#your fandom experience is entirely yours to shape

[jazzyoranges]

Saw you take requests!! Can you do a fluffy Wednesday x Shape shifter!Reader (no smut please) where it's Wednesday's writing time but she can't think of ideas so reader turns into a cat and curls up on Wednesday's lap? Basically helping Wednesday by making sure Wednesday can't get up until she writes a chapter. Thanks!

Orange kitty - drabble

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Words: 0.8k

A/n: i feel like we as a fandom haven’t been putting the orange cat x black cat trope in enough fics. this is me advocating for orange cat!r

“I feel your eyes on me, (Y/n).”

“I’m not allowed to look at my friend anymore?”

“It’s distracting. You’re inhibiting me from writing.” Wednesday isn’t fully lying. She just doesn’t add how you give her an odd feeling. An odd feeling she doesn’t like.

“Aww, do I make you nervous, Wens?” You laugh, deciding to ignore the glare she sends your way

“Keep talking and I’ll remove your voice box.”

“Please, I think you’d miss me too much” You roll your eyes, stretching on Wednesday’s bed

You turn into a cat as per Thing’s request, and you two start to play tag around Wednesday and Enid’s shared room. Thing happily bragged that you and him were better friends once. His hubris only resulted in Wednesday taking away his favorite lotions for an entire week.

The Addams girl huffs when she, yet again, makes a mistake on her typewriter. This was unlike her. The tiny trash can under her desk was nearing being full only after one or two hours of her failed attempts at writing. Wednesday put her hands in her lap after she realized her words only became futile

The abrupt stop of clacking keys makes you turn your head, giving Thing the perfect opportunity to tag you back on Enid’s bed. You quickly turn human again with almost a cartoon-ish pop, and ask Thing if Wednesday was allergic to cats

“She’s not, why do you ask?” He signs

“Do you think she’d kill me if I sat on her lap?” You sign back, not wanting Wednesday to hear

“As a human, most definitely. But if you were a cat maybe she’d tolerate you. No promises, though” Thing somehow shrugs using his thumb and pinkie finger as arms. God, you loved the weird appendage

“I can hear you two talking. I’d prefer if you’d leave me in silence.”

“Writers block?”

“No, I’m merely thinking of the correct words to use.”

“Maybe you should ask Enid for help. The woman can reach over the Twitter character limit in like… three seconds. Two if she’s really excited”

“Recommend such a horrid idea again and I’ll release you in my pen of hellhounds.”

“We both know I’d win” You cockily smirk, again ignoring what looks to be annoyance on Wednesday’s face. Then again, she always looked annoyed

“Your hubris is laughable. Let’s see how you suffice when your digestive system is ripped open.”

“Tempting, but I’d rather stay here with you”

You can only assume Thing listens with watchful… fingers? You execute your plan to him, and a quick pinkie-promise indicates he gets to bury you if Wednesday decides to kill you after the stunt you’re about to pull

“Hey, Wens?” The Addams doesn’t show any form of talking but you decide to keep going

“Did you know people say cats can lessen anxiety?”

The Addams hums in acknowledgement, so you continue

“Well, I don’t exactly believe it”

“And why is that.” Wednesday sighs. Sometimes she wonders why she indulges in you

“I dunno, just seems fake. I was wondering if you’d do an experiment with me?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Great! Thanks, Wens” You give Thing a quick wink after turning into a cat and hopping up onto her desk. Turning your head to the side as if you were asking a question, you looked at Wednesday for an answer

You were crazy, but not crazy enough to do something to make Wednesday hate you

For some reason, the Addams girl doesn’t even have a second chance to think before scooting back her chair. You’re about to jump into her lap with a paw over the edge of her desk, but you glance up to make sure Wednesday was sure. You receive a small nod

The action is enough to make you whisper a small “thank you” but it only comes out as a small meow

You circle around her lap for a good area to lay, and you quickly take your spot with a tiny smile that makes your eyes close. Wednesday scoots her chair back in, and she has absolutely no idea what to do.

Only when you start to purr a shiver goes up her spine. The vibrations are light, and something about you happily laying on her lap makes you chip away at Wednesday’s walls the tiniest bit. She contemplates where to put her hands before Thing scurries on top of you to scratch behind your ear. Wednesday shoots him a deathly glare in return, but your favorite Addams (don’t tell Wednesday) stays put

As if showing Wednesday how to pet a cat, Thing gets off of your back and points a finger in your direction. Hesitantly, the Addams girl copies the actions Thing showed her

And you? You were having an amazing time. Wednesday’s fingers were cold but every stroke of her hand was calculated. She took note of which spots you purred louder, and continued her movements

Fuck you and your ability to get what you want, Wednesday thinks. Of course your smug ass knew cats lessened anxiety. Of course.

But Wednesday can’t help being addicted to your tiny purrs and vibrations

With her left hand fondling your ear and her right on her typewriter, she decides maybe a cat could be arranged in her novel.

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

I don’t understand the fandoms love for Daemon, by all rights he should be as hated as Joffrey was. Not only did he do almost everything Joffrey did, he also did worse. Even Tywin wouldn’t hold a candle to his cruelty. I understand liking a villainous character, I do too with Cersei and Tywin, but I’ve never went out of my way to whitewash their characters. I love them because they are villainous and practically irredeemable, if team black stans liked Daemon for his villainous actions before and during the Dance of Dragons I wouldn’t have any problems with it. But the fact that they go out of their way to defend him killing Rhea Royce because “he was forced into a marriage he didn’t like!!!!” As if she wasn’t too. And the fact that they defend him sending Blood and Cheese to psychologically torture Haelena and kill Jaehaerys due to “a son for a son it’s only right” when they despise Alicents moment of madness when her son was denied justice, makes me want to hurl.

It’s alright to like villainous characters, it doesn’t make you a bad person if you like them. But you know what makes you a moronic person? Whitewashing everything that makes a character compelling because you want to like them without seeming like a ‘bad person’. Your opinion on a character does not determine your own morality, it doesn’t make you better or worse than someone who hates them. But what it does, when you erase their entire identity as a rouge to make them more palatable to you, is make you seem moronic, stupid, and lacking any critical thinking and reading comprehension skills.

Rhaenyra is a compelling character because she is entitled and spoiled and lacks any political experience, she shows how badly Viserys fucked up when he tried to compensate for his guilt of murdering Aemma. Alicent is a compelling character because she is a mother who is trying her best to protect her children from the reality that if Daemon took the throne for Rhaenyra, he would kill all of them because they are a threat. She is even more of a compelling character in the books because of her ambition and cunning and want for her family to rise far above the ‘station’ of being a noble house in the Reach (as if house Hightower aren’t the oldest house in Westeros who could trace their lineage back to both the Garth Greenhand the high king of the first men and the Andal Kings that came afterwards). Daemon, for all that I dislike him as a character, is compelling for his ruthlessness and shortsightedness in his pursuit of the throne. He didn’t raise an army for Viserys because he thought he was a competent leader, he did it because it raised his own standing within Westeros, he groomed Rhaenyra not because he loved her, but because having him in her good graces means that he stood a better chance of being king after she was named heir. His ruthlessness is compelling. Taking it away to make him into a ‘malewife’ or a ‘loving father’ or a man who is lacking any ambition beyond wanting a valyrian wife is taking away his agency. It makes him seem like a Gary Sue who only wants the throne because his brother said Rhaenyra was heir. It makes it so that he is so completely white bread like that not even I, someone who loved the more morally bankrupt characters in ASOIAF can find him agreeable in any way shape or form.

Daemon is a fundamentally morally bankrupt character and he should stay that way. If you like him you should acknowledge and accept that he is one of the ‘bad guys’. Just as Cersei fans acknowledge and accept that she is fundamentally a morally bankrupt person who is selfish to the extreme. We like morally black characters because they are morally black. To make excuses for their actions is to take away their agency which makes them unlikable and very hate-able.

Daemons actions aren’t justifiable, blood and cheese would never be justified. A son for a son is akin to the visceral disgust the fandom had to Alicent when she asked for Lucerys’ eye, yet I bet when season two comes out and Blood and Cheese happens we’d see Daemon fans applauding and trying to justify it as ‘not that bad’ and ‘team green deserved it because of Aemond’s actions’ when little Jaehaerys, a boy of 6, was as far removed from the incident as can be. It would be akin to Team Green saying that due to Jaehaerys’ death, Aegon III or Viserys II deserved to have their head cut off in front of Rhaenyra.

Let morally bankrupt characters be morally bankrupt. You aren’t morally bankrupt because you like said character, it’s a fictional story loosely based on Empress Matilda. It’s not that deep. Like the characters you like without trying to justify their actions. They might be monstrous but you aren’t because you like them. It’s not a measure of your own character because you like said character. But it is a measure of your intelligence when you try to change said character’s entire personality to make it so that they are more digestible to you and everyone else.

[perfectlyoongi]

HOW THEY FALL IN LOVE

ㅤ⚘.fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤಇ.ft. ... jin, yoongi, hoseok, namjoon x gn!reader. ㅤ⚘.genre ... headcanons. ㅤㅤಇ.content ... fluff. ㅤㅤಇ.word count ... ~300 each / ~1200 total.

↬┊JIN

naturally and genuinely.

Jin never looked for love. throughout his life, he had priorities that made him focus on the wider world beyond the complexities of love. however, when you came so naturally into Jin's life, comforting his tumultuous heart and calming his turbulent mind, Jin couldn't help but feel. it didn't take long for you to take over the his thoughts, controlling all the emotions that coursed through his heart — it was natural for Jin to love you, it was as if you were an extension of his existence. entire days were spent admiring your existence, celebrating every moment spent with you, forever retaining in his heart all the words and laughter that escaped so deliciously from your mouth.

you were mesmerizing, a celestial spell that held Jin's full attention. it was impossible to run away from you, your essence, your soul — but Jin didn't want to run away. Jin insisted on being with you, spending nights admiring how the moon light enhanced your beauty, spending days venerating how the sun illuminated your soul. Jin believed in you; he believed that the stars drew constellations from your stories, he believed that the gods shaped your souls from the same celestial dust, he believed that you existed only to love each other. and he allowed himself to love, for he knew that, with fate on his side, he would never be betrayed.

“i still have to thank the universe for putting me by your side. your presence in my life calmed all the restlessness that existed in me. it's as if your love was healing for me, it's as if you yourself were magic in my life. i feel that there has never been anything in me more natural, more genuine, than loving you.”

↬┊YOONGI

reluctantly and silently.

Yoongi didn't want to feel. throughout his life, Yoongi had only one certainty: feeling love was something insignificant, something that held you back and prevented you from reaching your full potential. so when your hands became warmer in his, when your eyes became brighter on dreary days, when your presence became more essential to Yoongi, he knew what he had to do — against all the waves of passion, rowing furiously against the tide, Yoongi suppressed everything he felt for you, not wanting to know about your smiles, your stories, you. but it was useless, the harm was already done.

like a seed planted in his heart, your soul grew roots in Yoongi, wrapping his core in a flowery embrace of passion and tenderness. he was completely in love, even though he didn't want to admit it. Yoongi was completely surrendered to you and your unique way of being — it was impossible for him to control what had already expanded throughout his body and mind, it was impossible for him to fight against what destiny wanted for him; as such, Yoongi just let himself go. in a small rowboat, in the tumultuous ocean that was love, Yoongi allowed the current to take him along uncertain and unknown paths, ending up discovering himself in you.

“i don’t want to admit it. and i won't even admit it. but i want you to know, i need you to know, that everything i am, everything i became, was because of you. you are the creator of my essence, the true light of my soul. and i hope you know that with me here you will never need to worry about the wickedness of the world. i will always be here for you.”

↬┊HOSEOK

openly and enthusiastically.

Hoseok was passionate about life, completely fascinated by the small beauties that made the world a wonderful place to live; and, among so many beauties and charms, what excited Hoseok most was being able to feel. any type of emotion made Hoseok excited about the possibilities of thoughts and actions he could do — Hoseok liked to experiment, live all emotions as if tomorrow would drain him of the ability to feel. as such, love was no exception — but it was incomparable. in the curves of your smiles, Hoseok saw his tranquility; in the melody of your laughter, Hoseok saw his comfort; in the tenderness of your words, Hoseok saw his future.

you and only you. the one who managed to instill in Hoseok the feeling he needed to acquire; one who managed to hold Hoseok's heart with the care of protecting it; one that, without realizing it, became essential to Hoseok. and he was excited, elated, finally someone — finally someone he could experience life with. Hoseok allowed himself to fall into the webs of love without any struggle, guided by your essence, tied to your soul; and he knew he was safe, that that feeling would only grow as time went by, because he couldn't imagine a more beautiful charm in the world than being loved by you.

“i know that i am too optimistic sometimes and that i am fascinated by the most insignificant details of life. but i can assure you that this love that i feel, that this feeling that consumes me so passionately, is the only beauty in the world for me. you are the one who beautifies my life and it is this feeling that will bind me to you forever.”

↬┊NAMJOON

slowly and deeply.

like the first snow of the year, Namjoon's love appeared like a snowflake: a little shy, a little nervous, not knowing what outcome it would have if he decided to let it grow. feelings were something that Namjoon couldn't decipher, spending much of his life closed in a bubble, taking refuge of trivialities like emotions. as such, love emerged slowly, starting a small spark in his heart, gently warming what Namjoon insisted on keeping cold, frozen; he didn't realize the feeling was born, nor did he realize that something else was growing inside him — without noticing, love made its home in his heart, taking over all his feelings.

it would be confusing for Namjoon at first, not understanding why he wanted to talk to you so much every day, not understanding why your daily presence made him so calm, so safe; but with each day that passed, with each smile of yours, with each word of yours, the spark in Namjoon grew, consuming his heart in an invisible burning fire that encouraged him to walk towards you, to talk to you, to be by your side. it was love. eventually, Namjoon would realize it was love. all the nervousness in him, all the joy that was strange to him, all the comfort he felt with you was due to that feeling — and Namjoon knew that, with you, his heart was safe.

“i confess that i am new in this field. love is too strong a feeling for me to feel, for me to mention it out loud. but with you, in the comfort of your existence and in the security of your essence, i feel protected. i'm not afraid to allow myself to feel this emotion, because i know that by your side, in your arms, my heart will never be destroyed.”

ㅤㅤ♡ feedback is appreciated ♡

[flamingpudding]

Cassiopea and Orion #3

#1 #2

A/N: Finally got some time to continue working on this... to be honest this was pieced together through a bunch of different lunch break writings... sorry if that shows. Also @kizzer55555 totally love your addition on #2! Honestly I squealed when I read it! You were nearly spot on on what I had in mind to where I wanted to go with this story line. Tho I hope you don't mind that I took a bit of inspiration from you while writing some parts of this.

A/N2: Also you guys *sigh of fondness for the dpxdc fandom* originally I wasn't going to tag it just yet but I guess I will now, even if I have no experience writing it and only tried to sort of hint at it a bit for readers interpretations: Spirit Halloween 👻

Ellie frowned watching these people, still sitting on her spot on the railing. Once their initial excitement quieted down and the seriousness of the situation took over, she was left with nothing more to do than to watch the situation unfold before her. A part of her was surprised about the amount of information the big bad bee had on Danny. Some of which she thought was information that previously only Tucker, Sam and Jazz had. But apparently Ellie had been wrong.

Massively wrong by the amount of information she was seeing here. How long had Danny truly been in contact with this guy? There had to have been more than just the occasional phone calls she had caught him on. Did that mean this guy also knew about Dan? About the GIW? About the Infinite Realms? If he knew about all this why, why didn't he help sooner? Why hadn't Danny made contact with this guy sooner either? She did notice him pausing at certain points before continuing like nothing was happening. It didn't look like the onlookers minded, but to Ellie it was an indicator that big bad bee knew more.

She stayed silent the entire time, only muttering a correction ever now on then when she did note that the guy's information was outdated. Still something bothered her the entire time. Ellie didn't know what it was exactly, but the grim faces of the onlookers and the stoic nearly cold sounding explanation of big bad bee rubbed her wrong.

It was only at the end of it that she realize what it was exactly that had bothered her so much.

"What about family? Does she have anyone else left?" One of the onlookers asked and Ellie's head snapped up towards them. That sounded like... no, they weren't...

"According to her, Phantom lost his haunt. Including the code she gave to Robin, we can assume that there is no other safe place left. Unless..." Armored furry turned towards her, and Ellie stiffened only slightly as it appeared that they were finally going to address her again. "What is the status of Plasimus."

"You know about him too huh..." She muttered, not looking at any of them. "Castle is gone, whereabouts unknown, Mom was worried that he was one of the first after the first one of no contact, but that's not confirmed. Nothing turned up to indicate that."

Ellie didn't look up to see the reaction in regards to this information she shared but her head did snap up at the next words she heard. "And your brother?"

Wide eyed she stared at the man that had moved and was now before her, hands carefully placed on her shoulders as he bended down slightly to be on her eye level. Her mind was racing. He knew! This man knew about Dan. Distantly she heard one of the onlookers complain that in all the Infromation Bee had given them he had not mentioned about Ellie having a brother. She didn't react on that, instead searching that man's face despite it being half covered by a bat shaped cowl.

