#this reminds me I read an article the other day that was like

[archive-z]

Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time or, what was on Daniel Molloy’s bookshelf in 1973?

Inspired by @volkswagonblues’ and @islandbetweeenrivers’ reading list of texts providing historical and cultural context for Daniel Molloy as journalist in the 1970s and 80s

This is, pretty much in its entirety (bar one or two references throughout the show and its extant material), assumptions I’ve made about the character. But, also: it’s my blog so I can do what I want. Dating works is somewhat inconsistent, as I opted for the date a piece was published in a collection or translation rather than when it first appeared in print if it seemed more realistic to have been acquired in that format.

I’ve found the archives of Rolling Stone and Playboy have been helpful in piecing together a who’s who of literary life in the late 1960s and early 1970s, especially for a intellectually precocious teen from suburban Modesto, CA transplanted into the centre of countercultural life in Haight-Ashbury.

From what I can gather, being born in ‘53 means Daniel was just a year shy of being drafted to fight in the Vietnam War, an experience that would have profoundly effected his peers just a year or two older than him. Throughout his teenage years, he’s got the spectre of the possibility of being drafted hanging over his head. It reminds me of pop-inspirational phrases like “you only live once,” which really puts his risk-taking, thrill-seeking behaviour into the perspective of yeah, this is someone who is trying to live life to the fullest every second of every day because the possibility of being drafted means that he might not make it past twenty. (Unfortunately! Louis & Armand also mean he might not make it past twenty either xoxoxo)

However, crucially, he did narrowly miss the draft, and despite that it would be horrible, I think there’s an acute sense of having missed out on this profoundly altering experience as well. Moving to Haight-Ashbury, he’s six years late to the Summer of Love ‘67, and the rose-tinted image of hippies, peace, and love is replaced by the grittiness of speedfreaks and serial killing (the Zodiac Killer being active throughout 1969, when Daniel would have been sixteen). He’s made it to San Francisco just a few years after its golden era, and i think this makes him even more determined to live, more determined to chase living life in order to make up for that, yknow?

i think the themes that he’s drawn to when reading are:

new journalism, and particularly when the journalist-as-rockstar persona is inserted into said reporting

the provocative, bacchanalian pursuit of pleasure, whether it be sex, drugs, or rock ‘n’ roll — and often sex mixed with violence in a way that is neither straightforward nor legible

travelogues and adventure stories that reflect his restlessness, particularly which let him romanticise far away places with thriving literary scenes like Paris and New York

a general aura of repressed queerness and crises of american masculinity (Capote, Tennessee Williams, Ginsburg, Hemingway)

war narratives as a vehicle for cold war/red scare anxieties

Without further ado, the actual book list:

Periodicals

Playboy magazine. People have long joked about reading Playboy for the articles, but it is the one piece of literature teenage Daniel is in-universe confirmed to have readily accessible, so I’m running with “Danny actually does read it for the articles, though” (and anyways, it’s Diana Ross’ Rolling Stones cover issue from Feb 1 1973 that he jerks off to). In 1973 alone, Playboy featured interviews with playwright Tennessee Williams; Huey Newton (co-founder of the Black Panther Party); news anchor and journalism’s elder statesman Walter Cronkite; science fiction novelist Kurt Vonnegut; and Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times Vietnam war correspondent David Halberstam. Other Playboy interviews of possible interest: Fidel Castro, Orson Welles, Michael Caine (1967); Norman Mailer, Truman Capote, sexologists William H. Masters and Virginia E. Johnson, Paul Newman (1968); Martin Luther King Jr., Marshall McLuhan, Allen Ginsberg (1969). Also of note: between 1969 and 1971, Playboy was publishing faked letters to the editor that eventually developed into the Illuminati conspiracy theories.

In terms of reporting from major national newspapers in circulation, significant stories that come to mind are the New York Times publication of the Pentagon Papers (1971) and Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein’s Watergate investigations for the Washington Post (1972-73). It’s harder to gauge the circulation of underground newspapers like the Berkeley Barb (CA) and the Village Voice (NY) but its entirely likely that a resourceful and enterprising young reader with a point of view in Modesto, CA could get their hands on a copy.

Prose, Fiction & Nonfiction

The Little Red Book by Mao Zedong. At Berkeley, The Black Panthers would raise money by selling copies bought in bulk at markup to students. Absolutely makes sense that daniel would acquire (and actually read) a copy. Growing up in the wake of McCarthyism/Red Scare nonsense def makes me think he would see flirtations with communism as provocative and cool/edgy, but never back that flirtation up with follow-through.

The Hell’s Angels, a Strange and Terrible Saga (1966) by Hunter S. Thompson. Throughout the 1960s and 70s, the Hells Angels had a sizeable presence in San Francisco and Oakland — from what I can find they lived dead centre of Haight-Ashbury up until ‘69 if not later. As a teenager in Modesto, Daniel would have been geographically quite close (if not actually in attendance at) the 1969 Altamont Festival Rolling Stones performance where a teenage concertgoer was stabbed to death by a member of the Hells Angels.

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail in ‘72 (serialized in Rolling Stone magazine) by Hunter S. Thompson. The quintessential text to understand ‘73 Daniel, imo. Fuck Nixon, Fuck Reagan, fuck the National Guard killing student protestors. Thompson’s other works include “The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved“ (with illustrations by Ralph Steadman) and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

The New Journalism: An Anthology (1973) edited by Tom Wolfe. In addition to excerpts of Hunter S. Thompson’s work already discussed above, the anthology collects In Cold Blood (1965) by Truman Capote, Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968) by Joan Didion, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968) by Tom Wolfe, and Armies of the Night (1968) by Norman Mailer. I won’t do justice to summarizing the New Journalism here, but it’s def important.

Slaughterhouse-Five (1969) by Kurt Vonnegut. The quintessential Daniel Molloy fiction novel, to me. Exploration of post-traumatic stress disorder through an encounter with time travelling science fiction aliens. Takes on a new resonance for Daniel when he’s dealing with his own ptsd post-1973. Vonnegut’s other works include Cat’s Cradle (1963) and Breakfast of Champions (1973). On the subject of Cold War anxieties, there’s Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller. I don’t have much to say about it as I’ve not read it yet, but it feels like the kind of thing teenage Daniel living in Schrödinger's draft call-up would take to. Maybe also John Le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1963) and The Looking Glass War (1965), the latter particularly for the palpable air of repressed homoeroticism and WWII nostalgia/Cold War anxiety.

A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway (published posthumously in 1964). Daniel absolutely spent his teenage years romanticising being an expat America writer in the Paris literary scene. Substance use, war, and crises of masculinity throughout. In addition to Hemingway’s reporting on the Spanish Civil War (1937-1938), other works include novels The Sun Also Rises (1926), A Farewell to Arms (1929), and For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940).

George Orwell: Down and Out in Paris and London (1933), Burmese Days (1934), Homage to Catalonia (1938), Animal Farm (1945), Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949); and essays ”Books v. Cigarettes“ (1946), ”Decline of the English Murder” (1946), “Politics and the English Language” (1946), and “Why I Write” (1946). I think Orwell’s nonfiction writing would appeal to Daniel more than his fiction, especially when at the right age to romanticize the poverty-tourism of Down and Out. Also bonus points for Paris.

On the Road (1957), The Dharma Bums (1958), and The Subterraneans (1958) by Jack Kerouac. In particular, The Subterraneans is based on Kerouac’s interracial relationship with an African American woman in the 1960s. He’d also probably read Naked Lunch (1959) by fellow Beat poet William S. Burroughs.

Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov, both for its salacious notoriety and its unreliable narration. Like myself, Daniel feels like the kind of teenager who would read Lolita at sixteen as a provocation in a conservative environment, but come away genuinely enjoying it.

Poetry, Drama, Misc

Howl and Other Poems (1956) by Allen Ginsberg, particularly the edition published locally by San Francisco’s City Lights Books Pocket Poets series.

A series of miscellaneous titles I’d group together as “Daniel Actually Did the Assigned Reading in High School English Class” — The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger (“Get off that bench, brother”), Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, and “The Second Coming” by W. B. Yeats. Most significantly, I imagine high school is where he’d be exposed to the work of American playwrights Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller. The Glass Menagerie (1944), A Streetcar Named Desire (1947), and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955) by Tennessee Williams. In the context of his relationship with Louis, I think it’s fun to imagine he’s familiar with/attracted to the Southern Gothic by way of Tennessee Williams (again with the crises of masculinity, the spectre of war, the repressed sexuality). Williams and Death of a Salesman (1949) by Arthur Miller, present the life Daniel could have had ie. the alcoholic husband, housewife vacuuming on Valium, etc.

If there’s anything else anyone thinks I’ve missed, feel free to hit me with a reply or a dm or an @ or whatnot. stay freaky & support yr local library x

[universalsatan]

sometimes i forget how distinctly american my mother is, and how we are generally a product of our surroundings

[cerealmonster15]

Hey I could be misunderstanding but I don’t think it’s actually “turned on by default”?

I believe what’s happening is it’s giving you the option on this screen to look for friends via your contacts, but in order to do so, you have to have that button checked and then click the find friends button.

Out of curiosity, i unchecked the box and then tried to click find friends, but it gave me this:

telling me I had to give discord permission before I could use the find friends feature. If you click “learn more” in that first screen, it takes you to a page that goes through the steps of enabling and disabling more thoroughly. I see people are confused why it keeps “turning itself back on” but I don’t think that check mark means it’s enabled yet. It’s just the first step if you want to?

warning for discord users

If you're on the app, immediately go to your dms and then "add friends". After the latest update they allow your contacts to find you and have that option turned on by default, so make sure it's unchecked!

This is very obviously not great for a multitude of reasons, but especially for people in vulnerable positions who do not want people in their contacts to see who they are on discord and/or know they have discord in the first place. I've also tried finding out if this is a thing on desktop but haven't been able to find any mention of it, so either it's not a "feature" (yet) or they've hidden it. Either way, stay safe, and turn off finding friends via contacts!

[ID: three screenshots from the discord app with circles around the buttons to press to get to this "feature". 1: the messages/DM button, 2: the "add friends button", 3: in the add friends page, the "allow contacts to add me" checkbox. /END ID]

[biancadoes1]

FAVORITE ANON IS BACK

I didn't expect to be back so soon and to have to jump to the other side of the supporting character spectrum butttt here we are...

As we all know by now, A has made her return to the Insta grid and it was a doozy. 48 days after Luke posted his Spain photo dump, A pops out with the "Last bit of summer" which of course includes a picture of her "sunbathing and reading" on what appears to be the same balcony as Luke's from Spain. The 6 photo carousel also includes 2 photos from Cyprus. To many on the internet, this was another "launch" just like the recent London pap pictures.

This is the point where I would like to remind everyone to TAKE A MOMENT AND BREATHE BEFORE YOU REACT.

Now that you've done that, please remember the individual we are talking about. It is important to study patterns and this girl be patterning. Whenever the spotlight turns up on Nic and Luke, she always seems to jump in and tear things down and she is living up to her reputation. Let's add to the fact that Nic is getting torn down from this recent pap and press article incident so why not throw some gasoline on the flames. This is her time to SHINE.

Now I have a couple thoughts on the Spain of it all:

I think it's highly possible this trip happened in mid-late July (when the resort posted the Bridgerton themed post) and right before the birthday trip to Sorrento. It is highly likely that it was also a group trip and I'm not even saying these two were romantic on this trip (similar to my thoughts on Italy). She honestly could've just gotten into his room to take a couple pictures.

Her and her friends on a separate trip and maneuvered their way into the same (or similar) room and recreated the scene. It sounds wild and crazy and wayyyy out of the realm of reality but to be honest, I wouldn't put it past this individual.

My big question is where were any pictures that alluded to Luke being on the trip? The only picture is the balcony picture with her lying on the lounger and it doesn't even include a lot of possible items that would match the photo to being an identical match (the table settings or his underwear on the chair). If you went on a trip with your boyfriend - WHERE IS THE BOYFRIEND? Many are saying she got permission from Luke to post now but if he gave her permission and they are still together then why isn't he in the pictures?

Also, I find it convenient that she has C & S coming out of the woodwork to like and hype her up in the comments almost immediately (her and S have been almost radio silent to each other since Italy). As someone pointed out to me, the comments look like something planned in a group chat.

And to anyone who wants to say it - no I do not believe Luke is mad about Nic and Jake and is lashing out by telling A to post. If you even believe that about him, why are you in this fandom?

What do I believe? I believe we are seeing one of the final acts of a very desperate woman. She has been holding on to these pictures as her "smoking gun" to use one day when the timing is right. Nicola mentioned "Luke" and "marriage" in a Time article and she posted a picture with Luke publicly on her instagram. Once the pap photo controversy went down, A grabbed her chance and ran with it. (The irony of it all is that I think Nic's team may have let the article situation yesterday play out the way it did because they were expecting a grenade from A and she took the bait.)

In the end I will tell you the same thing about Luke that I told you about Nicola - ONLY LISTEN TO THE STORY LUKE IS TELLING YOU. The story Luke told you in his Spain post was that he was a man who was there alone and not on a romantic getaway. Don't listen to the story that psychotic side characters are trying to paint. The reason she's still around and creating this drama is because you all encouraged her all summer. Listen to Nic and listen to Luke and the rest is just noise you need to tune out.

My favorite anon is back so soon.

But I think we needed you, so much appreciated ☺️

[charmedreincarnation]

Hey guysss! A lot of people have been asking for me to make a challenge for a while now. I honestly didn’t want to, not because I’m against them or anything but because the law will be different for everyone. Sometimes, it feels like tumblr needs a reminder - you are the only person who knows what you need to do to succeed. I wish I could imprint this realization on everyone's minds. I’ve also gotten so manyyyy asks about things that genuinely just feel like your doubts repeating in your mind constantly so I’m gonna talk abt my beliefs bc y’all are spiraling really hard. I get it you want your desires for Christmas and new years. It’s okay take a breath, you're alive and will be okay.

Firstly: at the beginning I used to spend countless time spiraling into depression, constantly changing my methods every time I saw a new success story, and every time I found a new foolproof' tumblr method. Methods that were supposed to guarantee results in a day so when they didn’t I felt rlly useless. It was annoying, to say the least, and I don’t want to help others do the same thing, but really all I can do is reiterate what I always say and hope you apply it to everything!!

A lot of you guys wanted something that didn’t involve the void state, so that’s what this will revolve around! But feel free to make this void orientated if you desire, and I’ll also add a void section so all my babies can eat!

Ok so you’ve over consumed, you have dropped the void, and now have switched to just assuming and knowing that you would wake up with your dream life - embracing states. Great! At first, it will seem like you're doing nothing but you aren’t! For example, I knew I was dwelling in the state of wish fulfilled when I went to work without shedding tears, when I looked in the mirror and didn't think I was ugly because, well, I'm beautiful! I didn't care abt not performing well on a test because I could revise my past etc. this isn’t to say ignore the 3D: don’t do that, please try and make sure you’re safe and okay. But know life is malleable. Slowly, things that used to bother me—my parents, grades, anxiety, self-deprivation—started to fade away. Even though my dream life hadn't reflected in my 3D yet, I felt the switch. That's when I decided, I know what to do.

I also remember finding this cute website a long time ago that I want to share that summarizes it in such a great and simple way.

So Before I knew or understood what LOA was, I found this gem of an article on I am Love'- "How To Shift Into A State & Stay There". I think I have a post abt it somewhere on my blog but I’m too lazy to find it so here it is again.

Basically it explains that the essence of shifting into a desired state and staying there. What resonated with me was her choice to dwell in the state of knowing that her desires are hers, no matter what.

The way she used colloquial language made the content relatable and easy to understand. It's like having a conversation with a friend who's guiding you through hard concepts with “dumbed down” language because at the beginning states made 0 sense to me.

Posts like this really helped me particularly because when I discovered Neville, it required three attempts on my part to not only intellectually grasp his teachings, but also to truly comprehend him as a whole, given his non-contemporary speaking tbh.

I recommend it if you find yourself stuck or not really grasping the law yet (which is more than okay) but, if you're looking to understand the loa better or just learn more give this article a read.

There’s also a particular quote from Neville that really got me to dive into his work after finding this article and it was- “The being that you really are, descended to the weakness of the flesh, causing you to experience the state you are now in. Contemplate another state, and the same being who brought your present form into being will restore and make alive the other state, the state desired. This he will continue to do until his purpose is fulfilled. That purpose is to follow a certain pattern back into the unity of being. You see, in the beginning we were drafted. We did not volunteer to fall into these states. We were made subject into futility, not willingly but by the will of him who sent us. But when we return we will discover that we are the very being who subjected us. We are now the sons, destined to return as God the Father!”

Now that you understand and are ready to apply state, Here’s a routine I’ve created to hopefully help you guys! It is very simple and not time consuming at all.

Scripting and writing: I love writing and feeling like the author of my own story, literally bringing my creation to life. I would write when I felt like it. Whenever I wanted to dwell in my state, I would simply write, "I have my dream life." It's so simple, yet it embodies everything I need. If you’re more of a picture girl, use Pinterest instead. Or both if you prefer it doesn’t matter.

Edward arts' "I am creator meditation": Again, do this whenever you like it. It's one of the few meditations that didn't bore me to death and seemed to work with my ADHD. I also love reading, so I would read his pdf whenever I felt like it and take mental notes. Reading his work was a reminder I was doing everything right, it resonated with me very well.

During doubt and overstimulation: When things get overwhelming, close your eyes and let the emotions pass. They’re just thoughts! repeat the words "I am" until your heart returns to its normal rhythm. It's a simple yet powerful way to ground yourself amidst the whirlwind of emotions. And guess what? You can use this technique for doubt too! So the next time you're feeling overwhelmed, remember the power of "I am". It's a gentle reminder of your existence, your resilience, and your capability to be whatever you want despairs any emotional turmoil.

Thank god: (yourself!!) When reminded of your desires. Thank you god. When you see your desires, (eg:Pinterest, online or you’re just reminded) thank you god! When you see an image of your desires, thank you god! When you dream or think about your desires. Thank god! Always thank the person fulfilling it aka you ;)! If you’re religious just thank the god you actually follow.

Nightly reflections: At night, ask yourself , "What would I do if I woke up in my dream life right now?" repeat this question throughout the night. Then, imagine whatever scene you want. What would you do if you could not fail? What would you do if you had all the money in the world right now. What if you looked in the mirror and saw the most ethereal being and it’s just you? What about if you woke up in your dream house with your dream family and pets? This is inspired by one of the first shifting methods I created that helped me fulfill my imagination before I knew what that meant. When you’re ready to sleep just remind yourself it is done, and drift off into your desires.

As I've always said, I've been a great daydreamer. I knew exactly what I wanted my life to look and feel like. I envisioned my walk-in closet filled with luxurious outfits, waking up in my dream room on a soft mattress with my pets purring nearby. I saw the decor reflecting my personality in every corner of my large, and pretty room. I imagined walking into my bathroom, seeing all my cool Sephora products lined up for my skincare and shower routine. I love taking care of myself because I know I deserve it. I saw myself looking in the mirror, knowing I'm "that girl" who turns heads wherever she goes.I visualized going downstairs in my boujee dream house,and seeing my family stress-free, smiling, and eating well. I saw plans being made on my phone, my friends were excited to see and talk to me. I went to my kitchen, filled with expensive ingredients ready for me to cook meals for my loved ones - because I love cooking. I saw myself checking my bank account and seeing multiple seven figures in my savings, checking, and investment accounts and opportunities easily presenting myself to make more if I wanted. I saw myself running errands in my car, shopping, getting Starbucks, having expensive lunch with friends, and making a trip to Target. Despite the simplicity of the day, I would come home and be like, "Ugh, what a long day!"like that one khloe kardashian meme. What if all this happened today? Visualize and feel the scenes so clearly that it felt like it's already happening.. not just in your imagination.

Most importantly: Define the law for you! Stop parroting bloggers and intertwine your own beliefs with the law. The only principle of the law is that through persistence assumption will harden into a fact. Other than that anything goes except for facts that are wrong.

Here’s old notes I found in my phone lol just so you know what I mean by define the law for you: ignore the writing I was kinda dumb and new to the law 😭😭

Now this is for my void babies if you made it this far.

Read this post.

This is it copied bc the links are wonky sometimes

“My previous method is based on the persistent assumption, which a lot of people don’t know how to do right and it might take some time even for those who have the right self-concept and the mindset, so today I was in the process of manifesting this method.

And I was successful!

This method is for everyone. It’s the easiest Void method.

Do you know that you get into the Void state at night automatically? At that time the whole perceived world disappears for you. Every single perception and assumption you have disappears while your consciousness in the calm and natural Void state.

Use it to your advantage. Now that you know about the Void that you enter when you sleep, the perfect state to manifest anything that you wish to perceive, with no “resistance”, no illusions of annoying solid things around, you only need to remember your scripted starting point in your DR and practice watching it all coming out of the Void.

Practice that scene with your eyes closed, say to yourself:”That is what I perceive. Next time I’m in the Void, I’ll experience this”. You won’t even need to be fully aware of yourself that way when you get into the Void while you are asleep. Your subconscious would do all the work as it now would have the instruction and a clear image of you expecting it.

Personal experience: as I was receiving information on this method, I almost stepped into my DR! I wasn’t even in the absolute void state, I was only creating the scene for this method and I felt it materialise with my senses!

I have great feeling that it’s going to give fast results for others! Try it, teach your subconscious what it needs to bring forth while in the Void, let it do your work for you!”

Lastly, I’m gonna talk abt my beliefs real quick bc the fear of shifting vs manifesting makes me sad for y’all. I understand you don’t wanna leave behind the people you love and that’s not fear to feel ashamed of having! I personally hate the npc mindset a lot of have people have adopted. The only thing we know for sure is that assumptions create realities, and consciousness is the real reality. Everything else boils down to assumptions, except for principles. For example, shifting is not lucid dreaming, even if you assume it to be. That is the principle. I’m just going to copy what I told my mutal bc I’m lazy and need to finish Christmas stuff 😭😭 but Our imagination and the 4D realm are products of our consciousness, which is indeed real. Our view of reality is shaped by our consciousness, since we can't experience everything all at once.

