#Actually yeah maybe this was a Sol dream

[solradguy]

I had a dream last night that I was afflicted with some kind of exhaustion disease probably brought on by my irl subconscious resisting the no-dreams buff from the weed gummy I ate before bed, and in the dream Justice Guilty Gear was coming to my house and I didn't know why so I like struggled over to the door with my sword and constantly kept rubbing my eyes to stay awake

It turned out she wanted to apologize for being evil and wanting to kill people. She could tell something was wrong with me so I invited her into my house and idk what happened after that because the dream wasn't very vivid to begin with lol Idk if it was a Sol dream either because I couldn't see my hands. It probably was though, based on the everything else happening

[trials-of-a-spirit-worker]

Spirit Work Basics

You voted, I listened. I meant it. So buckle up as we go through the basics of Spirit Work.

I've touched on this on other posts but I'll make a massive post here. This is not going to explain everything and will still be pretty broad. Cause I do not have the time, the knowledge, nor patience to try and explain EVERYTHING.

But I do hope it helps.

Look under the tags advice, spirit communication, spirit work for more detail.

So hello, I'm Sol. I've been working with spirits since I realized I was speaking with them. I had the gift since I was a young child, first spirit I saw being my grandfather on my father's side shortly after he passed away. He was a pastor, supposedly, I was doing the best I could to repeat his favorite verses despite me being a small little shit. I don't remember the verses, I do remember speaking to him a lot however.

Which is where we'll begin, how to speak to spirits.

Maybe she's born with it? Maybe it's insanity~♪

Well, how do we begin with speaking with spirits? There's a number of ways, actually. Some do have the natural ability, like myself but that shouldn't discourage people who are newly trying and don't have that natural affinity for it. Spirits can and will talk to anyone if you open yourself up. Just takes a bit of work. But Sol, you may ask, how do I do that?

If you've been on witchblr for a bit you know what I'm about to say next: Yup.

Meditate.

Now listen, meditation is a way to open yourself up to the spirits around you or just at least signal "hey, I'm open to talk to." It gives you a good sense of your own energy and the energy around you. Meditation doesn't have one look either. A lot of people can't just sit still and kept their legs crossed or be on their knees with their eyes closed (I see you ADHD/ADD people). Hell, my lazy ass will meditate lying down.

Literally the definition of Meditation: to engage in mental exercise (such as concentration on one's breathing or repetition of a mantra) for the purpose of reaching a heightened level of spiritual awareness. transitive verb. : to focus one's thoughts on : reflect on or ponder over. (merriam webster)

It's pretty broad, right? Hell, you can even work out and meditate. I do it all the time. Cause I focus on my breathing and the feeling of energy through my body. Basically you can get creative with it.

While you're meditating, make sure you're feeling your own energy. This can come in a number of ways; waves, your heartbeat, a feeling of something cloaking you etc. While you have that feeling down, envision an opening, whether its a door, or just acknowledging you're reaching out to the other side. Whether or not you get an answer back, you are putting yourself out there and that's half the battle done. Just be sure to know how to close yourself and ward your body. Spirit work and opening yourself like that is no joke and I'd like you to be safe.

To do that, just envision whatever you had opened closed or recede back or whatever you used that worked for you.

Signs to Look for

Some of the more common tells of a spirit hearing and trying to communicate are of the following:

Small echos/voices in the back of your head

Random thoughts that may not be your own

Knocks or things shuffling

Strange dreams

Small phantom touches

Feelings of being watched

And Many More!

"But Sol," some of you might say, "that's really fucking vague and could just be explained away."

Yeah...welcome to spirit work. You thought this shit was easy?!

You have to work on your discernment. It is a skill needed for this type of work.

Seems counterproductive, but it's not! See, if every bump and noise was reported as ghosts or spirits, well...we'd be even less believed than we already are. When doing spirit work, or ghost hunting, you are stuck with the burden of proof and it's a huge burden to have. This is why people ask for repeats of actions, to speak again in recorders and other things. We're asking for repetition, because science is prevalent, especially in spiritualism and occultism. We have to be our own skeptics so when we have something that can't be explained away, we truly have something to celebrate.

Tools on the Job

No one said you had to do this all on vibes. No shame in using tools. I'll more than likely take the time to make specific posts about each tool in the future cause this post is already really long but I'll give you a nice rundown of basic tools.

By the way anyone who tries to shame you for using tools or says "only trainee or baby witches use this or that" are tools themselves (not the good or useful kind) and should not be given the time of day. Tools are fine. Use them for help if you need it because that's what the fuck a tool is for.

Now these aren't all the tools you can use but I'll give you some well known ones. I've seen witches get real creative and it's honestly super cool watching them use strange things that you'd never think about as a witchcraft tool. But that's what makes it so fun.

Tarot cards

Tarot is something I often use. 78 cards all with different meanings. There's many many ways to interpret them and multiple themes that many of them have.

My best advice for these are to just look up the overall meanings both upright and reversed just to have a general consensus of each card. Play around with them a lot, and interpret them the way you would as if you were making a story with them. You can also use them for spirit communication.

Calling forth a spirit allowing them to touch the deck (just leave it for a moment and allow them to influence the deck as it were before doing the spread). Holds a lot of power in your hands but is a little slow.

Pendulum

A pendulum is usually a crystal tied to a string or a chain that can be swung over a board of either yes or no or maybe for its options. Sometimes there is a mock ouija for the pendulum to spell out things as well.

Cool thing about a pendulum is it can be anything that swings if you wish. Some people I've seen take off their necklace and use it as a pendulum just fine. Just have a singular point and you can get to work anywhere with it. Please make sure to ward yourself from invading or malevolent spirits when you do this though.

Lots of pendulum or spirit boards exist and have different templates as well.

This is more of a call and response type of device to use. Especially when you feel a spirit present Still has a fair bit of control in your hands.

Ouija board

The infamous kids game works around the same way a pendulum does, except there is a planchette that slides over the board. This is a call and response based tool much like a pendulum. However, it is a little easier for the ghost to manipulate and control. Which is where all the stupid stories of ghosts completely taking over and fucking up shit takes place. Also, half of the biggest problems are just humans being humans which means victims of groupthink. So... stupidity. Someone freaked so you all freak...the energy gets bad and shit happens. Do your best to remain calm and just work through it.

Also no. ZOZO XOX 2O2O etc does not want your ass. Many spirits claim that shit to get a rise out of you anyway. Guys...no, I swear it does not happen. This is main character energy that none of us have...or want! Even if a demonic entity came in to fuck with you, there are plenty of other ways to do it. Be fucking for real.

Please remain kind and courteous to who you contact. Do not let your paranoia about this tool make you do stupid things. Always say goodbye when you are finished. Try and stay as calm as you can.

Never. Ever leave the planchette on the board unattended. Lest you get an unwanted guest or one that'll overstay their welcome.

Crystal Ball

Crystal Balls are a good way to detect energies. This is normally used in a private setting cause it desires a lot of concentration. Now, I'm admittedly not that knowledgeable in this because I don't use my crystal ball often.

Also, your crystal ball doesn't have to be clear. Mine is obsidian and I love her.

When having your question, focus on it and concentrate. Make sure it is open ended. I mean you can have yes or no, but it's gonna be a bitch to decipher a yes or no answer.

Close your eyes and let the answers come to you in the forms of images and colors and such, examine all you can as just let your intuition work.

Sounds simple but its a rather interesting art form to work on. Symbols and such can confuse you and it's heavy on your interpretation. I'm sure there's books and stuff out there for a general view of this symbol you see might mean this or that but...largely, this is a true test of how you read your intuition.

I'd do it more, if I wasn't closeted and lived with nosy closed-minded people.

C'est la vie.

One important thing though...don't leave your ball uncovered. Especially if it's clear. That's how you end up with burned shit. Those bitches are like mega magnifying glasses. And it happens faster than you think. Science is scary.

Mirror/Water Scrying

Mirror and water scrying is kind of the same as a crystal ball except it's a quicker and often less expensive way to work on your divination.

Some people have a specific mirror that they black out and scry that way. Others have a scrying bowl made for divination alone. It's just as good. You can use any bowl or mirror however. Just be sure to cleanse the area before you start and after you're done.

Some thank the water used for divination before putting it down the sink or in the earth. But that's more of an individual's choice/belief/faith than anything else.

Lots of occultism and spiritualism has a thing with mirrors being portals, openings, etc to the otherside and can bring some unwanted visitors.

And as someone who now sleeps with their mirror facing the wall now, I will say I believe a lot of what people say on that.

I want a goodnights sleep damnit.

Just be sure to cleanse your tools after use. Better safe than sorry.

ETC.

There's a lot of creative ways people can use these tools and magic. So don't think of magic as a recipe for how to be a witch or do witchcraft. That's half the fun of witchcraft.

Discovery.

Finding ways to do things, to hear, to see, to communicate. Yes there are certain tools that work better than others but, we as individual people also work in different ways.

There's a psychic out there who reads asparagus like bones. There's someone who will scry with a puddle on the ground they found. People have their own methods and ways to work their magic and we should learn from them. So if you have some non normal tactic or even something unsual, embrace it to the fullest.

I divine with music. If you ask me it's Apollo's influence. My spirits communicate with music.

When I meet people and get a good vibe on them a song comes to mind, and even if I forget your face, your voice, who you are, that song will remind me what I think of you. Songs pop up in my head when people associated with it are close.

I'm not going to say I'm the only one in the world who does this, cause that would be some bs. But its my tactic and its natural.

Do what is natural for you and not what other witches say you should do.

Even me, I beg you not to try and emulate or follow my advice down to a T if it doesn't work for you. Don't force it to work.

I am just one person, one voice spouting some advice. Take what you can from it, take what helps and work your own path. And then in turn do the same. I'm a path offering person not a director. But that's...just...me...

"But Sol, how do I speak to spirits?"

Talk.

Yeah, that simple. Talk.

This can be in a lot of forms. Some write and burn letters to ancestors, or past family members. Set up a placement for talking to them. Admittedly, a lot of spirit work and communication is experimental. We just warn you over some things because they've happened enough for us as a collective to go ah, a pattern.

I have urns at home so it's pretty easy to say hello in that case.

I am NOT telling you to go into a graveyard and just go wussap. No. Some spirits don't want your tomfuckery. Also if they're feeling really chatty all at once you might get overwhelmed and you will not have a good time. Read the dead room.

Open yourself up. WARD YOURSELF FIRST! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS. But yeah open yourself up. Learn how to open your pathways and close them first. That comes with meditating. Yes, this is why damn near all of us nag the shit out of y'all about meditating.

Just talk and listen. It won't happen immediately. It takes time and a careful ear. Remember signs to look for. You might spot them before you hear them. Small instances of shadows out the corner of your eye. A touch from nowhere, a shiver down your spine. Other things going off or being moved, etc. Slowly, someone or something will receive your message and try to respond in kind.

When you get these small responses, just keep calm and say hello or acknowledge what they've done.

"Oh, someone's here"

"Hello there"

"Are you still here?"

It'll be awkward (try to remember where you are, don't be a weirdo in public), but overtime you'll get better at it.

Conclusion!

Like any skill, spirit communication takes practice.

There are a vast plethora of ways to communicate with tools that I haven't mentioned as well, like automatic writing which is a pretty good beginner way to jump in.

Just have a pen/pencil on paper, write what comes to mind. Its a good way to practice hearing and catching signs as well.

And something I will never stop saying is you don't have to take this journey alone! Especially if you don't want to. Find someone experienced to start this journey with. Someone who calms you, who can support you. Support and asking for help is good. Last thing any of us want is for you to get hurt or scared out of doing this if this is something you really want to do. So call us, talk to us. Confide in more experienced people.

So many times on this site and other places, we are begging to form this beautiful network so we can help one another, give advice, hang out etc.

We are right here, just reach out for us. You'll get a hand back in kind.

[dealingdreams]

Qimir's motivations might be a little uncertain. Like all we really know for sure is what he's told us. He wants freedom, freedom to be allowed to practice his power as he sees fit, he wants an acolyte, and he wants the power of two. That said, here just my thoughts.

I think when Mae was asking Qimir about his master aka him, he was actually answering her with some truths about his actual master Plagueis. "He collects people...i owe him" etc...best lies have some truths. Which i have concerns cause we know Palps ends up being Plagie's apprentice and later murderer. Plags did go thru some folks before he found the perfect fit for his world domination plan.

Qimir just doesn't really strike me as someone who is power hungry tbh. i know we techically dont know him well enough yet...but i mean the dude really only attacks when he's threatend. he seems more wounded animal than sith mastermind. so why the power of two...why an acolyte? i think his speech about an acolyte killing the dream...is in relation to how the Jedi at this point in time are the authority on teaching younglings how the force works. they say how and if that power can be used, even going so far as to say that without their teachings, your connection to the force weakens. so having someone showing force capabilites without being a Jedi is kinda a slap in the face to that teaching. Especially if that person can kill a Jedi without the use of a weapon. Like damn..the Jedi aren't that powerful after all yaknow. I think it's just a big fuck you to the Jedi tbh.

He's just wants to be a hot philosophy professor guys

As for the power of two, that is basically the Sith end all be all. He's not a Sith Lord yet...he hasn't taken/been given a name. I really think the only reason he would want the power of two is for his safetly...again he reads as wounded and lost to me...not power hungry. A lot of his choices seem to be made with whatever happened with Vernestra in mind. His shoto blade, which is similar to a saber Luke had in the comics(?) i think...was built to block lightsaber whips. His helmet blocks a Jedi's ability to read his mind or sense him fully. Add in the genuine fear on his face when he sensed Vern...something happened there and it left him so wrecked it's still effecting him all these years later.

Now here is where i think he's fucked.

I do think that he cared about Mae. In fact i think he wanted Mae to succeed and had she not betrayed him I do think he would have continued to train with her. I do also think that he was interested in Osha from the jump, but i dont think at any point he would have tossed Mae to the side for Osha. I think this for the same reason I dont think Qimir was trying to replace Mae with Osha. I think he sees the twins as very different people and has a very different dynamic with them. I think he seized the opportunity with maybe pulling Osha to his side...weither he would have done that had Mae remained his pupil who knows.

Qimir and Mae's dynamic is basically In-Laws lol.

I joke but no i think there was a distance between Qimir and Mae. There was a power imbalance between them. Simply master and pupil. Why he never showed her his face we could only guess. Personally I think it was a combination of him not trusting Mae fully and in case she got caught and a Jedi like Sol or Vernestra went into her Mind. He was simply protecting himself once again. Still he created the persona of Qimir to be a companion to Mae. He still taught her, still assisted her, but did it in an unitimitating way. So yeah I think he cares about Mae. Also just fyi, no I don't think he would have killed her when he found her and Osha at the tree in the aftermath of Sol's death.

So back tho to how he's fucked...Osha...hopefully literally fucked by Osha in the future but also like...he's fucked lol. He never had the choice with showing Osha his face, but he did have a choice on how vulnerable he was with her. We know from literally everyone confirming it that he wasn't manipulating her. He felt a connection to her, felt like she would understand him and he could understand her. That they were the same. I dont for one second see a power imbalance playing out between them. I think many of his actions prove that he views her as his equal. So thats one of the many ways he's fucked. the rule of two doesnt like that very much so i think Plagie might have some issues with that.

I think i could see them like playing master and pupil cause it's safer that way...but honestly they are fucked truly.

anyways ending the rant kinda abruptly lol :P

[smolbonbon]

Whether you like it or not you're stuck with me

Solar/Moon fanfiction (but can be read as platonic)

⚠️TW: past abuse, panic attacks, fever dream (But a lot of comfort and bonding)

I hope you enjoy it <3

It's already been a week after Solar and Moon rescued the smaller jester and as always, Solar was glued to the computer.

He and Moon made a lot of progress on their project, but it's not finished yet. It's one of Solar's top priorities, to make sure Lunar is safe at all times, he has to make sure nothing happens, and that Eclipse won't get their bloody hands on them again.

But for some reason, he couldn't just focus.

He felt a heavy feeling in his body like everything was just pulling him down. Also, he keeps sneezing even though he cleaned his fans a few days ago. Then there was the sore feeling in his joints.

His hands also seemed not to be able to stop shaking. It wasn't unusual that the dark Sun animatronic had problems with his body, but it was worse than usual.

Was it stress? It couldn't be. He dealt with worse, and unlike the past, this was nothing. He even has way less on his plate than before.

Actually, when was the last time he slept? Perhaps it's the need for rest that is causing this.

Solar would normally drink coffee right now, but drinks or food just don't sound appealing at the moment.

The grumpy bot shook his head and tried to focus on the monitor. It needed to be done but when he blinked at the monitor he couldn't make anything out of the numbers, and before he knew, his head was already on the desk.

Oh whatever, a little nap wouldn't hurt. Maybe sleeping for an hour will do, then he will finish it. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

When Moon was entering the daycare, he had a feeling that Solar was on the security desk.

