#got postponed to tuesday evening

[xoxosimp]

On Your Wrist

Synopsis: You and Bucky are in the early stages of your relationship, and he has some trouble getting the perfect gift for you.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: soft mob bucky is a warning, mention of sex, Bucky’s petname for reader is “light”, mediocre writing 

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble LMAO but my brain said nawp. This is HEAVILY inspired by Young Sheldon and the song “ Loveeeeeee song” by Rihanna 

~~~~

Love was a phenomenon that didn't come easy for Bucky Barnes to understand. 

He didn't understand why he was so wrapped up in all things you. The way you laughed, your sweet smile, how you managed to hypnotize him with just a look in your pretty eyes; if he could drown in you, he would. 

Bucky’s world was nothing but materialistic. The more dirty money he made , the more cars, watches, and houses he grew to love. The women he used to spend his time with loved all of those things, too. But no dollar amount could begin to describe the love James Buchanan Barnes has for you. 

It was almost silly how fast Bucky fell in love with you. He found himself doing things he would have never done before falling in love with you. He would make breakfast for you even though he has a private chef. The benefit of being the head of a criminal organization was people waited for him. So there was no meeting he couldn't postpone, all if it meant Bucky could spend more time with you. 

You were his light in his dark world. Before being with you, his purpose was to lead. To kill. You gavee his life meaning he’d never thought he would experience. If you were an angel, he was the devil that would bow to you and repent.

Diamonds and gold were no stranger to Bucky, but the six-figure tennis bracelet he had in his pocket made his hands damp with sweat. You and Bucky were still early in your relationship where he wanted to impress you. And diamonds are very impressive.

He was leaning against his Maserati, waiting for you to get off work so he could take you to dinner, for no other reason than it was Tuesday and he loved you (not that he’s told you yet).

Love was a phenomenon that stopped time whenever you looked at Bucky. It was a look of love and adoration, that nothing else existed except for you and him. It was a look that was shared between soulmates. 

You say goodbye to your coworker and greet Bucky with a hug. He tilted your chin so you could kiss him. If it was Bucky’s choice, he’d have your lips on his all fucking day. You pulled away and smiled at him. “ How was your day, Jamie?”

“ Better now that I’m with you, light”. 

You wrapped your hands around his waist. “ Where are we going for dinner?”

“I was thinking May’s?” he suggested.

“ Oh thank gosh,” you sighed, “ I have been craving fries all day.”

He chuckled and led to the passenger side to open the door for you. “ I have something for you first, light.”

“ Is it chocolate?” You wiggled your eyebrows. 

Bucky took the box from his pocket and gave it to you. Your face lighted up but dims. He can't distinguish the look on your face, whether it’s unhappiness or anger, the smile you wore doesn't quite reach your eyes.

“It’s-It’s beautiful Bucky,” you managed to stutter out. 

He raised an eyebrow to communicate a “But?. “It’s too much.”

Bucky was a little taken aback. The women he used to surround himself with would have taken it without hesitation. Some would say it was not enough. “ Nothing is too much for you,light,” he said firmly.

“ I could never give you something to equate to-to this-”

“ And you don't have to,” he interrupted softly, “ I wanted to get something for you, so I did,” he shrugged. 

He saw you gulp and close the box. “ You got something for me that costs more than a house,” you said. 

“That’s not the only reason you’re rejecting my gift, light,” he stated matter of factly.

“It’s not my style,” you mumbled. “ Are you mad?”

Bucky cupped your cheek and you leaned into his warmth, “ Well I’m not ecstatic that you rejected my gift, but I’m glad you feel safe enough to tell me .”

“But if you say I can't take you out for dinner, then I’ll be really sad, doll.” That pulled a chuckle out of you.

Bucky opened the car door for you to sit. “ I’d hate to see you sad, Jamie,” you stated. 

“It’s too much,” your words replayed in the back of Bucky’s mind.

As much as he’d love to hear those words spilling from your lips when he’s fucking you deep into his mattress, this was a sign he needed to hold back a little. As much as he wanted to impress you, he didn't want to scare you off. 

I can tone it back, Bucky said to himself.

~~~~~

After coming back from a work meeting, you found a box with your name on it. The only logical answer is that it’s from Bucky. Any secret admirers you could have had were too afraid of Bucky Barnes to profess their love.

You sighed as you opened the box, waiting for a more expensive gift than the last one. If he was bothered by your rejection, he didn't show it. Dinner with him was as lovely as it always was.

You weren't insecure that your boyfriend made more money than you, because as cliche as it was, it’s the thought that counts. 

In the box was a small string bracelet, decorated with blue and black beads. In the center were three white beads with the letters “JBB”.

Your smile was so wide your cheeks were starting to hurt. You reached for your phone to send Bucky a thank you text, but a deep voice startled you.

“ I like to see my light smile,” Bucky stood on the other side of your desk.

“ What are you doing here?” you giggled as you made your way over to embrace him. 

“Thought I’d take you out for lunch,” he said casually, then placed a kiss on your forehead. 

“Thank you for the bracelet, Jay,” you said as he took the bracelet and put it on your wrist, straightening the beads. 

“ Anything for you, light” Bucky mumbled as he kissed the inside of your wrist. 