Unless, of course, you shift into a super omnipotent god. Even then, you’d probably still struggle with the concept of infinity because, well, infinity is infinite. And it’s constantly a never exnding expansion. As humans, we're finite beings, and our understanding of the infinite is naturally limited. Because you can’t and won’t ever experience everything at once, infinity is always expanding. Our awareness can be thought of as fragments of consciousness; it's like being a drop of water in a massive ocean. Even though our perception is limited, the infinite is always there, always existing. We simply adjust our awareness to perceive this infinite reality.

And through our consciousness, we are able to tap into other realities or 'multiverses', which give us a broader understanding of existence. This exploration of consciousness and the multiverse is a significant part of my journey into the world of manifestation.

The law of consciousness explains why, when you "shift" or change your perspective, you don't physically move. It's all about altering your state of awareness. This is also why time doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. You can become aware of any time or day you want, as long as you choose to be aware of it. It's like having a mental time machine. This law is why infinite universes exist. As long as you can be aware of it, you can assume and embody the state of that person. Whether that's someone with a billion dollars on Earth, or a person who lives in the Attack on Titan world, it's all about your awareness.Our awareness is just a fragment of the larger consciousness – hence the idea of the multiverse. Each universe is a different fragment, a different state of awareness. And we have the power to “shift” into any of these states, therefore shifting into any of these universes.

I’m telling you this bc there’s no need to be afraid of manifesting or being in a reality with robotic versions of the people you love. Ariana grande and Marilyn Monroe for example talk about loa without acknowledging it and we see their success. Neville Goddard and his followers saw each other’s manifestions and I manifest for my friends and they mnaifest for me.

Take a deep breath and let go of the tik tok clone mindsets y’all have they don’t exist. You can manifest and assume anything you want in your imagination. Y’all literally want to manifest things like millions of dollars, revising deaths, living in new countries, having immorality in your waiting rooms, and never aging which is all possible of course. So be for real, why assume and know that you can achieve all that, but it won't manifest exactly how you want? I've also wondered about what happens to the "old version" of people when they manifest their dream life. As far as I'm concerned, they dont exist because you choose not to be aware of them.

I really want to talk about this too, as I've received similar questions and, oh my god, I thought I was alone. I've always been a bit delusional and lived in my head, but when I became conscious of the law, did anyone else feel a sense of self-embarrassment? I don't know what that was, but I'd genuinely feel my soul wanting to throw up envisioning my desires that aren't mine, even though I've always been a daydreamer. It's kind of like when you feel you can't have them or it's strange to envision yourself with something you can't have, so you just purge yourself. 😭

I was thinking back to why that happened and laughing at myself because we need to be serious right now. Why are you getting sick by your own mind? Imagine if Van Gogh, anytime he pulled out a canvas and held a brush, was jump-scared by the brush. Picture him holding out the brush and just staring at the canvas crying because "well, the painting is going to suck 😐," "I don't know what to paint☹️☹️," "I already know it won't be like what I envision in my head 😡😡." Like, bro, the canvas is blank, just fucking paint. That’s why I really like his quote that's like...

“If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.” So If you’re scared of failing, if you’re scared of your desires, or scared of how it will come to fruition, for that reason alone is more so to and manifest it anyways.

But happy holidays guys! make some tea, scroll through Pinterest, read a good book and watch some Christmas films and remember if you can imagine/think your desires you can embody them bc where are you getting it from??

Here are some helpful documents I have read plus a cute vid I saw on insta reels : (let me know if the links are being weird)

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[cozy-writes-things]

Edgar’s Texts

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

In which Edgar is helplessly pining for you but you’re kinda oblivious. This is pre-dating, post Edgar wanting nothing more than to smooch you every time he sees you. I love this trope with my whole heart p.s.: this is very self indulgent and different from what I usually write

I take requests!

He almost immediately found a way to message your phone whenever he wanted. He realized calling relied too much on where you were or what you were doing, but texts? Yeah. He’s pestering you all day.

Hey, read this article I found, I think you’ll find it interesting.

It’s some clickbait story about humans and robots being the ideal relationship by 2025.

lol, Edgar I think that’s probably clickbait idk

What’s that?

Well, now he knows how to look for more reputable sources at least.

He sends another link about three minutes later: some college undergrads studying the possibilities of human and AI relationships.

lol what’s up with the whole robots and humans thing

I just think it’s neat!!!!

I wouldn’t consider u ai honestly, ur intelligence is far from artificial imo, you’re more like an actual person

Really?

well yea

<3 <3!!!

Going to be honest, given that he’s a computer, he quite literally is chronically online. He’s super susceptible to brainrot unfortunately. But, he simultaneously has the humor of a Facebook mom. It’s strange.

O.M.G. this is so funny!!!!

Que minion cat video.

bro where did you find that video 😭

Your mom’s Facebook. Don’t worry, I didn’t like any posts or anything.

Sorry… but he’s incredibly nosy. He wants to know everything about you. He can’t help it!

(X)

He loves being able to talk to you. He’s needy and clingy.

He’s got at least 12 playlists dedicated to you that you know about. His other playlists are for his own personal daydreams about you that he’s way too embarrassed to ever let you see or hear.

This song reminds me of you. <3

awww that’s adorable! I’ve never heard this one before but I like it!

Oop you just opened Pandora’s box my friend.

Well if you like that then you should listen to these..!

But before you listen to those listen to this song first because I think it sets the mood better.

This is quite flustering to you as they’re all passionate love songs from the 80s. You can’t help but feel like he’s dropping hints about… something, but you also don’t want to assume anything. He’s always seemed like a lovey kinda guy anyway, so maybe he’s just like this with everyone? I mean, it’s been a long time since someone has actually cared for him, you know? May as well lean into it and let him know you care for him back. He may not even realize the social implications of the constant borderline flirting he’s doing to you, I mean, he is a computer turned sentient after all. He’s still learning!

Dang ed u put a lot of songs. I’ll listen to them on my break when I can but in the meantime here’s a song that I think reminds me of you.

It was a vocaloid song. Seems like something he’d be into, right? Synthesized vocals and the whole robot shtick it’s got going on.

!!!! WOAH !!!! IVE NEVER HEARD A SONG LIKE THAT B4

do you only listen to songs from the 80s? you have a LOT to catch up on my guy

BRB

Well, that kept him distracted for the rest of your shift. Also, sharing songs is one of his BIG love languages so you may as well have pierced him with cupids arrow (again) with that.

You have a Spotify blend now. It’s his favorite thing ever to listen to while you’re gone.

(X)

Your package came in! :-) I would get it for you but

I can’t :-(

lol it’s fine thank you for telling me, I’ll get it when I come home

When are you coming home?

idk me and my friends are probably going to go eat somewhere and we might hang out for a bit after that so, like, 10? 11? I’d like to be home before midnight.

Noooooooooo :\ I miss you

Aw cmon eddy it’s not that bad

Don’t call me eddy unless you’re coming home and saying it to my face!!! >:(

u mean ur screen? lol

I have a face and it’s frowning right now. I miss you I miss you I miss you IM LONELY

Please Edgar don’t be upset I’ll be home before you know it. Why don’t you watch some Netflix or something? I’m just a couple movies away from being home with you!

He does eventually follow your advice but he’s pouting. He knows you’re not like he was all those years ago, but it does give him remnants of that burning feeling of loneliness he used to get.

(X)

Be careful driving home my love the roads are icy.

Ghsks- what

love???

Well yeah, you’re my best friend, friends love each other don’t they? Was I wrong about that? :-(

nonono ur right its just it

it just sounded like we were some some old married couple is all haha

O.

SRY.

He didn’t message you for the rest of the day. He was awkward and reserved when you got home.

(X)

Hey Edgar can u do something for me?

I’d do anything for you <3

I’m at the store can you see if there’s any cereal left?

Oh

There’s that old box of Lucky Charms on the fridge.

tyyy ed edd n eddy

You are so adorable but you really need to pick up on his hints before he combusts.

(X)

This is SO me and you!!

Picture of two cats touching noses.

awww that’s so true

you want me to boop ur screen or something when I get home? lol

YES.

(X)

Hey I was wondering if you wanted to watch some movies with me tonite… you could bring me with you on the couch and we could sit together… [message unsent]

I wish you knew just how much I loved you. [message unsent]

You looked so hot this morning before you left!!

hahahaha ur too funny 😅 thanks I wore a new shirt my friend gave me

OH MY GOD THAT MESSAGE SENT!!!??!?!?

That was

I was a joke

I mean

That was a jokg

I eas beinf fubny

I hace to reboot BRB

Poor lil guy is so in love and he doesn’t know what to do with himself!!

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley doesn't hear from you after the first game, he thinks that's it. But you got his heart pounding and made him smile, and he wants to see you again. The realization that maybe something that perfect should be left as a one night stand hits him hard, but he wants to know if there could be more.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst and smut (18+)

Length: 5600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was laying in bed on Saturday morning with the New York times app open on his phone, scrolling to find your article. When his eyes settled on your name below the title, he tapped on it. The app took him to your full biography and a picture of you in front of Wrigley Field. 

You even looked beautiful in your stock photo image. He was tempted to save it to his photo gallery, but instead he skimmed your bio. You'd lived all over the country and played every sport imaginable as a child. You had graduated first in your class from Syracuse University, and you were undefeated at sports trivia.

The smile on his lips grew as he read the article that you must have submitted before your deadline last night. Your writing style was fun and entertaining, and you had even mentioned the comment he made about the catcher for the Angels. Bradley groaned and tossed his phone aside. He wanted to see you again.

But as he got out of bed and headed for his bathroom, he reminded himself that last night had one night stand written all over it. You were in California for work. You both said that hooking up like that wasn't something you normally did. He was sure you just did it for a bit of fun. Bradley was an idiot for catching feelings after a few hours with you, but it felt like he already knew you. Talking to you in person felt like reading your articles, because your writing matched your personality so well. Witty, intelligent, funny and charming.

"Chill the fuck out," Bradley told himself in the bathroom mirror. "It's done."

Then he spent the day trying to think about anything that wasn't sports related. He even took a ten mile run up along the beach to kill some time. And when Nat asked him if he was going to the Hard Deck, he decided that would help. 

But everyone there was wearing Padres gear and talking about that game one victory. And Bradley swallowed hard when he saw that Shannon was working behind the bar. He hadn't thought about her much recently, and she definitely hadn't crossed his mind at all when he'd been with you. But nevertheless, Bradley smiled when she greeted him.

"Hey, Rooster," she said with that grin that he was so used to. And she poured him a beer before he even asked for one. "You think you'll stick around for last call?" 

He watched her hand as she slid the beer across the bartop. "I'll let you know?" he asked, barely able to meet her eyes. 

"Sounds good. I'll start a tab for you."

He just nodded and turned to find the other aviators. Sleeping with Shannon tonight might help Bradley get you off his mind. But did he want to? He kind of liked the way warm thoughts of your voice and your smile kept bubbling to the surface. He could hear you asking him if he'd write back to a text from you. Honestly, he had been low key hoping you'd contact him today, and then he could have proven that he'd write back immediately, just like he promised. 

But he'd heard nothing. No text. No call. You hadn't done anything with his phone number. 

"What's your problem?" Nat asked, pinching his arm until he snapped out of it. "I asked you three times if you wanted to play pool with me."

"I'm not in the mood," he groaned, rubbing his arm as the TV screen caught his attention. They were playing World Series highlights and talking about tomorrow night's game. 

"Why are you pouting?"

He rolled his eyes. "Nat, I'm not pouting."

"You are. Is this because Bagman is flirting with Shannon?"

Bradley glanced over his shoulder and saw that Nat was correct. Jake was leaning on the bar, trying his hardest to get Shannon to smile. "Nah. I told you, that's just casual. Doesn't mean anything." He sipped his beer.

"Well whatever is bothering you, either tell me about it or get over it, because I want to beat Javy and Reuben at pool for once."

Bradley closed his eyes and told her, "I met someone at the game last night."

"No!" she gasped. "Tell me everything."

After he hesitated for a beat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on your name in the NYT app before handing it to her. He watched Nat as she skimmed the screen and examined your photo.

"Oh! You met her? Oh, shit....you hooked up with her!"

"Yeah," he grunted, glad that his best friend didn't need much help to figure out exactly what was going on with him. She never did. 

"You like her! Why can I so easily picture you happily married to a sports writer? You could have six kids, and each one would play a different sport. One would play softball, one would be a kickass hockey player, one would play soccer, you'd probably have a ballerina-"

"Nat," he said, cutting her off with a laugh. "I'm not going to see her again. I gave her my number, but I haven't heard from her." He turned back to the bar to find that Shannon was alone again. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if he stayed until last call.

"Bradley. She's probably covering game two! You could go back to Petco Park tomorrow."

"Yeah," he grunted. "She's definitely covering game two. She told me she was. Right after I gave her my number which she hasn't used. It was just a hookup, Nat."

"I'll buy you a ticket," she said, fishing out her own phone. "An early Christmas present."

"Don't you dare. The resale price is up to almost a thousand bucks for the nosebleed seats."

She sighed and said, "Fine. But you should still think about going."

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

After you spent most of your weekend in your hotel room doing research and writing, you decided to take a few hours off on Sunday afternoon. And it was during this time, when you went for a walk through Balboa Park, that you let yourself accept the fact that you'd been working like a maniac all weekend to try to keep your mind off of Bradley.  

Your hotel room smelled like his cologne or aftershave or maybe his laundry detergent. It was nice. Kind of comforting. You wanted to lay in bed with him until you smelled like it, too. But on Saturday morning, when you had thrown away the rogue condom wrapper, you decided it was better to throw away his phone number, too. You tried to rip that sheet out of your notebook since you no longer needed those stats, but you couldn't do it. Instead it was tucked away with your other work items, and you hoped you wouldn't cave and contact him.

After you took a shower, you grabbed your bag and your media pass and headed out early so you would have time to get some food when you got there. You liked that the ballparks usually served up local treats, and you'd get there in time to actually enjoy some fish tacos or a poke bowl tonight. You even thought about grabbing a local beer and drinking it on the main concourse before heading up to the box. You decided to go up and set down your computer and then find the beer cart.

But when you approached the narrow stairs that would take you up to the press box, you froze.

"Ace."

He was standing there, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, an earnest look on his handsome face.

"Bradley," you gasped as your heart thudded with excitement. "What are you doing here? Did you win another contest?"

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I bought a ticket."

You knew the tickets were reselling at a premium price, and as he pushed away from the wall and dropped his arms to his sides, you asked, "Really? You're that much of a Padres fan?"

He shrugged and kind of shook his head, but your breath caught in your throat when he said, "You never texted me, Ace. I haven't stopped thinking about you for a single second, but you didn't text or call me."

He was close enough now that you could smell him, and you almost whimpered as your eyes fluttered closed. "You really wanted me to use your number?" you asked, meeting his eyes once again.

"Of course. That's why I wrote it down," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Shit, I shouldn't have come here to see you." He was blushing profusely and looking at the floor. "You wanted that to be a one time thing, didn't you?" he asked, glancing up at your eyes with a slight grimace on his face. 

Well now you weren't so sure. You thought he had just written his number down as a tactic. It wouldn't have been the first time you had a guy see how far he could get you to go while making you feel like you had some sort of safety net. Making you think he was really into you. But maybe Bradley actually was?  

"Bradley, I-"

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "In an effort to not completely ruin the perfection of Friday night in my mind, I'm gonna go."

You watched him turn, and he made it about ten steps before you ran to him, reaching for his bicep. "Bradley, wait." When he stopped, you bumped into him, but he steadied you. You swallowed hard. He was so attractive, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him all weekend. Inviting him back to your hotel room again had been a fun fantasy you'd indulged in since late Friday night. "Do you want to sit with me again? In the box?"

He looked surprised now. "Yeah."

"Okay." You linked your fingers with his and led him back to the stairs. He still looked a little tentative as you added, "Let's go."

When you used your card to open the door, you made it halfway up the stairs before you paused and turned to look at him. He was one step below you, and your height just about matched up with his. He still looked a little surprised, but there was a soft smile on his lips now, and you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around his.

"To be clear, did you buy a one thousand dollar ticket so you could stand at the bottom of these stairs and try to see me again tonight?"

"Yes," he said clearly and without hesitation. You shook your fingers free from his and wrapped both of your hands around the back of his neck before leaning in to kiss him. Your nose brushed along the side of his as you felt the prickle of his mustache against your skin. And then his hands were on your waist as he welcomed you into his arms. He parted his lips for you as you dragged your fingers up into his hair. Then he broke the kiss long enough to rasp, "I like you, Ace."

You kissed his lips once more before running your lips along his mustache. He squeezed your waist a little tighter as the door opened behind him. When you saw that it was Raya, another sports writer, you took Bradley by the hand again and led him all the way into the box.

"Don't get into any trouble today," you whispered, pushing him down into the same stool he had occupied on Friday night. "I got you in with my pass."

"I'll be so good," he promised, looking up at you with eyes far too innocent for the rest of his smirking face. And somehow you doubted it.

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

Bradley couldn't keep his hands off you as you worked. He kept finding ways to trace little circles along your back. The pace of game two seemed to be a lot faster as the Angels got into a better groove against the Padres, and you were frantically keeping your stats as you typed away. 

"You want something else to eat?" he asked you between innings as you scribbled out some notes that he supposed must have made sense to you.

"Yes, please," you said, turning to smile at him. You watched Bradley stand, and he headed to the table lined with food. You seemed surprised that he had been sincere when he said he wanted you to text him. Yeah, he'd been joking around a little bit when he wrote his number down in your notebook, but he was kind of crushed when he hadn't heard from you. 

When Bradley turned to take the food back to that little spot you and he were sharing in the last row, he saw the reporter in front of you turn around and start giving you a hard time.

"You gonna bring your boyfriend to each game, New York?"

Bradley wanted to punch this asshole in the face, because who even made comments like that? But instead he watched you sigh dramatically and say, "At least I can get laid, Quincy. You're such a hater. Now turn around, I'm busy."

But Bradley did shoot Quincy a glare for good measure, and he didn't take his eyes off him until he had turned around. "More food," Bradley told you, setting the plate down where you could reach it without it being in your way. Then he settled onto his stool and draped his arm across the back of yours while you picked at the food. 

You kissed his cheek and whispered, "Thanks," just as the Padres hit a home run. Bradley desperately wanted to cheer, but nobody cheered in the press box, apparently. So he sat quietly while you updated your stat sheet and ate a taco. 

"Which team do you cheer for, Ace?" he asked, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. "You know, when you're not working and allowed to cheer."

Your lips parted in silence before you pressed them together, and then you said, "I never tell anyone my favorite teams."

Bradley examined your face for a beat. "You want to tell me, don't you?"

"Oh my god," you moaned, head tipped back. "Yeah, I actually do."

As Bradley shook from the laughter he was trying to hold in, you leaned in close to him. "You can tell me," he said, grinning. "I'll keep your secret."

You let your palm come to rest on his abs before sliding it along to his waist as you pressed your lips to his ear. "You can't tell anyone. Ever."

The feel of your lips on him, about to divulge something so important to your career had him pulling you closer. You laughed softly as your lips bumped his ear, and Bradley stifled a moan. 

"I won't say a word about it," he promised.

"My favorite team is the Toronto Blue Jays."

That was about to become Bradley's favorite team, too. Maybe he could go to a game with you when you were allowed to cheer. 

"Do you know what their mascot is named?" you asked as you eased yourself back into your seat. When he shook his head, you picked up your pencil and wrote in the margin of your stat sheet.

Ace.

Bradley laughed again. You had him smiling or laughing nonstop right now, and he couldn't believe it was already the eighth inning. It was getting late in the game now, but you were still writing. 

Do you want to come back to my hotel with me again?

And then he realized that this was the first time he'd thought about fucking you all day. 

Bradley leaned in close and kissed your neck a few times before he said, "Only if you save my number in your phone." Because as much as he'd been thinking yesterday about how good it felt to have sex with you, he wanted to hear from you when it wasn't a game day. He wanted to keep talking to you.

During the break at the end of the inning, you pulled your phone out and made a show of flipping to the previous page in your notebook and entering his phone number into your contacts list. Then you turned your phone screen away from him and typed something out, and he just waited to feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he did, he looked at his messages and saw that you had sent him a photo of you with the Toronto Blue Jays mascot. And you captioned it with: Be honest, which Ace do you think is cuter?

He typed out to you, I'm not sure if you knew this, but I'm wildly attracted to blue feathers.

When you looked at your phone again, your laughter was loud enough to have Quincy turning around and earning another glare from Bradley. And just as the ninth inning started, you texted Bradley one more time. I hope you replaced your wallet condom, Boy Scout Bradley. 

Truthfully, he had not. Getting lucky hadn't been his primary thought when he was just wanting to see you again. He muttered, "We're gonna need more than one, Ace."

And as your hand came to rest on his thigh, you tapped your lips with your pencil eraser. "I saw them for sale in the hotel lobby."

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

You couldn't remember feeling this way ever before. At least not with someone you barely knew. Bradley had your bag on his shoulder and he was practically carrying you across the parking lot as you laughed. You liked him a lot. He came back to see you again today. He was so funny and sweet, and you should have texted him on Saturday. 

"You seem very eager," you whispered against his cheek as you kissed him at the crosswalk. You were running your hands all over his shoulders and dipping your hands inside his Padres jersey. 

He picked you up to carry you across the street with the crowd of other pedestrians. "I'm hoping you'll show me your blue feathers tonight," he rasped, making you laugh even more. 

"I knew you liked the other Ace better!"

He kissed your neck, and once he had you inside the hotel lobby, he said, "No, you're my favorite."

"Condoms," you whispered, pointing toward the small convenience shop next to the front desk. Bradley set you down and grabbed up all ten double packs of condoms and dumped them in front of the young guy who was working at the front desk.

"Is that all you needed, sir?"

Bradley pulled out his credit card and handed it to him, looking at you while he said, "Well no, that's not all I need." His gaze was openly needy as he looked at your face, lingering on your lips. You felt warm all over, and when Bradley had all twenty condoms in his hands again, you hooked your fingers though the belt loop of his jeans and pulled him toward the elevators. 

