#favorite fanfics as vintage book covers

[blood-mocha-latte]

favorite fanfics as vintage book covers (1/?)

WHERE THE WEATHER SUITS MY CLOTHES BY @disastrouscanasta

“You hate it here,” Hoosier said as he slipped on his shirt. “Simple as that.” Leckie, with the sheets thrown over his body, gazed up at him. “Yeah,” Leckie echoed. “I hate it here.” OR 1970, Bob Leckie isn’t in a rush to see his parents once he’s back stateside, he visits Hoosier instead.

[arcielee]

Taste of It

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader has a delightful sex dream. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2406 Warnings: Smutty smut, fingering, choking, language, p in v. Author's Note: Hey, this is my first Reader fanfic I have ever written. I am open to all criticism, because it will help me be a better writer and is definitely not a degradation kink. This was inspired by the story you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me) by @themotherofhorses​. I just loved the idea of a lucid dream with Aemond Targaryen. ♥ Thank you @f4ll-for-you​ for being so kind to read this over! Series:  Call It Dreaming 

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is low, lethal, and somehow familiar to you, despite the unfamiliar setting you find yourself in. Your hands wash over your body, feeling your favorite oversized shirt, an old David Bowie print that was comfortable with age and just long enough to cover your ass, with the hem touching the peaks of your bare thighs. There is a coldness to your surroundings, which was all the more apparent on your bare feet and the skimpy, cotton underwear you wore beneath your nightshirt. 

You remembered being cozy on your couch after a long, hot shower that peeled away the stress accumulated from both work and schoolwork, partnered with a mask to exfoliate your pores. You remembered the scent of your new lotion, a mixture of vanilla and brown sugar, while you admired the reflection of the black underwear and matching bralette on your figure before you decided to put on the oversized vintage top before you crawled beneath your blanket to rewatch House of the Dragon. 

“I asked you a question,” his voice repeated, his tone sharp. You could hear the sound of a book snapping shut that caused you to jump and turn on your heel. Your eyes flit over your new surroundings; you were in a room with tapers lit that added to the warm, amber glow emitting from the hearth and its embers, highlighting the meticulous placement of furniture and its grim vibe.

You nearly choke on your heart when your eyes finally find who the voice, the one that was both low and lethal, belongs to. 

Aemond Targaryen was seated in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand holding a closed book by its spine and his brows knitted above his gaze, one lavender eye and one sapphire eye, focused on you with a look of sheer annoyance. 

You could scarcely react when he pushed himself from his seat, his long legs allowing long strides to cover the distance of the room, and you could feel the heat from his body as he pinned your back against the door. His large palm was on your neck and he slowly squeezed the sides.  

You can still breathe, but your vision begins to fog and he pushes closer, his nose pressed against the side of your head with the hot whisper repeating his question, “Who are you?” 

This is a dream, your mind rationalizes. A sexy dream you guess from the heat that pools in your lower abdomen and melds with the heat that exudes from the prince. His scent is intoxicating; he smelled clean, mixed with a woodsy musk and the hint of smoke. It was a dream, you decide, and gods be damned if you would not utilize this subconscious interaction. 

“I have been sent for your pleasure,” you finally manage to say, your mind spinning from the lack of blood.  

Your words release his grasp, but his hand remains rested on your collarbones. “Another one of my brother’s whores?” He asks with the curl of his lips. Perhaps he tried to sound annoyed, but you hoped instead for him to be intrigued since your modern garb was hardly the fashion of the Streets of Silk. “You may show me what you have to offer and I will make my decision.” 

This is promising, you smile at him. Aemond takes a step back but you note he remains within arm’s reach, thinking you may try to flee but he is completely unaware you have no intention to leave this room. With slow breaths as your vision clears, your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it overhead, dropping it at your feet to show him your black cotton bralette and matching cheeky underwear. 

You watch his eye roll over you, pupil dilated, from your head to your polished toes and back again. You hold your breath and only relax when you hear his hum of satisfaction. 

Aemond moved to grab you, perhaps he meant to drag you, but you are quick and willing to follow his direction towards the bed, gleeful when you feel his large hands rest on your hips and bring you around to push you back against the mattress. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him bending at his slender waist, his arms caging you and the curtain of silver hair spilling on both sides. His head tilts slightly to peer at you and you stare back with blatant admiration of the sharp angles of his jawline, the gleam of his sapphire eye that you did not notice the dagger he held until the glint of the blade caught your attention. 

Your breath holds as he presses the dagger flat beneath the front of your bralette and it hitches in your throat with his fluid motion to twist the blade and bring it upwards, tearing the fabric. 

“Hey!” You gasp, pressing up to your elbows to face him as he falls back a step, holding the torn fabric in one hand and sheathing his blade, all while admiring the natural slope of your breasts. You feel a slight burn and look down to see a red line and beads of blood forming from the sliver. 

“I only wished to see if you were real,” his words were not an apology, but more an explanation. 

You push to sit upright, your hand grabbing his own to bring his palm to your breast. “I assure, I am very real,” your eyes are glassy with your bold words and actions, but it works and he moves to press on top of you. You fall back and mold against the mattress, his tongue burns as it trails the cut and there is the smear of blood as his mouth moves to find your nipple. 

Your back arches in response from the touch of his tongue that flits over the peak of your nipple and rolling circles around your areola. His hot mouth closes, suckling and his teeth nipping the soft flesh of your breast before he moves to give equal attention towards the other. 

A soft moan spills from your lips and he moves to capture your mouth with his own. His tongue presses to explore your mouth and you welcome the softness of his lips and the copper taste of your own blood. Your hands move to comb your fingers through his silk locks, your nails scratching his scalp and you feel the vibration of his hum of approval. 

Aemond presses closer and you can feel his hardness, his hips rolling to rub against your cloth cunt. He grabs onto your hip with one hand, large and warm to the touch, and his other moves flat against your chest; his tongue slows with languid movements, relishing your taste before he breaks away. 

“You taste like a sweet wine, but with chocolate and mint?” His brow quirks with his question. 

Ben and Jerry’s, you think to yourself but he does not need an answer, instead bringing his lips to bruise against your own and his fingers trailing lower to cup your cunt. He seems pleased with how you are drenched with your anticipation, pressing his lips against your throat with the growl of, “Sīr lōz syt aōha dārilaros.” 

So wet for your prince.

You burn with how his tongue rolls the words. Gods be praised, you think when you recognize the words that made your core ache, your annoyance for the Duolingo notifications vanish and you respond with a breathless, “Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros.”

His brow raises in response and his look makes your heat roll over your body. “You also know High Valyrian,” he says and, again,  it was more a statement than a question. 

“Mērī mirrī,” Only a little, you admit to him, the heat flushing your face from his brazen stare. You chew your bottom lip as you bring your feet to the edge of the bed and lift your hips, peeling off your underwear. 

You note the curl of his lips and he moves to mold against you again, his teeth grazing the pulse of your pounding heart. His touch is gentle, his fingers just grazing your hip bone and moving towards your center, his slender finger trailing your soaked slit before it curled inside of you. 

You cannot help but mewl his name as he adds another, moving to massage your walls, his palm cupping you and allowing his thumb to stimulate your clit. The warmth in your lower core begins to boil with his ministrations and your breathing grows erratic, which quickens his motion.

“Jurnegon nyke,” he commands, Look at me, and you bring your eyes forward to see him leaning over and bracing himself above you with his free arm. “I want to hear you,” he breathes.

His breath, his words partnered with the sinful curl of his fingers within you allows your orgasm to crash into you, drawing the air from your lungs with your pitiful cries of release. Your skin is aflame and you had not noticed he pulled away until you heard him cleaning his fingers with his mouth, standing over you, the bulge of his breeches unmistakable.  

The sight of him cleaning his slender fingers emboldens you to grab his waistband and bring him against you, desperate to taste yourself on his soft lips. The grace of your tongue is not matched with your hands that fumble with the latches of his tunic, but you feel his smile as his hands guide your own. You peel his layers off to reveal his hard chest with faded scars of silver that decorated the rivets of his toned abdomen, the moonlight mixed with the low flames giving the prince an ethereal glow to his lithe body. 

Aemond gives a hum to claim your attention, his lips curling as he is adamantly aware of the hunger in your eyes, and his hands reach to grasp the peaks of your thighs and pull you closer to the bed edge. You push yourself to your elbows and watch rapt as he unlaces to remove his trousers, curious to see if the Tumblr assertion of his genitalia was accurate, but his hand pushes you back against the bed and trails to your neck. 

“Open,” he commands and your mouth relaxes, your tongue pink and drowning in saliva from seeing him almost bare. 

He presses two fingers into your mouth and you close to suckle, tasting the remnants of your release and his own saliva from his clean up. You coat them and there is a string of spittle that follows when he pulls away, eventually breaking and wetting your chin. 

His hands move to lube his cock and you feel the press against your cunt, the undeniable stretch as he pushes into you. Your hands grasp at the bedding on each side and your back arches as he pushes to split you in half. “You take me so well,” he soothes, but does not allow you time to adjust and presses further still. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Oh, fuck me,” you gasp at the mixture of pleasure and pain. 

Aemond pauses for a moment, reaching to clasp your jaw and bring your eyes to look at him, “I intend to.” 

You shudder when he bottoms out in you and his hands move to clasp onto your hips, pulling you to meet his each thrust, his hip bones digging into the underside softness of your thighs and his cock reaching into you further still. Your hands move to grab above you, twisting into the sheets, and you arch your back into each powerful thrust.

His pace pauses for a moment, his hands wrapping around your ankles and bringing your feet to rest onto his shoulders, canting your hips to angle you as he slips back into your warmth. Your heart flutters when his hands return to your hip bones, admiring his side profile and the scrunch of his brow. “Your toes… is that glitter?”

“Kostilus, ñuha dārilaros,” Please, my prince, you cannot help but whine. You are on the cusp of your second release and the fear of waking up looms over you. “I must have you.” 

The High Valyrian renews his attention, as you hope it would, and he pushes to fold you in half, the new angle allowing him to slip into your cunt deeper than before. His arms hold himself on each side, caging you in, and his soft, silver tresses spill onto your bare chest with a tickle. You moan in abandon from the stretch of him reentering you as his hips rut against you. 

It rolls in waves, gooseflesh rippling over every inch of your body and your nipples taut from the pleasure, clenching at his cock. The tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you repeat his name, “Aemond, Aemond-”

His thrusts become sloppy and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you; you open your legs to allow him to fall forward against you, a damp brow to your own. You steady your breath, savoring the mixture of his scent combined with the scent of sex, wanting to savor your unconscious a moment longer. Your sex dreams never ended so satisfactory before and you knew it would not be much longer. You bring your hand to his defined jawline to tilt his head up, bringing your lips to his with a slow, lingering kiss. 

But you do not wake up, instead Aemond drags you beneath the covers and pulls you flush against his chest, which is hard and warm and molds perfectly with the softness of your backside in the most delicious way. 

“You may leave me in the morning,” he murmurs in your ear as he nuzzles into the back of your neck and hair. 

When you wake up, you are back on your couch and nestled beneath your blanket, the menu music of House of the Dragon playing on repeat from your television. Warmth envelopes you as you remember the vivid dream you had and you push to sit upright. 

I will always fall asleep with you on, but your thoughts are cut short from the cold that touches your bare chest. Your hands wash over your body, naked, and you wince when your finger touches the gash in between your breasts. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

Where the fuck was your Bowie shirt. 

[duhragonball]

I am not sure why you decided to cover Evangelion all of a sudden, but I am hella old like you and haven't watched it for whatever reason either. (which was strange because it was all the rage back at school thousands of years ago)

Not sure why this series eluded you also, but anyway I just want to thank you for this opportunity as I have decided to watch along. Looking forward to seeing more of your analysis.

Do you have any other bucket list 90s anime series that you have some interest in covering? I recently got around to Martian Successor Nabisco myself because the theme song is amazing

PS: You're a chemist right? Please make some crazy chemical that will make oldness go away for your sake and mine, it's 2024 I can't believe we haven't invented immortality yet

Thank you for reading.

I don't remember exactly when I first heard of NGE, but I'm pretty sure it was in the late 90s, probably in the Diamond Previews or Wizard Magazine. As I got deeper into comic book collecting, I bought both of those publications, and as anime started to gain a foothold in North American nerd culture, I started to see more and more anime/manga products referenced or advertised in Wizard and Previews.

I pretty much despised anime in the early 90s, mostly thanks to poor localizations of shows like Superbook and Speed Racer, which made the whole genre look like a bad joke. I remember those ads for "Japanimation" that tried so hard to make it sound badass and cool, but the ads were so corny that they ended up making the stuff look even dumber. By 1997 or so I had kind of learned to tolerate it as a concept, although I still had no interest in it. Sailor Moon was on Toonami, but it seemed like they only put it in the block to add a certain variety to the show. Vintage superhero fare, Thundercats, Sailor Moon, and that Johnny Quest show with CGI. Then they added an obscure show called Dragon Ball Z to the lineup, and that slowly won me over.

By 2000 I was tuning into Toonami mainly for Batman and Superman TAS, and getting hooked on DBZ and Tenchi Muyo! at the same time. I refer to these as the "Four Horsemen of Toonami" for that reason. In 2001 I started writing a Superman/Tenchi crossover, which basically cemented my status as a huge weeb. (Luffa is just a continuation of my effort to do fanfics of the Four Horsemen block of Toonami.*)

Anyway, somewhere in this period I probably started seeing merch for Rei and Asuka in their plugsuits or whatever they're called. I might have seen the Evas but let's be real, a mech wouldn't have stood out much in a genre full of giant robots. I'd see ads for things like Eva and Revolutionary Girl Utena and wonder just what the hell these things were about, but I also just shrugged and accepted that I would probably never find out, since anime was expensive and difficult to find, and I wasn't going to go out of my way just to satisfy idle curiosity. Back in those days, anime was an investment, and I wasn't going to pay thirty bucks for three episodes of something unless I knew it would be good. I tried a few things like Noir and Excel Saga, but only because I had a fairly decent idea what I was getting into.

By 2016, I had more disposable income, and this blog was pretty well established as a way to spend my free time, so I started looking for new things to watch. I checked out Hellsing Ultimate mostly so I'd be able to understand the jokes in Hellsing Ultimate Abridged. I checked out JJBA because it was red hot at the time, and everyone was talking about who their favorite Jojo was, and I wanted to know what that meant. I checked out Utena because I got a tip that it was available for free on YouTube, and I watched the first season of Sailor Moon. I didn't do all of that in 2016. It probably took me until 2018 to get all that watched.

So it was probably somewhere in there that I gave serious thought to tracking down Neon Genesis Evangelion, because it's one of those that I always wondered about, and now I had the means to actually find it and watch it, and I had enough anime experience that I felt reasonably confident that I could appreciate it. I suspect that I could have screened it between 1997 and 2010 I just would have been confused. But I've seen people talk about it for a lot of years, and probably a lot of that's been on tumblr, and it's just one of those things that's been on the fringes of my pop culture awareness.

I think NGE finally became available on Netflix in 2020 or something? But there were fans complaining about the dubs and the subs, so I thought I should hold off for a while. In 2021 I finally just said "fuck it" and bought a used copy of the "Perfect Collection" on DVD. My thing was, if I was going to watch this, I wanted to get it right the first time. I've savored Dragon Ball for decades by watching the dub, then the subs, but if I'm going to try out new stuff I don't want to have to keep going back to get the "true" experience.

I'm doing it now mainly because I hadn't had time before. I've been caught up in other things, and 2024 looked wide open, so I started thinking about things I've been putting off that I really wanted to do, and this was one of the first things I thought of. I just want to scratch that itch, and even if this show turns out to be awful, at least I can have the satisfaction of knowing I finally saw for myself.

As far as other old anime titles, I don't have any immediate plans. I still need to watch the Akira movie, but I read the manga so that sort of damped my interest in checking out the movie version. Galaxy Express 999 is on my bucket list, kind of for the same reasons as Evangelion and Utena, where I used to see ads for it and wondered what it was about. Fist of the North Star also interests me, because it has a kickass theme song, and I'm pretty sure it had a profound influence on the early years of JJBA. But I probably won't get around to them for a while.

Ultimately, there's only so much I can do with the time I have on this planet. There is no elixir of life, and unless they let you watch anime in heaven, I have to set priorities. One gripe with anime that I still retain from my youth is that it's pretty damn impenetrable. What I mean by that is that you can't even remotely judge a title by its cover, and so much of this stuff runs together that it's impossible to tell what would appeal to me and what isn't worth my time. I think that's why I've let popular culture and memes guide me in recent years. Stuff like JoJo Fridays and "Bitch, I Drink People" are tips that these shows had lasting appeal, and you don't make an impression like that without having a solid story. They can put a bunch of boobs on a DVD cover, but they can't draw a picture of the stuff that counts.

[pumpkinbutt700]

A Merry Little Meet Cute - A Mini Review

I never would have guessed that a Christmas romance novel would be one of my favorite reads of the year, but here I am- utterly in love with A Merry Little Meet Cute and completely surprised by it.

I picked this up because one of my favorite booktubers- Jordaline Reads- made a vlog about it, and she really enjoyed it. I thought I'd try it, too, as Jordaline Reads has quickly become my favorite booktuber, specifically for book recommendations. I feel like she and I have similar tastes in some genres, and I trust her romance reccommendations- because I am not generally a romance reader.

Golly lolly, I'm glad I trusted this one!

Firstly, the cover is adorable. Something about the color scheme speaks to me. The vintage Christmassy feeling of the pink and white, with the touches of green? Absolutely gorgeous! I usually don't read hardcovers, but the paperback was more expensive, so I broke character and bought the hardcover instead. I'm really happy I did. It's so pretty!

Secondly, and more importantly, the story within this gorgeous pink and white hardcover is great. Charming, funny, sweet, and sexy. I laughed out loud and blushed my whole way through this book!

A Merry Little Meet Cute follows Bee Hobbes, a successful, fat porn star who is accidentally-on-purpose cast in one of the lead roles of a Hope Channel Christmas movie, alongside ex-boyband singer and Bee's first celebrity Crush, Nolan Shaw.