She wasn't sure what she was searching for but she wasn't finding it. Now she wished she had paid more attention to Grandma Pandoras lessons on Aura reading. Dan was in Far Frozen, put into stasis and protected and cared for by Frostbite and his tribe. The other ghosts were looking out for him too, they would do the same for her if she had a way into the Ghost Zone but both portals were gone and Danny, Wulf and Cujo were the only ones currently able to open portals. She wasn't even sure if they knew what Danny had done to protect her.

As her mind wandered Ellie did not realise that the people around her took her silence as some kind of answer. She did not realise how those she doubted onlookers shared grim and saddened looks. Nor how the man before her squeezed her shoulders ever so slightly as if afraid that she would brake any moment.

"Do not worry. You will be safe here with us." The armorer furry reassured her, drawing her attention back to the current moment. Suddenly her earlier suspicion came back to hit her in the face as her eyes once more widened.

"What do you mean?"

"We will take you in and you will be safe and won't have to fear them with us."

She was sure that was meant to sound reassuring but it wasn't. It made her stomach sink. With a moments use of intangibility she pushed away from the man floating backwards and putting more distance between her and these people. Danny gave her the code, told her to use it in a dire situation. That she would get help with that code. That they would help! This didn't sound like the help she wanted. She hadn't even gotten to explain the situation from her side. All they did was apparently assuming something all because of that stupid code Danny, her mom, gave her.

"What about mom?!" She didn't scream but by the faces she might as well could have. "The code was to get help! Mom needs to be rescued! Why are you acting like you won't! Danny promised I would get help when I use it!"

"Danielle." She halted and froze. That tone was stern and it was missing the gravel she had previously heard in that man's voice, it sounded the same way Danny or Auntie Jazz sounded when they needed for her to listen.

"Wait B! I don't think-"

"The code Danny gave you. It's his last resort code, personalised to you. It is one of our many codes we both came up with for our children. One only for situations we did not believe to come back from alive."

"W-what?"

"Aquila, Apus, Phoenix, Cygnus, Columba, Grus, Pavo and Corvus. Each of them has one specific Code personalised for the exact same situation you are in. I am sure Danny has mentioned them to you at least once." Ellie blinked finding a familiarity with these words but also frowned with the realisation that set in with that. Her eyes unintentionally wandered over to the onlookers, no birds, these codes belonged to. She couldn't really tell which belonged to who but she knew Danny must have come up with them as some sort of inside joke.

"B! You can't just-"

"But Mom..." Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

"I am sorry. But you will be save with us. I promised Danny that years ago."

She knew that her de-aged body was probably influencing her emotional state as she slowly floated back into reach. Before she could sit back onto the rail like she had done the entire time before she felt herself getting dragged to the side and suddenly warm arms encircled her. Ellie blinked confused until her brain caught up. The bird in blue was hugging her. The warmth felt comforting, just like when Danny, Jazz, Val or Sam hugged her and for a moment she let herself enjoy it. Dropping her guard just for a little bit to draw comfort from this warmth.

While Nightwing distracted the little girl in his arms, he made distinctive eye contact over her head with his siblings, before indicating his head towards Batman. Red Robin and Signal nodded before moving towards the man, Robin trailing behind them after he shared one more glance with him. His eyes turned towards Red Hood. The other wasn't even looking at any of them as he was already on his way stomping right out the cave, ignoring everyone around him. Nightwing was going to make sure to send any additional information they would get from Danielle his way later too. Black Bat and Spoiler stayed close to him.

It was moments like these that Nightwing really appreciated the silent understanding he and his siblings had among each other and if Batman was to much into his own head with these stupid codes and apparently already grieving. Then they would step up and if they could give the little girl in his arms the kind of help she had clearly hoped to get from them. It wasn't a promise of safety that the Danielle was looking for or even needed, rather she was hoping for people willing to help her rescue Phantom, her parental figure, her mother, her family, when she had no one else left.

[messiahzzz]

thank you sm for the ask!! 💕 i’m glad you enjoy my posts and it is not a strange request by any means!

note: this is merely my read on gale’s sexual preferences/kinks. i don’t want to police anyone on their headcanons or claim they are “incorrect”. since the game doesn’t provide too much detail, many things remain up to interpretation. (and lest we forget fanfiction has always encouraged the exploration of dynamics that may not be present in canon.)

gale is a character who isn’t interested in walking the straight and narrow route. he is all about new experiences, favoring non-traditional means, putting his own spin on things, and the thrill of seeking the forbidden. the sheer romance of the uncharted and the unknown. he is enthusiastic in almost every aspect and possesses an infectious zest for life. in regards to his sexual preferences, this translates into an eagerness to explore, witness new sensations, and reach new heights together. while approaching the topic of sexuality with a generally playful, adventurous attitude.

if you’re looking for harder kinks, however — i don’t believe gale is the character for you. and in case it needs to be said again: there is nothing wrong with being vanilla.

initially, i see gale as a switch, who gravitates more towards assuming a dominant role, due to his ever-present desire to give and to impress. i do think he enjoys giving up control, yet you still have to actively convince him to let himself go and be spoiled for once. his first focus will always be to fulfill his partner's needs and drown them in his all-encompassing love and adoration. i also believe that gale will grow more comfortable with being the center of attention, once their relationship has reached a point of total security (and he had ample opportunities to show in just how many ways he can wow them). gale is not a strict dom, nor a sub. in his ideal relationship roles would be discarded entirely, deeming them too restrictive in his expression of intimacy with a trusted partner. it’s all about variety and ridding oneself of the shackles of the worldly, after all. melting into one perfect whole, not knowing where he ends and his partner begins.

gale: we are all sensual vessels. illusory magic lets us sail farther, and feel more deeply.

gale: [..] i could use the weave to make us feel sensations beyond reckoning.

based on what we know about gale, these could be some of his kinks:

lots of praise (this is non-negotiable), sensation/temperature play (waxplay, electrostimulation/all the many perks magic has to offer), sensory deprivation, light restrictions and bondage, the occasional roleplay, katoptronophilia (self-explanatory), altered mental-states (hypnosis, psychedelics), orgasm control & denial, body worship, olfactophilia and given his propensity towards verbosity: narratophilia and some very inventive dirty talk. as for my own self-indulgent take: due to the recurring emphasis on hands during his romance, as well as his being the main tool in how he shapes and navigates the world: quirofilia.

nodecontext: flustered, standing in front of his romance partner in bondage gear. not necessarily uncomfortable with the bondage aspect, just trying to stay focused.

now, what are gale’s hard-limits?

gale, after the player received loviatar's blessing: your hide, your choice. not quite my cup of tea though.

while projecting your own kinks and fantasies onto fictional characters is fine and well, disregarding and ignoring the source material (and the character's stated boundaries) is another matter entirely. fanon!gale is rather ooc and very different from his canon portrayal, which is something that tends to irk me. although this remains a common fandom phenomenon.

personally, i don’t see gale as someone who enjoys pain of any kind, be it giving or receiving (with the exception of spanking and light choking, if a certain mood strikes. although it is kept mostly playful). contrary to what fandom may claim, having self-worth issues, being loquacious, emotionally expressive, and vulnerability-seeking (as well as being commonly perceived as arrogant and insufferable) doesn't automatically equal having repressed masochistic tendencies. he could be convinced to dip a toe into sadism, but only upon his partner’s insistence. although i doubt he himself would find enjoyment in that.

the same applies to degradation/humiliation. i doubt that a character who is still very much struggling with inherent self-worth issues and a general feeling of being defective/not worthy would derive sexual gratification from being degraded. yes, it can certainly be healing for some, but gale doesn’t strike me as someone who would find particular enjoyment in that. quite the contrary, actually. nor would he like to do the degrading for that matter (he would vehemently refuse. all he wants to do is sing your praises.) gale wouldn’t enjoy being leashed and/or collared in any way either. the prospect of being tied up or restricted is rather intriguing, cause it serves to center one’s vulnerability while also allowing for more intense sensations. anything that taps into the puppy play/slave territory tho? he would find it demeaning… and, quite frankly, silly.

gale is also not a voyeur, nor a cuck. the entire scene with the drow twins leans way too much into dub-con territory for my tastes. the only way you can get him to participate at all is by rolling a persuasion check with DC 25. in every other dialogue option, he immediately (and explicitly) declines. even if you do manage to pass the persuasion check, he is still very hesitant about participating.

gale: i might enjoy watching you tangled up with the drow, as long as i was five paces back.

he then immediately runs from the room, because sending a simulacrum in his place was the only way to somewhat remove himself from the situation while still being able to please tav. because of course he wants to please and clearly this is important to tav so he might just… have to discard his reservations and... just go through with it?!

gale: well i suppose it would do no good to back out now. let us begin this little anthropological study, if we must.

i am aware that fandom uses the fact that his “orb lit up in telltale excitement” as a justification that persuading him was the right choice, as well as confirmation that he was secretly into it and “just needed a little push" to explore his desires/get out of his comfort zone. that implication alone is very suspect and goes straight into the sort of logic abusers often use. you can be physically aroused by certain scenes, images, or sounds, even while being visibly uncomfortable with the presented scenario. it is a natural response that you can’t often control. which is what he is showing throughout the entire scene: discomfort. he was coerced into this situation, without any prior discussion or an opportunity to talk about his boundaries. furthermore, this is what he has to say if you approach him after the threesome:

gale: ahem. i hope you're not here to ask about our recent, erm, activities. i'd rather those were consigned to the footnotes of our romance, if it's all the same with you.

since he is strictly monogamous, any arrangement involving another person is also a no. he made this rather clear when tav sought him out after receiving halsin's proposal. him being monogamous isn't solely rooted in his trauma, it isn't something he has to “overcome” in order to heal, nor does it mean that their relationship is any less fulfilling. call him greedy, stubborn, or old-fashioned, but he cannot comfortably agree to that.

[newobsessionweekly]

Lost and found

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x undercover!cop!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You and Tim have a history together, but it took a nearly death experience for Tim to confess.

A/N: Oh, how I love writing for Tim. I don't really have anything to say but I really do love your requests and I will post all of them soon. I have a lot of ideas and I get lost on them, honestly. I absolutely love your support and I'm so grateful for all of you. I'm watching The Rookie for the first time and I'm only halfway the 3rd season so if you have requests related to the following seasons, I will write them when I get there! Feedback is welcome and screw my studying, I'll be taking requests! Be safe and lots of love, bubs! Hope you enjoy this!

Angst | Action | Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of beating, Hurt, Tim having a panic attack, not proofread yet

Requested: No Words: 6.7k GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

Tim's marriage to Isabel was like a storm that swept through his life, leaving destruction in its wake. The scars it left ran deep, etched into his soul and shaping the man he had become. He carried the weight of his failed marriage like a burden, the pain of betrayal and loss weighing heavily on his shoulders.

When you crossed paths with Tim, it was during one of the darkest moments of his life. He was grappling with the aftermath of his divorce, struggling to make sense of the shattered pieces of his heart. But in you, he found a beacon of light amidst the darkness, a steady presence that offered solace and support when he needed it most.

There was an unspoken connection that defied explanation, drawing you closer with each passing day. Despite his efforts to keep you at a distance, you found yourself irresistibly drawn to him, like a compass pointing north, guiding you towards him despite the obstacles in your path.

As your friendship blossomed, so did the feelings that simmered beneath the surface. Tim's past, fraught with pain and heartache, cast a shadow over your burgeoning relationship, leaving you both hovering on the edge of something more yet unable to take the leap.

You became Tim's confidante, his rock in turbulent seas, lending him a shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen as he poured out his pain and anguish. In your unwavering presence, he found a sense of peace he hadn't known in years, a glimmer of hope that perhaps, despite the scars of his past, he could find happiness again.

In the beginning, your relationship was like dancing on the edge of a knife, a delicate balance between friendship and something more. You indulged in the intoxicating allure of each other's company, letting the flames of your past ignite between you and consume you in their fiery embrace.

It was a whirlwind of passion and desire, a fleeting moment of ecstasy that held the promise of something deeper. You reveled in the connection you shared, basking in the warmth of each other's presence and losing yourselves in the depths of our desire.

But as quickly as your fairytale began, it came crashing down around you, shattering the illusion of bliss and leaving you both reeling in its aftermath. Tim's feelings for you burned brighter with each passing moment, threatening to consume him entirely in their fiery intensity.

In a moment of clarity, Tim made the painful decision to cut it off, fearing that he was not good enough for you, that he would only bring you pain and disappointment. He believed he could not protect you from the darkness that lurked in his past, and so he pushed you away, extinguishing the flames of your passion before they could consume you both.

As an undercover cop, your mission was to infiltrate a notorious human trafficking ring that had been plaguing LA for far too long. Posing as a vulnerable young woman seeking refuge from a troubled past, you wormed your way into the inner circle of the criminal organization.

Under the guise of vulnerability and months of play pretend, you gained the trust of your targets, earning a place of significance within their twisted world. But with every step deeper into the belly of the beast, you knew the risks grew greater, the danger more palpable.

Months of gaining the trust of the ring's leader had led to this crucial meeting, where you hoped to finally make a breakthrough. You are supposed to meet one of the important members, to discuss your part. They need you to find vulnerable women, in order to keep their protection. It was a role you had to play convincingly, despite the knot of unease twisting in your stomach.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the parking lot, his voice shattered the air like a thunderclap. "Y/N!"

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of Tim's voice, a flood of memories threatening to overwhelm you. But you couldn't afford to let emotions cloud your judgment now, not when the mission hung in the balance.

"Y/N!" His voice grew closer, each step echoing with the weight of shared history and unspoken emotions. Tim Bradford, the man who had once held your heart in his hands, stood mere feet away, his presence a reminder of a past you had tried so desperately to forget.

You tightened your grip on your resolve, pushing aside the rush of feelings threatening to engulf you. This wasn't the time for sentimentality, not when lives hung in the balance. Ignoring him once more, you pressed on, your determination unyielding.

But then, he called out again, using the undercover name you had adopted for this dangerous game. "Sunny!"

As Tim's footsteps drew nearer, you turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. The shock of seeing him here, in the midst of your dangerous undercover operation, sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Tim," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to process the surrealness of the moment.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he took in your appearance, his expression mirroring the mix of emotions swirling inside you. "Y/N," he said, his voice hoarse with surprise and concern. "I... I didn't expect to see you here."

Neither did you. The last person you expected to encounter in the midst of this high-stakes operation was Tim Bradford, the man whose memory had haunted you for so long.

"I can't explain now," you managed to say, your words coming out in a rush as you fought to maintain your composure. "But you need to trust me. It's dangerous, and I can't get you involved."

Tim's brow furrowed in concern, his gaze searching yours for answers. "I trust you," he said quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But Boot and I are here to help."

His words washed over you like a wave of relief, the weight of the situation lifting slightly as you realized you weren't facing this alone. "You're backup?" you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Tim nodded, his expression unwavering. "Alongside the cops patrolling the streets around this place," he confirmed. "We've got your back."

As you exchanged glances with Tim silently thanking him for being there, Lucy emerged from the shadows, her appearance a stark contrast to the glamour of the restaurant's surroundings. Dressed convincingly as an abused woman, Lucy embodied the role of the vulnerable victim you had concocted for the gang's twisted game.

Her hair, usually sleek and polished, now hung in disarray around her face, strands tangled and unkempt. Makeup expertly applied to mimic bruises and scars adorned her skin, a haunting reminder of the violence she was portraying.

Despite the facade of vulnerability, there was a fire in Lucy's eyes, a fierce determination that belied the submissive persona she portrayed. It was a testament to her strength and resilience, a silent declaration that she would not be easily broken.

As you approached the entrance of the restaurant, you cast a quick glance at Lucy, silently conveying the gravity of the situation. This was your moment, and you had to execute flawlessly.

"Okay, Lucy," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Listen carefully. I'll do the talking. You stay silent unless directly addressed by the right-hand. No showing of doubt, no hesitation. We need this operation to go smoothly."

Lucy nodded, her jaw set with determination as she absorbed your instructions. Despite the nerves flickering in her eyes, she straightened her posture, steeling herself for the task ahead.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Remember," you continued, your tone firm. "We're in control here. Stay focused, and we'll get through this."

Lucy nodded again, a silent promise of her commitment to the plan. "Roger that." she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside her.

With the stakes higher than ever, you knew that this undercover operation had to be executed with precision and finesse. As you and Lucy took your seats at the table next to the most important man you can lay hands on, you couldn't shake the feeling that every move had to be calculated, every word chosen carefully.

From your vantage point, you observed the man closely, your senses on high alert as you awaited the perfect opportunity to strike. Across the room, you knew Tim was watching from the shadows, his eyes scanning the scene for any signs of trouble.

The man's scrutinizing gaze fell upon Lucy, his eyes assessing her with a predatory gleam. "And who might this be?" he inquired, his tone slick with suspicion.

Taking a deep breath, you tell the man everything as practiced. "This is Lucy," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "She's... she's been trapped in a nightmare with an abusive husband."

Lucy nodded, her eyes casting down as if reliving the horrors of her past. The man leaned back in his chair, a calculating glint in his eyes. "And you think we can help you with that?" he asked, amusement dancing in his voice.

You nodded eagerly, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation in your favor. "You have resources, connections... You could help Lucy start over, away from her husband."

As Tim listened intently to the conversation unfolding before him, a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that washed over him, knowing that he was unable to intervene directly without blowing your cover. All he could do was watch and wait, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and frustration.

