#oh well. another one to my bag of traumas probably...

[kindaeccentric]

feeling the halloween spirit by having a panic attack from thinking about my laparoscopic surgery next month 👌

[sunnysidevans]

Ain't In California Anymore - T.Owens

Synopsis: After deciding to uproot your life for a change of scenery from San Diego California you decide to take a trauma nurse position in Tornado Alley. You don't expect to survive your first tornado let alone meet the resident cowboy tornado wrangler.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Nurse!Reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of extreme weather, lots of flirting - tyler owens is a warning in himself i mean c'mon.

The Request: Hiii :) I was wondering if I could request a Tyler Owen’s story. Where the reader is from California and had to relocate to Oklahoma because of her job in healthcare. But at an event or before going to work, there’s a tornado warning and she’s not sure what to do so Tyler protects her and makes sure she’s safe. But then the next day he visits her at work and asks her out?:)

authors note: to the sweet anon who requested this fic, please please I hope I have put words to your vision. & THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for this request as this is my first one! In the years I've been writing I did not ever expect this. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and please enjoy this fic!! <33

The rain poured as you stood in the middle of San Diego Airport. The waves crashing on top of one another. Your life packed at your side as the announcements continued.

“Flight 214 to Oklahoma has been delayed two additional hours, an F.4 tornado has just landed in tornado alley. More updates to come”.

You sigh and sit back down against the window as the rain continues beating on the glass. Pulling the headphones from your bag and pulling the laptop out, you make yourself comfortable. After an additional six hours the plane was in the sky.

3AM before you would land in what the flight attended referred to as Tornado Alley.

The city was lit with skylights, covered in destruction. The F.4 tornado that landed hours earlier wiped half of the cities apart. You could see cars miles and miles away from where they probably were hours before. The flight attendant smiles as the plane lands, waving as you exited the plane.

“Welcome to Oklahoma” she grins as you follow the crowd out of the terminal. Looking around the airport it looked like nothing happened, everyone continued on their day as the world was in shambles.

Making your way outside you couldn’t believe the amount of debris in the roads. The odds of getting a cab were slim. “New to the area?” a voice says beside you, looking over you smile at the man with a kind smile.

You nod with a sigh, “I am, first few minutes as a matter of fact” he chuckles making his way to you, hand held out. “Well, Welcome to Oklahoma, I’m Javi” you grin, reaching out to shake his hand, “(y/n)”.

He looks you over before speaking again, “my best tip is to just keep watching, I’m sure you’ve been waiting a while, or… I could give you a ride?” he proposes as you smile slightly. “Truly? I don’t want to wait any longer, I start my job in” looking down at your watch you sigh. “Two hours” you chuckle as he nods with a kind smile. 

“What brings you to Oklahoma?” he asks, your mind is elsewhere as you see all the destruction that lined the streets. “Hm?" You ask as he asks again, “oh, I needed a change” you say with a smile. He nods continuing down the road in silence. “Where are you from originally?” he asks again, letting curiosity get the best of him.

“San Diego” he nods with a smile, “wow this is gonna be a change for you’ he notes as you chuckle, “totally”. He pulls into the hotel you were staying in, still standing. “Well good news is the hotel is still here” you chuckle, climbing out of the truck.

“Thank you so much for this, this definitely would not have happened if I was in San Diego. Though, you could've kidnapped me or something so” he chucklespulling your luggage from the truck bed.

“It's our southern charm” he grins, handing the bags to you, pulling a card from his back pocket. “Here, if you need anything” you look down at the card.

“Storm Par?” you ask looking back at him as he grins. “We chase tornados, at least to put it in non scientific terms” he smiles as you nod, shoving the card into your wallet. “Is that a normal thing here in Oklahoma?” he grins with a shrug. “There’s a lot of us out here if that's what you mean” he makes his way to his side of the truck.

“Good luck on your first day!” he smiles. You make your way inside waving as he drives off. Maybe Oklahoma wasn’t going to be so bad.

Mercy Hospital Oklahoma City. The letters buzzed as the energy drink dripped condensation on your palms. Walking through the emergency room doors you look around. “You look lost” a voice says with a grin, looking over you smile at the brunette.

“I’m (y/n)” you smile as she gasps, “oh my gosh! The trauma nurse from california!” she grins, holding a hand out to you, “I’m Natasha!” she smiles as you shake her extended hand. “Nice to meet you” she smiles, pulling you along beside her.

“Welcome to the crew, did you get in okay?” you chuckle with a shrug. “Depends on your definition of okay” she gasps as she helps you onto the elevator.

“I’ve only been here” looking down at your watch “for 3 hours, I got maybe an hour of sleep” she gasps. “I’m so sorry! We could’ve pushed back your start time” you shake your head.

“I am used to this being a nurse and all but now I have to adjust to tornados” she waves her hand with a chuckle. “You will get used to that” she grins, knocking on the door. “Just want you to meet our head nurses” the voice on the other end encourages you in. “Maria, this is (y/n), from California” she pulls her glasses off her nose and stands.

“Ah yes, our new trauma nurse” she walks around the desk, holding her hand out to you. “Nice to meet you Ma’am” you grin, shaking her hand.

An Oklahoma ER was so much different than a San Diego one. “How’s it going Cali?!” Natasha grins from her place at the nurses station. Pulling the latex gloves off your hands and tossing them into the trash beside you, you chuckle.

“This is so much different than California” you note, sitting down at the available computer to begin typing in medications. “I’m sure you see so much more there huh?” she asks as you nod. “I worked at a Navy hospital too so I saw so much” she nods as you continue on with typing.

“Ah yeah thats gonna do it, the most you will see here is a farming accident and even then the accident will be weeks old and a farmers wife shoved him into the ED” you chuckle, turning to her.

“Is that so? How about after tornadoes?” you ask as she moves to sit in the chair beside you. “Yes and no. We get a lot of people in sure as the ambo’s bring em but a lot of field nurses too” you nod, handing the next chart to the provider passing by you.

Within hours, beds were clearing until they weren’t and sirens began to wail. “All hands on deck people we have a multi-casualty car accident, multiple patients en route!” Maria yells down the hall  as everyone follows after her, multiple ambulances lined the med bay.

This was definitely not California anymore.

The lights from the diner sign buzzed as you shut the engine off the rental car. The dashboard flashing 3am. What was supposed to be an easy first day turned into a busy one. You climb out and make your way inside.

The smell of coffee brought a smile to your lips as you picked a secluded booth and sat down. After ordering with the waitress, you sat back with the daily newspaper,sipping on your coffee.

“Well, I didn’t expect to find you here” you look up at the voice, Javi stands with his hands on his hips. “Well I didn’t expect to see you either” you set the mug of coffee down. “How ya doin?” he asks with hands on his hips, you chuckle.

“Just got my ass kicked on my first day. What are you doing out here at 3am?” you ask as he nods, motioning to sit across from you, nodding he sits down. “Some field work” he notes as you hum. “So, what exactly is it you do?” you ask as he chuckles, smiling at the waitress.

“I study tornadoes, I find ways we can eventually stop them before they cause so much destruction” you nod slowly looking at him "So I chase it, i try to get as close to one as I can" he grins. “I’m sorry what?!” you ask as he laughs.

“I chase em to study em” he notes as he sips his own coffee with a smirk. “Who in their right mind chases tornadoes?!” you exclaim, a truck driver at the bar looking over at you with a snarl. “Crazy folk” Javi replies with a smile.

The waitress smiles and sets the plate of pancakes down in front of you. You nod with furrowed brows, “are you insane?” he laughs with a nod. “I am indeed” you sigh with a shake of your head, eating a piece of the pancake. “So there’s multiple people who chase tornadoes?” The conversation kept falling back to the one thing that fascinated you the most, tornadoes.

“Yep, there’s me and my company and there’s so many more, you will probably come across some in your time here” he reaches over and points to the newspaper on the table.

“That’s tyler owens, he’s out of kansas but he’s been hanging around here a lot lately. He calls himself the tornado wrangler”.

+

2 weeks.

It was two weeks before you heard the first siren. The local farmers market was always crowded on nice days. You continued browsing through the local fruits and vegetables when the first siren goes off.

Looking up from the fruit you had in hand, you noticed the booth owner on edge. With wide eyes they looked around frantically, you did as well, looking around as the world began to move in slow motion.

The wind chimes on another booth begin to sway. The world stopped and you stood in the middle of the chaos. Around you everyone begins to pick things up quickly and rush into the surrounding buildings.

You stood there as the wind began to scream. You could hear yelling around you but it was nothing compared to the sound of the wind. The sky was almost something out of a movie, looking up the clouds were dark. Something was coming, something bad. “Hey!” you can hear the yelling of one of the vendors.

In slow motion, you look up to the clouds as they opened and the rain began to pour. Blinking, you are stuck there in the middle of the street.

You had no idea how long you were there till you felt hands on your shoulders. “Hey! Hey!” they are shaking you, blinking when you look over. You knew his face.

Tyler Owens.

“Hey, listen to me, we can't stay here” he’s got a hand on your elbow encouraging you towards one of the buildings. The siren is louder and closer. Tyler's eyes shift to behind you and your curious eyes follow.

The tornado and it was moving quickly. His eyes are frantic as he quickly pulls your body into an alley.

Tripping over your feet, your cardigan was heavy on your skin as he looked at you. “I need you to trust me right now okay?” his shirt was heavy to his skin, water dripping down his nose. 

The concrete wall was rough against your skin.

You don’t remember when you even made it up against the concrete wall or how the wall of a man was in front of you or how your knuckles were sore from the grip you had on his once plaid shirt.

Your eyes open, looking around frantically as you feel your pulse quicken. Panting you are pushing the hairs off your forehead.

You just survived your first tornado.

The city was quiet. You fall to your knees, continuing to try and catch your breath. “Hey, Hey” you hear his voice again as you begin to sob. How could you be crying right now?

“It’s okay hey” his hand is on your back, rubbing soothing circles on your spine.

“You’re okay” he encourages you to sit back against the wall. You can hear the screams of others, finding their lives uprooted. He sits down in front of you, legs crossed and hands on your own knees as your breathing slowly evens out. “There ya go” his thumb is running over your knee gently in comforting circles, looking over your face.

“Is this your first tornado? “He chuckles as you nod frantically. “Oh shit” the smirk is off his face quickly as he stands, helping you up.

You watch as all of the first responder vehicles are filing in. You noticed the white ram and other Storm Par trucks that follow.

“Tyler!” looking over at the voice, a man is standing at the end of the alley. “Oh thank god!” he yells, grabbing the walkie off his hip and rushing to the two of you.

“Boone!” Tyler meets him halfway, hugging him tightly. Tyler turns back to where you stood, you were gone.

Tyler looks around the alley frantically. He then looks down and finds your badge. 

Rushing out of the alley, you frantically look for the Storm Par truck. “Javi!” you yell, rushing to him over all the debris. “(y/n)?!” he meets you halfway, holding a hand out to help you over a pile of what was a vendor booth.

He can see the tears on your face as you pant, gripping his hand tightly. “How can I help?! Do you have first aid in that truck?” He admired your willingness to help but he could also see you were soaking wet and riddled with fear.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks as you shake your head, “there's no time for that, people need help!” you point behind you.

Pulling your soaked cardigan off you quickly push past him to the truck, rummaging through it. “Hey,hey” he is quick to grab your elbow.

You had an open cut on your forehead and a couple scrapes but it was nothing you couldn’t handle.

“Let me help Javi” you whisper, fear in your eyes as he nods slowly. “Okay, okay” he holds his hands up in defense as you begin to move through the debris to find people that need help.

+

The hospital was overflowing with people. You continue to push through your bag as you smile at the security guard at the door, “mornin steve” he chuckles. “It’s 3pm young lady” you grin, looking over at him with a shrug, “morning for me”. He nods as he sits back in the chair, watching over the ER.

“Cali!” Natasha stands from her chair with a grin. “Oh my god!” she is quick to come around the counter to stop in front of you.

“What happened to you?” with her hands on your chin she is turning your head in multiple directions. “I uh-” you bit your lip, how do you explain this?.

“I got caught in a tornado?” she gasps, grabbing your elbow and pulling you into a room. “You did what?!” She is quick to grab gloves and pull them on. “I froze Nat” you whisper, looking up at her “it came so fast and I must’ve hit my head” you shrug.

She sighs, pulling the band-aid you had on your forehead off. “You don’t need stitches” she tsks, cleaning it gently with an alcohol pad as you wince. “Tyler Owens was there” you mumble as she stops, looking at you “that heart-throb out of kansas?”.

You can’t help the chuckle you let out, nodding. “He helped me, it was really nice of him” she nods. Putting the bandage on your forehead, she pulls the gloves off and tosses them into the trash.

“Unrelated to this” you mention as she crosses her arms with a raise of her brow. “I lost my badge I think” she shakes her head, “we can get you another no problem there”. She smiles, “now let's get you clocked in, we’ve got a busy day!”. 

The overhead speaker picked up with a squeak. “Paging (y/n) (y/l/n) to the front desk, paging (y/n)(y/l/n)” you furrow your brows, setting the pen down and looking over at Natasha and James. “What is that about?” you ask, standing from your chair as the two of them shrug.

Steve walks in with a grin, “(y/n)”. Looking over at him, your eyes can't help but to fall to the man beside him.

Pulling the white stetson from his head, Tyler Owens smiles shyly with flowers in his hand and your badge in the other.

“Oooooooo” you snap your head over to Natasha and James with wide eyes. “Sorry to drop in on you like this Ma’am” you choke, looking over at Tyler. His smile grows as you come around the counter. The green scrubs were cute but you were the most beautiful thing he had seen since he saw his first tornado.

“I think I have something that belongs to you” he holds the badge out on the dainty badge reel. You sigh with a smile, looking up at him going to take it from him but he pulls it back.

You scoff, looking up at him, “that belongs to me”. He smirks, shaking his head “nope, you have to ask nicely” he smirks as you groan, pulling him into an exam room and shutting the door.

As you do Natasha and James both sending you thumbs up from the nurses station.

"What gives you the right?” crossing your arms over your chest, he grins. “You have to ask nicely, that's what we do round here city gal” he smirks as your eyes widen. “City girl?” he nods, leaning back against the bed, crossing his leg over the other.

“You don’t know anything about me Owens” he raises a brow, “is that so?” he twirls the badge around his pointer finger. “I know you’re from California, San Diego to be exact” he raises his brow as you sigh. “Javi” you mumble under your breath as he nods. “Correct” he smirks looking at you through his lashes.

“Can I please have my badge back? I have to get back to work” he nods, hands held up in defense, pushing off the bed and walking back to stand in front of you. Looking up at him, you can’t help but to be intoxicated by the smell of his cologne.

He looks down at you, putting the stetson back on his head with a smirk. “Agree to a date, you can have the badge” you scoff. “Excuse me?” he nods, holding the badge between your bodies.

“A date for the badge” you sigh, nodding. “Fine, one” he grins, dropping the badge in your palm. Opening the door, you follow him out, he yells over his shoulder “see you soon California!” 

+

It became traditional for you to sit in the back booth of the diner down the road from the hospital. Every morning you’d sit with the local newspaper. Learning your new home.

It’s how Tyler Owens found you.

He’d been to the hospital every single day to officially ask you out on your date. Except he either missed you or your shift hadn’t started yet. The bell above the door rings as multiple people shuffle through the door.

Looking up from your cup of coffee you see the white stetson. Sinking down in the booth, you attempt to hide yourself with the newspaper.

“I’m telling you lil, you can get it in the air with just a few minor adjustments” you tried not to listen, “there’s nothing wrong with it boone” lily, you assumed replied.

Looking back down at the local events in the paper, the seat across from you shifts and you can hear the air deflate from the plastic cushion.

“California, I’ve been lookin for you” slamming the newspaper down on the table, Tyler can’t help the shit-eating grin that grows on his face. “Tyler” you sigh, sitting up in the seat. “I owe you, no- you owe me a date” he grins.

“First, you know my name is not California” you address as he sits back in the seat, reaching over to grab your unoccupied cup of coffee.

He hums as you continue with a scoff. “Second, you are the one who left me high and dry” he chuckles with a shake of his head, “no ma’am”. You sigh, pulling your mug out of his hand sitting back with it between your palms. “So, when?” you challenge with brows raised.

“Tomorrow, do you work then?” he asks as you shake your head. “I actually have tomorrow off” he grins, “perfect, meet me here at about 7?” he asks as you nod slowly. “7 it is, what should i wear?” he taps his chin gently then grins.

“Casual but whatever you are comfortable in” he smiles, standing from the booth and tipping his hat towards you. The group of his friends hoot and holler as he makes his way back to them.

“That boy seems really into you” Jo, the waitress grins as she pours your cup of coffee. “Is that so?” you ask as she nods, “my husband was the same way, billy absolutely did not give up” she smiles sadly.

“Am I crazy?” you ask her as she shakes her head, “nowhere close sweetheart” she pats the top of your head as she approaches their table. You watch as the group continues to talk among themselves, ordering with Jo and making her laugh.

You watched the clock all day long. Chewing your lip, you look at Jo, standing in the diner. “Is it too much?” you ask, nervously picking at the blouse you chose to wear. She chuckles, shaking her head with a soft smile. “You look beautiful honey” she reaches over to take your hand, “try and have fun okay? You never know” she squeezes your hand gently.

Nodding you smile at her, “thank you for everything” she grins. At almost 7 on the dot the red Dodge Ram pulled into the parking lot of the diner. You smile from the steps, standing in the outfit you chose.

He grins, climbing out of the truck. Tyler opted for a pale blue button up and a brown stetson opposed to the white. “No white hat today?” you tilt your head as he approaches you, small bouquet of flowers in hand. You look down at them first with a small smile. “Thought I’d spice it up for ya” he winks handing the bouquet over to you.

“For you California” you smile, taking them from his outstretched hand. “They’re beautiful,” he smiles, holding his arm out towards you. “So are you” he walks you to the truck, opening the door to help you inside.

Looking around the truck, you admire everything from the center console to the straps for seat belts. Tyler shuts the door after you, making his way around and climbing into the driver seat.

Sitting back in the seat you can’t help but let Jo’s words play in your mind. She stands in the window with a smile, watching as the truck pulls out the parking lot. 

The stars lit up the night sky of Oklahoma. Sitting on the top of tyler's truck, eyes glued to the sky. “What brought you to Oklahoma?” His voice is soft as he continues to eat the slice of pie he brought.

“A position opened for a trauma nurse and truthfully I was over the city life” you sigh, turning to face him with a shy smile. “Trauma nurse huh?” he asks, offering you a piece of the pie on the fork. Taking the fork, you eat the piece and nod. “I was a Trauma nurse at a Navy hospital in San Diego” handing the fork back over to him, he looked at you with a small smile.

“I see,” he nods, going back to the pie. “Why do you wrangle tornadoes?” you ask as he chuckles softly. “When I was about eight years old, I saw my first one,” he continued, picking at the pie crust, looking back up at you. “It was beautiful. Sounds crazy I’m sure but I wanted to know more” he admits, looking back out to the setting sun. “So, you went and learned more?” you ask as he nods with a chuckle.

“I started college, never finished, found the thrill much more fun than a textbook” he looks over at you with a smile. The setting sun made his green eyes almost greener.

“You may have to take me someday,” you admit, leaning against him gently. “This mean you’re sticking around Cali?” he grins, looking down at you.

You nod slowly, “yeah, yeah I think I might be around for a while” you look up at him with a smile.

+

Walking through the ED door, you smile, passing by Steve. He grins, “good mornin young lady” he tips his hat as you wave. It had been two months since you landed in Oklahoma. Natasha smirks from the nurses station, arms across her chest with. “Hello to you too” you reply walking past the nurses station towards the locker room.

After setting your things inside your locker, you make your way back to the nurses station. “Something came for you” James grumbles from his seat, sipping on what you could guess was his second red bull of the day.

“Oh?” Natasha smirks as she holds the vase of wildflowers out to you. You smile, taking them from her to gently set down to read the card:

“To Cali,

If you feel it, Chase it. We can chase it anytime. Glad you are staying for a while ;)

Tyler xo”

You can’t help but laugh. The two of your friends look over as you grin, laughing harder. “They’re from Tyler” Natasha smirks with raised brow.

“I think you’ve got yourself a boyfriend” you chuckle, shoving the card back into the flowers.

Maybe Oklahoma wasn’t going to be that bad.

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always welcomed! please don't steal any of my work or repost on anyother platforms.

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[womenloverlmao]

Forgot Something?

(Yes, someone else has probably written this but I decided to write one of my own :)

TW: normal criminal minds shit.

Summary: Reader is set on the fact that Spencer forgot something when he got called into a case late but he cant figure out what that could be.

Imagine season 4 Spence? Possibly? I don't even know man. 

You and Spencer had gotten used to not always being together. You and agent… or, rather, Dr. Spencer Reid, resident genius and pretty boy of the BAU had been together for around a year and a half. It was a lot, but you grew used to it. 

After coming to terms with the fact that you wouldn’t always have your boyfriend around, you learned to value the time you spent with him. Moments like this; you were curled up together, the result of coaxing your germaphobe out of his comfort zone (and into another). Lying on your sides, his head against your chest with your leg over his waist. You would have fallen asleep there if it weren’t for that sound. 

Oh, that God-forsaken sound. 

The sound of Spencer’s phone going off. Sure, you were used to him going away for cases, but that sound honestly caused a trauma response. You removed your leg from him as he went to get his phone from the bedside table. He picked up, and said some stereotypical responses… well, the stereotype when you went to work on profiling rapists, bombers, murderers… you get the gist. 

He got up and changed, before grabbing his bag that he always had ready. You quickly followed behind him. Sure, you were only in a ragged t-shirt and panties, but you weren’t the one leaving. It was around ten at night. You wouldn’t have realized that he had muted himself if you didn’t see him unmuting. “Yes, I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said. “Okay, thank you. Got it.” 