Fortunately for Bee, Nolan is her biggest fan and top subscriber. He's been watching her for years, and the sexual tension between them is immediately palpable when they meet onset. She brings his filthiest fantasies to life. And he brings her Wattpas fanfic fantasies to life. They have to have one another.

Unfortunately for Bee and Nolan, the Hope Channel is known for its squeaky clean, family friendly entertainment. If the world finds out about Bee's sexy day job she may never get another chance in mainstream film again. Meanwhile, Nolan is trying to rekindle a career that was ruined by multiple sex scandals. He has to maintain a wholesome image with his celebrity comeback or he's done for good.

What do two horny people do when they have to keep it clean for their careers? Do it in secret of course.

From there the book follows the pair on a steamy romp through Christmas Notch, Vermont as they film a movie, have the best sex of their lives, and try to figure out what the future will hold for them.

Favorite bits of this book:

Bisexual main characters.

A cast of gay side characters.

Very well written sex scenes that are steamy and romantic. (THE WEDDING DRESS SCENE OMG! 😳)

Lots of dialogue that made me laugh out loud!

Overall, a great holiday read! Funny, sexy, sweet, and full of holiday cheer. This book Sleighs!🦌🎅🎄

[notchesandbullets]

Vintage Books and Midnight Promises (Tattooed!Bakugou x Bookworm!Reader) Modern!AU

Warnings: none, just fluff. features Child!Eijirou, Child!Izuku and brief Dadzawa at the end

Synopsis: Your days are brightened by the appearance of Eijirou and Izuku but you don’t recognize the tattooed man who accompanied the two children into your bookshop one day. But he finds his way into your heart and before you can stop it, you’re already in too deep for the man with tattoos that rippled like the purest form of water and smelled like blueberries hand-picked on the warmest day.

Inspired by: @all1e23 ‘s series “Astrophile” (this is one of my favorite comfort fanfics, i highly recommend it)

Words: 9.8k

It was a beautiful, sunny day.

Steam coming from a hot cup of coffee curled in the air and you sighed as you set down the porcelain teacup that had been a gift from your grandmother on the front desk, sinking deeper into the velvety cushion of your seat as you basked in the tranquility of the empty store before the bell on the door would inevitably ring again.

The musty yet homey scent of secondhand books clung to the worn pages in all the stories of mystery, fantasy and nonfiction that filled the old and rickety oak shelving you had bought at an auction five years ago.

The cornershop sat at the end of a particularly quaint neighborhood in the small town you lived in and you couldn’t imagine anything else more relaxing other than grabbing a cup of coffee from the loft upstairs and curling up with a good book until store hours were over.

You got a steady stream of regulars and occasionally a few new faces here and there that ended up coming back quite frequently. You hoped that had something to do with the notion that they liked to read, since that’s all you could really hold a conversation about.

The latest thriller that was published or that underrated author that never seemed to get enough attention in your opinion, even though their work was such a delight for you to read, whatever it was, you could talk about books for hours.

Maybe that’s why it was so hard to act normal around those vastly more social than you.

Ever since you could remember, you had your nose buried in a book, bumping into street lamps and crashing into people as you failed to look up for even a second to see where you were going.

People never seemed to quite understand you, why you preferred the company of books over people, but you didn’t need them to understand. Books were all you had and you liked to keep it that way.

Books were consistent and there would always be more literature to read.

Luckily, it was a weekday so business was pretty slow and in just another hour, you would be free to finish up repainting the storefront.

But first, you needed to conclude this book. You were so close to the ending and the author had been stringing you along on a thread of hope that the protagonist was going to make it out and save the day, you were on the edge of your seat!!

Your eyes flitted across the pages at a speed too fast for human eyes to comprehend and you were so engrossed in the book that you didn’t notice the shadow that passed by outside.

You jumped as the door to your little bookshop flew open with a bang, losing your balance from where you had been perched on your favorite stool and crashed to the floor.

Sitting up with a groan of pain, you rubbed your now sore bottom and winced. “Ow…”

You hadn’t anticipated someone coming and wreaking havoc on your little shop. It was a good thing you had a good memory and had marked the page you left off of in your head or else that customer that had so rudely barged in would be getting more than just some curt words from you.

“Sorry.” A curt and gruff apology came from over the counter and your mouth pressed in a hard line as you got to your feet.

“Is everything alright?” You asked slowly, brushing the dust off of your clothes and making eye contact with the stranger for the first time.

In front of you was some punk who had incredibly intricate tattoos visible on his arms.

You eyed him up and down. He was pretty tall. Okay, correct that, he towered a good head over you, but what was the most intimidating was that scowl on his face that looked like it was permanently glued there for some reason.

His shoulders were broad and even under that sleeveless tank he was wearing, his muscles rippled and you rolled your eyes.

So he was one of those.

But you stopped a bit of ink twining up his neck and cocked an eyebrow at the prospect of him having more underneath his clothes.

You didn’t react despite where your mind just went, internally screaming at yourself to get a grip.

Guys like him didn’t randomly walk into a bookshop like yours. You had half a mind to call the police, thinking he was about to loot your store, but hesitated because he hadn’t done anything and it was wrong to judge someone you didn’t know under stereotypes that were groomed into you from a young age.

Not to mention, if he actually was going to rob you for whatever reason, he wouldn't have announced his presence like that.

Unless he was an idiot. Either one was equally possible at the moment while you waited for him to say something. Anything.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said shortly after a pause, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and your stance softened a bit when you noticed how uncomfortable he looked. You could understand that feeling.

Plastering a smile on your face, you leaned back and shrugged, accepting what you suspected to be his version of an apology. “It’s okay, it was an accident.”

“Miss Y/N!!! Miss Y/N!!! Down here!!!”

“We’re down here!!!”

The small, childish chorus had your eyes brightening up in an instant as you recognized the voices and you were racing out from behind the counter within a second.

“Eijirou, Izuku!!” You knelt down to hug both of the toddlers tightly. “I didn't know you two were coming today!!”

They normally came on the weekends with their dad, it was so rare to see them on a weekday, with a new face nonetheless.

Eijirou’s shiny red eyes blinked up at you and he beamed brightly while Izuku shuffled his feet self-consciously, sniffling as he clutched his All Might plushie tight to his chest.

You cooed, lifting his chin sweetly to wipe away the tears. “What's wrong, Izuku?”

He sniffled, hugging his comfort plushie tighter as he pointed up to the scowling man that had accompanied them. “He… He’s mean.”

The ash-blond’s forehead creased in annoyance as you sent him a questioning look. “Shut your mouth, you fucking brat!!”

You covered Eijirou and Izuku’s ears, glaring at him. He matched it in intensity and it wasn’t until you saw how he wasn’t going to back down that you sighed, breaking off eye contact and conceding as you caught the tears streaming down Izuku’s round cheeks.

“Yeah, he’s big and scary, let’s leave him here, okay?” You said to the little boy, pretending not to notice the punk’s glare following the two of you as you led the now cheered up Izuku over to the back of the store.

Every time they came, you made sure to have the children’s area brushed up for them. The floor to ceiling windows in that one corner in the back had deep purple curtains drawn open during the day, shining light directly on the soft leather sofa that belonged to your family.

The perfect place to read.

A tug on the man’s hand had him looking down.

“Bakugou!!” The red-haired toddler shouted excitedly, frantically pulling him to where you were at only to run out of breath from his efforts as the man didn’t budge. “I want to go too!!”

“You’re staying here where I can see you, Shitty Hair.” Bakugou grumbled, running an exasperated hand through his spiky hair as he waited for the other brat to come back so that they could leave.

“You can come with!!” Eijirou begged, still trying to convince the stubborn man who was their guardian for the time being while their dad was busy. He huffed and puffed but still he didn’t move an inch.

He snorted haughtily, his grip tightening on the brat’s when he switched tactics and tried to pry off the hand that was holding his. “Like hell I would.”

Eijirou’s lower lip wobbled dangerously as he stopped fighting. “But you promised!!”

Bakugou inwardly groaned and looked away from the toddler. Tears from the brats were his fucking weakness and he hated it. But he still wasn’t going to let him.

The only reason why he agreed to take them here in the first place was because they wouldn’t shut up, begging for him to take them to the bookstore that they visited every week with their dad over and over again, promising that they wouldn’t ask for anything else the whole rest of the day.

They just wanted to see you.

Bakugou only agreed because they crossed their hearts that they would be quiet if he took them and if they didn’t make good on their word, then he would blow them up.

But what he didn’t mention was that he was a little intrigued by the girl that they talked about excitedly all the way there.

Tch, shitty brats. Fucking annoying.

Eijirou never cared about his threats when he declared that he would blow them up, going so far as to smile brightly in his face, completely unaffected while that shitty nerd’s face went ashen and lost all its color as he cowered behind his brother to avoid the scary man that towered over them.

Izuku lacked the spine that Eijirou had.

Bakugou pushed off the counter that he was leaning against as you came back into view with a happy Izuku in tow.

Eijirou visibly deflated and tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. “You’re all done? B-But I wanted to pick some out too!!”

You hushed him softly as you saw how close he was to sobbing, crouching down to his level and ruffled his hair. “You can choose what you want too, Eiji.”

His whole face lit up. “Really?!”

“Of course!!” You reassured with a smile, the edges of your eyes crinkling as you stood up and offered him your other hand that wasn’t joined with Izuku’s. But after Izuku swung your hand, you took that as your cue to let go. “Come on!!”

This time, Bakugou wasn’t fast enough to intervene as Eijirou took your hand and zoomed off with you trailing behind him, practically dragging you behind him as he took on the personality of a race car. He gritted his teeth in annoyance, wanting nothing more than to leave this place that had absolutely no business with and he clenched his hands into fists, storming over to where the two of you ran off to with full intention of grabbing the shitty brat and exiting with nothing more than a word.

But he faltered at the sound of your laughter bouncing off the bookshelves and unconsciously retracted his hand as he turned the corner.

To be honest, he didn’t know what made him stop. But seeing you there, with Eijirou tuckered out in your lap as you read him a book, Izuku bounding past him just to cuddle up on your other side was making him soft.

Fuck emotions. He hated having a heart.

You were seated on a huge, tan leather sofa that looked worn with age and was packed with brightly-colored pillows that looked much softer than he wanted to admit as he found himself drifting towards the three of you.

Truth be told, he only took them here because they were begging for either this or the zoo and he could not fucking stand the zoo.

What the fuck was so interesting about animals locked in a pen?

“Get up brats, we’re leaving.” Bakugou barked, glaring pointedly at the fucking brats when they cracked their eyes open as you stopped reading.

A chorus of whines and protests followed by some very pouty begging made you crack a smile at his unchanging demeanor.

“You know~” You sang, holding back a giggle at the suspicious look the man shot you as you shut the children’s book you were reading in favor of glancing at the two kids out of the corner of your eye. “I do have a ton of pizza that needs to be finished today. I don't suppose there's anyone out there that can help me with such a big task.”

Izuku and Eijirou shrieked in delight, bouncing up and down on the sofa, alternating between screaming yes and pleading for him to let them stay.

Bakugou, on the other hand, was fucking irritated as hell.

You were trying to bribe him with pizza? How un-fucking-believable. You were worse than the two troublemakers shrieking so loud, it felt like his head was going to split. He didn’t believe what he just heard. But was it working?

Yup.

Because your sundress flared around your knees as you crossed your legs to accommodate both the boys. The tresses of your hair fell around your face so softly he vaguely wondered if it was even possible for someone to look so innocent while conducting a pizza scheme.

Izuku scratched his head cutely as he yawned widely, exhausted from all the hopping he just did as Eijirou began to jump up and down around you, his endless energy coming off of him in waves.

“We can help!!!” He cried, tugging Izuku upright and the little boy stumbled, landing on his rear on the couch with an ‘oof’.

But he didn't cry. Instead, he tilted his head curiously and blinked. “We can?”

“Yes!!” Eijirou insisted. He wanted pizza. He loved pizza. And Bakugou never treated them to it whenever he watched them, he said it would make them fat. “Please Bakugou!!!”

You raised an eyebrow as you heard the punk’s name for the first time. It sounded fitting for such a stoic and emotionless person that he was portraying at the moment as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the red-haired toddler.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “What did I tell you about referring to your elders, Shitty Hair?”

“Ahh!!” You blurted out, sending him a sharp look that was meant to reprimand him. “Don't swear in front of them!!”

Bakugou glared at you uncaringly and you matched it, throwing in a pout for good measure.

You had no idea what was giving you all this confidence now. You had never been this comfortable interacting with a stranger. You blamed it on the children. They were far too familiar.

The moment of silence as you glared at each other was broken when both of the boys jumped down from the sofa at the same time.

Weird.

“Ahh, don’t go too far!!” You called out after them as you sprang up. “And don’t leave the store!!”

“M’kay!!!” Eijirou shouted back as he tugged Izuku, who was struggling to catch up, behind him. “Can I flip the sign, Miss Y/N?”

You giggled, hiding a grin from Bakugou as you nodded even though they couldn’t see. “Yes, just be careful and don’t go outside!!”

As he yelled that he knew back at you, you moved into a better light so that that one bookshelf wasn’t blocking your view of them so you could see them. Once you were in direct line of sight, your smile softened as you saw Eijirou lift Izuku up so that he could reach the sign and flip it around to show that you were closed for the day.

“They’re so sweet to each other.” You murmured to yourself.

The closeness of Bakugou’s scoff had you jumping back in surprise and you winced as your back crashed into the bookshelf behind you.

“Geez, I was going to say hell no.” Bakugou started as he chortled, smirking at you as you collected yourself. “But you’re even more of a klutz than that shitty nerd is.”

Brushing down your skirt, you coughed a couple times to cover up your blush of embarrassment. “I am not.”

“Uh, yeah you are.”

“Oh hush.” You snapped at him as the boys came bounding back, Izuku proudly holding up another book he wanted you to read for him that he found on the way back.

You giggled and ruffled his hair affectionately before asking if they’d like to continue reading here or up in the loft, to which they both sprinted to the stairs.

Well, that answered that question.

You sent a smile over your shoulder, inviting the grumpy man to follow you. “You coming or what?”

Bakugou hid a smirk as you turned back around and followed the hyperactive kids up the stairs.

You sure were interesting, he’d give you that.

And that night, the four of you fell asleep in the loft, with four boxes of cheese, pepperoni and half-eaten vegetarian pizzas surrounding you as Izuku curled up beside you and Eijirou snored on top of Bakugou’s head.

You were very happy to see that it wasn’t the last time you saw the forever annoyed man who had barged into your store.

It had been a month since that day. And since then, Bakugou had become a regular face and you dreaded how you subconsciously looked forward to when he would show up randomly.

One time, he had popped in your store just to grunt out a greeting and toss a bag at you, demanding that you eat it or else he would fucking kill you, before leaving.

Opening it up, you saw the freshly-baked blueberry muffin inside. And when you bit into it, it was delicious.

The only thing that confused you was that there was no good bakery around here, so you had absolutely no idea where he got it from.

Today, another weekday, they came again all bright smiles and sunshine and you bolted off your stool, abandoning your freshly-brewed coffee to greet them before they could even step into the bookstore.

There were still a few hours of daylight until closing time and you had some more things to finish up.

Bakugou leaned against the wall as you rearranged the display on the top shelf. The ever energetic Izuku and Eijirou had sped over to their corner the second they ran into the store, greeting you over their shoulder as the two boys tunneled past you.

You had pouted but let them go have their fun since tonight would be another night of pizza and soft drinks while you read them their favorite books.

Last time, Eijirou came to you with a stack of at least fifteen and you nearly had a laughing fit when one of them was a little too high for his age group.

He could read all those young adult novels with glorious battles featuring knights and dragons when his vocabulary increased a bit more.

A green-haired boy with freckles toddled up to you with his counterpart and buddy in crime nowhere to be seen.

Giggling, you approved the ones that Izuku held up to you with wide eyes blinking slowly.

“I’ll read it for you a little later, yeah?” You said, patting his head.

“Okay!!”

You flailed for a second as you lost your balance, the little boy disappearing from sight once again before he could realize you were off kilter due to the speed that he zipped at but a pair of strong hands settled on your waist to steady you.

Lips parting in surprise, you turned around to see Bakugou’s trademark sneer as he stared up at you.

“Dumbass.”

“Hey!!” You protested, all gratitude gone, and your lips pursed in a firm line as you disputed his claim.

But you were startled at the rough rumble that emitted from his chest and it took you a second to realize that he was laughing. At your expense, but still, it warmed your heart to hear.

“Well, look at that.” You teased. “He’s not so cold after all.”

“Tch.” Bakugou’s amusement faded as he glared at you for that but you just brushed it off.

You turned your attention back to the top shelf but misjudged the distance as you stretched out your hand. Yelping as one of the stool legs gave out, you careened to the side and squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact.

But your eyes shot open as you didn’t hit the ground like you expected. Instead, you landed on something softer than the hardwood floor.

When a pained groan sounded underneath you, you scrambled upright.

“Oh my gosh!! I’m so sorry!!!”

Bakugou had somehow cushioned your fall, making you land on him rather than crash to the ground.

Your cheeks flamed when you realized you were straddling his waist, hands splayed on his chest and you squeaked when he caught you staring.

“Oi, are you going to fucking stare at me all day?” Bakugou snarked and you huffed, clambering off of him clumsily.

It was a good thing you weren’t wearing a dress today. That would’ve been so embarrassing.

“I’m really sorry.” You apologized again, sheepishly tucking your hair behind your ear as you tried to appear less frazzled than you felt as he picked himself up from the floor.

Before he could say anything, though it was probably something not very nice, Izuku ran around the corner with Eijirou hot on his heels.

“Miss Y/N!!!” Izuku called out breathlessly, his chubby cheeks flushed pink from running so fast. “Miss Y/N!!! I have a secret to tell you!!”

“Izuku, I want to tell her!!!” Eijirou complained with a small pout.

“No, I want to!!!” He pushed back fiercely before he turned to you with bright forest green eyes and beamed. “Miss Y/N—”

“Bakugou has a crush on you!!!!” Eijirou interrupted, dancing in circles around you and out of Bakugou’s reach as the man swiped at him.

Bakugou snarled as the toddler screeched and dived in between his legs to escape him. “Get back here, you fucking brat!!!!”

