care what they thought about the two of you. Under the tough and hard exterior that protected him from outsiders, he was sweet, loving and protective towards his family, thoughtful, hard-working, and intelligent.

After meeting your friends and family, Ricky realized who he was and where he came from wasn’t going to be good enough for you… or in this case your friends and family. He was so out of his element and stuck out like a sore thumb in your world, and everyone noticed. And it wasn’t just the fact he was underdressed, but the fact they have accomplished so much, and here he was financially unstable, not going to school, and jobless. He needed to change if he wanted to keep up with you and the people in your life.

You didn’t even have to try with his family. Just like Ricky, his mother and brother had to warm up to you first. His mother wasn’t sure of your intentions, but once she saw how you two were together, you gained her trust and she welcomed you with open arms. Joey liked you from the moment you told him that you loved macaroni and cheese.

After Ricky had met your friends and family, you saw a change in him. You had no idea what was going on. He was like a whole different person, acting like the snobby people you grew up with.

You brought him to another family event. He was dressed up fancy, which he looked very handsome but it wasn’t him, that wasn’t your Ricky and introduced himself as Richard?

The whole night you watched him not lie about himself and laugh at jokes you knew he didn’t find funny.

This wasn’t your Ricky.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah sure, excuse us” he smiles at your parents' friends.

You walk outside to the garden and turn to face him.

“What the hell is going on?” you question.

“What do you mean?”

“For the past several weeks, you haven't been acting like yourself. That’s not you in there. I don't know who the hell is standing in front of me, because surely this isn’t my Ricky. Where’s the guy I fell in love with? A mechanic who loves and has a passion for poetry…”

He noticed how upset you were. Tears forming in your eyes. He thought this would make you happy.

He sighs. He couldn’t keep up his charade. “I just..” he pauses. “After meeting your friends and family…I realized I’m not good enough for you. I don’t belong in your world. I’m from the opposite side of town, I’m from a single-parent and low-income household. All these people see right through me...they see me as nothing- I just thought if I changed-“

“Ricky” You cup his face in your hands. Your thumbs stroking his cheeks.

“You don’t ever have to change who you are for me! I see you! I know who you are, I know your heart. I don’t care about your past or where you come from. Who you are as a person means way more to me than your upbringing and how much money you have. I love me just the way you are.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course...With every fiber in me...I love you” You kiss him softly.

You both pull away, your foreheads resting against each other. “Let’s get out of here, please,” he says.

“Where do you wanna go?” you asked.

“God anywhere but here” he laughed. “How about dinner near your place, the one you took me to on our first date,” you asked. “I feel like eating a greasy burger, fries, and a milkshake.”

He laughed, “alright”

“Okay, we better hurry up before my parents try to stop us” you chuckle.

“They’re going to kill me...they don’t like you being out on my side of town so late,” He says, taking your hand as you quickly exit, using the side gate.

“They can get over it and besides I’ll be okay because I'll be with you.”

MT // @wifeofdindjarin @icanbeyourjedi @sara-alonso@greeneyedblondie44 @hb8301​  @alberta-sunrise @spacenerdpascal @ryleyrooroo @reader-s-cantina

[blog4snape]

What if I Meant it? (2)

Pairing: (young) Severus Snape (M) x Reader (F) 

Genre: Fluff with some soft angst

Rating: Citrus (very safe for work)

Summary: A follow-up from the previous chapter. After Severus leaves your classroom, you notice he left his book behind.