The man's lips curled into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Of course," he said smoothly. "We can take care of her. Provide her with a safe place to stay. We have a room prepared at Bates."

Bates motel was an important piece of the puzzle, where they would take the girls and force them to practice commercial sex in exchange for the protection they provide. The girls usually don't stay there longer than a couple of days before they fly to different countries outside US. Rich countries filled with desperate men that would pay fortunes for the girls.

As the name of the motel fell from the man's lips, Lucy's breath caught in her throat, fear flashing across her features. The plan was that both of you to be taken to the motel and gather some information for the FBI so that they'll be able to arrest them. But someone failed to explain Lucy all the details.

The man's gaze narrowed, suspicion flickering in his eyes as he noticed her reaction. "What's wrong with her?" he demanded, his tone sharp.

Feeling the weight of Lucy's panic, you subtly reached out and gently squeezed her hand under the table, offering her reassurance. With a quick glance in her direction, you flashed her a smile, hoping to convey a sense of calm amidst the storm.

Tim feared for your safety, knowing all too well the dangers you faced in the heart of the gang's operations. Lucy's anxiety only heightened his own, sending a surge of tension coursing through his veins.

You fought to mask your own rising panic, your mind racing for an explanation that would satisfy his curiosity. "She's just... scared," you said quickly, your voice tinged with urgency. "She thought she'd left the state tonight, but... but she's worried her husband might find her."

As the conversation with the man continued, you maintained a careful facade of composure, all the while silently reassuring Lucy that you were in this together.

The man's gaze softened slightly, a hint of understanding in his eyes. "I see," he said, his tone gentler now. "Well, there's no need to worry. She'll be safe here with the other girls until the plane is ready to take off for Italy."

As several armed men approached the table, their presence casting a menacing shadow over the already tense atmosphere, the right hand of the leader spoke with authority. "It's time to move her to the motel," he declared, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Panic surged within you as you exchanged a worried glance with Lucy, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on both of you. You couldn't bear the thought of letting Lucy face this alone, knowing the danger that awaited her at the hands of the gang.

Desperation fueled your next words as you pleaded with the man to let you accompany Lucy. "Please," you begged, your voice trembling with fear. "Let me go with her. I can't... I can't let her alone, I promise I wouldn't leave her alone."

But the man's expression remained cold and impassive, unmoved by your plea. "I don't give a fuck about your promises. Only one of you," he insisted firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "It'll look suspicious if both of you go missing. The police might decide to crash our little party."

As the tension in the room reached its peak, Tim could no longer stand idly by. With a sense of urgency coursing through him, he rose from his seat and approached the table, his expression a mask of desperation.

"Lucy, there you are!" Tim's voice rang out, thick with emotion as he stepped into the role of her abusive husband. "I have looked for you everywhere. I can't lose you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

His words echoed off the walls of the restaurant, each syllable laced with genuine anguish as he pleaded with Lucy to come back to him. It was a performance born out of necessity, a last-ditch effort to salvage their plan and get Lucy safely out of the operation.

With practiced precision, Tim threw himself into the role, his voice cracking with emotion as he pleaded with Lucy to come back to him.

"Please, Lucy," he begged, his eyes brimming with tears. "I love you. I'll do anything to make it right. Just... come home."

As Tim's performance unfolded, Lucy's eyes widened in surprise, her initial panic giving way to understanding as she realized the ruse they were playing. With a silent nod of agreement, you played along.

With a heavy sigh, you made a split-second decision. "I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have family or anyone who would ask questions."

For a moment, silence falling upon you, the weight of your and Tim's words hanging heavy in the air. Then, slowly, tentatively, Lucy nodded, her resolve crumbling in the face of Tim's impassioned plea.

With a sense of relief washing over him, Tim gathered Lucy in his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might slip away. Together, they made their way out of the restaurant, leaving behind the facade they had constructed and the danger that had threatened to engulf them.

As the gravity of your decision settled over you, a sense of resignation washed over you. You knew that by sacrificing yourself, you were placing yourself directly in harm's way.

As the right-hand man of the leader was convinced by your offer to accompany him, he swiftly led you out of the restaurant, ignoring the chaos unfolding. With each step towards his car, a sense of urgency gnawed at your insides.

As Tim and Lucy hurried to Tim's car, Lucy's concern for your safety was palpable. "We have to go after them," she urged. "She could be in danger."

But Tim remained resolute, his jaw clenched with determination. "She knows what she's doing," he insisted, though the worry in his eyes betrayed his facade of confidence. "She's been trained for this and been in these situations before. We can't risk blowing her cover, especially when the motel is our only lead."

Lucy's brow furrowed in frustration. "But Tim, the motel is a front for prostitution," she argued, her voice tinged with desperation. "What if they force her into something she can't handle?"

Tim's resolve wavered at her words, a pang of guilt gnawing at his conscience. He knew she was right—no lead was worth the risk of putting you in danger. With a heavy sigh, he relented. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "We'll go after her. But we'll keep our distance until the FBI does their job and have the suspects in custody."

As the car sped down the darkened streets, fear coiled like a serpent in your chest, tightening its grip with every passing moment. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon you, the reality of going alone with the dangerous man sinking in with a bone-chilling certainty.

You knew the stakes were high, the danger palpable as you faced the unknown. The plan crafted by the FBI had hinged on both you and Lucy going to the motel together, creating a scenario that would make it nearly impossible for the gang and their leader to mask your disappearances. But now, with you isolated and vulnerable, the gang could easily fabricate a motive for your sudden absence, erasing all traces of your existence without a second thought.

As Tim's car raced through the streets of Los Angeles in pursuit of the vehicle carrying you and one of the most wanted men, a whirlwind of emotions churned within him. Fear gnawed at his gut, a relentless reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond the horizon.

But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, something else stirred within Tim—a spark of recognition, a flicker of something long buried beneath the surface. Seeing you again after all these years reignited a fire within him, flooding his mind with memories of your shared past.

In that moment, Tim realized with a jolt that the feelings he had buried deep down inside him were still very much alive. Despite the passage of time, despite the distance that had grown between you, his heart still beat for you, aching with a longing he had long tried to suppress.

As the realization settled in, Tim knew with a fierce certainty that he had to protect you, no matter the cost. Desperation gripped him, driving him forward with a single-minded determination to ensure your safety.

Tim and Lucy sat in the car, and Lucy couldn't help but notice the distant look in Tim's eyes. "So, how do you know Y/N?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Tim's gaze flickered to Lucy, a hint of sadness shadowing his features. "We go way back," he replied, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "She's been there for me through some tough times."

Lucy nodded, sensing there was more to the story. "Tough times?" she pressed, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Tim sighed, his gaze drifting to the darkened windows of the car. "When Isabel left," he began, his voice trailing off. "Y/N was there for me. She helped me through."

A pang of sympathy tugged at Lucy's heart as she listened to Tim's confession. "You said 'was'. What happened?" she asked gently, her voice filled with empathy.

Tim's expression grew somber, a weight settling upon his shoulders. "I... I pushed her away," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was in a dark place, and I was afraid I couldn't protect her, couldn't love her properly."

A heavy silence hung between them as Lucy absorbed Tim's words, a sense of sadness washing over her. "Do you regret it?" she asked softly, her gaze searching his face for answers.

"It's not something I want to discuss." he snapped, his tone laced with frustration.

Lucy persisted, her voice gentle yet insistent. "Tim, I just want to understand."

"Yes I regret it because I loved her and I still do. And tonight I left my feelings get the best of me, being here is not right. Now take this as a lesson and don't be me."

Lucy hesitated, sensing Tim's walls closing in around him. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice laced with sympathy. "I didn't mean to pry."

As the FBI descended upon the motel, Tim's heart pounded with a mixture of hope and dread. He watched anxiously from his car as the agents swarmed the building, their movements swift and decisive.

But as the suspects were handcuffed and led away, there was no sign of you among them. Panic surged through Tim's veins as he realized you were nowhere to be found. With a sense of urgency, he flung open the car door and hurried towards the motel, his footsteps echoing in the deserted parking lot.

Each room he passed seemed to blur together, a maze of empty spaces and unanswered prayers. Desperation clawed at Tim's chest as he searched frantically for any sign of you, his heart hammering in his ears.

But as he reached the end of the corridor, a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. Tim turned to see one of the FBI officers standing behind him, his expression grim.

"We've searched every room," the officer said, his voice heavy with regret. "There's no sign of her."

Tim's breath caught in his throat, a cold wave of fear washing over him. "But she has to be here," he insisted, his voice hoarse with emotion."She was here."

The FBI officer shook his head, sympathy evident in his eyes."We tried to contact her," he explained. "But there was no response. We got worried ourselves, so we barged in. But she's not here."

As the FBI agents stormed the motel and chaos erupted around you, a surge of relief washed over you. But before you could fully grasp what was happening, one of the suspects grabbed you and dragged you away, their grip like iron around your arm.

Panic surged through you as you realized you were being taken against your will, your heart racing with fear and uncertainty. With each passing moment, the distance between you and safety seemed to grow, your hopes of escape dwindling with each step.

Soon, you found yourself standing before the waiting plane, its engines roaring to life in the darkness of the night. Desperation clawed at your chest, your hands steady as you carefully withdrew your gun from its holster. Each movement was deliberate, each breath measured, as you aimed the weapon at the men who held you captive.

With a steely resolve, you squared your shoulders and met their gaze head-on, your finger poised on the trigger. "LAPD, you are under arrest" you declared, your voice firm and commanding as you held up your badge for them to see.

The men's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden display of authority, but their expressions quickly hardened into sneers of defiance. "Funny" one of them scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt. "Cop or not, you're still a bitch and I have to honor a promise."

As the men closed in on you, their faces contorted with rage and desperation, you fought back with all the strength you could muster. But outnumbered, you were no match for their brute force. With a swift motion, one of them snatched the gun from your grasp, leaving you defenseless and vulnerable.

Panic surged through you as they dragged you towards the waiting plane, their grip like vice around your arms. Desperation clawed at your chest as you struggled against them, throwing punches and kicks in a desperate bid for freedom.

But it was no use. As the men wrestled you to the ground, their blows raining down upon you with merciless force, you felt the last vestiges of consciousness slipping away.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you heard their voices, cold and indifferent.

"It's not worth the risk," one of them muttered, his tone resigned. "We need to leave her behind."

With a final, brutal blow, the man who had taken you from the motel left you lying on the ground, battered and broken. As he turned and headed towards the waiting plane, boarding without a second glance, you were left alone in the darkness, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.

As the sound of the plane's engines faded into the distance, you closed your eyes, the world spinning around you.

As the moments stretched into eternity and the reality of your disappearance sank in, Tim's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and frustration. With trembling hands, he fumbled for his radio, his voice tight with urgency as he called for backup.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Bradford," he said, his voice taut with tension. "We have a missing officer. I repeat, we have a missing officer. Requesting immediate backup."

As he waited for a response, a whirlwind of emotions churned within him—fear, anger, desperation. The thought of you out there, alone and in danger, sent a chill down his spine. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, each moment stretching on endlessly as he prayed for some sign of hope.

As Lucy rushed to Tim's side, her eyes wide with concern, she could see the tension etched into every line of his face. "Tim, what's going on?" she asked, her voice trembling with worry.

Tim took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to compose himself. "It's Y/N," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "She's gone."

Lucy's eyes widened in shock. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?" she demanded, her voice rising with panic.

Tim's jaw clenched, he struggled to find the words to convey the gravity of the situation. "I searched every room in that motel," he began, his voice strained with emotion. "But she wasn't there. FBI told me they couldn't find her either."

As the police officers arrived one by one, their flashing lights cutting through the darkness of the night, Sergeant Grey emerged from the crowd, his face grave with concern. "What's the situation, Bradford?" he asked, his voice commanding as he approached Tim.

Tim opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, his phone his phone rang, the screen lighting up with your name.

All eyes turned to him as he answered the call, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of fear and relief. "Hey, are you okay? Where are you?" he asked, his voice laced with concern as he put the call on speaker.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before you spoke, your voice strained with pain. "I don't know where I am," you admitted, your words punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. "One of the suspects took me when the FBI barged in."

Tim's grip tightened on the phone as he listened, his heart sinking with each word. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice trembling with worry.

You hesitated, a soft hiss of pain escaping between your teeth. "Yeah," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think so."

Sergeant Grey's voice cut through the tension, his tone firm and decisive. "Keep her on the line, Bradford," he instructed, his gaze focused and unwavering. "We need to track her location."

With a nod of determination, Tim focused all his attention on the call, his heart heavy with worry for you.

As Tim desperately sought answers, his voice quivered with worry. "Can you hear me?" he asked, his words tinged with desperation. "Are you still there?"

But there was no response, only the eerie silence of the line. Panic clawed at his chest as the silence stretched on, broken only by the faint sound of your labored breathing.

Tears pricked at Tim's eyes as he realized that you had lost consciousness. "Hang in there," he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion. "We're coming for you."

With a heavy heart, Tim stayed on the line, his every breath a prayer for your safety.

But finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sergeant Grey's voice broke through the silence. "We've got her location," he said, his tone filled with relief. "Let's move."

The urgency of the situation weighed heavily on his mind. Every second felt like an perpetuity, each passing moment filled with the agonizing uncertainty of not knowing if you were safe.

Tim's knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, his foot pressing down hard on the accelerator, propelling the car forward at breakneck speed. The world outside blurred into a whirlwind of colors and lights as they sped through the night, the roar of the engine drowning out all other sounds.

But amidst the chaos and urgency, Tim's thoughts were consumed by you. Memories of your time together flooded his mind, each one a painful reminder of what was at stake. His heart ached with the fear of losing you, his mind plagued by visions of what could happen if they didn't reach you in time.

As he stole a glance at Lucy in the passenger seat, he saw the same fear mirrored in her eyes. They shared a silent understanding, a mutual determination to do whatever it took to bring you home safely.

With each passing mile, Tim's emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Fear, anger, and desperation warred within him, his every nerve on edge as they hurtled towards your location.

But above all else, there was love. Love for you, burning bright and fierce in his heart, driving him forward with an unyielding determination to see you safe and sound once more.

As they reached the aerodrome, Tim's heart pounded in his chest with a mixture of fear and anticipation. With a single-minded focus, he bolted from the car, his senses heightened as he scanned the area for any sign of you.

But as he raced through the darkness, his heart froze in his chest at the sight before him. There, lying motionless on the ground, was a figure bathed in the dim light of the aerodrome. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Tim's breath caught in his throat, his mind reeling with a thousand different fears.

As he drew closer, his worst fears were realized. It was you, lying there on the ground, your form still and silent. A wave of anguish washed over Tim as he fell to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out to searched for signs of life.

Gently, he pressed his fingers against your neck, praying for the faintest hint of a pulse. Relief flooded through him as he felt the faint throb beneath his touch, a small glimmer of hope in the darkness.

With trembling hands, Tim reached for the radio, his voice steady as he relayed the news. "This is Officer Bradford," he said, his voice ringing out through the static. "I've found Agent Y/L/N. Breathing, not conscious, in critical condition. Requesting an ambulance at my location."

As he waited for the ambulance to arrive, Tim cradled you in his arms, his heart aching at the sight of you lying so still and pale. "Hang in there," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Help is on the way. You're going to be okay."

But as he spoke, he could see the flicker of consciousness in your eyes, the struggle to stay awake evident in the lines of your face. "Stay with me," he urged, his voice desperate. "I'm here, look at me."

As you drifted in and out of consciousness, Tim's voice washed over you like a soothing balm, his words a lifeline in the darkness. With each fleeting moment of clarity, you felt his presence beside you, his warmth a comforting anchor in the storm.

Desperate for any sign of response, he poured his heart out to you, his words a raw outpouring of emotion.

"I need you to fight, Y/N," he pleaded, his voice trembling with desperation. "I need you to come back to me. I can't do this without you. I know I'm not perfect and I know I was so stupid to push you away."

Tears welled in Tim's eyes as he confessed his deepest fears and insecurities, his voice cracking with emotion. "I love you," he whispered, his words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. "I've loved you for so long, and I can't bear the thought of losing you again. "

But as he spoke, there was no response, no flicker of recognition in your eyes. Panic clawed at Tim's chest as he watched you lie there, so still and silent, his heart breaking with each passing moment.

"Please, Y/N," he begged, his voice raw with anguish. "Don't leave me."

And as the ambulance arrived and the paramedics rushed to your side, Tim held onto you tightly, unwilling to let go. With each passing moment, his love for you grew stronger, a beacon of light in the midst of the storm.

As they loaded you onto the stretcher and whisked you away, Tim vowed to never leave your side and as the ambulance sped towards the hospital, his hand tightly clasped in yours, he watched over you with unwavering devotion. Inside the vehicle, the paramedics worked tirelessly to stabilize your condition, their urgent voices a constant presence in the cramped space.

"We need immediate assistance," one paramedic called out, their tone urgent. "Prepare the OR and alert the medical team."

Tim's heart pounded in his chest as he listened, his mind reeling with fear and confusion. "What's happening?" he asked, his voice trembling with anxiety.

"We're losing her," one paramedic radioed to the hospital, their voice strained with desperation. "Patient is experiencing severe hypotension, tachycardia, and respiratory distress."

Tim's brow furrowed in confusion as he struggled to make sense of the medical jargon. "What does that mean?" he asked, his voice trembling with fear.