Izuku tugged on your pant leg, tears brimming in his eyes as his lower lip trembled. “M-Miss Y/N…”

Your giggles died down as Bakugou continued to chase Eijirou and you smiled reassuringly, bending down to pick him up.

“Aww, it’s okay, Izuku.” You reassured with a chirpy smile. “If you want, we can just pretend you told me, yeah?”

He smiled and kicked his feet happily, giggling as he waved his All Might plushie back and forth.

“Do we get to stay tonight too?”

“Yup!!” You beamed, hoisting him higher as you collected the book that you needed to put away and balance it on your head so that you could hold the toddler with two hands. “I already checked it with your dad and he said it was okay!!”

Aizawa had sounded stressed when you called him but that was to be expected. His line of work was tough but he had quickly agreed to it. He had interacted with you enough to know that you looked out for them almost as much as he did.

Besides, in the small town, word got around fast. If there was dirt on you, he would’ve heard about it by now.

Izuku tugged on your braid innocently to catch your attention. “Can we leave him downstairs when you read to us?”

You giggled and booped his nose, watching it scrunch up cutely. You already knew he was talking about Bakugou. “Why do you want him to stay downstairs?”

Izuku pouted. “Because he snores too loud.”

“Hah?! Say it to my face, Deku!!!” Bakugou’s yell echoed from somewhere on the other side of the store and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

“C’mon,” You said softly, bouncing Izuku on your hip as you crept around the other side. “Let’s go see if we can help Eiji and then we’ll sneak upstairs before he finds us, yeah?”

“Yayyy!!!” Izuku cheered happily.

“FOUND YOU, SHITTY NERD!!!”

“Uh oh, Miss Y/N, run!!!!!”

An hour and a lot of duct tape later, Bakugou was sitting in the punishment chair for those that misbehaved while you read to the boys upstairs.

About ten minutes later, you flicked the lights off upstairs as you headed back down, being careful about which lamps to turn on since you didn’t want to wake the kids.

You fought back a grin as you saw the poorly wrapped duct tape tying his wrist to the chair. Apparently you could’ve been more clear to the boys that since the stuff was sticky, they didn’t have to necessarily tie it around his arm like string.

You were quite sure that Bakugou could've gotten up if he wanted to so you left him down there but when you finished the last book and he was nowhere to be seen, you came downstairs only to find him in the exact same position you left him in.

“What's wrong? Tied you up too tight?” You teased, knowing it had no merit.

“Ha ha, you’re so fucking funny.” Bakugou glowered at you, then his blank expression morphed into subtle curiosity. “The brats asleep?”

“Yeah,” You said, rubbing your arms as a breeze blew by and you frowned as you held out your hand and started to follow it all the way to its source and it only furrowed deeper when you deduced that it was coming from a crack in the front door. “Rats.”

“What the…” Bakugou trailed off as he came up behind you and at this point you didn’t even flinch.

For someone who was so tall and had such a fit physique, he sure moved like the wind. You were used to it by now.

You sighed, planting your hands on your hips after testing the lock to make sure it still worked properly. Thank goodness that was still fine. “It happens every winter. I think it has something to do with the wood and the weather when the temperature drops but I already fixed it this past season so I don’t know why…”

Burrowing your face in your hands, you groaned and tried to put it in back of your mind for now.

But Bakugou’s brow knitted at the safety concern and he jangled the knob to play around with it.

By the time you had stopped trying to think of ways to solve this problem temporarily until you had the means for a more permanent solution, Bakugou had fixed it.

Your jaw dropped as you saw he had stuffed some kind of weather strip you had laying in the corner with the rest of the maintenance tools collecting dust and bluntly claimed he’d fix it in the morning for you.

“You don’t have to do that!!” You cried out, feeling bad and not wanting to owe him anything.

Bakugou snorted. “That wasn’t a fucking question, dumbass.”

You opened your mouth to protest but the pitter-patter of tiny feet scaling down the stairs made you both raise your heads.

Your eyes filled with concern as you saw the little boy dragging a blankie behind him with his thumb stuck in his mouth.

“Izuku?” You rushed over and dropped down to the floor, not caring how you scraped your knees in the process. “What’s wrong?”

He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“... had a nightmare…” He mumbled under his breath, close to tears and your gaze softened sympathetically.

Opening your arms to him, you caught yourself as he ran into you and you walked back to where Bakugou was observing.

Nightmare. You mouthed at him and his eyes grew dark for a second.

You didn’t understand why but you didn’t ask any questions as you focused on consoling the crying boy.

“Hey, Izuku,” You whispered softly when he had calmed down enough to be coherent and tell you a little what it was about. “You know what always makes me feel better?”

He blinked up at you. “Pizza?”

You giggled and tapped his nose gently. “Well yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of ice cream…”

You didn’t miss the way eyes lit up and he automatically turned to an indifferent Bakugou watching the both of you while leaning against the wall with a pleading expression, and immediately, the man was shaking his head violently.

“Hell no.” He refused flatly. Upon the fresh tears that welled up in Izuku’s eyes, he turned to you, as though he needed to prove to you that he had a good reason for saying no. “It’s late out.”

“There’s a 24/7 store that carries ice cream right down the street.” You supplied helpfully, smiling innocently when he glared at you.

Bakugou sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair, gripping it in frustration. “It’s dark, Y/N. It’s dangerous.”

“I can go.” You suggested, trying to pry off an Izuku who was clinging to you.

“The hell? Fuck no.” Bakugou hissed and you sighed, giving up on trying to make the green bundle that was pretending to be a leech unstick from you.

“I’ll be right back.” You negotiated. “It’s not even that far—”

“You’re not going.”

You balked at the unrelenting tone he took with you but shut your mouth when you saw the look in his eyes. The look that told you he had seen things that he probably would never tell you.

You saw it in the way his hands shook ever so slightly when he held either Eijirou or Izuku, like he was afraid they would disappear on him the second he let go. You knew that kind of fear and you didn’t argue against him.

But before you could smile sadly at Izuku for letting him down, Bakugou was stomping upstairs and waking up the other slumbering toddler.

There was a muffled shout and then a grunt from above.

“Wake up, Shitty Hair.”

“Eh?! Where are we going?!”

You winced as a crash sounded from the upper level. You didn’t want to know what he broke this time.

But you followed Bakugou’s thinking. Even if the door was sturdy for now, it wasn’t a good idea to leave a child alone for whatever reason, even if you weren’t going to be gone long. If Eijirou woke up all alone, there was a good possibility he would venture outside by himself and that wouldn’t be good.

Besides, Eijirou would be sad if he missed out on this adventure.

It had taken five minutes for Bakugou to wrangle Eijirou, who was way too energetic this late at night, and an additional ten just before the four of you left the store.

Bakugou locked it behind you as you carried Izuku out.

Initially, he had insisted that he could carry him to give you a break but you told him you didn’t mind.

And you really didn’t. The little boy was snoozing softly against your shoulder and you were happy that you could provide some small amount of comfort to him after such a scary bad dream.

The trip was pretty uneventful. Nothing happened, you guys got there safely, Bakugou paid for more ice cream than you guys could consume in one night, saying something about how it was so he didn’t have to do this whole thing again and you walked back.

There were some stragglers out and you got a couple of glances that normally would’ve made your skin crawl but for some reason, this time you felt reassured as Bakugou drifted to your side and kept you close as he made sure Eijirou didn’t let go of his hand.

Eijirou was good, for the most part.

He was unusually serious and didn’t goof off inside the grocery store like he did in your bookshop and you were grateful for that. You didn’t know if you had the energy to chase him down like Bakugou had done earlier if he decided he wanted to play hide-and-seek.

At one point, Bakugou’s free hand that wasn’t busy holding onto the tubs of ice cream or Eijirou, to make sure he didn’t wander off, crept around your shoulders and pulled you close when someone who was drunk out of their minds strayed too close to you.

“Back the fuck off.” He growled protectively as he tucked you and Izuku into his side, glaring at them until they got the message and went on their way.

You were thankful that there wasn’t enough light for him to see the blush present on your cheeks and as you stepped back inside the safety of your bookstore, the boys going after the comfort ice cream like puppies with ice, you didn’t know quite how to feel when his scorching touch left you.

And you wondered why your heart was beating so fast.

By the time the next weekend had rolled around, it was their twentieth time coming together and you were starting to get a bit alarmed at how familiar their appearance was. You actually had to stop in your tracks when you realized you not only were looking forward to seeing Izuku and Eijirou but also Bakugou.

Crap.

That punk had wormed his way into your heart even more but you’d be damned if you let him stay there.

Convincing yourself you’d get over this petty little crush before it became a problem, you picked out some gifts for the two boys the next time you would see them.

By the time you had walked down the street to your shop from the toy store, you actually realized that they beat you to it. You had to calm the two toddlers down as they ran up to greet you, Eijirou vastly quicker on his feet than Izuku, even though the little boy tried his hardest.

They squealed as you gave them presents, showing them off to Bakugou and sped off into their corner to go play. Just like clockwork.

“So…” You started, cringing at how awkward you sounded now that you were alone with Bakugou. “Where’s their dad today?”

Bakugou coughed, then cleared his throat. “You mean that scruffy old man?”

You cracked a smile. “That’s the one.”

He was always with them. He was the first one to bring the boys in on a slow day, which quickly livened up due to the endless amount of energy contained inside a little Eijirou and a tiny Izuku.

Midgets. You loved them so much.

Their cheeks were so squishy, too. Adorable.

It had been months since you had last seen Aizawa and you were a little bit worried about him. But you figured if anyone would know if he was okay would be the man entrusted to watch his sons.

Bakugou sighed, crossing his arms over his chest so that his muscles bulged out from that sleeveless tank he was wearing. The patches of ink rippled in the light and moved almost like it was real. “Aizawa-sensei’s not their dad but he acts like it too fucking much to pretend that it’s not true anymore.”

You giggled at his harsh words edged with a bit of something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Something that sounded like begrudging fondness.

Bakugou jerked his chin to where Izuku was chasing after Eijirou, begging him to help him get a book down from the shelf. Usually, you’d go help them but the adorable little toddler puffed out his chest and started clambering up the step ladder to get it.

Bakugou had bought that one himself to replace the rickety one you had accidentally broken and fallen off of so you knew it was sturdy. They would only fall off of it if they weren’t careful but you were within sight of them so you weren’t too worried.

“He’s enlisted in the military so he can’t always watch them even after they blacklisted him. His old unit just recently got reinstated.” Bakugou said with a scowl, not bothering to elaborate on that, but his eyes softened the tiniest bit as Izuku huffed and puffed to catch up with Eijirou, his little legs working overtime to compensate for his lack of height. “So he gave the brats to me to make sure they didn’t kill themselves or something.”

You grinned, clasping your hands behind your back and stuck your face close to his, skirt swirling around your ankles as you sent him a cheeky smile.

“You volunteered, didn’t you?”

“Shut the hell up, no I didn’t!!” He shouted but you bit back the smile threatening to overtake your entire face.

“You’re too easy to read~” You teased.

Bakugou grabbed for you but you dodged easily. Gritting his teeth in determination, he ran after you and you yelped at how quickly he was gaining on you.

Damn, it was a bad day to wear these shoes.

You ducked around the corner only for him to catch up to you in a split second. You squeaked as he slammed you into the bookshelf, caging you in between his arms as he smirked down at you.

“I won.” He declared triumphantly.

You rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue. “Such a child.”

Bakugou scowled. You were one to talk, taunting him like you two were friends or something. “Oi, fucking take that back.”

Your eyes glinted mischievously. “Or you’ll do what? Try to punch me again? Maybe this time you’ll actually land one and not miss like a lose—”

You gasped as his chest bumped into yours, his red eyes glimmering dangerously. His breath was hot against your face and your heart stopped.

“I don’t fucking lose.” He growled.

You gulped. Perhaps you had crossed a line. Your gaze darted away from him for a second, not even bothering to push him away because you knew you couldn’t.

“Thank you.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow in surprise but masked it quickly. “For what?”

“For the other day.” You clarified. “I think I would’ve been screwed if you hadn’t come with, so thank you.”

He snorted and looked away. “Don’t mention it, dumbass.”

You were going to leave it at that but at that moment, a soft giggle floated through the air along with some very loud and obvious shushing.

Bakugou immediately tore after the little brats without a second thought as both Eijirou and Izuku poked their heads around the corner to spy on you and you threw your head back and laughed.

They were so goofy but maybe that crush they had told you about that you had so easily dismissed at first wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

While you were busy helping other customers throughout the day, Bakugou occasionally came to check in on you and make sure you were taking your breaks and eating, all while reassuring you that the shitty brats were fucking fine and you didn’t need to be worried about shit.

He could handle it.

You smiled and waved a hand at him when he left, giggling when he flipped you the bird before turning to the next person who wanted to check out.

The sun set and night fell, all along with the comfortable routine you had grown accustomed to having with all three of the boys.

But you bolted upright as Eijirou nonchalantly revealed something you didn’t expect the instant you finished setting up the tent for movie night.

“IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?!?!” You screeched in Bakugou’s ear.

Bakugou clapped a hand over your mouth, sending you a death glare, undoubtedly for your insanely loud volume, but you wrangled him off of you.

“Bu— You— Why didn’t you say something?!”

He looked at you as though you were crazy. You two barely knew each other and if he knew it was going to spur on this reaction, he definitely would’ve stopped Shitty Hair from saying that shit.

Too late now.

Bakugou slumped back against the makeshift fort you had set up for the boys in the loft. Said troublesome toddlers were currently going to town on your DVD collection so that they could choose a movie for tonight.

You only had cartoons from your childhood so it was a perfect selection for them. They were currently hunting through the bookshelf in your room that was connected to upper floor, just down the hall.

“What the hell is there to tell?” He grunted in your direction, a deep seated scowl on his features from the starry blankets and pillows that surrounded him.

You frowned. Growing up, birthdays had always been days that you looked forward to. The parties, the presents, family and friends to celebrate it with, you always loved it. Maybe there was a reason he didn’t want to celebrate it.

Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, you idly rocked back and forth as you thought about how best to approach the reproachful man.

Bakugou sighed and glared at your crossly. You weren’t going to let this go until he gave you an answer.

“There ain’t no deep reason for it, none of that bullshit.” He ground out eventually and you perked your head up, listening attentively. “I don’t see what’s so special about the day I was born, it’s the same as every other fucking day.”

He was caught off guard as you rapidly shook your head, crying out at his words.

“It’s not!!” You implored earnestly, the roots to your ideals running deep as you leaned forward. “The day you were born is so special!! It celebrates your life, Katsuki!!”

Bakugou swallowed hard. Your proximity was making it very hard to breathe. That light in your eyes, the one that was able to find happiness in even the smallest of things, he didn’t understand it.

It was the same kind of light that Deku had. How fucking annoying.

“Damn idiot.” He muttered as he turned your face away from you so that he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss your lips. They looked so soft…

Fuck, he was screwed over. Quick, he had to think of something else.

Luckily, the distraction came in the form of two very energetic boys barreling into the tent. You collapsed in a fit of giggles as Eijirou returned from his adventure and tunneled into you, Izuku tripping on the way in only to be caught by the back of his collar by a reluctant Bakugou.

Eijirou quickly fumbled with the DVD, holding the cartoons he and Izuku had selected together up proudly for you to see.

You cooed, pinching his cheeks and praised them for making such a good choice. This one was one of your favorites when you were younger and you hadn’t seen it in a while so this was as much a treat for them as it was for you.

The little tent was a bit more cramped than you had anticipated, especially with the two hyperactive boys added into the mix, but it was doable for now. Your leg was pressed up against Bakugou’s warm thigh but you tried not to think about it as you popped the DVD into the small TV you had set up on a table outside of the cozy fort.

Eijirou snuggled up in your lap while Izuku hesitated to climb onto a very comfy looking hothead, who was actually quite tame at the moment.

Unfolding his arms, Bakugou's lip curled back in a scowl. "Tch, hurry up, nerd."

You couldn't even bring yourself to say anything about his language because while Eijirou seemed largely unaffected by it, Izuku’s forest green eyes actually sparked as he recognized the indirect permission granted.

It was actually quite adorable how the boys could read the disgruntled older man like a book.

Bakugou attempted to hide it from you but he couldn't stop you from seeing how gently he rested his large hand on top of Izuku’s little green curls. The tent didn't provide that much privacy.

Not wanting him to stop showing the rare display of affection towards the affection-starved child, you averted your eyes so that he could carry on. You knew he would retract his hand so fast if he thought you were looking at them.

You didn't want to ruin the moment.

Snuggling back into the plushy pillow, you held onto Eijirou as he curled onto your stomach, straining to see the small screen that lit up with moving pictures.

“Izuku, it’s starting!!” He exclaimed excitedly.

There was a crash and then a loud swear and as you looked over to make sure that Izuku and Bakugou were both alright, you had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing at the scene that you were presented with.

At Eijirou’s well intended announcement, Izuku had hurried upright, knocking back into Bakugou at the same time as he scrambled forward to be able to see.

But in doing so, he had tripped over the cord connecting the TV to the outlet that was behind you and fell forward. Right as the box came crashing down, aimed directly for his head.

Luckily, no one was hurt.

Bakugou had caught Izuku by the collar of his shirt and hauled him back, out of harm’s way before anything could happen to him.

Any other time, you would’ve voiced how impressed you were but now you were just worried about the little boy, who was openly crying, apologizing over and over again for breaking it.

“It’s alright, Izuku.” You reassured gently, patting his head comfortingly. His emerald eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he blinked up at your, his freckled cheeks flushed an embarrassed shade of pink and your eyes softened. “You’re safe, so no harm done!! Don’t worry, okay?”

He sniffled and shakily nodded.

Bakugou had yet to say anything but his fingers were still curled protectively around Izuku’s stomach, ensuring that he didn’t move around carelessly. Next time, he might not be as lucky. Not that he was going to admit that he was scared or anything.

How fucking ridiculous.

While you switched out Eijirou with Izuku to calm him down, Bakugou took charge in cleaning up the shattered shards of cheap plastic that had broken upon impact.

Your TV wasn’t completely destroyed but the plastic screen had cracked at the corner. For something so old, it sure was robust, he’d give it credit for that.