Warnings: *spoilers* invasion of privacy

Word Count: 1.7K

Date Written: 9/10/2020

~~~~

June 18th, 1978

After Severus left your classroom in a huff, you sighed, turning your gaze over to the indentation he had left in the pit. He had forgotten his book. You pulled yourself up from your chair and crossed the room to the fortress of pillows, gingerly picking up the discarded item. The book opened naturally to an outlined message, the words smudged from constant touch. Several pages were folded into the shape of a heart with notes written hastily into the inner margins. Curious, you squinted your eyes trying to read the blotched and scribbled writing in the inner corner of the book. Your face flushed, immediately snapping the book shut and holding it farther away from you.

After a moment of collecting yourself, you stared down at the cover of his book. It was an outdated divination book, one he must have gotten from a secondhand book shop for next to nothing. ‘But then again,’ you thought to yourself, ‘all of divination is quite outdated.” You scratched your scalp. 

In your syllabus and throughout the first week of classes, you had expressed that there was no need for any of your students to buy the books. You didn’t require any of your students to purchase divination books, as most of the lessons you taught were hands-on anyway and the books were frankly full of rubbish. Tracing a finger over the worn-out cover, you smiled softly to yourself. Severus was an excellent listener--it couldn’t have been a mishearing--he must have taken an interest in the subject to go out of his way to purchase a divination book. 

‘Or in you.’ The words floated in your head, reminding you of the notes you had just seen scratched into the book still in your hands. 

You sighed, laying in the pit. It was still warm from where Severus had been resting, and you caught a hint of the scent of pine and lavender that would tend to cling to him. You opened the book once more, flipping through the notes he had written.

“That dunderhead Potter wasn’t paying attention to the lesson on Ichthyomancy. He got slapped by the fish we were working with today-”

You laughed, remembering the giant trout that smacked James Potter’s face last week when he decided to mess with it during your lesson after your instruction not to. “You deserved it, Potter,” you laughed, causing other students to follow your footsteps. You said it then and you’d say it again now. 

“-It was pretty great, even the professor laughed at him. She has a cute laugh.” 

As your eyes traveled further down the page, seeing what Severus thought of your laugh made it halt in your throat. Your cheeks burned as you continued to read the comments he wrote. The majority of all of the writing was about divination class- most of them were notes he had written from the lectures. You allowed yourself to have a new teacher’s proud grin, seeing that he was getting a lot out of your lessons. But as you kept turning pages, you found yourself appearing in the margins more and more. Not all of the words were about you, but many of them mentioned you in some way or another. 

‘I told her I had taken quite a liking to ferns. The next week she waved me over after class with a huge smile on her face. She looked so excited. She gave me a tiny fern plant whose sparse fronds had yet to unfurl.’ 

Next to the note was a small doodle of a baby fern. You grinned, it was the cutest drawing you’ve ever seen.

‘She tutored me after class today. She told me to “keep up the good work” and hugged me afterward.’

You nodded, glad to help your students feel more confident in their abilities and glad that Severus Snape was one of them.

‘She baked us biscuits because we all got high marks on the test last week. They tasted good.’

You smiled, happy to know your students liked your gifts. For every test they aced, you would give your students biscuits as a reward. You figured the upperclassmen deserved a treat every now and then, as they’re usually stressing about the OWLs and their NEWT classes.

‘She has pretty eyes.’

Your smile faded. You had to read that line again. You adjusted the book in your hands, moving one hand to your temple. Were you reading that right? 

‘She held me while I cried. It was all I’ve ever wanted. I want her to hold me again.’

‘She doesn’t want to tell me about who she saw that night. But, she didn’t ask me about the werewolf. So I guess I’ll stop asking her. For now.’ 

That night a boggart was in your classroom. You bit your index nail, images of your boggart pressing into your mind. With all that had been happening lately, you didn’t even realize he had stopped asking you but you instantly felt gratitude blossom in your chest. You read the past two notes again, feeling regret at the way you handled the situation. You wished you had been harsher. Any other teacher wouldn’t have given in to his demands. But he wasn’t just your student--he was your old friend.  