Moon squinted his eyes and saw Solar was sleeping, but the grumpy solar bot wasn't alone.

The smaller jester was just standing in front of the security desk.

What was Ruin doing? As Ruin could feel the stare bore into him, he suddenly turned in Moon's direction and waved with a smile.

Moon would be lying if that didn't make him feel unsettled. He might look innocent, but Moon knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

Before he knew, his legs moved faster and when he opened the door, Ruin was walking towards Moon.

"Erh hello Moon! I was just about to look for you." Moon raised an eyebrow and instinctively moved to Solar.

"Yes, I'm here. What's up?" Ruin gave Moon a worried glance.

"Y-You see I was looking for Solar first and when I did, I couldn't help but notice that Solar.. uh fans are very loud. And normally, when an animatronic is in standby modus it's not usually that loud."

Moon put his hand on Solar's arm, and he noted how warm the Solar animatronic felt. Moon crouched down and softly nudged him.

"Solar wake up."

Solars fans blasted as he woke up. He groaned as he pulled himself up, and he held his head, everything was spinning.

Moon rubbed his arm gently. "You're doing alright there buddy?" 

Solar blinked at him and then looked at Ruin. "I guess."

Moon moved his hand to Solar's cheek before he knew Solar leaned in. Then Moon moved closer to him and scanned him.

"You're hot." To Solar's response, he only let out a strangled noise and blinked at him confused. 

"What?"

"You're overheating! Did you overwork yourself again?!" Moon hissed, Ruin fidgeted with his hands and just watched the interaction between them.

Solar leaned back into his chair. "No, I'm sure that I didn't. Also, I was just taking a nap." Solar rasped out.

Moon didn't ignore the fact that Solar's voice sounded strained. Moon let out a sigh as he realized what was happening.

"I think you caught the virus Ruin and I had." Solar raised a brow.

"But I didn't touch the barrier like you two did." Moon opened his mouth but didn't say anything. He was right. Solar didn't, so how did he catch it? 

Ruin cleared his throat to get their attention, with success. "Gentlemen, I don't mean to interrupt, but I have a theory about how Solar did catch it,"

Ruin looked at them with a nervous smile, as if he was embarrassed to mention it.

"perhaps the cause is through the sleepover you two had when Moon was sick."

Solar let out an embarrassed sound and Moon pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh.

"That explains it. Viruses can spread through electricity." Moon spoke softly, ignoring the heat growing on his faceplate.

"C'mon let's get you to bed." Moon said pushy while grabbing his hands.

Solar let out a huff as the Lunar bot pulled him up.

"Alright, alright give me a second." Solar mumbled grumpy, he knew he wouldn't be able to work, he couldn't even stand without holding on to something. 

"Ruin, Earth will be here any second. Can you tell her that I'm with Solar in his room?" Ruin stood straight and saluted. "Will do!" He replied enthusiastically.

Moon and Solar made their way to the room. Solar bumped into Moon every now and again. He tried to focus on walking in a straight line, but it didn't help that his sight was blurry.

"Want me to carry you?" Moon teased, and Solar chuckled.

"What, don't you want me to return the favor from last time?" Moon nudged Solar and rolled his eyes.

"What favor? I only carried you to your room when you passed out. It's the last thing I could've done." Moon shrugged.

"I would rather carry you before you pass out."

"I'll let you know if I want to be carried." Solar said playfully, and when they reached the theater he placed his hand on Moon's shoulder.

"But if you don't mind, I will put my hand on your shoulder, so I can walk straight."

"Sure things will go ahead." 

Solar sat down on his bed and leaned against the wall. The cold feeling of the wall made the Solar bot sigh, he closed his eyes and stretched.

There was a silence for a moment.

"You want to sleep?"

Solar thought about it. Yes, he was tired, but he didn't really want to be alone either, so he shook his head.

Asking him to stay while he sleeps sounds stupid. Moon is a busy guy, and the last thing he needs is to nurse him back to health. Even if he did that for him. Moon is not obligated to do the same thing for him.

The feeling of the mattress sinking under a new weight pulled him out of his thoughts. Solar opened his eyes a bit and saw how Moon crisscrossed next to him.

"You know you don't have to stay here if you're busy." Solar rasped out, but he felt tense at the thought of being alone.

"Nah, I'm good it can wait. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me."

Moon simply replied, Solar softly smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Terrifying." He said sarcastically as he felt more heat creeping into his faceplate. Moon chuckled quietly as he leaned back.

Solar felt an annoying ache in his body and his joints were stiff. He pointed to the hip flask next to Moon and Moon handed it to Solar.

"Not drinking alcohol, where are we?"

Solar barks out a laugh.

"Moon, you know there is no alcohol in this thing. But it wouldn't be such a bad idea for the pain." Moon grinned and shrugged.

"To be fair, this thing is not meant for oil."

Solar popped open the flask and dumped oil on his stiff joints. "I don't care for what it's made, as long it's handy." Moon nodded to his response.

Moon started to fidget with his hat. "Honestly, my first thought when I saw Ruin was that he did something to you. He stood in front of you and stared at you menacingly until he realized I was at the entrance of the daycare."

Moon continued to explain.

"He told me he was looking for me, but it didn't look like it." Solar frowned.

"I don't know what to think of that guy. Maybe he is just socially awkward, you know?"

Moon shrugged and glanced over to Solar. "Let's just be careful around him." Moon vocalized.

Solar nodded, and the conservation changed to a lighter topic. Solar doesn't need more to worry about at the moment.

Moon scanned him every now and again. He had to make sure Solar didn't overheat. Despite that Solar didn't tell him anything about how he felt, he could tell that he kept feeling worse. His faceplate was glowing, it almost looked like his old body and his voicebox kept glitching out.

"So that's when I told Lunar 'Soon.' " Solar chuckled at the memory, he explained to Moon what happened that made Lunar so jumpy around him.

"Take off your clothes." Moon bluntly spoke. Solar's eyes widened again, and his orange faceplate turned red.

"Huh??"

"Solar, you have to take off your shirt and pullover, so your processor doesn't overheat."

"How about you form full sentences and don't blurt out random things?"

Moon then realized his poor choice of words and let out a little 'sorry'.

Solar shook his head as he took off his shirt and pullover.

Solar grimaced at how vulnerable he felt, even though the most glamrock barely wore any clothes. Glamrock Freddy doesn't even wear pants.

Solar saw that Moon was scanning him again and let out a relieved sigh. He supposed his fans weren't going to blow out any time soon when Moon is around.

"So you're just going to do nothing to get back to Lunar?" Moon asked, remembering the last thing Solar told him about.

He shook his head and smiled, there was a twinkle in his eyes.

"Now I didn't say that, someday I will."

"Oh that's cruel. I love it, what do you have in mind?" Moon's curiosity showed as he got closer to him in the hope he'd tell him.

"To bad I won't tell you." Solar rasped out with a mischievous smile.

"Aw c'mon, I will keep my mouth shut." 

Moon frowned when Solar shrugged and stayed silent. Moon frowned.

"Believe me, when I prank him you will hear him." Solar smiled.

"That's boring." Moon pouted and Solar chuckled. "You're just impatient."

Solar doesn't recall that he fell asleep until he opened his eyes, but he doesn't recall being in another room.

When he looked around, Sun sat next to him and then the busk animatronic realized he was wearing his old clothes.

"Did you hear what I said, Eclipse?" The bright animatronic asked with a soft smile.

"What?"

"I think you spaced out there." He snickered. Solar blinked at him and cleared his throat.

"Sorry what did you say?" Sun smiled and leaned back into the orange couch.

Solar realized Sun made their mindscape look like the living room.

"Well, I said Moon and I played this weird game about babysitting a baby that is actually a demon." Sun told him excitedly and Solar smiled softly.

Why is this so familiar?

"So your plan to spend more time with Moon is working?" Sun nodded enthusiastically. "He doesn't seem to mind." 

When was the last time he saw Sun so.. happy?

"He still doesn't know about me, does he?"

Sun smile faded, and he fidgeted with his hands while he looked up to the darker Sun. 

"Erh no not yet. But I promise-, pinky promise I will! I just um don't think it's the right time yet."

Solar nodded and looked to the side.

Was he forgetting something?

Sun jumped up and held his hand out to Solar.

"I know you're worried, but I'm 100% sure everything will be okay." Solar took his hand and got up. He could tell Sun was nervous about telling Moon about him simply by his body language. But who was he to tell him that?

"Okay."

He is forgetting something.

"Come on, I want to play this game with you as well!"

"More like you play and I watch?" Solar spoke amused.

"Like you mind!" Sun blew raspberries to him and he chuckled.

"Very mature of you Sun." Solar said, amused.

Sun skipped to the door but when Solar followed him through the never, ending hallway. Sun was already going out through the door. He started to run, but the room was moving with him.

"Sun wait! Wait for me." He rasped out, the panic rising in his chest. When he finally reached the door, everything went dark.

"Sun?" Solar looked around and couldn't see anybody. 

It looked like he was inside an old laboratory. But why was he in there, and where is Moon? Did his processor give out, which is why Moon moved them to fix it?

Solar noted that he was lying on the cold table in an abandoned lab. Wasn't he just in Sun's room?

While he was looking around he noted that the lab had tubes that seemed to be very dirty and dusty. There was a singular bulb hanging right above him, but despite that, the room was dark.

The roof was leaking, spin webs in every corner and the tools which were laying on the table were way too rusty to use.

The room he was in looked way too familiar than he would have wanted.

What was he forgetting?

He started to feel his panic rise and when he sat up, his head was buzzing and there was a icky feeling in his body, like something was missing.

"Moon?"

The bask animatronic could see something moving in the back of his eye corner. Solar turned around quickly.

He felt something touching his shoulder and he gasped as he stood up from the table.

"Who's there?!" Solar yelled out, regardless of the feeling of dizziness catching up, he was ready to fight whatever was in there.

Trying to make any sense out of this, he silently waited for some response.

"Are you happy now?" A scratchy voice asked. Solar flinched, he knew exactly whose voice it was.

"What?"

"Are you happy with the life you have now? After everything you have done to us, Eclipse?" he asked in a sickening voice.

Moon.. his moon but how? He killed him, he couldn't be alive!

Solar backed to the corner as he saw a shadow walking towards him.

"You sick parasite, first off you took my brother from me, and then you shot me! And now you're just living your best life, huh?!"

"Moon.. I'm not-"

Solar's vision blurred when his Moon pulled him down to look directly at him.

Solar wanted to push him away, but he couldn't move his hands. He wanted to scream, move or anything else! Why couldn't he move?

"I should rip you apart, tear every single wire out and make sure you won't come back." Moon's voice was filled with hatred and rage. His eyes were glowing red and his pupils were turning to pinpoints.

Moon pushed him to the corner as he towered him. Solar could only see his glowing red eyes.

"I'll make sure you suffer until your last breath." Moon spoke low and with rage as he forcefully packed Solar's arm and tore him into the working tube.

"Moon- please I'll help you-"

"Shut up!" Moon interrupted him as he closed the tube.

"I'll make sure that you get what you deserve."

Solar panicked as he watched Moon walking towards the computer.

"Please, Moon, don't do it. Please!" Solar yelled with a hint of desperation.

Moon turned to him while he was pressing the button.

Solar screamed as he woke up. His hands were shaking and everything felt cramped.

Solar clutched his chest while he was hyperventilating.

"Hey, hey Solar, look at me." Moon spoke concerned as he got closer to him. Solar turned his head to him.

"Look at me, everything is okay. You are safe."

Solar's breath got slower as he slowly calmed down. Moon is stunned by how fast the sunset animatronic calmed down.

"I tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge." Moon explained, concerned while reaching out for him. Solar flinched and Moon pulled his hand away.

"You're doing okay?" Moon asked carefully and kept his space.

Solar told him some things that had happened in his old location.

It was more his Moon that caused all the problems. Sure, that British Monty wasn't good either, but his Moon is another story. He also met that guy, when Moon stayed there to build the satellite with Solar.

"I'm.. not good." Solar sat up straight and wrapped his arms around his legs.

"I figured.. Um, you want to talk about it?" 

Solar shook his head and there was a silence. The whole cheering up wasn't Moon's thing. He didn't know how he could cheer up his friend.

Thinking about it, Earth would ask for a hug or something like that, but that involves touching and Solar doesn't seem to like that a lot.

Lunar cheered Solar up with a little puppet show last time, but there was no way he was going to do that. Solar would never let that go and tease him for the rest of his life.

Perhaps showing memes? But that wasn't really suitable at the moment.

Moon thought about it and then an idea came to his mind. Solar's drawing tablet. Maybe he would like to draw or something? The blue celestial animatronic remembered that Solar left it in the drawer by the security desk.

When he got up and walked towards the little tunnel, Solar grabbed his hand.

"Don't leave!" He yelped out and that startled the blue animatronic.

Moon focused on him and noted how panicked he looked. Moon never saw him that scared, he held his hand.

"Do you mind if I sit right next to you?"

"I don't mind."

Moon sat down next to him and watched the darker Sun animatronic.

"I actually just wanted to get your tablet." Moon spoke softly.

"Sorry. I don't know what's with me. I have been sick before, but I have never acted like that."

Moon shook his head. "You're fine. Remember when I had the virus? I couldn't be alone either and you know, normally, I even prefer being alone."

Solar nodded and when he remembered, he let out a soft laugh. "You held onto me like your life depended on it." Moon frowned and felt his faceplate heaten up.

"Shut it."

"You didn't even let me go when I took you to your bed." Solar softly teased and Moon jabbed his shoulder.

"I honestly never guessed you were a cuddle bug." Solar continued.

"I could say the same about you. When I woke up you were the one holding me."

Solar shrugged and smirked. "Well, at least I was the big spoon of us both."

Moon let out a strangled sound and covered his faceplate.

Solar laughed softly and leaned back.

"You are so easily to tease." Solar said amused, and Moon just rolled his eyes.

"If it wasn't for you being sick I would already have shoved the pillow into your face." 

"Oh, horrifying." Solar sarcastically vocalized.

Moon gave him a wry smile and hesitated to move closer to him. Solar huffed and moved his elbow to his.

"I'm not afraid of you." Solar blurted out and Moon tilted his head.

"I was just so caught up in my dream that I didn't realize it was you." The bask animatronic tried to explain.

"Do you often dream about your Sun and Moon?"

"No, just sometimes, but not all of them are nightmares. Believe it or not, I actually have a few nice memories of that place."

Moon nodded and glanced at him. Then the blue celestial animatronic drew circles in Solar's hand and closed his eyes. 

Solar smiled softly at him and then slowly leaned his head towards Moon's.

"I had many dreams about that damn Gator." Solar admitted, and Moon raised his brow.

"I'm pretty sure that Gator had a way to get in dreams because they kept trying to sell their things."

Moon barked a laugh. "How? That British Gator can't even tie a knot. Remember when.."

"Moon that Gator was smarter than they let on."

The blue crescent animatronic chuckled. "Actually you're right, our Monty is similar when it comes to that."

There was a comforting silence and slowly Solar's hand intertwined with Moon's.

They stayed like this for a while and eventually Solar felt sleepy again.

Moon noticed that Solar was about to fall asleep, so he slowly moved him to lay down. When he tucked Solar in, he was about to just sit down on the floor and wait for him to wake up.

Solar grabbed Moon's hand and looked up at him with a slight panic.

"Are you going to leave?" Moon shook his head.

"No, you are stuck with me, remember? I just didn't know if I should lay with you."

"If you don't mind?" Solar mumbled.

Moon smiled softly at him and laid down next to him.

The blue celestial turned around, his back facing Solar and Moon felt Solar's hand move to his chest. He pulled Moon towards him and held him close.

"Calling me a cuddle bug, huh?" Moon mumbled silently and laid his hands over Solar's.

He was happy to have someone like Solar.

It didn't take Moon long to fall asleep, but then again, he could sleep anywhere if the crescent animatronic wanted to.

Hours went by, it was closing time and the celestial siblings, Lunar, Sun and Earth were carrying cookies and drinks.

Moon texted Sun and the other two that Solar was sick and should come if they had time.

Sun and Moon developed a habit of watching movies if one of them is sick. Since Earth, Lunar and even Monty came along, the habit of stuck to them as well. And they had to make sure that solar is also involved in this.

Lunar was the first to zoom through the tunnel and jumped on Solar's bed.

"Solar wake up!" Lunar yelled, that startled Moon and Solar.

Lunar let out a little gasp when they realized that Moon was also there.

"Jesus Christ Lunar. Do you always have to scream when you wake us?" Moon mumbled while sitting up.

Lunar muffled his laugh while jumping off the bed.

"Hey Sun I found Moon! He was with Solar the whole time." He yelled through the tunnel.

Solar groaned and covered his faceplate in his hands.

"Can you not scream? My head is killing me." Solar mumbled grumpy.