You grabbed your arm as whoever it was on the other end hung up. “I’m sorry…” he tried to start. 

“No, don’t apologize, Spence. It’s your job. I’m not upset, I promise,” you cut him off. 

“I still feel awful.” 

“Don’t. You’re gonna go save some people, or whatever it is that you do,” you smile. 

“Well, technically-” 

“Spence, I’m gonna repeat the ‘don’t’. Go do your job, okay, baby?” 

He sighed. “Okay…” He walked to the door, almost opening it before you stop him. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” You asked. 

“I thought- I thought you just told me to do my job?” He responded. 

“I did, but not when you forgot something.” 

You could see the gears in his brain turning as he tried to remember what it was that he could have forgotten. There was nothing, he had every single thing in his bag. He could so clearly picture everything he had put in there. “Forgot something? No, I have an-” 

“Eidetic memory, I know.”

“I didn’t forget anything?” 

“Yes, you did,” you stayed on your point. 

“What did I forget?” He was genuinely confused. 

You rolled your eyes. “Where’s my kiss, Spencer?” 

He had an ‘oh shit’ moment in his head. “That’s… what I forgot?” 

You nodded. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, you had him fully convinced he forgot something for a minute. He walks over again and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Better?” he asks.

“Yep.” You smiled. 

He kissed your forehead. “I love you, lock the door behind me, okay? Make sure to check if all the-” “Windows are locked, I know,” you said. 

He reached the door, and he was mildly hesitant to open it. “I’ll be okay,” you assured him. 

“I know, I just…” “I can stay with my parents, too, if that’ll make you feel better.” 

“It’s not about that, I just sometimes wish that I could be here with you,” he admitted. 

You walked over to him, giving him one final kiss. “I know, but they need you out there. I can last a couple of days on my own every week.” He calmed down after the kiss. “Okay.” 

“Now, go, you’re gonna be late.” 

“I love you,” he told you again. 

“I know, I love you too,” you responded. He walked out of the apartment, leaving you alone. Yes, it was upsetting to be alone most of the time. You locked the door and made sure the windows were locked before you laid down again. 

Sure, lonely nights were sucky, but… you knew it was for a reason. And no matter what, you were grateful to have Dr. Spencer Reid as your boyfriend.

[gffa]

TALES OF THE EMPIRE wound up being a mixed bag for me, there was a lot I enjoyed but there was a lot that just felt really unfulfilled. Morgan's episodes were very pretty to look at but I couldn't help thinking--the entire time I was watching, even--that Filoni's not great at creating new characters that can carry entire episodes like this, none of this felt particularly necessary or like it was fulfilling a void that I wanted to know more about. It doesn't help that I still think her arc in live action was badly handled, that if she was meant to be a Nightsister from the beginning, her first episode should have dealt with that, instead of springing it on us later, so when filling in the background of her on Dathomir in TOTE, it brings all that up for me again.

Morgan's first episode was so pretty and it was interesting to potentially get more Dathomir lore (even if it's incredibly thin and I felt it was too close to the "we see others suffering in the galaxy, but we don't want to get our own hands dirty by fighting for other people or getting involved in helping others, btw we're morally better for that :)" trope for me personally) but everything on Corvus just felt superfluous to me and I spent time trying to figure out why I felt that way. If they had done her story this way or that way, would I have enjoyed it more? If they had included this or that, would I have thought it more necessary?

And ultimately I just kept coming back to that I don't really care about Morgan Elsbeth enough that I wanted three animated shorts dedicated to her, when I could have had so many other characters get fleshed out better. I appreciated that they were showing two characters on opposite journeys, that Morgan was falling into the dark step by step, while Barriss was slowly clawing her way out of it, but that's about all that I appreciated of Morgan's story (other than the beautiful animation).

But I'm not sure I feel like Morgan's motivations were all that well planned out. It's clear that she's looking for revenge and trying to find a new family at the same time, but it's not really clear why she's working with the Empire or how she thinks this leads her to her goals. Grievous is the one who murdered her village, how does working with the Empire (as the Separatists were folded into the Empire, too) achieve that goal? Who or what is her revenge focused on? Is it that she just wants the whole galaxy to burn, because if her village burned, so should everyone else? I feel like that's probably what they were going for, but that it could have been more coherently written.

Barriss' episodes hit a lot harder, where I'm glad that she at least got an arc, but I feel like it just missed so many marks, like why even have Vader there, I'm all for gratuitous Anakin cameos, he's my trash can man and I'm always excited to see him, but absolutely nothing was done with him, despite that he was looking Barriss right in the face there. Not even a moment of showing the audience, "Oh, his soul is so far into the dark of fear, hate, and rage that he doesn't even care about her anymore." Just nothing there, like there was no connection at all. How do you go to the lengths of putting Vader in a scene with Barriss and then treat it like there's no history between her and Anakin??? So completely unsatisfying!

And then it's another series where other guest appearances would have made sense--Barriss has a whole unfinished story with Ahsoka and you don't include her here? I'm as tired of Filoni putting Ahsoka in everything as anyone else, but here it would have made sense and would have brought that relationship full circle on-screen, Barriss' betrayal of her and her clawing her way back to the light after all the trauma and hurt, there's so much she and Ahsoka would have between them. And then nothing.

Or Barriss' relationship with Luminara, TCW never really got into how that must have felt for Luminara, to have her student betray the Jedi so profoundly, for her to fall to the dark, there's such a well of potential there and it's just entirely ignored. She mentions Luminara once and it was a lovely mention, but there's no sense of resolution or completion to that arc.

I did enjoy her story with Lyn and I try not to compare what the show wanted to do with what I wanted the show to do, but I couldn't help it. During all those scenes, all I could think was that this could have been so much more powerful and complete if it had focus on Barriss' established relationships and characters I already care about, because a new random Inquisitor is just not going to hold the same weight for me as my pre-investment in Ahsoka and Luminara. (On the other hand, with the way they butchered Luminara in the last season of TCW, maybe I dodged a bullet!)

For all that negativity, though, I really loved that Barriss found herself in being a healer again, that she found the light again. That's all I've wanted for my girl!!!! (That and put a headdress on her, ffs.) I legitimately took in a hard breath when she said, "Then you have one more Jedi to deal with." because Barriss is still working through too much to fully come back to clarity re: the Jedi at that point , but when it really came down to it, when she really saw what the dark side really was, part of her still was a Jedi. And the way she spoke of her time as a Jedi, once she had a clearer, lighter head again, was sweet, I was so surprised that we got that much from her, but I'm so glad because, if nothing else, Barriss herself deserves to be in the light again.

The way she was settled into her own skin by the time she confronted Lyn on the icy planet, the way she genuinely wanted to help her, but wouldn't let her hurt innocent children, the way she could sidestep Lyn's predictable moves and could stop the blade with just a hand held out, she found her path and what she wanted to do, and oh it was so lovely to see Barriss finding herself again. I loved so much that her unshakable compassion did reach Lyn, it was such a satisfying arc for Barriss to reach that place after all the people she'd hurt. I loved so much that Barriss getting back to this place does a lot to remind us that her foundation is a compassionate one, even if she was lost to the dark for awhile.

I just wish that there had been acknowledgement of those she hurt, the people that died because of her, the betrayal she stabbed people in the back with, rather than just "sees the dark side is bad, walks away, finds the light again", which goes back to that this feels like a generic story that's mostly impactful because I'm filling in the gaps myself because I already know Barriss as a character, rather than that it continues the story that was previously told about her.

At the end of the day, I enjoyed it and I recognize that I'm being a little unfair in how I'm saying I wanted this, this, and this, rather than digesting what the show itself wanted to do, but when you're crafting two stories that are specifically about showing us the journey of two characters that originate elsewhere, you're drawing on the stories from those other origins--except TOTE decided to only halfway do that. There's a lot to love in these shorts, the animation was incredible, the voice work was incredible, Barriss' emotional journey was incredible and I'm so thankful that they even gave her any kind of compassionate resolution. But the specter of how much the shorts ignored hangs over it too heavily for me to say that they were anywhere near what they could have been imo.

[factual-fantasy]

24 asks!! :0000🌟🎭🌟

I HAVE!!! :DDDD

Kinger and Caine are my favorite characters! I've seen a lot of theories and fanart and I've already started making my own AU and angst and everything but I cant DRAW any of that yet because I'm REALLY BUSY with an OVERDUE PROJECT AAAAA

(In recent development, Asgore is unable to heal Spamton because he is a darkener :((( )

I think it might have been addressed at one point yeah :0 Maybe something was wrong with Seam and Asgore reached out to help. In which Seam was terrified and Jevil jumped in to protect him. Asgore could see the trauma and tension in the both of them so he carefully backed off.

Later he could hear from Seam about their pasts and why they were afraid of him. Asgore would then try to take steps to.. not..? Be scary to them?? <:D

Spade king could have talked in a very gravely and booming voice. So Asgore is sure to always talk softly and clearly. He is careful to not make any sudden movements around Seam and Jevil. If he's reaching for something near Seam/Jevil he will gently announce what he's doing and make sure they understand before he does it.

Asgore with his hands in his lap: "Seam, I want to grab that bag.."

Seam: *turns "huh?"

Asgore, hands still in his lap: "That bag beside you, I'd like to grab it."

Seam: "oh, okay,"

Asgore then gently reaches for the bag, making sure that Seam can see his hand coming.

Little things like that would really ease Seam and Jevils nerves. And its what made Asgore so trustworthy to them. The fact that he cared so much about their comfort and went above and beyond to make sure they felt safe around him.

Not really a parental figure. He sees Seam as his equal in every way. So like.. he sees him as his brother of the same age.?

@beryl-shade

Oh he didn't lock Seam up in a cell. He just put shackles around his wrists and neck :00

The thing about Jevil is that the bigger the group got, the worse his habits became. And the harder it became to break those habits.. Jevil was the one who collected these people, so they are his responsibility. Giving up his food not just for Seam, but for everyone. Staying awake to keep the fire large and roaring to keep the group warm.

The others try to help him.. but they would have a hard time getting Jevil to listen to them. Telling him he needs to eat, sleep or just relax. He probably wouldn't listen because he's a bit stubborn and is probably riddled with anxiety 24/7.

Although when Asgore came around things got a lot easier.

Asgore is very powerful and has proved his trustworthiness multiple times to Seam and Jevil. So although the royal vibe is off putting.. Jevil trusts him to watch the fire at night and protect the group. Seam has been able to reason with Jevil about the food part a little too.

Jevil: "You need this food more than me. You gotta keep your strength up until we can find someone to break these chains!"

Seam: "Jevil, you consume energy to make those mirrors to other worlds. How are you supposed to keep looking for someone to break my chains, if you're collapsed on the ground, too weak to make another mirror?"

Jevil: "......."

Jevil: *takes ONE bite out of sandwich

I was thinking around 10 years or so..? Maybe more? Haven't really decided :0 And he was able to escape by making a mirror and stepping through it. That mirror basically poked a hole in the walls of the AU and he was able to step out of the AU. Effectively stepping out of his cell and breaking free :}

Also thank you!! :DD

@gracebeth3604

I've completely ignored comments like this recently because I don't wanna deal with all the drama that will surly follow. But you were really polite and very thorough with your evidence.. sooo I guess I might as well answer it now,

I am aware that people use they/them for Seam. But -> my version <- of Seam goes by he/him.

I don't reeallly have a Splatoon AU..? And I haven't played Splatoon in a while- although I do still like it and have made some Splatoon ocs!

These drawings are pretty old. I've been meaning to come back and re-draw them haha <XD

Yeah its okay to tag like that. Like "seam and jevil" or "mario and luigi". That's just tagging them as being in the same post, no big deal 👍

Also no, no art of any kind. If you truly wanna show that you appreciate my work then leave comments. Maybe reblog once in a while or send me an ask. The comments don't have to be anything complex. You could leave a "Looks great!" comment on 50 posts of mine in a row and I will see what you're doing and appreciate it endlessly.

@genericcereal-wastaken

(I most likely will lol XD) Also thank you! I'm glad you love it! :DD

@elegysonnet

Honestly I can see Seam wanting nothing wrapped around/touching his wrists for a while.. even though they need it. But he could accept cold rags being dabbed on the wounds to ease the stinging.

As for what he'd eat? Dude- anything XDD Probably a burger to start. He'd just take a big fat bite and cry about how good it tastes 😭

And yeah! Now that he has his full range of movement he has his cat like flexibility back :}}

When it comes to Seam using his magic? Its hard for a while...

He hasn't used it consistently in so long.. he would be rusty, and probably anxious to use it again. It would take a lot of sparing and gentle guidance from Jevil and probably Asgore to get his grove back.

It would also take time for him to physically heal. Having his body's energy constantly drained has really effected his ability to control his magic. He would need a few weeks of good sleep and hearty meals before he could get his groove back. But he'll get there. With the group/Jevils support, he would eventually be back to the way he was. Equally matched with Jevil. :}

@clevermakercupcake

Thank you!! :}}} 🌻🌻

I don't remember that, did he do that?? Kwazii whyyy that's nasty XDDD

@cupcake-kingdom

Seam is frightened and confused but appreciates the message! XD

Joy. There's just joy and relief everywhere.

There has been a constant anxiety over this group- not just Jevil, that Seam would suddenly collapse and die. Finally succumbing to the chains draining properties.

Now that the chains are off? Seam will heal. He will eat and stay full. He will absorb those calories and turn it into energy. And he will keep that energy. When he sleeps he will wake up feeling rested. He will heal, he will live.

For Seam, it was almost too good to be true. It just, it blew his mind. He was free. He was really free. No more pain, no more aches. No more hunger. His freedom truly starts here. The relief he felt can't be described. He cried, hard. But he also laughed, and for the first time in years, he smiled.

And Jevil? He couldn't speak. He just cried and cried and cried.. He couldn't let go of Seam. He couldn't stop looking at his wrists. Exanimating them over and over again. As if he couldn't truly believe it. All the anxiety, all the worry, all the sleepless nights. They were all over. Seam was gonna live, he didn't have to worry anymore. He couldn't let go of Seam, he couldn't stop shaking, he couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop smiling.

They will likely leave some kind of permanent scar on Seam yes.. but his floofy orange fur hides the scars around his neck. And the scars on his wrists will be somewhat covered up by his fur. So thankfully they wont really be noticeable. <:)

@nunyabusiness459

Heck yeah. After they cry their souls out together they go and crash for like 6 hours or something XDD

(Also funny username, made me laugh! XD)

WAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! And heck yeah!! Feel free to send me your AU stuff when you're done/ready! I'd love to see it! :}}

@ocinstituterep I imagine he's just reeeeally quiet about sneaking out. My Kwazii doesn't sneak out though he knows better XD

Thank you so much! Also Spongebob has angst??? :00000

Things are mostly better!

Little Red got her knees fixed, Escorts broken down a few times but he's currently in working order! Suburban is stiillll a work in progress... undrivable at the moment- :x

Greenie now takes all 4 limbs to start, Brown is out of the garage and U.M is out of the trailer! Pretty good stuff :}}

(If any of that made sense to you I applaud you for your dedication to my Transformer ocs <XDD)

@skywillow28022

She does exist, although I didn't have any real plans for her.. maybe she was just a gal that the bros knew in passing back on Earth.?

@beryl-shade

I feel like none of them would willing visit that old stage.. expect for maybe Foxy. I feel like Foxy would be a very emotional and tender hearted character. I can see him not wanting to "leave them behind" in a way. He would come back now and then and talk to the stage as if they were standing on it and could hear him. The staff think that Foxy's programming just hasn't properly registered that Chica and Freddy are gone. And in a way.. they're right..

Foxy cant let go of their memory. And despite how much it would ache seeing that empty stage, I can see him coming back to it anyway..

This also means that part of the reason why Bonnie and Foxy clash so much now is that Bonnie is trying to snuff out any memories and feelings of the past. Meanwhile Foxy is wallowing in those memories and refuses to let go.

If any of the four of them had to preform on that stage once again? Oh man. That would hurt. It would kill Foxy to stand in the place of his late friends. He would feel guilty, ashamed.. Monty and Roxy also couldn't handle it. They would be crushed. Monty would likely get emotional and angry. Roxy would want to run and hide her face. Maybe the three of them would find a way to fake a malfunction so they could just get off the stage..

But Bonnie? Man. Maybe he's so overwhelmed that he just goes on autopilot and finishes the performance. Only to have a complete mental breakdown in his room later.. being so close to the memory of Chica and Freddy.. its crippling to him.

@skatermusic

Daww, thank you :}}}

[morgue-ratt]

Pretty in Pink, A Valentine's Day Fic

Strade x Reader// NSFW// 2.6k Warnings: blood, torture, noncon, wrist trauma,

YOU wonder where Strade goes when he leaves the house. It’s only once or twice a week, he has everything delivered and he works from home. Still, the hours when he’s gone are a slight reprieve, even if this time he had left you locked in the basement.  

You know immediately when Strade is home, the door upstairs slams and you jump. His footsteps are heavy and getting closer and your heart fills with dread; his excitement is never good for you. You try to will yourself to calm down but any hope of that is gone as he flings opens the door at the top of the stairs. Oh god, he went to the hardware store. If that’s the case, it’ll be a long night with you and whatever new toy he found to extract his pound of flesh.  

“Liebling,” He calls, his voice light and friendly. You can feel your heart in your throat as he comes into view. “I’m home, did you miss me?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “I brought you something!” He holds up a pale yellow, paper bag and your eyes narrow. You can see the lavender tissue paper lining the bag, clearly it’s not from the hardware store. More like a little botique. He’s down the stairs now and he shakes his head. “Silly me, did I forget to tie you again after this morning?”  

“What did you bring?” You ask, your heart pounding. Just because it wasn’t from the hardware store doesn’t mean it can’t be used to inflict evil.  

“Aw,” Strade rubs his thumb over your cheek and you wince. “Do you wanna see your present, Hase? It’s almost Valentine’s Day, you know.”  

“Valentine’s Day?” That does catch you off gaurd. You have no way of knowing how long you’d been here but... Valentine’s Day. Febuary. Nearly a year. It’s staggering. His collar around your throat suddenly feels heavy.  

“Yes!” Strade beams. “So I brought you something... special.” He shoves the bag into your hands and looks at you expectantly. “Well? Open it!”  

The bag is light, which gives you some hope that it isn’t something to inflict pain. Still, you stall as long as you can before you have to look inside. “Valentine’s Day.”  

“Look inside,”  

You pull aside the lavender tissue paper and you feel almost... sea sick when you realize what he’s brought you. You take out a light pink baby doll dress and a matching pair of lace panties. There’s a slit going up the front of the dress, stopping just at the chest with a tiny ribbon bow The whole thing is made of soft, sheer fabric with delicate lace around the edges.  

“Oh... Strade,” You should be releived that he wasn’t planning on cutting you to pieces but the dress makes your stomach churn. “That’s... so sweet of you...” 

Strade was grinning at you like you were something to eat. “Put it on.”  

“What?” You choke.  

“The sale’s lady was very nice, she helped me pick it out. Now put it on.”  

You know that tone, it’s the same one he uses when he orders you to cut yourself. It means do it or else, even though to anyone else it would still be playful. You don’t want to put it on, the idea of making yourself pretty for him makes you almost wish for the hammer. “Okay,” You say quietly. 

“Ah, Liebling. Don’t look so sad.” He runs his hand through your hair and you shudder. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

You don’t like when he promises things but you know arguing with him will only make things worse. You take a step back from him and look down at the dress. It’s so strange... this is probably more expensive than anything you have ever would have been able to afford but as you put it on, the silky fabric makes your skin crawl. You stood before Strade in the dress and panties and he gives you that horrible smile again.  

“Oh, Hase, look at you,” Strade purrs, you can feel his eyes comb over you and you cross your arms over yourself, looking down. “Aw, is my Liebling shy, hm?” He laughs. His laugh is always bright, it’s only sinster because of how you know him. “I have another surprise for you.”  

Your heart sinks as he turns towards his work bench.  

“No, Strade,” You can’t keep the panick out of her voice as he opens a drawer and pulls out a handful of nails.  

He laughs again and as he works, he hums a little tune. “There’s no need to be so... nervous.” Strade turns around, hoisting a bright yellow nailgun in his left hand. 

Of course. It will never just be a pretty dress.  

You start to back away. “I don’t--”  

Strade doesn’t seem to care, crossing the basement in two strides and putting his free hand over your mouth. “Shush, shush, it’ll be fun,” He says again.  

You’re looking into those... strange golden eyes so you don’t see when he suddenly kicks you in the shin. You fall to the ground and in a second, he is on top of you; his knees on either side of your ribcage, digging in slightly.  

“There we go,” He says, leaning in so far you can feel his breath on your cheeks, his greasy hair hanging around your face. “That wasn’t so hard, huh?” 

Strade’s hand moves from your mouth down to your throat. He’s smiling down at you, he can see your fear and he knows you well enough to know when you’re holding back tears. He traces his fingers over your collarbone. “You’re just so... pretty.”  

You try to shift under him and his free hand jumps to your left arm, pinning you to the concrete floor. “Strade,” You try but you’re silenced when you feel the barrell of the nail gun pressing against the skin of your forearm.  

He grins when he sees the fear on your face, finally his eyes light up with that usual sadistic glee. “Hase,” He purrs just as he pulls the trigger. Your forearms explodes in pain as it cuts through skin and muscle to the concrete below. You don’t even scream, the sound you make is closer to choking on your own siliva. In fact, you don’t scream until the second nail hits bone. When you do, Strade leans even closer to kiss you, effecrively cutting you off. Your tears stream down your face and into your mingling mouths. He pulls back to mutter something in your ear (“Du gehörst mir.”), but you are barely aware of anything except the nails in your arm.  

He pulls away, your mouth feels dry. You turn your head towards your arm and the sight makes you ill; they’re long nails, at least eight inchs. Your breathing gets faster and Strade notices;  

“Excited, Liebling?” Strade asks, brushing the tears off your face. He brings the nail gun to your other arm.  