‘Her hands are soft.’

Was he just your friend? Your heart thumped, wondering if he only thought of you as his friend, also.

‘I like her plants. She’s got a bunch all over the classroom. Whenever I ask her about one, she gets so excited and tells me all she can about it. I already knew most of it, but I haven’t the heart to interrupt her. I like when she gets passionate about something, and the way she rambles about plants is cute.’

The note was surrounded by small drawings of the plants around your classroom. You stroked the ink outlines of the leaves with an appreciative grin. He was rather talented.

‘She’s so cute when she’s setting something on fire.’

Despite the flush on your cheeks, you chuckled a bit. Divination allowed you to set a lot of things on fire, and sometimes you seemed just a bit too eager. ‘So are you,’ you murmured, thinking of Severus’ passion for learning.

‘She smiled at me today and told me something. I was too focused on her mouth to remember what she said.’ 

You absentmindedly stroked your lips. You took a moment to swear at yourself- urging yourself to stop reading this book, to stop reading Severus’ private feelings, and to stop feeling your own feelings, but you just kept going. 

‘She named one of her plants, “Snargs.” I don’t know why, because it wasn’t even a Snargaluff, but it made me chuckle anyway.’

You smiled at the mention of your plant. Next to the note was a drawing of Snargs, your forever-flowering cactus with the name ‘Snargs’ written in a curly font above the plant. You looked up, seeing Snargs sitting on the high windowsill with his petals dancing in the soft summer breeze. You blew a kiss to him, placing his weekly watering schedule at the back of your mind as you kept reading.

‘She gave me a gift last Christmas. It was a new bag for my books. I saw her staring at the holes in my old bag the month before. The box didn’t have a sender, but I knew it was her. I could smell her perfume on it and it was her handwriting on the note inside.’

Embarrassed, you scratched the inside of your arm. You tried to be sneaky about your gift but it was certainly difficult getting anything past someone as observant as Severus. The two of you didn’t participate in the holiday’s secret santa event, but you could tell he desperately needed a new bag. His previous bag looked a century old, full of holes and nearly falling apart at the seams. His materials constantly fell out of his bag, and you had grown sorrowful every time he had to backtrack with downfallen eyes and a red face to retrieve his dropped items. You knew he didn’t want your pity, and you were afraid if you gave the bag to him in person he’d reject it, so you decided to be as anonymous as possible. You were glad he decided to use it anyway despite knowing where it came from in the end. Smiling, you wondered if he’d accept the gift if it came from anyone else.

Then, for the next few pages shaped like a heart, he had written your name in the margin in his best calligraphy, with pulsing hearts, twinkling stars, blossoming flowers, swimming fish, and tiny sketches of tarot cards. You stared, mesmerized at his magicked art, caressing the moving lines with your fingers. He wrote your names together in a heart, side by side with his. You couldn’t help the smile bubbling onto your curious face as you slowly took in every addition, fiddling with the corner of the dog-eared pages that had been shaped into a heart. You flipped the page, confused--there were tiny hearts drawn around an inky black mass. The mass was a jumble of rough sketch-lines, but they started to move. Your breath caught in your throat as the lines scribbled down on the paper formed an image of you, turning around and smiling. Nothing but astounding brightness was in your features, a direct contrast to the next notes he had written down. 

‘I wonder if she feels the same as I do. She has to, right?’

You just couldn’t answer that question right now. You bit your lip, glancing up at the door as if Severus could burst in at any moment. You sighed, thinking about him as your eyes dropped back to the writing. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stroked the next horrible words beneath your finger, feeling his self-doubt emanating from the paper.

‘But who could ever like someone like me?’

The next note was a long paragraph, but whatever words you could see were smudged and crossed out. Ink had been spilled on top of the page, the black streaks marring the yellowed pages. The corner of the page was brandished with scorch marks. 