Hopefully the next diamond he gives you, he’ll put it on your ring finger. Cross his fingers you won't reject that one.

~~~~~~

the bracelet in question

Part Two

[ladykailitha]

Staking My Claim Part 5

We are almost done just one more after this one! I thought about posting this on Tuesday to give the first chapter of the second book of Boy With a Bat some love.

But with this one literally two chapters away from being finished it didn't seem fair to postpone this one.

Here we have Nurse Jeff and sweet Eddie.

Pt 1| Pt 2|Pt 3| Pt 4|

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

***

Once they other three were gone Jeff turned to Steve and Eddie.

“Right the real reason I’m here is because I’m going to make you two don’t jump each other before Steve is well enough.”

Steve and Eddie looked at each other and blushed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jeff said, crossing his arms and leaning back on one foot.

“Eddie go get us some lunch and I’ll make sure Stevie here isn’t going to throw up again.”

Eddie nodded and grabbed his keys. He gave Steve a kiss on the cheek and dashed off, leaving Steve alone with Jeff.

Jeff turned on the light in the kitchen to better see Steve’s face. He held Steve’s chin and turned his head gently to the light and away from it.

“Your dilation is a little slow,” he said. “That’s not good.”

Steve nodded. “I’ve had concussions before. It feels a bit like that. The dizziness, the nausea, the pounding in my head.”

Jeff nodded. “I think I still have some anti-nausea medication and if I don’t, we can try some Pepto, okay?”

Steve nodded. “I wouldn’t have done anything,” he said softly.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“With Eddie,” he whispered. “Not before we got back to Hawkins, anyway.”

“Oh?”

Steve nodded again. “I’m bit too romantic for my own good. And having the chance I might ruin our first time with puking is the last thing I’d want.”

“First time?” Jeff asked over his shoulder as he went to the bathroom.

“I meant it when I licked him, he’s mine now.”

Jeff chuckled.

He came back out holding two bottles. “Looks like I have two kinds of anti-nausea meds. One is very heavy duty, so we’ll try the other one first. We don’t want to mix something heavier if the knock out drug is still in your system.”

Steve nodded.

“In fact,” Jeff muttered. “I should call my mom.”

He set the two bottles on the counter next to Steve and went to the phone.

After a brief conversation Jeff picked up the heavier medication. “She actually recommended the tougher meds to counter whatever was given to you. She even wants you to stop by on your way home so she can look you over.”

Steve blushed. “She doesn’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow and Steve ducked his head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. My sister is a lot like you, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“She’s the oldest,” Jeff murmured, “so she was brought up that she had to take care of everyone else and couldn’t ask for help.”

“Oh.”

Jeff rubbed the top of his head. “Look, man. I get it, I really, really do. If your parents are as half the shit the rumor mill makes them out to be, you’ve been abandoned and neglected all your life. Somehow, someway you became the defacto older brother to the weirdest group of latchkey kids I’ve ever seen and you think you have to do everything for them because you didn’t get to have that. But thinking like that will only wear you down and out.”

“It’s hard,” Steve admitted. “They’ve been through so much.”

Jeff let out a sigh. “I get that too. You and those kids have been through some heavy ass shit. I also get that you think that because you’re the oldest you can’t tell them what you’re feeling because you don’t want to burden them.”

“You’re Robin and Nancy’s age,” Steve said quietly.

Jeff frowned, not quiet understanding the comment. Then it dawned on him. “Eddie isn’t.”

Steve’s head shot up. “What?”

“I know it’s hard to remember because he graduated with me and the other guys,” Jeff said. “But Eddie is older then you. He was supposed to graduate in ‘84.”

Steve blinked. “Oh. Yeah.”

“So lean on him,” Jeff said. “Yeah, you’re attracted to him. And you definitely want to fuck. But let him in emotionally, too. I think you’ll find he’s as a great a listener as he is a talker.”

Steve blushed.

Just then the door swung open to reveal Eddie with a large bag of McDonald’s.

“I didn’t know what you would like,” Eddie said with a grin, “so I got a little of everything I could think of.”

Steve smiled. “I’m sure I’ll find something I like then.”

They all dug in and polished off most the bag of fast food.

“Seriously,” Steve said, “why does greasy food always the best hangover cure?”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know. It defies all logic. You would think it would be stuff that was easy on your stomach like toast and rice would be better, but nope!”

Steve took Eddie’s hand. “Thanks for taking care of me. I appreciate it.”

Eddie blushed to his roots. “You don’t need to thank me. I just did what the next person would have done.”

Jeff snorted. “Bullshit. You went above and beyond and you know it. There is no shame in accepting his thanks. You did good, man.”

Eddie shoved his hair in front of his face to hide his embarrassment. “You’re welcome, Stevie.”

“I think you should go lay back down,” Jeff suggested to Steve. “We’ll be here if you need us.”

Steve nodded and wandered back to Eddie’s room. He closed the door and laid down, sure that he wouldn’t sleep as he had already slept a lot. But it appeared he needed it more than he thought as he drifted back to dreamland.

***

Part 6

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @lololol-1234 @monsterloverforhire @mugloversonly @live-the-fangirl-life @hellfireone @lublix @breealtair @croatoan-like-its-hot @f0xxyb0xxes @jamieweasley13 @r0binscript @confuseddisastertm @sleepdeprivedflower @thedragonsaunt @dissociatingdemon @dragonmama76

[buzzcutlip]

Cracks and Gaps - The Waterfall (part II) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 6573 words

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother’s restaurant. As an editor, you can’t miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy. part I The Worst Day

A/N: The angst continues and morphs. This part is full of fashion, understanding and soft words. Thank you Amy @foreveraimingtowardsthesky and E @butchcarmy for giving me the confidence to write and to publish this :) (Also reader is reffered to as someone who blushes, in case you would like to know this ahead of deciding to read the story)

THE WATERFALL

You want so badly to forget the fight, but instead, you keep replaying it in your head over and over, until it feels like a movie you saw on TV or in a cinema. Like it wasn't really you Carmen was shouting at. You try to comfort yourself by imagining what you should have done in that moment—anything but nothing, like you actually did. But at least you stood up for yourself. That’s somehow comforting.

The way forward is to go—to leave. To remove yourself from the situation and find a new environment that has nothing to do with what happened. For the weekend, you take a long-postponed trip to Seattle. People envy you for traveling to fancy places for work, but to you, it’s just that—work. This time, though, you’re unusually eager to get on the plane to another state. Nothing in Washington is going to remind you of Carmen Berzatto, you hope. The plan is to try a luxury wellness retreat for women in tech and business at Salish Lodge by Snoqualmie Falls. You’re not in tech or business, but the place paid the magazine to review the program, so you couldn’t really say no. There’s a "pillow menu for the best night’s rest" and a "Canna-bliss CBD natural ritual" option, so you’re not complaining. To escape the busy networking event on Saturday, you sneak out and walk to the top of the falls, take a deep inhale—just as you practiced during that morning's yoga class—and shout into the void, letting the roar of the water swallow it all. 

There’s so much pent-up energy in you that you start to worry you’re scaring all the Zen businesswomen around you. During a workshop, you realize that most of them are your age, or even younger. They have careers, partners, and some even have kids. It sucks, being reminded of what society expects from you when you’re thirty.

When you get back on Tuesday, the office clerk tells you that someone was looking for you on Monday. Not thinking much of it, you sit down at your desk to start working on your piece about the trip. It’s scorching outside—concrete city in July is unforgiving—and you’re grateful for the office's functioning AC.

The next time you check the clock, it’s already noon. You stand up to stretch and grab the empty mug on your desk. It was a silly gift from your parents when you first got this job—white with a black handle and a funny picture of a green pickle with a face that says "It’s kinda a big dill." As foolish as it sounds, drinking coffee from this mug always makes you smile.

As soon as you step out of your office, Dasha, the desk clerk, waves you over. Even sitting, she’s tall, her head and upper body towering proudly over the counter. She always wears amazing glasses.

“I love your glasses,” you say, complimenting her tortoiseshell frames.

“Thanks,” Dasha smiles. “You have a visitor. I was just about to call your desk.”

The blood in your veins seems to stop. You turn your head toward the guest sofa by the elevators. There’s no doubt who the visitor is.

“He said his name was Caramel—Carmel? Sorry!” Dasha fumbles with the name, blushing and nervously fiddling with her pen. “I should’ve written it down!”

Of course, it’s Carmen.

“You’re fine,” you assure her with a quick smile. Taking a very, very deep breath, you ask sweetly, “Could you send Caramel to meeting room three?”

‘I’m so Zen,’ you tell yourself as you walk to the kitchen, giving Dasha and Carmen a few minutes. If you’re going to meet him, it’s going to be on your terms, you decide standing by the fridge. Or, hiding by the fridge?

Wearing a summery yet elegant dress, heeled clogs, and your hair up, you look nothing like you ever did at The Bear. You’re pleased to discover, just before opening the door to meeting room three, that the tight feeling in your stomach isn’t just nerves—it’s also a bit of excitement and confidence.

The frosted glass door closes behind you, and you watch as Carmen’s eyes land on you. He’s already seated in one of the uncomfortable white plastic chairs, and now he’s looking at you. His gaze drops to your legs, where the frilled hem of your dress stops just above your knees, then to the mug you’re still holding, though it’s empty.

“Hey,” he greets you, shifting as if he might stand up. You sit across from him, setting the mug on the table.

“Hi,” you reply, curious about what he’s going to say. You’re fairly sure he’s here to apologize, probably sent by Natalie and Sydney—maybe even Richie—to make things right. You had texted Natalie to say you needed to focus on your "real" job as an excuse to avoid going back to the restaurant. Now, you wish you had told her the truth.

“I brought you something,” Carmen says, awkwardly pulling out a paper bag. “Thought you might be hungry.” He hesitates, then adds, “It’s smoked mozzarella mezzelune.” When you don’t make a move to take it, he places the bag back in his lap.

Leaning back in your chair, you fight the urge to cross your arms. You probably feel as out of place as he does right now—but you’re not about to let him see that.

“We didn’t have to meet here,” he says, glancing nervously around the room. “I just wanted to bring the food.”

You blink a few times, wanting to make him even more uncomfortable. “You could’ve left it at reception,” you say calmly.

Carmen rubs a hand over his face and purses his lips. “About before—the recipe. It was all bullshit.”

You grimace. That doesn’t sound like an apology. You're starting to lose faith that Carmen is even capable of one. Disappointed and at a loss for words, you scoff, and Carmen’s eyes dart back to yours. He looks almost offended, which really pisses you off.

“Bullshit,” you repeat, your voice steady. “I’m not interested in this, Carmen,” you say, meeting his gaze without wavering. “Go to hell with your food.”

He looks down, fidgeting with the paper bag. “I’m terrible at this.”

“Terrible at what? Apologizing? Well, it’s past time you learned.”

The urge to shout at him is strong. You want him to feel as humiliated as you did. But you won’t. He spent his whole life in an environment where people yelled for different reasons—or no reason at all. That’s not your style.

Not expecting anything else from him, you push your chair back, the screeching noise cutting through the tense moment, sending a shiver down your spine.

When Carmen suddenly stands as well, his chair scraping even louder, your heart jumps. You gasp, nearly sick from the fright.

“I—I also came to tell you that I’ll do it,” he stammers. “I’ll do the interview.”

You study him for a moment. Is he serious?

“This isn’t what I want, Carmen,” you say, shaking your head and rubbing your wrist. “Why now?”

“I talked to Syd and the crew. It’s the right thing to do. Right for the restaurant.”

He’s sincere, as far as you can tell. His eyes look huge, and that tortured artist look is back. A martyr. How much does he enjoy playing that role?

“Please, don’t ruin my Zen,” you say quietly, not wanting to return to how you felt a few days ago.

“I’m not interested anymore,” you add, praying Rob won’t find out and fire you. “Dasha will see you out. Or you can take the elevator.” The condescension in your voice is clear, but you’re not sure if Carmen even notices.

—

For the next two days, you decide to work from home and mope. Calling Becky isn’t an option because she would probably go talk to Natalie and tell her everything. The feelings of anger and humiliation are mixing within you, and you don’t know which one makes you more miserable.

When you get back to work, Rob calls you over to his office. Shit, you think.

You walk in with a smile and confidence—fake it till you make it. The usual clutter of papers and magazines is still there, but Rob himself seems unusually animated, almost buzzing with excitement. He waves you in, barely able to contain a grin. “Take a seat,” he says, his tone a little too eager.

You sit down cautiously, trying to gauge what's coming. Rob leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk, and you can see he’s practically bursting to share something. “So, I got a call this morning,” he starts, and you immediately feel a sense of dread creeping in. “It was from Natalie, the manager over at The Bear.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you force yourself to stay composed. You nod, prompting him to continue. “She told me that Carmen Berzatto—yes, that Carmen—wants to do the interview and a photoshoot,” Rob says.

“A—a photoshoot?” you stammer. “Is this the same Carmen Berzatto?” God, you couldn’t imagine Carmen wanting to be a center of attention like that. He would probably die right on the spot.

Rob ignores your snarky remark—as he often does—leaning even closer, his excitement palpable. “And get this—he specifically requested that you be the one to do it.”

He pauses, waiting for your reaction, clearly expecting you to share in his enthusiasm. But all you feel is a mix of shock and apprehension. “Rob, I—” you start, but he cuts you off, too caught up in the moment.

“I mean, this is huge!” he exclaims, practically bouncing in his chair. “The Bear is blowing up, and an exclusive like this could improve all the important numbers for us. And he wants you—he’s insisting on it! Do you have any idea how big this could be for your career?”

You do, of course. An exclusive interview with Carmen could put you on the map in a major way. But all you can think about is that last encounter in the meeting room, the awkwardness, the unresolved tension, and the anger laced in bitterness you thought you had finally let go of. Rob notices your hesitation and softens his tone, though his excitement is still simmering beneath the surface. “Look, I know there’s some history here,” he says, a bit more gently. “But this is a massive opportunity. And honestly, if Carmen wants you specifically, there’s something there. He’s not the type to just pick someone randomly, right?”

You shake your head and swallow hard, your mind racing. The offer is tempting, the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come around often. But it also means facing Carmen again, reopening wounds you thought were starting to heal but ignoring the issue—the healthy way, you think bitterly. But also, you would need to contact Nat and Sydney again about your place in The Bear, which you’ve been putting on hold for a long time now, in internet terms.

Rob senses your inner turmoil and leans back, giving you some space. “I’m not going to pressure you, but I really think you should consider it. We could make this the cover story. It’s that big.”

The room is silent for a moment as Rob waits for your response, his eagerness practically vibrating off him. You’re absolutely sure that if you don’t agree to this project, Rob will ask another editor, or even hire a freelancer. As much as you want to be offended a bit longer, letting it simmer inside you, you also want to do this with The Bear staff. As Natalie must know—this is all her doing, after all, you suppose—the visibility for the restaurant is going to be huge.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Then, you make your decision. “I’ll do it,” you say, your voice firmer than you expected.

Rob’s face lights up instantly. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaims, practically beaming. “I knew you’d come through. This is going to be incredible, I can feel it.”

His enthusiasm reassures you, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel excited, too.