Eijirou tugged on his hand, losing his balance and Bakugou’s arm shot out to prevent him from face-planting in the shards that he had just swept up.

“Watch what you’re doing, Shitty Hair.” He growled, concern masked under his sharp reprimanding and he glared at the now sheepish toddler.

“C’mere, Eiji.” You coaxed, waving your hand to have him come closer to you so that he was out of the way until Bakugou got rid of the small, clear pieces hiding on the floor. “I don’t want you to get hurt, so let’s stay out of his way, yeah?”

Eijirou nodded vigorously, finding the logic in your words with relative ease and agreeing with them instinctively.

Sighing to yourself, you unplugged the TV so that an electrical surge wouldn’t cause a fire. That was the last thing you needed.

You were sad that the boys were disappointed with the short-lived movie night. But Bakugou insists that he can fix it just like he fixed your front door so the three of you waited for him to work his magic while you curled up with a good book to read to them.

You had already asked if he wanted help but he glowered at you for suggesting such an insane thing and you backed off with a shit-eating grin.

After almost an hour of reading books and playing games to pass the time, he got it up and running again, laying the cable on top of the fort you built so that it was out of the way, making it impossible for anyone else to trip on it again.

This time, everything ran smoothly and all of you gorged yourselves on popcorn and soda as the cheesy cartoons played out on the screen, thoroughly entertaining the two little boys while you and Bakugou stole glances at each other the entire time.

By the time it finished, Izuku was already fast asleep and Eijirou was struggling to keep his eyes open.

You put them both to bed, Bakugou’s soft half-smile going over your head as you tucked them into the spare futon you had set up for them specifically, almost three months ago, when this all started.

“You’re too fucking soft.” Bakugou decided as you two went downstairs to let the boys sleep.

It was familiar, it was routine. After every night when they fell asleep, you two would stay up talking for hours about anything and everything.

He eventually opened up to you about the life he had been involved in before he met Aizawa, who saved his life. After that, he reformed, he got clean, the whole nine yards.

And you were proud of him.

You told him about your life, though it probably was nothing at all that interesting compared to his problems that he dealt with. But surprisingly, you found him nodding along understandingly as you voiced your hardships with being anti-social and having a bunch of insecurities and anxieties that often made talking to people a nerve-wracking experience and you were astonished to find the weight that uplifted as soon as he put in his two cents and said that he really did understand.

You skipped ahead of him, spinning around to tell him how much you’ve grown to look forward to your conversations when the guarded look on his face made the confession die on your lips.

“You okay?” You asked concernedly, approaching him cautiously to give him enough time to push you away if he wanted to be left alone.

He grunted in your direction. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But he didn’t sound fine. His voice was strained and a bead of sweat ran down his forehead.

Biting your lip, you tilted your head contemplatively. Ice cream and books generally made you feel better when you had a bad day but you realized you had no idea what comforted him.

Gingerly, you took his hand and frowned when you saw the faded scars. He had been hurt.

“What do you need?” You asked softly and he sighed in defeat.

“What’s your favorite book?” He grumbled out and your mouth parted in surprise at the odd request.

Wordlessly, you led him over to the counter to grab the same book you had been reading that day he had first barged in and so rudely knocked you off your stool.

You held it up to him and still holding your hand, he led you in the back where you normally sat with the boys to read to them.

“Katsuki?” You questioned.

He gritted his teeth, mumbling something under his breath.

“Um…” You trailed off nervously. “C-Can you say it again? I didn’t really hear you…”

Bakugou whirled around and you squeaked at how close his face was to yours.

“Read it to me.” He demanded without pause and you would’ve laughed, thinking he was playing a prank on you if it had not been for his steely gaze.

“Okay…” You drew out slowly, wondering where this was suddenly coming about as you sat down on the tan leather sofa and patted the spot beside you, turning on the table lamp beside you so that you could see him. “Do you want me to start from the beginning? I’m not sure if you’ll even like this book, I have no idea what you like to read—”

Bakugou shook his head to cut off your anxious rambling, recognizing that it was stemming from your nervousness at him possibly judging you for what you liked to read and he leaned back, resting his arms behind his head.

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” He mumbled. “Just start.”

Even though you had numerous questions running through your head, you obliged and began reading, the words flowing off your lips with practiced ease.

Bakugou never told you but he was jealous of how you always read to the brats. Granted, he was a full-grown adult who shouldn’t pout in the corner when they got more attention than he did but it was so fucking stupid how soothing your voice was and how much of an effect it had on him. 

He could listen to you for hours and never get bored. Why do you think he always stuck around when you hopped up on the same tan leather sofa to read to those shitty kids?

It wasn’t just because he liked to look at your face, but it was because of the smile you had whenever you would read to them, that soft tilt of your head when the books evoked emotions from the children you were reading to and the giggle that bubbled past your lips when they laughed at something that the character did.

It never failed to do things to his heart.

Bakugou’s eyes eventually drifted closed after an hour of reading to him and you tensed when he careened into you by accident.

“Sorry.” He said shortly as he righted himself and you shyly reassured him that it was okay.

He didn’t say anything but you knew.

Ever since he got out of his old life, he had found a steady job but it was in construction and the risk was incredibly high. The hours were long and often the conditions were unforgiving. He had seen things happen on the daily and you were cautious to ever bring it up to him when he pressed closer to you than usual or who stayed longer by the front desk while you worked during operating hours.

You were about to stand up and leave so that he could sleep since he was obviously exhausted but his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t go.”

It was quiet and it wavered but you didn’t hesitate.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you eased him down and swallowed hard when his own encircled your waist, bringing you close to him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You promised.

Head laying on his chest, your heartbeat eventually synced with the rise and fall of it and you drifted off, unaware that Bakugou sealed your promise with a soft kiss to the top of your head.

The fragments of his heart gently pieced itself back together as he held onto you as though you were his lifeline and he couldn’t help but whisper brokenly.

“Thank you.”

Bonus:

“Papa!!!”

“You’re back!!”

Aizawa held a finger up to his lips as his boys reached for him at the same time, chuckling softly as he caught them both as they launched into him. He didn’t change out of his military gear yet, he wanted to see them first.

“Shh… “ He hushed quietly, ruffling both of their heads at the same time. Damn, he missed them. “Y/N’s sleeping downstairs.”

Instantly, both the boys shut their mouths and shot out at the speed of light.

Aizawa followed them downstairs just in time to see the two of them screaming silently as they danced around in rings around their favorite couch that you and Bakugou were cozied up on.

Your face was tucked under Bakugou’s chin and you were sound asleep. Meanwhile, the man beside you had his arm draped over your waist, the other one supporting your head as a makeshift pillow. The blankets on top of you were rumpled, as though they had been kicked aside in favor of you both seeking out each other’s warmth.

It was cute. Aizawa admitted it was one of the most heartwarming things he’d ever seen.

“Don’t wake them up.” Aizawa instructed as Izuku reached out to touch Bakugou’s spiky hair since he wasn’t awake to tell him off. “Not yet.”

Eijirou was curious but a wide grin broke out on his face when his dad pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures.

“Oooo, Papa, can I?! Please?!?!”

Gesturing for him to lower his voice, Aizawa nodded and handed it off, watching Izuku and Eijriou briefly squabble about who got to use it first when they sorted it out amongst themselves and Izuku took the first turn.

You awoke to the sound of a shutter clicking right by your ear and blinking slowly, your eyes shot open and you jerked as you realized where you were.

And who you were with.

“Katsuki, get up!!” You hissed as the boys laughed loudly. Hell, even Aizawa cracked a smile and you threw him an apologetic look, though you didn’t know what it was for. “Katsuki!!”

He groaned and turned his face the other way.

This time, Aizawa couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Katsuki, huh?”

Bakugou turned back around and glared at the offending person smirking at him. “Shut the hell up.”

Aizawa clicked his tongue. “Respect your elders.”

“Oh f—”

“OKAY!!!” You shouted, clapping your hands together before he could cuss him out. “Who wants breakfast?”

“Oh, oh, oh, me!!!” Izuku cried, jumping up and down excitedly.

“Yay, food!!!” Eijirou cheered.

Bakugou blearily rubbed his eyes and yawned. Thank goodness he didn’t have to go in today. “Oi, didn’t you just eat?”

“Yeah, but that was last night!!” The little boy protested. “My stomach is hungryyyyy.”

“Fucking Shitty Hair.”

A warning tone came from Aizawa. “Bakugou.”

“... Sorry.”

“Coffee?” You offered to Aizawa as you all traveled back upstairs, the little ones racing ahead of you.

He sighed gratefully, blinking his eyes tiredly. “That sounds perfect.”

He was exhausted and the trip back was even more brutal than the one that took him to his destination. But he didn’t want to get into all of that now.

Eijirou and Izuku shot to their designated seats at the kitchen island and you put on an apron before pulling open the fridge to see what you could make.

“I meant what I said.” Bakugou confessed quietly while you cracked the eggs and prepared the bacon.

You didn’t look at him, not wanting to give it away to the other three who were watching you both like some kind of TV show.

“I know.” You murmured, a soft smile playing on the corners of your lips. “I did, too.”

Your heart fluttered as he boldly pressed a kiss to your temple and you blushed violently when the boys whooped and hollered at the two of you, Eijirou making faces of disgust and pretending to gag when Bakugou made it look like he was going to kiss you on the lips in front of them.

Aizawa chuckled as he handled the coffee machine, able to easily figure it out as he brewed enough for the both of you. “Look at that? You have learned how to play well with others, Bakugou.”

And this time, Bakugou didn’t even spare him a glance as he gazed at you until you looked his way.

“What?” You asked nervously, wondering if you had something on your face.

Bakugou hid a smirk.

“How ‘bout blueberry muffins to go along with that coffee, sweetheart?”

[wildestheart4ever]

5, 6, 7

Tea and Books Asks

5. Do you have a favourite film soundtrack?

I like the Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron soundtrack, it was my one pick when my parents took me and my sisters shopping and we all picked out CDs when we were little.

Really love the Winter Soldier theme, from the CA soundtrack.

6. What does your dream home look like?

I'm torn between a small apartment

Or a small cottage style house. Nice and cozy, painted warm colors with vintage decor, and plenty of plants [Fake or real idk lol]; I really like the idea of a big backyard with lots of flowers and a small pond, with a trellis on the side of the house covered in vines.

7. What makes you feel better on gloomy days?

Watching Dollightful and Rachel Maksy on YouTube, they're kinda my go-to when I'm seeking cozy time or distraction. That, or read some of favorite fanfics.

[serpent-under-the-flower]

Reading Tag Meme

I was tagged by the absolutely lovely @shealwaysreads! Thank you for the tag!

• hardcover or paperback: I have a huge mixture of both on my shelves! I really enjoy having hardcovers and special editions of my favs and those sit on the shelves and look pretty while I beat up the paperbacks

• rent or buy: both - I’m a huge fan out the public libraries so I enjoy checking books out before I buy them.

• reads in silence or reads with music: omg are you kidding? I have music on ALL DAY. With my ADHD, I need something to ground me as background noise. It helps me focus.

• standalone or series: I really do prefer a series but mostly because I always want more when I find a book I love!

• annotations or pristine pages: I actually LOVE buying second-hand books that have annotations from the previous owner(s). I think there’s something romantic about reading a stranger’s thoughts and seeing where they underlined passages they liked. I especially like vintage cookbooks with old annotations and will buy them every time!

• ebook or physical copy: I have 2 libraries at the moment so I am trying to fill up my kindle until I knock down a wall for more room. 😂

• dog ears or bookmarks: both. I like books that are well-loved ❤️

• mismatches series or complete set: I gotta catch ‘em all

• cover matters or you don’t judge: imma magpie. I love a pretty cover but I don’t HAVE to have a pretty cover.

• lend books or keep them to yourself: my favorites and my antique books don’t leave my house but I loan paperbacks for sure!

• enjoys lit classes or despises them: I ended up with a lit degree on accident because I took so many classes while I was in college, even though I was studying to be a nurse at the same time.

• browses shops or orders online: I prefer to support local bookstores but I do order online from time to time too, especially recently.

• reads reviews or goes in blind: I have a few triggers that are dealbreakers for me and I usually skim reviews just to make sure I won’t run into them

• unreturned books or clean library record: my librarian friends would spank me if I didn’t return books on time.

• rereads or once was enough: omg I will reread my favs a BILLION times!

• fanfic enthusiast or stickler for canon: are you kidding??? I’m a fanfic fanatic!

• deep reader or easily distracted: yeahhhh I am VERY easily distracted but I would love to be a deep reader!

• must read the book before seeing the movie or order doesn’t matter

• has neat bookshelves or messy bookshelves: they are arranged in a funky way and I have Knick-knacks on the shelves with the books but I like the way they look

• skips ahead or resists temptation: I read the last chapter first ALWAYS😂

• reads aloud or in your head:

• guesses plot twists or never sees them coming: Maybe I’m dumb but I’m always like *surprised pikachu*

I tag anyone who wants to do this!

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 80

I acquired more toilet paper today! Go me! This is becoming less of an accomplishment as supply chains catch up with the needs of American bottoms, but it still feels nice, especially since it's my favorite brand. I found it at CVS so I had to pay a considerable upcharge for it,but such is life. I suspect that from this point on in my life, I will have a month's worth of toilet paper in storage at all times, along with my two weeks of food. One day the kiddo will inherit a closet full of pristine vintage TP still in the plastic packaging and think "Mom never really was the same after the 'Rona came through." But he'll never have to consider the benefits of a bidet! 

Today's trip out was to CVS and the day old bread store. The CVS trip was necessary because I had a prescription refill to pick up, and I also took the opportunity to buy very expensive toilet paper and moderately expensive milk. Everything at CVS is extremely fucking expensive unless you have the right coupons, and then it is free. Back when the kiddo was a baby and we were living on 2000 dollars a month in grad student stipend, I kept him in diapers almost solely on the grace of my couponing prowess. Back in the late twenty-teens, shows like Extreme Couponing hadn't ruined coupons yet, and if you were smart and watched the ways the stores timed their sales, you could get really, really good deals on stuff. I made it a point to never be an asshole about my coupons and let people go ahead of me in line when I had something complicated to do, but I still managed to get 80-90% off on a lot of transactions. CVS and Walgreeens were definitely the best for it. Being able to combine in-store coupons with manufacturer's coupons plus the store's own Value Bucks systems meant that in certain weeks, the store was actually paying me to shop there. Most of the time it was a matter of several complex transactions that resulted in a very unique assortment of items, but I could always donate my excess toothpaste or shampoo or soap to the food pantry. They give away that stuff too, and it is often in demand. 

Anyway, diapers are stupidly expensive and WIC doesn't cover them, so I was always on the lookout for coupons, and always buying ahead. I had a buy price and a stock up price, don't remember what they were now, but I was very serious about them. At one point half of Kiddo’s closet was stacked full of diapers in varying sizes all the way up to toddler sizes, even though he wasn't sitting up on his own yet. Oh, and that was back before Diapers.com got eaten up by Amazon too, and they were super bad about checking to see whether you really were a new user and entitled to that 40% diaper discount, so every time I got a coupon, I really went to town. Small wonder they didn't end up profitable, whoops. But my kid never went bare-butted! 

What the hell was I even talking about? CVS, right. Anyway, it truly pains me to buy anything full price at CVS, but it extends the time between full-on grocery store visits and nearly everybody was wearing a mask, so I'll take it for now. One day I shall unlock their coupony puzzles again! The day old bread store was just for bread, buns and snack cakes, quick in and out. I haven't been there in several weeks and they'd rearranged the whole store, making it a one way loop (it is a little store) with one right hand aisle and two left hand aisles. This leaves customers at the end of the only right-hand aisle with the difficult choice of whether you want to go down the aisle with the mini-doughnuts or the aisle with the peanut butter chocolate crunch bars. (the peanut butter bars are always the right choice, but it was not easy.) Got out of there in five minutes and headed home. The day old bread store is the opposite of CVS, it is always cheap and there is never a challenge. I got my $5 bags of brioche style hamburger buns for 99 cents and didn't even have to try. 

Takeout from a local restaurant for dinner, it was good even though they forgot the two bottles of their in-house ranch dressing we ordered. We'll pick it up Monday so it's not a big deal anyway. They thoroughly redeemed themselves by construing "extra feta" for two orders of greek spaghetti as meaning "basically an entire square styrofoam container of feta cheese that you may cake on your food at will." Tomorrow's lunch will be spinach and feta quesadillas, I have a recipe! After dinner the kiddo and I went outside and, rather than starting the campfire in the extremely wet firepit, we used fireplace matches to set fire to marshmallows speared on chopsticks. It would not be any good for golden toasting a marshmallow, but when all you need is for that sugar to catch fire, it's just fine. 

Today also marks the end of Book One in our Avatar rewatch. It was all very exciting, and the kiddo is very into it. I am way deep into reading Avatar fanfic right now, some of which is very good and some of which is obviously people just wanting to wrap Zuko in a blanket and carry him home. (These two things are not mutually exclusive, but there is a woobification threshold beyond which it is just hilarious.) Kiddo was baffled at the end of the last episode when I laughed and said "Hello, Azula..." because he didn't remember who she was. He'll figure it out, and probably be glad he's an only child. 

[blood-mocha-latte]

favorite fanfics as vintage book covers (2/?)

THE UNIVERSE AND YOU BY @youcalledmebabe

A year in Joe Toye's life.

[szopenhauer]

Have you ever kissed the last person you texted? yes

Are you in a good mood right now? r u serious?...