As the hours ticked by in the dimly lit waiting room of the hospital, Tim sat alone, his thoughts consumed by worry and fear. The minutes stretched into eternity as he waited for news of your condition, each passing moment feeling like an eternity.

One by one, his colleagues began to arrive, their presence a welcome comfort in the midst of his turmoil.

First was Lucy, her footsteps hesitant as she entered the room, her eyes filled with concern as she approached Tim's side. Next came Nyla alongside Nolan, his expression solemn as his hand resting reassuringly on Tim's shoulder.

Angela followed suit, her steps purposeful as she made her way towards Tim, her eyes filled with understanding. "Hey," she said softly, her voice gentle as she settled into the chair beside him. "I came as fast as I could. I'm so sorry."

Tim looked up, gratitude flickering in his eyes as he met Angela's gaze. In that moment, he was reminded of the countless times she had been there for him, both on and off duty. Their friendship had weathered its share of storms, but through it all, Angela had remained a steadfast presence in his life.

"Thanks, Lopez," Tim replied, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm glad you're here."

Your eyes slowly fluttered open to the sight of Tim seated beside you, his features softened in sleep. He looked tired, yet peaceful, his handsome face illuminated by the soft glow of the hospital room.

You couldn't help but admire the tranquility that washed over him, the lines of worry smoothed away in slumber. Despite the exhaustion that lingered beneath his closed lids, there was a sense of calmness that enveloped him, making him appear more beautiful than ever before.

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the gentle cadence of his breaths filling the room with a soothing melody. His tousled hair framed his face in a disheveled halo, adding to his rugged charm.

As you watched him, a rush of warmth flooded your chest, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Despite the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded you, there was a sense of peace that settled over you in his presence.

But as the beeping of the heart rate monitor broke the silence, jolting Tim awake, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. The fleeting moment of intimacy you had shared was gone, replaced once again by the harsh reality of your circumstances.

And yet, as Tim's eyes met yours, there was a flicker of something in his gaze, a spark of recognition that spoke volumes.

You blinked away the remnants of sleep and offered a sheepish smile to Tim. "Sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Tim's gaze softened as he looked at you, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's okay," he said softly, his voice warm with affection. "I'm just glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

You paused for a moment, taking stock of your surroundings before answering. "Sore," you admitted, wincing slightly as you shifted in the hospital bed. "But I think I'll survive."

Tim chuckled softly, reaching out, to squeeze your hand in a silent gesture of reassurance. "That's good to hear," he said, his voice filled with relief. "I was worried about you."

You nodded in understanding, gratitude swelling in your chest at his concern. "Did they catch them?" you asked, your voice filled with apprehension.

Tim nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. "Yeah," he replied, his tone firm. "The Italian police arrested all of them. The girls are safe, thanks to you."

Relief flooded through you at his words, knowing that your efforts had not been in vain. "That's good," you said softly, a weight lifting from your shoulders.

Tim's expression softened, a proud smile gracing his lips. "They won't get away with it," he said confidently. "Not after they nearly killed the most badass cop."

"You were scared, weren't you?" you teased, a mischievous twinkle in your eyes as you looked at Tim.

"Hey now, I wasn't scared," he protested, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Just... concerned. You know, professional courtesy and all that."

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. "Sure," you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Admit it, Bradford, you were terrified."

As Tim leaned back in his chair, a playful glint danced in his eyes. "Hey now, don't go getting a big head just because you survived," he teased, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I was scared about you, okay? But can you blame me? You were practically on death's door."

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Oh please," you retorted, feigning indignation. "I've been in worse scrapes than that. Besides, it's not every day I get to see you in full-on hero mode."

Tim's cheeks flushed slightly at your words, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Well, I was just doing my job," he said, trying to play it cool.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Right," you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because confessing your love to a near-death colleague is all part of the job description, huh?"

"Can we please forget that part?" Tim pleaded.

You shook your head, unable to suppress the grin that tugged at your lips. "Never," you replied, a teasing lilt to your voice. "I had to almost die so you could tell me you love me. It's a hell of a story for the grandkids."

Tim's eyes widened, a playful smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Oh, we're having grandkids now, huh?" he quipped, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. "Not until you kiss me," you countered, a playful challenge in your voice. "Are you gonna do that, or shall I go out there and nearly die again?"

Tim's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as he chuckled softly, a fondness shining in his eyes. "Oh, shut up," he muttered playfully, leaning in closer to you.

And then, without another word, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a tender, passionate kiss. As the world fell away around you, all that mattered was the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips against yours, and the overwhelming sense of love that filled your heart.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Expanded universes really are the final frontier of franchise based storytelling aren't they? The ultimate sign that the brand managers have finally squeezed out the artists and twisted things into a state of maximum profitability.

Crossovers and callbacks can be fun, continuous crossovers and callbacks make the story into a slurry. Canon and what if's and reboots all ground up and served in a trough for the undiscerning consumer to mire in. It's bland, it's exhausting, it's pointless.

Big companies and studios are risk averse, and the profit seeking wisdom steers them away from niche works of art and towards wide appeal content. Why risk money on a movie/game that only a fraction of people will love when you can spread that engagement out across a dozen different products that are just good enough to keep people invested in your extended universe, whether from genuine fandom or just cultural fomo?

Marvel feels ubiquitous as Kleenex doesn't it? It's always there in the movie theatre/store, slightly cheaper offbrands right beside it. While individual works within the marvel universe might be genuinely good in their own right their quality is secondary to their purpose in perpetuating the brand and keeping it relevant.

People like familiarity, and if it's a safe bet for you as a consumer to have a pretty okay time in exchange for your hardearned dollars then it's a safe bet for the investors to receive their quarterly returns. It's no mistake that Disney, the company that owns Marvel does most of its business in theme parks: entertainment on an industrial scale. Just like their movies the rides are made to give you and everyone else who bought a ticket a scientifically optimized amount of fun and then move you along so that that the next batch of riders can have an identical experience.

It's value production as efficient as an assembly line or slaughter house, completely atomized and divested of any trace of the individual for the sake of maximum profitability. The figured out a way to sell you your own fandoms like they sell you happymeals, endless iterations of a product just this side of bad but convenient enough that you never need to go without.

I don't blame anyone for liking things, just like I don't blame people for wanting a quick burger in the middle of a long day. Our minds need entertainment just like our body needs calories, and profit seeking conglomerates exploit that need as they always have. What irks me is the fact that even outside of the commercials I feel like I am being sold something, like the movies and games I actually enjoy are being supplanted by feature length billboards that only serve to advertise the next instalment. The desire to find out what happens next is a powerful thing in media, and that desire is being exploited by expanded universes the same way it's exploited by DLC that contains the "true ending".

You can tell it isn't sustainable.. McDonald's is so inflated in price it's competing with actual restaurants, the gaming Industry guts itself with layoffs every quarter, and Disney's competitors are producing entire movies and tv shows only to destroy them for tax befits. The cracks have been showing for a while but I have no idea what shape the landscape is going to take after the dam gives.

[beyondthesefourwalls]

A Change to Everything

Summary: Marriage wasn’t an option for you. Bradley knew this and had promised you that what you had is and would always be enough for him. A few overpriced rings wouldn’t change that, so long as you promised to love him forever without one. But he buys you one anyway, and despite every promise you made to yourself, you wonder what it would be like if maybe, just maybe, you ever decided to put it on. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as an unnamed OC)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: Talks of a toxic marriage with hints of abuse, anxiety, canon-compliant near death experiences. 

Note: I'm so excited to be posting for this fandom for the first time! I haven't written anything in over a year so I'm a little rusty, but it feels so good to get this out.

The biggest, biggest thank you to @roosterforme​ for all of her help with this! Em, you are the best sounding board a girl struggling to get back into the game could ask for.

_____

“I want to show you something.” 

You looked up from the book you’d been working your way through. Bradley stood at the end of the couch, his eyes soft and focused entirely on you. The look on his face was one he really only used with you - open and unguarded. Trusting. One that came from years of knowing and loving one another. 

Without a word, you closed the book and set it down on the coffee table. You adjusted yourself to sit up a little straighter against the throw pillows as Bradley sat on the edge of the couch beside you. One hand settled on your thigh as the other revealed a small, hunter green velvet box. 

If it wasn’t for the soft squeeze of his fingers against your skin, grounding you like he was always so good at, you were sure you would have choked on the breath that almost got stuck in your throat. You stared at it, processing what you knew it was, heart thudding hard against your chest cavity. 

There was a growing weight of dread and disbelief in your stomach. There was no point in hoping it wouldn’t show on your face; he could see you better than anyone, even when you tried to hide. Especially then. 

“What is that?” 

A small indulgent smile tugged at his lips. The scar near his mouth that you loved to run your finger over lifted with the movement. With one smooth motion he opened the box. Despite the anxiety, the ring you knew would be waiting for you took your breath away. It was a thin, delicate band, lined with small, shimmering diamonds. There was a stunning pear shaped stone snug in the middle. It sparkled under the dimmed light from the lamp in the corner of the room and the dancing flames of the candle you had burning on the coffee table. Even without trying it on, you knew it would fit on your finger perfectly. Once upon a time it was everything you would have wanted. 

“A ring.” 

“Yes. So I see.” Your stomach twisted, but you couldn’t look away. “Why do you have it?” 

“I’m not proposing,” he clarified. At that, you finally lifted your eyes from the stunning piece of jewelry, and were relieved when you heard him snap the box shut. The same expression that was on his face when he approached you remained now, not deterred by the reaction you’d been having. Fleetingly, you thought you felt something akin to disappointment shoot through you, but that was an absurdity in and of itself, so instead you focused on the disbelief of his statement. “I’m sure that’s what it looks like.” 

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. The ball of anxiety that resided in your throat shrunk by a margin. He wasn’t proposing. 

He wasn’t going to leave you when you inevitably said no.

The thought of marriage used to excite you. Like many little girls growing up, you had dreams of a poofy white gown and sparkling diamonds, a tall cake and dancing and standing in front of all the people you knew as you professed your love to the man you’d spend the rest of your life with. And that’s exactly what you got. For a moment, at least. 

At 23 years old, young and not knowing any better, you married a man who swore that he loved you just as much as you believed you loved him. You had been dating for two years and you knew what you were doing. You got the dress and the flowers and a diamond bigger than any 23-year-old should be wearing and that only the old southern money he came from could buy. You got married in a church for a denomination you didn’t believe in but that his mother insisted upon, before God and everyone you knew and even more that you didn’t know.

Things were good. Great, even. For a little while. But only a few months into your happily ever after, things started to change. Outwardly, you were still the Cinderella that got her Prince Charming. But behind closed doors, Prince Charming wasn’t so…well, charming. He would always get a little too drunk. A little too loud. His suggestions for you became demands: wear your hair like this, have it be this color, dress like this, eat like this, hang out with these people, quit your job. Your decisions were no longer yours. You hadn’t realized that taking his last name was the same as signing your life away. You had never regretted anything more. 

You spent five years in a continuous, vicious circle of your own hell. Getting out of it was the hardest, yet best thing you had ever done. You lost everything and everyone in the process, but you gained back your sense of self. 

Now, you looked at marriage like a trap. It was a steel doored cage you would never, ever put yourself in again. You didn’t know if you would survive the suffocation again. 

You met Bradley two years after you signed the divorce papers. He came into your life when you were finally learning to be confident in who you were and what you had to offer again. The smile he gave you that first day didn’t take your breath away; rather, it felt like it finally reinflated your lungs after so long of being deprived. 

Three and a half years together and you knew you would be with him for the rest of your life. 

You would do almost anything for him. But you couldn’t do this. 

Bradley knew that. It was a conversation you had pretty early on, actually. He had told you about his parents and the marriage they had. It felt like bursting a bubble almost when you gently explained that marriage wasn’t in the cards for you again. He had taken it surprisingly well. You had never shied away from telling him your reasoning why. He had promised you then that what you had is and would always be enough for him. A few overpriced rings wouldn’t change that, so long as you promised to love him forever without one. 

It was an easy compromise. 

You hadn’t thought seriously on the subject since. Not when moving in together, or adopting a cat together, or when you picked up your life to move with him when the Navy decided it was time. It hadn’t been necessary to think on or discuss; the matter was a non-issue. 

Bradley’s voice brought you out of your memories. His hand was a nice pressure on your leg, his thumb smoothing the skin on the inside of your thigh a comfort. Back and forth, over and over again, bringing you back into the present like only he could. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d con you into marrying me in a heartbeat if you weren’t so much smarter than me, sweetheart.” 

The smile on his face was playful now. His eyebrows were pulled together in mischief. You couldn’t help yourself; the smallest of smiles pulled at your lips, too. 

“But I know your stance on the subject. We’ve talked about it, and I get it. Despite the absolute rager we would throw as a reception, we don’t need a piece of paper to prove how much we love one another.” 

You didn’t, and knowing that only made you love him more. You and Bradley loved one another in your entirety. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a constant reminder that goodness exists. It injected a honey-like sweetness into your bloodstream. He made your soul warm, and the trust you had between you made you confident in the knowledge that you warmed him, too. 

“So why buy the ring? It doesn’t exactly look like something you could get for cheap out of a gumball machine.” 

“No,” he laughed, “that it wasn’t.” 

He set the box down and grabbed your hand. You always loved how big his was in comparison, though small wasn’t how you felt. 

Safe. Comforted.

“I bought it because….well….I guess because I’m yours. I’m yours, and you’re mine. I love you more than I ever thought I’d be capable of loving someone, you know? And you make me feel like I deserve to be loved like that in return, which you do with no hesitation. What we have…it’s special. So I guess I bought it because I want you to know that if you ever change your mind, I’m ready.  You just gotta let me know. But ring or no ring, I’m gonna love you forever, baby, okay? In this life and whatever comes next. $50 for a marriage license won’t change it.”

You thought on his words for a moment before you nodded and held out your pinky. He was interlacing his with yours before he even knew the agreement, because Bradley would always follow where you lead. Ring or no ring. 

 “If I ever change my mind, I promise to go half on that piece of paper with you.”

“Deal.”

——

Bradley had been called back to Top Gun. It was an honor almost unheard of and even as a civilian you knew it had to be important. It was a 3-4 week deployment; nothing in comparison to what you had weathered together before, but something about it made those weeks feel like years. 

He was the one who called you when it was all over and done with. From your shared bed in Norfolk, you cried as he recounted two ejections; one successful and one that never came. He was presumed dead for nearly four hours before the over-confident blonde you had only ever heard stories about defied every expectation of his callsign. 

It had happened almost three full days ago and this was the first time you had heard about it. 

“Why didn’t anyone call me?” 

He was quiet on the other line but you heard what he wasn’t saying loud and clear.  

You were his emergency contact, yes. The one that would be alerted should he ever wind up in the hospital or the first person they’d look for if he ever failed to report. But you were not his wife, and therefore you were not his next of kin. Your door wouldn’t be the one the United States Navy knocked on, despite it being his door too. A folded flag wouldn’t be placed in your hand as his casket was lowered into the ground. 

You hung up after he promised to call you again when the sun was up, and with the reassurance that he’d be home soon. 

Sleep didn’t find you again. Instead, you thought of Bradley turning around to fly after the man he hadn’t spoken to since his mother’s funeral. You could so clearly see him floating through the snowy trees with his parachute flying above him. You thought of them flying in a jet that hadn’t seen the sky in decades, pulling desperately at ejection handles. You squeezed your eyes shut when you saw that same jet explode into millions of little pieces of glass and metal, Hangman not making it in time to save the day. 

Phoenix would have been the one to call you, eventually. The two of you were fairly close from when they were stationed together before your latest move and she would know that no one else would have alerted you, and as a friend, she would have wanted to check on you, too. You hated the thought of putting that responsibility on her.

A whimper escapes when you realize it would have been three days before you knew.  

Throwing the comforter off of you, you flipped the bedside lamp on before making your way to the closet. 

It was nearing 4am and you found yourself sitting on the floor in front of the fireproof metal safe that you and Bradley kept there. 

It had been six months since you saw the ring. Bradley put it there that night after the two of you made love on the couch, and there it had remained. The green velvet box sat on top of both your birth certificates and beside the case where he kept all the medals that once upon a time belonged to his father. You had thought of it a few times in the last half a year, but hadn’t laid eyes on it again. You didn’t need to, really; you could still envision it clearly in your mind. 

You didn’t move to pick it up. Just seeing the box it was kept in had tears welling in your eyes again. 

You loved him. Oh, you loved him so much that it ached. He was your family and you were his. You were all other had in the name of it and all the other needed, too. You don’t think that you would recover if anything were to happen for him to be taken away from you. You would mourn him so deeply that you’re sure your fundamental state of being would be altered for good. That’s how he would deserve to be mourned, after all. 

It made you angry that a piece of paper would delay that. The government would think there wasn’t anyone to miss him, that he had no one, but you were right here. 

Bradley loved you enough to buy a ring that he knew you would probably never wear, so that he was prepared in the off chance that you ever changed your mind. He was just as happy for it to remain locked away in the back of your closet for the rest of your lives. 

Why, suddenly, did that not feel like enough? 