Rob starts rattling off details, already planning how to make this the magazine’s biggest feature yet. “We’ll do a full spread—interview, photoshoot, the works. We can even tie it into some of the broader trends in the culinary world. This could be huge!”

You nod, letting his words wash over you, but part of your mind is still focused on the impending meeting with Carmen. You pretty much sent him to hell. How will you handle this?

“Let’s get the ball rolling,” Rob says, snapping you back to the present. “I’ll coordinate with Natalie to set up the interview. We’ll get the photographer involved, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Thanks, Rob,” you say, managing a small smile, not mentioning that you will get in touch with Natalie too. “I’ll make sure it’s worth the hype.”

“I have no doubt,” Rob replies confidently. “This is going to be something special.”

As you walk out of his office, the reality of what you just agreed to starts to settle in. You’re going to see Carmen again, face to face, in a setting that’s as personal as it is professional. It’s also a chance to prove to yourself that you can handle it—and maybe even come out stronger on the other side.

The nerves are still there, but so is a newfound resolve. This is your story to tell, and you’re ready to own it.

---

Naturally, you had to tone down your emotions in Rob’s office, as he didn’t know anything about your work you had done for The Bear or the situation with the chef himself. The need to show off your professional skills, both to Rob and Carmen, won. Natalie nearly pisses herself—her words, not yours!—when you confirm the news over the phone. She shares with you that it actually was Carmen’s idea to do the interview, supported by Sydney and Richie and Tina and everyone. The shoot not so much, but he’s gonna do it too, she says, and you can hear the mischievous smile in her voice.

The photoshoot is set to happen in a studio your magazine usually uses for smaller productions, as it’s only Carmen you need to get. Rob informed you that he had sent a photographer to The Bear earlier, so the photos from the place, as well as photos of the team, are already done. You know this from Natalie and Sydney already, who thanked you probably more than a million times for “arranging this,” but in front of Rob, you play guileless.

It’s awfully quiet in the room when you enter, the swinging door swooshing quietly behind you. No wonder. The shoot had to be planned on Sunday—the only day Carmen’s not at work, which has been met with not very enthusiastic responses. There’s no music playing, which is very unusual.

The studio has high ceilings and large windows that let in natural light. It obviously used to be a factory, now rebuilt into a fancy, modern building with that historic edge. You’ve been here a couple of times before.

You spot the photographer, Elena, adjusting her equipment with the precision of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. She smiles at you and you give each other a quick hug. With a shoot this small, there’s no one doing production, as you’re using the magazine’s regular talents. As much as you want to stall, you know that Carmen must be sitting on the make-up chair, very probably freaking out. It’s a bit unpleasant, but the fact that he’s more uncomfortable than you here makes you feel better, helps you calm your nerves down. The situation is similar to the one in the office a few weeks back, and you realize it’s more your confidence than maliciousness.

Your steps echo as you walk around the corner to the make-up and hair spot by one of the big windows. Carmen’s just getting up from the high chair, his posture screaming uneasiness.

“Hi Margot,” you say to the make-up artist with a piercing in her eyebrow. She’s younger than you, so you get why she thinks that the 00’s are so cool, since that’s probably when she was born.

Then the spotlight is on Carmen and you, and it takes you both to the moment when you approached him outside of The Bear months ago.

Carmen stares at you without blinking, probably relieved to see a familiar face, and also terrified, because it’s you. It’s crystal clear he doesn’t know what is appropriate for him to do in this setting.

Deciding quickly, you move towards him, giving him a similar hug as to Elena—quick, light, and impersonal. When you feel his palm press against your lower back fleetingly, the touch immediately makes you shiver, unfortunately not completely in a bad way, but you don’t have the time to ponder.

“I’ve just fixed his hair a bit and covered some bits here and there,” Margot explains, already cleaning her brushes. You notice immediately that Carmen’s curls are more defined and softer looking. He also appears less tired, but that’s surely due to Margo’s concealer magic.

“Thank you, Margo, that’s perfect,” you say as Carmen stands unmoving.

“Carmen just needs to moisturize more,” she adds cheekily, giving Carmen a wink over her shoulder.

You suppress a laugh. You’re absolutely sure Carmen has no idea what moisturizing or face cream means. He’s as lost here as you had been in the Bear's kitchen.

“Uhm—” Carmen makes an unsure noise, his hand reaching up to his hair, but Margo interrupts him:

“No touching!” she says hurriedly. “Not until the end of the shoot.”

You laugh for real now.

“How is it looking, guys?” Elena calls from the other side of the studio, checking on you.

“We’re fine. Carmen’s about to get changed, so you can get ready, El.”

You turn back to Carmen, who’s checking the studio with a mix of hesitance and curiosity. He’s dressed in light blue denim—unusual—and a gray jumper you’ve seen on him before.

“I’ll help,” you assure him. As the stylist is absent, you promised Rob that you would give a hand on the shoot. Besides, some selected garments are meant to be ready, plus you know they had asked Carmen to bring some of his stuff. “Follow me.”

Disappearing behind a screen that creates a changing space with clothes and steamers, you come properly face to face.

“Hey,” you say, unable to think of anything better. Your voice remains steady despite the slight flutter in your chest.

“Hey,” he replies, offering a small, almost uncertain smile. He glances around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. “This is… different.”

“Yeah,” you agree, gesturing to the setup around you. “But it’s all about making you look good.”

Carmen chuckles softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “No pressure, right?”

You smile, unable to play the Ice Queen anymore, and for a moment, the awkwardness between you dissipates. “Let’s get started.”

Carmen glances at you, seemingly reassured by your calm demeanor, even if he’s out of his element. You walk over to the clothes neatly hung on a rack. Immediately, you spot the cool embroidered Bode jackets, simple Carhartt pieces, more tailored Ami Paris clothes. There’s Maharishi and PAM too, probably included by the stylist based on your comment that Carmen likes the workwear style, though they are a bit too colorful.

You tell Carmen a little about every brand, trying to get him out of his head and focus on something else. To give him a taste of the world of magazines, media, and fashion. Similar to what he had done for you in the restaurant—when he was in a mood to talk about his dishes, ideas about combining ingredients, and crafting new flavors.

“What about this?” you suggest, handing him a soft, tan brown Carhartt WIP suede jacket. You know that Carmy knows Carhartt because you’ve seen him in their clothes, and you also know that he’s a big denim head. This garment will also help him not to feel as exposed in front of the camera at the start.

Carmen takes the jacket, his brow furrowing slightly as if he’s analyzing every stitch. He slips it on, and you can’t help but note how well it fits him. Natalie nailed the sizes of his clothes perfectly.

You go wait for him at the spot that Elena has set up, Margo already waiting there too, in case any adjustments to the hair are needed during the shoot. When Carmen finally walks over, Elena gives him a reassuring nod as he takes his place in front of the camera, hands in the jacket’s pockets. You watch from the sidelines, a little amused but mostly impressed at how the whole scene has come together. The large windows bathe the room in soft, natural light, casting shadows that play off the industrial vibe of the studio.

Carmen is nervous—anyone can see that—but he stands tall, doing his best to follow Elena’s quiet directions. You watch the laptop screen from the corner of your eye, where all photos appear after Elena presses the shutter, frame after frame. Carmen’s unease is apparent, and for a second you wonder if this really was such a good idea after all.

After another five painful minutes, it’s clear that it’s not getting better. You share a quick look with Elena and say, “Could you put some music on, girls?” Then, turning to Carmen, you add, “I think we can change the outfit now,” you say easily.

You go back to the styling corner, Carmen following you. When you’re both hidden again, you glance at Carmen whose whole body is stiff, discomfort oozing off him.

“This is really not so bad,” you start, but Carmen shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that would drive Margo mad if she saw it.

“I’m a chef, not… this,” he says, gesturing to the setting. “I’m not supposed to be in front of cameras, doing interviews, pretending like—like I fucking know what I’m doing. This is all bullshit.”

You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to reach him. You’ve seen him under pressure before, but this is different. This isn’t about the restaurant; this is about him feeling out of place, exposed.

“Carmen, you’re right. You’re a chef, and a damn good one,” you say, keeping your tone calm and reassuring. It’s strange to be this way for a person who you’ve only ever seen confident and sure, except for what happened in the office two weeks ago.

“But this is part of it, too,” you carry on, trying to catch Carmen’s eye. “People want to know the person behind the food. They want to see the passion, the creativity. Even the struggle. That’s what makes the Bear special—it’s you.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with doubt. “But what if… what if they see through it? What if they realize I’m just faking it?”

You step closer, close enough to reach out, but you don’t. Instead, you offer him a small, genuine smile. “Then they’ll see that you’re human, just like the rest of us. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect, Carmen.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to steady himself. “I don’t know if I can be that guy.”

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” you reply gently. “And if you’re not feeling it, we can stop. We don’t have to do this. We could just use the pictures from the Bear.”

Carmen opens his eyes and looks at you, something shifting in his expression. It’s still a mix of fear and doubt, but there’s also a flicker of determination. “You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely,” you confirm with deadly certainty.

The next moment, “1972” by The Smashing Pumpkins starts playing from the speakers in the studio.

Carmen surprises you by taking the initiative and choosing the clothes by himself. You turn when he starts shedding the jacket. Instead, you hang it back on the rack, needing something to do. When the rustling stops, you face the chef again. He’s wearing a pair of vintage Levi’s and a striped sailor crew neck. He looks good in the dark colors.

“Yeah?” he checks, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Yeah,” you nod, hoping it’s not obvious how much you like what you’re seeing. “Yeah.”

Gathering your courage, you reach to roll the sleeves up, exposing Carmen’s forearms, then move up to straighten the seams on his shoulders. You catch his gaze and this time, there’s a flicker of something—perhaps gratitude, or just recognition that you’re both navigating unfamiliar territory. Not just here, on the set, but also between you. You’re discovering another layer of your relationship, perhaps sensing that at this moment, you have the upper hand.

Carmen's expression softens from that tight apprehension to something more open, more trusting. “Thanks,” he says quietly, then looks down at himself, as if trying to imagine how he’ll appear in front of the camera now.

You step back slightly, giving him space, but also giving yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The tension between you feels different than before, less about awkwardness and more like a mutual acknowledgment that neither of you has the playbook for this. And yet, you’re figuring it out together.

“Here,” you point Carmen to a big mirror in the corner, and he checks the reflection.

“I think I like it,” he says after a moment, and you give him a thumbs up, the silly gesture completely honest.

Back on set, with the music playing, the atmosphere lightens. Carmen doesn’t smile, but there’s a shift in the way he carries himself. He seems more settled in his skin, the dark colors enhancing his quiet confidence. Elena notices the difference immediately; she barely needs to give direction this time. He’s still far from relaxed, but there’s an authenticity in the way he stands, his gaze steady.

The photos start to reflect that subtle transformation, and you feel a tremendous sense of relief as you watch them pop up on the screen. Watching him, you feel an odd sense of pride. This isn’t just about Carmen being in front of the camera; it’s about him facing something that makes him uncomfortable and pushing through it, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this position. If you’re completely honest, you’re surprised that he’s willing to go through with this.

Elena seems pleased, giving Carmen a reassuring nod after every few clicks of the camera. When she finally steps back and lowers her lens, you see Carmen visibly exhale, tension easing from his frame.

“That was good,” Elena praises, glancing at the screen. “We’ve got some solid shots here.”

Carmen looks over, seemingly a little surprised, like he wasn’t quite sure it had gone as well as she said. “See?” you say, nudging him gently. “You nailed it.”

Carmen gives you a small, genuine smile this time. “Maybe,” he says, scratching the back of his head, messing up his styled hair.

After the third outfit change, Rob shows up, as planned, alongside the magazine’s publisher. As this had been arranged before the shoot, you hope it doesn’t throw Carmen off balance too much.

Luckily, Carmen slips into his professional chef mode as Rob greets him, calling him “Chef,” and thanking him sincerely for the opportunity. Rob shoots you a happy grin over Carmen’s shoulder. 

The final outfit is dark gray tailored wool pants and a simple white tee, similar to what you know as Carmen’s daily uniform—probably why he chose it. You suggest adding a nice leather belt with a silver clasp to complete the look. Elena positions Carmen on a high stool this time, changing angles and perspectives.

For the first time today, Carmen looks truly at ease, despite the additional onlookers. You know Rob is looking for the perfect shot for next month’s cover.

Elena captures a few more shots before lowering her camera. “That’s it! We’re done,” she announces, a smile of satisfaction on her face. “Carmen, you did amazing.”

Carmen slides off the stool, his shoulders visibly relaxing as the weight of the shoot lifts. He looks over at you, a small, almost sheepish grin playing at his lips. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

You laugh softly, walking over to him. “Told you. You nailed it.”

Rob joins you and Carmen. “Chef, you were great today,” he says, clapping Carmen on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to see the final shots.”

Carmen nods, clearly more comfortable now that the shoot is over. “Thanks, Rob. I appreciate it.”

Rob turns to you with a grin. “You too. Thanks for making this happen.”

You nod, feeling a bit of pride at how smoothly things turned out. You’re careful not to jinx it—after all, the interview is still looming in the second half of the day, after you’ve had something to eat.

For the interview, you and Carmen sit down in a corner of the studio that’s been set up to look more intimate—two chairs facing each other with a small table in between. Your notebook rests on your lap. Elena is supposed to take a few shots of the formal interview, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. Very nervous.

You did an extensive amount of research and preparation for the article, keeping in mind your personal history with Carmen. He’s not just another personality you’re interviewing. He’s a guy you once knew. A chef at whose restaurant you had worked, or volunteered. These facts leave you feeling like you’re balancing on a thin rope, and you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to approach the interview. In the end, you decide to let Carmen set the tone. He could keep it personal or strictly professional.

“How did you enjoy the shoot?” you ask with a mischievous smile, starting off lightly. You don’t need to check your notes for that.

Carmen smiles, rubbing his lips with his fingers. “It was a new, interesting experience. I’m afraid I wasn’t very good, but I hope you’ll be able to find a couple of decent images.”

“And one excellent for the cover,” you add, careful not to interrupt him.

Out of habit and nervousness, you adjust the recorder on the table between you, making sure it’s on. Then you glance at your notes.

“When we met in Copenhagen ten years ago, you were staging at Noma. How do you look back on those times—when you were at the beginning of your journey but already experiencing the kitchens of the world’s best restaurants?”

It takes a moment before Carmen responds. “I was very young and very lucky. I took every opportunity that came my way, worked hard—harder than most—to learn and grow, and hopefully to stand out.” Carmen’s words are measured, careful. “Noma was my first experience outside the US, and it was intimidating. But also—it’s an incredibly peaceful and inspiring place. I loved every moment there. It also helped that I knew someone familiar in Copenhagen. That definitely made me feel less alone.”