Lunar let out a little sorry, then Sun and Earth was climbing through the tunnel.

"Moon, have you been here for the past couple of hours?" 

The bright animatronic asked while holding chips and popcorn.

"Yep here the last few hours, why?"

"Well, we actually needed your help since we had another problem with code.. blue." Sun explained and Moon groaned as he let himself fall in bed again.

"Not dealing with this now, tomorrow." He mumbled while closing his eyes again. Solar rolled his eyes, trying not to be amused by this situation.

"How are you feeling, Solar? Any better?" Earth questioned him.

And Moon seemed to be interested in the question as well, since he sat up straight and waited for his answer.

Solar thought about it and he actually felt better. His body didn't ache, and his fans were also way quieter than in the morning.

"I'm actually feeling better."

"Did Moon nurse you back to health?" Lunar asked with a teasing tone.

Moon threw a pillow at him and when it hit Lunar he let out a little 'oof'.

"I mean if it wasn't for him, I would probably still be passed out on the security desk." Solar joked, but the other celestial animatronics didn't seem to find that funny.

Solar let out a nervous laugh before a pillow hit right in his face.

"What the heck, Lunar?"

"You deserved it." Lunar simply mumbled.

"Well, I'm glad Moon found you before that happened." Earth spoke while placing the cookies down on Solar's desk.

"Actually, Ruin found him first." Moon explained and Earth tilted her head.

"I see, I mean he did tell me you both went upstairs to get some rest."

"Do you guys know where he is?" Moon asked genuinely.

Earth shook her head. "No I wanted to, but he was kinda just gone when I was looking for him."

Moon hummed.

"You look awful by the way, Solar." Lunar shot right out and Solar sighed. "Thanks, Lunar."

Lunar was about to jump on his bed again but stopped himself.

"Wait, are you contagious?"

Solar grinned at him. "Oh, very." Then he started to pretend to cough into his elbow. Lunar seemed to be unimpressed and they jumped on the bed.

"He is kinda contagious," Moon said to Lunar, and he stopped jumping and gave Moon the death stare.

Solar chuckled, as he watched Lunar stepping away from him.

"Wait, is he actually contagious?" Earth asked genuinely and Moon nodded.

"Yeah, if you touch him while he sneezes or is glitching out, the virus can spread to you," Moon explained and turned his gaze to the amused animatronic.

"Is that how you got it from Moon, Solar?" Sun asked while Lunar was stealing a cookie from Earth.

"Yep, I'm very contagious. You better watch out." Solar said sarcastically.

"So why are you sitting right next to him, brother?" Sun asked while keeping his distance. 

"Well, actually me and Ruin are now immune to it since our bodies have already experienced it and know how to kill the virus the second it gets in our body. Similar to the human immune system.. more or less." Moon interpreted.

"Soo what are we watching today?" Earth tilted her head as she glanced at Solar.

"It's my turn to pick the movie?" He questioned and Moon nodded.

"If you're sick you can choose."

Solar felt his faceplate heat up, it was just picking a damn movie. Why did that make him feel so embarrassed? Perhaps because it made him feel like he was currently the spotlight of this room.

"I don't know. I don't care what we watch." Solar mumbled.

"I mean if you don't know, we could give you some recommendations," Earth added while smiling softly.

Solar shook his head. "I know what we could watch. But, um are we going to watch it here?"

"Well, we wanted to see if you feel well enough to watch it in the theater?" Sun explained.

"Why did you bring the food in here then?" Moon questioned while watching Lunar eat the cookies.

"Every time we leave the food alone in the theater, Vegeta just steals it." Earth told him.

"You mean that creation of Monty?" Moon cringed while asking.

Earth nodded and Solar got up slowly.

"We can go to the theater." Solar rasped out while holding on Moon's shoulder.

"But I'm not going to deal with Vegeta if they come around." Solar clarified.

They brought blankets and cushions to the theater. The snacks and drinks were lying on the table and Solar watched how everyone got comfortable watching the movie.

Solar glanced over to Moon when he was sitting down next to him.

"What? I told you were stuck with me." Moon nudged him playfully and Solar smiled softly at him.

He wouldn't want it any other way.

________________________________

Homies just cuddling

..and they were roommates

[dreamlandiasims]

Oh, you're comin' unstrung

you're comin' unstrung

previous | next

Frankie: Come on… get it together…

…

Frankie: Hi, um—

Alana: Hiya! What can I get started for you?

Frankie: Oh… I thought you were someone else.

Alana: Sorry?

Frankie: The other bartender. Sol—Is she here?

Alana: I’m not sure what you mean. I’m the only bartender.

Frankie: No… there was someone else here the other night. She looked a lot like you, but…

Alana: I’m sorry, sweetie, I’m not sure I understand. My name’s Alana, I’ve been running this bar since it opened.

Frankie: N-no, I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on…

Alana: Hey, it’s alright. Can I get you a tea? Coffee?

Frankie: I—I have to go, actually, sorry. My mom’s waiting for me.

Alana: Are you sure? You only just got here. Let’s get you calmed down, yeah?

Frankie: No, really, I—Bye! I’m sorry!

…

Frankie: …Mom?

Dammit. Maybe this is all some horrible dream…

[salem-the-moons-child]

Where am i?

salem had a intresting day yesterday after trying to find a way to see her pai.. ended up on a strange ... island resort? this.. cant get weirder surely. A familiar face is there.. and of course salem cant escape sculk that takes over other peoples bodies. it was a good day though (unlike today but oops_ Welcome to starfruit little moon god. dont stick around. ft star starrwatcherr of the qblrsmp pumpkin isles

transcript of the conversation between salem and jelli and appie: SALEM: so i was trying to find my pai and i found a weird island instead, and there was a sculk person.. like sculk that was alive, and they took me to see their friend starlight, but turns out their friend wasnt them and was actually sculk that, took over a dogs body??? cause the dog ated the sculk. Anyway eventually the sculk let go of the dog and sol, an imp, gave starlight a flesh body/creature for it to take over??, and there was actually two dog people. cause it turns out everyone on that island was dead or smth??? and star starrwatcherr of the qblrsmp pumpkin isles was there. JELLI: ....u sure you didnt dream this? :,D SALEM: WAS NOT A DREAM. star thought it was a dream though so unless i, accidentally went into star starwatcherrs dream then.. JELLI: could you do that? SALEM: maybe??? i mean i dont know star that well, and there was a ghost bat kid. and and uhhh yeah. i left. but star says hi! APPIE: :0 salem goes so many cool places. glads dogs okie n glad see star :D SALEM: so strange.. but might go back sometime to show star pictures of people ive seen.. you know. from back home JELLI: glad u had fun then! it all sound very excited and strange (shows picture of star starrwatcherr from the qblrsmp pumpkin isles now on starfruit island smp) JELLI: so.. is dead now?

a good day though

[noworneverphantom]

tagged by @bbreaddog <3

Are you named after anyone?

My legal name, no I was not named after anyone. My name that I chose for myself? Oh yes.

I chose my (current) name after a book character I heavily related to, and it's also a name who's meaning has to do with stars, which is perfect because I'm a space nerd.

When was the last time you cried?

Yeah that would be this morning...

Do you have kids?

No. Not really old enough to have kids first of all, and second of all not really interested in having kids

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

I use sarcasm when I'm really comfortable with someone, but otherwise I'm not really all that sarcastic

What sports do you play/have played?

I used to play soccer. I did that for about 6 or 7 years and then I pretty much aged out of it. Not much opportunity for leisure soccer after you hit high school, especially if your school doesn't offer it. I would have had to go pro and I wasn't that dedicated.

I was also a gymnast for maybe 3 years or so? It was really fun, but I ran into the same issue. Once I hit a certain age, it was either go pro or quit and while I wanted to go pro, it just didn't work with my kind of lifestyle.

I also used to briefly do ballet.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Their smile and their laugh.

What's your eye color?

Hazel. But my eyes actually have central heterochromia, which means that the inner part of my eye surrounding my iris is brown, and then it fades out to the outer part of my eyes which are green. I think they're very pretty and other people tend to agree, especially when I'm outside in the sun

Scary movies or happy ending?

Happy ending for sure!! Also scary movies just give me massive anxiety alsdkfal

Any special talents?

no? I don't think I have any special talents but I also tend to have a more negative outlook on myself than everyone else does on me so...

Where were you born?

:)

What are your hobbies?

Honestly, anything creative really. I love drawing, writing, reading, playing music, composing my own music/songs, singing, digital art, crocheting, sewing, embroidering, I could go on but it's late and my mind is blanking. I have a million hobbies though. (thank you adhd)

Do you have pets?

Two dogs who are very annoying (but I love them very much)

How tall are you?

Tall enough that I'm almost average height

Favorite subject in school?

I adore art classes. But a good english class is also the best thing ever, especially if we get to write essays all year long

Dream job?

Ugh that's a tough one. I can never stick with something for too long because I get bored and want more stimulation, I want constant change. So any job that can provide me that would probably be amazing. I would say something art related, but only if it meant I wouldn't grow to hate creating art. Maybe something where I can feel like I have a purpose, where I can really help people and make a strong impact on their lives?

No pressure tags: @sadmushroomgoblin @dragons-in-spaceee @sunny-sol @timetravellingkitty @chillychive

[lily-lilou]

Hi everyone! Long time no see!!! I haven't come here in Eons, but what better motivation that earlier release of S5!!!

So! My thought on 5 without spoiler and out of context?

We don't see a lot of Aaravos but almost everything he says has a double entendre. He knows it, you know it. The writers know it. EVERYONE KNOWS IT!

Terry is a dork. 

Callum is a dork. 

Everyone is a dork!

Amaya and Janai: I'll jump into danger without hesitation and make difficult decision for my people. What? Picking flower? Impossible, I can't!

Also that scene with Zubeia who goes full Batman-dramatic-entrance - It was amazing, it was cliche (because hey! No risk to squash the little humans?) and no, I won't give context!

Bloodmoon Huntress. Seriously!

PIRATE KING!!!!

trust issues

control issues

daddy issues

lot, lot of issues! Especially for Viren 

Worst of ALL THINGS: that 5 seconds of Ethari content in the credits. Yes, you heard me! This is so cruel :’( 

But also, my thought/comments on S5 WITH spoiler (just after seeing the whole thing)? 

my old theory about the first time using dark magic, the person might have a choice to do through that weird dream?? Check, apparently (Claudia: "it only happens when you use dark magic for the first time!") 

BABY SOREN AND BABY CLAUDIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The 4th coin was: Viren’s master! hehehehe! ... eh? I didn’t see that one coming! (and apparently Rayla... let it rot on the dungeon floor?... maybe not?

Also: Viren + twin Peaks. That's all, I won't comment more on this. 

The Jailer! Please. I want to know more. She was human? what kind of magic did she use? who is she? Where does she come from? I WANNA KNOW!!! EXPLAIN!!! 

theory? Yeah, she’s related to the crow lord!

Ocean arch dragon? 3 minutes on screen, but yes, I already love you!

Karim is stupid

Queen Aditi!

Sol Regem: I want context. "I lost my hope long before I lost my sight"? CONTEXT PLEASE! Also I repeat: KARIM IS STUPID!!!! AND WHAT WITH THAT PRIEST!!!

You know Callum, you could have just taken the book with you from the start. or just come back the next day... >_>’

Also, speaking of corruption: the mushroom mage. Great, but... could he have helped with Lux Aurea? Or something?... no? Just me? 

who cares, I already love him =D

Who's that dude in front of Aaravos's statue? You know, the other statue LOTR like? Is he also a startouch? Seems like it. Who is he? 

Next season objectif? Saving the coins with magic cristals because imediate crisis averted (pfff you bet!). And hey! What a coincidence, magic sword to kill a startouch in the same package! 

That weird old skywing with bandaged eyes in the credits. Pretty sure he’s in that tower with the sword

Bait + Baitlings: yes!

PIRATE KING!!!! (a crafty jerk, but we like him anyway - I do hope he’s not dead). Also, Villads and Nyx. 

Callum: gets punched in the face a few times, read a poem, get a weird advice from an old hermit-crab-lady and bingo! Ocean arcanum reached + bonus speech about control issues! (or did I miss a few things?)

Everyone has been shocked to hear Aaravos saying "our child" to Viren (the viraavos shipers will implode, with that one) - anyone notices it means Claudia and Soren have a half-sibling, now? 

will Viren survive? Will he reach an arcanum? ohohohoh! I wanna see! (Stupid theory: Aaravos is schocked his pawn isn’t moving according to plan, but will test his resolve before actually saving him... of doing it through Claudia)

last thing: squid Claudia. yes! you heard me!

Pfioooo! What a ride! That’s all for now. I’m gonna digest all of this. 

[shallowseeker]

Shal, I hope you are feeling better! I wanted to add something to your Silvia-Amara meta if you don't mind me putting something into the mix as a long shot. Carmen from the djinn dream in What is and Should Never Be looks a lot like both of them. That seems like something!

Thank you. I'm feeling some better, but veeery sore and sleepless for the pain. (On the flipside, I can breathe better and already have more energy.)

This is so iiiiiiiinteresting, thank you!

I'll be honest...I had to go back to remind myself what Carmen even looked like. But yes! Carmen from the El Sol ad! Carmen the nurse! (I always thought she was a nod to one of Dean's psychosexual fixations, too; that is, films with hot men who dance like Swayze (Carmen 1983). I mean, hello Antonio Gades.

Plus, you know his thing for Spanish soap operas... ("Mi amor! Mi amor! Por favor despierta!" Poor Ricardo.)

And Dean's love for soaps from 7x03 The Girl Next-door. (Yes, the "My love, my love, please wake up!" one.)

//

Ahem. Anyway. Back to our Carmen. *points* Oh, my God. Yeah, it's El Sol, but it's also the specter of the beach. I am choking on my own spit here.

There's definitely something analogous in Sylvia (from season 15's Gimme Shelter) being an idealized something that Connor maybe thought he wanted, felt comfort going after, or tried to make himself want.

For that matter, I think there's something parallel here in how Amara views her love for Dean, too. Amara's view of Dean is idealized, draped in always-or-never statements, and impersonal. Meanwhile, the Dean of season 11 has grown immensely since the djinn dream in season 2. His conceptualization of love has become less romanticized:

DEAN: I can’t explain it, but to call it desire or love…it’s not that.

Carmen was an ideal, and Amara was perhaps the network's ideal, but Sylvia is actually not quite as one-to-one to either of them here. Sylvia was a real relationship with Connor, even if was perhaps a tragic childhood misstep for Connor while he was trying to figure himself out.

Of course, Carmen Porter's own words come back to haunt the Dean & Amara and Dean & Carmen relationships. Even our idealized romantic relationships falter, and they too become as baggage-ridden as our family, and our family is imperfect.

CARMEN: Well, you don't really spend a lot of time together. I mean, I just think you don't know each other all that well.

In early days, Dean's conceptualization of Carmen is adorably immature, like a teenager's dream: someone who accepts my eating habits n' idiosyncrasies, listens to me, and loves me. Someone who is "respectable" and stable. (In season 2, Dean is still, like Amara, dealing with the core wound of his nursery.)

Sylvia and Connor seemed to know each other quite well and were "a couple." He genuinely loved her, in his own way. Their connection just wasn't exactly what Sylvia thought it was, or wanted it to be. She became angry with Connor and called him a LIAR, and then she murdered him.

Dean has carried healthy relationships with dark-eyed beauties as well, like Lisa Braeden and "I-thought-we-had-a-connection" Risa from season 5's The End.

Hmmm. Okay, yes. I think your point is a good point. And it has branching points, too. There's a lot tangled up in here! Season 15's Sylvia Jones has some uncomfortable similarities to season 5's Risa, especially.

//

(REF: Here's the recent stuff about Sylvia and Amara-Silvia stuff and more Amara failing to recognize romantic love and Chuck setting Amara up for disappointment.)

[valeriefauxnom]

Things that the "It-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named" Manga hinted at that might have been interesting, were it an actually good work:

So, as we all know (or maybe we don't?), there was a terrible two-part Dragalia manga that they made at the beginning, likely just as a sort of advertising. One problem: it was bad.

For starters, whomever was in charge of it seemed to have a very, very poorly understanding of Euden as a character. The best I can describe it is if you put Euden, Emile, and dash of Leonidas' inability to remember his siblings' names into a blender and let 'er rip. And I dunno about you, but Emile and Euden are not exactly alike. But no, somehow the writer got the understanding that the reason Euden hasn't set out to form a pact was out of laziness than just a peacekeeping measure that the actual Euden was doing (well, a bit more to it than that, but I'll come around to it later).

When combined with the author unable to not have Euden be, let's say, weird in regards to Zethia (a thing that Dragalia itself commendably relentlessly fought against even to the end despite a depressingly large party of the community thinking otherwise. Before I get on that whole tangent, I'd just like to remind everyone that in the very last event they both stressed that no matter what they still see themselves as siblings) because, you know, everything's gotta be stereotypical (read, bad) anime and manga, right?