“No,” You say quietly, trying to shake your head. Strade brings the barrel of the gun to your wrist. “No, no, Strade--” He pulls the trigger and you scream again. You try to twist away but it only causes the nails to tear through flesh.  

“Oh... oh, darling;” Strade puts the forth nail in, right below the crook of elbow. He’s enjoying this, your screams and your refletive attempts to get away that are only bringing you blood and pain. He’s elated.  

You’re sobbing so hard you could barely see him. He flicks the nail in your wrist curiously and you can only whimper. He leans down and kisses you, it was slow and deep and it would have been... sweet. Strade pulls away slightly, kissing the collum and your throat and your eyes flutter closed. Maybe he’s done, maybe his bloodlust is satiated, maybe-- 

You shriek when Strade suddenly sinks his teeth into your collarbone and your eyes fly open. “Look at me,” he muttered, his face buried in your chest before he bites you again, even harder. His mouth is covered in your blood, he watches it flow down from the wound like a cat watches a bird. Strade drags his hands through it and you watch, horrified, as he starts to draw hearts on your stomach and throat.  

The sight of your red only spurrs him on. Strade sits back on his haunchs, no longer looming over you, but only to undo and pull off his belt. You know what’s about to happen, you knew the moment you saw frilly pink lace. You feel it, wrapped around your body like miasma.  

The sound of Strade’s zipper cuts through the haze your feeling, dull alarm bells go off somewhere in the back of your mind. Strade’s calloused fingers loop under the waistband of the pretty pink panties and pulls them down. He’s being careful, he doesn’t want them to tear, unlike soft skin of your forearms.   

There was enough blood on Strade’s hands for him to use it as lube, you watch with lidded eyes as he runs his fist down the length of his cock, staining it red. He disgusts you. In fact, you didn’t realize how close fear and disgust really are until you ended up here.  

Strade pushes his way into you but it’s the least of the pain you’re feeling. It almost feels... nice, until he ruts into you. You move with his thrusts, causing the nails to pull through your flesh; your forearms, your wrist and your elbow. You can’t help but cry and again; “St- Strade, please.”  

“Shush,” Strade looks... hungry. He thrusts in harder than before and you scream. “Yes, that’s it.” He says quietly. He grips your hips as he sheathes himself fully inside you, watching as your face twists in pain. “Does it feel nice? Do I make you feel good, Liebling?”  

His mistakes your cries of pain for moans of pleasure, or perhaps he doesn’t care. Strade bares his teeth, the glint in his eyes is paralyzing. You can’t breathe, your tounge is heavy in your mouth. He kisses you hard as his hands creep around your throat without actually choking you.  

Strade is crushing you into the concrete, all you can smell is his him; sweat, beer, grease and metal. You can tell he’s getting close, no doubt your tears are helping him get there, he licks them off your cheeks, leaving your face coated in saliva. “Hase,” He breathes, his lips against your ear and he pants. He’s going faster and faster and you can’t hold back your desperate screams as the nails slash and pull through your flesh. “Mein süßer kleiner Hase,”  

One final thrust causes the nails in your forearm to rip further through your skin. He finishes as your scream echoes through the basement. You’re sobbing, your heart is pounding so hard in your chest you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it to. Strade lays on top of you, breathing heavy and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel his smile against your throat. “Oh, Liebling,” He just lays on top of you his head resting on your chest as you cry softly. He doesn’t seem to mind, he’s watching you as he reaches up to wrap a lock of your hair around his finger.  

You loose track of time. Eventually, he gets up off of you and your eyes follow him. Strade goes over to his work bench. “No” You say, your voice soft. “No...” he only laughs as he pulls someone off the pegboard. You shift your hips but you can’t do anything more. “Stop...” You’re almost whining at this point. He turns around, holding the hammer. “No,” you shift away as much as you can.  

Strade settles on top of you, keeping you caged between his legs. He brings his fingers to his lips and you fall silent. You don’t even blink and he grips the hammer. He brings his free hand to your left arm, pushing it down onto the concrete between the two nails there. He uses the claw of the hammer to pull out the first nail and you let out a strained choking sound as the nail pings against the floor.  

“Shush...” He purrs, prying another nail free from your flesh.  

He’s... helping. He’s hurting you but it’s only to help. You met his eyes and try to even out your breathing. You sound like you’ve just come up for air as he claws the nail out of your wrist and your fingers twitch. The sound of the nail bouncing off the floor echoes in your head. You barely feel the last nail as it’s exhumed from your elbow. All you can do is sigh as Strade collapses on top of you yet again. You feel his stubble scrape against your cheek as he whispers;  

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Liebling,”  

[sukunastoy]

Shameful Attraction (CEO! Sukuna x Female Reader ~NSFW~ Part 5)

Parings: CEO! Sukuna x fem!reader x fiance! Toji (Non-Curse AU)

Synopsis: You've been in a long-term relationship with Toji from high school, who is the love of your life. Well, sometimes he is... You turn a blind eye to all of the heartaches he seems to deliberately bring upon you and the relationship. Despite his actions, you've remained loyal and true. That is, until Sukuna, a CEO and your new boss, draws you into an affair.

CW/TW: This story has moments of mistreatment and abuse. There are references all throughout about this behavior—Hitting, name-calling, degradation, hiding bruises, cheating, unfaithfulness, etc. Also, the reader is thin/underweight, unprotected sex, fingering, pet names (i.e., doll, pretty thing, little one, princess, etc.), consensual degradation, and praise kink. Occasional mentions of depression, and thoughts of suicide.

Wordcount: 5.9k+

(Previous, Part 4)

Monday, 6:02 PM

Sukuna's body and yours were entangled in his bed, both exhausted yet satisfied while intertwined in the expensive, black silk sheets. He had a strong arm around your waist in a comforting and almost possessive hold, and your face was nuzzled up under his warm chin as you lay mostly on his chest, his elevated heartbeat thrumming against your cheek. This little affair hadn't been going on for long, but this man had already introduced you to a world of pleasure and comfort that you never knew existed.

"You're amazing..." you murmured breathlessly into his neck, being as close to him as possible. His deep chuckle vibrated through his chest, the sensation a comfort, and he let out a satisfied and proud sigh.

"Yeah, I know." His hand came to your shoulder, fingertips gently trailing along your arm in the process, never minding the small beads of perspiration along your skin from his previous ministrations to your body, and you shivered at the delicate touch. He pulled away slightly to look at your face, your dove eyes meeting his while his knuckles brushed over your warm, rosy cheek. He couldn't stop himself from admiring your soft face, thinking how pretty and tender you looked in your afterglow.

Seeing how your glossy eyes stayed connected with his in such a gentle and almost desperate way made him eager to hold onto your gaze, almost offering a sense of relief that was clearly needed for you. You spoke nothing about the traumas your life was filled with, though fragments of your shattered sanity easily glistened through your eyes. Sukuna had curiosities, maybe even questions, but it wasn't his place to ask or try to uncover what you left unsaid. Besides, you weren't his girlfriend or anything. You weren't his problem that he needed to try and fix. You were an employee who he expected hard work from. You were just another woman in his office that he's taken to bed.

"Well...I should probably get going, before it gets too late and I miss the final train." A small smile stretched your lips through your statement, honestly not wanting to leave.

"Ah...pretty thing doesn't want to stay for more?" His devious smirk made you blush harder as he captured your lips with his again, both of his arms holding you close to his warm body. You playfully squirmed, laughing in return against his lips as his strong embrace relaxed you in such a way that any saddened thought in your mind could almost be forgotten.

"Well, of course I'd love to stay...but, I don't even have clothes to go to work in tomorrow. It'd be bad to show up in the same outfit."

"Perhaps from now on you should keep a change of clothes, then. In case I need my assistant to come home with me for the night."

"Oh, cause we have so much work to get done?" You teased in return while letting a happy smile tug at your lips. The fact he even mentioned such a thing made your heart flutter. "I'll gladly keep a bag packed...but you can't just take my underwear and not give them back." You pouted playfully, remembering he had yet to return the ones he slipped off of you this morning in his office. He took a moment and pondered about it before smirking and taking hold of your chin in his hand. "That's not a promise I can keep."

The train ride home was long and it made you anxious while you stared blankly out of the window. Tokyo slowly faded away and your home town eventually came into view, and with it, feelings of despair. When you were with Sukuna in his apartment, you felt at ease, and your mind wasn't clouded with anxiety and depression. But the further you got away from him, the more those emotions seeped into your being and made you forget what happiness even was.

At least Toji wasn't home, but he certainly left the place a mess...alcohol bottles everywhere, some of the carpet soaked with spilt beer and other drinks, food left on the counter, dirty dishes in the sink, clothes all over, and such an awful stench in the air. How did he create such a god forsaken mess while you were at work earlier today? It's like he did everything he could to make things hard for you. He had demanded that you cleaned the apartment while he was gone, and now it made sense of why. It was already still messy from when he had his guy friends over a couple days ago, but apparently he decided it needed to be more chaotic for you.

And it took hours. Hours of scrubbing, cleaning the bathroom thoroughly as there was piss everywhere, being on your knees and finding bottles up under the couch, even finding a couple used condoms thrown about. You've walked in on Toji's little parties a time or two with some random guy and woman you've never met just fucking on your couch without shame even as you stared at them in shock, so it certainly didn't surprise you to find such things.

By the time you had finished cleaning everything, it was already after midnight, and you just couldn't sleep. You sat by the window in your room, staring out into the darkness while lost in thought. You told yourself you hadn't gone to bed yet because you weren't tired, but, you knew the real reason.

You hated being here. Hated everything about this apartment. Hated how small it was, how tiny the bed was, how noisy the neighbors were, how old and outdated everything was, how the plumbing had issues at times, how some of the windows had cracks in the glass; the list went on. The ceiling was so much lower than the one in Sukunas penthouse, and it felt like you were going to be squeezed to death at any moment.

Being raised in a household that was well off with money and respect, and then having to spend your days in this filthy apartment was a complete shock to your system. At first you loved this place, just happy to have something with a guy who was supposed to be the love of your life. But of course once Toji showed his true colors and you were the slave who cleaned up his disasters, you soon hated being here. Sometimes you wondered if your parents would take you back in. Let you go back to your old room that was bigger than this apartment, and your huge, plush bed that was so comfortable. But they didn't even respond to your calls or texts anymore.  Even from the other day after you left a voicemail, you've not heard anything in return. They'd probably laugh in your face if you showed up at the posh, mini mansion you grew up in. Not to mention, Toji would probably find some way to drag you back. And that's what kept you terrified and chained to his side. He always found you...always dragged you back...always beat the hell out of you afterwards before pretending he cared. Same story every time. At rare moments you felt like he still really cared, but it was getting harder and harder to find any hope in that thought.

Looking down at your phone, your hand trembled as you read over the message you had sent to Toji. You asked how he was, told him goodnight, hoped to see him soon, the usual. Of course, your messages were always left on "read." You couldn't even begin to imagine how angry he'd be if you deliberately ignored him like he does to you. It just wasn't fair...

Tuesday, 8:16 am

You set out small packets and folders of reports that were to be discussed in this morning's meeting, making sure each seat in the conference room had one. Today had a decent amount of meetings, and you were to be present for each of them of course, taking notes and asking appropriate questions to anyone else involved while Sukuna led through it. You sat to his right while he discussed this week's goals, and a few other executives were either coming up with some ideas of their own or explaining why a certain goal couldn't be met. Of course, excuses weren't something Sukuna was interested in hearing. "Mr. Itadori, we should just take a moment to think about the realism of achieving these demands by the end of the week. I mean, surely you don't assume these tasks are easy." Sukuna chuckled then leaned back in his chair while looking at the other executive. "I don't assume anything. I either know it or I don't. And I know this is something that will be done as expected. If this task is too advanced for you to manage, perhaps you'd benefit from a lesser position."

You were going over the numbers yourself, and sure it would be a difficult thing to do, but it wasn't impossible. Sukuna had laid it all out in the plan and so long as everyone did their job diligently, it could be achieved.

"Well, the plan you provided doesn't completely cover your process for this demand and-"

"Excuse me sir, " you interrupted as politely as possible. "it is described in detail on page 8. I went over it this morning before this meeting started. Anything that isn't included is something you are already aware of how to do."

"With all due respect, you just started working here yesterday. You're not familiar with what my job entails or what I know or don't know." The other executive scoffed lightly, glancing to his associate next to him to share a look of disbelief and annoyance.

Shit like this always stung a little, and to be honest, it almost made you want to drop your head in submission and shut your mouth. But...this wasn't Toji you were talking to. Work was the only place you were allowed to actually speak your mind and provide input without getting physically punished for it.

"And with all due respect in return, I am not ignorant to how companies manage their tasks or who is responsible for doing so. This may be my second day in this office, but not only the second day in my career. The title which you hold means you know what to do with this information. If you weren't qualified for it, it wouldn't have been presented to you."

The man put his palms onto the table and straightened in his seat as if to stand up, most likely to assert his dominance in this conversation but Sukuna put his hand up to stop him.

"Sir, I don't appreciate a woman who has virtually zero experience in this office trying to overstep her boundaries and talk to me as if I'm beneath her."

"(Y/N) is an extension of me and what I want. Whatever she says or tells you to do coincides with my expectations of you. She is to be treated with the same level of respect and subordination as you give to me. If this is a problem for you, you can get the fuck out." He gestured briefly while the man settled back into his chair.

"My deepest apologies, sir." He said with a small bow of his head towards Sukuna.

"Now, if you're done wasting my time, this meeting is concluded." The other execs shared brief conversation amongst each other while standing to disperse and Sukuna glanced to his phone for any missed calls.

"Sir..?"

He looked over to you with a concerned expression cause of your small voice. "I hope I didn't overstep any boundaries." "Of course not." He chuckled before going back to his phone. "The whole purpose of having you in this position is to assist in whatever I need. Even if that means reminding others of their place. They're not your boss, and don't let them think that they are. If they're talking with you, it's the same if they're talking with me."

A breath of relief left your lips and you nodded at his words. It was good to know you really were an equal with him in this position. Some places didn't let the assistants have such a voice, especially being a woman. 

Friday, 7:53 am

You followed Sukuna into his office after he arrived, shuffling papers in your hands to go over with him. It had only been a few days, but you already had his schedule mostly figured out and you got next weeks neatly printed for him. Nanami helped you go over Sukunas personal home schedule as well. Though Nanami took care of a different role in the company, he was more or less a friend to Sukuna. Apparently they'd go out and enjoy a drink every now and then after work when there weren't late meetings to attend to go over minor things that still needed to be handled. You knew which days Sukuna worked out, when he got his hair cut, when he preferred to go to the onsen, etc. You were even filled in a bit in regards to his family. Apparently he had a younger brother, Yuuji, and a grandfather as well. There wasn't much to be said about his parents, and it was implied that they weren't really apart of Sukuna's nor his brothers life anymore.  Finding out these small intimate details just made your heart flutter. On a business level, it was so you knew when to schedule early or late meetings and appointments without interfering with his personal life. But, on an emotional level it just made you feel even closer to him. 

You discussed any projects and reports that needed to be gone over today, handed him any notes or messages you had taken from phone calls through the week, and provided an outline for next weeks schedule. They often changed, but it was a good list to go by nonetheless. A few executives would be coming into town early next week, and Sukuna was needed at a few other offices nearby to discuss things with partner companies. It was tiring work just to get all of this put together and organized, so you couldn't imagine how exhausting it must be for him to constantly be going back and forth all the time. You knew once you became more stable in this position, you'd probably see him less and less, as you'd take care of things that he didn't need to be present for. It's nothing you wanted to think about, but it would inevitably happen. Its just how it was with CEOs and other high up executives.

Friday, 8:58 PM

The time you were dreading finally rolled around, the end of a night on Friday. This meant you'd be stuck at home for a couple days. Nothing you were really looking forward to... Not many enjoyed spending their days at work, but you found solace in it. Especially knowing you would be gone for so long. The trains stopped running at midnight, so you could get home really late with the excuse of just having to work extra. Toji never liked you being gone, but luckily he wouldn't give you too much trouble if it was work related. He liked all the money you provided. But, he hadn't said shit in days, despite you messaging and calling him nearly every day, just to check on him. You could see him online on his social media accounts, yet he couldn't respond to you...it was fucking heartbreaking. Half the time you couldn't understand why you even tried to get him to respond. Not like he made you happy. But, still...you couldn't help but wonder if he was okay. Just some sort of helpless habit.

Finishing out your report for the day, you let out a heavy sigh before looking up to the glass door separating the offices.  Sukuna hadn't come out of his office yet, and you wondered how late he planned on staying. Most of the week, you stayed as late as he did in the office. One of the nights you attended an after work gathering with him and other office executives to briefly discuss project reports. There was a lot of drinking, but you just wanted to eat. The only time you got any food was when Sukuna bought lunch for the two of you. You had no breakfast or dinner, so that was especially nice to enjoy in the middle of the week. Two meals in one day? A rarity.

Apart from Monday, Sukuna hadn't touched you at all these last several days. Maybe a simple touch to your shoulder in passing, but he didn't offer more than that. The dread set into your mind like a festering illness, making you worry that you had done something to displease him or make him less interested in you. Perhaps you already became old news, and he's moved on to someone more entertaining and exciting. That thought made you want to throw up right at your desk, and you stood up immediately to get out of that headspace. He had bought you lunch all week, that was a good sign. Right..? Maybe he was waiting for you to be a bit more open and straightforward with what you wanted? By now you found yourself at the glass door dividing the two of you, and you looked in nervously to see that gorgeous man sitting at his desk. He had his earpiece in, and he rested his jaw in his hand while scrolling through something on his computer, seemingly annoyed. When the door made a slight click as you gently pushed against it, his eyes shifted to you briefly before going back to the screen.

"Sit." He spoke out curtly, pointing to the seat across from him. Your heart sank. Had you done something wrong? Your jaw hurt from clenching, but you did as you were told, trying to prepare a conversation in your head of how to apologize for something you didn't even know about. Thanks for the constant trauma, Toji.

"I don't give a damn what you think happened to it. If there is not an explanation by Monday, you and your team are fired. Do I make myself clear?" You could feel the hairs lift on the back of your neck as he talked with such a tone. Clearly it wasn't something you were involved with, but, hearing the aggravation in his voice still made you worry and mull over numerous thoughts. It just made you re-imagine all the times Toji raised his voice and threatened you...

Someone on the other end tried to speak out, but Sukuna clicked off the earpiece before they had a chance to. You swallowed hard as he sighed and looked to you, but his gaze softened only a moment later. "Something I'll finish dealing with on Monday. Now...in regards to you." He started while standing from his desk. "I have something for you, and I'm curious to see how it will look on you later." "Later?" You questioned curiously, unclenching your jaw and relaxing your body. "Oh come now doll, I haven't had you since Monday. Think I am going to let any more time pass?" "Sir, I-" your words were cut short as he presented a small package onto his desk, gently pushing it towards you. It was a gorgeous little box with lace ribbon tied around it, keeping it closed. "It should fit you." He chuckled while gesturing that you open it. "Did...did you buy something for me?" You asked while trying to laugh through your embarrassment as you peeked into the box, seeing a lacy garment nestled gently in some tissue paper. "Did you bring a change of clothes?" He ignored your question while logging out of his computer. In fact...you had. There was a small bag you kept in your office with things in it to spend the night somewhere else. You weren't sure if he was serious about that or not when he had made the comment Monday night. 

"Yes sir, of course." you said eagerly as he put his suit jacket on.  "Well then, come on." He grinned to you while gesturing towards the door.

Following him home out of the office made your stomach tighten in anticipation. You had longed for his touch again so much these last few days. 

Friday, 9:43 PM

Looking at yourself in the mirror in the bathroom, you tried to take deep breaths to calm your nerves. Your face was burning red with insecurity upon seeing your reflection. This was by far the most revealing thing you've ever seen yourself in, and if it weren't for Sukuna buying it for you, it's nothing you would have gotten on your own. Your breasts were pushed up and held in a bustier style top that had lace along the edges and framed your cleavage. Of course the bottoms consisted of the same lace pattern and style, with a little bow completing the look at the top and in the middle of the band. Not to mention, they were split in the middle, allowing easy access without having to remove them or slip the cloth out of the way.

Turning to your side, you couldn't help but smile thankfully, realizing the lace of the bustier came down long enough on your sides to cover your apparent ribs. You hated how thin you were, looking like a starving dog with its ribs showing...but knowing that one of your more self conscious areas was hidden gave you a little relief.

Had Sukuna remembered that and took it into consideration when picking this style out..? God, just imagining him going into a store to pick out something naughty for you to wear was enough to send your head into a spiral.

He had told you to change, and that he'd be waiting for you in the living room, and that made you all the more nervous. This wasn't anything you've done before. Even before Toji became a complete asshole, you never did anything as flirtatious like this. With a shaky breath, you peered out of the hall bathroom after shutting the light out. Sukuna was in the living room like he said he'd be, looking out one of those tall windows that showcased the lovely city. His back was to you, and you were grateful for it. Grateful that he didn't watch you awkwardly walk down the hall, fumbling your arms on trying to figure out what to do with them. Put your hands on your hips? Let them hang freely at your sides? No matter what you did with your hands, it didn't feel right. Obviously, this was supposed to be some sexy situation, but you felt worried it would be more awkward for a man like him to see you in such a way. Still, you inhaled some confidence while approaching him. He bought you lingerie to enjoy you in it, not judge you in it. Before he could turn his head to see you, you embraced him from behind, letting your hands clasp onto the buckle of his belt. Part of you didn't want him to turn around to see you, but the other part wanted him to just get right to the point and fuck your brains out.

This was a man of power and wealth in your arms, and you were at the bottom of status and importance. But when his attention was on you, he sent you to cloud nine, elevating your existence to something worthwhile.