You catch yourself staring, a warm feeling spreading through your chest—liquid heat filling every corner. You imagine this is what drinking Felix Felicis must feel like. You smile, and Carmen returns it with a quick smile of his own.

Clearing your throat, you prepare for the real questions, the ones that have to live up to everyone’s expectations—Rob’s, Carmen’s, and mostly your own. As the interview progresses, you feel a shift in the atmosphere. The initial tension has faded, replaced by a sense of collaboration. You’re both here for the same reason: to tell a story that matters.

You ask Carmen about his journey in the culinary world, the chefs he’s worked with, and the chefs he looks up to. You discuss diligence, innovation, and respect. You briefly touch on the topic of Michael and Carmen’s family, letting him decide how much he wants to share.

“You can be more or less fortunate with the starting position you get in life. That’s out of your hands. But the rest is in your hands. There’s no point in thinking about how others might have it easier—it will only paralyze you, trust me. You have to focus on what you can do, what you can change. Take the little you have and turn it into everything you have. Be proud of it. Stand up for yourself. Value yourself, but also others.”

His words are thoughtful, and you can tell he’s reflecting deeply.

There’s a pause, and you realize he’s waiting for your next question. You nod, acknowledging the weight of his words. Carmen answered everything with a mix of humility and passion, offering you—and the audience—glimpses of the person behind the chef: the struggles, the doubts, the relentless drive to succeed.

You glance at your notes, then back at him.

“That’s it. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to share a glimpse of your life and The Bear’s story with Taste readers,” you say, finishing with a cheeky smirk, hoping Carmen knows you’re sincere.

Carmen chuckles at your tone. “Thank you for having me,” he replies, smiling with that familiar mix of modesty and quiet strength. “It was a pleasure to talk. Hopefully, your readers won’t be too bored.”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “I doubt that. If anything, they’ll be more intrigued than ever. You’ve got a story people want to hear—and not just about the food.”

He raises an eyebrow, studying you. "Well, that’s good to hear."

You stand up and reach out to shake his hand, a gesture of thanks and closure. He takes it, his grip firm but gentle. Then Rob approaches with more handshakes and thanks, joined by Mrs. Sullivan—the publisher. You quietly slip away, not wanting to disturb their networking, and head over to thank Elena and Margot, who have already packed up their gear while you were interviewing Carmen.

“You guys are cute together,” Margot teases, winking at you. “I didn’t know you actually knew him knew him.”

You absolutely do blush, and Elena adds, “Totally,” giving you a sly grin. “He IS cute.”

“You should see him in the kitchen,” you grumble, shoving your notebook into your tote bag to hide your flushed face.

Suddenly, Carmen appears next to you, having parted ways with Rob and Mrs. Sullivan, who likely have better things to do on a Sunday. “You did good,” he says quietly, almost as an afterthought, as if offering reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

Your chest warms again with that liquid heat, a mix of pride and gratitude blooming. You offer him one last, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Carmen,” you reply softly.

“Actually,” he begins, looking nervous again, hands on his hips, “I—I wanted to talk to you. If you have time now?”

He glances back at Rob, but the man is nowhere to be seen, already gone. Carmen nods, seeming relieved.

“Lead the way.”

—

The weather’s been sweltering lately, the sun heating up the city’s concrete walls, asphalt roads, and stone pavements until it feels like being in a big kiln. Luckily, the coffee shop has air conditioning, which both Carmen and you welcome. They are offering unusual caffeine drinks—most of them including something fruity and milky. Carmen orders a Coke with ice without checking the menu, and you go for an iced blueberry matcha latte.  

“Thank you for—” Carmen says when he’s seated properly, across from you once again.  

“Really, that’s enough of the thanks,” you wave him off, but Carmen talks over you, “For respecting that I wanna keep some things private. During the interview.”  

“Ah,” you nod slowly. “You know, normally I would send all the questions for authorization first,” you tell him truthfully, stirring your drink with the thin paper straw, mixing the green matcha with the milk froth and the purple syrup. “I wanted to be a bit nasty.”  

It’s Carmen’s turn to slowly nod, once. “I see,” he says. “I’m not surprised, honestly.”  

You fiddle with the collar of your cotton blouse nervously.  

“I appreciate that you had my back today,” Carmen continues. “It means a lot to me, you know?”

Not used to hearing kind words from Carmen, you find it hard to look at him directly, so you keep staring into your drink instead. “I think I do.”

As if sensing your hesitation, Carmen gives you a second before he asks:

“So, you have a thing for clothes, huh? Fashion, I mean.”

“As you do,” you shoot back playfully but honestly.

“I guess I enjoy the aesthetic aspect of it… I really liked some of the clothes today. It was nice to try something new. I’m not very good at new things,” he muses. “I liked the dress you wore in your office the other day. You looked—different,” Carmen adds uncertainly, playing with the napkin under the sweaty glass.

“I don’t wear dresses very often,” you stammer out, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “And in the restaurant, I wanted to be in something that can get dirty. So… not too fancy clothes.”

Carmen notices how caught off guard you are right now.

“I wanted to bring up the topic of what happened at your work,” he explains slowly, hesitantly. “And what happened at The Bear before that… A lot of the aggression comes from my own frustration. And I shouldn’t take it out on other people. Like I said, there’s no excuse for it.”

You squirm in your seat, nervous to talk about the topic out loud for the first time. “It’s hard, Carm. First, you pretend you don’t know me. Then you barely talk to me. Then I feel like we’re actually starting to get along well, but you accuse me of this huge nonsense. All the while, I’m only trying to help you.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t know how to respond to kindness.”

Your eyes fill up with tears, and you have to blink a couple of times to chase them away. You take a deep breath, your chest expanding with it. Carmen’s sitting still on the stool, looking like a schoolboy who had misbehaved during recess.

“Be kind to kind,” you say simply, spreading your hands, your eyebrows raising.

Carmen chuckles, sounding very self-deprecating, scratching his nose. “I’m working on it.”

He might think you’ll let it slide. You won’t. “Promise,” you press, urgent. “Promise me.”

His eyes meet yours, and he says it. “I promise.” Then once more, in a stronger voice: “I promise. And I’m sorry.” And your heart breaks for him because you know he’s never known much kindness.

“Deal.” To keep your hands occupied, you take out your chewing gum, wrapping it in an empty sugar packet. Then you raise your iced latte in a mock toast, taking a first sip of the drink.

“Just... be careful with the 'nasty' part,” Carmen says with a slight grin, breaking the tension. “I don’t think either of us needs more of that.”  

You chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll try to keep the nastiness in check.”  

Carmen smirks, shaking his head as he relaxes back into his chair. “I appreciate that.”

[hqbaby]

twenty-three — real talk

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.6k content. swearing, mentions of hazing, mentions of sex

Suna barely remembers most of what happened at the party. It’s a real shame that what he does remember doesn’t look so good—and he definitely remembers what happened with Atsumu.

He avoided his friends all weekend in hopes of: a.) Atsumu forgetting everything he said, b.) possibly getting in a major car accident that renders him completely useless, or c.) postponing the aftermath until training on Tuesday. Try as he might, it seems like the third option is all he’s left with.

For the whole afternoon, Atsumu ignores the whole thing. He sets to Suna, hands him a water bottle, even tells him he played well. It’s like they’re nothing more than best buds, like everything is fine, good even.

“We need to talk.”

Of course all good things have to come to an end.

“Yeah, sure,” Suna says, trying to keep his cool as he follows Atsumu outside of the gym. They stop near the football field, empty save for a couple talking in the stands. “What’s up?”

Atsumu sits down on a bench and sighs. “I know.”

Suna takes the seat beside him and looks away, looks at the sky, the birds, the trees. Everything but Atsumu. “Know what?”

“About what happened between ya and Y/N.”

“Right,” Suna murmurs. “That.”

He feels like bolting. He’s never been one to stick around difficult situations. They just aren’t his thing. He’s pretty sure that’s why things ended up the way they did between the two of you.

“Did she tell you?”

His friend places his hands on the space behind him and leans back, staring straight up. “Yeah,” he says. “She told me that ya slept together. That it started before I even met her.”

Suna swallows thickly. “We stopped before you got together officially.”

“I know, she told me that too.” Atsumu looks at him. “Why’d ya do it?”

“Do what? Sleep with her?”

“No. Why’d you hide her like that? Make her feel like shit?”

The brunette shakes his head, turning to face Atsumu. “I didn’t mean to do—”

“But ya did,” he says firmly. “Everyone knows ya sleep around. For fuck’s sake, everyone sleeps around. What did it matter to ya if people knew about Y/N?”

Suna gapes, searching for the words. He slumps his shoulders and stares at his feet. “I don’t know.”

The twin gives him a knowing look. “But ya do know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ya really love her, don’t ya? Ya just got scared of yer feelings so ya kept her at arm’s length.”

He shakes his head furiously because no, that can’t be it. He’s just an asshole. An asshole who made you feel like you weren’t worthy of care or kindness or love. He’s just a selfish asshole. He never deserved you.

“Come on, Atsumu,” he says. “I don’t love her. You know that.”

Atsumu frowns at him. “Ya don’t need to lie, I already know.”

Suna doesn’t know if he wants to punch Atsumu, hug him, or cry into his shoulder. This is the guy you deserve. This is the guy you should be with. He can see that, everyone can see that. So why can’t he just accept it? Why can’t he just let you be happy?

“Ya need to leave her alone.”

What?

“What?”

“If ya really love her, ya need to leave her alone,” Atsumu says. His face is hard and serious. “Ya gotta let her be happy, Suna. She was never gonna be happy with ya.”

“You can’t just tell me to—”

“She loves me.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. A knife to the chest. A kick to the groin. It makes him ache all over. Atsumu would never lie, Suna knows this, it’s honestly one of the most annoying things about him. If he says you love him, you love him. He wouldn’t make that shit up.

“If ya really love her, leave her be,” Atsumu says. “Ya had yer chance, man.”

Suna clenches his fists. “Did you tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“That I love her?”

He looks up to find the blond pursing his lips.

“I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because ya already hurt her enough, Suna! Can’t ya see that?” The boy gets up and looks at him dead in the eye. “Don’t ever tell her ya love her. Don’t make her suffer more than she already has.”

Suna glares at him defiantly. He would stand too, but something in him says he shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve to. “And what if I do?”

A strangled silence passes over the two of them. They’ve gotten in fights before, of course they have. They’ve known each other since highschool, there was bound to be tension eventually. But not like this. Never like this.

Atsumu’s cold eyes reach Suna’s. And he smiles.

“If ya ever hurt her again,” he says slowly, smile morphing into a snarl, “I’ll fuck ya up.”

You try to ignore it, the burning question in the back of your mind. It doesn’t matter, really. It shouldn’t bother you so much.

But it does.

“Fuck,” Yukie says, taking another slice of pizza and nudging the box towards you. “You should eat. Stress isn’t good for your stomach.”

You’re sitting on the hood of Kaori’s car, waiting outside the forest for the new recruits to finish their initiation. You always hated the whole hazing process, but what can you do? It’s tradition.

Kaori chews loudly. “What did Suna tell him exactly?”

“I don’t know!” You groan. “That’s the problem! I just know that he found out and Tooru said he didn’t tell him, so it must’ve been Rin, right?”

Your friends share a look.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Yukie says.

“Yeah, nothing,” Kaori says.

You roll your eyes, nudging Yukie with your shoe. “What?”

She glances over at Kaori who gives her an unconvinced nod. “It’s just.. you still call him Rin.”

“I what?”

“You call him Rin,” she repeats. “You know. Suna. You still call him by his first name.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t realized. “What’s the big deal though? So I call him Rin. It’s still his name.”

“The name you called him when he was fucking you,” Kaori reminds you. “I’m just saying, for someone who’s been in a committed relationship for a few months, you still seem pretty attached to your old fuckbuddy.”

You pull a face. “Don’t call him that.”

“See, that—that right there is problematic,” she says, pointing at you. “I thought you just said you love Atsumu.”

“I do love him,” you say stubbornly. “We’re good for each other.”

“And what about Suna?” Yukie chimes in. “Do you love him?”

You grab a slice of pizza and take a big bite. Your friends look at you like “seriously, dude?” as you hold a finger up, chewing the pizza and washing it down with soda.

“I love Atsumu.”

“Real convincing.”

“I do!”

“But. What. About. Suna?”

“Ri—Suna is irrelevant,” you say. “Not part of the conversation at all.”

“Well, he did tell your boyfriend something about the two of you,” Yukie points out. “I wouldn’t say he’s that irrelevant.”

You finish off your pizza, grimacing as you chew. What did he say? “Yeah. That’s really gonna bug me.”

If she’s being honest, Ayame started this whole thing with Suna because she was bored. Just like every other girl on campus, she thought he was hot and cool and absolutely perfect in the most terrible ways. She wanted something fun and exciting, so when he texted her the first time, she was ready to embark on the most loveless affair of her life.

She wanted to get railed. Plain and simple.

She absolutely did not expect to be involved in his whole lovelorn journey chasing after you, the impossible standard. Unlike most girls, Ayame doesn’t envy you. She doesn’t hate you either. She sees how boys chase after you, how they treat you like some object, how they turn you into a game for their own selfish desires.

She mostly feels bad for you, but she also admires the way you manage to get through it all. Most girls would fold under the pressure, but you don’t.

No wonder Suna—heartbreaker and universal one-night stand—is in love with you. Who wouldn’t be?

She stuck around because she felt sorry for him. She highly doubted that he’d ever get you and she was worried he’d crumble if she left him entirely alone. In highsight, she knows this was probably shitty reasoning. 

Shitty enough to lead her to this messed up conversation she’s having.

“You want to date me?” Ayame asks, raising a brow. “Like be my… boyfriend?”

Suna nods, staring at her blankly from the other side of the table. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ve been hanging out for a while. It seems like a good idea.”

She wants to laugh. She really does. “By ‘hanging out,’ do you mean we fuck and you imagine I’m your crush?”

He glares. “I need to let her go,” he tries to reason. “She’s happy. She’s in love. I don’t—I’ll just fuck things up for her.”

“So you’re using me as a stand-in? Is that it?”

“Don’t be mad, I—”

“I’m not mad,” Ayame tells him. She really isn’t. “I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

He furrows his brows. “Why not?”

“Because!” She lets out an exasperated sigh. Boys are so dumb. “Your solution to letting Y/N go is getting in a relationship with someone you barely know—a relationship that you weren’t even ready for with the girl you literally love.”

“I know you,” Suna insists. He knows how silly he sounds. “Fuck. Do you wanna be my girlfriend or not? It’s a simple yes or no.”

Ayame groans. She really doesn’t have much of a choice now, does she? “Fine,” she says. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

He smiles at her. “Good,” he says. “Great.”

As he starts eating his dinner, looking a little better than he usually does, Ayame wonders how long it will take for his brilliant plan to backfire. She hopes she gets a few weeks at least.

What can she say? He’s a good fuck.

notes. hi. bye. lol.

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (17 - I/22)

Chapter summary: Natasha visits Wanda; You reach your breaking point at the end of a night after trying to understand why Wanda ever betrayed you

Chapter A word count: 6.1k | Warnings: Heavy angst, heavy drinking, toxic relationships, profound sadness | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Decided to split Chapter 17 into two parts because it got too long in the end. Enjoy!

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next Part: Seventeen - Part Two

--

Seventeen - Part One