So yeah. Needless to say, we are pretty much wholly in AU territory from the start. WillofWinnie aptly described it (a headcanon I have incorporated) is that it is Euden through Emile's perspective, ie, assuming Euden is more like him and otherwise putting him in an unflattering light.

However, AU itself is not necessarily bad. And when I look at the few little hints of what might have been an interesting alternative telling to Dragalia, I just mourn all the harder that it might have had something compelling.

Here's a collection of things that might have been fun/interesting, were they not in so poorly a manga. That's right, I'm addressing the dragon in the room, the biggest forbidden topic in the Dragalia Fandom, and made myself Suffer(tm) to not only snip out parts that I think might have had potential, but also incidentally make this thing look much better than it was! Strap in, folks, cause this is gonna be long!

-First of all, this isn't even a manga-exclusive thing, but I just like seeing Sol Alberia properly. Turns out it's this massive city enclosed in walls!

-Perhaps the biggest change implied of all is that manga!Alberia seems to have a much more fluid understanding of who the next-in-line is. In canon, it's pretty much lock and key that provided nothing happens, Leonidas will inherit. Nobody really challenges his authority as heir-apparent. And with him regularly reaffirmed to be the eldest, it's clear that he isn't actually a younger sibling that just happens to be the favored for the throne right now.

Euden (well, dream Euden, but this imagining of him is of a much more in-character version of him than Gala!Mym's imaginings) even had this to say in a story:

But the siblings in the manga are stated to be in an outright inheritance war, which, since they're not just murdering each other, means that there would be other ways to gain the throne without eliminating the competition through death:

(Gotta say, the overly-ominous framing of the siblings is something pretty funny to me even if they are indeed bad news early Dragalia)

This could be its own point of interest, because notably, it's the exact thing canon Euden feared pre-game. Canon Euden establishes that his primary reason for not even attempting to make a pact is because he doesn't want to be viewed as usurper with dreams of power, now making a move. He'd rather be viewed as the weak, ineffectual sibling that is no threat to preserve harmony. However, given the more locked-in inheritance order in canon, Euden's fears are perhaps slightly excessive.

For the siblings to be worried about him as a true threat, they'd have to be worried about him killing Leonidas, Phares, Chelle, Valyx, and Emile before he'd be the crown prince. Of course, there's other ways to gain power, but the fear he's trying to take the crown would likely be a more remote fear.

In Not!Euden's world, though, Canon Euden's fears would be fully justified. Here, the throne is not near-guaranteed to rest in Leonidas' hands, and here Euden is immediately a threat if Aurelius starts to view him more favorably than his 'competitors'.

On a tiny note, this might also help align one of the relations diagram they put out as an ad before Dragalia launched, wherein Leonidas and Phares mutually consider each other 'worthy rivals':

In canon, we mostly only see shades of this relationship in Phares' lines wherein he comments that his alchemy work started after Leonidas' and how he's happy to have surpassed him in that, as well as Leonidas' general respect (well, for Leo) of Phares, but that's all. In the manga, though, they could be rivals in a more true sense for the throne.

The implications of this big change are also interesting in regards to Emile. Emile is his same-old abrasive self in the manga, but in the manga world, some of his initial anger would also be more justified surrounding Euden being sent out to pact.

As was ever-so-gently brushed upon in canon rarely, the Dragon Choosing and pacting is not an easy process by any means, physically or mentally. Here, Emile is upset that Euden has essentially been given a fast pass and cut the line, the agony, all that, and is in his view being favored by Aurelius, which I think is fair.

Aurelius might only be doing this just for the emergency of the situation instead of letting the Dragon Choosing/pacting being a voluntary endeavor like it was for the rest, but Emile (and likely the rest of the siblings) would naturally view this as huge favoritism and a sign the throne might go to Euden if they don't do something to regain favor/make him look bad.

And you know what? That might have been an interesting AU direction to take things, had they committed to it. The understandable misconception that Euden is now somehow the golden child (even more inconceivable compared to canon Euden as it is) leading to sibling arguments for the throne could be cool.

-On a lighter note, not!Euden is correct in one thing: Emile certainly will bring harm to him!

-Euden vs Combat, fight!

The relationship between Euden and not!Euden regarding fighting is a very interesting contrast. Both don't exactly love it; Euden might go to lengths to try and resolve things before coming to blows, but is ultimately willing.

Not!Euden, though, while he similarly dislikes fighting, goes a bit further than Euden does.

He skips sword lessons (a thing only attributed to Emile in canon), completely lacks any sort of will to fight. As I mentioned at the start of this, the bulk of it is attributed to laziness, but there's a small caveat.

This is where it gets frustrating, because at times the manga edges close to the canon personality of Euden but shies away from every fully meeting up to where it could take it in a new direction whilst remaining true to the core. Case in point, not!Euden here also dislikes fighting/power because he dislikes spilling blood, and because, as Zethia puts it, dragons=power=conflict to this Euden, tying back in to the whole inheritance war.

This could have been an intersting fork off of Euden, because they additionally share another divergence: talent, or lack thereof.

Canon Euden is actually addressed several times to not really have any talent in swordplay. He's fledgling, mediocre, as remarked by people like Raemond and Leif, and lacks for the natural skill Leonidas or any of his other relatives might have had with a weapon.

It's only through his incredible hard work and perseverance he's shown to have (plus all the do-or-die moments he's forced into over the years) that he gains the skill that he does, which again immediately contrasts with not!Euden skipping outright.

And yet, manga!Euden is noted to have talent. He's just not using a lick of it to actually gain skill.

This might just be Leif trying to puff him up, encourage him, but it doesn't seem to be when he's privately talking to Aurelius later:

(Leif get some sleep to get rid of the bags under your eyes, even if I'm sure dealing with this iteration of the family is even more taxing than normal). Ahem. The point is, is that this Euden has talent but no will or drive to get better but canon Euden has the inverse. While it might be tempting to frame this as an immediate way that the manga is worse ('oh of course, he's secretly got all this talent that he can just bust out at the convenient plot moment, get stronger for doing nothing at all'), I could see it as an interesting fork to Euden as a character if they handled it right, which they admittedly wouldn't in the manga.

What I mean would be mixing some of what we know about canon!Euden into the mix. Namely, Euden has a notably deficient sense of self-worth I've gone over several times. With siblings like Emile and Leonidas, it would be easy to further that into a thing partially caused by their attitudes that tend to push down others. In essence, I think one could have reconstructed his low self-esteem as a result of sibling bullying to the point where he even views trying as a futile endeavor, but as the story goes on and as he is no longer 'under their thumb' quite as much and then can actually use that room to allow any talent and skill to bloom. A sort of healing process and the change from derision to encouragement from those around, you know?

I'll stop there before I go start writing an AU of a bad AU of Dragalia, but hopefully you get where I'm going with that idea. The point is, him having all this apparently ~secret talent~ doesn't necessarily have to be bad!

-On another more lighthearted/less plot-heavy note, I will commend the artist for taking the bold step in finally giving Zethia some darn shoes, even as sandals.

-Honestly, regarding Zethia, she just kinda girlbosses her way through the manga, and good for her! Plenty of legitimate criticism can be levied with the way Zethia is initially handled as just another damsel in distress, but in its brief, generally poorly life, at least this manga's Zethia was kicking butt.

She's unequivocally the stronger between her and Euden, and as a result her overprotective side is on better display from the get-go (as both the twins had it in canon, and a later plot thread was actually getting them more independent of each other. Euden's was just naturally the one with more exposure)

Also ouch on the roasting there Zethia, but not!Euden probably deserves it.

Hard as it is to give credit where credit is due for this, again, good for her! (Even if it is just set up as a means to point out that terrible old 'protagonist is a useless baby' trope in anime/manga, but I digress.)

-Back to plot heavy stuff, Aurelius vs. Morsayati, fight!

As we know from canon, Aurelius was perfectly fine until he entered the Binding Ruins, wherein he was possessed by Morsayati and then started chapters 2-26. Manga!Aurelius, though, apparently seemed to have potentially had a bit of creeping Morsayati in the blood from the get-go.

I think this also would have been an interesting fork, since it also can connect with actual canon knowledge. Alberius explicitly sealed Morsayati in his blood, with the aim of his dragonblood being so diluted over the generations that Morsayati could no longer reform/possess one of his descendants. With this in mind, it's more than feasible to instead change the Other's possession method as more of a slow creep than an instant take-over as with Aurelius and Zethia.

It could have been interesting to see Euden slowly have to weigh if this is his father anymore, if Aurelius initially displayed more of his own personality. Canonically, his change is so abrupt and so jarring that Euden instead is devout in his correct belief that this just can't be his Father, and instead some shapeshifter thing masquerading as his father, whom he seems to view as in need of rescue:

With that in mind, I think it could have been compelling. Maybe the possession is still fully completed at the Binding Ruins, except maybe the Other just slowly pushed Aurelius into going there. Maybe Euden then and the townsfolk get worried over all the siblings the moment they feel as if any in the royal family might be starting the path to possession. Maybe Euden himself has to personally grapple with fears that he's somehow being possessed as he grows more used to having to make hard decisions as a leader in war and all that, that he views as 'evil'.

Also, we later find out in canon that Aurelius went to the Binding Ruins in an attempt to help Nedrick and was consciously gambling with controlling the Other's power for that end, which almost assuredly wasn't in the minds as of the manga's inception, but maybe it could be tied into that.

Aurelius, increasingly fearing, perhaps paranoid for how he's going to protect all his family, -including Nedrick still suffering on the north side of the continent, -starts heeding that little voice that in the Binding Ruins, surely there must be something from the ancient civilizations there he could use to gain power enough to protect his children? Again, not to create an AU of a bad AU, but I could see potential!

-And last but not least, on another lighter note, but given not!Euden's...everything, I do appreciate that his personal guards(?) are always prepared for when they need to use their magic lassos to bodily drag him down from a tree:

Given that we do know that Euden had at least a minor proclivity to go outside the castle/escape when he wasn't supposed to growing up, it might have been funny to see some of Euden's escapades, instead of not!Euden's. That being said, the guards also channel one's feelings quite well in regards to having to deal with this not!Euden:

So yeah, there's a little bit about NotMy!Euden's thankfully brief if disastrous stint in the world of manga! My apologies for either informing you or reminding you about it, but I do hope you gained something of vague interest from this, or rather, what it could have been!

[cryptidclaw]

hmm so rough idea for oots

first off- no starclan vs dark forest- more so that all the ancestors live on one spiritual plane. Yes there are different sections, but they are all connected

so to kick off the arc, most of Starclan is in a uproar that the Orders changed the laws. Og dark forest cast manipulates more questionable cats into working for them, because they are blinded with rage.

healers are panicking and trying to hide that their contact with Starclan is gone, the lake is drying up, and through all of this, they have received only one prophecy-

The singing dove shall fly a path of stars, lest it get choked by the poison ivy

but yeah, so when falconclaw tells jaywing that primrosedawn had two kittens named ivy and dove, his prophecy senses start tingling.

Dove is babied by River order, while ivy succeeds at fighting and hunting far more. And Hawkfrost takes advantage of this. Visiting her in her dreams, telling her an altered version of the prophecy. The winding ivy shall grow along a path of stars, lest the crying dove tear it to shreds.

Dark forest training happens, but with ‘mainly’ sheathed claws to keep secrecy and a far larger emphasis is placed on the bonds of the df trainees, and they all believe that they are chosen prophecy cats of some kind.

Sol’s cult pops up again, causes chaos, and unleashes more spiritual energy- more and more omens start leaking out of the blockade that the angry Starclan cats made, like a broken dam.

note- tunnels+eclipse= reason that the spirits can fight physically in the end of the arc. Haven’t exactly figured out the reason for it, maybe something about how tunnels-bridge and eclipse-bridge to the dead?

and then the battle happens. Fireheart dies, Onewhisker FINALLY DIES, and the orders win. leader roster by the end of the arc-

Hollyleaf for Thunder, Willowfeather for River, insert character for Wind, Blackfoot for Shadow, and Ravenscourge for Blood.

other notes-

Alder+Spark are born early in this arc

Holly/cinder, whether platonic or romantic, stays strong

falconclaw is just a happy dude

blood and Thunder become even more closer- to the point that they are almost unified completely

ivypool is either single or wlw and I will die on this hill

Thornclaw finally dies

Sol’s cult= few oc’s, plus darktails The kin

aaand that’s my take on Rise of Change Omen of The Stars! Let me know what you think.

Yusss this is so good!!! I was thinking something very similar!!

I really like the idea that the Stars are where all cats go, and in OotS there is a civil war between the Stars with the Orders joining in!

Also I love the idea that Sol gets involved!! that's so good!! Its a great way for him to come back and continue to cause problems hehe

Also the idea that the Eclipse is why dead cats can fight physically works so well??? maybe the Eclipse can happen in OotS instead of Po3!!! and it happens during the battle!!

...

definatley going to do some great civil war for OotS, Im going to need to actually read it first before I come up with anything solid tho lol

[solradguy]

I'm kinda scared of saying I kin anything because I'm not sure how that works. if it's not too much trouble, could you explain it to me, please?

Ah man... It's complicated and the identity itself is massively decentralized so I'll do my best to kind of explain what I've been able to dig up and what it means to me. Most of this information was gathered from essays written by therians or animal/mythological beasts kin. There is not much information about or written by fictionkin, which is... a complex source of frustration for me.

So, at its core, otherkin is a spiritual identity. Nearly every essay I've read on it has very clearly stated in the opening paragraph that the author is fully aware that they are not physically the thing they are kin with. But there's this deep connection to the thing they kin ("resonance") that goes beyond it just being a way to say that character/animal/concept/etc is their absolute favorite. One essay I read ("We are spirits of another sort") that did touch on fictionkin a little described it as being an archetypal or metaphorical identity alongside being a spiritual one.

For example, with my relation to Sol, obviously I'm not actually physically him, he isn't real, and I wouldn't want to ever go through the things he's been through. But still it's uncanny how relatable he is and it's easy to sort of filter or explore myself through him, I guess. This is something I didn't realize I did with characters throughout my whole life until recently with Sol. It started as a bunch of jokes my friends made at my expense (lovingly, I promise) which made me look into otherkin stuff more and, yeah, that's apparently what this is.

To some people this identity can feel extremely real though. A sense that maybe in a past life they were the animal they have a connection to now as a human is a common one. Recurring themes in dreams too. Some others even get phantom limb sensations to varying degrees for limbs humans don't generally have (wings, tails, absent horns or antlers, etc). Not everyone gets these and those that do don't always experience them the same way. I get some of these but I'm not going to elaborate on them on this blog. This part of the identity specifically makes me wish there was a real scientific study done on it since there's definitely something neurological going on here.

I suppose if you see a lot of yourself in a character/animal/whatever then you might also be a type of otherkin too. I highly recommend looking for information on this identity outside of Tumblr though. Its meaning has been distorted a bit on here and there's a lot of weird drama around it with very little actual conversation. Making a private sideblog or journal to try to sort out your feelings and thoughts towards what you think you might be kin of has helped me a lot too.

There are essays on otherkin.net that I found useful in my initial dive into this in their featured articles tab:

For something slightly less anecdotal, "We are spirits of another sort" by Joseph P. Laycock was also informative. It's on JSTOR and you'll have to sign in to an institution to read/download it but I can upload a PDF of it somewhere tomorrow if you don't have a method of reading it for free.

A couple otherkin/therians have Neocities sites with essays on their experiences too. Doing a search for "otherkin" should bring them up. I'm replying to this on mobile or I'd link some, sorry...

Even if you read a lot about it or try applying the identity label to yourself for a bit and it doesn't work out, just remember that that's alright. It's good to test out and explore things and with something "open source" like otherkinity, there truly is no "wrong" way to identify with it. Just do what feels right or most comfortable to you.

Some briefer definitions:

Otherkin: This is a blanket term for all these kinds of identities but most often means someone kin with an animal, mythological beast (dragons, unicorns, demons, etc), or concept (weather patterns, inanimate objects). Conceptkin seem especially fringe.

Fictionkin: Otherkin with a fictional character or species. Formerly called "mediakin".

Therian: An exclusively animal-based identity. Almost shamanistic? The reincarnation aspect seems strongest with therians, with a feeling of an animal soul displaced in a human body.