"Not going to let me see?" He grinned in humor as you hid yourself behind him. "I feel so scrawny." You murmured into his back, trying not to just give up and run back to the bathroom in shame. He chuckled softly while taking hold of your arm to pull you around so he could see you. "Well, I don't think that you are." His large hand clasped onto your jaw before you could protest and you went weak in his grasp, letting him move you as he desired. "And, I want to look at what's mine for the night." He smirked while pulling you towards the couch as he backed up. He released you and then started to undo his belt and you swallowed hard while watching him, keeping a swell of breath in your chest. As he sat himself down onto the couch, he patted his lap and now your lungs struggled for air. "Come on, pretty thing." His voice was like a lure, urging you to climb onto his lap and straddle the erection clearly growing in his pants. "O-oh, I-I...I'm not, not sure." You laughed anxiously. "I've...never been on top." "Oh? Nervous?" He teased, leaning back to move his pants down a bit. "Your fiancé is clearly boring when it comes to fucking. No wonder you need my dick." He smirked while gesturing you to his lap again.

You couldn't deny that...Toji never did much besides make you feel like a fuck doll. Anything that could make sex better for you was out of the question most times. Unless he was in some very rare mood. He just wanted you to lay there and shut up while he took what he wanted. He said a woman would never be above him when it came to sex, and so you just accepted staying below him in all aspects. Meanwhile, it felt like Sukuna craved to see the look of pleasure on your face.

You approached him with a nervous smile, feeling embarrassed yet recognized as his eyes traced over your body. His gaze traveled with remembrance, having already seen you a few times with little to no clothes on. You let your chest swell with a bit of pride as his minor action gave you a little confidence.

It was awkward when you tried to climb onto his lap, feeling so close and personal with this man, but he helped you up to where you needed to be.

Your breath hitched as he fully parted your legs, positioning your knees to be on either side of his thighs. You felt your aching sex spread open, making you feel so exposed and vulnerable like this. He freed his cock and let it proudly spring up from its restraints.

Despite never being on top, you knew it wasn't for beginners. Especially with a dick this big. "S-Sukuna, wait...wont it hurt?" You whimpered through soft moans while he started to kiss your neck hungrily. The way he craved you made goosebumps travel across your skin, and his large hands sliding up your back didn't help your composure either.

"I won't hurt you, y/n." He said gently, now holding onto your hips while positioning you over his length. "Just breathe for me, sweetheart." You did as he said, taking in a deep breath of air as he brought you down onto him, slipping between that opening in the lace panties to push into you. Not like there was any resistance. Your pussy spread apart for him so eagerly, allowing him to slip in like you'd done this a thousand times. "O-oh...my god..!" You let out a moaning yelp, the pressure between your hips making your body tremble as he slowly buried himself within you. Your thighs struggled to hold your weight up, but his hands remained firm on your hips, guiding you down at a slow pace so you wouldn't drop down.

Being on his lap like this, it was possible for him to reach a new depth inside that made your mind absolutely melt. It did hurt; this different pressure. But you couldn't deny how good it also felt when he hit that spongy spot deep in your core. It was a dull ache to your cervix as he nearly bottomed out, and it actually brought small tears to your eyes from the intensity of this position. You knew he'd make you love it though. Your fingertips moved to your mouth and hung loosely onto your quivering bottom lip as Sukuna held onto your shaking thighs, moving you up and down on his dick in such a slow and mindful pace. It was almost torture. A steady, increasing feeling of wonderful torture. He knew you wouldn't be ready quite yet, and had taken it slow at first. You'd get your fill soon enough. His lips came to your cheeks, softly kissing your small tears while letting you adjust. "You alright, doll?" Your eyes were held shut as you weakly nodded; in pain yet also euphoria. "I f-feel so full..." you whimpered, your other hand gripping tightly onto his shirt over his shoulder. "Need to stop?" You quickly shook your head, now looking at him with watery eyes. "N-no, sir." His cock throbbed at your soft expression, and he let out a heavy breath to ease himself. Rarely had he taken it slow like this. But the way he fit so perfectly inside of you without moving and the raw emotion on your face made him want to almost enjoy the moment a while longer. Exhaling deeply, you nodded your head as your body finally relaxed. "I'm ready."

"Hnm...how is it, pretty thing?" That smooth and timbre voice made you weak with needy desire. "S-so g...good..." you nearly sobbed as he suddenly snapped his hips upwards, burying himself into your tightening walls as far as he could go. Clearly, you had opened up fully for him, and already so soon. Your gaze focused on nothing as your body fell forward, jaw agape as you came unexpectedly hard to his cock hitting the most sensitive spots that you never knew existed. A soft whimper escaped from your lips and you're certain you drooled at this point, letting your cheek rest on his shoulder, vision blurry at the intense high he just sent you into. "Oh, my my." He smirked while wrapping his arms around you, keeping you locked against his body while continued to fuck himself up into your spasming cunt, quickening his pace. "Cant even make a sound, hm?" You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You had orgasmed so hard it just sent your mind into a daze, and all you could do was drool on his fucking shoulder. Your sloppy pussy gushed onto his lap, and the sounds of his thighs smacking up into yours echoed throughout the living room. "Fuck, I love how you take my cock." He growled lustfully into your ear. His hot breath sent chills down your spine and you clung to him while still riding your high.

He positioned himself to lay down more on his back and his hands gripped onto your waist, holding you in place while he used your body for his desires. You cried out loudly as he kept hammering into that sensitive spot, bullying his cock ever deeper into your swollen and soaked walls.

He chuckled while holding your chest tight against his with an arm wrapped around your back and shoulders. "Mmh you feel so good sweetheart..." he cooed while his other hand gripped onto your ass to spread you open more. You hid your face in his neck, sobbing from your loss of control as you knew you'd cum again any moment. You could hear just how big of a mess you were making all over him yet nothing could stop it. "P-please...d-don't stop..!" You weakly begged as he fucked the air out of your lungs. "Desperate little thing, aren't you?" He teased before pushing his lips against yours. You moaned desperately into his mouth, almost unable to keep your lips connected to his as your legs shook uncontrollably.

"I'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me cum again..!" You sat up out of his grasp, hands pushed firm against his chest as your body writhed in oncoming euphoria. "Take it pretty thing, take what you need." He grinned while watching you succumb to feelings that your fiancé could never give you. Your hips moved forward on their own, rolling against his and sending the delicious pleasure through your body. You felt like such a slut, riding this huge dick and looking down at a man who wasn't Toji. But fuck, it also made you feel incredible. Sukuna's lustful growl urged you on though, and his warm palms came to your waist, guiding you along as you rode him desperately. His thumbs pressed into your belly, staving off his own release until you finished first. You couldn't stop your nails from digging into his chest through his shirt as your walls clamped down around him, sending you into a delirious high. He swallowed hard and watched as you came, the sight of your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open to a nearly perfect "O" made his cock throb and envy it's own release. He gave you a moment before fucking you through your orgasm, making you scream and nearly fall back as your body lost all control. His arms quickly caught you, and he pulled you back down to be tight against him as he bucked up into your swollen cunt. You moaned almost frantically into his neck, begging he doesn't stop as an immediate second wave of ecstasy takes over your body. He cums once buried deep in your constricting walls, growling in satisfaction at how tight your soaked pussy gripped onto him.

His lips were so warm, and they enveloped yours so easily. You whimpered into his mouth as he kissed you deeply and slowly, his hands caressing your body while doing so. You broke away for a moment to breathe, panting while looking into his eyes. Warmth flooded your cheeks as he watched you in return, those gorgeous maroon eyes of his fixated on yours. "Did you enjoy yourself?" He asked quietly. You slowly nodded while almost entranced by his voice. Your forehead settled against his as you sighed out in peace, draping your arms around his shoulders. "Isn't it obvious?" He chuckled softly in his throat before kissing your lips again so gently and tenderly. Making out with him like this on the couch put you in such bliss. Being this close and intimate to a man was so foreign to you. But damn, it felt so right.

Sukuna mentioned ordering some food for the two of you, and to just relax the rest of the night and perhaps watch a movie. You both changed into something more comfortable for the night, and you got nestled into the large couch between the pillows and blankets. When the food arrived, he headed down to the apartments lobby to get it, leaving you alone for a moment in this massive penthouse. There was so much room in here, and the ceilings were so tall with elegant yet modern lights hanging down from them and being only dimmed so it wasn't too bright. His taste in color made the room so relaxing and calming. Dark tones and skillfully placed furniture and decor made it really fancy yet also realistic. It wasn't just on showcase and never used. It was comfortable, almost cozy. Honestly, you just felt safe in here. So far up from the ground, so far from Toji, and behind a door that could only be accessed by the owner. It's a door that Toji couldn't come beating down to look for you.

Even the take out food tasted expensive yet amazing, and you savored every bite while watching some random movie with Sukuna. When you were done eating, you cuddled against him and rested your cheek on his shoulder while feeling more relaxed than you have in a very long time. You hoped you weren't pushing boundaries by being so cuddly against him, but he didn't say anything in regards to it. Unless he mentioned otherwise, you were going to take advantage of this closeness. Occasionally Sukuna would check his phone for an email or message regarding work, and you glanced over at one point out of curiosity; though wishing you hadn't. A woman's name popped up, MeiMei, and you only saw part of the message but it was enough to make your stomach twist into a painful knot. -"Cant wait to see you again tomorrow, fucking at my place or yours?"- He disregarded the message by swiping it away as he was still reading an email, but you turned your gaze back to the TV.

A harsh reminder that this wasn't exclusive for you...

Omg, it's been so long since I updated this story I am so sorry ;__; Too much crap has happened this year I swear...

Thank you for reading though!! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!! (❤´艸｀❤)

[questionableratatouille00]

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴄʜ. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The problem? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, reader wears lipstick, heels, and a dress, insecurity on Bucky's part, brief allusion to disordered eating (Bucky), mentions of Bucky not doing so well, mentions of Bucky's trauma in general, and Bucky is probably written wrong. (Trying my best lmao)

||Part 2|| Part 3 || Part 4

[Series Masterlist]

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

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

🄳🄰🅈 2, 🄰🄵🅃🄴🅁🄽🄾🄾🄽

It had been easy to find a store selling dresses made to look like they were from the 1940's. The Brandon Center, the little store that could only be found in Brandon Briar, had an overwhelming amount of them. You'd left Bucky to find whatever he needed, you instead opting to browse through all the pretty dresses. There was a large selection, filled with pretty prints and colors.

Bucky, perhaps ten minutes ago, had interrupted your browsing to tell you that he was going to wait in the car. You had simply nodded, quickly glancing at the bag he carried.

A stunning red dress caught your eye. It had a little belt to go around your waist, with 3/4 satin-cuffed sleeves and a matching satin heart-shaped collar.

Sure, there were other dresses in a similar color, but once you saw this one, there was no going back. You checked the tag, making sure that it would fit.

Grinning once you saw that it did, you took the hanger off the rack before looking through the jewelry stand. When you found nothing that fit your style, you sighed. You walked to the register, and you were greeted by a woman, probably in her sixties. Her hair was dyed blonde, which looked good with her blue eyes. She wore black eyeliner all the way around her eye, with thick mascara to match. She grinned, a heavy country accent coming in thick when she spoke. Though you'd only spoken to a few locals, they all seemed to have the same accent.

"Hiya! Will this be all for you today?" She had a nametag on her floral blouse. Brenda.

You nod. "Yes."

"Okay. Oh..this is a pretty thing. You plannin' on comin' out by the old diner for the dance tonight?" She laid the dress out on the counter, examining it.

"Yeah. It's..it's in that little square, right? I saw the string lights this morning when I was driving by, but I didn't really have time to look."

"Yes, yes. The decorations are always gorgeous. Wait a minute..oh, this is from Mr. Lee." She said, beginning to fold the dress. When she noticed your confused expression, she grinned.

"A while back, we had a guy donate a bunch of old dresses like this after his wife passed. His wife was friends with Peggy Carter, funnily enough. Anyway, we kept a bunch of those dresses in the back for a few years. Forgot all about them. Until now, that is."

You nodded, though the mention of Steve's almost-kind-of-basically girlfriend startled you. A younger girl, maybe a college student, stepped out from the door next to the register. The creaky wooden floor announced the presence of another customer, as did the bell on the door.

"Aunt Brenda, can you help Ms. Owens? She wanted to look at that green dress I told you about." The girl said. Her hair was brown and straight, going down to her waist.

"Oh, yes." Brenda turned back to you. "Stacy will ring you up." She explained, placing the folded dress into a white paper shopping bag.

She walked out from behind the counter, Stacy taking her place.

"Sorry about that." She apologized. "That'll be $23.99. Hero's discount."

When she glanced up to you, she smiled a little. "Don't worry. You blend in a lot. Most of the people here are older, and anyone who isn't is just a young couple coming here for the festival. My great aunt and my grandma live up here, so I stay here every summer to help with the store." She assured.

Once you paid, she waved you goodbye as you walked out of the shop. Bucky was waiting in the driver's seat of the truck, scrolling on his phone.

"Y'know it starts at 6:00, right?" He asked when he heard the truck door open.

"It's 3:15, we'll be fine." You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt. You didn't say much on the drive to the hotel, instead thinking about what else you were going to wear.

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

Bucky stood inside of his hotel room, not sure what to do. You had decided to close your door to his room, and he decided to do the same.

He showered quickly, before getting dressed. He felt stupid as he glanced at himself in the mirror. He knew how he was supposed to look, but none of this felt...right. He tied his hair into a low ponytail, just to keep it out of his face.

He opened his door to your room, just to be met with your door closed. He knew it was going to be closed. Of course it would be closed. There was no reason he should feel so...disappointed.

Disappointed? No. No. Bucky was sure of it. He barely tolerated you. You were annoying, and you liked starting fights for no reason.

But he couldn't deny the feeling of excitement he got when he saw your name light up on his phone.

Ready. That was the entire text message. And somehow, a single word made his stomach feel light. Without typing a reply, he stepped into the hallway of the hotel, before he saw you.

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

"You look..fine." You mumble, refusing to say what you really meant: hot.

He nods awkwardly, before tilting his head towards the elevator. Nodding, you walk with him to the elevator, and you try and study his expressions as you wait to get to the first floor.

He looked lost in thought. Shit. That was never good. If he wasn't talking, whether that meant exchanging insults with you and Sam or marveling at modern technology with Steve, he was lost in his head.

One thing you'd noticed about him since he'd moved into the Compound was that he was getting better. Better, in the sense that he wasn't staying holed up in his assigned bedroom pretending that the world didn't exist. Better in the sense that he was talking to people now. Better in the sense that he wasn't waking up violent or screaming in the middle of the night. Yeah, sure, he's a petty asshole who's extremely good at pissing you off, but even semi-joking insults are better than eerie silence and pure fear of the outside world.

When he'd arrived at the Compound, he'd avoided everyone, even Steve. He didn't speak, barely acknowledged people unless he had to. He didn't eat. He could barely sleep. It was like he was a ghost. The first time Peter came over while Bucky was around, Bucky seemed to have shut down a little. Peter was a good kid. He stayed over in his room during weekends, or even occasionally during weekdays in the summer. He didn't ask intrusive questions, and he really did try his best to make Bucky feel welcome. But it really just terrified Bucky.

After a few months of court-mandated therapy, which slowly evolved from twice a week to once every two months throughout the span of a year, he seemed to recover. He slowly learned to get out of those post-HYDRA habits he'd picked up. He'd eat with the rest of the team. He'd join in on weekly movie nights. He'd even help Wanda when she cooked for the monthly 'nice-family-dinner' days. She always loved making the food for those. He started watching baking shows with Vision. He'd hang out with Natasha. He pestered Steve in a way only a best friend ever could. He made jokes. The first time you ever heard the former brainwashed assassin make a joke will be forever ingrained into your mind. It had been some stupid joke about Steve's old costume, and it had shocked everyone in the room. Except for Steve.

He only went silent like this on particularly bad days. Nobody ever said anything, because they knew that would only make it worse, but it was obvious whenever something rough went down. 'Bad days' meant days that followed nightmare-filled nights, or days that involved flashbacks or recovering from flashbacks, or days that were ruined by something triggering him.

"You good there?" You decide to speak up, just as the elevator door opens.

He nodded quickly, beginning to walk to the truck. He hops into the driver's seat, and you don't fight him on it.

"We're a bit late." You note, glancing at the time. 6:13pm. Technically, it started at 6:00pm and ended at 10:45pm.

"Holy shit." You say aloud, looking through Bucky's window at the beautiful decorations. There were string lights strung from light posts, and hay bales for some reason, and other cute things. There was a little stage set up, with a small band playing vintage songs. There were little stands set up where you could buy food or random 1940's themed shit.

"You ready?" You looked to Bucky, before checking in the mirror to make sure the red lipstick you'd applied hadn't smudged.

He nodded, parking the truck against the sidewalk. He waited for you to walk around the front of the vehicle to join him.

"I'll grab us some dinner. You up for this? We can always go back--"

"I'm fine." He said, and at first you thought that he was getting annoyed at you, before a quick glance to his face assured you that he was just trying to convince himself of this. "I'm fine." He repeated.

The air was warm, and the yellow light of the string lights combined with the street lights made Bucky look..really nice.

"Ooh! That place looks good. C'mon!" You grabbed his hand, pulling him forward.

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

Taglist: @afraidofshrimp

[themultifandomgal]

Matt- Meeting Him

My first day as the new trauma surgeon and I'm already late. What a great first impression. I slide into the drivers seat of my car, placing my bag on the front seat I put on my seatbelt and pull off my driveway.

It's winter and so cold in Chicago that I go go turn the heating on, that's when I realise a car is heading straight towards me. Am I on the wrong side of the road? No. It's them. Swerving so I don't have a head on collision I end up rolling down a bank hitting a tree then I black out.

My head is pounding when I come to... not a good sign. I reach up to touch my head and see blood... great I've cut my head open and probably have a concussion. I go to open the car but the door won't budge. I lean over to try the other but I can't reach, my belt is in the way. I try to unbuckle my seat belt but it's stuck. My phone is on the floor where I can't reach. I'm stuck. All I can do is hope that help is on its way and soon, because I'm pretty sure I can smell gas now.

Thankfully I'm not waiting long when I hear sirens so I do the only thing I can think of to get their attention and that's honk my horn. I then see some men in fireman gear stood at the top of the bank. I can relax. I manage to roll down my window when one of the men arrive

"My seatbelt is stuck. I can't open the door" I tell the man

"Ok we're going to get you out of here. Capp get the spreaders. Can you tell me your name?"

"YN YLN. Today was meant to be my first day as the new trauma surgeon at Med"

"Well you sure are going to make one hell of a entrance YN" the fireman jokes with me

"I think I can smell gas"

"Ok. Hang in there. Capp the spreaders now!" He yells and a guy who I'm guessing is called Capp runs down the bank "let's get you out of here"

"What's your name?" I ask

"Severide. Kelly Severide"

That was 2 weeks ago. Im now back at work and feeling a lot better than I did that day so I've baked the firehouse cookies on my day off

"Hey can I help you?"

"Oh errm hi. Is Kelly here? I wanted to drop these off for him and the guys who helped me a few weeks ago"

"Yeah come with me" I follow the man to see Kelly sat at a table with Capp and Cruze who helped me

"Special delivery"

"I just wanted to say thank you for helping me. These are for you guys" I give Kelly the box of biscuits

"You didn't have to"

"Yeah I did. Anyway I best go. I have an appointment to go to"

"You got another car?"

"No" I say quickly "No I'm well it's kinda embarrassing really but..."

"I get it. Want a lift?"

"Oh no I couldn't..."

"It's ok. I'll take her. Gotta go fill up the truck" the man beside me say

"Well there you go. Don't be a stranger YN"

"I won't. Thank you again"

"If I'm giving you a lift I guess you best know who I am. Matt Casey, Lieutenant"

"It's good to meet you Matt. I'm YN. Trauma surgeon"

"Ahhh your YN. Severide was on about you when squad went out that day" Matt helps me into the truck. I take in a deep breath when he closes it the door. I'm ok, everything's ok. I tell myself. Matt opens the door his side and gets in

"You ok? You look pale"

"Yeah. Just since the accident I've struggled with cars and moving vehicles"

"You'll be ok in here. Don't worry" I give Matt a small smile, his presence seams to calm me for some reason

"So where shall I drop you off?"

"At Med"

"Is everything ok?"

"Oh errm yeah. It's with Dr Charles about the errrr the anxiety with driving"

"I see. Well if you ever need a lift anywhere you can call me"

"I don't have your number"

"Yet" Matt gives me a wide smile which makes me laugh

"Isn't it frowned upon to flirt with the people you save?"

"I didn't save you. Severide did"

"Fair enough"

Before I know it I'm outside of Med

"Here" Matt grabs a piece of paper and pen and scribbles something onto it "my number. Phone me if you want picking up"

"Thank you. Seriously thank you" I take his number making a mental note to add it into my phone later. I leave the truck and wave him goodbye before heading into Med for my appointment.

[weirdestcornelius]

Hello again, it's Faerie Anon back to send another long and needlessly in-depth anon comment because writing may too many words about petty bullshit that doesn't matter in the slightest is my curse. Today we're going to be talking about ~Narrative Consistency~ (or inconsistency as I will be talking about here), or as I will call it, the Character Rules. A smaller example of Narrative Inconsistency is Piñata being called the "Birthday Boy" when anthries on Spinch do not know what "birth" is, and Hatchday Hound would have worked better in my opinion.

Now, the Character Rules, as I will describe them, are certain meta rules that apply to each character both in and outside of the narrative. They apply to how the character is allowed to be treated, what they can be called, and even what you can do with them outside of the comic. Certain characters have stricter rules, while others may have rules that are the complete opposite of others. A lot of my examples will be from Cometcare, but I will also go over main-series characters as well.

Let's take Cuddles, the most obvious example. Because he is the series "big bad" and a representation of all of kit's trauma, there are little to no things you can do with him. No shipping, no projecting, you're not even allowed to like him. These are Cuddle's Rules. Other characters who do similar things to him, however (Doom, Puppy, Sunshine) are seen as those who can do nothing wrong and woobified by both the creator and the audience. These are inconsistent Rules.