For the third consecutive time, Wanda skips her therapy session.

She leaves Calliope's calls unanswered, letting them go straight to voicemail (and cowardly deleting the messages without listening to them), and as a result, her therapist stops trying to contact her by the end of the week. 

Facing Calliope or putting up with her sensible talks is too much for Wanda right now. She doesn’t want other voices in her head right now. She wants to listen to her heart this time. And it’s saying that you need her right now despite how it might affect her progress.

Wanda hadn't intended to stop going to her sessions altogether. She had, in fact, confirmed for Tuesday, but you showed up at her apartment once again the night before, and, well, one thing led to another. You both ended up so wiped out that she didn't stir until nearly noon. By that time, two hours have slipped by, and her session with Calliope might as well be considered canceled.

Since she's handed over the weekday cafe opening duties to Peter, Wanda doesn't need to be there at the break of dawn anymore. But this also has its downside; there isn't enough inventory prepped for the full day's rush. This leaves her drowning in work from midday right up until closing time.

The way this arrangement saps her energy and leaves her feeling more fatigued than usual is hardly beneficial, yet—

Yet, it's hard for her to harbor any regrets when she feels your comforting warmth cocooned against her back, your body spooning hers, your gentle snores vibrating softly against her skin. In these snatched moments, she can delude herself into believing that the ring she now wears around her neck should rightfully still be on her finger. 

She can pretend that you're still unequivocally hers, and all the traumatic events of the past year are merely fragments of an extended, horrendous nightmare.

It's turning into a routine. You'd show up unannounced, stay until dawn. Once the post-coital haze clears, Wanda tries to nudge you both into discussing what all this means. But as soon as she utters the words, "can", "we", and "talk"—in that exact order—you're heading for the door with a speed that's hard to believe.

But after enduring another week of this unsettling routine, Wanda finally convinces herself that today, she's going to get some answers.

And with that plan in place, she repositions herself on the bed, turning to face you. Looking at your innocent sleeping face, she second-guesses her resolve, opting to postpone the looming confrontation just a bit longer.

Gently, almost reverently, she lets her finger trace the contours of your face. She starts at the bridge of your nose, moves down to your slightly parted lips, then to your neck, and finally your collarbone. It seems to protrude more than she remembers, hinting that you've lost weight. This realization stirs guilt in her, as she acknowledges she's partly to blame.

Her cautious touch eventually rouses you, and she observes as your eyelashes flutter before your eyes slowly open. For a moment, you look disoriented even as your eyes meet her clear green ones. You blink up at her as if you don’t recognize the woman you’re in bed with, but then, as recognition sets in, you nestle closer to her and tuck your head beneath her chin, seeking shelter from the daylight filtering through the slatted blinds.

“I can hear you thinking,” you murmur, your breath whispering across her neck, a spot particularly ticklish for Wanda.

She stifles her giggles, and the resulting tremors resonate against your forehead. The sound is sweet, familiar, and it conjures up memories of moments you've longed for. But it also accentuates the odd situation you're in right now, sharing a bed with your ex-wife, skirting around the glaring issue between you.

“Can you?” Wanda retorts with a teasing tone in her voice, her fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm. “I think we–”

“Need to talk?” you finish her sentence offhandedly.

A nervous laugh slips from Wanda. “So you can read my thoughts. Can you guess what I want to talk about?”

You grow quiet, giving the impression that you're attempting to actually read her mind. But then you pull away from Wanda's warmth and she immediately senses the shift in the air. Instinctively, she yanks the sheets up to cover her bare chest, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“I have an idea,” you finally say, your humorless smile straining at the corners. The amusement in your eyes has disappeared, replaced by a heavy, unreadable look. Wanda waits for you to go on, but it becomes increasingly clear that coaxing your thoughts into words will require a lot more effort.

Wanda hesitates, her words sticking in her throat like stubborn boulders. She swallows hard, mustering her courage. “We need to talk about this, Y/N. We can't keep... This can't go on like this.”

“Like what, Wanda?” you ask, your tone edging towards sarcasm. “Like how we've started sleeping together again? Or about how we've conveniently skipped over the reason we divorced? Or the fact that you cheated on me–with a fucking video to prove it?” Your words hang heavy in the air, the accusation clear in your voice. “Or maybe how I cheated on Yelena with you?”

Wanda recoils. This confrontation is as painful as she'd imagined, but she knows it's necessary.

“If we need to tackle all that, then sure. I’m ready to talk through them with you.” Wanda says.

“You always make things sound so easy, Wanda,” you say, sitting up on the bed, the sheets pooling at your waist as you turn to face her. “'Let's just talk,' you say, as if talking can magically make everything better.”

Wanda winces at your words, the hurt visible in her eyes. “I'm not saying that talking will solve everything, but it's a start.”

“A start? We're way past the start, Wanda," you snap, your voice rising with your growing frustration. “We're neck-deep in this mess and I… I don't even know how we ended up here,” you trail off, talking more to yourself than to her by the end.

Wanda absorbs your frustration, taking a deep breath before she responds. “You're right,” she admits, her voice a soft plea against the harsh edges of your argument. “We're deep into this mess, and we both contributed to it.”

The admission hangs in the air between you, a bitter truth acknowledged. But she doesn’t let it linger for too long. Instead, she pushes forward, trying to bridge the widening chasm between you.

“But we don't have to stay stuck here,” she insists, her gaze holding yours. “We can work on it–together. Regaining trust isn't going to be a walk in the park. I know it's hard, it's... it's daunting. But it's not impossible.”

You're silent, the word ‘trust’ bearing down on you. Wanda’s gaze feels heavy, too full of hope. But you don't respond, your features etched in stubborn resolve. She’s trying to make you see something that maybe you no longer have faith in. You can’t give her what she’s asking.

Her expression falls, as she reads your lack of response correctly. There's a small, choked noise from her throat before she manages to whisper, “Is it because you think you'll never be able to trust me anymore?” 

There's a beat of silence as you process her question, the pain of her words seeping deep into your bones, but you can't bring yourself to deny it. “I don't know, Wanda,” you admit quietly, honesty lacing every word. “I don't know if I can.”

The words hit harder than Wanda was expecting, and she flinches as if struck. She knew it was the truth, but hearing it from your mouth was another thing altogether.

“I’m just gonna go.” you say after some time.

“Sure,” she says tightly, her eyes becoming stony. Wet. “That's the only thing you're good at, isn't it?” 

You say nothing as you retrieve your clothes from the floor. 

Wanda’s hand hovers mid-air, aching to reach out to you, to hold you back. But she refrains, lets it fall to her side. “If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back unless you're ready to work through this,” she declares firmly .

You pause at her words, your back still turned to her. The silence that follows is heavy, pregnant with tension that seems to seep into the walls, the furniture, the very air around you. Then, a bitter laugh escapes you.

“You enjoy this, don't you?” you ask, finally turning to face her. Your expression is ruthless, your eyes devoid of any warmth that used to be there when you looked at her. “You like that I keep coming back to you, don't you?”

Wanda's jaw tightens at your accusation. It strings, but she doesn't say anything else that she might regret later. She merely meets your gaze, her green eyes resolute and unyielding. It's her silent acceptance of your statement, her silent promise that she won't back down this time.

Without another word, you turn and walk out, the door closing behind you with a soft click. 

The conversation is done, at least for now.

***

The journey back to your apartment is a blur, consumed by a hollow emptiness that echoes the space once filled by Wanda. 

As soon as you push through the door, you make a beeline for the bottle of bourbon left opened in the kitchen from the night before. You're running purely on anger and adrenaline, the aftermath of your argument with Wanda coursing through your veins.

Why couldn't she just leave things as they were? Why did she have to spoil the one thing that was bringing you a modicum of happiness from your suffocating reality? Why did she have to care about you when you’re giving her what she wants? 

You take a hefty gulp from the bottle before frantically grabbing your phone. You scroll through your contacts and hit call when you reach Yelena’s name. The call doesn't even go through, instead, a busy signal immediately begins, an all-too-familiar sound. Next, you try Natasha, and while the call connects, it only results in endless ringing, until finally, her automated voicemail message starts.

In a fit of rage, you scream expletives at the top of your lungs. Your anger peaks and in a reckless moment, you hurl your phone against the wall. It shatters with a loud crunch, breaking into countless small parts, clearly beyond repair.

The kiss was a lapse in judgment during a weak moment. 

You never slept with Wanda while you were still with Yelena. 

Why does it feel like you're being unfairly penalized? Did they never love you like you thought they did? Do you really disgust them so much that they’ll just forget that you exist altogether? 

These thoughts gnaw at you, stoking the flames of abandonment, leaving you with a haunting feeling of being easily discarded.

Your heart beats erratically in your chest as you look at the wreckage of your phone. It's a fitting metaphor for your life at this moment—shattered, fragmented, irreparable. You slump down onto the kitchen floor, the chill of the tiles seeping through your pants' fabric, but you barely notice.

This time, drinking remains a problem but caution has been thrown out the window. With the bottle in your hand, you take one long swig after another. The room starts to spin, your vision blurs, and you don't fight it. Instead, you let the waves of oblivion wash over you, your grip on the bottle slackening as you slump against the kitchen cabinets. 

Just as you drift into unconsciousness, a beep from your laptop fills the quiet room. It's a new email from your company's HR, asking about your unexpected absences. But with you passed out on the kitchen floor, the urgent email goes unnoticed. 

***

The moment Natasha strides into Wanda's café, the world seems to freeze on its axis. Agatha, having heard about your best friend through Wanda, knows this can’t be good for your ex-wife. 

Her aura is menacing, enhanced by her leather jacket, and her stern gaze holds a lethal quality that could vaporize everyone in the room if it were possible.

(It’s also incredibly hot, but Agatha has no room to explore that thought when she immediately fetches Wanda, who's been buried in the backroom task of refilling the condiment bottles for each table.)

“Got a visitor out front,” Agatha blurts out, slightly breathless. “I'm pretty sure it's Natasha.”

Startled, Wanda looks up from her crouched position on the floor, a fine dusting of cinnamon, sugar, and other seasonings speckling her figure. “Are you sure?”

“Fiery red hair, a bit intimidating, and strangely attractive,” Agatha elaborates. “I'm absolutely sure it's her.”

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Wanda gradually pushes up from the floor. “Okay, um…” She pauses, gathering her scattered thoughts. “Alright.”

Agatha practically pushes her forward, making her stumble into the bustling open kitchen where Natasha is nonchalantly leaning against the counter.

With a soft clearing of her throat, Wanda tries to shake off the sudden onslaught of nerves. She pulls herself upright, trying to project a calm she's far from feeling. “Natasha,” she begins, “What can I do for you?”

Natasha fixes her with a piercing gaze. “We need to talk,” she states, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

Wanda nods. “Sure, if you could just–”

The words are barely out of her mouth when Natasha spins around, heading for the cafe's exit. Wanda, utterly perplexed, follows her, casting a backward glance at Agatha who responds with an encouraging nod.

As soon as they step onto the sidewalk, Natasha progresses wordlessly, Wanda falling in step behind her. The silent walk stretches for a few minutes until, abruptly, Natasha halts. Wanda finds herself in front of a different coffee shop, one noticeably larger than her own. Without a moment's pause, Natasha steps inside. 

Wanda suspects this might be a passive-aggressive move on Natasha's part, choosing to hold their discussion in a competitor's establishment of all places. They navigate to a table tucked away in the corner, and Wanda takes the seat opposite Natasha. Without skipping a beat, Natasha flags down a waiter and places her order, all without so much as a glance in Wanda's direction. 

“I hope you don't mind, but their coffee is something of a guilty pleasure,” Natasha remarks, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes.

“No, not at all,” Wanda replies, forcing a polite smile onto her face. “It's always nice to see what the competition is up to.”

A heavy pause falls between them, and Natasha's gaze sharpens with seriousness. “I didn't invite you here to talk about coffee, Wanda,” she begins, her tone eerily neutral and hard to read. “I'm here to understand why you couldn't let Y/N go.”

Wanda casually picks up the menu on the table. Her eyes scan the menu with small interest, avoiding Natasha’s pointed stare.

“I'm not sure what you're asking, Natasha.”

“I want to know why you couldn't move on from Y/N. Why you have to cling onto her, even after everything that happened. I'm not saying it's entirely your fault that Y/N cheated on Yelena... But why couldn't you just leave them alone?” Natasha's tone is more accusatory now, and her eyes are steely, demanding answers.

The full brunt of Natasha's presence sinks in only now for Wanda, hitting her hard. If Natasha is seeking her out, it suggests she has severed ties with you. A pang of guilt ricochets through her, understanding all too well how much you depended on that friendship, and how deeply it mattered to you.

The far-reaching consequences of one kiss–a kiss that had made Wanda feel incredibly alive–are glaringly clear now. It initiated a domino effect that razed not just your relationship with Yelena, but countless other connections in its path.

“It's... complicated,” Wanda finally confesses, her eyes dropping to the table.

“Is it really that complicated, Wanda?” Natasha counters, her tone harder than she'd meant for it to be. “You and Y/N were married. You messed up, you cheated, and it ended. Why couldn't you just let it be?”

Wanda draws a shaky breath, the bitter truth spoken out loud wounds more than any physical blow.

“I never stopped loving her,” she concedes despite knowing it will fall on deaf ears. As if on cue, the waiter reappears with Natasha's coffee order. Wanda uses the momentary distraction to request a glass of water.

The skepticism in Natasha's eyes intensifies as she leans forward, her arms resting on the table between them. “So you never stopped loving her,” she repeats Wanda's admission with evident disbelief. “Yet, you cheated on her. You agreed to sign the divorce papers. Can you explain how that works?”

Wanda’s green eyes dart away nervously. Until now, she doesn’t have satisfying answers for those questions. And Wanda doesn’t expect anyone to understand when she doesn’t understand them herself–most of all, Natasha. 

She and Natasha were never close. But Wanda loved her just the same, knowing how she took care of you and acted like a sister when you have no siblings of your own. Wanda cherished her for that, even though Natasha never quite reciprocated the affection. Their relationship had always been cordial but it had never ventured into the realm of true friendship.

“Look, I didn't understand what was happening to me,” Wanda murmurs softly, her nail absently scratching the table's surface as she tries to explain herself to someone who never genuinely bothered to care about her. “Something was… missing. A void that I couldn't understand or explain. And it kept growing, despite Y/N’s consistent efforts to keep me happy.”

Natasha’s face remains stoic. “So you thought cheating would fill this void?” Her words sound more like a statement than a question.

Wanda winces, but she doesn't deny it. “I thought, maybe, if I could feel something... anything else, it might help. By the time I realized what I had done, what I had thrown away, it was too late.”

Upon hearing this, Natasha shakes her head and lets out a cynical laugh. She folds her arms across her chest in an undeniably condescending manner.

“Do you know why I hate you, Wanda? It’s not just because I’m concerned for Y/N or you ruined, yet again, another relationship. You took away the Y/N I knew. She’s not the same person I grew up with.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that? She’s been coming to me. She’s a wreck, Natasha. I know how empty she feels if she’s turning to me for reprieve.”