[junjiie]

ok got too excited for a sec and unfollowed you ignore that- but long awaited sol opinion time???

batter up wasn’t bad. idm the song tbh and at some point it might grow on me but overall the sound was boring tbh… no hate at all to the girls and stuff bc they’re so young but i feel that the company hyped this gg up for so long and with the reputation of being the next gg up yg after blackpink, the final product is less of a “this is trash” and more of a “this was all you could really do?” bc i know for a fact they probably have newer sounds kept away in the basement somewhere.

the vocals, rap, and dance are all great. but the main issue is that a lot of them are still minors. mainly the youngest who is 13. her voice will change a lot as she grows older and i hope yt know how to accommodate that properly bc i know for a fact that companies will force artists to sing in a certain range for their whole career bc “it’s what the people want”

i saw people complaining about not having a storyline to their group and tbh, i don’t think a group needs a story to be popular. i get that having concepts like that is what makes k-pop what it is, but if you focus too much on a storyline for your sounds, you lose part of the musical ascent and limit yourself to certain topics. im actually glad in this case that yg didn’t didn’t end up going with a storyline path bc it would restrict them further and with again, how they all are, having to make a concept that will fit the members for the whole long run is hard.

i think storyline are wonderful if you’re able to show subplots and different meanings within the songs without having to stick to that one story; each song is a tale itself. ateez and txt pull these off well imo just bc of the way they storylines are already so complicated, meaning you’d have to dig deeply into things for the lore. it’s not constricted to one side of things. idk if any of that made sense-

the mc was. boring… idk like i feel like the could have done so much more to show case them? the rap line had a good part in the mv where they got more physicality but the vocals just. stood. idk. maybe that’s just my inner performer who was told to use up the stage a lot coming though LMFAO

omg i hope you enjoyed this little spillage of my thoughts. i don’t think i’ll follow baby monster just bc it feels odd? to follow them when again, over half the members are younger than me TwT

ok soju show coming to you… sometime. that channel… always so late to things smh

SOL OPINION TIME!!!! iput my Glasses on and fought away the eepiness for this 🤓

1 - !!! THIS !!! i don’t think it’s a bad song at all. i did think it sounded a little like. quiet? but that’s j me probably ive had my headphones in p much all day at tinnitus inducing volume so. Yeah ❓ from what ive seen most people don’t think it’s bad or anything, the complaint is that it’s boring. like. lazytown snoozefest big yawn boring. they put people through that long of a wait and built up that much suspense and excitement for it to just be. That???? kind of giving low effort laziness i fear.. like at least make it a little bit life changing damn

2 - THIS ABAINNNNN more groups need to start making music for the sake of it being music my god 😭😭 the lore and storylines are cool if you’re into that but if you’re a more casual listener and you don’t wanna get into all the things you feel like you need to know prior to a release bc of all the importance the story has to it then it kinda sucks ??? take sticker for example (ijbol) . that was not complicated intricate story telling . they were cunty cowboys and taeil had a dog

3 - the mv erm… it was there idk 🙁 someone said if u told them it was a nugu group w $10 and a dream they’d believe it and lowk i would too 😭 some bits were cool ig but i was thinking…. its called “batter up”…. so couldn’t they do sth fun and . yk . baseball themed?? taking terminology from a game and then not hsing thatgame j sounds kinda stupid like i get u want them to look perfect and cool but its Right Thre .

THANKU FOR SPILLING UR THOUGHTS BSF!!! sry if i wasnt v coberent im tired lmao. i wont b following them either i j wanted to see what other people thought abt it :o

[so2uv]

☆★ sol's review of jj's radio show !!

for @junjiie's eyes only. listened to this stuff for the first time on friday and then listened again to write reviews so the downside is that im eepy while doing this-

chocolate / kylie minogue : i fuck with this ngl. it's chill. idk how many times i can listen to her voice before having to remove the song from my playlist though TwT breathy singers aren't my fave... also im sorry the way she said chocolate had me crying- 50/50 on how much i like it bc it'll depend what mood im in i suppose

the desolation tango / tv girl : funky start jump scared me a bit 😭 but i like it!! the little key melody in between the singing is cute and the song gives me cozy vibes. added to my study playlist lol kfdjh

artificial love / exo : have not actually listened to this song before- have not had the time to watch the fancam you sent me yet but... it's cool!! when they harmonize on "artificial love" im about to roll around on the ground and kick my feet and bite my fist and and.

10 minutes / lee hyori : beyonce esc was my first thought and stuck with me all the way through for the song. the little funky beat at 1:31 is interesting and i like the way it broke the song up so not everything is monotone. quite liked this one!!! heheh

bland new / soul scream : girlie... 6:18 for a song... appreciate me sitting through this- /j nah you're right it's pretty good. i like calmer rap if that makes sense idk words are leaving my brain like im not literate enough for this but the beat is nice and it's not too fast past. gives more old school rap style where it wasn't as focused on the speed of the words. pretty good for rap imo

monster zero / king geedorah : ... jump scare crying i straightened when the song started so fast there was a crack in my spine 😟😭 audio collages are so cool though... kind of loving this. wouldn't listen to it on a regular playlist bc it's an audio collage and i prefer um idk a better word but put together songs?? that sounds mean. im not trying to be mean help. erm yeah but it's cool and i'd totally listen to this on the bus or when walking alone!!! love the vibes of it

vervain / mf doom : instrumentals are so cool but same kind of listening thing as monster zero: don't really put those on playlists too much. i really liked this one though :DD maybe bc it's late at night & more toned down beats are nicer but it's a chaotic sort of peace to the music which is smth i like here.

enter galactic / kid cudi : "i once used to dream so sweet // until i had a taste of you" ayo??? the bars??? fucking love that line. space themed songs around metaphors are coolio heh. kid cudi slayed this one; i really like this one too!!

freelance / toro y moi : i can't really with the beginning... not a fan of the gagging like effects D: but i see what you mean with the jerky and broken up style! they do it well

pretzel / nct dream : this song 😭 reminds you 😭 of me??? 😭 consider me flattered. i don't actually like too many of nct's songs ngl but this one is p cool!! vibing with the switch from funky and kind of jerky to the vocals for the pre-chorus -> chorus. adding to playlist

happiness / red velvet : ok the beginning switch up had me go eyes wide im too eepy for this listening sesh sorry 🙁 red velvet slaps though this song is quite nice and i vibe. i like the style and the mix up of smooth with kind of jerky and broken up bits. you have a theme i see with songs you like 👁️ keeping that in mind next time i recommend you smth. also putting this on my playlist in the morning... hope i don't forget lmfao-

freak like me / sugarbabes : ok ok i see you with this. the blend at 2:18 was done so well im crying the switch was nicely put and isn't too obvious but just noticeable enough to where you go "oh shit" in a good way. another playlist add on bc tehe would totally listen to this more.

and that concludes sol's reviewing corner!! hope you enjoyed and um. if i missed any songs bc of the fact that my inbox is congested and i missed one when scrolling through the stuff you sent... erm don't mention it :DD overall, very nice picks. wish i was literate enough to give good replies to this but tis the life of a night owl fdkjgh

[seasonsbloom]

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 1)

part 2

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.

wc ; 12.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of infidelity; mentions of vomit; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics; one mention of suic*de but it's not a plot point; age gap

note: uhm... i blacked out. idk either. part 2 should be out eventually, which of course means that i haven't even started writing it yet. there will probably be several mistakes in here regarding the navy, etc. so i'm sorry about that i'm just dumb :-(

sol. sunderlust. crab. bestie... i love you forever, what would i ever do without you?

When you’re fourteen, sitting on a floral couch in one of the nondescript, army-commissioned houses you’ve been moving to every few months since you were old enough to remember, your mother turns on Cocktail with Tom Cruise, and you decide that, once you’re grown up, you’re going to be a bartender. You’re going to do just what Tom does - get a job in some dive, work your way up, learn the bottle slinging and the shot pouring and the flirting, and then you’re going to franchise the whole thing and take it national. It’s going to be just like TGI Fridays, except your drinks will actually be good instead of whatever watered-down punch they serve.

Of course, you’re fourteen, and you don’t even know what alcohol tastes like yet. Years later, you’re going to take a shot of Tequila at a bar, you’re going to splutter and cough and think you might choke, and it’ll leave you wondering if maybe you’ve made a mistake. But for now, you’ve got a dream, and you’ve got a plan, and not a smidge of doubt that you’ll make it all come true.

You’re going to do just as Tom Cruise does - minus the best friend’s suicide from the movie and the real-life Scientology thing and all that. But you’re going to be successful. You know it.

So this, then. This is not part of your plan at all.

Behind you, there’s a bang, and then the back door is ripped open. The buttery light of the bar spills in a rectangle across the beaten path, but it doesn’t reach your little corner. You hear the muffled thud of footsteps, a curse, followed by a shout of your name.

“Yeah?” you call back, hope you don’t sound like you’re balancing on the edge of a mental breakdown. Hope you don’t sound like you feel.

“Your shift’s about to start. I really need you in there cutting up some limes, please,” Jerry, your co-worker, says. Thank God he doesn’t walk over to investigate just what you’re doing huddled in the sand behind the bar.

“Okay,” you answer, voice a little wobbly, “I’ll be in in a sec.”

You wait until you hear the door shut behind Jerry, then you unfold yourself, get your shaky legs underneath your weight. You feel like somebody hit you over the head with one of those huge hammers they use to knock down walls. The nausea is back, too, something queasy and watery that shifts through your stomach.

Inside the bar, everything is like it always is. The chatter of the customers, the drawl of the music, the smell of beer, and the Ocean Breeze scented cleaner you use to wipe the floors. Far below it, the scent of the real ocean breeze drifting in through the opened windows. It seems wrong for the Hard Deck to be unchanged, unaltered, untouched when your own life has gone so completely off the rails.

You sneak in a quick, discreet bathroom break to swipe at the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, to dab at it with some damp toilet paper, to hope nobody will notice the obvious signs of tears still clinging to you. To stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, try not to think about that stupid test you buried at the bottom of the trashcan. You can taste your heartbeat in your mouth.

You don’t look any different - same nose, same hair, same eyes - but something has irrevocably shifted inside of you.

Behind the counter, you cut up the limes you promised Jerry. The scent clings to your fingers, the juice settles in the calluses. The steady sound as the knife meets the cutting board and the familiar motion of your hands help to ground you a little.

“Could we get a refill?”

You lift your head and then immediately lower it again, shoulders going up, turning to the side in an attempt to hide your face. If there are two people you don’t want to see tonight, then…

“Oh my god.” Natasha’s face pushes into your line of vision, her eyebrows crinkled, her mouth pursed. “Have you been crying?”

Waving her words of concern away with one hand, you grab for their empty glasses with the other.

“Allergies,” you lie. “I’ve got two on tap here, which one did you guys have? The German or the…”

“You don’t have allergies,” Bradley points out. You’d made it a point not to look at him, but now your gaze snaps in his direction. He stands with his eyes narrowed, with his hands on the polished wood of the bar top. Concern flutters across his face.

There’s something about Bradley Bradshaw. You like to think of it as a gravitational pull. Something with force, something that makes people look at him. Something that grounds them, too, though, gives them a tether. 

Ever since he first walked into this bar a little over a year ago, it’s like he’s become a fixture in your life, even if you only see him once or twice a week, even if it’s just a quick exchange of words over a countertop. Bradley Bradshaw makes for a good North Star.

He shrugs, and there’s something almost sheepish to it. “It was part of your list of reasons why you’re better than Hangman last month.”

You pause, still holding the glasses, and stare at him. He looks right back. 

“That’s beside the point,” Natasha pipes up. She’s balancing both her elbows on the bartop, pulling herself closer. “Why were you crying?”

That sort of shifts reality back into focus. What are you supposed to say? I let a guy who isn’t even really my boyfriend but also not really not my boyfriend knock me up, and now I have no idea what the fuck to do? To two people who are little more than glorified acquaintances?

You shrug and decide they look like they’d enjoy the new craft beer Penny got on tap. It has notes of vanilla and apple, and you’re not much of a beer person, but even you like it. Or at least you used to.

“It’s nothing,” you say, drawing the first glass. It ends up perfect - amber liquid topped with just the right amount of foam, the little bobbles popping as you push it across the counter toward Natasha. Your life might be a mess, but at least you still know how to draw a damn good glass of beer from the tap. “Don’t worry about it.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, but then she lets it go. “You know I’ll beat a guy up for you, right?”

You don’t doubt it. If there’s anybody in this bar you wouldn’t want to cross, it’s Natasha, and not just because of whatever training the Navy put her through. You’re convinced she came into the world knowing how to take a guy out.

“Yeah,” you agree and are surprised to find you mean it. Realistically, you’re not particularly close to any of the pilots. You chit-chat sometimes, have had a few drunken conversations after everybody else has filtered out of the Hard Deck while wiping down tables or collecting shot glasses, but that’s not really enough to support a true friendship. Still. If you asked, you have no doubt Natasha would go to bat for you. “It’s okay, though. I’m fine. I’ll put this on your tab, yeah?”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but then decides to let it go. Sighs, “Okay.”

As Natasha pushes off the bar to rejoin her group of friends toward the back of the bar, Bradley takes a step closer instead. You make it a point not to look at him, but the yellow and white of his Hawaiian shirt flashes in your periphery despite your best efforts.

He places a large hand on the countertop, palm down, and you should be looking busy, but all you can do is stare as his fingers starfish across the wood.

“You can talk to me, yeah?” he asks, and his voice is soft enough that it almost disappears in the din of this Saturday night. “Whatever it is.”

You do look up then. Bradley has brown eyes, round and big and deep. There’s something about them that makes you want to trust him, trust his words, trust the sincerity. It almost makes you start crying again.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Then somebody’s shouting an order at you, and you’re pushing a coaster under a sweating Cuba Libre, you’re pouring a Tequila shot, you’re looking for the maraschino cherries, you’re passing out salt shakers, and you don’t notice as he disappears and you don’t think about anything for a short, blissful, beautiful time.

+

Two months ago, you met Luke halfway through the door of a bar you’d seen on Instagram, something with low lights and neon signs and booths cushioned in lush, ruby velvet. They had this signature cocktail there, something with rum and gold foil and a lot of smoke that drifted up in sweet-smelling plumes.

Luke was charming and laughed a lot, and when he put his hand on your waist, when he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat or two. And still, the first thing you told Penny about at work the next day was the cocktail and not the guy.

You’re almost entirely sure you’re not in love with him, but you’re excited about the idea that maybe someday you could be. Luke is a nice guy. He works in finance somewhere in San Diego, takes you to expensive seafront restaurants, and once or twice, he even bought you expensive lingerie. Luke likes the same movies as you do, likes putting on Jazz music when you go down on him in his car, and that always manages to make you feel strangely sophisticated even with a dick in your mouth. He’s older, and he has a real, grown-up job, completely unlike you with your singles soaked in beer.

He’s a stead-fast, reliable guy. If you have to be in this situation with anyone, you figure it’s better to be in it with him than some twenty-something surfer dude who couldn’t even find the word responsible in a dictionary.

The anxiety has been gnawing at you since last night, has been chipping away your composure and your calm. Has reduced you into a jittery, terrified, chafing shell of your former self. All day you were fumbling - burning your hand on the heated water kettle in the morning, almost running a red light, cutting your finger deep enough it didn’t stop bleeding for a whole five minutes.

Earlier today, you took a last, desperate stand. Propelled by the sort of hope that exists against all better judgment, you went on a CVS run and returned with three more pregnancy tests. You left them back at your tiny apartment, right on the counter where you put them out in the first place, those three tiny, horrible, life-altering plus signs laughing right in your face.

And that was it then. Your fate decided. Your luck run out.

Since you were fourteen, sitting on that floral couch, the course of your life had seemed so clear to you. You’d been so sure of where you wanted to go, so sure of how to get there. And yeah, okay, maybe you used to think you’d get there sooner, but that’s never deterred you before. Slow and steady wins the race, that’s what you used to think.

Now, ten years later, everything is muddled. You can’t see an inch ahead in the fog of all this.

To add insult to injury, those tests were fucking expensive. The next time you check your bank account, you might start crying.

So you spent a good fifteen minutes curled up on your bathroom tiles, staring at your shower curtain, blinking away tears you never shed. You spent a good fifteen minutes trying to figure it out, trying to untangle it, trying to make sense of how you could fuck up so completely. 

And then you finally picked yourself up, massaged the grid pattern of the tiles off your cheek, and shot Luke a text asking if he was free tonight.

He drops by at the end of your shift.

“Hi, babe.” Luke grins as he slides into one of the bar stools. “You good?”

You nod, then pause. “Not really?”

You’re wiping down the bartop, dumping an ashtray you collected from the smoking zone outside into the trash. The Hard Deck is empty now, even the last stragglers filed out. Bob selected a song on the jukebox before he left, something slow and decidedly country. Your hands shake when you go to wet the rag again.

Luke frowns and leans across the bar to look at you closely. “What happened?”

“I have to tell you something,” you say and run the tap. The water hits the chrome of the sink with a splatter.

Luke raises an eyebrow, grins. “Illicit confession?”

Under any other circumstances, you would have laughed. But your stomach is coiled up in knots so tight you wonder if they’ll ever untangle again. Like the earphones you fish from the bottom of a purse.

You just so manage a half-hearted chuckle, a sad, pathetic little sound that has Luke’s eyebrow climbing even higher.