~~~~

A/N: Thank you for reading!  These “one-shots” (lol) are from a series called Afterimages of You. Here’s the masterlist for all of the one shots I have posted in the series. a big ol thank you to @thats-mrs-snape-to-you​  @bush-viper-cutie​ and @littl-prince​ for helping me, i love you guys!!

[shooting-starry]

Trust me. Love me. Shoot me.

Atsumu Miya x female reader

Summary: Atsumu finds himself with a young woman who is more that what she seems.

A/n: I had zero motivation to day to write this but please enjoy!? As always, please don’t repost! To support me please like or reblog. Also!! Send me a request if you want to be added to the tags list for this series!

Y/n= your name

L/n= Your last name

Y/h/c= your hair colour

Y/e/c= your eye colour

Warning: extremely unedited, mentioned blood, mentioned fire, burning, medical stuff, needles

Previous//Next

Atsumu woke up with the warm  morning sun spilling through the window, and the fresh morning air cascaded through the open window. There was no pain in his body and his head was light. His head was lying on a soft, plush pillow and the silk sheets were smooth against his skin. Everything was fine.

Well almost fine. The only problem was that he didn’t own any silk sheets. He had scratchy cotton ones. In alarm, Atsumu sat up straight and looked around the somewhat familiar room. He was is a room with lightly coloured walls and a few plants which hung from the ceiling. Beside the door was a body length mirror with two coat hooks beside it. Next to where he sat was a beige bedside table with two drawers and a single daisy in a small glass jar and 2 doors which he guessed led to the closet. Directly across from him was a  desk with a small stack of books, a spiral bounded notebook, and a few pens, along with a girl, L/n. She had her nose in a book. Her eyes following the line she was reading. Her face was relaxed, but scrunched in displeasure, or maybe anticipation, at the book in front of her. Her nimble fingers flipped the page. As she kept reading, her eyebrows scrunched and her mouth fell open in surprise, or maybe hatred or shock,  at the new page. That was a beautiful expression that she wore.

Astumu didn’t want to admit it, but she was beautiful. Her face was doll-like, giving her the illusion of youth, but her eyes showed much more maturation and pain, but held kindness and love. Her lips looked soft and sweet, and were especially beautiful when she pulled her mouth into a wide smile. Her hair looked elegant however it fell around her face, or maybe she would look more breathtaking with her hair up. It beautifully framed her face, and made her y/e/c eyes stand out. L/n’s voice was also beautiful. It was melodic and sweet, but could also held the intensity of a thousand dagger. Her laugh would sound nice too. Maybe it would be a light chuckle. Or maybe a breathy laugh where she would crinkle her nose. Or if her laugh was a belly laugh full of life and happiness. That would be lovely. Astumu watched as her face contorted to many different emotions, surprise, hate, confusion. But it made him sad that her face was almost always neutral. Emotionless.

Suddenly, the door opened, and in walked the man with dark hair and metallic blue eyes. He was very tall and was decently built. His eyes scanned the room taking inventory of the situation. L/n looked up from her book and gave him a discreet nod.

“Hello L/n-san. Anything new?” He asked. His voice was smooth and empty. His eyes, and L/n’s shifted to Atsumu. He felt like a monkey in a zoo enclosure, with everyone watching him as he flung his feces at the wall. He watched as L/n and the dark haired man had a conversation though eye contact, head movements and face expressions. The “conversation” mainly consistent of L/n rolling her eyes and the man angrily raising his eyebrows.

“Well do you have a plan for that ?” L/n said finally, breaking the silence, but adding to the tension within the small room. At least Astumu knew that the mystery man’s wasn’t a potential danger.

“Well Y/n we need to take care of Miya-san first. For all we know you would have brought a wanted criminal into our house! How do you think the rest of us will react?” The man yell at her. L/n kept her face straight. No sign of any emotions covered her face and her eyes became more intense, almost like a tiger ready to kill.

“I am going to say it once. This is my house. I will decide when things happen and how things will happen. I decided to help someone who was dying on the street, and you don't get to judge my kindness. Not after what happened at the train station!" she stated with a calm icy tone, book long forgotten on the desk. The room was noticeably colder and Atsumu was feeling unsure of what was happening. The tall man stood, face unmoved, but behind his eyes showed something more. Something about the train station bugged him. He didn't speak or move, but his compliance was displayed through his eyes. He walked out wordlessly and shut the door behind him. Astumu was still in shock. Not sure if it was the situation in general, or maybe it was the amount of power L/n held.

“So how are you feeling, Miya-san?” She asked, breaking Atsumu from his thoughts. Her voice back to the sweet voice he remembered from the day before.

“Am fine, what just happened?” Her inquired curiously, hoping to get an answer. The mysterious man gave Atsumu many question, and not a single answer.

“Well Miya-san, I think you are forgetting our deal. You said you would tell me everything, and so far you haven’t. So if you could please tell me, then go ahead.” She replied in a teasing manner. Astumu tensed at her light hearted tone. The stark contrast between her light-hearted tone now and the cold tone from just minutes ago made his skin crawl. The eagerness was written on her face as she sat cross legged in the chair across from him.