“Why then?” Natasha asks.

“What do you mean by ‘why’?”

“Why do you still want her? You couldn't love her the right way when she was easy to love. What's changed that makes you believe you can now, when she’s just a shell of who she used to be?”

Wanda grits her teeth, her hands balling into fists on her lap, out of Natasha's sight. 

“Don’t you think it’s rather hypocritical of you to ask me this? Y-You’ve abandoned Y/N… haven’t you? It’s why you came to me right? Because you left her!” Wanda counters, her voice rising enough to catch the attention of a few customers nearby. 

Unfazed by Wanda's impassioned outburst, Natasha simply sits still, her expression remaining unchanged. “You don't know what you're talking about, Wanda,” she says, her tone icier than ever.

“Well, it appears I've hit a nerve,” Wanda retorts, the edges of her lips twitching into a bitter smirk. “Let me make this clear, Natasha. I may have made mistakes in the past, I may have hurt Y/N, but I'm not the one who walked away when she needed someone the most.”

“You think you're what's best for her now?” Natasha shoots back, her eyes flashing with anger. “After all the pain you've caused?”

Seeing Natasha rise from the table, Wanda braces herself for what's coming next. “I need you to understand, Wanda,” Natasha says, her tone laced with a quiet intensity. “I can't pretend that what happened didn't affect me. Y/N lied to me, hurt my sister. And while I want to be there for her, it's difficult–”

“You mean you won't be there for her,” Wanda cuts her off, her voice edged with resentment.

“No,” Natasha implores, her voice shaky around the edges. “I mean it's hard. It's hard to watch someone you care about suffer and know that they played a role in their own pain. And at the same time, of course I'm angry at Y/N for how she treated Yelena and disrespected our friendship as a result. But that doesn't mean I've abandoned her, Wanda. Why the fuck would I see you if I have?”

Wanda flinches at her crudeness. She never intended to question Natasha's care for you or cast judgment on it.

She’s just tired. Tired from the constant need to justify her love for you to those who question it. Tired of having to constantly prove herself. If people choose not to believe her, even as she recognizes and admits to her past errors and shortcomings, then she has to come to terms with the fact that not everyone will forgive her.

But she is determined to earn your forgiveness. 

She wants to show you, more than anyone else, that she's changed. That she's learned from her mistakes and that she's capable of loving you the right way this time. You matter to her more than anyone's opinion. Your forgiveness, your acceptance, your love–these are the things she yearns for the most.

“I was wrong,” Wanda admits. “I messed up. I hurt Y/N, and I have to live with that guilt every day. But just because I messed up once doesn't mean I can't try to make things right now. You can be angry all you want about what I did wrong in the past, but at least I’m here for he–”

“And what if you're just making things worse, Wanda? What if you being around is just causing her more pain?” Natasha questions, her hard gaze unwavering.

“I... I don't know,” Wanda admits, looking lost and vulnerable. “But I can't just walk away from her, Natasha. If it turns out that I'm doing more harm than good, I promise I'll step back.”

Natasha's silence stretches on for a moment longer, her cold gaze fixed on Wanda. And then, unexpectedly, a smirk twists her lips. It's not a happy expression, far from it.

“Maybe…” Natasha says, drawing out the word, her tone derisive. “Maybe you two do deserve each other. You with your guilt and her with her... self-destruction.”

Her words linger, a harsh condemnation that has Wanda recoiling. Natasha stands then, leaving her untouched coffee on the table. She throws a handful of bills down, enough to cover the drink and then some.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Natasha adds, shrugging on her leather jacket, her voice laced with a regret that Wanda can't quite put her finger on, “I hope you can help her. Because god knows, none of us have been able to.”

And with those parting words, Natasha turns, leaving Wanda alone to restructure what being with you truly means now.

***

You don’t come back like she asked you to, and somewhere deep down, Wanda is ashamed to admit she's disappointed.

You were right; she does want you coming back to her every time. But you’re wrong about one thing: she doesn’t enjoy it. She’s worried sick about you. You look like you need help the way she needed help when Pietro discovered her passed out next to an empty bottle of sleeping pills.

She fears that you’re going down the same path she did. And what's worse is that she doesn't know how to stop it. You clearly don't want her help, and she understands why. Trust isn't something one asks from a person they don't believe in. And you don't believe in her.

Wanda picks up her phone and dials Pietro's number, her fingers trembling slightly. They're due for their regular Skype session, but she doesn't feel up to showing her face today.

It only takes two rings before Pietro answers. “Why a call, Wands?” he asks immediately, concern clear in his voice.

“I...I'm not really up for a video call, Piet,” she responds, quickly coming up with a half-hearted excuse about her unstable internet connection. In truth, she knows he’ll be able to tell right away that something is off if she turns on the camera.

“Is that everything?”

“Yes,” Wanda insists.

“And your sessions with Dr. Williams?” Pietro's voice sharpens, clearly not buying her claim. “How are they going?”

Wanda hesitates for a moment before answering. “They're...going,” she admits, though she doesn't elaborate. She doesn't dare to tell Pietro that she's missed a couple of sessions. Her therapy is one of the few things that reassure him from thousands of miles away. He'd only worry more.

Pietro bites back the urge to tell Wanda that Calliope has already informed him of Wanda’s recent non-attendance.

She hears Pietro give a noncommittal hum over the line. It's a simple sound, but it tells her everything. He doesn't believe her. She takes a deep breath, gearing up for her next revelation.

“I...I've been seeing Y/N again,” she reveals, words rushing out in a hasty jumble. There's silence on the other end of the line, and she quickly fills it, not wanting to let Pietro's thoughts linger. 

“But it's...it's different this time. There's–there's something there, Pietro. I can feel it. I think we might have a...a breakthrough or something," she stammers, her words racing against one another in their urgency to be voiced.

“And–” she swallows dryly. “And I don't want to ruin my chances this time.”

“Wanda,” Pietro interjects gently, his voice suffused with the kind of worry only a brother could bear. “I think you need to step back and really look at the situation.”

“But I am, Piet,” Wanda retorts, the pitch of her voice wavering with each syllable. “I am looking at this, really looking. When I see Y/N... it's like... it's like…”

“Like you're being sucked back in?” Pietro finishes for her despondently. “Isn't that exactly what happened last time? She’s clouding your judgment–again. You're not seeing clearly. You're just...You're just getting lost in what you used to have.”

There's a pause, and Wanda can hear Pietro let out a deep sigh. “Wanda, you deserve better. You deserve to be with someone who won't tear you apart. I know you still care about Y/N, I get it. But you need to think about what's best for you.”

“Piet…” Wanda attempts, her heart a hefty load in her chest. “I–”

“I can't stand by and watch you do this to yourself again. Not after everything that happened. Not after seeing you... after seeing you in that hospital bed,” he articulates, his voice choked.

There's another pause, this one longer and more poignant. Wanda can hear Pietro struggling to hold back his emotions on the other side of the line. “I'm sorry, Wands,” he finally manages, and even though she can't see him, she knows he's barely keeping the tears at bay. “I just can't.” 

And then there's a soft click as Pietro disconnects the call and the line goes silent. 

Still reeling, Wanda is left reassuring herself that she can handle it this time. She’ll have to–for you.

As for Pietro, he’s prepared to do something that Wanda might hate him for in the future. 

If he can’t convince his sister, then he’ll have to convince you.

***

Wanda's last words to you have stuck in your mind, popping up more often than you'd like to admit. You haven't been back to see her since, knowing all too well she'd bring up that same topic again without beating around the bush.

You're worried about what you might say to her. You'd rather avoid her than hurt her like you have so many times since you two split.  You've been striking out at her, and you can't figure out why you keep doing it. You’ve been using sex as a means to be with Wanda without really being with her–at least not in every sense of the word. Not in the way you want to but can’t bring yourself to. Not in the way you’re capable of.

Without Wanda and your loved ones around, all you have is an empty apartment and a job that feels more like an obligation now. Joy seems elusive, life seems bland–eating just to fill your belly, working just to pass the day. 

You're starting to realize that the best parts of life come from sharing it with others; when you have a friend to call after a long day; when you retire into the arms of someone you love; when your demons aren’t as loud as they are now in your head.

To your astonishment, your Stark Industries badge still functions when you arrive at work the day after collapsing on your kitchen floor. However, it's not long before HR summons you to meet an in-house specialist. After a short evaluation, you're prescribed pills to be taken twice a day and given a mild warning.

Later, when some of your colleagues invite you out to unwind after work, you accept, much to their surprise because you never once went out drinking with them, always preferring to keep your professional and personal lives separate.

You all head to a local bar, a place humming with people seeking an escape from their hectic lives. But the background music, the low murmuring of conversations, and the occasional laughter are just noises to you. The muted light from the suspended bulbs adds to the promise of a good time, but it barely registers. 

You're not really there for the party vibe or the camaraderie with your colleagues; rather, it's the dulling effect of alcohol that you crave. You don’t even join their table, you prefer sitting by the bar where you can ask for a refill with just a snap of your fingers anytime.

A while later, one of your coworkers suddenly totters over to you with a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“Hey, how 'bout you stop moping over here and join us on the dance floor?” he slurs out suggestively, his eyes wandering all over your body.

You’ve heard the whispers around the office, the snide remarks about a woman leading their team. Their resentment rears its ugly head now, fueled by liquid courage.

“I'm good here, thanks,” you try to deflect, hiding your discomfort behind a casual sip of whisky.

But he isn't taking 'no' for an answer. He dismissively scoffs at your refusal and grabs your arm, attempting to pull you from your seat.

A surge of anger bubbles up within you.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you shout, yanking your arm back. Your voice is swallowed by the pounding techno music echoing around the bar. It's so loud, you doubt anyone heard your outcry, until a figure materializes from the edge of your sight.

“The lady said no,” she intervenes briskly, positioning herself between you and your colleague.

Taken aback, he stutters, pointing at her in a feeble attempt to salvage his bruised ego. “How about you, babe? Care to dance with me?”

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, and the corners of her mouth curve up into a sardonic smile. “I think I'll pass,” she replies. “You see, I have a strict policy against dancing with pathetic boys.”

A few eavesdroppers start clapping, appreciating her firm stand. You can't help but feel satisfied as his face turns a bright shade of red. Muttering under his breath, he staggers off, swallowed up by the crowd.

The woman turns her attention back to you, signaling the bartender to pour you another drink.

“Sorry about that,” she starts, her voice just loud enough to cut through the ambient noise. “Some men just can’t take no for an answer. It bruises their fragile ego.”

“Thanks,” you say. “You didn't have to step in, but I appreciate it.”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her own drink. “Sometimes, a little intervention goes a long way,” she says, her eyes meeting yours. “And from what I saw, you're not one to be pushed around. I respect that. Cheers to standing up for ourselves!”

You can't help but chuckle as you clink your glass with hers. Her spirit is infectious, and, for the first time that night, you find yourself genuinely smiling.

An hour later, you find yourself doing more than just smiling, in a position you couldn't have predicted at the start of the night. 

You're pinned against the wall of a college student's dorm, her eager mouth marking your neck in an almost painful way. You’re both drunk and you agreed for the woman from the bar to take you home because you wanted to find out something.

You wanted to understand why Wanda cheated on you. You wanted to be caught up in an attractive stranger. You want to know what it’s like to be wanted by someone young and alluring. This is not about revenge or trying to level the playing field; it's about grasping what led Wanda down that path. 

And in the warm, dimly lit room of a young college student, you are willing to go to great lengths for that understanding.

“You’re so hot,” she moans into your heaving chest when you slip your leg between her thighs and draw her closer, encouraging her to grind against it. But as her head lulls back, caught in the pleasure of your advances, Wanda's vivid green eyes hauntingly flash before yours.

The taste of cheap alcohol is still strong on your tongue and a stranger's hand persistently roams over your overheated skin when a jarring realization strikes you.

This isn't what you want. It never was.

You find yourself unable to follow through, to do to Wanda what she did to you. It's not a matter of a moral high ground, it's simply because you just can't.

Feeling the touch of someone else, when you were in Wanda's bed just last week makes your stomach churn. Technically, you’re not doing anything wrong; you and Wanda haven't committed to any kind of relationship. And yet–

And yet, it feels like the worst betrayal. Like you're tarnishing something far deeper than any label can define.

It feels as though you're cheating on Wanda–and it makes you want to throw up.

“Y/N?” 

An immediate, desperate need to flee consumes you. It's not something you can articulate, but something primal, a pressing demand from your body to get away. 

“I'm sorry, I can't do this,” you utter hastily, not giving her a chance to respond as you scramble to grab your coat. Panic claws at you, and in your haste to escape, you find yourself practically running out of her apartment, her protests echoing faintly behind you, growing softer as you sprint down the hallway and out into the cool night. 

It's a double-edged sword of hurt and confusion. On one side, your heart breaks at the very thought of being with someone else, of betraying Wanda, even when you have every reason to. On the other side, the very fact that Wanda managed to do it, to betray you so effortlessly, twists the knife even deeper into wounds that never quite healed properly.

Trying to understand why Wanda did what she did only makes her actions feel worse. It's as if you're learning about her deception all over again, like a new wound overlapping an old one.

Even as your eyes start to sting with unshed tears, the sudden blinking light from your pocket catches your attention. You instinctively reach down and pull out your phone, squinting against the bright screen, as an incoming anonymous message shows up on the notification bar.  With a trembling finger, you curiously tap on it.

Your phone screen displays a photo that instantly drains the color from your face. 

A sterile hospital room, bleak and unwelcoming. And on the bed is Wanda, looking pale, fragile, and disturbingly still, with tubes running from her mouth and nose. She seems lifeless in a way that makes your heart drop.

A surge of fear and concern washes over you, sobering you up instantly. Your stomach knots, your heart thunders in your chest. Your mind spins with unanswered questions, but one screams louder than all others: “What happened?”

Sensing there’s more to the message, you scroll down.

There’s a date attached showing when this picture was taken, along with five words that make your blood run cold: ‘What you've put her through’.

The message, even in its brevity, hits you like a punch to the gut. 

And then, like some dark cosmic joke, rain begins to fall, splattering against the pavement that threatens to crumble beneath your feet.

Taglist: @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby| @swiftie1-0-1

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 18: Freak

Word Count: 643/Rating: G/Pairing: None/CW: canon scene, Grant (Freak) is neurodivergent, anxiety/Tags: Grant, Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Hellfire, Corroded Coffin

Divider credit to @silkholland

Postpone.

The moment that word left Mike Wheeler’s lips, it echoed in Grant’s mind and out any further conversation. Fridays were for Hellfire, just like Saturdays were for Corroded Coffin practice at Gareth’s house, and Tuesdays were for gigs at The Hideout. Just like he always sat directly to Eddie’s left at lunch as though the seat bore his name. 