Next, we have Ally and Howie. Not only are these two given WAY less consequences in Cometcare and would probably be allowed to get away with murder, because they are so personal to Kittycorn, they also have some Rules applied to them. You can't kin them, use pictures of them (even fanart!) as icons, you can't even call yourself their names. These characters are able to do virtually whatever they want while other characters are actually punished for the same shit. These are inconsistent Rules. 

Then there's Sly, who's allowed to be the fandom punching bag. Could you imagine someone making fun of Cream for her eating disorder, or Eve for being traumatized by Sly ignoring her? Not at all! And yet, Sly's symptoms of severe depression are allowed to be made fun of because Kittycorn has decided that it is something that the fandom is allowed to do. These are inconsistent Rules.

Oh, but certainly such a queer-comic would be respectful of everyone's identities, right? Well, no. Jay and Orange, who at one point solely used "they/them", were retconned to be "he/they" because "everyone already uses he/him for them anyways". And yet, anyone who uses "he" for Uni when she uses any pronouns, or politely headcanons Sly as using he/him pronouns without trying to make fen a cis man (either keeping them as transfem or having other headcanons, like intersex), everyone loses their goddamn minds. This, DESPITE the fact that Sly was made transfem because of fucking fan headcanons, but all of the sudden those aren't ALLOWED now. Okay. Alright then. These are inconsistent Rules. 

There is SO MUCH MORE I could go over. Uni being praised for her sexuality while Levi is demonized for it. Doom "no one is allowed to complain about him ever again" and Hemera "there's still time for the traitor to die". You can make fun of Barry for being schizophrenic but Don't You Dare Make Fun Of Uni or Carrie or some other fan favorite. Every character has different standards that apply to them and if you don't keep track of the main blog ever second of every day you are going to get flayed alive for a mistake! These! Are! Inconsistent! Fucking! Character! Rules!

Now, NONE of this would be a big issue if it wasn't for Kittycorn herself. Narrative Inconsistency in a personal passion project is. Okay. Whatever. It's not MY project so it doesn't matter to me. But with how sensitive and parasocialKittycorn can be with bun's audience, something as honest a mistake as accidentally using the wrong icon can lead to a mob mentality in which everyone attacks this user to defend Kittycorn. You can't even post off-anon on a critical blog without getting death threats, heaven help you if you accidentally make Kittycorn upset for something you had no idea about!

TL;DR: Narrative inconsistency sucks and so does the unusual treatment of characters, but Kittycorn's reaction to it sucks harder.

I rest my case. Thank you.

--Faerie Anon

I'm gonna be honest, I never understood how Cuddles was meant to be the big bad.

He seems rude at most. The worst thing we've seen him do is torture Barry in v1, but Doom, Funfetti, and Puppy also did that with Puppy and Funfetti seeming to ENJOY it. Doom too. Since then he hasn't done anything but be a minor inconvenience to the patients. Like I said in a previous post, the whole thing with him bullying Uni was made out to be a big deal "omg you guys you'll never guess what the bastard did this time!!! It's gonna make your mind EXPLODE!!!!" And it turned out to be him calling Uni's puppets stupid. Like c'mon now, if Barry had been the one saying that people would've done some shit like calling it barruni content. Barry called Uni all sorts of names and yet since it was HIM it was okay. I have very strong feelings about v4 if you couldn't tell.

But the rules for him are also so stupid. If you're making RULES for how people can interact with your content, you are NOT ready to release your content to an audience. Sure, this started as a "comfort oc webcomic", but it's making money now. These are still ocs to kc, but to us they're just characters. It isn't a small personal project anymore even if kit wants to pretend it is, buns has a team working on the comic and everything! More importantly, the comic is supposed to eventually be PRINTED and SOLD. Kc cannot be expecting that the fandom won't grow if it gets printed, because it will. I'm not sure how squeak is even planning on enforcing these rules; what are you gonna do, give a free pamphlet with every comic filled to the brim on the do's and don'ts of the fandom?

The thing with Sly. . .oh it bothers me so fucking much. This fandom apparently wouldn't even dream of making fun of Uni for her autism or Carrie for her eating disorder, but because Sly has depression it's suddenly fine. Oh boy, it's not like depression isn't already constantly made fun of and demonized! The fandom is so so welcoming to those with depression! You make a single joke about Uni and the white knights start flooding your inbox, but Eve and Kc can constantly make fun of Sly without any repercussions. I'm someone who has struggled with hygiene issues for a long time. I do not like Kc because of this. I like sparklecare, but I am very far from liking Kc as a person.

I still remember people getting heated over an anon on a critic blog using Howial as their signoff. "You can't use that name! That's Kc's fursonas ship!!!" I wonder how these people will act when someone who goes by Howie or Ally enters the fandom without knowing about cometcare! I'm sure they'll be so nice and understanding and definitely not bully said person into changing their online name!

It's so annoying to me when Kc has gets upset at someone in the fandom over small trivial things. Come on now, this is a fandom, not a small friend group that's sharing a comic together. People are going to do stuff you may not like. People are going to use your characters in ways you probably won't like. Kc already cut off twitter because of this, so it wouldn't be that hard to just I don't know, IGNORE THE POST instead of making multiple posts on the main blog and trauma dumping on a bunch of teenagers before watching them go white knight for you in the inboxes of the "bad" people. If interacting with parts of the fandom stress Kc out this much then squeak should just ignore those parts of the fandom. I don't like certain parts of the fandoms I'm in, but I ignore the posts and scroll on after sometimes blocking the tag if they have one. It's not that hard. After this amount of time it's on Kc for not blocking the sparklecrit tags.

And before people go calling me insensitive, I've gone through plenty of trauma myself, but that does NOT give me an excuse to make fun of others with different mental issues than me and it sure as hell doesn't give me an excuse to purposefully cause people to get sent death threats and all sorts of other nasty stuff. You can tell me that this isn't what Kc means to do, but people have come to the ZCP to ask them to call off the white knights before and I have never found a post from Kc saying not to do this. It's not that hard to tell your fans off for doing disgusting stuff like that. This fandom is all for mental disability/disorder advocacy and lgbtqia+ positivity until someone does something they don't like, then it's okay to shame them for their mental issues/disorders and violently misgender them all because they did something as terrible as *gasp* having a Howie pfp!!!! Or maybe even doing the ultimate crime of not agreeing with something in the comic! Or DARING to make a post on how their disability that Kc DOES NOT have could be better represented!

[libraryofneith]

Out of Mind Chapter 1 (Joel Miller x Reader)

Chapter 2

This is my first The Last of Us fanfic : D This is based on the HBO show, not the video game - i don’t know how to video game. I’m also still getting to grips with how Tumblr works so if my fanfics don’t look as swish as some other fics do, bear that in mind. If you have any tips let me know! I’m also on AO3 under the same username and I tend to update that first. You can check out this fic and my others here.  

Summary:  You're a pickpocket trying to make a living in the Boston QZ, what happens when you cross two of the most dangerous smugglers in the city? 

Well if you've read any TLOU self-inserts, or any self inserts at all for that matter, you can probably guess : )This is probably gonna be a long one, we're talking some serious slow cooking here. But I promise you it will be worth it. There is gonna be some serious lemony goodness when it comes, like really really lemony, so look away ye minors or people of delicate sensibilities (no seriously i mean it).Until that comes we're gonna have it all - morally ambiguous characters, angst, more trauma than you can shake an hbo show at, hurt and comfort, maybe a little fluff if you ask nicely and so. much. pining!!!!!

Preview:  You were almost disappointed at how easy it had been. One cheeky smile, a suggestive lilt in the voice and that guy could barely tell his ass from his ear. So much for the Clint Eastwood of the Boston QZ.

Warnings/Tags: [18+ minors DNI], Boston QZ era Joel, Pre-Ellie, not Tess slander, reader and Tess are friends, slow burn, like really slow burn, slow roast cooker here, mutual pining, age gap - reader is 27 and Joel is 50, he’s my depiction of a fictional character and I’ll thirst if I want to, angst, hurt/comfort, trauma, attempts at healing, not everything about these characters and their relationships is healthy but it’s an apocalypse so sue me. 

Joel

Today was not a good day.

The sun was beating down unrelenting on Joel as he stalked through the streets of Boston trying to get as far away from the unconscious FEDRA soldier as humanly possible. Apparently that little shit thought that five ration cards for a bag of anti-depressants actually meant three ration cards and a gun in his face. The only thing Joel had taken away from that trade was the look on the guard's face when his fist connected with his jaw. At least he'd gotten the drugs back. If he'd come back to the apartment with ration cards and the stash gone Tess would've been pissed - or more pissed than she was already going to be. Maybe if he stopped by the courtyard he could trade with...

Oof!!!

Joel cursed as he crashed headlong into some stupid girl.

"Oh shit sorry."

He gave no response to her apology except a grunt.

"Oh... shit, sorry," she repeated, the words now laced with innuendo. "Wouldn't want to harm a hair on your lil' head." Who's that short-ass calling little'?

"Don't sweat it. Takes more than a bump to bring me down."

"Oo I bet it does." She was standing toe-to-toe with him now, eyes glinting, her hand stroking up and down his arm. "I wonder what it takes to bring you down." Her hand lingered and her smile threatened to draw him in and for a moment, he almost found himself leaning towards her. Then he snapped back to reality and brushed her off.

"Sorry. Not interested." Last thing he needed today was Tess giving him the cold shoulder all night. Still, he let his eyes follow her a little. She was too young for him by half but no harm in looking. Just looking. She wasn't unattractive, not unattractive at all. Like almost everyone in the QZ she looked like she'd seen better days but there was something in the way she walked, bounced almost, like she was ready to take on every fucker who tried her. And her eyes... shit. Her eyes had caught him staring. She flashed him another smile but he tore himself away, already burning her image out of his mind. A cold shower, a few pills, and a glass of whisky and it'd be gone.

"Took you long enough." Tess was already nursing a bottle when he got home.

"Hello to you too."

"What happened?" Joel sighed. He could never keep anything from her.

"Stupid fuckin' kid wouldn't pay up. Things turned ugly."

"You ok?"

"Yeah, but if that FEDRA bastard wakes up he's gonna have one hell of a headache." Tess grinned.

"So you got the stash back?"

"Yup. Gottit right he-" Tess's face fell and Joel's stomach sank as he pulled out a clear plastic bag filled with marbles, not pills.

"Joel what the fuck?!"

"Someone must've switched the bags."

"Without you noticing, how?"

"I don't know." His entire body was quivering with rage.

"Maybe it was that stupid FEDRA kid..."

"No. He's not that smart." The apartment was filled with a stony silence as he tracked back everything that had happened after the deal had gone south. He knew he had the bag after. Then he'd gone straight home, he hadn't seen or spoken to anyone after. Well, except...

"Oh." Then it dawned on him.

"What?"

"That fucker."

"What Joel. Who was it??"

He could picture her now. The glint in her eyes, that confident stride as she walked away from him, that smile, that damn smile.

"I'm gonna kill her."

---

You

You grinned as you examined the bag. One week's worth of happy pills. And after you met with Robert that bag would be seven ration cards.

You were almost disappointed at how easy it had been. One cheeky smile, a suggestive lilt in the voice and that guy could barely tell his ass from his ear. So much for the Clint Eastwood of the Boston QZ. You'd still have to lay low for the next few weeks until Tess and Joel gave up on finding you. From what you'd heard these people were not to be fucked with. Of course you had anyway but after tomorrow you'd be able to kick back and relax until your supplies ran out. Tiny Dancer blasted through your walkman as you laid back on your mattress surrounded by books, sweets, cigarettes and everything else that almost no one but you had.

Things were finally looking up.

Hope you enjoy, more to come. Like and reblog if you enjoyed, if you didn’t send it to your enemies.

[pisupsala]

One for The History Books [Chapter 21] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top-secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words] 10.3k

[Index] All Chapters | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Epilogue

[Library]

 Chapter 21 - Landfall

“You know we don’t have to open it tonight, right?” You’ve noticed Bradley has been eyeing the box with a sort of nervous apprehension—his eyes flicking back and forth while you eat, still seated on the floor.

It feels like that’s the best place with zero pretense instead of sitting on the sofa, or god forbid across from each other at the table. “It can always wait.” 

That’s not to say you are not dying to know what’s in the box and why Bradley brought it. But you shouldn’t push it—especially not today. Everything still feels raw, precarious almost.

But still, Bradley took the massive first step in trying to fix the situation between you, and give you what you had been asking for him. Pushing him more right now wouldn’t be fair.

It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed. Bradley kept his suffering locked away for so long, and carried the burden of his traumas by himself while directing you away from it. Now he’s made the conscious decision to let you in.

All you can really do now is listen to him and support him in the way that he needs you to. And no matter how hard it might be for you, that also means backing off sometimes.

Bradley shakes his head in response. “I want to,” He looks at you with those warm dark eyes, still full of pain. “Because I want to make sure there’s not a doubt left in your mind that I’m giving every part of me to you before I leave.”

You can’t help but blush under his intense gaze.

“You’re really all or nothing, aren’t you?” You smile before turning serious. “But Bradley, I don’t want you to hurt yourself on my account like that. I don’t want you to tear yourself apart because you think this needs to be fixed completely, like, right now.”

Pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, you add: “I don’t doubt you. And I’ll be here when you come back, waiting for you. And the box will be here too.” 

“I don’t want to lose my nerve.” Bradley admits sighing lightly. You sit in silence for a moment, contemplating.

“Then, let’s do it.” You conclude, smiling up at Bradley. “Let's get rid of the pizza boxes first, though. Do you want another beer?”

“Are you sure you’re done?” Bradley looks at you somewhat skeptically as you get up from the floor. “You ate less than half of your pizza.”  

“Oh, yeah—I’m pretty full.” You shrug. 

Truth is, as that pizza was the first big meal you’ve had in about a week, the three odd slices you had made you feel overly full. You only started feeling hungry after the enormous dark pit in your stomach finally dissolved—because this is not the end. This is a challenge you need to overcome. And together you will.

“Are you okay?” Bradley’s words are pointed, not accusatory in any way, but worried. “We haven’t really talked about—well, my week was absolute shit.” 

You chuckle humorlessly. “Well… same here.” 

Obviously, you hadn’t been okay. At all. Like, Bradley is probably too much of a gentleman to say anything, but between the bruise, bags under your eyes, messy hair, and pallid skin, you look at least partially as shitty as you’ve been feeling.

You pushed yourself through the days at work, numbed by a near-constant stream of music, podcasts, and movies, collapsing in your bed the moment you came home, exhausted beyond belief. Yeah, it sure as shit didn’t help you could barely keep anything down, the corrosive feeling in your stomach pretty much locking you up from the inside.

“But I’m okay now.” You assure Bradley with a small smile, before adding teasingly: “If you give me a kiss, I’ll feel even better, actually.” 

You lean in, bending at the waist and resting your hands on Bradley’s broad shoulders for stability. With a playful grin, he obliges you, pressing his lips against yours. 

“It’s making me feel better, too.” He murmurs against your mouth softly. You squeeze, feeling Bradley’s muscles move under your fingers. You’ve missed him so much, but your kisses don’t go any further than that. You can feel his hesitancy—he’s not done with his bloodletting yet.

He still thinks there is a chance you won’t want him anymore. It’s pretty clear to you that this is just as much for himself as he says it’s for you. He needs to confront his past to start making his own peace with it; only then can he move past it.

And you will let him take the lead as long as you keep going forward, supporting him every step of the way.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You good, babe?” You half-whisper, eyes closed, reveling in his proximity.

“Much better, darlin’.” Bradley murmurs back, his voice deep and rough. It sends a jolt down your spine. 

Not the time.

Putting the pizza boxes in the kitchen and grabbing two more beers, you sit back down on the floor next to Bradley. He’s fidgeting, peeling the label off his nearly empty drink.

You pop the new bottles open, offering him one. In a single swig, he empties the beer he had been nervously handling, setting it back on the small coffee table off the side before accepting the new bottle.

Reaching out, he pulls the box closer so it sits just between both your legs. His hand rests on the lid for a moment. 

“Do you want to open it?” You quirk your eyebrow at Bradley’s sudden request. Gently putting your hand over his, you shake your head with a ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your instinct keeps telling you to help him, ease his discomfort, and carry the brunt of the situation because you know you’ll be able to handle it. You would do anything to lighten his burden, but some things are not up to you. You understand now this is not one of them. There’s no need to tell him—he knows—he needs to do this. 

As Bradley slides off the lid, you can’t help but lean forward to get a good look at the contents of the box. The entirety is messily filled to the brim with pictures and what looks like albums. Some seem to be thrown in haphazardly on top of the rest, edges bent and damaged from being jostled. 

“Oh…” The sound escapes you involuntarily as you realize what’s on the pictures. They are family pictures. Bradley’s family. Your heart clenches for a second—Bradley really took your words to heart.  

“It’s ehm-,” Bradley hesitates for a moment, clearing his throat, searching for words. “These are all the pictures I have left from my family.” 

Your head snaps to look at him—Bradley is looking forlornly at the pile of pictures, fingers tracing one that is on top before grabbing it. He studies it for a second, and then wordlessly shows it to you. Your eyes flicker over the picture before returning to his face. 

“I don’t really—I have no idea what to do with this.” He admits with a deep sigh. “I wanted to show you, but now that I opened it…” Bradley trails off.

“Is that you with your little league team?” You smile up at him kindly, pointing at the picture in his hand. “Where was that taken?”

You gently guide his hand closer to you both, so you can look at the photo better. There’s a gaggle of kids in the picture, all still very young in cute and messy little baseball uniforms.

“I - I think that’s still back in San Diego.” He starts hesitantly. “I think I was too young for little league there, that must be something like the local tee ball team.” 

“Which one are you? — Wait, don’t tell me. I want to see if I can guess.” 

Having faced a myriad of difficult decisions and situations in his life, Bradley didn’t think he’d view opening a box of old pictures as such a hurdle. His heart is beating loudly, and he has to consciously keep his hands steady.

He hasn’t really thought it through, and he hadn’t really prepared—he barely remembered what was in the box, or what state it was in. What was he actually going to do with this?

Somewhere, having to go through those pictures was always going to happen, but he’s been putting it off for so many years now that he can barely believe the moment is here.

But for one thing, he knows he can rely on you. Your kindness, your empathy. Your love. You wouldn’t let him struggle through this by himself. Like now. With gentle questions, you steer his thoughts away from anxiety and focus on the small things. 

You keep guessing wrong which kid he could be, picking ones that have darker hair. Not being able to keep a small grin off his face, he points to the small and skinny kid squinting against the sun in the second row. 

“No.” You look at him with comical disbelief. “You were not that blond as a child.”

You scoot closer to him as you bring his hand with the picture up to your face.

“That’s a trick of the light though, isn’t it?”

“Nope. Wait, I’m sure there’s more in here.” Bradley grins despite himself. “I think there might be a whole baby album.”

“Well, I for sure need to see that.”

Bradley leans forward, casually rifling through the pictures at the top of the box. Not being able to stop yourself, you spring up to stop him.

“Bradley, the pictures will get damaged like that.” You admonish him mildly as you carefully pick them up one by one and setting them aside. “Your memories deserve to be handled with care, don’t you think?” 

“You’re right.” He concedes as he feels his heart do a strange little jump. It’s almost painful, but it gives Bradley a strange feeling of elation. Back when he was moving around a lot from his childhood home to college, to boot camp to his first station, he simply consolidated all pictures into this box without much thought.

And here you are, carefully picking every picture up and arranging them in neat little piles on the floor next to the box. The gentleness of the gesture feels deeply intimate. Like you give every snapshot of his life a little bit of attention as you handle it with so much respect. Kindness. Love.

A kind of mercy he hasn’t allowed himself in all these years.

Much more carefully, he pulls out the baby blue album. His baby album. In all these years, he didn’t think he’d actually be looking through that again. That’s a thing for moms to do, right? Show every embarrassing childhood picture to your girlfriend and tell them every awful story.

For a second, Bradley thinks about Mav - he knows so many stories. He was there for them for all those years. As were many others that flew with his dad, although not as much. 

In the end, Mav was there for more stories of them than his own dad was. His mom was there for all of them—well, almost all of them. Some teenage mistakes Bradley would rather take to the grave, and would be more than happy if Mav did too.

Throwing up riding on the back of Mav’s motorcycle when he got too drunk for the first at a house party at the age of 15 would be one of those. Mav had laughed at him so hard, Bradley was sure would never live that one down. In all fairness, he never told Bradley’s mom what happened. He just got Bradley home.

Bradley leafs through the baby album, your chin on his shoulder, loving the little notes his mom made. The first plate of spaghetti (it was a massacre), the first time on a swing (never wanted to get off), first day at preschool on base (many tears), on the pier waiting for daddy to come home.

“You look so annoyed there.” You chuckle, pointing at the picture of a 3-year-old Bradley holding a scrunched-up welcome home sign in his little fists, barely dried tears staining his rosy cheeks.

“Oh man.” Bradley laughs lightly. “All I remember from that is we just stood there on the pier—it took forever, and it was so hot that day.” 

He pauses, trying to remember.

“I begged for an ice cream and my mom would tell me it’s a little bit longer; we had to wait for dad.” He reminisces. “That must have been the longest carrier docking in all history.” 

You giggle, thinking back to the past summer. Waiting for the carrier to dock and the sailors to disembark was tortuous under the summer sun for you, let alone for a small child.

“The next time I remember waiting like that…” Bradley trails off, suddenly deep in thought. “My dad never walked off the carrier.”

You hold your breath for a second.

“Only Mav came back.” Bradley swallows. “I could barely understand why we were there. Why we were leaving without dad.” 

“That must have been really hard.” 