Is there anyone who you think you deserve an apology from? I won’t get any

Are you talking to anyone right now? my gf online and my mom irl

Did you buy anything today? I didn’t

Were you happy when you woke up this morning? I wasn’t

When was the last time you cried really hard? today, it wasn’t the hardest tho

When did you last hug someone? Who was it? this day as well, parent

How’s life going for you? no comment

Has something someone said today annoyed you? that’s normal Can you hear the crickets chirping at night? sadly not Do you like listening to new music, or just sticking to your favorites? depends on the new song - if it’s good then I like it as much as my old favs

When was the last time you were bitten by a bug? this summer has the worst mosquitos ever Do you have a pair of sunglasses that are worth over $200? I'm not rich, mine aren’t more expensive than 25 PLN  Are you brave when it comes to trying new foods? ...  When was the last time you saw your significant other? weeks ago, not counting video chatting Are you ashamed of your singing voice? I’m aware I have no talent so... Have you ever had a dream where you could understand a foreign language? also animal languages and been talking to plants etc. Do you have anything important to do tomorrow? hospital Are you a fan of retro things? prefer vintage, antiques, shabby - retro is fake but at times there are some good enough pieces as well  Would you be considered to be knowledgeable about World War 2? I mistake WWI for WWII and vice versa If you’re with someone right now, do you think it will last? don’t feed my paranoia Have you heard of the Irish actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers? oooh that’s the one Do you have something to do, that you would rather not do? tomorrow Are you, in any way, feeling hopeless right now? absolutely Do you know who you’re planning to ask to your prom? I wanted to ask my current gf back in the day but my mom didn’t let me and I didn’t go because only me and K. didn’t have a date so we preffered to stay home When was the last time you went shopping? yesterday What’s the limit on how much you would pay for a shirt? 60 PLN but I cry when I pay 30 PLN, luckily I have like 3 shirts that are about 30 PLN Do you like making funny faces in pictures? better to be funny than ugly, right? Is there something you look back on and go “I can’t believe I did that”? regrets Are you good at offering advice? but not following them  What was the last thing to confuse you? confused is my second name  Are you a fan of Keira Knightley? she’s not that good Have you ever resorted to alcohol to make you feel better? it doesn’t make anything better Have you heard about Mel Gibson’s rant/freakout? he was such a good actor, such a shame he’s not a good person  Do you wish your bedroom was bigger? I wish I had my own apartment Have you ever felt like a “new person”? I had my moments that were ruined right after  Do you own any expensive jewelry? I sold the only necklace that was worth something  Has there been someone in your life that just wouldn’t leave you alone? stalkers Do you hate to use public bathrooms? there are way worse things than public bathrooms, even when they’re covered in blood, poop, pee and vomit (but puke is least bearable from all four)

Are there any writing utensils close to you? I packed bunch of them 

What was the last thing that shocked you? brain, remind me what was last... How many other rooms can you currently see into? hall Do you need to take the trash out? done Do you need to clean your room right now? soon Do you need to clean out a litter box right now? my cat’s gone Are these questions reminding you of things you put off to do this survey? there’s washing my head on my list for this evening - nothing more  How many days have you been wearing those clothes? gimme a break!

Can you move your nose? yasss

Have you ever done a craft that you found on Pinterest? sew teddy and a cat from socks for example but I’m not fond of DIY in general Are you content with mystery, or do you wish you knew everything? knowledge is power

What’s one thing that makes your stomach hurt? what doesn’t?... Ever had a living nightmare? my life is a nightmare

Do you think successful people always come with a pack of haters? successful or not - haters are everywhere Do you wish you could be a world traveler? travelling ain’t my hobby Do you wish you could live in another city for a year? Ełk If you had kids, would you take them to Disney World? if I had money and they wanted to go and it wasn’t that far away from home and they were angels and they were old enough... Have you ever stood in line to get a Disney character’s autograph? wouldn’t bother, pics are better How long does it usually take your hair to dry?  so short yet dry slowly Is your Pinterest page cluttered? it’s neat Did you used to name your Barbies? of course Is your life boring? ppl say it is but for me it’s not enough boring if you know what I mean Do you usually feel better around people or alone? alone Is there a broken relationship in your life that you want to fix? tried to fix friendships but it didn’t work out  Do you ever think about Heaven? yup Are you ready for Heaven yet? I will go to hell but I don’t mind dying now if it’s a quick death as I prefer to be gone that an ill burden to myself and others Are you afraid of where you’re going to go? I don’t deserve heaven, I think it would be unfair for me to go wherever, I have love-hate relationship with God Do you feel better now than you did last night? noooo Does your body have any problems with it? my body is 99,99% a problem, it’s made of problems like jigsaw puzzle game Have you taken any huge risks lately? my life is 24/7 at risk - does that count?... Silence or songs? depends  Do you ignore rude people or do you call them out? try to ignore them if possible What color socks do you have on? purple stripes, looks a bit like asexual flag - this realization :o Are you under a blanket right now? am not

How much was your prom dress? What’s the most you’d spend?: I wouldn’t buy anything expensive, dress from a second hand under 30 PLN Are most of your friends single or taken?: my friends were basically always single When you’re taking a survey that has a “Which of your friends is… the nicest? The prettiest? The smartest? Etc.” do you skip over it?: as I have no friends anymore to be honest What salon do you go to for getting your hair done?: I cut them on my own or ask mom for help Do you believe in luck?: I’m unlucky Would you marry someone of a different religion?: that would be hard  Would you convert for them?: nope Worst part about your job?: I don’t have a job and the worst part about it is lack of money and regular UP visits Ever took something out of the lost and found that wasn’t yours?: they tempt me I took some lost/trashed stuff from the street tho Do you delete friends from Facebook if they never talk to you?: that’s me! Do you know anyone who smokes cigars?: my uncle did Ugliest fashion trend at the moment?: according to this - shorts suit, cut outs, sheer/transparent, raffia not a fan of most of vests blue isn’t my fav color but it’s a seasonal thing but shirts shouldn’t be such a huge part of summer in my opinion Do you like glittery nail polishes?: why not

Are you wearing a pink shirt? it’s white with black letters

If you had a baby, would you want to have it at home or in a hospital? hospital I believe

Have you ever had a bad experience with anti-depressants? If so, what? don’t even let me begin this subject...

What makes your room unique? trinkets

Does your past bother you? consequences of it

Do you take risks or play it safe? play it safe and yet...

Are you afraid of running into a certain person in public? more than one person, more than one reason

Do you live in the USA? Poland

Who do you want to meet in Heaven? from those who already died? my brother

Is it raining? slightly

Is your life stressful and exhausting? to me it is too stressful and exhausting 

What is your favorite time of the day? when I sleep, if I sleep that is 

Have you ever known anyone that’s gone missing? nope Do you put your foundation on with a sponge or your hand? I don’t use foundation, yuk Do you have to pee often? ppl told me that I pee often Do you live near a pet store? they closed pet store in my town

Who was the last person other than family to tell you that they love you? my gf How many people have you kissed in the last month? 1 Do you know anyone who writes really well? my gf writes well Does it bug you when people spell color “colour”? not spell but write, it sounds good in British accent but looks horrible on paper

What is the best fanfic you have ever read (lmao) only fanfic I remember reading was that one E.W. and K.K. sent me about Draco and Harry (yaoi)

If you could direct your own TV show/movie, what would it be like? it would be based on my book

One thing you’ve always wished you could do / be good at? be healthy

Post a picture of the weirdest/funniest text conversation you’ve ever had! can’t choose only one, also, sadly,  I don’t have screenies of some of them 

Is there a stranger you would like to meet again? for example - I’d like to see all those ppl that I thought have amazing fashion sense and ask them if I can take photos then I would make a blog about it

Does your school take sports too seriously? all schools do, that’s unfair What does the sound you currently hear remind you of? it’s quiet

Did you eat out anywhere today? nah Where is your purse? my purses are in various places around my room

[sugarcoated-pain]

Heavy Rotation Part One

Here comes my first ever 5SOS fanfic! This series is a collaboration with the remarkable @sublimehood and we are super excited to finally share it with all of you! Let me know what you think! (unless you hate it, then keep that shit to yourself :P) 

Quick synopsis: New Girl meets Empire Records. All the boys are in this one, but with particular focus on Ashton <3 

Warnings: I cuss a lot *shrugs* . Also, this shit is LONGGGGG haha. 

Heavy Rotation- Part One 

Nothing had ever looked as beautiful as the city lights that lay ahead as the Greyhound sped toward Los Angeles. It wasn’t the lights themselves that appealed to me. Growing up less than two hours outside of New York City, it would take much more than that to impress this girl. No, it was the absolute freedom and opportunity for a whole new life that this magical new city held that had me glued to the window with excitement. I pulled one ear bud out to listen to the driver’s announcement with arrival details as I began gathering my belongings I had scattered across both seats in my row, as well as the row across from me. Books, notebooks full of song lyrics, my acoustic guitar, food wrappers, random articles of clothing and all kinds of miscellaneous shit were strewn all over. Sixty five hours was far too damn long to be cooped up in a moving vehicle, despite stopping several times. I had just gathered the last of my things at the very moment the bus came to a stop at the station.

After collecting my checked bag from the bus’s underbelly, I stopped for a moment to take it all in. The sun was just starting to rise and wash over the city with a soft, warm glow. Knowing nowhere I needed to be would be open this early, breakfast at the McDonald’s across the street from the station was sounding pretty damn good. I sat alone in a booth surrounded by the only possessions I owned that mattered anymore, and scrolling through musicians forums online on my cell phone. One particular neighborhood, Silver Lake, kept coming up in discussions and I just knew that was where I needed to start my search. If I were a normal, sane human, I should be utterly terrified of the fact that I just moved across the country with about two percent of a plan for my future, but I am not, in fact, a normal or sane human. It was exhilarating to not have a clue where I was sleeping that night, and to know that if I wanted to get anywhere in this city, I had to bust my ass to do it.

I let a couple of hours pass until it seemed like I might actually be able to accomplish something, hopped in a cab, and instructed the driver to take me to his favorite spot in Silver Lake, which turned out to be this killer little locally owned coffee shop. Don’t mind if I do! Dragging my few belongings along with a latte in hand, I begin my hunt for anything that looks like it involves music and might be hiring. I couldn’t possibly have expected this to be easy, right? Every recording studio, indie radio station and music store for at least a mile was extremely quick to kick this East Coast girl with way too much shit in her hands right back to the curb. That mildly uneasy feeling in my stomach, that probably would have started for anyone else back at the bus station in Jersey, began to creep up on me. I had enough cash in my beat- up handbag to get me maybe a week in a seedy motel, but what happened after that if I didn’t find a job IMMEDIATELY, I am not ready to start thinking about yet.

This situation requires more coffee. I make my back to Mr. Taxi Driver’s favorite coffee shop, order my drink, and skim the bulletins next to the counter while waiting. Somebody, somewhere must be hiring and/or looking for a roommate, right?

“Large cold brew, coconut milk and a shot of espresso.” the barista calls, setting my drink down. But at the exact moment I reach for it, someone else does too. A large hand accidentally covers mine, and I instinctively look up to see who it belongs to. The most gorgeous hazel eyes I have ever had the privilege of seeing lock with mine. His curly dirty blonde hair falling casually in his face, that chiseled jawline, that dimpled smile- holy crap. This is one seriously beautiful human being. Something inside me vaguely in the vicinity of my stomach decides it wants to be a gymnast all of the sudden and begins performing somersaults. I feel my cheeks flush slightly and finally remember to pull my hand away.

“Sorry. I assumed it was mine, but please. Take it.” The handsome stranger insists.

“Thanks,” I reply. “Pretty unusual order. I’ve never met anyone else who drank this.” I state, awkwardly. What the hell. Who even am I right now? I am NOT awkward. Pull yourself together, bitch.

The barista calls the same order once again, and Mr. Beautiful grabs it with smirk. “Cheers.” he says, holding his drink in the air in my direction. I playfully clink my plastic cup against his, and then I notice his eyes flutter to my guitar case on my arm. “Are you a musician?” he asks.

“Aspiring. You?” I answer, avoiding looking in his eyes to regain my confidence and for fear of never being able to stop.

“Also aspiring. I work for a recording studio part time but I’m also in a band, which is completely LA cliche, but they are some of the best musicians in this city. You should check us out sometime. Oh, I’m Ashton, by the way.” He says while flashing that mesmerizing smile once again and holding his hand out to shake mine. I reach for it. Dear god, those hands. The kind of hands that make you wonder what they’re really capable of…

“Emma,” I reply, regaining my composure and flashing a flirty smile. “This recording studio you speak of wouldn’t happen to be hiring by any chance, would it?”

“Hmm, I don’t think so, but ya know, it never hurts to ask.” he replies, as he reaches over the counter to grab the barista’s sharpie and a small napkin. I’m incapable of pulling my eyes off this flawless creature as he jots something down. “Here’s the address. Go in through the record store and ask for Liz. She should be there after 1pm today.” he adds as he hands me the napkin.

“Thanks! I didn’t think I’d run into someone so willing to help around here.” I reply excitedly, taking it from him a little too slowly and deliberately rubbing my fingers against his again.

“I’ve gotta get back to work, but hopefully I’ll see you around.” Ashton says with another goddamned smile as he walks away.

What the hell just happened to me? I feel like I got punched in the gut. I pick my bag up from off the floor, and drag it with my guitar and drink to the nearest table. Checking the time on my cell phone, I realize it is only 11:30am. So, looks like I’m sitting here daydreaming about what just happened for the next hour and a half. But that’s it though, that nagging voice in my head insists. Just daydreaming. No man is getting in the way of my music.

“UGH I know, I know.” I sigh to myself out loud. The elderly couple next to me turns to me with puzzled expressions on their faces, and I simply smile back at them and turn back to my phone.

The walk to the record store wasn’t far, so I gathered up my things and decided to go there shortly after one o'clock. The black sign above the door read “Heavy Rotation” in an edgy, handwritten-looking font. I take a deep breath and enter the record store Ashton had written on the napkin. An attractive guy around my age with electric blue hair is sitting on a stool with his feet propped up on the counter next to the cash register flipping through what appears to be a rock n roll magazine. He doesn’t even blink when I walk in. “Welcome to Heavy Rotation. Let me know if you need any help.” He says, in a somewhat disgruntled tone, still not looking up.

“Hi,” I greet him as I approach the counter, “I’m looking for Liz? And also, I like your hair.”

He glances up and looks me up and down, as if appraising the situation. “Thanks, I like yours too.” My fire engine red ombre look wasn’t properly appreciated in small-town New Jersey, but I knew LA would understand.“Gimme a sec, I’ll go get Liz.” Blue-haired guy walks to the back of the room, and I take the opportunity to glance around. It’s perfect. A little dark, very “offbeat”- retro but with a cutting-edge vibe; low ceiling, eclectic lighting, rows upon rows of records, vintage and new alike. The store itself is much larger than it appears from the outside, as it stretches far back into the building. A deep purple velvet curtain covers a doorway on the right side of the room, separate from where Blue-Hair went into, and I have a sneaking suspicion the recording studio lies beyond. A thrill creeps up my spine. Solely over the concept of being so close to where music is actually produced, and having absolutely nothing at all to do with the fact that the flawless man from the coffee shop is most likely behind that curtain.

Blue-hair comes back with a blonde lady, whom one could deduce is Liz. I approach her with my hand outstretched. “Hi, Liz? I’m Emma. I met Ashton at a coffee shop and he thought I might be able to talk you into a possible job around here?”

She shakes my hand while looking me up and down, eyes lingering for a moment on my guitar. “I bet he did.” she replies with a small chuckle. Not really sure what the hell that’s supposed to mean… “It’s nice to meet you, Emma. I’m sorry, hon, but we aren’t hiring at the moment.”

“Please. I’m sorry to sound pushy and desperate but I’ll do anything you need. There has to be SOMETHING I could do here.” I press, attempting to keep the panic out of my voice.

“Well, what makes you think you would be a good fit here?” Liz asks, eyeing me interestedly.

I take a deep breath. “I have wanted to be a musician for as long as I can remember. I’ve been singing since before I could talk and music has always been my number one passion in life. I know more about music than most people twice my age. I just graduated from music school and realized the east coast scene wasn’t right for me and that I needed to get away from everything there, and hopped a Greyhound bus four days ago to come here and be close to the music. I just want to work a job with music while I work toward my dream. And, not to judge or anything, but looking at this place you’ve got here, I’d say you seem like the type of person who can appreciate that.”

Liz studies me once more, and then slowly answers. “Well, I think we could use a little help with cleaning and organizing between the store and the studio. I won’t be able to give you a ton of hours, and the pay won’t be much. Still something you’re interested in?”

“YES! I mean.. Yeah I think I could make that work.” I reply eagerly.

“Alright then. Come back to the office with me and we can sort out all the details and legal crap.”

Thirty minutes later, I follow Liz out of the office for her to give me the grand tour. Realizing I’m still lugging around everything I own, I ask, “..you wouldn’t happen to know anyone in the area who is looking for a roommate, would you?”

Blue-hair perks up from the behind the cash register, “did you say roommate? Are you looking for a place to stay?”

“Mikey… I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Liz chimes in immediately.

Glancing back and forth between the two of them, I turn back to Mikey, “uh, yeah I am. Do you know a place?”

“I live upstairs with my friends and we currently happen to be looking for a roommate!” he replies enthusiastically.

“Well that sounds almost too perfect… can I see the space?” I ask, ignoring the look of disapproval on Liz’s face.

“Liz, mind if I abandon my post for a minute to run her upstairs?” Mikey asks.

She sighs, and then nods.

I stash my stuff in a corner of the store and follow him up the stairs. The building is pretty old, but in the cool, artsy, vintage way and not the nasty, dilapidated old. When we reach the second floor landing, Mike pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the front door. One could definitely tell that only guys lived there, but that they appeared to have attempted to straighten up a bit. Growing up with 3 brothers, none of this phases me. The architecture was naturally gorgeous but there was really no other decor. Mismatched couches and chairs surrounded an extremely nice and unnecessarily large TV which was surrounded by various video game consoles.

“So, this is the living room. The kitchen is over there. Uh.. there’s only one bathroom, so that kinda sucks, but it’s right here.” Mikey says as he gestures me through the space. “And this here, is your room.”

It was a small room with just a twin sized bed and a small dresser already furnished. Nothing fancy, just the basics, which is exactly what I need at this moment. “How much is the rent?” I ask him.

“Uhh.. so we hadn’t really talked about it yet but considering that Luke’s parents own the building, we pretty much just each pay what we can…” he answers.

“Luke?”

“OH, yeah he’s one of my roommates and Liz’s son, I think he’s home actually, I can introduce you. HEY LUKE!” he shouts across the apartment. Moments later, a tall, good-looking blonde boy steps into the living area. “Luke, this is Emma.. your mom just hired her downstairs, and she needs a place to stay so I’m showing her the extra room.”