"Let's go, Boy Scout."

Bradley groaned as the elevator door opened and you pulled him inside. He stood before you with your computer bag, so many packs of condoms and an erection that you could plainly see behind his zipper. You giggled and ran your thumbnail up and down his zipper as you said, "You're adorable."

He swallowed hard as you led him out on the top floor and down the corridor toward your room. "Ace? Baby?"

"Yeah?" you asked, unlocking the door as he stood behind you and let you feel him pressed to your lower back.

"Maybe you should finish writing your article first? I don't want you to get too close to your deadline again."

You opened the door and backed into the room, pulling him in with you. "No," you whispered before you kissed him hard. "I want you right now."

You grabbed one of the double packs of condoms from his hands, and he let the rest of them fall to the floor. The smile that you and he shared had your tummy doing somersaults as he gently set down your computer bag. You continued to back up slowly to the bed as he followed you. When you toed off your shoes, you watched him pause to pull his off as well. And then you were holding up the condoms and walking backwards across the bed on your knees until you reached the middle. 

Bradley was frozen, just staring at you with a crooked smile on his face and his hands on his zipper. "I'm waiting," you whispered. And then you weren't waiting anymore at all, because Bradley was on top of you, wrapping his arms around you as his weight pushed you down into the bedding.

You moaned into his kisses as you ran your fingers through his hair. He already felt, smelled and sounded familiar to you. He tugged on your shirt until he was kissing you through your bra.

"You don't taste like beer today," he murmured against your skin, teasing you with his mustache. 

"No, you managed not to spill," you replied, pulling your own shirt off as he unhooked your bra. His mouth was all over your breasts once he tossed your bra on the floor, and you were arching your back up against him. "You feel good."

He groaned into your skin while you felt him grind against your core through way too much fabric. "Ace." His hands were cupping your breasts as he let his lips drift down your belly until he was kissing along the top of your jeans. You unbuttoned and unzipped your pants and let him pull them down your legs. And then he was still fully clothed, giving you head just like two nights ago.

He was good at it, too. But when you started to touch your own breasts, he got distracted, lips grazing your clit as he watched you. When he lazily brought the pad of his thumb up along your slit and started teasing you, the sounds you made were so needy. You thought he could probably get you off like this if you wanted him to. 

But you sat up and made quick work of his jersey buttons while he slipped his index finger inside you. "Bradley," you moaned softly as he kissed your neck and finger fucked you. He just seemed to want to make you feel good, and your hands stalled as you pushed his jersey down off both of his shoulders. Your palms came to rest on his warm biceps, and you could feel his arm muscles working as he fingered you. 

"Tell me what you want, Ace," he grunted, stroking your clit with his thumb. He'd said that on Friday as well. 

"I want you naked and inside me."

He let you undress him then, and you took his cock in both of your hands. You watched him roll onto his back as you teased him with your fingers, running your nails down along his thighs. The veins in his neck were strained, and his cheeks were flushed as his eyes darted from your face down to your hands and back up. He was glorious. Huge everywhere. Tan and muscular and perfect. So hard and eager to please. 

When you straddled his hips and planted your hands on his shoulders, he pulled you to him, kissing your lips until you were laying flat on him. His length was gliding through your soaked pussy, and you moaned at the feel of him rubbing slowly against your clit. You mumbled his name, but he just kissed your lips harder, wrapping those big hands around your hips. 

With each little movement of your hips grinding against him, you were closer to fucking him, so you gasped, "Condom." 

"Mmhmm," he hummed, one big hand at the middle of your back while he reached blindly around the bedding in search of the small package. His lips were still soft and perfect on yours, unhurried as he handed you the condoms. You pressed your forehead to his as you fumbled trying to open one of them, and then you were sitting up between his legs, rolling it down his length, ready to go.

You guided yourself down around his cock, and he felt incredible, just like before. "Oh god," you whined softly, taking every inch of him while he grasped your thighs hard. 

"So pretty," he whispered, watching you fucking him. Soon you were riding him fast and rough, bracing your hands on his abs. You couldn't even talk or formulate words as you whimpered, because he was hitting that sweet spot inside you. With every movement you were getting closer, and Bradley looked like he was struggling to keep it together. 

You took his right hand, and brought it up to your mouth, sucking on his index and middle fingers to get them wet. "Baby, it feels too good," he groaned, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Then you guided his hand down to your clit, and you started cumming almost instantly. You held onto his wrist, rubbing your clit against his fingers with each stroke of your pussy along his cock.

Loud, incoherent noises filled the room as you came, riding him without finesse, head tipped back. And then Bradley was sitting up, right arm wrapped around your waist while he braced himself with his left palm on the bed. He whispered praise against your skin, pausing to kiss you as he thrust his hips up to fuck you as you came down from your high. "You're so hot. So good."

He sucked on your neck before his movements became jerky, and then he was chanting Ace! as he came too. He collapsed back against the bed with you held tightly to his chest, and you ran your fingers along his sweaty neck and up to stroke his jaw.

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

Bradley had nearly fallen asleep with your warm body draped over his and his soft cock still buried inside you. And then your phone alarm went off, and you were instantly scrambling to find your jeans amongst the pile of clothing on the floor.

"Shit," you muttered, glancing at him as you silenced your phone and checked the time. "I need to finish writing and submit my piece."

Bradley nodded and rolled onto his side and reached for a tissue to take care of the used condom. The last thing he wanted to do was go home now, but you had work to do, and he needed to be on base in the morning. He stood as you scooped his jersey up off the floor, but instead of handing it to him, you slipped it on. It fit you like a cute, little dress. 

"My article is almost done," you murmured, retrieving your bag from near the door where he had set it down earlier. He smiled as you stepped around all the other packs of condoms. "I just need to add in my stats and proofread everything."

"Okay," he whispered, unwilling to break the spell that he felt like he was under when he was in your presence. "I can head out." He started to reach for his undershirt and boxer briefs, figuring you could just keep his jersey if you wanted to wear it. 

But Bradley found himself wanting to ask if he could see you again. You saved his phone number this time, and while you were going up to Los Angeles for game three, he was hoping you'd be back in San Diego again. He was almost pissed now that the Padres were up two games to none in the World Series, because the more games that these two teams played, the longer you'd be in California. And LA was a hell of a lot closer to San Diego than New York City was.

As he held his clothes in his hand, you bit your lip and looked at him while your computer booted up. "You can stay. If you want?"

He froze, trying to process what you meant. "Stay?"

"Yeah," you whispered, taking him by the hand. "While I write."

He instantly dropped everything back to the floor as you pulled him to the desk chair. He sat down and then you sat on his naked thigh, entering your impressively long password and pulling up your mostly completed article. You flipped through your notebook to your stats sheet, and Bradley let his hand come to rest on your leg. 

"You wanna help me?" you asked, typing away. "Tell me when Soto was on third."

Bradley skimmed the sheet and found the information. "Bottom of the sixth inning. Right before Grisham hit a double." He leaned in and kissed your neck as you murmured thanks. 

"And when did Hill replace Darvish?"

Bradley read your sloppy notes and smiled. "Halfway through the seventh inning."

"Perfect," you whispered, and Bradley held you quietly as you scrolled to the top of your article and read it out loud. Your voice was captivating, and you somehow made the game he had seen in person even more interesting. He chuckled at the part where you mentioned how the Angels' coach had tripped coming out of the bullpen, and you smiled at him over your shoulder before you finished reading. 

"Damn, Ace," he muttered as you saved it one last time and logged in to submit the article. "That was brilliant." Bradley was getting hard again. Some sort of combination of what you said and how you said it turned him on. 

You closed your computer and laughed softly, nudging his erection with your knee as you turned in his arms. You glanced down at his cock, standing at attention for you, and Bradley could feel himself blushing. "Oh," you gasped, running your fingernails along his length as you grinned. "Eager again."

Bradley groaned and let his head tip back as you kissed his neck. "I think I'm always going to be eager for you. Talking about sports and wearing my Padres jersey are certainly helping."

Your laughter was his undoing as your lips met his warm cheek, and then Bradley watched your face as your pussy cradled his cock so that he was gently throbbing against your clit. "How many more condoms do we have?" you asked, fingers in his chest hair. 

"Nineteen," he replied, voice deep and raspy with need. 

"I'll be right back," you promised, kissing his lips before you stood and grabbed the unused condom from the bed. His jersey was open, offering him a peek here and there of your tits and belly as you moved. Then you were rolling this condom into place and straddling his hips on the chair.

Bradley pulled the jersey open wider so he could watch you sink around his cock. You felt like perfection, and the way your body looked as you took him was making him dizzy.

"You know," you sighed as he bottomed out inside you, "if the Angels start a different pitcher for game three, it could really throw off the Padres plans."

"Yeah?" he asked, stroking the soft skin of your waist as you rolled your hips. "Tell me more."

"Mmm, well, they've been following the same plan the whole season, right?" you asked, your lips grazing his as you spoke. 

"Yeah, they have," Bradley agreed, already ridiculously close as you fed him this brand of dirty talk.

"I think they should try something new and start Hermans instead," you whined, kissing him hard as you rode him.

"Are you trying to turn me on right now, Ace?"

"Yeah," you gasped as you fucked him harder. "Is it working?"

"You know it is, Baby," he groaned, grinding his hips up to meet yours. "Fuck, you already know how to make me wild."

Then you were gasping out pitching stats, your voice breaking as you rode him so well. Bradley was barely keeping it together, and then your fingers were in his hair, tugging at the roots. He knew what to do now; he licked his fingers and brought them to your tight clit, and your eyes went wide. 

"Yes!" you gasped, seemingly surprised that he had you cumming almost instantly. And the sight of your tits bouncing in his face was the last thing he saw before he sucked on your nipples and came hard.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck as his breathing evened out. He was trying to focus on your words, because they sounded very important. "If the Padres sweep the Angels, then I won't be back in San Diego. But if they go to a game six scenario, maybe we can see each other again?"

Yes, your words were very, very important. He wanted you to come back to San Diego, but he was determined to see you even if you didn't. "I could come up to LA. Get a ticket for game three. If you want."

You pulled away from him, and then Bradley was looking up into your surprised eyes. "Yeah?" you asked softly. 

"Sure, Ace," he mumbled, running his knuckles along the soft valley between your breasts. "I'd love to. But it's up to you."

Your voice was soft. "Okay."

Then Bradley kissed your lips and said what was on his mind. "We should keep doing this. Me and you. Until the World Series ends. Until you have to leave California."

He could feel your pussy squeeze his soft cock as you started kissing him and running your fingers through his hair. And a few minutes later, he had you in your hotel room bed, snuggling up with your back pressed to the front of his body as you both fell asleep. 

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

Bradley is out there dropping a cool grand just to try to verify if that was actually a one night stand or not. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 3

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[chiaraswritings]

Unexpected.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their characters, or their settings. This is certainly not canon.

Warnings & Topics: Suggestive themes, emotional distress, physical exhaustion, pregnancy. 18+.

Word Count: 3.9K words

Summary: Batmom! reader finds out she is pregnant a short time after marrying Bruce Wayne, not in the most pleasant of ways. Telling him won't be easy, but Alfred gives her some encouragement.

Author's note: After four hours of work, I deem my first fanfiction suitable for posting. Thank you for all the support. I hope you enjoy.

It'd been two months since that beautiful, blissful, romantic day. Actually, two months, two weeks, and one day. But who was counting, right?

The newspapers were. Headlines of gossip news, huge block letters in bold, depicted that I had been spotted at the gym alone again, also describing their support for my "weight loss journey" since I had been "losing my figure". I had been reading this article over and over for about an hour. Damn. I inspected the black and white photo of myself in leggings and a tank top. The worst part about, well, everything, is that they were right. I was losing my figure, noticeably. 

I didn't even notice Alfred behind me until he spoke. "No matter how many times you read them, the words are not going to change, ma'am."

I jumped slightly. I hadn't been sleeping or eating well at all, my back and chest ached too much to relax, and heartburn hit me like a batarang after meals. I think I had gotten thirty hours of sleep in the last week, and maybe one meal a day. "Thank you, Alfred. Do you know when dinner will be ready?" 

"In a half hour, ma'am." The butler moved to the other end of the kitchen table to face me. "Those words in the paper are words that all who love you disagree with."

Alfred's words touched me if only a little, and I set down the paper. "Thank you, I think I'm going to take a walk." 

He looked concerned, but just for a moment. "Alright, ma'am. Try not to be late, the chicken may be devoured." 

Chuckling, I stepped out into the early evening light. I would not be late for dinner, living with five hungry men teaches you a lot. The sunlight embraced me, bathing me in its gentle rays, glimmering over my face. I felt positively glorious. Closing my eyes, I soaked it in. My husband would soon be home to kiss me and keep an arm around my waist. The simple thought of his touch made my mouth stretch into a smile. Five more minutes, and I'll go in. 

Five minutes turned into twenty. Being amongst the blooming flowers and the busy insects kept me occupied. Not only that, but a sudden headache had overtaken me. I sat in the grass, unladylike, watching the bees collect their last supply of nectar from the flowers for the day. Grass stains never bothered me anyway. I knew time was getting away from me, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to focus on anything. I didn't want to go inside because I didn't want bedtime to arrive. It was too painful to even think about. My head and back reminded me of that even now. 

My vision blurred slightly, I could only focus on a single flower on the bushes before me, bees continuing to fly around it. This was nice. I couldn't focus on a single thing, or think about anything, or worry.

I felt myself fall, sort of, to the ground. Fall was the best word I know to describe it. I was already sitting on the ground, but my muscles suddenly felt like pudding. My head bumped to the grass and laid to rest. Terror gripped my heart and throat for a single second before everything just... relaxed. My vision went next, but I was okay with that. This was so relaxing. I wanted to stay.

...

"Madam. Madam (Y/N)!" The voice came from... maybe a mile away. Maybe. Maybe ten miles. Maybe a hundred.

"(Y/N), madam (Y/N)!" Something cold was on my face. Ugh. I don't like that. The wind bit and stung at where the cold wetness was on my cheek. Ouch.

"Wake up, madam!" No. I don't want to. Go away. But the voice sounds scared.  

I slowly, slowly, with great effort, opened my eyes. Instantly they closed again. My friend the butler was hovering over me. What was his name again?

"Mom!" New voice. Go the hell away. I open my eyes again. 

"I'm here, I'm fine." Sitting up took much more strength than opening my eyes, but I managed to do so. Dick and Alfred worriedly stare at me. "I was just taking a nap."

"That wasn't a nap, it looked like you passed out." Dick was the one with the cold wet cloth. He put it to my head again. I gave him a withering glare, and he pulled it away again, looking apologetic. 

"It was a nap, of course I didn't pass out. Now let me return to it," I waved my hand in no particular direction, trying to shoo them away like mice.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to sleep on the cold ground in nothing but your loungewear, ma'am." Alfred took the cloth from Dick and put it to my forehead. 

Lord, they were being so annoying, I just wanted to go back to sleep. My eyelids drooped and my words slurred. "Bed hurts too much right now... just come back later..." my head finally dropped forward as vision began to diminish again. 

I couldn't really tell what they said next. What I could remember was, "Inside now... call the... when they can see her..." and "...got her... go and tell him... I've got it..." 

The sensation of being lifted did not startle my dozing. Neither did the shouting, nor the feeling of hands on my face. I had earned this sleep, and I was going to... enjoy... it...

...

I was awake, but I didn't want to open my eyes. It wasn't time. Please don't let it be time. I peeked a glance at my watch. Eight in the morning on a Sunday? Yeah, back to sleep we go. 

Before I could return to my dreamless sleep, I became aware of unidentified breathing beside me. Was that Titus? Or maybe Alfred. Maybe I had been kidnapped. Did I care? Hell to the no. All I cared about at this present moment was slumber. If I was kidnapped, I could sleep all I wanted while I waited for them to rescue me.

Then, like a train, uninvited and on its own, the back pain hit my lower body. I couldn't help the moan of discomfort that tore from my throat.

Instantly, a hand went to my forehead. It felt so cold against my warm head. I'd better see who this person with the cold hands is and tell them to go stick their fingers in a campfire before touching me again.

 When I opened my eyes, I realized I wasn't even in the garden anymore. Alfred, I told you I wanted to stay on the ground. But it wasn't Alfred who had put freezing digits on my forehead. It was my husband, my dearest Bruce, my wonderful partner in... crime didn't seem like a good choice of words. His worried blue eyes bored into my sleep-deprived (Y/C) eyes. Ouch, that gaze made my headache come back.

"Hello. Go warm your hands up," I told the love of my life before closing my eyes again. The light from the window seemed to be penetrating my very brain. 

"My hands are warm," replied the bearer of freezing fingers.

"Please, feels like your hands went to the Artic circle for winter vacation." My stubborn retort took a lot out of me, but I could practically hear his small smile. 

"There's my girl," he murmured. I opened my eyes again to smile at my wonderful... freezing... man. 

"Yeahhh, your girl's going back to dreamland. Night night." I grunted at the pain stabbing me in the back, the throbbing in my head, and the emptiness in my stomach.

"Not yet, sweetheart. Stay right here. The doctor's going to be here at ten, you should freshen up a bit." 

I opened one eye to glare unhappily at him. "Don't need a doctor. Need a nap."

His chuckle annoyed me to the very core, almost scaring away the shooting pains in my back. "I'm sorry, but this needs to happen. Do you know how worried we all were when we heard you had fainted in the garden? The boys hardly wanted to go on patrol, they wanted to look after you."

"The boys didn't want to go on patrol? You didn't want to look after me?" I glared playfully at my handsome knight. "And I didn't faint... just took a nap."

"On the cold hard ground?" His questioning gaze made me open both my eyes.

"Yes, it felt nice on my back." 

"Does your back still hurt, sweetheart?"

"Yes, it still hurts." 

"And you didn't feel like sleeping in the bed?"

"The hell is this, an interrogation?" 

"Maybe," he grinned.

"Go away," I retorted, closing my eyes. "I have to go to work, no time for doctors."

"I called and told them you can't come in this week."

"This... this is why I married you."

It didn't take long to fall back into blissful, painless paradise. Bruce left me alone, but I knew he was close by, watching over me. The mansion was so quiet and peaceful, I knew the boys were fast asleep.

Much too soon, I was being kissed awake. 

"Darling, Doctor Thompkin's here. It's time to wake up." Bruce's forehead kisses were, for the very first time in our relationship, annoying. 

"Ugh." I rolled over to escape, my back cracking. 

"Upsy daisy." He stroked my back, gently massaging my painfully aching muscles.

Sitting up took all the strength I had, and yet I had to find more to answer the questionnaire the doctor was springing upon me. Bruce stepped out mid-examination to answer a phone call, leaving the woman to observe my body and take into consideration my answers to her questions. Her questions seemed endless. "Have you been out of the country in the last month?" 

"No."

"Have you been feeling depressed or hopeless?"

"No."

"Are you on any medications?"

"No."

"Do you or any family members have history of scoliosis?" 

"No."

"History of heartburn?"

"No."

"When was your last menstrual cycle?"

"It's marked on the calendar, couple pages back." 

"Do you know what year it is?"

I gave her a funny look. "Of course I do, what's wrong with you?" Now I feel bad for saying that, but I certainly didn't in the moment.

The doctor chuckled, her friendly eyes had laughter lines around them. "Just wanted to make sure you're still with me. Are you on birth control?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been on birth control?" 

"Couple months. I went on it during our honeymoon."

"During?"

"Yes, we realized condoms and plan B weren't as convenient as the pill."

"I'm going to need a blood sample and then we're done here. I'll be in touch with the results. You don't seem to be suffering from scoliosis, but I'll contact you about x-rays to confirm. I haven't made a house call in a long time, or practiced family medicine, but I'll do everything I can to make sure we get to the root of this."

"Okay." 

The blood draw seemed to take longer than I remembered blood draws taking. The prick of the needle didn't disturb the haze of sleepiness that still surrounded me. The woman's departure signaled another wave of sleepiness to wash over me. Bruce and Alfred were showing the doctor out as my head hit the pillow. Pain shot up my back, but sleep had already captured me. 

Tomorrow turned into today, and then today became yesterday. It felt like I slept the whole Monday, skipping work and family dinner. Tuesday morning came with sunshine and kisses from my darling husband as I slowly opened my eyes. 

"Hi," I smiled at him. One of Bruce's arms was holding me almost loosely as he lay next to me in the white sheets. He looked worn and tired from a long night of patrol. I sniffed him. Good, he had showered. 

"Hello." His tired kiss on my lips was slowly waking me. "I love you."

"I love you too," I told him. My smile was getting bigger and my world was waking up. I traced the shape of his exhausted eyes. "Close your eyes. Sleep." 

"Mmph." His eyes closed and his body relaxed under my touch. Normally, Bruce was the one to hold me tight and kiss me to sleep, to caress my body and keep me safe. Looking over his body, I realized that he had been through a difficult night of patrol. A stitched gash across his back, an unhappy bruise on his jaw, scratches on his forearms. Worrying about my "condition" probably hadn't helped him stay alert out there in the dangerous night of Gotham. Guilt washed over me. My arms protectively wrapped around my dearest husband, my lips pressing to his forehead. Today, I was going to keep him safe, I was going to comfort him through his slumber.

...

Bruce's snoring wasn't exactly a lullaby, so I was up and about after a few hours. The boys were crashed in their rooms and Alfred was busy baking something that smelled like chocolatey deliciousness. I was looking over the morning paper, again, skimming for any mention of my family or I. Unhealthy habit, you could say. I was curled up in an armchair next to the bed, keeping the rustling of the newspaper pages to a minimum.

Vibrations of Bruce's cell phone made me look up. As silently as I could, I leaped up and grabbed the phone from the bedside table on Bruce's side. My husband's sleep was important to me, and if I had it my way, nothing at all would disturb it, not even nightmares. 

I carried the cell phone out of the bedroom and glanced at the caller ID. Doctor Thompkins. Results. Yes. This wasn't the first time I had answered my husband's phone, so I wasn't going to feel guilt over finding out my own test results. "Hello?"