He pushes a brown paper bag across the counter. “I brought your favorite take-out… Would that cheer you up?”

Almost immediately, your stomach growls in answer. You’ve been so hungry the past few days that you can’t even manage to be embarrassed. “Mexican?” you ask, something like excitement in your voice for the first time in over 24 hours.

“Ah...” Luke bites his lower lip. “No, uhm… I got something from that one place we went to. The fusion kitchen?”

“Oh…” The excitement dampens immediately, and you force a smile. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

“Sorry… you did say you liked it when we went.”

He’s right. You did say that.

Luke likes experimental food, things like that cocktail with the gold foil. Things that look much better than they end up tasting. He takes pictures of them and posts them on his Instagram, and he always makes sure not to get your hand in, your purse, your foot. He doesn’t even follow you back, and you want to not care about trivial things like social media so very badly that you never ask him about it.

He looks genuinely apologetic, though, so you resolve to forgive him. You smile and say, “I did! This is great. Thanks, Luke.”

His satisfied smile puts you at ease.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

It’s a bit like a bucket of ice water. The ease slips away as quickly as it came. You start wiping almost furiously at a stain on the bartop, then give up. Stare at your fingers gone wrinkly with the sudsy water. 

You open your mouth, and then you say, “I’m pregnant.”

It’s not what you meant to say. You meant to ease into this, make it sound… less final, somehow. As if that’s at all possible. As if that isn’t exactly what it is. Final.

You’re never going back from this, you realize suddenly. No matter what happens from here on out, there’s never going to be another moment where this hasn’t happened. Where you weren’t pregnant, where you didn’t mess it all up. The plan, the dream, the life.

Tears aren’t enough anymore. You’re going to run headfirst into the ocean and scream until the saltwater fills your lungs.

Luke laughs. You stare at him.

It takes a moment, but slowly he realizes that you’re not joking. That this is serious. The smile slides sideways off his face.

“Oh,” he says, and you can’t look at him anymore. So you let your eyes wander, down towards the lapels of his white dress shirt. He’s still wearing his suit and tie, and the realization that he’s come straight from the office touches you more than it should. At the same time, guilt settles in your stomach. You’re doing this to him, you’re altering his life, you…

The rational part of yourself scoffs, takes over the reins. It takes two to tango, you remind yourself. This is as much his fault as it is yours.

But that doesn’t get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth.

“Why…” Luke pauses. “Why are you telling me this?”

When you look up at his face again, his expression is carefully blank.

“Uh…”

“Shouldn’t you be telling the father?”

You blink. The cogs of your mind turn slowly like somebody slapped gum between them. “I am,” you say, wondering what the hell he’s on about.

“I’m not the father,” Luke says, very matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to lie about it.” 

“I’m not lying.” You’re too stunned to even be insulted by the insinuation.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs his shoulders, his expensive suit in the tacky, glossy fabric catching the light. “It’s not like we’re exclusive. I don’t mind if you slept with somebody else.”

“Not exclusive,” you repeat lamely. Maybe that part shouldn’t catch you as off guard as it does. You’ve never discussed it with him in as many words, never sat down to have the whole boyfriend/girlfriend talk, but you’ve been seeing each other semi-regularly for two months now, and you’d just sort of assumed…

“Sure.” Luke nods. “Don’t blame this one on me, then.”

Oh. Your heart clenches, and suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe.

“I didn’t sleep with anybody else,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.

Luke shrugs. “Well, it can’t be mine.”

You don’t even know what to say to this. You’re in desperate, burning need of a shot, and the realization that you can’t have one zaps through you like a pain.

“We always used a condom,” Luke is saying, and his words drift to you through a fog, through a mist, through a thicket of fear and anxiety and ice-cold panic. “I made damn sure of that.”

“It’s not….” You clear your throat. “They’re only like… 98 percent safe. Condoms, I mean.”

“What, so you’re saying we’re those two percent?”

He looks like he’s about to start laughing again, and suddenly you barely recognize him. You’ve always known that Luke wasn’t the love of your life, but that was fine. Love hadn’t been part of the plan anyway, that was for later, much later, after you’d gone international and gotten rich off Mojitos and Pina Coladas and the occasional Old Fashioned. But Luke had been… well, he’d been nice. Always. He’d been someone to laugh with, had been long walks on the beach, and quick tumbles in his backseat. He’d been fun and nice and…

And you’d been stupid enough to hope. Hope for more, hope for better, hope for something.

“I can’t have a baby with you,” he says. His voice rings with finality.

What are you supposed to say to that? With those three positive pregnancy tests back home on your bathroom counter. With the knowledge that you haven’t slept with anyone else.

“Well,” you whisper, and the words come out softer than you want them to, “you are.”

Luke is very quiet for a moment. He’s looking right at you, the blue eyes you used to think were open, inviting, now slitted and probing. Like a snake. 

“Jesus,” he says finally, draws back to run his fingers through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. His voice has lost some of its calm. “What do you want from me?”

You wonder if you look as dazed as you feel. “I don’t… I don’t want anything from you.”

That’s not true. You’d like him to hug you. You’d like him to tell you it’s going to be okay, even if that might be a lie. You’d like him to be nice to you.

Instead, Luke, who looks increasingly distressed, jerks his head and says, “If it’s a family you’re after… I can’t give you that.”

Everything has happened so quickly - the toppling of your plans, the chaos of your life. You haven’t really had time to think about how you want him to react. Not like this, though.

“Why not?” you ask and regret the question the moment it’s out of your mouth. You sound like a child - lost, confused.

Luke sighs. He rakes a palm over his face and shakes his head. When he finally looks at you again, there’s something almost guilty on his face. You can’t tear your eyes away, can’t help but feel your stomach plummeting down down down toward the ground. It’s like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, feeling what the fall might be like even with both feet firmly planted.

“I can’t give you that,” he says, “because I already have a family.”

Beneath you, the ground seems to quiver.

“What?”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then reaches into his pocket and produces a shiny, golden wedding band. When he slips it back onto its original place on his finger, you watch the patch of pale skin, several shades lighter than the rest, disappear.

Your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest.

“You’re… married?”

“Going on five years,” he says, and you think he sounds sad, but maybe that’s just your hope getting the better of you again.

You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you just stand there with the rag still in your hand, listening to the sad, sad voice of some wanna-be cowboy drawling from the speakers. Hear the phantom thud of the cues hitting pool balls. Turn your head to where the pilots were having fun earlier, back when things weren’t all jumbled up.

The whole world moves far, far away from you. Like something you watch on TV screens, something intangible, something fake. It’s not something that happens to people like you. It’s not something that happens to real people.

“It’s… you didn’t tell me that,” you say, and it’s like your voice echoes through a long, long tunnel, bounces off the walls like a tennis ball. “I didn’t know.”

And then you think back on it. Think of whispered phone calls in the dead of night, think of erratic work schedules, think of his insistence to come here instead of going to San Diego. Think of how little you know of his life, how firmly he kept you locked out of it.

Suddenly you’re not so sure if you didn’t know or if you just didn’t want to know. If you closed your eyes to what was right in front of you.

Guilt and anger and confusion flash through you in rapid succession. You feel sick to your stomach.

“I’ll give you money,” Luke says. It’s a peculiar thing - you see his mouth move before the words ever reach your ears, like a movie that’s gone out of sync with the audio.

“Money,” you repeat, very slowly. Or maybe not slowly at all. You just feel like you got stuck in molasses, like the whole world has been dipped in something sticky.

“Well. You’re getting rid of it.”

It’s not a question. He says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something that’s already been decided. Like it’s something you don’t get a say in.

You stiffen, fingers sinking into the wet rag. Soapy water drips over the lacquered wood of the bartop. 

“No,” you say. “No, I’m not.”

About five minutes ago, you hadn’t even made your mind up about it yet. Hadn’t decided whether to keep it or not. Had still been weighing the pros and cons in your mind, turning them over like a Rosetta Stone that might help you decipher the encrypted, tangled mess of your thoughts.  

And now that he’s said it, now that the option is right there in the open, suddenly you know that’s not the way you want it to happen.

“What,” Luke says, “you wanna have it?”

“Yes,” you answer, and you know it’s the truth.

Maybe it’s stupid. You’re twenty-four. You’re broke. You pick up shifts at a bar to pour tequila shots for other people. You live off the guys you flirt with long enough they decide you’re worth a tip. All those plans of grandeur, of franchises and cocktails and Park Avenue apartments, are dead-ends. You’ve been walking a cul-de-sac your whole life.

And still… something about it feels right to you. 

You’ve been thinking about the whole thing in theory - the theoretical truth of that test, the theoretical reaction of Luke, the theoretical existence of that baby, the theoretical impact on your life. But it’s not a theory. It’s real.

There’s a baby growing in you.

It’s the most terrifying thought of your life. You’ve never experienced something so wonderful. Even as the fear eats away at you, even as your stomach churns and your head spins, some part of you feels illuminated with light.

Luke laughs. “Babe… no offense, but that’s a horrible idea.”

You clench your teeth and grit out, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He shrugs. “Well, you’re gonna get it. You really think you could raise a kid?”

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, and wonder where all this calm is coming from. “But I want to try.”

Luke stares at you as if you’re growing a spare set of ears right in front of him. Then he laughs again, shakes his head. You can’t see what’s so funny about any of this. 

“Babe,” he says, “this isn’t some new Cocktail recipe. This is an actual child you’re talking about.”

If you weren’t so goddamn tired, it would make you angry. Set fire to you like a fuse. But you’re drained, empty, hollow. You want to go home, want to curl up in bed, want to cry. You want to go back two weeks in time, back when you were still just a failing waitress with a big dream. Back before the responsibility of it all hunched you over.

“I’m doing it,” you say, and hope he understands the decision is final. Hope your voice is firm.

Luke exhales. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, as he turns half away from you.

Finally, after an eternity, he says, “I can’t be involved in this.”

For your part, you understand that decision is final too.

You nod, grab onto the bartop to keep yourself from toppling over. The ground beneath you is a gaping, beckoning abyss. It’s going to swallow you whole.

“Fine,” you whisper. “I’ll do it alone then.”

For a moment, Luke looks almost surprised. As if he was sure you’d fold eventually, see reason. Listen to him.

You wonder if that’s how it’s been before - him pushing and you giving in. Rearranging your life to fit his schedule, his plans, his wants. Shrinking yourself to make room for him. And you didn’t even notice.

You straighten your spine.

“For what it’s worth,” Luke says as he slides off his chair, “I’m sorry.”

And then he does what men do best: He leaves. Walks away from you and the baby growing inside of you. Walks away from the mess he made, the dream he shattered, without a care or a thought. Without looking back.

You watch his retreating form, watch the set of his shoulders, the spring in his step, watch as he bounds down the steps onto the gravel of the parking lot, watch as the shadows eventually blot out the sight of him.

Good riddance, you want to say, but you can’t even form words.

With your heart torn to shreds, with your fear clawing a bloody path up your throat, you sink down onto the floor, press a hand to your mouth, and you sob.

+

Twenty minutes later, Bradley Bradshaw finds you in the exact same position.

You know it’s been twenty minutes because you’re staring at the digital clock of the dishwasher, counting down the wash cycle. The neon red of the numbers blurs through the veil of your tears.

It’s like somebody’s cut your chest open. Scooped you clean like taking a spoon to a tub of ice cream. Behind your ribcage, you feel hollow in a way that aches down to your bones. That spiderwebs through your veins.

Bradley pauses in the doorway, silhouetted by the outdoor lighting you still haven’t turned off. Like this, with your vision blurred, he looks like a drawing of the Virgin Mary on one of those cheap, tacky candles. Descending on a flurry of clouds and light and doves. Only this Virgin Mary wears Hawaiian shirts, apparently. It almost makes you laugh.

He casts his eyes over the room, a slight furrow dipping between his brows. It takes you a moment to understand he hasn’t seen you yet, not with how you’re crouching by the crates of Corona.

Part of you wants to hide, wants to crawl under the jutting canopy of the bar. Wants to pretend you’re not here, fold yourself into a tiny pocket square of a person until he leaves again.

“Hello?” Bradley asks, genuine confusion laced with the word, and you know you can’t do that.

“Hi,” you call back, and your voice sounds tiny. Miserable. You push up on your knees to preserve a bit of your dignity. The room goes spinning in a whirlwind, and you catch yourself with both hands on the wood, lifting up to peek at him over the edge of the bar. “I’m down here.”

For a moment, Bradley just stares at you. He takes in the scene, the smeared mascara, the swollen eyes, the fresh tears leaving tracks down your cheeks like you’re drawing rivers on a map.

Then he snaps into action. He’s crossing the room before you can even really come to terms with the fact that he’s here in the first place, pushing through the hip-high swinging door that separates the oval space hugged by the bar from the rest of the room and falling to his knees by your side.

“What happened?” Bradley asks, something hard to his voice. But when he goes to touch the side of your face, carefully as if you’re injured, as if you’re made of porcelain that’ll break at the slightest jostle, his brown eyes show nothing but genuine concern.

It makes you cry harder.

“Nothing,” you say, which is a ridiculous lie, all things considered. You’re crouching on the floor of your workplace, over an hour after your shift has ended, crying your eyes out. Clearly, there’s something wrong. “I’m fine.”

Bradley sits cross-legged on the hardwood floors, his knee close enough to graze against yours. He looks decidedly out of his depth, almost uncomfortable. Helpless. His mustache quivers as he opens his mouth, then closes it again.

But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to get you to explain it, doesn’t ask again. He just sits there with you, elbows on his thighs, and lets you cry. 

It’s nice not to be alone. To have somebody with you, even if he doesn’t know you. Even if he has no idea what it is that has you on the brink of a complete crisis.

You do your best not to think about it. Not about the baby, not about the guy who just dumped you. Not about gold foil and Instagram posts and wedding bands. Not about how he’s made you a homewrecker, and you didn’t even know.

Maybe this is karma. The universe punishing you for your sins. Something like that.

Maybe it’s just really, really bad luck.

“What are you doing here?” you ask when you’ve finally calmed yourself enough the sobbing has subsided to sniffles.

Bradley jerks his head noncommittally. “I forgot my wallet.”

“Oh.” You try to get up, but your legs won’t cooperate. “I’ll help you look.”

He shakes his head, pulls you back onto the floor by the elbow. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll look for it later. What happened?”

There’s something about his tone that tells you this time he won’t let you get away with a half-assed lie. Which doesn’t stop you from trying.

“Just… rough day.”

Bradley looks at you, then pulls his knees up, lets his arms dangle between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, and his voice is very gentle. “But if you want to… I can listen.”

This is the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He has the kind of face that makes you want to tell him things. Makes you want to spill your secrets to him, pour them into his space. He’s steady, reliable, calm. It would be so easy to trust him.

That’s dangerous.

But you’re so tired, and you’re so broken, and you’re so terribly, horribly lonely. With Luke gone, with your parents out of the picture, with nobody to help and no one to hold you, the loneliness is like an ache, like a stain, like something that festers and spreads and unfurls inside of you.

You just want to pretend you don’t have to do it alone. Just for a moment.

So you say, “I think I did something stupid.”

Bradley’s eyes are very brown. A soft shade of brown, like milk chocolate. When you look at him, you feel warm all over.

“Alright,” he says, and there isn’t an ounce of judgment in it. It’s just a gentle, careful nudge for you to continue.

“I…” You exhale shakily, look down to the floor, twist the bracelet around your wrist. It’s so much harder to form the words the second time around. “I’m pregnant.”

Saying it to Bradley, who is practically a stranger, saying it to someone outside of whatever little bubble, whatever vacuum two people playing at love built around themselves, makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.

You’re pregnant. In a few months, your belly is going to grow to the size of a watermelon. You’re going to get ultrasounds and wear maternity clothes and buy a crib. You’re going to hold a baby in your arms, a baby that will become a toddler, will become a child, will become a teenager, will become an adult. They’re never going to leave again.

I’m pregnant.

One moment - and in it the rest of your life.

It’s a skyscraper, it’s a monument, it’s a mountain. It dwarves you. How can you ever be enough for the path that lies ahead?

The panic jumps you. It rattles you. Suddenly you’re panting, you’re shaking, you can’t think, your head spinning circles around the enormity of it all.

“Oh,” Bradley says. He sounds like he expected you to say just about anything except that. “Congratulations.”

You stare at him, and he backtracks.

“Unless you don’t want me to congratulate you? Sorry, I shouldn’t just….”

“No,” you stop him, your voice a tiny, trembling thing. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

You wonder what it might be like if you were older, if you were married, if you weren’t such a fuck-up. Would people beam at you, hug you, shake your hand? Would they share the joy they must assume you feel?

Neither one of you says anything for a while. Through the opened windows, the sound of the ocean drifts in, of the waves crashing against the shore. The chrome of the fridge you’re leaning against is cold even through the layers of your shirt. You count the wooden tiles on the floor.