“Oh, hey. Nice to meet you, Emma. What do you think so far?” Luke answers, walking over to us.

“Hey,” I answer. “I think it’s perfect actually.” I bite my lip to try and hold back the smile that threatened to expose me. Was every single person who has anything to do with this building good looking?

“Can I ask what brings you to LA?” Luke asks.

“The typical, aspiring musician. But it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I met Ashton at the coffee shop, he thought you guys might be able to help me out.” I’ve probably said too much.

“I hope so. When can you move in?” Luke asks, and Mikey gets overly excited beside me.

“I um...right now?” I laugh a little awkwardly.

“Perfect.” Luke flashes a smile that would make any girl weak in the knees. But it’s nothing compared to the dimpled one I had the pleasure of witnessing on Ashton’s face.

Things might be going my way a little too conveniently. OR maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me this is exactly where I belong. The guys offer to give me a tour of the recording studio, which I jump at since it’s basically all that’s on my mind right now. When we get back downstairs, they introduce me to a pretty dark-haired girl by the name of Georgia who works in the record store.

“Oh thank god! We need more girls around here!” she sighs with relief as she shakes my hand. She and Mikey both get back to work as Luke leads me through the curtain I had seen earlier toward the recording studio. This is it. This is what I came here for. Excitement starts building, and I’m going to pretend it’s exclusively over the possibility of finally being able to make music, NOT because I know the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen might also be somewhere behind that curtain.

The recording studio is everything I ever imagined and more. Dark walls, sleek black furniture and decor, framed awards and photos of celebrities lining the walls.  When we enter, Luke introduces me to Calum, their tall, dark and handsome ‘other roommate’ who also happens to be Georgia’s boyfriend. I mentally answer my previous question- yes, every single person associated with this building is drop-dead gorgeous.

“Other roommate?? How many people live up there?!” I ask, half amused, half concerned.

“Don’t worry,” Luke assures me, “you get your own room. We worked out a system for the rest of us….”

“.. I don’t wanna know…” I say darkly.

Both guys laugh. “Don’t worry, it’s just us, Mikey and Ashton.” Calum replies.

I choke on air at his last word. “Ashton? The guy I met at the coffee shop? HE is also our roommate??”

As if on cue, Ashton comes into the main area through a door to the left. “Hey! Emma, isn’t it? Looks like you found the place!”

“My mom hired her to help out around here, and she’s also gonna take the spare bedroom upstairs.” Luke adds.

A look passes over Ashton’s face, just briefly. What is that look? Surprise? Disappointment? Concern? It’s gone before I can even register what the hell that might be about, and his winning smile is back. “Wow! Awesome! Well, welcome.”

Just as I’m about to reply, a thin, fake-tanned girl with long blonde hair struts into the studio like she owns the place. “Hey babe, are you off work yet? You said you’d be done an hour ago.” She whines, making her way over to Ashton and wrapping her arms around his waist.

I try hard not to show any signs that my stomach plummeted through the floor at the sight of them together. Let her have him. You didn’t sit on a disgusting bus for sixty five hours to meet guys. You’re here for music. He would only distract you.

“Camille, this is Emma. She’s gonna be working with us and also renting out the spare bedroom upstairs. Emma, this is my girlfriend, Camille.” Ashton introduces us. Is it just in my head or was there something about the way he said the word ‘girlfriend’?

Camille eyes me up and down, clearly debating whether or not I might be a threat. I make the first move. “It’s great to meet you! Nice to know I won’t be constantly surrounded by only guys..” I extend my hand to shake hers. She hesitates before taking it, and doesn’t say anything. So that’s how it’s gonna be.

Ashton and Camille leave the studio together. Everybody else goes about their business, so I head back to where I had stashed my belongings in the record store and take them upstairs, to my new home. I look around as I enter it again, taking everything in. When I get to the bedroom, I toss my stuff on the floor and collapse on the bed. I made it. I did it. I am actually living in Los Angeles. Now, to survive.

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

[numinousnic]

... Because I’m reading Moby-Dick for my American Romanticism class, and because I have to write a reader-response paper on it for my final in said class, and because my professor recommended we take notes of our thoughts as we read so as to make said paper a little easier, I have decided to liveblog the whole damn book and it will be amazing.

So, without further ado, I give to you...

THE MOBY-DICKSCUSSION, PART I Etymology — Chapter 22

For starters, I’m a big fan of the Penguin Classics edition that my professor had us buy for this class. It’s a paperback with these ~vintage~ distressed page edges, and the cover art/back cover art/interior flap art by Tony Millionaire is just beautiful.

Look at it!

I find the Etymology and Extracts sections quietly hysterical because Melville’s pretending that he’s not a giant-ass cetology nerd by going “oh, it wasn’t meee who dug up all these linguistic facts and literary quotes about whales! It was thooose sad-sack failed academics over theeere!” It’s an incredibly weird and nerdy way to begin this incredibly weird and nerdy book, and as a future sad-sack failed academic, I greatly appreciate the shout-out.

Yeah, the first sentence of Moby-Dick is iconic, but have you ever read the paragraph that follows it?

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago — never mind how long precisely — having little or no money in my purse and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street and methodically knocking people’s hats off — then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me (Chapter 1: Loomings).

TL;DR, Ishmael is a broke millennial whose coping mechanism for depression and suicidal ideation is signing on to work on a ship for a couple years, because 1) he wants to travel and see the world (and the whales; don’t forget the whales) for free, and 2) he wants to get paid for some work while he’s at it, even though he fully acknowledges it turns him into just another cog in the hellish machinery of capitalism. Dare I say: relatable.

And and and… I’m just going to throw it out there and say that Ishmael’s and Queequeg’s relationship is a pretty gay one. At the very least, it’s scorchingly homosocial, but like… their relationship starts with a meet-cute centered around the good ol’ “there’s only one bed; looks like we have to share it” trope (a fanfic classic and a real favorite of mine) and it just keeps escalating from there! Ishmael wakes up the next morning and Queequeg’s spooning him “in the most loving and affectionate manner”! (“You had almost thought I had been his wife,” Ishmael comments way too offhandedly.) And the next night when they’re hanging out and bonding over a book and a smoke, Queequeg asks Ishmael “whether [they] were again to be bedfellows,” and when Ishmael says yes, he observes that Queequeg “looked pleased, perhaps a little complimented”! And then, this happens!

He seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as I to him; and when our smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country’s phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be (Chapter 10: A Bosom Friend).

AND THEN, THEY GO TO BED, BUT INSTEAD OF SLEEPING, THEY JUST STAY UP CUDDLING AND SMOKING AND TALKING

How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our heart’s honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg — a cosy, loving pair (Chapter 10: A Bosom Friend).

Ishmael is a nerdy, clueless twink. You heard it here first, everyone.

As it turns out, the Whaleman’s Chapel that Melville describes in New Bedford is an actual place called the Seamen’s Bethel! (Granted, it didn’t have the kickass prow pulpit with the retractable rope ladder in Melville’s day, but it was added to the church in the 1960s by a local boat builder.)

Of course Father Mapple preaches about Jonah. Unless you want to get into such ~uplifting~ Biblical books such as Job or Isaiah, the Book of Jonah kind of has a monopoly on whales/leviathans/real fucking big fish. (I do have to laugh though at the “how the fuck did Jonah think he was going to run away from an omnipotent, omniscient God; literally no one can do that” foot that the sermon starts off on, because my Apocalyptic Lit professor pulled that out as evidence for making his case of Why Jonah is the Funniest Book in the Bible.)

Ishmael rhapsodizing about clam chowder makes me really long to be home in New England and at a roadside shack that’s actually a surprisingly good seafood restaurant, slurping up hot chowder thick with clams and potatoes. There are few seafood items better in the world than New England seafood shack clam chowder.

Between Ishmael, Ahab, and Elijah, this novel is really selling it so far on the symbolic, vaguely ominous Biblical character names. But we’re now 22 chapters in and there’s been no sign of Ahab... is Melville pulling a Victor Hugo on me or what? Is Ahab going to be like Jean fucking Valjean and not show up until 30K words in?? Stay tuned, I guess!

[ygbentobox]

Soft Q&A

Tagged by: @ygteasure !!! <3

What’s the smell of your shampoo?

its supposed to b tangerines but it smells more like a citrus concoction 

What’s your aesthetic?

based on my wardrobe alone the main ones I like is neutral+warm, 90s insp+colorful, androgynous or v feminine. I adore vintage stuff and love comfy/soft things and fresh...??? stuff?? idk like things that remind me of springtime like flowers and frogs and grass.

What is your favorite time of day?

golden hour/late afternoon

What do you like the most about the beach?

when u finally work up the courage to dive into the water,,, fireworks on the beach, napping on the beach, white squeaky sand + bonfires 

What do you worry about constantly?

jsjsjs if I fucked up that bad or am I just overanalyzing things?  How am I gonna graduate highschool/is college worth it 

What is a song you’ve cried to before?

everglow by coldplay fjhdfkj i bawled my eyes out at 2am over a crush 

What are some relaxing tips for your followers?

take a shower, nap in a clean/comfy space, listen 2 asmr, go outside if u can and lay in the grass

What are some things that make you tear up?

coming out, growing up, school, someone i love getting hurt, groups disbanding

What is your favorite form of each of the five senses?

touch: cuddling!! 

sight: mashiho, bang chan, kim wonpil, clean rooms, nature during springtime, my puppy, my best friend, my family

hearing: nct’s discography, mashiho’s voice, yedam’s cover of there’s nothing holding me back, lorde’s discography, skz’ discography, asmr, when my dog makes funny noises, my cats purring 

smell: warm, spicy smells (like baked goods), mint, fresh cut grass, lilies of the valley, my perfume, coconut, apples, white chocolate...to name a few lol

taste: thai food, ramen, french fries, ice cream, lasagna, chedder cheese

What is one alternate reality you’d want to live in?

where im thru college, know several languages, with a job i love with decent money and running a mini farm w my partner and our pets 

What are most troubles you face daily?

trying to overcome bad time management, trying not to yell at ppl for homophobia, trying to focus, trying to be nice to not nice people.... the list goes on

What is a scene of a book that made you really sad?

ok,,, do fanfics count?? i read @jisquish‘s changlix fic “read my lips” and that one scene where Deaf!Changbin got to hear everyones’ voice made me cry as well as a couple other scenes (I highly suggest reading this fic its So Good)

Say something to all your followers.

 Send anons! Tag your reblogs! Say stuff in the replies! I always wanna hear from yall. dont be afraid to talk me, ok? and thanks for sticking around + joining me in this experience of a survival show. u are all super sweet and i love interacting with you

I tag: @hyunsukies​ @cafencts @junkyeu @galaxyknj@felixxtrash @stray-kids-stuff @astarlightmonbebe @yedumb and anyone else who wants to!

[utukkigirl]

Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues, Chapter 7

Ain’t No Cure for the Cervitaur Blues A Gravity Falls Fanfic by Krista Perry I own nothing.

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Chapter Seven

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 Dipper woke, gasping, sitting up in his bed, clutching the front of his shirt as his heart nearly beat out of his chest, and immediately scrambled to his feet, jumping to the floor, getting ready to run. There was a threat, there was danger, he heard that dark laugh, he could smell death…

He blinked. He was in the attic. He turned around in a circle, tensed, breathing hard, eyes searching for a threat that was suddenly not there. “What…” he whispered, confused.

And then, as his adrenaline ebbed slightly, he realized. He hadn’t woken up. He had fallen asleep, and he was in his mindscape.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was so confusing. One moment, he was a deer. He was with Mabel and… and a woman who could only be a magic forest creature of some kind, if her strange wooden skin and green hair were any indication. They were going somewhere. Mabel had wrapped him in a blanket and put him in her backpack, and how weird was it that he was small enough to fit in her backpack?

Mabel had put on the backpack, and he could feel the solid, comforting warmth of her back through the fabric. He had poked his head out from underneath the flap as they went out the back porch, and then….

… then he had heard that terrible demonic chuckle, had smelled the stench of an unnatural predator, and panic had flooded his simple deer brain. He had thrashed frantically, desperate to get away, to escape, but suddenly Mabel was there trying to hold him still, and the wood woman put her hand on his head and…

And now he was here. Asleep. Standing in the Shack’s attic in his mindscape with an out-of-control flight instinct still rushing through him, urging him to run from a threat he was incapable of escaping, since it existed in the waking world.

That magic forest lady had touched his head and put him to sleep against his will, and he suddenly realized he probably couldn’t wake up right now even if he wanted to.

And that threat was still out there, and Mabel was still out there, and he didn’t have any way to warn her, because she and that forest lady thought he was just a dumb deer having a freak out. Augh! Dipper pulled at his hair in frustration. What was he supposed to do now?

Well, he couldn’t just stand around here, that was for sure. He felt jittery with excess energy and the absolute need to be moving. He rushed out the attic bedroom door…

…and found himself in the upstairs hallway of his home in Piedmont.

He was facing the bathroom across the hall from his and Mabel’s bedroom. He turned around, only to see the battered open door and attic bedroom of the Shack instead of the regular bedroom that usually occupied that space. Interesting. Did that mean he had come to view the attic as more of his real bedroom than the one at home?

His heartbeat slowed and his breathing came easier as he found himself in the place he had grown up; a place that always meant comfort and safety and family. He hadn’t been homesick at all during his stay at Gravity Falls because there were so many mysteries, so many things to discover and explore. But now, as he thought about his current predicament, and realized he might never see his home again -- might never see his parents again – he was hit with a wave of homesickness so painful and overwhelming, he felt like throwing up.

And he could hear voices in the house. Familiar voices. Welcome voices. He took a few steps down the hall to the next room – a room that was supposed to be his sometime in the future when his parents decided he and Mabel were too old to share a room. But he opened the door and found the room as he left it -- filled with shelves and stacks of old books. Books his mom had never had the heart to part with and put up for sale at The Literate Owl, the second-hand bookstore she owned on Piedmont Avenue.

And there she was, a mere ghost of a memory, wearing mom-jeans and her favorite vintage Duran Duran World Tour 1987 t-shirt, her long brown hair piled up in a messy bun stuck through with a knitting needle. She was pulling an old hardback off the shelf and turning to hand it to a younger him, who was probably eight or nine from the look of him.

“Here you go, hon,” she said, and Dipper watched his younger self take it reverently.

“The Count of Monte Cristo,” his younger self read, then looked up at Mom. “You think I’m ready for this?”

Mom laughed. “You’ve read Lord of the Rings, and had the audacity to tackle The Silmarillion.” She reached down and ruffled his hair. “I think it’s safe to say you can handle this, my brilliant boy.”

Young Dipper grinned up at her with delight, and Dipper had to close the door against them both, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat and the deep, hollow ache in his chest.

He could hear more voices, more memories, manifesting throughout the house and, for a moment, Dipper considered retreating to the attic bedroom.

But no. Though his pulse was slowing back to normal, he was restless. He didn’t want to be stuck in the attic, waiting for who knows how long until he could wake from a magic-induced sleep, just to be a stupid baby animal again.

So he turned the hall corner, and there was the little alcove with a window bench, covered in skeins of multi-colored yarn and bathed in morning sunlight. Mabel sat on the bench, alternately humming and singing a song from some boy band while she knitted something that was probably a sweater for one of her stuffed animals.

“Mabel?” he said, hesitant hope sparking in him.

But she didn’t acknowledge him. She just kept swaying in time to the music in her head while she knit.

Dipper frowned. “Mabel?” he tried again, walking closer. He had been able to interact with memory-Stan when they were in his mindscape. Why wasn’t this working? He didn’t care if this Mabel was just a memory, he really needed to talk to someone. When she still didn’t respond, he walked right up next to her and waved his hand in front of her face. “Mabel, come on, please—“

He broke off as his hand passed right through her.

He sighed, feeling his shoulders slump. Great. Even his memories that weren’t hiding behind doors were intangible and non-responsive. This just got better and better.

Beyond the alcove were the stairs that led to the main floor, and across the hall from the stairs was his parents’ bedroom. He was planning to skip that door and just go downstairs, but to his surprise, the door was already open. Unable to squash his curiosity, he looked inside.

There, inside the room, crouched on either side of the French doors that led to a small balcony, were him and Mabel, eavesdropping on the conversation their parents were having just outside.

Dipper huffed a short laugh. This memory was fresh, from just before the start of summer. Still, it would be interesting to re-live it, knowing what he knew now, so he walked right up to the French doors. The Dipper and Mabel on either side of him were straining to hear Mom and Dad, casting meaningful glances as each other, right through him. Talk about feeling invisible.

Mom and Dad were lounging on deck chairs, watching the sun set.

“I don’t know,” Mom said, sipping her Diet Coke. “I can see a couple of weeks, or even a month, but… the whole summer? I know Uncle Stanford said he didn’t mind, but that seems like a huge imposition.”

“Naw,” Dad said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “It will be good for all of them. Uncle Stanford’s been up there alone since before Uncle Stanley died, and it will be good for the kids to visit him up there for a change. When he visits us, it’s just for an afternoon while he’s on his way to somewhere else, and the kids barely get to know him.”

“But that’s not our fault. I know we’ve made it clear he’s welcome to visit for as long as he likes.”

“Yeah,” Dad said, “but that’s not the point. One of my best childhood memories was the two weeks my dad sent me to stay with him. He plays the grumpy old man well, but stick around him long enough and you’ll know nothing means more to him than family. I always wanted to go back every summer, but Dad kept me busy with other things.”

Mom laughed. “Maybe that’s because you came home from your stay claiming you saw Bigfoot.”

Dad straightened with mock indignation. “For your information, my dear, I did see Bigfoot.”

“Yes, yes,” Mom said, grinning. “And the seven dwarves. How could I forget?”

“They weren’t dwarves,” Dad said. “They were more like living lawn gnomes.”

“Because that’s so much better.” She was openly snickering at him, and Dad grabbed one of the chair pillows and swiped playfully at her. “Hey,” she protested, holding up her soda can. “Watch the drink.”

“Unbelievers,” Dad intoned, “must go thirsty.” And he grabbed the can away from her. “Hey, it’s already empty!”

Past Dipper and Mabel knew what that meant, and were already scrambling to their feet to scurry out the door before they got caught. But Dipper stayed to watch what his past self had only heard while fleeing.