“I mean—I don’t know… I was so young, it took me a while to comprehend my dad really wasn’t coming back.” Bradley has a pensive look on his face, as he stares at the far end of the room rather than at the album in his hands. “I remember much more vividly suddenly having to move out of our house, going out of state, living in a smaller place just together with my mom.” 

“How old were you?”

“Barely four. I think?” He shifts uncomfortably. It was easy to talk about the light stuff, although it always inevitably leads to dark memories. His dad not coming home, his mom always crying, moving away. Exactly the things he doesn’t like thinking about.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” You supply sincerely. God, his dad died so young. 

“‘S okay” Bradley mumbles. 

“Is that why you never wanted me to wait for you at the pier?” You inquire carefully, remembering Bradley’s exact argument of it being too hot and too boring.

“Yeah, no—a bit, I guess. But, no one had ever been waiting for me, you know?” He leans his forehead against the heel of his hand. “I went through all those rites of passage in the Navy by myself, just me. I thought I was fine with that.”

You regard him carefully as he still stares ahead, but you’re not sure he actually sees anything.

“I mean, none of my friends or girlfriends ever came. Sure as shit never invited them.” He just drops that casually into the conversation as you feel your eyebrows pull into a slight frown. “I guess none of them were tenacious enough,” 

His eyes finally meet yours as he grins.

“Or pigheaded enough to just go find everything out and show up.” 

You scoff lightly, a grin pulling at the side of your mouth. “You say that as if you didn’t want me to be there.” 

“No, no, darlin'—I fucking loved it.”  

“Do you think you are that undeserving?” Your question cuts sharply through the conversation.

“What do you mean?”

“You say I was pigheaded for showing up, but you were just as pigheaded for not inviting me—or anyone for that matter.” You cock an eyebrow. “So don’t you think you deserve anyone to wait for you?” 

Bradley sighs heavily.

“I suppose—I guess because there might be a day I don’t walk off that ramp, and I thought it would be easier if no one is waiting.”

“You believe that to be the inevitable outcome?” You intone mildly.

“No, no—I just…” You can tell by his manner, Bradley is getting frustrated.

You’re digging. 

Back off.

Let him take the lead.

“I’ll wait for you here at home or on the pier—wherever you want me to be.” You sooth. 

“I’m sorry.” Bradley apologizes softly. “I don’t mean to be so dark about it.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too.” You reply. “We don’t have to talk about it now. We have plenty of your pictures to go through.” You joke lightly, before adding more solemnly: “And we’re here for each other. That matters.”

“That’s all that matters” Bradley replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For a few moments of silence, you look through the next pages of the album. Bradley’s mom’s neat script shortly commentates every milestone. She clearly took a lot of care in making the album and took pictures prolifically.

Back then—before the age of video calls and digital photography—you suppose it was the only way to document everything that had been happening at home while Bradley’s dad was away.

“Your mom is so pretty.” You lightly trace the edge of the photo, adding: “I can see where you got your looks from.” 

Bradley chuckles in response. “You should see my dad—wait -” He leans forward to grab another album from the box. As he lifts it out, pictures slide from the pages, falling out of the bottom. You quickly sit up, helping Bradley tilt the album on its side, so the pictures top falling.

“For fuck’s sake.” He sighs, annoyed. 

You pluck the pictures that fell out of the box. They are wedding pictures of Bradley’s parents—they look resplendent, both dressed in white, smiling broadly. They are an incredibly good-looking couple. It strikes you how much Bradley looks like his dad—tall, generous smile, and of course the mustache. He looks dashing in his Navy whites, the same way Bradley does.

“You really look a lot like your dad.” You say pensively. “But I definitely see your mom in you too.”

“Mav used to tell me how much I resembled my dad when I was growing up.” Bradley carefully cracks open the album to straighten some loose photos. “I always took a lot of pride in that. Recently, he mentioned my temper is definitely my mom’s.” He chuckles dryly.

Carefully, you tuck one of the photos that fell out between the empty page. “Do you agree?”

“My mom…she—she always kept up a brave face.” Bradley shrugs somewhat uncomfortably. “She would never get really mad or sad, even though… she was. She would always hide it from me.” He slowly leaves through the album, eyes running over the pictures of the happy couple. “All the way to the end.”

Bradley pauses for a moment, as you tuck the other picture that fell out on another empty page.

“I overheard my mom and Mav have an absolute blow-up argument at the hospital. That was months before she passed away— I’ve never heard her so angry, like, screaming at each other. They stopped arguing the moment I walked into the room.” 

“I was nearly 18, not really a kid anymore, but mom never told me what they argued about. And even then, she would only cry when she thought I couldn’t hear.”

“It sounds like she was trying to protect you.” You supply kindly.

“I think she bottled everything up to the point of explosion.” Bradley sounds distant. “I guess I’m kind of the same way.”

“I still think…” Bradley swallows before continuing. “I believe that she never really got over my dad’s death. Mom would look at these pictures every day in the hospital, and I think she bottled up all her grief for so many years, it broke her heart for good.”

“I’m sorry, that’s really sad.” You say softly.

“I try not to think about it too much.” Bradley shrugs again, in a slightly more agitated manner. “It just makes me think about how she spent all those years grieving by herself and I couldn’t help her… was she ever happy again?” 

There’s no answer to that question.

“I think you can be happy about things even when still feeling the loss, because it’ll always kind of be there, right?” You begin slowly. “And our mom still had you. From what I hear, she clearly loved you a lot, going to great lengths to protect you from her pain. Maybe your happiness became her happiness.” 

“I hope it did.” Bradley sighs. Every page turned, every picture finally uncovered again, is like the weight is slowly rolling off him. Bottling up hurts. And it hurt for so long, the pain became a constant background noise. You’re right, he’s had moments of happiness despite the pain. Becoming a pilot despite the odds. Making it to TOPGUN. Surviving that mission. He’s been happy with you. 

It’s mostly in hindsight that he’s aware of the grief he still has in him at every moment. Bottled up. Closing the wedding album, he traces his fingers over the cover. It’s a matter of perspective.

Ironically, he pushed the happiest memories into a dark corner—literally in the back of his closet—never looking it at them because he couldn’t separate the happiness from the grief. And maybe, they don’t need separating. You’re right, the loss will always be there, but that doesn’t mean the happiness of those moments disappears. 

Ultimately, Bradley is becoming more and more sure of one thing. He couldn’t do this without you. He wouldn’t want to do this without you. Putting away the album, he wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you against him. You easily accept his gesture and lean into the hug, putting your arms around him. 

Bradley realizes that today is the first time in many years he allowed himself to reach out to someone for comfort emotionally and physically and that it was so readily given to him. Finally, the ever-present pain seems to dull.

“Thank you for sharing all this with me.” You whisper against his neck.

“It feels right.” He admits. “Things just feel right with you.”

You can’t help but smile as press yourself into Bradley. You’ve struggled with how… right things feel with Bradley. Always aware with the looming of darkness in the back of your head that this thing might not be more than a blip on the radar. Just a temporary madness. 

Like a knot being pulled loose, a new calmness anchors itself in you. It feels right. You can finally, unequivocally accept that. 

Slowly untangling from each other, you talk about look through one of the pile of pictures. Bradley laughs as he talks about breaking his nose during a training game in middle school baseball after a pitcher from the opposing team nailed him in the face as he was batting. Convinced he did it on purpose, Bradley waited for him after the game and started a fight. Getting a black eye and detention to boot, he elected to call Mav to pick him up and go to the hospital, too embarrassed to call his mom. 

“God, that dude was massive—had at least 50 pounds on me. I have no idea what I was thinking.” Bradley rubs his hand over his eyes, still laughing. 

“What did Mitchell say about it?” You ask, laughing too.

“Mercifully very little—all he told me was to get my temper in check or to get stronger and learn how to fight better.” Bradley grins as he rummages through the box.

“Solid advice.” You drawl sarcastically. Although you haven’t worked with Mitchell much directly, you’ve seen plenty of him in action and his unorthodox method of leadership. You are not at all surprised he would tell a 12-year-old that.

Bradley suddenly stills as his hand comes upon an object of smooth wood. He tries to keep his breathing even - fuck. 

He forgot this was in here.

You notice the sudden shift in Bradley’s demeanor, his hand half-hovering in the box, clutching an oddly shaped box. The moment you catch a glimpse of the dark polished walnut, the realization strikes you. It’s a display case with his father’s funeral flag and medals. Judging from Bradley’s reaction, it’s not a pleasant find.

“I - I -” The words are dying in Bradley’s throat. When he turns to you, you see the panic in his eyes. Carefully, you reach out to him, resting your hand on his shoulder. You don’t speak, leaving Bradley space to sort his thoughts and emotions.

He pulls out the display case, weighing in his hands hesitantly. He sits in silence, looking at the neatly folded flag behind the glass. Bradley swallows heavily, like he wants to say something, but the words won’t come. You rub your hand in soothing circles over his shoulder. You bite your lip to stop yourself from speaking. He needs this.

“My dad was Mav’s RIO.” Bradley’s voice is so soft, so broken, you would have missed his words if you had not been looking at him. “He died ejecting from their aircraft over the ocean.”

You move closer to Bradley. 

“He just didn’t walk off the boat one day.” His fingers run over the wooden sides of the frame. “And I barely remember.”

Bradley pauses to steady himself.

“I don’t know where the stories from my mom and Mav start and my own memories end—like playing the piano. I know my dad used to teach me simple tunes, but I…” He trails off for a moment. “But I remember the piano gathering dust for several years a lot more, and my mom crying when I started taking lessons.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Bradley blink rapidly.

“You know…,” You lick your lips nervously, trying to choose your words with care. It kills you to see him like this. “Memories are just one aspect of remembering. We remember through our actions too.” You turn to look at Bradley. His eyes are wet, as he stubbornly stares at the display case.

“Whether it’s through telling those stories, pictures, or playing the piano,” You continue, voice gentle. “That’s how you keep memories alive.”

Bradley doesn’t reply, eyes still trained of the blue and white of the folded flag, fingers twitching.

In a sudden move, he pulls you against him, practically dragging you from your spot next to him into his lap. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck. His fingers are digging into your flesh as he seems hell-bent on crushing you into him.

You let him.

You run your fingernails through the short hair on the back of his head comfortingly. Bradley is taking shaky breaths, his shoulders jerking lightly..

He can’t remember the last time he cried. Was it as his mom’s funeral? Or some time when he got way too drunk after boot camp? But now he can’t seem to stop himself. The tears just keep coming, like all the pain is suddenly fresh again.

You don’t say anything, and Bradley appreciates that. He presses himself into you like he wants to drown himself in you, trying to focus on your soft breathing to calm himself down. 

You have no words to help Bradley feel better, but sometimes it’s not necessary to speak to offer comfort. So you sit like that together on the floor, wrapped up in each other. Time could have been standing still all around you, and you wouldn’t have noticed. 

Eventually, slowly, Bradley’s breathing evens out. It’s like the atmosphere evens out with it—the final slivers of tension, the precarious balance of emotions and rawness in your hearts— start dissolving around you, leaving only love.

Bradley presses a kiss against your jaw and whispers a thank you. 

“There’s nothing to thank me for, babe.” You chuckle, hugging him a bit tighter against you.

“I’m thankful for you.” He replies sincerely, pressing more kisses against the column of your neck. You pull away a fraction to capture his lips with yours. Lightly biting down on his bottom lip, finally, he tilts his head in such a way that lets you deepen the kiss. You can’t even describe how much you need this: to feel Bradley again.

Gracelessly, you try to get up while guiding Bradley up with you without breaking the kiss. It’s a mess of limbs and hurried movements. You stumble as your foot gives out from under you, nearly falling onto the sofa. Bradley easily catches you.

“Fuck - my foot is asleep.” You wince as the pins and needles shoot up your ankle.

Bradley laughs. Light dances in his eyes as he hoists you up, legs wrapped around his waist. Seeing him like this makes your heart soar.

“Don’t let go of me.” He warns you, still smiling.

“I can’t.” You echo. “I don’t think I ever can.” 

With practiced ease, Bradley steers you both to the bedroom. You’ve spent the evening in the past and you need to get back to the present to ground yourself in each other.

The bedroom is a mess; sheets crumpled, pillows strewn around the bed. But neither of you cares. Bradley gently lays you down on the bed, your legs still hooked around his hips while he rests one knee on the mattress for stability.

His hands run up your sides, bunching up the silk of your blouse. Your breathing gets heavier as you feel his large warm hands through the fabric. Your fingers dance up his forearms, past his elbows, over the rippling muscles of his upper arms, pulling yourself up by his shoulders as you sit up to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

Gently grabbing one of your wrists, Bradley slowly lays you back down. 

“Let me take care of you now, darlin’.” He practically purrs. A giggle escapes you as his lips latch onto the column of your throat, his thumb running over the erratic pulse point on your wrist.

You sigh as you close your eyes, allowing yourself to feel even more. Bradley’s free hand is deftly undoing the buttons of your self-proclaimed armor. Arching your back off the mattress, brushing your bra-clad breasts against his chest, the silk shimmies off your body.

Momentarily leaning back, Bradley easily shrugs off his own shirt as you pull your arms from the sleeves—both garments end up somewhere in the dark of the room. Not missing a beat, you trail kisses up his broad chest towards his neck. Lightly biting down on Bradley’s collarbone, he hisses. You love that sound.

Fingers brushing down his stomach, you feel his muscles move under your feather-light touch as you reach the waistband of his jeans. Before you can do anything else, Bradley swipes your hands away, smoothly bringing them over your head and pinning them down.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your lips, free hand undoing the button of your slacks, and slipping into your panties. “I’ll take care of you.”

You moan in response. Bradley wastes no time running his fingers up your slit, rubbing your clit at a tortuously slow pace. He knows your body almost as well as you do yourself; keenly feeling when to speed up, add pressure, mapping out every sensitive spot.

Your hands twitch, but Bradley doesn’t yield his grasp on your wrists. His lips travel down from your jaw, over your throat, nipping on your collarbone, down to the lace edge of your bra. The sensation of his hot breath through the thin fabric makes your head spin. You arch your back, trying desperately to maximize contact.

“Plea- please.” You beg in a whisper. Bradley just grins as he gently nips at the flesh of your breast. He has a need a regain control, a push to assure you, but mostly himself, that despite your relationship fundamentally changing with new emotional depths he never explored with anyone like that before, he is still him. 

He plunges two fingers into you, his thumb on your clit finally speeding up. Bradley leans back up just a little, hearing you whimper at the loss of contact, so he can take a good look as your body moves under him—hair mussed, blush spreading down your chest, breathing heavily as you buck up against his hand. 

Fuck, you look so good, you feel so good.

And you’re like that just for him.

Your eyes search Bradley's—pupils blown, dark with desire, a light blush dusts his cheeks—they are filled with warmth. Love. You tilt your hips up, muscles taut, as the pressure starts building in you. Bradley immediately responds to you without needing a single word, knowing exactly what you need: his fingers hooking up in you, moving in tandem with his thumb. It tears an incoherent moan from you.

Finally he releases your wrists and without hesitation your hands tangle into his curls, pulling his mouth to yours non-too gently. As he leans over you, never missing a beat, pumping his fingers in your pussy relentlessly, he uses his other hand to push away the lace of your bra. His fingers immediately pinch and pull your nipple, adding to the building pressure in you.

“Bradley…” You moan unabashedly. His skin is so hot under your touch, everything about him sets you aflame. You buck your hips harder, feeling so close already. Bradley drags his teeth along your collarbone, stopping at the pulse point at your neck, and biting down. 

You scream out in ecstasy, your muscles coiling tight, wrapping yourself around Bradley, pulling him along in your wave. Bradley’s mouth crashes into yours, swallowing your scream. As your cresting wave makes landfall, a calm settles back into your tired bones, and suddenly tears spring up behind your closed eyelids. Bradley is still kissing you deeply, his tongue moving against yours, devouring every thought.

You break the kiss to catch your breath, your teary eyes meeting his for a few seconds. As he hovers above you, you take every bit of Bradley in. Your muddled brain tries to come to a coherent thought, but in the end, you feel it more than you can formulate it.

You are the luckiest girl alive.

Hands moving of their own accord, you reach for Bradley, nails lightly raking down his chest. Bradley pulls you up with him, cradling your face in his hands as he presses a kiss on your lips. You pop the button of his jeans, sliding your hands down his boxer shorts. Grasping his rock hard shaft, you start pumping slowly. Bradley groans as he nibbles your bottom lip.

“I’m not done with you yet, darlin’.” He teases.

You giggle softly. “But I want you.”

Bradley only responds by unclasping your bra and sliding it down your arms. You press yourself against him, wanting to feel him against you. His hand is massaging your breast, tweaking your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine.

Skimming his fingers down your sides, he tugs your slacks and underwear down your legs in one smooth gesture. They end up somewhere in the darkness of the room, along with the rest of your clothes. You push his pants down his thighs—he easily steps out of them and you pull him with you onto the bed.

His hot mouth is on your tits, as you palm his cock. 

“I need you inside me.” You breathe. Bradley doesn’t respond at first, kissing and nipping his way down your body.

“I’m still not done with you.” His breath is hot against your soaking pussy. You whimper, blindly reaching for his hair as his tongue presses against your still-sensitive clit. Hooking your knee over his shoulder, using the leverage to tilt your pelvis just so, you know you’re not going to last very long under his assault. He squeezes your thigh as you tug his hair painfully. You roll your hips against Bradley’s face, setting a much-needed feverish pace. He acquiesces, tongue flicking against your clit without break, tearing a litany of swears from you.

“F- fuck, Bradley - don’t stop,” You beg, breathlessly. “You’re so fucking good.”

His free hand harshly squeezes your breast, pinching and manipulating the nipple as he hums—you feel the deep vibrations go through your core. Your body feels electrified, the pressure building in you from Bradley’s onslaught. He can feel your body stiffening, hips jerking, breath quickening. He knows you’re close, and he wants to pull you over the edge of pleasure.

You are mumbling incoherently, Bradley’s name on your lips like a prayer, as the coil in your stomach is wound almost painfully. Just a little bit more. He is relentless in his mission, tongue lashing against you. Splaying his hand on your lower stomach, Bradley stills your hips, building the anticipation even more.

Just when you think you cannot take it anymore, the coil in you springs. You cannot even begin to care how loud you are right now. Bradley is still holding you down, his mouth buried in your pussy as you cum, moans filling the room.

 It feels like your breath has been ripped from your lungs. You are only vaguely aware of the tears leaking from your screwed-shut eyelids—your brain feels like it has been disconnected from your body completely, static electricity flickering through your veins. 

“Fuck, darlin’…” Bradley is panting. His voice is suddenly close, concerned. “Hey, are you okay?” His finger trails down the wet streak down your cheek.

Slowly opening your eyes, colorful spots filing your vision, you look up at Bradley. You don’t know why there are tears on your face. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming, but you aren’t sad in any way.

“I’m okay.” You croak, softly pressing your lips against his, tasting yourself on him. “You just completely blew my mind.” You joke lightly.

“I’ll accept that reason.” Bradley grins. “Do you need a break?”

You shake your head almost petulantly. “No, I need you.” 

“Please.” You add softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. You want Bradley close.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear. “Anything for you.”

He slides his cock into your slick pussy, drenched in your own cum, in one swift motion, filling you to the hilt. You moan as Bradley swears under his breath.

“Fu- fuck, darlin’, you feel so, so good.” His voice is deep, rough, and so close, his mustache is brushing against the shell of your ear – it’s sending shivers down your spine. 

Bradley sets a slow, almost leisurely pace. He wants to savor this; your blushing face, glassy eyes looking up at him as you wrap yourself around him. Your look of love. This is how he wants you committed to his memory forever, and quietly wishes this would be the look he would see in his dreams.

In the meantime, he will make to be worthy of that look every day. So you will look at him like that every day. Only at him. Your fingers are running down the side of his face, a small smile gracing your lips. He grabs your hand and presses a kiss against your palm before intertwining your fingers with his, squeezing your hand as he rolls his hips against you. 

It feels so intimate. So much more intimate than ever before. 

You always tried to be strong, but you had also shown your vulnerability and insecurities to him. You cried, you were angry, your hands shook when you unbuttoned his shirt. Now that you know him, arguably better than almost anyone else, Bradley cannot help but feel like the axis has tilted. He trusts you. With himself, with his pain and his love.

Admitting and accepting that makes everything so much clearer.

“I love you.” The words come out naturally. It’s a verbalization of what he’s been feeling for a long time now and saying the words is familiar, because really, he’s told you many times in many different ways already, just not with those words.

“I love you too.” You gasp. “S- so much.” 

Leaning on his elbow, fingers still intertwined with yours, Bradley speeds up the pace—his cock driving into you hungrily. Your tits bounce deliciously every time he fills you to the hilt, your hips rising to meet his every move. He missed you so much, he knows he’s not going to last long. 

You feel Bradley’s hips starting to stutter irregularly as he’s speeding up, a light sheen of sweat forming on his brow. Your nails rake over his back, tilting your hips for more friction. Bradley groans, brow furrowed as he searches for release. 

“Will you cum for me?” You encourage sweetly. “Cum for me, Bradley, I need you.”

How can he refuse, when you ask him like that? 

Bradley pounds into you, your moans and his swears filling the room. He squeezes your hand painfully, as he closes his eyes for a moment, never losing the relentless pace.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m so close.” He grinds out.

“Please, Bradley -” You beg in a whispery voice. 

Bradley moans loudly, swearing as his movements turn erratic, trusts turning irregular until his hips stutter to a halt. Breathing heavily, he rests his forehead against yours—your breath mingling before his body slowly sinks into yours. Together you lay there in a bubble of contentment, between the messy sheets, clothes strewn around and the chaos of your week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Darlin’, are you awake?”

You blink heavily against the sunlight streaming into the room. You went out like a light last night. Both Bradley and you were so exhausted from everything that happened that week, you pretty much fell asleep on top of each other. You only managed to go to the bathroom before completely conking out, Bradley was already fast asleep by them.