After half an eternity, Bradley says, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

It’s like a knife to the heart, it slices right through you, stabs you between the ribs. And you’re not even angry, don’t even feel betrayed… it just hurts. The kind of pain that stays with you. The kind of pain that leaves phantom traces even after the wounds have healed.

“I don’t,” you say finally.

Beside you, Bradley shifts his weight. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?”

It’s almost enough to make you laugh. “It’s okay,” you say, even though it isn’t. This whole thing isn’t okay. “I’ll be fine.”

Without hesitating, Bradley says, “I know you will be.”

There’s such conviction in his voice that it baffles you. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s… have you told him, though? Or are you guys not in contact?”

Still trying to recover, you shrug. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing your shoulders almost all the way up to your ears, “I told him.”

You can tell he wants to ask more, but he gives you a second before his next question. “And you… you guys are gonna try co-parenting? Or is he… are you going to get married?”

That makes you frown. You say, “What is this, the 1950s?”

“I just think….” Bradley clears his throat. “I just think if you get a girl pregnant, you should step up. Take responsibility.”

Of course he’d think that. You’re not even surprised.

There’s always been something traditional about Bradley Bradshaw, like he’s one of those men written by women people rave about all over TikTok. If he takes a girl out on a date, he probably holds open car doors and pulls out chairs for her, hands her his jacket if she gets cold.

Distantly, you wonder what that would be like.

“I don’t want somebody to marry me out of responsibility,” you say. “I can take care of myself.”

Bradley scrambles. “I know that!” he says quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift his weight forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “Of course, I know that. I just thought… I just thought you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it almost bowls you over. You turn your head to the side, press your face into your shirt sleeve and dig your fingernails deep into the skin of your shins.

Bradley watches you, eyes intent, and then he probes carefully, “Are you… are you going to keep it?”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, blink against the sudden dampness. Keep your face turned away from him. The shame of it all, of the situation you’re in, of him seeing you like this, overwhelms you. Your vision blurs.

“I think…” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I always used to think if I ever got in this situation, I’d just get an abortion but now… I don’t… I just don’t think it’s the right thing for me.”

Slowly, he nods. “You want to have the baby,” he says, and it’s not really a question, but you answer anyway.

“Yes. I mean… I don’t know, it’s just… I want this. I don’t know why or how, but I… it feels like I have to do this.”

“Yeah,” Bradley says, completely sincere. “Your body, your choice.”

Now you do snort. “What, are we at a rally?”

“I follow a few Instagram accounts,” he admits. His voice has gone almost sheepish. “Abortion rights should be everybody’s concern. Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”

It’s endearing in a strange way because there’s nothing performative about it. It’s just bumbling and awkward and peculiarly genuine.

“You sound like you spend too much time on Twitter,” you say softly, and it makes him laugh. Bradley’s got a nice laugh, one that starts in his belly and seems to end at the back of his throat, punches out into the air from back there.

After things have gone quiet again, the anxiety sets back in. Or maybe it’s been there all along, chomping at the bit, and you just didn’t notice.

“You must think I’m crazy,” you say finally, a self-deprecating chuckle loosening from your throat.

But when you glance up at him from beneath lowered lashes, stomach tight with anticipation, Bradley doesn’t look judgmental at all. Instead, his face is wide open, his eyes clear, the corners of his lips still curled upward with the remnants of his smile.

Luke laughed at you, but Bradley is looking at you with something like admiration, and it takes your breath away.

“No,” he says. “I think you’re really, really brave.”

And then you’re crying again.

You’re surprised there are any tears left in you after your earlier session, but they burst forth now, in a sudden eruption of all the fear and all the pain. And Bradley is so nice. So goddamn kind even though he doesn’t know you, not really, even though this isn’t even his problem. Sits there on the floor of the Hard Deck with you at half past one am on a Sunday night, and doesn’t complain, doesn’t sigh. He just listens.

You don’t feel brave. You feel terrified, you feel overwhelmed, you feel… you feel… you feel like the whole world has toppled over. You feel like Atlas crashing down, buried beneath the weight of his burden. You feel tiny. Inadequate. You feel scared, scared, scared.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess, choke it out between sobs. Wonder why you’re telling him this. When you don’t know him.

Funny how it is so much easier at times to be honest with strangers than it is to be honest with the people we love the most.

“I’m so… I’m so scared, Bradley.”

He moves as if to touch you, then seems to think better of it and slumps back into himself. The expression on his face is unreadable, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched.

“He’s not gonna… the father isn’t going to help you out?”

It makes you realize you never really answered his earlier question. And you don’t know why, can’t explain it rationally, but for some reason, this, too, makes embarrassment well up at the back of your throat. 

What is Bradley going to think? The poor, little, stupid girl who got herself knocked up by a guy who won’t even stay? Is that what everybody’s going to think now? Is that all you’ll be?

It’s a life sentence, this whole thing.

You shrug, pause. Shake your head. “No,” you say finally. “He’s not going to be involved.”

You know it’s true. Luke won’t come back, not now, not in ten years, not in twenty. There was something final about that exchange, something permanent. Something that can’t be undone.

Suddenly, you think of that tiny, unborn child inside of you. Abandoned before it ever came into the world.

It’s just you and me now, baby, you think to yourself, and it goes through you like a current, sweeps you under like a wave. We’re all alone. All we have is each other.

“What about your parents? Your dad’s in the Navy, too, right?”

If you could, you’d run away. Fold yourself to invisibility. Slip into the pockets between moments and become something other, something that exists out of sight.

You think of your parents. Floral couches and polished hardwood floors. Tom Cruise on the television as your mother scrubbed every part of the house like she was getting rid of an illness, wiping away a disease, perpetually finding another stain or another cobweb or another wrinkle to smooth over. Think of your father, rigid and strict and absent. Always on some mission, always thinking of a greater good that definitely didn’t involve you, always looking through you even as he looked at you. You don’t know if you have a single memory of him smiling.

You haven’t spoken to them once since you gave up a perfectly fine full-ride scholarship to college.

“My parents,” you say, and as the words spill from you, you realize they’re the truth, “would probably kill me if they found out I got pregnant out of wedlock. Maybe if I were married, they’d give me back my trust fund or something, but… No, I don’t think they’d help me out.”

A muscle in Bradley’s jaw jumps, then he’s looking away. Turning to the side so you’re knee to knee again. You stare at his profile, at the curl of his ears, the cut of his jaw. The jagged edges of his scars blur through the fog of your tears.

“So, how are you… do you have a plan?”

You had one. You had Mojitos and Daiquiris and Cosmopolitans. You had a slew of business classes at a community college. You had a dream and a set of tools to achieve it, and when you close your eyes, you can almost see it right there in front of you.

But now it’s been swept up in a hurricane. Swallowed by a tsunami.

“No,” you admit, and your voice trembles. “I have no idea what to do.”

Bradley’s jaw moves as he chews on his lower lip. He swallows, and his throat unudlates with it, and then he’s shifting, shuffling forward a bit.

“I…” He clears his throat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks nervous. “I may have an idea.”

“An idea?” you repeat slowly.

You think he’s going to tell you about some friend who’s looking to hire someone, looking to rent out a very cheap apartment, works at a doctor’s office and is going to treat you for free. Something like that, maybe.

Instead, Bradley takes a deep breath and says, “Marry me.”

It takes a while for the words to register. At first, you think you’ve misheard, then you wonder if maybe the romantic parts of your mind cooked that up. If he even said it at all.

But Bradley is looking at you expectantly, the only indicator of nerves the slightest glimmer in his brown eyes.

And you can’t help yourself. You laugh, even through your tears. It’s a sound that rips from you unconsciously, unstoppably, because surely he’s joking. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Good one,” you say, and wonder just how big of a mess you look like. You wipe at your cheeks, your nose with your sleeves and sniffle once, twice.

Bradley’s lips twitch into the pathetic half of a smile, then he’s serious again, avoiding your eyes.

And that, finally, is when you realize that he isn’t joking at all.

“I…” You pause, mind whirring, head spinning. “What?”

“It’s just….” Bradley shrugs, then explains, “It’s only a suggestion. But you said your family might consider supporting you again if you were married. It might be an option.”

You don’t know what to say. You feel like you’re in a low-budget Hallmark movie.

Bradley pushes on, “It wouldn’t be permanent. We could get a divorce quickie in a year or two, just stay together long enough for you to get settled with the baby and everything. Plus, you’d get free healthcare.” He glances at you, and the blank expression on your face must light a panic in him. Now his words come faster. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you, of course I wouldn’t. It would just be… keeping up appearances. Just for a while….”

Finally, he trails off. The silence stretches between you like a palpable thing, thick and dense like summer heat.

When you were twelve, sitting in the back of the car as your parents argued up front, the woods of Washington flying past in rapid ribbons of black and blue and green, the moon a disk of silver in the sky, a deer ran out into the road. You remember the screeching of the tires as your dad did what you’re not supposed to and brought the car to a sudden, abrupt stillstand. You remember the wide eyes of the animal, the muscles locked in its state of catatonic horror. You remember the flanks rising and falling quickly beneath the matted fur.

For a second, you feel like that deer. Frozen. Caught completely off guard. Vulnerable.

Then you think you might be a little overdramatic. 

You say, “What the fuck, Bradley?”

Part of you expects him to backtrack immediately, laugh, and tell you that he was joking after all. But Bradley stands his ground, even as he still won’t look right at you.

“I probably wouldn’t even be home much anyway. I leave for work all the time,” he says, brows drawn into a straight line above his eyes as he stares intently at his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of his arm. “But I could babysit, and then you could go back to work. I really wouldn’t mind. I’m good with kids, you know?”

You’re not entertaining the whole thing, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Your curiosity takes the upper hand.

“Why would you… why would you ever offer this? You barely know me.”

Bradley seems to think about it for a long moment, his face unreadbale. Then finally, he says, “There’d be something in it for me, too, you know? I’ve been meaning to get assigned to North Island permanently, do a relocation. But those spots tend to go to the guys with family, so…” He shrugs, but the gesture seems forced. “I could help you out, you could help me out. Win-win.”

“That’s all?” you ask, and you don’t know why there’s something like disappointment in your voice.

Bradley looks like he wants to say something else, and for a moment his face is vulnerable. But then it shutters again, and he nods. “That’s all.”

For a second, just a second, you let yourself imagine it: Imagine saying yes to this mad, insane, incredible proposal. Imagine marrying Bradley, someone soft and warm and responsible, someone completely opposite to Luke. Imagine him in a tux and you in a white dress, imagine his mustache tickling against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You imagine one of the quaint little houses you grew up in, but one that would belong to you, at least for a while. You imagine a toddler running through it, imagine Bradley bending down to scoop them into his arms. You imagine a life without this aching, shifting loneliness. You imagine a life with Bradley.

When you finally shake your head, when you let go of that ghost, it feels like it takes a piece of you with it.

“No,” you say softly, and it breaks you open in ways you can’t describe. “I can’t let you do that, Bradley.”

It’s just too insane. Too far out there. It wouldn’t be fair to him, when you’d be getting so much more out of that arrangement.

And besides. I don’t want someone to marry me out of responsibility. That’s what you told Bradley earlier, and you meant it.

When you do marry, when you walk down that aisle, you want it to be for love. And people can call you delusional, naive, whatever. You don’t care. You just know you want the big thing, the real thing, True Love, capital t, capital l. You want the hurricane of romance, the monsoon of love. You want to fly into it.

Bradley’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Okay. But if you… change your mind, yeah? I’ll be here.”

And he means it. Bradley carries his heart on his sleeve, you’ve learned this much. He tries to hide it, but he’s no good at it. Eventually, his emotions always get the better of him, burst forth like fountains. It’s part of his charm.

“What,” you say, “right here on the Hard Deck’s floors?”

It’s a sad attempt at a joke, but Bradley is nice enough to laugh anyway. “Sure thing. You guys have the cleanest floors in all of North Island, did you know that?”

You hum. “Sure. I’m the one who cleans them.”

Finally, you get up off the floor, unfold yourself from the bundle of misery you’ve crumbled into. Your legs ache, your back hurts, your chest still feels hollow. All the crying has left a dull pain pulsating behind your left brow.

The two of you look for Bradley’s wallet together, finally find it over by the pool table. You pretend like you’re not still reeling from his proposal, like it’s not suddenly become impossible to do so much as look at him without your heart flopping around like a fish finding its sad end on dry land.

“Can I give you a ride home?” Bradley asks as he watches you lock up. The Hard Deck has an old lock that gets jammed whenever the slightest bit of dampness creeps into the air. You have to hang onto the doorknob with all your weight while simultaneously turning the key to get it to lock.

“I drove here,” you say, casting your eyes about for the tiny tin can you call your car. You can’t even remember where you parked earlier.

“You okay to drive?” Bradley asks.

You glance at him. With the lights off, the parking lot is almost covered in a thick blanket of darkness. The headlights of a few passing cars winding their path along the coastal highway illuminate patches of gravel now and then. Moonlight spills silver and dim across his shoulders, like fingers caressing him. He looks concerned, examining the state of you.

The truth is that you’re tired. Bone tired. Dead tired. So tired you could probably go to sleep where you stand if you put your mind to it. But you don’t want to bother Bradley anymore, have already stolen enough of his time.

So you’re about to decline, but it seems you hesitated too long.

“I’ll take you home,” Bradley says decidedly, “and you can come get your car tomorrow, okay? I don’t think you should be driving like this.”

“You don’t have to do that, you….”

“I know,” he interrupts you, a smile spreading on his face. “But I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.”

That makes your insides clench in a way they shouldn’t. Your chest feels tight, and you look away just in case you start crying again.

Is it too soon in your pregnancy to start blaming raging hormones?

Wordlessly, you let Bradley lead you across the parking lot toward his monstrosity of a car. His hand hovers at the small of your back, incredibly close yet never touching. He’s big behind you, bulking, and you try not to think about it. When he opens the door for you and waits until you’re buckled in to close it, you feel like your head’s going to explode.

The ride home is quiet, as is the town around you on this Sunday night. An old Killers song plays on the radio, and you think of deer stepping out into streets, then press your eyes closed and will the thought away.

In Bradley’s car, with the windows rolled down, with the Californian night breeze whipping your hair into your eyes and clearing the fog from your head, for a short, blissful while, nothing seems real. It’s one of those liminal moments, a not-time, when reality feels like a dream and even the sharpest knives don’t cut deep enough to hurt.

It ends quicker than expected because time always goes the fastest when you want it to go slow. Then you’re thanking him, saying goodbye, both of you pretending he didn’t just propose some strange, fake marriage to you behind a bar counter not even thirty minutes ago.

Bradley waits until you’re inside the building before he starts the engine again. You hear the roar of it as you climb the stairs up to the second floor.

In your bedroom, you don’t even bother getting undressed. You just slip under the covers, pull them up over your head, bury in the sticky, stale air beneath them, close your eyes, and fall asleep within seconds.

+

The first time you told your parents about your bartending dreams, your father yelled at you for forty-five minutes. He hurled words at you that hurt, that left scars, that made you wonder and kept you second-guessing yourself for years, that stayed with you. Your mother didn’t say anything.

Somehow, that was worse.

You call her on the landline at five pm on a Tuesday, just before your dad gets back home, and she answers after the third ring. You’re so sure she’s going to acknowledge the four-year gap in contact, the crumbling of the relationship, the fall-out of screaming and crying, and your dad kicking you out of the house.

What you get, instead, is a ten-minute spiel about who brought what to last week’s church potluck and which laundry detergent your father’s contact allergies don’t act up with.

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, your digital alarm clock counting down the time in radioactive green. Outside, you hear the sounds of jets roaring through the sky. In your tiny kitchen unit, the faucet is leaking.

Finally, five minutes into a lecture on the advantages of pre-chopped garlic, you interrupt, “Mom?”

You wonder if she hears the shift in your voice, the slight tremble of it. Something makes her go very quiet on the other end of the line, no sound but her breath.

Drip-drip-drip goes your faucet.

When she doesn’t acknowledge you, you push on, your heart beating a staccato rhythm against your ribcage, “I might… I think I might need some help.”

She doesn’t answer for so long you think you might have lost connection. Then you hear shuffling, imagine her walking through her empty house the way she sometimes does - like a phantom, like a specter.

“With what?” she asks after an eternity.

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating. Years of pain and fear clog up your chest, settle like goosebumps on your skin. You close your eyes and let your head drop back against your pillow.

“I’m pregnant,” you say.

And then you can feel it through the phone, like something physical. What you’ve always known deep down. The disapproval and the disappointment, and the complete lack of understanding.

You’ve never been who your parents wanted you to be, and they’ve always punished you for it like it was a crime.

When your mother says your name, it’s so plain. That she can’t understand what you’re doing, with your cocktails and your late nights. That she doesn’t see why you’d ever choose something like that over a real education and a real job. That she cannot fathom how it could come to this now - you, broke, young, alone, pregnant.