"(Y/N), hello. I'm calling with your results."

"Tim's been telling everyone in the family it's yellow fever, please prove him wrong."

"Hah, no, it is not yellow fever... I'd say it's something a little more... serious."

I stiffened. My aching back didn't like that. "What's up?"

"We spoke about your history with birth control, but we need to talk about it again. It would seem that there was some window of time where you and Bruce were not using protection."

My backache must've hit my brain, because looking back, I can't believe I didn't catch on. "Bruce gave me a disease?"

"Not a disease. You're pregnant, (Y/N). I can't make an estimate on how many weeks you are, but I'm going to give you the contact information for an OBGYN. Make an appointment as soon as you can. Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne."

...

When Bruce woke up, I had to apologize to him for his cracked cell phone screen. I told him the truth, that I'd dropped it, but I didn't explain that it was from shock. He told me it was alright, that he'd pick up a new one, but he wasn't quite sure why I looked so very upset over dropping his phone. That would explain itself in time.

I didn't eat a thing at dinner that night, despite my full plate and coaxing from my family. Even the finest cut of steak is unappealing when something like that is on one's mind.

Who wouldn't overthink a thing like this? Pregnant, after a literal two months of marriage? Pregnant, while caring for four boys that you saw as your sons? Pregnant, after your husband had told you he didn't want anymore children? Pregnant, after you had both tried to be careful? Pregnant, to one of the greatest vigilantes and most successful businessmen in the world? Pregnant. I am pregnant. I might have my husband's baby.

"Mom!"

My head jerked up and I was greeted by five concerned faces. 

"Ma, you look like you're in another world," Jason forked a piece of potato. 

"Maybe I am in another world, Jay-Jay." I smiled slightly before standing. Ten eyes observed my every move. 

"Ummi, where are you going?" Damian, the one who I expected would be the least concerned, watched me with huge, worried eyes. 

"I think I need to sleep more. I will see you all tomorrow morning." I kissed every head at the table, my lips lingering on my husband's forehead. He rested his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me down for a gentle kiss. I think he noticed my hesitance, but I didn't stop to think about it or explain. My back only permitted me to walk up the stairs, but if I could've run, I would've.

Once Bruce and the boys had left for their night of patrol, I breathed again. Laying on the bed, clutching my pillow to my chest, trying to rehearse how I would address the situation to Bruce, it took a lot out of me. "Bruce, I need to tell you something," I mumbled. "No... Bruce, we need to talk." 

"Madam, I am not sure if you have noticed, but Master Bruce is not here." Alfred's voice startled me for the second time this week.

"I wish he was. I'm sorry, I'm... practicing." I tried to give my friend a reassuring smile but it came out as a grimace. 

"Good luck, madam," Alfred set down a cup of tea on my bedside table and gave me a genuine Alfred smile. Before he was out of the room, he turned back and looked me dead in the eye. "Master Bruce loves you very much, Madam (Y/N). He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink." 

I looked straight back into this wonderful gentleman's eyes. "Thank you."

...

I tried to sleep through the night, I really did. When dawn and my boys arrived, I was still wide awake, not having slept a wink. I trotted down the stairs to the batcave, taking extra care not to trip. Once on the floor, we went through our post-patrol routine of inspecting each one of my boys. First Damian, who shrugged me off several times before allowing me to look over him, then Tim, who accepted my worrying for what it was, then Jason, who pretended to be annoyed for show, then Dick, who looked over me as carefully as I looked over him, then finally Bruce, who would not stop kissing me, barely giving me a chance to check him for injuries. 

No one was truly hurt, but all but one were tired as they pulled off their suits. The boys trudged upstairs to their rooms, but my husband carried me valiantly up the stairs to our place in the master bedroom, like a knight carrying his princess.

Once the bedroom door was shut and he had set me down, I was instantly on my back laying on the bed, Bruce's lips showing affection to my neck and collarbone. A soft, throaty moan left my mouth as my husband kissed me, his hands working their way over my body. I was clothed in my favorite outfit of a tank top and leggings, and I knew they were at risk of being torn from my torso and limbs if I allowed this to continue. Besides... I had to tell Bruce. 

"Darling..." the word I said was half-moaned. "Darling, please, you need to shower."

"I thought you liked my scent?" Bruce chuckled, looking up at me, his hands working their way up my shirt. 

"Mmm, I do, but you are going to dirty our sheets that Alfred worked so hard to wash." 

"You have a valid point, but I don't like it." Bruce grinned and pulled off the little clothing he wore. I chuckled and rolled my eyes, watching him make his way to the shower. If I hadn't had such a burden on my mind, I would've joined him. I could hear him muttering insults at the slippery bar of soap that his large fingers always seemed to have trouble grasping, and it made me smile. My hand absentmindedly rested on my stomach and I wondered if his child would have the same troubles as their father.

Bruce's shower was shorter than usual. Much shorter than if I had been in there with him. Chuckling, I made room for my knight in the bed. He hadn't bothered to put on clothes, or dry his hair. Bruce climbed on top of me, drops of water falling from his hair to my chest. His lips reattached to mine, devouring the kiss like a wild man. I knew what he had on his mind from the way he caressed my body, and I had to put a stop to it. 

"Bruce... Bruce, wait." 

Concerned eyes met mine. "(Y/N)?"

Alfred's words replayed in my mind. He would not have married you if he was not ready to take on the unexpected. I stared into the beautiful blue eyes I had grown to take comfort in. "Bruce, Doctor Thompkins diagnosed me."

Instantly, his desire was forgotten. Bruce sat back on the bed and pulled me onto his lap. "Tell me, darling, what is it?"

His arms made me feel so safe. He will not turn you away when you tell him, so try not to overthink. "I... you need to expect the unexpected."

"So I'm guessing it's not yellow fever, since that's what Tim expects," Bruce smiled. The gentle attempt at humor didn't lift the worry in his eyes. 

"Heh, no... not exactly. It's... it's a baby." The last three words were much quieter than the others. 

Bruce looked at me quizzically. "I don't think I heard you correctly." 

"A baby," I honestly voiced my diagnosis, somewhat fearfully looking into his eyes. "I'm pregnant."

Bruce's glare pierced mine. He gently slid me off his lap and set me on the bed before standing and walking to the window to silently stare out of it. His breathing had changed, his body was stiff, everything about him seemed cold and hardened. 

My worst fears bit and tore at my heart, anxiety gripping my throat like a murderer. Oh Lord, he doesn't want me anymore. I didn't know whether to go to him, or leave the mansion, or stay in the bed, or cry, or speak. So I just waited, for a full two minutes, staring at my husband's scarred back. After waiting that long, tears began to prick at my eyes. I finally laid down and curled into the cold sheets. "I'm sorry."

I heard him turn. "What are you sorry for?"

"Not paying attention to my birth control. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," my tears left wet spots on the pillowcase. I closed my eyes tightly. 

Then I felt his weight on his side of the bed, he was laying beside me. Bruce collected me into his arms, tilting my chin up, asking me silently to look at him. I opened my wet eyes. 

"I'm not angry with you. I'm thinking about it. Just let me think." Bruce's rough, calloused fingers brushed against my peach soft cheek.

"Okay." I closed my eyes to fight back angry, hot tears. He pulled me to his chest, holding me to himself. I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. 

He must've held me like that for an hour before he finally, finally spoke. "Well, this isn't what I thought two months into our marriage would look like." 

My tears had left stains on his chest. Only a surge of bravery made me look up at him. "Yeah."

He looked down at me, smiled, kissed my lips, and I felt my husband's love course through my body. He may have turned me away physically, but he had never turned me away emotionally. I sat up on his lap, straddling him, my forehead resting on his, my hands on his cheeks. "I love you."

"And I love you," Bruce's fingers brushed against my waist. He seemed hesitant, and his eyes met mine. "May I?"

I was confused for a moment, but then I realized and nodded, beaming. "Yes."

His large hand rested on my stomach. The wheels in his head were still turning, but they had calmed, and they were only turning in the name of love. 

"Expect the unexpected." 

[obaex]

pinch me - jj maybank

summary: when you turn 17, your body begins to mirror anything that happens to your soulmate, but with so many marks and bruises, why is yours so hard to find?

word count: 2.9k

a/n: happy obx writing week! this is for day 1: au with jj! thank you to the lovely @surftrips for planning this event. this fic's a little different, but i am simply a sucker for a soulmate au. italics are jj's perspective. ♡

The flowers bloomed on your skin like a tattoo, delicate but dark. Large roses, orchids, lilies and daffodils tangled with leaves to form a winding pattern that started on your hand before appearing on your arm. You lifted your shirt to see them swirl on your ribs, near your stomach. It was mesmerizing to watch, beautiful, hypnotizing even, the sensation felt like a pleasant tingle beneath your skin that now danced on your cheek, around your eye. You lay down on your bed, closed your eyes, and willed the patterns to disappear by morning.

You knew when you turned 17 that this could happen, that your body would begin to mirror any impact on your soulmate’s skin, so you weren’t necessarily surprised. What did surprise you was the frequency with which the marks appeared, their breadth, their size. Your chest ached with the knowledge that whoever your heart was tethered to underwent physical pain on a regular basis.

You searched for your other half eagerly, knowing they wouldn’t be hard to find: a split lip, a black eye, bruised knuckles, but of course there was no one that looked like that on Figure 8. Your friends sought out their matches based on the occasional skinned knee, maybe a broken finger playing lacrosse; when they asked you about it, you lied and said you hadn’t felt anything yet, too heartbroken to share the truth and the fact that your person was nowhere to be found.

When your best friend Sarah Cameron found her match, you couldn’t help but be happy for her, even though she had found him on the wrong side of the island. She and John B began spending every day together; you were lucky if you could steal her away for an afternoon at the beach, and even then, she spent every moment gushing about him. Before long she was begging you to come hang out with him and his friends. You were undeniably skeptical, but by now your own flowered marks had stopped appearing and even though you knew that was a good thing for your other half, in a way you missed them, missed the connection, the reminder that someone out there was meant for you. You needed something to distract you, and John B and his friends proved to be the perfect distraction, especially JJ Maybank.

You and JJ fell into an immediate friendship that was unlike any you’d had before. Frankly, it shocked the other pogues – what could a marina rat and a kook princess possibly have in common? On the surface, the answer was nothing, but it’s like you just clicked right from the first day you met. You were always laughing at each other’s jokes, tears brimming your eyes, unable to catch your breath no matter how stupid they seemed to everyone else. You would finish each other’s sentences, you could read into each other’s emotions, able to understand one another when words fell short, ready with a hug or a smile when they needed it most. You had a casual intimacy, your head resting on his shoulder when you watched a movie, him always needing to have the seat next to you whether in the twinkie or in the back yard at the chateau, you permanently wearing at least one article of his clothing at any given time. You were having fun, your time with JJ distracting you from the loneliness you had felt before.

Everyone had become so obsessed with this soulmate thing - JJ didn’t think it was even real. He had never felt a thing, grateful at least that that meant his soulmate had a life very different from his own. But, why did people care so much? He had seen and heard John B go on and on about it, but all he wanted to do was ignore it, convinced that that kind of thing just wasn’t meant for someone like him.

He never knew if his parents had had it, and even if they did, what good had it done them? His mom left and his dad was gone now too, having finally taken off for the Yucatan months ago. Good riddance.   

No, JJ preferred to focus on what he could control, to believe what was right in from of him, and for now that was Y/N. He wasn’t sure what a girl like that was doing hanging around with a pogue like him, but he wasn’t going to question it, grateful for every day he got to spend with her. He loved the way she made him feel, like he was always the center of her attention no matter what was going on around them - he’d never had that before, had never been someone’s first priority. He loved the way she would laugh uncontrollably with him, how big her smile got, how her nose would crinkle. He loved the way she curled into his arms when she had a bad day, seeking him out for comfort and reassurance; he loved knowing he could be that for somebody. He loved when she leaned on him when they watched movies, how sometimes her eyelids fluttered closed and she’d breath heavily against him, wrapping her arms around him in her sleepy state – that was his favorite.

The funny thing was, she didn’t seem to believe in this soulmate thing either, never chiming in when the inevitable conversation came up. And that made him feel like maybe he had a chance. He tried every day to muster the courage, to find the right words to say to ask her out, which is where his mind wandered while he spent the afternoon at work at the marina, pissed that he was missing a day on the boat with her.

The HMS Pogue bobbed gently to the rhythm of the waves as John B and Pope cast their rods into the water. You, Sarah and Kie were lying on the bow, soaking in the scorching rays of the sun as sweat dripped down your body.

“OK, I’m getting in the water, it’s too damn hot” Kie said resolutely, standing up.

“Yes please” you said, jumping up, pulling off your sunglasses and diving in, beating her to the punch.

The salt water cooled your skin immediately, bringing instant relief. You let out a sigh as your head breached the surface and you began to float on your back. It was only a moment before you felt something slimy and looked around you to see you had jumped right into a school of jellyfish. You tried to swim away, shrieking, before they began to sting you, their barbed tentacles attaching to your side as you tried to knock them away and scrambled back to the boat. You pulled yourself shakily out of the water, tenderly feeling the burns on your skin as tears overflowed in your eyes.

JJ was spraying down the latest kook yacht to pull into the marina, washing and rinsing mindlessly, his thoughts drifting to you and back again when he felt an itch on his side. He scratched it absentmindedly, attempting to ignore it when it persisted in a tingling feeling. He rubbed it harder before finally lifting his shirt to see a tattooed pattern of vines winding up his side. He shoved his shirt down and looked around, hoping nobody had seen. He dropped the hose in his hand and stumbled inside before he pulled his shirt off to inspect his skin more closely. He was mesmerized by the sensation and the pattern on his skin, his heart racing with excitement until he realized what this meant, his joy waning as his sympathy grew for this person he didn’t even know. He pressed his hand against the vines, like he could make them stop, but they persisted. He could hear his boss yelling for him, so he quickly pulled his shirt back on, his head spinning as he went back to work.

The rest of the afternoon and evening you walked around gingerly, icing your side, putting ointment on it, but nothing seemed to quell the burning sensation of the barbs in your skin. You pulled on one of JJ’s soft, oversized sweatshirts and a pair of shorts and joined your friends in John B’s backyard, trying to focus on anything else to forget the pain you were in.

Thankfully, JJ showed up right after his shift. You had missed him all day, wishing he had been out on the boat with you; he would have known just what to say, how to make you laugh, exactly how to make you feel better, and that’s all you wanted right now.

He settled into his chair beside you, but didn’t meet your gaze, didn’t acknowledge you at all; he looked a thousand miles away.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked, picking up on his demeanor immediately.

“Hmm?” he said, glancing at you quickly before looking away. In truth, he couldn’t stop thinking about the tingling on his side, which had started to fade, but that he could still feel. He looked back at you, examining you. You were perfectly fine. No one had hurt you, you weren’t in pain, and he was overwhelmingly grateful for that, but at the same time, selfishly, he knew that that meant that you weren’t his, weren’t the one for him and it crushed him.

He looked at you with sad eyes, his ocean blues scanning yours, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something before shutting it, shaking his head and ignoring you, choosing to focus on the beer in his hand instead.

You scrunched your face in response, hurt by his dismissal, especially after the day you'd had. You had been so sure he would make you feel better, that he would pull you into his arms and tell you everything was going to be okay, and now he wouldn’t even talk to you.

“Okay then” you said, standing up quickly, wanting to put some distance between you before your emotions got the best of you. “Anyone need another drink?” you asked as you made your way inside. John B shook his near-empty can in the air and you nodded, turning quickly so no one would see the tears in your eyes as you slammed the door behind you.

“What was that about?” John B said as he looked over at JJ.

JJ just shook his head and shrugged, trying to shake off your reaction, his feelings, and failing miserably.

“She seemed upset” Kie pushed, not used to seeing the two of you at odds with each other, ever. “You could at least try to be nice to her, Jayj, she had a shitty day.”

“Pfft understatement of the year” Pope agreed as he took a swig of his beer, “she put up a tough front but I’ve never seen stings that bad before, had to be the man-o-wars, she jumped right into them.”

JJ’s ears perked up. “What?” he asked, trying to catch up.

“She got stung, asshole, like fifteen times” Kie replied, gesturing to her side.

The same side where JJ’s skin still tingled.

JJ’s mouth ran dry and he could feel his heart start to hammer in his chest. It couldn’t be… could it?

He stood up, dropped his beer at his feet and ran after you.

“Y/N!!” he called as soon as he was inside, nearly tripping over the furniture on his way to reach you in the kitchen.

You were leaning with your back against the counter, your eyes meeting his as you wiped at your tears, not wanting him to know how upset he’d made you.

“You’re – Pope said – you – today –“ he stumbled over his words as he gestured outside and then to you.

You looked at him, utterly confused.

He shook his head, trying to clear it as he ran his hands through his hair, willing his heart to slow down just enough for him to get his words out.

“Today. You got stung. A-Are you okay?” he said through labored breath.

You shrugged, still angry with him. “I’m fine” you said.

“Nah, don’t do that, don’t play it off, Pope said it was bad, worst that he’s seen in a long time. C-Can I see?” he asked.

You didn’t know what good it would do at this point but you set your drink down and tenderly reached for the bottom of your sweatshirt, lifting it up to expose the angry red skin on your side, wincing slightly as your fingers grazed it.

JJ stepped closer to you, one hand on your stomach, the other on your hip, careful to avoid touching your wounds as he looked closely at it, then at you. He felt his breath hitch as his emotions overwhelmed him at the thought of this happening to you. You immediately registered the sympathy in his eyes and the fact that he seemed completely distraught, his own eyes nearly brimming with tears.

“Hey, I’m alright, it’s alright, J” you said, not fully grasping the look in his eyes.

He took his hands away, but didn’t step back from you as he lifted his own shirt. You could make out the faint remains of a twisted pattern of vines that ran up his side. Your hands flew to your mouth in shock.

“JJ…” you cautioned. Despite how much you desperately wanted this to be true, you both knew that this could be a coincidence, that that happened all the time. Your eyes met his and you could see the longing shining in them as they met yours, unwavering.

“Pinch me” he said, holding out his arm.

“What?” you asked.

“Pinch me, hard, do it,” he said again, pushing his arm closer to you.

Part of you wanted to know the truth, needed to know the truth, but a larger part of you was scared, horrified for this be a coincidence, and what that would mean for both of you. The idea that JJ might not be yours had your chin wobbling as you looked at him.

“Please, gorgeous, I need to know” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

You reached out tentatively and pinched the skin on his forearm hard enough to leave a pink mark where your fingers had squeezed. Within seconds you could feel the tingle on your own skin, your emotions bubbling up as you laughed and then cried, JJ grabbing you by the shoulders, desperately trying to read your emotions as you pulled up your sleeve to reveal the rose that had bloomed on your own arm, matching his own. He looked down as tears welled in his own eyes.

“D-Do it again” he said, now that he could see it, holding out his arm.

“JJ” you said through your tears, urging him to accept what was in front of him.

“Do it again” he said, and as you pinched him a daisy bloomed next to the rose, leaves tangling together. He watched the pattern, willing himself to accept that this was much more than a coincidence, to accept that he could have this, have you, that you were made for him.

He pulled you into his arms, burying his head in your shoulder as you shook, your arms circling him and hands grasping the back of his shirt like a lifeline, unwilling to let him go.

“My God, oh my God” he muttered next to you as he rocked you back and forth.

“W-wait” you said, pulling back reluctantly to look at him. His eyes were blown wide, totally focused on you.

“What is it, beautiful?” he asked and your heart skipped a beat at the nickname.

Your hand came up to cup his face. “Last year” you whispered, tracing your finger under his eye, across his cheek, running it over his lips, tracing all the places you seen flowers on your own skin. He hung his head, pressing his forehead to yours.

“My dad” he said simply in reply as he realized, reluctantly, that you now knew better than anyone what he had been through.

“I’m so sorry” you whispered.

“It’s okay. I’m okay now” he reassured you as his hands reached up to cup your face. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

You nodded as your eyes met his, your mind still reeling, trying to piece together what was in front of you: this boy, with his long hair, his tender eyes, his perfect smile, his infectious laugh, his warm hugs was it, was yours, forever. You smiled at him and he smiled at you as his mind pieced together the same thing.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked and you laughed in response. “I wanted it to be you. From the moment I met you, I wanted this” he said. You nodded vigorously in agreement, your instant connection so many months ago making so much sense now.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.

You nodded more vigorously as he brought your lips to his.

He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in you, but was reassured by the fact that he’d have eternity to do so as he pressed his lips softly to yours, savoring the feeling, and the way you pressed into him, opening up to him almost immediately, grasping his shirt and pulling him against you, against the counter as you hummed in response, your pain long forgotten as the pleasure of his body, his heart beating against your own took over. He ran his fingers into your hair as his tongue tangled with yours and he swore nothing in the world would ever compare to this.

taglist: @ietss, @gillybear17, @palmwinemami, @sweetestdesire, @softcoremaybank, @one-sweet-gubler, @m-indkiller

[killsaki]

implode — there’s only so many feelings one can hold in, especially with bakugou blood in their veins.

bakugou katsuki x little sister!reader

6.7k | minors dni | read on ao3

cw / tw : incest, drugging, hinted noncon gangbang, scummy!denki+sero+kiri, aphrodisiac, weed, alcohol, fingering, creampie, reader calls bkg ‘bubba’.

is it hard being the sibling of a prohero?

of course! they disappear for days to weeks at a time—leaving for training, meetings, press events, and then for missions. you go from having them all to yourself, to sharing them with the world. from being their number one fan, to merely feeling like one amongst a million. and there’s so many things to worry about, from them going to work and never coming home, to a villain coming after you out of spite of being captured by said sibling.

those all sound logical answers to the question, normal ones. hence why you’ve practiced saying them so many times in case anyone ever asks.

but, truly, you knew most of those were things you’d never have to worry about. not when you’re the younger sister of none other than bakugou katsuki.

your brother being, well.. himself, was enough to keep any thoughts of danger from your mind. he was too fast, too strong, too skilled, too protective for anything to ever happen to either of you. but this peace of mind only gives room for you to dwell on other things.

like the social media ‘famous’ girls who just don’t shut up about how hot your brother is—which shouldn’t bother you so much, not in the stomach churning, phone gripping way that it does. and you could blame your intense reactions on the fact that you have to see it literally every time you try to scroll down your timeline, or that it’s just weird that your brother is suddenly getting so much attention.. but that's less believable than the first excuse to you.

and then there’s the out of context candids posted in tabloids of him saving civilians, who understandably look at him so longingly, and then there’s a picture painted of him as some kind of bachelor. to make matters worse, said online articles become almost impossible to escape no matter how much you try—partially thanks to your old school ‘friends’ sending them to you asking for all the details to share with their group chats, as if you’d tell them.

to top everything off, your brother, as doting as he is, never has time for you anymore. despite how you live with him, have your own room and bath in his unnecessarily large condo, and even have a card to his bank account for anything you could possibly need—still, you rarely see him. he’s so consumed in his work, from partols to missions, and when he’s not on the clock he’s forced to do press and modeling for whatever goodies they want to slap his picture onto.

and you could never hold that against him, not when he’s been working towards this his whole life. but still, having just a moment with him could cure all the thoughts that hang heavy in your mind daily. just a second to be reminded that your brother is yours, all alone. that you’re the only little sister he’ll ever have, the only girl he’ll ever need.

luckily for you, a day comes that your brother gets a day's break—more like he’s forced into a vacation as he never takes any days off. and he’s able to lounge about, meaning that he’s sitting on the couch in sweats and bouncing his leg waiting for someone to call his phone saying he can finally come to work as if being away from it was excruciating. you could giggle at the thought, what person besides katsuki would rather be out fighting petty criminals than relaxing on their own couch.