“Wha- what time is it?” You ask, voice thick with sleep. It’s only as you gain some awareness of your surroundings, you notice Bradley is not in bed with you anymore, rather standing next to it, bent over you. He’s dressed in only his boxers, while you are still naked under the covers.

“It’s a little past 11.” He replies, pressing a kiss on your temple. Fuck, that late? “But more pressingly, sweetheart; you don’t have any coffee. Actually, you don’t have much of anything in the house.”

Oops.

“Yeah, I kinda forgot to go shopping.” You mumble, rubbing your eyes.

“And here I was going to make you breakfast.” Bradley teases. “Come on, get up. At least let me take you out.”

“I need to shower,” You yawn, scratching your head. “Ugh, and wash my hair.”

“Well, let’s go take care of that.” Bradley grins, as he scoops you up from the bed, causing you to squeal in delight as you scramble to grab onto him. He effortlessly pulls you up from the bed, the covers still wrapped around you. You laugh together as he carries you out of the bedroom.

The shower take way too long—mostly because you spent less time washing, and more time pinned against the tile wall, moaning in ecstasy. Gasping for breath, wetter from sweat than water and Bradley’s cum dripping down your thighs, you end up kicking him out of the shower. You’re going to be stuck there for the rest of the day and your water bill will be through the roof. He leaves you with a wink.

You make quick work of washing your hair, lathering it with conditioner and shaving for good measure. Hair wrapped in a towel, you get dressed in comfortable jeans and a simple cotton shirt. You’re going to need to blow dry it before you go out—also you should really do your makeup. The bruise is slowly getting over the worst of it, but it’s still pretty visible.

Head bent down, rubbing the towel through your hair, you walk into the living room. From the corner of your eye, you see Bradley sitting on the couch, fully dressed already. “Babe, are we really out of all coffee?” You’re dying for a cup.

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you look up, holding the towel up from your face. Bradley is gingerly holding his parent’s wedding album, carefully moving the loose pictures into place.

 “Do you think it’s fixable?” His voice is quiet. “It was my mom’s favorite album.”

You blink, before rewrapping your hair and sitting down next to him. Carefully, you pick up one of the pictures and inspect it.

“Yeah, I’ve seen this happen a lot with picture collections we get. It looks like the glue disintegrated.” You note as you look at the back of the photo. As you suspect, the glue in the corners has left only brown residue and has long-lost its function. “We do restorations regularly—well not me, per se, I did it as part of my rotations as an intern—but it can be anything from humidity, or just a bad batch of glue…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.

“Can you fix it?” 

“Me?” You cannot hide your surprise at his request. “I mean—I can get some of the supplies we use at work.” You regard Bradley carefully. “Do you want me to do that?” 

“Yeah…” He sighs. “I’m kind of… scared I’ll ruin it.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “And you’re the archivist here.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not really a conservation specialist, but I’ll do my best.” You reply earnestly. This feels like a pretty serious responsibility. “I’ll get some special glue, and maybe some protective sleeves and smaller boxes to store all the other loose photos, okay?”

You smile lightly at him, feeling a blush creep up. The way Bradley puts his trust in you to care for the last tangible memories he has from his parents gives you butterflies.  “Your mom did such a great job dating all the photos, I can order them for you.” 

You pause for a moment.

“If you want, that is.” You backtrack, unsure. This is not a history project, it’s not an anonymous donation to archives from someone’s estate, these are Bradley’s memories. It should be his choice. “I will do what I can to help you.”

“Thanks sweetheart.” He carefully closes the album. “I trust you completely with this—you know so much better than I how to care for all these things.”

“But they are still your memories.” You say, voice soft. “And in the end, you need to be happy with it.”

“You make me happy.” Bradley replies mischievously. 

“You are impossible.” You grin, as move to get up.

“Impossibly in love with you?” He teases.

Okay. So it would be a complete lie if that doesn’t make your heart jump so hard it’s making your rib cage rattle as blood floods to your cheeks. Regardless of how fucking cheesy that is. 

You try your best to shoot him a withering look, although it probably lacks power. Bradley is trying to get a reaction out of you. You can tell by that cheeky glint in his eye, the way his mouth is pulled in that cocky half-smirk and the casual figure he cuts, leaning back on the sofa; he knows he succeeded.

You just grunt in embarrassment, pulling the towel back over your face as you leg it out the room, leaving Bradley to enjoy his victory. 

Bradley ends up taking you to a diner—which is fine by you, because regular refills on coffee is exactly what you need right now. You slide into a booth together, Bradley immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

If Bradley was tactile before, he’s turned it up to 11 today. Not that you are complaining. It feels like you need to fill up on everything Bradley—like you’ve lost precious time, even if it was just a week—before he leaves again. 

Rationally, you know it’s only a month. He’s been gone for longer. You’ve been through this together. But it suddenly all feels strange again, a little bit apprehension under the surface, as you see your connection in a new light full of new heights and depths. It never felt better, but this time being apart will be different from before.

You eat your breakfast in relative silence—honestly, after the first bite of your blueberry pancakes, you realize how much you are starving. You lean back against Bradley, nursing your coffee.

“Hey babe,” You start, looking up at him through your lashes. “You’re flying out to Texas on Tuesday, right?”

Bradley nods. “Yeah, about that…” He trails off, while he fidgets with his mug. “No, never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What?” You sit up, looking at him curiously. The tips of his ears are red as he avoids your gaze. “Come on, tell me.”

“I’m flying commercial, so I was thinking to change my ticket to fly out of D.C.”

“Won’t that be expensive, changing it so late?” You ask, not unkindly.

“Well-” Bradley hesitates, eyes roaming the room nervously. You are seriously wondering what has him out of sorts like this suddenly. “I was thinking you could drop me off at the airport Tuesday and take the Bronco. You can use it when I’m gone, it’s safer than your car anyway. It would make me feel better if you use my car.” He ends his sentence hurriedly: “And then you could come pick me up again whenigetback.”

Letting out a deep breath, Bradley continues, voice forced light. “But it’s stupid, you have work, and you’re right, it’s probably kind of late to change my ticket.” 

“Hold on.” You cut in, gently placing your hand on his cheek and turning him to face you. “Babe. Do you want me to take you to the airport and pick you up when you get back?”

“Yes.” He replies earnestly. “But it’s such short notice, I don’t want you to get into trouble with work…”

“I’ll handle that, don’t worry.” You smile. “Of all places, the DoD will understand I have to say goodbye to my handsome naval aviator boyfriend because he’s leaving for a month.” 

“I’d love to do that for you. I want to be there for you.” You tell him honestly. “And I’m not saying that just because you’re lending me your car for a whole month.” You add with a grin.

Bradley laughs loudly at that. His eyes crinkle, the apprehension suddenly leaving him. He presses a kiss against your lips. “I’ll be rebooking my ticket then.”

“You do that.” You smile—it means you will have him with you for two more days, instead of him leaving on Sunday already. Sometimes things just work out like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Bradley leaves for Texas, you spent your evenings going through the pictures from the box. Gently cleaning them, tucking them in protective sleeves and ordering them chronologically in new boxes where they won’t be thrown around so much. 

As you clear out the box Bradley left you, you find small trinkets that must have been thrown in at some point. A small plastic soldier, scraps of paper, lots of dust. You clean everything and save everything that might be of worth in an envelope. It’s not up to you to throw anything away.

Stuck in the corner of the box, you find a pair of dog tags that belonged to Bradley’s father. They are smudged and dirty—you have no idea if that’s from being in the dusty box (which was stored god knows where for how long) or this is the way they were returned to the family. 

You want to ask Bradley, but elect to do so when he is back. He calls you almost every day, but you notice his unease when you ask about objects from the box. It’s still difficult for him. And he tries so hard.

So instead, you order a flat, rectangular box through work, once that is specifically used to store small items. You fill it with soft foam, cut to measure, and carefully pin the dog tags into place. Bradley can decide what he wants to do with this later.

It’s late at night, almost halfway through Bradley’s training mission, you find something unexpected. 

It’s a crushed ring box. 

The hinges are rusted and twisted, the top of the box sitting at an awkward ninety-degree angle. It’s empty, the once soft fabric on the outside torn and stained. The button to open the box is loose in the socket, jiggling sadly with every movement.

It mostly likely got torn apart between the heavy albums between different moves, just loosely thrown in, unsecured in any way.

It doesn’t look like it can be salvaged. Not only that, but it’s beyond your skill, that’s for sure. Still, you carefully place it in an envelope. Maybe you can ask someone at work if they know someone (a jeweler? A carpenter? Who actually repairs things like these?), although it looks like a commercially produced box. Getting it restored will probably cost a lot more than getting a new one. But this is not your decision to make. 

More importantly: there is a ring box, but no ring?

You should go to bed. But you cannot resist a good mystery. A missing puzzle piece. 

It’s late, so Bradley is probably already asleep. He mentioned he has an early start tomorrow and you don’t want to disturb him. But you also don’t want to wait almost two weeks before you can ask about the missing ring. 

You take out the last items from the box—it’s as good as empty now.

You use the torch on your phone to get a better look, fingers running along the edges of the cardboard. There’s a dust bunny, a few scraps of paper and what looks like a lone Lego brick. No ring.

Carefully peeling back the flaps on the bottom, you lean closer for a better look. Still nothing. You wiggle your hand under the flap, fingers exploring every nook and cranny. Your hand is getting coated in dust and what feels like grains of sand. 

Yuck.

Still no luck.

Maybe there is no ring, and it’s been long lost between Bradley’s moves.

But that’s kind of boring.

Putting your phone away, you sit back, rocking on your heels. 

Fuck this.

You flip the box over, shaking it with some vigor. Sand, dust and Lego hit the floor with soft thuds. Suddenly, a soft-

Ting.

Metal hitting the wooden floor.

Ting.

It bounces.

Quickly, you push the box out of the way. 

There, between the dust and the grime, landed a golden ring. The almond shaped topaz, set between two smaller diamonds, glitters like the sun, even under the artificial light of your living room light.

Carefully picking it up, you study it. Like everything in the box, it’s kind of dirty and scuffed. As you look at it—it is a beautiful ring—it dawns on you. It looks familiar. 

But… from where?

Oh fuck.

Pulling out the wedding album, you flip the pages until you find the picture you are looking for. You’ve spent a better part of a week, every evening after work (sometimes while on the phone with Bradley), carefully peeling the pictures off the page and painstakingly reapplying them until your back hurt. You’ve gotten plenty familiar with every photo. 

There it is. 

Bradley’s parents, in close up, smiling at each other lovingly. But more importantly, her hand is resting on his shoulder, and there, clear as day, sits that exact ring.

It’s his mother’s engagement ring.

Suddenly, your heart is beating so loudly, you can barely hear yourself think. You know Bradley didn’t leave it in there for you to find. Hell, considering the state it’s in, he probably forgot it was in there in the first place.

But.

You cannot deny that you’ve not allowed yourself a little dream here and there. In the long term, you indulge in the fantasy of getting married to Bradley. Would Bradley marry you? You’ve never talked about marriage, or kids, together.

Finding this ring now sets your mind into overdrive. He would look so good in his formal uniform. He would kiss you so sweetly at the alt- oooh, this is bad. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. 

Okay. Focus on the practicals. 

The ring box is busted, so you need to find a place to store the ring. You could order a new ring box online, but you don’t want the ring to just lie around your desk in the meantime.

It feels a bit too forward to place it in your own jewelry box. It’s not yours, it shouldn’t be there. The only other place… the box with the dog tags.

Your breath sounds loud in the otherwise silent room—adrenaline is still coursing through your veins as you open the small box. With the thin blade you use to lift pictures off the page, you slice a small slit into the foam, next to the dog tags.

The ring slides in easily, glinting happily in the light, cozily tucked next to the dog tags. 

It looks… right, you decide. 

You close the little box lovingly. 

It feels right, having them together like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today is the day. You are bouncing on your heels, trying to see over the crowd of people in the arrival hall. 

You’ve checked signs at the exit at least a dozen times. It’s really this exit. Every 30 seconds, your eyes flicker over to the display—no, the arrival hall for Bradley’s flight hasn’t changed, yes, it’s still the same exit. The airport app only confirms it.

You fidget with the belt of your light trench coat.

Why are you so nervous?

It’s only been a month.

You’ve arrived too early—Bradley’s plane hasn’t even landed yet. But you’ve been having this dreadful, horror-filled premonition you’d be late—when he finally asked you to wait for him. 

You can’t fuck this up.

But now you’re here, a good 20 minutes early, nervously shifting your weight from foot to foot, watching people around you mill about. Weary travelers rush past you to taxis, while people have small and big reunions, and designated airport pick-ups hold signs with bored expressions.  

It’s torture. 

You should have brought a book. Or at least your AirPods or something. Anything to distract you from looking at the clock every 5-odd seconds, getting distracted by every announcement made, and ultimately disappointed every time with how slowly time is going.

Trying to stop yourself from pacing like an absolute madwoman in front of the exit, you stroll around the shops in the arrival halls—always in the line of sight of one of the information displays. Not that anything changes. 

Listlessly you page through cheap romance novels, read a couple of headlines on the magazine rack and inspect small trinkets. There is a particularly unfortunate-looking plastic model of the Washington monument, leaning precariously forward like it’s in a tower of Pisa contest (you almost buy it because you feel so bad for it).

Unfortunately, that’s only 5 minutes gone.

You recheck your pockets for what must be the 348th time today. Phone, house keys, car keys. Chapstick, chewing gum, wallet. Everything is still there.

You walk past the flower stand, where big bouquets and bunches of roses in vibrant colors contrast starkly against the gray marble airport tiling. Aluminum balloons swing softly as people rush home. The smell of overpriced cheesy pastries wafts through the air.

You quickly stop by the bathroom—brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The bruise on your face has long disappeared.  You look fine. 

It’s too cold for the summer dress Bradley seems to favor, so you’ve opted for a wrap dress with longer sleeves that is more appropriate for the weather. You like to think that cut flatters you. You look good.

Slipping your hand back into the pockets of your coat, you slowly head back to the exit. Still no change on the display.

You repeat two more slow rounds around the shops, trying not to look like a total weirdo, when the display finally shows Bradley’s plane has landed. Faster than necessary, you leg it back to the exit, as if he could come out any minute. Yes, you know he still needs to make it off the plane, wait for his luggage, and then walk all the way where you are waiting but Bradley is here.

You’re about to burst with anticipation, hands clasped around your phone that you hold up to your chest because you don’t think you can stop fidgeting otherwise, and because it feels like your heart might leap straight out.

“waiting for luggage x” 

Bradley’s message is simple and to the point, but makes you feel like you might just float above the crowd in front of you and straight into his arms.

He is so close.

Every time the sliding doors open and people file out, you bounce onto your tiptoes to see that familiar head of caramel curls with that confidently easy-going gait and that cocky smile that makes you weak at the knees. Bradley knows exactly the effect he has on you, and you’ve decided to just own it.

 Fuck it, you’re in love.

And you know it’s mutual.

It’s like you’ve developed a sixth sense for Bradley. The moment the sliding doors open again, you feel him before you see him. He’s here.

Bradley’s stance is confident in his crisp khaki uniform as he steps out, not faltering for a second —but his eyes are scanning the crowd nervously. You stand rooted to the ground for one second before your brain jolts you into action: he’s looking for you.

Bradley’s heart is beating anxiously—where are you? — when, your voice rings out over all the noise around, clear as a bell.

“Bradley!”

You are weaving through the crowd, about 90 feet away, trying to get past the horde of people waiting as quickly and somewhat as politely as possible. He can see your shining eyes even from the distance: they are his beacon home.

Unceremoniously, he drops his bag on the floor, not really caring it’s in the middle of the path. He only has eyes for you now.

Finally, you break free from the line, running forward with your arms outstretched. Before you can take two steps, Bradley is running up to you.

You crash into each other, Bradley lifting you off your feet in one fell swoop. You wrap your legs around him, not really caring how the skirt of your dress is bunching up around your thighs. Your hands got to cradle Bradley’s face, lips inching close like you’re sharing a secret just between the two before you kiss him.

“Welcome home, lieutenant.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[note] aaaaand that it's for the main story. Almost. There is still an epilogue in the works where I'll try to tie up some of the leftover threads. Plus there's one side story that I'm particularly excited to write. Soon I'll probably take some time to thoroughly edit the story. I know for a fact some story elements fell a little to the wayside, and not everything works quite like I wanted it to (let alone that some sentences read like I've had a stroke half-way through).

Thank you for reading. Thank you for all the comments and encouragement. Thank you for helping me re-discover that writing can still be fun and it's okay to self-indulge. Ultimately, I hope my story brought you some joy!

[taglist] @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut

[angelmelon]

MEET ANGELICMELONNNN

hi guys it’s me hit artist Angelicmelon He/It pronouns

I used to be called CheezyBakedRat on Amino. If anyone remembers this very niche era of our life DNI/hj

3rd gen Irish Diaspora living on Shawnee land, plan to move to Ireland with my beautiful partners and my service doggy, Little Melon when I turn 18 or soon after for the better disability benefits and connection to my ancestry

I am a veiling Satanist, I only veil part time but I aspire to begin veiling full time one day!! I veil as a spiritual protection, I find it gives me a clearer mind and clearer energy

My favorite fruit is watermelon 🍉, though I like many other fruits and foods!! I like pomegranate, macaroni and cheese, chocolate hummus, mint ice cream, all things sweet, and I make a damn good Waraq Dawali (I think. I know I will end up very embarrassed when an actual Middle Eastern person tries my Waraq Dawali recipe.)

I am pro 🇵🇸!! If you support the displacement or harm or death of indigenous people in any capacity DNI. In other words, if you support Israel DNI. You do not belong on my page and I will eat you

Other DNI Criteria include:

🍉 Endogenic systems or any other genic that is not traumagenic systems. System hopping is not real stop being delulu 😭🙏

❤️ TERFSSSSS!!! BOOOOOO GET OFF MY PAGE YOU PUS POSTULE COVERED ARBYS BAG GREASE PLAGUE ERA VAMPIRES!!! TRANS PEOPLE EXIST!!!

🍉 Fundamentalist religious folks of any kind!! I am chill with pretty much everyone of every religion!! However, I do not feel comfortable nor safe around fundamentalists. This may mean many things to many people, but the definition for this page is any religious person who proselytizes to others unprompted, or any religious perosn who utilizes their religion for purposes of eugenics, discrimination, or other forms of hatred rather than the love and respect religion is supposed to entail. I’d also prefer not to interact with any person who deems proselytization necessary; not necessarily to me, I already said that. Just deeming “spreading the word” to people necessary. You can do that with good actions, you don’t need to with missions or money.

❤️ this should be very common sense considering literally everything I have said up to this point but IF YOU HAVE WEIRD GROSS FETISHES BOOOOOOOO GO AWAY I am a minor 🙅 I guess some people apparently don’t care about that which reminds me IF YOU LIKE MINORS BOOOOOO DIE 🖕❌ I AM APPROACHING YOUR LOCATION AS WE SPEAK

🍉 non casual Hazbin fans. If you defend Vivzie go away 💔

oh yeah BYF

🍉 I am very VERY mean I apologize I am not exactly the most well socialized person

❤️ I WILL post and reblog Palestine and other humanitarian related things related things, regardless of graphic nature. People should be well familiar with what’s happening in Palestine right now, and I think people should know if they don’t already. I will make sure to reblog any educational posts I see!!

🍉 I make a lot of jokes at the expense of certain Christian denominations, I was raised Catholic and have quite abit of Christian religious trauma expanding beyond my raised denomination. Chances are if I bully your denomination it’s because the church unfortunately traumatized me somehow. I hold no ill will towards any person, but the institutions done screwed me up

❤️ I am a OSDD-1B haver and system. Will not talk about it much. Though if another alter posts something, be nice!!

🍉 HUGE oversharer. Like huge huge oversharer. I will tone it down from how I am in other spaces because iiiiii frankly don’t want my immediate family to know I have a Tumblr page 😭💔 you might be wondering how would they find it?? They would Not I am simply paranoid

❤️ I AM TAKEN X2!!! Shoutout to my lovely beautiful partners, neither of which follow me on Tumblr. It’s okay I only just started actually using this account 🙏 they’ll probably follow me in the future

🍉 may use this account to practice Arabic skills just abit, i have been learning!! Please, do critique my skills, it helps me learn!! Marhaba, esmi Angelicmelon!! wahadhih safhati ealaa Tumblr!!! 🫶

❤️ if you make transphobic BS and make it public I will comment on it sorrryyyyyyy jk not sorry 🖕

🍉 OH YEAH OH YEAH i have certain words that can trigger my Vasovagal Syncope, I can’t exactly say them and I don’t blame people for posting about them without knowing but know I will avoid certain posts like the plague

🍉🍉🍉 thank you for being on my page!!! 🍉🍉🍉

[archivalofsins]

So, before I watch the short music video and analyze the hell out of it let me put up my thoughts on the thumbnail and the gifs. I haven't been in the best mood for a minute and have been physically sick as well. So, I've mostly been talking to friends in private about my thoughts on the information.

Good news for all of those reading discussion is how I flush out ideas and opinions. So, I now have a lot.

First the thumbnail,

We believe that the thumbnail is a direct progression of the first one and meant to mirror it. Better highlighting the nuances of the situation.

The window replacing the mirror behind him in the original thumbnail.

The mannequin parts take the place of the broken walls.

The train seats taking the place of the couch and support bars taking the place of the armrest, while being vaguely similar to the staff we see The Fool card carrying-

this continues that caged in or surrounded feeling from his first music video thumbnail. Making the audience contemplate whether he's stuck in here with us or if we're stuck in here with him. A feeling that both of his thumbnail images subtly give off well.

The mannequin is split into pieces but there only seems to be pieces enough for one. Something I and @doctorbunny discussed. At which point I brought up that the thumbnail can be taken as a visual reference to the line,

"Maybe it’s ok to try to keep on living split in half, make that heart beat."