It’s like being five again, trying to get somebody to look at the picture you drew. It’s like being ten again and being overlooked. It’s like being fifteen again, still vying for the attention you’ll never really get.

Your mother is a stubborn woman, set in her ways. She knows what she wants from people, more specifically, what she wants for them. And you’re no exception. Nobody’s ever asked her a question whose answer she couldn’t find in the bible.

More than wanting you to go to college, wanting you to work in an office, your mother has always wanted you to get married. To fit yourself into the picture-perfect stencil of white picket fence and smiling husband she cut herself. For you to let some guy put a ring on you, put a kid in you, buy you a house and a porch swing and a family van.

It’s pathetic, but it doesn’t matter how much time passes. How much older you get. At the end of the day, you still want her approval, just once, even if you have to lie to get it.

So, like a child, like you’re five again, like you’re ten again, like you’re fifteen again, you say, “I’m getting married.”

“Oh?” your mother asks, and there’s so much hope in the one word it hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Yeah,” you confirm, and then the lies just burst out of you, and you hate yourself, hate yourself so much it’s like bile on your tongue, “yeah, we’ve been engaged for a while, and now with the baby and all… It’s been long overdue.”

Your mother almost sounds excited. Sure, she’d probably prefer for you to have been married before getting knocked up, but all of this must still seem better than the last plan you presented to her four years ago. “What’s his name? What’s he do?”

You squeeze your eyes closed. If your mother knew you at all, if you hadn’t spent the past few years not speaking, you’d like to think she would have heard the shame in your voice when you say, “Bradley. He’s a Naval aviator.”

It might be the worst thing you’ve done in your life: Dragging poor, kind Bradley Bradshaw into the mess you’ve made of your life. Nevermind that he offered. It doesn’t matter.

Your mother starts babbling, the way she only does when she’s actually pleased about something. She’s talking about how happy your dad will be that you’re getting married to a fellow army guy, but you barely hear it. Now that you’ve gotten the approval, it doesn’t feel at all like you thought it would. 

It just hurts. 

For a while, you just let her keep talking as you blink away the tears, as you stare at your bedroom wall, as your mind spins and spins and spins in circles. Then you promise to send her an invite, say your goodbyes, and hang up.

It’s like you’re numb all over. You stay on your bed for another five minutes, and then another, and you feel just as empty as you did after your last conversation with Luke.

What has your life become? How could it crumble as quickly as it did, going from okay to horrible in less than a week?

Even when you weren’t speaking to your parents, you never felt this distant from them, this far removed. A chasm you’ll never be able to breach. An ocean you’re never going to bridge. The only way you’ve ever gotten your mother to be happy with a decision you’ve made is when you lied to her.

The loneliness is everywhere, then. In your chest, in your bed, in your veins. Crawling like a shadow that swallows you whole.

And then the panic sets in, ice cold in your veins, and with it comes the guilt. Your stomach rolls with it. 

What have I done? you wonder. What have I done to myself, to Bradley? How will I ever get out of this?

You scramble. Blindly reach for a dress to slip into, for a pair of flip-flops, for your car keys. It’s a miracle you don’t crash on your way to the Hard Deck. Your heart works itself up into a frenzy, and the guilt gnaws at you, slashes at you, paws at you. All these emotions are tearing you apart.

In the back, Bradley and Bob are playing Pacman on one of the retro machines. They’re pretty loud, too, and from what you gather in your mad dash through your workplace, Bradley seems to be disproportionally competitive about the whole thing.

Figures. Nobody gets into Top Gun without a cutthroat streak and a mean penchant for ambition.

“Bradley,” you say, and when he looks up, his eyes sparkling, the smile slides right off his face. “Can I talk to you?”

He seems stunned for a second, then nods and deposits his beer on a nearby table. “Sure thing.”

You lead him out the back. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot the exact corner you huddled in a few days back, agonizing over the positive pregnancy test, the decline of your life, the decay of your dreams. Don’t look, you tell yourself, and then do it anyway.

The sun hasn’t set yet, but twilight is descending on the world rapidly. Everything is washed into soft pastels, the sand and the last surfers shaking salt water from their hair. Bradley’s shirt and the honey gold of his skin.

You can’t look at him. It’s a shame that grows in the pit of your stomach, that settles there, heavy like a stone. How can you do this to him? 

You’ve never felt worse about yourself, and still… The fear is too big. 

Since you decided to give up on the scholarship, since you walked out of your parents house four years ago, you’ve been on your own. You’ve been footing your own bills and renting your own apartment and paying for insurance on your car. You were alone the time you got a cold so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for two days. You were alone when your tire popped on the highway and you almost hit another car. You were alone when you got rejection after rejection from the big San Diego bars, the ones that end up featured on TV and in magazines.

And that was fine. You’re strong, you know you are. Any issue that came your way, you managed to figure out eventually. You’ve been doing fine without any help.

But this, here, now. This… You just can’t do it on your own. Not when it’s about a baby. Your baby.

So you take a deep breath and ask, “Is the offer still on the table?”

Bradley exhales. You watch as he takes a step closer to you, as his shoes move in the field of your vision, grains of sand crunching beneath the soles. When he speaks, a cadence of insecurity has snuck into his voice, “The marriage?”

You nod because you can’t say it. Your mouth just won’t form the words.

“If…” Bradley clears his throat. “If you want it… yeah.”

When you look up at him, there’s something strange on his face. Something that looks less like surprise and more like awe.

His eyes are so brown, and your heart beats so fast, and you’re dizzy like you just got off a rollercoaster. 

“I…” You pause to collect your thoughts, and then you rush it all out at once, scared that if you don’t say it now, you never will. “If I were to say yes, like, hypothetically… I’d need to know that you’re not just doing it for me. That there’s something in it for you, too, so….”

He’s nodding before you’ve finished. “I told you. I wanna stay here. I’m sick of getting sent around the country all the time, so… It’s good. It’s an opportunity.”

An opportunity. That sounds like business, sounds like a transaction, sounds rational and level-headed and reasonable, and you latch onto the idea. Maybe if you try to take the emotion out of the equation, it’ll be easier.

Bradley seems relaxed about the whole thing, much more relaxed than he should be given the absurdity of the situation, but you feel like you need to make things clear anyway, if only to put yourself at ease. That’s what people do before singing contracts, right? Put all the cards out on the table?

So you go on, “And I wouldn’t, like… Like you’d still get to do anything you want. I wouldn’t expect you to help with the baby or anything. And you could keep dating, of course, you could, I won’t mind. I promise. It’d just be for show, right?”

Bradley hesitates, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something. But then he just shrugs, nods, says, “That’s fine. Yeah. Whatever you want.”

For a moment, you both just look at each other. 

“This is insane,” you say because it is, and you don’t know what else to say.

And Bradley just chuckles and agrees smoothly, “Yeah, it’s nuts, isn’t it?”

As you look at him, here in this pastel lighting, here on the verge of something monumental, there’s something so reassuring about him. Something so steady and reliable and constant. Something that makes you think, with him, maybe it could be okay, no matter how insane the whole idea is. An opportunity. An investment that just might pay off.

North star, you remind yourself. Bradley Bradshaw is the North Star.

At the very least, you won’t be alone.

“So is that….” Bradley shifts, scratches the back of his neck. “You saying yes, then?”

There’s a lump in your throat like you’ve swallowed a pebble. It almost chokes you.

“Yeah,” you agree finally, and can’t believe you’re saying this, doing this, can’t believe you’re this mad and this selfish and this desperate. “I guess I am.”

It’s awkward after that. You both just stand there, you with your arms around your own ribcage, Bradley with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Space and silence stretches far and gaping and glaring between you.

Then he says, “Can I hug you?”

That’s sort of the last thing you expected him to say.

You blink at him. “Uhm… sure?”

When Bradley pulls you into his arms, when he holds you against his chest loosely, carefully, giving you room to pull away at any moment, the whole thing almost bowls you over. It’s the first time anybody’s hugged you since you found out you’re pregnant, since your entire world came crashing down, and you can’t help yourself. It’s a visceral reaction. You cling to him, wrap your arms around his neck, press your face into his shoulder and your chest against his and squeeze your eyes shut, and stay there for longer than you planned to, longer than you should. Let him hold you tight enough that for a moment, for a while, it almost feels like you’re whole again. Like you’re not alone.

For the first time in a week, for the first time since that positive test, things feel real. You feel real. Only with his hands on you. The thoughts that have been echoing through your head constantly, loud enough to drown out everything else, quiet.

You could get addicted to it, could get greedy and selfish and never-satisfied. Could eat it raw.

Bradley smells like sunscreen and sandalwood. You try to commit that scent to memory, try to ingrain it into your brain and your body. Something to remember the next time the loneliness sets in.

Finally, he pulls away, and his smile is gentle. You feel every inch of separation like an ache in your bones, like an echo, like a reverberation.

You can’t cry again. You’ve been doing it so much recently that you just won’t allow it again. If you’re going to do this, if you’re going to be a mother and a wife, in whatever capacity, you’ll have to be strong. No matter how hard that will be.

“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Bradley says, a frown etching itself into his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” You’re shaking your head quickly, vehemently. “No, Bradley, that’s fine, you don’t need to….”

“I think you should have something, though. I want to give you something,” he interrupts you. “I just don’t know….”

And then he seems to think of something. The epiphany is practically written all over his face, and for a moment, he looks so much younger. Rosy cheeks and all.

Bradley reaches into his wifebeater and pulls his dog tags from beneath the fabric. Before you know what’s happening, he’s tugging the thin silver chain down over your head, moving your hair out of the way carefully. It settles against the skin of your neck, warmed by his body heat.

You stare down at the metal dangling over your dress, the letters of his name etched into it. Bradley Bradshaw. 

Your heart seizes.

When you were younger, much younger, you used to dream of this. You used to imagine what being proposed to would feel like, what it would be like. A fancy restaurant, an expensive glass of champagne, and a diamond ring at the bottom of the flute. Something flashy, something extravagant, something beautiful. The man in your fantasy was faceless at first, and then he looked like Robert Pattinson, and then he looked like your first crush, and then he went back to being faceless again.

He never had a mustache. He was never a stranger. Your dreams were never this: Rushed and fake and no ring at all. You, pregnant with somebody else’s baby, and Bradley, marrying you to get assigned to a base of his choosing. None of it real. No True Love, no capital t, no capital l. Not even lowercase. Nothing but madness and guilt and business between you.

And still you want it, want it so bad it swells inside you, pushes against your ribcage with enough pressure to crack bones - you want to be wanted.

You wonder what Bradley dreamed of. Not you, probably. So much younger than him, so naive, so gullible, falling for married men and getting yourself into situations you can’t climb out of yourself. Making him do this when he deserves better, more, deserves something true and real.

It makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to ask Bradley to hug you again, so you can forget, just for another second, just for another moment.

Instead, you say, voice barely a whisper, “Thank you.”

Bradley shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, and he sounds so genuine you have to avert your eyes. “We’re friends, right?”

Friends. This man you barely know. This man who is doing something unfathomable for you.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “Friends.”

And then later, in the bar, as Bradley’s friends discuss some new Star Wars show you haven’t seen, as they order round after round of beer you can’t drink, as the sky goes from pastels to blues to blacks, you’ll pretend you don’t see Natasha staring at the dog tags around your neck, pretend you don’t wish you could hold Bradley’s hand, pretend you don’t feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re capsizing where you sit, like you're kicking water miles and miles and miles below the surface.

Beneath the table, you put a hand on your stomach, fingers spreading out, close your eyes, and let the current drag you under.

part 2

[mendesblurb]

Rumour Has It

Shawn Mendes x female reader

Warning: fluff, maybe grammar error and maybe some punctuation errors.

Note: did not proofread this, so sorry about that. Hope you like it anon. Thank you so much for requesting ❤️😆….

It was your last day in Mallorca. The two of you were at a boat with some close friends to flim the last few scenes of the SOL music video.

As the filming wrapped up, Shawn suddenly asked for the whole boat’s attention as he pulled you to stand up, reaching into his pocket and feeling for something, before quickly grabbing your hand again. You look at him with a confused expression, but the look he sent you told you to not worry.

“Okay, dare I say I still get a little bit nervous around you. Get a little bit stressed out when I think about this moment but mostly get too excited. Y/N, I’m falling all in you. So there's nothing holdin' me back right now.”

Your friends chuckled lightly as he say the words, and taking a deep breath.

“Y/n, I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I can’t seem to write one song that’s not about you or for you. However, no song can ever justify how amazing you are and how in love I am with you but mostly I just can't imagine what my world would be like without you in it.”

Everyone couldn’t help but stare with teary eyes this time, but all you could let out was a small chuckle. You were smiling and tearing up as he continued talking.

“I knew that I just wanna be a part of your life whether as your friend or lover because I will never be able to forgive myself if I let someone like you walked out of my life. They say a person needs just three things to be truly happy in this world: Someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for. I can safely say that I got all that and I am currently living the dream with you by my side.” He stopped for a second, taking a deep breath and trying his best not to tear up.

“After our third month anniversary I remember calling my Dad at around midnight and I said that I really wanna marry you. He said that it was too soon and he said I have to rethink everything, but I meant every word and until today I am still very much in love with you if not more. And I want to spend every single day of the rest of my life with you. So will you make me even happier than I already am and marry me?”

As Shawn finished his speech, he got down on one knee and got the ring out of his pocket, looking up at you with a smile. As tears stream down your face, you smile, nodding your head as he stands, bringing you into a hug.

As you pull apart, he slips the ring onto your finger before he reaches up and wipes your tears. You laugh, sniffling as he leans down and kisses you.

———————-

“I want you to clear something up for me because there’s all sorts of rumours flying around about Y/N’s recent TikTok video.” Jimmy said as he bring out a small black cupboard cut out your recent TikTok video.

So after what happened at Mallorca, aka your engagement; the news was kept a secret and neither of you confirm or deny the rumours. Of course your friends and Family knew the truth about the happy news but the two of you simply weren’t ready to tell the whole world.

Well, maybe until SOL was released and you wanted to show support via your TikTok account. But, that day you were less cautious so you forgot to take off your ring. Neither of you thought people would notice, but they did.

Shawn never thought of making a clarification here at the Fallon Show, while promoting his new song but here goes nothing.

It’s now or never. Deep down, he is so happy that he can finally brag about it to the whole world because he was always just one post away from sharing it to his social media while you were always the cautious one in the relationship. Not because you were ashamed or anything but more of keeping things private.

“So, Y/N did this TikTok video right?” Jimmy questions.

“Yep, TikTok is kinda like her thing now since the pandemic.” He giggled.

“Her dance was fabulous, but then look here. Looks like there’s a ring on that finger.” Jimmy continued as the camera zoomed on the cupboard cut out and bunch of ooohh was heard from the audience.

“Yeah, both of us are just excited to finally share the music.” He giggled as he try to deflect the question.

“Shawn…”

“Yes, jimmy?”

“You know, I gotta ask my friend.” Jimmy replied trying to hold back his laughter.

“I know what you’re gonna ask.” Shawn smiled shyly.

“So… did you asked Y/N Y/L/N to marry you?”

“Yeah, I did! And she said yes!” He blurred out quickly.

“Oh my god!! Please tell me more, I need details.”

“So, I have to say it was kinda hard to convince her that she should come to Mallorca too. Of course she wants to be there but it was the same time with her press tour. And so I had to call her manager and bunch of other people to make it possible.” He grinned before continuing.

“So if you guys saw the music video, there were a couple of scenes where we were all at a boat, and so it actually was a last minute arrangement so Y/N wouldn’t be suspicious. And so we flimed that first then I proposed after that. Lots of thing happened man, I mean I even almost lost the ring too and I somehow got bitten by a sea lice.”

The audience exclaimed a bunch of oohhh and sweet 'aw’ when they saw Shawn proudly showing the pictures on his phone and Jimmy was just widely smiling.

“I feel like time flew by so fast, last time both of you were here you were denying all dating rumours.” Jimmy said, “and now you are getting married to each other, this is the best news ever!”

“Yeah I was already so in love with her back then, now I just can’t wait to marry her,” He commented and nodding his head slowly.

“Do you know the wedding date?” Jimmy asked hesitantly, to which Shawn took another breath before replying.

“Yeah, we do,” he laughed nervously. “We are going to do it somewhere next year after Wonder tour ends.”

 “I’m so happy for both of you right now! I can only hope I will get an invitation.”

“Of course man, it would be great to have you.” Shawn smiled.

The rest of the interview was great. He talked more about both KESI and SOL, learning Spanish with you, how proud he is that your movie will be out soon, and how both of you have been quite busy with all the wedding planning.

Thank you for reading guys... feel free to like, reblog, follow my account, leave a comment and my chat is always open for random chats or requests... appreciate every single one of you... ❤️

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