______

The Uranium Mission came with a lot of changes to your and Bradley’s life. A reconciliation years overdue. An adjustment of time zones and weather patterns brought on by a permanent move from Virginia to California. Having not just Phoenix around on a regular basis again, but a whole squadron of people you could confidently call friends after only a few weeks of knowing them. Suddenly, your found family of two was expanded. 

Despite that, the feeling of something missing hadn’t gone away.

You didn’t tell Bradley about going into the safe that night and how the thought of losing him had you reconsidering every commitment you had made to yourself in the last six years since you started out on your own. He didn’t deserve a reactionary response from you for something this significant and you couldn’t confidently say that’s not what it was. Something that big deserved more than a pre-dawn rash decision. It deserved thought. 

You pondered often what it meant. It was almost always in the back of your mind now. The ring, and all that it would hold. 

You and Bradley couldn’t live on base. It was something you had dealt with in Virginia, but Norfolk real estate was definitely not the same as San Diego. Finding a place to live was difficult. 

The joke was made after the fifth rejection on a house in the same amount of days. You had been living out of a hotel since you arrived two weeks ago and you were tired of being confined to the same four walls. 

“Jesus, maybe getting married wouldn’t be so bad afterall. At this rate, we’re going to be moving into our storage unit.” 

You could feel him staring at you. He didn’t speak, and you focused intently on trying to appear like you were still focusing on scrolling through listings on your laptop. Your cat rested on a pile of blankets in the corner of the small couch the room allowed, dozing the evening away. The TV played an old episode of Unsolved Mysteries in the background. Right when the lack of response from him was veering into awkward silence, Bradley snorted. The sound pulled a smile at your lips. He climbed on the hotel room bed, closing your laptop and stretching to set it on the bedside table. He settled on top of you. You never felt as safe as you did then when his weight pressed into you like this. 

“Can I help you, Lieutenant Bradshaw?” 

He nodded, his face reflecting the utmost seriousness. “We should take advantage of this room while we can, Sweetheart. Something tells me the ventilation in the storage unit won't be as kind to us.” 

You were laughing when he connected your lips. The ring popped into your head again, only for a moment, before he made every thought disappear like only he could. 

_____

You were wearing a fancy dress in an even fancier venue, surrounded by a sea of white uniforms. A promotion ceremony for all of those who partook in the mission that nearly took Bradley away from you. The thought still hurt your heart, but you were so damn proud of the newly pinned Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. 

You had been in North Island for three months, and had finally found and moved into a house six weeks ago. It was a two story home about twenty minutes from base with a fenced in yard you didn’t know you wanted until you had it. Something told you that you and Bradley would be enjoying sunrises, rocking together on the back porch for many years to come. 

This was your first major event on the west coast. You had been introduced to more people than you could possibly recall. For the first time in your relationship, the process annoyed you. Not for the act itself, of course. It was how you were being introduced. 

It had never bothered you before when Bradley introduced you as his girlfriend. When people found out how long you’ve been together, you often got asked when you were finally going to get married. Often, jokes were made on Bradley’s behalf about having the courage to “put a ring on it.” He always took it in stride, the both of you knowing it was really you preventing the progression. 

You were an hour and a half into the night and going through the same conversation for the third time. This time, it was Admiral Simpson’s wife.  

“Four years? My goodness, when’s the wedding?” 

Bradley’s laugh was familiar and you knew what he would say before he said it because you had heard it so many times before. You had always let him handle these situations. A lighthearted response about not worrying because he knew how good he had it and that he wouldn’t be letting you get away anytime soon, followed by a subtle but effective change in subject. Before he could go through the motions, though, you found yourself uttering a response all on your own.

“Oh, maybe one day.” 

It was poised, polite, and said in a way that made it seem like you said it all the time. Mrs. Simpson laughed, none the wiser to how you just went off script. Out of your peripheral vision you saw Bradley’s eyes snap to you so quickly that you momentarily worried about whiplash. 

“How long have you and Vice-Admiral Simpson been married, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

In for a penny, in for a pound, you thought to yourself. You were never one to willingly bring up anything dealing with marriage. Yet here you were, initiating an entire conversation about it. As she went on about their history together and the various moves throughout their 18 years together, Bradley’s left hand squeezed your hip where it had been resting. 

You turned your head, meeting his gaze straight on. For a moment, it was just the two of you here in this room. His dark eyes were wide, earnest, but confused. You knew now wasn’t the time to discuss it. You hoped the look you sent him in return reassured him that you would and that there was nothing to worry about.

There was a barely noticeable nod of his head and he raised his glass of scotch to his lips as he turned back to the conversation. 

His hand remained flexed on your hip. 

You wondered what it would feel like if there was a ring on that hand to press into your skin and if you would be able to feel it through your dress. 

______

There was a tension in Bradley’s shoulders on the drive home that night. He was keyed up in the way he always was when he didn’t quite know what to make of a situation. Anxious, hesitant and searching, but this time there was an underlying feeling of something that resembled excitement. 

You settled your hand over his where it was placed on your thigh. When you came to a red light, you cleared your throat and he turned to meet your eyes. Even in the dim artificial light seeping into the front seat, he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

He cleared his throat. Once, twice. His voice still sounded just this side of rough when he spoke. 

“You’ll let me know?” 

You adjusted your hands so you could interlock your pinkies, bringing them up so you could place the softest of kisses against his. “Only if you’re still willing to go half on the license.” 

You smiled at him and the sound of his soft laughter warmed you from the inside out. The light changed and he pulled his gaze from yours. You let your hands fall to your lap and he took the chance to interlock them together. He squeezed gently. You knew it was his way of acknowledging that yes, of course he would. 

His thumb ran back and forth over the ring finger on your left hand for the remainder of the drive home, and you didn’t bother to smother the smile or the shiver that went down your spine. 

If he noticed as he took it off of you that the dress you wore was the same shade as the box locked away in your closet, he didn’t comment on it. 

_____

He didn’t bring marriage up again in the following few months, and neither did you. It had been over a year at this point since he first showed you the ring, and things had continued as they always had. 

Sometimes, though, you would catch him looking at you. This was nothing new, of course; Bradley wasn’t shy about letting his eyes remain on you for longer than was socially acceptable sometimes. But the look in his eyes was different. There was longing there, a cautious sort of optimism that he hadn’t let you see before. You were surprised when it didn’t scare you away or make you feel guilty for putting it there. Before, it would have been nothing but false hope. Now, though, now it felt almost like an oncoming revelation. 

You found yourself looking at him with that same look, but you were careful only to let him catch you sometimes. It didn’t matter what he was doing. Cooking dinner, doing the dishes, folding laundry, reading a user manual for a multi-million dollar plane he already knew inside and out. Even now, as he laid partially underneath you on the couch, his eyes trained on the mid-fall Sunday football game playing on the TV, something you were usually just as entranced by, you couldn't help but stare. 

Anything Bradley did, you had a hard time looking away. 

Despite swearing you would never, ever do so, you couldn’t help but to compare him to your ex-husband at this moment. 

When you were married, you felt like you were a burden more than anything. A showpiece there to hold onto his arm, but only when he needed it. You were a pretty face and a warm body, micromanaged to the point where even a second out of line wouldn’t be tolerated, yet somehow he never cared about what you did, either. You were a caged bird afraid to chirp.

Bradley, though..he never let you feel like your voice and opinion didn’t matter - he never fought to silence you and instead encouraged the complete opposite. The love he showed you didn’t come with any stipulations. 

Your ex-husband always made you feel small, while Bradley made you feel invincible. Protected, safe, supported, but like you could do anything you wanted all on your own. There was no reason to be afraid when you were with him.

The differences were vast, like black and white and oil and water. 

Clarity washed over you slowly, then. It was a conclusion months in the making. Years, really. 

Bradley was the best man you’ve ever known. He proved time and time again how different he was from the man you were with before him.

Why, then, should you think marriage with him wouldn’t be different, too?

“I’ll be right back,” you kissed his cheek as you untangled yourself from his arms and stood from the couch. By the time you were halfway up the stairs, you were taking them two at a time in your haste to get to the bedroom. You were almost panting by the time you made it to the walk-in closet. Your heart thudded in your chest so hard you could hear it in your ears as you entered the code to the safe. This was it. This was it and you were so excited. You barely remembered to close and lock it back after you retrieved what you were looking for. You practically sprinted across the landing and back down the stairs. 

You were moving so fast and so hard that Bradley was already looking at you when you slid back in front of the couch, hearing you coming before you even hit the stairs. His eyebrows were raised in question, but you didn’t let him open his mouth to question your unusual behavior before you were breaking the silence yourself. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said simply. His eyes were already widening as you tossed the ring box to him, as if he knew what you meant without the added assistance. You suppose, if he had thought about it even half as much as you had in the last year, that he did. “As it turns out, the cost for a marriage license in California is more expensive than in Virginia. But I’m still down to split it if you are.” 

He jumped from the couch and then he was kissing you. He lifted you off the ground, spinning you happily. The green velvet box was digging into your lower back where he held you secure against him. You giggled against each other’s lips. When he set you back down, there was a lightness, a joy, that you hadn’t seen in his eyes before. There was a brief twinge of regret that you made him wait so long to experience that feeling; for you to witness it. If he was beautiful before, he is breathtaking now. 

“I can do this properly,” he said, but you were shaking your head before he was even finished. 

“Now is perfect. Just like this. If you want.”

“If I want?” He laughed, incredulous and gleeful. He dropped to a knee with no further prompting, popping the box open as he went. 

“Baby…sunshine….love of my life…holder of my heart and happiness….woman who can get me going like no other in every innuendo of that phrase.”

“Bradley!”

You were both laughing and oh, this was so, so perfect. 

“I love you so much. More than anything in this world and all the others. I’ll love you in this life and the next and the one after that, too. Marry me, baby.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question, but you answered it as one anyway.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

The ring felt wonderful on your left hand. It was enough that you felt it was there, but it didn’t hold the mental weight that the last one did. Instead, it brought a sense of completeness to you. A calmness you didn’t know you lacked. Your heart was so full it threatened to burst.  

You couldn’t wait for Bradley to have one to match. 

------

Main Masterlist

Ending Note: AHHHH!!! I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please leave any feedback you may have; it really does mean so much! I hope to produce more content for this fandom in the future. These Navy Aviators have a hold on me!

[clerk427]

An open love letter to the entire Faith the unholy trinity fandom off sorts. I present to you.....

John in the style of 9 different artist!

(Keep in mind this is a style study. And although the whole thing was drawn by me, please please PLEASE check out the artists whose style I tried out. Thank you!)

This was SUCH a fun experience! I honestly love our fandom, and I adore how unique everyone's style and perception of John is. Says a lot about society or smth.

And even though I probably didn't do justice to all the art styles, I really hope they are recognizable.

Also, you might've noticed an empty spot in the end. Well, it's for you! Naturally, I wasn't able to include every artist, but I hope you will be interested in taking a spin at this yourself. Thank you and good luck!!!

A closer look, links and notes under the cut

@trashprinceward

I adore how soft this version of John looks, he seems so trustworthy and kind, gah. The shading style is surprisingly difficult, but I hope I managed to pull it off:) I also adore Prince's AUs hehehe

@rokiro99

A very unique colouring style!! I've seen a few versions of how this artist draws John, but decided to stop on this one. His face is so adorableeeee. I also LOVE the use of liturgical clothing and themes!!

@karamielo

Eeeeep I love how they use colours in their works and how well they use composition??? Like omg. Such such pretty works, I hope they create even more art

@justcommander

I lovvve how game-adjacent this artist's style is. I also love the way they (I'm so sorry, I'm not sure about the pronouns) draw hands and use body language. Also, the father and children AU??? Muah.

@shu-bullshit

I'm not even pretending I managed to pull this one off, I bit so much more than I could chew. But I couldn't not try, I almost every time I see their use of coloured pencils and watercolours, I just can't. Love love love

@zzoupz

So. As far as I can tell, Zoup doesn't use this style TOO often, but it wasn't leaving my head, I had to try. The artist did so much for the fandom, the Gary ask blog is such a treat. Yum

@genesissaturna

Hee hee he's so shapes. The legs. Beautiful. I wasn't sure about the colouring style since I only saw lineart done by this artist, so I decided to use the in-game ones. I hope they do more art, it's so unique and makes me happy!:)

@hammy-art

Wet cat John. Silly. A little pathetic, but in a nice way. I feel like I didn't make the lineart the way he does, it is usually more gentle, but I still hope it will suffice. Also my God he does amazing backgrounds, which I sadly can't portray here. (A personal thank you for giving me the courage for doing self-inserts)

Annnd that's it! I thank you for everything and I hope this whole thing will somehow inspire you. Keep doing art, let the world see your vision! Also go draw a pathetic blue priest /j

[sgiandubh]

The Ascent of Lying

Why, Mordor people? Why do you lie?

Is it stupidity? Hunger Greed for clicks? That #silly, #silly itch to be FIRST? And RIGHT?

The Ascent of Lying started in this fandom with *urv. Her Google sources, her undying obsession for S (and the mandatory hypocrisy that comes along with it), her paltry stories fit for people who never took a flight overseas in their entire life (not something bad at all, but in this context, this makes you incredibly fragile), her remake of the Twilight fandom hullaballoo and her chutzpah.

It continued with Jess, on this side of the fandom: her OTT girlish enthusiasm, her elusiveness IRL and finally, her capitulation and resurrection, under the same name, but with a totally opposed POV. For perhaps you don't know it, but Jess 2.0 has been back since quite a while ago, now making amends about her former strong beliefs. Even taking full responsibility for some 'receipts' (remember the S lemon pin/wedding ring one? she confirmed it was her and it probably was a #silly, horrible lie). How convenient and how depressing, isn't it? Reading her new, sparse blog brought along two firm thoughts: why this need to robotically inform us about her happiness and her change of heart? Also, how many Anons did Jess 2.0 send, since her comeback, to this side of the fandom?

Let this disappointment be my sin, then and let the link to her new hole in the wall remain undisclosed by this page. I have no wish to either start a flaming war, nor give this woman more space than she deserves:

You'll have to deal with the very childish LMAO and this completely irresponsible explanation: 'it was fun to fantasize at the time'. No, lady: you LIED. You lied through your teeth and because you had the privilege of having a thirsty audience, you thoroughly enjoyed this strange avatar of fame, as you say it publicly yourself, now. You even were, most probably, heavily used by ***'s PR and even S (that is a very firm belief), just like another very fragile individual, who switched sides in a far more vocal and pathetic way. That makes for a mixed bag of truths and lies, something I think we all are way too familiar with, by now. But that does not preclude, nor excuse in any shape or form, your eagerness to ahem, 'embellish" a very real love story and twist it according to your naivete and parochial life experience. Morally, you are 0, to me: a sentimental troll, completely on par with *urv.

I could blather on and on about Jess's main competitor, Puffy, too. I think I already wrote enough about her, if only because many believed me to be her latest avatar, which is completely ridiculous, but ridiculous with an agenda. So, did Puffy lie, too? Probably, especially while creating Stella and Deep Throat out of thin air. Let's agree she heavily extrapolated, which is a shame, because some of her analysis is really spot on.

The Ascent of Lying then morphed, along with an US busy social and political agenda being more and more sensitive to the 'fake news" issue, towards the Factchecker Anti blogs, who mimicked neutrality and promoted online stalking to unprecedented levels. Along came people like Meowkabob, who even manufactured their own facts/evidence and released them online. That was perfectly premeditated and done for increased credibility (I have debunked her shite last fall, if you remember), being fully aware that her libel could not be justified only by a prior, questionable, 'London experience', of which we conveniently have no concrete details. The other blog, you all know and sometimes visit: whether she is a PR plant or lonely rider doesn't really matter, yet a stalker and a hypocrite in her own right, too. The fact that both these persons suddenly felt an urge to express themselves during the heavily conspiratorial climate of the first COVID pandemic wave is not innocent at all, I think.

Lying is the real Uncharted Territory of this fandom and one of the main reasons we seldom have nice things to talk about, anymore. I barely scratched its surface and merely stated the obvious. If anything, it only comforted and strengthened my own beliefs, which I always strived to base on personal findings and facts, along with other likeminded people's experience. And I'd rather take the general brunt and simply say 'I don't know", than embellish. Also, when I am wrong, I am wrong: it happens to the best of us and it's always either immediately edited and explained or taken full responsibility for.

What I do know with a reasonable degree of certainty is that These Two are together. And this is all that matters to me, justifying my presence here.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. There's more, but here is just an overview of the sentiments that prompted my next investigation.

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

OK so now I'm thinking about birthday's

And everyone in this fandom seems to know the 16th birthday from hell and I'm gonna touch on it

Growing up, I had pretty shitty parents. I know I haven't talked too much about it, but my father was the king of fucking up my birthday and whatever, and would never get me a gift like this man was incapable of practically, remembering my birthday.

But I want you to think about that for a moment Bruce Wayne, who, for all intensive purposes, was a father figure to Tim went out of his way to psychologically torture that poor child on his birthday, and it is like never brought up again like the angst potential of the entire family finding out is astronomical.

But also, do you know how fucked up it is to feel on your birthday the day that is supposed to be about you your father literally going out of his way to fuck it up. That's not something you forget that is a vivid memory. 

That shapes you for all of your life never mind the fact that time travel is a big thing in the DC universe. That was a perfectly tailored way to destroy Tim Drake and I mean I talk a lot of shit about Bruce Wayne but I almost feel like that's worse than a lot of shit he's done in my personal experience some shit sticks with you my most traumatic memories are not actually physically abusive in nature it's the psychological shit that fucks with you.