As it visually shows, trying to live his life as normal by doing his commute with these, possibly disjointed/at odds aspects of himself, constantly at his side. Reminded him of the division within himself. A good illustration of how living with a dissociation can be in my opinion.

Mikoto's clothes here are different as well. I do believe this is the other one going to work, and we will be seeing the trauma that Mikoto suffered to lead him to this point. Just as we did with Amane. I also spoke briefly about enjoying how the series confirmed this hinted at concept all the way back from trial one.

We've also discussed dissociative identity disorder here in regards to the other characters before. The information from that post can be applied here in regards to Mikoto's new outfit. As we've gone over before alters can have different body language and speaking habits. However, in that post we went over the myths around switching being incredibly noticeable and how the changes are not as drastic as one would believe.

Now of course, the problem can be exacerbated by how much stress one is under. However, for the most part the point is not having people notice a change has occurred. So, alters try to mirror the one who fronts the most when out depending on who they're around or where they are. Of course, this is different for everyone.

However, a change of clothes isn't enough to really make someone go oh you've changed drastically anymore. Unless the change is really out there, which it's usually not. So, using clothes and accessories to give a better understanding of the other we haven't seen is a great stylistic choice.

However, this isn't the only differentiating feature. There are also eyebags. As we discussed in another post people with dissociative identity disorder tend to be lethargic or really tired.

X

However, just because people with dissociative identity disorder are tired and probably would rather not bother with getting in a verbal argument let alone go through the trouble of killing another person, they'll still defend themselves if necessary. Because dissociative disorders form as a response and defense to trauma. So, there's no saying what will happen when some is exposed to that trauma that caused it a second time.

Also, literally anyone is capable of committing murder even though no one should do it. The bags could be being used to differentiate between them throughout the second mv.

We can also see he has his bat in his hands here in the thumbnail. This is all important when it comes to discussing the gifs that have been released. Ah, almost forgot many have been saying that the thumbnail is a fisheye shot but we believe it to be an arc shot because Mikoto himself does not have the distortion that would come with a fisheye lens shot.

Here's some information on the arc shot.

In the gifs we see that instead of the diamond shaped earring Mikoto is wearing earrings that more so resemble tires. It would be cool if all the objects within the tarot cards were variations of things associated with each of them. Explaining why the deck was split in half near the end of MeMe.

As the tires are reminiscent to the wheel of fortune, and as such, could be being used to highlight how little control over their life the other had. Yet that's not the only interesting thing. Instead of wielding his bat like in the thumbnail, Mikoto is shown holding his tote bag with no bat in sight within the gif of him sitting on the train.

This implies that he won't only be stuck within the train in his mental space but displayed on it in reality. Something that goes into what we speculated about the train being related to trauma they may have experienced. I discussed this with @candckirby in private.

Where I posited that the space in MeMe was as destroyed as it was because Mikoto had a problem with enclosed spaces for one reason or another. Plus, the fact that his mental space may be taking on the form of this train could imply that he's been forced to relive that trauma in a way. In the gifs from today that I saw I noted that Mikoto's swing looked odd with them.

We both ended up agreeing it could be a one-handed far back wind up swing. Yet, I still had some doubts because the bat being used is clearly not Mikoto's at least not the one he uses in the thumbnail. As it seems to be drawn with rust on it and the one he has in the thumbnail is devoid of that. The bat could degrade over the course of the video though. Just from that and how the bat was angled behind him along with his posture it didn't seem as though he was swinging it in that way.

All in all, it's too short of an image to fully parse out. However, at first glance it appeared he was being attacked from behind while attacking forward. The gif where Mikoto is yelling out shows that they'll more than likely be using the lack of eyebags and presences of them to differentiate between them. Something I find interesting mostly due to the lack of them during most of MeMe and he very intentional covering of eyes in certain scenes during that mv.

Which leads me to believe that the other one was there, and the eyes were obscured for that purpose. Outside of that my favorite of the gifs was personally the chase scene. I really liked the expression work throughout all of them. Yeah, that's it.

It's not really a lot but I'm tired and sick so cut me a bit of slack- they said making late excuses for their weak delivery hours if not days after all this information dropped. Well at least we wrote something.

[onyxrosess]

Pain is My Hometown

vergil x reader [multi-part series]

Chapter II: Black Tears Don't Hide in the Rain

Chapter I | Chapter II [you're here!] | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Table of Contents

・warnings/tags: mentions and depictions of rape and related trauma.

( cross posted on ao3 )

The morning light bled through the sheer curtains of the windows, illuminating the dust particles flying about in the air. Waking up wasn’t bad until it felt like someone just hit you with a frying pan. Oh god you were so hung over, you bolted for the garbage can by the back door, abandoning the worn-out blanket that was draped over you. Whatever was in your stomach came out in an unpleasant flurry, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand you quickly pulled the garbage can bag out of the plastic container and tied it. Disposing it was the least you could do since you were taking over Dante's shop, well house at this point. You shamefully walked over to the couch you were asleep on just a couple of minutes ago, slumping over with your forehead in your hands. 

“Look who's the party animal now.” Dante commented as he walked down the stairs, “Oh shut up will you.” You didn’t move your hands, the darkness of your palms helped soothe your pounding head, at least a tiny. “I wonder if how you acted last night was how you acted in your youth.” Dante pondered as he reached the bottom of the stairs, circling around to behind his desk. “My youth? I’m 35 Dante, I’m still in my youth.” You defended yourself, even though you knew he was right. “You are 45 Dante, if you were a normal person you’d be complaining about your knees like an elderly man.”   “You’d be complaining more if you went home with that man last night.” Dante sat his feet up on his desk- right, Kane. …Kane. What the hell did you even do with him? What didn’t you do with him? Only one thing was certain, you did not go home with him. Your face threatened to heat up. “Dante- I swear to god-“ “You two were really going at it, like rabid animals.” “He was no animal Dante, he was gentle, you’re the animal. The one with magazines with tits on the front cover.”  Dante held his hands up in defeat, “You don’t know if he doesn’t have the same magazines, (Name).” He held one of those magazines in his hand, mindlessly flipping the thin pages of shiny paper. “You are just as insufferable as I remember- wouldn’t of hell or something knock you down a couple of pegs?” You complained, crossing your arms over your chest. The underworld probably made it worse, since he made it out. “Same ol’ Dante.” He just replied nonchalantly, cocky little shit. “I could still take you down- when I’m not hung over.” You stopped that train of conversation before he egged you on to fight him. He let out a laugh, “Yeah when you’re not hungover then.” His words bordered the line of a promise. 

A wave of newfound exhaustion swept over you again. Even though you slept like a rock you were still very tired and a little sore, probably from the couch you slept on. You looked over at Dante who was seemingly fully immersed in his magazine and, to your surprise, got up abruptly. Tossing the paper on the desk with another pile of papers next to it. Retrieving his coat from the arm of the couch next to you.  “Where are you headed?” You asked, standing up yourself, you should probably get going anyway, it's not like you were gonna be here all day.  “Me and Verge got a job from Morrison, big bucks, and I’d like to keep the electricity going.” Dante’s head turned towards the wooden doors. “Vergil?” You knew of Dante’s brother, but very very little. He's never really mentioned him. Dante nodded, the heavy doors of the shop opened, and Vergil— or who you assumed— stood next to the doorway.  “I guess you two have never met.” Vergil took a few strides closer to you and Dante. “(Name), this is my idiot brother Vergil. Vergil, this is (Name).” He familiarized the two of you with your respective names. It was a little awkward when Vergil didn’t say anything, not a hand reaching outward for a handshake, absolutely nothing. Let alone he had no verbal response to Dante’s jab, just a quick glance at Dante then back to you.  “Hello, I uh, nice to meet you.” Your sentence ended with a mysterious question mark like it should be a question. “You as well.” His tone was, not very friendly. You suppose Dante stole all the people skills in the genetics of the siblings. “Lady and Trish said they’d want to meet up with you sometime this week too.” Dante addressed you, “I dunno why they’re communicating through me but whatever.”  You confirmed with an ‘okay’ as the two walked towards the door, Vergil taking the lead. “Lock the back when you leave!” Dante yelled back at you, walking out the front. Dante never locks the doors, why the hell is he asking you to?

Making the decision to just head back to Fortuna for the day instead of staying in Red Grave, you come here enough regardless of the almost hour-long drive. Mounting your bike, the crisp air bit at your skin, you should’ve brought a jacket last night. Slipping your helmet over your head, and closing the visor, you peeled off into the street. The drive was quiet, it was well into the morning, though the streets weren’t nearly as busy. Driving over the massive bridge that connected Fontuna and Red Grave, the water separating the land masses was calm, not without the small waves crashing onto the shore, but regardless, fairly calm. The drive over the bridge had gotten better over the years, though sometimes it reminds you of when Dante took you home after… thinking about it is just picking open the scab that was barely healed. 

Your hands clung to Dante’s red leather coat, sitting on the back of his motorcycle, not a word spoken between the two of you since you had departed from the DMC shop. The night at the bar and especially the night after would come back quickly, a lurking shadow in a dense forest. The night was still a blur due to your drink being laced, the only moments you had recalled were the alley and the apartment he had drug you to. Maybe it was for the better than you did not remember what he had done to you. What he had done to your body. Was it just him? Did he bring his friends over? A pack of wolves over an injured lamb, dark eyes with a sinister expression. 

The following shard of memory was a gunshot, from who? What was happening? Your body was in shambles, every muscle was screaming in agony. A tall figure had approached you, where you lay, you couldn’t move, everything in your body was telling you to run. You could only see the outline of the man, from the darkness of the room. A long weathered coat draped over your naked body. The coat was red, like Dantes. The man swept his arms underneath your body, lifting you up and carrying you. Yet not by the same hands that had a bruising grip on your wrist, not the same hands that were the culprit. Not the same hands that touched you. You smelt him, it smelt like Dante. Your vision briefly allowed you to see his face, white hair, Dante. Tears streamed down your face, in the moment no words came out of your mouth. Only broken sobs with your coarse, dry voice. Your perception of time was far off, was it the same night? Had it been days? Had it been weeks? Your vision was blurry once again, and once it started to come back, out the window the sky was a deep dark blue. Droplets of water raced down the glass. Your eyes followed a red stain that splattered on the windowsill of the glass you were staring out of. The trail leads to a man, that face. The hands that had raped you.

It didn’t happen often that the memory had come back so strongly, though it had been so many years that you could barely muster up a tear to shed. Regardless if you cried over it, screamed, or killed the man, it would still hurt the same. You will never get rid of the feeling of being completely out of your control and used. You had reached the end of the bridge, into Fortuna. Shaking your head, trying to be rid of the memory that plagued your mind. Pulling into the driveway of Kyrie and Nero’s home, Nico was in the garage, muddling with some random piece of junk. Though you didn’t completely understand her way of doing things, especially mechanically, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Your bike's engine roared as you pulled up, Nico turning around, her initial expression being, ‘Who the fuck is revving their engine down the street?’ Her face quickly morphed into a wide smile. “Look who's back!” Nico exclaimed, setting down her tools. Her shirt was covered in grease, and her hands were just as covered. You parked your bike in the empty spot in the garage, taking off your helmet. “You were gone for the night, who was the lucky contestant.” Nico’s accent rang thick through her words. You let out a breathy chuckle, “No one, I got too drunk.” You were about to mention Kane to Nico, but– “I told you Dante is awful to go out with!” Nico’s voice bounced off the walls of the garage. “I did meet someone though, he was very sweet. He was the one who made me go home.” Once again Nico’s expression quickly changed after hearing you. “Oh for the love of god, please tell me you gave him your number– or something!” Nico looked at you, expectantly.  “I gave him my number, well the house phone since I’m here most of the time.” You two stayed in the garage as she quizzed you about Kane, so many questions, and most of them you can’t remember because the night was still fuzzy in your head. You walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water when Kyrie greeted you, “How did it go?” She asked, bearing a sweet smile on her face. “It went well–” “Oh it went more than well according to what I heard–” “Nico!” You had been slightly embarrassed since neither of them had heard about your romantic pursuits, mainly because there was barely any, to begin with. The last time was when Dante had to tell them about the man who drugged you. Not the most pleasant conversation between Nero and his uncle, that his friend, essentially big sister, had been raped. Shoving away the memory once again, firmly telling it to buzz off. 

Kyrie prepared dinner for all of you, in her little selfless way, she refused your help. You couldn’t argue with her– you technically could– but the results would not change. After you all ate dinner, you finally convinced her to let you help with the dishes. Your hands scrubbed over the cutlery and plates with a soapy sponge, rinsing them, and setting them upright in the drying rack next to the sink. Nero came into the kitchen, passing by Kyrie, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before rummaging through the fridge. Kyrie left the kitchen with a slight color on her cheeks. How adorable and domestic.  Recounting your day as you idly washed dishes, you remembered Vergil. You hadn’t heard much of him since Nero called Kyrie after everything that happened in Red Grave and the Qliphoth. You knew next to nothing, and you didn’t press the issue, making sure Nero was okay and safe was about the only thing you and Kyrie had cared about then. “Right, Nero.” You turned your head to him kneeling in front of the open fridge. “I met Vergil today, he’s a delight .” Your voice rang with sarcasm, Nero stood up and looked at you, closing the fridge door. He wore this odd look, almost confusion. “Dante’s brother, right?” You tried to get him on the right train of thought. “Yeah yeah, I uhm, forgot I never really told you what happened.” Your hands slowed, it had been two years since then, what does he mean ‘he forgot’? Your eyebrows furrowed together, not speaking, but concerned.  “He’s my dad.” Nero stood next to the fridge, with a look of guilt, that’s what his expression was. Growing up together and yet, you thought you two were close. You were both orphans, sure you knew your parents, but they were both dead now. It’s not like you could call up your mommy when you get hurt. “Excuse me?” You didn’t know what to say, and in some way, you wished you misheard him. But he repeated it. When Nero and yourself were still living in the orphanage, he’d call you big sissy, he always managed to mispronounce your name, so you had resumed the title of ‘big sissy’. One night in the orphanage, you tried to get Nero to fall asleep after another child at the orphanage was picking on him particularly rough that day. That's when he hit you with the question, “Where's mommy?” Between his broken sobs, your 15-year-old self had no idea how to explain to him that he didn’t have a mother or a father. That he was all alone in this world, this cruel, heartless world. The same world that ripped him away from the one thing he deserved in his life, his parents. But you suppose, it’s not guaranteed. You barely remember how the following conversation went.

“Did he even tell you anything? Where the fuck has he been?” You really had no words, except the feeling of rage rising up into your throat. The same anger when your father selfishly claimed you after abandoning you and your mother. After years of your mom struggling to make it, struggling with her addiction, you could do nothing to help. “It’s kind of difficult to explain–” “Like hell it is!” You dropped the plate that was in your hand back into the sink. “He brought you into this god-forsaken world, it was his responsibility!” Anger had now clouded your judgment, feeling ever so guilty that you could not help Nero when he was young, you could not give him the fatherly advice when he aged. Or the motherly embrace that he deserved in those moments of hardship. “It wasn’t his choice!” Nero yelled back at you, it wasn’t his choice? Are you kidding me, Nero? “Where is your mother then, did Vergil explain that to you? Did he ever apologize for anything he did? Regardless if it wasn’t ‘his choice ” Nero held his breath, his eyes avoided you. You could feel your heartbeat nearly jump out of your chest, your mind was racing. How dare this man leave his own son helpless, his own flesh and blood. Before Kyrie’s family adopted the two of you, Nero had clung to you and came crying to you when the other little boys picked on him. And how awful it was to watch his little face scrunch up and grow red, dripping with salty tears. And all you could do was hug him in the moment, as you knew nothing other. 

Both of you stood in the kitchen, you dried your hands off on a towel. You tried to calm yourself, getting worked up won’t fix this. Nero had stayed silent, but not leaving either.  “Nero…” You paused, walking up to him. “I know things are different, and some of the things that have happened to you I could never imagine. I just…” Your sentence trailed off, “Listen, (Name). I don’t know much either, and my father– Vergil never said anything about my mother. But does any of it matter? It’s not like she would feel like my mother. Vergil sure doesn’t feel like my father either.” Nero squeezed your upper arm. “You, Kyrie, and the kids are the only family I’ve known. And you guys aren’t going anywhere.” Looking at Nero’s face, he’s grown up so much, and though you barely remember your teenage years, you still remember Nero’s heartwarming personality as a kid. Though he grew out of it when he became a teenager, it’s still buried underneath there. Kyrie sure knows. Your perception of Vergil is still skewed, knowing what you know now. Not just Dante’s brother, but Nero’s father. Yes, you are close to Dante and indebted to him for life, but Nero has been a constant since your father left. And theres still so many unanswered questions, but for the moment pressing them would not be ideal. Nero didn’t say anything as he left out the garage door. You leaned your weight against the counter, covering your face with your hands. 

Everything you know about Dante makes you want to think Vergil is the same, maybe he has a heart of gold buried down. They are brothers after all, but they act so differently. Mannerisms aren’t in genetics but something just doesn’t sit right. Something makes you believe that if Dante was in that situation he would at least do something. He’s been sending Grue’s kids money all these years, and theres barely anything he did wrong. Standing in the kitchen with the idle noise of Kyrie playing with the kids, muffled by the screen door. Nero deserved better, not just another orphaned kid, not someone else's parents. A sneer built up on your face as your thoughts drifted towards your father, damn whoever put that man on this earth just to give him no heart.

Thank you for reading as always! -onyxroses

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[craetor]

Another Death Note book, another Tumblr post of overanalyzing details within it

This is a literal reformatted Twitter thread that was collected as the book was read, so, in theory, one could just flip through the book & find the things addressed all in order. Enjoy my needlessly high IQ going to town on this damn legendary expansion pack AU spin-off novel...

This obviously contains spoilers to L Change The World

.

"I'm no good with girls" - L Lawliet, like 2004? (He probably had a real good time having Misa around)

L calls the kids of Wammy's House "letters" (*tries not to explode*)

It's verified that the orphans are entrusted with solving cases as grave as murders to prove & train themselves

Beyond Birthday is mentioned to crack his neck in LABB, which is oddly enough also a habit of Ryuk's. Shinigami urges, especially those of the rather unhinged kind

Suruga heard that L never even showed his face to Misora, meaning she kept quiet about their encounter to everyone until her very death. Which is pretty nice.

Tbh Beyond wasn't too far off about mocking L's behavior. He does tend to crawl when he's being frantic & is also a messy eater (from getting food on himself when not provided with utensils (even when he is...), to consuming excessive amounts of sweet toppings)

There's too many "god"s in DN names... ('Kagami' can be translated to 'nurse god' which is so stupid & uncreative /affectionately)

"L's back grew rounder as he sat on the sofa with his knees tucked tightly against his chest. [...] He seemed to be burdened by the weight of something very heavy that she could not see". L's slouch gets lower after Watari dies under his surveillance. Nothing new, just fantastic symbolism that I love about him.

Also how actually well L suppresses his emotions while working on cases is really outlined in this book. It gets to a point where he seems apathetic, as people who've seemingly gone through trauma reunite over tears in front of him, while minutes beforehand, he's exuded real sadness over Watari's passing. (this is not inherently negative or positive)

His reputation with the FBI really sticks to him like a tick, yet it's suppressing his humanity that gets L to do what's needed & initiate measures necessary (which earned him the ill-willed reputation of kinky bizarre murder-loving detective. Whereby I still can't quite locate the origin of the "murder-loving" part..)

"Nobody would think anything important to be in a bag of potato chips, don't you think?" Honey, first of all, how did you fit an entire notebook into a bag of potato chips without it looking like it's your 1 pound hershey's chocolate stash... Oh, and L has a pattern of emulating tricks that people have used to try and fool him

It seems that L wasn't lying when he said that he's a fan of Misa's work, though idrk what to make of that... Not everything in the half-canon is canon, kids. M went a bit too hard on that 'L is weird & creepy' at times. Until it's not even goofy and ridiculous anymore, I'm just.. concerned?

L seems fulfilled and glad when he's stressed about saving the world. Nothing like a superiority complex, just very INTJ.

L will know to evaluate people so much as to accept food from the ones trying to deceive him, if he knows they're pacifists. Having them vacuum his room & stuff, letting them think they're earning his trust. A side of him we haven't seen thus far, just thought it to be important to share.

Watari, now officially L's mentor and father figure (we knew this but i love it)

The fact that L prones to share sweets with anyone compatible to himself or whoever he wants to tempt is not just a quirky gesture of respect, but actually seems to write out, more than anything, 'let's put us on the same level here. Have this thing that indicates gross luxury within societal hierarchy while also being the thing that keeps me going on an everyday-basis'

Fem-disguise flirty L. He's enjoying the vibe & living vicariously. That's it that's the jot

And then there's page 151. And i wonder, am I needed here at all?

The "L-organization" Blue Ship made up is comically the truest hypothesis that has existed as a theory about L. After all, Wammy's House is the founding ground of 26 Ls each generation to come

Watari seems to be involved with the Wammy's kids more than initially thought. But this could also be Kujo's illusion, as having any contact with the one closest to L at all would be a big deal and in her mind more prominently

And finally, the relationship that was created between L & Light is closer to love and worship than friendship. Even best friends. L's reliance on the thought of Light even exists as comfort in heavily emotionally distressing situations. Your definitely romantically touched soulmate-other-half-comfort-human can be your best friend too is what I'm trying to say. Like, you don't have to choose. Just add it to the list.

Verdict: I assume the main point of the book is literally to clear up misunderstandings about L, hence information about him is being blatantly pointed out and aggressively reinforced around every corner. But I'm here anyways because page 151 exists for me and me only (and everybody else who's done their thing correctly before having read this thing) as a pat on the back and a hearty 'good job'. It was fun to have found a couple more hidden details along the way too though. L called Light his 'best friend' like he called Misora 'some guy in the US who told me about capoeira'