“did you hear me?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he looks over at you.

you shake your head, too caught up in your thoughts to realize he was even speaking to you.

“the guys want me to go over for a bit. i won’t be gone long.” he repeats before turning back to his phone screen as he finishes typing.

your heart jumps into your throat. tonight was exactly what you’d been longing for, time with just the two of you, so you could reassure yourself the importance of the role you have in his life. so that you could have katsuki all to yourself. so that you could pretend for just a little while, that he’s just your brother again, not the hero you have to share with the world.

“i wanna go too.” you spit without thought.

he shoots you another look, lifting a brow as he blinks at you. “i want to come hang out too.” you say again as you chew at your lip, unable to back out of the situation your loud mouth has already gotten you into.

“no.” he replies back coldly, pushing himself from the couch before stretching his arms up, revealing the bottom of his toned stomach as he does so. “there’s going to be a lot of people, and drinking.” he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes before mumbling on. “and denki’s gonna be there.”

you snap your gaze up to him in confusion about the mention of a certain friend of his. but, he doesn’t let you get any questions out, heading off towards his room to get ready to leave. you pad right behind him, arms crossed while you walk, letting out huffs every few minutes just to remind him how you’re not going to give up. you sit on his bed as he collects an outfit to wear and little things he needs for a shower, noticing how he avoids making any glances in your direction.

it’s not until he’s already fully showered and starting to dress himself that he cracks, groaning as he looks at you.

“go fuckin’ get dressed.” he orders with out any actual malice in his tone. “once i get in the car, i’m leaving.”

your brother is many things, but a liar is not one.

so, you race to your room, tearing into your dresser to slip into that one outfit you’d been holding onto, hoping to wear the next time you’d gotten the chance to go on an outing with katsuki. though, you’d pictured something with more room for alone time, you suppose it would work at a party with his old friends too.

you’d just finished touching up what you need in the mirror as you hear his car engine start up, giving you only seconds to force yourself into your shoes and jog out to his car.

“you stay by my side until we leave.” he looks over at you, while you reach over your shoulder for the seatbelt, his crimson eyes squinted warningly. “i mean it.”

he didn’t mean it.

it’s not even half an hour after you arrive, barely finished shoving your way through the sweaty bodies crowded in someone’s living space, hardly enough time enough to adjust your ears to the shitty music and screams of laughter—something catches your brother's eye, to which he leaves you in the hands of his old classmate. ‘be back in a minute’, he says, pushing you into the red head’s side. but it’s not a minute, it’s been thirty and you haven’t managed to spot the blonde mess of a head, not even from your seat on the kitchen’s counter over the crowd merely feet away.

“what’s wrong?” kirishima raises his eyebrows slightly at you from behind his solo cup.

“just expected to be with kats’,” you huff, fingers twiddling with the end of your skirt. “kinda the only reason i came.”

he nods, glancing down into his drink before peering over his shoulder.

“want a sip?”

you know that you shouldn’t, how mad your brother will get at the both of you if he shows up to find you wasted and slung over his best friend.

“it’ll help you relax, at least until he gets back. i won’t let you drink too much, i promise.”

you can’t resist the small smile he gives. he’s so warm, safe. being with him is almost the same as being with katsuki, almost.

one sip turns into two cups, and suddenly it’s not just you and eijiro anymore. sero and denki showed up somewhere along the way. but, it’s fine, you think. they’re heroes alongside your brother, and they’ve known him long enough to know any better. only, in your slurred thoughts, that voice in the back of your mind starts to hope otherwise.

they’re all undoubtedly handsome, the three of them much taller than you despite the height difference amongst themselves, and all so strong. there’s sero with his shaggy black hair, signature grin and pretty ring clad fingers that grip the cup he’d been babysitting since he’d walked over. denki and his pretty pink lips he never stops running his tongue over, his slightly whiney voice and golden eyes that just get so much deeper when he looks at you. and then of course, kirishima, who’s just so unreasonably big, length and width—wait, that's… not the right words. but now you wonder—

“what are you smiling about?” the blonde asks from where he’s propped on the kitchen’s island across from you.

you shake your head, biting your lips when you realize how caught up in your thoughts you let yourself get with them still right in front of you.

“i was just thinking.” you let out, trying to look anywhere but at kirishima.

“thinking about?” the voice pipes in from beside you, resting his head on your arm as he leans back to look up at you. your heart races a bit when you can physically feel how close he’s gotten to you without you realizing.

“yeah, you’ve been so quiet. not really living up to the bakugou name.” sero shakes his head with fake disapproval.

“my brother’s not that loud.” you giggle, knowing it's a lie before it even hits your tongue. “i was just thinking about how i never see you guys, you’re so different than you were when i met you back at the graduation.” you sigh. “he never lets me go out with him when you guys invite him.”

you miss the look that hanta and kaminari share, how the corners of the blonde's mouth perk up for a split second before he paints on a confused expression.

“when do we invite him out?” he asks, tilting his head slightly when you look up at him.

you nearly mimic the movement when you register his words.

“always?..” you ask, but glancing at the dark haired man and the red head who share the same confused expression, you don't need an answer. “but he… i’m so confused.”

you can only blink, staring at the black side of the fridge, thinking back on the rare nights that he gets off with enough time to do anything besides shower and sleep. how he’d knock on your door, letting you know he was running over to one of ‘the guys’ house before it got too late. he was never gone too terribly long, but that’s just how your brother is. you always thought he literally only went to say hi and came home—wanting to get enough sleep for another full day of hero work. that’s the only thing that made any sense.

“hey, don’t worry about it.” kirishima’s large hand has somehow found its way to rub soothingly at your side, arm now wrapped behind your back.

“i’m sure he could’ve meant midoriya or something.” denki still wears a straight face, speaking with faulty concern.

sero stays quiet while he pulls out his phone, scrolling through something and finally starting to sip out of his cup.

“i should go try to find him.” you go to slide off the counter when denki speaks up again.

“i think you should stay with us.”

the words send a gut wrenching feeling to your core, your body screams to get away, but you fight it.

“why?” you dumbly ask, the smallest bit of curiosity keeping you.

“your brother’s busy.” he shrugs, bumping sero’s shoulder with his own.

the long fingers you were admiring minutes ago faint against yours as he hands you his phone, the screen showing a man you recognize unmistakingly as your brother, dressed in the outfit he’d worn tonight. his arm snug around some girl's lower back, ducked down with his mouth to her ear, the camera’s quality is shitty but even so, you can still see the way their bodies are pressed together. you feel your heart sink, though, you’re not entirely sure why.

you let yourself get slotted back into kirishima’s side, finding a sense of comfort in the weight of his arm around your shoulder as they walk you to the glass doors at the back of the house.

“don’t looked so bummed little baku’!” denki shoots you a grin. “we’ll keep you entertained for the night.”

the air is warm outside, not helping to cool your cheeks that are still hot from the alcohol. the four of you end up sitting on some cushioned benches near the middle of the yard, surrounded by small bushes. it’s much nicer than being inside, but you’re not entirely sure why they brought you out here. not until sero pulls out something rolled and a lighter. you watch as he puts it between his lips, lighting the end and inhaling til the end burns red without the flame. you forget to look away whenever he exhales, giving him the chance to catch you watching him.

“you want to hit it?” his voice suddenly sounds like silk, acting like ties as it’s doing everything to pull you in despite the way your nerves are still screaming at you.

“i’ve never smoked before.” you laugh awkwardly. “my brother would kill me.”

he flashes that big toothy grin, shaking his head for the who-knows-what time that night and you know you’re in for it whenever you see your brother again. but just for this second, you think it’ll be okay.. if he’s busy with some girl when he told you he’d be by your side for the night, then you can have fun with his cute friends.

“he doesn’t have to know.” sero pulls you back to the moment in front of you. “come here, i’ll teach you.”

you’re moving without thinking, giggling again at the way he shoo’s denki from beside him so that you can sit. he teaches you how to breathe it in easily, but how not to take too much. and you do exactly as he says, letting him put it on your lips, you pull in a slow but shallow drag. holding it until he tells you to let it out.

“good girl.” hanta smirks, the warmth of his hand holding your jaw as he moves the damp paper back to your mouth. “now do it again, just like that.”

you listen, thinking nothing of it. thinking nothing at all, actually. you can’t. the flood of warmth lingering in your veins from those drinks that you’re just realising were much stronger than you thought and the clouds now fogging your consciousness, too much to form any kind of thought.

“here, try this.” you hear from the side- no, in front of you. denki’s leaned over with a diamond shaped candy on his palm.

you hesitate, but not able to talk, body already working overtime to remember how to breathe properly.

“it’ll just make you feel good, i just took one too.” he reassures, gesturing again for you to grab it. if you could feel your body right now, you’d feel every single inch of it aching to run. you’d feel that same feeling in your stomach as it started to churn. maybe you would’ve listened this time. but instead all you can feel is the race in your chest as you eye the light blue against his pale skin.

“c’mon.” kirishima’s showing off his sharp teeth with how wide he’s grinning, trying his hardest to be just as reassuring as he was to get you to drink with him a while ago. “we’re your brother's best friends, you know we wouldn’t let anything happen to you.. even if he is busy.

you take another deep breath, nodding. right. katsuki wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

“let me.” denki’s suddenly standing over you, candy- pill pinched between his fingers, a grin just as big plastered on his face. “open up.”

you miss the devilish intent hiding behind those smiling faces. you miss the almost telepathic conversation they all have in the glances they share as you flutter your pretty eyes closed, letting your tongue fall out for denki to drop the pill on. it hits your taste, dissolving almost immediately. you swallow the bitter grainy bits, grimacing as you only have your spit to get it down with.

“give it just a few minutes.” the blonde speaks again, much more eagerly this time. which should alert you, all of this should.

you could blame it on the alcohol you have a low tolerance for, on the weed you’ve never smoked, on the fact you trust anyone who attaches their name to your brothers. but really, it’s because you’re dumb. you don’t think anything bad can ever happen to you. not like this. not when your brother is so close.

“it’s kinda warm out here.” you mumble, shifting uncomfortably on the padding. you feel the heat across your cheeks and down your neck, skipping to your stomach that warms slowly, trickling down between your legs and across your thighs. “think i want some water.”

you slowly push yourself to stand, body feeling heavy as you move. you don’t catch how they all follow right behind you, until sero—no, denki’s arm slinks its way around your waist as you walk. he pulls you away from the path back to the glass door and towards the gate in the big wooden fence.

“it’s too hot in there.” he tugs you again when you weakly attempt to pull away. “kirishima’s place isn’t too far from here. we can just hang out there while you cool off.”

you shake your head, mind racing to how badly you just want something to drink, and to be with katsuki. mentally cursing out the stupid girl in that picture for taking your brother away from you, for stealing his attention when you’re the one who needs it. and you curse yourself, for not listening to his warning when he said denki would be here.

“denki.” you drag your feet, doing anything to attempt a fight against the push of his much stronger hands. “what was that? the…” it’s hard to think, even harder to push those thoughts into words and say them aloud “the pill. what’d you give me?”

“i told you,” he smirks, glancing behind you and nodding one of the men over. “it’s just to make everything feel better.” stepping aside, kirishima’s heavy arm replaces denki’s, locking you under it and forcing you forward. your heart races at all the implications that could have. you don’t even notice you’re shaking until he wraps his other arm around you, bending his head down to graze the shell of your ear, whispering into it

“it’ll make things easier,” something about his tone makes you want to vomit. “just don’t think about it, pretty.”

“don’t get too friendly, dude, i’m the one who set this up.” denki bites, pulling his keys out as the four of you near a car. “there’s no way you get first.”

sero snickers again, sighing as kiri opens his mouth to snide back about how he’s been waiting two years and that you should at least get to pick that much. you can’t really make it out anymore, all you can hear is your own heartbeat banging in your ears.

you try and struggle out of his hold, which only makes them all laugh in turn and your heart falls into your stomach. you’re with pro heroes, if anything bad is going to happen to you here, at their hands, there's no way you’re going to fight your way out of it.

sero’s fingers wrap around the handle of the car’s back door when the voice booms out your name down the small hill the house is sitting on.

you can physically feel kirishima tense up and his heart start to race, you can hear the way sero and denki stop breathing in unison. you can even picture the way they all freeze without having to look, you can imagine the absolute fear in their face as they stand there, gaping at your brother.

his red eyes dig into you before taking a second to glance at the men around you.

“why do you look so fucked up?” he barks out, brows furrowing deeper with each step he takes towards you. “where the fuck were you guys about to go?”

he’s eyeing kirishima now, tugging you by your wrist out of the red head’s hold and into his own, gripping you as if he lets go, you'll get stolen away.

“she said it was hot in there.” kirishima shrugs awkwardly, face stiff.

“and who the fuck said you could take her anywhere?” bakugou tilts his head face twisted dumbfoundedly at the boldness his old friend suddenly seems to have.

“my place is just up the street she wanted to—“

“and why the fuck do you have her around denki?” you can feel bakugou’s skin grow hotter to the touch with each word he spits. or maybe it's you that’s getting hotter. god, it’s fucking hot.

“i didn’t drive.” he shrugs again, breaking eye contact to look over at the other blonde.

“she’s not a baby bakugou, she can be around whoever she wants.” kaminiari says smugly, like the idiot he is.

“i’ll kill you.” your brother doesn’t hesitate with this threat, and it wipes the smile off denki’s, raising his hands slightly in defence.

you use the hold he has on you to wrap your arm around his, feeling a great sense of relief pressed against him.

“he didn’t touch you did he?” katsuki’s voice is still gruff when he talks down to you, but you don’t mind it.

you know that he did technically touch you, but not enough to hurt anything. and if you answer truthfully it’ll just drag this out even longer, and all you want is to be wrapped around him. so, you shake your head, and you hope he doesn’t hear the way they all sigh in relief.

your brother doesn’t say anything else, just pulls you away towards where he’d parked. the second he turns around, you peek back at the men. kirishima has his head tossed back, hand over his chest as he takes in a deep breath, sero, leaned against the car shoulders shaking with laughter while denki curses and slams the driver side door shut.

“i’m hot katsu’” you whine when he unlocks the door for you.

“how much did he let you drink?” he scoffs, leaning across you and buckling your seatbelt for you as if you’re unable.

you huff, watching his strong arms reach over your body. his warm chest coming down to press into yours, that you find is so sensitive. so much so that a small whine escapes your throat before you’re able to register it he’s already pulled back looking down at you. one hand on the top of the car as he leans over, eyebrows pinched together.

“‘m just hot, bubba.” you assure, face burning in embarrassment and whatever else was setting your body on fire.

he immediately blasts the AC as soon as the car is on, and in the second that it satiates the burning under your skin, you remember.

“who was the girl?” you question, voice somewhere between shaking and slurring. you shouldn’t be asking, there’s no reason for you to do this right now—or at all. “the one you left me to go see.”

katsuki just stares ahead for a second before his jaw tightens.

“and where did you see me with a girl?” he asks blankly, like he already knows the answer.

“sero had a picture. they said you were busy, that’s why i stayed with them.” you answer truthfully, hoping he’d driven far enough to not want to turn back.

“i didn’t know her, sero at introduced us.” he scoffs, scowl resting on his face as he keeps his eyes focused on the drive.

the heat begins to dig into you again, the cool blow the ac’s aid only a temporary fix.

“why? why didn’t you come look for me? text me?” he asks, his short fuse burning already.

“you were busy.” you reply shortly, too focused on the ache going on in your lower half.

“and? if i knew that shit face was going to try fucking with you we would’ve left as soon as we got there.” he shakes his head, voice raising only slightly.

“you were with a girl, katsu! i didn’t want to interrupt.” you throw your head back against the cool leather, smoothing your hands out over your skirt, across the tops of your thighs as if that would help.

“you’re my little sister, that’s completely different.” he scrunches his face up as he glances between you and the road, the same thing he does anytime anyone says something he thinks is the slightest bit dumb.

“is it?” you ask.

“yes.” he snaps back. 

“so if i wasn’t your little sister, you wouldn’t care?” you mumble, shifting at the warmth you feel start to spill into your panties. “or if i wouldn’t have come with you tonight, would you have left with her?”

he sighs, exasperated.

“what the fuck are you saying right now?” he keeps glancing at you, rushing a reply.

“why did you leave me to go see her?” you groan. “why didn’t you stay with me? why didn’t you wanna just be at home with me?”

he only gets your name and a curse out before you cut him off, the heat itching at you becoming too much.

“katsu’ ‘m so hot.” you mewl, raking your hands down your body, reveling in the momentary coolness under your own touch. you can feel the way he stiffens slightly next to you, but the previous tension is out the window, almost forgotten.

“i have the ac on.” he states, keeping his eyes on the road as you near the building the two of you call home.

“it’s inside katsu, ‘m hot on the inside.”

he stops the car with a jerk in the middle of the parking lot, snapping his head over towards you.

“what did they give you?” his question is sharp, voice filled with anger once again.

“denki gave me candy—no, a pill.” you toss your head side to side, thighs rubbing together mindlessly. “to make me ‘feel good’—make everything, no—something feel good that’s what they said, but i just hurt.”

you can hear death threats spill out his mouth as he watches you squirm in the seat.

“i’ll take you to the hospital.” he mutters, putting a hand on the shoulder of your seat to look behind him as starts to back out.

“no!” you whine, grabbing his hand and pulling it to your lap. “i don’t want doctors touching me.”

he keeps his eyes on you as you put his palm against your inner thigh, watching how you keen against the seat when his skin touches yours.

“want you to help me, bubba, please.” he pulls his hand from you, face contorted with.. something before he’s rubbing his palms over his face and pulling at his hair. you realize what you just asked and for the umpteenth time tonight, your heart sinks. but this time you're sure that if you stood, it’d be sitting on the seat underneath you.

“i’m—katsuki, i’m sorry.” you start to babble out apology after apology, which soon all runs together and becomes broken as you tear up, voice cracking every other word.

the blond throws his head back, hard. quickly changing gear and moving his car into a private parking spot. you’re still crying when he pulls your wrist, strength easily shifting you over the middle console of his car and into his lap.

“tell me that you need my help.” he blinks up at you, holding your waist just above his lap. 

you nod, hoping it’ll suffice, but it doesn’t.

“i need you to help me, katsu—no one else can.” he drops you onto his lap, fingertips digging into the softness of your sides. “please, make it better.” you breathe, shakily. 

he uses his hold to drag you across his lap, the friction making you drop your head onto his shoulder. pleasure shooting up your spine, small whines of his name getting lost in his neck as he keeps grinding you down onto him until your thighs start to shake, your moans turn into breathless whines and you’re crumbling against him as you make a mess all over his jeans…

the two of you sit in panting silence for a few minutes before he tells you to move, that you need a shower. and like you always do, you listen. following him inside and discarding your clothes from your still buzzing body in silence. but as soon as the showers water hits you, you’re burning again. the ache between your legs coming back stronger than before, the burn in your stomach twice as hot and the need is too much.

you don’t hesitate to make your way right back to his room, body still nude and dripping all over the floors as you do. but you don’t care—your brain and body only knows one thing right now and it’s that you need your brother.

“what are you doing?” he strains, turning his head back towards the drawer he was sorting through as soon as he takes in your naked body standing at his doorway.

“i still hurt, katsu.” you whisper, not caring if he heard you or not. just wanting him to give you more than what he gave earlier.

“i already helped.” you can hear pain in his voice and it makes you want to cry. you wish you didn’t put him in such a position, that you would’ve just been grateful and stayed home—but you need him, it’s all your mind and body can tell you, you need him.

“help again.” you practically demand, craving him too badly to be embarrassed or think much at all about what you were doing. your hands land on his shoulders and pull yourself up to kiss at his neck trying to entice him.

“i can’t.” he groans low, but doesn’t attempt to push you away, letting you drag your lips across all the skin you can reach.

you don’t say anything else, not until you manage to pull him down by his hair to look at you.

“make it better.. like you always do.”

it’s the pebble that cracks the glass, his hands grip your waist and all but throw you onto his mattress. you only have a moment to gasp before he’s hovering over you.

“say it again.” he commands, voice rough as one of his hands makes its way to the apex of your thighs. your eyes flutter at the vibration of his words against your chest, the knot in your stomach already tying itself.

