#v=

[ereardon]

Golden Hour || Ch. 10

[Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Angst, cursing, alcohol

Chapter summary: Bradley invites Bob and Olive to dinner. Olive and Bob have a real conversation following their spontaneous kiss

WC: 2K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The office was busy by the time you showed up. You were late on purpose, because the earlier you showed up the more likely you were to run into Bob. 

“Dr. James.” Molly was frazzled. You frowned as she showed a handful of paperclipped charts in your arms. “You’re late. We have five patients waiting for you.” 

“Give me two minutes and then send the first person in.” You turned, trying not to look up as you made your way into your office. Closing the door, you collapsed into your desk chair. On the other side of the wall, you heard Bob’s voice, low murmurs. A shiver crawled up your back. 

And then the door swung open. “Doc!” 

“Mr. Peterson,” you said, standing up. “What’s bothering you today?” 

He grunted and sat down, heavily, on the exam table. “This bum hip, like always.” 

You snapped on a pair of gloves and turned to him. “Alright, let’s see what’s going on.” 

The day was chock full of patients. Mr. Peterson’s arthritic hip, two cases of spider bites, one kid with pink eye, an ice cream shop worker with carpal tunnel. 

It was well after seven by the time you stood up and inched your door open, peering around. The hallway was empty, Molly was gone. You breathed out a sigh of relief, grabbing your purse and shutting your office door. But just as you turned, a shadow crossed the floor and you looked up. 

Bob looked like a deer in headlights. He had one hand on the doorknob to his office, his hair tousled. “Dr. James,” he said, voice low and rough. You remembered what his hands felt like on your neck, his lips on yours. 

Your voice gasped a little. “Bob.” 

His blue eyes flashed for a moment and you weren’t sure if it was excitement or anger flooding his features. And then all of the light drained out of his eyes and he turned, breezing past you, practically running out the door once again. 

***

You were sitting on a barstool at Breakers, nursing a glass of white boxed wine, when a pair of hands wrapped around your shoulders, causing you to gasp. 

Bradley spun you around on the chair, a grin spread wide across his face. He leaned down and kissed you, in front of everyone, leaving you gasping for air as he pulled back. 

“Hey there, Doc,” he said, settling onto the seat next to you. “Miss me?” 

You crossed your legs, hooking one heel into the bottom bar of his stool and Bradley placed a large, warm hand on your bare thigh. “Of course.” 

He grinned. “What did you get up to while I was gone?” 

You hesitated. On the other side of the bar, Phoenix was watching the two of you, polishing a glass from a few feet away, her dark hair swept up in a ponytail. You shrugged. “Oh not much. Just work, you know. Lots of patients, had to do some filing and admin.” 

Bradley frowned. “Admin? I hope Floyd isn’t pushing you too hard.” 

The memory of Bob’s kiss flitted across your mind. The way his hand had felt on the back of your neck, tugging you forward with reckless abandon. “No,” you whispered. “He’s been great.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Great? So the two of you are finally getting along?” 

“Um, yeah, I think so.” 

Bradley pulled his hand from your thigh and smiled, tugging his phone out and placing it on the bar. “Perfect. Then let’s do dinner, the three of us. My place.” 

“Oh, no, I—”

“He’s a good guy,” Bradley interrupted. “And we’ve been friends for a long time. So I’d love if the three of us could hang out.” 

There was something finite about his words. He had made up his mind. You nodded. “OK, sure. Dinner.” 

***

Standing at Bradley’s doorstep, you raised one hand to knock before taking a deep breath. And then you lowered your fist and let out the breath. 

What the hell were you doing? Why was this so uncomfortable? You had slept with Bradley once, and kissed Bob once. Did either of them mean anything? You weren’t exclusive with Bradley, you weren’t even dating. You weren’t sure what you were. 

On the other hand, Bob Floyd acted like you didn’t exist 99% of the time. The other 1% of the time he was actively hating you. 

So why should you care if it was weird for him to see you and Bradley together? 

“Are you going to knock, or do you expect the door to fly open through telekinesis?” 

You whirled around. Bob stood a few steps down on the pathway, holding a bottle of wine. HIs face was unreadable. 

“I was going to knock,” you said. 

Bob stepped closer and you caught a whiff of his soap – minty and herbal – and leaned over, knocking on the door sharply, his eyes never leaving yours. 

The door swung open a second later, Bradley standing barefoot with a kitchen towel slung over one shoulder. “Hey guys, come on in.” 

Bob held out a hand and you stepped inside first, the sound of your heels clacking against the wooden floor. To your surprise, Bradley leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. A blush crept over your face and neck, and you averted your eyes from him or Bob. 