It was consistent, it was routine, it was comfortable.

Grant didn’t miss the way Eddie’s gaze flicked towards him as Jeff and Gareth expressed their disdain towards the freshman. Eddie knew how important that structure was to him, even if he didn’t quite understand why. To be fair, Grant didn’t fully understand why, either; he just knew that his brain went haywire without it. 

Postponing Hellfire was unheard of. 

“Over my dead body!” Grant snapped at Mike and Dustin, both equally guilty in his eyes. If Lucas wanted to choose basketball over Eddie’s most sadistic campaign yet, that was his problem. No need for anyone else to suffer. 

If Hellfire is postponed, then there’s too much time between school and dinner. The thought was dizzying, and Grant put one hand on the cafeteria table to steady himself. 

“SHUT UP!” Eddie’s shrill command thundered over the arguing. Once again, he and Grant shared a look.

I’ve got you, Eddie’s small nod told him. 

I know, was Grant’s silent response. 

Eddie would have begrudgingly allowed them to move the campaign until after spring break, most likely with the pervasive threat of throwing more curveballs in their quest to defeat Vecna’s curse. But he could see the worry in Grant’s eyes as his routine unspooled before him. 

Postpone postpone postpone—

“You’re saying Sinclair’s been taken in by the dark side?” Eddie pinched a pretzel between his thumb and forefinger. Not because of basketball, though Eddie clearly had no problem showing his disgust for jocks. No, this was about choosing popularity over friendship. 

Postpone postpone—

Grant watched as Eddie launched the pretzel at the two freshmen, letting his consciousness seep back in as the Dungeon Master convinced them—a bit violently—to search for a substitute. Mike and Dustin scrambled out of the cafeteria, fueled by fear and urgency. 

“You alright, Grant?” Eddie asked softly, reaching across the table for the thrown pretzel and popping it into his mouth. 

Grant nodded, though he didn’t let go of the table top. 

Jeff offered a warm smile. “They’ll find a sub, man. There’s gotta be someone who isn’t going to that dumb championship game.”

“And if not, the five of us will take on the campaign,” Gareth added with a shrug. 

“We won’t win,” Grant mumbled. “We need a sixth, or we’re gonna—”

A hand on his stopped him in his tracks. “Hey. It’s gonna be fine,” Eddie said. “Nothing to freak out about.” 

Grant’s nervous expression informed Eddie that his friend remained unconvinced, so he tried a different approach: distraction. 

“I gotta run home and grab something from my stash.” He lowered his voice to keep anyone else from overhearing as he said, “Chrissy Cunningham asked if she could buy some weed.”

“The Chrissy Cunningham?”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, dude. It’s been a weird day.” He raised his brows. “Maybe if she gets high enough, she’ll be our sub.”

Grant snorts at that. “She’d probably rather die than be caught playing with us.” 

“You’re right about that one.” 

The four of them ate in comfortable silence until the bell rang. Before Eddie could leave, Grant tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Don’t thank me, or I’ll kick your ass,” Eddie warned. “It’s my job to look out for you sheep, okay?” He grinned when Grant nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must procure the contraband for my appointment with the Queen of Hawkins High.”

Postpone. 

The word drifted farther away, a message in a bottle tugged away by the ocean tide. 

--

[surshica]

NINTENDO SWITCH !

FOURTEEN - you’re so annoying

masterlist <3

AN : enjoy or not (evil emoji) HAHAHAHAH

borders will indicate when it’s time to read the written portion!! + please excuse anything grammatically incorrect and any typos !!

﹙ᴗ﹏ᴗ﹚･｡ ⁺ ✦

“CHISHIYA SHUNTARO.” Yn yelled whispered, she was mad at him for having her stress over studying for the test when it got postponed till Tuesday; she was looking around for him when he saw a figure laying down on the couch. She let out a huff, she felt like the big bad wolf. She ended up cracking her knuckles storming over to chishiya whom was peacefully watching banana fish on his TV. “You. Should watch banana fish, its a good anime.” He lifted himself up on his elbows watching the mad women storm her way to him.n

He grinned as he looked at her standing in front of him, “why hello dearest Yn,” “what can i do for you in this fine hour.” The silence was evident but yet it was too funny to chishiya; yn inhaled deeply trying to calm herself down but looking at his stupid cat like smirk made her even more pissed off. She grabbed him by the shirt pushing him back down onto the couch. “You’re so annoying chishiya!” She sprawled over him.

“You know chishiya, it would’ve been nice to know it got postponed a day.” “I could’ve relaxed today and studied tomorrow but you had me over here stressing over a mid-term THAT WAS AAAAAAAH” she was mad enough she couldn’t even think properly. Chishiya’s face was so unemotional besides the grin formed on his lips, it made her want to punch him even more. “Why’d you think that was funny or even a good idea?!” Her right twitched as her grip around his shirt tightened even more. “Like I said it merely slipped my mind.” His grin started to disappear as his lips formed a thin line.

“Slipped my mind..bullshit” she called him out on it rolling her eyes. She was not having any of that bullshit. “You know..I’m starting to think you have a crush on me based on how many times we always get into situations.” He smirked, yn rolled her eyes again. “I dont like you. You’re annoying and you make me annoyed”. Her tone became softer and her breathing calmed down. “You know if you did want a kiss that’s all you had to say” that sentence left chishiya’s smirk made her feel something flutter but it made her upset. “I came here to take my anger out on you because you like to fuck around with me.”

“That sounds rather kinky” he lowed a chuckle, the vibration of the low chuckle , made the small butterflies flutter in her stomach. “What..NO! You know it’s not like that.” Her grip loosened because of the comment he said, a slight blush rushed across her face; she furrowed her eyebrows shaking her head. “Do i know that yn? Do I really know that?” He questioned the mad blushing lady, he propped himself up on his elbows. From any other angle the position they were in would make people jump into conclusions. “You’re like my personal fan,” his grin turned into a small smile inching his face closer to hers. Yn’s lips agaped slightly, opening and closing and opening again. “You’re so annoying chishiya..” it was a breathless like whisper.

“Hmm, you are quite always telling me that” he felt her now calm untensed breathing tickle his skin, his small smile turned into a slightly larger genuine smile. Their eyes never left eachother; chishiya was quiet mesmerized in their gaze. The sunlight gleamed down onto them, it was something that look like it was ripped straight out of a Japanese romance drama. “Chishiya…” her voice was a soft yet sterner whisper, words couldn’t escape his lips but a small hum. Their faces inched closer slowly, their noses and foreheads were slightly touching eachother. Both of their eyes were closed yet in the moment they couldn’t find a place in their heart to stop what could spur in the moment.

﹙ᴗ﹏ᴗ﹚･｡ ⁺ ✦

After Yn zoomed out her room with arisu’s keys it took him a moment to process the whole situation, it was like the lagging symbol spinning in his head before he finally realized what happened. His eyes widened before quickly standing up but he ended up getting dizzy and fell back down into the chair. He inhaled before standing up quickly leaving Yn’s room. Entering the living room seeing Mira watching saiki k on the small tv they had.

“Where did yn go?!” Arisu’s breathless voice questioned the calm not concerned Mira, “she left already.” “she looked like she was in a rush” Mira held her hand over her mouth a little giggle escaped her lips. “Motherfucker…” he groaned realizing he is going to have to run after her so she doesn’t destroy his dorm. He quickly put on his shoes looking at the. Unconcerned Mira who was watching all of this go down, “you might want to hurry who knows what they are doing in that dorm as of right now.” Mira shrugged showing her phone to arisu. It was Yn’s tweets and how she was struggling to open his dorms door.

Arisu’s brows furrowed wondering how the fuck she got there so quickly?! The dorm wasnt far but it was that close either. “She’s going to be the death of me” he groaned before closing the door to yn and Mira’s dorm. He started to quickly run after the what was left tracks of yn to his dorm. He kept groaning because he wasnt the most athletic and man he hated yn for having some sort of running spirit now. He really needed to go on the morning runs with usagi. He made it to the floor where their dorm is letting out huffs and puffs.

He couldn’t run anymore so he just decided to speed walk his way to the dorm, he thought he would have to get out his spare key from his pocket but to his surprise the door was open. It was closed but it wasnt locked. He lifted one of his eyebrows grabbing the door handle. The one thing he noticed was that it was quiet..he expected to hear Yn’s yelling since she seemed angry in the tweets. He slowly turned the door handle walking quietly into the dorm closing the door behind him. taking off his shoes he went to the living room and his face turned into pure shock at what he is seeing. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?” A screamed like gasp escaped causing yn to jump away from chishiya. Chishiya didnt even budge; his face was still neutral with some slight blush but yn she was red in the face.

﹙ᴗ﹏ᴗ﹚･｡ ⁺ ✦

TAGS !!

pink doesn’t work

@crinklypink @flrtsbin @4pparecium @afckingswiftiebtch @em-asian @saiewithakatana @minyoungieee @eternal-gf @kimtaehussy @theinfaethablefig @elakari @too-many-fandoms666 @lastheavcns @pyrrhicgaze @andreeasancheez @hadesdaughtwr @Iserluver @urgodmoon @nmsl0v3r @lowilaufeyson @dee-dino-man @chiishiiya @444neapolitain @wroophruh @vensworld @starsval @dr3amscap3 @kuinaheartz @bre99 @cheshireshiya @eissaaaa @sollum @conny1111 @luvelyxp @shinobuily @gelliyo @fanfangying1304 @ikon-teen @stay-moa-army @bbyjackie @naegisimp @midlystupid @yvrikoo @chepoyo @luv4kuina @vernon-dursley @itadorim @vseqvt @shigamiryuk @wonswoorld @elisiumnie @abyloxk @asoullessentity @seventeensstrawberry @cupidsaster @bubblyclouds

[leasstories]

Letter two:

TW: Depiction of grief, after Eddie’s death, bittersweet

Letter 1 - Letter 3

April 23rd,1986

Dear Eds,

I’m sorry for not writing to you yesterday. It was a really hard day. I wasn’t capable of getting out of bed. I’m missing you so much it hurts. Dinner with Wayne went well. We ate and then he suggested that we watch a movie. We watched one of those movies you ate. It was a rom-com and if you were there you would have screamed at us to turn off the TV.

I’m not gonna lie to you like I did to Wayne but watching it was hard. Watching people stupidly in love when my lover isn’t here anymore hurts so bad. The little sheep were supposed to come play DnD at my place yesterday but I called them, giving the excuse that I was sick. Your little genius didn’t believe me though. I heard him bang at my door and screaming at me to open the door. I feel bad about but I didn’t... I didn’t let him in.

He started acting more like you since you are gone. The kid is even trying to grow his hair to be like “his hero” as he put it. You’d be proud of him, and of his campaigns. You were right, he really is a genius.

Also, I forgot to tell you but a few days ago Judas Priest released a new album. It’s entitled Turbo. As soon as I can get out again, I’ll go buy the tape. I’ll write a review for you as soon as it’s done.

Also, when I got home from Wayne’s, I finally painted your van as I promised I would. No imperfections anymore.

I don’t have a lot to tell you as I stayed home all day yesterday. I really miss you Eds... I feel so empty without you. I selfishly wish you were the one drying my tears. I wish you were here, holding me at night, when the sobs wrack my body. Before I thought that I couldn’t bear to see you hurt, but now I realize that I’d rather see you hurt than not see you at all. When the earthquake happened and you were nowhere to be found, I didn’t imagine one second that I would never see you again. Eddie Munson, you were both the best and worse thing that ever happened to me.

I still have no news from UCLA. The community college accepted me but I declined. How am I supposed to leave town without you? All I’m left with are the memories, the places we both liked. Besides, I feel like leaving Hawkins without you would be a betrayal. I really can’t do it alone Eds. I need you... I really need you right now...

Is it my fault? Should I have been looking for you more? What could have I done not to lose you? I lost the will to live. The song I relate to the most at the moment is Fade to Black in Metallica’s Ride the Lightning album.

Also, I thought you should know that we postponed Corroded Coffin’s concert at the Hideout as I wasn’t feeling well yesterday. It’s going to be on Tuesday, April 28th. I wish you could be here too, strumming Sweetheart by my side.

Sorry, I had to put the pen down, Steve Harrington (Can you believe it?) came to check on me. I lied to him and said I was fine but I don’t think he believed me. He insisted that he’d stop by later tonight but I don’t think I’ll open the door to him. I don’t want to see anyone else than you Eddie. Anyways, I love you endlessly.

Yours, always

- Your lover

Taglist: @abellmunsonmovie

[demontruth]

Have y'all seen this bullshit of the day?

"In a major reprieve for former President Donald Trump, sentencing for his hush money convictions was postponed Tuesday until at least September — if ever — as the judge agreed to weigh the possible impact of a new Supreme Court ruling on presidential immunity." This from the AP

Omg I'm beyond pissed off! In my opinion the judge could of sentenced the orange tube of shit and worry about all SCOTUS bullshit later!

Also Trump isn't the President any longer so this new immunity should no longer apply to him. Unless their making the ruling covering all President's past, present and future. Which SCOTUS needs to be fucking clear about!

I think the judge, Juan Merchan is just being a scared little bitch and not doing his job. By not sentencing that useless narcissistic bastard, he basically thinks he got away with it again, which thanks to Supreme Court he did. Which is going to make him even more emboldened to get away with anything he wants.

The President just like all of us must be held up to the letter of the law. A President cannot be above it. Now however the Supreme Court has destroyed that by making a President a King. Which is against everything our country stands for.

[itsallmadonnasfault]

Let’s get this out of the way: She looked great. Sure, we could talk about Madonna’s face — about how we require aesthetic perfection from women, demand they stay frozen in amber after 40, then become cruel if they try too hard to maintain the appearance that’s tied to their economic and cultural value — but it’s actually the least interesting thing about her. And if that’s what you wanna talk about, you clearly were not at her Celebration Tour at Chase Center in San Francisco on Tuesday night, because if you had been, the only thing you would say about Madonna’s appearance is: Bitch looked great.

Even more impressive? This show was rescheduled from October, because the whole Celebration Tour was postponed for six months after a bacterial infection put Madonna in a medically induced coma for several days. Then she got better, got back to rehearsals and went on the damn tour, because she’s Madonna.

KQED

[spnfanficpond]

Weekly Pond Newsletter

Halloween is almost here! Do you have your costume ready? Are you or have you ever dressed up as an SPN character? Share pics if you've got 'em!

Old Business:

Manta Ray chat postponed. Admin MJ had to postpone her scheduled chat due to adulting. Please keep her in your thoughts as she continues to brave the real world as an adult who adults very adultly. Adulting sucks but is necessary, sometimes.

The New Member Spotlight post is late due to some technical difficulties. We're working through them and trying to rebuild! Hopefully, it will be posted soon!

Last week's #TweetFicTues prompts were:

New Business:

SPN Rewatch: Fanfic Edition - 1x03 and 1x04. We had a good chat yesterday in the Discord server about the episodes Dead In The Water and Phantom Traveler. We decided to add thematic docs to the Archives in addition to the docs for each episode. These docs are listed at the bottom of the masterlist doc after all the episodes. So far, we have added, John's Parenting, Dean's trauma - mutism, Sam's trauma - anger, Sam underestimating Dean, and Dean is Smart™. Some of these are still under construction, but keep checking back for updates! Click here to access the masterlist and find links to the new docs!

Fishing for Treasures at the @fanficocean is next weekend. November's theme is Gen fics! No romance here! If you're in other fandoms and you're looking for fics that don't include smut or focus on relationships that are not romantic, check out the Ocean's blog next weekend. If you write gen fics for other fandoms, submit links to your fics for the Ocean to reblog by midnight Friday, Eastern US/Canadian time!

#SPNJAX is next weekend! If you're going to the con and want to find fellow Pondies to meet up with, head into our Discord server and the channel we have created for the con. Arrange meetups, find a roommate, or share ideas for photo ops and autographs. You can even ask questions and get answers from con veterans!

Manta Ray in the Discord server. On Saturday, Admin Michelle will be in the discord server just hanging out! Feel free to come on in and get help with fic ideas (she breeds plot bunnies in her backyard), vent about editing, or ask questions about the Pond.