“Well it’s complicated. Ya see, we were gonna ambush a rival yakuza. But they saw us comin’ and fought us back. A got hit a few times, then someone lit the building on fire. I ran out, then I ended up here.” He said, recalling the events of that night. He remembered the scent of blood, both his and the people around him, and the gasoline, and the horrid screams of people in the fire as their bodies burned. He was lucky that he got out. He wondered about his closest acquaintances, Kita, Suna, and Aran. But also his twin brother, Osumu. Damn how could this happen? If anything happened to them, then it would be his fault. All because of his recklessness. Snapping  out of his thoughts, he looked at L/n who was in deep thought. Her forehead was crinkled and her eyes seemed to be seeing right through him.

After what could have been only five minutes, she got up quietly and walked towards the closet. Inside the closet was an artillery of medical supplies. Multiple boxes of gloves and masks, along with a small fridge that held many small bottles of drugs. There were also a crash cart with everything that could be sues in an emergency, a defibrillator, a breathing bag, a tracheotomy kit and tubes. There were also about 3 oxygen tanks with small carts. She rummaged around in the closet until she got out some bandages and a small suture kit with a pair of needle drivers and toothed forceps along with a few other tools Atsumu could not recognize. Then L/n grab a small vile of drug and a needle from another part of the closet. She walk towards Atsumu, tools in hand as he watched curiously. As she go to the bed side table, she injected the needle into the vile which Astumu could now read as “morphine” and carefully pulled back the piston until there was maybe 5 milligrams of morphine. She grabbed his left arm and injected it into his bicep. Then she grabbed his left leg and removed the bandages from his leg. At first, he was questioning his lack of pants, before he remembered the “incident”. As your hands nimbly unwrap the bandage, the stench from his leg escaped into the room, causing him to plug him nose, but L/n seemed unaffected as she unwrapped the bandages. Once the bandages were removed she walked to the small garbage can beside the foot of the bed, which he did not notice, which was already half full of bloody bandages and the sweatpants from earlier. L/n carefully inspected the neatly done stitches, making sure there was no sign of the wound reopening. Once she was sure there was no sign of reopening or infection, she rewrapped the leg in new clean bandages.

“Thank you for the information Miya-san, you will need to rest so your wounds don’t reopen or become worse. I will be back in a few hours so please don’t move and if you need anything please just scream.” She said curly before turning around and leaving before he could reply. Atsumu felt very confused, but he also felt drowsiness. “Maybe from the morphine” he thought before drifting off to sleep.

Sometime later, he woke up to hearing voices down the stairs. There were 3 male voices and L/n’s. They were murmuring urgently.

“L/n-san, we can’t let him stay here. It’s too dangerous. If they find us we will be killed. You know that.” Said the first voice, which sounded like the mystery man from earlier in the day.

“No Akaashi-san, it will be fine.” Replied another deeper voice. “I don’t see why not besides we could take care of anything that happens.”

“Why are you being kind to that lowly yakuza. It doesn’t fit your character.” Replied the first voice, which Atsumu now knew belonged to the mystery man, Akaashi.

“I am always this kind. Besides Akaashi, you are just overthinking it too much.” Said the deep voice again.

“Yeah ‘Kaashi, I agree with them” said another , “Even if they figure out that we were responsible for those incidents, they have no proof”.

“Exactly Akaashi-san,” you agreed, “And if he does anything, then I will take care of him”.

Taglist:

@kayleighbeccaa

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Stupid, Crazy Love (Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader)

Plot: You mention Indy in the foreword dedication of your latest book. Your students keep asking not just you to sign it, but him as well. He keeps drawing little hearts with your initials in.

Character: Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader

Requested by @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Part of my Plus Size History Professor x Indiana Jones series and part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series!

You were excited, no, you were more excited than plain old excited as you walked into your classroom and saw two boxes sitting on top of your desk, “They’re here!” You squealed. Unable to remain calm, you tore the boxes open and gave a loud yell of happiness.

Indiana, who’d been on his way to come see you anyway, heard your commotion from inside your classroom and poked his head in, “You alright?”

“It’s here!” You yelled, clutching one of the books to your chest as you jumped up and down, “It’s here, Indy!”

“Your book?” He asked with a smile as he stepped fully into your class.