“Is that for tonight?” Bob nodded, handing over the bottle of wine. “NIce, thanks man. Come on in.” 

You scampered behind Bradley, unable to meet Bob’s gaze, wandering into the kitchen where he had a bowl of guacamole out and some chips. Instinctively, you dragged a chip through the green dip and shoved it into your face to prevent talking. Nerves were bubbling at the surface of your skin. 

“How was the trial?” Bob’s voice surprised you. He was a man of so few words, so having him lead the conversation was shocking. 

Bradley stood at the stove, stirring a pot of beans. “Long,” he replied. “Tedious, as always.” There was a pause. Then, “Anything happen while I was gone?” 

Was it you, or did the air in the room shift? You quickly shoved another tortilla chip in your mouth to cover the silence. Bob put one hand on the counter, not too far from where you sat hunched over the bowl of chips. “Not much,” he replied, nonchalant. “Usual Willow drama.” 

Bradley raised an eyebrow. “Drama?” 

You practically choked on the chip. 

Bob looked at you before responding, “The Mayfields are at it again.” 

Relief, hot like vodka, spread through your body. Bradley laughed. “Really? I don’t want to have to oversee the third divorce.”

“Third?” you asked. 

He nodded, but Bob’s voice was the one that cut through the kitchen air. “Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield got divorced probably ten years ago, and then promptly had an affair together and got pregnant. They got married again before the baby was born, but divorced when Anna turned three.” 

“So they’re divorced?” 

“Nope, got together again a few years later. But from the sounds of it, divorce number three might be incoming.” 

“This town should be its own sitcom,” you said, lifting the glass of wine that Bradley had poured to your lips. 

“So have you changed your mind about our little town, Doc?” Bradley asked, turning around pouring Bob another scotch. You hadn’t even seen him pour the first one. 

You shrugged. “It’s no New York.” 

“Nothing is.” Bradley put the wooden spoon down. “Floyd, remember that time you came to visit me at Columbia?” 

You frowned. Bob had gone to New York? You couldn’t picture him in the city. With all the suits and fast walking and snippy baristas. He would stick out like a sore thumb in his jeans and button down shirts, his Southern twang. 

Bob nodded. “I still think about that Korean chicken place you brought me to.” 

Bradley laughed. “Wow, Koreatown. I haven’t thought of that in ages.” 

You leaned on the counter and watched them. There was something so casual and easy about the way they spoke with each other. It was the first time it dawned on you that they had been friends for years. 

And you were getting in the middle of a friendship.

Dinner was delicious, with black beans sauteed with bacon and pork belly tacos and margaritas so strong your head started to buzz halfway through the meal. 

Before you realized it, you and Bob were standing in the doorway again. 

“Thanks for dinner,” Bob said, reaching out and clapping Bradley on the shoulder. 

Bradley grinned. “Anytime Floyd.” He turned to you, leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You should stay.” 

You pulled back, face frozen, head shaking. “I have a lot of work in the morning,” you whispered. “But I’ll call you.” 

He nodded as Bob opened the door and the two of you were ushered out into the cool night. Before you could even squeak out a word, Bob was halfway down the driveway, speeding toward his house next door. You broke out into practically a jog behind him, running up the stairs to his house in heels. “Floyd!” 

He whipped around, eyes wide, one hand on the door. He was silent. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly cold. “So this is it?” you asked. “You’re just going to run away every time you see me? What the hell is going on?” you demanded. “Do you take it back?” 

Those last words came out as a sharp whisper. Bob reached out, grabbing your arm and pulling you around the front porch of the house to the opposite side, so you were out of view of Bradley’s home. 

Even when the two of you rounded the corner, his fingers didn’t leave your skin. Instead, he stepped closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off of his muscular body. “No,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to take it back.” 

“Then what?” you pleaded. “What do you want?” 

“Take a wild guess, Olive.” Bob cocked his head to one side. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Yes, you do.” His voice forced a chill through your bones, a tingling settling in between your legs. “You’re a smart girl,” he whispered. “I think you know.” 

Your chest heaved uncontrollably. No one had ever looked at you the way Bob Floyd was looking at you in that moment. Not Bradley. Not Peter. Not any of the men you had dated in the past. It was all consuming. It threatened to swallow you whole. 

“We always want what we can’t have,” Bob murmured, letting his fingertips drop from your arm. “That’s human nature, I guess.” 

“Is that your diagnosis, Doctor?” 

He nodded. 

You shook your head. “In my professional opinion, it’s better to tell the truth than to hide how you feel.” 

“So you’re a psychiatrist now?” he murmured. 

“God, never.” 