So RIP Tim Drake and his emotional well-being because every bit of paranoia, every bit of his personality, his lack of trust all can stem back to the 16th birthday from hell.

I love when we can literally dig to the cause and the cause of every contingency Tim Drake has ever fucking written. Is Bruce motherfucking Wayne.

I can never not stop hating on Canon Bruce Wayne I don't care if we have him, hugging Tim in one comic

That man is a piece of shit and I will stand by that statement 

[ariseur]

Hihi!!! 💞👐 my first time in the FF fandom and your stuff for sephiroth was the first thing that I saw, your writing and headcanons for him feel so accurate to his in-game self! If I may, I wanted to request maybe some hcs for a shapeshifter!reader x sephiroth 👉👈 im not really that well versed in the world and lore of ff, so I'm not really sure if a shapeshifter is even plausible in game :')

Maybe reader was an ex experiment of some sorts, made to be used as a weapon?

I just really want to annoy sephiroth as a cat or sumth (i think sephiroth deserves a Turkish angora to match with his gorgeous hair 🤲 despite being around puppies so often)

For a little angsty hcs maybe readers transformations can be painful at times or not even work out properly so they kind of end up looking messed up :') (or they just get something like a dog ear not changing back to a normal human ear after changing back into a human on a more silly note)

This also kind of opens up for more... naughty things, just change a limb into something, y'know. But I saw that you don't write NSFW in your rules so I'm perfectly okay with you leaving this part out! Feel free to ignore this request, I'm just having brain worms about sephiroth 💞💕 love love love your sephiroth stuff he is the best wife 🫶

A CHANGELING - SEPHIROTH

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - helloooo anon!! i literally loved this request sm thank you so much for sending it in and those kind words 💕!! i’m not exactly sure if it’s possible for a shapeshifter to exist in ffvii, as far as i’m aware the main source of the planet ( mako ) only really helps with like super strength and SOLDIER abilities? but if you look further into the games and you see the.. things.. hojo keep in those test tubes, i think the “used-as-a-weapon” circumstances are pretty doable in this situation :) feel free to send any more ideas if you have any!!

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - intended lowercase, i talk about pre and post nibelheim seph, post nibelheim sephiroth being manipulative and psychologically abusive ( canon ), spoilers for crisis core and sephs origin story, at the end of the blurb he calls you a silly girl so fem!reader in mind although the rest is gn!reader, lmk if i missed anything!!

✧˖° SEPHIROTH with a shapeshifting reader— hmmm.. i think it depends on your attitude towards the whole situation.

✧˖° for example, if you’re more nonchalant about the situation then i suppose he would be, too. im sure he would be curious at first, but ultimately i dont think he’d care all that much. if you’re used in battle or are well known among shinra or some other organization and he ends up meeting you ( im starting off with pre nibelheim SEPHIROTH first lol ), then he’d definitely be fascinated by your capabilities and how far you can stretch your talents out.

✧˖° if we’re in crisis core era and its like.. before the events that transpired with genesis n all that— he’d wouldnt be as interested as one might think. he’d def be like, “ooh cool” but after the essential introduction then it’d must become normal to him. i think his reaction would also depend on how well you can control your abilities and how you use them to your advantage !! like— for example; if you can stretch one of your limbs or manipulate any part of your body, he’d wanna experiment with that and ask you some questions whenever you have time. if you can change your shape into an animal or another person though— he’ll definitely have a little more fun with it

✧˖° post nibelheim SEPHIROTH takes more advantage of your situation, especially if you can morph yourself or change into another being. if you can shapeshift into an animal or something small, he’ll have you scope stuff out for him or something like that. he will entirely and shamelessly abuse your power and will somehow make you think that you’re obligated to do this for him— especially if you knew him pre nibelheim and still stuck with him afterwards. you do want him to feel better, right? won’t you do this simple task for him? he promises that he’ll treat you well and will return back to normal if you just do this one thing for him :((

✧˖° i think his fixation on jenova and his own identity might even transfer over to you in some form. i feel like sephiroth believes things happen for a reason and so after his spiral, he often thinks that you were brought to him and that its a sign. he’ll use your ability and somehow connect it to his role in the lifestream and that it symbolizes versatility and you were brought to him with the purpose of your assistance to his goals n whatever blah blah blah post nibelheim SEPHIROTH is mean in his own way and i am sorry but i am not an apologist for this man’s actions !! i fully believe that he would manipulate you into becoming his little puppet to help accomplish his own ambitions.

✧˖° post nibelheim SEPH does care for you, and he’ll always tell you that— but i cant always say that he says it in good faith.

✧˖° but!! on a more positive note, i think ( pre nibelheim ) SEPHIROTH would be heavily amused with having someone who can alter their shape by his side. as anon mentioned in their request, i can totally see SEPHIROTH with a turkish angora or some sort of cat beside him!! i can just see you trotting over to him all of a sudden, hopping up on the back of his chair as you let your fur whoosh with every sauntered move you take. he furrows his brows, thinly arched and silver, before he realizes whose wet snout is pressed against the nape of his neck as he reaches a gloved hand up to run against your pristine ivory coat; earning a soft purr from you. UGHHHH i need this man so bad SEPHIROTH bae you know where home is

✧˖° if the process of shapeshifting is somewhat painful or it’s more abrasive on the way when you shift back, SEPHIROTH will always try his best to comfort you when it gets too difficult. he might be a little awkward, but the best thing he can offer is a reassuring hand on your lower back as he whispers in your ear that everything will be okay in the end. he’ll even try to make you laugh with his dry ass humor, it might not help because he’s so calm in this situation and you’re probably freaking out but he’s trying his best (╥_╥)

✧˖° something that i really like touching upon when i think about shapeshifters or people with the ability to alter their appearance is body and face dysmorphia!! i think it would be inevitable if you switched yourself up enough and would eventually develop some sort of insecurity within yourself and the way you look— perhaps thinking you looked some way when you didn’t or if everything just starts melding in your brain. i’m not sure if SEPHIROTH would know what to do in this situation but i’m sure he’d understand how you could feel this way, especially if you were treated as a weapon ( we’ll touch up on that next !!).

✧˖° i wrote a fic about SEPH feeling uncomfortable with himself due to the fact that it’s like— written in a setting where his wings are just sprouting, and i feel like that would happen at one point. if you wanna include that fic in this little timeline, then i feel like it’d give him all the more reason to come to your aid when you need it. i mean, if you helped him— isn’t it only fair that he does the same? he won’t tolerate any nitpicking at yourself or self deprecating comments, he won’t tolerate self loathing or anything of the sort; he is the there for you and whether you seek comfort in him is up to you, he reminds you.

✧˖° if you wanna include the ex-weapon part in this, i think SEPHIROTH’s heart would break— especially if it’s post nibelheim. pre cc SEPH is utterly baffled that you were treated that way, and is always cautious when addressing the topic or when talking about your feelings revolving around it.

✧˖° i think any decent human being would feel sympathetic when it’d come to a situation like that, but post nibelheim hits wayyy harder for him. after it comes to light that he was an experiment and only created to be the poster boy for shinra / the perfect SOLDIER, he feels for you even more. except, instead of like his previous self where he’d encourage you to work through it and let these feelings of sadness and emptiness pass along with letting go of your trauma, post nibelheim would have you use it and it only gives him more knowledge in order to manipulate you. he’d make it a case of using your resentment and all of these years of hardships to fuel your anger; to further develop these feelings of hatred towards humanity. it just gives him more to manipulate you with. but, you won’t have to worry about a thing when you’re with him, just help him take over and rightfully restore what’s his— what’s yours.

✧˖° now let’s end on a happier note, shall we? ^.^

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

with his mako eyes flickering over your sheen coat glimmering in the sun, SEPHIROTH watched as you cantered along the grass, soft flecks of dirt trapped under the light brown strands of your fur.

he softly chuckled to himself as he watched your small tongue loll out of your mouth as you panted, observing the heat of the sun getting to you ( or more so, your current body in the form of a dog ) as he sat in the shade, safe from its wrath. his eyes, slender and catlike, stayed fixated as he watched you roll around— your tiny body disappearing momentarily beneath the tall, tapered leaves sprouting from the ground.

sephiroth tilted his head up slightly, narrowing his eyes as he scanned along the knoll before he saw your head pop up from the green weeds, this time, coated with your real human hair and regular face. his lips quirked into a half smile while he watched you grin at him lazily, the sun draining you especially as you change your form. he reveled in the way your pink lips split open with your smile. he reveled in the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, even when you held those big, wet puppy eyes.

your hands slid from underneath you, shoulder with the part as you pushed yourself up from the dirt; ignoring the way it got stuck under your fingernails, reminding yourself that you’d have to clean them out later. putting your knee down, you pushed yourself forward and hustled towards him. letting out an airy laugh, you plopped yourself down on the raised hill where sephiroth sat. the tree above you provided shade that you instantly felt relief once you were under, the coolness of the obstruction healing your soon to be burnt skin.

“‘s hot out here, i swear. can nev’r get a break.” you muttered, placing both of your hands on your face as you leaned back into the foreign dirt behind you, uncaring of small bugs simply trying to traverse around you. sephiroth laughed, “i can see that.”

he turned his head to the side, scanning over your heated figure before he cocked his head in bemusement. letting out a small huff, you peeked one eye open out from underneath your elbow— even in the blistering rays of the sun, you could never get tired of sephiroth’s laugh; whether a wry chuckle or a cachinnation that was never intended to make it past his lips. you let out a small huff yourself, “what’s so funny?”

“one body part remains unchanged, dearest.” he lifted a leather clad hand up to his face, motioning towards his ear while his gaze softened; watching how your hands came up to flutter around the right side of your face only to find no ear. your brows crinkled as they met in the middle before you felt on the top of your head, the pads of your thumb and index finger fiddling with the folded ear protruding through your hair. lips forming into an ‘o’, you made an audible noise of surprise before you shut your eyes and let your head loll back again.

you applied pressure on the morphed body part, sephiroth watching in awe as you concentrated on fixing your error. your lips twitched upwards in a small smile before removing your hands and putting them at your sides, looking back at your beloved while he remained collected as ever.

a wider smile tugged at his lips— a rare sight indeed. he shook his head before mumbling a small, “silly girl.”

𐙚 taglist ; @snoopicle @ch3rryfiles

𐙚 requests are open — june nineteenth, 2024

[cha-melodius]

HAPPY 100 FICS / 1000 KUDOS DARLING

Could I please get Firstprince at some sort of pet store?

💜💜💜💜

(HAPPY BIRTHDAY CRICKET!!!! This is the fill for your fandom fest request of firstprince at a pet store. Thank you for being such an excellent doc gremlin and wonderful friend, I hope this fic brightens your day!!)

The Hazards of Unsolicited Toy Advice

(T, 2.2k, read it below or on AO3)

There’s a staggeringly gorgeous man loitering by a display of chew toys.

The sight of him momentarily brings Henry to a complete halt, which confuses David. He reaches the end of his lead and looks back at Henry with his head tilted, clearly wondering what could have interrupted their usual pilgrimage to the elaborate collection of bones, pigs’ ears, and various treats that make this store worth going out of their way to visit. Unfortunately for David, Henry needs a moment. He knows he’s being kind of weird, but surely he can be forgiven. It’s not every day one comes across the personification of pure sunlight in a pet store.

The man doesn’t seem to notice Henry’s watching, thankfully. His full lips pout thoughtfully as he pokes idly at a few toys, picking them up and putting them down again without much intention. A few dark curls fall forward over his forehead as he props one hand on his devastatingly narrow waist, perfectly emphasized by the way his tailored button-down is tucked into navy chinos that hug a truly perfect arse.

David chuffs softly, pulling Henry out of his reverie. Right. The beautiful man looks like he could use some decision-making assistance, perhaps. Henry will take whatever tiny opening he can get.

“If you need some advice on toys, I have some experience,” Henry said, only realizing the way it sounds once the words are out of his mouth.

Unfortunately, the beautiful man does not miss the innuendo. He looks up at Henry, warm brown eyes fringed by the longest eyelashes Henry’s ever seen flashing with mirth as his face breaks into a grin and, oh, if Henry was in trouble before, it was nothing on this. The man’s entire face lights up, nearly blinding in its brilliance, and Henry’s stomach swoops.

“Do you, now?” the man returns as his lips settle into a smirk. He looks Henry up and down, and Henry doesn’t think he’s imagining the interest in his expression.

Henry’s cheeks are heating, but he holds the man’s gaze. “Yes. David is a bit of a connoisseur.”

The man’s eyebrows shoot upward. “David? Is that your…”

“My dog, of course,” Henry says, gesturing toward where David is sitting obediently at his feet. “He’s got quite the collection.”

“Dog named David, ok,” the man mutters, laughing a little to himself. “Does he have a favorite?”

Henry reaches out and plucks a rubber toy shaped like a duck and hands it to the man. “This one is probably his first choice.” At his feet, David makes a noise of interest, and Henry glances down at him. “You have this one at home, Davey.”

The man turns the toy over in his hands, but before he can say anything an employee walks up and hands him a plain brown paper bag with the top stapled shut and some numbers written on the side.

“Anything else, sir?” she asks.

“No, that’s it. Thanks,” the man says, then looks at Henry and lifts up the duck. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Yes, well, if you need any further toy suggestions, we’re here regularly,” Henry manages to say, and it sounds like just as much of a come-on as he means it to.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the man replies, smirking, then heads off to the front of the store.

~~~~~

Henry runs into the beautiful man again a couple weeks later, standing in the same place as last time. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans today with his curls combed and tamed, and is no less stunning for it (though Henry’s always been partial to curls). Today, Henry is slightly more prepared; he’s thought about—ok, fantasized about—running into the man again. This time he’s getting a name, at the very least.

“So, was it a success?” he asks as he walks up to the man. Warmth blooms in his chest at the look of recognition that takes over the man’s face, though it’s quickly followed by a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“The toy. Did your dog like it?”

“Oh. Yeah, definitely,” the man says, bobbing his head a little. “Any other suggestions?”

Henry lets his gaze skim over the toys until he sees the plush strawberry David’s been favoring lately and picks it up, but the man shakes his head apologetically. “No soft toys.”

“A penchant for shredding them apart?” Henry guesses.

“Hard to keep clean,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Always an important consideration for any toy,” Henry agrees sagely, only for the man to raise his eyebrows again. It seems to happen with alarming regularity. As does the way Henry’s cheeks heat. He clears his throat and picks up a rubber toy with numerous large holes punched through it. “What about something like this? You can put treats in these for a bit of a challenge.”

The man looks at the toy consideringly before taking it from Henry. “That one could work.”

“I’m Henry, by the way.”

The man opens his mouth, only to be interrupted by another employee with a brown paper bag. After accepting it, he looks back at Henry. “Well, thanks again, Henry,” he says with a little wave, leaving Henry decidedly unsatisfied with the outcome of this encounter.

~~~~~

“The toy with the holes was a hit.” 

Henry turns to see the beautiful man approaching him this time. He’s already got his brown paper bag clutched in one hand this time, and his other stuffed in the pocket of his jeans.

“That’s good to hear,” Henry replies, smiling. At his feet, David starts wagging his tail, apparently having by now decided that the man is a friend. “You’re back again.”

“Turns out you have good taste in toys,” the man says, shrugging a little.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” Henry says without really thinking about it, and the eyebrows shoot up again. Henry coughs. “I mean, dog toys.”

He does not mean dog toys.

The man grins wickedly, like he is not fooled. “Well, be that as it may, I thought I might try my luck a third time.”

Henry thinks that it’s about time that he tried his luck, actually. “How about, you tell me your name, and I’ll give you another suggestion,” he counters.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware this toy advice came at a price.”

“Too steep for you?”

“Nah, that’s a bargain, sweetheart,” the man replies. “I’m Alex.”

“Alex,” Henry echoes softly, tasting the name on his tongue, and Alex’s lips part slightly. “And what about your dog?”

It seems to take Alex a moment to parse his question. “Oh, Miss Piggy. She came with the name. I adopted her from a friend of a friend that was trying to get rid of her.”

“That was good of you.”

Alex shrugs. “She’s low maintenance, and it’s kind of nice to talk to someone else in my empty apartment. Not that she talks back.”

Henry tries to suppress the little thrill of hope at the fact that Alex doesn’t live with anyone. “I understand,” he says. “David isn’t much of a conversationalist, but he’s an excellent listener.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Since he was a puppy.”

“So you chose the name David,” Alex says, a touch incredulously.

“I did,” Henry confirms. “It’s after Bowie.”

Alex blinks, like he’s re-evaluating something. “Oh. That’s cool.” He crouches down, which of course makes David start squirming in desire to get to Alex, but he stays sitting next to Henry’s feet. “He’s very well-behaved. Can I pet him?”

“He’d like that.”

Alex reaches a hand out to scratch behind David’s ears, which David immediately presses into, his tail thumping rapidly on the floor. “Who’s a good boy?” Alex coos, and Henry honestly counts himself lucky that Alex’s soft smile is directed at David instead of him; he might not survive it. But then Alex looks up at him in his current position practically kneeling on the floor, and Henry comes very close to shuffling off this mortal coil right then and there anyway.