You pulled it from your chest to look at it. It was your book. After months and months of writing it, researching every single detail over and over making sure that it was perfect and then months and months of editing and waiting for it to be printed, it was finally here. It was perfect. You stared at the front cover, loving how the colours turned out, before turning it open and flicking through some pages. You handed it to Indiana, open on the dedication page. You hadn’t told him that you’d dedicated it to him, you wanted to surprise him with it.

Indiana had been there every single step of the way. He was there to push you and motivate you to finish it, he was there to help you research, he was there to supply you with coffee and tea and water when you needed them; he was there to hug you and help you relax when you got too stressed. He had gone above and beyond for you to help you achieve your dreams. He knew how much it meant to you so he would do anything he could to help you... He even took you on a few adventures so you could see the cultures and the places where the events you were researching took place.

For the one who has supported me throughout this whole journey and kept me motivated with endless cups of tea.

 I love you, Indy.

It was the first time you were saying you loved him. You had known you loved him for ages, you had never found the right time to say it. You wanted it to be perfect, you wanted it to really mean something. He read it once, twice and over again; reading the words, relishing in the words.

It was when he finally looked up at you that you could feel tears nipping at your eyes. It was overwhelming - the joy, the pride and the love. Indiana was smiling widely at you, “You love me?” He asked quietly. It wasn’t teasing or joking, he was seriously asking.

You nodded, stepping closer to him, “I do... I love you, Indiana Jones. I’ve never felt like this before and it sounds to cliché and cheesy but I can’t help but feel like you’re meant for me. You’re charming, funny, so incredibly handsome - like my god - you’re supportive and so respectful. I love you.”

Indy moved closer so that he could graze his hand over your cheek, “I love you too, sweetheart,” he told you gently, “I’ve never felt this way either.”

You looked up at him, butterflies flying in your stomach, “You do?”

“I do. I love you.” He kissed you then, hot and passionate, and you melted into his embrace. His kisses always had the unique ability to make you feel like you two were the only people in the world; that you were the only ones who truly mattered.

He pulled away all too soon, breathing heavy, foreheads pressed against each others, “I’m never going to get tired of you saying that,” you whispered to him.

“You better get used to it,” Indy grinned, grabbing you and tickling your sides, “I love you, I love you, I love you!” You squealed with laughter as he tickled you but the moment was interrupted when you glanced at the clock and realised that students would be filtering in soon.

“Quick!” You grinned, pulling out of Indy’s grasp to shove your books in his arms, “Set one on every desk! I think I ordered enough for everyone in my class.”

“I don’t know what you’re more excited over,” Indy said, “Your book or us finally saying ‘I love you’.”

You exaggerated thinking, “Hmm... I don’t know... That’s so hard, Indy...” You burst out laughing, “Both. I’m excited over both.”

You and Indy had lain all of your books onto the desks when your students started coming in. They began to ask you questions about the book as you got ready for today’s lesson. They flicked to the dedication page and a few of them smiled at each other.

“I wonder who you’re talking about here, Professor,” one of them teased, “I wonder who ‘Indy’ is...”

Indiana laughed, “No idea, kid.”

“Hey, Professor?” One of your students asked, “Would you sign the book for me?”

“And me!”

“Me too!”

You smiled, “It would be an honour.” You began to go round signing books. It seemed silly but it was a sweet gesture that they had wanted you to sign it.

“Dr Jones,” another piped up, “Can you sign it too since you’re also mentioned?”

Indy looked at you and you nodded excitedly. Honestly at this point, you were too excited to say no to anything. So Indy followed you around the class signing their dedication pages under your signature. It wasn’t until you’d finished signing that you noticed a few of your students snickering at something else on the page.

“What has he done?” You asked, knowing that Indy had done something. You peered over one of their shoulders to see Indiana’s signature but not only that... He’d drawn a love heart with your initials and his initials together much like that of a school girl when she has a crush.

“Indiana Jones!” You scolded but couldn’t keep the smile off of your face as the students began to laugh.

Indiana grinned at you, “What?” He asked, “I think it’s cute!” You rolled your eyes, this man... this stupid, wonderful man and that stupid, crazy thing called love.