Bob grinned. He lifted one arm, placing it on the siding of the house behind your head, creating a triangle with his body, practically pinning you against the house. You looked up, eyes wide. “Bradley is my best friend,” he whispered. “And you’re my business partner.”

“Almond milk isn’t real milk.” 

He frowned. “What?” 

“I thought we were just listing facts.” 

Bob shook his head and grunted. He was exasperated with you. You were all too familiar with that. “Jesus Chris, Livvy, I swear—”

You interrupted him. “Livvy?” No one had ever called you that before. 

His eyes flashed. “I mean Olive.” He flushed. 

You shook your head. “I like it.” 

Bob leaned down, letting his free hand cup your cheek. “Livvy,” he murmured. 

“Yes?” 

“Shut up and let me kiss you.”  

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[oicuperp]

hoffman's car

[cherriielle]

daphne's blessing 🌿

[bumblebeebats]

OP turned off reblogs so this is my post now. Behold, the "Objective quality vs. degree of ferality" scale

Here are a few of my own personal datapoints:

[animentality]

[inktho]

feel like i should be sorry about this one

[joyflameball]

DON'T LET THIS GO OUT OF CIRCULATION. ADD MORE ONTO IT. QUEUE IT. DON'T LET THIS SITE FUCKING FORGET. THIS TRIAL COULD HAVE MASSIVE CONSEQUENCES FOR THE WHOLE INTERNET.

EDIT:

Originally I linked an MSN article. I was unaware they're not a trustworthy source, but many lovely people in the notes pointed it out and pointed out that the article I linked had issues, linking much better sources.

Here's an excellent addition to the post by @/thesoulofthebeautiful:

Also, I saw a lot of people freaking out in the notes like "Oh shit, is Google gonna get completely taken down????" No. It won't. Google's a trillion dollar company, this won't completely destroy it. What it'll hopefully do is keep them from having Google be the default engine EVERYWHERE. If Google loses, that is a good thing. This WILL shake up the internet, but it won't be the end.

Cool? Cool. Here's a Destiel meme:

IF YOU REPOST THIS MEME, LINK THE SOURCES

[lackeyhenchman]

Had to visit a hospital today. (Nothing scary, I promise!)

Anyway, the security ID photo they took of me was uh. Not classically soothing.

[catbot2]

so demanding

[necronatural]

A lot of people try to explain this without knowing anything about how voice synthesis works, so here's my breakdown on No, Hatsune Miku Is Not AI, And No, AI Voice Synthesis Is Not Bad.

[balteus]

[dogposts]

i was cheering for him...

[batbabydamian]

Obsessed with little Lima Bean Baby Dami. I feel like Bruce would pass out from cuteness if he witnessed his child looking like that.

Talia should send Damian's baby pics to Bruce lol

[animentality]

[ambrosiagourmet]

I've seen pieces from this extra comic before, but never read the full thing until today. And holy shit does it hammer home just how much the story is about class.

Multiple times, when food comes up in this comic, it’s also in context of money:

I've seen this last panel on the right brought up before in context of like, dungeon meshi's relationship with fat and eating, but in the full context of the comic it really hits how much adventuring directly consumes bodies for money.

As much as this has been part of the story the whole time, showcased as early chapters 19 and 20...

It never fully hit me before how often adventuring comes down to having no other way to make money but to throw yourself into death repeatedly. To be used, whether it’s by individual selfish people (like the resurrection group that is happy to try and get Kabru's group to kill each other to get extra gold from them in chapter 32), or by the greater cog of the Dungeon Economy in general.

Which, to be clear, is all too often how things work in the real world, too. So many jobs burn through the health and lives of workers. Dungeon Meshi just makes it literal in a new way: by making the healing and resurrection, a core part to the adventuring loop, directly use fat, muscle, and energy from the body being healed.

Imagine Amazon, but if you got injured at work, they could literally burn up some of your body to get you back to working sooner. And that was seen as an advantage of the job.

And then you have Laios, thinking about eating monsters:

Not just because he likes monsters a lot. But because it would help. He says something similar in the actual manga too, during the chapter discussing his dream with the Winged Lion

Laios wants to be able to make a home for Falin. He wants to give her a place where she never has to eat alone. And when he gets a party, he wants to give them a way to eat well. And when he runs a country, well…

He wants to ensure that everyone has enough to eat.

Food is political. Food ties into class, and money. What is deemed "proper" to eat, what is a luxury, what is crass… so much of it comes down to money.

Being judged for eating what's available, when what is “proper” isn't affordable, is already a thing that happens. People forced into work that consumes their energy is already a thing that happens.

Dungeon Meshi has a lot of fantastical elements, but boy is its examination of food and class very real.