“Get me another one, please?” Mom said, smiling and batting her eyes.

Dad groaned and got to his feet. “You know I hate when you do that.”

“Stop jumping to please me when I do it, and I’ll stop doing it.”

They both laughed. It was an old game, almost like reciting a script at this point, and Dipper found himself blinking back a stinging wetness in his eyes. The homesick ache in his chest was so all-consuming, he didn’t even flinch when Dad opened the doors and walked right through him.

Both his parents vanished as the memory ended.

Dipper turned and ran out of his parents’ room, unwilling to see what memory might manifest next. He could hear more voices in the house. From downstairs in the sitting room, he could hear his own voice crow in triumph and Dad’s answering moan that always followed when he beat him in a game of chess. He could hear Mom and Mabel singing 80’s tunes at the tops of their lungs in the laundry room as they folded clothes. And there was Mom telling him for the last time to take out the trash before he lost his video game privileges, and his voice responding, Fine, I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Sheesh!

He stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. The front door was just a few feet from the bottom of the stairs. The longer he stood there, the more the memories manifested, until the house was full of voices and images of himself and Mabel and his parents, fading in and out of existence. He needed to get out of here before his homesickness overwhelmed him. But as he started down the steps, Mom and Dad rushed to the door, Dad shrugging on his coat while Mom handed him a thermos of coffee and a leather briefcase. They pecked on the lips, and then Dad was gone as Mom closed the door.

For a moment, Dipper thought she was going to walk away and disappear, but then she looked up at him. “Mason?” she said, and Dipper froze.

“Mom?” he said. His heart was suddenly in his throat. She could see him?

She reached out to him and gave him a tired smile. “Come here, hon.”

And at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run to her and be gathered into the comfort of her arms. “Mom,” he said, his voice wobbling unsteadily, and he took a couple of steps down…

…when a much smaller, younger memory of himself ran right through him, rushing down the stairs and into her open arms.

Oh. Of course. Right.

Dipper turned away, trembling hands grasping for the wooden railing and clenching it like a lifeline. And if his face was a little wet, well, what of it?

“Did Daddy and I wake you?” Mom asked.

His younger self nodded. “Where did Daddy go? It’s still night time.”

“Well,” Mom said, and if Dipper closed his eyes, he could almost feel her running her fingers gently through his hair. “Daddy is the orthopedic surgeon on call at the hospital. That means if there’s an emergency and someone gets hurt in the middle of the night, he’s the one who needs to go help them.”

“Oh. I guess that’s okay, then.”

Mom chuckled. “Yes, it’s very much okay. So, is Mabel awake?”

“Nope. She’s still sleeping.”

“You should join her. You don’t need to worry. Everything is fine, and Daddy will be back when he’s done.”

“But I’m not tired now.”

Mom sighed, weary and amused. “Let me guess. You want me to read to you.”

“Yes! Yes yes yes!”

Mom laughed. “All right, settle down. Let’s go find a good book.”

She would read to him until he fell asleep, nestled in the crook of her arm, Dipper knew. And then he would wake up in the morning in his own bed.

Dipper didn’t wait until the memory left the room. As soon as they were clear of the door, he ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

He stood on the front porch, sucking in deep breaths, wiping surreptitiously at his face and trying to still his shaking hands.

Okay. That… really, really sucked.

And it was still sucking, because right in front of him were Mom and Dad, dressed in their gardening clothes. Mom was trimming the hedges on either side of the stone path that led from the sidewalk to the front porch, and Dad was mowing the front lawn. And as they faded, there he was, no older than five, riding his bike down the sidewalk with no hands and yelling, Look, Mabel, look! She responded with, Oh yeah? Watch this! No hands and eyes closed! Upon which she promptly rode her bike into the mailbox.

As his younger self hurried to his wailing sister’s aid, Dipper jumped the hedge and ran down the narrow, tree-lined street, not caring where, as long as it was away. Some place where no memory could remind him of what he had lost.

No matter how he looked at it, his life was cut short. He would spend the rest of it living whatever deer lifespan he had. His family would probably take care of him, making sure he wouldn’t die prematurely at a hunter’s hand, only for him to die at the ripe old age of eighteen or twenty. But even if he was with them, he would never understand them or experience that familial love he longed for, trapped in the limited moment-to-moment awareness of an animal.

Awake, full of slow, simple thoughts and mindless instinct. Asleep, fully aware, haunted and yearning for what he could never have again.

So he ran blindly through his mindscape, faster than humanly possible. And though he tried not to look, he still caught glimpses of places from his past. The Eggbert Elementary playground. The vast Mountain View Cemetery, so much cooler than the park with its monuments and mausoleums; its stone angels and guarding sphinxes that were perfect for twilit games of hide-and-seek with Mabel. Professor’s Games and Comics with the weekend DD&MD tournaments. The seemingly endless winding streets of hills and houses and shady walkways that lent themselves so well a pair of twins looking for adventure, real or imaginary. Shepherd’s Canyon, that ran almost all the way to…

…the Gravity Falls Water Tower, and suddenly he was out of Piedmont, but this wasn’t any better. There was the arcade, and the Northwest Mansion, and the lake, and Greasy’s, and, of course, the Shack, all swarming with familiar wraiths of memory. He kept running.

No more home, he pleaded silently. He felt like there was an empty, aching hole where his heart should be, and he felt the wind drying the tears on his cheeks. Let me be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

When he finally slowed and came to a stop, Piedmont and Gravity Falls were long gone, and he found himself in a forest where he didn’t recognize anything. There were no rising cliffs, no landmarks. Just woods as far as he could see… but there were no pine trees. No conifers at all; just deciduous trees in all their green, broad-leafed glory.

The relief he felt at leaving the painfully familiar behind was almost palpable.

And this place… it was beautiful. Peaceful. Sunlight streamed through the forest canopy, and the air was cool and smelled of damp earth, old leaves, and a sweet hint of distant honeysuckle. He could hear a gurgling stream nearby, and cheerful birdsong, and the hum of insects.

Just being here made the tight, twisting lump of anxiety in his chest loosen slightly.

He walked toward the sound of the stream, and came out into a clearing, at the bottom of a small waterfall cascading over mossy stone and pooling in a small pond before rushing on downhill. The grass near the pond looked soft and inviting, so he went over and sat down, and again felt that knot in his chest loosen. The blades of grass felt like silk between his fingers.

Dipper took a deep, cleansing breath. This… this was okay. He could stay here until he woke up, he decided. It made him feel a little better -- his mind couldn’t be completely messed up if it could conjure a place like this for him. The natural beauty of the place eased the consuming ache of his loneliness.

He had been sitting a while when a man emerged from the other side of the clearing.

Dipper looked at him, a little surprised, but not alarmed, since this man was obviously a construct of his mind as well. He looked like he had stepped right out of a DD&MD manual, tall and pale, with long black hair that fell past his shoulders. He was wearing ornate robes of swirling blues with silver filigree lining. Floating in an arc above his brow was a crown of seven jewels shining like stars.

As the man stepped forward, Dipper raised an eyebrow at him. “Please tell me that you’re Elrond, and that I’ve somehow created Middle-Earth in my mindscape,” he said.

The man tilted his head slightly and smiled a little, but said nothing, so Dipper went on. “Because you’re pretty much exactly how I always pictured Elrond from the books. I mean, no offense to Hugo Weaving; he did a great job with the roll in the movies, but sometimes he would get this look on his face, and I’d expect the next words out of his mouth to be, ‘Mister Anderson,’ and that the movie would turn out to be just part of the Matrix. That always kind of threw me off, and… I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Not really the first impression he wanted to make with Elrond, but hey, this was his mind, and this man was the first person to look at him and really see him. It was nice to speak to someone who could actually listen, even if he was imaginary.

“I am not Elrond,” the man said, and Dipper was impressed with quiet echo in his voice that gave him a distinct aura of non-aggressive power. Nice.

“Oh?” Dipper pulled up some of the grass by his legs and twisted the blades in his fingers. “Who are you, then?” He was mentally going through a list of potential tall, mystic-looking dark-haired characters he knew of, when the man spoke.

“An interested party.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes at the indirect answer. “Interested in what?”

“You.”

Dipper scrambled to his feet, alarm bells ringing in his head. Okay, maybe this guy wasn’t a construct of his mind, and if so… what the heck was he doing here? How was he here? None of his immediate guesses were in the least bit comforting. Was this guy a friend of Bill’s? He backed away as the man started walking toward him again, and when the man reached the flowing pond between then, he kept walking, his feet hovering a few inches above the water.

“Okay,” Dipper said, wincing as his voice broke on the second syllable. He raised his hands as if trying to ward him off. “You just stop right there. Don’t come any closer!”

The man stopped just shy of the bank on Dipper’s side of the pond, looking at him calmly.

Surprised, Dipper lowered his hands slightly. “What do you want?” he said, tensing and ready to run at the first sign of threat.

“I came to see if my Lady was correct.” The man’s smile was as gentle as his voice was quiet, but Dipper didn’t dare let his guard down. Too many monsters were all smiles and friendship until they were ready to eat your face off. “She said you are one of mine. I have come to confirm her assertion.”

“Wait, what do you mean, one of yours?” Dipper didn’t like the sound of that at all. “I don’t even know you, so… pretty sure, not one of yours.”

The man didn’t respond except to look at him. Or rather, Dipper realized, look at his forehead.

Wait, was this about his birthmark? Almost automatically, he reached up and pulled the brim of his cap down in case his hair wasn’t covering it completely, but the man continued to stare as if nothing was in the way.

“Ah,” he said. “Ursa Major. Odin’s Wain. Butcher’s Cleaver. Guidepost.” His smile warmed. “You are one of mine.” He met Dipper’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. “You have wandered far, child. Dare I say, had you not inadvertently twisted the threats of fate, you would have wandered farther still.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dipper said, probably with more force than necessary, especially since it wasn’t exactly true. He looked at the man’s floating crown of gleaming stars, thought of his birthmark, and had an absolutely crazy idea of what the man meant. It made him feel sick to his stomach. This was stupid. This was absolutely the last thing he needed right now. “Go away and leave me alone!”

The man gave him a patient look. “Humanity ill-suits you, child. I think you will be well rid of it.”

“Okay, nope, no way, I don’t think so!” Dipper shouted, backing away and waving his hands. “Whatever crazy thing you think you have planned for me, just forget it! I happen to like my humanity! A lot! So… so back off!”

“You do?” The man’s expression turned puzzled. “Unexpected. And yet, at the moment, you are not human.”

“That wasn’t exactly my decision,” Dipper said, nearly snarling. “And it doesn’t matter what my body looks like, I’m human right here!” He pointed at his head. “And I plan to stay that way! Besides…” He felt his cheeks heat slightly, and looked down and glared at the grass. “This whole stupid deer thing is only temporary.”

“Is it?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Dipper insisted, clenching his fists at his sides. “Mable and my grunkles will find a way to break the curse. I know them. They won’t stop until it’s broken.”

“That is true,” the man said, and Dipper looked up in surprise. “And yet, should they find the solution, they will not use it, for there is but one way to break the curse. The dream demon used an other-dimensional artifact of immense dark power to change your form. Only death can free you from its influence.”

Dipper paled. “… what?” That… that couldn’t be right. Death? Only death? Sure, he’d had his pity party where he internally moaned about being cursed until he died, but always, underneath that, there had been the spark of hope that his family and friends would be able to save him somehow.

The man’s expression softened with sympathy. “Do not despair. At this moment, your twin sister and a dryad are bearing you to the Lady, for she desires to help you.”

Dipper looked up, latching on to the man’s words. “The Lady? Who is she? Can she really help me?”

“She has many names and many aspects, but in this time and place, she is known as the Mother of the Wood. She is my Lady, and I am her Lord.”

Dipper blinked. “Oh.” He swallowed hard as he grasped the implications of what the man said. His heart pounded, and he could feel his pulse in his head. He had hoped that he would be able to solve the mysteries of Gravity Falls, but this was so far beyond him, he really wondered if he would throw up. Was it even possible to throw up in the mindscape? If so, he was probably about to find out.

Deep breaths. Try not to puke in front of the, uh, sky entity or deity or whatever.

“So,” he said, when he managed to push back most of his nausea. “She can help?

“We can,” the man said. “You are one of mine, and I would help you also. But we will not force this help upon you. You must choose to accept it.”

“Well, of course I want help,” Dipper said, confused as to why it would even be an issue. “You think I want to be a stupid deer for the rest of my life?

The man extended his hands, palms upward. “Two paths lie before you in the immediate future, and you must choose one,” he said. “Both offer escape.”

Dipper nodded eagerly. Two paths. A choice. Right. So far, so good.

“The first path is dying like any other mortal.”

Dipper was getting impatient. He already knew one of the paths was death, the man had just told him so earlier. Why would he choose that? “And the second path?” he asked.

“Is like unto it,” the man said. “For you must still die for the curse to release you. However, the Lady and I can hold your soul before it flees into the infinitude, and remake you, that you may yet live in this world.”

Dipper stared at the man, stunned. “Re… remake? What does that mean?”

“It means,” the man said soberly, “that you would be human no longer. You would become a new creature entirely. This is the choice.”

Dipper shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the man’s words. “I… but how would…” He didn’t even know what to say. His choices were death, or death and being changed into something else entirely? What kind of choice was that?

“What about my life, my memories, my family?” he asked. He thought about Mabel, about Mom and Dad, about Great Uncle Ford and Grunkle Stan. The thought of losing them forever had pained him enough that he had run away in his own mindscape. “Would I still have them? Would I still be me?” He didn’t want to lose himself being remade, any more than he wanted to lose himself as a stupid deer.

The man gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Your soul is strong and bright, child. You are one of mine, yet you cling to this human life with a fierce resolve. It is possible you will keep the memories and experiences from this life, should you choose to accept our aid.”

“Possible,” Dipper said, his heart sinking. “But not a sure thing?”

“What you carry over would be entirely up to your strength of will,” the man said. “You have but a brief time to consider your choice, for your fate approaches you swiftly. I will leave you now, but know that when your choice is made, the Lady and I will be aware, and we will act accordingly.”

Before Dipper could even protest, the man faded from view, leaving him alone in the clearing once more.

“Well… okay,” Dipper said, waving at the spot where the man used to be. “Great. Nice talk, then. Thanks a lot. I’ll just contemplate my apparent imminent death all by myself now.”

He felt numb. There was only so much crap a guy could take, after all, before each new surprise just impacted uselessly on the surface.

Dipper turned and walked away from the clearing.

“Welp,” he announced to the surrounding forest. “I think it’s safe to say that this is the worst day of my life. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was human. Now I’m a cursed, sleeping fawn who is about to die. Why? I don’t know! I’m asleep!”

Dipper found that ranting at the forest was not especially helpful. He kept walking.

Here he thought that seeing his memories brought to life sucked, because of the sharp, hollow pain of homesickness they inspired. But that paled in comparison to this. One way or another, he was apparently fated to die. He could choose to come back, but as what? The man hadn’t said, and he had been too overwhelmed to ask. He thought of some of the creatures he’d read about in the journals, and groaned. And to become one of those things, and not even remember ever being human, being himself? Death might be better.

But what about Mabel? What would she do? What about Mom and Dad and Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford? He couldn’t leave them like this! Especially Mabel. If he died, it would destroy her. He knew, because of the keen spike of terror he felt at the thought of losing her. But would it be any better for her if he lived, but didn’t remember her?

Dipper suddenly regretted running away from his memories of Piedmont and Gravity Falls. He wanted to see Mabel again. He wanted to see Mom and Dad and his grunkles, even if they were just shades of the past. He wanted to see Wendy and Soos. He wanted to remember them all, and hold on to them with all his might.

Home, he thought, his walk slowly gaining speed, turning into a run. I want to go home.

But then a green-haired woman suddenly appeared in front of him, and he only just managed to stop before plowing into her.

“You!” he said, realizing that he recognized her as the dryad who was with Mabel.

She stared at him, eyes wide. “Dipper?” she said.

What in the world was going on now? “Yeah?”

She stepped closer to him, reaching out, and he instinctively took a step back. “Dipper, you’re… I don’t believe it…” Her eyes seemed to glaze over. “Mabel, he’s right—“

“You’re with Mabel right now?!” Dipper interrupted. “Is she okay? Is she upset? She hasn’t gone to sweater town at all, has she?”

She looked at him and her eyes lost that glassy look. “Yes, she’s right here… Hold it!” The dryad held up her hands. “Just give me a second to explain. I can’t talk to both of you at the same time.”

Dipper understood immediately. Somehow, this dryad – the same one who put him to sleep, he noted irritably – had connected with the human part of his mind, while still being in the waking world.

Her eyes lost focus again. “Dipper is in there,” she said, pointing at the ground, and Dipper could only guess that this mindscape version of her was mirroring her actions in the real world. “You remember the light-shining-through-the-paper metaphor I showed you back at the Shack? When he’s asleep and I try to communicate, it’s like I’m on the other side of the paper!”

Okay, she lost him. She had to be talking about something she had done when he was awake and his comprehension skills were practically nil.

She seemed to be listening to something Mabel said, because she replied, “He’s… just kind of wandering through a forest in his mindscape.”

Dipper felt a little insulted. “Hey, I’m not just wandering.”

“What?” she said, focusing on him again. She looked around at his mindscape forest. “But you are.”

“I am not,” Dipper insisted, folding his arms in irritation. “It’s my mindscape. I know exactly where I’m going.”

She smirked at him, and he suddenly realized he was being teased, which did nothing to improve his mood. “Oh, pardon me,” she said, before looking off into the waking world. “He is striding with great purpose through a forest in his mindscape.”

“Ugh.” Dipper put his face in his hands. “That isn’t any better.”

“How is that not better? I specifically rephrased so it wouldn’t sound like you were aimless and lost.”

“Look,” Dipper said, raising his head. “I don’t have time for this.”

The dryad grinned. “Mabel, you never told me how delightfully easy it is to tease your brother.”

Dipper groaned. Here he was, with the perfect opportunity to communicate with Mabel, even indirectly, and let her know what was going on, and his messenger was wasting time messing around. “You don’t understand,” he said, straining to keep his temper under control. “I need you to give her an important message!”