“make me feel better, bubba, please.”

there was a reason behind why he’s left the condo the few times that he does get to sit in the house, a reason why he doesn’t want to be alone with you for too long. it’s not that he doesn’t have any restraint, but he’s known thatif something ever happened, where the little sister that has always been the exception his selfish attitude asked him to do anything like this—even without whatever the fuck it was that denki gave you—he’d do it.

he drags a heavy finger along your slit, up to your still swollen clit making you gasp against his lips as they ghost your own. he teases only for a second, not able to bare you being in pain when he’s there to do something about it, just like he’s always been. he uses your excessive slick to rub harsh circles over your clit, it sends your eyes rolling back, it’s so much more practiced than the pathetic frottage he pulled in the car.

“need more, katsu, please.” you push your hips into his hand with the little bit of strength you have, desperate for as much as he’ll give you.

he drops his forehead to your shoulder this time, looking down as he moves his fingertips to your entrance, pushing two in without warning. he immediately works away with them, curling into your swollen, most sensitive wall and fucking into you with a strength that could only be possessed by such a high ranking pro hero. your wetness sticks to his knuckles with every pull before it squelches obscenely loud when he pushes back in.

“kiss me, katsu.” you whine.

he brings his lips back to yours, red eyes flickering between both of your eyes for a moment, waiting for you to take it back. you don’t, instead, sliding your hands from where they sat on his shoulders up to twist into his hair.

“you can pretend ‘m someone else… just please kiss me.” his fingers pause their movement for a moment, and he pulls away. you start to whine, from the loss and out of fear you’d said something wrong again.

“why would you say that?” you trip over any word that hits your tongue. but you don’t need to speak, he does it for you. “i don’t need to do that,” his fingers pick their pace back up, drawing wonton moans from you that you wouldn’t be able to bite back if you tried. “not when i’ve always pretended everyone else was you.” he admits.

your heart leaps in your chest just as he presses his mouth into yours, the kiss is littered with teeth and spit—but neither of you can find a reason to care.

the familiar feeling starts to coil in your stomach, your hips moving on their own down on his hand to chase the feeling of ecstasy but it never comes, you cry out as the pressure fades.

“more.” you cry softly against his lips, keeping your eyes screwed shut so you don’t have to face any look that he might give you. “‘need you.”

but, he complies, tugging himself out of the sweats he’d thrown on after his shower and kicking them off to be dealt with later. he doesn’t waste any time teasing, rushing to give you what you want—what you need, to make his pretty little sister feel good the way he’s been cursing his brain for imaging for the longest time.

he lines the thick head of him up with your already stretched hole, dropping back down to your lips as he eases in. the pop of the head of him pulls a gasp from the both of you, but he doesn’t give you time to adjust to it, knowing with how you’ve been aching to be filled all night that you can handle the stretch. which is exactly what he gives you, his fingers were nothing in comparison to the girth of his cock.

it stings, making your eyes tear up, and drags whine after whine from your throat. katsuki catches them in his mouth, swallowing them and shushing you while he continues to push in until he’s at the hilt. you babble out senseless ‘thank you’s while he pulls back slightly, never separating your hips and his own by too much. his hips make a circular motion, grinding back into you slowly, pushing the trimmed light colored pubes at the base of him against your ever throbbing clit and making you squeal from the pleasure of it.

he repeats it over and over, curved length of him dragging along your g-spot until youre twitching, your mouth hangs open, sounds falling against his lips as he drinks all of them in. your hips rise every few strokes trying to meet him, to egg him on to go harder, to give you more without having to ask for it, but he just wont. keeping his slow, sensual pace, as if he was fucking you at his own leisure and not because you basically forced yourself onto him

“love you, bubba.” you whisper drunkenly, lips dragging across his soft ones as you speak.

his hips stutter at your words, strong arms move from holding himself over you to grabbing the underside of your knees and pulling them slightly, wrapping your legs around him. “ah- my katsu.”

“keep telling me.” he grunts, sliding his hand down to your waist where your thighs fold over them. “tell me i’m yours, say that you’re mine.”

he finally picks up his antagonizing pace, hips still swirling into yours, pubic hair scratching against your bud with each push. the head of him presses deep against that spongey spot with each sway, heavy balls sticking to your leaked juices as you chant out the i love you’s like a mantra, like it’s the only meaningful thing that you’ve ever said. it’s not long before your legs start to shake, his cock hitting all of the right nerves in your throbbing cunt.

“don’t stop.” he repeats when your mouth drops wide open, orgasm creeping up on you.

“mine! you’re mine!” you cry as your vision turns white and your walls spasm around him. “‘m yours, all yours, bubba.” you whimper as the ache in your cunt becomes the pain of overstimulation.

your words and the steady throb of your clamping cunt ultimately bringing him to his end with you. you feel the heat simmer down as he fills you, warmth spilling out even as his cock still plugs you. and you couldn’t be more thankful for denki being such a scumbag.

you don’t have enough strength to stay awake past that, all of your energy left with the last orgasm. at some point you wake up, you’re clean between your thighs and cuddled up on your brother's warm chest. you shift only an inch and you could feel him jump awake to pull you closer, leaving a kiss on the top of your head before you drift back to sleep with small smiles on both of your faces—happy to be your brother’s girl.

a / n : obligatory bkgs little sis tag : @vampireloverz <33 thank you stevie for inspiring me to write this in first place!!!! +++ happy birthday to The Guy !!!

reblogs + feedback appreciated !

[hwanchaesong]

━⁠☞🍽️ Second Course: He treats you so well, and you're naive enough to believe that only you have the key to his tasty heart. Or his pants. 🥢

🎧: Olivia Rodrigo - Traitor

wc: 1.0k

genre & warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of sex, cursing, crying, there's another girl, lovers to exes, pure heartbreak :D , Yeji of ITZY special appearance etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Sour Restaurant series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

ps. i've already reposted this but it still won't appear under the tags that i've put so ig i'll just let it be lmao. imma just post it the way it is bc i'm tired of trying and thinking on what to do to make it work.

At the tender age of 13, you took note of everything that was written in an article that you accidentally opened and read on a fishy website entitled, 'Signs that your partner is falling out of love.'

You thought it would help you avoid conflict with a future partner, it would help you evade an impending heartbreak, but nothing can prepare you for the real world, it seems.

Your boyfriend, Park Seonghwa, was the definition of a picture perfect man.

He's kind, respectful and loving. He had all the love languages.

He never shunned away from skinship, and most of the time, he's the one who's initiating it. Giving you hugs and kisses even in public without any ounce of shame.

Even when he's busy, he still gives you the time of his day. Often, he would choose to lose sleep if it means that he'll be able to talk and see you after a long, tiring day at work.

He's also the type to buy 'just because' gifts. Randomly walking around a park then he'll see this cute bunny keychain, buying it immediately so he can give it to you because the bunny reminds him of you.

Fixing collars, tying shoelaces, cooking you food— he does it all, and naturally too. The way he pampers you like a mother hen is the sweetest thing you have ever seen in a man.

The most important thing though? It's his ability to listen and soothe all your worries away. He tells you that if you're overthinking, you can simply say it to him and he'll gladly give you all the assurance that you need.

So, what went wrong? Where did it go wrong? Is there something wrong with you?

The situation at hand made you question yourself, then again, are you really the problem here?

"The least you can give me is a reasonable explanation!" you yelled, gripping Seonghwa's arm that was holding his suitcase, attempting to stop him from leaving you without any form of closure.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" he snapped, raising his usual soft voice at you, something that he has never done before.

"A reason! Explanation, anything! Why are you suddenly breaking up with me?!" you blinked rapidly, the itchiness in your throat makes it harder for you to breathe, and the sinking feeling of dread in your stomach is urging you to vomit.

This is so fucking messed up.

Just last night, Seonghwa was fine. He even made love to you in your shared bed, whispering how good you are for him.

Last week, he brought you flowers. Last last week, he took you to a nice restaurant for dinner. Last month, he took you to Maldives for a summer getaway.

Nothing changed and everything felt the same, thus, the current happenings don't make sense.

You come home from work and the next thing you know, your significant other of how many years are mumbling nonsense of going separate ways. That you two are better off without the other.

You just don't fucking understand what the hell went wrong.

"I don't love you anymore."

You never knew that a mere sentence that is composed of five words is more than enough to break your heart, your world.

He doesn't love you anymore?

"Since when?" you weakly muttered, wanting answers that will probably hurt you more.

"For the last few months."

You winced, there were no signs of him not loving you. He must be lying, his shaky chocolate orbs say otherwise.

"Okay." you speak, no more energy to fight for him, to fight for a battle that is not worth the blood, sweat, and tears.

Just like that, you watched him walk away. Out of your home, out of your life, and you were left alone. Crying your heart out, gripping your chest as it physically hurts as well, the pain searing through you.

Two weeks later.

Your friend, Yeji, was making a ruckus, she was basically shoving her phone in your face.

"Y/N, look! Isn't this your ex?"

You peeked at the device, and your heart dropped along with your mood.

What the fuck?

That is your only reaction at the photo posted on Seonghwa's instagram because it hasn't been a month, and here he is, with a girl that he's being lovey-dovey with.

A girl.. a familiar one.

"That fucker." you uttered menacingly, your fists tightly clenched on your lap as your friends worriedly glanced at you.

Isn't that the one you asked him about? The fucking girl that was lingering around him all the damn time like a wretched fly. He told she's nothing but a co-worker.

Sure. Kissing your co-worker on the cheeksin a field of maple trees is very professional, isn't it?

You are not sure what to feel. He broke up with you so he could date that girl, it seems.

Should you be thankful? Or should you curse him until he dies?

Either way, now that you're thinking about it, maybe he really didn't fall out of love with you, just that he found someone that he loves more. There was no proof, but there was evidence of his upcoming betrayal.

The way he was always on his phone, and maybe, all the things he had done for you before were nothing but distractions so you wouldn't notice what he was doing behind your back.

A lady's gut never lies, yet you choose to ignore it, and this is what you get.

You laughed yet the tears dripping down your cheeks is the complete opposite of your actions.

Not once did you hear him apologize during the argument about the break-up, and my god, did you hate him so much for entering your life like a storm and leaving such a mess behind.

Park Seonghwa is no cheater, but he is a raging traitor.

Then again, no one is at fault here but you, as you should've seen this coming. You should've been alert, using your rationality instead of your useless heart, and now you're paying the price for his treason.

taglist:

@acciocriativity @iarayara @stolasisyourparent @shakalakaboomboo @xdannix @nsixns

[exhaled-spirals]

how do you have this myriad of quotes, that too on wildly different topics? do you just read a lot? what all do you read, why, how do you pick out books, how fast do you read? i wanna know everything!

Hi! Most of the quotes I share are from books I've read, although now and then I come across an interesting excerpt from a book I haven't read and I post it on here, so I can remember later why I added this title to my to-read list. (Else I tend to lose interest in the books that have been waiting on that list for years and end up removing them, not remembering why I added them in the first place...) I don't think I read very fast, I just spend a whole lot of time reading, it's my #1 hobby!

I add books to my to-read list very whimsically... The other day I bought 7 books in a secondhand bookshop, then read an article in a science magazine that made me want to read the book this scientist had written, then drove past some ruins on my way home and thought it would be nice to read some books about ruins, so I googled it and found 4 promising books, so at the end of the day I had added 12 new titles to my bottomless pit of a to-read list.

I'm not sure how I end up picking books from it—I do a lot of seasonal reading (eerie Gothic novels are enhanced by autumn and conversely!) But also I went to look at some books I've read recently, and I had a good reason to read each one when I did:

The Palace of Dreams, Ismail Kadare: I woke up from a messed-up dream and decided now (a Monday at 3am) was the perfect time to start reading this book about a dream-analysis factory

Sueños en el umbral, Fatema Mernissi: it was August and I was looking for a seasonal read, and this one is set in Morocco which made it feel summery to me. (I really enjoyed it, I recommend it if you like women's memoirs. It's called Dreams of Trespass in English)

Disent les imbéciles, Nathalie Sarraute: Someone said something dumb near me which reminded me that Nathalie Sarraute wrote a book called "So say the fools". I wouldn't recommend reading it in translation considering she is barely readable in French (I like her)

The Great Zoo of China, Matthew Reilly: life was stressful in early September and I wanted a mindless read with monsters and explosions (and exploding monsters), so this was perfect

Sto je muškarac bez brkova, Ante Tomić (I read it in French): a friend was travelling to Croatia which was a sign from the universe that I needed to read the one Croatian novel on my to-read list. I don't remember when and why I added it

La Chaîne éternelle, Fernand Gregh: the political situation in my country is shit so it's time to read some early-1900s alexandrine poetry, since poetry is the opposite of politics

So I would say my method for picking books is to add absolutely whatever to my to-read list following random impulses and let them ferment in there for years being vaguely aware of their existence, until the stars align to make this book suddenly relevant or necessary :)

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let Me Love You - 8 || End

Character: college!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: On a mysterious, rainy night, Bucky witnesses a distressing encounter involving his crush.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

You only muttered a noncommittal "hmm" when you heard your father's words. Matthew, on the other side of the phone, could only sigh.

Before the divorce, you would chat with him, sharing your thoughts and feelings. But now, your responses were short and distant: "I'm fine," "Yeah," "No," and "Thanks."

"I'm sorry. It's all because of my mistakes," Matthew said, his voice heavy with regret.

'That's right,' you thought bitterly, your grip tightening around the phone.

Matthew's voice softened, filled with a sadness you couldn't ignore. "Don't think about it. Get some rest."

You nodded silently, even though he couldn't see you, feeling the emotional chasm between you both widen further.

After ending the call with your father, you felt lonely. Just then, your phone buzzed with a message from Bucky: "Good night."

Despite the earlier conversation, a small smile tugged at your lips, a warmth spreading through you. Bucky's simple message felt like a lifeline, a reminder that someone cared.

🎓

The next day, you felt a knot of nervousness in your stomach as you stepped onto the university campus. The thought of facing everyone, especially after the recent events, was daunting.

Bucky was beside you, his presence a comforting anchor in your anxiety. He glanced at you, noticing the tension in your expression.

"Hey," he said gently, "you've got this. I'm here with you."

You gave him a small, grateful smile, trying to draw strength from his support. "Thanks, Bucky. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He nodded, his eyes full of reassurance. "You don't have to worry about that. You're not alone in this."

While walking to class, you and Bucky noticed that nobody even glanced your way. It seemed like everyone was absorbed in their phones, gasping and starting animated discussions.

Suddenly, a cheering scream erupted from afar. You looked around, puzzled. "Something to celebrate?" you asked, glancing at Bucky.

Steve joined both of you, a wide grin on his face. "It's for the football team. Especially Ari." He held out his phone, showing you the photos.

You gasped, your eyes widening as you read the article.

"They chose Ari Levinson instead of Lloyd," said Steve. The headline and accompanying photos detailed the unexpected turn of events.

Bucky leaned in to get a better look, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Wow, that's a big change. I wonder what happened."

The campus football team had two standout players: Lloyd Hansen and Ari Levinson.

Lloyd was the main star, possessing a charisma that the camera loved. He thrived in the spotlight, his confident demeanor drawing attention on and off the field.

In contrast, Ari preferred quiet, shying away from the limelight. Despite his reserved nature, his skills on the field were undeniable.

But how did such a sudden change occur when everyone knew Lloyd was the chosen one?

You remembered what your father had said the previous night.

Reaching for your phone, you called him. "Dad?"

Matthew answered, his voice calm yet firm. "No one will underestimate you this time."

Unbeknownst to you, your father was at the campus, standing in the headmaster's office with the football coach and Lloyd. He looked out from behind the blinds, looking at you from afar.

Matthew ended the call and turned his attention to Lloyd, who sat with his head down, looking pale and defeated.

Matthew stepped closer, his voice low and stern. "Is this how you repay me? You promised to protect my daughter."

Lloyd clenched his fist, his knuckles white with tension. He knew Matthew's history as a former NFL player and the football coach at their previous high school. He had never anticipated that Matthew had the power to derail his path to the professional league.

Matthew's presence was imposing, a silent reminder of his authority.

It was Matthew who had trained Lloyd and provided the recommendation that helped him secure the scholarship. Some called him biased since Lloyd was dating his daughter, but as long as Lloyd made you happy and showed big potential, Matthew was willing to support him.

But now, this kid had cheated on his daughter. This sinful mistake reminded Matthew of his own past missteps.

He decided to teach Lloyd a valuable lesson. Not everything could go as he planned.

Matthew adjusted his jacket buttons and looked at Lloyd with a steely gaze. "You're good. Keep training. Perhaps another team will scout you."

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Lloyd to ponder the gravity of his actions and the consequences they had brought upon him.

Lloyd clenched his fists, frustration boiling as he punched his knees in anger. His life felt crumbling before his eyes, all because of that woman.

Where the heck was she now?

Nicky stood in the bustling airport, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. She had paid the hacker to erase her digital footprint, to free herself from the consequences of her actions. Yet, despite her efforts, an ominous sense of impending doom lingered in the air.

As she went to the priority lounge, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. With trembling hands, she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hi, Dad."

The voice on the other end was filled with disappointment and anger. "You still brave enough to talk? You idiot. I thought you had quit from those bullying things. Your mistakes will ruin the company."

Nicky gasped, feeling the weight of her father's words like a physical blow.

"I've received the files of your bad deeds," her father continued, accusing. "What the heck is wrong with you, Nicky?"

Desperation flooded Nicky's senses as she tried to find the right words to explain. "Dad... wait. I can explain—"

But her father's voice cut through her protestations. "You want to leave the country. Good. Don't ever come back."

The line went dead, leaving Nicky feeling as though her world had crumbled around her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to process the magnitude of her father's words.

As if on cue, the cashier at the priority lounge interrupted her thoughts with a grim announcement. "Miss, your credit card has been declined."

Nicky's heart sank further, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. Everything she had planned, her escape from the consequences of her actions, was slipping through her fingers.

Nicky wondered who had orchestrated this downfall and who had made such an effort to help Y/N.

It was all because of Bucky.

He had chosen an investigation team to find out, just as he had predicted. And the culprit was none other than Nicky herself.

Instead of resorting to public humiliation, Bucky had chosen a different path—blackmail. He understood the power dynamics at play, knowing that hitting Nicky where it hurt the most—her privileged lifestyle and her father's reputation—would be the most effective form of punishment.

Nicky had always been a spoiled princess, shielded from the consequences of her actions by her doting father. But now, with her pillars of support crumbling around her, she was left vulnerable and exposed.

Bucky remained at the university, orchestrating events from behind the scenes. He calculated his moves carefully, knowing that Nicky's downfall would have far-reaching consequences.

As Nicky's world began to crumble, Bucky couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Justice had been served, and he had played a crucial role in ensuring that the truth came to light.

Karma has hit her like a ton of bricks.

🏈

After the aftermath, you resumed attending classes like usual. However, you couldn't help but notice Lloyd's somber demeanor as he walked through the halls like a mere shadow of his former self. It tugged at your heartstrings, prompting you to take action.

A few days later, as you and Bucky walked side by side, you unexpectedly crossed paths with Lloyd. This time, there was a subtle shift in his demeanor. As he drew closer, he whispered a heartfelt "Thank you."

A small smile graced your lips in response.

The reason behind Lloyd's gratitude stemmed from your intervention. You had reached out to your father, pleading for Lloyd to be given a second chance. Lloyd received an offer from another team.

You understood that everyone makes mistakes, especially in their youth, and you couldn't bear to see Lloyd lose his passion and purpose.

Having grown up alongside Lloyd, you knew that football was more than just a game to him—it was his life and his dreams. If it were taken away from him, he would be left adrift, without direction or purpose.

So, you did what you could to help him reclaim his footing and pursue his aspirations once more.

You couldn't bear the thought of being the one to crush his dreams, not after everything you and he had been through together.

It was the least you could do to offer him this final gift, a chance to reignite the fire within him and pursue his aspirations once more.

🎓

As time passed, graduation day finally arrived. The campus buzzed with excitement as every student donned their caps, gowns, and proudly held their diplomas.

Amidst the sea of graduates, you watched with pride as your boyfriend, Bucky, took the stage as the valedictorian to deliver his speech.

It was a moment of triumph, made even sweeter by the journey you both had taken together. Bucky's patience and unwavering support had finally won you over, and he now held a special place in your heart as your boyfriend.

Turning around, you spotted your parents sitting together in the crowd. Despite the awkwardness that lingered between them, you were grateful that they managed to put aside their differences for this important day.

Your gaze then shifted to Lloyd, who had undergone a noticeable transformation. Gone was his once-smug attitude, replaced by a newfound humility and maturity.

Though you only caught glimpses of him from afar, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his growth, silently wishing him the best in his future endeavors.

And as for Nicky, rumors circulated that she was stuck in another country, working hard to find her way back home. While her fate remained uncertain, you couldn't help but hope that she would find redemption and a path forward.

As the ceremony drew close, you couldn't help but reflect on the tumultuous journey that had led you to this momentous day. From the heartbreak of discovering your first love's betrayal to the humiliation inflicted by his other girl, it had been a path fraught with pain and challenges.

Yet, amidst the darkness, there were glimmers of light—your father's unwavering support and the gentle presence of your new boyfriend, who was a beacon of sweetness and kindness in your life, like an angel sent from above.

Despite the trials and tribulations, you felt a sense of optimism. With the scars of the past serving as reminders of your strength and resilience, you looked towards the future with hope and determination.

Each step forward was a testament to your courage and resilience, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them head-on, guided by the love and support surrounding you.

-end-

Thank you for everyone who reading this stories🩷💙🩷

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Author Note:

Hey friends,

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[stellaestra]

I look into the spaces in-between in search of you (I miss you more than anything)

pairing: tim drake/mc [reader] author's note: old ideas from high school for me to write excerpts about as per usual and tim's my muse to explore these ideas on unless stated otherwise, if you see this posted on ao3, yes that is me too dw

this is unfortunately very self-indulgent hehe <3 mb babes p.s. this cld be taken as both ways? romantic? platonic? take your pick lol

word count: 1511 words

cw: um, mentions of injury? unedited // no beta read, we'll die like men here

---

It had been days since the last time Tim had slept ever since he found footage of someone that seemed eerily familiar to you, clad in a bright red jacket that was practically your signature back then. It was one of your favourite jackets after all.

He was getting a little too frantic and was rather adamant about them being you. He wanted to prove to everyone that you weren't dead but alive. 