Paul Carella on Lounges.tv later today. Paul is trying out a new platform, so head on over, create a free account, and enjoy some fun and good music! Click here for more information and to get tickets.

Jason Manns on UrsaLive for another Tuesday Tunesday! This week, it's going to be extra early for the US folks, but more accessible for those in Europe and further east. Click here for more information and to participate!

Daylight Savings Time ends in the US next weekend! For some in other parts of the world, it ended this weekend. For others, they don't mess with this shit and never have to worry about changing all of their clocks, the lazy bastards. 🤣 No matter what, be sure to double-check time zones and DST specifications when making plans with your international friends! (We use TimeZoneConverter to make our posts, which tells us about national holidays and DST and other cool stuff that helps us schedule things!)

(Divider by @glygriffe!)

That's all for this week! To see all Pond events, and also other SPN-related things like conventions and online concerts, check out our Google calendar! Click here for a static view in Eastern US/Canada time (desktop only, no mobile app access, sadly), and click here to add our calendar to your own Google calendar! We try to keep it as up to date as possible. If there's something you want to see on the calendar that's not there (maybe a convention we missed, or cast birthdays, or something similar), send us an ASK and let us know!

Hope you have a great week! - From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, @katbratsupernaturalwhore and @heavenssexiestangel!

[apockalypsisblog]

https://www.tumblr.com/apockalypsisblog/760351977690529792/bts-suga-the-era-of-misinformation?source=share

Thank you for this excellent chronicle. It's good to have the whole timeline factually laid out in one place.

For me, the most alarming moment of this whole affair was the day before the real CCTV footage was released...in my time zone, that would've been Tuesday, August 13th. I don't know what set things off that day, but I woke up that morning to a shitstorm of articles about "new information" that supposedly contradicted *every* part of Suga's version of the events. Most troubling of all, though, were the sudden (and of course, anonymous) reports about his civil service job performance. Though they seemed to have zero connection to the DUI, the point of these stories was obviously escalation to a new and really dark level. Suga wasn't just guilty of this one offense, he was an overall degenerate...lazy, irresponsible, disrespectful to others, even...unpatriotic? The kind of dirtbag who's capable of *anything* riiight?? All I remember thinking was, fuck, they're really out for blood now, aren't they? They won't stop until he's dead. And then they'll tut-tut and say, "Oh, it's so tragic." I was sick to my stomach. Literally.

But then? The CCTV footage came out and...everybody shut the fuck up for a few days. You could practically *hear* the crushed disappointment in all that silence, couldn't you? The human sacrifice had been indefinitely postponed, boo-hoo.

Well they got their gross photo line and their apologies anyway. And although Suga displayed nothing but admirable grace, honesty, and dignity throughout this whole mess, they still might think he was so satisfyingly humiliated that they'll lose interest, and let him pay his fine and move on. I'd love to think the press, police, and netizens had learned something from this, but I doubt it. They'll do it again to someone else, I'm sure. It really makes me wonder if I even want to be in a K-pop space anymore. I don't know if I have the stomach for it.

the post: BTS Suga & The Era of Misinformation

thank you for your excellent yet heartbreaking addition.

"Suga wasn't just guilty of this one offense, he was an overall degenerate…lazy, irresponsible, disrespectful to others, even…unpatriotic? The kind of dirtbag who's capable of anything riiight?? All I remember thinking was, fuck, they're really out for blood now, aren't they? They won't stop until he's dead."

it's painful that we now share this collective experience because i felt this, too. i went to sleep every night absolutely certain i would wake up to the worst of news. unsurprisingly, i haven't been sleeping well.

i do, in my heart of hearts, believe that this has been a serious attempt on his life. not because of anything he's done, maybe not even because he's part of bts, but because the journos saw the level of response to the news and wanted more. more spectacle, more outrage, more views and money. at any and all cost.

there's theories floating around about whether there's someone behind this smear campaign, and they cannot be fully disregarded. but regardless of who or if anyone paid for it, those people clearly wanted him broken or dead, simply because they had the power to make him so. the scope of this attempted character assassination was absolutely revolting.

though part of me wishes i never got to see that cctv (the real one), because that in itself is quite an embarrassing, humiliating moment, i'm glad it exists. can you imagine if it didn't? sure, the police knew the truth, i guess, but they don't seem to be willing to mitigate the situation in any way. on the contrary.

and kpop fans…? i won't waste my breath on them. a lot of people showed their entire ass that very first week. but they are, in the grand scheme of things, just insignificant background noise, so i'm gonna do what i've always done and ignore them.

i'm also afraid that media thinking they got him so good they lose interest is the best case scenario. i try to adhere to the army imposed media blackout, but as far as i know, the defamation is not slowing down in any significant way. sure, the general public is less interested, but articles are still published, speculation is still spread. i'm afraid this isn't over yet.

the press won't learn unless someone makes them learn. and while i wish it was hybe after this whole thing is over, i can't imagine how they would do that without painting a larger target on suga. the revenge would be so satisfying, but we might have to accept that yoongi will want to... move on and just heal instead of fighting another battle. and that would be rational and understandable.

i have no intention of being in any kpop space. i'm on reddit and twitter only to keep up with this and i can't wait to be rid of them of both. i need reparations just because this situation forced me back on twitter, the hellhole that it is. it's bts only for me from now on, and i will have to think long and hard about giving the industry any sort of money or attention besides what's absolutely necessary in the near future.

i wish strength to you, to all fans, and to suga, so that we can all collectively look at this time in the future and be happy it's all behind us. and if you wish to talk more, i'd be happy to. it's not like i can think of much else besides this, anyway.

[beardedmrbean]

An American woman has died after the replica boat she was in capsized in rough seas during an expedition from the Faroe Islands to Norway.

Six people were on board the Naddoddur when it got into trouble on Tuesday evening, on the fourth day of the trip, and a distress signal was sent.

Only five people managed to get into an inflatable life raft. They were later airlifted to safety by helicopter.

A woman's body was eventually found on Wednesday morning not far from where the boat sank.

Norway's Sea Rescue Society (NSSR) described conditions west of the town of Stad at the time as very demanding, posting a video of the strong winds and high sea.

It said waves were up to 5m (16ft) and winds were as much as 40 knots.

Bergur Jacobsen, who is chairman of the Naddoddur boat club on the Faroe Islands, told the BBC that everyone was very sad about what had happened.

He explained that the 10m-long boat had been on previous Viking voyages before to Iceland, Shetland and Norway.

"It's not a Viking boat, it's a Faroes fishing boat without a motor but with sails."

He said he could not speak about the accident as a Norwegian investigation team was due to speak to him.

Locals were said to be in shock at what happened. One seaman told the BBC that visitors were keen to go on expeditions with the boat, although he would not have done so himself.

The expedition had been postponed for several days because of bad weather until Saturday.

One of four Swiss nationals on the trip, Andy Fitze, posted a map on social media two days into the voyage showing the boat to the north-east of Shetland.

Before the trip, the Faroese member of the crew, Livar Nysted, said when you were in the middle of a storm "you just try to do the best you can".

"It's an open boat. You sleep under the stars and when it's raining or windy you can feel the elements."

[shelikesrainydays]

// August 18th, 2024

Yesterday I broke in tears because I think I’m going to fail Data Structures and Algorithms this semester. It’s just, too much. Not the topics I have to study, not even that I don’t actually enjoy practicing it, oh no. It’s that I don’t think I’m going to be able to send all of my assignments on time and they affect the final grade a lot. The materials for all three subjects get released only on Wednesdays at noon and it’s expected that an almost impossible amount of assignments are delivered before the following Tuesday at 8 p.m.

Why can’t I, for instance, do the work, send it as soon as I have it ready, and they can just take into account that I actually followed on the lessons and studied hard for the two exams before the final? It’s just… I don’t know. It seems ridiculous to me. I would be doing my best even without having that stupid pressure of doing the assignments on time, like any other person who is serious about theirs studies. I know I probably sound like a stupid kid, but people going to this university at night usually have a job already, otherwise, why wouldn’t we be taking the lessons on mornings/afternoons? Don’t they think about those cases? Incredible.

And I know one can probably think, “well, why don’t you drop that subject and follow up others and retake this one further in the future?

And the answer to that is, a) I’m feeling old to keep postponing my graduation (35 is becoming my least worst shot) and b) I have more plans, like for other important aspects of my life as well. And… ugh. The pressure. It’s too much.

I spoke to my sweet boyfriend about all these worries I have and he’s happy with both me telling him what I feel and how hard I am working with this. “Honey, it’s just the second week of the semester. You got this”. Cuddles and sushi were provided, and even when that didn’t wash the worries or pressure away, I felt loved. And cared for. I’m so lucky to have him in my life.

Sorry for the rant guys. I get that this is just the way it is and that these are the terms for getting a good grade, and if I don’t like it I can just leave it and try again, but… I just needed to get some of it out of my chest 🥲

But hey, at least I was able to write my very first little programs in C yesterday. Yay 🍷

[esta-elavaris]

Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

Spoiler-y rant ahead because I loved this book and I never want to read it again.

So, for those who don't know, the premise of this book is that there are people who are clones (presumably of whose "originals" were in a difficult financial position, who sell their genetics/permission for this to happen), who are created and raised from infancy for the sole purpose of becoming organ donors when they reach adulthood. They survive three or four donations, one after the other, with just enough time to recover between them, and then they die - or "complete", as the book puts it. It's also hinted that as they're dying following the fourth, the doctors basically harvest whatever else they can - y'know, the really vital ones that wouldn't allow for recovery between if they did it earlier.

The book begins by describing the childhood of these clones, but you don't know they're clones. At first (if you haven't seen the movie, like I had), you think they're just kids in an orphanage or boarding school. Then it's all drip-fed to you, very matter of factly, as you follow them growing up and coming to grips with what's going to happen, and when it eventually does happen

And I have this habit, right, of when I love a book (and this was a five star read for me) where I go onto goodreads and read the one star reviews - just from a writing standpoint, to remind myself of how subjective it all is. But god, these reviews got to me. There was so much complaining about how the organ donation thing wasn't some big plot twist moment, or how there wasn't enough emphasis on the horror of it - there wasn't a Stephen King moment where a character pokes at their wounds and contemplates that their kidney was just taken or anything like that.

And to me, that just makes it so much more real?

In the book, the narrator - Kathy - mentions a theory that another "clone" at her school had, that they were given little bits and pieces of information about who they were and what their purpose was when they were just too young to understand it, so when they DID grow old enough to make sense of each new piece of information a year or so later, there's no rebellion. There's no outcry. Because by that point, the concept has become normal to them before they're even properly old enough to understand what it means. How can you not see the meaning in that? It can apply to so much. Admittedly, Kathy doesn't agree with that theory, but I did when I read the book.

It's presented as so normal and matter-of-fact because that's what it is to those characters, and that's what makes it feel so real! How many of us deal with horrible things in our day to day lives, or see them play out on the news, and just...get on with it? And if we were told in an abstract sense "tomorrow you'll see a child get blown up in a video" we'd be horrified, but then so many people turn on the news and see that very thing reported and the context and the way it's presented means it's just another Tuesday. Further still, how many completely normal things in our daily lives would seem horrific if we stopped and framed them another way?

There are moments where the horror seeps in, they're not robots, they don't feel nothing over the fate that they know is looming, and where they try to tentatively find ways to get out of it. So much of the book revolves around different theories they have, different rumours that if they do X, Y, and Z, they'll get postponements for their donations, but it's not done in an insanely melodramatic way - where the clock's ticking down and they're sweating trying to diffuse a bomb. They're numb and they're even weirdly reluctant to try because they're reluctant to hope, and it just feels so true to life.

There's so much more that goes on in the book - the donations themselves and people being raised solely to be organ donors, and the way the world treats them, there are so many different readings of that alone, nevermind what happens as the book develops, I could write a dissertation on it, but it's just wild to me that anybody could read it and give it one star for the very thing that makes it good.

God, I need to read more by this author.

[silveragelovechild]

I generally like Ryan Gosling in his movie. But somewhere between his star turn as Ken movie and the premiere of Fall Guy, Gosling got over exposed. He was everywhere singing “I’m just Ken” and I must have seen the trailer for Fall Guy dozens of times. Because of this I hesitated to see Fall Guy. So I decided to wait until Tuesday when my local theater offers a discount ($6.50 per ticket).

Fall Guy opened to a lower box office than the Hollywood accountants projected. The studio is hoping good word of mouth will draw bigger audiences in the weeks to come to help it make a profit on its $150 million budget. Action movies need to make at least twice their budget to break even.

I can not recommend Fall Guy.

Gosling has been outspoken about the need to offer an Oscar category to stuntmen. Fall Guy was suppose to be an homage to the tireless and risky work stuntmen perform. But I don’t think the story supported their goal.

Why? Sure, the movie is an action comedy, but a movie that honors stuntmen needs to show that they take their stunt work seriously. Otherwise mistake can lead to injuries or even death. The first scenes depicted the opposite.

In the opening, stuntman Gosling is hitting on camera person Emily Blunt. He’s asked to perform a stunt again, but this time facing backward. The camera follows him going up stairs while talking to Blunt of the phone. They get pretty cutesy with each other. Gosling reaches the location for the stunt and barely checks any of the preparations himself. He end the call with Blunt, straps in, and takes his fall——- then we are immediately told that Gosling’s character broken his back. Maybe the accident could have been avoided if he had been more focused on his job rather than flirting with Blunt.

Is this how you show stuntmen are deserving an Oscar?

18 months pass and Gosling has recovered. He’s asked to work on a new film by Blunt who is now a director. The stunt coordinator explains he needs to roll a car on a beach. But Gosling says the stunt needs to be postponed because the sand isn’t compacted enough. It would be dangerous. Guess what? The stunt coordinator tells him to do it anyway. WTF?!?

The rest of the movie is spilt between various stunts and Gosling and Blunt’s characters quarreling. She’s angry with him and he flirts with her. This goes on and on. Yes, it’s a comedy but listening to this banter over and over is too much. Not to mention how unprofessional both their characters become in front of the cast and crew.

I won’t recount the entire plot but both Gosling and Blunt got more irritating as the story progressed. I’m not sure I want to see either of them again for some time.