But as he spoke, he saw her glazed eyes and realized she was listening to Mabel, not him. After a few moments, she turned her attention back to him, and her smile seemed more genuine, and less irritating. “Mabel wants you to know that we’re taking you to Mother to break your curse.”

“I already know that!” Dipper said, spreading his arms in exasperation. “Listen, please! You need to tell Mabel that a man came to me here in my mindscape, only he wasn’t just a man. He was tall and pale, and he wore a crown of floating stars! He told me that you were taking me to his Lady to help me, but that I would have to die to break the curse, and that I could choose either to stay dead, or let them change me into something else, but if they do change me, I might not remember her!”

The dryad stared at him, a stunned expression on her face.

“What are you waiting for?” He was practically pleading. “Tell her!”

She nodded and waved off to the side, as if hushing Mabel. “He says he already knows. A… strange, pale man told him. He was wearing—“

And then, right before Dipper’s eyes, she vanished.

He stepped forward. “Dryad?” he said, but she remained gone. Apparently the connection had been lost.

Well, at least he had given her the message to relay to Mabel, and even if it was a bit incoherent, he hoped that she would get the general gist of it so that she wouldn’t be completely blindsided by whatever was coming. That gave him a small measure of comfort. The dryad’s connection, irritating though it might have been, was an unexpected gift. Especially when he thought his only contact with any of his family would be with their memory ghosts.

And speaking of, before the dryad showed up, he had been headed back home.

He had only taken a few steps before he was overwhelmed with sudden agony shrieking through his entire body, setting every nerve on fire, and he crumpled to the forest floor, too surprised to scream.

The mindscape around him flickered, and the forest faded to a blank, grey fog. He could taste blood in his mouth, and every breath caused stabbing pain. He couldn’t move his arms or his legs and he thought they might be broken.

He had the disorienting sensation of his consciousness flickering awake into blank, terrified fawn instinct, then fading back to human, jolting awake, and fading again, and he was in so much pain his human mind wasn’t much more coherent than his small, confused deer brain, and he could barely tell them apart.

The grey fog around him began to darken, and it dawned on him that he was dying.

I’m dying. No, Mabel, is she okay, I’m dying. I don’t want to die. Mabel! She was just with me a few moments ago and I’m dying, is she okay? I don’t see her! Where is she? Mabel!

I don’t want to die.

Help me. I don’t want to die…

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

Almost there… stay on target…

 A/N: I know, another evil cliffhanger, but hopefully this chapter will add insight into the previous chapter and what is to come. I think this is the fastest I’ve posted another chapter of this fic, but that’s because I’ve finally reached the part of the story that was written in my head before everything else.

Another major contributing factor to my increased writing speed is all the lovely reviews and comments. Likes and Kudos make me giddy with happiness. Thank you all for your support. And please, if you feel so inclined, let me know what you think of this chapter. That would totally make my day. :)

[prydwencats]

Tagged by @maximumrevolution

1. Do you have a certain place at home for reading? Do you read outside? If I’m reading online, I’m either kicked back in my worn out computer chair or curled up on my couch.  If it’s a physical book, I’m stretched out across my bed reading.  Seldom do I read outside.  Usually outside I’m working on something or planning a project.  Outside is a super busy place for me.  

2. Bookmark or random piece of paper? Any random thing I can find.  I like the concept of bookmarks but I lose them too easily.  I’ve used random papers, thinner books, pencils, pretty much anything smaller than the book itself will do.  I’m awful I know.  lol  I try to stop at new chapters so IF my random marker falls out, I can find where I was. 

3. Can you just stop reading or do you have to stop after a chapter/ a certain amount of pages? I have to stop at a chapter’s end unless I’m interrupted. 

4. Do you eat or drink while reading? While reading a physical book I rarely eat or drink.  I’m clumsy, don’t like to take chances, don’t like crumbs around my books, I have to be really sucked into a story but also really hungry to eat and drink while reading a book.  BUT, when it comes to reading on my laptop I eat and drink all the time.  (which makes total sense because if I spill my glass of tea on my laptop it’s way cheaper to replace than if I spilled that same glass of tea on a paperback novel. lol) 

5. Multitasking: Music or TV while reading? If I’m reading a work of fiction I prefer quiet but will tolerate cartoons if it keeps my toddler out of my hair while I finish a chapter.  If it’s news I really don’t care what’s going on.  In fact, I really welcome the distraction of music or television if I’m reading the news.  The news sucks and it doesn’t seem to matter if it’s national or local...

6. One book at a time or several at once? One physical book at time.  It is almost unheard of for me to read more than one book at a time, (not counting the Bible, but reading that is more a study exercise for me).  Now fanfics on the other hand...  I have lost track of how many fanfics I am currently trying to keep up with and I sincerely apologize to those of you that have stories that I’ve started but haven’t finished.  I really need to make a list to keep up with them all. 

7. Reading out lout or silently in your head? Silently for the most part.  I’ll read out loud if I need to reread something that moved me emotionally or just really took me by surprise.  The only exception is editing.  If I’m editing,there’s a decent chance that at least half of what I’m reading is out loud. 

8. E-book or paper book? Paper book.  I refuse to use a kindle or nook or whatever else is out there.  When I read a book, I want to actually hold the book.  Call me old fashioned, but I want to be able to see, smell, touch, and hear the book that I’m reading.  And yes I said hear, as in the sound the pages make when you let them slide past your fingers, the soft thud the cover makes as it falls shut, you get the idea.  If I’m going to stop everything I’m doing to read, I want the full experience.

9. Do you smell your books? Absolutely.  I love the smell of old books.  I also love that I can find a shuttefly book in a room by smell alone.  (I discovered I could do this last Friday.)  Not that it’s a pleasant smell, but I love seeing the creativity someone else has used to arrange and create a physical representation of a special time or place in their life—and that’s a very positive thing that I associate with that smell.

10.  Breaking the spine or keeping it like new? I baby my books as much as I can to keep them looking as new as possible.  It usually doesn’t last, but I try...

11. Do you write in your books? On occasion?  It’s been a while since I’ve done it but I’ve only just now gotten back into reading physical books.  If I did write in them, it would be to establish ownership or something of significance just inside of the cover.  The exceptions to that would be like, technical manual-type books or my Bible... I have been known to hilight, underline, or put little asterisks next to things that I think are really important or things I want to be able to find later.

12. A genre you’re especially sensitive to? I’m kind of big into science fiction, and for some reason, despite being a total chicken-wuss about horror movies/shows, I seem drawn to books that depict scary things.  

13. A genre you’re really not interested in? Romance.  Despite the fact that I love romance and flirting to be sprinkled into the stories that I read, and the fact that I used to be known as a fluff writer, I don’t want to read a story where the main thing in it is the romance.  If I do read a romance then it means that the author presented me with either really captivating characters, or such an interesting world that I just couldn’t turn away.

14. Do you read ahead or even skip pages? Hahaha!  I’m the person who skips to the back of the book to see how it ends before going back and reading the story in it’s entirety.  I  can’t explain why I do it, I just do. 

15. Is the cover important to you? Do you have a type of cover that cockblocks you? Oh my gosh the cover is SO IMPORTANT.  Unless it is an old book with artwork or colors that give me a nostalgic feel, I do not like my books look bright, bold, or too busy.  When my books are sitting on a shelf together, they are part of my home decor, and I want them to look a certain way.  I like old things, I have an old house, and for the most part, I prefer earthy tones and basic natural colors.  I won’t object to a book that ended up in a lavender cover, but if I end up reading a book with a cover that I hate, you can believe that thing is being stored away in a trunk or drawer where I don’t have to look at it.  I’ve even been known to shop around online until I can find older versions of books with more appealing covers.

16. Bookstore or library ? Neither.  I want to support my hometown’s bookstore but they are far too expensive.  I am however quite comfortable in a used book store, (the books smell better).  I just don’t come across those kinds of shops that often.  The town I live in now has this adorable old library that looks like it belongs in an old western.  I should probably go inside one day just to check it out, but for whatever reason I haven’t in the 9 years I’ve lived here.  I guess in my mind, if I’m going to read a book, I want to own the book and not have to give it back when I’m done. 

17. How many books in your To Read Pile? Seven.  Eight if you count the fanfic that somehow made my BuJo Reading list.  Maybe I should start listing the fanfics I’m reading in my BuJo so I don’t lost track of them.  That’s a thought... 

18. Do you have a goodreads account? No. 

19. If it’s not your favorite genre, do you care about reading “the classics”? It depends on the book.  I’ve found that some books that have been called ‘classics’ are really quite awful.  I think it really just depends on the subject matter and the characters.

20. What are you currently reading? Honestly I’m not reading any actual books right now.  Six of Crows is sitting on an end table on top of my Art of Fallout book—but I haven’t started it yet—and I have a vintage copy of I Am Legend in the mail.  Mostly, I read a lot of fanfiction, and I read even more of my own fanfiction as I meticulously pore over my chapters.  The bulk of my reading right now is either news online or wiki references and forum conversations as I study various things in the Fallout World.  If I’m going to write fanfiction I’m going to do my absolute best to make sure I write it as accurately as possible.   Wow this took far longer than I expected...  I guess I’ll leave the tagging thing open to any of you who want to talk about your books & reading habits. 

[kristablogs]

I Found My Voice As A Writer In Justin Timberlake Fan Fiction

Simone Noronha for BuzzFeed News

At 13 years old, there was one thing I knew for sure: If ever I were to meet Justin Timberlake, it would have to be under the pretense that I wasn’t a fan.

Trust, I’d given it a lot of thought. Imagining all of the possible ways I could end up in the same room as JT was at the top of my list of favorite pastimes, right next to listening to NSYNC. I knew the most likely way to meet him would be in the capacity of a fan, maybe at a meet-and-greet or by winning backstage passes, but I also understood that if I wanted Justin to take me seriously — and that was key, if we were going to fall in love — I couldn’t come across as some embarrassing, giddy, fawning fan. Which, of course, I was.

So I spent hours imagining our possible love stories — as I was falling asleep, when I was daydreaming in class, wherever. These were PG-rated rom-coms, starring future me and (somehow) 1998-era Justin Timberlake. The scenarios were convoluted; they had dialogue; I knew what I’d be wearing and exactly how I’d win him over. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was creating fanfic — more than a decade before I knew there was such a thing.

I fell hard for NSYNC, and Justin, in 1998, right around when the “Tearin’ Up My Heart” video came out. Before that, I’d been dismissive of boy bands. I was raised primarily on rap and R&B, my parents hailing from what my dad called, to my great embarrassment, the “Boogie-Down Bronx.” So I knew what good music was, and this pretty-boy stuff was not it. But then TRL became a thing, and these boys were unavoidable. And then I saw the video. More specifically, I saw Justin’s arm in a tank top, bent over his glossy blond curls and pouting lips — just so.

I am not hyperbolizing when I say something deep within me shifted in that moment. I’d had celebrity crushes before, but I was mostly too embarrassed to even admit them to myself. (In a fill-in-the-blank journal from when I was 8, I’d crossed out an “I have a crush on ____” prompt and substituted in tiny letters above it, “I sort of think the Fresh Prince is cute.”) Those were the fleeting interests of an amateur; this crush — this passion — settled into my core. As a chubby, bespectacled middle schooler who had heavy bangs long past the time everyone else had grown them out, I was scared of people in general and terrified especially of boys. But man, those biceps sure seemed like they’d be fun to touch.

Part of loving a famous icon is the acute agony of knowing he is unreachable.

Within months, I was all in. I owned approximately 40 pieces of NSYNC merchandise: multiple posters, pins, one giant pencil, a journal, a folder, pens, stickers, patches, every magazine with the band on the cover, lip balm, their official book, textbook covers, dolls, shirts, and, of course, CDs. I recorded (on actual VHS tapes!) every music video and MTV appearance, as well as their HBO special, and I watched a random segment from those tapes with a bowl of cereal every morning before school. I went to two concerts and cried both times. I read every bit of trivia. I memorized Justin’s birthday (Jan. 31) and favorite movie (The Usual Suspects). And when MTV linked up with Star Wars for a trivia sweepstakes, the prize for which involved a one-on-five date with the boys, I saw The Phantom Menace in theaters four times to try to answer their list of questions. I didn’t win.

People who’ve never experienced this specific brand of boy-idol love might be baffled by the fact that it often brings millions of girls to tears. What they don’t understand is that part of loving a famous icon is the acute agony of knowing he is unreachable. I loved Justin Timberlake so much, just like millions of other girls in the world, and not only would I never be with him, but I’d never be able to appreciate a real relationship, because I’d know the person I ended up with would not be the man I loved the most. [Quick note to say hi to my boyfriend, whom — I want to be clear — I love much more than I love Justin Timberlake.] I felt this massive injustice as a true, powerful, physical pain. The only way I was able to mitigate it was to distract myself with stories that placed me and JT in a universe where we could be together.

By the time I was fully under siege by NSYNC obsession, I’d begun writing, and abandoned, three novels. I loved reading, I wrote in my journal every day, and I knew I wanted to be a writer when I grew up — either that or a singer (still on the fence, to be honest). But when I tried to write fiction, I hated what came out. I’d suddenly lose any imagination I had. The dialogue didn’t make sense. Nothing sounded as real or natural as the stuff I was reading. I didn’t know how people got ideas, and, if they were lucky enough to come up with one, how they didn’t get bored with it.

But love stories about me and JT? Those came easy.

One of my favorites: I’m 18, finally, and super hot (finally). NSYNC is still touring because they will never ever break up, and they’re holding a contest (a singing contest), and the winner gets to sing a song with them onstage. I’m not planning on trying out, but I go with a friend who is. When we get to the audition room, after my friend sings well but not too well, Justin (who is, obviously, judging) asks what I’ll be singing. And I say, Oh me? No, no, I’m just here for support, I couldn’t possibly.

And then my friend says, She actually has a great voice.

And Justin smiles wryly, and I’m like, Well, if you insist, though I’m hardly prepared!

Justin, the rest of the boys, and my friend needle me until finally I close my eyes and just go for it, belting (usually, though, this detail changed from time to time) some vintage Mariah Carey. I nail it, a cappella, and everyone — especially Justin — is blown away. And then I win, and then we fall in love.

In these imagined futures, Justin played an important role, but the real star was future me.

Or: I bring my younger cousin to a concert, and we wait outside afterward because she wants to meet the guys. When they come by to say hello (because of course they do) I kind of smirk and shrug and say, I’m sorry to bother you guys — she’s just such a fan. And Justin, who is floored by the fact that this cool (and hot, so frickin’ hot) chick isn’t remotely impressed by him, says, And you’re not? And I say something so chill, like, Pop music isn’t really my speed. And then he asks if I want to hang out. And then we fall in love.

The fantasies were many and varied and provided a vital, immersive respite from the life I was actually living — one consisting mainly of wondering what made the popular kids popular, how people mustered the courage to speak up in large groups, and why I’d gotten stuck with a body all plump and wrong, so unlike all the others I saw on TV. In these imagined futures, Justin played an important role, but the real star was future me. And she was everything I needed to believe I’d become — attractive, witty, and, above all, bold. If I could trust that self was waiting for me, those in-between years seemed a little more manageable.

There is a name for what I was doing, though I didn’t know it at the time. I was creating fanfiction — those amateur, fan-written, oft mocked stories featuring characters created by other writers (or real pop stars) as well as first- or second-person narration, which have found vibrant communities on websites like Tumblr and Wattpad. But I kept mine to myself. The stories I actually wrote down, and eventually showed to other people, never starred dreamy pop idols. It didn’t seem like something a "Real Writer" would do, as if “good” writing and joy were mutually exclusive. But I now find kinship among those who contribute to these platforms. To say fanfiction stories are nothing but personalized soft porn for horny girls (which, to be very clear, is an important part of what they are, and which I’m 100% for) is to greatly underestimate their power.

That fanfiction has real commercial power is now well-acknowledged; Fifty Shades of Grey, originally written as Twilight fanfic, is probably the most mainstream, but Anna Todd also turned her One Direction fanfic After into a six-figure book deal and a wildly successful trilogy. Then there are the “retellings,” i.e. fanfic approved by the literati: Gregory Maguire’s Wicked, the series and musical about Frank L. Baum’s Oz witches, or Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea, an imagined prequel to Jane Eyre. Which is to say, writers pull inspiration from all manner of sources; sometimes the result is a love story that asserts the validity of a young woman’s (often dismissed) desire. Sometimes it is a channel through which a burgeoning writer can deliver and refine her talent.

My stories, like those of many fanfic writers, were as much about building a narrative as they were about enacting a fantasy.

My stories, like those of many fanfic writers, were as much about building a narrative as they were about enacting a fantasy. I can remember how problems of character motivation seemed so much less abstract when they were considered through the lens of an imagined, but possible, future — Justin Timberlake was a real (if mythic) person, and structuring the narrative became a sort of problem-solving. What could a person like me do to meet a person like him? I struggled to figure out what an 8-year-old would do if she found a secret portal to a fantasy world (my second abandoned novel), but I loved putting myself in conversation with my ultimate crush and asking, What next? What next?

There is a simple, dizzying joy in writing (or reading!) a story in which you and your dream crush are the stars, but also intrinsic to that setup is the understanding that you — the writer, the reader — deserve the star treatment you’re receiving. If this is something you don’t believe (and certainly, when I was imagining my own love stories, I didn’t believe it), it can be comfort enough to pretend you do, to indulge the notion that you might be good enough to be the protagonist of your own story for long enough that it no longer feels that far-fetched.

I didn’t meet Justin Timberlake (and haven't yet). But I did grow into my confidence and my voice — a voice which I know was honed by the stories I told myself. Without those stories, there would be no writing career, no novel, no unrepentant gushing over the things (and people) who drive my creativity. There’s probably a lot more of 13-year-old Arianna in me now than 13-year-old Arianna would have wanted. But, at 30, I can see she was always cooler than she believed, anyway. I like to think, had Justin met me then, he would have at least been kind of charmed. ●

Arianna Rebolini is author of the novel Public Relations with Katie Heaney. She was formerly a deputy editorial director at BuzzFeed. You can follow her @AriannaRebolini or check out her writing here.

Learn more about Public Relations here.