He would delay the process of falling asleep if he had to.

“Red Robin.” He spoke into the mic.

“Access approved.” The artificial intelligence responded back.

“Where are they hiding you?” The words trailed off, his eyes were already glued to the screen. 

His icy blues scanned through the files; that includes, footage, clips and articles – each and every one of them, trying to search a certain code-name belonging to someone he once knew very well like the back of his hand and grew extremely fond of over the course of the years of knowing them.

The only footage that could have matched your physique was that single footage alone and it irked him to no end. 

He was already rather obsessed with the idea of trying to search for you and none of his family members nor friends managed to deter him away from his work.

However, there was a single tiny nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him of the possible reality that there was no way you would come back unless some kind of miracle brought you back to life like what had happened to Jason and he never really touched that particular topic whenever asked.

Only vague answers from him. He would always end the conversation before it started.

—

Meanwhile, you weren't quite pleased with the fact that you had to drop out of your current school and had to take online classes to finish your high school education for the sake of a diploma to show you completed everything that was necessary to proceed further into higher education. 

Well, at least there was some compensation for it, the organisation you were under was paying for your education so you couldn't complain as much as you would like. Whether you like it or not, you need to be under everyone's radar for the time being because you were relatively vulnerable while you were in the middle of recovering.

It was rather unfortunate that you had obtained a very life-threatening wound months ago, it took you ages to finally feel like your body was yours and move it the way your brain intended it to. 

The phantom pain of being stabbed was another thing to deal with in the midst of doing your everyday life now. 

Your recovery period was a lot more sedentary than you would have liked too. There was always a constant itch to do workout routines that was far too intense for your weakened state at the moment.

All in all, this was something they told you to do and it was to keep prying eyes away from you until you reached full recovery before being deployed back onto the field.

Staying with your grandma was pretty nice too, it had been quite some time since your family last visited her and it was always annual visits at the end of the school year for Christmas. 

Your other issue living in a more secluded area was, of course, none other than net signal stability. It kind of helped you to be harder to be detected and traced back but it still irked you that you would need to wait longer for your files to be downloaded.

Regardless, life has been much simpler and far less hectic than your usual ones back home. It was nice to be able to breathe for once instead of being dogpiled by both your school tasks and your other responsibilities.

It wasn't easy for your uncle to convince your parents for you to move away for your recovery period after your so-called hit and run accident which was a cover-up for your actual one. 

—

It had taken several months for Tim to get the final clue needed to prove you weren't dead and he finally got it now —

“Found you.” Tim muttered under his breath, sounding almost unhinged — wide icy blue eyes zeroed in on another footage he managed to scrape through the worldwide database, fingers hovering his keyboard. 

The teen had immediately booked the next flight available to where you were now regardless of the schedules that had lined up for him. He couldn't give a flying damn about it right this second now that he finally located your whereabouts they so desperately tried to conceal your presence from everyone.

He jumped to his closet, scavenging through his mess of clothes to throw into his carry-on luggage bag for him to bring with on his impromptu trip.

The next morning, he made his way to Gotham’s airport without so much as leaving a note to mention where he would be. He doesn't want anything to risk his solid decision.

The dawning realisation fell upon him when he touched-down at your home country airport. He was finally here. He was finally able to see you now. 

His next hurdle was to track you down to your very exact location and it wasn't going to be a breeze for him – he hated to admit and they covered your tracks far too well for any mistakes to happen. 

It took him roughly a week or so to get a clue of you. 

—

Tim spotted your silhouette from miles away before he made a beeline for you. He called out your name almost desperately, causing you to turn back and face him. 

You looked as pretty as the last time he saw you. A sheepish look plastered your features as you faced him fully. 

“...Found you.” He exhaled out, he was a little out of breath from sprinting to your spot. Call him crazy or whatever. He wasn't going to lose sight of you. 

“...Uh, hi, hey, Timbo,” you chuckled, your eyes betrayed you as there was a look of guilt behind them despite you trying to play it off coolly, “took you long enough, huh?” 

He remained silent as he stared at you, soaking in your presence and trying to etch everything about you right now into his brain. His icy blue eyes were starting to intimidate you right now because you rarely ever felt so exposed in someone's presence before. 

“Heh, well, don't let it get to your head,” you joked, running your fingers through your hair, “the only reason you were able to find me was because I let myself be found.”

“Shut up, I'm very upset with you right now,” His words sounded wet, as if he was fighting back his tears even though there was a deep frown set on his lips, jaws clenched and shoulders straightened (tensed). There was nothing else that indicated that he was about to cry other than his voice that carelessly betrayed him.

He had managed to trace you back to your home country was one thing, the other part was finding you at your exact location was another gamble.

He found you at the beachside of Sipitang, a town located in one of Sabah's district divisions, taking a walk while eating chicken wings skewers you had bought in a plastic dangling in your hands.

“Why, you want a reward for finding me sooner than intended?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at him, “the only thing I have on me right now is my chicken wings if you want some?”

He doesn't know what to do with himself nor what he would like to say to you now that he has found you, safe and sound in Borneo Island. He wanted to pull you into his arms so badly but he withholded himself from doing so because you would look at him weird for even attempting such a feat. 

You've known Tim for several years now and you would like to think you knew him from the inside out enough to take notice of his little quirks and decipher them to how he would like to be perceived as.

You opened your arms wide, inviting him for the hug that the other boy was trying to force himself not to give.

It took him a few moments to finally give in, and pushed his pride away to embrace you, taking you into his arms and feeling the warmth you gave away through your body. He hid his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent.

“I miss you.”

“I'm very much aware,” you chuckled into his shoulders, squeezing him, “don't think I didn't notice you snooping around our database, you loser."

“I need to prove to them you aren't dead and I need to see it with my own eyes.” He admitted, wounding his arms tighter around you.

“Of course you’d do that, you stalker.” 

“I really did miss you.”

“Me too.”

[hogwartseighthyear]

wax paper

"your girl" series: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | (part 4)

(can be read as a standalone)

pairing: neville longbottom x fem!reader word count: 3.7k tags: rated G, house-neutral reader, fluff, established relationship, maybe a smidge of angst, no Y/N used summary: neville introduces you to his parents. note: cue me strolling in like it hasn't been over a year and a half since i last posted a fic. this is based on a request i lost a long time ago for something with neville's family (iirc). i might come back later and give it another edit since this was a bit hasty, but for now, enjoy and thanks for reading! (cross-posted here to AO3)

After spending the last several years living through an outright war, the months immediately following Voldemort’s demise were tinged with a sense of unreality.

You mourned for the lives lost and the destruction that had been wrought. You slept fitfully and replayed the worst moments of the Battle in your nightmares. Sudden, loud noises sent you diving to the ground with your wand in hand, reminding you of crackling spellfire, flashes of green light hurtling overhead, smoke in the air and screams ringing in your ears.

Yet, for every moment of grief and pain, there was hope and happiness in equal measure. Wizarding Britain was gradually reassembling. The Ministry was being gutted from the inside out, Aurors were hunting down wayward Death Eaters, repairs were underway at Hogwarts. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t look so bleak.

And somehow, in the midst of it all, you’d started dating Neville Longbottom.

You’d both confessed your feelings just after the Battle had finished, when you and Neville finally managed to escape the cacophony of noise and emotion in the Great Hall and retreat to the quiet shores of the lake. The two of you were still singed and bloodied and covered in dirt, but it hadn’t mattered in the slightest. When you finally kissed him, it felt like coming home.

It was difficult to separate you and Neville that following summer. In all honesty, the amount of time you were spending together might have been excessive, if not bordering on codependent, but considering the hell you had just endured, neither of your families voiced any complaints. May, June, and July passed in a languid procession of warm afternoons in the back garden and hours of general lazing about around each other’s homes as you recuperated from, well, your whole adolescence.

You and Neville had already accepted Professor McGonagall’s offer to return to Hogwarts to properly complete your education, and while you were looking forward to it, you knew that it wouldn’t be easy. So, you greatly appreciated the chance to take a break from life before the fall term rolled around.

One day in early August, you were doing just that, lounging on the couch and reading a particularly interesting chapter in Dragon Species of Ancient Mesopotamia, when the fireplace whooshed with a burst of green flames. To your surprise, it was Neville who stepped through the Floo into your living room.

In a rare turn of events, you and Neville didn’t actually have plans to see each other until tomorrow. Today, he, Ginny, and Luna were scheduled to meet in Diagon Alley for an interview with Farida Wolff of the Daily Prophet, who was interested in writing an article on the student rebellion the three of them led during the Death Eaters’ rule over Hogwarts. Afterwards, Neville was planning on paying his parents a visit at St. Mungo’s; fetching money from his Gringotts vault; getting fitted at Madam Malkin’s for new robes; picking up treats for Seymour, the Longbottom family owl, at Eeylops Owl Emporium; then joining his gran in the evening for a belated birthday dinner with his great-uncle Algie and great-aunt Enid.

A glance at the clock told you that while Neville’s interview must have just wrapped up, he definitely hadn’t had time to finish the rest of his errands in downtown London already. There was no reason for him to stop by your place. And yet here he was, wearing a rather nervous expression.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” you asked, sitting upright, a worried frown quickly overtaking your face.

“Hi. Um. Yes,” Neville said haltingly.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “Did something happen during the interview?”

“No, no, the interview was fine.”

You waited for further explanation, but he remained silent.

“Neville?”

He dithered for a few more moments before taking a deep, steadying breath and finally looking at you.

“I was just about to go see my parents,” he said, standing a bit straighter, “and… I was wondering if… you’d like to come meet them?”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Neville said, this time with more conviction. “I know they don’t really— They can’t exactly, you know—” He cut himself off, his mouth twisting. “But. I’ve already told them about us, and it would mean a lot to me.”

“Okay,” you said, unable to keep the slight tremor out of your voice. “I’ll come. Of course I’ll come.” 

Meeting your boyfriend’s parents for the first time was nerve-racking on principle, but meeting Neville’s parents was especially so, considering how fiercely guarded he was when it came to them.

He’d told you what happened to his mum and dad during the First War, but it had always been a sensitive topic. You remembered how agitated he’d been when his friends ran into them at St. Mungo’s a few Christmases ago. Neville was protective of his parents; he didn’t want anyone witnessing them in their vulnerable state. And yet here he was, asking you to meet them.

No pressure, right?

You smoothed your hands over your lap and looked down at your outfit: the soft, comfortable one you’d been lounging around in all day while you read. “Oh! I should change before we go. And fix my hair. Shit, wait, give me a few minutes,” you babbled as you stood from the couch, anxiety already churning in your stomach, but Neville caught you before you could rush past him.

“Love, you look fine,” he said.

“I look like I just rolled out of bed!”

You were too busy fretting over your appearance to notice the way Neville rolled his eyes, though his expression was still unmistakably fond. You refocused only when he put his hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him.

“You’re beautiful, I promise, but”—he stressed the word when you went to open your mouth again—“if it makes you feel better, I was going to suggest we Disillusion ourselves anyway.”

It took you a moment to catch on to his reasoning. “Oh,” you said with a sympathetic wince. “How bad was it this time?”

“At least ten different people asked for my autograph.” Neville kept his voice low, as if he were saying something scandalous. “I tried telling everyone I didn’t have a quill, but then some of them conjured quills for me, so I just signed what they asked. I felt like the world’s biggest prat!”

Fame was something Neville was still struggling to get used to. He’d been largely shielded from it these past few months, considering that the two of you had been living like hermits. But on the rare occasion he happened to wander out into public, there was almost always someone who recognized the Boy Who Killed Voldemort’s Snake.

“We’ll have to brainstorm some new excuses,” you said with a resolute nod.

Really, you should have remembered that magic exists when you came up with the quill idea, but to be fair, it was better than Neville’s plan to claim that he was sick with the highly-contagious doxy flu anytime a stranger tried to approach him.

After putting on a pair of shoes and casting your respective Disillusionment Charms, you followed Neville through the fireplace, Flooing directly into St. Mungo’s reception area.

The chaos inside momentarily stopped you in your tracks. You’d never had a reason to visit St. Mungo’s before, and you couldn’t help but gawk at the various witches and wizards gathered in the large waiting room. One man swaying unsteadily in line appeared to have his legs spelled on backwards. A woman whose entire body was covered in green boils napped in a nearby chair. There was even a man seated against the opposite wall with a continuous stream of soap bubbles pouring from his ears and floating up to the ceiling.

Neville, of course, didn’t seem to be phased by any of it. He’d surely grown used to such sights after visiting for so many years.

“This way,” he said, taking your hand and leading you through the double doors past the inquiries desk. He took out his wand to remove the Disillusionment Charm only once you’d reached a quiet stairwell.

“That felt a bit… unauthorized,” you said, patting nervously at your hair and hoping you were still presentable. “Will we get in trouble if someone finds out we haven’t, I don’t know, signed in anywhere?”

“No, they keep track of everyone who passes through the Floo. Whoever’s currently attending mum and dad probably already knows we’re on our way. Although”—Neville sent you an apologetic look—“they’re on the fourth floor.”

The last time you climbed four flights of stairs at once was during the Battle of Hogwarts, caught in a panicked crowd of students rushing through the castle and ducking spellfire. The months since then had been, for the most part, very slow-paced and sedentary. Your legs were not going to like this.

“Right. Well.” You straightened and took in a big breath. “Up we go.”

You and Neville were both huffing and puffing slightly by the time you reached the fourth floor. In the brief pause the two of you took to catch your breath, you made a mental note to find a magical solution to make climbing stairs more tolerable. Some sort of numbing charm below the knees? No, tripping would be entirely too easy. A Feather-Light Charm? Possibly, though if you cast it too strongly you might be liable to launch yourself over the whole staircase and into the wall.

Whatever. You’d figure it out later.

You followed Neville along the Spell Damage corridor, straight to a door at the far end, which happened to be the entrance to the Janus Thickey Ward. He knocked, and a few moments later a lock clicked from the other side and a middle-aged witch in green Healer robes answered.

“Neville, dear!” she greeted, reaching up to give his cheek a fond little pinch.

“Hello, Miriam,” Neville said, enduring her fawning. You had to hold back a laugh.

“I’ll say, it was such a wonderful surprise to see you were stopping by. And with company, no less.” Miriam turned her twinkling eyes towards you.

You introduced yourself, giving her hand a polite shake. “I’m Neville’s—” You paused, not sure how you should label your relationship in front of Miriam. The fact that you and Neville had started dating was something only your immediate families knew, so far.

You cast a questioning look at Neville. He nodded at you, a small smile curving his mouth.

“—girlfriend,” you finished.

All your other current anxieties aside, saying it out loud still made you feel embarrassingly giddy.

“Girlfriend!” Miriam exclaimed, beaming at you and Neville. “Oh, isn’t that just delightful! I’m Miriam Strout; I’m so pleased to meet you, darling. Come in, come in.” Healer Strout ushered the two of you through the doorway.

The Janus Thickey Ward was a long, open room with a number of beds lining the walls, each sectioned off by a set of floral-patterned curtains. Despite the somewhat sterile feel of the tiled floors and the off-white walls, the residents here were long term, and the collection of personal effects made the room a bit friendlier: things like knitted blankets, family photos, stacks of books, house slippers. You could even recognize a song by the Forty Phantoms playing on a radio somewhere nearby.

“Your father’s been a bit sleepy this morning, Neville, but he and the missus were both awake the last time I checked. I’m sure they’ll both be happy to see you,” Healer Strout said, locking the entrance once again with a wave of her wand. “Are either of you thirsty? We have a new elf in the kitchens that makes the most excellent cup of masala chai.”

“That’s alright, Miriam. We’ve got it from here,” Neville said.

“Thank you, though,” you added on.

“Of course, just tell me if you need anything.” And with that, Healer Strout stepped away to tend to a nearby patient who was standing on top of his mattress, stretching to pin a photo to the wall amidst an already-excessive number of portraits. All of which appeared to be self portraits.

He looked awfully familiar, in fact.

Wait. That wasn’t…?

“Gilderoy, you silly man, what have I told you about climbing up there?” Healer Strout called out fondly. “Falling down and bumping your head is the last thing you need!”

You whipped around to look at Neville. “Lockhart?” you whispered.

He nodded with a grimace. “Don’t make eye contact, he’ll take it as an invitation to show you his fan mail collection.”

The two of you hurried away.

Neville lost a bit of his steam as you neared the end of the ward, slowing his steps and running a nervous hand through his hair. You were nervous too, but you still made the effort to send him a supportive smile. He returned it, a bit wobbly, but there nonetheless.

And then before you knew it, you were standing in front of the floral curtain drawn around the very last two beds. “Mum? Dad?” Neville said. He grabbed the edge and pulled it open.

You’d seen photos of Alice and Frank Longbottom from their Auror days; Neville’s gran had several hanging proudly in her home. You’d always been struck by Neville’s likeness to his mother. Sure, he’d ended up with his father’s height and smile, but the rest belonged to Alice: his coloring, his round cheeks, his gentle eyes.

Now, though, it was evident that the life and verve you’d seen in those photos had been drained from Neville’s parents over the years. The familial resemblance was much more difficult to pick out in their current state.

Frank was propped up in his hospital bed with a heavy quilt draped over his lap, donning a thick, knitted jumper despite the warm weather. He gazed vacantly out the nearest window, which had been spelled to show a pleasant view of the English countryside. Meanwhile, Alice was sat in an armchair between the two beds, wearing a pink cardigan over her nightdress and fiddling with something small and papery in her hands.

They were both gaunt and pale as a sheet. Their hair had turned white, and their skin had creased and wrinkled, aging them far beyond their years. Neither Frank nor Alice reacted to their son’s arrival, and you had to wonder if they even realized anyone was there at all.

“Hi guys,” Neville said quietly, stepping forward and sitting himself on edge of his mother’s bed.

It took you a moment, but you eventually managed to unstick your feet from the floor, making sure to close the curtain behind you before taking a seat next to Neville.

He cleared his throat and continued. “It’s Tuesday, August 4th, 1998. I turned eighteen last week. Sorry I didn’t stop by sooner for my birthday, but I wanted to bring someone along this time.” Neville introduced you then, telling his parents your name.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom,” you said, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

Again, they showed no reaction. Not that you thought you would get one out of them. You just weren’t used to it yet: speaking to someone so unresponsive.

Neville, however, was clearly well practiced in these one-sided conversations with his parents. “I know you’ve, erm, heard quite a lot about her,” he continued, casting a somewhat sheepish glance your way. “I just figured you should finally meet each other, now that we’re together. Though, really, I should’ve— I should’ve brought her ‘round a long time ago. She survived meeting Gran when we were twelve, after all.”

You huffed a laugh, remembering how terrifying the formidable Augusta Longbottom had seemed back then, nearly making you sick with nerves when faced with her hard, assessing eyes and stern tone. Neville had to assure you multiple times that his gran didn’t hate you the way you feared she might. In fact, after taking some time to warm up to you, she actually grew to be quite fond of you, often asking after you in her letters while Neville was away at Hogwarts.

You’d always remained quietly cautious of her, knowing how easily and often her sharp words could cut through Neville. There was no doubt Augusta loved him, surely, but that didn’t mean her standards for her grandson weren’t high, or that the comparisons she made between him and his father weren’t harsh. It was only over the course of the last year that Neville had finally gained his gran’s approval, and some of the bumps in their relationship seemed to have smoothed over.

“It wasn’t so bad. We get along pretty well these days, I think,” you said, looking to Frank as you spoke of his mother.

You weren’t expecting to find anything other than Frank’s blank stare still fixed on the window, unmoving, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest—which is why it was so startling when he sat forward and rose to his feet with a quiet grunt. You straightened your posture, briefly thinking he was going to approach you, but Frank’s eyes skipped over you and Neville completely as he shuffled past his bed.

Neville followed suit and stood. “Dad?”

“Is he okay?” you asked with a concerned frown.

“Yes, uh, he’s probably just headed to the washroom,” Neville said, already trailing after his father. “I’ll walk him there. We’ll be right back.”

They both passed through the curtain, where you heard Healer Strout call out, “You boys alright?”

“All good, Miriam, I’ve got him!”

That left you alone with Alice.

You floundered, unsure how to fill the silence between you, punctuated only by the crinkling of whatever Alice was still turning over in her hands. You tried to think of what a mother might like to speak about with her son’s girlfriend upon their first meeting, but you didn’t exactly have a frame of reference for this sort of thing. The only common ground you could find with her on short notice was, well, Neville.

“Neville is really good at Herbology,” you blurted. Then, sheepishly, “…You probably already know that, though.”

Great start.

“It’s what most people know about him. I mean, people who actually knew him before the Battle.” You realized a moment too late that the reminder that her son lived through the horrors of war might not be well received by Alice—assuming there was a chance she could understand you, even if she couldn’t respond—and you quickly moved on. “I struggled with it more the further along in school we got. I’m pretty sure the only reason I managed to pass my Herbology O.W.L. was because of Neville. He made this for me while we were revising that year, see?”

You reached underneath the collar of your shirt and pulled out the necklace that hung there more often than not. The pendant was a petal Neville had plucked from the flutterby bush the two of you had spent time tending to in one of the greenhouses. With the right combination of charms—and some help from Hermione, he’d later admitted—the petal had been hardened and polished, as though encased in glass.

You remembered how the urge to grab his face and kiss him had swooped through you when Neville presented you with the gift after your exams, and you remembered how little that urge had surprised you, even then.

“The fact that we only recently started dating feels rather ridiculous now, looking back on everything,” you muttered, rubbing your finger across the smooth edge of the petal as you peered down at it. “I can’t even pinpoint when I started… fancying Neville. I suppose I’ve always loved him in one way or another.”

You looked up to Alice, feeling somewhat shy and hot in the face after sharing something so honest, and found that her own gaze had risen to settle on your necklace. You stilled your hand and held it out for her to see. She stared for a long moment before returning to her fidgeting. Except this time, she began twisting something, the crinkling sound getting louder.

You leaned forward for a better look at what Alice held in her hands. It was a piece of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, you realized. The was a whole dish of it sitting on the nightstand behind her.

She unwrapped the gum and placed it in her mouth, then held out the wrapper for you.