“So,” Alex says as he stands again, brushing his hands off on his trousers, “what kind of toy advice do I get for my name?”

Henry very nearly suggests some quite different toy advice in response to that question, but manages to bring his brain back online at the last second. “Well,” he says, picking up a tube-shaped rubber toy, “if she liked the treat toy, then this one is a similar idea.” He holds it out to Alex, but he doesn’t let go when Alex grabs the other end. “I have another request.”

The eyebrows go again. “This is an expensive toy.”

Henry shakes his head. “Not a price. But I’d very much like to take you to dinner, if you’d be interested.”

The dimple in Alex’s cheek deepens and he drops his gaze before looking up at Henry through his eyelashes. Christ, but this man is lethal.

“I’m interested.”

~~~~~

Alex tugs Henry in by the front of his jacket as he backs up against the front door to his flat, and Henry wastes no time before sealing their mouths together again. At the end of their first date, Alex had dropped him off outside his building and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Henry’s mouth; it had been utterly lovely, but Henry has to admit he’s very much enjoying this, the conclusion to their second date. Alex’s tongue in his mouth and the cut of his teeth, Alex’s hands grabbing onto his waist, Alex’s thigh pressing in between his.

“You wanna come in, baby?” Alex asks in the gaps between their kisses.

The endearment makes something warm settle in his gut, and he grins against Alex’s lips. “Thought you’d never ask, love.”

They stumble through the door, and despite the fact that Alex has now attached himself to Henry’s throat, Henry finds himself distracted, listening for the tell-tale sound of claws on the hardwood. Nothing comes, though. Perhaps Miss Piggy is a heavy sleeper?

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks, clearly noticing his inattention.

“Sorry,” Henry says, shaking his head. “I was expecting your dog.”

For some reason, that makes Alex look down and bite his lip, and when he finally meets Henry’s eyes again, he looks decidedly sheepish. “I, um. Don’t have a dog.”

Henry blinks at him. Opens and closes his mouth. “You don’t?”

Alex shakes his head. “No.”

“So you let me suggest you dog toys…”

“Because when a ridiculously hot guy wants to talk to you about dog toys, you talk about dog toys,” Alex says, a little helplessly.

It’s honestly hard to be anything but insanely flattered, but he still doesn’t quite understand. “So all of that about adopting Miss Piggy, and the toy reviews… it was all made up?”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t,” Alex says, nonsensically. Then he takes Henry by the hand and leads him into the living room, where there’s a terrarium set up along one wall. Amongst the water dish and a fake-rock hut, Henry spots the duck, and the toy with the holes, and the tube, which has the head and tail of a small brown-and-tan-patterned snake sticking out of one end. “Miss Piggy is a snake,” Alex tells him. “A western hognose, to be specific. Hence the name, I guess. I was in the pet store buying frozen mice for her the times I saw you. I did adopt her from a friend of a friend who didn’t want her anymore, and she does like the toys, as you can see.”

Henry bends down to get a closer look at the snake, who has big eyes and a little turned-up snout. “I never thought a snake could be cute,” he says, unaccountably and unexpectedly charmed by the small creature.

“She’s a drama queen, is what she is,” Alex says. When Henry looks at him questioningly, he explains, “When they feel threatened, they either pretend to be a viper or play dead. Turn over onto their back, tongue hanging out and everything. She hasn’t done that since right after I got her, though. I think she’s happier here.”

Alex gets a kind of soft, fond smile on his face as he talks about the snake, and Henry can’t help but be ridiculously charmed by that, too. He takes a step closer to Alex and slips his arms around his waist, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to his temple, and Alex’s smile widens.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“You care for her,” Henry says simply. “It’s endearing.”

“Of course I do,” Alex replies. “How could you not love that face?”

“Mm,” Henry hums in agreement. “I suppose this means we don’t have to worry about her waking us early in the morning to go outside.”

Alex’s eyes sparkle as he turns in Henry’s arms, looping his own around Henry’s shoulders. “You planning on spending the night, baby? What about David?”

“Is it terribly forward if I said I already arranged to have someone take care of him tonight?” Henry asks, biting his lower lip.

“Not any more than what I was gonna ask you,” Alex says, smirking as his fingers play idly with a flippy piece of Henry’s hair.

“Which is?”

“Well, y’know, I wanted some advice.” He leans in close, until his lips are brushing the angle of Henry’s jaw, and murmurs, “On a different kind of toy.”

Henry doesn’t need to be asked twice.

[robin-the-enby]

Hi! Can I get an angst/comfort fic of Arthur with a female s/o who is depressed and suicidal? Like he walks in on his s/o c*tting while having a mental breakdown? Or he just notices the cuts/scars? Or he walks in on his s/o bl33ding out?? Idk you can get creative with it I’ve just been having an extremely rough couple months. If this makes you uncomfortable then you can just ignore this request, but thanks anyways! I hope you have a great day/night!! <3

It's my problem if I feel the need to hide

Pairing: Arthur x f!reader

Summary: You feel under the weather, but decide not to tell anyone. As your condition only worsens, your friends start to worry about you. It's when you decide to let everything go your knight with blue eyes and a cheeky smile comes to the rescue.

Warnings: depression, suicidal ideation, not being able to care for oneself (containing lack of hygiene and proper meals), mentions of vomit(ing) (3), negative self talk, dark thoughts

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay of this fic, I hope it will be of use to you still. I haven't written for this fandom in a long while, so getting back to it was a little hard, though I enjoyed it none the less. I tried not to use any (Y/N)s and make it as racially neutral as possible, as well as appearance-neutral (Arthur carries reader 1 time, but he's stronger than a regular human, and y'all deserve it ladies, no matter your size). If anyone wants to talk about anything at all, my dms are open, as well as my ask box. Take care of yourselves and stay safe!

The human mind is possibly nature's greatest invention. The complexity with which all its components interact to keep the body functioning is nothing short of phenomenal. And not only that, but it is aware of itself, encasing its own conscience inside a safe vessel, built and evolved specifically to protect it. And as time progressed, and all the basic needs of the body were cared for, there came a need to create. The body could easily be fed, but the conscience needed a different type of sustenance.

The human mind is capable of incredible things. It can set goals for itself as well as achieve them. It shaped the entire world to its liking, for better or for worse. The human mind is the reason why we live the lives we do today. It is the thing that keeps us alive and sane.

It's funny how drastically that can change.

If you'd ask any of the men residing in the mansion on who the worst enemy of humans is, you're sure all of them would at least mention the human conscience, if not directly choose it. After all, their lives have been woven through with the thread of sorrow, the perpetrator being none other than the human mind- theirs or someone else's.

At this point, you feel like you've at least got a peek at the complex inner worlds of history's greatest minds. Some you knew better than others, but you've been le Comte's servant for long enough to consider all the mansion's residents at least friends.

It was evident to anyone who has been in the mansion for at least a month that all of the people (and vampires) residing in it had some sort of baggage, wearing them down even in their second undead life. Some were better at hiding it than others, some just felt more comfortable keeping their troubles to themselves, while others' emotions and traumas were sometimes too great, too overwhelming to be kept locked inside their bodies.

You've tried your best to help those who needed it, both physically and mentally. It helped a few to open up to you at least a little and as time went on, with your hard work, you've earned respect for yourself even amongst the toughest nuts in the mansion. Poking through others' personal affairs and traumas carried along numerous fights as well as apologies and in the end just served to strengthen the bond between you and the residents. And yet, at times like these...you couldn' help but feel alone.

Like all the others, you had to shoulder the burden of traumas, insecurities and unpleasant experiences collected unwillingly throughout your life. You suspected the others knew of this, or at least had a hunch that you, like all of them, haven't had the pleasure of living a carefree life.

They saw you as an independent, strong and courageous woman, resilient and kind in any situation. And if you were in the right state of mind, you would agree. But lately, you began to doubt these traits of yours, the ones you valued so much and were valued for.

You weren't a stranger to struggling and you knew that anyone in need of help deserved to receive it and should not be scared to ask for it.

So why did the thought of asking for help make your stomach churn?

You've been pondering that question for a few days now. Lately, your entire reality seemed to have shifted. At first, you didn't think anything was wrong, a simple bad day, or a bad week wasn't anything to be too worried about. Nothing a nice, relaxing weekend couldn't fix, right? And yet, when you had tasks to complete, you felt agitated and annoyed, but when you had nothing to do, you were antsy and restless. Always feeling like something should be happening, like you should be doing something. For some reason, you couldn't make yourself to do the things you felt you should be doing.

Soon everything has become a bother. Tasks you could usually do with one hand were suddenly so hard that by the end of the day, the thought of bathing or changing into clean clothes made you want to scream until your throat was sore. And so you chipped away at your routine that you so painstainkingly built when you appeared in this time, until the only remaining activities in your days were your work and some basic necessities.

You knew it was getting bad. And it constantly created an almost numbing whirlwind of emotions you really didn't need right now. Why was this happening? What brought it on? Why now?? Is it going to get worse? All these questions and none you had an answer to. You had guesses and various techniques you learnt here and there back in your time, but...you couldn't bring yourself to do anything.

You were trapped. At least it felt like it. Trapped inside yourself, inside your mind. You knew you should tell someone, that if you let it go on, it would sooner or later consume you. But you couldn't do anything. It was as if your body didn't listen to you.

It seemed the residents were starting to get suspicious of your strange mood as of late. There were times when one of them would approach you and carefully ask about your wellbeing, and as much as you wanted to say something, you never did. You logically knew that the first step would be the one to break through the loop, the one that would make all the others just a little bit easier until you felt normal again. But anytime you tried to break through the selfdestructive habits you had fallen into, a wave of such tirednes, nausea and shame overcame you, that you simply caved to your mind's twisted whispers.

You concluded that your best option at this moment was to lay low and let it pass. Your days have become a steady routine of wake up, work, go to bed. And repeat. It was manageable, at first, even with the onslaught of thoughts your mind was conjuring, managing to come up with more and more ways to taunt you with. But as days and then weeks passed, your energy slowly seeped away from your body and it retaliated by shutting off and out anything unnecessary to save as much of what was remaining.

These things included mostly socialising. You became less talkative, while you would usually enthusiastically engage in conversations, if not outright start them, lately you would not speak unles directly spoken to. It has taken a toll on your concentration as well. Many times when someone would try to strike up a conversation with you, they'd have to repeat their question or even call out your name mid-conversation, because mentally you just weren't there. These things not only started to worry Sebastian, your biggest constant in your new life, given that you worked alongside him every day, but also the other residents. You knew of this, as out of it as you might have seemed and/or have been these past few weeks, you knew that they noticed, because you knew them. But what started as a simple snowball had alrady turned into an avalanche and you had to admit that you were no longer in control.

Not that you really cared. You knew you should care, should be trying harder than ever to break out of this spell, but you couldn't. And every time you might have felt strong enough to confess how you were feeling, to lean on someone, to get the help you knew you needed, a sudden pang of fear pierced your chest and you shrivelled back, back into your own small shell that was your skull.

Trying to find a reason for this foolish anxiety proved not so easy, when your mind would make up about five reasons why you should keep your mouth shut every time you even dared to ask yourself such a question.

What if they didn't believe you?

What if it wasn't not that bad?

What if you were just making it up? Making it seem bigger than it is?

These people have gone through so much. They've seen war, witnessed and felt abuse and probably had been through things you couldn't even imagine. Why should they help you, when they're the ones who needed help?

You were not worthy.

Such comparisons were something you chastised anyone who would confess experiencing them for. And yet, when it came to you, it felt like a holy truth. Something that could not and should not be questioned. Because you don't want to be selfish, do you?

You've dealt with this by yourself before, surely you could do it again and not drag down others with you. These and many others became your daily mantras. Lay low, hide, be small, don't make a noise. Survive. But was that really how you wanted to live? If you could even call that a living. You were surviving, yes, but at what cost? For a promise of a period of time where you wouldn't feel like the world is made out of cardboard? A period of time where you wouldn't feel like screaming and crying every second of every day? And how long would that last? A few months, a year maybe? Was it really worth the struggle?

You blinked yourself out of your thoughts when someone vigorously snapped in front of your eyes. Looking around in slight daze, your eyes fall upon a smiling face. "There you are! Theo says he's just waiting for you to walk face first into a wall!" Arthur says cheerily, showing you his signature smirk. "I, like the good friend I am, keep defending you of course. But it's hard when your mind seems to get further and further away from us every day. At this rate, you'll wander off into Seine soon. And we wouldn't want that, would we?" he playfully jabbed at you.

You could feel yourself shaking your head, but the only thing you could focus on was how nice it acually seemed, the cold water seeping through clothes and circling your limbs, the undercurrents keeping you down, where nothing could get you, laying you down onto the riverbed, weighed by the water in your lungs... "So, what's going on in that noggin of yours, hm?"

Arthur was, besides Sebastian, the closest person to you out of all the others. You enjoyed his easygoing demeanor and his jokes never failed to make you laugh. He was a terrible flirt though, and someties could be pretty pushy with his advances as you've realised over the time you two spent together. Luckilly, after a firm conversation backed up by Theo, he had calmed down significantly towards you. The writer still heavily complimented you, always putting that silver tongue of his to use, but you thought nothing of it. He was like that with everyone, even some of the other residents, so the possibility of it ever meaning anything more than banter or a simple compliment never even crossed your mind.

"You're doing it again." the man in question sighed. You blinked at him with confusion. As if reading your thoughts, Arthur clarified "You're in your head again. It must be something really interesting in there to make you so distracted." he joked again, but his expression turned serious "But honestly, what's going on? You haven't been yourself for quite a while now and everyone's getting worried. Even Wolf asked me if I knew what was up with you the other day!" the writer looked at you intently "You know that we're here for you, right? Even if you feel like it's stupid, if you need anything, you can tell us."

You averted your eyes from Arthur' piercing gaze. You knew his words were sincere and it made your chest squeeze uncomfortably. Looking straight ahead, in the direction which you were going, you answered, trying to make your voice as leveled as you could "Thank you for worrying Arthur, but I'm alright, really. I've been thinking of asking le Comte for a break. It would be nice to have some off time." This wasn't a complete lie, since having some down time, where you could pretend time has stopped really did sound appealing, but now you'd have to actually go and ask the good count, which you really didn't want to. Not because you were worried you wouldn't be given a break, but because it was another plan to be made and you barely had enough energy to last you until the end of the day, much less go somewhere out of your own volition.

Arthur knew that you were lying, or at least not telling him everything, so he grinned at you again and spoke confidently "Alright, love, the game is on! I gave you a chance to explain youself, but it seems I'll have to solve this mystery myself." he winked at you and you expected him to take his leave. But Arthur softly grabbed your arm and stopped you in the middle of the halway you were in. Turning to face him in his hold you looked at him questioningly. His smile is much softer now, and if you could focus properly, you would see worry glinting in his eyes "If you ever change your mind, you can stop by. Day, night, doen't matter. We're here for you, love. I'm here for you. Just as much as you're here for us." and as soon as he finished speakig, he was gone. Down the hallway, in the direction of his room. You quietly turned around, trying to process the strange encounter while you went your way.

Your mind was surprisingly quiet for a few hours after that.

You eventually did end up in le Comte's study. Nerves were wracking your body and mind the entire day and when you finally did enter the dreaded room, after all your chores were done for the day, you felt like you would start crying at any moment. For some reason, you felt awful for doing this. You didn't need the break. You didn't need off time to get better physically or because you had too many chores. Why did you want a break, besides Arthur catching on that there was, indeed, something wrong? The only thing you had planned for this break of yours was rotting away in your bed and doing as little as humanely possible. Maybe fate would be so kind and take you away in your sleep. Let you wither away like an overwatered flower.

You tried to make the discussion as quick as possible. Fortunately, the count didn't ask too many questions about your wellbeing and the reason for taking a break, remembering well that you haven't had one in a good while. He did ask if you consulted Sebas about it and you forced down a shudder at the mention of your good friend's name. Not because the butler was opposed to you taking a break, he actually kindly insisted you take one, revealing that he also noticed your mental absence in the past weeks, which could be almost counted as a month now. The worry and confusion in his tone as well as his expression made you wish he told you to stay, to help him, anything to try and convince you to not do what you were about to.

Why were you so worried? There wasn't a reason you should feel bad about taking a break. Even if you physically were just as spry as a grasshopper, taking a break for the sake of mental health was just as important. But deep down, you coudn't lie to yourself. Deep down you knew you were going to give up completely. Either for someone to find you, or to be left to rot. And right now, you hoped for the latter, even if it was still scary to admit.

After Comte gave you a week off, asking if it was enough time for you, which you hastily confirmed, feeling bile rise up your throat and wishing for the comfines of your room, your shaky legs and hazy mind managed to carry you to your room. After spending some time emptying the contents of your stomach, which were absolutely too small you would bet, you nothing but collapsed onto your bed. Mouth unrinsed, hair oily and ruffled, it had finally dawned on you how much of a mess you must have loked like. This realisation finally seemed to open the dam that was holding back everything you were feeling. The disgust, the shame, the fear, the anxiety the heavines, the loneliness, but most importnatly the longing.

Fast, salty tears carried all of that out of your body, leaving your face a puffy, sticky mess. Suddenly, you felt rage boil inside of your chest, sprading quickly to your head. Why didn't you say anything? You were so worried and because of what? Your own mind? Could you be any more stupid? The very same mind that put you through absolute hell this past month was now angry at itself, at its own actions. Why did the world have to be this cruel? Why couldn't it grant you the simple request of a mind that would not try to sabotage itself? And now it was too late.

Yo chose this, you thought to yourself. You chose this and these were the consequences of your actions. As if the tears have released all your pent up frustration in your body, all that it left was numbness. A kind of numbness that made your eyelids heavy, making them gravitate towards each other and pulling you into a deep, calm slumber. The kind of slumber you have not been able to achieve for more than the month you've been actively suffering. But also the kind of slumber that would not bring you closer to salvation.

You woke up, not knowing the time and not really finding yourself caring either. You felt strangely...calm. There was no hunger, no thirst, nothing. Only suffocating quiet, the likes of which you would feel in the deep blue of the ocean. You laid stil for what felt like hours, but could have also been minutes, before you succumbed to unconsciousness again.

This has gone on for a few days of your week long break. At one point you felt the pang of hunger, yet you had no will to satiate it. You only rose from your bed late into the night, when the squeezing walls of your stomach, at this point surely eating itself, threatened to spill nothing but its own acid. You tiptoed as quietly as your stiff muscles could into the kitchen, and after munching on some bread and water, because even though you got up, you still didn't feel like cooking, or that you deserved anything more than the simplest of dishes, you quietly stalked the halls back into your room. You fell asleep again, your stomach satisfied, or maybe convinced into satisfaction by your mind, the last thing you heard was the faint sound of Mozart's piano in the dead of the night.

This cycle had repeated for another few days. Your days were interrupted by quiet knocking that would wake you from your slow decline, and sometimes joined by murmurs behind the door. You couldn't find it in you to care. The door wasn't locked. At one point, you could swear you saw a shadow in your window, but it was gone too soon for your slowed mind to focus on it.

One morning, somewhere at the end of your break, not that you were keeping track of time, your door opened. A gust of fresh air was the first thing that barged its way into your room, chasing out the old and musty, albeit warm air from it. You shivered and wiggled deeper under your covers, grumbling hoarsely in protest. Your half asleep mind registered someone slowly walking into your room, as if they were scared to find out what was in it. You kept your eyes closed.

Arthur knelt down beside your bed, looking at your sickly, worn out face. Carefully sneaking his arm under your blanket, his hand searched for yours until it could take it into its own. Caressing your knuckles with his thumb, he cooed softly "Oh, love. I am so sorry. I am so sorry we let this get so far." You didn't respond. What was there to say? "It isn't your fault" you croaked out quietly, not having enough energy to say it loudly and fearing your voice wouldn't work.

"Why did you hide from us? We would've helped..." the writer almost whined, and you could feel the guilt and worry radiating from him. You wanted so desperately to answer, to give him a good reason for how foolish you were acting, but you couldn't. There was nothing that would excuse you. Nothing.

Seeing your slightly open eyes well up with tears, Arthur rushed closer to comfort you. Shushing and soothing you like a small child after a booster shot, he held you close and you tried not to weep hader. "It's alright, love, everything is alright. I've got you. I've got you now, it's good. You're alright."

After you calmed down slightly, you wanted nothing more than to shoo him away, close yourself off again an bury yourself into your bed to get away from the immense shame you felt. But Arthur seemed to be having none of that. He softly but insistently reached under you and helped you sit up with one arm, holding your hand with the other still. you couldn't bring yourslf to look him in the eye and yet his tone never changed from the soft lull he comforted you with. "Come on now, darling. Let's get you cleaned up."

Your mind wanted desperately to push back at him, scream and yell and fight, but you almost limply let him straighten you up and help you walk over to the bathroom. The writer's heart nearly broke in two as he saw you in the same clothes you were in when he last spoke to you. The image of you suffering in silence for so long made him nearly tear up as well, but he held himself back, focusing on you being his biggest priority.

He ran a bath for you, helped you out of your clothes, his gaze never cascading from your face, looking for any signs of overstepping any boundaries and when he found none, he helped you into the bathtub, first washing your hair and then your body, asking if you could and wanted to handle your private parts yourself. You whispered out a small yes, feeling somewhat ashamed still and wanting to make his efforts a bit easier. Letting you soak in the blissfully warm water, a question appeared in your mind "Arthur..." you called out quietly "Were you the one knocking at my door?" you asked timidly, not knowing fully if it wasn't some kind of delirium your mind put you through. The writer's face became solemn as you took a peek at his face and he spoke, his words and tone equally heavy "Everyone did. We were worried about you. After we heard about your break, we thought it might do you well. Everyone noticed that you weren't quite yourself. But after the first few days, when no one ever saw you leave the mansion, let alone your room, our worries doubled. Wolf said he noticed you walking to the kitchen at night, but Sebas only noticed small portions of bread disappearing from the kitchen, so we wanted to check up on you. We tried knocking at your door, not wanting to disturb you if you really were physically ill, but that didn't do anything." "And the window?" you interrupted him, casting your eyes downward again at the rude gesture. But Arthur continued, with no offense taken "That was Dazai. He was checking up on you a lot. In his own way." Arthur smiled sadly "Today, I had enough. Something was telling me you needed help. And I'm glad I listened to my instinct." he smiled at you and you felt your dry lips lift up ever so slightly. You were found when you needed it the most, it seemed.

After Arthur dried you off and helped you put on fresh clothes, he told you Sebas made a nutritious meal for you that wouldn't upset your stomach. He also suggested it would do you good to get out of your room for at least a little while and eat it in the kitchen. Seeing the panic in your eyes, he rushed to assure you "You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to." And so you nodded.

The mansion seemed awfully quiet. There was no one in the halls, no sounds from either corner of the building. On your slow trek to the kitchen, you passed Mozart. The musician didn't say anything, but his lips melted from their usual stern frown to a warm smile and you couldn't help but to start crying again. Athur sat down with you on the cold ground of the hallway, pulling you onto his lap and rocking you back and forth until you felt good enough to walk again. Mozart was nowhere in sight.

You found out that Sebas made you a delicious soup, one with enough vegetables and some meat, the broth strong enough to get you up on your feet in no time. You ate slowly and savoured every spoonful. You suddenly realised how much you've missed eating good food. After your meal was done and Arthur washed your bowl and spoon in silence, he slowly sat down next to you. "How are you feeling?" he asked carefully, knowing that you were nowhere near out of the deep end yet, but desperately hoping his efforts weren't for naught. "Better. Fuller." you answered simply. After another beat of comfortable silence, where you soaked up the sun pouring in through the windows, the writer asked again "Would you like to go back to your room?" You pursed your lips. Suddenly, the idea of your bed and the stuffy room you hid yourself away in sounded horrible. But he comfortable, fluffy clothes and full stomach were pullig at your eyelids again, sleep threatening to take over. "My room it is, then?"

Arthur piped up and you nodded. Before you knew it, you were scooped up bridal style by the vampire, feeling his soft lips on your hairline "Rest, love. I've got you." Soon, you were in a room that smelled of coffe and cologne with a hint of ink. Once again, you wriggled under the covers, these ones feeling much fresher than yours, as you succumbed to sleep once again. But this time, you weren't alone.

[cinderella-ish]

Fruits Basket Queer Headcanons

The more I watch and read Fruits Basket, the more I get the sense that no one is straight here. Well... almost no one. So, in honor of pride month, here are my queer headcanons for the cast of Fruits Basket!

(Disclaimer that these are my own personal headcanons, obviously nothing official, etc... I try to draw on evidence from the text, but I'll admit I'm occasionally going purely off vibe. Also, I'm bi and genderfluid, so that's the lens I'm bringing to this. I'd love to hear your headcanons, especially if they differ from mine! Enjoy!)

Genderfluid and/or genderqueer: Ayame and Ritsu

I (probably somewhat controversially) think a lot of the gender non-conformity among Fruits Basket characters is just that: gender non-conformity. Momiji is one example; he dresses in girls' clothing (though not "like a girl") until his growth spurt, but it seems important to him to be seen as a man from at least that point forward.

Ritsu is someone whose gender identity and/or nonconformity really should've been explored more in the manga - as written, it feels like Ritsu's exploration of gender was viewed as something he'd grow out of, rather than a search for understanding himself. He doesn't really seem to mind being identified as either male or female, though he obviously feels a lot of shame about his comfort with wearing women's clothes (though no one around him when we meet him really seems to mind, which is nice-- I also appreciate that Ritsu was shown to have friends who adore him outside of the Sohmas). Anyway, the fact that he seems okay with being referred to as both a man and a woman is the entire basis for this headcanon.

Ritsu also idolizes Ayame, and I think part of this stems from Ayame's own security in his non-traditional gender presentation. We don't really get a lot of Ayame's thoughts on gender, despite his line of work, but he strikes me as the sort of person who would enjoy playing with his own gender presentation and would be more than open to exploring his gender identity (and probably has!). I think Ayame would lean more toward having an expansive view of masculinity rather than dressing more feminine when he feels more feminine, but I also think he would embrace the different ways people might perceive his gender.

Transgender Woman: Akito Sohma

This I think is quite clear in canon. Akito was assigned male at birth, then transitioned to female.

What makes it hard for some people to see Akito as trans is that the reason she was assigned male at birth was not the typical reason people are assigned male at birth in our world (it was her mother's demand, rather than a guess based on the shape of her genitals), but I don't think that makes her any less trans.

Under the Ace and/or Aro Umbrellas

This umbrella is a little tricky for several of these characters, because they've been forbidden from dating, or had very controlling parents, or thought they'd only hurt anyone they loved, so they haven't necessarily had time to figure out whether they've just repressed that part of themselves or they just don't experience attraction at all/without a strong emotional connection first. (Not everyone needs time to figure that out, though!) But anyway, here's who I think would eventually find themselves under at least one of these umbrellas!

Asexual/Aromantic: Kazuma

I love the tidbit that Kazuma tried dating women, but talked so much about Kyo that he never got a second date. I like the interpretation of him as a gay man, but to me, he reads as asexual/aromantic. Dating just doesn't even seem to be on his radar!

Demisexual/Demiromantic: Kyo, Shigure, Machi

A lot of the fandom sees Kyo as demi, and I'm totally here for that interpretation of him. He generally seems annoyed by or frightened of girls who aren't Tohru (frightened either when there's a risk of transforming, or when Kagura is involved). Also, it's CUTE that Kyo takes after his dad (Kazuma) in this way.

At first blush, it seems very unlikely Shigure is under the ace umbrella, but I couldn't stop thinking about his brief relationship with Mayu. He's the one who suggested they date, yet he seemed completely disinterested in her. He did sleep with Ren, but that was only for revenge and because he imagined Akito would look like her if she'd been allowed to grow up as a woman. I genuinely believe all his "high school girls" ickiness was an act, much like most of his personality.

It doesn't seem like Machi can totally tell if/when she likes something (or someone!). This makes me wonder if she's just never had feelings for anyone before Yuki.

Demiromantic: Rin, Hiro

Rin seems open to sexual relations with people other than Haru, but I genuinely can't see her having romantic feelings for anyone other than him. I see Hiro similarly with respect to Kisa. I think, if they ever split, it would take an extremely long time for him to even be open to falling for someone else.

Under the Bi/Pan+ Umbrella

So, I'm not making a distinction between these two (and other orientations that fall under the same umbrella, like poly- or omnisexual) because that seems like a very personal, internal conversation. I know some people make a distinction between the way bi and pan people experience attraction, but some don't, and that feels too prescriptivist for my purposes here. So, these are characters who I think experience attraction to multiple genders!

Tohru obviously falls for Kyo, but she also thinks Akito is cute, she thinks Rin is "shapely" and "beautiful" (her words!), and she goes along with it when Saki talks about them getting married.

Yuki ends up with Machi (and I love them together!) but I think Kyo was his first crush. His arc is also very relatable for a lot of queer folks (myself included!). And he's a disaster. Long live bisexual disaster Yuki Sohma!

Shigure is tricky, because the flirtation between him and Ayame could just be a joke, but I personally think it's a joke that arose out of some fun nights spent together...

Akito obviously likes men, but she also flirts with Tohru when they first meet.

Saki talks about marrying both Tohru and Kazuma. She's probably joking about Kazuma, but she's generally a very literal person, so I don't think she's joking about Tohru. She also marries a foreigner canonically, and that foreigner is probably a man.

Momiji talks about finding an amazing sweetheart-- not an amazing wife or girlfriend!!-- one day. I think he was being very intentional in not specifying his future partner's gender.

Hatori is the one I feel least sure of, but my headcanon is that he gets so annoyed and embarrassed by Shigure and Ayame because he doesn't want anyone to know he was totally part of at least a few of those trysts...

Mutsuki and Hajime are definitely together, right? And it seems like the fandom mostly sees Mutsuki as bi, which... yeah, that tracks.

Hatsuharu's first love was Yuki, and his last love was Rin.

Kakeru has a girlfriend, but for some reason, I have it in my head that he always refers to Kyo as Yuki's "hot cousin"? Did I just imagine that? Anyway... even if I did make that up, I think his backstory is a great analogy for the experience of coming out. He was trying to fit in a box and decided he was done with it. Pure chaotic bi energy.

For Ayame, see Shigure and Hatori above. (Also, “I am a bottom ALL THE WAY!!!”)

Mine is admittedly here just based on vibes.

Mitsuru likes Ritsu even though she's not entirely sure of Ritsu's gender!

Kimi is also here purely based on vibes.

Gay and Lesbian

Hiroshi has always struck me as gay. I can't really explain it. I usually have absolutely awful gaydar, so it's odd that he gives me such clear gay vibes. I wrote him as gay in my longfic, Bloom Within Us, and I'll probably always write him as gay.

President Takei obviously has a crush on Yuki. We don't really see him show interest in anyone else (partially because he's such a minor character). He also seems to still be a bachelor in Another, which could be because he can't legally marry yet...

My headcanon that Kunimitsu is gay kind of popped up as I was writing Bloom Within Us. There's no particular reason, and he doesn't give me strong gay vibes or anything.

Hajime and Mutsuki are definitely a couple! (Right?!) And it seems like most of the fandom sees Hajime as gay which... yeah, I can get behind that.

Akimoto (Arisa's senpai from her gang) is another character who gives me such strong vibes that I thought it was canon that she was a lesbian. Whoops. Anyway, I headcanon that Akimoto is gay, and referenced that in one of my oneshots.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Controversial omission: Arisa Uotani. She says she likes Kureno because he reminds her of Tohru, but she doesn't like Tohru? Yes, she gives me major queer vibes but this to me points to her being straight. Also, based on the way she reacts to her friends developing crushes or falling in love (and the way they react to her falling in love), I don't think there's anything between her and Saki or her and Tohru (as much as I love fics that pair her with Saki!). I also think not every relationship with lots of physical affection and strong feelings of love has to be romantic.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading my queer headcanons! This has been in my drafts for months, so I'm really glad Pride Month gave me a reason to finish this post!

Happy Pride!

[eldritchneuro]

Wolfwood's age in Stampede

I love this fandom, but I've had a small pet peeve with it regarding a certain issue.

We don't entirely know how old Wolfwood is. We are shown him being taken away by the Eye of Michael when he's around...12-ish?, forcibly aged up by them and then an unknown period of time passes between this and the events of Stampede.

Where the peeve comes in is how people tend to engage with this fact. I've noticed that people (often for shipping reasons) will often have him 'earn' his adulthood by having this period of time be long enough to push him over 18 if he hadn't been aged up.

And that's... fine. I get that people might not want to deal with the uncomfortable elements of his backstory.

But like. Trigun, amongst other things, is about abuse. We see this through both of our main boys, and the impact their experiences have on their mental wellbeing.

As someone who's dealt with some of that shit themselves, I saw this sequence and instantly knew what it was getting at.

Because one of the biggest impacts of abuse, specifically against children, is how it impacts your sense of age. You get forced into tasks that you're too young to properly handle, or you infantilised and denied agency. Often both at the same time. You can often feel like you 'lost' years of your life as well, not being allowed to develop whilst your peers do. Especially if you've been left with a disorder that has dissociative effects, such as PTSD or DID (*cough cough*).

None of this makes you less of an adult, once you reach age, though. Abuse survivors may often have less life experience than our peers, but we are not younger than them. Our brains are at the same level of maturity, just with some additional scars in place.

So given this, it does... sting a bit to see everyone rush to clarify that Wolfwood is actually an adult, see, because he made up that time after being aged up.

Because he was already an adult! He was an adult the moment that his body broke into the shape of one!

That's the horror of this sort of trauma, having to deal with an adult life that you were never allowed to prepare for.

And like, once again, you don't have to engage with this if you don't want to. Heavy subject matter and all that.

It's just that the experiences of abuse survivors are so rarely represented well. Stampede is so precious to me because it was the first time I was able to see someone - multiple characters, actually - having gone through similar shit to myself and still be allowed to be cool and kick ass whilst also simultaneously struggle with their trauma.

I don't really have much of a thesis here, just... don't feel obligated to sanitize these sorts of things. Abuse isn't sanitary and survivors deserve to see ourselves represented.

(A lot of this also applies to Stampede's Elendria. I think people are too quick to dismiss her as "ew loli" when the themes of the show are very clearly signposting that there is a reason behind this choice in character design. In general, anything involving what I've come to dub "age fuckery" should be ringing "This is thematically important" alarm bells.)