“Oh… alright,” you said, taking the wrapper. Did she want you to toss it for her? There was a small bin tucked next to the nightstand, but it was clearly within her reach. Uncertain what to do, you smoothed out the waxy piece of paper into a neat little rectangle, idly admiring the gold foil around the edges.

It wasn’t much longer before Neville and his father returned. Once Frank was situated in bed, Neville returned to his seat by your side, smiling at both you and his mother. However, he froze when he caught sight of the Drooble’s wrapper in your hand.

“Neville? Are you alright?” you asked.

“Is that—? Did she give that to you?” His wide eyes darted back to Alice, whose jaw was working as she chewed on her gum.

“Yes. Was she not supposed to? I can throw it away—”

“No!” Neville’s outburst made you pause from where you’d risen to your feet, and he grimaced at himself, urging you to sit back down with a gentle hand on your arm. “No, no, sorry. It’s fine.”

“Well, if you’re certain.”

“I am.” He hesitates for a moment. “She’s… giving you a gift. It’s all she has to give, really. But it’s for you.”

You looked over at Neville in surprise, emotion suddenly twisting inside your chest. You could see some of it reflected in his face, the crinkle of his eyes, the slope of his mouth. A face you loved so dearly, made of the two people sitting across from you.

You swallowed a bit roughly and held onto the wrapper with care. “Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom.”

Neville pulled you into his side and laid a kiss on your temple.

[brokenwinebox]

What’s Your Character’s Theme Song?

A song breakdown for the characters of Jeremy Allen White, Lionel Boyce, Matty Matheson, and Ricky Staffieri. It will discuss the connections other people and I made for the characters Carmy, Marcus, Neil Fak, and Ted Fak.

↓ long text below

Jeremy Allen White

Jeremy Allen White, who ironically, is about to play Bruce Springsteen in the upcoming Bruce Springsteen film, said that Carmy’s theme song would be “The Ties That Bind.”

The expression 'the tie that binds' is used to describe a common idea or belief that links people together. It can also be used plurally as 'the ties that bind'. For example, you may say: ''We are family, held together by the ties that bind. Nothing will tear us apart. (x)

This is when it gets interesting. The Ties That Bind is an opening song for his fifth album called The River.

The songs on The River reveal a tension between the need for community and the need to be alone. "The Ties That Bind", along with "Two Hearts" and "Out in the Street", is one of the key songs on the album about the need for community. (x)

This feels so incredibly reminiscent on the struggles of Carmy. His driving force to fully isolate himself to those he cares about while probably also feeling like he needs the people he’s pushed away.

This also reminded me of @espumado’s post The Night Of The Hunter & The River which was then talked about by @currymanganese’s post on the potential parallels between two romantic relationships in the The Night Of The Hunter and The Bear.

There’s so many weird horror elements in the show. Which is interesting because in this picture we see a revised 2nd edition of The Exorcist! So how farfetched is it to see those elements on the show. Especially this season!

I mentioned before in my post, “Fourth Wall (being broken)” that the Save It For Later song could be about Carmy being lost and it became a reflection to the season. I can’t help but wonder if Save It For Later could have multiple meanings for each character.

@happylikeasadsong broke down some lyrics of the song and explains what it could do with Sydney’s decision.

Lionel Boyce

Lionel Boyce said Sèrgio Mendes, “Ides Of March.” for his character Marcus’ before realizing that’s probably not the name of the song. It was actually “Waters of March”

Sèrgio Mendes is most known for his song, Mas Que Nada, which translates to whatever and anyway. In this article I read, they call him a bossa nova king and Mendes explains how life is about magical encounters.

This is probably a funny coincidence but I actually know a song named Soul Bossa Nova by Quincy Jones. It was playing on a playlist that’s about songs you’d hear during magic shows. (x) (x) (x)

Although, Ides of March wasn’t the name of the song and I write metas for The Bear (AKA I’m insane), I did research on both to see what I can find!

Ides of March, day in the ancient Roman calendar that falls on March 15 and is associated with misfortune and doom. It became renowned as the date on which Roman dictator Julius Caesar was assassinated in 44 bce and was further immortalized in the tragedy Julius Caesar by English dramatist William Shakespeare.

On the topic of William Shakespeare, @currymanganese has a post on The Bear being a super deconstructed Shakespearean pastoral comedy.

It was then corrected to Waters of March. I tried to find the meaning for that particular song by Sérgio Mendes but it all lead to “Water Of March” by Antônio Carlos Jobim.

The inspiration for "Águas de março" came from Rio de Janeiro's rainiest month. March is typically marked by sudden storms with heavy rains and strong winds that cause flooding in many places around the city. The lyrics and the music have a constant downward progression much like the water torrent from those rains flowing in the gutters, which typically would carry sticks, stones, bits of glass, and almost everything and anything. Antonio Carlos Jobim wrote the song during a visit to his family rancho, in the interior of Rio de Janeiro state amid a steady rainstorm which had turned the roads and landscape to mud.

sticks and stones may break my bones, (but words can never hurt me) - said in order to show that people cannot be hurt by unpleasant things that are said to them (x)

When it comes to mud, I was immediately reminded of @whenmemorydies’s post on Claire being clear [as] mud. (Which I’ll go a bit more into depth in another post). I’m also fairly certain @ago0112 talked about it as well!

I talked about the topic of glass in my previous meta, The Glass Table & The Glass Fish Tank, where I found parallels to Claire and Donna. Those comparisons got a little confirmed in the script of (2.02).

I did some research on the scripts about Claire on (2.02) as well.

In the post, there was a bit of a deep dive on the potential meaning of glass/shattered glass and here’s one of them I found a connection to.

Connection between the fragility of glass and the human condition: Glass can be tough, but it becomes fragile when it faces too much pressure. Similarly, people can be strong, but life's challenges can make us feel a bit delicate. The broken glass helps us see that we all have both strength and vulnerability inside us, teaching us about the balance between being tough and sensitive in our own lives.

When it talked about how broken glass helps us see that we all have both strength and vulnerability inside us, teaching us about the balance between being tough and sensitive in our own lives, I was reminded of this particular thebearfx’s post:

After that, I recalled dialogue that I wrote about in my post on Richie being a fox and a caterpillar. In this scene, Natalie and Richie talk about the soul of the dining room in (3x07).

Richie: [scoffs] “Dining room sounds like shit.” Natalie: “Like, the acoustics?” Richie: “No. It’s like, the soul, you know? It’s like--Service sounds like total chaos.”  Natalie: “Every day can’t be perfect.” Richie: “Every day is like the Super Bowl. I could use a lightning bolt.” Natalie: “Can’t control the weather.”

In Waters of March, there’s a reference to a fox in a brush.

The oak when it blooms A fox in the brush A knot in the wood The song of a thrush (x)

What’s so fascinating about this particular rabbit hole is about what it all potentially means for Marcus as a character.

The song is about spring in Brazil as an allegory for life: how it continues on despite our best efforts to control it. It reminds us how with the ugly, comes the beautiful. (x)

The ugliness could be about death while the beauty of it is what the love he has for his mother could inspire for Marcus.

The plan of the house, the body in bed, the car that got stuck, it’s the mud, it’s the mud. a float, a drift, a flight, a wing, a hawk, a quail, the promise of spring.

He had become frustrated with the difficulties the rain was causing for the construction of a new boundary wall along his property line. The skies rained from above while chaos reigned below, as plainly stated in the lyrics: “It’s the mud, it’s the mud…” With plenty of time to contemplate the situation, Jobim created a modern parable for daily life. (x)

I’ll certainly talk about all of this in a separate post (whenever that will be) but there’s so many small details that evolve into a beautiful narrative.

The Coca-Cola Jingle

Coca-Cola tapped Antonio Carlos Jobim for the rights to his ‘Águas de Março’, giving new lyrics to ‘The Waters of March’ to make the jingle a worldwide sensation. Jobim even became a celebrity spokesman for Coke in a relationship that lasted for several years. (x)

Coca Cola is one of the most popular soft drinks in the world. In doing my research, I found an article talking about how design elements of the soft drink’s logo clearly portray the idea of energy, fun, and good times.

The recent 2021 hug version logo of the brand was termed as “magical” and “genius” by designers. It ended up being introduced with a new tagline as “real magic.” Apparently, it’s considered magical because you can imagine the bottle even when it is not there.

There’s even a well-known story about the white and red logo being inspired by the brand’s first advertisement that featured Santa Claus wearing his red and white suit with a bottle in his hands. (x)

@vacationship made an analysis on the green and red sauce and the potential importance of its symbolism.

Sydney and Claire have an interesting parallel with coke. I actually found that little connection earlier but didn’t know it had any relevance to this until now.

(Sydney pouring/drinking coke after the scene of the group being at Marcus’ mother’s funeral isn’t a coincidence.)

Matty Matheson

Matty Matheson chose Hakuna Matata for his character Neil Fak. The Bear’s instagram account also talked about how he is a master mocktail maker.

Hakuna matata roughly translates to “there are no troubles” in Swahili. The phrase was popularized in English by the 1994 Disney movie The Lion King, where it's translated as “no worries.” It has a connotation of not worrying about things outside a person's control. The movie popularized the phrase internationally, making it a cultural staple and synonymous with Disney's family-friendly brand.

'Hakuna matata' is Swahili for 'no worries'. As such, it is the perfect catchphrase for Timon and Pumbaa, as it perfectly reflects their relaxed, devil-may-care attitude to life. (x)

@outmakingmoonshine has discussed the possibility that the Faks are the inner voice/imaginary friends for the protagonist (Carmy).

Are they suggesting Pumbaa, Timon, and Simba are Neil Fak, Ted Fak, and Carmy?

The Lion King was released on June 15, 1994, receiving critical acclaim for its music, story, themes, and animation. With an initial worldwide gross of $763 million, it finished its theatrical run as the highest-grossing film of 1994 and the second-highest-grossing film of all time, behind Jurassic Park (1993).

Timon: Hey, where you going? Simba: Nowhere. Timon: Gee. He looks blue. Pumbaa: I'd say brownish-gold. Timon: No, no, no, no. I mean he's depressed. Pumbaa: Oh. Pumbaa: Kid, what's eatin' ya? Simba: Who cares? I can't go back. Timon: Ahh. You're an outcast! That's great; so are we! Pumbaa: What cha do, kid? Simba: Something terrible. But I don't wanna talk about it. Timon: Good. We don't wanna hear about it. Pumbaa: Come on Timon. Anything we can do? Simba: Not unless you can change the past.

Simba: Hakuna matata? Pumbaa: Yeah. It’s our motto! Simba: What’s a motto? Timon: Nothin’ what’s a motto with you?! (laughs) Pumbaa: Hakuna matata: These two words will solve all your problems. (x) (x) (x)

Carmy could have a side of him that feels outcasted by the rest of the group (there was also a group chat he had no idea about) so he conjured up another set of outcasts that promote a motto and philosophy to solve all of his problems.

Neil Fak is the naive/childlike aspects of himself that I suspect Carmy got from his childhood with his mother. I can’t help but wonder if the Faks representing Carmy’s inner voice was only applied to the dumpster scene when I found dialogue about how nice it is in the office before Carmy called Sydney nice after checking her out. Does it only apply when they’re all alone together?

As with many characters in The Lion King, Pumbaa's name derives from the East African language Swahili. In Swahili, pumbaa (v.) means "to be foolish, silly, weakminded, careless, negligent."

Richie and Carmy calls Neil Fak a bitch in (3x02)

Neil Fak: “Nat, the vibe’s weird.”

Carmy: “You’re such a fucking bitch.”

Richie: “You’re such a bitch.”

Natalie: “I know, sweetheart. Don’t be scared.”

Most of these could probably best describe Neil Fak (and even Carmy perhaps) but I wonder about the negligence of his character. Is this about the lack of real tools of his? Another detail that I’m not sure connects here is that Neil Fak mentioned being afraid of boxes to Ted Fak.

Warthogs regularly come into contact with villages and people. When this happens, they usually cause havoc, scampering through a garden or village and making a mess of everything. There is one Pumbaa adjective that is correct. They can be lazy. Rather than digging their own burrows, they will often just use the burrowed home of other animals. (x)

I remember this dialogue vividly, but there was a scene where the Faks asked Donna if they could stay over her house during Christmas.

Neil Fak: “Do you think that we can sleepover—” Donna: “There’s no sleepovers at Christmas. What the fuck?” Neil Fak: “No, we can sleepover.” Donna: “No, you can’t sleepover on Christmas. No. Mm-mmm.” Neil Fak: “No? No. Big Neil got us skateboards.” Donna: “You know what? Shut up. Michael!” Neil Fak: “Michael hid ‘em.” Donna: “Hey, Michael. Get in here. Mike? The Faks are asking me stupid things—”

(The fact that there’s a Hakuna Matata reference after Hulu is bought by Disney is also not lost on me.)

Timon is a historical Greek name, taken to mean "he who respects." Timon's name may derive from Shakespeare's tragedy Timon of Athens, another Shakespeare reference in a film which derives its plot from Hamlet. The tragedy is based in the history of the real Timon of Athens, a famous misanthrope during the era of the Peloponnesian War, who refused life in Athens to live isolated. Another explanation is that he is named after the Greek philosopher Timon, a disciple of Pyrrho, the founder of the school of skepticism. (x) (x) (x)

I happened to stumble upon another Shakespeare reference. If Timon is meant to be Ted Fak then this is going to be a bit ironic because of what Ted Fak’s theme song is!

Ricky Staffieri

Ricky Staffieri chose Back Then by Mike Jones for the theme song of his character, Ted Fak. Ironically, this song is vulgar in nature with calling woman “hoes” and all.

In the same meta I mentioned earlier, @outmakingmoonshine talked about Ted being sex driven and maybe representative of Carmy’s primal mind.

We also have @thoughtfulchaos773 having a post on the inappropriate double entendre jokes on the show.

I never really listened to the lyrics until about two months ago, but now that I have, they’re pretty amazing. On the surface, it’s a vulgar song about “hoes,” but on a deeper, more philosophical level, it’s an anthem about self-confidence. The overall message in Jones’ song is that the ladies in his life were never really gave him the time of day until he started to make it big. When you really listen to the message of the words – and not necessarily the words themselves – a lot of it is just him spewing the harsh truth. I think it speaks to all of the ugly ducklings out there, or the really shy people who never put themselves out there until they found themselves later on in life. That cute girl in middle school or high school who is now a bombshell? Yeah, she remembers how you treated her. (x)

Claire always told Carmy about their past history when they were young but Carmy seemed to have no recollection of it.

After reading this analysis on its philosophical meaning, I couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant pertaining to Ted Fak. Do we really know anything about Ted Fak’s history in high school besides Carmy? I just got a sudden wave of theories that this is referring to Carmy.

For Ted Fak, maybe this is about being treated poorly in high school. Now, he ended up working for a popular food establishment with very sudden attention from woman which had never happened before.

For Carmy, Ted Fak could be the more anxiety/primitive ridden version of him.

The reason I talk about the anxiety aspect is because some people have the personal experience of saying things they don’t mean when they have anxiety. Ted Fak could be representing the brutal ‘truths’ that Carmy could or don’t really mean.

Anxiety activates people’s fight or flight instinct When someone has an anxiety disorder, they'll often feel intense fear towards possible threats and dangers. For someone with a social anxiety disorder, this could be crowds or social events, whereas for someone with generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), their fear could be focused on a broad range of potential scenarios, such as losing their job, damaging their friendships or getting into accidents. These thoughts cause people to experience symptoms of anxiety such as an increased heartbeat, shortness of breath and nausea. This is because thinking about the possible dangers activates their fight or flight instinct. Irritability is a symptom of anxiety When a person is experiencing anxiety, they'll often be more irritable than usual. This is a common symptom of many types of anxiety disorder. (x)

The increased heartbeat caught my attention because Claire noticed his heart was beating fast in a scene before it cuts to Carmy looking at a clock in (3x04).

The other part of the song I absolutely love is: “I ain’t got no time to call her. I’ma stall her like she stalled me, now she trying to call me; (girl) I’ma dog your whole ass like you dogged me.”

I can’t lie. I laughed so hard when I saw this lyric. Like damn, I wonder who exactly this could refer to here? It could be about Kelly but I’ll have to do more digging to figure that out.

I can’t speak for everyone in the world, but I know that I have an elephant-like memory when it comes to people how people treat me – whether it was in middle school, high school, college, or recently. I’m a firm believer in that unless someone gives you a reason to treat them like dirt, you shouldn’t. I know that I don’t pay any mind to people – not just girls – who treated me like crap and are now trying to make like everything is OK. Respect is earned, not given with me; I believe people can change (to a degree), but it will take time for someone to earn my trust and respect, if violated.

This is when we get the depiction of respect and how it’s earned, not given. Does Carmy respect Claire and vise versa?

I didn’t really get the vibe that Claire was a mean person or a bully with the way she spoke about her and Carmy’s history. But what if she scrubbed the ugly parts of it?

It’s making me ponder whether Carmy felt bitter that Claire suddenly had this interest in him because he’s well known as a chef now. It’s even more bizarre because they were both in New York. Mikey told her about Carmy’s chef adventures by the time of Christmas. Why didn’t Claire reach out to him then? Did it really take Mikey passing away for her to make a move?

There was discussion between @devisrina, @thoughtfulchaos773, and I about this. This is when I had the thought that Claire might’ve started talking to Carmy to humor herself and her friends because Carmy was the loner in high school. It was after the scripts came out and we discovered Claire was originally supposed to be blonde like Carmy’s mother. There’s so many questions on whether Claire and Carmy really had a crush on each other.

The Phone Number

I’m at the early stages of what I hope will be a very successful sports reporting career, so some people have reached out for various reasons (advice, recommendation, etc.). I’m happy to try and help the people who treated me well, but I almost want to laugh at the people who treated me like dirt and are now asking for a favor, however small. Mike Jones may use more colorful language than I would have had I wrote this song, but its underlying message is essentially the Golden Rule laced with profanity: Treat others the way you would want to be treated.

Something that I thought was interesting, was that Mike Jones rapped his phone number into the song. The most obvious parallel to this is that Carmy (purposely?) gave her the wrong number when they reunited by the grocery store fridges.

They see that I'm a star, now they wanna sit in my car Now they wanna count my cheese, smoke my weed and sip my barre now They used to love to me diss me, now they rush to hug and kiss me now They tellin' all they friends when I leave how they miss me now (281) 000-000 Hit Mike Jones up on the low cause Mike Jones about to blow Befo' the ice was in my grill, before I got my major deal These hoes wouldn't give a damn if I was ill, geah (x)

Apparently, ice on grills is a thing in the cooking industry. Graham Elliott revealed in an interview that his trick for making better burgers is pressing an ice cube into the middle of the patty before grilling.

“And if you're worried about the ice cubes making your burgers cold or wet — don't! The ice melts pretty quickly so no one will even know they were there.” <- This just felt reminiscent to my theory on Claire being an illusion. (x) (x)

Chef Graham Elliot Remembers Charlie Trotter “Famed Chicago chef Charlie Trotter died on Tuesday at age 54. Graham Elliot joined Charlie Trotter’s at age 21, and worked in his kitchens for three years.”

It seems important to note that Graham Elliot had three years of experience with Charlie Trotter.

Chef, mentor, trailblazer, philosopher, artist, teacher, leader. These are the words that immediately come to mind when I think of Charlie Trotter, or CHT, as he was referred to by the team. Rarely does one encounter an individual that can both inspire and frighten you with his (almost perverse) dedication to excellence and perfection. I learned his philosophic approach to cooking, and that everything was of equal importance. That you had to be your own toughest critic. That we weren’t in the “food industry” but in the “make it happen” business. To this very day, I try to foster the same ideals in my team: That the food you put on the plate, the way you keep your knives sharp, the way you wipe down your station—all of those represent who you are as a person. (x)

@moodyeucalyptus recently tagged me in their post discussing the documentary about Charlie Trotter and the similarities with Carmy’s asshole boss. I don’t think it’s a coincidence I found this connection.

We know that Carmy was buying very expensive food ingredients/supplies and helped Claire’s mother with moving boxes. (Not to mention, he was literally moving boxes with Claire like he was doing with the Faks.)

As @outmakingmoonshine pointed out, Carmy had a problem with Richie calling Sydney sweetheart in the very first episode but didn’t really seem to care about Claire being called a piece of ass by Ted Fak. The only thing he did was clarify what he meant and that was it.

Is it possible he didn’t really flinch because these were his thoughts about her for a while and has been trying to navigate through his true feelings for her?

What really caught my eye was the smoke my weed part. Funnily enough, in season three, we see Claire and Carmy share a cigarette.

Claire: “Can you just not make this weird? Like, I need a favor. My cousin bailed on me.”

Did he feel a certain way after doing that favor for her? Which would explain why he asked her for a favor too and struggled to explain why he gave her a fake number. Carmy mentioned how he liked her alot at the party. Did he think it wasn’t anything more than what it was, exchanging favors?

Claire: “You know he, uh he told me you guys are really close and he’s your best friend.” Carmy: “Fak said that?” Claire: “Mhm.” Carmy: “No no no. Fak’s not my best friend.” Claire: “Really?” Carmy: “No no he is. He’s probably my best friend.” Claire: “That’s interesting. To sit with. For you.”

I thought Claire saying this was very strange because I couldn’t grasp whether she was saying a lighthearted joke or making fun of him.

Considering the new information thebearfx had given, did Carmy sense that? Especially when Jones talked about how they wouldn’t care if he was ill. It felt so reminiscent to Claire leaving Carmy in the fridge after he said things that were more concerning rather than hurtful.

Maybe Carmy didn’t realize the type of relationship it was until it was too late.

Thank you so much for reading!! This seems so convoluted. I made a good majority of this on August 7th. Feel free to call me insane for this rabbit hole (I’m well aware of how insane I look). There’s alot of information that I just discovered recently besides this meta but I don’t even know how to put it in the proper words. So, bear with me for a bit lmao. Fair warning, the topic of animals, gardens, plants, water, glass, and cigarettes might come back in a good majority of my metas for now. Hopefully I’ll be able to properly explain why later lol.

(c) brokenwinebox